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artist-issues · 5 months

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Yeah, again, you can tell that the creators of Wish wanted certain moments to be impactful and to hit as hard as any other animated Disney movie’s moments did. But they didn’t. Because there was no convincing build-up for the moments to peak on.

You can tell which moments they are.

When Asha and the King sing “At All Costs” - If you listen to the song on its own, and you have no context (which is to say, you make up the context on your own) it is moving. Because it’s a pretty-enough song with vaguely passionate lyrics, once you assign meaning to them. But the movie doesn’t build up why this song should be an impactful declaration for either Asha or Magnifico. We already knew that Magnifico made it his job to “protect” the wishes (which are the subject of the song.) Asha, on the other hand, has only just been introduced to us, and we know she “cares too much,” so we already knew she’d protect people’s wishes. The song isn’t giving us a deeper understanding of them, or a more interesting angle to look at their motivations.

But, that’s not really the problem. The problem is that the wishes are the subject of the song. And that whole concept, of wishes being tangible objects that hold the most important and beautiful part of people’s hearts, but when they’re tangible, they remove that part from the person, is bad. It’s not good to try and build a story of stolen-treasures on.

Because that’s how they’re treated. Like treasures that the king is hoarding, after manipulating the people of Rosas into giving them up. And you know what? That’s a terrible thing to sing a protective love song to.

Just think about it this way: the story is about a King who takes everyone’s favorite keepsakes (family jewels, ornaments, old photos) and promises to protect them, but in actuality…for some reason…the moment they hand the keepsakes over, they forget whatever made the keepsake important to them. And then the King and a young woman sing a heartfelt song to the photographs and old brooches about how they will love and protect the photographs and old brooches.

Do you see why this song is pretty but not impactful in the story? They shouldn’t be singing to the wishes. Even Magnifico. They should be singing to the people. The movie plays it as if that is what they’re doing—singing a heartfelt promise of protection to a person, or a people. But that’s not what they’re doing, and do you know why?

Because the people have forgotten their wishes.

By definition, the actual human beings in Rosas cannot care (believably) about the bubbles in King Magnifico’s tower. They can only vaguely care about the chance of being happier than they are now, someday, if the wish they don’t even remember is granted. And what a terrible lesson, never mind plot point.

Anyway.

I digress. The point is, for a personally-worded, vow-of-protection-song to hit the audience meaningfully, it needed to matter to the person receiving the vow. But there is no person receiving the vow. Because of the narrative and lazy concept, only Asha and Magnifico care this much about the wishes. Because the people who made them have forgotten them. (More on this when I talk about Asha’s mom.)

When Sabino’s wish is not granted - This is supposed to be like a “Tiana’s restaurant gets taken away from her when she’s outbid” moment. The character is crushed when the thing they wanted and really believed they would finally get is taken away.

Doesn’t work in Wish, though. Because of a few things, but the main two are:

The audience has no reason to believe this means so much to Sabino because he hasn’t been shown really longing for his wish to come true.

This movie avoids any vulnerable emotion in facial expressions.

When Tiana loses her chance to have her wish come true, it is also unfair—she was already promised the property, but the brokers accepted a larger offer anyway, and it’s implied to be because of racism. Similarly, everyone acts like Sabino is entitled to (“promised”) having his wish come true because he’s so old and it’s his birthday. Plus we, the audience, know that Magnifico isn’t rejecting his wish for good reasons, and that Sabino’s wish is unselfish. So it’s meant to feel unfair and sad when he doesn’t get it, but it’s not. Not like it felt with Tiana.

Not only does the lazy concept of wishes and forgetting them once they’re tangible hamstring all of this—but the fact that Sabino has had nothing but a handful of sparse lines (ones like “we don’t know for sure that I’ll get my wish granted”) to convince us that he really cares about this hamstrings it, too.

When Tiana loses her restaurant property, it’s only about 24 minutes into The Princess and the Frog, and we have already had:

1 - A song about how hard she’s worked for it. 2 - An opening scene where her relationship with her father connects the restaurant to a deeper, more personal meaning for her.

3 - Several scenes where she is shown doing drastic things to get enough money for it; her drawer full of tip money; the two jobs she works with only a minute’s sleep in between; her friends asking her to come dancing but reiterating the fact that she often loses time for fun and their good feeling toward her because “all she does is work.”

4 - We are also shown that people don’t believe she’ll get it. The cook at her job mocks her for her wish, which makes it all the more important to the audience that she gets it—to prove the jerks wrong.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the restaurant is directly tied to Tiana’s character flaw AND her strengths, at the same time, so that it’s killing two birds with one stone—we’re shown who Tiana is, and we’re convinced to empathize with her when something sad happens to her.

Sabino has zero of those things going for him. No character details or set pieces to hint to us that he wants the wish to be granted so badly—no speeches about what it means to him—no memories tied to how he began to wish for this thing—because there can’t be. Because he’s spent 82 years not wishing. Because he’s lived the majority of his life totally forgetting what he wanted. You couldn’t logically show any evidence that he wanted it that much, then, could you?

So Sabino can’t be shown caring too much about not getting his wish. Therefore the audience doesn’t care either. We’re shown a glimpse of his sad face, and Asha’s sad face, and then told, “now feel sad!” But the work wasn’t put in to make it happen.

They cut their legs out from under themselves.

Now you could say, “well it wasn’t really about Sabino’s disappointment, it was about Asha’s disappointment.”

Yeah, but that doesn’t really hold up either. I’ll explain how in the next moment-that-should’ve-made-us-feel-something failure:

When Asha’s family doesn’t believe her - This scene is very clearly supposed to be like the one where Mulan has an argument with her family about her father going to war, and knowing her place, and he yells at her and she runs out distraught.

You definitely feel for Mulan and care about how she’s feeling in this scene—you might even cringe at the part where her dad yells at her. Part of that is because the scene is so well-done—there’s the buildup of tension as the camera cuts between each family member quietly drinking their tea, refusing to talk about the day’s devastating events. Then Mulan bursts out by slamming her teacup down and starting the yelling, herself, in outrage. Her dad stays quiet and steady like he has the whole movie up till now, so then when he stands up and shouts at her, about the exact thing she has been so upset over since the Matchmaker’s, the audience really feels the impact.

You don’t feel the same way about Asha, and it’s not just because her family argument scene wasn’t done as well—it’s also not just because, as you can see above, the movie keeps tiptoeing away from emotional vulnerability in the way the characters look.

It’s mostly because there’s been no impactful buildup to this scene. Again.

When Mulan has an argument with her father, you know what it means to her to have him yell at her about doing what’s right in her own place—you’ve had the whole first few scenes of the movie to convince you of it.

Mulan is upset because she wants to find her place and she loves her father very much. But she does not, ever, say the words “I love my father so much.” She doesn’t even outright say things like that before the argument. She doesn’t say to the Matchmaker, “Won’t you please give me another chance? My father has been praying about this for weeks, and I can’t bear to disappoint him. My father is a great man; he fought for the Emperor and was wounded in the wars; for his sake, can’t you help me?”

Asha does. Asha says to King Magnifico (but really, to us, the audience) “My grandfather’s wish! It’s beautiful.” And “Your Highness, couldn’t you grant his wish?” And to her friends, and to her mother, and to her grandfather himself—over and over she just reminds us with flat, “okay-we-get-it” dialogue and exposition of what she wants.

Whereas Mulan shows us. She convinces us. She runs up to her father, in the very first scene, and we’re shown that even though she has trouble remembering what she’s supposed to say to the matchmaker—even though she has trouble remembering what time it is and getting her other chores done—with this one part of her life, her father, she can remember exactly what the doctor said about how much tea he needs to drink. And she is prepared for her own clumsiness to make sure he gets it.

And even after she doesn’t get what she wants, and is shown to be so ashamed she can’t even look at him (because that’s how much she loves him and cares what he thinks) the only thing that makes her feel better is when he carefully compares her to a late-blooming flower and basically promises that he believes in her, anyway. We know how much Mulan cares about her father because we’ve been convinced by the way the movie artfully and carefully shows it.

We also know that she cares about knowing her place, specifically because of her family’s wishes for her. So all of this combines to prove to us that having her father shout at her about knowing his place and why he’s going to die willingly is a devastating thing for her. Enough for her to run out of the house sobbing and cling to a pillar as if she can’t hold herself up.

But when Asha runs out of the house (barely sobbing, just kind of breathing fast, because there’s no vulnerability in this movie) and stumbles up to a tree in the same way, we don’t really believe something so devastating has happened to her.

Everything happened too fast. She just kept saying she cares about Sabino’s wish coming true, and that she loves him. When he explodes at her (and really out-of-nowhere asks if she wants to “break his heart”) it’s the first time he’s shown any kind of intense emotion, either toward her, or about his wish.

There is no build-up. So it just feels awkward, and kind of like a high school production where one of the kids hasn’t even been trying to act, but in one scene, he suddenly starts yelling because that’s what his character is supposed to do. And it’s just cringe because you haven’t seen that level of energy, happy or sad, good or bad, at all up until now.

And that’s a problem because it leads right into Asha’s “This Wish” song, which is supposed to be like her “Mulan riding off to war” moment. But it’s not set up well by the emotions tied to the family argument, or the emotions tied to the conflict with the King, so you don’t really care.

Moving on to the next emotional-moment failure:

When King Magnifico threatens Queen Amaya - I don’t have much to say about this one; I think you’re getting the point. When there’s nothing but bland words and one-liners spoken to convince us that the characters are thinking and feeling how they’re thinking and feeling, moments like this one just feel boring and forced. And try-hard.

Like, the lighting? The music? Fine. Good. When he points his new magic wand at her threateningly, and clearly appears ready to betray her? All that stuff is fine. It just hasn't been built up to, so it doesn’t hit.

It’s like, “that’s it?” He just says one line about, “Are you betraying me?” And she pours forth a bunch of lines like “no I’ve always believed in you and in Rosas.” And then he’s basically like “okay, I’m convinced, moving on” which of course is him already knowing that she’s betrayed him and already having a plan to trap Asha…but still. From Queen Amaya’s point of view, there’s nothing emotional here.

We’re supposed to believe they’re madly in love and that she trusts him wholeheartedly, so that when he falls to dark magic and she chooses to side with Asha it’s this big moment. But it happens so fast.

There’s no moment where Queen Amaya grieves her husband. There’s no real sense of loss, or even of impactful betrayal. The voice actress delivers every line like she’s trying and failing to feel what the character feels as she reads the lines to a 5 year-old who needs every concept spoon-fed to them.

And King Magnifico drops her like a bag of dirt instantly. No sense of loss from him, either. He’s not even condescending to her, like, for example, Mayor Lionheart was to Dawn Bellwhether in Zootopia. Or like Jafar was to Iago. All of those things would’ve made their quick severing of bonds to each other make more sense.

But we’re not shown that Queen Amaya has sensed any darkness building in her husband over the years, and is just now realizing that this is the last straw and maybe he was never the man she thought he was. She treats him like she adores him (blandly) for the whole first half of the movie. No hint of doubt. Even when he goes for the forbidden book the first time, she easily convinced him not to and then wandered away like “well, took care of that.”

When Asha’s mother loses her wish - The biggest problem with this moment is still lack of buildup, and that is because the tangible-wish forgetfulness thing is stupid as we’ve established. We don’t believe she feels grief, even when she says she does, because we don’t know this woman at all. We don’t know what she wants, or how badly she wants it—we certainly don’t feel that she’s been missing her wish.

But the other offenses are worth mentioning. When Asha’s mother’s wish is broken by Magnifico, she just…gasps. And her father-in-law says her name, and Asha yells something typical like “no!” She looks a little weak in the knees, like maybe she can’t walk for a second, so the 100 year-old man supports her.

But the cameras spend no time on how this is affecting her. The shots of the family escape in the immediate aftermath of this world-shattering thing don’t let us see Asha’s mother’s face. Not that her facial expression is that devastated, anyway. It’s just “typical sadness” expression. There’s a shot where they’re going from the house to the stolen horses and if I remember correctly, Asha’s mother has her back to the camera the whole time; I was looking at her because I was like “something devastating just happened; this is the most interesting part of the scene.” But there was nothing to see.

They could’ve had her visually turn grey. They could’ve had her go mute, stare off into space, suddenly become scarily unreachable. They could’ve had her weeping uncontrollably. They could’ve just had her go catatonic—after all, we’re supposed to believe that even the chance of having “the most beautiful part of her” returned to her heart was just destroyed. Wouldn’t that logically make a person…cold? Calloused? Unfeeling? Uncaring? But no. She’s as just keen to express concern for Asha and apologize for being wrong about Magnifico and urge Asha to keep believing in herself, passionately, as she would’ve been before. No big deal, just lost the most beautiful part of myself forever.

Doesn’t help that we never knew what the mom’s wish even was, so even we can’t miss it.

So when she gets her wish back at the end, and she’s like, “come home.” It’s just…cringey.

When Asha convinces the crowd to wish for Magnifico’s defeat - The idea of the movie is that “the power of the stars is in you because we all came from stardust, so keep wishing and working toward it even when it’s hard.” So this moment is supposed to be impactful.

But it isn’t. Because that kind of thing isn’t impactful. They literally sing a song, glow, and Magnifico is defeated. Even if we were supposed to believe Star was dead, and this is bringing him back like Tinkerbell coming back to life, it’s still not impactful. Because one, it happens way too fast. And no character really emotes about it, like Peter did when he thought Tink was dead.

Two, that hasn’t been the point of the whole movie; the main character never had trouble believing that she was powerful enough to enact change. She barely doubted her own wish. If they wanted us to be excited that she could win based on the stardust in her heart, and in the kingdom’s hearts, alone, then they should’ve given us several scenes where it’s like “Asha is relying too much on Star’s power.”

But no, doubt and disbelief and reliance were never character flaws of hers for this moment to overcome. She doesn’t really have any character flaws, let’s be honest.

Even if you want to say “well sure, Asha didn’t doubt her own power, but the kingdom did! Otherwise, why would it’s citizens have put so much reliance on King Magnifico?” Okay, that’s nice, but 1) that is never solidly or impactfully alluded to in the story, beyond jokes about how handsome they think the king is and the literal plot point of trusting him with their wishes. And 2) having a whole kingdom of background characters believe something false and then get their minds changed in a split second is not nearly as impactful as having the main character’s mind changed first—and then she passes that knowledge on to them.

Like Judy Hopps learning to try to understand Nick, then encouraging all of Zootopia to try and understand each other. Like literally any good story where a whole kingdom needs to realize something.

Also it is never a good idea to defeat your villain just by singing about how you want to defeat your villain. Nobody should have to tell Disney that. They wrote the book on this.

But this movie was made by a company that no longer knows itself.

I could say more, like about the moment where Asha supposedly is at her lowest, or the part where Star “leaves,” or when her friends work together, or the “Knowing What I Know Now” song, but it’s all the same problems.

#Wish #Disney’s wish #character analysis #meta #Mulan #Disney’s Mulan #Disney #wish Disney #wish movie #animated movies #spoilers #review #Valentino #Asha #ariana debose #Disney’s the princess and the frog #the princess and the frog #Tiana

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1d1195 · 6 months

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Love and Dryer Sheets III

Sorry for the wait. Hope you like it :)

Read the rest here: Love and Dryer Sheets

Just under 6k words

Warnings: emotional cheating, physical cheating, toxic relationships, arguing, etc.

Of course, she wanted to know his deepest thoughts. His desires. She wanted to know what his lips felt like on hers. How he took his coffee and whether he liked to sleep with the window open or closed. But that wasn’t her job to know. They had these moments in the laundry room and that was enough.

For now.

True to form, Harry continued to do the most inane loads of laundry. At one point he had just a towel, a T-shirt, and a sock. Hiding his odd loads of items from her—so he wasn’t so obviously following her to the laundry room so often—was the hard part. Fortunately, she never seemed to notice. Or if she did, she didn’t say anything.

Maybe she wants to see you, too. Harry’s heart had developed its own independent voice. He could feel it and hear it when he was around her. It was much kinder than his conscience and was all for Harry falling in love with the woman in the laundry room. He was burning through his jug of detergent. Ava paid no attention to it as much as Miss Sunshine paid no mind to his weird array of wash. Harry was lucky because Ava still brought her laundry to her mum’s house when she visited on a fairly weekly bais, so she didn’t have to sit with her laundry in the communal room. So, she didn’t have a clue about Harry’s laundry partner.

It was also how Harry had kept Ava’s presence a secret from his personal, human-form of sunshine.

You’re an idiot.

Harry ignored his conscience completely. As if it hadn’t whispered a thing to him.

Over the course of the next few months, Harry watched her read no less than six books and they chatted about most of everything and anything. Harry hadn’t felt so at ease around someone in ages. It made him so...confused. It felt like all the tension in his body released at once when he was around her. He doesn’t remember the last time he wasn’t tense for such substantial time periods.

Maybe if she hadn’t offered to share her laundry detergent, he would have continued to feel tense. If she wasn’t so nice, he might not have even noticed her sitting on top of the washer. He wouldn’t think about how soft her hair looked and how he wanted to slide his fingers through it. There wouldn’t be a thought about her giggle and how every time he saw The Wizard of Oz on the cable line up, he wanted to head down to her apartment to let her know—or ask to watch it with her.

“Have y’ever seen Wicked?” He asked her during one of their reading and waiting sessions. She placed a finger on her page making sure not to lose her spot.

She shook her head with a knowing smirk. “It’s on my list, but I can’t justify the cost right now.”

“They don’t pay y’a billion for being an angel at the hospital?” He asked with a smirk.

It felt like Harry was winning a competition he didn’t even know he entered every time she laughed at his jokes. “No, not really,” she shook her head. Their books were nearly forgotten so quickly. They were mirroring one another sitting on top of their washers. Her heels lightly bumped into the front of the machine, and they were just smiling at each other like they had been friends for their whole lives. They didn’t have to talk. He simply enjoyed her happy, sunshiney company.

Jesus Christ. His conscience was still trying even though he stopped listening to it. It was futile. There wasn’t anything he could do to stop how he felt. Even if it was wrong. Harry would simply push the feelings back as much as he could. However, his heart—with it’s independent voice—would only let him push his emotions down so much.

Harry found himself heading to the laundry room before she got there some days. It took some time to map out her schedule, but he seemed to find a pattern of every three to four days she would be lugging some of her stuff down to the basement. Fortunately, his conscience had gotten through to him to say he shouldn’t be stalking the laundry room. It should be a little more of a chance of finding her there and so he began doing at least one load a week without her.

“Hey munchkin,” her light voice nearly sent a shiver down his spine as she entered. It took Harry all the willpower in the world to not spin around at the sound immediately. Instead, he smirked at the little nickname. It was fitting of course, that she would choose it. It was ironic, as Harry was tall and far from a munchkin. But it was as adorable as she was, and Harry would respond to it for the rest of his life—especially if it came from her lips.

Easy. His brain continued to warn him, despite Harry having not acknowledged the voice of reason in months. But even Harry recognized it was dangerous to let her get so attached. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her because of his own idiocy.

“What d’you mean y’don’t like fried cauliflower?!” He ran his hands over his face like this was the worst grievance she could ever muster. Maybe it was. Harry was certain someone was lovely as she was couldn’t truly make someone annoyed. He couldn’t imagine fighting with her the way he fought with Ava.

Stop. His brain tried to remind him that thoughts like that weren’t okay. He shouldn’t be thinking about Ava and Miss Sunshine in the same wavelength. It was bad, number one. But it was also a slippery slope to being an absolute disaster of messing up a name and he needed this calm for a little while longer. The catastrophe of emotions Harry had raging in his heart and mind was overwhelming. He was going to mess up; he could feel it. If he didn’t miss this calm, this warmth, the sunshine so very much he would have worried more about the impending storm.

“If I’m being honest, I had the taste buds of a picky ten-year-old for the longest time; so I haven’t tried fried cauliflower in a long time. So, I’m open to giving it another chance.”

Harry’s smile made her feel like she could fly if he asked her to. His dimples made her stomach flutter with a thousand butterflies. She wished he would ask her to dinner. She wanted to try fried cauliflower again. If he did ask, she would gladly justify the cost of Wicked tickets. Sitting with him in the laundry room for the last couple of months made her so happy. It brightened her whole week, and she was glad he had as much laundry as he did so she could see him so often. She should have just asked him out. It was a brave thing to do and there was nothing really stopping her from doing so.

Except the idea that if he said no, she would have to find a new place to do laundry because she would never want to see him again. Maybe he was just friendly and liked having the company during such a boring chore.

When he smiled, she could swear he seemed happier than he had when he entered the laundry room. Regardless of if he already was happy. Maybe it was just wishful thinking; maybe it was her projecting how she felt the moment Harry’s foot crossed the threshold of the room. It was nice chatting with Harry. Most of the conversations were light—like fried cauliflower and which Spider-man was best (she was extremely partial to Andrew Garfield, but Harry was a firm believer Tobey Maguire did it best).

But over the course of their friendship, she could recognize when he was having a bad day. “Something wrong, munchkin?” She asked when he stared off to the wall and not his book. The only sound in the room was their washers humming quietly below them. He didn’t answer right away, and she waited patiently. Something she took home from work. Sometimes people needed a moment to process what they were feeling because they couldn’t form what they were feeling just yet.

“Sometimes I think m’not going t’be a good dad,” he mumbled.

She felt her heart and stomach flip in equal parts. The idea of Harry as a dad—even though she hadn’t known him that long, and certainly shouldn’t have been thinking about him in that context—had her ovaries aching for something that wasn’t hers to ache for.

“I think that’s a rational fear for anyone,” she said gently. He shrugged, still didn’t look at her. He crossed his ankles, his heels bumping into the washer. “Are you going to be a dad soon?” She asked with a smirk. It was a curious question, but a genuine one. His relationships were none of her business. They hadn’t done anything. They weren’t doing anything wrong. She called Niall nicknames all the time.

It was fine. For now.

For now.

But when he looked at her finally, her heart felt a crack in it that made her want to take back her question. His expression was a bit cutting and she felt a little taken aback by such a cold look on his normally warm face. She felt embarrassed she had asked it; making her face warm at his irritated look. “No,” he murmured. He was reading about a couple staying in a relationship that the main character didn’t love as much as he used to. It got him thinking about the idea of staying with Ava. What that would do to their already tense relationship. How it would affect his relationship with children if he didn’t change something...soon. Instead of voicing all those worries, he went with the one that really did weigh on his mind frequently. Another problem he didn’t have a solution to. “But...m’dad wasn’t ‘round a lot growing up. S’not like...’ve got a good role model t’think ‘bout y’know?”

She let the words fall over them for a few moments. In case Harry wanted to add to his statement or revise something. If he wanted to take it back... It was a personal notion. Talking about something so deep and serious was like a new step in their relationship—whatever relationship it was that they had, didn’t matter—and would make it deeper and stronger itself. “Well,” she cleared her throat quietly. “I think you just worrying about that will make you a good dad,” she said softly.

His face softened back to its natural, Harry-looking face that made her feel warm and fuzzy again. “Thanks, Sunshine,” he said softly.

She felt like she had to share something equally heavy. Just so Harry wouldn’t feel out of place, and sound so sad dealing with his own emotions. “I feel like my mom and dad have made it hard for me to believe in love that lasts forever,” she looked at her hands gripping the sides of her book. It was such a hard thing to admit. She hadn’t really told anyone that besides Niall.

Harry tilted his head curiously at her. That was quite the thing to disclose to Harry. But he found his heart aching for her. It worried him because she was so lovely, and she deserved the kindest, deepest love. He could tell just from sitting in the room with her over the last few months that she deserved that. “You’re not your parents, love,” he reminded her. “Think if y’don’t want a love like theirs, you’ll find the one y’do want,” he murmured. “S’not like y’need a heart from a wizard or anything,” he joked.

She smiled and nodded. It seemed like it was too good to be true that Harry would quote her favorite book to her. Especially when she was vulnerable and voicing something that hurt her—especially after a recent breakup. But Harry was real. He was sitting there; telling her his deepest thoughts or making her laugh with a lame joke or sharing a recipe about his favorite kind of brussels sprouts.

“Thanks, Harry,” she whispered softly feeling her heart rate slow to nearly nothing.

“You’re welcome, Sunshine.”

They went back to their books, stealing glances at one another until her washer finished its cycle. “Do you...fold your page down in your book?” He asked. He thought he had imagined it the first time. But this was...

“Yes,” she rolled her eyes throwing her stuff into the basket to transfer to the dryer.

“Kitten... s’unnatural.”

She snorted, smiling so brightly Harry swore it cured him of the sadness he was feeling before. “I squeeze the toothpaste from the middle too,” she giggled.

He shook his head melodramatically and smirked. “Somehow, I think we’ll get along anyway," he murmured and it made her toes nearly curl with want for him and his mouth all over her body. "Even if y'a serial killer."

Niall was laying on her sofa while she cooked in the kitchen. It was his favorite of her dishes: chicken parmesan. Her specialty. Plus, she made garlic bread from scratch that had Niall salivating with the scent wafting through her apartment.

“Have y’seen Harry around?” He asked as he flipped through different titles looking for a movie to watch. He thought he might settle on The Wizard of Oz because it had been a while since they had watched it together.

She was sprinkling shredded cheese across the dish and nodded even though Niall couldn’t see. Her heart felt fluttery, and her stomach did its flip that it always did when she thought about or saw Harry. “Yeah...just...in the laundry room.”

“Kinky.”

“Shut up, Niall.”

“I’ve never had washing machine sex myself, but I imagine all the vibration would work wonders for you,” he continued anyway.

“Niall,” she groaned feeling flushed and awkward that even she had those thoughts about Harry. “I’m gonna spit in your food.”

He rotated from his supine position and turned to lean over the back of the sofa. It gave him a better look at his best friend making dinner in the kitchen. “You’re awfully sensitive about him, darling,” he smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “He’s cute, funny, nice, smart...he checks all the boxes,” she murmured quietly.

Niall knew what she was getting at though. He could see it in her face and hear it in her voice. “But...?”

“I don’t know...doesn’t he seem too good to be true?”

Niall looked at her with a sympathetic smile. “Think you might be harboring some emotions from your last relationship, princess,” Niall’s voice was gentle. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed in front of Niall. But she could feel the anxiety that was clearly going to riddle every relationship she had going forward. That worried her and made her feel...bad. So maybe she should just listen to Niall. Maybe she was overthinking it—of course she was overthinking it! Or even if Harry was too good to be true...wasn’t there something nice about him just...being nice to her? After all that bad stuff and hard stuff that she went through? It wasn’t like she had to marry him or anything. It was just nice to talk to someone who seemed to enjoy her company and didn’t make her feel like she had to walk around on eggshells.

“I told Harry about my mom and dad,” she responded instead of confirming or denying his statement.

Niall raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. That was a feat to say the least. “Really?”

“Well...he said something about how he thought he would be a bad dad... I thought—well... I wanted to share something similar, you know?”

Niall adored her and her kind, empathetic brain. “Yeah. I know,” he smiled encouragingly. “What did he say?”

She sighed. After she finished with the cheese, she slid the dish into the oven and sauntered over to the sofa. She fell beside Niall and laid her head on his leg. He fiddled with the strands of her hair comfortingly. “I mean...I didn’t give him a lot of information...but he was really understanding all the same. Quoted something about the Tin Man.”

Niall smirked. “He sounds like your soulmate, darling,” there was an obvious tone in Niall’s voice. Like she didn’t already know that.

“I really like him, Niall,” she admitted quietly. “Like really like him. I can’t stop thinking about him,” she whispered.

Niall wanted her to be happy. Happy as she possibly could be. “I bet he likes you too.”

She was still so unsure. It had been months. He should have asked her out by now. It wasn’t like she wasn’t obvious. She was calling one of the tallest men she was friends with munchkin for Christ’s sake. She thought they were friends, but she didn’t even have his phone number. They never spoke outside the laundry room.

But it was undeniable that there was something there. She felt it in her heart, her mind, and all the butterflies fluttering in her stomach each time he entered the same room as her. “I hope so,” she looked sadly toward the TV excited to see the intro credits of her favorite movie. “He’d be a really good scarecrow to my Dorothy.”

“Ava. I cannot keep doing this,” he pressed his hands into his eyes.

She glared at him. “I’m not the problem.”

Harry hated this. He didn’t want a my-fault-your-fault relationship. If there were going to be issues, he wanted to fix them. Relationships weren’t perfect. Never. Not even the best ones out there. His was far from perfect. But maybe it had a chance at one point in time. It didn’t seem like it anymore.

Now, Ava just made him mad. Harry felt alone even when she was in the room. More alone than when she wasn’t in the room.

Today, it was that she couldn’t find her keys and Harry said something like he hadn’t seen them. Did you check the car? Because sometimes Ava would think she dropped them in her bag, but they’d slide right back to the floor, and she wouldn’t notice. This comment resulted in her eye roll, her irritation with Harry’s obvious question. Of course, I checked the car, I’m not an idiot.

The insinuation that Harry would insult her made him angry. He liked to believe he was kind; even when it was hard. Even when Ava made him so mad, he was shaking.

They began searching for her keychain, room by room fighting about something new in every room. Harry looked under the sofa, pulling a pair of his socks covered in dust bunnies sparked the first peripheral argument. Can you not leave your socks lying around?

In the fridge, in case she put it in there when grabbing a bottle of water. The original fight now spiraled into who left the dishes in the sink?

The bathroom: why was the washcloth on the floor?

The sitting room under the coffee table: When you leave the room, could you turn the TV off? Why is your phone volume maxed to the top?

“What is the point of all this Ava, all we do is argue about everything!?” Harry snapped as he slammed the bathroom door shut for two seconds of peace while he looked in her makeup drawer; maybe she was touching up her makeup and dropped them in there.

“We don’t just argue,” she sighed bitterly through the closed door. “Be serious Harry!”

“You’re going t’argue ‘bout how much we argue? Cute. Real fucking cute, love.”

“Jesus, Harry. Quit being so defensive!”

“Defensive?!” He hissed. “M’trying t’help you find your keys and y’act like I killed a dog in every room!”

He opened the door and found her leaning against the opposite wall, her bag over her shoulder waiting for this search to be over so she could go wherever she was headed. “Where are y’even going?” He asked as he went to their bedroom and looked under the bed.

“Out for a coworker’s birthday dinner.”

“Alone?”

“What y’don’t trust me?” The accusation was thick in her voice.

“Ava, for the love of God,” he practically growled. “Y’don’t invite me anywhere anymore, I was jus’ asking if it was a significant other thing—I would go with you. Christ.”

“We don’t need people to see us argue over appetizers,” she muttered. “But no, it’s not.”

Harry ignored her comment about arguing about appetizers. “Why don’t y’take my car and I’ll look for your keys,” he suggested quietly.

She shook her head. “I don’t like driving your car. The seat settings are weird and it’s hard for me to park it.”

“D’you want me t’drop you off and pick you up?” He asked.

She sighed dramatically. “I’ll just Uber.”

Harry was going to lose his mind. “Are y’serious?” He wondered following her retreating figure to the main room again. “You don’t even want your coworkers to see me? What, do y’think we’ll fight in the parking lot?”

“I never know with you Harry,” she shrugged with a dramatic, exhausted sigh. It was the same way Harry felt. She went to the closet to grab her coat and Harry heard the distinct jingle of her keys in the pocket as she pulled the jacket off the hanger.

Harry stared at her blankly. Emotionless. Not a sorry or a thank you for looking fell from her mouth. She didn’t even look apologetic as she slid her coat on wordlessly. “I forgot I wore this when I was out last,” she mumbled as she exited the apartment.

Normally after a fight—or a series of fights like that—the moment Harry had a second to himself he felt almost instantly better. But today all he felt was more anger. All of it. Down to the very smallest atoms of his bones. It hurt him as if she had reached in and yanked his heart out. He didn’t know why. He didn’t understand why this fight about keys made him so angry that he couldn’t shake the feeling. Not even a little.

He paced for a few minutes trying to calm his breathing. Trying to get the anger out of his chest, his head, every blood cell that was boiling with frustration.

It wasn’t just keys, washcloths, and dishes. It was everything. They were always arguing. It could have been a world record. They had to have the fastest time for arguing over nothing. But even though the fights were so trivial they built and built until it wasn’t just stupid little things.

They didn’t work. At least not anymore. They were broken. Maybe forever. Harry would have to start over. He would have to move out. Gemma would say I told you so. Mum would be understanding but would tell him she never liked Ava and he would have to try and justify why he stayed so long and it wasn’t what he wanted. He didn't want to justify anything. It wasn't anyone's business...

But he knew it was true. Deep down, he knew. Then, his mind and heart would be broken. Everything was wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Before his conscience or his heart could say anything internally, he was hurrying down the stairs; his body moving almost of its own accord. It caused the slightest relief in his veins. He could feel the simmering boil slow just a fraction.

It was bad. A bad idea. A bad move. It was just bad.

But Harry was tired of being angry.

The only time he wasn’t angry was when he was enjoying the warmth of sunshine.

“Hey munchkin,” she smirked as he entered the basement. She was so used to his tall frame taking up the entryway she didn't even have to fully look to see that it was him coming down the steps. She did a double take looking at the lack of a basket. He was frazzled. Her smirk turned to a frown in an instant. “Harry? Are you... okay...? ... Munchkin?” She asked, her voice trailing off. She dropped the towel she was folding into the basket, and she reached out like she wanted to take him in her arms and comfort him. She hadn’t touched him in the months that she had known him but she was willing to do it now. God, she would have done it earlier and for less. The anxiety that was laced in his features made her nervous. Her heart felt a heaviness seeing how upset he felt so evidently on his beautiful face.

The second his name left her lips, his mouth was on hers.

Harry felt whole. The anger was gone. Truly. It was like she transferred all that warmth, kindness, and peace right through her lips and into Harry’s mouth. It was like holding actual sunshine. He forgot everything. He didn’t think of work, his book, laundry. He didn’t think of Ava, Gemma, anyone or anything.

He was kissing her, that was the only thing he could remember and focus on and not one thing else.

They were lucky no one else was in the laundry room to witness their make out session. Harry’s lips felt like pillowy little clouds and his chapstick had a coconutty taste to it that offset the minty flavor of his gum. It made her dizzy to finally taste him. Her hands bunched fistfuls of his T-shirt against his sides.

His fingers slid from being curled into her hair on either side of her face down her neck leaving a wake of shivers and goosebumps in their path. He touched the outside of her hips and tried to guide her and lift her to sit atop the washing machine as she always did. But this time was going to be for an entirely different purpose.

She pulled from his lips reluctantly, causing a gasp of air to escape Harry’s mouth.

“Not here,” she whispered into his neck, her voice hardly carrying through the air.

She wasn’t wrong. Fucking in the laundry room was definitely not classy. She deserved classy and time. She needed everything that was good.

Also, it’s very wrong. His conscience reminded him. But Harry could hardly hear the irritating little voice.

“Where?” He hummed, his lips sliding down the side of her neck. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to lose the last of her coherent thought and she would end up doing something stupid with Harry in the public laundry room.

She pulled from his embrace, grabbing his hand and tugged him up the steps to the lobby. Harry nearly tripped on the last step causing her to giggle. They rode the elevator to the third floor, their hands intertwined with one another, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how perfect it felt. Their smiles and giggles escaped them like two teenagers hiding from their parents while they made out in their bedroom. The kissing ensued the second they were alone on the elevator this time she pressed herself against the length of Harry and he wrapped his arms around her back pulling her tight to him as they ascended the passing floors.

Arriving on the third floor, she pushed her door out of the way and almost immediately Harry had her backed against it, his body trapping her against the door. She felt so warm but Harry’s lips on hers made it all worth it. Her heart rate was the speed of a hummingbird. His body was so strong and warm. She moaned into his lips making him squeeze her toward him. He answered with a groan of his own. He pulled back momentarily to let them breathe but as he did his eye caught the photo of her, Niall, and who he assumed was her family. It was in a frame that said There is no place like home.

While she was kissing his neck, making his body hard and soft all at the same time, he smirked releasing a chuckle. “You’re going to laugh while I’m kissing you?" She mumbled into his skin in annoyance.

He laughed a little harder. “Oh, sorry, Sunshine,” he said and pressed a kiss to her forehead while she continued pecking along his collarbone that peeked out from his T-shirt. “Caught the photo there,” he murmured. She turned around in the circle of his arms. Harry wrapped them loosely around her waist from behind so she could look at what caused the distraction. As she looked over the photo herself, he dropped a kiss to the top of her head. The smile on her face that Harry could see sort of reflected in the glass of the picture frame, looked like one of adoration and love. Harry hoped she would look at him like that one day. “You’re so adorable,” he mumbled into her hair. “Why d’you like The Wizard of Oz so much?” He asked.

She pulled his arm from around her and tugged him toward her living area where the bookshelf displayed all the editions she had of her favorite book. Carefully, she tugged one version of it off the shelf and flipped it open to page 189, because of course she knew the exact quote she was looking for. All you need is confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is in facing danger when you are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.

It was highlighted in yellow. Harry read it three times. Each time he read it, it felt like he understood her a little more. Each of the three sentences seemed to take prominence on each read through and the last phrase especially, made him think she was some sort of superhero.

While he read, he held the book so carefully in his hands. His finger brushing softly on the page as he pointed to the words. She watched his eyes scan the page almost as gently as he touched the paper. She could see he was digesting the words and it felt so vulnerable. This was her favorite book. Her favorite quote. The way he caressed the book was delicate; the moment was so fragile and made her feel so exposed.

“I don’t know what kind of danger you’ve faced, kitten. But I think you’re the most courageous woman I know.”

Her heart felt so full but weak at the same time. It was like Harry made her feel like she could do anything but that she didn’t have to because he would hold her the way he held her favorite book. It took every ounce of restraint in her to not shed a tear.

“Y’collect them?” He asked.

Clearing her throat, she was grateful for the distraction. She nodded quickly. “Yeah…I think it was a joke at first. Mom and my sister both got me a copy for my birthday. But then every time someone who knew me came across it, I got a new one. Then it was like...everyone we knew was looking. But we were all actually finding copies that were cool and stuff.”

Harry thought he would implode from how cute she was. He hoped to find an edition she didn't have. But even if he didn't, he knew she would appreciate the gesture all the same. He was glad there were people in her life who knew she liked the book. Glad that they appreciated her love for something so...pure.

So as not to say something crazy like he adored her and would buy any copy he came across for her as long as they lived, Harry looked at the remainder of her bookshelf. “Quite the collection of other books y’got, Sunshine,” he smiled bending down to examine the titles on the bottom shelf.

“I have another shelf in my room,” she said.

“Oh?” So, she showed him. There was a run of the mill copy of it on this shelf—she would put one in every room she told him. “It’s comforting, you know?” Harry didn’t really know. He didn’t feel an attachment to a book like that, but he was already obsessed with how comforted he felt around her. From the very moment he met her when she made his anger lessen, made him feel a little better than before he knew her. A little picture frame held a quote on her wall that read We’re not in Kansas anymore.

Then they started chatting about the CDs she had on another shelf. Which got them talking about music. Then she showed him the bathroom and how she found this nifty dispenser for toothpaste and mouth wash. "So I don't have to squeeze it in the middle," she joked. In her kitchen, they looked at photos on her fridge and sifted through recipes in a cookbook that she had written down. “I’m a little old fashioned sometimes. But I think cookbooks are cute,” she shrugged. Harry thought it was adorable, of course. Harry felt like he hadn’t laughed so hard in his whole life being in apartment 304. It felt like...

Well, it felt like there was no place like home.

Eventually a timer on her phone went off pulling them both back to the real world--her failsafe in case there was something she forgot in her apartment while she sat in the laundry room. Harry frowned as she shut off the alert and she turned back to him. “Gotta check on my clothes,” she whispered.

At the same time Harry’s phone vibrated: a message from Ava.

In the last forty-five minutes he completely forgot about Ava’s existence. “Ah,” he shook his head. The anger started to bubble in the pit of his stomach. “S’okay,” or maybe that was guilt.

It should be guilt. His conscience reminded him. That was bad. Even the regular part of Harry’s mind knew how terrible it was that he forgot about Ava.

He kissed another woman.

She’s probably my soulmate. He told his conscience. As if that would fix the problem.

You need to do the right thing. It answered simply. That he could agree with his conscience.

She fluffed her hair, fixed her shirt, and rolled those soft, warm, sweet lips he was already obsessed with into her mouth awkwardly. She gestured toward the door and Harry exited first. They hit buttons for the elevator, going in opposite directions. “I’ll...see you later?” She asked as the elevator alerted the pair of them the elevator was on the rise.

Harry nodded. “Yes,” that he was certain.

“Um...” she bit the inside of her lip and peered up at him nervously. It was sad and adorable all at once. She was perfect, stunning, lovely. Her mind was just as beautiful as she was. Harry thought her heart was unbearably kind and all he wanted to do was worship her and her sweet self.

Harry was an asshole.

“That was...nice,” she whispered softly. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he nodded in agreement with an awkward smile. His brain was starting to take back over again. “It was really nice,” he assured her making the relief on her face palpable. For that, he wanted the elevator to crush him.

The lift pinged with it’s arrival to descend back to the lobby. “See you around, munchkin,” she said quietly and kissed his cheek before she stepped onto the elevator. He felt sick to his stomach while he watched the doors close on her sweet, smiling face.

Finally. His conscience sighed with relief.

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lolyouallsuck @buckybarnessimpp @stylesfever @harrysxcarolina

Love and Dryer Sheets: @st-ev-ie @lovrave

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #love and dryer sheets

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kyber-crystal · 2 years

Text

head in the clouds || bradley “rooster” bradshaw

summary: after a mission gone wrong that almost costs you your life, you and rooster get into an argument. said argument ends up revealing more about him than you thought you knew

words: ~1.7k

warnings: mentions of near-death experience(s), allusions to trauma, blood, and angst. this has a vv happy ending tho i promiseeeee.

a/n: i can’t stop writing. someone please stop me. i need help

They didn’t call you Viper for no reason.

You struck down your enemies hard and fast, and flew exactly like your father. Some even opted to calling you Maverick 2 rather than your actual callsign. (The real reason for the name was because you’d gotten bit by a snake as a kid, but you elected to forget that moment.)

“Viper, stand down. You’re dangerously close to enemy territory. Start heading back,” Rooster warned. “You have exactly forty-two seconds before you get on their radar and they’re on your tail. This isn’t something you can do alone.”

“I can handle it,” you grunted in reply as you gripped the yoke of the plane, now 100% in control. Adrenaline shoots through your veins and you can’t help but crack a smile. A little turbulence wouldn’t kill you; you’d be fine.

You heard Rooster’s shouts of objection and concern through your mic, but kept going. Today was not the day for giving up and going home early—it never was, and never would be. You were not going to go down without a fight.

You’re determined to prove yourself—to your father, but also Rooster. You’re dead set on impressing everyone with your skill, even if that meant flying into danger. And risking your life in the process.

It was all part of the job, anyway, so what was the big deal?

You’re pulled out of your sea of thoughts by a blaring alarm. The lights dim, and your heart races. What the hell was going on here…

A sudden jolt of turbulence makes you jerk forward in your seat, and you tighten your grip. “Shit,” you muttered a colorful string of swears under your breath. One quick glance up ahead and to your right shows two enemy fighters closing in on you, and closing in fast.

“Damn it,” you tried to keep your calm as you activate the flares, making a straight climb upwards in an attempt to evade the adversary. “No no no no no, please—”

The controls panel flashed a bright red, and the alarm kept going. “I got hit. I think I lost an engine. They caught me.”

Rooster’s blood turned to ice at your statement. “Viper, you need to turn back now. Can you make it out?”

“No!” you shouted in reply. “I’m locked in. Back and sides. I don’t know if I can m—”

“Viper.” You couldn’t hear what he’s saying as your suffered another hit to the side, and your jet dipped. You were losing altitude and balance and you felt yourself getting lightheaded. “Viper, do you copy?”

“Heading northwest at 430 knots. Increasing speed to 490,” you responded, voice shaking, “Running low on missiles.”

At this point, you’re hanging on by a thread, and staying awake is becoming more and more difficult. You’re able to get a missile lock on the bogey up ahead with seconds to spare. But then your plane shoots downwards, and you start spiraling out of control.

“Rooster, I need to take them down.”

“No, you don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “Viper, eject now. There’s no other way out of this.”

“I already got one! I need to take down the other, and then I’ll land this plane!”

“Y/N, listen to me.” Your father comes online, and his voice is stern; commanding. “You need to get the hell out of here and eject. Don’t risk your life more times than you need to. You’ve done your job already.”

“Dad…”

“Y/N. I’m not gonna ask you again—”

The ringing in your ears grew louder and louder. Your head was heavy and all the color drained from your vision. You fell back against your seat.

You barely managed to press the button in time, hands shaking and heart palpitating. Your head hit the canopy as you ejected, and the world tilted on its axis, spots crawling across your vision.

The last thing through your mind before everything goes black is the clear panic in Rooster’s tone.

You’re snapped back to reality by someone shaking you awake. With blurry eyes, you make out Rooster kneeling over you. Behind him is what appears to be your jet, crumbling as it went up in flames.

“Y/N, how many fingers am I holding up?”

You squint. “Two…?”

Rooster goes cold. “Three. Y/N, you’re not in good shape. Mav’s on his way with backup. We’re taking you home now.”

“Home?” you croak out. “Why are you here? I’m supposed to be dead.”

“You’re not dead, thank God,” he exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Thank God you’re alive.”

Blood mixes with the sweat and tears on your face, and it looks like you’re crying red rivers of ash. You press a hand to the side of your forehead, and it comes away stained dark crimson. Your head is still swimming, and it takes everything Rooster has not to panic in front of you. You’ve seen enough, and the last thing he wants is for you to see him freak out. Even though he is very much so freaked out.

“It’s going to be okay, you hear me? It’s going to be okay.” He’s breathing hard, and he’s trying his best to stay calm. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

Your eyes flutter shut, and you lose yourself in the dark void of nothingness.

When you come to your senses once more, you’re in the med bay. Across the room from your cot is Maverick slumped over in a chair, mug on the coffee table next to him. He must’ve been here all night. He senses that you’re awake and makes his way over to you.

“Sweetheart,” your dad starts. “You scared the living daylights out of us.”

“Are they gone?” you question, referring to the bogey fighters you’d encountered earlier. “Tell me they’re all gone.”

“Hangman and Coyote swooped in and handled the rest. The job’s done.”

“That’s good.” You close your eyes and smile. “That’s really good.”

“You suffered a bad concussion, three cracked ribs,” Maverick explained. A familiar look of hurt flashes across his face, and your heart drops. You know that look. “You’re very lucky to be alive.”

“Yeah.” You swallowed hard, and try to sit upright. “I know.”

He helps steady you, placing a careful hand on your back. “Easy there. Don’t be so rough on yourself or you won’t recover as fast.”

“Where’s Rooster?” you croaked out. “Is he here?”

“In the hallway. He missed two training sessions since we flew back in with you,” he explained. “Refused to leave your side. I tried getting him to go out but he’s stayed camped out on the floor waiting for you. Do you want to see him?”

You nod. He leaves the room, and comes back a few seconds later with an exhausted-looking Bradley Bradshaw. Rooster’s shoulders slump in relief upon seeing that you’re okay.

He sits down by your side, the bed dipping under his weight. You’ve never seen this softer side of him before and it makes your heart ache in more ways than one.

“Hey.”

Rooster shakes his head. His voice comes out hoarse. “You almost died out there.”

“When’s the last time you slept?”

There are tears in his red-rimmed eyes. “You had a narrow brush with death, and the first thing you ask when you wake up is about how much I slept? Are you serious?”

“Rooster…”

“God forbid you actually got yourself killed,” he breathes out. “I’d never forgive myself for it.”

“But I’m okay, and that’s what matters.”

“No, it’s not okay! You’re not understanding the point here. Your overconfidence almost cost you your life. If you had gotten out of there a second later…” He begins to raise his voice, but trails off as he notices you wince. “...We’d be taking you back home in a body bag.”

“Forgive me for putting myself in danger and being a self-sacrificial brat,” you scoff. “It’s not like I was trying to stamp down the enemy or anything. If I hadn’t been out there when I was, even more chaos could’ve erupted.”

“And would your death be worth a fraction of victory?”

“Yes.”

“My god, you’re insufferable,” Rooster sighs. “It’s unbelievable that you have such little regard for your life.”

“How is my life any of your concern? What does my well-being have to do with you?”

“I can’t lose you the same way I lost my dad,” he finally says, and that’s when it hits you. This is how Goose died—something had gone wrong as he was trying to eject, and he never returned to base. Guilt overwhelms your senses as you realize he must be reliving his worst nightmare all over again—through you. “Y/N…you’re all I have left. And I’d be damned if you leave this world without knowing how I feel about you.”

Your mouth runs dry. “...What?”

“I’ve been put through hell enough times. I’m begging you…please don’t make me go through it again.” Rooster’s voice is cracked and hoarse as he places a hand against your cheek. “At least promise me that.”

You cup his face in your hands, thumbs skimming over his cheekbones. Heaven’s sake…even sad, he looked so breathtaking. “I promise.”

He moves in to close the distance between you and you meet him halfway, lips colliding together. His hands are shaky as they run through your hair, and the kiss is frantic and rushed and in far less ideal of a situation than either of you could’ve imagined. But it’s more than you could’ve asked for, and because of that, it was enough.

Rooster pulled away to catch a breath, but you pulled him back seconds later and kissed him again. You’re most likely going to lose your breath but you couldn’t care less in that moment. Fate kept you alive when you shouldn’t have been, and it was fate that would bring you back into his giving arms.

“From here on out,” he holds you tight, resting his head in the crook of your neck, “you’re sticking with me, no matter what.”

“I’m not complaining,” you hummed in contentment. “I’d like that very much.”

tags: @rentskenobi @tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @valorax @lifeisfullofupsanddownsliveit @sarcastic-sourwolf @ice-mans-world @burnedbrisket @fangirlinc @marveljunkie45 @knowledgefulbutterfly @levis-butterfingers @organabanks @coastingline @skylynch03 @chaoticassidy @hbstre @fantasias-creativebubble @mercury-mae @light-the-moon @winteryoungie @aie1840 @thisismypointofview @worldsoldestpizzaslice @minivture @i-wish-everything-would-be-okay @t-stark35 @thesunsetphantoms @danirose-0420 @thespeeder @lyn-lc

#top gun: maverick #top gun #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #miles teller #miles teller x reader #top gun fanfic #top gun x reader

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asahicore · 1 year

Text

gorgeous - lhs

"you should take it as a compliment that i'm talking to everyone here but you / and you should think about the consequence of you touching my hand in a darkened room" - gorgeous by taylor swift

series masterlist - part one - part two - part three

prompt 45 of the 100 kisses list, "we shouldn't do this" but they do so anyway

pairing. best friend's brother!heeseung x fem!reader synopsis. Heeseung comes back from his first year of university a new man - forget nervous, fidgety, dorky Heeseung and say hello to confident, teasing, flirty Heeseung. This change of attitude doesn't help your longstanding crush on your best friend's brother, and neither does the rising tension between the two of you - a tension that is bound to explode. genre. f2l, did i mention this was a best friend's brother au?, only fluff in this part but more to come, perhaps suggestive due to tension between reader and hee and makeout session lol word count. 8.1k (yes an asahicore fic under 10k thank u very much) a/n. hi loves i'm super happy to be posting this bc its the very first fic out of the 100 kisses event and its a project im really excited about !!! i know i said like 2 days ago it'd take me a while to write this but i got super motivated over the weekend and it turned out shorter than i thought and bestie @k-ingzo zo did a super amazing job at beta reading this so i was able to post it really quickly !! anyways hope you enjoy this, pls lmk,, and hope u look forward to the rest of the series as well !! ok bye

Nine years ago

“Y/N, honey, come meet your new friends!”

You rushed down the stairs at your mom’s call - at eight, you were always excited by the idea of new friends. She’d also called Naeun down, but lately, your sister had been acting like doing anything your parents asked her would cost her her life.

There in your living room were four unfamiliar faces, but your parents were smiling warmly, so you weren’t too nervous. Instinctively, you found your mother’s side and she rested her hand on your head, bending down to talk to you.

“Y/N, these are the Lees, they’ve just moved to the neighborhood.”

“Hi,” you greeted shyly, and were met with four hi’s in return.

“Heeseung and Seeun here started going to the same school as you,” she informs, nodding her head towards the young boy and girl. Now that she said it, the boy looked really familiar. You thought you recognized him from school that day - his glasses were definitely memorable. “And Seeun is the exact same age as you!” Your face lit up at that, and her expression mirrored yours as her lips curled into a smile. “Why don’t you show her your room?”

“Sure! Come on,” you said, holding out your hand for Seeun to take. She looked back at her parents who were nodding vigorously at her to follow you. You just played for half-an-hour, and Heeseung joined you quickly, saying he was bored with the adults downstairs. He didn’t talk much, instead found some of your toys to play with in his own corner.

When the Lees left, you were thinking two things: one, you couldn’t wait to tell Chaeyeong about Seeun, and two, that boy with the big glasses was really, really cute.

Now

“Seeun, why the hell didn’t you tell us that your brother is a mega-hottie now?!”

This is what your friend Chaeyeong whisper-screams in lieu of a greeting as she barges in Seeun’s room, plopping down on her bed like it was her own. It might as well have been, considering how long the three of you had known each other.

“If you ever refer to my brother as a mega-hottie again, I’m terminating this friendship,” Seeun replies, not bothering to look up from the bead bracelet she was currently making.

“Oh please, just because you’re his sister doesn’t mean you haven’t noticed how attractive he’s gotten,” Chaeyeong insists, but it just makes Seeun scrunch her nose in disgust.

“Chaeyeong, please stop making it so obvious you’re an only child,” Seeun sighs. You let out a giggle at your friends’ conversation as you search for another color that could go well with the pink beads you’d chosen for your own bracelet.

Stealthily, Chaeyeong leaves her spot on the bed and sneaks up to you. “Y/N!” she exclaims suddenly, wrapping her arms around your shoulders in a sneak-attack hug that makes you yelp. It makes you drop your half-finished bracelet, the beads falling all over the carpeted floor around you. You look up at Chaeyeong with a pout, but she just smiles at you and starts picking up the beads, gathering the tiny pink jewels in the palm of her hand.

“Y/N, you’re with me on this one, aren’t you?”

You ignore Seeun’s side-eye and give in to Chaeyeong’s encouraging expression. “I guess he does look very…” you pause to carefully consider your word choice. “Different,” you settle on.

“Different? That’s it? Y/N, you should really consider getting some glasses, seeing how you’re so blind to hot boys.” Cue a loud groan, Seeun’s courtesy. You just giggle again, slightly shaking your head at Chaeyeong’s antics. She rolled her eyes, disappointed that you didn’t back her up, but she drops the subject and switches to Seeun’s upcoming birthday party. Something great about being generally quiet? People don’t question it when you don’t partake much in a conversation. You listen and laugh as your friends bicker, but your mind is on something else.

Or rather, it’s on someone else.

Because Chaeyeong is absolutely right - Seeun’s brother has glowed up so much during his time away at university that you had a double-take when he opened the door for you earlier.

The sentence this is so unfair plays over and over in your head.

You’d heard of the freshman fifteen, of college first-years being so stressed over grades and having so little time that their diet consisted of instant ramen, quick cafeteria lunches, and an ungodly amount of coffee. And alcohol, on Friday nights, of course. After seeing how freshman year treated your older sister, you were dreading going to college, imagining it to be the complete opposite of what TV and movies had shown you.

So how the hell had Lee Heeseung gone from high school loser to campus hearthrob in the span of a mere nine months? (After some thinking, you realized that, well, if a woman can create a whole human being in nine months, maybe a regular guy can undergo great physical and mental change in that time, too.)

In September, when you’d last seen him, he wore the same glasses he had for all of high school - those slightly crooked ones that made his eyes look even bigger than they already were. He always had to push them back up his nose but he never bothered to get them fixed, even though all they needed was for the arms to be tightened. You remember his tic-like habit of readjusting his glasses, a habit so strong that he did it even when he wasn’t wearing them. Maybe they bothered him so much that he decided to get rid of them once and for all, you guess.

Indeed, when he greeted you at his front door earlier (even after years of knowing Seeun and her family and no matter how much they reassure you that it’s okay, you’re unable to come in without knocking first, like Chaeyeong does), he wasn’t wearing his thick lenses you’d grown fond of. His eyes didn’t look unfocused like they usually would without glasses, so you assumed he’d switched to contact lenses - you knew it wasn’t Lasik surgery, because Seeun was always complaining that her parents wouldn’t pay for her or her brother to receive it.

But it wasn’t just the glasses, of course not. There was an ease and confidence about him that he didn’t have before - no awkward giggles, no darting eyes, no weirdly positioned limbs. He held the door open for you and kept his eyes on you as you walked in, saying it was nice to see you again and asking if you were happy to be done with high school. You already weren’t expecting Heeseung to open the door in Seeun’s stead, so him actually looking at you while he spoke instead of mumbling a few words in your general direction and scratching the back of his neck rendered you completely flustered, cheeks heating up embarrassingly quickly.

His hair was different: it used to sit there atop Heeseung’s head, unsure what to do with itself, but now it was purposefully cut and slightly pushed back. When he turned his head, you saw something shiny dangling from his left ear.

Heeseung had a piercing. Shy, nervous, fidgety electronics club president Heeseung had a goddamn piercing, and it looked amazing.

And then he laughed. He actually had the audacity to laugh, and then ruffle your hair. You could’ve died right then and there. “You’re still just as cute as before,” he mused, beaming down at you. Then he walked away towards the living room, saying Seeun was in her room upstairs. As if nothing happened. As if you weren’t on the verge of combusting, your saving grace being your friend’s voice calling out your name. You ran up the stairs, wanting to get as far away from Heeseung and his smile and his voice and his touch as possible. You busied yourself with the pearls and the small bracelet-making station Seeun had organized, trying not to think about the vein that ran down his forearm or about how his shoulders looked wider than before. And you’d managed to do that, until Chaeyeong brought him up.

It wasn’t unfair because he’d grown mysteriously hot - it was unfair because to you, Heeseung had always been the cutest boy around, but now other people had surely noticed too, Chaeyeong amongst them. Now, you were just one of the many girls that had a crush on Heeseung, even if yours dated back to the first time you’d met him when the Lees moved into the neighborhood.

Their parents had been delighted that two girls of their daughter’s age - eight, to be precise - lived on their street. You were delighted that the cute boy you’d seen at school that day was her big brother, just one year older. Chaeyeong and you gladly welcomed Seeun into your friendship and you had each other’s back through the awkward phases of your early teenage years and the stressful times as high school seniors getting ready for college. You shared everything - clothes, jewelry, homework answers, gossip, tears, laughter. Secrets.

You liked to think there wasn’t a thing you didn’t know about them, but you couldn’t say the opposite was true - there was a secret you had to keep from them. A secret that grew bigger and bigger as time passed, but that you needed to keep locked in.

You had the biggest crush known to mankind on your best friend’s brother. It was either keep quiet or tell both of your friends; you trusted Chaeyeong, but you didn’t want her to carry that burden. You had no idea what Seeun’s reaction would be if you admitted you liked her brother, but you didn’t want to risk it. Every best friend’s brother (or brother’s best friend) romance you’d read had told you that the former was always against and deeply disgusted by the idea of their friend dating the latter. The last thing you wanted to do was make things weird, so you said nothing and suffered in silence, as one does. And so, for years, Heeseung was your little secret.

But not anymore, apparently. And it felt unfair. You didn’t have much of a chance to begin with, but now, getting with Heeseung was inimaginable. You’d just have to continue pining from far away, just as you’d gotten used to.

Four years ago

Your heart pounded as you made your way to the bus stop, steps heavy and head full of thoughts. Even though your older sister told you there’s nothing to worry about, you couldn’t help it. You were used to walking to school, not taking the bus. After three years of seeing the same people roaming the hallways, it was nerve-wracking to arrive at a place where most faces would be completely unfamiliar. You didn’t know what your teachers would be like, you were scared your classes would be a hundred times harder than before, you heard the cafeteria food was really bad. In short, you were absolutely dreading high school. And today was your first day.

The only thing that calmed you down was knowing that in a few minutes, you’d be with Seeun and Chaeyeong, and just seeing them would make you feel instantly better. You were meeting at the bus stop.

But when you reached it, neither of your friends were there. You shouldn’t have been surprised, since you’d come ten minutes early, but you couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. That is, until you recognized someone else.

“Heeseung?” you called out before you could stop yourself. The boy snapped his head in your direction, and his eyes widened at the sight of you. Simple things like that made your heart burst with adoration for him.

“Oh, h-hi, Y/N.” He smiled the shy smile you loved so much and looked back at his feet, holding on tightly to the straps of his backpack. You stood next to him, close enough to have a conversation if he wanted to but not so close that it’d be weird.

Heeseung was the only person you felt awkward around. Even though you were on the quieter side and strangers weren’t your favorite people per se, being around people you didn’t know well wasn’t your definition of torture like it seemed to be for Heeseung and other kids from your school. But Heeseung’s awkwardness was contagious, and your crush on him didn’t help your ease of mind - so you imitated his posture, swaying back and forth on your feet as you held onto your backpack straps just to have something to hold onto. You smiled at the ground, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by looking at him, but that meant you missed the growing blush on his cheeks.

“So,” he started, “nervous?” He glanced quickly, just once, at you. You were so surprised at his breaking the silence, used to a quiet Heeseung, that you forgot to answer, simply staring at him. His panicked expression and mumblings were what jolted you out of your daze. “I-I mean, you know, cause it’s your first day and everything, and I was really nervous last year- I am today, too, actually- so I thought maybe, you know, you’re nervous too, but maybe you’re not, I don’t-”

He said all of this so quickly, you started laughing, slightly bending over. He let out a chuckle too, but as you continued laughing, a pout started to form on his lips. “What’s so funny…” you heard him grumble as he kicked a non-existent pebble.

“Sorry,” you said, regaining your breath. “I’m sorry, Heeseung.” The sound of his name made him glance at you again. You wished you could kiss the pout off his lips. “I was nervous, actually. But I feel better now.”

A quick smile appeared on his lips, but he willed it away. “I’m glad my embarrassment made you feel better,” he sighed.

You gently kicked his shoe with yours to make him look at you. “No, it’s because you made me laugh. I needed it. Thanks,�� you corrected with a smile. Heeseung may have made you feel awkward, but the easiness with which he always got flustered made you love to tease him slightly.

His smile widened as he looked away once more, the blush having spread to his whole face by then. “Whatever,” he murmured. There was no time to say anything else because Seeun called out your name, practically skipping towards you.

She gave you an excited hug as a greeting before turning towards her brother with a glare, punching him hard on the bicep, making him wince in pain and reach his hand to cover his arm where she hit him. “Thanks for waiting for me, loser.”

“You were gonna make us late!” he whined, rubbing his arm.

“Yeah, ‘cause I obviously missed the bus,” she tutted.

You watched the siblings with an amused smile, used to the exact same kind of banter at home. Your sister, who was in her last year of high school, had decided not to drive you for some reason only an older sister could make up and pretend was reasonable. Your parents had tried to convince her, but you didn’t mind taking the bus with your friends, so they didn’t push it, just glad they could somehow keep the both of you happy.

Heeseung didn’t say anything in return. Your eyes met for a moment, and his frown relaxed into a smile when he caught your expression. It lasted a second but it was enough to make your stomach twist. Seeun, oblivious, grabbed your arm and started telling you about all the things she was excited about for today. You were worried Chaeyeong wasn’t going to make it, but her footsteps were loud as she ran, reaching you just as the bus stopped in front of you. Heeseung took what you soon found out was his usual spot at the front of the bus while your friends dragged you towards the back of it. You tried not to let your thoughts drift towards the boy with the messy black hair and crooked glasses, but his shy smile replayed in your mind all day. For a year, you’d gotten used to not going to the same school as him - you didn’t know how you’d survive seeing him at least five days a week once again.

Now

You were really determined to not let Heeseung’s newfound confidence sway you, physically shaking your head every time a thought of him popped in your head (useless) and racking your brain for reasons you shouldn’t like him (not many of those). There was just one teeny, tiny problem.

He was making it impossible to pine for him at a distance.

It seemed like everywhere you went, he was there. Maybe that was due to the fact that your most frequently visited place was literally his house, but still. It was frustrating. You didn’t need to be met with his stupid smile whenever he opened the door for you, you didn’t need to catch him cutely napping - how was that even possible?! - in the living room, a random sitcom still playing on the TV, you didn’t need to hear his laughter when his friends were over, and you definitely did not need to see him half-naked as he came out of the bathroom, hair wet from the shower and sticking to his forehead, towel wrapped low around his hips and his abs fully on display. Because of course, you had to be in the hallway, heading to the kitchen to get a glass of water, at the exact same time as him.

You almost start to resent the fact that Seeun had the comfiest bedroom out of the three of you, as well as the most snack-filled house, which was why you had decided years ago to hang out there the most. Especially during school breaks, you were there almost every day, so you were bound to see Heeseung a lot. But for some reason, that didn’t seem to be enough, and over the course of June, you also ran into him while shoe-shopping with your mom, then another time as you entered the public library just when he left it, and another when your friends and his had decided to get ice cream at the same time. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The worst part? Every time he saw you, while you simultaneously wanted to run away from him and into his arms, his damnedly handsome face broke into a stupidly beautiful smile that looked far too genuine for your heart. “Y/N! Funny seeing you here!”

No, Heeseung, not funny.

You didn’t want to be that girl whose brain cells stopped working whenever she encountered an attractive male specimen, but that was apparently who you were meant to be, because all words left you when you saw Heeseung. Although you’d been somewhat flustered around him in the past, he was always much more so than you, which reassured you and gave you enough confidence to actually talk to him. But now that he had realized how handsome he was and was clearly using that newfound knowledge against you (or so you thought), you were unable to string a coherent sentence when his shiny eyes bore into yours.

You think he might’ve sensed your awkwardness, because he never lingered, never made useless small talk, just asked about your favorite ice cream flavor or the book he’d checked out, patted your head, then was on his way.

There were so many butterflies in your stomach, you were scared it might fly away.

One afternoon in the middle of July, you and your friends come back from the city pool completely exhausted after playing around for hours in the water. All bundled up and close together, you try to nap on Seeun’s bed. Keyword try, because even though your friends’ soft snores quickly start to fill the silence of the room, you can’t seem to fall asleep, no matter how heavy your eyes feel.

Quietly, you get out of bed and head downstairs to the kitchen, hoping a cold glass of water will help sleep come to you like it usually does. You shouldn’t be surprised to see Heeseung in the dining room/kitchen area, busy with a puzzle, the pieces of which he’s spread out all over the table, but your heart still does a flip. He must be really engrossed in it, because he doesn’t notice your presence in the room until you fill a glass with ice, the sudden sound making his head snap up at you. You hate that his face breaks into a grin as soon as he sees you.

“Oh, hey, Y/N! What are you doing?”

“Just getting some water,” you explain, raising your glass with a small smile. Your whole body tells you to run away, back to Seeun’s bedroom, but something in your gut tells you to stay, to get closer to Heeseung. So you do. “What about you?” you ask, slowly making your way towards the table and peering at the puzzle in progress.

“Just whipping up some brownies,” he retorts with a devilish smirk, big eyes looking up at you.

You fight back a smile in vain. “Shut up,” you mumble, but take a seat next to him anyway. He seems slightly taken aback by the sudden proximity, and you are too, but you keep your gaze focused on the puzzle in front of you so that you can’t think too much about how close you’re sitting, and how your knees could touch if you angled them just so.

For a small while you sit in silence, watching as he puts pieces together and even finding a couple of your own. It’s a one-thousand piece jigsaw that he’s clearly only just started, but Heeseung doesn’t seem fazed by that. You like seeing how his eyebrows slightly furrow when he’s searching for a particular piece, and the pleased smirk that graces his lips when he finds it. You break the silence after a few minutes.

“So you still like puzzles, then?” you ask, voice low. You’ve always been told you speak quietly - even too quietly sometimes, but you can’t always help it. Especially in situations like this, when it’s silent around you anyways, you don’t see the point of raising your voice. When Heeseung replies, he speaks at the same volume as you, and there’s something comforting about it, about speaking quietly in such a spacious and sunlit room - the words you share are for you two, and you two only.

“Yep, ever since that day.” He glances quickly at you and smiles at the piece in his hand, and it’s like getting a glimpse of the Heeseung you had known all those years. Your heart warms at the sight.

“That day?”

This makes him look properly at you, his eyes darting back and forth between yours as if searching for something there. Your heart is now on fire. “Don’t you remember?”

You tilt your head in response and he turns his attention back to the puzzle. “It was at this table, too. I think your grandparents- your grandma, I think? Anyway, someone had gotten you a puzzle for your birthday.”

You ‘ah’ in realization. “Of course!”

Two years ago

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this, it’s so complicated,” Seeun pouted apologetically, looking at you sadly. “We’ve been here like an hour and we’ve barely gotten anywhere.”

Chaeyeong, head on the table, groaned in agreement. You followed your friend’s gaze to the puzzle in front of you - she was right, you hadn’t made much progress. But you liked it. The picture was pretty and you’d like to see it completed, but more than that, you liked finding the right piece, figuring out strategies.

You hummed, mirroring Seeun’s pout. Chaeyeong snapped her head back up to look at you. You’d think she hadn’t slept in days, but that was just bored Chaeyeong. You loved your friend and her over-dramatic antics. “Can we just take a break?” she asked, tone like you’d kidnapped and forced her to do this.

“You guys go ahead.” You smiled. “I like it, I can just continue this for a while and you guys do whatever you want.” The three of you spent so much time together that you didn’t need to be doing an activity together to be happy - being in each other’s general vicinity was enough to be considered a hang-out.

“You sure?” Seeun asked.

“Yeah, ‘course.” You chuckled at the obvious relief on your friend’s faces. “Just don’t watch the next Extraordinary You episode without me, okay?”

They both gasped and clutched their hearts like you’d accused them of murder. “How could you even think that, Y/N?!” Chaeyeong exclaimed.

“We would never!” Seeun added.

You shook your head at your friends’ antics, laughing as you waved them off. “Just go, already.”

“Yes, ma’am!” And with that, they were off, running up the stairs to Seeun’s bedroom.

You were only on your own for around ten minutes - the front door opened and closed, and the quiet shuffle of shoes being taken off and replaced with slippers let you know Heeseung had just come home. Seeun always made a show of being exhausted after school, groaning as she threw her backpack to the ground, while Mr and Mrs Lee always announced their arrival with a sometimes cheery, sometimes tired ‘I’m home!’. But Heeseung, quiet as always, simply set his backpack next to the stairs, slipped into his slippers and made his way to the kitchen, fond of a quick snack after school. Even Chaeyeong made herself more known when she entered the Lee household.

Every day except for Fridays, he came home two hours later than his sister because of either magic or electronics club (yes, magic club. It was cute, okay?!). You always looked forward to the monthly meeting of the book club you were in, partly because it meant you could take the bus back with Heeseung afterwards. Even if the ride was usually mainly silent, just sitting next to him was enough for your heart to do all sorts of tricks worthy of an Olympic gymnast.

“Oh, hey, Y/N,” he greeted softly, probably surprised at seeing you alone at the dinner table.

“Hi, Heeseung. How was the electronics club?” You wanted to make conversation, but you winced immediately at your words - was it normal for you to know what club he had on what days?

But Heeseung seemed to pay it no mind, just smiling shyly, a blush already creeping on his cheeks. “It was nice, thanks.” He opened the fridge, taking out a carton of milk. “Do you want a glass?” When you didn’t respond immediately, he was quick to add, “Of milk? O-or orange juice? Or I can make some tea, if you want-”

His hands were already busy with preparing whatever drink he thought you might want. You held back a chuckle and smiled as you answered, “Milk is fine, thanks.”

His blush spread all the way down his neck and you turned your attention back to the puzzle so he wouldn’t see your grin. “Right, milk. Milk,” he stammered, then got two glasses out of the cupboard.

You loved moments like these with Heeseung - flustered, light-hearted, slightly awkward, moments that made you want to giggle out of nerves and delight. Basically every moment with him was like this, so it’d be more accurate to say you loved every moment with him.

“I didn’t know you liked puzzles,” he said, an upward tilt to his voice, as he set your glass next to you and took a seat across from you. He peered down at the pieces spread out in front of you, fixed his glasses on his nose, and took a big gulp of milk.

“I didn’t either,” you said with a chuckle, and stammered out an explanation when he looked up at you questioningly. “My, um, my grandma gave this to me for my birthday last month. She’s got a lot of grandkids, you know, and I think she might’ve mixed up my other cousin who likes puzzles and me…” Heeseung nods slowly, the corners of his lips tugging up in amusement. “But I don’t mind it,” you add, “I’m having fun, actually. Seeun and Chaeyeong are of a different mind, though. It’s a bit hard doing it on my own but I like it anyway.”

“I can help you,” he suddenly blurted out, and he looked just as surprised at his words as you were. “If you want.”

You smiled at him, and Heeseung and you actually looked at each other, actually held eye contact for three seconds, until you felt your face burn and had to look away. “Sure, yeah, that’d be nice.”

Although it took some time to finish the puzzle - putting 500 pieces together was a lot trickier than you thought it’d be - Heeseung and you managed to do it, high fiving celebratorily after almost two hours of hard work.

Now

“I just had a lot of fun that day.” Heeseung shrugs. “Plus, I already liked things like Legos and Rubik’s cubes, so it made sense I’d like puzzles, too.”

You nod in response, watching as he twirls a puzzle piece between his thumb and middle finger. “It’s funny that my grandma’s mistake is what made you discover your love for puzzles.”

Heeseung chuckles along with you, and you’re relieved the atmosphere is somewhat lighter than before until he looks straight into your eyes, locking your gaze in his own, and a breath gets trapped in your throat. “I’m glad she did that, otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now.”

You’re still staring at him, dumbfounded, mouth agape, when he looks away with a smirk and turns his attention back to the puzzle, analyzing it seriously as if nothing happened. You come back to your senses after a few seconds, clearing your throat before imitating Heeseung and trying to focus on the puzzle once again. But that’s hard to do when your hands brush ever-so-slightly every time you fumble around the pile for a particular piece, or every time he hits your knee with his, inadvertently or to tease you, you’re not sure.

The first thing to do when starting a puzzle is looking for all the side pieces to build the frame. When Heeseung spots one in the pile next to you, he leans in to grab it, and he’s suddenly close enough for you to get a whiff of his cologne that had faded over the day. You think he’ll just take the piece and sit back in his seat, but instead, he turns his head towards you, and that’s when you realize just how close you are. Close enough that it wouldn’t be hard to close the gap and have your lips on his - just as the thought hits you, his eyes drift down to your parted lips. Is he thinking the same thing?

You take a sharp breath in, eyes fixed on Heeseung, mind racing with thoughts and assumptions of what might be going through his head right now. But your brain goes haywire when a smirk blooms on his lips, clearly enjoying your reaction. His gaze finds your eyes once more and he raises the piece between the two of you, in the small space that separates you. “Got it,” he says quietly, voice lower than usual. It makes your insides melt. He could be very well talking about you - he’s got you absolutely wrapped around his finger, and he seems to know it.

He turns back to the puzzle, smirk still on his lips, and you’re so embarrassed and confused that your flight instinct kicks in. The screech of your chair as you push it back and stand up makes Heeseung look up at you again, his smirk having dissolved in surprise and - disappointment?

No time to ponder, you need to get. out. of. here.

“Right, well, that was fun, haha,” you breathe out, actually saying the word ‘haha’ and wanting to run away even more thereafter. “I should probably head back to the girls, now.” You’re already backing up and walking away when Heeseung calls out your name, but you just turn around and rush back upstairs, yelling out a small “bye, Heeseung!” on your way.

You’re already back in Seeun’s bedroom when Heeseung shakes his head at your sudden disappearance, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Cute,” he says under his breath.

To minimize any chances of running into Heeseung, over the next two weeks, you ask Chaeyeong and Seeun if you could hang out at your house more often, using the excuse that you want to spend as much time as possible there before leaving off to college. They don’t question it too much - next year, they’ll be able to come back fairly regularly to their parent’s houses, since the college they’re going to is less than an hour-long car ride away, but you’ll be further away, too far to come back home often.

It just so happens to be the university Heeseung is studying at, but you don’t need to worry about that right now. They had one of the best English Lit programs in your area and you’d been wanting to go there for all of your high school years - you used to think of Heeseung’s going there as a pro, but right now, it felt more like a con.

You manage to only run into him twice over the course of those two weeks, and both times, just in passing. But now it’s the night of Seeun’s birthday party and it’s impossible to pretend he isn’t there even when you’re in a crowded room together. Heeseung and Seeun’s parents have lended their house for their kids to have a party there, using it as an opportunity to have a date night, and Heeseung and his friends have graciously provided a big portion of the alcohol, saying it was their birthday gift.

You aren’t the biggest fan of alcohol, so you opt for the fruitier, lighter drinks, but still, two hours after the party starts, you can already feel your head start to spin, your voice is louder, everything makes you laugh. When a friend from school tells you they’re playing seven minutes in heaven in the hallway upstairs, you think that's the funniest thing you’ve ever heard and immediately agree to join.

The sight of Heeseung sitting in the circle, already looking at you with a lopsided smile, almost sobers you up completely.

You’d tried to avoid him as best as you could, but it was like you couldn’t escape him - maybe that was due to the fact that the heart of the party was kept to the kitchen and the living room, just a few people sitting on the stairs at the entrance to get away from the noise, but still, it annoyed you to no end that you had to keep seeing him everywhere. Maybe that was also what made the alcohol easier to down.

At some point, you were in the kitchen, doing a shot of God-knows-what with girls from school. You heard his voice before you saw him, and it made you roll your eyes but also your heart skip a beat. “Didn’t know you were such a drinker, Y/N.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, and when his face came into view, you wanted to slap it away. Or kiss it away, maybe.

“I’m not, I’m just trying to have fun,” you retorted, eyebrows slightly furrowed as you poured yourself another shot. I Gotta Feeling by Black Eyed Peas started playing in the next room and the girls shrieked before rushing to the made-up dancefloor. You wanted to join them, but something kept your feet firmly planted at the kitchen counter.

Before you could bring the shot glass to your lips, however, Heeseung stole it from you and downed it himself. “Hey!” you protested, but it was done, and he was scrunching his nose at the bitter taste, shaking his head. You wished he could stop being attractive for one damn second.

“You don’t need that to have fun.”

He placed his forearms on the kitchen counter and leaned on them, forcing him to look up at you. You had no idea what the hell he meant by that, nor did you want to try and figure it out - all you knew was that you couldn’t stay there with him when he looked at you so intently, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, hair perfectly disheveled and biceps apparent even under his t-shirt sleeves.

“You’re right, I don’t,” you made yourself say, and spun on your heels to join your friends on the dancefloor.

And a few drinks later, here you are, sitting in a circle on the hallway floor, Heeseung right in front of you, leaning back on his palms and looking down at you with that same stupid smirk once again.

The game goes as such: one person spins the bottle twice, and the people it lands on have to go to a bedroom closet for seven minutes (timed carefully by Jake, Heeseung’s friend who is taking this game very seriously) to do whatever they want, while the others occupy themselves with other games. When the seven minutes are up, the doors burst open, and you have to leave the closet.

And because it wouldn’t be any fun otherwise, after a few rounds, the bottle points straight at you, then straight at Heeseung, and before you know it, everyone except for Seeun is cheering, and Heeseung is holding out his hand for you to take, and you do, and he raises you up, and together, you head to his closet, as per the rules of this stupid middle-school game you should never have agreed to play in the first place. You can barely Seeun’s voice as she shouts, “Y/N, I trust you!”, which just makes Chaeyeong burst into laughter and whoop louder for you. You’d also barely registered Heeseung’s friends clapping each other’s backs, smiling like they were in on something.

The sound of the closet door shutting is what snaps you out of your daze. You hadn’t even realized Heeseung had kept your hand in his until he released it, leaning his back against one wall of the closet, facing you. All three bedrooms in the Lees’ house had built-in walk-in closets which meant you weren’t sandwiched between Heeseung and his clothes, but still, you wished you could put more distance between your two bodies - one step closer, and you were done for.

It wasn’t just Heeseung’s presence in the narrow space - it was his scent filling your nostrils, the combined smell of the cologne he was wearing, of the fabric softener on his clothes, and an unfamiliar scent you somehow recognized as unique to Heeseung, his skin, his hair, smells you’d wanted to discover for years but never got close enough to. Well, now you did. And it was intoxicating - you wanted more, wanted to bury your face in the crook of his neck and inhale. You wanted to know what his reaction would be, if he’d let you, if he’d push you away.

All those thoughts were running wild in your head. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. Your stomach was in messy knots, your hands were sweaty and you had no idea where to place them, your eyes wouldn’t stop darting around the dark room. Everywhere but Heeseung. You could feel his eyes on you, but you were too nervous to meet them.

Your breathing must’ve gotten loud enough for him to hear, because all of a sudden, you feel his hand take yours, and he’s stood up from his position against the wall, his body too close to yours for your heart to handle. His thumb rubs what he must think are comforting semi-circles on the back of your hand, but the touch just destroys any capability of thinking straight you had left.

“Y/N,” he calls out, and the sound of his voice makes your eyes close shut. You cannot give in. You had seen Seeun’s disgusted expression when you and Heeseung were picked for the game - if just the idea of you and her brother kissing repulses her, what would she say if she knew it actually happened, or if you started dating? You may have the biggest crush ever on Heeseung, but no one was worth losing your friendship with Seeun.

“Calm down,” he says, and you wish you could be as steady as his voice. “There’s no reason to be nervous.”

This makes you scoff. “You touching me is not helping my nervousness.” The words are out before you can stop them, and in the darkness of the room, you have to concentrate to make out the tilt of Heeseung’s head. You don’t need to see it to know he’s smiling, the satisfied smirk that has been gracing his features for the past month and a half.

“Yeah? Why is that?”

You take your hand out of Heeseung’s and cross your arms over your chest. “You know why,” you say, not intending your voice to come out as weak as it does.

Heeseung takes another step closer to you, and the only ray of light that comes through the panels of the closet door hits his face, making it visible for you to see. “I do, but I want you to tell me.” Another step, making you back up until you hit the wall behind you.

You call out his name shakily. His lips are right in front of you at this point, and you can’t not look at them.

He places a hand delicately on your waist, as if not wanting to scare you off. “Yeah?” He’s so close now that you can feel his breath fanning on your lips.

“We shouldn’t do this,” you say, and finally, your voice is strong like you want it to - but Heeseung isn’t deterred by it.

“Do what?” he asks, pretending to be stupid. “We haven’t done anything. Not yet.” He adds the last part in a whisper, his eyes drifting down to your lips, and you can feel your resolve crumbling piece by piece, the opposite of completing a puzzle.

“You know what I’m talking about,” you whisper back, voice almost pleading with him. Stop this before it’s too late, you want to tell him, but for some reason, at this point, you’re more scared of nothing happening than something happening.

“I do, but I want you to tell me,” he repeats, and you can’t help but let out a chuckle. Laughing helps relieve the tension, but it’s back as quickly as it left when his hold on your waist gets tighter, bringing you closer to him. Your hands that had fallen to your side come up to grab the sides of his t-shirt, gathering the fabric in your fists. There’s no going back now, you can tell - you wait for Heeseung to make a move, both dreading it and craving the relief that will come with it.

Heeseung’s free hand comes up to your face, and he traces your jawline with a knuckle before taking your chin in two of his fingers, gently raising it so that your face is angled up towards him. His touch makes your skin burn and takes away your ability to breathe properly.

“We shouldn’t do this,” you repeat, voice barely audible, a weak and half-hearted attempt at stopping this now that you still can.

“No, we shouldn’t,” he agrees, and before you can say or do anything else, Heeseung presses his lips to yours, finally, finally.

His lips are just as soft as you’d expected them to be, and the kiss is light, slow, careful. You’re grateful for it, because you’re not a very experienced kisser - if Heeseung had plunged his tongue directly into your mouth, you wouldn’t have known what to do. It’s almost like he knows this, like he’s giving you time to figure it out, to get used to it. His hand snakes its way to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him, while the other cups your cheek with his palm. You, on the other hand, have completely forgotten about your hands, only able to focus on where your lips meet.

It’s easy to fall into Heeseung’s rhythm, to let him take control of the kiss. But maybe it’s too easy, because soon enough, you start to want more - as amazing as this is right now, a slow kiss like this is not enough to have dissolved the tension in your body. You remember your hands and inch them up to his hair, your fingers finding purchase there and slightly pulling as you open your mouth just a bit wider, hoping Heeseung will get the message.

For a second, you think you’ve got it all wrong - Heeseung pulls back an inch, peering down at you. You’re both breathing heavily, and you’re scared you might have gone too far. But then, he murmurs a small fuck under his breath, and just like that, his lips are back on yours, your back is pressed against the wall again, his body encaging your smaller one. The kiss now is nothing like it was seconds ago - it’s turned hungry, hot, messy. You love it.

You had no idea you would want to kiss Heeseung like this, but now that you were doing it, you couldn’t get enough. The intensity with which he held you, the feel of his tongue against yours, the small groans that escaped his lips every time you pulled on his hair, it was all making you more drunk than the alcohol had.

You swear you haven’t even been kissing for two minutes, but then, all of a sudden, the doors are snapped open, and light pours in the closet, and Heeseung’s lips aren’t on yours anymore. You hadn’t heard the timer go off, too engrossed in Heeseung to pay anything else any mind. When you turn your head, Chaeyeong and Jake are staring at you and Heeseung, mouths wide open and eyes darting back and forth between the two of you.

“Oh. My. God,” Chaeyeong says, while Jake starts laughing. A shy smile appears on Heeseung’s lips, even plumper and pinker than usual from your kiss. His hair is a mess, and you’re sure you don’t look too different. He scratches the back of his neck, and you can’t believe this sheepish boy is the same that was kissing you roughly not a minute ago.

“Chaeyeong,” you cry out, voice already pleading as you take a step out of the closet and take both of her hands in yours. “Seeun can’t know about this.” She raises her eyebrows in surprise but nods her head in agreement, and you’ve never been so thankful for your friend as now.

“Would she really mind?” Jake asks, looking at you, then at his friend. You turn to look at Heeseung behind you, who purses his lips.

“I’m not sure, but I have a feeling she would… She’s always told me she didn't want me hanging out with her friends,” Heeseung says, and you and Chaeyeong exchange a look; this was news to both of you.

You have no further time to discuss it, however, because Seeun’s voice calling out your name and Heeseung’s make all four of you widen your eyes. Chaeyeong fixes your clothes and hair as best as she can, then smiles at you reassuringly and nods, prompting you to imitate her. She ushers Heeseung into his bathroom and tells him to “freshen up or whatever,” and you, Jake and Chaeyeong leave the room just as Seeun reaches the door.

“Where’s Heeseung?” she asks, not a trace of suspicion in her voice, peering behind you into her brother’s dark room.

“Just needed the toilet,” Jake answers quickly, and that seems to convince her.

She turns to you, an amused expression on her face. “Hope that wasn’t too awkward.”

You’re so surprised at your friend’s quickness to assume that nothing could happen between you and her brother, as if the idea was truly unfathomable to her, but you figure it’s for the best. You all head back into the party, Heeseung appearing some five minutes later. He scans the room for you, and when you make eye contact from across the crowded living room, he smiles, his shy, genuine smile that you’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

You already miss him, you realize, his lips, his touch, his scent. That’s how you know that you’re in deep, deep shit.

permanent taglist: @k-ingzo @bbujiikseu @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl (ask to be removed/added!)

#enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #enhypen fluff #heeseung fluff #enhypen scenarios #heeseung scenarios #enhypen fanfiction #heeseung fanfiction #enhypen imagines #heeseung imagines

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ncteez · 2 years

Text

Premium Boy-Toy (l.j)

the one where your best friend gifts you an entire man, and that man just so happens to be in high demand for everyone but you, until now at least.

ao3 | m.list | minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it.

requested by anon: “I don’t like getting off on my own.” + “No one’s ever touched fucked me like this,”

wordcount― 10.3k

pairing― stripper!Jeno x afab reader

content― switch jeno, rich/lonely reader, jeno gets kinda in a weird headspace after he cums lmao

note― congrats, you are witnessing the fact that i cannot defend that this is basically smut from start to finish. theres a lil bit of sugar baby jeno at the end tho so...um, also there's probably so many typos and way too many commas in this but to be fair i was in horny jail and just fucking going.

smut tags under cut:

smut tags: masturbation, jeno goes from having the power to releasing it to you completely, its very chaotic, stripping kind of, hand job, finger fucking, choking, sensitivity, edging but it’s his own fault, jeno talks a lot until he can’t anymore, titty sucking :D, protected sex

It was a gift, or rather, he was the gift. A down payment of $600 told you enough about the man who offers his services to lonely, sad, rich women who had no one to spend their money on. Your best friend had been taunting you with the idea for months. Since she heard of the infamous Jeno actually, even more so after she experienced him herself. She has mentioned how clean he is, how toned he is, how well he moves his body, how he teases just enough, and how he looks better in heels than she does herself.

You still can’t fully take that last part seriously. A male stripper in heels? Must cost extra for those who like that sort of thing, which is very clearly your best friend. Noted. Regardless, she had mentioned whispers from the elite women she associates with that sometimes he even gives an extra treat with his services, free of charge. What that treat is, neither of you know, but the implications are damning.

Even with all of the information being dangled in front of your face, presented as if the image should be more delicious than the century-old wine you have every night at dinner, you’re not interested. For the entire duration of her praising this all-amazing stripper, it hasn’t interested you. There’s shit to do and life to worry about, constantly actually. So, naturally, when she appears at your doorstep with an envelope in hand and yet another expensive bottle of champagne, you were wondering if you forgot your birthday because it wouldn’t be the first time.

She hadn’t pushed past you to come inside, she didn’t say a word actually, which was suspicious but kind of appreciated. Upon opening the small gift, it appears that she, herself, had dropped that $600 down payment in an attempt to force you out of being the stick in the mud that you are. The note states the date and time, which, curse her for knowing your schedule so well, and the demand that it’s your job to tip him and pretend to have some inkling of an interest.

So now, here you are. Waiting for that knock on your door and wondering why you even tried to look nice for a man coming to swing his meat in your face. Fucking unbelievable, you think, that there is a stripper out there that only does private parties, and your own best friend thinks you need it? You could have any dick you want, why the fuck should you have to pay just to look?

Surely, this man is expecting more than just you, alone on your couch with a sound system beyond his wildest dreams, one that you’ve only ever utilized when you need to watch a youtube tutorial on how to clean your windows the way the cleaner does. Surely, he’s expecting more than a woman who isn’t interested at all in this.

To your dismay, Jeno appears to have already been told that you’re a nightmare to fluster or gain interest from. The first words he says to you when you open the door for him is, “She said you’d give me that look.” Still, even so, Jeno saunters in like he owns the place, and you can immediately tell he’s done this probably hundreds of times before. He appears comfortable in a place he’s never been, in a home probably much nicer than his own, finding his way to where his stage should be for the night.

“Big place. Looked smaller on the outside.” He says to your silence, looking around and placing his bag beside your couch.

“The smaller the better, sometimes it feels too big in here for just me.” You admit, watching him curiously as he pulls wires from his bag.

“Must get lonely.” Jeno shrugs, eyeing how stiff you are as he unravels his chords. “And, I assume, this is why I am being paid to be here.”

“This wasn’t my idea. Just so you’re aware.” You cross your arms, unimpressed by the man already.

“I was told that I need to show you a good time, I already knew you were new to this kind of thing.” He smiles, continuing to set up. “Besides, first-timers are my favorite to entertain.”

Curiosity spikes again, only for a moment though. You really did think that the initial meeting would be different, less casual, even. Wasn’t he supposed to pretend to be a cop or something? Showing up and pressing play on a magical-appearing stereo that bumps the worst of music before gyrating at you? Instead, he’s here setting up and surprisingly, fully clothed in a tacky and ratty sweater with jeans that hug against his thighs. He doesn't appear at all to be a man that gets paid to take his clothes off for lonely hearts. You kind of want to ask him questions, but also you don’t think you should be learning more about him considering that’s not why he’s in your living room right now.

“Do you have mood lighting or are we doing this in morgue lighting?” He casually asks after plugging his laptop into your sound system and placing it on one of the various shelves. It almost makes you laugh.

You make your way to the wall, clicking the buttons on the panel to show him the various lighting options this room offers that you very rarely use.

“Perfect, that one.” He says from across the room, focusing his eyes from his laptop screen to you and your extravagant light switch. “A little lower.” He guides, knowing which lighting accentuates his toned body the best. You turn the nob a bit for him, wondering just how good he must be at dancing for women with houses like this.

“A little more.” He smiles.

You dim the lighting just a smidge more, looking at him and the way he genuinely seems to be at ease.

“Right there.” He says in a gentler tone before focusing his eyes back on his laptop.

You watch him tap his fingers across the keyboard, gliding around the little touchpad, and then, as if he’s the one who owns this house, he takes a step back and walks to your couch.

“Come sit, I’ll go get myself ready.” He smiles over at you as he pats the cushions. “Which way is the bathroom?”

Without a care in the world, you point towards the bathroom and decide he doesn’t need help getting there. Most people would be petrified of a strange man in their home, wandering the halls with the ability to come upon any room with unprotected goods. If he’s a thief of any kind, you can replace pretty much everything you own anyway. You don’t care.

Once he rounds the corner and you can hear the bathroom door close, you make your way to the couch and attempt to make yourself comfortable. Despite the countless naps you’ve had here on this plush and soft surface, you can’t bring yourself to find comfort sitting here right now. You’re curious about Jeno, yes, of course, you are. You’re curious about how much money he makes doing this, if he likes doing it, how he got started, what he does to advertise, and many other countless things, but you’re not entirely curious about how he does it. Sure, he’s attractive. Hot as hell, actually, but that doesn’t mean you should have to pay for attention from a man.

It almost feels like an insult from your best friend. Does she genuinely think you couldn’t go out right now and bag a man? Is this fun for her? A hobby, maybe?

“You overthink too much,” she always says to you, and yeah, perhaps she’s right. Maybe, since it’s going to happen anyway, you should at least try to enjoy it.

Jeno stays in the bathroom for a good thirty or so minutes, and each of those minutes was like a nightmare in your head. You were back and forth between not wanting to be in this situation, to fighting yourself for being such a fucking bore. A very attractive man is preparing himself for you to look at. He’s going to come out here and do his best to turn you on, the least you can do is let yourself enjoy it. The very least you can do is tip him well and rub one out later after he’s gone and you’re on the verge of jumping out a window because you never make time to fuck.

Fucking thankfully, the moment he comes out of the bathroom your brain adjusts itself into the right mind-state. You actually can’t look away from him even if you tried when he reveals himself. He isn’t dressed in anything that looks cheap, tacky, or even overly sexual. If anything, he looks expensive. Jeno genuinely looks like this is a place where he belongs.

You can physically feel yourself react to him in his blazer and dress pants. Business is what got you to where you are today, but never have you found it sexy in any way, until now, at least. The suit looks much like what your team would wear in your company, shyly coming into your office and stuttering through their questions and need for approvals. Jeno isn’t stuttering in his suit though. He’s standing confidently at his laptop as if he hadn’t even noticed you staring yet.

God, the way his abs were glistening in the dim lighting before he had turned away from you. The way the belt held his pants on his hips, begging to be unbuckled, the way the blazer widened his shoulders much better than his sweater from before. The smell that wafted off him was even prettier when paired with the image of him. He smelled like a sweet type of musk, something you’d be interested in drinking alongside your dinner on special occasions maybe. Assuming that scent is the reason his abs were fucking shining. Fucking body oil. He uses body oil.

When he turns to face you again, this time with the bass of whatever song he had chosen to play accentuating each of his steps towards you, your cheeks start to heat up. He hasn’t rolled his body once and you’re already feeling like you could eat him alive, with the smirk on his face leading your eyes down to his neck, chest, abs, and that fucking belt.

“Good?” He asks, leaning over you and placing his arms on either side of you, gripping the back of the couch.

Jeno can already tell that you’re going to be fun to play with. Such a harsh exterior from the beginning. To be fair, he was warned and prepared by your friend, which happens to be his newest client who tipped him more than anyone before.

You nod to him, still eyeing his body in a shameful show of how much you did need this. What’s so bad about paying to look when he’s presenting himself like this?

“Rule number one,” He smiles, swaying in front of you and keeping his grip on the couch, mostly so that way you feel trapped and, hopefully, mesmerized by him. “I only accept bills of twenty, fifty, and one hundred. If you give me a fucking dollar, I’m leaving.”

That’s not a problem because, despite your internal protests, you had only pulled out the bigger bills anyway. You nod to him, watching the way his hips start to swirl, too afraid to look up at his face because you know he’s looking down at you, intensely, probably.

“Rule number two.” He leans down, lowering his voice and blowing against your ear in a short breath. “Don’t touch me without asking.”

You almost wanted to reach out immediately to touch him. You wanted to feel how slick that body oil was on him. You wanted the scent on your fingers for later. Mostly, you wanted to feel how warm he must be.

This time he doesn’t wait for you to nod, because he can already see that familiar look on your face that he gets from most of his clients. This is why he’s so in demand.

“Rule number three.” He continues, pulling back and this time positioning his face in front of yours because this one is the most important. This one he needs you to look at his face rather than his body. “I won’t touch you unless ask me to.”

What you’re not realizing at this moment is that rule number three isn’t one he often states. Sometimes, very rarely, Jeno is in a mood when he goes out on a job. He always has condoms with him just in case, but never intends to use them until meeting said client. She’s paying to look at him, not to touch him. If she piques his interest, he offers a third rule. If a client never hears of the third rule, they know that even if they ask to touch him, he wouldn’t allow it.

Besides, the only reason he took so long in your bathroom is that his hand, for some reason, felt so good against his cock for the split second he had of tucking it into the most attractive position. He knew instantly that tonight was one of those nights, and hopefully, you take the bait.

When you swallow and look him dead in the eye, he thinks you know what it means. He feels lucky that his cock is acting up. Lucky that your friend brought him to your attention, lucky that you’re looking so pretty and already so flustered by just looking at him.

“Deal?” He finally says, tilting his head a bit and waiting for you to nod.

You nod slowly, glancing down at his body again. He can tell you want him to start moving now, really moving.

“Is the song okay?” He asks, pulling back and bracing himself still against the back of your couch. “It was picked specifically for you.”

You’re not entirely sure what he means by that, but you assume your friend must have told him what she thinks you like.

“It’s good,” You say, glancing away from his eye contact and suddenly feeling like a love-sick puppy in the way you feel so incredibly fucking shy right now by this man.

He notes that you didn’t ask what he meant by the song being picked for you, but he doesn’t push it. He’s better at talking with his body anyway.

Jeno begins to focus now, opting to start slowly and work his way up, specifically to work you up. He backs himself away from the couch, centering himself in your living room as he closes his eyes and stretches his arms up to loosen his body a bit more. Most of his clients love to see the way his muscles move as he stretches, so he hopes you’re of the same mind.

This entire playlist is one he picks for clients like you. The ones he intends to let see all of him if they ask. The music is slow, the bass is strong, and each beat runs through his body in a way that makes him feel like he can move like he’s fucking you from across the room without so much as a touch.

He’s at his best when this sort of thing happens inside of him, the eye contact is more intense, his hips are more pointed at a reason other than payment, and he feels his most attractive like this too.

You’re sitting painfully stiff across from him on that couch, and he can’t help but keep a smirk plastered on his face for how lucky his other clients would think you are experiencing him like this for your first time of all things. He’s never attempted this with a new client, but god, look at you.

His hips move on their own for the most part, he doesn’t have to think much when he’s getting into it. Jeno easily dances along to the music for you, not yet removing any amount of clothing. It’s the build-up for him, and he thinks it may be that for you too. Though, of course, if he leaves your house tonight with tips in his pockets and a hard, untouched cock, that’s fine too.

You watch him, seeing the way the dim lighting of the room accentuates each little dip and rise against his chest and abdomen. He’s well-defined, with an immaculate body for this line of work. You find yourself understanding why he’s so favored in the group of lonely women.

As the song begins to fade, Jeno appears to readjust himself. He watches you during the brief silence, a sort of fondness in his eyes making you wonder if he’s looking at you or if he does this for everyone. It felt intimate, and not at all like the silence needed to be filled with anything other than eye contact.

For him though, a woman has never met his eye between songs. Usually, their eyes are glued to his chest, cock, hands, and neck– never his eyes. When the next song begins, he closes a bit of distance and skews his body so that you’re now watching him in profile.

In some way, you have him feeling a bit flustered in the way you keep meeting his eye despite his body making a show for you. He’s never had to act with his face more than he has at this moment when he’s dropping to his knees during a bass drop, thrusting his hips forward in an attempt to make you imagine yourself bent over on the floor in front of him, you’re still searching his face.

Only glancing down for a moment, he finds himself flicking his own eyes down, trying to guide yours somewhere else. He knows his job is to be looked at, to be seen, but this is far too seen for his liking, but when you gasp as his motions, skewing your mouth open slightly and gripping the hem of your dress, he realizes.

The fact that this is your first time doing this is one thing, but the way you are experiencing it appears to be new ground for him. Typically, he speaks with his body, and it appears that now, he needs to portray some form of sexuality to you with his eyes. So, he does what you’re supposed to be doing.

You watch him intently, not fully realizing that you’re not even watching him fuck the air in front of him. His eyes move from yours once again, this time to your body. He watches the way your fingers grip the fabric of the dress he would like to see somewhere on the floor later. He watches the way you slightly rub your legs together, almost too easy to miss. That alone was enough for him as his eyes bore holes into you, much like you should be doing to him.

Jeno’s dancing turns more intentional, when he leans back on his arms, throwing his head back but keeping his eyes on you, he tries to show you what he would do to you specifically. You glance at his hips and the way he rolls them up, not even to the beat of the song.

His blazer begins to slide off his shoulders by this point, and he continues his movements, watching the way your eyes take in the sight of his skin becoming more and more visible, you’re fighting now to keep eye contact as you stare at the way his abs flex when he presses forward. It’s a shame you’re not seeing his cock grow beneath his pants, honestly.

With his blazer now pooled at his wrists, he finally pulls his eyes from you to try and regain his focus. He wants you so bad right now, and it’s bullshit because you’re supposed to be the one thinking like this for him. He can see that his movements are causing a reaction for you, but god, he’s practically masturbating himself against the inseam of his pants just to get you to say something to him.

It’s time to turn it up a notch, the current song is soon to be replaced with another. His favorite song to dance to, his favorite song to fuck to. Because to be fair, by the time it hits the third song on this specific list, usually his clients are already shaking under him. Not you though, you’re holding yourself back, he can fucking see it.

Ignoring the fact that it’s technically not time for him to move on to his next move-set, he leaves his blazer on your floor as he positions himself back on his knees, turning towards you this time and looking you straight in the eye. The fact that he’s hard and horny is enough to bring his confidence up enough to be seen in any way you’re looking at him.

He’s slow when he does it, crawling a few steps closer to you. You watch his shoulders move in the light, his eyes dark, and his hair starting to fall from its perfected position. You don’t mean to, but you rub your legs together in a more obvious way at seeing him in front of you, coming towards you in such a way.

Jeno looks smaller when he’s on his hands and knees, eyes looking up at you as if he could eat you whole. You wonder if your face reads the same for him, and nervousness begins to hit you again.

“You’re hot when you look down at me like that.” He says out of nowhere through the music, stopping in place and planting himself right at your feet. “I’d like to touch you for this next song, is that okay?”

Never mind the fact that Jeno has never asked to touch a client before. He’s never had to ask. He can’t help it though; it doesn’t hurt to try right? Because his cock is aching in his pants, and he isn’t quite ready to wait for an entire two more songs to get them off just for you to see that he’s very much wanting to fuck you right now.

On the other hand, you were so fucking fast to accept. Yes, yes, he can touch you. You want him to touch you. The entire idea that he’s just doing his job is so far in the back of your mind right now that you almost forget that he probably does this to most of the women he’s paid to see. Quite frankly, you don’t give a fuck.

Jeno smiles at you as the current song finally begins to fade out. The silence is back and this time, you’re not looking into his eyes when you nod at him.

He’s slow when he places his hands on your knees, rubbing up, up, up, until he’s able to lift himself from his knees and hover over you. Did he intentionally push your dress up your thighs? Yes. He wanted to see you rub them together in full shameless view for him. He wanted to know what his body does to you. Jeno stands hovering over you for a moment, hands staying on your thighs as he stares down at them as you do just as expected. For a moment, he forgets he’s supposed to be dancing for you, hell, he’s already shirtless and covered in oil.

“I’m going to get on top of you, okay?” He explains, removing his hands from your thighs and now gripping the back of the couch again as he did before.

“Do you do this for all of your clients?” You ask with a smile, suddenly and intensely into the man spreading his legs to prop himself up on your laugh.

He shakes his head with a laugh, grabbing your hands and placing them on his chest.

“You can touch me, by the way.” He foregoes his own rule, not wanting to wait any longer for you to ask him yourself. “Just pull away if you don’t want to.” He adds, guiding your hands over his chest and down his abdomen.

“You didn’t answer my question–” You interrupt him, feeling your pussy drip against the fabric of your panties.

He chuckles sweetly, stopping your hands at his abs and holding them there.

“No,” He admits, beginning to focus on the music now that he’s got your hands on him. “I don’t do this for all of my clients.” He adds, swirling his hips as he hovers over you, and avoiding eye contact.

“Oh, yeah?” You nervously chuckle back, feeling his muscles move beneath your hand as he thrusts his hips forward and back.

“You know,” He suddenly says, guiding your hands a bit lower. You feel the cold metal of his belt buckle against your palm. You think he’s going to stop there, like maybe this is just something he does to amp up the show or something, but no. He drags your hand down further until you feel the fabric of his pants rubbing harshly against it.

Your pulse begins to ring in your ears as you avoid looking to where your hand is right now, taking in a deep breath and shooting your gaze up to his. He’s not looking at you though. Jeno has dropped his head, staring at where he’s got your hand, and his hips are dancing into it, against it.

“I’ve never gotten this hard over a client that doesn’t want me.” He admits shamefully in a pathetic little laugh, bucking against your palm again to the beat of the song. “I can’t tell if I’m doing my job well enough,”

You continue to watch him, and then you finally look at your hand. The sheer size of him rubbing against you is…it’s something entirely different than what you were expecting from this man. It feels forbidden; it feels wrong but goddamn. The man is masquerading his dancing so he can fuck himself against your hand right now.

“You’re doing so well, Jeno,” You finally say to him. The first compliment you’ve given him since he got here.

“Oh yeah?” He questions, lifting his head to meet your eyes again. “Unbuckle my pants then.”

Despite this being a part of his job, he’s feeling a little desperate for you to do something on your own now, even if he has to tell you to do it.

“Show me how well I’m doing for you,” He raises his brows, now removing his hands from yours and running them up his chest. His hips continue to move on you, and he watches you as you hold your hand in place. “Come on, you don’t have to be shy, baby, I saw the way you were squeezing your thighs earlier.”

Like a book, the two of you read the other at this moment. You’re not a woman of many words and he seems to understand that now, taking your single compliment and running with it. You do as he says, unbuckling his buckle and pulling it from his pants.

“Keep that with you,” He stresses, pressing his hips forward again as he continues his dance.

Placing the belt beside you, you honestly have no idea what the fuck you’re doing, but you like it. You reach back to unbutton the pants, unzipping them just moments later. Then you still your hands, looking up at him with a curious face.

“Take it out, go on.” He says, “You know you can pull away if you don’t want to do anything, I’m not forcing anything. I’m asking.”

You don’t even nod or pull your eyes away from him, knowing that you’re about to touch his bare cock as he sits spread across your lap. A lewd scene, one that feels both more intimate than you’ve ever been with another person, and also nowhere near as intimate as you need it to be.

Jeno looks at you, so much eye contact becoming more and more comfortable for him as he learns what you seem to like. He can feel his cock spring free, the cool air rushing past his shaft and causing him to shiver on top of you. He still only looks at you during this moment, wondering why you’ve let your hands fall to his thighs until he sees that look in your eye again. You’re waiting to be told what to do. For some reason, he keeps forgetting that you’ve never had a stripper in your home before, let alone be seduced by one.

“Touch me,” He says gently, reaching back down to your hands and urging you to grab his cock. “You don’t have to move, I can do the rest–” He chokes out a groan mid-sentence feeling you grasp him in your fist with little effort or fear behind your eyes.

Such a silent woman beneath him. He can only read you in specific moments, which is kind of nice. You’re hesitant but willing, and he wonders if he will get to actually touch more of you after this.

Your hand is wrapped around his cock when he focuses his hips. He dances like he normally would for any woman during this song, it just so happens that he blatantly pretends to fuck to this song, because usually, he is fucking to this song. So, his dance is nothing short of fucking your fist. Still, he tries to keep up the act. He keeps his face intense, moving his shoulders and arms as if it’s easy for him not to turn the tables and position you so that your leg is on his shoulder and he’s rubbing his cock against your, hopefully, dripping panties.

A struggle especially when you tighten your grip on him. He can see your pupils blow out, and he can see the way you’d probably ask for him to touch you much like he did, so he slows his hips a bit, intentionally thrusting slowly into your fist and holding back his own moans of pleasure.

“Sorry,” he says, trying to act as though he can’t see the look in your eyes and how it’s changed since he started dancing. “I don’t like getting off on my own.” He adds, now allowing his hips to still just to see if you’d pull your hand back.

You don’t move your hand away, to his surprise, you are actually starting to move your fist on him.

“That’s good,” He groans, looking down at your hand. “It feels good,” He shakes a bit, shivering at the fact that you’re jerking him off now. “Can I stop pretending that I’m dancing for you now?”

You chuckle at him, nodding with a confident sort of smile. It hit you quickly when you watched him chase his pleasure using your hand. He’s so hard and so incredibly thick, you’d be stupid if it didn’t turn you on. You’ve barely said anything to him and he’s begging for you to look at him, watch him, touch him. You feel powerful, and you’re used to that. It feels like everything has fallen into place despite this situation being far outside of your comfort zone. You’re finding similarities. Men beneath you, begging for your money, giving you all of their attention, apologizing for normal human errors. So, what if Jeno didn’t beg for your money, he’s begging for your hands on him practically, and apologizing for asking you to do it.

“No,” You say, and you can see the shock on his face. “Keep dancing, it’s what you’re being paid to do.”

Jeno’s eyes kind of fall now as he nods his head. You almost feel his cock falter at the same time, but you move your hand a bit faster, urging him to do whatever it is that’s on his mind. You want to see if he will actually do as he’s told because you’re the one with the money.

He does his best, and honestly, his best far surpasses some of the most notable dancers on the market in his opinion. It’s just a bit hard to continue this act when you’re gripping his cock in such a beautiful way.

“You’re not going to ask me to touch you more?” He asks meekly, almost as if he’s hiding his face from you now.

You smile in response, pupils blown enough so that you can swallow each movement his body makes as he reluctantly moves to the beat. Honestly, your ears are ringing, and you don’t think you’ve heard a single lyric from the music playing since he placed your hands on him, but you think that should be a given.

“No wonder she liked you so much.” You start to speak, now loosening your grip on him just to see him frantically chase the warmth of the little circle your hand makes for him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks slightly out of breath. “You thought, I let her get me off like this?”

It almost pisses him off that you’d say such a thing to him, but then again, he didn’t exactly tell you that this situation is reserved for very few people.

“You’re talking a lot of shit for someone who couldn’t even look at me properly less than thirty minutes ago.”

You skew an eyebrow at him, watching him fight for control as he pulls his hips back and shuffles back onto his feet. You glance down at his cock and the way it stands painfully erect and twitching at the sudden lack of friction.

“You’re talking a lot of shit for a man who needs to cum.”

He stills himself, a blank expression turning to that of a devilish smile, eyes narrowing as he leans over you.

“Are you suggesting that you’ll make me cum if I stop talking?”

You smile, spreading your legs a bit and feeling the stickiness that has formed between them as he was on top of you.

“You know,” You mock him slightly, watching his eyes glue themselves to your thighs. You make a show to spread your legs a bit for him. “She told me that some clients have gotten special treatment from you, I wasn’t expecting that they were the ones getting you off.”

Honestly, it’s like he hit the fucking jackpot with you. Challenging him, mocking him with his cock out in front of you. If you so much as wiggled your pussy in front of him, he would instantly be back on his knees, letting you soak his face in whatever way you please.

“Go on, dance.” You say, “You’re still wearing your pants.”

It’s almost like a game now, he feels. You know he’s trying to seduce you and it seems you’re enjoying the fact that you haven’t let him yet. He knows that you intend to let him, so yeah, fuck yeah, he’s going to play along.

He raises a brow at you as he steps back, trying to ignore the fact that his cock is aching to be touched again. You still want your show? Good. He’ll fucking give you a show.

Jeno does as he’s told, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. He watches the way your legs spread when he rubs his hands down his naked chest, straight down to his cock where he only briefly tugs at himself. He can almost see under your dress when you do it, but the lighting is far too dim to see what his act is doing to you just yet.

When he saunters behind you, dipping his head by your neck and whispering the dirtiest part of the song into your ear, he can see your sharp intake of air, and he watches the way your breasts move with your chest as you do it.

He stays behind you now, ghosting his hands over your neck, moving down your arms, and then to your chest. He doesn’t touch, because you still haven't asked yet, but he knows the hovering alone is enough. It’s like he can feel the electricity beneath his fingers clash with whatever you’re radiating back at him.

He continues to sing against your ear, leaning further forward to plant his hands on your thighs again because that’s the one spot you already let him touch.

“Spread your legs for me.” He gently demands between lyrics.

Jeno watches for a moment from behind you, pressing his cock against the back of the couch the moment he sees your legs fall open. Your dress is hiked up past your waist now, enough that he can at least see a glimpse of the skin closest to your pussy.

“Ask me to touch you.” He says against your ear, trailing his fingers up your thighs enough to where he would need you to tell him to stop otherwise. “I just need to know that you want it.”

It’s silent save for the music playing, and his cock is aching so badly by this point that each time he rubs against the couch he’s almost breaking down to fucking beg you to let him touch you. That alone could make him cum, but god, you’re so good at playing hard to get even if it’s blatantly obvious that he’s already got you. You’re fucking playing with him, and he can’t decide if he loves it or hates it. Your silence is so damning to his dripping cock, and his skin feels so hot right now that he’s almost forgotten that he was paid to be doing anything that’s not this.

“I’m not asking for it.” You finally say, breathing in deep by the way his hands keep rubbing higher and higher, to the point that it’s genuinely difficult to not ask for it. “I want to be the one granting permission, Jeno.” You lean your head back and rest it against the cushions of the couch, and he instantly moves from your neck to look down at you.

“Oh.” He says, having no issue at all to be the one to ask, beg, plead, or cry. Whatever it takes to get a feel of you.

Another long moment of eye contact has him trailing his hands higher than before, almost to the point that there’s no skin on your thighs to touch that isn’t your panty line or pussy.

“Can I?” He asks, leaning down a bit closer so that his face is mere inches from yours. “Will you take my fingers?”

You could mistake this distance as something that should be closed between the two of you. Barely hearing his question at this moment, the only thing you want is to kiss him, and it hit you so fucking fast that you almost forgot he’s doing anything you ask of him.

“Come again?” You smile, blinking up at him.

He breathes in, giving you the same smirk that appears on his face each time you entertain him a bit too much.

“Will you take my fingers?” He asks again, this time already moving his hands to trace up your panties and feeling the wetness seep through onto his fingertips. “You’re already dripping baby; I can imagine they’d slide right in.”

Typically, you wouldn’t like being called that, but he’s done it twice now and each time it had your stomach in knots over it. His voice sounds like honey when he says it to you, and his darkened eyes only made it feel like there was some sort of desperation behind it. Finally, you press your hips up against his fingers.

“I’ll make you feel so good–” He continues, tracing his fingers up and down just to feel the sticky mess that’s there for him and him alone. “Moving your hips isn’t an answer though, baby.”

You swear he can read your mind, there’s no fucking way he would say it like that without knowing how you just internally admitted to liking it.

“Yes,” You let out shortly, darting your eyes away from him.

You can hear him release a breathy laugh and lay his head back beside your neck. His soft singing picks back up as he solely intends to listen to you now more than the music. He continuously presses his cock against the couch, holding his hips in place as he tenses his muscles throughout the time he’s spent in this position.

Your hips lightly chase his fingers. They go up when his fingers trace down, and he can’t help but smile at the way he’s getting exactly what he wants despite your sudden change of personality towards him. He likes this version of you better, if he’s being honest.

Jeno finally reaches around you and pulls at your panties, harshly tugging them down your legs as far as his arms can reach. He watches as you push them further down, kicking them onto the floor and relaxing back against the couch.

“Eager?” He tries to tease, but he knows you won't respond, and you dont. He just continues, now allowing himself to feel your bare pussy for the first time. Sure, he can’t see it in full right now, but sometimes just feeling was enough for him.

“You’re so wet right now—” He groans, pressing his cock against the back of the couch again, chasing any amount of friction he can have. His fingers slip into places he hadn’t even attempted to touch yet solely because of how wet you are. “You held out for so long.” He coos, teasing around your hole and chuckling at the way your breathing has grown a bit labored by this alone.

When you grab his hand though, practically forcing him to drive his fingers into you, he’s taken by surprise. The warmth envelops his digits in a way that is audible and excruciatingly sexy to him. He doesn’t even attempt to hold back now.

“They really did slip right in–” He rasps against your neck, scissoring his fingers into you and feeling how you clench around them. His mind is racing. “I bet you could take my cock so well.”

He’s talking to himself more than you right now, smelling your hair and becoming obsessed with the way you feel, look, and smell when you’re within inches of him like this. Better yet, he knows you won’t respond to a single thing he says but it doesn’t matter too much considering you’re starting to let out little whimpers.

“What was that?” He asks, running his other hand up your body until he gets to your neck. “Let me hear you, baby, make that sound again.” He adds as he pushes your chin back, resting his hand flush across your neck and practically holding you down that way as he begins to plunge his fingers into you.

“You can do it right?” He’s still talking, still humping your couch, still fucking you so good with his fingers. “Come on, do it again.”

It’s like he’s working for it, and god, he’s doing so well. You can’t help it when you let out a choked moan, his hand straining your neck enough that any sound would come out strained and desperate. You can feel his grasp tighten against your neck as his fingers fuck faster, harder. His palm is placed so perfectly that you can feel your clit being rubbed harshly. It’s incredibly overwhelming.

“Yes, fuck–again.” He groans, bucking his hips forward and frantically lifting his head from your shoulder so that he can look down at you again. He’s heard you, now he wants to see how desperate you are.

When you open your eyes again, all you can see is his face, all you can feel are his long fingers pressing in spots that haven’t been played with in a long time. You smell only his sweet, musky body oil, and jesus christ it’s hitting you in every spot that feels good. You can feel the cold metal of the rings on his fingers against your neck, and when he tightens his hand even more than before, another choked-out moan falls from your lips.

You strain to keep your eyes on him through this moment of pleasure, watching the way his teeth appear and scrape at his bottom lip when you make noises for him. So, you do it again, and again, and again.

He fingers only continue their aggressive assault inside of you, his palm rubbing harshly at your clit, and his other hand around your throat– honestly you could fucking sing songs to him in this moment.

“You’re shaking,” He comments, eyes flicking to your body. “Can you even breathe right now?”

His smile is so fucking mean, knowing full well that you can’t breathe and only tightening his hand as hard as he thinks you can handle can after the fact. It doesn’t even cross his mind that you don’t want this, the way you’re moaning for him is all he needs to know that you’re into this, that you like being choked and fucked.

When you moan out yet again, he releases his hand from your throat and leans down to your lips. He’s only a bit shocked that you don’t even hesitate to kiss him. What he wanted to do was degrade you, but now he’s just tasting the way you’re desperately trying to kiss him and if he’s wanting to be real right now, that was way better than his own idea.

He doesn’t kiss his clients, but at this point, things have already lasted much longer and have gotten far more intimate than they ever have with those few lucky women. He’s never asked for it, he’s never gotten so much pleasure out of finger fucking them, and he’s not once ever fucked against a couch to chase his high.

Pupils blown, he allows himself to kiss you, slowing his fingers unintentionally as he focuses on your lips and tongue. You kiss him better than he’s ever been kissed before and falling into it was terrifyingly easy. His hand moves on its own accord, cupping your jaw as he attempts to deepen the kiss past his comfort level.

But he is comfortable, and that’s precisely what’s uncomfortable about it.

“You can take it, right?” He pulls back in a breath, waiting for you to open your eyes and look at him. “My cock, please.”

Your eyes widen, somehow managing to forget that he’s been totally neglected through all of his. Are you really about to fuck this stripper? The man you were against meeting? The man who has $600 dollars in his bank account from your lovely, beautiful, amazing best friend? The man that you’re probably going to give the entirety of the contents in your purse to the moment he packs it up and moves on as if it never happened? The answer is yes.

“I can.” You look up at him, intentionally fucking yourself on his fingers now because it appears he’s stopped functioning altogether.

Within a second, his fingers are out of you and his presence is gone. You lift your head to watch him, cock still out of his pants that are also still at his thighs. He goes directly to his bag, and as if he knew it was going to happen, he pulls out a condom and slips it on without so much as a sigh of relief.

“Oh,” You let out in a huff, disappointed.

He raises his eyes to you as he lets his pants fall to his ankles and steps out of them but his face isn’t concerned nor bothered. Honestly, he has to be able to read minds or something.

“No, I don’t do this with all of my clients. I’m a man and I have needs. Needs that require protection sometimes.”

You only nod, in awe of the fact that he knows what the fuck to always say. And just as quickly as he left from you, he’s back, lifting your dress and attempting to take it off of you.

“Can I see?” He asks, still tugging as he stands in front of you.

Your pussy is aching, and you can feel the couch beneath you soaked through and probably leaving an embarrassingly large spot for you to cry about later because this fucking couch was expensive, but whatever. So is Jeno.

Lifting your arms, he slips the dress off of you and instantly presses your breasts together as he stares at them. He doesn’t hesitate this time to snatch your bra off of you either, the second your bare nipples are perked up in front of him he’s got his mouth on one and the other being pinched between his fingers.

“Right here?” He mumbles around your nipple as he savors the quick moment of seeing you in full for probably the first and only time. “You want me to fuck you here?” He mumbles again, realizing that his question wasn’t clear in the first place.

You don’t even care at this point, but, you’ve been sitting in this position for far too long and, more than anything, you want him to be the one looking up at you again. Just like when he started his second dance, crawling on the floor towards you and looking so small for such a cocky man.

“No.” you say, lacing your fingers into his hair and pushing his lips to your other nipple, just to feel the warmth of his tongue flicking against it.

“No?” He questions, sucking your nipple harshly and allowing it to pop from his lips as he looks at you. “Where, then?”

You smile at him, finally sitting yourself up fully from the slouched, lazy position you were in. Your legs close as you stand to your feet in front of him, but he still dips his head to get his lips around your nipple again.

Holding him there, your legs almost buckle at the way he slightly groans around it, sending vibrations through your chest and straight to your clit. You’re gentle when you shuffle forward, allowing him to continue his antics. Slowly but surely, you turn him around and back him up against the couch.

Only now, when you push him back and his teeth graze against your perked-up nub in a sad release do you realize that he’s… needier than you expected. His brows are furrowed, not even paying attention to the fact that you’ve just shoved him onto the couch so you can straddle him, and it’s cute, actually. He was so intimidating when he came into your house, walking with confidence, dancing with intention, finger fucking you and choking you as if he had a right to do it. But now, looking at him, it felt good.

As quickly as his brows furrowed in disappointment that your tit was no longer in his mouth, his brows lift right back up in relief when you plant yourself on his lap and grind against his cock.

It’s the first slippery touch that he’s felt all night, and honestly, he’s been on edge this entire time. You grind against him so beautifully that for the first time, he’s completely speechless.

“You’re really cute, I don’t think you realize that.” You comment, gliding against his cock and watching his hands reach out to grip your waist. “Really cute.”

He doesn’t falter at all and instead melts into it. His cheeks are a different shade now as he leans forward to resume his antics from before. All you can do is grip his hair and let him. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt the head of a cock bumping against your clit, and you’ll never forgive yourself for not making more time for this.

When his teeth begin to graze a bit harsher, and his hands start to push and pull you faster against him, you finally do it.

Angling yourself perfectly, you slide forward, perk your ass out, and then pull him back by his hair to look at him. Already, the moment he opens his eyes and looks at you, he knows.

He thrusts his hips up one time and feels the way your pussy grips around his cock with perfect aim. He slides in so fucking easily, so fast, that he’s almost seeing stars at how good it feels. He grunts heavily, feeling your grip on his hair tighten through your own overwhelming experience of being filled up.

Both of you let out a long and breathy groan at the sensation, you couldn’t help it, you had to grip onto something and it wasn't intentionally his hair but god, he seemed to love it when you dio it. When you finally regain your senses, you pull at it again, tilting his head back so that you can see the expanse of his neck and the way it moves when he swallows hard.

“Move.” You say harshly, feeling the way his cock pulses in place inside of you, and at this point you want him to make good on what he thinks you can do. You can take his cock but can he handle your pussy? It’s looking bleak, but sometimes that’s more fun anyway.

He whimpers when he squints his eyes at you, unable to fully open them as he loses himself to the feelings of euphoria and the pain of how harshly you’re holding his head back. Jeno didn’t think you could get any sexier, honestly, and as far as he’s concerned, if he moves right now, he’s going to cum. So, he doesn't. Instead, he smirks and lets his eyes close so that he can fall right back into the state of seeing nothing but stars.

Frustrated, but incredibly turned on by the way you’ve completely lost him, you start to bounce. Each time your ass hits against his thighs, he moans, and each time you grind forward, dragging your clit into his abdomen, he tenses up for you, and it’s like he’s so here but not at the same time.

“Look how pathetic you are right now,” You whisper out, hearing the wet of your pussy echo through the long-forgotten music that’s playing. “You can’t even move.”

All he does is nod his head at you with a lazy smile as if to insinuate ‘damn fucking right I can’t.’ He’s proud of it, but you’re not going to ignore the fact that his hands are still on your waist, gripping onto you so tightly that you fear he’s going to break his fingers.

“Keep going baby,” He somehow manages to say to you without a moan at all in his voice. “No one has ever fucked me like this,”

There it is. This entire time he’s been begging to fuck you, at least that’s what you thought. His voice still sounds like honey and his cock feels impressively hard inside of you that you could probably feel him in your stomach if you were to press against it. He wants you to fuck him.

“Yeah?” You boast, feeling the power go to your head as you opt for grinding rather than bouncing. Your hips are erratic as he tenses up for you. You can feel your clit hitting perfectly each time and if you were to keep going, you could cum within seconds.

You can’t even finish your thought when you look down at him. His eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth is open in a silent moan, you can see that he’s not able to take in a breath at all. You release his hair, watching the way he allows his head to fall against the cushions in what you can only assume is a pure euphoric high.

“Are you cumming right now?” You ask, out of breath.

When he doesn’t respond and you feel his hips stutter under you despite remaining static since he’s gotten inside of you, you know that now is the time.

You grind harshly, pressing your clit against him and rutting against his abdomen so that his cock is only slightly fucking into you while you chase your own high, but, alas, his fingers tighten on you.

His eyes shoot open as the sensitivity hits him quicker than he would have liked, but you don’t stop. The pain is intense from how hard you’re going on top of him, but he can see you reach your high and the image alone lets him push through the sensitivity of his post-orgasm discomfort.

Jeno seethes out praise to you as your walls squeeze against his softening cock. He studies your face, studies the way you try to close your legs around him despite being forced to stay open, and he thinks he might be a little too fond of the way your hands grip and squeeze his arms for leverage as you shake through the orgasm.

It hurts, but it kind of hurts more when he knows it’s over. After all, it kind of feels like he’s been in this room for days. Surely, he’s stayed past his allotted time frame, and surely he’s given you something far more valuable than an expensive lap dance.

When you slump over him, his cock is so fucking sensitive that he almost starts to tear up, but thankfully you were sensitive too it seems. You were gentle when you held the base of his cock, holding the condom in place as you allow him to slip out of you.

The playlist comes to an abrupt end at just the wrong moment, because it forces Jeno to realize that he hadn’t stayed at all over his paid time frame, and now all he can hear is the way his breath is entirely too uneven to move and go home.

“You okay?” You ask, noting the silence and his struggle to breathe with you on top of him. He’s staring straight up at the ceiling, not blinking, face making no readable expression. “Hey, Jeno?” You ask again, tapping his cheek.

He shakes himself out of it, eyes slowly moving over to look at you.

“That, um…” He tries to talk, genuinely, he does.

The change in the atmosphere almost freaks out you, but you try to stay calm. You saw the way he lost himself there, despite it not at all being rough or incredibly kinky. You’re confused as to why he’s acting like this, and maybe you even feel a bit guilty.

Without another word, you lift yourself onto your weak legs and stumble to find your dress. You throw it on so quickly, and it’s the only time you’ve ever felt the need to cover yourself so fast. Still silent, you head to your purse and grab every single hint of cash you have. Some two thousand or so.

Just like that, you place the cash into Jeno’s hands as he comes back to himself.

“What’s this?” He asks, looking at the sheer amount of cash in his hand. It was kind of the last thing on his mind.

“Your tip.” You try to say casually, still doing your best to catch your breath. “You can shower too if you want.”

Jeno nods, hoping to god that you don’t think he fucked you for money just now. No, he showed up for the money. Whatever happened after was because he wanted it, and he still does. Are you truly strictly business like this? You just handed him his rent for the month and then some, but for some reason it amazes him. As if he’s never been handed handsome sums of cash from drunken lonely women.

“Shower with me?” He asks suddenly, trying to lighten to mood from whatever the fuck just crept in through the silence.

He feels comforted when you smile, nodding to him with a step forward.

Did Jeno end up spending the night free of charge? Yes. Did he try to have a serious talk with you in the early hours of the morning, about how this is not genuinely something he does? Absolutely.

Did you believe him? Surprisingly.

After the shower, the mood shifted into something that felt natural. He wasn’t just some stripper you could call over for a down payment of $600, he was Jeno, a man trying to make ends meet in a city too expensive for even you.

Wanted he was, by several women of course. You, on the other hand, feel the need to mend your lonely heart with him. Not to fall in love, nothing like that. If anything, you want to take care of him, and when he grimaced at your joke, calling him your “sugar baby”, he was quick to perk up when he realized you were being serious.

It was your turn to set the rules and, possibly, break them.

“Rule number one, come to me if you’re short on money. No, you don’t have to fuck me for it, but I’m sure you’d probably want to.”

He nodded happily.

“Rule number two, stop fucking your clients. If you need to fuck, come over. Just look pretty for them and come back to me, yeah?”

The way he nodded harder that time was a pleasant surprise.

“Rule number three.”

He gasps in a show of mock shock. “The forbidden rule–” He whispers, sinking further into your blankets with a laugh.

“If–” You pause, thinking hard about if you should even assume. You forego anyway, it’s a forbidden rule for a reason. “If either of us start to like, feel things, we have to actually communicate and see where we want to go from there.”

He nods again, a glint in his eye shining brighter than he realizes. This is the first time he’s slept at a client’s house, the first time a woman has ever gotten him so fucked up. You had him down bad. He thinks he should probably stop calling you a client as well. The short-lived title turning into something he always dreamed of, though he figured it wouldn’t have happened so quickly. Sugar Mommy.

#jeno smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct-writers #neohub #lee jeno smut #jeno fic #nct fic #lee jeno fic #nct dream fic

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hearthotchner · 1 year

Text

— gif credits to the owner

summary: in which aaron comforts the reader who’s mentally exhausted.

— for @my-mummy-dust (who also helped me write this 🫶)

there was no other way to describe it, other than you were off. over the course of the last few days, you began to feel empty on the inside — like you were the shell of the person you used to be.

there was no explanation for it, nor did you know when it started. although, you were sure if you asked spencer, he’d provide you with a lengthy answer, which on any other day, you’d laugh at his absurdity, but not even his ridiculous facts could fix you.

you knew that your team would catch on quicker than you’d want them to, seeing as they were profilers. you knew they would catch onto how distant you’d become, conversation or team meetings. how you weren’t as aware of your surroundings while on the field. but one of the things that all of them noticed the most was how your personality, so bubbly and cheerful it was contagious, was now gone. leaving nothing but a dull, disconnected person in its wake; who just so happened to be their teammate who they loved so deeply.

when you were alone, you’d think about how something like this would cost you your job — they’d see how you were unfit for the role, and take away the only thing that you could keep ahold of. you seemed to have lost interest in all your hobbies, them seeming more like a chore, rather than something you enjoyed.

you snapped out of your head when you heard your name being called for the third time,

“yeah? sorry derek.” you smiled apologetically.

“don’t worry about it, i was just asking if you got anything for the profile.”

you hummed, pulling a chair out for him to sit with you, as you shared your ideas.

just before he got up to leave he said, “hey, you know you can talk to us, right? if anything’s going on, we’re here for you. all of us.”

you felt so guilty. they probably thought they did something wrong, and you were pulling away from them because of it. you wished you could tell him why you were like this, how you weren’t doing it on purpose, it just happened.

“i know, thank you.”

he gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder, when he left.

hotch had instructed the team to take a break, and clear your heads for a bit, so you could see the case with a fresh set of eyes.

it was him who worried the most, but the worry was always from afar, too afraid to come close, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from pouring his heart out. he didn’t want to put you in a compromised position. what he felt for you, wasn’t right — a boss should never feel like that for his subordinate.

yet, that never stopped him from doing those little things for you: making sure your favourite snacks were stocked in the break room, he always bought the specific brand of pens that you liked, when he went out to buy his own. in the summer months, he’d leave a smoothie and a baked good on your desk, every monday, because he knew you found it hard to sleep with the heat, and were extra grouchy in the morning.

even if you didn’t know who it was, you still left thank you notes for them to find. they warmed aaron’s heart, and never failed to bring a smile to his lips — he kept all of them.

“hey, hotch, could you pass this to (y/n), please?”

he nodded as he took two cups from jj, and made his way over to you.

upon hearing a cup being placed on the table, you looked up at your boss, while muttering a small ‘thanks’ to him. he smiled in return, looking around for others, before taking the seat next to you. “i.. um.. i noticed you’ve been acting a little distant lately.” he started, voice hushed, as he stuttered to find the right words; before he could continue, he was interrupted by you apologising profusely, saying that you didn’t mean for it to affect your work. he quickly reassured you, “no. it’s not about work, your work is fine. i just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“i’m fine, hotch.”

he raised his eyebrows a little, “okay, i just- if you ever need a shoulder to lean on, my door is always open.”

your touch burned a fire in him, that he had no desire of putting out. “thanks, but i’m fine.”

reluctantly, he moved his arm out of your hand and left the room.

—

later that night, you stared blankly up at the dark ceiling, trying to fall asleep for the past hour, but it was like your eyes were glued open — no sign of sleep present.

becoming frustrated with yourself, you sighed. why couldn’t you sleep? you didn’t understand what was wrong, why your body refused to listen.

sitting up, you began to feel the tears brimming in the corners of your eyes — you weren’t upset, so, why were you crying?

—

in his room, aaron was pacing, back and forth. his interaction with you was replaying in the back of his mind, and he cringed at his own words.

my door is always open? he was so out of it.

pinching the bridge of his nose, “what an idiot.” he murmured.

a quick knock on the door, pulled him from his thoughts,

“does the offer still stand?” you asked, the look on your face shifting from a frown to hopeful, when the door was opened.

“yeah, come in,” he moved, “do you need anything? a drink? something to eat? i can order something.”

you shook your head, whilst following him to the couch. “then talk to me,” he spoke, “(y/n). what’s wrong?” he longed to reach over and intertwine your fingers, thinking about how your hands would fit into each other perfectly.

“that’s the thing.. i don’t- i don’t know. i don’t know why i’m like this, aaron.” when your gaze met his, he saw the confusion and the anger that lingered in your eyes. “i’m pulling away, but i don’t mean to. i can’t focus, i can’t do anything, and i don’t know why.” you cried, “there’s something wrong with me.”

somehow, you wound up in his arms, head resting against his chest, as you broke down.

“sometimes, there’s no explanation for the stuff that goes on in your mind. we can’t make sense of why we’re acting the way that we are, and we don’t need to.” he began running his hand up and down your back, “what we need, is to fix it, in whatever way is best for us.”

for a while, you two stayed in the same position, not speaking a word, whilst you settled.

“hotch?” you whispered, eyelids getting heavy.

“hm?”

“where do you get those smoothies from?”

his breathing hitched, and his eyes widened slightly.

“i had a feeling it was you,” he didn’t have to look to know that you were smiling; that thought alone made his cheeks tint a soft pink. “i’m glad it was.” you added on, pulling him down to lay next to you on the couch, your breath tickling his neck.

his back would be killing him the next morning, but he didn’t have it in him to care.

aaron would endure all the pain in the world, if it meant that he had the chance to have you sleep next to him every night.

#this went so off the request because i’m projecting hard #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #my fic

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fictarian · 10 months

Note

yo yo yoooo ayo gang lemme get amm a hobie brown x gn reader whos like a photographer for the fucking news bullshit and like they are a fan of spider man fam thank uuu

𝐇𝐢𝐦 <𝟑 . ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝐏𝐭. 𝟓

ღ You ask and I DELIVER‼️🗣️🗣️🗣️

ღ Thank you guys for 60+ followers, it makes me happy you guys like my shit despite only doing this for 3-5 days 😭

ღ ANYWAYS, here’s a story for my boy @thearabloak06 🙏 Tysm for requesting, I hope you enjoy and I hope this story isn’t ass since it’s my first time in awhile writing a full on fic LMFAO

ღ Paring: Hobie Brown and GN! Reader

ღ Premise: Reader has their own section of the daily newspaper, and they use it to write for the anarchist by the name of ‘Spider-Punk’ while also providing pictures they’ve caught of him in action

ღ Whoopsie daisy I just made this into more of a detective/mystery novel instead of a romance 💀 200-400 likes and i’ll make a part 2 (or even its own series)

ღ Previous part can be found here !

“_____, my office, now!” You let out a heavy sigh as the door to your boss’ office slammed shut after he barked an order, and you could feel the eyes following you as you stood up from your desk and made your way over to the room, tossing your empty coffee cup into the trash before turning the knob and pushing the door open.

“Have a seat” He ordered, but your feet remained glued to the ground. “I’m good standing” You stiffly said, crossing your arms over your chest with narrowed eyes. “You asked for me, sir?” In response, your boss slammed a newspaper onto his desk, pushing it forward so you could get a good look at it— it was the paper for today, and you had a pretty reasonable guess as to why he was so peeved.

“We’ve been over this, _____. I don’t want that spider freak in my newspaper.” He seethed, picking up the newspaper and shoving it in your face, pointing specifically at the section you were assigned to. “You know what this gives us? A bad, bad reputation. We’re already on thin ice as it is, and if you keep this up, my company will get shut down all thanks to your stories!”

Your lips tightened into a thin line, feeling your blood boil at what he was saying. Quite frankly, he could take his worries and shove it up his ass for all you cared. The government was corrupt and violent to the people it’s supposed to protect and serve, and Spider Punk was the only symbol of hope the community had. You admired the infamous anarchist, and you wanted everybody to know about him— the possibly only voice of the people.

So that’s why you used the section of the Daily newspaper granted to you, to spread word of Spider Punk’s actions and his defiance against the government. You wanted the people to know about what was going on, to feel empowered knowing that one of their own was rising up against the injustices against them. And if it costed your job, or even your life, so be it. You weren’t just gonna sit around and act like nothing was happening.

Your boss’ words were only fueling your anger. This wasn’t the first time you two had this conversation, in fact, all of your conversations were about this topic. It took all of your willpower to not punch him in the jaw as you opened your mouth to say “But sir, the newspaper is meant to inform people. And with all the smashed law enforcement cars and protests going on, it would be wise to—“ “I dont’t want to hear it! Keep this up, and you can kiss your place here goodbye!” He yelled in your face, and that was your last straw.

“I don’t have to, ‘cause I quit. You can kiss all of your readers goodbye, ‘cause I know damn well the only reason they read your lousy ass newspaper is because of information I provide!” You snapped, turning on your heel and marching out the door, tuning out the string of curses that followed as you exited the building with smoke practically blowing out of your ears. Ok, maybe you handled that the wrong way. But it was too late to go back now… well, you still had to get your stuff from your desk. ‘Embarrassing’ You thought to yourself, keeping your head held high as you turned back around to enter the building for the last time.

You didn’t stay there long, since you didn’t even have much to begin with. The items that occupied your desk consisted of your notepad, your trusty laptop (it was old enough to be considered a fossil), an uneaten nutter butter, and your camera thats strap wrapped comfortably around your neck while your other belongings were placed inside your satchel. With all your items packed away, you were now walking the streets of London as the reality of the situation set in— you didn’t have a job anymore. No source of money, and no way to have a voice in the community.

‘You’re forgetting to breath’ You told yourself, registering the tightness that was beginning to form in your chest and taking a couple deep breaths to ease the panic. This was fine, you were fine. You could always start a blog of your own, and there were plenty of jobs that needed more employees. ‘But it’s not as easy as it sounds, i’ll need to fill out a application, i’ll need to be interviewed, and—‘ Your thoughts were cut short when you suddenly bumped into someone, and you muttered a quick apology before continuing on. “Oi, you’re that chick that writes fo’ the paper, aren’t you?”

You stop, turning to look back at the person you bumped into. He was quite the looker, if you were being completely honest. The male was tall, and dressed in outfit that screamed ‘punk’. He had well done wicks, and a confident aura surrounded him. “It’s rude to stare, y’know?” “Oh, i’m sorry. I spaced out for a second.” You apologized when he called you out, before adding “My name is _____”. The male nodded his head, his gloved hand tucked away in the pocket of his pants. “‘Obie, ‘Obie Brown” Holy shit, you knew he looked familiar. “Aren’t in a band?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. “I play with ‘em occasionally, but I don’t believe in consistency.”

You slowly nodded your head, not bothering to question what he meant by that. “Riiight…” The sound of sirens caught your attention, and you looked over your shoulder to see the blue and red lights of law enforcement cars dancing off the walls of buildings. “I wouldn’t suggest goin that way, luv. There was a bad scrap with a couple fellas lookin for a bad time” Hobie warned you, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion. Didn’t he come from that way?

The reporter in you told you that there was something amiss, but you didn’t act on the feeling. Not yet. “Yikes, thanks for the warning. I’ll take a different route to my flat.” You informed him, and he nodded his head before turning his back towards you. “I’ll be seein you ‘round, _____. Maybe come to one of my concerts, yeah?” He suggested as he started to walk away. But you weren’t listening.

You were too busy staring at the prominent red, spike having mask that stuck out of Hobie’s back pocket

“Yeah… i’ll take you up on that offer. Cheers!” You called out to Hobie, waiting a couple seconds before lifting your camera up and putting its viewfinder up to your eye, zooming in on the mask before snapping a picture of it. “Christ…” You muttered to yourself, staring at the screen of your camera in disbelief.

You just found yourself with knowledge that could cost you your life

tag list ! @zalayni @luvstarrstruck @jrrantss @pixqlsin @kairiscorner @k4tsu3 @asmobeuses

#across the spiderverse #atsv #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #spider punk x reader #hobie spiderverse #atsv hobie

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tartigglez · 1 year

Text

"i'm here now, aren't i?

diluc x gn!reader

genre: fluff/hurt-comfort??

word count: 1.6k (i got carried away)

tags: diluc is our mr darknight hero, soft hours, diluc gets wounded :( but its fine u can take care of him, many kiss, such cuddle, shy diluc at the end bc i have brainrot gonna be honest

tw/cw: descripton of blades (swords), brief description of cuts/wounds + treating them, scars, reader is alone at night (idk if this is worth mentioning but better safe than sorry), diluc carries reader in some positions that would be considered sorta feminine????, insomnia (?), lmk if i missed any

a/n: FINALLY DILUC! gotta say, i love the graphics for this sm, i feel like i did a rlly good job (giving myself credit bc they're pretty). i love soft boi diluc and intend to write for him more ngl, anyways, enjoy!

a wet, stormy night at dawn winery proved to be the reason for your lack of sleep. the sounds of the thunder and lightning clattering outside, accompanied by the drumming of the rain on the window were so loud that they tried to take priority in your mind. however, the only thing you could bring yourself to think about was your lover, all alone, in the cold.

the empty space in the bed next to you, the lack of his presence, the ominously daunting weather outside. these things all worried you.

what if he got hurt?

what if something was wrong?

what if…?

don't think about it. don’t.

you knew that you wouldn’t be getting sleep anytime soon, so you got out of bed, putting on the bathrobe which was hanging on the wardrobe door, and brought yourself to the sitting room, perhaps to distract yourself with a book? but in reality you were just going down there to wait for him.

so you waited

first 10 minutes

then 30 minutes

then an hour

then decided that enough was enough

you could defend yourself in combat, you could wield a weapon, and you would do anything to know that diluc was okay.

and so you found yourself back in your bedroom, in the wardrobe, looking for the longsword he told you he had left in there for emergencies.

the blade was sharp, and glinted silver in the light. the handle was encrusted with what you could only assume were rubies, and so you concluded that this sword must have costed diluc a significant amount of money.

you lifted the sword from its case, sheathed it, and then you realised the weight of the weapon, which wasn’t exactly the lightest, to say the least.

you left the winery, still in pyjamas, your bathrobe having been replaced with a jacket, quietly closing the front door to your home as to not awaken any of the staff who also lived there.

if you were going to be quite honest with yourself you weren't sure where exactly you were going, but you just began walking down the path…

the night was eerie. the cold, windy air hit your cheeks as you moved slowly away from the winery. it wasn't shortly after you began your walk that you heard a sound. an immediate response of adrenaline came to you, and so you drew your sword, ready to face whatever was coming near you.

after about ten seconds of standing still and hearing the sound get closer to you, you saw a red light glowing about ten metres away. with your sword still drawn you moved closer to the light, preparing for combat, and the light moved closer to you as well.

within a split second, you realised that the light was that of a pyro vision, the light of his pyro vision. you dropped your weapon on the ground, and he did the same as you ran to him. as if by natural instinct, you jumped into his arms as he wrapped once of them around your waist, and used the other to hold you up. neither of you said anything for a bit, simply holding each other and allowing yourselves, and your heart rates, seemingly, to calm down. after all, you must have startled the man, appearing out of nowhere like that.

he placed you gently down, back onto your feet as he held your waist with one hand, and placed the other on your cheek.

the man had a face of pure concern as he looked into your eyes, why would you possibly be out here at this time of night?

his hair was tousled, and his lip had been cut, presumably in some sort of rough battle. not only that, but his shirt had been slightly ripped as well, presumably by some sort of sword, or in this case, a mitachurl axe.

“have you been injured? are you well? why are you out here?”

these were all things you ought to be saying to him, so why was he so concerned about you?

“i was worried about you, you were supposed to be home and i-”

“do not worry, all is well, i am here, love”

“you’re hurt”

“surface level injuries dear, please, settle. I’m here now, arent i?”

“yeah, yeah”

he pulls you into his arms, placing a kiss upon your head.

“let’s go home, you’re cold.”

and so, without dwelling upon it, you walk hand in hand back in the direction of the winery, coming across the sword you had previously dropped on the ground. you sheathed it once again, and picked it up. diluc let out a light chuckle.

“you were really that worried about me?”

“what do you mean, of course i was!”

“my dear, a weapon of this size is far too heavy for you to carry, allow me”

“you can’t, you’ve already got your own sword, its too much and you’re injured an-”

he cut you off…

with his lips…

“i'm fine. trust me. i'm more than capable of carrying this sword, its only half the weight of mine”

“hmph, fine. but don't come crying to me later when your back hurts, mister high-and-mighty!”

“very well, sweetheart”

you grabbed his large, calloused hand to lead him back to the winery, and although you wouldn’t see it in the moonlight, a rosy blush dusted itself over his cheeks. archons, he loves you.

as the pair of you entered the winery once again, diluc placed both his weapon and yours down beside the front door, smiling to himself at the fact that you cared about him this much. it also seems to him that you didn’t notice, the longsword you had gotten out of the closet matched his greatsword, it was simply a smaller version.

you both enter the sitting room, which is still dimly lit. diluc gestures towards the fire, which immediately relights, due to the skilled use of his pyro vision.

“you are cold, dearest. i shall move the sofa closer to the fire, and we will sit for a while, yes?”

“luc’, at least let me tend to your wounds first, you're hurt”

the look of concern on your face caused a veil of guilt to loom over him. but he brushed it off, as to not make you feel bad about caring for him so much.

“fine, but be gentle”

“i will”

and so, you both sat on the soft plush of the sofa, diluc with his shirt off, and you gently caring for the shallow wound slightly above his left pectoral, dabbing it with a damp towel. his skin was covered in battle scars, but it was beautiful, in some way. these were the lengths your lover would go to for the sake of other people, an admirable trait to say the least.

diluc admired your concentration whilst caring for his wounds, and was slightly surprised when you manoeuvred your body to straddle his lap, only so you could get a better angle to analyse his injuries, of course (definitely not to look at his muscular arms or anything like that). he placed one of his large hands on your thigh, and the other on your waist, as you gently cared for any other wounds on his body. your skin made contact with his as you put your hand on the warm skin of his shoulder to balance yourself.

“you’re freezing, dear, your hand is so cold”

“hm, i guess i just didn’t warm much since being outside”

“that won’t do”

a gentle heat began to spread through you, from your heart around the rest of you, warming every inch of your body. he had used his vision on you.

“tsk, pyro users”

“i know, right?”

the man was surprisingly chipper, considering the injuries he had sustained. you both laughed, for some unknown reason, at a joke which wasn’t really all that funny, but that’s love for you. and as the light of the fire began to dim, and the pair of you began to tire, he placed a gentle kiss upon your lips.

“shall we go to bed, dear?”

“yes, please! archons- i’m tired”

“i'm sorry, i feel that this is my fault”

“oh it is entirely your fault, mister darknight hero”

“i told you not to call me that”

“and i told you not to stay out too late, no?”

he let out a chuckle, lifting you from your position on the sofa, and carrying you to your shared bedroom, whilst holding you close to his chest. he removed you from his grasp momentarily, placing you on the bed and telling you to get under the covers, just so he could remove the necessary garments to be comfortable for bed.

yawning, he pulled back the duvet and placed his weary body next to yours, quickly moving to bury his head in your chest and wrap his arms and legs around you. your hands moved to his hair out of natural response, gently massaging his scalp as you fiddled with his vermillion locks.

"i love you, y/n”

“i love you more, luc’”

you placed a sly kiss to the crown of his head, and he only hid his face from you further out of shyness, whining into the fabric of your pyjamas.

“you’re so cute”

“don't call me that”

“night, cutie”

and so, you both drifted off into slumber, held in each others arms, held in love.

#FUCK ITS SO CUTE #diluc #dilucatdeeznuts #diluc x reader #diluc fluff #diluc imagines #diluc x you #diluc ragnvindr

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gmbencompetence · 2 years

Text

Arcana Fans,

Can we talk about the Tarot Decks? The Arcana Tarot Decks. I’m proud of them. It also ends in a painful memory. They are, all in all, the high and low of my time at Nix Hydra

In short: I’m one of the main people that made Arcana Tarot Decks a reality.

My job was answering emails, monitoring the Arcana social media tags, and generally having my finger on the pulse of the community. I knew that, by a wide margin, Tarot Decks were the biggest request. My coworker (who shall remain nameless for their privacy) was part of the team that made the Arcana and knew how much Tarot resonated with fans. This co-worker and I fought for about 1-1.5 years getting them greenlit.

In all honesty, they were a completely audacious idea. Nix Hydra didn’t make much money from merchandise. Maybe $100 a month. The cost of an *initial* run of Arcana Tarot Decks would take something like $25,000 to get going. This is because of creating the art, securing people to help package/ship them, actual costs of packaging/shipping itself, and more. Also, my partner on the project was very insistent that we work with a company that produced them at an extremely high quality with gold trim edges. Gold trim edges was important (they were right).

So, the Nix Hydra merch store made less than $200 a month, and my coworker and I were trying to pitch something that would COST $25,000~ to get started. If it made $25,000 back, that’s still a waste of time because it means we would have made the same money just skipping the whole thing.

This next part is fuzzy, but if I remember right, we tested the waters with stickers. We stocked Arcana stickers to see how quickly they sold. They sold fast. Like… fast. This was good. It was our test case to at least prove that “People want Arcana Merch”. It heated the iron, and my coworker and I struck. We got the approval!

So here’s the most nerve wracking moment of my career here. I’ve been in the game industry 12 years, but I’ve never run a merchandise store Nix Hydra. Even after that, I sent out a few sticker sheets every month. Forget about convincing a company to invest $25,000~ into my mad idea. And then… if they DID sell. What, then!? I always have a lot of anxiety, and I kept thinking of ways it could go wrong. What if I broke some international shipping law? What if I did the math wrong and operated at a loss? What if the site charged people the wrong amount? I KNEW the Tarot Decks would sell, but that was scary, too!

The day came that we flipped the switch. I was so excited. I was so excited! I was so… scared. At this point, all that was left was to see if we could make above the starting amount…

We made about $200,000 in the first 24 hours. Now, this was 3-4 years ago, so I may be SIGNIFICANTLY off. But my point is that we made six digits very quickly. By this same time tomorrow, this went from “Gunpowder and Coworker’s brassy, sassy idea” to “Merch is a hit! What’s next?”

Over the next few months and weeks, we had a joyful hectic hell of the best anxiety. Problems would come up. We’d knock them down. We’d run out of storage space in the office and it would look almost comical. We’d have truckloads of shipment issues. I soon found out that simply taking the packages to the post office was its own complicated project. All of this expanded into hiring people to help with merch. These people were extremely passionate about The Arcana and began to be advocates for what merch to add next. I could gush about how amazing they are for hours, but for privacy’s sake, I’m refraining from saying much about my coworkers.

So like that, we went from “Merch doesn’t sell” to “We need a merch department” in a few months. By the time I left the company, the CEO (you’ve seen his name around) projected the Merch alone to be a $1M a year revenue stream. I don’t know if we ever hit that goal. My point was that he felt it was possible, which made me happy.

… which brings me to how the story ends painfully. I have moderate ADHD. I personally think it’s severe, but my doctor says moderate, so hey. I tend to fall behind on assignments a lot. I also tend to get distracted super easily. It can ruffle feathers in a work environment. I did not realize how much. See, this project was in full swing, my work was going well, and I had also designed all the gameplay of Heart Hunter (that was me! I’ll write a post on that later). I felt good about all of this. I had a meeting with the CEO and was going to ask him for a raise.

“[Name], just so you know, I sometimes sit and my desk and go over the pros and cons of letting you go.” He said it conversationally. It was casual to him. My stomach fell out. I asked him why, and it turned out that he was being very, very literal.

See, he made a pros and cons list of every thing he likes about me and every thing that he doesn’t. I’ll spare you the whole list, but in the Cons side was “Doesn’t focus on work all 8 hours of the day”. I was flabbergasted and told him “But… I do a lot of projects. And YOU said the merch store is estimated at $1M a year!” At this point, it is extremely important to note that nothing about the merch store was in my job description besides “Ship stickers and answer emails”. Literally everything I mentioned above were things I did in my spare time without being asked. Out of love for the company.

“Yes, I agree that you’re very passionate and creative. See, I put that on the list!”

He points to the Pros and Cons list. “passionate and creative” is cancelled out by “doesn’t focus all 8 hours of the day”. It was a tie. The project I co-led started a whole new department and seven-digit (estimated) revenue… it wasn’t even the only one I did (Heart Hunter was also a side project, albeit one I was assigned). And all of that, in his mind, was cancelled out by “doesn’t work all 8 hours a day”.

I never got a raise. I never got a bonus. I never even got job security. None of it mattered to him.

I started looking for a job the next day.

—-

There’s more to the story, but I think this is the main point. This is the best and worst of Nix Hydra. It was a place where people like my coworker and I would make extra time to work on new things simply because we believed in our work that much. Where players joyfully supported our work because it resonated with them. Where new employees would be so passionate about their work that they would keep an entire department afloat on their own fantastic ideas. It was also a place where none of this could even amount to job security or recognition. It was frustrating, and it was joyful.

I meant every single smile at a public event. So did every member of the team that was there. It was never “just PR”; it was people who were over the moon to get to help create these stories and worlds and moments. We loved it. But management never loved us back. And that stung.

Thank you, every single person who posted their tarot decks. Who put them into your cosplays. Who did readings.

Thank you everyone who posted your Heart Hunter moments. Who shared the postcards I fought tooth and nail to see in the game (It was SO difficult to convince some people that “postcards would be the type of reward players want”).

My entire life, I’ve had joyful moments in games and game communities. My lifelong dream was to help make those moments come alive for others. When you all celebrated this game and those aspects of it, that was very genuinely a lifelong dream come true.

Thank you for reading this. And also The Arcana.

#arcana #the arcana #nix Hydra

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ainri · 7 months

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hello! I'm the one who asked for one of illumi (yandere) could you make it headcanons?

illumi zoldyck as a yandere (hcs and drabble.)

•hunter x hunter

•yandere illumi headcanons + small drabble

•mostly fem oriented

•assasin/servant reader

•fic warinings: !dark content!, mentions of death multiple times including reader + reader’s family, insinuated character death at end, forced labor, undergarmnet theft, swear words, mild gaslighting, obsessive thoughts.

•🔞

•masterlist

•a/n: this is my first request so ty!!! tbh i rlly like writing yanderes like its just so fun? anyways someone should really do a crime count because i had to put some extra stuff in the fic warning so that people wouldn’t go crazy on me or call me insensitive 🥰sorry for the wait i completely forgot abt tumblr…..🙊if it doesnt make sense its because i rushed it bc i felt bad for how long i kept my anon waiting (sorry anon pookiebear) and its 1:27am 😞😞

continuation of this post!

<🌟🌟🌟>

-how did you end up this position again?

-oh yeah thats right! your parents were also assasins who just happened to have ‘issues’ with the zoldycks.

-they had personal issues with silva due to a deal gone wrong between the two assassin families.

-how did silva handle getting played by your parents? by sending out an order to kill them.

-but silva is a higher class man with much bigger issues. who’s better to do the job than his son illumi?

-of course the original order was to kill you, your father, and your mother.

-when illumi saw you walking back onto your family’s estate something in him just snapped.

-he just couldn’t help it; he had to have you, no matter the cost.

-that was the moment he realized he couldnt just let you die or kill you.

-you were…special?

-that was the first mission he had ever failed… he just couldnt bring himself to kill you.

-after silva finished beating the shit out of him; illumi had an idea.

-illumi spoke of this idea to silva; to make you a personal servant in return for you and your parents’ lives.

-of course silva agreed, once silva privately told you of this ‘agreement’ you had to agree.

-best to not test the zolycks’ willpower and to not test the waters.

-working as illumi’s personal servant was fine, that was before your panties started disappearing randomly from your laundry bin.

-“master illumi, i hate to bother you with this but have you seen my panties?”

-“no. what are you saying servant?”

-he quickly retorted back, almost, no, way too quickly.

-of course, this all started to add up when the male zoldyck house staff started to ignore you + avoid you like the plague.

-apologizing profusely to you over the smallest mistakes or accidents.

-this was all bizzare…. you needed answers, as quickly as possible.

•••

it was a calm day of cleaning when suddenly you walked in on it—illumi torturing your male coworker who helped you clean the atrium yesterday. “master illumi, what are you doing?” the servant asked horrified and confused,

“none of your business servant-“ he stopped himself to reword his sentence, “you know what? no! i was teaching him a lesson for speaking to you. besides you only belong to me!-right? right? say you belong to me! i killed all of those men—no, boys for you and you can’t even say, ‘thank you master illumi.’!?” he was yelling, now losing his temper.

“master illumi i didnt ask for you to kill for me! whats wrong with you? you-you-you psychopath! youre being completely delusional and irrational!—“

CLANG

all you saw was black as you felt your vision go blurry with illumi hitting you in the head with skme heavy blunted off object.

“i don’t appreciate that (name), i don’t appreciate it at all. you ungrateful woman. all i ever wanted to do was love you. clearly you cant even allow me to do that much. what a shame.”

END

••••••••

#illumi hunter x hunter #illumi zoldyck #hunter x hunter headcanons #hunter x hunter x reader #dark content #yandere headcanons #yandere #yandere illumi #illumi x reader #illumi zoldyck x reader

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greed-the-dorkalicious · 11 months

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All the discussion around AI lately got me thinking about an incident recently in which a guy got his ass sorely beat by the vocal synth community

For those of you not familiar,��“vocal synths” in the electronic music sense typically refers to programs like Vocaloid, SynthV, UTAU, Alter/Ego, DeepVocal, etc., digital instruments that allow composers to create, as the name implies, synthesized vocal tracks. The way they work is that they draw from libraries (referred to as “voicebanks” or VB for short) of special studio recorded* vocal samples from singers singing different syllables at a consistent pitch. The program then splices these together and adjusts the pitch to match whatever notes you put in- You want to do All Star, it’s gonna string together “[suh][m] [buh][di] [wuh][n][s] [tO][ld] [mi]” or something like that. Basically it’s an extremely complicated sampler.

(*unless you’re using UTAU or another build-your-own-vocal program in which the “studio” is only metaphorical, and is sometimes somebody’s basement with a Rockband mic plugged into a laptop.)

Now, there is no threat of vocal synths putting actual singers out of a job. Even the best vocal synths always have a bit of a robotic sound to them, and the voicebanks take hundreds of hours of recording time from you know, actual singers. Any piece made with vocal synths has to be worked by a human hand in a process called “tuning” in order to sound any good, whether you’re trying to make it sound human or leaning into the robotic sound. This isn’t something that’s being done on a corporate scale to cut costs- This is something pretty much exclusively being done by small scale indie music hobbyists because we fucking love Hatsune Miku and her weird buddies. Most folks are less interested in doing something that sounds 1:1 like a human voice and more in going beyond what humans can do to make shit like this

youtube

One of the leading vocal synths right now is Synthesizer V (SynthV), created by a company called Dreamtonics. SynthV offers fancier versions of some of its voicebanks, which are called “AI” voicebanks. These use machine learning trained on, again, professionally recorded and legally licensed vocal samples to help make songs sound a little bit more smooth, a little bit more in line with whatever singing style you’re aiming for. Everything else previously mentioned still applies: They’re still painstakingly recorded and programmed, you still need to tweak it yourself to get it to sound just right, and it’s still never going to sound 100% like a human. And that’s fine!

For this next bit y’all are gonna have to trust me because the tweets all got deleted, though if anyone wants I’m happy to pull up screencaps of talking shit about it with other vocal synth folks when it happened lmfao

So basically. Since ChatGPT type grifters have convinced people that “AI” means “magic plagiarism button”, back in April some dipshit NFT guy on Twitter started complaining on an official SynthV update post that SynthV (which he apparently believed to be called “Dreamtonics”, the name of the company that makes it) should allow people to make voicebanks from “their own voice”, insisting that it would be easy and PROFITABLE!™ to do so. He also clearly did not actually mean “their own voice” but rather “the voices of celebrity singers shamelessly lifted without their consent”, which was made extra obvious from a tweet on his own page that was like “Teehee people in monitored Twitter spaces don’t realize their voices are being recorded and fed into AI!” which he then deleted after I linked it on the thread about SynthV. lol.

Dude proceeded to get whupped by actual vocal synth people basically saying shit along the lines of “Yeah we can all tell you just want to commit cheap plagiarism, jackass” and “Dude why are you here when you clearly don’t understand the very very basics of what this software even is” and “Go make an UTAU voicebank if it’s so easy then”. (UTAU being a Japanese freeware program that hasn’t been updated since 2013. Creating an UTAU voicebank is complicated and takes a lot of time and technical knowledge.) He still refused to learn the basics of how vocal synths work, and proceeded to ask if “UTAU or Diff is most compatible with Dreamtonics”, a question absolutely no one could make any sense of? Lol.

Anyway, I don’t have anywhere in particular I’m going with this, I just think AI grifters are morons, and it’s obnoxious how the vague and misleading term “AI” has gotten nigh-mythologized by shady tech companies to the point that people can’t tell the difference between perfectly reasonable assistive technology and magic plagiarism.

Btw, fun fact for anyone who’s wondering, there do in fact exist legally/morally questionable UTAU voicebanks spliced from outside vocals. These are called “jinriki” voicebanks and not only do they take the same amount (if not more) of hard work as any other voicebank, they’re far from the insta-Beyoncé this dude was aiming for, and instead they sound um. like this

youtube

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gimme-noodles-please · 2 years

Text

Arcana Twilight haunted house headcannons

where you invite the arcana twilight bois to a haunted house attraction

author’s note: decided to try writing djekdjwk got inspired from going to a haunted house today with my friends HAHAH

————————————————

Arcturus:

he would readily agree to go with you, though he is scared, he is excited to spend time with you and most likely has never been to a haunted house before (protect this bby at all costs)

he gets scared easily, but he wouldnt scream. He would yelp in surprise whenever he gets jumpscared and hugs you for support

if you both are scared, you two would be hugging each other the whole time

if youre not, you end up protecting him and reassuring him throughout

he finds the experience fun and thrilling and would 100% want to go again someday

overall, a fun and chill experience 9/10

Spica:

at first he rejects your invitation, until you use your puppy dog eyes on him, he sighs and agrees.

he definitely doesnt get scared at all (even if he did, he is good at hiding it), instead he points out at the decor and atmosphere, stating that they did a good job with the production

if youre scared, he would have an arm around you to ‘protect’ you, reassuring you and tells you to close your eyes if you want to.

“it’s okay summoner, i’m right here.”

10/10 experience, only if you are scared (he will comfort you <3) because if youre not, it seriously wouldnt be that fun. Probably you both would be discussing about how good the acting of the scare actors are

“i must say, they did a very good job with the setup. oh, scary? no, it wasn’t scary at all. no don’t get me wrong, their acting was splendid.”

Pollux:

he is scared, DEFINITELY SCARED. But since it is you, he agrees, but pleads with you, even if it means going down on his knees, to not bring alpheratz or sirius with the both of you (so that he wouldnt get teased)

screams like a girl. Even if you are scared, youre more afraid of his screams than the scare actors. Either ways, you end up walking in front with him clinging onto your arm. (If you are the type to tease him, i believe you dont even have the energy to do so from all his screaming)

after the haunted house, he would pretend as if nothing happened, as if he wasnt scared in the first place.

“It wasn’t that bad. What? What do you mean i scream like a girl? No, i dont- hey! :< please dont tell alpheratz or sirius, please!”

experience? Ehhhh, it is fun to see him getting scared though it drains the life out of you from his screaming 💀 7.5/10

Alpheratz:

he rejects you. If you want him to agree, you need to ask him like 10 more times until he says yes because he gets annoyed lol

would jokingly say that you need to give him something as payment for his companion

he doesnt get scared and was rather bored the whole time

if you get scared, he would chuckle at you and put an arm around you without saying a word

from now on, your new nickname is scaredy cat

“You know, when you get scared, you jump like, 5 feet off the ground”

“That’s not true! :<< ”

“Oh yes it is.”

but if you dont get scared, it would be pretty boring

quite an okay experience, 7/10

Sirius:

oh this man will say yes right away. He will have a shit eating grin and tease you by asking if youre inviting him because YOU were scared

if you get scared, he would be laughing at you and teasing you non-stop about it. Might also play around with you and scare you too whenever just to see your frightened reaction again

“Summoner, i didnt know you get scared so easily~ You’re so cute when you get scared, you know?”

but if you dont, its best to bring one or more the boys who would so it is fun and you both can laugh at them

if not, you both end up trying to scare each other —

experience depends on whether you get scared or not 😭

Vega:

baby agrees to go with you ONLY because you are going. To protect you of course, what else?

he gets scared but doesnt really show it. He would jump and maybe yelp a little, subconsciously hiding behind you and when he realises that, he would mutter a soft apology

he tries to be tough in front of you. keyword, try

“Summoner, stay behind me, there might be a scare actor hiding behind the curta- aH-!”

“Are you okay, Vega? :( ”

“*coughs* im fine.”

you both would end up holding hands throughout the entire time, no matter you get scared or not. would walk side by side together

it is good for him if you dont get scared, you would be able to protect him <3

overall experience 8.5/10, pretty cute tho

#arcana twilight #arcana twilight x reader #arcana twilight arcturus #arcana twilight spica #arcana twilight pollux #arcana twilight alpheratz #arcana twilight sirius #arcana twilight vega #arcturus x reader #arcana twilight headcannons #spica x reader #alpheratz x reader #sirius x reader #pollux x reader #vega x reader #༊*·˚works

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ourloveisforthelovely · 1 year

Text

The Words "Best Friends" Become Redefined. Part 2

Regulus Black AU

Summary: You had been Regulus’ friend since childhood and now his mistress. The war had changed many things, Regulus among them. Now its time to decide if you should put your self-worth over missing someone who was gone.

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Rating: M- smut

Song in Chapter: King of Wishful Thinking by Go West

Link to Part 1

______

I'll get over you, I know I will. I'll pretend my ship's not sinking and I'll tell myself I'm over you. 'Cause I'm the king of wishful thinking.

Your eyes snapped open as the song on the radio began to register in your sleep-deprived mind. Groaning, you sat up and threw a shoe at the radio knocking it off of your chest of drawers. Anything about being “the queen of wishful thinking” made you want to barf.

It had been several weeks since the night at the pub and you were no closer to getting over Regulus than you were on day one. Every day seemed to be the same, emotionally. You would wake up, cry a little, get mad at yourself for being sad (because you were right and he was wrong), then get up and force yourself to put on a happy face.

Regulus wasn’t helping any matters by sending you letters every single day. He had sent you the emerald bracelet that you returned several times before you finally gave up and just kept it. When it came to the letters, you just gave them to Sirius to do whatever he wanted with them.

Sirius

You were more thankful than ever for your friendship with the elder Black brother. He was always a willing ear when you needed to rant. Sirius also took extra care to not tell Remus anything about the true nature of your relationship with Regulus. For all that Remus knew, in your mind, was your friendship with Regulus had ended and you were being a royal grouch about it.

Sighing, your mind went to the previous night when you were once again raging about Regulus to Sirius.

“I’m a real idiot, Sirius. I go around throwing away perfectly good boyfriends. Well, I don’t know if he considered himself my boyfriend but god damn it…Regulus is such a freaking jerk!”

Sirius sat on the couch watching.

“You’re still wearing his ring.”

You looked down at your hand. The ring that Regulus had given you years ago was still sitting proudly on your finger.

“I know that I am! I am a mess, Sirius. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. All I want to do is cry. You know me, I’m not a crier! I can handle a crisis!”

Sirius smirked.

“A trait that you share with your brother so well…look, love, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s good for you…hey look at me being the responsible one. Normally that’s your brother's job”

You groaned dramatically before sitting down.

“I know you are right but I don’t want to accept it. I am having a shit time at just throwing away a ten-year friendship and slight love affair. Why wasn’t I good enough for Regulus to fight for? Why couldn’t he say no to your family’s psycho ways and fight for me? Am I not…”

Sirius held a hand up.

“I’m just going to stop you right there, Y/n. You are more than good enough! You have always been good enough! Personally, I think that you are too good for the bum. Now come with me, we are going to do something. I want no complaining.”

You reluctantly followed Sirius into your bedroom. He led you to your full-sized mirror and put you in front of it.

“Now I want you to stand here, look at yourself, and tell me some of your best qualities.”

You gave your friend a frown only to earn a slap to the behind.

“I’m your best friend. I can do that…now get going, sugar bean.”

You sighed and looked at your reflection for a moment before meeting Sirius’ waiting eyes.

“I’m smart. I’m a good friend. I’ll fight for those I care about no matter the cost. I have a giving heart…I may be a sass queen…”

Sirius snorted.

“May be?”

You chuckled before turning around and hugging Sirius.

‘“Thank you, Sirius.”

Getting out of bed, you felt somewhat better. While Sirius could drive you crazy, he also knew how to make you feel a lot better.

He really does remind me of Regulus.

A truer thought couldn’t have been said about that one. Whether they argued and swore that they were totally different. Regulus and Sirius’ friendship styles were extremely similar. Standing in you in front of the mirror and making you list off good qualities about yourself was definitely something that Regulus would have done.

Stepping into the shower, you sighed in relief as the hot water washed over your aching muscles. In addition to your poor state of mental health, you had been pulling extra duties for The Order. This meant nightly patrols, tons of research, and spying on unsuspecting death eaters with Sirius and Remus.

“Hi sugar, I know that you miss me.”

You froze. This had been the first time that you had heard Regulus’ voice in your mind. Legilimency. Of course, Regulus could do this. You internally smacked yourself in the head as you “chose” to ignore him.

“Oh, you’re still not talking to me, huh? That’s too bad. I miss you, princess. Do you really expect me to go from spending every day with you for ten years to nothing so easily? I miss everything about you.”

You closed your eyes. Even though you were quite good at Occlumency, you made no move to push Regulus from your mind. Maybe you were asking for what you were getting. Maybe you were being weak…but damn it was wonderful to hear Regulus’ voice in your mind.

“Still nothing? Y/n, you really are being so stubborn. Maybe you should know what I miss. I miss seeing your beautiful face underneath me. How beautiful you look after I kiss your lips until they’re swollen and your cheeks are flushed bright pink. I miss how desperate you get when I suck on those dusty nipples. I miss how you move under me. You can’t tell me, love, that you don’t miss how your pussy trembles when I’m pushing in. Don’t forget, sweetheart, that it was I that showed you how to please a man. Now, that I know you are wet, how about a word? Anything…tell me where you are and I’ll come to you. We can fix all of these nasty little issues that we are having and get back to us…the real us.”

You bit your lip at “the real us.” Regulus didn’t remember what the real “Regulus and Y/n” was. He forgot what your friendship meant. He forgot what actual love was…

Forcing Regulus’ voice from your mind, you quickly turned off the shower.

“I have got to keep him out of my mind.”

You spent the majority of the day trying your best to avoid having your mind fall back to Regulus. Thankfully, there was enough crazy going on at the ministry to keep you busy for hours. The less that Regulus graced your mind the better. You weren’t able to sit around and think about his cocky voice in your head that morning…and how deliciously deep his voice sounded.

Merlin, I am really fucked.

You thought before putting your head down on your desk. Maybe you were more screwed than your realized?

Later that day you were more than happy to meet Remus and Sirius for dinner at a bar. Seeing your friends was just what you needed to “get out of your head.” The moment that you walked into the bar, Sirius motioned you over to the table.

Taking off your jacket, you nearly collapsed at the table. Normally, you would have kissed Remus and Sirius both on the top of their heads. Today, that wasn’t happening. Both men looked slightly offended as you held your hand up.

“Rain check. What a day! I am beat!”

You commented as Remus slid you a glass of fire whiskey. He gave you a small smile. Remus wasn’t a fool. He knew that there was more to your friendship with Regulus ending than what he was being told. Remus wanted nothing more than to question you and then go kill Regulus…but that would get him nowhere. You were depressed enough as it was. If he “offed” Regulus, you would be inconsolable. If Remus was to do anything, it would be to let you tell him in your own time.

What is it with Lupins finding the Blacks so damn interesting?

Remus looked across the table at Sirius who gave him a small smile.

Oh, that…that right there.

Remus added to his thoughts before turning to you.

“Long day?

You nodded.

“We don’t have many short ones any longer. I swear, this war needs to hurry the hell up. I don’t think that I was meant for this being careful thing. I ran into Augustus Rockwood today and had to stop myself from saying you’re next mother fucker.”

Sirius giggled.

“I’m surprised that you didn’t. Y/n, I have to say that Remus and yourself are the sassiest people that I know.”

“Does that assessment include yourself?”

Remus asked, cheekily. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“See what I mean? Sass!”

You leaned back in your chair and took a sip of your whiskey as the lights in the bar went out. Immediately, you reached for your wand as some death eaters walked into the bar.

“Boy, they sure like to make a big entrance.”

You murmured as Remus, Sirius, and yourself dropped to the floor. Remus’ eyes were wide as he turned to you.

“Get out. There is an exit in the back. Sirius and I will take the exit over there. If we all go together it will draw too much attention. If you want to go with Sirius, I’ll go the back way.”

You shook your head. The last thing that you were about to do was let them be separated. Besides, you could handle getting out on your own.

“No, just go. I’ll meet you lot back home.”

You whispered before crawling off toward the back of the pub as people in the bar started screaming. As much as you wanted to go back and fight, you knew it would be stupid. The three of you were outnumbered.

Once in the other room, you moved to stand up but someone grabbed you from behind. You quickly threw your elbow back hitting whoever it was in the ribs. When they made a painful moan, you pulled away enough to get a good look at who it was.

“Going somewhere, sugar?

You froze as Regulus took off his mask. As much as you wanted to stand and stare at him, you couldn’t. Taking out your wand you launched hex after hex at Regulus only for him to repel them away. You wanted him to hurt as much as you were hurting!

“Come on sugar is that the best you’ve got?”

Regulus said, sounding bored. You stopped and glared at him. You wanted Regulus to feel your misery. If there was anything of the man that you cared about in there…you wanted him to see your side.

“I don’t kill things. Unlike you, I don’t hurt people that I care about.”

Regulus chuckled.

“Oh, sugar. You really are mad.”

You picked up an empty bottle and threw it at Regulus. He sighed as it only hit him in the chest.

“Go away, Regulus. If you’re going to kill me then just be a man and do it.”

You snapped. Regulus was about to reply but stopped the moment that he heard Lucius Malfoy’s voice. He stood motionless for a moment before rushing forward and wrapping his arms around you.

“Don’t scream. Be silent.”

He hissed before standing his body upright. The last thing that Regulus wanted was for Malfoy to have any idea that he had “company.”

“Black, we need to go. Nothing that we came for is here. It was another piece of bloody useless information.”

You stood wrapped in Regulus’ arms clutching tightly to his death-eater robes as he gently rubbed soothing circles on your back.

Soothing…what is happening here?

You thought before taking a moment and breathing him in. Never in a million years did you think that you would ever be in Regulus’ arms like this again…yet here you were. There you were and he was holding you just as he did before turning away from you.

“I knew it was a waste of time. Go ahead, I’ll be along shortly. There is something else that I need to take care of.”

Regulus replied. He waited until he was positive that Malfoy was gone before letting go of you. When you looked back at your love’s face, he looked ready to panic. His cool calm composure was gone.

“Take the second door and get out of here. Turn into your animagus form the instant you are outside and don’t turn back into a human until you are home. Run and don’t look back…just run.”

“Reg..I…”

He shook his head before pulling you into a kiss. Neither of you moved away from the other for a moment. It was savoring the moment… enjoying the closeness that both of you missed. You sighed as Regulus’ tongue caressed yours. This was the kiss that you missed…the kiss that you longed for in your dreams…

Regulus was the first to pull away.

“Go! Stop wasting time…just please…go.”

You gave him one final look before morphing into your cat animagus form and rushing out the door into the dark silence of the ally way…

______ @amelie-black @jessyballet @knreidy1 @georgeweasleydumbhoe @justfinishthis @acciosiriusblack @siriuslyceleste @mimisparkle12 @teletubiswszpilkach @ell0ra-br3kk3r @darkenwolfie @livshifts @stelleduarte @starsval @millies0bsimp @coffeeaddictednymph @readtomeregulus @daddyslittlevillain @rogue-nyx88 @panpride @saramaple @missgorldafirst @s-we-e-t-t-ea @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @f4iryluvy @buttercup-beeee @i-love-scott-mccall @gugggu6gvai @jag9000 @quinis @yousmellllikecaca @mentally-unstable-hoe @haroldpotterson @padf00ts-l0ver @goldensunshineshit @aurorasnape12 @ad-astra-again @rubyroscoe1 @dumybitch @spideyxalmighty @lucasfilms77 @lostarc24 @marichromatic @play-morezeppelin @ravenhood2792 @un-lovesherself @melaninnbarbie @criminalyetminimal @brokencasbutt67-writer @authoressskr @moldy-old-boot @hankypranky @summer-novak @emiwrites3reads @shaylybaby2032 @knight-of-gleefulness @deanwherescas @sprnaturallover @wontlookaway @shitfaceddaniel-blog @untoldshortsofthefandoms @li0nh34rt @tas898 @mycuddlycorner

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irenadel · 1 month

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Pygmalion.

Chapter 4. She rose to his requirement, dropped the playthings of her life.

This chapter gutted me so once more, no beta we die like suicidal teenagers, set after the fateful murder/suicide of “The Only Man In The Sky" The slow burn up and turned the fuck on. We have smut, I repeat we have smut. It's not the smut we need maybe, but it's the smut I deserve. Homelander still needs a friend tho.

Chapter 1. That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain Chapter 2. We sat grown quiet at the name of love Chapter 3. He touched me, so I live to know that such a day, permitted so

He knew you could feel your phone vibrating (the newest, most expensive thing you owned since a harried Vought assistant had delivered it to your door), both because he could hear your heart speeding up in anticipation and because, through the flimsy barrier of your store’s concrete roof and thin ceiling tiles, he could see your hand fly to your back pocket. He was also able to catch a glimpse of the brief pull of your exasperated smile.

He needs you to stop fucking smiling and hurry it up, he thinks almost fondly.

Unfortunately, that quick grin costs you. Whatever goddamn idiot you are trying to service seems to think you are laughing at him (you should, he thinks, rolling his eyes, bored already) and that sets your customer off. And for a second, Homelander is almost pleased by that cocksucker screaming at you. It serves you right. Because you’ve been WASTING your time (his time) and kindness (HIS kindness, HIS rightful property) on the fucking undeserving mud. He’s had to hear you speak to this pathetic, daft old man in the same cheerful, soothing voice you use for HIM. You’ve been smiling at this idiot with that stupid, sickly-sweet (wonderful) smile of yours (his! his by right!) and he, for one, is fucking fed up with it.

It catches him off-guard when you start to cry. The anger comes first, surprising in its suddenness because he’s become so unused to anger when you’re around. But goddamn it, you cry so easily! It’s frankly embarrassing. He feels it hot and indignant and nauseous in the pit of his belly, like he imagines being sick must be like. Cannot decide who this anger is for: you, your stupid job or that idiot trying to apologize. He wants to break something about this, he is going to BREAK that asshole as soon as you stop your sniveling—

“Hey!” Your manager (insignificant, pathetic and completely outside of Homelander’s scope of possibilities) steps in between you and the half-irate, half-apologetic customer (“I was just telling her I didn’t need a fucking online profile! She doesn’t have to get so fucking worked up!”). His authority is immediate and definite and Homelander feels the alien white-hot burn of envy. “You can leave, sir. Customers who speak like that to my people are not welcome here. Goodbye.”

He hugs you and calls you something in Spanish that makes Homelander bristle in outrage. Sends you to your overdue lunch and you are so pathetically grateful it makes him ill.

It’s not right. It is, in fact, obscenely wrong. He feels strangely and absurdly robbed and considers flying off to leave you fending for yourself. It would serve you right if he did. You would have certainly earned it, missy—

Except you don’t quite make it to the roof. You stop on the last couple of stairs, settle your stupid little packed lunch and sit down, face hiding between your knees. You don’t cry anymore, Homelander would have known if you did, you just take deep, gulping breaths…

He feels stupid for a moment… Then he decides he’ll be damned if he lets you rob him of your tears as you had robbed him of your gratitude.

He breaks the roof’s lock and crushes its alarm mechanism before you have time to even turn his way, let alone protest, and takes advantage of your shock (seriously misplaced, you should know better by now) to sweep his cape out of the way and settle theatrically by your side.

“So… what’s for lunch?” He tries, offering you his best camera-worthy grin and you take the bait for a second before bursting into tears again. You’re such a pain, Homelander thinks, pleased as you, at long last, fall into his arms and let him be your hero. What would you do without him?

Probably bore someone else with your little complaints.

It turns out that what’s for lunch is leftover Thai from Lumlum on 49th between 9th and 10th for him and a salad with shredded chicken and (in his opinion) an excess of bell peppers for you. Homelander is equal parts annoyed and flattered by the leftovers, carefully curated from your dinner last night with the only one among your pathetic friends who can actually afford to eat out. It’s not too spicy, I could stand it and I’m shit at spicy curries, you tell him confidently and he relents solely because he enjoys your endless attempts to get him to eat new things.

You’re still weepy, but Homelander is pleased to see that the city sun, his own marvelous self, and the well-worn routine of your lunch hour has finally made you relax enough to fill the empty spaces with your chatter.

You’ve been doing this since you started going back to work full time at the end of your semester. You bring enough lunch for two and he, Homelander, lets you bask in his presence for one glorious hour of your ordinary life. He sees it as a sort of charity work, given how much it perks you up, no doubt massively improving your day.

Sometimes you talk. Well, most of the time. You talk a lot. It was… unsettling, the way you would get him to spill whatever it was that bothered him. He would start with complaints about Ashley and the incompetent board at Vought and then he would be telling you about Stan Edgar, or god forbid, Vogelbaum. (Or at least a version of Vogelbaum… one you could understand.)

You always had something interesting to say.

“… I get it… sometimes you wish they’d done something that left scars then you’d feel like it was real. Like it counted.”

And then he’d be paralyzed with sympathy and longing. Like he’d almost reached something, some important bit of understanding that had eluded him. Like there was a physical thing between you, tying the two of you together. You’d have found a better way to say it.

Today, you sounded more tired than outraged. He did not like the defeat in your voice.

“… it’s not that I want it to stop… it’s just that it grinds you down, and I don’t know if it’ll ever get better… if it’ll ever stop being so hard and I’m so sick of trying.”

Something like alarm bells pulse through his veins and in a panic-stricken moment he grabs for your wrists (leaving bruises you will later ignore, because by now you have ignored every other warning sign), holds you away from him like you could burn him (hurt him, by means he has only just begun to understand). You don’t seem to grasp the depths of it, just a bare glimpse of the animal fear that had gripped him for a second, and try, immediately, to diffuse it as best as you can.

“Jesus don’t look at me like that, I don’t mean that, I mean… you know?” But there’s that tired look of defeat on you again, like even complaining takes too much effort, as you gesture at your own body (soft, so soft and comfortable in his arms he suddenly wishes he’d had thought to hold you again instead). “Eat right, exercise, work, study, don’t forget to create shit to stay sane… And it feels like none of it truly matters. Like I’m fighting all the time, just fighting against the weight of my own unimportance… my deep, profound smallness… ideas like everyone else, dreams like everyone else, nothing new, nothing relevant… just waves and waves of remembering how fucking unremarkable I truly am…”

He finds it so surprising he laughs at you. Doesn’t even let you process the hurt before he’s barreling on.

“You’re such a silly goose! Of course you feel like that!” And he’s become so used to the comfort of your understanding and lack of judgment that he doesn’t even think to cushion the blow. “You’re all just so insignificant. Just mud really. It’s so hard to find any of you that matter.”

And he’s not looking at your face, because he’s too busy looking at his hands on your arms and wondering how the soft give of your flesh would feel without his gloves. He’s not thinking of your face, or the bitter grimace of betrayal in it, and that is what saves you both, that there is no premeditation to what he says to you next. It comes out raw and true.

“But you matter. You matter to me. That makes you more important than anyone else.”

***

“Please tell me that you’re fucking him,” your roommate says wheeling her chair into the elevator, finally, at long last repaired and miraculously functional for the last couple of weeks. Management seemed to have gotten competent at something. “Sex makes it normal. Sex is nuts and still pretty dumb but understandable at least!”

You walk in behind her and spend the rest of the way to your apartment trying to explain how it isn’t like that with you and Homelander. You’re friends. You have lunch together every day because it’s nice. You talk about your life and his idiot politics because it’s fun to rile him up. You’ve shown him your drawings cause he asked (cause he’s the first guy in a long time who has shown any interest in them, watched you watercolor intently while he rambles on about himself and whatever petty drama is going on in the Seven, winced when you use too much pigment and clicked his tongue in surprise when you recover by using tissue paper, like it’s a soccer match or something).

Not like that at all… but somehow so much better.

You throw your stuff on your ratty old couch and turn on American Hero both because your roommate likes it and because if you don’t, Homelander will be sulking about it the whole week. God knows how long you spent coaching his atrocious Spanish accent and you intend to spend even more time making fun of his bad attempt to welcome Supersonic into the Seven. (Try not to think about his promise to you. Try not to make it personal and sappy and meaningful that his stupid Mexican ass in his stupid Puerto Rican costume got chosen.)

“God, wish they’d let Queen Maeve host American Hero at some point. She’d be killer at it… You know,” your roommate says from the kitchen while she’s making popcorn. “Sex would be better than you being friendzoned by fucking Homelander.”

“That’s not what—”

“Oh come on! Even you’ve got to be wondering when he’s officially gonna ask you out!”

You say nothing because you’ve got nothing to say. Because you’ve wondered about it and you hate that you have. And you also know how unfair it is. Because his ex-girlfriend (the fucking nazi) just killed herself a few weeks ago. And he was here having a panic attack about it. Because you’re not sure you want it yourself. He still scares you sometimes and you don’t know if that’s the kind of thing you could live with. He’s hurt you before… it gets easy to forget but somehow you haven’t quite managed to. Sometimes he will tell you something that makes you google whether you’re a mandatory reporter in the state of New York. Sometimes he will tell you something that makes your heart ache for him, your alarm bell blair, makes you want to ask him are you happy? Do you want to live like this? You don’t have to… But that’s not the sort of thing a girl who just met him can ask. Especially a girl who is still unsure of what you are to each other or whether she can be anything to him at all.

After all, watching Starlight on TV, blonde and perfect, you wonder how she can stand the terror of being looked at all the time. And that’s what him asking you out would mean. Being looked at all the goddamn time. And no matter how much weight you lose or how many times you go to work or university in roller skates instead of taking the bus, how many YWCA yoga classes you take… you know you’re not the kind of girl people like to look at all the time. Beautiful, angry men who fall out of the sky don’t date frizzy-haired, over-educated, pudgy nobodies. And if they do, people tend not to like it.

Still, he said you mattered. He said it with no hesitation. He meant it.

“I think… we’re taking it slow,” you admit to your roommate and to yourself as you take the bowl of popcorn from her. She looks surprised for a second and then smiles at you and you find yourself smiling back as you settle down to watch the end.

“I get it but,” she says in mock exasperation. “It’s glacial and I want my Queen Maeve VIP passes now.”

You both burst out laughing so hard that you almost miss it. His shit-eating grin that you can never admit you love so much. His dumb red gloved hand that you’ve held in your own before, sneaking around Starlight’s shoulder. She’s my girl now. Come again, you want to ask. Because you don’t quite understand. Because you must have heard wrong. Can’t keep it a secret anymore.

In love.

Your roommate stares at you and it’s not the almost immediate fury and shout of fucking Homelight my ass! that gets you. It’s not the immediate speculation from the voice over, or Homelander kissing Starlight on the lips while your roommate screams motherfucker! at the screen. All of that you could have withstood, maybe not with grace or civility but at least without falling apart. But it’s that brief yet still too long moment of utter pity on your roommate’s face when she looks at you, that makes you stand up without a word and lock yourself in your room, while she knocks on your door and says things you don’t understand about you being a thousand times better than him. Being well rid of him. Fuck him. You’ll be fine

I used to think love could give me significance, back when I dated, you had told him once and he had made a face like he’d swallowed a lemon and told you unequivocally, what bullshit that was. Love does nothing. Love fixes nothing. You either matter or you don’t. You’re important or you’re a nobody.

And yet, it seemed just a few short days ago he’d said you mattered. Homelander had looked directly at you, no trace of guile in his stupid face, just fond exasperation. As if you had been silly to ask, silly to doubt it for a second. You matter to me.

Not enough. Apparently not enough.

***

He should’ve known it from the very first shitty excuse. He’d been focusing on the important things, hadn’t had time for whatever fucking bullshit had made you start acting so weird. He just didn’t have any time for this. He’d needed you there for him through this difficult time and suddenly you were…

Gone. Unavailable. Busy.

First it had been ridiculous errands that couldn’t have been important in any way. He’d gotten Ashley to install fucking washing machines in your building and left a Vought credit card with you in spite of your fucking tiresome protests because he was sick of you being at the goddamn library consulting books you could just fucking buy, wasting your time talking to god knows who, stupid excuses like you were drawing at the library with friends. Who fucking goes to the library to draw? (And who the fuck would go hang out with friends when they had Homelander as an option?)

Then, it was missing lunch at work. Lots of customers. Something about summer and people having more time to browse while shopping and needing to make more sales because you were saving up for the semester.

He’d put his foot down with that. He’d fucking had enough. Because you’d said it without looking at him, your pulse racing, your palms sweating and he had known, known instantly that you were lying. Like everyone lied to him. Struggled to hide the hurt it caused him and cornered you in the back of the store instead, slammed his hand right besides your face making the concrete crack and told you (because he could, because he should, because what he had said to Starlight had been true, if all he could have from you was fear then fear it would be) that you could figure it out with that fucking asshole manager of yours or he would figure it out for you.

And his stomach burned when he’d seen you fight to hold back tears while you nodded stupidly at him. Because you hadn’t held back tears in front of him in ages. Because he’d suddenly wanted to grab you and shake you until you’d cry and let him hold you through it the way it was supposed to work.

You never missed lunch again.

And suddenly it’s not enough. Because you’re not there. You look out into the sky when you should be looking at him. You sound distracted and irritable when you should be fucking glad. You were always so fucking glad to see him. And he wants to toss you aside, fine by him if you want to be like this. You can rot for all he cares.

Except your silences taste like tears. Like the moist, fragile quality of your brown eyes looking at him when you think he doesn’t notice. It’s nothing like the acrid taste of Madelyn’s nervous deception, or the adrenaline spiked rush of Stormfront’s passionate delusions. It’s sharp and bitter and full of sleepless nights.

He knows because he’s gone to your room when you are not there. To catch the smell of the sour-sweet cortisol of your insomnia. Had considered breaking your things in a rage, uprooting your plants, throwing your books into the harbor. (Can’t bring himself to lay hands on you again and this would be the next best thing) But all he manages is to lose himself in the telltale aroma of salt on your pillows. Where you’d laid together. Where you’d said he was your hero. He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with you. Suspects it’s these friends you keep having to see, their offensive scent all over your unmade bed. Confusing and alien, too many fucking people in your life that have no business taking up what should be HIS time. Sometimes your goddamn roommate, sometimes some unknown man, or a girl, caked cheap makeup and peroxide and hair spray. Not your smell, oatmeal soap and clean sweat…

He burrows into the pillows and thinks of tearing your sheets to pieces. Would serve you right. He should incinerate the whole bed and everything in it and—

Oh. Oh.

He pushes himself off the bed like it burns him, because he hadn’t expected this, has no framework to place it in. It doesn’t belong here, with you. Because underneath all the extraneous scents, and the other more familiar ones, the dust, the damp earth of your plants and the parchmenty sharpness of your books, there’s the thick, tangy smell of your sex. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. I mean you’re a red-blooded Ame— woman. It’s only natural you should— He shifts uncomfortably on your bed, over-conscious of the knowledge that you’d rubbed one out in the same bed where you sometimes lay down to watch a movie (one of his movies) with him.

He doesn’t move towards it, not really. Just lays back down on your bed and breathes deeply. He tries to think of nothing, indulging in not even the slightest movement. Almost smiles before the intrusion of the sudden, furious thought that your fun might have been not entirely solitary makes him clench his fists so hard the leather of his gloves creaks ominously. You fucking invite so many fucking assholes to this bed it might be hiding in the smell of one of them. (It would explain it, would clear up everything, a reason for your distance that would be simple to fix) He should put a stop to it. No more friends. No more library. No more conversational French meetups. No more Central Park or roller skating to occupy your time. Just your job. Just the important part. Just him.

And he is suddenly, surprisingly, furiously hard, still breathing deeply of you. Cheap shampoo, corner-store deodorant, cotton panties and thick, potent female arousal… but no bitter scent of male cum anywhere in the cacophony of your bed’s smells.

Not yet anyway.

You must have been thinking about him when you did this. Of course. Of course. Your crush was painfully transparent, even if he hadn’t had the telltale spike of your heartbeat every time you saw him. So stupid of you. So silly and earnest, to want the impossible fantasy of your hero. He was almost sorry for you, because it must have been so difficult to see him day in and day out, not knowing what to say or do, wanting him…

And he finds himself facedown on your unmade bed, hands grabbing handfuls of your sheets, because it’s either that or touch himself, and he will be damned if he capitulates in this, like he’s done with everything else around you. He’s so hard it hurts. Erection sandwiched painfully between his body and the soft give of your mattress. A sudden, crystal clear image pops up in his head: your soft, thick thighs and one of your sweet little hands between them. And he’s grinding against the bed, almost without meaning too, almost without permission from his brain, because his face is shoved against what had been the wet spot of your bed and he holds his jaw shut so tightly it’s nearly painful, lest he be tempted to sneak a taste.

The smell is enough, more than enough, as he lets his hips go, imagining you whispering Homelander, Homelander against your bed. You’d sob like he’d heard you sob before, maybe cry a little, but happily this time. Ecstatic transported like that day at the lake. You, soaked in his arms, soaked in more ways than one, smiling at him.

He’s cumming, long and drawn out, with each snap of his hips against your mattress, pounding against it, eyes scrunched shut as if in pain, barely a gasp behind clenched teeth, erection pressed so hard against the bed it almost hurts. He’ll think about it later. It’s enough for the moment, enough to dissipate it all.

He very nearly forgives you.

He’s still laying on your bed when you come back home, still breathing heavily, head blissfully blank, the squelching mess of his own cum inside his suit making him feel so dirty and ashamed he’s already beginning to sport a brand new stiffy. He should’ve heard you come in all the way from the elevator landing. He had, if he was honest with himself. But had also found himself stuck in defiant paralysis, half of him ready to bolt, half of him willing to be caught sprawled on your bed, hand shoved down his pants, just to make you responsible for whatever this was. There was something terribly appealing about you, inattentive, absentee traitor that you were, having to get home and watch him jerk off where you had. Not being able to look away. Not being able to lie about it. Not being able to leave him.

But he does neither.

And when he hears you open your bedroom’s door and call to someone behind you “I’ll be right there! Let me just leave my things!” he is immediately overcome by a raging irritation that does nothing to alleviate the embarrassment of his still lingering arousal. Some fucking library you had to go to! The fucking sort of library that answers “Sure!” in a sweet baritone…

Two things register first. You’re wearing the Homelander branded varsity jacket he got you and your hair is green. Not even fucking blue or red, fucking deep emerald green, clashing gloriously with the colors on your jacket, freshly dyed apparently, lovingly curled for once instead of your usual frizzy mess. He hates it on sight. Hates it because you did not consult him on it. Because you hadn’t thought about him at all when deciding to do something so stupid looking. You had probably been thinking about whoever was on the other side of your ratty, disgusting apartment. Oh he’s going to let him and you know. Oh you’ve gotten yourself in so much trouble…

Except you also look so miserable and exhausted he could swear you’re about to drop.

“… hey,” you say uncertainly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

He doesn’t want to think of this, of the fluttering of your tired pulse, and the dryness of your tightly-held lips. He refuses to feel sorry for you. You should be the one begging his forgiveness.

“Weeeell,” he barrels on with a strained, too-wide smile. “You did fucking tell me to drop whenever. Maybe you shoulda thought to put a schedule to that, huh? Maybe when you’re not entertaining. Who’s your fucking friend?”

He hates that you step back. He hates that you don’t even look scared, not really. He smells the tears before they drop from your eyes, before you hang your head in unbearable pain, holding your own sweet arms to your stomach like that can keep your insides from spilling out.

“I can’t. I can’t do it anymore. Please leave.”

And that does hit him like a gut punch, like the physical blow he has never experienced. He reaches for the comforting rage and finds nothing but gaping emptiness. Because nothing you say or do ever sounds right to him. You never give him the right cue cards, the well known scripts… you never let him do what he knows. Homelander may have expected rejection but not this open, wounded mourning. Not you grabbing hold of a wall to lower yourself on the floor while you can’t stop looking at him like he’s the one that has dismissed you. Like you can’t stand to tear your eyes off him now that he’s here.

Fuck you. And your easy tears. And that look of betrayal that should have belonged to him.

“You? YOU?! You can’t do THIS anymore?! And what is THIS exactly, missy? Huh? What kind of fucking performing monkey do you think I am to you? Think that you can have me here whenever you want and out the door when it’s not to your fucking convenience? Oh no, no you don’t. You don’t get to tell me when to fucking go–”

And it takes the bottom out from under him when you choke back “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Because your pulse is racing and you are afraid. He can see it in the tension of your shoulders and every time you flinch when he shouts. But when you bury your face in your hands, it’s more of those awful, gulping tears and more I’m sorries that he somehow believes you mean.

“I can’t be your friend anymore. I just can’t.”

He had not known this would hurt as it did. He thought he’d known the worst of it when Ryan had walked away from him. When Stormfront had left him when he most needed her. When Madelyn had lied to him. He didn’t know how the truth could hurt so much worse. The truth that all the others had neglected to speak to him, at least you have the guts to say it to his face. He’d always thought he’d have enough pride to face it head on, hadn’t known he would have to bite back bile and the thin, reedy pleading boy he somehow still harbored inside him. Please. I’ll be better. I’ll be good. Please don’t do this.

“I can’t stand it…” You get formal when you’re in pain, like you forget the casual ease of your adopted language and country. Like you want as much distance between the two of you. “I can’t stand looking at you. I’ve tried… I’ve tried so hard…”

And he’s the one who can’t look at you, nauseous and adrift, hands almost curling into fists, almost reaching for your shoulders so he can shake some sense into you, so he can tear you in two before he lets you keep hurting him like this. And he does, he does grab a handful of each fleshy shoulder, fights his own grimace of pain and the part of himself that has every right to demand he bang your head against your bedroom wall until you’ll stop talking, stop leaving, just stop.

You don’t know. He wants so badly to tell you, to show you how close to destruction you are, how little you matter, how easy you would be to snuff out. But whatever it is that is going through your silly little head, it makes you reach back to him, touch his face once and then recoil like he could burn you (he can and he will), like he disgusts you, like he—

“I can’t stand having to look at you and not have you. Please leave. I can’t be your friend when I feel like this about you.”

#homelander smut #homelander fanfiction #homelander x reader #pygmalion homelander #my writing #the boys #the boys season 3 #the boys fanfic

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