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jakesimfromstatefarm · 3 years

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not jealous | jake sim

summary: jake sim is not a jealous person. at least that's what he tells himself. so why does he find himself going through your phone when a certain "bluejay park" decides to text you?

pairing: jake sim x y/n [ft. mentions of jay park]

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: angst, cursing (very minimal), one slightly suggestive sentence, jake being cute, some more angst lol, slightly cheesy bc jake’s just too cute ugh

wc: 3.8k

a/n: ok i loved writing this, which is why i went on to almost 4k words LOL oops. but anyways, i love jake a little too much and this type of scenario has been running around in my head for a while now so i decided to put it into words. also i may have created this blog just so i could post this somewhere LMAO anyways yeah this was my first fic so hope you guys enjoyyyy <3

Jake Sim is not a jealous person.

At least that's what he tells himself. To be fair, in his past relationships, he never showed any jealously. Then again, he doesn't know if he can call those relationships, "relationships". Does a fifth grade relationship with a girl who he was once dared to kiss during a game of Truth or Dare in the basement of a classmate's house during their 11th birthday party count? He doesn't remember being jealous when the same girl was later dared to kiss his classmate, Sunghoon. (Funny enough, that's how the two boys came to be best friends 'til this day, but that's a story for another time.)

But really, Jake doesn't think jealously is one of his traits, even if he's now almost 20 years old without any experience with love other than his current relationship with you and that short-lived romance in the fifth grade. (What was her name again? Jake would have to ask Sunghoon later.)

So he doesn't know what clicked in that brain of his that lead him to this current situation he was in. He doesn't know why he felt a little spark of anger in him when your phone, which you left right next to him on the couch while you went to take a shower, kept buzzing with texts from "bluejay park". He doesn't know why he couldn't kept his eyes distracted from the messages, although your phone was constantly lighting up because whatever it was Jay had to say to you, he would not shut up about it. He doesn't know why he questioned what your relationship with Jay was for a split second.

In fact, you're close with all of Jake's friends. That's one of his favorite things about you, you get along so well with all his friends you might as well replace Jake himself in the friend group. So he doesn't know what tells him to take a little glance at your phone—at the messages.

But he finds himself doing it anyways.

Hearing that the water in the shower was still running (you were always the type to take long showers), he quickly grabs your phone and scrolls through the lock screen just to find that he couldn't even read the messages since you had your notifications set so no one could read them unless the phone was unlocked (darn you and your settings!) Thankfully, Jake knew your passcode––and you knew his too––or he thought he did. Until the iPhone vibrated, telling him the passcode was wrong.

He must've entered it too fast or something. So he tries again.

And again.

Until the iPhone switches its screen to say: "iPhone is disabled. Try again in 5 minutes."

There's no way. You never change your password. And even if you did, you would tell him—you two even had each other's fingerprints saved into each other's phones in the past (you know, before the world decided that Apple's home button was too lame and decided to just completely get rid of it). If there was an option to save multiple faces for Face ID, you two would be that couple that saved each others faces in your own phones.

That being said, Jake sat there, your phone in hand, frozen. Why was your phone locked? Why was Jay texting you 10 texts per second? Why did he feel guilty about this entire situation?

He hears the shower switch off and in that moment, he swears he feels his heart beat just a little faster. He tells himself there's no way you'll be out before the 5 minutes are up. You followed a really meticulous skincare routine (one that Jake memorized by now) that took an extra 15 minutes of your time after each shower.

"Hey Jake?" Your voice calls out from the tiny bathroom door crack that you left open before you hopped in the shower, "Is my phone out there? Do you mind bringing it to me?"

Fuck.

Jake shifts on the couch. Taps his foot on the ground. Returns your phone to its original spot. Clears his throat.

"Don't you want to get dressed first?" he calls back, quite timidly.

He can hear you stop moving around in the bathroom. Probably telling yourself what an odd response that was. To be fair, it was an odd question, considering the fact that you two have been together for so long, it’s not like he hasn’t seen you undressed before...intentionally or not.

Next thing he knows, the steam is rolling out of the bathroom door and you're stepping out in your towel, eyebrows raised.

"If you didn't want to get up from the couch, you could've just said so, you lazy butt," you smirk at him as you walk towards him and the couch, leaving a faint trail of water drops behind you. Jake's eyes follow your figure as you go to grab your phone and lift the screen towards yourself.

That's when he freezes. You do too.

You cock your head, as if asking yourself why it was disabled. He can hear the gears in your head turning.

"Jake, did you try to unlock my phone?"

He runs through all the possible excuses he could blurt out. Come on Jake, think of something! But he knows he can't lie to you.

Too many beats of silence pass by.

"Maybe," he finally says—or more like murmurs. He looks up to you like a child looking up at their mom, who just them caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. To his surprise, you don't show any hint of anger. A flash of confusion—and is that worry he sees?—crosses your face for a split second before you shrug and turn towards your room to change, dropping the subject. It was natural for you two to use each other's phones anyways. So then why did you have that look of worry?

Jake knows you well, a little too well. But that's what you love about him. He can easily read all your emotions. One of the many things he picked up from dating you for almost two years now. But why would you care if he tried to get into your phone? Why would that worry you? All the possibilities run through head and his own worry begins to increase. He trusts you. He does.

So then why does the thought bother him throughout the entire day? Why does he bring it up during dinner later that night, when you're both cuddled on your sofa, slurping take-out ramen while rewatching your favorite k-drama under the thick blanket that you always keep in your living room for nights like these?

"Huh? Of course I've heard from Jay today, we had that conversation about that stupid meme you boys kept laughing about in the groupchat we're all in, didn't we?" You answer him when he asks if you've heard from Jay lately. You sit up from your warm spot under Jake's arm to put your empty bowl on the coffee table in front of you. When you lean back, you look up at him,

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just wondering," he says, avoiding your eyes by keeping his own trained on the series currently playing on your TV. This would be your third time rewatching this series together. He would never complain to you though, he knows how much you love it and if he were being honest, he was secretly attached to the characters—not that he would ever tell you, he would never hear the end of it from you and the boys.

"You're being weird. Just tell me, or did you forget that I can practically read your mind," you say with a giggle and shove to his side, the one you were currently warmly cuddled into. Jake wasn't the only one who learned how to read emotions; you could read him just as well as he could read you. And like you, that's one of the many things he loved about you. But maybe not in this case.

He toyed around with the contents inside his ramen bowl with his chopsticks.

"I just..." God, how does he word this? Why was he having trouble explaining it? You were the easiest person to talk to. To him, you were the only person he could tell everything to.

"Jaywastextingyouabunchearlier," he blurts out quickly, but not quickly enough for you to miss it.

He feels you shift under his arm. He feels the air in the room shift. Tension.

"What?" Now you're sitting upright, legs criss-crossed in front of you on the couch but turned, so your body is completely facing him. He mirrors you, sitting up to put his ramen bowl next to yours on the surface, but he stays facing the TV.

"Your phone kept going off because of him when you were showering," he says with a little more confidence. But inside, he was nervous as hell, the same nervous as when he asked you out for the first time many moons ago. But it's too late to back out now, he brought it up first, anyways. Guess we're having this conversation now, good going Jake!

"Is that why you tried unlocking my phone earlier? I mean I thought you were just trying to leave selfies on my phone like you always do but you were trying to read my texts?" You question, slightly raising your soft voice. He doesn't know how to react, he hates confrontation.

"It wasn't like that, Jay just kept spamming you and like I—why was he even texting you in the first place? Then your phone got disabled because you changed your password, which you never do by the way, so I–"

"I changed it because my little sister kept getting into my phone when I went to visit my family yesterday! Did you really think I was hiding something from you? You know I can text whoever I want, right? You don't own me."

Okay so now he's managed to make you angry. Good going Jake, part 2!

"Okay but what does Jay need from you so bad that he has to send you like 50 messages at once?" He's standing now. So are you, eyebrows furrowed together as you collect your bowls from the table.

Standing there, bowls in hand, you say, "Jake, that's none of your business! It wasn't even that big of a deal, I don't know why you felt the need to nosy around."

"Well, if he's texting you non-stop, then obviously it's a big deal! We wouldn't even be having this conversation if you would just tell me what you guys were talking about," he murmurs back, eyes narrowing. You scoff as you trail into your kitchen. He follows behind and stops at the other side at your kitchen island as you place the dirty dishes into the sink.

"No, we're having this conversation because you obviously don't trust me! It doesn't matter what we were talking about, it doesn't matter who I was texting! I could be texting your mother and I shouldn't have to tell you what we were talking about! That's why we're having this conversation," you say as you turn back to face him from the other end.

He hates this. He hates fighting with you (which is a very, very rare occasion). He hates that you think he doesn't trust you. He hates his insecurity eating at him, telling him to keep questioning you on why you and Jay were talking in the first place. He was aware that you were close with his friends, but it wasn't until the texts he realized just how close you are with them. It's not that he didn't trust you, he just didn't know how to act when it came to you and other guys. God knows how he got lucky enough to meet you, let alone date you, so the thought of him losing you to someone else actually terrified him. Not only were you his first real relationship, but he wanted you to be his first and only one in life. You were it for him.

"Why did he text you." He deadpans from his side of the kitchen.

You scoff with a hint of exasperation. "You're kidding me."

You stare at him. He stares back, quirking an eyebrow, as if restating the same question back, as if testing you.

You're fuming now. Why was he making it so hard? Why was he doubting you? Out of frustration, you start laughing, which scares him. That can't be good.

"Fine. You wanna know so bad? Take a look," you're one tone level away from screaming as you take your phone out of your pocket, unlock it, and open up your conversation with "bluejay park", sliding the phone across the island to reach him.

Jake stares at the phone which now lies there, unlocked, facing him. Isn't this what he wanted? It is, right? That's why he started this dreaded argument with you in the first place.

Then why does he feel so fucking awful?

He looks back up at you, to see you sighing and looking up at the ceiling, as if trying to force your forming tears back into your eyes.

Yup, he feels horrible.

"Happy? Happy to know we were just trying to plan a surprise birthday party for you but you and your jealously just had to know huh, Jake?" You quickly state, voice cracking, as you tried not to choke up. You weren't sad that he found out about the surprise. You were sad that it felt like he didn't trust you. That he thought you were the type of person to do god knows what behind his back. You hated the feeling of not being trusted. Especially by Jake, of all people.

"Fuck."

Jake's face (and heart) falls with the most broken expression you've ever seen. But you're too sad, angry, tired (a mix of all?) to care. Your only goal right now is to not let him see you cry.

You hurry past him, across your apartment, and into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you, leaving behind a shocked, and regretful, Jake.

His heart shrinks when he hears the door slam shut and a little more when he looks down at the still unlocked phone in front of him. He didn't have the heart in him to look at it anymore. Of course he trusted you, he knew what you said was the truth.

He mentally screams at himself for assuming the worst––for thinking that you, a literal angel, would betray him. First, he thought he was losing you to someone else. Now, he was afraid he just lost you through his own actions.

He hesitantly sulks over to your door, softly knocking when he reaches it.

"Y/N?"

No response.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I let my—”

"Jake just please leave me alone for now," he hears you painfully say from a distance, meaning you're on your bed. He knows the door's unlocked—the lock on your door hasn't been working for a long time now, despite the many times he tells you to talk to your landlord about it. But he doesn't find it in him to open it. He knows he messed up. If he saw you in there right now, crying, he wouldn't know what to do. He wouldn't know what he would to do himself, knowing he was the reason behind your tears.

He nods in silence, knowing you can't see him, but does so anyways and returns to his spot on the couch. He could leave right now, go back to the dorm with the rest of the guys, let you have your space like you wanted. But his heart hurts at the idea of leaving you sad, angry, or a combination of both. He can't leave this unresolved. He fucked up, he has to fix it.

And so he sits on your couch for another hour. The clock on the wall behind him continues to tick as the silent tension in your apartment continues to grow. When it hits 11pm and he's sure you've slumbered off into sleep, he quietly enters your room.

He can see your figure in the dark, your back facing the door as you're curled up into yourself under the comforter. He feels his heart drop a little more when he imagines you crying in that position from earlier. He slowly peels the comforter open and gets into his side of the bed, careful not to bother your sleeping figure.

Laying there, staring up at the ceiling, he's never felt more like a stranger in your bed. It's not that he hasn't slept over before, god knows he's probably slept over at your place more than he has in his own bed. But right now, in this moment, he just felt awful. Like he didn't deserve to be in such close proximity to you. How could he be deserving? He violated your privacy, made you feel like you weren't trusted, doubted your relationship.

These thoughts run through Jake's head as he stares up at your ceiling fan, wishing he could turn back time to a few hours ago, before he checked your phone, before he let his insecurities get to the best of him.

You can feel the dip he makes in the bed behind you when he gets in. Of course you're not asleep. There's no way sleep could reach you when you had the recent events constantly replaying in your head like a broken record.

You knew Jake with all your heart. You didn't have to look at him to know he was probably laying there, hurt, staring up at the ceiling, drafting what to say once you wake up—or once he knows you're actually still awake.

You decide to break the tension by turning to lay on your other side, facing him.

You were wrong. Thanks to the little sliver of moonlight shining through your sheer curtains, you can see him, now laying on his side, already looking at you with so much regret in his eyes. You can almost hear the cracks in your heart physically forming.

His eyes widen when he realizes you're still awake. He opens his mouth to say something, but not before you quickly shift over to his side of the bed and embrace him in a tight hold, burying your face into his chest. Without any hesitation, he returns the gesture, arms holding your body as close to him as possible. As if once he let go, he'd lose you forever.

He lets out a sigh of relief as he breathes you in. He didn't even know he was holding his breath all this time.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry Y/N," he mutters into your hair. He feels his hoodie getting wet from where you buried your face. He pulls you closer, if that's even possible, feeling his own eyes heating up with sadness. He would never forgive himself for making you feel this way.

"You know I trust you right? Please know that. I shouldn't have assumed the worst when I saw your phone. I...I let my insecurities get to the best of me."

You move your head from its home on his chest to look up at him, as if asking him to elaborate. This was new to you, you didn't know he held insecurities in your relationship. But it wasn't because of you, no, you were his entire world. Losing you meant losing everything.

Jake's never been the best at saying his feelings. That's why it took him so long (with the help of his six best friends) to finally confess how he felt about you. He was afraid of letting people in if they could easily walk out. Maybe that's why he never let anyone into his life before you. But oh, were you an exception. The second he met you, he knew he was fucked. But thank god he did, because thanks to you, he's been able to be more open, more vulnerable. He's able to talk to you about anything and everything. He doesn't have that same fear of losing people anymore, not when he has you in his life to reassure him every step of the way. But right now, in this moment, he doesn't know how to tell you that his new fear was, in fact, just losing you.

The sheer idea of you not being a part of his life anymore terrified him.

"I hope you know you're never going to lose me Jake, if that's what you're insecure about," you softly mutter as you wrap your free arm that's not stuck in between both your bodies around him to gently play with the ends of his hair. It's as if you could read his mind, he loves that you know him so well.

"It just sucks that you could even think I would ever do something as awful as what you were assuming...with one of your closest friends nonetheless," you continue.

"I know. I know, and I feel terrible. I'm so sorry. I know you would never do anything remotely close to that, and I know you would never intentionally try to keep anything from me," he sighs. He shifts so he can lie down on his back, bringing you with him to lie on his chest, never letting you go once. "It's just...I just don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you Y/N. Everyday, I ask myself what heroic thing I must've done in my past life to deserve this life with you and I can't help but think you could just as easily be stripped away from me."

As much as your heart breaks listening to him rant, you feel your love for him grow even more. You knew how hard it was for him to put his true emotions into words, and him telling you this reminded you how much trust he had in you.

After some moments of silence, moments of him drawing random shapes onto your back, moments of you two just holding each other like it was the end of the world, you speak up.

"I love you. I'm sorry for making you doubt yourself—"

"No, it's not your fault, I can't help but think things like that. I just don't know what I did to deserve you, and I know that I need to be mo–"

"Babe let me finish," you say with a little giggle in your tone. He immediately stops and mutters a little "sorry". How cute, you tell yourself.

"I was gonna say," you look back up at him so you're making direct eye contact now. "You're the only one that's ever on my mind, Jake. I can't help the way you think, but I can assure you that there is no one else I would rather be with. And I mean that for the rest of life."

You snuggle back into the comfortable hoodie he's currently wearing (you make a mental note to yourself to steal it from him later) and decide to ease the tension,

"So you're stuck with me for life, sorry to inform you Mr. Sim."

Jake lets out a laugh, looking down at you to see you returning his smile with a cheeky one.

"I love you. So much," he says so sincerely, so genuinely, that you almost tear up again from how content you were. Now you were asking yourself, what did you do to deserve him?

Jake Sim is not a jealous person.

No, he just loves you.

A lot.

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youbloodymadgenius · 3 years

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Angel’s Touch (Modern!Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my long overdue contribution to @rosepetals-flyingbirds‘ challenge. I’m sorry it took me so long, babe 💖 I’ve been going through a lot lately (including the loss of a loved one) and I wasn’t in the mood to write 😔

The prompt, as usual, is in bold.

Thanks to the lovely @geekandbooknerd for beta reading this for me 🌺

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

The gif belongs to @therealcalicali 💐

Summary: Ivar's always been very secretive when it comes to his legs. How is he going to react when you tell him you want to know all of him?

Warnings: angst; fluff at the end; Ivar’s insecurities; soft and vulnerable Ivar.

Words: 4600

"I'm coming!" you shout enthusiastically, wrapping a soft towel around your body before closing the bathroom door behind you.

Wincing at your words, Ivar hastily hides his legs under the comforter. "That was a close one…", he mumbles while breathing a sigh of relief. Deep down, he knows he's not doing the right thing. Avoiding the problem will not make it go away.

He can't help himself, though. He still has nightmares about that awful night with Margrethe. It was years ago, yet memories of her disgusted look as well as her eyes full of pity still haunt his nights, vivid and humiliating.

He doesn't want to go through that again. It would be unbearable and painful, much worse than the dull ache he's used to enduring every day. No, he definitely can't relive it. Shuddering at this thought, Ivar squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fists tight.

He won't allow it. He can't. Because he's not sure he can get over it again. After Margrethe, he had been broken – more broken than his broken bones – for so long. It had taken him years of therapy to stop being disgusted by himself, to stop hating himself for what he was. A freak. It had taken him years to endure looking at himself in a mirror. And it had taken him years to imagine sharing a bed with a woman again.

Oh, of course, he had fucked every so often. He needed it after the complete fiasco with Margrethe. He had to prove himself that he could… But it had always been in a hurry, and with random, uninteresting women. Till you…

You. You're not random, and definitely not uninteresting. You're beautiful and smart, patient and funny, warmhearted and caring but never overbearing. You're… perfect, he thinks, and it scares him as much as it makes him shiver with excitement. On top of that, so far you don't seem bothered by his legs and he wants to keep it that way.

His legs. His fucking legs. The averted elephant in the room. Well, averted… more or less. Because if you've never seen them, you know the braces, the crutches, the uneven gait and he's pretty sure you've figured out his pain. But you two never talk about them. He knows that you understood from the beginning that they were, they are a major issue for him. You're smart enough for that.

Yet, you never bring them up and he couldn't be more grateful. He's very aware that he can't keep going like this for long. But he doesn't know how to address what is, to him, a huge matter of concern. He's afraid you'll go away as soon as you realize how damaged his legs are, how crippled he really is. He doesn't want to lose you. He can't. That would be insufferable. And he knows exactly why. It's not just that he likes you, that sex is great, and that you're fun to be around, no… He's helplessly falling in love with you. It may be terrifying, but it's no less true.

That's why he does what he does. That's why he's always hurrying up, hiding, avoiding. It doesn't matter if it leads sometimes to awkward situations. It doesn't matter if you're not fooled. All that matters is that you don't see his legs; not for a long time anyway; and most preferably never.

Inhaling deeply, Ivar slips his hands under the comforter, rubs his scrawny, bony, twisted thighs, feeling their scarred skin and grunting in disgust. He knows he's wrong, he knows he's not going anywhere, but he can't help. He can't risk losing you.

***

More sad than irritated, you hardly stifle a sigh as you enter the room. Once again, Ivar is unsurprisingly already in bed, his fluffy comforter keeping his legs out of sight.

His legs… A fucking huge elephant in the room… It's amazing – not in a good way – how something that's never addressed can take up so much space.

The truth is, you know a lot about them. Being a son of Ragnar, the man who rules Scandinavia – at least economically but surely politically too, with friends in the right places and enough money to corrupt them – didn't allow Ivar to grow up in the shadow. Ivar's life therefore has always been on display, making headlines more often than not. So you know about his disease and its inherent struggles, about the surgeries and about the pain – well, now you even witness it sometimes, and the way he always tries to hide it is heartwrenching.

You know more than you'd like to since you even know about his supposed failing sex life, that bitch whose name you've long forgotten having told her story to everyone around. It doesn't matter though, as you can testify that Ivar's cock is far from dysfunctional.

Anyway, if you know a lot – truths or lies – about his condition and about his legs, you don't know them. And you're aware it has to change. You just don't know how. You can't be too straightforward or Ivar will close up on you. Yet you can't let things go on like this for too long, because it's unhealthy. And an unhealthy relationship with Ivar is the last thing you want, both for his and your sake.

Somehow always in your mind, his legs make things awkward. Sex is great, but could even be better, for they prevent you from being spontaneous. The last thing you want is to make Ivar, the man you're falling in love with, uncomfortable. So, you don't speak about them because you can feel he doesn't want to speak about them. You don't look at them because his tight jaw is unmistakable each time your eyes wander to his lower body. You do your best never to touch them, which isn't easy when you share his bed. In short, most of the time you act as if they don't exist. And this has got to stop.

You can't let this unspoken thing continue to grow between the two of you or it will end up becoming a problem that will eat you up, you do know it with utmost certainty. You won't allow it. You can't. Ivar is important to you, to say the least, and you're pretty sure he reciprocates your feelings. You see it in his huge blue eyes that sparkle each time he looks at you; you hear it in the softness of his tone each time he talks to you.

So yeah, the whole situation annoys you. It doesn't mean that his legs annoy you. They don't. You won't lie, you're a little nervous about them. How could you not, given how sensitive a subject they are? Will you say the right thing? Do the right thing? Will you hurt Ivar unwillingly? Just thinking about it, about them, makes you feel like you're walking on eggshells. Ivar is being very touchy when it comes to them, to those-legs-we-mustn't-talk-about, it seems to you that the slightest word could ruin everything. And you don't want that. Gods, you don't. Yet, you're not sure how to handle well something that important.

That's the point. His legs are that important. They shouldn't be. They shouldn't matter. They don't matter. Of course, you're not stupid. Ivar has a disability, there's no denying it. But it doesn't define him, right? What defines him is his outstanding intelligence, his sharp mind, and his deadpan, ironic humour. And well, if you're being honest, his ridiculous handsomeness too… It might sound shallow, but… who cares?

Anyway, enough is enough. Things must change and you're sure Ivar won't be the one initiating the change. It leaves you no choice, you know it. Your heart hammering in your chest, you rub your sweaty palms together before inhaling deeply. That's it. Let it be done. The sooner the better.

***

"Are you not coming?" Ivar's blue eyes are scrutinizing you from under furrowed brows as you scrabble around in your small overnight bag, as an idea has just popped into your head.

Glancing at him over your shoulder, you barely nod while swallowing the lump in your throat. "Of course I am, give me a minute." You reply after a while, sounding more confident than you feel. But you know it's a good idea. It could be the first step. It could work. It has to work.

Your hands are shaking but your heart is filled with hope when you eventually find what you were looking for. "Here it is.", you mutter, a tentative smile playing on your lips as you turn towards your lover, who looks at the silk scarf in your hand with a mischievous grin.

"What is it on your naughty mind?" He asks playfully, tilting his head in his very own way, the one that melts your heart each and every time. "You want to blindfold me, Y/N?" His low, deep voice sends shivers down your spine. "Or maybe you'd rather be blindfolded? It's up to you, I'm totally on board with either one." He swallows heavily, and when he licks his upper lip and then the lower in a slow-moving and sensual motion, a familiar warmth spreads in your lower belly.

Of course, he had to misread the situation. And you, you're so easily, pathetically flustered! Closing your eyes to push away any distracting thoughts, you inhale deeply while just shaking your head no as you don't trust yourself to speak right now.

Raising a brow, Ivar gives you a questioning look. "So, what is it about, then?" His tone is more serious now, you can almost feel a hint of uneasiness in his voice as if a part of his brain already suspects what's in your mind.

"Actually, I want to be blindfolded, but not to do what you're thinking about." You explain, shyly lowering your gaze. "I'd like to try something." You speak in a whisper but with honesty, fidgeting with the little silver Mjölnir – a gift from Ivar – you wear around your neck. "If it's okay with you." You add, your shaky voice giving away your nervousness.

Confused, Ivar looks at you with knitted brows. Since you don't want to explain further – because you're sure that if you told him of your plan, he would deny you – you just climb on the bed, kneel next to him and bring the scarf to your face, wrapping it around your head and over your eyes before tying it in the back with a tight knot.

Being blinded like that, even if it's of your own volition, is quite unsettling, you must say. You feel weirdly exposed, vulnerable, in your tiny shorts and a tank top and you have to inhale and exhale slowly several times in order to calm your nerves.

Uncertain, Ivar keeps quiet, his breathing just a little bit shorter than usual. "Y/N?" His hesitant voice startles you and you swallow, biting your inner cheek.

You know you have to take action, the sooner the better. So you fumble blindly on the bed and as you find Ivar's hand, you bring it to your mouth, kissing each knuckle one after the other while your free hand slips under the comforter.

His breath hitches, yet Ivar doesn't react, doesn't stop you, as you slowly lift the comforter, pulling it away. But when your fingers graze what you think is his thigh, he grabs your wrist, wrapping his fingers around it.

"What…" Ivar stutters, his grip tight enough to bruise your delicate skin, "… What are you doing, Y/N?" His voice, barely audible, is nothing more than a shaky whisper that wrings your heart.

Yet, you won't back down. "Let me, Ivar, please…" You beg softly, but to no avail. Ivar rushes his words, panic coursing through his veins. "Stop Y/N! Don't, please don't, I… They are… They are ugly. I… I can't." That's it. He can't. Just thinking of you exposing his disgusting legs, he feels like throwing up. He can't.

Hearing your lover so upset, and maybe even close to tears, is heartbreaking. Raising your free hand, you find his arm, then his shoulder, his neck, and finally his face, which you cup tenderly.

"You do know I won't see them, don't you?" You ask carefully, peppering light kisses along his jaw while trying to slow down the frantic pace of your own heart.

Ivar doesn't miss a beat, pushing you away gently but very firmly. "You don't need your sight to feel how hideous they are." Almost convinced to give up by his broken voice, you struggle to keep in mind that postponing the problem can't be a solution.

"That's what you think about them, how you see them, Ivar, that's not what they are." Your tone soft and soothing, you're trying to convey how much you care. "And it's certainly not how I'm going to see or to feel them."

"How would you know?" You can tell that he shifts in the bed to sit upright, his back against the headboard. His fingers still around your wrist, you have to stifle a hiss of pain when he changes position.

"Because they are a part of you. Nothing from you, or about you, can be ugly." You wince, realizing that you've just opened up to him more than you would have liked. But well, speaking your mind isn't a bad thing, right?

As Ivar, dumbstruck, keeps quiet, you decide to strike the iron while it's hot. Once again finding his cheek, your thumb lightly strokes it while you speak. "Let me touch them, Ivar…"

You know him well enough to be sure that right now, a storm is clouding his features. But as his breathing starts to quicken and as his grip on your wrist loosens, you understand that he's more frightened than angry. "Please…" You plead, aiming blindly a reassuring smile in his direction.

"But… Wh… Why?" He's never felt so scared, not even with Margrethe. Even if the rational part of him knows you're right, he won't give up yet, not without fighting. "Why… Why does it have to be? You don't need to touch those fucking…", swallowing, he closes his eyes briefly, "… you don't need to touch my legs, Y/N. You don't. We could just go on like this, as we have done up to now. Believe me, it will be better like that."

"No, it won't." You sigh, shaking your head. Ivar's distress may break your heart, yet you're more and more convinced that this is the right thing to do. "Let me touch them, Ivar, please…" You simply repeat, your free hand still on his cheek.

"Why… Why is it so important to you?" As soon as the words escape his lips, he regrets them, wishes he could take them back. He should have said no. Why didn't he say no? Slapping himself internally, he rolls his eyes, annoyed as much by his own stupidity as by your stubbornness.

You answer in a sweet whisper, placing your hand on his chest. He's sure you can feel the crazy thumping of his heart under your palm. "Because your legs are a part of you, and I want to know everything about you. Will you let me, Ivar?"

Ivar, deeply moved by your words, is eager to believe them. But on the other hand, it's so… frightening; unsettling. Not used to being so vulnerable in front of someone, he feels like he's being ripped apart, and gods, he hates it! "I… I don't know… I'm… not sure…" He eventually stammers almost unwillingly, more or less denying you once more, yet his resolution starts to falter, and he knows you can hear it.

Even more surprising, it's as if his body betrayed him, his fingers finally releasing your wrist. As you gasp, astonished and pleased, he ponders for a few moments before deciding – if deciding something against what seems to be your own will is even a thing – he won't stop you. He knows he could, but he also knows you're right. So, conflicted and petrified with fear, he just waves his hand, wiggling his fingers, and mumbles under his breath a faint "go ahead" that you almost miss.

"Is that a 'yes', Ivar?" Full of hope and with what you're sure is a beaming smile on your lips, you intertwine your fidgeting fingers and put your hands on your lap, anxiously awaiting his reply.

His jaw clenched, Ivar just nods. At first, he doesn't realize that you can't see him. As the silence drags on, he furrows his brows, confused, before breathing a hesitant answer. "Yeahhh…" Digging his fingernails into his palms, he waits for your next move, almost like someone awaiting a death sentence.

Sensing his anxiousness, you raise your hands and then move them very slowly, willing to give Ivar time to stop you if he needs to. Since he doesn't utter a word nor grab your wrists, you keep going, your fingers grazing what surely is his lower belly before finding the hem of his cotton boxer shorts.

Intensely aware of the importance of the moment, you can't help but swallow loudly, your stomach tied in knots. You started all this, and even if you're still not sure if it's the right time – will there ever be a right time for this? – you have to keep going. But you're scared. What if it'll push Ivar over the edge? What if it is too much for him? What if you won't handle this as well as you think you will? You don't want to lose him. Your mind suddenly filled with doubts, you do the only thing you can think of, and send a silent prayer to the gods, hoping they can help the two of you.

Holding his breath, Ivar looks at your hands as if he was hypnotized. His eyes wide open, he can't move, can't speak, utterly terrified of what is to come. He knows he should trust you. Maybe he does. But he doesn't trust himself. No, that's not true. Most of the time, Ivar doesn't lack self-confidence. He knows his worth. He's aware of the strength of his intelligence, his cunning. He knows about his good looks – even if they're quite useless; or about his highly appreciated caustic humour. And as he's no fool, he knows that being a Ragnarsson – name, wealth, all the stuff – is a major asset. Yet, when it comes to his legs, he's nothing more than a frightened little boy, so anxious that he's ready to fall apart. Feeling ashamed, self-conscious, and helpless, he's wondering how much tenser he can become until he physically shatters. Conflicted, he wants you to stop as well as he wants you to keep going. This has to be done. This should never be done. He's in love with you. You will never love him. You won't hurt him. He'll be hurt once again. Hectic, opposing thoughts are constantly fighting in his mind, leaving him frozen in fear and panicked. So, since he can't think straight, he does the only thing he can think of and sends a silent prayer to the gods. May they help him; help you.

Uselessly closing your eyes behind the blindfold, you gather your strength. Ivar didn't stop you. That's good. That means he wants you to do it, right? Inhaling deeply, you try to stop the shaking in your hands, and then, slightly leaning forward, you let your fingertips run over his thighs, barely touching them. You forget how to breathe and Ivar is so still, so quiet, you think he's not breathing either.

As you become bolder, you place the flat of your hands on his legs, careful not to apply any pressure. Under your palms, you can feel every bump, every scar, every broken bone. Your movements intentionally agonizingly slow, your hands move down to his protruding knee caps before finding his atrophied calves, their wasted muscles evident to the touch. You can't think how painful walking, or even just standing up, must be. The thought spreads a dull ache in your chest, but you keep your face emotionless, aware that if you can't see him, Ivar can see you. Rather than dwelling on it, you continue exploring, and when your fingers brush against the sole of one of his misshaped, scrawny feet, Ivar flinches. "Sorry," you mumble, "I didn't know you were ticklish." Since Ivar doesn't react, you're not sure he heard you and decide to slowly move your hands up his legs, placing them back on his bony thighs.

Keeping his eyes on you the whole time, Ivar struggles to breathe, his heart pounding wildly in his rib cage. He's surprised, he must say. He expected to see disgust or pity on your face, but there's none of that. Of course, he can't see your eyes, but a small smile never leaves your lips. Could it be that you're not disgusted? In any case, you don't seem troubled by what you're feeling. Maybe you're hiding it, but if so, you're hiding it well. He's also surprised because he expected to hate every moment of the process. Himself, he's all the time trying to avoid touching his legs. He hates PT sessions and doctor's appointments with a passion for a reason. But your touch is… enjoyable if he can push away all his doubts and his awful thoughts. It strikes him all of a sudden: it's probably the first time someone touches his legs for no reason at all. They were regularly massaged, checked for injuries, examined, palpated; of course, they were. But there was always a medical reason. Even when his mother touched them, it was to ease the pain. But you… you decided to touch his ugly limbs just because you wanted to. And just now, he realizes how much he missed that. Can he really miss something he's never known? He's not sure, but here he is, enjoying your featherlike touch, craving it, not wanting it to stop. Yes, he likes it; needs it. But what if, after tonight, you don't want to touch them again? He wouldn't blame you, who would want to touch such repulsive things? The thought brings bile to his throat and he knows it won't stop plaguing his mind. So he has to know, whatever it takes. Moving for the first time, he runs a trembling hand through his hair and summons all his courage.

"You… you didn't say a word." His quivering voice startles you, making your heart swell with sadness. You don't need your eyes to know that Ivar is filled with dread. The need to reassure him compels you to blindly fumble on the bed until you find his hand, which you grasp between yours. "What do you want me to say?" You ask cautiously, your thumb lightly stroking his knuckles.

You can feel Ivar stiffening, his fingernails probably bruising your palms as he lets out a shuddering breath. "I…" He stops to swallow. "The… truth, Y/N. Go ahead, speak your mind. You… you touched…" He stutters, and you're willing to bet his eyes are tightly shut, his tone giving away his level of anxiety. "… you touched them. My legs, I mean. I know… I know how they feel, ugly and disgusting… no need to sugarcoat your thoughts… I… I can handle the truth…" His voice cracks at the end, contradicting his words.

Releasing his hand, you graze his right thigh with gentle fingers. "No, Ivar", you speak softly yet firmly, "that's not how they feel, at least not to me." You know you have to be honest, you can't just say nonsensical, lovey-dovey things, he won't buy it. "I won't tell you they feel beautiful. They don't." Choosing your words carefully, you let your pointer finger follow a massive scar from his mid-thigh to his knee. "They feel different, and yes, you can feel the scars. It must have been painful, it's probably still is. But I promise you, they're not disgusting. They're your legs. They say a lot, Ivar. They're telling a story, your story. That's why I wanted to know them because as I said earlier, I want to know all about you. And they are part of you. I do think they finally deserve to be cared about, to be loved. Let me love them…" You whisper the last words, feeling vulnerable. 'Let me love you…' is what you want to add, but you know you can't, not yet, so instead you lean forward, your lips brushing and then kissing his thigh.

Something between a whine and a choked sob escapes his lips and you can hear his breath hitch as his hand gets up close to your neck. "Did I hurt you?" You ask with concern, frowning behind the blindfold.

Ivar can't help but smile, even if you can't see it. "No!" he replies quickly, his hand now on the back of your head. "I wasn't expecting that, the kiss I mean, but I… liked it." He explains shyly, surprised by his own words. "Actually, I loved it." He's not lying. He loved the kiss, he loved your words; it's as if a tremendous weight had just been lifted off of him. Part of him tells him not to believe everything you said, but he decides not to. He didn't hear any malice or mischief in your voice. He knows you were being genuine. That's why, choosing to chase the disbelief away, he decides to trust you completely. And that's why, suddenly, without warning, he pulls off the blindfold.

"What are you doing, Ivar?" You squeak, immediately closing your eyes and picking up the comforter. But as you intend to cover his legs, Ivar grabs your wrists with both hands. "Just leave it where it is." He retorts before letting out a heavy sigh. "And open your eyes."

You do as you're told, but keep your eyes on his face. There are tears in his eyes and a whirlwind of emotions. "Just look at them, Y/N." He almost commands you, but you know that's a way to hide his true feelings behind bravado.

Blinking a few times and scrunching your face, you tilt your head to the side, scrutinizing him. "Are you sure?"

Your lover just shrugs, biting his lower lip. "Will I ever be?" Taking a deep breath, he adds in a murmur. "But I trust you."

***

Later that night, as you're sound asleep, your head on his chest and his arm around your waist, Ivar can't get sleep, amazed that you didn't run away. He keeps replaying what you did when you saw his legs. You had just smiled. And kissed them one more time. And then thanked him for trusting you, for allowing you to love them. Moved and overwhelmed, he could see the matching tears in your eyes, but no sadness on your face. What he saw instead was relief, and care, and… love?

Kissing your head, he mumbles. "It is I who should be thanking you. I don't know what I did to deserve someone like you, but whatever it was, I'm glad. If angels are real, you're mine. I won't let you go, Y/N, never ever."

"I love you…" He finally whispers, taking advantage of your slumber. Well, little does he know you're awake but staying perfectly still. You know you weren't meant to hear those three words, not yet. And it doesn't matter. You can wait. You and Ivar have a lifetime to love each other.

All of him. All of you.

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets @lisinfleur @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa

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jitter-bug · 4 years

Text

Just Like Me

Taglist: @artemisfowl11

Nines x Reader (Detroit: Become Human)

A/n: Did I hear costumes with a plot twist? And 10x scary???👀 so that the request wouldn't be too short ???🔫👀 I certainly fuckin' did. This one is too long. Sorry for rush. I love you :') plz enjoy(plz) I have so many request. And I am getting around to all of them. So don't worry for anyone that's waiting for your request, they will get done I promise! (Plz don't hurt me--)❤ enjoy- p.s I also had a hard time choosing the costume. I wanted something race neutral because as a person of color myself. There's not many couple costumes out there, that...you know. So 😌 uh. I had to run off a limb here for all my POC readers. (Gang gang 😩) (give me feedback if you any more of this, I know some people messaged me about continuing Fear. I don't do series. But I'll do em' we lit over here😩😪💅) p.s.s I edited it to gender neutral, so sorry for any errors-- (donthurtme)

"What do you mean, no?" The defeated tone of the detective echoed through the bullpen. Arms crossed as they stared at Hank. He was sitting at his desk. A hand placed on the desk as he stared at the terminal. In a way so he wouldn't have to stare at the perplexed expression of Y/n.

"Kid. I'm too damn old to be dressing up in costumes." Was his reply.

Y/n had woken up that very morning. An idea engraved in their brain like their body threatened them to remember it and not let the wonderful idea go.

The DPD was throwing a Halloween party. Which was really a celebration for Chris, he was finally promoted to being an official Detective, and for his celebration. There would be a themed party. Considering the fact that Halloween was creeping in around the corner. Y/n soon thought that they wanted to wear a costume, with someone that is. They thought sharing laughs or even going to the party dressed as characters would be fun and yet entertaining. Their first thought was Hank. But, he undoubtedly shot the idea down. And declined. Hank saw the unamused expression on their face when he tore his gaze from the terminal. Their fist was planted on his desk. As their hand was on their hip. Their eyebrows furrowed. Giving him a look that he was used to seeing when they helped him speak with suspects in the interrogation room. Though, their expression was not as hard and more so serious.

Connor, who was sitting at his desk. Across from Hank. Stared between the two. His LED teetering back and forth from yellow to stark red.

"Go ask Gavin." Hank brought up the name that seemed alien to him as he scoffed slightly at his name. Y/n quickly lost their expression before shaking her head. They couldn't say Y/n and Gavin were enemies. But they haven't interacted with each other to a point where Y/n would see themself asking him to join them on their dress up crusade.

"No." They replied. Hank has been staring at the ceiling. Arms crossed. Once hearing Y/n once again. He landed his gaze back onto them. His index finger tapping his arm.

"Go ask your partner."

Nines stared at Y/n. The two staring right through each other, but Y/n could feel themself crumble under his steel gaze. His eyebrows furrowed slightly. In an attempt to see through Y/n.

Nines originally was Gavin Reed's partner. Until Chris was recently promoted to a Detective and made to be Gavin's partner. Which pulled Y/n from Hank and Connor, into being Nine's newest partner.

Before then. They hadn't really interacted with him. Occasional greetings and ludicrous jokes between Y/n and Gavin. In which the rk900 ignored, he never cared to learn much about Y/n- or anyone at the station at that. He was reserved, observant, stern and very stoic. He...lacked certain things other deviant androids had.

Emotions.

People around the prescient knew about him. But never spoke to him, reasons being his lack of expressing himself gave people the assumption that Nines was genuinely just a rude android. Which...Y/n could see why. He didn't tolerate childish behavior, at all. Rarely participated in any outings the station threw, such as celebrations if someone was promoted. Birthday parties. Or just a genuine outing to celebrate and catch up with one another. Nines was always at the station, he - In a way deemed to separate himself from others. His eyebrows were always furrowed. In a way to resemble a scowl of some sort...which he always did.

Of course, Y/n could somewhat tolerate him, once they were paired together, Nines was non-stop pestering Y/n with things they needed to get done, things that weren't done right. He always pointed out the imperfections and mistakes rather than the good. Y/n couldn't say they were exactly friends with the rk900. He made it hard for it to be anything other than being partners. But, today was the day, Y/n decided it would be best to try and find a way through his cold exterior.

Nines didn't say anything. Y/n held her hands behind her back. The slightest smile trying to make its way onto their face. "So...I was thinking."

They started. They didn't feel nervous. But rather awkward from the sudden request. Nines didn't say anything. Instead keep his arms behind his back as Y/n slowly sat down on the desk. Planting their hands on their knees. "I was thinking, maybe me and you should go to Chris's celebration together tomorrow night, you know. As partners? Amigos? Buddies?" Y/n reached up. Placing a half-heartedly punch on Nine's shoulder.

"And. You know. Dress up? Costumes? I'd think you'd enjoy it. You know, you've been really working your heart out for these past few weeks Nines, and I think maybe you would like a break. You know, wind down." They explained. In their head. The explanation was fool-proof. Nines had been working a lot. In fact. The whole station was. With the new cases of Red Ice popping up around Detroit. Everyone had constantly been on their toes.

"I'm incapable of getting tired, Detective." Nines replied. He turned to fully face Y/n. His arms that were once behind his back, now by his side.

Y/n felt themself run into a dead end.

"I know that Nine's I'm not stupid." She muttered. Instead of replying. He only stared at her. Blinking once, that was so it took. Y/n could tell what he was thinking. They sneered.

"That's not funny, I'm serious."

"My apologies. I was unaware I was making a joke--"

"Anyway!" Snapping their fingers to get back on track. Y/n sighed. Rubbing their temple before looking back at Nine's form.

"If. You go to the party with me, and agree to wear a costume with me. I promise I'll stop fooling around on the field." They tried to compromise watching as Nine's was already turning away from her to walk over to his desk.

"I'll even stop making those lame ass jokes for an entire week. I can't say for..forever, But I mean a week has to be at least decent." They spoke up. Raising their voice so he could listen.

"A month." Nines said. His back turned from them. But Y/n could see him grabbing stacks of papers and placing them in their designated manilla folders. Y/n stared at his back. Eyebrows furrowed as they tried to piece together what he meant, the rk900 seemed to be aware of how perplexed she was.

"You'll focus on the assigned case you have, without constantly getting distracted, for a month. If you can agree to that. Then you've found yourself someone to go to the party with."

He explained. Y/n jumped slightly, the excitement shot through them like electricity, sparking them to life. This was new! Certainly new!

"Wait, are you serious? Oh my god!" They squealed. Kicking their feet so hard Y/n was afraid their shoe would fly off, flying across the room. As funny as the scenario might sound, Y/n was too distracted with the offer to worry about anything else.

"1 month?" They asks.

"1 month." He repeats.

"I mean...what about 2 weeks?" They bargained. A month, where they couldn't bullshit around at work. It felt like a sin to Y/n.

"1 month."

"But...Nines that's too long." They tried to whine. But Nines turned around. Holding the folders in his hands.

"1 month." He repeats.

"2 weeks?"

"1 month."

"....3 weeks?"

"1 month."

"No! Come on. 2 weeks. Take it or leave it!" Y/n shoots their hands in the air. Drastically expressing their distress. But Nines didn't seem to show an ounce of sorrow or care for the matter.

"Do I hear 2 months?"

"Okay, no! 1 month!"

With what Y/n assumed would be the end of the discussion to Nines. He nods.

"Okay then. Now. What is it that you have planned?"

"Okay. So. I think maybe we should do something scary. 2 years ago. Me and Hank dressed up as clowns, and scared the hell out of Gavin. It was hilarious." Y/n absently spoke. They searched through their phone for ideas that may spark interest in them. Deciding on creating something new and from scratch.

Nines was busy placing items in Y/n's bag so the two could leave the station and do whatever it was Y/n had in store.

Nines zipped up the bookbag before turning away from the desk to face. Only to find them already examining his form.

The yellow soon took the place of the blue on his LED. His eyebrows furrowed.

"What?" He asks. Y/n hummed.

"I was thinking of what would suit you." They replied. As they spoke Nines handed Y/n their bookbag, which they thanked him before slipping it on over their shoulders.

"We can head to my house and see ideas from there." Y/n started. Adjusting the straps onto their shoulders as they took several steps forward towards the exit. They didn't have much time from now till tomorrow night, the gears in Y/n's head were turning. What should they do? What should they dress as for their costumes? And most importantly. Make sure Nines had a good night out for his first ever outing.

Y/n placed the phone back in theirpocket. Before reaching over to unlock the door. They felt Nines walk behind them, swatting and flicking their hand away from the latch to open the door.

"I'm driving. You get to the passenger side and think about what your plan will be." Nines spoke. Y/n flinched their hand away from the latch.

"Ow, okay, okay--" they made their way around the car to the passenger side. Y/n was positive the only real reason he wanted Y/n to sit out on driving was because last time they were behind the wheel, a favorite song of theirs that they vaguely remembered from some time ago came on the radio station when they were patrolling the downtown area of Detroit.

All Y/n could say was how Nines was extremely pissed with their screeching out lyrics that he wasn't paying attention to. More of Y/n's abrupt screaming. Which is why he didn't want them touching the wheel while he was in the car with them.

Slipping inside the car. Y/n closed the door. Hearing from their opposite side that Nines was in the car as well.

"Keys." He spoke up. Y/n automatically reached in their dress pants pockets in search of the keys. Once feeling the cool metal against their digits. They handed them to Nines. Where as he started the car.

Y/n slide off their bookbag. And turned to toss it in the back of the car. Where a paper bag was seen lazily balled up on the floor. Seeing the Red Ice cases increased exponentially, there were many stakeouts that Y/n and Nines were assigned to. Sitting out in the car for long periods of time did spike up an appetite in Y/n's stomach every once in a while. Of course, Nines scolded them for not eating before arriving on the scene, but that didn't stop them from getting food.

Once situated and Nines driving down the street. Y/n slipped their phone back out.

"So. How do you feel being a butcher?" They asks. Nines stared at the road. Silent for a moment as he contemplated what Y/n said.

"A butcher..? Odd, how would that in any way be a good costume?" He asks. Y/n placed their phone their lap.

"Bloody butcher. You know. Kill people? Chop chop? Blood. Chains and all that jazz." They replied. Flipping through the many photos of cheap costumes that would wear out in later than a few months if they were to purchase one.

"I can't make a firm decision on what to wear. You do that." He spoke up. Y/n hummed in acknowledgment. As much as they wanted Nines to choose for himself. He often had a hard time doing so. Of course he did things his own way, but only for a purpose of doing his job. Completing his mission.

"Well then. Butcher it is," they replied.

Once making it into the warm house that groped around Y/n with its comforting warmth. Y/n dropped their bookbag on the ground by the couch. Plopping down onto the cushion. And letting out a long needed sigh. They heard Nines close and lock the front door.

The tension in Y/n's muscles slowly eased its way into relaxation. This wasn't the first time Nines had seen Y/n's place. Only resorting to be at their doorstep to wake them up at ungodly hours for emergency crime scenes that so happened to pop up out of nowhere. Or to drive them home when they are tired to do it half the time themself.

The TV was still on playing from earlier in the morning when Y/n left. On the same channel and same soft spoken volume.

"Alright. Come on. Sit." They finally mustered up the energy to speak. Nines - who was standing next to the couch, took a seat next to Y/n as they opened their phone once more.

"So. I was thinking on the way here. A bloody butcher. Both you and I. I think that would be fun." They proclaimed it was some extremely good news. But to Nines, it was more of good news to Y/n, but he didn't say anything. His pale optics pierced Y/n's face. His eyebrows raised slightly. Y/n gave him a smile, one of reassurance. "Oh come on, don't worry. You'll love it. I saw you have a knack for violent things." They chuckled. Moving over to their coffee table to pick up the laptop that was sitting on it. Nines LED flickered a stark red.

"I'm assuming you would think I'm a violent person because of how I handle things on the field?" It didn't sound like much of a question.

"Well duh. You do tend to man-handle the hell out of the suspects." Y/n replied. Nines didn't say anything else. Instead, watch as Y/n typed into the computer. After a while. They sat back on the couch and glanced at Nines.

"This should work out. Not to mention be a good sight for my budget." They said. Y/n turned the laptop around and showed a photo of the costume, which was just general ideas of what items they planned on looking for.

Nines stared at the screen. His LED circling around. Once. Twice. Before turning yellow.

"Are you purchasing these from a store?" He asks. Y/n nods. Nines nods as well.

"Yeah. Tomorrow after work we both are going to go gather the materials to put together the costume. Oh, this should be fun! Believe it or not. Gavin is such a scary cat. I'm pretty sure you'll be able to scare the hell out of him!" They gave a laugh before setting the laptop on the table.

"But, really Nines. Thanks for agreeing to do this with me. I promise. That when this is all over. I'll not goof around for 1 entire month." They said. Y/n lifted their hand, poking out their pinkie finger. Nines stared at their hand before looking at them.He lifted his hand before pushing Y/n's hand away with his back hand.

"I'll take your word on it, Detective." He says.

"Oh come on. Don't be like that. Smile for once. My gosh." Y/n lets out a chuckle. Lifting one hand to pull at his cheek. Her thumb tugging at the corner of his right lip in an attempt to tug it upwards. Nines - once again, swatted their hand away from his face. A scowl interrupting his blank expression.

"Stop."

"Whatever, tomorrow. It'll be great, you'll have fun, I promise."

Nines watched as Y/n stated at the rack of clothes. Having trouble deciding what Nines would best fit his costume. They decided to purchase his first. The two left the station an hour ago, to get ready for the party that was only 4 hours away. And time was ticking rather quickly with Y/n staring at the rack of clothes as if they had a hard time finding what to wear.

Nines felt his hand lift up. Rubbing at his temple. His elbow resting on his other arm which was across his torso.

"Y/n..."

Y/n let out a hum, signalling they heard what he said but kept their gaze on the rack.

"I think this would go by much quicker, if I were to pick out the clothes, and when you get home. You can put them together." He spoke. Y/n turned to face Nines. He saw them cross their arms.

"Are you calling me slow?" They asks. But, he could tell Y/n wasn't offended by their ack of anger that he so happened to be acquainted with.

"More, indecisive." He corrected. He saw their eyebrows furrow. But they quickly rose up as they understood what he meant.

"I'm not having a hard time picking...just--look, this is supposed to be a me and you thing. Partner to partner, friend to friend. You know. So we can spend more time together instead of always yelling at each other like at work."

It was true. Nines and Y/n rarely got a long at work, Nines being a reason for the constant start of an argument between him and Y/n. That being either working on a case. At the station. Or even at a stake out. He always seemed to feed the flame just to spark Y/n's anger into nothing more than a hungry flame ready to lash out at anyone. But that was because Nines wanted things done the way he wanted them done. And Y/n rarely gave him what he wanted...and that was being serious on the job. But the explanation did make sense. More time spent outside to get to know more about each other...or rather spend more time with each other, could lower their rate or going after each other's throats.

"So, you know. Come on. Let's Both pick our stuff out together." A hint of hope was evident in Y/n's voice. Nines nods, taking several steps forward, to analyse the rack.

"I think you can do something with this."

"Ow! Stop! Stop!" Y/n hissed in pain, feeling Nines peel off the face mask from their face. They tried lifting their hand up to push his hand away. But he was one step ahead. Smacking their hand away for the upteempth time that week. The two finished picking out the clothing and items for their costume, only had 2 hours left to get dressed and ready, a lady that was an entrepreneur and had a clothing line. Gracefully gave Y/n and Nines a discount on what they needed for their costumes. Finding the generous offer kind, Y/n paid more than needed for the clothes, and spent almost half an hour speaking to the woman. Which knocked off much more time than needed. And Nines didn't want any delays in getting dressed - so almost immediately once the two reached Y/n's house. He started laying out stuff so the two could get ready.

The first step being to peel off the face mask for Y/n so once they put the make up on their face for the costume it wouldn't be mixed with any bacteria and dirt. Which also was a pain in Y/n's ass to feel the mask pulling at their skin. And how Nines didn't seem to care much, instead. Resulting in him snatching off the mask piece by piece.

"You asshole! You're doing that on purpose!" Y/n barked. They reached up to punch Nines in his chest. But was interrupted by him snagging at the mask on their face once again. Placing the pieces in a trash can he took from the kitchen.

"It shouldn't hurt that bad, stop whining. Or else this will take much longer than needed." He finally spoke up. Y/n sneered slightly as they felt him tilt their head so he could get the rest of the god-forbidden mask that seemed to be glued to their skin.

After finally getting the pieces peeled off and placed in the trash. Nines stood up to take the trash back to its original spot in the kitchen. Y/n rubbed at their face. The skin feeling somewhat smoother, her pores finally able to get air comfortably.

"Okay. Happy? The horrible dreadful part, as you quoted, is out of the way." Nines said. As he spoke Y/n mumbled a 'fucking finally' - and stood up.

"Okay, we have plenty of time, Oh my god, this is going to be fun. Okay!" Almost immediately, Nines saw the excited expression overtake their expression again. Watching as they grabbed one of the bags and tossed it over to Nines.

"Get dressed. I'll come back in here when I'm done."

Y/n was surprised with how their costume came out. The idea in their mind wasn't as exciting as they once was thinking. But seeing the white knee length apron. Black dress shirt, the tattered jeans that were tucked into the dark rain boots showed that the costume was supposed to resemble some sort of butcher. A few things are missing here and there. But was still proud of how it came out.

Deciding on going back in the living room to get the last back on the coffee table they remembered leaving on the table. Which contained the makeup and fake blood for the costumes...which of course was supposed to be added last.

Walking down the hall and into the living room. Which was empty, in which Y/n didn't seem to take surprise. Thinking Nines went off somewhere in the house(such as the bathroom) , go get dressed. They didn't bother calling out for him. Instead, picking up the bag on the table to look through it. Seeing the many items in the bag, having a hard time choosing what to use first, they stared at the back in contemplation. Unaware of the sauntering figure that was creeping up behind them.

Deciding on finding it to be best, wait for Nines to come back and help with choosing what happens next. They places the bag on the table once again. They turned around to go and look for Nines. Only to quickly pause in their movement upon seeing the figure behind them Y/n jumped slightly. Their calves hit the coffee table.

It was Nines, dressed in the costume, the black apron tied to his waist tightly, instead of a dress shirt that Y/n sported, Nines had on a black turtleneck, which really fit with the costume. Y/n could see the chains wrapped around his wrist, the sound of the metal clanking against each other.

They saw the pig mask, the one Y/n picked out because Y/n found it oddly suiting Nines. The boar's head seemed pretty realistic, the blemishes and red markings on the facial area wavered Y/n's sense of security. They could barely see his eyes through the mask...where the eyes are of course.

"Jeez. You scared me there for a second." Y/n mumbled.

But, Nines didn't say anything. The feeling of his form towering over Y/n, made them realize how some suspects the two brought in everyday had to face his wrath in an interrogation...or just a simple ass kicking. From what Y/n remembers. Nines never lost in a single fight.

"Is this your way in trying to scare me? If so. It's not working." They let out a chuckle, which was half-heartedly. Nines - instead of replying. Let out a grunt. Which Y/n could deem animalistic. Y/n flinched. Shooting him a glare in a way to get him to knock off whatever he was pulling.

"The hell? Did you growl at me?" They spat. Instead of - once again. Not replying. Nines turned around to walk off down the hall where the bathroom was located.

"Where are you going?" They asks. There was no reply. Only the sound of the chains clanking against each other and the squeaking of the rainboots answered them question.

"..." Y/n felt their eyebrow twitch. Almost a second letter. Nines came back out the hall. Looking the same, except holding the boars mask in his hand, which he didn't seem to have any interest in wearing.

"Dude, what the hell?"

Nines looked at Y/n. His LED flickering to yellow almost instantly. He raised an eyebrow; "is there a problem?" He asks. Y/n scrunched their nose up and nodded.

"Uh, yeah. You were just out here - not even a minute ago. You just walked off. Not to mention, growled at me." They answered. Y/n saw the LED on Nines temple slowly circled to the stark red, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I was in the bathroom all this time." He said. Y/n only gave him a blank expression. Which only remsebled an expression that they didn't believe what he said.

"I was--"

"Anyway. Come on. Let's put this last bit of stuff on so we can leave."

"You're getting blood everywhere." Nines informed. Watching as Y/n drove down the ride they tried sitting themselves in the seat comfortably so the fake blood on the apron wouldn't smear on the car seat. It would be a pain to get it out.

"I know that, Nines. Shut up, pighead. Besides, it's not even real." They muttered. Nines lifted the corner of his lip in a way to sneer.

"Hilarious. I almost forgot to laugh at that one."

"You forget to laugh everyday." They quickly shot back. Nines only rubbed his temple with a sigh. "You truly are a mess." He sighs. Y/n laughed, keeping their eyes on the road.

"You're damn right, a hot mess. Trust me. Tonight will be fun! Don't worry, really!" Nines didn't reply. Instead watched the road and the many buildings that passed by. His gray optics flickered over to Y/n. Spending an entire day with his partner did have its ups and downs. But it wasn't as life-threatening as he thought it would be.

"So. Are you enjoying yourself so far? You know. Being costume twins and all. I think it's fun." Y/n asked. Nines tapped his index finger in his knee.

"Rather childish. But if it can get you to stop quiping me about dressing up with you. I guess this won't be too bad." He responds. Hearing Y/n tap the wheel with their fingers.

"Thanks for doing this with me, really. Maybe tonight you and I can go and get something to eat."

"I don't eat."

"....I mean. You could at least act like you do. Like jeez, what the hell." They muttered. Once again, complaining. Mumbling about. "Just stuff the food in your mouth and spit it out. Make it seem like you can or something--"

"Alright--okay. I'll take you out to dinner tonight. Is that what you wanted to hear?" Nines finally spoke up. Interrupting her from her charades of complaining. Almost quickly, a smile replaced their frown.

"Yes, sir. That's exactly what I want to hear. You. Nines. My partner. Taking me to get dinner." They quipped. Nines glanced at them. Shaking his head slowly.

"Holy shit!" Gavin stared at the two. Watching as Nines was busy behind Y/n speaking to Hank from behind the boar's mask. A smile graced Hank's lips. His hands on his hips. He didn't dress as anything like the majority of the people did. Instead...well...showing up in his casual clothes.

"Wow. Next year. Me and you and dressing up together." Gavin nudged Y/n's shoulder. Causing them to chuckle.

"I mean. I was going around the office asking people. And they either were dressing up as something already, or were dressing up as something already. Same thing. I know." They grinned, already knowing what Gavin was about to say.

"You didn't ask me you little shit!"

"Oops?"

Gavin rolled his eyes. Swatting his hands in a way to shoo the conversation away. "Nines look terrifying as hell." He looked over at their partner who was still speaking with Hank. Y/n nods.

"I'm not surprised. You're scared of everything." She said. Gavin shot her a look.

"Hey, plastic-prick. Over here!" Gavin snaps his fingers. Y/n saw Nines look away from Hank. And over to Gavin. Hank looked over as well. Nines walked over to the two. Once in earshot he turned his head away from Y/n to look at Gavin.

"Yes?" He asks. Gavin flicked the boar's snout.

"Sup."

"I don't know what I expected wasting my time walking over here." Nines muttered. Gavin laughs. Almost immediately, Nines jumped towards Gavin. Which also startled Y/n. The two shrieked at the sudden action from Nines. Hearing Hank laugh in the background was what pulled Gavin from his pose. Which he moved to grip Y/n's shoulder. In a pose like he was hiding behind them.

"You Jackass!" Gavin shouts. Hank howled with laughter. Walking over to give Nines a pat on the back.

"Good one!"

Y/n felt their heartbeat in their chest like drums. They couldn't find an exact reason why they got jumpy. Letting out a sigh as they placed a hand on their chest. Hearing Gavin bicker in the background along the lines of "I'll fucking end you!"

Meanwhile, Y/n stared across the street. Which had a good view of an alleyway. Seeing two figures facing each other. Once being noticeably shorter than the other. The short figure...which the two really resemble the silhouette from the lack of light in the area (considering the sun had set) the short figure seemed to be pointing its finger at the taller figure's chest. From the body movements the person seemed to be angry. As on the other hand the taller figure - standing still and stiff as a plank just stood there.

Y/n watched for a few more moments. Whatever commotion they were hearing on their side of the street was muffled to them.

Soon, the short figure head turned towards the direction Y/n was in - across the street. Which the taller figure took notice of. The two stared at them. The tall figure seemed to tap its leg. Causing the short figure the scurry off somewhere in the shadows of the alleyway.

Raising a hand. The tall figure that was left in the alleyway waved. Y/n furrowed their eyebrows.

Who the hell was that?

"Y/n! Come on, get your ass in here before you freeze!" Y/n heard Hank shout from the door. Y/n quickly snapped from their clouded reality. Looking at Hank who was holding the door open. Shoot a gaze back at the alley, only to see nothing.

"And I said. Give me my shit. Or I'll put a foot up your ass." Gavin said. The booth that was placed in the back of the room, either chuckled, laughed or said commented on his story. Which was Chris.

"Honestly. I wouldn't be too surprised if she got a restraining order on your crazy ass." Chris chuckled. Gavin only shot him a large grin. Chris's wife smiled at the two. Shaking their head. The majority of the party dressed up. Either it being werewolves, vampires, zombies. It was something...despite the fact that one of the officers came with a macaroni box.

The booth sat, Connor, Hank, Nines, Y/n, Gavin, Chris and his wife. Drinks were passed, and also laughs. (Will except from Nines of course)

The night was smooth. And not to mention fun.

Y/n, still kept tethering back and forth from the odd altercation at home with Nines. And from what they saw in the alleyway.

Nines sat next to them. Listening to Gavin speak. On and on.

"So. Are you two still together or not?" Chris asked. Gavin's and his significant other had...somewhat of a toxic relationship. Constant fighting, either it be verbal or...from what Gavin didn't want to admit. But it was obvious. Physical. From both parties. But, Y/n never really intervened. It wasn't their business. So they didn't care much about it. Though the stories were funny.

Digging into their pockets in search of their phone. They didn't feel it. Taking note they must have left it outside in the car.

"I'll be right back. I have to go get my phone."

Sitting in the driver's seat. Y/n checked to see if the device was at a proper percentage. She closed the car door and sighed. Scrolling through it sees nothing new. They turned around to face the building to return. They stopped and looked up. Seeing a figure by the light pole in front of them The figure had the same costume as Y/n. The apron. The boots. Pants. Looking up they saw...the same face. It was Y/n!

The dark circles under the eyes were much noticeable. The blue surgical mask covered the lower half of the person's face. But Y/n wasn't stupid. They saw themself many times in the mirror to tell who it was. And every strand of hair on the person's head. Could tell that certainly was Y/n.

The e/c eyes stared at Y/n's form. Boring into their face. A feeling they similarly got only from Nines. But the gaze coming from..them, made Y/n freeze.

Staring at the person. It was like an exact replica, a doppelganger.

Y/n could hear the sounds coming from the person. A muffled purr of some sort, scuffling shoes. It couldn't seem to stand still.

"...who are you--" Y/n was cut off by the doppelganger launching itself towards them - gripping the side of their face. It's nails digging into their skin. Y/n let out a surprised scream. Hearing the strained grumbles and grows coming from the thing on top of them.

Y/n felt themself land on the ground. The concrete knocking the wind from their body. Y/n was more surprised than scared. Of course they had many hand to hand combat on the field. But this didn't feel right at all.

Acting quick and raising an arm to shove off the doppelganger. Switching sides as they were now on top of the person, straddling it by the hips, Y/n felt it shift and swing an arm. Y/n quickly backed off of the person in an attempt to not get hit. It had a knife. Making it clear that it was meaning to harm Y/n. Y/n quickly backpedaled and stood up. The sound of their huffing and puffing. And both of their shoes scuffling on the pavement. The person stood up. Shaking itself as if to remove the dirt that collected on its shirt from the pavement.

"Y/n. What's ta-"

"Okay, so Nines! There's some weird shit going on!" Y/n jogged over to the door that Nines held open. He was now staring at Y/n's doppelganger who quickly had stood up staring at the two. Once it made eye contact with Nines. It seemed to stop in its former actions and stare, before scurrying away down the sidewalk.

"Who was that? What's going on?" He asks. Y/n shoved Nines into the building as he spoke.

"I don't know! But we have to do something!" She shouts. The LED on Nines temple was flickering from red to yellow. Y/n was already making their way towards the booth.

"Hank. You would not believe this. But I just got attacked by my own self. We need to find out what's going on." Y/n interrupted whatever conversation he was having with the group at the table. Connor was the first to look over.

"Yourself?"

"Yes! Now come on. This is serious." Hank could tell whether or not Y/n was joking or not. Which...truly wasn't that hard to tell if they were. He stood up from the booth, luckily he was seated on the outside.

"What's going on?"

Nines soon made his way over to the table.

"I was attacked by someone who looked exactly like me. Which, that can explain what happened earlier today. But! I have a crazy ass doppelganger!"

"Oh Christ." Hank muttered. Crossing his arms and looking at Y/n and then at Nines. And back at Y/n.

Gavin soon stood up.

"Oh, I have to see this." He spoke up. Hank ignored the man and looked back at Y/n. "Where did you last see this person."

"When I was outside. It attacked me--"

"The hell? Did you go after them?"

"No. They ran away before I can even do anything." Hank nods. Snapping his finger and pointing towards the exit.

"To the car. Let's go. Connor. Come on." Connor stoop up and stood next to Hank.

"Looks like we got some searching to do."

#detroit rk900 #detroit become human rk900 #detroit become human x reader #detroit become human #dbh connor #connor x reader #connor rk800 #dbh connor x reader #dbh nines #nines x reader #gavin x nines #rk900 x reader #rk900 #dbh hank #hank x reader

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kneamet · 3 years

Text

Angel of cards (7/16)

Trigger Warning: yandere, obsession, obsessive thoughts.

Summary: Joker, Mr. J, anarchist psychopath, Tom Hiddleston. He had many nicknames. Joker was Gotham’s most dangerous and insightful man, with sharp makeup and horribly memorable scars on his face in the form of a smile. He was absolutely crazy and deadly. No one knows his real identity and everyone is afraid of his cruel jokes. But what happens when he becomes obsessed with an ordinary girl?

She belongs to him. No one can take her away from him. Even The Batman.

Chapter seven: unexpected guests

Harvey just couldn't think rationally the last day. Blake. His beloved niece, whom he had so fiercely protected and so passionately cherished. She was his favorite relative, the only person who supported him in what he was doing now.

And now, he was standing in an elevator with an equally beloved man, a beloved woman, Rachel Dawes, who was the most beautiful person in his life. The love of his life. Rachel had always been sympathetic and untruthful to him, and there was nothing he could do to repay her. Except to propose to her.

Harvey, as well as his Rachel, were now at a" party " with Bruce Wayne, with whom his beloved had known since childhood. And that's fine, even when Bruce, with his pretentiousness, infuriated him. But that was just a small thing, given that he'd called him this afternoon to let him know that he'd do everything he could to find Blake.

Dent looked at Rachel, who was biting her lip in her usual way and looking a little worried. He knew that his beloved, as well as he himself, did not particularly like all these social events, and they liked an ordinary evening with delicious wine and an old movie more.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped and opened its doors, giving Harvey and Rachel a view of the rich people standing around each other drinking champagne.

"Harvey Dent, scourge of the underworld... Rachel suddenly began, beginning to circle slightly around Dent and look at him with what Harvey, and probably Bruce, thought were beautiful eyes. "...scared to death of the powerful, " she said ironically, but she still understood that Harvey was having a hard time, which he basically appreciated. Suddenly her eyes caught on something, and she smiled and looked back at Harvey. "I'll be back soon."

"Rachel," Dent said softly as she left, and suddenly a familiar voice came from the left side.

"Would you like some courage, Mr. Dent?" said a man who looked very familiar, but Harvey had some doubts that this was the man Rachel had told him about.

"Thank you. Alfred, right?" Harvey decided to make sure as he accepted the glass.

"That's right, sir," the older man replied with a polite smile.

"Rachel talks about you all the time. You've known her all her life," Dent knew that Alfred was one of the only people who cared about Rachel. She always praised him.

"Oh, not really, sir," Alfred corrected quickly, shifting the tray to his other hand.

"Should we be wary of her crazy exes?" Harvey looked away and looked into the crowd, looking for Rachel.

"Oh, you have no idea how much," Alfred advised and disappeared into the crowd, disappearing unnoticed and smiling cunningly. Harvey looked up at him in surprise, his mouth slightly open.

But no, I need to find Rachel now.

***

The social gathering, as the rich people called it, or the simple party, as Rachel, Bruce, and Harvey would have called it, was going well. People were drinking champagne and wine, and the music played in the background in a quiet background, only adding to the charm.

Everything was fine. Bruce Wayne, surrounded by a crowd of Russian ballerinas, arrived in a private helicopter, saying that he was a little late. He even thanked Harvey for his contribution.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," a loud and drawling baritone voice suddenly rang out, drawing the attention of people who turned their drunken eyes toward those who had arrived, until they noticed his makeup and heard the sound of a cracked lamp somewhere above.

Shouts were heard from the sides. The Joker grinned. That was exactly what he wanted. It was so nice to see their frightened faces. He took a step forward, stepping out of the elevator and passing on, looking for the people who were now looking at him in pitiful fright.

He felt like a God now. A God who can control people's feelings and make them do what he wants. Oh, how he wanted his angel to listen to him. His lovely, frightened little angel, probably begging hard for help right now. She was glad to be with him, though.

"Now we'll entertain you," he said again, grinning at the people around him. "I have one question:" he drawled, walking slowly towards the people and even slightly dancing and jumping up and down. His usual manner, no wonder. "Where's Harvey Dent?" he shouted loudly to the entire room, taking a glass of champagne and spilling most of it as he stared at the man. "Do you know where Harvey is? Do you know him?"" he turned to the other man, placing a glass of unpleasant alcohol, which he did not particularly like, on the snack table.

The Joker slowly surveyed the people. He saw in them the whole spectrum of negative emotions, ranging from anger to contempt with horror. How ugly they all are. And no, not physically, like the Joker, but morally.

"You know, me and his family will be fine," the Joker said to no one else, making his usual smacking lips.

"We can't be intimidated by bandits," the voice said. It seems that someone was very brave, Joker thought, and turned to the owner of the old voice.

That's right, there was an elderly man standing next to him, raising his head up and up. It seems that someone wanted to show their superiority.

"Listen..." the Joker muttered, pulling a small pull-out knife from his nearest pocket and sliding it up unnoticed, his other hand shaking as he straightened his hair. "...you look like my father, " the man said with disdain in his voice, literally running into the older man with quick movements and putting a knife to the corners of his mouth. "I hated my father," he said with hatred, only pressing harder and feeling the indignant and frightened feeling in the man.

"Okay, wait," came a sudden voice from the left side. Voice. Female. Slightly squeaky, but quite pretty. Such voices do not wish you well. They will surely only be able to do harm.

The Joker turned his head and lowered his hands to look in the direction of the voice. A woman was looking at him, hands on her hips. A pretty woman. Brown hair, softly tied up in a bun, and blue eyes. She was really beautiful.

But the Joker had always known that beautiful girls were equal to loss and suffering. So no, especially since she reminded him too much of the woman he hated so vividly and despised so fiercely. His mother.

And even more so, this woman was no more beautiful than his angel. No, his angel was perfect. She was simply incomparable and he must protect his angel. Definitely should.

"Hello, beautiful," the Joker said gently, as some might think, and very mockingly, smoothing his hair with the hand that held the knife. "You must be Harvey's chick," he said gruffly, pointing at the woman with the knife as people backed up around her. But no, although he allowed himself to communicate with other women in this way, he would not allow himself to communicate with his angel in this way.

Joker could see the contempt on the face of the Harvey woman, who was looking at him with defiance and a little fear. Really brave.

Finally, the Joker moved even closer to the woman who came up to his chin. How low. He looked down at her and lifted his hand, smacking his lips lightly. "You're so nervous. Is it because of the scars? Tell me where they're from?" he asked her, asking impossibly stupid questions. She turned away and looked away as the Joker quickly cupped her face in his hands, pointing the knife at her mouth. "Hey," he said, treating her very roughly. "Look at me," he advised, leaning closer to her father and creating a dangerous effect. "I had a wife. Beautiful as my angel, " he saw her surprised and frightened look, felt her gears turning with her brain. "She told me I was too sad..." he put the knife in his mouth."...that I need to smile more often. “She was a gambler, and she owed the sharks a lot. Hey, " seeing her not looking at him, the Joker took offense and only pressed harder on the knife. "They cut her face once," he continued, only squeezing the woman's face harder, which only made her wince. "We had no money for the operation. It was killing her, " he whispered softly. "I just wanted her to smile again. I wanted her to know that I didn't care about the scars. 'So...' He only paused, as if amplifying the effects of the silence. "...I put the blade in my mouth and did it... he explained, tucking a curl behind his ear with his free finger. On the one hand, it might seem that he was just flirting with her, but no. He is faithful, and will always be faithful only to his angel. "...by myself. And you know what? She couldn't see me," the Joker said in mock bitterness, raising his eyebrows and continuing to press with shaking hands. "She's gone. Now I see the irony. I'm always smiling now, " he drawled, when suddenly Rachel felt a kick in the balls.

Oh, he covered it with his hands, but also quickly removed them. The Joker looked at the woman and shook the knife slightly.

"You like to fight. I like it, " he remarked, and was about to move closer to her when a painfully familiar and filtered voice came from behind.

"Then you'll like it."

Batman. The Joker smiled, not even turning to look at him. It's time for a great game.

***

"What have I done," a small boyish voice whispered. The guy opened his eyes in amazement and fell to his knees in surprise, continued to look at his hands full of blood. The red blood that had oozed from his mother earlier.

He looked at his mother's corpse, still not believing what was happening. What's happening?

"You did the right thing," the voice said. Such a familiar voice in my mind. The joker. He mentally patted the main person on the shoulder and roughly kissed his forehead, which was lowered down. "You've done well, but I'll take your place now, my dear boy Tom."

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ironhusband · 3 years

Note

hey! sorry i'm late! i've been drinking again and i literally forgot you existed; i know that sounds horribly mean but please don't take it that way! i drink so much and so often that forgetting people's entire existences is super common for me; i have even forgot my own mother multiple times and we're super close.

i want to thank you for understanding the whole sharing long fic with other people anxiety. i just thought i was being a weirdo at first. as for my mutuals…they're good people, i swear. they just make me nervous sometimes now, is all. hm, let me explain? they're very upfront about not liking iron man franchise characters, and listen i'm not upset about that at all, i don't get bothered about people hating shit that i like or love. i'm fragile but not that fragile, you know? it's just...the things they say about the people who like these characters that are making me...just a tad bit anxious. because..."is that what they think of me?"

"do they think i'm stupid?" "do they think i'm narcissistic?" "do they think i'm brain dead?" "do they think i have internalized racism?" "do they think i'm a white supremacist?"

but they're not talking about me. absolutely none of this is directed to me, specifically. i know this because they still think i hate marvel and the mcu and that i have no interest in the things they reblog. and 2/3 years ago this was very true! i wanted nothing to do with it, i had always scrolled pass any and every post dealing with marvel. thing is, i truly was not expecting my niece to drag me into her interest and for it to become my interest as well.

(she's obsessed with tony, but she absolutely adores riri; i got her an ironheart funko pop for her birthday and ever since then i have never seen her without it. she takes it with her wherever she goes. and yes, it's as adorable as it sounds.)

so since then, i've started to pay attention to what my friends reblog. so i see things now. a lot of things. and maybe i'm being overdramatic! i probably don't have to hide my newfound interest. maybe they wouldn't burn me at the stake for something so simple as liking fictional characters they hate; we've all been very dear friends for seven years now, and i can't imagine a life without them. i know i wouldn't be the same person i am today, that's for sure.

but.

it's the things people say about you when they think you're not there, or not listening, that can heal or hurt you. if...that makes sense as an analogy. since, again, none of it's directed towards me...specifically...yeah i'm probably just being a baby about this.

but hey! other than that shit is super chill, and now you know the reason i'm on anon. and really, you don't have to worry about a thing, everything's a-okay! also, it's hard to detect boundaries over the internet if they're not explicitly stated, so i'm sorry if this ask is too much for you in general, you can delete it and i won't think any less of you for doing so. ~🍜

Ok well, wow. I guess I need specific examples for the things your mutuals said to understand if they made those extreme generalisations or if it’s just your thoughts. You did say it isn’t directed at you (maybe they said ‘this Tony stan is a white supremacist. Typical’ or something which yeah, don’t worry about it, didn’t mean you). Either way, I get being friend with people who dislike Tony and I get being scared of saying something that will make your mutuals hate you. So uh. Can relate. But honestly, if you ever decide to say you like Iron Man, you should really take what your mutuals say with a grain of salt. You can like what you like.

Oh my God your niece sounds adorable. I adore Riri too. Can you buy an ironheart funky pop for me

If you ever wanna talk with someone who likes Tony and absolutely adores your writing, feel free to send me an ask (you can even send me one off anon and I’ll DM you, without posting your ask).

#asks #🍜 anon #I have to say im getting curious about who you are. I know that's horrible and the opposite of what you need but still I'm Wondering #btw dont worry about forgetting me. maybe do worry about your drinking tho?#also opening up a secret iron man sideblog is always an option #but I get the vibe that this is a side interest for you

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xx-eatmyheart-xx · 4 years

Text

I'm a little late with this one but I kinda had a little block. Hope you like it! 🌸

@obsessedandthirsty @electroma89 @sanguinandoscrivo

-Abigail

4 - New Starts

The streets of Gotham were busy with hurried people every single day of the town's painful existence. No one seemed to care for anyone and that's why when those no ones were walking towards their destination, whether it was their working place or their own homes, their attention never cared to focus on other no ones like Arthur. It looked like he was invisible to every single person that passed near him and his swinging sign, nobody seemed to notice his cheerful dance in front of the music shop.

And well, nobody seemed to see the group of little vandals steal the bright yellow sign from him, nor did them give a single fuck when he was chasing the kids and screaming for others to stop them.

He hated that city.

He hated being invisible, he hated being a no one, he hated running after those stupid teens.

And now he was hating being beaten up by them, curled up on the ground, without any type of power over the situation.

While his vision was getting blurry, his thoughts were limpid: he was thinking of Y/n. Arthur had gladly found out that he was able to concentrate on her smile so hard that the pain would slowly fade away, as if it morphed into a simple background buzz. Surely a little annoying, but still a lot more bearable.

"Hey! HEY!"

Arthur couldn't understand if something had scared them away or if they were simply done toying with him, the image of her bright eyes was blocking out everything else from his mind. But as his sight was leisurely coming back with an imperceptible ring in his ears, he had started to line out a thin silhouette at the end of the dirt alley running toward him.

The apparently unreal phantom became a lot less imaginary when a hand reached down to Arthur and a pair of arms helped him sit on the ground, feather-like hands holding his sore shoulders.

"Oh lord, Arthur? Arthur can you hear me?"

The clown nodded, a little confused, and as he was gaining back his sight, the voice lulling his aching body seemed awfully familiar all of the sudden.

Was it really her?

His eyes finally managed to center on the person holding him: a worried look met his own and a tear escaped the beautiful irises that were staring at him.

Did he really run that way? Was he really that close to her shop?

Or was she just passing by?

Could he seriously have been so lucky?

"Arthur tell me something!"

She was so so worried.

When was the last time someone looked at him with true and pure concern?

He couldn't remember one.

He shook his head, still a little disoriented.

Please don't let it be an illusion.

Don't let her be an illusion.

"Y-Y/n I... I, them, I I..."

Words failed him as the anxiety and the stress of the fresh abuse were beginning to make their way to his brain. His throat was immediately dry, in a moment his lungs couldn't remember how to work properly, leaving the poor man agonizingly breathless.

Why was she there?

"Haha... Ha... Hahaha... Hahaha-"

A smack echoed through the alley as his own hand harshly hit his mouth in a hopeless attempt to suffocate the uncontrollable fit of laughter.

Y/n saw his body bending over and painfully starting to shake uncontrollably, his face had contorted into a grimace that screamed pain so loud she could feel it scratching her skin.

He wanted so bad for her to just run away, scared of his bizzarre and horrific behavior like everyone else.

Everything would've been so much easier.

Why was she still there? Why was she looking at him like that? Was she going to make fun of him? Was he really crying in front of her?

Was she-

"It's okay"

Her hug was firm and warm, arms grabbing his convulsing body and securing it against her own.

What?

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

Arthur had to take a few minutes breathing with his face buried in Y/n's neck but at the end he had managed to calm down. It was a first time for him, he knew no one ever stroked his hair while he was having an episode, it all had felt so different and strange.

It had made him feel uncomfortably safe.

She hadn't cared for the tight grip he had on her, nor did she complain about the smudget makeup on her jacket. And now that he was sitting on her couch with a cup of hot tea in his hands, everything felt even more safely surreal.

It had started to look so impossible to him for her to be that kind that at the end of the story he was sure that was real: he couldn't be able to hallucinate someone being so gentle with him.

His mind couldn't do something like that.

It could picture a hug, a kiss, the two of them cuddling in his bed, even Y/N naked in his shower.

But that?

He could never have imagined it.

It was too much for him.

He didn't deserve that.

"How are you feeling Arthur?"

Still, she was standing in front of him with a beautiful smile on her delicate face and a bag of ice in her hands. Y/n sat right beside Arthur and put the bag on his shoulder, relieving the ache that a big bruise was giving him. Things like that remembered him how skinny, how powerless, fragile and useless his body was. His dark place was suffocating him once again and once again he was letting it take control.

"Y/n"

"Yes, Arthur?"

He had fell silent once the fit was eventually over, that was the first word after almost an hour since then.

"Earlier, in the alley... That was... I have..."

His voice trailed off, abandoning the sentence little by little.

Why was it so difficult with her? He didn't have his little card with him but he totally could explain his condition. Then why there was no way words would come out?

"A neurological conditon, I know"

He was unexpectedly confused one more time that day.

"How do you..."

"I... I knew a... person with a very similar condition"

"but we can do something about it, right, doctor?"

The screams were echoing through the white walls of the empty hallway, were Y/n could hear them loud and clear.

"I'm sorry to tell you that ma'am, but that's a neurological condition, we can't help that"

Another scream, another torturing cry of pain.

You could hear her head bashing against the wall as if you were in that same room.

"isn't there something we can try?"

"we tried everything"

Foggy memories were passing by in front of your eyes as the buried fear threatened to climb out of its grave.

Arthur could not replace her, being his friend wouldn't bring her back.

He could not redeem your mistakes, nothing could delete what had happened.

But you did still care, and yes, even if he did remember you of her, it was not because you wanted a second chance, but because you really saw something in him.

And whilst your brain was full of something you hadn't thought of for a long time, you could still see the now bare face of the clown. He was completely zoning out, all Arthur could focus on was how your apartment was just like he had imagined: lovely and welcoming, just like you.

The two of you had your minds in two completely different places even though you were looking at the same thing, your living room. But it was okay, it was pleasant, safe. You were just enjoying each other's company.

His sight was scanning your little open space, with the kitchen in a corner and the sofa where you two were sitting right in front of it, only the TV and the white furniture where it was standing dividing the two spaces. The carpets, the pictures on the wall, the color combinations and even the textures, everything there made him think about you, every little piece of that space remembered him of your ethereal being. Since your first encounter, the scrawny clown had discovered that contemplating the idea of you made his chest warm, almost as you had a calming effect on his anxiety.

Maybe he should've said something.

"Thanks again Y/n"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever you want"

Arthur tensed a little and squeezed the cup in his hands as he frantically answered, a gesture that you quickly registered. He was so nervous now, you had the urge to hug him tight but succeeded in restraining yourself from doing it.

Instead you stood up and walked up to the counter in you kitchen, took a piece of paper, wrote something on it, and went back to the couch to give it to Arthur.

"Call me whenever you want to"

He had lost count of how many times you had him confused that day. On the little piece of paper perfectly ripped there was noted a phone number, clearly yours.

But why would you do something like that? Was that a cruel joke?

"You're my friend, I just want to help... And get to know you a little better. So you can call me both when you're not feeling well and when you just want to talk"

"I... Am just confused. Why would you...?"

"Cause this city is horrible. Every single person in this city is horrible. And you're the only one that has showed a little interest in someone else rather than yourself. When you get to know someone new in this city the first thing they say is how rich or poor they are, it's all about money, all about them and them only. It's a never-ending herd of egoistic assholes. But when we had the chance to talk, when you were performing in my shop, you told me about your mother, your dreams and how happy makes you hearing kids singing with you. And that is so rare here in Gotham that I don't want to lose you in the crowd"

Wow.

Where you real though?

You had left him simply speechless. Over the years he had never ever heard someone talk about him like that, in all honesty he had never heard someone talk about someone else like that.

You were really special, weren't you?

He was able to see right through you smile. There was just a honest and kind interest in him, and although it had always seemed impossible for him that someone else could care for his well being, the expression on your face was melting each of his doubts away.

He had always been the one that cared for others, first being his mother, and how it seemed like someone wanted to take care of him.

His smile grew little by little, bringing a tint of almost invisible rose on the man's cheeks.

"Thank you, again"

There were no other words to be said, his expression was enough for you to understand his gratitude. After a minute of contemplating your handwriting, Arthur stood up and turned to face you.

"I'm afraid I have to go now"

"Sure, let me get you to the door"

Said door wasn't that far away, but it was still nice having you with him till there. Saying goodbye was kinda... Sad. Yeah, sad was the right word, for both of you. Arthur had to go back to his reality, once home he had to wash off the little residues of the makeup that were still staining his skin, get dinner ready for his mother, put her to bed and spend the night in his room, staring at ceiling, hoping morning would come soon. And then start all over again.

But what about you? What would you have to go back to?

He wanted to ask you so bad.

Well, maybe...

"Goodnight, Y/n"

"Goodnight, Arthur"

#joker #joker 2019 #joker arthur fleck #joker movie #joker fanfiction #arthur fleck #joker x reader #joker x you #joker x y/n #jokerxreader #fanfic #x reader #joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix joker

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anxaxid · 6 years

Text

(Tweek x Craig)

This is my very first time writing a story, so there will be some mistakes here and there. It won't be the greatest, but I hope you enjoy it anyways.

The link is my Wattpad that I share with two of my friends, if you want you can go follow us.

Anyways here's the story.

[3rd Person P.O.V]

"Why?! Why?!" Tweek screamed to himself in his room. Today the blonde boy tried to give a simple peck on his boyfriend's lips, but instead of giving the sweet and memorable kiss he had in mind he ran away screaming "Too much pressure!" It was an embarrassing moment for him.

Tweek kept on trying not to slam his head on the small desk. Right now he was trying to build a simple building of legos while drinking coffee. It was the only way for him to feel less stressed, but this time it wasn't working. The embarrassing moment kept on haunting him in his brain.

The small kid wanted to kiss his boyfriend already. Craig kept on telling Tweek to 'Take your time' and 'No pressure' , but believe me it was a lot of pressure for Tweek. Both of them had been dating for 4 months, and the relationship has only reach to to forehead kisses and kisses on the cheek, but no lip contact.

The boy thought that Craig was getting annoyed by his nervous ass, it didn't sound like Craig, but his mind still convinced him to think that.

Tweek took a sip of his coffee before nodding his head, agreeing to himself that tomorrow he will kiss Craig on the mouth. He only hoped he won't fuck it up this time.

[Craig P.O.V]

I repeatedly tap my foot on the snowy floor as I wait for Tweek to arrive. Ever since we started dating we would always wait up on each other before school starts, it was like our thing.

I'm a bit worried about him. Yesterday he tried to give me a peck on the lips, but instead he ran away panicking. I'm actually quite happy that he tried to kiss me even if he failed miserably at it.

After some minutes Tweek's parent's car came up, and left Tweek outside of the building. "Hey Tweek!" I jogged towards him with a small smile planted on my lips.

[Tweek's P.O.V]

Oh God! He's coming! It's okay Tweek, everything is going to be all right. Before I knew it, my boyfriend was in front of me smiling. "Gah!" "It's okay, babe, it's just me." Craig spoke softly and slowly, trying to make me feel more calm which apparently worked.

"Come on, we'll be late." Craig grabbed my hand gently, and started walking to the entrance of the school. I followed him, trying not to burst out and talk about the small event that happened yesterday, but I decided to keep my mouth shut.

[3rd P.O.V]

Hours passed, and school was finally over. Everyone happily left the yellow building. The gay couple went outside and decided to wait for the bus.

"How about you come to my house, so we can hang out some more?" Craig asked his twitchy boyfriend as he looked at him. The boy still felt guilty about yesterday, and he wanted to make his boyfriend more comfortable because knowing Tweek he will worry about it for more than a week.

"Oh! Um! Sure!" Tweek twitched a little, while thinking of a plan. Maybe he could use this as an advantage to finally kiss Craig.

"After I'm done helping my parents, I can go to your place." Tweek said while looking back at his boyfriend. Craig nodded, and noticed the bus arriving. He got up and Tweek followed behind him.

After two hours passed, Tweek left the café, and walked towards Craig's house. On the way there he tried to remember the things that he learned from Wikihow. When he had time to himself he searched on the website "How do you stop being nervous around your boyfriend?" "How do you kiss someone?" "How does it feel to kiss someone?"

He felt stupid for searching that up, but it was the only way he could get help. He definitely couldn't ask his parents since their stories were always useless.

"Oh Jesus!" The blonde boy was standing in front of Craig's house. "Okay, you can do this Tweek, you can do this." He kept on repeating the same thing until he stopped in front of the door. "I can't do this!" He tugged his hair, accidently pulling out some strands of his hair.

After some moments Mr. Tucker open up the door, scaring Tweek for a minute. The parent had been hearing Tweek screaming outside of his door for some minutes, he felt bad for the boy. "He's upstairs in his room." He said as he move aside letting Tweek in. The boy let out a small "Thanks," before entering the house, and going upstairs to Craig's room.

Once he got there he gently knocked on the door, waiting patiently for Craig to open up. After some seconds he did. "Hey, honey." Craig said as he move aside to let Tweek in. The blonde male anxiously walked in.

Tweek's eyes traveled around Craig's room. His eyes stopped on the TV, it seemed that Red Racer was on, Craig's favorite cartoon. "I don't know why you like this cartoon so much." Tweek sat his butt down in front of the TV. "Because it's awesome." "But how?" Craig sat down besides Tweek, explaining why Red Racer was such a great cartoon.

While Craig kept on talking, Tweek focused his eyes on his boyfriend's lips. He wanted to kiss him so badly, but he was afraid that he will mess it up all over again. The boy started thinking about the possibilities, most of them were negative. 'What if he breaks up with me?! What if he leaves me?! This is way too much pressure!' Tweek kept on having those awful thoughts.

"I WANT TO KISS YOU!" Tweek accidentally blurt out. His comment was so loud even the parents heard him in the living room.

"What?" Craig asked while raising an eyebrow. "I want to kiss you okay?! I've been wanting too for a while! I thought you were getting annoyed because we actually haven't kissed! I know you said to take my time and shit, but I still kept on thinking that you were getting irritated by me." Tweek kept on rambling about the issue.

Craig let out a soft sigh before giving a sweet peck on Tweek's lips which turned out to be a bad idea. "Ow! Fuck!" Tweek accidentally bit Craig's bottom lip, making some blood come out. "Gah! I'm so sorry!" Craig's eyes got a bit watery from the pain, but tears didn't fall.

Tweek kept on spazing out, trying to apologize to Craig. "It's okay, babe. Everything is fine." He put his hands on the twitching boy's shoulders. "We're hopeless homosexuals." Craig joke a bit, trying to lighten up the mood. Tweek let out a soft chuckle which made Craig feel happy on the inside.

"Yes we are." Tweek twitches had calm down a bit. "Wanna try again?" Craig asked, making Tweek tremble. "What if we mess it up again?!" "That won't happen, just try to stay calm okay?" Tweek nodded, still trembling anxiously. "Okay, close your eyes." The blonde boy hesitantly close his eyes. "Oh God.. Oh Jesus." Craig put both of his hands on Tweek's cheeks. He slowly leaned in, and gently pressed his lips against Tweek's.

Tweek smiled in the small peck. Craig pulled back from the kiss five seconds later. "See, everything went okay." "Yeah, it did." Both of them were glad everything went okay especially Tweek. "Lemme try now." Tweek said excitedly, Craig's kisses always calm him down.

Craig nodded, and closed his eyes, waiting for Tweek to kiss him. The male took a deep breath before giving Craig a quick peck on the lips. The raven hair male open his eyes. "We should do this more often... And maybe do more in the future." Tweek blushed at his comment. "Don't say those things, man!" Craig laughed, letting out a snort. "Fine, fine."

#craig x tweek #sp craig #south park craig #south park #tweek tweak #sp tweek #tweek x craig #sp creek #creek #gay #gay ships

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