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prfctethereal · 3 years

Note

Can you write James Potter smut please. Thank you

frosted hearts. | james potter

pairing: single dad!james potter x preschool teacher!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: NSFW. smut, sub!james, dom!reader, talk of masturbation, talk of punishment, mommy kink, praise kink, tit sucking, thigh riding, slap and degrading kink only for a short amount of time at the end

summary: you are harry’s preschool teacher and one day james is late to picking his son up from school

It was hard to be around screaming toddlers, all day, every day. By the end of your long shifts, your head was blistered by the engraved sound of whining, moaning, and that smacking sound the children make with their lips.

But for the most part, you loved being around kids. Their tenderness brought so much joy to you and you were happy to have become an early childhood teacher. Your workplace was loving, with your fellow teachers continuously supporting you through everything. Even the kids were decently nice.

The age old stigma that kids were devil spawn seemed like the most foreign concept to as you coddled a near sleeping three year old, his warm body curled up to your side. Reading a children’s story to the kids, you felt so much adoration for the children around you, enough to make your cheeks rouge. All of them looked at you with doe eyes as you finished the last page.

“And the princess and the prince fell in love and lived happily ever after.” You closed the book with a soft clap. “The end.”

Looking around, the children beamed, flashing their pearly, toothy smiles towards you. In that moment, you felt at peace, almost content, knowing that you were bringing enjoyment to the kids surrounding you. Gently, you stroked the arm of the nearest child, Harry, as he slowly unraveled from your side.

“Miss?” Harry asked placidly, his tiny fingers down playing with the hem of your skirt. He looked up at you, fluttering his long eyelashes.

“Yes, Harry?” You responded, once you knew that he wasn’t going to speak without permission.

“Do you have a prince?”

At those words, you frowned, your smile disappearing from your face. Admittedly, you have been quite lonely for the past year. Focusing on work has been devastating for your social life. After your messy breakup with your previous partner, you felt like it was unnecessary to rush into another relationship. Quickly enough, those days turned into months, and eventually a year. Your dry spell was becoming quite unbearable.

As the winter months closed in, you wished for more comfort at night. The smoking fireplace could only fill your lonely apartment with so much warmth before you got desperate - needy - for something more. Some nights were spent with your fingers curled up into your cunt, tight from the months of neglect, desperately trying to churn some pleasure out of you, but, there was only so much your own fingers could do. They couldn’t go nearly as deep enough, or stretch you nearly as much as you so deeply desired. You were starting to become flustered just thinking about it.

“No.” Your reply was short, until you realised the kids around you would want a longer explanation. Sighing, you folded your hands in your lap, pursing your lips forward. “I’m not a princess of any sort. Even then, sometimes people don't have someone with them.”

“Just like my Daddy.” Harry babbled unprompted, dawdling away from you to join the midst of his pre-school friends. “He is all alone too.”

You knew Harry’s father, and just the thought of him made you curl your toes in delight. He was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. Deep hazel eyes that light up when he laughs. Plump pink lips that frame his mischievous smile. Strong, muscular arms, complimenting his toned hands, that you can imagine wrapped around your neck...

Before you could even process the dubious insult thrown your way, you felt a sprinkling of fingers press lightly against your shoulders, snapping you out of your daze. Furrowing your eyebrows, you traveled your eyeline up, locking eyes with another teacher who worked there, Lily.

She looked absolutely wrecked. You knew she had been on the phone for most of the afternoon, for reasons you didn’t know, but you expected that you were going to be told now, as she beckoned you away from the kids.

“One moment.” You held up your finger, showing the kids an example of counting. As you walked away, you saw the kids out of the corner of your eye. They too had one finger in the air, repeating the same word - “One!” - over and over to each other. It was very cute.

“Roads have been closing because of the weather.” Lily started, her nimble fingers gesturing out of the frosted window panes. She was right; the roads were starting to look pretty bad. A thin layer of snow seemed to be shredding downwards, coating the town like powdered sugar. The sun stayed behind the clouds, not even daring to peek through, keeping the town in a cold flurry, and keeping the children inside. This was going to be a long shift.

“So, we’ll have to stay here longer tonight?” You asked, an exasperated sigh leaving your lips. You brought the pads of your index fingers up to the window pane, feeling the chill of the temperature seem into your skin. WIthout realising it, you traced a heart shape into the frost, your own heart sighing as you exhaled.

“Hopefully not.” Lily replied. “I’ve contacted all the parents and have told them to come pick up their kids as soon as possible. This storm seems to not be slowing down any time soon. So, potentially, we might be able to go home early, if the children all get picked up before the snow gets too thick. And, don’t bother coming in tomorrow. The snow’s gonna settle, meaning there will be road closure all across town.”

“Great.” A sarcastic laugh poured from your mouths as you turned back to the kids, who were still being occupied by the thought of having one finger in the air. “We should start getting them ready then.”

You and Lily worked diligently side by side, bundling the kids up in layers of soft clothing, keeping them secure from the storm. The kids joined in too, helping to clean the classroom, picking up litter off of the floor, and clearing off tables. As you sprayed down the surfaces of the tables and kitchen counters, you hummed a soft tune, getting into the rhythm of cleaning.

While you were occupied with cleaning, parents started arriving, greeting their kids with loving smiles and gentle touches. You melted as the kids ran excitedly into their parents arms, wrapping themselves around their mums and dads, wishing to not let go. In those sweet moments, you felt a fleeting pang of loneliness. You longed for your own child, and with that, a loyal husband. You breathed out a sigh, something that was becoming quite regular for you by now.

As more and more parents arrived, you saw the sun trickle behind the horizon. Soon, the night sky appeared, painting the sky in hues of indigo and cerulean. As much as you loved the night, you didn’t love the idea of being stuck here all night, and neither did Lily, who was looking even more restless than you.

Her ginger hair fell across her face, partially blocking her vision as she lethargically signed out the second to last kid. Deep, violet bags were forming under her eyes, her skin borderline white from her exhaustion. It was getting hard to look at.

“Why don’t you just go home?” Your offer made Lily perk her head up. “You look way too tired to even continue standing on two feet.”

“I couldn't do that to you.” Lily yawned, clasping her perfectly manicured hand over her mouth. “And besides, Harry hasn’t been picked up yet. I still have to do my job.”

You looked at her with pity in your eyes. You hadn’t seen her this exhausted in years, and you knew her anxiety was bubbling up as more and more snow fell onto the ground. “Please just go Lily. It’s only Harry; I can monitor him by myself. You need to get home before the snow gets heavier.” Before she could butt in, you continued. “Besides, Harry much prefers me over you.”

Lily laughed, closing you tightly into a friendly hug. “Thank you so much. I’ll get you back another day. Are you sure you’re all good closing up on your own?”

“Go home.” You waved her away dismissively. Lily bounced around and in only five minutes, she had collected herself, and had dashed out the door, leaving only you and Harry in the pre-school.

He was looking quite tired himself, which was understandable. By now, it was nearly eight o’clock at night, a time you knew was well past his bedtime. Harry had curled himself up on one of the naptime beds himself, his raven hair falling over his eyes. Staying by his side, you caressed his back, until he fell into a soft slumber.

You felt lonely again. Harry was asleep and there was nothing left for you to do until Harry’s father arrived to pick him up. You knew a few things about Harry’s father, from the fleeting conversations you had had over the time Harry had been at this school. You knew his name was James, and he looked like heaven. Everytime you glanced his way, you felt yourself grow wet. It probably was a problem, but your secret crush didn’t hurt anyone, so you kept it secret.

Long after it had become dark, you finally saw canary coloured headlights glint in the distance. It was a relatively nice car, something you’d expect a well paid ministry worker, like James, to drive. You watched attentively as the car parked slowly and surely. Then, the car door opened, and you got your first look of James for the day.

He definitely looked a little tired but there was something endearing about it. His fluffy brown hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had run his fingers through it greatly. His round glasses sat low on his nose bridge, with his natural eyes scanning the area. There, he locked eyes with you through the window, the same window you had drawn your pathetic heart on. Right then, James was positioned right in the middle of the heart, condensation like a halo.

Before you knew it, James had opened up the door into the school, realising a sigh of relief when he was hit by the warmth of the classroom. Dramatically, he closed the door behind him, leaning up against the frame, apologies falling from his lips like rain from the sky.

“I’m so sorry I was late. Traffic was crazy. Too many road closures.” James seemed frantic, but the solidarity of the preschool was definitely calming his mood down.

“There’s no need to apologise, Mr Potter. Harry is delightful to look after.”

“Please,” James held out his hand, “call me James.” You intertwined your fingers with hsi, shaking his hand ever so lightly, the same hand you had fantasised about. It was everything you dreamed of.

“I should drive Harry home now.” James broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension, making you want to salivate. You didn’t like the idea of James driving in his state, especially since he looked so tired. If anything, he would need some caffeine in him before the journey.

You reached your hand up, stroking his right cheek with your left hand, concern filling your eyes. “Oh, please James, you look so tired. Let me make you a cup of tea before you journey back home. You look as though you need it.”

James chuckled. “Alright then, just one though. Besides, Harry seems to be having a lovely nap. Wouldn't want to disturbed him now, would we?”

You guided James into the back kitchen through a secret door. Here was your break room where you could have some peace and quiet away from the kids. It was one of your favourite places in the entire school, because even though you loved the kids, sometimes you just needed a place to help you unwind, and unwind you did. Countless times you had fallen asleep back here and had dreamed of James.

“We have Earl Grey. Is that okay?” You looked through your cupboards, eyes locking onto a small red box, tea bags flooding out of it. Personally, you weren’t a big fan of it, that's why there were still so many, but James didn’t seem to mind it.

“Please, sounds lovely, dear.”

You worked in silence, turning the kettle on to boil. Carefully, you dunked a tea bag into a mug, swirling it around in your fingers as you waited for the water to boil. The emptiness of volume was killing; you could’ve heard a pin drop. James was the one to speak up first.

“Harry really likes you. He talks about you often.”

“Oh really?” You chuckled in disbelief, facing away from James, fiddling with some lint of your sweater.

“Yes. Sometimes, he even calls you Mum. I’m happy that he has a mother figure like you to look after him.” You chuckled when hearing James’ words, which confused him. “Why are you laughing?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You said, reaching for the kettle. “He’s just not the only one to have called me Mommy before.”

James furrowed his brows, even more confused. “You have kids of your own?”

“Not quite.” You swung your head around, throwing James a cheeky grin. That’s when he understood what you meant. He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, his pants seeming just a bit tighter than before. It was definitely hotter in the room.

“What normally happens when people call you that?” James asked, testing the waters. As you stood to move around, the chair scraped against the wooden floors, alerting you of his prowling presence.

When he was a mere inch away from you, you smirked once again. “Why don’t you kiss me and find out?” You weren’t sure where this rush of confidence was coming from but you both seemed to not want to slow down.

Consciously, James raised his hand to your cheek, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. His soft hands lingered a little too long, before his eyes flickered downwards towards your lips. You knew what he wanted, but you never took him for the shy type. Something about this made you aroused. Needing relief desperately, you lunged forwards, connecting your lips to his.

It was everything you thought it would be. Hungry, passionate, skilled. Your lips melded perfectly together with his, as his lips sucked gently on your top lip. Yearning for something more, you moved your hands down to his ass, giving James an experimental squeeze. Just like how you wanted, he gasped, giving you the perfect entrance to insert your tongue into his ready mouth. He moaned, his lips vibrating against you.

“Show your Mommy how much you need her.” You pulled away, whispering those words at the shell of his ear. You could hear James whimper in front of you, positioning himself so he was straddling one of your thighs, as you were pushed up against the counter tops.

James’ fingers worked at the hem of your sweater. Eager to remove as many clothes as possible from you, he tugged at the edge, slow whimpers escaping his pretty mouth, as you tilted your head down to his neck, aching to leave soft love bites on his skin.

He was getting needier and more submissive by the minute, but to you, he was acting like a brat. “That’s not how we ask for something we want, is it baby? Use your words.”

“Please Mommy, may I take your sweater off?”

With a curt nod, you obliged, watching James’ eyes light up in fascination. Quickly, he pulled your sweater over your head, glad to see that your thin shir had stuck to the material of your sweater, leaving you in just a bra on top. His eyes were transfixed by the way your nipples were hard on your pert breasts, sticking out from your bra.

“Can I take your bra off please, Mommy?” James’ hands had already made their way around your torso, preparing for the inevitable.

“Yes love, good boy for asking.” You felt James grow harder against your thigh as you praised him, a thought that made you smirk in delight and what could be in store.

Like you were made of glass, James slipped the bra off of your shoulders, dragging it slowly off of your arms. You knew he wasn’t teasing on purpose, as it seemed that he was distracted by the sight of your tits, but you needed relief anyway, bucking your thigh up against his crotch as encouragement. “They’re all yours.”

Delighted, James leaned in, his whole mouth engulfing your nipple. With vigour, he bagan sucking, the pleasure of it going straight down into your core. You moaned loudly, something you learned that egged James on. Greedily, he started rubbing his hands down your side, eager to feel all of your skin. You didn’t mind though, as you were lost in your own moment.

“Good- good boy.” You stuttered out as James’ mouth left the centre of the nipple, beginning to suck small bruises into the side of your boob. Normally, you would punish him - well, anyone - for doing that without permission, but you didn’t care at that moment.

Content with his handiwork, James moved onto your next nipple, ready to give you the same amount of pleasure as last time. As he worked your nipple to a bright scarlet like the last one, you noticed a curious movement with his hips. Looking down, you saw James, rutting his hips into you, humping your thigh as if he was a bitch in heat. You moaned at the sight.

“You like that, huh? You like,” - you jolted your thigh upwards - “Mommy’s thigh?”

“Mmm, so good.” James mumbled against your tit. You knew he was close to coming, but you weren’t quite done with him yet. Pulling him away from your body, you looked into his eyes to see a hurt expression, something you didn’t like seeing. Luckily, it wasn’t going to last long.

“If you can make Mommy cum from your tongue, then I’ll let you cum on my thigh, alright?” With an excited nod of his head, James immediately sunk to his knees, diving his head underneath your skirt. His fingers worked quickly, stretching the fabric of your panties to the side so he had the best access possible. When you heard a muffled “Oops” against your thigh, you could tell that your panties had snapped from James’ force, but you didn’t mind. He made up for it by being so damn skilled.

He dove in nearly straight away, his tongue licking straight up the lips of your cunt, lapping at it as if it was his first ever meal. The end of his tongue teased the entrance to your velvet walls, pressing in ever so slightly and pulling away, creating tension and frustration for you. But it felt so good.

“Feels so good, darling. Doing so good, my good boy. My good, good boy.” You knew he was spurred on by praise, so you gave him what he needed. Threading your fingers in his hair, you held him down slightly, taking the tiniest amount of control back.

When he began sucking at your clit, that's when you really felt the tide going out. It was ebbing at your senses, the only indication being your shaking body and the mewling whimpers coming from your mouth. This only encouraged James further to topple you over the edge.

Slowly, James brought his fingers up to your cunt, teasing your entrance with his finger. Then, he slipped it inside of you, feeling the way you clenched around his finger. You were so tight that James dreamed of how you would feel around his cock, these thoughts going straight to his straining dick in his pants. He needed relief, so he worked faster, inserting another finger and pumping faster.

You were so close by now. The combined stimulation of James’ lips suctioning at your clit and his fingers working in and out of you was too much. With one last hard suck, you felt your orgaasm wash over you like a tsunami. You could hardly hold yourself up, and that was evident by the way you toppled to your side. The only reason you didn’t hit the floor was because of James’ lightning fast reflexes, keeping you upright.

“Did I do good, Mommy?” James asked, his shiny eyes looking up at you with adoration, his lips glistening with your cum. You smiled sweetly down at him, stroking his cheek with your hand, until you pulled it back and gave him a harsh slap across his face.

“It was so good baby, but I thought I said only using your tongue?” James had the look of realisation on his face, but you kept going. “Naughty boys who don’t follow rules have to be punished, and I don't think you want to get put in the Naughty Corner, do you?”

James whimpered, but it sounded like he was enjoying the degradation. A smile spread across your face.

“Oh so you do? Good boy.”

#James potter #James Potter x reader #James Potter fluff #marauders era #marauders #harry potter

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sleepyowlwrites · 2 years

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find the word tag CCCXIX

the weather is turning the sky on its side, and I'm on the outskirts, always in denial, the evening is waiting to let in the night, and I'm on the outskirts, a blur in moonlight, the silence is silence but every birdsong, and I'm on the outskirts, still strung along, the moment is heady but passes with rain, and I'm on the outskirts, and I'll fade with the change. @spacetimewraithwrites

keep (dirt in the doing)

“How long have you been on your own?”

“Six years.” Rune turns her face just enough that she’s hiding in his hand somewhat. He lets her, though he knows he’s a poor comfort.

“Do you want to have some people to keep you company?”

“I can’t be part of your gang, not in all the ways the rest of you are.” She finally detaches herself, taking a deep breath. “I’m not as much of a rebel as you are.”

“Nobody’s as much of a rebel as I am.”

That gets a short laugh from her. It sounds genuine. “This is true.”

gold (summon story d0)

Skin grew back in Wryn’s natural shade of dark indigo and Zan was very relieved to no longer be looking at their skeleton. He looked up at Wryn’s face just in time to see their crimson eyes bleed back to a comfortable gold.

Zan wanted to ask if it hurt every time their body reverted back to the damage done that day, but didn’t want to repeat Erin’s mistake. He phrased it not like a question, just to be safe. “If it’s painful to switch control-”

“It is always painful,” Wryn said, a fullness back in their voice that proved the ibsin had settled into a more dormant state. “But it is manageable,” they added when Zan couldn’t hold back a wince of sympathy.

goal (dirt in the doing)

He’s done a lot, or a little, comparatively, in the several years he’s been fighting the backwards system and illegal enterprises with ones of his own, with sabotage, and sometimes arson, which Yarrow had goaded him into. Every time, in the moment, it feels amazing, like this new act of destruction against the winning class will be a game changer. It never is, and even as he plots his newest goal, Jet will wonder if he should give it all up. Be another kind of citizen. He’ll never be respectable, has no desire for it. But he could possibly enact positive change without being a force of destruction first.

Jet always comes back to it, though, because those singular moments are all he has. They’re never quite the same thing as purpose, but they’ve been good enough for now.

For now.

fire (twice caught, twice lost, 2020)

you were a bullet and a bandage and the one to say hello. I sidestepped your appendages and dove into the storm. twice the lightning struck me, twice I drowned in fire. you were a train wreck and a torment and the one to bring me back. I danced around your piercing gaze and fell down a flight of stairs. twice the darkness stung me, twice I bore its blows.

breathe (the sleepy stash)

And I delighted in your countenance, the light from your eyes, glancing onto mine; every second that I lingered in the sunset of your cheeks gave me a better reason to breathe; break all the walls of this prison house and my bones too, let me meld with you

book, button, borrow, being. BONUS: bereft, blushing. @spacetimewraithwrites @uraniumwriting @gwens-fiction @myhusbandsasemni @did-i-do-this-write @zmwrites @sleepy-night-child @pixelw0rds OR ANYBODY

#find the word tag #searching circle #alliteration agency

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june-again · 3 years

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impossible.

characters┊asahi azumane, lev haiba.

synopsis ┊ chance brings you into the life of an upcoming designer. your best friend doesn't seem to like the idea of you chasing him, but to you, this guy is irresistible. maybe it's destiny after all — but you should be careful how you play with destiny.

word count┊12.3k.

warnings/content┊strong doses of both angst and fluff. body insecurity, broken friendships, fake dating, online toxicity. minor swearing (?). timeskip spoilers (?). possible ooc writing.

reader┊gender neutral pronouns, model. wears a dress, wears a suit later on.

note┊i hope you all love my excessive need for easter eggs, including a referenced ship, a cameoed character, and a strong allusion to spot on (an older asahi fic). also, an excessive need to tie loose ends that nobody is paying attention to (...). one more thing: thank you so much for 1k followers!! you guys da bomb!! ☽

Modeling was no longer as exciting as it had been, you thought to yourself, pulling your arms through the sleeves. As you lowered the hole for the neck over your head, you sighed and surveyed your reflection. The designer sure seemed to have an idea what he was doing; he clearly was ambitious with its shape but overall it had a pleasing appearance. It was lime green with dark aqua tones, slightly tighter around your middle and modest at the neck. Its waist hung at the same place as the rest, but a seam ran around it allowing the skirt to billow out slightly in gathered portions. You were never a fan of wearing dresses, since they never seemed to be tight in the right spots. They might look nice, but walking around in them with your thighs always seeming to rub together and the wrong sections of skin visible at your neckline was less than your favourite. Not that your preferences mattered; you were a model because you’d been blessed with a body that was ‘in style’ right now and you’d been told several times before not to allow your good luck to go to waste.

The green seemed to compliment your skin tone fairly well, bringing out some of the colour in your eyes and cheeks, but the shape was strange, reaching just above your shins with thick hems. It was only as you turned back to make sure you didn’t miss anything that you saw the wide deep turquoise ribbon. You tied it around your waist, and suddenly it looked right. Very right. It made you look just that much more skinny. You knew not to chase the appearance of being skinny, but it was second nature for you to suck in a little when you could. It wasn’t just you, lots of models of any gender — even those that claimed to be confident and comfortable with their body shape — did the same.

You peeked out of the changing area, seeing one model in a night-indigo shirt posing with her hands on her waist while the designer himself took notes from a few feet away, approaching once to measure the sleeves and pin something about the shoulders. Elsewhere, the other model was standing with a blue-lavender button up shirt, leisurely scrolling through his phone.

“Ah, Y/N, you’re ready,” the designer said.

His voice should not have caught you off guard. In fact, his appearance should not be doing to you what it was. You were around plenty of handsome people every day in the modeling industry, and a measly early-twenties designer with a barely kept goatee and hair in a manbun and soft, angular brown eyes was subpar in comparison to those. Or — this was what you told yourself as he reminded you his name and asked you how the green dress felt.

You cleared your throat and asked him to repeat his name — yes, you’d missed it, being distracted, and you were absolutely not asking so that you could hear him talk again. He spoke calmly. You’d only been in the same room as him for a few minutes, but you could tell that he was the kind of gentle and apologetic person that could not hurt a fly.

“Asahi Azumane,” he told you. “But please, call me Asahi. Does it fit okay? You make it look better than I expected it could, but I’m sure the hem at the end of the skirt is bothering you.”

“It’s fine.” You watched, taking a deep breath as he leaned close to you to adjust the belt. It was your job to give more feedback than that — but you found that your mind was blank.

“It’s not meant to be tied so tight,” he said. “It’s meant to be comfortable, like — a summer dress on a windy day, you know? For a hike or something. Nothing too extreme, of course. Is that better?”

You looked in the mirror, seeing the way the tightness had changed its shape — not in a bad way at all. Not only were you no longer suffocating, but you found that it did appear to be loose and comfortable visually as well. It didn’t entirely extenuate the hourglass figure for you as it had before, but you found that it highlighted your curves cleanly, especially your back. And, well, his description of the dress’s purpose seemed to fit well colour-wise and in the loose shape.

“If it’s for a hike as you said,” you advised Asahi, “then it should be shorter, don’t you think? Walking in dresses is quite uncomfortable and the length does not help that matter. Not that you would know that, of course. You’ve never worn a dress before.”

“What gives you that impression?” he replied, nodding at your earlier comment and scrawling it down. He looked up into your eyes for a second. “I found it fairly comfortable, actually. But then, you’re right, for walking it was a different sensation entirely.”

You’d been in the presence of many fashion designers over the last five years, each of which had had a large vocabulary and even larger pride. It was unlikely to meet a male that would have actually taken the time to wear something not publicly accepted — and even less likely, even if he was one of the adventurous types, for him to speak of it as if talking of the weather or a fond memory. It would have made more sense for him to talk about it like it was a big deal, make a production of it.

“That’s good, thanks,” he was saying. “Could you raise your arms for a moment please?”

You did as instructed. He measured your side from your armpit to your waist, and nodded. “Wonderful. Your body is beautifully shaped. I never knew this dress could look this lovely. Thank you for coming. You can tell the others we’re done; be careful, there are pins along the bottom of yours, although I’m sure you’re aware.”

So that had been Asahi Azumane. He didn’t seem half as intimidating as your junior model, Lev, had warned you. He seemed almost too nice and modest for the job. Where was his ego, huh? All he seemed to have done was inflate yours.

After changing back, you texted your agent and explained how it went. He’d wondered aloud to you before you three went about Asahi’s strange request — three models, but no specifications beyond that. You’d meant to ask Asahi earlier about it — only you’d been… distracted.

As you made your way out, you brought it up to him. He was folding the light blue shirt, and you tried to ignore his careful hands. “My agent wants to know why your request was so strange.” You cringed. It sounded rude. But it was too late now.

“Strange? What was strange about it?”

“You didn’t specify which models from our company you wanted, or even any measurements. Why not?”

“For fun,” he replied.

You stared at him.

“I’m kidding,” he chuckled, running his hand over his head in a way that was unfairly attractive. You should not be attracted to him right now. Why were you so aware of your face heating up at the sight of his arm? It’s not like you’d never seen a man’s arm before. You’d seen much more than a man’s arm before. “I’m working for a sort of — client, I guess, who wants me to experiment as much as possible. I’ve actually made very few dresses before, so it was pure chance that I ended up with you. The dress was what I had for your measurements. But I suppose I’ll be finishing it now that I can make the final touches thanks to you.”

He made it sound as if all you’d done hadn’t just been to stand in a dress while he did all the math and made the clothing himself. And he was paying you.

“Oh, I see.” You tried your best to focus on keeping your eyes on him instead of feasting on his appearance, but your peripheral was working double time. “I was wondering why you didn’t just ask for one model for an hour to do all the outfits, but I guess your goal was to try out as many sizes as possible?”

“Yes, exactly. But next time, I will be doing that — the one model thing. I haven’t decided on a size yet, and I’ve only just started on the sketches. By the way, Y/N, um, I really appreciate how efficient the three of you were.”

“Do you value your time a lot?”

“I’d say so.”

He was attractive, and he didn’t like wasting time? “In that case, I don’t want to keep you any longer. Good luck with the rest of your project and with your ‘client’.”

“Yes, thank you again. And — Y/N…” He paused, frowning.

“Hm? What’s up, Asahi?”

He opened his mouth, studying you. “Are you in town two weeks from now?”

‘In town’? It’s not like you traveled much. Why was he asking whether you were in town? What kind of question was this? What was going on?

“I mean — sorry, that wasn’t phrased right. I meant to ask whether you were scheduled up. Because I like working with you. Oh, that must also sound wrong. Sorry, don’t feel obligated—”

“I think I’ll be able to cancel anything if you need me.” You were bold. Your eagerness to work more with him surprised even you.

He thanked you, a smile on his lips. Cruel that he had such a nice smile.

—

Two weeks passed and your agent had received no message from him. You were sure of this, since you’d asked him many times to keep you updated and to check just in case. You half-wished that you’d just asked for Asahi’s number — but models didn’t just ask for designer’s numbers. As far as you knew. Although, at this point, you were willing to be the first if it meant being around someone like him again.

It was so frustrating that what should have been a momentary attraction became a full-fledged crush on someone you didn’t know whether you’d see again. And someone you didn’t know. You had barely exchanged one conversation with him.

But you wanted to talk more. You wanted to be around him. He was so — different. It felt corny — but when, a week later than expected, he did call your agent and ask if you were still interested in helping him out, you knew that there wasn’t any point in resisting the fact that he just appealed to you.

You learned a lot about him that day. He had done as he’d said he would; all the outfits were vastly different each, ranging from suits to robes to casualwear to even a ball gown. He told you that your body type was so good for each, and that he was glad that although several of his pieces had faults, you didn’t complain. But you had no reason to complain. You pointed out how it fit in different places overall, but his pure talent and passion for making clothes was enough to shut you up so that you simply watched him work.

The most nerve wracking part was when he paused to measure you or slip pins into the fabric or adjust the way it fit. He seemed to be very careful not to touch you if it wasn’t necessary, which was of course only expected of a designer, but you wouldn’t mind if he accidentally did brush his fingers against your side or back more. He seemed to be much more nervous than you’d originally thought. This was not an issue. It made you smile internally at the way he rubbed the back of his head while he thought, or the way you could see a slight flush on his cheeks if he was adjusting your sleeves or shoulders. He was so gentle, it felt like you were being groomed to go on a set, not being fit as if you were an especially compliant mannequin.

By the last outfit, with a wintery shirt you were certain must have taken him days to make, you finally asked him about where he’d come from. He smiled and told you about how he’d always been interested in it but it was only after a recent trip around the world that he really realized the potential in the fashion industry.

“But what’s your goal?” you asked him. “What do you want to get out of this? What effect on the fashion or modeling industry do you want to have?”

He paused mid-pinning of a sleeve. “I don’t know whether I really want to have an impact on the industry as a whole. I don’t think I can.”

You blinked. “You? You could do so much, Asahi. You’re different from all the designers I’ve met before, and that’s a lot. You could change so much. So many things need your touch.”

He smiled, not meeting your eyes. “I appreciate that, I really do. I just think that although it’s nice to think about, I don’t think many would be so happy about my style as you and a select few others are.”

“You mean they’re not ready for you.”

He chuckled. “I just mean that it’s … probably a waste of time to think I can make a big difference. I’m happy staying in the corner of it, being someone that a few people remember, making a few clothing items I enjoy.”

It felt like such a shame. Because he was so important; you were sure of this, despite having known him for a short time. Why didn’t he realize his own potential? “Are you really happy with this?”

Asahi met your eyes, choosing not to answer your question directly. “Are you happy with this, Y/N? Are you really happy with your looks being your resume? Isn’t it exhausting?”

You licked your lips, thinking it over. He made a fair point. You were used to being told that you were putting your looks to good use — or the opposite. It was never sympathy. It was always approval or disapproval. And, yes. It did get exhausting.

“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” you said. “But, Asahi, you do make it less exhausting. You have a way of making it feel like a pleasure rather than a job. You’re very professional, but you aren’t nasty for no reason. You’d be surprised how many people lack this. You’re just — you’re very humble, Asahi. Although I’m realizing now that maybe you’re just unaware of your own incredible ability.”

“In much the same way,” he told you, “I think you’re unaware of your beautiful appearance. I haven’t even seen you modeling for real. But you act so surprised when I compliment you. Which I don’t just do, you know. I’m not very good at complimenting people. Please, let me know if I make you uncomfortable, I—”

“You don’t. And it just feels genuine, you know? It doesn’t sound like a ploy to get me to keep working at one place or another, or to get me to do my job better. I like it. I like you.”

Oh, why’d that have to come out like that? But, well, there was no point in hiding the fact that you were just being honest.

Asahi stood in front of you, dropping your sleeve so that he could look you in the eye. “I wanted to ask, um… are you interested in modeling these for my client? I did make them for your size, and since you make them look better than they look on mannequins, maybe you could — but only if you want to, please don’t feel pressured to—”

“I’d love to.” And for the first time in your life for a modeling job, you meant it.

—

The Haiba siblings were two of the prettiest — and stupidest — people you’d ever met.

“You’re modeling for Azumane again?” Lev asked you. “Of all people, why him? He doesn’t pay as well as our company does. He’s young, too, right? Bet you have a crush on him or something, Cinderella.”

“Shut up, Lev.” You kicked his leg, ruffling his hair. “Don’t act like you didn’t follow that girl from Italy around for a month, pretending you were over Yaku.”

“I am over Yaku. I’ve moved on.”

“Oh yeah? To whom?”

“This is about you, not me, Y/N.”

“You’ve moved onto me?”

Lev’s face turned a shade of pink, likely out of frustration with you. “I will literally fry your elbow crack and make bread out of the juices.”

“Lev!” you snorted.

He was like a little brother to you — someone you could tease without feeling guilty and receive it back without guilt on his end. You couldn’t ask for a better friend. Unfortunately, being friends with Lev meant that you knew Alisa Haiba, who, along with being the sweetest person you’d ever met, was also the most beautiful. And she made you feel very bad about yourself appearance-wise, which was nobody’s fault but your own for still comparing your body to others. The two of you looked very different and you knew you had your own charms, but — there was still something she had that you couldn’t help but envy.

However, similar to Lev, she was a bit of a dork upstairs. After getting to know her, you became more grateful for her sake that she had an agent. She was capable — to a degree — but there were times where you wondered if she was really just a pretty face with air behind it.

Today, she asked you something that had you questioning your own sanity, however.

“If Asahi asks you to start modeling full time for him, would you say yes? Is that much different than Lev and the Italian girl?”

You paused to reflect on how she knew you would say yes. Darn Alisa and her romantic assumptions. “I wouldn’t,” you lied. “This is a much better job. Like Lev said, it pays better.”

“But for love?”

“That’s insane. I don’t love Asahi. I barely know him. I’ve only spent a few hours with him.”

“That’s all it takes…” she sighed, looking across the set at the director.

Airheaded, romantic assumptions. That’s all it was. Besides, Asahi would never ask you to be his full time model and help him design. You were useless in design. Well — you were useless helping him with design because you would be far too distracted to offer any actual advice. You shouldn’t waste your time daydreaming of this idea of spending every working day with Asahi, letting him and his gentle hands be near you, his calm voice talking about something he was passionate about, his brown eyes, his smile—

It was undoubtedly a crush. You hadn’t felt this way since Kuroo Tetsuro in high school some ten years ago.

But as ridiculous as you’d thought the idea was, it wasn’t as unlikely as you’d thought.

The small show seemed to hold a lot more pressure than you’d expected. You went back to help Asahi a few more times with more of the outfits, to work out final errors. Some of them he had to drop, which seemed to be hard for him to do and hard for you to watch since you both knew how much time and thought he’d put into each of them. But by the end of the week, they were all ready, and you were excited and very nervous to present them to his client.

The client, Asahi’d told you, was a picky designer and company owner that had seen one of his designs in an ‘upcoming fashion’ magazine. If you hadn’t heard it from him yourself, you mightn’t have believed that such a thing still happened — you always heard from your workplace people complaining that they still had to even bother doing photoshoots for magazines since the audience was decreasing every day. He’d managed to A, get his work into a fashion magazine, and B, have someone with a lot of authority see it and be impressed enough to get in contact with him and challenge him in order to test his skills?

Asahi Azumane really was something else.

Minus a slight panicky moment beforehand that the two of you both experienced, sharing looks of despair in both your eyes. You were already in the first outfit, and something’d gone wrong that he’d fixed at the last minute. He’d told you to think of the scariest moment in your life to distract yourself so that this didn’t seem so bad, but you were having trouble focusing on anything at all because he’d placed a hand on your shoulder and his hand was on your shoulder and it was very nice to have his hand on your shoulder. You both knew how important this was. For him, to possibly be picked up. And for you, to have Asahi want to keep you around.

Asahi and the client sat in a small dance studio at the back, facing the doors. Asahi’d picked the venue, saying it would save the most money. You asked him why he shouldn’t try to impress the client with a nicer place, and he said that anything would be better than his office and besides, the point was for the client to see his work and if it wasn’t good then the location didn’t matter anyways. You walked across the smooth wooden floor a few feet in front of their table in the first outfit, taking note of the mirrors all around you. It always helped you to be able to see yourself — you’d mentioned this to Asahi before. Had he thought of you while finding the small venue? No, but he just wanted you to do your best to heighten his chances, of course. You could feel your heart speeding despite this being something you were very practiced at, but after a look of gratitude in your direction from Asahi after a muttered comment from the client, you knew that no matter what happened, you just had to do your job and hope for the best.

By the end, you were quite tired, and as you stepped back into the room from the other door, Asahi waved you over. The client was still writing, like an adjudicator in a talent show. You sat in the chair next to Asahi, and noticed his wide eyes as he stared at the table. You hesitated, and then gently put one hand over his, nodding encouragingly. He returned a nervous smile and took a deep breath.

The client cleared his throat, and you quickly let go.

“Well, Asahi and Y/N. The two of you make a very good pair.”

The two of you blinked at him. “We make a—?” Asahi started, frowning.

“I would like to see more of your work, Asahi, with this model. You’ve created a range of beautiful clothing and having Y/N here is bringing it to life, and must have done the same for you as you worked on it.”

“But Y/N isn't my full time employee, they're from a different company altogether,” Asahi told the client, glancing at you.

“Then the decision doesn’t lie with either of us,” he replied.

Their eyes were on you.

“Are you interested in this opportunity?” the designer asked you, running his hand through his hair again. Ah, the move you couldn’t resist. Did he have any idea what it did to you? “I get it if you’re not, you have a good job at—”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupted him. “If you want me.”

“Of course I do. I — I agree, actually, that you make it come alive for me. I want you, if you’re willing..”

You pursed your lips, trying not to think too hard about how it felt to have Asahi Azumane say ‘I want you.’ “There’s nothing I’d rather do.”

—

Two years, six hundred shirts, fourteen shawls, eleven dresses, twenty-four increasing paychecks, one rejected confession from Lev Haiba, and hundreds of held-back feelings later, Asahi had gotten approved for the creation of his own brand, Gloriya. He told you it had been a team effort of the two of you and everyone else behind him, but you reminded him that his name was on everything for a reason.

Asahi had made modeling enjoyable. He’d given you something to look forward to every day. He made you learn how to love your body the way it was, and he’d unconsciously taught you about humility and non-destructive passion. He made you feel confident, let you know that you did a good job at what you enjoyed. What started as a crush developed fully into what you knew could be nothing but l0ve, and yet you felt like you were in a bad situation. He was your boss, essentially. He told you you were partners, but you were sure he just said that because he didn’t like attention. Understandable. That was why you were the model, after all.

There would be a launch party for the brand. It was being put on by the company, not him, of course. But he wanted to design something for you to show off at the event; it seemed like the only way he could get himself to look forward to it. Three week notice — it would be enough time, easily. He worked very fast. But you also learned that Asahi liked to make use of all hours of the day, including three AM. You wouldn’t have figured this out had you not texted him at that time on a whim to ask if he was awake.

That was actually a special night, more than you wanted to allow yourself to admit. He was the same as ever at the young hours, smooth hair loosely tied back, top buttons of his shirt unfairly unbuttoned. A look in his eye — you couldn’t tell whether it was inspiration or exhaustion when you stepped through his loft’s front door. Living near him meant more frequent visits, so the fabric and design plans sprawled across his sitting room did not catch you off guard. You felt more at home here than you did in your cold, empty apartment.

The two of you wordlessly headed to his balcony, and he sent you a half-smile as he leaned his elbows on the railing. The view of the lit up city was beautiful, of course, but when your eyes wandered into his, you preferred his beauty to anything else the world could offer.

“I was thinking,” you began, and then trailed off. How dare he be so attractive in moonlight? His eyes glittered a little with the dim light from inside. It was chilly, and you wished you’d remembered to wear a sweater like he had.

“Thinking, hm? I have to say, it sounds like a fairly vague reason to visit me at three in the morning.”

You laughed quietly, turning back to the view. “No, I… I was thinking about how… you remember that day we first met two or three years ago? And how you said it was completely due to chance?”

He hummed in acknowledgement. “I remember.”

“I guess there are a lot of things that happen by chance,” you said, “but it’s still incredible how that one moment led me here. Remember that green dress? I don’t know why, but I was thinking about it, and how green dresses in the Victorian era were literally poisonous because of the dye having … have you heard of that?”

“Didn’t it have arsenic in it or something?”

You smiled to yourself. The fact that he had heard of this — “Yeah, and I was just thinking… What if you did that, but with some hypnotic substance? To make me want to work with you or something.”

“I didn’t do anything like that.”

“I know,” you said and punched his shoulder, laughing. “Don’t react like that, it sounds more suspicious than it has to.”

He smiled. “It’s an interesting coincidence, though, isn’t it?”

“Mhm.”

He took a deep breath, tilting his head up to look into the dark, hazy sky. His side profile was nothing short of gorgeous. You’d seen it hundreds of times, but it was as true as ever, especially with the faint light highlighting the shape of his nose and lips. When he spoke, he raised his eyebrows, and his voice was soft and relaxed. “Are you happy, Y/N?”

You paused. Were you happy?

There were a lot of things you regretted. The poor handling of your Lev’s confession to you, causing you to lose two of your best friends. Going down a career path that only began to make you happy six years in, after five years of pain. Your inability to be honest with Asahi about your feelings towards him, despite assurance from several businesspeople of the company that if the two of you got into a relationship it would do a lot for marketing and add to the brand’s image, a unique opportunity in the professional world.

Despite all this, the question had been whether you were happy. There were a lot of things you weren’t sure about, but there was one that you were. Being with Asahi Azumane made you feel comfortable and very, very happy.

“Yes,” you replied. “At this moment, I couldn’t ask for more.”

The second part had been a lie. You could and would ask for more in only a few minutes. However, at this moment you were content. Seeing and being with the handsome and humble designer made you sure that at least at this moment, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You shivered, and as if responding to an instant impulse, Asahi took his sweater off and hung it over your shoulders. It was cruel, the way his hand lingered on your back for a fraction of a second — as if he wanted to leave it there, but was too shy. And you wanted him to leave it there, but you were also too shy.

The sweater was warm. Asahi had been dangerous the way he had looked taking it off and more dangerous the way he looked in just an evening shirt with the top two buttons loose. He looked the sort of way you couldn't allow yourself to stare at because you didn't know what your imagination would do.

You suggested that you go inside so that he didn’t get cold, but he of course waved it off, prompting you to have to walk straight inside so that he'd follow.

You liked the smell of his apartment, and although being in the night was stimulating, it was more comforting to be in here where it was warm. He took the opportunity to ask you whether you wanted tea — as if it wasn't 3:30am.

“Asahi,” you said a few minutes later. “You want your brand to do well and all that, right?”

“Yeah?”

“How far are you willing to go so that it does?”

He paused. “As far as it's genuine.”

This should not have taken you off guard the way it had; you knew Asahi, you knew how pure even his business intentions were. But it made you less sure about your idea. “I was just going to suggest,” you said, sipping tea. You took the time to swallow before you continued. “What if the two of us became a couple like we were advised to?”

Asahi froze and raised an eyebrow. “You think that would help?”

You cleared your throat. This would obviously take some convincing. “You've mentioned before that you want the brand to be about bringing people together. People already know we've been partners for years, and people have begun to speculate whether we're in a relationship. And, you know, I don't think it would be pointless to at least make use of the concept, without of course involving emotions in it because that would be messy.”

“Oh, I see. So, you want to ‘fake date’, is that what it is?”

“No pressure to accept the idea. I'm sorry, it must sound crazy. I care about your brand, and I know how much you have invested in it. I'm willing to do anything you need to help it succeed, you know that.”

“I don't want to take advantage of you in any way,” he said, sounding sure.

“Remember, it was my idea,” you replied, even more adamantly.

He sighed, looking down at his tea. “I’m not sure about this. You’re right, it would probably help the image, but I’m worried about gossip. I’ve got a suspicious face.”

“A suspicious face? What on earth do you mean?”

He pressed his lips together. “Well, in high school there were a lot of rumours spread about me. I didn’t look like a student, y’know? I, even then, had the facial hair, the man bun, and I wasn’t exactly a small kid.”

“Nothing wrong with any of that. I’m sure you were just as handsome.”

He stared at you with a small smile. “Okay, let me see if Suga has any pictures I can show you.”

‘Suga’ was one of Asahi’s friends from high school. You’d met him before a few times. He was an unassuming elementary school teacher with feathery light hair and soft eyes similar to Asahi’s, but sharper. He had a way of talking that made you feel comfortable and understood, and had a frequently resurfacing smile. He had also flirted with you the first time you’d met, but had stopped by the second time.

“You love him, don’t you?” he asked you within the first moment the two of you had been left alone that day.

You gazed at Suga, unable to answer.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

“What secret?” you said, feigning laughter. “I don’t have any secrets. You’re reading too far into it. He and I are partners, and that’s it.”

“Sure you have a secret. Only for him. It’s evident for everyone else, but poor Asahi’ll probably never think of it. Remember, you have to tell him yourself.”

“I have no intention of telling him anything.”

“You say that now. But what are you going to do in a few years, when you’re still hopelessly in love with him and he has no clue and every day gets harder to keep it in, but now you feel like you’ll ruin everything by speaking up? What about then? Won’t you wish you hadn’t wasted so much time? Asahi’s not very open about his emotions, but it’s not unlikely that he loves you too. It wouldn’t hurt to try. He’ll blame himself no matter what, but he’ll never hold a grudge against you.”

How incredibly ironic that you were thinking about that now, a few years later, while suggesting a way that the two of you could be publicly close. Was it really because you wanted what was best for his brand, or was it because you wanted an excuse to be near him?

“Here’s me in high school,” Asahi said with a chuckle, showing you a picture on his phone. He looked so young — obviously he would, but it still made you hide a smile by pursing your lips at his larger eyes and nervous expression.

“You’re so cute,” you giggled. “Same hair and everything.”

“It was a bit shorter,” he informed you as if it was a vital distinction, taking back his phone.

“Why don’t you ever have your hair down?”

He shrugged. “Guess it gets in the way.”

You set down your mug. It was almost four in the morning, you told yourself as an excuse, walking behind him and gently taking out his hair. You ran your hands through it, making a comment about how smooth it was. It reached a little further than his shoulders, and it was clean and untangled. He turned his head to look at you and you froze up, because with his hair down, his face was framed incredibly well, and he had the appearance of nothing less than an angel. You withdrew the hand you’d accidentally left resting on his shoulder.

“So that’s why,” you muttered.

“I know, it must look strange after being used to seeing me with it up.”

“No, Asahi, seriously, why aren’t you a model? I’m surprised you haven’t been street cast.”

“You know better than anyone that modeling isn’t just about looks.”

“That’s true. But it’s easy to pick up on the rest.” You didn’t exactly know what you were trying to convince him of. You were finally starting to feel dozy — and it was coming fast. You put your chin in your hands, trying not to fall asleep on his table.

“I’m doing everything I enjoy right now.”

“Right now right now?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

You hummed and your eyes fell shut, but you continued to talk as if you weren’t drifting off at that moment. “So, are we gonna do the thing?”

“You mean—”

“Yeah. Might as well give it a try, right?”

“We can decide later and make it public at the launch party.”

You sighed, your mind blurring. “Yeah.”

“You should go home, Y/N. You look tired.”

“Can I sleep here?”

He hesitated. “No, you shouldn’t. Here, I’ll walk you back.”

Maybe it’d been the warmth from the tea, or the fact that it was four in the morning, or just the fact that being in Asahi’s place with him calmed you down better than anything, but you were nearly out of it by the time he half-walked, half-carried you back to your apartment. You were too tired to worry about whether you were coming across as too touchy. In fact, you had one arm slung behind around his waist and a head resting on his shoulder as you walked towards your room.

You wouldn’t remember most of this. Or — well, you’d try not to. Because you didn’t want to live with the embarrassment and fear in the knowledge of your behaviour when the two of you were just partners and nothing more.

Surely everything would be easier if you publicly became a couple. Then, you’d have an excuse, but you wouldn’t have to involve feelings into it. It would be simple.

The event was large, sparkly, fancy — the kind of thing that you were accustomed to but would never feel at home in. It all felt very starched, and everyone wore practically the same outfits so there was rarely anything fashionably stimulating for you to focus on. Half the people at these kinds of company parties would wear the exact same thing at each one, and the others would spend their hard-earned money on outfits that differentiated only slightly in length or shade. And the decorations — nothing like the photoshoots you preferred. Perhaps a few candles and a red carpet, but as a whole it was very dull and overly formal for a hundred people who worked in an office who needed a day off.

In other words, it really wasn’t your style.

But the suit that Asahi had made was something else entirely. It was a tuxedo, similar to the design of many of the basic ones in the party, but with an intricate embroidery on the left pocket over your heart, and a deliciously long tail and sleeves that put you right into a Jane Austen novel. It still felt modern, of course, but — as you told him as you tried it on a few days before — it was “clean, humble, and warm. Like you.”

During the event, much of which you had to spend with stiff gratitude for congratulations through a camera smile, you tried not to think of the subtle occurrences beforehand you’d had with Asahi. It’d been nothing more than pausing while he straightened your bowtie, a shared look of anticipation and dread and something else, something that you could not name but you knew it was in both of your eyes at that moment.

And then the two of you decided that it would be now or never; reporters would be here to spread and market the brand, and they’d see this and incorporate it into their stories. It would set the brand apart, marking unity and teamwork and professionalism. It wouldn’t be difficult for you to act like you were in a relationship with him because you were attracted enough to him that nothing would feel too far for you, probably.

You hadn’t known what you were getting yourself into, evidently.

You told Asahi to wait twenty seconds and think about this. It was a technique you sometimes used before shoots to calm yourself down so that you could force a smile. You told him to look you right in the eyes for twenty seconds, and count in his head as you did the same. About ten seconds in, his trademark blush had surfaced, but by the end you were both feeling a little calmer.

Asahi was fine in meetings, by now, but in a hall filled with people in fancy clothes, standing in front of a microphone, he wasn’t doing as well. You could see his hands shaking, and you had an up-close view of his quietly frantic eyes as he struggled to recall his speech — which was now filled with repeated words and unfortunate pauses. At one point, he took your hand, and it seemed to calm him down a bit, which you tried not to read too far into because you guessed it was partly for your ‘relationship’ ploy.

“Again, thank you all for your hard work and encouragement in the development of Gloriya, for helping us get on our feet. I started out on my own, but after the joining of Y/N, and soon getting hired at this company, I realized my dreams had potential to become reality. And I could not have gotten here without Y/N and their constant support. They’ve always gone above and beyond, and… I’m…” He trailed off, looking you in the eyes. Here it came. “... I’m so happy to be able to call them my… significant other.”

Faint chatter spread throughout the crowd, and he put an arm around your shoulders. You had been expecting yourself to be able to handle this. But it felt too real. You stared at him, trying to wear a natural expression. It was fine. It was fake.

Why did it have to be fake?

What difference would it make if it wasn’t fake? Because no matter what, your emotions would be involved, you realized.

Of course, you were thinking of all this one second too late. It was public now. You wished for the opposite. You didn’t know how you were going to keep up, you thought, holding a smile towards the audience.

It was cruel how calm he looked, even though you knew he was nervous about being in front of such a crowd. It wasn’t fair that he wasn’t having an unexpected emotional crisis like you were.

How dare he be everything you wanted?

—

You slept poorly; maybe a few too many unsatisfactory drinks, not enough interaction with Asahi after his speech. The two of you never got a chance to talk during or afterwards, so you’d call him this morning. You’d thought the night before had been “eventful”, but when you woke up to several messages from different coworkers asking whether you were okay, you realized that maybe your own emotions were not the only thing at risk.

Headlines were not “Gloriya Reflects Its Motto; Founder’s Relationship With Partner: the Scoop” or “Launch Of New Clothing Brand Has Both Customers and Investors Eager” or anything of the like. Instead—

“Asahi Azumane, Founder of Gloriya, is Suspected of Forcing Y/N, His Partner, Into a Relationship for Marketing Purposes” “Asahi and Y/N’s Relationship Not As Innocent As It Appears” “Visible Fear on Y/N’s Face: Why Investors Are Pulling From Gloriya” etc.

Oh, this was not good.

This was very bad.

You called Asahi — with no answer. Was he okay? What was going on?

How could this have happened? “Visible Fear” on your face? You hadn’t — you hadn’t looked that way, had you? You opened the article to see a photo of the two of you.

Your expression, eyebrows gathered — eyes fixed widely on Asahi whose arm was around your waist, mouth clearly in a fake smile — was very misleading. And you knew this was your fault.

You called Asahi again, leaving a message. “Hey, Asahi. I saw what happened. It’s completely because of my idea, I’ll take the blame and do everything I can to fix this. I’m coming over right now. See you.”

You hoped he wasn’t too mad at you. You didn’t have time for that right now. If he was upset with you, you’d have to deal with it after you fixed this. You cared about Gloriya as much as he did and you cared about all the time he’d spent working on it. You were not about to let your emotions and poor advice ruin it all for him.

You spent the walk to his loft reading more articles; indifferent ones and questioning ones and ones that took things way too far. Every word of them put you a little more on edge. By the time you reached him, you were absolutely livid, and when he opened his door, you, steam pouring from your ears and mouth in a line as straight as a board, with cold fire and focused indignance in your eyes, you declared with what had meant to sound firm but was clearly more unsettled, “You did nothing wrong.”

Asahi looked at you with a tired expression.

“Hey, did you sleep?” you asked.

He inhaled, continuing to study you with his soft — and sad — brown eyes. He said nothing.

“How many investors pulled?” you asked, stepping inside and taking out your clipboard. You hadn't been hired initially to be his assistant, but it slowly became something you naturally took on for him.

He sighed, following you. “Enough that we'll lose them all soon. There's no way we'll have buyers now.”

“Don't give up. We can figure this out. It'll be alright.”

A pause. “What can we do, Y/N? This is my fault. I made a bad decision.”

“It's not because of your decision. It's due to my actions and—” You cut yourself off from saying ‘feelings,’ not wanting to involve that in anything from now on. Why couldn't you just move on? You should have accepted Lev, just to get your mind off of Asahi. “Listen, Asahi. I have an idea, but it might be really bad. And it might ruin things for you more.”

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“Yeah, I think it’s worth a try if I can do it right.”

“Everything I’ve done so far has been futile. I trust you, Y/N, but it’s not your fault if it doesn’t work after all this. I’ve… already been working on my backup plan.”

“Your backup plan?”

“Working in retail.”

“No. No. You can’t work in retail, Asahi. You’ve come too far. Okay, it looks like I have no choice.”

“What’s your idea?”

You glanced at him, and then shook your head. “I can’t do it here. You’ll find out later, hopefully.” Boy, this was going to put you in a hard position. You were already picturing the press’s reaction — and his. You began to walk toward his door, but he put his hand on your shoulder before you could step out.

“Are you sure about whatever it is that you’re doing? It won’t put you at risk, will it?”

“Nope, not at all,” you replied, and left.

—

You’d been debating how honest it needed to be, wondering how much information to share, whether to keep it brief or not. It would be a delicate matter, and your feelings were already involved more than they should be. At this point, would it be wiser to keep it artificial, or go genuine?

You thought about Gloriya’s memo. ‘Authentic clothes, authentic living.’ The idea behind the brand was to create clothes that were comfortable for wearing, pleasant for appearance, and healthy for the earth. Asahi was big on not leaving a footprint bigger than necessary. He didn’t seem big on being remembered at all, leaving evidence of his existence. He seemed so careful about who he talked to. He was obviously nervous about first impressions, and —

You couldn’t just fake it. It would be harmful to him as well. Asahi was sensitive, though he didn’t talk about it. He valued you and your opinion, and it wasn’t fair lying to him no matter what the lie was about. He knew you were a bad liar. And the media, well, they’d probably form a theory about it, though they didn’t know you as well as he did.

So you picked up your phone and made a post more real than anything you’d said for years. Realer than your alleged ‘love’ for modeling. Realer than the way you’d rejected Lev Haiba. Realer than the clothes you and Asahi had been making.

“This post is not something I have been forced into. I am sharing this upon my own free will, because I don’t want this brand to get lost in gossip when Gloriya is all about authenticity.

“Asahi Azumane is not taking advantage of me in order to gain popularity for the brand. I’m the one who asked him to date me a few weeks ago because of my feelings for him; it was selfish of me, because I didn’t think about how it might be perceived. But I am wholeheartedly in love with him. I always have been. He’s a thoughtful, caring, humble man. One that I hardly feel like I deserve. But I am so grateful for the opportunity to call him mine.

“That picture of my expression that’s circulating has nothing to do with our relationship status, although it did have to do with what he was talking about. He mentioned ‘significant other,’ which was an unprecedented teaser for a part of the brand we haven’t revealed yet. It’s still in development, so I thought it was too early to talk about. Maybe he didn’t mean to reference it, but it caught me off guard. That’s all it was, a slight mix-up in the moment.

“I promise I’m okay. Thank you for worrying, but the internet seems to feed off of misinterpretations. He and I are very happy together right now, and we had decided beforehand to reveal our relationship at the event because it was the most convenient. I hope you can learn to trust Asahi again, as I have done without regrets for years.”

After a quick read-over, you took a deep breath and pressed the post button. Your hands were shaking, and you set your phone down and clenched and unclenched your fists.

Well, if this didn’t work, then you might also have to work in retail.

You took another deep breath, blankly looking at your feed. You would have to wait, of course, to see the results of your redemption attempt; your profile had a fairly high following, since you were a model and your professional involvement with Asahi had been known for a while now. It would only take a few minutes for your notifications to be flooded — and a few hours for things to (hopefully) turn around.

Something in the feed caught your eye. You picked up your phone, trying to understand why Lev’s face was in a video under a post about yours and Asahi’s relationship. “Y/N’s Ex Shares the Truth,” it read.

You tapped on the video, tuning into the horror that was Lev’s voice. “I’m really worried about Y/N,” he was saying. “I’ve always cared a lot for them, you know, and seeing them slowly grow unhappy as he came into their life was hard. I’d always thought the two of us were always meant to be, so when they left me to chase him, I knew it was bad news. There’s no doubt that he’s using money to string them along. It’s so sad—”

You shut off your phone, your jaw clenched. Oh, no, he didn’t.

This was worse than his horribly entitled way of ending your friendship. Lev Haiba was making things up — for what? Money? Pity? Was he trying to show you he’d been right all along? He didn’t know a word of the truth but here he had ten minutes of pure nonsense, posted for all to see, about you.

You had thought you could have forgiven and forgotten. Or at least moved on. That had been what you were trying to do. But now, it was hardly an option, and before you knew it, your shoes were on and you were storming down the street. You knew exactly where he lived, and it was a forty minute walk from here; or a half-hour run, one that you easily spent thinking about exactly what you’d say to Lev. The sky was grey. It looked like it might rain, but the streets were dry and gloomy, unwilling to give you the spur of energy you craved.

He opened the door to you with a blank face. “Why are you here? Is everything okay?”

You gave him a false smile. “Hm, Lev. Think about it for a sec. Why could I possibly want to see you?”

“Are you here to apologize?” His green eyes settled coldly on yours.

“HA!” you guffawed, shoving your phone in his face. “Me? How about you tell me instead why it says you’re my ex in front of millions of people?”

He took your phone from you, squinting at it. “Ex-friend.”

“Nobody’s going to think that’s what it means.”

“Well?” he was raising his voice, eyebrows gathered in frustration. “I don’t have control over it. They prompted me to say most of what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N, I’m just doing everything in my power to look out for you, and—”

“To look out for me?”

“And it’s not like I had many other options! You don’t answer my calls, and—”

“You don’t call me.”

“I have called you.”

“Yeah, what, twice? When you were drunk? Of course I’m not gonna keep answering them if all you’re doing is—”

“You never gave me a chance, Y/N! I—”

“You haven’t changed. You’re just as obsessive as you were a year ago.”

“And you? You’re the same. I was just reading that post about that designer, it’s pure b—”

“I didn’t lie once, like you did.”

“I lied about nothing.”

“You don’t know the full story. I love him. I—” You went quiet, not having intended to say that.

“You love the idea of him. And you deserve someone who will love you back wholeheartedly. Stop chasing him, Y/N. No matter how he feels for you, he’ll never give you enough. I’ve always been here for you. I’ve always told you that he’d just take advantage of everything you were willing to give. Here he is, t—”

“You don’t get to say that.”

“Your post is just revealing how confused you are. I care about you, Y/N. You look so sad, you know. Remember how happy we used to be? You teasing me all the time, I was sure that you were flirting. It should have been us, Y/N.” He trailed off,

Your mouth fell open, a sinking feeling in your chest. So this was what Lev had become. After years together, being best friends and trusting him and feeling comfortable, but now he was so desperate to pull you back into your own life that he was more desperate than you.

“I’m not sad, Lev. I’m tired. I spent all morning trying to fix the problem that you contributed to.”

Your phone began to vibrate in Lev’s hand, and he looked at it. This would have been a perfect opportunity for him to make one final cutting comment, because the designer in question was calling. But instead, Lev took a deep breath and wordlessly handed you your phone. He didn’t look away from you as you answered it.

“Asahi?”

“Hey, where are you?” his voice said.

You blinked at Lev, who was pursing his lips. “I’m…”

“I came to your apartment but you didn’t come to the door. Is everything okay? I read your post, and a lot of other people did too, because—”

“Please don’t worry about anything in the post. I did what I had to do.”

A pause. “Right. Of course.”

“Are people responding well? I haven’t had a chance to look, because somebody was holding onto my phone for five minutes.” You glared at the light-haired menace. He seemed to now appear less angry and more guilty, but he didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, Y/N. I’ve already received two calls of direct apologies to me. I don’t know what this is going to look like after it all unravels, but I have to say, you made a very good call. Thank you.”

“Of course. We’re partners, Asahi.”

“I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. I don’t know how you managed to come up with that post so fast, though.”

You considered this. It had only taken you about two minutes. “It wasn’t all lies. Except for the last part, obviously. We’ll have to work on the supposed ‘Significant Other’ thing. But with your skills, we can do anything.”

“And with your help.”

“Of course.” You smiled widely; Lev was watching you curiously.

“Can we meet? That idea actually sparked something for me, unless you already had something in mind.”

“No problem. I’ll be at your place in a bit. I am slightly stranded, but it should be under an hour.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“I can walk, don’t worry.”

“Okay. Get here safely.”

“Don’t worry. See you.”

After you hung up, Lev crossed his arms and gazed at you. “You two…”

“I don’t want to hear any more of your opinions, Lev. I’m done here—”

“No, no, I was going to say— you two work really well together.”

This caught you off guard and you hesitated, tilting your head at him. “I thought you said that he was taking advantage of me and that he’d never give as much as I would.”

Lev ran a hand through his hair, focusing on the wall behind you. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you need a ride?”

“I just declined one from Asahi. What makes you think I would accept you?”

“I wanted to talk to you more. And it’s raining, you can’t walk in this.”

You glanced out the window in another room, noticing the raindrops on the glass and the action outside. Now it would rain, of course. You looked back at Lev.

He was just as much Lev as he ever was.

He’d made so many mistakes. He’d hurt you in so many ways. But he was still Lev, your Lev. Your best friend. You’d missed him more than you’d ever admit, and to see him with a genuinely apologetic expression and nerves once again was tugging at your memories.

“Okay,” you said. “Fine.”

By the time the two of you were in his car, it was absolutely pouring. He had the windshield wipers on full blast, and was squinting to see. His car was the same as it had ever been; you tried to block the flood of memories, but it was in vain. The two of you blasting music with the bass pumped. Him driving you home after shoots that ran late. Sitting in the backseat with Alisa and teasing him about this and that. Alisa. You were barely keeping in touch with her. You wondered whether she’d ever made a move on your old director — well, she’d probably found someone else to fawn over if she hadn’t. You missed her too. You missed the Haiba siblings.

“You need glasses,” you pointed out to him.

“Yeah,” he responded awkwardly. “I accidentally left them at my girlfriend’s this morning.”

“Your girlfriend? So you did move on from me.”

“I never said I hadn’t. In fact, my feelings for you started to fade as soon as you were gone.”

“What about the drunken phone calls?”

Lev made a turn, his fingers gliding on the steering wheel. “Habit. Sentimentality. Probably my feelings of missing you blew up into something they weren't.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t make it okay, though,” he said firmly. “I shouldn’t have behaved that way toward you.”

You studied his side profile. “Why the sudden change in attitude?”

“The last thing I want is to be on bad terms with you,” he said.

“Is that why you were yelling at me earlier and—”

“No. I just said anything that came to mind.”

“You do that a lot,” you said.

“Well? So do you,” he said.

“That is true,” you admitted, sighing. Lev glanced at you, and you could tell within a moment that he had a lot he wanted to say.

“I’m happy for you two,” he finally declared. “You do make a good couple. I’m not jealous, I have no reason to be. I’m happy with my own life, and I shouldn’t be telling you how to lead your own. So, I’m sorry. I honestly just wanted to help you see what your situation was, but I didn’t see it myself.”

You’d been resentful towards Lev for so long that you’d never even considered that he’d apologize to you. You had so much power now. You could hurt him so badly, give him a taste of his own medicine. He’d been the reason for so many of your emotional problems, the reason you could never be honest with Asahi. All this time, you’d unconsciously believed him, even though he knew nothing, even though he had no right to tell you who you could or couldn’t love.

He was continuing now, not leaving you time to respond. Maybe he didn’t think you were going to accept his apology anyways. “You deserve the whole world, Y/N. I’ve always thought that. You are so loveable, competent, strong, and brave. The places you came from to get where you are, I— I hope you realize how incredible you are. How lucky I was to be your friend. I’m sorry I went and screwed it all up.” His voice broke and he pursed his lips.

The rain was falling hard, and Lev was going slowly because he could barely see ahead of him. Or maybe because he didn’t want this time with you to end again.

You sniffed. You weren’t going to cry. It was probably from running in the chilly weather. Definitely. “I forgive you for everything. And I’m sorry for being… impossible.”

“I can’t forgive you for being impossible,” he said. “You will always be impossible.”

You smiled. “That I will.” Your eyes drifted out the window. “By the way, he and I were never…” You cleared your throat. “We’re not dating.”

“You aren’t?”

“Never were. It was a ploy for Gloriya’s image.”

“Wait, but are you okay—”

“Yes. It was my idea.”

“Oh. Oh.”

“So it’s my responsibility to clean this mess up. But Asahi is blaming himself, just as Suga warned me he might.”

“Suga? Wait, you mean Sugawara Koushi?”

You paused. “Suga-what? I don’t think so? I never learned his full name.”Your eyes landed on a familiar building, looking glum in the thundering rain. “This is far enough.”

Lev pulled to the side of the road, studying you with his green eyes. His eyes had always been so friendly. You loved his eyes. You’d missed them. “Is it?” he asked vaguely.

You could feel the weight of the question.

But you had somewhere to be — someone to be with.

“Thanks for the ride.”

You opened the door, and the precipitation’s force caught you off guard as you stumbled towards the covered area outside the doors. You looked back, and though you couldn’t see well enough into his car, you could tell he was hesitating. But within a few seconds, you watched him drive off.

Oh well. Maybe he’d call you again. Sober, this time. And you could work through things. And you could be friends again, no more stupid feelings between you this time. Not letting his — or your — lack of self control destruct your entire relationship. Maybe things would go back to normal. You wondered what Lev’s girlfriend was like. You hoped with all your heart that he was really over you and happy with her. You knew that Lev didn’t get over people easily, after things with Yaku Morisuke had ended for him when he was younger. But you wanted to hope that things could be different, no matter how desperate of a dream that was.

You thought about the video of him you’d seen, the one that’d prompted you to run all the way to him to tell him off. Well, it could have been worse. But you were willing to run any distance to defend Asahi Azumane.

You started to run again, this time up the stairs to his loft. You could have taken the elevator, but you had more than enough adrenaline once again to run up eleven floors. Something in your chest was nearly bursting at the idea of seeing Asahi again, but you had no idea where it was coming from. Maybe it was rooted from the soreness growing in your side as you approached the fourth floor.

That was a lie; you were fairly sure but unwilling to admit to yourself that the source of your current anticipation was that post you’d made, that honesty you’d finally allowed yourself like a self-care routine you desperately needed. You half-expected your skin to be clearer than ever tomorrow morning. It hardly mattered how Asahi took it. You wanted to be open about it. Waiting all this time had hurt you more than you’d realized, and now — and now it felt as if the floodgates are open.

“I am so grateful for the opportunity to call him mine,” you’d said.

And — Lev had called you lovable. He’d told you that nothing he’d said was because he actually believed you and Asahi were impossible.

The only thing he’d called impossible was you.

Your foot landed on the final step to the eleventh floor, and you wrenched open the exit to the stairs. It was ironic to you how, as a model, it was your job to stand still or walk elegantly but your favourite way to release energy was to run. It rarely made for such a stylish appearance as the well-practiced strut, save the frankly becoming, wild look it gave to your eyes.

You were nothing like Asahi and you were nothing like a model should be. You were impulsive, vain, sometimes unintelligent, and deeply emotional. You’d come from many challenges, and you hated your job half the time. Except for when you were in the room with Asahi.

You knocked on his door. You had a key — somewhere — but knew it would be faster if he opened it.

When he opened it to you, you didn’t know what to say. It seemed that thinking about the gentle, thoughtful designer was much different than being before him. It was … much better.

“Hey! Are you okay? Did you really walk all the way here?”

You tried to tell him that Lev gave you a ride, but you found that you couldn’t. Instead, you continue to try to catch your breath, chest heaving, and grinned at him.

He didn’t say anything either, studying you with his signature calmness. It had always been easy to fluster him — and although it wasn’t always so visible, there was always a flush in his nose and at the tip of his ears. He was probably panicking because you were staring at him, as if you didn’t frequently stare at him. You were definitely panicking because you were staring at him. But you frequently stared at him, because you just couldn’t get over how much you loved his stupid face.

“About the post,” you said. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t making things up. I love you, y’know.”

The blush spread a little to his cheeks. “Yeah, I love you too, Y/N.”

You blinked.

“Um, so about your idea,” he said, turning and walking to his table the two of you often sat at to exchange ideas. You followed him, feeling somewhat confused. “‘Significant other.’ I love that name, and I know you came up with it accidentally, but… what about twinning but contrasting designs? I was thinking, if we—”

Had he not heard you? Or — maybe you just hadn’t said it hard enough.

“No, Asahi. I mean I love you. I love you. I am wholeheartedly in love with you.”

There was no going back now.

It felt like your life was flashing before your eyes as he turned back to you. If he was about to reject you — where would you go? Lev? You loved Lev, you were willing to admit that. But as a friend. Would he be there for you after everything? The two of you had just made up, or so it seemed. No matter what, you knew that this was going to hurt. This was going to break you. This was your moment, the one you’d put off for too long. If Asahi rejected you now—

“I — I don’t understand,” he said.

Your body flashed in hot and cold and you knew exactly what Lev must have felt like that day two years ago. How you pitied him, now.

You tore your eyes away from his and you ran again, this final time to the one place that never ceased to comfort you. Which was, unfortunately, not far. You pushed open his balcony door and stepped into the still pouring rain, letting it wash away the tears that had escaped. You shouldn’t cry. You’d placed too many expectations on him.

You placed both hands on the railing, smiling ironically at the view. The balcony made you think about the way he’d looked at you a few weeks ago. Cruel. You blinked — raindrops? — out of your eyes, taking a deep breath.

You squeezed your eyes shut, beginning to count. In twenty seconds, you’d go back inside and apologize for the mess you’d made. You’d turn it all around. You wouldn’t do what Lev did. You didn’t blame him for not feeling the same. You were partners — nothing less, nothing more. The public image said nothing about both of your inward feelings.

Thirteen. Twelve.

Eleven.

The opening and closing of a door. “Y/N.”

You didn’t turn. Your time wasn’t up yet. You didn’t have to apologize yet.

“I love you. I’m sorry, you caught me off guard. I love you more than anything. Please, look at me, Y/N.”

You turned to him. You knew your face wasn’t a lovely sight.

One.

“I’m sorry for forcing my feelings on you. I’m sorry for never telling you. I’m sorry for making a big d—”

I love you. He’d said—

You stepped towards him. Rain was splashing off of him, and you reached up and lightly cupped his cheek. He smiled at you.

“May I?” you asked, hoping he could understand what you meant.

He responded by placing his hands on your hips. His cruel hands. They’d been on your hips so many times, but never—

Never like this.

And he’d never kissed you, and definitely never like this.

Shyly. Hesitantly. But sweetly and with trust. There was no rush.

And right here, you were comfortable. Despite the rain running down the side of your face, despite your eyes still stinging a bit with tears, despite more adrenaline running through you than you had ever experienced before, despite being this new. It was perfect, safe, and wonderful. One of his hands gently held your face in place, and he only stopped kissing you when he began to smile again. You felt giddy, and you clung onto him and ended up hugging him to keep your balance.

It continued to rain.

“I love you wholeheartedly,” he told you.

“I love you.”

You could feel one of his hands lace fingers with yours, and he pulled away to look you in the eye, not letting go. “It’s cold. I’ll make tea.”

Your mouth twitched and you nodded. “So, tell me about your idea,” you prompted, following him inside.

“It’s no certainty that we’ll ever get to work on it.”

He was always such a pessimist. It made you want to punch him. And kiss him again. You weren’t too sure about the reasoning for the second part. “You’ve come from the ground up before. And this time you have me. You haven’t lost anything that really matters, no matter what happens from here.”

“You’re right,” he acceded.

“I always am.”

“I guess this means we don’t have to fake our relationship anymore?” he stated, although it was clearly an indirect question.

“Nope. Not that I was really faking much from the start. You know how bad of a liar I am.”

“Hardly. You had me ensnared.”

“When?”

He paused, the kettle beginning to whistle. “Always.”

notes (cont'd)┊thank you for being one of the 3 people who will probably ever actually read this. you are now one of my three favourite people :))) no but seriously, this fic was so much fun to write and i am absolutely whipped for both these men so it was hard to write a reader who had nothing but platonic feelings for lev. both these men fine as heck.

— also... don't be surprised if this is my last haikyuu fic. and also, do not be surprised if i continue to write hq for months. i really haven't decided, even now. but the time will come (the walrus said).

— again, thank you for reading. you are absolutely incredible. reblogs are greatly appreciated 'cause duuuude i devoted a lot of time to this 😋 ☽

94 notes · View notes

lostcoves · 3 years

Text

– parisian nights

+ ft. tamaki amajiki

+ wc: 2.5k

+ format: one-shot

+ premise: tamaki amajiki, heir to amajiki enterprises, has it all. yet, all he wants is you. could a sudden trip to paris be enough to win your heart?

+ note: my piece for @bakugohoex’s 3k collab! hope you all enjoy!

tamaki amajiki, in a literal sense, had it all and anything he wanted was at a snap of his well-manicured fingertips. every luxury sports car, every trip to the tropics, every gaming system was only one lip pout to his daddy and mommy. he was spoiled to say the least but what kind of rich kid wasn’t?

it wasn’t until tamaki stumbled upon you that he took a moment to reevaluate his life as a rich boy.

you had humble beginnings, coming from a family of average societal standing. your family didn’t have to worry about money but they were nowhere close to the standing of the amajiki family. humble and modest, tamaki thought you were the cutest thing in the whole wide world!

and what tamaki liked, tamaki got.

he remembered flashing you a fat tip for your service at the coffee shop you worked as a barista at. tamaki struggled with social interaction at times but all of that went out the window the moment he locked eyes with you. he found that he didn’t have to work on his social skills, as long as he had the money to buy the friendships and interactions.

he thought you were the same as the others, easily swayed by money.

yet, you weren’t.

you rejected the tip and told him to put it in the communal tip jar for all the baristas shared from. tamaki was stunned but did what you asked of him. anxiety bubbled in his stomach and his facade of suave rich guy nearly cracked.

but tamaki wouldn’t give up so easily.

─────────────────

“morning, amajiki-san,” you greeted him every morning with that same gentle smile of yours. barely any customers were in the coffee shop, which tamaki preferred. he utterly despised crowds of people.

“good morning, (l/n)-san,” he returned the greeting and the smile.

“the usual?” you already got a medium-sized cup out.

“yes please,” he hummed. tamaki actually hated coffee, it made his anxiety worse but he would risk an anxiety attack if it meant he could interact with you.

you nodded and got to work, preparing a medium iced coffee for tamaki. he watched you move around from behind the counter, his eyes fixated on your gorgeous form.

“one medium iced coffee for amajiki-san!” you handed the coffee to tamaki.

“thank you,” tamaki fished out an envelope from his pocket, “your tip.”

you furrowed your eyebrows at the envelope and took it cautiously, “what’s this, amajiki-san?”

“your tip,” tamaki repeated.

carefully, you opened up the envelope and pulled out its contents.

“amajiki-san..” you uttered his first name, “what the hell is this?”

“two tickets to paris,” tamaki leaned against the counter, “well, the tickets are more of a formality. we’ll be taking my private jet to the city.”

“amajiki-san..” you sighed.

“pretty please, (l/n)-san?” tamaki flashed you his famous puppy eyes.

“why should i go with a guy i barely know?”

ouch, that hurt.

“well, we can use this as an opportunity to get to know one another.”

you frowned, “i’ll have to think about it.”

“come to this address in a week from now at two in the afternoon,” tamaki got out a pen from his pocket and wrote down an address on a piece of napkin, “if you’re interested in coming.”

you took the napkin and nodded, “very well then.”

tamaki could only hope that you would come.

─────────────────

tamaki paced around outside the private jet, frantically checking his watch every two minutes. it was nearly two o’clock and you still weren’t near yet. you weren’t coming, tamaki decided, much to his dismay.

“amajiki-sama?” the pilot poked his head outside the jet, “ready to take off?”

“no, not yet!” tamaki hollered. the pilot flashed a thumbs up and returned inside the plane. tamaki let out a heavy sigh, where were you?

“am i late?”

tamaki perked up at the sound of your voice. he saw your figure approaching the jet, the wind ruffling your white sundress and sunhat. a lone suitcase rolled behind you.

“you came,” tamaki stated in surprise.

“didn’t think i was gonna show?” you chuckled.

tamaki let out a soft laugh and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “yeah..”

“well, i’m here!” you smiled, “you’re gonna treat me to the trip of a lifetime, correct? why in the world would i miss out on that?”

tamaki’s heart fluttered at the sight of your smile, “well, what are we waiting for? let’s get this trip started.”

a flight attendant exited the jet and took your luggage. tamaki took your hand and guided you inside the jet. your lips formed a small ‘o’ in shock at the interior of the jet. it was much larger on the inside than it was on the outside with push-lined seats and entertainment systems galore. a person could live without worry in this jet.

“you own this?” you asked tamaki, as you took a seat in one of the comfortable looking seats.

“my parents do,” he answered, “they use it for business trips.”

“i see,” you eyed at the approaching concession cart. the flight attendant before earlier was operating it and she offered you a wide selection of drinks and snacks. you ended up getting a plain green tea while tamaki got a bag of honey barbecue flavored chips.

“so what made you decide to invite me on this trip?” you took a long drag of your green tea.

tamaki paused from munching on his chips. he cleared his throat, “i thought ‘why not?’ in all honesty,” that was a lie, tamaki wanted to impress you with a flashy trip to the city of love.

“do you take all the girls you’ve met on trips to paris?”

“only the girls i like.”

tamaki almost choked at his comment, his cheeks flushing a nice shade of pink. you raised your eyebrows at him in an act of bewilderment. tamaki attempted to change the conversation and informed you, “we should be there in thirteen hours, so it’s best to “get situated.”

you gave him a nod, “alrighty. well, i’ll be asleep so you have fun.”

tamaki opened his mouth to reply, only to given the cold shoulder as you reclined your seat and got noise canceling headphones on. he watched, as you situated yourself and promptly fell asleep. he chuckled, that was adorable.

a two day trip to paris, what could possibly go wrong?

─────────────────

“(l/n)-san.”

tamaki gently removed your noise cancelling headphones from your head.

“we’re here, in paris.”

you let out a groan, as your eyes slowly opened. how long were you out? a couple of hours?

“you slept the whole trip,” tamaki laughed quietly.

“oh.. i did? sorry,” you murmured, rubbing the guck out of your eyes.

tamaki brushed a loose hair out of your face, “it’s alright.”

you blushed slightly at his warm touch but masked with a cough, “so! uh! whatcha wanna do in paris?”

tamaki blinked, he hadn’t planned that far ahead.

“would you like to see the louvre?”

─────────────────

japan had nothing on the bustling streets of paris. the sidewalks were filled to the brim with people mulling about, some on their phones with shopping bags and others chatting amongst themselves. the louvre was only a block away, crowded with tourists eager to see the mona lisa.

“no need to worry about the crowds,” tamaki gave you a smile when you two approached the louvre, “i set aside us a private tour of the musuem.”

“oh really?” you crossed your arms with disdain.

tamaki pouted, “would.. would you rather do a normal tour?”

you smiled, “yes please.”

the two of you pushed your way through the crowds and entered the louvre, you staring in awe of the artworks. tamaki concealed a small smile at your wonderment, he found it to be absolutely cute to watch.

you’re more than a work of art, (f/n). was what tamaki wanted to say but he didn’t have the courage nor the guts to say it.

“wow, the mona lisa is so tiny!” you commented to tamaki when you two found the famed piece of art. you were right, the mona lisa was surprisingly small. you grabbed tamaki by the hand and pulled him closer to the painting, “look how beautiful it is, amajiki-san.”

tamaki grew flustered at your touch but gave your hand a light squeeze, “(l/n)-san.. you can call me tamaki, if you want.”

you gave him a look and tamaki cursed internally. was it too soon to be on a first name basis?

“okay, tamaki.”

tamaki let out a sigh of relief.

“where would you like to go next?” tamaki questioned to you after the two of you finished your tour of the louvre.

you pondered on the question for a moment.

“let’s go shopping.”

─────────────────

tamaki patiently waited outside a fitting room, as you tried on various articles of clothing. he offered to pay– his parents gave him an allowance for the trip– and to his surprise, you actually accepted his offer.

“you alright in there..?” tamaki asked, not wanting to walk in on you half naked.

there was some rustling and you emerged from the dressing room, “how do i look?” you asked tamaki, twirling around in your new dress.

tamaki gulped at the sight of the dress. its neckline highlighted your collarbone quite nicely and hugged your curves just right. he pulled at his collar and adverted his gaze, “er.. you look.. uh.. very nice..”

“i do?” you hugged his arm and pressed yourself against tamaki. he was sweating bullets now, “yes! y- yes, you d- do!” his eyes widened, not his stutter coming back at the worst possible moment.

“you have a stutter?”

shit. shit. shit. shit. shit.

“so wh- what if i d- do..”

“it’s cute.”

tamaki’s eyes widened.

“y- you th- think so?”

you nodded rapidly, “of course i do! i’m not gonna poke fun at it.”

tamaki coughed, “th- thanks.”

“of course,” you released your hold on his arm, “the night is still young, what should we do next?”

tamaki peered outside, nightfall was upon the city.

“a trip to paris isn’t complete without a visit to the effiel tower now, isn’t it?”

─────────────────

being on top of the effiel tower made the world seem so small.

tamaki took a moment to enjoy the cold breeze that passed through his indigo locks, closing his eyes and just enjoying the feeling of being on top of the world for a moment. you stood next to him, doing the same thing. you hated to admit it but this had been the most fun you have had in a while. all thanks to tamaki amajiki, of course.

“hey tamaki?”

“yes, (f/n)?”

“can i tell you a secret?”

tamaki opened his eyes, “of course.”

you stared out onto the city of lights and leaned against the guardrail.

“i never left japan until yesterday.”

tamaki laughed, “that’s not much of a secret. it was a little obvious.”

you scrunched your nose up in annoyance, “meanie.”

tamaki acted wounded, “that hurt.”

you rolled your eyes, “i enjoyed today. i hope you can ensure the same for tomorrow.”

tamaki looked down at his shoes and sighed, “i hope i can.”

“hey tamaki?”

“yes?” he looked up.

“what’s the real reason you invited me on this trip?”

tamaki hung his head down low.

“tamaki, look at me.”

he looked back up.

“tell me the truth.”

tamaki couldn’t lie to you anymore.

“it’s because.. i like you, (f/n).”

now it was your turn to hang your head low.

“why me, tamaki?”

tamaki pressed his lips together, “what do you mean?”

taking his hands into yours, the two of you were forced to look one another in the eye. you took a deep breath and began to speak your piece.

“i want to know the real tamaki amajiki. not this fake version. i think the closer we got was what happened in the fitting room. i get it, you’re rich.. but you didn’t have to whisk me away to paris just to confess that you had a crush on me, tamaki.”

“wh- what should have i done instead..?” not the stutter!

you half-smiled, “take me out for coffee, silly.”

was it really that simple?

“maybe i- i do that next time.”

“next time?”

fuck, was there not going to be a next time?

“there won’t be a next time until you tell me about yourself,” you gave tamaki a playful punch in the shoulder. he winced a bit but played it off. tamaki looked back out onto the city, “what would you like to know?”

“what’s it like being an heir?” you leaned against the guardrail.

tamaki tilted his head back and let out a long breathe, “exhausting.”

you cocked your head to the left, “how so?”

“my parents have high expectations of me. forcing me to go to college to study business for the sole purpose of taking over the company. this might sound silly but i wanted to study food science and become a nutritional therapist,” tamaki clasped his hands together tightly, “there’s no true freedom. money has a price and that price is your freedom. the public hounds you, the elite is full of backstabbers, and i just want to settle down with a nice girl.”

“and that nice girl would be?” you smiled.

“you, of course.”

you blushed at tamaki’s response.

“i would give up all the money i have if it means i can be with you,” tamaki confessed with tears in his eyes, “i truly mean it. i fell in love with you the moment i saw you in that coffee shop, (f/n) (l/n).”

“re- really?” now you were stuttering.

“truly,” tamaki cupped your cheeks and bore his eyes into yours, “i truly mean it. i only want you, (f/n). i would give you everything and anything you could have ever wanted. i want to be there for you.”

“b- but you barely know me!” you protested.

“then let me get to know you,” tamaki fired back.

you were rendered speechless. you adverted your gaze from tamaki and he removed his hands from your face. tamaki bowed his head in disgrace, “i- i’m sorry, (l/n)-san.”

“it’s okay, tamaki!” you exclaimed, “really it is. i admire your fire. i want to get you better, as well. truly, i do.”

tamaki relaxed his shoulders and placed a hand against his chest in an effort to calm his rapidly beating heart. you looked heavenly under the lights of the effiel tower with your new dress and your pearly white smile. he just wanted to kiss your damn face already.

“tamaki.”

“yes, (f/n)?”

“here,” you pressed a kiss to his lips. tamaki’s eyes widened for a moment before he closed them, allowing himself to get lost in the kiss. your lips tasted like the croissant you had earlier that day. tamaki could kiss you forever.

“let’s get to know one another better before a second date, okay?”

tamaki was more than fine with that.

one day, he’ll be yours.

#bee scribbles #rich boy collab #boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #tamaki #tamaki amajiki #tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #original work

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neonponders · 3 years

Text

*sigh* ..... Nobody’s surprised here lol I require very little enabling.

Here’s part 1 of this lil mafia_au ✨ @lovebillyhargrove 💗

This got out of hand quickly orz but I’ll hold onto this for a later time 🔥

And to answer your question.....yes, I do write smut 😘

Billy made Steve cum four times.

Four.

He couldn’t believe it. Once, standing up in his towel with Billy massaging his groin, and twice more while he opened him up. Steve knew he was pent up, but...this was something else.

Billy yanked the towel to fall to the floor and walked him backward into the bedroom, shedding Steve of his t-shirt. Then he spread Steve wide and licked inside his ass. Steve couldn’t really say if the next orgasm was normal, dry, or just a pleasurable spike from being overwhelmed from Billy’s fingers tickling deeper than he thought possible.

Some lingering brain cell chirped at him and he carefully turned over to start crawling over the bed toward the side drawer. He managed to get his fingertips on the brass handle before Billy laid on top of him, flush with his pants open. Steve’s cock kicked to full eagerness at the sensation of Billy behind him, soft skin and strong muscle.

His arm followed up Steve’s to the drawer, where he withdrew the lube. Steve flushed from embarrassment that he gasped against Billy saying into his hair, “I’ll take care of you.”

Steve could only manage, “Condoms?”

“I’m clean. You?”

Steve blinked, lust making his head heavy until he released his weight onto the mattress. “I think so. I haven’t checked.”

The sound of the bottle cap behind and above him. “We’ll get you checked if you want, baby. Lift your ass for me.”

He sluggishly moved his elbows underneath him to do so, but then his voice escaped with his surprise at Billy hefting his pelvis up. “Breathe for me. Let me hear you.”

Steve let his torso recline like a ramp up to where Billy began to push inside. As much as the stretch made Steve’s jaw intermittently go slack and clench, the little, repeated pushes against his prostate made him see stars. The way Billy pulled him back and pushed inside him with a steadily increasing pace...Steve had never just let go before. Was usually entirely devoted to making sure his partner got everything they wanted and needed.

Billy used him and it felt great. To reach behind him for Billy’s hip when he arrived at the pace that ramped up Steve’s panted whines. The soft moan Billy made when Steve pushed against him with stuttering pulses, so close, so so

Steve’s nails bit into Billy’s hip, silently begging him to stay put as he bucked against him, the two at a clumsy impasse as Billy tried to fuck him through it and Steve’s short thrusts negated his efforts but made wet slaps fill the small room.

“Hahh!” Steve exclaimed when Billy’s arm came around his front and he moved them further up the bed. His other hand pressed into the mattress beside Steve’s head. He loosely held onto Billy’s wrist as the man took his pleasure from Steve. The way he just handled Steve into position...

“What?” he grunted breathily above him when Steve laughed. Something twirled in Steve’s belly at how mutually wrecked he sounded.

“Nothing. I just like this.”

Billy came with two more stuttering thrusts that pushed his hips tightly against Steve’s ass. He didn’t know what to expect afterwards, and he was too fucked out and tired to care much. But Billy landed beside him and rolled Steve over to spoon his backside and feel that silk shirt against his skin.

Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour later, Steve felt Billy easing his thigh up to slot himself inside again. The angle shoved a gasp right out of him, but where before had been fast, Billy took his time now. Relishing each shiver that his nose and mouth caused behind Steve’s ear and on the side of his neck. The moan he got when he slid his hand down the inside of Steve’s thigh, easing it over his own leg to open Steve up further.

When his hand finally closed around Steve’s erection, Steve’s hand overlapped it, guiding him to what he needed. Billy came first this time, but he stayed inside and pumped Steve to his finish.

His last remotely cognizant thought went into noticing how Billy lifted his covers over their bodies as he slipped into slumber.

He shouldn’t have been able to wake up from the little shuffles and belt tinkering after the sun had risen, but Steve opened his eyes to see Billy adjusting his clothes in his closet door mirror.

“Do a turn.”

Billy perked up and looked back at him. He smiled like he’d been caught at something. “What?”

Steve gazed at him as much as he could from where his face was smushed against the pillow. He twirled a finger in the air. “Do a turn.”

Billy laughed softly, and...that was nice. He looked sweet when he smiled. It made a weight land in Steve’s belly, but a pleasant weight. It was even nicer how he held his arms out and rotated for Steve to see all of him. The silk shirt that was a dark, dark green; made the pink of his cheeks and lips pop. The black slacks around thick thighs...Steve wouldn’t mind having those wrapped around him.

“Gorgeous.”

Billy grinned through another laugh and let his arms fall back to his sides. He approached the bed and Steve’s eyes closed against the hand combing through his hairline. “What’s your shift today?”

“Closing,” he exhaled, his voice light with sleep.

He cooed a sound when Billy kissed his temple. “I’ll see you later.”

He hummed two more sounds like, Oh-kay.

Steve didn’t go to work.

His alarm when off, he stood up, and then fell back into bed while reaching for his phone to call his manager and use one of his sick days. Considering the tip he got last night, he could certainly afford a day off.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised, come dinner time, that a knock came at the door. Steve hauled his whole comforter with him to the door, where Billy immediately looked him over and stepped inside. “I went to the restaurant to see you. What’s wrong?”

Steve chuckled a little through, “Nothing’s wrong. I just called in sick.”

Billy lifted his gaze from the plush turtle shell around him. “You were fine this morn - ”

“I’m sore, Billy,” he droned and began to shuffle his way back to his room, perfectly content with the blunt look of surprise on the man’s face. For good measure, he sassed, “Coulda left me an ice pack.”

He head Billy shut the door for him and then the same rustle and twinkle he’d heard this morning, only in reverse as he undressed. He put his clothes on the couch until he wore just his briefs and tank top. Steve’s eyes followed him from the bed, because even those were a look. The man couldn’t do anything without a couple hundred dollars on his body.

He brought an ibuprofen and a tall glass of water to the bed. Steve had already taken one, but it had been some hours ago.

“Have you eaten?”

He nodded while gulping water. “Lunch.”

He left the bedroom again and Steve heard him talking on the phone about what sounded like Chinese food. He only paused to lean in and ask, “Steve?”

His bedhead lifted up, just eyes, nose, and hair above his mound of comforter. Billy laughed, “What sides do you want?”

“Crab rangoons,” he returned easily.

When he finished, Billy climbed into bed with, “Come here,” and Steve eased his way onto his chest. He lent some of the comforter over Billy’s legs.

It was nice. Really nice.

By the time the food got there, Steve could sit properly again and Billy respected Steve’s choice in watching Netflix anime on the laptop on the end of the bed.

It was nice. All of it went incredibly well considering Steve didn’t know Billy’s last name. And frankly, he didn’t feel confident enough to ask. Even if Billy filled up every spare minute he had with holding Steve’s body against his chest, pushing Steve’s hair behind his ear, kissing him until Steve didn’t know his own name - even if it was just for a glorious weekend

He was fine with it. Because Steve wanted to be wanted. And Billy unashamedly desired him.

Steve did manage to ask him if the phone number included with his tip was Billy’s. He took the small slip of paper from Steve and wondered, “Who did you think it was from?”

“I didn’t handle your tab,” Steve defended while their legs were tangle together and the room still smelled of sweet and sour sauce. “I didn’t handle anyone’s, and there were like, fifteen people in your party.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “Do you often get numbers tucked in the receipt folder?”

“No,” Steve scoffed while rubbing behind his ear. “I did get a tiny baggie of cocaine once.”

“Someone thought tipping the waiter with blow would be fine? Wow. Did you try it?”

“It could’ve been powdered sugar, for all I knew. I didn’t keep it. I’ll stick to downers like classic THC.”

Billy smiled and Billy laughed. Sometimes he just touched Steve like he was curious, or...checking like he was really there. A finger under his chin. A nose turning into his hair and deeply inhaling. Sometimes he touched Steve’s leg so he looked at him, but when Steve asked what he wanted to say or ask, Billy just shook his head. Like he just wanted Steve’s eyes and attention on him.

Steve really should’ve expected the gifts.

First came the flatscreen television. The men who installed it were generous enough to provide the HDMI cable to connect his laptop to it.

Then came a new internet router.

And Billy started picking Steve up to take him to work. The first time was sweet and a pleasant surprise. Billy drove a luxurious car that looked demure on the outside but boasted upholstery that smelled expensive and the entire dash glowed with neon, indigo lining. He reeled Steve over the center console to kiss him before his shift.

“You’re dating either a criminal, or an heir to something,” Robin declared when Steve met up with her on his day off. Her words were tight due to the sheet mask on both of their faces. Steve folded his up so he could slurp on a Sprite can.

“I haven’t seen any security force, though? Shouldn’t a guy like that have a bouncer with him or a portable secretary everywhere he goes?”

Robin scoffed, “A portable - you mean a personal assistant? I don’t know, probably. Just because you haven’t seen one doesn’t mean he hasn’t got one or six. Make sure he knows I don’t get wet for dinguses.”

“You know, I never needed that,” he grimaced.

What did come as a surprise, though, is that Billy never initiated sex again after that first night. He and Billy kept rather busy schedules despite how often Billy walked into Steve’s life, but he couldn’t help but wonder what Billy’s motivations were. Maybe he just wanted to take it slow for the sake of Steve’s body. Maybe he realized Steve was a sap who could stick around for longer than a week.

He stopped wondering after an accident happened at the restaurant. Steve always did have a talent for landing himself right at the apex of one problem intersecting another problem.

A wine glass fell on the floor - nothing extraordinary - and someone bumped into him as he bent to collect the bigger pieces. His hand caught right on the upright, jagged stem of the glass. Yeah, it hurt like stepping into an oyster bed, but Steve carefully pulled the stem out of his hand and used one of the chef’s gloves over cotton and gauze to finish his shift.

Billy picked him up.

Steve knew what his car looked like now, and clearly Billy wasn’t taking chances on anybody else picking him up -

He leaned on the car as Steve approached, but he stepped off to stride right to him and lifted up his hand by the wrist. Steve’s mouth opened to speak, but no words came. He’d never seen Billy angry before.

The dagger hovered in Steve’s belly.

“What. Happened.”

“It was just an accident,” Steve tried to say, but his voice didn’t fully back him up. Billy’s grip tightened on his wrist. Steve tried again, insisted, “It was an accident, Billy. Someone dropped their glass. It happens all the time. I’m fine. Can we go?”

He couldn’t say what actually made Billy turn around and open the car door for him. But he didn’t take Steve back to his apartment. Or the Emergency Room. Billy didn’t talk during the drive. Steve didn’t know where he was going after Billy parked in a parking garage and he cradled his hand in an elevator that just kept going up.

“My place,” Billy finally said as the doors opened.

Criminal. Definitely a criminal, Steve’s brain declared as he slowly stepped inside the suite that the elevator opened directly into. He left his shoes by the elevator, not daring a speck of dirt on the marble foyer hallway or the carpeting beyond that.

He looked left. He looked right. The suite kept going on either side, like it was meant for a family of eight.

“Come here.”

Steve obeyed and sat on the crushed velvet couch. Billy set a phone down on its receiver. Steve hadn’t heard him say anything into it, but Billy went through a door while he removed his coat. Steve assumed it to be the bedroom. Or a massive closet. He stayed put where he was, petting the couch one way, making the threads look black, and then the other, glistening sapphire blue.

In a matter of minutes, the elevator doors opened again. Steve stood up but Billy reappeared and waved him back down. He was beginning to feel like a trained dog at this point.

“Dr. Owens. Thanks for coming up.”

“Always an obligation, Mr. Hargrove,” came the reply in the foyer.

Hargrove?

“Ah, are you the one?”

Steve’s mouth opened, but what came out was, “There’s only one of me.”

All three of them seemed to be mildly confused and disappointed in that sentence, but they each let it slide. Owens nodded at his bandaged hand. “Would you mind explaining your injury to me?”

He did while Billy sat on the other couch, knees crossed and a hand wandering his mouth. Brooding.

Owens began to look through the case he brought with him. It opened like a makeup kit, with three tiers that opened like stairs with medicine supplies. “I’m going to do some minor injections to numb your hand. Then I’ll need to look around for any lingering glass.”

“What if I’m afraid of needles?”

“You’re going to be more afraid of an infection caused by glass in the hand. If an infection gets entwined far enough with the metacarpals, it’s nearly impossible to clean it out. Hands and feet are the worst places to get injured.”

Steve’s shoulders drooped an inch. “Great.”

He felt and smelled Owens moving an alcohol swab all over his hand, but he otherwise kept his gaze elsewhere during the injections.

Of course he’d have to feel the first two or three.

Billy entered his vision, sitting next to him and curving Steve’s arm around his own, locking Steve to him. Steve’s vision couldn’t quite focus on him. Everything had a blurry edge.

“Lean back.”

The notion didn’t sound great. “I’ll vomit.”

“Then lean into me.”

That proved...more manageable. Billy held firm with Steve’s weight falling into him. He wore a blue shirt today. Just a nice, soft and mundane long-sleeve. He matched the couch. His hair had already grown out past the fade, too. Softly fuzzy against Steve’s face...

“Tell me what happened.”

Steve’s brain didn’t want to cooperate, and with each word he pushed out, confusion intertwined the cogs in his mind. “The...glass. Wine glass. I work in a restaurant - ”

His head lifted to look at him. “You don’t believe me?”

“I want to make sure.”

Steve stared at him. “What? That I can keep a story straight while trying not to pass out or vomit?”

“Keep your hand still,” Owens droned. Steve felt his dull hold on his wrist, and the distantly sharp exploration through his palm.

Billy didn’t respond, and Steve didn’t say anything else until Owens had finished. He rattled a small glass vial, two bloody pieces dancing around in it. “I’ll let you keep these unless you want me to dispose them?”

“I love souvenirs,” Steve remarked.

Owens looked just as pleased to be out of there as Billy looked unhappy at being left alone with Steve. The color had returned to his face while Owens wrapped up his hand, and now Billy paced his living room.

“Am I allowed to leave?” Steve asked the same time Billy said, “Want the tour?”

Billy frowned. “Do you want to?”

With his unharmed hand, Steve rubbed his face. “I don’t actually like staying up until four in the morning.”

Steve didn’t get the tour.

Billy drove him back to his apartment. He didn’t stay, but he said before leaving, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

It didn’t occur until Steve’s head was hitting the pillow that he didn’t have work tomorrow. What could Billy possibly be picking him up for?

So Steve made sure he wasn’t home.

Yes, it’s petty.

Yes, Robin called him a moron one the phone while he strolled through the park.

“You’re gonna die because you refused some rich douche bag’s date.”

“I am not going to die,” he refuted. “I’m just going - ”

“To explain why.”

He startled away from Billy walking beside him, causing the pebbles paving the walkway to go flying. “Steve?” Robin said in his ear.

“I’ll call you later.”

Billy didn’t look nearly as lethal as the night before, but he certainly wasn’t strolling through Disney World. “Why weren’t you at your apartment?”

Steve had a tendency to panic when overwhelmed, all right? He’d reached his limit and exploded, “I don’t know! Because you didn’t say why or when? Because I’m not one of your poodles? I’m a person who’s allowed to live their life like - like - normal?”

Billy blinked at him, his brows lifting until he said incredulously, “Poodles?”

“A trained dog! You know what I mean.” Steve waved his injured hand for emphasis and grimaced for it. “You’re suspicious as hell. Don’t think I’ll do anything you ask just because the sex was good - great. Whatever.”

A smirk began to warm Billy’s features. “Poodles.”

Steve’s hair bobbed over his face as he nodded. “Yeah? My aunt had two of ‘em. They were assholes. What are you not getting here?”

Billy laughed a little and, as he stepped close to him, Steve began to wonder if the park was...emptier, than it usually was on a Friday.

“You’re prettier than a poodle. And more disobedient than I ever tolerate, Steve.”

He tried to steel his jaw, but Steve had long since given up adolescent charades of hauteur. He shrugged, “What does that mean? You want your TV and router back? Are you going to sabotage my health insurance if I say no?”

Billy’s eyes lolled under a slow blink. “I’m not revoking your health insurance.”

Steve’s shoes touched Billy’s even though they had the space of the whole park. “Then what are we doing? I’m just some nobody. You’re clearly a somebody.”

“You’re not a nobody to me,” Billy finished, his breath tickling Steve’s lips. “I don’t want to hear you talk about yourself like that again.”

“Bossing me around isn’t going to end well for either of us. Especially if you can’t even believe me when I’m injured at work with an audience to vouch for - ”

Billy kissed him, but it wasn’t a hard, silencing kiss. It was one of Billy’s little touches. His cravings. To touch Steve. To share his air.

Steve’s brows furrowed and a conflicted moan hummed in his throat. His unharmed hand found Billy’s chest, and the latter took it as his cue to lace his fingers behind Steve’s back.

He’d barely broken the kiss before he started to say, “What we’re doing, is going to my car. You’re going to let me taste your dick behind my tinted windows because I’m done being considerate. Then we’ll go back to my place. I’ll give you the tour, and you’ll choose which room we fuck in first.”

Steve’s eyes ached with lust and how long he’d held them open. He gulped dryly. “This was an inconclusive argument.”

Billy smiled and turned them both to continue along out of the park.

#harringrove #neonponders #lovebillyhargrove #mafia au #ficlet #this steve with this billy

67 notes · View notes

dcbutinamrev · 3 years

Note

"C'mere, let me hold you-"

^ this one w/ some historical lams s’il vous plaît?

OF COURSE BESTIE!!

Sorry this took a while to complete! But here you go! Have some hurt/comfort lams for your soul-

~~~

It's late in the evening when Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton finally retires. He huffs out a breath of relief, running a hand through his dark red russet curls, his freckled cheeks puffing out as he does so. He stares at his finally finished correspondence. He set his quill down and closes the ink pot, making sure it's secured tight.

Hamilton lets out a yawn he doesn't realize he's holding, using the back of his hand to stifle it as best he could. Hamilton glances at the clock hung on the wall just above the fireplace in the front parlor of their newest headquarters where the aides now work, the General in the far back. They're new headquarters in New Jersey holds to floors. The front parlor of course where Hamilton now stands, the kitchen just a few feet away, a set of stairs leading to the second floor about the same distance where he stands as the kitchen. A narrow hallway that leads to the General's office in the far back. Upstairs, the aides have their own beds except for Lady Washington and the General and Hamilton...

Oh...

Hamilton feels the corners of his lips quirk up when his mind sees the beauty of his dear Laurens before him, his honey colored hair sprawled out against the white pillow, his hair bright as the sun. He presses his lips together to fight back the chuckle that escapes him when he sees Laurens's sleeping form on their shared bed, a small smile on his face, his bright, clear blue eyes closed--blue as the sky on a summer's day. In all honesty, Laurens reminds Hamilton of the sky itself: With his rich, honey colored hair the sun and his blue eyes the sky.

Hamilton sighs, almost dreamily, as he finishes tidying up his space, making sure things are back in their proper order and to have a fresh, clean area for the next day. And partially, so Harrison won't nag at him for "not having to clean up after himself" and "I always have to be the one to do clean up after you idiots!"

Hamilton dusts his hands with the sense of relief, puffing out another breath as he turns to glance out the window in the front parlor. It's pitch black out tonight, though the soft tap of the rain against the windowpane betrays that. Hamilton breathes in slowly for a moment, his eyes--dark blue, indigo; though the candlelight reflecting in his deep blue irises makes it seem like they're nearly violet--widens a little, his jaw clenched and so are his fists at his sides.

Hamilton swallows the lump down his throat and shakes his head, spinning around on his heels to head towards the stairs to the second floor. He grips the rail and feels his lips twist as he closes his eyes for a moment.

As long as it's not storming, you're good, Hamilton thinks to himself as he trudges along the stairs, his posture slumping as his body suddenly feels heavy.

Hamilton never realized how exhausted and bone-weary he had just been. Running from General to General, worrying constantly over Laurens's safety whenever he's in battle, praying Laurens would come home to him in one piece. Being beside General Washington at all times during committee meetings and councils, jotting what General Washington may have said was deemed important down onto paper.

Hamilton groans and at the very thought of his busy day gives him a pounding migraine. He massages his temple with the heel of his palm, shaking his head before continuing his way up to his bedroom.

Once he reaches the top of the stairs, Hamilton lets out another breath of relief, his shoulders slumping. He sighs heavily, making his way towards his bedroom door which is just a few inches away from him. Hamilton lets out a soft whimper as he grips the doorknob. Apparently, his hand must have actually worn itself out.

He twists the knob to the left and gently pushes the door open, grimacing as he hears a sharp creak. He whips his head towards the only bed in the room and tenses and freezes in place, however, when he sees his beautiful Laurens before him.

The image is not what Hamilton would have expected Laurens to be: sleeping peacefully so Hamilton may sneak up on him, crawl into their shared bed and loop his arms around Laurens from behind, his cheek pressed against Laurens's muscular back.

Instead, Hamilton finds Laurens awake, his knees brought up to his chest and arms wrapped around them, his eyes glassy and distant and surprisingly wide. His lips are pressed together tightly, jaw clenched. Hamilton stares at Laurens for a quick minute, biting his lower lip as he hesitantly and slowly closes the door behind him.

It's quiet in the room, well besides the distant rain you could hear. Hamilton breathes shallowly in and out through his parted lips, watching Laurens carefully for any signs of distress. He knows that look, that distant, far off look.

"John?" Hamilton tries, breaking the unbearable silence between them.

Nothing.

Hamilton clears his throat and shifts on his feet side to side, making himself feel taller as he puffs out his chest slightly and inclines his head.

"Jack?" Hamilton tries again, finally gathering the courage to step towards him. "Honey? Are you alright?"

He rests a hand on Laurens's kneecap, squeezing it gently. Hamilton waits a few minutes before finally shrugging out of his dark blue coat and draping it over the back of the chair at his desk. Hamilton sits beside Laurens, scooting himself closer. He turns and glances at his beloved Jack, sees that distraught face upon him. Hamilton feels his heart shatter at the sight.

"John, dear?" Hamilton whispers softly, soothingly as he lowers himself and Laurens back against the pillows, tucking loose strands of rich blonde hair out of his half-opened blue eyes and behind his ear. Hamilton shifts so he rolls on his side to face Laurens's profile, his cheek in his palm. Laurens still doesn't meet Hamilton's eyes. "What's wrong?"

A pause.

Nothing still.

Hamilton sighs, almost defeatedly, as he still combs back Laurens's hair. "John...I know...I know something's upsetting you. What is it? If it's me not coming back to you, if it's me being selfish and focusing my attention on my work well, I'm--"

"I don't want to talk about it," Laurens whimpers, his voice muffled slightly behind his kneecaps.

"John...you know you can talk to me about anything..." Hamilton tries, his voice soft.

"I know..." Laurens sighs. "It's just...a lot."

"A lot?" Hamilton repeats. His curiosity getting the best of him.

Laurens nods and looks away sharply, not saying a word.

"I won't tell anyone unless you want me too, Jack," Hamilton assures.

"He died today..." Laurens mutters, causing Hamilton to freeze, stop all motion.

Hamilton doesn't move an inch as Laurens continues speaking.

"Jemmy, my brother..."

Oh...is all Hamilton managed to think. That'd explained why he seemed off today...we barely kissed...we didn't even have sex this morning...

"He...I blieved I've told you about him before," Laurens whimpers.

Hamilton nods, remembering their short conversation about their pasts as Laurens recovers from his wound after that battle in Germantown. Hamilton scoots closer, lifting one arm up and wrapping it around his shoulders, his head resting upon on his honey hair as Laurens finds himself burying his face into Hamilton's chest.

"Come here, let me hold you--"

Laurens clings onto Hamilton nonetheless. Hamilton, squeezing him tight and grimaces as he hears quiet sniffles escaping him, hissing a little when he feels Laurens's nails dig into his skin from behind.

"If only I had been...more attentive..." Laurens whimpers into Hamilton's chest. "If only I had paid more--"

"Shh, shh," Hamilton cooes, combing a few strands of honey hair off of Laurens's brow. "Enough of that. I'm here. Let me hold you."

Hamilton presses a kiss to Laurens's temple before resting his cheek upon his head, listening to Laurens's quiet whimpers.

Hamilton never lets him go.

Never.

#lams #historical lams #ficlets #prompts #writing prompts #alexander hamilton #john laurens #18th century #amrev #read more #asks #ask liz #liz writes #lee!#hurt/comfort

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marchioness-caprina · 4 years

Text

Kohai

Pairings : Tamaki Amajiki x Close Friend Reader

Writing Style : 3rd Person

Warnings : None , Just Fluff.

Word Count : 1400

3rd Person's POV

" The Big Three, the 3 strongest Students in U.A " Aizawa sensei announced as gasps and a few exchanged words of chatter were heard throughout the room.

Class 1-A were seated on their seats and in front of them were the three figures who were known to be the strongest . 2 males and 1 female.

" Introduce Yourselves.... Starting with You " Aizawa sensei ordered pointing at the male with Indigo hair.

One student in particular, namely y/n already knows the three in front of them. She and Tamaki were neighbors and since Mirio became friends with Tamaki the same thing happened to y/n and Mirio, They became friends.

Tamaki and y/n shared a special type of relationship, Tamaki would often go or more like throw himself all over y/n whenever he's having his anxiety breakdowns and needs something to lean on. This often happened when they were children and up until now. If it were some other girl Tamaki would have fainted from embarrassment but he felt safe and at home within y/n's arms. He felt like nobody judged him and all his insecurities and problems were washed away.

Y/n would often encourage and support Tamaki with all her Might and since class 1-A's frequent involvement with Villains Tamaki had been extra protective with her. A side of him that Mirio and Hado never saw.

Mirio and Hado on the sidelines would cheer for the two because who could ever deny the fact that they're cute together? .

Tamaki felt a sense of belonging when he's with y/n and even though he tries his best imagining everyone as a potato, whenever his eyes lands on y/n all he sees is her face and that beautiful heart melting smile of hers.

Although Tamaki is indeed Timid and Soft spoken, a scarier and crueler side of him seems to resurface whenever someone talks bad about y/n or if anyone has a foul intention of hurting her. He converts into a completely different person when she's involved .

Y/n does make occasional visits in their classroom and god forgive the boys who even try to flirt with her because Tamaki is already standing behind her glaring daggers at the pest who tried to steal her attention away from Tamaki.

Lesson learned for the boys in Tamaki's class ; Never Ever Flirt with the Cute Kohai Named y/n.

Back to the setting, Tamaki was asked to introduce himself and deep inside he was extremely nervous but tried to concentrate . his eyes turning hard and intimidating the atmosphere turning tense and unnerving and everyone in Class 1-A took notice of the sudden and intimidating stare of the Senior in front of them.

"What's with that Look!? "

" All that intensity with just one glance?! "

Came the comments from y/n's classmates but she knew better than most of them.

' He's really nervous ' she silently thought shaking her head.

" It's no good.... Mirio.... Hado... Even if I Look at them imagining they're potatoes... Everything other than their heads remain human . . . . I can't see them as anything but humans.... What should I do? . ... I can't say anything " Tamaki muttered but somehow everyone heard him loud and clear.

He was trembling and his lips were quivering as he spoke until his eyes landed on the h/c girl who was seated near the corner watching him. The girl took notice of his stare and smiled at him.

Gosh that smile again. That smile that can have him melt within seconds. That smile that had Tamaki smitten for the girl. Her one smile managed to calm him down and everyone else's heads were a potato besides that beautiful face of hers.

But the moment The girl tore her gaze away from his to look at her teacher, Tamaki almost whined with the loss of attention and soon the feeling of panic and anxiety rose to the pits of his stomach and he shook violently.

" My...... My mind's Blank..... I can't.... " He uttered out and he was being honest. His mind is blank because the next thing he did shocked everyone in the room.

Nobody had ever seen someone walk as fast as Tamaki because he had sped walked from his spot and he seemingly appeared in front of y/n within seconds.

He kneeled down on both his knees and everyone was caught off guard with the following actions.

He had wrapped his arms around y/n's waist pulling her closer as he dipped his head down on her chest nuzzling his face on her warm fleshy chest while shaking.

" I want to go home! " He half yelled and everyone was stupefied and couldn't believe their eyes.

" EHHHH!? " They didn't know if they should be shocked to know that someone so timid and anxious could be part of the big 3 or if they should start questioning why a member of the big 3 had thrown himself all over their classmate.

" Tama, we're at school! " Y/n whispered in panic but Tamaki only responded by a small whimper as he tightened his hold around the girl nuzzling his face even further.

" Uhhh..... Hahahaha? " Y/n laughed nervously as the eyes of her classmates bore onto her very being . Her cheeks slowly turning a small shade of red .

" Y/n...." Tamaki whined and y/n got the message . He wanted her to comfort him like she used to.

It made everyone's jaw drop when y/n started stroking and caressing Tamaki's head as if she was sushing a small child comfortingly. She almost looked so loving it made everyone question if this was their female classmate that everyone feared when she was pissed because her anger was so great even bakugou is terrified. And bakugou fears nobody! ( besides his mistuki ) Until now.

" Y-Y/n-san.... Uhh... What's going on exactly? " Izuku asked in favor of everyone who had the same question.

" When I said introduce yourself.... I didn't mean throw yourself onto one of my daughter----- ehem ----- female students " Aizawa sensei grumbled activating his quirk. His eyes glowing red as he stared at Tamaki's figure hugging one of his children .

Yes he was a protective father figure. Especially with the girls.

" U-umm... You see Tamaki and y/n are neighbors and very close friends! And w-whenever Tamaki is nervous he always hugs y/n since it comforts him E-Everytime please calm down s-sensei " Mirio tried reasoning with Aizawa sensei who was glaring menacingly in a fatherly way at Tamaki.

" I'm Nejire Hado! And That's Tamaki Amajiki and he's very Nervous as you can see! Aren't they cute together? " Nejire cooed and the girls of Class 1-A cheered strongly agreeing with their female Senpai, some girls even standing up from their seats to take pictures.

" Everyone. SIT DOWN" with those stern words from Aizawa sensei everyone quieted down immediately fearing the wrath of their sensei.

" Fine, if he's very nervous he can go out to take a breath and come back when he's ready " Aizawa sensei sighed giving a wave of approval for Tamaki to go out but once again everyone was surprised, even Mirio and Nejire who knew their friend well was surprised at Tamaki's sudden boldness.

Tamaki abruptly stood up but he still had his arms wrapped around y/n's waist and his head still buried in her chest. The only difference was that he was carrying her off the ground.

" I'm going out " Tamaki muttered taking a firm grip on y/n.

" Ehh? Tama!? " Y/n exclaimed and was overwhelmed by the sudden action she had her hands gripping tightly around his head thus keeping Tamaki's head in place on her chest and Tamaki was not complaining at all.

" Shit! This is so Erotic and right in front of everyone! " Mineta gave a lewd comment making everyone glare at him.

" Mineta! Shut up! " Aizawa sensei snapped and the purple headed boy was put to silence right away.

" I'm going out " Tamaki repeated as he started taking a few steps forward.

" Tamaki Amajiki Put my Daughter----Female student Down! "

#bnha x reader #Bnha Imagine #Tamaki Amajiki #Tamaki x Reader #Romance #Bnha #Tamaki Imagines #My Hero Academia #Boku no Hero Academia #y/n #Reader #MHA

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clearlynotjanus · 3 years

Photo

Moceit Appreciation Week :: Baking

Read on Ao3

Art by @nonchimerical

tag list: @sanderssidesangsttrash @catalinaacosta @whatishappeningrightnow @the-snekwhisperer-world @varthandi @the-dead-and-the-decaying @serpentinesomebody

CW: Food mention, moral ambiguity Word Count: 2327 Genre: Hurt/Comfort Rating: Gen Ships: Moceit, implied if you squint Dukeceit

To support my writing & get access to exclusive content not posted anywhere else, consider subscribing to my Patreon.

The flower shaped cookies sat mockingly on the stove, having long gone cold. Two tubs of white frosting had been placed on the counter with some food dye as well. Many times he had second guessed the unassuming vials of concentrated hue--was it too much? Just as many times he had stood, picked up a frosting container, rolled it in his hands, picked at the aluminum before convincing himself not to peel it back, not to sink his finger in, not to cope with Janus’ absence by consuming a gluttonous amount of sugar.

He’ll show, of course he would. Janus hadn’t forgotten or … ditched him like that before. Just because he was preoccupied with something beforehand doesn’t mean he was forcing himself to come, forcing himself to spend time with him, indulging him, patronizing him … Janus would never, he enjoyed stuff like this! Even if … even if it was just for the sweets.

“Oh dear,” Patton inhaled between his sugar-coated teeth, shaking his head down at the demolished tub of vanilla frosting.

“Am I interrupting?” Patton jumped, hiding the nearly empty container behind his back, looking exactly like Pooh Bear after a honey binge, Janus thought.

“Janus!” Patton greeted, a little too much excitement and anxiety in his voice. “N-no, of course not, I was just,” He faltered, glancing at the cookies like they held an easier way of saying, I was waiting for you, thanks for not breaking my heart.

“...Testing the frosting?” Janus teased, easing into the kitchen, amusement sly on his lips.

“Yeah! Something, hah, something like that.” Patton chuckled down at the floor, a shoulder shrugging as he apprehensively brought the evidence forward. He weighed it nervously in one hand before grinning at Janus. “I guess it’s a good thing we had two containers!”

“Mm,” He hummed down at his hands as he peeled his gloves off. A rare occurrence of course, but having spent plenty of time baking together, one Patton had at least slightly adjusted to. A patch of shiny scales that spread from Janus’ left knuckle up to his wrist gleamed with the movement of folding his gloves neatly on the counter. Occupied with the curiosity Patton felt observing something so … pretty, he didn’t notice Janus reaching with a bare thumb to wipe away a sizable glob of sugar from the side of Patton’s mouth until the sensation jogged him out of thought. Janus looked down at it before placing it between his own teeth. Despite the way Patton’s mouth gaped, Janus continued to delicately scrape the sugar onto his tongue. “A good thing, indeed.” He smirked at Patton, satisfied with watching the glow of his grin quickly turn into a scarlet blush.

“Y-yeah,” Patton breathed, absolutely dumbstruck as Janus turned towards the stove. Relieved at no longer being scrutinized so closely, his head fell; cool palms pressed to his burning cheeks and a ragged breath was pulled in as quietly as he could manage. Dully he registered the sound of bowls being placed on the counter, but they didn’t make sense through the ringing in his ears.

His thoughts raced in circles as he tried to decode the meaning behind that flirtatious gesture. Patton wasn’t stupid of course, but he was an expert at assuming far too much of others’ words and actions; a pro at falling in love with basic kindness. The habit made him think at least four times over about everything ever since Thomas’ last heart crushing break up. Janus had to know that, right? And if he did, that made him really mean, didn’t it? Why then, did Patton enjoy it so much?

“...cold now, the frosting will be easier, right?” Janus paused for Patton to answer, setting the dye vials next to some arbitrarily chosen bowls. When the other didn’t respond, Janus turned just as Patton’s hands fell in a cartoonish motion. Janus caught the action in a blur, shaking his head back with a quirked brow. Patton blinked, eyes wide before catching up to the moment.

“Y-yeah, yes!” He nodded, again too eagerly, and assumed his position at the stove next to Janus.

“Wonderful,” Janus clapped his hands softly together at his chest. “This should be easy then,” He observed as he turned his head to smile at Patton in a way that had red climbing up his neck again.

Patton forced himself to inhale through his teeth and focus on the moment instead of how close they were standing.

“Thanks for getting the bowls,” Patton reached to place the vial of yellow dye in one before handing it to Janus. Reaching for a bowl of his own, Patton realized he didn’t know which color he wanted to start with. There were so many to choose from! Patton tapped his chin as Janus took the remaining tub of frosting. The signature sound of the aluminum being pulled back accompanied the rest of Patton’s sentence, which was mumbled almost shyly. “I wasn’t sure if you would think mixing the dyes was too much effort.”

“Says the person who insists on making the dough from scratch every time,” Janus snorted easily as he dolloped a spoonful of frosting in his own bowl, and then Patton’s. Patton bowed his head with a small bit of shame, but smiled at the way Janus teased him. “I know what I’m getting into every time I join you,” Janus continued, squeezing a couple drops of yellow into his bowl. Somehow Janus made the sound of a fork scraping against porcelain repeatedly not annoying. Patton didn’t know how he managed that; it always seemed like the second he held a utensil near anything, annoying noise was unavoidable.

“I guess that’s true,” Patton mumbled, finally settling on starting with purple. He planned to do a few of everyone’s favorite colors and let them know they were on the counter for the taking. Well, except yellow and green of course. Janus always did his and Remus’ himself. Carefully he squeezed a couple drops of blue and red into his bowl, tongue poking out the side of his mouth; Paton’s telltale sign of concentration. Knowing this, Janus let a few moments pass in silence as he began artfully scraping his pastel yellow mixture into a ziplock bag, which would eventually have its tip cut off to make piping the frosting onto the perfectly shaped cookies that much easier.

As Janus finished with that, Patton beamed at his perfectly purple colored frosting. The color had come out flawlessly, his concentration paying off well. “Making some for Virgil?” Janus asked conversationally as he held a ziplock bag open for Patton to begin spooning his mixture into.

“And Roman and Logan, of course,” Patton assured with a smile of appreciation as his tongue poked out once more.

“Of course,” Janus sassed but fell silent again as he watched Patton make sure he got every inch of the frosting inside the bag. He wondered how Patton ever did this without him. Had Roman helped? He couldn’t imagine the superfluous Prince capable of staying still long enough to hold a bag like this. The idea of Logan helping was almost comedic. Perhaps Virgil then … The two did get on very well and the brood had a history of helping Janus in the kitchen, years ago.

“Alright! Next color,” Patton cheered. Janus’ smile twitched and he busied himself with folding the bag of purple, squeezing out the air to be placed on the counter for later.

The bowls were placed in the sink and the process was repeated with a couple of clean ones, now with Janus mixing the forest green with a hint of yellow to achieve the Duke’s signature lime color. He watched as Patton used about half the tube of blue for Logan’s indigo shade, complaining all the while that it wasn’t dark enough and looked too much like his own favorite baby blue.

Janus hummed as he observed it; it was true, the color was far too light. “Try a couple drops of this,” He offered, reaching and handing Patton the unopened bottle of black food coloring.

“Black?” Patton said almost indignantly. His bottom lip jutted out an inch as he looked down at the bottle, turning it in his hand.

“Well, he likes dark blue, doesn’t he?” Janus questioned, wondering how on earth he could have offended Patton with the color black.

“I guess…” He trailed off, glancing between the bottle and the pretty light blue in the bowl. “It’s just…” Patton paused, realizing his thought was a bit silly, but it felt like a good question. Janus never made him feel stupid for asking things at least, even if the answer seemed obvious. “Logan’s … on our side, isn’t he?” Janus quirked a brow, his expression devoid of amusement suddenly. “L-like, mine and …. and Roman’s… I mean.”

Silence hung in the air for several seconds. Patton had begun regretting the question; usually, Janus had some sort of answer immediately. His mind was much faster than his, able to connect things instantly where Patton couldn’t even begin to see a relation. His explanations were always succinct, at least to him. This sort of pause was … rare, if not unheard of. He anxiously rolled the bottle in his hands, wishing he could just sink out and leave.

Janus started with a quiet click of his tongue as his head turned to look at the wall behind the stove. “Since when is color indicative of that sort of thing,” Janus mused rhetorically. Another pause ensued and Patton wasn’t quite fast enough to draw his own conclusion from that line alone. He did start to wonder, however, if he had managed to hurt Janus’ feelings, and if that was why he was reluctant to answer.

“Yellow doesn’t exactly scream evil, does it,” Janus said with too much venom on his tongue as he looked back at Patton and jabbed a hand almost violently at the bright gloves resting on the counter. Patton held the bottle to his chest, shrinking away as Janus’ anger showed. He didn’t like when Janus got angry, but he at least understood it. He knew he could be frustrating.

“Neither does bright green, right?” Janus tilted the bowl towards Patton unnecessary before sighing. “Your side, my side,” He mumbled, walking away from the counter. Patton frowned at the ground as Janus reigned his frustration in.

He had a point. Yellow was bright and happy; the sun was yellow, dandelions, sunflowers … lots of good things were yellow; and green was everywhere. Not exactly the Duke’s shade of green, but green nonetheless, Patton guessed. Why had he never noticed it before? Between everyone, only he and Roman wore bright colors, but that didn’t make Virgil, in his black hoodie and equally black jeans, any less good than either of them! What did that mean for yellow and green then, if even a color as dark as indigo was to be considered light?

“I’m sorry,” Patton sighed, shoulders deflating. He cautiously approached Janus’ back.

“No, no,” Janus muttered, fingers pressed to his brow with a thumb on his cheek, a hand on his hip as he berated himself for showing so much of his aggravation. “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

“I get it,” Patton’s tone smiled bitterly as he hesitatingly placed a hand on Janus’ shoulder. “I’m really frustrating and ask stupid questions sometimes.”

“Pat…” Janus turned his head to frown at Patton. “That’s not…”

“Forget I asked anything,” he squeezed Janus’ shoulder and nodded towards the cookies on the stove. “C’mon, we should finish up.”

Janus stared at the wear on Patton’s face for a long moment. The air was sweet and not just because of the frosting on Morality’s teeth. There he went, hurting Patton again. Would he ever be able to stop?

“Sure,” Janus deflated and reached up to place a hand over Patton’s on his shoulder. For a moment, Patton’s facade fell and the surprise in his expression was genuine, but the slip was only quick enough for Janus to catch.

The familiar routine continued, now silently as Janus scooped Remus’ green into a bag. Patton stared down at the black dye in his hand but only paused briefly before tearing it open and poising the tip above the bright blue frosting. Janus held his breath and it seemed Patton was doing the same.

“I’m sure Log--” Janus started, about to reassure Patton with the idea that Logan would enjoy a cookie no matter its color, but was interrupted by two black globs falling into the bowl finally. Janus closed his mouth and watched from the side of his vision as Patton began mixing the color thoroughly; slowly at first, and then as the blue darkened to a familiar indigo, faster.

“Oh,” Patton sighed, soon smiling down at the bowl of perfect Logan-colored frosting. “It’s perfect,” He grinned at Janus, seeming to instantaneously forget their altercation.

Janus’ smile back was softer, much more relieved than anything. “It is,” he nodded and reached for a bag to hold open once more. When Patton had finished scooping the frosting inside and Janus had turned to place the bag with the other two, Morality paused.

“Thanks,” He mumbled to Janus’ back, hoping he would attribute the sudden appreciation to helping with Logan’s color. Really, Patton wasn’t quite sure what it was he realized, but he did realize something about the black and white way he viewed everyone; and that was thanks to Janus, as usual.

Janus ran his hands over the ziplock bags laying atop each other. Yellow, purple, green, indigo, soon to have light blue and red together with them. The colors didn’t mean anything, even if they were obviously representative of a specific person here. Sure, they could theorize all day about why each color, but what did it matter? A little darkness in someone didn’t make them all bad, obviously.

“Of course, dear.”

Chapter One || Chapter Three

#moceitappreciationweek #moceit appreciation week #moceit week 2021 #moceit #sanders sides

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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years

Note

Hi :) Dialogue prompt 44, Eskel + Geralt?

Dialogue prompt 44 - “I still remember the way you taste”

Wow anon. You get me. You really get me.

Firstly, what a perfect prompt. Secondly, sorry it took me 2+ months to actually write it! And thirdly...I added Jaskier. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t ask for that, I can’t keep him away. Geralt/Eskel is still the primary focus here, but in the context of established Geraskier and with Jaskier still very much involved. This accidentally turned into something like 7.5K of Jaskier and Eskel soft-domming the hell out of Geralt. So, uh...enjoy?

CW: rough sex/soft feelings, undernegotiated kink, nonexplicit references to teenage sexuality, brief discussions of internalized homophobia

—

“Really should be playing for coin.” Geralt grins as he clears his cards after his second victory of the night and shuffles his Nilfgaardian deck.

Eskel curses under his breath.

The witchers sit in a pair of ancient wingback chairs with worn, faded upholstery that might have been crimson in a former life, drawn close to the hearth, a small end table between them holding their Gwent cards and pints of mead. Jaskier sits perched on the arm of Geralt’s chair, his legs draped casually across his lover’s lap as he brushes soft white hair through his long fingers, humming softly to himself.

“Wiping the floor with me like that is its own reward.” It’s a grumble, but a good-natured one. Most everything Eskel does is good-natured, from what Jaskier’s seen. He appreciates that about the witcher.

It’s a fairly usual night at Kaer Morhen.

Well, as usual as a night at Kaer Morhen can be. After years of only vague, grunted acknowledgements of wintering in the mountains, Jaskier had been shocked and delighted at Geralt’s unexpected invitation when beset by an early first frost traveling through Kaedwen. “Winter’ll come before you reach Oxenfurt,” he’d justified brusquely, mindlessly tracing circles into the warm skin of Jaskier’s back as they huddled together on the inn’s musty straw pallet, but when the bard kissed him softly and told him he’d be delighted to see his home, the deep wrinkles on his forehead relaxed into something open, peaceful. They arrived a few weeks later, just before the snow drifts made the mountain pass nigh unbreachable.

Just being in these cold halls, rich with history and joy and pain, feels akin to the unsettling mystery of watching someone observe a religious sacrament, something Jaskier can only view from the outside, can never truly understand. But after upwards of a month sequestered in the remote keep, they’ve established something of a routine. Vesemir retires to the library after dinner most evenings. Every four or five days, Lambert gets restless and disappears into the surrounding mountains to hunt for a few nights.

(The first time Jaskier had been mortified, sure that he’d driven him away. “It’s just Lambert,” Geralt reassured him. “Bastard’s not well socialized.”

“And you know it’s bad, coming from Geralt,” Eskel added, but there’s nothing but fondness in his genial smirk.)

So most nights it’s the three of them whiling away the hours before retiring to their chambers. Jaskier finds he doesn’t mind; while Geralt clearly cares a great deal for Vesemir and Lambert, it’s only when they’re alone with Eskel that Geralt’s guard seems to vanish entirely. They catch up on jobs they worked throughout the year, drink together, occasionally reference shared history, although always briefly. In his years of friendship with Geralt and the years of something more, Jaskier has always been the one to keep the conversation going, an unending prattle that Geralt rarely interrupts, but here, Jaskier finds himself listening more often than not, observing the quiet, unassuming intimacy between the two witchers. Here within the walls of Kaer Morhen, here in Eskel’s warmth, Geralt is loose and comfortable and safe in a way Jaskier has rarely seen him in over a decade spent together on the Path.

Jaskier smiles at Eskel, a little too brightly, perhaps, but he doesn’t mind. He’s far from drunk, but between Geralt’s arm wrapped around his waist, the easy comfort of Eskel’s presence, the roaring fire before them and the honey-sweet mead, he feels pleasantly warm all over. “Eskel,” he starts as the witchers draw for another round, “you’ve known Geralt longer than anyone else in the world. Well, Vesemir excepted, of course.”

He hums in affirmation. “S’pose so. What about it?”

“That being the case, I think it only fair that you indulge me in some dirt.”

Eskel looks at him blankly.

“Come on, dirt! You must have plenty, you’ve known each other for, what, at least five hundred years now?”

“At least.” Geralt snorts at Jaskier’s obnoxious shit-eating grin at the exaggeration and plays a third spy card in a row, easily blocking the punch Eskel aims at his arm.

“Come now, Eskel, please? I’m sure you must have loads of dirt you’ve just been dying to, well, to unload! Let’s unlock those memories, boys, and tell me the greatest Kaer Morhen scoop of the past century.”

Eskel’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not sure you really want those memories unlocked, bard,” he says gently.

Jaskier’s breath catches. The last thing he wants is to spoil the relaxed evening with whatever cruelties spark the haunted looks he’s caught a few times during his stay. “No, no, of course not those kinds of memories,” he amends. “None of the witchery sort. The fun things, silly things! Come on, it can be anything. Embarrassing stories, charming anecdotes, stupid pranks you pulled on each other, youthful indiscretions—wait, no, what did I say?”

Both witchers suddenly seem preternaturally focused on their Gwent cards.

A delighted grin slowly creeps onto Jaskier’s face. “Youthful indiscretions?” he repeats, noting how Geralt looks almost sheepish. “I was joking about that one but by all means, I love a good scandal! I simply must have all the details, the tawdrier the better.”

“No scandal,” Eskel answers easily. “There’s nothing…”

“Oh ho ho no, my friend, I’m afraid I’m a bit too well acquainted with Geralt’s non-expressions to let this pass quite so easily.” He’s practically bouncing with excitement in Geralt’s lap, which earns him a glare, but not a very heartfelt one. The most delicate shade of pink has taken up residence in the tips of Geralt’s ears, the apples of his cheeks. Jaskier kisses him lightly on the nose. “What youthful indiscretions, Geralt?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk upward. “Nothing as obscene as you’re dreaming up,” he mutters drily. “Dumb kid stuff.”

“Just a little healthy competition in the training yard.” Eskel’s smiling, but he’s watching Geralt carefully. “Everybody loves an incentive.”

Jaskier leans in conspiratorially. “Incentive?”

Eskel shrugs, placing a commander’s horn to double his ranged combat cards. “You know, loser jerks the winner off, that sort of thing. ‘Course, you dose up a bunch of horny teenagers with a couple times the regular helping of hormones, and, well, things tend to...escalate?”

“Of course.” Jaskier shifts and inadvertently rubs against the line of Geralt’s cock, which seems to have taken a distinct interest in the conversation, no matter how disinterested its owner tries to look behind his cards. “So, to the victor goes the handjob, eh? A noble endeavor.” He squirms again, very advertently rolling his hips in just the right place this time. The heavy arm around Jaskier’s waist slips down to stroke casually at his thigh. He stops himself from preening at the unexpected rift in Geralt’s composure, but only barely. “Was this all the young men in your—class? Cohort? Uh, battalion? What do you call it?”

“Hands caught on with some of them,” Eskel acknowledges. His eyes, all blown-wide black pupils rimmed with thin rings of gold, track every minute movement of Geralt’s hand on the bard’s thick thigh, straining beneath deep indigo satin. “But a few of us progressed to mouths. Thighs.”

“I’m sure that was delightful,” Jaskier breathes. He threads his fingers into Geralt’s hair, tugging gently on a lock. “So you partook in these escapades, did you, darling?”

Eskel snorts. “Partook,” he parrots, eyes flickering teasingly to Geralt. “Like he wasn’t the one casually suggesting it every time we hit the training yard.”

“Oh please, do tell.” The fire crackles in the hearth before them. By all the gods, there’s nowhere Jaskier would rather be than here, caught in this sparking current between the two witchers.

“Geralt’s the best fighter.” There’s a hint of a growl in Eskel’s gentle voice Jaskier’s never noticed before, low and hot and dangerous. “Always been the best with a sword since the first time he held one. But once we started messing around, didn’t take long to notice I was winning more than usual. After a few weeks I was beating him just about every time we fought.”

“Gods,” Jaskier breathes.

Eskel licks his lips. “Don’t act surprised, bard,” he says softly. There’s a new, intoxicating heat in his gaze. “The whole castle’s heard you two. You seem pretty familiar with Geralt’s taste for cock.”

Geralt’s arm slips tight around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him harder into the ever-more insistent press against the bard’s arse. He palms brazenly at Jaskier’s cock, but his eyes don’t leave Eskel, his face collected, calm. “Still remember the way you taste.”

“Fuck, Geralt.” Eskel’s hand drifts to mirror Geralt’s, grinding roughly against his codpiece.

Jaskier plants a hand on the chair’s back, twisting around enough to pull Geralt into a heated, messy kiss. “Gods, you’re stunning, you know that?” he moans against his lips, tangling a demanding hand into that long white hair. “Gorgeous, shameless thing, throwing fights you were perfectly capable of winning just to get a good dicking, was that the way of it, love?”

Geralt’s eyes flicker closed, accompanied by an aborted, keening noise in his throat.

“Which was all fine, until Vesemir called him out for holding back in the middle of the training yard.” Some of the teasing quality drains from Eskel’s voice. “You know Geralt. Being berated in front of the whole school by your mentor for your piss poor performance is devastating anyway, but for Geralt?”

“I’d forgotten about that,” he admits quietly. “That was a shit day. Halfway through his lecture I swore off sex forever. Nothing kills the mood quite like Vesemir’s disappointed face.”

Jaskier kisses his temple. “Glad that didn’t last, love.”

“Didn’t last long at all,” Eskel chuckles. “Pretty sure you had my dick down your throat in the back of the stables twenty minutes later.”

Geralt’s wry grin serves as confirmation. “It’d been a rough day. Sometimes you need a little consolation.”

Jaskier looks between the two, looks at the soft smiles on both of their faces. The sheer eroticism that was all-consuming a moment ago lingers, shifting into a background pulse as this gentle, familiar openness emerges.

They love each other.

Jaskier feels an overwhelming rush of relief, suddenly, of gratitude, to know that even with all the cruelties Geralt has faced over the past century, he’s had this easy warmth to come home to nearly every winter.

But love isn’t something readily acknowledged, let alone expressed, for Geralt—if anyone knows that, it’s Jaskier. So he smiles disarmingly and goes to work.

“How right you are, Geralt!” he says brightly. “Everyone needs a consoling touch now and then. What about after you left training? Any consolation during chance encounters on the Path? Or when you returned for the winter, perhaps?”

Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt stares at the floor, nor the hunger that flashes in Eskel’s eyes before he looks away, too. When he speaks, it’s measured again. “It didn’t continue past training.”

“What a shame. Well, during training, then, what about fucking?” he asks blithely.

Geralt’s the first to find his voice, a defensive grunt. “Wasn’t like that.”

Eskel leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Well, it was, of course,” he says slowly. “A hand or a mouth in the dark you can write off as just getting your rocks off. You start talk about fucking…” He shrugs stiffly. “It starts to mean something. Starts to say something about you.” He’s quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “You get told a lot of things when you’re a kid. Think we all understood pretty clearly how it’d be if anybody found out. So you start coming up with reasons why it’s not like that, why you’re not like that. To make it easier.”

Geralt hasn’t spoken, but he clings a little closer, leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Takes time to sort through it all,” Eskel muses. “I think most of the stuff they taught us, Vesemir and the others...most of it came from a good place. They wanted us to survive, and part of that means not making yourself any more of a target than you already are. Doesn’t mean it didn’t fuck us up even more, though.” He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and eyes fixed on Geralt. “I’m proud of you, Wolf,” he murmurs, a little sad smile on his lips. “Never thought either of us’d get to have this.” He gestures briefly at Geralt and Jaskier entwined in the chair, a twinge of something that might be yearning flashing through his eyes before he looks away, taking a drink.

Geralt plants a small kiss on Jaskier’s shoulder, holds him a little tighter. He wants to comfort Eskel, the bard understands suddenly, showering Jaskier with all the tender physical assurances he doesn’t feel he can give Eskel. And Eskel, with his sweet, melancholy smiles, his gentle percipience, his quiet understanding...he deserves everything Geralt wants to give him and more.

“It seems to me,” Jaskier begins in a delicate singsong, “that we have some unfinished business here.”

“How do you figure?”

“I feel this competition has not been followed to its logical conclusion. Not reached its full potential. You’ve played for hands, mouths, thighs. It seems that the natural progression should be playing for arse next. Winner takes the loser, as it were.”

Silence.

Jaskier wonders, briefly, if he’s made a mistake; but, he reasons, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He barrels on. “I think that the two of you want each other, quite a lot. Now, now, we’re being honest, Eskel just made that lovely speech, so save your protests, both of you. I think you want each other but you don’t know how to have that without the competition.” Jaskier gesticulates widely to emphasize his conclusion. “So compete.”

Eskel’s quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath as he meets Jaskier’s gaze. “Wouldn’t ask that of you,” he says finally. “The pair of you’s got a good thing here. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Oh, darling.” A surge of affection rushes through him as he takes in the Witcher’s concerned eyes, the hesitant posture, the look of astonishment at the endearment directed towards him. “I don’t think Geralt will love me any less for having loved you,” he says softly, leaning forward and placing a steady hand on Eskel’s forearm.

“We fuck other people,” Geralt adds helpfully.

Jaskier squawks in indignation, and Geralt’s mouth twitches in silent laughter. “Yes, Geralt, thank you for that ever so romantic assessment. So there you have it, Eskel! We fuck other people, no conflict there.”

Eskel’s looking back and forth between them, a small, slow smile breaking through. “It’s a little late for a sparring match,” he says. It’s not much of a protest.

Geralt shrugs casually. “Up for another game of Gwent?”

Golden eyes lock, a challenge. Eskel wets his lip and reaches for his cards.

Geralt gently steers Jaskier back onto the arm of the chair with a quick kiss to his shoulder, reaching to pull the forgotten box of his various decks into his lap. He packs his Nilfgaardians away carefully, muses over the cards, then reaches for the forest green deck.

And Jaskier may be no expert when it comes to the intricacies of Gwent strategy, but he’s watched Geralt play enough to know that Scoia’tael is his most neglected deck, the one he’s least likely to use in tournaments, the one he’s spent the least time building up.

Fuck.

From the way that Eskel’s gaze trains on Geralt’s big hands shuffling the sparse deck, a hungry, wrecked gleam reflecting in his golden eyes, he’s noticed, too.

It doesn’t take long, this Gwent game.

Geralt isn’t playing poorly, not really, he isn’t blatantly throwing the match, but the low-powered deck can’t compete with Eskel’s Northern Kingdoms and its unstoppable siege cards, its seemingly endless supply of spies. Even after Eskel passes the second round in a show of sportsmanship, there’s no real suspense.

Anticipation, on the other hand…

Jaskier drapes himself over Geralt languidly, tucking his chin over his lover’s shoulder to watch the game. “Geralt,” he coos, “it’s looking as though you may lose this one.”

“Hmm.”

“What a shame, I know you must be dreadfully disappointed by the prospect of taking his cock.” He’s staring shamelessly now, eyes running over Eskel’s sinewy arms, wide shoulders, broad chest, muscular thighs. “Gods, I bet he’s proportional, isn’t he. Big all over.” His breath is a warm tickle on Geralt’s ear before he begins lightly kissing the sensitive skin of his neck. “I bet he’s bigger than you, isn’t he, love?”

Geralt looks up from his cards, considering. “Girthier,” he concedes lightly.

“I can only imagine.” He sighs, musing with the tiniest of pouts. “You know, if you’d told me when we arrived at Kaer Morhen that one of us would wind up in bed with the gorgeous Eskel before winter’s end, I never would have dreamed you would be the one with that honor. Actually, I’d have put good coin on it being me.”

Eskel drops a scorch card in surprise that knocks out his own 24-point ballista.

“That counts.” Geralt shoves the card towards Eskel’s discard pile. “And you’d’ve lost your coin, bard. He never would have fucked you.” He shrugs off Jaskier’s offended whine. “Would’ve seen it as betraying me, even if you’d explained.” He’s studying Eskel carefully. “He felt guilty enough already, and all he’s done is look.”

Jaskier follows Geralt’s gaze, taking in the deep flush, the heavy breathing, the slightly abashed expression. “Have you been looking, dear Eskel?”

Eskel wets his scarred lip. “Looking respectfully,” he clarifies with the smallest of grins.

Jaskier laughs, delighted. He’s been uncharacteristically modest in his dress since arriving at Kaer Morhen, adjusting the biting chill of the drafty halls, but between the fire, the inferno of Geralt beneath him, and the strong rush of arousal, he’s plenty warm now. He slips his doublet off casually, dove gray shirt open halfway to his navel. “Look to your heart’s content, darling. Respectfully or otherwise.”

Eskel obeys, eyes raking over the bard’s flushed neck, the dark curls on his chest, the taut trousers doing little to disguise his erection. When he speaks, his voice is husky, grating. “If I win, will you be joining us?”

The breath catches in Jaskier’s throat.

He glances down at Geralt. They’ve always been welcome to take other lovers; it’s only practical, since they sometimes travel apart for months at a time and both have a few long-standing arrangements they’re loath to renounce. But they’ve never welcomed someone else into their bed, explored another lover together. Shared.

Geralt’s staring up at him, eyes questioning, hopeful.

Jaskier flits out of his embrace to situate himself easily in Eskel’s lap. “I thought you’d never ask.” He brushes a dark lock of hair out of the witcher’s eyes, tilts that strong, square jaw toward him with a single clever finger. “May I?” he asks, and when Eskel nods wordlessly he draws him into a soft kiss.

Eskel’s lips are slow and gentle, his kiss courteous, restrained in a way that threatens to break Jaskier’s heart. “Relax,” Jaskier whispers against him, “you’re not the first big scary witcher I’ve encountered.” He plants a teasing peck on the corner of his mouth before pulling away and shifting to take stock of the cards in Eskel’s hand. “So how is it looking? Oh.” He giggles helplessly, glancing across the table at his lover’s somewhat dazed expression. “Oh, Geralt, you are fucked.”

Their matching groans at his word choice are nothing short of intoxicating.

“Finish him off, darling,” Jaskier purrs, a hand drifting down Eskel’s sturdy chest. “Then we can play.”

Jaskier drags Eskel unabashedly into the bedroom, kicking off his boots as he goes in a practiced maneuver that might have otherwise proven disastrous. He tugs off Eskel’s padded jerkin, leaving him in a thin cream-colored shirt that Jaskier balls his fist in, pulling the witcher towards him in a breathless, giggling kiss.

Geralt trails slightly behind them, taking off his boots in silence. Jaskier can feel his eyes on the two of them as they part, not jealous, not upset, but unsure. Never one to shy away from tension in the bedroom, Jaskier reaches a hand toward his lover, beckoning him close, close enough to touch, and then he steps back to watch the moment unfold.

As if by instinct, Eskel moves to the side in an evasion of Geralt’s approach, where a sword would glance off him, had one been swung. Golden eyes lock as they circle automatically. It’s a dance. A witcher’s dance, dangerous and calculated, each move precise, graceful, deadly. It’s the most arousing thing Jaskier’s ever seen in his life.

And then Geralt shoves Eskel.

It’s just a light push to one shoulder, no real weight behind it, but the effect is instantaneous. Eskel pins him to the cold stone wall, the full weight of his body pressed into him, his hands trapping Geralt’s wrists tight. They’re both panting, hard, and when Eskel shoves his leg roughly between Geralt’s thighs, he’s met with Geralt rocking savagely against him.

“Like a bitch in heat, huh, Wolf?” Somehow, the words aren’t demeaning in the warm gravel of Eskel’s voice; instead, they’re fond, appreciative. Reverent.

Geralt bucks against him again, a cut-off, desperate growl from the back of his throat, and Eskel buries his face at the juncture of the neck and shoulder and bites the scarred flesh.

Geralt immediately goes limp and compliant against him, capitulation written into every line of his body. He stays that way as Eskel releases his bite, nipping lightly then nuzzling into the skin.

Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath at the sight of his lover so docile, so malleable. They’ve certainly explored such games before, power dynamics and what have you, and he’s known Geralt to drift into a gentle haze of submission on a handful of occasions when he felt particularly safe, but he’s never seen this immediate, intentional surrender. It’s breathtaking.

Eskel releases Geralt’s wrists, still kissing at his neck as he slides his hands down his sides. “Good,” he murmurs against skin, “being so good for me, Wolf. Don’t worry, gonna take care of you.” He tugs the black shirt from Geralt’s trousers, slips a big hand to stroke the bare skin at the small of his back. “Gonna fuck you so good. That what you want, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, Eskel.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck.” His eyes flutter shut as Eskel’s hand moves to pull him forward by the curve of his arse, grinding their hips together roughly. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Mmm.” Eskel pulls the shirt over Geralt’s head and tosses it aside. “What about your boyfriend? What do you want from him?”

Geralt’s eyes shoot open, casting about frantically for a moment as though disoriented. “Jaskier?”

“I’m here, love,” he says, rushing to his side and pulling him into a soothing kiss. Geralt relaxes again in Eskel’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Jaskier continues, running his thumb reassuringly against Geralt’s cheekbone. “Do you want us to take you to bed, love? Let us work you over between the two of us, wring out every drop of pleasure we can?”

Eskel still supports Geralt’s weight, but he’s shifting, opening towards Jaskier, creating a space for him. Geralt pulls the bard in, kissing him desperately and tugging off his shirt, and Jaskier clings to them both.

He drinks in the sight of Eskel in the firelight, lips red and parted, eyes hooded beneath dark lashes. He cradles his smooth cheek with a gentle hand. “My, but you are just unreasonably handsome, aren’t you?”

Eskel freezes for a split second before flinching away from the touch, turning his scarred face to the safety of the shadows.

Before Jaskier can react, Geralt places a hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, drawing him in and massaging the flesh lightly. “He’s not mocking you.” His voice is soft and steady. “Or lying.”

After a moment, Eskel meets Geralt’s gaze, holds it silently for a moment before his shoulders relax, a rueful smile twitching on his lips. “Just got shit taste, huh.”

Geralt returns the grin. “He is with me.”

Jaskier splutters with indignation that’s only partially feigned. “Well, excuse you both, I happen to have exquisite taste, thank you very much!” He reaches out, his hand hovering over the scarred skin, a question in his eyes. Eskel takes a breath and turns his face into Jaskier’s touch.

He runs his fingers lightly over the hardened scar tissue, mapping the uneven terrain in caresses. Eskel’s eyes flutter shut. “I can’t speak for the rest of the world,” Jaskier murmurs. “I can’t imagine how cruelly men have treated you. But I do think you’re beautiful, Eskel, truly.” He pauses, glancing at Geralt. His gaze is fixed on the pale fingers and scarred flesh, concern writ large in his golden eyes. Jaskier wonders, not for the first time, how he ever thought his witcher inexpressive. “And I do believe Geralt thinks so, too.”

Geralt startles at the mention, but he leans in, resting his forehead against Eskel’s.

The intimacy of the position strikes Jaskier. Wasn’t like that, Geralt had immediately defended at the slightest implication that there was anything more than the occasional illicit orgasm between them. It’s not the first time he’s seen his dear witcher deny himself affection, connection, especially when it comes from another man, so he can’t help wondering how deep that denial may have run. “Geralt,” he asks softly, “have you and Eskel ever kissed?”

Geralt shakes his head, his eyes shut.

“I think you should.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

A moment of stillness stretches between them all, the two witchers looking at each other wordlessly. Eskel is the first to move. He carefully cradles Geralt’s face, eyes searching before he leans in, capturing his lips gently. It’s slow, hesitant, a meticulous exploration before Geralt moans against him, big hands threading through dark hair and pulling him in harder.

Jaskier moves deftly, slipping behind Eskel and threading his arms around the witcher as he plants reverent kisses down his neck, hands roaming luxuriantly across the hard body. Nimble fingers find the laces of Eskel’s trousers, untying them but making no immediate move to remove them, drawing the roughspun cotton of his shirt from the loosened pants so he can slip beneath to bare skin. He worships every inch of that broad torso with callused fingertips. Eskel is every bit as muscular as Geralt but built differently, thicker and wider and more pliable beneath Jaskier’s curious hands. An appealing layer of fat cushions his hard abdominals like a gambeson; strong, flexing pectorals have the give of flesh beneath his grasp. It’s an altogether delightful body, Jaskier thinks in warm contentment, belonging to an even more delightful man who Jaskier would be delighted to be absolutely railed by.

But that isn’t tonight’s objective; no, not with Geralt panting so beautifully, head thrown back against the stone wall as Eskel sucks a blood red mark on his collarbone. The finesse between them has vanished, replaced by the desperation of a century’s delay. Eskel paws at Geralt’s waist, nearly ripping the buttons from the fabric in his haste to get a hand down the front of the tight black pants, his other hand bracing him on the wall beside Geralt’s head.

Geralt is quick to return the favor, freeing Eskel’s cock from the codpiece, shoving the trousers roughly down his thighs, sinking to his knees.

Jaskier tries in vain to enjoy the sight from over Eskel’s shoulder, but the cream-colored shirt billows loosely enough around his body to veil Geralt. Yanking the offending garment off, Jaskier tucks his chin over the witcher’s shoulder and watches as his lover pumps Eskel’s cock in a pale hand, leaning in to lap greedily at the head before stretching his lips obscenely around the ruddy flesh.

When he speaks, Eskel’s voice is a hoarse wreck. “Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes.” Geralt growls in the back of his throat and takes him further down. “Fuck, Wolf.”

Jaskier snakes a hand down Eskel’s hip to his groin. He circles the base of his cock in a sure grip, grasping the thick shaft and moving in concert with Geralt’s shallow bobbing. Eskel inhales shakily, reaching the hand not buried in white hair back to anchor himself onto Jaskier by the back of the neck, arching into the bard’s embrace.

Jaskier pulls him into a messy kiss. The careful restraint has evaporated into something rough, strong, unleashed. Jaskier loses himself in the kiss, the racing tattoo of his rushing blood making the groan from Eskel something he feels more than hears.

Geralt bats away the bard’s hand jacking Eskel, and when Jaskier glances down he sees Geralt sinking down the thick shaft until his nose is buried in the dark hair at the base.

Eskel rips away from Jaskier’s kiss, breath ragged. “So good at that, shit.” His head falls back on Jaskier’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Used to choke on me when you tried,” he grunts. “Remember? Almost got us caught with your coughing a couple times. But you weren’t ever satisfied unless you tried.”

Jaskier massages at his chest, relishing the little gasp as he rubs a nipple. “He’s had plenty of practice since then. Haven’t you, love? Love swallowing cock, don’t you?” Geralt’s hands grasp Eskel’s hips roughly. “He wants you to fuck his face,” Jaskier says, planting a kiss on Eskel’s temple. “You wouldn’t deny him, would you?”

“Fuck.” Eskel complies, releasing Jaskier to anchor both hands in Geralt’s hair. He pistons forward experimentally, shallow. Geralt tugs at his hips until he’s set a brutal pace, the muscles in his thick body straining as he fucks him with abandon until there’s nothing else, nothing but slapping flesh, labored breathing, and pleased, desperate, muffled moans.

Eskel pulls abruptly back, holding Geralt off him by the hair. “Fuck, Geralt, enough. Don’t wanna come yet.”

“Want you to.” Geralt’s voice is a raw rasp, his eyes red-rimmed. He nuzzles at the juncture of his thigh and groin, sucking at the sensitive flesh between words. “Want you to come fucking my throat. Come again later.”

Eskel pushes him away firmly, discipling his voice into something deep, reproachful, but with a surprising touch of tenderness cutting the sting of his words. “Listen, little cockslut, I said not yet.”

Geralt whimpers, but he withdraws, sitting back on his heels and awaiting further instruction, eyes fixed on the other witcher.

Eskel steps back from both of them, shoving his trousers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them before he looks at Geralt. “Up, Wolf.”

Geralt scrambles to obey.

Eskel pulls him into a kiss, praises spilling out against his lips. “So good,” he says. “Pants off.”

Once Geralt’s naked Eskel pulls him close, hoisting him easily into his arms as strong thighs wrap around Eskel’s waist. Eskel kisses him, holding him effortlessly. It’s a rare thing, Geralt not being far and way the strongest in a room at any given time, and to see him so evenly matched, see him carried about and manhandled as though he weighs nothing at all, is quite an alarming, appealing experience.

“Wanna take you to bed.” Eskel nuzzles against Geralt’s neck, his words barely audible. “Wanna be inside you, Wolf.”

“You did win the game,” Geralt grunts.

Eskel’s brow is furrowed when he pulls back. “Fuck the game, Geralt, wanted this as long as I can remember. It’s not just a game.” He carefully smoothes the messy white locks away from his face. “Wasn’t ever just a game.”

Geralt nods slowly. He holds Eskel’s gaze as he tilts his head, closing the space between them to brush his lips again Eskel’s. “So take me to bed.”

And he does.

Eskel lays Geralt out with an expression of sheer reverence. He crawls between his legs, slotting their bodies together, taking them both in a firm grasp before he leans down to capture Geralt in a sensuous kiss.

Jaskier observes the writhing pair silently as he makes necessary preparations. He rids himself of his trousers and smallclothes. Folds the discarded clothes and sets them neatly on a chair. Retrieves the oil from the chest at the foot of the bed. Stalls.

Because they are beautiful together, their touches familiar yet entirely new. There’s an unmistakable sense of scale between them, a history that Jaskier is loath to disrupt, a tale spanning a century in which Jaskier is barely a footnote.

“Jaskier.”

They’re still entwined, all muscled, scarred limbs curving around each other like one flesh, but they’re both looking at him. Eskel’s face crinkles into a crooked smile. “It’s a big bed, bard. Plenty of room.”

And there is. So much room in Geralt’s outstretched arm, curling immediately around his lover as he slips in bed beside them. In Eskel’s astute gaze as he runs a hand down Jaskier’s back and squeezes his hip reassuringly, pulling him into a nigh unbearably sweet kiss. In the way the three of them move together, exploring, discovering, building a gentle rhythm all their own.

“Have you ever fingered him?” Jaskier asks, his words nearly lost in the velvet-soft skin he’s thoroughly lavishing.

Geralt’s breath catches, though whether it’s at the question or the warm mouth on his balls is anyone’s guess.

“No,” Eskel says, his hand carding through the bard’s hair. “Show me what he likes?”

Jaskier reemerges to kiss them lightly, first Geralt then Eskel. “I’d be delighted.” He sits up on his heels, pulling Geralt with him. “Up, love.” He turns to Eskel as Geralt turns over to settle wordlessly into place. “Hands and knees is best for opening him up. He tends to get overwhelmed otherwise, don’t you, darling?” He kisses Geralt’s scarred shoulder, petting his arms, his back, his sides, nodding with a bright grin when Eskel’s hands join his in their caresses. “You can open him up when he’s lying on his back, but only when he’s absolutely relaxed and he’s already gotten off once. Otherwise he’s self-conscious, can’t lose himself in the sensation.” Geralt is already—perhaps unconsciously—rocking his hips ever so gently back towards him. A wave of warmth spreads through Jaskier as he rubs at the small of his lover’s back. “Eager for us, aren’t you, Geralt?”

A breathless grunt is the only answer.

“It’s all right, love, we’re going to take care of you.” He uncorks the oil, leaning down to nip lightly at the swell of Geralt’s cheek as he pours some into his palm. Cold. He warms it in his hand, rubbing vigorously. Eskel’s eyes track each movement. Silent, the bard holds out his lubricated hand. Eskel hesitates for a second then swipes his fingers through the mess until they’re dripping, coated thoroughly.

“Touch him before you touch him there.” It’s a rush, hearing the professorial tone of his own voice, seeing the witcher scramble to follow his instructions. Using his dry hand, Eskel pets the expanse of skin, running his fingers indulgently through the pale hair on his thighs, his arse. “Good.” Jaskier’s voice resonates deep in his chest, a low, soothing murmur. “Acquaint him with your touch. Let him know where you’re headed. Then when you’re both ready…” He takes Eskel’s wet hand by the wrist and guides it. “Just a finger. Start up here, down, down and past, and then up again. Again. Circle his rim, give him some lovely pressure, get him nice and wet but not in, not yet, not until…” He laughs as Geralt cants his hips back toward them with a desperate moan. “There we are. Now you can press in, just a little—oh, you’re being so good for us, love, taking his finger so well. Thicker than mine, isn’t it? What a treat.”

It’s too much, too arousing and too heady and too intoxicating, seeing hefty sword-callused fingers prodding carefully at the flesh Jaskier had seen stretched around his cock only this morning. He reaches out, an oiled finger lightly stroking the taut rim before slipping in effortlessly alongside Eskel’s.

A keening sound almost like a sob is muffled as Geralt rests his forehead on the bed, a full-body shiver running through him.

Eskel pats at his thigh. “Your boyfriend’s back here trying to kill me, Wolf.” He shoots a look of wonder at Jaskier before he leans forward, kissing the slight dimple at the small of Geralt’s back. “Hadn’t even thought about how good you’d look speared on us both ‘til right now.”

Geralt shoves back against them hard, pants as he fucks himself back on their fingers until Eskel adds another. “Not tonight, though,” he growls. “Tonight that hole is mine.”

“Gods, Eskel.” Jaskier pulls him into a breathless kiss. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?” he murmurs against scarred lips. “The way he can’t help seeking out more. Fuck, but he’s going to look so stunning on your cock. How do you plan to take him? Like this, let him whine and cry and shove himself back on your prick as hard as he can? Or have him ride you, watch him desperately take his pleasure as he stuffs himself full of you? Or…”

“Fuck, Geralt, does he always talk this much?” Eskel’s other hand shoots to the base of his own cock, giving himself a few rough strokes.

“Always,” a muffled rumble confirms. “It’s hot.”

Jaskier beams.

He slips his finger nimbly from Geralt’s stretched hole, drizzling a little more oil where Eskel begins to tease a third before Jaskier reclines on the bed, lying his head on the pillow where Geralt’s buried his face. Gently, he tilts the witcher’s chin toward him, taking in the wrecked breaths, the serene, softened gaze. He runs a warm thumb over Geralt’s lips before following it with a tender kiss.

He runs a hand over the muscled abdomen, down the sharp angles of the juncture of his hips, the pale coarse hair at his groin. Geralt’s softened some in the excitement of penetration, as he’s wont to do. Jaskier cups that lovely, familiar cock, rubs against him with just the pressure he knows his lover needs to coax him gently back towards hardness.

A breathy, high-pitched whimper that barely sounds like it could come from the same throat as Geralt’s usual guttural utterances breaks through the hazy atmosphere. “He’s ready for you,” Jaskier murmurs softly, reaching to squeeze Eskel’s unoccupied hand.

Eskel drapes his body over Geralt’s, covering his back and shoulders with fiery kisses as he rocks against him soothingly, fingers still buried deep as they rut together. He turns his face toward Jaskier, a heady desperation in his eyes. “Can I take him on his back?” he begs. “Don’t want to...to overwhelm him. But…”

Jaskier plants a reassuring kiss on Eskel’s cheek.

Geralt whines piteously as fingers slip from him, but he follows the gentle hands guiding him onto his back.

“Love,” Jaskier whispers, soothing fingers massaging his scalp, “are you with us?”

Geralt takes a breath, as though opening his eyes to meet Jaskier’s takes tremendous energy. He nods.

“You’re doing so well, darling.”

Geralt leans into his hand at the praise, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Stay with me, Geralt. Do you need a break?”

“Need Eskel.”

Eskel, kneeling between his legs, surges forward to capture Geralt in a careful kiss, gripping his shaft as he lines himself up. “Oil?” he pants, and Jaskier slips a wet hand between the two bodies to coat the thick, twitching cock liberally. “I’ve got you, Wolf,” Eskel whispers, sinking slowly into the pulsing tight heat, Jaskier’s oiled fingers lingering, anointing the site of their union.

The electric energy swells, inundating them, sweeping them into its current. The rough, slow grind as the witchers find a rhythm. Meandering callused fingertips dancing across scarred skin. Oil and precome and sweat mingling as they slide together. The earthy, sharp smell of the fireplace meeting musk and heat and desperation. Goosebumps covering warm flesh against luxuriant soft furs.

Geralt comes with a harsh cry from nothing but the movement within him and the insistent rub of Eskel’s abdomen against his cock.

Eskel fucks him through the aftershocks gently, bringing himself to a stuttering halt as Geralt trembles beneath him. He pants against Geralt’s neck. “Fuck,” he swears, kisses messily at the sensitive skin, “so beautiful, Wolf, feel so good under me.”

Geralt lets out a long breath.

“Had enough?” Eskel whispers against him.

Blissed out, relaxed, all loose limbs and satisfaction written in every line of his body, Geralt grins, his eyes suddenly clear, kissing Eskel as he rolls his hips pointedly back onto his cock.

And with this second wind it’s different, Geralt’s haze melting into something far more vocal, more demanding. “More,” and “fuck, Eskel,” and “hard,” and “won’t break me, Eskel, fuck,” and movement and manhandling and Geralt back on his hands and knees, Eskel burying himself hard and fast and too much, it’s got to be too much, Jaskier’s sure of it until “don’t hold back, please, please I can take it.”

A hand reaches out to grab roughly at Jaskier’s hip, dragging him in place before Geralt, his back against the headboard. “Please,” Geralt moans, mouthing frantically at the base of his cock, his drawn-tight balls, “need you too.”

He threads his fingers through sweat-damp white locks as Geralt hungrily sucks him down. The harsh, accelerating thrusts from Eskel rip through Geralt, slamming him further onto Jaskier’s cock and it’s so much, the delicate arch of Geralt’s back, the loud slapping of skin against skin, the strange unifying sensation of the three of them melding into one, the tight fluttering of Geralt’s throat milking the head of his cock, the way Eskel’s whole body seems to convulse, the choked-off howl as he chases his climax, the way he shakes as he collapses forward onto Geralt...

The adoring light in those stunning amber eyes as Geralt looks up at Jaskier through thick lashes, the way his hand sneaks up to hold onto his lover’s as Jaskier’s breath hitches, coming with a cry as Geralt swallows around him.

They topple gracelessly into a breathless tangle of limbs. Geralt groans piteously as Eskel unsheathes himself, leaving the bed swiftly, and Geralt hates feeling empty while he’s still coming down so Jaskier finds himself trailing long fingers to his messy hole, pushing the escaping come back into him, massaging and plugging him gently and running a soothing thumb over the stretched rim as they trade languid, exhausted kisses.

Eskel watches them from the beside with a look that might be wonder. “You two are a handful,” he chuckles softly. He climbs back onto the bed, wiping away drying spend from Geralt’s stomach with a warm, wet cloth that drags down, down between his legs, down to where Jaskier extracts himself one finger at a time, cleaning him with attentive care.

Geralt smiles up at Eskel lazily before pulling him down into a quick, filthy kiss, nipping at his lower lip. “You like us, though.”

“Hmm.” Eskel pulls away enough to grab a cup of water, tilting it to Geralt’s lips, careful not to spill. Then he offers it to the bard, reaching over to pet his hair with unexpected tenderness. “Thank you, Jaskier,” he says. “For sharing him with me tonight.”

“Should be me you’re thanking,” Geralt yawns, shifting around until he’s nestled comfortably on Jaskier’s chest, ear pressed soothingly above his heart. His eyes flutter shut as Jaskier traces aimless patterns on his warm skin. “Arse you were fucking happens to belong to me.”

Eskel snorts. “You sure about that?” He blocks the sleepy, playful swat aimed at him, taking the cup back from Jaskier and setting it carefully on the bedside table. He looks down at Geralt, already halfway to sleep on the bard’s chest, and rolls his eyes fondly. “That didn’t take long.”

“Well, in his defense, you did work him over pretty thoroughly,” Jaskier murmurs. He reaches out, tracing the muscles in Eskel’s scarred upper arm gently.

He leans into the touch, looking down for a moment. When he meets Jaskier’s gaze, his eyes are unspeakably bright. “Thank you. For tonight.” There’s a reverent rasp in his voice. “And for being good to him.”

Geralt’s breathing has evened out as Eskel slips out of bed, rifling through the discarded clothes.

“Bloody witchers, gods save me,” Jaskier sighs, flopping a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Geralt always used to try to slink off into the night after sex, too.” He catches Eskel’s gaze and extends a long hand towards him. “It’s a big bed, darling.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, something like awe blooming on Eskel’s exquisite, kind face as he nods, climbing back into the bed and molding his body carefully against Geralt’s back, a square hand finding Jaskier’s and squeezing.

And though it’s the dead of winter, Jaskier doubts Kaer Morhen’s ever felt quite so warm. He drifts into a peaceful sleep.

#the witcher fic #geraskel #geraskel fic #geralt x jaskier x eskel #geraskier #eskralt #sexy gwent #WHEW okay hope you enjoy!#my fic #asks

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auraofbrightgreenandgold · 3 years

Text

Suneater-Songfic

Angels danced the day that you were born

Oh I'm so sure

They celebrated when you arrived

“Hey, sunshine, where are you going?” Cursing yourself, you turned around to face your blond boyfriend.

“Oh Mirio, you startled me. I’m just heading to the store is all.” Placing a hand on his chest and giving him a fake smile was the best you could do.

“B-but bunny, we got groceries yesterday.” When you heard Tamaki, you closed your eyes tightly.

“Y/N, why are you lying?” Mirio placed one hand on your cheek but you flinched back.

You're so bright

I swear you swallowed the Sun

And I am so in awe

Just basking in your light

“Y/N?” Hearing how the blond’s voice cracked broke your own heart.

“Mirio, I-” You looked over at your dark-haired boyfriend. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what, sunshine?” At his words your (dark/light) eyes flashed back to him.

“I’m not in love with you anymore, Mirio.”

But I am just the one who swallowed the moon

The only light that I have’s just a reflection of you

“Sunshine?”

“Bunny?”

Their two voices synched and you squeezed your eyes shut as a single tear made its way down your cheek.

“It’s not that I don’t love you still, because I do, so, so much, but I just… I’m not in love with you anymore.” Your voice strained from holding back tears. “I wasn’t going to tell you-”

You’re the sea of tranquility

You’re all of my stars

You’re Neptune and Saturn

You’re Venus and Mars

“You weren’t going to tell me?” The betrayal in his voice made you want to reach out for him, and you did, but you pulled yourself back at the last moment.

“I didn’t wanna hurt you.” Opening your eyes to look at his blue ones, what you saw there made you want to turn away again.

“Wh-what about me, bunny?”

You shifted on your feet and looked at the ground.

And I see the whole galaxy in your eyes

And I long to tell you

But I think it’ll only make you shy

“I’m still in love with you, Tama.”

Mirio’s sharp intake of breath made you let out a soft sob.

“Oh my god.” You looked up to see him stumble back from you.

“Mirio…”

You’ve got the heart of a Leo

But you’re sweet like a Pisces

“You’ve been lying to me.”

You nodded. “I’m so, so sorry.” Stepping forward you grabbed his forearms but he pulled away. “Mirio, please.”

“Please what?”

“I- I don’t know. I didn’t want you to know and I didn’t want to hurt either of you. I love you both so much, I swear. I just… I was going to leave so this wouldn’t happen.”

And the only thing I know is

I think I might be falling for

The boy who swallowed the sun

“You were going to leave us?” Your gaze flickered over to your indigo-haired boyfriend.

“Tama, I’m so sorry.”

“When?” Mirio’s voice cracked like a whip.

“What?”

The day that we first met

Heaven and earth collided

You eclipsed me completely

“When did you know?”

Taking a shaky breath, you answered, “We were in bed. You two had just gotten home. I looked at you and felt warm and giddy but when I looked at him, I felt.. I felt home.”

Tamaki ran forward so fast you almost didn’t see him and crashed into both you and Mirio. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

You pulled away and let him cling to Mirio. “Sorry for what, butterfly?”

And I became blinded

Because the light from within you

Suddenly surrounded me too

And I have never felt so bright

“It’s my fault.”

Mirio pulled Tamaki farther away from you when you reached out. “It’s not anyone’s fault, Tamaki.” He muttered in the boy’s hair, clutching his head and holding it to his shoulder.

“If anyone should be sorry, Tama, it’s me.” You assured him, going to take your leave.

“Stay!” Mirio’s voice broke through the small moment of silence. “Stay… please.” He repeated when you turned to look at him, and you nodded.

And I see the whole galaxy in your eyes

And I long to tell you

But, I’m just too shy

As the blonde took Tamaki over to the couch, you followed, resting your head on Mirio’s chest as your timid boyfriend curled up between the two of you.

Looking into Mirio’s bright blue eyes, you suddenly felt home and let out a violent sob, muffling it against his white shirt.

He cupped your head gently and rubbed Tamaki’s back, the intimate moment making tears spring to his eyes.

You’ve got the heart of a Leo

But you’re sweet like a Pisces

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” He asked quietly into your hair.

“I- I thought-” Your sentence broke off into another sob and you pressed your face into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mirio.”

His eyebrows furrowed and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer. “It’s okay, Y/N, I love you, take however long you need to tell me.”

With a soft sniffle, you nodded and he managed a smile. “Good girl.”

And the only thing I know is

I think I might be falling for

The boy who swallowed the Sun

“B-bunny?” You heard from next to you.

Turning in Mirio’s arms, you cupped his cheek. “Yeah butterfly?”

“I love you. I love you both. I’m in love with you both.” He muttered.

“We know, Tama.” Mirio murmured.

I will keep the tides in tune

You will make the flowers bloom

And gravity will do the rest

And pull me back to you

Just like Hades and Persephone

The boy who ate the Sun and me

You have brought sunshine to the dark side of the moon

“And we love you too.” You kissed his forehead, gently ruffling his hair.

“So very much.”

After a few moments of a tense but comfortable silence, you leaned up to look at Mirio and kissed a tear off his jaw.

Shocked, he looked down at you, confused.

And I see the whole galaxy in your eyes

And I swear that I’ll be kind to you

Even though I’m a Gemini

“I was wrong.” You said under your breath.

He breathed in quickly. “Wh-what do you mean, sunshine?”

“I was wrong.” You said again. “I didn’t- I thought- I’m sorry!” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your cheek against his.

“Oh, my sunshine.” When he realized what you were talking about, he gripped you tighter. “My baby, my love.” He kissed your temple, feeling his heart start beating again for the first time in half an hour.

You got the heart of a Leo

But you’re sweet like a Pisces

And the only thing I know is

🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱🂱

“Tamaki!” You shrieked when your boyfriend practically tackled you from behind and picked you up slightly. “Put me down! Mirio help!”

Hearing the chuckle coming from the doorway confirmed your fears that the blond would not be helping you.

“Tama-KI!” You shrieked out the last syllable as he let you free fall for a moment before letting you down and laughing softly when you clutched his shoulders for support. “You’re an ass.”

He laughed again, this time louder as he leaned in to plant a kiss on your collarbone.

“You love him.” Mirio teased, coming up behind Tamaki and giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“We should get going, Nejire is going to think we’ve been kidnapped.” You tried to slide out of your boyfriend’s grip but Miro helped him grip your waist tightly.

“We don’t need to go anywhere for another hour, sunshine.”

“Sorry bunny.” Tamaki ducked out of the way as Mirio grabbed your hips and flipping you over his shoulder to carry you to the kitchen where he was making dinner and gave you a kiss on the nose as he sat you down, grinning widely when you scrunched up your nose in response.

I wanna know what it’s like to be

With the boy

To be with the boy

“So, sis, dating two of the big three wasn’t as easy as you thought, huh?” Your brother, Hitoshi, asked as you two sat at your dads’ dinner table.

“Which two?” Your father, Shota, asked as his fork started to bend.

“Oh, uh-” You kicked your brother under the table. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Amajiki and Togata.” Toshi spoke over you.

“Why you little-”

“Speak of the devil!” Your other dad, Hizashi, laughed as he welcomed your two boyfriends into the dining room.

Aizawa looked up at his ex-students. “You two treat her well, or you will wish you were dealing with villians, got it?”

Tamaki shrunk back but Mirio chuckled. “Understood, sir. If you don’t mind…” He took you by the shoulder and pulled you up so you were standing. “Y/N’s the face of the agency and the only one who can get the paper work done. Come on, sunshine.”

Who swallowed the Sun

(Who swallowed the Sun)

Who swallowed the Sun

I know I don’t typically write for mha on here but I’ve been listening to this song on repeat for an hour and this was born.

word count: 1500 (about that I don’t remember)

#mirio x reader #tamaki x reader #tamaki x mirio x reader #tamaki angst #mirio angst #angst to fluf #songfic #tamaki amajiki #mirio togata

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amajikilvr · 4 years

Text

warm aromas - tamaki amajiki

word count 1.9k

reader type filipino , gender-neutral

premise tamaki gets a taste of your cultural during a first date

For the record, you weren’t terribly nervous about this date. At least not any type of uneasiness worth noting. It was a fluttery kind of anticipation that shot your butterfly-filled stomach into your chest, all the way up your throat, and then finally falling back down before repeating and repeating. More than anything else, you were excited.

It was just Amajiki, after all. Well, he wasn’t just anything. Amajiki was a beautiful kaleidoscope of oddities that you had yet to have the pleasure of discovering. For now, you simply knew him as the tender boy in your class with immense talent and heart.

You considered him a great friend and had been willing to take a leap of faith in an effort to pursue something more. And it seemed like your bravery was paying off so far.

Walking into the warmly lit restaurant, you took a deep breath of the aromatic atmosphere and felt your heart jump and shake as Amajiki’s sweet face came to mind. You couldn’t see yourself ever forgetting the way his complexion had brightly glowed like the surface of a fresh cherry when you asked him out after class.

The familiar older woman working at the front waved and greeted you by name and you did the same with a notable extra twirl in your step. She raised an eyebrow at you, aged forehead wrinkling in amusement.

Needless to say, not even a sudden run-in with your worst enemy would’ve been able to take your good mood down a single notch.

And there he was, already sitting at a back booth that was tucked away and hidden from the majority of fellow patrons, which didn’t surprise you in the slightest.

You grinned and held back a squeal as you plopped down in the seat across from him. “Hi! Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

Amajiki immediately shook his head, indigo tufts of hair bouncing comically. You wanted to just reach out and ruffle them.

“Y/L/N! You didn’t! I was just early, sorry. I was so worried about making you wait for me. Sorry.”

“Aw, that was sweet of you, Tamaki.” You watched his cheeks flush at the use of his given name. Hesitantly, you let your hand hover over his. “Can I?”

“O-oh, yeah.” His face went pale before gradually going an even darker shade of red crimson.

You leaned forward and gently grabbed his hand, a little shocked to feel it trembling. “I’m really happy to be here, you know. Especially since it’s with you.”

Amajiki gulped before taking a long steady breath. His lips curved into a small smile as he made tentative eye contact with you for the first time.

“Me too… Y/N.”

“So, have you ever tried Filipino food before?” You asked after a moment of comfortable silence between you two, still relishing the feeling of his hand in yours. “Hado-san told me you were an adventurous eater…”

“I guess I am. My quirk kinda relies on a diet with plenty of variety. I’ve grown to really enjoy trying different kinds of food, practicality aside.” He paused, clearing his throat, and glancing away. “No Filipino food yet, though.”

“Well,” You gave his hand an experimental squeeze. Amajiki’s breathing went shaky in response, but he squeezed back. “I think you’re really going to like it.”

You’d discovered this restaurant after searching the Internet for somewhere in this city that served authentic Filipino cuisine. Finally, you found this nice family-owned place with delicious food, albeit you still preferred your mother’s cooking, but that was a given.

“Then I’m excited.” Amajiki gave you another wobbly smile. “Not that I wasn’t excited before. I was up all night thinking a… Oh, that’s embarrassing…”

You laughed softly, not at him, but hoping to reassure him. “No, that’s actually cute.”

Tamaki’s eyes went wide and instead of the blush returning, he went as white as a bedsheet. “Oh god… I’m sorry, I’m just so embarrassed. Y/N… Sorry…”

He covered his face with his free hand which was shaking significantly more by now. You were slightly concerned he might get up and run for the nearest corner.

“Tamaki, it’s okay.” You wanted to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, but you settled for squeezing his hand some more in hopes of not further overwhelming him. “It’s all good, don’t worry. I really like you.”

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter who you had already grown quite friendly with over the years. You made a bit of small talk before ordering several classic dishes for Amajiki and you to sample together.

“Y/N,” Amajiki spoke up once you two were alone again. Thankfully, he had time to recover while you ordered and color had returned to his face as a result. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What is it about me that you like?” The last part was practically whispered and you had to guess whether you heard him correctly. “I just didn’t expect any of this is all…”

You tilted your head, smiling at Amajiki as you looked over his face carefully. He was beautiful on the outside too. His jawline was sharp and prominent, skin clear and soft-looking, and his eyes were sparkling and expressive. You could never get over the color, a startlingly deep shade that was only missing a background of stars and planets.

“Well, firstly, I think you’re very attractive.” You watched Amajiki choke on the sip of water he’d taken. He coughed a few times before silently blinking at you and you took it as a sign to continue. “You’re just so vibrant. When you’re using your quirk, you light up the whole room. You do without it too. And watching you work so hard and improve this year has been amazing. You inspire me without even trying and I couldn’t be more thankful for it.”

Amajiki made a small gasping noise, borderline a squeak, before squeezing his pretty eyes shut. He took a couple of deep breaths before sighing heavily. “T-that’s… Wow… Y/N, thank you. Thank you so much.”

He kept his eyes closed as he finished, blushing immensely again. “I think you’re beautiful… And smart. And kind. And… Oh my god, sorry, I might need a minute to just-”

“Tamaki.” You nervously brought your hand to his face and cupped his cheek. It was incredibly warm. “Is this okay?”

The response was shockingly quick. “Y-yes.”

You took another huge risk and just hoped it would pay off in the end. “Can I kiss you?”

A pregnant pause this time. Your heart was working overtime and you swore you could hear it pounding from inside your chest. Amajiki was quivering ever so slightly under your touch. You shouldn’t have asked, it was probably too much happening too fast.

“It’s okay if you don’t-”

Amajiki cut you off almost frantically. “No! I mean, yes, you can. Please…”

You gathered yourself and leaned even further across the table. First, you planted a chaste and sweet kiss on his other cheek. Going for his lips took more courage, but you did it. This kiss was longer than the other, but not by much. You didn’t care. As it turns out, Amajiki’s lips were as soft as they looked.

“Was that fine?” You asked, concerned when he still wasn’t opening his eyes. You felt a bit jittery yourself from that kiss.

They flew open at your voice. “It was great, I just need to go…”

He made a weak outward gesture and you gave him a comforting smile. You understood without him having to say it. He just needed a moment to himself after all of that.

“The washroom’s over there.”

Amajiki stood up, his hand coming loose from yours and your other hand falling from his hot face. “Thank you. I really did enjoy that, I just need a minute. Sorry, this is so rude of me…”

You shook your head sharply. “I don’t think that. Go ahead, take your time. I get it. I really do.”

“All that matters is that you feel comfortable.”

“Okay. Thank you.” He seemed relieved as he stared at you, actually gazing into your eyes, before rushing off towards the door you had pointed out to him.

Now alone, you smiled to yourself and placed a finger to your lips, still shell-shocked by the turn of events. You had actually kissed Amajiki and it was everything you’d imagined and more. Things couldn’t be going better and you two hadn’t even ate yet!

It wasn’t too long before your order arrived and Amajiki returned nearly back-to-back.

“Perfect timing,” You greeted him and took note of how he was no longer shaking like a leaf. “I might’ve gone overboard… don’t know if we’ll be able to finish all of this ourselves.”

“You’d be surprised by the size of the meals at Fat’s agency.” Amajiki chuckled as he took in the plates of steaming food laid out before you two. “What should I try first?”

You feigned being deep in thought before grinning. “Hm, just pick whatever.”

He reached for the platter of puto and you followed suit. They looked delicious, extra fluffy and topped off gooey cheese. Amajiki watched as you popped the entire thing in your mouth with zero reservation.

“They’re little steamed rice cakes.” You explained after swallowing.

Amajiki took a bite out of his and finished it soon after before grabbing another. “Mm, they’re very light. Do they always have cheese?”

“Depends, but a lot of the time, yeah.” You answered while helping yourself to a second of your own. “Hey, What could you manifest out of this?”

A mischievous twinkle flashed in Amajiki’s eyes as he raised a finger in a “wait a minute” fashion. You wanted to giggle at how his face scrunched up in concentration, but held back for his sake. After a short moment, a pair of small pale horns shot out from his purple hair.

You let out your laugh, nearly choking on puto in the process. “Nice!”

His cheeks were rosy as he scratched at the back of his neck. He looked focused once again before the horns seemed to be gone in the blink of an eye.

“Dairy products are always fun.” Amajiki stated while sipping his water. “I could’ve given myself two stomachs but I thought that was kinda gross…”

“Just a bit.” You agreed, laughing softly. “But also kinda cool.”

Next came the lumpia, a dish comparable to egg rolls. Amajiki seemed especially pleased as he took several bites out of one.

“Really good.” He confirmed with a nod. “Pork inside?”

“Yup.” You kicked him playfully under the table. “Think you could manifest one of those curly pigtails? Like in the cartoons?”

Amajiki froze like a statue midchew.

“Just kidding.” You reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Glad you like it.”

“I-I think I like you more, Y/N.”

The lunch date continued on. It was a quiet moment while you two were enjoying a hearty noodle dish when you were struck with a wave of warmth that filled you from head to toe. You felt so at home, sharing this piece of your culture with probably your favorite person ever.

Amajiki appeared utterly relaxed as he ate, cheeks tinted with a very soft pink. You noticed both of his pointy ears twitch a number of times and were puzzled before you remembered something Togata had said to you once.

“He’s done it ever since we were kids. When he’s really happy, his ears will do this twitch-thingy, but try not to point it out. He gets really embarrassed.”

It might have been the cutest sight you’d ever seen.

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bitch-for-a-rainbow · 3 years

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Lex Luthor: I actually really like him and Supergirl made me mad

So, Lex Luthor is a very interesting, sometimes thought provoking, but most of all very enjoyable character.

Lex is many things, a classic egomaniacal villain, an example of what lies can do to a relationship, a walking, talking red flag, a warning of how hubris and jealously can destroy you, and much, much more. He is not the typical strain of insane— if crazy at all, highly competent, and best of all knows every one of Superman’s buttons and exactly how to press them.

I love watching Lex in every media I’ve ever seen him in going back to the original Christopher Reeve Superman. Every media, that is, except Supergirl. Why?

Because she isn’t fucking Superman.

Obviously, I love Supergirl— I run a blog with her in my icon— but there are certain things she is not and was never meant to be. Nemesis to Lex Luthor is right up there with a mass-murdering nazi (which is why the multiverse exists-- so that you can make her the first super on earth, Lex Luthor’s ex-friend, and not completely ignore the foundation of who they are as characters)

Lex is fun because he’s so smart, but also because of the personal stake he has with Superman. Lex felt jealous. In many cases, he felt betrayed. He let that fester into mania and then he built an evil radioactive robo-suit and committed mass murder. You know, like reasonable people do.

Lex was Superman’s friend and that gives his hatred of Kryptonians not only purpose, but emotional weight. Their relationship has that itching tension of painful history. In addition, Lex is extremely prideful. To him, Supergirl would be second class, she’s backup. And there is a story there: a story when Lex has a breakdown when backup knocks him into the sun, or the (in my opinion, less entertaining) version where Superman shows up to save her, reaffirming Lex’s worldview that he’s everything and defeating Superman means that Lex is the greatest and smartest, and even more stories beyond those that still adhere to its core principles— Kara and Lex as characters.

But Supergirl chose neither. Instead they chose another recycle Superman plot. And then another. And another.

I should make time to say that I like Jon Cryer; I think he’s doing a great job with what he’s been given. He’s got the charisma. He’s got the smarmy self-congratulating swagger down perfectly. The scenes where the real Lex pokes its ugly head through his facade are just great. I think in anything else he would have made an excellent Lex Luthor, but not here.

I was… disappointed with season 4. I liked 4x20– Kara and Lena investigating was fun at worst and at best had some really good edge of my seat moments. I thought that 4x16 “The House of L” was one of the best episodes of supergirl in a very long time and it still holds its place at least in my top 10, probably my top 5. But you will notice Lex wasn’t even in 4x20 and his places in 4x16 I actually enjoyed could easily have been occupied by any other intelligent villainous character. From a very basic point of view Col. Haley would have fit the mold of the manipulator training the compassionate but confused alien to kill— Wouldn’t have been her first time.

The later usages of Lex in Supergirl are also attempting a common Superman plot. Lex “redeems” himself, tricks the public into trusting him again by framing Superman for something, and eventually is once again revealed to be evil. It sounds like a repetitive, boring plot that would lose the audience suspension if belief after a few tries— “Seriously, this again. How are they not expecting this by now?” And that complaint works for Supergirl. Because Supergirl isn’t Superman.

Clark Kent was Lex Luthor’s best friend. Clark Kent ignored every warning sign and red flag waved in his face because Lex Luthor was his best friend. Clark Kent harbors a deep, abiding hurt and resentment from Lex’s betrayal. He has no trust for Lex, just like any hero would, but he also has the built up anger from repeated clashes with Lex and the initial betrayal. So when Lex returns, once again proclaiming he’s changed his ways, Superman’s response is a very public, very obviously bitter “yeah, right.” When Lex lays one of his traps for Superman, Clark is a little too rash. Lex Luthor knows how to push all of Clark’s buttons, even if he doesn’t know that they’re Clark’s. Lex can play him like a fiddle, and as for the general populace— would you be so steadfast in your trust of the invulnerable alien that could laser you in half in the blink of an eye and seems to be getting a little too comfortable in his role as peacekeeper? Would you, when even the slightest chance could slaughter your entire planet and you would have nothing and no one would could stop him— except, of course, Lex Luthor?

We’ve been shown through many media that when Lex can’t manipulate his opponent, when villain comes that is simply too big for him to work on, he is at incredible risk. There are several stories I can think of of the top of my head where Lex becomes a temporary ally of the heroes simply because he realizes he can’t manipulate this new, powerful player and that therefore they are a risk to him (I actually really like those stories because the dynamics between him and the heroes are incredibly fun and interesting— you start to get an idea of who Lex is underneath all of the wit and ego).

This is Supergirl’s great failure with Lex. The show understands that he is a genius— makes a great fuss about it. They understand that he is a manipulator— it’s his entire plot line with Lena. But they fail to understand that Lex’s ploys don’t work because he’s just so smart like the smartest ever. They work because he knows Superman and he knows that people are afraid of him— even the ones who trust and love him live with the knowledge that if he gets mind controlled or goes crazy, he could kill them all with ease, and that it’s happened before.

Supergirl wasn’t around for Lex’s turn. This Supergirl wasn’t even in that steady of contact with Clark. She has no stinging betrayal, no anger and bitter history to make her rash and predictable. Certainly by now, two seasons into Lex’s placement in the show, she is angry— but by all the evidence we’ve been given, Kara’s anger just makes her more volatile, unpredictable and sometimes genuinely down for murder, which is definitely not something Lex needs. We have seen her both let Lex “fall to his death” (when she wasn’t all that angry— she just accepted his suicide without trying to force him into prison) and nearly shoot him with laser vision (this time she was angry and emotionally unstable after the death of Argo and the more Lex centered anger that he revealed her identity and destroyed her relationship with Lena. There is no question that she would have killed-- or at the very least maimed-- him if The Monitor hadn’t intervened). If Superman just murdered Lex when he got angry, he would have died a dozen times over.

Lex doesn’t even have a basic understanding of Kara’s mindset. He can’t. Superman was raised by American humans in Kansas— he has a worldview that Lex could easily pick up on because it is at least based on watching most of the same events unfold as they grew up— and that’s if they had never met before they started fighting. Sure, he could assume Superman had some quirks from being an alien, but the base Americanized cultural standpoint was already affecting Lex’s machinations because he was an American. He’s familiar with the culture and values Superman follows— not so with Kara. I don’t even know if it was possible for him to obtain information on her religion, let alone the cultural views on justice. His research on her past fights would have been choppy at best, given that there are so many things that only Kara or the other Superfriends were there for. He can’t have the information about that fight on Mars where Kara literally disintegrated at least 3 white martians. He can’t know what happened with Reign beyond “she’s not going to be a problem anymore”. He might have more information about the Daxamite invasion through government records and his mother but the information is still limited. As for Non and Myriad, we don’t even know what happened to Non, and did they report to the DEO that J’onn literally tore Indigo in half (very graphically I might add). Or did they just say “They won’t be a problem anymore.” Lex may have been spying on Kara since Season 2, but how much is watching her civilian life going to help him understand her, when Kara’s civilian life was constructed to hide? Kara Danvers doesn’t say a lot of what she thinks to avoid notice, and even Supergirl keeps her mouth shut a lot of the time to try and maintain human-alien relations. The episodes where she squabbles with the Col. Haley and President Baker are full of her smiling and gritting her teeth through statements that clearly make her very angry.

Lex “falling to his death” and then getting shot at the end of season 4 was a great moment— it fit with the characters motivations, but it also unfortunately illustrated the problem with Supergirl characters interacting with Lex. J’onn was a soldier who kills people. Kara has killed people. Alex has killed people. This scene was not the first time we watched Lena try to murder someone with that gun. They are not restricted by the moral code Superman uses, which makes it both more difficult and more dangerous for Lex to try manipulating them— so he doesn’t and instead they skip the intermediary and rely wholly on him being able to manipulate the public. This works to an extent with Red Daughter, but only because anti-alien sentiment was at an all time high with the Children of Liberty, and because Lex lucked into an amnesiac supergirl clone. So little of the heavy lifting was actually done by Lex it feels less like his accomplishment and more like he cheated off of 3 different people and then bragged about his math skills. I said it before and I’ll say it again. The season 4 villain could have been anyone with moderate intelligence and resources. After crisis, the excuses just get weaker and weaker. I mean come on, he confessed to trying to mind control the whole world in front of the jury while screaming vile things at his sister who’s sitting there visibly flinching at his words and they unanimously voted not-guilty? Are you kidding? (Also after watching all the courtroom scenes in Supergirl... do they know how courtrooms work? I mean, I laughed as hard as anyone at the “I plead the 5th” line, but seriously. Do they?)

And Crisis was… a choice. I personally hated that they brought Lex back to life— more so because the in-universe reasoning was so weak. Lex Luthor does not face a whole lot of consequences, it’s true, but that’s because he has the genius, guile, and money to avoid them. To give him such an unearned out— especially after all the damage he’d done by dying— really hurt the both the stakes and the character. Lex is a human, and he fights Superman by taking advantage of very human things: corruption, anger, and fear as well as ingenuity and resourcefulness. He loads the deck in his favor— he doesn’t win on luck. And Lex in the CW Supergirl, seems to only win on luck. First he finds Red Daughter right when anti-alien sentiment is blowing up, then he is resurrected, then he finds out the crisis world loves him. He has had exactly 1 major victory based on his own work— manipulating Brainy. A manipulation which was really hard to believe when Brainy was, in canon, much, much smarter than Lex, familiar with his tactics, lying to the superfriends for no reason, and had no emotional reaction to cloud his judgement.

And even so, this one plot line was one of the more interesting ones in season 5 and the most Lex Luthor-like plot line the show has had. Even when I felt my suspension of disbelief slipping, it wasn’t entirely in tatters. Lex’s win felt somewhat earned.

He has been in the show for 2 1/2 seasons and he has had 1 major victory that felt at all earned. 2 and 1/2 seasons. That’s currently around 45% of the show’s run time.

All in all, we have 4 deeply related problems that plague the CW Supergirl Lex Luthor:

Lex Luthor’s plans rely as much on effective manipulation of Superman as they do on his own genius. Without that manipulation, his victories rely much more on happenstance and luck, making them feel less earned.

Lex Luthor cannot effectively manipulate Supergirl— at the very least, not in the beginning of their relationship, which CW Supergirl focuses on— nor does he try to manipulate her or much of the cast beyond Lena and once with Brainy.

Supergirl kills people. Supergirl has killed Lex. Superman doesn’t kill people.

Lex fighting Supergirl does not have the kind of inherent emotional weight that Lex fighting Superman does.

There are some other issues I have with the CW supergirl version of Lex, but I think if it was a Superman show I wouldn’t have minded. The large amount of screen time dedicated to him would make sense there, and the fact that he’s a cockroach seemingly impervious to any plot consequences would also fit more in line with Superman’s increasing frustration and make his manipulations more effective.

The only problem I have that wouldn’t been solved purely by making it about Superman is the crowding problem. In season 1, Non and the DEO were highly connected and fed each other as villains. Season 2 also fit that same block of alien vs. anti alien. Both of those secondary villains (the army/DEO in s1 and Cadmus in s2) were very much not as big a villain as the main. Season 3 sort of had a secondary villain with Morgan Edge, but he was mostly just a Lena problem. All of these seasons had a good balance between the villains screen time and also between the villains and heroes. It got a little more complicated with the extra world killers in s3, but still functioned fairly smoothly with focus on Reign. This is one of the main reasons that seasons 1 and 3 are my favorites. S4, however, got more cluttered. A lot more cluttered. Manchester Black, the Children of Liberty, Lex Luthor, Red Daughter, and Eve Tessmacher were all villains with multi-episode arcs handled directly by Supergirl herself. There was too much to cover, not enough connection, and not enough time— plus 2 new main cast members (Look, I love Nia and Brainy but that season had way too much going on). Season 5 had Leviathan, Lena Luthor, Lex Luthor and 2 new mains. Each of those villain arcs had their own distinct plot from one another and screen time started to become more choppy and spread out. Season 6 now has so far Lex Luthor, the phantom zone, and Nyxly, as well as the Zor-El mini-arc, and while I’ll give them some leeway for Melissa Beniost’s maternity leave, there is again too much in too little time. Villains are underdeveloped or not given weighty closures, each main gets less and less personal screentime, and every shot that doesn’t serve a good or entertaining purpose feels like pouring out water from a canteen in the desert, especially now in the last season. Lex has greatly suffered for this both in the rage at how much screen time he gets compared to other characters, Kara in particular, and because of how his arcs are still hobbled by the lack of it.

I just find myself wishing they’d restricted Lex to a 3 or 4 episode mini-arc, or just season 4 and saved him for the Superman and Lois show. They could have played the crisis resurrection as just an unfortunate coincidence of fate and had it be Superman’s problem from there on.

To Jon Cryer, may you never see this. It’s so very not your fault.

If anyone actually reads this whole thing and I got something wrong let me know. I’d love to discuss it. Today, I’m just trying to isolate the main issues I have with Lex in Supergirl.

#i spent way too long on this #And I'm pretty sure I still have typos and fragmented sentences #but im not spending another minute editing #so here you go #Supergirl #Lex Luthor

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