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hpimaginesandblurbs · 3 years

Note

Ok but can u also do this but with ron + the twins, I love ur smuts !!!!!!!

pairing: reader x ron weasley x fred weasley x george weasley

warning(s): 18+, unprotected sex, foursome, double penetration, oral (female and male receiving), face fucking, fingering

word count: 4.2k

a/n: soooo this is the longest thing i’ve ever written on this account but if anyone deserves it its the damn weasleys. i tried to make this as non sweet home alabama as possible and that’s probably why it’s so long. anyways, enjoy this ungodly amount of smut while i decompress.

You had been spending a majority of your summer at The Burrow, where you boyfriend Ron lived. You spent day in and day out with him, practically on top of one another whenever you could be, but that didn’t stop you from spending time with his family. His mother was incredible, albeit a little scary at times, his father was charming, and Ginny was becoming a fast friend. But you couldn’t help the particular draw you felt towards the twins, Fred and George.

You couldn't deny they were attractive, the genes were strong in the Weasley family. And you often did a poor job at hiding your attraction.

You didn’t think any of them had noticed your subtle glances or blushes. Little did you know, all three of them had noticed over the few weeks you had been there. They were just waiting you out.

~~~

Tonight you were all cozied around the fire pit, drinking some firewhiskey, taking advantage of the fact that Molly and Arthur had gone to visit Ron’s oldest brother Bill and his wife, Fluer, for the weekend. You weren’t drunk by any means, but you were certainly feeling good.

You were cuddled up to Ron’s side, his arm slung around your shoulders, a knitted blanket draped over your laps. You were so wrapped up in your boyfriend that you had barely noticed that Fred had taken the spot on your other side until his leg brushed against yours, making you still.

“Do you need another drink, sweetheart?” Fred asked when you finally looked his way, his face far too close to yours in the situation to be normal.

You blushed at his proximity, but nodded. “Um, yes, thank you,” you added bashfully.

Fred dashed a charming smile at you and placed a soft kiss to your cheek before dashing off to get you another glass of whiskey, your blush only intensifying when you felt his lips on your skin. You prayed no one could see it through the light of the fire.

Ron tugged you back into his side and dropped his lips to your ear. “Whatever you think you’re doing, stop,” he said lowly, clearly not pleased by the situation.

“He kissed me,” you argued softly, your head turning to press a kiss against his neck. He pulled back and shot a look down at you, his brow raised. A look you couldn’t exactly argue with. You got caught and you knew it.

You stayed quiet, trying to keep your eyes anywhere except the two men that currently had your stomach in knots. But that effort was broken when Fred made his way back over to you, plopping down beside you. He passed you your new drink and you thanked him for it, sitting up straight to take a sip.

You were caught off guard when you were pulled into his body and away from Ron, Fred’s strong arm now wrapped around your shoulders.

“Have you been enjoying your summer here so far?” He asked quietly, making sure only you could hear him.

Your eyes flitted cautiously over the group around the fire, making sure no one was noticing the strange behavior. You paused when you met George’s eyes, his own trained on the interaction between you and Fred, but you tried your best to ignore it.

“Um, yes. You’ve all been quite lovely. I like it here,” you told him genuinely. You had been enjoying your summer despite tonights most recent turn of events.

“Mm, good,” Fred mused, shooting another smile down at you. You couldn’t help but notice the little mischievous glint in his eyes that he got every time he was thinking something that was likely to either end brilliantly or disastourly. “I saw we play a little game. Are you in?” He asked.

You swallowed nervously, knowing this could end very poorly. “And what is this game?” You questioned.

“Let’s see how jealous we can get Ron,” he whispered, the smile never leaving his face.

“I- I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you argued, knowing fully well Ron had already told you to stop… doing whatever you were doing.

“Oh, c’mon Y/N. Live a little. Anyhow, you already know how this is going to end,” he told you.

“And how will this end?” You asked, raising your eyebrow at him.

He moved closer to you, so close you could feel his breath on your face. Your whole body was hot and the blush was creeping back onto your face and you knew he could see it.

“Judging by the noises I hear coming from his room almost every night, he’ll fuck you stupid. And I get to hear those pretty noises again,” he told you shamelessly, pulling you into him closer.

You shot a nervous glance at Ron, only to find that he was already looking at you over the rim of his own cup, fire in his eyes. He raised a brow at you and you could see the way the corners of his lips were tugging up into a smirk, practically daring you to continue on. As if he knew exactly what you and Fred were talking about.

“By the looks of it, he doesn’t seem to mind,” Fred added from behind you, making you whip your head around back to him.

“Of course he’d mind. You’re his brother,” you argued incredulously, still not believing this conversation was even truly happening.

“You think he doesn’t see the way you look at me and Georgie? You look at us like you want us to devour you,” he told you.

You snuck a glance at George only to find that he was still looking at you. You could feel Ron’s eyes still on the back of your head. You gulped nervously, your brain short circuiting for a half a second. Did they… did they plan this?

“I - I haven’t been -,” you went to argue, but Fred cut you off.

“Don’t play coy with me. Maybe if you beg him nicely like I hear you do so well, he might let us join you tonight,” Fred teased, causing your core to pulse and drip with arousal at the thought.

You could only stare back at him, his breath fanning your face as you took in his words. He knew he planted a seed in you that wouldn’t go away until it was satisfied. The smug look on his face only proved it. You didn’t get the chance to reply before you could hear Ron getting up from his place on the bench.

“Bunny, come with me,” he said innocently enough to the ears of everyone else in the group, but you could hear the edge in his voice.

You detangled yourself from Fred and rose up from your spot, taking Ron’s hand as he silently led you back into the house. Once you had passed through the threshold into the kitchen and away from the eyes of everyone else, he spun around to face you.

“And what was all that about?” He asked, stepping right into your space so you had no other choice but to look up at him.

“N-nothing. We were just having a chat,” you stuttered out, trying to not seem intimidated.

“Wasn’t what it looked like to me. Spill it,” he said roughly, continuing to back you up until your back hit the counter, leaving you nowhere to go when his hands were placed on either side of your body.

“Promise you won’t get mad,” you half heartedly requested.

“Just tell me.”

“He- he said, um, he said that we should try to make you jealous,” you told him. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was only a half truth at best.

“That’s not what has you blushing like a virgin though, is it? What did he say to you?” He pressed, the fire in his eyes growing larger by the second.

You swallowed and took a deep breath before you even opened your mouth, knowing this could only go one of two ways. He’d either blow up entirely, or you’d have a night you’d never forget. “He said that if I begged you you’d let him and George join us,” you said quickly, all in one breath.

You shut your eyes, waiting for his response. But when a chuckle fell from his lips your eyes shot back open in shock.

“Is that what you want, bunny? Do you want them to join us?” He asked, his eyes now more playful than they had been just seconds prior.

“Are you serious?” You asked after a moment, you head spinning that he was just offering this to you on a silver platter. You expected yelling, anger, the whole fit. You didn’t expect a cheeky smirk and twinkling eyes.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“They’re your brothers,” you argued. Why you were even arguing this, you weren’t sure. You wanted this and he knew it and they knew it. You just couldn’t understand why he was letting it happen.

“It’s not like I’ll be fucking them,” he said with a laugh. “So, tell me what you want.”

“If it’s okay with you…,” you started, trailing off. You looked up at him nervously, hoping your eyes conveyed enough of a plea that he would continue agreeing with you.

“So beg,” he said, his voice dropping low as he continued to stare down at you.

“I’ll be good, I promise. Just this once. I just - I - please,” you said, launching right into it but quickly running out of words as you watched the smirk grow on his face.

“Go to my room. Strip. I’ll be up in a minute,” he told you, placing a kiss on your forehead before heading back outside. You watched his figure walk away for a moment, letting your mind race until you booked it up the stairs not wanting to wait any longer for the night to truly begin.

~~~

You were waiting in your position on the bed for what felt like hours, but you knew it had only been a few minutes before you heard multiple sets of footsteps coming up the stairs. You moved to cover your chest when you heard the doorknob turn, unsure if you should be exposed or not right away.

Ron came in first but left the door open just enough so your guests could hear. “Last chance, bun. Do you want this?” He asked, slowly coming over to rest his hands on the bed, leaning over slightly so his tall form was eye level with you.

You knew it wasn’t your last chance to say no, but it was your last chance before the twins waltzed in.

You took a shaky breath and nodded your head, saying “Yes,” loud enough so Fred and George could hear.

The door was opening once more, the twins walking through, both pairs of eyes immediately on you. When the door shut, you stared up at them, unsure what to do or say, but their matching smirk told you they already had plans.

Ron walked around the bed until he crawled on to it behind you, his legs bracketing your hips as you knelt between his spread thighs.

“Let them see you,” he coaxed gently, hands coming around you to grip your forearms.

He only put a light pressure on your skin, letting you move on your own as you exposed your chest to them. They took you in with hungry eyes but they didn’t move from where they both stood before you, waiting.

“All of you,” Ron spoke again, his hands trailing down to your thighs, gently prying them apart.

You leaned back and hid your face in his neck as he repositioned you, unable to look the two men in the eyes as your entire body got exposed to them. You knew you were a dripping mess over the situation and the embarrassment of it being so obvious made you squirm.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re more perfect than I imaged,” you heard George say, the bed dipping down infront of you.

Your eyes snapped to him, watching him as he looked down at your glistening sex. His eyes were hungry when they met yours, desperate. Probably the exact mirror of your own.

“Can I touch you?” George asked, his fingers twitching against the sheets, waiting.

“Please,” you begged, wanting nothing more than for one of them to do anything right now.

George wasted no time in bringing his fingers directly to your cunt, trailing one long finger through your slit while his thumb trailed soft circles onto your clit. You couldn’t hold back the moan that fell from your lips when he pushed his finger in, immediately searching for you g-spot.

As if your noises were a cue for Fred, the bed dipped on your other side and without a word, he was kissing down your chest. Soon enough, he was attacking your nipples when George was working your from the inside out. Your back was arching and your hips were moving at their own volition, unable to stop yourself under their ministrations.

“Does that feel good?” George asked you softly, placing kisses on your shoulder.

When you only nodded, Ron grabbed your chin and forced you to look directly at George. “I won’t remind you again, bunny. Use yours words,” he said sweetly, but you knew there was danger laced in his words. You knew better than anyone else what he could do to you if he reminded you one more time.

“Yes. Feels so good. Please don’t stop,” you told George, already breathless from the three men surrounding you.

You felt Fred chuckle against your skin and you knew the smirk George was wearing was only mimicked by Ron’s behind you. They knew exactly what they were doing to you.

You couldn’t stop the whine that left you when George removed his hand, but your eyes lit up when you saw him go to kneel at the edge of the bed. He pulled up his to the edge, draped your legs over his shoulder, and started trailing kitten licks all along your slit until his tongue was swirling around your clit.

You held fell back against Ron’s shoulder, a moan falling from your lips as Fred moved to your other side to attack your opposite nipple.

“Having fun?” Ron asked, beaming down at you.

You nodded breathlessly, your eyes rolling back in your head with a flushed smile on your face. “Want you too,” you told him.

“Of course you do, my greedy girl,” Ron mused, his finger coming to tilt your lips back and locking your lips in a kiss.

Your body was overwhelmed with just their lips. You weren’t sure how you would handle it when their pants came off.

Your hips were grinding down onto George’s face without you sparing it a second thought and you kept pushing your chest into Fred’s lips, your entire body grinding back on Ron’s body.

“She tastes like fucking heaven,” George said, finally coming up for a breath. His entire chin was soaked in his own saliva and your juices and his eyes were blown with lust.

Ron made a noise of agreement that was swallowed up by your lips, but you were ripped away from your boyfriend by George’s grip on your neck. He pulled you into a kiss with him, tasting yourself on his tongue, as Fred trailed kisses down your body until he was getting a taste of you for himself.

Fred quickly brought you your orgasm, his tongue so deep inside of you that your toes were curling. Your hands had a monster grip on Ron’s thighs and every noise you made got swallowed by George, his lips hot on yours.

You finally relaxed your body against Ron’s, his chest being the perfect place to settle against, as your body calmed down.

“Think you can handle all three of us?” Fred asked cheekily, looking up at you from his place on the floor.

You gave a shaky nod, but in your head you were unsure how this would even work. You never thought you’t get this far to even have considered it.

That line of thought was abruptly cut off when Ron grabbed your hair and yanked back so you were looking up at him again. “What did I say about using your words?” He asked darkly.

“Yes, I want to. I can,” you got out breathlessly, still basking in the sting of your scalp.

“Good,” Ron said, now satiated with your words. “Get on your hands and knees for us, bunny.”

He gave you one last searing kiss before releasing you, letting you adjust your own shaky limbs on the bed until you were in the position he instructed you to be in. As you did that, the boys began stripping themselves of their clothes, Fred and George both strategically in your line of sight depending on which way you turned your head.

You watched as they both ripped their shirts over their heads, a sight you were accustomed to thanks to many sweaty afternoons in the yard playing Quidditch. But you didn’t know where to look as they peeled down their jeans and briefs, relieving both of their impressive lengths. They were both around the same length, but Ron was thicker than both of them. No matter what, you knew you’d be sore in the morning.

“This is how it’s gonna work, bunny,” Ron said, finally rounding the bed so he could see you. “I’m gonna fuck this pretty little cunt,” he told you, adding emphasis of his possession when he bent over and easily hooked two fingers inside of you, pressing directly on your g-spot. You jumped at the abrupt action, but you never broke your eye contact with him.

“Fred’s going to fuck that tight ass,” he continued, and you watched as Fred rounded the bed until he was behind you.

“And George is gonna fuck that cute face,” Ron finished, George coming up on the other side of you to grip your face to force you to look at him.

“Does that sound good, sweetheart?” George asked, looking down at you fondly.

“Yes, fuck. Please,” you said, your hips beginning to move against nothing now that Ron had removed his fingers, searching for any ounce of friction you can get.

They moved in almost perfect sync. Ron maneuvered his way underneath you swiftly, George pulled your head off to the side so your mouth was lined up with the tip of his cock, and you could feel Fred’s lube covered fingers breach the entrance of your tightest hole all at once. You were overwhelmed in the best way, unsure what to do with yourself but totally just along for whatever ride they were about to bring you on.

When Ron fucked up into you roughly, George immediately pushed your head down to feel the full effects of your moan of his cock, causing a shiver to run through his body. They were practically fucking your mouth and core in tandem, one pulling out while the other brutally thrust in.

You felt as if you were splitting open for them already, but when Fred’s cock finally lined up with your entrance and began pushing in, you practically saw stars.

George let you pull away from him for a moment so you could breath through the new pressure inside of you, your head now buried in Ron’s neck as you panted and moaned. Ron had slowed down his thrusts to match with Fred, balancing you on the precipice of pain and pleasure.

“You’re doing so fucking good for us, Y/N. Just give it a minute and it’ll feel so good. You’re gonna be so pretty when you cum for us,” Ron mused quietly in your ear, knowing that you’d latch on to his voice to get you through the intensity.

Finally, your hips starting moving against theirs, a silent signal you were ready for them to fuck you, all three of them truly went wild with you body.

George dragged your face back over to him, letting you do your own thing but keeping a steady hand in your hair in case you tried to pull away. Ron and Fred were fucking into you in perfect sync, pulling out and fucking into you at the same time.

It was so intense you were shaking, only being held up by three strong pairs of hands at this point. But you couldn’t hide how good it was making you feel. Even as deep as George’s cock was down your throat, it was barely muffling the screams of pleasure you were giving them. You just hoped someone remembered to cast a silencing charm.

You could hear them talking around you, a mix of praises directed at you and words shared between themselves. “Fuck, you feel so good” and “Just like that” mixed with “She feels like fucking heaven” and “Her mouth is a dream”. You could barely hear them over the blood pumping through you, but you knew you’d remember it later with a blush and a smile.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. Swallow it all for me,” George told you, bruising your hair out of your sweaty face. You felt the unmistakable twitch of his cock just before he spilled his cum inside of your mouth and fucked it down your throat, giving you no choice but to follow his request. He came with one of the prettiest noises you had ever heard, and you knew you’d want to hear it again someday if you were lucky enough.

You pulled away from George panting, finally able to have a minute to catch your breath as Fred and Ron continued to pound furiously into you, your body jolting with every deliberate thrust.

“Ron, please I’m so close,” you begged, for what you weren’t entirely sure, but you knew he’d know what to do. All you could focus on was how close you were, how tightly you were gripping both of your cocks, and trying your best to balance on shaky arms so you didn’t collapse.

Without missing a beat, Ron turned his head to George. “Touch her clit,” he told him, finally sounding breathless from all the work he was putting in.

Fred’s arms came around you to pull you up until your back was against his chest, giving George full access to your most sensitive spot.

“Cum for us. Show us how much you loved this and cum for us,” Fred said low in your ear.

Your eyes never left Ron’s as all three of them worked you closer and closer to the edge. As much as the twins were turning you on, this orgasm was for you boyfriend. Everyone you had was. He was the one that let this happen. Let them take you like this. And he was the one currently fucking your g-spot with every thrust it made your head spin.

“Cum for me” was all Ron had to say, seeing and feeling just how close you were, for you to explode.

Your vision went white and your whole body shook, the only thing keeping you grounded was Fred’s warm chest pressed against you. You knew the scream you were hearing was your own, but you couldn’t keep it quiet no matter how hard you tried. You pulsed around their cocks, milking them of their own orgasms as you were going through yours. You felt their cum fill you completely, another moan leaving your mouth at how erotic it felt.

When you finally felt as though you had come back down to real life, you were settled against Ron’s chest, his cock still in you, while the twins were busying themselves with getting dressed. They were talking quietly while Ron ran his hand up and down along your back, just waiting until you were finally back in the present.

George was the first one to notice your eyes had opened again when he finally got his pants back on. He walked over to the bed and knelt down so he was almost eye level with you.

“That was wonderful, darling. You were perfect,” he told you, placing a quick kiss to your forehead before righting himself only for Fred to take his place.

“What he said,” Fred told you with a smirk and mimicking his twin's kiss to your forehead. “We’ll see you two lovebirds in the morning,” he added with a wink.

They both made their way out of the room, the door clicking behind them, leaving you and Ron in a blissed out silence.

“Did you have fun?” He finally asked, tilting his neck so he was looking down at you.

“I did. Thank you,” you said with a soft smile.

“My girl always gets what she wants. You just have to ask, bunny,” He said, placing a kiss on your nose.

When you moved your lips up to move against his, he stopped you with a chuckle. “No offense but my brother did just cum in your mouth. So let’s go get you cleaned up so I can kiss you properly, yeah?” He asked, wrapping a blanket around you so he could get you down the hallway and into the bathroom.

“I thought you weren’t going to be weird about it,” you grumbled under your breath as he adjusted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style.

“That’s different and you know it,” he said defensively as he made his way for the door, making you giggle.

#harry potter #ron weasley #ron weasley smut #ron wealsey imagine #ron wealsey headcannon #ron weasley drabble #fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley imagine #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley blurb #george weasley #george weasley smut #george wealsey imagine #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey drabble

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jackrrabbit · 3 years

Text

cooking at 3am /// Osamu x f!Reader

Request: Imagine cooking together with Osamu at 3am because neither of you could sleep (or because ‘Samu got the midnight munchies lol). You don’t have anything specific in mind; you’re just playing around and feeding each other little bits of what you make.

A/N: bruh you said munchies and my mind said [[ h i g h o s a m u ]] sorry this went in a kinda different direction? but still fun 3am cooking project vibes :P

Tag/warnings: fluff, light drug use (weed), you and Atsumu are lowkey Bros™️, Osamu's kinda baby 🤧

Osamu’s not good at smoking.

He doesn’t really know how to inhale—you know, hold it in his lungs so it can soak in or whatever—and when he does, he coughs. Except he tries to repress the coughs. Even if he wants to hide it, he’s always close enough to you that you can feel his chest moving from trying not to cough when he takes a hit.

And also, like every baby smoker, he can’t really tell when it’s kicking in until he’s off the deep end.

“Can you feel it yet?”

“No.”

You shoot Osamu a glance where he’s sitting on the ground in front of the couch, watching a nature documentary on Atsumu’s TV with a glazed-over look on his face. “You sure? Your eyes are super red.”

“I can’t feel it. Give it—“ He holds out his hand and honestly you’re pretty sure he’s had plenty, but it’s Atsumu’s vape so who cares. You hand it over and Osamu holds it up to his mouth and sucks, eyes fluttering closed as the light on the side of the Pax glows yellow.

God, he looks hot when he does that. Something about a hot guy smoking, yeah? Actually, no. Something about your hot boyfriend smoking.

Except 'Samu holds his breath a second too long and you can see the urge to cough hit him… Wait for it, you think to yourself, and a second later he hacks and wheezes the vapor out in a wispy cloud that reflects silver against the semi-dark. You coo in sympathy and pat his back. “Want some water?”

Osamu shakes his head, hand over his mouth to stop the coughing. On the tv, David Attenborough talks about penguin courtship rituals and Atsumu (who’s been draped on the couch next to you for the past few hours) gives a light little sigh in his sleep. You check the time. 3am. Bedtime. Too bad you and 'Samu are both too high to drive home…whoops. Guess you’re spending the night at Atsumu’s place.

Osamu rubs his bloodshot eyes like they’re itchy, which they probably are. “Hey, can we— uhh… Do we have pancakes.”

“Pancakes, babe? You mean the ones you made for breakfast?”

“Yeah, there’s leftovers…I made you extra and you didn’t want them.” He twists around and gives you an incredibly dirty look, like this is something you did on purpose to hurt his feelings. “If you don’t want them I’m going to eat them.”

“Wait, 'Samu—“ But Osamu's already getting up off the floor to wander over to the next room. You debate pausing the show—it’s a really good scene—but you leave it going for Atsumu's sake because you’re pretty sure the narration is the only thing keeping him asleep. He’s kinda drooling on your shoulder and you have to push him off to go follow your boyfriend to the kitchen.

“What is all this stuff? Ugh…” Osamu's pawing through the fridge. There’s a lot of crinkling, plastic sounds—you catch a glimpse inside and all of the shelves are stacked up with plastic bags and styrofoam containers.

You yawn and hop up to sit on the kitchen island. “Takeout? I don’t think he cooks.” Atsumu's going to get a lecture tomorrow for keeping 2-week-old Indian food in his fridge. God knows you heard it way too many times before you and Osamu moved in together. You don’t envy 'Tsumu.

Osamu sits down in front of the fridge, fumbles with a drawer, and pulls out a bag of moldy grapes. “Gross…who lives like this…”

You snicker into your hand.

“I can’t find the pancakes.” 'Samu's pulling the plastic drawers all the way out now, setting them down on the floor as he inspects the contents of the fridge.

“They’re not here.”

“You ate them?”

“No, I— Hey, put those back in,” you tell him helplessly as he shuts the door of the fridge, ignoring all the leftover food he took out. Yeah, half of it was probably off anyway, but Atsumu's gonna be pissed if he wakes up and there’s takeout going bad all over his kitchen floor.

“You threw away my pancakes?” Now the look on Osamu's face is utter betrayal. He stands up off the floor and glares sulkily at you. “I made those for you…”

“I didn’t throw them away, they’re—“ You hold back a laugh and wish you had your phone on you (where did it go?) so you could take a picture. He’s so cute when he smokes. “—they’re at home.”

“At home?”

“Yep, at home. The place where you and me live, remember?”

“Oh.” Osamu pauses, reaches out absently to grab the edge of your sleeve. You’re wearing one of his hoodies. “We’re not at home?”

“Nope. We’re at Atsumu's place,” you tell him through a giggle.

He plays with your sleeve, contemplating. “Why?”

“Because we’re out of weed and he said he’d smoke us out. And we like hanging out with him.”

“Oh. We do?”

“Yes.”

“…’Kay.” It takes Osamu a second to accept this, but then he nods seriously. “(Y/N), I'm hungry.”

“I know. What do you want to eat? You could probably have any of that stuff, I don’t think he’ll miss it.”

'Samu thinks about it for a moment, scanning the array of takeout containers spread out across the kitchen floor. “I want pancakes.”

“The pancakes are at home, remember?”

“Yeah…” Osamu flips over his grip on your sleeve and traces his thumb down the lines in your palm. “I could make some?”

More pancakes? “I don’t think 'Tsumu has eggs, babe. Or flour. Or…baking soda?” You’re not really sure what ingredients go into pancakes. Whatever cooking skills you possessed pre-Osamu have deteriorated significantly since you moved in together and he took over any and all food preparation for your household.

He pouts at this, and his hair is a little messed up, and he’s so pretty that you can’t stand how much you like him in that second. Mine mine mine, something in the back of your brain says. He’s mine.

You reach up and Osamu obediently ducks his head down so you can smooth his hair back into place and fix the bits that are flipping over his part. “Is there anything else you want to eat?”

“Onigiri.”

“Oh…” Well, at least Atsumu probably has rice. “Sure. Ok. That’s your specialty.”

“I want ya to make it for me.”

“What?” You frown and pull your hand out of his. “You know my cooking sucks.”

“No it doesn’t. (Y/N)’s food’s the best.”

“You own an onigiri shop, come on—“

“Please?”

One of his bangs falls back in his eyes and without thinking you reach up to put it in place. “Okay, fine. But you can’t complain about it if it’s not good.”

He smiles and you want to blush. “Yes! I promise.”

So you do it for him. Even though you’re high too. You measure some rice and water into the rice cooker (Osamu has to give you pointers on how much of each to put in) and you scrounge around Atsumu's depressingly bare kitchen for a few sheets of seaweed and some easy fillings. Osamu pulls a stool up to the island counter and rests his chin on his hands so he can watch you with a bleary look of adoration on his face.

It takes you…maybe half an hour to be done? It’s hard to gauge time when you’re high. You and 'Samu both jump when the rice cooker finishes and plays the little rice cooker song, which will remain stuck in your head for the foreseeable future. 'Samu hums it in a loop while you shape the rice into lopsided triangles and wrap the nori around it.

“Here,” you tell him when you set the plate down in front of him. He looks entirely too happy to be eating your mediocre food for someone who literally does this for a living, but who cares.

He picks one, takes a bite, swallows. And blinks.

“What do you think?” you ask in spite of yourself.

“Umm…salty,” Osamu says.

You grab one to try yourself and it’s salty. Like, ocean salty. Yuck. “I told you it would be bad,” you complain, trying to tug the plate away but Osamu grabs it and pulls it back.

“Noooo…it’s good,” he lies, although his face is giving him away. Still, he takes another bite and chews enthusiastically.

“Shut up.” You tug a little harder but Osamu doesn’t let go.

He swallows, pulls a face, and takes another one. “So good. I love it.”

“Shut up. You sound so fake. You’re going to get sick if you eat that.” You keep pulling, but he insists on pretending it’s edible so you admit defeat and help him finish the onigiri off. God, they’re awful. But he keeps eating and so you do too.

When you’re done, your mouth feels dry as fuck and you want to sleep almost as much as you want to drink about a gallon of water. “Is it bedtime yet?” 'Samu asks, wiping his mouth and then rubbing his eyes again.

The clock over the oven says it’s past 4. “Yes. It’s bedtime.”

“Wait—we’re…we’re not at home, right? We’re at 'Tsumu's?”

“Mhm.”

“I prolly drove here…I dunno if I can drive now,” Osamu tells you slowly, like he’s apologizing. “I think I'm kinda high.”

“Oh yeah?” You hold your laugh back and put your hands up on his cheeks. “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy. Blurry? Like…you’re in slow-motion.” His hands come up to layer over yours. “You’re pretty in slow-mo.”

“Prettier than usual?”

Osamu closes his eyes, scrunching them up to think and then looking over your face intently. “Same amount, just slower. So it’s easier to see.”

“That so?” You slip your hands around to drape over his shoulders and get up on your tiptoes to give him a little kiss on the cheek, because he’s earned it. “You know what, I think I'm kinda high too. I think we’re going to have to have a sleepover.”

“On the couch? S’not big enough for us both.”

“You can sleep with 'Tsumu in his bed…or I guess you could sleep on the ground?”

'Samu's mouth twists and his brows draw together. You can practically hear the gears in his mind turning while he considers alternatives. “Can we share the bed?”

“I think Atsumu's gonna want it. It’s his house.”

“But he’s already sleeping.”

True, you can hear Atsumu snoring lightly from the living room underneath David Attenborough’s description of endangered falcons in the Philippine rainforest. You should really wake him up—matter of fact, you should really clean up the kitchen because it’s a huge mess—but 'Samu's already pulling you away. And you’re so sleepy.

“He’s going to be pissed tomorrow,” you tell Osamu through a yawn, but you let him steer you in the direction of Atsumu's bedroom, holding your hand.

“Don’t care…I hate sleeping without you.”

“Yeah,” you say, and you squeeze his hand and he looks back at you like you’re the literal best thing in the entire universe—and you decide you should get him high more often. “Same.”

#osamu miya x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu #hq #hq x reader #hq imagines #hq fluff #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! fluff #osamu #osamu miya

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hrina · 4 years

Text

In The Ring, Pt. IV - Uppercut

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 10.6k REQUESTED: yes!

well lads................this is it 🥺🥺🥺 thank u guys so much for all the love you’ve given this series. i would’ve never expected to receive such a positive response, but u guys rly went above and beyond. i adore u all so much

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

as always, my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio! i worked really hard on this last part! i wanted to make sure it was all perfect, so i hope everyone enjoys it. gentle reminder to reblog the fics you like! it’s a great way to show appreciation as well as give authors more exposure. ok that’s all hehe can’t wait to hear your thoughts! take care 💙💙💙

PART I: Jab

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

~*~

March 20, 2021

Harry keeps his promise, and Artie brings your car back around to your place the next day. You sit up straight at the table when you hear the familiar honking of a horn sound from outside. Your feet suddenly seem to have a mind of their own, carrying you out of the kitchen quickly with your father’s confused inquiries ringing in your ears. You open the front door before Artie even has the chance to knock.

“Thanks, Jason,” you tell him, breathless.

He hands you your keys and accepts the quick hug that you bestow upon him. “No problem, little girl. Is everything alright?”

Harry didn’t tell him.

“Yeah,” you lie, nodding. “I just—I had a bit too much to drink last night, that’s all.” Your voice drops an octave. “Don’t tell my dad, okay?”

Artie presses two of his fingertips together and drags them over the seam of his mouth, metaphorically sealing his lips. You smile, your heartbeat returning to its regular pace beneath the confines of your ribs.

You step back, extending an arm and gesturing for him to enter.

“Are you hungry? We were in the middle of eating lunch.”

“Sure,” he says, kicking off his shoes and arranging them against the wall. “Thank you.”

He and your father talk about anything and everything during the meal—boxing, the economy, the basketball game that had aired late last night. You just sit there and eat your food, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention.

They include you in the conversation for a bit—Artie asks how classes are going, and you tell him that you’re waiting for medical school acceptance (or rejection) letters to start rolling in. Other than that, they don’t bat an eye when you rinse your plate in the sink and politely excuse yourself from the table. You hide behind the fact that you have to work on an assignment that’s due in a week—the paper is worth a third of your grade and it’s crucial that you ace it.

But once you hobble back into your room, you’re crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over your head. You reach around blindly for your phone, snatching it up from where it’s charging on your nightstand. You unlock the device, scrolling through all of the grey messages that pop up right away—sent last night, one after the other, each of them unanswered, growing more and more desperate as the hours pass.

Can we please talk about this?

I’m sorry, please let me explain.

Are you ignoring me?

I know you’re seeing these. Please respond.

And then a final one, dejected and crestfallen, laced with palpable weakness even through the pixels of your screen.

Goodnight.

April 6, 2021

Harry’s on a losing streak.

A five-match losing streak, to be precise.

He’s never been bested this many times in a row. Your father is baffled by it, unsure of why he’s been so distracted in the ring. It’s even more confusing, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s at the gym every single day, lifting weights, practicing his technique, throwing himself into the sport. But once the actual fights roll around, things change. You’re not there, and you’re his lucky charm, and because of that, he finds himself meeting the ground far more often than he’d like to admit.

Your father said that the end of the semester was approaching—as a consequence, you were buckling down with school. Harry supposes that the timing is right, so the pretext must be true. But his opponents don’t know that (nor would they care). Your absence doesn’t stop them from knocking him down with snarling faces and heavy fists. The crowds holler loudly, goading him to get back up, but Harry doesn’t. He refuses to give them the satisfaction of watching him get beaten to a bloody pulp.

He stopped trying to reach out to you a week after the night of the kiss. He composed several texts a day, but each message had been met with silence. He remembers staring down at his phone one time, watching as three grey dots wiggled on the screen for a minute or two before disappearing entirely.

That’s when he gave up. If you didn’t want to talk, fine.

It hurt like hell, though.

And it’s still hurting like hell, even a week and a half later.

You told your father about James. He had mentioned it in passing to Harry, having to end practice earlier than usual because he had to set a court date to deal with some bastard who wouldn’t leave you alone. And that’s comforting, Harry thinks, because at least he knows that you’ll be safe, now.

He just wishes that he could’ve been the one to bring you that bit of solace.

That’s why, when your father invites him over for dinner one night after a particularly strenuous evening of training, he jumps at the opportunity. You’re making lasagna, your father says, having taken a break from studying for exams. Harry agrees to come over, because it’s been a while since he’s had a real, curated, love-infused, home-cooked meal.

And because you’ll be there, too, obviously. But he refrains from letting that incentive slip loose.

His heart is racing nervously when he parks his truck in front of your house. Memories flood his brain, reminding him of what had happened the last time he’d been here—the glint of your necklace under his fingers, the alluring twinkle in your eyes. The softness of your lips against his, the sensation of your nails carding through his hair—

Your father taps on the window of the driver’s seat.

“H?” he says, muffled through the glass. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” Harry chokes out, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the vehicle. “Yeah, sorry.”

He follows your father up the porch steps, waiting anxiously as the other man unlocks the front door. It swings open; they both step inside. Harry’s eyes widen when your father calls out, “Gioia? I’m home!”

“Hi!” comes your reply.

He freezes when the sound reaches his ears, because he hasn’t heard your voice—much less seen you—in over two weeks. He shuts the door discreetly, removing his shoes and trailing after your father as he pads down the hall. The closer he draws to the kitchen, the more he can smell it—meat, spices, cheese. His stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Hope you made enough for three,” your father says, entering the room.

Harry lingers behind you, leaning against the wide threshold with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. He’s still a bit sweaty, but he hopes that the lasagna in the oven will mask the musky scent of the perspiration gleaming on his skin.

“Three?” you ask. You’re standing at the sink, your back to them. “Hi, Jason.”

A beat of silence passes, and then—

“Er, not exactly,” Harry grunts.

You stiffen immediately before spinning around. He doesn’t miss the quiet little gasp that leaves your mouth.

Your gaze locks with his, lips parted in surprise, and he can’t help but wonder if coming here was the smartest or the most foolish decision he’s ever made.

~*~

He and your father set the table.

After a few minutes, three plates and three collections of cutlery are laid out over a pristine white cloth. Harry eases into his chair as you carry over a hot tray of lasagna, your hands sheathed in a pair of red oven mittens. You put the pasta down in front of your father, who is sat at the head of the table. He inhales deeply, a small smile forming on his face.

“Smells amazing, sweetheart,” he tells you, nodding in approval. “Even better than your mother’s.”

“That’s a lie,” you tease, chuckling quietly and removing the crimson gloves from your fingers. You cut a large piece from the platter and deposit it onto his dish. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he says.

He waits patiently as you separate another chunk of pasta for Harry, setting it down on his plate without a word.

“Thank you,” Harry tells you, his voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” you say. The response is short, painfully clipped—it makes him wince.

As soon as everyone has food in front of them, you sit down in your chair, reaching for the fork and the knife resting a few inches away from your dish. Before you can dig in, however, you pause, lifting your chin and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Shit,” you murmur. “Forgot the drinks.”

“There’s juice in the fridge, I think,” your father says through a mouthful of pasta.

“No.” You wave his suggestion away. “How about some wine? I’ll grab a bottle from the cellar.”

“Alright.” He nods, but then speaks again as you stand. “Wait—I think the treadmill in the basement is blocking the door. Harry—,” Harry’s head snaps up, nostrils flaring at the mention of his name, “—would you mind going with her? She won’t be able to move it by herself.”

“Uh,” he says stupidly. “Yeah, sure.”

He quickly excuses himself from the table, glancing over at you to register your reaction. Your expression is stony, betraying nothing. You swallow heavily, looking away and marching quickly out of the kitchen. He follows you without another word, hot on your heels.

The basement is dimly-lit, stocked with a few shelves of non-perishable foods and household supplies. Harry remains silent as you make your way over to the far wall, approaching the dark grey treadmill pressed against the door of the cellar. You place both hands on the side of the machine, giving it a firm push and grunting when it budges only an inch.

“You going to help me, or what?” you ask, casting an expectant glance at Harry from over your arm.

He blinks. “Right.”

Together, the two of you manage to ease the treadmill a few feet to the left. It’s enough space for you to open the door of the wine cellar and slip inside. Darkness envelopes your bodies, dissolving only when a small click! echoes through the still air. A moment later, the alcove is illuminated in a dull glow, compliments of the scrawny yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling.

You release the thin string attached to the light, turning around and gasping when you find Harry perched directly behind you. Your chests brush together—the contact sends sparks whizzing down his spine. You spin back around quickly, clearing your throat and scanning all of the different bottles balanced on the shelves.

“Thanks for your help,” you say dryly. “You can go back upstairs, now.”

“I’m good,” Harry mutters.

He clasps his hands behind his back as you trail your index finger along dozens of cream-coloured labels. Your hair is gathered in a low ponytail; a few shorter, wispier strands peek out from behind your ears. You’re not wearing makeup, today—and why would you, Harry thinks, when you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

“So,” he starts, itching to break the silence, “your dad told me that you’re filing a restraining order against James.”

“Yeah,” you reply curtly. He waits for you to continue, but you say nothing else.

“Feel better now that you’ve come clean?” he questions. Immediately, he knows that it’s the wrong thing to ask. But it’s out there, now, and he can’t exactly take it back.

A hollow laugh tumbles off of your tongue. Behind you, Harry notices the way you shake your head in disdain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?” He cocks an eyebrow challengingly, frowning at your tone.

“I said that you’re ridiculous,” you gripe, whipping around and fixing him with a fiery glare. “Need me to repeat it again?”

“If that means you’ll finally be speaking to me, then yeah, go for it,” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest.

“I—,” you break off, surprised by the bite in his rebuttal. Harry clenches his jaw when you turn back around. Your hand quivers as you reach for a random bottle of red wine. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“When, then?” he demands, taking a step closer. His front skims along your shoulder blades, and when you face him once more, your eyes widen in shock at the close proximity of your bodies. The little room suddenly feels much smaller, walls looming forward and closing you in. Your chest swells as you suck in a deep breath.

“When are we finally going to fucking talk about this?” Harry presses, meeting your gaze. Desperation drips from every syllable of his query.

You purse your lips, exhaling raggedly.

“Soon.”

A feeble assent.

An insipid shake of your head.

You angle your torso to the side, easily slipping past him and out of the cellar.

“But not today.”

April 10, 2021

Your nose is buried in a textbook when the message comes through.

Cell biology. So much information to remember, so many reactions to list, so many molecules to name. And weeks of studying, just for a two-hour-long final that’ll take place three days from now. If you weren’t so stressed out, the sheer nonsensicality of the situation would have made you laugh.

So when your phone chimes with the alert, you figure that it’s time for a break. A quick conversation with one of your friends, maybe. Something to take your mind off of the looming exam, even if it is just for a few minutes at a time. After that, you’ll get back to revising.

Sadly, nothing is ever that simple.

We need to talk. Come to the gym.

Your eyes widen when the words sink in. As you rub your clammy palms against the grey material of your sweatpants, another text pops up below the first.

Please.

You shouldn’t. You need to study. But even as you warn yourself against it, your brain is already coming up with a multitude of reasons to meet with him. It’s just one night. Your exam isn’t for another few days. You have time. You deserve to take a break.

Your keys jingle cheerfully as you toss them into your bag.

~*~

Harry is going to town when you walk into the gym.

You’re not quite sure how that poor punching bag has managed to stay balanced on its hook. Harry’s coming at it from every angle, pummeling the leather with hard, heavy fists. He’s wearing a black tank top today; deep armholes cut into the sides of the fabric and expose most of his torso. The dark tattoos on his skin glisten under a thin sheen of sweat; a small, stupid part of you expects the ink to run and smudge before you remember that the designs are permanent.

What’s even worse? Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande is playing on his phone. The soft, feathery croons of her voice mix with the low grunts that escape Harry’s throat—sounds that claw their way out of him with each blow delivered to the bag. Under normal circumstances, the juxtaposition would have made you snort.

Now though, it just reminds you of that night all those months ago, when you’d asked him to teach you how to box. This entire train wreck could have been avoided if you’d simply kept your mouth shut.

Harry still hasn’t noticed you. How could he, when you’re standing behind him?

You clear your throat. He freezes mid-strike.

His grassy eyes are wide when he turns around.

“Hi,” he says, surprised. “I—I didn’t think you would come.”

“I was halfway here when I realised that I didn’t text you back,” you reply, scratching awkwardly at the nape of your neck. “But, like…no handheld devices behind the wheel, and all that jazz.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, scanning your surroundings. You don’t know why you do that—nothing in the gym has changed. You’re just trying to avoid Harry’s gaze, which is a lot easier said than done.

“You, um…you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He nods, walking over to the ring and pausing the music streaming from his phone.

He then reaches for two pairs of boxing gloves, nestling one in the crook of his elbow and tossing the other at you. The strap of your purse slides from your shoulder as you catch the leather in your arms. You peer down at the gloves, eyes narrowing in confusion before you train them back on him.

“I don’t get it,” you deadpan.

“Really?” Harry asks. He hoists himself onto the raised platform of the ring and slips through the gaps in the ropes. “Because you’ve been begging to go up against me since January. Are you seriously gonna back out now?”

“Go up against—” The rest of your sentence fizzles out. “I…I thought you wanted to have a conversation, not a competition.”

He shrugs, regarding you evenly as he pulls his gloves on and tightens the straps around his wrists. He then bumps his enclosed fists together, tilting his head to the side.

“Why can’t we do both?”

~*~

You look pretty, Harry thinks.

Standing on the far side of the ring, wearing a black tank top, grey sweatpants, and bright pink sneakers—yeah, you look pretty. You’ve cuffed your bottoms so that they’re rolled up to the spot just below your knees, and your hair has been pulled back into a low bun. There’s no emotion on your face as you stare him down, taking a few steps closer and assuming a fighting stance.

You’ve gotten better—he’ll be the first to admit it. But he’s going to beat you, and you both know it. It’s just a matter of when.

He decides that, for the time being, he’ll go easy on you. The two of you will talk things out, and afterward, he might let you win. Maybe. He’s still on the fence about that.

You both begin to move in a circle. After a long moment of silence, Harry says, “You go first.”

“No, you,” you grit out. He just shrugs.

Fine. Have it your way.

You block the straight, pointed jab that he throws, and pride swells up in his chest. It’s a simple punch to deflect, but nevertheless, it tells him that you’ve learned something over these past few months. And that means that he’s done a good job as your teacher.

As your friend…not so much.

Do friends kiss other friends the same way you’d kissed him in front of your house?

He really doesn’t know.

“Right, then,” Harry starts, nodding. “Let’s talk.”

“About what?” you ask. Your nose wrinkles in concentration as you direct a blow toward his stomach. He blocks it easily. “About how you kissed me back and then told me you didn’t have feelings for me?”

“I—,” he’s stunned, because okay, you’re coming right on out with it. “I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry for lying, but you don’t seem to realise that.

“I was so fucking embarrassed,” you say, lunging forward and throwing a cross at his nose. He bats your fist away like it’s nothing more than a pesky fly. “But I guess that I’m mad at myself, too. Here I am, starting to like you, meanwhile I barely know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks, keeping his arms in front of his face.

(Deep down, beneath his stoic exterior, he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You had been ‘starting to like’ him? He’s scared, then, because that means he ruined everything that night in his truck. Do you still feel the same way?)

Harry blinks—shakes his head free of those thoughts and continues. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you.”

“Really,” you reply, though it isn’t exactly a question.

You drop your hands, taken aback by his offer. He’s not usually this open—you should seize the opportunity to probe while it’s still available. You will, he thinks. Over these past few months, he’s learned how you operate. You’re not predictable, by any means, but he knows that you can’t resist inquiring about his personal life when given the chance.

You want to know him. If he thinks about it for too long, his affections become exceedingly difficult to bear.

“Really,” he says.

He steps forward and curves his right arm in a powerful hook. You yelp jarringly when the rough leather of his glove makes contact with your left shoulder. He just shrugs, pulling back.

“Remember: don’t let your guard down.”

You clench your jaw and raise your fists once more.

“Fine, then,” you say, sidestepping another one of his jabs. “Where were you born?”

“Redditch, England,” he answers simply. “Moved to Holmes Chapel when I was a kid, though.”

You nod. The two of you continue to circle each other.

“Got any siblings?” you ask, charging him and attempting to deliver a series of punches to his torso. He deflects each of them with his forearms, never faltering.

“A sister,” he says, unbothered. “She lives back home.”

“And what about your parents?” you press, retreating and watching him with careful eyes.

He swallows roughly, shaking his head. “Dad left when I was seven. Mum died when I was fourteen.”

At that, you pause. You heed his earlier advice and keep your hands in front of your face, but it’s clear that his confession has caught you by surprise. Your gaze softens, and he watches as your lips curl down into a sympathetic frown.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly, your shoulders slouching. “That’s terrible.”

He shrugs. “It’s in the past—can’t change it, now.”

He takes advantage of your pitying nature, springing toward you and aiming a punch for your hip. You barely manage to avoid the blow, jumping back at the last second. His glove scrapes swiftly against your side. The attack seems to snap you out of your emotions, because you scowl deeply and return to your original stance.

“What happened after that?” you ask, breathing erratically.

“They put me in foster care,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It was shit, though. I ran away after a couple of years. Went off on my own—that’s when I met your dad.”

“And he started training you?”

“And he started training me,” he confirms with a curt nod. “Couldn’t actually fight until I turned eighteen, but after that…I was taking up as many matches as I could.” He chuckles warmly at the memory. “Your dad said that he’d never seen anything like it. Told me I had to slow down.”

You smile a bit at his words. Your fondness quickly melts into shock, however, when Harry aims a hit for your face. You block the punch, retaliating quickly and throwing one of your own. Your fist makes contact with the barrier of his chest, and he stumbles backward, his eyes widening in disbelief. You got him.

Only once, but still.

You got him.

“Not bad,” he grunts, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe I should actually start trying, now.”

You grit your teeth, glowering at him. “God, you’re such a dick.”

He flashes you a contemptuous grin before lunging forward. You dodge two of his punches, but the third one catches you right in the stomach, making you double over and cough. Harry retreats, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Done getting to know me?” he simpers.

You shake your head, straightening back up. “Not yet.”

You make a valiant effort, Harry thinks. Your dedication is commendable. But he’s had a decade of training, whereas you’ve only had a few months. Your technique—though improved—is still sloppy. And that’s what allows him to sidestep all of your strikes and react quickly, enough so that he’s got you pinned to the ground in just under two minutes.

You’re panting heavily; one of his forearms holds your crossed wrists down over your head. His other hand is planted on the floor just above your shoulder, the flat front of his boxing glove providing a stable surface to keep him balanced. His knees are next to your waist as he hovers over your stomach, giving you no room to worm out of his grip. You flail your legs in frustration, but he’s perched too high up on your body for the action to do any real damage.

“I win,” he says simply, arrogance dancing in his eyes. He leans down so that your noses are only inches apart. “Any more questions, baby?”

“Just one,” you bite, panting heavily.

He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for the inquiry to leave your lips. Once it does, however, it knocks every molecule of air from his lungs.

“Have you…,” you inhale deeply, “…ever been in love?”

The expression on your face tells him that you know exactly what you’re doing. Your chest heaves with exertion, and when his gaze flickers down to your breasts for only a fraction of a second, your eyes illumine with realisation.

“You want me,” you tell him, breathless. A thin, reflective layer of perspiration has gathered at your hairline. Your arms twitch from where they’re pinned beneath his. Despite the gloves still covering your hands, you grasp at his slippery skin, hoping that the contact will somehow make his already-weak resolve crack and crumble into nothing.

“No,” he says, his voice hard.

His green irises burn into your face. Who is he trying to convince?

“You’re lying,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “You want me.”

Your skin is hot. He can feel you radiating warmth like a fireplace. Heated, cozy, welcoming—it’s everything he loves about you, everything he’s been craving since he first became conscious of how badly he desired you. And, to top it all off, you’re looking at him like that—with eyes that could persuade him to jump from a skyscraper, if you so much as asked.

Just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry spits. He pulls back sharply and stamps his own eyes shut. His nose screws up in frustration. “Fuck.”

And then he’s kissing you.

The elated moan that slips from your lips has his cock twitching fitfully in his shorts. You arch your back to get closer to him, because with his hand still pinning you down, it’s not like you can throw your arms around his neck and bring him to you. The kiss is messy and frenzied and hot and carnal. Harry licks into your mouth, savouring the squeak that echoes in your throat.

You’re vocal—he’s going to fucking die.

When the two of you pull back, no words are exchanged. Harry stares down at you, taking note of how your pupils have dilated immensely. Your chest is still heaving, but this time, it’s for a completely different reason. He releases your wrists from where they’re pinned beneath his forearm, watching you carefully as he sits up.

He lifts his fist to his face and takes the strap of the glove between his teeth. The sharp riiip! that ensues may as well be a starter gunshot.

You both dive back into a sea of teeth and lips and tongue. Harry throws off his gloves easily. You struggle with yours, but he wastes no time, helping you discard them in a matter of seconds. With your hands finally free, you bury them in his hair, pulling at the soft, damp tendrils as he presses several hard kisses to your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, slanting his body downward so that his crotch is level with yours. “You—you have no idea—”

The rest of his sentence fades into a groan when you suck harshly on his jaw. He shudders at the sensation.

Gradually, you bring your legs out from beneath his own, lifting your knees up to your chest and then wrapping your thighs around his waist. It’s an impressive feat, if he’s being honest. And it gives him more room to lean over you, to grind his cock against your centre through the layers of fabric separating your skin.

“Off—,” you choke, tugging at the bottom of his black shirt. “Get this off!”

He complies, sitting back up on his knees and ridding himself of the fabric. You take advantage of his instability, wrapping one hand around his bicep and giving it a hard shove. He topples to the side and you scramble up to straddle him, a small, smug smile ghosting across your face.

“What are you—?” he starts, but you place one finger against his lips, cutting him off.

You start to roll your hips gently into his—he groans, wishing more than anything that there were no clothes in the way. Goosebumps erupt on his arms when you lightly scrape your nails down his bare chest. You settle at the butterfly inked into his abdomen, tracing the insect’s wings with a wondrous look in your eyes. His palms sweep up your thighs.

“Why did you lie to me?” you murmur, keeping your gaze trained on his torso. “You feel the same, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly.

“Why, then?” you press, frowning gently. “I—we could’ve avoided this whole thing if you’d just told me the truth.”

“Your dad,” Harry says weakly. “I can’t—you’re his—”

“My dad has no control over who I date or who I fuck,” you say. He’s stunned by the crudeness of your claim. “And if I want to fuck you right here, right now, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You—Christ,” he swallows heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why not?” you smirk, grinding against him harshly and feeling the stiff outline of his cock in his shorts. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

“Fuck,” he grunts. You shriek when he flips the two of you over so that he’s back on top. His nose brushes against yours as he speaks.

“If we do this,” he warns, hot breath fanning out over your chin, “I won’t be gentle. In every single one of my fantasies, I’ve ruined you—made you drool, made you cry. You name it, I’ve done it. You sure you can handle that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, utterly enthralled. “I’m sure.”

Harry tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear, peering down at you tenderly.

“Look so pretty,” he coos, fingers skimming down the side of your throat. “Can’t wait to wreck your cute, little—” He sucks in a deep breath, weakened by the shamelessness of his own thoughts. “Gonna make sure your knees knock together once I’m through with you.”

And maybe it’s not smart to get you naked in the middle of the gym, where anyone walking by could easily peer inside and witness him fucking you into oblivion. But he can’t find it in himself to care—he’s been waiting for this moment for years, and damn him if he doesn’t seize it while you’re like this: open, inviting, presented to him like gourmet food on a silver platter.

And speaking of food…

“I’m gonna stretch you out,” Harry states. “You’ve got to cum first if you wanna take my cock, understand?”

You nod rapidly.

He shakes his head. “Need to hear you say it, baby. You want it, too, right?”

“I want it,” you confirm, breathless. “I want it, I understand.”

He smiles. His fingers ruck up the material of your tank top, and you lift your back from the ground to help him remove it. Your bra is next, pale pink with a simple bow resting between the cups. He swears when you unclip it quickly, letting the straps fall down your shoulders before tossing it away.

“Christ,” he says, blinking. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

He lays you back down onto the floor of the ring, ducking his head and enveloping one of your nipples in his mouth. You moan. The bud hardens between his teeth, sensitive to his touch. He sucks harshly before pulling off, littering kisses along the skin of your breasts. His head swims with lust, transforming him into someone nearly unrecognizable. You seem to like it, though, so how bad could it really be?

“Next time,” Harry murmurs into your flesh, “I’m gonna get a proper taste. Eat you out ’til you go blind. But for now—,” he dips his hand past the waistband of your sweatpants, “—my fingers will just have to do.”

You shimmy your bottoms down, kicking them off unceremoniously and spreading your legs. And fuck, he nearly loses it right there, because this is what he’s been picturing for months, if not years. Having you laid out in front of him, exposed and ready and willing. Your thighs stretched wide, miles of soft skin leading inward and morphing into sticky, wet folds. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales deeply—the scent of your arousal floods his nose, rendering him utterly helpless. Something akin to a man unhinged.

He rubs you over your panties, first. They’re nothing special—simple black cotton covering your mound and your hipbones. But fuck him, he wasn’t expecting the ocean of excitement that seems to have pooled and soaked through the fabric. His fingertips are damp when he pulls them away.

“You’re drenched,” he groans, shaking his head in disbelief. He hooks one digit into the elastic of your underwear, looking up at you with inquisitive eyes. “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please.”

He tears the material down your legs, and then you’re naked beneath him, save for the rose-gold pendant resting on your sternum. He sits back on his heels as you spread your thighs wider, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His index finger taps the skin just below your navel, tracing a path down to where you need him most. You whine when he bypasses your clit completely, dropping instead to gather some of your wetness before trailing back up. He smears your arousal over the nub—just to get a steady, slippery rhythm going—and then leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Don’t wanna be too far,” he says sheepishly, sweetly kissing the tip of your nose. “Missed you.”

You seal your lips to his.

He makes you cum after a few minutes, slipping one finger into your channel, and then another. The entire time, his thumb stays perched on your clit, drawing expert circles and pulling wanton moans from your mouth. And when you cum—oh.

Oh.

You’re glorious, with lidded eyes and warm cheeks and teeth bared in pleasure. You ride out your high, spasming gently. Harry lays a firm hand on your stomach, feeling the muscles of your abdomen twitch beneath his palm. He continues to stimulate your clit, basking in the little aftershocks that zip up your spine and make your legs tremble.

If you were aroused before…good fucking God. He didn’t know it was possible for a woman to be this wet.

You kiss him as you come down from your orgasm, nipping softly at his bottom lip and sighing in relief. Both of his hands find your face—you seem unbothered by the fact that his fingers are coated in your juices, smearing messily against your cheek. He melts into you like he’s dying of thirst and you’re an oasis, lush and green and good. So, so good.

“Do you—,” he exhales raggedly, “—do you still want to?”

You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. It’s crazy, Harry thinks, how quickly you can oscillate between actual human sunshine and the devil personified. One minute, you’re asking him to fuck you, and the next, you’re giving him those eyes that make him feel as though every cell in his body has been liquefied.

“What were you saying about not being gentle?” you tease.

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. You gasp when he hooks a finger into the chain around your neck. He takes your pretty pink pendant between two fingers, lifting it up and dragging the cool metal along the seam of your lips. You inhale sharply.

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmurs, sighing mournfully.

“I have an IUD,” you whisper, playing with the curls at the back of his head. “We’re good.”

He groans, dropping his face into the column of your throat. “You’re fuckin’ marvelous.”

You giggle.

He shudders when you begin to push his shorts down. You look up at him with raised brows when his cock slaps against his stomach, completely unrestrained.

“No underwear?”

“Always sticks to my balls when I get sweaty,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “Need to let the boys breathe.”

A loud laugh flops out of your mouth. Harry snickers, too, trailing his nose up over your jawline so that he can catch your lips in a quick kiss. He moans as you wrap your fingers around his length, giving a few experimental pumps. Instinctively, his hips buck into your grip.

“You’re big,” you murmur. “Are you sure that it’s going to fit?”

“It’ll fit,” he promises.

He guides your legs up so that they’re wrapped around his waist, allowing him to slot himself closer to you. You gasp when his hand finds your cunt again, dipping two fingers inside before sweeping his palm over the length of your folds. He then smears your wetness along the shaft of his cock, makeshift lubrication to facilitate the first breach of your channel.

“You ready?” he says, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance. “Deep breath for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You inhale, and he nudges his hips forward. You gasp as he slips into you, inch by thick inch, stretching you out in a way that you’ve never felt before. Harry reaches for your hands, tangling your fingers together and lifting them above your head. You arch your back with the new position, and he’s unsure of whether you’re trying to wiggle away or bring him in closer.

When the heels of your feet press against his ass, guiding him deeper, he assumes that it’s the latter.

“Fuck,” he stammers as your tight heat surrounds his cock. “How—how do you feel this good?”

A wheezing laugh punches its way out of your throat.

“Feel that,” Harry says hoarsely. “So fuckin’ hot and—and wet. Not gonna take any time at all, is it?”

“For me, or for you?” you taunt. He grumbles quietly, and you snicker.

After a brief moment of silence, you squeeze his knuckles reassuringly. “You can move.”

“Thank you,” he moans, capturing your mouth with his. Your breathing hitches as he pulls out before slowly sliding back in. When you sigh in response, he takes it as encouragement to pick up the pace.

Soon, he’s fucking into you quickly, your skin slapping together in a series of brutal thrusts. With each drive of his hips into yours, soft whimpers escape your lips, floating up into the hot air and melting like ice cream under the sun. Harry growls, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder. The pain makes you writhe—in a good way.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he grunts, laving his tongue over the indents on your skin. Your necklaces clink together—silver and rose-gold tangled in a mess of thin, delicate chains. “My—my hand could never—”

“Neither could mine,” you tell him, breathless.

His spine stiffens at your words, brain overcome with the thought of you lying in bed, your fingers buried between your legs and low whines pouring from your mouth. He groans; his next thrust is hard, keen, unforgiving.

He keeps you close, your bodies never separating. Your skin is slick with sweat, chests gliding together. Adrenaline rushes through Harry’s veins—he drives ahead, plunging inside of you with each fierce snap of his hips. You can’t do anything but lie there and take it, take it, take it.

“I want you,” he gasps, warm air washing out onto your collarbones. His hands are clammy, still locked with yours; he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I want you, I want you, I—” He gulps. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Harry,” you murmur, grazing your nose against his temple. “Harry, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he pulls his face away from your throat. Your eyes are soft when they land on his, forehead shining with sweat, lips swollen and raw. The bun holding most of your hair back has come loose (Harry is certain that it’s due to the way your bodies shift along the ground with every thrust.)

You swallow roughly and shake your head, staring past his features and searching for something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, nearly crushing his fingers in your grip. “I’m here.”

Your walls pulsate around him, and his rhythm falters. He swears softly, releasing one of your hands so that he can bring his thumb down to rub haphazard shapes against your clit. You moan, surprised.

“Cum for me,” he orders, nodding rapidly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll do the same. Where do you want it, hm? Tell me.”

“Inside,” you pant, your nose screwing up in pleasure. “Cum inside me.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” he asks, awestruck. His stomach twists hotly at your invitation. “Want me to claim your pretty cunt? Is that it?”

“God,” you say. You squirm beneath him, nodding frantically. “Please!”

“Fuck!” he cries, and when you clamp down on his cock, he’s gone.

The two of you ride out your highs together, quivering and grunting in unison. Harry wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest. You dig your nails into his back, clinging to him like a piece of wood drifting through the stormy sea. Colourful spots dance in his vision—he tries his best to blink them away. Your thighs tremble around his hips, caught in an endless cycle of vibrations.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, exhaling shakily. “That was…”

Harry braces himself over your face, keeping you shielded from everything outside of your little bubble.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

A low laugh falls from your lips, but it quickly morphs into a moan when he pulls out of you. He pauses for a moment, watching as white liquid trickles from your abused entrance. The erotic sight nearly has him ready to go again.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He scoops his release up with two fingers and plugs them back inside of you. “That’s hot.”

You gasp at the slight overstimulation, wrapping a hand around his wrist reflexively. He just shoots you a wicked grin, which has you giggling girlishly in response.

“I want a kiss,” you say, craning your neck.

Harry hums, crawling up your body to fulfill your request. You smile against his lips, tossing your arms over his shoulders. The two of you exchange soft pecks for the next few minutes, basking in the aftereffects of your orgasms. Warmth unfurls in Harry’s chest, potent and contagious. It spreads through his veins, dousing his senses in a golden glow.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “And I like you. So much.”

“I like you, too,” you reply, tracing your fingertips over the muscles in his back. “But if you ever lie to me again—” Your expression grows serious. “—let’s just say that you won’t have to worry anymore about your boxers sticking to your balls, okay?”

It’s an earnest threat—he knows that you mean every word—but nevertheless, it makes him laugh. You giggle along with him; he rolls off of you, his spine meeting the floor of the ring, and you cuddle into his side. Your nails tap languidly against his sternum as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. The two of you lie there for a few long moments, enjoying the peaceful silence.

“They’re taking my case against James to trial,” you say at last.

Harry stiffens, lifting his head so that he can look down at you properly.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, refusing to meet his gaze. “But, um…my lawyer said that it might be a good idea to bring a witness to the stand. Just to seal the deal and stuff.”

You peek up at him shyly, and it clicks.

“Oh,” he says softly. “You want me?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” you say hurriedly, resting your chin on his chest. “Please don’t think that I’m forcing you—”

“Hey, no,” he cuts you off, sweeping his fingers through your hair. The action soothes you, makes your eyelids flutter shut and your lips tremble with a nervous exhale. “’Course I’ll testify. I don’t want that piece of shit coming anywhere near you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to his skin. You litter a few grateful kisses along his pectorals, and he smiles. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t have to keep saying that,” Harry mumbles, chuckling tenderly. He takes your face between his hands, thumbs trailing idly over your temples. “I wanna keep you safe. Or—or make you feel safe, at least.”

Your eyes glisten.

“I do feel safe around you,” you say. Your lips twitch. “Except for when you’re trying to punch me in the gut.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “If you want to start tussling with me more often, you’re gonna have to get used to that.”

“Duly noted.” You smirk.

Harry sighs, letting his head fall back against the ground.

“Speaking of keeping you safe…,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers resume their previous ministrations, stroking languidly through your hair. “You should go pee, yeah? Heard it’s important for girls to do that after sex.”

You laugh, surprised by his words. “How—how do you know that?”

“Sister,” he reminds you. His cheeks dimple as he grins.

You nod, mouth curling into a fond smile. “Right.”

April 26, 2021

The crowd is deafening, encasing him in a cloud of noise. He refuses to let it distract him, zeroing in on his opponent with the intensity of a thousand suns. An experimental jab comes his way, gauging the distance between them, but Harry sidesteps it easily. He retaliates with a right hook, catching the side of the man’s head. It’s not a powerful blow, but it succeeds in disorienting him for a few milliseconds.

He charges forward, then, sensing an opportunity and seizing it before it can fade away. In a flurry of fists (and the odd kick here and there), he backs his opponent up until the ropes around the ring are digging into the man’s waist. He’s ruthless, giving him no chance to react, delivering blow after blow until his rival can barely stand on his own two feet. At that point, he retreats, stepping back and letting his victory come to him.

He needs this win. He needs this win. He needs this—

His challenger falls into the trap, stumbling forward with double vision and throwing a sloppy hook. Harry bats his hand away effortlessly, lunging forward and curving his arm up. Pride flares in his chest when his fist makes contact with his opponent’s jaw, making the man’s head snap back on his neck. He drops to the floor in an unconscious, muscular heap.

The seconds pass by like molasses, but at last, the referee is climbing into the ring and lifting Harry’s hand high above his head. The crowd roars. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the praise. When they flutter open again, they’re trailing upward, searching for one particular face in a sea of strangers.

And there you are.

You’re beaming, clapping frantically and pausing every so often to cup your hands around your mouth and amplify your cheers. Harry smiles, tilting his chin upward and letting his head fall back in relief. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you, even as the referee releases his wrist and crouches to rouse his opponent from the ground.

He hears someone call his name and turns to the side. He finds your father peeking at him through the ropes circling the ring, a wide grin on his face. He beckons him over, a water bottle clutched tightly in his outstretched hand. Harry complies, breathing out a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, you’re pushing through the throng of people that have now started moving toward the exit. Going against the current is difficult—you murmur quick apologies as you nudge past countless shoulders and elbows—but finally, you emerge from the crowd, unscathed. You see Harry chatting with a few people approximately thirty feet away, but before you can take another step, a big, burly security guard blocks your path.

“No spectators beyond this point,” he tells you gruffly.

“But, I—,” your mouth opens and closes, though no words come out. Instinctively, you point over the guard’s shoulder, your finger pinned on a very sweaty, very shirtless Harry. “That’s my boyfriend.”

You only have a moment to feel shocked by your claim. Boyfriend?

It’s been weeks since that night at the gym, and yeah, you suppose that the two of you are a thing, now. You’re going out. You’re exclusive. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

But you’ve never referred to him as your boyfriend, and he’s never referred to you as his girlfriend. You haven’t talked about potentially putting a label on your relationship, despite the fact that you’re both clearly interested in seeing each other and no one else.

Is it time to have that conversation?

Harry jumps in surprise when he hears you call his name. He turns toward the sound and then grunts when you barrel into him a moment later, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. One of his hands reflexively falls to your bottom before quickly moving away. The feeling of his calloused palm on your ass sends a shiver down your spine.

You bury your face in his shoulder. He’s sweating all over, skin wet and muscles bulging from exertion. You know that you’ve caught him off-guard, because he whispers your name incredulously into your ear and presses a gentle kiss to your jaw. When he finally sets you down, you peer up at him with bright eyes and a large grin.

“That was incredible,” you gush, your hands falling to his biceps. “You obliterated him!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. His cheeks are pink—you don’t think it’s because of the match.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch sight of your father. He’s standing there with raised brows and parted lips, and you suddenly remember that he hasn’t yet been made aware of your…situation. You gasp, stepping away from Harry quickly and draping your arms around your own torso. He seems to recognize your blunder as well, because his shoulders tense and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

The two of you speak at the same time.

“Coach—”

“Dad—”

“I don’t want to know,” your father announces, holding up one hand and cutting you both off swiftly. His eyes bounce back and forth between you, features betraying no emotion whatsoever. Finally, his shoulders slump.

“I’m gonna call it a night, gioia,” he tells you. He then looks to the left, directing his next words at Harry. “Congratulations on your win, H. Have her home by midnight.”

“Dad, I’m a grown woman—,” you begin to scoff, but he gives you a pointed glare.

“Midnight,” he repeats.

You shrink away and nod.

~*~

Before leaving, Harry decides to take a quick shower in the men’s locker room. You sit on one of the benches, tapping your foot against the tiles as you watch him get undressed. It doesn’t take him long—he’s only wearing a pair of shorts, after all—but you savour every moment, your eyes raking over his muscular back as he bends down to pick his bottoms up off of the ground. He tosses the fabric into his drawstring bag before peering over his shoulder at you.

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” he asks, a coy smirk playing on his lips when he catches you staring.

You look away quickly, picking at your nails and feigning indifference. “Where anyone could walk in? I’m good.”

He shrugs, snickering quietly. “Suit yourself.”

You ogle his plump ass as he walks away.

A moment later, one of the showers turns on. You can hear Harry humming softly as he steps under the spray. You sigh, leaning back against the wall and fishing your phone out from your pocket. For the next few minutes, you scroll distractedly through social media, bored out of your mind.

You grunt softly and set your phone down, tiptoeing over to the door of the locker room and fastening it shut. The lock above the handle slides into place with a low click!

“Fuck it,” you mutter.

You flick open the button of your jeans, shoving the material down your thighs. Eventually, you’re naked, goosebumps pebbling on your arms. You set your clothes back down onto the bench and grab a spare towel, fiddling with the necklace hanging from your throat. A thought occurs to you; you unclasp the chain, pulling it off and letting it pool in the palm of your hand.

Harry’s idle singing grows louder as you approach the row of showers. It’s not hard to find his cubicle—it’s the only one with the curtain drawn over the entrance. You pad toward it, hanging your towel next to his and calling out, “Harry?”

“Yeah?” His hums stop.

You grasp the fabric of the curtain, pulling it back and peering inside. Immediately, Harry’s gaze locks with yours. He’s completely bare, standing beneath the water with hooded eyes and shampoo foaming in his hair. You slip into the cubicle, not missing the way he gawks at your naked body.

“I changed my mind,” you murmur, peering up at him shyly.

He presses his lips together to fight back a smile. “Yeah. You sure did.”

“Shut up and let me rinse your hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before you can bury your hands into the wet strands, however, you remember the jewellery clutched between your fingers.

“Actually—,” you say, hesitating. “I, um—I wanted to give this to you.”

You scoop the necklace up from your palm, holding it out nervously. Harry recognizes it immediately, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What for?” he asks, not unkindly.

“It’s my lucky charm,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “I just figured…maybe it’ll work for you, too.”

He kisses you, then, grabbing your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours. You whimper into his mouth, finding his wrists and encasing them in a tight grip. The kiss is passionate, bruising, fiery—you’ve never felt so wanted.

Harry pulls back once the two of you run out of air. Even then, he keeps his forehead pressed snugly against yours, staying close. He’s breathing heavily, and you’re starting to sweat, the humidity of the stall seeping into every last pore on your body. Harry shakes his head, gazing into your eyes.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he says.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

“But,” he continues, smiling softly, “I’ll take the necklace. It’ll be good to have for when you’re not there.”

You nod wordlessly, and he steps back. His hands find his throat, fumbling with the chain dangling over his collarbones. He reaches over his shoulders, unclasping his own necklace and presenting it to you.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll take yours, and you take mine.”

You nod again.

You turn around slowly, electricity thrumming through your body as Harry guides the silver chain around your neck. The shiny cross pendant rests against your sternum; the warmth of the metal seeps into your skin. When you face him again, Harry whistles lowly, his lips twitching.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding proudly. “My girl.”

“Is that what I am?” you ask, peeking up at him through your lashes. “Your girl?”

He pauses. He really does look ridiculous with the white, frothing shampoo slicked through his hair.

“Is that what you want to be?”

A moment of silence ensues.

“Yeah,” you finally say, biting your bottom lip. “It is.”

Harry smiles. He leans forward and kisses you again, softer this time. You nudge his shoulder with the hand that’s still holding your necklace, prompting him to spin around.

“Come on,” you murmur, delivering one last affectionate peck to his mouth. “Your turn.”

~*~

Harry pulls up to your house fifteen minutes before midnight. You unbuckle your seatbelt, modifying your position in the front seat so that you can look at him properly. Your hair is still slightly damp from your shared shower, and your skin is fresh and clean. You smell like him—like the body wash you had both used to scrub yourselves down in the small cubicle. A silver necklace—his necklace—peeks out from beneath the collar of your denim jacket.

The jewellery suits you. He doesn’t ever want you to take it off.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment until you eventually crack a smile.

“You look like you want to eat me,” you say, laughing.

“C’mere, then,” he chuckles, already leaning forward. “Lemme have a taste.”

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out playfully but obey him nonetheless, your lips meeting over the middle console of the vehicle. Harry cups your face in one hand, keeping you close. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound down—it’s the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

You carry on like that for the next few minutes, exchanging soft kisses that don’t go beyond him placing a calloused palm on your thigh. When you finally pull away, a breathless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” you ask.

“Only a dozen times a day,” he replies, smirking gently.

You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair and tilting your head to the side as you stare at him. Your eyes are far away, getting lost in your own thoughts, it seems.

“What is it?” he whispers, even though there’s no one else in the car aside from you and him.

“I love you,” you murmur absentmindedly.

Harry freezes; your confession knocks the air from his lungs.

“What?” he says, his brows knitting together.

At last, you snap out of your trance. Your admission sinks in, and you recoil, shocked at your own boldness.

“I—,” you start, your eyes growing impossibly wide. “I just meant—we’ve known each other for years, now, but I feel like I really got to know you these past few months. These past few weeks, especially.”

You shrug, playing nervously with the silver cross hanging around your neck. Harry’s heart somersaults at the sight.

“I’m sorry if it’s bad timing,” you continue; you’re rambling, now. “And I understand that it might be weird considering the fact that we just put a label on this, but—,” you break off, taking a deep breath, “—I love you. I do.”

He reaches out, trailing his fingers over the faint curve of your jaw. You gasp softly when his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip.

“Did you just apologise for telling me that you love me?” he says. Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

You squeeze your own eyes shut, cringing at his words and shaking your head.

“Don’t repeat it,” you plead. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Oh, so loving me is embarrassing?” he asks, smirking slyly.

You frown, batting his hand away and shifting your body so that you’re no longer facing him. You place your elbow against the ledge of the passenger door, resting your chin on your fist and staring pointedly out the window.

“Hey,” Harry coos, though he can’t stop the inkling of laughter that seeps into his voice. “Don’t be like that.”

“I take it back,” you say flatly, refusing to turn around. “I hate you, actually.”

“Really,” he says, but it’s not a question. He unbuckles his own seatbelt so that he can lean over the middle console and nuzzle at your cheek.

“My girlfriend hates me?” he asks; he knows that he’s being insufferable, but he can’t help it. Messing with you is so much fun.

“Yes.” Your response is curt. “She does.”

“That’s not nice,” he says, curling his lips down into a dramatic pout. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your neck—right against a particular spot that makes you melt every single time. He knows it, and so do you.

“That’s not nice at all,” Harry continues, littering sloppy pecks down the column of your throat. “This how you treat the man who loves you?”

You pause when his words register in your brain.

“Stop lying,” you mutter, keeping your gaze glued to the scenery outside your window.

“’M not lying,” he tells you, squeezing your thigh gently. “Said you’d cut my balls off if I did it again, remember?”

And despite your initial sense of humiliation, you laugh. Harry smiles, placing his free hand on your cheek and guiding you to look over at him. You submit to his wishes, gazing at him through pretty, wispy lashes. He tilts forward ever-so-slightly, nudging your noses together and fastening his lips to yours. When he pulls back after a moment, he pinches your chin between two fingers.

“I love you,” he says earnestly.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

Your eyelids flutter shut as he slides his palm up your leg; he stops only once it’s resting in the crease between your hip and your thigh, dangerously close to your groin.

“We have—,” he cranes his neck, peering over at the digital clock on the truck’s dashboard, “—five minutes until you have to be inside. Think I can make you cum between now and then?”

You scoff, pushing him away and laughing at his crudeness.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, shooting him a faux-stern glare. “Behave.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, frowning childishly. You just grin, slipping your hand around his neck and pulling him in for a doting kiss. You press a series of rapid pecks along the seam of his mouth, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before retreating. Instinctively, he follows you, but you dig your fingers into his shoulder, stopping him before he can get too far.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, reaching for the handle on the door.

Harry watches with wide, awestruck eyes as you exit the car. You clutch your purse closer to your side, looking back at him expectantly and waiting for his response.

He clears his throat, blinking out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” he nods, nostrils flaring slightly. “Goodnight.”

He peels away from your house only once you disappear through the front door. Subconsciously, his hand finds the rose-gold chain hanging around his throat. He fiddles with the necklace, running his thumb over the smooth surface of your shiny pendant. There’s something unreal—almost dreamlike—about having it between his fingers. He’s spent so long watching you fumble and toy with it—watching it bring you comfort when you’re nervous, or bored, or afraid.

Now, it’s his.

And so are you.

Faint music plays from the truck’s stereo; Harry reaches forward, twisting a knob and turning the volume up to its full capacity. Ariana Grande’s familiar vocal riffs pour through the speakers.

He sings along at the top of his lungs, hollering triumphantly the entire ride home.

~*~

Extra: Knockout [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

if you enjoyed this series, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #oh my god i can't believe this is the last part aaaaaaaaaa #i really hope u all like it!#boxrry #harry writing

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kiss4kazu · 4 years

Note

ooh! can i request something spicy?? maybe headcanons of claude, dimitri, and felix’s kinks?

spicy hcs | dimitri, felix, claude

this is combo between just kink hcs and also how first times being freaky w these three go hahhahahahhahah screams. this is not safe for kiddos so proceed with caution folks

felix <3

whew, okay. sweats. um

so the first time u and felix do the do was definitely not planned. things tend to escalate a lot with felix when it comes to intimacy. pecks goodnight lead up to make out sessions and all of a sudden his hand is down your pants and you’re honestly not complaining.

felix is definitely more of a giver than a receiver, not because he liked giving, but because he liked being in control. he liked seeing you writhe beneath him and all that jazz.

he’d definitely deny you from reaching your high multiple times, partially to draw out the activity since you tend to come quite quickly beneath his touch but also because hearing you whine his name helplessly was a really big fucking turn on and he always swelled with pride knowing he was the only person who can turn you into a sobbing mess.

felix has 2 moods. his soft and pliant types of fucking, and his arrogant, i’m big bad felix fraldarius and my cock is 30inches long type of fucking. he knows hes hot, he knows he has a pretty dick, might as well utilize it.

he hates praise when it’s ingenuine, for things intangible that he hadn’t earned himself. when it’s people praising him for his title or the power of a fraldarius battalion.

but praise when it comes from you? when it’s you letting him know just how amazing he feels inside of you, how with every thrust of his hips your brain short-circuits and your eyes water with unspilled tears? when it’s you not being able to even form coherent words anymore because felix fraldarius is throbbing inside of you... yeah, that kind of praise. it does wonders for him and his dick.

he’s also into hair-pulling

and overstimulation

hes also rly rly easily jealous like if someone else was making eyes with you or perhaps you were giggling a little too loudly with some handsome noble he’d just yank you away and march u up the stairs to his dormitory before kissing you hard

he’s the type to make u beg and be rly possessive he’d just fuck you so ruthlessly hair stuck to his skin, panting “you’re mine. mine. say it” and u would just cry bc why tf he so sexy hello-

as mentioned in my kissing post, felix sucks the life out of you when he kisses you so it’s only logical that he fucks the life out of you too.

im kidding ofc!! not rly

although he’s on the giving end of things, it’s still completely self-indulgent, felix gets off just knowing he’s getting you off because he’s a sexy narcissist like that.

but on some days, he really really wanted you to know he cared a lot about you.

felix isn’t the best with words, but he was really good with his tongue, so things usually worked out okay. he’d kiss you, everywhere. every inch of you, leaving hickeys in even the most visible places because who fucking cares. you were his, he needed you to know that. he needed everyone to know that.

he can be sensitive sometimes too, make love, if you will.

he has to be rly emotional tho, so it’s probably after something eventful happens in his life. like when the kingdom takes back fhirdiad, or wins the war. or when he’s sleepy and tired and wakes up hard and is just too lazy to put on his big bad scary persona.

sleepy felix is submissive felix, aka my favorite felix. sleepy horny felix is all whiny and blushy and just wanted to come and he absolutely despised himself for it

you were well aware of how much he hated himself for being soft and needy, but that made teasing him all the more fun.

so yes, some nights felix would fuck you brainless and soak in the sound of your voice crying out his name helplessly. but on other nights, felix would lay down, his hair splayed against the pillow, your fingers twirling his locks and tugging gently as your other hand jerked him off, lips pressed against his as you breathed in his whines and grunts.

hearing him whine was a really rare sight, but it did slip out occasionally, when you squeezed the base of his member unexpectedly or when you took him deep into your throat and swallowed around him. felix really likes fucking your mouth.

yeah felix is an emotionally constipated sex god

claude !

whew lord.

ok so claude, my sweet, cheeky, little shit <3

the first time probs wasnt even intentional with him either he was just teasing you a little too much and things got a bit carried away but it’s a great time nonetheless

doing the do with claude is probably a rollercoaster ride, he would literally never shut up and would just say the most stupid things and you’d hate yourself for still being so desperate for his touch because somehow in between his terrible jokes and merciless teasing he whispered complete filth into your ears.

he’s a master of dirty talk, chuckling against the shell of your ear at the sound of you choking out a sob at his words, tugging at your earlobe just to spur you on even further.

“don’t tell me you’re clocking out already?” you’d just glare at him in frustration despite your flushed cheeks and he’d kiss you on the tip of your nose and laugh in amusement at your misery

he’ll literally do everything but fuck you, covering every inch of your skin in love bites, especially your chest. he’d literally eat you out or suck you off until you were dizzy but if you want him inside of you, he’d definitely make you beg.

if you ever tried to get smart with him… um, he’d uh .. p-punish you

not like in a pain kink type of way he’d just pull out right before you could nut and would laugh maniacally in your face afterwards because that’s what you get for being a smart ass ! denying u from coming is basically how he punishes u so its a pretty long night but claude’s really really good with his tongue so you’re guaranteed to come like 3 times at minimum anyways

he’d devour you, all smirks and with eyes filled with mirth and he wouldn’t give in until you were absolutely wrecked under him.

he’s very um… dominant, i would say

but not an aggressive dom, definitely a playful dom who enjoys edging and teasing a bit too much

he’s also pretty experimental, i can see claude as a bit of an exhibitionist also, he’d probably fuck you in the cathedral just for shits and giggles

but he is human and despite how much of a little shit claude is he’s just as wrecked as you he’s just much better at hiding it

he’d probs quit the teasing once he himself can’t handle it anymore

and wow uh thats when claude gets all sensual

when claude’s kind of in overdrive and completely uncoordinated just messily thrusting over and over again to finally get you both to that place thats when he becomes all romantic and lovey

would compliment you to no amounts end, call you all sorts of pet names like honey, sweetheart, baby, etc.

his messy curls would stick to his skin, his forehead pressed firmly against yours, verdant eyes blown wide maintaining eye contact with you just for that extra level of intimacy because watching you when you’re like this really drives him over the edge.

he’d pant against your lips, kiss you roughly and somehow find it in himself to even let out an amused laugh because he’s having sex and that’s kind of funny for some reason

claude’s pull-out game probably a1 but idk he’s possessive in less conventional ways so i feel like he’d get off to the thought of releasing inside you and watching him drip down your thighs bc yea

claude is also the king of aftercare let it be known

he’d have so much energy after sex for some reason like he’d just hop right up clean your bodies, fetch you tea if you wanted some and curl up with you resting on his chest, running his fingers over the skin of your arms tenderly and smiling softly to himself when exhaustion takes over you and you slip into a warm slumber against his chest.

i love him bye

dima

ok so dimi is a busy busy boy and even when he does have free time he’s never entirely there his mind is always kind of somewhere else u know

he’s always struggled w getting a proper night's rest and always overworks himself into hysteria

so, as his lovely s/o, you presume a nice session to destress will help loosen those knots in his muscles and all that chaos whirring around in his mind

you were thinking a nice trip to the sauna or something

but dimi had other ideas

he’d just look at you and his gaze would darken all of a sudden and with just a glance at him you already feel the wind being knocked out of you

it would be rly sudden, like dimitri’s just rly needy all of a sudden and he’s taking whatever you’ll give rly he has so much pent up stress and needs some form of release and he’s so so emotional and touchy and won’t stop kissing you with so much fervor and desperation

dimi is 1000% a lovemaker im sorry u cannot convince me otherwise. unless he is feral. if he is feral then understandable have a good day.

he’s all about pampering and kissing every inch of you and asks every five minutes is this okay? are you comfortable? does that hurt? are you sure? because he’s terrible with fragile things and if he ever hurt you he’d never forgive himself poor baby

part of you just wants to grab his face and say !!! im fine !!! you big idiot !! but you just pull him to your chest and nuzzle your face into his neck and breathe him in deeply, kissing his jaw gently before reassuring him i’m fine dimi, stop worrying

he’d calm down instantly and focus back on the task at hand, pleasuring the love of his life hehe

BODY WORSHIPPING non stop praises just kissing everywhere his lips come across you’d love it but hate it at the same time bc part of you just wants him in u already and the other half of u is just so so enamoured by him and feels so warm and loved and appreciated

he’s more of a giver than a receiver as well though for opposite reasons compared to felix, he worries about your comfort so much to the extent where it distracts him from his own pleasure, and it isn’t until he’s inside of you that he remembers and is like oh wow fuck and yea things dont usually last very long for him since he always neglects his own pleasure in favor of yours. he gets so focused on making u feel good because he loves you so much and he needs you to know that so yeah he doesn’t remember to even touch himself lmao

you’d probably come like twice before dimi even whips his schlong out

at the peak of his pleasure tho dimi gets kinda rough ngl. he’s a person whos very emotionally driven so when everything gets to be a bit too much he’s just slamming into you with so much force your skin stings, grip so tight on your hips there’s sure to be bruises in the morning but despite how rough he is his eyes are nothing but gentle and so so loving

probably says something like oh seiros when he’s about to come LMAOOO

dimi is also a king with aftercare but he’d probably knock out like a log afterwards and it’d be like the best sleep he’d get tbh all warm and satiated and just content

dimi sex god

#fe3h #claude x reader #fe3h fics #fe3h requests #fe3h imagines #claude von riegan #claude imagines #claude scenarios #fe3h scenarios #fire emblem three houses #dimitri x reader #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dimitri imagines #dimitri scenarios #felix fraldarius x reader #felix fraldarius #felix fraldarius scenarios

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btsmutandstuff · 3 years

Note

hi! can u please make a smut ab yoongi x reader on airplane sex? or better yet studio sex where a member is present in the room?

.......I like this airplane idea 🥴

It’s dis Yoongi⬇️⬇️⬇️

Oh and ur a flight attendant 👩‍✈️👩‍✈️👩‍✈️

Your eyes go wide and you squeeze your hands tightly behind your back, holding your pose perfectly.

“Welcome, welcome.... Thanks for flying with us,” you mumble as the small group of passengers boards. He’s here again. And he’s about to pass you to enter the small plane.

“H-hi... Welcome aboard.” You immediately feel your cheeks go red at your hesitant greeting. He smirks softly, tugging his mask down a bit for you and looking you up and down.

“Hi again.” And just like that your questions are answered. Yes, he definitely is the guy from last time who flirted with you the whole flight. Yes, it’s the guy who asked you to come sit and talk with him because he gets a little nervous through takeoff. Yes, he remembers you and yes, he definitely did just check you out. For once you’re glad the uniform is cut so close to your body.

You look down and smile, trying to shake it off before you look like an idiot. He huffs a quiet little noise and moves past you, taking a seat in the back and away from the rest of his entourage of managers, stylists, etc. The other passengers settle in, popping in earbuds and headsets and you tell yourself to do your job and get through preflight safety and prep. It’s a private flight which means your responsibilities are a little more relaxed than the typical flight, thankfully.

The takeoff is smooth, and as you make your way down the aisle of the plane, asking here and there if you can get anything for the passengers, you wonder if this has all been in your head. Maybe he wasn’t flirting with you last time. Maybe he was high or a little drunk, or even just nervous. But then here he is, watching you as you approach him as if you’re already naked and in his bed. That look alone makes your stomach do flips.

“Can I bring you anything to make you more comfortable, sir?” You shame yourself for enjoying the way his eyebrows perk up when you call him that.

“You remember my name, don’t you Y/N?” You do, of course.

You slowly nod, feeling your cheeks flush at hearing your name come from his lips.

“Call me Yoongi. And actually I was wondering if I could move to the back? Get a little privacy from everyone up here?” His smirk when he asks so sugary sweet has you reading into things at a dangerous pace. You glance at the curtain divider between the front area of the plane and the back, feeling his eyes on you for every second of it.

“Y-yes, that won’t be a problem at all, sir. I’ll get it prepared.” You step away, catching your breath as you slip past the curtain and into the empty end of the plane, outfitted with luxe cushioned seating that looks more like couches and reclining chairs than a seat on a flight. You groan at how easily flustered you are by this practical stranger, and grip the back of the nearest seat, leaning over and resting your head in your arms.

“Um....Y/N?” You shoot up as fast as your heart rate does, and spin around to see him standing behind you, his bag tossed over his shoulder. He’s closer than you anticipated. Hell, you didn’t anticipate him following you back here. How long has he been standing there??

“Y-yes, sir?” You can feel your chest rising and falling dramatically, but your heart feels like it might explode at any moment. How mortifying.

“Again with that... You know, I told you that you can call me Yoongi.” He steps closer still and you feel your back press against the cushioned back of the small couch you had leaned against a moment ago.

“But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like how “Sir” sounds when it’s coming from your lips.”

You sigh, your breath coming out shakier than you would have liked. You couldn’t control that, just like you can’t control how that familiar throbbing has returned to your core, making you shift your weight from leg to leg uncomfortably. You don’t mind though. Something about the idea of this man, Yoongi, being in control for you seems nice.

He chuckles softly, barely more than a breath, and steps close so that his hands can come to rest on either side of your waist, pressing into the cushions beside you, trapping you there between his arms.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable..” he begins. His tone is softer and more gentle than the nuance-laden air he had before with you. It’s a sharp contrast to the closeness of his body to yours. But he’s making you anything but uncomfortable. Maybe the good kind of uncomfortable, where you’re just dying to wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him against you.

You shake your head, your eyebrows raising as you hope to dissuade him from any feeling that he may be unwanted by you. You just can’t seem to find the words to tell him that. You want to tell him how excited you were when you saw it was him boarding the flight. How you hoped you might sneak whatever moment you could with him, even just to flirt back and return his interest. How you can’t stand still because he’s so close but still so far from where you want him and how you feel insane because you hardly know each other and yet you want to know if his lips taste as good as you’ve imagined they do.

He drinks in how hot and bothered you seem, your breathing labored and your skin a soft flushed tone. His eyes linger particularly on your lips, parted softly and plump with the blood that’s rushed to your face. He wants to kiss you so badly but he’d never let himself go if he made the first move before hearing you say it’s ok.

“Y/N? I don’t want to...” He begins, wondering if your silence is a sign and maybe he’s reading into it. He begins to stand up straight again, his hands moving off the cushions and freeing you from the space between his forearms.

“No!” Your outburst makes him freeze, his eyes going wide. You groan softly, tipping your head down in embarrassment and wondering if you’ve screwed up. Fuck it.

“No, I.... um, Yoongi..” you say, glancing up at him in time to catch the little smile he gives at how you say his name.

“I definitely, um, am enjoying myself... I mean I uh, um... I’m happy you’re here again. And that I’m working. I um.. I like seeing you..” This is sounding cringier by the second and you hope he’s gleaning any amount of your arousal by him from your haphazard words. You’ve never been good at expressing what you mean in moments like these. Lucky for you, Yoongi seems to read that just fine.

He leans back in, his hands instead coming to rest on your waist this time, all the while his eyes watch you closely.

“I like seeing you, too.” You exhale, relaxing into his touch and wondering if it would be ok to touch him back. His head dips enough to where he can meet your gaze, making sure you watch as his attention turns from your eyes to your lips, the hunger in his expression obvious. He nudges your nose with his gently, tipping your face up a bit before his lips ghost gently against yours. Your breath catches in your throat and it’s all you can do to keep from closing the distance for him, savoring in how slowly he wrecks you.

He finally presses his lips into yours, guiding yours seamlessly along with his. It’s slow and a deep kiss, languid and passionate. He steals your breath away entirely. His hands glide from your waist up your sides, directing your arms to wrap around his shoulders like you so craved. He pulls you tight against him, warm and inviting as hip lips envelope yours over and over. He pulls back only a little and watches as you lean forward for him, wanting his lips against yours again. He kisses your cheek, just next to your lips, then again on your jaw, then just under your ear. He lingers there, then lets his lips trail feather-light up the crest of your ear, teasing you and drawing you further into the lusty haze that’s quickly filling your brain. You don’t even notice when you moan softly, only recognizing how he pulls you even tighter against his body, and how his voice sounds even lower than it did before, just above a whisper as he says,

“Do you want me to touch you, Y/N?” Something like a shiver, but more warm, runs up your spine and you nod a little, sighing in his ear as you feel his teeth graze on the sensitive skin of your neck, only making the intense need inside you worse.

“Ask nicely,” he coos in your ear, ceasing his gentle bites and instead presses chaste kisses along your exposed collar bone, nudging the collar of your crisp white blouse open further. You whine softly, the embarrassment of having to ask for your own pleasure only fueling the delicious ache inside you.

“Please, Yoongi...” is all you manage, hoping he hears your need for him in your voice. You groan as you feel his leg slip between yours, pushing your to spread your legs for him. He helps tug your skirt up to your hips, his hand lingering to grope and paw at your ass, left bare to his touch by the flimsy thong you wore today. His other hand roams down your body, squeezing and rubbing here and there, leaving no sensitive spot on your body untouched. His lips return to yours, this time parting gently to let his tongue tease against you. You whine at the lightheaded feeling his kiss gives you, absolutely driving you insane with your need. His thigh between yours keeps you from squeezing your legs together for the pressure you so desire. Yoongi only teases you further, feeling how desperate you’re becoming for his touch between your legs.

“Where does it ache, Y/N? Here?” His fingers just barely graze your mound, teasing over the lace that covers you. The soft contact of his fingertips alone has you rolling your hips forward for more. He groans softly, drinking in your need and eagerly pulling it from you over and over, teasing you so gently until your knees feel weak. He hooks a finger into your panties, pulling them just out of the way. He nudges your cheek with his nose, grazing his lips against your soft skin until your eyes meet his. You look up at him from under your lashes, brow furrowed and your cheeks a dark shade. His middle finger slips through your folds, your wetness coating his digit easily. He makes sure to circle once, twice, and a third time over your clit, watching you closely as you squirm against him. You’re so sensitive at this point you’re clenching your empty core with each pass of his finger, desperate to have something inside you.

“Fuck, Y/N...” he sighs, his cock pressing against your hip over and over with each motion you make.

“Please... I need it..” is all you can manage, his ring finger joining his middle in the teasing and rolling motion over your clit. His lips press into yours once more, swallowing the moan you can’t contain as his two fingers push slowly inside you. The pleasure of being filled up mixed with the burn of being stretched a little is intoxicating, and you know you need more. He pushes his fingers slowly in and out, leaving them in and curling them forward over and over and over, watching your face for every little reaction to his practiced touch.

“Yoongi....” you sigh, biting back the moan you really want to let out. “I... I want...” He continues his onslaught, drinking in your pleasure and hissing when your hand tugs on his belt, slipping lower and palming his rigid cock through his jeans. He rolls his hips forward into your touch.

“Just ask.”

#yoongi #min yoongi #bts #suga #airplane sex #jk im teasing you but you know what's coming #bts yoongi #bts min yoongi #bts suga #bts smut #bts ask #bts request #smut request #bts imagine

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osamiiya · 3 years

Note

another milestone🥺 ur growing so fast i'm so happy for u🤩 once again i am here to support ur event 🥳 can i get mattsun with #41 song: love is only a feeling by joey bada$$

Look it's Lyss 🥺 Please you've been here before 100 followers and I'm so thankful ily ❤️❤️

Pairing: Mattsukawa Issei x Reader

Scenario: #41 Fake dating each other to go to a wedding, falling in love.

**This one is kinda long, oops

Omiomi's 200 Follower Event

-Monday-

"So, what you're saying is that your cousin's wedding is this weekend and you don't have a date to get your pushy relatives off your back, so you need me to act like we're dating?"

You blink a couple times, shocked that he got it completely on the first try.

"Yeah.... that's exactly it."

Matsukawa shrugs "It's not like I have anything else to do, and it's free wedding cake."

You bark out a laugh, drawing the attention of people at nearby cafe tables.

"I can drive us, it isn't too far." You say, trying to further convince him so he won't back out suddenly.

At this Matsukawa snorts, leaning in to look you in the eye.

"Now what kind of a fake boyfriend would I be to let my fake girlfriend drive us there?"

You roll your eyes "Fine, but we need to lay down some rules."

He nods and motions for you to continue.

" 1. No kissing on the lips unless it's a situation in which we absolutely have to, other skinship will be ok. 2. We leave Friday morning, and come back Sunday night because the wedding is in the afternoon on Saturday. During then we'll probably have to share a room, I'll take the sofa or we'll use pillow dividers. 3. We met in college, and you asked me out." Matsukawa's eyes are narrowed in concentration, eyebrows furrowed as he commits it to memory.

"Easy enough." He grins, this was going to be a piece of cake.

You spend the rest of your "lunch date", full empasis on the quotes, discussing your backstory and other details that might be asked about.

-Friday-

Your doorbell rings and you grab your luggage, opening the door to see Matsukawa, white shirt and black joggers. His messy hair falling slightly in his face.

He was always attractive, but this outfit makes your mouth go dry and you swallow hard, grinning at him as he waves.

"Ready to go?"

The car ride was about 6 hours, you taking the first half and Matsukawa taking the second half, claiming that he wants your family to see what a good boyfriend he was, driving you to the wedding.

While you drove he fed you snacks and gave you instructions from the map app on his phone cackling when you missed an exit.

He napped for an hour before he had to drive, not wanting to be tired when he had to drive.

You take some glances to him, and usually people wouldn't find a boy passed out, leaning against the window with his mouth slightly open, attractive. But the butterflies in your stomach fluttered and you wondered what it would be like to kiss him awake.

Soon, you pull up to the gas station halfway mark that the two of you agreed on. You lightly tap him awake, and stifle a smile as he groans awake, stretching as his shirt rode up a little.

"Are we there?" He's half asleep and you allow a smile, unbuckling your seatbelt.

"I'll get you a coffee." Your heart is beating erratically as you pay for the canned coffee from the gas station, remembering Matsukawa's shirt riding up as he stretched.

You open the car door and hand him his coffee, he grunts a thank you and starts the car, taking a sip of his coffee occasionally humming along to the radio.

"This coffee sucks." He deadpanns, finishing up the can.

"But you finished it." You point out and he rolls his eyes before cracking a smile.

That's all it takes to break the ice you didn't know had formed, cracking jokes and wheezing as you pull into the hotel, your Aunt greeting you guys.

Matsukawa side hugs you and plants a kiss on your forehead, greeting your family.

"Hi, I'm y/n's boyfriend." Your heart warms at the sentence, and you have to scold your brain to stop being so happy. It's fake, it's fake, you're fake dating.

You get the room key and hold your breath as you enter the room, one bed, and there's no couch.

Matsukawa senses your apprehension and shrugs.

"I can sleep on the floor?" He offers, and you shake your head.

"It's fine, I don't want you to be uncomfortable tomorrow."

You don't notice the blush on Matsukawa's face as he fully digests the situation, too busy calming yourself down.

He showers first and then you get ready for bed, coming out of the bathroom to see no pillow wall, but Matsukawa fast asleep.

'I suppose we're close enough to not need pillow wall."

You lie down on the edge of the bed slightly cold, but fall asleep nonetheless.

-Saturday-

The entire day is awkward, you woke up tangled in Matsukawa's arms, his head in your hair, and arms around your waist.

Then at breakfast your cousin noted that you're not holding hands, and so the two of you clasp hands, slightly concerned that you enjoy holding his hand so much.

During the wedding a couple of your older relatives lean over and giggle about how your guy's wedding is next, flustering both of you.

And before you know it you're slow dancing with Matsukawa, head on his chest as his heart beats rapidly.

You must've had too much champagne, because your head is fuzzy and your impulse control is near zero as you get ready for bed.

"Are we going to sleep together?" You mean in it a purely Innocent way, but Matsukawa spits out the water he was drinking, coughing violently as his cheeks and ears turn red.

"What?" He chokes out, and you frown.

Sitting in the bed, you cross your arms and Matsukawa finds you adorable right now.

"You're so cute." He sighs, lying down and opening his arms while realizing what you meant earlier.

"'m not cute." You sigh, content and comfortable.

"I love you." You mumble, not aware of what you're saying completely.

Matsukawa breaths in shakily, not sure how to respond, you're clearly not aware of what you're saying.

"I love you too." He whispers into your ear even though it looks like you've fallen asleep.

-Sunday-

The car ride home is quiet, just anxious glances, you wondering if what you said last night was actually said or just a dream, and Matsukawa wondering if what you said was just a result of the champagne.

"So..." You both start.

The two of you stop, laughing nervously.

"You said you loved me." He clears his throat, refusing to look at you and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"And what if I said I did?" It was a pretty big change, going from being good friends with a slight crush on him, to admitting you were in love with him. Both to yourself and to who you're in love with.

He glances over to you, eyes sparkling.

"I'd say the same thing I said last night."

You blanche, he can't possibly expect you to remember what he said.

"Which is..." You look at him expecting as he smirks.

"I love you too."

#Ily Lyss marry me #omiomi's 200 follower event #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei #mattsun #mattsun fluff #matsukawa fluff #matsukawa oneshot #matsukawa scenarios #haikyuu matsukawa #Mattsukawa issei x Reader #mattsun x reader

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thelittleboyfromloveactually · 3 years

Text

Two Shorten the Road

Part 2

Joel dawson x reader

Warnings: none I think

Word count: 1951

Promt: you and joel are of to a great start on your journey, that is until your get attacked by one of the mutated monsters

I’ve always hated goodbyes, especially when they might be forever. Joel and I had packed quickly and said our goodbyes.

“So joel, you gotta use your advantages, so like your small and fast, so ya know, don’t fight! Just run, run and hide” Tim told Joel

“Take care of him Y/N”

“Stay alive you two!”

“For real! Do not die!”

I met joel right under the bunker’s exit hatch. He looked at me, fear and excitement in his eyes

“You ready?” He asked as he adjusted his backpack

“As ready as I’ll ever be” I said looking up at the ladder

“You know you don’t have to-“ he stared before i cut him off, what was ur gonna take for him to understand that I was coming and that was that.

“I want to, really, I do” I said smiling at him

“Alright then” he said. He looked up and began climbing up the ladder, I followed after him.

We pushed the hatch open, and Joel helped me out. The sun was hot against my skin. I looked at joel. He was looking is all directions, amazed by the sight of the trees and grass. I smiled at him, remembering how long it had been since he’d been outside. We made eye contact, he took a deap breath. Joel jumped down and I followed.

“Ok so, we need to go west” he said looking at his map

“Right…West” I said looking around, I had no idea which way was west, i normally just followed everyone when i went out hunting.

“This is not….very helpful” he said looking at the map

Joel began walking one way, still looking down at his map. He turned noticing I wasn’t following him. Then he began walking the other way

“We’re gonna die” I said

“Hey just because I’m not entirely sure which way is west does not mean we are screwed” he said defensively

“Actually Kato that’s exactly what it means” I said, grabbing the map from his hands

He looked around, thinking for a second as I studied his map. Suddenly he began walking again, i quickly ran up behind him

“Let’s go this way, ya west is this way” he said, nodding confidently “split the difference, done! First decision made”

And we were off

It’s so weird being outside with Joel. I’m hardly used to being outside in general, and joel. Man I cannot even believe why joel is thinking right now, I mean he hasn’t been outside in 7 years. We have been walking for about one hour. We were walking through what seemed like a deserted neighborhood. There were a lot of cars and busses. Covered in vines, rusting away. Preoccupied with what was around me and not what was below me, I tripped, falling on my face.

“Oh shit! Y/N are you ok?” Joel ran over helping you up

“Yup, ya I’m good” I said dusting myself off. I looked up at joel, his eyes had worry behind them. I smiled telling him I was ok. His hands slowly let go of me. I looked down at what I had tripped over. A hot pink frisbee, how convenient.

“Ya I know, I know, your like an strong bad ass” he said jokingly

You laughed and pushed his arm as you began to start walking again

“Y-ya know I never thanked you and stuff, for ya know? Coming with me, I’m actually really glad you came, I don’t think I could do this without my best friend” he said, looking at his feet

“You don’t need to thank me joel, I don’t think I would have been able to stay one day in that colony without you” I smiled

“Also I really do need to thank you because I’m pretty sure I would have been killed already, to death” he said nodding his head

“Killed to death? Really? Wow sounds gruesome” u said laughing

“Wow” he said and we broke out laughing.

Suddenly a sort of rumbling sound came from somewhere, I couldn’t tell which direction. I looked at joel, panic now rest in his eyes.

“Run and hide” he said repeating what he had been told before leaving the bunker “hide….hide in the house! Y/N this way!” He said running toward the house, i threw my bow over my back, adjusting it and then running after him.

The house was quite, the wood creaked under my feet. I took off my bow and grabbed the arrow. Now I was ready to fight whatever bastard was gonna attack us. The sound got louder causing both me and Joel to run outside through the back door. We stumbled out of the house. I looked over at him and he shrugged. Suddenly another sound came from behind us. Bubbles. Me and Joel slowly turned around to see a little pond that had bubbles emerging on its surface. I grabbed an arrow, threading it through my bow as I began walking toward the pond.

“No Y/N!” joel demanded in a whisper

I stumbled back as a creature emerged, it was huge. I slowly backed away. Shit. I could hear Joel trying to tell me to run. He began counting

“Run on three Y/N! One, two, three!” we both broke off in a run toward the gate. I Pulled back my arrow and prepared to shoot but I was too late. Before I knew it I was being thrown into the fence and then dragged toward the toad-like creature. I grabbed desperately onto a log but it just came along with me.

“JOEL! shit! Help me! Grab my bow!” I yelled trying everything I could to slow this thing down. I could feel it’s tongue in my shoe. Joel was frozen in place. Shit. Then barks, something I hadn't heard for 7 years. A small brown dog came running toward me. It bit and chewed at the creature's yellow tongue. It quickly released me and I staggered up. I ran toward joel.

“Come on! We need to go!” I said , guiding him. I stopped to grab my bow before running out of the gate. The dog was behind us. But so was the Toad. The brown dog ran toward a deserted bus that had been decorated, painted. The doors opened and he ran inside, Joel and I followed.

The bus looked like it had been someone’s home at one point. Many different things hung from the room and pages of magazines and drawings covered the windows. I looked around as Joel caught his breath and calmed himself down. I walked over to a table and sat down, looking at what seemed like craft supplies.

“Nice place” Joel said still out of breath “mine if I sit?” Now this man was talking to a dog, figures. The dog looked up as if to say “yes”. Joel sat on the bed and I moved next to him.

“Are you ok?” He asked sweetly

“Ya, I’m good” I said smiling

Joel nodded, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Are you all alone?” I asked the dog, he was laying on a bed made out of a quilt and a pillow that said “boy” on it. The dog shifted its head away from us in response. I really love dogs, and this was breaking my heart. I sat down next to the animal and began petting it. I could feel Joel’s eyes on me. Eager to break the silence I decided to test my theory for the dog's name.

“Boy” I said and the dog sat up, he was suddenly all ears. “Is that your name? Boy?” I asked, smiling and giving him more pets. Joel smiled.

“Your names boy” joel said “I’m Joel, and that pretty lady is Y/N” he said gesturing to me “she’s my best friend, thank you for saving her” he whispered

I smiled, how could anyone not love this boy? This Aimee chick is quite lucky. I am worried though. What if she moved on? Joel would be broken.

“Nice to meet you” I said kissing the dog on the head

Joel smiled and then continued to look around. His eyes fell on a red dress.

“Is this a dress?” He asked picking it up

“No, it’s a hat” I said sarcastically, Joel looked at me, confused. “I’m kidding” I said and I could see the realization in his eyes. Suddenly Boy moved and grabbed the dress out of Joel’s hands and brought it back to his bed.

“Ok, I won’t touch it again” Joel said, throwing his hand up in defense. I looked carefully at the dog. He looked sad

“Was that your owner’s?” I asked, the dog stayed still. I laid down to get closer to him “it’s ok, you don’t have to talk about it” I looked at Joel and shrugged. Then I realized “wait did you think I was her?” I asked the dog, still he lay avoiding eye contact. I sighed, this poor dog.

“Hey um, I’m gonna lay down too” Joel chimed in “is that o…” he stopped to take off his backpack which seemed to startle the poor thing. “No it’s ok! It’s just my backpack” Joel reassures the dog. He plopped it down on the floor and moved his feet up on the bed. I laid down next to the dog bed, laying my bow and arrows next to me.

“Wait hey” Joel said sitting up a little “you don’t have to nap on the floor” he told me

“It’s fine, I like to be close to Boy” I responded smiling

“Are you sure? I mean I feel like I should really let you sleep on the bed since you almost died and I couldn’t save you” he said sitting up fully

“Joel, it’s fine! I'm serious, and please do not beat yourself up about that. It’s not your fault!” I told him, trying to ease his worry.

He nodded “kkkkkkkkkkk” he said “just take this though” he took off his red jacket and handed it to me

I gave him a look that said “no really I’m fine” then he returned the look with an “I insist” look. I gave in and used the jacket as a blanket. I closed my eyes, almost drifting off to sleep…..but then Joel was up and at em. He put his backpack on and began to walk out of the bus. I scrambled up and followed him. Guess we are leaving…. Boy followed us out and for some reason Joel seemed surprised.

“Oh hey are you coming with us?” Joel asked and Boy ran back inside “ok then” then suddenly Boy was back out with the red dress

“Oh yes of course, Joel,” I looked at Joel. “We cannot forget the dress!” I told him as if it was obvious

“Oh right ya, here Boy let me put it in my backpack” he tried to pull it away from Boy but he wouldn’t drop it

“Hey it’s ok, he’s gonna keep it so safe in the safe pack” I said kneeling down to sooth the dog. He let go and Joel put the red dress in his backpack. I adjusted my bow and we began walking. Me on the right, Joel on the left and Boy in the middle. My weird brain couldn’t help but think about if we could all be a family. If everything was normal. We would get married and adopt Boy. That is if I ever get the courage to tell Joel how I feel and if he feels the same. Welp! Until then I am stuck in my imagination as we venture closer toward our destination.

#joel dawson series #joel dawson fics #joel dawson x reader #Joel dawson #love and monsters

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sinkix · 4 years

Text

~ Haikyuu!! Boys baking with reader - Ft. Ushijima, Tendou, Oikawa, Hinata & Nishinoya ~

YO! SO UHHHH... I’M BACK??? I GUESS?? MAYBE??? After a little break I had this in my drafts for a while and realllyyy wanted to complete it since it’s such a cute concept. Honestly at this point my posting frequencies are so sporadic and random pls forgive me lmao.

@deathcab4daddy gave me the inspo to include Ushi and it was so funny coming up with ideas for him, he is no.1 country boi chef

Dude I’m listening to the Mario Kart soundtrack ‘Coconut Mall’ while I continue writing this someone save me. Like u think I’m joking. UR WRONG.

Ushijima:

The most straightforward yet idiotic baker you will ever come across.

Before you even THINK about performing step 1, he will read the entire fucking leaflet like it’s a Shakesperean monologue.

INGREDIENTS INCLUDED.

LIKE SIS I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW IT CONTAINS MONOCALCIUM PHOSPHATE THANK YOU.

I’m surprised he doesn’t count every single particle in the brownie mix.

You bought him a frilly cupcake-printed apron stating ‘best wife’ not expecting him to actually wear it

But since he’s secretly a big softie and treasures anything you buy he wears it proudly.

His stoic and dignified disposition is a comical contrast to the words printed on the front lmao.

Ushi best wifey bro.

The tight fit of the apron is pretty hot since it outlines every ridge of his pecs and tightly toned torso.

Gotta resist groping your mans while stirring the brownie batter.

tbh he’s more likely to grope you, he can’t resist that a$$.

And let’s face it he’s def an ass/thigh kinda guy.

Can and will try to casually initiate some form of unholy activities by lifting you up onto the kitchen counter, goading you to slowly lick the spoon and locking gazes before pulling you in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss to get a taste of the incomplete creation himself.

Ushi’s lips and brownie batter are a knock-out combo js.

Literally has the most serious face when he’s cracking the eggs into the bowl

The amount of concentration is equivalent to that of when he’s performing a serve at match-point.

HAS to set the temperature to the EXACT degree stated on the box

Everything is done by the book if you do one thing out of place he will pull you up on it lol.

“(Y/N) you were supposed to stir it for 5 minutes, not 7.”

When its done you feed him some and he can’t help but smile its so ADORBALE AHHH.

You end up eating most of it since Ushi doesn’t strike me as much of a chocolate/junk food lover.

STILL A VERY FUN BUT F R U S T R A T I N G EXPERIENCE.

Tendou:

The complete opposite of Ushi

Does everything wrong and the unconventional way.

Absolute disaster but doesn’t even sweat it since Tendou basically thrives in chaos and the disorderly.

To him instructions are purely equivocal, will read them for five seconds then toss them away.

Step aside Gordon Ramsey, Chef Tendou is here.

Despite doing everything the unorthodox way it still comes out amazing.

Like??? how???

Will cheekily place a dollop batter on your nose then lick it off fh3jkeffefds

Or if he’s feelin’ a lil freaky, he’ll swipe it off with his long ass finger and make you suck it clean, smirking at your submission as you coat his finger with your saliva.

oop-

Constantly cracking jokes and shitty food puns, pretending to drop the bowl to make you go into preemptive cardiac arrest before you can swat him with the spatula.

While you’re waiting for the timer to ping, Satori being the schemer he is will use this as an opportunity to pull some fuckery and tease you in any way he can.

u better be praying like bodhisattva TanaNoya rn because he is MERCILESS.

Suggestive comments, the brush of his fingers against your thigh, it’ll leave you A C H I N G in frustration by the end of it.

Unholy activities aside, once your baking session is completed you finish it off by feeding PHAT forkfuls of brownie to each other and giggling like dorks when it gets all over your mouth.

The jackass actually got a fingerful and SMEARED it over your cheek and forehead, drawing a little cross and snickering when the crumbs fall onto your nose.

Tendou was smart to draw a cross bc he gonna need jesus with the ATTACK you launch on him after that, which promptly leads to an all out food war in your kitchen that neither of you want to clean up after ward.

Don’t worry though it’s Tendou, he’ll somehow find a way to make such a mundane activity fun.

Nishinoya:

stirs WAY TOO VIOLENTLY

IT’S LIKE AN ELECTRIC WHISK ON OVERDRIVE.

IT WILL SPLATTER OVER THE COUNTER, CUPBOARDS AND EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR WITHIN A 1 MILE RADIUS.

You best believe he will try and eat some of the batter and you have to swat the spoon away from his mouth since he has NO REGARD FOR THE FACT HE COULD GET SALMONELLA.

Plus you know what Noya’s like once he starts eating something the whole thing will be gone in a matter of milliseconds.

He somehow managed to get Baking powder EVERYWHERE and even gave him self a little moustache with it.

The white substance kinda looked like something else but you didn’t really wanna say lmaooo.

could explain why he has so much energy all the time oK ILL STOP-

While you’re putting the mix on the tray he is SO extra and will do fancy lil swirls and over extend his arm like a swan to gracefully spread the batter

until he nearly fucking knocks it over.

During processing time since he is so excitable and impatient you best believe he’s gonna suggest a game of ping pong or something because my guy can well and truly never sit still.

ping pong match with the spatulas, kitchen island and a hard boiled egg.

Pls be careful he will rolling thunder that egg and pimp slap it so hard with the spatula it’ll damn near give you a concussion, not intentionally, but like protect your noggin. Wear a helmet.

For the remaining 5 minutes of baking time y’all just sit like kids in front of the oven and watching it rise like starved hyena’s observing it’s pray before demolishing it into sad particles of cocoa.

And lemme tell u, once the timer pings, that baking tray is free real estate for Noya. Half of your creation will be devoured before you can even put it on a plate and marvel at your handiwork.

He kicked your ass at spatula ping pong btw I’m sorry sweaty but short kings stay winning.

Oikawa:

Such a dramatic bitch like he got the whole she-bang going on.

Strapped with a pink apron, a whisk at his side and standing proudly with both hands on his hips.He is prepared like a greek gladiator going into battle.

You better believe he gonna make some snarky remarks and tease your method of doing things.

“Ah-ah-ahhh (Y/N)-chan you’re doing it all wrong, let me show you how a PRO does it.”

Proceeds to drop entire bowl on his foot and yelp like a little girl in pain.

Well and truly embarrassed with himself, you put a band-aid on his toe and he piped down after that.

Shattered big toe and mixing bowl aside, actually a really good baker??

He is a PRO at decorating, y’all decided on cupcakes since its literally his forte to make them look aesthetic and pretty.

You almost don’t wanna eat them from how good they look.

jk almost

You take it in turns breaking bits off and placing pieces into each others mouth with a loud “aaaaaahhh!”

Places a piece in your mouth, leans forward and locks lips with you in a soft, passionate kiss before pulling away and uttering the words “It tastes even better coming from your mouth ;)”

hnnnNNGGGGGGggGg.

You both whine and bicker over who cleans up after.

“You cleaaannnnn!”

“no Toru YOU clean!”

“but I made the cupcakes look pretty :(”

“not as pretty as you <3″

He did the cleaning after that.

Like just stroke his ego with some compliments and he’s whipped with a smug grin on his face for the next 30 minutes.

You decide to save the rest and bring them to his next practise.

Literally on the verge of tears when he sees you beaming and holding the platter of treats, Kiyotani mauls half of them in a matter of seconds to which Oiks gets salty over LMAO.

Hinata:

So excited oh my god he’s so precious please protect him I will CRY-

Has a little sunflower apron on and JBJKNDDDKDW IM SMILING JUST IMAGINING HIM FIDGETING IN EXCITEMENT OVER THE THOUGHT OF BAKING COOKIES.

Yes you decided on cookies bc he goes rabid for some choc chip biccies.

You have to guide him v carefully because of how easily confused and clumsy he is.

Cannot for the life of him crack the eggs without getting a quarter of the shell in the bowl so you have to do it instead.

Has a surprising amount of strength and forearm power bc holy shit boy can stir FAST.

Hums a little tune while he does it and bobs up and down with a wide grin on his face it’s so adorable, he has such a gentle singing voice I can’t-

Attempts different shapes with the batter when pouring it onto the tray but fails pretty miserably lol.

he tried ok???

Once they’re done he takes the tray out of the oven and since it was heavy, subconsciously propped it with his knee and nearly dropped the entire tray from the pain. (I’ve actually done this before when making chicken nuggets I do not advise being that brain dead)

Had to put some burn cream on the bbies knee :’((

When you decided to dig in, he handed you a cookie that looked like a crooked circle and said he tried to make that one a heart and insisted he feed it to you.

Blushed VERY hard at the moment of silence and intense eye contact while he fed it to you.

Nearly short circuited when his fingers brushed against your lips.

Moe moe x100000000000000000000000000000

You offer to do the cleaning after because he hurt himself and you didn’t wanna make him do any work, but he still offered to wipe the surfaces for you bc he’s an angel <333

literally just wanna marry him.

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duckmumbo · 2 years

Note

trying to think of hermits who haven't been asked yet.... i don't think you've talked about impulse or pearl yet? can we get the rest of boatem?

You and me both anon sdksjfjks

ok I went through my blog and I have already done Xisuma, Mumbo and Scar, Etho, False, Grian, Zedaph, Impulse, Joe and Cleo, Ren, and now Pearl! Boy oh boy that’s a lot of hermits this has been so fun and I know I keep saying that but it’s true ok

First impression - I distinctly remember my first introduction to Pearl was Grian mentioning her in some of his hermitcraft eps and saying “my good friend Pearlescentmoon helped me with this design” like twice and I was like “wow his good friend that he’s mentioned more than once. I wonder if she’ll ever join hermitcraft.” Which first of all past me that’s not how it works ok second of all how did you guess that there was literally no talk of anyone else joining hermitcraft you weren’t even on hermitblr or in the fandom on any social media what. Also I went to her yt channel and the first thing I saw was the dragon video and I’m like ok. this is leagues above what I could ever build I am now a Big Fan.

Impression now - Pearl for most skrunkly in the server????? S o u p. If you were to compress and stretch her out like a spring she would make the whee noises she made with the trident. She is easily Most Noise hermit rn. I want to put her in a box and microwave it just to see what would happen. I want to put her on top of a lamp. I want to carry her in my pocket. She’s cousins with the moon. Pearl my beloved.

Favorite moment - think I have to go with the whee trident moment here. Or honestly any moment with soup. I love pearl sm.

Idea for a story - I had this thought a while ago and it is going to take me quite a few words so bear with me. So she said the moon in s8 is her cousin right. And I saw a post that said what if the moon in s9 is like her aunt or something. So i got to thinking what if all the moons from past seasons were related to her and they would tell her what the hermits were up to each season. This could be angsty if you want like watcher!grian with the s6 moon being like “PEARL YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHO JOINED THIS SEASON” and her being like “why would he join a bunch of strangers but not tell me he’s alive :(“ you could go comedy with pearl hearing all the shenanigans the hermits got up to from past season moons and immediately devising a master plan to get invited to hermitcraft that may or may not end with an entire server covered in glitter. You could go angsty but mostly awkward with pearl and the s8 moon seeing each other again at the yearly moon reunion. There’s so much potential here.

Random opinion - not really a pearl specific opinion but can I just say how glad I am that we’ve gone from characterizing pearl as the mom friend and only responsible one of the group (s8) to incredibly skrunkly now??? It’s really great and exactly what she deserves she literally tore down and rebuilt her entire starter base in s8 just because it was facing the wrong way. She had upside down creepers for pets. She was never the sane one in the group ok

Favorite relationship - listen. Sky siblings my beloved even though it’s mostly a fanon thing I think. But also soup squad my absolute top tier beloved

Favorite headcanon - this isn’t a headcanon that exists anywhere outside of my brain and the canvas I have where I’m working on the drawing but. Pearl with butterfly nebula wings. Need I say more?

#this was so many words #cannot believe I have so many thoughts about pearl #but at the same time I can #also it’s past midnight again nearing almost 1am I should really sleep haha whoops #answered #ask game #roy talks #pearl #hermitcraft #character asks

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holographings · 3 years

Photo

me being me, hopping on trends like 10 years late. i finally got around to making an influence map! i elaborate on most of these under the cut bc it’s LONG, but if you’re interested here u go!

Bill Watterson and the entirety of Calvin & Hobbes- I feel like i’ve droned on about this to anyone that knows me irl so i’m sorry but it’s the earliest comic strip i can remember reading, the lazy sunday collection has been passed around my family like a relic and it’s what taught me art can still convey so so much even if the art seems playful and kid-friendly. so good will never stop talking about it.

Junji Ito- the man the myth the legend, seeing his work for the first time when i was like 11, especially uzumaki, was like a revelation. i have an issue in life where i feel like some things are off limits/not allowed for me personally, even the smallest things like what you’re “allowed to draw”. and seeing his art flipped some sort of switch in my brain like. yeah actually you can draw anything you want and that means Anything. also how i got introduced to guro art.

Malcolm Liepke- god all of his art is so wonderful, the strokes he uses are so bold and raw but the figures remain very well defined. very influential to the way i’ve tried to work on painting in general.

Riyoko Ikeda- thisss womannn... all of her stories discussing gender and sexuality and how they overlap/their grey zones were a big BIG influence in my early teens, especially oniisama e. and her work was the first thing that made me see how much i love character drama driven plots. her + other year 24 group artists were a major influence for the kinda androgynous way i draw most of my characters

Early 2000′s dreamworks studio productions- ok i’m not sure if this one counts but even as a pre-schooler i had hyperfixations and movies like the road to el dorado/sinbad/the prince of egypt were the SHIT i can quote them word for word to this day, and literally everything about the stylization in the animation and the way it lends itself to the storytelling / early concept art is honestly something i strive for (and i doubt i’ll ever reach that level, but i try not to think like that!)

Moebius- fucking Impeccable artist, i think i’ve picked up the way i use lines in some of my composition from him, and his illustrations remain such a huge inspiration boost whenever i need it

Nitro+chiral studios- i should put this under the “things i discovered too early for my own good” tab, but in every single visual novel of theirs the character design is fucking amazing and, again, a level i strive to reach. every game of theirs is so stylistically well defined, and their dramatic/sometimes plain too much storylines is something i love. again. probably shouldnt’ve looked into visual novels at age 12. but i’m thankful nonetheless

Natasha Allegri- the woman that made me realize i wanted to do art!! her character design/storyboarding for adventure time is the reason i am the person that i am today and i say that with absolutely not a hint of hyperbole. i owe this girl an entire 8+ years of my life spent on art, and hopefully many many more

The rest are various online content creators/artists! i’ve mentioned this but i have no actual formal art education, so i was basically raised by the internet. people who posted their art online were, in a way, the most influential because i could often see their process/how they thought about art, and that made it easy to pick up bits and pieces of their techniques and adjust it or fit it into my personal style. most of them are no longer active online sadly, i’ve been following some of these people for YEARS and i mean like.. longer than i know any of my best friends. my love for them knows no bounds, i don’t want to tag them but if you want to look them up, some of the ones i featured in the map are c-bedford, turndecassette, tumblr user cawoshin, vewn, and rebleflet

#not art #junji ito #moebius #bill watterson #etc etc.....

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ghoste-catte · 3 years

Note

multiples of 3 ✌🏼-sgmdrcklee

@sagemoderocklee you’re really trying to kill me lol

This got long as heck so I’m throwing it behind a cut. Read on for answers and fic recs! (Mostly the fic recs)

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

This is a tough one to answer for me generally because I tend to spit words onto the page and once I have written them I no longer remember writing them. And 2020 has stretched on so long that as I’m looking at some of the stuff I wrote in the beginning of this year, I hardly remember what’s even in it. I think at one point someone (@goblin-draws maybe?) mentioned a line in Sleeptalk with Me where the innkeeper calls Kankuro “chubby boy”, and I was like “Oh ... did I write that? Yeah, sounds like something I’d have someone say to Kankuro ...”

It might be easier to talk about this in other terms. One of the scenes I worked the hardest on this year was the fight scene in Chapter 3 of Skeleton Key. The original draft of the scene was a lot shorter, and a lot of the backstory for Misaki’s revenge quest was elided. The scene as originally written was clunky, confusing, and as my lovely wife/beta put it sounded “like a Naruto villain” was doing the dialogue, when previously she’d found Misaki sinister and intriguing. Which wasn’t what I wanted. I basically entirely overhauled the scene and re-wrote it several times. I wouldn’t call it a ‘favorite’ scene (I hate writing fight scenes generally; having chosen to immerse myself in a fandom about ninja where much of the drama comes from battle is my eternal regret), but it is a scene that I put a lot of effort into, and I’m moderately satisfied with the improved product that resulted.

6. least popular fic this year

By far my least popular fic by kudos ever is Pitch Perfect. Which makes complete sense to me. It’s a fic where I’ve written 2 characters who are men in canon as cis women, which pushes a lot of uncomfortable buttons for a lot of people. It contains F/F smut, which is something that a lot of people who choose to read GaaLee probably aren’t out there looking for. And people comment and kudos less on smutfics, I assume because they don’t want their username attached to porn or because they’re embarrassed (which I totally get, no shame there). It’s a modern AU with a sports twist, and AUs are often less popular than canonverse in my experience. I will say though that it has a surprisingly high number of private bookmarks compared to other fics with comparable hit and kudos counts. So I assume people are just a bit more shy because the premise is so ‘out there’. I will say as far as my fics go, it’s one of my personal favorites and probably one of the most intimate and true-to-life things I’ve written? So it actually is a little comforting to know that something so vulnerable has relatively little attention.

9. longest wip of the year

If we’re going based on stuff that’s partially published but not complete, my Gaara-adopts-Shinki fic On My Way Home is my longest in-progress fic at just over 20k words, although technically I started it in 2019. It will probably end up being right around 40-50k when it’s complete, which might end up situating it as my longest fic ever?

12. favorite character to write about this year

Okay, this is an easy one. I love writing Kankuro. I think he is hilarious. He is the devil on my shoulder and a creature of pure id, and every time I write a line of dialogue for him it’s the summation of my rudest thoughts about a situation put in the crudest possible terms. If there were a megaphone directly from my unfiltered brain giving running commentary, that would be Kankuro.

15. something you learned this year

I have learned SO much this year! This is only my 2nd year properly ‘focusing’ on writing fic and investing any substantial time into it. I think the biggest thing I have learned, though, is how to overcome a lot of my self-consciousness about writing stories with NSFW elements in them. Starting out, I was so extremely shy and mortified about writing fic at all, much less things like hugging or (god forbid!) kissing. So taking on the smut prompts I took this year and really buckling down on learning to write the mechanics and emotions of sex has been a massive learning experience. (And sorry, by the way, if I haven’t gotten to a prompt you sent me in January yet. I do intend to write all of them eventually!)

18. current number of WIPs

Ah. The call-out question. My general fic process is idea -> outline -> wip -> edit -> ready to post (where the final draft sits in my docs until I gin up the courage to actually post it). So skipping fics that are just “ideas” on the big mega-list, I have 3 fics in the “outline” stage, 13 fics in the partially written “wip” stage, 1 fic in the “editing” stage, and 2 that are complete but yet-to-be-posted. So, like, 19 total in the offing. (The “ideas” list is even worse lol.)

21. most memorable comment/review

This is such a difficult question because every single comment I get makes me do a little dance for joy. That’s not an exaggeration btw I really sit there and like bounce around in my seat for a moment before I open the Ao3 email. I am not an especially emotive person irl, but there have been times I’ve been brought near tears by comments. I’ll also occasionally show them to my wife like !! look at this nice thing this person said !! and she’s indulgent enough to actually read them. There have been a couple comments that have really stuck with me, that I starred in my inbox and return to frequently, but I don’t want to bring attention to someone else without their permission. I will say there was one person recently who mentioned (not in the comments on one of my fics) that they had found someone who does physical binding of fanfiction and they were about to ask my permission to do that, but then the person who does the binding only does certain ships that she likes ... so that, just, absolutely floored me. The idea that someone might actual want a physical copy of my stupid little ninja fanfictions is, like, so truly immense and completely overwhelming?

24. favorite fic you read this year

You can’t make me pick just one!! (For reference, I have bookmarked right around 180 fics in the past year, and that’s not including fics that I just read, really enjoyed, but didn’t think I could ‘handle’ a second time around.) So, skipping over the ones that AREN’T Naruto ... here is a brief sampling of some faves:

Silica by deepestbluest (rated E, GaaLee, ShikaTema, and Kankiba) - An absolute emotional powerhouse of a fic that manages to skillfully interweave three complex relationship dynamics, satisfactorily resolve them, and give you ALL the sandsibs feels in just over 10k words.

Childhood Not-Friends (series) by MegaWallflower (rated G, KakaGai) - @megawallflower is a KakaGai god for good reason. Absolutely adorable relationship development fics (five of them!) with the premise that Kakashi thinks he and Gai have been dating since they were kids ... Gai just hasn’t been clued into it yet. These stories will give you heart-eyes.

The Bright Side by gidget_goes (rated T, GaaLee) - This is the Buffy AU I never knew I needed, because I’ve never seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But truly you don’t need any Buffy knowledge to enjoy this fic. @gidget-goes command of imagery is masterful, and the way they manage to snap from snark to tugging at your heartstrings is awe-inspiring. Gaara breaks my heart in this. And did I mention Kankuro wears a 10-gallon hat? Because Kankuro wears a 10-gallon hat.

Nature vs. Nurture by Bidiza (rated T, GaaLee) - So introspective and so poetic. This looks like a WIP but it’s actually multiple oneshots, although by the end of the second one you’ll be dying for the rest of the promised series.

I’m a Fool to Want You by BeelieveRosemarie (rated M, GaaLee) - Turns out @tuttiefruttiegaalee isn’t just an amazing artist, they’re a writer, too! Slow-dancing that will break your heart. Listen to the Frank Sinatra song while you read this for extra tear-jerking effect.

Let Love be Known (series) by TenTomatoes (rated G, GaaLee) - This is the twist on the arranged marriage trope and Beauty and the Beast that I didn’t realize this fandom was missing. I’m absolutely obsessed with their concept of Gaara as the Beast

I Could Be by LilacNoctua (rated T, GaaLee) - I know I big up @lilac-writes Worthwhile series a lot (deservedly so, because it’s so good it makes you look at the series and go “Why the fuck didn’t Kishimoto make this canon exactly like this?”), but this story made me absolutely die between the butterflies in my stomach and how hard I was laughing. There’s one line--you’ll know it when you read it--that absolutely bowls me over every time I re-read this.

And Then Continue by EgregiousDerp (rated E, GaaLee) - Obviously I’m biased because this was a gift, but @egregiousderp writes some of the the best characterized porn I’ve ever read. You will read this and go “Wow! This is exactly how it would happen!” It’s such a tender, beautiful exploration of Gaara’s insecurities and a very real feeling first time, for all its soft edges.

Cake by citronelle (rated E, KanKiba) - I don’t even know what to say about this one other than ... phew, this is extremely well written, extremely hot, and extremely in character. Just read it. I promise it’s worth it.

Saudade by YumKiwiDelicious (rated M, GaaLee) - I’ve run around reccing this to just about every person on the face of the earth at this point. If you’re in the GaaLee Discord you probably saw everyone salivating over every new update of this fic and with good reason. The twists and turns of this fic will have you on the edge of your seat, second guessing every single moment. And it will break your heart in the meantime. What more could you want?

the love potion commotion by floating_cats (rated T, NejiSasu with background GaaLee) - One of those fics where you wish the author’s sense of humor was your own. So many hilarious moments in this story, and it brought me a new appreciation for a ship I never would have even considered.

Finger Lickin’ Good by whazzername (rated E, GaaLee) - Whazz is another one of those authors where I literally want to rec every single thing she’s ever written, she’s just that good. (Speaking of which, if you haven’t read Fools Rush In and its sequel Degrees of Separation, you’re missing out on the best possible Metal origin story of all time. Don’t deprive yourself of this.) But this story is just ... so incredibly in character for a situation that reads like crack. It’s handled with the utmost straight-facedness and it’s so. freakin’. good.

heart lines by winterberry_holly (rated M, NejiTen and GaaLee) - I don’t even have the words to describe how perfect this fic is. It’s a truly beautiful exploration of Tenten’s relationship with her palmistry hobby and with the people in her life. My heart ached with every single line.

Standing on Ceremony by kuroashi (rated E, GaaLee) - This is just ... such a beautiful wedding story. So lovely, like getting the best possible warm hug from someone you love. If that love one was slightly strange and socially inept, because, well. It’s still Gaara doing Gaara-things. @baphometsss is another one of those authors whose handling of smut scenes is so stupendous it makes me wildly jealous.

Thrall by RokiRiot (rated T, GaaLee) - Idiots-to-lovers with a magic AU twist! This is such a wonderful story, and Gaara’s internal monologue is absolutely amazing. And Lee is Deaf in this fic, which I never ever get to see and which absolutely made my entire day/week/month/life.

Make-Out Consequences by LuxaLucifer (rated M, KakaGai with background canon Boruto ships) - I laughed so hard reading this that I had to take a breather to stop crying. That’s not an exaggeration. The characterization in this fic is impeccable and the humor is to die for. Naruto’s buffoonery truly shines here, and the author’s wit is just beyond anything I could even properly summarize. Hysterical. A++.

Thirteen Strokes by Luna_Lee (rated T, GaaLee) - Again, like, if you aren’t reading literally everything @sagemoderocklee writes, are you even really a GaaLee fan? But this fic is beyond even for one of Eeri’s incredibly excellent writings. The worldbuilding in this, the cultural notes, the imagery ... it’s all so lush and so fulfilling and so beautiful. It’s a story about love and it’s a story that you can tell has love poured into every single line. I can’t recommend it enough.

Checkmate by shadowstrangle (rated G, GaaLee) - The pettiness vibes ... this is so funny. Such a cute story and I love Gaara’s sense of humor here. Not a lot of writers give him a sense of humor, but I love how @shadowstrangle gives him a slightly odd, slightly left-of-center take on humor that still manages to be so funny.

To Court a Village by FanFictionEngineer (rated G, GaaLee) - Another one where my bias is perhaps slightly obvious, but the premise of this fic is amazing. I love cultural misunderstandings, and the idea of Lee trying his hardest to court Gaara ineptly is just so perfect.

affliction of feeling by theformerone (rated E, SakuHina) - One of those ships that it would never have occurred to me to seek out but that absolutely works with how the author’s set it up. The dynamics here are delicious. It’s so rare to find good F/F porn but this is one of them for sure.

Tried and Tested by twentysomething (Rated M, KakaIru with background canon Boruto ships and GaaLee) - Iruka’s narration in this story is just incredible. I haven’t laughed this hard reading a fic in ages. And the concept alone (that Naruto can’t be promoted to Hokage until he passes his chuunin exams ... as an adult ... and Sasuke gets dragged along for the ride) is just brilliant. Amazing concept, amazingly executed.

a fireside waltz by winterberry_holly (rated M, GaaLee) - I really tried not to rec a single author more than once here but for this one I had to. I got about halfway through this fic and immediately started running around ringing the town crier bell like READ THIS FIC! READ THIS FIC! An absolutely smoldering Regency AU with such beautiful, intimate dance scenes. My heart was racing every single time their fingers brushed. If you don’t read anything else on this list, at the very least read this.

27. favorite fanfic author of the year

I really can’t pick just one. I am lucky enough that @egregiousderp passes me her drafts under the table before (or without) publishing, and getting to read those is a private treat of unparalleled proportions. Some of my favorite things I’ve read this year I can’t even rec because they’re her unpublished stuff.

30. favorite fandom to read fic from this year

This is gonna come off strange because I just wrote such a long Naruto reclist, but I recently watched What We Do in the Shadows, and found an incredibly talented group of authors in that fandom with really amazingly good dialogue and narrative voice. I also read a lot of fic for the new It movies (even though I couldn’t watch the 2nd one for ~reasons~), and damn if there isn’t a talented crop of authors in that fandom, too. And finally with ATLA making its way onto Netflix, I had the chance to start watching that for the first time and found a ton of really good fic there as well!

fanfic end of the year asks!

#answered #ask meme #sagemoderocklee #Anonymous

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eddiesasspbrak · 3 years

Text

Familiar

Eddie is dragged to a comedy show by his coworkers and something about the comedian is so...familiar.

Part of my “I’d rearrange the alphabet to put U and I together” series

Read on AO3

A B C D E

7k+ words

Minors DNI

Something about this man felt familiar.

When Eddie’s coworkers invited him out for a drink, he was inclined to say no. He wasn’t one for socializing outside of the workplace and drinking in front of them added the risk of getting drunk and saying or doing something stupid. The last thing he needed was a joke about his behavior going around the office for years because of the one night out he chose to let loose.

Then there was the Myra of it all. If she knew he was going out for a drink, she would harass him through text and phone calls until he came home. He knew she had an app that allowed her to track him via GPS and he couldn’t figure out how to turn it off. She could just as easily find out where he was and show up, ready to cry or scream to manipulate him into doing what she wanted. Of course, Eddie would let her because she was his wife and he’d chosen this life with her.

Still, there was a part of Eddie that wanted to be carefree for one night. As long as he limited himself to two drinks and stayed hydrated, he would be ok. He texted Myra and told her that the pub they were going to was run by a potential new client for his insurance firm and she believed him easily. He rarely lied to her, so it was easy to get away with it when he did. There were some bigger secrets he kept from her. Like how he wasn’t sure he loved her as more than a friend and how he realized he only liked men and often dreamed about reliving some college one-night stands with other men he’d met along the way. It wasn’t important for her to know.

A simple lie about where he was going and why was innocent enough. He wasn’t interested in any of his coworkers romantically or sexually, so it’s not like he’d have to lie any further to cover up an affair. He didn’t have it in him to cheat anyway. He may not have loved his wife romantically, but he’d be damned if he took the cowards way out. If he found someone else he wanted to be with, he’d end it with her first like a decent human being.

His coworkers were ecstatic when he agreed to go with them. He never wanted to go out with them. The club they were going to had special events that required tickets and one of them had acquired nine at a discounted cost thanks to a connection with the club owner. Eddie didn’t have much interest in the comedy act that would be going on around them and planned to stay focused on his level of intoxication instead. A night of freedom was just that and he was going to enjoy himself no matter what he had to do to accomplish that.

There was a line going down the street of people waiting for admission. Due to Harold’s connection, they were able to bypass the line, much to Eddie’s relief. Standing in a line in the heat for hours was not worth getting a few drinks. Inside was already bustling with people and Eddie’s attention went immediately to locating their waitress and flagging her down.

The jokes at his expense already began as his coworkers made comments about him letting loose. They’d never expected him to be a drinker. They thought for sure he’d sip on water and iced tea (not the long island kind) all night. When he ordered a shot and a beer (the shot was mostly ordered to shut them up), they quickly quieted down. Though he was actually a light weight from years of barely drinking at all because of Myra. He could tell they were trying to assess if they really knew the true Eddie Kaspbrak and he could easily answer that for them. No. Nobody knew the real Eddie. Not even Myra.

The room went dark, a spotlight trained on the stage and the crowd erupted in applause as the comedian for the night took the stage. Curious, Eddie followed suit and looked up the man. They had a relatively close table, able to see the guy perfectly from where they sat. Eddie immediately recognized him. He’d seen his shows on Comedy Central a few times. He used to think he was funny but in the last few years, his routine completely changed, and Eddie didn’t think he was good anymore. It was like someone else entirely was writing his material. Myra always hated him.

As he began his routine, a strange feeling struck Eddie. There was something oddly familiar about this man. He told himself it was just because he was familiar with his work, but it was more than that. He had this feeling, like a distant memory, that he had spoken to him before. He’d called out his name, touched his hands. Maybe it was a dream. After all, he wasn’t unattractive, and it wouldn’t be the first time Eddie had had a dream about a celebrity he was attracted to.

He barely listened to the jokes as he chased the fleeting memory, trying to figure out just what had happened in his dream. Hopefully, nothing too graphic as he was in public with the people he worked with and he didn’t need to get himself worked up. Especially given the actual man himself was on stage.

“Richie!” He heard his own, younger voice calling out in his head. If they were children in his dream, that opened another line of questions that he couldn’t quite answer.

Harold was laughing beside him and clapped a hand down on Eddie’s shoulder. “He’s funny, right?” He asked.

Eddie focused on what the guy was saying for a second, wondering if he’d reverted back to his actual funny jokes. He only heard the tail end of a joke, specifically, “try telling that to my girlfriend.” Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“That dude does not have a girlfriend. He’s full of shit.” He mumbled mostly to himself.

“Are you sure? Maybe he’s talking about an ex-girlfriend.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how he knew, but he believed with every ounce of himself that Richie Tozier did not and never did have a girlfriend. He didn’t know why. Richie had never once talked about being gay. No one really speculated that he was either. Other than the fans who shipped him with other comedians he was friends with and that was all fantasy. Part of him wondered if it was just his wishful thinking. Not that he would cheat on his wife and hook up with a random comedian if he were gay. And interested in Eddie.

The show went on and Eddie kept himself delightfully tipsy but not drunk. Enough to get through the painfully unfunny jokes but keep himself from making a fool of himself. His coworkers were laughing along with the rest of the crowd while Eddie quietly heckled. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, but he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Usually something that only happened when he was comfortable with someone. His coworkers seemed to be enjoying this side of him but the people sitting at the table next to them, did not.

“Dude, shut the fuck up. I can’t hear the jokes.” The man sitting closest to him snapped.

“You’re welcome.” Eddie quipped and when he looked back toward the stage, Richie was looking right at their table.

Their eyes met and he stuttered his words, an unreadable expression passing over his face before he caught himself and picked back up where he’d messed up making a self-deprecating joke about forgetting his lines. Eddie sat frozen, a chill going through him. He’d felt something and he was sure Richie felt it too. For the brief second their eyes were locked it felt like he was looking up at an old friend. Part of him wanted to get up and leave with some lame excuse to his coworkers that his wife needed him home. He didn’t need this uncertainty of being drawn to someone he’d never met like he was a past lover. It was unfamiliar and made it hard to breathe.

A memory of a conversation with Myra clicked into his mind. She’d been talking about soulmates, saying that they always find one another from one life to the next and the connection is instantaneous. She was talking about the two of them and Eddie had just nodded along, not contributing because he knew she was wrong. If there was such a thing as soulmates, she was not his. The idea that Richie fucking Tozier could be his soulmate was ludicrous and he felt like a jackass for having that thought at all even if it was just a passing thought.

“I have to pee.” Eddie mumbled as he staggered to his feet and made his way through the tables toward the bathroom. As he pushed through the door, forgetting to use his elbow instead of his hand, he heard Richie on stage saying, “I’m Trashmouth Tozier, goodnight!” and he felt dizzy. Echoes of his own voice calling out “Trashmouth” filled his ears as he made his way to the sink, pressing his hands against the cold porcelain to support himself.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe he was drunker than he realized and that’s why his head was spinning. Either way, he felt like he was strapped to a chair, his eyes pried open being forced to watch images flash by on a screen. Images that were being crammed into his brain through his ear making his head throb, but he couldn’t actually see them. That distant dream you can vaguely remember when waking but it slowly fades away into oblivion again.

“You ok?” Eddie startled at the voice. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

“I’m fine.” He said, turning on the tap and splashing water in his face.

“Too much to drink?” Eddie didn’t respond this time. He just wanted to get out of there, go home and sleep. The intruder on his mini breakdown wasn’t taking his silence as a hint though. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Eddie finally lifted his head, taking a look at the guy though the mirror. What he saw, had him whirling around, a bad choice with the way he was feeling. He stumbled back against the sink, catching himself and hitting his wrist against the edge of the sink. Richie was leaning against the side of the stall door, his hands in his pockets.

It took a second for Eddie’s brain to reconnect to the present situation. When it did, the first thing to tumble from his lips was, “that’s a really shitty pickup line.”

Richie cracked a smile. “All pickup lines are shitty. I’m being serious though. Do you come to my shows often?”

“No. First time.”

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“Not even a little bit.” Eddie hadn’t meant to say that. He’d intended to lie and say it was great, but something about this guy made him want to be honest. He wasn’t afraid to tell him the truth. That feeling of familiarity sat tugging at his mind.

“Yea, I kind of noticed. I didn’t see you laugh once.”

“That room was packed. No way you were paying attention to me. You’re attempts to hit on me are really lame.”

“I was, though. I was trying to place where I know you. And I always watch the crowd to see if everyone is laughing. It’s kind of a blow to my confidence when there’s someone out there who doesn’t find my jokes funny.”

“They aren’t funny. They’re full of shit. Your old stuff was better.”

Richie appeared shocked. “So, you’re familiar with my work then. I thought you said this was your first show.”

“First live show I guess. I used to watch your stuff online. Before you stopped being funny.”

“Let me get this straight…you’re a fan but you don’t want me to hit on you in a public bathroom?”

“I’m not a fan, there’s no way you could get anything straight and I’m technically married. So, no.”

“Technically married? Like, separated? Getting a divorce?”

“No…I’m…I guess I’m actually married.”

“Oh.”

Eddie felt sick again, the waves of nausea crashing down and making him want to puke. He sounded disappointed and Eddie hated that. Why did he get married? Oh yea, because he shoved himself in the closet and she was obsessed with him. He used her and that knowledge was a constant pit of guilt sitting solid in his gut on a daily basis. He’d been so freaked out on their wedding day he’d almost run away. Having sex the first few times was awkward, and he had to drink quite a bit at the reception to even get hard and then he thought about the guy he used to hook up with in college. Tall, broad shoulders, thick biceps and thighs. He could hold Eddie up against the wall while he fucked up into him hard and fast.

That was not a memory he needed in his head while standing alone in a bathroom with someone he was definitely attracted to. Immediately he was picturing Richie pushing him up against the bathroom door, fucking him while he held a hand over his mouth to keep anyone from hearing his loud, slutty moans. A shiver went down his spine and he had to look away.

“Well, if I were hitting on you that would suck.” Richie chuckled awkwardly.

“What do you mean if?” Now distracted by Richie’s bullshit, Eddie was back to treating this perfect stranger as if he’d known him for years and was close with him. Could he really blame it all on the alcohol and the feeling of familiarity? Was it because he was attracted to him and really wanted to feel those big hands on his skin? “You were clearly disappointed when I said I was married.”

“I…have a girlfriend. Didn’t you hear my jokes about her?”

“That was bullshit. You didn’t even write those jokes.”

Richie’s eyes widened as his genuine smile returned to his face. “Why are you so sure I didn’t write my jokes?”

“Because your jokes used to be funny and they aren’t now.”

“Maybe I used to have someone else write for me and I write for myself now.”

Eddie hadn’t actually thought about that being a possibility. He was just so sure that the old jokes were his own words. He was beginning to think maybe he insulted him by saying his new stuff is bad since he didn’t write it when Richie began to laugh. He tried to keep it together, but the way Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed together, and his lips dropped into a frown of concern was so cute he couldn’t contain it. Eddie’s eyes snapped back up to Richie’s face and all at once his expression changed to one of annoyance.

“More bullshit. I take it back, you’re not funny at all and never were. And you’re definitely at least bi.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I can tell.”

“Ah, I just kind of assumed you were married to a woman, but I guess I was wrong. Cause like, only fellow gay people can tell right?”

“What kind of dumbassery is that? And I am married to a woman.”

“Oh. Wow. I cannot read people at all. I really thought you were gay.”

“I am.” Eddie felt like his heart stopped. He’d said it out loud for the first time. He used to think he was bi but ever since realizing his truth, he’d never said it out loud. Why the fuck was he blurting it out to this man in the middle of a public bathroom where anyone could walk in? He just couldn’t understand what was making him feel like an old friend he could confide all his deepest darkest secrets to. This was dangerous and he needed to leave. “I have to go.”

Eddie made his way to the door but was stopped by Richie using his long legs to get in front of him. “Wait, you can’t go without telling me your name.”

“What? Why?”

“You know my name.”

“You’re a celebrity. Everyone here knows your name.” Richie made it clear he wasn’t going to move until he gave it up and Eddie sighed in annoyance. “Fine. I’m Eddie.”

“Eddie…?”

“Kaspbrak. Now can you please move? My coworkers definitely think I’m taking a massive shit or passed out on the floor.”

“Sure thing Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Richie stepped to the side and Eddie wasted no time crashing through the door back into the dim light of the club. Outside the door stood a big buff bodyguard and a line of men stood waiting to pee. He’d actually stopped anyone from entering the bathroom after him. He definitely intended to seduce Eddie into fucking in the bathroom stall. Ignoring this, he made his way back to the table and found his coworkers still there discussing the show.

“Hey, Eddie, we thought you ditched us.” Harold grinned.

“No, sorry, there was a line in the bathroom.” He kind of lied. There had been a line, he had just sort of been the cause of it. “I do have to go though. I’ll see you all at work Monday.”

They each said goodbye and then Eddie was off into the night before Richie decided to follow after him. He wasn’t sure he could ignore the desire to drag him back to this car and ride him in the backseat if he saw him again. Better to rush home before he made a mistake.

----

When Eddie arrived home, Myra was unsurprisingly still awake waiting for him. He told her the meeting went well but she should head to bed without him as he needed a shower to wash the smell of the club off of him. Really he just needed to be alone and it was the only option. He’d banned her from sneaking into the shower with him after she tried to use two in one shampoo and conditioner on him. That wasn’t a thing and he only used professional hypoallergenic products recommended by his stylist.

Once under the hot stream of water, he closed his eyes, resting one hand against the wall to help support himself. That night wasn’t the first night he’d been tempted to go home with a stranger, but this time was different. He hadn’t actually touched him, but he swore he could feel his hands on his body, his fingers in his hair. A shiver went down his spine, his skin tingling where imaginary fingers traced over his body. The sound of his name from Richie’s mouth filled his mind as if he were there, whispering it over and over.

Before Eddie could even think, his fingers were wrapping around his dick, already hard just from his own imagination. He closed his eyes, focusing on how his face looked so close and in person, the sound of his laugh, the way one side of his mouth lifted up higher than the other when he smiled. He let his mind run wild, imagining what would have happened if he’d given in and stayed in that filthy bathroom with Richie.

“Eddie…Eddie…” His voice echoed in his head, making him shiver. With the door blocked by his bodyguard, there was no need to cram into a tiny stall, he thought. Instead, Richie would bend him over one of the sinks, his hands gripping the cold porcelain, his bare belly pressed against the edge. He wondered what it would be like to be fucked by Richie. How big he was, how long he could hold out. Had he even been with a guy before and did he prefer to receive? It didn’t matter really, because this was his fantasy and in it, Richie was perfect and knew exactly what Eddie needed.

In real time, Eddie had his shoulder pressed hard against the shower wall, one hand still jacking himself off, the other knuckle deep inside him while in his head Richie was pounding into him. He was close and part of his brain told him to bite down on his lip to stay quiet, so he wasn’t heard. He told himself it was because they were in a public bathroom, but he knew the real reason, the one who was likely listening outside the door for any noise. She would barge in and say she thought he fell in the shower if she heard any unusual noise, so he bit down until it hurt because he didn’t want to think about that. Not when Richie was deep inside him, moaning out his name and Eddie was close, so close…

He took a sharp inhale, spilling over his fingers and onto the shower floor. He knew that wasn’t great for the pipes as it washed away, but just a little wasn’t so bad, right? His head was a muddled cloud of post orgasm bliss and while the fantasy was quickly fading, he could still hear Richie’s voice echoing his name in his head. Over and over while Eddie reaching around the shower curtain for toilet paper to clean off his hand, while he quickly washed himself up and let the water run cold to calm himself down before leaving the safety and privacy of the bathroom. It continued as he shut off the water and wrapped himself in a towel and then his robe, repeating as he wiped the fog from the mirror and stared into his still wide pupils. It wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t will his voice away and then… “Eds!” the voice was younger, but he was absolutely sure that it was Richie.

The shock caused him to gasp, that same dizzy feeling he’d felt in the club coming back to him. A knock came from the door a second later followed by Myra’s frantic voice. “Eddie? Are you ok? I thought I heard something!”

Trying to calm himself, he took a deep breath before responding. “I’m fine. Just thought I saw a spider. I’ll be out in a second.” He knew she’d been sitting there ever since she heard the water start up. She always did. He could hear her footsteps going back down the hall toward the bedroom and he knew if he didn’t hurry she’d just come right back and demand he open the door. Grabbing another towel, he dried his hair a bit before bringing out the dryer. His mom had told him at a young age that it was never good to go to bed with wet hair and Myra felt the same way.

Hair dry and head calmed, he left the bathroom and the fantasy of Richie Tozier behind.

----

SpaghettiMan: Is it cheating to masturbate to someone else?

Eddie sat at his desk at work a few days later, the guilt of his almost-but-not-really with Richie sitting in his stomach all weekend. He’d wanted to talk to his friend about it, but it wasn’t safe to communicate with her at home. He’d met her in an online support group a few months before. She was also in a bad, controlling marriage though her husband was violent toward her and constantly accused her of cheating. They didn’t know each other’s real names, it wasn’t allowed in the group, but they’d become close and had moved to a private room where they could talk just the two of them. He’d created a stupid username that had been stuck in his head for years without any explanation but definitely hid who he really was. Now, he waited for her to respond, chewing the inside of his lip.

WinterFire: I’m sorry…what?

SpaghettiMan: I had the opportunity to cheat and I didn’t! I’m a good man…but I did go home and masturbate while thinking about them.

WinterFire: Wow, um…ok. I guess it’s better than screwing your wife while thinking about them, maybe?

SpaghettiMan: Oh god…

WinterFire: Does your wife know?

SpaghettiMan: Of course not! I don’t even sleep with her anymore unless she gets me really, really drunk.

WinterFire: So…who was it?

SpaghettiMan: What?

WinterFire: The almost. Who was it?

SpaghettiMan: Is that important?

WinterFire: Absolutely. If you want me to judge you then I need all the details.

Eddie’s fingers hesitated over the keys. He hadn’t told her that he was gay. It was anonymous, but if he gave her the name of a celebrity thought to be straight, it would open a whole can of worms. He decided it was ok to tell her about himself, but he wouldn’t give away Richie’s name.

SpaghettiMan: It was…a guy.

WinterFire: Oh

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched the typing bubbles appear and disappear several times. Part of him had always been afraid that she was really Myra pretending to be someone else to get information out of him, though he didn’t know if she was actually capable of that. Finally, the chat chime came from his speakers.

WinterFire: So, you’re bi? Or pan?

SpaghettiMan: I’m gay

His fingers shook as he hit send. Twice now he’d admitted it in just a few short days. It was terrifying and liberating all at the same time. Like the weight of the world was lifted off of his shoulders for just a moment while laced with fear of the unknown. How would she react? Before she could, his fingers were flying over the keys.

SpaghettiMan: I thought I was bi for a long time. I slept with men in college but also some women.

SpaghettiMan: I met my wife and she loved me, and I thought I loved her, so we got married and then I realized.

SpaghettiMan: I didn’t want to hurt her but also she’s…well you know what she’s like from the stories I’ve told you. I don’t know if I could get away if I tried. She’s so manipulative, I don’t know what she’d do if I told her the truth and left.

WinterFires: Hey, it’s ok. You don’t have to defend yourself to me. Sexuality is a crazy thing.

WinterFires: I’ve for sure had more than one woman in my bed. Sometimes at the same time.

She added a little winking emoji after that, and Eddie felt himself calming down.

WinterFires: Maybe this is something you should tell the group. I want to help but I’m not really sure what to say. I don’t think what you did counts as cheating, but I do think you need to find a way to tell her the truth. She deserves a man who can handle her toxic ass and actually wants to sleep with her, and you deserve to be happy and live your truth.

He contemplated what she said for the rest of the day. She wasn’t wrong, but if it were that easy, he’d have done it already. Still, he trusted her and her opinion so the next meeting they had, he’d bring it up. He’d already said it twice, what was once more?

----

As the days went by, Eddie couldn’t get Richie out of his head. He haunted his dreams, sometimes they were younger and sometimes they were nightmares where they were running from…something. He could never fully remember the dreams all he knew was that Richie was there. Sometimes there were other people. Always five, always blurred so he couldn’t see them. Only one had any discernible features – red hair. Beyond that, it was as if he was looking at them through foggy glass.

One thing was certain, Richie Tozier had burrowed his way into Eddie’s brain and taken up permanent residence. He started watching his older routines again, finding clips online and on streaming services. Eventually he made it to his new stuff. And, while he still didn’t think the new stuff was funny, he couldn’t stop watching.

When the weekend rolled around once more, he felt like a teenager who hadn’t seen their crush all week. So, against his better judgement, he approached Harold with an invitation to go back to the club for drinks. Harold had definitely been surprised but had agreed and invited along a group of their coworkers to join, making a night of it. Eddie told Myra they had to go back to the club to go over some paperwork with the owner. This time, the lie made him feel guilty. He wasn’t lying to enjoy a night of relaxation; he was lying so he could attempt to see the man he was interested in. This definitely counted as cheating, right?

The line wasn’t as bad this time as there were no big-name comedians performing, so they’d waited their turn to be allowed inside. His coworkers chatted happily while Eddie felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin from nervous energy. Where were the odds he was even there? He’d only been at the club last weekend because he had a show. He was paid to be there. This was stupid. He was stupid. He should just fake illness and go home to his wife. But then they were at the front, paying admission to see a band he didn’t know, and he didn’t stop.

The inside was the same as before, but this time a band occupied the stage playing a song he’d never heard before. They claimed a table and Eddie’s eyes scanned the room for a familiar face. There was no sign of him, or his big bodyguard. Of course, he wasn’t there. Eddie was just a one time attempted pick up and he hadn’t thought of him since. Anything Eddie had imagined was just that…imaginary.

“You ok Kaspbrak?” Harold asked.

“Yea, I’m fine. I just suddenly feel really tired. I think going out today was actually a bad idea.” He felt so sad and then felt stupid for feeling sad.

“What? Really? You created this night out and now you’re tapping out just as it’s getting started?” Harold looked disappointed.

“I’m really sorry. Maybe I’m coming down with something. We can try again next week, ok?”

He didn’t wait for a response as he stood and headed for the door. As he exited onto the nearly dark street, he wondered what he was doing. He was married, what was he planning to do? What if Richie had been there? It wouldn’t make a difference or change his circumstances. If he wanted to pursue hot guys in clubs, he needed to first get a divorce. He was acting on impulse and it was time to reign it in.

Part of his mind kept telling him to go back. Just because he wasn’t there, didn’t mean he wouldn’t show up. That was precisely the kind of thought he was trying to remove, so he ignored it and kept walking.

----

The rest of the weekend, Eddie stayed home and watched things that had absolutely nothing to do with a certain comedian. He had lunch and dinner with Myra and on Sunday, over a dinner of all her favorite foods, he told her.

“What are you talking about? Don’t be silly, Eddie.” She said with a wave of her hand, dismissing what he’d just said.

“I’m serious, Myra. When we met and got married I thought I liked women too and maybe on some small level I do, but I want to be with a man. I want a divorce.”

She slammed her glass down on the table, her face turning red. “Who? Who is this man you want to be with?”

“There isn’t anyone specific. I just think it’s time I find someone.”

“You already have someone! Me!”

“You know what I mean, Myra. And you deserve to find someone too.”

“You’re just being ridiculous. You’ve got a fever and are delirious. I’ll call your doctor in the morning.”

“I’m not sick, I’m not delirious. This has been on my mind for a long time. I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, but it’s time.”

“I won’t hear anymore of this!” She stood from the table. “I’m going to have a nice hot bath and then I’m going to bed. In the morning we’ll both be thinking a lot clearer and you’ll see that this was just foolishness.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, she left the room. A moment later, Eddie could hear the water running in the bathtub. Sighing, he cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher and put away all of the leftovers. With her still in the bath, he went to the room they shared and packed a bag with pajamas, toiletries and a suit for work. He was in his car and headed to a hotel before she emerged from the bathroom.

----

Eddie was sat at his desk the next day, chat window opened on his screen and feeing exhausted. He’d tossed and turned all night, anxiety about how difficult things were about to become plaguing his mind. He’d checked out of the hotel that morning, his things in the trunk of his car, but he figured he’d be back there or at another hotel that night.

SpaghettiMan: I did it. I told her everything (mostly) and slept in a hotel last night.

WinterFires: Holy crap! Good for you, dude! I’m proud of you.

SpaghettiMan: Thanks. It was pretty awful. I actually left when she was bathing, and my phone has been turned off, so I have no idea what she’s doing or thinking right now.

“Hey, Eddie.” He turned in his chair to see one of the assistants standing close by. “You’ve got a visitor. They said to meet them out in the parking lot.”

“What?” He looked toward the front entrance and saw no one standing there.

“Yea, it’s kind of weird. Do you need me to call the police or…?”

“No, it’s ok. I’ll handle it.”

SpaghettiMan: She may have just shown up at my work. I have a visitor waiting in the parking lot. If I’m not back in ten minutes, I’m probably dead.

WinterFires: Oh shit, be careful ok?

Eddie’s stomach twisted in knots as he road the elevator down to the ground floor. He tried to see who it was through the front windows but there were several people outside and he didn’t know who it was waiting for him. He went to the desk in the lobby and approached the security guard.

“Hi, so I’m Edward Kaspbrak, I work upstairs. I’m about to go meet some stranger out in the parking lot. I’m sure it’s nothing, but if you see anything go down can you…interfere?” He felt so stupid.

“Do you…want me to go out there with you?” The guy looked out into the parking lot out of curiosity.

“No, that might be bad. Just…if a woman tries to force me into a car, call the police and tell them it was my wife.”

“Right. Ok.” The guard seemed confused and maybe a little amused, but he watched as Eddie exited the building and stood close to the window to observe.

Eddie stayed close to the building and scanned his surroundings. He didn’t see Myra, but then a tall figure with a hood and sunglasses waved in his direction. So, not Myra. A hitman maybe? Or someone hired to kidnap him and take him home? Either way, he looked back to the security guard in the window and then made his way through the parked cars to where the person was standing.

“Before you say anything, I’m guessing my wife sent you. I don’t know what she’s paying you or what she told you to do but know that I’m planning to leave her enough money in the divorce to be comfortable for a few years. Also, there’s a security guard watching us, and I’ve instructed him to call the police if you try anything.” He tried to sound confident, but his voice squeaked on the last bit.

The person smiled and removed their glasses. Richie.

“You’re a hard man to find Mr. Kaspbrak.” He grinned, tucking the glasses into his jacket pocket.

“Why are you here?” That might have sounded harsher than he intended.

“I’ve been looking for you since that night we met. I went back to that club a few times, figured it was a place you frequented. I saw the people you were with last time, but you were nowhere in sight.”

“I…was there. I just left. I was sick.”

“Well, I talked to them anyway and they told me you all worked together and after a few rounds they told me exactly where to find you.”

“Are you stalking me?” Eddie ignored the flutter in his chest and his quickly increasing heartrate.

“Flat answer, yes. I wanted to see you again. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head and I needed to find out why.”

“I…me too. What the fuck is happening?” Eddie took a step back, suddenly feeling breathless.

“Fate?”

“No, I keep having these dreams where we’re kids, and I’ve never seen you as a kid but I know it’s you and there are five others but they’re all…”

“Blurry?”

“How did you know that?”

“I’ve had the same dreams. And there’s this thing that’s trying to kill us. I think. I just know we’re scared of it.”

“You’re lying. You’re full of shit. You’ve been talking to someone. Winter…you’ve talked to her. You are her, aren’t you?”

“Who? I haven’t talked to anyone. I swear, I’m telling the truth. It’s been going on ever since I saw you that night.”

Eddie felt sick, a panic attack creeping up on him as it became harder to breathe. “Whoa, shit, you ok?” Richie asked, stepping forward. “Do you have your inhaler?”

“How?” Eddie asked between shaky breaths. “How did you know I use an inhaler?”

“Uh…lucky guess?”

Eddie shook his head and took a deep breath, holding it for ten seconds and letting it go then repeating. Richie stood close by and watched, concern in his eyes.

“Look, people are starting to stare and if I get recognized it could be a whole thing so why don’t we go get lunch somewhere and I’ll tell you everything that’s happened to me since we met, ok?”

Eddie nodded, letting out his breath in one long blow, finally feeling himself begin to calm down. “Fine, but you’re paying.”

----

Two weeks later and they weren’t any closer to finding out what their dreams meant or why they knew strange facts about each other they shouldn’t know. However, dinners and drinks and long nights talking until the sun rose, and they didn’t care anymore. Maybe it was fate bringing them together. Some cosmic thing that can’t quite be explained.

They agreed that they wouldn’t pursue a relationship until Eddie’s divorce was final, which would probably take a while with all the fits Myra was throwing. He couldn’t take care of himself, he needed her, she might be pregnant, etc. Eddie would listen to her and then make it clear that he was going forward with the divorce. Getting her to sign would be another obstacle all together but Richie put him in touch with a good lawyer, so he was hopeful.

He was driving back to his hotel afterwork, stuck on yet another call with Myra, her begging him to reconsider. This time she had decided that it was ok if he kept male lovers behind closed doors as long as they stayed together, and he gave her a baby. She was planning it all out when another call came in. The ID read “Derry, Maine” and a chill went through him. He told Myra to hold on and switched over.

“Eddie? It’s Mike.”

Oh.

----

So maybe Eddie had an entire life that he couldn’t even remember. Filled with friends he’d known since childhood. And Richie. That’s what was happening with them. Why they seemed to know each other. It was because they did. Intimately. They were friends for years and then in the 8th grade, they started dating. They dated all the way until they each left Derry and then…nothing. They both just, forgot. As did the others.

Eddie was frantic as he stood outside Richie’s door, knocking rapidly until his knuckles began to hurt. When Richie opened the door, he had his phone pressed to his ears, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Yea, I’m gonna have to call you back.” He said, dropping the phone to his side.

“Was that Mike?”

“No, Mike called just before. That was my manager wanting to know why I’m canceling my shows to go back to my hometown I didn’t even know existed until fifteen minutes ago.”

“Do you remember?”

“What, that we were in love and ready to start our adult lives together and then we completely forgot each other?”

“Yea…that.”

Without missing another beat, both surged forward and wrapped each other up in their arms. Richie stepped back into the apartment, pulling Eddie with him and shutting the door.

“I can’t believe you married a woman.” Richie laughed.

“Fuck you.” Eddie’s voice was muffled by Richie’s shoulder, but the message got across. “I cheated on you. A lot.”

“Hey, me too. Forget about it. It was…another life.”

Eddie pulled out of Richie’s embrace but stood close, looking up at him. “I still can’t do anything until I’m divorced. I just…can’t.”

“I got it. But I feel nineteen again like we haven’t lost anything when we really lost like twenty years.”

“I don’t want to think about that. I can’t.” Eddie shook his head as if willing the thought away. “So…are we going to Derry?”

“Our friends need us. Don’t we have to?”

“What if we forget again…”

“I guess we’ll just have to rely on fate to bring us together again.”

“So, back to Derry.”

“Back to Derry.”

#It (2017)#it (2019)#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #Ro writes

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suntrastar · 4 years

Text

abstract: chapter 2

chapter 1!! chapter 3!! you can also find this fic on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 7500 exactly. i am so lame.

Author’s note: hello!! when i was uploading ch 1 on here it never once crossed my mind that i should probably add ch 2 as well ... but oh well! it’s here now. hope u all like it. reblogs and likes and whatever else are very much appreciated. also i forgot to say last time- i paint a little but i am NOT a professional artist! i’m making all of this up as i go! if i’m wrong with something do NOT tell me. shh. but ok now enjoy!!

A blank canvas stands before you, as big as your torso and propped up on an easel. White, unmarked, clean- pristine and teeming with potential.

You hate it.

In your lap sits your sketchbook. Pages upon pages of rough, half-baked ideas, each more mediocre than the last. You thought that maybe you could churn something decent out if you came to your studio, soaked in enough of the atmosphere to coax out some sort of productivity.

Well, you were wrong. It’s the opposite- the empty canvas is slowing your thoughts down, muddling them together, disorienting you.

You stare at it for the better part of an hour, white searing into your vision, shoulders sagging with each passing minute.

There’s something there. You have something, a rough chunk of an idea in the back of your mind that could be great, but you can’t figure out what it is. And it’s not something you can just google- you can’t search up how to think a thought you haven’t had yet- so you sit on your own, unproductivity festering, oozing out like the orange from the skylights.

You’re not doing too well. The sun sets before it’s five, it’s Monday, you have a fifth adult class to teach, yesterday you only got to a third of your chores. It sucks- you should be better than this! Put-together, neat, confident, creative, actually able to do something.

You wallow freely, feeling no satisfaction when you reach forward and push the side of the canvas with one finger, tipping it off the easel and sending it clattering to the floor.

The warmth of the sun burns into your back. You don’t like wasting time like this, never have. Maybe you needed to, though, to help get you back on track.

You heave out a sigh and crack too many joints as you stand up, folding up your easel, picking up the dreaded canvas, shoving your sketchbook into your purse. The drawing pencils you set out on the table are neatly lined back up into their metal tin, the kneadable eraser kneaded for a few frustrating seconds before it’s put back as well.

You zip your coat all the way up to your chin. It’s still freezing outside, and the walk from your studio to the subway, from the subway to the other studio, is always a cold one.

***

At least you can move on from the watercolors.

Oil pastels! Still not a very desirable medium, but for today, you’ll take it. At least it’s saturated, at least you don’t have to worry about the whole thing coming apart with a spare drop of water. The way it stains your fingers and blends unpredictably is kind of charming, too.

You run through your demonstrations. You gesture to where the paper is located. You make a few suggestions for what people could draw: trees, landscapes, birds. Then you remember a box of handheld mirrors the studio owner keeps in one of the storage closets, and run over to get it.

“You can use them for self portraits,” you say, and then a particular man in the back scowls, and then you add that it’s optional.

But Steve takes two mirrors.

You don’t have time to analyze all of that. You walk around, offer a few words of advice. Shonna lays the preliminary sketch for a heron, and you’ve never seen grey and yellow look so nice together. Your favorite couple, Marcie and Ahmed, draw each other, but neither of them can draw. They laugh at themselves as they misshape each other’s noses, miscalculate the distance between each other’s eyes.

It’s cute. You stop at them and laugh a little, before continuing your round to the back of the room, to Steve and Bucky.

“Everything working out okay?” You say, while Steve frowns into a mirror.

“I feel kind of stuck-up doing this,” Steve says, and brings the mirror even closer to his face, right up to his eyes.

You laugh a little. “Don’t worry,” you say, and peer down at his sketch, which is already looking uncannily like him. “It looks just like you! You even got the nose right.”

Steve nods, still bothered by the apparent narcissism of this activity. He pulls a peach pastel from the set. “I guess,” he says, unconvinced, and streaks the pastel over the side of his drawn face, and you quietly marvel over how well he understands shadow. “Are you okay?”

The question catches you off guard.

“What?”

Steve sets his mirror down.

Next to him, Bucky glowers at you, like he wasn’t smiling at your bad jokes in the cafe, like, two days ago. He’s so vehement- you’re starting to think that you dreamt up the entire encounter.

“You look kind of stressed,” Steve says, and then winces. “Sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, and hesitate for a second, before thinking what the hell, and deciding to just let it out. “I am stressed. I’m so stressed- Steve, I’m, like, this close to losing it.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s wrong?”

He’s so sincere. Always so nice, and you don't even care that Bucky’s glare deepens when you pull out the seat and sit down in it, because you are dying to tell someone.

“I have this show in the summer,” you say, and clench your hands, because just the thought of the show makes you want to wring your own neck, “but I still have no idea what to do. I mean, I do, but it’s like, I have point A and point B, but I don’t have the line connecting it. Does that make sense?”

“What are the points?” Steve asks, and takes up the mirror again, to analyze the lower portion of his face.

“Okay,” you say, and lean back in your seat, and maybe it’s a little unprofessional, but you’re cool enough that it really isn’t, “Point A is that I want everything to be busy. Lots of patterns and fabric and plants. Like, I don’t want there to be any resting space for your eyes, because that’s boring. And point B is that I want to use people- and this is where the problem comes in, because I don’t know what people to use.”

You’re talking kind of fast, but Steve seems to still be understanding what you’re saying. “Why not?”

“Because I want it to be personal. For my previous stuff, I would just post ads on Instagram whenever I needed models, and take pictures of random people and paint them. But I don’t want to do that again, but I don’t know what I want to do. I want people to look at the people and say ‘wow, that’s personal,’ but I don't want them to be able to tell how personal it is. Like, personal at an arm’s length.

Steve stares at you like you have definitely lost it.

You pointedly don’t look at Bucky.

Then he reconsiders, and gives you a supportive little smile, and you can feel your stomach sinking further and further down.

“I don’t fully understand that,” he says, and reaches not for the orange or red pastel, but the pale blue one. “But I’m sure you’ll get it. Just give it some time.”

You watch him outline his chin, the left side of his nose, little strokes of his eyebrows. Blue and leaving little smears and flakes of color, and creating this swirling pattern with one of the streaks of peach, like ocean and sand upon each other, so pretty and bold.

“Thanks, Steve,” you say, and he grins into his mirror, still adding blue. It looks amazing. “Also, would you ever consider switching careers? The art world is missing out on you.”

He blushes.

“Use people you know.”

You and Steve turn fast to look at Bucky, still glaring. His red oil pastel, held tight in his gloved hand, looks ready to snap.

At least you’re sitting diagonally from him, instead of directly across. At least you don’t back down from looking him in the eye.

“For what?” you say, like you aren’t following, even though you are- you just have a feeling that he won’t tell you what he’s thinking unless you ask for it.

“For your painting thing,” he says. “Because it’s personal. To you.”

You stare at him like he’s crazy for a second or two, and he looks into his own mirror, set flat on the tabletop, without peering at his face. You glance over at his paper, at half a page full of perfectly identical red boxes, and realize that he’s drawing the ceiling panels.

Okay- lame.

But also, like, funny.

Then it starts to click.

“Wait,” you say, and you feel bashful, because he’s been listening to you this whole time, and in his silence he must have been thinking of you, and the thought of that is just too satisfying for you to let go of. He’s been thinking of you.

Or maybe he just wants you to leave.

“That works,” you say, and then you suddenly have the connecting line. “That works perfectly. It’s, like, not personal, but…”

“Familiar,” Bucky says, and you are half a red box away from leaning over the table and throwing yourself into his arms.

That’s exactly it.

“Thank you,” you say, and your brain is running a mile a minute, and he’s just staring at you. “Thank you so much. That’s exactly it, oh my god.”

You don’t even realize how far you’ve leaned over, hands balanced on the table, craning your head towards him. And you don’t even care- pieces are shifting and everything makes sense, and the weather outside isn’t cold, it’s beautiful! And this class is wonderful. Bucky himself is wonderful.

You float through the rest of the class. The clarity of your thoughts is jarring, the way you understand what you’re trying to do now. Flowers, fabric, and then you have an idea with a pair of earrings. You ache for a pen and sheet of paper to write it all down, but if you started doing it now, you don’t think you would be able to get up once the class ends.

Once, you smile at Bucky. He doesn’t return it- and you’re too in over your head to care.

***

He’s not genuinely interested.

This is a precaution. Bucky takes lots of precautions- he sleeps with weapons at his bedside, goes out with knives strapped to his body, always sweeps unfamiliar rooms before sitting, doesn’t tell anyone anything. This is just another thing thrown on top of his already exhausted routine, necessary to his safety and sanity and-

To his basic peace of mind.

He’s not a very good typer, so he asks JARVIS to look it all up instead, and transfer it to his overpriced, Stark-issued laptop.

There’s relief in that action itself- he tells JARVIS the wrong name twice, because that’s how personally disinterested he is. So disinterested that even something as simple as a name eludes him.

He doesn’t care.

The information gets transferred to his laptop. Bucky takes his time, carefully scanning the screen, preparing to tuck away anything concerning, for future reference.

There is a lot of information.

Articles- too many articles. Editorials, interviews, reviews. And pictures, and even videos, and he wonders if Steve ever brought this up to him, this level of renown that apparently you possess, and Bucky just wasn’t paying attention. But no, that couldn’t have been true- he’s been genetically enhanced to always be paying attention.

He’s a slow reader, and whenever the fonts are too small it gives him a headache, so rather than reading an article, he goes to the pictures tab.

Your art shows up first. He clicks on the picture to enlarge it, and it takes a long while for him to fully comprehend what he’s seeing.

A woman dancing with a cow in the background, a woman with butterflies on her eyelashes. Two men wearing crowns of pearls, but when he zooms in closer, they’re birds. A figure in a dress, wearing sleeves that resemble fish, with a halo of koi fish circling her head. Everything has to do with animals, and there’s so much movement, and he doesn’t like art, but he does have to admit that it’s all so pretty.

And there’s lots of yellow.

And as he scrolls further down, there’s pictures of you. In some, you stand with people who look ridiculously pretentious, with weird hair and odd clothes and thick-framed glasses. Other artists, he guesses, who have to let everyone know that they’re artists before they even open their mouths.

Then there’s pictures of just yourself. You, unsmiling next to a half-finished canvas, in the middle of twirling a paintbrush between your fingers. You, unsmiling in a white-walled photography studio. You, smiling while wearing a ridiculous sequined dress, which confuses him until he reads the description, and learns that the dress itself is an art installation.

It makes his head hurt.

He looks some more, even though he’s not really learning anything. Or maybe he is learning, just nothing concerning like he was hoping for. Something that would justify this search in the first place, but all he’s found is that you have pretentious colleagues and wear ridiculous dresses and deserve Steve’s admiration the way you’ve been receiving it.

Eventually, he coaxes himself into clicking a link. An article with a big publication, too big for just an art instructor- but you’re not just an art instructor. you’re, like, good. The article is an interview, which could have just been recorded and uploaded, but for some reason, it was transcribed and written in article format anyway.

The twenty-first century is stupid like that.

When it was written, you had just had your first solo exhibition, and it was more successful than anybody ever anticipated. The interview is meant to be a little off-the-wall, charmingly eccentric, asking about favorite foods and then your future aspirations in the same sequence, and then debating different colors and some political situation within the same question.

Bucky stumbles through a paragraph or two, not really comprehending anything but getting the gist, and his head hurts more, but he’s blissfully relieved of it all when Steve barges into his room without knocking.

He shuts his laptop screen so hard that the screen nearly cracks.

“Woah,” Steve says, and puts a hand up, but doesn’t take any steps back. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says, and stares at the laptop with fury, as if he’ll be able to close the tab that was still open through telekinesis alone.

“O-kay,” Steve says, totally unconvinced. He hoists the bag on his shoulder- his gear bag, with his supplies. He’s headed out for an indefinite period of time, anywhere between three days and two weeks. In the bag is his suit, in its patriotic spandex glory, his other supplies, bandages and a gun and a sketchbook.

To pass the time, if he gets bored on the flight.

“Are you leaving now?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods his head. “Yeah. Just came to say bye.”

“You mean see you later,” Bucky corrects, because those two things mean different things, and the difference is enough to matter to him.

“See you later,” Steve says, and he shifts, one massive wall of muscle leaning from one foot to the other. He’s uncertain of something- like Bucky can’t handle himself on his own.

He can handle himself.

Bucky lifts one silver hand and waves.

***

He doesn’t need to go.

Steve hasn’t returned, still somewhere in South America, away on a mission. It’s not like anyone is going to check, either, if he attends or not. It’s not like this is required, like he has some sort of moral or contractual obligation to show up.

Still, it’s become part of his routine, and deviating from routine makes his skin itch. As Monday strikes again, he slides into his seat in the art studio. At least he’s not too early; he doesn't know how he would be able to handle any pre-class conversation without Steve being there to do the actual conversating.

You start right on time. Always so prompt.

“We’re going to be working with oil pastels again,” you say, and make a big gesture with your hands. You wear chunky gold earrings that wink under the lights. “But I’m going to let you do whatever you want. Draw whatever. I’ve got out a few different types of paper, and some different tools for creating textures- I’ll show you all how to use them really quick.”

You scrape a sheet of paper hastily colored purple with something that looks like a plastic knife. Then you use something that looks like a plastic-toothed comb, and then some other pointy plastic objects to make lines and whirls on the paper. Texture. He watches the paper, some, but mostly you.

You look over at him two times. No more than you do at anyone else, but he still notices- as a precaution.

“Okay, I'm done. You all can get to work,” you say, and set the purple sheet down on your own table, at the front. “Have fun. Get crazy with it.”

Bucky looks down at the paper he’s set on the table, yellow-white and slightly textured. He looks at the oil pastels, sitting so dejectedly in their little cardboard dish, a product of low budget and disuse.

He takes the yellow one.

You come over to his table some time later, after getting to everyone else. He’s always last, he’s noticed- because he sits at the back, and because you like to take your time talking with Steve. But Steve isn’t here today, which means you won’t linger, which means he can continue on sitting in peace.

“How’s it going?” You ask. One of your hands comes to rest on top of the chair across from him.

“Your shoe is untied.”

Your smile falters as you look down, at your red sneaker- you wear hot red sneakers- but reaffirms itself a second later as you slide the chair out, and prop your foot up on it.

Bucky suddenly feels off. Your knee rests slightly above his head, and your head is tucked down but still looming high over him, cast in shadow. He’s beneath- under. And you’re double-knotting the laces of your shoe.

“Thanks,” you say, and it’s awkward to thank someone for something so little, but you don’t say it like it’s awkward. “I probably would’ve tripped on the laces. Anyways, again, how’s it going?”

He considers the question. “Fine.”

“Fine,” you repeat. You take your foot off the chair and tuck it back in, and then lean- loom even more- over him, looking over at his piece of paper.

He glares at you, even though you’re not looking at him.

“Wow,” you say, and your eyebrows are creasing, and he thinks that you’re struggling to come up with something to say, and after seeing those paintings online, he can’t even take offense at it. “Those lines are so… straight. How are they so straight?”

Because his metal hand has an internal stabilizer.

“They just are,” he says.

You look at him. Everything suddenly feels stuttered and slow, drenched in honey. He’s expecting some type of joke, and praying for the ground to open and swallow him up, bury him under six feet of tile. Has silence always been this unbearable?

“Awesome,” you say.

Then you look away and he’s able to breathe again, and you’re turning away, ready to flounce back over to someone else. He looks back down at his paper and picks up the pastel again, fingers pressing over the paper wrapper, so that he doesn’t get anything on his glove. He draws another straight line.

“Wait, one more thing.”

You turn around and his head snaps up, fully alarmed.

You take in his expression and look like you’re about to laugh. But you stifle it back, bite on your lip as you pull the chair back out again and sit down, across from him. Steve isn’t even here- Steve isn’t even your motivation for being here, today, and all he’s thinking about is you in that ridiculous art installation of a dress.

Floor-length. V-neck.

“So,” you say, and Bucky can’t look at you. In his peripheral vision he sees you curl your hands together, resting on top of the table. The glass on the watch flashes. “So, you know the idea that you gave me last week? With painting people I know? I started this painting of my mom- and all of these ideas in my head make sense to me now- wait. Let me show you, first.”

He keeps his eyes dutifully trained on his paper. Still, he can hear the smile in your voice as you pull your phone out of your back pocket, tapping away at something before turning the screen around for him to see.

Your arm is stretched all the way across the table. Bucky leans in a little bit, to see the picture you’ve pulled up.

A partially painted image of a woman that looks like you but not you, with almost the same face as you, but with hands mottled with age and a mouth starting to droop at the corners. Your mom, apparently, sitting with her hands clasped the way you’re clasping yours. She wears earrings that look like huge flowers, lilies, or something, and in a white dress that looks halfway like a swirled illusion.

“Nice,” he says, grudgingly, and you keep your hand outstretched. He wonders if you want him to take the phone from you, if you’re waiting for him to say more. “I like the dress.”

You beam at him. He’s been looking at you without realizing. “Thank you. I actually got the idea or the pattern from Steve- I’m just stealing ideas, aren’t I- but did you see the thing he did with his self-portrait last week? The swirls? It was so pretty- I couldn’t help myself. Anyways, where is he today?”

“Out of town.”

Dread curls at the pit of his stomach.

Bucky doesn’t know why, but he has the heavy, stone-cold realization that he does not want to be talking about Steve right now.

It must show, because you’re in the middle of opening your mouth to say something, and then abruptly close it.

“Oh,” you say, and you shift. He realizes that he doesn’t want you to leave yet, either. “Nice.”

You’re getting out of your seat. You must be feeling it too, the heaviness, the atmosphere so overwrought with polite dislike, because he still doesn’t like you, even though he knows your name now, but-

“What’s your next painting going to be?” he asks, so quickly that it comes off as a little frantic.

Your eyes widen and you’re carried back down, drifting back into your seat.

“I’m so glad you asked that,” you say, as you settle in. For a second, you’re frighteningly put together, shoulders straight, hands neatly folded, earrings glinting. “I’ve been wanting to tell someone about it so bad.”

You want your next painting to be of your dad. A portrait of just his face, close enough to add little, inconsequential details. You have this idea where you create patterns that look like flowers out of his wrinkles. He has teeth that are always yellow, because he drinks so much coffee, you say, a habit you’ve picked up, but you want to paint them almost neon, bring as much attention to it as you can. His hair is thinning and you want to make it all blue, like a receding tide.

It devolves, and his grip on the pastel loosens as you fall into something more and more jumbled, divulging other ideas you have, about things that aren’t directly related. You want to go big- much larger than life. A canvas as big as your body, just to paint a head. You make your own canvases, too, and you show him your palms, skin beneath your fingers raised and bumpy, with a ropy pink scar on your right hand. It’s from an incident with a saw, you say, even though you know your way around a saw. He almost wants to touch it.

Bucky thinks of his own right hand, with as many scars as it has lines. What does that mean, in terms of fate? He knows his way around a saw, too, and many other bigger, dangerous things, but you don’t know or don’t care about it. It devolves further, you sink lower in your seat, shoulders curving forward, and you’re telling him something else about nothing, and you aren’t minding that he’s mostly focused on just listening.

You’re laughing when someone behind you clears their throat.

You turn back, to see Shonna, looking uncomfortable as she fiddles with the strap of her purse.

“I’ve got to go,” she says, and, for whatever reason, gives you a look. “I finished my drawing, so I’m taking it with me. See you next week.”

“Have a good night!” You say, and cast a spare glance at your watch, to see how early she’s leaving.

She’s not leaving early.

You’re running nearly twelve minutes over.

“Oh my god,” you say, quietly, and pull away from Bucky. You have to pull this back together, quickly, you stand up and clear your throat.

“Hey, everybody,” you say, and so many people older than you turn to look at you, but the situation you’ve put yourself in doesn’t let you appreciate the thrill of it. “I wasn’t paying attention- we’re running past time. You all can go ahead and head out. I’ll clean up today. I’m sorry.”

Bucky is ignored, and it’s funny how quickly you’re able to slip away from him, him and unrelenting blue eyes and a stoic silence to bounce all of your thoughts off of. You keep your back to him and head back to the front of the room, standing and exchanging pleasantries as everyone heads out, apologizing with smiles and chastising yourself for being so careless.

Nobody berates you, though. You keep on expecting them to. There’s a sudden, sharp pain in the back of your neck. They all leave, and then it’s just you, standing by the entrance and staring at all the tables you have to clean, all the unfinished art projects you have to slide on the art racks, alongside the sticky poster-painted houses and clouds and corner-suns drawn by the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes.

All by yourself.

Or not.

Bucky lingers, putting his pastels back in the tray. He’s so silent that you missed him the first time, even though he was standing right there. Isn’t he some type of spy?

“Bucky, I got it,” you call. Without anyone in the room, it's like everything you just said to him didn’t happen. There’s no buffer and it’s just you and just him, and it's so empty. “You don’t have to clean up.”

Something in his gorgeous face shifts. You wish he was a little more expressive. His eyes hang dark underneath the brim of his dorky hat.

“I can help you,” he says, and adds, after an impossibly long second of hesitation, “I’ll make sure you don’t break any jars.”

You laugh out loud, but you’re confused. First listening to you talk on and on, now offering to help you and trying to make a joke- he doesn’t like you enough to be doing any of it.

You know you like him, or at least find him intriguing enough to disregard his douchiness, but, like, still. Something’s off.

But then again, how do you deny him after that joke?

“Thank you,” you say, so formally, and you want to grimace. “That’s really nice of you.”

He blinks slowly, and you think that he’s going to smile, catch a ghost of it in his eyes.

It vanishes too fast, as he slides the cover back on the tray of sad oil pastels. You’re about to make some cynical comment about the lack of funding for the arts, just so there’s something to occupy all this new space between you and him, so you don’t accidentally lessen the space by doing something dumb, like moving closer to him.

“Where do I put these?” He asks, holding the sad tray up.

***

Steve returns for the seventh Monday class! You’re so happy when he walks in through the doors, abandoning your stacks of paper and speed-walking toward with a smile and a bouquet of paintbrushes.

“Hey, Steve!” you say, and he spooks, a little, but relaxes when he sees it’s you. No Rina today- she’s been leaving early lately. Maybe there’s some residual fear in her, just from that stare she was subjected to, all those weeks ago. “It’s good to see you.”

You get those stares every week, multiple times an hour, are getting one right this second- she needs to get over it.

He smiles and comes further into the classroom, meeting you over one of the tables. “It’s good to see you, too. Sorry I missed class last week.”

You wave him off. “Don’t worry about it. Here, take these for a second.”

In his massive hands, the paintbrushes look silly. Like dandelion stems, but it’s Steve, so he holds them gingerly, at a distance, like the wood might snap if he applies even the tiniest bit of pressure.

It’s not a good thought that you have next- it’s a deplorable thought- but you wonder if all super-soldiers have hands like that.

Behind Steve, there’s Bucky, standing in his usual black ensemble and glower. You know, now, that if you asked him to help, he would, but your mouth suddenly goes gummy and you trail off to the shelves instead, talking yourself up as you try to find a container for the brushes.

There, on the top shelf. How did it get all the way up there? You swipe it off and turn around, cheery and hopefully composed enough to not let any of your deplorable thoughts slip, and-

He’s there.

Not there, not all up in your face the way you would not want him to be, but closer, next to Steve instead of behind. His cheeks are rosy. You look out the window, to see if it looks cold. His face is pink, but he looks cold. Winter Soldier. You’re running hot, hot, hot.

“Hey,” You say, and politely smile, like while cleaning up last week, you didn’t spend an extra twenty minutes just talking to him.

“Hey,” he says, and does nothing, like the impassive brick he always is.

God.

You can’t be like this. This isn’t… it’s not cute. It’s embarrassing.

“Help me find the palettes,” you tell him, and place the container on the table for Steve. “I’ve been looking for them, for, like, ten minutes, and I can’t find them. And we’re painting today, so we need palettes.”

Steve dumps the brushes into the container. Bucky nods. He understands the importance of the palettes.

“Okay,” he says, and in the time it takes you to turn back to the shelves, he’s already standing behind you, surveying the shelves with you. Steve is probably giving you a look- he and Bucky seem like the kind of friends that tell each other all of their feelings, paint each other’s nails and read each other's diaries- he probably knows what’s going on.

If he does, you would like for him to tell you. All you know is that you’re really liking this.

Bucky finds the box of palettes wedged in the back of one of the shelves, in between thick pads of watercolor paper and glass cases of craft knives.

“Thank you,” you say, as he hands the box to you, as his fingertips just barely brush against yours. “Thank you so much.”

You catch another ghost-smile. “You’re so welcome,” he says.

Behind Bucky’s back, Steve gawks at you in disbelief.

Acrylic paint- the love of your life.

“It’s best for me to just let you guys loose,” you say, in your spot at the front of the room. Even now, your hands are itching, humming with energy, humming for a paintbrush. “If you need help, ask me, of course, but it’s more fun to just try and see what you can do.”

That’s part of why you love it- for its ease. Quick-drying, not water-soluble once dried, saturated. What is there even to explain? That you apply it with a brush? That you can blend with it? All of that is, like, obvious. All of it can be learned from trial, and any error can just be painted over.

Expression is so simple, with acrylic paint.

It’s messier, too, but nobody’s perfect.

You walk around. Shonna sketches out more birds- finches, yellow and mid-flight. Marcie and Ahmed start by painting without sketching first- one going for a sunset, the other palm trees. Classic. You catch a few others, silhouettes, some flowers, some abstract paint splatters.

Then, of course, you head to the back.

Steve is something out. You can’t tell what it is, yet, but you know that it's going to be beautiful. It’s already beautiful. He looks up and gives you a wordless smile, then gets right back to work. One of his hands is splayed over the sheet of chipboard, the other drawing quick, light lines with his pencil.

You wish that you could give them canvas. But canvas is expensive, and again- funding is bad, and you want to save the few you’ve scrounged up for one of the later classes, when everyone is more confident in their abilities.

Bucky mixes paint on his palette. Red and… black.

“That’s a pretty color,” you say, nodding down at the sad maroon. He looks up at you and you ball your hands into fists, placing them on your hips, not because you put your hands on your hips, but because you feel like you should be doing that right now, with how he’s looking at you. Gutting you.

He acknowledges you with a nod, and goes back to mixing the colors.

Good grief, how much more is he going to mix?

You’re suddenly searching your mind for something interesting to say.

It’s awkward, and you’re even more mad at yourself- how can you be awkward in your own class? You’re so off today. Even Steve is solely focused on his canvas, and you’re happy for it- he’s drawing and really getting into it, but now you have no reason to linger!

You stay, for another awkward, insufferable second, before moving on to somewhere else.

It’s whatever. You want to think about it, but you push it out because there’s so many more important things to consider- like the painting of your mom nearly finished in your studio, the sketched-out canvas of your father, the dozens of other little ideas pushing up through the cracks in your thoughts, like delightful weeds.

You want to paint Rina. If her hair is still red when you see her, you’ll draw her upside down with poppies, wearing whatever crazy outfit she wants. You want to paint another friend, who’s constantly travelling but might be in New York next month, draped in gold jewelry and marigolds. You might even- you might even draw a few people you don’t talk to anymore, or people you don’t talk to enough, draw them with pansies and chrysanthemums.

Flowers. First, you were fixated on animals, but now it’s flowers- but it’s wholly unsymbolic, because symbolism gets trite, and you just want to make something that looks pretty.

Nobody asks you for help. Acrylic is fun like that- it’s a medium where you can help yourself. The class gets loud- lively, even, and you just sit in your chair at your table and take it all in.

Bucky, in the far back, works on his painting with concentration that rivals Steve’s. You look for too long.

He can probably feel your eyes on him. You wonder if you should look him up, but that’s weird. Really weird, and what would you even search for? A Wikipedia article? Pictures? An interview?

Maybe you should, but you like the hot-and-cold mystery just how it is.

The class ends on time. You’re extra vigilant today, showing people how to lay their paintings on the drying racks, showing them where to dump their paint water.

You say that you’ll wash the brushes. Bucky can tell that you don’t trust anyone else to do it properly. You say that you’ll wipe down the tables, too, and you’ll move all the supplies back to the shelves. All you want is for everyone to put their paintings away and wash their palettes.

The work is done, and everyone files out, spurred by you wishing them all a good week. Steve lingers, as usual, and Bucky follows behind him.

You didn’t talk to him that much, today.

“Did you figure out your painting yet?” Steve asks.

“I did,” you say, and tell him exactly what you told Bucky, but more clearly, more well-articulated.

And less… elaborate. No talking about the idea for the second painting, no mentions of the canvases you make yourself. You don’t show him your palm.

Steve chats with you for a few minutes, until the conversation fizzles out. He shifts his shoulders and tells you he’s going to go.

“Have a good week,” you say, smiling, looking back at Bucky.

Steve gets to the doorway, and Bucky stays right where he is, and his stomach does a flip, because he can’t believe that he’s really going to be doing this.

“You coming, Buck?” Steve says.

“I’m going to stay back for a minute,” Bucky says, while looking at you.

He’s not a confident person, but he’s also not not confident. He just does what he has to do, without thinking, without sitting on it long enough for it to morph into anxiety, because when you've been impassive for seventy years, it’s hard to turn the faucet back on.

Right now, though, he might be getting what they call butterflies.

“Why, is there something you-”

Steve cuts himself off. He understands.

“Nevermind,” he says, backtracking. “Okay. See you later.”

He leaves.

“What’s up?” You ask, as you head over to the sink. You’re so nonchalant, and he doesn’t know if he’s resenting it or grateful for it, so he just watches you pull cleaning supplies from the cabinet underneath. “Are you here to help me clean up?”

No, but he’ll do it, if...

“Yeah.”

You reach out and rip a wad of paper towels from the dispenser.

“Great,” you say, and he’s just thinking, No, this is not great. You hand him a spray bottle and the paper towels. “Wipe down the tables, please. I’m going to get started with these brushes.”

He starts to wipe down the tables.

You get the sink running.

The streaks of paint on the tables haven't dried yet, so it all comes off with no effort. He gets through it all pretty quickly, one table after another.

Then he’s at your shoulder, tossing the wad of paper towels in the trash, setting the spray bottle precariously on the sink’s edge, since your legs are in front of the cabinet.

What else could he do? Sweep? Turn off the lights? He doesn’t know if you would trust him to do either of those things. He could close the blinds, but the sky is in transition, from grey to blue to ink, and he likes the way the dark seeps into the room.

It sets up the atmosphere.

You give him a quick smile, rub your thumb over the bristles of another brush. “That was fast.”

He shrugs.

It’s a dead conversation- he’s not used to this. Maybe he should be chatting you up, but he doesn’t chat people up, ever. You’re supposed to be the one that talks first, says something for him to go off of. He’s not good at this, but he suddenly wishes that he was.

“Cleaning brushes is such a painful process,” you say eventually, trying to sound exasperated, even though you’re clearly not. “Takes forever- oh, wait. Not painful, paint-ful. Get it? ”

He gets it.

“You’re funny,” he says, and it’s not much, but it’s something. He wants to laugh but doesn't.

You add another brush to the growing pile of clean ones, laying on a bed of paper towels. The sink water drains slowly, dirty grey-brown.

“I know,” you say. “But anyways, I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Is Bucky your real name?”

The fuck?

You’re genuinely asking, brows drawn close together. He wants to reach out and smoothen it. And also tug the strings of your apron loose, and hook a finger inside the hoop of your earring. He’s wanting to do lots of things- all crazy, irrational things.

“No,” he says, and he sounds weird saying it, when all that’s weird is you having asked in the first place. Your frame of reference for him is so poor- which is better for him, better for everything. It’s almost flattering. “It’s a nickname.”

You open your mouth for the next question, but he beats you to it.

“My real name is James.”

You abruptly look over at him in disbelief. “No way. Really?”

“Really.”

You’re on the last brush. You run it under the tap and the bristles send streams of purplish paint water over your fingers, and turn your head, looking over at him. He meets you back, glare icy, even though inside, he’s burning up.

“You don’t look like a James,” you say, and grin at him, and keep yourself looking at him as you finally shut off the sink.

He knows he doesn’t- that’s why he doesn’t go by it. But he’s going to indulge you, because he wants to.

“Don’t look much like a Bucky, either.”

“It’s a cute nickname, though,” you say suddenly.

His heart leaps to his throat.

“You think it’s cute,” he says, and he shifts over and leans, against the wall, crossing his arms. He’s been standing too close, feels so unnaturally light. He can’t even pretend to dislike you anymore, not when you use the word cute to describe him, not when he likes it. Not when your name is rattling through his head over and over, a mile a minute.

“It’s so cute” you start, nodding along to yourself, “It’s like… nevermind. I don’t even remember what I was about to tell you. Can I get your number?”

That was not smooth.

At all.

But it still works, doesn’t it? You’re not trying too hard, so he doesn’t have to try too hard, either.

“Yeah,” he says, and smiles at you- and takes extra satisfaction in the way you light up. Yellow and radiant.

“Okay.” You wipe your hands down on your apron before pulling out your phone. Its case is glittery pink. The tips of your fingers have pruned.

Before, this would have all been so easy. Bucky could have you beside him the day he met you, turned you over in a whirlwind, in a flurry of milkshakes and dancing to music nobody listens to anymore. He wonders if he should miss you- and then tries to imagine you in a red lip, peroxided curls and a modest day dress, and gets the answer for himself.

He doesn’t miss it.

“Here,” you say, and hand him your phone, and he takes it immediately, he’s so over in his head.

He types his number in with his right hand. When he hands the phone back, the question is already burning in his mind.

“When will I hear from you?”

He shouldn't ask. But he needs to know, always needs to know things. Things can only be so irrational, it has to start making sense sometime- and anyways, it doesn’t seem to bother you. You stare at his number, type something in and put your phone away, and the whole time you’re grinning, and he realizes.

You’re pretty.

“Sometime.” you say, and you reach behind your back to untie the strings of your apron. As you bring the neck of it over your head, you wink.

Sometimes, parts of him still feel frozen, trapped in ice, like he wants to smile but can’t remember how, like he’s forever moving too slow, falling too far behind and below.

Right now, he’s all thawed out.

“You’re gonna keep me waiting like that?” He says, and he takes a daunting step forward, cocks his head to the side. He’s on autopilot, reacting on muscle memory alone- this is flirting, this is charming like it’s ‘38.

You nod, adopt a mock seriousness. “I am,” you say. “I like to keep a little bit of mystery.”

“Mystery girl.”

“You know it.”

His heartstrings loop over themselves, tying into in a double-knotted bow.

45 notes · View notes

astrologista · 4 years

Text

jason stop dying

ooooook i just watched ditf. it was PRETTY GOOD.... i only wish there was MOOORE! watching this REALLY brought me back to 2011 times to see it and i think they did a good job with most of the character design and animations insofar as matching it to the original. (maybe i’m totally wrong but i thought it looked good for the most part... also i just really love these character designs in particular). obviously the budget is not what it would be on a feature, so there are a LOT of places where animation gets recycled and many still frames. some parts are basically a slideshow lol. but i only sort of came to that realization awhile after watching, so i think they did a fairly good job of masking this... ymmv

so let’s get into it!!!

SPOILERS a-head! do not read until you’ve watched it because i’ll spoil everything

now obviously the thing to be aware of if you are not is the fact that this adaptation is not a panel-by-panel adaptation of the original death in the family comic. all references to jason’s mother (save one mention of her dying of illness) are completely removed, they go to bosnia instead of africa, and the circumstances around jason leaving are also heavily altered to fit the new narrative. this adaptation does slot perfectly into the universe established by the under the red hood animated movie from 2011 though, without which one would be pretty confused when watching this. it’s kind of a mystery as to why they didn’t just package this with utrh and release the entire thing as a collectors edition. instead they package it with like 4 or 5 unrelated dc showcase shorts which makes absolutely 0 sense but go off i guess. anyway

i liked that they took the time to adapt the scene from the original ditf where bruce is talking to alfred about jason! (i do not like that alfred didn’t get any lines. bad choice). tbh i can’t understand why they bothered showing us alfred, barbara and dick if they weren’t gonna give them any lines..... like come on........??

HOW INTENSE BRUCE LOOKS WHEN HE FINDS JASON IN SARAJEVO and just. grabs him lol. hes smad :)

ok so one two skip a few and we get to the first branch. instead of calling 1-900 we now get to choose whether jason lives or dies. there are 7 possible endings i think i got em all so let’s see what we got here.

“Hush” Route - Robin cheats death

hgrgdggr. i definitely think this is one of the more interesting endings, if not the most interesting one. this is also the only ending in which both bruce and jason survive the bombing. bruce is still too late, but this time jason barely clings to life and survives. as a hurt/comfort fan i was 100% on this shit from the word go but then jason? runs away from home lmao lmao i thought that was SO funny because 1) hes super messed up, how is he able to just literally run out the house that is SO funny to me and 2) implying that bruce would ever not be keeping an eye on him after that is just, lmao. it’s so zany. i call this the “hush” route because of the bandages but there are no other references to hush so ok. that’s fair. so anyway jason is now angsty for loosely explained reasons but the most fun part is yet to come.

when talia showed up, i really thought / was terrified for a second that they were gonna bring up certain “events” regarding damian’s parentage / who damian’s father is but then she mentioned bruce and i was like OH THANK GOD WE CAN STILL GO TO HEAVEN. i am so so grateful to the writers for NOT going there. cuz it was damn close ok. im not sure what the implication of this route is in terms of talia, jason and damian being a family unit but i want to believe talia sees jason as a son and damian’s brother (which is how she refers to him, damian’s brother) and not... yknow. i mean. jason raising a baby is kind of like a baby raising a baby...

no actually the reality of this scene is really dfuckin interesting like. they actually go with the “birth of the demon” (forget if it was birth of the demon or bride of the demon. one of those.) explanation for damian and that is something i’ve NEVER seen adapted so whoever wrote this can have a cookie and i kNOW this is something a certain someone will appreciate :)

not only that but the implications? are interesting? so talia’s claim is she miscarried so bruce won’t have to “choose” between damian and jason and idk if she’s supposed to be all on the-up-and-up in this universe but. i’m sitting here like GIRL YOU DON’T GOTTA DO THIS HE HAS A PRIVATE JET HAVEN’T YOU HEARD OF SHARED CUSTODY and BETTER YET HE HAS A MANSION JUST GO ON MAURY AND GET THIS SORTED OUT RIGHT NOWwwww

i’m also LAUGHING at the implications of jason thinking theres anywhere on earth that he’s going to go and hide damian’s existence from bruce. because you already know he’s just going to be tearing the planet apart looking for jason so this is actually hilarious. imagine he finds jason in one piece and also a baby. his baby. he’d be like (@ talia) “OMG WHY WOULD YOU THINK I WOULDN’T WANT THEM BOTH u are tearing me apart talia......” BUT THEN HE WOULD BE SO FREAKING HAPPY BECAUSE HE HAS TWO ALIVE SONS AND HE THOUGHT THEY WERE BOTH DEAD / (lost to crime)!!!

please lord imagine all of jason’s angst probably just originating from the fact that he has a brain injury that hasn’t fully healed and the trauma of going through all those surgeries probably gave him a lot of fear / paranoia about bruce and associating him with the joker because his neural pathways are all messed up but after he leaves he starts slowly healing back and regaining some of his lost sanity and thats when he realizes he misses bruce so much... but hes also raising his child... and every day it gets more difficult for him not to just take damian and bring him home and i ;v;

anyway i thought this route, while it had a few inconsistencies in it, was really freaking interesting and it gave me feels and plot bunnies and is probably the one i want to write about the MOST despite the fact that baby damian looks like a character from one of those web flash games in this lol

“True” End - Jason Dies

now if you select that jason dies the route basically defaults to the canon of under the red hood and the fact that utrh does not come packaged with this movie is a rather mystifying choice to me as i don’t think this adaptation would stand on its own very well. like you need quite a bit of background to really get anything out of watching this on its own, which is probably why it’s classified as a “short” and not as its own movie.

instead of showing all of utrh, it seems they took the opportunity to give a ~30 minute recap of utrh with basically entirely reused animation but they allow bruce to sort of. give his dvd commentary over it.

the biggest feeling i have on this is that it’s sad that they had to waste 30 minutes like this that could’ve been used to do something new and much more interesting, but honestly i’m not mad. it seems kind of obvious that this choice was probably made for budget and/or runtime reasons because a short does not get the same budget set aside as a full length feature film does. so they basically took the option of recycling 30 minutes of animation from the movie and dubbing new audio over it.

in evangelion they ran out of budget and that’s why the last two episodes consist of nothing more than still pencil drawings and frames while the characters engage in philosophical debates concerning the nature of reality and human connection. and i really enjoyed that. and for the same reasons, i also really enjoyed this.

i enjoyed seeing the clark kent of this universe. i enjoyed that he was basically out on a date with bruce. i enjoyed that bruce was willing to open up for once and tell clark all of what happened with jason. but what really makes this segment shine bright are bruce greenwood’s line reads. there are SO MANY good line reads in here. and i LOVED how many times he said the word “son”. very wholesome. the way he describes how he felt during the final fight with jason? probs my favorite FUCKING part.

and then him and clark joking together about contingency plans and then they’re going to work together to find jason and i ;_; this is probably the closest thing to a “good” ending but as a continuation of utrh i thought it worked really well. i really want to believe that bruce and clark did find jason in this route and that there was some closure in the end even though we didn’t get to see it.

including clark in this was DEFINITELY the right move as well, considering that he played a rather large role in the original ditf so it’s a welcome nod.

The rest of the branches exist under a separate option where Bruce makes it in time to save Jason from the warehouse... but Bruce dies......... :O

let me tell you bout it... bruce’s fucking DEATH SCENE i don’t know WHAT my man bruce greenwood is on, but the freaking LINE READS in this dialogue had me making INHUMAN NOISES. LIKE NOT ONLY WAS THE DIALOGUE GOOD, NOT ONLY DID HE SAY “I LOVE YOU, SON”, but this man is just an amazing actor. not just voice actor, but actor. he really really really really gave it the most i don’t know how else to say it....... it was very very well done and punched me sideways in the heart and i haven’t recovered and i’m not going to recover. and

ok so once we get past that.... scene.... u have to choose whether you’re going to catch the joker or kill the joker. bruce asks jason to promise not to kill the joker but technically jason doesn’t promise so........

Let’s start by choosing to kill the Joker. Jason attends Bruce’s funeral and various members of the Justice League show up to talk with him and just generally hang out. He has Alfred, Dick and Barbara as his support system, but Jason has some other plans.

This leads to a scene in a cafe where Jason meets with a man who... something something Killing Joke, flashlight, more Barbara being used as a plot device when she deserves better, Jason kills the Joker with a butter knife.

Once you do this you can choose to surrender to the police, or retaliate and escape.

Jailbird Ending

basically if you surrender to the police jason ends up in prison where he can actually attack even more criminals so.... ya

If you retaliate and escape instead you go to the Red Robin route where Jason becomes a vigilante who kills people much like the Red Hood and you get a further choice in a fight with Two Face where you can control how Harvey’s coin lands.

Tim Ending!

If you choose the coin to land clean face up, the thing rewards you by having Tim show up and I forgot what happened (wasn’t really paying attention lol) because i was so focused on TIM!

Prolly they felt sorry for him what with Jason stealing what is essentially his outfit (ok I know it was Jason’s first, but Tim made it cool) so they let a little baby tim have an appearance :) he’s very smol

I guess in this ending Jason gets reintegrated with the family somehow and Tim becomes “Bat-kid” which is hilarious to me but you know what it’s cute. CUTE.

The one ending where the coin lands scarred side up

i honestly forget what happens if you choose to have the coin land scarred side up but let me just say this is a FUCKED route to take, not only have you had jason survive and bruce die, you’ve now chosen to kill the joker against bruce’s dying wish, you’ve chosen to attack the police, and at the end of that you really are gonna choose harvey’s coin to be scarred face up???? choosing this made me feel like a DICK because here i am supporting jason’s whole fall to madness and villainy thing the way it wants me to and now he’s gonna die HERE? i hate it here.

interestingly enough he doesn’t actually die in this route. he ends up at home with barbara and dick while dealing with the fact that he killed the joker but the route ends with jason saying “i promise” so i guess this is supposed to be kinda sad. im so confused lol ok

So that is all the options if you choose to kill the joker, I believe. You can also make the choice to just catch him instead of killing him but amazingly enough, those routes are even more FUCKED up.

If you do this option Jason goes home, mourns Bruce with Dick, Barbara and Alfred, and becomes Red Hood BUT with a twist, he’s entirely on a bloodless operation in line with Bruce’s wishes. OR.... IS HE?

Things then follow the events of UTRH until the scene on the bridge with the van and the guys. Jason finally confronts Joker, who reveals the truth.

Apparently in this route Jason has actually been killing and decapitating his victims just like in the original movie, but he’s repressed it so as to not even realize to himself that he’s doing it.

that is FUCKED. also. i wanna cry because jason doing all of that stuff but not even realizing it ;------; jason blocking it out, because he wanted to honor bruce’s wishes for him not to kill anyone ;______; but he’s doing it anyway ;_____; he’s actually hearing voices telling him to kill ;____; like it’s a very cheap twist in a sense and also really quite cruel but.... damn, son.

There is a branch here where you can choose to spare or kill the Joker at this point (UNDERTALE???) but from what I can tell it seems to be totally meaningless what choice you pick because you end up at the exact same point either way, I think there’s a small variation in what happens after you make the choice but after that they just coalesce back together into the following two endings. Which seems incredibly cheap to me, I mean making a choice like that should alter Jason’s path completely but, it doesn’t! So... ooook....

Either way Jason ends up on the Wayne building and Talia shows up with a re-animated Bruce from the pit. Here’s another fun blast from the 2011 past with more gratuitous Grant Morrison dreck, remember that shit? Well, they’re gonna jam it down your throat here, too.

The reanimated Bruce is the Zur En Arrh Bruce and he’s already dead so this is all meaningless but basically Jason fights him and you get to choose whether everybody lives or dies.

Zur En Arrh - Everyone Lives!

if you pick this, jason actually gets the re-animated bruce back to the batcave and they lock him up down there because he’s still pit-mad and the prognosis is not great. but i’m not sure what they expected, he is the zur-en-arrh guy so I don’t think he’s getting better.

Zur En Arrh - Everyone Dies!

pretty much there’s an explosion and all three of them die and that’s it

I think that should be all the possible endings there are.

By the way the different ways in which black mask dies in this was actually a fairly clever running gag lollll. let that mf burn we don’t need no water.

overall there are a couple of things i would have done to SIGNIFICANTLY improve this adaptation beyond some of the obvious ones.

- the fact that all of the branching options are branched exclusively under the “jason lives and bruce dies” branch is a huge wasted opportunity. imo this is the most egregious problem with this, i was really looking for a more balanced tree / explanation of different things. i am probably super biased though being a fic writer and used to fic, we’re the ones making huge ass trees every day lol.

- the fact that there is no “good” ending here is something i kind of expected but given the context of this is lackluster. i sort of get it though because granted, the original ditf ends in an unresolved manner but it’s distinctly unsatisfying here. i secretly wanted an ending where bruce, like, figures out about the different endings and hacks reality to try to find a good ending where jason lives and everything is fine lmao. like a bat mite ending.

- i was disappointed in a sense that the narrative given in here is so basically simplistic? maybe i’ve been spoiled by games like 999 and undertale where shit gets messy and that’s not what this is supposed to be but when i play something with multiple endings in this day and age, at least play with the concept a little bit and connect some of the branches together narratively. use different devices. i was also hoping some of the choices would be a little bit meatier like you could choose to “forgive bruce” or something cool like that lol. but it looks like the majority of choices have to do with who lives or dies. and i felt like they couldve been a bit more creative with that ya know? being able to control harvey’s coin was a GREAT example of having some more fun with this.

- it is a huge missed opportunity not to have a “secret ending” on something like this. like where. the fuck. is my secret ending for completing everything. come on. and in a similar vein there should’ve been at least something in terms of bruce and jason interacting in a “true ending”. even if very brief. the closest thing to an ending this has is the “jason died” route and then the ending where he’s talking to clark which i feel like was a REALLY nice good optimistic ending as far as this goes, but it comes off as kind of disappointing i guess

there were SO many interesting nuggets locked into this thing though. i can’t deny it bugs me how many wasted opportunities there were with how they chose to structure things but i guess it’s the best you can do with limited runtime. i thought it was really well done though, makes an interesting companion piece to the original utrh, and is definitely something that i will be re-watching again soon!! overall i give it a 7/10 and some parts an 8/10+!

#a death in the family #death in the family #ditf #it was cool to see the different ideas they had to offer finally?#for what it was #it was kind of a collection of shorts and half spun ideas #plus i think about this shit like every day #so i cant help but be interested #someone come and talk to me about this #i really want to know #what ppl thought #spoilers #ditf spoilers #death in the family spoilers

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