#also at this point i stopped drawing mouths at all so i just draw 70% of their face as just eyes

[lonesomenecromancer]

i am not immune to moth

[crackedpumpkin]

|| ʙᴀᴅ ɴᴇᴡꜱ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ ||

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

a/n: @uwukiity :))) i did it. also i changed the gif guys ! isnt it cute ??? hope u all enjoy this lolololol

“Awww, is our little barista feeling all better now?”

“Shut up before you have to make your own coffee, Hamada,” You snort, handing him his usual order. Hiro inhales deeply, taking a small sip of the piping hot latte you’d just made at his request.

His nose wrinkles, looking up as he swirls the liquid in his mouth. His lips purse, trying to place the flavour. “Is that cinnamon?”

“Yeap,” You answer, popping the ‘p’ as you clean the milk frother. “Is it good?”

“It’s enh,” He shrugs, propping his elbows up on the counter as he leans against it and watches you clean.

“And?” You prompt, awaiting a more elaborately put review.

“It’s decent.”

You plop the cloth down, stopping to stand right in front of him across the counter. “And?” 

“And what?”

It’s clear that he’s just messing with you now, judging from the little quirk in the corner of his lips as he suppresses his smirk. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you reevaluate your options. You’d have asked Tadashi to taste-test your coffees and experiments, but he’s constantly at SFIT. Cass was more than ready to try them, but she was already constantly busy running the cafe that you didn’t want to pile on more to her plate.

As such, that only left you with Hiro. 

“Is it too sweet? Too sour? Does it mask any bitterness or draw it out?”

He takes another long, drawn-out sip, smacking his lips together obnoxiously. “Kinda sweet, but I guess it’s okay. It could do with some more cinnamon to help bring out the fruitiness of the beans more.”

You grin, leaning back. “Thank you, my beloved guinea pig.”

“Anytime, psycho.” He says simply before continuing to sip away at his first coffee of the day. He’d been coming down more often lately, but it was usually in the afternoons. So, mornings like these were rare. 

“What’s got you up so early, anyway?” You ask, taking out the dishes and placing them where you’d be able to grab them conveniently when a customer ordered any of the pastries in the display case. 

He shrugs. “Wanted to get an early start to the day.” 

“Cool,” You toss a damp cloth at him, watching him scramble to catch it without letting it fall into his cup, “help me wipe down the tables.”

“You know, I’m technically your boss too.” He informs you but still does it anyway.

“Tell me that when you give me my paycheck,” You snort, opening the fridge to check on the cans of whipped cream and mentally counting them for the stock take. Once you've confirmed that all your things are there, you begin to make yourself a coffee. 

“Just you wait,” He comes back to the counter with his cloth and the spray bottle filled with cleaning liquid, placing them both away. “I’ll tattle to Cass.”

“Snitch. You can try, though I doubt she’ll do anything about it. She loves me too much,” You reply over the hiss of the milk frother. Kneeling down to grab a canister of whipped cream from the fridge, you shake it and start placing some on top of your hot coffee. You can feel his eyes on you, looking back up with a raised brow. 

“What?”

“Are you seriously putting whipped cream on your cappuccino?” He says in disbelief.

“Yeah,” You hum, taking a swing and letting a contented sigh slip past your lips.

“But it’s already like, 70 percent milk.”

“And gummy bears are like, 100% pure sugar. So, you’re just eating spoonfuls of sugar. What’s your point?” He’s stumped for an answer, knitted brows and pursed lips trying to find a retort. 

“I don’t like you,” He sighs in defeat, frowning as he takes a final sip from his cup and hands it to you expectantly. “More.”

You don’t take it, crossing your arms with raised brows as you wait patiently. He rolls his eyes. “Please?”

Grinning, you grab his cup and pour freshly brewed black coffee inside it. Five sugars and one creamer, that’s how he likes it. “You should really consider why you don’t have a social life.” 

“I have friends,” He says defensively, “And says you.”

“Where?” You ignore the second part of his sentence, placing his cup back down on the counter.

“...I dunno- look, I haven’t spoken to them in a while.” He says tightly, his lips pressed together in a thin line as he stares at his coffee. 

“Mine are pretty chill,” You hum, making the decision to change the topic. “I think you’d like Noah, though.” The thought of the two together makes you chuckle. Noah, whose carefree and easygoing nature with Hiro who’s incredibly reckless and irresponsible. 

“Who’s that?” Hiro asks curiously, intrigued by the mention of a new name. 

“He’s the other barista I worked with at my old job. He’s great and helped me a lot when I first came here,” You say with a fond smile, the both of you moving to sit down at an empty table. 

“Oh?” 

“Shut it, he’s like 19 with a girlfriend. I’m still surprised he even managed to ask her out.” You snort, sitting down opposite him and holding the coffee, letting the heat spread through the ceramic and warm your hands.

“I could have a girlfriend,” Hiro muses, looking offended at the way you choke visibly on your drink.

“You?” You splutter incredulously, coughing violently as the coffee makes its way down the wrong pipe and burning your insides in the process. You glance up through teary eyes, seeing him smile at your current state as he enjoys watching you suffer. Once the violent coughs end, you clear your throat, pretending that nothing happened.

“Aren’t you gonna get back to your work?” You question, glancing at the clock and realising it’s almost time to open the cafe. “Shoo,” You add, dismissing him with a quick wave. He shrugs, hopping off the seat and heading to the basin. You follow suit, wanting to quickly wash your cups so that you can give the table a quick wipe and unlock the door. 

You stare at his outstretched hand, looking back up at him curiously. He rolls his eyes, already having pushed up the sleeves of his hoodie to wash his cup. “Your mug, silly.”

You hand it to him with a bright grin, calling out a quick thanks as you leave to do your tasks. The sign on the door is the only thing left, and you take a moment to breathe, staring at the word ‘Open’ before you turn it so it faces the front. 

“What are we waiting for?” You flinch, surprised by Hiro’s sudden appearance. His sleeves are back down to his wrists, his hands shoved into his pockets as he waits for a response. 

“Nothing.” You clear your throat, quickly flipping the sign over and unlocking the door. You turn back around, about to ask him another question when you spot the back of his blue hoodie heading back up the stairs. Oh well. Looks like whatever put him in such a good mood this morning finally wore off.

The phone rings in the middle of your shift, vibrating strongly in the pocket of your apron as you hold the milk frother in place, narrowly avoiding a cloud of hot steam as you adjust your stance. You place it on the counter, checking the notifications to see a message from your brother.

Hiro catches you giggling when he rounds the corner of the counter, placing an empty cup in front of you. You put your phone away hastily, grabbing his cup and pouring some black coffee from the jug Cass kept aside for Hiro. He eyes the phone in your apron pocket suspiciously, taking the cup back from you and taking a sip. “What’s so funny?”

“Huh?” You’re momentarily confused, but you realise what he’s referring to upon following his gaze to your apron pocket. “It’s nothing, just a stupid picture Luke sent me.” The reminder makes you chuckle again, a bright grin on your lips.

“Hm.” He doesn’t say anything, taking another long sip and smacking his lips together, proceeding to chug the rest down. “What’d he send you?” He asks casually, eyeing the coffee stains on the inner rim of his mug. 

“I told you, a stupid picture.” You roll your eyes in amusement, leaning on the counter as you watch Hiro clear his throat, spotting the tips of his ears slowly flushing a soft pink. What a nerd.

“I wanna see it.” He waits expectantly, and you oblige his request, regardless of how sudden it is. You open your conversation with him, clicking on the picture and turning the phone around so he can see it. He leans in, not noticing that his hoodie strings are nearly in his own empty mug. You react, grabbing the string and moving it aside. 

Hiro blinks. “What is this?” 

“Told you it’s stupid.” You laugh at the picture of a forklift holding a tiny plastic fork, turning off your phone again after indulging his curiosity. 

“Who’s Luke, anyway? Your boyfriend? Can’t be. You’re too old.” He snorts in amusement, smiling smugly when your smile drops, eyes narrowing into a glare. 

“We’re the same age.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but you’re an old soul at heart, so, doesn’t count.” You roll your eyes. You’re not getting anywhere with this idiot. “Another coffee?”

“You have a serious problem,” You mutter, filling his cup with pure milk. “Here, for the growing boy.” 

“I will have you know I’m almost 5 '5,” He says defensively. “It’s just taking a little time to set in.” You knew better. Tadashi had revealed in casual conversation that Hiro’s only 5’0. Oh well, it’s too early to crush the boy’s dreams.

“Yeah, maybe when you’re 25.” Your muffled chuckles attract the attention of Cass, who looks over with a curious smile from the cafe table a short distance away. Hiro scoffs, taking his cup and chugging down all of it defiantly, slamming it back down. 

“Wash it and bring it back to me afterwards.” He amends his sentence when you raise a disbelieving brow, using a fingertip to push it aside. “I mean, please wash it and put it aside, I’ll come back later to collect it.”

“That’s more like it.” You wink, taking the cup and setting it down in the basin to wash with the rest of the other dishes. 

“Still technically your boss!” He calls out as he leaves. You ignore it, starting on the rest of the dishes. 

You continue stacking the plates, putting them away in their respective places when you hear something being set on the countertop. 

“Hey sweetie, are you feeling better?” 

You smile at Cass, standing back up. “I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s gonna take more than that to knock me off my feet.” To prove your point, you flex your arm cheekily. “Built like an al-dente noodle, as my mom once said.”

A delightful laugh bubbles from her lips, your (actual) boss thoroughly amused. “If you say so. Just in case though, maybe you should rest up tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be fine!” Cass tuts, effectively cutting you off with a purse of her lips. “Boooo,” You complain jokingly. “But isn’t there anything else I can do?” 

She pauses, a hand on her chin as she thinks of a task to assign you. She smiles slowly, a slight chill running down your back. You didn’t like that smile. Not one bit. “On second thought, maybe I will take that day off…”

Cass hums mischievously. “Actually, the cafe isn’t that busy today, so I can handle it. Instead, I need you to drag Hiro out for some exercise. He’s been cooped up in his room or the garage. It’s like he doesn’t even know what sunlight is!”

A chime sounds through the cafe, drawing your attention to another customer who’s just left. It’s currently the late afternoon, and there were just a few customers in their respective seats. All the dishes are washed and kept, and Hiro’s mug sits cosily in the corner beside the cash register. 

If there’s anything you’ve learnt from working in cafes, it’s that times like these signal maximum boredom. You look at Cass who’s waiting patiently for an answer, grinning slyly. “All I have to do is get him out to exercise, right?”

She nods. 

That’s all you have to do, but she didn’t say how. 

“I’m in.”

— — — — — 

“C’mon Einstein, let’s go touch some grass!” You exclaim, happily slamming open the door to Hiro and Tadashi’s shared bedroom. The curtains are drawn shut on Hiro’s side of the room, a small desk lamp lighting the piles of discarded blueprints on the floor. The boy himself is sitting cross-legged on his chair, a single headlamp on his forehead as he frowns at the notepad he’s sketching on. 

“That’s you, Hiro,” Tadashi calls out as he puts on his cap.

“Where’re you heading off to?” You ask, noting how his side of the room drastically contrasted with Hiro’s. Sunlight spills past the window, dimming whatever items it can reach with a soft glow. The bed is neatly made, not a single speck of dust on any piece of furniture.

“I gotta go back to the lab.” He answers cheerfully, ruffling your hair with a grin. “Have fun, kids!” He calls out behind him as he leaves. Hiro stirs at the sound of his brother’s voice, turning around. His gaze lands on you, and he arches an unimpressed brow. 

“Is Einstein the worst you could come up with?” 

“What dentist died and made you their heir?” You counter. He pauses for a beat, mulling over your words. He gives you an acknowledging nod, swivelling his seat back around to focus on his work. You take a tentative step forward, avoiding the scattered cans of Red Bull and stray packets of gummy bears that litter the floor. 

“Forget about Einstein, I think he lived somewhere better than this pigsty,” You mutter under your breath, freezing when Hiro clears his throat. 

“I heard that.” 

“No, you didn’t.”

He shrugs, turning his attention back to his notepad. Upon closer inspection, you notice the corkboard perched against the wall, various tools spread across it. A stack of rewired motherboards and circuits remains unfinished beside it. Below his desk is a mini fridge that once you open, reveals a tooth-rotting amount of gummy bears, along with chewing gum and more energy drinks. 

He has everything he needs to stay alive and functioning in his room. With a side of a potential heart attack, of course. This realisation makes you scan his desk, hopefully looking for a way to drag him outside. Something catches your eye and you lean closer, staring at a bot with a yellow smiley face. 

You lift it up, inspecting every inch of it with intrigue. “Tell me this is your first-grade project without telling me this is your first-grade project.”

“Believe it or not, my project was a volcano.” He says, briefly glancing at the bot in your hands before continuing to write out formulas anywhere with empty space on his paper. “A solar-powered volcano. Had miniature animals and everything.”

“Huh. Did you get first place?” You ask, feigning disinterest, though you were very much invested in this never-before-heard childhood backstory of his.

“Yeah.” Somehow, the memory is enough to break him out of his trance. He grins. “The volcano worked a little too well. I still remember the looks on everyone’s faces when it caught on fire.”

“Y’know what, that actually increased my respect for you by a margin.” You say, unable to hide your impressed smile. “Then when did you make this one?”

He chuckles, finally setting down his notepad and taking it from your hands with a fond smile. “Like, two years ago? Megabot won me loads of bot fights.” You hum in thought, a seed of an idea growing in your mind and further watered by mischievousness.

“Guess I should take him for a spin then.”

“Wha-?”

Hiro doesn’t get a moment to react when you snatch the bot out of his hands and run out the door with a maniacal laugh. You can hear him chasing after you, footsteps thudding down the stairs. You put on your shoes with record speed, racing out the door. 

“What’re you-” 

“Gotcha.” You grin widely, taking a step forward to hand Megabot back to a panting Hiro. He takes it from you with flushed cheeks, trying to catch his breath after being forced to do unexpected exercise. “We’re going for a walk.”

“I can’t, I gotta get back to-”

You grab the hood of his hoodie, effectively stopping him from heading back inside his house. “And how long have you been stuck?” You ask, prompting an annoyed huff from him. He crosses his arms sulkily, Megabot dangling from his grip.

“If I’m doing this, I want ice cream.”

— — — — —

People tend to think that taking a walk is simple enough. After all, it’s just moving your legs one step at a time. The cool breeze, the warm sunlight, and even the bustle of the city are more than enough to stimulate their senses. Everyone’s happy and cheerful, socialising and being comfortable with themselves.

Clearly, these people have never had the pleasure of dragging Hiro Hamada outside.

“My ice cream is mine.” Hiro scoffs, swatting away your outstretched hand. You frown, drawing it back. “You wouldn’t have to deal with this if you just let me do my work, y’know.”

“I do know, thank you very much,” You sigh, scowling when he suddenly turns to look back and you withdraw your hand once more at the missed opportunity to get some of his ice cream. “I’m already regretting it.”

“Hey, you’re the one that decided to go all saviour on me.” He shrugs, using his spoon to scoop a large amount of ice cream from his cup, pointing it at you accusingly. “Can’t blame me for wanting a treat.”

“Wow. You’re really gonna use my hard-earned money on yourself.” You drawl monotonously.

He pauses with the spoon in his mouth, pondering in deep thought. “Yes.”

“You suck.”

He merely smiles, raising a brow at your finished gelato. “I thought you were lactose intolerant.”

“I eat what I want,” You reply defensively, watching him scoff down the rest of his ice cream in one go. He winces soon after, holding the sides of his head with eyes squeezed shut. “Brain freeze?”

He confirms it with a nod, and you wait patiently for it to be over. Once it is, he stands back up to throw away his cup and yours, waiting for you at the exit. The door jingles shut behind you, the bustling city greeting your ears once more.

You’re tugged to the side from a sudden grip on your arm, looking up with a scowl before realising that Hiro just saved you from being knocked flat on the sidewalk by a skateboarder. “Thanks,” You say gratefully, jogging to catch up with him. He simply shrugs, dismissing his good deed as nothing more than a passing action.

You force him to follow you to the park, taking a stroll around and waving to the little animals that either bark, meow, or caw back at you. Luckily, he hadn’t complained as much after the gelato. Otherwise, you’d be at each other’s necks by now.

“So, how’s your project coming along?”

It seems to be one of the few consistent questions you ask him these days, and for good reason too. Having the pressure of an older brother and his friends all in the same nerd school isn’t something most can shoulder on their own. You eye the way his shoulders sag when he exhales, sudden tiredness in his eyes. Yet, there’s a spark of determination, and stubbornness that refuses to let anything get in the way of his goal.

“It’s going good,” He hums, pulling out his phone and showing you a picture of various mathematical equations and nonsensical handwriting on what appears to be his tablet hooked up to his monitor. “Pretty sick, right? I’ve got all the backend stuff down, and I just need to keep testing and prototyping now for the neurotransmitter.”

“Right,” You say encouragingly, though the hesitance in your voice gives away how clueless you are about all this. Sure, you’ve done your fair share of research on your own, but it’s only surface-level. Who knows what’s going on in that head of his. 

He raises a brow, pocketing his phone. “What about you?”

“I’m working on this article about this new policy my school got put in place,” you grimace, “it’s mainly about how the administrators want the campus to be more ‘green’ and environmentally friendly.” 

“Huh.” He brushes off a leaf that lands on his shoulder, watching it slowly fall to the ground. “You don’t seem too excited about that.” He remarks offhandedly, observing your every movement.

“That’s because the actions they’re taking are ridiculous.” You explain with a roll of your eyes. “They’ve implemented bathroom break limitations, printers aren’t allowed to be used unless a teacher gives explicit consent…Sometimes a girl’s just gotta pee, y’know?”

“Well, what do the other students have to say about it?” 

You huff out a frustrated sigh. “No one’s happy about it, obviously.”

“Then use that,” He states simply, “you’re a journalist, aren’t you? The voices of the people have to be heard. Get their opinions on the changes, and with a voice that loud? The faculty won’t be able to just brush it aside.”

Your steps slow to a halt, pursing your lips in thought as you consider the idea he’s just presented to you as simply as saying the sky is blue. He’s right, of course, but why didn’t you think of that before? 

The student council will never let it pass. But it couldn’t hurt to try….right?

The phone in your pocket vibrates with a new notification. You groan, reading the text that Leo, your fellow aspiring journalist in the same club just sent you. Hiro looks at you curiously, having heard your sigh as you hang your head. “Speak of the devil. I gotta go.” 

“Gone so soon?”

“Don’t tell me you’ll miss me, Hamada,” You joke, grinning at the way he sticks out his tongue in playful disgust. “That article I told you about? The deadline just moved up to tomorrow.”

He snorts, chuckling in pure amusement as you begin to walk faster. “Good luck!” He calls out to your retreating back. 

You wave a dismissive hand without looking back.

— — — — —

@urfavarab @dee-zbignuts @frogindisguise @mangodamochiii @stars4won @whoisgami @nayleannn @millerworld @bodieohbo @1intrusivethoughts1 @randobeetlehouse @riritvt @louvredea

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Doing good (Issue 34)

Moon Knight, Issue # 34: Primal Scream

Written by Tony Isabella and drawn by Bo Hampton. 

And Bonus short: The Vault of Knight

Written by Tony Isabella and drawn by Richard Howell.

Let's stop for a second. Take a little comic history lesson tour. 

This is not written by the usual Moon Knight team. 

Let's get into a little Moench history here and why he left. 

He did not really get along well with the then Marvel Chief editor James Shooter. Understandable. Here’s why: 

James Shooter got his start writing for DC then moved to Marvel. During the 70s and 80s, Marvel was experiencing a huge boom in content and new titles (like Moon Knight!) 

Further more, Stan Lee stepped away from monitoring comics to heading the animation works in LA right when Shooter became the cheif, leaving him fully in charge. 

Many felt that Shooter ran the place like a dictator, but there had been a huge influx of missed deadlines and Shooter put a stop to that. 

Despite keeping things running and overseeing a lot of new and important titles, he also alienated a LOT of long-time Marvel creators. 

Many of the long-time creators, like Moench, left Marvel to join with DC, who had a new editor. (He got to write for Batman!) 

NOTE: Shooter also enforced a policy forbidding the portrayal of Gay Characters in the Marvel Universe. In fact, the ONLY and first portrayal of a gay themed comic was of gay men attempting to rape Bruce Banner in the YMCA (which Shooter himself wrote), thus making Marvel to be widely considered Homophobic throughout Shooter's reign. (You should look into the history of LGBTQ+ in comics. It's a ride.)

I would like to point out that Moench's last issue during this time was about a reporter that was obsessed with making her deadlines and who wrote shitty pieces that were praised but awful and caused harm and eventual death in one character she wrote about. HMMMMM. 

When did he leave? Sources say the end of 1982, but those that understand the publishing timeline will note comic publish dates don't match the date they reach the shelves. 

So what is the official last Moon Knight Comic Moench worked on?

Let me put it this way... We aren't going to see Moench anymore for the 1980s run. 

He DOES come back for a bit later on, but it's short lived for a couple of limited run editions.

(And this is all new knowledge for me, who thought he originally finished the 1980s run and now I'm looking at an earlier review I did out of order because I'm an idiot and realize I've made a grave mistake.... Oh joy.) 

Farewell my sweet writer Doug Moench. Hats off to you. 

Now! That out of the way, let’s take a look at the first step we truly take away from Mr. Moench. 

For some reason, any time a guest writer sits in for early Moon Knight, they feel the need to over explain the character and introduce his past. Almost as if they were trying to explain who they are writing or getting a grasp on it for themselves. 

This is also a special double large edition. Another cause for writers to try to over explain characters as Marvel expects a bigger issue to draw in new fans. 

However, this is an odd story to push on the hopes of new fans. 

Let’s get into it! 

Yep. We open with a fast recap on who these characters are. 

It leaves me wondering what happened when Moench left. Did he have a script written out? Did he have to give notice and they knew he was leaving and this writer was already on the backburner? Or was this done in a hurry to get a planned comic deadline out on time? 

I would ALSO like to point out that when Bill left, he got a send off. Moench did not get a send off. He just disappears from the credits. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. 

"He was born Marc Spector and Spector wasn't a very nice man...Not so much evil as callous...A mercenary whose concern was reserved solely for himself and his Bankbook. 

That man could never have come to this deserted industrial wasteland on a mission made of equal parts mercy and vengeance." 

I disagree. Marc would be all over vengeance in a deserted wasteland. 

"Steven Grant could have. You've read about Grant... The committed millionaire about town...A pretty defendable guy as the upper crust goes. Still... 

Grant couldn't have found this place without Jake Lockley. Jake is the eyes and ears of Grant and Spector...A cabbie whose heart pulses to the beat of the city." 

Putting a bit on Steven, but he'd want to do good. But a gritty back alley is not really his style. 

"Ready for the kicker? Spector, Grant, and Lockley are all the same man...A man you know better as..." 

(A side note... We see Moon Knight running through a warehouse complaining it smells like a sewer. HE WOULD KNOW. And then he's startled by a cat. This is hilarious to me for so many reasons.) 

And that leads us to the title page where a young man is leaking off the crates above to tackle Moon Knight. 

"Frank? Hate to do this to a hopped-up kid, but the quicker I put him down...the less chance of his getting hurt! Though when I think of what he did to Gena..." 

He tosses Frank across the warehouse. 

Moon Knight again alludes to the damage this kid did to Gena's diner after getting high on some new 'junk'. 

Moon Knight is about to call in to Frenchie to get the medics out to take care of the hopped-up kid when the kid takes off. 

He isn't worried. The fight has been knocked out of him and the police shouldn't have an issue. 

Now we head back to the diner where we find Jake having a cuppa wihth Gena and Crawley. 

Crawley is talking about "The Raiders" which is a young men's social club (read 'Gang'). They are known to be brutal and even the police are afraid of them. 

Gena mentions about how she never raised her boys to run in gangs. Out back, we see Frank leading a group of gang members up to the back door of the diner. 

The gang busts in and attacks the patrons, demanding food. 

Jake isn't about to lay down and let it slide. 

He clocks one of the kids and worries about his friends. 

"Gotta get over to Crawley and Gena fast! They're not used to this kind of action!" 

Jake's heart is made of gold. 

One of the kids jumps Jake, growling and snarling. 

"A for effort, punko, but I've seen a real werewolf up close--And all you've got in common with him are lousy table manners!" And Jake flips the man off. 

Frank jumps on Genna while Jake is preoccupied. He cries out that he's hungry and he bites into her arm. 

Her cries distract Jake and someone bashes him on the back of the head, knocking him out. 

On waking up, Jake immediately asks how Gena is. He finds Gena loading up into an ambulance. 

"His name is Frank... So much for my perfect record. Find him before the police do, Jake." 

"I...Understand. I'll make sure the boy isn't harmed." 

"You don't understand! I want that ungrateful little maggot harmed! I want him harmed so badly he won't ever be able to walk upright again! I treated that boy like family! He treated me like today's hot lunch special! Get him for me, Jake! Bring me his stinkin' head on a platter!" 

Jake's pretty irked about Gena getting hurt, but... 

"But that's not what Moon Knight stands for, is it? I'm the agent of vengeance, not vengeance itself." 

That’s an interesting thought for Jake to have. Jake who so often slips out to let the others handle the Moon Knight mission. He trusts that they can handle things. But what is the difference between being an agent of vengeance and vengeance itself? Perhaps, looking to another comic is where we see that line and the difference between Moon Knight and the Punisher. 

He sets out to find Frank and his gang. He hopes having Frank brought in will help Gena. 

"Because I never want to look into the eyes of someone I care for and see so much hatred and despair there. I've seen it too many times before... Within myself." 

So this issue I’m just going to be crying over Jake the whole time. Okay. Good to know. 

Back at the diner, Gena is out of the hospital and facing her fears. 

Moon Knight is searching the hideout of the Raiders. He fllows the smell till he comes across a delirious woman with some sort of chemical burn blotches all over her. 

Looking around, he realizes, Steven Grant has been here before. An old factory he had been trying to save to create jobs has fallen into ruin. 

The factory is left to rot and all the chemicals inside are left there as well. 

He radios to Frenchie to make sure medical is on standby. These kids have been living in the toxic waste too long. 

He asks if the police got anything out of Frank when they grabbed him. 

Yeah... they didn't get him. He got away. 

And he's still looking for food from Gena. 

Back at the diner, we see Gena trying to clean up on her own. 

She is skittish as she cleans but tries to tell herself that no one's coming for her. 

"Besides, I'm not gonna let anybody or anything chase me away from what's mine!" 

And that's when Frank breaks back into Genas’.

Moon Knight finds one of the kids conscious enough to talk. Alcaide, their leader, didn't let them leave the hideout. He found drums full of a top secret toxic waste that drove people wild and crazy. 

Moon Knight recalls that Grant had learned that the factory used to work for the government. 

"Grant saw that in their public records. But the Spector part of me can't help but wonder if they didn't also do some more discreet research for the feds." 

Bingo bango. He finds the drums, filled with "Primal Project" chemicals. 

Oh! time for a Marc Spector flashback! 

"Spector was working for the feds at the time, escorting a man named Wenzel through a south American jungle..." 

They were heading to meet up with a professor in Manaus (that’s in Brazil!) to shut down the Primal Project. 

"It was supposed to slow a man's thinking process...Make him docile...Easy to handle. Something went wrong." Wenzel talks about the project. 

Marc stops them in their tracks. He hears something stalking them from the trees above. 

A creature leaps at them and Marc fires his gun. 

The beast is hit and lays dead. Deformed and animalistic. 

Marc asks if this is the work of the professor they're heading to see. 

"Spector...That IS the professor." 

They reach the campsite to find men dead across the site and more creatures running around. 

They are attacked adn have to fend off the beasts. They ended up blowing up the site to get rid of the beasts and the remaining chemicals. 

Apparently not all the chemical was destroyed. 

Now, Alcaide, the gang leader, approaches, fully a beast now. 

Back in the diner, Gena fights for her life. 

The cops have arrived at the factory and the paramedics are working on the gang. 

Moon Knight still battles the crazed beast and so does Gena. 

The next day, Jake stops in to see Gena. 

Most of the kids will make a recovery and their lawyers claim they were unter the influence of the Primal toxin. 

Gena is still shaken deeply. 

"I trusted Frank like he was one of my own, Jake...And every time I come in here all the pain comes back. Maybe it wasn't all his fault, but nobody forced him to join that gang. And is it right that I can't walk into my own diner without getting sick?" 

Jake tries to comfort her. Or perhaps, he reaches out to her in a way that he wishes he could with himself and with Marc. Because he knows that it does eat them up. It eats Marc up every day. He isn’t sure if it will ever stop eating them up.

"No. But you're too good a lady to let this eat you up forever." 

"Yeah... I'll work it out."

Poor Gena. 

She shoos them away. She needs to lock up for the night. 

This story is beautiful. This one time special guest writer, Tony Isabella and artist Bo Hampton really did a beautiful job here. 

They manage to keep the usual Moon Knight pace and story feel. We have Jake trying to protect his people. We have Gena facing a kid she helped to raise up, despite him not being her own, joining a violent gang and hurting her, we have Governmental neglect to clean up their mess and doing experimental biochemical weapons on unsuspecting people (a thing that really did happen in ‘Nam), we have economic failure for the factory that lead to the failure to clean up the toxic chemicals, and then we go back to Gena who is now facing trauma. 

No one in this story won. No one goes home feeling good about the day. They just have to pick themselves up again and move on. And they shouldn’t have to. Yet here they are, facing it all alone. 

This moves us to the short story afterwards. "The Vault of Knight." 

This is a weird one. Stranger still is that the short is written by the same person who wrote the main line. That’s pretty rare. Usually the short is done as a commission to be filler or bonus issues. 

Weirder still is the way it’s presented. A commentary on the main storyline! I've seen it done before. It's sort of like the Watcher to the audience. 

We have a strange looking character that addresses the audience. He's dressed like a baseball catcher with a Cubs cap on. Fitting. 

He calls himself "The Score-Keeper". 

And this... Let me tell you....

"Aloha, Adventure-addicts! Was twenty-four pages of gratuitous Do-Gooding enough for you...Or does your Hero-Habit demand even more of (yawn) Moon Knight's exciting escapades? I'm your sinister statistician, The Score-Keeper, and what I wanna know is... 

What is this Turkey in his cowled skivvies accomplishing? Does he really make a difference? Let's add it up. You can't lie to a Scorecard!" 

Interesting. A common question that pops up in Moon Knight comics. 

"Take last story for example. Sure he put ONE gang of teen terrors out of commission, but what's he doing about the rest of the anti-social adolescents in this city?" 

We see Moon Knight on a stakeout, waiting where someone's been hitting the same place for a week. 

The someone is two punks that dress up like werewolves and rob the shops in the area. In fact, they've hit five places in the past week alone! 

They hit a store where an old man cowers in fear....Until Moon Knight swoops in and knocks the thugs out. 

"You...You're that Moon Mensch fella! And you came into MY shop to save me from those Gonifs." 

"It's sort of my job." Moon Knight pauses. 

"Nu? To you, it's maybe a job. To me, if my store gets robbed, maybe I don't eat that night. So I thank you a lot, you and your job." 

"Friend, it was a mechaieh." 

Oh boy oh boy oh boy you have no idea how happy I am to hear Moon Knight say THAT. 

Back to the score-keeper, he's not impressed. "Why can't these heroes ever save Bloomingdales?" 

And the score-keeper starts talking about Gena and the previous issue. 

"What about Gena? One of Moon Knight's own team and he couldn't prevent what happened to her in this issue's other story. I don't think she's over it yet." 

We see Gena's boys Ray and Ricky head into the diner. 

"What did you want to talk to us about?" 

"I...I was talkin' to your uncle Rollie today, the one with the big restaurant out in Houston and he...Well, he kinda offered...I mean..." 

Score-Keeper scoffs. 

"Way to go M.K. While you're brushin' up on your Yiddish, one of your closest friends is bookin' this urban paradise. Maybe we should ask the rest of your little outfit what they think of you..." 

And this cracks me up because we get Frenchie, Marlene, and Crawley. Each one speaks of a different altar. And Frenchie is just SO pissy about it and so protective of Marc... He calls him his friend. Marc could always count on Frenchie back in the day. 

I’m…Not going to get into the “Faces of Eve” thing. It’s… A lot. But it was the big DID story and eventual movie that came out around this time that somewhat inspired a loose input into the creation of Moon Knight having DID. 

"You ask me, you care more about these guys than you care about Moon Knight." 

A misnomer. These people are what makes Moon Knight and keeps him going. In his adventures, helping him, and even when he fails them, they stay with him. 

Score guy jabs at it, noting that Moon Knight hasn't protected any of them. 

Frenchie's girlfriend, Marlene's brother, Crawley's son... 

He moves on to Detective Flint. 

Flint waits for him in a back alley. 

"Something happened --Didn't want you to read about it in the papers first. That Alaide kid you brought in was found dead in his cell an hour ago." 

"Yeah, that would've ruined my Breakfast all right." 

(Honestly, Jake is the one that reads the morning paper and eats breakfast. Jake would have been upset.) 

"Wasn't anybody's fault, guy. You know how crazed the kid was --He strangled himself before anyone could get to him." 

"That supposed to make me feel better?" 

"No...This is. It's the room number of the officer that was injured that night." 

Moon Knight pays the officer a visit. The officer is surprised to see him, thinking that he might not come. 

"Flint tells me that storage drum busted three ribs. I'm sorry. Maybe if I'd moved a little faster..." 

"It's all part of the job. But I don't have to tell you that...

You know, I figure you're pretty much a regular guy under that mask. Weird clothes, but no special 'powers'. I'll be honest... This job scares me a lot, like all the time. I was shaking when I went into that warehouse." 

Sometimes he doesn't see the good he does. 

Sometimes all he can see is the pain he leaves behind. Blaming himself for the pain of his friends. 

Maybe he doesn't really understand why this Daniels is thankful for him. But maybe in this moment he thinks it might be worth it. It might be why he is still trying. 

Back to Score-Keeper. It's time to add up the score. 

"Is Moon Knight doing any good or is he just swinging against the wind?" 

He looks at the results and seems surprised. Ripping up the scorecard, he tells us to figure it out for ourselves and leaves. 

A weird story, but I'm not mad at it. It ties into the main story line, shows the aftermath of what happened, and still shows their friends standing by them. 

It also lets Moon Knight take a moment to feel appreciated. 

And it does ask a question that Moon Knight has asked time and time again. “Am I doing good?” 

Is he causing the harm or is he just shouldering the blame because of his past traumas? The question remains over the years as things become more and more broken for them, and the answer has always been there. It’s just that sometimes it’s hard for them to see it… or accept it. 

[heavenbarnes]

feels so good to be us

Fezco (Euphoria) x Female Reader

Warnings/Contains: mentions of drug use, mentions of guns, implied violence (all canon-typical), swearing, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex (this is fiction, yours isn’t, wrap it), dirty talk, light degradation, light choking, rough sex, light slapping, oral sex (f receiving)

Word Count: 4.5k 

no secret that i fell in love w the guy whilst watching the show, so we’ll just see how this goes

She blew into town one day, seemingly out of nowhere, but not without purpose. Having reasons to be there was one thing, having reasons to stay was a whole other. Lacking in the latter, there was a lot to be grateful for in that one night.

The party that cracked on in a reasonable house, she was told by her friends that’d it’d be a good one. What she wasn’t told was that this was a party that was teeming with teenagers, horny ones in spandex and rhinestones.

A long way from home and everything was different.

Lucky enough, she poured herself a cup and hunted for a spot that was more around her age. Last thing she needed was to be caught up with a hoard of 17 year-olds looking to make trouble.

Whoever owned this house also came equipped with cash, judging by the indoor pool she stepped into, eyes up and trailing along the carefully carved architrave. Eyes far too transfixed to notice the young man on the lounger.

“You came looking for me?”

The voice made her head snap towards his direction, rolled smoke resting between his lips and steadily fingering a roll of cash. Narrowing her eyes at him in hesitation, she traced her finger around the rim of her cup.

“I don’t think so?”

He took his eyes from his counting and let them cast over her, that’s probably the first thing to pique her interest. Those kind of eyes you could fall into, pretty eyelashes too that almost made her want to smile.

She knew that he knew she was staring, but he hadn’t said anything about it, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You not from around here, huh?”

Straightening up and stepping forward a bit, she got closer so she didn’t have to shout across the room.

“No sir, I drove in this morning from out East.”

He nodded more to himself than he did her, tucking the money away in his hoodie pocket before leaning back on the cushion of the lounger. He took the cigarette between his fingers and tapped off some of the ash, eyes still nonchalantly drifting over her.

“Called it, I would’a remembered you otherwise.”

In trying not to let the corners of her mouth turn into a smile, it transformed into more of a pout, bordering on a frown. There was something about this guy, something she couldn’t put her finger on.

“You would’ve?”

“Yeah, cause you wearing clothes,” He answered, making any expression on her face dry out. “You seen those other girls?”

Looking down her front, she had to admit that her belted trousers and high-necked tank was considerably more than what any of the high-schoolers were wearing. Shrugging her shoulders with a nod that spoke of “fair enough”, she managed to draw a chuckle out of the guy.

“That and you cute.” The inflection was so cool she almost missed it, but that wasn’t to say it was lost on her.

Scuffing her sneakers against the poolside tile, he shifted forward along his seat and watched intently at the way she no longer fought the grin on her face. Didn’t know the guy from Adam, but he was already tweaking some kind of feeling in her.

“Who you here with?”

She lifted her head and gestured back towards where the noise of the party was drifting through the door. “My friends Ocasio and Seraphine, made me come to make friends but they didn’t say they’d be teenagers.”

He nodded knowingly, muttering something about knowing them too. “They all so young, why I’m only here for business.”

So the inkling in the back of her mind that he was a drug dealer was correct, making his first comment make a lot more sense. In an attempt not to seem like a total fucking loser, she shifted the conversation.

“They said I should look for some guy, said that I’d probably like him.”

The man lifted a brow, before throwing his gaze over her shoulder in his turn to admire the architecture. 

“Yeah? They give you a name, not a lot of people I don’t know.”

She thought on it for a moment, she knew it reminded her of That 70′s Show, and that is sounded remarkably fake at the time.

“Fezco, I think? If that’s even a real name?”

His shoulders bounced as he chuckled a little, eyes moving back to her own. He had one of those stares where it was intense, but there was nothing in you that wanted to look away.

“Nice to meet you too, mamas,” He lent back again and propped his foot up on the seat. “Do I get your name?”

In attempting to avoid looking like a fucking loser, she’d managed it anyways. Her cheeks burnt as she nodded with a nervous laugh, smiling out of necessity before offering him her name.

He made some remark about her still being cute, before they were cut off by a couple of young people tripping down the stairs and narrowly avoiding the pool. They made a line for Fezco, hoping to make a purchase off of him.

She couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, in the move of things she started to step back to where she came. An obvious cast of disappointment fell over her as she began to pull back from it all.

“Mamas,” That voice stopped her in her tracks. “Just lemme do this, I ain’t done ‘whichu yet.”

Just like that, she’d found a reason to stay. From that point on, you didn’t see her without Fezco by her side, with a hand on her lower back.

They were polar opposites, but MC. Kat said those attract so that could be said for why they’d done so well together. She was warm, kind, and so gentle it’d make your heart do fucking flips.

She was the softest thing that Fez had ever got his hands on, and he’d be damned if he was ever going to let it go. He was open with her, showed her all the bad things that he did and he’d done, and she chose to love him anyway.

If you asked Fezco, she felt like home, she was safe to come back to after a long day of doing things he wasn’t proud of. No matter how many times he made shitty choice after shitty choice, she knew the heart that rested in him was inherently better than anything.

Nothing made that heart fuller than seeing her own coming through, you want to talk big hearts? You start with her. She was the very definition of love, patient and kind, and it wasn’t uncommon for Fez to pinch himself in wonder of how he got so lucky.

The days she sat beside his grandma, holding her up as he brought the sponge along her back. Never a complaint, she’d just smile at Fezco, at the gentleness of his movements. The smile that said “I’d never want to be anywhere else.”

And if his boys were on their way around to fetch payment, nothing had to be said. She’d quietly tuck away in the bedroom, laying in silence as she daydreamed of a life where Fez was totally happy. In her visions they live in the countryside, he never has to look over his shoulder and he is forgiven.

She was always the delicate to his rough around the edges, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know exactly what was happening. You couldn’t mistake her kindness for stupidity.

“Mans, I don’t think you know what you getting into.” Fezco’s voice never shifted from that calm tone.

Nate Jacob’s shit eating grin made the hairs on the back of Fez’ neck stand up, the kid using his height to try and forge an ounce of intimidation. Unlucky for him, the man in front of him wasn’t a 17 year old cheerleader with daddy issues, he couldn’t scare him.

Nate would still give it his best shot.

“You obviously don’t know what you’re doing with me, I will fucking ruin you.” His bark through gritted teeth drifted up the hallway.

“You came to my house, ‘tryna start shit with me,” Fez never backed down, nearly chest to chest. “I never gave a fuck about you.”

The sound that came from Nate was a scoff, the disrespect was evident as he looked down on the other man. “So you’ve forgotten how you threatened my life?”

As he lifted his hand up towards Fez’ throat, he wasn’t able to clock her on his right quick enough.

She calmly padded down the hallway, shorts and her boyfriend’s hoodie draped across her body as she approached the scene before her. Left hand coming to lift the hem of the sweater and right coming to grip the glock stashed in her waistband.

By the time Nate Jacobs even knew she was there, he could already hear the safety coming off. His hand stilled as his eyes drifted over to her.

“Take another step, playboy.” Eyes staring down the slide and right at the guy in her sights. “Pick up your nuts, and get out of my house.”

Nate looked back to Fez, meeting an almost unfazed expression. His eyes came over to her and the barrel aimed between his eyes.

“The cops coming here didn’t teach you a lesson? You want them coming back here looking for guns too?”

Her laugh rolled around the room, drifting between the three of them as her eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, go ahead and call the cops again,” Her grip on the pistol never faltered. “I’m sure Fezco’s boys would love to hear about the little bitch that had the pigs sniffing around their supply.”

There was no missing the way Nate’s jaw clenched at the sentiment, the thought ticking over in his head that he might’ve finally met his match. The match that he’d tried to chat up in the convenience store, right in front of Fez with his own girl in the car.

“Everyone knows your name, Jacobs,” Fez wasn’t the only one he couldn’t scare. “Would hate for it to be dropped around the wrong people.”

The quarterback brought his arm down from her boyfriend’s neck, turning to face her with the gun only following his movements. Fezco stepped off him, making his way over to his girl.

He stood behind her, chest to her back as his hands rested against her waist. Lips moments from her neck as his eyes trained back on the teenager trying to raise hell in his own living room.

“Is that a threat?” The sour expression on Nate’s face was nothing short of unattractive. She didn’t know a lot about Maddie Perez, but she knew the girl could do better.

“No, it’s a fucking warning,” In an instant the gun was turned on it’s side. “I won’t say it again, get out of my house, before I fucking kill you.”

It didn’t take much more before Nate was dragging his knuckles out of the house, door slamming behind him. At that sound, she had the safety back down and was placing the gun in Fez’ hands.

He chuckled, turning her towards him with that same grip on her hips. His hands came back to put the gun in the band of his drawers, before he was shifting to cup her face. Fezco could feel the heat radiating off of her cheeks.

“Do I even ‘gotta tell you how fine you look waving my piece round like that?”

She matched his laugh, heart still beating wildly in her chest. Shaking her head, her lips came to Fezco’s, feeling the plush of his lips moving in time with hers. “I will definitely leave that up to you.”

“But you looked so good handling it, mamas.”

Brushing off his comment, she gripped his hand and lead him up to the bedroom, muttering something about him looking even better.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Fez stood in front of her, looking down at the woman who’d kill for him. He knew he’d found his absolute other half, there was no doubt about that.

He lifted the glock to her face, trailing the muzzle along her cheek before she turned her head gently and gave it a sweet kiss. He shook his head, leaning down to tuck it under their mattress.

Kneeling down before her, parting her knees so he could nestle in there, his face was so close to her own that she could feel the heat in his breath.

“You mean everything, baby, I fucking love you.”

That was what it was all about, the perfect balance that existed between them. Whilst Fezco might’ve been the guts, and she was the glory, there was no doubt that they’d always be what each other needed.

The first time in a while that Fez had felt was able to be vulnerable, was the moment he sunk into her arms after a grim night. She didn’t ask any questions, just wrapped him up in her and reassured him that she felt nothing but adoration for him.

On his part, he’d found paradise in a girl that was sweeter than an angel, but was always down to let him fuck her like a whore.

She wasn’t really down for a Halloween party, but she was always down to dress pretty and be on the arm of her man in the cleanest suit. Platform heels and a flowery mini dress, it was the godfather and the hippie, sat outside by the pool as the smoke from Fez’ blunt cast a cloud around them.

Thoughts drifted back to the moment they met, looking an awful lot like this.

Teenagers dipped in and out of the house to buy off her boyfriend, she just sat back with her legs up in his lap, feeling his fingers rubbing against her calf every now and then.

She said hello to the girls as they drifted past, but nothing felt better than when it was just the both of them, enjoying each other’s company as those under the influence stumbled around them.

Fezco let his hand drift slightly higher up her shin, calloused fingers coming to trace along the curve of her knee. She watched the movements of his touch, not ignoring the way her skin prickled underneath the graze of his nails.

Taking the blunt from his mouth, he turned to look at her fondly, hazy smile when he found her already looking back at him.

“This your song, mamas,” He referred to the Jack Harlow joint that was coming through the speakers. “You ‘gone dance for me like you do at home?”

She smirked, lifting her legs out of his lap and stepping out in front of him. “Depends if you’ve got the money to throw.”

Slowly spinning around for him, her hips swayed in a motion that he followed intently, catching onto the way her dress lifted with each movement.

“You trippin’ if you think ‘imma pay for what’s mine.”

Stopping the swing of her hips, she moved in closer to where Fezco sat with his legs spread wide. Moving between those legs, she bent over over and braced a hand on each of his knees.

“What are you tryna’ do, big man?”

Fez lent forward in his seat, lips coming to gently press to her own before he spoke in a hushed tone, better to keep his private moves private from the kids swirling around the both of them.

“I’m tryna’ blow your fucking back out.”

One thing could be said for Fezco, the man could keep his word. The minute he got her into the bedroom, large hands splayed across her hips and gripped tight enough to leave a mark.

Lips ran up the column of her throat, the graze of teeth left in the wake of his movements. Heady moans slipped off her tongue and filled the small room, coaxing Fez to move a little quicker.

His girl was getting impatient and he was never one to keep her waiting.

Turning her in his hands, he still had a mean grip on her waist as he moved her knees to perch on the edge of the bed. One large hand spread in the center of her shoulder blades as he pushed her chest down onto the mattress.

“Be a good girl and arch your back for me.”

Stomach dropping down and hips rolling back, she shook her ass for him as Fezco shifted up the hem of her dress, revealing the pretty lace she wore just for him. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them further apart till she got even lower.

One hand came back to slap the cheek of her ass, a sorry moan ripping from her chest as he massaged over the spot. Feeling the way his thumb traveled down the line of her underwear, grazing over where she was wettest for him.

Hooking around the band of the thin panties, Fez slipped them down her legs, sucking in a breath seeing how wet she’d been for him this whole time. She shook her hips, presenting herself to him like a meal he’d been waiting to be served.

“What got you so fuckin’ needy? Or you just always begging for it?” His voice rumbled through his chest, hitting her straight between the thighs.

“It’s always you, I just need you to fuck me.”

Two thick fingers dragged up her slit as she rolled her hips back for him, eager to catch anything that felt like pleasure. This teasing was nearly killing her, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to make her work for it.

“You ‘sposed to be a good girl but you lost your manners.”

Whining out, not caring how pathetic it must’ve sounded to him, she shook her ass again. Doing whatever she could to draw him and make him give it to her like she needed.

“Please, Fezco, I fucking need you.”

The sound of his belt coming loose was like music to her ears as his thumb gently dipped into her wetness. So close to getting what she wanted, he was never good at keeping anything from her. Especially not when she looked this pretty.

She felt him run the blunt head of his cock through her wetness, resting at her entrance for a moment. Tiny cries and whimpers still fell steadily from her pouted lips, Fezco sliding his hand down her back until his fingers fixed around the back of her neck.

“Drive me fuckin’ crazy,” With one thrust he filled her straight up. “I never felt anything like you, baby.”

Her cheek pressed against the mattress with his grip, filthy moans drifting through the air as she felt Fezco wrecking her. His other hand still gripped tight at her hip, pulling her back onto him with every thrust.

It was never better than when it was this nasty, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as he fucked her dumb, the only thing on her mind was his name as she sang it back to him. 

He loved the sound of her crying out for him, pussy clenching impossibly tight around him. Fez knew every spot within her, exactly what to do to make her come apart under his hands.

“You so fuckin’ tight, mamas,” He gritted his teeth as his hand slid from her neck to grip her shoulder. “Tryna’ make me buss’ quick.”

A filthy giggle rolled straight off her tongue, before it turned right back into another cry as Fezco hit that spot just right. The hand on her hip slipped under and before she knew it, her eyes were rolling back as his fingers moved quick against her clit.

He nearly ripped a scream from her, moving his hand back to slap her pussy, before rubbing that same spot. He was going to be the death of her one day, the way he always knew exactly what he was doing.

“Baby- I’m ‘gonna- I’m ‘gonna,” Her words dropped off as she moaned for him under the pressure of it all.

“You good, ‘lemme hear it.”

Clenching like a vice around him, her whole body tensed up as the white hot feeling of her orgasm rolled over her. There was no doubt the neighbors would know about it, the way he never let up on her, had her crying out off the top of her lungs.

Fezco dipped his hand under her throat, fingers lightly fixing around it as he pulled her up to kneel. Falling back against his chest as he kept fucking her through it, her hand came back to grip his thigh.

She knew he was near his end, his hips were stuttering and the way he was groaning in her ear, she knew she had him good. Turning her head, her nose brushed against his face so her lips were moments from his skin.

“Come in me, please, baby.”

That was all it took, his arm flying around her waist as he gripped her hard to him. Hips stilling deep inside her as he filled her up, a vulgar cry from her as she felt him hot and running in her. Sliding his hand down her chest, he crossed his arms against her, nuzzling down into her neck.

“Maybe you are a good girl, huh?”

There was no doubt that she wasn’t just good, she was the best. Who else was going to sit patiently with their feet in Fezco’s lap as he counted his money and chewed through a pack of cigarettes.

Couldn’t find another girl that’d stand by his side at the town carnival, looking just as sweet as the cotton candy she was placing on her tongue as locals came asking around for their friend Molly.

Hot summer days outside the convenience store, popsicle between her lips as her sundress flutters gently in the breeze. Fezco ready to round up anyone that stared just a little too long.

Maybe it was all that candy that went past her lips, but there was never anyone who acted, or tasted that sweet.

Hearing the door shut, her mouth naturally curved into a smile. He was home, meaning he was safe, meaning she was safe and content. Fezco rounded the couch to where she sat, one arm braced behind her on the cushion as he lent down to kiss her.

Hands naturally coming to cup his chin, she felt the scratch of his beard in her palms as his mouth moved gently against her own. His shoulders dipped with a sigh, one that told her he was just as happy to be home as she was to have him.

“You seem so tired,” She cooed as she separated their lips. “Let me take care of you.”

Her hand trailed down the front of his sweater, coming to rest on his belt. Fezco pressed her hand down, against his crotch, bringing their lips back together. As she moved her other hand to start undoing his belt, he squeezed her hands to stop them.

Placing a hand on either side of her thighs, he dropped to kneel in front of her, before wrapping his hands around her knees and parting them. Fez lifted each of her legs and draped them over his shoulders.

Rough hands pushed the bottom of his hoodie, that was currently covering her, up her body and exposing her scantily clad lower half. Shallow breaths came from her as he dragged her panties down her legs, shifting her hips closer to the edge of the couch.

“This the only place I wanna’ be right now, angel.”

Her breath came across as choppy as she relaxed back into the couch, feeling big hands grip the the skin of her thighs. Fez’ head moved between her legs, pressing a kiss straight to her slit.

Hands coming to hold his head, thumbs massaging against the skin as her hips rolled forward toward his mouth. Darting his tongue out, he drew it up and along her until it came into contact with her clit.

Drawing his tongue around the nub, he felt her legs tense up against his shoulders. Fezco’s hands gently rubbed at her legs, feeling her relax once again into him.

The soft little whimpers that only she could make fueled him like nothing else, dragging his tongue quicker in an attempt to draw any sounds out of her. Her hips bucked up with the sensation of his tongue, pulling his face in closer.

“God, Fezco, you always make me feel so good.”

Humming in response, the sensation moved through her from between her thighs and deep into her. The feeling of the tip of his tongue against her clit made her toes curl up, feet running along the length of his back.

Fez wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking the sensitive nerves and making her call out his name. Her chest rose, arching her back off the couch as her thighs tensed around his head.

He never let up, just continued the assault on her clit as she writhed beneath his grasp. Fez couldn’t get enough of this feeling, having her wrapped around him and completely falling apart in his hands.

She couldn’t believe how lucky she got, having a man that walked straight through the doors and got on his knees for her. There was never a moment where Fez didn’t have her feeling like she was in the clouds.

Her whole body burnt hot as his tongue dipped into her, before dragging back up. Eyes falling shut and fingernails running down the back of her head, every time he moaned at the feeling it hit her straight where she needed it. 

“You’re ‘gonna make me come, please don’t stop.”

Fezco’s eyes flickered up to her, watching the way her whole body moved for him and her head kept falling back in pleasure. To have her reacting so strongly to him, he hoped she couldn’t see the way his cheeks were starting to burn.

“Go ‘head baby, come for me.”

The high-pitch of her whine pierced the air as her hips stuttered against his mouth. She felt her body relax, the feeling of pleasure consuming her entirely as Fez let her ride his face out of her high.

As she came back down to Earth, he came back up to her, hand wiping down his beard and watching the glow of her face. Lazy smile across her face as she reached out for him, going back to his belt.

“You going to let me take care of you now?”

One day they’d roll out of this town together, find their peace and spend their time looking forward without a care. Until then they found peace in each other, holding one another close.

More than anything, they’d found hope in each other? That this wouldn’t be forever, that you could find forgiveness in whatever you’d done.

Whenever there was a doubt, she just echoed those words back to him with a smile, the ones that she’d never forgotten.

“I ain’t done ‘whichu yet.”

[sugar-petals]

sub!Yuzu | nsfw alphabet

🌹 NOTE ⇢ content for our fave figure skater, the legend himself. mr. yuzuru hanyu is 1000% dom candy and i’m here to honor it at length ⛸

— WORDS. 5k

tags + warnings. dom/sub dynamics, femdom!reader, role reversal hc, smut, kinks, cum play, spanking, sex toys, very freaky yuzu, kitten play, mdlb, crying kink, food play, prostate orgasms, bondage, some deeper stuff & angsty bits, asthma mention, aftercare

  A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Once the cat ears come off, who is Yuzuru Hanyu not to remain in character for a while. For the shits and giggles, and because it’s cozy. Once a catboy, always a catboy, it’s the law of the land. Curling up, kneading at you for the head pats and massages, you know the programme. 

Also: Yuzu is famously soft-spoken and always finds the right thing to say. So, stimulating conversation for the cooldown. This is literally so nice. He’s unafraid to reflect everything in detail, say what he preferred, what you could change up together, what he wants to try next. The afterglow is not just physical, as in you give him something to drink, it’s 70% verbal which is very important to him as a consistent habit.

Of course, not to forget: Always gotta have a Winnie Pooh plushie ready. He embraces it readily and, as we know him, does some roleplay right then and there. Yuzu, professional cutiepie he is, is the kinda sub who treats all plush and pillow stuff as alive and breathing. You as his domme are in on the play and also treat his things as holy as they are to him. That Yuzu lets you into that world is the biggest compliment you can possibly get. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

We all know Yuzu’s godly ass and thighs. Or the staggering waist and beautiful black hair that makes him a total bombshell in his classic comb-back styles. His face is soft and expressive and so damn unique, his legs muscular and long, his back and tummy chiseled, the list goes on and on. Jesus, he has so many great features. All body parts a masterpiece. That are all capable of god-tier contortionism on top of that, gotta mention it in passing. Just so you know if you haven’t seen him bend his every limb into directions you wouldn’t believe are humanly possible. 

Interestingly though. If he chooses, Yuzu picks his feet: They are his most important instrument and weak spot. His ankles are where the magic happens. So, you taking care of them a little would mean the world to him, imagine a candle light massage. Not to worry, no-gross-alert. Yuzu has perfect and cute feet. That’s gonna be a Victorian moment, oh my god I saw his ankles. For his partner, short and simple: He likes a shoulder to lean on. He loves being touchy in general, all body parts are amazing to him. Being in a profession that’s all about the physics, Yuzuru knows about the wonders of the body.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Certified king of cumsluts, doesn’t even hesitate. The more, the merrier. If he’s not covered in sticky stuff, Yuzu would be underchallenged. It’s less about the taste, texture or any degradation, for him it’s the playing around with his tongue. Somebody wants his mouth preoccupied. Give the cat his milk. Feed him his own cum mixed with yours. He’s gonna lap at it and swallow.

Since Yuzu’s dream is a mommy domme baking him something, he just loves the smell of dough and hazelnuts and cinnamon and everything — you know what’s coming: Imagine the food play. Nuts indeed. Anything that even remotely looks like a creampie is something he wants to get his lips on. And Yuzu is not the type to be a foodie at all, let that sink in. Sexual-looking food is just too big a temptation, though. And you spoiling him that way... oh my. Surefire way to end up in bed right after. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has a butt plug collection. Once almost went on the ice with one in. The more you know. Also— this guy is the kinda type fantasizing to get absolutely railed on a bed of plushies. He has troubles suggesting it to you because he doesn’t want them to get actually dirty. But the idea gets the two of you kind of horny. Sometimes, a thought is better as a fantasy than actually executing it. You can use it for riling up’s sake, whispering it to him during dirty talk. How you’ll bounce on him and ruin him and milk him while he’s splayed out so innocently on your bed. I smell corruption kink. 

Another secret Yuzu keeps is just how much he changed his mind about wanting his partner to control everything in bed. He grew up with a pre-defined ideal type of a cute, nice skater girl who’d let the reins very loosely around him, who he can speak Japanese to because he had problems with English, who is small and someone he will protect. It wasn’t something based on experience and trying things out: It was simply expected of him. People wanted the domineering Yuzuru on ice to be that way in private, and make use of his power, be a man, savior, boss. 

The reality being: He never felt truly as tough on the ice, nor was he gender-conforming in person. In fact, that is what he became famous for, and it reassured Yuzuru very often how people would accept and actually celebrate this side of him. Which is so refreshing, and a sight to see. The side that was dorky, clingy, childish, gorgeous, and cute has always been there, but now he embraces it more as his comfort place. He has to know what he’s doing in his skating programme and show competitive spirit to achieve his dreams, but that’s where it stops.

His former ideals are something people wanted to hear, it was an adaptation of the environment rather than thinking it through on his own. So, years later — oh boy have things changed. Yuzuru no longer defines his ideal type that way, saying whoever he likes is someone he’d be with. What was a fantasy template and filter is now gone and adapted to his newfound, own preferences. Yuzu is comfortably open-minded rather than being a copy to mainstream. He found fun in speaking English, opened up to the world at large, had more girls around him who he could befriend, grew more confident in his stature, and is well aware — turns out he’s the cute one. Who needs to be taken under a wing. He likes strong-minded girls and says if he had a wife, she’d dominate him. Yuzuru secretly wants her to be in charge entirely, she owns his body and soul. Not in daily life where things are just normal and everyone goes about their business. Sexually, where he surrenders instead, and is taken care of.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

The tale of an introvert. What he knows — he hides it well. Has eyefucked a whole lot of people and is the type to lust like mad from a far distance, and nobody will ever know. Crushes harder than peppercorns in a mill. If he loves someone, it lingers in his mind every split second of the day, may god have mercy on him. And if you know him: Yuzu aims too high to keep it light and easy and clumsy. He hates being an amateur, he’s terrified of starting out something. He dreads not knowing what to do, how exactly to behave, talk, touch, breathe, respond, negotiate, prepare. That’s a hundred percent like hell to him.

Ironically, he has a natural feeling for it and he’s literally amazing in bed, has a sense for social interaction is all the way cute with something valuable to say. But what he believes is something way different. Yuzuru is a diehard, nervous perfectionist. He can only think of it as a rated performance since his mind usually has to work that way to skate well. His esteem is on a knife edge depending on how well he thinks he does. So, the inevitable: He will shy away from sex altogether. He draws immense skating passion from staying celibate, in fact it’s his success secret, but it still eats him up from the inside and makes him frustrated beyond measure. Not even for the pleasure, since he’s so ambitious that’s almost forgotten about, but for being told he did well. 

That’s how much he believes sex is a drill and capability test. And it’s sad that he thinks it’s like his skating career, racking up points for the impossible things judges want and being in a deadlock when it comes to showing his artistic side. He feels thrown into cold water if he doesn’t know everything beforehand. If he ever works up the courage, which probably won’t happen, he will pay an expert to learn from rather than let something all over the place happen with a random person or even someone he might like. 

Yes, you heard that right. He’d rather see a sex worker than ‘mess up’ his first time according to his sky-high standards. So, Yuzu’s experience remains limited since he’s so 100% do or die, and so anxious, and so torn about social interaction, he doesn’t get how his peers can be playboys and get married and flirt with someone they like and all that. He sort of has an easier time with guys, but girls... he can’t approach. To top it off, he also feels like he’d burden his first time one somebody or embarrasses himself, so he will reject and avoid suitors. Those are usually not the people he crushes so hard on to begin with. It’s bound to be one-sided and he knows, so he will abstain and focus on career and use the cheers of his fans as a substitute.

Truth is, he feels helpless and distant from sex sometimes, especially with his practice-heavy lifestyle and hyper-smart mind, Yuzuru has an intelligence that exceeds what most people can grasp. He’s alone on the ice and Brian as a coach is often the only reference person who truly gets him, and leads him well without being controlling. But that’s professional life. Sexually, Yuzuru is metaphorically: coachless. He surely observed it well when Javier (the #1 ladies man, his opposite) was still active and a social butterfly helping him fit in, but Yuzu would always be worried about his extreme fame and spotless image when introduced to someone fangirling over him. He’d rather prefer someone who comes across as a mentor and solid, loyal-to-death person to look up to. So he would do anything to have someone benevolent like that. Most girls would expect him to be the sex god and expert, but he knows that’s only half of the story and based on his characters on the ice. Yuzu crafts these to counterbalance how he really is — withdrawn and indirect. 

Yuzu is extremely calculating and selective, he scans suitors well, protects his reputation, and is mortified of failure. So, he’d rather learn it by the book and from someone he’s not emotionally attached to. In a one-night stand that might also be the case, but he doesn’t know what to expect, and he’s absolutely terrified of sudden sexual vulnerability. He himself often says he values his own struggle between feeling so weak and being strong again 

Besides: He’d have problems squeezing hookups into his schedule and lifestyle, he’d have to cut down on things and create a double life. Plus, Yuzu is famously inept with social interaction up close, he flees the noise and unpredictability. So, it’s better to have a long-term partner. If he doesn’t know something yet, he has it down in one day like the single axel. Definitely counts on his partner teaching him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

We know Yuzu’s signature move is the lean-back Ina Bauer. So, whatever position allows for an arch is the real deal (cough, taking the strap — oh my god his ass is made for it). But anyway, he can pull off anything with that stellar flexibility and core strength. 

If I think about it. Yuzu might like sitting on your lap very much. I know it’s not a sex position, I mean it can be once his inner lapdancer awakens or you use a strap-on, I rather mean... just for some sweet moments and making out. But yeah: Fathom Yuzu gyrating on your like that. Not in an outright lascivious manner or Chippendales style. The Hanyu way, with embellishments and all the grace. This is gonna be a huge turn-on and perfect foreplay position.  

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not much to elaborate here: Yep, Yuzu is true goofball indeed. Really flustered and clumsy when eye-to-eye in missionary, and yet: He’s ultra serious towards the end, there’s gonna be an aggressive staredown before cumming. The feeling gets pretty intense, his duality between silly and ‘yeah, give it to me’ is no joke.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Would probably die from inflammation if he shaved clean under those tight suits and did all these chafe-heavy skating routines. Doesn’t have a lot of body hair to begin with, but for pits and pubes, it’s alive, wild, and decently long. Out of all people, Yuzu cares particularly about aesthetics, but in this case pragmatism will prevail. He doesn’t care too much about it either as long as it doesn’t get in the way of something. Having sex with Yuzu tends to be well um well all about a hundred types of friction so any stubble would be a bad idea.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

You haven’t seen a guy in love like that. It’s a figure skater thing for sure. Since he works to portray these sentiments on the ice daily, hardly anybody can play up feelings so delicately and palpably like Yuzuru. Emotion is what his entire career is built on. He knows how to express himself directly, appropriately, intimately. Couldn’t be any more romantic. Yuzu can’t go without it. 

Very passionate, ‘for your eyes only’ kind of atmosphere. Yes, he shows off on the ice, it’s his job (although of course, that word doesn’t really sum up what skating means to him). But private Yuzu is someone you can claim as yours. He will make it clear, he wants to belong to you, he’s yours, dedicated, devotion is the entire point. Less with a slant of what some subs like, very hands-on ownership of a mistress. It’s more emotional. He’s really attached and all smitten. Your private little haven is everything to him. 

Talking about little: Yuzu can be quite a pillow prince sometimes. At least when the initiative doesn’t go back and forth as it frequently does, you often alternate with suggestions and ways of tweaking an ongoing play session. You blindfold him or tie his wrists, He might be standard tired from practice or just fascinated to watch you work your magic on him. 

He also likes music to set the tone for intimacy, who’s surprised. Prepare: Yuzu likes dramatic classical music all the way. He’s probably one of the few people who can make it more than ‘classy’ and definitely more than cringe. He selects pieces very well. This is gonna be a practice template to cum together when the music reaches its peak. Makes the whole thing full of adrenaline.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Lots of fun to him. Would beat it 24/7 if the ice wasn’t calling him. Drowns himself in lube. This guy’s me-time is so rated R, Cardi B would be inspired to remix WAP to wet ass penis as an anthem just for him. A dry dick is a ruined day for Yuzuru, as is a session without teasing his prostate in whatever way he currently fancies. Once he tried it, he never went back. The intensity knocking him out is something that Yuzu thinks about all the time. Strokes like a pro, does all these little moans, can do it forever, loves the feeling, chases the high. Adrenaline junkie on the ice? No different with his hand around his cock. 

Will masturbate everywhere in the house and has to really get his head in the game to make sure he won’t ruin any carpets. So, he always has at least two towels with him. In the kitchen, in front of the TV, in the shower, the bed. Watches his fair share of eclectic porn, he gets really desperate. Especially before you started dating, Yuzu would shut himself in until the lotion ran out. Can jack off to something romantic (he starts crying) or something extreme (he loves shocking himself and ). 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Very curious about sadomasochism. Googles a lot of things that make him hard during the day. Often jawdropped by his research, but once he tries things out with you, nothing can really shock him anymore. Absolutely wants to be collared, it’s his biggest fantasy. Another little secret he has, Yuzu is decked out in skating gloves, right. He wishes he could feel you wearing them, or he keeps them on for sex himself, the lacey transparent ones. Looks especially pretty when his wrists are tied so, major photograpy material. Oh yes, Yuzu likes the camera, he can work it. The guy is photogenic in any position and can strike any angle you want. Your phone background is a new Yuzu snapshot every week already, imagine your gallery, 5800 kinky pictures.  

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

I’m gonna say it. The frozen lake out of town, late at night, condoms and lube with you. A quickie that will leave your genitals frozen. Yuzu might get stuck inside you because it’s -15 Celsius. Call that fantasy on ice. Jokes aside: Come on, Yuzu is the biggest ever hermit homebody. The couch will have a bunch of indents after your week-long fucking sessions after he comes home training. Also, at his desk while he does work for university. You ride him, Yuzu studies. Double the ambition. His dick is completely sore. The lake out of town thing might go down, but without sex. Just skating together under the stars, Yuzu doing amazing spins and spirals around you, very very romantic.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Yuzu is a crazed Sagittarius. Have you seen these men? They just want it all. Must be the influence of Jupiter. Zeus was definitely vibing that way. And yes, Yuzu has borderline unhealthy gold medal thinking in bed. He wants to be not just good but damn good with pleasing you. If you don’t have a good time and head home without an orgasm, he’ll consider himself a failure. Yuzu won’t cut himself any slack there. You’d have a hard time changing his ways into something more chill and moderate. Instead, you will see the benefits of rolling with it once you see how improvement fuels him and does make sex really mindblowing.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Couldn’t do things like slapping you, spanking. Yuzu makes for a terrible daddy dom, it’d not suit him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Cum-dripping oral mess, Yuzu is the brave kind. Totally into it, and can’t resist a good blowjob. Will act different afterwards, there’s a lot of erotic tension. “This evening again?” is what those eyes are saying.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Outstanding kinesthetic intelligence. Every inch of his body follows his intent, and yours if you have him take on certain ways of kneeling. Yuzu can do it all, whatever you want. Tantalizing, moderato, overwhelmingly fast. He can take it, he can portray it. And knows the value of a pause like a true connoisseur. Not just when he wants to prevent cumming early, also just because the moment is right. That’s why cockwarming is a staple, as well as you having him wait patiently for kisses. To top it off: If you give him a blowjob, building up the tension by doing nothing is damn effective. The ruined orgasms you’re gonna give him... delicious.

Everything’s gonna have nice transitions as well, no awkward climbing and rolling and tangling limbs. If he gets something from another room that you need, no slouching. The university course as good as the extracurricular activities. Being inconsistent with any subsidiary details? Not in the Hanyu household, he’s keeping it classy. Yuzu feels like if he makes the bridges to new positions even remotely messy, the feeling is killed and it’s as if he’d break character mid-skate. Although he’ll have to practice and refine and test a lot of things because he’s not super experienced and adapting to your own movements is an individualized thing to do, he’s a masterclass of quality, period.

Even when things get fast and heated, nothing feels off. Having that kind of body smartness also means: Yuzu learns by touch, whatever you do. He knows by the way you pull his hair what comes next. How much saliva drips off your tongue when you suck at his neck, he knows how hard you’ll to ravage him in five minutes. This guy observes things you aren’t even conscious of because his physical understanding is just so fine-tuned.

The sense of rhythm, and every skating programme of him will showcase that, unbeatable. Unless his mood is really impacted by something severe, your guy feels it in every bone. He’s an artist, after all, he listens to music all the time. Dissecting rhythms to turn them into movement is what his line of work is all about. The pace will always fit the mood. Everything is precise, but never crude. Instead, the way he moves is dictated by an inherent flow. With little accents that match right with any thrust, like putting his hands on your sides when you’re on top of him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hit it Shakira: Whenever, wherever! He seemingly carries an entire condom factory with him. Or, to be more exact: At least three of them.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

This one’s a complicated case. Yuzu being reckless on the ice may or may not mirror in your private life. He might need some downtime, so bring out the soft domme stuff. No trial and error stuff, just going through a routine of things you love the most. On the other hand, he always gives it all. This guy’s endurance at your hands is amazing. Advanced kinds of BDSM he will not feel deterred from at all. Rough toys, anal hooks, sounding, whips, why not is Yuzu’s motto. But then again. He has such a confusing mix of innocence and feeling like he’s completely hardcore. You might end up experimenting a lot, but also not daring the leap sometimes because the mood is different. And then rather go for softer hours, where Yuzu will be all shy shy and more bursting with excitement than ever. A good, interesting mix is what I’m saying.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Yuzuru, once he gets a bit of practice to gauge the situation... Viagra on two legs, absolute unexpected powerhouse. You might end up pondering to work out a little and go for a run because this guy is in a consistently outstanding shape to say the least. Olympic athletes are literally hard to fuck with. And since Yuzu is starfishing sometimes (which is very adorable), or he’s in bondage for some time, that presents a further problem: For a second round, he’s full of energy, while you already spent energy. So, you alternate with who’s active, and the other leans back entirely. He has to remind himself since his body is programmed for it: This is no contest — the point is feeling good.

You might ride him reverse cowgirl all the way while you watch TV, and after the overstimulation fades he will eat you out ad nauseam, full course slobbering, sweeping the whole menu. That way, it’s less about keeping up with him, which would be hard for most people not doing sports at his galactic level. He understands, Yuzu knows he’s not normal in that regard, you don’t have to worry. Some exercise still doesn’t hurt, just to further increase the quality of sex anyway.

Then again: Why go jogging and do some laps wasting valuable together time when Yuzu’s lap is the best workout? And running doesn’t guarantee your stamina in bed is perfect even if it does help. You rather wanna manage how to draw out the arousal. It’s a self-control thing, with the goal of having you match up in every aspect as good as you can. In which case, you can count on him to pull it off: Have you seen Yuzu doing jumps side by side with a bunch of female skaters? Copy paste. This guy knows how to synchronize with the ladies.

Something that has to be mentioned beside that, though. Yuzu has asthma since 2 years old, and it’s often a mind thing to him still these days. He doesn’t let it stop him from sleeping with you because as always, he’s not letting anything get in his way. He has learned to live and thrive with it. But you both have to mind the possibility of an attack, he prevents it with inhalers, and the mood plays a crucial role. Yuzu being comfortable and confident is so important to his breathing, and keeping a good rhythm rather than being chaotic in bed. So, you will plan most of your sexual activities rather than improvising. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Would stuff an entire sex shop into his every available orifice. Yuzu is a toy freak, he wants to try everything. Motto: a new one every day. Well, almost. But he can afford it. Buys stuff he uses solely on himself, things you use on him, things he uses solo and you use on him, and as the cherry on top, every possible high end vibrator on the market for you. Any size, too. This bitch will browse through the latest innovations, prepare to get off. He’s obsessed with seeing you use it on yourself. Yuzu owns a separate phone just for videos of you buzzing your clit, and him fingering you for minutes and minutes. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Extremely so. Loves to be a total brat only to get put into his place. He does it so you’ll pull the chin grab on him. He likes getting choked out as a punishment as well. Yuzu also tends to be very around the corner if you will when it comes to soft subbing, he lays over expecting cuddles but doesn’t say so. Buds his head against your chest, nuzzles, and so on. Lighter forms of teasing come to him very easily. Loves to prompt. Roughhousing, banter, favorite thing.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Moderately loud because his voice is very very light, but unsurprisingly — he’s just beautiful. What a nice tone. Gorgeous whimpering sounds. And when you go hard on him, voice cracks! And really heavy breathing. What’s gonna be the most striking though is his expressiveness. We know it from the ice and interviews, and he can really amp it up even further. No need for screaming, that face will speak the volumes.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You’ll be blessed with him if you have a huge crying kink. Yuzu definitely opens the waterworks every other week in bed. Happy tears, horny tears, relief tears, aftercare tears, orgasm tears, masochist tears, romantic tears, subspace tears, he has it all. He also begs for the type of pain that makes it stream down his face for minutes. He’s touchy-feely all the way and feels like he can really connect with you that way.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His ass twitching is kind of a spectacle, but I don’t have to tell you, do I. Yuzu has muscles for the gods in there. So voluptuous, you can’t call it any other way. Big booty boyfriend, Jesus you can show him off, he loves it. Around the house, he will flaunt them big ole athlete buns in particular, acting like it’s unintended. Um, Yuzu, those are joggings. Smack it, he is sure to moan. 

And may I respectfully mention as well — this guy has some major big ass balls figuratively and literally. How else would someone be motivated to jump a triple axel like it’s nothing. Not kidding, they’re big and round and ugh. His love for tight pants doesn’t help. He knows what your eyes like and dresses just to flex the goods. Screams for more spanking and pinching if you ask me. Yuzu is definitely serving it. Well-endowed, you lucky girl.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Mega horny, ready when you are. On a scale from zero to hundred? Breaching into the 90 percent right there. Yuzu’s hormones are literally insane. On paper he’s 26, but his dick wants the 18th birthday party. Jesus is he gonna be clingy when he’s in the mood. All wrapped around you in a backhug in the kitchen or when you iron a costume of his, and that’s sexy of him. He’s not gonna hide what’s filling out those sweatpants. He’ll desperately grind up against you like it’s Christmas.

Paired with his puppy eyes and little “Do you have some time... I’ll iron this tomorrow” — instant pounce. He’s admittedly a bit hard to keep up with sometimes, though. The reason: With that level of exercise, he has major pent-up energy. That machine is definitely running. Heavy sports changes your hormones, nervous system, and especially blood flow. Now take that to the scale of his performances and regimens? That equals a firework of horny. No wonder he masturbates all the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Takes some time. He cools down, sweats it out, chugs water. However, don’t underestimate how tired Yuzu can already be. His daily routines and competitions have a toll on him. Ironically, he’s not a deep sleeper, however. Yuzu might toss and turn and have sudden energy bursts, or ideas, or gets hungry. So, he needs his plushies, he needs a weighted blanket, warm pajamas, a hot cup of his favorite warm drink, a light snack, and you by his side. Spooning him excessively and sometimes even humming to him. Yuzu looks like a certified angel on his pillow, his well-deserved rest from everything is so important, too.

NOTE - hope i could indulge you, thank you for reading!

© 2017-2021 submissive-bangtan. all rights reserved. no reposts allowed. depictions fictional.

[infinityactual]

So, it's been months, but this post has been stuck in my head since September and I'm a petty bitch, so.

Apparently I deleted the screencap I had wherein the fuckhead who capped my tags replied to my fuck you by attempting to accuse me of 'doubling down on refusing to improve' or somesuch bullshit.

Which is not at all what my point was.

My point - and I will die on this hill ten times over - is that when it comes to fanart or personal creativity, let people do whatever. Unless they ask for critique, just leave them alone and let them have fun. Keep your opinions to yourself. And that isn't asking anything unreasonable; it's basic creative courtesy.

HUGE post under the cut.

Before the above assclownery, I had seen a lot of posts from people complaining about artists drawing older men 'wrong'. And I think every single complaint revolved around "You're just drawing a 20 yo and giving him silver hair!! That's not an old man!" and honestly, I didn't think anything of it the first few times I saw this.

But as I saw it more, it started to bother me because it was always in reference to fanart, specifically.

Fanart. Something that fans of a given media draw out of love and appreciation for the characters in said media. Something fun, something not (usually) done for profit. So upon seeing yet another 'stop drawing twentysomethings with silver hair 2021' tag, I reblogged it with my own tags (capped in the linked post) and went about my day.

The thing that just made me instantly angry was the proclamation of "I'm an artist. Calm down and go look at some reference."

Obviously this person didn't bother to check things out before putting both feet in their mouth. I may not have a damn degree from some hoity-toity art school (no shade on people that do, some of the coolest ppl I've met have art degrees) but I'm sure as hell an artist. Creativity does not require a degree.

And guess what. I draw old characters.

The secondary point I'd been hoping to get across in the tags is that aging a face is fucking hard. It takes effort and practice and often doesn't look good with hard lines. A lot of age is shown in shadows and lines too fine to be rendered with any but a .005 pen; and even then, it still tends look off unless you're drawing on a fairly large scale.

And my tertiary point was that people age differently depending on a huge kaleidoscope of factors! How often do they go outside? Do they have any inherited or otherwise chronic health problems, mental or physical? Male, female, intersex or transgender (and how much have they transitioned, if at all?), do they use drugs or alcohol? How often? I could spend hours listing factors that contribute to a person's appearance, and age isn't the biggest factor by far.

Hell, take Lord Hood and Lasky for example:

Most people I ask, including people well outside the Halo fandom, put Hood's age between 70 and 80.

He's 64.

A lot of people put Lasky at around his late 30s, maybe early 40s on the absolute outside.

He's 48 or 49 by the time Halo 5 rolls around, maybe 50 during Infinite.

Hood looks much older than he is bc of all those wrinkles, like someone let him sit in the dryer too long. Meanwhile Lasky looks a lot younger than his actual age. And these are just two examples from a single game series.

So when I draw Lasky, I draw him as is:

The only obvious wrinkles he has are on his forehead, right above his eyebrows. That's also one of his few unique identifying features, and anyone reading this who knows anything about cartooning, caricatures or comics will likely know that you focus on the few unique features that make a person recognizable but still easy to draw.

But unless you're drawing professionally as a career or doing commission work, your primary goal should not be constant improvement; that's a real good way to hit burnout and lose your passion for something. Even professionals take breaks and doodle stupid 'bad' art on their own time for funsies. I can cite countless examples I've seen personally, from the legendary DnD artist Todd Lockwood to commission artists on this beloved hellsite just trying to make the rent.

Fanart and personal work isn't always about improvement or practice. And it shouldn't be!! People need to have the ability to just crank out stupid lil doodles of their beloved older men without fussing over making sure they get every wrinkle right to be certain they convey his exact age 'correctly', or whether they have the skills to do so. If I had a dime for every thing I didn't draw because I don't have the skill, I'd put Jeff Bezoar to fucking shame with my wealth. Creators - amateur and professional alike - should be able to do this without having to see people, especially other fucking creators, bad mouthing them in posts or tags or comments.

Constant improvement should never be a primary goal with any skill. Bad art is still art, every single person who has ever put pen to paper started out drawing 'cringey' art. Fanart and personal work not done as part of a career or for commission should not be subject to the same standards. And lastly

Even 'bad' art, stupid little doodles and fanart still contribute to the learning process.

Otherwise I would not be where I am. All of my skill was developed by drawing personal stuff or making fanart. My skill making vinyl stickers by hand that makes people say I'm talented all started years ago with one sticker that took me five attempts to make because I didn't know jack shit about working with vinyl at the time. I kept making personal stickers for my car sporadically for years, and over time I got better simply because I was doing. I wasn't making stickers with the goal of improving my skill with an Xacto knife. I was making stickers because I couldn't find any designs I wanted and goddammit I wanted unique stickers for my shitty lil Cobalt.

And I'm able to take Giuseppe from this:

to this:

Not because I was trying to improve my skill at rendering faces, but because he's my Short King and I love him, and I love drawing him, and I also love the idea that he gets to live to be an old grandpa.

And no, I did not use reference for this, I just fucking drew it because I wanted to, and pulled from my past experience drawing old men from back when I actually DID sit my ass down and trawl references and guides on how to add age to a face, because I wanted to learn how to draw my 70+ year old Mechwarrior better.

[raggaraddy]

Mercy

Summary: You want to save your friend from Seokjin even though you know how cruel his punishments can be.

Trigger warning: Torture, assault, burning.

A/N: Please note this story has violent themes that may be uncomfortable for some readers. Please do not read this story if you are underage or are sensitive to such topics.

Seokjin

Yandere!Seokjin King!Seokjin

"I will die." Is all Annette could say, over and over. The elderly maid stood with you, the remnants of a suit jacket in her hands, a helpless fright shaking her words. She had been distracted for a moment and the fabric had caught on a candle. Her reaction was one of frozen shock and the flame quickly jumped along it, scorching about 30% of the material before you managed to put it out.

Whether the King cared for the item or not, whether he even noticed it was gone was irrelevant. You all knew better than to hide something from him. He would eventually find out, somehow he always did. And when he found out she had hidden her failure, he would bring the very concept of hell to life for her deception.

That being said, to confess to such a mistake would also certainly lead to dire consequences. All of the staff knew to catch his attention in any way was a disastrous thing. And any action that gave him a reason to torture you would surely become your greatest regret.

At nearly 70 years, Annette had seen and heard just about all of what the King was capable of. He may be a merciful ruler, but within these walls, he was nothing more than a beast in search of yet another person to devour.

You knew as well as any other, if not more so, exactly why she was so afraid. The thought of what he could do terrified you. But you also knew that she was one among many of the staff who had gone out of their way to shelter you from the King in the initial months after you started at the palace. If you had heeded their instruction and warnings, you may have never even crossed his path. But you were impetuous and resistant and now you had the scars and marks as penance. You also knew that with or without reason or mistake, you already had the Kings focus. Maybe today or maybe tomorrow or the day after, he was going to call you to him again like he regularly did, and he was going to take pleasure in hurting you. Nothing was going to stop that.

But there was still an opportunity to spare this woman.

It was only you and Annette here to see the jacket be damaged. It could have easily been you that was distracted. You were known to be absent-minded. It would be very believable that this was your fault.

"Anne, give it to me." You request, holding your hands out. The woman, still in a daze, hands it over without any acknowledgment. You point to your section of the room to the clothes you had been cleaning. "Those were yours, okay." You gesture to her section and the damaged garment. "And these are mine."

Your meaning seems to slowly click into place. "No, Y/n. You can not do that, Love. I-"

"You are my friend. And you made a simple mistake. You shouldn't have to suffer for it. You know what Jin will do to me anyway. There is no need for both of us to-." Your words are strong and sure but taper off as the fear and worry you feel on the inside stop you from creating a complete sentence.

With a mix of pain and gratitude in her eyes, she resigns with a nod. Accepting your merciful offer.

His attendant had informed you that the King was available and alone. You realized early on that it was better to come to him when he was by himself. Not that it would lessen how he treated you, but at least this way no one else would see what he would do to you. And it would save you some shame.

The guard knocks on the door. He opens it with permission and announces you. On hearing the King call you in, you have to wipe your hands down the length of your dress to rid them of sweat. You enter the room, the guard closing the door on your back sealing you in the study.

Sitting at his desk Jin's usual emotionless expression is gone, a subtle look of intrigue in its place. And what is nearly a smile on his lips.

You had never come to him of your own free will before. He had always summoned you. But here you were. Seeming to offer yourself up.

"Your Majesty." You curtsy, bowing your head if only to hide the tremble in your eyes.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected company?" He purrs.

This was it. Time to confess to something you had not done and receive a punishment you did not deserve. While you could never actually do it, you can't help but momentarily question whether to instead tell the truth and betray Annette.

You breathe deep for strength. "I need to apologize for a mistake I made." You look up to him to sense his reaction. For a brief moment, he flashes a look that is nearly giddy with excitement.

"For what?" He prompts.

Gripping it tightly, you lift up the tattered jacket for him to see.

He stands, that hidden smile becoming clear on his face. Circling the desk, he takes it from your hands and continues strolling down the room until he stops next to the lounge arrangement in front of the fireplace. Turning, his finger is pressed to his lips in thought.

"Come here," he calls softly with a drawing motion from the same finger.

You swallow heavily, sucking your tongue to wet your dry mouth. Although you follow the order, you are filled with regret and a deep-seated desire to turn and run from him instead. However, you had made that mistake once before and you swore you would never again.

"Kneel." He points down to the fireplace's outer hearth. Looking lowly and fighting back nausea, you do. You can feel the heat from the burning wood and embers against your front right away. "Place your arm above the fire." He instructs. The calm of his tone not matching with the cruelty of the order.

There is only a wall around the fireplace. So the only thing he could mean is to put your arm inside the firepit over the flame.

Slowly, trying not to touch the top of the pit or the fire itself, you guide your arm in as Jin commanded. Instantly, the heat swarms around your skin and too quickly it goes from warm to hot to burning. You hold it for about 20 seconds, hissing air in through your teeth until you can't any longer.

You yank your body back with a yelp. Panting, looking over how the skin has turned red after only a few moments.

His large hands grab your hair and slam your face into the bricked wall. Your head bounces off and you fall back, clutching your forehead feeling the skin having torn.

Seokjin nods towards the outer hearth again, mouth pressed into a straight line. You want to beg and whine for him to not make you do this, but again you had done so a few times before and were taught quickly that it was better to not say or do anything more than what he orders.

Hesitantly you climb back up. He's not going to ask again, the next time he is more likely to push you into the coals himself.

Unable to stop yourself from jerking your arm back every few inches, you slow back above the fire. The burn returning even quicker. You force yourself to hold still this time. Drawing on all your strength to endure. Your fingers and cut forehead pressing and clinging into the bricks, you try to bear the pain as you feel your skin beginning to burn.

Kicking your feet under you, you're whimpering and squealing, tears pricking in your eyes, as waves of sharp sizzling pangs spur up your arm. Instinctually your body continues to flinch and jerk, fighting to get away, but you overpower your impulses. The effort turning shrill cries into outright screams of agony.

For nearly two minutes Seokjin listens and watches you writhe and cry, a small satisfied smile on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes.

At a point past pain where the throb in your body starts to have you feeling numb, the King finally grants you quarter, permitting you to remove your arm.

You do so stiffly. Your entire body throbbing, head pounding. Your chest compressed from heavy sobs.

Dropping onto the ground, you cradle your arm. Your forearm and palm are littered with blisters and burns. The skin red and ruined.

The King holds the tarnished fabric upright, examining it again for a moment. With a shrug, he throws it into the fireplace to finish its destruction. "No matter," he tisks "I didn't really like that jacket anyway."

[ronnieiswriting]

BY DORNE PART 3

F!reader x Oberyn Martell No descriptive terms for reader, no use of y/n, EXPLICIT, ongoing

Part 1 Part 2

Important: set WELL before the events in Game of Thrones/ Book one of ASOIAF- King Aerys Targaryen is on the throne, Elia Martell is alive, Ellaria Sand is not in the picture (yet?) and Oberyn doesn’t have any daughters yet. As for the universe this is set in, Each major house (Starks, Tyrells, Arryns, Martells etc) are the families that run each region of Westeros but with a 70s backdrop instead of a high fantasy one.

The reader is Oberyn’s favourite arm piece- one he brings to lots of events. He’s known as the hungriest of all the Martells and he likes to prove that to anyone who might question that, therefore, its no secret that Oberyn has had a number of partners and sometimes multiple at once, men and women. Insatiable appetite aside, Oberyn hasn’t enjoyed spoiling any girl as much as he does you, and he’s set on keeping you around for as long as you can keep up with him.

TAGS!!: female masturbation (descriptions, references, partner watches), subtle power play, 70s circle beds, crotchless romper, lots of praise, implied oral f receiving, other sex acts implied/ referenced, feelings, a little bit of angst at the end. ENJOY (if I missed any tags pls let me know!!)

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

If you had expected any other words to be the first from your lover’s mouth the second he found you- after almost two months apart- you would've been disappointed. The first thing he had done, however, was pull you to him eagerly and greet your starved lips with a searing kiss. When you had separated only for the necessity of air, Oberyn had started remapping your body with his hands as if he had forgotten it in his absence.

You hummed against him, arms circling around his neck where his dark curls brushed against your skin. It had gotten longer since he had been away- you wondered if he planned to get it cut soon. “I missed you.” you told him, drawing in a breath of his cologne.

Oberyn groaned. “Honey, did you touch yourself?” His hands climbed up further, thumbs brushing against the sides of your breasts.

You nodded. “Of course I did. I missed every bit of you with every part of me.”

His brow creased in response. The world forgotten, Oberyn led you in the direction of his room. “How many times.”

You weren’t oblivious to the power you had over the man currently attacking your neck with desperate lips, and you couldn’t deny its effect on you- his effect on you- a welcome kind of intoxication. You gave him an answer, “I lost count.”

He nodded against you, lips dragging and stubble catching across your skin when he looked away to fumble with door handles. After he cursed them for sticking, he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’ll forget all about your fingers when I’m done with you.”

When he finally got the double doors open it was you that pulled him inside, slamming one shut again by shoving his back against it and the other with a kick.

He looked at you differently then- still like an animal of course- for you had never known the hunger running deep in his pitch black eyes to ebb its flow. But this look came when you would reach out and touch the power you had. And nothing needed to be said, no words to acknowledge the truth- the way Oberyn looked at you let you know exactly how he felt about you seizing power.

The hardening length of him pressing against the inside of your thigh also got the message across without spoken language.

You leaned into the sensation and ran a hand up his chest, along the thick chain of his heirloom necklace. Dropping your voice only slightly, you said “Why don’t I show you?”

Oberyn was leaning forward so far on the vanity stool that you were almost sure he’d fall off it and get a mouthful of the brightly coloured shag rug that covered one side of the room. He watched intently as you draped yourself over his circle bed, pulling back the sheer curtain on your way in a manner you hoped was seductive.

Since you knew Oberyn was coming back that day, you’d made a point to wear one of his favourite pieces- a slinky, lace romper with only a few skimpy panels of silk. Though, what he liked about it most (other than the way it barely brushed the tops of your thighs- and the fact that it was sinfully crotchless) was the colour; not the typical warm orange or bright yellow that the Martell’s so famously covered everything in. You were like a beacon in the room as soon as you took off the earth-toned dress you were wearing, capturing the man before you as he drank in the sight of the romper- rich, royal purple.

He had muttered something that sounded remarkably like an old Dornish verse at the garment, swallowed, and restrained himself to the seat where he adjusted himself shamelessly.

Once you had gotten situated against the pile of velvet cushions set up against the arched bedhead, you stretched for effect, reaching high so he’d get a good view of the way your pert nipples peaked against the fabric. Seeking the rush from his response, you looked at him through your lashes and let out the faintest of moans.

His full lips tugged up at that, edging impossibly closer to the foot of the bed. You found yourself wondering how he would look kneeling for you… another time, you thought.

When he smiled fully, you were unable to resist mirroring it. “Go on, baby.” he said, voice strained with admiration. “Show me how you missed me.”

You obliged him, edging a hand down between your legs that you parted wide for your man to see. When you reached your uncovered sex, your eyes locked onto Oberyn’s as you spread yourself open with your fingers and felt the wetness that had began to gather there. It started slowly, your digits easing the anticipation into a low pressure that made your entire body relax further into the plushness of the bed.

He praised the sight, “That’s it, honey.” and you agreed with a lazy hum.

For a few minutes, you were content with the languid pace at which you teased yourself, running fingers up and down your slit and coating your lips with your arousal. Sufficient pressure built, you tilted your hips towards him and pulled one fingertip over your clit. The pleasure was instantaneous but you resisted throwing your head back in favour of maintaining eye contact with the man at the end of the bed. You noticed that he had scooted the chair forward and contorted himself to be eye-level with your cunt, elbows on his knees, one thumb tracing his bottom lip as he drank you in. He began to compliment you again, “Sweet honey, you look so-” but you cut him off when you moaned his name- circling the bud again to the sound of his voice catching. Before you could hold back the flutter of your eyes at the sensation, you saw the devilish smirk that took to Oberyn’s lips. He repeated the sentiment slower this time and complete, matching each word to the tempo of your fingers, “Sweet, sweet honey. You look so fucking gorgeous.”

It was then that you were suddenly, painfully aware that the man who was so good at pleasing you was so close to you and yet wasn’t touching you- not his hands nor his lips or his cock. His tender words were nowhere near your ear and they weren’t kissed into your skin- it was as if he had become the presence you imagined when he was away. And while the both of you were so clearly enjoying the dynamic, it was an intense thing to act out what you had done to imitate his affections in front of him. There was a rush to it- something exciting about showing him how you could superficially replace him- and the powerful feeling you got out of it easily outweighed the frustration of not having him between your legs right then.

Oberyn seemed to enjoy it as much as you did. You coaxed yourself closer to release with one digit slipping just inside every few swipes. You could hear him through it, his voice harmonising with each breathy moan from you and it sounded like he was repeating phrases- thanking the gods for what he was witnessing, cursing himself for not coming back sooner, praising you, encouraging you- and you could tell he was dying to touch himself.

Though you had intended to watch him the whole time, your eyes kept rolling with the effort to chase a climax. Looking at him again, you could’ve pounced on him- he had shifted upright and was working idly at the buttons on his shirt, never taking his eyes off you. He noticed the way your attention drew to the tent in his pants because you showed your appreciation by wetting your lips and arching your back, fingers never stopping.

You moaned his name again and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not going to touch myself. To think I’d come in my hand when your pussy is right in front of me- now that would be an insult.”

You replied without thinking, “You don’t have to come- you--” you paused to squirm, finding a better angle, “You could just stroke yourself a bit?” You were offering him the chance to even the dominance, maybe even take all of it. You’d let him.

It was a vain effort and a suggestion he refused entirely. “If I’m going to make you forget about your fingers- I need to see what they can do, right? I need to know what I’m up against.” He returned to his previous position, chain swinging heavily into his bare chest, hands locked together on his knees and gaze set on your dripping centre. “Don’t let up, sweetness, okay.”

His words encouraged you to go faster still and you moaned louder. When you started to thrust two fingers inside yourself everything felt enhanced. Your feet slid against the sheet as you struggled to ground yourself through the rapidly increasing intensity and your gasping breath turned into a string of words, “Gods, Oberyn- I missed you so much.” and “Did this every night- in every room.” A feat you exaggerated a little- Oberyn’s mansion was a relatively small building next to the Martell manor but it couldn’t be called humble. Your whole body started to burn when you told him how you missed his cock.

He didn’t hesitate to rouse you further, telling you how much he missed you- namely, “Your sweet cunt…” You lost sight of him when your head finally fell completely back into the mass of pillows but his voice rang equally insistent and lustful. “You’re my best girl, honey.” he said as you continued to tightly swirl your clit. “My sweet lover- that’s it, baby- so good for me.”

Tantalizingly close now, you reached under the romper to flick your nipples, squeezing because you desperately craved the same level of stimulation he’d so often saturate you with. Chasing that feeling further, you tried to hit your clit with the thumb of the same hand you fucked yourself on but you couldn’t.

For a second you almost gave up and asked him to help you come- add a finger- anything. But he got you there before you could even get out a word or a pleading moan. Oberyn’s praises came again and he practically begged you to come for him. “Come for me so I can make you come again and again. Let me prove that I missed you... Come so I can fuck you so good you forget the entire world--”

Your climax came out with a choked sob and in a white hot flash that drained all the feelings in your body. All of you went limp but your chest heaved in the air. The bliss was incredible and well-earned but there was so much more to be had.

With the little energy you could muster, you beckoned to him with the same fingers you pulled from yourself. They were still glossy with your slick but barely had the chance to cool in the air as Oberyn’s lips quickly latched around your fingers. His tongue swirled to devour your spend and hungry hands roamed over your tired thighs that trembled in the aftershock.

Kissing your knuckles once he had licked you clean, he moved the same hand to the crown of his head and encouraged you to grab hold. He gave your other hand the same treatment before he moved his lips over your thighs, massaging the tension from them with the pads of his fingers. “My turn.” he mumbled into your skin.

By the time Oberyn had proved himself better than your fingers, the sky was beginning to turn purple with dawn. When he had found you that day it had been just after 10pm.

Somehow, though, whether due to miraculous pacing or because neither of you had so recently exerted yourselves, you and Oberyn were still wide awake. He emerged from between your thighs again- this time without a heavy pant or a shiny chin- with a washcloth in his hand. Coming up to sit back fully on his knees, he unashamedly looked you over.

The purple romper had been folded down around your waist and you were sure one of the straps were broken from the force it had been yanked down with. He smirked proudly at the number of hickies he had left all over your skin as many of them would be seen regardless of what you wore. “You look good.” he said.

Oberyn was quite a sight himself. When he removed himself from the bed to return the cloth to his ensuite, you admired the way his skin gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat. His hair stuck out in every direction and before he disappeared behind the doorway, he rolled his shoulders and neck with a happy groan. You called out to him, “You make me look good.” Then, put off by the feeling of the lace against you, you kicked off the romper fully and stretched back out on the bed.

He replied, “I don’t agree with a single word of that, baby.”

When he came back into the room, you couldn’t help but admire the almost comical way in which he had shrugged on his favorite robe but not bothered with affording himself any more modesty in it than he had completely naked. You took the opportunity to ogle him openly, proud of the marks you had left on him and he wasted little time in crossing the room again to rejoin you on the bed. When he had gotten comfortable situated between your legs, this time on his back, with his head resting on your stomach and arms slung over your thighs, Oberyn looked up at you fondly. “I do think I proved myself though.”

“To who?”

That smug smile returned, “Well, to you.” Then he looked to think on it for a moment, pondering as his fingers drew half-thought images across the skin of your thigh. “Proved that I’m still good enough for you.”

You didn’t even bother to hold back from rolling your eyes. “You know that’s ridiculous, Oberyn.”

Oberyn nodded, warm eyes drooping before closing softly. “Mmhmm” he hummed.

It settled like that for a while. You stroked his hair, drawing more relaxed hums from him while a question started bubbling up in your mind.

You pushed it aside for a different one, “Why don’t we do something tomorrow?”

“Can’t, I’m afraid.” He sighed, “Doran wants me to come in first thing to review some clause in the trade documents with Lys- something about a weird shipment- it's all very complicated really. I’m sure he’ll find a way to keep me there longer too and spring more papers on me or something.” When he finished the silence started to sting. “I’m sorry, honey. You know I’d love to-”

You refused to let him get to the “but” in that sentence, “It’s okay--really! I mean we just did a lot… Maybe later in the week?”

Oberyn kissed your hand. He was visibly relieved of the tension diffusing between you.“You got it, honey.”

Oberyn left about an hour later, giving you a tender kiss on the forehead and the promise of “soon”. The warm spot beside you and the marks on you were the only tangible signs that Oberyn had even been there at all and you lamented the fact that they too would be quick to flee as the rest of him had.

You hated to pout but it was easy when your lover had barely spent a day with you before being snatched away again by something more important. Important, demanding or serious -any similar word- was more so because you were relatively less. You- unlike business or politics or events- could wait on his bed all day and night for his return.

Ultimatums weren’t known to be answered romantically every time. And you swore to yourself that you’d never force him to choose. Nevertheless, the seed of doubt had been planted and the casualness of your relationship with Oberyn nurtured it against your better judgement.

You stewed over these thoughts long into the morning, staring up at the canopy butt-naked.

He had told you something before he left for King’s Landing two months ago that you remembered suddenly. “... you are the reason I am going to rush back to Dorne.”, the unspoken idea there being that he would value your company above the general comfort of familiarity. You had almost told him then how you felt about him, but a nagging feeling had told you to hold it in and now you had to suffer under the weight of more doubts and insecurities.

Maybe if you had, he would have been able to clear up half of the doubts you were festering over- maybe he would have said he loved you too. It was a selfish thought but irresistible all the same and you were too quickly lulled into indulging in it.

[baby-bearie]

take me home

(not my gif)

jj maybank x reader, rafe cameron x reader

taglist: @sunflowermotel @howdyherron @drew-starkey @maraseavey @outerbanqs @tinylatina01 @obx-direction-sos @yelyahryan @loveylangdon @obxwriterfan @avashroom @rewindlr @raekenliar @ceruleanjj @dolanfivsosxox @heyhargrove @lashtonandmalumsbaby @beautyandthebleh @pancahke @outrbank @kiarasflowr @corleigh @poguemacking @kristineee-obx @shawnssongs @thorsangel @daniel9seavey9 @hopefultrashforanythingreally @pixelated-pogues @dpaccione @thatshiscigar @hesscott @damonsalvawhore @fanficscuziranout @trustfundparker @teamnick @becca-harlow @trashmouthpogues @rudys-pankow @ilovejjmaybank @tomzfrog @arthriticcrickets @midnightmagicmusings @outerbankslove @justawilddreamerchild @jjandreidsgirl @apoguecalledjj @lilmoviehoe @bellaguarneri @harrys-creature @nivky0-0 @ijustreallylovethem

a/n: well well well i’m trying a short series for the first time! it’s a fake dating trope, because i just read the to all the boys i’ve loved before series and now i’m a sucker for fake dating. i don’t think there’ll be too many parts, i’ll fit plenty into each chapter. i really hope you like these. 

Rafe Cameron loves to get on your nerves. He’ll watch you squirm as he hits on you everytime you swing by the Cameron residence, and he has admitted to your face that he enjoys it. You don’t see the appeal. You do, however, see the appeal in smacking his creepy sneer off his face. 

But you’re almost 100% sure that would turn him on. 

It doesn’t help that you’ve known Rafe since before you were potty trained, and it sure as hell isn’t helping that the boy who shamelessly attempts to touch you whenever you’re near him is nothing like the boy who used to pick flowers for you and sit with you while you braided them into flower crowns. It doesn’t help that you loved him first. Long before he changed, morphed into a boy you would give anything to be far, far away from. You can’t be near him, it makes your heart break all over again.

All over again, you experience the pain of when he stopped smiling at you in the hallways in the beginning of freshman year. All of the pain of that midnight call from Sarah, telling you she found Rafe unconscious on the bathroom floor with the coke still on his nose, and she didn’t know what to do. All of that pain, every time you have to see a boy you thought you once knew. 

Rafe always had it the worst. Out of all the kooks in your little group: you, Rafe, Kie, Sarah and occasionally Topper, Rafe had always had it the worst. 

Finances were never one of your problems, but when you live on Figure 8, you find there’s a lot more to be worried about than cocktail parties and marble foyers. The dream image that families like the Cameron’s or the Thornton’s have up of the perfect, kook family is just that.

A dream. Part of the Cameron’s intimidation and rule over this side of the island comes from the twisted stories ladies in stilettos will whisper about at parties. 

Girls like you and Sarah, boys like Topper, they do alright. They hold up under scrutinization, under haughty, judging stares. People like Rafe crack. 

People that were like Rafe crack. They break, and the shards of who they used to be reassemble into something new. People that were like Rafe turn into who he is now. 

Rafe Cameron loves watching you squirm. That’s what he’s doing today, whistling at you as you lift a hand to block out the sun, hiking across the lawn to where Sarah is lounging. 

“Looking good, Y/l/n!” He cups his hands around his mouth. You flip him off in response, almost as if it’s second nature. He salutes you back. 

“Sarah!” You call out, trying not to trip over floppy $70 sandals as you stand over her chaise, casting a shadow over her. 

“Bitch, move, you’re blocking the sun.” She swatted a hand at you. 

“I have a proposition.” You settled your hands on your hips, sticking your elbows out. Sarah groaned, lifting her sunglasses up into her hair and propping herself up on her elbows. 

“Nothing good has ever happened any time you started with that line.” “It gets you to listen, doesn’t it?” You sat near her legs. She sighed. 

“Okay, shoot.” “Yes, okay, so there’s this party tonight, and I really, really need someone to go with me.” You began hesitantly. 

“That’s all? Yeah, I’m free tonight- “That’s not all.” You winced. “It’s not exactly, like, a kook party?” 

Sarah frowned. “What does that mean?” “I guess you could say it’s kind of the opposite of a kook party.” 

Her eyes widened. “It’s a pogue party? You want us to go to a pogue party?” “Not all of us! Just me and you! The boys will never find out.” “Why do you want to go so bad, anyways?” 

“I was,” you paused, searching for the right word, “invited.” “Invited?” “I promised someone I’d be there. And I also promised you’d be with me.” You boop her nose. 

Sarah sat up fully, swinging her legs over the chaise so she was sitting next to you. 

“I’ll go with you,” she flicks you when you cheer, “but I have a few conditions.” 

You nod dutifully. “Yes. Anything. I accept.” “Okay, first, Rafe and Topper, and subsequently Kelce, will never hear about this. Topper will die of shame, and I think Rafe will disown me.” “I don’t think you can disown your sibling.” “Well, then, he’ll be super disappointed. In both of us. He likes you more than he likes me.” “I’d be glad to get your brother to like me a little bit less. Maybe I could walk in your house without being catcalled. Sorry. No offense.” 

“None taken. I don’t like him either.” Sarah shoves your shoulder with hers. “Do you promise?” She sticks out a thumb towards you.

It’s a tradition you’ve kept since you were in the 6th grade, when Rafe decided the pinky promises you made were too childish for middle school and rallied the boys into teasing anyone who made them. Thumby promises were your escape. 

You hold up your thumb but hesitate to link it with hers, pulling it back at the last second. “Here’s the thing, I won’t tell anyone anything, but I can’t promise someone at the party won’t tell them. Also, what if they just show up? They go to these all the time.”  

Sarah shrugs. “Well, if they show up, then they can’t really be mad at us for being there. Okay, just promise you won’t tell them.” She shakes her thumb at you again, and this time you hook yours into it. 

“Promise. What are your other conditions?” “Right, the second is I get to borrow your pink bikini next time we go to the beach.” “Done.” “And lastly, you have to tell me who you promised.”

“What?” You blink at her. “You said you promised someone that we would be there. Who? Was it that one boy? The Maybank boy? Oh, what did we call him?” She scrunches her eyes shut to remember before she snaps. “Goldilocks!” 

Your cheeks flush red at her insinuation. Sarah might be the only person who knows about your 9th grade five-month-long obsession with JJ Maybank, sparked by your first kiss in a custodial closet. You wouldn’t go so far as to say you had loved him, but it was an intense crush. Sarah had dubbed him Goldilocks after his phase of weirdly long hair. It ended abruptly, you just forgot all about him. You don’t remember what made you forget. 

“No, no, of course not. Ew, Sarah.” You shook your head. “It was Kiara.” 

Sarah’s eyes furrowed. “Kiara? Why would she want us around?” 

“I guess she wants to make amends?” “Okay, maybe with you, but I can guarantee Kiara wasn’t asking you to bring me.” “Maybe so. But someone there was asking for you.” “No, Y/n, no, I’m still with Topper.” “Oh, come on! It’s so obvious you both have a thing for each other. He was asking if you’d come, what was I supposed to say?” “No!”

“Okay, well, you already promised that you’d come, and I met all of your conditions so you don’t really have a choice.” You tipped your head at Sarah. 

“Fuck you.” She muttered. “Alright, fine. I’ll pick you up at 10.” 

“Yes! Okay, bye, I’ll see you tonight!” You grabbed her before she could swat you away and kissed her cheek goodbye. You patted her cheek and rushed off. 

“What, no bye-bye kiss for me?” Rafe called to you. “Fuck off, Rafe.” 

When Sarah came, 30 minutes later than she was supposed to, you were waiting on the steps of your house. 

“Finally!” You yanked the car door open and crashed in the passenger seat. 

“Sorry!” She pulled out of the driveway. “Rafe was interrogating me while I was trying to leave.” 

“Just floor it, Kiara won’t stop texting me.” “Nothing interesting ever happens at a party before 11, anyways.” 

Sarah was wrong. 

The second you pull up to the kegger, the crowd surrounding Rafe is already very obvious. Sarah grabs your hand, hustling you to the front of the crowd. He’s tossing around in the sand, trying to pin down JJ Maybank. 

“How did he get here before us?” “Because you were half an hour late!” You can’t help but point out the obvious. 

“Just help me, okay?” Sarah times herself against their wrestling, charging forward to grab Rafe’s arm when he draws it back to deliver a blow to JJ. 

“Rafe, stop! Stop!” She shouts, and always right behind her, you put your palms on his chest and push him back. You look back at Kiara who is tugging away JJ, but he stumbles, startled. His jaw is clenched and as she pulls him, he glances at you.

In that one glance is a split second of recognition, shock and confusion, before the moment passes and he’s forgotten you again. Closely followed by a medley of angry shouts and shoving from his friends. “Fucking kooks.” He mutters. 

You turn back to Rafe, who is ready to explode on Sarah. “What the hell are you doing here?” “What the hell are you doing here, Rafe? At least we were invited!” 

You’ve heard this conversation at least a hundred times, and you know how it ends. Bored of it already, you wipe your red cheeks and leave them to argue. 

This night has gone to shit and you haven’t even talked to Kiara yet. You’ve collapsed on a log to watch the waves crash and pull back when he sits next to you.

“Y/n Y/l/n. Well, damn. It’s been a while.” “A while? Try 2 years.” 

JJ scoffs. “Yeah, and who’s fault is that?” 

That shuts you up.

You’ve questioned yourself for two years about JJ. It was a short-lived story, but one full of young love, peeking glances and shy conversations. It was sweet and careless, and you believe something in your brain is blocking out the reasons it ended. 

The reasons you ignored him in the hallway the same way Rafe ignored you. 

The one thing you can’t block out is the lingering feeling. The warm, fuzzy butterflies of those small smiles and stuttered sentences. You feel them again when anyone brings him up. You felt them when Sarah guessed that he invited you here. 

Maybe you wished he did. 

You feel them now as you look at him up close for the first time in forever. And they’re stronger. 

The butterflies are stronger than they used to be. 

And that is how you stop questioning yourself, that is how you know that some part of your heart will always belong to JJ Maybank. 

You press your lips together and stare at him for a second longer. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” He ends your moment of bliss earlier than you had hoped. 

“Like what?” “Like you don’t recognize me. Like you don’t know me.” 

You sniff. “JJ, I don’t think I do.” 

JJ kicks the sand under his feet.

“That’s bullshit. You know me.” “I knew you. I knew 14 year old you.” You correct him. 

“Have I really changed that much?” He laughs.

 “You have, you know?” He keeps going when you say nothing. “I had such a big fucking thing for you, god.”

“Yeah, it was mutual.” “I know!” He exclaims, excited, then tries again, softer. “I know.” 

“And then, you just ditched me.” He says abruptly. 

“That’s not what- “That’s exactly what happened!” He interrupts, turning to look at you with wide eyes. 

“You just cut me out of your life. What, did you outgrow a pogue? Only rich boys are good enough for the kook princess?” His tone gets more and more aggressive. 

“I’m telling you, that is not how it happened.” You insist. 

“Okay, you know what, okay,” JJ turns towards you, scratching his head. “So, if that’s not what happened, then what was it? Because it hurt, Y/n. It hurt so fucking bad.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” “I don’t need an apology, I want to know what I did. Why did you stop wanting to be around me?”

The questions brings your racing mind to a full stop. You had been praying he wouldn’t ask. 

You don’t have an answer for him. 

“I don’t- I genuinely don’t know, JJ. It just stopped, okay?” “That’s more BS. Things just don’t end. I get it now. I get what happened. I get your reasons.” He begins nodding. 

JJ looks up then, and his face tightens, jaw clenching the same way it did after the fight. 

“And one of those reasons is walking this way.” 

You turn to see what he’s looking at, and Rafe Cameron is stumbling towards you two. You turn to ask JJ what that means, when Rafe grabs your shoulder and nearly flings you back around to look at him. You can smell the beer on his breath. 

“Y/n, what are you doing with this guy? I’ve been looking for you all night!” He grabs your wrist. “C’mon, we’re going.” He slurs, trying to drag you away. 

“Rafe, stop!” You pull back your wrist, stunning him for a second. “I’m not going with you. Tell Sarah I’ll get a ride with Kiara.” 

He tightens his grasp on you. “To what, spend more time with this asshole? Let’s go.” He growls. 

“Let go of me, I’m not coming with you!” You use your other hand to try and force Rafe’s grip off your wrist. “I’m sick of this, Rafe!” You finally push him off of you and he stumbles back, sobering up a little. 

“I’m so sick of this!” You stumble over your words. “You’re scaring me! Who the hell are you, Rafe? Who are you?” You pull the loose hair that the wind has blown over your face out of the way. “Don’t- don’t touch me. I’m not coming with you. Don’t touch me.” 

You can’t tell if Rafe is sober right now or not, but you pray he’s not. If he’s high, then maybe he’ll forget what you just said to him. If he’s high, maybe  the next time you have to see him, you won’t have to see the wounded look he gives you now. “Y/n,” he starts towards you, but he doesn’t reach for you. His eyes are sad when he speaks again. “I’m sorry.” 

He reaches for you now. “I’m sor-”She said don’t touch her.” 

JJ has steps in front of you as you scramble back, effectively blocking you from Rafe. 

“Get out of the way, Maybank.” “She said don’t touch her. She won’t be going with you, so you can leave now. Head on out, cowboy.” JJ gives him a fake smile, one you can hear in his voice. 

“This doesn’t concern you, pogue.” Rafe spits. 

“Go home, Rafe.” Your voice comes out strong. You try to move around JJ, but he uses his arm to keep you tucked behind him. 

“What, you’re protecting pogues now, Y/n? What is this, is he your boyfriend or something?” Rafe snickers. 

JJ glances back at you before he turns to Rafe and confidently says, “Yeah. I am.” 

Your eyes grow to the size of saucers, mimicking Rafe’s expression. 

“What the fuck?” Rafe mumbles. 

“Yeah, so why don’t you leave now. I’ll be taking Y/n home.” JJ’s voice is stone cold. 

“Y/n, is this true? Are you dating this fucker?” Rafe jabs a finger in JJ’s chest, staring him down but speaking to you. The hand JJ is using to keep you back moves up to pinch your side when you glance at him. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s true.” 

Rafe laughs slowly, one of disbelief. “Jesus Christ, Y/l/n. You know what, you deserve each other.” He backs away slowly, then turns and storms out of sight. 

JJ turns around and his mouth opens and closes, but he says nothing. 

“Y/n, I’m sorry, I just wanted him to leave you alone without starting something, I’m- “It’s fine, Maybank.” You run a hand through your hair. 

“It’s fine, just. Just take me home.” 

[gingeralepdf]

Walk On By - Part 1

shoutout to @harrylefleur​ for this^ amazing edit!! thanks again for letting me use it, it’s perfect!!

A/N: hello!! i’ve been slowly cooking up this 70s dealer!harry au (also known as shroomrry) fic ever since the first italy pics surfaced. i had a lot of fun writing this, so i hope you have fun reading it! another massive thank you to brailey @daydreamsofh​ for yelling about shroomrry with me since the very first rough draft. your encouragement and support means so much to me!! ily <3

****DISCLAIMER/WARNING: This fic includes scenes in which characters purchase and consume recreational drugs (psilocybin mushrooms) as well as purchase and consume alcohol. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, please do not feel pressured to read or interact with this fic. And do not consume if you are underage.****

You’re simply buying magic mushrooms from Harry. However, if you keep running into each other, is it going to stay that simple?

word count: ~5k

🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄🌈

**August 30th, 1977, Inglewood, California**

The evening sun beats down on you as soon as you step off the bus. You walk away from the door before reaching for the sunglasses hanging from the collar of your shirt and slip them onto your face before wiping the small beads of sweat from your brow.

“Stuffiest bus ride of my life.” Your roommate and partner in crime, Jenny, walks over to your side. She leans her head back and groans toward the sky, as if to broadcast her misery to anyone that will listen.

“Really? I thought it was a five star experience,” you reply flatly.

Jenny scoffs and looks at you in disgust before shoving your shoulder. “What bus were you on then?”

Your laughs quickly turn into blissful sighs of relief when a breeze picks up. A brief intermission from the heat and residual stickiness on your skin from the crowded bus ride.

“You’ve still got the tickets and the money, right?” Jenny asks.

“Yep.” You pat your purse. “You’ve still got that guy’s license plate number, right?”

Jenny reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, “Yep.”

**********************************

The sign outside of the Forum looms over your heads as you enter the parking lot. The large black letters on the sign simply read ‘FLEETWOOD MAC. NIGHT TWO. SOLD OUT’. Even more gigantic is the Forum itself. You’ve been to a couple of shows at this venue before today, but you still can’t get over just how massive it is. It makes you feel so small even when you’re standing one hundred feet away from it.

Your mind begins to buzz with excitement and anticipation knowing that you’ll soon be inside seeing possibly one of the most in-demand shows of the year. It’s incredibly lucky that you were able to score these tickets anyway. Having a job at a radio station definitely has its perks.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by Jenny’s nudging elbow. She holds the paper that has the numbers and letters of a license plate number scrawled on it in front of both of you.

“He drives a blue Pontiac Tempest. He said he was gonna try to park in the third row,” she says.

Both of you look at the paper for a minute, trying to commit the number to memory before setting out to comb the parking lot in search of this mystery man.

With all the other people milling around and gathering in the line outside of the venue, you wonder how many of these people are on a similar mission as you and your friend.

You turn to Jenny, “Do you know what this Harry guy looks like?”

“Uh,” Jenny draws out before pulling her gaze from the line of cars beside her. “My cousin Kathryn said he’s white,” she begins listing things off on her fingers, “has brown hair, has a lot of tattoos, and he’s British,” she looks at you and wiggles her eyebrows.

Jenny laughs when you roll your eyes, “Oh my god I know he’s British. You’ve been going on and on about how he sounded on the phone.” You walk a few more paces before asking, “How does she know him again?”

“They work together at the record store. You probably would have already met him if you weren’t so pretentious about where you buy your records.”

You switch from scanning over license plates to squinting at Jenny, “I’m not pretentious, the owner of that place is just an asshole.”

“You say that about nearly every record store owner.”

“Only the ones that are fifty year old men who constantly degrade female customers’ music tastes.”

Jenny sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. Most of them are assholes.”

“Hey, maybe with your business degree you can be the first record store owner that’s not an asshole.”

She smiles at you and taps her temple with her index finger. “That’s not a bad idea.” Her eyes flit over your shoulder. She stops abruptly and grabs your arm, “Oh-- hey, I think that’s him right there.”

You turn to follow her gaze. Immediately you spot the blue car. You both take another look at the note in Jenny’s hand. Sure enough, the license plate on the car in front of you is a perfect match.

So this is Harry. He has his head down and his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration just beneath the frames of his yellow sunglasses. There’s a pencil behind his right ear and his left elbow is resting on the door frame, sticking out of his rolled down window, while his fingers are mindlessly fiddling with his neat mustache. On that same arm, you see scattered tattoos that begin at his wrist and run all the way up into the sleeve of his green and white striped t-shirt. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting of this man, but you can’t help but be struck by how handsome he is. The low hanging sun is casting golden light through his back window, shining through the ends of his brown tousled hair.

The pressure of a hand on your back pushing you forward causes you to whip around.

“Could you go talk to him?” Jenny asks softly.

You give her a ‘what are you talking about?’ look, “You’ve already spoken to him on the phone, Jen, he doesn’t know me.”

“I mentioned you,” she pleads. “Ugh I know I talked to him on the phone but now that I see him in person I’m too nervous.”

You take another look at Harry and look back to Jenny. “Okay, come on.”

As you get closer to his car with Jenny trailing behind you, you begin to hear the music blasting from his radio. Hearing the chorus of “Dancing Queen” somehow makes this situation a touch less intimidating.

You take your sunglasses off your face and hang them from the collar of your shirt. You  clear your throat once you feel like you’re close enough, hoping this would catch his attention. When he doesn’t move, you open your mouth only to realize that you have no idea what you want to say.

“Um,” you hesitantly mumble to yourself as you reach up and knock on the top frame of his window.

He slightly jumps and pulls his arm into the car in response. He mutters a ‘fucks sake’ before quickly turning his head to you, his eyebrows now creased in aggravation.

You jerk your hand back to your side. You’re not sure if it’s the pressure of having to do the talking or his intense stare, but you suddenly can't seem to string a full sentence together.

“Hi. Sorry. I, er--, we... um. We were supposed to--”

Harry looks past you to glance at Jenny and his face softens. He reaches over to turn the radio down before pointing his finger between the two of you, “Kathryn’s friends?”

“Yes,” you sigh in relief.

He nods, brushes a few stray hairs from his forehead and tilts his head toward the passenger seat. “Yeah, come on in.”

Hearing his soft British accent is a lot more endearing than Jenny’s annoying impressions of what he sounded like on the phone.

Jenny follows you around to the passenger side door and you pull on the handle.

When it doesn’t open, you reach through the window for the lock. You freeze when Harry’s hand meets yours. You lower your head slightly to look through the window and see him leaned over, still staring at your hands that are both grabbing the lever. He looks up at you and slightly shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he pulls his hand away and reaches to lean the passenger seat forward.

You open the door and gesture for Jenny to climb in first. After you get in and close the door behind you, you plop down in the back seat next to Jenny, who’s sitting behind Harry. You do your best to hold back a hiss when the heat from the light blue leather seats burns through your trousers and the back of your thin t-shirt.

The car smells fresh and is very tidy aside from a few crushed gum packages on the floorboard. Two little tree air fresheners hang from his rearview mirror, swaying in the slight breeze. You peep down to his dashboard and smile.

“I like your stickers,” you blurt out, pointing to the smiley face sticker and the strawberry sticker above the volume and tuning dials on his radio. Mostly, you’re trying to make amends for startling him a second ago, but you’re also trying to dispel some of your nerves that are still fluttering around in your stomach. The mental image of him peeling stickers from a sheet and putting them on there himself seems to be helping a little bit.

“Thanks.” He cracks a smile over his shoulder. You catch a glimpse of a dimple indenting his cheek. You visibly relax your shoulders upon seeing a change in his demeanor. “Would you mind reminding me of your names?” He asks, taking a glance at his rearview mirror.

You both introduce yourselves.

“So it was you that I spoke with on the phone last week?” he asks, turning in his seat and looking at Jenny.

“Yeah, that was me,” she grins.

“Right,” he huffs. “So I know what you’re both really here for but,” he trails off as he reaches into his lap and holds up a folded newspaper, displaying the daily crossword puzzle. “Are either of you any good at these?” He shakes his head, “I’ve got like... three left and it’s driving me crazy.”

Jenny hums as she takes the paper from Harry’s hand and holds it up between you. Coincidentally, Jenny happens to be very good at these puzzles, often taking this same section out of the paper every day.

She puts her finger up to the page and begins counting the boxes in one of the columns. “Fourteen down is ‘questionnaire’.”

As you skim over the page, you catch an error that could be hanging him up. “And seven across is misspelled. ‘Memento’ should start with M- E- instead of M- O-.”

Both of you look back up at Harry and Jenny hands the paper back.

In the same motion he takes the paper from Jenny and takes the pencil from behind his ear. He sets the paper on his center console and brings his bottom lip between his teeth as he erases and fills in the boxes on the puzzle.

You and Jenny exchange a private laugh. If anyone had asked the both of you to predict how this interaction was going to go, this would not be part of it.

“Well. Thanks. It probably would have taken me forever to get those.” He tosses the paper and pencil on the floorboard in front of the passenger seat and uses his finger to push his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Now, do you have cash with you?”

The shift in his tone catches you off guard, the friendly lilt in his voice being replaced by one more quiet and flat.

Jenny looks over at you.

“Oh yeah, sorry.” You pull four ten dollar bills from your purse and hand them to Harry.

He fans them out before folding them twice and putting them in his pocket. He opens his console. There’s some shuffling before he closes it again and carefully passes you two small envelopes. “Should be one gram in each of those.”

You lean forward in an attempt to shield your actions from people who may be passing by. Carefully, you break the tape seals across the front of the envelopes with your thumb and take a peek inside. Satisfied with the amount of shriveled mushrooms you see, you reseal the envelopes and stuff them into your purse.

“You’ve both taken these before, right?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, a few times before this,” Jenny says.

“Nice. So you know they usually take about half an hour to start working and you’re probably in for about four to six hours of effects and all that?”

“Yeah,” you and Jenny say in unison.

“Okay, I just-- I always want to make sure, you know?” Harry scratches his chin and looks to the side in thought. “Did you drive here?”

You shake your head. “No, we took the bus. And Alice, our friend, is gonna pick us up after the concert.”

He nods, “Okay, good.” He lowers his voice. “The last thing I’ll say is I’ve seen quite a few cops around so… if I were you I’d duck into a bathroom or something to take those.” He slightly raises his hands, “But obviously all of that’s up to the both of you so…” he trails off and shrugs. “Ultimately I hope you both have fun.” He looks at you with a sincerity that puts you at ease. It makes you feel a lot better that he seems to genuinely care about both of you being safe and having an enjoyable experience. You can’t say the same for other dealers you’ve come in contact with.

“We’ll just see what happens I guess,” you shrug back.

“I think we should head in now.” Jenny says, craning her head past Harry to look at the line of people. She pats the back of his seat. “Thanks so much, we really appreciate it.”

“Sure, was great to meet you both.”

“Was good to meet you. Are you going to the show as well?” you ask while reaching forward for the door handle.

He instantly perks up. “I am. Managed to get a ticket. It’s in the nosebleeds but…”

“I had nosebleeds when Queen was here a few months ago and it was still a fantastic show,” you reassure him. You climb out and hold the door for Jenny. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time. Take care!”

You close the door and wave goodbye.

You and Jenny link arms as you’re walking toward the venue, and extra spring in your steps after jumping that hurdle.

She whispers, “I told you he was British.”

“Jen.” You roll your eyes and elbow her side.

You look over at your friend who’s now covering her mouth with her hand, poorly concealing her laughter. You steal a glance over your shoulder. The last thing you see before you turn back around is Harry staring directly back at you.

**********************************

Jenny walks in front of you, weaving through the groups of people as you both search for a water fountain to wash the earthy taste of the mushrooms from your mouths.

You both join the line behind the fountain closest to the main entrance. When Jenny leans down to take a drink, you spot a familiar green and white striped shirt amongst the crowd of people streaming in. Harry is strolling by, heading toward the arena entrance.

He glances in your direction and does a double take. He instantly grins and raises his eyebrows at you, giving you a thumbs up before mouthing ‘have fun’ and disappearing around the corner.

Your cheeks warm and your stomach flutters.

After you’ve had a drink from the fountain, you and Jenny make your way into the expansive arena and join the crowd of people in general admission.

About half way through the opening act, just as you’re about to ask Jenny if she feels anything happening yet, you see her looking at you fervently and everything around you starts to feel dream-like. The spotlights on the stage begin to look like halos, making it impossible for you to turn away. You start to feel as if the music you’re hearing is coming from your own body. The drum beat bursting through your chest and every note from the guitars coming from the tips of your fingers and the ends of your hair.

The euphoria of being surrounded by love and joy takes over you, making you laugh and dance and sing until the music comes to an end.

**********************************

You’re sitting on the sidewalk outside of the Forum, legs crossed in front of you with your elbows resting on your knees and your head resting in your hands. The concrete  has finally cooled off after the heat of the day. You’re hunched over, currently transfixed by a trail of ants marching along the smooth surface in front of you.

“It’s like you can hear all their little footsteps,” you say, your eyes open wide in awe.

Jenny, who’s sitting across from you in a similar position, giggles in response to your observation before gasping. “I hear them too.”

Both of you snort and break out into unrestrained laughter. It’s never felt so good to have the sound of laughter ringing through your ears.

After a moment, you start to hear the sound of something else. It sounds like your name is being called, but it’s not coming from Jenny. You hear your name again, closer now. It sounds as if it’s echoing from the enormous wall of the Forum right next to you. Your eyebrows pull together in confusion and curiosity as you slowly turn your head to look over your shoulder.

You’re immediately filled with excitement upon seeing the friendly face walking toward you.

“Harry!” you exclaim, waving wildly.

A smile spreads across his face and you swear little sparkles appear next to his dimples.

You can’t take your eyes off of him as he makes his way over to stand next to you and Jenny. You have to crane your head back to see his face from your position on the ground.

“Hey, you alright?” he eyes both of you curiously.

You simply nod in response.

“What are you guys still doing here?”

Jenny sighs as if this is the twentieth time he’s asked, “We’re waiting for Alice.”

“Well,” he trails off while scratching the back of his head, “you probably don’t know this, but the concert ended about two hours ago.”

For whatever reason, this sends you and Jenny into a fit of howling laughter.

Jenny suddenly stops and looks at you wide eyed. “Hey, lets just take the bus home.”

You gasp and grab Jenny’s shoulder, marveling at her great idea. “The bus! Let's take the bus!”

You rise up to your knees with a newfound surge of energy and Jenny follows.

“No no no no no,” Harry surges forward and presses one of his hands on your shoulder and the other on Jenny’s, urging both of you to sit down.

He sinks to the ground along with you, propping himself on one knee. “Do you have Alice’s number with you? I can try giving her a call?”

It takes you a minute to realize that he’s speaking to you. “Yeah I have my address book in my purse--,” you look down to your side and freeze at the sight of the zipper on your bag. Your stomach drops. You definitely do not want to put your hands anywhere near the jagged edges of the zipper that are suddenly taking on the shape of menacing teeth.

You barely hear Harry let out a breathy laugh. You look up to him and he points to your bag. “Need some help?”

“I….. uh…..” You’re not completely sure what to focus on or how to put your thoughts into words.

Before you can ask for help, he slowly reaches out and takes your bag between his fingers, bringing it away from its resting place on your hip. “S’ this alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.”

He slowly unzips the bag and you grimace at the unsettling noise. Once it’s been opened all the way, he slightly tilts it toward you and asks, “Can I look inside? Or do you wanna do it?”

You flinch away and shake your head profusely, raising your hand up as a barrier between you and the bag. “No, you do it.”

He looks down, reaches his hand into your purse and starts carefully poking through it.

Your shoulders relax as you turn your focus to his hair. It seems to be much curlier and fluffier than before. It looks… inviting, like a soft blanket that you want to curl up into. It seems to have its own gravitational pull. You lean forward, bury your nose in it and take a deep breath in. The smell of apples and some cologne you don’t recognize and the scent of his sweat swirl together in an exhilarating way.

Harry slowly lifts his head up and eyes you suspiciously over the frames of his sunglasses that have slid down the bridge of his nose. Now that you’re sitting here eye to eye with him, you notice every single detail of his face that you hadn’t been privy to before. Every eyelash, the crease between his eyebrows and the way one of them is slightly raised. The deep set dimple in his cheek due to the smirk pulling up on one side of his mouth. The thin green irises of his eyes.

The more you look into them, the bigger they get, and the more you’re able to see your own reflection in his pupils. You tilt your head and smile as they keep growing in size. Just as they're getting to a comical level, making him look more like a cartoon character, you notice a blush creep onto his cheeks.

He folds his lips into his mouth, blinks rapidly, and shakes his head before returning to his search through your purse.

Harry finally pulls out your yellow leather address book. The white daisies printed on the cover seem to dance and twirl in place when he holds the book up and opens it.

Your purse is returned to its previous position on your hip before he looks at you again. He points his thumb over his shoulder at the payphone a few feet from you. “I’m gonna go call Alice. You guys just stay right here, alright?”

When he starts to get up to his feet, you blurt out, “I have dimes you can use.”

The corners of his mouth turn up and he waves you off, “That’s alright, I’ve got some.”

You watch as he walks over to the payphone. You watch as he digs into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a handful of coins in his palm. He inserts a dime into the coin slot and cradles the phone between his shoulder and ear. You watch his every move until the stripes on his shirt begin to ripple as if they’re made of water. This plus the flickering light above the phone becomes too much for you to handle.

You lay on your back with your hands folded across your stomach and begin to take in the stars in the sky, which are somehow less overwhelming than a simple striped t-shirt.

You’re not sure how long you stay like this. You feel like you’re so close to the stars in the night sky that you could reach out to touch one, or maybe even cradle one in your hands to feel its warmth. The sound of Jenny sitting next to you humming some tune you don’t quite recognize only adds to the peacefulness you’re feeling.

A bright light suddenly overwhelms your vision and you look over to your left to see a pair of headlights coming toward you. You hoist yourself up from the ground and bring your arm up to shield your eyes from the blinding light.

The car screeches to a halt at the curb. The first thing you see after the driver’s side door opens is a head of curly hair that can only belong to your friend Alice.

“Holy shit you guys. I’m so so so sorry.” She rushes over to where you and Jenny are sitting. Only half of the words she’s saying are even registering in your mind. “I ended up falling asleep and then there was a car wreck on the freeway and traffic was backed up for miles and-” She stops in her tracks once she’s standing in front of you and snorts out a laugh. “Oh my god you guys are so fucking high.”

Her laughter is interrupted by Harry. “Are you Alice?”

“Yeah, who are you?” she replies with a slight edge to her voice.

“Sorry. I-- I’m Harry. I... uh… I gave them the…”

“Oh you’re Harry. Well. Thanks so much for sticking around with them but I can take it from here.” She shakes hands with Harry before extending a hand to Jenny, helping her stand up and walking her to the car.

Meanwhile, you slowly make your way to your feet and walk over to Harry. He grunts when you clumsily wrap your arms around him in a hug.

“Thank you Harry. You’re a very nice person,” you mumble into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re… You’re welcome.” The vibration of his chest when he chuckles travels all the way down to your toes. You also pick up the thrumming of his heart beating wildly against your ear. His hand lightly rubs your back.

You soon hear Alice’s voice behind you saying your name. The feeling of her lightly tugging on your t-shirt coaxes you away from Harry and into her arms.

Before you know it, you’re settled into the backseat of Alice’s car next to Jenny and Alice is shifting to drive.

As you slowly pull away from the curb, you steal a glance over your shoulder to see Harry standing on the curb. He has one hand on his hip and the other is scratching his jaw as he watches your car move away. His figure is getting smaller and smaller as you leave the venue. Just before you turn the corner, you see him step over to the payphone again.

**September 1st, 1977, Los Angeles, California**

You take a long sip of your coffee as you carefully place the needle on your record player. After a few seconds of rustling and popping, the first kickdrums of The Five Stairsteps’ “O-o-h Child” fill your living room, followed by a chorus of trumpets.

Jenny left for work early in the morning and you have a day off, so you’re relishing in the freedom of having the house to yourself.

You walk through the doorway into the kitchen where your fried egg is sizzling on the stove. With your free hand, you take a plate from the cabinet and set it on the counter before grabbing a spatula, turning the burner off, and carefully lifting the egg out of the pan onto your plate. You pluck the piece of toast from your toaster and turn to set your plate on the table along with your coffee mug. The only thing missing is the newspaper, which is most likely still sitting at the end of your driveway from the morning delivery.

You pad through the hallway to the front door, turn the lock, and swing it open. As soon as the early fall air hits you, however, you come to a halt and let out a shocked gasp.

An equally startled Harry is standing on your front doorstep with one hand behind his back and the other hovering over your doorbell. All of your systems stall for a moment, as if you’re trying to connect whatever dots you can to make this scene make sense in your brain. You can feel heat quickly spreading all over your face each second you both stand there in silence, which you both break at the same time.

“What are you--?”

“Sorry I--”

You press your lips together and wait for him to continue.

“I’m sorry. I, um,” he clears his throat before dropping his hand by his side, “I should have called ahead of time.”

“What-- uh,” you stop to rephrase your question since What are you doing here? sounds a little more blunt than you’re wanting to be. “What brings you here?”

“I just thought I would stop by on my way to work.” He pulls his hand from behind his back, revealing the yellow and white cover of your address book in his hand. “Wanted to return this to you.”

He must have picked up on your confusion as you take the book from his hand and run your thumb over the cover.

“I’m sorry. I accidentally left it on top of the payphone after the concert. Didn’t realize until you had already driven off. But your address and everything is written in the front so… thankfully it wasn’t hard to figure out how to get it back to you.” He gestures to the book before jamming his hands in his pockets.

“Oh,” you draw out as the realization dawns on you. In the process of debriefing your trip with Jenny and Alice, you thought that Harry had given your address book back to you, concluding that it must have been somewhere in your house. You figured it would turn up someplace unexpected, and technically you turned out to be right. You laugh to yourself, “I thought I lost it somewhere in my house or something. I-- Thank you.”

You spare a glance at him for long enough to catch the tight grin on his face, causing his dimples to indent on his cheeks.

As you’re taking in his loose fitting white shirt and ripped jeans, you’re quickly becoming aware of the fact that you’re only dressed in cotton shorts and your old UCLA t-shirt you had slept in. If this whole interaction had been timed better you at least could have run to your bedroom to throw on pants or a sweater before answering the door. You reflexively cross your arms in front of you.

“So you had a good time, I hope?” Harry’s question interrupts your thoughts.

“Oh, yeah. Alice just brought me and Jenny back here and we sat around listening to music and talking. Then we pretty much spent all day yesterday sleeping so.” You shrug.

“Did your bag give you any more trouble?” he squints, pausing around the word ‘bag’ and giving you a sly smirk.

You scoff and shift your weight to lean against the doorframe. “No, it did not,” you mutter defensively toward the ground.

He breathes a laugh through his nose and you urge yourself to steer the subject of conversation slightly away from the specifics of your high state the other night.

“Also, thanks so much for staying there with us. I mean, who knows what we could have gotten into.”

“Oh, it was no problem. I’ve done some pretty stupid stuff while on shrooms, even when I’m supervised so…” he trails off into a chuckle.

You smile at his confession, somehow you can’t imagine this level-headed man doing anything stupid.

He continues. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” After a brief pause he adds, “You and Jenny.”

Your eyes snap up after he corrects himself.

He looks down at your doormat, scratching his chin. His cheeks tinge a light shade of pink.

“Well thank you. And thank you for coming to return this,” you say through a deep sigh, raising the book in your hand.

“Of course.” He looks over his shoulder at his car parked on the curb before turning back to you. “Well, I better get going. Was good to see you.” He nods before turning toward the street.

“Yeah, see you around.”

“Take care!” he calls over his shoulder, throwing a peace sign in the air.

Once he’s walked away, you retreat into your hallway and close the door. Your house is now quiet since the record you were playing has reached its end. There’s nothing to mask the sound of your heart beating out of your chest. You stare at the door for a moment, replaying the conversation in your head.

“See you around?” you mock yourself. “Where are you going to see him around?” You rest your forehead against the door and let out a deep sigh that gradually turns into a groan.

Harry’s car rumbles to a start outside. You don’t want to release the tension in your shoulders until you’re certain he’s driven away.

A thump on the other side of the door makes you jolt back. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion when you look through the peephole and see Harry climbing into his car and shutting the door.

You reach down to the door knob and open the door halfway, barely poking your head out. You can’t seem to find the source of the noise until you look down and see the newspaper rolled up in a rubber band sitting on your welcome mat.

You glance back at Harry just in time for him to flash a smile, give you a wave, and take off down the street.

*************************************************

thank you so much for reading!!

if you enjoyed part 1, please remember that reblogs and/or nice messages mean the world to fic writers. <3

you can find my masterlist here and my inbox here

-> PART TWO <-

[sichengtual]

how sweet it is (to be loved by you)

— summary: some loves are meant to run too deep, some loves are meant to stand the test. luckily, for you and cheol, nothing has ever posed a threat.

— pairing: choi seungcheol x reader.

— genre: fluff ; established relationship ; 70's au, part of the tiny dancer universe.

— word count: 2665

— warnings: mentions of smoking.

happy birthday to the love of my life @svtxsoju! i love you so so so much 💞

Seungcheol had never been hard to read.

From the very first moment you’d met, you’d seen he always wore his heart on his sleeve. You liked that about him; the way you could tell how he was feeling by paying attention to the size of his smile and the gleam in his eyes. For a while, you wondered if he was like that when only you were there to see. A sort of prize won after confidence, the kind that came with a great deal of trust. Your heart always leapt at the thought; of Seungcheol trusting you enough to let his walls down, of letting you in with such ease you’d wonder if he just wasn’t afraid of ever getting hurt… not by you, but by the world.

After a while, you finally came to see it wasn’t quite like that. Seungcheol just trusted people. Not only his friends (which you were at the time) or the people closest to him, but the strangers he passed by on the street. The people he ran into at the store. The men he made business with, the bands he came to meet, the fans he saw from afar. It was a beautiful thought, Seungcheol having a heart so big there was no sort of mistrust in it; but it was also a scary one, because you knew the world to be cruel. You knew the world to be undeserving of him.

“He’s gonna fall down on his ass,” Mingyu speaks next to you, a hand in the pocket of his torn up leather jacket and the other holding a cigarette. “Part of me wants you to tell him to come down but the other part wants revenge from him waking me up at 5 today.”

“You guys had a gig,” you laugh, taking a sip from your cup. It’s run cold, but the beverage leaves a sweet aftertaste on the back of your tongue, so you keep drinking. Summer is just around the corner anyways. “Not to defend him, but, you know.”

“Oh no, not you too,” Mingyu whines, throwing his head back as he speaks. He’s always reminded you of Seungcheol, and you wonder if that’s why the two seem to clash together so much. “The gig was at noon, no need to see the rise of dawn and scare my sleep away with Chan’s sleeping mask.”

“Oh, fuck you!” You hear from the back of the yard, Chan’s voice somehow louder than the playing vinyl.

His laughter, followed by Mingyu’s quiet giggle and the careless strum of a guitar, brings a smile on your lips.

Night has barely begun to fall down. The sky is tinged bubblegum pink and the clouds have started to change color, adorning the afternoon sky in an array of orange shades. It’s the moment before it starts turning down, but even when the light threatens to decrease, temperature only but rises. It’s a warm summer afternoon, with friends laughing at the top of their longs and music playing as soft background music, setting the scene even when the melody runs ignored.

It had been a while since you last had spent time with the band. They had just gone on their first big world tour and were just getting welcomed back home, and you can swear there’s something about finally knowing the world that allows their smiles to grow a little bit wider. It’s as if they’ve collected happiness at every spot, experiences turned into emotion as they let themselves completely feel every single moment. It’s as if they let their hearts be free once they’ve known how it is to let their bodies do the same.

“Why did he even get up there, anyways?” You ask, taking a sip from your punch glass. It’s sweet and cool against the growing heat.

“Seungkwan and Hoshi dared him,” Mingyu answers, smiling when Soonyoung tries to excuse his actions, yelling about some book incident involving Cheol and Jun. “Can’t believe he’s about to fall on his face in front of you for a slice of cheese pizza, though.”

“It’s a matter of honor!” Seungcheol exclaims between jolts of laughter, fingers forming a peace sign as Joshua pulls his portable camera out of his bag and points it at him. “Wait, what is this for?”

He tries to pose as he stands over a wobbly table, one of his hands holding a glass of pink colored punch and the other pointing to the camera while he tries to keep still for however long it takes Joshua to focus the lens. The guitarist isn’t the best at photographs, but his enthusiasm makes up for the lack of skill.

“Ivy and Jun are doing some groovy memory thing,” he explains, breaking into a laugh, shrugging in the direction of the couple. “Don’t worry, I’ll document every step of the process.”

Your boyfriend’s mouth opens wide at Joshua’s words, the peace sign in his hand quickly becoming a single pointed finger, eyes blazing as he moves his hand in the air.

“As soon as these fifteen minutes are up I’m getting down from here,” Seungcheol says, each word enunciated in the form of a loud whine, a pout forming on his lips as he berates his friend. “Be sure to document the slice of pizza in my mouth, Bob Dylan!”

“That would be so fucking gross,” Minghao comments from the hammock, a pair of pastel yellow sunglasses resting on the tip of his nose. “Trust me, no one would ever want to see that.”

“And Josh wishes he was Bob Dylan!” Mingyu laughs.

“I bet you wish you got the riff today right, tho,” Chan teases, another fit of laughter ensuing. Mingyu responds, and Minghao giggles.

Seungcheol turns to see his friends from where he’s standing, chest growing tight at the sight. It’s his family, after all, reunited and relaxed after what was, probably, the start to a lifelong adventure. You meet him halfway, smiling as you point the glass of punch in his direction in a silent cheer. It’s your family as much as it’s his, and there’s a sense of pride growing in the center of your stomach as you realize what an honor it is to be a part of it.

He smiles, and it doesn’t really seem like he’s all the way across the yard on top of a table that threatens to break down, because he’s truly never felt closer to you.

…

Hours later, the pizza discussion has quieted and night has finally fallen down.

Seungcheol ended up not falling, breaking literally everyone but Ivy, Jun, and your expectations, but earning Joshua quite a groovy photo (he had almost fallen down, after all). The beginning of the entire thing is still a bit of a mystery to you, but with the information you’ve been given, you’re not completely sure you’d actually want to know. After all, the entire fifteen minutes had given you a good laugh and a lifetime of worries, all at the same time.

“Here,” Seungcheol’s voice breaks you apart from your thoughts. He’s holding a yellow ceramic cup full of steaming tea, arm stretched in your direction. “Can you believe Seungkwan was trying to hide his Earl Gray from me?”

“Actually, yeah, I can,” you answer as you laugh, taking the cup from Seungcheol’s hands while he sits on the grass next to you. “You don’t even drink tea.”

“No, but he knows you do,” he says. He speaks as if he’s telling you a secret, words low, soft against the wind, entering your ears like honey as your lips curl up into a smile.

Seungcheol’s gentleness is present in every thought, in every gesture. It’s in the thinking of you to ensure your comfort, the going out of his way to make you happy, that lets you know he treats your happiness like he’s guarding a flower that’s just about to bloom. He touches it with the tips of his fingers, caring for it and nurturing it, helping your smile grow by the day. A smile directed at him.

“And yet he guards it from the both of us,” you say, raising the cup to your lips and taking a small sip. It’s sweet, a bit too sweet, perhaps, but the saccharine taste feels like velvet against your tongue, so you continue drinking. You’ve always liked sweet things, and Seungcheol has always known. “Are you not gonna have anything?”

“Seungkwan’s coffee brew and my stomach aren’t really the best of friends,” he jokes, eyes fixed on the midnight sky. “Not after last time, at least. The good thing about the tour was that all the coffee we got was made by other people.”

“Hey, he takes a lot of pride in his coffee brew!”

“That doesn’t make it any lighter!”

He doesn’t quite remember just how long it’s been since he’s taken a second to stop and breathe in like he’s doing now, the feeling of laying down without a worry having been completely alienated. It’s like he’s always on track; always moving here or there, physically or in thought, and stopping finally means letting his thoughts lay down too. He lets himself feel every inch of the warm breeze hitting his skin and rustling his hair, enjoying every second of finally watching the stars shine bright above his head.

Seungcheol is always hearing Jun talk about just how much he likes looking at the stars, and now he finally understands.

“Hey, look up there,” Seungcheol whispers, nudging your shoulder with his and pointing to the sky with his finger. You’re not sure he’s drawing your attention to any spot in particular, and, to be honest, neither is he. “It reminds me of you.”

“What exactly are you looking at?” You ask, and it’s somewhere between a laugh and a question, but he doesn’t comment on it. He’s always loved the way you talk, because, even if for a second, he feels like happiness drips from every pore. “You’re pointing at like, at least five different stars right now.”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. You’re each and every single one of them. You’re there with me, lightning my path with every step I take.”

You’re not sure, but you’d think that’s the moment the world stops spinning, because it’s just the two of you; it’s just you and Seungcheol, and your warm cup of tea, and the crazed laughter of your friends flows through the air like the background scene of a film you’ll watch over, and over, and over again. It’s like the moment and his words become etched so deep inside your heart they become a part of who you are, and of who you will always be, because there’s nothing that encompasses happiness better than the love you and Seungcheol hold for each other.

“Are you coming for Jun’s job now?” You ask, voice breaking as tears begin to prickle your eyes.

“Should we switch places?” Seungcheol follows, letting himself fall completely on his back, feeling the grass grazing against the soft linen of his purple button-up. His tone is light, relaxed. Gentle. “I’m pretty sure Jun could make for a convincing business man.”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure he would. He’s different now, isn’t he? He feels a bit more confident. A bit more secure.”

“Love does that to you, I guess. It makes you believe in yourself, because you know someone else does it too.”

And it’s just so much of a feeling growing inside your chest that you’re sure this is exactly where you’re meant to be, and Seungcheol is exactly who you’re meant to be with. You look at your surroundings, and he’s nestled so deep within your soul it’s almost like he’s everywhere. Every single place, every single sound, every single scent; he's everything.

“Can I have this dance?”

He moves, rustling in place as he extends his hand over to you.

“You can have all of them.”

It’s almost like it’s your thoughts speaking, voices intertwining, souls coming together. He takes your hand in his and you follow his lead as he stands up, pulling you to his chest with such gentleness in his touch it feels like you’re made of glass. He doesn’t move for a few seconds, but you don’t really think he needs to, because as soon as his fingers tangle with yours, it’s almost like you’re flying.

Somewhere in the garden, sitting around a campfire, Joshua and Mingyu’s guitars begin playing a song you both know, and you barely notice the moment your feet start moving. They dance on their own accord, gliding over the grass in a pace that doesn’t quite match the one set by the instruments, but neither of you fight it. He tightens the grip on your fingers and sets them over his chest, moving in closer to your frame.

You can feel him in what’s almost a hug by how close you’re standing, and it’s only when Joshua and Mingyu begin singing that you move your head up to take a look at him. The melody is sweet, raising into the sky over the crackling of a roaring fire. Dark, thick wisps of hair fall against his forehead and over the golden frame of his glasses, completely rustled by the summer breeze. You know it’s only a matter of time before he’ll try to tussle it back against his head, no doubt counterproductive, further messing up his (once) carefully gelled hairstyle.

He looks just the way he did when you last saw him before the tour, and, in a way, he looks a completely different person. There’s a sense of growth, of experience, of adventure nestling in his smile and yet, the look in his eyes expresses just as much love for you as it’s always done.

“I missed you,” he says, words soft against your skin.

He pulls you in even closer, lips coming into contact with your forehead. He presses a kiss; light, soft, gentle. And yet loving, lingering. It’s an expression of a love that doesn’t quite pressure to grow, that doesn’t quite define itself by the closeness in touch or time. It’s born on the surface, but it travels down so deep it lays untouched by whatever might pose a threat. It blooms, so wildly and fierce, and so close to your own souls it’s shaped them into what they are. It’s what you are, and you can feel it dripping down your very self whenever you’re close. It’s where you’ve found a sense of home.

“I missed you too.”

You smile, letting your forehead rest against his lips. He takes in a breath, closing his eyes. The cup of tea sits long forgotten over the grass, but steam still rises from the top. The liquid lays untouched, unmoving; but still warm.

…

The morning rises, and you’re there to see.

Seungcheol is asleep in the guest room of Seungkwan’s field house, resting calmly beneath the thick duvet you had shared the night before. His arm is still splayed over the space you once occupied, and there’s a smile resting on his lips. His hand is balled into a fist, clutching the soft, velvet sheets. Light begins to seep through the window, filtering through the curtains. A soft ray falls over his face.

In the backyard, you look up at the sky. Once dark, it’s now the most beautiful shade of gold you’ve ever seen. Air runs between the trees, and you can feel it move against your skin. The world starts waking up as you smile, and you can feel every second of it. Joshua and Mingyu sleep calmly on the couch, and Minghao brews his coffee in silence. Ivy reads a book while caressing Jun’s hair, his head resting on their lap. Seungkwan, Soonyoung, Chan and Vernon busy themselves with breakfast, the faint scent of burning toast reaching your nose.

Your family is there with you, and you feel love all around.

[all-things-fic]

Stay Still

A/N: Welcome to another day in quarantine. Here’s part two of Quarantine Harry which I wasn’t expecting to happen, to be honest with you all. Hopefully it lives up to any expectations. As always, stay safe and let me know what you think! Loads of love to you all.

Shout out as always to people I have pestered with this one. @waitingfortwilight for always being the ultimate babe, @harryfeatgaga for being hype woman of the century, @huccimermaidshirts for telling it to me how it is and @haute-romance-quotidienne for fuelling fantasy and possibly making it so we could get a part three!

Enjoy everyone! .x

***

You frowned softly at the intrusion of the morning light against your eyelids. The sound of a soft whistle hit your ears as you slowly roused for another day in quarantine. The sound of the bathroom tap shutting off brought a sense of stillness after Harry had brushed his teeth and washed his hands.

Keeping your eyes closed you heard the way Harry tip-toed around your bedroom, his feet heavy against the flooring regardless of how much he tried to overcompensate in trying to be as quiet as possible. 

A small smile pulled at your lips as you imagined him acting like some drunken teenager trying not to wake his parents as he entered the house after a night out; worse for wear and not interested in being read the riot act for not sensibly drinking.

The sheets next to your feet felt heavier than usual, before suddenly becoming lighter again. You heard the rustle of clothing, followed by a light grunt from Harry as he got dressed at the end of your bed.

Head pushed through the neck of his hoodie, Harry fixed the hood on the clothing item before walking the short distance to the drawers that housed his undergarments and socks. 

The sound of the wood sliding against the draw hinges caused you to cringe, before you bit away your smile as he whispered ‘shit, shit, shit’ quickly in succession due to how unsuccessful he was in not being noisy.

Turning around, Harry saw the way the sheets moved, the up and down of your shoulders letting him know you were laughing at the awful job he was doing. 

“‘S that you laughing at me over there?” 

Harry’s deep morning voice broke through the sleep-filled silence. He stood, still at the end of the bed, looking down the length of your body and willing you to pop your head up to look at him.

“Can see your shoulders moving under the sheets y’know?”

Still hidden by a mound of sheets and luxurious duvet, he heard your less than impressed response. “You’re so shit at being quiet.”

“Who even said that ‘m trying,” he scoffed, trying to pass off his clumsiness as something he had planned, letting his feet take him over to the other side of your bed. To his side.

You felt the familiar dip to the bed, and as he sat down you rolled over to your opposite side to be greeted with the expanse of his back. A soft groan left Harry’s lips as he leaned down to pull on his socks, you guessed his socks simply from the way you heard the band snap against his calves.

When he sat back up straight, you watched as he stretched up and rolled his neck to the side, left and right.

You weren’t prepared for his stare when he turned his head quickly to his right, looking over his shoulder at you. God, he was so frustratingly handsome. 

Over the last couple of days, you’d watched Harry relax in a way that you’d yet to completely get to enjoy. His hair had grown to a length that had your fingers itching to braid at the locks sitting at the top of his head, his facial hair becoming darker, the thicker it got with each passing day that was crossed off on the kitchen calendar. 

And his body. Where did you begin? 

He had confessed to you a couple of nights ago he was considering getting a lock for the fridge. The two of you for some unknown reason falling into a fit of giggles after he’d said it as you lay along the couch together. 

It was something to do with the desperation in his voice when he’d confessed his lack of self control. The rant he’d gone on about how much bread he was eating and how he knew he was ‘just being a greedy bastard’ but he couldn’t help it. 

The thing was, he was working out with it too. You knew that simply because you’d spent far too many hours of the day telling him to ‘shift these bloody weights’ as you stubbed your toe for the fifth time in the space of a week. 

He definitely was putting you to shame. 

Quarantine really was working out for him. His thighs spoke for themselves, and you were sure one day he was going to split the shorts he appeared to be pouring himself into each morning to either do a weights or HIIT session in the middle of the lounge, or the garden if he fancied a change in setting. 

The only thing you had found yourself lifting had been the fork that housed carb after carb. Pasta and potatoes mainly.

You were also lifting liquids to your lips too, staying hydrated was key in quarantine. And luckily for you the cases of wine and champagne that had gone untouched at your wedding towards the latter end of the previous year were buried in the garage of a house that you hadn’t ever thought you’d call home. Lack of flight paths back home and the closing of borders had changed that thought for you however. 

Burying yourself deeper in the pillow beneath the side of your face, you watched Harry as he softly smiled taking in your less than impressed expression.

“Woken up on the wrong side of the bed or summat?” He teased, watching the way your expression scrunched up at him and his annoying love of early mornings.

“It’s not my fault someone kept me up half the night-“

“Didn’t ‘ear yer complaining last night,” his voice teetered off, eyebrows raised.

“Well, ‘m complaining now,” you pushed out your bottom lip, challenging him in a petulant way.

He laughed down his nose, shaking his head as he reached up to pick at the strings of his hoodie. Chin tilted up to the ceiling, you heard the way his tone of voice changed to a strain as he concentrated on tying his usual bow at his neck.

It was almost like he thought of himself as some form of present. 

“‘Av at it then,” he encouraged you to bitch at him with whatever it was that had made you moody. “Eating into m’workout time so best be a good’en.”

“Piss off, you’re not even interested,” you scowled at him, knocking away at his hand as it reached out to touch you.

“Oi,” he frowned. “Don’t do tha’, don’t be like that.”

“‘M not being like anything.” 

Harry’s eyes hardened as they looked at you, holding your gaze with his. You didn’t dare look away or crack a smile, even when you saw his lips start twitching as he found amusement in your childlike pouting. 

Before you knew it, Harry had twisted his body so he was leaning over you, his presence welcomed rather than intimidating. His forearm pressed into the pillow at the side of your head as his free hand brushed at your slightly wild bed head. 

“Gimme a kiss,” he muttered, his lips close to yours. You shook your head, with a small frown thrown at him. “Really gonna let me leave wi’out one?”

You hummed “‘s what you deserve.”

“‘S what I deserve? Me? What ‘ave I done?” He questioned. “You ‘ad a bad dream ‘bout me or summat?”

The silence that lingered after his question had you blushing under his gaze, as you focused anywhere but his eyes. 

“Wha’ did I do this time?” He chuckled, feeling you shift in the soft hold of his arm. “Sorry that dream me is a bit of a knob’ead, I’ll ‘av a word.” 

“You better,” you huffed. 

“‘S as good as done, ‘f you let me have tha’ kiss,” he whispered, leaning in and pressing his face against the skin of your cheek. 

His attempt at bribery meant he had basically won you over the minute he rubbed his lips down your chin and jaw, the feel of his beard harsher against your sensitive morning skin that still held its warmth from your nights sleep.

“Harry,” you giggled, wanting to curse yourself out at how you had buckled under him. Body tense as your head dipped into the pillow below as you tried to get away from the tickle of his facial hair.

Mouth pressed to your neck, Harry chuckled before opening his lips and leaving a gentle suckle against your pulse point while your fingers wove into his longer than usual hair. He knew he had you in the palm of his hand.

Your voice was breathy when it next spoke to him, velvety and happy as he nudged his nose lovingly along your skin. “Stop being a daft git.”

“Know exactly what would sort you out,” he whispered in return, making his way back up to your lips. “Come an’ hike wi’me,” he drawled, watching the way your eyes lulled to a hooded gaze. 

You started to groan as Harry left a soft but pert peck to your lips. “‘M leaving in five,” he said, hand sliding down your back that was covered in your duvet. “Up yer get, meet you downstairs.”

The jolt of his hand against your bum, two swift and dull claps against the duvet material surprised you, before he pushed his body up and swiftly left your bedroom ready to start a new day.

***

You didn’t like the message that was on his hat.

You hated even more so that you were letting it bother you. 

The horrible 70s font of ‘free and easy’ was unnecessarily winding you up. This man was a married man. Hardly the correct message to be portraying. 

Eyes watched as Harry walked heavily in front of you, attacking the hill that you were both climbing, you lingered behind him. 

His legs, the muscles in them we’re enticing to you but only in a way that was winding you up. How was he so fucking tanned already? His skin was so weathered that it always managed to piss you off at just how quickly he became a lovely shade of golden. His legs tanned better than yours did. In fact his everything tanned better than you did. His everything in general was doing better than yours.

Here you were once again being irritable. Frowning at anything and everything. Snappy but unable to figure out why. He was always so happy, you know? And you loved it, you really did but sometimes it was too much. 

California had many a hiking spot. The knowledge of making it easily one of the best things about the place. Anything else, you could do without, but the hiking was always worth the struggle it took to even convince you to take part in the first place.

The sound of the gravel beneath your trainers, the sun beating down onto your skin, you watched as Harry’s trainer clad feet started to turn to you as he began to halt his pace.

Huffing and puffing your way behind Harry, you watched the way he tugged at the straps of his backpack and trekked along the desert like ground beneath your feet.

Looking up at him, you saw him move his sunglasses off his eyes and you swore if he placed them on top of the peak of his hat you were going to divorce him. Luckily, for him, he didn’t. 

Sunglasses folded in his hand, you squinted up at him and waited for whatever it was he was going to say. “Told you, you should’ve brought a hat,” he shouted down to you, his voice carrying as you were surrounded by nothing but open space.

“I’m fine, just need to keep hydrated,” you held your water bottle up to him.

“You sure? You’re so slow-“

Before you could stop yourself you snapped at his teasing, “I’m social distancing, Harry!”

His eyes were wide from your response, his lips rolling into his mouth as he looked on at you harshly pulling open the lid of your water bottle and taking a large sip of your drink.

“Alright,” he dragged the word, his tone pitched slightly higher. “Like a bear wi’a sore head this morning, aren’t ya?”

“‘M beginning to think dream you is a lot better than real-life you,” you spoke, eyes refusing to look at him as you checked to see if anyone was around while you. 

“‘S not true,” he softly responded, walking back down the hill to be closer to you. You knew he was right as well. “What’s up with you?”

Again you stubbornly took a sip of your water and squinted in the sunlight. “Darlin’,” Harry coaxed. “D’ya think-“

“No,” you stopped him before he could even begin to let his head carry himself away down the rabbit hole of baby talk. The baby talk that had been planted by his mother to begin with, the one thing that he had previously been trying to nip in the bud. 

He was back to being amused again, you knew before you even chanced a glance at him from the corner of your vision. 

The smile he wore was fleeting, barely there but reassuring all the same. Just one look in your eyes, properly, made him aware of the rush of uncertainty you had felt about the whole thing.

“Alright, ‘s fine either way though. Just so you know.” 

***

Had your husband always been this hot or was it because he was about to feed you?

That was a question that was more and more frequently popping into your head with each passing day.

By the time you’d gotten back home from hiking, you were edging closer to lunch time and the growling of your stomach meant your mood was only going to get worse. If that were even possible.

You’d taken great delight in letting Harry know that no uplifting endorphins had found their way into your body after spending just under two hours, including the time you’d hiked and the time you’d been stuck in California traffic.

He had done nothing more than take every single thing you had thrown at him, as he wrapped his hand around yours and kissed at your knuckles affectionately.

Now you sat on the island counter in your kitchen, legs lightly swinging as you watched Harry boil pasta and simultaneously let your meat simmer away.

Next to you sat a glass of white wine, taunting. Harry’s wine was half-drank on the kitchen side as he talked through some tour logistics with Jeff. It felt like a massive elephant in the room. There was no denial.

Harry had picked your favourite wine, made this big deal about putting a ridiculous amount of effort in cooking lunch when usually the two opted for some picky foods of breads, meats and salad, given the hotter weather than you were used to at this time of year.

You warmed thinking about the trouble that he was going to but it wasn’t enough to shake the way you felt on edge with nerves.

“Speak to you tomorrow, mate,” he chuckled. “Stay safe, tell Glenne I’m sorry she’s stuck inside with you.”

A small smile played on your lips as you heard expletives through the other line from Jeff, before Harry cut him off.

Phone tossed to the side, the noise of sliding it along the counter filled your ears before Harry spoke over the noise of his cooking, “Even he’s pissed of wi’me. Got it in stereo at home from the wife and from m’mate.”

You knew he was joking from the glance he threw at you as he stood in front of you, before reaching to his right for his glass of wine. Your eyes were drawn to his Adam’s Apple as he swallowed, wine glass clinking down before he spun around to walk to you.

As you admired him, you smiled thinking about how he’d yet to take a shower. Instead he’d let you go and enjoy the first soak of the day, underneath the steamy hot water.

“Legs,” he commented, requesting you lift them up straight so he could get to the cutlery drawer that you were covering.

You did so, feeling his right hand wrap gently underneath your one calf to help you keep them up. His left hand pulled at the draw, the rattle of the metal knives, forks and spoons, sounding heavily into the room.

He plucked up a fork easily, pushing the draw back into its place with his hip.

“I do appreciate you, you know?” You questioned, watching the way he lingered close to you. You watched him, messy hair in his eyes and knotted to high heaven. “Sorry for being in your ear all day,” you continued, eyes careful as you looked at Harry.

“Can’t quite hear yer over the cooking,” he mused. “Wha’ was tha’?”

“You heard me fine.”

He smiled, repeating your words back to you. Humming happily, eyebrows slightly raise, “I heard you just fine.”

Arms boxing you in, Harry’s shoulders were hunched as he stood between your legs. “Gonna let me have tha’ kiss now?”

“You’ve had plenty-“

“Not a proper ‘un,” he protested, enjoying the feel of your fingers brushing back his hair out of his eyes. Face wincing as you tried to remove any of the knots from his chestnut brown strands.

“Need to do something about this,” you spoke wistfully, changing the subject, eyes concentrating on your fingers as they continued to comb through his hair, taking it away from covering his expressive, as ever, face.

“We’re not at that stage in quarantine where we start having to cut me hair, no chance,” he deadpanned, his eyes enjoying the way your expression lightened with his lack of desire to your addition to the conversation.

“Reckon I could give you a lovely bowl cut,” you shot back, realising how quiet he had gone on you. Softly slowing the movements of your fingers, you let your eyes drop down to meet his gentle gaze. “What?” you asked, voice barely there, his expression very pleasing to your eye as his hair softly fell in a middle parting, tousled and very nineties.

“‘Seem a bit happier, hm,” he acknowledged, enjoying the way your hands had moved from his hand now to rest lightly at the sides of his neck. “Not fancy your wine?”

And just like that nerves swirled in your stomach again.

You scrunched your nose up at him, giving him a soft shake of your head. His eyes brightened and you knew exactly what he was thinking. You hated that you were thinking it too.

“Think I’m late too,” you admitted, seeing the way his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath in. His chest heaved, before he blew out the most happy sigh.

“‘S fine,” he responded.

“Don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

“You’re not.”

“If you could see your face,” you shook your head, dropping your hands away from his neck.

“If I could see my face, what?” He jutted out his lips in question, his hands gently clasping yours and lifting them to wrap around the back of his neck this time.

“How you’re looking at me-“

“How I always look at you,” he mumbled. “Like you hung the fuckin’ moon. Stop worrying.”

Running your tongue across your teeth, you took in a deep breath. “Stop it,” Harry warned, the two words clipped, his hands setting themselves to the top of your thighs. “We’re just prepping a nice lunch, gonna eat it out on the patio, in the sun-“

“I don’t even think we’ve got a test lying around here, if we’d have been in London-“

“Baby,” he cut you off.

You swallowed heavily.

“When you think about it, this couldn’t have come at a worse time-“

He spoke your name harshly as he cut you off, his face hardening at your words. Nervously chewing on your bottom lip, you fidgeted under his gaze. “I didn’t, I don’t mean it how it sounds,” you knocked your head back so your eyes met the ceiling of your kitchen.

You could feel him scrutinising you. His gaze never fleeting as he watched you come to terms with all the possibilities.

“I mean, we aren’t even going to be able to get to a doctor. They aren’t seeing anyone right now and-“

“And we don’t even know if we are,” he soothed, reaching for your face and wanting your eyes back on his. He hated the worry that had stolen this moment from you. The shy giggles and nervous rambles, around passionate kisses and lingering pecks that usually were part of any pregnancy talk between the two of you.

But I think I want to be, you thought, eyes glossy as they looked at Harry. Leaning forward, he welcomed your weight as you rested against him. With a heaved sighed you spoke, “God, I could really use that glass of wine right now.”

***

The record player in your lounge was the only thing keeping you sane at this point in the afternoon. The soft hum of Billy Joel playing around the room on the lowest volume, enough to keep you out of your own head.

There was something about songs that were piano heavy that managed to instantly soothe you. 

It had felt like forever since Harry had slipped away from you as you stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing off your empty plates before placing them into the dishwasher. Your eyes glancing over at him just in time to watch him pull off his sweat laced t-shirt, tugging the collar upwards and revealing his broadening back.

Since then all you had heard alongside the crooning of your favourite record was the sound of the shower running, the occasional croon also leaving Harry’s throat slightly drowned out by the sound of running water. 

As you sat, head tilted against the back of your couch, a soft smile hit your lips when you heard the water shut off. Not long after the soft, low singing voice of Harry filtered through your landing and downstairs.  

The sentimental softness in that moment had you sinking further into your hoodie and pressing your nose into its neckline. You couldn’t help but smile as you heard how heavy footed Harry was being upstairs, a harsh contrast in comparison to the softness of his singing voice.

“‘S one of your faves, this one innit?” You heard his voice boom, cutting through the peace and quiet that had formed of its own accord after he’d dragged himself upstairs. You loved it when he commented on songs you liked. 

Eyes closed, you imagined him leaning over the banister on the landing and shouting down the stairs to you in conversation between the floors of your home.

Choosing not to answer, you continued to mutter under your breath the lyrics and tried to ignore the havoc Harry was making upstairs in your bathroom. 

There was a loud crash upstairs, before you heard a delayed curse of ‘bollocks’ from Harry. 

His voice suddenly became clear as he shouted down, “‘s fine, nothing’s broken just knocked off some stuff of the ledge. Definitely not watching it leak everywhere right now.”

Your mother used to always tell you she used to count to ten with your father. Now you understood what she meant in saying that. 

Men really liked meddling when they were bored. You were used to it by now. Pick your battles. Let it be like water off a duck's back. 

Continuing to try and tune him out, you listened carefully as he pottered around upstairs. It wasn’t much after that you heard him descend down your stairs, and pad his way through your house into your lounge. 

Harry stood in the doorway, watching as you sat with your eyes closed, trying to find some form of stillness. Softly clearing his throat, he kept his one hand behind his back while the other clasped tightly at the white towel that sat against his waist.

Eyes fluttering, you knocked your head slightly to your left and stayed quiet as you took the vision in front of you.

One thing that always amazed you about Harry was the way that he managed to almost fill the entirety of a doorway but never look menacing. His body was broader, the pecs of his chest more defined. The hair between them darker regardless of how he’d been shirtless in the sun. You took delight in that cause that meant his chest hair was getting thicker. 

You eyed him, spending time on enjoying his rounded tummy and how much he was clinging on for dear life to the towel. 

“No big towels left in the airing cupboard,” his voice broke your shared silence, causing you to sweep your eyes back up to his face. “Think you need to do some laundry.”

The smarmy, amused expression after his comment, made you shake your head. “You’ve got hands as well, you know?” 

He didn’t answer your question, continuing to let the wet strands of his hair drip over his face and down his naked chest. “If you stand in the middle of the doorway any longer people will think we’ve got a flasher in our home.”

The frown that pulled onto his face made the smallest amount of laughter leave your chest. 

“‘Ere,” he lazily spoke, throwing an item onto your coffee table. The noise of it sliding along the wood pulled your eyes away from watching him and onto the item that he had just gently thrown. “Just found this hidin’ at the back of the cupboard under the sink.”

That explained what all the knocking was.

Barely lifting your head to take in the item, you already knew what he was referring to. Eyes back on him, you watched as he fidgeted with his towel again. This time, opening the item slightly wider than necessary as he pulled it tighter around his thickening body and folded it in to keep itself together.

Turning his back to face you, you watched as he tried to drop his body down onto your couch. You made a noise of disapproval, seeing him still in a hunched over position. Harry turned his eyes to look at you over his right shoulder. His stare asked you what the problem was.

“You’re all wet,” you lightly screeched at him, watching him softly roll his eyes and twist his body to plonk himself down onto the coffee table opposite you instead.

In the silence, Harry once again began to pull at the towel at his waist. “For god sake,” you whispered, “put it away, will you?”

“‘S wha’ ‘m trying to do,” he argued in return, as he fidgeted with the white cotton and tried to cover his modesty. “Christ, you could just keep your eyes up ‘ere.”

“What’s happening here,” you joked, lifting up your foot from where it sat perched on the coffee table and poking at his stomach with it. His stomach really was rounding out and you found yourself loving it, any comment you were making simply out of pestering affection. “That’ll be those twenty trips a day to the fridge.” 

“I’m possibly eating for two but I won’t know without the test,” he deadpanned, reaching up with both his hands and brushing back his wet and heavy hair. You smiled when it fell back in his after he pressed his forearms into his thighs, wanting to lean forward to get closer to you.

He wasn’t trying to conceal himself at all, his man spread the biggest you’d seen from him for a while. The towel gaped more than ever. 

“Like you need anymore of excuse,” you responded, flashing him a false smile. You watched as he pressed his tongue to the corner of his mouth, trying to stop his laugh at you jokingly commenting again on his quarantine eating habits. 

“‘S not very nice is it, that? To the potential father of your unborn child.”

You howled at that one, head falling back against the couch. “Potential father,” you squealed. “I’ve not been holed up in the house shagging anyone else, have I?” 

Your laughter was too much. His silence said it all. There was no doubt a scowl over his features as you laughed at him.

“Dunno? Have you?” He sulked as he spoke back, annoyed you’d got one over him. “Might’ve done, this house is bloody massive.”

Letting your laughter die down, you pressed your lips together as you looked at him. Swinging your legs down you leaned in, squeezing his chin and jaw in one hand.

You melted at how pouty his lips became, his cheeks smushed as you pecked at his lips.

“One man, that’s it.”

He hummed, as you dropped your forehead to him. “Must have decent swimmers.” 

“Swear to god,” you muttered under your breath, causing him to breathily chuckle.

This was the man you’d chosen to marry. 

***

His back faced you as he slept. The dim light from the early morning seeping into your room from the slight crack that had been left in your curtains, thanks to the way Harry had poorly pulled them together the night before. 

The sound of Harry’s deep breathing had your eyes lulling as you continued to allow them to roam over the expanse of his bare back and tousled hair. 

Hazy eyes tried their best to zone in on Harry’s figure as he lay sleeping. It was nice to wake up before him, to get the opportunity to admire him at your own pace rather than peeking a glance his way as he whooshed through the room like a tornado like every other morning. 

The smell of your newly washed bed sheets was alluring as you lay against your soft mattress, almost too alluring. 

A faint snore left Harry causing you to softly smile as you saw the way his week had somehow managed to catch up with him. He’d done this thing where he’d taken it upon himself, to make himself work. He couldn’t tour, that was out of his control. And you knew that regardless of how much he tried to play it off, he was struggling with how he couldn’t change it. 

Probably why he was throwing himself at every radio station possible.

Part of you was jealous that he was still sleeping, but the other felt warm in knowing he was allowing himself to switch off for this long today. That his work had been forgone and he was allowing himself to rest. 

The last couple of days had been strange as you had become hyper-aware of your body and how it felt, the way in which it was reacting to smell and taste. To the touch of your husband. 

And touch you he had. Harry was always tactile but as the potential news that you could be having a baby had made him even more so. His hands never really left you. 

They were against your thigh when you sat close to him as you ate your breakfast together every morning. Fingers usually softly cupped around your thigh, sometimes trapped between both thighs if he thought he was being funny in dragging his hand higher up your leg in an outdoor setting. 

That would usually drag a lazily, morning laugh from him. Pleased with his flirtatious antagonising. 

Fingers would gently take to playing with yours in the evening, as Harry seemed to master the art in eating his evening dinner with just one hand. Gone was the use of a knife, as he would tilt his fork to the side to cut through whatever food you had cooked that evening. 

The fork would even clatter against the plate to allow him to reach for his evening tipple of choice, rather than break how he was holding your hand, which was usually your left. 

You’d noted he was still so enamoured by your wedding band which had joined your engagement ring. He usually would find himself gently plucking at the cushion cut diamond to make sure it was sitting central on your finger.  

In this moment as you lay in bed, you supposed him taking time to touch you was his way to stay grounded. He’d been outrageously busy since your hike just three days earlier, more for someone who was in lockdown and made his living by singing music live. 

The work was a blessing in disguise though as it had drawn his attention away from the pregnancy test that had found its place back under the bathroom sink, connected to your room. 

It had allowed you to get out of your head for the last seventy-two hours. Breeze around like the newlyweds that you were, still basking sickeningly in how amazed you were by everything the other was doing.

It was hard not to get in your head now, though. 

Laying awake and in a dream-like state, you always felt your body’s sensitivities more so when you had first woken up. It was one of the things that made morning sex your favourite. 

But your body sensitivity seemed to linger more so now than ever. It didn’t make itself known solely in the morning. It was around when you took the chance to lay in the morning sun just before it peaked at midday. 

You’d found that your skin became itchy, a form of prickly heat spreading over you, a lot quicker now and while it wasn’t something new your worry was already heightened tenfold since the pregnancy suggestion had even become a thing. 

The first time it had happened, and you’d become irritated Wednesday, you cursed at your body for playing some sort of sick April Fools trick on your with it being the first day of the new month. 

Harry’s deep chuckle against the soft skin of your shoulder hadn’t done anything to soothe you. “Just sit in the shade, grab one of m’old shirts and lounge in summat loose,” he had suggested a couple of days earlier. 

You’d panicked at the time, regardless of his calm demeanour when hours later the red dots on your skin had remained, “I just don’t understand where this small rash has come from.”

“Where?” He’d set his tone, “Lemme ‘ave a look.”

From where he stood behind you, you shifted your - his - baggy dress shirt from where it was loosely buttoned up and draped over your body. His chin was resting against your shoulder as he looked down your shirt, catching sight of the light sprinkle of red dots on your skin.

“Looks like prickly heat t’me,” he hummed, knowing just how itchy heat rash could get. “Come take a cool bath wi’me, it’ll help.” 

That cool bath had helped, a lot actually. 

But away from your thoughts, in the present moment, the cool bath that had previously soothed you wouldn’t help this time. This sensitivity was the kind that had you wincing when clothes ran against you. 

To put it bluntly, your tits were hurting. 

There were no two ways about it. 

And you didn’t even need to google how that linked to pregnancy because you knew it was a symptom women often had in their first trimester. However you’d had that symptom before and you and Harry were still baby-less.

It didn’t stop the anxiousness that flowed through you, however.

Could be solved by you taking the test though, couldn’t it? 

That thought wasn’t wrong. Yet, it was scary. 

It would change your life in two ways. Either you were going to become parents or it would make you realise you wanted to become parents. A sense of happiness while splintered with apprehension would either be your feelings of choice, or simple and unbridled disappointment would linger.  

Harry’s deeper snore had you blinking yourself out of your blurring stare and let him come back into focus. 

Wouldn’t hurt taking a test would it? It’s not like you were officially doing it without him. If you kept the door open as you peed, he would basically have been right there with you. 

It would stop you thinking irrationally about the pains in your chest anyway. 

Releasing a nervous sigh, you reached out towards Harry and softly touched his bare back. His back that was broadening more and more as quarantine went on. Fingertips lightly tracing at his skin, before your fingers slid up and wove through the hair at the nape of his neck.

You scratched lightly, before pausing when Harry’s breathing patterned changed. All movement from you froze, waiting for him to let you know if he was still sleeping. Instead of waking, you saw the way his body sank back down to relax into the mattress once more.

This noise of contentment left his lips in his sleep, Harry rolling further onto his tummy and pressing his face deeper into his pillow. 

He was practically telling you to piss off and leave him be, even in his sleep.

Your hand, from his new position naturally fell away from his head as he was just a little bit out of reach now. 

Taking that as a sign to get up and do what you’d been putting off for long enough, you slipped gently out from underneath the duvet. 

A sense of sadness flew over you as the sleepy warmth of your bed fell away from your body while you walked around the bed and closer to the bathroom.

Eyes dropping down to your bed, you took in Harry’s face that was less than elegant as he slept. Mouth slightly ajar, his pouty lips were still framed with his thickening beard and a light divot sat between his shaped eyebrows. You fought against the urge to reach out for him and smooth out the disruption to the otherwise even contour of his forehead. 

Footsteps sounded loud to your ears but were nothing more than soft pats as you turned to your left and entered your bathroom.

You felt nervous about shutting the door, not wanting anything to wake Harry in that moment. Leaving it ajar to avoid the click it would make as it connected to the doorframe, you bent at the knees and pulled at the cupboard door.

Sleepy eyes landed in the box that had become familiar with you now, slightly shaking hands reaching out for the item and pulling it towards you.

Standing, you - for some reason - couldn’t bring your eyes up to take a look at yourself in the mirror that practically covered the entirety of your sink and hand washing station. 

The edges of the box had become quite worn which was hardly surprising given how many times it had been passed between you and Harry on that last day of March. 

You didn’t need the instructions. There was no point reaching for them. Instead you went straight for one of the two pregnancy tests that sat wrapped inside and pressed your legs together.

You needed the toilet, of course you did. You’d just woken up. It wasn’t going to be an issue. And that was part of the problem as you stood in your stark white bathroom.

It wasn’t pretty, was it? Anything about pregnancy, you were sure wasn’t going to be airy fairy. The fact you were likely to get pee on your hand in order for you to find out in the first place, summed it up pretty well.

Breathing deeply, you hated the negativity you were forcing yourself to feel as a way to combat your anxiety. Swallowing, you lifted your eyes cautiously to take in your figure.

Wild hair met your eyes first, followed by an incredibly creased white shirt of which the sleeves half swamped your hand. You liked being engulfed in an item of Harry’s clothing, however. It was so hard to come by when you’d first started dating, up until the latter years where he’d taken it upon himself to bulk his body up for tour.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, you rucked up the bottom of the dress shirt and turned to sit on the toilet, clenching your eyes together as you placed the test where it needed to go.

And then you went for it.

How else were you supposed to describe it.

Not that you would ever need to describe this part to anyone. No one ever talked about this part.

Lifting the stick out from between your legs, you pressed it onto the counter to the side and sorted yourself out. Toilet flushed and hands washed, you cringed when the faucet created a noise louder than you wanted but it was out of your control.

Drying your hands you frowned at the faint call of your name, not sure if you were imagining it. Hand wrapped around the door, you pulled it open and caught sight of Harry gently looking at you.

He looked partly disoriented, blinking quickly before he set his gaze on yours. The softest smile you had sworn to have seen grace his face, since you had walked up the aisle to him, met your stare. 

Not a word was spoken as he raised his left hand out for you to take, his right arm tucked securely underneath his pillow and he lay down.

“Come get back in back,” he mumbled. “‘S early innit.”

The bathroom light was turned off before you could even say ‘pregnancy test’. The item swamped in darkness as you shut the door and gently walked to your waiting husband. 

Eyes dropping from his you noticed the way he’d folded down the covers so they sat against his lower abdomen. The span of his upper body on show for you to see. 

“‘S late,” you corrected him when you were stood next to his side of the bed. Hand in his, Harry pulled it and gently placed it against his face, eyes slowly shutting when you found his hair and gently wove your fingers through his unruly waves. 

“Refuse to believe it,” he mumbled into your wrist, lifting his head slightly from his pillow to kiss your skin. 

“Why? Cause it makes you lazy bones,” you softly laughed, it turning into a squeal as he pulled you down to him, legs straddling either side of his body. 

“‘S ‘nough out of you,” he hummed, chin dropping to his chest as he reached up to brush your fallen hair out of your eyes. 

You let your eyes flutter shut as you felt the way the pads of his fingers gently skimmed across your face. His gentle touch tickled your skin, a smattering of goosebumps lining in the wake of his touch as he showered you with affection.  

You had no other choice but to press yourself down onto him, as he lay against the mattress. 

“Bloody obsessed wi’you,” Harry confessed, his eyelids hooded as his vision of you blurred and any light in the room was taken from him from your hair curtaining around your both. “I’d do some foolish fuckin’ things for you.” 

“Would you?” 

“Yeah,” he chuckled, voice low. “Surely you know it an’all.”

“Might do,” you felt the way his lips pulled up into a smile, your lips resting against his rounded cheek. “Might not.”

“You fuckin’ do,” he groaned, head knocking back causing your lips to fall further down his face, “Would give you the clothes off my back, would give you anything.”

“That’s a loaded statement, sure you don’t want to retract it.”

He shook his head, swallowing as he said, “Do with me what you want, doll.”

The rawness to his voice as he spoke had you brushing your nose against his beard, the tickle of his hair something you had grown used to over the never ending days. 

He turned his head waiting for you, the sound of his softly gasped name falling off your lips and straight onto his as he hummed happily in return. His hands brushed your hair behind you again as it continued to get in the way. 

Breathing heavy against his lips, he smiled when you pulled him closer to you, squashing your noses together as you devoured him. A hum low, in the back of his throat, as you slowed. A confidence warmed you, fingers carding through his hair and gently pulling at his chestnut locks to create a gap between the two of you.

He tried to nudge forward to reclaim your lips, but you stopped his movement with a commanding, “Stay still.”

His jaw clenched, before you soothed the back of your fingers over it. Harry wasn’t always used to you taking charge in any situation, especially not in bed anyway. Not all the time and not with such an authoritarian tone anyway. Usually you played it lightly, a flirtatious push and pull between you both.

“Said I can do what I want with you,” you hummed, watching the way his nostrils flared as his breath picked up. “Gonna take my time-“

You ducked your head, lips sucking his skin the minute they came into contact with the light dusting of his beard that scattered down his throat.

“Never usually get to take my time with my husband,” you trailed off, teeth naughtily grazing at the top of his rounded pecs. He’s usually far too greedy, you though, keeping it to yourself. 

Harry’s breathing was heavy now, his chest expanding as he tried to anticipate what was to come. His stomach tensed as your hands got lower. 

“Your husband,” he emphasised. 

“Know this is your favourite,” you watched him bend his left arm behind his head, raising his head slightly as he looked up at you sitting in his lap.

An amused chuckle reverberated through him. “If it’s with you, yeah, it’s my favourite.”

You dropped your eyes to his right hand as it came up to fiddle with the buttons on his dress shirt. Whilst there weren’t many buttoned up, he still couldn’t see as much of you as he would have liked. 

As he unbuttoned, from the bottom up, you began to rock your bare nether region against Harry’s pubic bone, before you pushed back some more and came into contact with the sensitive and wet head of his heavy and waiting cock. 

“Mm, found it,” he breathed, biting down on his bottom lip and tilting his chin upwards, eyes peering down his nose at you. “Tha’s what you wanted.” 

You knew you should’ve been mad at the way he wasn’t doing what you had asked but there was something about how his right hand sprawled it’s way across your stomach as you rolled yourself messily on top of him. How it had just stayed there, resting, warmly. 

With hooded gazed, you watched the way his bottom lip bounced away from his teeth, tongue enticing licking at the luscious pinkness and shining up at you. 

“‘S tha’ look for?”

Frown etched between your brows, you appreciatively gasped as you felt the way his cock tucked between your folds as you humped against his wetness.

You were looking at him whatever way you were, because you were obsessed with him too. 

Harry slowly pushed himself up, so you were chest to chest now. His lips bumped clumsily to rest on your chin, hand sliding around from your stomach and down your back before gripping at the top of your bum cheeks to keep you to him. 

“Glowing, y’know tha’,” he huskily mouthed against your jawline, your head slowly tipping backwards and starting to show the expanse of your heaving chest to him.

Eyes dropping down, he quickly glanced at your boobs, how they pushed against the material of his shirt and how rounded they looked. Definitely looked bigger to him.  

He knew he should stop himself, but he couldn’t. He was dying to strip you of the clothing item so he could get a proper look at you. 

His hands travel back up the span of your back, nails catching against the cotton of his shirt. You felt him start to bunch the item up as you slowly brought your head back up, just in time to catch the way he set his jaw as he pulled at the final button of the shirt to make it fall open.

That button ripped away from the fabric, lost somewhere forever, mixed between the sheets until you would find it sometime later next week and it would pull you back to the memory of this time you’d had sex. 

Harry’s head was already tilted back, his mouth now slightly ajar and lips still shining and pouty. Regardless of how much desire filled his face, you could tell he was waiting for you to tell him off. 

He was being too handsy for someone who had been told to stay still. 

“You’re not listening to me,” your soft whines were met with this breathy laugh down Harry’s nose. 

The silence between you was short before his deep voice said, “Can’t help wanting to have a proper look at you.”

Your bum pushed back into his hands as a response, gliding easily against him regardless of how he held your center snug to his crotch. 

“I’m getting hot,” you admitted, the cotton shirt becoming nothing more of a nuisance as it rustled around you. “This is getting in the way.”

Knowing you’d need help to pull the item off, Harry’s hand found their way to the middle of the shirt, slowly peeling the fabric away from your body. 

He heard you suck in a breath through your teeth, the wince cutting through the room as he helped you remove the shirt you had picked to sleep in. Hair cascading down your back, you felt him sit up further, pulling your face to his, as he cupped the back of your neck. Shirt long thrown to the bottom of the bed. 

“What was tha’?” His question was half lost against your cheek, his hands sliding down your nude back again, his grip strong as his palms found your arse and pulled you tight to him. He tugged you closer to him, a groan of lustful appreciation omitting from his throat.

“Bit tender, this morning,” you whispered, head dropping back as Harry pressed his softly smiling lips against the skin of your clavicle. “Stop it.”

“‘M sayin’ nothin’,” he spoke with a sing-y lilt, far to pleased with himself, softly lifting up and pressing his forehead to your collarbone. “Gonna have to suck on summat else if they’re hurting.”

“Haven’t done that in a while,” you mused, lips lifting as he hummed in agreement. 

“Not since the full beard came in,” he wistfully replied. “Come and sit on my face.” 

“Harry-“

“Alright, I’ll get back in m’box,” he jested. “Want you that way before I shave it off, at least once. At least-“ he trailed off when you took his mouth with yours again. 

It never got old feeling him between your legs, and the two of you just staying like that. Kissing heavily like teenagers and neither of you making the first move. 

“Don’t always get what we want.”

“I’ve done alright so far-“ he chuckled when you stilled against him, annoyed at how he had an answer for everything. 

Wrapping his arms securely around your back, you felt him lower the two of your back down to your bed. Forearms resting in the sea of pillows, you gripped at the side of his face, “why won’t you just let me have my way?”

“‘S fun like this,” he whispered, keeping his mouth hot and heavy against yours as he breathed. 

“You’re just spoiling it for yourself,” you tried to reason with him.

“Believe me I’m not,” he groaned, feeling you start to brush your aching centre over him once more, “I’m driving myself mad with want. Know you are too, know you’re gagging for me.” 

You whimpered at his suggestion, breathing getting heavier by the second as you desperately rocked against him in slow, purposeful rubs. 

“Darling, just put me in,” he dropped his eyes to look at the rock of your hips, “Have the real thing, have it properly, go on.”

His lazy but deep tone was too much to say no to as you lined him up at your aching warmth. 

“Fuck yea,” he bit down on his bottom lip, breathing heavily through his nose. His voice was spent, as he let his mouth hang open, dry and desperate for him to swallow. “Take me,” he barely murmured, as you felt his tip sit at your entrance.

“God,” his worn out voice sounded, his clammy hands moving to rest underneath your nicely raised bum cheeks , “Take me. All of me.” 

And just like that he was proved right, you were gagging for him. 

His length slipped easily inside you as you sat down upon him and released a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding out in one almighty pant. 

You didn’t waste much time once he was inside, leaning your body back and placing your left hand on the top of Harry’s thickening thighs for support, this mass of hair cascading down your back, the tips tickling at the tops of his knees.

Creating a 45-degree angle with the use of his legs, you put yourself on show from him immediately. You both knew this angle helped target you in all the right places, while still giving you ample control over the speed and depth of the thrusts. 

You’d gotten exactly what you wanted. 

It hadn’t gone unnoticed with Harry how your reclined position was an obvious invitation for him to stroke away at your clit. However, he found himself far too mesmerised by the way your body looked above him to bring himself to do anything but watch.

Your body had changed since he’d last taken you this way, or let you take him. He wasn’t sure where the power lay now and he didn’t care; not in the slightest.

You’d blossomed nicely, a bit more for him to grab onto since your wedding and he found himself flushing at how he could been fucking you like this and you be pregnant with his child.

He was convinced you were. Your boobs heaved above you, bigger than he’d ever seen them and he could’ve sworn you tummy was slightly more rounded than before. His gaze was getting lower, hands fighting with themselves where to go first and eyes trying to help him make the right decision. 

As they dropped, he swallowed heavily. You had started to get hairy, a sign of laziness but also of being comfortable. He remembered so vividly the first time he’d taken you when you hadn’t shaved, and you weren’t as brazen to share it with him as you were now.

“Look at you shagging me,” he hoarsely caught your attention as your right hand moved from where it was pressed against his stomach and swiped up your own body to smoothly bring your hair around to your front. “Tits look incredible.” 

His head dipped back as he saw your desperate expression as you brought your head up to sit your body up straight. Your adopted rhythm had been more of a rub and roll of your hips, rather than a drop and grind. It was almost as if the minute you had taken him inside, you didn’t want him to leave. 

“‘M dying to play with ‘em,” he confessed, his hands coming up to your sides, before stroking back down. His hand cracked against your bum without warning, as you rocked forward with more fervour. “Fuck me, go on. Please keep fuckin’ me, don’t stop.”

His voice was choked and as you looked down at him, his lust filled hooded stare was waiting for your frowning expression, as your hands found his chest and softly slid up to his neck.

They rested there lightly, until you saw Harry raise his chin upwards to open the expanse of his neck and throat to you. He looked alluring like this, lying beneath you and exploring something you’d yet to discuss together.

You lightly stroked your thumb against the center of his throat, feeling the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed. The feel of it causing you to panic, your hand starting to retract. How did you even know this was what he wanted? Just cause he had shown your more of his neck, didn’t mean anything. 

Before you could get too far away, you felt him gently take your hand and encourage you to keep exploring. His eyes were dark with arousal as he whimpered up at you. The stubble that lightly decorated the underside of his chin was more than taunting enough; never mind anything else.

“You want that?

“Want everything wi’you, do it properly,” he pressed heavily against your hand, jaw clenching before your eyes were greeted with his falling shut and his mouth hanging open. A wanton moan, fell off his lips. “Use me.” 

Keeping your eyes on his face you saw the way it began to flush with colour as your took away his ease to breathe.

The stifled groan of approval that left his lips as you rolled your hips up and dropped back down onto him with a clap of your thighs meeting, caused the most shit-eating grin you’d ever seen him wear, to pull up onto his lips. 

The leverage you had changed from digging your fingers into his throat. The position allowed you to press yourself hard down onto his cock, so much so that you could’ve sworn it was the deepest he had ever been. 

You stayed that way for a while, the echo of your skin clapping together as your thighs began to burn. His hand smoothed over your skin and gripped at your hips to encourage you to not give in. 

“My wife, pleasing me,” the roughness to his words, voice broken as you let his neck go but kept your hand there. “Doing as she’s told.”

You fell forward and brought your lips to his, his laugh at his previous statement mingling with yours. He knew he’d pissed you off saying that, a self confessed wind up merchant. He definitely didn’t wear the trousers here and he knew it. 

“Remember where my hand is,” you faux-threatened, soft raise to your brows. 

“Darling, you've had me by the balls since I first clapped eyes on you. Having me by the throat is nothing.” 

Now it was your turn to be smug. To drop your hips down upon him again and hear him submit a groan confirming his willingness to please you just as much. 

You felt yourself fluttering around him and it took everything within Harry not to hold you to him and just thrust upwards, giving you what you both wanted. 

He liked that you had wanted to drag it out, to roll your hips over his this entire time and let your clit rub against his pelvic bone on every thrust. He wanted you to get it how you wanted, to hold out for you and have you draw his release out of him. 

The whine that left your throat as you cupped around his neck and brought his face back to yours had him muttering words of approval that you couldn’t decipher. He knew you liked that, when you couldn’t quite figure out what filthy things he was saying to you to try and get you there. 

A playful mystery which summed the two of you up perfectly. 

“God, I love you,” you desperately gasped, face flushed and feeling clammy from your exertion.

“D’yer?” He roughly spoke. “You love fucking me, hm?” 

“No, I love you,” you whimpered at him, breathing deeply and eyes wide. “Say you love me.”

He chuckled at your sense of needy showing itself, “‘course I love you.”

He softly smiled when he saw how blissful your face fell, his hand finding the back of your head and holding you to him. “Love having sex with you too, hm. Fuckin’ love it.” 

You hips pressed down onto his as roughly as they could, a mixture of your arousal and his everywhere inside your thighs. Back and forth you moved in quick succession, panting matching how much you wanted it.

“Love it when you get like this, all messy and desperate for me. ‘S not like you, usually so put together and so good.”

“‘M so dirty for you-“

He groaned louder, feeling himself somehow press deeper in you. “Mhm,” he agreed against your jaw. “Yea, you are. Gonna come for me?”

“Dunno, ‘m thinking about it,” you smiled before fluttering around him and dropping your hips again. “Yes,” the motion of your hips started to get quicker once more. 

“Don’t stop this time,” he quickly whispered, pushing his chin up and catching his lips with you. “Want you all over me.”

As your movements got more abrupt the sound of the mattress beneath you made itself known. The rustling sounds of sheets, a tangled mess against your merged together limbs, spurred you on.

He knew how much you loved the sound of the mattress like this, really showed how heavy you were going at it. 

His awe for you was written all over his face as he looked at you. “Bit more baby,” he clenched his teeth, pushing up into you for the first time since you’d taken control. “Let me help you, hm?”

As he brought his hands down against your cheeks and hips, he pulled you down onto his strong thrust up causing you to reach for his face. “Come on, come on,” he whispered, sweat running down his temple and disappearing into his hairline.

The minute your mouth fell against his he knew he had you. Pliant as ever. You felt slack everywhere than around him. Tight and then gently fluttering teasingly around him. 

And he knew was done for. 

“Keep going, bit more,” he encouraged, just needing you to press down once more to meet him. When you obliged him, he spoke, “That’s my girl, yeah.”

Pulled down hard onto his pelvis, Harry vocalised how grateful he was. Pushing in further each time you squeezed and let him have it. So physically deep you don’t know where he ended and you began. 

He loved how you fell against him, shaking arms wrapping around you and holding you gently to him; keeping your face tucked against his sweaty neck. The two of you shook against each other, allowing your unsteady breath to even itself out.

As you felt him begin to soften before your legs, you shifted your body slightly, Harry mewling at the loss of contact as he slipped out of you.  

He nudged his nose into your hair, enjoying how the two of you were taking time to stay close. 

“Come share a bath wi’me,” he mumbled against your cheek. Feeling you shake your head, no. “No?”

“I don’t want another go,” you mentioned

He chuckled, “I don’t wanna shag you, I wanna treat you to summat.” 

“But I’m tired-“

“Yeah, ‘s hard putting all the work in, in’it.”

His statement caused you to bury your face into his neck even deeper. “Tell you what,” he hummed. “How ‘bout if I run the bath and you get to lie here while I do it? Sound better?”

“Yeah,” you childishly responded.

“‘Kay,” he hummed, amused, “Gotta let me out first.”

Not happy in the slightest at how you had to move, you gently rolled away from Harry and moved onto your stomach. Face pressed into his pillow, turned away from Harry he took his opportunity to run his eyes down your body.

The dip between your shoulder blades, how soft your skin looked to the naked eye, never mind felt to the touch. He couldn’t resist dropping forward, choosing to climb over your body rather than slip off the bed by his side and walk around. 

“Think you should take that test,” he murmured, into your sweaty shoulder, as you lay sprawled out facing away from him.

“Why?” You asked, question weary and voice slightly wetter than usual. You already had taken it. 

“Just think you should,” he happily hummed, nose running against the curve of your shoulder. “Call it a hunch, husband’s intuition.”

When he was met with silence, he decided to throw out a comment he knew would he incite a reaction from you. “Thinking of taking the bike out later.” 

His motorcycle, which had definitely seen better days, was absolutely not something you wanted him going near. Regardless of how attractive he looked on the bloody thing. 

“Are you trying to start an argument?” You mumbled your question, half of it lost against the pillow. 

“Alright I’m going,” he replied, hanging half over your body. The way he chose to climb over you, caused you to press your face into your pillow to hide your smile.

“D’ya want bubbles or not?” He asked, standing in the doorway of your bathroom, and looking over his shoulder. You stared at him, feeling a sense of nervousness swallow you. “Baby-“

“Sorry,” you blinked softly. “Surprise me.”

He lingered, trying to see if you were okay, before he turned to enter your bathroom. Door kept open, you could see his bare arse as held any over the tub to push the plug in and turned to look at something to add to your bath.

The sound of bottle shuffling around filled you ears before he asked, “We’ve got the muscle relaxant one of you-“ 

He’d seen it. The way he’d stopped talking let you know.

The shuffle of his feet was heard before he appeared at the doorway again. “What’s this?”

“What’s it look like?” You nervously replied, not even letting your eyes move to the item in his fingers. 

His softness of his face had you sinking into the bed, further than you thought possible. “Have a look, ‘s it say?” You asked him, watching his eyes blink before he turned to look at the item and read over what he had already seen once more to be completely sure.  

Harry blew out this sigh. The kind that really caused his body to move down. “What do you want it to say?” He asked, voice deep. 

You hated how his expression was so hard to read. Usually he was so expressive that he tended to give himself away, not this time. 

You saw him flick off the light in your bathroom, feet carrying him to you and letting his knee dip into the bottom of the mattress. Eyes following his every move, you dropped them down to his hand and saw the way that you clenched the item in his grasp.

The longer he took to let you know what the outcome off your test, was the worst you began to feel. His eyes were shining when they met yours again, them taking in the worry etched upon your face. 

“You’re making me nervous, stop it-“ you let your eyes flit between his as he silently crawled over you. “Harry, seriously-“

Dropping his nose to yours, he breathed out a happy laugh. This close lipped smile brushing its way into his lips as he let his lips hover over you.

“Let’s go take that bath together, Mommy.”

***

Excited to hear all your thoughts! Thank you for reading .x

[idga-buck]

Some and Others, 1/?

Bucky wasn’t looking for a relationship, he was looking for a good night’s sleep, but when he found you he got more than he bargained for.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5,758

Content: swearing, soft smut (18+ only), Bucky being clueless, IW and EG just didn’t happen? idk, everyone’s alive and living in the compound #classic, also me fitting in a bunch of information that probably wasn’t necessary for the first chapter but what’s a story without a sturdy foundation?

After a mission, Bucky is some kind of way. Steve is too careful with him, but he doesn’t exactly blame the captain. Plus as an uncommissioned officer, 70 years without promotion, who is he to disagree. Maybe he isn’t ready for a life of avenging. Certainly isn’t ready for the questions that will follow another sleepless night, so Bucky didn’t stay in. He went out.

His memory wasn’t what it used to be, but Bucky recognized your street the second he’d stepped onto it. He’d parked his bike in the grassy alley on his right, gotten coffee at the Caribbean supermarket across the street when he finally left that afternoon. Technology wasn’t his strong suit, despite his depth of interest in it. There was etiquette and a way to do things that were as nuanced as they were mysterious. Bucky often wondered if people just lived by their own set of rules, leaving everyone else in the dark and only interacting with the persistent few who engaged correctly. He didn’t have the patience for that sort of thing. Shuri reminded him of that more than he cared for, but in terms of debts owed, he could smile through her jokes for a lifetime after the second chance she’d given him.

Bucky Barnes was a ladies man… at some point in his life, but more accurately, his life had been colored with women stronger than him since the day he was born. His mother was the first to hold him, followed shortly after by the older sister who tried to sell him to the milkman. Luckily Mr. Spenser wasn't in the market for a throw away babe and Bucky got to grow up in a house dominated by women. His sister, his mother, his grandmother with the accent that was just gibberish outside of their living room, the two more sisters that were welcomed in after him, though he’d never dream of bartering them away for bubble gum. They were all loud, but kind and could always bring a smile to his face. Even still. Rebecca, the most distant in age, but the closest in spirit, was still living. His baby sister was all grown up to the point of growing back down, shrinking in on herself the way old women do. Bucky made regular trips to the Alzheimer’s care center, sitting with her and loving her as only a brother could. Though her recollection of recent history was gone, Rebecca Barnes could still pinpoint the exact moment that all her girlfriends fell in love with her brother, which made Bucky shake his head and laugh. Her CNAs were worried for her mind when Rebecca introduced them to her big brother, looking closer to a man in his 30s than a man from the 30s, but he assured them that she was correct. He hadn’t changed a bit, she told him with two wrinkled hands on his cheeks. In appearance, not as much as he should have, but in all the other ways people usually mean, Bucky couldn’t feel more disconnected from the man he was when Rebecca was all bright eyes and secret kisses under the corner store awning. Bucky had no problem leveling those boys with a stare back then, but now most of them wouldn’t think twice before using their canes as a switch across his shins just for cocking an eyebrow in their direction. Talking to his mother wasn’t possible anymore and his sister wasn’t in a state to give out girl advice. Shuri was on another continent. Natasha… was Natasha and he would never ask for her help with something like this. Wanda was usually awake late at night when he was, but she was still so young.

Bucky looked up from the street, noting your second floor windows were dimly lit. Golden squares stood out against the bricks, blackened by the late hour, and through the gauzy curtains he spotted movement. Without his mother to advise against it or Shuri to give him something better to do, Bucky reached for his phone and scrolled through the recent calls. You’d called yourself before he left, but thinking that he wouldn’t see you again, Bucky hadn’t actually saved the number. Something of a bad habit, he noted, scrolling through lines and lines of unrecognized and unsaved phone numbers, hoping he’d just know it when he saw it. He didn’t.

Until one appeared on its own, presenting him a choice. Answer or reject. A simple question with unknown consequences. Rejecting the call seemed safer, so Bucky pressed the red circle and resumed his search.

“Weren’t you a spy or something?” Your voice drew Bucky’s eyes up from his phone screen to the now open window above his head. You were leaning out a bit, the posture helping your voice to carry over the surprisingly still busy street.

“Somethin’,” he grinned, pocketing the useless device. Both hands secured in his jacket, Bucky tipped back on his heels to get a better look at you. “Gonna invite me up?”

You shrugged and planted your palms against the window sill to lift yourself up. Even from that angle, Bucky was transfixed by your cleavage. Subtle under the tank top you wore, but he remembered it fondly. As if you could hear his thoughts, your arms snapped closed over your chest, bringing the colorful wings of a kimono with them, shielding yourself with floral patterns and defensive body language that made him take a step backwards. “You didn’t call…” you said and though accurate, your accusation made Bucky regret what he was about to do. After waking from the best night’s sleep of his life, he said he’d call you. No amount of self love could bring that much refreshment into his life and the feeling of waking up after a deep and dreamless sleep was enticing enough. The sex was good for a one off sort of thing, Bucky would even say great, but the sleep that came after… he hadn’t been able to replicate it yet. The lure of a good night's sleep and the softness of your body against all of his rough edges were too strong to stop him now. He was committed to this indiscretion, but before he could defend himself, you’d moved on, already smiling again. “And you just ignored my call.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed and lifted in quick succession before he pulled the phone from his pocket again. Saved. And for good measure, he pulled it up to his ear again. You frowned, turning away from the window, presumably to look for your phone. The glass slid shut behind you and Bucky bounced on the balls of his feet while he waited for the metallic purr in his ear to be replaced by something even better.

“What are you doing?” You said over the line.

“Hey, it’s Bucky-“ he heard you stifle your own laughter with a choked ‘oh my god’ in the background. “Remember me?” You hummed and Bucky waited with his eyes on your window. When you didn’t return, he kept talking. “I know it’s late, but I was just in the neighborhood-“ another quiet giggle made him smile as he spoke. “You up?”

“Is this Bucky Barnes’ first booty call?” You asked.

“I guess it is…” he said, half his mouth curving up even though you couldn’t see it. “How’m I doin’ so far?” There was a pause and Bucky started moving toward your door on instinct. It was illogical to think something had happened in those few seconds, but after the day he’d had Bucky didn’t feel confident ruling it out. “Making me nervous out here, doll.”

“You’re doing just fine,” you assured him and Bucky leaned back against the door in relief. “I was about to go to bed… but since you came all this way-“ the end of your sentence was cut off by the loud buzzing in his ear as the lock on the door disengaged from above. Bucky stepped into the first hall, street lamp making the small row of Golden mailbox fronts glitter, and leisurely took the first few steps up. “Better hurry,” you sighed and Bucky stopped, foot hovering over the next step. “Door’s unlocked and I’m already naked.” Bucky was in your apartment and snapping all three locks into their closed position before you’d had the chance to hang up from his impromptu phone call.

You fucked him slowly that night. The rush he felt taking your stairs two at a time dissipated once he was in your bedroom. It wasn’t as frantic or fumbling as it had been the first time and Bucky was happy for the change. When he’d followed you home from the bar, it seemed that both of you had an understanding. One night only, so make it count. It was hard and fast, but so so good. Even the next morning’s repeat and the finale in your shower before he finally pulled away sated had been more like back to back sprints than whatever this gentle marathon was. As if you could feel the stress that Bucky needed to let go of, you moved carefully around him. Totally bare in the bluish glow of the bathroom plug in that lit the scene before him, you took your time undressing Bucky and placing his hands back at his sides whenever he tried to help move things along. When you dropped to your knees, leaving him open and vulnerable standing naked in the middle of your bedroom, he made a sort of wounded noise that made him want to bolt, but didn’t seem to bother you. If anything it spurred you on, drawing more whispers from his rosebud lips until he couldn’t take it anymore. For the first time in his life, Bucky begged for more attention. Not the teasing he did on street corners- come on, baby, you’re breaking my heart here- when a dame tried extra hard to resist his charm. This was real pleading as if he thought he’d die frozen in place without your heat to revive him.

He’d made the right choice. Bucky decided while lying across your bed, one hand twisted up in your pillow case while the other was splayed across your bare thigh, that he’d done the right thing coming to you for this. He could have gone back to that bar or a different one and gone home with another girl just like he had with you, but then he’d be missing the view from under you. Having a new girl everytime Bucky found himself feeling restless sounded exhausting. He’d also determined that his mother would be incredibly disappointed in him if he had rows and rows of unsaved phone numbers from girls that didn’t know they were being used. Finally and maybe most importantly in that moment, Bucky didn’t want to start over with someone brand new. He liked your crumpled linen sheets, liked the smell of ink from the printing studio beneath your apartment. While you rode him to mutual satisfaction, he liked the way your hips rolled sensually over his, liked the slick grind and the dull bite of your nails against his stomach. He liked that after your first, when he asked you to slow down again and extended his hands to you, you took each of them without hesitation. Supporting your weight on outstretched arms, Bucky got to enjoy your hands in his while you gasped out a second. If it had been your first time sleeping together, you’d probably be too prideful or embarrassed to admit that you were tired. He wouldn’t have gotten to hear that whine when you asked if he was close and he replied -smugly- not at all. If it had been your first time together, he’d probably be too prideful or embarrassed to ask you how you wanted him. He wouldn’t know how sweet it felt to have your back pressed up against his chest and he wouldn’t have known to turn you onto your side so he could slip in from behind you. Bucky was so comfortable in your bed with your knee hitched up over his hip, body totally open to his roaming hands. He made the right choice coming back to you and as he finished with a grunt, both arms wrapped around you tight while your arm was bent over his head, gripping his hair with the perfect amount of tension, he’d already decided to make it again.

The next morning, Bucky was refreshed, feeling like a brand new man. That was the feeling he’d been chasing last night or rather very early that morning, but the tightening in his lower body followed by ultimate release was a fine way to get there. Just like last time, he’d woken up alone only to find you in the bathroom, washing sleep from your eyes and fixing your face. His enhanced hearing meant he could listen to the tap running and the echoing “puh” of you spitting into the sink without having to open his eyes. Comfortable and naked against your pillows letting the familiar sounds tell the story of your morning routine. He didn’t mind waiting as long as you crawled back in beside him like last time. Bucky only peeked twice before he heard the zipper of your makeup bag close and the magnet on your medicine cabinet snap shut behind the mirror. You were back with him in a moment and he turned toward your scent, aloe fresh deodorant and sharp minty breath beckoned him closer and he hummed against your lips. If he cared to move, he’d swallow down the remainder of your mouthwash then swap cool kisses until his tongue tingled against yours, but he was so comfortable. Even more so once you’d laid across his chest, bumping your nose and chin against his until he opened his eyes. Bucky dropped his arms heavily across your back, keeping you planted against him, though you hadn’t struggled or made any moves to leave him. He couldn’t have that with someone new. If he swapped your number for someone else’s, he’d have to flirt and wade through the post sex awkwardness again. He’d have to go out more and hope his charm would work on another. He’d have to perform for them the way he had for you the first two times. The third, in your shower, was messy and wet and fun despite the soap in his eyes, which you wiped away for him while his hands were occupied by holding you up. He wouldn’t have that with someone new until he made it happen and frankly he didn’t want to make it happen. Not yet. Not when you were still cute and still into him and still happy to hear from him even at 2 in the morning when he looked like a creep under your window. Why trade all that just to say he could have another then another? Sex was good. That morning stuff was good too. If it was the orgasm that made him feel alive again, then the warmth of your bed and your lips drifting lazily down his chest was what made life worth living. One gal was enough for him. You were enough.

Bucky hadn’t even noticed that he was drifting off again until you spoke. He didn’t hear you, but he sure it didn’t matter and responded with some ta sentiment of his own. “Thanks. For this.”

“Thank you,” you corrected and he smirked at that, eyes still blissfully closed. “Hey, uh— Bucky…” You sounded nervous and he had to force his eyes open at the sound of your voice shaking around his name. You must have noticed his sudden concern and placed a hand soothingly over his chest. “I just…” you bit your lip and Bucky watched the wheels churn behind downturned eyes. It was sweet, the way you could flip from bold and sexy to this. An errant curl fell out of its place and he felt the desire to pull that twisty rebel between two fingers before moving it back to follow the part you’d intended all the up to his second knuckle. Your hair was the kind he wanted to touch over and over. Not because it was your hair per se, but rather because it didn't have that acrid home perm smell or a hundred little pins holding it in place like his sisters and the other girls he ran around with. They spent hours on their waves and rolls, but you flipped a fist full to one side, fluffing it with your fingers when you wanted his attention and damn if it didn’t work everytime. Before he knew it, a vibranium finger against your temple, following the curve of your ear. Your stunned look made Bucky chuckle. He even patted your cheek in encouragement. After a beat, you were gathered again. Another breath and you spoke. “I just wanted to say, I don’t really do this sort of thing.” His eyebrow shot up at that and you scrambled to correct yourself. “Not this,” you half laughed then gestured to his naked body and yours, hardly clothed. “The bringing strangers home from bars thing. I definitely wasn’t expecting to see you again- not that I didn’t love it- I just didn’t want you to think-“

“I think you’re amazing,” he said quickly to assure you he didn’t think anything else. He wouldn’t either. Couldn’t even imagine anything else after making an ass of himself at your first meeting. He’s felt so out of place and vulnerable and ridiculous trying to take you home the night you’d met, but you hadn’t made him feel wrong or silly for it. For that alone he was grateful. For the sex that followed, even more so. You’d met him with just enough teasing to keep him engaged, but not so much that he felt like he was an unwanted addition to your night and whenever his eyes drifted away like he wanted to run and forget the whole stupid idea, you gently guided him back, eyes and words making it clear that you wanted him too. It was a mutual feeling of desire, as simple as it was complicated. Bucky wanted to keep it simple though, if for no other reason than to keep seeing your awkward smile duck into his neck at the eagerness in his voice. He touched your face again and repeated himself. “I don’t think anything… just that I’m glad I met you… and I’d like to keep seeing you.”

You smiled at him and whatever silliness he felt in his confession evaporated. It was the right thing to say. You sighed and leaned in again like you were going to kiss him, before stopping short and looking up at him through your lashes. “I don’t think I can say no to you.”

“Then don’t,” he said, but it felt like begging again as he hoisted you higher up on his chest to kiss you again. The conversation was over and if you weren’t going to say no to him, then he wanted to start his morning with as many breathy yeses as he could get.

Random serendipitous encounters became less random and serendipitous with every passing week. Bucky was feeling lighter, yet somehow more whole. Boy, did he need that. A woman’s lovin’ will do that for you. He vaguely recalls one soldier or another making similar remarks while he was in Italy. Bucky’s blue eyes belonged to the nurses back then, as his own innocence slowly died with each body dropped by his own marksmanship. This new world, new century he now had to navigate was so different. His enemies weren’t always flesh and blood, even the ones that did bleed bled out in black and blue not Nazi red. Aliens, other worldsmen, some very human psychos with eerily familiar ideologies about who was of value and who was not. Bucky fought next to his friend, spilling blood of all colors when necessary, bearing the stains that Captain America couldn’t as a paragon of justice and honor. Then when the ringing in his ears got too loud, he sought you out. Over and over again. He never showed up unannounced and you always answered his call, even when you shouldn’t. You truly didn’t know how to say no to him and he truly didn’t want you to.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bucky knew it wasn’t love, but he didn’t care. It felt good and it felt right and against his better judgment it helped him sleep at night, knowing you were only a half turn away, hugging your pillow, but content to wrap your arms around him instead as long as he asked. And he asked. When he wasn’t in your bed, it helped him stay sane, knowing that someone in the world was waiting on him, caring from a distance, maybe praying for his return. In the Big War, his mother prayed for him. His sisters too. In these mini wars, fought stealthily around the globe, he had you.

Rebecca was still blessedly alive, but his baby sister only remembered him when she saw his face. He would bet that you remembered him even as he schlepped through the mountains of Siberia for the last time. Always Siberia. Evil men must be allergic to sunlight. Sam had jokingly asked him why he always went back and Bucky had jokingly thrown the Falcon’s coffee away, leaving Sam’s hand empty and his mouth full of indignant teeth sucking. That briefing was blessedly brief and Sam didn’t need the rest of his coffee anyways. The flight via jet was longer, but not as horrible as it could have been. Steve’s sympathetic glances were unbearable. It’s the last time, Buck. Yeah, OK. The mission was a success, if you could call it a mission. Sam spun magnificently through the mouth of a cave while Bucky fired back into it, detonating the whole mountainside and leaving this particular Cold War remnant under an avalanche of snow and well kept secrets, never to be reborn. Steve dealt with the press. He had the face for it. Reputation too. Sam soaked up the due praise that came along with it, the next Captain America with his wings and his wit to carry avenging into the 21st century. Bucky, however, peeled off his heavily armed get up and peeled out of the compound without any formal announcement.

When Bucky left for long periods, most assumed he was doing what Steve Rogers would do. Ride around in his bike, traipse through the old neighborhood noting how much it changed. Captain America was the old man, the icon. He had the luxury of wandering. Bucky hadn’t gone anywhere without a mission in mind since the 40’s. He was a soldier, a weapon and while his mind could no longer be weaponized against him, Bucky was still the guy taking care of things that just wouldn’t wash out of Captain America’s shiny cowl. So when he left the compound, no one asked questions. At least not directly to him, something he was thankful for on the hour or so ride to your place. The Bronx apartment was considerably closer than a nostalgic walk through Brooklyn and he got a lot more out of it. He had no mission in Brooklyn, but you were waiting for him and that was enough.

This particular mission was no different. Steve asked him to stay on site and he declined politely as he could without actually stopping to talk to his friend. Natasha called out his hurried steps and followed him halfway to the garage before giving up at his request. It was glaringly obvious to Bucky how they got along so well. Steve and Natasha were quite the pair. Tenacious friends, like the kind of friends that never give up and definitely won’t let you give up on yourself. He saw it in her fierce allegiance and protectiveness over Clint. Now that Steve was huge and well connected in the Avenging community, Bucky supposed that made him the Barton to Steve’s Romanoff. They were insufferable do gooders too. Sure, Natasha had her fair share of red in her ledger, but once she was with the good guys, she was the best of them. Neither one would hesitate to throw themselves on a grenade or over a cliff if it meant someone else’s chance to live. They were do it or die trying people. Sam was… Sam was Sam. And when he spotted Bucky making a beeline to the exit, he just waved and shouted “have a good ride.” The wink was uncalled for and made Bucky question how much Sam really knew. He was a deadly intuitive little shit and despite Bucky’s best attempts not to even think it… one of the best people he’d ever known. Not that he felt the need to tell Sam that. He probably already knew it. Blessedly, Bucky ran into no other superheroes on his way through the compound. The garage, more like a hangar, was empty. Only the most expensive toys in Tony Stark’s arsenal and a high tech key coded workshop that Bucky felt so out of place in he kept a small tool box of his own so he wouldn’t have to wander through it. God forbid he go digging for a socket wrench and laser one of his fingers off. Anything was possible on Stark property.

Bucky zipped across the Hudson and sped toward the zoo, stopping at the deli on the corner and looking up two floors at the flat corner window. You weren’t waiting for him like usual. He’d pulled off the road once he got away from the compound and called you like he always did, giving you plenty of advance warning. It would be more gentlemanly to ask your permission before leaving home, but you hadn’t turned him down yet and if you ever did, he figured he’d keep driving anyways just to be away from everyone else for a while. Most times, when Bucky rounded the corner, slipping his bike into the space between your building and the overgrown lot next door, you found your way to that window, waving him up and putting a little something extra in his steps. You weren’t there, but you knew he was coming, so he made his way to the building’s entrance. A call, a buzz, a knock and Bucky was in your space again, taking a deep breath and inhaling the sweetness from your kitchen.

Your back was turned to him, having opened the door for him before rushing back to your place at the counter without a formal greeting, and Bucky watched curiously as you dropped little chocolate chip cookies onto a paper plate. You waved your fingers around after using your bare hands to pull them off the parchment paper and sucked your thumb between your lips to rid it of a rogue chocolate dripping. Bucky eyed the plate presented to him then looked up into your eyes.

“I googled you,” you said proudly. Bucky nodded and said okay, like he knew what that meant. It sounded sexual, but he hadn’t seen you in a week and frankly, he was more interested in googling than cookies. “It’s your birthday, Bucky! Why didn’t you say anything?” You looked delightfully scandalized and held out two cookies for him, which he accepted with a half smile. They were warm and started to fall apart between his fingers, so he shoved both into his mouth before making a gooey mess of himself. While his mouth was full, you cleaned up your tiny kitchen and dropped the plate onto the coffee table in the living area, talking about how embarrassing it was that you hadn’t thought to look him up sooner, but how lucky you felt that you’d thought about it after he called. You wished you’d had time to make a cake, but wanted to be home when he arrived, so freezer cookies were the best you could do after work.

You weren’t dating. Not really. That was why Bucky hadn’t mentioned it. Steve and Natasha wanted to make a big stink out of it, but he wanted no part of that. He just wanted to see you and get some of that good sleep he only got in your apartment after wearing you out two or three times. Sitting on the couch next to you, he took another cookie from the plate. They were better than they looked and he planned to clear the whole dang thing before taking you to bed. Maybe he’d save a few for the refractory period. You’d need sustenance too. So Bucky took his fourth cookie, which made you smile even wider and pledge to leave the rest for later.

The truth was, Bucky hadn’t celebrated a birthday in decades. The last one he could remember being awake for was in the seventies. He waited outside the governor's mansion in Bermuda for hours, watching a dinner party eventually lull and disperse. The Winter Soldier had no clue of the cruel irony watching another man’s party on one’s birthday, the asset’s only focus was quickly killing the governor and his companion once they stepped out of the house for a walk. He’d spared the dog though, a massive and beautiful beast without a single aggressive bone in its body who loped away from the scene whining. You hated that story when Bucky confessed it. He hadn’t felt the need to go into much detail regarding his time as the fist of Hydra. At first because he didn’t care for you to know. It was a fling. Fun. What pieces he did remember from those days were anything but fun. After determining that he liked you, really liked you, Bucky kept his trap shut for fear of scaring you. You knew who he was in theory, but as long as he wasn’t relaying his bloodiest days to you like he was now, maybe you wouldn’t look at him like the monster he didn’t want to be anymore. To his surprise, you hated that he sat in a tree watching people eat and drink and laugh the night away on his birthday, regardless of whether he knew it at the time. However, you zeroed in on his attempts to spare the dog, filling in the blanks that somewhere deep within the Asset, he had maintained some of his humanity. Some of his Buckyness.

“I don’t know if that helps… or if it makes everything worse…” you said, hesitating to go on, but he caught your meaning. Was it better to think that Hydra succeed in wiping him clean, using only his body and latent memories, discarding his mind all together? Or was it somehow hopeful, to think that in all their trying to eliminate Bucky Barnes in order to free their Asset, some piece of him had remained intact? Bucky wasn’t sure he could stomach the idea that any part of him had been present during grizzly assassinations, nor could he ever fully shake the idea that he wasn’t. Either way, these conversations weren’t what he came to you for.

While you were still looking shy, wondering if you should have stopped him from telling his story, Bucky kissed you. It was sweet, not just from the chocolate on his breath. “Thank you,” he said softly, thumbing a brown smudge at the corner of your mouth. “For the cookies. For listening.” His eyes passed over each of yours in turn. “Thanks for being here.”

“Of course,” you smiled. It wasn’t as obvious as you made it sound, but he liked that you felt it was. “I could be around more, you know.” Bucky didn’t know what you meant, but that became clear in a matter of moments. You sucked in your lips and started again. “I know we haven’t talked about...uh, well, what this is, but you’ve been coming over for a while now and I guess…”

“You guess?” Bucky prompted you to continue, when you trailed off.

“I didn’t expect you to still be calling me, so I guess I’m asking,” you said. “Asking what we are now?”

“Oh.” Bucky hadn’t meant to say it like that, but it came out like that and your eyes widened immediately. He scrambled, grabbing your hands quickly and holding them both in a firm pile against your thigh. “Oh, meaning, I didn’t think that’s what we were doing here, so this is unexpected.”

“Oh,” you respond and Bucky imagines you meant it exactly how it sounded. Disappointed and the single syllable precursor to his being disinvited from your apartment. And your bed. And your everything.

“But, I like the idea,” he supplies quickly, but he can see your look is hesitantly hopeful. “Of more, I mean. Seeing where… ya know.”

“Yeah,” you smile and Bucky breathed out his relief. “So we’re together…?”

“As together as we can be,” he said, having no clue what he meant by it, but it seemed to be the right thing considering how you kissed him. You pulled your hands from his to wrap behind his neck and fit yourself into his lap. Bucky’s hands went to your thighs, spread wide over his hips, and he squeezed his way up the backs to your jean pockets, slipping his hands inside to squeeze again. “Here or…” Bucky pulled away to catch his breath and nod in the direction of your bedroom.

“Take your girlfriend to bed, Bucky,” you laughed, kissing him again and he stood with you still in his arms, legs clinging to his lower back. Girlfriend. Okay, Bucky decided in a snap. He could work with that. Especially if it meant chocolate chip cookies and birthday sex. Which reminded him and you giggled as he turned back around, hoisting you higher up on his torso with the vibranium arm below your butt and stooped carefully to grab the plate of cookies with the other before taking you and your cookies to bed.

His first relationship in the 21st century had surprised him. Come out of nowhere and nothing. One moment he was standing at a bar, nursing a beer that wouldn’t affect him at all while he listened to talk about your job before not so subtly asking about his, the next it was his birthday and he had a mouthful of chocolate chip cookies while you had a mouthful of him. It’s funny how fast life changes. If only he’d known just how quickly his new relationship would fall apart.

A/N: I’ve been cooking up this series for a while now and I thought, why not post the first bit and see what happens. First time writing for this fandom, so we’re diving in head first with a feckin’ long series and some foolin’ around. I do welcome tags if you’re interested.

Masterlist

[hoggyywarts]

TWO OBLIVIOUS IDIOTS (pls head the tags on ao3)

Vote for Jegulus or Jily in the comments

also pls teach me how to do the read more line

Chapter 1: What a fucking mess!

Remus knew he had to find a way to get over his stupid crush on Sirius, considering it had gone on far too long, and Pads was never going to like him the way that Remus wanted him to. And, really, it was okay. If he were Sirius, he wouldn't want to date him either, with his furry little problem (not to mention his anxiety). But he knew he had to do something before he embarrassed himself in front of Sirius and lost all his friends. It was a wonder he even had them to begin with. It only dawned on him after Justin had asked him to go to Hogsmeade together that exploring other people would be an excellent idea to get over the beautiful raven-haired boy that was constantly near him. He couldn't just tell Sirus to leave him alone with his internal struggle, but sometimes he kind of wanted to. Other times, he wanted to constantly be near his best friend, hoping that he might reciprocate his feelings. Drawing him out of his musings, Justin poked his arm with his quill.

"Earth to Remusss," he said jokingly, laughing as Remus startled and fell out of his seat. "What'd you get for question four?" A furrow grew between Justin's eyebrows as he pondered the possible response to the undoubtedly.

Remus jokingly slapped Justin on the arm as he laughed through, " Not funny."

"Then why are you laughing?"

Remus pouted from the floor and exclaimed, "Be nice, or I won't let you look at my paper, and you're going to have to figure out the side effects of Veritaserum all on your own" Justin threw his hands up in defeat before offering his hand to help Remus up. Soon their heads were bowed together, diligently working on their homework with the occasional flirtatious remark from Justin, a blooming blush on the cheeks of Remus, a scowl from Sirius, and an elbow bump from Lily, who was sitting next to Sirius.

"Stop scowling; you're going to get wrinkles. Also, Jealousy is not a good look on you" Lily followed her words with a pointed look (eerily resembling McGonagall when Sirius knew he was in trouble).

Smoothing his face out, " I'm not scowling, and I'm definitely Not, erm, Jealous. I'm just, erm, concerned for Moony."

Lily raised her eyebrows, "Right..."

"We don't even know the guy! For all, we know he could be some serial killer who is out to get poor Moony. You know they are charming, right?"

Lily groaned, "Just admit you're jealous."

Sirius's face dropped as his eyes slid over to where Justin ruffled Remus's hair. His Moony liked Justin, and he didn't like him. Sirius didn't put that blush on his face; Justin did. Hell, he was jealous. He abruptly picked up his books, and with a huff, he sped out of the library, Lily quick at his heels.

"Sirus- Sirius! Slow the fuck down! I'm sorry I didn't know it would upset you that much."

Sirus stopped and turned around, waiting for Lily to catch up, and frankly, catch her breath. "No, I know, you're right. I'm just mad and jealous. Stupid Justin!"

Lily sighed and ran her hand through her long auburn hair, "Listen, I know Sirius, but don't make Re feel bad about this. If you love him, you should support his happiness whether it is with you or someone else. Got it?"

"Okay, I love Moony and want him to be happy. Listen, Evans, I'll see you tomorrow; I'm kind of tired," and with that, he waved Lily off, heading in the direction of his dorms.

what a fucking mess

Chapter 2: Not the way I want

Sirius slumped as soon as he waved Lily off and slowly trudged towards his dorms. His shoulders dropped even lower as soon as he dejectedly closed the door. He knew that Lily was right. Sulking around filled with anger would only push Remus away. But, also, who even was this Justin guy? The only thing Sirius knew was that the hat sorted him into Ravenclaw. Perfect for his smart Moony, he thought bitterly.

James burst into the dorm with vivacity screaming while twirling his tie in the air like a lasso, "GUESS WHO JUST GOT A DATE!!!!"

His erratic gaze found Sirius's sorrowful grey eyes, and his mouth made an involuntary oh shape of realization as his best friend's feelings towards the werewolf dawned on him. Although Lily often called James dense, James knew Sirius after everything they had been through together. And right now, he knew Sirius was going through inner turmoil, and he would have done something. Or rather, he was going to do something. But a blushing Moony was behind him, and he couldn't concern Moony the day before his date. He felt for Sirius, after all, who knew better but him what it felt like to see the one you love with someone else; however, he also knew that his best friend Moony deserved to be happy, and if he was in love with Justin, then that was that. Although in his humble opinion, Sirius was much hotter. Also, who was this Justin anyway?

"Moony did," Sirius spoke ever so quietly. James had to strain to listen to him while Remus only did due to his heightened werewolf hearing.

The furrow that Remus always got while studying grew between appeared between his eyebrows, "You okay, Pads?"

Sirius clapped his hands together and tried to pull himself together, throwing his brightest and widest (and hopefully not noticeably fake smile) towards Remus. "Of course! Now Moony-mine, what are you going to wear to this date of yours? Don't you worry. I've got it covered!" And with that, Sirius fled towards Moony's closet, pulling out clothes and frowning at some while nodding at the others. Unbeknownst to the two, he had his back towards; tears were prickling his eyes as he furiously tried to contain them.

98, 91, 84, 77, 70, 63. Counting down by sevens always helped him calm down, and by the time Remus approached his dramatics, his tears were just barely contained. At least they were contained enough to hold clothes up to his Moony to decide what he would wear (it was a hard task, as everything looked good on Moony).

Whatever bullshit Sirius was trying to pull, James knew better. He definitely liked Remus. And he most certainly knew Sirius was gonna sob himself to sleep.

Remus felt his heart swoop at Sirius' nickname. Moony-mine- ugh, I wish. He wondered what was wrong with Sirius as he sounded somewhat down, although his mood sure did seem to swoop for the better once he thought of the date Remus had. Maybe he got a letter from that dreadful family of his. Just as quickly as his stomach had swooped, he felt a sharp drop. The kind you get going down roller coasters. If Sirius liked him, he surely wouldn't be holding up clothes to Remus with glee.

"Moons..."

"Hmm."

"You zoned out for a second. I picked out that green sweater. It looks perfect on you," Sirius finished softly.

"Thanks, Pads. What would I do without you" Remus spoke as he pulled his best friend (ugh) into a hug. He felt Sirius's arms snake around his shoulders and gently rub circles on his back. He sighed in comfort until Sirius pulled away.

"Love you, night Moons."

(not the way I want)

"Night, Pads, love you."

(not the way I want)

That night when Sirius sobbed into James' shoulder, the only thing James could do was wrap his arms around him, put a silencing charm up, and gently whisper, "it's okay," which only prompted Sirius to sob harder until he fell asleep.

That night Remus silently sobbed as he tossed and turned until he fell asleep, wishful thinking turning into pleasant dreams of a dark-haired best friend turned boyfriend.

[uzunofu]

I looked through the chapters with the incidents you mentioned in this post, @crossdressingdeath. Brace yourself, it will be a long post.

First, "the one time [JYL] claims WWX as family (something which as far as I recall she does at no point before or after, certainly not where other people might hear) is also the one time where not doing so might negatively affect her".

She says it three times during that scene. The first two are in relation to her demand for Jin Zixun to apologize.

"A-Xian is a disciple of the YunmengJiang Sect. He grew up with my brother and I, and so he’s as close as a brother is to me. Calling him the ‘son of a servant’—I’m sorry, but I won’t accept this."

...

Jiang YanLi’s voice was soft, “Madam, A-Xian is my younger brother. Him being humiliated by others, to me, isn’t just a small matter.”

The third time:

Madam Jin raised her brows, looking Wei WuXian up and down. Her gaze was somewhat cautious, as if she was feeling displeased, “A young man and a young woman—you two can’t stick together all the time if nobody else is present.”

Jiang YanLi, “A-Xian is my younger brother.”

— ch. 70

To me, this last one sounds like a politely incredulous, "I just told you he's my brother and you're still insisting on this?" It's not a "no-no-no, it's not like that!", it's a "are you being serious right now?"

You are right in that she never does it before or after, but in this particular scene it's not about saving face.

You are also right in that she drops her demand for an apology, but JZxun literally stormed away, and then there was the Epic Confession from JZX and things got derailed. Did it seem like sweeping things under the rug at WWX's expense? Well, yes. But also, would it have done him any favors if she kept at it? I really don't know. It could've made things better, it could've made them worse.

Then, "stealing food from a guy who grew up STARVING ON THE STREETS even though JC had almost certainly already eaten".

“Fooling around again! Your sect leader, I, has already poured you a bowl and put it outside. Kneel for me to express your gratitude and go drink your soup outside.”

Wei WuXian skipped outside before he turned around and came back, “What do you mean by this, Jiang Cheng? Where’s the meat?”

Jiang Cheng, “Finished it. There’s only lotus roots left. Don’t eat them if you don’t want to.”

Wei WuXian attacked with his elbow, “Spit out the meat!”

Jiang Cheng, “No objections. I’ll spit them out and let’s see if you’ll eat them!”

Seeing that they started to argue again, Jiang YanLi quickly interrupted, “Okay, okay. How old are you two, fighting over some meat? I’ll just make another jar…”

— ch. 71

WWX doesn't generally seem food-conscious. This is reiterated later on in this chapter when the narrative mentions that when he first came to Lotus Pier, he was careful not to take too much or draw too much attention because he was afraid to be judged a burden. It's possible to read it as a confirmation: see, the soup incident several paragraphs earlier was serious for WWX even though neither JC nor JYL realized it. But I'm reading this in the opposite way: WWX used to be like that but not anymore. I also can't help but remember Xie Lian eating a steamed bun he picked up from the ground and saying that it's edible, it's still good, why waste food? We never see stuff like that from WWX.

JYL here doesn't take JC's side. In fact, she doesn't take anyone's side, she just wants them to stop bickering. Again, it's possible to say that JC is in the wrong here and WWX is in the right, so her not taking a side means silent agreement with JC. But really, I just don't think it's that serious.

A few chapters later, during LWJ's visit to the Burial Mounds, Wen Qing carelessly sweeps away WWX's things to clear a seat for LWJ. WWX goes, "Hey!", and Wen Qing also doesn't take him seriously. But no one tries to point at her and go, "See, she doesn't respect WWX, and she never apologizes for that." It's banter. Later on, it stops being banter between WWX and JC, but at this point, it's just shenanigans.

Then, the incident with the dogs and the tree:

Seeing how worried he seemed, Wei WuXian took the initiative, “Relax. I won’t tell Uncle Jiang. I only hurt myself because I suddenly wanted to climb a tree last night.”

Hearing this, Jiang Cheng sighed in relief. He swore, “You can relax as well. Anytime I see a dog, I’ll chase it away for you!”

Seeing how the two finally made up with each other, Jiang YanLi cheered, “That’s the spirit.”

— ch. 71

She is happy because they made up and because this exchange seems like a tentative start to a friendship: "I'll cover for you" returned with "I'll protect you from your fears". Yes, JC used that fear against him in the first place — but he apologized and promised to make up for it. WWX falling from a tree wasn't directly JC's fault anyway; he didn't chase him up that tree and then push him down so that he'd get injured, he only told him to stay out of their room. It was a childish tantrum that led to unfortunate consequences. Not many children would willingly admit to a wrongdoing.

I also want to note that we don't actually learn WWX's leg was broken in this chapter. JYL says it isn't broken, it's probably not even fractured, and later on it's mentioned that the doctor cleaned and bandaged their injuries, but her assumption of his leg not being broken isn't refuted. We only get confirmation that it really was broken in chapter 87 when he shares this story with LWJ.

Finally, "JYL gets upset at WWX for breaking [JC's] arm".

Jiang YanLi, however, noticed [Wen Ning's] awkwardness. She asked him a couple of things and began to chat with Wen Ning outside. Wei WuXian and Jiang Cheng stood in the yard.

[...]

After he drank a mouthful, Jiang Cheng spoke, “How’s your wound from last time?”

Wei WuXian, “It healed a long time ago.”

Jiang Cheng, “Mn.” With a pause, he continued, “How many days?”

Wei WuXian, “Less than seven. I told you before. With Wen Qing, it was nothing difficult. But you really did fucking stab me.”

Jiang Cheng ate a piece of lotus root, “You were the one who smashed my arm first. You took seven days, while I had to hang my arm up for an entire month.”

Wei WuXian grinned, “How could it seem realistic if it wasn’t hard enough? It was your left hand anyways. It didn’t hinder you from writing. It takes a hundred days to heal a wound to the bone. It wouldn’t be too much even if you hung it up for three months.”

— ch. 75

So: she wasn't even present during that conversation. After this, they part ways.

JYL doesn't really seem to have much of a role in WWX's life apart from comforting him and being placed on a pedestal. She mostly comes off as lacking because of the obvious comparison to Wen Ning. Even though he is just as gentle, he also stands up for WWX during the golden core reveal and does it spectacularly. JYL wields her social position, Wen Ning wields his physically indestructible nature (JC lashes him with Zidian, but since Wen Ning is a corpse, he can just keep talking). The circumstances, however, are different. Wen Ning has years of resentment built up, both for himself and for WWX, but to JYL Jin Zixun is a non-entity. The golden core reveal takes place in private and whether Wen Ning keeps going or stops, it can't make things any worse, but the Phoenix Mountain scene is a public almost-scandal and had she insisted, it could've gone two ways: either people back down because WWX has someone in his corner (unlikely, because JYL is a woman and JC, his sect leader, isn't in his corner) and admit that he didn't break any hard rules, or they use this as further ammunition against him.

I think WWX was right in the falling-from-a-tree-into-LWJ's-arms scene: JYL wasn't strong enough, so could she have caught him?

[levinson-mannion]

Currently watching Call the Midwife Series 6 Episode 1 and ruining commentary will probably be added.

Under cut and for the first point calling all CTM Turnadette writers XD

1. Omg can you imagine if Sister Bernadette was still in the order and Sister Ursula was put in charge, even before her questioning. Can you imagine her questioning as well??? Please can someone write this as a fic.

2. On the subject of Sister Ursula the way she told Sister MJ hurt and I despise her.

3. SISTER URSULA KNEW THAT SHELAGH WAS PREGNANT. Or at least had strong suspicion, the comment on eating for two, she can’t if not meant any thing but a jab by it.

4. Sister Monica Joans little hitting of the duster on to the chair is both heartbreaking and sweet because of how much she cares at the same time.

5. Little Mickey is so cute.

6. From the first time I watched this I knew Leister was trouble.

7. SISTER URSULA TOOK THE TV AWAY I HATE HER MORE!!!!

8. Love Delia and the radio.

9. Ugh the party.

10. The worry when the lady seen Phyllis.

11. Tom is so enamoured.

12. The fact that CTM show a domestic abuse couple to me is perfect- showing what happens in real life and how anything can happen to anyone.

13. Also I will throw Leister in prison with ‘Dock road’ up where the sun don’t shine.

14. Mickey 🥺.

15. Favouritism shown by Phyllis to Sister Julienne, not that I am complaining- I would as well.

16. Sister Winifred and Shelagh’s conversation sends me into a fit of giggles every time 😂

17. And the face expressions from the two 😂

18. Not bloody boxing mate.

19. Not everything fine Barbra

20. You can not call yourself a father mate.

21. The panic in her eyes 🥺

22. Well he can't throw a good punch if he can't see and is scared.

23. Peter!!!!! :)

24. I mean, what Peter said is not helping but I still like him, he is just doing his job.

25. No Sister Ursula, you are killing the conversation not the television love.

26. Everyone's expressions says it all.

27. The company will never be enjoyed when you are around Sister Ursula.

28. The police really messed up their.

29. She stood up! Not the best decision but I love her for it.

30. Playing a game 😭

31. DON’T YOU DARE TALK TO SISTER MARY-CYNTHIA.

32. She's out!

33. Sister Juliennes ‘Hurry’.

34. Shut up Sister Ursula.

35. They seen the burns. The look of worry on Sister Mary-Cynthia's face in particular.

36. Dr Turner!!!! THE WAY HE TALKED ABOUT HIS KIDS LITTLE DOES HE KNOW HE IS GETTING ANOTHER I’M SQUEALING!!!

37. When she said church bells I thought of Carrie Underwood’s song Church Bells, which fits situation

38. Yet again, SHUT UP SISTER URSULA!!!

39. You go Sister Julienne! You go girl! She is an icon.

40. What the hell is Leister doing here. He can go to hell.

41. Shelagh 🥺 nothing else to say.

42. Tom marks everything.

43. Little insensitive Barbra.

44. Trudy is amazing- she is so brave!

45. You can see Dr Turner really wanted to kill Leister then

46. Sister Mary-Cynthia 🥺🥺 the PTSD is showing so badly 😭😭

47. The hug.

48. Shulienne moment 🥺 it's so serious BUT I WILL LOVE IT IN TWO SECONDS.

49. The sickness!!!!!

50. ‘Breakfasts have been impossible’ EKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!! I am grinning ear to ear.

51. The way the two understand each other and how happy Sister Julienne is for her- I mean the little ‘Breakfasts?’ I'm dying eeek!

52. She's the first to know 😭

53. Sister Julienne is so not afraid 😭 she is to happy.

54. She never stopped praying!

55. I KNOW HOW YOU ARE GOING TO TELL HIM!!!

56. You tell her Phyllis!

57. That mother is a pig.

58. Dr Turner and Sister Mary-Cynthia 🥺

59. Patsy’s letter omg.

60. Phyllis said that so aggressively I laughed but I shouldn't 😂

61. Oh no Patsy.

62. She is brave, so so brave.

63. I yet again say shut your mouth Sister Ursula!

64. North field! I mean it works.

65. IDIOT SISTER URSULA! You sent her away and I promise that won't help.

66. Unscheduled is one word for it.

67. Patsy and Delia is so cute.

68. Phyllis and Trudy!

69. A ring! 

70. The voice over!

71. Almost time for telling Patrick!

72. Angela watched Shelagh!!!!!!!!!! Also, if Laura can draw in real life I want to see

73. Special is the understatement if the century.

74. Yay for Trudy!

75. AHHHHH SHELAGH US ARRIVING I’M DYING

76. THEIR LOVE LANGUGE IS LETTERS AND NOTES

77. From me and someone else.

78. He opens it so fast 🥺

79. Please will you be/marry my day I'm crying 😭😭 their relationship is so pure

80. The smile and nod!!!!! 🥰

81. The spin and holding each other!!

82. The way she is wearing her Nurses uniform shows so much development. (I mean if you want to go further she was in her postulant clothes when she probably first read anything of his) She first read the letters in her Habit, she read the proposal in her new lay clothes, she did not really have a place at that point, then she signed Angels adoption papers in her housewife clothes, kind of stuck between jobs, and know she has a husband, a family at Nonnatus and a family which is expanding and a job- as in a nurse with full character development (well there is still more to come but whatever)

83. Phyllis wave is everything 😂