#humble woman but not casual lmao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

titan-fodder · 4 years ago

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Prima Vista Part IV

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Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao.

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings.

The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow.

The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway.

"Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!"

A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough.

"Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy."

"My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

"'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice.

Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you."

You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it.

"Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

"Didn't even notice," he reassures you.

Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen.

Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

"Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later.

"You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

"Uh, yeah. I could eat."

Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything.

"Sandwiches okay?"

Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth.

"Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich.

You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask.

He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days.

Mike isn't judging—not in the least—but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow.

After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer.

"It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free."

Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better.

You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie.

He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow.

"I can pick something else," he tells you quietly.

You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften.

"'S'fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be.

He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies.

"You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

"You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress.

Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep.

That's good. You could use a nap.

He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours.

But first.

As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf.

It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before.

The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses.

Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward.

They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother.

Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book.

Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole?

Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible.

It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on.

Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left.

The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album.

He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

"Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album."

Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"What's there to tell?"

Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth.

"It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books.

"Is it, though? Is it really?"

"I..."

Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language.

Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you.

It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

At least it makes sense now.

"I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it.

You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch.

Then, you flop back down on your pillows.

"So. Any questions, Zacharias?"

He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

"Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease.

"Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up.

"Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous.

"He left."

"Yeah."

And then he gets the full story.

Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

"Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom.

"He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick."

He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since.

"I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

"Were you ever close with him?"

You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him.

He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk.

"Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice.

Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him.

"I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies.

"Have you seen him since?"

You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction.

You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

"Anyway," he mimics.

"I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

"Is this why?"

"Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

"Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know.

Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months.

"So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

"For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

"Mm. I guess."

The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better.

Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster.

Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark.

When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest.

It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate.

You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth.

He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut.

Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer.

He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth.

Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you.

After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other.

He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now.

If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back.

He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself:

I love you. I love you, I love you.

You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day.

You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear.

Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it.

And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening.

The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail.

Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence.

Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can.

Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

“Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

“You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

“Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

“Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip.

“Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you.

“I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way.

You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done.

Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it.

Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock.

He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying.

Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger.

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books.

It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice.

Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town.

It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway.

Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder.

The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!"

Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles.

"It's fine. You can calm down."

You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused.

The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him.

"You're Zeke Jaeger."

He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players.

You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face.

"Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself.

"Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

Your stomach flips at the mention of him.

"We're not dating."

Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

"No. Just friends."

He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain.

"Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try.

He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

"I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

"Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

"I'll walk with you," he states more than offers.

Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.

But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen.

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does.

Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip.

Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

“You listening, sweetheart?”

Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

“No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

“That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

“It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor.

Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

“Yeah, okay.”

He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said.

What a fucking joke.

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside.

“You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

“Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

“Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

“Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.”

He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day.

And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece.

If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

What is happening to you?

“So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car.

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys.

“I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

“Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes.

“Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

“Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

“You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

“I—”

“It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him.

But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that.

“What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

“Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

“Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.”

God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

“Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

“What?”

“Come here.”

Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

“Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem.

“I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

“For some reason I don’t believe that.”

You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his.

He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth.

You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

“Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more.

And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

[ next ]

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #aot fanfiction #mels prima vista

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

Text

Sensate Focus

A bitch takes one Human Sexuality class and gets stuck on the fucking Sensate Focus bullshit then has to write a fic about it. Its me. I’m the bitch. 😂

Warnings: Geralt is self depriciating-whats new, insecure jask, insecure geralt, overwhelmed by touch, big vulnerability, they’re in couple’s therapy, so like, its a rocky relationship, we got some connection building and cuteness in the end too, its not all bad, mentions of sex, nudity but like not in a smutty way, for once I dont think i used a single swear word? I had big feels while writing it i really hope they translated lmao.

I am but a humble psych major, not an actual therapist, so plz don’t come at me if shit isn’t accurate. I tried my best.

Also this is under a cut for a reason, not just length. If you are easily triggered by touch starved type fics this is not for you. It gets emotionally heavy plz read with caution.

____________________________

“You want us to what?”

“Come on, Geralt. You said you’d try.”

“I- no. Just- why? What’s the point?”

Both Geralt and Jaskier turned to their therapist, each equally confused and a little scared.

The tiny woman kept her face completely impassive and answered his question, “The exercise helps people get out of their heads and reacquaint themselves with, not only being open with their partner, but also slowing down and enjoying touch for touch sake. Without being so focused on the end goal of sex or pleasing a partner, people can begin to refocus on the connection attachment theorists claim is the underlying motivation for sex without reproduction in the first place.”

Geralt swallowed hard. This was for him and he knew it. He’d said it himself, he was fucking terrified of failure and rejection and that absolutely extended to Jaskier. His husband. Of five years. Who’d been with him for ten. Logically it made no fucking sense, but the woman with the PhD had told him this was rather normal for a child of divorce as if he’d said he didn’t like horseradish sauce. He didn’t see how being scared of your spouse secretly hating you was normal in the slightest.

He glanced over at Jaskier who sat at the other end of the black leather sofa picking at his nails. When they’d gotten married they’d laze around all day just holding each other and talking. It was safe and sweet and Geralt couldn’t for the life of him remember how it was tainted.

“Alright,” he grunted, “What’re the rules again?”

The next afternoon they’d carved out an hour and a half with no distractions, no phones, not even any music to Jaskier’s dismay. Apparently that was against the ‘guidelines - not rules’.

They stood in their bedroom, lights dimmed and curtains drawn, as much for the ambiance as for the privacy. Geralt felt his stomach flip flop as he stepped out of his clothes, feeling a bit ridiculous. It’s not as if this was the first time they’d seen each other naked, but it was the first time they were to spend ‘as much time as necessary’ -whatever that meant- touching each other, one at a time.

Jaskier dropped his clothes in the laundry bin and stood with his arms crossed, almost like he was hiding, “Right. So… Do you want to go first? Maybe go over things again?”

“Do you want to go first?” Geralt asked, immediately drawing his bottom lip between his teeth to gnaw at the peeling skin.

“I just want to know why you look so scared, to be honest,” Jaskier breathed.

Geralt took a deep breath, reminding himself that he wasn’t the only one being vulnerable here, “Not scared. Just nervous.”

“Rules then?”

Geralt nodded, “No talking. No, uh, erogenous zones. No sex. No kissing. If you don’t like something or it’s a big turn on or it tickles, move the other person’s hand.” the weight in his chest lessened a little bit, this really was simple. Just touching Jask. Something he’d done a million times. Hell he might not even get anything out of it. He didn’t need to be so damned worried about things going wrong.

“If you get overwhelmed think about temperature and texture and how it feels. Don’t think about what the other person is thinking or feeling. The only bit that matters is moving their hand,” Jaskier added, his posture relaxing ever so slightly as he rocked up on his toes and back down.

Geralt stepped a little closer, holding out his pinky finger, “We don’t stay still if we don’t like something.” He said it more to reassure Jaskier than anything.

Jask hooked his pinky around Geralt’s and smiled, “No barreling through,” he agreed.

“Can I, uhm… go first?” Geralt kept their pinkies hooked together as he let their hands hang between them.

Jaskier looked surprised, but nodded fervently, “Of course!”

“Okay,” Geralt pulled his hand back and ran it through his hair before stepping a bit closer, hovering both of his hands over jaskier’s shoulders, “So I just-?”

Jaskier nodded and whispered, “No talking, love.”

Geralt let out an amused huff, the irony of the words bringing a soft smile to his face. He took a deep breath in and slowly let it out as he placed his hands over Jaskier’s arms.

Sensations. He could do this. He was doing this.

Jaskier’s arms were soft, both in texture and in feel, giving way to Geralt’s fingers ever so slightly when he squeezed. He trailed his hands down over Jaskier’s elbows, noting the patches of dry skin over the joints that Jask had been scandalized by in college. His forearms had more hair, but it was softer than Geralt’s, silky even, and nice to touch. Geralt trailed his fingers down Jaskier’s wrist and back up, watching as the little hairs stood on end but seemed to stick to the pads of his fingers as he moved past them. When he noticed the goosebumps he glanced up to Jaskier with mild panic in his eyes, worried he’d already fucked it up and made him uncomfortable. But his husband just nodded, a light smile on his lips.

Temperature. Back to task.

Geralt picked up Jaskier’s hand, holding it in one of his as he skimmed his fingers over his knuckles and calluses. His palms were warmer than the back of his hand and it seemed every spot where his skin had built up from use was just a tad colder than the thinner skin next to it.

He gently guided Jaskier’s hand back down and trailed his hand up his arm, ghosting his fingers over his collar bone. He thought about how much softer this skin was, and how it made the butterflies in his stomach go wild as he moved back and forth over the spot a few times. He liked the pleasant little pitfall of his stomach, not arousal but not unlike it, just a little higher in his abdomen and lighter. He moved his other hand to mirror his movement’s on Jaskier’s other shoulder, palms soon coming to rest over his chest almost on their own.

Geralt was so aware of his hands they almost felt numb. It made him think of one of those motor skills brain maps where it showed how much of your brain was devoted to moving which part of your body. Those huge chunks devoted to his hands must have been screaming.

Jaskier gasped as a bit of his chest hair got caught in Geralt’s ring as he swept his hands downward. Geralt gave him an apologetic look but just got a grin and slight shake of his head in return instead of the shock he expected.

Geralt continued, moving his hands in slow circles over Jaskier’s abdomen and hips and flanks, marveling at the warmth he felt not only under his hands but spreading through his chest. He let his hands rest above Jaskier’s hips, just at the bottom of his ribs and watched as his hands slowly moved apart and back together in time with Jaskier’s breath. It looked like such a small movement, but when he closed his eyes he felt like he was throwing his arms wide open. He tried matching his breathing to Jaskier’s, but that was close to overwhelming, so he moved on, refocusing on the texture and thickness of his chest hair as he moved up to his neck.

One of his hands stayed resting on Jaskier’s chest as his other brushed up the side of his neck with the backs of his fingers. Even with such light pressure he could feel the thick ropes of muscle and tendons under his skin. It was warmer over his pulse point and Geralt’s breath hitched when he felt the little thump of a heartbeat under his fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment, surprised to find himself taking a deep breath, not out of fear or frustration, but to sink into the feeling as much as he could. He counted the beats, making a note of how comforting the feeling was. The longer he held his fingers in place, the softer the beats became, until they leveled out to a soft and steady thrum.

When Geralt opened his eyes the beats picked up, matching the strange look on Jaskier’s face. Geralt moved his hand over his jaw and back a few times. He could almost hear the ridges of his fingerprints catching on Jaskier’s stubble as he traced over his upper lip.

He felt a soothing sense of familiarity when his fingers grazed along the outline of Jaskier’s lips. His body latched onto the feeling and he found himself starting to get watery eyes as he reacquainted himself with the thin pink skin. He remembered their first kiss and how much it scared him even though he craved it so completely. He remembered kissing Jaskier over and over and over when they’d finally said ‘i love you’ and dropped the casual pretense. He remembered their kiss at their wedding, soft, firm, and a little wet with happy tears.

An annoying voice that sounded an awful lot like their therapist sounded off in his head, “This is what I was trying to tell you, asshat. Focus on the positive.”

Geralt smiled despite the sharp tug behind his eyes that told him he might cry, and brushed his fingers up over the thin skin beneath Jaskier’s eyes, careful not to press hard enough to catch and pull at the blueish skin. He traced his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones and hollows, his chin, and his cupid’s bow, all with that same surprisingly pleasant near-tears feeling in his chest. He watched Jaskier’s eyes watching him as he carded one hand through his hair.

That was what did it, what made the tears start to dribble down his cheeks as his hands continued to gently comb through his husband’s hair. The look of wonder and relief he was met with was overwhelming. He felt a bit of guilt, sure. Guilt for letting things get as bad as they’d been, but he was overwhelmed by how much love he felt. It permeated his whole body and the air around him. He hadn’t even felt this in the beginning; this was a settled and sure feeling, not the frantic need he’d felt before.

Geralt pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes, sending a fresh wave of tears over his cheeks as he brushed his hands over Jaskier’s back. He traced his spine, counted every rib, and outlined his shoulder blades with the tips of his fingers.

Their fronts were pressed together, but technically it wasn’t against any rule, so neither of them moved back. Geralt’s hands moved to the dip in Jaskier’s hips, his thumbs brushing over the place where his skin creased when he sat and Jaskier wrapped his hands around his wrists. A warm puff of air washed over Geralt’s face as Jaskier breathed a small laugh and moved his hands up. Surprisingly enough, Geralt was only amused by being moved, filing the information away for later as he settled for measuring Jaskier’s breaths again, now leaning into the full body tingle he felt when they both exhaled.

He wanted to stay right there for hours, but he suddenly wanted Jaskier to touch him. More than that, he wanted Jaskier to feel like him. He gave his sides a gentle squeeze as he straightened up and rocked back a bit, making the smallest bit of space between them.

“Switch,” he whispered, the soft sound coming out like crunching gravel in the charged silence.

He let his hands fall to his sides as he opened his eyes, a little relieved to see he wasn’t the only one crying.

Jaskier immediately reached up to cup Geralt’s cheeks and brush the tears away. It was odd, having to stay still when Jask was right there, when he could still feel the echoes of the sensations in his hands. But he stayed put, if for nothing else than the look of cautious excitement Jaskier was wearing.

He wanted to tell him there was no need, that he would gladly spend the rest of the day standing in the dim light of their bedroom, silently taking turns softly caressing each other. But rules were rules.

Jaskier drew his hands a little closer together over his cheeks, making sure all the tears were smudged away with his thumbs as Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut. The warmth of his hands was soothing, especially when Jaskier slowly brushed his thumbs over Geralt’s eyelids. As Jaskier dragged his fingers over Geralt’s chin and brushed the backs of his fingers back up and over his cheeks, Geralt almost started to feel dizzy. He forced his eyes open and focused on watching Jaskier’s face.

His tongue stuck out between his lips as his hands fluttered down his nose and to his lips. A wistful smile graced his features as he brushed over the chapped skin, pulling his bottom lip down just enough so when he let go it popped when it jumped back up to meet his top lip. Geralt tried not to smile, wanting him to do it again, but raised an eyebrow. Jaskier openly grinned and popped his lip a few more times before smoothing his thumb over it. He tucked some hair behind Geralt’s ear and cupped his hands around the base of his neck, gently pressing his thumbs into the tense muscles.

A shiver ran down Geralt’s back as Jaskier brushed his hands out and over his shoulders, thumbing circles over the points where muscle just barely covered bone. Geralt watched his eyes, watched the little crows feet get deeper when he smiled and watched his brows lift up and together.

It occurred to him then that Jaskier might have been just as lonely as he was, that the exuberant extrovert he’d married wanted this as badly as he did. It truly never crossed his mind until he saw it written plain as day on Jaskier’s face; he wasn’t the only one with insecurities in their relationship.

Every bone in his body wanted to pick Jaskier up and crush him to his chest. The trails of goosebumps his fingers left over his skin made it even harder not to, but Jask was enjoying this. He’d even go so far as to say he was lost in it. Rules be damned, Geralt couldn’t take this away from him if he’d wanted to.

When Jaskier’s hands ghosted over his navel he shivered and let his eyes flutter closed. If he wasn’t going to break and move he should at least lean into it.

However, being held without expectations, without needing, or even being allowed, to do or say anything in return was beginning to seem overwhelming. How had Jaskier just stood there and watched him? How could anyone just stand and constantly be told with the light brush of someone else’s knuckles over their cheek that they were desired and cherished? When the hands pressed to his chest told him over and over that he was loved, what kind of escape was there?

One of Jaskier’s hands once again brushed his tears away and he leaned into it, lip trembling as he looked up at the ceiling trying to compose himself. Jaskier would have none of it, gently tilting his head down until their noses brushed and he was forced to look into his watery blue eyes.

He needed this. Geralt was terrified but Jaskier’s expression spoke of a yearning that ran so deep even he probably couldn’t put a name to it. Geralt licked his lips and offered a watery smile, feeling warm relief when Jaskier smiled back and ran his hands down his arms to rest behind his elbows. He squeezed the meat behind his arms, the tops of his forearms, the tendons in his wrist, making his fingers involuntarily curl. Geralt didn’t move, he barely breathed, as Jaskier watched his own hands roam over Geralt’s like he’d never seen anything like it.

When he stopped trying to run the sensation faded to a dull roar. Jaskier’s hands were warm and his breath across his skin was gentle. Geralt might even admit he felt a little bit worthy of the adoration in his husband’s eyes after a few minutes.

Jaskier’s touches were light in some places, firm and grounding in others. Like when he circled his arms around Geralt and pressed his palms into the small of his back, resting his forehead where his collar bones met. Geralt had no idea how something so simple could make him feel so weak. He knew it wasn’t entirely true, but it felt like the only thing holding him up was Jaskier’s touch. When he rocked back, even if it was only an inch or so, Geralt had to fight not to follow him.

Jaskier rested his hands over his ribs, just above his elbows, and stared into his eyes.

They’d agreed to say ‘end’ with their therapist. That’s what Geralt was waiting for. So when Jaskier whispered ‘enough’ and gave him a gentle squeeze it was all he could do to bite down on his lip and keep quiet. Of course he would say enough. The one word Geralt had struggled with from day one. Being enough always felt impossible, but he could begin to think of it as a bit more attainable standing in their dim bedroom without a sound in the world other than their breathing.

He nodded and they both picked up their notepads and scribbled down the notes they were supposed to. Geralt’s was just a list of words but he didn’t care, he filled most of the page and chucked it on the bedside table before tugging on his sweats.

When he looked up for Jaskier he found him staring at him, worry on his brow and pen hovering over what looked like a second nearly full page.

“Do you, maybe want some tea while you write?”

He licked his lips and nodded, adjusting the blanket wrapped around his shoulders before going back to frantically scratching words onto his page.

Geralt gently closed the door after him and took a deep shaky breath as he padded into their bright kitchen, running his hands through his hair. The kettle seemed to take forever with how fast his mind was racing, replaying every bit he could to lodge it in his memory.

Jaskier was just closing his notebook and setting it on top of his laptop when he opened the door with his foot, careful not to spill any hot liquid on the carpet.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered, taking his cup and sitting at the foot of the bed.

Geralt joined him and draped an arm over his blanket wrapped shoulders, “Of course.”

They slurped at their mugs in silence until Geralt was able to take a full sip without scalding the roof of his mouth.

Jaskier’s voice was soft as he spoke, the air from his words interrupting the steam drifting up from his mug, “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm,” Geralt leaned in just a hair.

“Why did you look up?” Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder as he asked and it took Geralt a moment to remember he was supposed to answer.

“I…” he took a deep breath to pull his words together before he mis-stepped, “You stood still and watched me, and looked happy… and I wanted to do that for you… but I started crying again and I-hm. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t want to be there-here. Wherever.”

One of Jaskier’s hands drifted from his mug to Geralt’s thigh, “I was just worried.”

“Didn’t translate, huh?” Geralt asked, giving him a light squeeze.

“Not quite,” Jaskier chirped, almost giggling.

Geralt hummed and pressed a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head, “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. Now I know.”

There were a few more moments of silence before Geralt chuckled, “I didn’t realize your hips were so ticklish.”

Jaskier snorted, an attempt at sipping his tea absolutely aborted to save a spill, “I’ve never been ticklish, Geralt.”

Geralt set his tea on his knee and tilted Jaskier’s chin up to look at him, suddenly concerned, “What didn’t you like about me touching your hips?”

Jaskier’s goofy smile turned a little sly, “Absolutely nothing. In fact,” he started, taking both their half finished teas and setting them on the window sill before turning to envelop Geralt in the blanket with him, pulling him down onto the bed, “I liked it a bit too much.”

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inkbyajm · 4 years ago

Text

Bottled Up

pairing: C.H. x fem!reader

category: angst, fluff

warnings: yelling, crying, insecurities

word count: 2.2k

notes: apologies for the tardy post, i wrote and rewrote and re-rewrote the whole angsty scene because i didn’t know if it was written well enough, i wanted to make sure you guys could feel the emotions that i vividly visualised and tried my best to put into words :( i did send it to a friend to check and she seemed to like it, so let me know how it goes for you, my loves. the angst for this one was inspired by 2 different songs - hold me while you wait by lewis capaldi and i will run from you by cemeteries. it’s not necessarily about the lyrics, but more about the melody and the mood you get into listening to them (they go in order). give those a listen :) also, beware of the upcoming philosophy references, i did study philosophy last year, hopefully no one gets triggered lmao

< previous next >

Is a person’s scent something a normal human being picks up on before taking into account the rest of their features? Would a normal human being remember said scent and be able to recognise it in a crowd full of strangers? Corpse wasn’t too sure about the answer, but one thing he did know, is that she smelled delicately sweet, like cherry blossoms, and that ever since he had noticed it during their game night a few weeks ago, he simply couldn’t let it go. It was intoxicating, but in a calming way.

━

Corpse and (Y/N) each lay on their beds in their own homes, going into the third hour of their call. He couldn’t exactly fall asleep, so he had decided to see what his dear friend was up to, and even though she was this close to succumbing to sleep, she said nothing and stayed up to keep his busy mind company.

“Okay, hot topic: what do you think about soulmates? More specifically the romantic type?” the girl asked, not knowing how much of a risqué question it was. How was he supposed to answer?

“I don’t really have an opinion on it. Why?”

“I read Symposium by Plato the other day and it presented an interesting concept about human beings. Basically-” Of course she fucking read philosophical books. How were they even having a conversation with each other? Why were they even friends? She was on a whole other level of smart. “-so this guy says that humans were like androgynous blobs, so they’d come in two sets of everything a normal person has. But those humans were so powerful, the gods were literally shaking in their robes, so Zeus decided to cut everyone into two to weaken them. But then humans became so miserable, they spent their entire lives searching for their other halves. In the end, Zeus kinda felt bad and said fuck it, I’ll give y’all dicks and vaginas for every time you wanna hug each other. And that’s the oldest explanation there is about the idea of soulmates.” she sighed, finished with her rant.

“That was...not at all the story I expected to hear.” she heard him mumble on the other side of the call. “Yeah, Greek philosophers were up to some reeal freaky things, you would have loved them,” he laughed at her joke, “I honestly think it’s cute. Not the whole cutting people into two thing, but like, longing for someone and then finding them because you finally feel complete. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong independent woman who doesn’t need a prince in shining whatever to sweep me off my feet. But it does sound nice, that ideal comfort, a person you’re just...meant to be with, I guess.”

There was a moment of silence that neither of them really minded, before it was Corpse’s turn to ask the second bold question of the night. “Have you found that person yet? Your soulmate?”

She’s never thought about it before, but she hasn’t really thought about soulmates that much either, it was a spontaneous thought she had said out loud. “I’m not sure, actually. (B/F/N) could be one, I guess.” (Y/N) shrugged in return. Wasn’t she going to ask him about it? She probably didn’t care that much. Understandable.

“My favourite quote about love is «You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly.». It’s by Sam Keen, the American philosopher. It maay be the hopeless romantic in me shining through, but I do very much agree with his statement.” Did this mean anyone could have a chance with her despite their fuckups? So if he were to try, would she-?

“Obviously, there are some things that just can’t be ignored or avoided, but at that point it’s preferences and personal tolerance. Depends on the person, ya know?” she swiftly added, unaware of the effect it had on him. Sick. Some people were just meant to rot alone.

The final question was posed by (Y/N). She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t at all curious. This little crush of hers had been steadily growing with every hang out, every laugh, every hug and every glance. There are rarely ever moments where one could casually discuss a topic this personal with friends, at least there weren’t with friends one had feelings for. This was the perfect opportunity.

“Corpse?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever been in love?” her voice was soft, her approach gentle.

“Well, I’ve been in relationships before, so I guess, yeah? It’s been so long, I don’t even know what love feels like anymore.” he let out a breath resembling a chuckle. Lamest fucking answer ever. But it was true. He hadn’t thought about love in that way in quite a while.

“A lot of people describe it as having an intense range of overwhelming feelings. Lightheadedness, slight shakiness, heart palpitations, some people have even reported losing their appetite. Crazy how human bodies work, huh? Oh! Speaking of chemicals-”

She had continued on to ramble about...chemistry? Eyes? Corpse couldn’t really hear what she was saying anymore, let alone concentrate on her words, as he pieced everything that’s been happening for the past few months together. The nauseating feeling. The pounding of his heart so fast it felt like he was about to die. The urge to make as little eye contact with her as possible, because otherwise he’d turn into a furnace. The obsession with her perfume, like he was some fucking creep. The fool was falling in love. And it was at that moment that everything had come crumbling down.

━

(Y/N) and Corpse hadn’t talked for a couple of weeks. Or rather (Y/N) messaged the 23 year old many times, but he’d either claim to be busy or just not answer at all. There were two possible reasons for the sudden lack of contact: he was indeed busy with his musical projects and couldn’t allow himself to be distracted; or something much more serious was going on. It didn’t matter, for she was already in her car, on her way to his apartment.

Arriving at her destination, she used the spare key he gave her months ago, a sign of absolute trust, and allowed herself into his humble abode. Silence reigned in her friend’s residence. She thought maybe he had gone somewhere, and though that was unlikely, it wasn’t unprecedented. The door to his recording room was closed, and while she was tempted to check if he was in there, she refrained from doing so, knowing that specific room was not to be entered unless he was around to give permission.

“Corpse?” she called out just to make sure. There was no response for a few minutes, which made her assume she had the place for herself, until she heard a door open behind her. Turning around, she saw his figure emerge from said recording room in a white t-shirt and black sweatpants, his curly hair disheveled.

“Hey, how are you d-”

“Why are you here?” he spoke flatly, interrupting her. “Well- You weren’t, um, answering your messages or any of my calls, so I thought something had happened.” she replied, suddenly nervous, fiddling with the rings on her fingers. “Nothing happened. I told you I was busy.”

The air around them seemed colder as tensions rose. (Y/N) could tell he was irritated, but she couldn’t exactly figure out why. She had never seen this side of him before. “Okay. Tell you what, I assume you haven’t had dinner yet, so why don’t I go ahead and start cooking something up while you-”

“Get out.”

She blinked a few times, not quite registering the words that had just left his mouth. “Sorry?” Her voice was quiet. She was taken off guard.

“Are you deaf? I said get. the fuck. OUT.”

Corpse shouted the last word, making her flinch in what appeared to be fear. Good. Run away while you still can. Heart pounding, (Y/N) took a second to remind herself whom she was speaking to. “I see that you’re angry, but at least give me a reason why-”

“You want a reason? I just don’t fucking WANT you here!” Anger grew inside of him like a tumor, but it wasn’t intended for her. She had simply been caught in a storm that had been building up for years. “Do you understand that?! I can’t fucking be around you without feeling like I’m going to EXPLODE.”

His words hit her like paintballs. They were only words, plain and simple, but they dug deeper and deeper into her skin with each hit, until, eventually, it broke. Eyes burning, she felt the tears slowly welling up in them.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” her own voice grew louder with frustration, but mostly, confusion.

“Maybe because I can? Because I’m a goddamn asshole?”

“Don’t say that.”

“How?! How can I not say it when it’s the truth!” He wanted to stop. His mind told him to cease whatever it was that he was doing. However, blinded with resentment towards himself, he only spilled words he would regret after it was too late.

“I can’t function like a normal fucking human being. I can’t be a good friend, son, or whatever the fuck else, and I sure as hell can’t love you.”

The paintballs had turned into a singular sword. A very long, very sharp sword that had found itself plunged deep inside her chest. How did he found out? When? Had she been too obvious? Had she been pushy? Clingy? Way out of line? The woman before him was unable to conceal her shock, as tears came rushing down her hot cheeks. Her voice brittle, she tried defending herself. She couldn’t leave it at that. She had to try. Try to have him see reason. “You don’t love me, that’s fine. But you didn’t have to deliver it this way-”

“But I did.” breathless with fury, Corpse clenched his fists so tight they had turned cold, yet they were still trembling. “You can get so naïve and dumb, you won’t understand things unless they’re spelled out nice and fucking bold for you.”

He closed with (Y/N) until their noses nearly touched. He noticed the way she silently shook, her eyes which shed endless tears never leaving his gaze. Unable to make a single sound, she felt the man’s hot breath on her face, his aura domineering.

“Now get. out.”

Her body wouldn’t cooperate as she just stood there. Staring back at him, her inner brows raised. Corpse wanted to hug her. Envelop her trembling figure with his and tell her he was sorry, that he meant none of it, that he had lost his mind. But he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. And with his own tears threatening to spill, he created a distance between them. He needed her gone.

“Leave! GO!”

His yelling was enough to jolt (Y/N) out of her trance, and, in a hurry, she sprinted towards the entrance. The door closed behind her, she felt a sudden urge to fill her lungs with much needed air. She jumped at the resounding scream that emanated from deep within his soul, letting out all of his pent-up rage.

Feet carrying her all the way to her car parked outside of the building, the young woman managed to climb in, and this was the queue for her body to break down. The night was young. The street empty. No one around to hear her long-lasting wailing. She clutched the steering wheel for support, fingers wrapping around the leather in a tight grip. A headache was creeping up from the back of her skull. Her ears pulsated in response to the heavy pounding of her heart. Clumsily, (Y/N) inserted the key into the ignition, felt around for the gear stick, and drove away. She didn’t know where she was going or how long it was going to take to get there. She needed to get out.

What went wrong? When did it go wrong? She couldn’t help but feel guilty, feel at fault. She had never seen that side of him before. He had never treated her that way before.

It was the hugs, wasn’t it? He had to have noticed the way she held on for a second too long to enjoy the smell of his cologne. Her vision blurred as she resumed softly weeping, her salty tears staining her top. Or it might have been the touchiness, she would practically glue herself to him during their movie nights. Unaware of both her actions and surroundings, (Y/N)’s breathing quickened, becoming ragged. Maybe he didn’t like the way she called him three times a week. Her hands were slowly losing control over the wheel, over the vehicle she was driving. She invaded his privacy. That was definitely it. Fuck. How could she have been so damn blind, selfish, ignorant, FUCKING STUPID.

Lights. Something was moving towards her- MOVE.

With a sharp turn, she dodged the approaching car just by a hair’s breadth, but as she had avoided one accident, another came just as quickly.

#corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse x you #corpse husband x you #corpse husband fic

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mx-ishikawa · 3 years ago

Text

Puppy

been a hot minute but I’m back with another GoeLight fic! I decided to do something a little different and wrote this fic from Goemon’s point of view, ish (it’s in third-person because I’d feel weird writing “I” from the perspective of someone else talking about myself LMAO). I wanted to finish this in time for my Lupinniversary on the first lmao, so uhh enjoy!

He wasn’t exactly looking for love when she came into his life.

When they had first met he was merely doing what he normally does; fighting this week’s enemies and saving an innocent person who got mixed up in the wrong business. Lupin was always pleased to find a “damsel in distress” to rescue, but it wasn’t in Goemon’s nature to take advantage of the situation like that. Perhaps it was just his morals, or perhaps it was because of his shyness around women. Whatever the reason, Goemon was much more humble when it came to rescuing people. It was simply part of his job, nothing special.

Light was different. She wasn’t exactly innocent in the traditional sense, but she was by no means a sultry woman either. Hell, she wasn’t even noticeably feminine. He could tell she was socially anxious by her speech patterns and body language, but she was the kind that talked too much instead of too little. She was awkward but aloof, stubbornly staying true to herself but more than willing to go wherever the wind took her in life. Perhaps the reason he was initially curious about her was because she was particularly shy around him, but much more casual around Lupin and Jigen. No, it wasn’t also because he thought she was cute. Nope, not at all, how could anyone be so brash as to assume such a ridiculous thing.

Okay, so maybe he did think she was kinda cute. But he never would have admitted it in the beginning. In fact, he didn’t even seem to recognize his feelings looking back. He couldn’t have pinpointed what exactly it was about her that drew him to her if he wanted to. He could only hypothesize on why she intrigued him so. And yet, that in itself was the exact reason he was so interested in her in the first place. She was honest, predictable even, sending a clear message on who she was, and still managed to have this mysterious charm about her, the kind that kept him guessing in an exciting way. He never met anyone who could pull off both without coming off as two-faced or untrustworthy. He found such a change of pace in companions refreshing. Relaxing, even. He could be himself around her without having to worry about her taking advantage of it. Hell, she was far too soft for that, the poor thing apologized to tables if she bumped into them out of second nature.

As a matter of fact, when it came to conflict or others’ feelings, she was what some would call a pushover. True, she generally didn’t like being told what to do, but the second someone raised their voice in even the slightest she was as compliant as a mindless slave. Goemon noticed this. Seeing her cower in fear at a stern tone, even when not directed at her, sent a pang through his heart. He knew that was hardly a normal reaction to people arguing amongst themselves in another room. She had to unfortunately have been through something. He dared not ask what; he knew she’d tell him and everyone else when she felt comfortable. In the meantime, he would feel a sense of protection over her in those moments. He remembered the first time Lupin and Jigen got into a less-than-light-hearted argument in her presence. She had at first attempted to keep the peace between them, but when neither of them listened and their debating became more intense, she fled the room looking as if she’d seen a ghost. He remembered her surprise when she realized he had followed her, the nearly relieved look in her eyes when he had wordlessly opened his arms inviting her in for a hug. The way she practically dove into him, holding onto him tightly with shaky breaths and a million unnecessary apologies.

She seemed more relaxed around him after that day, not that she was ever afraid of him or anything before but her initial shyness around him finally melted away. She could joke around with him just as she could with the others, though she still stammered and blushed in his presence. He remembered asking Lupin and Jigen why this might have been while Light was napping in the other room and being completely unprepared for the answer.

“She— I— a— wh— crush????” The poor man was nearly choking on his ramen while Lupin and Jigen laughed their asses off at his reaction.

“Easy with the ramen there buddy, I don’t think it’s worth dyin’ over,” Jigen teased.

“What, you don’t believe me?” Lupin sneered. “Goemon, man, ol’ pal, I know love when I see it, and Light’s totally got eyes for you, it’s so obvious.” A devilish grin that Goemon did not like the look of impishly stretched across Lupin’s mischievous face as he leaned in closer to his friend. “And judging by all that redness on your face, you clearly have the hots for her too~.”

WHAT.

He choked out a gasp of surprise, screwing his eyes shut and crossing his arms over his chest, gripping his sword. “Y-you’re ridiculous, Lupin.”

“You’re in love with her, you totally are!” Lupin was roaring with laughter, and even Jigen was cackling along with him.

“I’m sorry Goemon, but I’m with Lupin on this one, it’s friggin’ obvious, man.”

“I refuse to let either of you decide my own feelings for me,” Goemon huffed, standing up from his seat to finish his ramen somewhere else as the other two laughed at his embarrassment. Who the hell were they to tell him if he himself had a crush on someone or not? He was pretty sure he was capable of determining his own feelings as a grown man. He sat down at the nearest table. He repositioned his chopsticks back to continue eating. He thought about Light. More specifically Light having a crush on him. This wouldn’t be the first time someone admired him in such a way. Though in those previous situations, either they were much too young for him, or he simply didn’t return the affections. Sometimes he felt bad because most of his own admirers were perfectly nice people but the thought of them making advances in pursuit of his affections genuinely made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t describe. But, oddly enough, he didn’t feel bothered by Light seeing him in that way. Hell, it was kind of flattering. Maybe it was just because he’d actually gotten to know her more than past admirers… or maybe he really did have his own crush on her, too? He shook his head. Lupin was just messing with his head. He couldn’t let his companion’s teasing words get to him. Then again, he did recall catching himself looking at Light for a little too long a little too many times. Maybe he just liked admiring her features? Like one would stop to gaze at a painting. Yeah. He recalled the times where he’d catch her staring at him too, only for her to turn her head away the second she noticed that he noticed. It was cute, really. He’d catch her wistfully gazing at him like a puppy begging for some table scraps for only a split second, but the image never left his mind.

Now that he thought about it, she was much like a puppy in a lot of ways. Endlessly loyal, a little clueless at times, sometimes hyper, sometimes sleepy, always hungry and… cute. She wasn’t an intentionally cutesy person, but he found every little thing she did adorable- oh no.

Fuck. He did have feelings for her.

“Auurgh, what’cha doin’ over here Goemon?” Light’s sudden yawn from the doorway nearly made him jump out of his seat. “Oh shit, didn’t mean to scare ya!” she laughed. That laugh… it was so contagious that even he couldn’t help but crack a smile whenever he heard it. Son of a bitch.

“You did not scare me, I was merely… lost in thought.” That wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Oh okay good,” she chuckled as she plopped down opposite of him. “Must be damn good ramen.”

He shyly looked down at his bowl. “They taste well… would you like some?” Goemon what are you saying, you only have one pair of chopsticks!

“Aww you don’t have to…” But I want to.

“I insist.” Goemon took a small bundle of noodles between the chopsticks, and before he knew it, he was holding them directly in front of Light’s mouth. What the hell has gotten into him, now she was probably going to think he’s weird, argh. She stared at the ramen in surprise, hesitating. Was she blushing or were her cheeks always that pink? He felt his own face heat up as he watched her lean forward and gently take the noodles from his chopsticks. Any other time she’d wolf down her meals and food offered to her like a starving dog, but now she was taking such care in her eating, probably surprised by his offer. Her face lit up into a closed-mouth smile as she ate.

“Mmmmm… ya da’sh goo’ shet!” Goemon didn’t even care that Light was talking with her mouth full. Even that was adorable to him.

Yup, he had it bad.

Suddenly he was now the one to be shy around her, not that he wasn’t always shy around people but now that he’d faced the facts and accepted his feelings for her he had a lot more reason to be nervous. He’d blush and stammer whenever she spoke to him, worried he’d say or do something wrong. At first she didn’t seem to notice- after all, he was a man of few words- but after a while he could tell she’d caught on, though what she made of his change in demeanor was unclear. But she never rushed him, she’d wait and listen and reassure him to take his time. Which only made his heart flutter faster- how the hell was she so nice? She might have claimed to not be a patient person, but with other people he swore she could wait years for. And it wasn’t just him. He’d seen her help a drunken Lupin to the nearest place to purge his alcohol, care for Jigen’s upset stomach, let a distressed Zenigata cry on her shoulder, and even comfort Fujiko if she knew life was being unfair to the femme fatale. He admired her selflessness and was touched by her frequent donations of her share of loot to those in need. But she was not without sass and snark, frequently engaging in witty banter with others and not taking any shit from anyone. Anyone else might have been annoyed by her tendency to speak her mind, but Goemon rather liked that about her. Even if she didn’t mean to blurt out half the shit she said, he’d always listen to what she had to say. What he was not as fond of was Lupin and Jigen’s shit-eating grins and incessant teasing once they realized he’d accepted his heart’s desires. God, he hated when they were right.

There soon came a time where Goemon decided he wanted to make his feelings more known to her. He had the perfect idea for a custom gift, and he insisted on flying to Japan to have it specially made. It just so happened that a festival was being held in the area at around the same time, so everyone ended up joining him, and Light herself was the only one unaware of the real reason for their travels.

His gift was finished just in time for the festival. He stuffed it in a secret compartment of his kimono while everyone else slipped into their own. Fujiko was assisting Light in putting hers on as she’d never worn a proper kimono before, while the guys were just wrapping up with their own dressing. Goemon cringed when Lupin emerged wearing the most god-awful neon every-color atrocity he had ever seen in his life. He was going to attract many stares compared to Goemon himself, who was wearing a simple navy blue garment, and Jigen, in a classy silver yukata with the only abnormality being his signature fedora paired with it.

“Goemon, you sly dog, she’ll never see this coming~!” Lupin giggled.

“She might if she overhears your loud mouth,” Jigen grumbled.

The sound of sudden laughter from the other room made the three of them turn their heads toward its direction.

“From the sound of that, nothing will be overheard from either of them,” Goemon conjectured. The sound of Light’s boisterous laughter mingled with Fujiko’s breathy giggles was contagious, as the others found themselves chuckling soon after.

“It’s nice to hear them getting along for once,” Lupin swooned.

“You say that as if they argue frequently,” Goemon said. “Light is a very agreeable person, and even Fujiko is no exception to this.”

“What’s so friggin funny about putting on a kimono?” Jigen pondered.

“I nearly fell getting the damn thing on!” Light answered as she clumsily entered the room with Fujiko gracefully stepping by her side. Fujiko’s outfit was just as showy as Lupin’s but more traditionally so, sporting a flowery furisode and matching accessories, while Light donned a more modest green kimono with subtle floral patterning at the bottom and birds woven into the sleeves and near the collar. Lupin immediately swooned a “Fujicakes~!” and practically drooled over her as he usually did, but Goemon could not take his eyes off Light. He thought she looked so beautiful…

“These fucking shoes are so hard to walk in, how the hell did anybody pre-Meiji era manage?” Light stumbled around trying to figure out how to walk in her geta shoes.

“If you are having trouble, I am here for you to lean on.” Goemon offered out his arm.

“Aww, Goemon, you’re such a gentleman,” she swooned. He blushed as he felt her own arm hook around his.

“Are we ready to go, then?”

The air was chilly, but Light was comfortable in her layers and tucked underneath Goemon’s arm for extra warmth as the group strolled around and stopped at many vendors. Goemon himself was plenty warm, trying not to make his nervous sweating obvious. She didn’t even hesitate to lean herself against him and the sudden affectionate gesture kept his heart fluttering nonstop since. God, he did not want to screw this up…

“How are you two not cold??” an exasperated Light asked Lupin and Jigen.

“I’m a heat box and Lupin is too full of energy to be cold,” the gunman chuckled, pointing with his thumb to Lupin. The man’s kimono was practically falling open with all the running around he was doing. Light barked out a laugh that made Goemon feel rumbles in his own chest.

“Hey Lupin, why ya gotta talk to every chick you see when Fujiko’s right here?” “Yeah, what am I, chopped liver~?” Fujiko scoffed. Even Goemon couldn’t help but chuckle when Lupin’s expression dropped into one of annoyance.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” Lupin sneered before turning to some blonde tourist.

“We should just leave him here,” Light suggested as if it was the most normal thing to do, making everyone else laugh.

“Eh y’know what, I think it’s time for a beer,” Jigen said, before winking at Fujiko. She only took a second to realize what Jigen was getting at.

“Now that you mention it, I saw a vendor a little while back with a beautiful jewelry display, I’m gonna go take a look.” She returned a wink to Jigen. “You two behave~!”

“Yeah don’t make us bail your asses!” And in an instant, Light and Goemon were alone.

For a moment, the two of them remained silent as they continued to stroll and take in all the sights. Soon enough though, the sound of Light sniffing the air broke the silence. Goemon softly chuckled.

“You sound like a puppy dog when you do that.”

“I always sniff like a dog,” Light laughed. Goemon quietly cleared his throat. It was now or never.

“Umm, Light, uhh, now that we are alone, I… there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What?” He could tell she was nervous from the subtle way her body tensed.

“Don’t worry, it is nothing bad.”

“Oh thank god haha,” she exhaled. Goemon held out his hand.

“Come with me.”

He gently led her away from the crowd of people and underneath a lovely Japanese maple tree. The way she looked up and around at the crimson leaves in awe melted his heart.

“It’s so beautiful here~” she gasped.

“This is just one little tree. You should see a whole garden of them.”

“No, I mean this entire country. I’d only ever seen it in pictures before…”

There was a brief pause before Goemon cleared his throat again. “Speaking of beautiful…” He began fumbling around inside his shirt. “I know you’re not much for jewelry, but I figured you could wear this as a brooch or keep it inside your pocket or… anything you’d like.” He heard a soft gasp as he pulled out his gift: a necklace, with a nylon string and a squared emerald hanging from it.

“Is… is that-” “An emerald.” Goemon smiled. “One of the emeralds from when we first met, in fact.”

“I thought you sold all your share of those?”

“All but one.” He gently handed her his gift. “It was cut locally, by an old friend of my mother’s, in fact. He was shocked that I insisted on a string instead of a chain, but… I know you dislike the feeling of cold metal on your skin.”

“I hate it,” Light laughed. She smiled and slipped the necklace on. “It’s beautiful, thank you so much… I don’t know what to say, what the heck even is the occasion? Besides this festival anyway haha..”

“Well…” He swallowed thickly. This was it. He gently held her hands in his own. “I… ever since we met, there was something about you that just… captivated me, right from the start. I knew right away that there was something special about you. You are unlike anyone else I have ever met. Every day you bring joy to my life and a smile to my face. You always find a way to make me laugh, sometimes it’s not even on purpose. You’re like a puppy… adorable, endearing, precious, sweet… I want nothing more than to hold you, protect you, and to have you always by my side. And there is nothing in this world more beautiful than you…” He freed one hand to gently stroke her cheek, wiping a lone tear away. “What I am trying to say is… I love you.”

She hiccupped, letting the tears fall but with the sweetest smile upon her face. “Goemon…” She shakily reached up to cup his face, gently brushing against the corners of his lips. He smiled underneath her touch— he knew her actions spoke louder than words.

So he leaned in as their lips met for the first time.

#my writing #self ship #lupin iii #self shipping #goemon ishikawa xiii #self shipping community #goemon #selfship fic #f/o: Goemon #just when I needed to be lucky

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kirishwima · 5 years ago

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Don’t worry about us, please try not to stress out. I am only sending in this request merely due to it not leaving me alone. RFA+V, Unknown (cannot remember how to spell his name) reactions to MC in their wedding dress, what type of wedding will they have? Please do not mind and please study wisely.

ahh this is a cute and light-hearted idea :’) You speak of a wedding dress but refer to MC as they/them, so I’ll be writing for them as non-binary!

I’ll also add photos of what I think their wedding dress/suit would be bc....I have to, and because I have a whole pinterest board of wedding dresses saved from last summer when I was helping my sister plan her wedding orz :’)

YOOSUNG:

* When speaking of weddings, Yoosung’s always imagined the beautiful classics; standing at the altar, seeing the love of his life walk down the aisle dressed in the most gorgeous gown, his smile broadening at the sight of them.

* He himself wore a humble black suit, but with a baby blue bow-tie; reminiscing of his own innocence.

* He absoloutely had Zen help him pick out his suit; they took Seven along too but he kept insisting Yoosung should just wear a onesie instead lmao

* He did discuss with MC what they’d like to wear; when they said they wanted to wear a dress, he immediatly thought of classic puffy white dresses with lace and toule.

* Seeing MC walk towards him though, he couldn’t help how his jaw hung open, how his eyes widened. “Lucky you”, he heard Seven whisper, standing besides him as his best man.

* MC was like a princess, and he, their soon-to be prince. He took their hand as they reached the altar, kissing their knuckles with a wide smile. He’d ditched his glasses for the wedding, finally able to see better with the help of surgery, and he blessed each of his doctors for being able to witness the sight that was MC.

*Overall he’s just a tearful happy nugget, and 10/10 will choke with tears whilst saying his vows

ZEN:

* Despite what you may be thinking, he actually doesn’t dream of big fancy weddings and expensive venues. His ideal wedding would be something simple; a gathering of friends and loved ones, perhaps even by the beach, being able to stand besides the one he loves comfortably and proudly.

* He’s glad that he and MC are on the same page about that; even if he’s a celebrity, his humble approach to life never changed, and he wants their wedding to reflect that. So a wedding by the beach it is!

* It’s Zen we’re talking about, so even a potato sack would look flattering on him, so his choice of suits is endless. He’s classy but doesn’t like the plain old black suit, so instead he goes for something more summery, given their venue.

* I can really imagine him in a linen suit, ditching the tie for a more laid-back look, his hair tied into an intricate braid, even wearing one or two little white flowers at its end.

* He’d be just as awe-struck with how MC looks no matter what they’d wear, suit or dress, casual or formal. He’ll love them just as much if he sees them every morning in their pyjamas and bed hair, or in a gown and heels.

* Simple and elegant, and nicer than the summer breeze blowing through Zen’s hair, he had to bite his lip, blinking back tears threatening to fall at the thought he’s about to spend the rest of his life with his beloved. (Also he has to fight the Beast until later tonight and hoo boy is that a hassle or WHAT)

* All in all-he’s one happy hecking groom, and he can’t wait to tear that dress off of them the moment they’re in their private quarters lol

JAEHEE:

* Honestly...she didn’t see the point of holding a wedding at first. Did she fantasize about it as a little girl? Sure, she did. But as she got older and the thought of dating and family got further and further away from her, that childhood dream was put aside, stored in the repressed part of her brain.

* It’d been MC who proposed, and MC who began the planning for the wedding-they didn’t want Jaehee to feel burdened with organizing, but the more Jaehee worked to plan their wedding, the more she fell in love with the idea of this special day just for the two of them, and the more she fell in love with MC, seeing their hard work and adoration towards her.

* They didn’t want to have an all-out wedding like many couples do; just them, their families and the RFA, a little get together to celebrate a milestep of their life together.

* They had arrived at the dillema of; will we both wear suits? Dresses? Should one of us wear a suit and the other a dress? In the ned MC suggested they each decide on a look without telling the other, so it’ll be just as much of a surprise for each of them to see the other on their wedding day!

* Jaehee is a practical woman, yes, but we know that she’s not the strict short-haired lady she was whilst working with Jumin-she allows herself to explore femiminity more and more in her route, and I feel that’d be evident in her choice of a wedding gown-simple, yet elegant and chic.

* With her hair in a gorgeous loose bun, flowers adorning her head, her ring-finger soon to be decorated with a delicate ring she and MC chose together-she almost can’t believe the person looking back at her in the mirror is herself.

* Less so can she believe that the person she’s about to marry is soon walking towards her, a smile on their face as if they’re the lucky one to be marrying Jaehee when Jaehee stares wide-eyed at the beautiful person she’s eagerly waiting to spend the rest of her life with;

* Of course they’d choose a dress with pockets, she thinks with a roll of her eyes, if only to tease Jaehee about her own lack of pockets later on.

* They both can’t help but stare at each other as they meet at the altar, wide eyed with incredulous smiles. The preacher even has to cough politely to get their attention back to well, their wedding lmao

* It’s everything Jaehee could’ve wanted and then some.

JUMIN:

* Yeah yeah, it’s Jumin Han, the handsome man in a suit, and yeah he’s gonna have an all-out wedding alright-but only if that’s what MC wants.

* He honestly...doesn’t care what the ceremony will be like, who will be there or what they’ll say. He only cares about seeing MC’s ring finger adorned with a rind that has his surname engraved in it, a mark on them that says MC’s his, his and no one elses.

* Even if he wears suits on the daily, his wedding is no exception; he’ll wear a suit tialored to perfection, classic black and sleek, matching his raven-dark hair, slicked back for the occasion-he’d go to the ceremony in his pyjamas if he had to, so long as he’s able to call MC his spouse once the day’s over.

* He had given MC the absoloute liberty of choosing what to wear, with the only condition being they have the best tailors across the world work on their outfit, wanting it to be as unique and wonderful as MC themself.

* It was jarring at first, to have 5 or 6 professionals tug and probe at MC whilst working on their measurements and meeting up to discuss their style, but they figure that’s just how life with Jumin as their husband will be-extreme, sometimes awkward, but full of love and care; they could see it in his smile when they came home from their fitting, tired but happy as they snuggled up in his arms, him stroking their hair until they fell asleep.

* It’s hard to find a dress picture that I feel captures what MC’s dress would be, but I think the closest to it would be something like this;

* “The most befitting dress for royal beauty such as yours”, Jumin whispers to MC’s ear as they approach him at the altar, his smile small and private, for MC’s eyes only.

* Yet as he leans down to kiss them, completely ignoring the preacher waiting to start the ceremony, he whispers on their lips ‘I love you’, and MC knows from the bottom of their soul, that no matter what they wore, how they looked, Jumin would love them just as much. And they’re forevel grateful for that.

* p.s: Elizabeth the 3d is ABSOLOUTELY going to be the ring bearer, and she’ll have her own little dress appropriate for the occasion, fight me on this.

SEVEN/LUCIEL/SAEYOUNG:

* Y’all....tease him about the ‘let’s get married at the space station’ bit all you want, but this boy DREAMS of a wedding, a family and happy life for so long, you can never convince me he doesn’t go all out for his wedding.

* A beautiful, flower-covered venue? Check. Tailored, custom-made suit? Check. Planning everything to the most minute detail? YES. He’ll run himself dry working on creating the perfect wedding, it’ll take some convincing from MC to tone it down lmao.

* He’ll still insist on inviting absurd guests just like he did with the RFA parties, but in all honesty, he just wants MC besides him, Saeran and Yoosung next to him as hie best men (yes he can have both of them shush), the rest of the RFA there to congratulate him and MC on their special day; the people he loves, to celebrate the day of uniting with his one true love, that’s all Saeyoung wants.

* To be able to say ‘I love you MC’, and to have MC tell him ‘I love you, Saeyoung’-to formally and completely leave the life of 707 behind, to have his brother hug him, congratulate him on his wedding-this is all more than enough to make Saeyoung cry happy tears, pushing his palms on his eyes as he laughs and cries at the same time, letting MC hug him to help him calm down.

* While he does dream of a classic classy wedding, he loves the colour red a little too much, so he’d try and sneak it in there, be it in a vest or bow tie lol (he’d absoloutely wear a bow tie instead of a tie, and he’d be allowed one (1) doctor who joke for the duration of the ceremony lmao)

* ((also....not relevant to the wedding itself, but his marriage proposal would absoloutely be at a planetarium, js))

* As for MC...they’d spent nights on the couch together, eating chips and wondering what they’d each wear on the day of their wedding. They ended up taking Jaehee and some more of their friends with them when looking for a dress, as much as Saeyoung pouted and asked to tag along.

* It was worth it to keep him in the dark though; his big wide eyes as MC walked towards him, how he had to bite his lip to stop giggling like a fool, he was jumping up and down at the altar, giggling behind his hands as he mumbled ‘oh my god oh my god oh my god allah and buddha!’.

* “Holy shit” he whispered to himself, earning a stern gaze from the preacher, his brother groaning in the background. MC took it as a compliment though, smiling up at him as they stood across him.

* This boy....will cry real ugly snort filled tears at his wedding vows, I guarantee it.

V/JIHYUN:

* BOHO WEDDING BOHO WEDDING BOHO WEDDING

* Like hello??? Have you seen this hippie-ass man at the end of his route?? He’ll be so happy with a marriage ceremony in the forest, in a little church that looks almost abandoned in its little spot at the edge of the woods, in a little city no one knew before V brought it up.

* He’d love to help decorate and renovate the church for their wedding, using funds taken from a painting collection he did featuring the very forest the church sits besides.

* (I can also totally picture their wedding taking place in a botanical garden/greenhouse, if you’d rather skip the church option! Just surrounded by plants and nature :D)

* Even if it’s not a boho wedding though-just being able to spend the rest of his life besides MC, the person that truly taught him what love is, that’s all handsome mint boy needs.

* Honestly...he’s extra enough to be the kind of guy that ditches the shirt, so I can imagine him wearing something like the following, but in a darker colour;

* As for MC....yeah I’m gonna add my personal favorite here bc bOHO WEDDING DRESSES ARE GORGEOUS AND MC WOULD LOOK LIKE A FAE APPEARING THROUGH THE WOODS AND JIHYUN WOULD ABSOLOUTELY GASP AT THE SIGHT OF THEM, WIPING AWAY A STRAY TEAR AS HE KISSES THEIR FOREHEAD WHEN THEY REACH HIM AT THE ALTAR, SAYING A QUIET ‘THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU’ ONLY MC CAN HEAR.

((something with a little simpler bust, but the puffy sleeves,,,flowy dress,,,the line cut that’s honestly so charming on any figure,,,fight me this is the cutest kind of dress))

UNKNOWN/SAERAN:

* He’d really want a small, closed wedding just for him, MC, and the RFA sure, why not (he’s kidding, he’s grown really fond of them all but he refuses to openly admit it)

* If MC suggests they hold their ceremony at a greenhouse he’ll be over the moon; he’ll personally visit the greenhouse and make sure all the flowers are in tip top condition for their wedding.

* For his own suit, he’d like to keep things simple, maybe even ditching the whole suit and tie thing;

* I really imagine him with a suit similar to this, but ditching the vest , with flowers pinned to his blazer that he looks fondly at, knowing MC will be holding a bouquet just like these, ones he himself picked out with all his love and care, removing each thorn to make sure nothing can harm their hands as they hold the bouquet.

* As MC walks towards him through the greenhouse his breath shudders, any words he may have had dying in his throat; MC looks ethereally beautiful and he’s out of words as they come to stand in front of him, his lips trembling.

* Is this person really his? The one he’ll be able to hold, to love for as long as he lives? He shakingly takes MC’s hand in his, giving them a tight squeeze as he smiles.

* “In sickness and in health” he whispers, smiles as MC says it back.

* In sickness and in health.

-Send me mystic messenger headcanons for character reactions-

#this honestly took way more time than it'd take to make a usual headcanon post #bc i took so much time looking for photos orz #still this was cute and easy to write given my circumstances #hope ya like it!#asks #mystic messenger #mysme #mystic messenger headcanons #mysme headcanons #mystic messenger prompts #mysme prompts #yoosung kim #hyun ryu #jumin han #jaehee kang #saeyoung choi #luciel choi #jihyun kim #Anonymous

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illfoandillfie · 4 years ago

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ok sorry but how many people do yall think rog has ever slept with cos i’m guessing four figures no lie

okay, i don’t normally respond to messages like this because, frankly, i dont really feel like its my place to speculate on roger’s sex life. Theres a difference between writing a fiction story with a character named after and inspired by him and discussing his actual personal life which i have no real knowledge about. What he gets up to in his free time is between him and the women he does it with. but i didn’t really feel able to ignore this one. please don’t take this as me telling you off or shutting you down or anything like that. If you want to speculate about roger’s body count thats up to you, go nuts with it. and i love when you guys message me and I don’t want to discourage you from feeling like you can talk to me or just send me your random thoughts or whatever about any subject. But I feel like I need to address why I disagree with this sentiment. Also so I can ask ya’ll to please stop asking me questions like this.

So firstly, just to get this out of the way. 1000 is a lot. even 100 is a lot. I think if rog had slept with 1000+ people he’d have a least a few illegitimate kids and probably would have been checked into rehab for sex addiction (not to mention STIs and such because lbr people in the 70s specifically probs werent the most careful especially if drugs were involved). I mean even if we were going to say Rog got lucky with a different woman after every show we wouldn’t reach 1000. According to google, Queen played around 700 shows in their entire career. If we add shows played by The Cross thats only another 67 odd shows (according to wikipedia).

now, i think there are 3 things that contribute to this idea of roger as especially promiscuous. 1. His attitude/demeanour/general way he sells himself. 2. the generally held conceptions about rock stars and rock star behaviour. and 3. what i’m going to call fandom dumbassery (but i mean that with a lot of love)

So lets start with the man himself. Roger Taylor is loud and opinionated and not particularly humble. He knows he’s talented and attractive though for at least some time he was a little self-conscious about how feminine he looked. He’s always up for a laugh, likes to party and has admitted to enjoying his drink and his women. He’s had kids with two different women, who’s relationships “overlapped”, and is currently married to a third. At least that’s the perception we can gleam from his interviews, behind the scenes videos, and other public appearances.

It’s easy to see how that image leads to accusations of being a womaniser and a cheater and basically a bit of a slut lmao. But here’s the thing. I think Roger, in part, markets himself that way. The thing is, if you look at his solo songs and the relationships he currently has with his kids and their mothers, and things other people have said about him/his relationships over the years, I think it’s fair to say he also has a bit of a romantic streak maybe? idk if thats the best way of describing it...he’s self confessed to not being a fan of marriage and the like but he’s not opposed to writing and singing love songs and seems to believe in ~love~ as a concept/power. He certainly cares deeply for those closest to him. Whether or not that translates to an agreement with monogamy I can’t say for certain. It’s hard to draw conclusions here because a lot of what we know of his personal life was fed to us through magazines and news paper gossip column articles and they were never looking for the truth, they were looking for scandal and sensationalism.

For instance the whole thing with the overlapping relationships. I think most people who have read anything about roger and dom and debbie realise that it’s not as cut and dry as “he was cheating with debbie and left dom for her” even though that was the story being sold by the press at the time. The reality (or at least the version closer to reality since obviously no one outside of them and whoever they were closest with knows all the nitty gritty details) is that rog and dom had already split when they got married. it was a marriage of convenience to make sure her and the kids would be looked after financially etc even after he’d moved out. So while it looked to the public like he married one chick and 30 odd days later was spotted with another, there really wasn’t anything untoward happening. I’m not saying he never had casual hookups or one night stands and i’m not saying he never cheated, but I do think some of it’s been exaggerated, whether by him to encourage the rock star perception or by newspaper/magazine articles.

Now, obviously, we have stories of rog, particularly in the late 60s and into the 70s, being with multiple women. There’s that bit in the Interview with a Queen “Groupie” (which is a fantastic read and i defs recommend checking it out if you havent already) where she talks about roger being a chick magnet and says that, at the time, it was pretty common to sleep about. But, she also says she didnt notice him doing it more or less than anyone else and seemed to mostly be with Jo (his girlfriend at the time). This is the same Jo that got a mention in the Queen in 3D book (”i think we all had the feeling that these two were together for life, but it was not to be”). Conversely, we have that quote (which i cannot find rn but i’ll link it when i do) about roger sometimes having one girl upstairs while another waited in the garage for them to be finished. I think it was about Rog in the mid-late 60s in Truro but whatever. Obviously he wasn’t anywhere near celibate and it’s likely was sleeping with people outside of his relationship(s). But one has to assume that as he got older those kinds of antics stopped happening, at least as frequently.

There is one potential story that I remember reading somewhere along the way about Roger cheating on Debbie while she was pregnant. But, take that with a grain of salt because I can’t find the article again and also I think it was from like The Sun or something equally as rubbish. The press was notoriously always printing mean shit about the boys and that might have been another thing they published to create scandal. Even so, if we assume it’s legit that is still only 1 story. Not to throw him under the bus but Brian is the one with multiple confirmed affairs, who literally wrote songs about it all. So why is Roger the one with sleazy reputation?

This is where my second and third points come in. There is a pervasive idea about what it means to be a rock star. The whole trashing hotel rooms, sleeping with groupies, passing out drunk every night thing. And I’m sure that Queen was like that to an extent. I think it’s pretty common knowledge that all of them got up to shit on the road. Between innuendo laden interviews and songs, videos and accounts of their parties, stories CT has put online, and other stories like the one of Roger bringing out lines of coke as dessert when he was having dinner with motley crue. They definitely embraced the rock and roll lifestyle. And I think with Roger’s personality being what it is, it’s easy to link him to those traditional rock star tropes and say it was all true all the time. I also think Roger has done nothing to counter those beliefs. He’s been open about how he wanted to be a rock star since the minute he picked up a guitar, he’s labelled himself as a great lay in magazines, he’s joked about girls pulling their tits out over dinner in interviews (though he said he didnt take her home), he’s written songs like One Night Stand and Dirty Mind and Airheads which explicitly mention his preference for women and alcohol. I think it’s fair to say he’s kind of encouraged that view of himself. Whether it was just a side effect of being part of such a well known band and having such a boisterous demeanour/personality, or whether it was intentional as a version of promotion i don’t know. maybe a mix of them? I mean I’m sure it didn’t hurt sales and stuff. it’s the whole guys want to be him, girls want to be with him thing, right? Maybe that’s just me being cynical though lmao.

Anyway, the fandom brain has taken all of that and compressed it into memes and jokes about rog being the band slut. Which i’m not complaining about, lord knows i’ve made the same jokes and reblogged the same posts and used those tropes in my fics. They’re funny and lend themselves to interesting fic concepts. Plus, i think roger is the sort of person who would probably laugh about most of it. But it’s an idea that keeps feeding into itself through fandom, perpetuating what is probably a misguided view of his personal life.

Again, I am sure he’s had his fair share of fun and I’m not trying to make out that he was always perfect or whatever, but I don’t think he’s been with as many women as the popular discourse would imply and I certainly don’t think he’s in the 4 digit numbers.

#i7558vjvug #please god dont let this start anything #im just here to write smut and have a good time

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eviefms · 4 years ago

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( 23 , cisfemale, she / her ) ✉ ― hey babes, have you met EVANGELINE ' EVIE ' KANG. they’re vacationing here, a few villas down from where you’re staying. you might hear SEX BY THE 1975 playing from their villa, it’s their favourite song. yes, they hear that they look like PARK CHAEYOUNG ( ROSÉ ) alot, actually - it’s really uncanny. their friends back home in PARIS , FRANCE say that if they were on a tv show, their trope would be GOOD BAD GIRL , how funny is that? ✎ mia , 23 , she / her, gmt -3.

hello , everyone !! it’s super nice to meet you all , i’m mia ( 23 , brt ) & i’m here to write miss evangeline “ evie ” kang , a girl originally from paris & who spends endless summer vacations at the riviera villas . you can find her profile clicking 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 & her wanted connections 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 !!! for the lazy ones ( not judging you though ) , a tl;dr is right below the cut .

( !! ) template is not mine .

* BASICS .

name : evangeline bomi kang . nickname : evie . place of birth : paris , france . date of birth : september 22 , 1997 . occupation : wedding planner / camgirl . ethnicity : korean . sexuality : heterosexual bisexual . relationship status : single . social status : upper class . family : father ( businessman , investor ) ; mother ( housewife ) .

* PERSONALITY .

evie is very charming and friendly . it’s very easy to talk to her and open up to her as she’ll always listen to anyone ( which can be good and bad ) .

she always looks like she’s having a good time , even when she’s working her ass off or juggling 300 activities at once .

as someone who comes from a wealthy family , she can be spoiled and manipulative once she sets a goal . she’ll do anything to achieve her goals .

can act as daddy’s little girl when it’s convenient , pulling a ‘ do you know who i am ? ’ card , but she’s usually more low profile than that .

if you’re evie’s friend , she’ll die for you . when you gain her trust , she’ll be loyal to you until the very end . she’s the friend who stands for the ones she loves .

she’s very h*rny and k*nky . this would be a useless detail if it wasn’t for the fact that she’s secretly a camgirl . so well , if you and evie hooked up , you probably know what she’s into kink - wise .

she can be spoiled , but she’s also humble and doesn’t brag about her parents having money and luxury .

wherever she walks , she manages to turn heads . as someone from korean heritage , she’s never seen herself as an attractive woman , but french folks seem to disagree .

flirts nonstop , to a point that she’s wondered if it’s pathological . doesn’t like commitments , but loves casual romantic involvement .

* BACKGROUND .

evie is the one and only daughter of a couple of south korean immigrants who made their life in paris . currently , her father is a businessman / investor and her mother is a housewife .

the kang family started from the bottom and made their way to the top , and that’s a value they taught to their daughter . evie grew up in a strict environment , with high expectations for her future .

she was provided the best education a child in paris can receive . best schools , best clothes , private tutors , everything . however , the price was also high as her parents made sure she was flawless .

still , her parents spoiled her to death . showering herw with all kinds of gifts , expensive trips and everything money could buy .

as an asian - american child among western kids , she always felt slightly left out . she wasn’t represented and she didn’t quite belong there . the cultural differences made her very aware of the hardships of immigrants in a new country . she’s always been very vocal about xenophobia and other racial injustices , not only to asians , but all ethnicities .

as the riviera villas in saint - tropez was one of her father’s most successful investments , it became a family tradition to spend every summer in the resort . therefore , evie has become a very familiar face among guests and employees , with the nickname of the riviera’s princess .

her parents didn’t agree with her wish to become a wedding planner and they made an agreement . she would go to business school and eventually take over her father’s investment company , whenever he decides to retire . meanwhile , she could b a wedding planner .

currently , she owns a small wedding planning business which specializes in luxury weddings for the elite . people from all over the world come to her as she’s become quite known in the business .

lately , she’s noticed an increasing interest in beach weddings , so of course she had to recomment saint - tropez .

* WANTED CONNECTIONS .

childhood or long - term friends ;

bad influences ;

ex ( es ) ;

fake friends ;

real friends lmao ;

fwb ;

enemies / rivals ;

there’s a lot more here !!!

#* 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 . ( mia speaking. )#villasintro

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

Note

12) ‘things you said when you thought I was asleep’ w John x Ell 🥺

u know what jess? i was gonna say sorry about the fact that this is primarily john being horny and that i slapped that request right at the end, but u brought this on urself!!!

set ancient names adjacent, not that it matters too much--there’s hardly any plot in here lmao.

explicit sexual content under the cut, along with some softness. but mostly 2.1k words of john being a ho and liking when el lets him take the lead. (ꈍᴗꈍ)✧･ﾟ

send me a prompt + a couple and i’ll procrastinate with a oneshot or blurb!

John liked to talk.

A lot.

It was one of his more endearing qualities. And frustrating ones too, all things considered; but it was a good way for Elliot to gauge what was going on in his head. John tended to talk for a plethora of reasons; including, but not limited to, lying, getting caught in a lie, trying to be charming, trying to be threatening—trading verbal blows was an Olympic past time for John.

“—and anyway, I think that the insinuation you wouldn’t let me fuck you if we met before this is categorically wrong,” he said, trailing after her into the bunkhouse. “After all, I just about snagged you, didn’t I? At the bar?”

“I thought you were handsome,” Elliot replied tiredly. “That was before you opened your mouth.”

“Actually,” John clarified, “if you’ll recall, you were very much interested until you were spirited away. Now, I can’t account for what things might have been said about me to have dissuaded you from being interested in me—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” she asked, turning to look at him. He grinned, wolfish, but she crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I’m serious, John. Do you ever shut the fuck up for like, even a minute? Have you tried it? It’s really cool.”

“Hm.” He didn’t sound impressed. He uncrossed her arms, having closed the bunkhouse door behind them, and leaned in to kiss her; she tilted back just out of reach.

“Answer the question.”

“I’m a lawyer, hellcat,” he replied, eyes glittering with amusement. “Why on earth would I ever stop talking?”

She rolled her eyes. “A real estate attorney.”

“I still had to go to school for it!” John exclaimed. He regarded her for a moment before he slid his arms around her waist and tugged her close. “Besides, you know what talking a lot has gotten me that being quiet wouldn't have?”

Elliot didn’t bite—not right away—because she had an idea of where it was going. John just absolutely couldn’t resist the opportunity to tout some kind of skill that he thought he’d garnered and that clearly no one else could commit themselves to as well as he, and she was the last person who wanted to feed that ego of his.

“Elliot,” he murmured after only a second had passed, and he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the slope of her neck, “do you—”

“Fucking Christ, what, John? What insurmountable skill have you gained from talking so much? Aside from making me want to pull my own eyeballs out, of course.”

She could feel him grin against her neck, hands splaying against her spine—and against her better judgment, Elliot leaned a little into the touch, the feeling of his mouth skimming down her neck enough to making her spine prickle with a wicked kind of anticipation.

“It means I’m really good with my mouth,” he told her, voice silky. Instantly, she felt heat crawl up into her face; he continued, quite satisfied with himself, “Should I give a hands-on example?”

Elliot cleared her throat. Yes, her body said, instantly; and even when she didn’t respond, John was already nudging her back against the bed, fingers deftly undoing the button of her jeans just as he slid to his knees on the floor, nestled between her legs. It was insidious, how someone could be so handsome like that. In a position of serving.

“Your Honor,” John rumbled playfully, “I am but a humble real estate attorney—”

His fingers tugged her jeans down, and propped up on her elbows as she was, she could see—and feel—the way he dragged his mouth along the exposed skin of her abdomen and down down down. “John—”

“—but please, allow me to redirect your attention,” he continued, completely disposing of her jeans and underwear and pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, then inside of her thigh, then the crux of her hip, “to Exhibit A.”

Elliot opened her mouth to tell him this wasn’t necessary, that she knew he was good with his mouth—but by the time she’d started formulating her counter-argument, John had pressed his mouth to her; hot, and hungry, and he moaned into her the second he did like he’d just been waiting this whole fucking time for it. He gripped her hips as he flattened his tongue against her, and then he looked up at her—smug and relentless and impatient for her and oh so fucking good.

Arrogant fuckhead, she wanted to say, you think you’re so fucking good, but you’re not, you’re just—

“Oh,” is what she said instead of all of the other things her brain was firing off now; things like so fucking good and please, please don’t stop, and the single word left her in an exhale that caught halfway into a whimper. His movements slowed, and instinctively Elliot tried to shift—her traitorous body thought only to try and garner more friction, heat rushing through her and all of the blood roaring in her ears and her body tensing when he slid his tongue against the most sensitive part of her.

“Needy,” John murmured pleasantly. Already, heat writhed and twisted in the pit of her stomach; already, her fingers knotted in John’s hair and she wanted to say wait, wait, not so fast, and John—ever so well-fucking-versed at reading her body language—pulled his mouth away from her just before she could unravel. His tongue peeked out, swiping over his bottom lip, like he just couldn’t get enough of the taste of her, and she felt a bone-marrow-deep ache in her body for him.

“You taste so good,” John purred. “And you look so—”

“John,” Elliot managed out, her voice unsteady, “if you don’t put your mouth back on me, I fucking swear—”

“Spoiled,” he interjected playfully. “Something you want? Just tell me where you like my mouth.”

Briefly, Elliot considered the logistics of murder. “Yes,” she ground out, “John, please stop talking, I—” Fucker. “—want your mouth on me, please—”

It felt like she was rambling now; but it didn't matter, because John did her the mercy of pushing two fingers into her, beckoning them in time with the movement of his tongue against her, and she made a sound that might have been a cry if it didn't feel so fucking good.

“Fuck, I—” He almost faltered for a second, and then plunged on seamlessly, “—love the way you look at me.” He ground out a low, hungry noise against her, eyes blown dark with want fixed on her own. “So sweet, aren't you, hellcat? Just for me—”

Elliot sighed her agreement, lashes fluttering at the feeling. He leaned back into her, tongue flicking and dragging wet, hot pleasure with it, his gaze half-lidded and fixed on her. The sound that came out of her was treacherous—beyond reproach, certainly, for a woman who didn’t want John to know the things that he did to her, but she couldn’t help it; the moan slipped out before she could stop it, and it sounded a lot like his name, and—

And that was fine. That would have to be fine, because John groaned against her and sighed, “Come on, El, don’t you want to come for me? Don’t you want to be so fucking good for me?” and she about came unraveled.

Well, about wasn’t the correct terminology for it. She did come unraveled, sighing his name when white-hot pleasure thundered through her body as the blood went roaring through her ears, and for a second the entire world went silent otherwise; John grinned at her from between her legs, dragging his thumb along his lower lip and dipping it into his mouth for another taste.

Stupid, infuriating, narcissist, she thought, watching the gesture and feeling a little starved even in the wake of her own pleasure—but a part of Elliot liked it, a big part, that a man felt hungry for her. This man in particular.

“So anyway,” he said casually, “that’s a benefit of talking all the time.”

Elliot’s hand slid to the back of his neck, tugging until he obliged her and was climbing onto the bed over her. She kissed him; and she could taste herself in the kiss, too, but she could only spare that a passing thought before John was pushing her shirt up.

“Should use your mouth for that,” she managed out breathlessly into the kiss, “more often than you do for talking.”

“I’ve got a couple of other talents I could make a case for,” he suggested in a pleasant rumble. His teeth caught her lower lip with only a light sting. “If you’ve got the time.”

She did have the time, whether she liked it or not, and that meant that by the time she was falling asleep that night her body ached pleasantly just about everywhere; a chilly breeze crept through the window that she’d opened the tiniest amount, and she was halfway to sleep when John stirred.

“El? You awake?”

He said her name against the back of her neck, fingers tracing the scars that he had spent every chance he had memorizing over and over. She stifled a sigh and kept her eyes shut; crammed onto the tiny bunk because John insisted on sleeping with her, it was almost impossible for her to get any actual sleep as it was, not accounting for John wanting to have a witching hour chit-chat.

It was dark—too dark for him to see if her eyes were open, anyway—and she shifted a little. John’s mouth skimmed the slope of her shoulder; his breath fanned silky and warm against her skin, and she felt the flutter of his lashes. The gesture of it was a little painful, if she thought about it too much: John, touching and holding like he was afraid she’d fold up and disappear if he let go of her, and maybe—

Maybe, if she didn’t have him there to anchor her, maybe she would. There were enough pieces of her brain that considered it a viable defense mechanism to make it a possibility.

Elliot swallowed and shifted in bed, kicking her leg out from under the blanket without opening her eyes. Heat prickled up the back of her spine, tingling where John was pressed against her. He exhaled a short breath against her shoulder, almost like a laugh—and she thought maybe he did this often, watched the way that she was when he thought she was sleeping, because he wanted to know her better.

“—you,” he rumbled, his voice muffled by her hair, so low and quiet she almost didn’t hear it. He was trying his hardest not to wake her, probably; she laid still, exhaling slow and even through her nose; the bed felt like it was rocking and swaying beneath her in time with her heartbeat, and more often now she found herself looking to John for signals, in moments like these, to tell if it was real.

John slid his arm around her midsection and tugged her against him, burying his face into her neck, and he said, “Fuck, I love you, El—you make me so mad—sometimes, I can’t ever tell what you’re thinking and—”

His voice was barely audible, but that didn’t matter—that she heard at all what he was saying made her chest tighten uncomfortably, like he was sucking the air right out of her lungs, like the room had suddenly filled with smoke that she couldn’t breathe in. It was dizzying.

“—I think loving you,” he finished, his voice hoarse, “is going to be so fucking painful.”

Oh, she thought, because that was the opinion that she had of him. The words hadn’t come to her yet—not like that, not in that shape, not in the I love you, but she thought maybe it had come in different ways; looking to him first for comfort, holding on to him to feel real, to not feel so alone anymore. That felt a little like the same thing.

Everything in her itched and burned to roll over and kiss him. She wanted to say, me too, but the words wouldn’t come; not for lack of truth behind them, but because the moment lay cradled between them just like this, fragile and fresh, and maybe anything like moving was going to make it go away.

So, she didn’t. She closed her eyes tighter and sighed sleepily into her pillow, and pressed closer to him as though she sought him even in her sleep because she knew that John liked that feeling—of being thought of, wanted, even in something like sleep—and let herself enjoy the feeling of knowing something that John didn’t. For once.

Me too, Elliot thought tiredly. I think loving you is going to be so fucking painful too.

#shallow-gravy #my writing #i hate it here #i can't believe i took this wholesome request and turned it into THIS #I HOPE UR HAPPY JESS #FUCK #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #ask games #fc5 #far cry 5 #anyway that's fine i'm gonna go lay down and die now

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kewltie · 5 years ago

Text

in the midst of a battle w/ members of LoV, pro-hero ground zero save a rookie journalist who LITERALLY threw himself middle of all the chaos to grab photos & after yelling at the ignorant fuck, katsuki doesn't think he'll see him again but then HE SEES HIM EVERYWHERE. his name is midoriya izuku & he has some sort of death wish really bc katsuki keep finding him in the middle of all these hero vs villains battles and ONE TIME he tackled down a villain right???? and he doesnt even have a fucking quirk & yet he is seemingly unafraid of everything.

needless to say, katsuki is v smitten bc the litle awkward death defying shit. also, anyone who accidentally send katsuki to the hospital several times a month bc he keep getting into trouble and katsuki have to come rescue him and THEN YELLING AT KATSUKI FOR INTERFEARING W/ HIS JOB – may be katsuki’s true love.

katsuki get so fucking rile up at this quirkless man, who shown no fear and easily go toe to toe w/ him and yet is so incredibly humble and hilariously awkward, he is just into this badass idiot who is entirely devoted to his job and cursed w/ severe stubborn???? feels relatable. so yea, katsuki ofc taps that ass right the fuck away bc he knows a good one when he sees it bc izuku is indirectly responsible for three broken ribs after katsuki had pulled him out of ANOTHER TROUBLING SITUATION. he's a trouble magnet and shit-stirrer and katsuki's heart is moved.

so they start dating and it goes SO WELL. izuku still get in major shitstorm for his job and katsuki still drags him out of it w/ a few bruise here and there, but afterward they go grab a bite and crash at each other place. super romantic and sweet and it's so v good. but!!! there's something weird about izuku. he doesn't talk much about his family, to katsuki anyway. BUT HE'S SUPER CLOSE TO THEM. his parents seem to call him daily and he go visit them often, but he never bring his parents up to katsuki esp his dad & izuku kinda got a stalker??

it's not like katsuki didn't notice right away, but HE THOUGHT IT WAS HIS STALKER. one of his super creepy fans probably but nope this person only tails izuku and when katsuki tell him about it, izuku is like, 'oh that's just toga'. apparently, izuku knows his talker v v well. the stalker apparently is sent by izuku's father to watch out & protect izuku and katsuki pauses bc who the fuck does a journalist who lives on takeouts and shitty cable TVs need a bodyguard?!!! so yea katsuki's new bf background is fucking weird and mysterious.

katsuki has his agency dig into izuku's background (not that they hadn't vet izuku's before for katsuki's safety) but they comb through the archives and izuku's history and it's comes out v v v v clean, sparkling even. honestly, katsuki doesn't know WTF IS UP W/ HIS NEW BF. so he confront izuku about his weirdo stalker/bodyguard, his avoidance about his family & his dad in particular, and his eerie squeaky AND CLEARLY SCRIPTED papertrails. izuku get shifty eyes and is like, "you won't believe me." And katsuki says tersely, "fucking try me."

Izuku drops his gaze to the floor and says, finally, "my dad is the leader of the league of villains." and YEA, KATSUKI'S BRAIN SHUT DOWN FOR SEC bc his deku?? stupid suicidal stubborn bleeding heart deku??? FUCK NO. but izuku just nods his head and grimaces. the LoV is the largest criminal org in the world w/ long list of crimes & longer list of criminals that make its their home. their roster are made up of terrifying people w/ dangerous quirks... and IZUKU, quirkless and softhearted izuku is the leader's most precious son. the idea itself is COMPLETELY ABSURD! HOW does that ever make sense? izuku is a civilian who works normal if a bit dangerous job & doesn't seem to have any *evil* inclinations at all yet he hail from the worst kind of genetic source possible. maybe he's just faking it all along.

which made katsuki absolutely furious that izuku might been some kind of sleeper agent from the LoV sent to trick spy & kill him or something and izuku's eyes wide, immediately protests, "no, no, i swear! i dont have anything to do w/ my fathers... org." but katsuki has a hard time accepting it esp with the truth bomb thrown at his feet now that he realizes HE'S DATING THE ONLY SON OF EVIL OF THE MOST VILE CRIMINAL IN THE WORLD. so yea, he walks out on izuku, saying he need some space & izuku was looking so heartbroken as he left

for the next few days, katsuki stews in his thought. he doesn't tell anyone about what he had found out, but he doesn't contact izuku either. This last for couple of weeks until, one day just as he in the middle of patrol there's some commotion that attract his teams and katsuki is separated from them. he's cornered by several LoV members, outnumbered five to one and katsuki lost his comms in the ensuring scuffles but instead of kicking his ass bc well they're foes, one of them break ranks toga (the blood queen) approach him w/ a bloodthirsty grin & a knife pointing toward him.

"hey, pretty boy," she coos w/ a flicker of edge, "stop ignoring our young master! you made him cried & he won't come out of his room. I hate seeing him so upset bc Izuku-chan should always be smiling! if you dont fix this ill rip your hide from your bones and wear it as a cape."

the group behind her make various grunt of agreement, all promising him death and disembowelment for... apparently breaking izuku's heart. katsuki is so outrage that he nearly explodes on the spot bc these dumbass villains think they CAN BLACKMAL/THREATEN HIM?! HIM, GROUND ZERO?! also, even more furious by the fact that they insuate that HE BROKE UP WITH IZUKU?! wtf, he never said that!! needing space meant just a temporary break s he gets his bearing on wut to do next... but not like a perma break, but izuku's ppl thought their relationship ended.

katsuki is even more offended by that notion bc izuku is even a bigger idiot than he thought. HOW could someone that much of crybaby over just temp break is some manipulative coldhearted spy?? right now his instinct says, izuku is telling the truth. he isn't tricking katsuki.

izuku is seemingly sweet, humble, & awkward but he got that rebellious streak a mile wide. loud in his opinions & shit-stirrer by choice, he faces down villains & heroes alike like they're on equal ground even though izuku is defenseless. he respect the law but only when it applies. katsuki has never seen such a fucking firecracker like izuku who loves people & the world but have little respect for any gov entity or laws and think they're good only when they're helping ppl but otherwise they're abritary (lmao). he such chaotic force for good it's hilarious. so yea, he believes that izuku is the SON OF AFO now bc that lil shit is a menace. A GOOD MENACE, but still a goddamn menace. he seems to stay firmly on the side of 'good' as it is which make his relationship with his villain father a fucking mystery & headache for katsuki.

so katsuki, gritting his teeth, clichely demands the LoV group to take him to their leader so he can verbally kick his bf's ass for keeping his fucked up secrets and stupidly mistaken that they're broken up. the group happily ties up him and blindfolds him bc well SECRET LAIR. katsuki is crazy, ok. like, STUPIDLY CRAZY to go blindly and no backups w/ some of the worst villains in history so he can meet up w/ his stupid bf and his crazy father. he could end up dead tmr or some shit bc it all could have been a trick to lure him in w/ his guard down but if izuku can be an idiot for dating a hero when he's a son of a villain than KATSUKI CAN BE A BIGGER IDIOT FOR GOING TO MEET HIS BF'S VILLANIOUS FATHER AT HIS SECRET TORTURE FORTRESS OR SOME SHIT. love can make ppl dumb and they're both a perfect example of it.

so katsuki get blindfolded and escorted to the LoV hq and it's a suprisingly sweet ride to there. no bumps, no abuse, no torture shit going on. he get offer food and drink and it's FUCKING WEIRD. his kidnappers start some casual convo w/ him about izuku and his job of all things. they even joke about how katsuki arrested one of them one time and almost kill another THE OTHER TIME & it's all happy bs??? it's even worst than torture. katsuki just want this to end already!! eventually they arrive and katsuki is let out. he get inside & his blindfold is off.

it's... nothing like he expected. it's traditional japanese house w/ sprawling garden, koi ponds, & beautiful woods. it's pristine, homey, and terribly normal. "ha, you thought we were going to take you to some kind of evil lair, right?" twice says, grinning bc he's an ass. "that's next time! we save that for official bsn." he jabs Katsuki's in the shoulder playfully. "you're meeting sensei and the mistress so of course it got to be at their house and not the 'office'."

katsuki's hands start twitching like he's going to explode someone or something but he's quickly drag away before he could do anything about it. lead through some hallways before depositing inside a tearoom where there's a SHIT TON of pics of baby!izuku & his childhood accolades on the wall. this look less like a room to greet visitors but to show off izuku. just as katsuki goes to examine a cute pic of bb!izuku playing in a field of flowers & holding one up towrad the camera, the doors slide open and a couple walk in. one of them is an older woman who looks eerily like izuku and the young woman also ft. in many of the wall pics.

she smiles warmly at and goes to greet him right away. "hi, bakugou-kun! welcome to our home, i'm inko, Izuku's mother," she introduces herself. while she's a source of happy energy and warmth, the other man beside her is another story. he gives katsuki's an icy stare. katsuki already knows who he is before he even say anything. AFO looks younger in comparison to his reported age, notably handsome, and he carries himself like some warlord from the warring periods.

"I should kill you," is the first thing he says. "my son should only cry in joy, over his terrible taste in romantic media consumption, & dumber things." spoken like a man who dealt with midoriya walking crying machine izuku his entire life and also a hopelessly devoted father.

"hisashi!" inko scolds. which is strange to katsuki bc he didn't even think AFO even have a name but in front of him isn't some evil man who mastermind gov't take over & ruin so many ppl lives but astupid father overprotected of his son.

"but i won't," AFO admits regretfully. "Izuku would be even more sad and if you're dead your death will haunt him needlessly more. he won't be able to forget you and move on." he frowns, like he actually had CONSIDER THAT ROUTE DEEPLY before casting that idea aside.

What the fuck, katsuki thought and says exactly that, "what the fuck. there's something seriously wrong with you," he points out what he think is v obvious.

AFO shrugs. "I love my son. He's my-" Inko's frown and he clears his throat, "our most precious treasure and we do everything to ensure his happiness. do you understand us, bakugou katsuki? inko and i have raise with love and care for 20yrs and i won't have some rough neck capers try to destroy his smile. i dont care who you are or wut you can do bc i can put you ten feet under w/ a snap of my fingers & nobody will be able to save you but like i said i won't."

Katsuki grind his teeth, fists clenched at his side, before lowering his head. this isnt time to fight, they're not on the field & on the job. this isnt about their respective stance on moral superiority but izuku. izuku is why they're both here. "i came here for him. i want to fix it," he says. "just let me see him." he pauses & grimaces like the taste of whatever he say next disgust him. "please."

AFO frowns, staring at katsuki for a beat, two. like he can pull apart katsuki's motives and tears into his rib to see w/e make him tick. "fine," he waves katsuki away, "you may see him now but if he cry anything beside in happiness i'll have your head and your entire agency." it's not a threat. it's a warning lace with truth that katsuki has no doubt he will carry out if a single tear slip pass izuku and fall.

inko claps her hand happily. "great, i'm glad you guys are geting along so well!" she says, like threats of murder haven't been thrown at his feet. clearly, she's used to the fact that her husband is a completely psychopath and whipped for their son. this fucking crazy family.

katsuki grunts, not knowing what else to say beside, 'have you ever thought of fucking divorce bc yea maybe you will be less crazy by then' but he holds his tongue bc they're still izuku's parents and he already made a bad impression on them even though technically not his FAULT.

AFO doesn't promise anymore murder in his future but the dark look on his face is enough as inko's lead him out & toward izuku's room. she drops him right outside it and gives him an encouraging smile before heading off, but katsuki has no doubt the parents are lurking around. katsuki sucks in a deep breath before raising his fist and knocks. he hears unhurried footsteps on the other side and slowly the door is slide open.

"Papa, I already said--" izuku whines, and stops as soon as he sees who ACTUALLY on the other side. "K-Katsuki?! What are you--?"

Katsuki blinks, trying to get his fucking brain to grapple with the thought of AFO as 'papa' and his head nearly explode. he drags a hand down his face and once again thinks, THIS FUCKIN' FAMILY. "Look, you idiot," he starts in lieu of any answer. "We didn't fucking break up."

Izuku looks haggard, buffy red eyes and the dark circle under it, speaking of how upset he was. he clearly didn't get any good rest these several days they were apart. he lifts an accusatory brow at Katsuki. "you didn't pick up my calls or answer any of my text," he retorts.

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "what part of I needed space, time to think didn't you get?" he snaps back. "It didn't mean go cry and sulk your parent's home like a damn coward because you were too dumb to think of anything beside we may have broken up!"

"But--but," Izuku's lips wobble and katsuki nearly jump out of his skin bc jfc don't cry here or i'll be skinned alive, "i was scared that you really mean it! that's why i didn't want to tell you in the first place bc then you wouldn't want to have anything to do w/ me."

Katsuki sighs, a bone deep tired sigh. "Now, why would you think i would have any problem with dating the son of my nemesis?" he says dryly. Izuku's brows furrow. "All Might is Papa's nemesis," he unhelpfully point out. "I don't think Papa even knew you existed until we dated."

Katsuki scowls. "that's not the fucking point," he shouts, temper rising w/ every word. "Your dad is the fucking boogieman who wants to sow discord in the world & it's my job to catch him &lock away for good. Do you see my moral crisis over this when im dating his beloved son?!"

"I-" Izuku's face falls, "dont you think I dont know that? I've lived with him for over 20yrs, I know exactly what he's capable of." he looks away. "But, he's my Papa & im terrible for still choosing him over the world. So," izuku says solemnly. "i dont expect the same from you."

Katsuki grits his teeth and steps right into izuku's space, up in his face. "Look, im only going to say this once so listen the fuck up," he starts. "I like you. A lot. Stupidly. Gods know why when you drive me up the fucking wall all the time, but here I am standing before you."

"A lot, huh?" Lips twitching, Izuku's eyes go soft.

Katsuki scowls. "Dont make me repeat myself, but yes fucking a lot that your fucking groupies & your old man threatened to kill me several times over did not deter me from coming here," he says, hand cradling Izuku's cheek.

"It's because I'm dating you and not your father. Whatever crimes he'd commited is not on you, you don't have to carry his sins," he tells Izuku, leaning in to press a kiss too fast and fleeting on izuku's forehead. "just stay true to yourself and i'll fucking deal with it."

Izuku's close his eyes and lets out a shaky exhales, the air of relief that passes through him is shuddering. "Ok, ok," he murmurs, opening his eyes to look at katsuki. there's a twinkle in them as he smiles, soft and sweet, the kind you can stupidly drunk on & never let go.

In that hazy moment, katsuki thinks, AFO doesn't need to plan any premeditated murder in case things go v wrong bc this is how he'll die w/ izuku's smile right in his front his eyes, cutting him down one curve lips at a time. Fuck, he's just as whipped for izuku as AFO.

it's good that izuku not a fucking psychopath like his father bc this would have gone v v v wrong. izuku would make a terrifying villain. Worse than his own father bc it's not fear & intimidation that will get ppl to follow him but izuku's own magnetic personality that move them.

"don't ever become a villain, ok?" katsuki insists suddenly, grabbing his shoulder tightly.

"where did that come from?" izuku laughs, eyes crinkling. "And dont worry, papa had tried. many, many times but i haven't turn over to the darks ide if that's what you worry about."

"Good," katsuki says firmly, and thinks the world better for it. one less crazy midoriya to raise hell. izuku is trouble enough as it is when katsuki thought he was just a quirkless journalist w/ a death wish but now there's a chance he could go rouge any moment and--yea. no.

"Sooo," izuku says, bouncing on his heels. "are we back together now?"

katsuki flicks him on the forehead. "we never broke up in the first place, you dolt."

izuku grins and suddenly throws his arm around katsuki. "ah, i miss you so much kacchan!!!" he declares excitedly.

and after they made up, katsuki interrogate izuku about wtf is wrong w/ his father bc how did AFO of all ppl get a villain son who isn't all about /that/ kind of bsn he's in. turns out izuku always have a healthy regard for heroes so he never thought of joining his father's organization. though AFO would have been super happy to take izuku in bc izuku is terrifyingly clever & resourceful but he lets izuku go & do his thing anyway. they just mutually agree not to talk shop when it's family, keeping their jobs outside &not in the home to keep both of their sanity.

so izuku knows shit about the 'family bsn' except wut everyone knows bc he's not involve with any of that and in his everyday job as a journalist izuku often times clash w/ his father AND expose some of his schemes bc it's part of his job & he doesn't shy away from it. AFO wasn't upset at all having his plans ruin by his own son. nope. he was SUPER PROUD OF IZUKU!!! to able to accomplish such thing on his own even if it's against him lol. but izuku is still his father's so so he doesn't take on just AFO, other villains, & dark org. he takes on the gov't, hero association, and even other heroes themselves if he ever catches on if they didn't live up to his ideals of being 'proper hero' like all might. he fiercely chases and exposes anything that he deems corrupted and wrong not caring which side they're on.

which makes izuku kind of chaotic good. he acts on his own whims & sense of justice, disregarding all rules & barriers. which is why he admires katsuki so much bc katsuki stands by his rule staunchantly & won't ever move from it, izuku knows katsuki wont ever be sway by the dark. kinda like izuku's father who stands firmly by his belief & does everything to reach his goals. WHICH IS NOT EXACTLY WHAT KATSUKI WANT TO BE COMPARE TO ESP BY A NOTORIOUS VILLAIN LIKE AFO lol. but yea, now that he got izuku's motive and why he's the way he is, it get easier.

they continue dating, izuku continues getting into trouble 120% of the time, katsuki keeps bailing him out, and sometimes IZUKU BAILS HIM OUT bc izuku may be quirkless but he got an army of the world's most terrible villains on his side so yea izuku IS TERRIFYING. and they aren't just dating but they're 100000% serious w/ each other bc now katsuki go to izuku's parents house for dinner every sunday and have to put up with AFO and play nice w/ each other for izuku's sake bc they come ton an understanding they will be IN-LAWS one day lol! their dinner convo is mostly the two of them taking jab at each other bc katsuki trash of AFO's plans or AFO's sends katsuki's ppl to the hospital and got away with it. they never stop being enemy even for izuku bc of where they stand on but mutually agree not to kill each other. they're both fiercely devoted individual who are obsessively workaholic, stubborn, vainglorious, and loves just as much as they breathe for their ppl and though they never agree on anything, this they will agree on bc izuku's happiness is everything to them!!!

#bakudeku #not!fic

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tenshindon · 4 years ago

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*waves* Hi, I'm Silver. I want to write Yamcha more accurately (he seems really nice?), but I haven't the time or money to buy the manga or episodes, so... any tips, I guess? Can you help me? Thank you 🌻💜

hiya !! i’m always happy to talk about yamcha and The Character Of yamcha :) gonna put my thoughts under a read more cause this Might be long:

I havent watched Z or Super in a while but I do watch and read through the original Dragon Ball often so accuracy May Vary due to my trash memory. I’m also going to try to keep the games’ depictions of him out of this since accuracy varies among those.

The first thing I wanna touch on is Yamcha’s ego- especially how it evolves over the series. The main thing to keep in mind is that while he is generally cocky about his fighting abilities (which is a major weakness of his as he underestimates his opponents often and gets in trouble because of that), he’s never overly confidant with himself as a person; he seldom tries to paint himself as a better person in comparison to others and rather keeps realistic skepticism about himself. It’s also worth noting that, depending on how old Yamcha is in your depiction, his awareness for his fighting inadequacy compared to his friends varies (the older he is obviously the more conscious he is).

Next thing I’ma talk bout is something that i see kind of treated inconsistently; Yamcha’s relationship with women and his love life. I feel like a lot of people forget that Yamcha’s defining character trait in Dragon Ball was his gynophobia- he chased Goku and his friends so long for the dragon balls so he could remedy his fear of women. Of course, he eventually does date Bulma as they realize dating each other would resolve their mutual wishes for Shenron (Bulma’s being getting a boyfriend and as mentioned before Yamcha’s fear of women). As we’re all aware though, nearly a decade later Yamcha and Bulma mysteriously separate, and the reason for doing so is never explicitly made clear in canon (I could honestly make a whole separate post on Bulma and Yamcha’s break up- there’s a lot to discuss with it so if anyone wants that let me know lmao). The majority believe that Yamcha was unfaithful which, in review of his whole character, makes literally no sense- even just subtracting his fear of women (though I’ll elaborate on that later). But back on track and in regards to his fear of women, it never fully goes away. It just so happens that he’s most comfortable around Bulma, and since Bulma’s the most prominent female character of the series we tend to forget his fear in the first place. When around other female characters, he’s subtlety more anxious- or at the very least he isn’t so much of a playboy as fanon interprets him to be. One final thing to note is- unless I remember the series wrong (and anyone’s free to correct me on this)- Yamcha’s never implied to have gotten another girlfriend or even a lover at any point. Of course it’s hard to track the intricacies of Yamcha’s life- this is a shonen anime where slice-of-life episodes are limited, and even then Yamcha is far from being a prominent character anymore (post Dragon Ball).

Up next is his loyalty/friendships, methods of handling conflict, and overall courage because in my rat brain these all go hand in hand. Nevertheless, Yamcha’s a devoted friend- he’s shown time and time again to be supportive of his pals and, even in spite of his shortcomings, always does his best to help the gang out. Like i touched on before, as Yamcha gets older, he’s more and more aware just how far behind in training he is in compared to his peers. But that doesn’t stop him from trying to fight off whatever threat’s present. So with that we can infer that even if Yamcha can’t be the absolute best, that’s not going to stop him from at least trying if it means helping his friends or making them feel better. Additionally, he’s quick to stand up for others, even if he doesn’t know them too well or even at all and he’s shown not to hold onto grudges. One thing to remember is that, presumably for 16 years, Yamcha’s only companion was Puar (that’s not even considering his life before meeting her) and most interactions he has with people involve robbing them. His social skills might not be the best (though that doesn’t mean he can’t act socially capable- he clearly has no issue trying to make Beerus feel comfortable and like a friend at Bulma’s party) but again, his social skills varies with age and the situation. But again, referring back to his readiness to defend others, he isn’t afraid of getting into conflict if it means helping someone else.

Last few topics I’m going to talk about are his relationships with property, finances, and goals- they seem like a small topics but I still want to talk about it. Now hopefully we’re all familiar with Yamcha’s beginnings of being a desert bandit- and seeing his methods of obtaining items, he didn’t try to charm his victims into giving him their stuff. He just took it if he could if he couldn’t intimidate them and retreated if he couldn’t get what he wanted (which is also noteworthy of Yamcha’s awareness of his limits- a bit contradictory to his fighting ego but it seems that if Yamcha’s certain he isn’t able to win something, then he’ll save himself if it means delaying a goal or staying alive). He doesn’t seem to mind playing the long game either, as he’s willing to tail Goku and co. for months as he waits for them to gather the dragon balls without ever letting his true intentions slip. When it comes to finances, Yamcha doesn’t seem to care to heavily about them: back in the desert, Puar mentions to Yamcha that he should wish for money to which Yamcha dismisses it quickly, stating he could just steal money if he really needed it. It’s also worth noting that despite being a successful baseball player by Super, Yamcha chooses to live in a modest apartment. Either he’s very paranoid with money and, despite having enough to buy a full house, chooses to live in a cheaper apartment building or he’s more comfortable with smaller living spaces- which makes sense since he’d lived nearly two decades in a desert cave and had to scavenge for supplies (plus he seems to still think fondly of the desert as he has a painting of such in his apartment).

For the TL;DR version of this post, here’s essentially what you should keep in mind when portraying yamcha:

He’s generally a very lax, simple, and sociable person when he wants to be- though a bit socially awkward when he isn’t prepared

He’s not egotistical, but he has a bad habit of underestimating his enemies at times. this changes over time of course.

While he’s not itching for conflict, he is loyal and quick to stand up for friends and strangers alike

He acknowledges he isn’t the best, but that doesn’t stop him from trying

He’s ambitious and seldom gives up on his goals

He cares little for huge amounts of wealth or property and generally is just trying to get by in life comfortably

While not cripplingly petrified of women post DB, he still maintains a mild anxiety around women he doesn’t know- even around women he does know pardon Bulma he’s still a bit on edge

I’m done with my character study using the anime and manga, but I like talking about Yamcha so below this little buffer I’m going to get into how the games portray him. I might’ve forgot something or got some things wrong so feel free to talk to me about that if you want to. Anyways, you can stop reading if the above is all you’re concerned with- regardless if you keep reading or not, I wish you the best of luck in writing Yamcha ! :)

If you’re still reading, join me in my continuous ramble of the Rubix cube of Yamcha’s character because Toei and Toriyama can’t be consistent.

Something that seems to be portrayed a significant amount is that Yamcha’s aware of his charm and that he uses this to advantage to smooth talk his way out of situations- not that he just so happens to be good looking and endearing and his panicked socialization just happens to work out for him. In regards to his way of talking out of situations, that’s honestly something I could see if Yamcha acknowledges he’s against a threat much greater than his fighting abilities will allow him to handle- and it’s not like he doesn’t consider himself attractive, if we’re to take his reaction to losing his tooth as anything (in case you aren’t aware, he curses Goku for ruining his “beautiful” face). An example of this is most prominent is his interaction with Frieza in FighterZ, where Frieza remarks that Yamcha is both “handsome and sensible”, to which Yamcha attempts to keep the conversation casual so as to not have to fight (which he later points out to Goku once the latter urges that the three of them should just start fighting already). Though I’m sure his first reaction isn’t to talk his way out of something- he’ll just do it if the opportunity presents itself.

I obviously take huge issue with Yamcha’s portrayal of being a womanizer- his major goal was to settle down, get married, and live out the rest of his life with someone. So for him to be portrayed as having to juggle girlfriends is a bit strange to say the least. You could maybe argue that Yamcha hypes himself up to be a lady’s man as a way to cope with his anxiety (fake it til you make it y’know) but I have little faith in the characterization in Dragon Ball games and for them to think that complexly- plus, again, it contradicts with his humble and awkward personality.

Aside from these two notes, that’s all I have to say. so I’m done- forreal this time.

#dragon ball #dragon ball z #dragon ball super #yamcha #snap chats #sorry im late to responding #first i was asleep and second of all i had to think a lot with this- plus i kept getting distracted #there might be a little bias in this with how i see yamcha so take my words with a grain of salt #whether you're 100% accurate or not the thing to remember most is to just have fun :)#saiyanblood2 #reply

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daincrediblegg · 5 years ago

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As Time Goes By (1/2)

Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Co-worker!Reader Word Count: 1803

Author’s Note: Lmao so I’m deadass 3 days late with this, but I got inspired for it literally on New Years Eve, and it’s been running away from me ever since (mostly ‘cause I actually came down with a pretty bad infection, and now I’m apparently allergic to the antibiotic the doctors gave me for it. It’s not been fun the last few days). Here it is now in its final form (split into 2 parts for my own sanity and yours), and with it, I thank you all for coming in at the butt end of 2019 and playing a big part in saving my ass. All your fanfic, all your art and acceptance of mass mutual love for this boy, and whether you’ve reblogged and liked or commented on my art or what little writing I’ve done or even my dumbass tag meta, I’m incredibly humbled and screaming about it literally all the time, and I love you all. Hope to talk to more of you in 2020 to keep the clown love going strong, and I’ll see you all very soon for part 2 ;)

Arthur hadn’t really believed it when he’d been invited.

In his 33 years of life he had hardly ever been invited to anything. Birthdays, Christmas parties, dinners, drinks. If he had been offered any of these occasions, he’d often be forced to turn them down. He could justify to himself that he’d hate to leave his mother alone on any given holiday (let alone any day, with how poor her health was), but deep down, he felt the gesture empty. If he went, he’d be no more than he already was- an invisible man. Nobody to talk to, nobody to really celebrate with despite festivity cascading all around him. All because nobody really wanted the freak there anyway. Why go to all the trouble when he could be far more comfortable at home alone instead?

But when Gary had approached him one sunny Gotham winter morning as he was buttoning his golden vest, and said that the rest of the guys were planning to go to a bar on Nolan and 3rd to celebrate the New Year, he actually thought about going.

He was sweet to do so. Always nice to him. He’s sure the other guys wouldn’t think to extend such a courtesy to him, let alone want to. He knew what they thought of him, and frankly he didn’t think too highly of spending more time with them either. He was ready to make his usual excuse- that meds needed to be picked up, that his mother needed tending.

But it was four little words that Gary had said- soft enough and potent enough to make him reconsider.

“She’ll be there too.”

His eyes find her almost immediately, and Gary’s eyes follow- by the vanity, where she tugs down her wig to cover her hair- bright red spun yarn, dressed in a pair of braids. Her fluffy underskirt poking out a brilliant white under her blue polka-dot dress as she leans closer to the mirror.

She’s lovely. Always has been. In and out of makeup. Always wishing him a good day, laughing at his jokes. She even asks for them- on days when she drags her feet up that long staircase, tired eyes hoping all the more that whatever he has for her will do the trick that he loves best- a smile, no matter how soft, and a chuckle, whether it leaves her chest or not. Anything is enough for him.

He knows he’s going, deep down. He knows it surely as his heart starts thudding against his fragile ribs just a little harder as she smoothes her hands down her plush skirt.

“I-... I’ll think about it.” he concludes softly.

“All right. I hope you will. It’d be good to see you there, mate.”

They share smiles- genuine ones, before Gary gets back to his locker, dragging out his own jacket and wig. Just then, he sees a flash of pastel blue flutter past him, and his eyes flit up to her face, full of warmth as she waves a gentle goodbye to him.

“Have a good day, Artie.”

Chills shoot up his spine in a rush. A hit of joy. An impossible wish, but one spoken true all the same. He wonders if there’s invisible cherubs behind him, stabbing him with arrows.

Arthur lifts his hand, wiggling his fingers weakly as he smiles back at her.

“Have a good day…” he repeats.

Her smile gets wider before she turns her attention to the dwarf next to him.

“You too Gary.”

“And you!” he shouts after her, as she finally picks up her bag and trots down the stairs. He knows his eyes aren’t the only ones on her when she leaves, but he hopes that his eyes are more important than most.

“How come she never tells me to have a good day?” Randall quips with a shrug. Gary rolls his eyes as he turns to him in reply.

“Maybe because you’re an arse-hole.”

He laughs at that. Neither the laugh he pushes out of himself for courtesy, or the ones that force themselves out and choke him. He laughs for real, and he knows he’s going.

He has to.

His mom is nodding off, thank God.

She’s been fed, and they’ve watched a bit of the Live Gotham New Years Celebration coverage on TV- Murray Franklin, hosting- from her bed. The lights are out, save for the soft blue glow of her TV, and it’s just enough of a sleeping potion to start putting her under. She always gets like this, in truth. Out cold long before the night really has a chance to even begin. It’s a blessing, really. Especially tonight.

Because it gives him plenty of time to get ready.

Sure, he doesn’t have much of a choice in what suit he wears- the only one he owns being a deep maroon, a hand-me-down from the last decade. He can’t decide how to style his hair (though he’s bathed, he’s at least managed that much, for her), whether to slick it back or keep it casual, all he has in the way of cologne is something cheap he got from the drug store on his way home from work the day Gary invited him, but he’s got the spirit. For Her. And it seems that today, it’s enough.

He gathers the necessaries from the closet before he leaves his mother to sleep, switching the tv in the living room onto the special while he prepares, dabbing the cologne to his wrists and neck, wiggling his spindly legs into his suit pants on the couch.

Just then, as he’s buttoning up his fly, the brief commercial break ends with a quick jazz sting from the band- moved all the way downtown just for this occasion. He watches as the comedian approaches a couple. Arm in arm in the snow and smiling like they’ve won the lottery. Murray quips of how happy they are, about his own relatively new wife and how it won’t last- all in good humor. But he can’t register any of it.

All he registers is the way the woman’s hands move around that man’s waist. He feels it himself. On him. Faint. A warm hand wrapping around him, just under his jacket, grazing over the deep blue sweater he’d dragged on this morning to go to therapy, fitting so neatly in the space between his hips and his ribs. It’s uncanny. It feels just like her.

And for just a moment the couple on the screen is gone. Replaced by another, far more handsome than the last.

Him and her. Together. Happier than the thousands of handmade smiles they paint on themselves with rich pigments in cheap grease. Hers is particularly divine. Her cheeks rosy as they lift fully to accommodate her joy. It makes his heart want to break his bones, leap right out of his chest, into the palm of her hand of its own accord.

And they remained that way. For hours. Gotham’s imposing buildings shrinking beneath the way they look at each other, hold each other close and not just for the inevitable warmth her body brings to his. And at the stroke of midnight, he pulls her impossibly close, cupping her face when he kisses her, the cold air melting away under their shared warmth as confetti falls around them with the snow. They even get on the kiss cam.

Gotham sweethearts. And everyone knows it.

He smiles, as the saxophone slowly pulls him out of reverie. The chilling blue light of the tv washes over him, and his hand pulls itself agonizingly from the spot it found across his abdomen, feeling his rib sticking out in his laid-back position. Murray, bundled up in scarf and woolen coat, speaks loud and clear into his microphone over a cheering crowd, ever the professional.

“Well folks, this is it! Not much more than an hour left until the New Year! Pour some Champagne, and get your sweethearts close, and we’ll be right back after these messages.”

Panic washes over him so fast he almost tumbles over the coffee table trying to get up off the couch.

He’s late.

Quicker and more lithe than a cat high on their nip, he tugs his sweater off, buttoning up his clean white dress shirt as fast as he can- praying he didn’t skip any buttons, or that he improperly tied his tie.

“Happy? Where are you going?” a sleepy lilt calls from behind him.

He almost yelps, but before he can he turns to see his mother, leaning against the hallway, looking like she could pass out again right then and there. Leaving his waistcoat not fully buttoned, pulling his suit jacket on, he strides over to her and supports her sleepy form, starting to try and lead her back to bed.

“I’m meeting some guys from work for a drink.” A half-lie, as they reach the bedroom door. Enough to not make her question why he’s dressed to the nines and the strong and heady scent coming off of him - discount eros from a bottle. She hums a little “oh”, mulling over what she should say in response. He doesn’t give her the chance.

“I’m sorry Mom, I forgot to tell you.” Another half-lie, but it completes a full truth for her, letting him keep the solitary thought of her all to himself, even for a little while longer.

A look of unnecessary worry strikes across Penny’s face.

“You shouldn’t drink, Happy. It could mess with your pills. And you know I don’t like you being out this late.”

He winces at that. Guilt hitting him like needles prodding his veins. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to hurt. That she doesn’t trust him to leave and make it back in one piece. That she doesn’t trust him to know himself.

That she doesn’t trust him.

But she can’t dissuade him now.

They reach the door to her room, and they both slink in. He lets go of her once he’s sure she can make it the rest of the way to her side of the bed by herself, and swipes up his old hoodie draped over the corner that isn’t hers.

“I’ll be home by next year, I promise.” He purses his lips with a playfully disarming smile for her. She gives him a breathy chuckle of acceptance, and sits back on her bed again, pulling up the covers as she does.

“All right, Happy. Be careful.”

He nods, tugging the hoodie over his suit- trying not to wrinkle the sleeves as best he can.

“I will, Ma.”

He blows a kiss, and before she even has the chance to give him one back, he’s picked up his wallet and keys, and he’s out the door, locking it behind him.

#arthur fleck x reader #joker x reader #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck imagine #lmao part 2 is juicy and will come out when I'm not chaining benadryl to get rid of the nasty hives I've got now #might even be a smutty part 3 but only if people want it.#I love my fluff but I certainly wouldn't be opposed #joker 2019 #joker imagine #also lmao pls my dms and inbox are always open please come talk I'm just really bad at initiating shit #'cause I'm just a shitty anxious baby #my writing #fanfiction

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