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pastel-greene · 1 month

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The Daughter | king!sukuna x curse user!reader

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 - Hunger | Chapter 4

Summary: The mother of curses happens upon a blind child and decides to impart a portion of her power to them as an experiment of sorts. The power morphs the child in their image until they are part curse and part human. So what happens when they get employed by the King of Curses? Will humanity bloom as newfound emotions flow between the two? Or will they usher in an era of never ending terror?

Notes: not all of this will be canon, it will be loosely based off of the jjk universe :) taglist is open, comment on any chapter to be tagged in future ones

Genre: female reader, fluff, angst, ‘loads’ of smut, violence, sukuna true form but like not with the weird face lmao just double set of eyes and arms, dark reader

Warnings: profanity, explicit smut (two dick sukuna, sadistic sex, biting, oral m & f receiving, pet names, more to be added), violence, depictions of gore, dark minds cause yk, mentions of rape, toxic relationships, chaotic neutral reader, trauma, possessiveness from reader and sukuna, torture, vampire themes (reader’s blood is infused with the Mother of curses so if a curse user is to drink it it basically gives them a temporary stat boost bc what can i say vampire sukuna seems hot), cannibalism (no I don’t support it but it is true to his character), and more to be added as story progresses

Word count: 7.3k

This work contains mature content, so absolutely no minors I will block you if I find out :)

You immersed yourself in a warm bath not long after returning to your room. Your bathtub was a large square with more than enough room in it. It could easily fit another person your size, but probably only one Sukuna, who it was likely measured after. Its large, flat edges were slightly angled to let any excess water flow back into the tub. A slatted bamboo platform went across the expanse and held a few different washing instruments as well as a small towel. You always grew up with little crates that you would bathe in if you even got to bathe. On a few jobs you had gotten to use nicer ones, but never one this nice. It was definitely a palace grade bathtub.

Your servants had asked if you required any assistance, to which you said no, and sent them off. You wanted to be alone for a minute and think about what the fuck just happened. You had just been giggling, joking, and fantasizing about the man that ripped apart your hand yesterday. And you were pretty damn sure he was doing the exact same, but why? You doubted he regretted what he did, especially since he threatened to do it again, but today he felt different. He wasn’t holding his title over you, he was just being with you. It felt like he was a completely different person and was giving you whiplash.

You sank lower into the tub until your nose barely stayed above the water. He was such an asshole. You still wanted to rip his arms off, but you also wanted to have them touch you again. You didn’t know if it was him in particular or just the fact it had been a few weeks since you had been with someone. In the weeks leading up to your departure, you had either been busy with work or working on a new technique Ieiri had come up with. The work was needed, though. As a technique, you could fully utilize it, but you were having some issues manifesting a curse that could accurately use it too. So it was good that you put in extra time experimenting with it while you were still with Shoko, but your body hated you for it all the same. Your clit still absolutely throbbing from your interaction with Sukuna. Now your joke of fucking the King started to grow meaning you never meant it to have.

You pulled your head underwater and curled up along the bottom of the tub. You shouldn’t want him. You should want to kill him for being an asshole. You always hated people that stayed with people that hurt them. It should be obvious that if someone hurts you, you shouldn’t stay within their grasp. Hell, in your opinion, you should get even with interest. Hurt them how they hurt you and then some. But you weren’t really hurt were you? You were just pissed he was so bipolar and refused to use his words when upset.

You traced along the hand he had wounded. It was like it had never happened. You didn’t even remember the pain now. It was becoming a distant memory. You pulled yourself to sit back up in the tub and looked at your hand once more before moving it to grab the towel on your tray. You folded it and used it to cushion the edge of the tub as you laid your head back. You closed your eyes and breathed in the aroma of lilacs and vanilla. The palace had so many imported scents you had never smelled before. You wondered where they got them all and how they were made. You had heard that the kingdom threw different festivals in the King’s honor that attracted a lot of merchants and wondered if they would sell them there. You bet there were all kinds of goods you normally couldn’t get your hands on sold there.

People aside, your stay at the palace was quite nice. Your food made you feel ways you never knew it could. There were so many spices you had never tasted before and so many textures you had never felt. You wanted to go to the kitchen one day and watch the chef cook. You wondered if you would be allowed to cook as well. Probably not in the Palace’s kitchen, but you weren’t above cooking outside. Although, you weren’t sure how Sukuna would feel about you setting a fire outside and cooking. It might be a very classless look for you. But realistically, you were indeed lacking class. You had never thought that you would end up where you were. You went from being an orphan sold for sex to the King’s guard. You went from being scared of the world you couldn’t see, to being able to drink in the world’s sites without trepidation. You used to beg and scrounge for food, killing when necessary. Now you had culinary masterpieces delivered to your door at least three times a day. Being here, you realized why your town was looked down upon. From the outside, it looked like a bunch of stray dogs fighting for scraps in a town that was barely standing. If you had only ever lived life like this, that would have been all you thought of it. You wouldn’t be able to understand what made it so great. But you were grateful for your past and upbringing, it allowed you to grow up without anything veiling reality. You saw the world for what it was, saw how people acted when they thought no one was watching, when they thought they were strong. Humans hated curses but failed to admit they were just as disgusting and vile as them. They refused to take credit for their part in creating them. The Mother was part of their creation, sure, but she existed in a world without curses for quite some time. Her power only grew into cursed energy when humans came along. Before she was just the darkness, a necessary opposite for light to exist. Human thoughts, their fears, dark desires, unchecked emotions, those are what opened the door for cursed energy.

After your bath, you had decided to go to the library you had recently heard of. One of the servants was kind enough to tell you about it, after hearing that you were asking about what to put on your shelves. You walked along the wooden floors towards the west wing of the castle. Simple, black chandeliers lit with Sukuna’s cursed energy, guided your path in the areas cut off from the rays of the sun. High, domed ceilings made from intricately designed tiles hung above you. Each design was bound to a square bordered by black trim and gold corners. You had seen paintings of previous palaces’ ceilings and the art displayed within greatly differed. Others often showcased aspects of nature brought to life by various colors. These were a dark red with black ink depicting scenes of terror. You didn’t have to look at all of them to know they each depicted acts of violence Sukuna prided himself on.

The door to the library was different from the door to your chambers. Yours was made of black stained wood that was divided into sections by metal bars that linked in the middle to make Sukuna’s seal. This one was made with Zelkova wood left in its natural amber color, adorned with matching knobs lining the edges, and Sukuna’s seal burned into the middle. It was quite pretty, really. You grabbed the ornate metal handle and granted yourself entry to the room beyond. You were met with a room bigger than you had expected and absolutely packed with books. It had shelves lining the perimeter as well as in rows throughout the room. There were even piles of books stacked in different open spaces tied together by red string. You hadn’t thought of Sukuna to be one to care much about reading, but you were obviously wrong.

You walked inside and started looking around. The amount of books felt a little overwhelming, some were even in languages you didn’t recognize. Underneath the books, on the edge of the shelves, there were categories carved into the wood. Currently you were in politics, which you couldn’t care less about, so you wondered out. You eventually found the science section with books ranging from anatomy to topics you had never heard of. You grabbed and looked at a few before reshelving them. Their contents either evading your comprehension or boring your interest.

Eventually, you found a book with what you were looking for. It was a book on the energy within everything and the connection between it all. Most recently, you had been working on various techniques that would allow you to morph something’s makeup just by tapping into its energy. The cursed technique you had perfected prior to leaving home allowed you touch any item and reshape it at will. You could combine and divide energies to suit whatever purpose you needed. You could even change your own energy to mirror another. Paired with your technique to slip into people’s minds, it would be a very useful infiltration tactic. You had experimented in a few different ways when trying to create a curse that could use it, but it proved to be difficult. They always ended up lacking intelligence or imagination. You had tried using your prior methods when creating intelligent curses, but it became tricky to stabilize this time since the curse would be able to fully change their own makeup. They always ended up screwing themselves up beyond repair.

While you were there you decided to look around at other topics. You got a book rooted in fantasy that seemed promising for when you got bored or wanted to escape for a little bit, and a few volumes of martial arts you hadn’t heard of.

By the time you were done, your hands were full and your servants quickly offered their hands instead. You were about to walk out when Geto entered the room. You were behind a few aisles of books, so you couldn’t see him, but you could tell he knew you were here from the way he beelined towards you. Within a few seconds he was turning into the aisle you stood in.

“Wow, I didn’t know your kind could read”, he said while walking up towards you with a smile.

“Wow, you’re openly admitting you don’t know something so common,” you joked back while giving him a very judgy once over, “talk about embarrassing.”

He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to say something before tongueing the inside of his cheek while smiling. He raised his hands in submission, “Got me there. So what are you reading?” He approached your servants before picking up the fantasy book you chose, which you quickly grabbed from him and hid. It one-hundred precent was a dirty little book to help you through your dry spell and you didn’t need him knowing that. He had read it before though so he knew exactly what was in the contents.

“Not really any of your business, is it,” you asked while withholding the book from him.

“I suppose not, but I will tell you that this one has better sex scenes”, he says while handing you the book he had brought in.

You cleared your throat of the slight embarrassment you felt while accepting the book he held out. “I guess I will be the judge of that.”

“I guess so,” he says while smirking at you. “How have things been? I heard you trained with the King this morning and it ended with both of you smiling. I guess all is forgiven or what?”

Your servants all suddenly became very interested in the books around them and the shelves they were on. You weren’t worried about them hearing though. You had been in their minds and knew they didn’t dare gossip about anything that involved the King.

“I don’t know. He seemed really different today, like the total polar opposite of yesterday. I am pretty sure he encouraged me to yell at him and even joked a bit with me. He might’ve been nice just to learn what I was doing and get me to teach him, though. He did threaten to dismantle my other hand, but that was about the only thing he did that matched with yesterday. His threat didn’t really seem to carry any weight behind it. Like I said, I think he was just saying stuff to get me to break formality and yell at him. Not that it really matters I guess. Trying to find out why he does the things that he does seems like a moot point.”

“You joked with the King…and he joked back,” he asks, blinking a few times.

“Yea, I didn’t know he had it in him either but it happened all the same. He seems to be full of surprises I guess”, you said as you lifted your foot behind you and used the toe of your shoe as an anchor while you rolled your ankle around.

“Well I suppose. It is definitely the first time I have heard of it. I mean I have heard of him sadistically joking with his victims, but not in a casual setting”, he says. “But I am glad things went better for you today.” He smiles at you again before awkwardly standing there looking around.

“Me too, and thank you for checking in. I appreciate the gesture. But I won’t take up anymore of your time. I am sure there is a new smutty book waiting to be read by you”, you said with a smile while straightening your back and starting out of the aisle.

“Don’t forget to let me know which one you liked better”, he shouts after you.

“Will do”, you shout back before exiting.

You spent the rest of the day reading the book on energy you had gotten. You considered reading your fantasy books to find out what scenes Geto was talking about, but you figured you should at least start the book you had originally gone for. You had gotten about a quarter of the way through before dozing off in a fitful nap.

The area around you was damp and cold. Your skin had goosebumps shaking across it as you held your knees. Your whole body hurt. Your jaw was sore from being forced open for a prolonged amount of time, your lips were swollen and scabbing over from being bitten and slapped, your wrists and shoulders hurt from being unnaturally bound for so long, your legs were sore from being pushed beyond the limits of your flexibility, and your throat burned from how many screams forced their way out of the acid stained walls.

There was movement across from where you laid. You couldn’t see anything but you could see her. It was like she was inside and outside of your mind at the same time. Her eyes were black voids that seemed to hungrily devour the light like an all consuming abyss split into two. Her jaw hung from her face, only attached by skin that was stretched taut. Inside her mouth seemed to be stained black as if a fire had burned soot stains into it. Her hair was as black as her eyes and seemed to wriggle and writhe like thousands of dark little worms suspended in the air yet forced down by gravity. She comes to you often these days. At first, you were scared of her and pushed her away. Now, you feel comfort in not being alone in your cage. She never spoke to you…not until that day.

Hands reached all over your body in the dark as men laughed. You were just an object of release for them. You weren’t human to them, what you felt didn’t matter. Your cries had died in your throat a while ago as you disassociated from your body. There you found her. Somewhere dark within your mind, she was standing with her hand reaching out. Anytime, you allowed yourself to fall inside that void that grew within you, swallowing up more and more of you with every inch it gained, you found her. Always with her hand outstretched. Always waiting patiently for the day you inevitably took it. You knew nothing would be the same if you took it. You knew you truly wouldn’t be human anymore. But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Because you really fucking hated humans in all honesty.

That day you couldn’t take it anymore. All you wanted to do was stab the men around you until they weren’t even recognizable. You wanted to make them pay. To experience all of the pain and fear you felt because of them. You wanted not to be weak anymore. So you allowed the abyss to swallow you, to make you forget everything about yourself as you put your hand into hers and she smiled. Pointed teeth braised in thick black liquid peeked through her lips, the gelatinous liquid started gushing through her teeth and onto the ground as she continued to smile. You didn’t notice but your face was mirroring hers as blood flooded from your mouth. You don’t remember how it got there but you know it tasted of freedom. A taste you wanted to experience again and again.

You awoke with drool dribbling out of your mouth and pain in your neck from falling asleep at your dining table. You slowly sat up, groaning as your muscles announced their dissatisfaction with your decision. You put your hands on your lower back and pushed on it as you arched backwards. You felt pops ripple up your spine before rolling your neck to allow it to pop too. You hadn’t dreamt of that day in quite some time. The day you first used cursed energy. When you told the Mother of the girl she chuckled. She told you that cursed energy can manifest in everyone differently. Yours had built up over years of agony and inadvertently created the technique you first learned— transmutation. Your thoughts of wanting to be stronger than you were and looking like you felt mixed with the built up energy had created an evolved form of you. It was then she told you how big of a part thought played in the creation of cursed energy.

You hadn’t used that form in so long. One of the conditions for using it was to release all of the cursed energy you had stored. The more you had, the stronger the form was. You still used a decent amount of energy for general things and creating curses, but you also stored a great amount. Like any you collected from draining other sorcerers was immediately stored. There was another downside to it as well. It made you go more feral than you could control. Once you turned, you destroyed everything and everyone in your path until you depleted your energy and changed back.

The last time you used it, you blacked out for 2 weeks and turned 12 towns into utter bloodbaths. You had lost yourself in your anger and blacked out. When you had finally awoken, you were being wheeled away in a wheelbarrow full of pieces of human remains. Authorities had thought you were a dead body with how covered in blood you were. You laid in the pile you were dumped in for a few days, eating the remains around you to regain your strength. Once able, you blindly stumbled into the snow. You walked until you found a hut with a man living in it. You knocked on the door crying and told him you had been attacked and that you were blind and scared. He took you in without a second thought. Afterall, you were just a harmless child crying for your “recently lost” parents. He was so nice to you. He sat you in front of the fire and helped wipe all of the blood off of you while trying to console you. He even gave you new clothes and respectfully turned around when you went to change. But when he turned away from you a hatchet appeared in his skull. You remember the sounds he made as he fell to the floor, the fear and confusion clouding his energy as he looked up at you. You ripped the hatchet from his head and chopped him into pieces. Some of him you set up as bait for other animals, and some of him you ate when no other food was available. There, you lived a quiet life for a few months until the Mother stumbled upon you. Thinking back on it, you were a monster before she ever turned you into her spawn. Maybe that was why she chose you.

You walked towards the training grounds the next morning just as you said you would. The air was brisk with a slight chill, which was odd since it was summer. Its oddness became rationalized as you sensed Uruame’s energy in the air. You turned the corner to see them there already staring you down.

As you stepped through the archway leading into the area you could sense cursed energy rushing towards you. You jumped from where you stood and grabbed onto the ridge of the arch as the ground below you turned into ice.

“Y’know there are better ways to ask me to leave. Like with words for example”, you said with great annoyance. It was way too early for this bullshit. They better just be playing around for their sake because you were not in the mood for an actual fight.

Ice shot up from the ground, right for you. Tch. Does this asshole really think they can hit me? You pulled yourself to the realm between and watched them from it. They had surrounded themselves with ice while looking around for you. Their hands were poised and ready to attack when you appeared. Normally, you would have played with them, allowed them to feel like they had a chance of winning before squashing them like the bug they were. Not today. Not after being stuck in memory lane last night. You were hungry for blood, it had been days since you killed. Days full of you taking hits and putting up with bullshit you shouldn’t have to.

You appeared in front of them, their sad blockade of ice shattering from the force of your energy being unleashed. Your hand shot to their throat, fingertips digging into the skin as you lifted them from the ground. Their eyes widen as they told their ice to impale and shred you, but it didn't listen. Your energy was already flooding their body and taking control of their technique. They could feel it. They started letting out screams as their own technique bloomed inside their blood. It tore through vessels and skin as the shards of ice grew.

“I told you to use your words. Now why did you—“, you felt Sukuna’s hand about to grab but you pushed him away with your energy.

You turned from Uruame to see Geto by where you entered, the ice still on the ground spiking upwards. Sukuna landed on his feet after being repelled and looked fucking pissed.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, BRAT?”, he screamed at you as he started pushing against the force field around you. His steps were small and slow, but they continue towards you all the same.

“ME? YOUR ASSHOLE SERVANT ATTACKED ME AND WOULDN’T RESPOND WHEN I ASKED WHY!”, you screamed back at him.

“I don’t think she is lying, King Sukuna. Her trail puts her here and jumping up there before appearing where she is now. I think we should all just calm down and talk about this”, he said while trying to diffuse the situation.

Sukuna looks at Geto and the ice he was referring to. He didn’t think you would attack Uruame without being provoked, but he didn’t know why Uruame would attack you either. He knew they didn’t like you but they had never acted without permission before. “(Y/N) let Uruame go so we can settle this”.

You looked at him then back at Uruame. They were bleeding from multiple places where the ice had torn through them, and one of their eyes was just a frozen ball waiting to shatter. You wanted to finish the job. Wanted to see their insides splayed open for you like a present.

“(Y/N), please”, Geto said as he looked at you with pleading eyes.

You rolled your eyes and sighed before releasing Uruame to fall to the ground. The ice dissipated and your barrier dropped. Sukuna appeared between the two of you in an instant. You gave you a look radiating murder before bending down to Uruame’s level.

“Did you start this”, he asked while propping them up.

“They aren’t good for you. You haven’t been yourself since you heard about them. You had me stalk them for months before finally summoning them. And now you allow their insolence and disrespect. We know nothing about her or what she is and yet you welcome her into your palace and allow her to roam free. She—“, Sukuna slammed their head into the ground.

Geto winced at the sight of his comrade’s skull getting smashed, but you smiled. The sight and sound his skull made as Sukuna crushed it lit a fire deep within you. Pesky piece of shit. You only wished it was you who got to do it.

“(Y/N)”, Sukuna said.

“Yes, King Sukuna?”

“Don’t let them die”, he said, shooting you a cold look promising similar treatment if you fail.

“Yes, King Sukuna”, you replied with a smile allowing your power to seep back into them and regenerate their wounds.

Sukuna smashed in their face with all four of his fists over and over before stomping and jumping on their body. He then began grabbing and tearing away pieces of flesh, some eaten by the mouth that had appeared on his hand. Every now and then he would even dip his head down and bite out chunks of them. He ripped off their arms and legs, watching as they regrew in an instant. He even ripped off their head before beating them with it. He looked like a wild animal as every inch of his skin became covered in blood. The display stoked that fire inside you until liquid started to pour out of your lower lips. Sukuna’s pants started to bulge as his own arousal grew from tearing apart and eating his friend. His insults and the sound of Uruame’s flesh squelching and bones snapping filled the air. Blood pooled around you like an ever growing river. This goes on for at least an hour and neither you nor Geto moved an inch. You both watched what happened to people the King actually likes when they cross him. Normally, it was Sukuna healing them while beating them. Now that he didn’t have to bother with it he was going all out.

His assault finally comes to an end and he just stares down with disdain at Uruame before looking at you. He walked over to you and gripped your jaw with his bloody hands. “Geto, take Uruame and leave. No one is allowed to enter this area until I say otherwise. Go. Now.”

Geto briefly looked at you before picking up Uruame and quickly leaving the area.

As soon as they’re gone, Sukuna started petting your hair with one hand, another still gripping your chin, one holding your hip with his thumb rubbing patterns into it, and the last one on the small of your back. “You did such a good job keeping them alive for me. I never had so much fun torturing someone. They all would’ve died somewhere in the middle of it when I stopped concentrating on healing them”, he said while looking you in the eyes.

“What did they mean when they said you stalked me for months”, you asked as you rested your hands on his forearms.

He sighed and looked down for a minute. “It wasn’t in a weird way. I just wanted to know if you were the real deal. I had heard of a sorcerer not restrained by technique that worked as a contract killer. I wanted to see what all you could do and when I was confident you were strong, I had Geto go retrieve you. But I still needed to see for myself, so that’s why I sparred with you in the throne room. But you proved your worth to me”.

He pulled you close to him, his face hovering over yours. “You proved you were made for me. Made to be able to take my strength, made to empower me, made to show me my potential in cursed energy, made for me to bite, made to challenge me.”

His lips were right against yours now. Even through all of Uruame’s blood you could smell his scent. Your eyes flickered between his as your pulse quickened from the unfolding moment. You could feel his dick pressing against your abdomen from how close you were, making both of your breaths grow short and quick. You knew this was crazy. He was covered in blood and still had pieces of flesh in his teeth. Not to mention you were pretty sure you hated him. But none of that seemed to matter at the moment. You trailed your hands up his forearms, blood coating them as they slid across his skin until you reached the back of his neck. You ran your nails across his nape and he pressed his forehead against yours while letting out a groan.

“Show me how you’re made for me. Prove to me that you're worthy of me. Make me yours”, you whisper against his lips while drawing shapes on his nape. “Please Sukuna.”

The noise that leaves his throat from you begging him is so low and guttural it sounds like it belongs to the hells. His arms lift you up to wrap around his waist as his mouth crashes into yours. His teeth nip and bite at your lips and tongue before sucking on them. You moan into the kiss as your mouth follows in suit and your hips roll into him. Your hands pull him closer to you but its not enough. There’s still too much in between you. Normally you would enjoy slowly undressing him and teasing each part of his body as its revealed but you were wayyy past going slow. The next minute you feel his skin bare of clothes and against yours. You push your breasts flush against his chest, blood coating them, and moan at the sensation it gives your nipples.

“My naughty girl, who gave you permission to undress your King”, he says while pulling your hair back to get a good look at you.

The force he pulled your head with was enough to rip anyone else’s off, but there yours was moaning out in pleasure from it. “I did. You were taking too long, Sukuna”, you said before gasping as you finally looked down. “You-you have two”, you asked in shock. Although you really shouldn’t be shocked since he has two of everything else. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the thought of him burying them inside you. Fucking your insides until they molded to his shape.

He laughs at your cute little question before slapping you right in the face once and then once on your left ass cheek which provokes a stuttered moan from your throat. “Such a fucking brat talking to me like that”, he says before he shoves one of his fingers into your mouth and grabs your right breast. His mouth appearing and biting on your nipple, making you moan again for him. He slaps your ass in the same spot and this time it is so hard that the sound echoes throughout the premises. The pain shooting through your body makes you scream as your cum drips onto him. Blood dribbles from where your skin broke and you bite his finger. Not completely off but enough that you’re lapping up a mix of his and Uruame’s blood. “Talking to me so casually—“ he slaps it again,”biting my fucking finger—“ another slap has blood absolutely gushing from the spot and tears swelling in your eyes. You decide to get even and bite his finger clean off letting him watch you swallow it. A piece of him inside you. You then suckled on the nub left behind while giving him a bloody smirk.

He groans at the sight as his finger regrows back in your mouth. Fucking hell he didn’t think he had ever seen something so hot. You literally just ate a piece of him because he made your ass bleed. He starts laughing before turning you around and slamming you down into Uruame’s blood. The side of your head and neck cracked from the force of the impact before healing immediately. The crack in the stone remained, though. Your ass hung in the air as his cocks rubbed against it.

“Crazy bitch you really just ate my fucking finger”, he says with awe in his voice. You try to push yourself up but the hand tangled in your hair keeps your face firmly planted down. He couldn’t have you running away, he was just about to finally taste you. “Keep your head down and I will touch you where you want me to, but if you move it I swear to god I will bite your clit off.”

“Please ‘kuna. I’ll be good just please touch me”, you whined out shamelessly. You could feel your slick dripping out of your cunt into the pool of blood. Your body was so needy for his touch it was driving your mind insane.

Again with your informalness he thought. He would correct you if your voice whining out his name didn’t drive him animalistic. He released your head and got down behind your ass. You were so fucking wet for him. He reached his finger out to gather some of your cum and your ass twitched immediately. So sensitive for him. “Stay still, brat”, he warned. Two of his hands grabbed your ass while the other two reached under you and tugged on your tits, fingers pinching and pulling on your nipples. Wispy little whimpers flew out of your mouth but you were good and stayed still for him.

He licked a stripe from your clit to your asshole that had your eyes rolling and a whine coming out. He gave you a few more long, slow licks before plunging his tongue into your pussy.

“Yes, fuck, Kuna, yes just like that”, you moaned out as he stretched you open with his tongue. It took all of your control to keep from rolling your hips into his face. “Mmm Kuna feels s’good. Makes me want to ride your face until you’re drowning in my juices.”

Fuck that would be so hot. He wanted to make you cum until you were a fountain for him. He let a groan rumble out inside which had your walls squeezing hard around his tongue. God you were taking his tongue so well, squeezing it and trying to pull it deeper inside you. He couldn’t wait to feel you do that around his cocks. He removed his tongue from your sopping pussy which made you whine before he started licking your ass. You started panting at the sensation, pussy clenching at the lack of attention which didn’t go unnoticed by him. He stuck a blood soaked finger into you, and at the same time, forced his tongue into your ass. Stars took over your vision as your toes curled up. He worked both of them in sync before summoning his mouth to assault your clit too. You started screaming out his name as your thighs began to shake from the overload of pleasure. He added another finger to your pussy and one to your ass and started spreading you, preparing you for his cocks. He knew you would be able to take all 10 girthy inches and still beg for more. That’s because you were made for him. Made to be able to endure whatever sadistic fantasies he had. His perfect girl. He started licking off the blood that was still on your ass and groaned from the feeling that washed over him while he fucked your holes with his fingers and second mouth. He couldn’t wait much longer.

He took his fingers out of you before crawling over you, pushing you down with his body. His free hands pulled your ass apart to help spread your holes for him as he positoned his cocks against them. You could feel that the size was too big but you didn’t care. You would adjust and take him. You wanted it so bad. His face was beside your ear, one of his hands moved the hair away from your neck as he peppered kisses along it. “It’s going to hurt pretty girl, but you can take it. I know you can. I’m not going to be gentle because I know you can,” he said in between kisses and then he was in. It felt like you were splitting into two as you screamed out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He was slamming into you at a brutal pace just like he promised as he rested his head against your turned cheek. Before long, you were arching your body into him and meeting his thrusts as you both let out absolutely feral noises from the sensations. You were so fucking full you felt like you were going to burst, you could feel him pushing against your cervix and ripping open your asshole but it felt amazing. You didn’t want it to ever stop. You wanted him to fill you up like this forever. It was so warm under him and the sounds your blood covered bodies made when they slapped together was beautiful. You could hear him panting, groaning, and growling above your ear as he used you. But it wasn’t enough, you wanted more.

“Kuna-ah-ahh wan it deeper. Wanna watch you go inside me. Want you to mark me while your tear up my insides pleaseee”, you said as your vision blurred from the blood seeping into your eye that was against the ground.

How could he say no to such a request? Without missing a beat he pulled out, flipped you over, grabbed under your thighs to bend you in half, and resumed his brutal pace. His cocks now reached even deeper spots inside you. His tip went through your cervix as you screamed and tears started falling from your eyes.

“Kun gon cum, please, wan cum on your cocks, sssukuunaaa”, you begged in broken moans as your body started spasming. Your holes clenching around him so tight he broke the stone under you with his fist to keep himself from cumming.

“Cum for me brat, cover my cocks with your slutty fucking cum”, he said as he put his hand around your throat and squeezed. You body was shaking so hard he had to hold your hips with two hands so he could keep fucking into you. His own orgasm creeping up right behind yours as your holes started milking him for all he was worth, as if begging him for his cum. He pushed your mouth open with his fingers, blood smearing across your face as he did, and spit inside it before slapping you. You clenched even harder as you started cumming around him again from the defiling act, your eyes rolling back from the overstimulation. He bit your neck as he finally poured his cum into you. Long ropes of white splashing against your walls and pooling inside of your holes. Your holes that were too tight around him for his cum to escape. You could feel as it began to accumulate inside of you. Making your insides stretch further to take it all without tearing. Pain radiated from your neck as he drank from you. Your blood restoring his stamina as his cocks got even harder inside of you. It made your mind go completely blank as incessant moans poured from your mouth.

He pulled his teeth from your skin and licked the area, tasting you and Uruame as he cleaned it. He took a few breaths before moving himself over your face. You were looking at him through blurry eyes completely glazed over with lust. He brushed your hair out of your sweaty, blood covered face as he showered you with kisses. His hips started moving in slow controlled strokes. Letting you both feel every single sensation in greater detail. You could feel exactly where he was inside you and how your insides closed in his absence only for him to open them right back up when he sank back inside you. You held onto his arms as he kissed you. When he pulled his head back you both looked down to watch how he slid in and out of you. His cocks were covered in your blood and both your cum. You wrapped your legs around him and moved your arms up to run through his hair. Lightly tugging on some spots, and running your nails over others. The sensation had him melting into you. He had never been touched like this, never let anyone. And he sure as hell had never fucked anyone like this. But with how heightened his senses were from drinking your blood, he didn’t think he could go any faster without immediately cumming. And he wanted this to last. He felt so connected to you like this. He could feel the energy in both of your bodies swirling together. Dancing around each other before intertwining into one. When they did, he started to feel everything you felt. Your pleasure seeped into him as his seeped into you. He never believed in heaven, but if it existed, this was it.

You leaned your head up as you pulled on him for extra stability and started kissing along his jaw. “I wanna be in your lap Sukuna.”

“Okay, pretty girl”, he said as he lifted you up on top of him. No rebuttal, no anger, just compliance. In that, moment, he just wanted to make you feel good.

Your chests were pressed together and your hands rested on his shoulders as you rolled your hips across his lengths. His hands cradled your back and face, his thumbs rubbing patterns on both. Foreheads pressed together as you both watched you ride him. Only stopping to kiss each other or mark each other’s necks. Marks you both held off on healing for the time being. You started teasing him by pulling him out to just the tips and twirling your hips around them.

“That’s no fair, I don’t remember teasing you like that”, he said with a very uncharacteristic pout.

“I guess I am just a bit meaner than you then, hmm?”

“Ohohohh is that so now?”

“Yes, it is”, you said before kissing him.

He kissed you back while rubbing his thumb along your jaw, “Brat.”

You two fucked the day away in that spot. The spot where you had watched him tear apart his subordinate right before. By the time you two were done, there wasn’t a single spot of skin not covered in their blood.

Notes: …don’t judge me for this chapter ikik shhh. Extras v v

- So when using positive energy or reversed energy, there are times where it doesn’t work because the two people are not compatible. Know this, it would be easy to assume there are some people who have energies that are very compatible. Sukuna is obviously a sorcerer like no other, but so is the reader. They are the only two on their level, which draws them closer. Their crazies match each other. Is it toxic? Again, yes this is Sukuna. But with their personalities, it would be wild for it not to be at least a little toxic.

- Sukuna had recently learned to truly feel his innate energy and not just his cursed energy which are very different. In this chapter when he drinks from the reader, it opens a connection between the two innate energies, one that he couldn’t feel before. It allowed them to both feel everything about each other and genuinely experience connection. This doesn’t happen anytime he ingests someone, it only happens because their energies are the same. Sukuna was originally talking out of his ass about the reader being made for him to make them feel special and delude them. He only partially believed they were that useful to him. But after connecting with them, he fully believes it. He will still be a bipolar asshole though because he doesn’t know any different. Yet.

- Sukuna was pissed at Uruame but would actually consider their punishment to be light. It only lasted for an hour and they’re perfectly fine now. He would punish anyone this violently for genuinely crossing him, especially the reader. It would actually be wore for them because he needs them to be good and listen to him. He needs them in general which means they need to not be undermining him. It would be embarrassing for him if they constantly did it so he would take his time upon the first incident. Making sure they remembered it and wouldn’t act out again. And the whole time he’d tell them how much he cared about them and was doing this so that they could be better.

Taglist: @missroro

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years

Text

Baby Blues

Pairing: John Price x Female Reader

Synopsis: The promise of a normal Sunday is lost when your door is torn open, and, you, kidnaped. All you can do is pray that John finds you in time.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: allusions to intimacy, kidnapping, blood, gore, swearing, angst, fluff

A/N: The lack of John fics is saddening to the degree that I’ve been forced to write one myself. Don’t expect anything good, in fact, I think everything I've written is horrible, but this is the only way the voices in my head would shut up. Enjoy.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You suppose that you’ll never fully recall what happened after the front door got busted off its hinges, but the events leading up to the heart-stopping instance are more clear than crystal.

Just that morning you had woken up to an empty bed for the sixth day in a row, light streaming in from behind the drawn curtains. Your chest had been tight as you stretched your arms above your head; attempting to shake the fatigue from your body that you knew wouldn’t leave. It was a shame you had fallen for a man who was gone so often and for so long – you never slept well without John by your side, and you missed his habit of drawing you into his strong chest while small mumbles would fall from his lips; nuzzling your hair. But, mostly, you missed drifting off to his heartbeat in your ear.

His hand on your thigh was the better version of a weighted blanket.

But now he was off somewhere that you didn’t have the privilege of knowing – he could be just down the street and you would be none the wiser – leaving you here in his home in London, adamantly waiting for him to return. You always waited, though, because John was someone worth waiting for. Even if he always came back to you with another bullet wound or a few stitched scrapes -- the point was that he came back at all. And that tired smile that overtook his lips when he saw you was reward enough, the wash of softness that spreads like a wave over the harshness of his eyes.

You couldn’t ask for a more perfect lover, even if the nights he was gone you were incredibly restless.

“I have to make breakfast,” Your lips part, a slow groan entering the bedroom as you shove back the covers, the small digital clock on the nightstand reading eight O’clock, “God, what I wouldn’t give for John’s pancakes right about now.”

When things had gotten serious between the two of you, it had come as a surprise that the Brit was insanely good at making breakfast foods. Now every time John left you he not only caused an absence in your shared bed but also in the kitchen.

Getting to your feet, you pad over to the bathroom, grabbing one of John’s large spare shirts and gray sweats on the way, pressing them to your nose as your eyes flicker at the scent of smoke and gunpowder. It was almost enough to make you slink back into bed, roll around in the covers, and press the fabric deep into your chest as you imagine John being there, fingers spayed out along your burning flesh.

Lord, you were so horrifically in love with the blue-eyed man that even the scent of him made you ache with need.

After taking a shower, staying in there for a long while, and praying the cold water washed away your heated thoughts, you dressed and went to quickly hobble down the hardwood hallway, gazing at the pictures on the walls as you pass them.

A smile quirks on your lips at the still image of you and John at the local military base, snapped by none other than Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick himself with his thumb slightly sticking out in the bottom right corner. It showed John gripping you tightly around the waist, staring down at you as his hulking frame dragged you into a hug; your arms were around his tapered waist, not minding the bulkiness of his combat vest at all as John’s iconic bucket hat sat on your head like a shimmering crown. You looked up at the bearded man like he was the only person in the world that mattered and, at that moment, he was.

Gaz had never let on that he had been taking pictures of the two of you for about a year until on your last birthday he handed you a collection in an envelope with a smirk directed at his Captain.

“You’re going to love this, Sir,” Kyle had said, and you both had watched in amusement as John’s face heated to a, you believed, adorable degree of red at the contents.

It was safe to say that every single picture that you had been given was framed and hung in every nook available in John’s house.

Finally making it to the kitchen, you settled on a simple egg sandwich with a side of steaming coffee – something that John would never be able to understand about you. He was always so adamant about having a cup of Earl Gray in the mornings that it was the cause of many amusing fake arguments and teasing.

Going to sit on the comfy leather loveseat next to the window, plate and cup in hand, your eyes lock onto a black van across the street, not even thinking about it until you had taken a sip of your drink with a sigh.

You blinked slowly, watching the shadows inside the tinted windows shift with a hitch in your chest.

“That’s strange,” Muttering under your breath, you take another slow sip and feel the heat of the coffee settle in your stomach; pooling with the small amount of paranoia that began to gradually build, “I don’t think Mrs. Rose was expecting anyone today – it’s Sunday – she’s off at church by now for Morning Mass.”

The neighbor, Mrs. Rose, was a kind old lady whose husband had been in the service years and years ago and the two of you had bonded over the fact. She often brought over sweets when she knew John was gone and you and her would trade stories to keep each other company and the lonely thoughts at bay.

Her husband had died three years ago, and, because of this, Mrs. Rose found comfort in religion. Sundays were always quiet around the neighborhood – no cars on the quiet street, no knocks on the front door, and no loud music from the younger neighbors that John always had to use his ‘Captain Voice’ on to get to quiet down. And, certainly, no strange black cars with moving shadows in the interior.

Rubbing at your fatigued eyes, you lightly tilt your head back to rest on the top of the loveseat, “John’s rubbing off on me too much, I’m going to be graying in no time if I keep this up. It’s just a damn car.” Just as you said those words the engine of the van rumbled to life, and no later the vehicle was rolling its way down the road and disappearing out of view.

You nod your head, trying to prove to yourself that you had been right to think nothing of the small disruption to your Sunday routine.

“Worrying is John’s specialty.” You say with surety, your lips pulling into a smile as the steam of your drink caresses your cheeks, imagining the man and the furrow in his brow when he sees something out in public he didn’t like. He always pulled you close to him in those instances, keeping a hand on the small of your back like he was your personal security detail instead of your boyfriend. Not that you minded, of course. In fact, you found it incredibly attractive that he cared about you that much, “I’ll leave it to him to glare at every bump in the night, especially if it means he ends up sleeping on top of me like last time.”

So why was there a twist in your stomach that refused to leave? You shook your head, setting down your cup and grabbing at your egg sandwich with twitching fingers.

Not my business, you thought to yourself, chewing the bread and protein between your teeth and swallowing thickly before going back in for another bite, Nothing even happened.

But it was, unfortunately, going to be your business at about five O’clock at night.

Just finishing a deep clean of the pantry that you had been putting off for days, your ears had tuned out the sound of the radio on the counter, your favorite song just finishing up that you had been mindlessly enjoying. If anyone had heard you singing along as you had, it would have left you more embarrassed than the time you had accidentally punched Soap in the gut when he had snuck up on you at the base.

To this day, the Scot had never let you live that event down, but Price had told you fondly that if you could land a hit on his Sargent and leave him winded, there was no need at all to feel bad.

It was only in the break between songs that you finally heard your phone ringing from the living room.

Placing down the box of noodles that you had been trying to find a place in the pantry for with a huff of breath, your hand flicked off the radio as you left the kitchen. Mildly annoyed to be interrupted, you grabbed your phone from the couch cushion where you had thrown it a while ago, flipping the screen over as the incessant ringing stopped.

“Damn,” You mutter, mad that you had missed whoever had called, though you knew it couldn’t have been John or the others of 141 – they were never allowed to call on missions due to possible breaches of security – and you never wanted to put them in danger just because you missed your boyfriend.

The number of missed notifications made you freeze.

Inside your chest, your pulse skyrockets as your eyes skim over fifty-two missed calls from John, twenty-five from Gaz, fifteen from Soap, and seven from Ghost with a rising panicked fever. That last one was strange – Ghost never called you. It wasn’t that you weren’t close, he just hated not seeing the person he was talking to over the phone when he had the choice to. He had shown up at the house multiple times just to ask a question about a chicken recipe you had made the team a while back.

Your lips thin with a sense of eerie calm. Had you been cleaning the pantry that long? You swore it had only been two hours since you started.

“What the fuck,” You whisper, but before you could click John's notification to call him back, the phone started ringing just on cue. Stabbing the green icon with your shaking finger, your hands vibrate as you snap the device to your ear, but already your boyfriend was shouting on the other end.

“-Oh, thank the bloody fucking Lord,” Your boyfriend utters your name, and his voice pauses as he takes a relieved breath, but the frantic tone persists onto the next sentence. He sounded like he was running, and briefly, you hear him shout over his shoulder to someone most likely following behind him, probably Gaz, “Listen to me right now,” Foliage is shoved aside, and you blink in confusion at the sound, “and get out of the house. Now, Love, I know you have questions, and I’d be happy to answer all of them when I know you’re safe, but I can’t explain right now. You need to go to this exact location–”

“John, what the hell? Leave the house? It’s five on a Sunday.” You stumble backward, spotting your shoes and coat by the door with a terrified expression. What the fuck was he talking about? Leave the house…right now? It was dark out, the street lamps the only light left and not to mention freezing.

“Get out of the fucking house! Now!” Flinching your breath hitches at the words you could only describe as orders as his accent deepens gutturally at the shout coming from his lips.

John had never raised his voice at you before – despised it, really, and because of that arguments always led to both parties leaving to separate rooms to cool off before talking again with level heads on their shoulders. He never had outbursts like that. Ever. But this…

Your feet rush to the door, slipping on your shoes with quaking feet as you swallow harshly.

“Okay,” You whisper into the phone, voice noticeably weak from nerves and fear. Something was horribly wrong, and the same feeling from this morning returned tenfold, nearly like an ironic ‘I told you so’ as your stomach rolls.

“...Shit, I-I–” Whatever apology John was about to utter was lost to you as your hand went to open the door, gripping the knob before stopping in your tracks.

Whispers. Whispers coming from outside the door. Your ears strain for a solid minute before your eyes widen in their sockets. Alarm bells were ringing inside of your mind, and you slowly backed up and interrupted the directions that John was spewing off, hands clenching as sweat formed in the groves of skin.

“John, someone’s at the front door. I hear whispering.” Silence, and the sound of increased panting, a body running faster and faster as shouts reverberate in the background. Were those gunshots you heard? And muffled gasping? “John.” You breathily whisper, eyes snapping back and forth but focusing on nothing.

“There’s a safe in my office, the code is 5-6-2-1. Inside you are going to find a firearm–”

“What?!” Your face stiffens, but your feet already carry you silently backward toward John’s office room, “What the fuck?”

“Listen to me,” Price grunts, voice so desperate you weren't sure the same person was speaking to you anymore, “Gaz and the others already contacted the police and Laswell, but they’re not going to get there in time. You need to be prepared for when they bust through the door.”

Bust through the door?! Your thoughts run and with gasping breaths, you turn fully around and begin rushing through the house.

“Speak to me, Love,” John utters, choice cutting out and filtering back in, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“You owe me a ring after all of this I swear to–” The front door busts off its hinges and multiple pairs of rushing feet storm through the house, and all-consuming shouts drown out your screams. You drop the phone as John bellows your name into the speaker, voice breaking. Turning to run, hands snatch at your wrists and shoulders dragging you away from the office that was so close at hand and back to the door. All you caught a glance of were black uniforms, heads completely covered like common criminals. But they were anything but.

“Get the Hell off me...! John! John, please!” Your screaming is cut off by the end of a gun falling to your temple, blinding pain erupting behind your eyes as blood spurts from a wound breaking your skin.

Disoriented, you fall silent, head lulling to the side as your swinging arms and legs fill with TV static. They lay limp as strange hands wrap around your middle, dragging you out the door as John’s voice becomes faint in the distance. You fall unconscious to his rage-filled voice, the volume of his threats so loud you heard them in the streets before darkness takes you.

“I will tear every one of you fuckers to pieces if you break one hair on her fucking head! Do you hear me?! You keep her out of this–”

–

And now you were sitting tied to a chair, head throbbing with venomous fear pulsing through your veins; your body shaking as the initial confusion leeks away.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, You think, head snapping this way and that even if it makes you want to vomit right into your lap. The rope over your wrists and waist digs deep, your skin already red long before you start jerking your limbs to try and move them.

The room looked like an old storage container, with metal on the walls and floors with a single handing light from the low ceiling that buzzed. But what caught your attention more were the blood stains. Sucking in quick breaths, your eyes jerk from one to another, all dried but looking large and having spawned from wounds that no one could walk away from. Suddenly aware of your situation, a whimper falls from your lips.

Where was John? You wanted him with you, wanted to feel him bring you to his chest and never let go, feel the steady beating of his reliable heart against your ear like a lifeline; you wanted to grip his skin and lay gentle kisses to his cheeks and lips, let his beard tickle you like it always did – leaving you laughing as John rubs his head into your neck to tease you with it.

The blue peeling paint of the storage container didn’t look like the precise blue of John’s eyes, just a pale imitation. Strangely, that was the thought that made the growing tears in the sides of your eyes slip down your cheeks. That wasn’t his blue; nothing else could be. Your fingers clench into fists so tight the skin turns white.

“John,” You sob, the blood from your head wound dripping down your chin. It sings, “John, where are you? Please, I’m scared.”

Footsteps sound from outside, but you immediately know they don’t belong to your boyfriend. They were too heavy, and, whoever it was, they didn’t carry themselves with the grace that John always did when he was with you or in the field. While being built better than a bodybuilder, your lover had been trained to take on tasks that most would consider death sentences…and he sure as hell didn’t walk like that. The stranger was so loud even your untrained ears picked up on it, and your body responds by becoming even more tense as a shadow settled behind the door.

A long stretch of silence and ragged breathing, your occasional sniffling contrasting the thick air.

The large door opens with a slam that makes you flinch back into your chair, wrist ropes skinning the fragile skin as you choke at the pain.

His face is unfamiliar, one twisted by emotions you weren't sure most normal people experienced in their lifetime. He stalks closer, and instinctually you attempt to pull back to no avail. The ropes begin to draw blood, the metallic scent coating your nose.

Behind the stranger, the door closes silently, a dull thumb announcing the barrier.

“My name is Ilya,” His Russian accent was heavy, making the words harsh. Ilya clunks forward, standing a few feet from you as he stares down his large nose, “You are John Price’s pet, no?”

Pet? Despite the pounding in your head, you hold your tongue but show an annoyed grimace.

When you don’t respond, Ilya’s hand connects with your right cheek, snapping your neck agonizingly to the side with a deafening slap. Your world swims, and a buzzing takes hold in your ears like an explosion had gone off right next to you. Fresh blood flows from your lip – you think with a groan that you bit into it accidentally.

Be brave, You swallow the scream in your throat, working the kink out of your jaw, John would want me to be brave. He’s coming for me. I know he is. The thought comforts you. Never in your life had you doubted John and his loyalty; many would call it his defining factor.

He was going to find you – him and Gaz and the rest of your boys.

“You are to answer me when I ask you a question, Pet. Understand?”

“Go fuck yourself,” You snarl, tears falling to your lap with dull splats and absorbing into John’s gray sweatpants. Your face burns.

Ilya smirks, square jaw pulling back. He grabs at something with his left arm, your eyes following the movements in horror as he draws a long knife from his waistband.

“Alright,” He mutters, fingering the tip of the blade and nodding his head, “I can play that game.”

He walks three steps forward before a sound like bending metal sounds from outside, and suddenly the two of you are shrouded in inky darkness. Your panicked breathing stills.

Did someone destroy the breaker box? Shaking, you find it in yourself to weakly smirk, hope rising in you.

“I hope you’re really good at dodging punches…because John saves his fists for the worst ones.”

The door breaks off its hinges, and the sound of familiar, muffled, footsteps rush into the storage container. Ilya never stood a chance.

“Get over here--!” Not being able to see anything, all you could do was listen to the feral sound of skin connecting with skin echoes throughout the metal box. A body drops to the floor with choking gasps of pleas before other people rush into the room, one shadow immediately zipping to your side. You flinch.

“It’s me,” Gaz mutters, “You’re alright, it’s just me.” You hadn’t noticed the frantically fast pace of your heart until you had the time to be concerned about it.

Gaz’s hands immediately go to the ropes, cutting you free with his combat knife before dragging you into his arms. Your legs feel weak, but you find the energy to nuzzle your head into the man’s chest with a relieved sigh. But it’s not John. Still, you hear your boyfriend reaming on Ilya, the man most certainly dead by now due to John’s strength.

“Captain,” Soap’s voice calls from the doorway, his shadow shifting. He clears his throat as Gaz places a careful hand on the back of your head, a slow sigh leaving his lips to ruffle your hair, “Sir. He’s dead.”

The ragged and bloody punches come to a gradual stop, and heavy panting reverberates. Your head turns to the side, muttering, “John?” With squinted eyes, trying to make him out in the darkness. A quick rustling of equipment catches you by surprise, but the warm hands that grip your shoulders lightly don’t scare you; it turns you around with a heart-tightening gentleness.

A new chest meets your cheek, warmer than Gaz’s as well as broader. Stiffer. John. John. John. Your hands snap around his waist with a wet sob ripping from your lungs, leaving you breathless and gasping for air as more tears come.

“Shh,” His lips are on your head, muttering into your hair as his arms completely encompass the expanse of your back. If you were any closer you would be afraid you would disappear into his skin, ceasing to exist, “Shh, shh. I’ve got you. I’m here. It’s never going to happen again, I promise you. I love you.”

You only held him impossibly tighter, and you could hear Gaz and Soap in the background let out deep sighs of relief, slapping each other on the shoulders. They exit after a few quick glances and the lights flicker on a moment later – most likely Ghost’s doing. Your heart warmed at them for privacy, though your eyes snapped shut at the sudden light.

John’s hands left you for a moment, prompting a small whine from you before they returned swiftly to grip the back of your head, the large night vision rig on his helmet re-set back so he could see you.

“Let me look at my girl,” He murmurs, chest rumbling from his soft tone. You were happy that only you ever got to hear him speak like this. You turn your head to rest it on his chest, gazing up at him with red-rimmed eyes. At the sight of your bruised cheek and bloody temple, his eyebrows furrow, a quick rage overtaking him as you watch his eyes darken. But you don’t say anything, just watch as John’s arms squeeze you before one hand travels up to your face. He lightly presses at the thin cut on your head and stops when you let out a quiet hiss. Guilt swims in those beautiful blue eyes of his.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Darling. If I had known he would go after you I never would have left you home alone.”

“John,” you whisper, voice hoarse in your throat. He leans down and presses his forehead to yours, lightly bumping against your forehead, “It’s not your fault.”

“But I–”

“You came for me, didn’t you?”

“Always.” He says it so softly you feel your eyes tear up again.

“Then that’s all that matters.” You tilt your head and capture his lips with your own, lightly moving your hands to grip his hairy cheeks as his thumb caresses your temple, the other you feel shaking around your waist. The adrenaline was wearing off.

John was tall, and to fully kiss him you had to get up on your tip-toes and hope he wasn’t going to tease you and pull back with a cheeky smile, but you would do it until your feet bled to feel the warmth that he give you as his lips dance with your own. They were soft for such a hardened man. Had he been using the Chapstick you had let him borrow for when he was away?

You pull back for air, your neck becoming sore at the angle you hold it just as John sighs, eyes flickering over you once more. You make a noise in the back of your throat in question.

“Marry me.” Your eyes widen, recalling your comment before your house had been broken into. Had he really asked you that?

“Are…are you really asking me for my hand while the dead body of the man that kidnapped me is behind you?”

“So…is that a ‘no?’” His eyes crinkle.

“You’re mental, John Price,” A smile splits your features, and you find him mirroring your expression. Your heart pounds, though not from fear this time. At his cheeks, your hands drag him in for another kiss, brief, though you pour every single emotion into it as you can. You feel the hitch in his chest and feel a blossoming of pride that you have the same effect on him as he does you. Leaning back, he chases you, though you stop him with a finger to his lips. There were his eyes again, those sapphire blues that sparkled when they looked at you, “But, yes.” You whisper, liking the way he almost looked relieved.

Like you would ever deny him. Like you could deny those baby blues when they looked at you with such love.

“I love you,” He whispers, pressing his face into your neck, kissing the skin in reverence, leaving fireworks in the wake of his lips.

“I love you more,” You whisper, nuzzling into his chest and gripping his shirt in tight fists. He chuckles at you.

“Not possible.”

#mw2 2022 #cod mw22 #cod #john price #john price x reader #john price x you #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #cod x you #mw2 #modern warfare

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love-toxin · 5 months

Text

Trapped - Harley Kunuk

(cws: fem pronouns, stalking, 3rd party stalker, yandere elements, blood, gore, animal death, guns, murder, injuries [burns, punctures, bruising], graphic smut, mental illness [depression/anxiety], dismemberment, DDDNE)

word count: 25.8k

(A/N: ALSO PLS LOOK @ THIS HEADER ART BY @the-zipper <33!!)

This whole "get out into nature" thing really hasn't panned out for you so far, has it? It's a little embarrassing to be honest. All you wanted was to inject a bit of fresh air into your daily diet, all with the hope that it might improve your mental health–maybe your physical health, too.

Yet here you sit in the dirt, your scraped hands held close to your chest while a total stranger helps you out of the prickly situation you've stumbled into. Made even more humiliating for the reason that this particular stranger is….well, he's not any run-of-the-mill good Samaritan. Those types don't generally trek through stretches of wooded areas with no paths, armed with a hatchet on his belt and all manner of hooks attached to it to carry back the catch from his traps.

When you'd first spotted him through the trees after stepping in one of those rabbit traps (currently still clamped around your ankle) you figured he was a lumberjack or something. Maybe a serial killer with those dead eyes and stoic expression, but you'd prayed not. You could see his wild, unruly black hair tied back in a thick ponytail to keep it out of his face, his huge frame that stood hulking and tall next to the barren trees, his worn-in flannel under a heavy leather coat and jeans permanently stained with dirt and who knows what else…he gave off the impression of what you imagine a giant would look like, although the pale smattering of freckles over his slanted nose and the gleam of brown in his dark eyes as he turned had sent a strange shiver down the back of your neck. In fact, your cries for help had almost instantly died down when you caught him in your peripheral, because you feared he might be the type of person to take advantage of your suffering–he just looked mean, and you distinctly recall the way your breath hitched in your dry throat when he started walking towards you.

But you've learned your lesson to not judge a book by its cover, and quickly, because he's been nothing but helpful so far–with just a dash of sass in the process. You did step in his trap, after all, which he'd supposedly been looking forward to checking for a nice, fat rabbit to make a stew out of. And based off of how deep it's buried itself into your skin, it probably won't be any good for other rabbits with your blood all over it.

"You really shouldn't wander out here blindly. It's dangerous." His muttering like he's not even addressing you would otherwise put you off, were he not so close and handling your leg so gently as he pries the blunt claws of the trap off. He's been trying for the better part of twenty minutes, but without any tools aside from his hands it's been slow-going. He tends to be gentler when the touch trap scrapes against you or digs in deeper, so in a bid not to hurt you further he's abandoned the idea of trying to preserve the trap itself–now the aim is just to get it off you by any means necessary, and based off the blood from his own hands and from your leg, it's not going nearly as well as he would've liked. "Not just cause of my traps. There's animals out here, too."

"I didn't think it would be," You admit bashfully, a heat further rising to your cheeks. He glances up at you as stone-faced as he was before, but something in his expression flinches like he's intentionally trying to keep a wall up. The sounds of the forest around you luckily keep you grounded as you adjust your position, your hand tentative as it grasps his shoulder for balance. Does he work out? His muscles aren't that noticeable at first glance but you're positioned in a weird way, he probably looks a lot bigger when he's not so close you're practically breathing on him. Then again he kind of has to be, considering the snare is giving him more trouble than he expected and snaps back to dig into your ankle for the nth time–eliciting a pained yelp from you in the process–but with a gruff "Fuckin' piece of trash-" grumbled right next to your ear, he finally manages to wedge his fingers between your flesh and the steel and wrenches it back down with harsh, brute strength.

A sharp twang echoes through the forest, the sound and his hard motion startling you enough for your nails to dig into his shoulder through the leather. You'd be surprised if a big guy like him would even feel it, and you think that especially so when you cast a glance down and feel your heart skip at the carnage lying before you. You almost feel worse for the trap than you do yourself–you've got some stinging dents, scrapes, and punctures in your skin from the teeth clamping down on them, but with his bare hands Harley's bent the steel jaws back so far they've snapped off the base of the trap completely. One of them lies shattered in pieces in the dirt, the spring holding it all together looks completely bent out of place, and by all accounts it's completely unsalvageable. And completely your fault.

"Thank you. I'm really sorry-"

"For what? This?" He cuts you off by holding up a handful of his snare's remains, but only shows some remorse after the fact, like he's not used to the normalcy of human interaction…it's a big leap considering you don't know him from Adam, but you can only make assumptions about some strange man you've never seen who dresses like a lumberjack but can barely string a few words together at a time.

Harley tosses the mangled trap aside, completely oblivious to the way you flinch at the way it flies and tumbles to the soil in a discordant symphony of rough clanging. "It's garbage anyways. Hasn't caught squat…just you."

As he says that, his eyes draw over from the pile of junk back towards you, quietly creeping upward until they meet your own. Maybe you're imagining things, but you feel some odd sense of kinship with him…you feel like he's looking deeper into your soul than you realize, right up until he coughs and gets back up to his feet with a grunt.

"Don't step in my traps again, unless you turn into a rabbit."

All things considered, your nose scrunches a bit as the unexpectedly gentle giant towers over you once more. The snare had been covered in leaves and all manner of brush, plus he'd set it up right next to a rotting log that you'd stepped over and subsequently fallen down when the snap and the pain threw you off balance. Only a hawk could've spotted such a well-hidden trap in the midst of an otherwise empty forest, and you release a huff from your chapped lips as you struggle to stand with the help of his outstretched hand.

"If I'd seen the trap, I wouldn't have stepped in…uh, what was that? Was that supposed to be a joke?" Harley flushes at once, faster than your eyes can manage to process since he turns around so his back is facing you. He's already taking steps away, his nerves showing through his facade as he nearly stumbles over a tree root before steadying himself against the trunk.

"I mean it. Watch your feet around here."

"Uh…Harley, hey! Wait!"

To your surprise, he actually stops and turns back around to face you–this time with concern written clear on his features at how urgent your tone is. Wisps of black hair fly free from his ponytail and whip against his cheeks as a breeze suddenly blows through the empty trees, and more than ever you draw your arms tight around yourself to keep out the cold. You didn't dress for this weather most certainly, and part of you knows you don't want him to leave partly because you're losing that warmth that had made you feel so secure.

"Um…I, uh, don't know if I can make it back. I'm kinda far from home, and my ankle.." You glance down at the exposed patch of skin above your sneaker and Harley's eyes flicker before they follow, a trail of fresh blood dripping down your goosebump-covered skin as you put pressure on it. "...I-It really hurts."

You fully expect him to tell you you're fine, that you don't need any help, or that you're just being a baby and want more sympathy. But he comes back, draws closer slowly like he's approaching a wounded animal, and gestures behind you towards the stump you'd been leaning back against. When you sit yourself down on the cold, mossy wood, he rolls up his dirty sleeves and crouches down in front of you–this time with his face right near your knee, and you have to look anywhere but at his concentrated expression while he pulls your ankle into his massive grasp. It looks and feels so tiny in his hand, like you're a doll compared to him, and as much as your fingers itch to touch his hair now that it's so close you keep digging them into the stump below you. He just keeps observing the wounds, gently pressing a finger around the area of each while easing off when he feels you cringe in pain.

"...Hurts? Can you feel that?"

"Yeah, it…yeah, hurts. It really hurts. Sorry-" Somehow the touching, the eyes on your wound, they choke you up before you even know what's happening. The pain runs deeper than the physical sores and you know that, or you did, you just didn't expect it to well up so much that you find yourself shedding tears in front of a complete stranger. Your pitiful sniffles and wiping your nose with your sleeve are what finally attract his attention. Harley peers up from his deep concentration and you can hear his breath hitch in his throat, clearly unsure of how to proceed in the face of this unexpected development. If he were you, he might've just gotten to his feet and scurried away from the scene.

"...Wait here. I don't live far, I'll go get my kit and come back. Don't cry."

The way he says it doesn't feel patronizing, not like it should. You hadn't noticed until his face draws closer that through your tear streaked vision, his brow is set low and his brown eyes soft with a gentle glimmer of care. You catch a glimpse of his hand hovering near your cheek out of your peripheral, the warmth soaking into your skin–but before it can make contact, he's sucking his teeth and tugging it away before he stands for the second time. He repeats that command to stay where you are, and with a step back and a turn on his heels he's headed back in the direction he came from. He's out of sight in less than a minute, which is somehow oddly comforting as you dry your puffy eyes with your sleeves and sit there in wait, sniffling all the while in the cold. Hopefully he won't be long…hopefully he'll actually come back. You've got a good feeling he will, even as the minutes tick by and you hug yourself tighter when the cold of the late day sets in. It'll be dark before you know it, and on this leg you won't be getting far even if you'd brought a torch with you.

It's probably been a solid few minutes before the sounds of snapping twigs alerts you to someone else's presence. The angle confuses you though, because Harley left in the direction you're facing and the noise is coming from behind you. A whisper of something in the back of your head begs you to turn around, and just when you do, your line of sight aligns with a stranger who stops in his tracks as soon as you catch him in your vision. You're on your feet as quickly as you can be with one of them incapacitated, your heart jumping into your throat at the sound of him mumbling something incoherent in your direction.

He's definitely not Harley. Definitely not somebody you recognize either; older, squirrely, raggedy-looking but somewhat put together. A white coat sits on thin shoulders with sleeves that inch down over knobby hands worn with age, aside from that he's dressed just as any other trail walker you would see–at the actual trails at least, not this patch of forest that's further out of town and has a reputation for being bear country. You'd probably never even notice him if your eyes passed him on the street or a walk where the couples and families go on the trails, he seems like the typical older man you'd see anywhere. Except for those eyes that feel like they're bulging out from behind thick-rimmed wire glasses, roaming over you from head to toe and giving you an intense, icky feeling of being sized up like meat.

"Is that guy your boyfriend?" The staredown continues as he throws that strangely accusative question your way, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket so you can't see what he might be holding. What you don't know he is holding.

"Uh, what? Do I know you?" You shake your head in disbelief, taking great caution to step back slowly enough that you don't slip on your weak ankle.

"I've seen you walking here alone. Is the big guy your boyfriend? Is he your dad?" He still has his hands in his pockets. Your brain won't stop imagining all the things he could be hiding in there–and the disjointed way he walks and the questions he's asking unnerve you to your core. And did he just admit he's watched you walking around here? This area of the woods isn't even remotely near a trail and you picked it for that very reason…unless it's an odd coincidence, it's forcing you to think back to every moment you've spent here and all the times he could've been watching. As if things couldn't get worse, your only reprieve is still nowhere in sight, Harley's footsteps nowhere near close enough for you to hear them. Who knows when he'll be back, either? It might be too late by then.

"I've got a lot of money. I can pay him." He steps forward and you take a huge one back. Your options are dwindling and you didn't have many in the first place. You can't possibly think he's harmless now that you're this far–he clearly has some creepy imagination and the only person who could save you, the only person who even knows you're here, definitely isn't close enough to hear you scream for help if you tried.

"H-He's coming back right now," You search for those words in the deepest pits of your stomach where your hope has fallen flat. The man glances around, his head turning in big, sweeping arcs to search the woods for any sign of said rescuer. Your heart hits the wall of your ribcage so hard you feel like you're gonna sink to your knees, or at least be sick all over the ground. You're not safe and you know it, and he knows it.

"I don't see him."

He takes another shaky, measured step towards you and you stumble back to take your own, but all you manage to do is trip and fall back on your behind in the mess of leaves underfoot. Those next few steps he takes towards his prey are quick and heavy in your ears, and in a burst of panic when you can finally get your voice out you sob Harley's name in a shaky, tremoring pitch that breaks with frantic desperation.

The doomed silence that follows is cut by the sound of wind whipping harshly through the trees–and in a matter of seconds, followed by the violent thwack that echoes throughout the woods as a blade flings itself across your vision and embeds itself in a tree trunk before you.

The hatchet marks a degree of separation between you and the man you hadn't realized had been stalking you for a while, landing barely an inch away from his nose. He staggers back out of shock and nearly falls over a root himself, but upon turning his gaze towards the source of the attempted assault, his bug eyes widen and he scrambles to run away with his tail tucked between his legs. No sense of relief washes over you until you spot your savior, his gait tense as he steps out from the trees and into the clearing–you only inhale a shaky breath when you see that long hair trailing down his back, the softness of his flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he reaches out to grasp the handle of the hatchet. With a deft, one-handed tug, it dislodges from the dead tree with a rough crunching sound and falls to hang down at his side. He doesn't move to look over his shoulder at you until the man has disappeared from his vision, but when he does he finally sets the tool back on his belt and crosses that short distance to kneel in front of you, his first-aid kit dangling on a clasp on the opposite side.

You'd expect him to be upset by that rather violent reaction even if it's not directed at you, but he's cooled down already, enough that his touches are gentle on your skin. At least on the outside. There's a storm brewing behind his eyes that you thankfully won't have to witness, because all that awful business he's cooking up as revenge won't be for your precious, pure eyes.

"You okay?" His deep voice couldn't be more soothing than it is in this moment, your eyes filling with a fresh set of tears that, this time, he's quick to brush away for you with his calloused thumbs. His shushing and soft, sweet crooning don't fit the scary vision of the man wielding that frightening weapon, yet his soothing touches and words are so comforting you just end up melting into his warmth. Not a word of protest escapes you when he suggests taking you back home, nor when he carefully leans your crying self into his shoulder so he can slide his hands beneath you, and lifts you off the ground and into his arms with a grunt.

Your legs dangling over one arm and your back supported by the other, Harley bridal carries you away from the scene and through the forest down a path only he can see. One still filled with roots to trip him up and dry leaves to crunch underfoot, but he barely stumbles at all with you perched delicately in his arms.

"Did I scare you? I'm sorry." You shake your head and lift it from where it's buried in his neck, a trembling hand wiping your face for what feels like the millionth time today.

"No…no, he scared me, Harley. Thank you, I.." You whimper, your words falling apart as you hesitate briefly–but in the next moment you're clinging to him, his taut biceps pressed to your soft flesh and your arms pulled tight around his neck, warming his face in the process. Maybe that dark flush is just the cold, but maybe it really is something else after all. "Please don't leave me."

A shake of his head is enough to sate you, some loose strands of his hair tickling your skin as he readjusts his grip to keep you upright. Every time he moves, even encumbered by your weight, he does so with so much ease you feel like you don't weigh an ounce in his arms.

"I did catch you, so I guess I get to keep you." A smile curving against his skin goes unnoticed but the tug on his shirt as he steps over a fallen log doesn't, your instinct to grip him tighter when he's unsteady is what leads him to brace you closer to his chest. Safer.

"So I am a bunny now? You'd better not turn me into rabbit stew, then." You chuckle, a sniffle peppering your breath.

"You do look tasty." You tuck in your arm before elbowing him in the chest, not like it really does anything but tickle when he's built like a brick wall. But it's out of shyness and embarrassment because those words sound devious out of his mouth, that slowly-spreading grin and rumbly voice sending a palpable shiver up the back of your neck like he's speaking to your thoughts directly. Does he know? He acts coy, but is it that easy for him to tell that you like him? Because you do. You really, really do.

It takes everything in you not to press your lips to his cheek in thanks, because while it would be quite sweet you don't exactly want to cross any boundaries of his. You just enjoy the ride for what it is, Harley's strong arms cushioning you every step of the way until the shade from the trees overhead disappears and the ground evens out. By the time you lift your head to look, he's crossed the grassy field that separates the land between the forest and his home, and is already slipping through the side door to a decent-looking farmhouse by the road. A soft couch lies beneath a grand window facing the open yard and it's where he sets you down, supporting your weight right up until the moment you hit the cushions and release your tight hold on his shoulders.

It's a little embarrassing to be treated so delicately for an injury that isn't terribly serious, but that's exactly how Harley addresses it. He slips your mud-caked shoes off for you and drops them on the doormat outside, tosses the kit on his kitchen counter you're facing, and excuses himself for a moment to wash his hands and search for some stronger medicine in his bathroom cabinet around the corner. The room itself is wide with the kitchen on the far side and the living room on the other, an archway sitting opposite to the side door that leads to a hallway, at the end of which lies the bathroom next to a set of stairs you can't quite see from here, but you can only imagine are there since there's clearly a second floor above you. As kitschy as it is with the creaky wood flooring and a few minor patches of water damage against the 70s-esque wallpaper, it's the definition of cozy–a fireplace sits near you along with a coffee table and two armchairs, along with a rug that looks thick and soft with age. The cabinets in the kitchen all look like similar wood to the floor, the linoleum just as old but well-scrubbed and clean of any muddy boot prints or grass, and the cream-coloured vintage fridge hums quietly with a dozen or so notes tacked to it, with scribbly drawings of things to memorize rather than actual words. Even from here, you can make out things like a certain number of eggs to bring somewhere and a particular part of a machine that somewhat looks like it belongs in a truck. And with all the natural light filtering in from the huge windows, one by your head and the other facing out above the kitchen sink, the whole first floor of the house stays warm and comfy-looking even as the sun begins to set.

"Is this where you live?" You call out and he hums loudly in agreement, busying himself with digging around the shelves through the open door. You crane your head to peek outside again, curious about the odd little hatches you can see from here and the fences around some big, grassy open areas. You just barely manage to catch a glimpse of a larger, more impressive building a little further off that looks like it could be a barn, and suddenly the weight of the cushions shifts as Harley takes his seat by your feet with a tube of something clutched in his hand. With relative confidence he squeezes a dollop on to his finger, hands you the tube to make sure you're not allergic to whatever it is, and gently presses the cream to your skin and swipes it right over your wounds.

The hiss that erupts from you at that first touch halts his progress briefly, but he's back to rubbing it in once he's given you a look and probably realized that it's not that bad. It just stings–but as he explains, it's disinfectant, so it's important to apply before you're exposed to a nasty strain of bacteria.

"How–ow! H-How long have you lived here?" Wincing, you sit up higher against the arm of the couch to get a better look. One glance at the blood staining his hands turns your stomach, however, and you're quick to peer back out the window in the hopes of shifting your focus elsewhere.

"The farm?" He queries, gaze sliding towards those same structures out the window before he finds an answer. "...Long time. Twenty years, maybe?"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine."

"No kidding." You crack a wobbly smile, the burning sensation having slowly run its course through your poor, abused ankle. "We're not too far apart. So you grew up on a farm?"

"Kinda. Just helped out."

"Do you have cows?"

Shhhrup. He snips off a length of gauze and pins it to your ankle with a warm finger, slowly rolling the band around it in wide, careful circles. On each pass around he pulls it taut to tighten it and stem the bleeding, though it doesn't mean it doesn't make you flinch each time.

"Yeah. Chickens, too."

"You do?"

"Of course. See the building there? That's my coop." Once he's finally finished with pinning the dressing into place, he helps you lean up with his palm held out, your fingers grasping it firmly to steady yourself as you peer out the window towards the direction he's pointing. The way he talks about it gives off a sense of pride, but that alone is clear by the smile that breaks his stoic facade when you ask if you can see the cows and the chickens.

"When your ankle's better we'll go outside and feed them. You can ride one if you want, if you promise to be gentle with her."

"I can ride one?" Your eyes sparkle with hopeful excitement, glimmering like sea glass and crystals among the sand. You're assuming it's not that detail that has him quirking up a brighter smile than before, but you would be wrong.

"Mhm. Marnie likes giving rides–we can bribe her with some celery I've got, too." He speaks with a hand on your wrapped ankle, neither of you even really noticing the gesture until it dawns on both of you, and you break your shared gaze and the touch in somewhat flustered fashion. Yet, even though he sits like a golem above you with hands retracting back to his own lap, you still can't help the thought that he's just so…soft.

Maybe not on the outside necessarily, but Harley gives off a comforting, warm energy that seems completely natural to him. You've seen the itchy discomfort and awkwardness of men who would strike fear into your heart by presence alone, the unintentional fidgeting that betrays bad thoughts and cues towards what they've really got on their mind–things that they would gladly do or say if nobody was around and the chance of getting caught was low. Passing comments that just barely scrape the surface of impropriety, gestures masked with kindness but bleed through with the expectation of something in return. Harley isn't like that, or at the very least he doesn't seem like that.

"Something to drink?" He stands up and off the couch in a swift motion, the remaining roll of gauze pinched in one giant hand along with the balm and the scissors. They look almost toy-like in his massive grasp, it's actually pretty cute.

"Water?" He nods, brisk in his actions but not in the movements themselves–he takes your orders like a soldier yet moves along in a relaxed gait, the path to the kitchen like a sixth sense and the air in the house so familiar he's breathed himself into every inch of it. If you asked something of him, he could say no. Yet his willingness to do so prods at you with the thought that maybe he never has said it.

From the cupboard he produces a tall, well-worn glass, and the tap shudders to life to spit a strong jet of water straight into it once he turns it. It squeaks with age and potentially the need of some upkeep, but when he circles back around the edge of the tabletop and brings it to you, it sits clear and cool as it meets your hands and desperately refreshing when you bring it to your lips for a sip. If you knew how many cracked glasses he owns, you'd probably be twice as grateful that the one you hold stays intact as you drain it. You've never been one to remember the necessities when out for a stroll, a water bottle being one of them–the stuff he's given you now, though? It could well be the ambrosia of the gods to your parched throat, your tongue having sat so heavy and dry in your mouth that the unpleasant feeling has become a nuance and not an irritant. Maybe it's his pipes or maybe it's him, keeping a close eye and taking the glass back when it's empty to refill it again–but tap water has never tasted so good, you could swear it on your grave.

"So.." He murmurs, handing back your drink and waiting for you to down another greedy sip before he continues. "It's getting late, and you should really rest that leg. If you're okay, I can take you back home. Or…" The way he trails off lifts a brow from you, curiosity overcoming you in a gentle wave.

"Or?"

"...Or you can stay here for a bit. I mean, you can come back if you really want to, and we can see the animals then. But if you want to stay–and, uh, I can keep an eye on yo–y-your wound–you can."

You lower the glass, now half-empty, into your lap. As much as you want to let your smile peek through at how sweetly he's asking the question, you can't help but wonder about the possibilities. Is this a ruse? Does he want to get me alone? Will he flip out if I say I want to go home? Part of you wants to test him, wants to say that you do and then change your mind to see how he reacts…but another part of you trusts him, maybe errantly, but you so rarely get the opportunity to just take a chance with fate. Maybe this time, things will be different.

"I don't really have anyone to check on me, honestly, and I live alone. Maybe…if it's okay, maybe I can stay? There's not even an elevator in my-"

"Okay," He breathes suddenly, but follows it up quick with an apology for cutting you off. The enthusiasm tweaks your anxiety just a little bit, but you try your best to smooth it over. There's no going back now. "Yeah. I'll set up the spare room for you."

Within moments he's up, but before he gets to that particular task, the labour of food dawns on him and he makes a detour into the kitchen. Despite insisting that you've already eaten before you left for your walk, Harley imparts upon you a bit of homemade jam and some kind of fried bread before he takes you up to bed, the former quite sweet and tangy while the latter is a bit doughy from a day in the fridge but still delightfully warm off a pan that he heats it up in. That and a cup of fresh, warm milk and honey is what sends you upstairs to bed, the steps creaking twofold as Harley carries you there like a lame calf that needs constant tending. Belly full, sleepy, and comfortable–things could certainly be worse than this, especially when you consider what could've happened if Harley hadn't been around to rescue you today. Things could be much worse, you've found.

The spare bedroom sits just off the top of the staircase, as the second door from the end of the hall with another diagonally adjacent to it. The moment he carries you in, you can tell this used to be someone's room–the bed has been flipped and fitted with newer sheets and blankets, the walls have been scrubbed clean, but there's still shadows of frames that once hung against the honeycomb-like wallpaper and a closet nearly bursting with boxes of old belongings. Once he sets you down on the bed, the doors of which Harley's quick to close after stacking them higher and sliding them back to fit snugly inside and hopefully make you feel a little more comfortable. His disappears for a moment, but returns with what looks like a long, thick maroon shirt in his hands that would probably drape so far down on you it would act as a nightgown.

"Here. I'll wash your clothes for you tomorrow–this should do for you tonight." He waits patiently outside the door while you change, takes the clothing through the crack when you open it, and you notice that he's completely turned away when he does so even when he could probably be sure that you're decent. He bustles away with them like a rabbit, and returns just when the crickets have started chirping to show you the door–literally.

"There's a lock here," He points towards the highest point of the bedroom door, and back down towards the bottom where a wedge of polished wood sits nearby. With a measured bump of his foot he shows you how to slot it underneath, and respectively how to tug it back out with a decent amount of force. "It looks shaky but it works. I lock both the doors at night too when I close up the barn. Windows too, but these ones are hard to open anyways." He demonstrates by crossing the floor in quick strides and tugging on the window, barely able to shift it upwards a few inches before shoving it back down with a healthy amount of grunting…and to say the sounds don't have you hot in the face would be a mistake, as benign as they are.

"I'm in the room at the end of the hall. Bathroom's next door. If you need anything, just holler or come get me." He finally offers you his parting words with a hand on the doorknob, about to step out but clearly with some hesitation lingering in the way he stands. Maybe he wants to stay with you, or maybe he's nervous about leaving you alone after today. It's endearing either way, rather than concerning.

"I'll try not to wake you up." You smile back at him, truly feeling the gratitude for his kindness, but he shakes his head.

"No, come wake me for anything. Even a glass of water–I don't want you walking down those stairs and getting hurt."

Ouch. Those words sting, they really do, but not because of his personal fault–rather because you can't recall the last time you heard something like that, the last time it was said with sincerity, and it hits you like a brick and leaves you aching with a hollow feeling that you don't know what to do with. Your hands lift to rub at your arms a bit awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot and wincing when you attempt to do so to the other, but soon enough you find the courage to speak in the wake of concern you don't know if you deserve.

"You're really sweet, Harley."

"Sweet? I'm not sweet." His expression sours at once, a pout forming on his lips that almost doesn't fit his intimidating stature. He looks as if that word alone is an insult, yet the heat rising to his face gives him no bearing when it's so obvious that he's flattered.

"You haven't let me take a step on my own all day. You're really sweet, and really nice."

"Yeah, whatever." Unable to meet your eyes he pouts even harder to try and cover it up, turning his back on you with no better answer and grabbing hold of the doorknob on his way out. "Shut up, city-slicker. And don't stay up too late."

You nearly flinch when he doesn't slam the door closed, his bad attitude striking you more as cute than intimidating. Your ears perk at the sound of his footsteps outside, muffled through the walls and growing distant as he pads down the hall–and when his own door shuts quietly, you finally tear yourself away from the threshold and patter barefoot towards the plush bed. It's nothing special, and it's a bit old, but you certainly can't complain.

You can't help but think, however, as you shut off the lamp by the bedside and hunker down for a long night…it's just a little too cold for your liking.

Whispers hum at you in the dark, surrounding you in a blanket of voices and sensations that drench you in nothing but blackness. An incessant tapping grows in volume at the back of your mind, visions flashing by at random in a grotesque show of theatre–something burns, something hurts, and in a flash of climactic panic you shoot up awake in your bed, panting and gasping and grasping at things that aren't there.

You're alone again, but not in a good way. It takes a moment to adjust to your surroundings, reintegrate into the situation you're in, but a glimpse out the window at the farm and your hand brushing the cotton fabric of the blanket brings you right back down to earth. It was just a dream, and as you peer closer, the tapping in your head was nothing more than the branch of one of the trees whipping against the window in the wind.

You're up and out of your bed before you can really think about it, limping a little but finding steadiness as you brace the wall and the door handle before coming out into the hall. It's creepier at night, much quieter than you expected save for the noise of the wind outside, and it has you hauling yourself as quickly yet quietly as possible to get to the door on the very end; the door that creaks so softly as you open and close it behind you, but doesn't cause the warm, heavy body in the bed to stir. Even as you approach him and come round the other side that he's perched on, his breathing stays even and soft like he's nearly dead to the world.

"Harley?" Your whispers grow their confidence in the dark, the hem of the long shirt swishing around your thighs as you lean over the sleeping giant. "Harley, are you awake?"

You're wary of shaking him, but your hand just barely brushes his shoulder–when it meets his heated skin, the man in question flinches and rolls over with a groan, his arm sliding off his chest to dangle off the edge of the bed. Even in the dimness you can make out the squint of his eyes at the slivers of moonlight shining through the window, his hair tousled and splayed out all over his sheets since being freed from its ponytail. He barely tilts his head in your direction, but even so he acknowledges you with a slurred hum and a rub at his eyelids to erase the sleep weighing them down.

"I-I'm sorry–" Your fingers clench at the sight of his bare chest, the skin soft-looking and riddled with the deep edges of healed scars. "-I can't sleep. The noise-"

Without a word, Harley gropes for the blanket draped over him and grabs a fistful of it, tiredly lifting it up with a yawn. It's an idea almost too good to pursue, your brain momentarily wondering whether this, too, is a joke. But not one to give up the opportunity since he seems too sleepy to tease you, you take the bait and make quick work of crawling over his buff body to flop down on his other side. Your breath quickens in your throat as soon as you're settled, but you've got no time to dwell on the enthusiasm as Harley pulls the blanket up to your shoulder, shifts his hips up, and turns on his side to face away from you.

Is this really how fate has decided to treat you? You're not too sure you're a fan of enduring a string of so many awful things just to get one good miracle–but as the warmth of the bed lulls you in, you find your smile returning slowly as you snuggle into the sheets and relax next to the man whose hands you would gladly put your life into.

Within a few minutes of laying down beside him the space feels like it's growing larger and larger between you, the cold soaking into your veins and causing your feet to retreat further and further up under the covers. It takes a bit more time to work up the courage to search for a little more than that. Enough that you're sure he's probably fallen back asleep as you shuffle closer and closer, settling in again once your hands just barely brush his spine. That's better. Harley exudes so much warmth that you could consider him a human heater, although the chill returns when he flips over on a dime and those brown eyes are staring you down, half-open, in the darkness.

It doesn't take him even a moment to survey you, examine your intentions, think about you in any way–he mindlessly throws an arm over your body, while the other stuffs itself under your neck and loops through the space for you to rest your head on his bicep. What really kills your courage is the feeling of his warm, thick thigh brushing against your bare skin between your legs, your own clamping down around it on instinct before he brushes a place that'll really have you blushing. That wasn't his intention, but it's somehow more flustering that it wasn't. He just doesn't know what he does to you.

"Warmer now?" He murmurs, eyes fluttering closed while his fingers play with a few strands of your hair. Now, with him closer than ever, you can really feel the weight on your heart ease off. A smile graces your lips barely an inch away from his, even knowing you'll be spending the better part of your night wondering what it would feel like to kiss them. You hum your answer softly. "Good. Sweet dreams."

"You too, Harley." Your head falls back against his arm, and it's only a matter of time before the warmth of his body heat and the comforting embrace of strong arms around you lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep. The only thing you remember waking you up is a brief time between then and the sunrise, when your eyes flutter open and you feel Harley's presence has disappeared for a time. But once slumber grabs hold of you again and you vanish into the land of unconsciousness, the only thing that causes you to stir is the distinct pitch of a rooster crowing from somewhere off in the yard, which inevitably rouses both of you into waking up.

You'd usually roll over to your side to check the time, but it dawns on you quickly that you're not in your own bed. This one is much cleaner, softer, and smells different–a bit like shampoo, cologne, and grass. Three things you haven't experienced nearly enough of in the last few months, but you've gotten more of it in the last 24 hours than you have for the entirety of the long depressive episode you've endured as of late. Your nose wakes to the smells first but you grow more alert at the heat on your back, Harley's hand pressed into the small of it to keep you cuddled snugly against his side. That tender gesture escapes you as soon as he slides his arms out and stretches them above his head, sitting up in the process for you to catch a much better glimpse of his bare torso in the sun's morning glow.

A myriad of scars mark deep, jagged edges in his skin right across the length of his back, littered by other oddly-shaped marks and bruises that look more like the result of many long years of farm work. The long strokes look more intentional, however–they almost look like flogging scars, as if from a switch or some other long, blunt object. It's unnerving, the way they cluster around one area near his shoulders where most of his exposed skin would be….and as much as you want to ask, your burning stare is enough to draw his attention to you and you don't dare to make him any more uncomfortable than you already have.

"I'll get breakfast ready." Your heart soars all of a sudden and it's a sensation that's quick to burn your cheeks, so all you can manage is a nod in reply while he gets up and quietly gathers some clothes so he can slip into the bathroom to change.

It's all so domestic; being here, the cozy house, the bed, the soft exchanges between you like it's all a part of daily life. Human connection is something you've missed these last few months, sure, but this is only something you've ever dreamed of–feeling cared for by someone who takes pleasure in your company. And Harley clearly does, because you can't imagine someone as sweet and handsome as himself entertaining another person without reason. Like you've seen before, he can be pretty off-putting and cold until he eventually warms up, but the fear that there might be something deeper to this arrangement still swirls in the back of your mind.

Harley ducks out of the bathroom fully clothed and drops the sweats he'd been wearing in the hamper on his way out, footsteps thumping down the stairs before there's a pause–and then the sounds resume with the clinking of dishes and running water. He could be a murderer, or a sex offender, or something worse, and you'd have no idea if he was until it was too late. But then again, you think as you roll over on your side and ponder getting up, he did save you from that creep.

Was it a ruse? A coincidence? Could they have been in league with one another? It's impossible to tell but you desperately want to believe that Harley's a good man. You don't want to slip into these feelings of distrust and fear again, you can't keep living like you expect everybody to hurt you. But then again, you really don't want to add more trauma to your pile or wind up dead in a basement altogether.

Frustrated and in desperate need of a distraction, you throw the covers off your legs and slide over to the edge of the bed, toes bristling at the chill of the wooden floors still cold from the night. He'd lent you his shirt, so you imagine he wouldn't mind you borrowing some more clothes–this morning you elect for a hoodie near the back of his closet, and a pair of jeans in a folded pile at the bottom from a bag labelled "Donate". Your underwear will just have to last another day but you're unfortunately quite used to stretching things as far as you can until you literally can't put it off any longer.

Luckily for you, the walls are close enough by the stairs that getting down them isn't too harsh, your hands bracing them every step until you can make it to the very bottom. Your companion doesn't seem as proud as you are when you show up in his kitchen, however, undaunted by your physical toils but still leaning on the countertop for support–the same one that he's preparing breakfast on just a foot or two away.

"I was gonna bring it to you," Harley utters softly, though his stoic expression shifts into something gentler when he catches sight of his clothes donned on your figure. "You're gonna slip on the stairs with that ankle."

"I'm okay," You insist, toeing your leg out and hiking up your pants a little to show off the bandaged wound…but your confidence falters when you realize just how swollen it's gotten overnight, the skin burning and puffy with a smattering of bruises peeking out from beneath the gauze. "...Oh."

Harley releases a sigh as he sets down the knife on his chopping block, and takes a step around the counter to brace you by the small of your back and guide you towards the dining table.

"Told you. Sit." The firmness of the gesture has your spine tingling, his warm palm like a heating pad on your lower back just from that simple touch.

"It really doesn't hurt that much," You swear as he doubles back to the cupboards and returns to start setting plates down. "Whatever you did really helped."

"Good…I'm glad." Harley shrugs and soon returns to the pan he'd been stirring, his movements calculated as he dumps in some chopped vegetables and flips the scramble over to check how far along it is. "How'd you sleep? You said it was loud."

"Oh…yeah, I think the window was cracked open. The wind got really loud and the branches started whipping against it…it just scared me a little, that's all."

"Shit," He grumbles to himself. "Knew I forgot to clip 'em.”

"It's okay," You offer him a sincere smile. "I slept much better afterwards, anyways."

For some reason, maybe nerves, Harley clears his throat and finds himself at a loss for words. He's busying himself with the finishing touches on the breakfast–buttering your toast and pouring out a bit of coffee into two mugs–but he doesn't find any until he's setting it all down at the table and coming close with the pan in one hand and spatula in the other.

"Well…er, that's good. I'm glad. I hope I didn't snore too loud." He murmurs over your shoulder as he reaches to spoon out some egg on to your plate; and keeping a close eye you can see he's separated the parts that are a little browner to fill his own plate. Aside from that, it's cooked just as you like it–and it smells amazing, and fresh. It's much harder to think badly of him when his cooking is to die for.

"I don't think I would've noticed if you did." You chuckle back at him, your fork digging into the scramble while he takes his seat across from you. "It was too comfy."

At that, Harley is rendered completely silent and fills the quiet space by stuffing his mouth full, his demeanor flat as he eats but his ears burning all the same.

And you can deal with that. It's not even really dealing, per se–you tuck into your own meals in silence, and it feels more normal than it should. When's the last time you shared a meal with someone and didn't feel the need to talk away the silence? You can't even recall, yet now with this stranger it's as easy as breathing. A bite of your toast crumbles in your mouth, the dryness reminding you of what happened the day before…and in no time at all your mind is drifting away and you're sitting, staring, eyes glazed over as you run through the events on a loop.

"...You thinking about yesterday?" Harley peers at you over his cup of coffee and peeks into your soul, your eggs barely picked at in comparison to his even though they smell better than anything you've eaten in months. It jolts you into meeting his gaze but not into forgetting what you've been agonizing over, and so you find yourself fiddling with your fork and working up the courage to just say what you're thinking.

"Yeah. It…I don't know. I feel like it's my fault."

Harley furrows his brow, his mug meeting the tabletop with a soft thud. "How so?"

"I just…I shouldn't have been walking there alone, clearly." You jut your foot out from beneath the table briefly, once again showing off the puffy soreness from underneath the covered wound. "And I guess I should've just been more careful. If you weren't there, I would've-"

"You shouldn't blame yourself." The sharp edge of Harley's voice cuts into the conversation, though his gaze flits away from yours and back again, soft as ever when he's fixated on you. "I'm not saying you shouldn't be careful, but you didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault some people are just evil."

The shake of your head sours that look, your gentle smile probably giving him the idea that you don't believe him. That you're just humouring him. "You think that?" He looks down at you, the tines of his fork suddenly pointed in your direction.

"I think shitty people deserve whatever shit they get served. You don't deserve it just cause they're fucked in the head.” With those strong words lingering, he returns to the past few bites of his breakfast. ”Besides, you don't need to think about it anymore–I'll take care of it."

"What do you mean?" He nudges your plate closer with his knuckles, gesturing for you to keep eating. You pacify him with a bite, but you're barely done chewing when you ask again. "What are you gonna do?"

"Don't worry about it." Harley's hand brushes yours across the table as he reaches for the butter. "We're just gonna have a chat."

"About what? I know it's not gonna be about the weather."

"That's on a need-to-know basis, bunny. You don't need to know–now, eat. S'getting cold. And we have work to do." Another nudge and a scrape of your plate across the table, and you're met with a brick wall of decisiveness. But the nickname, it has you bowing your head and following his lead of swallowing down your breakfast, face warm and dark as you think about the rasp of his voice and the way that word sounds when you know he's talking about you. It swirls salacious thoughts into a brew in the back of your mind, your brain working overtime to cool the heat your heart is whipping up.

"I don't want you to get in trouble, Harley. Please be careful." He answers you with a grunt and a nod–a non answer. But it's as good as you're gonna get and you'd be a fool to try and extract any more out of his stony exterior.

By the time you're finally finished your breakfast, you've barely made a dent in your own coffee and sweeten it up with some milk he's put out to help it go down a little easier. Harley swirls the grinds he's got in his mug around, rolling a thought around his head before it finally ends up spilling out.

"So…when do you want me to take you home?"

Your honest answer is immediate, but you keep it bitten back behind your teeth. The insinuation stings a little, a lot, actually–yet you know it isn't a question he's asking because he's pushing you towards a desired answer. Looking him over and the way he's so relaxed, you know he's just looking out for you. There's something in the way he fidgets and warms up in your presence that makes you feel like he doesn't actually want you to go anywhere. "I have to feed the animals first, but I can drive you after that…or you can take a few days and see how you feel. You live around here?"

With a shake of your head, you chug back a swig of your coffee so big that it almost immediately gives you a headrush, though maybe it'll give you some courage to maneuver this conversation towards what you know you really want, rather than what you should do.

"Don't have a cellphone, but you can use the landline if you know the number. Let your family know where you are."

Family. That's a pretty pitiful word to describe what you've got. You feel your nose scrunch in disgust and you fold your arms over your chest, too wrapped up in your thoughts to notice Harley's questionable lack of confusion over your reaction.

"I don't really…I dunno if I'd count them as family." You mutter under your breath, hoping to push those thoughts back enough that they don't hurt you as much. "They're just people I…I know. I don't have many friends, either–I don't really have any. I don't think anybody's gonna be looking for me…"

Your bleak words fill a tense silence in the air, uninterrupted no matter how miserable they may be. It's unusual not to be intercepted by something like "They're your flesh and blood, they'll always love you!" or "Why don't you just talk to them, surely you can work things out!" like it's so easy to forget and forgive the things you've endured under the premise of some superficial relationship title.

"...I don't think I'd want them to."

Harley doesn't burden you with any of that. He just sits, listens, and quietly murmurs his question when you've let the silence fester long enough.

"Are you saying you wanna stay here? With me?"

Whatever you were expecting to hear, it wasn't that. Honestly you had kind of let your mind wander aimlessly and sort of forgot he was even there in the first place, quiet as he can be. You can't even begin to process that offer though, not when you're still so wrapped up in your own head and still feeling guilty for all the hospitality he's shown you thus far.

"That's crazy," You smile sadly back at him, reaching for your cup just to have something occupy your hands. "I wouldn't ask that of you. We don't even know each other."

The quiet as a whole is broken by Harley clearing his throat, another sip of coffee drained thoughtfully before he speaks again.

"It's more…if you want to. You can stay with me until your ankle heals, and then...we can see about you staying longer. Give you some time to think." As he speaks, he spots a forgotten corner of toast you haven't finished and plucks it off your plate to pop it into his mouth, swallowing it back with the help of his drink. "I'll show you around, see if you can handle the farm work. We'll go into town on Saturday to set up the booth, and you can walk the market with me."

Clearly he's been putting some thought into this, or his mind just works much faster than yours under pressure–either way, you're left almost speechless as Harley rattles off a plan like it isn't even odd to be planning a future with someone he literally just met.

"Well…what about rent? And-"

"The farm makes enough, and I already have more than I need. That's not an issue." He shakes his head to emphasize his point, draining the rest of his mug in a flash and balancing it atop his plate that he lifts to pull yours underneath. The only movement he allows you to make is to finish your own coffee, otherwise he shoos your hands away as you try to help clean up and stacks the dishes up in his hands with practiced ease, hauling them all into the kitchen to dump them into the sink.

"Won't I be a hassle?" You ask, turning in your chair to look at him over your shoulder as he rinses them with a quick hand.

"No, you'd be helping me. And…you'd be good company, too. It can get a little too quiet out here when you're alone." He only meets your eyes at the end of that thought, looking up from his damp hands with the smallest gleam of affection that you nearly miss.

Stay. You could stay, he's practically making a case for you to stay, and you want it so badly you can feel it pressing against your chest, threatening your heart to burst. You could leave it all behind and stay here, and…and, what? What can you possibly say to that now, when Harley clearly wants you here and you obviously don't want to go home? Would it be so wrong to indulge yourself, to let your past go and run after a future you've always dreamt of but never imagined you'd get?

It's decided without words, but it feels wrong not to declare it, at least for him to understand exactly where you stand.

"Okay. Yeah, I'll…I'll stay."

If you hoped for anything more you'd be asking too much, because the way Harley finally caves into that bright, rare smile is a sight for incredibly sore eyes, and it's more than enough to fill the quiet as he gently washes the dishes and passes them over the counter for you to dry.

"This is Custard." Harley cups a baby chick in his hands in the living room, having hurried out into the yard once the table was wiped and dishes put away. When he'd come back cradling something tiny against his chest, you hadn't assumed you'd even remotely know what it was he wanted to show you–but now, taking a look at him, your heart swells with adoration as if you're experiencing the feeling for the first time.

"Ohhhh!" The squeal escapes you without warning but it's completely unapologetic–your heart puddles at the sight of the little ball of fuzz, tiny chirps filling the room as it fluffs itself up in Harley's big palms.

"How about you keep him warm while I feed the hens? Here, he can eat this, too." He hands you a strawberry from the pocket of his coveralls, one he must've just plucked off the bushes that crowd around the henhouse. "One of the cows is giving birth soon, so I've gotta check if she's contracting yet."

"You're gonna have a baby cow soon?" You ask him with glistening eyes as he passes Custard into your hands, gently sliding the fluffball with legs over as it chirps in indignation. He nestles in and soothes himself once he feels how warm you are, though, and Harley rubs his tiny head with a finger that's still just a touch too big in comparison.

"Very soon. Could be tomorrow, or could be next week. You should help me think of names–the mom's name is Bea." With that he leaves you to entertain the little one while he steps out to take care of the chores, and as you sit back on the couch with the chick snuggled up in your hands, you take the chance to peer out the window and watch Harley work.

It's mesmerizing in a way. He's so focused yet you can sense his kindness in the way he moves, how gentle he is with his animals whether someone's watching him or not. The hens crowd around him the moment he approaches with the bucket, yet it's not just the food they're fascinated with–a few of them peck at his pant legs like they're trying to get his attention, vying for pats on the head or scratches down the back. One of them snuggles herself between his boots and lays there while he spreads the feed in the yard, moving only to ruffle her feathers when he steps over her to set the pail down and start reaching into the coop to collect their eggs. He's got a way with animals that you've seldom seen, and it brings a giggle to your lips when you watch him walk off out of sight and leave the hens clucking and some trying to chase after him as he heads to the barn around the back.

Custard nips at the strawberry, pecking away bits of it with a flutter of his cotton-ball wings as you hold it steady for him. The more he eats, the sleepier he gets, but even so he doesn't stop for love nor money to get every last bit of fruit and it's so adorable you can't stop watching him once you start. Soon, his belly puffs out full of fruit and tart juice, and your new friend finally settles down into a deep sleep with a flap of those tiny wings and a gentle chirp. Part of you is tempted to take the chick back to the henhouse and put his sleepy little self in the nests, just so you can have an excuse to go watch Harley work in the barn. But within the hour while you're watching the clouds go by the man himself returns, coming through the screen door with a bit of hay and dirt on his pants–and a smile once he sees Custard cuddled up in your hands on the couch. With a quiet pass off, he takes the baby bird and swiftly heads back out to put him in the coop. You're standing, waiting for him at the door once he comes back, and fortunately for him since he looks like he has something to ask.

"I have to go check the traps. You gonna be okay here by yourself?" The idea makes your throat dry up, and your heart still before beating much faster against your ribcage. Leaving? He's gonna be gone? For how long? What are you gonna do? How are you gonna feel safe? A million questions and more run through your head before you can squeeze a single one out.

"Wh..What if someone comes by?"

"People rarely do," He offers, a gentleness in his brown eyes. "But if that happens, just stay inside. I'll lock all the doors."

"What if it's the guy? What if he tries to get in?"

Harley suddenly gets serious, his breath fogging up your senses as he leans down to look at you whilst gripping your shoulders tightly in his rough hands. His warmth overwhelms you at such a tender closeness, his eyes stern and serious.

"Nobody's going to hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you here. Can you trust me, just for this little while? I'm gonna come right back. I promise.”

Your lungs feel tight again. Hot. Your breathing isn't evening out and it's actually getting worse–you can tell you're on the brink of a panic attack but you can't fumble your thoughts into something coherent, you just cling to Harley's sleeve in the hopes that the panic will evaporate….and in that heightened, tense moment that feels like it's lasting forever, your heart sinks and your head whips around at the sound of the doorbell ringing. Harley huffs in frustration and sighs out a curse under his breath at the interruption, his hand lingering on your arm as he orders you to stay put while he heads around the corner and down the hall to answer it. You listen closely, rather than distantly as you feel the urge to dissociate, until the feeling fades as a distinctly southern accent fills your ears and breaks the terror of wondering whether that same stalker has followed you to this safe haven.

"The hell are you here for? I'm busy."

"The hell y'mean 'the hell am I here for'? It's Tuesday!"

That voice, heavy with an accented drawl, pipes up like a cat in comparison to a bear–and the shuffling at the front door only piques your curiosity more as Harley huffs and starts berating the stranger like they're more familiar than they seem.

"...Fuck. Listen–hey, not in the house! Take your shoes off, idiot!" Before Harley can stop him the stranger is suddenly standing across the living room, his golden eyes honing in on you immediately as he saunters up and barely misses your companion's frustrated grab for his collar behind him.

"Ooh," He winks. "See you've got company, huh? Hello darlin'." The young man is the picture of what you'd imagine a western cowboy would look like; a cowboy hat perches on his brown hair and his bronzed skin bears the tone of someone who spends much of their time outdoors…and that's to say nothing of the cowboy boots that clack their way across the carpet, complete with spurs that jingle with his every step. Yet his clothes seem exceptionally modern, the cream-coloured dress shirt and faux-leather pants giving off the visage of an office worker on a cowboy retreat. "Lookin’ like you seen a ghost. Elias Norwood, at your service–any way you'd like to be serviced."

Elias dips down and captures your hand in his, just barely grazing his lips over your knuckles in a chivalrous kiss before Harley appears behind him and yanks him away like a cat by the scruff of his neck. "You wanna get out, or you wanna wake up tomorrow as pig shit?" He growls, and Elias just laughs–partially in jest, and partially from genuine nerves–before he's shoved out the side door and just manages to catch his balance on the last step out to the grass. He shoots you a grin, a wink, and a wave through the window before he hustles out of view, seemingly heading towards the barn to take care of those aforementioned horses.

"I-Is he…y'know..?" You glance back at Harley with wide eyes, and the farmer shakes his head.

"Elias? No, he's not dangerous. We…we were married before. Not anymore." He's quick to qualify, even raising his left hand for you to see the absence of a ring on his finger.

"Oh."

"Yeah." The awkward silence simmers between you two as you take that in. Married? It's hard to believe Harley was married to someone so…different. A twisting and churning of your stomach bubbles your blood with unease–there's some sliver of irritation, envy, perhaps even jealousy in that moment. As hard as you try to cast the thought aside, it lingers while Harley remains so close. Yet it runs for long enough that Elias soon returns to interrupt it, that smarmy grin on his freckled face increasing the tension rather than cutting it as he pokes his head in around the screen door. "D'ya need your ears cleaned? Get out."

Harley aims that well-trained scowl back at his ex, who seems either gleefully oblivious to it or like he gets a thrill out of making your farmer friend mad. And though you struggle not to let it shine through, there's a twinge of satisfaction in your chest that foregrounds the erratic thumping of your heart.

"Naw, I can hear you. Won't hurt if you lemme know where you picked up this sweet little thing, though." It takes a second for you to understand that he's referring to you, which is just long enough for Harley to stomp over to the door and shove his fist into Elias' shirt for the second time. He shoves him backwards for the cowboy to stumble down the few steps and land on his ass in the dirt, but he looks no worse for wear even when his hat tumbles off his head and he just chuckles at the reaction. The screen door swings shut behind them but you can hear their muffled conversation from outside, not much more than a "Kidding!" from Elias and Harley's voice grunting a "Go tend your horses and fuck off." catching your attention. Eventually he returns, and in the far distance you can hear the whinny of a horse as Elias must be returning to where they're stabled.

"Here. I'm gonna give you my hatchet." Harley steps back inside with the blade at his side, the handle wooden and worn with age from many years of frequent use. When he closes your hands around the grip, your palms fill in the distinct indents of his callused fingers in the hilt. Your mind drifts to the way he threw it in the direction of your stalker, and it's even more impressive now, thinking back to how firmly it stuck in the tree and how much strength he may draw on when he's angry. Protective, rather. "Elias is gonna stick around while I'm gone–outside, mind you, not in the house. You feel scared at all, or in danger, you just swing. I'll take care of whatever happens after."

"What if I hurt him?"

Harley scoffs, his gaze pointed out the window at the barn until he swiftly returns it to you. "Nothing you could do to him he doesn't already deserve."

"H-Harley, if Elias-"

"He won't." He stares you down with a cold, stoic gaze, one that you can only imagine would drive fear and panic into those who don't know his real tenderness. "He won't hurt you. He knows how bad I'll hurt him back if he even thinks of it. As dumb as he is, he likes living–at least in one piece."

“But Harley-” Your eyes have started to water without you paying notice. But he does notice, and takes you under his arms in reply in a bid to soothe your high-strung fears.

"Listen, I swear I wouldn't leave you if I didn't have to. If I could, I would gladly spend every second of my day next to you." Your heart jumps at that sentiment, leaving your ribcage to poorly mask the desperate thumping of that fragile heart of yours against his warm chest. "But there's just some things I need to take care of. I'll be right back as soon as possible, I promise."

Though Harley pulls away from you then, electing to look you in the eyes as he makes that vow, you still find yourself comforted while his presence steadily dwindles. The hatchet hangs heavy in your arms as you watch him tug on his leather jacket and boots at the door, his trapping gear strapped to his belt and a thick canvas sack rolled up and hung in his inner pocket. With a pat on the head and one last reassurance, he's gone–out the side door and across the field into the forest, his image melding into the shadows of midday under the branches before he disappears completely.

Harley won't be back for hours, most likely. You reach a shaky hand out and click the lock shut on the screen door.

In all honesty, you weren't expecting the afternoon to be so peaceful. But somehow, even though Harley had reassured you of his vowed harmlessness, hearing the distant shuffles of hooves, whistling, and creaking of the fences as Elias passively reminds you of his presence makes you feel even less at ease than you would alone. At least you wouldn't be second guessing those noises as you keep to the living room, trying vainly to busy yourself in Harley's absence but constantly remaining vigilant for any sound out of the ordinary.

Could he get into the house despite the lock? You think, and yes, he probably could. You've caught a few glimpses here and there through the window of his tending–seen how he's tugged and calmed the horses with ease even at their rowdiest, his lean frame betraying the undiscerning eye as he's of decently toned muscle underneath. But so far he hasn't spared a glance towards you, not even checked to see if you're looking at him and hoping for an in to get him close to you. For the most part, when left to his own devices, he seems content with minding his business.

It's only when you've lost yourself in tuning the radio on the counter that a knock on the side door gives you a fright, your hands coming down on the counter in search of some defense until you realize it's just Elias. Unlike before, he's quiet and polite as he requests a drink from the fridge, his eyes betraying no sense of deceit, just exhaustion. He's sweating buckets and keeping himself propped up on the doorway with his arm, soaked from belt to boots in mud that the horses must've kicked up as he brought them back to the stables.

It's that tired, worn-out image of him that's lead you to this development–the screen still firmly closed but not locked, with you sitting on the floor inside while Elias perches himself on a lawn chair by the steps. It feels a bit like a setup for two house cats trying to get used to each other…yet the bizarre nature of the interaction hasn't seemed to faze Elias yet, especially not when you graciously didn't object to giving him a beer despite it being nowhere near 5 PM. He cracks it open outside and lets the foam settle momentarily, his sip long and followed up by a sigh of relief as he enjoys his reprieve from a day's hard work. While he seems content to sit in silence, it soon becomes too tense when you have a question that's dying to come off your tongue.

"....Is Harley a bad person?"

You just end up blurting it out all at once, the context lost on him when these are some of the first words you've spoken to him. Yet you're met with a chuckle and a glance over his shoulder, before he settles back in his chair and returns his gaze to the woods off across the field.

"Mh…define 'bad'." His voice is smoother this time around, less flirtatious and coy, but his words put doubt and anxiety back into your mind.

"Does he hurt people? Is he…he's not some serial killer, o-or sexual predator, is he?" A long pause draws out like curdled milk, spoiling any optimism about your current situation the longer it drags on. But this time, the way Elias breaks the silence actually brings you relief.

"...Really haven't known each other long, huh?" Elias fishes around in his pocket, just barely tilting his can for a dribble of beer to splash out on the ground, before producing a cellphone from his pocket and handing it back to you through the crack in the door that you open tentatively. "Look him up if you wanna. Kunuk's his last name. K-U-N-U-K." He takes another sip and scans the wooded horizon for any potential threat, or perhaps just the sight of a bunny hopping about or a fox making its nest.

"I'll give you my two cents, though, bein' that we were married an' all. Har's a stubborn ass, but he's a good guy." Your thumbs poise over the cracked lower corner of the phone, the search engine open and the box blank while the cursor blinks endlessly, waiting for commands. You're tempted to do exactly what he said, yet your ears are still perked to listen to Elias' apparent wisdom…if you could call it that.

"...He's been nice to me, I just…"

"Don't trust people?" He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder from his peripheral, a pursed smile barely reaching his eyes as you nod and he takes another hefty drink. "Makes sense. Don't hurt to protect yourself, 'specially round here. Wouldn't worry about him, though–as scary as he looks, there ain't nobody you'd want more to help you if need be."

"...I just don't want to be hurt anymore." Your voice shakes with uncertainty, a bit of your inner self slipping out in a moment of weakness.

"Take it from me, sweets: he'll hurt everyone but you."

"Even you?" He scoffs lightheartedly at your quick retort, and drains the dregs of his can before crushing it flat with both hands.

"I gave as good as I got. You treat him nice, he'll follow you like a dog. Treat him bad, he'll bite ya like one." His beer can crinkles softly as it struggles to return to shape, before tinging off the side of the recycling bucket that sits further along the side of the house as he throws it. “He's honest, I'll give ‘em that.”

What more can you say to that? He's not wrong, at least not from what you've seen of Harley in the short time you've known each other. As you quietly hand Elias his phone back and slowly open the door wider in the process, your heart begs the question…is it really okay to let your guard down now? Part of you desperately wants that to be true, but the other part keeps your hand well in reach of the hatchet you've propped up beside you, just in case you end up being wrong…again.

"There's your man of the hour." Elias' cheeky tone diverts your focus from your own thoughts, your head whipping up to scan the wooded horizon for a sign of him. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes widen slowly as the scene comes into focus, his hands coming down to brace the chair as he gets up from his seat. Now, finally, you spot him and get to your feet to see him better, pushing the door open completely so you can peer out and see the outline of Harley's muscly form drawing closer into the field from far away. Yet something about the way he's staggering is…off.

"Why's he walking backwards?" Your voice doesn't seem to reach the cowboy, his gaze fixated on some point off in the distance past your companion. Without sparing you a glance backwards, he gestures at you with tense shoulders and an order to get the gun, all while you struggle to stay on your feet without putting pressure on your bad ankle.

"Gun? What gun? Elias-"

In the distance, the sound and sight of Harley cursing and stumbling as his body hits the ground causes you both to flinch. And behind him, skulking out of the woods in a predatory march, is a huge, brown bear.

Elias shoves past you in seconds, flying into the house and dashing up the stairs so fast he's almost skating up on all fours, while you duck out the screen door and slip on your way down the steps, coming to a crashing halt on your hands and knees in the grass. Tilting your head up, you spot Harley's huge frame turning over as he scrambles to his feet, and with a booming roar the bear finally breaks out of its tempered walk and into a vicious charge. For someone so tall and bulky, Harley makes quick work of the ground separating him from the safety of the cabin, but not nearly enough with a fully-grown grizzly on his heels–and especially not when he's clutching his shoulder, close enough that your heart seizes at the blood soaking his clothes and dripping off his fists while he sprints. Once his eyes meet Elias', you watch as he grits his teeth and dives into the grass at the last second.

"Down!"

From behind you Elias bellows, a quick glance back giving you the visage of his lean frame and toned arms holding up a shotgun to peer down the sights. With little courage to think otherwise you obey and clap your hands over your head, muffling the crackling boom of the gun firing overhead as your forehead brushes the grass. You're hunched over still with your eyes squeezed shut as two more shots ring out in succession, but with a stinging silence following the third blast you finally peer up and let your hands shakily falter from your ears.

Is it dead? The fuzzy lump of brown fur lays unmoving in the grass, glistening with blood, barely thirty feet away. Close enough that you can smell the forest on it amidst the cloud of gunpowder. But not close enough to measure Harley's state, as he lay facedown in the grass mere inches from the bear–tears prick at your eyes in horrified silence, your mouth left agape behind your fingers even while Elias' hand grips you under the arm and hauls you up to your feet. Whatever he's asking you doesn't even reach you through your shock until he shakes you, his gait forcing you to move with him as the two of you cautiously but swiftly approach the scene.

"Harley?" Your whimpers ring out so clearly in the tense air, your fingers trembling as you reach out to him. It's impossible to tell whether he's even breathing up until the moment he finally, finally lifts his head to look at you.

"Fuck me," He lets out a groan, dazedly pushing himself up off the ground for both you and Elias to grab an arm, somewhat helping to lift him back up on shaky feet and tower over both of you. The blood in his eyes has him squinting and moving to rub it away, but when he's got a clear picture in front of him he moves on instinct–right towards you, his arms sliding around your shoulders to bring you tightly into his warm chest. He's breathing so heavily, panting like a dog out of breath from the run, and yet all his strength pours into squeezing you so hard he's dripping blood all over your borrowed clothes.

"Y'okay?" Elias lets the gun hang at his side, somehow more awkward with it now than he was actually shooting at something, like it's too heavy for him to bear.

"Sure. Mostly." Harley pants above you and presses his palms into your back, hoping to soothe you with some gentle strokes up and down your spine as you let out your crying sobs. Meanwhile Elias steps over to the bear and nudges it with his pointed boot, surveying it from all angles until he's satisfied that it's no longer breathing. "Nice shot."

"Damn right–better than you'll ever be!" Elias smirks with pride, his ego inflating before your very eyes as he turns back to face you two. Harley couldn't care less at the moment, though, his lips brushing the crown of your head as he murmurs reassurances to you, hoping to combat the sniffles and quiet sobbing into his shirt. "Hell! Ain't had bear meat in years–this fella's gonna taste so good!"

Somehow, even though you can feel Harley's hackles raise when he's around, the cowboy's dark humour raises your spirits a bit–it's at least enough to stifle your crying, his joking around killing the tension of the situation as he playfully picks up the bear's limp paw and waves it at you, which you're a bit ashamed to say gives you a giggle through the tears. He squabbles a bit with your companion about dragging it into the shed for him to butcher, but after awhile Harley convinces him to do it outside–by himself–and dispose of the entrails afterwards. Either way he's still off to get the tools to do so, and in the meantime Harley leads you back into the house and offers some newer, cleaner clothes to change into while he gets under a much-needed shower.

It's only a matter of time before you're sitting back on that same couch by the window, listening to the muffled sounds of water hitting the tiles in the room over, and peering out into the yard to see Elias hacking away at the carcass with a saw. Every so often you get a glimpse of him getting splashed in the face with a spurt of blood, or cursing audibly when he gets some on his hat, but soon enough he's carrying off huge chunks of meat back to the shed and picking hairs off his wet sleeves in the interim. Occasionally your ears perk at the sound of humming emanating from the bathroom, and the smell of blood that permeates the dirt and Harley's clothes mingles with the freshness of soap and aftershave.

Elias pops his head in the door and bids you goodbye sooner than you expected, his work rushed along by the gathering of dark, ominous clouds overhead. With a few string-tied paper packages under his arm he wishes you luck, but for what for you don't know. He only flashes you a wink and leaves a package behind before he slips back out the door, his car starting up and rolling down the gravel driveway just before the rain hits and starts pounding the soil and the grass outside.

"Dickhead. That's gonna be a mess to clean up when it stops."

Evidently Elias just barely missed him, because as if he popped up from thin air Harley's suddenly standing in the living room; bare-chested with soaked hair, a towel strung just low enough on his waist that your eyes instantly flick away. Your cheeks grow hot at the sight of that thick, dark smattering of hair trailing down his lower stomach, the image burned into your mind while you try to force those ideas of what he looks like further down out of your head. You finally have to force yourself to meet his eyes, but he's already looking at you once you do and you can only imagine what he's thinking. But, then, his gaze shifts to the paper-wrapped package on the counter and he breathes a soft sigh.

"I'm gonna start dinner soon. Gimme a hand?"

Of course I will. I'd do anything for you. The words beg to be released but you squash them right back down, swallow them back into your throat in a lump while you nod and wobble to your feet to wash up yourself while he gets dressed.

When you come back with clean hands and he's changed into fresh clothes from his wardrobe, there's a chair sitting at the counter across from him and a myriad of utensils and ingredients spread out everywhere. When you sit, he slides a wood-grain cutting board over and delicately hands you a knife, before piling a few damp potatoes in front of you for peeling.

The quietness between you doesn't faze you, really. You're used to people around you needing to break the silence, fearful of letting the air grow stagnant and causing an awkward shuffle for conversation–but this feels normal in some strange way, just like it did this morning. Maybe it's been helped by the time you spent with Elias. Harley ties his hair back and focuses entirely on the food, he strips the meat and trims the fat before tossing it into a pot over the stove, washes the vegetables, chops and drizzles oil in his pan and adjusts the heat without ever feeling like he has to entertain you. It's like watching him go about his business as he would whether you were there or not, which is oddly comforting as you take great pains to peel the skins off the potatoes without missing a single spot.

"Is your shoulder okay?" You finally break the silence not out of necessity, but because there's a lull in activity and you can't help but let your eyes wander towards his injury. It's wrapped at the very least, albeit clumsily. Part of you wishes you'd offered to help him, if only out of the desire to see his naked chest up close as the bandages peek out from beneath his flannel.

"S'fine," He rolls it out, wincing at the sting when the muscle stretches just a touch too taut. "Just grazed me. Nothin' to worry about."

"I am worried, though." You slice off a mushy spot on the potato and let it fall into the pile of abandoned peels. "You were bleeding a lot. What even happened?"

"It just smelled the game I picked up, wasn't like it was hunting me. I dropped it, figured it'd go after it, but it caught me when I tried to get away. Just had to keep it off my back til I got home." You're the last person to have any authority on the outdoors with your habits, but even so, something doesn't seem right with the way Harley explains it all. You can't quite place it at the moment, but his whole explanation just seems…odd.

Just then, as you're lost in thought and the sound of peels shlupping off the blade fills your ears, a wince of pain from your companion catches your attention. There, just beneath the hem of his sleeve, his wrist flexes with the weight of the pot and you spot it: a bright, fleshy patch of swollen skin running down his palm, the tender redness visibly aching with the sting of what could only be a burn. Harley definitely hadn't burned himself before he left this afternoon, nor did it just happen because you certainly would've noticed him yank his hand back if he'd burned it on the stove just now.

“...What about the burn on your hand?"

The thought escapes so quickly you don't have a chance to grab it. Curiosity seems to be your never-ending folly, yet your breath only barely quickens as he turns and looks down at you to answer. As brown and warm they are, as deep as they look, those eyes feel steely in this brief pause of a moment. Harley blinks absentmindedly, perhaps processing what you just said…and he speaks, slowly, softly, as if he were inching towards a deer alone in the depths of the woods.

"I found a campfire someone left burning.” His attention focuses back on the pot, a steady hand stirring the mixture to keep it from scorching. “Probably the same people that lured that bear with their picnic. People don't know how to treat the woods.”

In and out, Harley loosens that sigh and lets it slip into the air between you. It hangs there, swinging heavy like a pendulum, and the urge to keep the rest of your thoughts to yourself wins over all else. Maybe you still don't believe that, but…maybe you're just being a little paranoid.

The cabin wasn't anything special. It's tightly packed into an invisible square; the space of the house is small and dense in the tiny lot that it's allowed, but even that much is too much in these sacred woods. This place is where he found peace growing up, the trees listened to every secret he whispered and kept each one of them to the grave.

Now there's a little shit-shack taking up a spot here, garbage strewn outwards on the driveway and the root-laden lawn like the house itself is radiating filth. There was, at one time, an old lady that lived here alone. Mom–Erika, Elias' mom–used to take him by the hand and walk here to bring her things on occasion, be it pies wrapped in warm foil or casseroles with a dish towel draped over the top to keep the bugs at bay. It hadn't been long after that that they stopped seeing her, so his memory's still foggy, but he can still feel the ache of her knobby fingers pinching his cheek and the croak of her aging voice as she asked him about school and how he was getting on with Elias’ antics.

Seeing the place as it is now after being forgotten for so long, the matches in his pocket suddenly don't seem as heavy as they once felt. It's hard to tell with how the windows are blocked over, but by the absence of sound coming from within and the missing car, the new tenant must be out.

Leaves crinkle underfoot as he slips around the tree from which he's been watching, making short work of the distance from that hill to the door around the back of the cottage. As expected for one who lives out in the sticks, this door's been left unlocked–and in he goes, expecting all manner of frights yet with no idea of what's really awaiting him, the depth of cruelty and twisted fascination that meets his eyes once the hallway gives way to a bedroom. It's so cramped there's barely any room to look around more, the floor littered with papers and garbage that he's careful to step around with his damp boots. At least, even if he leaves footprints, they'll be the first thing to go when he finishes his business here. But more pressing than that are the photos tacked up over a hobbled old desk, the blackened fade of a marker ‘x'ing out all the subjects within…except for one.

It's you.

Every picture, every day, every lens flare and obscurity captured with the fervor of someone so obsessed that anything is better than nothing. Photos of you cluster around every spare inch of that corkboard and extend out to almost the entirety of the whole wall, not to mention the ones that catch overhead as he walks by that hang on clotheslines stretched across the ceiling. They're everywhere. This room–the collection, the garbage, the soiled bed in the corner, the draped-over windows–it reeks of you, and yet there's not a hint of life to suggest you've ever stepped foot here. He was right. But that doesn't stop Harley's fists from shaking with fury, a violent inferno building up within him as he catches glimpses of you in every peripheral. Twisted images of what this freak has been up to boil him into a rage barely quenched, and the vibrating intensity of his blood pounding in his ears only makes way when he finally tunes in to the presence of someone behind him.

"Who the hell are you?!" He's turned in a flash, so fast the man flinches at the reaction. It's him. He wants to know who the hell he is, huh? He wants to know the truth? He looks so confused at the sight of him, and he will stay that way until the end.

Harley mutters under his breath, fists shaking around the axe as he raises it over his head. Those bug-eyes widen in shock, but makes way for a type of fear reserved only for the horror of realizing one has met their own end.

After the bloodbath that ensues, it's all as much as a blur in his mind. A belt buckle catching on roots, a trail of blood, sloshing, the strike of a match in an otherwise empty soundscape…it's like the forest itself extended its tendrils and cast a veil over the villa, blanketing his world in silence as the house goes up in flames.

"Ever eaten bear before?"

Your mind has wandered quite far in the silence that's followed, to the point that the sound of Harley's voice startles you somewhat as you sit there gazing out the window. The potatoes have been peeled and cut, the scraps gathered for feed, and the pot that Harley's stirring is bubbling softly and smells divine.

"No, can't say I have." You smile up at him warmly as he turns to look at you, his gentle question soothing whatever worries remain in your heart. "Is it good? Or…gamey?"

"No, no, you'll like this. Trust me." His enthusiasm at your question is adorable–he gives the pot another stir before lifting the spoon out, and offers you a taste of the broth as a preamble for the bowl. He leans in close, palm cupped under the spoon to catch the mess, and the little mountain of potato chunks, meat, and softened vegetables explode into a firecracker of flavour the moment it all hits your tongue. Sure, the bear is a bit chewier than you're used to, but it's fresh and full of meaty juices that just scream ‘hearty’.

"Good?" Even if it wasn't, which it certainly isn't, you wouldn't have the heart to crack that hopeful look in his eyes. You're beyond glad you don't have to, and that your tongue swiping out to lick your lips is not an exaggeration but a sincere compliment. It's delicious.

"I'm glad." The smile that melts those hard-cut features warms you, but it only reaches his eyes for a moment before it starts to fade. "I don't get to cook for anyone anymore. I'm not great, but…it's one of the few things I like."

"I like your cooking!" You blurt out with some passive indignation, somehow aghast at the very thought of it not being true–the idea that anyone would tell him otherwise just boggles the mind.

Harley hums in response, his prideful smile providing you a look into his heart–all you sense is warmth and kindness, both of which you've craved so deeply you'd started to believe they didn't exist at all. While he switches off the burner, you slide out from your seat to pad around the counter and pick out the plates, eager to set the table as he reaches out to try and catch you–but the stew still needs his focus as it finishes, and you get a kick out of ducking away from him in a laugh as he tries not to let you exert yourself. Your ankle's feeling a great deal better, though, and finally Harley relents once you've started fussing about with the table setting.

Two glasses, two plates, two forks and knives, two pieces of bread and two bowls for the stew. The sight of it all laid out puts you at ease, but why? Is it simply because you're happy not to be alone? Or is it entirely because it's the man you're with that makes it feel so reassuring?

Either way, you need no ushering to take your spot and sit as Harley lifts the pot off the stove, carrying it as one would carry a modest book with his total herculean strength. Once the ladle comes out and he's filled both your bowl and his, you're practically squirming in your seat in anticipation as he takes his place across from you. The day has been tiring, emotionally, physically, and otherwise. This dinner feels like a reward, and who better to share it with than him?

But as you start to eat, and you tear a chunk off the roll that Harley made a couple days ago, the fear starts to creep back in. He's got his spoon practically glued to his mouth, understandably hungry after all he went through today…but can you really accept this as normal? Can you not admit that a few too many things have been off, and that you have questions you're still dying to find the answers to?

You've long considered your inability to settle down an annoyance, an unhealthy habit that prevents you from having fun and just living in the moment. But here, now, in this strange house with this strange man, you could imagine that such a habit might just save your very life.

"Can I ask you a question?" He hums and nods quietly, engaged almost entirely in his meal. If nothing else, you have to appreciate his impartial appetite. You dip your spoon in your bowl, careful not to take a bigger bite than necessary before you ask it…after all, it could blow up in your face for real this time.

"Elias, he…talked to me about you. He said you were trustworthy, and honest, even though you can come off…elsewise." Finally Harley raises an eyebrow, but his spoon pauses only briefly before he keeps eating, eyes trained completely on you. "I know you said he's annoying, but…why don't you get along with him? Really?"

You pick your words so carefully, yet Harley stares back at you like he's listening to an alien speak. It's unsettling, the way he just stops like he's frozen in place and picks you apart with nothing but a pallid gaze.

"Those are some big words." He eventually states plainly, and downs another heaping spoonful of his dinner. He seems to have picked the biggest chunk of meat he could find just so he could chew it for an eternity while he comes up with a better answer. Now his eyes don't meet yours the whole time he does, pointed down towards the spot behind his bowl like he's thinking the hardest he ever has.

"He's just selfish." He mutters after finally swallowing.

"...That's it?"

"He only talks to people if he thinks he can get something outta them. He'd rather take things from other people than get them himself."

"Were you ever in love?" The sigh he lets out, the fingers he runs through his hair, it strickens you with a moment of panic. That's a question that could certainly cross the line–but he clearly isn't as upset as you feared as he shrugs and sips another spoonful of the broth.

"...I don't know anymore. When I was a kid? Sure, I probably thought so. But…" His brown eyes pan up to you, and for the first time he fumbles with his next thought before he can get it out. "...I think I know better now."

You flush, and quietly sip down your own spoonful of broth. The meaty taste hangs heavy on your tongue, but it shifts into a sweeter sensation as it warms your throat on the way down.

"What about you?" He lifts his glass to his lips, his tone somewhat lighter like the weight of those thoughts have finally lifted off his mind. "You ever been in love?"

"No." Your tone flattens the whimsy of the conversation in an instant. Guilt starts to filter in at the realization, knowing he just poured his heart out to you…and then you start to fumble. "I mean…I-I'd like to be. But I just haven't felt that feeling yet, I don't even know what it feels like."

What sounds like a hum emanates from your partner, his next bite filling the silence as he chews thoughtfully.

"To me, it feels like home.” The tender, sweet tone he suddenly takes on oozes a sense of nostalgia, and without meaning to you're suddenly staring him down, rapt with attention as you hang quietly off his every word. “It feels like…knowing there's someone waiting for me, that they're missing me when I'm gone. That I have someone to come home to who helps me forget that the rest of the world exists."

Someone waiting for me. Someone that misses me when I leave. Someone who never wants me to go in the first place.

"Do I make you feel that way?"

It flies out of your mouth before you can pull the thought back, your hands left empty and cold as your heart slows to a sudden stop. Even Harley himself looks taken aback by your bluntness, silent and staring you down with his spoon poised just over his bowl.

That silence is deafening. This is the moment you were dreading. This is what you've wrought after all this paranoia: you've completely and totally made an absolute fool of yourself.

"...I-I have to use the bathroom."

Your ankle barely twinges with the pain you've adjusted to as you catapult yourself out of your chair, the legs squeaking as they scrape the ground followed by the loud, harsh thud of the bathroom door slamming shut behind you. It barely felt like you moved at all, yet the panic ensured that the shock in his expression burns itself into your mind permanently.

What an idiot. What a foolish, stupid, invasive thing to ask, what an absolute mess you've made of all of this. If Harley really felt that way, would he have just said it out loud? He seems to let go of all his thoughts with refreshing bluntness, so you can only imagine that this whole time it's been a farce. All those gestures you considered affectionate, all those kind words, those reassurances, that hug and the bed you shared–they were either the expressions of an overly affectionate friend or a person that's retained only surface-level feelings for you. Not love. How could it possibly be love? You've barely known each other a day!

It's stupid. It's just…it's all so stupid. This is the first time in these last couple days that you actually want to go home–you just want to leave this all, forget about Harley and all your messy feelings, and go back to the hell that you know because at least it'll be familiar.

It takes a long, long time for you to finally creak open the bathroom door, having agonized on whether to return to the table like nothing happened or just make a break straight for the front door. When you come back to the kitchen, your eyes flit towards the table to see it's been completely cleared away. Harley's rinsing a bowl in the sink and drying his hands on the towel, his back to you as you approach with no clue how to resume the conversation, or how to break the palpable tension at all.

But when he turns to face you, he shows no sign of even remote surprise at your return. His brown eyes pierce right through you, body and all–and before you can get a word out, he's suddenly coming closer and silences you with a kiss that completely takes your breath away. Heavy hands braced on your waist, he leans into the pressure of his mouth on yours to pin you right up against the counter, his palm snaking up the small of your back to hold you completely in place, completely pressed up against him.

What the hell? Are the first words that come to mind, but saying them would give off the reaction that's opposite to what you intend. Harley's warm. He's warm and he's right up against you, holding you, sinking his whole heart into this kiss as if he fears it may be his one and only. Your body melts against his force regardless of your anxiety, but that too seems to wane in the face of lips so soft and breath so hot it prickles your skin when he finally breaks it off. Harley's panting fills your whole space while his grip reasserts itself–he brings one hand up to cup your cheek, his rough thumb rubbing your smooth skin as he stands there and just takes you in.

"You do make me feel that way. You have since the first second I laid eyes on you." That gruff, callous indifference that you've seen in him on occasion has completely evaporated here. All that remains in his eyes is devotion, pure and sweet as milk.

"Harley-" His lips meet yours again, pressing you so firmly into another kiss you feel your head tilting back to accept it–Harley kisses you like he's dying for more and it's exactly what you wanted. This is what you wanted since the moment he laid his gentle hands on you, and you couldn't even put your finger on it because you were so scared of getting hurt.

"I didn't want you to leave–I don't want you to leave. I kept asking, I…I was afraid you'd say no." He murmurs in between kisses, groping at your body to keep you close despite you not making any move to go anywhere.

"I want to stay with you, Harley." You whisper back against his lips, which somehow seems to be the thing that stops him in his tracks and sobers him into speaking eye-to-eye.

"If you stay with me," He breathes out. "I will never let you go. You hear me? I won't let anyone steal you away from me, and I'll do whatever I need to do to protect you. You need to be sure." His hand brushes by your cheek to stroke your hair, needily touching you regardless of how fresh this development seems to be. He doesn't know how much you've been needing him back, though.

“I am.” You hush in reply, your voice sure and smooth as springwater. “I've never been more sure of anything.”

“I'm serious.” He murmurs as he holds your face with both of those massive, calloused hands. “I won't let you go. I won't forget about you. I will make you mine.” Those words are meant as a warning, but all you hear are the reassurances you've wanted for so, so long. Love, protection…and if it comes to pass, obsession. It's the wrong thing to ask for, you know it is. But the closeness and the care he's shown you, and wants to show you, are more than you could ever think to ask for.

You press your answer into his lips as firmly as you can. What melts you even more isn't that he accepts, nor does it so readily as he exchanges the lock of your mouths with twice as much fervor. It's that he breaks the kiss quicker than he wanted to with a grunt, and peels himself off of you like you've suddenly grown too cold to bear.

“Shit.” He glances around, avoiding your gaze until he's of the mind to draw back from you almost completely, face hot with guilt as his body reacts to your closeness. What he means soon becomes more obvious since he's put some distance between you–you can't help your eyes wandering downwards, and suck in a breath through your teeth in shock at his…enthusiastic reaction to your acceptance of his love. “I'm sorry.”

Harley's fingertips brush down your arms, still not quite able to break himself off from your touch entirely. He's got a look about him that says something more, the quick flit of his glances at you and the cautious hesitance of his flesh grazing yours hinting towards his own shyness. Maybe it's in this moment of exposure that he's able to push that wall down that he's been hiding behind, his true feelings coming to light after sheltering them for so long. Just as he's making a hurried excuse to nip into the bathroom for a moment, you put him on pause with your warm palms pressed to his firm chest.

“Stay.”

“What?” His expression cringes with incredulity. Did you really just say that? is written all over it.

“Stay, please.” You repeat yourself, your fingers curling inward to drag your nails lightly over his tough flannel. His arousal commands attention you're not quite sure you're confident enough to tend to, but you can't let it squander now. As meek as you are about it you gently place a kiss on his chin, and allow your hips to drift indiscriminately forward until they bump against his. At once he gasps through his gritted teeth, and though he grabs you in a tight hold as if to stop you, he doesn't make an effort to move you away as your clothes catch on his tented fly. Every movement seems to stir him further, a benign hug like the allure of a siren when he's this stiff and pent up for you.

“You know what you're asking?” His breathing labours the instant you press yourself up against him. He's just barely, barely holding himself back, keeping his composure together by nothing but a thin thread. “I don't own condoms or nothin’.”

“I guess we have to get used to it.” Your answer feels so innocent, yet so decadent in Harley's current state, that he offers you only a flash of lust across his gaze before he's hauling you up over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Across the living room, up the stairs, down the hall–the air peppered with a yelp and sudden laughter from you and grunts out of him as he rushes to his bedroom like a firefighter carrying you to safety. With a careful toss he's slung you down over the bed minus any potential strain on your part, and with the door kicked closed and a heady desire in his eyes he starts stripping layer after layer off of you like he can't wait a moment longer to see you in all your glory. You'd almost forgotten his injury until he stripped his own shirt off, his shoulder soaking the gauze with blood from his effort but not enough to bother him into stopping.

“Should we be doing this?” Your voice strains in a whisper as you watch him struggling to undo his jeans.

“I don't know.” He pants softly, pausing to press a heated kiss to your mouth before he returns to the task at hand. “I don't want you to regret it. But I really…like you.” He swallows that answer like a pill. It confuses him even more to hear you giggle, though.

“No, I meant–your shoulder, you're okay, right?”

Harley's whole face flushes as he realizes what you meant, and that his awkward yet tenderly sincere answer wasn't at all something he needed to say out loud. But though he coughs and shamefully mumbles out that he's fine, you can sense the ease that settles in the droop of his shoulders when you sit up and take the place of his fumbling hands with your own. In seconds you've got his button open, and with another kiss to the corner of his lips you delight in the shudders down his spine as you slowly drag his zipper down over his bulge.

“Hey, big guy.” You tease with a gleeful smile. Your eyes roam unashamedly the moment he's got his underwear tugged down.

“Shut up.” He huffs, embarrassed but somewhat proud at the way you stare so openly and in awe. Elias always had plenty to say about his body, but he was a sweet-talker. Your words are the only ones he really believes, which makes it all the more obvious how he's trying to appeal to you more as you start exploring him with your fingers, tracing your nails down his waist towards where it really counts.

“Harley?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we…” Your touch halts at the precipice, just barely within a hair's length of taking this to the next level. Forced to swallow at the realization that his endowment could prove an obstacle, you find yourself more humble about all those other things you're used to fretting about…they don't seem as pressing and scary when you're with him. “Can we…take it slow? I don't, uh…I don't really know what I'm doing.” You admit it guiltily, but Harley sighs a breath of apparent relief and settles in a bit more comfortably once you say it.

“It's okay.” He smoothes a hand over your neck, brushing the stray hairs away to pull you in for a warm kiss. “Yeah, I'm fine with that. It's been awhile for me, too.” The sound of him clearing his throat fills the thick air in the room. No matter where he is, it always seems like he's far away but so close he could be inside you at the same time. Despite trying to stay composed, Harley's eyes wander in the quiet moments that linger behind, and his shyness turns to intrigue and confidence the more he sweeps his gaze over your nude figure perched on his bed.

“...You look even better naked.”

“Are you sure?” The question comes out teasing and playful even though, at the heart of it, you're really serious about asking it.

“I'm sure.” Harley's breath hitches as you move, your nervous shifting to get comfortable causing a ripple effect through his body; a feast for his eyes at the new angles and a sight that makes him twitch in excitement down below. “Really fucking good. Your skin's like…velvet.” His voice reduces to a growl as he lets his hand roam, his fingers ghosting up your inner thigh until he settles his palm flush with your skin and starts rubbing the sensitive area with a possessiveness you've seldom experienced. “...Maybe I'll finally start buyin’ condoms after this.”

As much as you'd like to fire off some cheeky reply to that, there's not much willpower you can draw on when such a massive, hot-blooded man is squeezing your inner thigh and leaning in with the intention to please. He holds your gaze to ensure you're watching, and raises his hand up to his mouth while not breaking eye contact. He gently pushes his fingers past his lips, his soft tongue catching glimpses of the light as he coats them in spit, before reaching down quickly and hurrying to nudge them between your thighs. Whatever resistance you might consider is moot and futile. Why would you resist? Harley's gotten the full picture of you from end to end, hair to hide, and he…likes you. You heard as much from his own mouth.

Emboldened by his bravery, you scooch back just an inch to get a better picture of what he's attempting. His fingers hover lightly, itching to move in while still slick, and eager despite Harley swallowing around the lump in his throat as he mentally prepares for what's next. The spastic heaving of his breath is what leads you to bury your face in his neck and slowly guide his hand to slide his knuckles down your folds.

“Fuck.” The timing of his moan is almost comical. He wasn't expecting you to be that wet, surely, nor for your hips to jump when he manages to brush the tips of his fingers against the soaked edges of your entrance. Your body wants him so badly it's practically opening up for him–and despite the way you hide and cling to him in shame, he can't help chuckling lowly as he slowly spreads you open on his fingers. You can't hide the trembling shift of your thighs, or the squeezes of desperation as your walls welcome the long-awaited visitor. “Kiss me.”

It's a trap. The moment you lift your head, Harley's lips come down on you hard enough to knock you down; you go from sitting up to laid out on your back in moments, his knee sliding over your leg to drag it open further as he slips his fingers in deeper, past every knuckle until he hits that sweet spot that has you crying out into his mouth. This way you can't hide, can't smother your noises, and can't even whine about it–Harley flops down next to you with a satisfied, almost cocky grin while you wriggle and squirm on the edge of your seat.

“You're cute.” His voice is like a purr in your ear. Accompanied by the increasingly wet squelching of his fingers buried deep within you, it's hard not to feel like your whole world is nothing but Harley when he's showering you in attention you felt like you could never earn. He nuzzles his nose into your neck and pecks you lightly with a kiss that quickly turns more possessive–his teeth make an appearance at your tender skin, and though you anticipate a bite, he only scratches you lightly on the ends before tenderly sinking in. The deep, hard suck that follows accompanies a firm thrust of his fingers deeper inside, each one working in tandem to pull you apart and press you back together like warm, sweet strings of caramel.

“Ha-Harley,” You whimper out amongst the slick sounds of desperate pleasure, your stomach twisting up and tightening with your abdomen as Harley lays into you with his hands. His hard cock has been bobbing along your thigh as he fingers you, sliding dryly against your skin yet beading at the tip with need. He's grown swollen and stiff as bricks, but the moment you reach down to touch him you're stopped–his free arm slides under your neck as a cushion and he grabs your wrist before it moves, his stare hard and piercing despite the dark tinge to his cheeks.

“Not about me right now.” He mutters against your skin and presses his lips just below your ear, just above the spot he's made a distinct mark. “Just focus on this.”

“But I-” You cut yourself off with a squeal as Harley curls his fingers inward and hooks them against some deep, rough spot inside you that you've never realized was there. His tongue peeks out to flick at the bruise on your neck, lightly massaging the wound he made in the hopes that it'll soothe your nerves, and allow you to focus on the pleasure that's racing through your veins from top to bottom. “Ah-!”

The slick sounds ring in your ears–shuk shuk shuk shuk–as he takes you apart in every measured thrust of his fingers, his dark eyes locked on the curve of your throat as your head tilts back in ecstasy. When your eyes squeeze shut to focus on gripping the sheets and whatever else is in reach, Harley's skin grazes yours in a heated descent as he kisses his way down your body, trailing each one down your belly until his shoulders are settled between your sticky thighs. He turns his hand slowly to swirl the pads of his fingers inside you, and once he's there and staring up at you through hooded eyes he leans down and laps a slow, soft stroke of his tongue through your folds. The sudden jerk of your hips doesn't dissuade him, the reaction just makes him laugh in a deep, lusty tone as he focuses the tip on circling round your clit while his other hand presses your thigh down on the bedspread.

“Harley! Harley, Harley–H-Harley, ah-!” Your cries pierce the air but don't have any urgency aside from pleasure, no warning aside from wanting the sensations to continue even if you can't bear to look down at what he's doing. Harley's tongue lazily smothers your hot button in spit, his pink muscle a brush and your body a blank canvas. Each swirl of your hips as you mindlessly grind back into him feels traitorous, sinful against the sweetness you've tried to show him, and yet Harley acts as though you're just as innocent and beautiful as the moment he started touching you. It feels wrong to be taking pleasure from him in this way and to have all his attention focused on you, but Harley couldn't look more pleased when you finally peer down at him through the spaces between your shaky fingers.

“Hi.”

He interrupts the slick silence, as the bedroom is filled with nothing but panting and the wet shlups of him fingering you into oblivion. For once, he's got an almost cheeky grin on his face that's plastered with the wet sheen of your arousal down his chin. The hand that had been keeping your thighs apart reaches over your body to clutch at your elbow, but you quiver and close your fingers over your face again before he can try to pull them away.

“Look at me. Look.” His reassuring tone eases you into peeking out again, only to whine when you feel his thick fingers slide out and watching his lips purse as he messily sucks your taste off of them. You want to hide again…but you just can't stop watching. “That's my girl.” He murmurs, and slides those same fingers up the crest of your mound to rub more pressure into your now very swollen, very needy clit. “You gonna cum?” His whisper as he kisses your thigh has you upright in a jolt, your hands flying down from your face to grip the locks of his long, dark hair.

“Uh huh..” Harley's eyelids flutter into a lower, lustful gaze at how sweetly you whimper at him. His kisses trail inward until he reaches those soft lips again, and without another word to keep his mouth at bay he seals it over your entrance and starts to suck. That devious tongue of his wriggles like a coiled tentacle inside you, completely damning you in that weak moment as your hips start jutting and humping off the bed fully while you lose your composure in hot, wild abandon. Whatever foreplay had come before this was cinema–this is pure lovemaking, Harley's grunting like that of a beast as he eats you alive, and your body wasting its clamped tensity as you just let the moment finally take you over. His fingers dig into your waist to keep you down while you shake with want. The only moments where he lets up are to drag his tongue through your folds and push it back against your clit again, to purse his lips around it like a soft candy and suck until his mouth turns flush. That's where you eventually meet your end, your walls clamping down on nothing but air as he holds you tight and drags your orgasm out of you with a nibble of his teeth and a hard, suckling dance of his tongue until you've shaken yourself into a limp, hazy stupor against the pillows.

The next moment he draws you to his presence is when he's already kissed you. His arms flex minutely as he presses his hands to the bed, he hovers over you like a mountainous wall of muscle and scars while his tongue presses soft and wet against your lips. They're moist and cool, sticky from the air against his slick-stained skin and the sweat that drips down his back.

“I left bruises,” He pants. “Hope that's okay.”

“It's fine,” You whisper in a hushed voice, hoarse from the moans of his name that you're glad nobody would be able to hear. There's nobody else for miles. Where it once would've made you scared, now it does nothing less than comfort you.

“I love you.”

“I…love you too.” Chu. He kisses you again. A little harder this time.

“I'm glad.” Harley sits back on his haunches and waits, his hands lingering on your hips and over the bruises he left from grabbing you. He still hasn't wiped his chin, but it looks like he doesn't really intend to. It takes a while for you to manage the strength to sit up, but when you do, he's there to brace you and pull you up by your elbows to come chest to chest.

“Harley…I wanna do more.” You watch his throat bob as he swallows and his tongue flicks out to run across his bottom lip. He knows what you mean, thank god.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Say it again,” He breathes hotly against your lips, just barely brushing them with his own. “Say that you love me, and you want me inside you.” You shudder in response, his choice of words stirring something up inside you that you're still shy about giving up.

“...Please. I love you, Harley.” You close the gap with a gentle kiss and slide your arms up under his, the soft peaks of your chest squeezing up against him in a way that makes his breath hitch. “I want you to feel good. I wanna be the one to make you feel good.” The words come out so easily here. Somehow they don't even make you blush. But they certainly draw a rush of blood into Harley's face, who can't tear his eyes off you as he lays you back down to loom over you like he did before. Breathless, sweaty, tongue heavy in his mouth, and his eyes absolutely glazed with a combination of lust and love so thick they're indistinguishable from one another.

"Okay," Already panting softly in anticipation, he grabs hold of one of the pillows by your head and taps you on the hip to lift them up and off the bed. Once he's slid it beneath your butt, he moves you with those rough hands to flip over so you're laid on your belly, the pillow propping up your hips while he climbs over your legs and sits back on his knees to survey the sight before him. Your inner thighs glisten with slick that begs to be licked off, yet you can feel it in the rough way he grabs both cheeks in his hands that as much as he wants to, he's got what you asked for on the mind instead.

Harley's chest meets your back inch by inch as he lays himself down flat on top of you, bending over further and further until his warmth encroaches on your delicate skin and you jerk at the feeling of his weight settling on top of you. His strong arms perch at both sides of your head and a gentle kiss behind your ear is enough to soothe you that he's not going to crush you. His cockhead teases your opening, smearing precum and slick up and along your folds as he tests the resistance of your body against his frightening size.

“Are you scared?” His voice rumbles deeply through your back. Despite the slow shake of your head you're trembling like a leaf beneath him. A hand slides up your belly to cup your breast, soft and jiggly in his palm while he continues the trail of kisses down the side of your neck. “I won't hurt you. I swear.” He grazes the swollen, rubbery tip further through your folds, just barely prodding you and lubing himself up by grinding his length up and down, up and down again. He's really trying not to make it sting.

“I love you, Harley.” Your hips push back to meet him, urging him closer and hurrying his hesitation.

“I know, peaches.” He hums back, the nickname slipping out by accident in the heat of him starting to press into you, finally. “I know. I love you too.”

Then comes the stretch. The sting. The breath is squeezed out of your lungs the further he pushes, that rigid heat pulsing and scalding your every inch of tender flesh as he sinks so, so endlessly deep. Harley's hair slips down his shoulders and tickles your skin as his head hangs down over you, his stomach straining against your lower back to keep himself upright as he sinks into pure, heavenly bliss. No amount of preparation could've ensured a seamless entry with his breathtaking size, but the thickness of his fingers and the heft of his tongue were certainly worthy preludes to the goliath that Harley's managed to fit so impossibly snug inside you. He can barely keep himself present, his mind begging for him to float away on urges and primal instincts as his cock flexes inside you with need. The shakiness of his breaths against your ear make you think he's desperately trying not to cum–so do the ripples of the sheets beneath you as his fingernails dig roughly into them, his spare hand gripping your chest to the point of bruising. At the end of this all your body will be littered with Harley's possessive marks, and in some great way you feel that's how it's meant to be. It's what you really want.

Harley's position shifts up your back with a sudden jerk forward. The pressure squashes you flat against the sheets and leaves only your hips propped up by the pillow, yet it too strains under Harley's immense strength as he starts to spread you open with deep, slow thrusts. His heart, as steady and healthy as it is, beats like a rabbit's against your spine with the frenzy of lust. Shluk. Shluk. Shluk. Your body speaks for you in the sound it makes with every deep, intimate kiss he presses to your walls deep within. He fumbles with your chest with comparative meekness, his callused fingers sliding and pressing across the sweet flesh before coming to your nipple. He pinches it a bit hard with a thrust stealing his steadiness away, but at your wounded squeak he circles it with his thumb and apologizes with kisses up the side of your cheek. On top of you he resembles more a weighted blanket than a man, he covers you so entirely that he could nearly smother you.

"I like you like this." He murmurs into your ear.

"L-Like how? From beh–nnh–behind?"

"Yeah," He groans against your skin and sends a shudder down your back, another kiss lowered and pressed back to your shoulder. "But not what I was gonna say. Mnh.” His voice resonates through your bones like a lascivious vibrato. “...So fuckin’ wet.”

As he rumbles, your thighs press flat into the sheets with his weight and your skin smears with a growing puddle in the sheets–your arousal and his precum mix to trail down your legs like the puddle you feel your heart melting into. Harley's love and tenderness in his touch makes you want to throw your head back and scream as if you don't deserve it. But instead, you just feel tears coming on as all those feelings come to a head.

"Too rough?" He pants above you, breathlessly spotting kisses across the sweat-soaked skin of your neck. “Hey.” He brushes the base of your neck in a soothing sweep, his thumb coming down to rub circles into the taut skin as he listens for your little voice in the thick haze.

“No…no, s-so–so good,” Your moan echoes off his bedroom walls, barely able to reach his ears in the heat that's taken over the two of you. You're messing with a stranger, having unprotected, premarital sex–you would think this would be a moment you'd straighten up and be a good girl, but alas. You've been taken in by a wild man living on the outskirts of society, whose grin curves up against your skin as he humps his hips forward, hard.

“Gettin’ what you want,” He grunts, his thrusts papping wetly against you as skin meets skin, his body completely attuned to yours in the moment. It's like he's not another person anymore, but rather an extension of you…an extension of your pleasure as he draws it out with every movement he makes. “Makin’ me feel like–fuck,” With a gasp he shudders to a quick halt. The weight lifts off your body as he sits up and back on his haunches, his warmth still buried snugly inside you where he belongs, but he ghosts a rough hand down your spine before it comes to rest on the middle of your back. With that steadiness in place, he can keep thrusting with swift, bracing snaps of his hips and a cry of how good it feels to be inside you.

It's completely mesmerizing. There's no end to where he stops and you begin; your bodies move in erratic rhythm like dancers, sweaty and wet with arousal for each other that you can't quite place any one source on. It feels like he loves you with every ounce of his soul, and for him? Well, Harley just can't get enough of every sound and smell and taste of you, his promise to take things slow only broken once you start throwing yourself back on him with pleas for him to take you with everything he's got. You've turned into a needy thing, once innocent and anxious while now you're ready to demand what you want. And Harley can't get enough of that bossy brattiness, cause at his core, he knows it's out of knowing you can rely on him to give you everything you want. Because to you, he's enough.

What isn't enough is a measly few minutes of lovemaking. No, he isn't that type of guy–you can tell once he brings his heel up on the bed, and uses the new leverage to pound you down like dough into the bed you're melting into. Your shrieks of his name have broken past the cutesy barrier you put up; they're guttural and hoarse, your every syllable putting an even more dopey smile on his lips as he listens to you give in to your desires like an animal in heat.

"...Feel like a virgin again," He whispers to himself, breath heavy in his throat as he slides his knee down to dig into the bed next to you. In the next moment he pulls out suddenly, grips your hip in a tight fistful, and throws you over on your back just to climb over you again–this time with those brown eyes hazy and cheeks flushed as he looks down on you, palms pressed to your thighs to keep them open as he sinks back inside slowly. Your calves hang over his massive thighs as he spreads you open, the pillow under your hips helping you to arch off the bed with a squeal as he stretches you back out to let himself in again.

"Needed to see you," He moans, sweat trickling down his collarbone and sticking to your chest as he lowers himself to get closer to you. He just can't get close enough, not for his tastes. "See how fuckin' pretty you are. Gonna get me there with that dumb look on your face."

The slick, loud slaps of his bucking hips thicken the air between you, where it's already hung heavy before. On both elbows by your head he lowers himself down to meet you, and at your arms coming round his middle to scratch your nails down his back he chuckles and groans, lowering himself more until his stomach presses against yours. At your beckoning, his waist barely slides an inch from yours as he slams himself deeper, deeper, deeper still until you can't squirm any further off his shaft. The thick hairs that decorate the base grow slick and matted down as they meet your heady arousal, and the way they scrape against your clit has you spasming with an oncoming orgasm once again. Harley makes a mental note of that, his smirk as hot and seducing as ever as he pins your lips in another kiss.

“H-Harley, I-” You gasp out between his teeth.

“I know.” He grunts. “Feel it. Squeezin’ on me so tight. M'gonna give it to you–fuck–gonna give it to you, peaches.” The growl in his throat resonates through his whole body and straight into yours. The ripple effect has you straining, squirming, your body like heat and ice swirling together to make an absolute storm of ecstasy. It's peaking now, getting closer, hotter, his groans rising and growing more intense as he chokes out that he loves you-

Harley traps you in a tight squeeze as he meets his end along with you, his arms hugged tight around your throat like a chokehold while both your hips grind and fight for one another. He can barely keep his eyes in his head as they roll back ecstatically, but it's not as if you're any better–your wiggling and squirming doesn't cease until the very end, when the heat has finally started edging off into bliss and your orgasm fades into softened spots in your vision. When the two of you finally slump into each other in exhaustion, Harley's weight finally sinks in as lays atop you with heaving breaths.

The quiet that follows, however peppered with the laborious heaving of your chests, beckons you towards sleep. But you can't quite allow yourself to go there yet; there's a nagging sense in the back of your head as you lie still, unsure of where or how to move in the aftermath of such a union. Part of you wants to feign sleep for some reason, as if from some long-instilled instinct to protect your body from the man on top of you. You don't want to think of Harley that way, though. He does end up sliding off you before you can move, however…and when he shuffles towards the bathroom, you feel a whine erupting from your throat that you can't control. He mumbles something from the other room and there's water running for a minute, but you don't hear a word until he meanders back with a softness in his brown eyes.

“Shh, sh..” Harley murmurs to soothe your shaky whimpering as he returns with a towel in hand, his heat bleeding through the damp cloth as he presses it warmly to your skin. “I'm here. I'm right here.”

For the next several minutes, your partner freshens up all the spots that beg the most attention. He wipes your face clean of sweat first, up to your hairline, before moving down along your limbs and your chest to dab at the sore areas and the messes he left behind. He leaves to get a whole new cloth to towel between your legs, the warmth of the damp fabric softening the sting that's settled in after he went on a sensual rampage through your body. Once he's finished with a hail of kisses to soothe those aches he caused, he sits you on the toilet to let you go, your usual embarrassment somehow evaporated as he stands naked at the sink and splashes water on his face while you do so.

The sight of those fresh scratches down his back send a shiver of guilt through you. They're raw, red and puffy, some having left thin trails of blood from where you'd dug in and broken skin. Seeing them littered over the myriad of deep, old scars that riddle a violent past make you feel a sense of shame–but Harley only finds himself content and relaxed as he helps you up, refusing to let your bandaged ankle nor his wounded shoulder prevent him from sweeping you off your feet. He carries you the few feet back to the bed, and once you're laid down atop it, he crawls in beside you and throws the covers over your body with a promise to wash them tomorrow.

“I can wash them…” Your soft murmur is the first you've spoken since you'd finished making love. Harley chuckles lowly, and turns to lay on his back. He ushers you closer with an arm round your shoulders, and eases you in to lay your head on his naked chest and hear his slow-beating heart.

“You're not walkin’ tomorrow. Hate to break it to you.” You huff softly at him, but it comes out more like a soft sigh of air as you settle in tiredly for some rest. Maybe he's right. You certainly know these aches won't be going away by tomorrow, at the least. They might persist for days at that.

“I can try.”

“You can sleep.” He shifts a bit to get comfortable, his hand bracing your head before he starts threading his fingers through your hair. “Plenty else to do when you're better.”

“I don't want to be a burden, Harley.”

“Shut up.” He whispers softly, his words holding no edge as he leans down and kisses the top of your head. “You'll never be a burden.”

Those words, as tough as they come out, lilt you into sleepiness as your final walls break down. With nothing more to say, nothing to speak in a rebuttal to that honest and heartfelt claim, you silently snuggle into Harley's side and let your thoughts drift as he strokes you into slumber. His hand in your hair leaves a warmth down your back as he holds you, quietly urging you to rest as you feel the tension of your day slowly melt into nothingness.

Halfway through the night, you felt a shift of something growing unsettled beneath you. Still half-asleep, you remember only mumbling something incoherent as you felt the warm body slide out from underneath you. Harley had patted your head and whispered for you to go back to sleep, and before you could see where he'd gone you'd fallen right back into slumber, just as he'd asked.

You were awoken for the second time by a clacking thunk. Shooting up in bed, your head swivels from one end of the room to the other to search for what you fear might be an intruder–but as your eyes pass over the window, you soon heave a sigh and rub the bridge of your nose in some relief. The hardwood chills the soles of your feet as they hit the floor softly, and you shuffle over to the sill to grab the edge and pull it down to close with a grinding squeal of old wood. You can imagine that was Harley's doing, likely cracking the window open to let in a cool breeze and air out some of the humidity–though just like the night prior, you scowl at the sight of those same tree branches clacking against the window pane. Far be it from you to ask more of your partner, but maybe it would be in your best interest to take him up on that offer to clip the branches, if only to let you sleep throughout the night.

As you meander back towards the bed, it's then that you realize Harley still hasn't come back. His side is empty and cold, and from your recall it's been quite a while since he'd roused himself, and you by extension. Probably more than an hour, at least. With a curiosity that's likely better off going unsatisfied, you dig in his closet for something to cover with–a loose, holey t-shirt that hangs around your knees is good enough–and quietly pad through the hall and down each step, your ankle proving almost no problem at all by this point. Without any lights on and only the gleam of the moon through the windows, you wander to the first floor until you tune in to the sound of a distant thud. With each one that follows, you head towards the sound and find yourself crossing the grass in the dark, the light of the shed just outside the farmhouse glowing under the closed door. Cool dew wets your toes as you move silently, your curiosity growing at a steady pace as you hear a muffled clang and the sounds of metal hitting wood.

The moment your hand touches the loose door, and you call out Harley’s name as it opens…you know the gravity of that horrible, tremendously unthinkable mistake you made.

Crunch.

A glimpse of Harley turning his head, a step, and he's crushed something beneath his boot. Your gaze falls to the hard-packed dirt floor, and shinking beneath his sole are shards of glass. Amongst them are bent, wiry silver frames; a pair of glasses. Ones you would recognize had he not stepped on them in his instinct to call out to you, to prevent you from seeing what lay within his shed that he's tried to dispose of all day.

As your gaze trails upwards, you have to take in every stomach-churning detail of this awful scene. The first thing that registers in your vision is the blood; it's all over the walls and soaking the wooden table, the sight of it dripping off the edges being what clues you in to realize that the dirt below is swimming in it. Harley’s hair is tied up but he's got blood in it too, he's drenched in blood from the top of his collar all the way down to splatters on his boots. In his hand is a saw, one of those thin ones you've seen in butcher’s shops. On the table, lying out like the bear meat that had been cut there just hours before, is a limb. A leg, it looks like. Missing its shoe, but a leg from the thigh down all the same. There's a deep trough by the end of the table–one you recognize as the trough for feeding the pigs–but by the stench of blood and rot you can't bring yourself to peer into them. You're already feeling woozy from the humid reek of death in the air.

The coat that's lying in a heap under the table is what truly confirms the horror for you. You recognize it, even though it's no longer white–just like Harley's jeans and his bare chest, it's been stained a deep scarlet with blood. There's no doubt whose scattered parts these once belonged to. It all makes sense now why Harley was so patient, yet acted like there was something to hide.

It's when the realization hits that you finally work up the courage to meet his eyes. Harley–the reassuring, handsomely stubborn man that you admitted you love, stands with his brown eyes wide and his expression blank. He looks like a deer caught in headlights; not stoic nor angry, but just simply taken by surprise. His grip hasn't tightened on the saw, but it hasn't loosened, either. You've caught him red-handed. The silence is impenetrable.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Maybe he wants to say something. Blood dripping off the table and splashing into a puddle on the ground is the only sound that hits your ears amongst the silence. Harley stares, and stares hard, his lungs completely devoid of breath as you both hold the moment and wonder what to do. What to say. But what can be said? How can you reason out this shocking, horrific scene from a man you just laid with not hours ago? The man who loves you?

“I'll do whatever I need to do to protect you.”

The promise he made before stews in your mind like you're hearing it again for the first time. The blood, the parts of your former stalker's body strewn about, the look in Harley's eyes as he grips the saw…the breath suddenly sucks itself back into your body like you were seconds away from suffocating. You breathe in the fetid air that, by all rights should make you squeamish, but somehow…it doesn't. Not anymore.

"....Pig feed?" You query, a delicate finger pointed towards the trough piled with unmentionable chunks of flesh. With barely a breath in-between, Harley nods while never breaking his stare from you. Your hand brushes the doorway once again, eyes fixated on the saw with your nails scraping down the wood lightly, until your gaze eventually flickers back to meet Harley's. With your lips pursed tight, you offer him a nod and push off the wall to quit leaning against it.

"Okay…come back to bed, when you're done?"

Each blink from him signals an eternity in each of your minds, his grip so tight on the tool his knuckles are paling beneath the splatters of blood coating them. Harley nods back, his low voice just barely above a whisper.

"Okay." He sounds unsure of himself, but it disappears as he tries again. Much more confident the second time around. "Yeah. I'll be quick."

"Good." A smile slowly crawls across your soft lips, the sight of it sending Harley's stuttered breaths into silence again. The heat in his chest floods straight southward, and with a dry swallow his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. He can't tear his eyes off of you even when you slip away, your hand lingering on the doorframe as you disappear into the yard with one last, gentle encouragement over your shoulder.

“Don't take long. Bed's too cold without you.”

#harley kunuk #harley x reader #harley kunuk x reader #yandere ocs #yanverse #male yandere #spicy writing #ellie writes #over 10k

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disturbedbeautywrites · 2 years

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Bullet wounds and love letters - Joel Miller Imagine

Synopsis: when you’re investigating a weird noise in your base for the night, Joel finds himself being brought back to the night he lost Sarah.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of slight gore, injury, and I think that’s it

Click.

You heard the gun cock before anything else. Joel and Ellie were both asleep when you heard someone moving around in the building you guys were staying in for the night. You of course had your gun on you, but the two raiders had you outnumbered.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat as they demanded you give them all the food that you had. You slowly took off your pack and slid them all the food that was in there, your movements slow. You knew that you couldn’t beat both of them, so you were just trying to keep the peace right now.

They greedily took the food and then looked you over, a sick smile on their lips. “Please don’t…” Your words were a small whimper as they shared wicked gazes, the gun now pointing at your abdomen. “Good luck, princess.” That’s when the gun went off and you felt pain shoot through your abdomen, falling to your knees as you put your hand over the wound. It was bleeding profusely, a strangled sob leaving your lips.

The raiders had decided to walk off, convinced they would wake any infected that was around. “Y/N? I heard a - Fuck.” Ellie’s voice could be heard as you tried to hold the blood in, giving her a slightly scared smile. “Ellie, I need you to go get our first aid kit, okay?” Your words were shaky as she nodded and took off running, yelling for Joel. Tears kept slipping down your cheeks as you slowly fell down to the floor, the pain coursing through every single inch of your body now. It was making you feel extremely weak. Your breaths felt more and more shallow as the seconds passed, your hands covering the wound as your head laid back against the floor. Leave it to you to survive the worst of the apocalypse but be killed by raiders. It was just your luck.

“Baby…” Joel’s voice felt like it was a hundred miles away as he ran over to you and immediately dropped to his knees as Ellie ran up behind him and she dropped the kit at your side. He started to give Ellie instructions, pulling out a small bottle of tequila you kept for wound purposes as well as a needle and some fishing line. Joel was shaking and nervous, your hand covering his as you tried to soothe him with all the energy you had left. He took the tequila bottle and put it up to your lips, lifting your head so you could take a gulp of it. “This is going to hurt sweetheart, and I’m so sorry.” His voice sounded smaller than you had ever heard it, his hands moving to pour the alcohol into your wound.

You let out a hiss of air between your teeth, your body instinctively reacting and convulsing to get away from the painful sensation. You kept your eyes locked on his, his look far away and you knew exactly what was going through his head. He had told you about Sarah in passing when you two were getting to know each other, and now you were laid here on the ground with the same exact wound she died from. He wasn’t going to let that happen again, that he was sure of. He tried to keep his breathing steady and not let the panic attack take hold. He tried to forget the feeling of holding his dying daughter in his arms. He was trying. He was trying so damn hard. You wouldn’t turn out the same. You couldn’t. He needed you. He couldn’t lose this battle again. He just couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough anymore.

You had Joel on one side of your body, his fingers slowly working the needle and the fishing line through the wound. The bullet was already out and the wound didn’t look fatal, that was evident from the way you were still alive. But, he was still nervous. He wasn’t going to lose two girls to the same damn fate. He had his lip pulled between his teeth as he worked, Ellie squeezing your hand from the other side of you.

As he kept working, the pain kept getting worse and worse. The tattered edges of your skin were more and more painful with each pass of the needle and your whimpers were getting louder. “Hey, look at me.” Ellie’s voice called out to you as you felt on the edge of blacking out from the immense pain, your vision going blurry and black around the edges. Your gaze slowly moved over to the girl beside you who had become like a daughter to you. You had never had kids, but she was the equivalent of one to you now and as she sat there, pulling her joke book out to distract you, you felt your heart grow 3 sizes. She was trying to make you feel better in the one way she knew how; trying to make you laugh. As she was sitting there telling you jokes, you could feel more and more tears slipping down your cheeks.

You couldn’t die, not now. You finally found a family. You found someone who cared about you more than he cared about hisself and you found a little girl who needed you just as much as she needed you. You finally belonged somewhere. “Okay, babe I need to move you. You’re all stitched up but we need to get you somewhere safe.” You heard Joel’s voice in your ear as he went to move you, a loud noise of pain leaving your lips as you laid across his arms bridal style. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice was hushed as he tried to shake off the memory of Sarah in his arms just like this, tears slipping down his cheeks as he carefully carried you back to where the three of you were camping.

The journey didn’t take long, but along the way you had let the exhaustion overcome you. Your eyes slid closed in a way that you didn’t know if you would wake up from, but it was a welcome distraction from the pain. Your dreams were one of your favorite places to be, outside of being with Joel and Ellie. You could plan your life and how it would go once the outbreak was over, if that would ever happen. You could see yourself living a normal life with the two of them, having a pretty house and a yard. You weren’t fighting to survive every single day. It was peaceful. It was something you wish you could have.

“Babe, dinners ready. I also managed to find some of our old pills in my bag for the pain.” Joel’s soft voice stirred you from your slumber as he sat beside you on your sleeping bag, his lips pressing to your forehead. His eyes were still teary and you could see the fear on his face as he pressed his lips to yours softly, pausing to whisper he loved you.

Once the words were returned he looked at you as if you were the most fragile thing he had ever laid eyes on, his fingers timidly running over your skin. “I thought I lost you. You scared me.” His words were soft as he met your gaze, a small smile taking over your lips. You allowed your fingers to brush over his cheeks, your thumb brushing away stray tears. “You’re going to have to try real hard to get rid of me, Miller.” The teasing in your voice just made him smile even bigger, his lips pressing to yours again before he carefully helped you maneuver to take the medicine and eat some of the food that was prepared.

Was this a perfect scenario? No, it was far from it. But, you had your little family and that’s all that mattered.

#joel miller x reader #tlou imagine #tlou fanfiction #tlou x reader #Joel Miller x you #joel miller imagine #Joel Miller imagines #tlou fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #tlou x you #tlou x y/n

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princecharmingwinks · 2 months

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Thank you for tag, lovely @noyzinerd !! The snippet you provided on your post was brilliant! I have a few little fics on the go but this one is probably the closest to finished. Not named yet but it is a 5+1 Sterek where Stiles working at a bookstore slowly meets different members of Derek's pack who know Stiles is the perfect match for Derek.

It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon at Alpha Books, Stiles the only staff on while the bosses were away on their 2 year anniversary trip. He was happily humming along to the radio, reshelving when the bell jingled announcing a new customer.

Stiles popped his head out of the aisle and smiled, “Welcome to Alpha Books, can I help you find anything today?” The new customer was a girl, maybe a few years younger than him and small in stature but her whole presence radiated Tough, with a capital T.

“What do you get your older idiot brother to distract him from the ridiculousness of his life?”

Stiles tried not to grin at the exasperated tone but it must not have worked because the girl’s eyebrows crinkled into a judgemental frown.

“Sorry,” He offered in apology before completely stepping out of the aisle. “What does your brother like to read?”

She huffed out an annoyed sound but Stiles wasn’t completely convinced it was aimed at him. “I have no bloody clue. How do you work out someone’s tastes?”

“Well, what’s he like? Maybe we can work it out together?” Stiles was getting excited now, he loved a good book hunt.

She nodded, taking a moment to think. “He’s one of those crazy morning people who actually enjoys jogging before 7am. But it also means he’s in bed like an old grandma by sundown. He doesn’t like anything too horror-y or gore-y. I guess maybe some kind of adventure series?”

Stiles lit up with excitement, this brother sounded like he may enjoy one of Stiles’ personal favourite series. “Has he ever read the Bean and Pennywise series?”

The girl frowned again, “Been what?”

Stiles held up his hand and ducked down another aisle, returning in a flurry with the first book in the series in hand. He offered it to the girl and gave her time to inspect both front and back covers, including the blurb.

“This Bean guy sounds just like his type.” She gave a small smile and Stiles had a feeling it was a rare sight he was beholding.

He also had to fight against the blush that was probably forming when he realised he was about to admit that he related way too much to Bean. This girl was super pretty, if not also intimidating, and Stiles was sure her brother would be too. And based on her description, her brother sounded like someone Stiles would swoon over. Stating he was like the lead character in the novel who was apparently her brother's type was way too forward.

“Awesome! I’ll ring it up for you.” Stiles took the book back and headed over to the counter, slipping the store’s bookmark that doubled as marketing for his blog inside the front cover.

Hope you liked this snippet! Tagging some mutuals since I'm not sure who has been writing lately or not. No pressure of course :) @fairytales-and-folklore @breakingjen @elisela @haletostilinski

#princecharmingwrites #teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #cora hale #wip

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fancyfeathers · 2 months

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And Then There Were None

(Yandere William James Moriarty x Author!Reader)

Based on this post

TW//serial killing, panic attacks, slight gore if you squint, smoking, usage of drugs(smoking), kidnapping, implied isolation, heavy guilt, heavy depression

And Then There Were None (Yandere William James Moriarty /w Author Darling Masterlist)

Six months, you spent six months, a half a year, in America, New York City specifically, writing and getting inspiration for your next novel. You did not go alone of course, you made the trip with a friend of yours, Alex Pendel, an American novelist who grew up in Manhattan. You stayed with their family during your trip and you certainly learned a thing or two from the very family who runs New York in the palm of their hand, but that all is besides the point now, because now you are home.

Alex took your hand, helping you as you could pick up the skirt of your dress, as you stepped off the walkway that led from the ship to the dock. You noticed as you disembarked the strange looks Alex got from the people all around, you suppose that the suit she wore would certainly draw eyes, you had gotten so used to her family back in America and they were used to her more masculine sense in fashion, her mother even telling you with a fond tone how much Alex looked like her father. But here in London where no one truly feared her or her family that look was bound to draw stares. You also clocked that your luggage was nowhere to be seen as you disembarked which would make anyone else raise an eyebrow but to the two of you, this was just how any other trip would come to its end.

“You wanna bet how many of them came?” Alex asked as you began making your way down the dock, your heeled boots and her slacks making a sharp and dull clicking sound from each of you both as you walked together, arms interlocked. “I bet Réne and Charlotte will be there, I think Evelyn had that family reunion this week.”

“No that was last week, Charlotte I think is up in York, it is her younger brother’s birthday today.” You remarked after Alex’s comment which drew a hum from her as she released your arm to grab a cigarette from her suit jacket pocket.

Réne Drew, Charlotte Basset, and Evelyn Jay, along with Alex Pendel, they all were your best friends. You were all members of a small writer’s club you formed, there were a few other members as well but you all were the founders, you all made the payments for the building in Mayfair, hired the staff, and sent out the invitations to any promising authors, journalists, and poets who may be willing to join your club and they began to pour in. Evelyn and Réne were the ones who were at the club the most out of all of you.

Réne lived a few blocks away in a flat he began renting after moving to London from Marseille, a port city in France. Hisfamily was old money French family who based their fortune in the wine and alcohol industry, but his elder brother was set to inherit everything, so off to England he went, attending Oxford before settling in London and beginning his writing career and becoming a bestselling author know for his works that silently shatter the illusion of humanity in a poignant way by holding a mirror up to us and saying: look at what we truly are, and look at what we pretend to be.

Evelyn was a young heiress from an old money family as well, but one from here in London, titleless, and she was the youngest member of the club as far as age goes, only eighteen when you all founded the club. She is a seemingly innocent and sweet young lady but the human mind can be a very dark place. She often asks, when you all are at the club, questions that truly terrify you, for example…

“Would hunting another person still be considered hunting an animal because humans are a form of animals?”

“If you were being burnt alive would the smoke or flames kill you first?”

“I think there is a murderer in my neighborhood, I keep on seeing traces of blood by the park… Do you think they are burying their victims there?”

She always had the sweetest smile and is honestly quite kind, if not a bit creepy.

Then lastly there was Lady Charlotte Basset, the eldest child and heiress of a noble family, she has more money than she knows what to do with. She moved to London to find direction with her life but instead found strange happiness in her family’s estate there, so she wrote about it and it sold in the blink of an eye. When not at her desk or at the writer’s club, she is often seen taking you all out on the town to spoil you bunch or out with one of her brothers, gambling and drinking. She often takes Evelyn to visit haunted sites all around London so she can get inspiration for her books and scare off suitors with the gossip of the seances she holds in her own estate, which may or may not be true.

“(Name)! Alex!” A high pitched voice called out to you two as you neared the end of the large pier. You looked to where the pier met the land and spotted a young lady with light brown hair and a long yellow dress that lacked any corset and was quite old, no doubt a gift from her grandmother from when she was a girl in the regency era. But that young lady was indeed familiar to the two of you, Evelyn Jay.

She ran over to the two of you, wrapping her arms around Alex first, which was returned with a hesitant hug and sheepish smile from the New Yorker, similar to how an older sister would greet their younger sibling when their friends were watching. Evelyn quickly broke away to greet you, hugging you slightly less tighter than how she hugged Alex. “Oh I missed you two so much! So much has happened! Réne went to Moscow to meet with a publisher and translated there to see if his next novel could be published in Russia first since it takes place there- oh and Charlotte got to meet the queen on her father’s birthday in the spring, and she said Charlotte looked absolutely radiant and-“

“Evelyn!” Alex cut her off with a wide smile across her face as she set a hand on the young lady’s shoulder in an attempt to pry her off of you. “We just got back, give us time to breathe, you can tell us all about what happened later.”

“I know it is just so good to see the both of you.” She spoke in a rush as she slipped her upper limbs away from your torso and then she took a breath and sigh, finally calming down as she looked over the both of you, her gloved hands folding in front of her. “It is… it is just so good to see you, both of you.”

There was something lingering in her voice, something that did not feel quite right but you just summed it up to perhaps your absence over the half a year.

Evelyn led you both to the carriage that she arrived in, and indeed your luggage was being packed up on the back and top of it. While the carriage driver was working on packing up your belongings, you spotted a man in a blue and brown plaid vest with a matching blue tie, his brown hair and eyes matched the brown on his vest while the gold glasses he wore that matched the gold buttons on his shirt and vest. He had a cigarette between his lips and fingers much like Alex did, and this was another familiar face, Réne Drew. He spotted the three of you and waves with one hand while the other pulled the cigarette from his lips.

“I saw Evelyn run off to look for the two of you, I would have gone with her but I just do not have the same energy she has, not with the nights of sleep I have been getting at least.” The French author spoke as a greeting as the two of you approached within ten feet of the carriage. He opened his free hand and arm to you, embracing you in a small hug for a moment, but not Alex since he knows she is not the affectionate type, with the exception of Evelyn that is. “It is so wonderful to see the both of you, truly it is.”

Something was off in his tone as well, now that was strange, Evelyn was one thing, but both Evelyn and Réne, that was how you knew something was wrong.

You glanced over at Alex and you saw a glance that was exchanged with you, silently signaling that she picked up on what you noticed as well.

“Réne, are you alright?” You questioned your friend as he broke away from the hug and he did not make eye contact with you for a long moment, only bugging his cigarette up to his lips to take a long draw from it. “Réne-“

“Sir… and ladies.” You heard the carriage driver call out to you all, hesitating for a moment as he was about to say ma’am but seeing as there were now three women he was addressing he changed his choice of word. “Everything is packed up.”

“Lovely.” Réne responded as he turned to face the carriage driver for a brief moment before looking back at you and Alex. “Let’s… we can discuss this in the carriage.”

Réne helped Evelyn into the carriage first, then attempted to help Alex who simply slapped his hand away and stepped in herself saying. “Réne, do you need help getting in a carriage? The answer is no and neither do I.”

Then Réne reached out to help you in the carriage-

Suddenly you were knocked over as a gentleman walked past you, the heel of your shoe getting caught in between the bricks that formed the pavement below you. You hit the ground, no doubt dirtying your dress that Alex’s mother got for you in America.

“Oh dear, are you alright Miss?” You hear the voice of the man who knocked you over as he reached out a hand to help you up, his voice smooth and calm if not a little worried in your distress. You looked up at him, he was a young man with blond hair and scarlet red eyes, he was dressed in fine clothes, a brown suit and red tie to be specific.

“Yes, I am, just a little fall is nothing to worry about.” You responded as you took his gloved hand with your own as he helped you up, pulling you to your feet. Behind him you saw another gentleman who looked quite similar only the other wore glasses and had a scar that hid itself behind his hair. You looked back to him and smiled, giving him a little nod in gratitude and you extended your hand to him, more socializing was a habit you picked up in America. “Thank you for helping me up.”

“It was the least I could do since I was the one who knocked you over.” He took your hand in his own, giving it a firm shake and squeeze. “I am Professor James Moriarty, it is a pleasure to meet a lady as polite as you, Miss...”

“Oh (Name).” You watched as his smile turned into an expression of slight shock. “Is something wrong, Professor Moriarty?”

“Not at all, I am just a fan of your work that is all.” He responded, shaking his expression away with a slightly embarrassed chuckle and smile.

“Well that is certainly a nice thing to hear after my trip home, I am glad you enjoy my work, Professor.” After your comment you heard Réne clear his throat, reminding you that everyone was waiting on you. You glanced back at your friend before looking back at the professor and giving him one last smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Professor Moriarty.”

“You as well.” He responded as you gave him a small wave goodbye as you turned back Réne who had his arm outstretched to help you into the carriage.

You stepped up into the carriage, swinging yourself over into the corner next to Evelyn that faced away from where the carriage was headed. Alex and Réne sat across from you, Réne nearest to you and Alex nearest to Evelyn. You felt the carriage begin to move, most likely off to your home first since you lived closest to the docks, though close would be an understatement, but that was besides the point. As you finally pulled away from the docks as a whole, Alex was the first to speak up.

“So what has you two all fussed? I thought you bunch were supposed to be happy we are home.” Her comment and tone would have normally drew smiles from you bunch but instead worried glances were exchanged between Réne and Evelyn, the silence was louder than anything else in this moment.

“Guys, what is wrong? You are starting to scare me.” You questioned, your own tone turning serious and grim as you looked between Evelyn and Réne who were tucked into their own separate corners of the carriage.

“While you both were gone something happened, at first no one thought much of it, that is until something like it happened again a few months later, about a week ago.” He began to explain, his hands nervously fidgeting with the pocket watch chain that was connected to his vest. “We thought about writing to you both when the first one happened but chalked it up to a coincidence but then the second one happened and you were already aboard the ship by then and thought it best to wait until you were back here to tell you-“

“Tell us what, Réne?” You questioned, drawing a brief silence from the French author again and his words were picked up by Evelyn.

“Well you know your novels, the one with a blinding snowstorm and a homicidal maniac and then the other one where the little girl poisoned her grandfather with eserine?” Evelyn asked you which you responded with a scoff.

“Of course I do, I wrote them.” You watched as Réne reached into his satchel he brought with him and pulled out two newspapers, one was slightly worn and older than the other, a few months if you had to guess. Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed, and your heart began to pound as he handed them to you.

Then your heart stopped as you saw the headlines.

“Serial Killer in the Blizzard; multiple found dead.”

“Earl of Kent found poisoned with eserine.”

Your lips fell agape as you stared at the papers in your hands, you were so far away from reality in your shock that you did not even notice Alex snatching them out of your hands and begin reading over the paper herself. You must have been in shock for a few minutes because when you came to, Evelyn was rubbing your shoulders and Alex was swearing up a storm and Réne was trying to get her to calm down.

“The deaths were all nobility, but they mimicked your books.” Evelyn commented as she helped you sit up straight from how you sat slouched in your seat.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean!?” Alex snapped back at the young lady across from her.

“Think about it, think about all the major murders over the last few years, who has been killing the nobles of the nation or their aliases at least?” Réne asked and she fell to silence once again, minus the barely audible swears slipping from her lips, leaving you to piece together everything in your already distressed and confused mind.

“…the… the Lord of Crime.” Your words were breathy and uneven as you spoke your response but Réne nodded, his expression as grim as it has been since you stepped into the carriage.

“We… No one knows his motive behind choosing your books, but Scotland Yard has ruled you out from being a suspect since you were in America when the initial incidents took place, but they still have no clear suspects yet.” Réne continued on, your shaking form barely piecing together what he was saying. “We thought maybe you coming back to England would bring an end to them… but now thinking about that now it just sounds silly.”

“I… this can’t be true…”

The carriage was drawn to silence after you said those words, confirming that this indeed was reality.

—————————

You stood at the train station a suitcase packed that you carried, you were going to go visit your mother for a few weeks in your hometown, tell her about your time in America and all the parties you went to and things you saw in one of the most amazing cities in the world, but more importantly to find comfort after you heard about those murders and perhaps receive a bit of guidance on what to do.

“You have your ticket, right?” Little Evelyn asks as she bushed out the wrinkles in your coat as the train pulled up to the station. She had accompanied you to the station to say goodbye, but in reality your friends have not left you by yourself unless you were home since you found out about the murders of the Lord of Crime, it has been Almost three weeks now.

“Yes and I will be fine, Evelyn.” You replied to her worry with a smile which she gave a little huff to as the doors of the train opened up and made your head turn. You gave a glance back to Evelyn and she, like always, threw her arms around you and squeezed you tight, like she was afraid you would disappear into dust if she let go.

“Just be careful alright?” She spoke as she buried her face into your neck, muffling her voice slightly, to which you hummed in acknowledgement in response to her. She finally let go of you, her hands coming to rest on your lower upper arm, near your elbow. Her gaze flicked between you and the ground, as if she was scared to meet your gaze. “I will miss you.”

“I will only be gone a few weeks, it is not like I am going back to America.” You teased her which drew a wide smile across her face.

“I suppose that is true, just… be careful, please?”

“You already asked me that.”

“You already said that, but I will be.” You responded as you switched hands that your suitcase was in so that you could grab your ticket with your dominant hand and so that Evelyn would let go of you fully. “I’ll tell my mother that you said hello.”

“Please do- and oh ask her for the toffee she makes, I have been craving it since the holidays.” She added on, cutting herself off as soon as she remembered your mother’s cooking.

“I will.” There was a brief moment of silence between the two of you again that was broken with the whistle of the train blowing, telling you that you needed to board the train or be left behind. You turned your body but your head faced Evelynas you began to walk away. “Well I will see you in two weeks, Evelyn. We can have tea at the club when I get back.”

“That sounds lovely.”

You stepped up into the train proper as it began to move, almost catching you off guard which made you laugh slightly at your own stupidity. You began looking through the compartment, finding one that was free for your use, or in other words empty. Eventually you found one and got settled, setting your suitcase next to you for a brief moment while you pulled out a book to read, an American novel you bought during your time in the states, before you closed your suitcase and set it on the racks above you.

Time slowly drifted by as you made your way through the book, it was good, but time spent reading for you had just gotten short and shorter for you the sharper your mind got, so now the hours you spent as a child reading your favorite books from the library had turned into half an hour if that. You huffed a sigh as you closed the book and set it on your lap, but you slipped your index finger between the pages to save your spot, after all you are not some psychopath. You gazed out the window as the city of London faded into the countryside of England, it felt so quiet which was both strange and welcome since you really have not had a moment of silence since you were back in your hometown before leaving for America six months ago.

“Excuse me, would you mind if we joined you?” A voice from the hall asked, which silently told you that you must have left the door opened. You turned your head, ready to politely dismiss whoever was asking but-

“Oh Professor Moriarty, correct?” Your words escaped your mouth before you could even think about what you were saying, your sight and mouth working faster than your brain could process. Indeed the man from a few weeks prior at the docks was before you on the train, along with the other blonde man who you did not speak to at the docks and a brown haired man with the greenest eyes accompanying them.

“Miss (Name), I did not even realize it was you, what a pleasant surprise to see you again.” You gave William the same smile he gave you and silently gestured for the three of them to come into the compartment, after all the company could do you some good to take your mind off of things. William sat next to you and the other two gentlemen sat across from you both. William gestured to the both of them, specifically the one with brown hair first and then the blonde. “These are my brothers, Louis and Albert.”

“A pleasure to meet you both, my name is (Name). William and I met briefly at the docks in London when I was just arriving home from a trip to New York City.” You explained, though the explanation was more for Albert rather than Louis since you remember he was there despite him not saying away, but they both smiled in acknowledgement all the same. You glanced at William who was sitting next to you, and while your prior meeting was brief, he was the one you were most familiar with. “May I ask where you all are headed to?”

“I happen to teach mathematics at the university in Durham, but Albert is headed up there for business and Louis is managing our estate there.” He explained which drew a nod from his brothers. “And what about you?”

“Oh I am just visiting my mother and spending some time back in my hometown before heading back off into the world of editors and publishers.”

“You are from Alnwick, correct?” You heard Albert ask which caught you off guard and you nodded with a shocked expression on your face to his question which drew a laugh from him. “I just remembered William talking about one of your books and one of them taking place in the Alnwick Garden since that is your hometown.”

“Oh good, for a second I thought I had a stalker.” You laughed in relief which made everyone in the compartment break a smile at the very least, but then you suppose you do have a sort of stalker in the form of the Lord of Crime and that thought made your smile fade away. “But yes I am from Alnwick, but I moved to London when I started writing since my publisher and editor were located there and it was easier just walking to their office than having to take a whole long trip down there just to have an hour long meeting with them.”

“I suppose that does make sense.” William spoke with his own smile fading into a more relaxed expression. There was silence among you all once more for a minute or two before William chimed in again. “If I may ask another question, you just returned from America, I would think you would want to avoid travel for a time and stay in London to decompress and relax.”

“Well I just do not think I can relax there right now…” You answered, your gaze falling down to the book that sat in your lap with your finger wedged between its pages, your hands and palms especially growing a tad clammy. “…Since you are a fan of my books then I am sure you heard about what has happened with the Lord of Crime incidents involving two of them. My friends told me about it on the carriage ride back home and it has just been itching my mind in a way I do not like, so I decided some country air and family would do me some good.”

“I see….” It felt like William’s tone in voice changed slightly, growing darker, maybe drawing more into his thoughts for a moment, but only a moment. “Then I suppose it is a good thing to get away from all the commotion to recover from that shock.”

“I do hope so.”

You spent much of the train ride in silence, reading over the book you brought along with you, and then rereading it once you finished. Eventually the Moriarty brothers excused themselves to go to the dining car, they invited you but you rejected their offer since you would be having supper with your mother when you arrived in Alnwick and your mother would not you spoiling your appetite since she would certainly have company over to welcome your return, your grandparents who were still alive and your siblings if they were around. Besides, you wanted to look through your manuscripts and notes from America to see what you could use for your next novel since your stay in New York City was to force creation and inspiration and you certainly could not pull those out around William since you were told he was a fan of your work, spoiling something like your next novel would be cruel.

You read through your old writings and the scene of the city came flooding back to you. Honestly you wished you could go back now, forget about what has happened and just enjoy life, but now it feels like your lust for life has just vanished since Réne handed you those newspapers in the carriage when you and Alex returned home. You sighed, setting your papers, journal, and pen back on the seat and got up, a quick stretch and a trip to the washroom would do you some good. You slipped out from your and the Moriarty brother’s now empty compartment and into the hall. The train was fairly quiet this far into the trip you noted as you walked down the hall and looking around, one of the men in the compartments waving to you as you both made eye contact as you walked passed. The washroom was at the end of the cart while your compartment was at the front, you shut the washroom door after you and turned the lock so no one would walk in. You did not really need to use the bathroom, but you just really needed a change in scenery and a moment to freshen up, fixing your hair and running your hands over your dress to get the wrinkles out.

You smiled as you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, remembering a book you wrote a few years prior. It was on a train like this, an American tycoon was found murdered in his compartment, stabbed a dozen times with his door locked from the inside. The victim was actually inspired by one of Alex’s brothers who you met when he came to London to visit her and to attend to work affairs, whatever that may be, you learned not to ask questions when it came to her family and their family business.

You opened the washroom door before you stepped out into the hallway and began to walk back to your compartment. You thought back to your gardens in your hometown, that would be a good place to write if it was a clear day, write a few chapters of your book over the next few weeks before coming back down and handing it off to your editor which would give you some time to relax in London while he works on that, you could probably have time to meet with that new poet who had just become a member at your club while you away in America, they were from Germany to believed and-

Your thoughts were cut off as you stepped in what sounded like a puddle, that was strange, you were on a train, did someone spill their drink? No that could not be it, you were in the washroom for such a short time that they would probably still be here, trying to clean it up. You looked down at your boot covered foot to see what you had stepped in…

“What?”

That cannot be right, the puddle was a dark crimson red, like blood, how was that possible? Your eyes followed where the puddle was coming from, leaking out from a door to your right that you passed while walking to the washroom. You looked up into the glass of the door…

And the scream that ripped from your throat must have alerted the whole train.

Dead, the man you passed by earlier was dead��

No, that was not possible…

You could not have been in the washroom for more than five minutes…

But there he was, dead.

You did not even realize that the train staff was pushing you out of the way as they came running to the scene. They were also taken by their shock and had to hold back their screams as they could handle the situation. One of them stepped forward, and attempted to open the compartment door…

“It’s locked.”

Your eyes widened at that statement.

This couldn’t be-

“Get her back to her compartment, she needs to sit down.” The voice of one of them told another and you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder and guided you back to your compartment. The door opened and the Moriarty brothers were already back and to them you must look like you just met death, and in a way you did. You felt William’s hands come to take you by your forearms to guide you down to your seat next to him while Albert talked to the crewman, but you could not process what they were saying as Louis and William were checking to see if you were alright as far as your physical condition, but mentally…

You were a mess, pale faced, tears rolling down your face, hyperventilating, all things someone should be after seeing a dead body…

Especially a murder based on one of your books.

Stay safe, that is what Evelyn told you before you left, well you do not feel safe anymore.

—————————

It has been months since that incident and you find yourself back in your study back at your townhouse in London. Since then there has been an increase in the incidents based on your books, the last one that happened three days ago was the seventh, and honestly all of this was driving you a bit mad. You had shut yourself in your house most days, your maid running out to the market on your behalf and your assistant running errands to you and dropping chapters off at your editor’s office, the only time you really went out was when you went to the writer’s club, those four walls were a sanctuary for your troubled mind where you pull hear about the stories your friends wrote up or listen to the poetry readings from the other club members.

Your home on the other hand felt as if it grew a frightening aura, the place where you thought up of the tales and deaths in your stories that were an escape from reality became the source of actual deaths and mass murders. Your stories and tales became reality, not the fiction you intended to be.

As for the identity of the killer, no one has even a clue of who the Lord of Crime may be, not even any of your friends or yourself whose job was to write about mysteries and secrets. You all used to get your hands on old unsolved cases from Scotland Yard that were open to the public and solve them for fun as to get inspiration for your books, they were old and the culprit was long dead by the time you got your hands on the file, but this was something else entirely, this was an actual live and real threat.

It was late in the evening and you sat in an armchair in your drawing room, the evening’s newspaper in your lap and a cigarette in between the middle and index fingers of your right hand while a glass of red wine sat on the table next to you, it was an expensive vintage that Réne had gifted to you for your birthday. Across from you sat your friends, Lady Charlotte Basset in the other arm chair with a glass of wine herself along with Alex Pendel laying down your velvet sofa, her head propped up on the arm rest and a cigarette between her lips. Charlotte was a richly dressed woman, dark brown hair and green eyes that were only complemented by the emerald green dress she wore with her white fur shawl that you believed was mink fur. The two of them were going out to a music hall, a cabaret, later tonight but stopped here on the way to check up on you.

“You think this Lord of Crime likes the theater? Cause’ his crimes feel like one big act.” Alex said as she pulled the cigarette from her lips to speak and blow out a large puff of smoke into the air. “Think about it, it is suspected that he is behind the deaths on the Noahtic, and Réne was on it and he told me it literally ended up with them on the stage of the ballet, nearly scared some of the performers half to death apparently.”

“That is certainly one way to make a spectacle of your victims.” Charlotte added as she twirled the glass of red wine in her hand, but her eyes were fixed on nothing in particular, just gazing off as she loses herself in thought. “But you would need other people to assist with all of his little shows, as if the victim and killer are the cast then you would need the crew, the question is who are these allies to this so-called Lord of Crime?”

“Dunno, want me to write to my pop to ask him what he thinks.” Alex’s lips turned up in a teasing grin as she spoke those words. “Eh, but he’ll probably get pissed at the mention of what is happening to your books, I think my parents like you better than me.”

“As much as I love your family, I am not sure I want another crime lord to deal with in London.” You finally chimed in as you set your paper aside on the table next to you where your half finished glass of wine sat. “But honestly moving to America just sounds lovely right about now, do you think your parents will adopt me?”

“Probably.” Alex’s one word answer was responded with laughs from you and Charlotte. Then as silence settled in the drawing room there was a knock from the front door, your maid called out telling you that shade would get it, which allowed you all to continue your conversation. “But I am working on another rough draft for a book, but I am just stuck on the killer’s motive.”

“Oh, and what is your general idea?” Charlotte asked as you heard the sound of distant talking from the maid and your home’s visitor. “Are you going to write another novel with the notes from New York?”

“No actually, it is going to be about ten strangers who are invited to an isolated island by a mysterious host. And then they start to die one by one, leaving the remaining guests to realize that the killer is among them-“

“The problem with that is that the killer would unintentionally out themselves as such when they would be one of the people surviving.” An unfamiliar voice called out, butting in on your conversation. You all looked up to the doorway that led from the front entry into the drawing room and there stood next to your maid a young man, with messy dark hair that was pulled back into a short ponytail and eyes to match, he wore a simple button up and a black suit jacket and pants to match. “It’s just like how in that mass murder case six years back one of the survivors was the killer and they only found out years later when her son found her journal after she died.”

“Do… Do I know you?” You asked the stranger who had been let into your house and both Charlotte’s and Alex’s heads turned to look at him, Alex swung her legs over the edge of the couch so that she was sitting up straight in the presence of a stranger. The man walked up to you, walking past your friends present as if they did not exist and extended his hand to you to shake.

“The name is Holmes, Sherlock Holmes.” You noticed the glances of shock exchanged between Charlotte and Alex from where they sat. This was the famous detective of London, the best detective in the nation if not the world as a whole, and some of his cases did serve as inspiration for your novels. “You are the famous mystery author, Miss (Name), and if I had to guess your two friends are Alex Pendel, the American thriller novelist, based on her appearance on how she sits and the suit she is wearing was made and custom tailored by Catherine Donovan, I recognized it because my brother has suits made by her as well. Then your other friend is Charlotte Basset, another horror author, and she was by far the easiest to identify due to her father’s signet ring she wears on her thumb because it is too big for her ring finger.”

You watched as Alex began looking over her suit and the small brand initials that were embroidered on the cuff of her suit jacket and Charlotte looked down at the ring on her thumb which was indeed her father’s ring that he gave to her when she was a child because she kept on fidgeting with her hair and picking at her nails. You reached out to shake his hand, his rough calloused hands gripping your smaller gloved hands with a firm hold.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of having the best detective in London in my home?” You asked as he released your hand, letting you sit back on your chair’s armrest. “Let me guess, it is because you found a scene in my book unrealistic like those detectives down at Scotland Yard.”

“Unrealistic, your work? Never, they just have never seen a murder scene like the ones in your books, like about a month ago I murder scene that reminded me a lot of one from one of your short stories, it was not linked to the Lord of Crime incidents as the culprit was of of the staff members but that is besides the point.” He grabbed the paper you had sat on the side table by your wine and pointed at the headline, it was about the murder of a duchess who had been abusing her staff and the crime was believed to be done by the Lord of Crime. “I would like you as my partner in solving this case.”

“Excuse me?” The words escaped your mouth in your state of surprise and you could see similar expressions on the faces of Alex and Charlotte. You pushed the hand that held the paper aside and the detective as a whole as you stood up from your seat. You walked across the room to where you fireplace stood, a small fire crackling in the hearth, above which on the mantle sat a collection of your books, custom hard back books that were bound by a book binder in your hometown who knew you as a child, a gift from the people who inspired you to write in the first place. “Mr. Holmes, I am a writer not a detective and I do not want to get more involved with this Lord of Crime mystery than I already am, it could destroy me.”

“But what if it doesn’t, you truly have nothing left to lose at this point.” You snapped your head around at him when he said that, sending him a sharp glare and you watched him stiff up for a moment before shaking it off, you heard him clear his throat and mention something about you reminding him of a Miss Hudson, whoever she is. “What I mean is you have not made a single public appearance since you returned to London from your time in the states and that is presumably about you finding about the related incidents to your work, then not to mention your physical appearance is a clear reflection of that previous observation, bags under your eyes and the redness around them presumably from you rubbing them shows you haven’t been sleeping. That’s not to mention the thin layer of dust I saw on the shoes and umbrella by the door, which shoes you have not been going out much-“

“I think she said she wasn’t interested and had no desire to be like you, Mr. Detective.” You watched as Alex stood up, walking up to where the detective stood, staring him down, and if there was one thing Alex was good at, it was being intimidating. “So please you can see yourself to the door.”

“But she is already like me, I have heard about you all at your club solving unsolved cases that Scotland Yard could never solve that are twenty, thirty, forty, even fifty years old. I think it is pretty obvious that you all are detectives in your own right.” Sherlock looks down at her as he speaks before snagging the cigarette from between her fingers and taking a smoke himself and you could just watch Alex grow more irritated by the second and was about to blow. “Now another thing I remember about my brother is the last time he stopped by he mentioned something about a certain crime family moving into England.”

You could just see Alex’s eyes grow wide while the rest of her face remained still. She stood there a moment before grabbing her cigarette from her detective and turning towards the entryway. “Cmon’ Charlotte, the show is at nine.”

You and Charlotte shot each other looks of disbelief as Alex made her way to the front door, but you just watched as she signed and downed the rest of her wine before setting her glass down on the end table near her seat before following after Alex, wrapping her mink fur tighter around her. You heard the front door open and close in your state of disbelief, leaving you and the detective alone. You both stood in silence for a long moment before he spoke up, breaking the lingering silence.

“So?”

“…What exactly do you need my help with?” Your question was begrudgingly asked and you just saw his expression light up like a child’s on Christmas when you finally gave in. “I cannot promise any help like I am an actual detective since I tend to approach situations how I would write them, I am an author first and foremost.”

“That’s fine, where is your study?” He was quick and straight to the point and you watched him walk out of your drawing room presumably to look for your study and home library. You watched as he walked to the doorway across from the doorway of your drawing room that was also connected to your entryway and he pushed open the doors to your study. You quickly followed him like you were a parent watching their excited child, trying to keep him wrong from wrecking anything. You cringed as he went behind your desk, looking at your manuscripts and journals that sat on top of it. “So this is where the great mystery author writes her stories. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to see where you work or your work before it’s finished.”

“Um… yes, just please do not mess with anything, this is my life’s work after all.”

—————————

You have been working with the detective in your free time to try to solve this case, even then he would be showing up in your home while you were in your office writing or even when you were at the club, it got to the point where you maid had to tell him to stop showing up during your working hours since you needed to write in order to have a job and stay in business since you still had deadlines to meet. Your drawing room had been turned into a mess of Sherlock’s and your own clues, pieced and puzzled together, trying to find connections, though the difference between the two of your work was very clear, your clues were tucked in a series of folders, notebooks, and journals, meanwhile the detective’s were in the form of loose and sometimes torn up papers and notes that were now laid out throughout the carpet of your drawing room, you slightly feared that the carpet would stain with ink since it was a housewarming gift from your late father.

Despite all this, everything single clue you came across came to a dead end and led to no clear culprit. Your investigation made you truly realize what Alex meant when she told you one time how crime was truly a game, an act, to make it a spectacle for others to watch while the performers fight for control.

“How is your novel coming along?” Réne asked as you two sat in one of the lounges at the club. He sat on the couch across from your, his back pressed against the armrest so that his legs extended out on the cushions, he had his glasses resting atop his head so that they pushed back his hair as he worked on a sketch in his sketchbook that he had propped up on the thigh of his leg that was on the outside end of the couch that was bent into a V-shape. “Still struggling with that villain of yours?”

“I am afraid so, I have all the events laid out, the deaths and what not and how the killer did it, but I still have no motive for them.” You explained as you watched the maid of the club pour you a cup of an earl gray tea that Charlotte got for you all from a new tea shop a few blocks away from the writer’s club. You sat on an identical couch to Réne, though much more ladylike as you were about to have tea and not to mention the morning’s newspaper, that you had yet to read, resting on your lap. “Every time that it mentions the killer’s motive I just skip it over and leave it blank-“

“Sugar ma’am?”

“Two please, a dash of cream as well.” You answered the maid’s question as she prepared your tea for you before continuing on. “It is by far the worse writer’s block I have experienced to date, it has been weeks since I started writing and it would be practically finished if I could figure out my villains just give him life.”

“It is a him?”

“Yes… I think so anyway- oh thank you.” You cut yourself off as the maid handed you your cup of tea. You held the saucer in your left hand while you brought the teacup up to your lips, taking a sip to wet your throat. “But honestly this case with Mr. Holmes, trying to uncover this Lord of Crime has left me all sorts of frazzled that I cannot tell up from down when I return home at the end of the day, so I honestly think that I have my novel’s villain as some version of this Lord of Crime, a figure who cannot place, so close yet so far, just out of reach… I probably sound like a raving mad woman right now, don’t I?”

“A bit, yes.” Réne answered which grew a small giggle from you. His eyes never lifted from his paper as he spoke, his fingers still twirling around the pencil as he drew. “Speaking of our Lord of Crime problem, how many of your books are left in his little… hm….”

“Recreations?”

“Yes, that is the word I am looking for!” He said with a slight enthusiasm creeping into his voice as he flicked his pencil in the air at your answer. “But yes, how many are left? He has probably covered all your famous works by now.”

“Yes… well let me think….” Your voice faded for a moment as you went over your books in your head, the number of incidents has increased since your partnership with the famous, though not by choice, Sherlock Holmes had begun, but surely there had to be at least three or so books left, right? Well there was- no that was the first incident that happened while you were abroad in America. What about- no not that one either, you remember seeing that in the morning paper when Sherlock came running into your townhouse about it when you first started working. Then there was a moment of realization as you sat there, staring down at your tea, reflecting your face that has grown and probably aged a few years due to these cases. “…no.”

“No? That’s not a number- oh… that… I… I’m sorry.” Réne stopped his sketching in his realization, you could just practically see his expression when the silence was practically yelling at you.

“…Réne, since there are no books left, what if I am next?” Your question was just followed by more silence then you heard Réne’s pencil quickly scribble something on his paper before you heard the ripping of paper and the shifting of limbs as the fabric of his pants rubbed against the velvet couch cushions. He slammed his drawing down on the table between the two of you, where the tea set sat. You looked down at it and it was presumably of a man in a black coat and hat, but his face was covered by a smiling mask, the Lord of Crime, but across his neck was a thick and scribbled line as if he was beheaded. You looked up at Réne and he had a comforting smile across his face.

“Then I will do everything in my power to unmask him and protect you.” He fell back onto his couch, throwing his arms across the back rest, crossing his legs. “You are one of my best friends and he would be fool to think that I would not risk my own neck to protect you, and I know for a fact that Evelyn, Charlotte, and Alex would do the same… hell honestly Alex would be the worse enemy to have, she could make one call to her father and… well it would not be pretty and that is for certain.”

“Thank you, a friend like you is truly a rare thing, let alone four friends like you all.”

��I could say the same thing about you.”

The terrible silence had faded into a more pleasant and comfortable silence, but you looked down at the drawing and into those black hole of the mask where the eyes would be, faceless and unsettling that gave you a creeping feeling up your spine.

God it was unsettling…

It made you feel like you were being watched…

Just please make it stop…

Stop…

STOP!

As if by reflex, you sprung up out of your chair and snatched up the drawing from the table, and this drew Réne’s attention to you again as a concerned expression set in on his face.

“Are you alright?”

“Alright… alr- Yes! I am perfectly fine, I… I just remembered I… I meant to send a letter to my mother and I left it in my study back home, I-I just really needed to do that!” A lie, that honestly you did not know why you told it, not even the slightest clue as to why. You grabbed your messenger bag from the ground, throwing it over your shoulder. “I-I should go do that, before I forget to and the post office closes.”

“O-oh, alright?” Réne seemed unsure of your sudden shift in behavior. “Do you need me to walk you home-“

“No!- I… I mean I’ll be alright….” You two once again stood in a tense silence as you looked back at each other with equally confused expressions. “…bye.”

You could only say that as you turned on your heel as you walked to the door of the club, the maid giving you your hand and coat as you were about to leave which you put on in a rush as you tried to get out the door to get out of the gazes of your friends and colleagues.

You stumbled out onto the streets of Mayfair, you did not bother trying to get a hackney, you needed the fresh air that is what you needed, you think. You nervously fidgeted with the strap of your messenger bag as you walked down the street, your eyes darting around at the brick pavement beneath your feet, not bothering to watch where you are going since the way back home was practically muscle memory-

Suddenly you were knocked over as a gentleman walked past you, the heel of your shoe getting caught in between the bricks that formed the pavement below you, an all too familiar scene for you, but you suppose that is what you get for not watching where you are going.

“I am so sorry- Miss (Name), we have met like this before have we not?” That voice was familiar to you, you looked up to see the smiling face of Professor William James Moriarty looking down at you, his gloved hand outstretched to you like that day at the docks on your return home. He cocked his head to the side slightly as he looked over your form as you took his hand and he pulled you up from the ground. “Are you alright? You look rather pale?”

“Y-yes… I-I am… No?…. Maybe- I really don’t know right now, I-I… I can’t think- god what is wrong with me?” You could not get your mind straight, your hands felt clammy and tingly… your entire arms at that… god was it always this hard to breathe? You can’t think, oh god why can’t you think? “I fear I am going mad, Profe- William.”

“You are trembling- oh dear, you are having a panic attack.” You could not process him coming to stand by your side, taking your messenger bag from you and his other hand coming to rest between your shoulder blades. “My family’s estate is only a few buildings down, let’s get you inside and sit down and Louis can make you a cup of tea, does that sound okay?”

“Y-yes, I think.”

“Okay, just take deep breaths.”

Your vision and memory came in flashes between sight and darkness… walking down the road, turning into a Mayfair estate with an iron fence with a red brick base beneath it… William pushing open the door and calling out to someone as he guided you into the drawing room… Him guiding you to lay down on the sofa in the room while someone else came into the room.

You could feel William’s hand held onto yours, letting you have something to ground yourself on, and you could hear William’s voice telling you…

“Take deep breaths, in and out.”

In and out…

In and out.

His voice served as your thoughts, allowing you to calm down from the height of your panic attack. You could finally process what was before you, a white ceiling. You could process what you felt, the fabric of your dress, the velvet of the Moriarty drawing room couch, the warmth and leather from William’s gloved hand that held onto your own.

“Are you alright? Do you need anything?” You heard William ask you as you pushed yourself up with your free hand that was not squeezing the life out of William’s hand. “Louis is making you some tea, he nearly got a fright at seeing you in a panic, ran off to the kitchen in a rush- oh just lay down! You are probably light headed or dizzy, just wait to sit up until your tea is ready.”

“O-okay… thank you William.”

“It is the least I can do.”

A few minutes passed before the scent of citrus and spice hit your nose as Louis stepped into the room, setting the tea tray on the low table between all the pieces of lounge furniture in the room. William set a hand on your lower back, helping you sit as Louis poured a cup of tea for you. Louis gave William the cup of tea to hold with his free hand while his other hand rubbed comforting circles on your back, which was wiser than letting you hold it since your hands were shaking violently still.

“I am s-sorry… I-I…”

“There is nothing to be sorry about, my dear.” William replied as your voice trailed off into your scrambled thoughts. “It is natural to experience such fits under stress… which reminds me, if I may ask, what is on your mind?”

“Um… a lot….” You laughed after those two words, laughing at your madness as you ran your fingers through your hair and tugging slightly, your hat had fallen to the ground when William laid you down and Louis had picked it up and set it on the table. “My novel still has no antagonist, at least not one with a motive to kill nine other people- t-then not to mention I have to worry about a detective, who may or not be the love of my life of the bane of my existence but I may just be thinking that because I am going mad, and him appearing in my house at any hour of the day because he think he found a lead with the blasted Lord of Crime case- AND! That’s the other thing, this Lord of Crime, all of my books have been made a horrible reality by him and now there are not any books left and I have an aching fear in the back of my mind that I am next… I… I really am going mad, aren’t I?”

“You are not mad, you are in distress which is only natural, dear.” He said as he guided the tea cup into your hands, his hand coming to rest on the back of your own to keep you from dropping the cup as you brought it up to your lips and taking a sip. “Perhaps the Lord of Crime is just a fan of your work, I doubt he would dare to lay a finger on you.”

“Well he is certainly a fan I do not wish to have.” You said as the cup of tea parted from your lips and William set it back down on the table with a soft clinck. “This all has been driving me mad… honestly working with him has only made it worse, he is like an eager puppy.”

“By he, you mean the detective you are working with who I am guessing to be a Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” William stated but it sounded more like a question so you hummed softly in response. “I have met him a number of times before, brilliant mind, just a bit childish under certain circumstances. Also if I may suggest perhaps a small break is needed, for the sake of your mental health.”

“Ya… huh, maybe I should just quit this author thing.” You felt William stiff up at the mention of that, his hand that was running circles on your back freezing in place, but you honestly did not pay much mind since there was so much going on in your mind. “Or maybe I should just disappear entirely… that is something I thought about before, faking my disappearance, I know how I would do it too. Maybe take a ferry to France, go off and start a new life in Paris- or maybe America, I do have friends there who would probably adopt me into their family since they like me better than their own daughter, Miss Alex Pendel, you probably have heard of her-“

“You are rambling, breathe.” William cut you off, but you did not feel like you were rambling. “I am just suggesting a break, not to disappear, isn’t writing your life blood after all?”

“Yes… b-but I never wanted it to become this… I have created a monster.” You closed your eyes at that thought. You loved writing, it was why you lived, you thrived from it, but people were suffering from your stories… well they were, you have no more stories for the Lord of Crime to work with, if you did not publish another it would all stop, right? It had to. Your hands fell to your lap, clutching your skirt in your hands, as if you were trying to get your body to agree with your mind who has already made its decision. “…I am done.”

“Done? Whatever do you mean?”

“I… I cannot finish my next book, maybe my unfinished antagonist was a sign to stop while I am ahead.” You were facing forward, towards the table, so you could not see the sorrow and pain come across William’s face. “If I stop writing, then the Lord of Crime has nothing else to work with and no one else gets hurt because of me.”

“I… please think about this-“

“I have to go… I need to visit my publisher.” You stood up from the couch with your unsteady legs, grabbing your hat from the table. You did not spare William a glance as you made your way to the door, only words. “I am sorry William, I know you enjoyed my books, but I can’t live with myself if this happens again.”

The estate grew silent as you let, the front door closing being the last bit of sound within the house. Tears fell from William’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks, but his face remained emotionless. There was a few minutes of silence before his eyes fell on your messenger bag you had left behind. He tried telling himself it was wrong to go through your belongings, but what harm could it do now?

He grabbed the messenger bag from the ground, setting it on his lap as he opened it. He pulled out the contents one by one, makeup, pens, pencils, loose notes with plot thoughts of character ideas, but the two that caught his eyes more than anything else was a drawing, the drawing of the faces Lord of Crime from Réne, and a stack of papers that were bound in a leather portfolio, your unfinished masterpiece.

—————————

You stood in your study, tucking old papers and notes away into boxes to put in your cellar. You could not find your unfinished manuscript, you just assumed you must have left it at the Moriarty estate but it really did not matter since that book would never be seeing its conclusion. You had already written to your editor and met with your publisher, ending your partnership with both of them. As for work for the time being you made a enough money from your book sales still that you would be comfortable for a while, but maybe once things have settled in a few months or a year’s time you would accept one of those teaching jobs as a professor that had been offered to you at women's colleges in Oxford or Cambridge. Or your other thought was moving back up to your hometown in Northern England and help your mother with her shop, disappearing into the shadows forever.

You heard a knock at your front door which was followed by the footsteps of your maid as she went to answer it. You closed the lip on the last of the boxes, setting it on top of the stack of the others that had been packed by you earlier, when the doors to your office burst open to reveal the overly eager detective.

“Miss (Name), I think I found-“ Sherlock cut himself off as he stepped inside your emptied study, looking around only to see your life’s work in boxes, ready to be hidden away forever. He was clearly taken aback by all this, looking around the room with an uncertain eye. “What’s all this then?”

“I am quitting, Mr. Holmes.” That was all you needed to say for the detective’s expression to turn to disbelief at hearing your words. “Every single one of my worlds has been tarnished by this Lord of Crime and honestly I do not want to write another book just to give more fuel to the fire.”

“So you are just giving up?” The detective snapped back at you, taking you by surprise now. He was clearly angry and annoyed at your choice, that was certainly clear. “You are just laying down and choosing to die, is that it?!”

“Sherlock, I cannot continue to write when it will sentence people to death!” You yelled at him, gesturing back into the drawing room across the hall where stacks of clues and evidence sat on any flat surface, waiting to be cleaned up next after you packed everything up in the cellar. “Do you know how many people were going to die in my next book if I finished and published it?”

“No-“

“Nine! Nine people and their blood would be on my hands!” You cut him off with a shout, you could feel tears building up in your eyes as you yelled at him. “I can hardly live with myself knowing that my twisted works of fiction have become reality and taken so many lives, the least I can do is spare nine more.”

“We could catch him and you could continue your books-“

“Enough!” You shouted at the top of your lungs, and you watched as the detective grew red in the face as he became more and more angry and irritated at your actions. “I am not doing this anymore, I… I can’t… you are a detective, your job revolves around reality, I am… I was an author, I wrote fiction and I never wanted it to become reality.”

“Damn it all! It is all his fault! God damn this Lord of Crime” He shouted at you before rolling his eyes with the shake of his head and a heavy scoff. He turned on his heel, waving you off as he walked towards the front door of your townhouse. “Find me if you change your mind, but I won’t give up unlike you.”

You stood alone in your office as the front door opened and slammed shut which drew a squeak in surprise from your maid who was brewing tea in the kitchen for you. You leaned back on your desk, a sandalwood desk, a gift you got for yourself when your sales blew up after your first book which secured your position in England’s high society with your new money. The desk cost you what your childhood home cost when your mother and father bought it a few months before they had you. You worked to where you are today, living in an expensive townhouse in Mayfair, an area famous for its affluent residents, upscale shopping streets like Bond Street, world-class art galleries, exclusive members-only clubs, and its reputation as a luxurious and high-end area of London. You grew up in a small town, making flower crowns with your friends and jumping in the nearby creek that was by your childhood home, now you drink wine and champagne at parties held at manors of Dukes and Duchesses and wearing dresses that costed more money than your parents ever had when you were a child. You went on trips to Paris to study the catacombs and watch the Opera and went to New York to experience the nightlife and parties on Long Island and overhear what happened in the back rooms of the mansions of these new money families that controlled the country, divided among these families.

Your books let people indulge themselves into their dark thoughts without it being considered scandalous but rather a new trend, a competition to be exact, and in the words of Evelyn when she first met you…

“Everyone in London wants to know what is going on in that twisted little mind of yours to come up with the things you do.” It was at a high society party when she told you that, pulling you aside into the drawing room of the manor you were in, giving you a joint to smoke that you found out was from Alex’s family that may or may not have had the tobacco mixed with some form of cannabis, giving you both a small high, which definitely made clear where Evelyn’s moments of inspiration for her books came from that were full of pure body horror. “But then again, they all are obsessed with what they cannot fathom and what they are horrified by, it gives them a thrill, like a drug.”

There was a reason why the most popular authors of the age were of the macabre and gruesome, and Evelyn could not have phrased it any better, they were fascinated by what they could not or did not wish to fathom…

Alex’s stories let people see into the world of the mafia of the new world, romanticized in many ways, but the moods they elicit, giving their audiences heightened feelings of suspense, excitement, surprise, anticipation and anxiety, giving them a thrill. Fear of getting caught in a sex scandal or perhaps trying to hide a body before someone finds out that you were the one who rammed a knife into their skull.

Charlotte's novels touch on fundamental issues of human existence: the nature of the soul, the weighty fact of mortality, and the burden of ancestry and history. Spirits represent heavy-handed instruments of supernatural justice, plunging those responsible for their deaths into a living hell where they suffer for their sins. This world and what comes after.

Réne’s books are all about the terror within, not without. His work shatters the illusion of humanity in a poignant wayby holding a mirror up to society and saying: look at what we truly are, and look at what we pretend to be. Under that mask of civility, there is depravity. Under that thin veneer of society, there is wickedness. Under all the trappings of sophistication, are we not all predators or prey?

Little Evelyn had a wicked little mind, her genre examines a universal fear: our own failing anatomies. You rarely think about what goes on beneath your skin. You understand that the organs operate in harmony: the heart beats, the lungs pump air, and the gastrointestinal system labors to supply us with nutrients. But you don't ponder like she does the minutiae. Like whether embryonic parasites encyst in our brains, or what stage of cirrhosis we might be facing, or if tumors bloom deep in parts of ourselves we hope never to see. You have seen a grown man, an inspector at Scotland Yard at that, vomit after reading an excerpt from one of her books.

Your works on the other hand gave the people a taste of psychological suspense and atmosphere, developed as all the characters' innermost secrets are revealed, there is usually also a gradual build-up of tension before the murders actually occur, as if everything could slip at any moment and everyone’s secrets would be revealed and the world would all but crash and burn all around them, and the people along with it. The key factor, though, is that there is usually some ingenious piece of deception involved, just like how the Lord of Crime has been deceiving London with his mask and his show, drawing them all in all along, and now you were about to crash and burn with it all…

You shared Sherlock’s thoughts when he said damn it all…

Your maid was cleaning up the drawing room from all the papers and clues from your useless investigation with the detective when you finally came out of your study, your face stained red and swollen with your tears and six envelopes in your hands. Your maid looked up at you with a worried expression in her eyes as she saw the state of your face.

“My lady, are you alright-“

“Yes….” You took a nervous breath as you approached her, your heeled boots clicking on the hardwood at first which made your heart skip a beat, which was enough in your scared state of mind. You reached out to your maid with the envelopes in that hand, forcing a smile to come across your face as you did. “Could you drop these off at the post? They are to a number of my friends along with my mother and Mr. Holmes. You can head home after that, I think I shall turn in early tonight and I can handle this mess, after all I did make it with Mr. Holmes.”

“O-oh, very well my lady.” She responded as she took the envelopes from your hand, tucking them into her apron pocket. You stood there in the drawing room, swallowing the lump in your throat as you listened to the footsteps of your maid as she grabbed her coat and hat from the coat closet. You heard the front door open and then her voice called out to you. “Do you wish for me to pick up anything for you when I come back in the morning, My Lady? I remember seeing the bakery two blocks away selling a new sampler box of macarons, apparently their new patissier is from Florence in Italy.”

“Thank you, but I shall be alright.”

“Alright, goodnight then my lady.”

“Goodbye.”

—————————

It was a lovely spring day in London, a rare day without a cloud in the sky. William was walking down the street, his eyes fixed on a letter in his gloved hand that he received this morning, it was penned in your handwriting and the messenger boy said it was dropped off at the post office along with five other letters by a woman who matched the description of your maid, who he had met along with Louis when they ran into her by chance at the local bookstore when he was picking up a copy of your latest book, she and your assistant, a young lady who was hoping to be a journalist one day and you had taken her under your wing, were dropping of signed copies that you were donating to the shop, your maid told the brothers that you would have dropped them off yourself but you were leaving for a six month long trip to the Americas, New York City specifically, so you could research something you were curious on with the night life of that side of the world and who ran it.

He spotted the house with the address on the envelope, 600 North Audley Street, which was, as the street name suggested, just north of Grosvenor Square in Mayfair. The house has a number of barricades around it and a number of officers of Scotland Yard along with four other figures, all of them he recognized, Sherlock Holmes with no sight of Dr. John H. Watson, there were also the famous authors Réne Drew, Lady Charlotte Basset of York, and the little miss Evelyn Jay, and all of them, including the detective, held a letter similar to the one William held, but all of their faces were riddled with worry, except Sherlock Holmes, but William knew he would crack in private.

“I see you all have received letters like myself.” William called out to the bunch who awaiting outside of the door of your townhouse, looking around he also spotted your house’s maid and your own personal assistant sitting on the brick stairs that led up to your front door, surrounded by Scotland Yard officers asking them questions which explains why he could not see them from afar, but they were in such a state of shock that neither of them could hardly answer a single question and even if they could, they did not know the answer. William held up the piece of paper he received with a smile. “I see we all know the author.”

“And who you might be?” Lady Charlotte snapped at him, her eyes narrowing. William knew a bit about her and her family, her brother had been suspected of murder a number of years ago, the summer before their writing club was founded to be exact, which while the heir of the family was found innocent this fact about the club led William to believe she had something to do with it especially since the victim was the man she was arranged to be married to. Her face was as rigid as her clothing looked, a scarlet red gown that probably costs more than most dresses women of the town could even afford and her signature white mink shawl. “I do not recall (Name) ever mentioning you before-“

“Well I certainly did not expect to see you here, Liam.” Sherlock cut the lady author off as he laid eyes upon the mathematics professor. “This is Professor William James Moriarty, a friend of mine, but I am surprised you knew Miss (Name). Now I truly wished we all could have met that day on the train back from York, a competition with one worthy opponent is one thing but with two is another entirely! I thought for a time she might be the Lord of Crime if her behavior did not show otherwise and the evidence proved her innocence under every instance-“

“Would you shut up!? Do not mention this whole Lord of Crime bullshit now!” Réne snapped at the detective, seizing him by the collar and bringing his face close to his own as the French author was filled with a rage that was clear as day. William had heard that the famous Réne Drew was normally a calm and composed man, maybe a bit too relaxed due to his occasional indulgence in wine and the arts, but this was a different man entirely based on their behavior. “My best friend is missing and you thought she was was the fucking Lord of Crime?! Was that the only reason you wanted to work with her?! Answer me, damn it!”

“She is what?” William was shocked by this statement by the Frenchman, he must have looked like a surprised cat when he heard his, eyes wide but the rest of his face remaining still, because all faces turned to him, but the young Evelyn Jay was the one who approached him, and she was the one who appeared most unbothered by the situation if bothered at all.

“It did not mention it in your letter, telling you that she is not to be looked for and that no one would find her even if they tried.” She handed William her letter and it indeed had written what she claimed it did, but it was far different than his own which he handed to the young lady to read, which she did do so. He had only really heard rumors about the morbid young author, that she watches illegal awake surgeries as inspiration for her books or that she had been in the habit of paying people to steal dead bodies for her so she could see how the human body would react to various situations that would be highly traumatic on the body so she could use that for her books. Evelyn calmly read his letter silently before handing it back to him. “It would seem that Professor Moriarty received a different letter than the rest of us seeing as he was not informed of her disappearance. But it is indeed true, she went missing sometime last night, her house is an absolute disaster, but Mr. Holmes found that was done by her due to nothing highly valuable or sentimental being damaged, proving there was not a real struggle, but a set up but the reason why is still unknown. Her maid and assistant were the ones to find the staged scene this morning when they arrived together this morning after having breakfast at a nearby bakery, scared them half to death, then the rest of us arrived not long after, rushing here after we received the letters-“

“Sorry I’m late!” A feminine voice with a thick New York accent called out from down the road, the same direction William arrived in. Everyone looked to see Miss Alex Pendel, dressed in her favorite red suit which drew stares from anyone who did not know her. William had heard about her family, a crime family who practically has all of the state of New York in the palm of their hand; the city that shared the name was the heart of their organization. She waved in her hand a slip of paper that did not look remotely similar to the ones the other held, her own was a telegram, so someone had sent for her when they found out she was missing the three other authors present were the most obvious suspects. But the American author was a part of your inner circle like the other three, so why did she not receive a letter? “Seems like everything that I was told is true, she really is missing.”

“Yes, it is good to see you received my telegram, Alex.” Evelyn chimed in, glancing past William to her closest friend. So Evelyn was the one to send the telegram, but the question was how did she know Alex was the only one not to receive one. Evelyn glanced around at the others who must have been coming to a similar conclusion as the professor. “I figured that (Name) may not write to Alex since she had just returned home from a trip from the Netherlands last night, I only knew she was back because I was the one who fetched her from the docks.”

“I see.” William responded to the young lady’s gleeful tone. She twirled around the center of the circle of the geniuses to face William once again with that ever so innocent smile on her face which was almost unsettling in these circumstances which made William think perhaps to look back into those rumors he heard about her before. “If she is missing then what shall we do since she does not wish to be found?”

“A competition! Let us see who can find her first!” The smile on her face grew even wider when she said those words, this was a game to her, just like the aristocrat who perished on the Noahtic for hunting humans for sport, the difference being that she has a good heart beneath all the gore and horror. “I do not know about you professor, but the rest of us are all forms of crime related geniuses both fictional and reality.”

There was a stunned silence among the other authors, and a smile coming across Sherlock’s face in glee at the idea. William heard a scoff from the American author next to him and he glanced over to her to see her with an expression he could not quite place. “Pass, I’m afraid I will be returning to America in a few weeks.”

“So soon? You went on that trip with (Name) a few months ago?” Evelyn’s smile falters into an expression of curiosity as Alex makes that comment. “I remember you telling us how much your family enjoyed (Name’s) company.”

“There is no need to remind me about their favoritism.” Alex snapped back at her friend before quickly calming back down with a sigh. “But yes, I am afraid so, I need to get some papers settled with my father and brothers about some changes to our family’s mansion.”

That day of your panic attack…

“Also if I may suggest perhaps a small break is needed, for the sake of your mental health.”

“You are rambling, breathe.” William cut you off, but you did not feel like you were rambling. “I am just suggesting a break, not to disappear, isn’t writing your life blood after all?”

A small smile came across William’s face as he recalled this and looked at Miss Alex Pendel…

So that is why you did not write to her.

—————————

The heat of the summer day had faded away with sunset, leaving the countryside of England to grow quite a chill as you walked through the dark country paths on your way to the train station, if it could be called that since it was more of a platform as there was no building beside the ticket office from where you bought your ticket the day prior, that as a short walk from the small town you were staying in in a house provided by Alex’s family who aided you in stage it your disappearance a few months prior, three months to be exact. Alex had visited you a few day ago upon her return from her brief trip to her hometown to let you know that everything was ready for your arrival, she gave you a boat ticket, and told you that her mother and father would pick you up upon your arrival and then your new life would begin and this life would be eased into nothing but history, a small price to pay to rid yourself from your old life that had been absolutely tarnished. Your time in America had inspired you for another story, it was not a crime, but a romance influenced by the environment you have seen in both England with the old and new money, and then America with the lively atmosphere there. You had not thought much about it besides the name of one of the characters, the flowers outside your cottage door in this small town you had been staying in these last few months were daisies, you always liked those flowers and that name, Daisy.

You walked up the stairs of the train platform and it was very dark, you could hardly see without the lamp posts that guided your way. Now as you stood at the edge of the train platform you could see a distant figure sitting on one of the benches. There was only one lamp that was posted over the ticket office door, so you could not see the details of the figure who sat on the bench. You could hear the distant whistles of the train, it was a few miles away but you could hear it clearly due to the dead silence of the countryside at night. Your boots clicked against the ground as you approached the bench next to the figure who you assumed was waiting for the train. You sat down on the other bench, setting your hard back suitcase on the ground next to you before reaching into your pocket and pulling out your pack of cigarettes and a match, you lit your cigarette that you places between your lips to hold it along with your other hand that did not hold your match and right as you were about to shake out the flame from the match you heard footsteps of the person on the other bench get up and approach you, making you stop and pause. The fire illuminated the person’s features in a flickering light as you looked up at him, and your expression was taken by shock as he smiled down at you with those red eyes.

“Professor Moriarty… What in god’s name are you doing here?” You pulled away the cigarette from your lips as you spoke to him, looking up at his smiling expression with a confused gaze as your eyes were locked with his which reminded you of blood. Something was not right, you had no doubt in your mind that William went to your house after receiving your letter which told him he could keep the unfinished work you left at his home as a gift to him for his kindness to you, but was he looking for you like the others were in their little competition?

“I finished reading the work you left me on the train ride here and I have to say it is by far your best work.” He spoke, completely ignoring the question you asked which gave you a pounding worry and anxiety in your chest.

“Thank you… but I must ask you to answer my questi-“

“Your killer, the method in which they did it truly fooled me, I never expected them to fake their own death.” You could feel the pounding in your chest as you looked up at the professor who still did not answer your question. You could feel the anxiety and worry in your chest turn into dread as you looked in his red eyes, just like blood.

“William-“

“They do lack a motive still, I remember you mentioning that you were struggling with that detail.” You saw him raise his right hand in your peripheral vision, but you could not quite see what he was holding as your eyes were still locked with his own. “But perhaps I can help?”

You were almost afraid to break eye contact with him and look at what he was holding, god you felt sick, but why?! You felt William’s gloved hand turn your head slightly but gently, forcing you to look at what he was holding, it was Réne’s drawing of the Lord of Crime, or as he titled it at least.

Wait-

That was it!

Your eyes widened in shock and horror at your realization…

That question you asked to Réne the day of your panic attack…

“Since there are no books left, what if I am next?”

You turned your head to look at William once again and when his scarlet red eyes narrowed at you in the darkness, only lit by the fire of your match for your cigarette, it sent shivers down your spine.

“You are the Lord of Crime.”

“Correct, I have to say I have been wondering if you or Mr. Holmes would figure it out first, but it seems you beat him to it even if I had to spell it out for him.” The smoke was building up between the two of you as your cigarette was just burning up, and the smoke was almost making it hard to breathe. Your palms were growing sweaty in your terror, correction, your entire body was burning up like your cigarette and the flame on your match and his smile certainly did not help with that. “I first found out about one of your books when an associate of mine was reading one of your novels on the way back from the mission site. While Louis did not fancy it that much, he did recommend it to me and I will say I was skeptical at first but then I have to say I was proven wrong when I opened up one of your books. People read your books to be taken into the mind and the world of someone they cannot fathom or do not wish to, but honestly when reading your works it is finally a world I can understand, a world created by someone who can understand my mind and keep up with me. I wondered if your fictional crimes could survive in the real world so I took a risk and tested my theory and followed your books like a script and I have to tell you my dear that you fooled everyone.”

“You realize I could report you now, do you not? You have not only revealed yourself but the identity of one of your associates with the mention of your brother.”

“Yes, but I doubt that you will have the chance.” Before you could ask what that meant he spoke up again, drowning out the sound of footsteps approaching you from behind between his voice and your loud heartbeat that roared in your ears already. “Question, if I gave you back your unfinished work, would you finish your villain?”

“Not a chance.”

“Shame.”

Your match went out and everything went black.

—————————

You did not like the new weight on your left hand ring finger, it made it far too difficult to hold paper down when you wrote and it made your fingers feel swollen not to mention how it smears the ink, but William insisted you wear it now since you are to be married in a month's time. You cringed at the thought of being married, especially to him, you two had already met with your publisher earlier this week to have your pen name changed to switch to your future last name for any future printings of your novels.

Then there was also the gossip of these entitled little rich girls who romanticize your engagement to him and you heard the gossip as you walked through the streets on William’s arm saying how they wished to be in your place and you just wanted to tell them they could be, it would be a good reality check for them. Then there were your friends, you have not seen any of them in months, Réne, Evelyn, and Charlotte not since before your disappearance, and then Alex you have not seen some you were engaged. You could not make yourself face any of them now, it would make you sick-

“Dear, are you alright? You look rather pale.” William’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you were back in the drawing room of the Moriarty brother’s estate in Durham, William thought it would be good for you not to be England when your newest book releases so you could avoid the press and fans, all who wanted their questions about you answered, and needless to say William did not want those questions answered.

“Yes… I just find myself out of it nowadays.” You answered as your eyes were still fixed on the cup of tea Louis had poured for you a few minutes prior. You heard William sigh and close the book he was reading and setting it down where he was sitting to move over to where you were sitting on the sofa.

“You have not touched a single cup of tea since you started writing again-“

“Since you kidnapped me.”

“I did what was best for you, it was eating you alive not to pick up a pen again.” He snapped back to your correction of his statement. William sighed as he places a hand over one of your own that was resting on your thigh and he spoke to you with a tone that almost trickled you into believing he cared about you. “I only want what is best for you and you will only strain yourself if you continue to push everyone away like you are.”

You just rolled your eyes and let your mind drift off again as you thought back on these last few cruel months that started all the way back upon your return to England, you should have just stayed in New York…

Ten little Soldier Boys went out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were nine…

Nine little Soldier Boys sat up very late; One overslept himself and then there were eight…

Eight little Soldier Boys travelling in Devon; One said he'd stay there and then there were seven…

Seven little Soldier Boys chopping up sticks; One chopped himself in halves and then there were six…

Six little Soldier Boys playing with a hive; A bumblebee stung one and then there were five…

Five little Soldier Boys going in for law; One got in Chancery and then there were four…

Four little Soldier Boys going out to sea; A red herring swallowed one and then there were three…

Three little Soldier Boys walking in the zoo; A big bear hugged one and then there were two…

Two little Soldier Boys sitting in the sun; One got frizzled up and then there was one…

One little Soldier Boy left all alone; He went out and hanged himself…

and then there were none….

…you have to live with the fact that your book took nine more lives and had to hope that one day the tenth would join the others sooner than later.

#william moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #yandere william james moriarty #yandere moriarty the patriot #yandere yuukoku no moriarty

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agustdakasuga · 1 year

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The Way Of A Criminal: Chapter 6

Genre: Mafia!AU, Criminal!AU, Angst, Romance

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Normal!Reader, Gangster!Namjoon, Gangster!Seokjin, Gangster!Yoongi, Gangster!Hoseok, Gangster!Jimin, Gangster!Taehyung, Gangster!Jungkook

Summary: Your father was a stranger, you never knew who he was and what he did. But one day, someone knocks on your door, informing you of his passing. Now, you learn more about him, his life and the legacy you are expected to continue with the help of his 7 executives.

Story warning(s): This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed/gore, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking and gambling. This story is fictional and has nothing to do with real life events or the actual members of BTS. Please read at your own discretion.

Jimin’s words stayed in your mind. You were being selfish. Your feelings aside, you knew the boys were trying their best to honour your father’s words and wishes. All the while you’ve only been protesting but now, they’ve helped you when you needed help.

“I need to return the favour, don’t I?” You sighed, asking yourself. You shook your head and turned back to your assignment in front of you. This was what you needed to focus on now.

“Hey.” Wonwoo whispered, two coffees in his hands. He placed his bag down and took the seat next to you.

“How was class? And thank you.” You received the coffee.

“Boring. How’s your essay coming along?” He asked. You shrugged, not really having paid any attention to the assignment. You knew you wouldn’t be able to do any work at home so that’s why you’re at the library.

Wonwoo decided to accompany you to study, which may be a good thing. He’ll keep you in check and ensure you get work done.

“You don’t have to stay with me. You can go home, I’m sure you have better things to do.” You said, facing the screen as you typed your essay based off your notes.

“You’re not getting rid of me so easily. Besides, whatever assignment you’re working on, I probably have to do it too. We are in the same classes.” Wonwoo stated, taking his laptop and notebook out. You hummed, nodding in agreement. To help you pick a major, you’ve been taking extra classes in various subjects.

“Are your extra classes going well?” Wonwoo asked.

“I would like to think so. I’m taking the basic classes in the choices I have narrowed down... It’s between the life sciences field and the linguistic arts realm at the moment.” You informed.

“That’s something?” Wonwoo said, trying to sound positive. You raised an eyebrow, letting out a scoff before continuing your essay.

You and Wonwoo continued to do your work with the occasional chatter until he decided to call it a day at 11pm. The study area of the library was open 24/7 so it wasn’t surprising to see students study until the sun rose.

“Do you want to get supper before heading back?” Wonwoo asked.

“Sorry, I’m feeling a little drained so I think its best I head back. We’ll go another day, I promise!” You rubbed the back of your neck.

“It’s okay. I can drop you-”

“(y/n).” You both turned to see a Bentley there. The back seat window rolled down and you saw Yoongi there. He leaned down enough for you to see him but his face was a void of emotion.

“You free?” He asked. The driver came out and opened the door for you despite not having made the decision. You chewed on your bottom lip before letting out a sigh. You gave Wonwoo a small wave before sliding into the back seat. The driver closed the door behind you.

“Are you always leaving the campus at midnight?” Yoongi asked. Half his arm is rest on the open window sill, burning cigarette between his fingers.

“Just trying to find a place with no distractions to get work done.” You shrugged. You drummed your fingers against your thighs as you waited for him to speak.

“Speak your mind. Say whatever you want.” He spoke.

“I don’t... really know what to say.” You confessed. You thought you would have time to plan what to say to them when the universe cursed you to cross paths with them again. This spontaneity was difficult for you.

“You don’t have to say anything then. We’re here.” Yoongi said. You looked up, not having realised you were home.

“It’s late but... D-Do you... want to c-come in?” You gulped as you offered. You really hoped you wouldn’t come to regret your words. Yoongi nodded and snapped his fingers. The driver opened the door for you then Yoongi. Yoongi trailed behind you, hands in his pockets as you fished your keys out and unlocked the door.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” You gestured to the small seating area. He sat down on the couch while you went to get him a glass of water. You didn’t know what other drink to offer him.

“I owe all of you an apology. I’ve been selfish and-”

“I hope you understand, I didn’t come here for you to apologise to me.” Yoongi cut you off, placing the glass on the coffee table.

“I just... want you to know I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting.” You replied, sitting down opposite him. He nodded his head to let you know he at least acknowledged your words.

“Jimin’s an idiot. He speaks before he thinks.” Yoongi said.

“No... He’s right. Whatever he said that day.”

“Tch, stop being a pushover. I came here to tell you that you shouldn’t let his words affect you but I see I’m too late. Clearly.” He clicked his tongue, reaching over to drink more water. You sighed, head hanging down.

“So you’ve lived with your mother here your whole life?” Yoongi asked, changing the subject. He wasn’t good at comforting people, not that he ever cared, but it wasn’t his intention to make you feel worse either. The best thing to do is to change the subject.

“Yeah. It’s the only home I’ve ever known. Small but just right for us to be comfortable, I guess.” You shrugged, looking around.

“Must be nice to have a relationship with a parent.” Yoongi said.

If an ordinary person said the same words as him, it would usually be filled with bitterness and hold resentful connotations. But when Yoongi said that to you, there was nothing. He didn’t sound jealous, hurt, nothing.

“Would you like something to eat? For supper.” You offered. Now it was your turn to change the subject.

“I’ll order.” He took his phone out but you stopped him.

“No. You’re a guest in my house now.” You insisted. Yoongi paused but nodded, putting his phone back into his pocket. The both of you decided to get a box of rose tteokbokki and a mixed fried food platter to share. After you placed the order online, all that was left was the wait. You excused yourself to use the bathroom since you were still dressed in university clothes.

“Sorry about that.” You came back down after changing your clothes. There was no time to shower but at least you were now in some fresh smelling clothes and not the ones you were wearing the whole day.

“No worries. The food just came.” He said, taking the food out of the bags. You noticed that he had gotten more comfortable, putting his suit jacket aside.

“Here.” You went to get him a small plate.

It would usually feel weird that you’re sharing food, especially from a communal bowl, with someone you treated as a stranger. But it strangely felt okay, almost comfortable. Yoongi and you dug into the food.

“Actually, I have beers, which would go along with this. Want one?” You asked after you swallowed your food.

“That would be nice.” Yoongi said. You sotod up and went to the kitchen.

“Woah~!” You were suddenly on your tiptoes, not having noticed that Yoongi was behind you when you turned around. He caught you to prevent you from falling backwards. He let go of you, taking the beer can out of your hand with a small, grateful smile.

“Didn’t think you’d be someone to have readily available beer in your fridge.” Yoongi noted as he sat back down with you to eat. You cracked open your beer and took a sip.

“I’m still human. I also need to destress sometimes.” You looked away in embarrassment. The man just chuckled at your reaction.

“Is university tough?”

“Not... really?” You blinked, surprised by the sudden conversation.

“Come on. You can be honest. If you hate it, say you hate it.” Yoongi leaned back as he chewed on a piece of kimchi.

“Well, I’m just not sure if I am wasting my time. It’s not that I don’t like it or am necessarily struggling. I can’t even decide on a major, I don’t know what I want to do in life. If I don’t even know, why am I there?”

“You don’t HAVE to have your life planned out, you know? Just... do what you want, when you want. Let life sort itself out, some things are not within our control. Who knows, you might find something along the way.” Yoongi advised.

“Never thought about it that way...” You hummed.

“I hate to sound cliche but when doors close, more will open. You discover you hate something, you move closer to know what you want.” He said.

“What about you? You all seem to already be working, whatever you guys do or did for my father. How did you know that this was what you wanted to do?” You asked back.

“My brothers and I have been doing this for a long time. We never had proper childhoods or upbringings. Everything that we know, we taught to us by your father or learnt on our own accord, it was what we did to survive in the world. For me, school didn’t equip me with the actual knowledge I needed so I never wanted to go.” He explained.

“Are you tempted to drop out now?” Yoongi smirked.

“No... My mother sacrificed a lot for me to go to university. The least I can do is get a degree. She never pushed me to pick a specific major so that’s still up to me.” You said.

“You’re very filial.” Yoongi noted.

You hadn’t realised that you and Yoongi spoke and ate until 3am. He helped you gather the trash and you tied up the bags, momentarily excusing yourself to go bring the trash out to the curb while he wiped the table.

“Just let me do the dishes real quick.” You washed the small plates and beer glasses that you both used.

“Yoongi sshi-” You were wiping your hands as you came from the kitchen. Looking up, you saw that Yoongi had fallen asleep.

“Hmm...” Looking at the sleeping male, you were unsure of what to do. You didn’t want to wake him up even if sitting up and sleeping was gonna hurt his back in the morning. Going upstairs, you went to retrieve a blanket for him and carefully draped it over his body.

“Goodnight, Yoongi sshi.” You whispered before going upstairs.

“Finally, I can have a shower.” You sighed happily, taking a much needed shower. When you came out, you went downstairs to check on Yoongi before going back to your room.

Despite it being so late and feeling the exhaustion, you couldn’t sleep. You thought about Yoongi downstairs and what you talked about. You didn’t think that you would have an almost personal conversation with him.

But you were grateful that he didn’t mention anything regarding your father, the business, or what you planned to do next.

And for the first time in a long time, you were not alone in the house.

“Let life sort itself out.”

At about 7am, you yawned and rubbed your eyes. You had tried to do work to make yourself tired enough to sleep but it didn’t work. You put your laptop aside and went downstairs. But the couch was empty. The blanket folded neatly and placed aside.

“Yoongi sshi?” You called out. With no reply, you assumed that he left, until you saw a trail of smoke from the window by the front door.

“You’re up early.” Yoongi said as you stood behind him. He just sat on your front door step, smoking his cigarette. But when you came, he dropped it and crushed it beneath your foot.

“It would be rude of me to leave without a goodbye. After your hospitality.” Yoongi stood up, dusting his pants.

“I’m sorry, my couch probably wasn’t very comfortable to sit on.” You rubbed the back of your neck in embarrassment. Yoongi chuckled, shaking his head.

“Thank you, (y/n). I’ll see you soon.” Yoongi gave you a nod before walking away. His driver arrived, opening the door for Yoongi to enter. He rolled down the window and shot you a wave. You awkwardly waved back.

“Guess I’m not going to university today.” You yawned again before shuffling back into the house.

“Wow, Yoongi ah. You were out the whole night... Welcome home.” Jin stopped as he crossed paths with Yoongi while he was heading to the dining room, taking the time to tease the shorter male. Yoongi rolled his eyes, ignoring the eldest. He didn’t want to have breakfast, still feeling full from the supper, but he did want a coffee.

“Send it to my room. I’m going to shower.” Yoongi ordered. The butler bowed and went to the kitchen to get Yoongi’s order, assigning the maid to get Jin’s breakfast ready.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“What...?” Taehyung groaned, rolling around in his blanket. Yoongi strolled in, fresh out of the shower. He threw something at Taehyung.

“Wait, wait, wait. Hyung, you went to see (y/n)?” Now Taehyung was awake as he recognised the jacket that he had lent you a while back when he sent you back from the club. If Yoongi had it, meant that he met you.

“Hyung! Don’t ignore me~ The only way you would have this jacket is if (y/n) gave it to you.” Taehyung chased after him.

“You were with her the whole night? What did she say?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” Yoongi scoffed, taking a sip of his iced coffee from his table. Taehyung jumped onto Yoongi’s bed, getting comfortable in the other male’s sheets.

“Get out.” Yoongi glared. Taehyung ignored him, snuggling deeper into the black satin sheets, messing everything up.

“Fine. I just went to make sure that Jimin didn’t get to her. As much as Jimin’s words were right, I know Namjoon is stressed about making things work out between her and us. And we can’t expect him to do everything while we just kick back.” Yoongi crossed his arms.

“And...?”

“And what? Of course she feels bad after what Jimin said. She’s a regular human being, she’s not us. But that doesn’t mean she’s just going to drop everything and resume the title of the head.” He said.

“I see. Jimin’s been keeping everything in for a while now, especially after boss’ death. He can’t help that it all exploded.” Taehyung shrugged.

“It’s not just him. We all didn’t mourn.”

“Hyung...”

“But sometimes, it’s not about us and what we feel.” Yoongi sighed. Taehyung didn’t reply. Instead, he got up and left Yoongi’s room to let the older take a rest. Finishing his coffee, Yoongi laid in his bed and finally went to sleep.

Jimin leaned against the wall, having overheard the conversation between Taehyung and Yoongi. When his 95′ brother came out from Yoongi’s room, he hadn’t even noticed Jimin just standing there against the wall, probably just half asleep. He let out a long sigh.

“Chim.” Namjoon called out. Jimin looked up at the leader.

“Go sleep. You haven’t slept in 3 days. We’ll talk when you wake up.” Namjoon ordered. Jimin just looked away.

“Here. Now, go.” Namjoon handed him something and patted his shoulder. The younger nodded glumly and went back to his room. He looked at the sleeping pills that were placed in his hands.

Ever since he snapped at you, he was benched from work by the others. He thought he could finally mourn, with his frustration off his chest, but that didn’t happen. He was barely even sleeping, moving around like a zombie.

“You finally caved.” Jin said as Namjoon walked into the dining room.

“He needs to sleep. Plus, what I gave him was very mild.” Namjoon replied, sitting down in his seat.

“Don’t shoulder it all on your own, Namjoon ah. Things will work out, don’t worry. We should all be focusing on our work to continue holding up the fort.” Jin said. Namjoon nodded in agreement.

“Morning. Just coffee. I’ve got to go.” Hoseok walked in, all dressed up. While waiting for the butler, he sat down with his two brothers.

“I’ve got a meeting with all our shipment partners today. My boys will be patrolling the docks and moving in the new shipments. Also, Namjoon, I’ll be doing inventory for the warehouse so tell your boys to not retrieve anything today.” Hoseok informed. Namjoon nodded his head and took his phone out to send the message to his lab team.

Their work and experiments needed a constant supply of chemicals, which were brought in and stored at some of Hoseok’s warehouses. Maybe Namjoon could give his team the day off.

“Taehyung said the governor wants to see me. So let’s keep things to a minimum for now, it’ll be annoying to have to handle any attempt at blackmail from him. I’ll let the rest know later.” Namjoon said.

“Yeah. I’ll let my boys know.” Hoseok bid the two goodbye and left.

“Well, I’m going back to work. I should be done with your files by noon.” Jin stood up and stretched his arms. He retreated out of the room.

“Good morning, Jungkookie.” Jin greeted as he passed the youngest on the way to his room. The boy yawned, giving a sleepy wave before going down to the dining room, in search of food.

“Namjoon hyung, I finished Jimin hyung’s list last night.” Jungkook said, yawning midway.

“Thanks for taking over, Kook. Take a break for the next few days. I was telling Hoseok to keep things to a minimum too. The governor wants to meet and I don’t need him having anything on us.” Namjoon informed.

“Yes, hyung. I’ll just work the shop.” Jungkook nodded. He had no issue taking over Jimin’s hit list, the extra work wasn’t that taxing on him. But now that Namjoon needed them to laylow, he could use the time to catch up on working on his cars and bikes.

When Namjoon finished his breakfast, he went up to his office. He knew that Yoongi went to see you last night and judging by how he stayed out the whole night, Namjoon guessed he was able to talk to you.

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shinjisdone · 1 year

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Female! MC and Friends - Deuce Spade

[What's it like to hang out with Deuce and be dragged into his Events as a female]

(Very much and I mean very much and I mean super duper, incredibly unbelievably, HUMONGUSLY AND GIGANTICALLY based on my oc's reaction)

Oh, sweet, sweet Deuce.

Your meeting may have been rocky and awkward but he quickly grew on you as he realized that he can be himself around you without any judgement. He's sweet and thoughtful, a bit dumb but such a great guy that it is impossible to dislike him.

Though it was really, uh, surprising to find out that the guy who first wouldn't look you in the eye, would stand frozen in your presence or stutter like crazy because he doesnt know how to be around girls, to vehemently threaten to beat two guys black and blue for cracking eggs - and never did you think he'd become one of your closest friends.

You consider him your best friend and vice versa (but don't tell Ace or Grim).

As much as you enjoy being around him, this...'gap' that he has of switching between a hard-working good boy and straight up delinquent is...uh...

Well, you do end up in odd situations due to it.

At Helloween...

At Helloween, Deuce was eager to show his best.

No matter your costume, Deuce will let you know that you look good - er, scary!

Even if it objectively sucks and Ace is laughing at you, Deuce will compliment the effort you put into it! That's what counts!

If you dress up in a way that's anything but scary (maybe stylish, cool or cute?) then Deuce might be...confused? It's Helloween. You're supposed to be scary.

Like; You could be the cutest witch or the trendiest ghoul but Deuce is like ???? Where's the blood and gore??? Where scary???

Will support your decision no matter what though even if he doesn't get it!

But when he gets possesed during the night, crying and calling for his mother, you were concerned and maybe a bit weirded out.

"Would you like to talk?" You place a hand on his shoulder and he's grateful for it, though too embarrassed to show it.

Once everything is settled and normal, you talk before Deuce feels good enough to go out there again.

Maybe there's more to discuss but he's happy you were so considered. Might be squealing inside and tear up (Deuce no, you just stopped crying) before wiping it off and proclaiming to be the scariest monster tonight! He'll scare the shit out of everyone, they'll forget what happened earlier!

Might invite you to trick-and-treating. Well, it's Helloween and it's fun and you are his b-best fr-friend, so...

Whether you can do that or not, be sure to share some sweets with him (those with eggs or egg-shaped will make him happy!) After your spooky tour.

If you are spooked easily, Deuce will first be like "??? For real?" But then explain to you that no one really wants to do you harm. It's all in good fun!

But...if someone takes it too far with scaring you, be sure that delinquent!Deuce will teach 'em a lesson! Switches his personality real quick, good boy to 'haaAAAH? WHAT DID U SAY TO HER?!" real quick.

Goes full into his scary costume persona and threatens people to bury them alive.

When others try to brush it off as a joke or him just playing his role, they are playing with fire. Deuce is more serious than they think.

'Dude...calm down, you're living the role a bit too much!'

'Hah? A gravekeeper gotta do his duty and yer being too loud for a corpse...'

You're his best friend...he won't allow anyone to talk to you or mess with you like that!

Plus, Deuce is especially protective of you since you are a girl.

Please stop him before he ruins Helloween (and worse, Riddle finds out...)

Haunted house? Sure, Sounds like fun! Let's go, my besuto furendo! Ah, but don't tell Ace and Grim, they're just gonna keep making fun of you two and ruin the atmosphere by 'booohing~' all over the place, thinking they're scary.

Deuce would enjoy it much more with only you two. :)

Cmon, lets take this haunted house on!

He first says with great vigor but feels himself get unnerved real quickly by all these effects and spells.

N-no, he aint scared! N-n-not at all, what are ya talking about????

Will jump silently at each spook and unwittingly get closer to your side. Please don't tease him OR promise to protect him. He's not scared after all! HE'S NOT!

If YOU get scared, Deuce got a problem. He says he'll look out for you no problem...! But has to act like he's not pissing his pants as well...!

Gets kinda in front of but also next to you, holding his fists up. Eerily quiet as he acts like a Bodyguard while trying not to squeak in fear.

However, if somehow something's targeting you especially, Deuce will once again go into delinquent mode.

Screaming profanities while also shaking to the bone. HUUUHHH? W-Whaddya think you're doing, t-targeting his best f-friend! Don't get on his nerves...!

Really wants to get out of there.

At New Year's...

You make sure to keep being a regular for him and be his gREATEST SUPPORT AND FAN, YOU WILL BUY EVERY PRODUCT HE RECOMMENdS BECAUSE THAT IS HOW FAR YOU WILL GO FOR DEUCE

My man is so humbled and touched, like he just wants to keep giving you discount after discount with the goofiest smile. Sam has to stop him before he loses profit.

Will. Do. His. Very. Best. Until dawn. Deuce feels so supported by you, he feels like he could carry mountains!

Shows off his new Yukata to you. Did you know that you can hide things in those sleeves? And look how many layers these clothes have! Really interesting, he never has worn something like a Yukata before so he gushes about his experiences of it with you.

Oh, would you like to wear one, too? Sam can surely prepare one. Oh, would you like a kimono instead?

Looks forward to your visits - ahem, patronage! Sam probably told him how to speak with customers so he puffs out his chest, clears his throat and adresses you with 'Miss' or Ma'am' (the latter you found funny. Bro, we are both first-years.). He might play his role really well and bow to you and recomend you things that a 'Miss' like you might want or need. It's humoring but there's a chance he might slip up and talk to you like usual.

If old-school stuff like that makes you laugh, it makes his experience as a shop clerk 100% better. Hearing you giggle recruits his spirit on times where he feels tired.

Might get all sappy and genuinely thank you for the support, not only as a customer but for all that you've done for him this year. He looks forward to the next...! And hopes you'll still be there with him.

When he cooks...

People will keep you from being the judge because they just know, THEY JUST KNOW you're gonna be nice to Deuce even if he presented you actual garbage on a plate.

No judging for you! Giving a nine for a undercooked dish with bits of eggshells in it is lying, dummy.

Nevertheless, you cheer Deuce on! Ace sarcastically calls you his 'cheerleader'. And you can bet Deuce turns his head and cheers back with a big grin, waving around the utensil in his hand (he's getting food all over the place and the stove is burning - but his homie is cheering him on!)

If there are leftovers, Deuce will give them to you. Now you have to be nice because he's really looking forward to your critique and will take it very much to heart.

Will keep on improving his cooking skills and chooses you as his judge everytime. It's nice to get extra free food but you're always being nice...Ace says he can't improve like that when you aren't honest. He's right but...you can't crush that big hopeful glint in his eyes, look at him 🥺

Besides, Deuce kinda gets fired up and extra careful when thinking of making food for you. It's extra motivation. It hits different when he makes things for people he cares about; his mom, grandma, friends and you.

Ngl, he has preferances and really likes to make things for you as thanks for always sticking by him. Sometimes Deuce believes he doesnt deserve it.

Expect a lot of egg dishes.

When YOU cook for him or in general, man, prepare to have him be fired up!

A five-course meal? A bento box? Or a simple sandwich? It would not matter, Deuce would eat them all equally carefully, delicately and savoring each bite. He'd give his opinion with a full, chewing mouth.

And if it makes you happy? BRO he will do ANYTHING FOR YOU. Cheer on your cooking, volunteer to even eat garbage for you, protect your food, utensils, kitchen, EVERYTHING!

It's just...so nice. No one but his mom cared enough to make him food. All he ever did was cause trouble for everyone and those he considered his 'friends' were just as shallow and troubled as him.

But you here care. And it makes him so happy.

Stay in his life forever, won't you?

(He might say that outloud all of a sudden after thinking hard and silently, the food spitting out of his mouth as he looks at you and says this. Ace is a bit flabbergasted and yells out 'OI. That sounds almost like...! Like...! Ya know?! Deuce, dude, think before you say anything! Is the food laced with some potion, is makin' ya say weird shit????'

Deuce doesn't quite get it but he didn't really mean it in a way for you to always cook for him. But these dishes are just another reminder how much you care for him.

Though once he does...and the fact that a girl is cooking for him in the first place...and who is not his mom...and he said those things right after...it makes him incredibly shy and he WILL blush.

HE - JUST...kinda got flashbacks of his mom when he ate home-cooked food, so the thought didn't cross him mind, okay?! Shut up, Ace and Grim!

When you gaze at the stars...

Very hyped and determined boy!

A good boy! So good that he doesn't get why Trey and Idia are making such a fuss about the dance and outfits. It's an honor, is it not?

Will be confused by their embarrassment and turn to you, asking if their dances and clothes are too much. When you answer no, he turns to the other two and is like; 'See? (Name) doens't find it weird either.'

Trey just shakes his head while Idia is like dude

Idia might want you to NOT be anywhere near Deuce and kinda not-subtly pushes you away. 'Listen, heroine, if you're presence turns Spade into that 'childhood-friend-crush-guy-who'd do anything for you and becomes puppy - then don't. I don't need those vibes.'

????? What's he talking about??? (Childhood friend? You met Deuce at NRC just like Idia...)

Well, let's just say that you pop in here and there and ask about the wish-collecting state. Deuce would gladly tell you of his progress (no matter if good or not).

Wants you to watch and critique his dance. You might follow along, just so you can hold the long, long, long sleeves and silks of his outfit up so he won't trip again. It's like you become his second robe.

Will blush if you end up dancing too close.

With each meet-up you have Deuce will always ask you what your wish is! He's very eager to fulfill it!

What it truly is depends on you...but if it does involve going home, Deuce will unwittingly get saddened by it. Of course. This isn't really your home.

But even so...he promises he will do his best to make it come true. If Crowley cannot find a way, then Deuce will not only try his hardest to become a full-fledged honor student, but also a mage powerful enough to send you back home!

He says all of this and believes it. Nevertheless, he tries to bury his sadness of your inevitable departure deep within him. At least for tonight.

When you dance to a masquerade...

Deuce looks soooo good!

He looks so proud of himself and really admires the work put into the outfit!

You openly tell him he looks handsome! And he kinda clams up, face red.

Handsome? Not good, not nice, but handsome? Out of all the things you could have chosen, you choose to call him handsome?

O-oo-o-o-o-oo-oh...

Blushing profusely and avoiding your gaze he tries to regain his voice.

"O-Oh, you l-look..."

He struggles. Should he call you handsome too even if you are a girl? Would you like that? Or would that be too much? How does he think you look like anyway?

He looks back up to uh, get a look at you to know how he feels about your outfit and his head is swirling with thoughts.

Cool? Fitting? Cute? Dashing? Lovely? Handsome? Good????

Uh....

He doesn't know!

"Uh, thanks. You l-look...really nice, too. It suits you...everything kinda does."

(It is not meant as a pun if you are wearing a suit by the way, he's just dumb.)

Yet...he is honest when he means that everything suits you. The Helloween costume, the chef cook wear, the Yukata or Kimono...and now this. You look good whenever.

HIS HEART WILL MAKE EXTRA LEAPS IF YOU TELL HIM HE LOOKS LIKE A MUSKETEER!

HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT THAT IS BUT YOU SMILE SO BRIGHTLY WHILE SAYING IT SO IT MUST BE GOOD???

yEP, his heart is skipping a beat when you explain that a musketeer is a hero. Him, a hero? A good guy, like the magic police? Not a delinquent? Oh, man.

Well, compliments aside, it is time to dance. Deuce practiced with Riddle but he'd like his first dance to be with you. On one hand to get into it first with someone he is comfortable with and trusts but also because he wants to.

Just know that he only practiced the waltz and knows no other. (Oh, there's just the waltz? Phew...)

Calms a bit down since he focuses on dancing well but when he looks back up to your eyes through the holes of your mask?

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

(〃艸〃)

It'S even worse when he doesn't know where to put his hands (he does, Riddle showed him) but putting it on your waist? It's...a bit much.

Enough to make a delinquent like him blush.

And now as he looks up and sees your hands tightly holding the other...which isn't the first time you've done but here, in this very town, in this very hall, it feels different.

Deuce tries to enjoy this dance and he does. There are just new thoughts and feelings daring to distract him from time to time.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #deuce spade #twst deuce #deuce spade x reader #f!reader #f!mc #twst x f!reader

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 1 year

Note

Hello it’s me again! It’s been a while, I hope you’ve been doing okay. I recently have been reading through a lot of angst to comfort and I have an idea for a request!

May I request an Ike fic where reader is a liver in NIJISANJI and has a crush on Ike but knows they have no chance with him. Then one day reader accidentally spills their feelings to Ike and Ike comforts them after hearing about readers feelings?

I hope you’re not tired of me requesting Ike fics (ily him to much) and I hope you have a good day/night! <3

-🖋️

stars above your skin

oh 🖋 we're really in it now

how long have i had this request in my inbox? early march? and now exactly one day after blue light dropped, i give you a ~19.5k word ike fic. much love and effort has gone into this one, only seconded by the massive amounts of brainrot.

so yeah, i'm not tired of ike requests. i'm literally a quilldren that writes fanfic. this is the opposite of a problem

in fact this might be one of my favorite things i've written... the second half is such a good bedtime story for me...!

this is going to get NASTY to read on tumblr—as in my site is lagging so hard just typing these a/n notes. so i'm going to remind you all that not only is liking/reblogging recommended to keep track of this fic, but also that i have an ao3 account (same name as url but without dashsince it's much more accessible than tumblr for long fic. i recommend reading on tumblr if you can because of some formatting but to each their own!

here’s a funny story about this fic. i was working on it while a bunch of people sat behind me, you see, and one of my greatest irrational fears is that people sitting behind me will be able to see my laptop screen and laugh at what i’m writing…! and with these requests i usually title them the fandom name and my name, and a short phrase about the request, and this one was “workplace romance”, and i just got so afraid right then and there i changed it to the first thing i could think of, based off a clip i saw of pomu, selen, aia and doppio…!! and that’s why the wip doc is titled “nijisanji 4402 - pliskin”, and why i will always refer to this fic as "pliskin" much more than the actual title

by the way here’s a cover of iris that was pretty fitting for this fic. you’ll know when to play it. enjoy

tags: hurt/comfort, reader is a niji vtuber, gender neutral reader, off-collab, mutual pining, misunderstandings, fluff, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, cuddling, everyone in niji is your wingman, implied uki/ren if you squint but it’s mostly because uki will flirt with 80% of the men in this company

cameos: aia amare, alban knox, mika melatika, nina kosaka, ren zotto, uki violeta, vox akuma, fulgur ovid (mentioned)

⚠️ drinking/alcohol (unspecified if reader drinks alcohol)

⚠️ horror/gore mentions (non-detailed), out of context outlast spoilers i guess?

author's commentary here (spoilers) ↣

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There are dozens of these videos on YouTube, and never have you come across the same one twice. You would know. You have a bad habit of clicking on them.

After all, they’re labeled with your name on them, and right next to it, Ike Eveland. You are smart enough to recognize it’s not worth your time and just another compilation of the same moments and fans trying to make a mountain out of a molehill, but your heart says otherwise. To be fair, the compilations were a much more recent development than the one you hid under lock and key.

When you first joined Nijisanji, some of your senpais sent you messages full of greetings and offers to help you get on your feet as a streamer. Ike was one of those senpais, and whenever you popped into voice calls just to hang out, he was easy to talk to, like an old friend. Naturally, a fast friendship formed, and when you debuted, he was one of the first people you collabed with- and the one with the best reception. Your new fans (‘Bookworms,’ they called themselves, after your name Reader) loved how well your humor bounced off each other, and when weeks passed and you announced another collab on your schedule with Ike, your Bookworms rejoiced.

Even when you weren’t working, you would still talk to him. He told you about his homeland in the past and his novels, both released and unpublished. He was a storyteller even when he was talking about something as minute as making a sandwich, and whenever you brought up your past and interests, he was an excellent listener. You had your differences, but he always knew what questions to ask so he could understand you better, and you loved the opportunity to ramble.

It had been nearly three months since you debuted, and four if you count the day you were officially hired and began to build yourself as a streamer. Whenever you look at the endlessly long text history between you and Ike, you have to wonder: is it normal to feel so connected to someone you’ve only known for three-maybe-four months?

You’re not an idiot. You aren’t about to say Ike is the most important thing in the world to you, but he gets pretty damn close. That terrifies you. You shouldn’t be so attached to someone you barely know.

But then again, you trust Ike. He’s opened up to you about things he would never say to others, and he keeps your secrets buried in the grave. You’ve lost count of how much advice he’s given you, but you’ve never forgotten a single one, and whenever you feel lost about something you know you can count on him to help you out.

You grimace, sip out of your drinking glass, and press ‘play’ on the next compilation.

A cute intro plays with the clipper’s name. Above it are the words Pen and Paper, surrounded by puffy pink hearts.

That was the duo name between you and Ike, but "ship name" was more accurate among fanwork.

You weren’t exactly unaware about it. Weeks ago, you were surfing Twitter and the site’s algorithm granted you your introduction into Pen and Paper. This was shortly after your first collab with Ike, and after you established your shipping rules with your audience (“I’m fine with anything, as long as the other liver is okay with it!”, you proclaimed, totally oblivious to how soon that would blow up in your face). The fanartist posted a messy black-and-white sketch, but you could make out the pattern of Ike’s scarf wrapped around you and him at the same time, forcing your bodies into close proximity with averted eyes and dusty blushes.

You appreciated the fanartist’s passion and skill, but the thought of you and Ike as an item sunk in your chest like you swallowed a rock. You swiped past. You went back to your scrolling, found some good thumbnails, and retweeted some cute solo fanart, but before the week ended, you made a private account with a fake name and staked out the tags for Pen and Paper to follow that fanartist.

Damn fanartist. You tried to deny it, and told yourself that you followed their art because you liked the style. But their account was full of ship art, and when Twitter gave you similar users that all worked under the hashtag, you had to face facts. If you wanted to look at it optimistically, at least you figured it out early on before anything had the chance to sour while you were still blissfully ignorant of yourself; even then, that doesn’t make it any harder than it already is.

Besides all the texts, the meetings, the schedules and events, and then including the streams and collabs and the art and the fandom…

“Why?” You ask out loud in the silence of your room. “Why did I have to fall for my coworker?”

And with audiences of over hundreds of people watching you fall for him, nonetheless!

It’s irritating. You have a job that keeps you motivated to work hard. It’s given you a dedicated fanbase, rare opportunities, and coworkers you all recognize as your friends. Really, finding someone to care for because of it should be a blessing, but it’s such a headache. What if your fanbases get jealous, or even worse, outright hate it? Would you be able to keep up a relationship when you and Ike are dedicated to your careers and streams? Why are you even thinking like this? You scold yourself. There’s no way this would ever work out. It’s all fantasy and smoke and mirrors, because fandoms love love. Shipping is never a reflection of the streamers, just the characters you play. You’re delusional if you think your stupid crush could actually go anywhere.

But fandoms love love. The only comfort you have is being able to pretend something could happen. The ship art is a lie, and so are the fanfics, and the clippers that tag their videos as Pen and Paper are just here for a possibility that never could happen.

The compilation is full of little hints and teases, and if you were being honest with yourself, most of it was more like two friends getting along than actual flirting. But you didn’t trust yourself to see your clumsiness for what it is when Ike’s little laughs are like music to your ears.

Damage control, you tell yourself. It’s like studying how you play your favorite games. You can pinpoint where you stumble and leave yourself open for attack in Apex, Smash, even Crab Game, and then amend those mistakes the next time you pick up the game. Real life should be no different. Just stop acting so dorky all the time by finding moments of dork in your VODs and avoid them next time you talk to Ike.

This clip was from your second collab with Ike. Captions floated along the bottom of the screen. Ike's captions were in his signature blue.

IKE: You know, there’s a lot of content about us two as a duo.

READER: They call us Pen and Paper, right?

IKE: Yeah, my art tag is flooded with art of the both of us.

READER: Oh my God, look at the chat. Mine’s full of people saying they love us together.

IKE: Aww, thanks, Quilldren! I’m happy I can play with Reader too.

READER: Thank you, Bookworms; thank you, Quilldren. Hey, there’s a lot more overlap than I expected.

IKE: They’re like Bookdren.

READER: Or Quillworms.

IKE: Quillworms, that sounds way better. They’re like our children.

READER: www

IKE: www

Never fucking mind about acting so dorky all the time. You kick yourself for bringing up Pen and Paper, and your giggly laugh. You hate it. A neon sign above your head that says “SIMP” would be less obvious than that stupid schoolkid laugh.

But Ike’s laughter is music, back in the moment and now as you revisit it, and his model’s eyes squint with a wide smile.

He really is an amazing man. If you didn’t know him as well as you do, you’d think he’s perfect. But you’ve seen him in moments of vulnerability, the parts of himself that never shows through on stream and even rarer among his friends. Through it all he manages to keep going, and you admire him so much for sticking to his guns even when he’s expressed all his doubts about himself. The fact that he trusts you enough to let his guard down only adds to how honored you are to know him, and at the same time, the fact that there’s so much trust between you two just makes you feel worse for having a crush on him. You hate keeping secrets like this when you let Ike read you like an open book for everything else, and even just wishing you were something more to him feels like a betrayal of all that trust. You wish you could just be satisfied to know him.

The compilation continues. The next clip is a totsu Fall Guys collab hosted by Fulgur Ovid that you and Ike joined in on. Fuuchan got eliminated early in the match, and spectated on you while the other livers ran around Roll On with players tugging them this way and that.

You moved around the rotating levels at the perfect sweet spot between two rings, and balanced at the top of the roll as the slime level slowly rose.

A longer wall approached, so you shuffled from one level to another, but another player grabbed your bean avatar and dragged you along to the wall even as you yelled out in panic on Discord. You smashed your keys to struggle, but they had an advantage, and it was clear the wall would push you down to the slime for an impending elimination.

That is, until a familiar Miku bean grabbed the other side of your avatar, and pulled the other way towards the ring that would save your life. Resigned, your attacker backed off and barely dodged out of the way while Ike’s Miku bean brought you back to safety.

The other two livers in the game were too noisy to notice you. Fuuchan was commentating every move you made, and when Ike saved you, he said, “Ike coming in clutch, let’s fucking go.”

Your recorded self didn’t hear him at all, though. You swooned, “Ike, my hero!”

Meanwhile in the present, you wanted to puke. You meant for that to sound like an over-the-top joke, but you crush is getting so serious that it sounds less like a bit and more like how you gush about him in private.

At least Fuuchan’s audio was louder than everyone else, since he was the host, and the other two livers were preoccupied with their own game to notice your lovey-dovey tone and how Ike laughed music at you. It was bad enough clippers transcribed your words in captions, but you weren’t sure how you would handle it if those three picked up on you and your dumb crush. The less that know about your workplace romance, the better.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“Reader,” Aia coos. Even with audio only, you could tell her eyes were sparkling. “You didn’t tell me you had a workplace romance!”

Well, so much for that plan. You froze over. “Who told you that?”

Mika answers way too quickly. “It’s Alban’s fault.”

“Fuck off, Mika, you brought it up first!”

“You said it though!”

Man, you were already starting to regret joining VC today. You finished your offline work a lot faster than expected, so when you realized that three of your close friends in the company were all online in VC together while Alban privately streamed a rhythm game, you figured you would join the call while you prepared dinner.

But if that was your greeting, you needed to mentally prepare for the wild interrogation you were about to experience. At least Aia, despite her love for drama, knew how to navigate these sorts of things delicately. And you don’t mean to call Mika and Alban bad friends—they were the exact opposite, in fact—but they were much nosier than Aia ever came across.

“Okay, but Reader just asked who leaked it, and didn’t deny it,” Aia says. “So that means it must be true!”

Scratch that. Aia is the worst out of all of them.

“I hate you guys. No hello or anything, just gossip about my love life,” you lament.

She gasps, and if her eyes were sparkling before, then roses bloomed around her as she spoke. “It’s love?”

Mika shrieks like a banshee. “Oh hell no, you’re in love and you didn’t tell us?!”

“It’s not love. It’s nothing!”

“Nah-uh, Reader, no running away from it, we know,” Alban says. “Better to just get it all out in the open than pretend like nothing’s up.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to snoop.”

“I’m being serious. Keeping stuff bottled up deteriorates you, especially when love’s involved.” He missed a note. “Shit. And yeah, okay, I want some gossip, but I have a point and you know it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, I blew a full combo just to say that!”

“Can I add? In case you forgot, Reader, we’re all in the same company,” Mika says. “Sure, I might be in a different branch, but who knows? Maybe we can help.”

“And fuck you too.” You sigh in defeat. As vitriolic as your shared humor was, these three were still some of your best friends, and you know they don’t mean any harm. “Ugh, I hate this. This is confidential information. Like, CIA levels of confidential. If I tell you guys, you can’t tell a single soul about it. Understand?”

The three all chime in agreement. And unfortunately, you trust them. You take advantage of your coworkers swearing themselves to secrecy to hype yourself up and just rip off the band-aid. “It’s Ike.”

“We know.”

“What the hell do you mean, you know?!”

“It’s obvious,” Aia says. Your heart hammers in your chest. Then she sputters for a moment, like she realized she might’ve hit a soft spot. “Well, you have to focus on it to see it, but once you see it, it’s hard to ignore. You two go well together.”

Alban pitches in. “Agreed. I’m not even gonna be subtle about it, you and Ike have great chemistry. I’m happy for you two.”

“Okay, I guess.” Your eyes drift away from your prepared ingredients to the corner of your kitchen. “But I don’t know. Are you sure? Because I feel like I always act like an idiot whenever I’m around him. And I doubt he’d ever feel the same way.”

“Wait.” Aia pauses. “You’re… not dating?”

“No. Just a crush. Not love, not dating, nothing. And it’s never going to be anything more than that because it’s just a big stupid crush on my coworker, who doesn’t even live close enough to visit, and this is all a recipe for disaster.”

She doesn’t say anything about that. Actually, none of them do. Even Alban pressed pause on his game, and the Discord stream went motionless as your words sunk in.

Mika is the one to break the silence. “You’re shitting me.”

“That’s the truth. Happy?”

“No, like, you’re shitting me, there’s no way.”

“Mikaaa.” Alban drags out her name as he scolds her.

“Hey, I’m just saying, that’s crazy, especially since—“

“Don’t tell Reader that!”

“Tell me what?”

“We thought you were already a thing. You know, dating, in a relationship, whatever,” Mika clarifies. It hits you like a punch to the gut. “Or at least that you had something going on, and kept it secret so it wouldn’t be awkward for everyone else to work with you two. Which, by the way, we’re all chill with, so if, hypothetically, you decided to hypothetically go for it, we would hypothetically cheer you on and set off hypothetical fireworks. I’d rent a food truck.”

Alban resumes his game. “Yeah, what she said. Go get that hypothetical novelist bussy.”

“Don’t hypothetically talk about my brother like that.”

“You’re sure this is okay?” You ask. “Mika, I know you and Ike are close. This isn’t going to make anything weird, is it?”

“You’re fine, Reader. If I had problems, I would’ve cornered you and threatened you over text ages ago when I figured it out.”

“That’s another thing. How did you guys know?”

Aia pipes up first. “I know I said it was obvious, but I think that’s just because we know each other since we’re good friends. You two just go together, you know? It’s hard to explain, but whenever Reader and Ike-senpai are in the same room you think, ‘those two would be cute,’ and then you realize they are cute, right there in the moment. And you talk a lot faster on stream whenever you’re both on the same page. Almost as fast as me.”

“Plus, it’s really common to see both of you on VC at the same time, and you’re always happy whenever he shows up,” Mika affirms. “Alban says whenever one of you enters the call the other is soon to follow.”

“It’s true. You talk fast whenever you talk to him on VC too, not just stream. And your laugh kind of changes?”

“Dammit, I knew my laugh was my tell. This sucks. This seriously sucks.”

“It might not be all that bad,” Mika says. “Who knows, maybe things might end up better than you expect. You should tell him.”

“No way,” you fire back. “There no way he’d actually reciprocate. And I know you guys are fine with me asking, but Ike himself is just going to reject me, and it’s going to be awkward, and literally everyone in the company who has ever talked to us will be able to tell something’s up.”

“They won’t be weird,” Aia insists. “We won’t, either, and Ike-senpai is a good guy. Even if it doesn’t work out, he wouldn’t leave you out to dry like that.”

“You don’t know. None of you have ever been in this situation.”

“That’s true, but there’s always a chance.”

“If you ask me, it sounds more like you’re afraid of what you think would happen instead of what rationally would,” Alban says. He’s still laser-focused on his game. “I dunno. If you’re really set on getting over it, then go ahead and ignore it, but that’s just going to eat at you for who knows how long before your crush starts to fade.”

“Well, I didn’t ask.”

“Fine. Forget I said anything.”

You regret the acidic tone in your voice the second you said it, but Alban was off in his own world of music. He’d tell you if he had a problem with how you spoke to him, but you still feel gross about your knee-jerk reaction.

You’re just… defensive. Yep, that’s the word. Whenever you’re this interested in someone, you put your walls up and protect yourself from letting anyone worm through and hit a weak point.

Aia hums like an analyst. “Just keep it in mind, Reader. Not everything is out to get you.”

You know your friends just wanted the best for you, but things just aren’t as simple as they’d like to imagine it. It’s none of their business, anyways. It was pure coincidence that they figured out your thoughts on Ike, and that means none of them have any real authority to advise you on your love life.

“I think we’re done talking about this,” you assert.

“Well, you heard ‘em. Pack it up, show’s over.” Mika changed the subject. “Hey, did you guys know if you try to break open a freshly boiled egg, it explodes?”

Alban slams his hands on his keyboard so loudly that you hear the switches over his noise suppression. The stream goes from a string of Awesome! notes to nothing but misses as he abandons the game. “YES. Yes, actually, I DO know.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“MEAT! WANTS MEAT! WANTS MEAT! MEAT!”

“AAAAAAAAHHHH!”

The stream is to the birds. Fuck that noise. Godspeed to the Bookworms, they’ll need it, but not nearly as much as you.

When you were settling on a schedule, the last undecided spot for the week was Friday’s stream. That simply wouldn’t do. Friday nights kick off the weekend, and the break from school and work is prime time for a wide audience, so pretty much everyone in Nijisanji reserves their juiciest streams for the weekend. You’re no exception.

…Except for the fact that you didn’t have a clue about what to do for Friday’s stream. One Twitter poll and conveniently timed Steam sale later, you published your schedule with a game your fans voted on: Outlast.

You walked in knowing it would be a horror game, and you figured it would be fine. After all, you’ve played games from Chilla’s Art before, and a few quirky indie psychological releases here and there. You wouldn’t call yourself a stone-faced horror lover that can keep a straight face at anything, but aside from a few creepy moments in those game, you’ve kept your cool relatively well.

Outlast threw all that out the window. You realized almost immediately that you had no idea how to handle the primal fear of the chase.

Footsteps pound against a metal floor. You plead for help in the emptiness of your home as you smash the controls, as if that would make your character move the cabinet over the door any faster. Screams resonate in tune between you and the chained man in the room with you, and all the while, the howling of your pursuer grows louder and louder as he gets closer.

You finally uncover the door and dash through. Tremors run though all your thoughts while your heart beats overtime.

You still haven’t gotten used to all the jumpscares, even though you’re at the edge of your seat and ready to start running yourself. A fork in the road approaches, and when you start off one direction, you’re greeted by a bloodied man in the distance. “AAAHH!”

Faster than light, you slam the key to the other hall and book it. You spot a new storage container to shove in front of the door just in time for text to appear on the screen: Look for pushable objects to block doors.

“No shit, why wouldn’t you tell me that before, oh my God, aaaaah!” The screams—from both the voice actors and your own cries—grate against your eardrums while chase music thunders in-between the gasps for air.

As you grab the container and start to push, you mash the pause button. When the menu appears, you lean back in your chair and run your hands over your face. Your model pouts cutely while the real you whimpers. The mic barely picks it up.

You take a breath before groaning in fear and pain. “Guys. I don’t think I can do this…” Another groan as you trail off. “This game is so much. Give me a second.”

As you raise yourself back from your chair, it’s with a slump forward. Your chat is full of headpat emotes and hearts in your color, along with some quick words of courage. A few are recommending you take a break. “Thanks, Bookworms. I’m so afraid, but I’m committed and I don’t want to just leave it here.”

Your eyes flutter closed as you take a sip of water to clear your head. The cold drink startles you out of the dingy asylum atmosphere, but the screaming still lingers between your ears. “You know what? Who else is online right now? Maybe I need someone in VC to hold me to this.”

The emojis in chat slowly patter out as your viewers go back to text. Looks like most of your Bookworms like the idea of calling someone else while you stream the game. Some of their messages catch your eye.

gatamiizuus: you can call ike :ReaderHeadpat:

messXed-up!: ike!!

lunasmortas: what about ike?

A few more chats mention Ike, and while usually you’d be irritated they mentioned another liver out of the blue, your shoulders still relax at the sight of his name. “Wait, Ike? Is Ike here?”

You scroll back in the chat history, and search for any mod messages. Sure enough, barely a minute ago while you were still being chased:

Ike Eveland 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : GANBARE!

You cling onto that message like a lifeline. Ike is familiar. Ike is comforting. And most importantly, Ike would never call you a pussy.

Chat floods over with his name while you check the official Nijisanji Discord server. Almost everyone in Nijisanji sets their status to offline by default, and Ike is one of them, but you still scan through the member list anyways, praying a little green indicator will light up by his icon.

His status doesn’t change, but before you can even click on his profile, your Direct Messages tab gains a notification. He just messaged you.

Ike Eveland: Watching your stream right now

Ike Eveland: Are you okay?

You exhale. Ike is the most dependable guy you know, even when it’s pure coincidence he was watching your stream while you freaked out.

With your heart still in your throat, you respond.

Me: uuuuuuugh i guess

Me: the game is really scary

Me: i don’t want to cancel the stream but i don’t think i can play it by myself 😭

Ike Eveland: 🫂 | 🫂 1 |

Ike Eveland: Would you feel better if I called you?

Me: i was just about to ask | 👌 1 |

Me: you don’t have to if you don’t want to tho!! i don’t want to be a nuisance lol

Ike Eveland: Don’t worry I offered to!

Ike Eveland started a voice call.

“Ikeee!” The second the call starts, all your restraint goes forgotten. “Ike, I was so scared!”

You babble on about everything you’ve endured up to this point: the gore, the grime, and the patients in the asylum that hunt you like animals.

“I’m here, it’s alright now,” he assures you. “I’m here, okay? Take your time, you’re safe.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m relieved. But it was so scary.” You sink and bury yourself in the collar of your shirt. “You’ve streamed this before, and kept a cool head the entire time, right? How do you do it?”

“Well, it wasn’t my first time playing, for starters. Everyone gets freaked out at first. It’s a horror game, Reader, it’s okay to react to it. I remember the first time I played it, it scared me so bad I had to quit after half an hour.” He giggles a bit at himself. The sound is comforting. “That was a few years ago. I think I had nightmares about it, until I realized I needed to know the rest of the story. ”

Your voice is small. “That was really brave of you.”

“I avoided it for days. I doubt that’s brave.”

“It’s braver than calling someone just to get the guts to play the game.”

“Hey, don’t put my friend Reader down just to bring me up.” He keeps his tone light to let you know you’re allowed to smile. “Being able to face your fears is plenty on its own, and you shouldn’t be devaluing that. How long have you been at it?”

“A little over two hours?” You glance at the stream monitor, and ignore the chat as much as you can. You still register the hearts in your color and his signature blue. “I don’t know. I did a lot of pausing, too, so it’s probably less than that…”

“But you were still able to stream for that long. Remember, I could only play for thirty minutes during my first time! You’re stronger than you think you are.”

You avert your eyes from your stream setup. You feel painfully seen, but the chat is nothing to you. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Then I’ll be here to remind you. Is that okay?”

“I’d like that.” You return to the screen, and in the darkness of the blurred labyrinth, you see your reflection stare back. Your hair is disheveled from how you kept thrashing around in reaction to the game and your shoulders are high with tension, but only now did you realize how the corners of your lips rose after the call started. Ike really got to you. “Thank you, Ike, you’re so considerate. I appreciate you a lot. You’re a really good guy.”

He chuckles slowly, soft like a blanket. Your shoulders ease. Ike’s words are just as soft, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s nervous too. “Haha, um. Yeah. Thank you?” He doesn’t take compliments well, but they’re true, and you hope he knows it as well as you do. He clears his throat. “Ahem. Um, how are you feeling?”

“Not great, but better. I want to try again.”

“You’ve got this, Reader, you can do it.” Ike is still quiet, but enthusiastic. “You can do it!”

You go shaky. “Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay.”

But you still press Return To Game.

And when you scream barely five seconds later, Ike is still calm, and you hone in on his voice as you persevere.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Just as you go to bed, you realize that you basically just made a fool of yourself in front of your crush by getting scared at a game he’s already conquered.

You slam a pillow over your face and groan.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Ike lands an all-out attack just in time to check the chat and the swarm of viewers that just joined. “Oh, Reader! Thank you for the raid, it’s good to see you! Welcome, everybody.”

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : take care of my bookworms for me? i’m getting milk

“Of course. They’re our Quillworms, after all.” You go fuzzy. He remembered the fan name! “Have a good break, Reader! Rest well.”

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : 👍

It was the end of the week, and the stream you just finished was the last on your schedule. You announced a few days ago that you would take a break for a little more than two weeks so you could catch up on offline work as well as rest, and the Bookworms sent you off with a lot of love. It’ll be hard for some of your diehard fans, but you’re sure they’ll manage. You have a feeling it’ll be easier than they expect.

“Speaking of breaks, I haven’t finished my schedule yet. I think I’ll wait a day or two to post it.” The stream cracks in red and black as Ike’s party in Persona 5 Royal clobbers the enemy Shadows. Monsters bleed out behind the protagonist’s cocky smirk. “I’ll be offline for the next two days, so I’ll have some time to think about it.”

Ike mashes through the battle results, and sets back off into exploring the palace. His stream fades into background noise as you get back to the task at hand.

You sent a few messages to some of your other coworkers regarding your break. Next was finishing some paperwork for management, and reaching out to others that needed access to the files. Sure, your time off was for offline work, but the work you had to get done would only take an afternoon at most. You wanted to meet even the far-off deadlines as soon as possible so you could be properly free for the rest of your vacation.

By the time you finished your paperwork, your coworkers were able to respond to you. A group chat full of other livers had a new response every minute about the next two weeks, and Aia sent you a QR code that would let you save some time and money on your flight.

Ike ended yet another super-long P5R stream just a few minutes after you grabbed all your luggage, got to the airport, and made it to your terminal. You had some time to kill, but you were sick of the headphones over your ears.

Not to mention, you were waiting for the fans to catch up on the real reason why you were on break.

Curiously, you log into your private Twitter—you don’t plan to interact with anything but you’re always paranoid about your online presence—and start searching for the code words fans think Vtubers have no idea about. Symbols replace letters and names morph into sounds while emojis speak volumes.

The Stargazers don’t mention it at all. That’s to be expected, after all. Their oshi goes on break often, so nothing seems too out of the ordinary. Besides, you wouldn’t put it past them to have even more intricate subtweets than what you’re looking for.

Only a few of Nina’s Honeybunnies put the pieces together at first, but then you check Quilldren subtweets. As it turns out, when Ike mentioned he’d be taking a few days off, a few of his fans noticed how Nina was going to be offline at the same time, and a smaller fraction of those compared how Mika had yet to release a schedule.

Underneath your face mask, you smile. With the career being dependent on both anonymity and your voice, you wore a nondescript black mask through the entire airport in case someone recognized you, just as well as to hide the tiny giggle that always bubbles up whenever you watch your fans scramble around theorizing. They don’t have all the pieces, after all. None of the Aiadmirers nor the Renvaders even considered it.

They’ll figure it out in time nonetheless. Uki and Nina are close to landing, and Aia was the first to disembark her plane. The rest of your friends are set to arrive after you, and besides, Vox should be ending his last stream of the week right now. You’re sure the Kindred will start plotting in the next hour, provided their oshi didn’t give them too big of a hint about his plans for the next week as he’s known to do.

You board your plane and settle into your seat, ready to nap the flight away. You’ll need the rest, after all. It’s about time you join an off-collab.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Nina doesn’t even get the chance to look away from her phone before she gets a rush of replies on her first voice tweet.

She doesn’t bother to read them anyways. She’s too busy howling out the lyrics to “Wannabe.”

It’ll be hard to discern all the voices. Ike’s high range is always easy to pick out, but Vox blends in as a bass, and you can always hear Mika’s grin through her singing. Ren and Aia are the furthest from the phone, and as loud as they sing, they’re still drowned out along with you, Uki, and Nina herself.

Mika chooses the wrong time to look around the karaoke booth. While Aia sings passionately about what she wants (what she really, really wants), her body language crumples and rises like an electrocuted high school theater kid. The ghost has a hiccuping, sweeping laugh that overpowers half of the singers, and then Aia snorts at herself when Mika covers her mouth, which gets Vox to snort even louder, and before you know it, it’s just Uki and Nina doing their damndest not to break. Even then, Nina’s voice wavers along to the Spice Girls as she resists a laugh, and Uki’s eyes are squeezed shut smiling.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The bar stool slides out from the counter so quietly that you wonder if the Airbnb owner knew just how handy it would be for a house full of streamers on vacation. You lean forward while Mika tells a story about how she, Aia, Ren and you went out for a coffee run, and crossed paths with some teenagers with matching Iluna keychains on their backpacks.

Speaking of Iluna, their represents sat together on the couch. Aia set her plate and fork on the coffee table, not a single pool of sauce left over from the pasta dinner Vox and Uki prepared together. Somehow Ren made enough room in his luggage to bring along a teal ukulele, and idly strums along. Uki sits between Ren and the armrest, swirling the last of his pasta between his fork.

Across from them, Vox and Nina took ownership of two plush chairs that could only fit one person each. Each chair was next to a corner table, and they stacked their plates on top of one another to make room for a jug of orange juice and two cocktail glasses. Ike took a bottle of rum and poured it into his soda, then slid it back to the corner table before pulling up the bar stool next to you.

“It was like, one of them had a clear phone case and held it out to show the others a video,” Mika says. She perched on top of the counter itself, next to her travel microphone and the second-nastiest kitchen stream setup you’ve ever seen. She was no Scarle, but so many wires stretched across the island and along the way that it was just easier for her to climb onto the polished granite to keep an eye on the chat. “Smack-dab in the center was a PNG of Vox. And then a bunch of tinier Voxes around it. And here’s how you know it’s bad, you could see the color of the phone itself through the case because it’s clear, right? It was red. Red! That’s commitment!”

“I’m telling you, Mika, there’s no way they got a red phone just because of Vox,” Aia says. “That’s got to be a coincidence.”

Vox hums into his glass. “No, they absolutely did. You mean to tell me your fans don’t spoil you rotten and buy new phones just because they’re your color?”

“My color is white, Vox, like every phone ever is my color!”

“Still, I’ve never seen Aia go so quiet so fast.” Ren’s ukulele twangs as he grins. His fangs were just as prominent in real life. “It was awesome.”

“It was scary, but funny,” you say. “We saw the Vox case and the Iluna keychains, and all of us just went silent. And we all had masks, too, so it was like, one moment you could hear Ren’s fuckboy laugh, and the second we saw the case, we all put up our masks and went quieter than the grave.”

Ren palms the neck of the ukulele and mutes the chord in mock offense. “Hey! I’m not a fuckboy!”

“Didn’t say you were, but if you want to out yourself like that, be my guest. They’d chop off your horns and sell them like Kyo.”

“One of them had an Aster keychain.” Ren bitterly resumes playing. Uki sets his plate on the table and drapes himself over the alien’s shoulder as he opened up his phone to check the off-collab’s live tag. The stream was supposed to be a live Q&A, but was so easy to talk to everyone that the questions often turned into conversation before someone remembered the stream. “If Aia or I said anything, we’d be fucked.”

“Imagine how fucked we would’ve been if Vox woke up in time to go with us,” you say.

Ike snickers. “Is it bad that I would’ve paid money to see that?”

The two Luxiem members get into a playful argument over who would win in a fight: all the effort Nijisanji and its employees put into protecting their privacy, or one silly phone case. Ren’s riffing turns into a simple rendition of “Iris” and Nina hums along from across the living room. The ukulele is slow and unique enough to not be mistaken for the original, but you wonder if those two would be able to avoid copyright entirely.

Nonetheless, the vibe is comfortable. You’re miles away from home, but in a room with some of your closest friends in the world, it’s like you never left. Truthfully, it’s more like you’ve finally found your place. The music just feels right, like it was written for this moment, and Aia leans back into the couch while Nina sways in her seat to the jaunty little ukulele. Ren looks as cheery as his instrument sounds, especially with a peaceful Uki nuzzled up to him.

While Ike and Vox go at it, Mika props her chin up with both hands and watches them like a reality TV show. There’s a glint in Vox’s eyes as Ike drums up a snide response, the only sane man to the demon’s goofiness. He brings his rum and coke to his lips like punctuation, a silent so, what? hidden in the boozy soda.

Vox knows how to run his mouth, and he launches into one of his patented anecdotes. While all eyes are on the demon and the chat hones in on his voice, you focus on how Ike tilts his head up to drink. His neck stretches out from the collar of his black band tee, and with each sip, his Adam’s apple bobs.

You’ve always thought he was good-looking on stream, but he’s gorgeous in person, all long lines and graceful features, and cameras can’t capture the tiny little freckles drizzled down the back of his neck. You didn’t even know he had freckles. It was only after you saw him for the first time that you noticed pale, reddish dots all over his nose and cheeks, fading out by his temples and the arch of his lips. Spending the day walking around in the sun from place to place revealed more whenever the wind flicked his jacket collar out right. They scatter at his nape, right below the blue tips of his hair, and meet one another further down his back, or so you’d presume. Without the jacket, you can catch marks spread out along his arms with distance between one another, and his shirt sleeve starts right where the freckles cluster together. You can only imagine how far down they go.

You avert your eyes. You can’t think about what’s under the shirt when you’re sitting right next to him, and certainly not while on stream, even if chat can’t see you check him out!

Unfortunately, the side opposite of Ike is the one with Ren and Uki. Those two are idyllic. Without a care in the world, it seems. You envy how easily Uki can act on what he wants, even if you know he doesn’t see Ren like how you see Ike. Ren doesn’t mind it at all, either. He literally lives by the rhythm of his own ukulele.

Ike lowers his drink with his eyes closed, as if it would make the refreshing feeling last longer. His eyelashes are the same ashen color as his hair. Gold gleams between his ears and on the chain of his glasses.

Possessed by the music, and distracted by the rambling, you become one with the background and lean along Ike’s arm.

It’s an indulgent dip into the waters, but shallow compared to all you feel for him. Ever since you met Ike in person it’s been easier to control yourself around him, and if anything, you’re reminded that this is the man you’ve gotten the closest to in both career and friendship. The only barrier between your cheek and his body is his shirt sleeve, but your arm rests against his forearm, right where the freckles taper off. There’s no resistance at all as you make yourself comfortable in the crook of his arm.

But you hold yourself back. Even though the off-collab made you feel gutsier than before, you think that you’d pass out if you tried anything else. Besides, you feel so at peace against his arm, but too afraid to look up and see his reaction.

The blend of peace and fear churns in your heart as it dawns on you: you were wrong to call this a crush. It runs far deeper than you could’ve imagined.

Vox says something with finality. His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, but the words go unregistered. As he spoke, his eyes drifted around with his body language, but he snaps to look at Ike expectantly. You swear his smirk gets a little more mischievous as he does.

The air stills, even though you know eyes aren’t on you, just the man you lean on. It stays frozen as Ike waits to respond. You still don’t have the heart to look up at him and break your selfish, unrequited fantasy.

You just want to stay here, unresisted.

Ike deadpans. “Anyways.”

Just like that, the moment is over, and Mika laughing at Vox striking out clears the air around you. But Vox’s eyes fall to you for just a split second as he moves in his seat. Frost settles down your back at the thought that he knows, but there’s a solid chance he hasn’t connected the dots. You pray he hasn’t.

Then you see Fox Mom herself right behind him, and she shoots you a shit-eating grin with a hand over her heart and a glass in the other.

No doubt about it. You’re screwed.

The frost turns to glaciers and burns into hot shame all at once. You love Nina, you really do, and you’d always consider her a good friend before coworker. However, she’s known for fishing around for any crumb of fanservice, and she gets straight to the point whenever she eggs it on, not to mention how she loves to tease her kids on just about anything. You are never going to hear the end of this if she can help it.

You really don’t know what you expected. It feels like everyone’s staring at you, even the chat. You can’t help but feel bitter. How come Uki can flirt with as many guys as he wants, you wonder, but I can’t even touch Ike without getting eyed up?

You know the answer, but it doesn’t do anything to help the bitterness and the embarrassment, and how much you want to hide. On instinct, you take advantage of the warmth and nestle yourself deeper into Ike to hide your face, just in time as he curls his head above yours.

Nina makes a sound kind of like a fork stuck in the garbage disposal for the briefest of moments before smashing her lips together and bringing her glass to her mouth like a mute button. As if you didn’t feel seen enough.

“Find any other questions, Uki-senpai?” Aia’s nose is buried in her phone, and God, you could kiss her for changing the subject. As much as she poked fun about you about Ike, she was still a total angel and a ride-or-die all at once.

“Oh, I have questions,” Uki says. Luckily, he’s graceful enough to leave it at that. “Twitter wants to know first impressions for everyone that hasn’t off-collabed before.”

Ren speaks. “I think the only person I’ve done an off-collab with before is Nina, so is it cool if I go first?”

Aia gestures for him to go on. She’s still stuck on her phone as he continues.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, but you ignore it. Then again and again and again, and when you finally check it, you understand why. When Aia, Mika and Alban first heard you spill your feelings for Ike, they made a group chat dedicated to wingmanning—or at least, that’s what they pitched it as. They tease you more than anything else, and as irritating as it gets… you have to admit, it’s nice to confide in them, and nice to know they wouldn’t hold it against you.

Anyways, Alban’s going apeshit.

Group Chat: 💙 PENANDPAPER REAL 2K4EVER 💕 (4 Members)

Aia Amare: image.png | 📌 2 |

Alban Knox: AKDHSLSJDKSHSA

Alban Knox: AASDFSDF

Alban Knox: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Alban Knox: AAAAAAAAAA

Alban Knox: HAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAA AAAAAAA KYAAAAAAAA

Alban Knox: 💕💕💕💙💕💙💕💙💙💙💕💙💕💕💙

Alban Knox: 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

Alban Knox: HOW ARE YOU GUYSS NOT LOSING YUOR MINDSA BOUT THIS

Aia Amare: I AM

Me: omfg did you seriously get a picture of us

Alban Knox: WHAT ARE YOU DOINGGGGGGG DONT CHDCK THIS GC | 👆 1 |

Me: wtf did you expect you’re spamming

Alban Knox: YOU AR ELITERALLY CUDDLNG GO FOCUS ON THAY JOT US

Me: we are not cuddling

Alban Knox: YOU ARE

Aia Amare: YOU ARE

Mika Melatika pinned a message. | 🖕 1 |

Me: mika wth you too? 😭

Mika Melatika: image.png

Me: did you srsly take a selfie with us in the background

Mika Melatika: YES this needs to be immortalized

Me: you people suck | 🥰 3 |

Alban Knox: GET THAT NOVELIST BUSSY!!!!

Aia Amare: As if you aren’t about to save that picture yourself~

Alban Knox: NOVELUSSY!!!!!!!!!

Fuck, she got you there. You cast a pointed look at the angelic maiden herself, or at least as pointed as you can be with a man you’re scared to love wrapped around you. She looks as satisfied as a cat pushing a glass off a counter.

You set your phone on ‘do not disturb’ and placed it behind you on the counter with a huff.

“Reader, honey, how about you?” Nina leans forward, half-lidded and as sultry as ever. She swirled her drink around in its glass. “It’s your first off-collab ever, right? I’d love to hear what you have to say.”

“Oh, well, um.” Your brain struggles to catch up. “First impressions, right…”

Aia slips you a thumbs up. You’re going to rip her a new one after this. Her, and Mika, and definitely Nina; this is the most subtle Nina’s ever been but you can tell she’s fishing for an answer here. You can take your friends figuring it out, embarrassing as it is, but you are not about to expose yourself to thousands of live viewers.

“It’s kind of crazy actually meeting up with everyone,” you start. “I’ve known them for so long, but all online, and being able to match the voice to the face in real life, I don’t think I can actually describe it. It’s kind of surreal, but it feels so nice to just talk to them in person. Aia, Nina and Uki were the first people I met up with, and man, those three are a sight. I know everyone says it, but Uki is absolutely the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Nina and Aia are really pretty, too. Hey, Aiadmirers, did you know when your oshi laughs, she looks just as cute as she sounds?”

Aia yells. “Reader, shut up!”

“Then stop being so cute all the time, you dork!”

“I’m not a dork! I’m cool!”

You resume, satisfied with your revenge. “Mika and Vox are both really chill. They’re kind of quiet, so if you’re just walking by, you’d think they’re two normal people just going about their days. But whenever we talk it’s always something insane. Vox sounds like a dignified gentleman and Mika is kind of like that cool girl that you want to be friends with, but if you actually pay attention, Mika’s showing Vox a picture of her insides during surgery while he’s reciting something about the Bite of ‘87. And Ren is probably one of the most straightforward people you’ll ever see. He’s so optimistic, and really expressive, too, even though most of the expressions are all different types of smiles.”

“What’s your impression of Ike?” Nina asks.

What does she expect you to say to that one, that screens can’t capture how the sun glitters through his glassy green eyes? Hearing him say your name in-person sends shockwaves through your body? How you want to kiss every little freckle he’s never mentioned before and keeps hidden under long sleeves, even though it’s the beautiful skin he lives in daily?

“Same old Ike. He’s exactly like how I expected,” you say. A total fib.

She cocks her head. “Really? Even after all the time you’ve spent together?”

“I’m trying to hang out with everyone.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

Cornered. Nina takes a long, slow drink from her glass as you scramble for a quick answer that won’t immediately out you. “Whenever I talk to Ike, he’s really emotive. You can tell what he’s thinking before he says anything. He also has a good sense of style, so he’s fun to go shopping with, and honestly, fun to do anything with. He’s someone you can always have a good time with, and always makes you feel so comfortable around him. Ike’s magnetic.”

Mika muffles a coo behind you. You’re going to kill her if you survive this stream.

“That’s very sweet, Reader,” Nina replies. “Hear that, Ike?”

“Yes, I did.” He sounds strained.

“Got any feelings about it?”

“Yes? I mean—er, thanks?” You feel Ike’s head rustle. “I, umm. What am I supposed to say about that?”

“I don’t know. I just think that about you, that’s all…”

“Aww, cute. I love that you love each other,” Nina muses.

Ike spits out, “It’s not like that!” Just as you admit, “Yeah, I guess so.”

You process his words too late, though, and even as you sputter the ukulele music cuts out just in time with Nina and Mika’s unfiltered fangirl squeals. Ren’s palms mute the chord as his eyes go wide. Aia is already on her phone with her jaw to the floor and Uki throws a look at Nina while he mouths, did that just happen?

“I-I mean!” Your throat goes dry and Ike lurches away from you when Vox gleefully shakes Nina like a rag doll. “I—wh—Ike, I mean, of course I love you—“ Mika screams again— “As a friend!”

When you turn to face Ike, he’s curled up into a ball on the barstool with his shirt collar over his face. Even as you feel the blood rush to your face, you keep shouting. That’s all you have left. You’re live. “Like, we’re best friends on and off stream and I love you!”

He mutters something, but you can’t tell what. Only his neck and the tips of his ears poke out from his shirt. Were they always that red?

You repeat yourself. “I said, we’re best friends and I love you, so much!”

“And I said, I know, thank you, I love you too, Reader!” Ike jerks out to face you as he cries. He looks like a tomato.

Then he buries his face into his hands and squeaks like how he always does when something’s too cute to handle, or he’s got too many emotions he needs to let out. “You can’t see me, I’m too embarrassed. I’m hiding forever and I’m never coming out.”

You hope the ground swallows you up and you never have to confront this moment again.

Uki hisses under his breath and muffles Ren's ukulele. You don't know what he said, but you realize all too late that the alien prince himself was laying down the first few notes of “Fly Me To The Moon.”

While you slump and fold your arms over your face on the counter in pure embarrassment, Aia stands up and commandeers the mic. She slaps a hand over Mika’s mouth to muffle the scream. “Man, bummer that Ike-senpai is gone from us forever, but you know what else might be gone forever if you don’t get it now? The sponsor for this stream, our current limited-edition Nijisanji voice packs!”

And as much as you could kiss her yet again for changing the subject, you can’t get over how everything blew up in the last five minutes, and groan into your arms instead.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The stream passed, luckily, without a hitch after that. No one asked any questions, but it was pretty damn clear everyone in the room had an idea of what just happened, and the impending shitstorm. In fact, it was so clear that when you stalked off to your room to sulk, no one made a fuss, and when you realized ten minutes into your sulking session that you left your phone on the counter, you figured it wasn’t worth it to show your face again until after you finished your pity party.

The entire time, you laid in your bed with a pillow over your face so you could pretend like you were being absorbed into the sweet embrace of death. Overdramatic, sure, but you figured you were justified.

Without your phone, you had no way to check exactly how bad the fallout was on Twitter. The poor Pen and Paper tags were sure to be flooded with fans imagining a happy ending to that stint you’d never be able to experience yourself, like salt in the wound. Not to mention, it was a huge seven-person off-collab! It didn’t just end with the Pen and Paper fans. No, it would extend past the Bookworms and the Quilldren, and certainly to the rest of the fandoms with an oshi in this Airbnb. Maybe even the offshoot viewers who don’t regularly watch your content, but made an exception for the off-collab, or, you know, the ones who have no idea who you or Ike are but can’t get enough of the whole accidental-confession-live-on-stream thing. Forget Nina; the entire Vtuber community is never, ever, ever going to live this down.

Ike sounded so distraught, too. You wanted to kick yourself for it. Not only did you make a fool of yourself, but he got caught in the crossfire just because you didn’t catch yourself slipping. Not like he’d reciprocate anyways. He’s always been bad at taking compliments, but you keep thinking about how embarrassed he was about you loving him.

All your frustration and humiliation coursed through the darkness under your pillow, and you stew so bitterly that you don’t even dream when you fall asleep.

You just wake up groggy and exhausted, but too restless to go back to sleep. You look out the window, and the stars have barely come out to play in the early night sky.

As much as you’d hate to admit it, that impromptu nap made you tired of brooding. Besides, you can’t hide from your friends forever. Hopelessly in love or not, they’re still your friends, and even if you decided to stream during the trip, this off-collab was always about spending time with them instead of worrying over your online presence.

It takes you half an hour to hype yourself up, but eventually, you open your door and step out into the hall.

You can already hear voices further away in the Airbnb. You place one of them as Nina, and after her, a baritone that could only belong to Vox.

“…Fuck Twitter, they’re going to forget about it in two weeks or less anyways.” You overhear as you walk down the hall of rooms and closer to the living room. You’ve heard Vox passionate before, but never this serious as well. “Besides, what exactly did they say?”

A mumble. You can’t place the words, but you bristle when you recognize the voice. That’s unmistakably Ike.

“See? Again, I’m so sorry. I was out of line, and I forgot my place. I shouldn’t have interrogated them like that,” Nina says. “But you’re overthinking what they said.”

Another mumble. By now, you’re in the kitchen. You lift your phone from where you left it, and hold your fingers over the half of the screen where your notifications appear as you check the time. It’s barely 11 PM.

The kitchen and living room are connected, with plenty of seating space all around. That was why Mika’s travel laptop was still on the counter and plugged into the wall from the stream earlier, but on the other side of the wall from the kitchen, you noticed an open window and silhouettes from it. Four people sat on the shallow roof overlooking the uneven ground plenty of feet under the building. A pair of fox ears twitch at the night wind as they watched the stars grow brighter in the sky.

You look through the fridge. You’re peckish, but if you were to be honest with yourself, you’re trying to stay quiet for a reason.

There’s a huff. “Oh my god, dude. Just tell Reader already.”

You stand up a little straighter. Mika was with them? Were they talking about you?

“There’s nothing to be said, Mika!” Ike huffs back. “I’m screwed anyways. Just drop it, okay? I don’t need this getting in the way of what was supposed to be just a normal trip.”

“You can’t keep running away forever. Just act like an adult and tell them. It’s going to be fine, I swear.”

“And how exactly do you know that?”

“Well…” Mika trails off. “I can’t say. I just know, okay?”

“Uh-huh. And I know I’m screwed.” The wind rustles outside. You stay motionless. “Just two weeks. Can I please just have two weeks where I don’t have to worry about this until the trip is over.”

It’s a question, but he says it with such exasperation that no one can consider any other answers.

“Fine.” Nina relinquishes. “Have it your way. I’m just worried for you two.”

“It’s going to work out, Ike. But I’m tired.” Vox stifles a yawn. “Tomorrow is going to be better. Let it go for the night and come back to it once you’re in better shape, and just remember. It’s going to work out.”

“Thanks, Vox.”

“Now get in here.”

You hear shuffling fabric before the two men start yelling. Vox cackles while Ike cries through gritted teeth. “Dang it, Vox, I’m going to shove you off this roof!”

“Get ruffled, idiot! That’s your fault for trusting me!”

“I just wanted a hug!”

You snicker under your breath. Vox loves to ruffle Ike’s hair despite the latter’s protests, though he tends to accept it instead of shove him off like anyone else that would dare. Besides, as dreary as Ike sounded during that conversation, he nearly sounded like his old self as Vox and the others laughed.

“I think I’ll go too. Mommy needs her beauty sleep.”

“Mm, I’m still pretty awake. Wanna keep looking at the sky with me, Ike?”

“Sure. Here, Nina, let me move out of the way…”

Shuffling turns to footsteps, and brings you back to reality. You busy yourself looking through the paltry groceries.

The sound of footsteps gets louder and louder, until they become a hollow click on the hardwood floor. Nina crawls through the window, but stops in her tracks with a startled noise.

You turn around and nod as casually as possible. “Oh, hey, Nina.”

Vox is also halfway through the window, and his eyes go comically wide as he forgets how to move. “Oh. Hey. Reader. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah! Um!” Nina coughs long enough to make you uncomfortable. “What are you doing here?”

“Took a nap. Got hungry.” It’s not a lie. You grope around in the fridge and breathe a sigh of relief when you see a stick of string cheese in your hands. “You guys just hanging out?”

Nina nods. “Yeah, we were on the roof. It’s getting late, though. You should get some rest for tomorrow—“

Vox elbows her. “But not after looking at the sky for a little bit. It’s beautiful. Very clear. Romantic, even. The architects did a wonderful job placing this house right at the perfect angle to watch the stars rise. Did I mention it was romantic?”

You act natural and take a big bite out of the string cheese. “Once or twice. Is it the seniors’ bedtime?”

“You got me,” Vox says.

“I love going to sleep early and giving my kids private time before bed to reflect and hold deep conversations with one another about their feelings,” Nina says. “And also nighttime face masks.”

“Woo, skincare, what she said.”

“Hey, by the way, Reader, honey, did you hear anything we talked about?”

“No,” you lie.

“Cool,” Vox says. You eat the rest of the string cheese in one bite. “Good for you. And goodnight, Reader.” He dusts himself off before casting his golden gaze down at you. “Be nice, will you?”

Shivers go down your back. You have a feeling he’s referring to something unspoken. “I will.”

“That’s my sweet thing,” he purrs. “Anyways, I’m going the fuck to beddy bye. Honk shoo, Reader, don’t stay up too late.”

Vox struts off with dark hair flowing behind him and the scent of his aftershave in the air. He leaves you to stand awkwardly next to Nina.

Suddenly, she takes you by your shoulders and forces you in front of her. You blurt out an unflattering startled noise before she gets right up in your face and stares dead into your eyes.

“Please be good,” she says darkly. Was that a threat? “Please be so, so good to my baby.”

“I will,” you say, more out of fear than anything else.

She blinks once, then she’s back to the doting mother you know and love. She squeezes your shoulders. “Thank you, honey! Sweet dreams!”

And just like the Voice Demon before her, Nina bounds off to her room.

Huh. That was weird. Nonetheless, you’re alone in the living room, and you can see the outline of Ike and Mika sitting on the roof in silence.

You lightly knock on the side of the window. They both perk up at the sound. “Cool if I join you?”

Mika responds quickly. “Sure! Watch your step, Reader. The roof isn’t that steep but it would be awkward if you ate shit.”

“Agreed.” You step onto the tiling, and shift your body to match the angle. You feel like a newborn deer learning to walk. Luckily, Nina and Vox leaving meant that there was more than enough space for you right next to the window.

Ike sits between you and Mika. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…”

‘Pretty’ is putting it mildly. The stars are so clear tonight, and scatter across the sky like sequins. The Airbnb was located further away from the heart of the city, so the darkness only amplified how bright the stars shone against the stark night. A breeze drags through the air and fallen leaves rustle between the grass.

“This is so nice.” Comfort settles into you like the breeze in your hair. “I love it.”

Ike sighs. “Right? It’s so peaceful.”

“And there’s so many more stars out here than there are in the city.”

“It makes you want to just zone out and cool down.”

“Yeah, totally.” Mika coughs. “Huh! Cool! Well, I’m tired now. Just keep staying out here and enjoy the sky, I’m going to bed. Enjoy yourselves.”

Mika inelegantly shuffles around your bodies and slips back inside before either of you can properly tell her goodnight.

Ike cocks his head as he watches her stumble through the window. “She just said she would stay out…”

“Hm?”

“Ah, nothing. Just thinking to myself.”

With the extra space, Ike leans back and lays along the roof. The stars cast a dreamy glow over his soft smile as he continues. “It really is something that just makes you want to have a deep conversation, or just think, you know?”

You hum in agreement. You get what he means, but there’s only one topic you can imagine having a deep conversation about right now, and it’s the very one you brooded over earlier that day.

But Ike is Ike. He’s rational and calm and kind, and laughs at your stupid jokes, and texts you first before any of your other mutual friends. The night turns the tips of his hair bluer than usual, and the stars remind you of the freckles hidden along his creamy skin. His glasses reflect the galaxy above.

Even though today’s stream was embarrassing, you know Ike trusts you enough to tell you if you’ve ever crossed a boundary. After all, it’s commonplace to discuss limits on and off stream as soon as possible, and your friendship was so strong that you’ve both opened up to one another. He’d let you know if the whole cuddling thing was too much. Besides, he didn’t resist. He even rested his head on yours. That has to account for something, right?

You snap out of your thoughts when you feel a gentle tug on the sleeve of your hoodie. It’s Ike. He asks, “Lay down with me?”

A wave of fondness washes over you like the tide. He’s cute when he’s earnest like this. You get as comfortable as you can on the tiling, and when you still, you hear something shift before your hand grows warm. Ike scooted closer to you, and placed his pinky finger over yours.

This is bliss. A beautiful sight with a beautiful boy next to you. Your best friend.

“I do love you,” you say.

It just feels right to say.

Ike is silent. He doesn’t make a single sound as you stare up at the stars and the blackened sky. The breeze rocks a tree, and as the leaves part, you see the moon for the first time: one thin, waning crescent that blends into the darkness.

Ike’s head is turned away from you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking at all.

“…I don’t know what you mean,” he admits. “You do? As a friend?”

“We’ve always been friends.”

“Just that?”

“I don’t know what you’re asking me, Ike.”

“N-never mind. I’m sorry, am I making it weird?”

“No, you could never make it weird.” The colors of the view gloss together. You feel like a balloon slowly deflating. “Feels like that’s all I’m doing lately, though.”

Neither of you say anything.

This was a bad idea.

You swear the rustling leaves mock you.

“Wait.” Ike practically snatches your hand up. “Wait, Reader, are you saying you like me?”

“Yeah. I’m saying that I love you.”

Ike stares at you, and if you had to choose just one word to describe his expression, it’s stricken. His mouth is slightly parted, and his shocked eyes drive holes through your skin, leaving you exposed. The brief stutter that escapes him sounds like it was dredged out from frozen, murky waters. “I—”

He drops your hand and turns away.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, barely audible. “This is… this is a lot.”

“I’m sorry too, this was a stupid idea. What was I thinking?” You get on your feet, but the slope makes what could’ve been a fluid motion into a stumbling, slow rise, as if your legs weren’t jelly enough already. You inch to the window mortified. “I think I should go. Sorry to bother you.”

You don’t dare to glance at him before you step back inside, not even when he calls your name halfway through the window.

Once you’re back in the living room, you cover your face, then drag your hands through your hair. You can’t even begin to describe how exhausted you feel. This is heartbreak, isn’t it?

You blink furiously, and the outline of a figure by the fridge comes into view.

“Reader?” Mika asks. She has a stick of string cheese in her hand, but walks to you. “Reader, what happened—”

You take her empty hand and pace to your room. You open the door. “Are you okay?”

The second it shuts, your breath hitches. Mika doesn’t hesitate to take you in her arms. She holds you as the first tear falls, and you begin to cry.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You wake up the next day sprawled in your bed, even though the blankets are tucked comfortably around you. On the floor is a pillow and another pile of blankets, and when you recognize the dark hair tied into a loose ponytail, the memories of last night come rushing back.

What an awful night. Awful decisions all day, really, and all of them ones you made. You really don’t know what you were thinking. You groan at the memory.

“Reader?” Mika perks up. Her phone is in her hands, but she sits up level to your face on the floor. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

Another groan.

“Yeah, I figured,” she says. “Nina, Vox and Ike went out to do their own thing, and I think Ren and Uki are cafe-hopping. It’s just you, me and Aia in the house right now.”

You rub the sleepy out of your eyes. “That’s cool, I guess.” You cast a downward glance to Mika’s makeshift bed on the floor. “Sorry for being a nuisance.”

“You’re not a nuisance, Reader, don’t say that.” She nudges you. “We’re friends. It’s what friends do. Speaking of, do you want Aia to come by? And Alban’s online, so I can call him, too. If you want.”

“It’d be nice…”

Less than ten minutes pass before Aia shows up at your door with breakfast sandwiches and orange juice. All three of you sit on the blanketed floor while Mika voice calls Alban on her phone. A pot of coffee brews over speakerphone as you recount last night.

“...And to make things worse, we just streamed yesterday,” you explain. “God, I should check Twitter. There’s got to be a million people with eyes on our ship tag, and ugh, I hate thinking about how many weirdos are going to push a ship that can’t work out IRL.”

“I can check it for you,” Aia offers. You hand her your phone. “You remember your Twitter password?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Sorry in advance.” She deletes the app off your home screen.

You begin to protest, but she turns off the phone and sets it aside, out of your reach. “You’re off the clock, Reader! Work troubles can wait until you’re back online, and that includes doomscrolling. You can redownload it when you’re in a better headspace.”

“I really hate admitting you’re right.”

“Shit, Reader,” Alban finally says. “He seriously dropped the ball. I’m sorry.”

“I know. I really thought he would get it, but it took him so long to piece it together, like he never thought about us like that before. I should’ve known it was just me. I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, you’re hurt,” Mika says. “It’s understandable, but that still doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“Is it wrong that I feel like I deserve it? I mean, I knew day one that this wouldn’t work out. We work together online, and we have fans that ship us with each other and the rest of this company, for fuck’s sake. Getting heartbroken was inevitable and I still went for it. Either I’m a glutton for pain or I’m just plain clueless.”

Alban’s voice is distant from the phone as he messes with his coffee maker. You can’t properly hear him under his breath and over the pot, but if you could, you could’ve heard him mumble, Trust me, you’re not the only clueless one here.

But he returns back at the phone, and you’re totally oblivious. “You can’t choose who you fall for,” he says. “It was really that bad?”

“It took him like a minute to realize I was confessing. And then when he realized it, he apologized to me.”

Aia straightens. “Did he say no?”

“Not really, but why would he apologize if he reciprocated?”

Aia exchanges a look with Mika. Alban grumbles. “No fucking way.”

“Tell me exactly how he reacted,” Aia instructs. She plowed through her sandwich during the conversation, but she left the remaining half on her plate forgotten as she laced her fingers together and leaned forward like a calculated boss.

“It was like he couldn’t comprehend what I was saying at first. He asked if I meant it as friends, until he asked me if I liked him. And when I told him I loved him in response, he was so shocked that he let go of my hand, so I left.”

“No fucking way,” Alban repeats, and groans as he drawls out his words. You can practically hear him drag his hands over his face. “No fucking way. Ikeeeee. He seriously dropped the ball.”

“I know. I can’t believe it.”

Aia takes both of your hands in her own. “Reader, I’m not even saying this to hurt you, but this is the clumsiest confession I’ve ever heard of.”

You squint. “Right, that makes me feel so much better.”

“I’m really not! You know what this sounds like? Miscommunication,” she declares. “You didn’t get a solid yes or no. So now it’s going to be awkward between you two until you get an actual answer to the confession, or at least some kind of resolution. You wanna know what I think? It sounds like he didn’t even believe what he was hearing before you left. Which, by the way, is a common response to not just confessions but other major news, so chances are you didn’t blow up your friendship as hard as you thought.”

“She has a point,” Alban says. “I believe you, Reader, but Ike isn’t the type of person to just crush other people’s feelings like that. You just woke up, right?”

“I haven’t even left my room yet. Mika says everyone else is out of the house. He’s with Vox and Nina, I think.”

“So then he hasn’t had a chance to talk to you since the confession,” he continues. “And those three are really close. I’m willing to bet they’re helping him manage it, ‘cause it sounds like he’s going through it just as confused as you are.”

You stare at the floor. Hope feels foreign, yet you can’t help but wonder. You struggle to remember the exact way Ike reacted last night, but you really can’t tell what facts were clouded over by the rejection. A rejection that possibly didn’t even happen, mind you. The confusion and regret blurs over everything like water on wet ink.

“You really think so?” You quietly ask.

Aia nods, and Alban agrees over the phone.

Mika pipes up, a glass of juice in her hands. “Here’s my take. We can theorize as much as we want, but none of us really know what Ike’s thinking about, least of all you. Especially since you didn’t actually resolve anything, and that tension is going to eat at you until you get an answer or it actually damages your friendship. You ask me, the next best thing you can do is bring it up.”

She takes a sip of her juice and leaves you to absorb her advice.

You mull it over along with the memory of last night. “He called my name as I left.”

Alban chokes on his coffee. “He called your name?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t respond.”

“Oh my God. READER!” He shouts so loud that Mika turns the volume down. “I’m going to lose it. I’m actually freaking it right now. Reader!”

“What?”

“Fuck what Mika said earlier, you are stupid!”

“Hey!”

“I’m saying this in the nicest way possible, you are so stupid. He was trying to talk to you!”

Your face goes through a handful of emotions as you sputter. “Are you serious, Alban?”

“Yes! Mika, Aia, back me up.”

Aia crinkles her nose. “I did just say it sounded like a total miscommunication.”

Meanwhile, Mika twirls a lock of red-and-black hair between her finger, distracting herself. She hesitates, trying to figure out exactly how she wants to say her piece, before she simply shakes her head and stills. “Just talk to him.”

“Which is easier said than done.” Your shoulders roll back as you stare up at the ceiling, your hands supporting you as you lean. Even with your friends’ encouragement, the memory of how hard you blew it last night still haunts you. It’s even worse than starting at ground zero; you’ve already tasted failure once, and you’re hesitant to embarrass yourself again.

That stricken look Ike gave you flashes across your sight every time you blink. What was he thinking when he stared at you like that? You can’t tell if the disgust is true or if your anxieties are getting the best of you.

The best solution to anxieties, however, is looking at the facts—or at least, what isn’t tainted by your bias. Your friends mentioned there was nothing wrong with a workplace romance, and as much as the stream made you want to cringe, no one seemed put off by it. Alban and Aia are set on getting you and Ike to talk, and so is Mika. In fact, Mika spoke with Ike as well as Vox and Nina last night before you entered, and even if you had no idea what those four were talking about, you still picked up your name and that apparently Ike had something to tell you.

Pieces start to fall into place when you consider the three around you, staging an intervention over a late breakfast. Aia always gets you in situations where you can be close to Ike and bails you out when it gets awkward, and as much as he won’t get off your back about it, Alban gave you great advice between all his teasing. Mika was nosy at first when she learned about your feelings, but now that you think about it, she’s been incredibly tactful ever since the off-collab began.

You can’t help but snicker as you connect the dots. “Is this the first time you guys actually started wingmanning for me?”

Aia purses her lips. “Hey, not the first. Remember when we made that group chat? We’ve always been your wingmen.”

“I know. But you guys are seriously helping,” you say. “Thanks. Though I do wonder, Mika…”

She perks up as you say her name. “Be real with me. Do you know more than you’re letting on?”

She flinches. Alban’s fingers snap over the phone. “Busted.”

Mika holds her hands up like a criminal caught in the act, but there’s a loose, sly smile hanging on her face. “I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

“What do you mean, it’s not your place to say?”

“I’m sorry, Reader, but I made a promise not to spill, and I’ve been doing way too much behind the scenes to break the promise like that. Just do me a favor and talk to the guy, will you? That’s the best I can tell you.” Mika rests her head in a hand, and the smirk looks even more knowing. “And if you can’t figure it out after that, then you’re definitely stupid.”

You bluster. “I’m not stupid!”

“Still remains to be seen.” Aia gently flicks your forehead. “But you do look a lot better. How are you feeling now?”

Aside from the fading pain on your forehead? You’re surprised at how much lighter you feel now that you unloaded all your worries with your friends. The rejection still stings, and you’re not exactly confident, but, well, you’re smiling. The clean, tangy taste of orange juice lingers between your tongue. Aia and Mika sitting on the pile of blankets reminds you that regardless of your love life, they’d stay by your side until the bitter end, and Alban’s voice keeps you connected with your friends no matter where in the world you are.

You snatch Aia’s half-eaten sandwich off her plate and sink your teeth into the bread. She cries out in protest. “Hey!”

“Better now.” You set the sandwich back where you found it. Even though your future with Ike looks cloudy, the smile doesn’t leave. “Don’t flick me.”

“Speaking of.” Mika picks up the phone and scrolls through her messages. “Nina just texted that she, Vox and Ike will come back in an hour or less. Reader, are you up for this?”

“What do you mean, ‘up for this?’”

“Just seeing Ike again. It was a weird night,” she says. “I stand by what I said, but if it’s going to be too much too soon, then Aia and I can cover for you until you feel better.”

“I don’t know.” That’s what gets your expression to sink from light to thoughtful. “I think I want to take your advice. I just don’t know if I’m ready to talk it out yet.”

“Still wanna hang out with us or take a moment to yourself?”

“I think I’d just go back to moping if I was alone,” you joke.

“Cool. Let me go grab some nail polish Nina gave me yesterday.” Mika rises and strides to the door. “You have a steadier hand than me. And Nina said the color suits me more than her.”

Aia’s face lights up. She happily cries ”Girls’ night!” even though it’s barely noon and Alban is decidedly not a girl, but then he croons something in a valley girl accent so strong you can’t even tell what he’s saying. Scratch that; he’s a girl by association.

When he drawls out one long “Yaaaaaas, bestie!” you can’t help but laugh. Your love life is in shambles, but at least your friendships are solid as hell. You’d give the world for these three.

Mika returns a moment later, travel-sized nail supplies in her arms and a totally unrelated topic on the mind. The sharp scent of the lacquer startles you out of your thoughts as you uncap the bottle and Mika splays her hands out, and Alban and Aia air their opinions on something entertainingly dumb.

Nina was right: this color is stunning on Mika. You paint Aia’s nails too, and halfway through her second hand, you hear the front door open, the end of an intelligible conversation, and telltale footsteps, each diverting across the house. The girls’ eyes flicker to you. You know they’re trying to read your expression, but you concentrate on how the brushstrokes pool together into one smooth coat. Your thoughts are a storm and you can’t even pick out the emotion commanding it.

So you keep joking along instead and focus on the nail polish, refusing to give the storm an opportunity to strike. Alban quips off of you, and the moment passes as Mika and Aia return to the conversation.

That is, until half an hour later when you hear a knock on the door. Mika cocks her head, a silent question, and when you nod she stands. Her nails dried when you finished Aia’s, and dot the doorknob as she cracks it open. A tiny margin of light from the hallway shines into your room, and you realize she positioned herself square in front of the threshold, shielding you from the person on the other side.

She talks evenly. “Hey, welcome back.”

“Thanks. Is Reader here?”

Your mind thunders as you register the voice. You can only see the leg of his jeans behind Mika, but you recognize Ike’s voice on the other side.

Aia shuffles by as a second shield. “Need them for something?”

“Kind of,” Ike says. “Do you mind if I talk to them?”

“I don’t know, what’s it about—“

“Aia, you can lay off him.” You call from your corner of the room. “You too, Mika.”

“Whatever you say. Just let me just grab my stuff…”

Mika grabs the nail supplies and deafens on Discord, but doesn’t even think to pick up the blankets along the ground. Instead, she glides to you and whispers under her breath. “We’re rooting for you. Send us a text if you need anything, okay?”

You nod. Aia slips past the threshold, but not without shooting you a thumbs up and mouthing ‘good luck.’ Not even a second later, your phone buzzes, and you catch Alban’s contact sending you an encouraging message in all-caps.

“See you later!” Aia chirps. “Play nice, you two.”

The scent of the lacquer follows them as they leave, and the sound of their footsteps fade in time.

Still in the doorway, Ike raises a hand to fidget with the chain along his glasses. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Oh! Come in. Sit anywhere, I don’t mind.”

You stay planted on the floor like how you were with your friends, and Ike sits next to you. You face the wall in front while he gets comfortable.

No words are exchanged as Ike maneuvers around the blankets, and eventually settles down with his back on the floor and head resting on a pillow, staring up at the ceiling. The light is off, but the blinds filter in thin beams of sunlight that cross over the room and the edge of his collar like a grid.

“Lay with me?” He asks. Then it strikes you like ringing metal; you sit next to each other in the same positions as that night on the roof.

Suddenly Ike raises his hands like static. “Not that you have to! I just figured it would be good to get comfortable and all, you know?” Ike hastily explains, then clears his throat. “I wanted to talk. About last night, I mean.”

Your chest flutters at the mention of it, but you remember all your friends’ encouragement. Here he is, the novelist of your (heartbroken) dreams, already bringing up the topic you dread to mention. You need to take this chance to face it head-on, now or never.

You glide down like the ceiling is full of stars. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

“A lot, honestly. I don’t know how to go about it, but first of all, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You cross your arms. “You said that enough last night.”

“Not like that! I mean I’m sorry I acted the way I did. I think I made every wrong choice once you said that you… that.” He shovels a hand through his hair. “I’m making it weird again. I should apologize for that, too, it’s just kind of embarrassing saying out loud that you, um, you loved me. Not that you should be embarrassed. I mean, I get it if you are, but that took a lot of guts. You should be proud of that. I admire you for that.”

“Slow down. What are you even saying?”

“What I wish I said last night. More than anything else, I’m sorry I got caught off-guard. I must’ve been so standoffish, because my idiot brain just didn’t believe what I was hearing until it was too late and the damage was already done.” Hair the color of ash and ocean falls over his face. “Honestly, I can’t believe it now.”

“I get it. Bad idea from me. Can we move on from that yet?”

“I don’t think it was a bad idea at all. I just had no idea that you liked me.”

“Give me some time and I’ll get over it, eventually. I’m not going to let it get in the way of working with you, if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”

“No, that’s not it either! I—“

Ike’s eyes squeeze shut. His voice is so quiet, you can’t discern what he’s saying. “…Actually, I’m…”

“Repeat that?”

“I’m happy. Really happy,” Ike says. His pitch rises like a balloon floating up into space, struggling to stay composed. “I’m not good at saying it, but I meant it when I said… when I said it during the stream.”

You wave a hand in the air. “It was weird timing, and I know you mean it like a friend,” you reply. “I didn’t mean to pressure you into saying it, and just being friends is fine. Even though I’m a loser that messed up just about everything.”

The hand catches in midair. Doll-like fingers weave through your grasp, and turn your touch warm as Ike turns to look at you. “Not with me. Don’t say that about yourself, okay?”

You stare at how easily he held your hand, and how his fingers cradle your heart between the palms. The corners of Ike’s eyes are narrowed, two beads of peridot stone that can see through every little line of text between your pages, but there’s gentleness under his glasses. Something uncertain and fluffy. Softened like a lamb even though he leaves you defenseless.

You don’t know what to say. Ike is beautiful and kind and handsome and thoughtful when he’s earnest like this. He’s got you stupid in the head and wrapped around his pinky finger, and doesn’t have a single clue.

Peridot sparkles. “You’re so much more than that. You don’t mess things up, Reader. I’m in love with you.”

Your mouth goes dry and your tongue is still tied. Forget speechlessness; the man took your own damn thoughts away. Your hand remains frozen in air with Ike’s. If it weren’t for the light drag of one of his fingernails along your skin, then you would have figured he took your senses as well.

But the drag ends, and the fingers unlace themselves, and chilled air fills in the gaps Ike once held close. The tips of his fingers rest at the curve of your palm for just one second more before they drift away.

The glint in his eyes dulls. His hand falls to his chest, over his heart, just as slow as he parted. The uncertainty took over, and now it’s like staring at a cloud that doesn’t know if it should rain. Ike’s gaze lowers to his heart. There’s a stretch of silence and motionlessness as he stares at where your touch once was, and you’re paralyzed where you lay.

Ike's hand curls in on itself, too loose to make a fist, and his lashes sink over his eyes. His mouth is set into a flat line, but the cheeks are dusted in pinks and reds and peppered freckles in-between, demure and shy all the while.

He turns his face away soon after that. Another break of silence, and he shuffles again, with your vision on his back as if it were a hiding place.

It startles you out of your stupor. The gridded sunlight lets you analyze what you missed. After months of thinking your feelings would never be reciprocated, Ike thought of you just the same. He’s always been in your corner, and you would go to the ends of the earth for him, and everything is in its perfect position. But his back is still turned, and the memory of last night—your confession, and his inaction—it rushes to your head.

So you reach out instead.

Maybe it’s a little selfish. You’re tired of bumbling around and concealing your true feelings, and now that everything's out in the open, you aren’t about to let go without resolution.

But Ike is your best friend, and the man you fell in love with. There was no way you’d ever let go in the first place.

You wrap your arms around his back and hug Ike.

“I think I get why you were so taken aback last night,” you whisper. Even though you’re alone with Ike, you still say it like a secret. “I can barely believe it myself.”

Your warmth is inviting, and every second that passes is another defense downed. Your head perches right above his neck and along his shoulder. It’s not your first hug with Ike at all, but there’s only been so many since you first met him in person that it still feels special, and with your bodies flush to the floor, it’s intimate. His eyes are averted and one cheek lays down on the blankets, but the tips of his ears glow scarlet under his jewelry.

“I’m glad you were patient with me. I really didn’t think I had a chance with you. You know, the long distance and the company, and you know, the standard pining fare. I’m really lucky.” A smile slips through your words. “I’ll stay with you, okay? So take all the time you need.”

Ike chuckles. Even his laughter is blushy-bashful. “I’m just so happy you feel the same, too. I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

His body curls as he lays, and your legs brush along his as you cuddle. Holding him makes it feel like he was made to fit in your arms. You sigh. “I love when you can’t contain it. It’s so cute.”

Ike squeaks at that, and unwittingly proves your point. “It feels so good to say that out loud. I mean, you’re okay with it, right?” A nod. “And you’re okay with… I don’t know. Are we still friends?”

“Of course we are, no matter what. You said you loved me first, so let me say this one?”

You have a feeling you know what’s coming next. You hug him even tighter.

“Reader, let’s go out. I don’t want this feeling to end,” he confesses, and your world turns into rose and blush. “Can we?”

Though you expected it, he still takes your breath away—until he taps you on the hand. “Come on, say something before my heart explodes!”

“Mine already did! I can’t even think straight, and—I’d love that. I really want this.”

Another squeal breaks out as Ike buries his head into a blanket, and your heart soars as he melts. He resembles a swaddled-up kitten, and the rays of sunlight line his silhouette. The fluffy blanket reminds you of an angel’s downy wings along his kitten features. You can’t even see his face between the blanket and his hair, but his squeal continues, muted through the blanket as he swoons.

Somehow that only makes you feel even more flustered. “No, don’t hide! I want to see you!”

Maybe it would’ve been better for your heart if he stayed put, because when Ike rises—with disheveled hair and glitter in his eyes the color of seaglass, and jewelry that frames his red face, and that galaxy of freckles you hold so dear and shine like stars between his blush—you feel your heart stop. Again.

“When did you start having this effect on me?” You ask, mesmerized, and before you know it you thumb over one of his rosy cheeks. “Your freckles are so beautiful.”

He sheepishly grins. “They don’t really show up online. They’re pale.”

“Never noticed them until I met you in person. I love them. I love you.”

The grin gets a little wider. One of his fingers grazes along the corner of your ear. Has his hand always been along your jawline?

Ike’s eyes are shining under the grid of sunlight. The lashes flit just a bit lower from your gaze. “Reader, can we…?”

You close your eyes.

And when Ike’s lips graze your own, you smile on instinct before you remember to kiss back.

Ike brings you near, searching for the taste of you as he continues. His touch lodges past your jawline and into your hair, and when one of the fingers grazes along your ear you’re reminded just how much you love Ike. All the yearning you hid for so long bleeds through as you sink down to his level with his head in your hand, gentle yet impassioned.

Then your face bumps against Ike’s glasses. The kiss breaks as you back away.

There’s a brief pause in the aftermath. Ike wordlessly adjusts his glasses, now knocked off-center. Despite finally getting on the same page on your relationship with Ike, you’re still as clumsy about your feelings as ever.

But the corners of your lips curve up as he inspects the lens you squished, then a barely-stifled giggle, and next thing you know, Ike’s laughing along with you, still underneath your body and with one hand in your hair while the other holds his glasses in place. He sounds as charming as he looks, and the fact that he joined you even when you chuckled out of the blue means that his mind is just as charming as well.

Not that it was breaking news. You know your best friend well, and now that you don’t need to deny your feelings any longer, you know you’ve got good taste if Ike’s under you with crinkled eyes and hearty laughter.

When you speak next, the giggles patter out between your words but the quiet delight hangs in your teeth. “Can we try that again?”

Then his lips are on yours again, and the laughter twists between the second kiss, and the third, and the fourth, all the way until you collapse on the blankets with arms around each other, staring up at the stars on the bland popcorn ceiling as adoration fills the space between you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

bonus.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Starting soon…

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The chat flickers alive as a four-pointed flower, a diamond, and a thorned heart give way to the stream and the novelist behind the stinger.

Kaidororero: welcome back ike!

Min (Ikey’s Book): 💙 IKEY IS BACK 💙

A normal broom: HI IKE

lunasmortas: 💙💙💙

viperip: ike! :_heart: :_heart: :_heart:

Sun shines through a clear day in Ike’s room onscreen, but in reality, blackout curtains block out the day outside. A sweet smile graces both Ike’s face and his model as the Quilldren welcome him home.

He greets them, and cracks open a can of soda as he quickly scans through the chat. Obviously, the off-collab is on everyone’s minds.

juuuuuuuuuus: did you have fun?

Kaidororero: offcollab POOOG

lunasmortas: SO CUTE :_heart: :heart:

Johnclone: Hope you had a good time!

zZirasthingZz: PEN AND PAPER REAL

Hm. A mod will eventually bonk that message. But then again, it’s inevitable that the ship would come up in chat.

Ike takes it in stride and ignores it like any other shipper, but his heart still skips a beat. Nonetheless, he doesn’t call any attention to it. “How about that off-collab, right? I met up with my friends! Where do I even begin?”

Ike recounts his trip from the beginning, and the Quilldren react to his stories with interest. He was one of the last to arrive, so Nina, Uki and Reader picked him up from the airport, and met up with Aia, Ren, and Mika at the Airbnb. Vox was the only one to arrive after him, hot off the heels of a flight delay, but the demon was a welcome party all his own despite his exhaustion.

“We went to karaoke once Vox got situated,” Ike explains. “Nina put that song in first so we could all let loose, and so she would have a fun voice tweet for everyone. Might as well confirm everyone that showed up, right?

“But after that, we didn’t want to stress ourselves out to perform for voice tweets instead of just having fun, so that was the only song we recorded. I wish you could’ve heard Uki and Vox’s duet, though. And while we were singing, turns out Ren packed a ukulele with him! Sometimes he would learn how to play along by ear, like a jam session. Mika knows how to play ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ too, so everyone joined in singing that while she played it. It was so much fun.”

Johnclone: Everyone sounded great!

sunblast99: uki’s voice >>>>>> everything else 💜💙

haabinae: :_tskr:

Festersk: WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT 🗣🗣

A normal broom: what did you sing?

Ike leans back in his chair. He blows a lock of hair out of his sight as he tries to think. “I remember Vox sang something by George Strait, so then we all egged him on to sing ‘Country Roads.’ He only did it once I promised to queue up ‘Toxicity’ by System of a Down afterwards.”

lunasmortas: OMG 💙💙💙

gatamiizuus: ayo?

Y A M: YESSSSSSS :_tskr: :_tskr:

haabinae: I LOVE SOAD :_fanboy:

Thornmy: SO COOL 💙

“Thank you.” He says it out of obligation. If he thinks too hard about the compliments, he’ll get embarrassed. “What else was there? I think there was some Motionless in White, and Spiritbox. Oh, and My First Story. Can’t forget My First Story.”

K. K. Soda: ooooo

Alban Knox 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : what about mcr

asper ch.: METAL SCREAM?

deeboorgur: HI ALBAN

Y A M: MCR YEAAAAA :_glowstick_1: :_glowstick_2:

“I’m getting there, Alban!”

Ike takes a sip while the Quilldren greet Alban. He’s not too surprised Alban seems to know more than the other viewers. He’s close with almost everyone that went on the trip, and was super active on Discord during the off-collab. The novelist lowers his soda as the chat floods in orange hearts. He wonders how Alban learned so much as an observer. He should ask.

But that’s a question for after stream. Ike continues. “Thank Nina for that. She queued up ‘I’m Not Okay’ by My Chemical Romance, and then shoved two mics in my hands and Reader’s.”

And the chat explodes.

Kaidororero: OMGGGGGG 💙💕

Y A M: PEN AND PAPER SO CUTE :_tskr:

zZirasthingZz: PEN AND PAPER DUET

asper ch.: AYOOOO MCR

gatamiizuus: I LOVE READER

ystariya: PEN AND PAPER MY BELOVED

“It’s a really fun song! It’s almost all clean vocals, but there’s this scream in the middle. Up until then, we sang together, but then I screamed, and Reader picked up the slack and sang the parts of the verse I couldn’t. They’re amazing.”

gatamiizuus: READER SIMPS COME GET Y’ALL’S JUICE

Thornmy: THAT SOUNDS SO GOOD

lunasmortas: 💙💕💙💕

ystariya: READER KARAOKE STREAM WHEN

Kaidororero: AWWWWWWW

The model on the screen doesn’t have the same glint in Ike’s eye when he talks about you. That first day of the trip was all about getting comfortable after long travel hours, and the stories went on as the days went by. Sightseeing with Aia and shopping with Uki by day, and spending the night shooting the shit with Ren until it turns into the littlest hours of the morning.

“Vox wanted to try a bunch of different restaurants with me, but you know me, ya boi is not good with most foods. So Nina usually came along in case I couldn’t finish something. She and Vox would share my leftovers.”

Something fond crosses over Ike’s face. His eyes cloud over in fog descending over a clear-sky day. “We would always talk over food about anything. I appreciate it a lot. They really get me.” The fog stills. “And over breakfast one morning, they gave me some excellent advice over something I’ve been meaning to do.”

ver*batim: ❤️💙❤️

K. K. Soda: MILORDDDDD

nroneo: :_heart:

A normal broom: upcoming project? 👀

Johnclone: I love Nina Kosaka!

“Not a project, no. It was something I was really worried about, even when I was supposed to be taking a break with my friends,” he says. “But those two seriously helped me clear my head about it. Mika, too. Vox and Nina had a lot of nuanced advice, but Mika told it to me straight, and helped handle what I couldn’t. I’m really thankful to have them.”

His set jaw loosens. “Maybe I’ll talk about it one day.”

The model cocks to the side. Motion blurs the foggy sobriety away. With a lightness to his voice and a knowing gaze, Ike looks straight into the camera and smiles, sentimentality forgotten. The air clears. “But for now, it’s a secret~!

“Ah, now where was I? Spending time with my friends, right? Reader and I hung out often. Sometimes with others, but it ended up being the two of us more than not.”

Birds chirp outside Ike’s window in time with the hum of his PC. The backlit keyboard in front of the monitors glows the same color as the computer, a healthy blue light that tints the tips of his fingers. He usually sets it to a rainbow spectrum in his own time, but static blue is reserved for going live. It gets him in the right mindset for streaming, and makes his little apartment feel fantastical like the noble background that accompanies his model, even if it only reaches his fingertips.

He’s sure the Ike on the screen has fingertips tinged with blue just like him, an extension of the man outside the screen but without the grittier details. Smooth, pristine hands under gloves where his are callused from guitar playing. Nothing under the model’s eyes but lashes and a line of red that brings out the pink in his eyes, very much unlike the heavy bags and sunken face from an awful delay on his flight back home. No freckles, either, but even cameras rarely pick them up on video call. Nina cooed over them the first time they met, as motherly as ever, but behind closed doors Reader was utterly fascinated with them. They mentioned something about watching blush travel around his face with the smattering of freckles in-between once or twice… maybe more? Doesn’t matter when he’s never heard that before and it repeats in his head when he catches himself daydreaming. It’s one of the best things he’s ever heard.

Vtuber Model Ike’s face doesn’t heat up like how Real Ike’s certainly is now. He clears his throat. “The weather was really nice during the entire trip, so we would always get into good conversations while walking back to where we were staying. And sometimes we didn’t want to end the conversation, so we’d just keep walking past our Airbnb until our feet hurt or it got dark, whichever came first.

“Oh, here’s something funny. Uki really loves cafes, right? Usually he woke up early with Ren to go check out some cafes in the morning, way before the rest of us would even think of waking up. By the time everyone else woke up, they already finished their breakfast, and Uki would tell Reader about the ones to visit or skip. Whenever Uki recommended one, Reader always wanted to go themselves, so I went along to keep them company.”

Even as his skin returns to its original shade, the sweetness sticks to his throat like the soda he’s barely touched at all. He’s wistful. He didn’t expect to miss Reader this much; after all, his relationship with them has bloomed so much ever since you first started working together, but two weeks together (including mutual close friends) changes things. It’s only been two days since he returned home, but he feels out of rhythm with them.

He’s gotten too accustomed to them. Over the last few months, he thought he did a good job putting aside his feelings for Reader, even when Nina would tease him after every Pen and Paper collab and Vox and Mika would be right behind her, hyping him up to make a move. The fear of rejection was what motivated him to keep his close friendship with Reader without ever confessing to them.

“Reader…”

The world around him is nothing. Paused to buffer as he thinks. He can’t remember the last time he felt so happy. Just being in the same room as them makes him feel stupid, and surely he’s been acting like it. Everything he says sounds clumsy when he’s with them. After all, on that day when he owned up to the feelings he repressed for so long that he couldn’t properly react to Reader’s confession, he couldn’t say much more than how happy he was. Words fail to describe what Reader means to him, yet he’s a novelist, for crying out loud! How ironic!

“...Reader is so patient with me,” Ike says. “And they’re so considerate and dedicated. I wish I told them that earlier. It’s hard to say things out loud like this, but you only meet people like Reader once in a lifetime if you’re lucky, and even then, there’s no one quite like Reader.”

ystariya: i love reader

Kaidororero: pen and paper awwww

Y A M: PEN AND PAPER

acklmystafoot: ike is so sweet!!!

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : 💙

“Aaah!”

Ike recoils like his keyboard is flaming lava. The model on the screen leans back and freezes in place while he nearly throws himself out of his chair. “R-Reader! What are you doing here?!”

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : FKJLJJSLKFJDKS LMAOOOOOOOO

Johnclone: Hello Reader!

Y A M: OMG

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : just wanted to say hi

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : hi!

Festersk: LMAO

Ike sputters out nothing but empty air and nervous laughter. “Haha. Um. Hi! Welcome!”

Stupid! He wants to kick himself. He’s made improvement on verbalizing affection, and he’s comfortable with Reader, especially now that there aren’t any secrets left, but he’s still so unfamiliar with affection being returned that his heart is still doing kickflips in his chest.

haabinae: :_blush: :_blush: :_blush:

juuuuuuuuuus: most normal pen and paper moment

Thornmy: AWWW

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : check discord

A normal broom: Oh?

“Ah, okay! Give me a second.” Ike keeps his Discord on mute, and usually disables desktop notifications when he’s live, so he’s not surprised to open the window to unread messages and some non-urgent pings. Sure enough, Reader sent him something.

Reader: because you were talking about cafes

Reader: image.png (3) | 💙 1 |

Me: Oh I recognize these from our first date!

It’s been over a week now, but just saying he went on a date with Reader has him squeezing his legs together so his feet wouldn’t start kicking in the air.

Reader: ahh you remembered!

Me: I should’ve figured you took more pictures than the ones you showed me

Reader: dw i have more i wanted to show you

Reader: image.png (8) | 💙 1 |

Me: Seriously how are you so good at photography I don’t get it-

Me: You’re really pretty in this one!

Me: UGHHHH WHY DO I LOOK SO WEIRD | ❌ 1 | 💕 1 |

Me: I DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE YOU TAKE THIS ONE

Reader: WTH YOU’RE NOT WEIRD

Reader: YOU’RE LITERALLY SO HANDSOME WHY DO YOU T H I N K I TOOK THAT PIC

Well, great, now he’s actually kicking in his seat. Ike is inclined to disagree, but when Reader says it, it’s a super-effective attack on his poor little novelist heart.

Me: Akaslwdnja

Me: Thank you 😭

Reader: anyways i gotta go i stream in 20 min and i’ve barely eaten my food

Me: Go eat! Do you have enough water?

Reader: just refilled my bottle

Me: Good then don’t let me keep you! Have a good stream!

And before he can overthink it, in the moment—

Me: I love you!

His sights are set on his second monitor.

Reader is typing…

Reader doesn’t have to respond. Sometimes just saying it is enough.

Reader: fdsjdfkl.

Ike’s been trying to relearn that lesson ever since he realized everything he repressed was reciprocated.

Reader: i love you too, ike

Words heard across the world, one of the people he holds most dear.

His heart beats loud in his ears, but he can feel it slow, somehow. Reader is exhilarating, but there’s security in them, too. The nerves kick in until he remembers they’re just as exposed as the other, and the vulnerability generate a sense of comfort. Reader makes him feel understood like no one else in the world does, and he trusts them more than anything.

He does. He does, he does, he does, even if he only has the strength to say it one at a time. Ike is in love.

Reader: i’ll let you know when i’m done streaming, we can watch a movie together after

Me: It’s a date! | 💕 1 |

It takes him a moment to tear his gaze away from your messages.

His streaming monitor reflects his movements. The chat moves along. Blue light spreads through his fingertips, just like how he imagines Vtuber Model Ike’s hands resting on his own keyboard, an extension of the man outside the screen, proof of the fantastical.

“They sent me something.” Ike’s laughter is gentle. “I really do love them.”

The chat zooms past, as expected. Surely that would get clipped alongside the off-collab Q&A, but he can’t seem to care. He doubts the fandom would really understand how deep the connection goes, and if they do? Some things are just meant to be private.

Besides, on the day Ike and Reader get comfortable enough in their relationship to go public, he knows the Quilldren have his back, just like Reader and their Bookworms.

“Reader, if you’re still there, we need to meet up again,” Ike says. “I don’t know when, but one day.”

A flurry of messages, but only one truly matters.

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : i wouldn’t miss it for the world

The model onscreen grins. It pales in comparison to Ike himself.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊commentary ↣

✧. ┊ ⁭masterpost ✧. ┊ ⁭kofi

#ike eveland x reader #ike eveland #ike eveland fluff #ike eveland angst #luxiem #luxiem x reader #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji #4402 writes #🖋 anon #fanfic is unrealistic and i know this because clippers would NEVER use semicolons in their captions #eating string cheese wrong is symbolic. it represents eavesdropping and shitty lies that go unnoticed #i hope i never see a typo in this thing this fic is literally impossible to edit on mobile #update: there were typos. and i had to wait 3 minutes for the editor to load on my laptop before i could fix them. rip #pliskinverse

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