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seraphdarlimg · 4 years

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wish I were (pt4)

harry calls reader drunk to pick him up, later on finding him sat at her piano and playing a little song

masterlist

‘heather’ by conan gray WARNINGS - ANGST, swearing, fluff WORD COUNT - 4,418

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Just fine is how I was feeling. I was lucky enough to be able to get started straight away with a new song to work on from a different artist. Practicing new instruments and talking to new clients have been what I've thrown myself into for the past 3 weeks.

Though drowning myself into work has kept me busy and given me excuses to ignore the hundreds of calls and texts from Harry, it felt like months had pass instead of only one. I seem to forget more about them and only remember the look on his face when I turn my back on him and left. Instead of memorizing chords and words, my brain can only comprehend the words we said and the last time I felt his touch or embrace. When I want to remind myself of what he did, the moment on the balcony is the first thing that comes to my mind and I curse myself for it.

I missed him, of course I did. As I sit in front of my laptop with an opened tab on a recording program, I am instead met with another creator's block and thinking about Harry again. Two points of thought that I hate being stuck in at the moment. The empty bags and containers of snacks and my dinner surround me and I'm wrapped in a blanket while a sad playlist is playing on spotify. It was a depressing sight.

But I can only image the state that Harry's in. After everything, I still miss and care about him, wondering if he's excited about the album release tomorrow or if he's hydrated and taking the fact that I've chose to walk out of his life better than I am. It's pathetic really, but it's part of it and I can only hope to learn to live without him through time. If that is something I can even think of doing in the first place.

He hasn't called or text throughout the whole day though. I didn't want it to bother me but it did, even if it was time away that I'm asking for. I glanced at the black screen of my phone, pressing the button to turn it on. 12:23 AM and no notifications.

'i do love you, i'm sorry' one day ago. This is a good sign. This should be a good sign.

I sighed, forcing myself to turn away from my phone and focus on finishing this piece. The instrumentals are there and the rhythm is set, but coming up with lyrics prove to be difficult when I feel physically and emotionally drained.

It was late anyways. I would of been asleep by now to get ready for tomorrow, but it was most likely made clear I wouldn't be celebrating with the gang. I told Jeff the excuse that I had a meeting up north for the valid reason, even though everyone already knows what happened between the two best friends. A lunch with Sara and Mitch a week ago started off normal and pleasant as always, but had ended with Mitch bringing up Harry and me leaving abruptly.

"He's a mess. Hasn't left his house and has been ignoring everyone all week. We don't know what really happened between you two, but it's obvious that you haven't been the same as well."

The mention was enough to irk me. "Can we not right now?"

"Look even though we care about you, it's still non of our business to get involved. But it's still our jobs to see that when someone we care about is bothered by something, we make sure they are aware of it. Both of you aren't happy and should simply talk about it."

"It's not that simple Sara, he's too stubborn."

"It doesn't have to be now, but eventually. You yourself know that what you two have is way too special to just walk away from."

"Yeah well what if it's not? What if it's just not what everyone expects it to be? That even if we somehow make it work throughout everything, he's just going to run off to someone else again who'll just be better in so many ways."

"He's not the type of person to do that and you know it."

"I thought I did."

With my head rested on my hand, I feel my eyes droop. The instrumental of the song played on repeat on the program as I try to come up with words. Heartbreak and insecurities are the only topics that come to mind with the upbeat sound. I close my eyes for bit, letting the first stage of sleep take it's toll while my brain works overtime producing lines of rhymes.

But my ringtone drives me out of it. I only force my eyes open when I pick up my phone and answer the call, not thinking of who could be the only possible human being to call me at this hour. I sighed, pausing the recording and saving it. "Hello?"

"Hiiiii love! Karl told me I should call someone because I've had too much apparently. Can you please tell him that I'm a grown man that can handle my alcohol?" Shit.

"Harry- wait hold on, you're drunk now? Don't you have... who are you with?" My voice was tired and already raspy. It took longer than needed to process what was actually happening.

"Oh just all by my lonesome self at first... imagined you here a few times but I know that wasn't true, but Karl the bartender is here now!" His voice was muffled and almost drowned out by the sound of a pub. His words were slurred and I can only rub my temples at the situation he's already put me in.

"Why did you call me for this."

"Well my phone's dead and you're the number I memorized." He said softly after hearing my tone. I shouldn't, but he's drunk and alone.

"I'll call Mitch-"

"Only want you. Please?" I can imagine him pouting and I was too tired to argue with him.

"I can't do this right now..."

"Bubs, my head is starting to hurt and everyone is not being nice. Except Karl, Karl is a nice dude."

Maybe if I wasn't overworked and sleep deprived at the moment, I would of been in the righter state of mind. But the other half of me that worried about his state took the opportunity to see him once again.

"Where are you, Harry?"

***

It was easy to find a drunk Harry Styles at a pub. A small local one that we've been too once or twice in the past, enjoying each other's company over a glass after studio hours. And there he was again, sat at the stools we'd sit on and wallowing to Karl the bartender.

"Hey." I placed a hand on his shoulder after making my way through the small crowd that gathered around him that's been listening into his conversation. His eyes light up when he turns around and sees me, while I take in how disheveled he looks. His curls are messy and his bloodshot baggy eyes tells me he's been crying for a while.

"You're here." He mutters softly after he takes a moment to register that it's actually me. I only give him a small nod in confirmation, feeling that heart ache as he pulls me into a hug. "I'm sorry." I hear when he nuzzles into my neck, most likely apologizing when he sees how tired and unwell i am as he does.

"It's okay, come on let's get you home." I managed to let out, pulling away, guiding him out of his seat and away from the bar. "Oh okay, bye Karl! Keep the change." I send the bartender a grateful smile to which he returns with a pity look on his face.

"Just hold my hand Harry okay?" I tell him when I remember how clingy he gets when intoxicated. He doesn't hesitate to do so as we make our way through the crowd and out of the building.

I managed to get him in the passenger's seat without much interaction, now in the driver's seat and cursing at myself when I realized I didn't have enough gas to take him to his house. I didn't have the energy to go to the gas station this late.

"Are you crying..." He asks, pouting when I placed my face in my hands, taking deep breaths. "Please don't be sad, love." I shook my head, counting in my head as I felt Harry lean over and watch me.

"How many did you have?" I asked when I built up the will not to cry and turned on the ignition.

"Didn't bother counting, didn't matter." I kept my eyes in front of me as I drove while I felt his still on me.

"I would beg to differ. Shouldn't be my responsibility anyways." I quickly countered, noting the sharp tone in my voice and the frown I could imagine on his face.

"I'm sorry...I really wanted to see you."

"Hmm, and getting wasted and being an inconvenience is the way to get my attention." There was a second of silence and I glanced at him to check if he was still conscious, only to see that frown and his head hung in shame. My eyes trailed to the pearl necklace tucked into his sweater, as well as a yellow ribbon tied where it clasps together.

The grip I had on the wheel loosened but I sighed as I hated how guilty I felt after, aware how difficult it was to be mad when he was hurt. "That was harsh..."

"Nooo, I deserve it. I really do because I was mean to you and I don't ever want to be mean to you. Because it hurts me too ya know? More than it did when you walked away...I'm sorry that I hurt you."

I didn't say anything after that, spending the rest of the car ride back to my place in silence.

***

"You don't have to be rich, to be my giiirl. You don't have to be cool to rule my wooorld..."

My annoyance conflicted with the flutters my heart was feeling as Harry was softly singing all the way from my car to my sofa, hand held and clinging to my side the whole time. He plopped down, immediately taking a pillow. "Ain't no particular sign, I'm more compatible wiiith- hey you have that record right? Can you put it on pretty please?"

"It's 2AM, I'm not putting on a record right now." I took off my shoes and coat, graciously doing the same for him when he pouts and rests his head back on the couch. "Aw, you used to not care about that before. Is it because of your neighbors terrible taste of music to blast so late at night?"

"What?" I rubbed my eyes, standing up and going to the kitchen. I couldn't hear his mumbled response, but I returned with a glass of water to see him humming with his eyes closed. He cuddled the pillow close to him and I rolled my eyes, almost laughing at how he was tapping his foot along with the song he was playing in his head.

"Here..." He holds his hand out expectantly and I gave it to him. He takes a drink while I place his coat over the coffee table and go to get him an extra pillow and blanket.

"Oh everything hurts." He whines as I place the pillow down on the end of the couch. "My heart mostly, but that's so cheesy of me isn't it? Yours probably hurts more m' sorry...wish I could take it away."

It wasn't just his naïve words that had my eyes start welling up with tears, but it was also the realization of how he can easily break me down. I couldn't last a whole month without being there when he needs someone, when I was the one who wanted to leave. It was also probably the realization that I had grabbed the same blanket we used to set that little picnic in the studio.

"Wish I didn't cause it in the first place." He added, which led to me sitting down on the chair next to the couch, holding onto the blanket a little longer as delirium was starting to set in.

"I don't think we should have this conversation now, Harry... this is so unfair." I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.

"It is, but I'm scared I won't get another chance." My silence gave him the answer he was already aware of.

"What exactly do you want another chance of Harry, enlighten me." I closed my eyes for a minute, only to open them to see Harry looking at me in a different way. It's different, but I've noticed it before.

"Loving you." He's hesitant with his next words, most likely having sobered up a little. "I hadn't seen Heather for a few days after you left, told her later on about what happened. Took your advice though, talked to her and everything. It just wouldn't work out in the end...couldn't see myself with her in the future."

"But now you do with me?" I softly muttered, holding myself back from reaching out to him. He only nods, having that guilty look on his face because he's fully aware he doesn't deserve it. My droopy eyes are glued to his and that damn pearl necklace, too many thoughts in my head to come up with one whole response.

"Should of just called Mitch. You're an idiot for giving yourself a hangover on your release day." I finally said after a moment of silence.

"Hmm? Oh that, no that's not happening." He says casually, playing with the embroidery on the pillow he was hugging.

"What do you mean?"

"I've postponed the album thingy indefinitely or something."

"Aren't you finished with it?"

"I mean it's got 12 songs and everything but I don't know if it's really finished, I don't know." He shrugs and I'm almost annoyed by how calm nonchalant he is about it.

"You never know things Harry."

"And I hate it, I knooow! I don't know why I can't just figure it out and I hate that I'm hurting you because of it." He frowns, rubbing his eyes. "But I do know now that I love you. Really love you. Maybe if I figured that out sooner, you wouldn't hate me bubs."

I fiddle with my fingers, given up on trying to collect all my thoughts together a long time ago as I can only allow myself to take in his words and listen. He was right, in any other situation where I wasn't tired and delirious, I probably wouldn't even be in the same room as him. So here I was again, allowing myself to hurt in order to make sure he's taken care of.

Maybe it's what I deserve though. He left Heather because of me. I caved into myself at the though that I ruined the relationship of two people who loved each other simply because I didn't get the memo. She is everything in his eyes, he's proven that, so why didn't I just leave them be?

"Ugh, you probably hate me calling you that now but you know I won't stop cause you are my bubs! Like how I'm you're H. Oh... well, you stopped calling me that so...maybe not anymore but I want to be. Can I be your H again please, I miss that too." My thoughts were cut off when he continued, finding him now lying down with his eyes closed.

"Maybe one day." I reassured him hesitantly. We would of stayed friends, we wouldn't of had to fall apart, if I had just left him alone.

"Was a weird nickname anyways, just a letter." He mumbles as I stood up, laying the blanket over him while he still holds onto the pillow.

"You sort of gave it to yourself though, get some sleep Harry." I managed to get out, facing away from him to hide the tear that fell. He should be trying to fix his relationship with her and not me.

"Yeah, but you just started calling me it and I fell in love with it." I take one more look at him before I shut my door, seeing his face nuzzled into the pillow and the glint of a small smile on his face as he drifts off to sleep.

***

8:23. I slept around 2 and woke up 7 hours later to faint piano keys. I took in the soft melody, not recognizing it but enjoying it for a second before I forced myself to sit up and rub my eyes, realizing how dry my skin was from crying. It was definitely a sad song made up of only four chords and a fitting way to start the day as I remember the person who is most likely playing it.

I didn't want to face him, my head feeling too mushed to deal with anything else other than work. It was a weird situation to realize, the man I fell in love with and broke my heart is playing piano after I took him in when he was drunk. He tells me he officially breaks up with Heather after realizing he loves me.

He loves me?

No he doesn't. He should still love her, should be trying to get back to her now that I'm out of the picture. But he hasn't been trying too for the past month, focused on me this whole time. But why?

I snapped myself out of those thoughts quickly, knowing how terrible the following ones would be. I didn't want to think about it anymore, wanting to forget and move on. And as I quietly open my door and peaked out onto my apartment, I see his mess of curls sat on my keyboard with the blanket wrapped around him. He was considerate enough to lower the volume at least.

I took a deep breath and walked out quietly, leaning against the door frame as I continue to listen. "Part of the album, has some of your lyrics in it." He says when he notices my presence.

"Hmm. You told me that you've postponed it." I crossed my arms as he finishes the song with a long note. I see him nod, now looking down at his hands on his lap before adjusting the blanket to fully encase him.

"Yeah I did. It didn't feel right, putting something out there that I should be proud of, but you not being there to be happy with. You not wanting too in there first place, when you put your heart and soul into it, all because of me."

I frown, looking away from him when his intense eyes met mine. "It's too early Harry..."

"You told me it wasn't a good time last night too, so when is?" He huffs and I roll my eyes.

"I don't know after I have my fucking coffee?" I scoffed, uncrossing my arms and heading towards the kitchen. I hear him sigh, not saying anything else as I prepare a cup for myself, already annoyed and stressed out. I felt him staring at me while I avoided making eye contact, rubbing my temples.

"I'm sorry if I was trouble." He says, still sat down on the keyboard with the blanket wrapped around him.

"You're sorry for a lot of things." I sighed, pouring coffee into my cup.

"I am. But I don't know how to really apologize to you when you won't even let me talk to you."

I placed my cup down, suddenly forgetting about my coffee and finally looked at him. "Well what do you expect Harry? After everything you think I'm just going to trust you again? I told you I was done, I wanted to walk out of your life."

"But you picked me up. You still care, that still has to means something." He's frustrated now, desperate even and it only frustrates me more.

"Ah yes, decent morality to not leave an A list celebrity drunk in room full of strangers. That really dumb of you to do by the way, without any bodygaurds- what were you thinking?" I said, noticing how he was fiddling with the pearls that hung around his neck.

"The past month has been hell for me and all I wanted to do was see you. I feel so fucking guilty and sad and it's eating me up because I know I don't deserve any sort of reassurance from you. But at the same time, I so badly just want you back and I'm sorry for how selfish and arrogant I am." He was crying and I soften a little because of it. He tries holding it in, looking down as he quickly wipes away the tears that fall. I don't bother hiding mine anymore, having gotten used to it by now and I was tired of it.

"I've been in pain since December. Four months that you put me through so can blame me when I just want it to stop? I am so exhausted because no matter how much I throw myself into work, all I can think about is you and loving you."

"But I love you too, shouldn't that be enough to try again?" It should of been and he knows. Maybe if he realized it sooner, during his birthday, things would be different.

"You've proven that it's not." I say disappointingly, willing myself to walk over and sat down next to him, looking ahead at my piano in front of me. "I don't know what to do anymore Harry. Why can't you let me have this? Let me move on."

"Cause you and I both know we can't leave each other, too emotionally attached. I need you in my life bubs, everything sucks when you're not in it." I laugh a little at that, because it was true in a fucked up way.

"That's so unfair, why did you have to hurt me?" I hesitantly lay my head on his shoulder before he droops the other end of the blanket around me.

"I know most of my relationships don't last. Deep down I've always loved you but I couldn't let myself fall for you because I didn't want to ruin us. The thought of us breaking up and never seeing each other again just terrified me because I never wanted to lose you, ever. But I fucked up and managed to do so anyways, and I hate myself every day as much as you do." He starts playing the song again as he speaks, but it plays it down a key and slower.

"I don't hate you, can't bring myself too, but you shouldn't of been afraid to talk to me. You know who I am, we would of worked through it no matter what." He nods, followed by only the sounds of the piano melody.

"I'm in love with you." I hear him say softly after a little while out of the blue. It catches me off guard, finding it so foreign to hear those words come from him.

I let out a soft self deprecating chuckle. "No you don't. You care about me, but you don't love me. Probably saying this out of guilt or spur of the moment type thing and I can understand that, but you love Heather. She's good for you, perfect even."

"But I fell in love with you. She's not you." His brows are furrowed together as he frowns.

"Yeah, I'm not her." The small glint of my smile quickly fades and he notices it.

"What I did during my speech was very shitty. Gemma pointed it out to me right away and it's one of the biggest things I ever regret doing." He stops playing when he sees me deep in thought, slowly taking my hand to test the waters. "But I need you to understand what I said was true, that you are such an important person to me. You are beautiful, and kind, patience, and just so fucking good to me, love. I want to cherish you because it's what you deserve and I will deal with as much rejection for you to forgive me and give me another chance. It's worth every heartbreak if it means I get to love you again."

I find myself in an intimate situation, looking into his eyes at such a close proximity, our faces only inches away from each other. I was pleading to him with my eyes, begging him not to hurt me again while the look on his face was one I used to be familiar with. He was frozen while the fear that it would only just happen again held me back from moving. His eyes fluttered down to my lips, as if asking for permission and my head was refusing it. But every other part of me wanted to feel those lips again. I looked down at his, my hand taking hold of his and placing it on my chest to where my heart is before he made the move to finally press our lips together in a small kiss.

I wanted to sob because it felt right. I felt the butterflies again and the complete state of satisfaction. This time was gentle as well, but Harry put so much love into the kiss, cupping my cheek with his other hand when he feels how fast my heart was beating.

It only took a second more before I slowly pulled away, still tightly holding his hand against my heart as he could sense my doubt. "It's going to take some time okay? Probably a long time but you caused me a lot of heartbreak. But I never stopped loving you H, as much as I didn't want too anymore." I said seriously, and his eyes lits up with hope. Holding back his smile as much as he could while he nods because he heard that little nickname again.

"I'll give you as much time and space as you need, thank you. I love you so much bubs." He pulls me into a hug, nuzzling his face into my neck and I feel instantly calmer because of it. I rest my head on his shoulder while he mumbles sweet words into my skin.

"Promise I'll be good to you."

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A/N: :o it’s complete. I finished it yay! I’m so proud with how this series came out and I genuinely hope you guys do as well. I’ve started my semester and it’s going to be hectic so writing will take longer to come out, but there will be future stories that I’m really looking forward to writing and sharing :)

taglist: @big-galaxy-chaos

#Harry Styles #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #one direction #harry styles blurb #heather #wish i were

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eclectickss · 3 years

Text

Keep My Heart Ticking (blurb)

Pairing: Natasha Romanov x (OC) Reader

Warnings: angst, cursing, reader wants to be un-alive

Word Count: 0.8k?

Summary: Natasha reaches a breaking point with you, and you finally realize just how fucked up you are.

A/N: PLEASE READ! Hi friends! This is a blurb that I had to get off my chest a few weeks ago, hoping that I could turn it into a multi-chapter or extended shot. I have about 1.7k words more written for various parts in the story, but seeing as i'm at a writer's block for this one, I feel as if I should share my favorite part and see if anybody would be interested in the full thing (cause i'm a whore for validation and encouragement) so PLEASE if ya want more, tell me! Also I gave reader a name because using Y/N is not my favorite thing in the world. Your name is Raimy Winters. :)

Your least favorite redhead walked purposefully into the room, and you verbally groaned at the idea of another lecture. She sat down on one of the benches surrounding the cage enclosure, but you acted like she was invisible. Silence sat among the two of you for an uncomfortably long time, as if all of your arguing and bickering with each other had placed a brick wall down the center of the world. Not appreciating her obscure presence, you flipped over to lay on your other side, now finally meeting her harsh eyes.

The two of you stared down the other, but you weren't giving up the game. She's the one who decided to pay you a visit, so she's going to be the one to address it. You paid attention to her nature, catching how there were dark circles under her eyes and the shake in her left leg. Her glare showed no mercy, and her green gaze treated you like a dog who had tangled its leash around her feet one too many times.

This side of Natasha was new to you.... vulnerable. You didn't know how to feel. You were so used to the assassin being a headstrong, emotionless rule-following drone, that you never could have imagined another side to the redhead. Finally, though, she spoke, but the breath lodged in your chest couldn't escape yet.

"Cut the shit, Ms. Winters." Her voice cracked slightly, but with a darker tone that you weren't used to. You couldn't find any information to process though, so you stayed quiet. "I get it, that you wished I had let you die. I know what begging for death is like. More than you." You already knew a little about her past, so this information didn't surprise you at all. "But your alive, now. So stop acting like a child and get the fuck over it."

Your eyes widened at her new tone and you silently gasped, sitting up.

"It's hard to get over it, Nat, when you don't have anything else to live for. You took away the people I was doing that for." You ground your teeth.

"God, Raimy, stop acting like life is worthless!" She stood up, voice rising and face reddening. "I know I never loved myself that much, but I never wished my heart to stop beating all because it didn't mean shit!"

"Well, my life does mean shit, Natasha!" You stood up too, speeding over to the glass that she was standing in front of. "I CAN'T HELP ANYONE ANYMORE, WIDOW. I CAN KILL AT CONTACT AND I CAN'T CONTROL IT." You spat. "Everyone I love is gone, all because you chose my life over theirs. I MEAN NOTHING, NATASHA. ALL I WANT IN THIS FUCKED UP WORLD IS TO DIE, AND THAT SEEMS TO BE THE ONE GOD DAMN THING I'M NOT ALLOWED TO DO."

"God, We want to help you, Raimy! Let us do that!"

"NO! It puts innocent people in danger, so kill me off while you can."

"RAIMY!" She heaved. "Stop treating me like I'm a bad person for saving your life! That's more fucked up than anything else, Ms. Winters. I did what was best, and it's EXHAUSTING that you won't even TRY to understand the truth in that!"

"The fact that you saved one life over three tells me that it wasn't the best you could've done." You spat. You turned around to lay back down on your bed but whirled around when you heard the cage opening and footsteps headed in your direction.

NO, RAIMY, YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO THE GOD DAMN TRUTH. EVERYONE IS AFRAID TO TELL YOU BECAUSE THEY DON'T WANT TO DIE, BUT HERE THE FUCK I AM, RISKING MY LIFE ALL BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO GROW THE FUCK UP." Natasha yelled, and you couldn't move. "You don't get to complain to us about who lives and dies. To me about who lives and dies. Do you know why I saved your life? Because I was taking orders. And I don't take orders if I don't think they're the right ones. I was told to save you, because if you died, you would have killed so many more people, Raimy."

You glared at her with tears in your eyes, being told something that nobody else had bothered to yet. Your façade asked so many questions, but your mouth couldn't move. Your eyes begged her to explain.

"Bruce was tracking your radioactivity. You were about to fucking explode, Ms. Winters. Because that's what your body does when you have radioactive powers and your heart runs out of time. You're a bomb, Raimy, I'm just the one who made you tick a little bit longer." She spat angrily and stormed out of the cell, leaving you trapped and alone in the cage.

Hey, Dr. Karen.

I just had a fight with Nat. Again.

But this one was different... she told me that the only reason that she saved my life that day was because it was the only life she could save. Supposedly I'm a bomb. She said I was going to kill a lot more people if I died.

I don't know what I'm supposed to think, Dr. K.

Natasha was pissed off that I didn't care too much before she had said that. She looked tired and scared.

I don't want to scare her though. And I hope I'm not the reason she looked exhausted.

Who am I kidding. I probably am. I've been really harsh with her, Dr. K. And now that I know the truth, I feel... awful.

She had said that there were moments where she had wanted to die too... and when she hadn't loved herself much. She has a greater appreciation for life than I do, though. She's seen more, faced more... feared more.

I mean, my life was thrilling as a detective. Dangerous... but she's faced, aliens and super soldiers. So what the fuck do I know?

...

This journal is probably really thrilling for you to read.

-Raimy

Thoughts and comments are GREATLY appreciated!!

#natahsa romanoff #natasha x oc #natasha x reader #natasha romanov #natasha x fem!reader

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liquid-luck-00 · 4 years

Text

Meeting the Justice League

Bio!Dad Bruce

Day 6: Meeting the Justice League

@biodad-bruce-month

Ao3 ~~~ First ~~~ Previous ~~~ Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner after revealing herself wasn't that bad in fact it seemed like everyone was releived that they didn't need to hide any more.

After which she was officially led and toured the Batcave. Dick ended up flying all around the cave and Mari was not far behind. Batman, Robin, and the Reds left to patrol. Mari and Dick continued their gymnastics until they tired a bit. Then Mari explored a bit.

Specifically she ended up at the costumes and nearly choked when she saw one) the original Robin's suit and two) the Discowing suit.

"Please" she begged yelling towards Dick "tell me that you didn't wear both of these wrillingly."

"They aren't that bad Little Bat” he yelled in indignation.

"They aren't that bad" she began muttering as if having something foul near her, when she got to the couches in the confrance area she was giving Dick the now dubbed Mari Glare. "Oh they are bad Blue, probably the worst I've ever seen" she began sketching out a new suit for him.

She was almost done when the akuma alert sounded. "I have to go" Mari began to stand up, but Dick followed suit.

"I'll go with you" he added.

"Really?!" she didn't want to ask but after everything she was releived when he had offered.

"Ready to go Rosu" he called now in full gear.

"Ready when you are" she called on her transformation and merged with the horse, but before calling a portal she had to ask "what's a Rosu?"

He gave her a grin "my nickname for Ladybug is red in romani"

She nodded thinking for a second "Okay then how do you say blue?"

"Albastru but Azur may be simpler"

"What does that mean?"

"It translates to azure"

"Azur" she smiled "that's fitting."

When they got to Paris it was Gigantitan.

"Why is there a giant throwing a tantrum"

"Gigantitan, 5 years old, name August reoccurring akuma" Ladybug recites.

"Lead the way rosu" and she did.

Not much had changed in August's appearance as an akuma except where there was once a pacifier there was now a teddy bear.

With Nightwing as her partner she didn't even need to use her Lucky Charm. Everything went well and she was glad she didn't need to deal with Chat during the fight. Speaking of which, Chat Noir only bothered to show up when the fight had ended. She was leading August to his mother and that was when the Press swarmed.

"So, Bugaboo, since this ended so fast why don't we go on a date?" Chat had asked her knowing she had to give him an answer since the news was there. She bit her lip and was about to say something when Nightwing spoke up.

"Rosu" he said getting everyone's attention.

"Yes Azur"

"We need to go"

"Nightwing" someone called. He nodded "Why are you in Paris, Did you hear about the hero ban. Ladybug, Chat Noir are you going to arrest him or kick him out of the City?"

Several questions were shot their way but it

wasn't until Chat Noir spoke that the press went quiet. "Yes Bugaboo what are we going to do?" He looked at her a grin on his face.

"As of today Nightwing, Red Robin, Red Hood, Robin, and Batman will be aiding the Miraculous Team in order to uncover Hawkmoth's identity."

"What about the other heroes? Are they still banned or are only those mentioned allowed?" someone in the crowd asked.

"All except those mentioned are in deliberation until otherwise stated or seen." she answered. She and Nightwing were about to leave when she heard an all too familiar voice.

"Ladybug what about your date with Chat?" Alya, of course it was Alya.

"Chat Noir and I are partners, I have no romanic interest in him and frankly Chat" she was now directly speaking with him. "This infatuation of yours has put all of Paris at risk." she turned

towards Alya again "Miss Cesaire I have seen your blog and because of that I must say that I

will no longer support it. As of this moment

'BugOut' will deal with any information pertaining to myself." With that she and Nightwing zipped away only to be followed by Chat.

"M' lady please"

"Chat can you tell me anything you know about me that isn't idolization" she paused but he said nothing. "I don't think you love me for me, but you love the idea of me. Ready Azur?" with that they left Chat and returned to the cave. Only to be met with the most bizarre scene.

---

The two walked in and there they saw not only their father and brothers still in uniform but there were also two Green Lanterns, the Flash, Superman, Captian Marvel and...

"Oh My KWIAMII" Mari yelled from where the portal had closed. She was still dressed as Ladybug "You're Wonder Woman." She was so excited that she practically ran up to her. "Oh I've heard soo much about your Mother from Tikki" Wonder Woman let out a chuckle and so did the other heroes that were in the cave.

"Are you sure she's yours Bruce" her father glared at Flash but he only contined, "She is so cheery and your well broody."

She could only look around and stare at everyone

well. Her family was still in uniform but Dick, Damian, and Tim were no longer wearing their domino masks as well as one of the lanterns. Her father and Flash had lowered their cowls and Jason was resting his chin on his helmet.

"How, Why, do they, wait" she held up her hand took a breath and faced her father "I am so confused" at this everyone laughed.

"You can drop your transformation Mini" she did and well she was still confused. "I think introductions are in order"

So that was exactly what happened.

By then they were all dressed as civilians and were chatting in the manor.

Mari was dubbed Barry's favorite Wayne, but she is pretty sure it's because of her cookies.

Mari figured out Caption Marvel fairly quickly. That may have been because of the magic that transformed him, but she recognized the similarity to the miraculous. So within five

minutes of Billy dropping his transformation he was asleep on the couch Alfred the cat on top of him.

Diana invited her to Themesaura to train with the Amazons, dubbing her a sister in arms.

She tore Hal Jordan a new one stating even if he may have behind the miraculous were fake, wouldn't the similarities to his ring provide some slimmer of validity to the claim. At minimum he should have looked into it farther.

Speaking of Lanterns John Stewart was someone she could spend hours talking with. And he even explained a bit about the lantern corp and she explained about the miraculous. John even let her try his ring and her creativity and ingenuity were obvious.

She felt at ease talking with Clark, she found out where Jon got his sunny disposition from. Speaking of which that is how she figured out her brother's best friend was Superboy.

Well today was a long and eventful day but she wouldn't change a thing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@mochinek0 @justafanwarrior @abrx2002 @ranger-gothamite @fantasiame @moonystars14 @mochegato @bigbeautifulandfullofsugar @maribat-is-lifeblood @iglowinggemma28 @miraculous-ninja @talutah0 @vixen-uchiha @danielslilangel @witchsblackfox @pawsitivelymiraculous @lizziejay @marinettepotterandplagg @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @dast218 @sassakitty @miyla-lokidottir @lilkymilky @tazanna-blythe @tired-butterfly @lozzybowe @smolplantmum @queencommonsense @loopingtangent @chez-pezeater @paintedhope7 @technicallyburninggarden @meme991001 @wannajointhecrabcult @melicmusicmagic @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @fidget-eep @miraculouslydumb @iamablinkmarvelarmy @laurcad123

#bio!dad bruce wayne #bio! dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #b ! dbwm2020 #bruce wayne #batman #ml marinette #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #dc x miraculous #miraculous x dc #miraculus ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #maribat #batfam

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socketz · 4 years

Text

Charlie Dalton x Female!Reader

Angels of the Night.

Type : Fluff and Smut! (with a little Angst at the beginning)

Warnings : Very sexual at certain parts & particularly detailed, talks of death (in general, not Neil, don’t worry), crying I suppose, but that’s about it.

Word Count : 10.4K (roughly) I got a little carried away, oopsies

Request : Anonymous: So for the request, I was wondering if you could do something soft and smutty with Charlie (Dalton)? Like his and a fem reader’s first time together or smth?

Summary : Essentially the request but they go out to make snow angels after, and there’s a little bit more plot :)

Authors Note : Plsss🥺🥺🥺 I love this so much and the idea was so sweet, Charlie is my BABY. I love him fodjdjdbfi. Thank you for this request! And my other requested fics will be put up as soon as I’ve finished them <3

Angels of the Night, Charlie Dalton x Female!Reader

Perhaps it were the midst of Winter engulfing my complexion, rupturing me cold and abnormally behaved, or maybe I was simply being overdramatic. My nose cold, stained with the shiver of a scarlet hue - eyes something of a similar shade, glossy and leaking. Pathetic, my mind spat, utterly pathetic. The sobs escaping my throat were hardly stifled by the wool of my knitted scarf, eyebrows furrowed and blush - I presumed - something of a terrible crimson. I found myself choking on my laboured breaths, feet crunching upon the delicate, unscathed, snow below.

He could hardly love you, my mind seemed to snear, something icier than the wind whipping through my locks. You are too difficult to adore.

Another stifled cry whimpered between the ruffle of my lips, moist and troubling, and I simply hoped - my vision blurred, incompetent - that my direction were a honest path, and I should discover the courtyard of the infamous Hell-ton (a place often discouraged and avoided by my conscience, for girls were surely not prohibited, and Charlie would be oh-so-severly punished, should I find myself caught.) in no time at all.

But, oh, it were true. A wreck, I was, and impossible to love. Charlie; a man with such incredible charm, a certain warmth to his gaze, and the intelligence of someone wonderful. Everything a dream could give, embodied - real. Perhaps he was the kind of guy, the kind of face, that poetry was bound from. The kind of person the Gods found pride within - a joyously great boy.

My footsteps found a rhythm, falling within the tough scale of such icy blankets; fingers but limbs of solid numbness, fumbling within the depth of my pockets; a gentle pulse to racket the edges of my brain. Thump, thump, thump, it said; Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

What was I even to do? To approach him, to mortify him - though undoubtedly far more myself - before his friends, his closest companions, and express my excessive need for clarification? Was I going to whine for his adoration, for a smitten smile - the kind I’d always read about, always heard in folk-talk about the town - and the attention I found myself so desperate for? It was all so absurd, and, as I glanced with a blurred sense upon the harsh white all around, I found myself wanting to burrow beneath it all, and await the part of death to crawl within my veins, to freeze until I perished. Dramatic, perhaps, though valid nonetheless.

I suddenly felt warm, doused in the flush of embarrassed scarlet, a hue so easily identifiable - especially among the fleet of snow, draped upon the landscape for miles, and miles, to stretch. Heavens, I felt ill. Sick with stupidity - my own, all the same.

How could I possibly fall so low as to beg a man for adoration? My cheeks were a furious red, stricken with frustration. I felt a fool, storming over to his school - his strict, unapologetic, pro-punishment, school - with tear-stained cheeks, a lump in my throat and a pensive anxiety through the roof - all as though my implored desire were of anything important, anything meaningful. Charlie was a man of great confidence, and surely - by now, at least - his true feelings for me, if any at all, would have confessed their way to me, somehow - anyhow.

And yet, despite our many months of close friendship, our continuous flirting, and the pet names - though only to be revealed when swarmed with the comfort of desolation -, with the dates (he had assured me that they were, in fact, dates, and not just a friendly accommodation) - despite it all, he had not once confessed to his true feelings. And I suppose that I struggled to believe whether he held anything romantic for me at all, anymore. Perhaps he was excited, in the beginning, and thus he felt something then, and now - now that we had never quite ventured within the sexually active side of things - I supposed that he were growing bored, and those feelings - whichever he may have obtained - were diminished, unimportant, and-

“Y/N?” The delirious notion of my attention snapped up, grasping the direction of the calling - a familiar tone. Knox. I found myself spinning, undoubtedly a natural reaction, to turn away from his curious gaze. I wiped my eyes, a harsher manner than intended, with my numb digits digging a little deeper upon the flushed complexion than comfortable. “What are you doing here?” There was a breathy laugh, and I suppose he hadn’t noticed my watery expression, his crunching footsteps achingly close.

“I- uh-” Turning to face him once more, I fluttered a kind smile upon my features - hoped he wouldn’t notice. “I came to visit Charlie.” I said.

“Oh.” He said, dismissive, with another curious gaze and a tilted head. “He’s in a meeting-” He caught himself, glancing with something worried, “You okay?” He asked. Through his furrowed eyebrows and his genuine eyes - always gentle, always dreaming - I found comfort among the softness of his stare. Knox was a good friend - hopelessly in love with Chris, of course - and utterly tender. It was no wonder he and Charlie were the closest of companions. Both irresistible, both dependent upon each other - brothers, soulmates, a match for angelic enigma.

I hardly had a chance to catch my movement, shoulders falling and descending to a slouch, a sigh breaching my lips. “I’ve worried myself ill.” I said, and true it surely was. He smiled, a humorous smile, and shook his head.

“Always a worrier.” He spoke, fondly, taking me beneath his arm, and pulling me to the direction of the entry door. I almost thanked the warmth he radiated, had it not been for his words interrupting my decision, “You’ve been crying, I can see.” He said, and I nodded something silent. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Charlie.” I sighed, unable to pause the way it slipped, so easily, through my teeth. I tried to bite it back, but it begged for release and I could fool myself no longer. I needed to talk about the issue, I needed advice. “I feel as though I bore him - as if he doesn’t like me - like that - anymore.”

He let out a laugh, full and plentiful, as we walked through the waft of warmth, basked by the golden-lit entrance. His stare was wary, cautious, and he - in his height, with that uniformed jacket clung around a part of myself - buried me within his hold, ushering us through the walkway with a slight urgency. “Why the hell not?” He said, amused and slightly riddled with disbelief.

“I-” I paused, a kind of summary attempting to congregate within the depth of my mind, every anxiety rushing to the front in a large blur of nothingness, “I just do.” I said, a deep puff of air to follow. “We’re nothing official, and I know that - of course I do! I just…” A moment of silence followed, we wandered up the staircase, feet echoing simultaneously as our tones found hushed whispers. To be caught was simply not an option “I suppose I need to know.”

I found a gentle ache to sprout, deeply, within the base of my throat, a roundly stinging sensation to my eyes, and I knew - Oh, I knew it well, my jaw clenched, and orbs rolling to the sky - that tonight was a night for honesty, and for feeling morose. Charlie liked that word - morose - for it reminded him of things pleasant - ironically - and thus he used it in the incorrect context. ‘I am morose, tonight, Dear,’ he would say, a grin and faux British accent, all the while proceeding to play his cheeriest Saxophone pieces, all so wonderful and joyful. Nothing morose about it, but that was just Charlie. That was Just Charlie, and Charlie was the man I loved.

The tears began to fall - a first, and then a second, and then there was simply no stopping them after that. Knox hummed, and we entered the hallway. “Need to know what?” He said, our footsteps echoing upon the wooden flooring in a patterned, mismatched, rhythm.

“How he feels.” I said, a gentle sob to fall from my tongue. “How he feels about me - and him. Together - us.” We paraded through the course of the rooms, an occasional curious eye from a bystander - usually a boy with books, or perhaps a recognizable face - and landed before a familiar door.

“Ah,” He said, “So that’s why you’re here? To confess your feelings and hope that he reciprocates?” I found myself pausing in the doorway, Knox almost diving upon the neatly made bed - upon Charlie’s neatly made bed - that anxiety riddled within my head all over again. Thump, thump, thump, it said. Hope, hope, hope.

“Hope?” I said, “What do you mean, hope?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, dismissive to my worries, and picked up the small clock - slightly battered and a little broken - from upon the side table, stacked with loose paper and a few poorly handled novels, and said: “I worded that wrong.” With a reassuring smile to soften his expression. “You’re worried over nothing, Y/N.” He chuckled, gentle and kind.

But what if I wasn’t? “And if I’m not?”

“Then it would seem I don’t know Charlie at all.” He said. And, oh, how honest he seemed, so undeniably truthful, but that little voice - that fester of illness, sprouted within my gut - found my eyebrows pinched, and my frame collapsed within the chair of Charlie’s desk. I removed the wool of my scarf, a sigh slipping the brace of my gritted teeth, gentle moisture collecting upon my complexion, flushed with the sudden gust of warmth, and similarly cold by the retraction of heat.

“I hope those shoes are clean, Overstreet.” I said, breathless to my thoughts. He snorted a laugh, and my lip quivered at the corner. Perhaps I was worrying over nothing - yes, yes, nothing at all. Though my tears seemed to occupy my anxieties, and such a thought did little to diffuse my worry. “But what if he doesn’t have feelings for me?” I said, exasperated. Knox sighed, a pointed look from his direction. “I mean, how embarrassing! I’d surely never recover.”

Another scoff breached his throat, “Are you kidding me?” He said, rolling his eyes with a subtle fondness about him. “He practically worships you.”

“And you’re sure he likes me? Romantically?”

“Smitten.” He said, toying with the ill-treated clock as it lay within his hands, tossing it from one hand, to the other, up and down, left and right. I watched with a glimmer of amusement as the contraption fell from his grasp, landing heavily upon the wooden flooring. The mechanisms simply fell apart - meat from the bone - and a light wince sounded out from his direction. “Damn.” He mumbled. A soft laugh fluttered from my lips, and his rose to a tender smile, soft and kind - always so kind.

The door billowed open, a gentle slam against the opposing wall a thunder upon the scene. A waft of cologne, a roll of the eyes from Knox, and I found my smile broadening a little, broadening enough. Always the kind for an entrance, I thought, as the wooden plank poised between the man himself, and I. “Knoxious.” Charlie called, a tone of thick amusement and mischief to coax his smirk - a factor so notoriously him, I could hear it through his speech.

Knox grinned, a furtherly boyish kind than the ones he shared with me, and avoided the shattered clock altogether, as it lay, pathetically, upon the ground. “How’d it go?” He asked, lying pointedly within the comfort of Charlie’s bed, making a fact of wiggling upon the comforter.

“Not so bad.” Charlie said, blissfully ignoring his teasing. “Meeks agreed to help. Study group and all that.”

Knox nodded, glancing once in my direction, as I found myself merely grinning - for whichever reason, I had no particular clue. Perhaps it were his voice, or his smile - the way it conveyed within his speech. I didn’t know, and I found, as he spoke once again, that I didn’t care to find out.

“How was the Danbury’s future wife?” He teased, “Seen her naked, yet?” His tone of humour were almost overbearing, as he strode forward - in front of myself, my presence consequently unknown - and kicked the door shut, the thud another echo throughout the almost silent corridor.

He rolled his eyes, the ghost of a smile to be present, and spoke gently, “Shut up, Dalton.” He said, motioning effortlessly in my direction, “Your girl’s here to see you.”

As though an elastic band, he swiveled upon his toes, eyes precariously enlarged with a sense of surprise. My grin remained, and his gaze seemed to soften somewhat upon noticing my hunched posture, curled within that chair of his fabulous desk. His expression eloped with something wide, his smile crawling instantaneously, as he strode to rest himself behind me, engulfing my shoulders in a two-armed-cradle. His chin rested upon the dip in my neck, breath warm; close. “Hi.” He said, tone soft with a joyous grin.

“Hello.” I mumbled, resting the side of my cheek upon his head. Serenity, peace - I had almost forgotten the moisture to lie upon my rosy complexion. “What was the meeting about?” I asked.

“It’s nothing, just-” “He’s flunking trig.” Knox interrupted, a flutter of buried snickers to follow.

My eyebrows furrowed, knitted tightly as I positioned myself to face Charlie furtherly forward. “You’re flunking trig?” I asked. He shrugged slightly, tightening his embrace

with a sharp inhale to his nose.

“Only a little.” He said, gaze roaming upon my expression. Two digits, curled to the softness of his palm, graced the damp flush of my cheek, recoiling with a scowl of fond woe displaced upon his furrowed brows. “What’s the matter?” He asked, something mellow.

As though dancing to their own accord, the tears found themselves heavier than before, trickling upon my features as they found a subtle scrunch, and his frown drew deeper. “Hey,” He whispered, brushing - almost nervously, dare I say - a few strands of hair away from my face, tucking them behind an ear, with a glance of thorough concern.

I stared, albeit tried to, with such blurry gaze, into his eyes. So warm, so amiable - hot chocolate, topped with sweetened whipped cream and marshmallows on a chilly Wednesday afternoon - Home, his eyes, they looked like home. He felt like home. And, oh, how dearly I loved him. “What happened?” He mumbled, “Knoxious,” he said, turned to face the boy who glanced something somber, “What did you do?”

I could care to notice the smile upon Charlie’s expression, and from the reciprocated grin festered within the boy across the room, I understood, a teary smile and a gentle laugh, that he was doing what he did best - he was going to cheer me up. “Overstreet.” He said, standing with a sudden gust of wind.

Knox stood, a scramble to his feet, a mischievous grin eloped upon his expression. “Dalton?” He said, a tilt of his head - a nod, I suppose, though something mocking.

“Grab me a bowl.” Charlie ordered.

His smile fell, and he said: “A bowl?”

“Yeah, of food.” He said, “I’m hungry. Whatever’s for Dinner, alright?”

He nodded, somewhat dazzled, and the smirk crawled back upon his expression. “Yes, Sir.” He said, “What about the others?”

“The others?”

“The Dead Poets?” Knox said, “What’ll I tell ‘em?”

Charlie shrugged, he glanced once to myself as I sniffled, and I wiped my eyes with my hands once more. “Tell ‘em I’m busy.” He said, a smile. Knox knew - he knew better than anyone - just how deeply controlling love could feel, how gut-wrenchingly wonderful it tended to grow, and thus he left without another word, merely a smirk, and a gentle wave to I.

The door remained cracked, though only a slither, and before a moment's silence had passed between us, Charlie planted his lips upon the cold complexion of my snow-kissed cheek. A retraction, “God,” He said, “you’re freezing.” I didn’t feel particularly cold - not anymore, at least -- not after the weight of his tightly woven arms upon my shoulders. It should seem, however, that the glisten of moisture upon my cheeks were enough to remind my complexion of it’s shiver, Charlie - without hesitation - ripping into the array of clothing, shoved messily at the pit of his closet. “Here.” He mumbled, a thick, woolen, jumper extended from his slightly pink cheeks. “Put this on, you’ll get sick.”

I have fallen sick already, I almost scoffed - sick with the worries of my own foolish mind. But I grabbed the soft material nonetheless - a favorite of mine, one I thought he wore so very well - and removed my jacket, peeling the cold material from my bare arms. I placed it on, woozy with the intoxicating smell that was him, engulfing my frame in a combustion of warmth, of safety, and I smiled. A toothy, poorly contained, smile.

That smirk fell upon his lips, a signature twist of features. I watched his supple gaze, drifting upon my figure from across the room, and those butterflies - the ones I’d so anxiously murdered a while ago, when such intrusive thoughts seemed too dangerous to express fondly - found themselves utterly contempt, dazzling themselves drunk with romance. Eyes darkened slightly, though soft, as though glancing to something delicate, and his hands fumbled within his pockets. How pretty he was, I found myself thinking, and I adored him all the same.

He smiled, a shake of the head, and said: “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Oh, yeah…” I said, another sniffle, contained and hardly morose at all. My expression seemed to falter, though only marginally - enough for Charlie to notice, his gaze scowling something gentle, something worried - and I presumed, as he motioned for me to join him, himself clambering upon the mattress and lying upon the cover, that I would simply have to let it all out. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” I began, sitting at the edge of the bed. He kicked off his shoes, allowing them to clatter upon the ground with a careless sense, attentive and glancing warily to myself.

He frowned, subliminally displeased by the distance I had placed between us. “Are you mad at me?” He asked, confusion to bind between his features.

It was my turn to furrow my eyebrows, a rather quick shake of the head. “No, no, nothing like that.” I said, “No, quite the opposite, really.” I kicked off my own shoes, not nearly as eager to ruin his bedding as Knox had seemed to be, and placed them side by side, a neat sort of line. The tears, they had stopped - or paused, perhaps - though the dampness of my blush was something rather frustrating, as I harshly wiped upon the irritated skin, attempting to rid of the lightly tangy moisture.

“Alright.” He hummed, an arm to lock upon the soft of my stomach, drawing me closer in a swift kind of movement. I laid back, his chest moving something rhythmical, my head falling within the crook of his neck, glancing up to the side of his face. He was surely the prettiest boy I had ever known. And as his thumb stroked the skin of my knuckles, his eyes glancing down to meet my own, I found myself thoughtless. Blank - nothing. He smiled. “Well?”

I rolled my eyes half heartedly, for I was so filled with something fuzzy, something fond, I was unable to spark any kind of annoyance. “So impatient.” I grinned, shuffling lightly to tangle my feet beneath his own. Oh, how cold my toes were. He hissed lightly at the contact, though allowed it nonetheless, and I found myself unable to dismiss the gentle grin as it slipped upon my lips. “I- Well, I-“ I coughed, an ache to my throat. Feelings, themselves, were particularly frustrating - difficult things to understand - and yet confessing them were so much harder. “God,” I sighed, closing my eyes with a light groan. Carpe diem - it was all Charlie used to say, before he’d do something risky; before he asked me on a date for the first time; before he inevitably did a thing he’d surely regret, or, perhaps, receive a kind of punishment for. Carpe diem. “Do you like me?” I asked. It was timid, shy.

A moment of silence graced us by, the soft hum of his breathing mingled with that of my own the only disruptive notion. I peered through my lashes, cautious as to my findings, and gazed upon his beautifully carved features. Glancing to his lightly flushed expression, his smile, and his subtle laughter, I suppose that I gathered I had been worrying about nothing, after all. Stretched within his grin, he said: “What’s the matter with you?”, a gentle laugh soon followed . “Of course I like you.” He said. “Why’d I keep you around if I didn’t?”

I felt myself bubble with a lightly humiliated laugh, trickling from my tongue like treacle - not honey, far too thick, too sticky. Unpleasant - it was a frustrated and false kind. “I don’t know.” I muttered. “I thought you did it all out of pity.”

A snort escaped him, “Fucking pity?” He echoed, bemused as before. “You think I’d deliberately risk getting my ass kicked by my Father, for bringing a girl to school, if it was out of pity?” I shrugged something small - utterly humiliated. Though, in a way, I suppose I kind of enjoyed this humiliation. I found a certain warmth in his mocking, for I knew it was his dote of affection. I knew that although his commentary were merely humorous, I could find a sense of adoration between the lines, a sense of truth. There always seemed to be such things.

And so, as though a strike of courage had flourished within the depth of my bones, I found myself speaking thoughtlessly. “You just never…” I paused, hesitation riddled within such courage. “You’ve never told me that.” I sighed, glancing away with such an inflammation to my cheeks, I simply thought I’d explode into a ball of flames.

“Oh,” He muttered, a tinge of disheartenment to his tone. I flickered my stare to fixate upon his expression once more, crossed handsomely with a frown. He didn’t meet my gaze, “Well, what do you want me to say?” He said, a little thickly, with a hint of discomfort.

Tell me you love me, I wanted to say, confess your adoration! Though instead, there was a: “Nothing.” and an: “I’m sorry, I’m being dramatic.”

“No, no,” He said, a stroke to my side; up and down, up and down, so gentle, so soft. “No, you’re right.” A curt pause followed, a tense thing. He drew in a sharp breath, “I just thought that…” He trailed, marinating his words, as though deciphering how to piece them together. “I thought you could tell.” He smiled fondly, shook his head, “The Dead Poets… All they do is tease me. They see it.” He glanced toward me, a curious glance, and said: “Why can’t you?”

I paused, the gentle stammer to exit my mouth, “I-” but caught myself before mine own excuses. There was a furrow to my brows, one that rose a single of his own, and surely, he were right.

Between the gentle dotes of affection - often an arm burrowed around my waist, or my shoulders, or a kiss to my cheek, hand holding (though usually interlocked pinkies) - the long, - dare I say - intimate stares; the softness of each glance, of every expression; the subtle compliments, followed with a fond kind of joke, or a faux insult; the adoration, spilled between every moment we spent together, that I were simply too worried to notice. Damn, I almost sighed, though bit it back (barely) - I felt bitterly foolish.

Heavens, how could I not have noticed?

There was an overwhelming kind of heat washing over me, and oh, I truly wanted to hide - to run, and to hide, far, far, away. What a fool, an incompetent fool. The flutter of a laugh slipped between his lips, a lullaby to my fixated embarrassment, and - before long - I found myself reciprocating a gentle giggle, too.

“Idiot.” He teased, another snort of laughter, though only quiet - a fond mocking, one could say. I rolled my eyes, unbearably aware for the scarlet flush upon my cheeks, and swatted his chest gently. His digits wrapped around my own, drawing the back of my hand to his smile, as he peppered a loving kiss upon the complexion. “‘Looks good.” He grinned, “My clothes - they suit you.” And there I was, blushing all over again.

“Shut up.” I mumbled, burning something violent.

He smiled, that toothy, mischievous, and utterly him, smile. “Never.” He whispered, a wink, and a closing gap.

His eyes, those beautifully entrancing eyes - gorgeously brown, amorous in shade - glanced, feverishly, upon my lips, slightly agape - drying. The space between our mingled breaths seemed to lessen, the scent of his cologne an overwhelming disorientation to my unmoving self. I found my frame utterly frozen - we had never kissed before. I gulped, our gazes entangling once again, and his expression found a subtle pinch.

Is this okay? It seemed to ask, and oh, how I melted. I nodded, soft and hesitant - merely within my own - or, rather, lack there of - experience. His digits ran smoothly upon my side, trickling their way upon my tingling complexion, and weighted a supple grip upon my jaw, thumb tracing the flush of my cheek.

And then, the space between two such lovers diminished.

Molded so wondrously, an aubade of something perfect. My eyes found a restful close, the pressure of his lips, so tender and gentle - passionately loving - upon mine, a soulful clash of dreamy nights, and explicit daydreams, embodied. The digits upon my cheek failed to release, momentarily squeezing, as the barricade upon my lower back embraced my frame, warm and comforting, and his strength lulled me closer.

I tilted my head, only slightly to the left, as to deepen such affection, and the simple way in which my nose brushed upon his, found my heart slurry with a combustion I could hardly contain. My hands trailed upon his chest, pathing a certain comfort upon his clothed complexion, winding to a settlement along his jaw, cupping his face in a brisk motion of adoration. This was real, I found such a touch reminding me, he was truly within my hands, and his lips were smitten upon my own. Oh, how long I had dreamed such a night.

It seemed almost strange, that such a new found discovery could feel so dearly like home - like comfort, fed upon a delectably silver spoon.

Sweeter than any honey infused dessert, delighted with the bitterness of inexperience and unveiled expressions, my awareness a haze of muddled infatuation. For although my fingertips caressed the smooth complexion of his jaw, and my frame lay, entangled, within his own, it seemed that my feel, my sense of attention, was something of a great lack. Everything seemed so out of focus, so ill-tuned. All but the pressure of the fiery ignition, between the kiss of an epilogue I dreaded immensely.

My breaths fell short, something deep and ravenous, and I found yourself withdrawing gently, engulfing the sudden gulp of oxygen with a slight pant to accompany it. Charlie’s glance was warm; every kind of affection intertwined within one honey glaze; mouth agape, clawing to the fresh air with a timid smirk, reddened and slightly swollen - kissable. His thumb caressed the complexion of my rosy cheek, a falter nowhere to be seen, and his grip on my lower back trailed up, grasping the base of my neck in a sloppily tender hold. He pulled me nearer, a soft guidance, as his breath fanned my expression, gorged with a timid and delightful smile, and the gingerly peppered peck followed. "I love you." He mumbled, eyes fluttered shut.

He loved me - He loved me! Oh, how I had longed to hear such a confession! I truly pondered the sincerity to his words, though decided that perhaps a paranoid ponderous session was in fact unnecessary, and, in due time, such doubts could trail my conscience. After all, he had confessed that he loved me, and, well, that was just enough for my satisfaction.

Tugging upon the hem of his jawline, a subtle smile traced the hue of his expression - peacefully quiet, with his orbs still hidden to a close - and my lips descended, something brash and seemingly passionate, upon his own. His response trailed suit, the grip upon my neck squeezing momentarily - an embrace I found alluringly entrancing, with a tingle between my thighs - and a gape to mold within his mouth. Craning his neck, once more, Charlie tilted his head to the right, in a consequent attempt to deepen the kiss. And perhaps it were foolish of me to notice such simplicity, but I found it captivating, the way in which our eyelashes freckled upon each other's cheeks, and our noses clashed so gently, brushing a blushed complexion with no morsel of objection.

His tongue ran along the moisturized flesh of my flushed lower lip, a subtle nip between his front teeth igniting the heated warmth, oozing between my own frustrations, and - although I had, for arguments unbeknownst to myself, never before used my tongue in a passionate manner - I found my lips parting subconsciously, and welcoming the sloppy warmth of an entity my dreams could hardly fathom such experience of.

A gentle invasion, something utterly welcome and wondrous; his tongue ran along the edge of my own, myself mimicking the soft touch with slight hesitance. His thumb caressed the complexion of my cheek once more, lightly gripping upon the side of my face and tilting it such, himself adjusting to furtherly explore the depth of my intertwined lips. I were surely rendered breathless, a slight ache beginning to accumulate within the pit of my lungs - I hardly knew how to breathe through such intimacy. Charlie sighed something gentle, the puff of air to tickle my upper lip, and it seemed the recollection of my nose fluttered on back to me, as I gulped a large inhale through the deprived nostrils, a subtle blush encasing my cheeks, flourished with the tinge of thickening embarrassment. That was a bit fucking stupid, I scolded, shamed by my bitter inexperience.

I wondered if I were... Well, if I were any good, to put it simply. Never before had I truly made out with a boy, and every time they tried, it seemed to - somehow, somewhere - go wrong. Of course, I had shared subtle kisses with pretty boys, and my virginity was long gone - many moons ago, was it taken, by a man unbelievably unworthy of the title - but it was never anything emotional. Nothing riddled with mutual feelings, and adoration spilling from every passing moment. It was different - Charlie was different.

And as my grip slithered upon the roots of his hair, planted along his lower cranium, and entangled with a gentle tug, I understood that perhaps he thought I was different, too. For the sound he made was heavenly, as the groan slipped between his lips, and vibrated upon my tongue, and oh, did I crave to hear it again. His smile was a radiance of arrogant pleasure, tattered against my lips, as his teeth nibbled something tender upon my swollen flesh, and, Heavens, how the shuddered sigh mortified me. I had little time to control myself, as his grip tightened upon the base of my neck, and the other hand slunk itself upon my clothing, wriggling the base of my shirt, and planting a firm grip upon my bare waist.

I wondered, merely a moment of passing thought, whether my skin were as smooth as his own, or that of the other girls he had bedded, before myself. At least, I assumed such a happening would unfold within the shared company, as my lips began to shimmer a light sting, something barbarically pleasing. Another nibble ran upon my lower lip, a slightly harsher endeavor, as a sharp flourish of pain cursed through my mouth, eloping the pleasurable chafe in a reactive heat. My fist clenched, tightly engaged, within the roots of those chocolate, brown, locks, yet another groan to interrupt the blurry silence, and a sudden flavor - something unusual, unknown - infiltrated the bliss, and... Metallic? I frowned subtly, decidedly unknowing as to just what it could be, and - Blood.

Heavens, I was bleeding! I felt myself gasp something light, his smirk merely amplifying to such a bemusing reaction, and his tongue softly grazed the small wound with great humor, before slithering within the gaped part of my inflamed mouth.

His hand squeezed, momentarily, upon the rear of my neck, it's warmth surely missed, as it trailed an affable motion along my back, and his digits curled upon the hem of my shirt. One subtle tug, and a second shortly followed, his permission permitted clearly, and his grip maneuvered such clothing from upon my heated frame, hands lightly brushing the shivered complexion of my bare sides, with deliberate teasing, as he went. The shirt was thrown somewhere unbeknownst to myself, the knitted jumper a deduced accomplice, and I simply hoped it wouldn't land upon Richards bed - that kind of commentary I would surely never live down - as my hands slithered their way beneath his own clothing, resting upon the warm complexion of his softly animated chest, rising and deflating rhythmically beneath my grip.

A supple grasp of his warm touch, cupping upon the thinly laced fabric of my forgettable bra, found delightful swarms of shivers, crawling with great animation, to scuttle upon my spine. The gentle arc of my back, a soft pressure of my chest upon his own, allowed our mingled affection to deepen, be it only slight, as his tongue slithered endearingly alongside mine. Once more, I hoped that my actions were at least satisfactory, as the persistence of the surprisingly wondrous invasion, sultry within my mouth, peppered on. His breath was short, gentle, yet utterly irrational, a certain tinge of warmth to radiate from the subtlety of his glamorously expensive cologne.

And, despite my growing adoration for the way in which our bodies found a perfect kind of mold, so effortlessly, the tender reminder that Charlie was still... Well, he was still bothersome in clothing, his attire entirely intact, as he lay responsive below my trembling self, found a certain nerve within the depth of my hidden anxieties. Perhaps I had read too far into such a night, and it would not quite end the way I had hoped - perhaps he was simply going along with everything through courtesy. He was a rather gentlemanly man, I could agree. I found a timid blush crawling the complexion of my expression - oh, how foolish I felt! My mind rendered itself bitterly clouded - maybe my crowing insecurities would, in fact, not wait - and my hesitant touch seemed to lightly drift, no longer positioned upon the warmth of his beautiful skin. He didn't even want this, I was almost certain. After all, it was me lying flat upon his frame - not him. I had control - idiotically so - and therefore, he did not want me. Not in that way, at least.

The distance forced itself between such entanglement far before I found a moment to conceal the concerns, myself positioned to a particularly uncomfortable straddle, perched lightly upon his pelvis with my hands palmed upon his erratically pulsating chest. His eyebrows furrowed ever-so-slightly, toppled with a mantra of concern, lips bruised an almost impressive tinge of inflamed scarlet. "What's wrong?" He muttered, albeit breathless and slightly dumbfounded. His darkened gaze pinned me silent, a flicker of uncomfortability to reside within my mind. I could hardly see just why he would want me, in any kind of way, never mind the sexual kind.

I glanced to my hands, toying subtly with the fabric of his clothing, and my stomach spiked with some kind of nervous gip. Fucking hell, I scolded, what is wrong with you? His digits encased my own, plush lips a delicacy upon the soft complexion, as he traced my palm with a gentle touch, and peppered affection among my knuckles. "Y/N..." He sighed, a sudden softness about his expression. My eyes danced reluctantly, cautious and riddled with my cock-blocking, frustrating, anxieties, and met his gaze with a shy tinge. "What's with the nerves, all of a sudden?" A lovable flutter of laughter slipped his throat, engulfing his expression in that wide grin I found myself adoring so deeply, and another blush drooped upon my smile, small and timid in itself.

"Sorry." I mumbled, somewhat awkwardly, as I lightly shifted my positioning.

A slight hiss escaped the gape of his reddened lips, "Oh, God," He said, "please - God, fuck - don't do that." He groaned, a strong grip and swift maneuvering moment of furrowed expression and concerning grumbles to follow, and I discovered a position of swandled helplessness, upon my back, himself a display of further dominance, as he hung above my confused person. A slither of arrogance spilled within his smirk, particularly delighted with the shift in positioning.

Perhaps he did want me, after all, I dared to ponder. Heavens - he surely looked Godly, struck above, a slight strain to his muscles, and a shimmer of reddened blush to coax his complexion. Two digits maneuvered upon my cheek, another pinch smitten within his expression, and he stroked my features, as he said: “We don’t have to do it, you know.” And he smiled something gentle, reassuring.

I found myself silly with a grin, shaking my head subtly. “No,” I said, “No, I want to.” I brushed away the fringe of fallen hair, tucking it away from his forehead. Truly the most beautiful boy I had ever known. “I want to, I just-” I paused, sighed, “I want to make sure you do, as well.” I said, quieter, with a furrow to my brows.

That similarly contagious smile only seemed to brighten, the breath of a laugh a whisper to the quiet. “Me?” He somewhat scoffed, “Sweetheart, tonight is about you.”

Contorted with a sense of confusion, I said, “Are you sure?” And wrapped his warm expression within the palms of my hands. “I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do, Charlie.” I said.

His grin something soft, he shook his head. “Dammit, Y/N, the name is Nuwanda.” He said, with not a moment's hesitation. His lips found mine own once more, eloped within that same enigma of beautiful, gratifying, expression. And, oh, if this were the love I had read about, that I had heard the stories of, perhaps I could dare to allow myself to fall.

Mouth a hot trail, lingering with a sloppy kind of warmth, trickled - like honey, sweet, addictive - upon the flush of my complexion, gently peppered along my neck, a rough trail to the crane of my breast, parting through the middle, and a pause at my stomach. The tips of his fingers wound little circles within my pale flesh, a tickle embraced delightfully, and I found myself flustered and warm - dampening, perhaps, in an area more than one.

The gentle, almost trembling, I cared to notice, graze of his fingertips, caressing the sensitivity of the skin most unscathed, perched above the button of my waistband, found a fluttered breath to fall from my tongue. A sigh, one could admit. And, as he maneuvered such digits to undo the subtle mechanisms of the button, and of the zipper, I found my gaze interlocking with his own, a dirty kind of smile to pepper his expression.

“Wait-” I breathed, a little sultry - too sultry for my liking, though his grin only widened upon such a shaky tone.

“Yes, Dear?” He said, a grip to my waist - something squeezed, something utterly distracting - and crawled his way to hover above me, our gazes interlocked and level. A sharp inhale found my throat, and I paused, albeit disorientated, and that intense expression of his dimmed somewhat. I found myself blushing, flustered idiotically, and I tugged upon the lower creases of his shirt. He glanced down, a breathy laugh to follow.

He sat back slightly, resting mostly upon his legs, straddled either side of myself, as I lie, watching - no doubt looking a mess, with disgruntled hair, and half a naked body - and he began to unbutton the cotton of his creased, white, shirt.

Pasty, toned - oh, I were surely thankful to Nolan for such persistent rowing training - and utterly divine. The shirt found the floor, and I subconsciously began trailing patterns, gently, upon the muscled complexion of his abdominal region. His smile was infectious, dazed, as though swarmed with consuming bliss, and his slow descent was something teasing, patient.

I leaned up, unable to pause myself, and caught his lips with my own, furtherly passionate than previously seemed - harsher, dripping with an uncanny tinge of desperation. He slipped his way back down, continual pressures of feathered kisses, slobbered messily upon the heated skin of my neck, my breast, and the lower fraction of my stomach. My hands wove between the gloriously soft strands of his hair, clenching upon the roots with a great anticipation. I surely wanted him - needed him.

Picking off from where he had found himself interrupted, Charlie made a point to daringly drag the material from upon my limbs - slow, deliberate - and peel them unto the floor. That smile - that damned smile - bled me something mushy, utterly submissive to every which occurrence seemed to take place henceforth. His mouth, hot, entirely entrancing - dreamy, perhaps - pressed, a ragged breath to accompany, upon the flesh of my thigh, trailing up, further, further, until they grazed the cloth of my lacy waistband.

Naturally - with somewhat an embarrassing notion - my hips seemed to rise, to buck up, and follow his retreating mouth. The gaze in which he dared to share, - oh - it ached me. My stomach pooling - almost, as it seemed, distributing elsewhere, in a mantra of pleasure, and of need. And the sound that escaped the gape of my mouth were something utterly mortifying.

He breathed a gentle chuckle, crawling up once more, his thumbs brushing lightly upon the fabricated hip, and allowed his forehead to rest upon my cheek, a deep breath - in, and out, in, and out - with a number of peppered affection to burn the complexion of my jaw. My grip remained, gentler, within the roots of his hair, rummaging among such luscious locks, and his breathing feathered, wavering with a soft tremble.

Charlie snuffed his way, knocking my nose with his own, and smiled something tender, a to lock our gaze. “I love you.” He mumbled, the gentle ghost of a kiss to slither upon my lips.

I hardly awaited a moment’s hesitation, “I love you,” I said, and I surely meant it.

There was a moment of shuffling, himself withdrawing the belt - a clink, and a burning fire between the ache of my thighs - and the rustle of descending cloth. Our lips a tangle of blissful abundance, daydreams, passion, all that seemed so wonderful - all that life seemed to be understood for - wrapped within such a sweetened, musky scent. And then, as he parted my legs, something gentle, and particularly kind, and the lace of my dampened panties were discarded to the side, I found, for a heightened moment, I understood the root of all poetry.

For the breeze was nippy, but he was a kind of warmth - a slow, graceful, entrance. He shuddered a breath, his member fulfilling the absence of a warm embrace, and I found myself a wholly consumed fool. “Charlie,” I breathed, a gentle tug to his hair. He groaned something heavenly, vibrating among the thickening air - sticky, almost, with such a sweet sensation, and then he began to move.

Gradual, as he dug further, a greatly whole sensation washing over my pleasured shudder, until he paused, entirely consumed by his depth. Breathing deepened, ravenously implored by my tender whimpers, he captured my moans in a grunt of his own, “Shhh,” he muttered, a strained kind of speech. “You’ve got to be quiet.” He muttered, a whisper of a breath upon my lips.

He retracted, slow, daring, from within me, movement slick and utterly dangerous. “We don’t-” A muffled groan fell from his lips, pausing with a noticeable withdrawal, his smirk something bitterly infused with desperation, with longing. “We don’t wanna get caught, do we?”

I shook my head, far too engrossed within the bask of delight and satisfaction to pay my embarrassment any kind of interest. “No,” I breathed, my hips rising once more and grazing the moisture of his hardened self. A subtle moan escaped the rumble of his throat, a bastardly smile embracing his daring expression, lips crashing to connect with my own once more.

His digits encased my own, hardly noticed and utterly trusted, and he withheld such grip above my head, smitten upon the pillows, and the headrest, and he entered me once more. I found a muffled moan escaping my throat, digested with the greedy tongue of his own, as he withdrew his frame, and began to find a kind of rhythm. He ground something gentle into me, a tender type of jive, and allowed the rhythm something slow, something gradual. It were a mere mumble upon the flush of my lips, though I smiled nonetheless, as he said - breathed -: “Is this-” A pause, a shuddered inhale, “Is this alright?”

I nodded, unable - quite - to express such simplicity in any which way. “Perfect,” I muttered, allowing my head to fall comfortably, resting with my gaze locked upon the ceiling.

Ragged breaths, furtherly accompanied by the feathering pepper of his sprinkled kisses, planted sparsely along my jaw; an embodiment of all the wonders, every kind of lyric, every stanza, every momentary pleasure; the warmth of a gradually increasing rhythm, so comfortingly blissful, my lower stomach contracting with a pleasurably unfamiliar sense of tightness; that musky scent, so beautifully him, so perfectly raw.

He found a lightly harsher stroke, breath an uneven hymn, a prayer the angels seemed to cry, and I found my moan something - soberly - mortifying, drunk with a combustion of thickening lust, of adoration, of love. He heaved a breath, somewhat a laugh, and tilted my chin to level our gaze, his lips capturing my whimpers in a silencing kind of manner. He reached to my hips, their slow slipping of something unsatisfactory to his heavy grip, and he tugged me down upon his thrusts. A cry - a moan - slipped between our mingled breaths, and he seemed to pick up such speed, delicately embracing my complexion in a gentle manner, a loveable motion, and pulling me into his stroke.

A knot, something unfamiliar with the burden of time, tightened somewhere deeply, warmth emitting between the slick moisture between my thighs, and igniting a rich kind of fire within the enigma of my lower stomach, and Oh-

A moan slipped the gape of my lips, his member discovering a kind of depth I had hardly realized accessible, and I- “Charlie,” I breathed, a pathetic taunt within the front of my conscience. His groan was something reciprocal, strokes strong, deepening, and undoubtedly a kind of heavenly descent.

He muttered my name, a breath I found myself entirely enthralled by, and found his rhythm to a slower pace, retracting gradually and entering - deeper, oh, far deeper - with a furtherly slow invitation. A shuddered, heightened, moan slipped the grasp of my throat, coarser and far more depthful, and that knot - Heavens, that damn knot - tightened; it tightened and it squeezed, and it ached the course of my thighs. “Charlie-” I whispered, almost certain for the fiery warmth, engulfing the towering pull among my abdomen.

He nodded, a breath to trickle his expression, “Yeah,” He said, “Yeah, me too.”

The knot rose, a consuming tug among my dizzying conscience, and it lulled my limbs into a distracted, sedated, kind of manner, blissfully encased with a pleasure enamoured. Another moan found my throat, and his rhythm remained something increasingly shaky, strong and utterly defying.

His breath fell to something unstable, gradually embracing an elated sense of ragged unevenness, as he captured our lips once more. A series of whimpers found the depth of my throat, my attempt to bite them back insufficient to his rhythmic thrusts, member far deeper than it seemed I could reach, myself. “Charlie,” I mumbled, almost finding myself warning as to the upcoming occurrence, himself smirking thickly against the gasp of my lips.

“Go ahead, Baby,” he shuddered, “I’ve got you.” And then, I found myself unable to hold on any longer.

A tremble of muffled cries - once, twice, copious times again, until my throat lay wretched with not a sound but the mere whimpers of pleasure. The knot, it combusted in a matter of electrical warmth, flushing through the gape of my parted, shuddering, legs. “Charlie,” I cried, like a song upon the dry whimper of my throat, “Charlie, Charlie,” until his name seemed nothing more than a word upon my tongue. Such a wave, engulfing me in a sensational kind of suffocation, an infectious kind of entrapment. I ached, another moan to fall from my lightly gasped mouth, and I found the knot, the gentle tug, no longer there - diminishing, one may say.

I had hardly noticed the withdrawal of his softening member, stomach glistened with the tone of his undoing, his breaths ragged - deepened - though upon meeting his glance with that of my own, I understood that this - this man whom I loved, whom I adored - were someone I could most certainly Carpe Diem with every goddamn day. He smiled, something tender, something soft, and draped his lips upon my own, a sweet, kind, peck.

“I love you,” He muttered upon the swollen flesh.

A smile, “I love you,” I said.

There was a moment of nothingness, filled by the still of ragged breathing, and his tone came teasing, came blissfully characteristic. “I’ll never hear my name fall from your lips innocently again.” He said, the light trickle of laughter to drabble by. “But, oh,” He closed his eyes, head tilted dramatically, “Oh, it was the sweetest song I ever heard.” I rang with a short giggle, a roll to my eyes, and muttered a gentle curse for his mortifying dictation.

“Fuck you, Dalton.” I mumbled.

His lips caught mine, once more, with a sloppy sense of warmth, and he said: “I’m afraid you already have, Dear.” With a wink and a poke to my naked side.

His withdrawal were something quick, a suddenly cold departure, as he picked up the discarded shirt from upon the floor. He pinched his expression, a conflicting frown, and I maneuvered to rest upon my forearms, a furrow to my brows. “What are you doing?” I asked, a dopey smile unnoticed yet utterly welcome.

He breathed a laugh, “I’m not sure if this is my last shirt.” He mumbled, scratching the base of his neck with another little chuckle. I let out a short snort, shaking my head, and spoke teasingly, unable to help the way it fell from my tongue.

“To say I’m surprised would simply be a lie. Grab mine.” I said, motioning to the entanglement of woolen jumper and cheap t-shirt.

He passed such fabric to myself, and I made an effort to scrape the slick moisture, puddled upon my stomach, a slight sigh to escape my mouth. The click of a lighter, and the rustle of an almost empty cigarette carton caught my attention, gaze drifting to watch as Charlie inhaled a deep breath, the chemicals of the darkened smoke disrupturing to his toughened throat, hands fondling the clasp of his belt.

I found my underwear, sliding into the small item of clothing, rising to a standing position as I did so, and the cigarette fell between my lips, a wink to follow his retreat.

“Let’s make some snow angels.” He said, a glimmer of something bright to sprinkle within his gaze. The laugh coughed from my chest, deep and humorous - oh, how I loved him. “Hey,” he scoffed, taking back the cigarette and handing me his woolen jumper, “I’m serious!” An inhale, a smirk, and a darkened gaze, watching with great intent as I wrapped my frame within the loose fabric of his favourite jumper.

I smiled, “Of course we can, Charlie.” I said, unable to stop the slip of the giggle that found its way out. He grinned, a final toke of the cigarette, before stubbing it out upon the bedpost, tossing the end through the window he slid open, and basked within the cool breeze for a moment or two.

Scoping my pants, I threw the material upon my legs, doing up the mechanisms, and simply watching his relaxed frame, gazing through the gape of the window. A pale complexion, littered with small, yet noticeable, moles, and bodily freckles. Athletically lean, though not particularly tall, and ridden with just enough muscle - wondrously divine architecture, I could dare to admit.

“Come on,” He grinned, whipping around and wriggling his eyebrows something childish. Another snicker escaped me, though I placed on my shoes, and I tugged on my jacket nonetheless, awaiting his restless dressing. He threw on the shirt, hardly bothering to button the majority of the buttons, and his shoes, tying them scruffily in a manner I were sure would simply undo in a moment’s notice, his hand encasing my own in a youthful taste of blissful excitement, dragging me to the door as he collected his coat, and found his way into the hallway.

Desolate, empty - entirely surprising.

In truth, I had expected a kind of congregation to fall through the entrance as Charlie swung open the door, and yet, not but a whispered sound was to be heard. Admittedly, such a discovery were something welcomed and serene - I doubted I would ever live down such humiliation. It occured to me, as I glanced upon the solitude of the hallway, that Knox had not returned, either. Perhaps he had heard the… the happenings, from behind the door, and decided simply to take a hint. I adored that boy, his heart of gold, I thought, a gentle graze of a smile upon my lips.

Charlie barreled into the limbs of the woolen coat, buttoning only a few of the gloriously expensive pegs, as he interlinked our pinkies - much the same as he had always done - and dragged me through the hall.

“Charlie-” I attempted to whisper, anxious as to his dismay of cautious rationality, though instead of a useful kind of attention, I found his lips crashed upon my own. Against my better judgement, I melted within the warmth, a sigh to exit my mouth, and allowed his silencer to work its wonder. He pulled away, a wink and a peck to my nose, and continued with his fast paced march.

I followed, helpless, and slightly anticipated, riddled with nerves, as we hurriedly descended the stairs, our light feet echoing gently among the silence around, and we entered the main entrance-way. The trophy case, lined with achievements, with pictures of men no one truly knew, nor particularly cared for, passed us by in a whir of rushed blur. A subtle laugh fell from my tongue as Charlie broke out in an increasingly paced run.

He took off, dragging myself along merely a few steps behind, with an incredibly fast kind of speed, unable to halt the laugh that stifled passed his lips. The wind were of something bitterly cold, whipping our laughter from the left, to the right, though such a stinging sensation of sour change did little to defy the warmth within my blood, my chest.

And then, myself undoubtedly following behind, he seemed to tumble. The groan of the thud, where his frame collapsed to the ground, ached within the air, his grip unwavering upon that of myself, as I, too, clattered within the snow. Upon my layers, and the soft of the whitened blanket, I felt little to nothing, as I lay, a little dizzy, with a loud laugh to accompany Charlie’s own.

“Shit,” he chuckled, “You alright?”

My laughter rang loud, free, and it should seem that everything felt better with Charlie at my side. “Perfect.” I smiled, albeit winded from such a clatter of clouded descent. Somewhere within the beat of silenced laughter, air thick - sweet - with an indescribable sense of contentment, Charlie had shuffled to embrace my frame in a hold, an arm around my shoulders, as he toyed with the ends of my hair. We stared to the pattern of gentle snow, cascading so beautifully - tender, soft - upon our stoic position, a natural entrancement, as the dark hue of the sky loomed above. The moon, hardly peeking behind the thick array of winter clouding, seemed to smile - to sigh, with a great sense of complacency. It seemed to twinkle with a kind of reserved joy, saved just for us - just for us, and our blooming love.

“O’ me, o’ life,” Charlie muttered, “of the questions of these recurring.” He paused, as though contemplating his words, and spoke gently, “Carpe diem.” He said, with a smile upon his face. “You know what it means?”

I raised an eyebrow, almost lost within the perpetual tranquility that was the nigh. “No.” I said, and I basked in his warmth.

“Seize the day.” He said; “Seize the day, boys, make your lives extraordinary.” The gentle mumble of his tone were almost lost within the vast quiet, though I caught it all the same. “Captain - Mr K -” He said, “He’s crazy.”

I found myself smiling, “You like him, though.” I said.

He grinned, “He makes it difficult not to.” He said. “Seize the day - Carpe diem - O’ Captain, my Captain - I mean, who teaches the idea of free thought? Of freedom? Passion? He’s crazy.”

“He sounds wonderful.” I said. And to which I had not lied. “What was the first bit?” I asked, “The ‘Oh me, oh life,’ one.”

“The question, O’ me! So sad, recurring - What good amid these, O’ me, O’ life?” He recited, the bite of a classically brightening smile to his tone. “The answer? That you are here - that life exists and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.”

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

“Puts things into perspective.” I mumbled, awashed beneath Charlie’s gorgeously muttered recital, and the prospect of the pattering snowflakes. “That we, as humans, mean nothing. What may affect us today, has no say on tomorrow.” I said. I hardly knew the words as they fell from my lips, though I allowed them nonetheless. “And no matter how greatly we fear the inevitable, life will throw us away and be done with us, when our time comes around.”

There was a gentle pause, softly laboured breaths, and he said: “Yeah.” With a light, breathy, chuckle. “We’ll all die, someday.” He said. “And that’s alright. Seize the day while you can, live and don’t just exist, and things will be alright.”

I smiled, and said: “Yeah.” With not a word more.

A moment, perhaps a few, of silence graced us by, mingled in comfortability and unspoken adoration, and I marvelled in the way his breathing deepened, tinged with an entanglement of a rough-nights-sleep. He was tired - exhausted - and I certainly hadn’t helped - of such, I was certain.

“Charlie,” I muttered, adoring the softly responsive hum to fall from his breath. “Char, it’s getting real late.” I mentioned, a gentle stroke to his knuckles, as they dwindled within the ends of my locks. Another hum followed, and light shuffling was to be heard.

“Can you get home alright?” He mumbled, thick, with a sense of tiredness.

“Yeah.” I nodded, truly feeling the absence of warmth, as he shuffled to displace his entanglement next to myself. I frowned slightly, glancing to face the boy.

His eyes had found a restful close, timid with a tender smirk, and his limbs began to brush - up, and down, up and down - once, twice, three times more, with a deepening indent upon the snow. A smile drooped upon my features, and I allowed my frame to excerpt the similar movement, ridden with a light shiver as the material at my legs found something damp, seeping slightly.

“You have to go?” He whispered, a gentle frown upon such expression.

I smiled; how beautiful he was. “Yes, Charlie.” I said, “You’ll be expelled if we’re caught.”

A quiet sigh vibrated through the air, and I knew of his compliance. He sat up, glancing to myself with a smile of utter tenderness. “I suppose I’d best let you go, then.” He said. I grinned, and he continued. “I’ll watch you leave, though. Not risking some creep snatching you up in the bushes, alright?”

I laughed something gentle, “Okay, Char.” I said, and we rose to our feet.

His digits were cold, numbingly cold, and a furious pink, as he lay his palms upon my face, and drew me a little closer, our noses to brush upon each other’s. “I love you, y’know.” He said, and I found myself smiling with a roll of the eyes.

“Yes,” I said, “I know. And I love you, too.”

His grin was radiant, peppered with the scarlet hue of all things wondrously cold. “Good.” He said, a subtly trailed glance to the subtle indents of our motioned frames, trailed within the soft blanket of snow. “We make good Angels, huh?” He smiled.

A laugh rumbled through me, “Yeah,” I said, resting my forehead upon the cold complexion of his flushed cheek. “We make wonderful Angels.”

“Angels of the night.” He mused, turning back to face me. I merely smiled, engulfed in the way the shadows loomed across his expression, lowering with a light glimmer of something morose. “Take a cab, please.” He sighed, “And be safe.” He fluttered a tender peck upon the very tip of my nose, before capturing my lips in the swoon of a honey dripped kiss. It lasted hardly a moment, for we were numb with the cold, and bitterly exhausted. He laughed, pulled away, and said: “Sorry.”

I smiled, “No.” I mumbled, “Don’t be.”

“Okay.” He said, thumb brushing lightly upon the flushed complexion of my cheekbone. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Of course.” I said, a curtly peppered peck to his coldly chapped lips, before smiling something warm, and beginning mine own retreat.

Footsteps echoing among the plush of the winter snow, sinking with every passing stride, I found my grin something silly - something foolishly reciprocant for my adoration. And, upon glancing behind me slightly, approaching the hardly open gate, I noticed the swarm of familiar faces, each bounding over to a stoic Charlie, perched with his hands in his pockets, and a lovesick smile upon his face. They crowded him around, yelling and cheering things incoherent, and yet, still, he smiled on, merely widening with the attention of their supportive company.

A laugh rippled through me, and I waved something curt, receiving a soft repeat from the Lover-Boy himself, and a particularly exaggerated, full-arm, wave from Knox, as he bellowed a loud; “YAWP!” And tackled Charlie in a boyish embrace.

Idiots, I thought, though I’d have it no other way.

#charlie dalton #charlie dalton x reader #dead poets society #nuwanda fluff #nuwanda #hes so cute pls #knox overstreet #charlie dalton fanfic #nuwanda fanfic #fanfiction

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unbelievably-unlovable · 2 years

Text

I'm going to be killing myself today. I've genuinely given it my all, I've tried looking at it from multiple perspectives, angles and ideologies. They're simply isn't anything worth living for. For starters, I am a failure in every respect. Be it physically, mentally, spiritually, emotionally, I am truly a failure in every way. Firstly, I'm incredibly physically undesirable. I've never been pursued, or the object of anyone's affections. I put myself out there, I tried apps, I flirted with people in person. Only to continuously and presently be treated as a stain on the boot of the devil. I don't want to hear any more contrived nonsense about finding value in other things. I'm 24 years old and I've spent the entirety of my young adulthood desperately yearning for the attentions and affections of another. Existing in queer spaces as some sort of "quasi mami" good enough to take care of everyone but not good enough to be loved as a human-No longer. The desire has been completely squelched. I'm devoid of such things now, I've been thinking of getting a penectomy actually. While it may seem trivial, the grossly average length and size of my penis serves as a tragic reminder of my own ordinariness and unremarkability in every way. It has nothing to do with the pleasing a partner mind you, rather the self-satisfaction inherit in such a gift. The ability to just have something attached to you by virtue of genetic blessing that inspires shock and awe, fear and trembling or wonder, is a gift that not many appreciate or see in such a philosophical manner. I exist in abjection, The wretched horror in your closet. I am the thing that hides under your bed, disgusting, feral, unwanted. I hate this body I am in, the skin, this face all of everything. It's a prison, one that Society continually reinforces. No matter how hard I try to love myself, no matter how hard I work on myself esteem, no matter how hard I value my own validation, Society breaks people like me down. Who do not belong. Black, fat, queer, wrong. One of my greatest fears in life is for someone to have to look past the physical to love me. "Well you've a beautiful soul" excellent, I'm glad that I have the one thing that contributes nothing, which provides an excellent segue into my next point.

I am mentally, intellectually, cognitively, a waste of space. I will never be in Mensa, I'll never be solving equations for NASA. No, even that aspect of myself leaves much to be desired. Woefully worthless, disgustingly mundane. I would beg someone to put me down like the rancid, decrepit ilk that I am. I'm an emotional burden who provides no value in any way beyond being the emotional furniture in the Mansions of kings and queens. I'll never be famous, I'll never go to fashion week, I'll never be a VIP, I'll never be desirable, I'll never be a published poet, I'll never be smart enough, I'll never be good enough, I'm not good enough, I am less than in every way and I'll never be happy.

Anyways, I'm going to kill myself.thanks for reading all that if you did.

#suicide

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transsexualhamlet · 3 years

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More bond content because apparently this is my niche in the fandom now (although yes also william my beloved he gets the attention he deserves)

The fourth fucking james headcanons from my extremely biased opinion of he’s me but better in every way

---

-Bond’s gender is, certainly there, I can say that! He enjoys feminine things and has little to no dysphoria but hates to be percieved as a woman specifically, though he will often misgender himself for comedic purposes. Like he’s a girlboss but NOT a girl, you know that kind of thing.

-Generally, his gender is “whatever bothers cis people the most” to be perfectly honest. It’s very funny for him to confuse and irritate people but he WILL fuck you up if you think you can disrespect him.

-bond constantly pulls the “i fucked your girlfriend” card on moran and it’s very funny. love how that’s canon, straight up.

-every time moran says some shit like in the locker room bond goes lmao u want me and calls him gay. this has proved to be a very effective strategy

-yes, bond has a significant ego, but it’s not at all fragile. The only opinion about himself that he really values is his own, and that’s an advantage when you’re basically a celebrity most of your life. it doesn’t fuck with him like it would with most people.

-Louis had a conversation with him over tea where he just vehamently complained about liam and sherlock being stupid and in love and Bond thinks it’s the funniest thing ever

-him and moneypenny bonded over complaining about moran and moneypenny gave him so much dirt on the man

-Bitch has ~committment issues~ and you KNOW it. He loves being around people and he loves messing around with people but is 100 percent not interested in a long term relationship lmao

-He got his insane platform shoes through a conversation in which he’s like “the one downside of transitioning is that i can no longer wear heels to feel tall” and albert was like “who said that lmao” and custom ordered him the most big dick energy pair of shoes

-he pegged moran once and will never let the man live it down. it’s especially funny considering moran would definitely go for it again but bond is like haha no lmao

-like legitimately once moran realizes bond’s actually valid bond is still never gonna let him live down the shit he said. it’s funny to him now cause he’s established himself as Better Than Moran now and is going to use this status to embarass the shit out of him constantly. he has no obligation to be nice to moran even tho moran is honestly begging by then and he knows it. Good for him. He’s never gonna give the dude an inch.

-sometimes he will appear in public like a cryptid and cause a few tabloids to go “IRENE ADLER ALIVE??? MAN??? GENDER?????” and he thinks it’s very funny because they’re not credible and no one ever believes them

-before he transitioned i feel like this is kind of obvious but he definitely did this crossdressing/disguise thing constantly, like as a hobby. Being anonymous and tricking people into treating him like a dude was always the best source of seratonin and also very funny. he’s gone by like 50 different names, one of the most infamous being “ryan thomas man” which he came up with on the spot when drunk at a party. he also asserted he was the king of london

-his first gender crisis happened when he played puck in a midsummer performance and he was like damn shawty this gender kinda fire but he largely ignored it because it was useless to entertain the idea at the time

-as an actor there were constant rumors of him being attracted to women but he purposely buried them under the constant scandalous affairs with men who then suddenly and unexpectedly found all their money gone for some unknown reason so no one got around to calling him a lesbian. they didn’t know you could be bisexual

-on that note I think he’s aromantic bisexual :) ignore the fact that i am projecting my entire gender and sexuality onto him :) he can act out romance sure but he’s just like “is that not. friends with sex” and he lives by that. but yeah like romance sounds like a fucking mess to him so he mostly goes about things through one night stands iulgyfktdjrfygu but by loose terms yes he is definitely polyam

-legitimately when the crimes squad contacted him like “yo do you want to be part of the group and fake your death” he’s like uhhhhhh how am i supposed to help idk i can be the whore ig but they’re all like, yeah, we already got like three of those. but you seem pretty resourceful. i mean what do you WANT to do and he’s like uhhhhhhh can i be a man and they’re like. that can be arranged

-also jack fucking adopted him just went oh hello could i perhaps teach you the ways of manhood. need a gun. you look like you need a gun. and then went would u like to be an assassin

-on that note bond has never touched a gun before this! he just went ooh and pulled the trigger the first time they handed him one. somehow it went well. with very little training bond succeeds moran as the squad’s sharpshooter and moran is unbelievably angry about it

;ahsifh;dsohdsds;;sa i definitely could go on but holy shit this is so much

#moriarty the patriot #yukoku no moriarty #rowan's hyperfixation essays #ynm james bond #I LOVE HIM SO MUCH #yuukuko no moriarty

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yakuzacasual · 4 years

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I look forward to your updates a little too much lol would you be down to write about daigo encountering a person who he was interested in when he was in his little fuckboy phase that didn't really give him much attention. They don't have to end up together, I just think it would be funny if he felt embarrassed of any advances he made now that he's chairman and realizes his phase was not the best haha (I hope im being clear if not you can ignore<3)

PREFACE

How does it feel to be living with a brain as big and powerful as yours, dear? Because this request is just.......... *smashes little fist against a wall* This is the true perfection. I don’t think I’ve ever heard an idea as maginificent as this one and I can imagine nothing that may top it anytime soon. Getting to write from the perspective of Daigo, especially the emo one, especially with a bit of retrospect, DAMN I AM LIVIN LIVES RN THIS IS WHAT I WAS MADE FOR.

Did I just impulse write the whole thing despite the fact that I was planning to go to bed early? Maybe. Do I regret my choice? *satisfied ape noises* Am I proud of it? Fuck yes.

Now, back to being serious. I sincerely love you for this one. Please, I beg thee, do come back and leave anot!her one some time. For now I hope you enjoy it as much as I did and have a fantastic day!

BABY BOSS DAIGO FACING HIS SHAMEFUL PAST

Back in the days of his brazen youth, Daigo used to catch the eyes of many sorts of people. His broody demeanor attracted mainly women, but he could also recall quite a few men from these times as well. Many of such memories are just a blur for him nowadays, replaced by forever vivid scenes of companions dying for his cause and the Tojo clan slowly but surely crumbling in his hands with each passing year. There is but one recollection that stayed forever clear throughout the years, safely tucked away in the depths of his mind.

It was a rainy night, one of those that he remembers happened way too many times that month, when he found himself piss drunk and mindlessly staggering through the many alleyways of Kamurocho. Bruised knuckles tucked away in the warmth of his absolutely ridiculous, puffy jacket, eyes barely focused on the road ahead of him. He tried to escape the flashing neon lights and unbearable buzz of the entertainment district, seeking solace within the dirty streets forgotten by the normal citizens and gods alike. It’s where the dark deeds take place and maybe that’s what he was looking for. Another fix to keep him amused, something that would wake him up inside again for however fleeting a moment he could get.

The details of how he ran into you are slightly fuzzy, albeit he likes to think that this slightly bloody visage of himself he still remembers seeing in the puddle was him kicking some asses. Not getting his own handed to him. In this state, he somehow finds you with his blurry eyesight. You sit on a park bench in what feels like the edge of the world, but is just a place slightly farther away from the ever beating heart of Kamurocho, covered by the shade of grandiose buildings falling apart at the seams. Maybe it’s a cig in your hand, maybe a bottle of whisky or maybe nothing at all - whatever it was that drove him to approach you was a suffocating feeling that you’re both somehow in deep shit. The features of your face are so detailed still. The shape of your lower lip, the frown of your brow and the way you looked at him as he took a place on the other side of the bench. He still remembers it all, somehow.

Surprisingly enough, there is not much to this story from that point onwards. Or so he has been trying to convince himself until that one fateful day, a very weird day. It’s just him running the usual Tojo errands when outside of the window of his limo he spots a face so familiar it causes him to instantly get a splitting headache right where he sits. You seem to even lock eyes with him through the darkened glass, as you calmly sip your beverage, enjoying the nice weather in the outside seat of a decent looking cafe. Under the guise of getting himself some well deserved coffee, Daigo slips away from his attendants and right into the other seat right opposite your own. The movement is not quite as smooth though. Just looking at his nervous stare you could tell he is out of his element.

Of course, you recognize him instantly. It would be hard not to, really. He may look better in a suit and the opinions on his slicked back hair may vary, but this is still most certainly him. The same square chin, the same tired lines visible on his face. Daigo Dojima has graced you with his presence. The clothes may make the man, but they won’t change who he was. And you? You know way too well who he was.

For him it does take a longer way to recognize you but he definitely does and, by gods, he immediately regrets it. That’s it. That’s the lost part of the puzzle he never wanted finished. The memories of days long gone, when he used to hit on you mercilessly after that one night in the park, when you showed him nothing beyond what would be expected from human compassion and yet he latched onto that like a poor puppy seeking validation in places, that could never offer what he needed. In retrospect he clearly sees in your eyes, both current and the ones he remembers, what his younger self did not understand at the time. Absolute and complete lack of interest. Which, considering who he is now, is quite impressive of you. Then again if he knew a chairman of a renowned yakuza family back when they were young and relentlessly pestering him for affection he did not have for them? Well, he can kind of guess he’d be much like yourself in this situation.

His blood may run cold, but his cheeks are flaring red as he remembers the god awful pickup lines he tried on you back then and how darn angry he was that not even his award-winning emo style that made ladies swoon at his feet had next to no effect on your, how he used to think about it, stone cold heart. In reality it was just you being reasonable and him being an absolute dumbass. He can even recall Kiryu giving him the biggest tonguelashing ever for how he used his influence in the Tojo clan to keep tabs on you for like a week. Now, he wishes Kiryu would be here to beat his sorry ass right back to the hospital, maybe cause a proper concussion to make him forget all this downright embarrassing stuff he has done as the most shameful person to ever exist on earth.

Daigo Dojima’s redemption arc starts now. He will make absolutely sure to somehow make it up to you, whatever you want of him. He is dead set on showing you the tremendous amount of growth he’s done since the last time you saw him. If it’s a restraining order you want, so be it. But if, by any chance, you do wish to get to know him better and let him redeem himself as the man he is now… Well, who knows. You may just gain the most powerful ally, a trusted friend or maybe even more.

#Ryu ga Gotoku #rgg x reader #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku x reader #rgg #yakuza 2 #yakuza kiwami 2 #yakuza 3 #yakuza 4 #yakuza 5 #yakuza 6 #yakuza x reader #yakuza imagines #daigo dojima #daigo x reader #Headcanon #imagine #request

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imagine-the-fanfics · 4 years

Text

Honesty

Characters: Goro Majima x Reader X Daigo Dojima

Warnings: Cheating, dubious consent (drunk), fighting (couple), mentions of sex (no smut), strong language, toxic relationship

Inspiration: “Honest” by The Chainsmokers; “2” by H.E.R.; “Story to Tell Your Friends” by Every Avenue

A/n: I don’t have anything to say that hasn’t been said already.

You slid out of bed, taking a moment to look over your shoulder at the naked man sleeping next to you. As wrong as it was, your thoughts were with someone else. It hurt knowing he wasn’t with you tonight, and it was likely he was in someone else’s bed, too. You almost couldn’t help but laugh at the fucked-up mess your once sweet relationship had grown into. Neither of you knew where the other was, and you weren’t sure either of you really cared anymore.

Your steps were soft as you walked around the hardwood-floored room, gathering your clothing and dressing as quietly as possible. Memories of screaming Daigo’s name echoed through your mind. The arrangement between you and the sleeping man was one neatly arranged. You’d have sex, hang out till he slept, and then leave. In return, he took you to nice restaurants and on nice dates, buying you everything you could possibly want, and gifting more money to you than you could ever spend. Majima still paid your bills, otherwise this man likely would do that, too. It was an arrangement that suited everyone else just fine, even though everyone complained about it.

You took your phone off the dresser near the bedroom’s door, checking it for any messages from your boyfriend, but there was none. Of course there wasn’t. Why would you think anything else? You hadn’t heard from him in over two weeks, why would that change? Goro had told you to call off your relationship with Daigo long ago, but you never did. How many times had Goro cheated on you before you got with Daigo? And how many times had he cheated after telling you to call it off? Too many, on both accounts.

Okay, so maybe having your boyfriend’s boss as your Sugar Daddy wasn’t the best idea, but you didn’t care at this point. There were so many times that you had thought about just breaking up with Majima for Dojima, but you knew better than to think you and Majima would ever let the other go. This was too toxic a relationship for that. You knew he’d kill anyone you tried to be with after him, even his boss, and you knew that you would be crawling after him, begging him to take you back if he ever left you. You knew this because both had already happened. Multiple times.

You ran your fingers through your hair in an effort to get your post-sex bedhead under control. It was, naturally, a futile effort, but still an effort worth making as you prepared to leave your Sugar Daddy’s secret apartment. It didn’t take long to have everything packed up into your purse before leaving, quietly closing the door behind you and locking it with your key. In the hall you started humming to yourself, checking your phone again.

Why you kept checking it was beyond you, but you still did. You guess part of you just wanted him to miss you. To want you. To do something. He wouldn’t. You knew he wouldn’t because he never did.

You hailed a cab, hopping in and returning home.

~~~

Majima sat in the back of a private car, playing on his phone while some drunk hostesses sat on either side of him. He looked up at the clock and sighed. It was 5 am and all he wanted was to go home. All he wanted was to hold you. The thought to text you and ask you to come home was one not easily dismissed. “Majima~” one of the girls called, grabbing his arm and pouting. “Why are you on your phone? Pay attention to us~”

“Whatever ya want, ladies,” Majima said as he smiled, sliding the phone back in his pocket and resting his arms on the back of the seats. The girls leaned into him, giggling as they traced their fingers over his tattoos like you had when things were still good. Those times were some that he longed to return to, but that was no longer an option. The two of you had made your bed, and the two of you had to lie in it.

The girls kissed him wherever they could. One focused on his neck, the other turned his head towards her and kissed his lips, her hand reaching over to get tangled up in his hair. She was giggling into the kiss, drunk as shit. He was drunk, too, so he didn’t care. All he wanted to do right now was forget about you. If these two women wanted to give it a shot, he wouldn’t stop them.

The driver left them outside of a love hotel, leaving to find a place to park as the trio stumbled inside.

~~~

When you arrived home, you came home to Majima sitting at the dinner table of your small apartment, taking a drag off of a cigarette. Why he was there was beyond you, but you reminded yourself to get his key before you broke up with him. If you ever broke up with him. It wasn’t likely, but still something you hoped to do someday.

“You’re home awfully late,” Majima acknowledged, sighing but not looking at you.

“I was out with a friend, sorry. I didn’t think you were coming over. You haven’t talked to me in weeks, so…”

“Don’t gimme that shit, Y/n.” Another drag. “You with Daigo again?”

“You told me to call it off, so I did. I haven’t seen Daigo since we called it off.” It was a statement you both knew was a lie. You didn’t really have friends, at least none that you would be out until 8 am with.

“Why d’ya always insist on lyin’ to me?” Majima’s face and tone were deadpan. “Ya know how much it hurts me, Y/n.”

“Does it?” You were growing frustrated. “Does it hurt you to stick your dick in every pussy in town? Does it hurt you to disappear for weeks at a time? Does it—”

“If you don’ shut the FUCK up…” Majima’s voice trailed off as he took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling as he spoke, “The people that make accusations like that are cheatin’ shits.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” You hissed. “I can’t deal with this, get out of my apartment.”

Majima calmly put his cigarette, turning to look at you. “Why would I do that, Darlin’? I’ve missed ya. No one makes ya scream like I do. No one screams my name like you. Baby girl, don’t make me spell it out for ya,” he sighed standing up and walking over. “C’mere,” he stuck his arms out to hug you, stopping as he caught your scent. “You reek of sex.” The coldness in his voice sent a chill down your spine. “Fuckin’ LIAR!” He shouted, turning away from you, kicking the chair so hard that it groaned against the floor as it slid, nearly falling over before it hit the table leg with loud thud.

“Look who’s fucking talking!” You called back, hands raised in frustration. “Why are we even doing this anymore when we both clearly don’t want this toxic ass relationship?! Let’s just end it and be free of each other! There’s no reason we have to live like this!”

“I LOVE YOU!” Majima screamed, followed by a, “FUCK!” He kicked the table, knocking the ashtray onto the floor, ash spreading everywhere. Thankfully, the ashtray was a sturdy plastic, so it didn’t break.

“REALLY?!” You shouted in response, walking over to him. “YOU CALL THIS LOVE?!”

He put his hand around your throat and kissed you. “I love ya,” Majima muttered, his lips hovering over yours, “but ya have to knock this shit off. All it does is piss me off, and when I’m pissed off, I lash out.” His lips pressed against yours and he pinned you to the wall, still holding your throat.

You hated how much you wanted this, and how easy it was for him to get your body purring for him. The kissing grew more intense, and before you knew it his shirt was off and so was yours. He lifted you up, wrapping your legs around him before carrying you to the bedroom, dropping you on the bed carelessly before undoing his belt.

~~~

“I have to be honest…” Hesitation. “I can’t do this anymore,” You say quietly as you stare at your breakfast, unable to eat.

“Sure ya can, Darlin’. Ain’t no reason to worry your pretty little head about,” Majima assured.

“I’m not an idiot, Goro.” You looked up to meet his gaze. “We’ve both been cheating. I can’t live like this, constantly wondering why I’m not good enough, finding security and validation in people outside of our relationship while you chase bugs around town. I can’t live with the anxiety anymore…” You paused before continuing, “I’m tired, Goro. Let’s just call it quits and move on, okay?”

“Are you serious?” His voice was soft, fake accent gone, as he looked at you, searching your eyes for any hint that this wasn’t happening.

“I am. I need this to be the last time we call it quits, and for you to not kill the people that I date. A clean break for both of us after years of pain. Can you do that? For me?” You looked back at your breakfast. “We had something so good when this started but look at what it’s turned into. We can’t keep living like this, Goro.”

“You’re right,” he said as his gaze shifted to his own breakfast. “I’m too old to be playing these games, Y/n. We should just… Move on.”

“Exactly. I always wanted a family, Majima. I want to try and find that for myself.” You didn’t mention how you had thought you found that with him before things turned into the poisonous disease your relationship had degraded into. “I want that for you, too. You’ll find someone else, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, standing up. “I… I’m going to leave. No sense in waiting for the inevitable.”

You looked up at him, seeing the vacant expression you’d seen a hundred times when he was lost in his own mind. Your heart broke to see him like this, but you knew this was for the best. You bit your cheek, resisting the urge to stop him. You needed to let him go. You didn’t have the choice if you wanted to start over with someone new. You watched as he worked the key to your apartment off of his keyring.

“I’ll pay your apartment for three more months. After that the lease is up and you can sign a fresh lease. You won’t hear from me anymore, and I hope you won’t contact me either.

Still, it was strange that he was going so quietly. It made you uneasy as you watched him leave, though you were speechless. If you spoke it would only be to beg for forgiveness and start this endless cycle all over again.

He opened the door and looked back at you, nothing but pure sadness in his eye as he watched you. After a moment he closed the door. The second it closed you started to sob. As toxic as the two of you were together, you both truly loved each other deep down. This wasn’t romantic, this was tragic.

Together you were as toxic and violent to each other as Harley and Joker; breaking up was as painful as the ending of Titanic.

~~~

“Daigo?” You asked quietly, looking at the man lying next to you as you sat on the bed.

“What?” He asked, looking back at you.

“What are we doing?” You looked around the bedroom of the apartment.

“The same thing we’ve been doing for over a year… Why?” He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going, and the look on his made you worried about his reaction.

“I know the arrangement is that we don’t date, but I’ve been thinking…” A deep breath for courage. “Why don’t we date? We’re basically dating already.”

Daigo sat up, leaning over to grab his pack of cigarettes. “Because that’s the stipulation you put on this relationship. Majima and whatever. I like it, to be honest. ”

“It’s been over a month since Maijma and I called it off, and he’s been respecting the deal we made. I know you’ve had me followed,” you studied the pattern of the bedding, running your finger over it as you traced the patterns. He lit the cigarette and took the first draw as you spoke.

“It’s not because I don’t trust you—”

“I wouldn’t be mad at you if you didn’t, given my history with Majima, but I know it’s just for my protection,” you looked at him, seeing his cigarette between his lips as he took a drag. “Still, it proves to you that I’m not fucking around behind your back. I know we’re not in love or anything, and I’m not expecting anything serious. Still, I think we should give it a shot.”

“I don’t know, Y/n. What we have now is transactional. You provide me companionship; I provide money. No feelings; no attachments; no hurt when it’s over.”

“That’s true,” your gaze returned to the bedding and you traced the pattern again. “I think we could be good together. You mentioned that people are pressuring you to get married, and that something I want—”

“It’s way too soon to talk about marriage when we aren’t even dating, Y/n.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. We could give this a serious shot, maybe that would be in our future. Even if we kept it transactional, no emotions involved, it would save us the issue of finding a partner. I’d have the family I always wanted, and you’d have the wife you’re being pressured to find. We can date first, see if we’re a good fit, and go from there.” You weren’t sure if you’d done a good enough job explaining what you meant, but it would have to do, and Daigo looked like he was seriously considering the offer. “Like I said, if there’s no actual spark but we’re comfortable with the arrangement, what’s the harm?”

“You told me once you wanted a husband you loved and that loved you in return.”

“Well, time is running out on that. It’s more important to me to have a child than to have love in a relationship. I want a child in a marriage. Nothing wrong with being a single parent, it’s just not what I want.” You watched as Daigo flicked his ashes into the bedside ashtray.

“Alright. No sense in not giving it a try.”

#Yakuza #Goro majima #Majima #Goro Majima x reader #Majima x reader #Daigo #daigo dojima #daigo x reader #daigo dogma x reader

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