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sor-vette · 3 years ago

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#13 Few Rights, Lots of Wrongs

“It’s a refurbished student housing,” you explain as they trail after you like ducks in a row. Even if they don’t understand what you’re saying, they seem to be clinging to every word. Wherever you look there’s always at least one pair of doe eyes staring expectantly back at you a.k.a. what do you do when you open your doors and find a certain retired boyband for some reason wants to move in

▶ type: ot7 x fem! reader (poly)

▶ word count: 7.0k

▶ series’ masterlist

▶ other works

▶ t/w: low self-esteem, accidental injury, bl*od, argument and falling out, boys are kinds of d*cks because everyone is insecure :(

▶ a/n: me, a renowned clown: "Jae will bring a lot of funny moments". Funny moments in question - a pile of angst underneath a wig. Life is still very much a lot of work but once again if I type anything, it's getting published.

“What the hell is a cheese salad?” Jin asked, frowning deeply at the affronting square package.

Yoongi greeted the worker going past him, they’d been here so many times, sometimes even twice a day, everyone had taken notice of the strange seven gentlemen often waltzing with immeasurable chaos through the aisles. There was little one could do to make buying some vegetables and meat on Wednesday afternoon to make it a maelstrom but they managed it.

“It’s exactly what it says it is,” Yoongi grumbled, comparing the freshness of two lettuces. “It’s cheese, it’s a salad. Don’t question it.”

“I’m getting it! This thing has been calling me for days now.”

Yoongi inspected the package sternly. Would it be sentient, it’d have the good grace to quiver.

“It’s got garlic in it. The only thing it’s calling is the ambulance should you eat it.”

Jin sighed, begrudgingly shoving it back into the shelf, closing the doors.

“Sometimes my weakness astounds me.”

“Or the fact that you’re a vampire,” Yoongi tossed out, finally choosing the left lettuce.

He thinks Jin will amuse him further, but his eyes grow glazed and he looks at the off-brand cereal like it’s relaying him the secrets of the universe.

“Do you think she’s back?”

Yoongi puts the lettuce in the cart, wincing secretly to himself.

“You know she is, Jungkook said so.”

“Yes, but you saw what he looked like. I’ve never seen Jungkook so pale.”

“Well, there’s no sun here anymore…”

“Yoongi, I’m serious,” and for once, Jin was. Perhaps, it was slightly underplayed with him standing in the narrow aisle, gripping tight onto a bag of toilet paper, sauce stain on his pants from the latest cooking class but his expression was indeed sombre.

“I know I’m one of the more confident about this -”

Yes, Yoongi knew that on the scale from Hoseok to Taehyung, Jin most often fought with Jungkook about the second place. Yoongi, on the other hand, found himself in a metronomic position between the top of the world, in the moments where he was with you, co-existing quietly together as agreeably as matching puzzle pieces, and the moments where you were gone and he questioned their collective sanity.

“But I can’t help to think we’ve screwed it up.”

What he naturally truly meant in detail was that Hoseok messed up but it was so ingrained into them to say “we” not “he” that they couldn’t shake it off. Neither did they want to, blame would do nothing and it was not something they would ever do to one of them.

“We haven’t even seen her,” Yoongi gently pushed Jin by the elbow towards the checkout. “I suggest we don’t put plans or attitudes in a situation we know nothing about. Also, it’s been only four days. We need to give her more time.”

“We gave her years,” Jin mumbled, pretending he hadn’t said anything when Yoongi cast him a questioning glance.

They trudged back to the home, squinting hard at the grey, drizzling skies.

“It’s impossible to live here,” Jin sighed. “I get so depressed going out.”

“It’ll be winter soon, lots of snow,” Yoongi hushed him, palms tingling from the taut strings of the grocery bag digging into the skin. He often regretted not taking Jungkook or Namjoon to do shopping. It’d be a convenient use of all those muscles.

“Hey, is that ________?”

Yoongi looked out, blinking to recognize any shapes in the midst of umbrellas and similar jackets.

It was you. He’d remember that silhouette anywhere but you were standing in the middle of the sidewalk and not gliding along, listening keenly to music on the headphones. You were standing and miraculously talking to a near blindingly bright blue spot.

You walk past the HR department of the office, trailing physically but roaming so far away.

The cup in Jungkook’s hand breaks when you finish the call.

You’ve seen him do that before and you know Jungkook was strong but it was still astounding.

You spot red stains forming in his fist.

“Oh, I’ll get a towel!” you call out. Unnervingly, he stood entirely still, as though he hadn’t even registered there were now glass shards embedded in his arms.

“Wash your hand,” you order and he obeys, entirely mute.

After ten minutes of you carefully tweezing a few shards out, thankfully, the cuts were shallow and the glass was mostly on the floor but Jungkook still resembles a statue more than a human.

“Are you okay?”

“No.”

You look at those wide eyes and the faint creases of a frown in the forehead and he stares at you with about as much bewilderment as you did.

“Okay -”

“Who was that on the phone?”

You have to physically prevent Jungkook from clenching his fist by putting another towel in between his to stop the fingers from moving.

“It’s just a…colleague.”

“Haven’t heard of him,” he growls but it’s not angry. You know what he looks like when he’s angry, when Taehyung bothers him too much or when he’s contemplating actual murder, this is not anger. This is fear, you think. If only he’d meet Jae. You think of that talkative, Moomin loving funko pop ever being here. He’d get eaten alive. No question.

“Yeah, well he’s new.”

After that, there is no conversation. You can hear the guys talk in the hallway outside the apartment door and immediately scrunch backwards, to the safety of your room. They will ask and you don’t know how to answer. Jungkook sees this and allows your escape, mumbling something about cleaning up.

“-and then you know, you think about what is a chair. It’s a resting place, well, for me, it also holds all my clothes, but there’s so much about chairs nowadays I think we’re removing ourselves from the central idea. Tulip chair? Apologies to Mr Saarinen, but that thing is heinous. Absolute menace. It’s not comfortable. How am I supposed to rest in a thing that has no space to put my hands on. Additionally, -”

Your coworker, whose name you graciously never learned, never asked and never knew, escaped the room with an infuriated scream. She ran towards the exit, suspiciously fetching what looked like a small bottle from her purse. You linger by the HR room doors, seeing Jae swinging back and forth in front of three different interviewers. All of them in varying positions of the iconic monkey - see no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil. Evil at hand, named Jae, could not in any way be not heard. Put your hands over your ears and you still would find his voices drilling through.

“ - and I like Eames LCW Chair as much as anyone else, but once again I’m asking of what to do with my hands. Am I supposed to just put them on my thighs and not move, ever? This is not school! And also it slopes at like an angle. I always sit and then I slide down,” he demonstrates the sliding motion and the head of the recruitment gives a pained whimper the longer this dragged on.

In his reigning misery, he searches for salvation or a victim and finds both in you.

“You, you!” he points at the door. “You brought him in, right?”

“Yes.”

“Take him, he’s your intern. I don’t care, this is over!”

“With all due respect, I’m only on chair number three - ”

“This is over!”

You watch astounded as your coworkers glimpse Jae cooing over the coffee selection and disperse with as much vigilance as if the plague had appeared once more.

Oh, yes, Jae will do nicely. You never knew that the key to being alone was not not talking but rather talking a lot.

“Several things in order. E-mail to the Allin, then e-mail to the client, e-mail to the accounting and about three hundred other e-mails to other people I tend to forget.”

Jae downs the coffee like a shot, without taking a breath mixing another one with a painful amount of sugar on top.

“It’s just all e-mails?” he asks, devastated.

“Welcome to the world, kiddo.”

“It’s probably just a university student. I mean look at him,” Jin leaned down, pretending that it helped to see him better not because he couldn't hold the bag of his jellies anymore.

"We've all had that hair colour at some point."

"Yes, but um...me," Jin put a palm underneath his chin to state the most obvious of answers, "and whoever that shoujo manga secondary character is. I think the answer whose superior is obvious."

"Jin, you're out of breath carrying 5kg worth of groceries, 2kg of which are gummy worms. You should learn to be more self-aware."

"No, thank you, I enjoy being delusional. It makes me happier."

"Hmm," Yoongi couldn't add or argue anything with that.

They see you part with yet unnamed blue coded character and watch as you linger around the apartment looking up. You're stalling. Even in the appaling weather, coming back from a long day of work you were reluctant to return, your together home. Discomfort at that idea slushed around Yoongi's stomach and he no longer was as hungry as he proclaimed to be when dragging Jin out of class.

"Maybe we should not-"

Jin is already on the way, exhaustion cast aside in the blink of an eye. He called out your name breathlessly, wanting nothing more than to give you a hug but he knew you wouldn't appreciate so he settles on bumping your shoulder with his forehead. An odd greeting but in Jin's world, where he was ruling monarch and the creator, it was a perfectly logical sequence of events.

"Hello," you greet him smoothly if a bit coldly and Yoongi doesn't let it slip by that you take a step back. While not being one to boast, he took great relish in the fact that even from the start you were always comfortable with him, browsing for lamps and knick-knacks, side by side. It seems that now that comfort had escaped.

"How did the conference go?" he asks gently yet you grimace.

"It...went," is all the gracious answer he receives. "So what did you do while I was gone?"

Without hesitation, you wince at the poor question and they mimic that same expression having no option but to give a particularly sour answer. Jungkook going missing then coming back wired weird, Hoseok's breakdown and the four-hour meeting discussing the pile of insecurities that they didn't quite know how to deal with. Such a fun getaway that was.

"Ate. Breathed. Ate," Jin shrugged. "Got me worms."

You frown at him.

"He means gummy worms," Yoongi explains.

While you expected perhaps a quiet, slightly awkward welcome home, it's anything but. The smell is overpowering, it feels like a damn restaurant. It also probably was since the kitchen was visibly not on fire and two (only) cooks in the house were by your side. Once a single step inside you hit a warm wall. It must be Taehyung given the boldness of actions and the volume of curls.

"Hello, hello, hello," he mumbles in your hair, enthusiastically swaying from left to right. "Missed you."

It feels too nice, oh, so nice and unwillingly everything that you've repressed from New York, the aquarium most of all, comes rushing back and there's a pressuring need to just cry your eyes out but you can't. You can't.

You thought you could trust them but then -

"It was a mistake."

You'd be making a mistake and later on, they would say it was a mistake to be friends with you. Who would ever enjoy someone like this around? Charity cases only worked in seasons.

You let Taehyung have the hug but don't return it, even if it takes the whole of your willpower. Over the small spot of his shoulder, you notice Hoseok sitting in front of the fireplace. You avert your gaze before he can meet it.

Just roommates. No mistakes.

Namjoon is the next to poke his head through the kitchen door, a dangerous predicament. Surprisingly, he envelops you in a quick hug as well. No more than ginger touch on your lower back, presented in a crouching position, because, yes, this man is just a mountain on legs, yet it's the first one you think you ever shared with him.

Jin is on the side, sullenly regretting his decision of being a gentleman. They'd agreed to not let you run away, give you space but reasonably so. This was a crucial moment. Should you pull away you might never come back and Jungkook's constant muttering about rodents stealing you away didn't help either, even if they did not understand what he meant.

"Did you fly back well?" Namjoon asks and to everyone's collective surprise, not just yours tucks a stray hair behind your ear. Your eye twitches. Now they were just conspiring against you.

"It was fine," it, of course, wasn't fine, you'd been aware of the teeming meltdown that was threatening to spill any other moment but for now you had a grip on the lid, shoving everything down.

Jimin is next in line, inching surreptitiously closer. You open your arms barely a millimetre and the next moment he's there, moulding himself into you. The sunset at the beach feels like hundred years ago and you let yourself close your eyes and relax. You have no doubt that whatever you'll find about your mother's new life will destroy you. If she was sad, pressured to leave her career because a man said so, you'll be said because that was just unfair. What you wanted was recognition that it wasn't normal what you had when growing up, it couldn't be, because no one else seemed to share those experiences. You didn't want cold-blooded revenge. Wishing her death was not exactly non-existent but you were not a psychopath like bad movies insisted. But what if you find that she was happy, could be a good, supportive mother? There must have been a reason that caused all of this but what if that reason was you? What if you were just born sort of...not properly wired and that was the underlying cause? As it stood, the common denominator for every leave, every break-up and every disappointment were you. What if you were the poison?

In Jimin's embrace, it doesn't seem so, he holds you tightly like he doesn't want to let go (he will, they all do, eventually) and it just hits you with waves of comfort. There are people who wonder what you were doing, did you have lunch, were you happy, what were you thinking, but remembering the picture of your mother, the same woman from your memories, that you've vilified for years, being proper parent runs you cold. You needed answers more than comfort. Comforting yourself with their embraces and perhaps misguided affections was just a security blanket, another denial of reality. If you were indeed poison, you should get away as far as possible from them.

The hug time ends and you step away, glancing at the rings on Jimin's fingers, your matching tourist accessories and the sight of it is somehow difficult to swallow. They'd gotten such a firm foothold in your life and in your thoughts, it would be so hard to brush them away, to get clinically needed distance... Will be. Will be so hard, because you're going to.

You're going to, right?

Before you ask them what is cooking, growing too aware of the half-circle they made around you in the small hallway, there's a knock on the doors.

Namjoon opens them and for some reason you see him straightening.

"Who are you?" Jae asks and if you didn't know him you'd say he sounded sneering.

"I'm Namjoon, I live here."

You try to squeeze past the black-haired tree but to no avail. The rest of them are keenly interested in the stranger, even Hoseok had risen to stand, with one eye watching the doors and with other - glancing at you. They appear confused, rightfully so, no one ever knocked on your door. Though undoubtedly invested, the neighbours weren't brave enough to stop by. Namjoon often ran around, displaying for both intimidation and caused thirst, all of his muscles and grand stature. Jungkook was even worse, he had tattoos and a piercing. Yoongi was Yoongi-ing most days with a black cap and a mask, along with a remarkably consistent do not approach me aura. Not to mention Taehyung's blank face. Wrapped together with a bow that neither of you particularly went out of your way to talk or to introduce yourselves (except Jin), your lives remained unbothered and doors went un-knocked. That is, of course, until a blue little miracle called Jae who was too hyper to listen to his survival instincts did just that. You can see only a side of Namjoon's face but that expression is nothing welcoming. Even Yoongi, who simply avoided conflict and not fought through it, was suddenly looking too wide. You were sure that some of his fans would be very pleased to know that Min Buffgi was going strong.

"I'm Jae, I'm here for __________."

The speed with which Jungkook propels himself through everyone is something for world records, surely. Your sight is cleared however and you can see Jae now how Namjoon saw him. Given you've only known him for three days but this side was throwing you off the loop. There's not that blinding smile on his face and his eyes are not flitting around, taking everything in like an excited schoolchild. He looks sharp and confident even though Jungkook was breaths away from his face, eyebrows furrowed, Namjoon was behind him, jaw clenched and Yoongi, of all people, was actually flexing, sizing Jae up but he's wearing an equally deeply unamused expression.

He rotates his head slowly to face at this point growling Jungkook and cocking an eyebrow, says completely calm -

"Sweetheart, either we make out or you step away."

"What do you want with my girlfriend?" Jungkook's voice is as low as gravel so you lean underneath Taehyung's elbow, who had shoved you away from the perceived intruder and step outside to negate the brewing conflict. Jungkook's hand reaches for you but then drops to his side. He peers anxiously at Jimin who is now caught between wanting to know who was the poorly decorated cosplayer and why Jungkook looked like he was punched in the gut.

At the sight of you, Jae's previously stern glare turns mellower and after a brief stint of being even somewhat vaguely intimidating, he reverts back to the puppy that you knew.

"He meant girl friend," you clarify, rushing forwards but immediately.

"Didn't," Jin argues, looking not too pleased himself.

You ignore them for the time being, focusing on Jae. There's a suspicious sound coming from Jimin, but when you turn around, he was intently watching the floorboards. There is no air in the small hallway and for some reason, you feel like standing in the middle of a battlefield.

"Let's talk outside," you suggest, eagerly pushing Jae out of the line of everyone's vitriolic sight. They don't even exchange polite phrases but continue to glare which is only interrupted by you slamming the door shut.

In the quiet, all of the remaining bits of annoyance melt away and you're not sure where did it even come from.

"Was that BTS?" he asks.

"You recognized them?" Are you surprised? Not exactly. The nervousness that comes with the questions also disappears when Jae merely shrugs.

"Sure. So the story about them being nice was a bunch of bullshit."

You frown at the asinine way he voices this and catching onto your disappointment, he hurries along to correct things.

"Sorry for being mean. I swear I'm not some two-faced bastard - smiling at you, then putting your...roommates down!"Jae explains anxiously, hands wringing. Where did the teeth-baring young man disappear off to? You hadn't the slightest.

"Then why?

"I don't know. I just don't like being obviously intimidated."

Partially you feel like a parent of a misbehaving child. Holding your seven growling wonders and tossing around lame excuses of “he never acts like this!”

“Honestly I never expected this kind of bitchiness coming from both sides. You’re all grown men though. I won’t babysit you.”

Jae nods once, lips thinning as he bites on them, gaze momentarily lingering by the doors. There’s a suspicious bump and a hiss of pain. You sigh tiredly.

“So why did you come here?”

“Oh, um… I got a call from your… I mean, our clients they’ll want to meet tomorrow.”

“Right,” you mutter, stomach stirring with cold trudging sensation. “You’re up for it?”

“I said I’d help, didn’t I?”

“Anything else?”

At once, Jae turns bashful.

"Well, here’s a thing…”

“What did you do?”

“I’m staying at this Airbnb. I have to drive past the client firm to get there and I saw that man, the one who was at the aquarium.”

The slushing stops and is not a chasm filled with jagged rocks.

“Did you speak to him?”

"No, but I did sort of listen in to his conversation on the phone? Thought it might be useful.”

“And?” you ask trying to sound nonchalant.

“He was talking with his wife, they plan to move here. A lot of “how was your day at school”, “we miss you”, “did you pay the deposit” and so on.”

You flinch but try to pass it off as rolling your muscles.

“Hmm.” How very verbose.

After a short, suspenseful moment of silence, Jae speaks again - shy or as shy as he could be.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just talk to them?” he asks quietly.

“Who?”

“Your family.” The twiddling with thumbs is back. “I assume that’s who these people are.”

“They’re not my family,” you push through gritted teeth. The notion is insulting. They were strangers, someone entirely else.

Your replacement.

If you were ever good enough to even be replaced.

“I’m just worried,” he continues and you focus on his moving hands than the pity in his eyes. You hated that look, like you were a limping puppy and not a human being adequate enough to stand on your own. “You didn’t see how you looked like, it was…” he falls mute seemingly undecided but abruptly gains resolution. “You’ve got to promise me that by trying to help you, I won’t make things worse.”

“I don’t promise lies, Jae.”

He frowns so you push further on. Without Jae you have no proxy, without proxy, you’ll get no answers.

“I just need to confirm something, Jae. I…I don’t want to live my life without an answer why…” you can’t say it. You just can’t say it, though you feel something rush up your throat and cloud your mind. Emotions, hurt, pain, why, why, why.

"I just need to know.”

It’s Jae’s turn to sigh and he does so even heavier, letting his hands drop to his side where they remain still.

“You know you could ask me to murder and I think I would.”

“Don’t say that,” you chide him half-joking but it seems that he was not.

“Seriously. Are you a witch, perhaps?”

“You might just have a heart too big.”

Jae laughs demurely, faint traces of colour dusting his cheeks.

“Yeah, so I’ve been told. See you tomorrow then?”

“Sure, I’ll be glad.”

He gives a thumbs up.

“I’ll get you a coffee and breakfast. You know La Lune by some park, it looks cool and I want to try it.”

“Okay. Unusual for an intern to buy coffee but I won’t say no.”

His smile turns wider.

“Isn’t it? Aren’t we supposed to go “whatever you like, your majesty, light of my life, the bread of my soul!”

“I’ve never heard the last one,” you smirk lightly, finding it somewhat weird to show any ounce of happiness right now but the sight of Jae dropping into a low curtsy is a bit too comic to be brushed by, unacknowledged.

“Well, I like bread, so…” he shrugs. “I usually take food and go to my friends' places but,” the door gets another stern glare.

“Best not,” you reckon sourly.

Briefly Jae’s eyes flick back to the earlier coolness but he shakes his head and it’s gone like the wind.

“Ow, those are my ribs!” Jimin complains as Taehyung’s elbow flies from the doors, the cup by his ear nearly falling to the floor.

“And you punched me in the nose earlier, didn’t hear me complain!”

“Shut up, I can’t make out anything!” Jin whispers heatedly also moving the glass a bit higher, face contorted in concentration. When the doors open he is whacked on the forehead along with Namjoon who had forgotten to act like a reasonable adult as he also has to hide a cup behind his back.

You take in their blushing, twitching forms with a narrowed glare.

“What is wrong with you? You nearly tore Jae to pieces for no reason.”

“He had no business here,” Yoongi cooly replied. He’d been watching through the loophole and the sight was more than just unpleasant. It was infuriating. He knew that look in the boy’s eyes, how could he not when he saw it in the mirror every day since moving here, which was fine, he didn’t mind people appreciating you but the way you responded ground his logic into dust and kicked up impulses he tried very hard to suppress. They’d been here two months already, living, eating together every day and night but this boy who had been with you for how long - two days? - you both had something. Something he wanted.

Namjoon had heard the expression of people just clicking and he always thought of it as nonsense. He and the rest were soulmates, no matter how ridiculous he came to accept it. They were soulmates, devised by Destiny or whatnot and they did no clicking. It took them so long to be truly comfortable around each other but he looked at you and Jae and he saw it, was forced to see it, the natural bond between two people. Anyone looking wouldn’t think of you and them, avoiding each other, making each other cry as soulmates, no, they’d look upon the happy faces of you and this romance manga character and they’d say you two were one of those couples. Ones who lived until their old and loved nonetheless. Took dates in the park, feeding ducks. All that Namjoon ever wanted, above money, fame, recognition, and you were finding that in Jae. He was going mad with rage, he had to hold onto Hobi’s back to not shake you by your arms, screaming “am I not good enough? Can’t I be him?”

You, of course, knew none of that because they never spoke and maybe now you just didn’t want to listen.

“Who was he?” Jimin asks trying to sound pacifying, like it doesn’t upset him, but his voice cuts and his eyes burn. You feel like you’re standing in front of a row of jilted lovers, a cheating wife returning back home to the evidence of her misdeed. Which was ridiculous. You were not lovers. For the final time, just roommates.

“He’s my intern,” you bite back, arms crossing in front of your chest.

“Never heard of him before,” Taehyung disputed and you both glared hard at each other across the hallway.

“Well, he’s new. What, can’t I hang around with other people besides you?”

“Yeah, baby,” Yoongi drawls trying at this point to act cool. “Don’t you have enough with us?”

“Have what?!” Frustrated, you throw your hands in the air. “You’re my roommates, he’s my intern! What do you want to do? Learn interior designing?!?”

Suddenly Jin laughs, absolutely hysterical, tears in his eyes. All of you look at him as though he’s lost his mind, even pausing the argument. He doubles over, wipes at the moisture and when straightens, still laughing, breathes out singular -

“No.”

“No?” you echo, dumbfounded.

“He’s not working with you, no. He’s not,” he asks Namjoon something in Korean to which the other one responds, eagerly nodding along.

“He’s not the right fit.”

Your eyebrow twitches.

“And who are you to decide that?”

“He looks…untrustworthy,” Jungkook grumbles with a deep pout, otherwise adorable but now unbearably annoying.

“Yeah, his hair?” Jimin makes a disagreeing noise.

“His hair? Motherfuckers, you’ve all walked with a rainbow on your heads before, what does it matter what his hair looks like?!”

“Don’t swear,” Namjoon bites and you see red. It doesn’t matter how tall is he, right now you could chuck him through the window.

“I’ll swear if I want to fucking swear,” you growl.

His own jaw tightens and while you all desperately understand how quickly and unreasonably, at least in your mind, this was spinning out of control you just couldn’t stop. You want to scream and shout and let it claw all of this mess outside your ribcage, your confused feelings about them, your mother, your inadequacy, everything, just word vomit it all out.

“He’s not responsible enough for you.”

“Does your job allow wife-stealers?”

“Jae has been helping me more than you realize!”

“And how are we supposed to realize, how are we supposed to help, if you never talk about anything!” Yoongi steps forward, voice edging between distress and a tint of irritation.

You can’t handle their resentment, you can’t, so you dial up the anger.

“Are you seriously faulting me for not saying anything?”

“Yeah!” Jimin agrees. “We’re here…to listen, every time, all the time, but you…you…” he chokes on his words, pointing one shaking, accusing finger towards you. You glower at him in return.

“I - what?”

“You run to him,” the way he breathes it out, sounding so despairing, like you had cheated on him, breaking his heart into tiny pieces.

With it, the last word was said and he leaves for his room, its closing sound echoing in the hallway. Your own lip is trembling because it feels like you’ve done something bad. Taehyung takes a long look at you and then frowns, trailing after Jimin.

You found maybe a friend, finally, a true friend and instead of being happy about it or at least understanding, fuck it, even neutral they made you feel bad about it. Jae who looked at you like you could do no wrong and the one’s whose opinion mattered a bit too much now stared at you like you were in the wrong.

What was so bad about finding Jae? You just wanted a friend, what was so bad about it?

You steel your resolve and shove all of this far underneath Earth’s crust. You’ll sleep and you’ll find the truth about your mother and you won’t feel anything, not about her or about them. You won’t feel anything hopefully ever again.

The tension in the hallways bursts away all at once although, from the tightened shoulders and offended expressions, it wasn’t over. Jungkook and you exchange looks. His eyes are even more doe-like than usual. You think he wants to comfort you, he shuffles around like he needs to but then his gaze falls on Namjoon who was still very visibly furious and his shoulders slump. Yoongi, your Yoongi, the one who smelt of home and had been the first to approach you, that day when you went to the music store, doesn’t look at you. Instead, focusing on his slippers as he scuffs them on the carpet.

Whatever.

What fucking ever.

You walk away, as they said it in your fatal flaw, without saying anything but how could you say anything? You recall what Jae said.

“You didn’t see what you looked like.”

What did you look like crying, pressed against the toilet floor, unable to breathe? Like a crazy person. Mental. How could you tell them when they’d probably find you weird, fucked up in the head or something, most people did.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Jin mumbles over his shoulder when you retreat.

“No.”

You end up sleeping for two hours before all of your nerves jolt awake. There are no vivid nightmares, no screaming yourself awake, that was ages ago. No, it’s the noise of the floor by your bedroom door squeaking. Along with light footsteps, like someone was pacing.

“Sometimes, I stand by your door.”

It couldn’t be Hoseok, could it? When after ten minutes, the pacing doesn’t cease you yank open the doors, finding his slightly startled face.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m…Can I speak with you, please?”

You look Hoseok over, trying not to recall the kiss. You’ve never been kissed like that, like the person you’re doing it with was actually interested, was actually besotted with you, taking and chasing like their dear life depended on it. It was the stuff of corny romance novels and you for a moment were quite happy that the genre of this pitiful story could maybe be changed to something more lighthearted but alas it stayed the same circle. Just a neverending down where everything remained the same.

“Sure.”

He wastes no time in settling in the chair by your desk and pulling it towards your bed, where dubiously peering at what he has planned, you plop down. Hoseok looks down and he seems invested in all your little knick-knacks, from the lip balm by the mirror to Namjoon’s latest bouquet of white roses that you held by the bed.

“Are you here to apologize? Or to say that It’s you, not me, then save I-”

“What would you do… if...if stars love you back?”

You sit, beaten off the path.

“Stars, like, in space?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, um…” you begin unsurely. “I don’t know, question how they have the sentience to comprehend love?”

“Would you believe it?”

Despite the vague, borderline nonsensical philosophical questions there’s a strangely certain glint in his eyes.

“I don’t get it,” you breathe out defeated and Hoseok nods along as if he expected it.

“Just imagine…you sit and look at the stars, right?”

“Right?”

“They’re beautiful and magic but they’re far away, right?”

“Right.”

“They can’t hear you...or…see you, so you can say anything, right?”

“Right.”

“You say “love you” or how pretty you look or how you want…want to visit them but it’s safe, right?”

“Because they can’t hear you,” you mutter, starting to grasp the notion of what he had obviously prepared to say.

“What would you do if…if they said back to you? That they liked you back?”

You’d be scared. You don’t have the guts to say it but you know it. There’s safety in loving something unreachable. Everyone has agreed that unrequited love was suffocating but sometimes returned love could be just as daunting. For some people, it was better to fixate, burn on their own and let that flame pass without ever speaking a word. If it was impossible there was no threat of reality, no threat of you or them fucking it up, every day in that love is a dreamland because that’s what it was - a fantasy, safe and comforting like a warm blanket you can burrow yourself in.

Love, real love, was not a blanket but a whole day. It was being warm, then cold because you’re getting ready, then going to do the hard work and being exhausted before returning back home, back to warmth, hoping that you’ve paid the gas bills so you wouldn’t end up in an unheated apartment called relationship. In a way it was easier to love fantasy, they wouldn’t ask of you anything and you could only have what you dream, a perfectly stagnant stream of solace. But if the stars could love back, if your fantasy would meet you eye to eye, they ripped that blanket you built in their form, they’d ask you to do the work. Eventually, they’d ask you to bare your soul and if that soul was filth and rot and nothing but decrepit memories and inabilities... it was terrifying.

But Hoseok couldn’t feel this way, could he?

You peer at him in the light of your bedroom lamp. He looks if not ethereal then definitely like fiction. There’s not a flaw you can name in his face and his voice is perfect, slightly lower than usual but soft and his eyes are caring and kind, so kind it runs a soothing hand over the gash he left when saying “it was a mistake”. He was the sun, everyone called him that, so why does he insist on being down here, among the spectators on Earth.

“The thing is…I could…we could be…” this part seems unscripted, he’s desperately floundering for words. “We could be…us,” he gestures between two of you with a finger.

“I could…I could….what’s the expression? Sweep your feet?”

“Sweep off your feet,” you correct passively, catching onto his every word.

“Sweep off your feet, I could. I could…make you forget sadness, I could be the best, I’d try every day…but…” he slumps and looks through the windowpane, into the darkness.

“But?” you prompt gently.

“I’m not sure…if the best of me is…is what you need. Or what you’ll want.”

“Isn’t it for me to decide?”

He inclines his head lower, resting his forearms on his thighs and leaning closer in. Your breath catches in your throat.

“I think you want…company. If I ask, you would say yes.”

Being called desperate, ouch.

“You would say yes, and I’d be happy but you don’t…wouldn’t? Think about it. You’d say yes because I asked, not…not because you want to.”

Oh. That’s what he meant to say.

“I would be happy,” he hummed. “I’d be…” lacking the necessary word he just gestures what seems to be a bunch of fireworks exploding. “And I don’t…wouldn’t let you go. I’d ask again and again and again and I think you would say yes but you…not happy.”

Would you say yes if they asked?

Probably.

The thought alone makes you flush red. Being with seven arguably most beautiful, in and out, men in the world who had skyscrapers made of gold, it was a fantasy as good as any, but in reality...

You could hide here in your little apartment 27, a refurbished student housing sandwiched between two boulevards, a park and an upcoming hipster alleyway with many small, keenly aesthetic cafes but you couldn’t stay here forever. They’d have to go home, someday, even if for a visit and out there they were not the weird neighbours, handsome joggers and avid shoppers at “Food and Home”, they would be BTS, the Special Presidential Envoys, the National Pride, the Cultural Ambassadors. You would be an ink spill and if the world ever find you dirtying their pool of light they’d scoop you out and toss in the trash. If their families ever found out...you don’t think they’d be accepting. No matter how you cut or measure, there would be no easy way out. You’d say yes if they asked because right now you wanted fantasy but you’d get a reality.

“I want you to be happy,” Hoseok declares with some finality, standing up. You remain seated, looking up at him from a downward angle as people often did when they looked at the sun. “I just want you to be happy.”

“Is that why you’re not jealous?” you ask, uncharacteristically bold. Hoseok was the only one who hadn’t spoken a word when Jae arrived, hadn’t pinned you down like a cheater or looked at Jae like a bunny on a platter.

He laughs lightly, shoulders shaking.

“Oh, I’m jealous. If I was him...” the thought remains unfinished but you can somewhat gather what he meant with that pause. You’d have no problems. Jae was Jae and the world would allow you to date him. He was also one man and you wouldn’t have to struggle with the implications of did they all want you, was it a sharing thing, what is what. It would be a very classic boy meets girl. Nice, uncomplicated. Not what you had.

“I’ve got no...no place to be jealous,” Hoseok continues after a moment of quiet thinking. “I want you to be happy. I don’t care with who.”

He smiles, no more than a slight incline of breath, and leans down to lay a gentle kiss on the forehead, one hand skimming by the side of your hair. He smells of his cologne and cigarettes. You had stopped, it was an expensive bad habit but he continued on. This was his own thing to conquer and you think in a way it was your own thing to ponder about the implications of his question with that kiss.

“So it wasn’t a mistake?” you ask, voice thin and feeble. Hoseok was yet to depart, he was still lingering in your orbit, forehead resting against yours, you assume so you couldn’t see his face.

“The kiss wasn’t a mistake, it was a mistake to already ask.”

He takes a step back and leaves for the door, air tinted with slight sadness. His hand is on the doorknob when you speak.

“Would you ever ask again?”

He turns around, looking at you with endearment, or at least you’d like to think that, and bit of a patronizing. Like you’ve just asked a very stupid question but you were incredibly cute about it.

“I don’t...haven’t, I mean, haven’t stopped asking. I won’t stop but you have to realize what you're saying “yes” to.”

You take in each other for a moment, coming to a standstill, not anywhere near enemies or opposing forces but in a way you’ve both in front of a stalemate. Perhaps not simply roommates, but no mistakes.

“Good night, Hobi.”

He turns the door and leaves after saying good night -

“___________.”

previous ⟷ next

a/n: about that conversation with Hobi.... It's about psychology, really. The reader is an avoidant attachment type of person, while the boys are a bit clingy. Hobi's ultimate concern is that they'll trap the reader in a relationship where she'll be hidden, stressed and unhappy, he also knows they won't let go, they'll make promises and grand gestures and sweet talk their way out of breaking up but that won't help in the long run. Without revealing that their soulmates, he's sort of saying, "look I like you, I do but am I worth the risk?" In the end, no matter what he just wants her to be happy 🥺

Also, it's probably not funny but Jae appeared and Jin really went

The wife stealer line was also him lmao

263 notes · View notes

papergirllife · 3 years ago

Text

First Love

Lucas Wong / Yukhei

"They say first love is a special experience that one would always hold a special place in your heart. Wong Yukhei was your first love in high school, but along the way, you had to say goodbye to him in order for him to achieve his dream of becoming a star in Korea. Yet fate and destiny plays its role in paving the two of you an intersection once more, will the two of you and up together at the very end?"

Warnings : smut, unprotected sex, mild angst, a child (pregnancy not described), tooth rotting fluff (all in that order, kinda)

A/N : this is one of my most heavily devoted works I've ever written, so please, of you're comfortable, drop a feedback to tell me if you guys like this writing style, thank you!

Lucas Wong of NCT and most importantly his own fixed unit, Wayv, the man who garners attention and love wherever he goes, that dazzling smile is sure to be captured by numerous cameras of awaiting fans.

But to you, Lucas was never Lucas, to you he was Yukhei, and more significantly, your ex from high school. Yukhei was your first love, you remember when the two of you had first met in Year 9, Yukhei was known for being a class clown and more of a klutz, girls would always have a soft spot for him even if they didn't like him in that way.

Yukhei was your desk mate for Year 10, the thing got you on your nerves about him was that he never took group assignments seriously, and was never at school on time, his uniform was wrinkly from rushing out of his house to catch the bus and always had a stationary missing, which means he had to borrow yours.

You never hated him, hate is a strong word, things were very neutral with him, most times, he unintentionally annoys you, but he'd always make up to you by bringing you a small bottle of apple juice the next day. The only time the two of you really fought was when he had not spoken up when his friends snatched your book away from yours to copy you off, brushing it off as a small matter.

You were quite an immature person back then, and no one can blame you, you were just a teenager, and being said that, you had refused to lend Yukhei a ruler when the math teacher did a pop quiz, so he had to use the dust pan as no one, other than you that is, brings an extra ruler.

It's not your fault, you thought back then, he shouldn't have depended on you to bring his share of stationaries. The next day, you walked into class to see his group of friends waiting at your desk to apologize to you, and as for Yukhei, he had yet again brought you a bottle of apple juice, with the addition of your favourite bar of Cadbury.

It was only in Year 11 when Yukhei had confessed to you, saying that all those annoying things he did to you were just to catch your attention, of all the girls he could've liked, he chose the one who was the most unattainable, go figure.

The next year, when the two of you were looking to apply to the same college, Yukhei broke the news to you that he'd be packing his bags for Korea, that the audition he had joined just for fun accepted him as a trainee in a large entertainment company in Korea that everyone in Hong Kong knows, SM.

At first you didn't approve of his decision, that his education was important as well, that he had a life here, with you. But Yukhei had given very valid reasons to you, that he wouldn't have passed the college entrance exams if it weren't for your tuitions until late at night in the public library, that he didn't really have an interest in studying. His most valid reason was that he didn't want to take a toll on you when you’re in college, he can't have you sacrifice your sleep and attention for him just to have him attain passing grades.

So you let him go, saying your last farewell to him at the airport as his girlfriend and ex girlfriend.

That was the last time you saw him, choosing to not stay in contact with him as you poured your soul into university life, studying like your life depends on it, you had a few boyfriends here and there, nothing serious, nothing that made you felt like your first love. Maybe you had trouble moving on, or maybe it was just stress, you thought back then, shrugging the thought off casually before diverting your attention else where, this cycle carried on until you came out to work.

Fast forwarding to March of 2019, you had unintentionally came across of a news online that Yukhei had finally been placed in his own fixed unit that would be promoting and performing in Chinese, which isn’t surprising, even the Thai member, Ten, was of Chinese heritage. What made your eyes widen was the fact that they were coming to Hong Kong.

At the day of the fan meet, you had took the day off from your boring low paying job at the law firm, so much for studying your ass off for bar exams, you’re just filing on a daily basis.

Before the day of the fan meet, you had lived off of instant cup noodles for a few weeks just to buy the album and their light stick. When you first listened to the album, you were proud of Yukhei’s rapping skills, you still recall the days when he’d struggle with his mandarin oral tests, the teachers there must be much better than you for him to improve so much, smiling fondly at the old memories.

You waved the light stick and sang along just like the other fans beside you, mesmerised by the performance that the boys are putting up, but your eyes were mostly on Yukhei, you would’ve never thought the once clumsy giant like him would dance as fluidly, executing the moves just as well as the other smaller sized members.

You watch as Yukhei introduces himself and his non Cantonese members in his mother tongue, a feeling of familiarity settling into your mind.

You are quite a confident person, but queuing up to the long table where Yukhei sat at the corner was nerve wrecking to you, what would he say to you? Would he recognise you? It hasn't been that long, but the two of you had done some changes to your looks.

The other members had greeted you with a friendly smile and a few casual questions like have you eaten, but they seem a bit taken aback by the lack of fan girl attitude that most of the fans in front of you had.

When you had got to Yukhei, he had dropped his marker on the floor, his head ducked out of sight to retrieve it, but when he came up to apologise, the words were stuck in his throat, as his eyes opened as wide as saucers. He coughed to mask the surprise on his face.

“Hi, how are you?” He asked as he took your album into his hands, scribbling something down.

“Good, how have you been?” although his hair is coloured, his eyes had contacts, and he wasn't in his messy uniform, the smile on his face never changed.

“Great, it's nice to see you,” to other fans and the staff beside him, they might think it's just one of the standard answers, but you knew Yukhei like the back of your hand, registering the twinkle in his eyes.

Soon, he had placed the album back into your hands, your fingers grazing gently as tiny sparks flew up your tips, eyes never breaking contact until the staff tells you to leave.

When you had sat down at a nearby cafe to get a cup of coffee, you took out your album and flipped to the page where Lucas had written something.

��Hilton hotel, 9pm,' and his number under it.

At nine sharp, you waited by the hotel’s sitting area, not many people at that time as usually stores in Hong Kong open rather late, patiently you waited for Yukhei. Just as you were scrolling through posts on Instagram, a tall figure approached you.

A call of your name rolled off his tongue naturally, a wave of nostalgia hitting the both of you.

“I bought you a little something before I got here,” you said as you stood up, letting him guide you to the elevators.

“What is it?” Yukhei lets out a flustered laugh, scratching the back of his nape when he realised he didn't get you anything in return.

“Roast goose and Cha Siew, are they still your favourite?” you asked, hoping his taste hasn’t changed over the years.

“Yeah, man, I remember how we'd always get quarter of both after school at Uncle Chan’s,” Yukhei said, remembering how the boss of the restaurant had hung a photo of two of you on the wall, deeming the two of you his most loyal lovebirds.

“This is from Uncle Chan’s,” you told him as you followed him into his room, looking around, expecting him to be rooming with someone.

“Don't worry, I told Yang Yang to sleep with Ten for the night,” Yukhei said when he saw you looking for someone.

“Oh, that's really nice of him,” you said as you set out the food, the smell of Hong Kong's famous delicacies wafting in the air.

“Man, I really missed this,” Yukhei said as he pulls the arm chair that was a few feet away close to the desk, directing you into it and situating himself in the not so comfortable wooden chair.

“I missed this too,” you said mindlessly, eyes avoiding his before you ate a piece of meat.

“I missed you too,” Lucas confessed, yes there are many pretty girls in his industry, and Korea itself, but no one would be able to replace you, you were his rock all his life, other than his family of course, it's hard to build a connection with someone just as strong when things between the two of you never really ended, in a way.

Leaving on too good terms and without much closure for both of you kept one another thinking of each other. The two of you know, that after tonight, things would go back to normal, Yukhei would be Wayv’s Lucas, and you’d remain as his past, there would never be an outcome from whatever happens tonight.

So when the two of you were recalling memories and troubles the two of you got in school on the oh so comfortable bed, you couldn't help it, hooking a leg over Yukhei’s waist, just like how it started at the night of the graduation party, the night where the two of you lost your virginities to each other.

“I’d be gone tomorrow, we shouldn’t, I shouldn't do this to you,” Yukhei said, a firm believer that it's always the girl that is on the losing side, like he's taking an advantage of you, ever the gentleman.

“I want this for myself, Yukhei, it's not like it's our first time,” you said, trying to convince him.

“I still feel guilty about our first time, I left a few months later after that night, and tomorrow would be the same, I'll be leaving you once more,” Yukhei said as his big hands caressed your cheeks, eyes wide like a puppy, pupils reflecting an image of you, a perfect representation of his universe, you.

“I don't care, I’ve moved on from you as your girlfriend all those years ago, moving on from you after tonight won't be a challenge for me,” you said in a firm tone, one that Yukhei knows all too well, he knows you won't give up when you sound like this.

He could possibly break two hearts if he chooses to act on his impulses, but he missed this, he missed you, and so he threw all caution out of the window when he smashed his lips desperately against yours, chewing on your bottom lip with little force, it was something that would easily get you worked up back then, and to his delight, it still worked, letting him dominate the kiss easily, he let his tongue slid in your mouth, tasting the beer the two of you had just now with a mixture of strawberry lip gloss, you were still using the Nivea one you used all those years ago, this only fuelled his desire for you, his hands leaving your cheeks to locate your waist, pulling you closer to him.

When you were out of air, you broke off the kiss, reaching the hem of your shirt to pull it off, then waiting a few seconds for Yukhei to admire the red lace on your skin before unclasping your bra, letting your blossoms free, all the while as Yukhei looks on, like he was in a trance.

“I missed these,” he commented before taking a mound into his mouth, sucking on your nipple diligently while his other hand comes up to roll it in between the pads of his fingers, the pleasure from the action making you throw your head back, a slip of his name in between your whimpers.

You let Yukhei push you back, letting you fall onto his bed, you felt his hands wander up your skirt, his huge hands around your thighs, squeezing the flesh in his palms, feeling you, but stopped when he reached the hem of your panties, detaching himself from your chest, looking at you for confirmation.

You nodded at him, putting your hand over his to guide him higher, stopping at the curve of your cheek, pushing his hand beneath the clothe, dangerously close to your core, heck he could even feel your arousal already, eyes rolling back at the thought of getting you so worked up.

“Take it off, but you can leave the skirt, for old time’s sake,” you said.

Yukhei looked at you, confused at what you’re trying to say, until he realised you were wearing a pleated checkered skirt, just like the ones you wore back in high school, memories of the two of you sneaking around, having a quickie with your skirt flipped up immediately made blood rush southwards at the thought.

“Fuck, you expected this to happen?” Yukhei asked, shaking his head in disbelief, he was always the troublemaker at school, but oh how the tables have turned now.

“Didn't you?” you asked before getting up to put yourself in a doggy position, shaking your butt, taunting him.

Yukhei chuckled to himself before doing as you say, taking off your panties to reveal your slick covered pussy, dripping wet for him on display.

Yukhei spreads you open by pulling your cheeks apart to lick a stripe up your slit, making you shudder at the warm muscle that was intruding but very much welcomed.

Yukhei allowed himself to fully stuff his face there, inserting his tongue into your core, thrusting the wet muscle at a moderate pace before adding a finger to the mix, then two, stretching you open to let his tongue delve deeper inside, he then adds a third finger, the fullness finally hitting you, soon he did a come hither movement once he had located your sweet spot, his tongue and fingers rubbing against the roof of your walls deliciously, you would’ve lost your balance if it weren't for his hand supporting you by your left hip.

The constant pleasure that Yukhei so willingly inflicted upon you would've soon come to an euphoric end if he hadn’t halted all movement, pulling out his tongue and his fingers, which made you whine his name pathetically, something you wouldn't have done if it weren't for the fact that your mind was reduced to a ball full of cotton.

“Chill, I worked you up so I wouldn't hurt you with my dick,” Yukhei said as he positions himself at your entrance, his hand coming up to your face to tilt your head to his direction, zeroing on your lust filled eyes and the plump of your lips, swollen because of him.

“Are you sure you want this?” Yukhei asks you one last time.

“Yes, please,” you said, pushing yourself back to lightly grind on his length, a little bit of your arousal getting onto his cock, his dick getting so hard it's starting to hurt.

“Ever so eager, aren't you?” Lucas said before biting his lip at the sight.

“Just put it in!” you whined, tired of his teasing.

“Okay, okay,” Yukhei said before bracing himself for your tight walls, he's never nervous when it comes to others, but you? You always held a special place in his heart.

Yukhei spreads your cheeks once more before aligning himself to slip in an inch, eyebrows furrowing at how tight you were, he could tell you were clenching up, just like you did the first time when you were nervous.

So he bends down to your back, placing gentle kisses along your right shoulder blade.

“Don’t tense up, there’s nothing to be nervous about, we did this before remember?” Yukhei said in his most gentle tone ever, you nodded your head at his words, adjusting yourself to let yourself lose in the comfort of his touch, reminding yourself that although it's been a long time since you had someone as big as him, you’ll be fine in his hands.

Once Yukhei felt yourself unclench, he pushes in furthermore, you felt yourself arching your back to allow him to fit himself easier, before he comes to a halt, you felt so full, you haven't felt this way in such a long time, it was somewhat overwhelming, but it's the most complete feeling ever, a feeling you've never felt with any other.

The initial stretch was slightly painful of course, but the pain soon turned into pleasure, and being the gentleman Yukhei is, waited for you despite the huge urge to move, waiting for your green light.

When you told him he could move, he felt like the gates of heaven just opened, pulling out slightly to give you a shallow thrust, just to test the waters.

Even with that experimental thrust, you felt like you had a taste of heaven, eager to drown yourself in this new found pleasure that you were once so familiar with.

Yukhei grasped his large hands onto your hips, setting a moderate pace, still restraining himself from snapping his hips, but from how much slick you were dripping, soon you'd be begging for more.

Once you felt yourself familiarise with his big cock, the pace that Yukhei had set wasn’t enough, you wanted him to let loose, you wanted him to rail you, be damned if you can’t walk tomorrow.

So in the midst of all the pleasure, you let out two desperate words breathlessly, “ruin me”.

Yukhei had to do a double take, pausing his movements entirely just to check if that was his mind messing with him or it was really you, but one look at your desperate face, revealed to him that was in fact your words.

Yukhei allowed the animalistic side of him to take over, holding onto your hips that would sure leave bruises the next day, but you didn’t mind, not when you felt a sudden surge of pleasure coursing through your body. He angled your body higher, arching your back for easier access, thrusting harder and faster.

You could only submit yourself to him as your toes curled and your fingers dig into the linen sheets, you’re sure if his members were next door, they'd be able to hear every single sound you make, the sound of your ass cheeks clapping against Yukhei’s hips and your high pitched moans were flowing freely, but you didn't care, not when this could be the last time you'd ever be with Yukhei.

Soon, you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your legs were trying their best not to fail you, and you could tell your arms were getting sore from propping yourself up as the cord in your abdomen threatened to snap, you panted out the word ‘close’, and Yukhei immediately understood, fucking into you at an inhuman pace, you could feel yourself losing your mind as spit drips from your mouth, sanity slowly slipping away from you as you felt your impending orgasm, it started from the tip of your toes, your body convulsing as you screamed his name, succumbing into the pleasure, your core bursting, the strongest orgasm you've ever felt, making your whole body sag in defeat as you let Yukhei help you ride out your orgasm.

Just when you thought it was all over, Yukhei gently flipped you over, and that’s when you realised he hasn’t cum, so you lifted your legs higher to let him enter you once again, he was using you like his personal doll, and you love it a little bit too much to be considered normal, you struggled to keep your eyes open as you fought through the slight pain from the overstimulation, hearing Yukhei’s mumble of appreciation and endearments.

“Can you give me one more, babe? Just one more,” Yukhei said before circling his fingers around your clit, making your eyes snap open when you realise he wants you to cum once more, your hands coming up to push his hand away, but his other hand grasped onto yours.

“Just one more, please,” Yukhei begged with those puppy eyes of his, and how could you say no?

So you stopped struggling, nodding your head at his request before he quickens the pace of his hips and the ministrations on your clit.

Soon, you could feel Yukhei’s cock swelling inside you before he let out a groan of your name, thrusting in one last hard thrust before he painted your walls white, his lips capturing yours to silent you as you came once more, your nails digging into his shoulders, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt Yukhei ride out both your highs.

Once he was done, Yukhei crashed onto the bed beside you, his arms wrapping around yours, kissing your lips to distract you as he pulled out, hopping into the attached bathroom to bring out two towels, taking off your skirt before he gently cleans you up, when he was done he wiped the juices you left on him, your eyes growing big when you knew it was from when you squirted on him.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise I squirted,” you mumbled behind the hands that you had covering your embarrassed face.

Yukhei laughed at the cute sight, throwing the towel aside before climbing into bed again, removing your hands away from your face, kissing you deeply before looking at you in the eye.

“I loved it,” he said before pulling you closer, and almost instantly, you were lulled to sleep by the beating of his heart.

When you woke up, Yukhei was still snoring beside you, sleeping like a baby, you gently removed his hand from your waist, stepping out of the bed before gathering your clothes, putting them on, smoothing out the creases of your skirt.

Walking to the door, you glanced around once more at the sight of him, your heavy heart begging you to stay, to talk, and so you walked over to the night stand, ripping a piece of paper of the note pad and grabbing the pen next to it.

‘Goodbye and thank you for everything.’

You placed the piece of paper beside him on his pillow before kissing his forehead as a parting gift, closing the door as softly as you could when you left.

You knew this was the right thing to do, you made this decision once when he left for Korea the first time, you can't be in his way this time around, not when he's this far into his career, you can’t be selfish, he belongs on this path, he deserves it and you’re not going to take it away from him, you've stood on the side-lines all this time, he shed the limelight on you for one night, and that's all you should have, he's better off without you.

Yukhei felt himself grow cold when he couldn't feel the warmth of your body, jerking up to check if you were in the bathroom, only to find the door wide open, the room empty.

That's when he had spotted the piece of paper with your goodbye message, his heart clenching in pain, crashing onto the bed once more.

He didn't know what to expect, you had sent him off once, and now you left him without saying goodbye. He thought he could at least say goodbye.

Pushing his thoughts away, he gathered his things, packing up to leave for Korea.

His members could tell something was terribly off, they thought he was just in it for a casual hook up, but his expression tells otherwise.

The usual cheerful Yukhei was nowhere to be found, which meant Yang Yang and Hendery had to keep the mood light throughout the journey home, everyone knew to not say anything, only speaking when crucial.

It took Yukhei quite a while for him to get back to his goofy self, but even then, Kun, being the most observant one, saw a tightness in his smile, a faraway look in his eyes, whoever he had seen that night must've meant a lot to him, but he dare not to press, he knows Yukhei would open up when he's ready.

It was a normal Tuesday night when he had received a request to face time from you, without thinking much of it, excited to hear from you, he accepted, your beautiful face coming into view as he got comfortable on his bed.

“Hey, this is unexpected,” Yukhei said, not knowing what else to say.

“Yukhei, there’s something I need to tell you,” you said, eyes avoiding his.

“Yeah, what's up?” he asked, rubbing his nape, a habit he does whenever he's nervous.

“I'm um, I’m pregnant,” you said, choosing to not beat around the bush.

You could see Yukhei's face pale when he processed your words. Is it his? It's definitely his, it's almost a month since the two of you slept together, unless you slept with someone else?

“It's mine?” a dumb question, but he needs to know for sure.

“Yeah,” you said before the two of you come to a piercing silence.

“You could get an abortion, maybe?” Yukhei suggested after contemplating in his head, there’s no way he could be in the child’s life, and that's the best option for your sake, raising a child in Hong Kong is the most expensive thing to do, equivalent to buying a house there.

“I decided to keep it, Yukhei,” you said, glancing up to see the disbelief on his face.

“You can’t, you know I can't be there for you and you’re still so new in your job, you can't risk your life for this!” Yukhei said, not comprehending on why you'd do this to yourself.

“I already decided, Yukhei, and I don't expect you to take responsibility, this is my choice,” you said as tears threatened to flow.

“That isn't fair, it's not fair for the child! A child needs its father! You don't know what you're doing! Being a single mum is next to impossible in Hong Kong! You're putting the child in a horrible situation just for your selfishness!” Yukhei said before pushing his hair back, the feeling of an impending headache forming.

“How dare you say that?! I’ll raise this child perfectly on my own, I was just calling you to inform you of it, but since you don't want anything to do with it or me, I guess this is goodbye and don't call me anymore, I won't change my mind,” you said before your face disappeared from his phone screen.

Yukhei tried calling you immediately after, a day later, several weeks later, but you never picked up. Then he started stressing about his career, what would happen if someone were to find out? But he knows you as a person, and being a tell-tale is not one of your characteristics, yeah, he can just act like nothing happened, like he had never received this call.

He knows he's running away from his problems, but what other choice does he have?

Fast forwarding to July of 2021, Yukhei is home after his filming of the popular Chinese reality show in China, Keep Running, he feels at ease when he sees his family, finally reuniting with them, but only for a short two weeks time, before he has to leave for Korea once more.

It was a Friday night when his friends from home took him out for a drink, he was not so familiar with the clubbing scene in Hong Kong, but with the knowledge he has of this area, he knows many rich and young people often here, just like the girl kissing up his neck now, her soft hands running up the expanse of his thigh, getting dangerously close to where he wants her to be.

Yet Yukhei doesn’t remember her name, was it Candy? Apple? Some sort of name that had to do with food, he just remembered that she told him that she was an up and coming model, or trying to be anyways.

Just as she suggested to go to some hotel, Yukhei suggested for a quickie in the bathroom first, and so here he is now, being pushed to the door of a stall, her hands trying to unbuckle his belt.

Yukhei reached the back of his pocket for his wallet, opening it, looking for the condom he had placed there, but cursed when he realised he must've dropped it when he paid for drinks.

He told her to go back out and wait for him to get some, leaving the club and the musky smoke filled place behind him, the summer breeze blowing his hair all over, he brings the hood of his jacket up as he scans for a nearby convenience store, locating one at the street across.

When he got in, the scent of curry immediately greeted him, it was your favourite food, everyday after school, no doubt you'll drag him into one of these shops, just to share a bowl of curry fish balls, one of the most famous snacks here in Hong Kong.

He pushed the thought away, trudging to the aisle that was on the most right, where the condoms were at, hidden away from children. He took a box and made his way to the counter, opening his wallet to take out a few notes.

The cashier turned her back from stocking the cigarette shelf, scanning the box wordlessly.

“That would be 30,” she said when she looked up, but her hand immediately dropped the box when she saw who it was, and that's when Yukhei truly opened his eyes to see who it was, at first he was just miffed not knowing why the cashier froze, then he sees you, in the worn out 7 Eleven uniform, was you, the last person he’d be expecting.

“Why are you here? What happened to your job at the law firm? Why...” Yukhei didn't know how to ask, he didn't know if he deserved the right to ask, yet there's so many questions he had swarming in his head. Where is his child? Did you abort it in the end? Did you give it up for adoption? Were you fired from your job because of it?

“It's my shift right now, and you seem to be getting lucky tonight,” you said stiffly, holding up the box for him to see, sliding it across the counter

“It's for my friend actually,” Yukhei said, eyes avoiding yours, but immediately looking at you straight in the eyes, remembering how you use to be able to see right through him whenever he didn't do the revision work you've given him.

“Right,” you said, resisting to roll your eyes.

“You haven't answered me, why are you working here instead of the law firm?” Yukhei pressed.

You sigh at his persistence, not knowing what to say to humour him, so you didn't say anything, getting back to rearranging the shelves.

Yukhei bit his lip, not knowing what to say to you, but a million questions in his head, desperate for answers.

“Please leave if you're done with your purchases,” you said, you had a long day, and the thought of entertaining him was not something you want to add on your plate.

Yukhei looked around the store once more, grabbing a bowl of instant noodles from the shelf before making his way once more to the cashier.

“I’d like to have this here,” Yukhei said before pulling out some spare change from just now.

“Yukhei, what are you trying to do?” you asked in an exasperated tone, there's no point making small talk when there's no way the two of you would ever cross in each other’s lives ever again.

“I'm hungry, I want to eat noodles,” which wasn’t really a lie, all the alcohol he drank before gave him an appetite.

You sighed, turning your back to him, soundlessly waited for the water to boil before pouring it into the cup, sealing the top for it to cook. As you worked, Yukhei was having déjà vu, this was an all too familiar sight, nights at the convenience store studying till late at night in groups, you'd always share noodles with him as you taught him some dumb math formula that no one uses in their life after school.

He takes his bowl of noodles, opting to sit at the place closest to the counter, just looking at you, eating as slow as humanly possible.

When it was around three, you received a call.

“Hello?”

“...”

“You think you have a stomach ache? Celine jia is asleep? Okay, mama’s coming home okay?” you said frantically before shutting off the stove of the food at the counter, running to the back for a pack of meds, depositing some money into the register. You looked at Yukhei, frozen at his seat, cursing at yourself for not going into the back room before picking up the call.

“You need to go, I have something to deal with,” you said as you grabbed your bag, turning off all the switches in one go, making the place pitch black other than the lights from the lamp posts outside.

“Is that my child?” Yukhei asked, he can't allow himself to act like it never happened before, he ran away once, it's time to man up and shoulder on his responsibilities.

“No I fucked another guy before you and it's his child,” you deadpanned.

You walked down the street to flag for a taxi that is always parked there to get their club goer customers, Yukhei hot on your heels, you turned back to look at him questioningly.

“This is none of your concern, don’t follow me,” you said in a rather seething tone, you didn't mean to sound like that, but if he's going to be in the way of your child, then he’s not a friend.

“That's my child too, I want to know how they are, I have a right to do so, you studied law, you should know,” Yukhei retorted in the most friendly way possible, he knows he's in the wrong, but he wants to ensure his child’s safety.

“For fuck’s sake,” you cursed aloud before stepping into the taxi, leaving the door open for him.

You told the driver your address, sitting back to think of what's the problem, the kindergarten shouldn't be the culprit, it's a school with a good reputation, which also burns a hole in your wallet, but you don't mind, and it's not like you have much of a choice, education is deadly expensive here.

About 20 minutes later, you've reached home.

“That'll be 150, miss,” the driver said.

“What?!”

“Fares are different after midnight, miss,” the driver reminded you.

Before you could check if you had enough money on you, Yukhei paid for it wordlessly.

You got out of the car, rushing into the building and running up the stairs as quick as you can, unlocking the door, jabbing the keys into the rusty lock.

Taking off your shoes before you made your way to your room, spotting your son crouched in the corner of your bed, hands around his stomach.

“Hey, mama's home, I'll get you a glass of water to take your medicine okay?” you said before hurrying out, Yukhei passing you a glass of water at the kitchen.

“Thanks,” you mumbled before making your way back inside.

You open the package and passed you son a tablet, but looking at the size, you knew he’d panic to swallow something this big, so you broke it in half, telling him to drink a big gulp of water to wash it down and it'll be fine.

All the while, Yukhei was watching with wonder leaning by the door frame, even in the dim lights and the fact that he's still quite young, he could still identify his eyes on his son, the strong genes in his family, his father and brother all had those eyes, this boy is most definitely his.

The boy diligently does as you told him, taking a big gulp of water, so obedient, and from the way the two of you communicate, very mature for his age, nothing like the usual three year old.

When he was done, he noticed Yukhei’s presence, tugging your sleeve to whisper into your ear, eyes trained on him.

“That's a friend of mine, love, be polite, say hi to Yukhei gogo,” you urged.

Yukhei took this as a sign to get closer to his son, squatting down to meet his eye.

“You’re a handsome boy, what's your name? I’m Yukhei and I’m 22 this year, how about you?” Yukhei asked as he reached out his hand for the little boy to shake.

“I’m Wenghei, 3 years old. Why have I never seen you before gogo?” the child asks, looking at him with curious eyes, he's met some of your friends, but he's definitely haven't met him before, most people aren't as tall here, or not in his mother's circle anyways.

“Get some rest, love,” you said, tucking him into bed.

“Okay,” he said, a yawn coming out from his mouth.

You closed the door behind you, directing Yukhei to the small living room area, serving him a glass of water.

You walked to the trash bin, opening the lid to check its contents, a scowl on your face when you saw the root of your son’s stomach ache when you spot the plastic container that contained the two day old pizza from the freezer. Your roommate, Celine, must’ve gave him some as dinner, usually you'd leave some money for Celine to buy him dinner, but she must've been tight on money again, trying to find ways to squeeze in some spare change, you've warned her of her spending habits, always splurging on albums of her favourite stars, which reminds you.

“You have to go, I’m living with a roommate and I'm sure she's going to recognise you,” you said, a hand gesturing at the door.

“Wait, did you find out why he had a stomach ache?” Yukhei asked.

“Yeah, he ate something he shouldn't have for dinner, you have to go, I need some rest for tomorrow,” you said, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“Do you have anything on tomorrow? Can I see you, perhaps?” Yukhei asked, he didn't know what he wanted to talk about, but he just had to see you again.

“I’m tutoring a student at a coffee shop tomorrow, you can come right after,” you said, thinking that he just wants to know more about his son.

“Okay, goodnight then,” Yukhei said awkwardly as he walks towards the door.

“Goodnight,” you said, feeling a weight on your chest, dreading tomorrow’s meeting.

When Yukhei arrived at the café, he could see you sitting at the way back, a teenage girl sitting in front of you, back facing him, he sipped on his latte, observing you silently.

Your hair is much longer than it had been in high school, the bag hung by your chair very much worn out, and your eye bags were heavier than on days where Yukhei would stay up to prepare for promotions.

Soon, the student was packing up, leaving the table, Yukhei took this as a sign to move to your table. You had stood up to greet him, and that's when he saw, you had lost lots of weight, and he's not meaning it in a fitness way, he recognised the jeans you are wearing, you had these even back then, they used to be a perfect fit for you, that's why they were your favourite, but now, you were wearing a belt to hold it together, and still he could see how loose it was.

“Hey, you didn't order anything?” Yukhei asked, noting that the cup of coffee he saw just now belonged to your student.

“I got a coffee in my flask, cheaper that way,” you said as you packed up your stationaries.

“What did you have for breakfast? How about I order you a piece of cake?” Yukhei suggested, looking back to see what they have today.

“It's alright, I'm not hungry, why don't we get straight to the point? What is it you want to ask about Wenghei?” you asked, noting the time on your watch, you have to leave around noon to fetch your son from pre school.

“I, how about you? Why did you leave the firm? And how’s your parents?” Yukhei started off.

“Well, they said I would’ve been an embarrassment to the firm, you know, pregnant and unmarried, so they told me to leave, it's not like filing could be done with a big weight in my stomach, so I did as they said. Now I tutor kids English and work the night shift at the convenience store, and as for my parents, they kicked me out,” you said, laying down the cards, no point avoiding his questions, especially not when you're in a hurry.

Yukhei nodded at your words, registering the fact that he had a fault in ruining your hot shot lawyer dreams and completely destroyed your sensitive relationship with your parents, how is he ever going to forgive himself?

“I’m sorry,” Yukhei said, he didn't know what else to say, how could he make it up to you and your son? Will you let him even if he could?

“Don't be, this is on the both of us, are you going to ask about the share custody stuff? If so, I don't think we should continue this conversation, Wenghei doesn’t know who you are, and maybe that's the best case scenario, what point would be made if he knew you were his father but you're not in our lives? It'll break his heart. You've seen him now, maybe you can reconnect with him when he's older, I think you should just say goodbye before you go, if you want,” you said, saying these harsh words aloud wasn’t easy, you’re not entirely a cold hearted bitch, but it's for the best that your son didn’t know about his father, no one wants to know the fact that their father abandoned them twice, some truths are better to be untold.

“Can I see him one last time, maybe tonight? For dinner? I'm leaving in two days,” Yukhei said in a defeated tone.

“Yeah, sure, I'll take the shift off tonight,” you said, eyes avoiding his, you could just tell he’d have those sad puppy eyes on his face right now, you don't need anymore guilt in your heart.

“Hey man, where were you?” Jackson asked Yukhei, who was waiting for him at the harbour, they were going to Macau for a day trip today, his friend isn't late for the boat, but they did schedule to meet 15 minutes earlier.

“Something came up, and I need to head back around 7, there’s some people I need to see,” Yukhei said as they boarded the boat.

“So that leaves us 5 hours, should be enough,” Jackson said, checking his watch.

“I’m sorry about this, man, it just came up suddenly,” Yukhei said as they took their seats, apologetic because they have been talking about this trip for a long time now.

“It's okay, dude, but what's up? You look really stressed,” Jackson asked, taking in Yukhei's clenched jaw and furrowed brows, a stark contrast from his usually carefree expression.

“It's a long story,” Yukhei said as he mindlessly watches the sea from the little window of his seat.

“Well, if you don't mind, this is a 45 minutes journey, maybe we'll be able to find a solution together, what are friends for am I right?” Jackson offered, he wouldn't press his friend if he didn't want to tell him about it, but the two of them have been close ever since going on knowing brothers, coming from the same home country and everything.

And so Yukhei, for the first time, told his friend his long love story.

“You know, I think I have a solution for you, but let me ask you one thing first, do you still love her?” Jackson asked as he ate his pork chop bun, Macau’s famous local snack.

Yukhei pondered over his friend’s question, yes the two of you agreed to break up, but all the girls he dated after you, all had similar features or personality traits to you, he had dismissed it as just a type, but now that he had seen you again, he realised that the hole in his heart was always emptied for you, you were the missing puzzle piece all along.

“You don't even have to answer me, your face tells all man,” Jackson said, an oily finger wagging at the direction of his face.

“Yeah, I think I do,” Yukhei said with a sigh, “but even if I still love her, that doesn’t mean she loves me back, and what if we do love each other? We're living oceans apart,” Yukhei said in a defeated tone.

“Now here comes my solution, so you said she got fired from her law firm and is now tutoring kids and doing the night shift at 7 E, and got kicked out by her shitty parents, so she really doesn't have anything else here for her other than her son, why don't you suggest get to move with you? To Korea? It'll be way easier for the two of you to raise your son, even if the two of you don't get back together, I mean, at least you'll be able to financially support them, that is what you're willing to do right?” Jackson asked, hoping that his friend would uptake his part of the child support.

“Yeah, of course I want that, I just don't know what she'll say, or if she'd be willing, she doesn't speak the language and it's an entirely different environment,” Yukhei said, thinking back the days where he had a tough time adjusting.

“From what you told me, she sounds like a tough nut, but of course, this is all up to you, but just so you know, I would really like to be his godfather, and as for your doubts of her love towards you, she did name him after you, isn't it the same Hei?” Jackson said with a hearty chuckle, he could just imagine the fun they'll have together, he was always fond of children.

“Yeah, I’ll persuade her on this,” Yukhei said, he could already feel himself getting nervous for tonight’s dinner, it can’t be that much of a coincidence that his son’s last name resembled his right? Or is he and Jackson just being delusional?

“Now that's my buddy, now come on, finish your food so that we’ll make it in time for the next batch of Portuguese egg tarts, I remember they have a fresh batch around 4,” Jackson said, mouth salivating at the thought of more food.

When you arrived at the restaurant, it was fancier than what you had expected, feeling underdressed among the rich elite of Hong Kong in your old dress that you wear for every special occasion.

You asked if there was a reservation under your name, since Yukhei said he had it booked under you, and almost immediately, since not that many people can afford places like these, the waiter led you in.

“Mama, what is this place? We've never ate here before,” your son asked you.

“It's a French cuisine restaurant, we’re meeting gogo here, remember him? Or were you too sick that day?” you said as you placed him on the baby chair you had requested for.

“Yeah, I remember,” your son said as he looks around in awe, registering the pretty chandeliers that look so sparkly.

When the waiter handed you a menu, someone had joined your table, his hoodie pulled up so no one would recognise him, pulling it down when he saw that there wasn't any other customers around.

“Sorry, am I late?” Yukhei asked with a sheepish smile, a hand lifting up to check the time.

“No, we’re just early, say hi to Yukhei gogo, love,” you directed the last part to your son, patting his little hand to get his attention, smiling immediately when he lands on the tall figure.

“Gogo, you're here,” your son said excitedly, making grabby hands at him, letting his father carry him with a large smile on his face.

“Hey, buddy, don't you look excited to see me?” Yukhei said before blowing raspberry at his neck, making the young boy giggle.

What you didn't expect was to see someone coming up behind Yukhei, a little bit shorter and smaller in built, but when he pulled his hoodie down, you instantly recognised who it was.

“Jackson Wang?” you asked, blinking your eyes a few times to see if you were hallucinating.

“Hey, it’s nice to finally meet you, you look lovely tonight, and you must be little Wenghei, aren't you adorable, how about Jackson gogo take you out to buy toys, huh? I saw a big toy store just across the street, but only if your ma says yes of course,” Jackson said, giving you a side eye to Yukhei.

“Yeah, sure,” you said, it's not like the Jackson Wang is going to kidnap your son right?

“Don’t worry, I’ll watch him with my life,” Jackson said as Yukhei passes his son over to him, leaving the restaurant with his hood up once more.

“Is there something you'd like to say?” you asked Yukhei after he had taken the seat across you his hands were shaking slightly as he holds up the menu.

“I... I still love you. And I know I must sound like a jerk to you, hell I’d go back in time just to hit myself for running away, I'm really sorry for that. What I did was inexcusable, my career just stabilised at that time, and I was under immense stress from SM, you have every right to be mad at me, but I want to be apart of your life again, apart of Wenghei’s life as well, if you could let me have this second chance, I'll do anything to make the both of you happy,” Yukhei said in one breath, reciting what he had practised over and over again with Jackson in the car.

“Yukhei, I,” you were lost for words, you thought you were saying goodbye once more, that Yukhei and you would always end up in goodbyes, but now here he is, saying he loves you.

“Yukhei, you can't just say you love me for the sake of our son, and neither would you need to take responsibility for him, I chose to have him, and as for love, we can never be together, you’re an international super star now, and you're living in Korea, I don't think I have the energy to be in a long distance relationship with you, that would take a toll on Wenghei too, how am I going to explain to him that his father is in another country? He’ll always question your love for him and I don't want that,” you said, trying to hold in the tears that had built up in your eyes, your throat closing up, the cold facade you built for yourself crumbling down before his eyes.

“You can move to Korea, both of you, we can be a family,” Yukhei pleaded, his hands reaching forward to hold yours, his eyes searching yours.

“We can’t, what if we break up? What if your so called love for me, is just something you feel as a result of our child? You can't uproot the two of us when there's so many uncertainties, especially our emotions,” you said, you don't want either of you to be stuck in a relationship for the sake of raising a child, no one would be happy in the end.

“Love, you don't understand, I've never had a serious relationship after you, I tried, I really did, but I’d always think of you instead, how badly I wanted you instead of someone who reminds me of you, the thing is, I’ve always loved you, and I think you still love me too, or you wouldn't have named our son after me, am I right?” Yukhei hoped, why else would you come up with that name right?

Damn it, you thought to yourself, he saw right through you, maybe you shouldn't have named your son after him.

You looked at him and looked away, darn those puppy eyes, you’re sure you’re crying now, and Yukhei reaching over to wipe away your tears just confirmed it.

“I love you, it's always been you, only you,” Yukhei confessed.

“I, I love you too, Yukhei, and I was never mad at you for running away from us, I know how tough that industry is, but what if your fans find out about us?” you asked, slightly worried that he might lose it like last time.

“Then so be it, true fans would stay,” he said in an affirmative tone, reassuring you.

“You promise?” you asked, holding out your pinky, it would’ve been a funny sight to see if anyone saw the two of you now, crying and smiling at the same time.

“I promise,” Yukhei said before hooking his own pinky to connect with yours.

“If you leave us, Wong Yukhei, I’ll murder you in your sleep,” you said as threatening as you could sound.

“I plan to see our son grow up, so I'll value my life,” Yukhei said in utmost sincerity before grabbing a napkin to wipe away all your tears, you’re glad that you didn't wear any mascara today.

Just when Yukhei wiped away the tears in his eyes, Jackson was back with your bubbly child, his arm had bags digging into his flesh.

“Oh my god, that's too much, Wenghei why did you get so many, this is Jackson gogo’s hard earned money,” you said, lecturing your son.

“It's okay, he's an angel, this was all on me, and I guess things went well?” Jackson asked, eyes darting to your connected hands.

“Yeah,” you said, the biggest smile you had on your face.

“That's great to hear, I always wanted to be an uncle, now if you’ll excuse me, I don't think I should crash this family reunion any longer,” Jackson said giving his best friend a hug before leaving.

“So... What do you like to eat Wenghei? How about we get crème brulé,” Yukhei asked, pointing at the menu with childlike eyes, reminding you of the days where he’d get ice cream with you, splitting it on half for you to share.

“Sounds delicious.”

You let Yukhei order everything, sharing between the three of you while the three of you talked, Yukhei mostly directed the questions at his child, asking about his interests, his favourites of everything, ranging from colour to ice cream, eager to make up for loss time.

“How about we talk about where you'll be staying?” Yukhei asked after ordering dessert.

“Oh, I don't know what I'll be able to afford, I'll probably get another convenience store job again, so the rent can't be too high,” you said, dreading the thought of needing to learn a new language quickly for a job.

“Hey, you don't need to work anymore, nor pay rent, I already looked it up, there's an empty unit in our condo, the soundproofing might be a bit lacking, but that wouldn't be a problem if you don't sing in the shower like Dejun, we had a few noise complaints because of him,” Yukhei said, laughing at the fond times he had at the dorms.

“Yukhei, I know housing is really expensive there, are you sure you want to do this?” you asked once more, you don't want him to resent the financial burden the two of you would add onto him.

“What did I say to you just now? I said what I meant, I want the two of you to be in my life, forever. And don't worry about money, I saved up plenty and there’s many more jobs coming up for me, and moving out of the dorms would be the next step of adulthood to me, and we’ll get to spend so much more time together, right Wenghei?” Yukhei asked, pinching your son’s chubby cheeks teasingly.

“We’ll be living together, Yukhei gogo?” your son asked, a confused expression on his face, he had his attention trained on some pink fong video, something about dinosaurs.

“Yeah, Wenghei, we’ll be moving out of our little room, are you excited? We're going to a new country. Remember the dramas I watched with you? Korea has that big outdoor theme park you said you always wanted to go, and snow, you'll get to make snowmen during the winter,” you persuaded, hoping he won’t fuss too much about the move.

“Really? There’s snow in Korea?” your son asked, excited about the winter scene he’ll get finally see in real life.

“Yeah, real snow, not the bubbles in Disney land, are you excited?”

“Yeah, is Jackson gogo going to stay with us too?” your son asked, eyes darting to his new goodies before looking at you expectantly.

“Well, Jackson gogo has his own house and we have ours, but we can always visit him,” Yukhei explained.

“Hehe, okay,” your son said before getting distracted by the crème brulé set in front of him, digging in immediately.

“When do you want us to make the move?” you asked, thinking of all the things you have to pack, which isn't a lot, but you might have to courier some of your clothes over first.

“Whenever you want, I'll get our home ready as soon as possible, is there anything you need in the house? Other than the basics of course,” Yukhei asked, uncertain of any needs you have as a woman or maybe for your son.

“Can we have a study room for Wenghei? With a desk and shelves? We love to read, and he'll need a proper desk when he's older,” you asked, hoping it wasn't too much.

“Yeah, sure, I'll be sure to get it done,” Yukhei said, noting it down into his phone.

“But it's no rush on the study room part, he's just three after all, before I go, I have to apply visas for both of us,” you said, dreading the thought of filling up paperwork, you haven't done much of that ever since you left the law firm.

“Call me if you need any help on that, I'm sure my manager knows how to,” Yukhei said.

“You’re going to tell your company about us?” you asked, knowing how strict Korean entertainment companies are.

“They can't let me go just because of having my own family, they didn't let Jongdae, my senior, go, so we’ll be fine, I promise,” Yukhei said, reaching a hand over to hold yours reassuringly, his eyes looking into yours, filled with love and adoration.

“Okay, now how about we walk around the complex until 10? Wenghei doesn't have school tomorrow,” you suggested.

“Yeah, sure, we could even stay out later if you want,” Yukhei said enthusiastically, getting up slightly to call for the bill.

“You have a flight to catch tomorrow,” you reminded him in your motherly voice, which you regretted almost instantly, cursing yourself, reminding yourself to act more like an actual 22 year old, but Yukhei didn't say anything about it, hiding his smile by nodding deeply, almost like a bow.

“Okay, I just wanted to spend more time with the two of you,” Yukhei said, stopping when he saw the waiter coming back with the credit card machine, paying with just a glance at the bill.

The three of you spent your remaining time shopping and at the arcade, playing games with your son, Yukhei had insisted on getting you a new pair of sneakers, but you shot him down when he wanted to buy more stuff, especially toys for Wenghei.

“You can buy him toys when we’re there, it'll cost even more to ship more stuff over, and there's a risk of damaging the toys as well,” you said.

But of course your son threw a fit at the shop, all for some legos.

“Hey, buddy, I'll buy you lots the next time I see you, okay? I'll buy you one that's even bigger than this,” Yukhei said, squatting down next to his son, and even then he wasn't eye level with him, sometimes you forget how tall Yukhei actually is until you see a scene like this, or when you stand really close to him.

When it was 10pm, painful goodbyes were exchanged with a promise of face timing everyday, your son cried, and held onto his father dearly, and you haven't even told him Yukhei was his dad, but their bond is evident.

Yukhei held onto you and your son until his taxi came, and you waved until you couldn't see the taillights.

It's been a month since that fateful reunion, and Yukhei has squeezed in face times, calls, and texts in between schedules, giving you and your son time despite his busy career.

His company wasn’t too happy about it of course, but was somewhat glad that you weren't one to babble your business to gossip outlets.

You're now packing your things, one last time, you've been to the post office multiple times before to courier out your stuff to Korea, and every time a box reached his address, Yukhei would take a photo of it, telling you the stuff arrived safely.

Progress on your new home was quick, since it was already a fully furnished unit, Yukhei only needed to buy some furniture and things that cater to your son’s needs, he even picked out a pre school that teaches mandarin, perfect for your son’s adjustment in such a foreign country.

Tomorrow you'd be flying to Korea, a new country, a new start, but there was something clouding your mind, something you've been dreading, but today is the day you’ll tell him.

“Wenghei, can you come to mama for a second?” you asked, soon hearing your son’s tiny footsteps nearing you.

“Yes, mama?” your son asked, a hand around his precious teddy.

“There's something I need to tell you,” you said holding him close to you, letting him sit onto your lap.

“Remember how you asked me why you didn't have a baba while all your other classmates did?” you asked, trying to word it as nicely as possible.

“You said my baba had a really big responsibility, that he couldn't see us because of it, that he'll come back when he's free,” your son answered you, struggling to remember more details.

“Yes, good job, Wenghei, your memorising skills are getting better. Well, your baba is actually Yukhei gogo, he’s back now, and we can finally be a family again,” you said before holding in a breath, not knowing how he’ll react.

“Baba is Yukhei gogo? That's why we’re going to Korea?” your son asked, confusion written on his face.

“Yeah, do you like that he's your baba?” you asked, this could be the most important question ever.

“Yeah, mama, do you love baba? Does baba love you as much as I do?” your son asked, which very much surprised you, but expecting this sort of maturity from him.

“Yes, we love each other, and both of us love you as much too,” you said with a pinch of his chubby cheeks.

“Do we ever have to be separated from baba again?” your son asked, scared of losing his newfound father.

“No, never again, and can you do me one favour, Wenghei? I think the next time when you see your baba, you should run up to him and say hi baba, he’ll be very happy to hear you call him that,” you suggested, imagining the look on Yukhei’s face.

Your son giggled at the thought of making his father happy, agreeing immediately.

“Okay, now go to sleep, it's going to be your first time flying tomorrow,” you said, ushering him onto the bed.

“Okay, goodnight, mama,” your son said to you, just like he did every other night, he seemed to have accepted it very easily, maybe it was due to his age, but some day he might ask his father about his departure personally when he understands more, but that’s a hardship that’s reserved for another day.

The flight was relatively short, though it was rather hard for Wenghei at the start because of the pressure he had experienced in his ears, the crying and whining got you plenty of dirty looks from passengers around you, but you paid no mind to it, you’ve been through worst so this is nothing that can faze you.

When you got there, you saw a lady holding up a plaque with your name on it, her phone in her hand, checking all the moms who came out of the same lane as you.

She had a friendly smile on her face when she saw you, introducing herself in mandarin, being one of Wayv’s staff, a trusted one, according to Yukhei.

She talked to you about Yukhei in general, even giving your son a bar of mini KitKat, praising him for being brave on the flight after she had asked you how was your flight.

Around half an hour later, you've reached your new home, a nice looking condominium that looked about a few years old.

Unloading took quite some time, even with the help of the staff, but what surprised you was the person who was waiting for you inside the lobby.

“You're here!” you said surprised at the sight of the giant.

“Yeah, I am, wanted to give you a surprise, sorry I couldn't be outside, some crazy fans camp outside, can’t let them bring you and Wenghei any harm,” Yukhei said as he carried Wenghei, spinning in a small circle, looking at him with full of love.

“I understand, don't worry, I'm not a teenager girl anymore,” you said as you checked out the place, the sitting area had a couch set and free WiFi, this is a 180 from the living conditions in Hong Kong.

“Baba, did you miss me?” your son asked when he had stopped giggling from his father’s spins, which instantly ceased to a halt, eyes growing as wide as saucers.

“What did you call me? Say it again,” Yukhei said with the biggest smile on his face, all of his teeth were showing.

“Mama said you were my Baba,” Wenghei said like it was as simple as two plus two.

“Yeah... I am your baba, and you're my son,” Yukhei said before holding his son even closer, you could even see the tears at the corner of his eyes.

“Why don't we go see our new home Wenghei?” you suggested, seeing that some people have came out from the lifts, typical going to work hours.

You walked a feet away from Yukhei, not wanting to draw attention, holding onto the lift for Yukhei to bring all your luggage in.

Once you were at your level, you started loosening up, noticing that no one was around.

“This is my members’ unit,” Yukhei said pointing at a door, “And this is ours,” Yukhei said before opening the door for you, welcoming you into a warmly decorated home, every piece of furniture was placed and chose to accommodate your child, all the corners were covered with this e rubber safety stickers.

He showed you into Wenghei's room where the bed had all his favourite characters in the form of a plushie, his bed was soft when you sat down on it, and the blanket he had picked out was a soft fleece material, perfect for the cold weather.

Your son was going around every corner, awing at everything his father had gotten him, especially the Lego sets that were on his desk.

“Thank you, it's beautiful, his room,” you said when Yukhei wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, god how much you've missed his warmth.

“Go take a look at your room,” Yukhei said before pulling your hand into the direction of the master bedroom, welcoming you into a room with a king size bed and silk linen sheets, an aesthetic looking vanity that you've always wanted as a teenager, now as well of course, and a little reading corner just for you by the window.

“It's all I've ever wanted,” you said in disbelief, not knowing how could Yukhei pull this off in such a short time.

“You like it? I got some help from my members, especially Kun for the kitchen, you should check it out afterwards, you always wanted a big kitchen area,” Yukhei said as you laid on the bed, giving your stiff body a rest from the journey.

“Lay down with me for a while, I’m a bit tired from the flight,” you said, making grabby hands at him.

“Nah, I shouldn’t, this is your bed,” Yukhei said, looking flustered.

“Wong Yukhei, I’ve had your child and now you're acting all innocent?” you asked in an accusing tone, playing with him, which made him lay down next to you immediately, he didn't like getting you angry, thinking back all those days when you had lectured him just like that when he forgot to do his homework.

“You want me to sleep here?” Yukhei asked carefully, observing your expressions.

“This is our bedroom, where else do you want to sleep?” you asked, but was promptly cut off by Yukhei's lips on yours, smiling as he kissed you, gentle but expressing all his love for you, a hand lingering on your back, guiding you closer than him.

Many mistakes that had to be made had guided you here, but you've never regretted, for if it wasn't for the hardships and the crossroads, you wouldn't have found a home with the man you'll cross oceans for.

The end.

#lucas smut #lucas fluff #lucas wong #wong yukhei #wayv smut #wayv fluff #nct #nct smut #nct fluff #wayv #this is rather cliche sorry

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bao3bei4 · 4 years ago

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girlbosses, male wives, and other lesbian genders

a post about jing wei qing shang. but also mostly about another unrelated movie. spoiler-free.

for a lot of people, mulan 1998 is their definitive “ohhh i’m a chinese woman dressing as a man for contrived reasons and i get absolutely nooo erotic pleasure from this” movie.

however, because i am very special and unique, for me it’s the love eterne 1963. it’s the shaw brothers adaptation of butterfly lovers, the classic chinese folktale. here’s how i’d summarize the movie:

zhu yingtai, an aspiring scholar, convinces her parents to let her dress as a man to attend school. on the way there, she meets liang shanbo, another prospective student, and they become sworn brothers. they study together for three years, growing closer, until zhu yingtai returns home. liang shangbo accompanies her for the eighteen-li journey home while she hints she’s a woman, but he remains oblivious. by the time he learns her gender, her parents have engaged her to another man. he dies of grief, and while she mourns at his grave, it splits open, and she buries herself inside with him. two scraps of her torn outfit turn into butterflies and fly away.

it’s worth noting here that like. this movie is made in the huangmei opera style. so both zhu yingtai and liang shanbo are played by women (betty loh ti and ivy ling po respectively). because of this, basically every level of the film is preoccupied with gender: if we take zhu yingtai’s male performance as credible (as the characters in the movie do) the leads bond through male homoeroticism; the text is ultimately about a heterosexual romance; it is acted out by two women, in a performance that is difficult to mistake as heterosexual or even feminine; and the dialogue of the movie can’t help but remark on this.

basically it asks: what if lesbians could be gay both ways? wouldn’t that be based?

like opera was traditionally made by single gender casts, so roles tended to be genderless, in that the gender of the actor doesn’t determine the gender of the role they play. roles are instead typed into four categories: dan (fem), sheng (masc), chou (clown), and jing (painted face). it’s a sick gender quadinary. each of these roles has further subtypes that are represented through stylized patterns of singing, makeup, costuming, movement etc.

so in butterfly lovers, betty loh ti plays a dan, and ivy ling po plays a sheng. but because of the textual cross-gender play, you end up with a woman playing a woman playing a man who falls in love with a woman playing a man.

i’m going to make a brief digression here into talking about like.. acting theory. in the european tradition, you see it evolving out of early concerns (from stanislavski, brecht) about the fourth wall, and its permeability or lack thereof. in chinese opera tradition, the fourth wall didn’t ever really exist. and mei lanfang, the legendary fanchuan performer, claimed that his success wasn’t just due to his appearance, but rather, his mastery of some nonliteral feminine subjectivity.

If I kept my male feelings, even just a trace, it will betray my true self; then how can I compete for the audience’s affection for feminine beauty and guile?

i’m not going to argue that there’s like, an essence to being a woman because i’m not a fucking idiot. but there’s something to be said for the idea that the gendered interplay between the audience’s perception of the actor, the actor’s perception of themself, and the character they play is a massive part of the appeal of fanchuan performance.

this is echoed by david hwang’s m. butterfly, in which gallimard memorably says, “i’m a man who loved a woman created by a man. everything else—simply falls short.” btw sorry for having the type of brain disease where i constantly reference chinese crossdressing related media. you already know why i have it.

anyway. parallel to that (but far less morally detestably), jin jiang argues “young male impersonators in yue opera embody women’s ideal men—elegant, graceful, capable, caring, gentle, and loyal.” so, trivially, 1) the eroticism embodied by fanchuan performers is distinctly different from their “straight” counterparts, and perhaps less trivially 2) it’s way better.

back to the love eterne for a bit. one of the many reasons it’s lodged itself into my psyche is because there’s something more interesting at play than just all that. normally in opera, to compensate for any perceived residual femininity in the sheng, the dan camps it up even further. so this is how zhu yingtai first appears, this bratty femme pastiche of womanhood. yet within a couple minutes she’s dressed as a man, which she’ll stay as for the bulk of the movie. they do however make compromises with the makeup--more gently lifted eyebrows than the steep angles of the sheng opera beat, and an improbably masculine smoky eye.

that’s right. they performed girlbossification on her.

i don’t want to suggest that she’s straightforwardly feminine. i could write an entire other thing on her relationship to masculinity. instead i want to highlight the erotic interplay not just between the “girl” and the “boss” but also between her and her counterpart: the male wife.

liang shanbo is ostensibly straightforwardly male, but his relationship with zhu yingtai isn’t gay in the ahaha what if i was into my bro way-- it’s a what if i was into my bro and i was his wife way.

that’s right. they performed force fem on a cis woman-man. like when zhu yingtai tells him he can’t watch over her as she recovers from an illness because “boys and girls can’t sleep together,” liang shanbo asks “are you implying that I’m a girl?”

there’s a lot of shit like this that builds up over the course of the movie. it all culminates in that final 18 mile journey. along the way, zhu yingtai compares them to a pair of mandarin ducks, one male & one female. liang shanbo sputters “i am a man inside out-- you shouldn’t--” before graciously conceding, “you may compare me to a woman.”

this is like. a simple punchline. but it’s incredible. it’s true! liang shanbo isn’t a man inside out in that he’s a man and only a man, but rather that he’s a man seen inside first, built for desiring, by a woman & for a woman. as a perpetual object, he becomes a more believable woman than zhu yingtai. and at least in his view, it seems more likely that he could be a woman than her. but beyond that, his permissive tone reads as a kind of wanting in itself--recast, if she wants, “for you, i’ll be a woman.”

obviously this is a classic lesbian mood. who among us has not seen “no gender only lesbian” posts. and speaking of classic lesbians, you might ask. did you just tiresomely reinvent butches and femmes but with a more annoying name? yes. no. okay. well.

first, like butch/femme dynamics have both historical specificity and a classed character such that it’s not rlly that appropriate to impose them on the love eterne. and i guess more importantly, i wanna talk about stuff that isn’t real.

we fight all day about people who confuse performance with performativity, (i use we lightly here. for instance, i go outside every day so i don’t care about discourse) but what if we actually wanted to talk about the former for once? something specifically, whether we choose or are forced into it, that we pretend to be?

anyway. what the hell does all that have to do with jing wei qing shang. i’m going to start by first making the argument that there’s no such thing as a naturally occurring girlboss. i think, honestly, she’s a product of capitalism (“boss” should be the tipoff here) but because both of these stories are set in ambiguously historical china, i’m going to say, instead that she’s a product of uhhh primitive accumulation.

semantics so that i can be canon compliant with marxism aside, if girlbosses are made not born, can you choose to be a girlboss? sheryl sandberg says yes. i don’t disagree, i guess, but i will say: stop glamorizing it! humans only become girlbosses when they’re greatly distressed.

you become a girlboss when you have no other choice not to be one. when your wants are too great to be a woman, when the things you want are not things that women should want-- whether that’s something that really no one should want, like being a ceo, or whether that’s just something like loving a woman (or, as it is quite often, both) -- you have to become something else.

another important part of being a girlboss is that other people are not. your excesses mean that not only do you lose something in the process, but your bosshood comes at the expense of others. the girlboss necessitates a girlworker, or so to speak.

now we’re getting to jwqs. i’m assuming that you haven’t read jwqs, because most people haven’t. that was me until like four days ago. in broad strokes, the novel is about a woman, qiyan agula, who was raised as a prince, and her quest for revenge against the kingdom who slaughtered her people. of course, this involves marrying one of the princesses of that kingdom. it’s all very exciting (lesbian).

what’s striking about jwqs is that both of them seem to fit the girlboss paradigm, in vaguely similar ways. qi yan (agula’s assumed name) seems to follow the lineage of zhu yingtai, who pretends to be a man to achieve her goals. she’s forced to give up much in the process, and also sacrifices a, uh, lot of innocent people. similarly, nangong jingnu, the princess, is inherently a girlboss because royalty sucks. but also, qi yan girlbossifies her over the course of their relationship.

but i wouldn’t say jwqs is girlboss4girlboss. there’s something a little more complicated happening. qi yan isn’t zhu yingtai in that she’s a dan pretending to be a sheng. it seems more like that she was a sheng all along. it’s something that the women of the novel return to often: qi yan seems to be better than a man.

for instance, nangong sunu, jingnu’s older sister, reflects on this.

Nangong Sunu had seen many foolishly loving women who sacrificed everything for the sake of their husbands, but there were rarely any men who would do the same for them.

(...)

Thinking it through, Nangong Sunu felt that Qi Yan was truly becoming more interesting. She intended to observe discreetly for a while, to verify if such a man truly existed in this world. (ch 221)

and i forgot to write down the citation for this, but nangong jingnu also seems to argue that not only is qi yan prettier than a man, but she also seems to be prettier than a woman. (it’s the bit where she’s watching qi yan sleep. help me out here.)

moreover, the way qi yan relates to nangong jingnu is suggestive. jingnu brings out the elements of wanting to be a woman in her. it’s jingnu’s body that makes her wonder what she would look like if she was more feminine. it’s jingnu’s happiness that she resents, wishing that her people could have that as well. it’s her desire for jingnu that makes her a woman.

(another important distinction i suppose--while one person can’t be both a butch and a femme, because the girlboss and the male wife are things we pretend to be until we embody them / them us -- there’s greater slippage between the two.)

anyway, the girlboss/male wife dynamic is reversed wrt who’s actually dressing as a different gender. that suggests an inversion in the implications we see from the love eterne, if we are to take the love eterne as the paradigmatic girlboss text. which i do, for no reason in particular.

so then, is qi yan pretending to be a man? under the opera framework, we’re forced to say no. she’s not pretending to be a man any more so than liang shanbo (as acted by ivy ling po) was. but that, of course, feels incorrect, just looking at the text. is she, then, pretending to be a sheng? i’d strongly say no. the things that others see in her, they authentically see; and she does authentically feel the same things as liang shanbo wrt femininity.

so it has to be the opera framework that jwqs is subverting then. if qi yan kept some trace of her once-womanhood, if qi yan reveals her true self, and yet she still can compete for the audience’s affection-- jwqs’s inversion of the opera framework seems to argue instead that it’s that true self that allows you to compete. it’s being masc that lets you be a desirable woman; it’s being feminine that lets you be a desirable man.

there’s an increased gender ambivalence to jwqs, which make sense, i guess, seeing as it’s not meant to be a het story the way that the love eterne was. for instance, nangong jingnu crossdresses to go out in public, and qi yan remarks that jingnu’s disguise fooled her on their first meeting. when qi yan and jingnu go out in public, both disguised as men, they’re repeatedly perceived as a gay male couple. there’s freedom in that: they could be gay women only privately, they could be straight officially, but they could be anonymously gay publicly.

so it’s through the gay male pretense that they can be gay women; it’s through the qi yan pretense that agula can love women; it’s the qi yan caring husband persona that coaxes jingnu in caring for qi yan in return-- jwqs, more precisely, argues that you can’t be a woman if you’re going to love them, and even less so if you’re going to be loved by one.

this is perhaps well-trodden ground for anyone who has read wittig & certainly many people who haven’t. but it’s the layer of pretense that for me complicates these two narratives.

i think it’s a relatable feeling: wanting something anticipating getting something, or wanting something for yourself anticipating knowing that you already had it. that is, desire in itself being constitutive of that reality.

or less abstractly, knowing that you’d want to be a lesbian if you could, knowing that you’d want not to be a woman if you could-- anticipating any realization of either.

the dramatic excesses & wants of the girlboss, i think, are a decent literary stand in for being a lesbian.

i wanna note here that this is rlly just based on my experience being a transmisogyny exempt nonbinary diaspora lesbian lol. it’s fun & cathartic to overread this history & place myself in the accidental implications.

i don’t think most of the things i say are literally true. and i don’t want to overstep & say any of this can be generalized. please lmk if something here doesn’t read right! ok kisses bye

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years ago

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Always loving you // J x Reader // wake-up cuddles ~ 💙

Summary: Unusually is J there when you wake up and even though he stinks of his usual antics, you’re determined to take advantage of your sleepy state and of J’s presence. Unknowing are you that this was J’s intention. He would never explicitly say, “I love you”, but he will show you, instead. J’s love language is one which no one has ever learned, for they have never gotten close enough to do so, but you are this exception. You are J’s only exception and, oh, how loud is his love language now that you are a fluent speaker of such a beautiful gift.

A/N: I have no excuse for this other than the fact that I woke up Soft™ and wanting cuddles. Between ten throw cushions, two pillows, three blankets and a duvet, I somewhat achieved it, but this still wouldn’t leave my mind. Written before I consumed coffee, so it might be terrible.

Dedicated to @jokersspookyhyena for reasons I tell her every day 🥺😭💗

Word count: 1, 501.

Warm.

You feel... warm.

There is a reassuring pressure wrapped around your lower waist. It is delightfully heavy and the heat which seeps into your skin may as well be coming from a radiator; so hot does your clown run even in the cold months. The familiarity of the arm wrapped around you does nothing to help you in waking up; instead do you only wish to close your eyes and go back to sleep. In sleep do you forget yourself. You can only be as you are in your most natural state, vulnerable and weak as your mind processes the previous day and prepares itself for the next one. The lacerations of reality are soothed away, but not wholly healed, by the enticing pull of sleep upon your conscious mind and J's presence beside you is a surprising but welcome way of waking up.

The relentless rays of golden light seep through the cracks of the blackout curtains which only further darken your shared bedroom, and you groan and nuzzle your head into J's chest. As you turn your face away from the horrific sunlight, he grunts lowly, way in the back of his throat, and his arm tightens around your waist. It's a message: Don't move. You have no intentions of doing so and you wish that you could stay here in this moment forevermore; the sands of time so perfectly cradled in the palms of your hands.

As it is, the palm of your hands are making their way out from where they’re tucked closely to your chest, and beginning to explore J’s bare chest. There is nothing more on your mind in this moment than simply taking in your love for all that he is. The past and the future do not matter to you in your threshold consciousness. You only want to feel that J is there, that he is alive and well, that he is with you. To wake up with J still beside you must be a dream and so you resolve to murder to poor soul who wakes you up. You shift your body so that you are as tightly tucked into his body as you can be, and J grunts low in the back of his throat as his grip on you tightens once again.

J, too, is mostly asleep, and as a result is his guard lowered. It is not down completely, it never is, so hyper vigilant and so careful is he, most especially when he is with you. So long have the two of you been together that J considers you almost to be one of his possessions. He does not own you, this he knows, and you do not belong to him. You are your own person and so is he, but you are someone whom he cares for very deeply. There is only one of you, you are irreplaceable and there is no one like you. There never has been and there never will be again. Indeed does J treat you as if you are one of his most prized possessions. He takes as best care of you as he can, though this care is something which you had to learn to look for. His love language is one which no other before you had ever stopped to learn; there had been his ex-wife but at the first sign of a bump in the road had she left him, but you... oh, you had stayed to listen to the song which was so unlike anything you had ever heard or would ever hear again, and even as you lay here now, so beautifully protected against J’s side, do you know that you don’t want to be in any other place.

J is it for you, just as you are it for him.

He knows not why you love him. He knows not why you stay. All that matters is that you do and J will do everything that he can to keep you near him. It is not that J cannot feel, but rather he simply chooses not to. Even so, with you does J acknowledge, even if it’s only to himself, that his heart squeezes in his broad chest when he even thinks of harm finding you or of you no longer being beside him, and it is for this reason that J deliberately has stayed with you until your moment of waking. You have been stressed recently, the city expecting too much of you, the people in your life expecting you to do and to be more than you most naturally are, and what better way can J say to you that he won’t leave you than to stay with you even as the sun spills out into your shared bedroom?

In this moment are you warm. Safe. Loved. But, oh, J stinks of greasepaint, of gunpowder and of gasoline. He smells of burning rubber, no doubt from his quick getaway last night, and the acrid scent penetrates your nostrils in the worst way. You wrinkle your nose against the stench and J feels this against his bare chest. He wonders what the big deal is while you wonder why he didn’t shower before he came to bed last night. The sheets were clean but then, J is beside you and that is worth more to you than the scent of clean sheets. You can replace those, but you can’t replace your chaotic but loveable asshole clown.

The sentiment of the both of you being irreplaceable to the other is a silent and unacknowledged one, but even so like a third presence in the bedroom do the two of you feel it as surely as you feel each other’s heartbeats, so tightly pressed together are you. It only makes the stench of J worse, sweet though this moment is. It doesn’t take long for you to vocalise this.

“J, I love you, but you stink.”

The bed shakes with J’s suppressed laughter and within seconds is the situation under his control; he rolls with you so that you are pressed against the mattress and his body in equal measures. Your legs are uncomfortable trapped beneath his own stronger ones and you part your legs to accommodate the weight of your clown atop your body. During any other time would this have created a different kind of atmosphere in the bedroom, one altogether more strenuous, but right now is there only tenderness and gentleness; strangers to J’s life but not to your own, for in him have you found everything you have ever wanted or needed. You live every day to love on your chaotic clown as hard as you possibly can and in moments like this, with his hair so greasy that it is stringy, the vibrant green beginning to fade into a duller blonde which is reminiscent of the man he tries so hard to discard, is that goal achieved.

“Ya, ah - ya’ never usu-al-ly complain about my smell, doll.” J ducks his head into the warm crook of your neck and sniffs at you like a dog. He exaggerates it and the feeling of his hot breath against your skin makes you giggle and J grins wolfishly. The gesture isn’t seen by you but you feel it. “Ya’ don’t smell so good ya’self, Y/N.” His voice is thick with sleep and the low pitch of his voice only threatens to make you sleepy once more.

You know he’s lying. You showered before you came to bed last night. There is little better in this world than getting into a freshly changed and made bed when you have just had a shower. You live for the small pleasures in life. “Liar. I showered before bed, thank you.”

“That’s a first.”

“Speak for yourself.” You angle your head to press an affectionate kiss to J’s head, resisting the urge to wrinkle your nose. He really does smell terrible, but even so do you cherish this moment of domesticity. It is unusual for J to simply stay and you know that he’s doing it for you, because of you. It is just another subtle way that he shows you his love for you; it is undying and unconditional and wholly yours.

J wraps his arms around you and squeezes you like a pillow as he makes a show of getting comfortable. “Ya’ gonna be quiet and get some more beauty sleep, hm? I know ya’ tired.” J’s full lips press uncoordinated kisses to wherever he can reach even as he holds you to his body, and in this way are you fully protected.

“I am sleepy, but - stay with me, J? Please?”

J grunts low in the back of your throat and nuzzles his face into your belly. You know that he means to say, like you have to ask. You close your eyes, relax your body and somewhere in the middle of surrendering yourself to J completely ... you fall asleep once more.

Destructive raccoon boii(tm) @jokersspookyhyena @anyatheladyclown @joker-daddy @rinbyo @imightaswellnotexistatall @vladtoly @joker-is-my-hero @liz-rdwitch @enigmaticandunstable @ledgerskitten @tsukiakarinobara @germansarechill @antonija89 @acw1 @harlequinautumn @mermaleizroseglasses @justawriterinprogress @truthbehindthemysteries @hotpacino @call-me-harley-quinn @mermaidpowers1

#ledger joker #ledger joker imagine #ledger joker x reader #ledger!joker #ledger!joker x reader #ledger!joker imagine #heath ledger #heath ledger joker #heath ledger joker imagine #heath ledger joker x reader

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tsukikoayanosuke · 4 years ago

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The Other Side

Summary:

Ace was looking for a new member for their little pirate crew and happens to find a familiar (former) knight.

('Twisted-Wonderland: Our Precious Treasure' 10K Hits celebration)

(Fantasy/Pirate/Steampunk AU)

Ace wasn't expecting a familiar blunette standing behind the dirty bar, wiping a glass. The way he wrinkled his nose showing how out of place he was. Ace knew his high moral compass. A knight like him wasn't supposed to have a side job, in a bar nonetheless. What is he doing here? Well, there is one way to find out. Putting up his best grin, Ace walked up to the bar. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

The young man turned toward him and Ace was slightly surprised by the lack of his usual spade tattoo, a symbol of those who serve the Kingdom of Heartslabyul, he was proud of on his face. He, Deuce, frowned at him. "What do you want, Phantom Thief?"

Ace held back a giggle. "Oh, nothing much." He sat on one of the stools, arm rested on the bar as he watched the blunette. "Though I can't call myself the Phantom Theif anymore. Have a new job, you see."

Deuce's lips curled up. "Well, good for all of us then. We don't need petty thieves like you in this kingdom."

"Now, now." Ace wiggled his index finger like a scolding mother. "I'm the one who made the knights' night patrol more eventful, aren't I?" His eyes squinted. "But I guess, I can't ask you that since you're not a knight anymore."

Deuce put down the glass he was cleaning a bit too hard on the counter. His glare toward Ace became more intense. "Look. If you don't have anything important here, I suggest you get out," he growled as if he was holding back from throwing him out of the window.

Ace raised his hand, palm open, showing that he was unarmed. Deuce didn't stop glaring, obviously upset that Ace managed to hit the sore spot. "On the contrary." His lips curled up again into a playful smile. "I think I have something for you."

"What do you mean?"

Ace knew he had to choose the right words or else the blunette might kill him. Even back in those days, he was the only knight who was able to catch up with him, chasing him from the ground as he jumped from roof to roof with his stolen goods, nearly catching him several times. Ace took a deep breath before saying, "I may not know what happen that made you leave. But I can offer a safe haven."

Deuce squinted his eyes but make no move to punch him which Ace took as a good sign. It's showtime. He smirked before starting up. "Right here, right now. I put the offer out. You don't need to chase me down, so try to see this."

Deuce rolled his eyes, had enough of the Phantom Thief's sweet talks. But Ace suddenly jumped over to the bar counter, blocking the startled Deuce's. "You run with me, and I can cut you free. Out of the drudgery and walls you keep in."

Picking up some bottles, Ace started to juggle them. Of course, Deuce didn't appreciate this much but didn't dare to step in and risk of wasted alcohol. He almost looked cute pouting like that. Ace laughed. "So trade that typical for something colorful. And if it's crazy, live a little crazy." He threw the bottles, sliding them across the bar, noting the squeak from the blunette who stopped the bottles from falling. "You can play it sensible, a knight of conventional." Once Ace was sure Deuce finished rearranging the bottles he took the blunette by the hand. "Or you can risk it all and see..."

With the upper hand in strength right now, Ace pulled Deuce so they jumped on to the bar counter together. He brought them close together as he took him into a simple dance across the counter. "Don't you wanna get away from the same old part you gotta play? 'Cause I got what you need. So, come with me and take the ride. It'll take you to the other side."

Deuce pulled away, but Ace grabbed his hand again. "'Cause you can do like you do. Or you can do like me," he added with a shrug. "Stay in the cage, or you finally take the key." He took a few steps back before spinning around with his arms stretched out wide. "Oh, damn! Suddenly you're free to fly. It'll take you to the other side."

The blunette rolled his eyes. "And what is this 'other side' you're talking about?"

Ace grinned. This is it. This is the make or break moment. "An adventure of a lifetime across the sea."

Deuce was quick to take the hint. "Pirate?" he spatted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "That's even worst than being the Phantom Theif."

"Aw, come on," Ace slowly walked toward him. "Where is your sense of adventure?"

Before he could get close, Deuce pressed his hand onto his chest stopping him. "Okay, my friend, you wanna cut me in. Well, I hate to tell you, but it just won't happen." He jumped off the counter and Ace followed him. "So thanks, but no. I think I'm good to go. 'Cause I quite enjoy the life you say I'm trapped in."

A hand suddenly slammed itself next to his head. Turning around with his back pressed against the cupboard behind him, he saw how close Ace's face was, but he quickly ducked under the arm to got away. "Now I admire you, and that whole show you do. You're on to something, really it's something," he said without looking back at him. Instead, his gaze was focused on the thing behind the window where two knights in red and white armor passed by. Deuce bit his lips, his fingers curled up into a fist. "But I lived among the swells, and we didn't pick up oyster shells," he continued. "I'll have to leave that up to you."

He turned around and Ace could finally see the frustration sparking from his eyes. "Don't you know that I'm OK with this uptown part I used to play?" Deuce said, stepping forward slowly toward Ace with a hand scrunching his chest. "'Cause I got what I need and I don't wanna take the ride. I don't need to see the other side!"

Even his voice was getting louder. Deuce didn't know whether he was trying to convince Ace or himself. "So go and do like you do. I'm good to do like me. Ain't in a cage, so I don't need to take the key." Deuce stopped when he was just a few centimeters away from Ace. The ginger could see how Deuce's eyes started to teared up. "Oh, damn! Can't you see I'm doing fine? I don't need to see the other side!"

Ace reached for Deuce's face, gently wiping the tear that was falling. It managed to stop Deuce from screaming again, but he was still breathing hard in anger. "Now is this really how you'd like to spend your days? Whiskey and misery, and parties and plays?"

Deuce sighed. "Even if I'm not with you, I've been the talk of the town. Disgraced and disowned, another one of you clowns."

Ace pressed both hands onto Deuce's cheek, making him look eyes to eyes. "But you would finally live a little, finally laugh a little. Just let me give you the freedom to dream and it'll wake you up and cure your aching, take your walls and start 'em breaking." He ended with a grin. "Now that's a deal that seems worth taking! But I guess I'll leave that up to you..."

There was a silence between him when Ace sang the last line. Slowly he pulled his hand back, in turn, leaning in next to Deuce's ear. "We'll be waiting at the dock when the full moon is at its highest point." He pulled back, smiling at Deuce. "See you tonight, Little Knight." With that, Ace walked out, leaving a stunned Deuce behind.

Later that night, the small crew of Night Fury cheered for their new member.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twisted wonderland fanfic #twisted wonderland fic #twst fanfic #twst fic #this has been a long time coming #old 10K Hits celebration #10k hits celebration #ace trappola #deuce spade #cross-posted on ao3 #tw:opt gaiden #serving raspberry

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incorrectbatfam · 5 years ago

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What would being a high schooler in Gotham be like?

You wake up to the sound of a limo driving past your house, an old man taking a small Middle Eastern boy to school. You brush your teeth and put on your vintage Gotham Knights jersey in hopes of impressing your crush in math class. You make yourself a bowl of cereal as your parents and siblings rush to get ready for work and school. You refill the dog’s bowl and feed the fish before you leave.

As you wait at the bus stop, you casually kick aside a batarang that someone left behind. And you curse the bus for being late again because the city can fund a bat signal but can’t fix a couple damn potholes. When the bus does arrive, the seats are almost all filled, so you’re stuck with the cracked leather one that has old gum stuck to it. Again. You put on your headphones and listen to your favorite song as the Wayne Enterprises building passes by in a haze, like most things on an unremarkable Tuesday. You daydream of what it’d be like to run somewhere else—Metropolis, Central City, perhaps Khandaq.

The bus jerks to a stop in front of your school and kids shove and shuffle to get out. The bus driver grumbles under his breath about hating his job. You don’t blame him. Some kid accidentally steps on the back of your heel as you enter Gotham High’s front doors.

You put your things in your locker. Your best friend frantically asks you for homework answers. They couldn’t concentrate last night because Nightwing and Killer Croc were duking it out on their block. You hand your friend the worksheet; they’d do the same for you too. “Just give it back before fourth period,” you say.

Your eyes lock with your crush’s in class as neither of you two listened to your science teacher’s monotonous lecture on the molecular composition of fear gas. You wish your crush was your lab partner, but instead you’re stuck with this girl named Stephanie, who ditches you halfway through the lab to call her boyfriend in the bathroom.

You take a nap in second period, because who even cares about classic literature anyway? Plus, you missed out on valuable sleep last night when your kid sister came to your room after having another Joker nightmare. The teacher bangs a book on your desk to wake you up. You keep your head ducked down while your classmates laugh at you. One of your friends shoots you a sympathetic smile from behind his copy of Hamlet.

You get your homework back during lunch, along with an “I owe you one” from your bestie. You push your maggot-infested school lunch away as you and the three or four other people at your table engage in typical conversation. Though, you have to admit, things got rather heated when asked to choose between a date with Red Robin or Spoiler. You don’t notice Stephanie Brown overhearing and looking offended when you chose Red Robin.

Third period after lunch is interrupted by a villain emergency drill. The teachers boredly go over what to do in case of the Riddler, Penguin, etc. Half the kids aren’t paying attention. You find these Gothamite maniacs more of a nuisance than objects of fear—they’re making you miss time on your favorite class to go over procedures.

You suppose the drill earlier is a good thing, because an actual villain crashes your fourth period class. The procedure tells you to leave all bags behind and head to the predetermined safe location, but like hell are you leaving your $1,200 laptop and your favorite Harry Potter book. So you take your stuff to the safe place and wait it out. You can hear the Batman’s gruff interactions with whoever the clown of this week is. But the person you like is visibly shaking from fear. You don’t blame them; they moved here from Coast City under a month ago.

So you awkwardly scoot across the hard floor and lay a comforting hand over theirs. You can’t speak, for the bad guy might hear and find you. But you swipe the tears away from their cheek with your thumb and look them in the eye. It’s a silent reassurance. They give you a soft smile. And boy, do you get lost in every feature. The way their hair perfectly frames their face, and irises swirling with color and quirks like tiny freckles or scars. For a moment, you forget about the battle raging outside.

The GCPD gives the all clear for people to come out. One wall off the school is missing, reduced to a pile of brick. Holes poke through the ceiling, letting that East Coast rain pour in. (The school district won’t be happy.) You notice you’re still holding your classmate’s hand. You awkwardly let go and blush nervously. Did the place suddenly get hot? And why are you so sweaty? You’re not even a hundred percent sure if you’re wearing deodorant. What if they find you gross and never want to see you again?

But your worries are quelled when they open up an umbrella and offer to share it with you. In the background, your friends give you encouraging smiles all around. You text your mom, telling her that you’re okay. Your dad leaves his job at the Gotham Gazette to pick you up. You and your crush trade numbers before you leave.

Your mom’s working late again on a Wayne Enterprises marketing project, so your dad whips up some chili to eat. When the rain lets up, you take your dog for a walk. Past Crime Alley, take a left at the graveyard, and stop by to say hi to your older brother working part-time at the arcade. It’s routine. Nothing spectacular.

At dinner, your sister talks on and on about her day at Gotham Academy. Her eyes sparkle with pride when she talks about the baking soda volcano she made, but dulls when she talks about this Damian boy who called her a “simpleminded imbecile” for it. You’re rightfully ticked off. No one can harass your sister but you. You actively remind yourself that, no, you can’t throw hands with a ten-year-old. But that spark is back when she talks about this Jon kid a little too much. Again, you can’t throw hands with children.

As you brush your teeth that night, your phone goes off. You almost choke on your toothpaste when you check the text. Your crush asks if you wanna go for ice cream sometime this week. You respond with a “yes” almost too quickly. Immediately after, you text your friends in a group chat with messages in all caps. The conversation quickly devolves into memes.

Your brother knocks on the bathroom door and tells you to get out. You quickly finish and let him use it—anyone who smells like nacho cheese needs it more than you do. You alternate between homework and texting until it’s time for bed. You crawl under the covers and turn off the lights, ignoring what sounds like the Red Hood’s gunshots. You fall asleep with a small smile on your face as pleasant dreams dance through your head.

Vigilantes and villains be damned. You have better things to do with your life.

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strawberrytheduck · 3 years ago

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Belle Quacks- Chapter 10

Morgana showed up the next day, knocking on the door. Belle instantly ran over and opened the door, smiling but confused upon seeing the sorceress. “Morgana, what are you doing here?” A box was in the taller duck’s hand, catching the smaller’s attention. “I got you some chocolates, I heard how you have a sweet tooth.” Camellia walked towards the door, noticing Morgana and inviting her in. The two ducks sat on the couch as Camellia started cooking something. They began chatting, joking and laughing with each other. Morgana reached for Belle’s hand, holding it gently. Belle winched, unsure why. The sorceress inspected the palm of the other, noting how the feathers were shorter and dishevelled. Underneath, the skin was irritated slightly. “Have you been near any poison ivy or stinging nettles?” Shaking her head, Belle looked at her hand. Did Bushroot do this to her on accident? Was it when she suddenly grabbed his hands? It was strange how she didn’t notice it. She decided it was best not to tell her about the previous night, for her brother’s sake. “Might’ve brushed past some near my store.” Camellia chipped in. Morgana accepted this answer, saying how it did seem to grow near that area. Next, Morgana kissed Belle’s palm, rubbing it with her thumb afterwards. Belle just stared, looking between her hand and Morgana. The black-haired lady was blushing a little. “Thanks, it feels a little better, not that I knew it was there.” That was a little weird in her mind, but she didn’t mind it.

Morgana kept a hold on her hand, trying not to hurt her. The shorter smiled at her warmly, showing her teeth a little. “So, forgive me for asking but do you have a boyfriend or anything?” That was confusing, not really weird or anything uncomfortable but still confusing. “No, why would I want one? Men are a little icky to me. Women though are really pretty and soft!” The sorceress’ eyes seemed to light up hearing that. Camellia’s ears perked up a little at this. She never knew that about Belle, she honestly thought she had absolutely no interest in anyone. Then again, she never felt the need to ask. “You’re very pretty too, Morgana. Very nice eyes as well, they sparkle!” Why her heart fluttered at seeing Morgana blush deeper or even look at her was beyond her. Morgana really seemed to like that, smiling brightly. “You’re really pretty too, heck, even your name means beauty.” She blushed slightly. “It does? Jack named me and our parents just went with it apparently. I had no idea it meant anything.” Honestly, goodness knows what her parents would’ve called her, but she didn’t seem to care as it didn’t happen, she didn’t feel the need to worry about that. Morgana seemed a little saddened but then pulled her in for a hug. “Well, he certainly seems nice. If I find him, I’ll let you know.” Lying to Morgana hurt her, more than it would if it was anyone else. She couldn’t tell her that he was Quackerjack. Camellia gasping caught them off guard, turning to look at her. She has shaking and staring out the window. “I-I saw s-someone.” She stuttered out. “They w-were red a-and yellow.”

Morgana stiffened, holding Belle protectively. The small duck hugged Morgana tighter, confused but feeling it was the right thing to do. “Negaduck.” The sorceress scowled. Camellia stepped away, turning the stove off. She turned to move the three feet between her and the two ducks until a grappling hook wrapped around her wrist, dragging her out the window. “CAMELLIA!” Belle screamed, almost starting to cry. She was her best friend, watching her get dragged away was horrifying. Morgana grabbed Belle and shoved her into the bedroom. “Stay here and hide. I’ll try to get Camellia back, Sweet.” Belle nodded and once Morgana left, she shut and locked the door. Belle ran to the closet, choosing it as hiding spot. Meanwhile, Morgana walked around the apartment, a spell prepared. It was eerily quiet, the ticking of a clock filling the room. She was on high alert but confused. What was he doing here? Why would he want Camellia or Belle? They hadn’t crossed his path or were particularly wealthy, just getting by. Nothing in the main room so she checked the bathroom, naturally, there was nothing there. She checked the shower curtain given how most horror protagonists forget to do. Once more, nothing. She went back to the main room, hoping she didn’t push Belle right into the demented villain’s grasp. Holding her breath, she walked over to the window.

She didn’t see anything or really get a chance to. The grappling hook wrapped around her wrist too, also pulling her out the window right into someone’s arms. “Hey Doll.” A deep, rough voice growled. There she was, Camellia unconscious on the grass and she was in Negaduck’s arms. She didn’t get long to try and fight back before a cloth was pressed to her beak. On it was chloroform, knocking her out cold. Like he did with Camellia, he tied up the sorceress. “And now, onto that girl of yours.” One more grappling hook was fired, hitting the windowsill. Negaduck began scaling the building up to the apartment. He was lucky most were preoccupied or out of their homes, else it would be harder. ‘So, that clown has a sister? Or he will have had a sister when I’m done.’ Entering the apartment, he instantly ran to bathroom, checking there first. Nothing. He couldn’t see anything it the main room either, granted there was nowhere someone could hide. ‘The bedroom, naturally.’ The villain scowled out a smile, ramming his shoulder into the door trying to break it down. Belle squeaked out a sob from her hiding place. She held her hands over her beak as Negaduck kept ramming into the door. “Come out, come out.” His voice echoed, sending chills up her spine and stirring up bad memories. She could almost hear her brother’s voice telling her to stay quiet. The door eventually gave out, letting the known felon in. He prowled, cooing out to her in a way that made Belle sick. Under the bed was searched, nothing of note and no lithe female under it. There were a few cupboards in the room and due to their size and the size of his prize, he checked them. No one was in there, leaving one option. Belle was sobbing silently, wanting him to just leave.

He didn’t, opening the closet he found her, knees to her chest and beak covered by her small hands. Tears raced down her face from her bright green eyes. Negaduck smiled, she was utterly tiny and weak in comparison to her friends. “Get up.” He commanded. Taking in a shaky breath, she obeyed but not dropping her hands from her face. She was like a child in comparison to the others. “Move your hands.” She shook her head. He barked the order again and she stubbornly refused again. The evil duck screamed it at her once more which she refused again. He grabbed her, one arm around her thin waist and another trying to pry her near skeletal arms and hands away from herself. She was trying to fight him to his surprise, kicking he leg back into his and overall just squirming in his hold. He eventually got her hands away from her face, swooping in with another chloroform soaked cloth to replace them. It didn’t take her long at all to succumb to it, falling into a sleeping state. Satisfied, he tied her up too, carrying her over his shoulder like Princess Peach. The dastardly duck placed the three ladies into his vehicle one by one, trying not to hurt them right now, that was for later. He had a feeling his “teammates” would visit the apartment and thus, left a note for them to find before driving off to his hideout.

#negaduck #darkwing duck ocs #darkwing duck oc #morgana macawber #oc fic

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prairiesongserial · 4 years ago

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13.4

John followed Cody through the crowd. Cody went fast, ducking through tight spaces that closed themselves before John reached them. John kept finding himself going the long way around clumps of circus members. He grew further and further behind, unable to sustain Cody’s pace, until finally, he lost him. John stood still, breathing heavily as people flowed around him, passing within inches, or grazing his arms as they slipped by. They loudly complained about the stop. Some entertained themselves with card tricks and other circus antics: one clown was using the lip of a truck bed as a balance beam on which to practice somersaults. The bells on her shoes felt like they were clanging inside John’s head.

John started forward again, slowly, staring straight ahead. His imagination wasn’t doing him any favors. It was tempting to look for the faces of the Good Guys at the periphery, to see if there was anything written on their expressions one way or another. John forced himself not to look at anything at all.

He was jostled to attention by a hand on his wrist. He shook off the touch, turning on instinct to glare at whoever it was.

It was Friday. She looked up at him with round eyes, lashes sticky with makeup, face framed by blond curls that John still hadn’t gotten used to.

“Whoa, you look pissed,” she said. She paused. “You don’t usually get mad, do you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mad.”

John’s eyebrows spoke for him as emotions he didn’t necessarily have the words for, nor the desire to share, churned in his gut.

“Okay, backtrack,” Friday said. “I’m glad I found you, cause you need to see this. I left Val over this way.”

Just Val? John thought. Numbly, he followed Friday. She kept a slow pace, her eye frequently finding John over her shoulder.

John ended up crammed into a ring of people, a mix of circus members and Good Guys, all watching four figures at the center of the circle: Johannes, Ezra, the leader of the Good Guys, and Cody. John stood between Val and Friday. Val hardly looked down when John arrived, his attention fully engrossed in what was going on.

Johannes and Ezra were arguing loudly with the leader of the Good Guys. John couldn’t bring himself to look at Cody; as long as Cody was still standing, that was good enough for him. John’s stare instead fell on the leader of the Good Guys. Their red hair was pushed in odd directions by the goggles they wore perched on their head. They seemed amused, black-painted lips curled into a smile.

“How can I?” they said. “The gentleman invoked parley.”

Cody’s head turned to face the Good Guy, and John caught sight of the streak of black paint across Cody’s eyes. Dimly, he was aware of Friday’s grip on his shoulder.

“That doesn’t mean you have to - ” Johannes sputtered. “I’ll go with him, okay? As his advisor.”

The leader of the Good Guys hissed softly through their teeth, the sound taken up by a few other Good Guys near John in the crowd.

“You are Johannes Madsen of the Madsen and Graves,” the Good Guy said. “You are not a Dead-Eye. And I don’t see any others here.”

They glanced through the crowd, their gaze resting especially long on Val, Friday, and John’s faces.

“So, if Cody Allison wishes to invoke parley, he must come and parley,” the Good Guy said. “With the King. Under the mountain.”

Friday’s grip tightened. In the middle of the circle, Cody slowly nodded his assent. John could see the nervousness in his body. The way his fingers moved at his side, the way he made himself a defiant square, shoulders just a little too high. John forced his eyes away again, letting Friday’s hand on his shoulder pull him back.

Cody’s silence spoke volumes to John. He, too, had thought this lieutenant was the leader. He had taken one look at their bandanas and ragged clothes and thought the Good Guys were only about twice the size of the Dead-Eyes, sixty members or so strong, when really this party only represented the force necessary to collect a toll. There was no way to know how many more Good Guys there were waiting under the mountain.

“Fine,” Cody said at last. “Let’s go.”

The red-haired Good Guy beamed, the full force of their smile directed at Johannes.

“Sorry, boys,” they said. “You might want to make camp. This could take a while.”

They made a hand motion, thrusting one elbow forward so the knuckles of their hand struck their opposite shoulder. A force of six Good Guys extricated themselves from the circus, making their way toward the lieutenant.

“Come on, mister leader of the Dead-Eyes,” the red-head said. “Look alive.”

Mechanically, Cody moved with them, away from John. He didn’t look back to see if John was there. If he had, he would have seen John glaring at him.

“I didn’t let him do anything; he just did it,” Johannes argued.

John watched disinterestedly as Val held his own against both Johannes and Ezra. John leaned against the hood of the lead truck, a good ten feet away from the argument, with Friday. The rest of the circus was slowly setting up camp, giving the argument a very wide berth.

“I didn’t realize the circus had to follow Hemisphere rules,” Val said. “Why not refuse to hand Cody over? Unless you’re in bed with Hemisphere too?”

Johannes’s face reddened.

“God,” Ezra groaned, massaging his temples. “Val, be reasonable. Nobody handed Cody over. The man just walked away.”

John grit his teeth.

“Hey,” Friday said. “I think we should go on a walk.”

John gave her a sour look.

“Oh, come on,” she said, voice lilting. “This is no fun.” She paused, eyes locked on Val as the mild priest said some colorful things. “Well, it’s a little fun. But you’re not having fun.”

“No,” John said.

He peeled himself away from the hood of the truck and started forward; Friday was half a pace behind.

“You should stay,” he mumbled.

“Hey, now,” Friday began.

“None of us should go alone,” John said, then, realizing with frustration that he wasn’t being clear, he added, “So stay with Val.”

Friday arched her eyebrows at him. John continued forward, his cane heavy in his hand and his gun heavy on his hip. He marched through the argument Val and Johannes and Ezra were having. He was seeing Cody’s back in his mind’s eye as he passed over the spot where Cody had stood, only vaguely aware of Johannes hauling himself out of John’s way at the last second.

The small party of Good Guys was fifteen minutes ahead. John could follow their trail without worrying about being seen.

“Uh, John?” Ezra’s voice said from a thousand miles away.

“Let him go,” Johannes said.

“Let him go?” Ezra asked shrilly.

The brothers probably exchanged more words. John followed the trail of disturbed dust and boot scuffs that led, through winding paths, deeper into the valley.

John’s mind toyed with him, as he made his slow progress. If he hadn’t been so angry that Cody had left him in the crowd - and here his mind filled in with more anger, reminding him what it felt like to be unable to walk quickly, to have that used against him in order to leave him behind - only to go off by himself with a gang he didn’t understand, without so much as a conversation about it - more anger - John might have been able to stop him. John could have inserted himself into that conversation and argued Cody down. He could have smeared that makeup off Cody’s face. He could have put some on himself and been Cody’s partner in whatever plan - John hoped there was a plan - Cody had thought up.

Cody didn’t have anything to trade on. Nothing to parley with. John tried, as he put one foot in front of the other, not to think about what Cody might choose to trade if he thought it was the only way to get the rest of them out of this. Some people had romantic notions about indentures. Judging by how passive Cody had been when the circus had first captured them and leveled phony indentures against them, Cody might have been stupid enough to trade the last thing he had.

John had never managed to have that conversation with the rest of them - Val and Friday and Cody. He’d been content enough to burn the fake contracts and keep it to himself. Now he was almost as angry with himself as he was with Cody.

There were other gaps, too, other conversations that John had been avoiding. He paused to take a drink, staring down the path ahead. Conversations like, why did Cody cheerfully insist on setting up their tent every night despite the extra work, despite the fact that Val and Friday had taken cots and hammocks with the rest of the circus? Why did Cody talk so much, some nights, his thoughts happily running into each other until John fell asleep, while other nights he lay quietly on his bedroll, as if he was waiting for John to remember his part in the conversation?

John scrubbed frustrated tears out of his eyes. He needed to look at the marks in the dust to see which way Cody had gone.

13.3 || 13.5

#story

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logicalbookthief · 5 years ago

Note

ʌ: for clown movie

^: comfort after a nightmare

Wow this took a lot longer than I thought, I apologize! Work has been blegh lately and my writer’s block was strong. Nevertheless, I thank you for the prompt and hope you enjoy!

It’s a sort of sequel to my fic “Placebo” that isn’t necessary to read before this but would definitely help. All you really need to know is that it takes place in a universe where Eddie is Carrie White’s cousin and has the same telekinetic powers.

"I'm not afraid."

For once, it’s the truth. Eddie has never felt more powerful than he does here, among the ruins of It’s hiding place, where It lurked for centuries, millennia, gnawing on the bones of children, biding its time for the day It would feed again. The memory of this place terrified him for years-- even when he couldn’t remember, the fear was embedded in his mind.

Now it’s shattering under the strength of Eddie’s will, destroyed by the sheer force of his mind, and the feeling is-- he can’t describe--

The weak, shriveled form of the clown tries to rally. Eddie squares his jaw, focuses on pinning It down, harder, merciless, refusing to give an inch. "I’m not afraid,” he repeats, the taste of blood in his mouth, hot as it slips down his face. “Not of you."

The clown laughs-- it’s a raspy, death rattle. Still, Eddie tenses, a sense of doubt creeping past the smolder of anger, the self-righteous flaring through his whole body.

"Even now I can feel it, that delicious reek of fear,” It smirks, a lopsided grimace turned smug. “Not of me, no. I already know what you are.”

Gulping, Eddie falters. Only for a moment, the flare dousing to a mere spark.

"I’ve always known,” It croaks, hoarse and almost unheard above the sound of the cavern as it crumbles. “But do they know, Eddie?”

Carrie, her hair a tangled mass of flames, her dress a flowing wave of red. Her eyes are nearly electric, a frenzied flash of light that-- and, suddenly, Eddie’s staring at a reflection of himself, manic and panting, bathed in the blood of his tormentor.

“Do they know what you are?”

Eddie springs up, dislodging the sheets curled around his body, gasping for the air caught in his throat. His heart jackhammers against his ribcage, trying to claw out from under the heavy weight atop his chest.

Beside of him in bed, Richie stirs with a low, drowsy groan. Ridiculously long legs disentangle under the blanket. He’s amazed they manage to fit together most nights, what with how much of Richie there is to fit, and how Eddie tends to sprawl if not contained by his boyfriend's octopus-like embrace.

His boyfriend. Now there’s a word he never thought he’d be able to use sincerely. However, there’s no mistaking the realness of Richie as he shifts closer in search of Eddie, even in his half-asleep state.

"Eds?" he calls in that scratchy voice reserved for the early hours of the morning. Frankly, a freshly-woken Richie is a sight to behold. Even as kids waking up in the Denbroughs’ den, Eddie’s guilty pleasure was waking before his best friend so as to catch a glimpse of Richie as he roused.

With his glasses askew, his tousled hair a mess, his mouth slightly parted in the memory of a snore. As an adult, the sight’s no less appealing -- if anything, that half-lidded gaze staggers him more, now that he’s aware of the soft, unguarded affection that lingers behind it.

"You okay?" Richie persists, squinting without his glasses.

"Mhm," Eddie replies, muffled by his fingers as they scrub at his face, clearing the remnants of the nightmare.

Unconvinced, Richie struggles into a sitting position. Propped against the headboard, he sizes up Eddie far too easily for someone who can barely see. "Bad dream?"

Too exhausted to form an answer, Eddie slumps backwards, colliding with Richie’s chest. Flush against each other, he can hear Richie’s breath stutter over the shell of his ear. Six months since Eddie moved in to Richie’s sunny LA apartment, the Derry hospital discharge band still around his wrist and Bev’s divorce lawyer saved to his phone, and sometimes they forget that this is allowed -- this closeness. This idea they can finally have what they want and not be hurt by it, by anyone.

Loving Richie is muscle memory, so natural it may as well be encoded in his DNA. Knowing that he has Richie, and can love Richie freely without hiding who he is, well-- that’s still a wonder, no matter how often Richie whispers the words against his skin.

Eddie knows this, not only in his mind but in his heart, and yet... He’s perplexed. Besides the Losers, he’s never known a love without conditions. A love that wasn’t dependent on his willingness, his obedience. It’s easy with Richie and harder for the same reason.

Once it registers that he’s got an lapful of a boyfriend, Richie winds an arm around Eddie and crushes him to the broad expanse of his chest. Hooks his chin over his shoulder and nuzzles his cheek like an over-excited dog.

“Baby, you’re kind of warm,” he murmurs, two-days worth of stubble scraping fondly over Eddie’s cheek.

The attention sends a shiver down his spine, but it ends in a shudder as Eddie remembers the heat of the flames as they licked his face, smoke curling into his lungs. Was it his face -- or hers? -- the fire a distant heat compared to the warm blood soaking her dress, her clothes, eyes listless as they carnage rages around her, the destruction she -- or he, was it him? -- the cavern collapsing around him as It huffed out its last, dismal breath--

His lungs expand, vainly searching for space to breathe. Eddie wriggles out of Richie’s hold, trying to hide the desperate beat of his pulse. “Fucking California heat,” he mumbles, evasively. “Has me all.. Sweaty.”

New York contains many, many years worth of bad memories, but if there’s one thing he misses, it’s the cold nights. Though if he had to choose between the lonely dark of the guestroom where he slept instead of aside his wife or the comfort of Richie’s bed -- well, that’s hardly even a question.

“Did you wanna, ah..." Flummoxed, Richie wavers over his next words. "Talk?"

It's a song and dance they've done before. A sliver of guilt pierces Eddie through the shields he’s barricaded around this particular issue. How many times has he startled awake and dragged Richie out of sleep -- and then, to add insult to injury, decline the invitation to talk?

After Richie barred his soul and revealed the initials he carved into the Kissing Bridge, despite the threat of bullies and rejection, it seems hypocritical to keeps his darkest secrets under lock and key.

Not for the first time, Eddie aches for his pills. He’s kicked the habit, endured the worst of the withdrawal, bears the occasional migraine with no complaint. But in moments like these the urge is almost too much to ignore.

You’ll feel better, Dr. Silas cajoles, a venomous promise in his ear. Don’t you want to be normal?

It triggers a memory-- the pills in his palm, his mouth parted to swallow, but the desperation of Richie’s screams, the horror in the eyes of his friends. No, Eddie snaps. Of course he wants to be normal. Wants to have a normal life with his boyfriend.

But he wants it to be real. No more placebos.

"Oh-kay. If you’re sure," Richie sounds uncertain, but he’s unwilling to cross the boundaries Eddie has firmly set. Eddie falls a little bit more in love with him for that. "Then it’s back to bed with you, guvnah!”

Usually the British voice anywhere near the vicinity of their bed drew a protest from Eddie -- it catches in his throat when Richie him swings him flat on his back, the bulk of his body sprawled between Eddie’s legs. He blushes to the roots of his hair, clutching at the wide expanse of Richie’s shoulders, fingers digging into soft skin and the tendons of muscle underneath.

If he scowls, it’s a dismal attempt to hide how hopelessly turned on he is by every aspect of this ridiculous man.

"Otherwise, you'll be bitchy as fuck for the flight tomorrow.” His sigh blows against Eddie's hair. "And you know how much that turns me on."

Eddie sputters.

"God, you ever travel for upwards of six hours with a boner? Would not recommend, 0/10."

"Rich!" he scolds, which is hard to do when you're spasming with laughter.

"Unless," Richie continues, slyly, "Eds, you minx. You want to join the Mile-High club with me?"

"Richie," Eddie coughs, truly on his way to a ruptured lung. Hopelessly fond as he orders, "Shut up and go to sleep."

He waits until the chuckles peter out, eventually replaced by soft, even breaths. Carefully, Eddie twists out of Richie’s embrace. The soles of his slippers drag along the carpet as he shuffles to the kitchen.

The piles of dishes Richie convinced him to leave for later in favor of more amorous activities -- and to be perfectly honest, Eddie was easy to convince -- sits in the sink. Picking up the dish soap, Eddie figures he may as well be proactive in his insomnia.

Aunt Margaret used to say, Idle hands are the devil’s playthings. It was maybe the single coherent, non-hateful advice she ever gave.

He’s halfway through the mess and elbow deep in sudsy water when Richie wanders in, stretching. “I thought we had an agreement,” he yawns. “Whoever isn’t accosted by trauma-fueled nightmares gets to make breakfast.”

Ducking his head around a smile, Eddie shrugs. “Too restless to sleep. The thought of you forgetting to pack underwear on this trip haunted my dreams.”

"Ooh, say that again," Richie moans, slotting their hips together from behind. Despite his playful tone, Eddie feels the half-stir of morning wood. "Slower this time."

Eddie shoves playfully at his chin. "Seriously," he huffs. "Our flight's only in a couple of hours and I know you haven't finished packing!"

"Our flight's in eight hours," Richie points out, which is met by a dubious eyebrow raise. "That is plenty of--"

"How many pairs of underwear do you currently have in your suitcase?"

There’s a long, unconscionable pause.

"Fuck!" Richie snaps his fingers. "Knew there was something I forgot."

One of those rare instances where he isn't joking.

"You're pushing me toward an asthma attack," Eddie deadpans. "Please go pack."

Richie leaves a wet, slobbering kiss on his cheek that Eddie only half-pretends to hate. “Anything you say, darling."

Once he’s gone, Eddie can focus at the task at hand. He glances sidelong at a coffee mug that’s slightly out of reach. Retrieving it isn’t a hassle so much as an inconvenience, since his hands are damp with dishwater and the closest rag is across the room.

You could do it another way, reminds the quiet voice in back of his head that Eddie’s spent the last twenty-years trying to suppress. Long before that, really. Since the day his mother told him what his cousin-- what Eddie was.

Do you know what you are?

Eddie bristles. Fuck that clown. Fuck the idea that It has any lingering sway over his life. His mother, too. And those doctors, all those doctors and their tests, their experiments, their pills. Nobody can choose for him anymore. He’s in control of his life.

Despite this conviction, Eddie dawdles. Strains his ears. He can hear Richie clunking around in their bedroom, a safe distance away. I’m alone, he thinks bracingly. I’m alone, so there’s no harm in...

He shuts his eyes, concentrating. The mug rattles, as though gently prodded by an unseen force. Slowly, carefully, Eddie relinquishes the vice-like grip of the leash wrapped tight around his mind, bit by bit.

The mug slides along the counter, until it hovers over the edge. It does not fall. Eddie feels a prick of satisfaction tingle at the base of his neck.

I’m not afraid, Eddie thinks with a rush of spite. Remembering his dream, the clown’s laughter a fresh in his memory, he pushes the mug faster. I am not--

"Hey, Eds, did you-?"

The mug smashes against the ground, shattering. Pieces fly out, scattering across the floor. All sharp edges.

"Shit!" Eddie panics. "Don't step over here, the shards–"

Hastily, he reaches for a handful of glass, as if cleaning up the evidence will hide what he’s done.

What were you thinking, you freak? You could've hurt him or--

"Eddie.” That’s Richie's voice calling to him, soft and urgent.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'll--” He’s babbling, the words choked, constricted, while sweat pools at the base of his neck and his hands shake with the effort to shove it all down, deep, deep down where nobody can see--

"Eddie!" Richie shouts. His face comes into focus near inches from his, eyes, wild with worry. "Calm down, it's okay. It's okay, see? Just a stupid mess.”

A mess you made, Eddie thinks viciously. Now he's seen, he's seen and he'll run, he'll leave, because you're a–

"C'mon, Eds,” Richie murmurs, both a plea and a demand. Trembling fingers tangle with his own, the bite of Richie’s knuckles as he presses their palms against his ribcage steadying Eddie in the present. “You've got to breathe for me.”

Only then does Eddie realize how rapidly it’s rising, and how difficult it is to inhale. Buoyed by the constant stream of Richie’s assurances, Eddie begins to count his breaths, focuses on the movement of his and Richie’s hands as he breathes once twice, in and out. He judges his success by the tightness of Richie’s frown.

"Sorry," Eddie croaks once he can speak again. It feels as if the shards are lodged in his throat.

"Don't apologize," says Richie, a furrow nestling between his brows. He keeps his tone level, likely more worried than he lets on, but the lack of panic is what’s grounding Eddie and he’s appreciates it more than words will convey. "Do you need me to-- What do you need?”

Eddie shakes his head. Tears prick at his eyes and he bites down on the tide of pleas that threaten to overwhelm him. You, I need you. I need you not to leave me once you figure out what I am.

"You know I don't care if you use your Matilda whammy." Richie makes a show of squinting his eyes. Eddie chokes on a stilted laugh. Richie seems to sag in relief

"It doesn’t change a thing for me,” he reminds, nudging Eddie softly. “You understand, right?"

Eddie swallows, thickly. He doesn't trust his voice, so he nods, the reply burrowed into Richie's chest. He kisses his clavicle once, twice in gratitude.

"What were you going to ask before?"

"Uh," Richie hedges. "Do you know where all my clean underwear is?"

Again, Eddie laughs. Helplessly. "Fucking Christ, Rich, I told you: a man needs more than seven pairs of underwear."

"I resent that. I have more," Richie sniffs. "They're just not as sexy as my gluteus maximoose pair. Which, as you know, I reserve for all special occasions."

"You're fucking ridiculous, is what you are," Eddie chuckles. "I'll fold the laundry after I clean this up."

"Let me do that,” Richie insists, shooing him toward the bedroom. “You can shower first.”

Chewing his lip, Eddie hesitates.

"Are you wearing shoes?" Richie gestures impatiently at his moccasins. "Alright... Just be careful with the glass."

“Like you were?” Catching Eddie by the wrist, Richie frowns down at his palm. A thin slice below his thumb, the blood a steady ooze.

"Oh," says Eddie, woozily. The prick of pain didn't even register. "I'll go, um. Wash this in the bathroom."

He ignores the feeling of Richie’s eyes on his back as he hustles the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him. He’s ignored a lot of things, lately.

The familiar yet nameless numbers on the cellphone he ultimately chucked. The decreasing amount of frantic calls from his ex-wife. The urge to tell Richie and the Losers every awful truth Eddie’s spent his entire adult life burying so deep that not even he has to confront it, ever.

At the sink, Eddie avoids his own reflection. Under the spray of water, the blood washes off effortlessly. As if it never happened. Wash your hands, Eddie. Like a good boy. His mother always repeated the order, ad nauseam. Like if he scrubbed hard enough, it would be as if the all the dirty, unclean parts of him she feared had never existed.

For all her lies, Eddie wishes it was that easy.

#reddie #reddie fic #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #it chapter 2 #carrie white #hurt/comfort #aceyanaheim #prompt fic

37 notes · View notes

floralreddie · 5 years ago

Note

If requests are still open are you up to making a Richie x reader x bev where things get kinda steamy between reader and bev and Richie walks in?

okay, so this has been sitting in my ask box for forever and for that i am sorry. i l o v e this, though. my bi has practically died when bill hader was cast as richie, and then jessica chastain as bev. that being said, our losers are 18 in this. enjoy! also, the clown fucker doesn’t exist in this au.

The Three Of Us

warnings: smut, swearing

forever taglist: @pearltheartist@mikoalabearwrites @arielgirly @trashmouth-smashmouth@mzcescapie@somenates27@reddiesballoons@cawcawhawkeye@richietoaster@sassy-molassy@fuckin-richie@zerealromaniangurl@notagoodplace4gods @itsway-past-mybedtime@homohayls @reddiefic@trashmouth-tozier69@temptedtozier@bitchardtozier@virgo-green @reddietofall @gczebos@tozierkasqbrak @temptedtozier @zerealromaniangurl @anniewdoodles@reddiefic @wyattsnoodles @deux-mille-deux @eds-trashmouth @thecastlebyers @r-richie @erinn-l

The thing is, you’ve always been aware that you like both.

It was never really something you had to worry about, and maybe that’s because your friend group, the one you all, in your youth, called The Losers Club, was a little sphere of acceptance and love that the outside world could not touch. You were thirteen when you linked the heat in your stomach and the blush on your cheeks with seeing both the hard lines and broad shoulders of man, and the curves and strength of woman.

You were fifteen when, under the covers of the bed you had both made in Bill’s basement, you had told Beverly Marsh just this. You were closest to Eddie and Richie, but you being the two girls, your friendship with Bev was special. You were the shoulder she cried on when her father was finally locked away. You were the one who helped her rid her apartment of anything that reminded her of him, as her Aunt moved to Derry to look after her. You were the one who helped her choose the red lipstick that was her colour. You were two girls, shunned by others for people different, who found solace with each other amongst a group of boys who were family.

‘Do you think I’m weird?’ you ask her, over the sound of Ben’s snores and Eddie’s constant shifting.

Bev, with her bright blue eyes and mess of red hair, curls her mouth into a smile that makes the pale of her cheeks turn pink. ‘If you’re weird,’ she whispers, her toes nudging against your calve. ‘Then I guess I’m weird, too’.

You had blinked and then grinned, letting out a high pitch whisper of, ‘Really?’ You’re not too surprised, really.

Bev ducks her head a little closer and bites her tongue. You hear Richie mutter sleepily for Ben to stop fucking snoring, before quiet rules again. ‘I always thought I just liked girls, but then…’ She snickers, and you lean in closer. ‘Richie got cute this year, don’t you think?’

You splutter loudly, causing Bev to giggle in alarm. No, you did not think that Richie fucking Tozier was cute. Richie Tozier was a tall and gangly nerd who drank too much Coke and told too many stupid jokes.

‘Will you both b-be quiet?’ Bill mutters groggily through the night, and you and Bem have to clutch hands tightly under the covers to mask your manic giggles.

It’s a few months later when you see what Bev in an entirely different light.

You’ve always been aware she is beautiful, both out of pure fact and only slightly out of attraction. Never, though, had you looked at for too long when you both changed at one of your many sleepovers, or when you lounged by the various lakes dotted around Derry. You respected Bev too much for that.

There’s a dance at school, and six out of the eight Losers decide to go as a group. Mike has a date with some girl from near his farm, and he’s just elated to be able to take her to a real High School dance, since he used to be home-schooled. Bill decides to go with the head of the Poetry Club, some girl you knew only distantly.

You all gather at yours, because your parents were out (again) so your house was free for cheap drinks and getting ready. You decide on a black dress that ends just above your knees, and boots that Richie had given you once he had grown out of them. Shockingly, they were in pretty good condition. You know your mother would roll her eyes at your attire, but despite your clumpy shoes, you feel pretty in your straight black dress and dark lipstick.

You answer the door and the boys are standing there. Stan eyes your boots with a twist of smile and an eye roll. Ben tells you that you look lovely. Eddie beams in his smart suit and rolls his eyes when Richie whistles and says, ‘Gee whizz’, with an appreciative brow wiggle.

You try not to blush. Really. ‘Get in here, idiot,’ you grumble, opening the door some more as they pile in.

Richie sidles up to your as the others talk, and Eddie perks up as a song comes on the radio that he likes. Richie is taller than you by far, and you can’t help but smirk at the fact he is wearing contacts for once. He looks down at you, and you look up at him, and you’re momentarily stunned when he murmurs, ‘I’m not joking, y’know. You look beautiful, toots’.

You blush scarlet and stutter out, as he smirks, ‘Anyone want a drink whilst we wait for Bev?’

It is as you are handing out cheap beers that your Dad keeps in the basement when Bev walks in, having not bothered ringing the doorbell, and your stomach nearly falls out of your butt.

She’s radiant.

She’s wearing a red, strapless dress that seems a little too big on her, but somehow she pulls it off. Her hair, longer now, is tucked behind her ears, and her red lipstick shines as she smiles. On her feet, are a pair of tiny heels that show off her red painted toenails.

You choke on air, as Richie mutters lowly beside you, ‘It’s a wonder we get anything done with you two hanging around us’.

When Bev smiles at you and takes the bottle of beer, you realise that you’re fucked.

It’s a year later, a whole year of knowing full well you have a crush on Bev, when you’re sixteen, that you fully understand you might also like Richie, too.

It’s just the two of you at the Barrens, cigarettes hanging out of your mouths as you bitch and moan about how hard Biology was this year. In just one year, it seemed that all of the boys had left you and Bev behind height-wise, even Eddie, but Richie towered above you all.

‘So,’ Richie says, blase and whilst taking a deep drag. ‘I’m getting kinda impatient waiting for you to tell me that you like Bev’.

You stare at him, smoke drifting lazily from your mouth as you gape. With a quirk of a smile, his glasses slipping down his nose, Richie plops your mouth closed with a flick of his finger. ‘What?’

He snorts and flicks his cigarette into the water. ‘C’mon, it’s me. If anyone knows the look of pathetic longing, it’s me. I’m pretty sure I looked at you like that for a good four years-’

‘What?’

‘Oh,’ Richie waves a hand and rolls his brown eyes. ‘Like you didn’t know’. You most definitely did not know. ‘Anyway, you should say something to her. I know for a fact she wouldn’t mind’.

You glare at him and flick your own cigarette away. ‘What the fuck does that mean, Tozier?’

He smirks, all cocky and tall and staring down at you. ‘It means Bev and I talk a lot’.

He takes a step forward.

You stare up at him.

And then you push him.

You’re not sure why you do not. You’re flustered that he firstly told you he used to like you, and then how he blundered you with information about Bev and your crush on her. You panic. So you push him.

He lands with a splash in the water, a strain of curses leaving his mouth, before the Trashmouth stares up at you with a bellowing laugh, his white t-shirt becoming see-through, and yanks you down with him.

‘Mature,’ he quips, over your shout of indignation as your bare knees hit the water and pebbles. You kneel to his side, your body half landing on his, and blink as the hard lines of his stomach appear through his soaked shirt.

With fluttering lashes, you look up at see Richie eyeing you, his cheeks pink and his mouth pulled into a half grin. He nudges you with his nose and plants a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth, before he pulls away and says, as if nothing had happened, ‘Y’know, you and Bev always were my favourites’.

As he stands and offers you his hand, his smirk in place and your cheeks flaming, you try and squash the swirling in your stomach and realise that, yeah, you’re fucked.

‘You, Bev and Rich are close lately,’ Stan observes one day at lunch. You’re the first two sitting at the round table pushed into the corner of the cafeteria. You look at him and away from your Lit notes, your brow raised.

‘So what?’

He shrugs and tugs at the collar of his shirt. ‘Just making an observation,’ he murmurs, in a way that is so typically a back-handed way of Stan say something entirely different to what he’s actually saying. ‘They’re a lot more touchy with you, don’t you think?’

You have no idea what to say, so you just pull a face at him, to which he rolls his eyes. Still, you don’t miss the way his light gaze flashes to yours when Bev sits on your left and Richie your right, and the two lean so close to you whilst telling you about their Art class that your nearly get whiplash looking back and forth.

Richie smells like spicy cologne and something musty. Bev smells like cigarettes and the sun.

Your face is bright pink the whole of lunch, and when Bev pinches your cheek and tells you so, you go maroon.

Richie practically chokes on his milk.

You turn seventeen a few months later, and in that time your surely notice how Bev and Richie are closer. They whisper with each other, even when it’s just the tree of you hanging out, and you leave the room for just a minute. They’ve always been the touchy-feely ones of the group, but something in the way that they hang off of each other, now that you know how you feel about them…

It makes your stomach clench and your chest tight.

You don’t tell Bev about your half-kiss with Richie. You don’t even tell Eddie about it, and that boy was your personal therapist. He was the only one you had told about liking Bev, simply because you knew how he felt about Bill. Straight as a ruler Bill.

You supposed you were luckier. At least Bev liked girls, too.

It’s three days after your seventeenth, in which you all went bowling, that you hang out with Bev and Richie. It was Bev who had called you just an hour after school had finished, a question of whether you wanted to watch a movie in her room with her whilst her Aunt went out to her bi-weekly Thursday Book Club.You say yes, of course.

When you get there, a grinning Richie Tozier answers your quick knock on Bev’s front door.

He’s grinning and wearing a floral, button up shirt with the first three buttons undone, and you try very hard not to eye the flash of collarbones and the jump of his Adam’s Apple when he calls your name in a sing-song voice. He pulls you in with a tug on the waist of your dress, and you roll your eyes and say, ‘Hello, Richard’.

With a waggle of his brow and pinch to your side, the taller boy remarks, ‘I do love it when you use my full name, toots’.

Bev rounds the corner into the hallway then, decked out in blue shorts and a strappy top. ‘Sorry,’ she drawls, blue eyes flashing to Richie. ‘He told me to surprise you’.

There’s something in their quick shared gaze that makes you want to squirm.

It’s only when you’re a quarter a way into some shitty action film that you realise that Stan might have had a point. Richie sits on your right again, and Bev on your left, and you cannot breathe. They’re everywhere; from Bev nuzzled up to your side with one leg thrown over your knee and the other hanging over the edge of the sofa, to Richie, with his long arm practically slung over the both of you and-

God, you must be as red as Eddie’s favourite fucking shorts.

You feel like you might explode. Bev keeps shifting closer, somehow, and the smell of her fruity perfume and her soft skin pressing against your bare arm…it’s making your stomach swirl and your palms sweat. Richie’s arm moves slightly, so that his long-fingered hand is resting between yours and Bev’s shoulders, and your heart does a fucking pirouette when you feel those fingers tug at your long hair and her short, making the two stark contrast of coloured strands mix.

Bev lets out a small little sigh and tilts her head to the side as she watches the screen, and Richie shuffles further down the couch, his long legs spreading and his fingers dart across the juncture where your neck meets your jaw, and Bev legs one hand fall from her bent knees to land on your thigh, her fingers distractedly running across where her thigh meets yours-

They’re doing this on purpose. They must be. There is no way that they cannot hear you’re heavy breathing, or feel the way your whole body seems to be one big blush.

‘Bathroom,’ you choke out suddenly, making Richie jump and Bev lean back suddenly, blue eyes wide. You cough and dart to your feet, untangling from the both of them.

As you stumble to the bathroom, cheeks red and the pit of your stomach hot, you swear your Richie mutter, ‘…thought….would work’.

To which Bev murmurs, ‘….be patient…ich…special’.

It’s your eighteenth Birthday and you’re at a house party.

Not surprising, really. There was always some kind of teenage party in Derry, simply because there wasn’t really anything else for the youth of the small town to do on weekends once they reached a certain age. It’s not your party, but a party that happens to fall on the weekend of your Birthday. You don’t even know who’s hosting it.

All you know is that Bev and Richie would not leave you alone.

You’re not complaining, of course. Over the last year, there seemed to be some kind of spoken agreement amongst the eight of you that no one would mention how close the three of you were, or how often you touched each other or held each other.

You’re wearing a crop top and a skirt, and Bev seems to have not stop touching the sliver of skin on show with her warm, lithe fingers. Richie, on the other hand, seemed more intent with throwing an arm over your shoulder and talking into your hair every so often.

Honestly, you needed to breathe before you kissed the both of them in front of everyone at this damn party.

So, you do just that. You excuse yourself, to which Bev and Richie nod and join Bill and Mike in their awkward dancing, practically saving the two of them with their practiced moves. You sidle into the kitchen of whoever owns this house, your shoulders bumping with others, until you reach the drinks table and find Eddie, Stan and Ben debating about debating angrily about something.

‘-It’s obvious it’s gonna happen tonight-’

‘No way - Richie is the shitty tactical thinker, but Bev will wait until-’

You’re not sure you want to know what they’re talking about, so you walk on. You were already oddly nervous about something (you knew what - you knew there had been something bubbling beneath the surface that was getting ready to erupt), so you go to the drinks table, our yourself a cheap mixture of vodka and lemonade, and politely listen when some BO smelling burnout starts to mumble to you about something.

It’s only when you feel a messy kiss on your cheek that you realise maybe you should have been listening to whatever the fuck this guy was saying.

The thing is, he is yanked away from your before you can even tell him to piss off. He stumbles back with a swear and a, ‘stupid bitch’, to which Beverly fucking Marsh throws him the finger and turns to you, cheeks flushed with drink, and says, ‘You okay?’

You nod.

You’re speechless.

Gallant and brave Beverly Marsh had pushed some grabby guy away from you. Beautiful and amazing Beverly Marsh was looking at you with a shine in her eyes and an emotion you had been too stupid and too scared to read until now.

‘Come with me,’ you breathe suddenly, the pieces of years and years falling into place.

She follows you without restraint or protest, her heels clicking against the floor and her hand looping into yours as you both head upstairs. You don’t know where you’re going, so the first door you see, you kick open with the toe of your boot.

The moment you’re both in there, you stare at her. You stairs from her thick eyelashes, to her red lips, to the curve of her breast, and to the tips on her jeans. She says your name, soft and knowing, but you shake your head and cut her off.

You meet her gaze, and you both know. ‘How have you both been so patient?’ you ask with a slight laugh. ‘I’ve taken ages’.

Bev shrugs, easy and graceful. ‘It’s you. You’re worth it’.

You kiss her. It’s sudden and hard, and your hands find her red curls, and her fingers grab your waist, and you know there’s no going back from this. There’s not going back from her bruising lips or her steady hands, or the way her breath catches in your mouth as she chokes on a satisfied sound.

She tastes like cheap booze and Bev.

It doesn’t take long for her to take charge. You always knew it would be that way. She holds you like she knows you’re not fragile, and she sucks on your neck and mouth like they’re the tastiest treats she has ever tasted. Every pull on her hair makes a sound come from her mouth that send jolts to your abdomen, and when her fingers splay across your bare stomach, your pull away and breathe,

‘You’re beautiful’. And, she is. With flushed cheeks and red hair, Beverly Marsh is what you have dreamed of since you were just a kid. She grins, all teeth and red lips, and kisses your mouth like it’s a sweet peach.

When her hands draw up the lines of your thighs, beneath your skirt, you stutter on a breath and kiss her harder, bruising-

‘Christ’.

The voice is low. You has only heard it so low when he had woken from sleep, or when he’d taken too hard a pull of a joint. You realise Bev had pushed you against the wall of the sparse bedroom (guest room, maybe?) you had both taken up in, and that her hand was practically yanking aside your underwear.

‘Took you long enough,’ you mutter because, really, you knew he would be here when this finally happened. It was meant to be like that, for all of you.

Richie Tozier, with his drunk hair and dark eyes, looks at the both of you like he has seen the sun in all of it’s glory, and he does not know how to look at anything after this. He stands there for a moment, fingers flexing and Adam’s Apple bopping, before Bev holds out her hand (you want to whine as she drags her hand away from your underwear) and says, ‘C’mon, Rich’.

He does, but not before locking the door and muttering about how, ‘no fuckin’ pervs are gonna see you two other than me’.

Bev giggles against your neck when you reply, ‘So, you’re the perv?’

Richie, on the other hand, stays oddly silent for once, as he stands closer now and looks between the two of you, a rare show of nervousness cast across his features. When Bev holds him, her fingers curling around his bicep and pulling him closer, you waste no time in proppping the glasses up his nose, leaning across Bev, and kissing him soundly on the mouth.

Something within the three of you snaps, then.

It’s years of knowing and waiting for the right moment, and Bev and Richie say as much to you as your each touch each other, slow and unsure.The sound of the thumping music seems to die as Bev peppers kisses along your jaw and Richie runs his hand up Bev’s arm and kisses her there.

Richie’s shirt goes first, much to yours and Bev’s pleasure, to which he cocks a brow and declares, ‘Look, I know I’m hot, but don’t objectify me, ladies’.

It’s Bev who touches you first, and you feel oddly as if they are catering to your needs here. You’re lying in the middle of the bed with your skirt hiked up and her fingers curling beneath your underwear, her touch hesitant and her eyes bright as they look up at you. She’s bent over your lower half, and as Richie stands at the end of the bend, he looks like a man who has been blessed a billion times over.

She is like molten lava curling across your skin. No one has ever touched your there, so when her fingers dip into your wetness, you gasp and curl your fingers into the bedding of the bed, and Richie groans.

‘Rich,’ you murmur, opening your eyes to glance up at him. He moves like lightening, practically tripping over himself to round the bed and crawl over to kiss you hard and messily on the mouth. Bev hums and mutters a, ‘You two are gonna kill me-’

And then you feel her kissing her way into the inside of your thigh, and then she is tasting you.

It’s hard to say who is touching who after that. You come with Bev’s mouth on you, and Richie’s hand stuffed down his trousers as you kiss along his sharp jawline. When Bev sidles up the bed, flushed and wet-mouthed, you taste yourself on her lips and could cry at the wonderfulness of seeing her and Richie kiss.

‘I love you both,’ you tell them, as Bev kisses along your now bare spine and your reach down Richie’s open jeans. You all kneeling upon this strangers bed, your clothes slowly falling around you and your mouth bruised from kissing. ‘So much’.

When you touch him, he sighs and nuzzles into your and groans mutters things that only Trashmouth Tozier could mutter at such a time. You think of how long you’ve wanted this; them. You feel Bev’s whispers against your spin as she touches and kisses you and reaches over you to run her fingers through Richie’s dark hair, and Richie presses his mouth greedily to hers over your shoulders when your fingers squeeze just a little tighter around him.

‘Wanted you for so damn long,’ Richie breathes after he comes, the mess of it staining the sheets and your hand. ‘Both of us’.

You think he might have a small heart attack when Bev’s licks his cum off of your fingers as you splay them in front of you.

Richie kisses like he’s trying to taste you, like his every intent is to whisper a meaning between your lips. Bev kisses as if she is taking whatever you wish to share from you; like she is a notebook and you are the pen. You both taste Bev, only after Richie slips his fingers inside of you and Bev touches your chest like you’re precious cargo.

When Bev sighs and curls her toes at your tongue and Richie’s fingers, you all know something has changed deeply between the three of you.

You love them.

You held Bev tongue her shirt back on, and Richie ensures that your skirt is straight at the back. When you all turn to each other, messy and sweaty and stinking of sex, Richie says, ‘I know a say a lot of shit, but that was-’ There is something in his eyes that says this is the farthest thing from a joke he has ever told. ‘I mean-’

‘We know,’ you tell him, fingers linking with his.

Bev holds you other hand, her smile gleaming like the moon. ‘We’re together, then?’ she inquires, matter of fact and with no hesitance. ‘I think we’ve all waited long enough to say that’.

‘Hell fucking yeah’.

You sigh, smile, and say, ‘Beep beep, Richie’.

#richie x reader #richie tozier x reader #beverly marsh x reader #bev x reader #richie tozier x beverly marsh #it #it 2017 #it 2019 #areyoureddiekids #floralreddie

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angelofthequeers · 5 years ago

Text

Hold Me By Both Hands: Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

Chapter 8 | Chapter 10 | AO3 link

After a gruelling afternoon of dealing with an akuma that turned its victims into puffs of sentient pink smoke – not devastating, but certainly annoying – Marinette’s about ready to thank whoever’s out there that it’s the weekend and pass out until her mother comes to wake her for dinner. But just minutes after she faceplants on her bed with a groan, when she’s drifting off into the sandman’s realm, there’s a knock on her hatch door.

“Huh?” She looks up, blinking blearily, but there’s nothing there. Huh. Maybe a bird had divebombed into it or something. But before she can bury her face in her pillow again, there’s another knock. Definitely not a bird. What the hell could be knocking on her hatch door, then? The answer turns out to be a stray cat with drooping ears, who’s perched himself on one of her chairs when she sticks her head out to investigate.

“Hey, Marinette.” Chat Noir grins but it’s hollow. “Remember how you said I could drop by anytime? You mind if I take you up on that offer?”

“Yes! I mean – no, I don’t mind! Come on down!” Marinette ducks back into her room to let Chat Noir slip inside and close the hatch after himself. He shuffles to the end of her bed and then just sits there, cross-legged, trying to smile but only managing to look anything but happy.

“Shoes off inside.” Marinette blearily blurts out the first thing that comes to her mind.

“I would, princess, but the boots don’t exactly come off,” Chat Noir shrugs. Then he winces. “Sorry. You look like death warmed over. You were trying to sleep, right?”

“I’ll be fine.” Marinette immediately betrays herself by letting out an enormous yawn.

“I can go –”

“Don’t even think about it.” Marinette waggles a finger at him. “That offer is redeemable at all times. No exceptions. Even if I’m not here, you’re more than welcome to come in and curl up like a kitten, so long as you don’t go through my stuff. And just don’t tell my mum about the shoes thing.”

Chat Noir just stares at her with glistening eyes. Shit. Did she say something wrong? Before she can ask what she’d done, her vision is cut off by the dark leather of Chat Noir’s suit as he hauls her in for a tight hug.

“Thanks, Marinette,” he says into her hair. “Just…thanks. That means a lot.”

“Breathing also means a lot,” Marinette says into his shoulder, her voice muffled, so he lets her go and shuffles back. “Anything in particular you want to do?”

“Not really?” Chat Noir says. “I’m happy to follow the lead of my princess.”

“You know, I don’t know why I never told you to stop calling me that,” Marinette says. “And it’s too late now, isn’t it?”

This time, Chat Noir’s smirk is genuine. “Damn right, princess.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, sitting on the bed together, until Marinette figures that she’s never going to get to sleep now and it would be a little creepy to try and sleep with a guy in magic black leather and spandex in her room.

“I might as well keep working on one of my designs,” she says. “Unless there’s something you want to do…?”

“Nah, I’m happy to chill here,” Chat Noir says. “Actually…I never really get to chill. There’s always something to do in my room. And my life.”

“Eww.” Marinette wrinkles her nose. “That must suck. There’s nothing better than just…doing nothing sometimes. Okay, if you’re sure.” She slides down the ladder to the floor, then pads over to her desk to grab her sketchbook and pencil so that she can sketch in her bed. It’s just a hunch, but she strongly suspects that Chat Noir doesn’t want to be alone right now, even if they’re still in the same room.

Once she starts sketching, she loses herself in her own world of colours and patterns and fabrics, drawing something and then erasing it and then testing out something else and nodding in satisfaction when that something else meshes and flows. When she blinks and looks up to give herself a little break, the first thing she sees is Chat Noir just…staring at her.

“Is something wrong?” she says. “Are you hungry? I can go get you some food. Or if you want to do something –”

“No, no,” Chat Noir says. “I’m fine. It’s just…relaxing to watch you. You’re mesmerising when you’re designing.” He mutters something else that could be, “Unlike Father,” but it’s so quiet and his lips don’t even move, so Marinette just brushes it off as her imagination.

“O-Oh.” Her cheeks grow warm. “Thanks? I don’t usually get in the zone like that when others are around. I’m so…hyperaware of them.”

“Well, I’m honoured, princess,” Chat Noir says with his toothy grin. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve just relaxed like this.”

“Good,” Marinette says. “Between superheroing and whatever it must be like when it’s tense at home, you deserve the break.”

“Oh, superheroing isn’t stressful at all,” Chat Noir scoffs. Marinette raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe not for you. You’re not the brains, after all.”

“I know you’re trying to offend me but you’re right.” Chat Noir shoots her finger guns. “Ladybug is the brains. I’m just the cunning, ultra-charming Chat Noir.”

Marinette can’t help but snort, though she manages to disguise it as a rather loud cough that has Chat Noir narrowing his eyes at her.

“Got something to say, Marinette?” he says.

“No, no.” This time, Marinette can’t hold back her laughter. “So long as you’re happy with the clown suit, who am I to judge?”

“Excuse me? The clown suit?” Chat Noir jabs a finger at her. “I sure wasn’t a clown when I was saving you from Evillustrator.”

“Mhm.”

“Will you just take me seriously already?”

“Why? You already admitted that Ladybug’s the brains.”

Chat Noir glares at her, though not with any heat, and then his bottom lip sticks out and he honest to god pouts. That’s when Marinette loses it and doubles over with laughter at the sight of her sulking kitty, pouting like a little kid.

“It’s not funny,” he says sullenly.

“Are you sure about that?” Marinette wipes the tears from her eyes, careful not to get her sketchbook pages damp.

“Hmph. Fine. I see how it is. I bet you’re just a Ladybug fangirl and she’s drafted you to make fun of me!”

Oh, if only he knew the truth. “Actually, I’m much more of a Chat Noir girl,” Marinette says, and Chat Noir’s cat eyes widen.

“What? No, no, I was kidding. You should totally be a Ladybug girl.”

“Too late,” Marinette sings. “I’ve been a Chat Noir girl from the start.”

“But why?” Chat Noir tilts his head. “Ladybug’s so cool. She’s gorgeous. She purrifies –”

“Chat, I swear to god –”

“– the akumas and fixes everything with her cure. All of Paris loves her. Why don’t you?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t love her,” Marinette says. “But she wouldn’t be half the hero she is without her Chat Noir there to have her back. And I’d think exactly the same thing if the roles were reversed. I guess you could say I’m a Lady Noir girl – and no, not the ship, so don’t get any ideas.”

There’s something akin to awe in Chat Noir’s eyes. Has…no one ever told him that he’s just as important? Sure, he may not take things seriously and leave the weight on Ladybug’s shoulders, but Marinette’s a hundred percent not lying when she says that she wouldn’t be able to do it without him.

“And why exactly do you think Ladybug wouldn’t be able to do it without me? Bugaboo is so ingenious that she can manage even when I’m brainwashed.”

“Sure, she can hold her own when it comes to the fighting,” Marinette says. “But what about everything else? What about the moments when there aren’t akumas and you two are on patrol? Remember that picture that Alya got of you two the other day? Where you two were goofing around on the rooftops? You really think Ladybug could handle all this alone without someone by her side to shoulder the emotional weight? I mean, sure, you could focus a bit more on the akumas instead of clowning around –”

Chat Noir sticks his tongue out at her.

“– but you’re there for her in a way that no one else is. You’re her partner, Chat, and she needs you. Maybe she even appreciates your goofiness when she’s not in the middle of trying to take down an akuma. I know that facing destructive akumas like Green Giant or brainwashing akumas like Princess Fragrance couldn’t have been easy, especially with the weight of fixing everything on her shoulders. But don’t you dare think that you’re not valuable, kitty cat. Ladybug loves you, even if it’s not romantic. I’ve seen the way she looks at you in pics and videos.”

Chat Noir doesn’t say anything after Marinette’s speech, leaving Marinette to squirm under his bright green eyes as he stares at her with a slightly agape mouth. Then he’s leaning over and grabbing her in a hug, squeezing her just like Adrien had done the other day, murmuring, “Thanks, Marinette,” into her hair while she pats his back awkwardly.

“Alright, alright, you’re getting fur all over me,” Marinette says, slightly breathless with how tightly Chat Noir’s hugging her. With one last squeeze, Chat Noir pulls away and pouts at her again.

“Excuse you, princess, but I happen to be very well-groomed,” he says, and Marinette snorts. “I totally am. You’d eat your words if you knew who I was under the mask.”

“Aww, but what a pity, you can’t tell me!” Marinette says with a sweet smile. “So, I guess I won’t have to eat my words, as delicious as they are.”

“Sugary sweet just like the little baker’s princess, huh?” Chat Noir says. Marinette reaches out and flicks his bell, her smile widening when he yelps and scowls ay her.

“Damn right, kitty. I’m sugar and spice and everything nice.”

Chat Noir doesn’t say anything in response to that, instead choosing to stare right at Marinette with his intense green cat stare. When he’s quiet for too long, Marinette opens her mouth to ask what’s up, but he gets in first.

“Thanks, Marinette,” he says. “Really. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I think I do,” Marinette says, but Chat Noir shakes his head.

“You really don’t. At home…I can’t tell you, you know, for identity reasons, but just knowing that I’ve got an escape…I mean, Chat Noir’s always been an escape, but running around alone in black leather only helps so much.”

“I can imagine,” Marinette says softly. Sure, putting on red spandex and swinging around Paris is a fantastic way to just get away when she needs it, but it still doesn’t fully help with her mad, swirling thoughts. Not like Chat Noir does. “Well, if you really want to keep yourself occupied, how about helping me with my Physics homework?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the smartest kids in that class?” Chat Noir says with a suspicious little squint.

“Well, yes…but I could use a little help brushing up on a few things,” Marinette says. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

Chat Noir raising an eyebrow informs Marinette that she’s very much not fooling him as to the true purpose of asking him to help: to keep his mind occupied. But considering that it’s just as much for his benefit as it is for hers, he apparently chooses not to call out her horribly flimsy excuse.

“Sure thing, princess,” he says. “Grab your stuff and this dashing cat will help as best as he can.”

“That’s it, my grades are gonna drop,” Marinette says as she slides down the ladder to fetch her homework, stumbling on the last rung.

“Wow,” Chat Noir says. “Okay. Tell me how you really feel. Weren’t you the one asking me for help?”

“Only because I took pity on a poor stray,” Marinette says. As soon as she’s back up on her bed, Chat Noir shoves her backwards and plants a black-gloved hand on her chest.

“Say you’re sorry for hurting my poor feelings,” Chat Noir says with his roguish smile.

“Um…no.”

In response, Chat Noir’s hand applies more pressure, but not anywhere near enough to even begin to cause pain. It’s firm, albeit loose enough that Marinette could probably wiggle out if she really wanted to, but the playful light in Chat Noir’s eyes leaves her pinned to the bed far more effectively than his hand.

“And here I thought you were a pure princess,” Chat Noir says with a tone of exaggerated lament.

“Lucky me,” Marinette deadpans. When Chat Noir’s hand shifts ever so slightly, her brain makes itself very aware of the fact that the only thing separating his hand from her skin is a thin shirt and a black leather glove that seems to be radiating heat against the white material of her shirt. And yes, she doesn’t like Chat Noir as anything more than a friend…but try having a cute guy in black leather pin any teenage girl to her bed and expect her not to grow warm and fuzzy. She’s just going to choose to not acknowledge the fact that her crush on Adrien has been violently shoved to the backburner in this very moment, since she’s not too sure she wants to explore the implications of that.

“Oh.” With pink cheeks, Chat Noir releases Marinette, allowing her to push herself up and hastily fix her messy pigtails. “Uh – Physics! Right! Help you!”

“Very eloquent,” Marinette says, willing her racing heart to slow down already. Chat Noir gives her another roguish, lopsided grin.

“That’s me, princess. Eloquent as hell.”

“Sure,” Marinette drawls, then opens her notebook and flips to the worksheet of questions. “Now, how about you put that big brain of yours to good use?”

Chat Noir bows his head mockingly. “As you wish.”

“Oh my god, you did not just do what I think you did.”

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #aotq fic #aotq: hold me #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir #marichat #oops #yeah marinette you just don't think about that #dorks

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