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cloudroots · 11 months

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This is High Note the pony that I ship Fluttershy with in this universe! A random background pony who I liked the design of!

Let me say before we continue that I know the similarities between the designs of Mr. Shy and High Note. Whenever I draw Fluttershy's family I will make sure the guys much more green in their hue, so they don't look as similar. I actually did find High Note, before Fluttershy's family was even introduced, but I don't have much evidence for that. Let it be known that the two character aren't related in any way. I just thought Note looked cute, thank you for understanding.

Anyway back to it! When I first made my Next Gen there weren't many shipping options that I liked for Fluttershy, in fact there wasn't many notable characters at all really. So younger me spent quite a while just looking through the wiki at all the background ponies to find a design that stood out. I ended up finding High Note, who I thought had nice colors and looked very cute. Also he had a music cutiemark which I thought fit well into a Fluttershy family idea. I also compiled some of his appearances, I really want to look at this boi. He has the same mane as Caramel, because that's how background design were like back then, I ended up changing Note's mane to differentiate the two more.

1: High Note is a resident of ponyville, and has been for the whole time of the show, even a long time before then. He's a pretty active member of the community, he went to events and such.

Note is a singer, sometimes a song writer. He is quite quiet, very kind hearted, understanding and a good listener. He is socially awkward, but he tries his best. He has a rather innocent and pure mind, even though he knows about how mean the world is he still is very warm hearted. Note loves his long hair and dressing more traditionally more feminine. He also doesn't care much for gender roles either. He is a little bit of a hippy and has an admiration for such people who care for others and the planet. When he gets closer and more comfortable with someone, he's more loud and enthusiastic. He also just sings all the time to himself. He's a real choir/ theater kid type.

High Note is more comfortable when he's preforming, and becomes incredibly expressive and confident. He feels as though can only be this confident when he's in a group like in a choir or a much smaller group, but he still needs others around. He also has a talent for theater, but mostly just musicals. He is an expert at belting and hitting those high notes.

2: Even before the two actually met, High Note knew of Fluttershy. I guess you become a little well know after saving the world a few times, and also being a fashion icon for a short period of time. Note thinks Flutters is very pretty and wants to get to get to know her more, since they already live in the same town. Maybe even become friends? He basically just has a very cute and innocent crush on her.

3: His heart flutters whenever he sees he sees her in town, but he thinks she's too busy with life. He also doesn't want to bother her or invade her space, so he ends up just working on himself.

4: He's quite lonely so works on preforming. He does some theater, and whatever vocal performances are available. He becomes parts of public and private choirs around the Ponyville area, but nothing too fancy. He makes some friends while doing these things and is having a good time. Whenever he's preforming he becomes a little cocky and his this aura about him.

5: The mane 6 then all go together to one of High Note's choir concerts, and in this concert he has a solo in one of the songs. Fluttershy is impressed with him and now has a little crush of her own.

6: Fluttershy doesn't pay too much attention when she's out on the town, especially when she's just getting groceries. Now, though she starts notices High Note around, and she looks around to see him. She never really noticed him before. Fluttershy goes to more of his performances off and on. Note saw a glimpse of Fluttershy at one of his performances, and starts feelings his heart flutter again. He hopes she liked the show, and his solos.

They both have cute crushes now, and look for each other in town so they can look from afar. If they ever make eye contact, it's not for very long since they quickly look away and are blushy the rest of the day.

7: One of the days Fluttershy is out on the town with her friends, and looks for High Note and gets all sighy. Rarity notices her, she leans in and asks, "Have you made a move yet, darling?"

Fluttershy surprised answers with a red face, "I-I don't know what you mean"

"It's alright if you have a crush, dear. I noticed how you can't keep your eyes off that stallion, but I could be mistaken."

The yellow mare looks down in embarrassment, "I don't think I could build up the courage to even talk to him"

"I could help, if you want me to dear." Rarity offers.

The rest of the mane 6 talking among themselves, then Pinkie trots over to the two mares, and asks with squinted eyes, "What are you two at? OH, I KNOW HIM!"

"Really?" Fluttershy asks quietly.

"Yep, I know pretty much everyone in Ponyville," Pinkie answers proudly. "And that's High Note!"*GASP*"I could totally introduce you guys!"

"I don't know about that."

"Well, whenever you're ready, we'll be here for you," Rarity tells Fluttershy.

8: At a later time, Pinkie pie, without much thought, pushes Fluttershy into High Note. Both are shocked, and Fluttershy is as red a tomato. "Are you alright, miss?" asks Note. She nods, walks away a little, then runs.

9: Now the two are too embarrassed to look at each other even far away. Rarity sees how they're kind of a lost cause. Being the romantic she is, and wants her friends at least to have the chance of relationship.

10: She takes matters into her own hooves. At least a little bit. Rarity plans a little singer's get together and invites them both. Before she does though, she visits Fluttershy to make sure if she's really okay with going. Rarity won't force her, but will hype her up if she needs to. Rarity explains that it will be a cozy little get together, with not many ponies she doesn't know. Fluttershy hesitantly agrees.

11: The two go together, and Rarity helped get Flutters a little dressed up. She was also there to make sure she would go and to comfort her if she wasn't feeling up to it. Fluttershy is incredibly nervous the whole walk there. Rarity tries her best to put Flutters mind at ease. When they get there, there's the Pony Tones (who Fluttershy is comfortable with), and only a few other ponies. The two friends greet some of the ponies then Fluttershy becomes full of nerves, once she spots High Note over near the wall, being friendly to whoever comes his way.

12: Rarity gently nudges her over there, and Fluttershy goes and starts talking to him. He's a little surprised, but is friendly and happy. He starts with the talking, since this is a singer's gathering they talk about singing. She mentions that she went to some of his performances, and how impressed she was. She could never do something like that. Note is flattered by this, and tells her how he can go on stage even though he's actually quite a shy pony. They then start geeking out about musical performances they love, and how they love to sing and watch singing and dancing.

13: The two have really hit it off, and Rarity is happy to see it. They talked for the longest time. Later into the event Rarity joins them, they seem so happy and excited. They then finally introduce their names to each other. They now have actually met and enjoy each other's company. One of two asks if they would like to hang out some other time, overjoyed the other accepts.

14: Fluttershy and High Note's first date. The two weren't in a public place, to have more privacy. Fluttershy's friends were watching from afar for safety reasons. The mane 6 are all pretty protective of Fluttershy. They have a great time just talking again, and go on more dates.

15: The couple go on very quiet dates, which at first they thought were platonic. They are very honest with each other, and find out they both like each other. They now go on even more dates, being picnics and such, all being far away from the generally public.

16: The couple opening up more and more. Note being a little more loud and enthusiastic, he sings all the time. Fluttershy shows her snarky side. I love whenever she is sarcastic in the show. They have become incredibly comfortable with one another but still have boundaries that they respect.

17: They take it very slow for physical affection. They love each other very much and want to make sure the other is happy, so they had their first kiss deep into their relationship. They still prefer nose kisses and cuddles. They just don't kiss on the lips very much, they love on the check and forehead and such. These two are just very cute. They are both are the asexual spectrum, so they prefer cuddling and kisses over anything else.

18: These two love each other very much, and have a strong bond of trust and communication. Little sweethearts these two. They were actually one of the first of the mane 6 to get married and settle down. They had a small nature themed wedding, with only friends and close family members. Some animals were there also of course! They both wore cute flower crowns, and Note might've also wore a dress.

I once again was regretting my decisions by making such a long post again. I love how this one turned out though! The colors are so pretty, and it's all overall so soft!! I feel this is definitely a step up from the last one in quality.

#mlp #my little pony #mlp next gen #Cloud_verse #my art #ParentBios #fluttershy #highnote #flutternote #mlp shipping #mlp ship art #mlp ng #mlp fim

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prof-peach · 3 years

Note

:0 I've never seen the other Pokemon on your team, what are they like?

My perma-team is a vulpix, Valka, a 20+ year old heavy hitter, despite her small stature. She was my very first pokemon, through gritted teeth we bonded, and now I fondly refer to her as my shadow. I go no where without her. She puts everyone who resides on the island in their place with unnerving strength. like literally any comic she's somewhere in the background, if not underfoot. Not hard to find more art of her, she is quite menacing.

Then we have Booker, Teddiursa, silly old grumpy bear. He had a hard time with poachers when he was real young, and imprinted on me during my ranger days many years ago now. He doesn't want to evolve, wears an everstone bead on his tail. He's partially blind on one side but we hiked to a colony of Machop and trained with them in the mountains for months to help him regain balance and confidence! He seems grouchy but is actually sweet.

Then we got Minerva, a shiny lopunny i nabbed at an airport when i was quite young, from a bad breeder. she was a scabby weedy flea infested runt when we first met, hardly the pink colour you'd usually expect from her type. She is fierce and fearless, will jump head first into anything with confidence and style. Loves to dress up, steals a lot of my nicer clothes. Will smash you into bits if you cross her, a total diva and i'd change nothing.

you've no doubt recently noticed the posts about Boadicea, a CharizardXGarchomp hybrid who's the baby of the group. Needy, clingy, total idiot, lap pokemon despite her ridiculous size. Very fast mount for flying.

For ground travel i use a dear Stantler called Donut, he's rather docile if you're not a problem to his "herd", with a neck so thick and strong you can hold onto his antlers and be lifted with ease. He's very chill.

We got a delivery Noctowl whos been around the block with me a few times too, lil guys really friendly, no real name for him, we all just call him 'Fancy pants' or 'dude'. hes got fancy eyebrows.

Of course not forgetting Quintin, a Scizor, my first egg hatch ever, been with me since i was a real youngster, a gentle soft sweet boy with a heart of gold, and collectively about 4 braincells. We all adore him.

then theres the house pokemon, each of these has blurb in the blog somewhere, they're all rather naughty... except Bob and Rosco. They're a delight.

uhhh lets see, this rat is always under my feet.

And then theres the pokemon who are out and about. the team mates who do jobs around the island, usually maintaining the peace.

Theres also 3 Bronzong that hang about the island,

Some notable partners from my various travels and adventures would iniclude

Dutch - Porygon-Z (helps around the lab, very loving, bit mad)

Typhlosion - Propane (odd markings, a spicy meatball)

Grimm - Steelix (real docile, very into scratches)

Riot - Lycanroc/midnight (Fiery, naughty, likes to thrash)

Suneater - Golisopod (shy, kind and very smart, loves to be alone)

Jewel - Ribombee (mean tempered! fussy)

Wotsit - Vikavolt (real clingy and super curious, to a fault)

Hemlock - Heracross - (a total babe, really protective and jolly)

Potato - -Bulbasaur (strict but fair, very old)

Murdoc - Crobat (timid in the light, proud of his speed)

Sugar - Tyranitar (Soft baby lady, total gentle giant)

Summer - Meganium (variant lady, gentle, calming aura, healer)

Tobi - Dreadnaw (rare water type for me, he's always sleeping)

Moss - Stonjourner (covered in moss, aptitude for grass attacks)

Zeplin - Aerodactyl (old battle maiden, now retired to the mountains)

Madam - Eldegoss - (will try to poison you, shiny, total nuisance)

I must admit, i often am one to release pokemon back to the wild, but the ones mentioned here are pokemon who have had the option to leave, and have chosen to stick around (apart from Madam who is a liability if left to go free), at least for now. We've been on many adventures together, and now work side by side managing the island. I have yet to draw them all but theres at least some visuals here for you. This also doesn't include pokemon who are residents at the lab and its facilities, who like our company but are not technically registered to myself or any of the staff. We breed all kinds of grass types, and they're all pretty friendly give or take, so if we have a certain job that needs more hands, we can call upon the residents who suit the work. Many of them have been through treatment or rehab with us, and we've built up a relationship with them, enough to work well together.

#long post #prof.peach #pokemon #peach talks #the island bunch

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dreamescapeswriting · 3 years

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Rent An Oppa ~ HHJ [Request]

WORD COUNT: 4.5K

PAIRING: Hyunjin x Reader

GENRE: non idol AU, strangers to lovers, rent an oppa, fluffy, a little angst but nothing too major, pining for one another, first kiss,

A/N: I made this one a fluffy one without smut hunny, I hope that this is okay hunny

Moving to South Korea was one of the best decisions you'd ever made. It had been your dream for years to move somewhere that wasn’t where you were from. You’d finally made it happen, you were here. Sitting in your new apartment staring out at all of the sights that you could see. The apartment you’d gotten was a loft apartment which was something you’d never thought of having before, but it was perfect. The ground floor was open plan, besides the bathroom of course and you had large floor to ceiling windows that looked out at the city of Seoul. Your bedroom was just up a flight of stairs and it looked out at the ground floor, it was unbelievably perfect for your first home in Seoul. There was only one thing wrong with everything and that was that you didn’t know your way around. Sure there were maps and people you could ask for help but you wanted a tour guide.

You’d seen an app being advertised on your plane ride over which you were tempted to use. “Rent an Oppa.” It sounded like it was straight out of a K-Drama but it was real and monitored wonderfully. Everyone had a screening test, background test and everything is done before they were allowed to become an “Oppa” for the app.

“Let’s see what this is then,” You mumbled to yourself as you sat down on your sofa, pulling your knees up to your chest as you began to scroll through the app. Everyone had profiles set up with verification photos to prove that they were who they said they were, then there were some small descriptions about the boys or girls there.

Endlessly scrolling and swiping through profiles you couldn’t find anyone you thought you would get along well with. You wanted someone that you had things in common with, if you were going to be paying them for their time you might as well do something you both enjoy doing it.

About to give up hope and go at it alone a profile popped up. A new profile that caught your eye. The photo was of a boy around 21-years-old standing on top of a rooftop, dressed in a smart shirt and tie aiming a camera at whoever was taking the photo of him. Photography-nut was written in his profile making you giggle a little as you flicked through his images. In each of them, it began to reveal his face and mid-length blonde hair. He looked as though he was really sweet and kind, the kind of boy you took to meet your parents.

“Hyunjin,” You smiled as you said his name, swiping onto his profile to see what rates he was charging. It wasn’t expensive and just in your budget range so you messaged him. There was no harm in seeing if he was free that day.

[12:03] Y/n:

Hi there, I’m not entirely sure how this thing works 😅😅 but could we arrange a meetup? I’m new in Seoul and need a tour guide 🥰

Staring at the phone you debated with yourself if that was the right way to start a conversation with someone on the app. There was no tutorial on how to message them or if you had to wait for them to message you first.

[12:07] Hyunjin 🍀

Hey! I would love to arrange a meetup. I can meet you anywhere you feel comfortable! Welcome to Seoul! 💞🌺

Smiling to yourself you gave him the address to the shop right beside your apartment building. It was the only play you really knew so far and you wanted to meet him somewhere you knew the exact location of. Rather than wandering around lost trying to find somewhere to meet him you didn’t know yet.

Dressed in a long-sleeved Beige shirt-dress and some black leggings you waited outside the shop, acting as though you were busy on your phone so you didn’t look as though you were staring out for Hyunjin. It was already going to be awkward enough without you looking around gormlessly for him.

“Hey,” A voice called out making you jump a little as you looked up from your phone to see him. He was identical to his photos though his hair was a little longer now.

“Hi, I’m Y/n.” You shook his hand and he smiled nodding his head,

“I’m Hyunjin and I know this is probably going to be awkward for a while so I hope we can become friends throughout it,” He smiled as he let go of your hand. This time you looked at him you took in his whole appearance, he was wearing a black and white striped turtle neck and some black jeans.

“I’m new to the app so we’re both doing firsts here,” He smiled as he looked around you both, taking in everything around him as he tried to figure out what you could do for the day.

“It’s still quite early in the afternoon...I can show you around, show you all of the shops, shopping mall and just around Seoul itself if you like?” You were completely taken by his voice, appearance and how sweet he was being with you.

“I would love that, the only place I know is the shop and my apartment.” You laughed weakly as he nodded his head.

“Would you mind if I linked our arms?” You shook your head and you linked arms with one another as he began to lead you down the road.

“So what brings you to Seoul?” He questioned as he tried to break the ice. It was nice that he was trying, you had rented him for the rest of the day and you were going to have to get to know each other.

“I fancied a change in pace. I’ve always loved South Korea and the culture,” You admitted as your eyes glanced around at all of the people you were pacing. Everyone in their own worlds as they went about their daily lives. Each person you saw looked as though they had been plucked out of a fashion magazine, their outfits were so effortless yet stood out in the large crowds.

“When did you get here?” He asked as he waited at the side of the road for lights to change and you could cross without being in any kind of danger.

“About two days ago...I’ve been locked up in my apartment eating Ramen. I was so worried I’d get lost.” You groaned thinking back on it while Hyunjin laughed a little, shaking his head.

“I’ll add a shopping trip on our list of things to do. I can’t have you living off only ramen.” He chuckled and your whole heart seemed to swell up when you saw the smile on his face. It was honestly one of the prettiest smiles you’d seen and his dimples were so deep you wanted to reach up and poke them. But you didn’t.

The rules of the app were very simple. No inappropriate touching, no exchange of social media or phone numbers. Once the dates were over that was it unless you rented another one but only through the app.

“I should take you to see Cheonggyecheon River, a small walk down and we’ll be at the nicest cafes,” Hyunjin explained as he seemed to be enjoying this almost as much as you were,

“So why did you join the app?” You questioned as you looked at him, it had been a question on your mind since seeing him on the app.

“I needed the extra cash for art supplies...I’m studying at the moment so this seemed to be the perfect side job.” He explained as he began heading down some stairs towards a small river that ran through the city.

“Cheonggyecheon River,” You whispered as you looked around, it had only been something you’d seen in photos but now it was real.

“So you do art?” You questioned as you went back to looking up at Hyunjin while you walked.

“Yeah. I try to, I’m learning to draw, I thought it would be fun.” You smiled wanting to know more about it.

“Do you have any pictures?” He nodded as he sat down on an empty bench with you, pulling out his phone to show you photos of the drawings he’d been doing in his spare time.

“These are amazing! You did these?” You were truly shocked to see someone who was just learning to draw create amazing pieces as he had done. Some were anime characters, others were drawings of himself and another was a drawing of a dog.

“This is my favourite,” You told him as you looked at the Chihuhaha drawing he’d done,

“My little Kkami, I missed him so I drew him from a photo.” You smiled at the drawing again,

“Do you not get to see him much?” He shook his head as he looked out at the water.

“I live in a dorm with seven guys who are studying, Kkami is at home with my family.” Your heart clenched at the thought of him not getting to see his dog much,

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head at you, you had nothing to be sorry for.

“Don’t be, it makes the time I have with him all the more special. Shall we start to go?” You nodded getting up from the bench once more and heading in the direction he was leading you in.

The two of you had gotten to know each other more on your walk over to the supermarket, getting to know about him and all his roommates that seemed adventurous.

“Felix came here at 2 am once just to get baking ingredients.” He laughed as he pushed the trolley around the store, adding things he thought you would enjoy as well as ingredients to make Kimchi with.

“Why was he baking at 2 in the morning?” You laughed adding some pasta products into the trolley, looking around at everything in shock. It was so much larger than any other supermarket you had been in and it was empty. Hardly anyone besides you and Hyunjin was around and there was soft music playing through some speakers.

“It’s Felix, who knows why he does what he does,” He laughed as he watched you. You were standing in front of ramen packets and he smirked a little,

“You could get the cups. They’ll be better for you and cheaper in price.” Thanking him you added a bunch into the trolley and smiled a little,

“Noodles are the only thing I can successfully cook.” You chuckled while Hyunjin shook his head at you,

“I need to give you cooking lessons but we’re almost out of the day...I can send you some cooking books if you like.” The thought of the day almost being over made you sad to think you’d never see him again.

“I could book you for another day? I would love to learn to cook from someone who’s lived here their whole life,” Yes. That was the reason. Totally not because every time he smiled or laughed your heart fluttered. Hyunjin’s heart seemed to flutter at the thought of getting to meet you again, although he was getting paid to hang out with you it didn’t feel forced. It felt natural to be around you as though he had known you for years and he couldn’t wait to do it all over again.

“Sure! We should get some ingredients to cook with tomorrow. Your Kimchi will stay good for three to six months if you keep it in the fridge and once you know-how. You’re pretty much great for everything,” You smiled before nodding. Both of you grabbing more and more ingredients for recipes you could freeze and add to the freezer.

Laying in bed that night you couldn’t help but smile to yourself at the day you had. Hyunjin bought you home in a cab, helping you in with the bags before he helped you put everything away. You’d already paid him before he got home and booked another day together but none of it felt like a job or obligation to either of you. Hyunjin went home with a giant smile on his face having enjoyed the day much more than he had expected to.

“I told you that you’d have fun,” Chan said as he walked into the kitchen later that night to see Hyunjin couldn’t stop smiling.

“I had a lot, she’s amazing Hyung.” He explained as he began to pour himself some hot chocolate and get ready for a few hours of studying before bed.

“Just don’t get attached. The rules were simple Hyunjin.” He nodded as he headed back to his dorm room to find Felix sitting there waiting for everything that had happened that day.

“Felix made cookies.” Was the first thing Hyunjin said to you as you opened the door to see him standing there. Today he was wearing a white t-shirt, a grey jacket and some shorts. It was the hottest day of the year.

“His famous ones?!” You asked a little too excitedly as you saw the Tupperware box filled to the brim with cookies all of different shapes and sizes.

“He was baking last night and he thought I could share them.” It was a lie. Hyunjin had practically begged Felix to bake you some the night before. He’d told you so much about them and he’d seen the look on your face when he mentioned them. He wanted you to try them.

“Tell him I said thanks,” You hummed as bit down into one of the cookies, instantly rolling your head back at the taste of them.

"He could run his own bakery, oh my goodness," Hyunjin smiled as he walked into the kitchen pulling out an apron he'd brought from the dorms and getting ready to help you cook.

"We'll start with the Kimchi, it'll be the best thing to start with and then whatever you're planning for your dinner." You nodded at him, finishing off the cookie before you washed up and pulled on an apron you'd gotten from the store yesterday.

While you were chopping and washing up the ingredients Hyunjin was telling you everything you needed to do.

"You know you should be a chef...Or give out cooking classes." You told him as you began adding all of the ingredients together.

"I would give you five stars," He laughed softly as he looked at you,

"Like a Michelin chef?" You nodded at him as you continued to add everything together. Hyunjin laughing a little as he began to stir some of the stew he'd been making, scooping some up for you.

"You've reached the peak of taste, you'll never go back to normal food I promise." He laughed as you hummed at the taste of the stew.

"You'll have to take some home with you, there's no way I'll eat all this to myself." You mentioned as you stared at the huge stew pot he was cooking with.

"I'm sure the guys would love it," Hyunjin said before adding a little more spice to the stew and leaving it.

The two of you camped out on your sofa for hours just spending time getting to know one another. He told you all about his life at the dorms while you told him about life back at home.

"Do you miss it?" He asked as he bit into one of the cookies and looked at you,

"Sometimes. I miss the people more than the place but it's home." You frowned thinking back on your time, it wasn't as though you were never going to go back again, but this was your life now.

"I suppose that's how it is with many people." He smiled weakly putting down his plate and looking at the time, he only had an hour left with you before he had to head home for the night.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" You shrugged your shoulders as you thought about it. Nothing was planned for at least a month, your job was waiting for some final paperwork to be done.

"Nothing that I know of,"

"Do you want to go to Seoul Tower, it's one of the best tourist spots. I think you'll enjoy it there," You smiled while nodding your head, wanting to spend all of the time in the world with Hyunjin. For as long as you could at least.

"Sure!" You smiled at him before going over to the stew to get everything put into smaller tubs for him to take home. The subject of payment was growing closer and neither of you wanted to feel awkward about talking about it again.

"Hyunjin. You're growing attached," Chan warned as soon as Hyunjin stepped through the door that night. All eight of the boys were on the app to earn some extra cash and for them, it had been routine days out. A cafe, a shopping spree here and there but that was it. None of them ever spent so much time getting to know their clients or even cook with them.

"I'm not. She's just being a nice friend Hyung," He complained as he placed the stew down onto the counter. Calling out to the boys that there was food if anybody was hungry for it.

"She's a client Hyunjin. Nothing more." He rolled his eyes as he listened to Chan bring up the subject of the rules again.

"No exchanging numbers, social media or inappropriate touching. I know Hyung, Gosh what do you think we're doing? Fucking in some park?" He grumbled taking a cookie and heading for his bedroom. He didn't want to hear the same speech over and over again reminding him that he couldn't have you the way that he wanted. There were feelings growing between you and he knew he was never going to be able to act on them and it killed him inside.

The days you spent together began to grow more and more and you forgot that this wasn't just friends hanging out together. That you were paying him for spending time with you. That was until the end of the night when you would wire transfer him the cash when he left leaving you both feeling awkward the next morning. Only for that to fade whenever you got on with the day that you had planned together. You'd seen almost every tourist attraction there. Hyunjin took you to Nami Island, ice cream dates, cafe dates, Seoul Tower and today you were going to Gyeongbokgung Palace.

"Everything okay? You seem quiet." He chuckled as you waited in line together to get tickets for the palace. Your eyes wandered up to him as you smiled weakly.

"Fine...I just can't wait to get in there." You lied not wanting to make anything between you more awkward than it had to be.

The palace was beautiful and filled with history Hyunjin couldn't wait to tell you about it. Explaining everything and tell you all of the facts he knew about the palace.

"Did you come here a lot?" You asked as you both sat down on some grass patches by one of the lakes. He'd brought along a picnic basket and a blanket for the two of you. The basket was filled with food he’d cooked and baked goods Felix had been forced to make once again,

“When I was a kid. I love history so I used to beg mum into taking me.” He laughed as he remembered all of the weekends he would spend there, learning about everything that he could.

“That’s amazing,” You smiled as he held up a spoon to your lips, spoon-feeding you some yoghurt he had bought along with him. You hummed letting him feed you when you looked around at different people around you. Lots of couples were doing the same thing as you both. Sitting together on the grass as they fed one another.

“Hey I was-” Hyunjin stopped speaking when you turned to look at him, neither of you realising how close you were to one another until your lips almost touched. Neither of you moved. You just stared at him, eyes flicking from his lips to his mouth your whole body aching to lean in and kiss him. But you didn’t. You sat there looking at him as he looked at you.

No one would have to know, he could just lean down and kiss you right now and no one would know about it. It wasn’t as though there were guards on the apps that tracked their every move. Placing down the spoon he looked at you, scooting closer to you as he watched to see if your facial expression changed at all. His right hand slowly rose to your face and he cupped your face in his hand, running his thumb along your bottom lip as you let out a small whimper.

“If I do this, there’s no going back.” You shrugged your shoulder. You didn’t want to go back. You wanted his lips on yours, you didn’t care about anything else.

Hyunjin pressed his lips against yours and instantly it was sweet yet filled with passion, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck as you kissed him back. Lips moving in sync with one another as he pulled you closer to him. The world around you faded away as you made out on the small patch of grass together, forgetting that he was paid to be there and you were renting him for the day. None of that mattered when you felt the way you did. Your whole body prickling with tingles as he kissed you. Lips parting and tongues touching. Everything around you was gone. All you cared about was this moment.

After taking you home Hyunjin came in to have hot chocolate with you, well over his intended time limit and continued to kiss you. Cuddle you. Only making you yearn for him to stay longer but he had to go home. He had classes the next day.

“I don’t know when I’ll see you again,” You admitted as you stood by the front door of your apartment. Neither of you moving as you stared up at him. It was your last week before work and you could no longer afford to pay him. Though the subjects of paying for dates had gotten too weird for you and Hyunjin to talk about.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other around,” He sighed knowing he couldn’t give you his number or any way of contacting him outside of the app. He’d hoped he’d told you enough about his personal life for you to accidentally bump into one another somewhere.

“Hyunjin I think-” He kissed you softly not wanting you to finish the sentence. He was getting feelings for you too but admitting them out loud would make him stay and he couldn’t.

“I will see you around,” He whispered putting an emphasis on the “will” before he leant down to kiss you one last time. His hands on your waist as he smiled against your lips, pulling away and leaving you alone.

Weeks passed by and Hyunjin saw no sign of you in any of the spots he had told you about, he even made an effort to walk by your apartment building every night home from classes but there was no sign of you.

“You’ve been so weird lately. Why haven’t you been going to see Y/n?” Felix grumbled as he rolled over in bed one night to see Hyunjin laying wide awake at almost 1 am. Just sitting there and staring at the top of the bunk bed he was under.

“I can’t...I have feelings for her and I didn’t want to keep taking her money.” Crawling down from the top bunk Felix came to see Hyunjin. He was fully dressed and staring at the ceiling still.

“It’s creepy. Stop staring like that. Just go and “accidentally” bump into her...What’s the problem?” Hyunjin sat up and shook his head,

“You don’t think I’ve been trying that? I’ve been walking by her apartment building almost every night. Sitting in cafes...Maybe I was reading into it wrong.” Hyunjin’s phone flashed up and he darted toward it only to see it was an email from the Rent an Oppa app telling him that his account was deactivated.

“You quit?”

“I didn’t want to do it anymore.” He mumbled before getting up from the bed and grabbing a jacket,

“Where are you going? It’s almost 1:30?” Hyunjin said nothing as he left the bedroom.

The account was gone and all that was left was a stupid message telling you that Hyunjin has left the account. Staring down at your phone you hated yourself for not messaging him sooner to arrange something. You had to see him again. For the last two weeks, you had been going to what he said was his favourite cafe and waiting for him. You’d do the paperwork for work there, read books. You’d been in there so much the owner knew you by name.

“I’ll make you some goodnight tea,” The elderly owner whispered as she walked over to your table. They were open 24 hours which was nice at times like this when you couldn’t get to sleep.

“Thank you,” You whispered as you went back to looking through the paperwork you had to finish. The job wasn’t what you expected it to be so you were trying to file paperwork whilst look for something else to do there.

“Nightcap for you too?” The elderly woman called out to someone who had just walked through the door. Frowning to yourself you glanced up to see a hoodied boy walk through the shop and stand at the counter.

“You’re not alone tonight. Someone else who can’t sleep,” The hoodied boy began to turn and as soon as you locked eyes your heart lept to your throat.

“Hyunjin?” You whispered to yourself as he began heading over to your table, eyes wide as he saw you sitting there.

“Fancy meeting you here,” He laughed as he sat down beside you, both of you just as happy to see each other.

“I-I’ve been coming here almost every day,” You admitted as he looked at you, hands finding yours and holding onto them as tightly as he could. He never would have thought you would come here, he’d only mentioned it once and how much it meant to him.

“I only told you about this place once,”

“I could see how much it meant to you...I thought I might catch you here and then we could...Go on a normal date.” He let out a breathy chuckle as he nodded his head.

“Sounds good to me. I’m paying.” He told you as he kissed your lips softly. All of a sudden all of those weeks away from one another melted into nothingness. It was just the two of you together once again giving you the freedom to date, exchange numbers and hang out without some pesky app or their rules in the way.

Tagline: @minholuvs @taestannie @sw33tnight @acciocriativity @mwitsmejk @taeechwitaa @justbangtanthingz @stillwithlix

#skz #skz x reader #skz x you #skz imagine #skz imagines #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin imagine #hwang hyunjin imagines

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

HC: They see MC’s sketchbook!

Art. It’s a private thing. Showing someone your work is akin to showing them a piece of your soul, an insight into who you are and everything that lies within. So when the Obey Me! boys get a glimpse of your sketchbook, they find themselves wanting for more—and all in different ways.

Word Count: 6.0k

*Mild NSFW themes for Asmo & Diavolo

Characters: All Brothers + All Undateables + Luke

MASTERLIST

Lucifer

At the beginning of the year, there is 0 trust between the two of you

Not only has he actively tried to kill you, but he’s already so suspicious of the pacts you’re making with his brothers that he can’t help but be wary every time you cross paths

So when he realizes that you’re always absentmindedly scribbling in a notepad every time you interact, he’s more than a little perturbed by it

100% thinks you’re secretly taking notes on his and his brothers’ behavior to use it against them

So, obviously, when he next sees you using it in his presence, he wastes no time in snatching the notebook from your hands

“Oh hey, Lucif—what are you doing?!”

“Nothing you should be concerned with, human.”

“That’s my sketchbook you’re holding!”

“Sketchbook?”

Instantly flips it open and sure enough, inside there’s nothing but doodles and sketches

luci.is.confuzzled.exe

He’s still convinced that there must be something incriminating in the book, so he continues flipping through it. But the more he sees, the more he realizes how wrong he is

It’s only when he flips to the section with his family that he begins to feel guilty

In the beginning, you just draw basic poses. Mammon, glancing at you over his shoulder. Asmo, posing for a camera. Beel, about to bite down on a hamburger.

But the further he goes, the more elaborate the sketches get, and as he flips through the pages, he can feel the amount of work that has gone into each piece

And then he gets to the page where you drew him

Keep it lowkey, but he thinks his heart stopped for a second

He stares at the picture and wonders if that’s what you see every time he shifts into his demon form, because for the first time since his fall, he can’t help but think about how beautiful he looks. Everything looks so right in your art style, from the diamond on his forehead to the way his wings flutter out of his back.

It’s perfection

“I’m confiscating this,” He says quickly, not looking you in the eye.

He then escapes the room faster than you’ve ever seen, and never speaks of the incident again to you

But roughly a week later, you find a small red book on your pillow, and you know that it's a sketchbook from him, to replace the one he took

And even later—after the two of you grow close—you find your old sketchbook stored in his most secure drawer, locked away with a key he keeps hidden. And you know that he’s spent hours looking through the book on rough nights, through the doodles of him and his brothers and everything else you’ve ever drawn

And though he’s too proud to admit it, you know he loves your art

Mammon

He found it when he was going through your stuff, absentmindedly checking to see if you had any valuables on you

And the moment he flipped open to see your little notebook of doodles, his mind went B I N G O

He loves your art the second he sees it, spending a whole hour just sitting on your bedroom floor, flipping through the pages

Adores everything about your art style

And when he starts to see the little doodles you do of his brothers, he’s even more enraptured

You draw all the things he’s imagined but never seen: a sketch of Lucifer dressed in a onesie, snuggling a giant teddy bear. Beel, using a sleeping Belphie as a food tray for a pile of snacks as large as the sixth-born himself. Asmo with cat ears, being chased by Solomon, who appears to be a wolf.

And yet, there are no pictures of Mammon

Man is hurt by the fact that you’ve drawn all his brothers but not him. He’s your first man, after all. You should have been the first person he drew!

Gets a bit upset about it and throws your sketchbook back into the drawer he found it in, stomping back to his room with childlike indignation

Is just a bit petty about it afterward

“Hey, Mammon, can you walk me to school? Class starts in half an hour.”

“Huh? Oh, so now ya want me to do it, huh? Well, why don’t you ask Asmo instead?”

“Okay? I will???”

Soon everyone in the house has realized that Mammon’s being a bit off, and while it was nice at first to have peace and quiet from the resident troublemaker, you guys grow concerned pretty quick

And eventually, you go to his room to talk things out

Let’s just say that when you found out he’d been going through your stuff, you were not pleased. But seeing that he wasn’t going to be the mature one, you sucked it up and whacked the demon on the back of his head, telling him to “wait a second” while you went to “get something”

Cue the retrieval of your second sketchbook

And when Mammon sees it, he’s not sure what he feels more of: guilt or happiness

Every single page in this second notebook is of him. Only a few are colored, but Mammon finds himself enraptured by even the casual doodles in the corners, where he’s doing little things like eating a banana or flashing the viewer a few Grimm

Man is touched. He’s never had anyone do this for him, and certainly not out of their own volition. So suffice it to say that when he tackled you for a hug that night, he didn’t let you go for a long time

And maybe some other stuff happened too. Who knows? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Leviathan

TSL

The second Levi sees you sketching in your artbook (after an incoherent stumble of words which you assume are synonymous with praise), the only phrase coming out of this man’s mouth is TSL

Begins begging you to draw fanart of the Shadow Lord, asking you to sketch him in different outfits, draw him in different poses, put him in various backgrounds, etc.

Basically wants you to bring his imagination to life

“Oh! Oh! Can you draw him baking a cake now? Wouldn’t that be so cool?!”

Absolutely does the wwooooooOOOOOAAAHAHHHHHHH sound effect every single time you show him your work, even if you’ve only made minor changes from the last time you showed him

He takes you on a spending spree, pulling up Akuzon and offering to pay for whatever supplies you want if you’ll just make him a super fancy poster

And so you start

It actually gets to be a pretty good way to grow closer: every day, after school, you head up to Levi’s room to work on the poster he asked you to make him. In exchange, he lets you borrow his manga and you guys watch anime together

Eventually, boi gets the idea of throwing Ruri-chan into the poster, and the second he thinks it he won’t shut up about it

“Oh, come on! You can do it—look, just put her in this little corner right here!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Levi?! Ruri-chan and the Shadow Lord are two completely different characters who are meant to be drawn in completely different art styles! If I mush Ruri-chan into the corner, it’ll ruin the poster’s dynamic!”

“But pleeeeeaaaassseeeee?”

Cue extra pouty Levi

Eventually, you agree to make a separate drawing of Ruri-chan for Levi to hang up next to the poster, because you think that otherwise, he’ll go crazy

When the date rolls around where you’re almost done with everything, Levi formally sends out an invitation to everyone of importance

Man invites everyone from Luke to Diavolo over for the “revealing ceremony” where he plans to hang the poster on his wall

Actually tried to get the demon king to come as well, but Lucifer stopped him before he could get an invitation out

When everyone sees what you’ve been working on for so many weeks, they’re all MEGA impressed because hello??? they did not know you were this skilled???

It quickly turns into a competition, with each one of them trying to outdo each other with how vigorously they can compliment you

And soon enough you find yourself swamped with requests from every other demon in the room, begging you to make them something as elaborate as you did Levi

Satan

It’s a system you guys have set up, where every Tuesday and Thursday night, you’ll sit in the common room on the couch facing each other and will simply open your books to do what you will

You always draw, and Satan always reads

And neither will bother the other until the grandfather clock chimes twelve times, whereupon you both bid each other goodnight and wait for the next session where you do it all over

Except for today, that is

“What are you drawing?”

Ah, there it is

The one question you were hoping Satan would never ask

You subtly (incredibly awkwardly) change the subject, commenting on the color of Satan’s jacket to distract him from his inquiry, and he picks up on the hint, quietly huffing as he turns back to his book

But the mild irritation he feels doesn’t let him fully delve back into the realm of the nonfiction novel he was reading, so he’s more than a little distracted as he goes back to reading about human anthropology

And it’s in this state of distraction that he notices the little glances you’re stealing every so often, before returning to your sketchpad

Yeah, it doesn’t take long for Satan to put two and two together

“Are you drawing me?”

An incredulous question, asked in such an offending tone

He sounds so irate by the fact that you can’t help but helplessly deny it, muttering something about drawing plants and flowers instead

But Satan doesn’t believe it, and in an instant he’s standing behind you, staring at the sketch in your hands which has oh-so-beautifully captured the essence of him on the couch, engrossed in a book with the light from the flames in the fireplace flickering gently against his skin

The anger at being drawn without having agreed to it quickly melts into a quiet awe for your skill

“Can I see your other drawings?” He asks gently, no longer irritated but actually impressed

“I-I’m not sure if you’ll want to—”

“Nonsense. Show me.”

And so you do

You hand him the sketchbook, avoiding his eyes as he flips to the very first page—and imagine his surprise when he sees that even that is a sketch of his face, though the artwork is significantly less advanced than the piece he just saw. Satan flips to the next page, and then the next, and the next, and sure enough: they’re all of him

“I-I just needed a model to practice my artwork on,” You mumble, gaze fixated on the couch. “And you were right there, so I couldn’t resist...and then I needed a model again. And again. And you were always there, and I know I never asked, but I’m sorry, and if you don’t want me to, I won’t—“

“Nonsense,” Satan murmurs, pressing a finger to your lips. His smile has never looked as sincere as it looks now, his gaze flickering back and forth between your face and the sketchbook in his hands

“I’ll be your model, if you so desire it. Just tell me how you want me to sit.”

Asmodeus

Your model for everything

You’re trying to draw the Hulk and you a good frame of reference? And you need a really muscular model? And Beel ABSOLUTELY fits the bill?

Yeah no, Asmo’s your model

You want to draw a child? Someone small and short, roughly the exact same height as Luke (who is an ANGEL and would absolutely help you)? Yeah no, Asmo’s still going to be your model.

Want a cute guy? Asmo. Cute girl? Asmo. Cute animal? Still Asmo.

Man refuses to leave you alone - the second he learns that you’re an artist he insists on gracing your work with the holy sight of his body

Highkey wants to model nude

And you’d be lying if you said that he was a bad model—man can hold a pose for hours without moving even a little, his only fault is that he talks incessantly—but you can easily quiet him by saying that you’re drawing his lips - and the moment you do so, he’s suddenly he’s stiller than a statue, doing his absolute best to remain frozen so that you can capture his perfection

Boi posts 100% of your content on his Devilgram, and while you were hesitant about it at first, now you’re just used to it

Thanks to him, you’re a lowkey celebrity

Like demons love your art style

It’s apparently very refreshing and human-like as compared to the dark and dreary art found in the Devildom, so people go wild over Asmo’s Devilgram page for it

Man thinks that they’d go even more wild if you drew something where he modeled nude

In fact, it’s lowkey a business deal that the two of you have - you allow Asmo to post your work on his Devilgram (giving credit to you, of course), and in exchange he pays for all your art supplies, acts as your model (though that’s really more of him wanting to than it being your choice), and even goes as far as to keep Mammon apart from you while you work, insisting that you need “privacy” and “quiet” while you draw

100% acts like he isn’t even more chatty than Mammon when given the chance

On the bright side, it’s thanks to these weekly art sessions where you draw and Asmo models and talks that you’re always up to date on the latest gossip. You’re 100% caught up with the fact that Zahhak just found out he has another illegitimate son and that Baphomet just liked Rusalka’s post from fourteen centuries ago

So yeah, the two of you have a mutually beneficial relationship

Asmodeus still insists that one thing would make it better though: him modeling nude

But Asmo is a sweetheart about everything, and he goes out of his way to pamper you

Specifically, your hands—after all, those are what work your artistic magic!

Expect him to always be peppering your dominant hand with kisses, massaging it whenever you look tired, giving you weekly manicures completely free of charge, all out of the goodness of Asmo’s heart

*ahem* and weekly requests to model nude

Beelzebub

a m a z e m e n t

Boi is entranced

Like, he’s so mesmerized by your art that he’s not even paying attention to the food sitting right in front of him, simply opting to stare more intently at the drawing you’re holding up so eagerly

It’s quite beautiful, really: The seven demon brothers surrounding you, a reworking of a photograph Lucifer took a few months ago but in your art style. And for that last fact, Beel thinks he likes this version better

“Wow,” He finally manages to say, still too impressed to really think of anything else

He lets his brothers shower you in praise and compliments, silently nodding along and agreeing with every plaudit they thrust your way

But the moment you’re alone, expect to be scooped into his arms and carried to his room

Boi instantly wants to know the process

When do you draw? How long does it take? Where do you do it? How are you getting your supplies? Who pays?

It’s not so much the physical process he’s interested in, but rather the nuances of art that make your work look so you. He’s not interested in learning for the sake of doing, but simply for the sake of understanding because he already appreciates your art so much

Absolutely invites you to his room to have you show him the art process the next time you start working on a piece

And after the first time, then, he invites you back a second - then a third - and then the two of you have settled into a routine where after school, you come to his room and pencil away in your sketchpad, with Beel watching in the background, munching on snacks

It’s quite relaxing for him, actually

He likes watching as you bring a piece together, going over previously flat areas with a second layer of shading to make certain elements pop—and even if he doesn’t completely understand what you’re doing, he’s entirely willing to learn, listening peacefully as you explain what the various tools do

By the end of the month, man has actually memorized all the names of your supplies, handing them to you every time you ask for it - be it something as simple as a request for an eraser or just the blending stump

Lowkey, your work has actually improved since you began working up in Beel’s room

Not only does he have the most comfortable setup, but the man pampers you like royalty, always making sure that there’s water or food for you in case you need something

(And if you do happen to require something that isn’t already in Beel’s room, man will 100% get it for you so that you don’t have to stop what you’re doing)

Honestly, it’s the perfect arrangement: he gives you the ideal working space and you give him hours upon hours of intrigue

And if you happen to begin sitting in his lap one day while you work, something which quickly turns into a pattern, who’s there to stop anything? ;)

Belphegor

Man naps

A lot

And you just happen to be his favorite pillow, so it’s hardly a surprise when all your free time is spent in the presence of a dozing Belphie, always passed out over your legs

So once, just once, you pull your sketchpad out from under your pillow and work on it, a cautious eye trained on the seventh-born’s every move in case he stirs

And when that first time goes smoothly, you pull your sketchpad out a second time

Then a third

Then a fourth - and suddenly, you’re caught in a pattern

It was really just a matter of time until Belphie woke up one day and you didn’t notice

And it’s already too late when the drowsy demon lifts his head, peering curiously onto your lap to see what you’re working on—much to your horror

“Y-you’re awake,” You mutter halfheartedly, a sick feeling settling in your stomach as you watch the demon’s expression shift as he studies your artwork

You hate it

A bubble of anxiety begins to rise, fear over whether he will like your work or call it bad, whether he’ll make fun of your work or tell the brothers, whether he’ll be kind about it or mean

But then, much to your surprise, he flops back onto your lap, utterly unphased

“Nice,” The demon comments casually, stretching as he rests his head along your thigh. “It’s pretty.”

You can only blink as he falls back asleep, utterly confused as to what just happened

He woke up, right? And he saw your art? And he complimented it, telling you that he thought it was nice and pretty?

A sound of disbelief escapes your mouth as you try to process the utter nonchalance with which the whole exchange had concluded with, your shock only interrupted by the light sound of Belphie, who’s already snoring

You groan

But now that Belphie has seen your work, it’s not like there’s much point in hiding it any longer, right?

You pull your sketchbook out, silently continuing to work on the design that the man napping on your lap had said to be “nice,” adding some finishing touches to it

And when Belphie wakes up, he speaks nothing of the entire exchange

From that point and onward, you become a little more comfortable around him, relieved that you don’t need to talk about it with him

And he gets it

For all your free time, while he naps, you draw, and the two of you find a comfortable form of peace together, an odd tranquility lurking in the fact that there are no questions, no answers, just you and him, the sound of scribbling and snoring, your sketchpad and his pillow

And really, who needs anything else?

Solomon

He’s probably the first one to realize, on his own, that you’re an artist

The two of you have nearly all your classes together, thanks to Lord Diavolo, so it’s hardly surprising when the ever-astute sorcerer picks up on the fact that every time he casts you a second glance, you’re working on some mysterious sketch underneath your desk

Doesn’t really care at first

Until he sees your work

Man actually stops when he picks your sketchbook up off the ground, inspecting the page it had flipped open to after you dropped it

“Holy shit”

Doesn’t even ask for permission, he just begins browsing through the sketchbook, growing more and more impressed with each new page he sees

You only snatch the book back from his hands when you realize that the sketch he’s staring at so intently is one you drew of him, thanking him for picking it up with a huff and awkwardly trying to remove yourself from the situation as fast as humanly (heh, yes that is a pun) possible

Wizard boy stops you, ofc

“Come with me”

“But I have class soon—"

Again, doesn’t even wait for your agreement, man just drags you by the forearm to the library and flips open a book, throws down his own notebook, and demands that you use your “art skills or whatever” to help him

Sigh

Precious wizard boy isn’t very good with words when he’s all worked up

It takes you a good 5 minutes to understand that he wants you to compare the summoning circle outlined on the book with the one he sketched to identify where he went wrong, because apparently you have an “artist’s eye” and therefore you should be able to assist him - and he refuses to believe you when you try to convince him that no, this is not your strong suit and you will likely be unable to help him

He gets whinier than Asmo (probably where he gets it from) and will not stop nagging you even as you try to leave, so eventually you just give in and agree to try to help him - and it wounds up being surprisingly easy for you to realize that he missed the secondary outline of the inner circle, among another few minor mistakes

Huh, maybe you are naturally inclined toward this

From that moment and onward, Solomon decides that you are officially valuable (not only do you have magical potential, but you have an eye for summoning circles too? how UNFAIR) and begins spending all his time with you

Doesn’t really care about the fact that you’re an artist at first—is really more interested in how your skills can be applied

But then one day, after a particularly rough night of going through twelve whole summoning circles for twelve powerful demons, he takes a nap and wakes up to find you passed out on the floor, sleeping on top of your sketchbook where you fell asleep doodling him

Highkey touched

And slowly, he begins casually “falling asleep” around you more often, to see and flip through more of your artwork when he wakes up

Sigh

Bby is fucking shady even when he does wholesome shit

Simeon

Okay let’s be real

There’s no peace with the seven demon brothers. Solomon is chaotic. Luke, as much as we love him, is just a lot to be around. And even with Barbatos next to him, Diavolo is a walking tornado that tends to wreak havoc whenever he wills it (and he usually wills it).

So honestly, being with Simeon is the only place of tranquility you can find in the entire Devildom

Specifically, his room

*Which is off-limits to all the aforementioned individuals

He extended the invitation for you to spend some “relaxation time” in his quarters whenever you pleased at the beginning of the year, his angelic heart already sensing the absolute whirlwind of disaster you were walking into when you joined RAD

And while you declined his offer immediately out of politeness, you found yourself sheepishly knocking on his door not one week into the program

And now it’s become an every-day sort of thing

So yeah

Simeon knows about your art

In fact, you can’t seem to draw unless you’re in his presence, because at this point, he naturally soothes you so much that your hand is only steady when you hear the sound of his calm breathing in the background

In fact, you work best when the two of you are spread out on his couch, your back resting comfortably on Simeon’s shoulder while he writes (yes, he manually writes all his books on pen and paper) and you put your legs up on the couch, sketching away in your notebook

It’s the very image of peace, something you can’t seem to find anywhere else in this realm

And Simeon, bless his heart, may be a master of calligraphy, but the precious angel cannot draw to save his life - a fact which you have taken it upon yourself to handle

See, the angel gets tired every now and then—understandable, given that he produces literal masterpieces at his hands

And so when he gets tired, what does he do?

Make incomprehensible doodles in the upper left corners of his papers

So, of course, you’ve taken it upon yourself to bring those doodles to life (even if it requires a half-hour of inspection before you can make out what the sketch was supposed to be) and Simeon loves it

The expression of eagerness that surfaces every time you inform him that you’ve finished a piece is so rewarding, because the childlike glee with which he takes the paper from your hands to inspect it always sends a rush of warmth to your heart as he gushes in appreciation

But uh

Simeon is a special kind of chaotic, something that manifests every time he doodles something on paper

You stare at the angel in disbelief as he informs you that his latest doodle (what appears to be a banana-looking creature in sunglasses?) was actually a monkey ironing clothes—unsure what to say in light of this information

But it’s okay :) There only needs to be one artist in this relationship, and it clearly isn’t him

Luke

It started with cake

He needed “inspiration” to make something for Barbatos, as a thank-you gift for the pastry lessons the elder gave him, but Luke claimed that everything he made, while it tasted fine, lacked in the aesthetic department

And while normally you would play it Simeon-style, leaving it to the younger angel to handle things on his own so that he can grow individually, you felt too bad watching him discard another batch of cupcakes into Beel’s mouth, rubbing his head in aggravation over how annoying it was that nothing was looking right

So you helped him out

It was nothing major, really

Just eight doodles—subtle yet elegant designs for a triple-tiered cake, childish and bouncy arrangements to store flan, little details in frosting to give cupcakes the added element of specialty that makes them infinitely better

But the second Luke saw your paper, he went wild

Boi was running to the kitchen so fast he barely even had the time to shout “thank you”

Apparently, your little sketches sparked inspiration in him so strongly that the flames burned til midnight (much to Simeon’s disapproval), but when Luke was finally done with everything, he walked out of the kitchen with a tray of desserts that looked so perfect it was hard to imagine that he brought them to life from your sketches

Luke spent ages thanking you, shoving desserts down your throat even when you insisted that you were full, so unimaginably grateful that you helped him out of what he called “chef’s block”

Each “thank you” was accompanied either a brownie or a slice of mango mousse or whatever new pastry Luke was creating that day, and before long you were getting to enjoy luxury foods on the daily (much to Beel’s jealousy)

Boy only believed that the debt was paid when you told him that there was no debt to pay, that you sketched those quick little doodles for him out of kindness and not obligation

Believe it or not, Luke’s eyes actually welled with tears for a second at that, before he wrapped you up in a giant (is it really giant if the hugger is so little?) hug, wailing something about you being too “pure” and “perfect” for the Devildom, and that one day you would be very happy in the Celestial Realm

You pat his head, telling him that if it truly made him this happy, you would be glad to help him out again and sketch some food doodles whenever he wanted some new ideas

Cue another round of hugs, muffled crying, and sobs about how amazing you are

Barbatos

Barbatos knew, of course

Not because he used his powers or anything, he would hardly use them for something so trivial, but he was aware from the start that you were an artist because it was he who prepared for your arrival in the Devildom, ensuring that you had all the same amenities and comforts you were used to in the human realm

And, as such, that included art supplies

So the very moment he set his eyes on you, he was aware that you were an artist

What he didn’t expect was for you to actually be good at it

He sees your sketchbook when he’s casually strolling through the RAD library, finding you completely knocked out on one of the tables, the spiral binding of the sketchpad still digging indents into your cheek where you lie on top of it

At first, the butler rearranges your position as a courtesy

He lifts your head and rests it on your hand - which makes a much softer pillow - coincidentally placing your books back inside your bag and taking a moment to organize the papers strewn across the desk

But then he just happens to glance inside

And the second he does, he’s mesmerized

There’s not much in the world that can surprise Barbatos - not after he’s looked after Diavolo, of all people, for so many millennia - but the butler still finds himself holding his breath as he flips through your sketchpad, each piece telling a story so evocative that it leaves him wanting more even when he arrives at a blank page, abruptly realizing that he’s just gone through your entire sketchbook without your permission

Of course, you just have to wake up at that precise moment - sleepy eyes glancing up at the butler and wondering if you’re hallucinating, but the book in his hands is far too real and the shocked expression on his face is impossibly jarring and you flinch, suddenly feeling self-conscious as you realize what must have happened

Barbatos is a perfect gentleman about it, kindly telling you to get more rest so that you don’t pass out in a public library surrounded by demons who want to eat your soul, but he ends the sharp warning with a rather kind remark about your artwork

“I liked the second-last piece best,” He murmurs, casting you a cryptic smile before bidding you farewell

And obviously, the moment he’s out of sight, your nose is buried in your sketchbook, fingers flipping furiously to find the second-last piece you drew which you cannot seem to remember at all, and—

A flush immediately erupts on your cheeks as you see the colored sketch, something inspired by nothing more than a whim

It’s simply two people on a walk—both of them vague imitations of what your mind had wistfully conjured up—one of them bearing the telltale mismatched hair and olive green eyes, the other sharing a quiet resemblance to yourself - a conscious decision, of course

But just as you’re about to flip off the page, another detail you’d forgotten about draws your attention—and your cheeks suddenly burn in embarrassment as you realize why Barbatos singled this piece out

The figures are smiling, gazing at each other from the corners of their eyes. And there, in the very center of the piece, it is obvious:

They are holding hands

Diavolo

RIP to Diavolo’s royal painter

They have been replaced

By you

As much as you fought it, as much as you argued that you were not fitting of this position, as much as you pleaded with the demon lord to not force this title upon your shoulders, Diavolo’s decision to appoint you as the honorary Devildom painter was final—and nothing can change his mind once it’s made up

The title is really just that: a title. Diavolo knows that you’re a busy student, and while he honored your artistic talents with this position, he’s not about to actually force you through the expected proceedings of a true royal painter, not while you’re trying to survive being an exchange student in hell with an entirely unfamiliar curriculum in front of you

But on occasion, he’ll send you a text, asking if you’re free

And you’ll head on over to his palace, ready to paint him

And unlike every other demon, angel, and human in the Devildom, when Diavolo models for you, he actually models nude

Asmo is jealous

Sexual tension is high when you paint him, let’s just leave things at that

And honestly, it really doesn’t matter what you paint - Diavolo seems to be more interested in the fact that it’s a human who did the art in the first place

He once saw your RAD binder, noticing the little doodles you’d drawn on the corner of all your papers, and he immediately took them—declaring that they were art to be preserved for all eternity for historical documentation purposes

So yeah

There’s a hall in Diavolo’s palace filled with your RAD math homework, an eternal reminder of the assignments you copied off of Solomon

(You’re not sure what’s more embarrassing: the fact that you’ve drawn some rather inappropriate doodles on those pages or the fact that, despite having copied all the answers, you still managed to get nearly one-third of the problems wrong, and now your mistakes are to be showcased in the Devildom for centuries to come)

It gets to the point where you and Solomon start making bets over how basic you can get with your art for Diavolo to still consider it “amazing” and “utterly awe-inspiring,” as he likes to put it

In honor of that bet, there is currently a banana peel with a few marker doodles on it hanging in a preserved case in an iced room in the lowest levels of the palace, as none of the “art” can be wasted

But in truth, the demon lord’s fixation with human culture is endearing, especially when Diavolo tries so hard to be accepting of it

So eventually you stop giving Diavolo wacky art and actually start putting your full effort into your creations—your reward being the fact that the final piece you complete gets hung in Diavolo’s private bedroom, where he promises to gaze at it every night for the rest of eternity, vowing to remember his time with you every time he sees it

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luvnami · 3 years

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𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 (here) | 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 | 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 - This is my entry for @jjkmag Summer Collab! It’s my first long fic in a while but I had a lot of fun writing this (that isn’t to say I think it’s very good. I hope the plot/finality was pulled off decently ok lol). I hope you enjoy it! I chose the prompt 'coming of age', though there are definitely scenes where the other prompts were present as well. Reblogs, comments, shares and likes are really appreciated!!

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @getousuguruwife @amjustagirl @aliteama

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - Amnesia, Memory loss, Blood, Mild gore, Death, Blood loss, Bullying, Mild Racism (only in the first part), Corpses, Food, Manga spoilers, Pre-canon and canon compliant to a certain extent, Nightmares

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Nanami Kento's life has been... Good, bad, and everything in between. He (and many others) thinks he's mature, independent, the definition of what a proper adult should be like. But really, the only way he's made it this far is because you've been holding his hand the entire time.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 6.4k

The first memory Nanami has of you sits in a blurry haze at the back of his mind.

You’re probably four or five years old at best, squatting by a puddle in the empty kindergarten playground. Nanami wonders what made him waddle over to you that warm afternoon.

His shoes, scribbled with ugly caricatures in marker, carry him to the other side of the puddle. A shadow cast by a plastic slide slices your features neatly in half like a Greek theatre mask. Nanami doesn’t speak a word to you as he stares at your chubby fingers that push a fallen leaf around in the water as the surface ripples silently.

You look up at Nanami. He’s an odd child, excluded by the other kindergarteners because of how quiet and strange he is. Nanami’s blond hair is abnormal to the immature local Japanese children. They knee the back of his legs while calling him names like ‘banana-gaijin!’ and making fun of his fancy leather shoes.

“Do you wanna play with me?”

Nanami wonders if the words you speak to him are from your heart or something constructed from a plan to bully him again.

“My mama taught me how to make boats with leaves. See?” You point to the puddle. “We can race them.”

Nanami carefully selects a leaf off of the playground’s floor. It’s still green, freshly fallen from its branch. You grin toothily, your eyes sparkling.

“That’s a perfect leaf!” you declare.

Nanami thinks he wants to play with you forever.

He follows you around in school like a lost puppy after that, clutching his hands nervously when you stand up to the children who bully him. Nanami wonders if you’ll ever turn your back on him. He arrives earlier than you every morning and hurriedly scrubs at your table with his handkerchief to get rid of nasty words and obscene drawings, heart thumping against his cotton polo. When his mother asks him why his new handkerchief is so dirty, he remains silent and grips the hem of his shirt tightly.

Children are children; Nanami learns. Afraid of abnormalities, they defend their right to innocence and ego with harsh words and various schemes. He learns to ignore the whispers behind his back. What he can’t disregard, though, is when they lash out at you.

They jeer when you trip during P.E. classes and bump into you on purpose when you carry your lunch tray. You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Nanami holds your hand gently and leads you to the nurse’s office with scraped knees, hiccuping and swiping at your eyes roughly.

He wonders why you don’t take the easy way out and just stop being friends with him. What’s wrong with you? You hold him tightly, a bundle of thorns, in your soft hands and pretend that you’re not bleeding.

“Ken-chan?” you sniffle.

He turns.

“You’re my best friend, right?”

Nanami gulps. He doesn’t question why you cry on graduation day, bidding your final farewell to him with vague promises of meeting in the same elementary school. Something in his chest doesn’t sit right; the kind of feeling when his mother threw out his old stuffed toys after she deemed him too old for them anymore.

He watches you grow smaller and smaller in the rear window of his family car till you’re the size of an ant, his knees digging into the leather seats.

“Sit down, Kento,” his father chides.

Nanami ignores him. He watches you wave your hand in the air as the car turns around the corner and lurches into the seat.

☆*: .｡.

Nanami’s genuinely surprised when he finds out that his assigned seat is right next to you on the first day of elementary school. You’re no different, mouth wide open in an ‘o’ as you stare at him.“Ken-chan!”

You almost yell, and Nanami shushes you as his face heats up. He finds out that your mothers had conspired to put the both of you into the same school. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing just yet, but peace settles into his chest the same way the wings of a bird return to its sides after flight when you giggle at his flustered expression.

Through nine years of elementary and junior high school together, Nanami learns that you always arrange the tips of your pencils to face the right side of your pencil box, and you keep the torn bits of movie tickets shoved into your bedside drawer. You find that Nanami has a knack for dry humour — he’s blunt at every moment possible (which caused much distress after he talked back to a teacher that one time) and can usually be bribed for any favour as long as you pay him in food.

What the both of you find oddly shocking, though, is that no one else can see the creatures that swim through walls and perch in dark corners of the school.

They make you sweat whenever they get too close, bulbous eyes and strange bodies twisting in ways that shouldn’t be physically possible. Sometimes they make noises, whispering or coaxing or shrieking or crying in broken sentences.

Nanami learns to treat them as background noise. You, on the other hand, find that a little more complicated. Sometimes you latch onto him when one brushes against your arm, squeaking and swatting at them in an attempt to chase them away.

“They’re so gross!” you’d whine, pressing yourself even closer to Nanami. “Did you see that one in the gym yesterday? It had tentacles!”

In cases like this, the blond clears his throat and ignores you, averting his gaze. He doesn’t admit to anyone, not even himself, that the warmth of your skin through your uniform makes his heart skip a beat. You’ve grown so close to him that you even know that Nanami sleeps with Doraemon pajamas (absolutely, abhorrently embarrassing. He made his mother throw them out the night after you came over for a sleepover). It was inevitable for him to develop feelings.

Nanami shoves his feelings below a lid and sits on top of it, keeping them under lock and key. He’s sure this is just something to do with puppy love or ‘infatuations’ that are underlined in the puberty print-outs the school distributed, alongside scientific diagrams of genitals that the boys in his class giggle at.

Being friends is enough. Or so he thinks, anyway.

☆*: .｡.

It’s a Friday evening when the sky is dark, and street lights flicker in the distance. Nanami munches away on melon bread from a convenience store while you sip on a carton of juice. Your clubs had ended late today, so the sun was down by the time you left school.

“How’s the bread?” you ask, slurping up the last drops of your drink.

Nanami chews and swallows while you dab at your mouth with a yellow cotton handkerchief.

“It’s okay. Not as good as a bakery’s, though. Kinda stale.”

He crumples the plastic packaging in his hand and sticks it into his pocket, planning to dispose of it later. The both of you round the corner to the bus stop, and your feet fall still. A large curse sits in the middle of the road.

Numerous cars are crumpled like drink cans, smoke, and gasoline leaking onto the streets. There’s blood. Too much blood, in fact, that they seem like puddles of rain on the dark tarmac. Your juice box drops from your hand.

The curse turns to you, its teeth split vertically down the centre of what constitutes a face. Multiple eyes run down the length of its engorged body where various hands and feet stick out at random parts.

“Blood… Blood…” it moans in a cryptic voice.

Nanami stands with his feet frozen to the ground, eyes wide in horror. His knuckles turn white as he grips his school bag. Run, run, run! He screams internally, but his limbs don’t listen to him. The curse slides over the road towards him, slipping through the blood easily.

“Give me… Your blood…”

A part of the curse’s body bubbles up into a large hand. It swings itself back before throwing its newly created appendage towards Nanami. RUN RUN RUN! His legs don’t move. He squeezes his eyes shut, awaiting the impact. Except that it doesn’t hit him. Nothing hurts, except the shrill scream that pierces his ears. Nanami’s eyes snap open in horror.

“Kento!” you yell, dangling upside down as the curse pulls you towards its mouth.

Your school bag lays on the ground below, books scattered as their pages turn red.

“Run!”

Nanami drops everything as he scrambles towards you, tripping over his own two feet and landing face-first in the blood. His hands and knees sting. He shoves himself and gets up with his teeth clenched. You kick your feet in the air in a poor attempt to escape the curse’s grip but to no avail. Another groan is squeezed out of you as the curse opens its mouth, the foul stench of rotting bodies engulfing you.

“Run, Kento!” you plead.

How can he turn his back on you? Sweat drips down his forehead as Nanami pulls his hand back. The adrenaline that rushes through his blood clears in a split-second moment of raw emotion; anger, disappointment, confusion, sadness. A tingling sort of energy floods his body, and Nanami takes a sharp breath of air. He sees something like a ruler — a line divided equally with ten markings, the seventh one crossed out. His fist connects with it.

The curse lets out a weak moan of pain, shaking you around as it recoils from Nanami’s hit. It’s not much, just a surface injury at most. Nanami’s limbs tremble with exertion. One more time, again and again, until you’re safe-

A thick, gross liquid engulfs Nanami as the curse explodes in front of his very eyes. He coughs, running a slimy hand over his face. It smells like death.

“Woah! You put too much into that again, Satoru.”

“Shut up!”

Nanami looks up as he hears footsteps move towards him, the quiet splashing of blood beneath shoes.

“Ugh, this place is so gross.”

“You okay there, kiddo?”

Nanami looks up to find a male with his hair pulled back into a bun staring at him. Behind him is a white-haired teenager with sunglasses (strange, hasn’t the sun already gone down?) and an imposing-looking man.

Where are you?

Nanami glances around frantically amidst the dead bodies that lie on the ground. Not you, not you, not- A tiny sliver of hope slips into his heart when he spots your uniform, and he stumbles over.

“Woah! Slow down!”

He calls out your name, slipping and collapsing onto his knees. Your eyes are closed, and a wound on your head oozes blood. A young girl with short hair reaches out to touch you, but Nanami pulls you into his chest, his eyes wide.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

His head spins. Are these good people? How did they just destroy that big monster? He hadn’t even seen them coming. Were they going to hurt you?

“Calm down, man! We’re good guys.”

“No one’s going to trust you when you say that, Satoru.”

The girl stares at Nanami.

“I’ll take care of your injuries. Can you let me see them, please?”

He relaxes. His grip on you loosens, and the girl feels for your pulse, nodding in affirmation.

“Alive.”

Nanami breathes a sigh of relief. At this realisation, his body begins to tremble like a leaf in the wind. He digs his nails into his palms but still they quiver. His heart pounds in his chest and he struggles to take a deep breath, exhaustion overtaking him.

“Hey, you okay?”

His eyes fall shut.

☆*: .｡.

Nanami finds out over a hot cup of tea that those monsters are called curses, and not everyone can see them.

“Lucky you!” Gojo chimes in.

Lucky? His face wrinkles in despair and Getou laughs so loud at his reaction that he has to step out of the room.

Nanami had sustained minor injuries — nothing beyond a few scrapes and some trauma. You were fine for the most part. After hitting your head on the ground, you remained unconscious for a few more days after Nanami had woken up. You were covered in a few bruises, but otherwise alright.

Nanami was infinitely thankful for that

Yaga tells him that he has enough aptitude to become a full-fledged sorcerer. The school he teaches at is called Jujutsu High and is located on the outskirts of Tokyo. Since he’s in his final year of junior high, why not give it a thought if he wants to join them? Nanami holds Yaga’s name card numbly.

He looks up at Yaga, only one objective clear in his mind. He doesn’t want to see you hurt any longer.

“Will you teach me how to exorcise curses?” he asks.

Gojo laughs outrightly and Geto snorts. Yaga gives him a confident smile, clapping Nanami on the shoulder (he doesn’t quite like that, but he overlooks it for now).

“You can count on that.”

☆*: .｡.

Nanami’s a little apprehensive about entering Jujutsu High, especially when you decide to enrol as well. Given the ability to see curses, you were adamant about learning to help others with this ability you were gifted with. He relented and sulked for the rest of the day until you gave him a cup of pudding.

The first day Nanami and you enter Jujutsu Tech, you meet a wide-eyed boy named Haibara Yu. He’s overly optimistic and passionate — precisely the kind of person that Nanami tires of interacting with. In fact, the very first thing Haibara says upon meeting the both of you irritates him.

“Woah! Blondie, are you from an emo band or something? Your hair really matches the vibe!” Haibara had gasped.

You struggled to suppress your giggles, biting on your lower lip as you turned to the side. Nanami, on the other hand, didn’t find it quite as funny.

“No, I’m not. Nice to meet you too,” he replied monotonously.

It takes all of the following month for Nanami to get used to Haibara’s eccentricities. He always does his best during training, mingles enthusiastically with the upperclassmen and chows down on at least two bowls of rice during break time. The most annoying part about him is how Haibara seems to get along so well with you.

You laugh too loudly for Nanami’s liking at his jokes, squeeze in between Haibara and him (brushing shoulders with the both of them! Seriously!) when they’re standing together just to listen in on Haibara’s monologuing, and sometimes even end up sparring with him instead of Nanami.

The blond curses that there is an odd number of first years and peers in the mirror after his shower as he wonders what he would look like with a black bowl cut. He even tries to finish more than one serving of ginger pork on one particular day and gets sent to the school nurse for a tummy ache.

Though, the three of you have chemistry that works out when fighting curses. Nanami is the primary damage dealer of the group, while you learn how to provide support with Haibara and create openings for Nanami to attack. So on your first ‘real group mission’ assigned to you by Yaga, you can’t help but set off with overflowing excitement.

It isn’t often that you have the opportunity to step outside of Jujutsu High on your own without supervision. Even on weekends, you’re usually expected to train or study. The sun shines warmly down upon the streets of Asakusa, and tourists and locals alike swarm the city area.

“Hey! We should totally give Sensou-ji Temple a visit later!” Haibara suggests, pumping his fist in the air.

“We’re not here to sightsee,” Nanami sighs.

“That’s what you said the last time we went to Okinawa, and guess what, Nanamin! We didn’t even get to try their sushi!”

“Yeah, and you forgot to bring back souvenirs for me, Ken-chan,” you chime in.

“I told you to stop adding -chan to my name.”

“Why not? Doesn’t it sound cute?”

“Mhm!”

Haibara nods furiously. Nanami ignores the both of you with a sigh. He slings a bag containing his sword over his shoulder once more as the crowd barely makes space for you to move through.

“We can’t take too long,” he relents.

The cheers and high-fives that you and Haibara give each other make a vein bulge on Nanami’s temple. He tries not to read too much into the way you immediately begin discussing what places to visit and eat at with Haibara — didn’t you care for his opinion? He shakes his head and increases his pace, leaving the both of you behind.

Nanami ignores the cries of ‘Ken-chan!’ and ‘Nanamin!’ that ring out through the crowd. Whatever. If you want to be with Haibara, then Nanami will gladly get out of the way for you. He drags his feet on the pavement and settles for a cup of iced tea in a nearby cafe gloomily.

What Nanami is doing is… childish. He knows, at the very least, that he should be happy the both of you have met a nice new friend. But he can’t help the jealousy that rises in his chest like smoke in a chimney when he sees you cling onto Haibara the same way you used to do to him.

Was Haibara nicer, more good-looking, stronger, funnier, gentler, better than every single trait in Nanami combined? You no longer ask Nanami how he slept the previous night, instead running over to Haibara and greeting him cheerily. Forget about how you used to come over to Nanami’s house to study after school — you and Haibara disappear to who knows where after training everyday.

He bites down on his straw. The bitter taste of a lemon seed fills his mouth and Nanami spits it out onto a napkin with more force than necessary. He takes a deep breath. He should make things clear to you, then, and let you know how he feels about you. To him, it sounds a little like love.

Nanami’s face flushes with embarrassment. Love is… Love isn’t this. It definitely isn’t getting jealous over your relationships with other people, nor is it forcing you to accept his feelings out of spite. He finishes the last bit of his iced tea, the straw making a gurgling noise as it fails to suck up any more liquid. He leaves his money by the counter and walks back outside, returning his heart back to its safe, clicking the lock shut once more. His shoulders sag as he lets out a pent-up sigh.

Nanami squints at his phone. The golden sunlight makes it difficult to read his messages, but he manages to pick out four missed calls from you and a hundred text messages from Haibara. His blood runs cold when he scrolls to the last text that he received.

Haibara Yu, 4.25p.m.: curse help 6 cho

It’s currently 4.35p.m. 6-chome is a 15 minutes walk away, five minutes if he sprints fast enough. Nanami hopes that you’re okay, that Haibara has enough sense to call for other back-up or avoid the curse.

Nanami’s feet pound under him as he shoves his way through the crowds, earning distasteful looks and swears. He doesn’t care. Not when you and Haibara are facing a possible grade 2 curse alone, and not when it’s because of Nanami’s irresponsibility and useless emotions that had caused the three of you to be separated.

His breath comes quick and hard and his thighs burn, screaming for relief. He makes a sharp turn and almost crashes into a bicycle.

“Watch where you’re going!” an angry housewife yells, but her words fall on deaf ears.

Just a little more, he begs.

Nanami hears the fighting before he sees it. The sound of metal meeting metal and the roar of the curse sound uncharacteristically comforting to him as he draws his sword, racing to bear a fighting stance.

But he’s too late.

“Yu!” you cry out as Haibara crumples onto the ground.

His eyes meet Nanami’s. His uniform is tattered, face bearing wounds and his right arm is bent at an unnatural shape, almost like a knotted tree branch. You seem relatively unhurt, although your breathing is laboured.

“Kento,” Haibara wheezes.

Nanami’s feet don’t move. His chest heaves, perspiration pouring down his face and drenching his uniform. The grip on his sword slips ever so slightly. The curse stands at the end of a ruined district. You aren’t trained to fight in such close quarters, or reduce the number of casualties to a bare minimum.

And Nanami hadn’t been here to provide damage to exorcise it.

“Who are you? Another small fry?” the curse scoffs.

It takes the body of a geisha, dressed in luxurious robes that whip about in the air. Consciousness? This isn’t a grade 2 by any means — it’s a special grade curse. The will to fight slips out of Nanami like water from a cup, trickling from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

“Haibara!” Nanami shouts.

The male gives Nanami one last smile from where he is.

“You’ve got it from here,” he whispers, lips barely moving.

The geisha stretches out its hand, a portion of its obi moving along with it. You and Nanami watch in horror as Haibara’s head is neatly decapitated from his body. His blood drips off of the ends of the robes as the curse cackles, his head rolling to a stop as his half-closed eyes stare up at Nanami like a dead fish’s.

“You think you can beat me? Look at your little friend!”

Fury rushes into Nanami like a wave meeting the shore.

“You’ll die here by my hands!” the curse roars.

You take a step back as the geisha prepares to launch another attack, silk sashes drawn back into the sky before they plunge back at you two in an aerial attack. Nanami leaps through the attacks as his body moves faster than he can process it.

You, on the other hand, create a shield out of cursed energy to try and deflect the attacks. At the very least, Haibara deserves a proper burial. There isn’t time for mourning now, and you have to wipe away the tears that pool in your eyes. You try to ignore the way his head rolls closer to your foot and bumps against it gently.

Nanami lets out a yell of anger. His cursed energy swells as he cuts his way through the sashes, movement based on momentum than anything else at this point. His mind is clouded with regret and frustration. Nanami channels his anger into his sword, the ten destined lines appearing before his eyes once more.

The curse lets out a cry of pain as it stumbles back, sashes redrawn as it tries to gauge its wounds. Blood gushes from a slash on its side and Nanami darts forward again — again, again, again, until its dead. His legs, however, are weaker than what he thinks they can bear. Nanami stumbles in his step.

“Ken!” you shout.

The curse grins. It takes little to no time to regenerate, skin overlapping raw flesh as it gets back onto its feet.

“You’re weak,” it taunts. “First your friend, now you. I’ll be sure to savour the last one as well!”

Nanami struggles to get back onto his feet. He gasps, heart ripping a hole through his chest. He’s so exhausted; so worn out, that his arms refuse to raise his sword above chest height. He curses.

You run over to Nanami, grabbing his uniform and dragging him back. The curse starts to chant ominously. Its face turns dark, taking steps that sway its body with thick, lacquered geta. You shove Nanami back as you’re engulfed by its domain, swallowed up by darkness and spit into a tatami room. He barely has time to call your name before you disappear.

“Shit!”

Nanami stumbles back onto his feet, but sinks down onto his knees again. His shoulders quake as he tries to suck in breaths of air, but his throat is too dry. He coughs and adjusts his grip on his sword. Shit, shit, shit. All of his partners tossed themselves at death as if it was an idle thing just to protect him. What was Nanami doing? He would never become a sorcerer like this, never be able to protect you.

He grits his teeth. He’ll never be enough.

Nanami picks up his sword, wrapping his fingers around its hilt one more time. He dashes towards the domain, tasting iron as he hacks and slashes at it. Again, again, and again. His hands turn numb and his cursed energy flickers like a candle’s flame, but there’s one thing Nanami’s insistent on — getting you out of there.

The domain finally collapses as Nanami finally steadies himself on his feet. You roll to the ground, breath shallow. Your uniform is sliced up in different areas and a pool of blood begins to spread where your head meets the floor.

“Ken…?” you whisper.

Nanami smells it — the scent of death. Why did he ever choose to become a sorcerer over an ordinary high school life? He wouldn’t have dragged you into this mess, caused you to be hurt time and time again. Nanami calls out your name tentatively. You don’t respond.

The curse roars with laughter as your eyes fall shut, “Don’t you see how I’m so strong? You’re nothing compared to me-”

Nanami sees red. He launches himself forward, brandishing his sword even if it’s for the last time.

He doesn’t remember what happens afterwards.

Nanami sinks into a pool of blood, head spinning with exertion. Your body lays to his left, Haibara’s head to his right. He collapses to the ground.

☆*: .｡.

When he comes to, Nanami’s eyes struggle to adjust to the white light that floods the room. It smells vaguely like antiseptic. He slowly sits up, body aching with exhaustion with telltale bandages wrapped around most of his exposed limbs.

A drawn curtain separates his bed from the rest of the room, which he assumes to be Jujutsu Tech’s sickbay. He runs a hand over his face and lies back down, letting sleep take him by the hand and lead him a step further from reality.

Nanami wakes up a second time when Shouko returns to the room. He stares at her, blinking once, then twice.

“Nanami?” she asks softly. “Can you hear me?”

He tries to reply, but his throat is parched. He ends up coughing, wrinkling his face as pain spreads through his ribs. Shouko rushes to get him a glass of water and calls the rest (namely Yaga and Gojo) over. Nanami nurses the glass as Yaga takes a seat by his bed.

There are no questions, only condolences and murmured explanations of what had happened. The only thing Nanami picks up is that you’re alive. That’s more than enough for him to relax, nodding dumbly along to Yaga’s words.

The curse had been on the brink of death when Nanami collapsed. However, he had put up enough of a fight for nearby sorcerers to come to his aid and finish it off. There was no doubt about it — it was a special grade curse. Yaga apologises for the miscommunication and loss of Haibara’s life. Nanami doesn’t reply.

No amount of apologies could turn back time and bring Haibara back.

It takes him a few more days before Nanami’s able to hobble around the school, aided by crutches. Gojo pokes fun at how he seems like a grandpa but even his jokes don’t bear the mean edge they usually do. Getou leaves a can of vending machine coffee by his bedside table and Shouko brings him some wildflowers. Nanami leaves the plush cat Yaga had made for him untouched.

Nanami struggles against the nightmares that plague him. In one Haibara cradles his decapitated head in his own arms, asking Nanami why he hadn’t saved his life; in another you die, guts spilling onto the streets with your eyes bulging from your skull. Nanami wakes up in cold sweat. He calms his breathing alone and doesn’t sleep a single wink.

It’s a rainy day when Shouko lets him enter the morgue. Haibara’s body is laid in a shroud of white, his head positioned to appear attached. Had he ever been so pale? Nanami’s fingers grip his crutches, gritting his teeth.

How long his eyelashes had been! A small scar runs down his left temple (“After my sister shoved me in the playground!” Haibara had chirped), and his bangs remain as perfectly cut as they had been when he died. Nanami half expects him to sit up, to grin and laugh at his twisted face.

“Why’re you so stiff, Nanami? It’s just a joke!”

Justajokejustajokejustajoke.

A chasm opens up in Nanami’s stomach. His crutches clatter to the floor as he races out of the morgue, stumbling when pain shoots up his right leg. He retches dryly and tears pool in his eyes. Shouko silently covers Haibara and closes the door, Nanami’s tears falling alongside the pouring rain.

That night in his dreams, Haibara slices Nanami’s head off. He wakes up with his heart racing and tears slipping down his cheeks.

Nanami visits you the next day. He had been reluctant to do so — what if you blamed him for everything, for Haibara’s death and your injuries? He wouldn’t be able to bear it, to be hated by you. His hand hovers over your dorm doorknob, hesitating. Nanami takes a deep breath as he swallows his anxiety and opens the door.

It’s as if nothing had ever happened.

You sit on your bed, neatly tucked under the covers with a book sitting on your lap. Warm sunshine pours through the open windows and the penguin plush Nanami had won for you at a festival still sits by your desk. You look up when he walks in.

Nanami calls out your name. You stare at him.

“Sorry, but… Who are you?” you ask quietly, a sense of confusion lacing your words.

He stops by the door and Nanami’s heart sinks to his feet.

“I��m Kento. Nanami Kento,” he repeats, words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Checkered curtains flutter in the wind and the pages of your book butterfly open to an unread chapter. You keep your eyes focused on Nanami, eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” you reply.

☆*: .｡.

A toxic mix of trauma and a severe head injury had caused your amnesia. Nanami lays in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling. If only he hadn’t let his emotions overtake him, if only he had been there a minute earlier, if only if only if only. Regret dulls his sense of taste and emotions. He no longer takes joy in eating anything (even those croissants Getou had bought while out on a mission), nor does he even crack a smile at Gojo’s antics.

Nanami returns to training once he is physically well again. He becomes the only first-year to attend Yaga’s classes, sparring practice conducted with the second years. He goes out on missions alone and learns to provide both defense and offense for himself. Nanami trains, he exercises curses, he returns to school. He repeats this same cycle mindlessly over and over again.

Time heals, they say. Nanami wonders how much time it must take for him to let go of everything.

Nanami learns to hide his disappointment. His face becomes a strong facade for whatever his weak heart truly feels. The quiet sigh he lets out when no one’s around, the stretching of his neck after yet another fruitless day of training — Nanami decides that he’ll leave the world of sorcery once he’s graduated.

Seasons change and Nanami becomes a second year, then a third year. Getou falls away. The seniors graduate and new freshmen enter the school. Nanami keeps these things in the back of his mind as he raises his sword for a countless time, striking the training doll with ease.

You work with Shouko in the infirmary, occasionally helping out with office work. The school had deemed it better to keep you under their care than to release you outside. Like a rehabilitated animal, Nanami thinks.

You still remember no memories of him. Nanami brings you sweets and souvenirs from his missions, letting you trace your fingers over the fancy packaging with a sparkle in your eye. At this, Nanami swallows back his confession of love once more. He can’t bear to burden you with his feelings.

You form new impressions of him. Nanami turns into the stone-faced and adorable boy who treats you like fine China, always sticking his hands out awkwardly when he tries to give you something. The tips of his ears burn red when he lies — especially when you ask him, “Nanami, did you buy this for me?” and he shakes his head furiously.

You think he’s kind. He comforts you when you cry over lost memories, unable to remember the faces in photographs that had once been so familiar. The first thing Nanami does after returning from a mission is to rush to you. Were you okay? Did you have your meals? One time, he came over without getting his injuries checked and collapsed by your feet. You scolded him after that, tenderly dressing his wounds.

“Nanami!” you said crossly, a pout on your face.

He tries to forget how he had asked you to stop calling him ‘Ken-chan’. He ducks his head, hissing when you douse his skin in antiseptic.

Some things don’t change, though. You still keep your pencil box immaculately neat — the tips of your stationery always pointing to the right side. Though you don’t have any more movie ticket stubs, you carefully clip the pictures of your childhood Nanami had given to you together and keep them under your pillow.

One day, you munch on a yummy biscuit Nanami brought back for you. He sits on the floor and polishes his sword, peering at it from every angle to make sure it’s evenly oiled.

“Nanami?”

He hums.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like you’re from an emo boy band? Your hair matches it.”

Your shy laugh rings out in the room as bile rises in Nanami’s throat. He sheathes his sword and lays it on the ground.

“Yes, they have.”

He struggles to smile, his gut twisting.

☆*: .｡.

On graduation day, no one else but Nanami receives his certificate with a flower corsage pinned to his chest. The room is empty save for him and Yaga, the chirping of spring birds breaking the silence.

“I’m glad to have been able to teach you, Nanami,” Yaga broods. “You’ve grown a lot.”

Nanami does not reply. He bows deeply and strides out of the main building. All of a sudden, the traditional architecture and nature that surround Jujutsu High seems stifling. His skin crawls with the urge to leave as soon as possible.

“Nanamin!”

He jumps. Turning around, he finds you grinning happily with a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Congratulations on your graduation!” you chirp.

Nanami accepts the flowers awkwardly and rests them in the crook of his elbow, his other hand clutching his certificate. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves of nearby trees and a wave of sakura petals descend from their branches like rain.

“Nanamin,” your voice grows softer. “Are you leaving forever?”

He swallows, then nods wordlessly.

“Will I ever see you again?”

“I wanna be with you forever, Ken-chan!” you wailed.

“Forever’s a long time,” Nanami replied.

He handed you his yellow cotton handkerchief, face wrinkling when you honked your nose into it. Gross. His neck hurt from sticking it out of the car window. He can hear his father tapping a finger onto the wheel impatiently, his mother silent as she stares out the front.

“B-but!”

Your bottom lip quivered and Nanami let out a sigh.

“Fine, fine. I’ll be with you, okay?”

“Really, Ken-chan? Forever?”

“Yeah, really. Forever.”

You grinned in the waning sunlight as your mother tugged you away.

“I’ll never forget you, Ken-chan!” you shouted.

The car window rolled up and he watched you disappear into the horizon, turning as tiny as an ant.

Nanami swallows his heart into the pit of his stomach.

“Probably.”

“That’s not a definitive answer, Nanamin.”

“What do you want me to tell you, then?”

There’s a slight tremble in his voice. The plastic wrapping of the flowers crinkle under his grip and waves of emotions rush over him; the biggest out of all of them regret. He struggles to breathe underwater, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and nose plugged up. A sakura petal lands on his shoulder. He doesn’t bother brushing it away.

“Say,” you whisper, taking a step to close the distance between Nanami and you.

He gulps as you place a hand upon his chest. He can feel the heat of your skin through his uniform and Nanami’s too dumbstruck to respond.

“Why don’t you give me your second button?”

Your eyes meet his. A smile toys with the corners of his lips and suddenly Nanami blurts out a nervous “Okay.”. His mind flickers back to Haibara momentarily; how you had appeared to like him so much back then. But he chooses to shove those memories into the back of his mind once more as you produce a small pair of scissors and snip the thread.

“You always take care of me, Nanamin. It was natural of me to fall in love with you,” you breathe, cradling the swirl patterned button in your hands.

A gust of cool air slips into his unbuttoned shirt and Nanami’s breath hitches.

“Do you like me too?”

Your question is innocent. With the way you peer up at him, there’s no way that Nanami can lie. Your glittery eyes were the same ones he had fallen in love with all those years ago. He wonders if he still loves you in the same way as he did then; as faultless and innocent it had been. His heart sits on the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah, I do.”

Your eyes crinkle at the edges as you smile, an evident sigh of relief escaping your lips. You slip the button into your pocket before tugging Nanami even closer towards you. He yelps as your chest presses against his and the tips of his ears turn red.

You plant your lips by the side of his.

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 12

Masterlist

Winding down from the frenzy of the last chapter... Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤

Word Count: 5.9k

Recommended song: "I Don't Care" by Fall Out Boy

“Mon amour, wake up.”

Pierre’s sleep-heavy voice rouses you from the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You’d fallen asleep to the sounds of his even breathing under the soothing touch of his thumb tracing patterns on your side.

You crack your eyes open to see him silhouetted by the white light of the waning moon, his bare chest left uncovered by the blanket slung low over his hips. The sight alone has your mind instantly jumping into overdrive, fighting the need to sleep with the need to continue ogling the bare skin a foot from your face.

“I let you sleep as long as I could,” he says softly, reaching behind him for his phone. “We have to be on the M1 in about half an hour.”

“Mmmph,” you groan, snuggling back under the blanket and closer to him, chasing the warmth radiating from him. “The sun isn’t even out.”

His chuckle shakes the bed. “I figured you would say that which is why I made you breakfast and picked out your clothes. All you have to do is brush your teeth and get dressed.”

You hum appreciatively and press a kiss to his bare sternum. “Is this how you’re going out today? Because I won’t complain but you might cause a few heart attacks.” A kiss to your temple is a small reward for your comment, as well as a concession.

"Don't worry, this is reserved only for you." He stretches an arm above his head, grinning when your eyes immediately are drawn to the way the muscles ripple and pull under his skin. You stare shamelessly as he flexes a little for your benefit, the action going straight to your head.

"As it should be." You bite your lip and let your fingertips dance over his chest, memorizing the way it rises and falls so predictably with each deep breath. Against your better judgement you trail kisses up over his pectoral and spot them along his shoulder, dragging another light chuckle from him.

"My love," he warns, voice tinted with mischief, "we don't have time."

"Oh I think we do." You continue your path over his collarbone and to the hollow of his throat. Taking advantage of his biggest weakness, you flick your tongue over his prominent adam’s apple. The move has his hand engulfing your upper arm, giving you a warning squeeze.

"As wonderful as this is" -he sucks in a sharp breath when your teeth graze his neck- "if I'm late Horner will kill me."

"What's new?" You say, but draw back. The mere mention of his name made you see red and shattered the moment. "Do you really want to go back to Red Bull after how they treated you?"

"No," he admits, slipping an arm around you and tugging you up and into a sitting position, taking advantage of the momentary lapse of lust. "But if I want a shot with a top team when my contract is up, I don’t have much choice."

"Where do you see yourself going?"

Pierre studies you as you slip into the clothes he had selected for you. Nothing fancy, just an AlphaTauri branded navy and white hoodie and some light wash jeans. You don't miss the way his lips twitch upward when you notice it's his hoodie, his last name embroidered in block font on the cuff a dead giveaway even if the hoodie hadn't been ridiculously oversized on you.

Cheeky bastard.

"I think I would look good in sunshine yellow," he remarks. You make a show of looking him up and down under the pretense of imagining him in a Renault branded hoodie or their signature black race suit. Truthfully it was just another excuse to drink him in like the fine wine he was and recall how he had tasted on your tongue last night.

He would look good in any color on the grid but you don't grant him the satisfaction of pointing that out. Instead, you lean forward to toy with the waistband of the jeans he had hastily buttoned seconds earlier. "You and Daniel get along just fine." You snag him by the belt loops and yank him forward back onto the bed. "I think you should go to McLaren.”

“I’d still look good in orange.”

You wind your fingers under his waistband. “I think you’d look best wearing nothing at all, actually.”

“The time,” Pierre protests lightly when you pop open the button and undo the zipper. He groans when you yank the denim down around his thighs, finally submitting to your touch and lacing his fingers in your hair. Your lips explore the planes of his abdomen, any and all thoughts of speed abandoned on your end. "If you don't hurry up we're gonna be late."

"Maybe you'll just have to drive fast. I hear you’re good at that."

**********

"So how is it that they got your car all the way to London?"

"It's got its own private jet."

You roll your eyes and smack the hand resting on your thigh. His response is a light squeeze and a chuckle before he continues, "They've got a few spares they keep around for when drivers come to town. I can't be seen in a Mini or it would cause a scandal."

"Oh yes it would be quite tragic." His hand charts a dangerous path along your thigh. He knows exactly what he's doing as he slots a thumb between your legs and presses it tight to the apex of your thighs.

You snap your knees shut, effectively trapping his hand "Now you're just being cruel."

"Only dishing out what you did this morning," he points out and wiggles his hand free to rest on your knee instead. The message was clear: he had shaken you well enough for his liking and was perfectly content to leave you frustrated until he could get you home.

“So catch me up on what I’ve missed,” you say, determined to distract yourself from Pierre’s slight teasing. “What’s new in the life of the rising star in Formula 1?”

“Rising star,” Pierre mumbles and rolls his eyes. “Not yet, my love. Getting there, but not yet.”

“Please, you’re too modest. Last night when you fell asleep- you were out like a light as soon as your head hit the pillow, don't give me that look!” Pierre picks his jaw up off the floor and shakes his head as you continue, “I read plenty of articles that called you the next big thing, right up there with Max.”

The comparison didn't seem to sit right with him. He shifts in his seat, rolling words over on his tongue. “I’m sure you’re caught up then. I haven’t done anything really besides train and race.”

“I did notice you’ve beefed up a bit.”

“Yet another reason to thank Pyry.”

“At this point I should send him a fruit basket for his trouble.”

“Maybe you should.” Pierre grins, hand leaving your thigh for a split second to upshift. “What about you? How’s year four treating you?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” you groan. “My senior project is already killing me and I’ve only just started it. We have to design a building from the ground up- I mean I like architecture but I’m trying to be an engineer, not an architect. I dunno why I have to be the one to design a building! At this point it’s just a brick box.”

“Sounds challenging,” Pierre notes, flooring it when he merges onto the highway. Though the speed makes your stomach flip, you don’t miss a beat.

“My team doesn’t do much either, I’ve been doing most of it. I could rant for hours about it.”

Pierre glances at the clock, then back to you. The blue of his eyes is blocked by his signature purple tinted sunglasses, shielding them from the rising sun that casts him in a warm orange glow. “Humor me. We’ve got time.”

The hour and a half drive was by no means dull with Pierre's teasing touches and endless string of questioning along the way. He asked after every aspect of your life that had transpired in the last four months, only stopping you once in a while to interject with an opinion or anecdote. He didn't stop at your life either, even asking after Ben's relationship. You'd been happy to report that he had indeed wooed his crush and had officially asked him to be his boyfriend.

"Those secret French lessons paid off," Pierre jokes as he pulls up to the imposing glass fronted building that served as Red Bull Racing's headquarters. The sweeping curve of the entrance was flanked on either side by two-story red and yellow bulls; proof that the team's dramatics extended far past the track. Anyone approaching for the first time would have been intimidated by the sheer size of them that suggested they were ready to stomp on their competition at a moment’s notice.

“Guess it’s time.” You sigh and undo your seatbelt and fiddle with the buckle, doing your best to stall. There was no reason to be this nervous. You were no one to these people; the focus would be entirely on Pierre. You would be an afterthought, not that you minded because it made it easier to fade into the background.

Pierre picks up on your hesitation in a heartbeat. “I’ll keep them off your back,” he promises and you nod, the single sentence taking the edge off. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You reach for the door handle but Pierre tsks and you pause.

"You know better." You bite your lip to keep back the grin fighting its way to the surface as he comes around to open your door. He offers you his hand and you gladly take it and are pleasantly surprised when he threads his fingers through yours and heads for the entrance.

The atrium serving as the lobby is breathtakingly gorgeous. You had to hand it to the interior designer; they knew what they were doing. Sleek white marble floors are accented by red and yellow leather chairs scattered in small groups throughout the grand space. A tiered circular modern interpretation of a chandelier hangs above to offer guidance to the accountants, engineers and artists that weave through the lobby on their way to their respective wings or offices.

A waist high, glass front cabinet of drivers helmets serves as the reception desk. The unmistakable scent of a fresh cup of coffee hits you as you approach and the secretary hands a steaming paper cup to someone before they scurry off, presumably to a private office if they were important enough to warrant special attention. The first rays of morning sunlight glint off the silver Red Bull logo inlaid in the black marble behind the woman at the counter, making you squint.

"Bonjour Monsieur Gasly," she says in perfect French. "Ça va?"

"Bien," he says simply and switches to English for your benefit. "Has Christian come through yet?"

"He has," the woman says, glancing sidelong at you. Whatever conclusions she draws about you are insignificant enough that she writes you off immediately, angling her body towards Pierre and resting her chin in her hand. The posturing puts her ample chest on display, nearly spilling out of her billowing blouse, but Pierre's eyes don't wander. "He's not expecting you yet. Voulez-vous un cafe?"

"I'm good." The woman may have been determined to alienate you but Pierre was having none of it. Pierre turns to you, a grin playing on his face. This was your first test as an official couple and he intended to see how you handled it. "How about you, my love? Coffee?"

The woman's eyes slip to where your hand remains clasped in his. She cocks her head so slightly you think you might be imagining it until Pierre's grip tightens, a silent encouragement. Your confidence soars. If this was how Daniel's girlfriend felt when the two of them were out, you finally understood why they didn't hide. It was a rush knowing that everyone wanted Pierre but he only wanted you. No matter how blatantly women threw themselves at him, there was no doubt in your mind that he would never give a single one of them the light of day.

It was about damn time you afforded him the same unwavering commitment as he had shown you.

"No thank you," you reply sweetly with a mocking smile directed to the woman. You lean in and drop your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You might want to fix your shirt though, it’s… slipped. I know I'd hate for that to happen to me and no one tell me, especially at work. I don't think I'd ever recover from it."

Her face immediately turns scarlet as she stands straight and folds her arms over her chest. "If I were you-"

"Let Horner know I'm here," Pierre interrupts and it's somehow the hottest thing he's ever said. His purely commanding tone leaves no room for argument.

"Of course," she replies with a sharp smile in your direction that makes your spine stiffen. "Good luck. Christian is in rare form this morning."

"Just ignore it," Pierre murmurs and sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand as he leads you across the cold marble and down a carpeted hall. "You handled that well.”

“I may have gotten a few pointers from Daniel’s lover.” Your soft smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The short interaction had sapped most of your confidence, leaving you on uneven footing. “I would rather not have to deal with that again soon though.”

“I can handle the women easy enough when I know I’ve got you to come home to.”

The tightness in your chest eases further when the hall opens into another startlingly white space, this time packed with rows and rows of navy cubicles. But that's not where your attention is drawn- instead, your gaze is immediately snagged by the case of trophies towering high along the back wall. Cups of every shape and size shine within, each one representing a different podium for the team achieved in various years and tracks.

"There must be over a hundred," you breathe, mesmerized by the glinting silver and intricate craftsmanship. The case was easily thirty feet tall and you had to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the ones in the top row. Each one told a story of blood, sweat and tears, each one earned by a driver who had made countless sacrifices to be where they were and finish on a podium.

"A hundred and eighty five to be exact," he counters, laughing at your amusement. "Your inner architect is screaming isn't it?"

"Only a little."

Pierre laughs outright at your white lie and tugs you along. "You can stare on the way out. I'll even show you which ones were Max's."

"Did you memorize what all his trophies look like?"

"Hey, meetings with engineers get boring. It's one of the more interesting ways to occupy your time when they are going on and on about fluid mechanics and thermodynamics- you know, stuff you understand but not me."

"Oh whatever, you enjoy those meetings and you know it."

"Only a little," he quotes.

People recognize him as you pass and some nod or give a simple greeting as they go about their morning but no one stops him to chat. The air feels a bit hostile, like no one knows what to do with him now that he's walking through the building after a nearly two year absence.

"Do you miss it?" You ask after he smiles at someone for the millionth time.

"I miss the team," he admits, "but not the management culture. My team was great- they supported me any way they could but it didn't help that Horner didn't exactly encourage them to believe in me. It's hard to crank out results when there's no one on your side."

"I'm on your side," you point out, nudging him with your hip. "You've got me forever, no takesies backsies."

"I'm grateful for it," he murmurs and gives your hand a squeeze. He hadn't let go once; not when he had to open a door or the two of you had to walk single file to let people pass.

The building was a labyrinth and if it wasn't for Pierre you'd have been lost the moment you set foot inside. He navigates the twisting halls with ease, having no need for the countless signs posted along the way.

He leads you up a set of steel stairs after what seems like ages. When he knocks on a heavy oak door, his grip on your hand turns possessive like he suspects the office’s occupant would try to rip you away from him.

“Morning.”

God, even the one word makes rage simmer in your veins. The voice precedes the man and Christian Horner swings open the door, a plastic smile splitting his face. He doesn't bother acknowledging you with a greeting, instead addressing his driver directly.

“I wasn’t expecting you to bring a guest.”

“A pretty face was needed around here,” Pierre snaps back without missing a beat. You bristle, free hand curling into a fist. If there was one person you didn’t mind teaching a lesson to, it was Horner. He had little respect for anyone he viewed as disposable- up to and including “underperforming” drivers.

Christian raises an eyebrow. “Sure. She can wait out here- you and I have terms to discuss.”

Fine, Horner wanted to play dirty? So could you. When it came to staring him down, you became fearless. He was the one person you refused to let intimidate you.

Drawing on your newly minted confidence you smile up at Pierre and silence the protest forming on his tongue with a grin. “Gimme a kiss, race winner.”

Pierre doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to yours. Cupping a hand to the back of his neck you draw him in and nip at his lower lip. The hand on your hip tightens at Christian's scoff but Pierre makes no move to break away. You linger a moment longer than necessary to drive your point home: you didn’t care what Horner had to say about you, you were here to stay and he would have to get used to it.

Pierre gives you a small, blissed out smile before dropping your hand and following Horner inside. The door clicks but doesn't shut all the way, Pierre leaving it cracked for your benefit.

Uninterested in eavesdropping on small talk, you lean on the metal railing to observe the research and development garage coming to life on the floor below. Hybrid engines in various stages of disassembly dot the space, small teams of mechanics and engineers tweaking components to reduce weight or increase horsepower. Pistons and valves are scrutinized and exchanged before being placed under stress to test their strength.

An FIA official in a red jacket wove through the garage to observe and jot notes down on a clipboard. He looks over the shoulder of an engineer pouring over formulas on a whiteboard, startling him when the official asks a question. Someone calls your name from below and you search for the origin, finally spotting the woman and waving back at her.

Management may have their qualms with Pierre but it was clear there were still some within the team that had his back. They were likely the same ones that knew he would have to leave the Red Bull umbrella to find any semblance of success. They may not have possessed the guts to stick their necks out for him when Horner had cut him but they were at least happy to see him back around headquarters.

"You sure you'll rise to the challenge?" Horner's question drags you back to the mezzanine.

"I'll take seventh. I'm only a few points away and we have plenty of races left."

He had five races to catch up to be exact. Pierre currently was comfortably ahead of the pack in ninth, Sainz was only three points ahead in eighth, and Norris ten points beyond in seventh. It would only take a DNF or two from his rivals and a few podiums to pass them up.

"Right," Horner starts. "There's a reason you've done so well this season and it's not luck. You've been racing exceptionally well and I don't want that to change."

"If there's something on your mind just get on with it." Pierre's voice is calm and collected in a way yours wouldn't be if you had been in his shoes. You've been dying to rip into Horner since the day he wrote Pierre off.

"There's been a fire in you the past few months since she has been gone-"

"Leave her out of this."

The tone sends a chill down your spine. It maintains the same level headedness that Pierre had perfected over the years and you had come to expect when he was backed against a wall, but it was laced with an unspoken threat. The intent was clear: he would walk out and abandon his chance for a seat at Red Bull if it meant protecting you.

You creep to the door to peer through the crack. Horner crosses his arms, a sly smile on his face. "You would sacrifice your chance at a championship winning seat for her? Everything you've worked so hard for, gone in a flash, because of her?"

"Without question," Pierre answers immediately. The conviction and commitment behind it nearly makes you stumble. "I'm sure there's plenty of other teams that would love to have me after the season I've had. She’s not going anywhere, so either you stop disrespecting her or I walk out."

You clench your fists, ready to burst in and demand Pierre stop being a fucking idiot. His long term plan saw him at another top team that would take care of him and nurture his skill- a long stint at Red Bull Racing was never in the cards. It wasn't an environment for everyone. Some people like Max thrived in it, letting the toxicity roll off their backs but for Pierre it was a cruel form of punishment. However, a seat at Red Bull for the 2022 season could mean the difference between an offer from Alpine and an offer from Haas when his contract was up for renewal.

The idea of seeing his number stickered to the floor in a Red Bull garage excites and intimidates you. Last time he hadn't been given the chance to prove himself. Would they still hold that against him? Knowing Christian, he probably would. On the other hand, it meant that they admitted their mistake in cutting him mid-season, whether they said it outright or not.

Pierre's redemption day was on the horizon and you couldn't wait to see the look on Horner's face when he finally won. And the longer Christian stays silent, the more potent the urge to throttle him grows.

Christian gives a slow clap. "Now there's the unwavering commitment that was missing during round one."

Your heart hammers in the dead silence as papers are shuffled. "Here's the contract. Terms are as discussed, you secure seventh in the world championship in 2021 and the second seat at Red Bull Racing is yours for the entire calendar in 2022. No demotions, substitutions, or shuffling of drivers unless medically necessary or mutually agreed upon by all affected parties."

"And the same spec car as the number one seat," Pierre insists, spine straight. "Same strategy."

Christian waves a hand. "Yes, that's in there too. Feel free to take a moment and read it over."

He does, allowing Christian time to pour a knuckle of whiskey and set the glass before Pierre. He pours himself an identical glass and waits until Pierre signs and initials all the boxes before raising it in acknowledgement.

"Congratulations. Welcome back to Red Bull- conditionally."

Pierre leaves the glass untouched and remains silent, staring his potential future team principal down. He gives the man no margin to question his abilities further, conveying all he needs to with a look that would have had you shaking at the knees. Even if you can't see his face, wrath radiates from him in waves and you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it when it explodes.

"Right then." Christian lowers the glass, his fake smile vanishing. "I look forward to seeing what you can do."

"Don't worry. I'll deliver."

You step back and allow him to set the mood as he exits the office and slams the door behind him. Pierre sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "You heard all of that right?"

You nod. "You wouldn't have really walked out, right?"

"I almost did."

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like you should know that he would choose you over all of this, that all of his dreams and everything he had sacrificed to achieve them thus far meant less to him than you did. How many times did he have to prove his unwavering commitment before you realized it was true?

Pierre laces his fingers through yours, the heat welcomed by your ice cold skin. It was as much a comfort to you as it was to him. "I just have to grab some things from Max's office and then we can head out."

His jaw is still set after his stand off with Christian and you want nothing more than to ease his mind. Publicly comforting him with a touch to his chest or a kiss to his neck was out of the question so you settle on temporary distraction.

"Hey, you know what I want to see?"

"What's that?"

"That room full of all the old chassis. You know, the one that they hold all the fancy virtual events in? I wanna see those."

"I think I should be able to get you back there." He veers down a hall and you yelp, pulled along by his momentum. His attitude brightens a little at your laugh. The grin he throws your way is your own personal sun, warming your soul.

"Hey- hold on." You pull him to a stop and lead him into an alcove. The inch of space between your chests is charged with electricity, begging to jump from one to the other.

"Can I help you?" He asks and grins down at you.

"No," you say nonchalantly. "Just wanted to be selfish for a second."

You rise up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He melts into you, one hand coming up to cup your jaw while the other finds the small of your back. You side your tongue over his lower lip and he presses you against the door leading to who knew where and opens his mouth to you. You sigh into the kiss, arms winding around his neck and losing yourself in him.

Now that you had gotten over your anxiety, everything was so much easier. You know there's press roaming about the building and any number of them could pass by at any moment but you genuinely couldn't care less. Let them talk; you were over caring what anyone thought or said.

All that mattered was the man beneath your fingertips. You would endure a lifetime of insults if he was the one to soothe the wounds afterwards. As long as you both were happy, no one could come between you ever again.

Pierre pulls away when someone passes by and coughs quietly. "You're trouble," he murmurs, leaving an arm propped next to your head and effectively caging you in.

"And you're dangerous," you tease, tugging on his hair and exposing his throat enough to nip at it once. "Together we're the perfect pair."

He groans and leans away. "Keep that up and I might have to stay in London an extra week."

You slip out of his grasp and give him an unrestrained grin. "Don't threaten me with a good time." You spin on your heel and set off down the hall, swaying your hips a little more than necessary.

"You know where you're going?" He calls after you.

"Someone will point me in the right direction, I'm sure."

"Someone like me." He catches up to you and once again takes your hand in his. He was enjoying showing you off almost as much as you enjoyed hanging on him.

"Maybe we should head right to Max's office and hurry home, huh?"

"Maybe-"

"Pierre, there you are."

You both turn to a woman hustling up the hall after you. She’s slight and her brown curls bounce as she jogs to where the two of you pause at a bend. You glance up to Pierre to see if he's just as confused as you are.

"Hey Mary," he says cheerily. "How are you? Sorry I didn't check in with you when I got here."

"Oh it's fine- why aren't you in the Alpha samples I sent?” The woman props a fist on her hip and tips her head to the side. “I think I got your size right now that I’ve laid eyes on you. I was hoping for a shoot today since you've finally come by."

It takes you a moment to register that she's addressing you. You shoot Pierre a look and he offers you a tentative, closed off smile. "Um, what Alpha gear?"

The woman's chocolate brown eyes go wide. "The ones I've been sending to Pierre. Hoodies, dresses, jackets. All the stuff from the new line. They have been sending the samples to you, right?"

"Um, yeah I've gotten them," Pierre says, rubbing his neck. "I haven't given them to her though."

"Oh, I see!” Pink tinges Mary’s cheeks. “I must have missed a memo. I just thought that you'd want to do a shoot with her today, since we already had a quick one planned for you. After all, you talk about her all the time."

"He does?"

Mary nods. "Oh yes, we've all heard plenty about you. You're lucky to have someone so enamored with you. I just dropped off some more samples in Max's office as a little thank you for letting us steal him so often-"

"Okay, thank you Mary," Pierre says abruptly. "I'll get back to you on that."

Pierre steers you away and down the hall. "What was she talking about? Why would they want me to come by for a photo shoot?"

Pierre runs a hand through his hair and pauses outside Max's office. The Dutchman must have been away because Pierre pulls out his key and fits it in the lock. "I just- come on."

He waves you inside and you obey, letting him close the door and grant you some semblance of privacy before continuing.

"I never formally told anyone that we broke up. Most people came to their own conclusions once they didn't see you around for a while. Some people didn't get the message. Obviously Mary was one of them. I would still talk about you, I couldn't help myself. There was one shoot where Yuki and I were together and he mentioned off hand that you'd be a good brand ambassador. I tried to explain that it wouldn't work but Mary wouldn't hear it and she just kept sending me more and more samples.”

You draw a breath and interrupt his rambling. “But where-”

"I had it all in a box in my office but I struggled to concentrate with a reminder of you hanging over my head. I sent it over here to Max and that's where it's sat ever since. I used the excuse that Max was in town more often than I was and no one read too far into it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You whisper. "I would've taken them. I'm sure you got an earful from Mary."

"Would you have?” Pierre pauses, your silence in the face of his frustration speaking volumes. “I waited four months to hear from you. Tell me that sending you thousands of dollars in unreleased merch wouldn't have made you even more hesitant to come back to me."

Not knowing what else to say, you let your gaze fall to the carpet. Sending you expensive things would have felt something like a bribe, like he was trying to influence you with fancy clothes.

Pierre shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, it’s in the past now. We can take it home today and you can wear it when I take you for dinner and Alpha will get the press they’re after. Everyone will be happy.”

He wasn’t happy. That much was plain to see. He hadn’t been able to stomach seeing something intended for you, even that minute of a reminder had been too much for him to bear. God, you had thoroughly wrecked him. You were lucky that there were still enough pieces of him left to heal.

“I didn’t realize you were hurting so bad,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you cross the cramped space to him, stepping over piles of strewn paperwork carefully so as to not disturb whatever random order they were placed in. You don’t dare reach out to touch him as his shoulders slump, any and all forward momentum he’d gathered suddenly sapped.

“It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever gone through.”

Unable to let him suffer alone with his thoughts, you wrap your arms around his middle and let your cheek rest between his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to alienate you. I was waiting for you, too.”

“You needed space and I gave it to you.” His hand rests on your arm with a gentleness you’ve come to expect when he lays himself bare like this. “There were so many times I almost gave in to the impulse and just messaged you but I made myself wait. I didn’t want to rush it and make things worse. You always need time to think things through- I knew you would come around eventually. It didn’t make it any easier though.”

You rub soothing circles on his side as you blink back the tears that spring to your eyes. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m sorry I took so long and I’m sorry I made you wait. It had to have been torture-”

He turns in your embrace and cups your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The pad of his thumb sweeps across your cheek, the metal of the ring on his middle finger biting into your flushed skin. “It’s alright. You had a lot to sort through and I had to respect that.”

“We lost so much time-”

“Hey,” he says softly, ducking his head to meet your eyes. “We’re together now. If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that you can’t let missed opportunities control you or else you’ll never be happy.”

You nod, swiping your sleeve under your eyes. “What did they send?” you ask, nodding towards the box overflowing with tan and navy threads.

“Pull up a chair,” Pierre suggests, “there’s a lot.”

You roll over Max’s desk chair and tug on Pierre’s arm. Once he gets the picture and sits, you settle in his lap. He winds an arm around your middle, the close contact already soothing your frazzled nerves.

“That better?” he murmurs.

“Much better.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @ricciartodododo

If you have asked to be tagged in the past and I missed you I apologize! Just comment below and I’ll get you added for future updates. Thanks for reading ❤

#my writing #pierre gasly #pierre gasly imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #pierre gasly x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 imagine #formula 1 fic #formula 1 imagine #f1 rpf #formula 1 rpf #pierre gasly fanfiction

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Hallucination

Prompts: i love your fics insanity and real or not real!! can i request another fic where a side is struggling to tell what's real and what's a hallucination? can be in the same like universe (carrying on with one of the stories) or a completely different universe/person, idm - anon

*crashes into ur asks*

Hey if you’re still taking requests could you do just Janus comforting someone on the verge of a meltdown? Like lots of soft words and caring Janus? He’s my comfort character and I love him - anon

Thanks for the prompt!

Read on Ao3 Part 1 (ish)

Warnings: talk of hallucinations, uncertainty

Pairings: focus on creativitwins, intrulogical, dukeceit, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic, you decide

Word Count: 3864

Sometimes Thomas watches things and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

Sometimes Thomas decides to watch something late at night, when it’s dark outside, even though Virgil tells him it’s a bad idea, and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

Sometimes when Virgil has gone to his room and he’s fine, but Thomas’s mind can’t stop playing it over and over and over and over, he starts to expand on it and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

He can’t remember the name of the video. Something to do with being stuck on a misty island in the middle of nowhere with a monster and villagers that wait to sacrifice tourists to the monster to sate its hunger. Something about a daring rescue or an escape plan doomed to fail.

Something like…

“Do not go outside. Do not turn on the lights. Don’t make sounds.” The old man draws the curtains sharply across the window. “And whatever you do, do not look out the window.”

It’s late now. Patton’s asleep. Virgil’s in his room, probably asleep. The rest of them are still awake in the Imagination. It’s slumber party night for the twins, having created a big sprawling mansion in the Imagination for them to run around in. Logan is here, Janus is here, Roman is here.

Villagers?

They’re talking about what Thomas watched.

Logan straightens his legs out. “It’s not a bad practice, staying quiet.”

Janus rolls his eyes. “Come on, what is this, some haunted island?”

“You saw the people in the video.” Logan rests his weight on his elbows. “Something was amiss.”

“The only thing amiss was how awfully boring you lot are being.” Janus sighs and stands, stretching. “Well, I think a night of entertainment sounds wonderful.”

“The old man said to be quiet,” Roman points out. Wait, is the old man real?

“Do you know how prone to flights of fancy old people are?” Janus smiles. “Incredibly.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh don’t start that.” Janus rolls his eyes and his gaze lands on Remus. A smirk crawls across his face. “Well,” he drawls, sauntering across the room, “someone’s being awfully quiet.”

Remus just shrugs. Janus crouches down.

“What do you think about this monster,” he asks, tapping his fingers on his chin, “about the thing that sneaks around this island, peering into windows, through the keyholes of locked doors?”

“Janus,” Logan warns.

“What? I just want to hear what our other little scientist thinks about this.” He raises his eyebrows when Remus won’t hold his gaze. “No? Nothing? Need more data? Well, I’m sure you could ask around if you wanted to.”

“We’re not supposed to leave,” he says softly.

“I know you’re a goody-two-shoes, Remus, but you’ll never get anything done that way.”

“Leave him alone, Janus,” Roman says with a wink, “he’s just mad at how pathetic the monster design was.”

Long limbs. Dark eyes. Moved like shadow.

“And the Boy Scout, coming to the rescue.” Janus rolls his eyes as he stands. “Aren’t you tired of being so boring?”

Roman holds his hands up. “Hey, I’m all for exploring!”

Janus sighs. “Ever the dashing prince, are we?”

“Ask nicely and I may sweep you off your feet too.”

The banter continues. Logan just sighs and pulls out a journal, the pen emerging from god-knows-where as he writes. Remus swallows and glances toward the window.

In. Out. In. Out.

Roman and Janus are still tossing barbs and jests back and forth. Remus cannot help but notice how loud they are being.

The old man said to be quiet.

Logan looks up when he begins to crouch down and shuffle behind the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Changing.” He gives a half-hearted smile. “Texture spoons ran out.”

He nods and goes back to his writing. Remus glances at the nightstand. Only 8:00. The conversation gets progressively louder. Logan joins in eventually, rolling his eyes at Roman’s increasingly elaborate proposals to bring in jukeboxes, disco lights, and speakers.

“Let’s think about this logically. If the ghosts or whatever the hell the monster is sensitive to sound, why not pump everything to like, 300 decibels and blast their eardrums out?”

“Or it could be that they just hear things like we hear things,” Logan remarks.

“Mm.”

“Why do I have to be quiet?” Roman spreads his arms. “I should not have to deal with that!”

“Actually, you know what,” Janus says gleefully, “I agree. We shouldn’t have to be quiet. If this place doesn’t have adequate monster protection, that’s on them.”

This place…didn’t they make it safe? Roman said they made it safe. Is it not safe anymore? Are the shadows—is the monster here?

“Always the entitlement,” Logan sighs, seemingly resigning himself to the voice of reason as he settles his journal to the side, “assuming that everyone should cater to your needs.”

“Oh come on, Logan. You have to admit that having a hotel that isn’t secure makes little to no sense.”

Hotel? Isn’t this still the mansion?

The low buzz of an LED sign comes from outside. Remus blinks. Has…has that always been there?

“Not respecting the rules of wherever you choose to go makes little to no sense.”

“That’s gotta hold up in court though.” Roman glances at Janus. “You get me?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Janus says, drawing himself up like a lawyer, “I would like to sue on the grounds that my intestines were devoured horrifically by a terrifying, savage beast that the hotel owners neglected to inform me of. How am I standing here, you ask, if my intestines have been devoured? Simple. Spite.”

Roman’s off, cackling to his heart’s content. Logan bites back his own smile.

“And how, may I ask, is this not the fault of yourself?”

“May I say, Your Honor, that victim-blaming is not cute—“

“Here here,” comes Roman’s voice.

“—and also, the information about aforementioned monster came from someone who was not an employee of the hotel,” Janus finishes grandly, “therefore they can suck my—“

Logan hits his hand against the nightstand, still fighting down laughter. “Defendant is charged with contempt of court.”

“Do not pass go,” Roman chortles as Janus swoons dramatically, “do not collect 200 dollars.”

“Remus,” Janus cries out, “avenge me!”

Remus does not respond. He is too busy trying to figure out when the mansion became the hotel.

“Remus,” Janus cries again, crawling dramatically across the floor, “save me from this indignity.”

“No, thank you,” he mumbles instead.

Janus huffs, pushing himself off the floor. “Then by all means, please tell us your ingenious solution to this monster problem that we find ourselves in.”

Remus looks up, his face carefully blank except for a small smile. “I’m going to hide underneath the sheets,” he says in a soft, small voice, “because everybody knows monsters can’t get you when you’re under your sheets.”

“That is adorable,” Roman chuckles.

Janus’s eyebrows raise slowly until another fiendish smirk crawls across his face. “Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

“Aww,” he coos, “hiding under the sheets to get away from the monsters, how adorable.”

Remus doesn’t respond.

“If only the others could see you now,” Janus crows, “they’d know how intimidating you really are.”

Logan takes his glasses off, polishing them with the handkerchief from his pocket. “As if you’re any better, crying over a torn seam in your cape.”

“That bastard took two weeks to get right!”

Remus ignores them once more, glancing at the clock. 9:45. An acceptable time to try and go to sleep. He moves slowly and quietly as he tries to get into the bed. The monster could be here. The banter continues behind him as he pulls the sheets tight around him.

He does not see Logan glance over. He does not see that Logan frowns and glances at the clock, thinking perhaps Remus is more tired than he appeared, but…still. He does not see Logan look back at the others still talking, they’re probably not going to go to sleep for a long while.

He does not see Logan look over at him as Janus leaves the room, claiming he’s going to go find somewhere more fun to sleep. He does not see Logan frown, looking to see Remus still on his side, huddled under the sheets. He does not see when Logan starts to count.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He does not see Logan beckon Roman closer.

He does not see Roman frown as he comes closer, sighing at the notebook in Logan’s hands.

“Logan, why the hell can’t you take a break for…” he trails off when he sees Logan’s face. “What?”

“Perhaps I like to keep myself occupied,” Logan says smoothly, even as he nods insistently to the notebook, “even in times where the circumstances might be less than ideal.”

Roman raises an eyebrow. Subtle, Logan.

“You are chronically incapable of taking a break, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you know any words other than ‘perhaps?’”

“Perhaps.”

Roman hides a smirk as squints at the text.

I think Remus is actually afraid. Don’t tease. - L

Remus does hear Roman exhale sharply. He does not see him glance up at the bed before he looks back at Logan and nods.

“Well,” he sighs, stretching and yawning exaggeratedly, “on that note, it’s probably a good idea to try and sleep.”

Logan snorts. “And here I thought you were supposed to be an actor.”

He swats at him halfheartedly as he starts getting ready to go to sleep. What that means is just a matter of snapping his fingers to change out of the prince costume. He packs his other clothes away and crosses the room, keeping his footsteps loud but not too loud.

Now that he’s paying attention, he can see how scared poor Remus is. He’s frozen under the sheets, barely moving. As Logan starts talking quietly to himself, he sets his bag down next to Remus’s and sighs, moving around to make a bit more noise.

Remus still doesn’t move.

When he’s made all the noise he can reasonably make, he walks a little closer to the bed and reaches to fix the curtains, unable to stop the soft noise when his shadow falls over the bed.

“Hey, Re,” he whispers, leaning down and brushing the sheet a little further from his face, “it’s just me, it’s just Roman. Can you open your eyes for me?”

It takes him a moment but his eyes do open. He smiles down at him and cups his face for a moment.

“Hey, there, Re,” he murmurs, “can I come join you?”

He barely nods.

“Thank you.” He frowns when he doesn’t move over. “You gonna let me in?”

He can tell by the way his eyes glass over that’s not a good idea unless he can convince him otherwise.

“Come on,” he whispers again, “scoot to the other side for me.” He nudges his shoulder gently. “Logan misses you.”

Loren doesn’t let his mumuring falter but he does reach across the small space between their beds to lightly pat the side closest to him.

Remus moves, as skittish as the new dragon pups, clutching the blanket tightly to his chest, his pillow gripped in his other hand. Roman swiftly takes the warm spot he’s vacated, wincing in sympathy as he shivers on the cold sheets.

“Thank you,” he sighs, making a show of getting comfortable before reaching out for him, smacking his lips together in sleep, “now come here.”

At his quickly stifled questioning noise, he drops the act and opens his arm wide.

“It’s okay, Re,” he whispers, far too quiet for Logan to hear, “I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s okay.”

He stares at him a moment longer before he realizes that shit, he’s not going to be able to move on his own right now.

“Can I come get you, Re?” Roman smiles when he gives him another one of those jerky nods. “Thank you, I’m gonna pull you over to me, okay?”

He takes him into his arms slowly and carefully, wrapping him up in the sheets until just the very tops of their heads poke out. He relaxes just enough so that he can maneuver him to where he likes, but he’s far from the sleepy pile he expected.

“Hey,” he whispers, tucking his hair behind his ear, “you want to stay here with me, Re?”

He blinks sluggishly. Roman bites back a curse and leans down to rub his nose against his.

“Hey, hey, Re, you just focus on me, okay? Stay with me here—“ he tightens his grip— “right here…I’ve got you.”

He frowns when he makes a small little noise that sounds like it could be his name.

“Yeah, Re? You calling for me?”

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He kisses Remus’s forehead.

“Nonverbal,” he whispers, “or just scared? Or both?”

A moment passes.

“Both it is then.” Roman tucks his head under his chin. “Why don’t you go ahead and close your eyes, Re, I’m right here.”

They stay there, wrapped in the blankets, Remus warm and snug up against Roman’s chest. He plays with his hair, one of his legs slung over his to hold him close, working to lull him out of his frozen state. After a while, Logan stands from the other side of the room and pats Roman’s shoulder.

“Your turn, Roman.”

Roman rolls over. “Huh?”

Logan nods his head toward the bathroom. “Shower.”

Roman sighs dramatically and presses another kiss to Remus’s forehead, leaving his brother dazed, blinking up at Logan. Logan watches Roman leave before he turns his gaze downwards. Remus tries to pretend the shiver that goes through him at the way Logan softens his gaze is just the cold.

“Remus,” he calls softly, voice barely louder than a whisper, “Remus, may I join you?”

A pause.

“Tap the bed twice if yes, once if no.”

A pause, then Remus hesitantly reaches out to make two little taps.

“Thank you.”

He slides smoothly into the bed, reaching out to carefully slip an arm under his and pull him off of the sweat-soaked sheets—when did that happen?—and into his arms. Remus moves pliantly, tucking his chin into the space left between his chin and the pillow.

“Hey,” he whispers, gentling his voice as he tucks his head closer to Remus’s, “hey.”

Logan is warm. Is Logan—Logan said it made sense to be quiet. Logan knows. Logan understands. Logan always understands.

“What’s the matter,” Logan calls gently, “can I help?”

Remus swallows. “Monster.”

“Are you afraid of the monster, Remus?”

Remus nods. “Black eyes. Shadow. Kill you and Roman and Janus and then go find Patton and Virgil and Thomas. Bad.”

“The monster isn’t real, Remus,” Logan says softly, running his hand through his hair, “it doesn’t exist.”

Remus shakes his head. “We’re in the hotel on the island. It’s real. Roman left and the monster will kill him.”

“Roman is just in the bathroom,” Logan corrects, moving his head to indicate the running water sound, “he’s alright. We’re not in a hotel, we’re in the mansion you two created.”

“But the LED sign is buzzing outside.”

“Would you like to look and see?”

“No!” Remus wraps his arms tightly around Logan’s waist. “We’re not supposed to look out the window, the old man said not to.”

“The old man isn’t here,” Logan says patiently, “I’m here. I have you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“He said—he—he’s not real?”

“No, Remus, he’s not real.” Logan gives him a gentle squeeze. “This is real. This is real, Remus, I’ve got you.”

“You’re real.”

“I am.”

“You said it’s safe to look out the window?”

“It is.” Logan squeezes again. “Would you like me to show you?”

Remus nods. Logan leans up and pulls back the curtain, peeking outside. There’s no bright red light from the hotel LED sign. Just soft moonlight.

“There’s no sign, Remus,” he murmurs, “you’re not in a hotel.”

Oh.

“The scar,” he blurts, his hand flying to his chest, “from the stab, what if it’s already got us?”

“I don’t have a scar,” Logan says, lying back down and taking Remus’s hand, “here…feel.”

Logan presses his palm to his bare chest, pulling his shirt out of the way so Remus can see. There’s no scar.

“You don’t have one either…may I?”

When he presses his palms against Remus’s chest, there’s no scar.

“We’re…not there?”

“No, Remus, we’re not there,” Logan says gently, “we’re here, in the mansion, safe, there’s no monster.”

The water stops. A moment later and Roman emerges, tossing a towel over his shoulder. He sees the two of them in the bed and pouts.

“You stole my spot!”

“I had Remus to comfort,” Logan says smoothly, waving him over, “though you are welcome to help.”

Roman ruffles Remus’s hair. Remus leans into it.

“Ro, are you real?”

“Yes, of course, I’m real, Re, what…” Roman trails off and his eyes go wide. “Oh, Re, did we—did I push you into hallucination territory? I’m so sorry, yes, we’re real, we’re here, we’re in our mansion, we’re safe, Re.”

“Safe?”

“Yeah, Re,” Roman murmurs, getting in to cuddle his brother properly, “we’re safe.”

“Real?”

“This is real.”

Remus buries his nose in his brother’s real neck and holds him close. Logan stays by his side, stroking his hair and murmuring that Remus is here, they’re real, they’re safe.

After a moment, Remus takes a deep breath and pulls apart.

“You know the rules, Ro-Bro.”

Roman grimaces, his head dropping to rest against Remus’s sternum for a moment before he nods. Logan looks back and forth between the two of them.

“What are the rules?”

“When Remus gets pushed into hallucination territory,” Roman says softly, “he sleeps alone.”

Logan frowns. “But surely it would help to have us reassure you and help ground you?”

“Wouldn’t help for the intrusive thoughts and hallucinations to include you too.”

Logan winces. “I suppose not, but—“

“Lolo we’ve tried,” Remus mumbles, “we—this works. It sucks and I hate it and so does Ro but this is what works.”

“I trust you,” Logan says, squeezing Remus’s hand, “and I trust you to know what works for you.”

“We’re just overprotective.”

“I’ll say.”

Roman gives him one last hug before standing and pulling Logan to his feet. “You know we’ll come as soon as you call.”

Remus nods. “I know.”

The room feels empty when they leave.

The night passes.

During the witching hour, he startles awake.

The sheets are soaked in sweat directly under him. His eyes are wide. His breathing is too controlled.

The monster is not here but the shadows are.

Somewhere in this house, he knows, something is here. He can hear the voice in the movement of the curtains, hear the step in the way the floorboard settles. Hands never meet his tender flesh, a mouth never bites his fragile throat, but something is here.

Step. Step. Step.

The fear clouds his eyes as it drips into his ears. The light flickers. Something brushes a knuckle up and over his cheek. Something pauses outside his doorway.

Through the depths of the fear filling his ears, something knocks.

The chill rips its fingers out of his mouth and smears them over his throat. Something knocks again. There’s something outside. There’s something outside.

“Sweetie,” he calls as he opens the door, “Sweetie?”

Janus steps inside.

“You’re awake,” he says, shutting the door and sitting on the edge of the bed, “it’s quite late.”

“I know,” Remus says as he sits up, wary, “sorry.”

Janus hums, reaching out to idly brush his hair off his forehead. The chill curls and lingers around his fingers, the shadows diving to hide in the lea of him, greedily drinking the fear from Remus. Janus goes to pull his hand away only to notice the prickles on Remus’s skin.

“Are you cold, my dear?” He frowns and lightly dusts his forearm with his fingertips. “You look it.”

Remus shakes his head. Janus raises an eyebrow, pressing his thumb hard against his arm to reveal a white imprint. It takes long seconds for the chill to let blood color the flesh again.

“Let’s not lie,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking back up to catch Remus’s, “shall we, sweetie?”

Janus reaches up to trace the air around the curve of his cheek, one finger lightly tracing his jaw. The electrifying tingle clenches his hands in the sheet. He tilts his head and hums softly.

“What’s keeping you awake, sweetie?”

The chill snarls, refusing to let go of his throat.

“You can speak,” he encourages, lightly knuckling the underside of his chin, “it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head a little.

“None of that, now, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He closes his hand around his. “To be afraid is nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie, you know that.”

The shadows move slowly, wary of him, eager to taste his fear. The chill huddles around it, icing it in place, refusing to let him breathe without reaching its fingers into the pit of his throat.

“Oh, my dear,” Janus murmurs, running his fingers along the side of Remus’s neck, “can I do anything for you?”

He shakes his head quickly. Too quickly.

“Sweetie…”

“You’ll be annoyed.”

“I’m concerned,” Janus corrects gently, “that’s all.”

Remus risks a glance at the shadows.

“And you know, Remus,” he continues, lifting his hand to press a chaste kiss to its back, “taking care of you is never annoying.”

A different type of fear tingles along his fingers as they brush the curve of his jaw. This one reaches deep, deep along his fingers, up his arm, down to the curve of his shoulder, wriggling in between the cold knots to pulse against him. The shadows bloom in the corners of the room, shying away from the light flickering over his face, his shirt, his hand.

Through the mouthful of fear, his tongue wets his lips. “You’ll find it stupid.”

“Never, sweetie.”

“The dark,” blurts shamefully from his mouth, “I’m afraid of the dark.”

“The dark, sweetie? Is this about…”

“I got pushed into hallucination territory earlier.”

Janus makes a noise of sympathy, murmuring an apology for teasing earlier.

“I can’t see anything but the shadows,” Remus whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, “and the noises, and how empty it is because I know it’s not empty.”

“And what helps this go away,” he asks, still cupping his hand, “what makes the shadows leave my sweetie alone?”

“S-stay? Please, with—with me?” Remus’s breath starts to catch again. “Don’t—don’t let them hurt me.”

“Oh, sweetie, of course,” Janus murmurs, “of course I’ll stay.”

The poor thing chokes out a sob. Janus reaches forward to lie him back down when his hand brushes the edge of the sheet. He frowns. Picking the sheet up between two fingers, he winces. He can feel his fingertips rubbing together, it’s barely warm enough.

Remus’s breath still hasn’t caught when he returns with a thick quilt, spreading it over him to banish the last of the chill.

“Hush now,” he soothes, smoothing the corners of the quilt, “hush, sweetie, it’s over, you did so well, shh…”

Janus climbs into bed, pulling the shaking Remus to his chest, his arms wrapping tightly, tightly around the poor thing as he cradles Remus protectively.

“Come here, my sweet,” he whispers, “come here, now, shh, shh, you’re alright now, sweetie, shh, shh…”

His cries soften, gentled into mewls against his chest as he warms him against his skin. The poor thing is still clenched tighter than a fist. He croons, taking his wrist in his hand and pulling him flush against him.

“It’s alright, sweetie, you did so well, it��s gone now, you did it, there you are, here you are, right here, sweetie.”

The poor thing whines.

“Oh, sweet one, shh, shh, shh, my dear, you’re alright…” He makes a noise of sympathy when he doesn’t stop. “What’s the matter, sweetie, tell me, say it, come now…”

He brings his hand up to stroke gently under Remus’s chin.

“Say it, sweetie, tell me what’s troubling you so, let me help, I’m right here, I’m right here.”

“The shadows,” he whimpers, “the shadows, I can—I can hear them, they—they’re everywhere—I—they’re looking at me, they’re touching me, I can—I can feel them—I—“

“I’ve got you, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, pressing a kiss to Remus’s cheek, “I’m right here, nothing can touch you, here—“

He pulls the blankets up and over their heads, creating a little bubble of intimacy in the dark room.

“I’m here, sweetie, it’s just me, I won’t hurt you, you know I won’t. Shh, shh, hush now, sweetie, it’s alright.”

They stay like that for a little longer, Remus sobbing out the rest of the fear as Janus hushes him softly, pulls him close, soothes away the last of the tremors with gentle hands and tender words.

After a while, Remus pulls away.

“…thanks, Jan.”

“I promised,” Janus murmurs, “I promised that I’d do it when you need me to.”

“I know.” Remus sniffles. “I just…wish you didn’t have to.”

“Don’t ever feel bad about needing something,” Janus chides softly, chucking him lightly under the chin, “especially not when you really need it.”

“Already sent Lolo and Ro away for hallucinations, you—“

“They’re fine, sweetie, a little worried, but they came and told me what was happening.” Janus kisses his forehead again. “They’re not angry, they don’t begrudge you needing things, and they’ll be here for you. They always are.”

“I know.”

Exhaustion begins to seep into his eyes. He blinks sluggishly.

“This is real, right?”

Janus gives him a squeeze. “It’s real.”

“Can I sleep now?”

“Oh, of course, sweetie,” he murmurs, leaning back up to rest his head on the pillow next to Remus, “you go right ahead. I’ll be right here. I’ll keep the shadows away.”

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#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #remus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #janus sanders #sympathetic remus #sympathetic deceit #hallucination

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sailorhyunjinz · 4 years

Text

~ ℙ𝕦𝕣𝕡𝕝𝕖 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕀 ~

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: SMUT! Dom!Minho x sub!reader criminal!skz, gang!au, angst(?), criminality, mentions of scars, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, explicit language, mentions of robbery, mentions of police, mentions of cuts, alcohol consumption, mentions of fights, public sex, PIV, fingering, unsafe sex (STAY SAFE), orgasm (m/f), cum, slight bulge kink, squint to see the degradation.

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS SINCE THIS PIECE CONTAINS VIOLENCE!

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2.6 k

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: EEEEP part 2 of purple hearts that is more of a background story to the first one so if you haven’t read the first one please do so here!~ (also jesus fucking christ did i struggle with this sooo... don’t expect much lmao)

OH if you want a song recommendation; A good song never dies - Saint Motel (fits this fic heheh...)

A loud bang erupted through the room alerting the 7 other boys. Bangchan’s fist was firmly planted on the table as he looked at the shoked faces off the seven boys.

“We can’t go on like this anymore”

He spoke in a raspy voice, his breath quivering as the other boys avoided eye contact with both Bangchan and between themselves.

“Did you see what happened out there?!” Felix flinched at Chan’s loud shout as Changbin smirked, spinning in the office chair and staring at the ceiling.

“It’s not that serious, Chan! Just a couple bruises tha-” Changbin started speaking but was soon cut off.

“Nonsense!” Chan growled out. “All of this because that son of a bitch won’t get a job, we included you because you were a detective. You were useful once, Minho”.

The entire room glanced over at Minho. His cheek scarred, a droplet of blood desended down from his knuckles as he swept his hair back with one hand.

“Not my fault, you wanted me to plan the different robbing schemes so how the fuck can I work, huh? Ever though about that?” He spat on the floor as his gaze was locked with Bangchan’s. The leader getting visibly annoyed by Minho’s tone.

“Calm down everybody” Seungmin said, carefully nudging at the curtain infront of the window and looking down at the blue and red lights that was flashing all over town. “Continue like this and we’ll all be dead meat for the police”.

Hyunjin was sitting across from Changbin, only the big white table seperating them as a lonely lightbulb hanged in the middle.

“I agree with Chan, Minho used to help by getting access to information only the detectives had but now... well, he’s not doing much” he scratched the back of his neck while talking.

Minho was aggrivated by his words, ready to lunge at anyone that dared to open their mouth about how he wasnt helpful after he’d been fired from his job as a detective.

“I-I’m gonna find a job, not like you fuckers sitting here and living off others pain”. He tried to defend himself but only earned a scoff from Felix.

“Please,,, don’t try to judge us when you’re in it yourself” Felix remarked snarkily, sitting on the cold stone flooring. A first aid kit was laid out infront of him as he treated a big wound on his forearm, wrapping bandage over the cut and hissing as the material stinged against the raw wound.

“I’ll find my ways, don’t worry” he devilishly smirks, many of the boys sighing and rolling their eyes. All except one. Bangchan. His blood was boiling. Did Minho not see how the whole groups future was hanging on by a thin red thread? The red representing how much blood has been shed by these boys in order to survive in this vile world.

Silence filled the room, only the faint sound of police sirens could be heard from outside. Minho clenched his jaw, looking around at the silent boys before grabbing his coat from the wobbly coathanger and exiting the mobs headquarter, shutting the door loud enough to startle both Jeongin and Jisung. Confused glances were exchanged while Bangchan just stood at the end of the table, staring out into the dark night.

---

The nightlife was well and alive in the big city. Music blaring, people chattering and cars humming. The neon lights were all around him as well as the vast crowds of people enjoying the night. Minho walked into a bar that was a couple of blocks away from where he and the boys had been moments earlier, robbing a jewely store and beating up the owners until puddles of blood formed around them. Most of the times it was easy but today the police were a step ahead and bad planning by Bangchan almost led to the boys in handcuffs. Luckily, all eight managed to escape, leaving the bodies and the spray painted SKZ mob logo on the old fashioned walls of the jewerly store.

The bar reeked of alcohol as the lights were low, only a couple of silhouette visible. Unsteady bar chairs decorated the dim bar along with a wall of fancy liquor bottles and as Minho sat down he looked down at the bar table before croaking out;

“One boulevardier“

He licked his lips as he looked cockily at the bartender that quickly nodded, intimidated by the wound on his cheek. Minho rubbed the back of his neck whilst comtemplating his life choices. Graduated with a law degree, once being a well respected detective but what was he worth now? He was just a dirty criminal, ruining lives in order to survive. The drink was placed infront of him, a coaster on the bottom of the wide glas as the drink condensed, forming beeds of liquid on the rim. Just as he lifted the glas to his chapped lips you tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me”

You stood behind his hunched figure and met his gaze as he turned around, drink in hand. You show your detective badge before speaking.

“y/n, y/l/n. Happened to see any commotion here tonight, sir?

He scoffs which makes you confused as you look him straight into his cold brown eyes.

“Detective? At least you got to keep your job”

Minho turns back and you stand there, wondering if he’s drunk or just refusing to cooperate.

“Sir, I asked you if you’d seen anything that could lead us to the SKZ mob? I’m pretty sure you know who they are. You know, the ones that makes the entire city shake of fear.”

“Sure, I know of them.” He smirked with his answer.

He patted the empty bar chair next to him, signaling for you to sit which caught you off guard. You were hesitant since he didn’t look like the friendliest type but you nodded, slowly sitting down next to him.

“Look, I might even surprise you about how much I know” he remarked, steadily raising the glas to his dry lips.

“Is that so? How do you know so much?” you asked, geniunly interested in him and that scar on his cheek.

“Former detective” he stated simply.

Your eyebrows jerked at his words. ‘Former detective?’ you thought, losing his job must have been hard on him judging from his scruffy appearence and by the way he waved his finger at the bartender, ordering another drink.

“Then why did you lose your job?” Curiosity was going to be the death of you.

“Aren’t you asking too many questions, baby?”

Who was he calling baby? The two of you had met minutes ago but something in the way his voice rang through that word caused shivers to descend down your spine.

“I’m a detective, that my job and you should know that” you replied sassily, not knowing what to do with the butterflies in your stomach upon hearing him call you baby.

“I could help you but it comes with a cost.”

He moved his hand in a circular motion, swirling the liquor as the floating ice cubes bumped against eachother, the sound being completely masked by the distinct chattering of other guests.

“Well,,, what do you want me to do?” You looked at him as he stared straight ahead, his silvery earring swaying as he turned his head towards you, grinning.

“A job and you.”

His deep brown eyes seemed to draw you in but you had to resist, you were on a patrolling shift after all.

“I’m s-sorry,,, This is not appropriate behaviour” you say as you try to get up before being abruptly pulled back by your wrist, the purple heart on your bracelet reflecting in the minimally lit bar.

“I know damn well that there is a promotion looming in the air” he said, not breaking eye contact with the bracelet on your arm. He was right. If he had valuable information it could change your career, make you climb higher in the ladder of success and peer down at all your co-workers that were once laughing at your lack of skills.

“H-how’d you know?” you said, flustered at his big hand that was still tightly gripping your wrist. He flashed his devilish grin before yanking you by the arm, dragging you to the bathroom.

“W-wait,,, what are you-”

Pushing the door to the bathroom open, he slammed you against a cubical as he crashed his lips onto yours. Luckily the bathroom was empty leaving Minho without any hesitation to fuck you so hard that you’d be longing for more, fuck you so that you’d be left with no other choice but to hire him. You melted in his touch and as much as you knew how wrong this was something about his mysterious aura had you answering his kiss, pursing your lips and slipping your tongue inside of him. The kiss quickly got heated, sparks flying as his fingertips lightly nudged on the band of your jeans. Minho tilted his head, cupping your warm soft cheek with his brittle and bloody hands as you moaned into the kiss, adrenaline rushing through you at the thought of getting caught at any moment.

Minho pulled you into a cubical, your bracelet jingling from the sudden movement. Locking the door, he put his hand by the side of your head and towered over you making you feel helpless. You needed him inside of you.

“Deal?” he leaned over to your ear, his hot breath tickled your ear and all you could do was nod as you desperatly clenched around nothing.

You reattached your lips on his, the bitter taste of liquor spreading in your mouth as your tongues fought for dominance. Minho stroked your hair until his hand slowly moved to peel off your shirt, exposing your bra strap. His touch on your bare shoulder made you shudder and your core quivering in anticipation, feeling a wet patch on your underwear. His hand unbuttoned your pants causing you to gulp loudly, holding the back of his neck to deepen the kiss. Without warning his cold fingertips slid down beneath your panties, grazing your sopping folds and feeling himself get painfully hard, not wanting to admit the effect you had on him.

“Already this wet, babygirl?”

He broke the kiss, looking at your pained expression as he inserted a finger into your dripping pussy. Your eyes tightly shut as your hands wrapped around his arm, needing something to hold on to before your trembling legs gave up on you. You quickly stripped yourself from your pants and underwear, the fabric pooling around your feet and touching the surprisingly clean bathroom tiles.

“Needy I see” he scoffed, inserting a second finger and sending you over the moon with pleasure, your hands still wrapped around his wrist.

“s-shut up, you m-made me like this” you stutter back at him, trying to impose some sort of dominance but Minho only swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, looking at you with hungry dark eyes. A broken moan escaped your lips that glistened from saliva, Minho curled his fingers upwards, grazing your g-spot with every move. Before another strained moan managed to escape your lips he retracted his fingers, lapping off your juices from his long fingers with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Turn around”

His cold voice pierced your eardrums and as if you’d been hexed you complied, your body moving to his command. Your hot cheek pressed up against the cubical door as Minho’s body was dangerously close to yours, his clothed bulge rubbing against your bare ass. The sound of his belt unbuckling echoed as you pressed your ass up against his bulge, desperate for his cock.

In a swift motion both his pants and underwear dropped down to the floor, his erect veiny member springing out, the tip shining with precum. He pumped his length a couple of times before rubbing the tip against your dripping heat making you mewl out in suspense, the burning feeling in your core growing stronger. Minho alined himself with your entrance, slowly pushing in the tip to which you hissed, a momentary sting hitting your senses. He teased you by dragging his fingertips across your buttcheeks and up your spine, goosebumps erupting.

Not being able to control yourself you pushed your butt out making you sink deeper on his length, earning a groan from the dark haired boy.

“Desperate much?” he cooed from behind you.

Your hands formed into fists as they held you body up from the door.

“F-fuck,,, hurry, I’m still on my shift you know?” you spat out at him, your legs shaking from how his dick stretched out your tight walls.

“Whatever you say”

He laced his fingers through your hair, grabbing a fistful before turning his hand and yanking you towards him, your back arching as his hips slam against yours causing your butt to jiggle. You choked on your own moan as Minho’s hand tightly held you by the roots.

The movement repeated and got harder by each thrust causing you to bite your lip in order to stop from screaming out in pleasure. Heat rose to your cheeks as your eyes rolled back into your skull, stray pieces of hair landing infront of your hair. Sweat beaded on Minho’s forehead, his groans getting louder as he neared his sweet release.

“S-so tight,,, fuck.” He spoke haltingly, hating the fact that you made him weak. In order to hold on for longer you clenched around him not knowing that he’d grunt loudly.

“Now you’re c-clenching around me like a little whore?”

A string of moans ensued from your delicate lips upon hearing his new nickname to you. How did he know that you liked it? You could only nod, your speech all slurred from the impact of his dick burrowing deep into your cervix. The knot in your stomach tightened, your head dazed as Minho’s thrusts became uneven, the grip on your hair tightening. Not feeling your legs any longer the knot unraveled, your body shivering from the orgasm that washed upon you, your juices coating Minho’s dick that was still pounding into you at an immense speed.

“A-aah,,,s-shit!” you screamed out as he rushed after his own orgasm, overstimulating you in the meantime. Tears prickled in the corners of your watery eyes as Minho’s last moan echoed in the room, the moan being high in pitch. He pulled out of you leaving your cunt dripping as he pumped his length a couple of times, throwing his head back before his white cum spurted onto your butt, feeling the warm substance drip down your leg. The two of you panted, chest heaving as your forehead made contact with the door, legs weak.

In your peripheral vision you see the boy stretching out a paper towel, his chest heaving as he wiped off the small sweat beads with the back of his hand. You shake your head in order to come back to earth before taking the paper towel from his hand, muttering a small “thank you”.

“So what you say, babygirl?” His dick turning flaccid before pulling up his pants, looking at you wonderingly. You wipe off the cum and discard the paper in a small waste bin before you reach down to grab your panties and pants, pulling them briskly up. You reach for your back pocket, holding out a business card between your pointer and long finger with one hand, the other hand messing with your hair, making it look presentable.

“Call me on Monday” you say before stumbling out of the cubical, leaving the grinning boy behind you.

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anabsolutetrainwreck · 4 years

Note

SECOND PART TO "THROUGH THE WARNING SIGN'S" PLEASE

i’d like to make you mine || h. styles

sequel to ‘through the warning signs’

warnings: swearing, references to masks + covid

word count: 1.5k

summary: a glass of spilt wine leads to slightly different plans...

part one.

Sat at the desk in the spare room of Florence’s house, you listened to Louisa’s ramblings about how rude it was that you’d waited at least two hours to tell her that you were going on a date with Harry Styles. You’d FaceTimed her as soon as you and Florence got home from set, but no, she wasn’t having that as an excuse. “Well, what are you going to wear?” she asked.

You shrugged, rubbing your moisturiser along your face, “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it yet.”

She was tucked up in her bed at home in England. She had her duvet pulled up to her chin, the soft hum of music in the background. She scoffed, “Haven’t really thought about? You are joking, right? You’re going out for dinner with Harry fucking Styles and ‘you haven’t really thought about what you’re gonna wear’?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you sighed.

“Like what?”

“Harry fucking Styles,” you mocked as she grumbled something about not sounding anything like that. “You’re making it sound like a big deal.”

“Uh, Y/N, it kind of is a big deal.”

“No, it’s just like I’m going on a date with any other boy.”

She let out a loud laugh, “Oh, no, Y/N. I didn’t mean it like that. I was talking about the fact that you haven’t been on a date in, like, two years.”

You let out a gasp in mock offence, “Fuck you!”

She chuckled, “No, but I am happy for you.”

“Really? And you’re not jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous?”

“You used to be literally in love with him.”

She gasped, “I was not!”

“Don’t lie, Louisa,” you laughed. “You used to come and sleep at my house when we were, like, seventeen and you’d do nothing but talk about him.”

“You know I was a Liam girl. Besides, I’m just waiting for Robert Pattinson to return my call,” she sighed.

“Robert Pattinson? Jesus, Louisa, weren’t you just nursing a major obsession with Timothée Chalamet?” you laughed. You’d always found her ability to crush on celebrities so easily hilarious.

“That’s besides the point.”

You looked over at the clock hung above your temporary bed. 5:23. “Right, I better go.”

She pouted, “Do you have to?”

“Yes! And shouldn’t you be getting some sleep? Don’t you have work in the morning?”

“Maybe.”

“What time is it over there?”

“Like half one in the morning.”

“Exactly! Go to sleep, Louisa.”

“Fine. I love you, Y/N.”

“Love you too, Louisa,” you smiled gently at her as she hung up. It was nice talking to Louisa again after so long. You did miss her dearly. But now you had a date with Harry to distract you for a little while.

Once you’d carefully concocted an outfit and finished drying your hair from the shower you’d had before you called Louisa (you’d assured her that she’d been your number one priority once you got back from set, but it was really hygiene, especially before a date you’d been waiting for for four years), it was about time for Harry to arrive. So, you sat downstairs with Florence and her boyfriend, Zach. Your knee was bouncing as you waited for him, your stomach full on dread. “Y/N, will you calm down? It’ll be fine,” Florence sighed. “He clearly cares. Fuck, I mean he literally asked about what allergies you had before asking you out to dinner.”

You nodded, and before you had the chance to say anything, a knock at the door only sent you into a complete state of collapse. Florence extended her hand and dragged you towards the door. With every step, you felt more and more sick. “I feel ill, Flo. I might just lie down. Tell Harry I said sorry,” you rushed out quickly, trying to turn and run towards the staircase. But to no avail.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t go on this date,” she said and you knew she was right. You’d only wake up in the morning and scold yourself for not even trying.

As she opened the door, you were met with Harry, dressed in a black tuxedo. It was jazzed up with some pink floral embroidery and it certainly looked more expensive than what you could earn in 10 years. He grinned, “Good evening, Flo.”

“You alright, Harry?” she smirked, her eyes fluttering between your nervous self and the man stood on her doorstep.

“Good, thanks. Do you mind if I steal Y/N away for the evening?”

“Only if you promise to bring them back before midnight,” she joked.

“Of course,” he nodded, smiling. “You coming?”

You nodded, looking back to see Florence’s supportive smile. You followed Harry into his car and, before you knew it, you were on your way to some fancy restaurant he’d booked. In you went, sat down at your table, studied the menu and ordered your selected food. It was only then, as the waiter walked away, that the conversation really started up. Naturally, the conversation prior had just been small talk about what the two of you were thinking about ordering.

Amazingly, and almost to your surprise, the conversation flowed nicely, unlike all of the ones you’d shared at work. You wanted to talk about favourite novels and guilty pleasures and pet peeves and bad habits and embarrassing childhood stories with him. As he sat opposite you, chatting away. You couldn’t help but study his face and the way his eyes never wavered from you. You watched his hand as it reached across to grab your wine glass and pour you a glass of the upscale red wine. Unsure exactly where it all went wrong, you ended up with the staining wine seeping through your white shirt. “Shit, shit, shit. Shit, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he quickly stood, rubbing one of the napkins across the stain. You almost felt bad for ruining the napkin at how opulent it looked.

“It’s okay,” you assured him, grabbing his hand to move it away from your torso. A couple of people turned to look at the pair of you, whispering amongst themselves. He sent you an apologetic glance, dropping the wine-stained napkin onto the table. This only further ruined the cloth that coated the table. “Maybe we should leave?” you offered, not feeling up to sitting in a stained shirt for a couple of hours.

He nodded, sighing, frustrated, “Right, yeah. Of course. Do you want me to take you back to Florence’s?”

You didn’t want this night to end. It had been fun and Harry’s company was one you had a newfound appreciation for. “Just away from everybody,” you whispered.

He nodded, his features brightened slightly. Taking your hand, he walked you out of the lavish restaurant. As the pair of you walked through the streets, illuminated in an orange glow as the sun sat atop the horizon, you knew there’d be pictures in the press the morning to follow. All headlined with something like ‘HARRY STYLES SPOTTED OUT WITH MYSTERY DATE’. They wouldn’t know who you are, half of your faces obscured by masks. But, then eventually, somebody would point out that it looked like you. And then that would get out of control, making all of the headlines for at least an hour look something like ‘HARRY STYLES AND LITTLE WOMEN COSTUME DESIGNER, Y/N Y/L/N OUT FOR EVENING DINNER’. You knew that; he knew that. Both of you knew the consequences of fleeing the restaurant and roaming the streets. Whatever the two of you had going on, whatever you might have in the future, would instantly become public knowledge.

But, in the moment, you didn’t care. You liked Harry, and you were enjoying yourself. So, do you know what, fuck whatever anybody thought. This was your life, you were going to do whatever you wanted with it. “I am really sorry,” he said quietly as you walked down the quiet streets together.

“Honestly, Harry, it’s okay,” you smiled. It was bold from you, of course it was, but you did it anyway, reaching over to squeeze his hand. He looked over at you, his eyebrows had been knitted together, but at the sight of your warm smile, they softened. Your face was coated in a soft layer of setting sun and, Harry would argue, it made you look ethereal and the most divine thing he’d ever laid his eyes upon. Oh, how he wanted to write so many songs about you. Even the Gods couldn’t compare to you in that moment, he thought. “I didn’t plan for this evening to go like this,” he said, his voice quiet and defeated.

“Well, I would hope not,” you replied, offering a crappy joke to hopefully lift his spirits. He did, in fact, crack a smile. Now, the two of you were alone. The sun was dipping below the silhouetted horizon and the evening, you feared, was drawing to somewhat of an end. “Harry,” you began, hoping to finally ask all of the little, insignificant things about his life.

“Yeah?” he replied, turning to glance at you.

And it felt as if you’d waited so long to simply ask, “What’s your favourite novel?”

#harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry imagine #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry x reader #harry x y/n #harry x you #harry #harry imagines #harry styles imagines

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shaynawrites23 · 4 years

Text

For Family Or For Love

Pairing: adult!Remus Lupin x reader

Word count: 2492

Prompts: “Are you scared of me?” “No. Never.”

“It doesn’t matter what they think. I love you, and that’s what matters.”

Written for @johnmurphyisbisexual’s writing challenge!

Special thanks to @the-moon-and-the-book for both beta reading and coming up with the title!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The heavy door to your private chambers creaked open to reveal the room’s other occupant; your husband, Remus Lupin. He carried an enormous stack of tests to grade in one hand, two cups of coffee in the other, and he held a newspaper clenched between his teeth. He shut the door the same way he opened it; with his foot.

You leapt forward to help him, taking some of the items from where they balanced precariously in his hold, constantly on the verge of falling. He breathed a sigh of thanks, pressing a kiss to your temple as you made your way to the bed.

Upon closer inspection, you realized half the papers he had brought in were actually yours. You taught Herbology and had recently assigned an essay. You hummed in gratitude when Remus handed you a pastry and a couple of colored muggle pens. You knew the older members of the faculty preferred quill and ink, but you chose pens. They were easier to use and much less tedious to maintain.

He smiled softly, humming in acknowledgement as you both sat down to mark papers. The room lapsed into silence, the only sound being the clicking of pens and the occasional mutters of disapproval when either of you saw something you didn’t particularly like.

A tapping on the window broke you out of your concentration. You spun around, eyes searching for the source of the sound when you spotted a small brown owl perched on the windowsill, rapping its beak against the glass.

A messenger owl.

You jumped up, hurrying over to fling open the window and welcome the creature inside. The poor thing was soaked through; it was pouring outside.

“Rem, will you get me a towel for the owl?”

“Sure thing, love.” He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and emerged moments later with a navy blue towel.

You gently wrapped the owl up in the cloth, hoping it would help the animal get warm and dry.

There was a small cylindrical vessel strapped to the owl’s back, colored a deep red, like the darkest red visible during a sunset. You undid the clasps holding it in place, popping off the cap and peering inside. The case held a sheet of paper, rolled up tightly in order to make it fit.

“Who’s it from?” Remus’s gentle voice inquired.

You didn’t reply immediately, unfurling the note and letting your eyes fly over the words first.

“My parents,” you finally answered. “They want to have us over for dinner tomorrow evening.”

“That’ll be a welcome distraction from marking papers,” he remarked.

Remus was on relatively good terms with your family. They were somewhat sceptical of his background at first, but decided they would be happy as long as you were. Your father gave a very nervous and jittery Remus his blessing shortly before he proposed, and you had been happily married ever since.

You laughed. “Definitely.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you awoke the next morning, your hand searched the bed for Remus, for his warmth. You found nothing. Only when your fingers reached the edge of the bed, the precipice between the sheets and the floor, did you open your eyes.

You blinked blearily, letting your eyes get accustomed to the light entering through the small gap between the curtains. Remus was nowhere to be seen.

Throwing on your robes, you shuffled over to the bathroom and peered inside. Where was he? He was indeed a morning person, but there was no reason for him to be up this early in the weekend.

Your incessant internal questions were soon answered when you heard the telltale creak of the heavy wooden door. Remus entered; you could tell from his hunched shoulders he was deep in thought. The dark circles under his eyes told you he had probably not slept much the past few hours.

“Rem? Remus, is everything all right?” You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He wouldn’t meet your eyes, simply holding up a newspaper and muttering, “See for yourself.”

So you took the paper from him, sitting on the bed as you turned the pages in an attempt to find out what exactly was troubling him so. The sound of the paper crackling under your fingers which usually held so much satisfaction for you, gave you no pleasure this time.

“Oh no.”

You now knew what it was, you knew what had upset him. The fifth page of the paper held a picture of him; it depicted him perfectly, there was no chance of anyone not recognize him. And on the off chance someone didn’t connect the dots, his name was printed right below it. The article revealed his true nature, his lycanthropy, informing everyone who didn’t yet know that Hogwarts’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was a werewolf.

You glanced up. Remus stood at the open window, both hands leaning on the windowsill as he looked out over the school grounds. You could tell from his posture he was incredibly worried, and he had every right to be. No one would hire a werewolf, much less send their child to a school which had one employed as a teacher.

“Remus?”

“How could this happen?” His voice cracked and you knew he was trying his very best to keep control of his emotions. “We were so careful, how is this possible?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured. “But we’ll handle this the way we always do; together.”

“There’s nothing left to handle.”

“Remus, my love, don’t give up hope. There’s always something. Perhaps my family can help; they have a well-respected name.”

He didn’t reply immediately, instead gazing out over the field where students were playing, studying, or just hanging out.

“They don’t know yet, do they?” It was not a question, more like a statement, as you both knew it to be true.

“They don’t- they didn’t,” you sighed. “But my family knows you. We’re married, for Merlin’s sake. They’re not going to shun you.”

“We shall see about that,” he muttered, straightening up nevertheless. “In the meantime, I should probably have a talk with Minnie. I’ll see you later for lunch?”

You nodded. “As always.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fastening your hairpin, you gave yourself a final once over in the mirror. You were dressed to the nines, and yet you wouldn’t classify your attire as too fancy for the occasion. Satisfied with your appearance, you exited the bathroom adjoining your shared bedroom to go look for Remus.

“Rem?” you called. “You ready to go?

You opened the door separating your bedroom from the hallway with its incredibly high ceilings, as could be expected from any old building. Your husband stood outside, leaning against the wall as he waited.

He hummed in confirmation, a soft smile spreading over his face at the sight of you. He reached for your hand, entwining his fingers with yours as he twirled you around slowly, admiration plain in his eyes. Pulling you close, he pressed his lips to yours, gingerly, as though you were the most precious treasure one could possibly imagine.

“Rem!” you laughed, “We have to go! You know my mother hates when we’re late!”

“As my lady wishes.”

With that, he waved his wand and you disapparated, reapparating right outside your parents’ large house. Walking up the cold stone steps, you felt Remus stiffen slightly, and you squeezed his hand. A comforting gesture, one he immediately returned.

The doorbell sounded loudly, chiming once, twice, three times before falling silent. You waited as quick, light footsteps approached, flinging open the door.

“Auntie (y/n)!” the young girl cried, jumping up and down in excitement. It was your young niece Ada, dressed in a pretty pink skirt and with her hair coiffed in cute, bouncy curls. “It’s auntie (y/n)!”

Another set of footsteps approached, slower and calmer than Ada’s. Your mother appeared in the doorway, smiling and greeting you and Remus as she ushered you inside.

“Dinner’s not ready yet,” she remarked casually as she returned to the kitchen, presumably to continue preparing the meal.

Little Ada remained by your side, dragging you by your hand to come look at her latest drawing. Remus still stood in the hall, but the young girl kept you so occupied you could do little more than glance at him every few minutes.

Your father and your brother soon entered, laughing loudly at what must have been an incredibly funny joke.

“Ah, (y/n)!” your father exclaimed when he spotted you sitting in a corner with Ada on your lap and a children’s book in your hand. “I see Ada’s gotten to you already.”

“Yes, she has. I didn’t remember her having this much energy the last time,” you joked, but Ada tugged on your arm to remind you you were supposed to be reading her fairytales.

“Ah, and Remus.” You couldn’t help but notice how much less enthusiastic your father’s greeting was when it was addressed to your husband.

“How’s Edward doing?” your brother cut in. “Not causing too much trouble, I hope?”

Edward was your brother’s eldest child, older than Ava by six years. He started his first year at Hogwarts that year, and your brother was rather anxious about his progress.

“He’s doing very well in his classes,” Remus replied. “Naturally, he’s pulled a couple of pranks here and there, but that is to be expected from such an energetic young lad like him.”

“I see. And no issues with… supernatural creatures?”

Your head snapped up at that. Ada whined for you to continue reading, but you simply told her to wait a moment. You were certain there was a venomous serpent hiding somewhere in your brother’s words, and when it would jump out to ambush you, someone was sure to get hurt.

Remus remained perfectly calm. “None that I am aware of. The boy’s a very talented wizard; he has proven himself very capable of defeating any creature we presented him with.”

Your brother’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and as if struck by a lightning bolt of insight, you know this was heading downhill. It was only a matter of moments before he’d attack Remus about his lycanthropy.

You were right.

“Lupin, you’re a danger to the children! It’s not safe for them to be around you.”

“He is not!” you burst out. You stood up and stalked over to them, the fairytale long forgotten.

“He’s a werewolf.” Your brother spoke in the same tone you’d heard him use when explaining things to Ada; things that one would expect to be obvious.

“He’s also a professor, and has been for years. Nothing’s happened.”

“Maybe not yet, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”

Your mother emerged from the kitchen, clearly wondering what on earth was going on. Rather than engage herself in the argument, she stood in the doorway, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe.

Remus’s hand searched for yours, entwining his fingers with yours as soon as he found it. You noticed your brother’s gaze fly towards the gesture, as if he feared a more nefarious action. But Remus was simply holding your hand, squeezing gently as if to say, ‘calm down, love.’

“(y/n), get away from him.” Your brother’s order hung in the air like a sword dangling above both your heads, waiting to see who would give in first. Your parents seemed to want to intervene, but you could tell they didn’t know what to do.

“No.”

“Excuse me?!”

“No, I won’t.” You felt like a defiant child arguing with a parent, but that didn’t matter to you. “He’s my husband and I love him. Werewolf or not.”

“It’s okay, darling,” Remus whispered to you, tone low enough that no one else could catch his words.

“What, are you threatening her now?” Your brother was clearly beyond seeing reason, too angry to think logically.

Remus was caught off guard by that accusation, and unfortunately for him, his split second’s hesitation was plain to see. “I merely told her it was okay, that she doesn’t need to fight for my honor.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I am not in the habit of lying. I am an honest man and am telling the truth.” There was a stark contrast between your brother’s wild accusations and Remus’s calm demeanor. You only hoped it would not simply pour more oil onto the fire.

“You’re a monster,” he finally spat, as if the words themselves were pure poison. “How do we know it’s not only a matter of time before you hurt (y/n)?”

That was a low blow and you all knew it. Your mother gasped, hand flying to her mouth in shock.

“I would never hurt her.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t, but what about the wolf?”

Neither of you could answer that, both fully aware he didn’t have that much control over his other half.

“Please excuse me,” Remus muttered, glancing at your parents before grabbing his coat and leaving the building.

“There. Look what you’ve done. That was low and we all know it,” you seethed.

“(y/n), he’s dangerous! He could kill you!”

“So what? So could any other wizard. So could you, or mom. So could Ada, if she were determined enough.” You crossed your arms as you reached deep inside yourself, attempting to maintain your composure.

“But you can trust we won’t.”

“What? I can trust the same of him. He wouldn’t hurt me, I trust him.”

“So you would trust a wolf not to attack?” Your brother took two steps forward, as if his subconscious wanted to intimidate you into losing the argument. Nice try. You weren’t easily intimidated.

“He’s not a wolf! He’s Remus. My husband.”

You saw the surprise on his face when you emphasized your relationship with Remus, and you took that opportunity to continue.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” With that, you stalked out as well, waiting until you disappeared behind the hedge outside to run after Remus.

He probably heard you coming, because you found him standing around the corner, as if he were waiting. The look in his eyes told you he had probably fought with himself to decide whether or not to wait for you to catch up.

“Rem, please ignore what he said. I know it’s hard, but he’s spewing nonsense.”

“Love, are you scared of me?”

“No. Never.” He had barely gotten his words out before you replied, without a moment’s hesitation.

“Your family seems to think you should be.”

“Remus, it doesn’t matter what they think. I love you, and that’s what matters.”

His eyes glistened with unshed tears. He stepped closer to you, cradling your cheek gently, as if he were afraid you’d shatter like glass if he was just slightly too rough with you.

Leaning in slowly, he captured your lips with his in a sweet kiss. And that alone conveyed all he needed to say.

“I love you too.”

taglist: @the-moon-and-the-book @decalcomanei @emcchi

#ryswritingchallenge #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin angst #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin fic #adult!remus lupin x reader #professor lupin x reader

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

Hunger

Summary: Spencer really likes his new coworkers: they're nice, welcoming, friendly, and made his transition to the BAU as easy as possible. Which makes it impossible for him to turn down an invitation to eat dinner with them at an upscale fancy restaurant, no matter how anxious that makes a boy who grew up with next to nothing feel.

Tags: insecurity, anxiety, allusions to poverty, hurt/comfort, team as family, angst with a happy ending, fluff, background jelle

TW: mentions of poverty, financial difficulties, and food insecurity

Pairing: Gen (Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid)

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This fills my "trying not to cry" bad things happen bingo square and is set a few weeks after Spencer joins the BAU, in an AU in which Elle was there before him.

Everyone is so nice, is the thing.

And that’s great. Really, it is. Spencer isn’t about to complain when JJ kindly walks him through the filing system all the while asking questions about him and his life, or when Derek ribs him gently about his ducktail hair or his nerdy brain. No-one cuts him off when he gets carried away — unless it’s time-sensitive, of course — or teases him about anything that cuts too close to home. Being the new guy in the most prestigious unit in the FBI could’ve been a nightmare, but this team made it easy. He’s so grateful for all of it.

It just makes it really hard to turn down dinner invitations.

He watches his shaking fingers in the mirror as they button his shirt up and wrap his tie around his neck, poking it fastidiously under the collar, not a wrinkle of fabric out of place. He glances down at the countertop again, re-reading the restaurant name copied down in JJ’s careful handwriting onto a piece of copier paper regardless of having committed it to memory the first time he heard it. Sur la Rivière: a fancy European restaurant in DC.

He’d hoped for a cheap and cheerful Chinese when Hotch had first brought up the idea of a team bonding dinner, something more his style, but he’d smiled anyway when Elle had mentioned this place her foodie friend had recommended, no matter how strained it might have been. He’s the new guy after all. He doesn’t expect much swing when it comes to choosing where to eat.

As soon as his shirt and tie are perfectly in place, he gets to work on taming his curly hair. It makes him look younger when it’s loose and fluffy, and with a baby-face like his combined with already being the youngest person in the entire FBI, every year he can add on counts. Soon, though, there’s no more grooming he can use to stall the inevitable, and he sighs tiredly before clicking off the bathroom light and heading to the hall.

He collects his phone and wallet, checking for the sixth time that evening that his credit card and extra money to tip the waiter is definitely in there, grabs his keys, and heads out of his apartment. Derek is in his car waiting on the curb for him like he promised he would be, looking effortlessly suave and cool in a way Spencer never will as he honks his horn at the sight of the younger man walking towards him.

“Pretty boy!” he calls, his grin making Spencer smile, too. “Took you long enough. Hop in, fancy European cuisine awaits.”

Another rush of nerves floods Spencer’s stomach at the mention of the fate he’s signed up for, but he smiles anyway as he opens the passenger door and slides in. “Thanks for giving me a lift, Derek,” he says, hating that his anxious discomfort is so obvious in his voice.

Thankfully, Derek doesn’t pick him up on it, simply pulling away from the curb and beginning the drive across town. “How many times do I have to tell you not to mention it? I live less than ten minutes away, Spencer, it’s really not a problem.”

Spencer flushes a bit at that, wringing his hands in his lap as he watches the streets of his district pass by out the window. “Well, I appreciate it anyway,” he settles on, flashing Derek a quick smile that he doubts he sees anyway with his eyes glued so firmly to the road. “Riding the metro is a nightmare at this hour.”

“Never learned how to drive? I didn’t have the money for lessons, Spencer wants to say, irrationally frustrated at his situation. I was rushed through the academy too quickly to learn something as trivial as driving.

“I was too busy getting five degrees,” Spencer says instead, forcing a smile on his face. He wishes he wasn’t so well-practiced at managing other people’s emotions; wishes he could say what he’s really thinking. But he can’t, not in front of the people he’s trying to impress, not so soon.

“Alright, alright, I get it, you’re a genius,” Derek chuckles. “I’m glad you’re coming tonight, we all are. Gideon didn’t tell us much before he left, just that you had an IQ of 187 and he’d pulled a lot of strings to get you in at only 22.”

Spencer winces slightly at the mention of his ex-mentor. “Yeah, I’m sorry he ran out on you guys so suddenly.”

“Hey, from what I hear, he did the same to you,” Derek counters. “You guys seemed way closer than we were anyway. I never really liked the guy.”

As much as most of Spencer hates Gideon for abandoning him without warning, leaving him to find his footing in the FBI alone and afraid, a small part of him still itches to defend him. “He was a good mentor. Not such a good friend, as it turns out.”

Derek looks away from the road for a moment and shoots him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, man. But Gideon’s loss is our gain. You’re gonna be an amazing asset to the team, I just know it.”

A genuine smile crosses Spencer’s face at that. “Thanks, Derek. I can’t wait to really get stuck in, you know?”

“I remember the feeling.” Derek grins again.

They continue chatting for the rest of the journey, Spencer finally relaxing into the company of a new friend— that is, until Derek cuts across one of his stories from his second PhD. “Hey, the restaurant should be up on the left somewhere but I can’t see it…

“Oh, there,” Spencer says, pointing at the sleek, almost anonymous-looking black sign hanging above a set of fancy doors. How can doors be fancy? They’re supposed to be functional, not pretentious. All of a sudden that sinking feeling that had lifted on the car ride over settles back into his stomach and he can’t help but swallow nervously as Derek parks the car and they step out into the street.

Everyone’s already seated when they finally push through the restaurant doors, and Spencer hates that he made them both late with his apprehensive stalling, but no-one really seems to mind as they all cheer happily at the sight of them, ignoring the dirty looks it earns them from the other patrons.

“You made it!” Penelope squeals as she gets up from her seat to give Spencer a hug. He’s a little touch-averse, really, but something about Penelope’s hugs make him never want to leave her arms. He does anyway, though, and he and Derek find their seats opposite one another at the end of the table.

“I’m glad you’re here, Spencer,” Hotch says kindly as the waitress passes the two late-comers their menus.

“You’ll fit right in,” JJ promises, “we’re like a weird little family, to be honest.”

Spencer flushes a bit under the attention of so many experienced FBI agents, but he nods anyway before they all get started on deciding what to eat. He listens vaguely to everyone talking amongst themselves, giving one another suggestions in a way that corroborates JJ’s statement, and all of a sudden Spencer’s collar feels tight. It’s not just the nerves of meeting new people or the anxiety of an alien social environment, he realises he doesn’t recognise a single item on the menu.

He knows what the words themselves mean, but reading the words 'tortellini of venison’ and trying to imagine deer meat pasta is not easily done. The only simple meals seem to be seafood and Spencer’s never been a fan of fish. The only food he can even begin to imagine himself actually putting in his mouth, chewing, and swallowing is the porterhouse steak: not that he’s ever really eaten much red meat like that.

Spencer isn’t a fussy eater. He’s eaten a wide variety of dishes from any number of different restaurants across multiple cuisines, he’s just never had the kind of money to eat at a place that serves caviar, for God’s sake. Far too soon, the waitress wanders back over to the table, taking everyone’s orders with a polite smile on her face.

He listens as everyone confidently orders their meals: the smoked trout, the Moroccan quail, the lobster tagliatelle. Spencer thanks the heavens he isn’t a vegetarian, at least, but it’s not much of a consolation prize when everyone’s eyes fall on him.

“Uh, I’ll have the porterhouse steak,” he says uncertainly, hoping nobody notices the sweat beading on his forehead or the anxiety raging behind his eyes.

Everyone seems to accept his answer, the waitress taking their menus and walking back towards the kitchen as the rest of them resume their conversation. Hotch’s eyes linger a moment too long on him, and Spencer thinks he sees something like concern in his gaze, but before he can think much of it, Penelope’s drawing everyone’s attention to JJ’s bracelet.

“Can we please appreciate this?” she says, sounding scandalised for some reason Spencer can’t quite discern from context yet. “Elle, baby, you have taste. This is absolutely gorgeous! Are you sure you don’t want to date me, too?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raise slightly at that. “Oh, you two are together?” he asks, although now that he realises it he’s not sure how he didn’t notice sooner.

“Are you sure you’re a profiler, kid?” Derek laughs. “They don’t exactly hide it.

“Even though they’re supposed to,” Hotch chimes in with a faux stern look. “You two are gonna have my job at some point.” “Aw, but where would we find another Unit Chief that would help us hide our secret so well?” Elle says charmingly, making everyone laugh, including JJ, who presses her face into her shoulder fondly.

It’s easy for Spencer to momentarily lose himself in the banter, smiling as they tease one another, interspersing their gripes and funny stories from work among it all. They include him in all of it, and he doesn’t feel left out for even a second, finally relaxing into the unfamiliar environment of a fancy restaurant, eased by the reassuring company of his new team.

“JJ’s right,” he muses out loud when there’s a brief lull in conversation, “you guys really are like a little family.”

JJ leans away from Elle towards him for a moment, wrapping him in a side hug. “And you’re the perfect addition to it, Spence,” she says softly, everyone’s expressions reading nothing but fond agreement. “We needed a little brother to add into the mix.”

Spencer blushes again but leans into her touch.

No-one gets a chance to say anything else before the food arrives, the servers bringing JJ and Elle’s meals first, then serving Hotch and Penelope, before they finally bring out his and Derek’s order.

Everyone dives into their food, immediately making noises of contentment, passing bites around to one another, but Spencer can’t join in the jubilant celebration of a good meal. He picks his knife and fork up shakily as he stares at the massive portion of steak in front of him. It’s served with roast potatoes and flecks of a pointless salad that he suspects is only there as a garnish rather than actually part of the meal, but that’s not what has him worried.

This huge slab of meat hasn’t been sliced beforehand. He knows that he’ll shake the whole table if he tries to do it: it’s a massive, impenetrable slab of red meat that Spencer has no chance of enjoying, let alone finishing. He stares at it as tears burn in his eyes: he’s so out of his comfort zone and he’s so terrified of messing up and pushing away these newfound friends that he can’t move.

“Spence?” JJ cuts in gently, putting a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look up, only to find everyone looking at him with worried expressions on their faces. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry,” he says, standing up abruptly, the disturbance of the table barely registering in his brain. “I just need a minute.”

He rushes out of the restaurant without looking back, drawing in deep breaths as soon as he’s in the cool evening air of spring. Thoughts race through his mind at a million miles an hour as he grasps for something concrete to grab onto, eventually settling for a tall flower pot.

“Spencer?”

He looks up to find Hotch standing next to him, deep concern written across his face, and Spencer’s heart clenches at the thought that he’s already messed this up so quickly. Could this night possibly get any worse?

Apparently, it can, because all of a sudden he feels his face crumple and the stinging tears finally spill down his cheeks. He sinks down to the ground and buries his face in his hands, humiliation glimmering in every cell of his body.

“Oh, Spencer,” Hotch says gently, lowering himself to the cool pavement next to him and placing a warm hand on his back. He lets him cry it out for a couple of minutes, his palm drawing small circles in between his shoulder blades, trying again to get through to him when Spencer’s sobs calm down slightly. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

With a shuddering breath, he forces himself to lift his face from his palms, although he still refuses to meet Hotch’s eyes, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the Korean restaurant across the street. “I guess it just all got to be too much,” he whispers.

“Yeah?” Hotch says encouragingly. “What specifically?”

“I— I didn’t have much growing up. It was just me and my mom so we were living in the middle of Vegas on a single disability check each month. And, uh, then I went to college, and I was barely scraping by there, too. It’s only recently that I’ve known the luxury of knowing for sure I was eating that night, and it still gets to me sometimes when I’m faced with fancy restaurants and heavy, expensive meals. My body’s had to work for years on virtually nothing, there’s no way I can stomach a steak like that. I guess, all those feelings that are a lifetime in the making combined with the anxiety of eating with the team for the first time… wanting to make a good impression, it just all got too much. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Hotch raises a hand, and Spencer finally meets his eyes, finding nothing but compassion and understanding there no matter how much he searches. “You don’t need to apologise, Spencer, not for something like this. I’m sorry that none of us thought to make the first team dinner with you a more casual affair, and I’m even more sorry that you felt like you couldn’t tell us you were uncomfortable.” “It’s okay.”

“It’s not, but I’m glad you accept my apology,” Hotch says, smiling softly. “You know, we all bring baggage with us, Spencer. I can’t relate to food insecurity, but I had my own issues when I first joined the BAU. I grew up with a pretty terrible father, and the thing I found myself reprimanded for the most when I was a new recruit was the inability to follow orders. I’d spent my whole life scared of this man, obeying his every word, and I couldn’t help but hear him when my superiors would tell me to do something. When I was finally free of him, it was like I couldn’t help but rebel.

“You’re not the only one whose childhood follows them around, and I’d much rather it be something like this that we can easily manage, than something that will affect you or the team in the field, okay? Instead of beating yourself up over things you can’t control, try and remember that you have a whole new family who will do anything they can to make you feel as comfortable as possible. We already think the world of you, Spencer. Sacrificing fancy dinners that — let’s face it — can’t beat cheap junk food anyway is hardly a big ask.

Warmth spreads across his chest at Hotch’s words, replacing the feelings of failure and rising anxiety with something that feels like a promise of all the good to come. There’s something fatherly, something deeply paternal in Hotch that there wasn’t in Gideon, and it’s the most comfort Spencer’s felt in years. “Really?”

“Really,” Hotch nods, squeezing his shoulder gently. “You wait here one minute, okay?”

“Okay…” Hotch is gone before he can finish replying, and Spencer is left staring at the doors confused, until the rest of the team are piling out of them a few minutes later, Hotch bringing up the rear with his jacket and wallet in hand.

“We just paid the tab. How does cheap Chinese food eaten in the park a couple hundred yards down sound?” Hotch suggests, raising an eyebrow as he smiles warmly at Spencer.

He looks around briefly at the rest of the team, who are all giving him encouraging looks, not a trace of judgement or annoyance to be found.

“That sounds amazing,” he laughs wetly, the tears springing to his eyes this time caused by a completely different emotion. “I can pay you back, though.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy,” Derek says, patting Spencer’s back, “we’ve got it. Now, come on, I’m gonna order sweet and sour chicken balls, and I want them now.”

“That’s what she said,” Penelope giggles, linking her arm with Derek’s.

“That was terrible, baby girl, but I love that you tried.”

“Do you want to share shrimp chop suey with me, babe?” Elle asks JJ as they clasp hands, walking a couple of steps ahead of them.

“Well, I’m certainly not sharing with any of these losers,” JJ teases, before kissing Elle’s cheek.

Spencer feels Hotch place his hand on his back, and he turns to smile gratefully at the older man. “Thank you,” he says quietly, trying to convey just how earnestly he means it. “No-one’s ever done anything this nice for me before.”

There’s a slightly sad tinge to Hotch’s smile, but it doesn’t look like pity. “I’d get used to it if I were you. That’s just how we do things in the BAU.”

Well, if that’s the case, Spencer thinks, smiling as he falls into step between Hotch and Penelope, I think I might just stick around.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @jellejareau @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic-not-stupid(taglist form)

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #criminal minds gen #criminal minds gen fic #aaron hotchner & spencer reid #derek morgan & spencer reid #derek morgan #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #jelle #jennifer jareau #elle greenaway #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #hurt spencer reid #hurt/comfort

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the-dragongirl · 4 years

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Hello tumblr. I have returned from a long period of inactivity, because I must bring the good word to the corner of the Star Wars fandom that used to be my main fannish home: there is a new era of Star Wars canon that was made just for our taste. It is called the High Republic.

WHAT IS THE HIGH REPUBLIC?

The High Republic is an giant multi-media project being carried out by the Lucasfilm story group to create a brand new era of Star Wars canon. It is set a few hundred years before the prequel era (so, a long time after the Old Republic era), in a period of peace and stability within the Republic. It currently includes several English language adult novels, a YA novel, two serialized comics, a manga, some short stories, and some short video blurbs published on facebook and youtube. A TV show for Disney+ has also been announced, but is a few years off. This project is unique in Star Wars, in that all of the different parts are being written together by one writing team, and are coordinated to tell a cohesive story. Also, what has been announced is just the beginning – they have stated that there will be three different sections of the High Republic, and everything we have had announced so far is just part one. As a note: this is an era for which there was NO pre-existing canon in Legends, so it is totally new territory.

OKAY, THAT’S NICE, BUT WHY SHOULD I BOTHER TO CHECK IT OUT?

There are SO many reasons why the High Republic is worth your time to explore. I will try to outline some of them here below the cut (without any significant spoilers).

IT IS A LOVE LETTER TO THE JEDI

This is the era for everyone who loves the Jedi and wants to understand how they got to the point they did in the prequel era. It shows Jedi at their best: saving people, working together, being completely in tune with the Force (in so many beautiful and original ways), demonstrating creativity and flexibility and being rewarded for it, actually thinking through the ethics of things like the mind trick, and DEALING with their emotions rather than repressing them. It shows us how the rigid Jedi culture was saw in the prequels was a corruption of something that was originally healthy and uplifting. Jedi in this era are allowed to be flawed, and to grow, and have a community that supports them in doing so. This is the Jedi culture so many of us created as fix it fic for the prequel era, but made canon.

IT IS AN ERA OF HOPE

There are some serious problems in the High Republic Era. Without spoilers, the era opens with a terrible humanitarian crisis, laid over the Republic equivalent of the New Deal from US history. We see a lot of examples of people doing their best to be good to each other, and working for a more just and kind galaxy. They acknowledge that things are not perfect, but people from many different backgrounds (Jedi, politicians, farmers, pilots, business people) work together to try and make things better. I don’t know about you all, but with the darkness we see in the world today, I NEED some of that optimism in my escapist media. The High Republic provides that.

IT WILL GIVE YOU FEELINGS

The existing material so far is structured to really let you emotionally invest in the characters and their struggles. Unlike with many eras of Star Wars canon, characterization is not sacrificed for the sake of plot (though never fear, there is PLENTY of plot). That means there is huge scope for empathy. I’m not going to lie; I cried within the first three chapters of Light of the Jedi, as did several other people I know. It is POIGNANT in a way that feels truly genuine.

IT IS FUN

The writing team understands that, in the end, Star Wars is space fantasy. If your space fantasy is nothing but serious, gritty grimdark, it becomes pretentious and unbearable. So, for all that there is some heavy content in the High Republic (VERY heavy content – the Nihil should really have their own content warning), it has many moments of levity that keep it from taking itself too seriously. For example, the High Republic made Jedi bodice rippers canon. Also, characters like Geode exist (yes, that rock there is a CHARACTER). The result is something which honors the spirit of Star Wars, and keeps you engaged without being tedious or ridiculously depressing.

THE WRITING TEAM HAS DIVERSE PERSPECTIVES

The main writing team consists of five people: Justina Ireland, Claudia Gray, Charles Soule, Daniel José Older, and Cavan Scott. You will note that includes two people of color, two women, and one out Queer person (in fact, one of the writers is all three of those things). This is a far cry from the white-cis-straight-man-dominated writing teams we have seen in the past. And when they bring in other people to the project, they make a point of looking for perspectives that aren’t represented on their team – for example, the manga is being co-written between Justina Ireland and Japanese writer Shima Shinya, and Ireland has stated in interviews that Shinya is taking the lead on the writing.

IT VALUES MEANINGFUL REPRESENTATION

That diverse writing team means a cast that looks WAY more like the real world than any other era of Star Wars we’ve seen, in terms of representation. There are multiple characters of color, who are both heroes and central to the story. There are at least five canonical queer characters to date (a MLM couple, an Ace character, and two NB character). [EDIT: Thank you @legok9 for letting me know about the NB characters]. Among binary gendered characters, there is a very even balance of men and women. The writing team has also stated that they will be incorporating more representation of disability in the works to come. And the story is so much better for it – representation is included here BECAUSE it makes for more creative, believable, and original storytelling.

IT IS ACCESSIBLE

Because of the multiple formats, and the fact that it doesn’t rely on you knowing any prior lore, the High Republic offers many avenues to engage for people with all kinds of needs. Know nothing about Star Wars canon and feel intimidated about catching up? The canon is all new in this era anyway, so you’re fine. Can’t handle flashing lights? No problem – the little bit of video content that exists is totally free from the strobing effects that caused seizure and sensory issues. Need purely audio content? You can still have a full experience of the High Republic with the gorgeously sound-scaped audiobooks. Don’t have the attention span for books or long movies? Then the comics are your friend.

THERE IS SOMETHING FOR ALL

Between the books aimed towards adults and teens (and their respective audiobooks), the kids books, the comics, the manga, the short stories, AND the eventual TV show on Disney+, there is going to be content in the High Republic that suits most audiences. And that is just what has been announced so far – there is still more to come for phases II and III. This isn’t Star Wars written towards one group or demographic – it is Star Wars for everyone.

DID I MENTION THE FANCY JEDI UNIFORMS?

Because cosplayers and fanartists? This is the era for you. We are getting Jedi in silks with elaborate gold embroidery. Jedi with jewelry other decorative elements. Even the practical field uniforms have tooled and embossed leather. If you want to draw or make Jedi that have some of that that sweet LoTR-esque high fantasy aesthetic, the High Republic has your back. (Not going to lie – I am ALREADY imagining the time travel AUs. Put Obi-Wan in fancy clothes!)

OKAY, YOU’VE SOLD ME. WHERE SHOULD I START?

I strongly recommend everyone looking to get into the High Republic (who is old enough to be on Tumblr) start with Light of the Jedi by Charles Soule. I alternated between the physical book and the audio book, and found it delightful in both formats. After that, you have a lot of options. You can read or listen to the audio book of the YA novel A Test of Courage by Justina Ireland. You can check out the currently running Star Wars: The High Republic comic from Marvel, or the Star Wars: The High Republic Adventures comic from IDW. Or you can skip straight to Into the Dark by Claudia Gray. Honestly, there is no wrong order to try out most of the High Republic.

IN CONLUSION

The High Republic is Star Wars written for people who DON’T want Star Wars to be a good ‘ol boys club for salty white dudes who don’t want to see anything but more of Luke Skywalker. It offers broad representation, and optimistic narrative, and whole bunch of awesome Jedi content. If you are someone who fell in love with Jedi in the prequel era, the High Republic will give you more of what you loved. And if you are totally new to Star Wars? The High Republic is here for you too.

So, go check it. And then go write fic for it (please, there are only, like, 14 fics on AO3, I am dying).

#star wars #the high republic #jedi #long post #recs #book recs #representation #seriously I cannot recommend this highly enough #everything about the high republic is so very tailored to what I love about star wars in general and Jedi specifically #also...sorry I had been absent here #I swear I still love you all #I just have limited interaction spoons these days and spend most of them on costuming stuff

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years

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this is just a little scene to test out this idea I had a while back and see if I’d actually like to write it and if anyone would like to read it, so please let me know what you think!!

~^~

Robbe stuffs his phone back in the pocket of his slacks and scrubs a hand over his face. He’s only been playing this game for a little over a week and he’s losing. He hadn’t expected this outcome; Noor was only supposed to be playing along. Instead, she seeks Robbe out even in private, she texts him at any hour of the day, and while it’s sweet and he likes Noor, it isn’t what he prepared himself for. It’s a bit overwhelming.

Everything is a bit overwhelming.

He almost wants to change, or at least ditch the blazer, but before he can make up his mind the door opens behind him. He turns around just in time for Noor to pop her head in, and she smiles wide when their gazes catch. She takes a moment to take him in, and Robbe just stands and watches back and does his best not to twitch in discomfort. He’s not a child anymore, and he’s done this plenty of times. Always with perfect composure.

Now would be a terrible time to break.

He fits on a smile as Noor makes her way over to him and runs a hand down the front of his blazer. “Good, you’re already dressed,” she praises, smoothing out a crease. “Very handsome.”

“Thank you,” Robbe says, swaying forward and accepting her quick kiss. “Not as stunning as you, though.”

Noor grins, and Robbe thinks to check what she’s actually wearing. She does look stunning, he assumes. Theoretically, he knows the way the deep-red dress hugs her frame makes a nice picture. Noor always looks beautiful. Robbe isn’t lying when he compliments her.

He isn’t supposed to be lying to Noor about anything. They’re supposed to be on the same page.

He might have been mistaken, somewhere amidst their agreement. Somewhere along the line, at the very least, he must have missed some kind of memo.

“Noor, uh.” He averts his gaze, then allows it to flit back, softening and warming his expression to turn his words into a gentle suggestion. “We don’t have to worry about publicity tonight, okay? I want you to be able to have fun.”

Noor’s brow furrows. “Isn’t this weekend all about the publicity?”

Robbe hesitates, because she’s right and he wishes she wasn’t. He knows exactly what is expected of him tonight, but they have their own say in the matter. If Noor doesn’t want to be glued to his side, she has no real obligation to be. As long as they’re seen once, twice, together in the bar and together by the bedrooms, everyone would eat it up. Playing everything up isn’t a necessity at the moment. Robbe has been hoping for such a break.

“Yeah, but, it’s also for us to enjoy,” he tries.

“And I’ll enjoy it with you.” Noor adjusts his collar again, raising her brows. She laughs then at his hesitant look and links their hands together to begin tugging him towards the door. “Come on, stop fretting. I won’t do anything I don’t want to.”

Robbe wishes he could say the same so easily.

Instead he mostly keeps his mouth shut as he traipses down through the hotel after Noor, letting her lead him to the bar on the main floor. It’s easy to spot his parents, once they’re there, standing at one of the tables surrounded by stares and whispers. The attention of the room shifts to him and Noor as they enter, and Robbe forces himself not to duck away from it. In truth, it’s not the attention or his parents that he notices first.

It’s Sander.

He’s standing at the table next to Robbe’s mother, talking animatedly as he leans his arms on the wood, dressed in a jacket and shirt of his own. A jacket, shirt and jeans. His shirt isn’t even a shirt, but some kind of silky patterned blouse, his jacket is beige and too baggy, and his jeans are plain black and too tight, and he looks stunning.

So annoying.

Robbe lets the frustrated breath out through his nose, ignoring the heat under his collar as Noor leads them right over. It doesn’t help that Sander is the first to notice them, turning his head at the right moment and stopping mid-speech to smile. He doesn’t look at Noor at all, but he moves his gaze over Robbe in one long sweep, flitting slowly back up to his eyes.

Robbe raises a brow, unimpressed. Sander merely lifts his drink in greeting and lets his smile slip into a smirk.

Noor greets his parents enthusiastically, squeezing his dad’s hand and giving his mother a hug. She even grants Sander a kiss on the cheek, which he reciprocates with his eyes still settled on Robbe. He doesn’t take them away until Noor is tucking herself back into Robbe’s side, and then he glances at the space between them—or rather the lack of—before dropping his gaze entirely. He focuses instead on his drink, which he lifts and takes a long slug of. Robbe finds himself watching the parting of his lips, the tilt of his head, the slope of his throat. Then Sander looks at him looking and he snaps his gaze away.

“Don’t you two look lovely,” his mother teases, smiling at him and Noor.

Robbe rolls his eyes good-naturedly and lays his arm over Noor’s shoulders as she laughs and wraps her arm around his waist. “Don’t we always,” he retorts, in the same wistful tone.

Sander hums and draws Robbe’s attention back to him. “Actors,” he says lightly. His smile is teasing, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, which bore into Robbe. “Always camera-ready.”

“This one even more so than me,” Noor agrees, pinching Robbe’s cheek as she grins at him. Robbe huffs a laugh and carefully moves his head away. Noor pays no attention, already roped back into conversation with his father.

“I was telling a few people about you earlier,” the man tells Noor. “There’s a friend or two of mine interested in meeting you to talk about upcoming projects. Why don’t you do a round with me so we can greet some people?”

It’s an act of kindness, Robbe’s sure, but also one of convenience. He’s sure his father would genuinely like to help Noor, but having her involved in some fancy new project, thanks to his guidance, would certainly be a bonus. Robbe’s grip tightens minutely on Noor with the sudden, irrational urge to keep and protect. Just because he isn’t quite as honestly invested doesn’t mean he doesn’t like her. He doesn’t want her to be used.

But Noor has already lit up, and she nods excitedly, giving Robbe’s hand a squeeze. “Of course.”

“While you do that, I’m going to say hi to the Stoffels,” his mother says.

Robbe perks up. “Jens is here?”

“No, just his mother and Lies.” When she sees Robbe deflate, she tuts. “You’ll be alright, Sander already bought you a drink. You’re big boys, you can keep each other company.”

His gaze flits back to Sander, mostly out of surprise, just in time for Sander to slide a tall glass across the table towards him. Robbe eyes it dubiously, wrapping his hand around it but not bothering to take a taste. He’s preoccupied with Noor squeezing his arm and twisting to press a kiss to his cheek before sliding entirely out of his grip.

“I’ll come back to save you soon,” she promises. Robbe thinks if she meant that, she wouldn’t be leaving him with Sander in the first place. But she’s already turning her back, following his father away, and his mother had disappeared instantly, and now it’s just Sander and him and an array of half-empty drinks.

Robbe finally lifts his own glass and takes a sniff.

Sander snorts, and Robbe looks to find him shaking his head. “Serious?” He raises a brow.

Robbe simply shrugs.

“You know, out of the two of us, you’re probably the one more likely to have drugs.”

Robbe flushes. “I didn’t think you drugged it,” he mumbles. “I’m just trying to figure out what it is. Besides, just because you didn’t spike it doesn’t mean no one else did.”

Sander shakes his head again, lips quirked in amusement. “I kept my eyes on it the whole time.”

“Why’d you get me a cocktail?”

“Because,” Sander shrugs. He doesn’t say anything else, and Robbe simply keeps staring at him. Eventually Sander wiggles his brows and nods at the drink. “It’s about time you try something new, Ijzermans.”

Something crawls up into Robbe’s throat and lodges there. He doesn’t have any retort. It sounds too much like a challenge, like it comes with a hidden meaning, and the knowing glint in Sander’s eye as he stares Robbe down only seems to confirm it. There’s suddenly a comfort to be found in the eyes on them, in the fact that even though they’re alone at the table, they aren’t alone. The surroundings, rather than making him itch, suddenly seem safe. It’s only private enough that they can speak without being overheard, but there are other tables all around them, a few feet away in each direction. Robbe can see Noor if he turns his head. He hears Mrs Stoffels’ distinctive laughter in the background as he eyes his drink, swirling the liquid around. It’s a deep, jewel-like blue, that fizzes slightly as he shakes it.

He glances back up at Sander. The other boy is simply staring at him, still with that faint amusement, brows raised expectantly. He nods at the drink once more.

Robbe brings it to his lips and takes a tentative sip. He’s aware of Sander’s eyes on him as a sharp, fruity taste explodes on his tongue, but he can’t quite keep his face under control. It screws up in displeasure, and Sander laughs abruptly, raising a hand to cover his mouth as his shoulders shake.

Robbe swallows the liquid and scowls at him. “What the fuck is this?”

“No idea,” Sander says idly. “Had something with ‘sea breeze’ in the name. Enjoy.” He raises his own beer in a toast, and Robbe’s scowl deepens as he leaves his glass back down on the table.

He drags one of the stools towards himself and climbs up, resting his elbows on the table. He’s still directly across from Sander, but he’s not looking at him. He focuses on his glass instead, tapping his fingers against it in a quick, tinkling rhythm until Sander huffs.

“What,” Robbe says flatly.

“Nothing.” There’s a pause, and then Sander huffs again. “I just find it funny.”

“What?” Robbe repeats, slightly more curious. He even raises his head to look at the younger boy again.

Sander puckers his lips, then shrugs. “How hard you try to pretend you don’t like me. How hard you try to pretend you do like her.” He nods at something behind Robbe.

Robbe doesn’t have to look to know he’s talking about Noor. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Okay,” Sander rolls his eyes. When Robbe doesn’t respond, Sander gives him a dry look. “Come on, Robbe. I’m giving you a freebie.”

There’s no freedom in what Sander is implying, but Robbe doesn’t bother pointing that out, because it would be too close to admitting Sander is right. Instead he simply stays silent, which is almost as bad.

“You need to stop living your whole life like you’re in front of a camera,” Sander tells him. His tone seems to have softened slightly, and Robbe allows a glance through his lashes to see if his expression matches. It does. Sander’s gently frowning as he takes a sip of his drink. “It sounds fucking exhausting.”

Robbe blinks. It is exhausting, but he hadn’t thought Sander would be the one to point such a thing out. He hadn’t thought Sander would make such a genuine observation in the first place. Even with all those looks, Robbe hadn’t realised how much Sander has actually been watching.

He takes a little sip of his own drink to delay responding and finds it isn’t as bad the second time, so he takes another. Then he makes a quiet admission. “I prefer being behind the camera.”

It doesn’t seem to be the response Sander was expecting, but he also doesn’t look too surprised. “You want to produce like your dad?”

“Not really. I mean actually being behind the camera. Filming itself. Maybe directing. Editing. I don’t know.” He takes another drink and then licks his lips, ignoring how Sander tracks each movement. “I like making things look good and I like creating and watching, but not when it’s myself. It’s never my decision to act.”

This does draw out Sander’s surprise. “Your dad makes you?”

“No,” Robbe quickly denies, shaking his head. “He just asks, and I never know how to say no. Or he asked the first time, and now it’s just how it goes. It’s not like I hate it, it just—sorry, it doesn’t matter.” He remembers who he’s talking to and cuts himself off. It’s not that he’s admitting anything bad, or even that Sander isn’t someone he should be admitting it too—he doesn’t think Sander would betray him to his father, even though that’s who Sander’s working for and the only reason he’s even here. It’s not that he’s being too honest and Sander is untrustworthy; he’s being just honest enough that he might keep going. That’s where the danger creeps in.

This becomes clear when Sander shakes his head and places his hand over Robbe’s, mindless or reckless or both. Sander doesn’t seem to notice the fire that sparks from the touch, setting every inch of Robbe’s skin alight.

“It does matter,” Sander argues, and now he appears unbearably soft. It’s a far cry from his usual aloof, confident persona, but somehow Robbe feels no surprise at the glimpse of tenderness. “I’m sure if you talked to your dad, he’d understand. He’d probably even help you get wherever you actually want to go. He didn’t need to take me on, but he’s understanding.”

Robbe bites back a scoff, but he can’t quite contain the little burst of anger that makes him snatch his hand away. It startles Sander so much, he feels slightly apologetic. “You don’t know anything, Sander.”

Sander purses his lips. The gentle expression has mostly dissipated, but there’s still some lingering determination. Robbe feels a faint thrum of heat in his stomach under Sander’s heavy stare. “Maybe not,” he acquiesces. “But I know it’s not enough to not hate something. You should be allowed to want something. And you deserve whatever that is.”

There’s that lump in his throat again. Sander seems so sincere that Robbe feels shy. It’s ridiculous how much sway Sander has over him when they barely know each other. Robbe can’t figure out what it is, only that there’s an undeniable tug in his gut when he’s in Sander’s orbit, urging him to get closer. Alongside it, there are the warning signals that blare in his head, alarms that tell him he’s in front of a fire or at the edge of a cliff. Pushed too far, he’ll burn and tumble.

“Robbe,” Sander urges, drawing his attention back. Even darkened, his eyes are so green. “You deserve whatever you want out of your life. Direct it on your own.”

That might be the problem—having Robbe in control. He’d always thought his life was for the universe to play with, guided by various twisted strings of fate, split into infinite versions. He’s beginning to dislike the thought. All the happenings that are out of his control are the ones that scare him, that cause real harm. His mother’s illness, his parents’ split, his own fame. Sander Driesen.

He’s beginning to think Sander might be the scariest thing.

It’s terrifying, the intent with which he’s watching Robbe now, scarier than being in front of a camera has ever been. At least there, he can act. It’s Sander who strips him bare. It’s terrifying and liberating.

Robbe takes another sip of the drink Sander had bought him, and finds the fifth time is easier again. It loosens the lump in his throat enough for him to meet Sander’s eye and say, “Maybe I will.”

#wtfock #sobbe #rosander #robbe x sander #sobbe fic #i don’t write them as often so #i am sorry if it sucks haha #I’d like to write a proper fic for it but I’ll see how this goes down #my fics

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