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fakeloveaskblog · 3 years

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Yay lasertag!!! Janus you should totally go visit Remus on the weekend and hang out! Also, maybe invite Remy too, if they wanna come. Then (specially if they don't show) you can plan with them both to maybe go on another hangout with Remus but to somewhere you like and let Remy tag along for the ride if they wanna while u're at it.

(Words: 3153 words)

Janus: "Ah yes! I will let you know that after hanging out with Remus I managed to use my incredible totally very good texting skills to ask the Rems if they wanted to go to an art museum and they both for some reaosn, maybe they are being blackmailed, said yes! I hope it will go g-"

He cut himself off as he saw the two Rems come towards him. He had been waiting outside the museum. (Honestly half the reason he had choosen it was because he knew Remus liked art)

Remus waved at him while grinning. He had on sweatpants, a way too large t-shirt and a necklace made out of animal bones. Remy had their arm swung around him. Even though they had sunglasses on their eyebags were still visible.

“Aight gamers! Are we ready to do an epic art heist!! I got my sunglasses ready!” Remus exclaimed. He didn’t, he was planning on stealing Remy’s sunglasses.

“Partner you’re forgetting that we must first observe the security measures of the museum before we can even start to plan the heist” Janus replied.

“Oh!!! That’s what we’re doing today isn’t it??”

“Correct partner!”

“Babes I dunno why you gotta steal art when I’m standing right here” Remy added while posing.

“Good point. Good point”

Janus had on a yellow bowtie he’d gotten from Logan, a loose purple shirt and black dress pants. People had to look fancy when they went to museums right? Remy had a skirt short enough to fool god and their boyfriend’s hoodie on (it looked oversized on them but with how skinny they were Everything looked oversized on them).

As soon as they got in Remus started to bounce up and down as he looked at the posters showing all the different exhibitions. There was a modern art one, classical and one smaller exhibition for specifically mosaic works.

“So whatcha you wanna look at Snakey?” Remus asked.

Janus was caught of guard “Why are you asking me?”

“Well you chose how we would hang out. C’mon you deserve to choose this too”

He looked over to Remy who shrugged “Uhm okay. Well. The classical paintings would proably give us the most money on the black market so lets look at those”

“Yay!”

Remus quickly took on his noise canceling headphones and a chew necklace before doing thumbs up. He firmly took Janus’ hand in his. He sent him a soft smile which made Jan’s heart spin before dashing of with him into the exhibition.

A few big paintings from the renaissance hung on the wall. Remy came a little later since with the cane they walked pretty slow. Remus eyed the paintings from a distance before squinting at them up close. He flapped the hand he was hoding Janus with around.

"Oh!!! This is so cool!!!! This is from the renaissance but it's not using the chiaro oscuro technique like everyone did 'cause Da Vinci would eat their newborn if they didnt!”

"Is that why it's looking flatter than me?" Remy asked.

“YEah!! Augh I love the renaissance!!! Mostly because they were dissecting bodies so much!! sometimes for the sole purpose of drawing anatomy better!! I wanna do that! Or watch someone do that! Getting to see one of those old classrooms where they dissected corpses would be so awesome!”

“Huh good way to get rid of bodies. Great time for serial killers” Janus commented.

He let out a dreamy sigh “It truly was. They’re doing serial killers dirty nowadays”

They went through some more rooms of renaissance paintings. Janus made sure to hold Remus back a bit so Remy could keep up with them. The duke kept rambling about different shading techniques.

They stepped into another room and the style changed. Remus continued to flap his hand nonetheless. Janus was definitely going to have pain in his wrist tomorrow. It was worth it if he could hold his hand though.

Remy leaned their elbow on top of Janus’ head “This is like the baroque time right?”

“YEah!” Remus’ eyes went huge “Bean you didn’t tell me you were into art history??! Do you know about Ruben too?? I like how he paints butts!”

“What? Nah. I just- I can like see it on the clothes in the paintings. Can’t you?”

“Do I look like a time traveling fashiong guru” Janus replied sarcastically “That is honestly impressive”

Remy sunk in on themself and a hint of red appeared on their cheeks “No. Nah. I’m like a total airhead! Completel idiot! hehe I’m like tots sure everyone knows this stuff. Y’all are just bad at fashion. I uh anyway Rem you were gonna rant?”

“I was?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh....Okay!!” He looked around the room before getting caught on a small painting in the corner. He dashed over to it “HANds!”

The painting depicted 2 bloody hands over a table. They were holding onto each other. the red stuck out against the dark background. It was hard to see if they were supposed to belong to two people who were fighting or in love.

Remus looked down at Janus’ hand while playing with his fingers “I think my favorite body part are hands” He mumbled “I mean they’re horseshit to draw but they can do so much”

Janus looked away from the painting as well. He let his crush do whatever he wanted with his hand as long as he kept holding it. the way he held him so lightly but kept rubbing his thumb up and down his skin made him melt.

“Yeah they can do a lot of fucked up shit” Remy butted in. Jan nearly jumped. He’d completely lost himself in adoring his crush.

“Well hands can also be used to give snakes small berries! And to make coffee!”

“Girl I wasn’t starting an argument. But you sure did won it!”

Remus was staring down into the floor as he said “When I become a cannibal I would wanna try eating human fingers first. I’m sure they would be tasty”

“Why was there a when in there?” Jan asked in a small amount of terror.

“Oh yeah babe totally. I will like actually eat a dick” Remy agreed.

“Why is there a will in there? What kind of time tenses are you people on?? Does english grammar mean nothing to you heathens!?”

Remy got a smug look on their face. They poked their finger right into Janus’ chest “C’mon say what you will eat when you become a cannibal”

“Yeah Snakey” Remus squished his cheeks “Say it! Say it! Say it!”

The two of them kept going on while Janus looked like a sour lemon until he finally caved in.

“Fine. I would either eat the stomach or....the buttocks since they would have the most fat and sustain me the longest”

The Rems looked at each other before bursting out into laughter. “He said butT!” Remus cackled out. The other Rem nodded along and pretended to wipe away a tear from laughter.

“Aight babe let’s put the guy out of his misery”

They motioned for Remus to go ahead. He happily skipped into the next room and grabbed Jan’s hand to take him with him. The snake couldn’t help but notice how Remy stayed behind for a monent.

“Oh cool!! We’re onto impressionism! The first real art style!” He sighed “From impressionism to cartoon furries. How magical the journey of art is”

(Jan who had a scaley phase in high school chose to not reply)

“I love the music as well. Crazy lads. My favorite lad?” Remus snickered “De bussy!!”

“That’s my porn name” Remy instantly replied, coming up behind them. “Hey that paint lady kinda like looks like Terra” They pointed at a painting.

“....Hey YEaH! I guess my art is timeless!”

Janus looked between them “who’s Terra?”

“Well girl” Remy playfully ruffled Remus’ hair “She’s just Rem’s tots cool like cartoon character. She’s like all over his sketchbook. Makes it look kinda straight if you ask me but she does have like a very cool design so I get it!”

“Oh......Yes...Sounds very....cool”

The group kept going around looking at art. While it felt like lead was filling Janus’ chest. He’d never heard about Terra. He’d never seen his sketchbook. Meaning they had spent time with each other without him.

He pierced his nails into his palms to stop the thoughts. He refused to be some jealous person who didn’t allow his friends to hang out without him.....Still he wish he could have seen the drawings as well....seen them smile together...heard their shared laughter....

Oh. Oh what if they thought he was annoying. What if they preferred being without him. What if he’d forced them to come here today. What if-

“Hey snakey wanna look at the modern art as well?” Remus interrupted.

“What?”

Without realizing they’d gone through all of the classic art. Now they were in the last room with not much more than a giant painting the size of one of the walls and a bench.

“That sounds horrid!”

“Yay!”

Remus quickly continued of into the next exhibition. Janus still had the taste of lead filling his throat as he went to follow. Until he realized Remy wasn’t there. He turned around and saw them sitting on the bench in front of the painting. They were leaning their arms on their cane.

“It would probably give us a lot on the black market” Jan said while sitting down beside them.

“Mhm. It’s pretty. I just like wanted to look at it some more” They lied.

“Understandable”

The painting was pretty much a big flower field with a summer sky shining down on it. Janus noticed how Remy forced deep breathes through their gritted teeth. Their brows were furrowed and their hands kept shaking.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course!”

“I have some painkillers with me. Would that help agains the pain you’re totally not in?”

They glanced over to him “Girl what you doing walking around with painkillers?”

He looked at them with the most deadpan expression “Remy I’m overweight. You can not phantom how often I get knee pain" He took out a pill and held it out to them "Here"

"There's really like no need! I can like handle it"

Even more deadpan "You shouldn’t have to ‘handle it’. It's 1 painkiller dear. I'm not exactly becoming a saint because of this"

They hesitantly took it "Thanks"

He did fingerguns "No problemo"

They stayed sitting for a bit so the pill could kick in. Jan shuly glanced over to admire them every now and then. Remy kept looking down into the floor while picking at their skin.

“I’m sorry” They said it in a much quieter voice than their usual high pitched one “I tried to do everything right so I wouldn’t ruin everything. I even went to bed early so I wouldn’t get tired....I...I really looked forward to getting to be with you two”

Janus heart beat faster. He pulled himself together to comfort them “You haven’t ruined a thing”

They hid their face in their hands “I’ve been tired and out of it all day. I keep like slowing you down. Don’t think I haven’t like noticed how much you have to hold Rem back from going faster! I’ve just been making this all much worse than it should have been”

“Well you’re here aren’t you? I for one appreciate you simply being here. You don’t have to do anything to make me appreciate you, don’t even have to talk. I hope you know that”

“....really?”

“Oh no darling I totally expect you to win the nobel prize while in a kind of pain I can’t even imagine being in on a daily basis”

Remy chuckled “Thanks”

“There’s really no need for that. I am at any and all times doing the absolute minimum to be counted as a decent human being”

“Sure snakey-babey” They had a soft smile on their face.

They moved to hug him. Their arms wrapped around his back and they muffled their head right between his man titties. Janus sat still for a few seconds, too flustered to think before moving his arms around them as well. A hand on the back of their head, another on their lower back. Their skin felt so cold against his.

Remy closed their eyes and let themself calm down. They could feel Janus’ breathing against their hair.

“I think my fav like human part is the chest” They mumbled out “‘Cause I can hear the heart beat. It reminds me I’m- we’re still like alive”

“Like a bloody biological seashell”

“Exactly” They pressed themself closer. “I like being with you” It was nothing more than a whisper, like it was a secret “When you’re here I feel a bit less like a rotting corpse”

Janus held onto them harder “Well I-I try my best”

“I know babe”

His heart was beating out of his chest. The people around them must think they were a couple. He closed his eyes and focused on Remy’s touch, on Picani’s words from their last session. He managed to push enough of the shame away and focus on the happy butterflies in his stomach instead.

Remy moved away. The moment broke.

“We should probs go find Rem before he starts like eating the art”

“haha yeah” Janus did thumbs up but kept sitting. He’d gone full idiot.

It wasn’t until he saw Remy straining to stand up even with the cane his brain kicked back in.

“Is there some way I could help?”

They didn’t answer. But they did lean their arm around his shoulder to let him carry some of their weight. They slowly but surely made their way to the modern art exhibition.

Remus was sitting crosslegged in front of a weird statue, he was doodling in his sketchbook but shone up into a smile when he saw them.

“There you are! I was starting to think that either the zombie apocalypse had started or you were making out somehwere”

“Oh yeah babe. Full tounge” Remy joked back. Jan let out an inhumane noise.

He closed his sketchbook “I think we’re done here. You’re looking tired beanie. We can come back some other day”

Remy held back the urge to lie that they were fine. Instead they weakly nodded.

The gang left the museum. Right beside it was an ice cream shop. Remus got 3 scoops of a worryingly weird mix of flavors. Janus got 1 scoop of lemon. Remy didn’t feel like eating.

They sat down on a couple of benches right outside. Remy laid down with their head leaned onto Remus’ thigh. He chewed his ice cream while calmly moving his hand up and down their back.

Soon enough they were deep asleep. Janus quickly laid his jacket over their legs. He didn’t want to accidentally see anything under their skirt without their consent.

Remus stared at him like a blood sucking eagle while smiling “Soooo now when beanie is in dream land.......Do” He stopped to giggle “Janny. Janny. Do. Do you like someooooonnneee??”

Janus just blinked at him for half a minute. This was too much. This whole day was too much. He was a wreck. His crush was asking him THis?! While his other crush was laying in his crush’s lap?!?

“Why- Why- What- Who are you working for?! The fucking FBI??? Are they after me?” He desperately tried to joke it away.

“No. No. But seriously JanJan!” He wiggled his shoulders around in a stimmy way “Do you happen to like anyone with a name that starts on R????”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Janus kept glancing between his two crushes while his blushing could be seen out into space. He wanted to lie but his mouth wouldn’t move.

Remus leaned closer and whispered “You’re into Remy right?”

He nodded. A breathe of relief went through him. At least Remus didn’t know he liked him.

“OH I KNEW IT!” Remus yelled out in excitement while flapping his hands.

“Shh! Shh!” Janus scrambled to cover his mouth as Remy stirred for a moment. “Shhhh!” They cuddled closer to their friend and fell back asleep.

“I knew it!” He giggled “Or I mean Remy knew. They told me they thought you were into them”

“WHAT?!”

Now it was Remus that covered his mouth. He was full on cackling “Yeah! They said it was really obvious! But good for you snakey! I’m sure if you murder their boyfriend you can get them in no time! Or you can become a fab homewrecker!! I can help you buy a nice sexy dress and all!!”

Janus paled in terror “How- In- What- In what way did they say it was obvious?”

“Oh y’know-”

The notif on his phone went off. He checked and his eyes went wide. He carefully moved Remy’s head onto the bench before standing up.

“Sorry snakey! Ro needs super duper emergency help! Gotta go!! See you later! Don’t die!”

Remus left him just like that. Right after dropping THAT bomb on him. Janus sat unmoving. His mouth was slightly agape in shock. His thoughts were runnig around screaming nonstop.

He sat like that for over 20 minutes until Remy let out a yawn and slowly woke up. They took off their sunglasses to rub their eyes. Just seeing their vibrantly green eyes made Janus panic even more.

“Did Rem disintegrate?” Their voice was hoarse from sleepyness. Janus pinched himself to hold back the uhm feelings.

“He- he uh he went he went he sure did went yeah”

“....Cool!”

They stretched their joints, they all cracked. They looked to Janus and moved closer. He couldn’t breathe. They knew. They knew. They knew.

“Girl are you feeling okay?” They pressed their palm to his forehead “You’re like super hot. In both ways! Maybe you should like go home and rest. I gotta get home before my boyf gets home anyway”

“Y-yeah” Was all Janus could get out.

“Cool. OH! By the way! Girl!!! We haven’t like hung out just the two of us right?? We should tots do that! Just like tell me whatever you wanna do and we can do it!”

“Yeah”

“Awesome! Well I’ll see you on that hang out then”

They hugged him for just a few seconds but for those seconds Janus felt like he was in heaven.

They got up and left. Janus slumped over on the bench. His heart was going crazy. They knew. They knew and now they wanted to hang out alone with him. He turned to you. His eyes were wide and panicked.

Janus: “W-what am I supposed to do? I don’t know any good hang out plans! Do you know any??? I’m- this is all- how did they even know I like them! Oh I’m sounding like an overdramatic 13 year old.....This totally isn’t really overwhelming. I would hate getting Logan cuddles right now!”

#thanks for the ask!!#im sorry these keep getting longer #i really do try to cut them down #dukeceit #demus #janus sanders #remus sanders #remy sanders #mini fic #sanders sides #desleep #desleepmus #dukeceitsleep

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geekys-corner · 3 years

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Mind listing the OCs/personas and a couple facts about them? (Might help with questions lol)

Sure! I’ve written 16 below lmao *sticks in a read more*

Anthony - Originally my version of Anti, he’s now a sweet bean who really likes plants. In his backstory and the start of his story, he was found in a tiny pocket dimension inside his old apartment while he and the place around him fell into disrepair with the only thing truly alive being his plants. After losing his entire family, he was very fragile and hurt himself quite a bit, but my other characters rescued him and nursed him back to health and stability!

Onyx - My angsty punk dude who I adore. He is on the autistic spectrum and is mostly non-verbal, once going 4 months without speaking before breaking the silence to tell his best friend that Viggo Mortenson broke his toe in that one scene in Lord of the Rings. They have a twin sister who is 13 minutes older and a firm witch while he is a firm nonbeliever. Sometimes he goes to the junkyard with a baseball bat to let out their anger.

Leon - His backstory is very dark so I won’t get into it, but he’s a very shy bean with one arm and a love for sewing. He has the fluffiest light pink hair, and is just the embodiment of pastel.

Kyle - The older brother of the duo! He’s friends with Onyx and also has a punk look with spiked blue hair, but he’s an absolute sweetheart! He’s eight years older than his brother, and ran away with him when he was a newborn to escape their abusive mother. He raised Joey on his own in the streets, escaping care systems that would split them apart and shove them in to foster homes, and grew up to be completely independent, albeit unaware of what it is like to have a loving family besides his brother. He may be quick to resort to fight or flight to protect his brother and grumpy to strangers, but he’s built them a good life!

Joseph - The little brother! Joey is a smart little kid, (ranging from 10 - 14 depending) with very bright ginger hair and freckles. He’s on the far side of the autistic spectrum and is completely nonverbal, but he’s very expressive, spunky, and loving whenever he’s able to. He adores peanut butter and milkshakes, and would very happily have them six times a day. While he can’t speak, he will send Kyle countless facts from astronomy or marine life through text at any time of day or night. He’s always seen in his blue skateboarding frog hoodie, a beetle backpack filled with his supplies, and his headphones and tablet. He loves to draw and he’s great at it, and always draws sharks, especially whale sharks.

Caelan - Another punk, but this time in bird form. He is a griffin, and in some AUs a dude with prosthetic feet. He has messy blond hair covering his eyes and is based around an Egyptian falcon. He’s very quick witted and very annoying to people who don’t know him, but would go to hell and back for his family.

Marioma - The model of a modern major general- this dude is the only one like him, meaning he has no AU counterparts! He’s different from my other characters since he’s technically self-aware, and acts in my stories if and when I want him to! He’s a grumpy, determined dude who’s trying to quit smoking per request of his boyfriend, Arthur. Before him, he was a sly, hardened, and cunning man who needed someone to rely on who wouldn’t die on him.

Arthur - Foster fails: 5. He owns a bookstore in the universe he inhabits and, just like Mari, he’s one of a kind! He lives the ideal rainy city aesthetic, with an apartment above his store with open windows, plants, cosy blankets and homemade food, handmade clothing, and animals. He’s got curly hair and his scarf is his comfort item, and he takes in animals if and when he can. He and Mari just live a comfortable life :’)

Clyde - A duo with Anthony, he was originally a version of Henrik, but is now completely different. This boy is a classic OC and therefore my teenage angst punching bag. He’s a doctor in his husband Lucas’ mafia, and is very strong-willed and the biggest sweetheart. He has water powers that I always forget about, and could very easily drown someone if he wanted to. Besides that, he does cry a lot over small things, and Lucas has walked in on him crying over their cat in a business-tie.

Levi - If he and Clyde fused, they’d make Henrik. He’s my 55 year old doctor who just the embodiment of grumpy cat and expresso. He’s very lanky and has joint problems after trauma in his late 20s, and sometimes you can hear his bones cracking as he walks. He has, can, and will slap the sense into Clyde when he needs to and hated him to begin with, but warmed up to him. But, he’s completely different to his husband Sage, and in the end, is a very caring guy who won’t take any shit. He’s also therapist, and gives sessions to most of my OCs- (he’s also the doctor at the end of Don’t Leave! Dr Allison!)

Tyrell (Cloak) - So I split the same OC into two halves, essentially from two AUs but in one? They’re not twins, they’re the same guy with separate families but they’re the same. They’re both POC with the same face, hair texture etc. Cloak-Ty is very grumpy, and is called Cloak because of the cloak he wears in his fantasy-based AUs! He wears an eye patch and lost his eye depending on the AU, and went through a lot. You can tell he’s angsty because half of his hair is buzzed off. He tried to push away his now-husband Demitri, but luckily he’s an absolute himbo who doesn’t know when to quit, and eventually melted through the icy layer to a loving, sarcastic, hard-working man.

Tyrell (Ponytail) - Same as above description wise! He’s taller and buff with a ponytail. He went through the same backstory, but was found by Daniel who took him to Lucas’ mafia where they recovered together and eventually fell in love. Half of his face is badly burned and the eye has pin-hole vision, but it doesn’t stop him from being the best sniper on the team. When at home, he loves tea, hanging with his family, and painting. He’s amazing at watercolour and earns money on the side from selling his work! Sometimes he and Dan team up and draw together!

Bloodbranded:

Wayde - He lives in the Winter Forest Region and hunts for his family with his exceptional archery skills. He’s witty and pretty spontaneous, making him good under pressure, but incredibly reckless. He has a bad claw scar across his right eye which cuts into his hair, but he can see just fine! He has beautiful green eyes with central heterochromia, so they turn brown in the centre. While he may be annoying and hot-headed, he cares a whole bunch and grows as a person to fall in love with Milo. He’s a hopeless romantic and protective as all hell, even when Milo can handle himself just fine.

Felicity - She wasn’t born in the WFR like Wayde, she was adopted by her two mothers and is Wayde’s cousin! She’s a POC with beautiful dark skin, and her parents style her hair in unique braids that are decorated by gold rings. She’s a magic user and a very skilled one at that, even when she’d just started out, and wishes to revive the old form of magic that had been taken over by the modern, corrupted magic form that’s based entirely on nepotism. She uses a staff and a book, and is clumsy to start out, but soon becomes a mage to be admired, or feared if you’re an enemy!

Milo - Unlike Felicity and Wayde, he was born in the desert region, and ends up in the WFR by mistake (which is a vast change in temperature for him). Because of the contrast in temperature, he’s always wrapped up in winter clothes, even in places where the others are sleeveless, just because he’s spent his whole life in the heat! When he’s at home, he lives with his Mother and goes out to collect lightning glass after the nightly storms to sell and turn into jewellery or windows etc. Milo was born deaf and uses sign language to communicate. He’s smart, energetic, and excited to see new things, but can handle himself with ease, and knows how to take care of himself through quick thinking and fighting skills from living in the desert. When he and Wayde start dating, he likes coming up behind him and cuddling him or giving him quick kisses!

Prism - Much like their name, they are very colourful. They are a dragon hybrid and live in a kingdom of others like them, but unlike any other dragon, their scales are - like their name - prisms. They gradient between rainbows across their body, but each scale has a rainbow shimmer when they move. Their wings are like stained glass, and their hair (as of now, it might change) is like labradorite! Prism is mute and doesn’t express much, usually communicating through eye rolls. They live as the King’s new heir after he took them in as he believes Prism is the symbol of their kingdom and species’ beauty. Because of this, they are completely untouched by any blade and don’t have a single blemish or scar as to preserve them. Many guards have died to prevent them from obtaining even the slightest scratch. Beyond their anxiety, they join the crew and act as the voice/sign of reason! Even if they are assigned to their kingdom, they soon learn that their friends truly care about them more than their appearance.

That’s most of my OCs, this is already super long so I don’t want to drag it on! If anyone is interested in any OC, feel free to drop an ask, I’d love to write one shots or answer questions! <3 ^^

#geekyfox1's ocs #oc #oc list #bloodbranded #bloodbranded development #oc description

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7lizardsinacoat · 4 years

Text

The Old Guard Costume Analysis

Because I could, I wrote up an analysis of the costuming, This is about the how the characters dress and what would influence that. I tried to get at the core of what each character likes to do when they pick out outfits. It came out to be a 4 page document so I hope I got it all.

Too long don’t want to read? The last three paragraphs are what you may want to read then.

While the team only wears a few outfits over the course of the movie, what they are can say a lot about a character. They may seem basic, but they really do speak volumes about the personality of a character, help set the mood of a scene, and further convey emotion. The costumes also show us a little bit of the background of each character and how that affects the way they dress. While the costuming may not win awards because it is in an action movie, they are very cleverly and well done.

Since this all started with my analysis of Nicky’s fashion choices, I am going to start with him. Nicky wears extremely practical things throughout the movie, like dark colors and basics that you can pick up from any store (save for the baklava scene, but we will talk about that later.) Nicky’s hair is even practical. Short, and while it can be styled, it really isn’t throughout the movie. It even seems easy to wash blood out from. All of his clothing matches but in a way that he can just pick up something and go without having to think too hard about it. Nicky is a very quiet and unassuming person, so his clothes seem to reflect that. Nothing he wears stands out among the others, and is as unassuming as he is.

If you bring in Nicky’s background as a priest and a crusader, this makes a lot of sense. Christian/Catholic guilt is a strong thing. If you really get into the Bible you will find that there is a lot about not getting attached to worldly possessions. Seeing as he joined the priesthood, he would have had to believe in the text and know it well. As a priest, he would have worn vestments most of the time and lived a life with little indulgence, most likely leading to viewing his ordinary clothes in a practical manner. When he joined the crusades he would have become even more practical, as there were really only a few things he would have been able to wear as part of the forces, and if he really bought into what he was fighting for he would not have begrudged this.

To bring it up to the modern day and what we see in the movie, we can see all of this reflected in what he wears. He wears dark colors and practical clothing. Now we may say that the baklava scene challenges that, as he is dressed nicely and his hair is styled.

I would say to that, yes, he does know how to dress beyond picking something up and putting it on. But, because he does not do this again at the end of the movie, when everyone is styled and wearing what they would wear in an everyday, safe, situation, we may say that he simply does not feel like dressing in that way at all times.

He knows how to put together an outfit, but seems to not want to unless it is for certain occasions. You can even see this mildly reflected in his “hot topic monk” look, where he wears a hoodie to cover his head rather than a hat, not because it looks good, but because it's practical. It’s certainly practical. He seems very “pick up and go”, which is fine to do. It’s certainly valid within the context of the movie. That’s fine I guess.

Joe, in contrast to Nicky, has a better grasp of fashion and has an actual want to be fashionable. He was a merchant before the Crusades, which would allow him to have more access to nicer and therefore more thought out clothes. As a merchant, he would have likely had to be more presentable, and up to date on the clothing trends of the time. Taking also into account that Joe is an artist, and has been described as having an “artist’s soul”, this also supports the idea that Joe is up to date on trends and enjoys dressing in the current fashions. He puts thought into what he is wearing. He wants to put thought into what he is wearing. He enjoys putting thought into it.

All of this goes well with what he wears. While for most of the movie he is wearing simple clothes, this seems to be because they are in danger (also what he wears for most of the movie is what he was sleeping in). During the baklava scene he wears something that is a little more “We are seeing a loved one after a long time” and less “this is what I wear when I am just going out for the day.” But he is being presentable in a way that shows already at the beginning of the movie that he knows what he is doing.

At the end of the movie, we see Joe wearing streetwear.

While the team may not feel entirely safe, they do feel safer, which allows them to wear what they want with little fear of getting it ruined. This is what he wants to wear. Even though his outfit is an “immortally dark” color, it still reflects who he is as a person. He is fun and outgoing, and goes outside of the mainstream. He has an interest in what he does. Even when they are going on the mission to save the girls he has some fun, what with his backwards baseball cap. He wants to throw a little fun into a dark situation, which I think really shows who he is as a person. He actively puts thought into his outfit, actually thinking about what goes with what, and enjoys it as well. He is having fun with his clothes.

While Andy’s outfits may seem minimalist and just plain black constantly, they say a lot when put in context of the scenes. Andy wears black for most of the movie. It’s a color that is easy to cover up blood and muck, and helps you blend in as it is a neutral color. It also reflects her darker mood.

Putting the black clothes into the context of the scenes changes the vibe they give off. In the first few scenes of the movie, we see her walking among people who are wearing bright colors against orange-y dirt of Marrakech, Morocco. She sticks out like a sore thumb in this scene. It gives off the feeling that she is not like them, that she is not human like the rest of them, and does not have the human hope. It immediately establishes her as cold and an outsider.. As the movie progresses, Andy becomes mortal.. She begins to wear colors, such as a green jacket, and at the end of the movie, a brown one. It reflects how she is becoming more and more human, and feeling more hopeful and less dark and hopeless. While it is still dark colors, they still show the change that is happening within her.

While Andy might seem cold and uncaring towards others outside of her family, she is actually deeply sentimental. She always wears a necklace, that while we don’t ever get told why she has it, it is clear that it is very special to her.

Then there is the jacket that she wears in the last few scenes in the movie.

It is worn and old and clearly has been repaired several times. Why would a person who gets shot at on the regular and seems to have access to plenty of money want to keep a torn article of clothing unless it was for sentimental value. While Andy may, many times throughout the course of the movie, have said that she does not care anymore, the jacket shows that that is not true. An item of clothing like that has a lot of memories attached to it. She wears it in the scene where she sees Booker for probably the last time in her life.

As it likely has immense sentimental value, it may have been comforting to wear. It also would then remind her of Booker every time she would wear it afterwards, and would even more so be the last thing she would get rid of. That jacket likely means so much to her. It will mean even more, now that it has those memories of Booker attached to it.

Booker’s outfits also seem like simple men’s clothes, like Nicky’s. Though hey are still in line with modern men’s fashion, in a more modest, subdued way. This probably comes from personal preference, but also his background. Booker is a very good forger, so he must have been an educated man before the Napoleonic War. He would have likely had a job with a lot of writing, and one that paid higher than labor jobs. This would have let him have some leeway with clothes, allowing him to develop a preference and an idea of what the general fashions were.

Booker understands mainstream men’s fashion, but does not seem to enjoy it like Joe does. He seems to dress no further than nicely presentable, while it does seem that he does have an opinion on what he is wearing, he doesn’t go any further in it. The one thing he seems to really indulge, besides alcohol, is his hair. But we are not here to talk about that. He’s a peacoat kind of man. He seems to be perpetually in fall/winter, what with his layers at all times.

He’s if the artist Julia Lepetit drew a man and it came to life (french, sad, sharp jaw, layers and high collars, y'know what, just go look at what she drew when asked to draw a handsome man).

There is almost a safety in the way he dresses. Like he is allowing himself to like a few things but to go any further than that would be too much.

Now, he is not the type of guy that wears things outside of very mainstream fashion in the first place. But he does not really want to enjoy what he is doing now. Booker is also deeply sentimental, as clearly evidenced, besides the everything about him, by the wedding ring he still wears, 200 years later. So he may be holding on to some of the old routines he had before his first death, such as keeping up his hair or thinking for more than 10 seconds about his outfit. Even what he wears seems to show his grief, and his almost fragility that goes along with it.

Nile is young and fashionable. She still feels human, and is a contrast to the others. Especially Andy. While Andy is in her dour blacks, Nile wears hopeful lighter tones and bright colors. She enjoys her clothing choices. While she is a sensible dresser, as we can see by her very sensible shoes, she does not have the immortal practicality the others do. The clothes she wears show a lot of blood, as compared to Booker and Andy’s (we are ignoring Joe and NIcky as they after just waking up). The clothes she wears are ones she would wear when she goes out for the day, not to get shot in a lab. She is not used to being immortal yet (and who would be if you’d died like three times so far.).

We only get to see her in two outfits that she has picked out for herself. But they are both, as earlier stated, a stark contrast to Andy. Andy's blacks really make her seem less human. Nile’s brighter colors show us that even though she is immortal now, she still retains her human spirit.

Interestingly enough, ,the outfit Andy hands her in the plane helps give us an idea of just how different they are. Andy gives her dark colors to wear, which feels like an almost “welcome to the club.”

It’s very Andy. But when Nile gets to pick out her own clothes, she picks out things she enjoys, are interesting, and bright and colorful. It really shows how she doesn’t feel like a part of that group yet. While she may no longer be human, she still feels her humanity.

To speak briefly about the main villain, Merrick, he dresses in a childish way. He wears an infuriating hoodie under his suit coat and designer sneakers. He especially feels like he’s trying too hard, or compensating. He feels like a child trying to dress cooler than his older brother. It’s like he is trying to be a fuck boi but failing spectacuraly He feels like he listens to Russ and calls it Hip-Hop. His whole deal is one big overcompensation, and you can really see it.

This is not pertaining to any one character, but the baklava scene is very interesting, costuming wise. It is the first time we get to see the whole gang together outside of them dying in the first scene. We at first see Andy, walking around in her “no longer human” black clothes. Then we get to see Booker, who does not stick out among the crowd. His clothes seem basic and unassuming. Then finally we get to see Joe and Nicky, who look very presentable in their button up shirts, like your favorite uncles on vacation. Even Copley is wearing lighter tones. Now putting them all together, at first it seems that only Andy stands out with her dark clothes among the lighter tones the others are wearing, but if we look further, we can see how Booker starts to stick out as well.

Andy’s clothes, as stated earlier, give her a less than human vibe within the context of the movie. The lighter tones of the three men might make them all seem like they all still feel hopeful and happy, but Booker’s clothes betray that. While Joe and Nicky are wearing lighter tones, Booker is only wearing a lighter colored overshirt over a black shirt. This gives off the idea that he is trying to show that he is happy, that he is just as excited as Joe and Nicky. But in all actuality, he feels just as dark and sad as Andy does, as the costuming shows. He’s trying to conceal it, as we can see with his friendliness with his family, but we the audience can see through it. He is not doing well, and try as he might to put on a brave face for others, we can see it.

The costuming in The Old Guard is subtly clever. With just some clothing that may seem basic, they are able to show a lot about each character's personality. How Nicky understands how to dress but doesn’t care. Joe enjoys and has fun with his outfits. That Booker doesn’t really enjoy his clothing. Andy’s inhumanity shows through her clothes but so does her sentimentality. Nile’s humanity shows through her bright colors. We get all of this through the costuming, and it’s so nicely executed. There may be no awards won for this as it’s an action movie, but we should still acknowledge how well it’s done.

#finally finished #i dont know what to do with myself now that this is finfished #the old guard #tog #my post #how the hell do i tag this #long post #costumes #costuming

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isolemnlyswearpevensie · 4 years

Text

1980s Horror Film | Peter Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: None

Time/Era: Modern AU, Young Adult/Late College

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Y/N is a film student who has to take a science credit last minute to graduate. Naturally, she picks the easiest sounding one, nutrition. She didn’t expect the tough workload and she definitely didn’t expect the cute TA.

Request: Could I please request a peter x reader story where it’s after peter has moved to America and he meets the reader at his college where she’s the bubbly, fun and popular American girl and he’s a TA in one of her classes and he takes her on a cute date after they meet during tutoring and he tries to impress her and it’s just fluff💕 no worries if not and thank you for being such a good writer❤️❤️

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Thanks for the request! Let me know what you think. I changed the time a little bit because tbh I have absolutely no idea what it was like to be in college in the ’40s. I hope that’s alright. :)

masterlist | read on ao3

“Hello everyone! Thanks for coming, my name is Peter Pevensie and I’m the TA for Professor Kirke’s nutrition class. I know he has a lot of assignments listed on the syllabus, but that’s why I’m here.” Peter stood in front of the small group of students that showed up to his tutoring session. He was expecting more to show up, considering Professor Kirke was a hard grader and didn’t really teach the material, but the turnout was still great.

“How much of it do we have to do to pass? Like, realistically?” Y/N asked. There was no way she was going to do the amount of work assigned, especially since the class didn’t line up with her major.

“Well, that depends on what you want to do with the material. In my opinion, you should do all of it because the information is important to know,” He sat back in his chair and grinned at the girl, crossing his arms over his chest. It was obvious she didn’t want to be there and really couldn’t care less about the class. “But, to answer your question, just do the biggest assignments and ace the tests. That should put you at about 75% if you get all the points.”

“So, basically, all of the reports that sound like it’ll take hours? Great, love that for me.” Y/N responded in an aggravated tone.

The students around her seemed to take in everything Peter was saying, taking notes and giving him their full attention. They were all likely either sports medicine, health, and biology majors, or various or in various other STEM programs.

Y/N, on the other hand, let her mind wander to the horror film she was directing for her senior project. She was just a semester away from graduating with an undergraduate degree in film and was so close to fulfilling her life long dream of being a horror film director. The project she was writing now was heavily inspired by her favorite film, The Shining.

Throughout the condensed lecture Peter gave, he kept glancing at the grumpy looking girl at the back of the classroom. It was obvious she wasn’t paying attention; she had her earbuds in and was doodling on an old receipt from the Subway on campus. Nonetheless, he continued helping the students who were engaged but kept the strange girl in the back of his mind.

Y/N allowed her mind to fall back to her surroundings when Peter leaned against the table she was sitting at and pulled an earbud out of her ear. It seemed as though everyone was gone, and the tutoring session was over.

“So, what’s your deal?” Peter asks, looking down at his student and her drawings.

“My deal? What do you mean?”

“You obviously don’t care about how carbohydrates affect muscle mass and energy supply. So, why are you taking this class? And from Dr. Kirke, of all people?” His hands gripped the desk at either side of his thigh, preventing it from moving under his weight.

“Well, I needed an easy science class and it was between this class or geology. I figured at least nutrition was somewhat useful to my life,” Y/N closed her laptop and put it into her bag. “I didn’t realize the workload and I get extra credit for coming to these things.” “So, what is it that your field of study if you’re not in STEM, then?”

“Film. I’m the one doing the response to The Shining piece, I’m sure you’ve seen my casting flyers around campus.”

“Ah, right, Y/N L/N. I think you’re friends with my younger sister, Susan.” A look of realization came over Y/N’s face.

“Oh! I knew your name sounded familiar!” Y/N grew more comfortable instantly. “Don’t tell her I shrugged your tutoring session off, she’d have my neck for being rude.”

Peter laughed warmly, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it, no one deserves Susan’s wrath.”

Y/N crumbled the subway receipt in her hand and stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pushing her chair in. “I guess I better go, I’m sure you have better things to do than hang after.”

“I better get going, too. See you next Tuesday night for the next tutoring session?”

“I’ll see if I feel like it.” Y/N winked and walked out of the room.

“No receipt drawing this week?” Peter asked, feigning disappointment. Tutoring had ended, and Y/N was still sitting at the last table.

“Oh shit, is the hour up already?” Y/N looked around the space to see it empty. Her cheeks turned a bit red and she glanced back up at her tutor.

“Yeah, you really gotta pay attention, L/N.” His tone was playful as he took the same position he was in the week prior.

“Why? You want me to stare at you for an hour?” Peter was taken aback by Y/N’s sudden flirty tone, unsure if he should reciprocate.

“Uh, I meant- well. I meant that since this is to help you get a better grade and all, you should pay attention.”

“So it has nothing to do with the fact you stare at me the entire time?”

“You sit in the exact middle of the room! I don’t try to!” He rubbed at the back of his neck, flustered. He wasn’t used to feeling flustered; he was usually the one who made other people react. This made Y/N smirk a little.

“Mmhm, I totally believe you.��

“Yes, I know, class is over.” Y/N said, noticing Peter walking towards her.

“Oh, so now you pay attention? Since when?” He had a granola bar in his hand, absentmindedly taking bites every minute or so.

“Since I found out you’ve been asking Susan about me.” Peter choked. “Yeah, that’s right, Britt Boy. Your sister snitched on you.”

“I asked her about your film ONCE.” Peter took his regular place as she stood up.

“You could have, ya know, asked me.” Y/N held an amused facial expression, watching him try to regain his composure.

“Well, I have no way to contact you, besides this tutoring time. Time in which you don’t even interact, might I add.”

“Well,” Y/N pushed a long piece of paper into his palm. “It seems like you do now.”

Y/N walked out of the building, leaving Peter wondering what the piece of paper was. Upon further inspection, Peter discovered it was a Subway receipt with a phone number scribbled on the bottom.

Are you free after tutoring on Tuesday? Y/N’s phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

Depends on who’s asking, really. She typed back. Obviously, it was Peter, but he couldn’t know that she knew that.

What if it was the TA? Is that weird?

Nah, and yes, I’m free. Y/N’s stomach filled with butterflies. He was extremely attractive; soft sandy hair, strong arms that are defined by his sleeves, and a slightly cocky demeanor. Definitely the type of man she could see herself dating.

Good, prepare for an outing

Ooh, an outing. So fancy. I’ll bring my coat, Mr. TA man

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Y/N asked from the passenger seat of Peter’s car. He was wearing a college hoodie and jeans, very casual for a date. Y/N was grateful she didn’t dress up super fancy like she had originally planned.

“We’re almost there!!!” He looked over at her and grinned, taking her hand in his.

The pair pulled up to a ticket booth and Peter rolled down his window. “Two please,” He handed the cashier money and received a small speaker and two tickets in return.

“What is this, Pevensie?” Peter pulled up behind a car and parked before turning to his date. He had a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Well, I know how much you like The Shining, seeing as you’re basing your entire Senior project on it. So, I thought you might like this.” He gestured to a large screen in front of the car. “They’re playing old horror movies all week… tonight is The Nightmare on Elm Street. I checked to see if they were showing The Shining but they weren’t. This was the next best option.”

Y/N was speechless, he had put so much thought into this date. Her entire body felt fuzzy and a bashful grin filled her face. “You did all of this for me?”

“Well, yes. You’re a special girl, so you deserve a special first date.” Peter looked so good in the dim lighting, the shadows framing the important features of his face. Without even thinking, she leaned over and kissed him. Instantly, he began to kiss Y/N back.

The kiss was short but extremely sweet. He kept his hand on Y/N’s cheek as he lightly brushed his soft lips against her’s. He knew how to treat a girl right, and Y/N felt like the most special girl in the world. Y/N pulled away and kissed his cheek before falling back into her seat.

“Thank you for this, really.”

Peter grinned cheekily. “I’ll go get us some popcorn.”

He got out of the car and Y/N let out a happy giggle. She was ready for the best first date she had ever witnessed.

#peter pevensie #king peter #king peter the magnificent #peter pevensie x reader #king peter x redaer #the chronicles of narnia #the chronicles of narnia fanfiction #the chronicles of narnia fanfic #narnia #c.s. lewis #c. s. lewis #fluff #narnia fanfic #narnia fanfiction

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wilwywaylan · 3 years

Text

Tangled Up in Blue - part 1

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern!AU, Enjolras & Bahorel & Grantaire & Feuilly oh my !! - 3300 words

Written for the @lesmissamepromptficchallenge, "Person A gently tilts Person B's head up". Of course I Couldn't finish it in one go so have the first part right now.

Béta-ed by the amazing @paon-de-jour

For @mu-mumie and @citron-au-miel, my eager readers !

Also on AO3 !

Left, right, left again. The fists struck the leather with dry, satisfying thuds. Bahorel was humming under his breath, following the rhythm of his hands as they hit the punching bag. That was the part of his training he liked the most, when his gestures became automatic, on autopilot, a metronome lulling his thoughts in an almost hypnotic way. During those few precious minutes, he was as close to peace of mind as one like him could be.

A noise came to disrupt the rhythm, pulling him out of his trance, steps coming from the open door. Of course, it couldn't last. Most of the time, he could only get a few minutes a day of this glorious state of being, before being cruelly called back to the mortal world. A glance at the clock told him that it was already a few minutes past six. All lessons were done with since four, and he hadn't any appointement he could remember. Then again, he tended to forget those, as they were only for the added paycheck and usually consisted of too-eager people who had watched one action flick too many. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't remember having any lessons today. So either someone had gotten lost in the hallways, or that someone was looking for him. Which one was better, he didn't know. Maybe if he stayed completly still and silent, the person would just go their merry way and not bother him.

A knock at the door. Ah. So much for not being seen. He vaguely thought about scaring them away, playing the role of the big bad asshole. But no. That would probably hurt at least his job, if not his reputation. And as much as he wanted to be on his own, he wasn't an asshole on purpose. So he composed himself a friendly smile and turned to the door.

For now four years that he'd been teaching boxing and kickboxing here, Bahorel had seen many different people cross that door, from children, impatient to start learning, to women looking for self-defense classes (they were often wary of him, but quickly warmed up to him), to people trying to stay in shape. Tall, small, large, thin, burly, willowy, he'd seen all.

But that one... Bahorel had never seen anyone like them. Not because they were tiny, even if they totally were. Almost pocket-sized, Bahorel inwardly snickered, but he'd never say it because he was not a totall ass. That one was tiny enough to get into heated conversations with Bahorel's collarbone, but there was something about them. What exactly, Bahorel couldn't put his finger on, but you couldn't just brush them off. Not just because they were cute. No, scratch that. Cute was for the tiny girls in the ballet room at the other end of the hallway. Or for the puppies he liked to pet in the park. Or... but not that one. As a lover of fine persons and pretty faces, Bahorel had seen his share. But that one could blow every one out of the water without even trying. Because they were not even trying. They were wearing a very baggy, faded red sweater that fell around their thighs, black leggings, and red converse that had certainly seen way too many things. Their long, blond hair fell in soft curls to the small of their back, but it was hastily gathered together without care, and from there, looked quite tangled. The few strands that had escaped framed a very delicate face, a soft oval with high cheekbones and a slightly upturned nose. But the skin was pale and a little red around the eyes. Nice eyes, even from there. Blue and large, with long eyelashes. And a black bruise around one eye. Another one marked their cheek, a dark purple almost shocking on the pale skin. Looking closer, the pretty mouth was split in two spots, and there was a cut across their forehead. Bahorel could recognize a severe beating from across the room, and that one was quite an impressive one.

He suddenly noticed that neither the intruder nor himself had moved from their respective spots. He stepped forwards, offering his hand. The tiny blond one shook it, firmly. Their knuckles were scrapped raw. At least they gave back as much as they got. Good. From up close, they were even prettier. Or they would have been, had they not been scowling that much. Granted, they still looked angelic, but in a ferocious kind of way. Really, Bahorel was starting to like this one. Several badges were pinned on the red hoodie : a purple, grey and black one, a red one with a white slogan, and a large, very obvious rainbow one. No need to be a genius to understand that one.

- Hello, kid, he said with a welcoming smile. I'm Bahorel, pleased to meet you. Pronouns are he / him. What can I do for you ?

The newcomer's expression briefly crumpled a little at "kid", but it smoothed as quickly when they heard the rest.

- I'm Enjolras. He / him too.

So the tiny one was a boy. Good. Not that Bahorel had anything against girls who wanted to learn boxing. Or non-binary people.

- And what can I do for you, Enjolras ?

- I need boxing lessons.

- That, I can guess.

Enjolras frowned for a second, then seemed to remember either where he was, or the wounds on his face.

- Can you take me as your student ?

When someone came at him for lessons, Bahorel usually gave himself a moment of reflexion, assessing his future student's stamina, determination, and especially their willingness to stop and listen. But there was something about Enjolras... He couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe the attitude, the way he was carring himself, ready to take on the whole world. The wounds on his hands were proof of it. Or something else entirely. Some kind of... radiance. A magnetism. Since he'd come in, Bahorel hadn't been able to take his eyes off him. And there was an edge in his voice...

Suddenly, his hand flew to Enjolras' chin and lifted it a little. To Enjolras' credit, he didn't flinch, just looked at him, a little wary. From up close, the bruise around the eye was really impressive, all black, purple and blue, the swelling still noticeable. What did they hit him with, a brick ? That must have hurt like hell...

Bahorel suddenly noticed where his hand was, and quickly let go.

- Seems like you can give as good as you get.

- I don't turn the other cheek, Enjolras retorted. So ? Can you ?

Talk about determination. Bahorel clasped his hands, to break the weird spell Enjolras seemed to cast around him, and announced :

- Well, ki... Enjy, how about you show me what you can do, and then we'll get the paperwork going.

Enjolras scrunched his nose a little at the nickname, and Bahorel was sure he was going to bolt without looking back. But no, he put his bag down, pulled the sweater over his head, and joined Bahorel near the punching bag.

- Okay, Bahorel started. First, you need to stretch, like this...

~*~

The chime of his phone pulled Bahorel out of his concentration. He glanced at the clock. 7 PM. It was time for his next lesson. Usually, he would have been quite cross to be kept so late, when there were so many best things he could have been doing instead. But he couldn't bring himself to be more than a very little bit annoyed.

He barely had time to stop the punching bag from moving, when Enjolras came in. He looked way better than three weeks earlier ; no more traces of what had happened. Maybe there was still a very faint white mark across his forehead, but you'd need to be very close to him to notice.

Enjolras took off his jacket, and walked to Bahorel.

- How are you today ? Bahorel asked with a smile. Ready to box ?

- I'm fine. What about you ?

- Strong as an ox ! Bahorel boasted, hitting his chest with a fist.

The gesture made Enjolras smile, and Bahorel's heart did a little jump. Of course it did, Enjolras' smile was beautiful, radiant, without a hint of cynism. Bahorel knew of many people who would have given their right leg and the foot attached to it for a smile as gorgeous at that one. Bahorel did his best to keep a straight face, and went through the warm-up moves with him, as usual. And it was a good thing for him that he was so used to the course of his lessons, because Enjolras' presence was very distracting.

When it came to aesthetic preferences, Bahorel was quite flexible. None of that "prefers blondes" or "only dates pretty ladies with long legs and nice boobs". It didn't take much to reach his heart : a nice smile, a fun-loving view of life, gorgeous eyes, lots of stamina, .... Nothing too complicated. Just someone who could keep up with him in every activity. A pretty face and a nice body were just a bonus.

At first sight, Enjolras may not fit with his criteria, as loose as they were (the criteria, of course. Bahorel wouldn't judge anyone for their promiscuity or lack thereof). His words were laced with fire and determination, but not the fun kind that Bahorel loved. The way he focused on the bag, as everything he did, told him that Enjolras was quite the serious person. Not that he never had fun, he probably did, everyone did. But not the kind of fun Bahorel liked to have.

But there was still this presence, this vibe that attracted the attention as soon as he came in and seemed to suck in all the oxygen in the room. Staying around him hadn't help with making Bahorel immune to that effect, either. Even now, as he was several feet apart, he could feel the draw, guiding his eyes back to the slight form of his student. Which didn't help in the slightest with his predicament. He was supposed to work (out), not oggle him. And still, every time he tried to focus on his gestures, on the way he hit the sack, and note what would need to be corrected. Instead, his eyes kept crawling back to the back in front of him. Enjolras was wearing only a long, thin shirt and leggings - leggings ! Each time he moved, the hem lifted, unveiling a thin band of skin. And those legs... Bahorel had to refrain himself from going higher than mid-thigh. He was a gentleman, at least in that regard. But his self-control was wearing thin.

Finally, after what seemed both like three seconds and an eternity, the clock struck 8 PM. Bahorel signaled the end of their session. Enjolras stretched his back, arms thrown over his head. Bahorel did a titanesque effort to keep his eyes glued on the floor. Only when the red hoodie disappeared from the bench it's been thrown on did he deem the situation safe enough.

- You're getting good, he said as offhandly as he could.

- Really ?

Oh please, no, don't sound that giddy. But Enjolras did, with a smile so bright it put the fluorescent lights to shame. Bahorel's heart did a sommersault, but he did a great job at bringing it back to its righteous place.

- Yeah. Soon your punches will be as devastating as mine.

- Don't mock me.

There was no hint of hurt in Enjolras' voice, and Bahorel was glad he didn't take offense.

- I'm serious, he insisted. You're making progress.

Enjolras nodded. As he gathered his stuff, he suddenly dug through his bag, and pulled out of it a slightly crumped sheet of paper that he held out. Bahorel's first reaction was to wonder if it was some kind of invoice, but no. Why would Enjolras give him an invoice ? Besides, it was brightly colored, too brightly, even, with large letters announcing something. Nothing incriminating there, he could take it.

It was a flyer, advertising some kind of social justice club. Very ugly flyer. They probably didn't have any graphic designer or art student in their little group. But the name in large, blocky letters was the same than on Enjolras' badge, and he seemed so proud that Bahorel would bet his montly wages on him being the leader, or at least had a hand in creating the group.

- What's that ?

- We meet each Friday night, Enjolras explained, beaming. Well this, and rallies. On Sundays, usually. We'd like to do it more often, but it's difficult getting everyone... (He coughed a little.) We're holding meetings to discuss all kind of social questions, discuss them, and try to set up ways to either implement changes, or raise consciousness about them.

Bahorel nodded along. He was right, it was a social justice club. Not that he minded them, of course. But he ? In a club like this ? because Enjolras giving him the flyer meant that he wanted him there, to talk about issues and march to protest them. All good, but Bahorel's approachs tended to be a bit more... hands-on. What could he bring to a group of well-meaning students ? But Enjolras was looking at him with such an expectant look that he couldn't bring himself to crush his hopes.

- Maybe I can drop by, he finally answered. I need to check first.

Enjolras gave him the kind of brillant smile that made him want to do something very stupid, and left with a wave. Bahorel glanced again at the paper in his hand. Then again, maybe it could be fun ? He wouldn't lose more than a few hours of his time, going there, and it's not as if his time was accounted for and precious. Going there wouldn't ask too much of him, and maybe it wouldn't be too much boring. And even if it was, there was still Enjolras to stare at, discreetly, of course. Whatever happened, the evening wouldn't be lost on him. Yeah, he would definitly check this out. All in good fun.

~*~

- So, how is the new kid doing ?

Bahorel refrained from telling Grantaire his new pupil wasn't a kid anymore, but that was Grantaire for you. Anyone younger than him was a "kid", except Bahorel, and that was only due to the fact that he could throw (and already had thrown) him through a (first floor) window.

They had gone for coffee after their training session, as usual. For three years now that they've been practising together, it's become their own ritual : a no hold barred match, followed by coffee and a snack, and eventually some first aid applied to their bruises and bumps.

Finding a sparing partner, getting friendly with him and setting the routine had been way easier than choosing a good coffee shop. They had tried almost half of Paris', but always, there was something wrong with them : the place was not clean enough, the coffee was subpar, the baristas were stingy, it was too cold, too warm... always, there was something wrong, and they were left coffee-shop-less once again.

Until they stumbled into the Café Victor, by accident. It's been raining all day, but the weather patiently waited until they were outside to unleash all its fury with a hail hard enough to cut them into pieces. They rushed through the nearest door for shelter. And that shelter was a little coffee shop. Like every trendy place, it had the dark metal / light wood combo, with fancy light fixtures hanging from the ceiling, and those weird high chairs that had a very low back. Grantaire hated those things. But it managed to have a distinct atmosphere, with many plants scattered around the room, and the walls being covered in frames : pictures, drawings, collages, in black and white or vivid colors. The main room was connected to a second one by two steps, with chairs of normal-height. A low stage had been set against the far wall, under a large, abstract, very bright piece. All this managed to give the place a cozy, welcoming feel, and Grantaire and Bahorel happily adopted it as their favourite coffee place in the world.

To the displeasure of one of the baristas. "Fiery redhead" surely sounded like a cliché, but Bahorel had never meet someone that fit it so well. He was a bit on the short side, built like a twig, covered in an array of freckles, and always gave the impression that Bahorel had been put on Earth for his personnal aggravation. Which wasn't entirely wrong. Bahorel was a flirt and a bit of a smart mouth, nothing too mean, of course, but the guy didn't seem like he could take a joke, and he had a tongue sharp enough to retort everytime. Which, of course, was like an invitation for Bahorel to keep his act.

They ordered their drinks, gigantic and full of an unhealthy amount of sugar, but that's what you needed after a good sparing session, the bruise on Bahorel's face bearing witness of the energy they put into it. The redhead was already busy behind the counter, but it didn't stop Bahorel from winking at him as he grabbed his drinks.

Once seated, Grantaire asked, around a gulp of coffee :

- So ? The kid ?

- Good, good. Lots of fire.

- Of fire ? Is that a metaphor, or real fire ? Because if it's like that girl, the one with...

- It's not like that ! Bahorel quickly amended. He's not an arsonist. Just.... very enthusiastic.

- I like that in a man, Grantaire said with a raised eyebrow.

- You like everything in a man, you scoundrel.

- And women, don't forget, but what can I say ? My love is a pyre that only needs the smallest spark to catch on fire.

- And you'll burn your wings.

- Such is the life of Icarus, what can I do ?

Bahorel fondly rolled his eyes, but they knocked their mugs together.

- So, Grantaire said again after drinking almost half of his coffee in one gulp, tell me a bit about the recruit.

- You're weirdly curious, but I'll humor you. So... just picture this : this high (he gestured above the ground), with long blond hair, very curly. Blue eyes, too, and...

He didn't go farther than that before Grantaire dissolved in a fit of giggles. Bahorel knew that it was no use trying to calm him down or ask him anything. So he just enjoyed the rest of his drink, waiting for him to stop.

It took almost five minutes before the giggles finally died down enough for Grantaire to breath again. He hiccuped a little, but managed to wheeze :

- Are you telling me that Goldilocks came into the bear's house and asked him for boxing lessons ?

Bahorel pondered on the merits of pushing him backwards, then decided to let go.

- Keep your snark for yourself. He seems like a nice guy.

Also, he's really cute, he mentally added, but did he want to say this ? Of course not. He'd never hear the end of if, not in this life, and maybe not even in the next.

- Oh, I bet, Grantaire retorted. A paying customer...

- You're despicable, Bahorel said in his best Daffy Duck impression.

Grantaire snorted in his cup. The redhead barista, who was refiling the napkin dispenser, glanced at him, but quickly went back to his work. Probably rolling his eyes. Bahorel stuck his tongue at him, causing a new eruption of giggles.

They ordered a new round of drinks, and went on to chat about their last training session. The wind was blowing the rain across the window, but it was warm, inside, and the coffee was delicious. Neither was in a hurry to go home, and they stayed there, enjoying their drinks and each other's company.

#les miserables #bahorel #enjolras #grantaire #same prompt fic challenge #lots of dorks being dorks #bahorel and R are good friends #I'm trying to be witty

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veralovemail · 3 years

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Hi! I would love myself a matchup if it's ok 👉👈

I'm female and pan, I'd prefer one of the males tho, Survivors please!

So uhhhh I differ in my personality a lot depending on the situation! I'm more of a loner around strangers IRL— shy, quiet, I don't like interacting and prefer to stay by the sidelines since being in the middle makes me uncomfy.

I try to be as polite as I can, even keeping in my opinions and pain a lot as to not Hurt anyone. I also tend to blame myself a lot for bad situations I'm a part in unless I know I absolutely didn't do anything!

Also I'm quite hot headed and have a bad temper, though I'm working on it! I have quite the problem with guilt and it comes to me fairly quickly when I do something bad.

Ah yeah I'm really forgetful and also really impatient KNRKS

Now- online!!

I'm a lot more open and chaotic. I like to tease my friends and jokingly make fun of them, etc. I try and stop when they tell me to, but I might understand it as them just joking too if they write it that way in my eyes-

I try to look on the positive side for them and their situations and am always willing to make someone happy even without words since it makes me happy too. I'd say I'm caring to a fault- I don't let loose until they finally do something healthy that they've been avoiding and I do get rather angry if I'm not taken seriously with that, causing me to maybe lash out at someone unwillingly,,- and then guilt pops in like "hi there 😍" KDHDJDJ

Anyway,

I encourage anyone to vent, though I'm not the best at giving advice. I'm more of a person who likes to listen and give support if they need it. Oh yeah- my attention span is REALLY short (as short as me good ol' 5'1 me aNENSJJSJD) so I get distracted pretty easily and procrastinate then.

As for hobbies: I love to draw! (As you might know-)Music is my life (especially Jazz) and video games are, too. Though mostly singleplayer Games since I only really like multiplayer with friends-

What else can I write..

Maybe like- I'm an ISFP-T And I think it was 5w6 that I was given by another test

I also got Philophobia, the fear of falling in love because of bad experiences but I'm tryna work on it!!

I guess I can also write about my appearance? I've got short, curly but chaotic black hair that's p much swept to the side- I'm definitely not that skinny lmao- and as I've said before, I'm 5'1! I usually wear casual clothes (hoodies, e.g!! They're so comfy...) I also got brown eyes and glasses!

I think that should be it.. ah yeah! In your introduction, you should prolly add your ID for others to add you because name search doesn't work! :0

Ok that's really it now- take your time, don't rush yourself and stay safe and hydrated!! 💕💕 Hope your blog takes off!

Sorry for my English by the way- I'm German so I might've messed up on a few things!

OH MY LORD I DID NOT KNOW THAT I HAD TO PUT IN MY ID... oml... thank u for telling me that. and don't worry about it, i can see how it'd be difficult (i actually studied german for my gcses :], it was very fun) but anyways! tysm for sending in btw!! i loved writing this, i hope u enjoy - mod vera ♡

i match you with ... naib subedar!

he kinda takes on to your quiet personality, unlike some of the other people around the manor. it's relaxing to be around somebody who doesn't talk much.

you two most likely met when robbie came over to the survivors' side of the mansion, jokingly demanding sweets... but it most likely sounded authentic. and oh god, is that an axe-

you two accidentally locked eyes but you both had a " ah shit, here we go again " face. it just kinda went from there.

at first, he's a tough nut to crack, but if you try hard enough, within a month or so you gain his trust and he .. deems you a friend?

you both kinda start falling for eachother after a period of time, but naib is great at hiding it BUT SIKE, so are you! it's like a game of who can pine for the other in the most subtle way possible.

however, if you tell him about your own troubles with falling in love, he may just open up a little too about his own troubles.

it's takes a while for you two to build a relationship, but eventually (after a lot of rescues, late night hangouts and just being near eachother) you make it!

when he learns about your more chaotic side, naib tries to keep up with you as best he can, he may just need a little tug to do so.

he loves your smile, especially the one you have when you're talking about your passions.

he also tries to help with your temper, but he's just as bad as you are.

however, he's there whenever you have a bad day - he can almost instantly tell, even if you try keep it to yourself. it could be the way you look at him, try to smile or talk, he does notice the change in your aura.

since your shorter than him, he likes holding you. it makes him feel like he's just protecting you from anything and anything, especially on one of your bad days.

he likes your optimism, looking on the good side of every situation. he once saw you trying to comfort robbie when he started crying about not finding any sweets around and you told him "look on a brightside robbie! now we know for next time to stash some away for you before we eat it all!" AND OH GOD, IS THAT AN AXE?

naib gets frequent nightmares about his time being a hired merc, so sometimes you may get woken up at 3 am because he's a bit distressed and needs a bit of comfort.

other times, he just finds holding you while you're fast asleep enough to put him back in a coma for the next 2 hours.

naib also encourages you to talk to him about stuff. whether it be what made you mad, how much of a bitch vera can be, ect. he's there for you and that man is never gonna let you carry your burdens alone.

saying that, you also have to remind him that he can't carry his own burdens sometimes and when you encourage him to talk to you about what's upsetting him, he'll most likely tell, depending on how bad it is.

he also grounds you a lot!! if you tell him about your forgetfulness, he's most likely going to try and remind you.

" hey, [ name ], you did bring [ item ] into the match, right? "

" um... "

" goddamnit [ name ], i thought i reminded you "

naib takes it upon himself to rescue you, or keep you within his general vicinity if you're in a match with him. he does know you can kite very well though! he just wants you near him for a bit of reassurance.

he can be mean sometimes, but he means it in the most endearing way possible since most of it is sarcasm.

you two kinda have " stab as a warning " vibes so nobody really opposes the two of you. even norton. not even freddy dares to oppose you because the last time he did, aesop almost had to prepare his equipment to embalm the poor fella.

when you lash out at someone, naib is there almost immediately to take you away to calm down and comfort you when your guilt kicks the door down and goes " Hey girlie! Hold still 😎 "

sometimes you have to do the same for him because you both have a tendency to lash out.. but.. never at eachother? you two kinda agree on the same things, there isn't much to exactly disagree on.

please draw him!! watch him while he's training in the garden and draw him, or just a few silly doodles of him.

he likes looking at your drawings, it kinds boosts his ego knowing that he's worthy enough to be drawn.

if he finds out that you like music, he'll tell you about nepalese music, or at least what he knew of it - if you both get engrossed in it, he may try and get you some records to play.

teach him how to dance, if you can. it'd make listening to music together way more fun.

he's very content with you!! he likes kissing you out of nowhere, too. you could just be chilling and naib would come up to you, turn you around and give you a smooch outta nowhere. but only in private.

i feel like neither of you would be big on pda, you just stick to holding hands around the manor.

if this were in a modern setting, you two could probably play a game like phasmaphobia together just for funsies.

all in all, your relationship with naib is mutually beneficial and robbie has learned to never ask for sweets again.

i hope you enjoy this <3 it's my first time writing naib too so i apologise if it's not very good </3

#idv x reader #idv #identity v #idv imagines #idv writing #naib subedar #idv mercenary #identity v mercenary #idv naib #matchup

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acidmatze · 3 years

Text

Gojou's eyesight

aka „I wanna be realistic but also not too much cuz research makes my eyes go hurty“

Disclaimer: Yeah yeah I know Gege doesn't actually meant for Gojou to have albinism and it's Not That Deep but I am bored and can swim well so I will make it that deep.

I'm not an eye doctor (obviously), just someone with too much free time and all of this is speculation just for fun (also obviously).

So what he can see how he sees it and what he cannot see, maybe.

He's already wearing glasses canonly which makes a whole lot of things easier for me. Thanks, Gege.

Most people with any form of albinism experience photophobia (sensitivity to sun).

Yeah, I know he probably wears the tinted glasses because his eyes are too pretty to handle or whatever but it's not much of a stretch to assume he's sensitive to light.

IIRC normally the melanin in your eyes and the iris and such prevents too much light from entering your eye and bouncing around like a rubber ball but if you lack said melanin all of the light that normally would be blocked does exactly that. Which produces glare and pain and makes the whole Seeing thing pretty hard.

Pretty obviously, bright sunlight is unwanted but not many people realise that certain types of overcast weather have just the same effect.

Also quite obviously, dark tinted glasses reduce the glare.

Gojou is either near or far-sighted. Which it is is a roll of the dice but I lean towards near-sighted because he does the head tilt sometimes. I also do that cuz my glasses are so strong if I wanna see something up close it takes a lot of effort to keep my eyes „in place“ and doing so is very straining so looking over the brim of the glasses is much easier.

Would explain why he wears them rather loosely. Even though that makes a whole lot of things unnecessarily complicated again since very strong glasses for near-sightedness seem to „shrink down“ things and make them seem smaller than they are and the effect gets worse and worse the further away the glass is from your eye.

(Does this mean glasses for far-sighted people make things seem bigger.....?)

He most likely has a reduced visual acuity due to two things: Nystagmus Less cones in the retina and an either complete lack or an underdeveloped fovea cuz of a lack of melanin (Yes melanin doesn't just make your skin, eyes and hair dark its also needed for the eye development)

Less cones does not equal blurry vision. Blurry vision is caused by near or far-sightedness and astigmatism (something Gojou most likely also has) and can be corrected with glasses.

The fovea is kind of like a screen where the image is projected on to and where it Should be sharp. Without it, there is no sharp image and details are lost. Visual acuity could be broadly described as.... The maximum „resolution“ your eye has. The higher the resolution the sharper and more detailed everything is even over great distances.

It has no impact on colour vision so Gojou can see colours just fine.

Since Gojou has completely white hair (realistically it would still contain hints of blonde) and blue eyes his vision should be... not particularly spectacular.

I'm throwing darts here and guess roughly about 20/250...? 20/300?

Google „visual acuity tool bayer“ and you will find a tool that simulates with questionable accuracy several pictures with different accuities. It has a slider and all. Put the slider down to 6/75 and that's roughly what I imagine his vision to be (with glasses!).

It puts him under sight impaired but not yet legally blind. I think.

I'm going by european definitions here, no idea how its handled in america or japan.

And if someone wonders if he can see HD or 4K, i have been informed that yes, he can if hes close enough.

Nystagmus is fast involuntary eye movement. Which would be a bitch to animate and also pretty impossible to draw.

It can either go from side to side, up and down or even rotate.

How fast and frequent and everything it is depends on person to person. Some people say they notice the movement and some say they don't notice anything until someone points it out.

It additionally lowers the visual acuity.

And again, experiences vary. Some people say they have trouble focussing on things and others say they don't have troubles focussing on stuff at all, it just happens to be blurry.

Some people are able to find a head position that counteracts the nystagmus and either balances it out or the position slows it down somewhat for whatever reason.

I haven't noticed Gojou doing that but realistically he probably would.

Why would he wear glasses then if his vision is bad anyway? Because it makes the difference between seeing barely moving blobs of colour that could be very close or very very far away and seeing something definitely car-shaped coming at you fast and it doesn't matter wether you can read the license plate or not cuz you need to get off the damn road fast.

It makes the difference between knowing that he needs to make a right turn at the McDonalds but not knowing which blob is McDonalds and which blob isn't and being able to see the giant fucking McDonalds sign.

It's the difference between knowing that Yuuji is wearing a red hoodie and being able to spot said red hoodie in a crowd and just seeing blobs of colours that run into one another.

You get the gist, i guess.

Just turn the tool all the way down to get a feel of how the world without glasses would look. Kinda sorta.

For reasons i don't quite understand people with albinism also have bad depth perception. Because experiences vary once again, some people notice this a lot and others have no problems with it.

Since Gojou seems to have no problems with aiming, throwing and catching things i guess either Six Eyes helps or he has adapted to no stereovision.

I wonder if Gege will ever drop hints wether or not Gojou can see anything under that blindfold of his. But i assume no.

We also have no real information on how Six Eyes actually works but several people say he can see cursed energy.

If we assume that works despite the blindfold he could still easily navigate crowds of people and recognise people (didn't he recognise Getou that way...? Or did i misunderstand?) probably even better than with his regular eyesight. So moving around in Tokyo wouldn't really be a problem and he probably has memorised the layout of the schoolgrounds already anyway.

Recognising people he knows well at a glance from a distance also wouldn't be a problem anymore.

His phone probably has a screen reader.

Also modern phones work just fine when controlled per mic.

The old phone he had as a teen was a lot less sophisticated but also a lot less complex so it would be easier to use. Less things that can go wrong and the physical buttons provide sensory feedback. Also the buttons on old phones make different noises so that's another clue.

No need to read who calls you when you assign different songs to different people. (Maybe Nanami is Dancing Queen.... who knows? Megumi calls and Black Parade starts playing.)

Adding a strong contrast between things can also make or break a situation.

Why he wears the blindfold at all would also be interesting to know.

Is it because the information he gets from Six Eyes is enough to get around?

Is he overwhelmed from the visual input he gets?

Does it simply keep the sunlight out way better than glasses?

Gege, explain!

Anyway I'm done with this, no idea where I wanted to go with this. If you Actually know stuff about vision please feel free to throw stones at me and all.

#gojo satoru #jjk #calling this 'analysis' would be an insult to actual analyiseseseses so i wont #i dunno what to tag this as #ergh

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bangtan-madi · 4 years

Text

All Of Our Lifetimes — Three: Samothrace

Pairing — Taehyung x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au

Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)

Word Count — 2.5k

Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?

Part — 3 / 15

Warnings — language, mentions of murder (no description)

Previous — Next

On your way to breakfast the next morning, you get the call from Director Hyeon. What she tells you in the next few seconds nearly causes you to drop your phone and shout for joy, right in the middle of the sidewalk.

"We're offering you the job, [Y/n]. You're the most qualified and capable, by far. Everyone in the leadership has agreed that we can trust our boys to you. If you're interested...the position is yours."

Without giving your lungs a second to catch up with your erratic, excited breathing, you're exclaiming a vibrant, "Yes! Yes, I am very interested."

The details are finalized over the following week, which gives you just enough time to fly back home and pack up your belongings to ship overseas. Milo is a huge help, despite the fact that she's so jealous. While she has several interviews scheduled via telephone or Skype over the next few weeks, it will be a month or possibly more before she will join you in Seoul.

"I'm so jealous!" she tells you over and over. "So happy for you...but damn! I'm the one in the BTS army over here!"

"I'll see if I can snag you an autograph or something," you reply, half-joking.

Milo looks at you like you hold the world in your hands. "I would fucking marry you if you did."

"You'd marry me anyway."

At that, Milo merely flashes a wink and giggles to herself.

After your clothes and transportable belongings are packed and shipped overseas to your new apartment, the two of you drive to the airport in unusual silence, only a few items in your overhead luggage. It's not uncomfortable, but along the way, you both realize that this will be the last time you'll see each other for at least a month.

Milo has been your best friend since middle school, and you've lived together since college. To be without her for that long, after all you've been through together, it's hitting you hard as the airport draws near. You reach for her hand over the armrest, lacing your fingers through hers.

"You're not gonna go run off and find some boy that keeps you in America, right?" you ask in a semi-joking tone.

Milo tilts her head as she stares at you from the passenger's side. "Only if you don't find a cute K-pop boy to fall in love with and forget all about me."

You make a faux gagging sound, drawing a smirk from your best friend. "Not a chance."

"Then don't test me, [Y/n]. I'll get a job and be with you in Seoul before we know it. A month isn't too long, and then we can be roomies again!"

Your hand tightens as you flash a genuine smile. "Wouldn't change it for the world."

You remain attached to each other until you get to the security check-in. Turning to Milo, you pull her into a tight embrace, one that she whole-heartedly returns.

"Don't make me wait too long, okay?"

"'Course not," she chimes back, trying to keep her voice it's usual happy-go-lucky. "We're Siamese twins, you and me. Not gonna separate us!"

You say your temporary goodbyes—the only reason you don't break down being that you constantly remind yourself that it is only temporary—and depart for the security line. Passport in one hand, the other waving back to Milo, you hold tight to the shred of the past while running headfirst into your future.

One thing is for certain: things are going to change.

The first few days as a permanent resident of Seoul are spent settling into your new job and new apartment. And, as per usual in a major life change, there are things that go wrong that you couldn't have anticipated. You get lost on your way to work on your first day and end up being a few minutes late, one of your packages of clothing has not shown up yet despite everything else has arrived, and the office space at Big Hit evidently used to be occupied by someone who never cleared out their shitstorm of a file cabinet.

Needless to say, by the time the weekend arrives, you want to do nothing more than relax and recuperate and do something other than stare between two monitors. If you have to translate another word from Hangul into the English alphabet, you're going to chuck something out the window.

But, understandably, your apartment isn't in the best shape. Boxes are half-way unpacked, and plenty of furniture still needs to be bought. What has been unpacked is haphazardly tosses on any clean surface you can find. It's not exactly a den of peace and serenity, and probably not the ideal place to relax.

So, after doing some online shopping for said furniture and organizing as best you can, you decide to take the rest of the Saturday afternoon and do something you genuinely want to do. An idea pops into your head, and you grab your coat from the counter as you head for the door.

You never finished your tour of the Seoul Museum of Art, knowing for a fact that you haven't gotten to the architecture wing or portrait gallery. You feel your heart longing to go back and explore the remaining spots of the building, knowing in your soul that you need to be there.

What better time than the present?

You find your way easily, enjoying the brisk air that catches your skin and under your coat. The seasons are changing, shades of winter like white and grey settling into post-New Year's hues of mocha and beige. The city smells like green tea and feels like an ever-changing living organism.

Something tells you that more than just the seasons will be changing this year.

Enter the museum, you find your way back towards the gallery where you left off. After the conversation with the stranger from yesterday, you were a bit too weirded out to really enjoy any of the other exhibits. Wandering for another hour, you hardly remember any of it. The story he told, the bloody fingerprint at the corner of "Vase with Honesty," it was all a bit too eerie for your liking.

But something in the back of your mind keeps prodding at you, and you desperately wish who that man was so that you could ask him more questions. How did he know about the murder? Why was he as drawn to the painting as you were? Why did he leave so abruptly?

All these questions circulate your mind as you round the corner, passing by the Van Gogh exhibit to your right. Just as you pass out of the entrance, you stop mid-step and turn on your heel, peaking back into the open space.

Standing in front of "Vase with Honesty," the stranger from yesterday wears the beige hoodie and a white facemask. You might've missed him if it weren't for the way his eyes followed you from the entrance to the exit of the temporary exhibit, dark eyes dusted by curly hair. You think it unusual to recognize a stranger just from a few minutes of interaction, but your life has been anything but usual the past two weeks.

Instead, you offer a tiny smile and wave, stepping out of the arched entrance and towards the man. "Hi...again."

His eyes avert yours, shifting to the wall behind you, the paintings, the ceiling. Anywhere but at you. "Hi."

"Seems like we keep running into each other, hm?" you offer in a friendly tone. "Come back to see 'Vase with Honesty'?"

The stranger nods. "I'm a...big fan. Van Gogh's art is comforting. I've never known why."

His confession causes a genuine smile to spread across your face. "That's what art's for, silly. Van Gogh was a tortured soul, but I think he'd be happy to know that his life's work gives comfort to people, even..." You glance at the description card in front of the piece, searching for the date. "Even 136 years later."

His brown eyes flicker to yours again for a brief moment, and it's long enough for you to nod your head towards the expansive hallway. "Wanna walk with me? I got a few rooms in the museum yesterday, but not much more than that. Always nice to explore with others, don't you think?"

The shy man nods once and joins your side as you turn towards the interior, keeping a couple of feet between you.

As you make your way to other wings, you and the stranger make small talk to pass the time. Well, you do most of the talking. You're not sure if this person doesn't trust you or if he's just catatonically shy, but he's refused to lower his hood or raise his head enough for you to get a good look at his face. His features are still obscured by his clothing and hair, but his voice is soothing the few times he does reply. His presence is calming. Something about the man puts you instantly at ease, and you find yourself being more friendly than you might be to any other stranger.

"Is Korean your first language?" he inquires, as you step into the empty room full of 20th-century modern art.

You shake your head, a slightly embarrassed heat rising in your cheeks. "That obvious, huh? I mean, I know I don't look Korean, but I was hoping I was passing all right."

He stops in front of a work by Georgia O'Keefe. "Not that obvious. I just heard a bit of an American lilt in a few of your words just now. You're very good."

"Oh...then, thanks."

"Why are you in Seoul, then? Visiting?"

"Working," you respond, moving to the other side of the room to view the other works of modern art. "I got a job in Yongsan. I just started this week."

The stranger's head perks up at your response, turning his face slightly towards yours. "How's that going?"

You shrug, making a non-committal noise. "I mean, it's a great job, don't get me wrong. It's just a lot. I moved away from America, from my long-time best friend and roommate, from everything I'd ever known for this job. And it's been a long first week full of things I didn't realize I was going to have to handle."

You shove your hands into your jacket pockets as the two of you turn to leave the room, enter back into the stark white hallway, and turn towards the next expansive opening.

"I shouldn't be complaining," you laugh. "The job is so much more than I could ask for, and I haven't even met a few of the people I'm supposed to work with. One of which I know I have a ton of questions for..." You shake your head. "I've have had this...let's call it a gut feeling, for a long time now. Go to Seoul. Go to South Korea. I knew my fate would bring me here one day, just didn't realize life would be so..."

"Hard?"

You turn towards your companion with an understanding sigh. "Yeah, hard."

A few moments of silence pass, and just as you're about to ask him about the bloody fingerprint and how he knew about the artist being murdered, you feel a chill run down your spine at the sight of the object in the room to your left. Not a chill from the cold or from nerves, this is a chill of familiarity. You turn your head slowly towards the object of your subconscious horror.

"Winged Victory of Samothrace," or a copy of the one in the Louve, stands high and mighty, the lone object in the fluorescent-lit room.

"What is it?" the stranger asks, voice low and muffled by his mask.

You stare at the statue, unmoving for a full thirty seconds. "I—Does that statue look familiar to you at all?"

There's hesitation in his response, though you can't see his face. "I—I've seen it in Paris. That must be it."

You shake your head, clenching your trembling fists at your sides. "I've never been to Paris. I've never seen it before, not in person."

The stranger reaches out towards you, asking, "Are you okay? You're trembling."

In an attempt to clear your head, you drag your gaze away from Winged Victory and turn back towards the hallway. Visions from your nightmare force their way into your mind, but you shove them out, trying your hardest to keep them at bay as you walk ahead of your confused companion.

"Just a coincidence," you whisper to yourself. "Just a coin—"

Your sentence falls flat as you raise your gaze from the marble floors to the open space ahead. The chill returns, and your knees feel even weaker than before.

Pillars stretch up, cradling a spectacular glass ceiling, surrounding a spherical water fountain.

Your heartbeat races, and your throat closes up. The door you'd tried to lock in your brain crashes open, releasing all the terrible things your brain keeps replaying over and over and over. Doesn't matter if it's day or night, these visions never end.

An artist murdered. Two lovers on the run. A mad-man with a thirst for blood.

And the death of you both in that very water fountain.

You stumble back, bumping into the stranger as you do. His eyes are wide and locked on the fountain, but you're too panicked to stop and investigate further. Every fiber of your being is telling you to run. To run as fast and as far as you can.

Without explanation and without fail, you let your fear take you the mile's distance from that spherical fountain to the nearest metro station.

If you could physically go any faster or longer, you're sure in your heart that you would still be running.

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hanjizung · 4 years

Text

The mansion. [PAR T I]

✞༒The Mansion.༒✞

[PART I]

SKZ x Reader.

Word count: 2.8k

♡ Warnings ♡: None. (for now...)

A/n: here’s the first part of this new series im so excited to post! all of this is based in a dream i had. hope you enjoy it! ♡

You checked everything in your backpack for the last time before reuniting with the rest of your friends.

"You have everything?" Chan asked, closing his own backpack and smiling when you nodded at him.

"Let's get going then, the night is just starting." Minho announced, keys in hand. The rest of the guys followed him, talking among themselves.

Where were you going? Exploring. You've always been a curious soul, always wondering if abandoned places held something hidden to the human eye. That curiosity guided you here, with these guys that you grew very close to in a short time.

You called yourselves 'urban explorers' and as the name indicated, you visited empty and sometimes scary buildings just because you thought it was fun. At first, you started alone.

But one day, you happened to coincide with them in an old house by a lake. The first impression was… something else. They confused you with a ghost, you confused them with a dangerous gang and that provoked a lot of screaming. But after that death scare, Chan explained who they were.

They called themselves ‘stray kids.’ And you found it fitting to the hobby that they all did together. At the end, you asked Bang Chan if you could join them, since exploring by yourself had its dangers, and sometimes the loneliness was too much for you to handle. Chan happily accepted, and that's how you ended up here.

Today you were going to explore a mansion that Minho found by the outsides of the city, it seemed very appealing, especially because Seungmin had gotten a new recording camera and was excited to film the upcoming events.

Everyone was super excited to visit said mansion. Everyone, except Changbin.

Frowning, you waited for the guys to walk ahead of you, walking slowly with the shortest of your friends, a smile on your face corresponding to his own when he saw your worried face.

"Changbin, we've done this a lot of times, there's nothing to worry about, you know? Even Jisung and Jeongin don't feel scared anymore. Besides, we're just going to explore, not summon a demon" you joked, taking his hand with your smaller ones to try and reassure him that everything would go smoothly.

"I know, Y/N. I kinda had gotten used to it but… I can't help but feel like this one is going to be different" he replied, shrugging.

You could understand that. Not all the places you visited had the same energy, it was normal to be more scared of one or more excited to visit the others. All of the buildings had their own distinctive aura.

"I'm sure everything will be okay as long as we stay together" you hugged his arm, walking to Minho's car. You had divided yourself in two teams, one would be going with Chan, and the other with Minho.

Each team had the same supplies for filming. In your team (by team you really mean who you're in the car with) was Minho, the driver; Jisung, in charge of carrying snacks; Seungmin, the best camera man of the gang, and finally, Changbin and you. He was in charge of the heavy stuff, like extra water bottles and such, meanwhile you were responsible for the team's flashlights, walkie talkies and batteries.

Of course, Chan assigned you as the most responsible one since you explored by yourself and never got lost or injured, and just like Chan, you were also in charge of carrying bandages, rubbing alcohol and enough materials to clean a bad injury. You also made sure to always remind the guys to carry their bottle of water and portable chargers for your phone just in case that your flashlights died on you and you lost the batteries.

Better be prepared than sorry, you always said.

Minho started the engine, telling you that he found out about the mansion because of a story that one of his neighbors told him about an old woman who died there and cursed the mansion decades ago before her death.

You couldn't help but laugh at the story, getting an arched eyebrow from Jisung who told you to 'be skeptical' because as far as you knew, magic could be real and you were disrespecting that old woman's curse by laughing at it.

Seungmin proceeded to laugh at him and ask him if he ever listened to the things he said, Jisung tried to hit him from the front seat for making fun of him. It was all fun and laugh in the car thanks to Jisung, but next to you a quiet Changbin distracted himself by looking out the window.

You were worried about him, he was being more serious than usual, so you decided to stick with him the whole time, only to make sure he felt okay with going on with the exploration.

Two hours later, a huge building could be seen from afar, the roof of the old mansion being what made the mansion really stand out from the forest surrounding it. Upon finally seeing the place that you were going to explore, Changbin audibly gulped to your left. Jisung and you left out a surprised wow. Seungmin, who was sitting on your other side, took out his phone to take a photo of it,while Minho smirked, his eyes never parting from the road in front of him as he parked in front of the old place.

Jisung was the first one to leave the car, slamming the door shut gaining an angry shout from Minho, who got out the car after his friend to scold him from closing the door like that, meanwhile you waited for either Changbin or Seungmin to get off the car to finally be able to breathe the clean air and stretch your legs.

Apparently, Changbin still wasn’t as excited to explore the mansion as your other friends were. You watched the rest of the guys taking their own backpacks and talking from the window after Seungmin left you and Changbin alone.

You closed the door after Seungmin left and looked at Changbin, placing your hand on his shoulder gently to make him look at you instead of the mansion behind you.

You could tell something was troubling him, but opted to not say anything. Changbin inhaled and exhaled, his eyes closed and then he returned your smile, opening the door next to him and finally getting out of the car. He waited for you to get out too and Minho, waiting on the back of the car, handed you both your backpacks, closing the trunk of his car.

You reunited with the rest of the guys who were just getting out of the car and took out your phone. Chan shouted for them to come close to him and make the usual check of having everything.

"Do all of you have your walkie-talkies?" he counted the nodding head with a smile. You had yours on the pocket of your hoodie. It was almost always there.

You counted the flashlights in your bag and handed them to the guys, they thanked you and waited for Chan's next question.

"We're going to test the walkie-talkies and then we're gonna choose a number to see who we're going to be paired with" while Chan talked, Felix and Jeongin tested if the walkies worked, but it seemed like they didn't because Felix looked troubled.

"Chan, the walkies don't work. We only hear static when trying to receive, it's not clear. Are we going to proceed without them?" the rest of the guys looked at Chan, waiting for his answer. He shrugged.

"it would be better if we had them, but if you say they don't work we'll just leave them in the car. We can scream if something happens or if we find anything interesting" he said.

"it's kind of scary going without the walkie, though " Hyunjin said, giving his device to Jeongin who took the most he could back to Chan's car.

"Nothing bad is going to happen if we go without them, Jinnie. Y/N explored alone, with no walkie for months and she's here with us now. If something had happened maybe she would have quitted urbex" Felix pointed. You laughed at him, the boys loved to pull the 'Y/N used to do urbex without us' card when someone chickened out before an exploration.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and sighed, taking the container with everyone's name.

That's how the pairing system worked. Every time different people had to choose who they were going randomly assigned with, but since you joined that system had to be readjusted, so the person whose name wasn't chosen had to pick a number from 1 to 4 and join them, the groups made from playing rock, scissors, paper and the one who lost had to pick first, their companion and them becoming the number one for the next draw.

The first round of rock, paper scissors began and after a few minutes, Jeongin was the loser.

Hyunjin picked Jeongin's name and shook the container for Jeongin to pull a name out. He did and unfolded the little paper.

"It seems like I'm going with… Seungmin" he said, showing the name of the second youngest to everyone.

The second round began, Hyunjin lost and he picked his companion; Chan. The next pair was Felix and Jisung, and the last pair was Changbin and you.

"That means Minho has to pick a number to see what team he's going to join" Chan said, mixing the papers with the numbers on his hand and letting Minho choose one.

He opened the little piece of paper, everyone holding their breath in anticipation of his words. A little smile creeped on his face, his head turning to look at Jisung and Felix who were resting against Chan's car. Apparently, his number had been three.

"Alright, now that everyone has their companion we're going to explore. But first, do you all agree on filming the whole exploration or just take photos of the place?" Chan asked. You had a little go pro camera, the one you used when you explored alone to check if anything happened or moved and you weren't aware of it.

Seungmin loved filming things, so he had gotten a better camera that he was very excited to use that day, giving his old one to Jeongin who seemed kind of interested in capturing paranormal things on tape.

Meanwhile, Jisung had a modern voice recorder but he only used it when he heard noises and wanted to record anything that he thought was suspicious. It was kind of hard for him to catch up on noises that you didn't make, but he was always the first one to hear steps that didn't belong to any of you, asking to the void if anyone was there, his hand extended trying to record any possible answer.

Chan, unlike you, didn't have his own camera. Instead he had some gadgets he bought to make contact with possible ghosts.

Because yes, Chan believed in ghosts, and that was the reason he started exploring abandoned places, to try and communicate with spirits from the other side.

Hyunjin did have a camera of his own, but unlike Seungmin's, his only worked with night mode during explorations, that annoyed him because he preferred to see everything like the first time he was in the explored place in person, not all black and green.

"I'll start filming everything once we get inside like always, so if you guys don't want to film we at least will have my recordings" you said, pointing to the camera resting in your chest.

"I'm going to film everything for sure, I'm super excited to try this beauty" Seungmin said, holding up his camera with a proud smile making all of you laugh.

"I'll bring my camera just to film if Chan manages to make contact with some ghost” Hyunjin said, guarding his device in his backpack.

Jeongin didn't say anything, but since his partner was Seungmin there was no need for him to film anything, so he walked to Felix and gave him his camera to use if they happened to find something exciting.

"Alright, then I guess we can get inside now. You know how it goes, we go wherever we want to and in this particular case with no direct communication we'll have to scream if anything happens. Jisung, give me the spray can please" Chan made sure to remind you. Everyone listened to him, he had this image of leader and a reputation of always helping you with anything you were struggling with. He was an excellent friend, and an even better leader.

Jisung stopped looking into his backpack, tossing the oldest a black spray can. Chan caught it and that was when all of you followed him to the enormous front doors of the mansion.

"It's a beautiful door to be vandalized like this…" you sighed. Chan looked at you with understanding eyes, but that didn't stop him to do what you all knew was coming next.

In the middle of the wooden doors, Chan's hand hovered, his finger about to press the spray to draw the logo you got so used to seeing when you explored a new place.

The initials, SKZ were used to mark places that you visited. They first started using it around the abandoned building near the city where you live, some rumors of a new gang were heard here and there, every time you overheard people talking about that mystic gang that didn't do anything except leave their logo you almost wanted to laugh.

Almost, because the things people said weren't good things, so you always had to resist the urge of snapping at them and explaining what exactly did the logo mean.

But you never did, because you had insane self control and tried to focus your energy thinking on what your mother could do for dinner, deciding to be hungry the rest of the day instead of angry.

To your surprise, Chan moved his hand. You heard him sigh, and he walked to the wall on the right side, marking that place instead of the beautiful door. When he was finished he looked at you with one of his beautiful dimpled smiles.

"She's right, the door was too beautiful to ruin with our logo. Let's get in now, the place is big enough for us to investigate separately" he said, trying to open the doors.

He grunted, then he pushed both doors with all the strength in his body to be able to finally open them. Bang Chan succeeded and everyone clapped, he moved and allowed everyone else to get inside before him, like the amazing leader he was, always looking out for all of you.

You stepped inside, turning on your flashlight and looking around, taking in your surroundings. The light coming from your friends and illuminating the place more, giving you the ability to see more clearly in the darkness.

On your left, Minho and Jisung were looking closely to the framed pictures on the wall. You glanced at the framed photos and paintings, they looked incredibly old and gave you a sense of fright, your back felt cold and something in your head told you to get out of there.

Walking away from Changbin who hadn’t left your side, you pulled the door and tried to open it. But it didn’t. And you started to panic, a nervous laugh leaving your lips, grabbing the attention of the guys who were mesmerized with the gigantic mansion. You stared at all the boys, looking if anyone was missing and blocking the door from outside as a cruel joke. But you couldn’t concentrate and count who was inside and who wasn’t. Much to your panicked state, the guys weren’t saying anything when you tried to pull the door open again, they opted to look at you as if you were crazy.

“Haha, you’re very funny, guys. Who’s blocking the door?” you asked, voice trembling. Hyunjin walked slowly to you, as if to not alarm you even more. He moved your shaky hand from the doorknob and tried to pull the door open himself.

“Y/N, there’s nobody outside. We’re all here, together. Look, here’s Jeongin, Felix, Minho, Seungmin, Jisung, Changbin, Hyunjin, you and me” Chan said, taking your hand when he was close enough to you. You looked at each of your friends that Chan pointed while saying their names to you and you felt a chill run through your back.

Felix took your hand from Chan’s and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, but you pushed him gently, indicating to him that you didn’t want a hug in that instant. Instead, you turned to look at Chan, squeezing the blond’s hand to let him know you weren’t feeling okay at all.

Chan and Hyunjin tried to open the door together, but after some tries under your anxious gaze, there was no success. Sighing and finally giving up, Chan turned to face all of you who hadn’t moved and said:

“Guys… we’re trapped.”

【ＮＥＸＴ　ＰＡＲＴ】

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #skz series #stray kids fanfic #stray kids series #self insert #skz x you #skz x y/n #stray kids x you #One day I'll know how to properly tag #hhhhh yes #part 1

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years

Text

Good influence, bad influence.

Tim is one of those, and he gets the other one. Guess which is which. Ft a murder kitten, two oblivious birds, a divorce-preventing baby and a murderous mother.

(Thanks to @the-quiet-carrotcake who helped me think this through on chat and gave me ideas (THANKS BABE), and tagging @animemangasoul because they understand my need to ALWAYS include Kon when writting about Tim.

This sat on my wips for so long now, so I’m not even proofreading it. Just take it away, please)

-----.-----

-Are you sure I can’t just stab her?

-Really sure.

-How much?

-Like, 100% sure.

-You told me once it’s impossible to ever/

-...be 100% sure of something, I know. Which is how you know I mean it now.

Damian puffed his cheeks. Tim was sure that, in his mind’s eye, he looked dignifiedly annoyed. In reality, it was adorable. But since Damian currently held his right hand hostage, and was probably holding onto his dagger inside his pocket with the other one, he didn’t want to risk pointing it out. He just tugged him away, swimming through the masses, as Damian had called them upon entering the ballroom.

-But why not?

It was as close to a whine a sound as the kid could make, which upped his adorable factor another notch.

-You’d get blood on your suit, for one. And then, my mom would kill you.

A little shudder at the mention of Janet Drake, though the kid composed himself quickly- I wouldn’t let a single drop fall on me, cousin. I’m not an amateur.

Since Damian would have used another, more offensive word not so long ago, Tim ignored the pointed look he got when he said ‘amateur’. Also, the use of modern slang was something he was painstakingly drilling into him, so he was quiet proud when it bore fruits.

-Also, you’d draw attention to ourselves. And that woman didn’t even do anything worthy of such a reaction.

-She dared touch me! Treated me like, like… like a kid!

Pointing out that he, in fact, was one wouldn’t go well, so Tim’s mind offered an alternative route.

-You don’t know? -he blurted out, feigning surprise. Damian looked up at him, eyes squinting suspiciously, and there, very well hidden (but not enough he didn’t notice) a little hesitancy.

-Know what?

Tim let go of the little, calloused hand, and placed both of his on the slimmer shoulders, bending down a bit to be face to face with his charge for the night. The blond wig and round glasses weren’t enough to hide Damian’s almost aristocratic features, but they sure managed to misdirect someone about his bloodline. No one would be able to tell he was Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul’s son, which was kinda the idea.

It had been a chore, to put the disguise in the proud boy, but Tim had been the one to achieve it when he dressed it as a training exercise: they had to make it through the party without its host, Mr Wayne, recognizing him.

Easy peasy, or so he had told mother when he assured her she could go make business with aunt Nicole and leave them be. He hadn’t calculated… well, other people.

-About Mrs Stingdom’s homeland.

Damian was too dignified to look over his shoulder at the lady in question, but Tim could see he wanted to.

-She’s a gothamite -he pointed out, because as Tim had suggested, he did his homework about who was attending to the party. A bit, at least. The story of so many boring socialites was too much to bear.

-She married a gothamite -he explained, doing his best to look stern about Damian’s apparent misinformation-. She’s actually from another land, which is why she pinched your checks. In her culture, it’s a sign of utmost respect towards people under ten years old who are still considered to be superiors, despite their age.

It sounded far fetched, even to his own ears, but he was playing into Damian’s social incompetency and his arrogance at believing himself above all others, which is why the kid nodded slowly after a few seconds, eating the whole lie in one bite.

His bespectacled eyes bore into his, brows furrowed. His hands went to Tim’s, still on his shoulders, a little unsure.

-Should I expect more of this… cultural difference? So I won’t be underprepared, should anyone else wish to pay me their respects in a new manner?

Sensing a chance to prevent a future stabbing, Tim was quick to nod. Mom was going to be so proud!

----.----

A little later that night, a new issue arose. Since Tim was pretty busy handling the seven year old, he had to forgo his usual Wayne-party routine, which was basically to find one of the sons and hide with them for the rest of the night.

Of course, neurotic bastards like them wouldn’t take a change in routine go like that. Because Bruce has instilled paranoia and curiosity on them like Alfred did with manners, and sadly, the last one’s teachings rarely showed up.

-Timmy! Here you are. I was worried, since you never approached us. Aww, who’s this kid? You made a friend?

He groaned internally. Dick, and behind him he could spot Jason, eyebrow arched at the novelty of Tim not looking for them immediately. He wanted to, thrived in the chance to spend even a few minutes with his idols, but duty calls, and his mind didn’t like the possibles outcomes would Damian and the Waynes meet.

-Hey, Dick… Jay. Good evening -he smiled politely, hand clutching tighter Damian’s. Don’t notice, don’t notice, please don’t notice.

To his immense relief, none of them seemed to find anything noteworthy in Damian’s face, which… was also kinda disappointing, despite him wishing for it. Like, yeah, the wig and glasses were good misdirect, but really? He would have noticed the similarities with Bruce despite them, and those two were supposedly detectives…

-Stop being so formal, kid -grumbled Jason, big hand making a mess of Tim’s styled hair. He would have complained, but… Jason’s voice and hand, okay? He was a weak teenager. Don’t judge him- Know ya since y’were half that heigh, and lighter than my jacket.

Tim’s hormones ignored the comment on him being small, and focused on the mental image of the mentioned jacket, most likely leather and well worn.

…This was so not the time for fantasizing.

A tiny, calloused hand slapped Jason’s away, which promptly changed the mood.

-Don’t touch my cousin, you/

But Tim had prepared for this outcome, so his own hand rose just as quickly to cover Damian’s mouth.

At the word ‘cousin’, both heroes looked very interested. Tim was under no delusions, well aware Bruce and each of his adopted children had made their own background checks on him and his entire family, so they would know Damian’s claim to familiarity to be a lie, but they also couldn't really call them out on it without making it obvious they investigated him.

His head was already hurting for all the social maneuvering he had to do to keep out of trouble, and now, adding two concerned birds and one murderous kitten, it was even worse.

This was going to be a very, very long night. But both mom and Nicole had asked him, so he wouldn’t try to get out of being a (as) good (as possible) role model.

---------------.----------

Tim winced, muscles locking in a poor attempt at not showing it. From the look Conner gave him, at the other side of the room where he was being chewed out by Lex, he failed miserably at hiding his pain; which, in turn, enraged his mom even more.

-What. Did. You. DO?!

The hand not currently held by his mother went to his ear, protecting it from the almost demonic screech. He could see Auntie Nicole doing the same, sitting with Damian on the couch, sharing tea and cookies as they watched the whole show. The nine year old showed a surprising amount of sympathy towards Tim’s injuries, for someone who had been harshly trained since birth and had recently begun a career as vigilante (not that Tim was supposed to know about it, though). Or was it pity because of mom’s rage?

-You told me no tights and spandex! Never said anything about a mask and a hoodie, and Conner and the guys really needed my help with strategizing -he defended himself, because even if he shouldn't know about the waynes being heroes, he had been Conner’s friend since he found and subsequently freed him from Lex’s secret lab, which in turn warranted mom’s rule against heroing that he had just broke-. And don’t yell at me, I can hear you perfectly fine.

-I’M NOT YELLING! -she lied, tightening the bandage, scowl growing in power-, AND MASKS WERE IMPLIED AS A NO! Also, what are those if not thighs?

-Skinny jeans!

-They are indecent, that’s what they are!

On the other side of the room, Kon seemed to be having a less exhausting time than Tim. Lucky bastard, Luthor had less experience in parenthood, hadn’t yet reached the Scolding Mastery level.

-Hey! Auntie Nicole dresses like that -he points to the woman, who raises an eyebrow- and you don’t tell her anything! Look at her cleavage, you can almost see her bellybutton!

-Leave me out of this -asked the woman, taking the teapot to refill Damian’s cup; he, in turn, handed her the cookies platter.

Ignoring her best friend, Janet snapped again- NICOLE ISN’T MY STUPID FOURTEEN YEAR OLD SON, WHO IS NEVER SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN!

-What light of day? This is Gotham, we don’t have sunlight anyway. And I’m not stupid, my IQ is higher than everyone’s in this room.

-IT SURELY LOOKS LIKE YOU ARE FROM WHERE I’M STANDING, HERE, RE-BANDAGING YOUR ARM!

Tim sighed, locking eyes with Conner in solidarity; or he wanted to, but the smug bastard’s scolding was over and he and Luthor had joined the Al Ghuls in their tea party.

-Come on, mom. This’ but a scratch.

-YOU GOT SEVEN STITCHES!!!! I can’t believe this.

She barely got her son out of vigilantism by monitoring his Wayne-Interaction and threats of boarding school and then he went and befriended a group of teen heroes and threw all her hard work straight to the trash. No, he skipped that part, he went directly to the dumpster and burried her good intentions under a pile of shit.

But really, she couldn’t very well make him entirely responsible of this, not when he got carried away by Conner’s ‘do the right thing’ speech. And Conner had came into their lives because of…

In blind rage, she finished her patch job on her son’s arm and turned in a flash to face Lex, whose face went quickly from amused to scared.

-WHY DID YOU THINK IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO HAVE A KID WITH SUPERMAN?

Sensing she was done with him, Tim went to sit by Kon, who moved a bit on his individual couch so they could share it, though it was a very tight fit.

-Clone -he corrected helpfully, TTK bringing Tim his coffee cup closer.

-Did I stutter? And I wasn’t talking to you, was I?

Nicole seemed like she was having the time of her life right now- So hey, listen, between you and LITERAL SUPERMAN, who was the one on the receiving end when you pictured yourself having a kid with him? Like, who was getting it? Because, pal, odds aren’t in your favor, you know.

-Don’t be stupid, dear -huffed Janet, looking at her friend’s green eyes and calming don infinitesimally- If he was actually getting it, he wouldn't have resorted to having his kid to get his attention.

-IT’S A CLONE, AND I ABSOLUTELY DIDN’T MAKE HIM TO GET THAT ALIEN’S ATTENTION! He’s my enemy, not my lover, what is wrong with you people.

-Am I a divorce-preventing baby? -asked Kon to Tim, raising an eyebrow. The other kid just shrugged.

-Looks like it. Not like Uncle Lex had any other way to keep Superman from leaving him…

-I’m right here.

-I know, Uncle Lex. I love you, but you need to rethink your choices. If the man wants to go, let him go. Kon doesn’t need any brothers. I can’t deal with more of him, one is more than enough.

#Janet Drake au #janet drake is a good mom #Tim Drake #janet drake #Nicole Al Ghul (oc)#Damian Wayne #conner kent #lex luthor #dick grayson #Jason Todd #Janet is close to having a panic attack #or yknow #murdering lex for making this happen #lex just wanted a weapon against superman NOT a divorce-preventive baby #pre Janet/nicole #tim isn't a hero but he's friends with a few so sometiems he helps #THEY ARE STUPID MOM THEY'D DIE WITHOUT MY HELP I 'HAD' TO HELP THEM

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diner-drama · 3 years

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Cuddle Buddies (1/?)

"Cuddle Buddies: professional platonic cuddling therapy services for the busy modern professional" are an entirely legitimate organization serving the touch-starved. Look, it's just been a long time since Steve's been in a relationship, and a guy has needs, you know? Sometimes after a long day of being a strong, hard-nosed solicitor, weathering insults and attacks from the opposing counsel and your own coworkers, you just want to have someone stroke your hair and tell you you're good. Bucky loves his job as a professional cuddler, providing non-romantic physical touch to people that need it, and when his new client turns out to be a pint-sized spitfire with a smile to die for, that's just a bonus.

Also on ao3.

"Rumlow, if I wake up tomorrow to find out that you've thrown my client on an airplane and deported her in the middle of the night I will have your ass in front of the bar association before you can blink," barked Steve into the phone held between his ear and shoulder, trying to get his keys out of his pocket one-handed. "You really think they're going to let this slide after last time?"

He paused for a second as the person on the other end of the line made a few abortive attempts at a response, then cut him off. "I'm turning off my phone now. If you still want to talk in the morning after considering my offer you can call me then, but if you pull any of your bullshit in the meantime, I will fucking ruin you."

Steve hung up the call with a flourish and shouldered his front door open, throwing his phone into a basket on an occasional table before closing the door behind him and leaning against it, rubbing his eyes exhaustedly. Being a hard-ass human rights lawyer was all very well and good during the work day, but by the time he got home Steve was more than ready to shed his tough persona and let himself be soft.

The suit jacket was the first to go, shrugged off his slim shoulders and slipped onto a hanger. Then, his smart, shiny shoes were slipped off and replaced with warm, thick socks. He swapped his starched shirt for an old, lived-in hoodie, and his neatly pressed slacks for sweatpants. His black briefcase found a home in the spare room he used as an office, and he shut the door after it, mentally shutting away his work life. He ran his hand through his smartly-combed hair to muss it up and rolled his shoulders back, taking a few deep breaths and letting the stress of his day roll off him.

He wandered around the living room, picking up a blanket from the steamer trunk by the window, drawing the curtains, and switching on the electric fireplace which filled the space with warmth and low, flickering light. He picked up his personal phone from the coffee table and sent a quick text to Sam to let him know he made it home safely, sent a thumbs up to Darcy in response to a terrible meme she'd sent him, and briefly considered video calling Peggy before remembering that she was in a conference in Singapore.

He flopped down onto the couch and wrapped himself up tight in the blanket, enjoying its weight on his shoulders. Opening his laptop, he coughed in embarrassment when the tab that he'd opened in a fit of loneliness last night popped up. "Cuddle Buddies: professional platonic cuddling therapy services for the busy modern professional" seemed to be an entirely legitimate organization serving the touch-starved, and they had excellent reviews.

Look, it's just been a long time since Steve's been in a relationship, and a guy has needs, you know? Sometimes after a long day of being a strong, hard-nosed solicitor, weathering insults and attacks from the opposing counsel and your own coworkers, you just want to have someone stroke your hair and tell you you're good. Steve did his best to keep his work and home lives separate, but lately it was getting difficult to switch off from his worries when he was lying in bed at night, going over details from his cases while he tossed and turned on his pillows.

He scrolled through the information on the website one more time, thinking about how it might feel to invite a stranger into his home to cuddle him. Would it be uncomfortable? Would they think he was pathetic?

Putting aside the laptop for a minute, he ambled back into the kitchen to re-heat some shepherd's pie and put on the kettle for a cup of tea, climbing on a step stool to reach the mugs. His fingers and toes still a little chilly from the crisp autumn evening outside, he decided to fill up a hot water bottle, tucking it carefully into its fluffy case and holding it under his arm as he brought his dinner and drink back to the table. After a couple of bites of the pie, he pulled out a neat little wicker basket from under the table and took out his evening medications. Tapping the pills into his hand, he swallowed them with a gulp of tea and took a couple of huffs of his steroid inhaler for good measure, before getting back to his meal.

Steve may have lost the genetic lottery when it came to his height and his abysmal health, but the gods had seen fit to bless him with more than his share of sheer, bloody-minded scrappiness, which he felt more than made up for it.

Once he'd cleared the plate away and made himself a second cuppa, he opened up a book on his e-reader and held the comforting, warm weight of the hot water bottle to his chest, wondering idly, not for the first time, whether he should get a cat. He was a couple of chapters into a mediocre romance novel when he started tapping his fingers, thinking.

After a brief moment of indecision, he grabbed the laptop with renewed certainty and began to type a request into the website.

Bucky was just waving goodbye to Nat as he walked away from their session when his phone chimed, alerting him that there was a new customer inquiry that the agency wanted him to look at.

Maria: 28 yo man in Red Hook interested in trying cuddle therapy to help with work stress. Would prefer male therapist. Due to asthma, no cologne or scented products, and non-smokers only.

He smiled, and shot off a quick affirmative response. Maria often sent him their new clients - there was something about him that reassured people if they felt a little unsure about the services. Bucky was perfectly happy with his chosen profession - non-romantic physical touch was, in his opinion, essential for a happy life, and he got to provide it to people that needed it. Bucky liked to observe people and through his job he'd met a wide array of curious characters, so the work was never boring.

Also, the pay was amazing and Alpine would only eat the expensive cat food, so there was that.

He continued on his journey, enjoying the changing leaves on the trees around him and the chill in the air. Just as he was about to step onto the subway, his phone buzzed again, and after he found a seat he saw that Maria had sent him the phone number for his new client. He sent off his standard greeting straight away, eager to get his schedule firmed up.

Bucky: Hi Steve, this is Bucky from the Cuddle Buddies agency. When works for you for our first meeting? Looking forward to working with you!

Steve: Thanks for getting back to me. Saturday evening would be best for my schedule. Can I pay the $80 fee via bank transfer? -Steven Grant Rogers, Shield Solicitors

The response came immediately, and was far more businesslike than his usual interactions with clients. Still, Bucky could be businesslike. He even owned a tie.

Bucky: You sure can - the agency should send you out a contract tonight with the bank details. I can do Saturday at 7 if that suits.

Steve: Saturday at 7 sounds fine. What are the terms of the contract?

Of course, Mr. Lawyer Man wanted to know about the contract.

Bucky: It lays out what to expect in our interactions - we provide purely non-sexual services - as well as how to deal with cancellations, how we protect your privacy, and the billing structure.

Steve: Thank you. I look forward to meeting you on Saturday.

Bucky shook his head, wondering how this stuffy, formal guy was going to act during their cuddle session.

Steve didn't have the opportunity to start feeling anxious about his cuddle appointment because the negotiations with the lawyers at the ICE detention center took up every moment of his time. He was wrapping up his conversation with a client via email in his home office when his alarm chimed to let him know that he had half an hour until Bucky arrived.

After stretching his arms over his head, wincing at the tightness of his shoulders after slouching all day, he stripped out of the pajamas he was still wearing and indulged in a long, hot shower, scrubbing away his stress and emerging pink-cheeked and fluffy-haired. In his bedroom, he changed into a soft blue flannel shirt and a pair of pants that looked like slacks but felt like sweatpants, and another pair of his warm, fuzzy socks.

Pacing around his living room, his nerves ramping up, he selected a different blanket to leave ready on the couch and checked twice on his selection of teas. He had just put the kettle on to boil when the buzzer sounded.

On opening the door, he was immediately reassured to see that Bucky had a friendly, engaging grin, and was wearing a soft, knitted sweater. He held out a hand to shake and then immediately felt like an idiot, but Bucky just grasped Steve's cold hand with his warm one and squeezed it.

"Hi, you must be Steve," said Bucky with a pleasant Brooklyn drawl. Without being asked, he pulled a Cuddle Buddies ID card out of his pocket and handed it over to Steve, who checked the details on it and handed it back.

"Nice to meet you," said Steve stiffly. "Please, come on in. I'm just making a cup of mint tea, do you want one?"

"That'd be perfect, Steve. Mind if I take my shoes off?"

"Go ahead," replied Steve with a thin smile, attending to the whistling kettle.

"Thanks," said Bucky when he accepted his cup of tea. Steve couldn't help but notice that Bucky was wearing mis-matched but co-ordinating socks, one with red stars on a white background, and the other with white stars on a red background. He ushered Bucky to take a seat on the couch and sat in the armchair opposite. Bucky's posture was loose and open, but Steve was sitting bolt upright and jiggling his leg nervously. Fortunately, Bucky chose to take the lead in the conversation.

"So, I usually start first sessions with clients by talking about what your goals are for therapy," he began with a reassuring smile. "For example, some clients are looking to feel more comfortable with physical touch, some want to get over a breakup, or reduce stress, and some are just looking for companionship."

"I guess the companionship and stress things," said Steve after thinking for a moment. "My job takes a lot out of me, so I don't really have the time to pursue a relationship, but I do miss that human touch."

Bucky smiled gently, as though what Steve had said wasn't anything out of the ordinary. "What do you do?"

"I'm a lawyer, I mostly represent people who are in danger of deportation," said Steve automatically.

"That sounds rewarding," replied Bucky encouragingly.

"It is," agreed Steve, "but it's incredibly draining. I have to be so hard and tough all the time. Sometimes I think it would be nice to just be..." He tailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.

"Soft?" supplied Bucky.

Steve smiled, feeling more comfortable despite his misgivings. "Yeah."

"Thank you for being so open with me, Steve," said Bucky, reaching over to squeeze Steve's knee. "If you don't have a particular preference for how we start, how about you join me on the couch and I put my arms around you. Does that sound good?"

Suddenly shy, Steve nodded and moved to sit next to Bucky, who immediately wrapped his big arms around Steve's shoulders and pulled Steve into his broad chest. As requested, Bucky wasn't wearing any fragrance, but he still smelled good, like fresh laundry and crisp autumn air, with an undercurrent of clean skin.

As he relaxed into Bucky's embrace, Steve tried to remember the last time he'd been held so gently. He was a regular recipient of Sam's big bear hugs and Darcy's chest-crushing squeezes, but he hadn't had a long-term romantic partner since law school, and his career didn't leave him a lot of free time to look for one.

"How does that feel?" asked Bucky in a low, soothing voice, gently rubbing at Steve's shoulder.

"Really good," breathed Steve.

"I'm glad," said Bucky gently. "How about I lie down on my back here and you snuggle up to my chest?"

Steve nodded his assent and Bucky released him slowly, and then rolled over to lie along the couch, opening up his arms so that Steve could slot himself in to rest his head on Bucky's warm chest. The knit of his sweater was soft against Steve's face, and one of Bucky's big hands came up to cup the back of Steve's head, rubbing small circles at the base of his skull with his fingertips.

"Thanks for not wearing cologne," said Steve, sounding muffled.

"Pal, I think you sneezing in my face would be worse for me than for you," laughed Bucky, the sound rumbling through his chest.

"It's not my sexiest move," agreed Steve, burrowing deeper into the soft warmth of Bucky's body.

Steve hadn't expected that conversation would carry on easily while they were cuddling - he predicted awkward silences and a feeling of general embarrassment - but they continued chatting while Bucky carded his fingers through Steve's hair, and he felt himself dropping deeper and deeper into a calm state of relaxation.

"So why'd you become a lawyer?" asked Bucky in a low voice, barely breaking into the spell he was casting over Steve.

"Ma came over here from Ireland to work as a nurse," replied Steve drowsily, "and when my pa died, she ran into some trouble with some of her immigration paperwork. There was a lawyer who worked pro bono to stop her from getting deported... the guy really changed our lives."

"So now you help other people the same way."

"I try to. How'd you get into professional cuddling?"

"After I got out of the army, I used to go for counseling sessions at the VA. Took a couple of years, but eventually I started on a course to be a counselor myself. A lot of those guys are so touch-starved, you know? My friend got the idea to start up a cuddling service and I jumped at the chance. It's been my full-time job for three years now."

Digesting this information, Steve was silent for a moment. He wouldn't have pegged Bucky as a soldier given how open and relaxed he was, but Sam didn't seem like an air force pilot, so you never knew. He cast around for a follow-up question. "Are there a lot of cuddling agencies in the world?" he settled on eventually.

"Oh yeah, it's a real growth industry. There's even a book called the Cuddle Sutra."

Steve scoffed. "You're kidding me, people write books about this stuff?"

Bucky cuffed him gently on the back of the head. "Shut up, punk. That's my profession you're besmirching."

"Are you allowed to tell your clients to shut up?" smirked Steve, never happier than when he was being a little shit.

"Only if they're being a punk," grumbled Bucky, wrapping an arm around the back of Steve's shoulders to pull him closer.

Over the course of the next forty five minutes, Steve learned more about Bucky's family, his asshole cat, his collection of semi-dead succulent plants, and his opinions on the present administration of the country. Bucky managed to wheedle Steve into talking about the bullying he faced at work, the stress of not having as many resources as he needed to help everyone he worked with - and he very nearly managed to get him to disclose his mother's recipe for shepherd's pie, and was only stopped by the threat that the ghost of Sarah Rogers would haunt him until he died.

Between the cozy warmth of Bucky's body, the soothing cadence of his voice, and the way his minty breath ghosted over Steve's forehead when he chuckled, Steve was pretty much in heaven, wrapped up in comfort. When Bucky's phone started to vibrate in his pocket, they both let out a little noise of annoyance.

"'Fraid that's my alarm. How'd you enjoy your first session?" asked Bucky, still stroking lines down Steve's back.

Steve hummed contentedly. "Worth every penny," he replied, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head.

"I'm really glad," said Bucky sincerely, squeezing his shoulder before standing up and heading towards his shoes. "Same time next week?"

"That'd be perfect. Thanks, Bucky. For everything."

"No problem," he replied with a genuine grin, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "Now I'd better call Maria before she gets the cops after me to make sure I haven't been murdered in a back alley somewhere."

"I'm glad they care so much about your safety."

"I love my job," laughed Bucky as he let himself out the front door, waving goodbye to Steve as he put the phone to his ear.

Steve spent some time smiling and waving like a goof until Bucky rounded the corner, at which point he finally shook himself awake and shut and locked his door. It was only eight PM but after a few nights of fractured sleep he was ready to follow his relaxed, sleepy feeling straight to bed.

After he pottered around the room, straightening up and putting things away, he brushed his teeth and jumped onto his big, comfortable bed, where he rolled himself up in his comforter like a burrito. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

#stucky #my fics #cuddle buddies

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maximoffvizh · 4 years

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fic: the sun is too bright for me (but your smile is brighter)

he’s imagined how he’ll tell people this story. ‘i grabbed her scarf when it blew out of her hands in the wind’ said in a dreamy voice. absolutely no mention of the vampire reflexes that allowed him to do that | scarletvision au: vision is a vampire trying very hard to pretend to be human for the sake of his new girlfriend. don’t ask him why he doesn’t want her to know

He tugs anxiously at the tight collar of his turtleneck, wondering whether he should drop down to an even lighter shade of blue. Maybe this rich colour is too much of a contrast to his pallor, maybe it shows that his eyes shine a brighter colour than they should, maybe it means that this magical woman will take one look at him and realise that he wears high necklines to hide the two distinct round scars on his neck.

Vision forces himself to step away from his wardrobe, smoothing his sweater down with anxious fingers. She won’t know. She has no reason to suspect that he’s a vampire, that there are bright white marks on his neck showing where the venom flowed into his blood and changed him that late fateful night. He isn’t like those who lean heavily into this part of their identity, dressed all in black with silk-lined capes around their shoulders, haunting the vampire bars and living in apartments filled with expensive furniture and black marble.

He lives as a normal twenty-seven year old, in a cosy apartment decorated in pops of warm yellow, attending night classes for his third degree and holding down a job as a copy-editor. He speaks French, Italian and Sokovian, he knits and crochets and paints, he plays violin and piano and all of those are accomplishments he’s sure anyone who puts their mind to it would have achieved at twenty-seven. It just happens that he was bitten and made into a vampire in the seventies, and has been aging at a snail’s pace ever since. It allows for plenty of time to master the skills of a child prodigy.

He wishes he could check his reflection as he leaves the apartment, but at least it just so happened that her shift today meant she wouldn’t be free until after dusk. No prickle of sunlight will touch his skin, and he intends to treat her at the wine bar and be able to take a walk with her in the moonlight. They can talk about their lives, and he’ll let her do most of the talking - hearing about her life will be far more interesting than telling the lies of his for the hundredth time.

Wanda is waiting outside the bar for him, and he pauses for a moment to admire her, the dark red dress that hugs her figure and her hair tumbling in gentle waves around her shoulders. A black coat skims around her, and she’s examining her nails as he crosses the street and says a soft, “Hi.”

She starts, almost dropping her purse, then smiles, colour flooding her cheeks. “You scared me!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, immediately horrified. Not even thirty seconds into the first date he’s had in almost fifteen years, and he’s messed it up.

“No, no, it’s okay,” she says, seemingly collecting herself. “It’s impressive, being that silent. How’d you learn that?”

“Master of hide and seek in school,” he lies quickly, and she giggles. It’s better than telling her he’s so silent because he’s a predator and she, with her blushing cheeks and beating heart, is technically prey. ‘I am, biologically speaking, supposed to eat you’ is not a sentence to say on a first date. Or ever.

Luckily, she talks enough for both of them through their date. Telling him about her cat and her friends and her job and her childhood, talking about the country he saw before war devastated it, stood on its hills and watch dawn stripe the sky pale lavender. He’s content to listen, to hear her accent emerge more the longer she talks, to take in all of her. He can see the myriad shades of green in her eyes, the dark spread of her eyelashes, the faint freckles scattered across her nose breaking through the thin layer of make-up. Every twitch of her fingers draws his eyes, and he can smell the musk of her perfume, and beneath that the sweetness of her skin, his eyes tracing over the web of veins crisscrossing her wrist.

He takes a deep breath to clear his head, and instead takes a long sip of wine. Wanda giggles and says, “Slow down, handsome, I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you home.” She reaches across the table and brushes a stain away from the corner of his mouth, her finger so warm against his skin, and he stares at her for a long moment before he ducks his head.

Their walk through the park takes them to a stream, a picturesque curved bridge, and he grins helplessly when she tangles their gloved hands together, tossing her hair back over one shoulder and smiling at him. She pauses at the arch of the bridge, and he looks down at the colours caught in the water, at the trembling reflection of the moon.

Then her lips are on his, scalding hot, and he leans into this first romantic contact in so long, the first real human contact in years. Her hand touches his cheek and doesn’t jerk back at the cool of his skin, but cradles him closer. His arms wrap around her and he’s sure that he wouldn’t even notice if the bridge collapsed beneath them.

He does, however, notice when it starts to rain. But Wanda just beams at him and pulls her umbrella from her bag, raising it above them and continuing to kiss him. It feels like a scene from one of the movies he loved so much in the eighties, still watches despite Sam insisting that he has to get a more modern taste in his media, and he smiles against her mouth.

Being in a relationship - that’s what this is, a relationship, a beautiful woman who cheerfully and casually calls him her boyfriend and brings him coffee and buys him novelty socks just because - is somewhat difficult when he’s keeping such a huge secret from her. But he can’t bring himself to tell her. She thinks he’s just a normal guy, admires his cosy apartment and beams when he answers her questions in her language, gushes over the painting and scarf he gifts her for her birthday and lingers in his arms even when he makes excuses about poor circulation and not being able to warm her up.

She’s also shrewd, and clever, and it’s difficult to fool her. He can put her off kissing him after she’s eaten Italian by lying that he’s allergic to garlic, but he ruins that by kissing her when she leaves and having to quickly backtrack and claim the allergy isn’t so severe that it will affect him if he doesn’t ingest garlic. She wears a silver necklace one night that makes his nose itch and his eyes water, and the first excuse that comes to mind is that he just got very emotional over the sight of an old man pushing his equally old dog in a red wagon. He tries to put her off taking photos again and again, until she thinks he’s ashamed of her and that turns into a three-day silence before he turns up at her door with an armful of flowers and a mouthful of apologies, and she kisses him and promises she won’t do anything he isn’t ready for.

She falls out his lap, rumpled and panting and wanting, after they’ve been carefully and slowly making out for minutes at a time, her skirt tugged up high on her thighs and her shirt riding up, and he feebly lies that he has a migraine and leaves her apartment. He’s thrumming with desire, shaking with it, and his fangs are dropped and he runs his tongue over their points with a shudder of horrors. If she’d felt them...if they’d gone further...if he’d hurt her...he has to break up with her.

“Or you could just tell her the truth,” Sam says. He’s lounging on his couch, playing MarioKart, and Vision is fretting on the gaudy rug he’s always hated that Sam bought. For someone who was born in the eighties and turned in the early noughties, Sam really has a thing for the garish seventies aesthetic. “Vampires are common knowledge, she’s not gonna run away screaming.”

“You don’t know that,” Vision says, miserably picking at the seal of a blood pouch. He can still see Wanda’s eyes dark with desire, feel the press of her hips into his, and he can imagine how he looks after dinner. Fangs dropped and stained crimson at the tips. She’d be horrified to see him like this. “I really like her, and-”

“And the last time you really liked somebody you ended up hiding from the crazy father that thought you were a demon and tried to shoot you, I know,” Sam says, and Vision shivers at the memory. Virginia’s father screaming about the devil and his monsters, the bullet that passed harmlessly through him, diving into a river and letting the current carry him away, emerging hours later with nothing to show for it but the filth that caked him, the silvery scar in his chest and the knowledge that getting too close to humans is dangerous. “But times have changed, my friend. We’re an acknowledged species. And this girl doesn’t have a father to chase you with a shotgun, anyway.”

Vision throws the blood pouch at his head. Sam catches it, tears the corner off with a quick flick of his head, and drains it without losing first place in his game. And Vision mopes to bed, lying awake as the sun rises.

He doesn’t see Wanda for a week, avoids her calls and answering her texts. He paints sad dark paintings, works harder, and spends his nights reading long rambling stories about love and crying while Sam makes fun of him. He stares down the barrel of eternity and no more time with her, and he pretends that he isn’t upset. Pretends that he knew that an ending was inevitable, because a relationship between a vampire and a human can’t work out.

He pretends that even when Ian proposes to Sam, and he realises that maybe it can.

To: Wanda

Hey. I’m really sorry. Can we talk?

The knock on his door comes three hours after the fateful text, and Wanda is in his apartment. She’s wearing an enormous grey hoodie and leggings, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and carrying a coffee cup. And she stares at him witheringly, arching an eyebrow, and says, “So you ghosted me for a week, and you wanna talk?”

“I’m so sorry,” he says weakly. “I...I didn’t know what else to do.”

“If you didn’t wanna have sex with me, all you had to do was say so,” she says, and the defiance is fading into hurt, and guilt is pouring hot and gnawing into his chest and he wishes he was human. That he could take her in his arms and show her all the things he wants to do without being paralysingly afraid of hurting her. “If you want to break up-”

“No!” he insists, and she looks up, her eyes narrowed. “No, the last thing I want to do is end this. I...Wanda, you make me feel human-”

“But you are...” She trails off, and her eyes drop to his neck, deliberately bared. “You’re a vampire, aren’t you?”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.” He slumps back on the couch, and she’s still standing, moving closer. “I...the last relationship I had ended in her father chasing me off the property with a gun, before people really understood vampires, and I couldn’t...I can’t bear to think about losing you because of this.” He pushes a hand through his hair, and says, “But if you want to leave...if this is all too much for you...I won’t begrudge you your decision. It would be for your safety-”

“Vizh.” Her voice is soft, sweet, and she cups his face between her hands before she cradles his head to her stomach, and he closes his eyes and breathes her in. “You make me feel safe. It doesn’t matter to me what you are, you’re clearly in control of yourself. And now it makes sense why we only meet at night, and why you don’t wanna take photos, and why you don’t like when I eat Italian, and why you flinched every time I touched you when I was wearing silver jewellery...” She trails off, and he lifts his head to see her frowning adorably. “But why wouldn’t you have sex with me?”

“Oh...um...” If he could blush, he certainly would with her curious expression and her bright eyes. “See...it’s hard for us...vampires, I mean...to control ourselves with human...lovers. And I’m scared that I...I might get carried away and hurt you. Because I...we’d be so close. I’d hear your heart so loudly, and we’d be...naked. And things. I don’t...I don’t want you to get hurt. Not by me.”

“Oh sweetie.” She lifts his chin and plants a simple, sweet kiss on his lips. “You could never hurt me.” Then she smirks, slides into his lap, and breathes, “And make no mistake - I’ll always be the one in control.”

She kisses him, long and hard and dirty, and his breath rasps into her mouth. Her kisses trace a path from the corner of his mouth to his ear, and she whispers, “By the way, you’re a terrible liar. I’ve known from the start.” A tug of her teeth on his earlobe, and she breathes, “Fucking a vampire is on my bucket list. But only if I top.”

If a dead heart could come pounding back to life, that would be the sentence that does it.

#beth writes fic #scarlet vision #scarletvision au #visionmcu #scarletwxnda

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namjoonsteeth · 5 years

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HONEY - (Bangtan Boys mini series)

A/N: not fully edited yet

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Smut; enemies to lovers

Word Count: 7.6k

Joon always reminded me of honey, smooth and wet. From the way he spoke to the way he moved.

Even as we both trade abrasive words in class, rallying back and forth as we try to make known our top tier positions academically. Namjoon is far smarter than me. This much I know. The guy is an actual genius with which that could not be argued with. He corrected professors, he pointed out contradictions in course material, and more often than not he made his disdain for me known whenever I went up against him. I picked fights with him. It was clear to everyone. He’d say one thing, and I made it my sole purpose to side with the opposite. It was petty and completely unnecessary; I’m sure our professors found our sparring to be a waste of time on most days.

“Which is why the statement “Shakespeare is overrated” is neither accurate nor is it valid, Y/n. Not only has he contributed many words to the modern English language, its undeniable that he has changed the way authors and playwrights tell stories,” he ends his ten minute rant by shooting me one last look of distaste.

I irritate him. I’m mostly ok with that considering that any attention from him is good attention. He’d reminded me of honey, and the only time I could get his eyes on me was when we were fighting. I’d relished in the times that he’d narrow his dark brown eyes on me, his full lips going a mile a minute as he’d battled my made up opinions. He talked slowly but quick all at once. He’d take long beats of time to formulate his attacks before spewing them out without even a breath in between. If I was anyone else, If I didn’t love every bit of attention he’d given me, maybe he would’ve broken me semesters ago.

“One day you’re going to make him snap,” Seokjin smiles while we walk from European literature.

Namjoon left before us, knowing that his friend would walk me to my next class after we grab something to eat. I think it further irritated him that I found a way to be friends with all of his roommates. He’d refused to both join a fraternity as well as leave his friends alone to fend for themselves. He’s the most responsible one out of all seven boys, even managing to keep the older ones in line too. That’s just how Joon is, he’s in control of most things in his life.

“That’s the plan,” I smile brightly up at him.

“Why are you such a brat, Y/N-,” Seokjin winces immediately after speaking as a hand slaps the back of his neck. The younger boy joins us naturally, a sweet wide smile on his face while he teases his friend. He shakes his dark hair out of his face before tucking his hands into the deep pockets of of his oversized black hoodie.

“Hey, Jeon Jungkook, I’m older than you, you know?” Seokjin says knowing that it’ll start a fight. I sigh waiting for the inevitable; JK hits Seokjin, Jin reminds him that he’s five years older than him and demands respect, JK pretends like none of that matter, chaos ensues until another boy shows up to break it up.

“And you still don’t know how the talk politely to women,” JK clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

I watch the two of them bicker back and forth, trading neck slaps and dodging each other on the crowded sidewalk. I watch as the other students get out of the way of their playing, not batting an eyelash as JK dramatically rolls on the ground to dodge Seokjin’s attack.

The Bangtan boys have always been a spectacle. In the beginning they were foreign exchange students who seemed to be good at everything all at once. They were all so close that everyone thought that they were real brothers, no one really bothered to correct them because for all intents and purposes, they are. Seokjin quickly became the lead of Thespian Club, Yoongi an irreplaceable shooting guard on the school’s basketball team, JK and Tae have founded a whole gaming club as well as being members of the men’s choir, and Jimin is student body president as well as the co leader of the dance team with Hoseok who is also a member of the diversity board. As for Namjoon, there isn’t enough time to list all of his accolades.

He’s a genius. Not even speaking in terms of comparability to the other students at the university. Namjoon is a genius compared to the world. With an IQ of 148 he surpassed me easily. I think that’s why I liked to mess with him so much. I know that I can never beat him academically. We both know, but I think it annoyed him that I wouldn’t stop trying.

We finally get to the sandwich restaurant on campus. We spot Jimin and Taehyung easily. All the Bangtan boys have a draw to them. Invisible halos that draws the eye the minute they enter a room. They could be doing the most mundane thing in the world, like sitting at a restaurant with their noses buried in One Piece, and they’ve got the whole room’s attention. Jimin with his high cheekbones that cause the apples of his cheeks to puff up when he smiles and silver hair, Tae with his angular features that no doubt belong on a runway. It’s hard not to look at them, What’s worse is that all seven boys hold the same charm. Gazes move from the two young boys in the center of the lunch room toward the two boys who are still fighting playfully as we make our way to our friends.

“Y/N, are you coming over tonight?” Jimin asks, while leaning forward to see me past Tae.

I shake my head as I pull out my buzzing cellphone. It’s Hoseok, telling us that he’s buying us all burgers and if we want something else it’s a little too late. The boys all ignore the text, fine with anything as always. Yoongi tells us that he’s skipping lunch to go work on some music before his game tonight. I see Namjoon’s floating icon pop up, showing that he’s read the message. It’s been weeks since he’d had lunch with us. Usually he’s able to ignore me and focus solely on the boys. Out of the blue he’d started going to the library during the first break in his schedule.

“I rather not sit through passive aggressive Namjoon finding different ways to express his hate for me without being too obvious,”

Hope brings sets two trays full of food in the middle of the booth table we’re all sitting at. His hair is back to black meaning that he’s either changed the girl he’s sleeping with this week or his preferred dance style. He’s entirely too predictable and he’s fine with it. He catches my eye as he slides into the booth beside me and passes JK a drink.

“Oh, he 100% hates you,” he says seriously. “Hey, Jeon Jungkook, I only got you one burger. Don’t eat too fast,”

JK smiles around his already full mouth. He sips at his drink to wash his food down so he can speak. “It’s ok. Jin Hyung will get the next round,”

“What do I look like to you, huh?” Seokjin points across the table at JK who laughs at having riled up the oldest again. “I spend so much money on you, neglecting the other maknaes all in the name of putting food in front of you,”

“Maybe if you weren’t old you wouldn’t have to bare the responsibilities that come with being the eldest,”

“Hey, Jeon Jungkook!”

The rest of the boys ignore them as they get into another round of bickering. It escalates when Jin reaches out for a neck slice which JK dodges easily. Hope rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone.

“Hyung, doesn’t hate you,” Tae says not looking up from the graphic novel in his hands. He opens his lips wide as Jimin shoves a French fry into his mouth.

He flicks his strawberry pink bangs out of his face and focuses on his story. That’s how Tae is. Either he’s completely absorbed in our conversation or he’s only giving us half of his attention. He’s almost done with his book, so I expect by tonight he’ll be the center of chaos with JK.

It’s not that I actually think Namjoon dislikes me. He wouldn’t let me get to him so much if there isn’t just a hint of fond there. At least, I hope so. I hope there’s a part of him that likes going at it with me as much as I do. Still, sometimes it feels like he’d give anything to get me to shut up. Or maybe it’s that he wants to be the one to do so. Again, I hope so. God, I really want him to.

It isn’t news that Namjoon is attractive. Whatever trait you’re into, he has it. He’s incredibly intelligent, able to outsmart just about anyone on campus. He’s physically attractive, slightly tan skin, tall, large just about everywhere. He’s funny when he’s with his friends, protective, sensitive, and just about anything else you could think of. God, I sound like I’m in love with the guy. If I’m honest, maybe I am a little. Maybe that’s the point of all of this.

“This is dangerous territory,” Hope warns looking a up form his one and at his friend who don’t seem to have a problem with spilling all of Namjoon’s secrets. His warning seems serious but he speaks around a large bite of the burger in his hands. There’s sauce on his cheek, JK reaches out to wipe his jaw quickly before going back to his own meal.

“I think he wants to sleep with you,” Jimin proclaims before wincing as Hope and Seokjin hit either side of his shoulders at the same time. “Hey, why should I lie?”

“Where’s your loyalty, Jimin,” Hope asks frowning at him.

Jimin shrugs.

“With whoever is in the room I guess. And I’m not betraying Joonie Hyung. I’m taking the steps he’s too prideful to take,”

It would be funny if I wasn’t too focused on how all five boys look to be hiding something. It’s not fair for me to exploit Jimin’s weak ties, right? I’m going to do it anyway. As smart as Namjoon is, he’s not necessarily right about everything. I can’t imagine I’ve done something so bad for him to avoid me so much that he’d sacrifice spending time with his friends.

“Which are,” I prod.

JK covers Jimin’s mouth to keep him from speaking. If there’s anyone loyal to Namjoon it’s going to be the youngest. He’s shown a reverence for the other boy plenty of time, even refusing to take my side on most occasions. I can’t expect him to tell me what’s going on without a little work.

“JK,” I say pushing my lips out in a pout.

He’s young, not quite accustomed to the charms of women. Though he knows he’s incredibly attractive, he’s not quite sure how to act around girls yet. His cheeks turn red as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. Like a deer in headlights, he looks a little innocent and a lot startled.

“Don’t fall for it, Kookie,” Hope warns again.

I roll my eyes and try again, blocking Hoseok’s strict expression with my hand on his face. He makes an obnoxious noise of anguish before quieting down. Satisfied, I remove my hand and let him eat in peace. Tae continues to ignore us, Seokjin watches in silence as Jimin’s eyes light up in mischief.

“You know I like your hyung, JK. It’s not like I’ll use anything you tell me against him,”

That’s only half true. I’m going to get Kim Namjoon to admit to liking me even if it’s just a little bit. That’s my mission.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but Mon Hyung would kill me-,” JK curses as Jimin bites his hand that’s still slapped down on his mouth. He shakes the sting off as Jimin shakes free of his hold.

“You made out with him at a party last Summer and he thinks you’re purposely ignoring it,” Jimin rushes out quickly.

More curses, this time from Seokjin, Hope, and JK. Tae smiles to himself but only flips the page of his book, completely unbothered and only slightly entertained. I knew I can count on one of the younger boys. I make a note to address JK’s misplaced alliance later.

“I kissed Namjoon?”

Jimin shakes his head. “I would call it more foreplay than a ‘kiss’, if I’m honest. It was at one of our house parties and I honestly felt like I was watching a very well shot, very realistic dirty movie,”

I look at Seokjin who only shrugs. “It was intense,”

“We didn’t-,”

Hope shakes his head. “You passed out before anything could happen. Namjoon took you up to JK’s room and that was it,”

“Last summer?” I ask, still trying to piece it all together.

The memory doesn’t even seem remotely familiar. I’d passed out in the bangtan house more than once, crashed in JK’s room even more times than I can remember considering he has an aversion to his own bed. This could have happened at anytime.

“Either you’re repressing the memory or you actually don’t remember,” Hope says while going back to stuffing his face.

“Why am I only finding out now?” I frown. “I’ve been asking you guys what I’d done wrong for a year and a half now,”

“Namjoon Hyung is scary when he wants to be. We all promised we wouldn’t say anything. Jimin, whatever he does to you, you deserve it,” Tae contributes while closing his book.

I agree, the recent turn of events are more interesting than anything else. I’ve been friends with these boys for just over three years now. I’m without a doubt the closest friend outside of the seven of them that they have. They’re my best friends, all of them; even Namjoon if he would stop acting like a dickhead all of the time.

Jimin shrugs and has the nerve to look smug. “I’m his favorite. He won’t care,”

He’s right. Jimin won’t get in trouble for spilling Joon’s secrets.

I eventually agree to go over tonight. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen Yoongi with how busy he’s been with practice and working on music. Still, it’s Namjoon that my heartbeat doubles for. I haven’t spent anytime with him outside of class in a while. Granted usually our time is spent sitting on opposite ends of the couch and shooting each other passive aggressive jabs. Still, I miss him.

Ironically, its Joon that opens the door when I get to their shared house. I’d decided to confront him about the whole “kiss” from last summer, still not completely believing the boys. I can’t imagine touching Namjoon at all and being able to forget about it. I needed an upper hand with him, though. I may annoy him most of the time with my picking and what not, but there’s still a part of him, even if solely on the physical level, that is attracted to me. I use that small fact to my advantage.

“You’re here,” he says.

It’s hard not to respond to him. I feel my body heat as he looks down at me. He speaks slowly like he’s not in a rush to let me in; typical. His body stays in the door way, blocking me from entering. We play this game every time I come over. His arms cross over his chest like he has no plans of letting me in anytime soon. As always, I look forward to it. We aren’t in class now, he’s free to let me have any insult he wants.

“Don’t let anyone tell you that you aren’t observant, Kim Namjoon,” I smile up at him.

He looks at my attire, the dusty pink dress stops right at the top of my thighs showing more skin than not. I watch his eyes rake over my body before he frowns at me again, a ‘W’ shaped line in the middle of his forehead. His jaw ticks once before pushing out just a bit.

“Did you have a date?” He’s obviously only pretending to care. I can tell by the sarcastic way his eye brow raises.

I raise my eyebrow back at him, unable to stop a smirk. “You care?”

“Does it matter?” he challenges, grating my nerves. Sighing, he smiles while giving me a scathing look. “Besides, it couldn’t have ended well if you’re here begging for attention as always”

“From who exactly,” I ask while crossing my arms over my chest. I don’t miss how his eyes flick down to my chest. His gaze lingers longer than he’s ever allowed himself to.

“It’s whom,” he corrects. “From whom is the proper-,”

“You don’t ever shut up, do you?” I interrupt becoming irritated. I shouldn’t be surprised. This is us. It’s dysfunctional and very stupid, but its how we’ve done things for the majority of the time that I’ve known him.

“Namjoon, we both know that you don’t like me enough to care what I do,”

“Stop telling people I don’t like you,” he frowns as if he’s just remembering something. “And stop grilling Jimin for information,”

He turns, leaving the door open, finally letting me in.

“The guys aren’t here,” he calls over his shoulder.

I follow him to the kitchen where our friends usually gather. He’s right, no one is home. This kind of seems like a set up. Just a little.

“Yoongi hyung has a game, Seokjin hyung and JK are there. Jimin and Tae are seeing a movie and Hope left an hour ago,”

Very convenient. I’m in the middle of sending a heated text message to the group chat about leaving me alone with Namjoon after telling me about you kiss last summer. Unfortunately for me, Namjoon is the type to talk about everything. Even if he’s not particularly fond of me, I can sense a discussion on the horizon. At least if the boys were here I’d have a bit of backup. This feels like an ambush with nowhere to run.

He hands me a bottle of water as he pulls one out for himself as well. I take a seat on a stool at the island counter in the middle of the kitchen. Namjoon leans against the refrigerator, his eyes on me as he takes a sip of water. His eyes never leave mine and its pretty hard for me to look anywhere else beside the deep dimples around his mouth that appears as he gulps down water. He uses the back of his hand to wipe his upper lip

I can’t remember the last time I’d been left alone with Joon. It was never awkward between us, but I was definitely closer to any one of the other guys than him. But he was also the only one of the Bangtan boys that I was ever attracted to. He just wasn’t approachable in that way, though He was always doing his own thing, always studying, tutoring, working on music. It wasn’t standoffish, he was just busy. Then it became that he’d rather do anything other than spend any amount of time with me.

The more I think about it, it was last year that we’d started losing patience with each other. As irritating as he is sometimes, I still like him. I really like him. His peach colored hair is starting to grown out just a bit already, darkening at his roots. He’s wearing his glasses, so either he was studying or working on something. Whichever it was, he looks incredibly domesticated in his t-shirt and sweatpants. I look at his feet to see his favorite character on his slippers. Its cute. The hidden parts of Namjoon that he hides away from everyone else but has no problem showing the other boys. I find it endearing.

“So are you going to stay until they get home or what?” He breaks me out of my thoughts of him.

“We’re friends right Joon?” I ask without really meaning to.

I’ve been thinking of our strained relationship all day, not really able to focus on anything else. Because at the end of the day, I want to be friends with Namjoon. If nothing else, we could get back to how things were when they first showed up.

“We used to be able to at least hold a conversation without jumping down each other’s throats,”

“Friends?” He raises an eye brow at me before taking a few steps forward, and leans against the counter, taking me by surprise.

Namjoon doesn’t have an ordinary face. I can’t explain it. He’s rough, hard angled , but he’s also soft. I know if I would reach out he’d feel the same way against my finger tips.

“You do everything you can to piss me off, and you want to be friends?”

I shake my head, unable to take my eyes off of his mouth when he’s this close.

“I want you to remind me about last summer, actually,”

He draws back slightly, looking almost..embarrassed. God, he really does think I’m purposely ignoring the supposed kiss. I thought I was being immature by purposely getting under his skin sometimes, but this is beyond childish. Unless he thinks that I actually regret it. Can’t regret anything you don’t remember Namjoon.

“I don’t remember the kiss, Joon,” I tell him quietly.

He rolls his eyes and draws back further. His chin juts out; a sign that he’s agitated. I’m getting on his nerves again, not in the banter-like way, more that he’s ten seconds away from throwing me outside.

“That’s supposed to be better?” He frowns while crossing his arms over his wide chest. “Because it isn’t, by the way. That was just a rhetorical question,”

Smart ass.

“Which one hurts your feeling more, Namjoon,” I can’t but sound bitter. He’s being mean. He’s always mean, but now it feels like he’s purposely trying to hurt my feelings. I’m done pretending like I don’t care how we treat each other.

“The option that you think it matters to me either way,” he snaps at me. His eyes narrow at the counter between us.

“You’re lying,” I counter.

“Why, because I don’t care that you were too drunk to remember that you kissed me? It’s irrelevant,” He looks back up at me and his eyes are dark. I like it. I like it entirely too much.

“And you’re so sure that I kissed you first?” I scoff, walking around the counter to stand in front of him. I can feel heat rolling off of his body like he’s putting in extra effort to control himself. If only he knew that its the very opposite of what I want him to do.

“Yes, because I wasn’t blacked out,”

“I’m going to do it again then,” I take a step so that my toes line up with his slippers.

“What-,”

I press my lips against his softly, forcing myself to take in every detail about how his mouth feels against mine. His lips are cold from the water he’d been drinking, his tongue is too. He taste sweet. Honey. All of him reminds me of Honey. Sweet, slow moving, packing more flavor than first expected. His hands move up my hips, drawing up the fabric of my dress. When his hand touches my thigh, it electricity right to my most sensitive nerve endings.

I want him. All of him. I’m sober and tired of pretending that our back and forth exchanges are enough. I press my body tighter against his, shaping every curve to his body. I expected him to push me away by now, but he holds me closer, hands moving all over me. At some points he seems hesitant, he pulls back, his eyes moving over my face as if he’s checking that I’m still here with him.

I’m here, and as good as he feels, his mouth isn’t enough. I don’t think it ever was. I’ve envisioned Joon’s body against mine more times than I can count. It’s the little doses of his skin that he’d show on occasions that started it. Glimpses of the tan skin of his neck as he scratched at his collarbone in glass, the pull of his lip between his teeth when he was thinking hard about something, his large hands and long fingers; they were all puzzle pieces of a whole that made me want every part of him touching me.

“Touch me,” I whisper against his mouth.

He lets me drag his hand up the side of his thigh. He takes the hint, fingers inching up my dress until he traces the waistband of my underwear. He’s so close, all he has to do is go a bit further, but he stops.

“They guys could walk in,” he says, pulling away fully.

Now that I have him this close, I’m not going to make it easy for him to let me go. I’m here for one thing. Namjoon.

“Well then lets go to your room,” I grab his hand and lead him out of the kitchen and toward the hallway that leads to the room he shares with Taehyung.

“Why so suddenly?” He tugs at my hand, stopping me from entering his room.

“Huh,” I look back at him.

I don’t really know how to answer his question. The only difference between today and yesterday is knowing that our first kiss happened already. Still, that hadn’t really made much of a difference. I’m emboldened by the sheer fact that he wants me at all.

“All this time and now you want to fuck,”

“Does it matter?” I shrug, hoping that for once he can just let it go.

He does. He nods for me to push the door, letting us both into his room. As expected of Tae, it’s a mess. Unexpected of Namjoon, his side is also a mess too. Wires and equipment take up most of his desk, piles of clothing on the computer chair in front. For someone so uptight in every other aspect, his room is the complete opposite. Not to say that I’m attracted to unkempt men, but it’s a little reassuring for some reason.

He pushes my back against his wooden door interrupting my scan of his room. His mouth trailing down from the corner of my mouth down to my neck. As if he can’t stand to be away from my lips for long, he kisses my mouth again, his tongue forcing its way between my lips. His large hands smooth over my bare thighs roughly. He touches me like he’s annoyed with himself, like he’s mad that he wants me in this way. I love it because I’ve known all this time.

One hand reaches up to lightly cup my throat, his hand is so big that his thumb can reach the hair that sticks to my lip gloss. He brushes it away with his finger as he looks down at me. He looks partially surprised that we’ve ended up like this. I want to remind him that that theres a thin line between fucking and fighting, but he’d only scoff and tell me to stop stealing corny lines from Jin.

“Are you going to keep touching me or is this it?” I ask him, trying my best to drag a breath into my lungs.

He rolls his eyes and presses his lips against mine to shut me up. I close my eyes, trying to commit the feel of his lips to memory. Things like this are volatile. There’s no way of knowing just how much Joon will give me tonight let alone if I’ll ever get to have him touch like this again. His bottom lip works with his teeth to bite at my sore mouth. He feels dirty, and uneven, like he’s not even trying to make this neat like everything else in his life. Just like his room, his intimacy style reveals who he truly is. The truth beneath Namjoon, he’s a mess, he’s sort of a freak, and he’s making everything up as he goes. There’s a certain charm to how well he’s gotten at getting everyone to believe that he knows exactly whats going on, when in reality he’s just as clueless as the rest of us.

“And If I tell you that I want you to leave?” He breathes heavily, only leaving the smallest space between our lips.

“You’d be lying,” I tell him while I reach up to brush his sweaty bangs off of his forehead. “But if you’d asked me to leave, I would go,”

I lean back, putting more space between us. I’ll give him one formal chance to change his mind, one chance to act like this never happened, because once I get permission to stay, he’ll have to try really hard to keep this dress from hitting his floor. I tilt my head as I size him up one last time. There’s still a possibility that he’d put an end to this. I’m measuring my odds. Going by the press of his dick between my legs from beneath his sweat pants, I know that physically he wants me. That could only go so far. I don’t think I’ll survive a come to senses moment in the middle of all of this.

“Joon,” I call running my hand down the front of his t-shirt. “Make up your mind. Either put me out or take my clothes off,”

He looks frustrated. I can tell its mostly at himself. That doesn’t make me feel any better. I want to be in his bed, only if he wants me in his bed. Of course it would be easy to settle for a one time hate fuck, but he doesn’t hate me. At least, I don’t think he does. I’m really hoping he doesn’t.

He grips my fingers right as they curl around his waistband. He takes a full step back, causing my feet to land fully on the floor. I don’t like this at all. I want to go back to having his mouth on me. I watch as he takes a seat on the edge of his bed. His hands scrub over the top of his scalp, running through the peach colored locks. Am I stressing him out? Am I having an effect? I hope to god I am. For the sake of my insistent need to have him, I hope that how much he wants me is driving him crazy.

He leans back on his elbows and I see the switch. His eyes trace over my body. I can almost feel them seeking out bare skin above anything else. His gaze is so potent that I feel goosebumps rise to my skin only from him watching me.

“Take your panties off, Y/N,”

His voice has become even deeper. It seems almost impossible but he sounds gruff, the arrogance from earlier is gone leaving me with only a matched need to have him inside me sooner rather than later.

As always, I don’t do as he says. I like our games. I like when he looks at me like I’ve hit every nerve possible. I like the attention. Only this time there’s no classroom. There’s no professor to break up the tension, no students to make snide remarks about how we’re destined to butt heads. It’s just Namjoon and I this time, and the feel of his shag carpet between my toes as I make my way over toward him. He’d told me to take my underwear off, but I do the opposite when I stop in front of him. I grab the edge of my dress in my hands before pulling it up over my head. I watch his eyes follow the material as it drops to his floor.

“If you go back now, you’ll never live it down, Joon,” I straddle his lap, planting my knees on either side of him on the mattress. “No matter how much you beat me in the class room, if you don’t fuck me tonight, I win,”

He reaches up with two hands to cup my jaw. When he kisses me this time, it’s almost too soft to believe. He’s too gentle, too immersive. As much as I want this, I wanted to keep my head, but right now everything feels a little incoherent. Nothing makes sense. The fact that I’m even here with him doesn’t make sense. But its Namjoon, and I’ve spent the better part of the last two and a half years wondering if his lips taste as good as they look. I’m finding that they don’t; they’re better.

His hands go to the back of my bra, undoing the latches before dropping it down to the floor with my dress. He pulls back, looking at my chest like he’s mesmerized. I didn’t realize just how much I’d wanted his eyes on me like this. The high I got from sparring with him in class is nothing compared to the way his eyes smooth over my chest, his tongue flicks over his bottom lip so quickly that if I hadn’t been staring at his mouth, I would have missed it.

I don’t know what it is about having his unwavering attention, to have him one hundred percent focused on me. Something about his gaze on me makes me want to make sure it doesn’t stray. I guess this is my chance to cement his eyes on me. If tonight is all I get, then its my mission to make it so memorable that he’d have to actively work to forget me.

I move first, leaving the warmth of his lap and crawling behind him into the middle of his mattress. I kneel behind him, running my hands across his broad shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. I get to do this. For so long, I’ve imagined it. I’d spent hours in class wondering what it would like to touch him like this, and to have him touch me. His honey colored skin rises in goosebumps as I kiss him, moving pass the collar of his shirt.

“I’m going to take your clothes off now,” I say quietly.

He nods and lets me pull his t-shirt off. His shoulders are so broad, its hard to resist running my hands across his shoulder blades. My fingers trace over the beauty spots that dot along his collar bones. I want more time. I want to see all of him, to explain every inch of his tan skin. But I’m also a little impatient.

I reach in front of him, slipping my hand passed the waistband of his sweats. He’s not wearing underwear, that much was clear from the minute he answered the door. Now, feeling him, running my hand over his silky soft skin. It’s a sin. For him to be so…perfect. It isn’t fair to me or anyone else he has gotten to feel him.

“Is this ok?” I ask him.

“You’re asking for permission to touch my dick while you’re touching my dick?” He says like he still finds me incredibly exasperating. “You wouldn’t be in my bed if it wasn’t ok, Y/N,”

I sigh, rolling my eyes. How can he be annoying even now. Still, it does nothing to the way I need him. Feeling him has only made it worse. I won’t lie, the banter turns me on too. I don’t think it would be the same if Joon was too soft. It wouldn’t be him.

“Stand,” I command.

“Why?”

“Just do what I say for once,” I frown when he looks back at me, still refusing to move. His defiance might kill this before we can even get started. I sit back. With his eyes on me, I pull my simple cotton underwear and throw it with the rest of my clothing. I cock my eyebrow as he watches my movements, seemingly shocked.

“I’ll be here whenever you’re ready, Namjoon,”

“Where’s the thing?” He gestures awkwardly with his hands.

God, he’s so weird. Still, I can’t help but think he’s perfect. His passive aggressive jabs and awkwardness may be his only flaws but I don’t think I’d want him any other way. I hand him the condom that I threw on the bed and wait impatiently. He finally stands and pulls his bottoms off, his hand going down to cover himself as he climbs above me. Even with the coverage of his hand, its not hard to see just how big he is. Its not like I’ve ever doubted, but seeing it up close it definitely more satisfying than I could have ever hoped.

His lips touch mine again, as he opens the foil package and pulls the latex out. He has it on quickly, wasting no time lining himself up with me. His hands smooth over my thighs and pulls them around his hips as he pushes forward. My hands squeeze at his hands, trying to get a grip on something. He hasn’t moved yet and already I’m a bit delirious. Maybe it’s because I can’t remember the last time a person looked at me like they wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but right with me. Maybe it’s because I’m gathering that Kim Namjoon is really, totally, completely my type.

“Why can’t I stop kissing you?” He frowns to himself before kissing me for the hundredth time tonight.

“You like me,” I manage to tease while still getting used to how good he feels. I don’t think I’m ready for him to move yet. He’s already too much, and I refuse to give in the satisfaction of making me come so quick. Not when I’ve waited so long for this.

His hips snap against mine, immediately forcing me to drop my smile as my lips part. He builds a slow steady rhythm. It’s too slow, too languid, like he’s willing to make this last as long as it takes to drive me out of my mind. His kisses become messy, as his own lips part, a low moan of air brushing against my mouth. His hips still move almost painfully sluggish, like a drag.

Like honey.

I throw my head back into his pillow as he reaches between us to touch me softly. He’s too much at one. His large body covers mine completely, his awkwardly long legs tangling with mine. While he holds himself up on his elbow above me, his lips never leave my skin. I’ve never doubted Namjoon to have a side like this, I just thought that it would never be for me to see. Right now kind of feels like a necessity that I do. I need to feel his hips pull at mine. I need to feel his thick lips take mine roughly. I need to have him. Even if I only get tonight, I know that whatever happens later it’ll be worth it.

“You were wrong about Shakespeare,” he says suddenly. His hips snap against mine like he’s punctuating the statement and handing the pulpit over to me.

It’s such a ridiculous statement to make at this exact moment that I have no clue what to say. I’m stuck between forcing him off of me just so I can tell him how wrong he is about Shakespeare as well as let him know how completely absurd it is to bring it up mid-thrust. But, it’s Namjoon. I sort of expect nothing less than ludicrous musings at the least opportune times.

So I take the bait.

“Shakespeare is trite and he isn’t even the best satirical playwright and yet we a society celebrate him as such-, Fuck Joon,” I breath out as the rhythm of his hips pick up slightly.

“Who’s the best satirical playwright in your opinion,” his breathing picks up as we both start to sweat.

Our bodies are slick, moving together smoothly as we both chase after the rising feeling in our stomachs. He’s bringing me higher with each push/pull of his hips all while having a ridiculous conversation about playwrights and satire; which if we’re honest we couldn’t care less about. There’s just no other way to be for us.

I pull away from his lips that move against mine again, missing the taste of his tongue the moment he disappears from my mouth. I try to answer his question but it only comes out in a sigh as he hitches my thigh high on his hip. His fingers press tightly into skin as I close my eyes.

“Are you relenting?” I hear the smug tone in his voice. “Have I finally shut you up?”

I shake my head. Even now, I refuse to give it to him so easily; especially when I know it’s exactly what he wants. “No, I’m just in awe you’re finally asking for my opinion on something,”

“So, who then?”

“You’re incorrigible,”

“You’re deflecting,” he tells me.

“Moliere,” I say. “Moliere is the greatest satirical playwright of all time. Shakespeare wishes he could touch Tartuffe with anything he ever wrote,”

“There would be no Moliere without Shakespeare,” Namjoon counters. “And besides Shakespeare is a dramatist, satire was a hobby and even then Moliere barely measures up,”

He’s sort of right, but as always I’m not going to admit it. I counter attack by tightening around him. Moving his heavy hand aside, I take over touching myself as he continues to move against me. As expected, I’m quicker to bring myself over the edge than he is. He pauses as I come around him, unable to handle both sensations at once.

He curses lowly but its an illegible mix of English and Korean that I can’t begin to piece together. His face presses into my neck, as he presses his hips against mine and withdraws quickly. His rhythm is a little stuttered as he chases after his own orgasm. The competitor in me wants to win. There’s no definition of winning and losing during sex, but with Joon and I, everything is a game. Especially this. I use all my weight to roll us to the side, straddling his hips before he can protest. His large hands hover above my hips, not quite touching my skin. His plump lips form an ‘O’ as I lower myself back on him.

“Was this necessary-,” he moans louder than either of us expects, sighing as I rock my hips above him.

You’re so easy, Namjoon.

I press my chest against his, taking a turn to kiss him dumb like he’d done me for the last hour. Two hands move up my back and tangle in the hair at the nape of my neck. He pulls roughly as my hips start to pick up the pace, set on making him come for me. It’s all I really want.

“Y/n,” he breathes quietly.

I pull back, moving his hands back to my hips, urging him to use my body to make him feel good. I watch as his eyes close and his head presses deep into his pillow. His lips part slightly as and he holds me tight. He’s so close. I want to kiss him again but he looks too good. I can tell when he’s about to come as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down hard enough that his pink skin turns white.

“Let go, Joon,”

For once, he listens. His hips meet mine as he comes finally, his breaths coming out fast like he’s trying to refill his lungs. Unable to resist anymore, I lean forward and press my lips against his. He kisses me back roughly, wrapping his arms around my back to hold my body against his. I roll off of him, tired as well. As nice as it would be to spend the rest of the night in his bed, I can’t.

As if I wish them into existence, I hear the front door open and the sound of rowdy boys. I freeze, instinctually pulling the sheet off the floor and over my chest. Namjoon doesn’t seem worried. Slowly he moves my hair out of my face and kisses my temple before sitting up and swinging his legs out of bed.

“I’ll keep them distracted. Come out when you’re ready,”

I nod as he disposes of the used condom in the bathroom. When he comes back, he pulls the sweats up over his hips again before leaving me alone in his bed with too many questions. Is he going to tell them? Should we? I don’t have much time to think. I’m not sure exactly how many boys are back but I rather none of them find me in Joon’s bed; naked.

I run my fingers over my lips as I gather my clothing off the floor. He’s still on my mouth, I can feel him. I can’t get the taste of him out of my head. I can’t get any of him out of my head. I should’ve thought this through. I’m addicted now. I need more of him; more slow kisses, more of his hips dragging against mine. More honey.

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