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scuttling · 3 years

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In Those Jeans

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 2,599 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Blow jobs, Thigh riding, Car sex, Unprotected sex, Semi-public sex Summary: After almost two years of dating, you and Aaron still can't keep your eyes—or hands—off of each other, even at a company picnic; but who could blame you, when he looks like that? *Inspired by this gifset I think we all reblogged last night. I'm feral for Hotch in jeans. 🤤 Link to AO3 or read below! As Aaron’s girlfriend of almost two years, there have been countless times when you’ve gotten to see the rarer sides of his personality, things he doesn’t show at work, or at least not often.

You’ve seen his silly side with Jack when he builds pillow forts, plays tag in the backyard, makes messes in the kitchen. You’ve seen his sweet side when he gives you a back rub just because, makes your favorite dinner when you’ve had a stressful week, when he’s there to talk or just cuddle after appointments with your therapist, which he knows can bring your mood down a little.

You’ve seen him tender, romantic, playful, emotional, loving and caring and capable, but nothing compares to the hidden knowledge you have of one aspect of his personality: your man is horny as hell, and also kind of a freak.

At work, of course, he is the epitome of stoic, expressionless, buttoned-up suit, but a little flash of panty, or a sultry look, or even a well-timed innuendo is enough to have you knees up in the backseat of a government-owned SUV before the rest of your team even leaves the parking garage.

You silently thank god for tinted windows; you not-so-silently thank god for Aaron.

It’s amazing, because you are the same way, half turned-on at any given time of the day, catapulted to full on horny mess depending on the look on his face, the outfit he’s wearing, whether or not he calls you by your last name—before you were dating, you longed to hear him say your first name, but now it’s the impersonal bark of your surname that really gets you going.

Because you share the same predisposition for being down to fuck most of the time, all it takes is a raised eyebrow or a sway of the hips to signal you’re in the mood for something to happen, and if it’s physically feasible and won’t get you arrested, you usually follow through.

It’s how you end up getting absolutely wrecked in the back of the SUV at an FBI family picnic event—you don’t feel great about it, but it is what it is, and it all started with a pair of jeans. Aaron is hot. There’s no doubt about it, and it’s not up for debate. He doesn’t see it, but that just makes him hotter; if other people don’t see it, that just makes them stupid. You see it, though, everyday, in the smallest of ways, can’t stop seeing it. When he gets ready for the picnic, throws on a soft, worn t-shirt and a pair of jeans that fit him so well it’s almost criminal, you make a noise in the back of your throat, and Aaron grins.

“What’s happening over there?” he asks as you sit on the edge of the bed, hooking the strap of your sandal over your heel. You exhale, scowl.

“I think you know very well what’s happening.” He chooses a belt from the back of the door, slides it through the loops on the jeans, and your mouth waters. “Fuck, Aaron.”

“No time for that,” he says, looking up at you through his stupidly dark eyelashes, and he clasps the buckle, smooths his hands down his thighs. You’re going to be soaked before you even leave the house.

“I beg to differ.” You stand from the bed, twirl a little in a blue sundress you know Aaron won’t be able to resist for long. Two can play at this game: if he wants to watch you slowly lose your composure in public, you’re sure as hell not going to make it easy.

“Ugh. Love those little dresses,” he murmurs, stepping toward you, but you shake your head and wag a finger at him.

“Nope, no time for that,” you say, but you giggle when he narrows his eyes and stalks closer anyway.

He tackles you, tosses you back on the bed, kisses your mouth and neck, then whispers dirty things into your ear and rubs you through your panties until you come so loud it could wake the dead. You undo that stupid belt, tug his jeans down just enough to free his cock, toss your hair over your shoulder, and blow him like you’re being graded on it—if that were the case, you’d be getting extra credit for technique, no doubt about it.

You leave a little later than intended, and you know you just made a huge mistake, because getting him out of those jeans again is going to be all you can think about for the rest of the day; you’re not certain what’s going through his head, but you know for a fact he’s thinking pretty much the same thing.

Even though you’re both bummed that it’s Jack’s weekend with Haley and he's missing the picnic, you have to admit it’s kind of good timing, because you don’t let yourself get distracted when he is with you, but Aaron is looking so damn distracting today. You sit at a picnic table with JJ and Garcia, drinking iced tea and watching Will and Aaron play catch with Henry and a couple other kids. You’d say this is just a tactic, because seeing Aaron interact with kids always gives you baby (and babymaking) fever, but you know deep down he just loves children, and that makes your heart warm more than anything.

When he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face? Now that’s a tactic, and a damn good one. You can’t hold back your whimper, and your friends take one look at you and share an amused glance.

“It’s a family picnic,” JJ says, scolding and teasing all at once. “Keep it in your pants.”

“It’s his pants you need to be worried about,” you mutter, and you fan yourself with your hand to try to bring yourself down a notch. That, of course, does not work, so you sigh, stand from the table, pour a cup of lemonade, and give them a wink before walking over to Aaron’s side. You get his attention with an innocent look, hand over the lemonade with a sweet smile.

“You look hot. And thirsty,” you tell him, and he smiles, tips his head back, and drinks it all in one gulp. You watch him swallow, squeeze your thighs together.

“So do you,” he says with a hint of a smirk, handing back the cup, and he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Thanks for the lemonade; now let me watch you walk away.” You pull back, lick your lips slowly and turn around, throwing him a look over your shoulder as you make your way back to the picnic table. Emily and Derek are there now too, and Emily laughs when you take your seat.

“Two years in and you still look at each other like that? Please tell me your secret,” she says with a grin, taking a sip of her iced tea.

“Tons of quality orgasms,” you answer with a fond sigh, tucking your chin in the palm of your hand and watching Aaron cross the lot. There’s something so powerful about his stride that it makes you horny just to watch him walk; your downstairs brain is so stupid. “He also makes really good jalapeno mac and cheese.” The answer to your question, when am I going to get fucked by my gorgeous boyfriend?, will be answered shortly, you’re fairly certain; you have a good feeling, because you’re talking to an agent that works on the floor above yours, and the strap of your dress has fallen down your shoulder, and he keeps glancing at it. You’d fix it, but that would only draw more attention to it, and you can already feel Aaron looking at you.

He doesn’t get jealous often, but get him in the right mood and his dumb caveman instincts switch from fight or flight to fight or fuck pretty quickly; when he heads your way with swift, purposeful steps, you’re pretty sure you know which one has been activated today.

“Hey. Time to go,” he says, looking over your face; he turns to nod at the guy you’re talking to, then very slowly hooks his finger in the strap of your dress and slides it back into place, making eye contact with you while he does it. You don’t know why that makes you so goddamn hot, but your breathing picks up and you bite your lip, take his hand when he offers it.

You don’t say goodbye to anyone, just follow him quickly to the car and climb into the backseat when he opens the door. The second he closes it behind him, his mouth is on yours, and you fist your fingers in his t-shirt, hitch a leg over his hip, and pull him closer.

“I want you, I need you,” you breathe into the kiss, and he slides one hand around your back, uses the other to push up your dress and grab a palmful of your ass.

“I know, baby. God, I want you. You look fucking perfect in that dress; I want to tear it off.” It’s sort of expensive, and pretty, but fuck, you’re going to let him. He shifts so his back is against the seat, pulls you into his lap, and you moan when he presses you right on top of his cock, hard and bulging against the seam of his jeans. “Feel what you do to me, when you’re looking like a goddamn angel and other men can’t take their eyes off of you?” You tug on his hair, kiss him roughly, move your hands to his belt, but he stops you with gentle fingers. “First I want you to ride my thigh. You’ve been staring at them all day; do you want to?”

“Fuck, absolutely,” you whine, and he puts his hands on your hips, shifts you so your knees are on either side of his perfect, firm, denim clad thigh and encourages you to grind against it. You don’t need much encouragement, but he eases down one of the straps of your dress and maneuvers it so that he can bare your breast, get his lips around your nipple while you work to get yourself off. “Oh, god yeah.”

You plant your hands on his shoulders, dig your nails in through the soft fabric, and slide against him like a needy, horny teenager. You’re wet, and he’s undoubtedly going to be wet too by the time you’re done with him, leg soaked with your come—god, that’s a hot prospect. Both of you are panting, not from exertion but arousal, and you move a hand to the back of his head, grip his hair in your fingers while he sucks and softly bites your nipple. When he pulls back, his lips are wet, and you capture them in a kiss.

“Yeah, you’re doing so good, keep going. Keep humping, baby, come on me.” He gets a hand in your hair, kisses your neck, and you cling to him for dear life, broad back and shoulders beneath your hands as you work your hips desperately in pursuit of your orgasm. “So fucking perfect, come on me,” he mutters against your throat, and you hug him close, absolutely lose it as your climax makes your body tense from shoulders to toes.

You moan in his ear like an absolute slut—if you are one, he’s made you that way, so it’s only fair—and he kisses your mouth, deep, rough, wet kisses that ensure your desire does not dip in the slightest. You feel dirty and incredible, but no more relieved or satisfied than you were ten minutes ago.

A little bit of Aaron is never enough; no amount of Aaron is ever enough.

He makes sure you can hold yourself up and then takes his hands off of you, opens his belt and his pants and pushes them down his thighs far enough that you’ll be comfortable. You slide off of his leg to slip your panties off—they’re useless at this point anyway—and he gets his hands on your hips and puts you in his lap, holds you up so you can line his cock up with your entrance and let him press inside.

“Mmh, fuck, Aaron,” you gasp, and with the way he looks at you, eyes dark and serious and possessive, you know this will be quick for the both of you. You wrap one hand around his bicep, press back against his knee with the other; he slides his hands up to your waist, dragging the skirt of your dress up with him so he can watch himself disappear inside you, which is ten different kinds of sexy.

“Thinking about this all day—burying my cock inside your sweet, tight pussy, coming deep inside you. Do you like it, getting fucked here because I want you so bad I can’t stand to wait?” Even though you know you shouldn’t, you do, and you nod, moan yes when he fucks up inside you, strong thighs flexing. “Me too, love it, love you.”

“Love you,” you murmur while you bounce in his lap, eyes on his, tongue slipping over your lips while you snap your hips against his thrusts. “Gonna milk your cock, take every last drop; greedy for it.” Aaron groans, tightens his hands on your waist, and you clench around him when he comes, riding him fast and thorough; you follow quickly, leaning forward to rest your head against his shoulder while you shudder through the pleasure.

His hands are gentle after, smoothing up your back, around your neck, and he pulls you closer for a soft, sweet, passionate kiss. When it breaks, you smile against each other's lips.

“Tease,” you whisper, smoothing your hands over his throat, his jaw. “New unwritten rule: if you wear those jeans in public, I get as much sex as I want for the rest of the night.” He chuckles, but ultimately nods.

“Deal. New unwritten rule: when we’re out in public and someone is looking at you like that guy was looking at you, I have permission to throw you over my shoulder and take you home and remind you why it is that you belong with me.” You pull him close for a hard kiss and grin.

“Deal, caveman. So what do you want to do now?” He wrinkles his nose in contemplation, straightens up the top half of your dress.

“I think I want to go home and tear this off of you as previously mentioned,” he says; you bite your lip and nod. “What do you want to do?”

That’s a loaded question, but at the moment, only one thing really comes to mind.

“Fuck me wearing these clothes again; I don’t care where or how, you can surprise me.”

Aaron is, unsurprisingly, on board with that plan; you slip off of him, smooth out your dress, and he pulls his pants up—they are still very wet from your first orgasm, and you rub the spot with the edge of your dress to no avail.

“Don’t get pulled over, Agent,” you joke, because that would be both very hard and very easy to explain, and he groans like you’ve just done something very sexy.

“Love it when you call me Agent,” he says, pulling you in for a kiss, and you plan some super hot roleplay for later and hop out of the car so you can climb into the front seat like the fully-functioning, non-horny adult that you are.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader

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agentmika · 3 years

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MIKA!Cas - a Spotify playlist by Cherryredbomb

There should’ve been an Agent Mika, but also if there had been an Agent Mika, I think I would’ve lost my mind. A Cas-inspired ALL MIKA playlist that loosely follows his character arc in the series. (x)

Shout-out to Tumblr user @autisticandroids whose post about Good Wife - MIKA x the Cas watching Dean rake leaves scene sent me down this path. Their takes on Cas also feature into another song choice on this list

Disclaimer: While I’ve watched spn since 2014 and started watching live mid-s9, I only seen the show completely through once and went off of memory and my particularly enriched Tumblr enclosure to consider connections to Cas’s character arc.

It’s all MIKA (some w/ features tho), but song names will be bolded, my thoughts and season or scene connections next to them, and on occasion, screencaps or lyrics added for emphasis. Parts with a * next to them are my personal favorites.

Rain -> early seasons Cas. falling Cas. give this poor angel a break.

Talk About You -> Cas being ANNOYING AS HELL to all other angels in the garrison because he has a crush on Dean.

One Foot Boy* -> "I serve God, I don't serve Man, and I certainly don't serve you" Vibes + s8 lobotomies era + doubt still, always doubt still

Promiseland* (edit and addition brought to you by the genius of @hocuspocushogeschool) -> this song is SOOOOO Cas. It is the strong righteous soldier Cas 😤 again becoming disillusioned with heaven, god, and his purpose. It makes me think of s4-s6 Cas, but I think whatever part of Cas is represented in this song is something core to his character that lasts till the end. So get this:

Last Party* -> Endverse!Cas ESPECIALLY but also a little bit Cas in all apocalypse scenarios. "I'll go with you" on Dean's suicide mission vibes. “I’ll be there with you at the end”(paraphrased) Cas with Mark of Cain Dean vibes. "You weren't invited and don't want to stay, but keep partying anyway" -> CAS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THERE. CRACK IN HIS CHASSIS. WRENCH IN THE WORKS. EVERY TIME.

No Place in Heaven -> Conversations with Anna and Dean about his doubt. The fight with Uriel in 4x16. 6x20 bench monologuing. That scene where he looks up like >:[ I believed in you! Generally early seasons Cas before Chuck is revealed in all his shittiness.

I See You -> Still Beautiful Still Dean Winchester. Think of s6 invisiCas. Think of Cas rescuing Dean from Hell, rebuilding him. Then getting to know him, and beginning to doubt, beginning to fall.

Rio** -> Upbeat but reminds me of how Cas is ALWAYS going through it damn. Anyway this song has everything for your Cas projection needs. I thought it would just be funny at first b/c I was thinking of the fact that Hunter Corp Sam & Dean canonically fucked off to Brazil but !!!!! Consider s6 Cas and how they tried to make him a villain. Also, the Casifer arc.

Good Wife***-> the song that started it all. upbeat but my GOD, the YEARNING. Basically s6, 6x20, and just CAS. This song honestly speaks for itself and THEY NEVER DID GET TO KNOW THE GOOD LIFE DID THEY ;-; Also ALSO these lyrics??? but especially yellow highlight:

ONCE MORE CAS’S LOVE = UNPLANNED WRENCH IN THE WORKS. GAY LOVE PIERCES THE VEIL AND SAVES THE DAY (and gives me brain worms). FUCK U CHUCK.

Meme credit @autisticandroids. Gifset w/ lyrics that made me see shrimp colors earlier tonight can be found here (x) courtesy of @bikingdean

Staring at the Sun -> ohoHOHOHo. Cas pov loving Dean. Sacrificial. Unconditional. Irreversible. If you want a particular spn timeline to think, consider AWOL Demon Dean arc, Dean Michael Possession arc, or general early spn when Cas was often away from the Winchesters but found himself thinking of Dean A LOT but maybe didn't realize it was Love Yet. Dean is the sun.

Touches You *-> credit to @autisticandroids for their post about Cas being like hmm, I want Sam's Codependency with Dean but For Me

I mean:

Heroes -> s7 white scrubs cas. Having taken on Sam's Lucifer Burden. And then purgaytory.

Origin of Love -> Godstiel. S7 deancas. "We're making it up as we go." General deancas, cas pov. Also I love everyone because I love you vibes.

Stuck in the Middle -> Heaven or Earth. Angel or Human. I mean, c'mon. Could specifically consider s8 Cas wondering about Heaven beyond Naomi's control, but, ultimately, it is about Cas choosing the Winchesters and specifically Dean (imo). Also, these lyrics = Cas @ Dean:

Ordinary Man** -> CAS LOSING HIS GRACE ARC PLUS VICTORIAN CONSUMPTION PINING AFTER DEMON DEAN WHO’S AWOL (s10-ish)

Hurts** -> MIKA X HUMAN CAS GETTING KICKED OUT OF THE BUNKER AND LIVING ON THE STREETS. PAIN. JAIL FOR DEAN FOR ONE THOUSAND YEARS FOR THIS SCENE!!! JAIL!! Like Cas is HUMAN. Cas is overwhelmed with feelings and new sensations and one of the first ones he gets to experience in-depth is HEARTBREAK. THANKS DEAN. FUCK U GADREEL.

Stardust -> a little bit of 15x18 confession came to mind, but general deancas longing I feel

Make You Happy* -> "Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters (aka Dean Winchester)" and “shattered at the alter of Winchester” vibes. Verse one but especially, "But if this is love then watch me die on you" and I VIVIDLY pictured the s12 finale cas death and the Dean staring at his pyre scene.

I Went to Hell Last Night -> Cas during Dean Michael Possession Arc + God!Jack vibes. Also consider their very first meeting of course.

Ready to Call This Love* -> late stage hunter husbands deancas. This is a beautiful duet and if you look at the lyrics on genius, I particularly interpreted it as the italics being Cas and the plain text being Dean.

Relax, Take it Easy -> Cas taking the deal with the empty and actually reflecting on what he's done maybe. Could also connect with Casifer deal and any of his own poor decisions. Could also be post-confession in the empty.

Any Other World -> s14 finale/s15 beginning. Jack was just killed by Chuck. Chuck is the enemy. Things seem hopeless and irreversibly changed. Shit.

Me, Myself -> This is also break-up-esque, but could also be heard as depressed Cas in the Empty post-confession, thinking Dean doesn’t reciprocate and feeling hopeless. It has Spanish and made me think deancas Spanish dub, but it’s really more like trying to move on vibes. Has a line in Spanish about broken wings

Tah Dah -> s15 break-up when Cas tries to move on

Step With Me* -> deancas post confession when Dean tells Cas he loves him and they live in domestic bliss (fuck u cw this is MY canon)

BONUS:

By the Time -> In the MIKA!Cas universe, Dean POV on that scene where Cas stole the colt from UNDER DEAN'S PILLOW

It’s My House -> Kinda just enjoyed this one as a fun bop. Pictured it through the Mika!Cas universe lens of being deancas happy ending with a Roadhouse-esque place. Also it might’ve just been on my mind but I was also very much thinking Fuck John Winchester when I listened to this. When the lyrics are like “cause my house is your house,” it’s like NOT you @ him.

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

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DEBRIS AND MISERY

CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other. A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.

Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.

Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.

Those were the words of his mother.

Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.

It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.

Time works differently at the TVA.

“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”

There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.

“Uh, yeah...Here.”

“Thanks.”

Probably an infinity stone.

The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.

Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.

Pathetic. But amusing.

The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.

There’s just...so much to think about.

And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.

Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.

Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.

He hadn’t seen that before.

The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.

Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.

The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.

You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.

He also wonders what your name is.

The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.

He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.

He clears his throat once more.

Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.

Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.

Oh. Oh. You—

Hm.

He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.

“I know you can hear me.”

His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.

Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.

A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.

Or so he thinks.

“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”

You don’t say anything, only blink in response.

Tough crowd.

Loki shifts in his seat.

“...What is your name?”

He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.

You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.

Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.

Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.

Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.

Then, you finally give him an answer.

“Agent.”

And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.

Agent.

Loki scoffs silently to himself.

Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.

He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.

Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.

Curious minds think alike.

You needed a change of scenery.

With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.

Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.

The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.

Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.

Dream away the pain, then.

Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.

Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.

You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.

You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.

Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.

Crap.

“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”

You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.

There’s still time to leave.

Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.

“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”

Well, too late.

With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.

You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.

This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.

Time to start fresh.

You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.

He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.

Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.

Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.

With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.

The air is tense. However, still breathable.

Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.

Classic Loki.

You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.

You snore when you sleep.

Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.

Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.

0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.

You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.

Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.

You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.

You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.

The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.

He prods you again.

You still don’t move.

Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.

Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.

His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.

When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.

Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?

The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'

Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.

There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.

Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.

He’s staring. Right. Back to work.

Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.

Then, he sees it.

‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.

His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.

He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.

He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.

You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.

He longs for home. He longs for family.

For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.

Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”

Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.

You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.

Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.

He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.

But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.

Curious minds think alike. Mostly.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki series #sylvie #mobius x reader

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jackyjango · 4 years

Text

Perfection!

Cherik Week- Day 7: Free

Written for this glorious gifset! :D

I wanted to end this with a happy (and crack) fic, because they deserve to be happy ever after!

---------

If Erik were a poet, he would have written elaborate odes to Charles’ plush arse. Lines and lines of flowing poetry dedicated to the softness of the skin and the firmness of the flesh- the way the tender skin dimples sweetly under Erik’s possessive fingers. If Erik were an artist, he’d fill canvases with the round contours of Charles’ --glorious, might he add-- half globes and his thick, meaty thighs. He’d capture the rosy tint that rises to the skin under the press of Erik’s palm with masterful brush strokes and immortalise the constellation of freckles that dot his skin beautifully. If Erik were so spiritually inclined, he’d build an altar to the sweet flesh, kneel in front of it and apply his tongue to worship. But Erik, fortunately or unfortunately, is none of those things, so all he can do now is simply ogle the marvelous in front of him- Charles’ round ass and thick thighs, and the way it fills his jeans. The fact that it wiggles in the air now and then from where Charles is bent over to search something behind the mantle is only spurring on his endeavour. So he stares some more, mouth agape and throat dry, and marvels to himself, ‘Perfection!’

‘What was that?’ Charles asks, turning sideways towards Erik.

Erik doesn’t find the need or mood to answer that question, so he goes back to ogling his boyfriend’s arse.

Charles turns to him after a minute or two of searching. He’s panting, hair beautifully tousled, cheeks deeply coloured and eyes twinkling bright in the golden candlelight. For a moment Erik’s breath catches. Now, Erik’s not a poet, but if were-

‘I couldn’t find any more candles,’ Charles says, cutting Erik’s musings short. ‘What about the generator, were you able to fix it?’

‘No,’ Erik shrugs. ‘The battery inside the generator has corroded and the plastic coating has melted into the canisters. It’ll take me at least a day to repair it.’

‘Okay.’ Charles drawls, no doubt weighing in their options. ‘How far is the nearest town? Maybe we could get some help.’

Erik had already considered that option. The nearest town is a three-hour trek downhill. A three-hour trek which is a waste of time and energy. Time and energy which can be spent in more… productive endeavours.

Charles overhears that thought. ‘What are our other options here, Erik?’ He asks, sighing heavily, ‘The wires are out, so is the generator, and we can’t even get help.’ He looks around the small space of the cabin that is lighted in patches by the three candles they were able to unearth earlier. The candles will last them till daybreak at best. ‘Did you have a plan for the evening?’ Charles asks hesitantly.

‘Plan?’

‘Yes,’ Charles says slowly now, his eyes widening with every word. ‘I thought this was meant to be a surprise for me, so I didn’t pry earlier. But I thought you had a plan for the evening.’

Why would Erik have a plan for the evening when the whole point was to have no plans at all?

The last three weeks had been extremely difficult for all of them, between the mid-terms and the festivities and the birthday celebrations, both of them had been extremely busy-- Charles with teaching and grading, and Erik, well, with… everything else. Erik hadn’t been able to hold a proper conversation with Charles without one of the brats dragging Charles away. Erik hadn’t been able to take a quiet smoke break without one of the younger ones pulling on his trouser legs. It had been tolerable in the beginning, adorable even, but it had begun to lose its charm sometime during the second week. And Erik was sure to go ballistic by the end of the third. All he wanted was to get away for a day or two from the brats, have a quiet night away from the kids and the mayhem of the mansion. He’d all but kissed Raven when she’d mentioned a cabin upstate that could be rented this time of the year. Of course, he’d expected the said cabin to have a working electrical system and dry logs resting in the fireplace, but that isn’t a huge setback as far as Erik is considered. He’s lived worse.

Of course Charles overhears that thought. His jaw drops and his eyes go wide as saucers. ‘You made me trek three hours and brought me here just so you could get away from the kids?’

Erik doesn’t see what’s wrong with that.

Charles is all but glaring him down now, his sharp, blue eyes throwing daggers at Erik. Erik should be intimidated by the look, but Charles’ overall appearance doesn’t support him all that much. He’s panting lightly with pinked cheeks and hair sticking out in places. If anything, he looks extremely adorable. Now, Erik’s not an artist, but if he were-

‘I thought you brought me here to celebrate our anniversary,’ Charles says finally, glaring intensified.

‘Anniversary?’ Erik asks dumbly. ‘What anniversary?’

Apparently, it’s the wrong thing to ask, because Charles is practically seething now. ‘Our third year anniversary. Since when we began dating.’

‘Oh, has it been three years already?’ Erik asks, and it only serves in adding fuel to the fire.

In Erik’s defense, though, the period between the time they met, and they settled into a relationship is all very hazy. Erik doesn’t know exactly when he’d been charmed by Charles to call him his friend, he doesn’t know exactly when Charles had wormed his way into Erik’s heart, he doesn’t know exactly when the school they’d started with a few students began to feel like family, and he doesn’t know exactly when he’d begun falling in love with Charles. Though Charles terms them as thus, all those chess matches played every night for months on end and taking private dinners away from the congregation of the students hadn’t felt like ‘dates’ to Erik. Partly because he didn’t know or have experience with dating and partly because he’d had no clue what love felt like before Charles. Besides, he’d no idea whether or how they’d celebrated the first two-year anniversaries.

Of course, Charles overhears his thought, for his anger abates slowly. ‘Oh, what do I do with you, Erik?’ he asks, tone exasperated and fond; like he does when one of his younger students refuses to eat their greens.

‘Marry me.’ Erik shrugs casually. ‘Simple.’

Charles gapes at him like a fish while his mental fingers rummages through Erik’s brain for signs of a joke or a prank. But Erik isn’t joking or pranking. Granted that he was slow to realise that he loved Charles, but there was no doubt in his mind that he’d marry anyone else once he did. He’d end up marrying Charles one way or another. So it doesn’t really matter when or how that happens. Does it?

And of course, Charles hears all of it.

‘We don’t even have a ring,’ Charles says at last, a little lost.

No. Erik doesn’t. He could always fashion a ring out of one of the nails holding the wood planks in place, but Erik doesn’t want to make a ring out of rusted and cheap metal. Charles deserves only the best.

‘No,’ Erik agrees. ‘We don’t. But we do have this.’ He removes the silver chain that permanently resides in the pocket of his trousers and moves towards Charles, cupping the chain and the locket in his palm. Each curve of the locket bears a black and white photo of his father and Mother. Erik falls to one knee in front of Charles and holds out the chain in one hand. If Erik were a poet, he’d write elaborate love poems describing his love and affection for Charles, but he isn’t. So he simply says, ‘I promise to make you tea just the way you like it and give you scalp massages every day for the rest of our lives.’

‘Yes, you idiot. I’ll marry you,’ Charles chokes out and throws himself into Erik’s arms.

Later when they’ve dragged in all the ragged cushions and rugs from all parts of the cabin and made love in a warm nest (and after Erik worships Charles’ and his arse with all the reverence he deserves) surrounded by three grand candles that Erik asks Charles, ‘This is not so bad as anniversaries go, is it?’

‘No, my love’ Charles says, gazing adoringly at the silver locket on his chest and looks up at Erik. ‘It’s perfect!’ he says, kissing Erik sweetly on the lips.

#cherik #cherik fic #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #cherik week- day 7: free #wohooo #I wanted to end this week with a bang #so I wrote a vrack fic for it #he he he #:D #jjcherik

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maggiecheungs · 3 years

Text

2020 ~everything~ wrap

i finally have time to do all of the tag games that people have tagged me in over the past month or so! i cannot for the life of me remember who tagged me in which one, so i’m just putting ~everything~ in one huge post. if i tag you anywhere then consider it a standing invitation to do whichever of these you haven’t done :) in fact, this is me issuing a standing invite to any of my followers who wants to do it :) also, thank you all!

Creator Wrap: Favourite Works

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

this collection of philosophy quotes paired with thai bl series, (and its sequel) which is possibly my favourite thing i’ve ever made. for, uh, nerd reasons.

these gifted text post memes i made still make me laugh sometimes

this fic about green from 2gether, which i wrote in the notes app on my phone and published the same day. not my absolute best writing but i am very fond of it <3

i have a bunch fof friend zone dangerous area edits/shitposts which i like, but i’m particularly fond of my fzda as satire headlines (which now has a sequel!)

i also love my crisgood-walmart-lesbian post. i might send it in to gmmtv to try and convince them to do a crisgood-bffs spin-off

+ bonus: since i wrote this list i made this gifset (my first ever!) of jennie panhan in the shipper and i love her too much not to include her on here

+ extra nerdy bonus: this niche meme about Chinese philosophy, which still makes me crack up whenever I think about it

Favourite Creators/Follow Forever

i’ve completely lost track of who’s following who from which blog, so this is just going to be a haphazard, non-exhaustive list of people who i adore/admire/am vaguely intimidated by, mutuality be damned. maybe we talk all the time! maybe we’ve never interacted! maybe i am constantly there in ur tags... lurking... 👀... but if you’re on this list you have made me smile at least once this year and i love you for that alone <3

@wjmild kylie!! you make gifs of arm & tay & lee (separately or in various combinations) & the shipper & and kapook & random fluke pusit cameos & school rangers so i don’t have to <3 ilysm

@janeramida vianey, you have such impeccable taste in general, but your sizzy gifset in particular is so gorgeous it lives in my mind rent free

@applelapis bri, this post was a callout and i want you to know that it haunts me at night as i lie awake staring at the ceiling :((((( i hope you are happy

@gigiesarocha cata, i love it when you show up on my dash bc you have!! such taste!! also, every time you gif gigie i gain five years of life <3 pls continue doing the Good Work

@pvrrish eleni, i remeber legit thinking that this was an official poster when i first saw it, it’s so beautiful

@ahysopae juliette your khaithird fic is so good and it literally changed the way i think about khai (not an easy feat)

@kurosawadachi angel, whenever i think about grace’s speech i remember your gifset and get literal chills

@doctorbahnjit alexa, you have no right to be as funny as you are. your friend zone edits give me life

@khaotungthanawat sam, you’re probably sick of getting tagged in these lists by random strangers, but i just had to bc your gifsets are Pure Art

@tanwirapong roa, all your gifsets are so ✨iconic✨

faiza @asianmelodrama and rahul @petekaos! yours were the first two thai drama blogs i followed and for ages i lowkey thought of you as my fandom parents.

and some more blogs that make me happy: @curlykytta / @lee-thanat / @fck-inspector-m / @pangwave / @tichawongtipkanon / @tawanv @kimmonv (violet istg i have spent more time this year trying to figure out how many blogs you have than i have spent admiring your gifsets. & i spend a lot of time admiring your gifsets) / @taytawan / @1akorn and @yihwas (and your radiant lovechild @lakornladies ofc) / @teh-ohaew / @vihokratanas (mel your gifsets are just so gorgeous) / @tootiredtoosadtooangry / @headcompletelyempty / @demiromanticmickey / and there are definitely more but my brain is a sieve so apologies if i’ve forgotten anyone!! i love you all!!

2020 HIGHLIGHTS ✨

rules: list your top 10 shows (bl or not) you watched in 2020 (doesn’t necessarily have to be shows that came out in 2020 though!)

1. 2GETHER & STILL2GETHER

my first thai drama, and even after all the amazing shows i’ve watched this year, it still has a special place in my heart. watching 2gether was the first time i’d ever seen a queer romcom that just... was. for me, by the simple fact of its being, 2gether was revolutionary. and then still2gether came along and took all the best things about the first season and gave us something beautiful and quiet and lovely and just proved to me, once and for all, that queer happiness doesn’t need to justify its own existence. there can be gay cuddles on the beach for no other reason than that we want them.

2. UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN

i don’t really have the words for this one but. it makes my heart so very soft.

3. FRIEND ZONE 2: DANGEROUS AREA

season one was mindless fun because everyone was an absolute trashfire and it was hella cathartic to watch, but season 2... wow. i love it for so many reasons: it has messy and authentic queer rep; the characterisation is excellent and i somehow care about all of the characters; amazing women taking centre stage(!); a wlw relationship with lesbian, ace and bipolar rep; multiple interesting plotlines; actual character development; arm weerayut as a chaos gremlin... absolutely one of my favourites of 2020.

4. CHERRY MAGIC

i don’t think i need to explain this one, which is fortunate, because i have no idea how exactly i’d describe the happy-warm-fuzzy-queer-seen-loving-affirmed-profound feeling that rises in my chest whenever i think about it.

5. THE GIFTED: GRADUATION

confession: i liked season 2 more than season 1 (with the exception of the ending, which we don’t talk about). season 1 was enjoyable and interesting, but for me it was season 2 which made me love this series. it did some incredibly interesting and complicated things (even if it didn’t quite nail the landing): it pushed characters to the breaking point and wove so many layers into the story and questioned its own underlying themes. plus, watching it alongside everyone in the fandom made it 200% better. i love all of you and i love this show. egg girl 5eva.

6. THE SHIPPER

i 100% understand why so many people didn’t like this show, or found it problematic, but through some fluke it absolutely worked for me (even the ending). one day i will write an essay explaining my rationale, but for now i’ll just say that it’s one of my favourite shows about adolescence and queerness and identity and compassion and friendship and love that i’ve ever watched.

7. YYY

this series is absolutely off its rocker, and it somehow managed to be one of the most affirming shows i’ve watched. it shouldn’t have worked by it did, and i love it so much.

8. 3 WILL BE FREE

absolutely iconic. amazing plot, stunning visuals, great characters, canon polyamory, jennie being incredible... what a series.

9. MANNER OF DEATH

i love the fact that this show exists; i love the mix of crime and romance; i love maxtul’s acting; i love the central relationship; i love bun. i know we’re not even halfway through yet, but this show is doing something special and i’m so grateful that i get to watch it unfold in real time.

10. CHIHAYAFURU (SEASON 3)

odd one out on my list, but I had to include it. chihayafuru is my all-time favourite anime and it finally got a third season, which is somehow even better than the first two. mashima taichi is one of my favourite characters of all time and his storyline hits me on such a profound level. plus, in the years since i first say this show i’ve fallen in love with classical japanese literature (particularly heian poetry) so i had newfound appreciation for the karuta matches (aka i cried every time someone recited one of my favourite poems)

other favourites: together with me, he’s coming to me, sotus and sotus s, my dear loser: edge of 17, why r u, theory of love, wake up chanee!, gameboys, pearl next door, uta koi (anime), three kingdoms (2010), blood and water (netflix). (itsay would almost certainly be on my list if i’d had time to watch it. same with dark blue kiss, which i had to pause so i could do my assignments)

Final Thoughts

well, it’s been... a year (i don’t think anyone needs a reminder of the details) but writing this post has reminded me of all the amazing shows and people I discovered over the course of it.

thank you to everyone for being so lovely and creative and funny and quirky and kind and passionate. you’re all incredibly awesome people and i wish all of you the very best xx

#tag game #I think I was first tagged in one of these like three weeks ago? but I’ve been super busy #happy new year everyone #ellis talks #also I tried to keep this as short as possible bc otherwise I could have gushed for hours about you all #and this post is long enough already #but if any of you are in a low mood or want the unabridged version of my praise then message me & I’ll compliment you profusely to your face #:)

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clumsyclifford · 3 years

Note

hi i have some continued thoughts about the gif set i made earlier but i’m just thinking about like baby boys writing nothing personal and jack just like feeling really down on himself one day bc he doesn’t know what he’s contributing and alex tells him he named this song for him bc he is so important i don’t know there are so many THOUGHTS TO BE HAD why are they like this

hi paige i don’t know if this was supposed to be a prompt but i took it as one because i’m me hope that’s okay <3 (also here is the gifset in question, warning for max damage)

read it here on ao3

“Hey, where’d Jack go?”

Flyzik looks up from his laptop and glances around the control room. “I dunno,” he says. “I thought he was here.”

“I leave for two minutes,” Alex says, sighing exasperatedly. “We need to put a bell on that kid.”

“Believe me, if I could, I would,” says Flyzik, returning to the all-important task of probably talking shit on Twitter or whatever he does when he’s taking up studio space.

Squire, whose playing had been arrested upon Alex’s re-entry, starts the guitar line from the top. The unfinished track fills the small room. Alex considers handcuffing him just so he’ll stop playing that one fucking guitar part.

At this rate, he’ll be sick of the song before it’s even released.

“I’m going to find Jack,” he announces, not that anyone cares. In a halfway attempt at defiance, or being annoying, or whatever, he snatches Flyzik’s coffee mug off the table.

“Hey,” Flyzik says half-heartedly without looking up. “Give that back.”

“You’re fired,” Alex informs him.

“Joke’s on you, I quit this morning,” says Flyzik.

Alex rolls his eyes and leaves the control room.

There’s really only one place Jack is likely to be (okay, two places, but Alex has just come from the bathroom and he’d been the only one in there). Alex heads for the lounge. The TV is on, playing a commercial for mattresses. Occupying the entire length of the couch:

“Jack,” Alex says. “Where’d you go, man, I thought we were working on the song.”

Jack makes no indication that he's heard Alex at all.

“Dude,” Alex says, coming into the room and facing Jack. The way Jack is slumped into the cushions, it looks like he’s been lying here all day, not for two minutes. “Were you just waiting for me to go to the bathroom so you could bail?”

Jack shoots him a glare, but again says nothing. Alex frowns.

“Are you good?” he asks, sinking to the floor with his legs crossed. He sets Flyzik’s coffee on the table at his side. “Is something wrong?”

Jack groans. “Can you leave me alone?”

“Hey,” Alex says, hurt. “What —” He breaks off. Obviously Jack doesn’t want company — or at least not Alex’s company, which stings — and if Alex doesn’t want to be a dick, he should leave.

Except Jack is already kind of being a dick. So.

“Dude,” Alex says again. Jack keeps his eyes on the TV over Alex’s head. “Can you at least look at me?”

“I’m just taking a break, what’s the big deal?” Jack mutters.

“The big deal is you were fine five minutes ago when we were tracking the guitar,” Alex says irritably. “I leave for two seconds and when I come back you’re gone? ‘Taking a break’?”

“Yes, Alex, I came to jerk off in peace,” Jack snaps. “So can you piss off?”

Alex huffs. “Stop being an asshole when I’m just trying to understand what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong, dude!” Jack finally looks at him, though it’s clear he would rather not be. “You don’t need me to finish the song, okay? You have Squire to do the guitar, and if he can’t do it then you will, so I’m just gonna sit this one out, alright?”

Alex stares at him. “The fuck do you mean, we don’t need you to finish the song? You need to learn it. And Squire’s just doing the demo track anyway. Meaning technically he doesn’t need me for it, either.”

“Alex, you wrote the fucking song.” Jack crosses his arms. “It wouldn’t exist without you. Unlike me.”

“You…would exist without me?”

Jack glares at him, again. “No, the song would still exist without me. And it would have a guitar part, without me. I know my role in the band, Alex, I’m not getting any ideas, okay? I’m the one who makes inappropriate jokes on Twitter and collects bras during shows. I don’t contribute in the studio.”

The gears in Alex’s brain grind loudly to a halt. “You don’t — what? What?”

Jack draws his knees up to his chest and looks back up at the TV. “Am I wrong?”

“Uh, yes?!” Alex says emphatically. “Extremely wrong, what the fuck? Since when is this a thing? You really feel this way?”

“Oh my God, it’s not a big deal,” Jack grumbles.

“It’s a big deal to me,” Alex retorts. “You think you don’t contribute when we’re in the studio? You’re, like, the reason most of these songs get made. If you weren’t here we’d still be on our first record.”

“You don’t need to therapy me,” Jack says dully. “I’m fine with it.”

Which is obviously not true. Jack’s shuttered expression and bitchy attitude don’t exactly communicate ‘fine.’

“I’m not trying to ‘therapy’ you,” Alex says, making air quotes. “Whatever the fuck that means. I’m trying to tell you something you should already know.”

Jack sighs wearily. Somehow he seems to sink deeper into the couch, like whatever’s weighing him down is only getting heavier. “Alex, it’s fine.”

“Stop saying it’s fine,” Alex says sharply. “It’s not fine. Did someone say something when I left? Is that why the mood whiplash?” There’s no way. Squire would never, and Flyzik hadn’t even been on the same planet. Not that Flyzik ever would, either, but then again, they make a lot of fucking jokes around here. Sometimes the kind of joke that hits a little too close to home. Call it an occupational hazard of living and working with a bunch of guys in their early twenties; none of them really know when to stop.

It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

Jack’s gaze flits between Alex and the TV, which has really been playing commercials for far too long. He seems to realize he’s not going to escape this conversation, and with an almighty sigh grabs the remote and hits mute.

“No one said anything, okay?” There’s a pause. Alex waits patiently while Jack gathers his thoughts. “It was just that, like, you were there, and we were joking around, and then you left, and like…Squire kept playing the part, Flyzik was still on fucking MySpace or whatever, and, like, I don’t know. It just felt like if I left it wouldn’t matter, so I did.” He barks a humorless laugh. “And I was right. It didn’t matter.”

“It mattered to me,” Alex says. “I came back and you had abandoned me with Squire and Flyzik. You think I want to be stuck with them?”

One corner of Jack’s mouth pulls up, barely, then drops down again. “I’m fine,” he says a third time. “You can go back and finish tracking the lead. Just call me when you need me for something.”

Alex considers this. “You know, I could use a break, while I’m here.” He takes a sip of Flyzik’s coffee, which is absolutely disgusting and also room temperature at this point. Jack frowns at him.

“You’re in the middle of demo-ing a song,” he says flatly. “‘Best Friend Knows,’ right?”

“Well, as you so eloquently pointed out, Squire can track the guitar,” Alex says. “And in fact is tracking the guitar. And has been for half an hour. He doesn’t need me for it, either.”

“But that’s not the fucking same and you know it. You wrote the song.”

“Yeah, so what? It’s not that great of a song. Anyone could have written it. I bet Andrew has fifty better songs in his back pocket.”

“But Andrew isn’t in the band,” Jack says. “The whole point is they’re your lyrics that you write for your band.”

“And you play the guitar,” Alex counters, raising his eyebrows at Jack. “Yeah, there are a billion songwriters and guitarists in the world. Anyone can play guitar, but there’s only one All Time Low guitarist, and it’s you. You’re our guy, Jack. You brought the band together, you keep it together, and you keep us moving forward. So what if you’re not writing lyrics? There’s way more to being in a band than writing the fucking lyrics. I promise you, man, without you we’d still be playing the fucking Dulaney Talent Show. We’d be fucking nowhere. We definitely wouldn’t be in L.A. recording our second full-length studio album.”

Silence falls as Alex’s words hang in the air. They’re both quiet for a moment. The Red Bull fridge buzzes in the background, and even more faintly comes the sound of Squire relentlessly playing the same lead part for what has to be the millionth time.

“If you say so,” Jack finally says, although he doesn’t really seem to believe it.

“I do,” Alex says firmly. Jack is the heart of the band more than anyone else, the beating pulse that keeps them alive no matter what shit gets thrown their way. When they were traveling from venue to venue in a shitty van, Jack was the one who kept spirits high. In their earliest days, Jack had held them together like glue, as if he could tell that something really special would happen as long as he didn’t let them go.

And he’d been right. There’s no All Time Low without Jack. That’s always been obvious to Alex.

“I think it’s an awesome song,” Jack quietly adds, as an afterthought. “No one else could’ve written it, so take that shit back.”

“Mediocre at best,” Alex says. “But there’s still time to make it better.”

“I like it,” Jack insists. “It’s cool. You’re a good songwriter.”

Alex waves a hand. “All the good lines are from Squire.”

“Well, I don’t know any of the words,” Jack says, a hint of his usual dry humor making a comeback. “But I bet that’s not true. All the best lines always come from you.”

“They’re meh. There’s not even a good line for a title. ‘What Your Best Friend Knows’ is just the most repeated line, but like, I don’t know. It’s boring.”

“So just call it something else,” Jack says. “The title doesn’t have to come from the song. You might have heard of a little album called From Under The Cork Tree? It’s by this super underground band, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of them.”

Alex laughs a little. “Yeah, okay. I guess.”

Another pause fills the room. Finally Jack says, “If you want to hang out, you can, but stop trying to therapy me.”

“I’m not trying to therapy you! It’s called being your friend, you dumbass.”

“Well, cut it out,” Jack deadpans. There’s the Jack Alex knows.

Alex smiles at him, even though he knows it makes him look very sincere, more sincere than Jack probably wants from him. “You made your band bed,” he says. “Now you have to lie in it.” He half-stands and clambers onto the couch, and Jack stretches his legs over Alex’s lap. “What are we watching?”

“I don’t know,” Jack says, reaching for the remote. “It’s been commercials since I got here.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t these people have anything better to do than advertise all day every day?” Jack unmutes the TV. An episode of a show neither of them know is playing. Alex rolls his eyes. “Which channel is playing Lost reruns, do you think?”

“Only one way to find out,” Jack says, raising the remote like a wand. “Hope you brought a board ‘cause it’s time for some channel surfing.”

“Oh my God, you’re so lame.”

Jack snickers. “Maybe there’ll be a line you can use for the song title. Like a ‘Nobody Puts Baby In A Corner’-type thing.”

“In Lost?” Alex says skeptically.

“Maybe, you don’t know.”

Alex highly doubts Lost will have any cool one-liners that could double as song titles, but it’s not a bad idea, pulling an iconic movie quote the way Fall Out Boy did on Cork Tree. The gimmick isn’t really the All Time Low style, but there’s a first time for everything.

Besides, Alex thinks, glancing over at Jack, whose attention is trained on the TV, I think I know the perfect movie.

—

“What?”

They’re back in the studio the following day. After yesterday’s minor emotional hurdle, Jack seems to be doing much better. Right now his eyes are wide in surprise as he stares at Alex.

“‘Keep The Change’ —”

“I know the quote,” Jack interrupts, a smile stretching over his face. “That’s the name? Of the song?”

Alex grins. “Has a cool ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? This is the best day of my life,” Jack enthuses, beaming.

Alex shrugs. “Well, someone gave me the great idea to use a movie quote for a title. This felt fair.”

“Alex, I literally love you so much, you don’t even know,” Jack says. “Just for this, I’m giving you my firstborn.”

“If you ever have children, God save us all,” Flyzik says dryly from the far side of the room. He’s not wrong, but Jack doesn’t even act offended, still caught up in the excitement of the song title.

“Hey,” Alex says in a low voice, kicking lightly at Jack’s leg. “For the record, I’d never in a million years have thought to use a movie quote title.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Jack says.

Alex gives him a meaningful look. “That’s my point, man. Next time you think you’re not contributing, just remember this, alright?”

The shadow of realization passes over Jack’s face, and he shakes his head incredulously. “You are such a piece of shit,” he says, although he doesn’t seem upset. “This was just to make a point?”

“I didn’t do it to make a point,” Alex says. “I did it because it was a good idea. But it does make a point, because you thought you weren’t contributing in the studio, and this is proof that you are.”

Jack sighs. “Point taken.” A little bit of humility colors his expression. “Thanks.”

Alex gives him a cheeky smile. “You are welcome,” he says airily, and throws an arm over Jack’s shoulders. “And now I think we both have some guitar parts to learn, am I right?”

“Yup,” says Squire, as if he’d just been waiting for his cue. “Jack, you wanna track this?”

Jack glances over at Alex, who grins. “Yeah,” he says, stepping forward and taking the guitar out of Squire’s hands. “I’d love to.”

#jack barakat #alex gaskarth #jalex #jalex fic #all time low #atl fic #fic #my fic #yeah this is a little emo and? what about it?#i feel like this is pretty conceptually emo there wasn't much i could do #mukeaf #ask #answered #sam said post this one so i'm posting this one

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shijiujun · 4 years

Text

tell me baby

A gratuitous sick fic for Inspector Qiao, and he finally eats from the spoon Lu Yao offers him because third time’s the charm - Inspired by this gifset

===

It’s a slow day at the station today with all their leads dried up, but Youning and Lu Yao are investigating outside right now and Chusheng doesn’t doubt that the both of them will turn up with new evidence soon enough, if not have the whole case solved when they return at the end of the day.

There isn’t much to do but to sign some papers and ensure everything is properly documented. When Boss Bai first asked him to be Inspector, Chusheng hadn’t quite thought about the ridiculous amount of paperwork that passes through his hands every single day.

Still, his tasks for the day don’t take much physical activity, but seated in his chair at his table, it takes everything Chusheng has to concentrate.

His limbs are numb for some reason, and every single movement makes some part of his body ache. It’s not like they’re in the deep of winter or even anywhere near autumn, so there’s no reason for him to be feeling this cold.

Exhaling shakily, he wonders just what the hell is wrong with him today.

Chusheng swallows with difficulty, his throat bobbing with the action. Glancing at the empty mug at the corner of his table, Chusheng is certain he just took a large gulp of water, so why is his throat this parched?

“… Inspector? Inspector Qiao?” asks Ah Dou, who’s standing in front of him with a confused look on his face, “Are you… okay?”

He doesn’t feel okay, but Chusheng doesn’t know why he would feel anything but.

“Hnn,” he makes a noise of assent, clearing his throat with a frown. “Just leave it there, I’ll look at it later.”

He’s finding it a little hard to breathe and with frustration, Chusheng tugs at his tie, loosening it. Ah Dou still hasn’t left, staring at him with his brows furrowed.

“What’re you still doing here?” asks Chusheng, leaning into his chair. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yeah but… Inspector, you really don’t look so good,” Ah Dou persists, which is very unlike him. “I think you should go to the hospital if you’re feeling unwell-“

“You’re not usually this nosy,” sighs Chusheng, sounding more tired than reproachful. “I just have a headache. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll get you a cup of warm water then,” Ah Dou says, oddly considerate today, but Chusheng isn’t lying about the headache, and all he wants is to be left alone.

Standing as Ah Dou picks up his mug and starts to walk in the direction of the coffee table where the water flask is, Chusheng begins, “Ah Dou, I don’t need-“

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence because he’s keeling over in the next moment, nearly braining himself on the surface of the table if his hip didn’t strike against its edge first, and he lands in a messy pile on the floor instead. The ceiling slants above him, and gosh, he’s so fucking thirsty-

Someone is calling for him, but he can barely hear anything outside of the ringing in his ears. As dark spots fill his vision, Chusheng thinks maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to skip a trip to the hospital yesterday night after that ambush at the docks.

Right before he slips under, all he remembers is promising Lu Yao that he would pay for five baguettes today.

===

“Are you an idiot? Did you not bring your brains out to work today?” is the first thing he hears when he wakes up.

Disoriented, Chusheng blearily surveys his surroundings, dazed. He’s floating a little and everything seems overly yellow and green, and it feels like he’s been asleep for a little too long. He doesn’t usually sleep in, always up at the crack of dawn to train and keep in shape.

Turning to the side slowly, that’s when Chusheng sees San Tu seated in a chair next… next to his bed.

The man looks displeased, his arms crossed over his chest and looking more petulant than angry, and Chusheng knows he’s in trouble.

If he tells anyone that he, Qiao Chusheng, one of the Eight Martial Arts Masters of Shanghai, is a little cowed by Lu Yao’s frown, they would surely laugh at him.

Memories of how he landed in the hospital resurface in his head. Chusheng looks towards the glass pitcher at the bedside table, and luckily Lu Yao isn’t too angry to ignore him. The man pours him a glass of water, before helping him to sit up a little, fluffing the pillows behind his back as Chusheng drinks slowly but liberally, because he’s really, really thirsty.

“How long have you been doing this?” Lu Yao asks then.

Confused, Chusheng blinks, “Doing what?”

“This is just like that time, when Zhi Qing-ge kidnapped me and you rescued me but refused to tell me!” Lu Yao snaps, and Chusheng winces. “At least you went to the hospital then with Youning. Guess what the doctor said to me earlier? That the wound on your right side was infected because you didn’t treat it properly and it was continuously bleeding when it needed stitches!”

“You said you didn’t get hurt in last night’s raid,” Lu Yao says, glaring at him.

“I-“ Chusheng begins, but Lu Yao cuts him off, “And then the doctor says you’ve got other scars on your body that look rather recent, ones that even Youning didn’t know you had. How long has this been going on?”

“San Tu,” Chusheng sighs, “It’s okay. This is nothing-“

“Nothing? Ah Dou freaked out when you fainted on him earlier! What were you thinking? He said you looked unwell all morning and refused to listen to him when he asked you to rest. Qiao Chusheng, do you think this is a joke?”

It’s not the time or place for this, but hearing Lu Yao utter his full name for the first time, Chusheng feels a chill run down his spine. No one has ever dared to call him out like this.

He likes the way his name sounds on Lu Yao’s lips and how angry his San Tu looks right now.

Clearing his throat, Chusheng musters a smile instead, “San Tu… I’m used to this. I just miscalculated and I’ll be more careful next time. Don’t be angry. I’m the patient here, you know.”

“Next time?” Lu Yao asks, incredulous. “You’re thinking of a next time?”

Knowing that Lu Yao will probably go on if he doesn’t do something, Chusheng reaches out and tugs at Lu Yao’s arm until the man sits down quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Chusheng repeats, and frankly, part of him is a little touched that Lu Yao is so angry at him. He’s never had anyone angry at him for something like this.

“San Tu, if you don’t stop yelling, the nurses are going to come in and-“

“Chusheng-ge!” a yell comes, and both men flinch.

Lu Yao sits back and relaxes as Youning storms in. Chusheng pales, and his hand raises as if to facepalm, but Youning is quicker. She looks ready to give Chusheng hell on Lu Yao’s behalf too, and that she does.

===

Lu Yao, when he’s not distracted by antique wares or expensive restaurants or his English books, is a pretty self-sufficient person who can take care of himself. He’s a little vain, timid and dumb on some counts, but the man can cook very well, knows how to clean up after himself in a way that Youning still forgets to sometimes.

Chusheng himself can cook, but he eats takeout or heads back to Boss Bai’s house for the occasional meal more often than not, so when he wakes up next to the aroma of pork ribs and old cucumber soup, he has to pause for a moment.

“You’re awake,” Lu Yao says, glancing at him with narrowed eyes, probably still pissed off that Chusheng tried to hide his injuries from him. “Eat up. The doctor said you should have some soup.”

“Where’s Youning?” he mumbles, still groggy from the drugs and this is exactly why he hates hospitals.

“She went back home first, she’s got a draft to rush out tonight. This soup was on the stove for more than four hours. Man-jie told me that I should cook it under a smaller fire for more than three hours, so you should try it.”

Lu Yao scoops out a spoonful and blows gently at it, before bringing it to Chusheng’s lips.

When the man simple stares at him, Lu Yao glares, “Why would you- you don’t want to eat again? I cooked this myself when I could have been sleeping and even Youning helped to stare at the fire for an hour, and you still don’t want it-“

Chusheng cuts him off mid-rant, leaning forward and eating from the proffered spoon obediently.

“… how is it?”

“Hnn,” Chusheng hums, looking at anything but Lu Yao, “It’s passable.”

Suddenly, Chusheng realizes how close Lu Yao is next to him seated on the bed. He’s not used to being in Lu Yao’s care- or anyone’s care for that matter, and this whole thing is jarring, to say in the least.

“Passable?” Lu Yao scoffs, but scoops up another spoonful for Chusheng anyway.

Chusheng bends his head to reach the spoon again, and at the last moment, it dawns on him again how strange this whole thing is. He moves back, saying, “I can eat on my own-“

His eyes go wide as Lu Yao ducks in and kisses him, cutting him off. Chusheng can swear his mind goes blank.

When Lu Yao finally pulls away, there’s a hint of a blush on his cheeks, and he’s not looking at Chusheng either. Clearing his throat, he puts the bowl into Chusheng’s hands.

“You should finish the soup,” Lu Yao says, picking up his jacket from where it is lying over the chair, “I’ll settle your discharge with the doctors.”

Chusheng looks up, blinking, “San Tu-“

“And you better not do this again,” Lu Yao finally meets his eyes again, though the blush doesn’t go away, “Youning and I are going to check you over after every fight. You better not hide another injury from us again, and I’m dragging you over to the hospital if you so much as have a cut!”

That seems a little of an overkill, but Chusheng can’t help but smile.

“And if I don’t listen to you?”

Lu Yao blinks. “Then- Then I’m never-“

“Never going to kiss me again?”

“Never going to make soup for you again,” Lu Yao enunciates firmly, but his ears are now red too as he turns on his heels quickly to escape the room.

Chusheng laughs to himself, shaking his head. Licking at his lips, he wonders if Lu Yao would give him a repeat performance later, but he supposes they have all the time in the world for that now.

===

The next time they get caught in a shootout, as promised, Lu Yao and Youning (and even Ah Dou, hovering a few feet away and trying not to get caught looking at him) make him take off his jacket, roll up his sleeves and lift his shirt a bit to show that he’s fine.

The rest of the officers pretend they’re not looking, even though a shirtless Chusheng at the station is nothing new.

Of course, when they get home, Chusheng lets Lu Yao do a close-up inspection.

In the privacy of their room of course, so that Lu Yao can inspect every inch of his body thoroughly.

#my roommate is a detective #民国奇探 #qiao chusheng #lu yao #chuyao #fic #mriad #ignores canon #set sometime after all the drama and politics go down #and lu yao's fam is begrudgingly ok with lu yao in shanghai #solving crimes

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zakkura · 4 years

Text

Pairing: Cloud x Zack, slight Aerith x Tifa. Warnings: None. Extra: Hybrid AU. EDIT: I forgot to add that I gathered inspiration by the many beautiful gifsets of ZackSoldiers, so please go and follow them!

ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾

Aerith couldn’t help but laugh at the scene before her.

Placing her basket of flowers on the kitchen counter; she put her hands on her hips as she watched her daft overgrown German Shepard hybrid wiggle his backside as he stared out of the window with noises of glee leaving his lips.

“I take it that pretty blonde is out for his afternoon stroll again?” she asked and Zack jumped slightly as he had clearly been far too into his own world.

“I didn’t think I’d be attracted to a Spaniel,” Zack grinned widely causing his owner to simply roll her eyes with a playful smile.

Aerith approached him with her hand held out, fingers delicately stroking his fluffy black ears which, in turn, made the hybrid push into her touch.

A loving gesture that Aerith had learned meant he had missed her whilst she was out trying to sell her bouquets.

“I don’t know why you haven’t invited him over yet,” Aerith snorted at the small blush on Zack’s tanned skin, “I thought you and Cloud were friends of some sort?”

“Well...I think he thinks that I’m stupid,” he cringed inwardly as their one of two interactions flashed in his mind, “I might have pretended to know about the book I saw him reading...I um...I just spoke utter crap,” he let out a pained whimper and hid his face in her shoulder.

“Aw Zacky,” Aerith cooed and held him tight, her cheek against the top of his head, “everyone behaves like a fool in front of the person they like; it’s natural,” she pulled back and blew a playful raspberry against his cheek.

“I tell you what,” she pulled Zack over to the couch to get a little more comfy, “I will go and invite his owner, Tifa, over and say to bring Cloud with her as a sort of friendly get together,” she giggled, “what do you think about that?” she let out a yell of surprise when Zack threw himself on her and cuddled her with such strength that she was certain her ribs were about to break.

“I love you!” he howled; tail thumping on the couch.

ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾 ᵔᴥᵔ 🐾

Aerith was tempted to film what she was seeing right now.

She had never seen Zack so nervous before; so nervous that he was pulling at the hairs on the tip of his tail.

When the Hybrid’s head shot up suddenly, she knew that he could tell Cloud was at the door and she bit back a laugh as she gestured for him to open the door.

Zack nodded, determined but jittery and pulled the door open so quickly that he was nearly punched in the face by Tifa who had her hand up in the motion to knock on the door.

“Hello!” Tifa chuckled and Zack offered the top of his head to pat, which she did and almost squealed at how soft his ears were, “you must be Zack,” Zack nodded with a small smile as Aerith held his hand to try and make him less nervous.

But that quickly fell apart when he spotted the other canine standing behind Tifa, his hands covered by the sleeves of his plain black jumper that was deliciously stretched over his chest; enough that Zack could see how in shape he was.

He quickly tried to catch his own tail as it started wagging faster, his ears twitching with interest.

“This is Cloud, but I think you might know that already,” Tifa threw a wink his way, moving over to Aerith who greeted her with a tight cuddle and a kiss to the cheek.

“Hi,”

Zack’s heart thumped hard against his chest at the sound of Cloud’s voice.

It was a lot softer than he remembered but he gathered that was because he was most probably anxious going by how the blonde was biting into his bottom lip, skin looking sore and picked at.

“Hey!” Zack barked and moved without thinking; grabbing both of Cloud’s hands and shaking them happily whilst Cloud just stared at him with wide blue-green eyes.

“Zack, calm down,” Aerith pressed gently.

It took Zack a moment to realise how forward he was being and he jumped backwards.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” he murmured feeling silly as he flushed a deep red.

He had never ever been the type of person to blush and get nervous in front of people so everything that was currently happening was like trying to speak for the first time.

When everybody had settled, Aerith and Tifa in the kitchen and the Hybrids in the front room, Zack was starting to become more comfortable with the more Cloud started to open up to him.

He couldn’t get over how handsome the other man was, how sweet it was whenever he moved his head and his long blonde ears swayed with him, how whenever he spoke about learning to ride a motorcycle his entire face lit up and his eyes seemed to sparkle with enthusiasm.

Oh he was in trouble.

Even more so when both of their tails settled down on the couch they were sharing and just so happened to land on top of one another making both of them blush.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Cloud laughed quietly as he peered at the older man through his bangs, he went to tuck his tail back around the other side of him but was quickly stopped by Zack grabbing his wrist gently.

“I’m fine with it,” he nodded to reassure him, “if you are, I mean...” he let out a small whimper as he struggled to form sentences together without stuttering.

“I’m fine,” Cloud responded with a brilliant smile that nearly knocked Zack sideways, “your tail is so soft and poofy,” he giggled and paused as he wited for Zack to signal it was okay for him to touch his tail.

It was quickly granted and Cloud practically dived to touch it making shivers ripple up and down Zack’s spine.

“This is a little easier to talk about, huh?” the teasing tone confused Zack for a second as his brain wasn’t working correctly under the touch of the person of his affections, “tails are easier to talk about than,” Cloud paused and met Zack’s similarly coloured eyes, “books for example,”

“Are you implying something?” Zack quizzed playfully once his head cleared, though he was now hypnotised by the way Cloud’s slender fingers sifted through the soft black hairs of his tail.

“Oh not at all,” Cloud then lifted his own tail and gestured for Zack to touch.

Hybrids did often offer their tails to people they would like to be friends or partners with, usually only other Hybrids but on the rare chance, Humans have been blessed with the offering.

Zack couldn’t help but wag his own tail as he gently slipped Cloud’s through his thicker fingers, watching as the blonde fur brushed over his tanned skin.

“Your fur is so long on your tail, doesn’t it get annoying?” he asked innocently.

“No, I think of my tail as my own personal flag,” he wiggled his tail to show his point, “do you like it?” his voice was a lot shyer than before and Zack’s heart clenched tightly as he moved closer to the blonde.

“Yes,” he whispered with a pause in his movements; debating on whether or not he should go through the one thing he really wanted to do, “I like it a lot,” he then nuzzled his head against Cloud’s.

The noise that left Cloud’s lips was something Zack was storing in his memory forever.

A mixture of a whine and gasp at the sudden affection.

Both Hybrid’s ears moved t the sound of laughter from the kitchen but their eyes never left one another, the atmosphere changing into something much more intimate.

“I watched you the other day,” Cloud whispered, swallowing loudly making Zack’s eyes follow his Adam's apple before returning back to his eyes.

“Yeah?”

Cloud blushed darkly as he nodded.

“You were working fixing the window frame on the outside of the house?”

Zack nodded watching Cloud’s lashes brush against his skin.

“Tifa wanted me to go over and offer to hold the ladder for you,” he laughed as his hand found it’s way to Zack’s ear making the German Shepard sigh and push into his touch as Cloud’s thumb gently rubbed the bottom of his ear.

“Why didn’t you?”

Cloud looked down again as his own ears moved to the back of his head.

“I had a better view from my window,” he admitted and Zack nearly groaned at the way their eyes met with heat behind them.

“Did you now?”

Cloud nodded with a whine before taking Zack by surprise and pulling him into a kiss, his smaller hands now tangled in Zack’s hair, his lips parting in relief when Zack actually responded to the kiss.

The blonde was shaking so much because of his own actions and Zack couldn’t find it anything but endearing as he helped the Spaniel onto his lap.

Cloud tasted of coffee and mints and Zack was living for it, fingers grasping Cloud’s waist tightly but not enough to hurt him.

Zack smiled when he felt the soft material of Cloud’s jumper on his cheeks, gentle fingers stroking him before they moved away from each other.

There was no need to exchange any words as both of them moved their faces into the other’s neck, scenting to show their dedication to each other.

“Well, well, well,”

Cloud shrieked as he was nearly thrown off off Zack’s lap from how quickly he stood up in shock at the sound of Aerith’s voice.

“Told you it wouldn’t take long for them,” Tifa nudged her friend with a grin making the flower girl laugh.

“What?” Zack asked with a frown but apparently the two women didn’t even hear him.

“I’m just glad they were only scenting and not mating,” Aerith replied making even more glorious laughter to come from them as they walked away from the baffled and disheveled Hybrid’s.

“Did they set us up on a play-date?!”

#zakkura writes: zack x cloud #this is awful #hybrid au #final fantasy vii crisis core #ffvii husbands #final fantasy vii #ff fanfiction #cloud strife #zack fair #zakkura #clack #zack x cloud #cloud x zack #my writing #personal: zakkura #zacksoldiers

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giasonesdream · 4 years

Text

The Art TA, Tae...

Hi, so I was inspired by this gifset created by @95z

Such a simple yet effective post, because this is what I came up with:

Your university wasn’t an art school by any means. With an expansive campus run rampant with prospective business people and research scientists, the last thing on the majority’s mind was the history of your personal favourite painter, Carravagio.

Not that it mattered to you...since you weren’t an Art Major, yourself.

But you hang with that crowd, somehow drawn to the open and relaxed spirits of those that spent their lectures with paint brushes in their aprons, or calloused fingertips from strumming the strings of some orchestral instrument. In summation, despite your academic plan leading you down the path of Foreign Communications, you always somehow found yourself in the Art Building during your spare time.

It was a rather cozy building, stacked with the same warm tone bricks used to make the goliaths just across the street, on the main campus. If the Science building wasn’t on it’s own separate street, as well, you could’ve sworn the School Board held some vendetta towards Art Majors.

So the trek is comfortable, jay-walking in the middle of the day as the streets are normally empty during this time of the day. Your friends are scattered throughout the small building. The halls are narrow and cozy, almost makes you feel like you’ve walked into a new world of secrets and mystery. Paintings, portraits, and mixed media line the cement walls.

Despite knowing that there are people in the rooms evidently from the various noises that come muffled from the wooden doors, it’s always so quiet and empty when you’re there. It’s a rarity to share the hall with another human, and it’s normally a treat when you do.

Like today. The both of you are walking from opposite ends of the hall, coming closer.

He doesn’t have a face you recognize, but some primal part of your brain wishes you did. Chocolate copper tresses veil his forehead, slipping under the thick framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He’s adorned in black trousers that seem to fit his waist perfectly, but with suspenders that contrast the simple...ridiculously obvious shirt fitting to his shoulders. You can’t stop the grin that pulls at your lips upon reading the painter’s name written clearly on the maroon fabric: Van Gogh.

The stranger is in the midst of rolling out his neck, his shoulder twitching up to adjust the leather strap of his messenger bag going across his body. When he seems satisfied with stretching his neck, his gaze falls to yours. It’s so sudden, you don’t have time to look away, to try and pretend like you hadn’t been checking him out just a second before.

In order to save your dignity, you go for a smile, something you hope comes across as friendly and kind. But his gaze is piercing, even beyond the lenses of his glasses that catch the reflection of the light hanging above, you can see it. Brown eyes boring into yours, almost like a challenge, daring you to keep his stare or look away.

Maybe later on you’ll curse yourself, kick at your own ass for not wanting to be confrontational or even the slightest bit rebellious. For now, however, you drop your eyes to the floor, just as your paths cross. Christ, where had your confidence gone?

What’s more, that primal part of your brain doesn’t think, only reacts. Curious as to see the stranger from behind, you turn your head back, and there it is again: that stare, that stone gaze catching yours. This time, though, it’s coupled with a smirk, one side of his lips turned up into a smile. Of course, you only notice that you were caught in the act, and you snap your head back immediately, quickening your pace to get to the end of the hall as soon as possible.

With the Art Department being so small and intimate, it’s not hard to learn about the stranger, the man that has somehow made a name for himself with his eccentric fashion, someone who was able to stand out even to the Art Students literally is that even possible?

He’s a mid-level Art History Teacher’s Assistant named Kim Taehyung. Thankfully, one of your friends has a class that he assists, and he’s quite talkative in class. From what your friend has told you, he likes to converse with the students before class, try to read the room’s mood levels before the professor joins them. Your friend doesn’t remember if he’s in Graduate School working to be a professor himself or to open up an Art Gallery. Seems like two completely different career ventures-

“You’re not from here.”

The voice snatches you from your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. One of your friends is in his Music Theory lecture in the lower level of the building. It’s probably the creepiest, most eerie section of the building, and mainly your biggest piece of evidence that the Art Students get the short end of the stick.

Your stare had been a mile long into the wall opposite of you as you leaned against the cold, hard surface. And the last time you were aware of your surroundings, you’d been alone.

So to hear someone else talking-

“Oh my go-” you exclaim, quickly lowering your voice. You don’t want to disturb the lecture going on just on the other side of the wall. You finally follow the direction in which the voice had came, low and smooth enough to wrap around some inner part of yourself.

Speak his name, and he shall appear.

Standing to your side is the aforementioned Kim Taehyung, the TA you’d passed in the hallway just a couple days ago. Your heart is still pounding in your rib cage, but now it’s unclear as to what the cause of that is.

He laughs, holding out his hands in front of him, like a sign of not being a threat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You give yourself a moment to calm down, taking the time to give a quick once-over the outfit for today. Students in the Fashion Department must have a field-day with how he styles clothing. Again, he’s wearing simple black pants, maybe a little less fitted than the pair he wore the other day. Today’s eclectic shirt is a button down with geometric shapes of all sizes, staying in the colour story of red, white, and gray. Again, simple, but bold.

“Um...what?” You ask on an exhale.

“I said ‘you’re not from here’,” Taehyung reiterates. “I’m pretty good at remembering faces of the staff and students that normally frequent this building. You’re a new one.”

You hum in agreement. “Right. No, my friends...I’m waiting on a friend that’s in this lecture. Most of my friends are Art Majors.”

Taehyung nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. “So, what major are you, then?”

It’s an easy conversation to have, especially on campus. Everyone wants to know what plan someone else has, especially if they have no idea what they’re working towards themselves. So you explain your major, your plan to work in foreign affairs for some big company.

“...or, atleast, that’s the goal,” you finish.

“Is that the dream, too?”

It takes a minute for the question to process. Even as it does, you still respond with a furrow of your brow in confusion.

The TA leans his shoulder against the wall, loosening his posture, and you have the desire to mirror his relaxed state.

“Well, what I mean is...you say that it’s your goal, but is that career move what you dream of doing?”

Being in your last year of university, this was already a talk you have had to have with yourself. When you slaved away over your French Oral Presentation, or going through the motions of General Accounting, you knew what you would have rather been doing with your time. Ledgers was far from it.

What makes you hesitate, though, is whether or not you should express this honesty to a virtual stranger. Attractive or not, were you willing to open up about something you’ve already lamented over?

Sighing, you sink into the wall. “Not even close.” His expression is patient, waiting for you to explain. “If I didn’t crave financial security, I’d spend my days and nights here, working on creative writing projects...maybe diving so deep into the world of Gentileschi that I could transport back in time to when she thrived. But alas...I graduate this Spring.”

When Taehyung nods, he looks thoughtful, mulling over your words. Much to your surprise, his silence doesn’t feel awkward, but you do have questions of your own.

“What about you? I heard you’re...either trying to open an Art Gallery or become a full time professor. Which is it?”

With a tilt of his head, a laugh threatens to stumble past his pursed lips. “Did you ask about me?”

At your slip-up, your mouth hangs open as you try to stumble for a response. You hadn’t even thought about that, about how it would sound for him to know you were already trying to figure out who he was after one encounter.

“Oh...I, uh...well- okay, yeah, you.” You breathe a nervous laugh. “Your shirt had caught my attention, and you-”

“I caught your attention,” guesses a rather smarmy Taehyung. He seems to find some entertainment in your slight panic, which actually helps to calm your nerves. When you finally settle, he continues. “I wanna do both, actually. Even when I graduate, I know there’s still more I can learn. Why not get paid while I continue the journey, right? Plus, I’d need to grow a savings so I could start off with some backing-”

“Man, you’d fit right in with the Business Department. Especially the Accounting Students. They go nuts for financial plans and forecasts.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Nothing wrong with having a plan in place. Just as much as there’s nothing wrong with not having a plan.”

His words, for some reason you couldn’t even explain to yourself, gave you reassurance and solidarity. Your future had been set since the moment you stepped foot onto the university’s campus. And though you would have nights where you longed to stray from the path laid out, you kept on course. And with only months left of your undergraduate schooling, the finish line was just over the horizon, already pooling into view.

But everyone knows that with finishing one race, you only start another. Not a race, no. A marathon. A marathon that the man to your side was giving you comforting words would go well even if the lines in front of you blur or obstacles come.

Again, the silence is nice, filled with words not spoken but ease and welcome vibrations.

The lecture room door opens, and the noises from inside spill out into the small corridor. Jeongguk will be out soon.

“Welp.” You straighten up, pushing away from the wall. “It was nice to meet you, Taehyung. A rather interesting first conversation.”

“Wow, you know my name! And I never even learned yours.”

Right. You tell him your name, listen as he tries it out on his own tongue. It shouldn’t sound as intimidating as it does, given that he’d already seemingly jumped head-first with the deeper topics of discussion.

“First conversation?”

“Huh?”

“You said it was an interesting first conversation. Does that mean you’d want to have a second? Maybe even a third?”

He feigns a scandalous look that makes you giggle. “Hell, we might even have a fourth.” He gasps deeply.

He nods towards the lecture hall. “Well...now you know where I am on Friday’s at this time of the day. The joys of only having one lecture hall in the building.”

You roll your eyes, your disdain seeping through. “Ugh, that’s so ridiculous. This building really should be a lot bigger.”

“Won’t argue with you, but what are the odds that we would’ve run into each other if that was the case?”

It’s a sweet sentiment that doesn’t match the wink he sends your way.

The hallway is busy now as the current of bodies flow. Taehyung starts walking toward the classroom. “I’ll see you around, yeah? Give me time to guess which Gentileschi painting is your favourite.”

With a grin, you nod, giving a small wave as he enters the classroom.

When Jeongguk finds you, you both make your way through the building. He’s already going into a ramble about his final project for his film class. You both have a habit of sliding your fingertips against the walls, tapping along the heavy surface.

Taehyung was right about that. You still believe the Art Department could have more, be more, but there’s a charm in how small it is...intimate.

#bts #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts fic #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fluff #i already started thinking about how i could continue this #wow this is strange #taehyung fluff #bts v

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taeyungie · 3 years

Note

hiiiii~ 🎨 pleaseee? 🥺

SKY YESSSS EVERYTHING FOR YOU! YOU'RE HERE! A REAL QUEEN HAS ARRIVED INTO MY ARMS AAAAAAA I CANNOT WAIT TO WRITE A WHOLE BOOK IN THIS ASK ✨👍❤️❤️❤️❤️ idk i know it's silly but i get so much joy from complimenting you in practicular sjdhsjks you're just the cutest and you deserve all the love AND I'M HERE TO GIVE IT TO YOU AT ALL TIMES!!!! 😌😌😌❤️💕💘💓❤️💕💘 you're really truly the one who carries this site on your shoulders and it makes me so incredibly proud of you because you always work so hard 🥺 YOU MAKE SO MANY PEOPLE HAPPY i couldn't imagine being here without you!! YOU'RE ESSENTIAL, ANGEL. Before i start with showering your gifs in love all i want to say is that YOUR GIFS JUST OPEN MY THIRD EYE AND I HEAR ANGELS SING. DON'T YOU TELL ME LATER AGAIN THAT I'M EXAGGERATING (I'll get to that later on 😤) BECAUSE YOU'RE SIMPLY A GENIUS ✨ your style are one in a million, there's no way i could ever get confused on whether a gif is yours because your gifs are unmistakable!! ONE OF A KIND! you're such a precious baby, always being worried if your gifs are pretty and this makes me want to give you all the love (BUT AT THE SAME TIME LIKE 😤😤🤜👊🤛✊🤛👊✊ HAVE YOU SEEN YOUR OWN GIFS???? LIKE /ONE/ EVEN??????? OH MY GOD) and write essays about your every gifset because every 👏 single 👏 one 👏 of your sets makes me want to write poems NOW MOVING ONNNNN

I'll really have to put this under the cut because oh my god i'm so sorry you might want to get a popcorn on the way because.... yeah

good god i think i need to lie down YOU DROPPED A BOMB AND NEXT SECOND YOU JUST VANISHED LIKE '💆🏻‍♀️😌💅🏻 uhuh goodnight' AKSNDKSJSKSKKSKSKSKD ARE YOU SANE THIS IS INSANE FKANDKDKDKSJSSK THE WAY THAT I SAW THIS CLIP BEFORE AND THOUGHT oh he looks gooood BUT NOW YOU DECIDED TO JUST UH??? PUT SOME OF YOUR ✨SPICE✨ INTO THIS MEAL AND PUT IT ON A PLATE LOOKING LIKE /THIS/???????????????? bro i need a doctor i'm having literal heart palpitations...... WHERE DO I EVEN START 🙏 (warning: a very stupid and corny word-play ahead) he's beauty he's grace he's mr. golden face WKDHSKSKKS BUT REALLY HIS SKINNNNNNNNNN HISSSS SKIIIIIINNNNNNNNN 😭😭😭😭😭 THE WAY HE'S GLOWING, PLEASE!!!!!!!!! only you can make them look like this, you pull out in their skin colors everything what's the best, just stunning. next, lips.. oh my goodness, lips. beautiful, amazing, just *mwah*, beautiful, kinda desaturated (which i love in your gifs) red shade. next we have CURVES GAME ON POINT, JUST STUNNING, IF I TELL YOU THAT YOU INSPIRE ME SO MUCH AKSJSJSJSJSJKS amazing blend to the background, beautiful contrast. your gifs make me fall in love with him more and more every day 💔 and i can't leave without mentioning SHARPENING SETTINGS AAAAAAA i love itttt

indeed the cutest pie 😭😭😭 i loooove how you sometimes make your gifs so tall, you know, it's so pleasing to look at and makes them so unique and pretty. I LOVE the coloring here, it's so soft and makes everything look so flawless and light?? because gif itself is a bit dark too and his skin, and light hair are just outstanding but the contrast is so soft that everything is just pulled together nicely and looks amazing! and i love how you just pulled a magenta on me and made his mic look THIS GOOD ahhhh it's THE PRETTIEST MIC EVER 😭

this set is just... yummy 🤷‍♀️ you know???? YOU KNOW i know you know 👏 I'M– so in love with the coral, mustard and soft minty shades of background probably that's why it reminds me just of a good candy 👍👍 to add to that there actually ARE candies on the screen, like 4 of them 👀👀👀👀 again, curves adjustments - *chiefs kiss* i love skin colors and lips, it's something i can't get enough of i just simply want to eat a gif 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

now, we have reached the star of the show. I'll bring back something as a friendly reminder :

you cannot just say it's not the best and then have me just staring at it for five next hours ISLSNSJWNSJSJSNKSSJSJ please PLEASE where am i supossed to start FIRST OF ALL WHICH PARALLEL UNIVERSE YOU'RE LIVING IN THAT YOU MANAGED TO MAKE MAGENTAS LOOK SO BEAUTIFUL I JUST CANNOT UNDERSTAND HOW KAJSJSKS i'm really saying this seriously right now but this gifset made me tear up because i notice every single detail and it overwhelmed me to the very ends of my nerve endings KSJSKSK BECAUSE– 😔 skin color, suit color, hair color, lip color, mic color, sharpening, background, lighting, contrast, exposure.... all of it is just so beautifully composed and i don't think anyone could ever make something this amazing, especially looking at raw footage like comparing your gif to video frame it's just.. insane. you have magic hands and big brain that's all i have to say and i think it's truly one of my favorite sets of yours

run episode koo 🥺🥺 first and foremost i wanna notice and highlight how much i love that you just got rid of...... all blue and green KSJDJS LIKE PERIOD QUEEN AS YOU SHOULD ✨✨✨ i was kinda scared to do it on my own gifs and here i have another example of how you're just a genius, not scared of ANYTHING ✊💯💘 and then we can move onto his beautiful, tanned, golden skin and gorgeous red lips. I LOOOVEEEEEE IT SO MUCH I LOVE CURVES HERE AGAIN AAAAAAA I'll literally say it every time because it's the best part of your every set and I'm A COWARD TO MAKE MY GIFS TOO DARK AND DO THE CURVES THE WAY I WANT TO SKDJJSKS so i admire yours 😌✨

this gifset just simply brings me so much joy, it's like drinking a glass of cold water in the middle of the night, it's like feeling a warm gentle touch of sunlight on your skin when the sun is rising, it's like a fresh breeze ✨ again, stunning coloring, i love how you mixed oranges with this pastel blue and beiges you have kinda going there 🙇‍♀️ on its just so so so pretty AND ALSO OF COURSE /THEM/, THEY ARE JUST SILLY AND BEAUTIFUL, NEXT QUESTION

AJSHSJJSDKABSJDKSKKSS FIRST OF ALL THE ✨BONUS✨ IS LITERALLY ME @ YOU AFTER YOU DROPPED OF THIS GIFSET like you know i like this whole situation we have going on here wink wink how old was he in 2015 lemme do a quick math yeah 18 EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD WAS HE AND HE HAD THE AUDACITY TO LOOK LIKE THIS???? yeah no if i was a stan back then we would have a problem you know 👊✊🤜👊🤛✊👊 me looking like.... just nowhere near /this/ good..... at almost 20th year of my life is crying. i love the use of reds and brown here AND OF COURSE CURVES, MOVING ON

🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯!!!!!! THIS SET LOOKS LIKE A HONEY COMB!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️ i love how vibrant and bright the background is but you still managed to restore his skin into a perfect golden shade AHHHHHH it's so pretty

NEXT ONE IS DEDICATED FOR USER TAEYUNGIE IDK HER BUT SHE'S SURE DAMN LUCKY 🔊🔊🔊🔊 PLEASE i was so happy when you decided to make this set in the end 🥺🥺🥺 i belive i already screamed lots under the set in the tags but AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it's amazing beautiful just gorgeous from head to toe (a gif i mean cuz clearly we cannot see his toes SKSJSJSKSJSK) A M A Z I N G coloring, veey warm very soft he just looks like a carmel with raspberry on top (WHY DO I USE SO MANY FOOD REFERENCES SKJSJSKS I'M NOT HUNGRY I SWEAR) BUT NO, FOR REAL. he just looks so cozy here and i wanna hug him so much 😔😔😔 long story short my mind and stomach perform pirouettes because i'm head over heels for this man. AGAIN THANK YOU SM BABY FOR DEDICATING THIS ONE FOR ME ❤️❤️❤️

we're here, we survived till the 10th and at the same time last gifset of this post, TIME TO POP THE CHAMPAGNE ✨ and scream a little but more because HE'S SO BEAUTIFUL I'M LITERALLY FEELING MYSELF EVAPORATING SJSJKSKSKS the contrast here is darker than usual AND I'M LOVING IT it's bringing all his best features also he just looks like a glazed donut which kinda makes me cry (WAIT I JUST REALIZED I AGAIN DID A GOOD REFERENCE SKJSJS WTF) BUT HIS GLOW 😭 HIS GLOW 😭😭✨ just amazing, it's inappropriate how much i spent staring at this set KSJSJSKSK

when i tell you that writing this one took me like... two hours. but it was totally worth it and purely out of love for your stuff. anyway, i deserve a kiss on the forehead 😌

creators send me 🎨 & I’ll tell you my favorite of your last ten creations and why

#answered #ask game

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shmisolo · 4 years

Photo

I wanted to post the things I’ve made this year in one place. I haven’t posted most of them over here—largely because I’m not tumblring a lot these days. But I made a lot this year—both visual and written—that I’m proud of and wanted to share it out. You can find this post also in tweet form here!

Happy 2020, Reylo friends! It’s been a wild ride of a year, and mine couldn’t have been what it has been without you.

Visual

Oneshots

Investiture for @misscoppelia

In which Ben goes to daven for his father’s yahrtzeit and manages to prove to himself once again that he is both a terrible person and a terrible Jew.

Oh and he sort of falls in love.

baby you can drive my car for @talltig

They call them “soulmates.” Probably because it leaves less of a sting in their mouths.

The Kitchen for flypaper_brain

Rey and Ben, hunting for their first house.

alone with a heart meant for you for @nuanceismyjam

Ben orders Grubhub; Rey's car breaks down.

myosotis for @rissanox

Ben picked the flowers for their wedding.

and beyond for @lilithsaur

“Please?”

For a moment, he thinks it will be like the first time, him begging, her crying and saying no and him not knowing how to protect his crushed heart.

But she doesn’t cry, she doesn’t say, “Please don’t go this way,” she doesn’t look horrified or disgusted. She just grabs him by the front of his shirt and tugs his lips down to hers before reaching down to cup his cock.

You, Me, and He for @rissanox, @persimonne, and @misscoppelia

When they say that Kylo's brain is in his groin, they're not far from the truth.

Alternatively,

In which Kylo Ren is his own penis.

Bliss, Balance and Birth for @selunchen

Ben teaches their daughter to read.

💦💦💦💦

In which Ben accidentally implies that he gets his cardio from having sex on national television.

Favorites for @lilithsaur

In which Matt is preoccupied in getting Daisy the perfect token of his love on this, the two month anniversary of her agreeing to be his girlfriend.

A Trash Triplets AU.

Gotta Get Up, Gotta Get Out | Moodboard

“Listen asshole,” Rey says as she steps through the door of Poe’s deli. “You have exactly as long as it takes me to buy these cigarettes.”

Ben doesn’t waste a second breathing. “Metaphysically speaking, you and I are intrinsically and inexplicably linked,” he starts because there’s no time for beating around the bush and besides, Rey can sniff out a lie like no one else. “And I'm convinced our true purpose is to to connect with each other, if not help save each other's lives.” She’s opening her wallet and handing Poe a ten. “In another world, hopefully you are doing the same for me.”

The Other Thing for @persimonne

That’s what they don’t warn you about, he thinks idly. In his DesEd class, they’d warned him about knots, and heats, and ruts, and nesting. But they’d never warned him that her home would smell so much like her, like everything he’s ever wanted, that he would be unable to extricate himself.

“Can you make it a little more interesting in like...thirty minutes?” he asks her.

She pulls away and he immediately regrets saying a damn word.

“I could make that work,” she replies dryly. “I’ll pencil you in.”

A for... for @loveofescapism

Rey’s seeing double by the time there’s food on her plate. Oh. There’s food on her plate. That’s good. That’s unexpected at this point. “Eat,” Ben tells her.

So she does. It tastes good. Very good. She likes this food a lot.

“I’ll make sure she knows,” Ben says.

Oh she’s at that point of drunk where she’s just saying things out loud instead of keeping them in her internal monologue.

“You are,” Ben says, looking very amused.

She hopes she doesn’t say anything embarrassing.

“I promise, you haven’t yet, but oh boy, I’m looking forward to this.”

She shoves food into her mouth to keep herself from thinking out loud about his dick in her ass at his mother’s Passover seder.

do or do not (do the do)

In which Ben, in an effort to improve his stamina (look he's making progress, ok?) after reading some articles that he'll never be able to unread, receives some coaching (that he very much did not ask for).

(Very much did not ask for.)

(Not) Interested for @thewayofthetrashcompactor, @monsterleadmehome, @destiniesfic, yuktipatipriya

We're bringing Speed Dating back to Space Battles Bonanza! Register online for one of our special Bonanza sessions of 15 three-minute dates so you’ll no longer have to look for love in a galaxy far far away. Choose from one of seven speed dating sessions, two of which are queer focused. If the Insurgents can blow up the Doom Moon in 11 minutes, let’s see if you can make a love connection in only three.

There’s a history of successful Speed Dating at Space Battles Bonanzas, with long-term couples, engagements and marriages now among the alumni.

In which Rey & Kylo meet at their fancon's speed dating.

Never Die for @avamarga

Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise? I thought not. It’s not a story the Jedi would tell you.

Forged for @reyloner

There are several reasons that Ben would never have dreamed he’d ever receive this text. The first is that he’d be invited to a Halloween party. The second is that he’d never in his life expected to be in a serious relationship, much less the sort of serious relationship where his partner would suggest matching Halloween costumes. And the last is that he is dating someone who’s show only and they’ve only almost murdered one another twice. Because he’s an A Song of Ice and Fire fan. He hates Game of Thrones.

and getting caught in the rain for @kylorenvevo

What's the point of going to a family wedding if you're not going to hook up with your newly rediscovered brother's baseball coach?

A Picture's Worth for @selunchen

reyjay: hiya your art is amazing

reyjay: it’s a big ask but could you draw me for my art final tomorrow? i’m shit at drawing people and i can’t fail this. can you help?

He stares.

And stares.

kyloren: is this some kind of a joke?

reyjay: no?? why??

kyloren: you’re asking me to help you cheat your exam, but you’re not even offering me money?

Bang for your Buck

“We ready?” he asks her, sounding huffy.

“Nice to meet you Ben, I’m just familiarizing myself with your training,” she replies.

“Ok, well I don’t have all day.”

“No, you have,” she checks her watch, “another hour.” Because of course he’d booked an extra long session. Bless that sweet, sweet overtime pay.

“And you’re sure you know what you’re doing?” he asks her and she glances up at him, sure that her eyes are flashing because that’s fucking rude. She’s a professional. Amilyn wouldn’t have hired her if she didn’t know what she’s doing, and just because he apparently thinks he’s the center of the universe doesn’t change that fact.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your bang for your buck,” she tells him icily.

Two to Tango

Rey: I need to ask you something awkward. Ben: What’s up? Rey: Can I give you a blowjob? Please?

atlanta > all atlanta > community > missed connections for @sand-its-everywhere

In which Rey meets a cosplayer at DragonCon.

Sonsick (I'll fall for you soon enough) for @jeenonamit & YTCShepard

Sheev and Snoke share a moment at the country club.

A Thousand Words for @monsterleadmehome | Moodboard

In which, some years later, Ben encounters someone he drew for nudes.

Truth and Death written for this year’s @reylofanfictionanthology

Ben opens the box. Inside, he sees the charred remains of a helmet.

------------

She is made of sand-turned-clay, where other moving creatures are made of flesh and blood. Their skin cracks in the dry Jakku sun just like hers, but they are alive in their organs.

Rey is alive in a different way.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year written with @jeenonamit | Moodboard

Rey convinces Ben--and his sentient penis--to go with her to a Halloween party.

What could go wrong?

(Working title: "Dicklo 2: Electric BOO-galoo")

Shalom Rav! for @jeenonamit | Moodboard

In which Rey comes to terms realizing that she is attracted to the rabbi.

when the stars and moon align just so for @capaldisrighteyebrow

Songs spoke of red stars on nights that blood was shed. Stars bled too when the great fell. There were no red stars tonight. The stars did not bleed for Snoke.

Would they bleed for Ben?

She swallowed.

Because despite his own words—that he served his master (master, as though he were a draft horse to be yoked and plow the fields of men), that he would give everything to his master, she had seen doubt in his eyes that night, three years ago, when the stars and moon had aligned just so.

oh, my love, don't forsake me (take what the water gave me) for @reyloner and @loveofescapism

Their sabers clashed, humming in the spray, and Rey's heart was in her throat the entire time.

it’s you and me (i know it’s our destiny) | Moodboard

It’s just a kid’s game, he thinks when jealousy pangs in his heart. But it’s more than just a kid’s game.

It’s Pokémon.

It’s the only good thing in his life.

will you come when i call you (i’ll come when you call me) | Moodboard

Surely when Snoke had connected them, he hadn’t connected them like this.

—

@reylo_prompts: “Due to the Force bond Rey and Ben always come simultaneously. Now they need to figure out how not to do that since it can result in awkward situations.”

The Sweater Curse for @jeenonamit & @commandercrouton

She’s never made a sweater before, but she saw the pattern on Ravelry and who cares if she’s only made (lumpy) hats before—she has to try it. She has to make it. She has to make it for Ben.

“You realize that Hannukah isn’t an important holiday, right?” Ben asks as she makes eye contact with him. His eyes are big and brown and—at this moment—mildly annoyed.

“Really? Is it a giant conspiracy theory? Part of the war on Christmas?”

“More than you realize,” Ben says and for the life of her she can’t tell if he’s joking. He does this thing sometimes that’s confusing—where he’ll say something that sounds mopey but is actually snarky and it disarms her every damn time. “In any event, ugly Hanukkah sweaters definitely aren’t a thing the way ugly Christmas sweaters are.”

“Well, they are now,” Rey says firmly. “I’m making you an ugly Hanukkah sweater. Deal with it. And stop moving.”

Ours Is The Fury for @reyloner & @commandercrouton

Rey was tasked with taking Storm's End for her king. She defeated the Storm King Snoke in the Rainwood, but when she proceeded to the castle itself, preparing for a long siege, things did not go to plan.

Seen ✔️✔️ for @ever-so-reylo | Graphic

His lock screen has three texts from Rey on it:

Rey Wife: Babe I know you’re probably busy right now, but you sent that pic to the wrong chat. Rey Wife: Bennnnnnn Rey Wife: Call me when you’re done processing your trauma.

And then about ninety chats from the Skywalker Ranch WhatsApp thread.

In which Ben sends a picture to the wrong chat.

With you, Always for @jeenonamit, @nuanceismyjam, and YTCShepard

Rey's boyfriend is now a Force ghost but they're sure as fuck gonna try fucking anyway.

Chaptered Fics

we decided not to kill the wolves (we wanted to be wolves) for @nerdherderette | Complete | Moodboard

A pack of wolves lives in the woods to the north of Raddus and as winter looms, they have their eyes set on Leia Organa’s stronghold. Rey may be new to Raddus, but she’s not about to do nothing while it may be in danger. And besides, Poe must be exaggerating about wolves the size of bears. She’s not afraid of monsters.

Carry In My Core (That Voice I Adore) | Complete | Moodboards

Starring in her first opera would be stressful as is, but Rey, always one to outdo herself, just had to go and make things even more complicated with Kylo Ren. It’s hard enough looking him in the eye, much less pretending to be in love with him. She can make it through this. She has made it through worse. She can make it through this.

shadow boxes | Complete

Just because they aren’t together, doesn’t mean they’re not in love.

anyway you want to (anyway you've got to) | Complete

But you know she's getting something other Than the love from her mother

A Porn Challenge in which your author makes Rey and Ben bone their way through the month of February.

words like tomorrow (or future, or fate) for @haloren1st & @staticcatfish | Complete

One day, Rey wakes in a body that's not her own in a town she's never been to before. Who is Ben, whose body she seems to be possessing, and who woke up in her body? Why are they connected this way?

---

A Your name. AU.

Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations. for @valsansretour | Complete | Moodboard

Ben woke, but Luke’s saber wasn’t ignited. Instead, he saw a master who had shattered his trust, who thought he was a monster, and—worse—he was probably right.

So he fled Yavin IV, to Skywalker’s dismay, and no one heard from him since.

Years later, on a wasteland planet, a girl and a fugitive stormtrooper board a Corellian YT-1300 light freighter in desperation to find they are not the only ones trying to steal it.

Why Don’t You And I Combine for @ever-so-reylo | Complete | Moodboard

Rey’s phone rings while she’s at the farmer’s market. She lets it ring. They have a line and it’s only a few hours, and the girls are at school and it’s just her today, so she doesn’t have enough hands. Rose and Finn and Poe are helping Ben move furniture out of his apartment and into the house. They’re probably calling about something silly, or Ben’s calling to say he’s fully moved in and he’s lying in their bed—possibly with his hand on his cock—and that he’s thinking of her.

—

In which life continues, grows, and Rey and Ben continue to rebuild their relationship.

A sequel to Let’s Get Together.

The Love Committee for @jeenonamit | Complete | Moodboard

In which Rey, tired of her bad luck with dating apps and failed relationships, enlists her friends' help in determining who she should date next.

They take it a little too seriously.

A Year of Me and You for autonomee | Complete

“After you move in with one another, give yourself six months to like one another again,” Maz says, looking at Rey seriously through her bottlecap glasses.

“I’m not going to fall out of love with—”

“No, no. Not love. Love’s not got anything to do with it, child. Like.”

Non-linear vignettes of various length, set during the first year Rey and Ben live together.

Hanging by a Moment for pillar-of-salt | Complete | Mix

There are many things that Ben could have tolerated about his parents’ divorce. That his mother had finally had it with his father’s borderline illegal—or rather, as he liked to put it, borderline legal—company, the shady activities it covered that would doubtlessly end her political career if a reporter got hold of them; that his father had finally had it with the way his mother nags, because sure, he’d thought it was hot twenty years ago, but he is in fact an adult who can actually keep his shit together—all that he would have gotten. He’d have been wrecked, but he’d have gotten it.

His dad leaving his mom for a nineteen-year-old gold-digger though, and his mother not even putting up a fight—that had caught him by surprise.

That had hurt.

Be nice to her, Ben, his mother had said on the phone when he’d spoken to her for the first time in five years. She just lost your father.

Yeah. So did I.

Cupcake Wars | Complete | Fingerpainting + Playlist

Entirely by accident, Rey ends up fucking someone who works for Snoke's Cupcakery. She's just blowing off steam. It doesn't mean anything at all. It certainly won't come back to bite her in the ass.

in nobody's eyes but mine for @ever-so-reylo | Complete | Moodboard

Rey had spent too much of her life feeling as though permanence could only be transient so why bother with it. What was long-term? What was mating? What was home?

the water won’t have ya if the devil’s too blind for @thekesselrun | Complete | Moodboard

That water’s too dirty to wash away your sins.

“They’re not sins. I didn’t commit them against god. There is no such thing as god.”

Then whatever you want to call them. Crimes don’t get washed away by a river.

“It’s a cursed river,” Ben points out.

No, it’s a polluted river. Curses aren’t real. Not like that, anyway.

“Are you really well-actually-ing me?”

Yes, I am. Because you’re an idiot. Some extremely oily and not remotely potable water is not going to be able to remove the guilt you feel about killing your father, turning your back on your mother, murdering hundreds of innocents, and helping the First Order destroy the world. Especially when you knew I wasn’t going to let you die.

–

In which Ben Solo washes up on shore, very still alive and unsure of what to do next until a passing scavenger offers him a lift on her boat. Who is he now? Who does he want to be?

Apples & Honey for @peaceblessingspeyton | Complete | Moodboard

When Ben catches wind that his mother is planning to foist a potential girlfriend on him when he comes home for Rosh Hashanah, he takes matters into his own hands: specifically, he runs to Rey and asks her to pretend to be his girlfriend.

There Is Another for @kylorenvevo | Complete | Moodboards: Ch 1 | Ch 3 | Ch 7 | Ch 9 | Ch 11 | Ch14

“Mission success?”

“You will be interested in this.”

“Oh?”

Kylo glances back over his shoulder. The girl he had found on Takodana is still deeply unconscious, and will remain so for a long while. He had knocked her out as deeply as he could. She had fired at him the moment she’d seen him, resisted him tooth and nail. He does not want her waking up until he has her properly restrained, and he had not come to Takodana prepared to take any prisoners.

A shiver runs up his spine as he tries to shove away how it had felt, carrying her through that forest.

“Yes.”

“How so?”

The trouble with helmets is he can’t look Kira dead in the eye anymore. He can’t watch her face closely to see what will happen when he tells her,

“She’s you.”

Dear Mr. President | WIP | Moodboards: Ch13

Dr. Dameron shifts and slides a manilla folder across the desk to her. “Under ordinary circumstances, I’d let you keep the folder. I hope you’ll understand why I can’t do that this time around.”

She opens it and stares.

She stares and stares and stares.

Dr. Dameron has to be kidding. There have to be hidden cameras here, this has to be some elaborate prank. That’s why it’s him here and not Dr. Wexley—that was his name. Dr. Wexley.

But instead of getting to her feet and tossing her hair and saying he was cruel for playing with her heart like this, all she does is ask, blankly, “So...Ben Solo is my soulmate? Our new president is my…”

She swallows.

And Dr. Dameron nods.

so long lives this and this gives life to thee | WIP | Moodboard

His smile fades and he falls to the ground, his head hitting the ground with a sharp crack.

“Ben!” The yell echoes around them in the darkness and Rey lurches forward, her hands scrabbling over his face, his neck, trying to find a pulse.

She bursts into tears when she finds it. She doesn’t know why she’s crying. He’s alive.

———

In which Ben's Force Sensitivity—and not his life—was given to save Rey.

a little death (goes a long way) for @talltig | WIP | Moodboard

“That’s good of you,” he replies. “Especially with the O-Negative.”

“It’s a good deal,” she says and he glances up. Yeah, because Omega blood is harder to find. A taste of life, because they almost never survive the turn.

#reylo #reylo fanfic #reylo fic #rffa writers #year in review

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ao3commentoftheday · 5 years

Note

I used to write a lot, my entire life revolved around fiction writing (either fics or original stories), but then I stopped for a number of years after getting a job as a tech writer. Honestly it has been miserable. I’ve been trying to get back into writing fiction but it’s like my mind cannot remember how to write for pleasure anymore, or how to tap into that kind of creativity. Even imagining scenarios is hard. RP was never for me and I don’t have any [1/2]

writing partners at this point because I haven’t written fics in ages. I’ve tried everything I could think of but I keep getting hit with nausea and frustration and I’m quite desperate at this point. I was wondering whether you or any of your followers had gone through this or had any advice at all? even if it’s just ways to look at things differently? I just want to lose myself in a fictional world again and let the writing do its thing. :( [2/2]

*hugs* I’m sorry you’re going through that anon.

When it comes to writing, I go through waves of creativity. I’ve had a couple of fandoms now that I was so excited about I wrote and posted fic daily. In between those fandoms, though, I barely wrote at all. These days I RP, but that’s because I met my partner in our shared fandom and we just love writing together so much we don’t want to stop :)

What got me back into writing was engaging in other ways. Looking at gifsets, reading metas and headcanons, staring at fanart and wondering how on earth anyone could be that talented. I needed to soak up a lot of creativity from other people before I was ready to start expressing any of my own. Coming in, it was like my battery tank was at zero, but after spending enough time immersed in the art and language and ideas of other people I gradually recharged.

It might be that fandom isn’t what charges you up. You might be more inspired by going to galleries or watching live productions. Maybe you need to find the right music to make your brain start to fizzle. And maybe none of these ideas will work for you at all.

Let’s see what everyone else does when nothing else is working. How do you get your writing mojo back when it’s gone on vacation?

#asks and answers #Anonymous

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softjeon · 5 years

Text

The perfect Illusion | Final

• Pairing: Geisha!Jimin x Namjoon | Side-Pairing: Geisha!Jungkook x Yoongi • Genre: Fluff / Angst | Geisha!AU ( → Gifset Trailer) • Words: 9,2k | ↳ AO3 • Disclaimer: mentioning of abusive behavior

*** please note that this story doesn’t mean to represent accurate geisha tradition, it was solely inspired by the beautiful art form, giving it a modern twist in a fictional universe and therefore has been dramatized for entertainment purposes.

written with @cassiavioletblue

↳ He was the perfect illusion. The getaway for anyone who didn’t want to face reality. And yet, there was something in his eyes, something vulnerable and hopeful as if he was dying for someone to see through him, to care for him enough to look behind the mask and draw out the real Jimin. And Namjoon couldn’t wait to do exactly that.

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“You did fucking what?” Yoongi’s eyes were wide as he stared at Namjoon in surprise and shock with a hint of nervousness that washed over his expression. “Wait. Start from the beginning again…how did you get from asking me if I wanted milk in my coffee, which I, by the way, never do, to telling me about paying Jimin’s debt?”

Yoongi felt a little too breathless, too tired from spending almost all night with Jungkook. And now he was sitting in front of Namjoon when they usual morning get togethers for coffee (even though they lived in two different apartments, every sunday morning Yoongi still shuffled down the hallway to Namjoon’s place just like they were used to from living together) made his best friend literally spill his tea, or well…his coffee.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t think of a better way to tell you so... yeah, I asked Hoseok to give me permission to marry Jimin. But the sum Jimin owes Hoseok is no joke and I don’t have enough in my private account to pay all that so I wanted to ask you if... if I could either lend something from the company - or use it as loan security when I ask for money at the bank. I know it must sound crazy to you and maybe I am but… I mean it. I really do. This isn’t altruism or charity. I fell in love with Jimin. And if me marrying him improves his life then why shouldn’t I do it?”

“Sure.” Yoongi nodded, taking the cup of coffee to take a big sip from it, his eyes focused on something completely else than Namjoon. How could he scold his friend about something like falling in love with a geisha, when he was guilty himself? And he was bad at lying, especially when it was to his best friend. So, he quickly reached for his pocket and got out his phone, opening the app of his bank account. “How much money do you need?” This would definitely keep Namjoon from asking question about where he had been last night and simultaneously make him the happiest man alive.

“W…what?” He stared at Yoongi, completely confused. “You… you are kidding right? I thought... won’t you try and talk me out of this? Because of Jimin’s job, his training, the short amount of time we know each other and the amount of money I would have to pay just to be with him? Didn’t you say that it’s all an illusion in there, fake perfection to sell an image to people like us who can pay for it?”

“Love is love, Namjoon. I see the way you changed and Jimin is making you so much happier. Gosh, I just want you to finally get some…,” Yoongi groaned low, trying to keep every attention off of him, “Sometimes it’s worth it, you know? To fight for someone, you love. We’re doing good and we’re making more money than we can ever imagine. Our stocks are doing great, our products are selling fast and now that we are establishing our work in Japan with Mr. Lings investment…we’re fine.” He waved Namjoon off, “We’re doing just fine…so go and get married. Live life, love Jimin…do whatever makes you happy! Life’s too short to question everything. Sometimes you just have to do what your heart is telling you. There’s nothing wrong with falling in love and wanting to marry them. No matter how long you know them. You just know it’s right…you feel it in your heart,” Yoongi pointed at his own, nodding determinately, before adding quickly, “So, just tell me how much you need and the date when we take the boys with us and I’m your man!” Yoongi cocked up an eyebrow at Namjoon, “I’ll be your best man, right?”

“Who are you and what did you do to my grumpy, wary and sarcastic friend?” Namjoon laughed, carefree as if someone just lifted a hundred pounds off his heart. Yoongi didn't judge him or acted shocked by what he was about to do. Even better he actually offered to lend him money which meant the company would be fine and there wouldn’t be any risk of losing it to a bank. Also, he rather paid interest to Yoongi who totally deserved it than to a bank. So, he told him what sum he would need, half expecting Yoongi to gasp in surprise or take his offer back.

But Yoongi did neither.

“Okay, done,” Yoongi announced, turning his screen around to Namjoon, so the other could see that it was indeed the sum he had asked for which was now sent off to Namjoon’s account. Yoongi had saved up enough money to be okay with this and although he needed to lay low a little more with his money now, he had nothing to worry about anymore. If Namjoon was happy, then Jimin was happy, therefore Jungkook was happy. And that’s all he wanted in the end. With a big sigh, he leaned back against his chair.

“That’s...wow. Wow I mean, thank you, Yoongi! So much! I’ll pay you back, with interest and... thank you, really. You can’t imagine how much this means to me! I won’t ever, ever forget what you just did for me. For us.” He chuckled, realization settling in. He had the money. He could pay Hoseok back the moment Jimin told him he was ready to leave. He was in love with a beautiful person who loved him back - and he would marry him.

Like a fairytale come true.

Namjoon couldn’t even hide the smile behind his hand because it was so broad, his dimples showing it a way that spoke of pure happiness. “By the way, of course you’ll be my best man. And Jungkook can be the flower child; I bet he would enjoy that.” He could almost picture the boy throwing flowers around and onto all of their heads.

Apropos Jungkook… his voice grew a little softer, a little more careful when he continued, “How... how long did you stay at the tea house last night? Did you see Jungkook... afterwards or…” How did you ask your best friend if he was able to comfort the boy he liked after they had to spend a night with a stranger?

“W-what, what do you mean…did you see me? Where? In the theater…of the tea house?” Yoongi coughed awkwardly, the nervousness was rushing through him so fast that it was making him stutter. What was that about being bad at lying again?

Yoongi tried a smile, chuckling nervously, “What are you implying? That I bid on Jungkook? My sweet little Jungkookie? My maiko? T-that is now a geisha? B-because someone…paid him…and that someone definitely wasn’t me. Because it was…is a lot of money that you have to pay. You said it yourself we shouldn’t support the ritual! Maybe I just wanted to see him again. I like him, okay? He’s cute. Very much so. I like him. There. I said it. Are you happy now?” Yoongi was stammering, throwing his hands up in a defense, while his voice sounded a little more high-pitched than usual, “Even if I did bid on him, which I totally didn’t do, so stop asking me! It’s none of your business, okay? You are getting married and that’s what we are talking about now. You and Jimin. Marriage. Yes. Not about how I bid on Jungkook for his mizuage. Is it too much to ask for a little privacy here?”

Namjoon blinked, a little bit overwhelmed by the sudden gush of words that had come out of Yoongi’s mouth. His brain had trouble catching up on the meaning of it and when it finally clicked he almost choked on nothing.

“You… no way! I just saw you in the main room when Jungkook was on stage, I never thought that…” He shook his head. Yoongi hadn’t judges him so he shouldn’t either. “Did you see who had the highest bid at the end or did you leave before that? If you want we can go there today again, check up on Jungkook and... I can tell Jimin that you lend us the money.”

“Jungkook is fine,” Yoongi nodded, ignoring Namjoon’s angry expression as if his best friend just disregarded that Jungkook had lost his virginity to a stranger. That the younger could be hurting right in this very moment. But Yoongi knew better. “He…He was with me. Because I bid on him.” Yoongi didn’t dare to look at his friend, who was looking at him in a mixture of disappointment and shock. “I was the one who took Jungkook’s virginity.”

“You...what?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Yoongi shrugged his shoulders, taking his cup of coffee to gulp the rest down hastily, “Virginity is a dumb concept made up by society. Jungkook is fine, that’s all you need to know.” Yoongi bit down on his tongue to keep himself from spilling more secrets. He wanted to keep Jungkook safe, even if that meant lying to his friend.

Namjoon couldn’t wrap his head around it. He just couldn’t. Just a few minutes ago Yoongi had lend him a massive amount of money to make sure that Jimin wouldn’t have to endure living under Hoseok’s roof any longer - and then he was telling him that he had taken part in the most violating tradition of all! Mentioning it as if it was nothing! And then Yoongi even had the audacity to play the “virginity is a concept” card which was true for a discussion about concepts, but definitely not appropriate if you literally had just slept with someone for their very first time. This... this just couldn’t be true. Yoongi must be making an awful joke. Maybe he was teasing him. Or testing their friendship or...something else. As always when he was completely overwhelmed he just kept on talking, stating facts while his emotions were balling up into an uncomfortable thing sitting heavily in his stomach.

“There’s a rumor they showed off the silk sheets after, like some kind of marriage ritual from the Middle Ages where the groom shows off the bloody sheets as proof that the marriage has been consummated.” Namjoon shook his head. It was incomprehensible to him how something degrading like this could still be common. “Looking at stained sheets after sex - that’s simply disgusting!” Yoongi was strangely quiet and so he pushed further. “You didn’t... really do that, did you?”

Yoongi shrugged his shoulders, turning away a little so Namjoon couldn’t see his face which had warning bells ring in Namjoon’s head. “Wait, tell me you didn’t!” His voice broke when the realization sunk in that this had actually happened. That Yoongi had really actually fucking done that. When he spoke again his throat was tight. “Then tell me that at least you didn’t treat Jungkook’s first time like that; like some kind of proof of how mighty you are because you had him first. Tell me you were gentle, and kind and you made him feel safe.”

Yoongi tried to smile but it came out a little off. “Don’t make such a big deal out of this, Joon. It’s a tradition. It had always been like that. And no matter if we like it or not if we don’t play along the rules then it’s Jungkook and Jimin who have to live with that. We have the luxury of making our own rules, but they... if Jungkook wouldn’t have let me have him then he would have never become a geisha. You just can't be a geisha and a virgin at the same time. It might be a stupid rule, but it is one of the basic ones and ... it’s a onetime thing! No one has to touch him ever again if he doesn't want to. He can work as a geisha or get his own tea house or marry now, depending on how much money he earns. He has options now. And all it took was one single amorality.”

Namjoon scoffed but kept his opinion to himself. “As long as he liked it and you didn’t make him bleed I guess I can’t really say anything against that.” Yoongi shrugged his shoulders again and Namjoon felt like he was going to be sick. “You didn’t, did you?!”

Yoongi bit his lip, very obviously feeling like he was getting into a fix right now, “It’s just a symbol, Joon. It doesn't mean anything.”

“A symbol? Are you... Yoongi, goddammit! No one ever touched him before you, they aren’t even supposed to have physical contact with anyone outside the house! You knew how inexperienced he was! How could you... how could you hurt him? I thought you liked him!”

“I do!” Yoongi hastily tried to defend himself without giving their secret away. He had promised that it would be safe with him but right now it wasn’t easy to not just spill the truth, so he tried to play it down which was absolutely the wrong thing to do. “It’s not... it just got a little rough, he’s fine, he just...”

Namjoon held up his hand. “Enough! I don’t want to hear your sorry excuses. How could you. I never thought... I never thought that you of all people…” His heart was aching for Kook, the sweet shy boy who had trusted Yoongi and had gotten hurt in return. He couldn't imagine how betrayed the younger must feel - or maybe he didn't even know that it wasn't supposed to be like that, that sleeping with someone you cared for meant to be safe and that there could be pleasure, not just pain. He felt guilty himself, for letting this happen and Jimin... oh Jimin would be so sad and angry at them for hurting his little Maiko. He needed to get out of there or else he would have continued to scream at Yoongi. He needed to concentrate on the good that Yoongi had literally turned Jimin’s life around with helping him and he hadn’t even thought twice. He felt like he couldn’t get the Yoongi who had just helped him and the Yoongi who was paying to hurt Jungkook on his very first night into the same picture.

He just needed to get some air before he would be sick.

Namjoon felt like he needed to do something, anything, really to show that he was sorry, so he went to Jimin. Because hurting Jungkook also meant hurting Jimin. And as he felt like he definitely couldn’t look Jungkook in the eye right now he wanted to at least give Jimin something for the younger, something to make it better - if that was even possible right now. Also, if Jungkook was hurt…then maybe he couldn’t dance, therefore didn’t make enough money and he needed to wait even longer to get out which would also affect Jimin and therefore himself and.... Namjoon could feel the headache settle in and tried not to think about it.

When he finally stood in front of Jimin he held a bag in hand that was filled to the brim. He had thought through each and every apology he could think of but in the end he still found none that expressed how sorry he was about Jungkook’s first night turning out to be like that, getting hurt by someone who was supposed to care for him. He still couldn't wrap his head around it that Yoongi would do such a thing. He should have known, when Yoongi had told him that he had bought Jungkook’s innocence that Yoongi would treat this no different than all the other power hungry, ruthless men who got off on ruining something perfect and pure for their own pleasure. He bowed deeply in front of Jimin, apologizing with a tight voice while giving him the bag. There was a cushion in it, extra soft for Jungkook to sit on when his back was hurting, relaxing tea in case he couldn’t sleep. An herbal remedy for bruises as he didn’t know how else Yoongi had hurt the boy, anti-inflammatory drugs to keep his body from getting infected which could easily happen even with minor tears in that area and cute, colorful sweets to cheer Jungkook up. He still felt awful. Nothing he bought could turn Jungkook’s first night into something pleasant and Namjoon knew that Kook would never forget it because you just... didn’t.

Especially not like this.

“I can’t tell you how much I regret that I let this happen. Please tell Jungkook that I’m sorry and that I will keep Yoongi from coming here ever again if he wants to.” Jimin looked at him in confusion and when he opened the bag his frown just deepened.

“Joon, what are you talking about?”

The older’s heart sank at the prospect of being the one to tell Jimin why he was here. He had thought that Jungkook would have confided in Jimin right away but maybe he couldn’t. He swallowed harshly before whispering, “He hurt him. Yoongi hurt Jungkook and I’m... I’m so very sorry!”

Jimin’s expression changed and now it was Namjoons turn to be confused. There was a smile on Jimin’s lips. “You mean because of the blood on their sheets? Because he made sure there would be no doubt that they had sex? Joon…”

Namjoon interrupted him immediately horror dawning on him, “Jimin this is not how it’s supposed to be! Please tell me that you don’t think that this is how it should have happened! You should treat someone you…” Jimin held up his hands to stop him, smile growing more softer, but it was still there.

“So, he didn’t tell you? He really didn’t tell you even though you probably accused him of abusing Jungkook to his face?” Namjoon felt dizzy. How could Jimin be okay with all this?

“What do you mean? Of course, I did! I am unimaginably angry at him! How…how are you not? How can you be okay with Kook…”

“He didn't do it.”

That effectively shut Namjoon up and he just blinked at Jimin in confusion until the younger explained: “He really didn't do it. I was just as worried about Kook as you even though the sheets thing is not uncommon. But other than Yoongi, Jungkook told me right away. Yoongi paid the full fee - and then told him that yes, he’d like to sleep with him but only if Jungkook wants and when he feels ready. I honestly was a little worried because as beautiful and thoughtful as that gesture is it could destroy Kook’s reputation completely if it ever comes out. Though I don't think we have to worry if he rather lets his best friend think he hurt the one he loves than breaking his promise.” Namjoon’s head was spinning.

“And... the blood?”

“A smart move actually. That way they won’t ask Kook for details as it’s proof enough on its own. He just cut his finger. And then he held Kook for the rest of the night, brushing through his hair and whispering praises into his ear. Jungkook was practically glowing the next morning with a smile that couldn’t be wiped from his face. No one will ever doubt that he’s gone through with it and is happy to be a geisha now.” Jimin was smiling brightly, taking one of the strawberries he had taken with them as they sat outside in the garden close by the pavilion where they had kissed for the first time.

“I missed you, Namjoon. I was scared you wouldn’t come back,” Jimin leaned his head against his shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment only to snap up immediately though when he realized he had now smeared white powder all over Namjoon’s shirt, trying to wipe it off. “Oh…and then I guess he didn’t tell you about the proposal either, right?”

…

The night of Jungkook’s mizuage and after Namjoon had gone; Jimin had been sitting on his bed, hands folded together, while nervously tapping his foot on the ground. It was late, way too late and Jimin had been worrying so badly about what had happened to Jungkook and about Namjoon. His thoughts had been running wild with endless possibilities - until the younger finally showed up.

Jungkook felt a little dizzy - from happiness. Yoongi had just said goodbye to him, with a kiss and a look in his eyes that was so soft Jungkook was about to start crying again. Though he had cried enough that night. His eyes were still teary and red, but he just couldn't help himself. The moment it had sunken in that Yoongi wanted to marry him to bind their lives together forever in love and trust and everything he had ever hoped for he had just broken down. And Yoongi had been there to catch him, to hold him calming him down with ‘I love you’s’ and the sweetest promises Jungkook could ever think of.

How he would show him the world and take him as he was, they would explore what Jungkook liked and what he didn’t, what hobbies he might enjoy and what his favorite food was. The younger felt as if he had walked through a door last night and ended in a dream world that was everything he ever wished for.

He had sneaked out when they had come to clean up after Yoongi, taking the sheets with them. He had felt their looks on his skin and blushed heavily, but they hadn’t asked anything or talked to him in any way, just nodded their approval and then let him go. He needed to see Jimin, right now, or else he might burst from all the happiness inside.

“Jimin?” He knocked and barely waited for something affirmative from the other side of the door before barging in, closing the door behind him and then sinking down at Jimin's feet to bury his head in the others lap like they did sometimes, when Jungkook wanted Jimin to card through his hair and calm him. He just couldn’t sit properly right now and talk about this normally when his whole world had just turned on its axis.

“Hey,” Jimin instinctively reached out for him, soothing over his hair and holding Jungkook softly. “Are you okay?” It was a simple question, one that Jimin spoke so calmly that it surprised himself with the storm that was raging in his heart and mind. But he needed to know if Jungkook was alright, if he was hurting if he needed anything from him or if he just wanted to sit like this for the rest of the night. He didn’t care.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jungkook sniffled, the tears coming again when he remembered how scared he had been just to feel this endless rush of relief when Yoongi came in and then gave him back control over the situation. “It... it was Yoongi who bought me and at first I thought he would just have sex with me, but... but...” His voice broke and he took a deep breathe, wiping the tears off his face to speak properly. He had never understood why sadness and joy brought the same reaction when it got too much and he pouted as it was kind of ruining the happy mood right now.

Reaching out for the young geisha, Jimin lifted the youngers chin to make him look at him. “Y-Yoongi? He didn’t want...w-what did he do, Jungkook?” Jimin was fearing the worst right now, his thoughts spiraling out of control, not really getting that Jungkook was crying because he was happy. But Namjoon had said, Yoongi liked Jungkook - that they would protect the younger. “What happened? He didn’t hurt you, right?”

Jungkook shook his head at that question and then broke into tears all over again, sniffling in between as he managed to get out, “He... he proposed to me, Minnie! He told me that he would ... marry me and he didn’t…we didn’t have sex. He realized... how... how scared I was and said he wouldn’t do it like that but... he still... still wants me and.. Minnie, he said he loves me! Can you imagine that? He... he loves me and he can get me out and no one will ever control me... ever... ever again!”

Jimin gasped, pushing a hand onto his mouth – and still he couldn’t stop the tears from rolling. He instantly reached for Jungkook and embraced him in the tightest hug, feeling how shaken the younger was. It was everything Jimin could have hoped for and more. All he wanted was for Jungkook to get out of here and now it was about to come true. And if Jungkook was safe…then Namjoon could come and get him as well.

Jimin closed his eyes, the sobs taking over as he kept holding the younger just a little tighter. “Of course, he loves you! Who doesn’t love you! You’re the sweetest geisha that has ever graced the earth,” Jimin mumbled with a soft giggle, leaving a few soft kisses on the younger’s cheek, while soothing over his back, “You’ll be out of here soon. I told you…I told you it’s going to be alright.”

They were holding each other, crying together and washing away everything that they had kept inside. All the insecurity and tension, the lost dreams and fragile hint of hope, the bottled up emotions and disappointments - everything just broke its way out. When the tears finally dried up Jungkook felt relieved as if he only weighted half of his weight, the pressure on his chest gone so he could breathe more freely. He also was exhausted though. He had slept a little last night, but not much and he ached for a long, deep sleep - and to wake up to the knowledge that it was still true; that Yoongi would propose and take him home with him.

Jimin had helped him up and into the bed with him, neither of them letting go off each other. Jungkook fell asleep almost immediately, snoring softly in the geisha’s hold while he was playing with his hair. Jimin smiled at the thought of Yoongi proposing to the younger, wondering how it had happened if the other had been on one knee or if he just had told him – just like Namjoon had done it. Biting his lip, Jimin looked down at the sleeping boy, tracing the lines of his face softly.

He hadn’t told Jungkook about Namjoon’s visit, just as much as he had never told him anything else bad that had happened. He knew that Jungkook would scold him for staying when he had a way out of here immediately. But now that he was sure Jungkook would be out of here soon, whether it was through working his debt off quickly or Yoongi paying everything and marrying him right away – he didn’t care -, Jimin dared to dream again.

...

Namjoon plucked a strawberry away from Jimin’s heap. “That idiot.” His voice was fond and sweet. “You know I told him that I proposed to you. And I expected for him to be shocked and everything, but he was absolutely fine with it. Now I know why: he had just proposed to Jungkook himself. But he couldn’t tell me, probably because he was afraid to say too much and spill Kook’s secret. I knew it! I knew he had a soft spot for Jungkook. And I’m glad it turned out that it’s even more than that.” Words lingered on his tongue, those who would tell Jimin that Yoongi had lend him the rest of that money that he needed to buy him out of here. But suddenly he got shy. He had proposed to Jimin so shortly ago. Maybe he should wait a little longer before bringing it up again. He should probably let Jimin cope, there’d be so many changes now. And who knew when exactly the two would marry. He could wait. And then, after Jungkook would have left the tea house then he could ask again. That would probably be for the best. He bit his lip, nonetheless, still itching to just blurt it out and ask Jimin again.

“Don’t call him an idiot, Namjoon!” Jimin softly nudged his side, giggling quietly. Reaching out for one of the napkins, Jimin put a finger under Namjoon’s chin to turn his head around. “You’ve got strawberry juice all over you.” The geisha smiled at him fondly and cleaned it up with a featherlight touch. “I’d kiss you if I could right now.” He added in a whispery tone, not wanting anyone else around to hear although they were pretty far off from the usual spots the other geisha’s took their clients in the garden. “If…If Yoongi is marrying Jungkook. If he is taken care of then…,” Jimin began to speak as he set the napkin down again, playing with the hem of his robe nervously. “W-will you…will you come back?”

Namjoon couldn’t help the smile from spreading all over his face. Just like the warm, fuzzy feeling that was spreading inside of him until it filled up his whole chest. “Why? What should I come back for?” He asked, playing dumb. “If Yoongi and Jungkook won’t be here anymore - then what will there be that’s worth coming for me here? I can’t think of anything; honestly.”

Jimin’s eyes widened but his expression soon turned into a smile. “But I am here,” He pursed his lips into a pout, sulking prettily. “But you’re right…watching Yoongi and Jungkook being in love and all…lovey-dovey at work…at home…and everywhere else, when you’re all alone, is probably better anyways.”

“You will be here?” Namjoon feigned surprise, “But why would you? I didn’t think you’d want to come back here after you moved out. But sure, if you want to we can go there together. I actually wanted to ask you for a favors regarding that anyway...” He wiped off his mouth and then placed the napkin aside. Jimin could swear that his heart had jumped right out of his chest in that moment. He blinked the tears away hastily, trying not to show how much it meant to him that Namjoon still thought about getting him out of here. “A favor?” Jimin shifted a little closer, seeking the warmth the other always provided for him, “What is it that you need?”

Namjoon left the joking aside and turned towards Jimin. His eyes were soft but his face serious as he was about to ask something very personal and uncomfortable of Jimin. “I wanted to ask you if you... if you could think that maybe... you could tell the others in the tea house. About what happened to you.” He could see Jimin’s eyes widening and his body tensing up in defense and he took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Just listen to me please. You don’t have to give me an answer right away just.. I talked to a lawyer, as I said I would. And they told me that even though he is sorry about what happened we can’t... we don’t really have a chance at winning a case. Because we don’t have proof. And I hate that Hobi will just get away like that, but I don’t want you to get through any of this again, not even for getting ‘proof’. So, I wanted you to talk to the boys living here, tell them what Hobi did so that they are warned and then tell them that if he ever tries something with them then they can call me, anytime. And together we will get proof and Hobi in jail.“

“Joon,” Jimin cupped his cheeks, not knowing what to say anymore. He took a few deep breaths before answering, “O-okay…but no word to Jungkook. I need you to promise me that.” Jimin gulped heavily, his hands shaking from the sudden anxiety that overwhelmed him. “J-just give me a bit time, okay?”

Namjoon nodded, squeezing Jimin’s hand again. He hadn’t expected Jimin to agree right away. After all, Jimin had kept it a secret since it had happened, telling no one but him. It must be a scary thought to open up - but it might be what kept the other young boys in the tea house safe. If they knew they had help if they knew that they had to look out maybe none of them got hurt. Hobi might even get wind of it that if he ever tried to touch one of the boys again he would be in jail quicker than he could make up a lie. Maybe an anonymous letter would do…

“You’ve got all the time in the world. We only plan further when Jungkook is out and he never has to know. No one has to know, ever. Except for... a therapist. As I’d really like for you to see one. Though as with everything else we’ll go at your pace. You can settle in, get comfortable, feel like home. I just want you to heal, at your own pace. And if it helps you talking about it, opening up to someone who can help you better with this than I… then I’d like for you to try please. But before that - before everything I’d like you to marry me please.” As Jimin was still sitting it was a little strange to kneel in front of him, but he still did, taking out the ring that he had bought. It was a small and delicate band, no decoration, no inscription, just a silver band to fit on Jimin’s finger.

“I figured as we more or less have a date now for when you come out it would only be appropriate for you to have something to visualize my promise to you. I kept it simple so that you can wear it at work as well. And when you’re out then we can look for our wedding rings together and you can choose whatever you like best. I’m assuming it’s still a yes?”

Jimin was completely frozen, only his eyes blinking gave away that he was still alive. His mouth stood open as he stared at the ring in front of him. “It’s perfect,” His voice sounded so small, almost timid, “Y-you are perfect.” Jimin’s lip began to tremble, tears spilling over. “Of course, I still want you. I always wanted you! Yes!” Jimin didn’t care about any rules anymore, but let himself fall into Namjoon’s embrace, holding on tightly and just when he was sure no one could see he placed a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips. Just one time, before he sunk back into his arms.

…

Everything just felt surreal as if he had spent each day in a dream, one unique stolen moment suspended in time when he was with Namjoon. And every day brought him a bit closer to him – until he would come back and take him home.

But Namjoon didn’t come back. Not the following week, or the one after.

Jimin had waited to see his name on his appointment list, but there was no ‘Kim Namjoon’…just everyone else but the one he wanted to see so desperately. Jungkook passed him on his way up to the tearooms with a smile, practically glowing in his geisha attire and it was enough for Jimin to know that Yoongi was there again.

Jimin smiled back at the younger, separating from him and going into a different direction.

Jungkook didn’t need him anymore and now that the young geisha was almost done paying off his debt it only made Jimin awfully aware of his own state. But Jungkook wasn't to blame, only himself. He was trying to work more than usual, get more tip from the customers and even doing main room services again – even though it stressed him out completely – to pay off more of his own debt with Hoseok. He was the first one to start his shift and the last one to go. One day, Jimin had fallen asleep over the box filled with his laundry, being completely exhausted.

To Hoseok it was a fun game to watch, to see Jimin struggling just to get a glimpse of that hope again. To see him trying to keep the debt as low as possible, but it was a hopeless, tiring fight. But Jimin didn’t want Namjoon to pay more, just because he had decided to stay here and make sure Jungkook was safe until he could go. It was his own fault. And Namjoon had told him he would take care of everything else. He just needed some time to prepare it, right? It was about Jungkook first, anyways. Jimin shouldn’t worry too much about it.

But what if Namjoon wouldn’t come back for him?

What if he decided that waiting for Jimin would take too long, that it would leave him in ruins and the geisha wasn’t worth it. Jimin couldn’t blame Namjoon. He was a dancer, nothing more than that. And even though he had gotten a good education, Jimin never learned any other job than this. The contract between Hoseok and Namjoon only lasted for a month and if the businessman didn’t bring the money or prolong the contract, Jimin would get dropped – just like that.

Jimin looked down at his hand, the ring still on his finger – the only reminder he had of Namjoon’s promise. Wiping over his eyes tiredly, the geisha made his way through the darkness of the garden and into their room again. He was forcing himself to push down every bit of sadness, while the doubts were eating him alive – and still Jimin didn’t want anyone to see him struggling. In some ways he knew it was irrational, but how did one tell their heart that it didn’t need to be scared?

So, he put his mask back on, doing his job with a perfect smile, dancing with the same expression all over again and listening to Jungkook daydream about Yoongi. He smiled through the pain, urging Jungkook on to tell him more, ignoring the aching inside his chest, the jealousy that felt like it was leaving a hollow.

And sometimes, when the younger was sleeping in his arms, his head on Jimin’s chest and arms tightly wrapped around his body, Jimin just cried. Silent tears falling down onto his cheeks. Some were because he knew that he had made it, he had saved Jungkook from this and that the younger would be free from it soon. And he would be taken care of.

And about his own life, then the sadness washed over him like a wave, pulling him under and leaving him to drown. It was making him want to scream out because the pain wasn’t bearable. But then he soothed over Jungkook’s hair just a little softer, trying to stifle anything else to not wake him or started playing with the ring again. There had never been anyone protecting him, so he wouldn’t dare to bring Jungkook the same fate when he was so close to his happy end.

Sometimes Jimin wondered if this story, his life, had never been about him but all about Jungkook. Maybe it was solely about protecting the innocence and keeping him that way. But hadn’t he been innocent himself once? How did he tumble into this life? Namjoon once said it hadn’t been his fault…that nothing of what had happened should have happened in the first place.

The moment he thought about him again, his heart did a painful jump. Jimin wondered where he was right now, if he maybe couldn’t sleep as well and if he was thinking about him. Namjoon had told him, that sometimes he was going out for midnight bike rides – maybe he was doing that? Looking up at the stars? The same one’s he could see now. Jimin had never ridden a bike before. Sighing deeply, Jimin tried to close his eyes again, imagining himself riding a bike but in the end it only made him awfully aware of the things he couldn’t do. What was he even good for? He couldn’t even cook properly, and he wasn’t so sure if Namjoon was a great cook considering how clumsy he was and maybe the other didn’t even want to teach him.

Jimin was a burden. That’s all he had been from the beginning.

When Jungkook stirred in his sleep, Jimin quickly buried his face in his hair and told him to go back to sleep. From where they were lying, Jimin could see the sun slowly rising, but Jungkook needed a bit more sleep. “I’ll wake you up, but now just sleep okay,” Jimin mumbled into the younger’s hair, before closing his own eyes and trying to ignore the way his heart was hammering against his chest.

It had been two weeks since Namjoon had visited him and the more days passed, the more did Jimin lose his hope.

It was wilting away so easily, the fear of getting rejected growing bigger than believing in Namjoon’s promise – no matter how long he stared at the ring.

…

Sitting outside, Jimin was reading – or more likely he tried. He was reading over the same couple of sentences repeatedly for the last couple of minutes. He just couldn’t concentrate, his mind racing, making him feel dizzy. So, instead of reading ahead, he closed it and put the book aside. Leaning his head against the wall, Jimin let the sun shine directly on his face and although he easily got a sunburn, he didn’t mind the heat right now. He almost dozed off, his tired mind slipping when a happy yell made him jerk his head up, his eyes searching for the source of it.

“I got it! Jimin,I finally got it! The paper! This is it! I got it” Jungkook was running towards him, bunching up his silk robe with one hand so that he wouldn’t fall over his own geisha attire. He was waving wildly with a paper, his face beaming so much that Jimin could see it from where he was sitting.

The geisha was up on his feet right away, ignoring the shiny spots that appeared and the dizziness he felt and instead ran ahead to get to Jungkook. His own doubts were far gone, because nothing else mattered right now. “You made it,” Jimin whispered, taking the paper from Jungkook to read over them quickly before he jumped in happiness, hugging the younger. “Yoongi must be on his way now! You should go and sign it now!” Jimin squealed, urging the younger to move, “Go! Go! I’ll go and pack your things…and…and you go and sign this…then…then when he’s here you can leave right away. No one will hold you back.” Jimin took in a sharp breath, when the realization settled in that he would let Jungkook go today. With a smile, he nodded into the direction of Hoseok’s office, “What are you waiting for?”

Jungkook hesitated. “I just... wanted to tell you and now... I don’t really know what to do.” His doe eyes were wide and dark, a little worry mixed into all the happiness. “I don’t feel good leaving you here. I know it won’t be for long and that Namjoon will be here soon, maybe even tomorrow but... I don’t want you to be alone.” He took Jimin’s hand and held it a little too tight. “I’m gonna miss you, so, so much, Jimin. You’re my family. And you always will be.”

They hadn’t talked about any of this yet, fantasizing and dreaming about the happy aspects of their future while leaving out completely that they wouldn’t live together any longer. Of course, they would see each other all the time with Yoongi and Namjoon being friends and owners of the same company and living close to each other. And yet it would be a big change. “Promise me that you will call whenever you want to see me, no matter when and where?” He took Jimin’s other hand as well and squeezed both of them, “And we will have sleepovers when our... our husbands are away on business” He giggled at the word husband because it still got him shy. “And we will have breakfast together, the four of us every Sunday. And I need to see you at least five times a week. Okay?”

“I’m not alone,” Jimin answered with a smile, although inside he was crumbling, ignoring the pain he had felt the past weeks, nodding at everything he said. He stiffened when Jungkook talked about ‘their’ husbands, when Jimin had never told him about Namjoon’s proposal or his promise. Jungkook just believed in the good.

“I-I know I always have you, please don’t worry about me, Jungkook.” He squeezed the younger’s hand lightly, “I’ll be there with you soon but until then please be happy. If you smile, then I smile.” Jimin soothed over Jungkook’s cheeks, his eyes flickering onto the ring on his finger, before he quickly retreated it again. “I promise you…and now go!” Jimin laughed, pushing the younger lightly into the direction.

Jungkook hugged Jimin once again, a sudden, happy hug from all the joy he felt inside before he finally ran off. He had felt awful about leaving Jimin behind so one night Yoongi had told him a secret and had him promising that he wouldn’t ask Hobi or Namjoon anything about it. Apparently Namjoon wanted to marry Jimin as well though for whatever reason they had to wait for a while longer.

Jungkook just hoped Namjoon would keep to his promise and also hurry up a little.

He didn’t want Jimin to be alone. If necessary he would come to the tea house every day at Jimin’s lunch break to make him smile until Namjoon had sorted out whatever was stopping him to take Jimin with him. It was probably the money. Jungkook bit his lip, thinking to himself that the moment he got a job he would start saving his earnings to give to Namjoon so that he could buy Jimin out of there just like Yoongi had with him. The older had refused when Jungkook had offered to pay him back but Jungkook thought about doing it anyway. After Jimin was free of course. But right now, he needed to sign the papers, give them back to Hoseok and then… then he could go with Yoongi to spend his first night outside of the tea house since more than a decade.

Jimin’s heart was aching as he watched Jungkook run off, almost stumbling over the doorstep and shooting him a smile as if to reassure him that he was fine. The geisha smiled back at him, before he turned on his heel, grabbed his book and returned to their room. Taking the bag from their closet, Jimin put it down onto Jungkook’s bed side looking around the room to look for the things he could pack. There wasn’t much: except for their normal day clothes and daily robe and a few personal essentials they barely had anything. When he lifted the bag, it was still light and not like he would move out, but rather just stay overnight somewhere. He plopped down onto the mattress, letting his gaze wander around for a moment until the pain became a little bit too much to endure. He took in a sharp breath, one that hurt his throat. Mindlessly, Jimin had started to play with the ring again, rotating it on his finger until his breathing calmed a little more and it didn’t felt like he was free falling into a pit dark hole.

With his smile perfectly in place and bag in hand, Jimin hurried back out again. He could already see Yoongi with his arm around the youngers waist at the garden gate, the biggest smile on both of their faces. Seeing Jungkook so happy, so close to being free was all he had needed to make joy blossom in his heart again.

Honestly, Jimin wasn’t sure how he was surviving this whiplash of emotions for weeks now. He was a mess that was for sure.

Bowing deeply in front of Yoongi, Jimin spoke up, “Thank you, Mr. Min.” He bowed even deeper, trying to hide that his eyes were tearing up from pure joy and relief that Jungkook would be safe from now on, “For everything that you did, for Kook…and for me as well. You showed yourself to be a great gentleman and best suitor for being Jungkook’s fiancé.” He didn’t plan on speaking so formerly, but Jimin felt safer using his geisha persona or else he feared it would have overwhelmed him completely.

Yoongi reached out for him, gentle touching his arm. “Jimin, there’s no need to talk to me like that. We’re friends. At least from my side. And you aren’t a geisha anymore. You don’t have to be overly polite to people. You can let yourself breathe. I’d say we all meet at my place tonight. Till then Jungkook has had the time to take a look at the apartment and decide which room he wants as his own and then we can order pizza tonight and celebrate him moving in with me. You want to come?”

Jimin only nodded at that, not sure if Yoongi knew what he was talking about. Of course, he was still a geisha. Didn’t Namjoon always say he knew more about the rules of a tea house? It was a nice thought though, so Jimin only smiled at him before turning to Jungkook. Soothing over the younger’s hair, Jimin cupped his face to place a soft kiss on the youngers cheek. “Call me tonight, will you? I bet I can make Hoseok let me use the telephone, and then you can tell me about the room…about the view out of your window and everything else, promise?” Jimin hugged Jungkook close once more, before pulling away, sniffling quietly and mumbling something about allergies. “I’m sorry I can’t come but I’m sure it’s going to be a lovely night.” The geisha turned to Yoongi and bowed in apology, “I do have to work tonight, but it would make me really happy to hear from you soon.” His voice broke a little and his hands began to shake, while Jimin tried to cover it up with an awkward wave.

“I think you’re a little over excited there, sweetheart.”

Jimin jumped a little from the sudden voice behind him and Namjoon chuckled as the younger’s eyes widened in surprise. He had practically begged Yoongi for them to drive to the tea house together as soon as he got the call from Jungkook that the papers were ready: because he didn’t want Jimin to stay there for a minute longer after Jungkook was gone and he was practically allowed to marry Jimin officially now. The last two weeks had been hell without Jimin but he still had a job and then he had cleaned out a room in his house and had tried to make it as comfortable as possible without putting pressure on Jimin because Jimin should decorate the room how he wanted and maybe he also wanted different furniture or other colors or he wanted to turn the room into a dance studio or a hobby room and... Yoongi had laughed at him a couple of times for it, saying that he was thinking too much and that they would have enough time to sort that out when Jimin was there. The rest of their lives to be precise.

“So... Jungkook is officially his own man right now. Or Yoongi’s, however you want to see it. Does that mean you are ready to come home now?”

Jimin just stared at Namjoon, mouth hanging open, his mind and heart trying to catch up. His bottom lip began to tremble, when Namjoon was talking about ‘coming home’ as if it didn’t mean the world to Jimin.

Stumbling a little, he walked up to Namjoon, reaching out for him, still not really believing this was happening.

“I’m not a geisha anymore?” He asked with a quiet voice that only Namjoon could hear, feeling his arm wrap around his waist just right when Jimin felt like the world slipped right from underneath him. “We’re going home? You and me? And we’re going to order pizza? Drink sugary coke? And I will live with you in your apartment? Sleep next to you? In your bed? Will you teach me how to ride a bike?” The questions spilled out of him so quickly, but he needed to know the answers to make sure that for once his dream had become reality, that someone had kept his promise.

Namjoon chuckled at Jimin’s cuteness, kissing him sweet and passionate now that he finally could.

“I told you we would!” Yoongi yelled in the back and then, murmuring to Jungkook “Though no bike riding in the house please. You want to ride a bike too? We can make trips on the weekends then; would you like that?” Jungkook nodded happily and then, as soon as Namjoon and Jimin had stopped kissing ran over to them to hug them from the side, pulling Yoongi along so that he stumbled into them and they were basically all hugging.

Leaning in to Jimin the younger whispered quietly so that only Jimin could hear it: “You were right all along when you told me that this all would be worth it one day. That if we stayed strong and kept going that we would find happiness. I found mine with Yoongi. And I guess Namjoon’s is yours. And even if something changes one day no one can take this moment from us. And we will always have each other. I can’t wait to find out what life will be now outside of the tea house. And I’m so glad that we’re all together.”

Jimin smiled, reaching for Namjoon’s hand to hold it tight as they followed Yoongi and Jungkook who was happily skipping. He let himself get pulled along and to their car and not once did Jimin look back. He didn’t care about his stuff that was never his to begin with. He had everything he needed right here with him. Taking a deep breath, the young man looked up at Namjoon who just opened up the car door for him to step in. His handsome face was turned towards him in smiling welcome; eyes full of love and trust. Love is a road long and hard, which makes it even more important to travel it with the right person. Love was a fight worth fighting and a victory worth having. He found it in Namjoon and found comfort and security in knowing that it would be all okay with him by his side. And no matter what the future still hold, no matter how many times he had to face Hoseok once more, he knew he wasn’t alone anymore. And if love was a choice, he would chose him, over and over again.

A/N: Another story is done :) What did you think??? We hope you enjoyed this story!! Yes, we know we don’t give too much closure on whats going to happen with Hoseok - but we can ensure you that Namjoon will go against him and make him pay but it was most important to him to get Jimin out first. And he will love Jimin forever and ever and hold him tight every night and give him everything he needs. And yes, maybe Jungkook will accidentally bump into Yoongi’s expensive vase because he tried biking in the living room. But he will still love him.

Don’t forget that I posted a new fic trailer for the next upcoming fic. A guardian angel AU with Minjoon and Yoonkook - again. Lmao, yeah. It’s just what we love writing :DD But there will be two Yoonmin stories coming out soon as well as we participated in an event. So look out for those!

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

Text

PINING, BAGELS, REPEAT.

— WHEN THE DRINKING'S DONE ; PART 6 / ?

( gif from this gifset by @jascontodd )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

SUMMARY: Sunday night dinner with your mother doesn’t go as planned when Bruce shows up unexpectedly at your door and you both know how your mother really loves him alot.

A/N: Slow and kinda long-winded chapter again haha. I used to be the kind of person who couldn’t write long stuff. Now look at me. Who is she??? Enjoy this one yall. Probably one or two more chapters to go, depends on how much I can write <3

WARNINGS: Swearing, alcohol. I write about what I feel and they are very real. So if you find these things triggering, please do not read this.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

Sunday night. You’re in an apron, flushed from the heat of the stove. You’ve just poured a glass of wine for your mother, but she doesn’t drink it—too busy walking around your apartment, clearing your stuff as she criticizes your lack of cleanliness and organization. Grading papers during exam season keeps you busy. Needless to say, you don’t have the time to clean your goddamn house.

You still love her anyway.

You’re at the sink, purple-stained fingers from peeling the tunic of the red onions are under running water when there is a knock on your door. It’s deafening, rapid, and agitating. You’ve just spilled boiling water onto your hand and you really don’t need another problem to come charging at your front door. Literally.

Moving out of the kitchen with haste, you call out over your shoulder to your mother to quit rearranging with bits and bobs of stationary and papers because yes, it’s messy but you know exactly where everything is. The knocking doesn’t cease, and your annoyance aggravates further. You’re gonna have to punch someone or something if it doesn’t stop.

You aggressively pushed the barrel of the bolt lock, swinging the door open as the strands of your wild hair flew backward in the sudden blow of air.

All forms of anger and agitation disappear as soon as your gaze meets the flushed face of none other than Bruce fucking Wayne, dressed in a grey dress vest, tie hanging loosely a pristine white shirt, and an ebony tweed overcoat. This feels like deja vu. Your expression goes through a series of mixed emotions, mostly confusion, when it morphed into a guise of embarrassment, cheeks even redder. “Don’t tell me I texted you by accident again?” He blinks, seemingly as bewildered as you are. “What? No, no. No. I—” His sentence is cut short when he takes a moment to catch his breath. Your brows are frowning even deeper than before. “Did you run here or something? And what are you doing here anyway?”

Bruce shifts in his stance, a palm against the door frame, shaking his head. He feels small under your interrogative stare. “No, I came here to see you…” he trails off, eyes shamelessly skirting across your figure. He just now notices that it may be a bad time for him to turn up, and you’re hit with the realization you’re in a ratty apron, very red and very sweaty. You’re right. It is deja vu because why are you always a mess when Bruce shows up at your front door unannounced? You abruptly pull the apron over your head, hurling it behind the door, hands palming the frizz of your hair into a somewhat presentable look.

“Look, I need to talk you—”

“Honey! Who’s at the door?” He’s being cut off mid-sentence again. This time, by your mother’s voice from the living room. Your eyes are wide again—so are his.

Your mother’s fondness for Bruce is an understatement. Obsession is a better word. She had only met him once, and that was six years ago but the conceptualization of being somewhat related to an exceptionally handsome and successful man had gotten to her head all those years ago. Hell, she loves him more than she loves you. Your mother—A woman who wishes to call your best friend ‘son’ with a whole lot of love to give. If she discovers Bruce is here, at your doorstep, she will never let go. Never. And you both know it. There’s a silent understanding that travels between the two of you and the look you’re giving him tells only one thing—Run before it’s too late.

“Bruce Wayne as I live and breathe...”

Well, too late.

A small-statured lady stands on the farther side of the hallway, face lit up with sheer joy and excitement as if she had just won a lottery. She approaches him with arms open wide and soon, her hands are laid on his cheeks, examining the man’s face carefully. Bruce just stands there, stiff as a rock, unsure of how to regain his composure from all the adrenaline of wanting to see you now that he was in such close proximity to the woman who raised you. When it’s you, he tends to struggle with timing and it’s partly the reason he has never managed to act on his feelings for you. For the longest time, he has wanted to be more than friends or whatever the hell this was. He had been hesitant but now, he’s very sure.

Sometimes it feels like it's the right person but the wrong time. He doesn’t want it to be that way. He wants to make things right with you.

And there he was, being squished under the grasp of the lady that loves him very much.

He catches your gaze; you flash him a sympathetic smile as you mouth the word “sorry.” Bruce arches his brows, indicating he has no idea what to do or how to get out of this situation.

“You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you!” the older woman exclaims, a hand now firmly on his shoulder, the other brushing away his long strands of hair from his face with affection. Bruce would never admit it; he likes the attention your mother gives to him—the touch of a mother. Something he longs for.

“Why don’t you come in and join us for dinner? There's more than enough food.”

Crap, you should have known that question was bound to be mentioned. You’re not convinced that you will be able to suppress your emotional heartburn and the idea of Bruce tasting the dishes you’re cooking, it’s making your palms sweat. But what the hell. You shouldn’t be this nervous around him, you’ve known each other for years. He has seen you at your worst and vice versa.

Still, you’ll like to avoid the predicament of a dinner table set for you, your mother, and the man you secretly love. You’re quick with an answer. “Oh, I’m sure he has other important things to do. Bruce is very busy—”

“I’ll be happy to. I have no plans for tonight after all.”

You stare at Bruce, eyes glimmering with shock and betrayal—he is supposed to be on your side. He simply sends you a swift wink, and you feel the growing and most likely apparent deep red of your already flushed cheeks. You glance away to face your mother, eye crinkling in hopes of concealing the effect he has on you. Well, at least your mother looks fucking overjoyed. Maybe the night won’t end in disappointment.

The scent of chicken and spice whiffs through the air from the dishes of chicken and chorizo paella you’ve managed to whip up in a quick thirty minutes—a recipe you came by in an article titled “Fancy dishes for lazy cooks.” Well, it’s certainly working; everyone looks pleasantly surprised when you emerge from the kitchen with a cast-iron skillet within your kitchen gloved-grasp.

Happiness is the sound of the clinking of cutlery against nearly empty smeared plates, the splash of wine cascading from the bottle you held into the glasses of your guests, and the occasional laughter that erupts from your mother as Bruce tries to make a joke through mouthfuls of paella. A symphony of contentment and comfort, composed and orchestrated by the two most significant individuals in your life. Beauty is made anywhere beautiful people are; in this space, cramped up at the beech wooden table made for one by the casement window that overlooks the apartment across yours.

This side of Bruce—where boyish smiles were manifested and hearty laughs arising from the belly—is the side you miss the most. Years ago, things felt simpler though your past self would deny that notion as human life continues to become more intricate as we grow older and our eyes see more. Innocence to maturity. Happiness to grief. But, the complexity of this warfare between the brain and the heart seems to reside in perpetual darkness, no light at the end of the tunnel. For a long time, you thought deciding to be alone could eventually bring peace to the madness but maybe, you’ve been with the wrong people this whole time. It’s your reflection against the window pane that shows the evident crinkle in your eyes and the constant upward in the curve of your lips even though it contrasts the gloomy hues of blue from the sky at twilight—you’re happy.

It’s the way your mother leans over and wipes off the bits of rice from the corner of your mouth and the exchange of awkward smiles when Bruce accidentally brushes his hand against yours when reaching for the fork. This is what you want. And maybe, just maybe, you deserve to not be alone.

“So, have you decided on who you’re taking to the wedding?”

Your mother’s voice hauls you back from your daydream. She gives you a knowing look, discretely glancing towards Bruce on the other end of the table. She knows you don’t have a date, and you know she wants you to bring Bruce. You feel your anxiety creep back in.

This is weirdly the second time you’re in this situation.

“I don’t know yet...” In times like this, you wonder if your mother wields some sort of magical ability of truth or something because no matter how much you try, you can never lie to her. And now, you wish the ground would collapse and swallow you up. You know she means well, but oh my God, Bruce is staring at you and you don’t know what to do with your hands anymore.

“Wedding?” Bruce chirps with a questioning brow as he glances between you and your mother. Now, you’re forced to explain for the sake of context. “My cousin’s getting married next week and mom here wants me to bring a date.” Your mother’s expression indicates that you’re lying through your teeth. Yet in reality, it’s not technically a lie if you’re leaving parts of reason out of the explanation because it’s true she wants you to bring a date but you don’t mention how you don’t want to go alone because weddings make you sad.

It sounds pathetic.

Bruce just nods, taking a sip of his wine. The fact he’s not saying anything is making you anxious. You thought you didn’t want him to be your date but now, maybe you do. These feelings are messing up your brain. It’s just mush now, and there’s no cure.

These are the times you want to say “Fuck you, Bruce” but in the nicest way possible.

“Why don’t you bring Bruce?”

She was direct as they come but is mostly tired of your lack of initiative and doubt. I mean, it’s not like you’re asking him to marry you, right? And honestly, you’re kind of relieved you didn’t have to be one to do it but you can’t keep depending on her to do all the heavy lifting for you. You’re not a teenager anymore. You’re a goddamn grown adult.

Nevertheless, you peer at his reaction to this from the corner of your eye, fully expecting some sort of a resting jaded expression or eyes wide in horror but he’s just looking at you...with that look—highly bewildered and almost seems to be entertained by your embarrassment. Despite the purse of his lips, you manage to catch sight of the slight impish tuck of his lips.

He thinks it's the wine, but he isn’t exactly sure.

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

“Are you sure about this?” you cross your arms, as you watch Bruce shrug on his coat from the rack. The two of you are squeezed in the entryway of your apartment, huddling in hushed conversation. “About what?” he asks absentmindedly when in reality, he knows exactly what you’re referring to. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, it’s an excuse to be around you longer. You purse your lips, shifting in your stance, eyes flickering away from his gaze. “About coming to the wedding,” you say it slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid to and you’re not sure why. He nods with the furrow of his brows, tugging his hands into the pockets of his ebony tweed coat. “I’m sure...Unless you don’t want me to come—”

“No, no. God, of course, I want you to come,” you stop, realizing how your sudden outburst of excitement must have made you seem desperate. You clear your throat, feet shifting once more. “I don’t want to pull you off work just because I don’t want to be alone.”

He raises his brows, nearing a little closer to you. “So that’s the real reason?” A hint of a smile—it’s a teasing one. You simply throw a fist to his arm yet unable to stifle your growing smile. “Don’t be a jerk.”

Bruce winces followed by a laugh that comes out more light a puff of air as he bares his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

Maybe, it’s the walls of this hallway, covered with hung framed photographs of family, childhood, and friends because it’s starting to feel warm. You think it’s the way his eyes light up when you laugh, radiating a sort of comforting warmth on this cold night. It feels like home. Bruce feels like home. You notice the prominent stain of your mother’s lipstick on his left cheek. You bring one hand to rest on the curve of his cheekbone, thumb trying to efface the smeared stain away.

You’re not sure if it's the smell of his deodorant or the sudden sense of his breath on your skin that made you comprehend the closing gap between your face and his. In an instant, your hand jerks away and returns to your side, clenching to a fist. Bruce clears his throat, bringing a hand up to scratch the growing stubble at his jaw. The touch of your fingers lingers like a burn.

Recognizing the tension in the air, you decide to avert your thoughts back to the conversation you were having in the first place. “You know, you don’t have to come. Really. You’ve done a lot for me, and you know that.”

“Yes...but I’ll always have your back no matter what.”

He smiles at you. The kind that reaches his eyes. He looks younger like this.

“And I’ll always have yours, Bruce.”

You’re an idiot. He’s an idiot. You’re just two idiots, standing in the hallway with hearts that feel like they’re about to explode. Despite the lingering tension in the air that’s still present, you bring him into an embrace. It feels natural, your arms around his shoulder and his on the small of your back. “Thanks for everything. Especially for making my mom really happy.” you punctuate your sentence with a gentle caress to the back where his shoulders meet. You hear the muffled sound of his laugh, feeling the rumble of his chest against yours as you try not to squirm at the brush of his unshaven chin against the curve of your neck. “No problem,” he mumbles before pulling away.

“And you need a shave.” You’re pointing to his chin and he finds himself scratching it again. He merely hums in response.

Swinging the door open while you wave him goodbye feels like a part of you is leaving. You’re not sure why you’re feeling this newly found emptiness in you when you know you’ll see him next week. You decide to blame the wine. It’s easier that way.

He’s walking away, already out of view when you decide you should really say something at least.

“Bruce,” you suddenly call out; he turns on his heels and backtracks a little too eager to face you at the doorway. “What was it you wanted to talk about?” He frowns in response, head tilting in a questioning manner. “When you came here, you said you needed to talk.”

He recalls the real reason he was here in the first place. Rushing to your door like you’re about to disappear any minute. Yet, you’re here, still at the doorway, three hours later. Fuck, he was about to confess.

Bad timing. Again.

Right person, wrong time.

No. He’ll make it right. Just, not now.

“I was...going to thank you for the bagels; Asiago. Nice choice.” Is what he says instead of reciting the words that had been running through his head in rehearsal since the drive to your apartment. He ignores the way your shoulders sag, perhaps in relief—he doesn’t want to know. He ignores the burning in his chest when you nod, the corners of your mouth tugging into a faint smile as you raise a palm in a somewhat solemn wave of farewell. He ignores the sting in his eyes when the door closes on him, symbolizing finality when he really doesn’t want it to end. Left alone in the dismal light of the hallway; it acts as a poignant reminder of his bereavement and how much of his consolation depends on your presence.

When the drinking's done, does it make it any easier for him to open himself up to you?

Bruce allows himself to cry once he pulls the car door to a close because he feels overwhelmed by the conflicting thoughts that continue to reside in his mind. The regrets, the what-ifs, and the should-haves. He forgets himself sometimes because he gets so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.

You keep him grounded. You remind him who Bruce Wayne truly is.

He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror.

You’re right. He does need a shave.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #bruce wayne x you #batman x you #justice league

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spacegaywritings · 4 years

Text

The Wonders of Sleep - You are a Nightmare (4/5)

Summary: Remus is in another chaotic frenzy and refuses to calm down, so Virgil has to step in and convince the Dark Creativity that sleep can be fun too. At least Thomas well get to rest with this.

Tags: Remus things! Talks about murder, death, violence, inflicting pain etc on others/self (your basic favourites in intrusive thoughts), weapons, brutality, Remus, virgil, dukexiety, the duke of nonsense and bullshit, caps, angery remus, moth man/ rat man mentions, sexual innuendo, food, (eating) worms, plants, weird living conditions, disgusting room description, absolute chaos, caring about thomas, mutual care, fluff, domestic fluff, swearwords, lotsa cursing, dismissive nicknames, self harm (mention)

Tumblr : 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 . Ao3: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / all.

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Story under the cut: (<2k)

A gargantuan mace hit the ground, sending splitting stones and other pieces of damaged ground flying through the heart of the imagination.

“KILL HIM, I SAY!”

Dark Creativity screeched into the air. He ripped the mace out of the ground with great effort and immediately struck the ground with a loud war scream.

His deafening screams and yells filled the vast emptiness of the mindscape. Other than that, the slightly more silent noise of Remus consistently breaking and devastating the rocks and mountains of the desert he was in.

“Thomas just needs to get a simple baseball bat and SMASH HIS SKULL IN!”

Remus repeated his motion of shattering the bleeding ground as he hurled his mace out and behind his back for the maximum amount of swinging power science would give him.

“No more PAY! No more BILLS!”

He worked the mace down into the ground, his whole body following the movement. His upper body went down with the large weapon and stopped just shy of the unsteady ground, splitting it.

A growl could be heard. It erupted from the depths of the ground could as the dark floor slowly drove itself away from one another in two halves.

The Duke’s rage had halved the currently imagined world.

He freed his mace and brought it back to his chest. One of his hands brushed over the end of it, the one without stabby spikes! Still a pretty side, to Remus.

A little light bubble, dark pink, grew at said end with a bit of distance to the stick-part itself.

Remus shook the mace, letting the spikes give way to nothing but a long, black stick. Once the hurty spikes were gone, he YEETED the consistently expanding bubble in front of him and repeated.

“KILL HIM!”

The bubble manifested itself in the air, sticking to the invisible laws of the Duke’s whimsy. Slowly, a picture started to fade onto the dark background. Thomas could be seen, holding a bat. It was just as Remus had predicted.

The scene became crystal clear and with a simple snip of his fingers, Thomas moved as if trapped in the gifset of a violent mind. He bashed into his head, again, again, again and again as Remus chanted in moral support.

“GO! YES! GO! AGAIN! MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE-”

“Remus.”

The Imagination shifted at once, the bubbling magma morphing into a small river while the dark ground, the stones and rocks and destruction turned into a field of grass.

While the air remained heavy, the bubble popped and Remus’ stick became nothing but an elegant twig.

“Why are you up so late?”

Creativity growled in response and shook his body like a wet dog. His flouncy outfit floated as if in timelapse.

“Why are you up so late? Stop asking me silly questions. I am creating.”

Virgil hopped over the small river and turned to look directly at the raging side.

“You look as if you are pouting”, he stated calmly, much like Logan would, “what got ya stinki mood up, poopy boy?”

Remus glared back at the smaller side and cleared his throat. He bowed to pick up his twig.

“My mace.”

That was definitely a pout. Remus’ lips were pursed into a pout, even his words seemed to pout despite his sentence being so short of them.

The mustache seemed to stretch his face into a long, sad face. Maybe he was actually manipulating his appearance, maybe the facial hair really put an extra emphasis after all.

“You are the Duke of Creativity. If you want it back, you do that. Now, how about we give this financial discussion a break and fucking chill for a minute.”

Remus threw the twig away and shook his head, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Yeah, you would like that. How about Thomathy here gets it on with a hot dude and I will shut up?”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“We could eat that cockroach Thomathy squished this morning! I will get it from the trash!”

The Duke started running for time before the other could even react. Anxiety kicked in, shifting the imagination in a way, they found themselves in Remus’ messy bedroom.

A huge vine came out of the closet and ended mid-room before the bed.. or whatever one wanted to call the mess of clothing. There was a glowing blue trail of splatter on the floor. Weapons and.. hair??? were cluttered all over the floor.

Virgil could hear a distant slapping of meat.

The floorboards seemed rather loose and rattled.

“My room! ROOM ROOM ROOM!”

Remus drew Virgil close.

“Emo! Look at my plant! It is really cute! It will love you!”

Virgil clung to the ever-changing mess of ideas and shook his head.

“I want to sleep, Remus. Shut up and go to sleep with me. You can wreck havoc and reek tomorrow but Thomas needs to sleep or else he will be shit in the morning.”

The man in question bounced.

“If I make Thomathy beat up himself, he will look like shit for sure!!!”

The emo rolled his eyes and nudged Remus towards the bed. He had not even expected the room to look as bad. Maybe he should have taken this to the living-room or literally any space that had a comfortable ground to lay on. He was a metaphysical being who could not really perceive pain after all - the choice to sleep was really just allowing Thomas to deal with things more calmly, at least in the case of Anxiety. Also, only given that Virgil did not deliberately clock out in order to spare Thomas any effect from his side.

“Nah, that is work. Work sucks. We wanna sleep forever and eat weird shit, right?”

Remus grumbled.

At heart, he sort of agreed. Right now, he was driven to do things, to be active and creative or destroy and simply do as much as he could because he had that energy.

“Nap time, Dukey.”

Virgil tugged him towards the bed.

“Oh, Virgil ~ I did not know you were into this kind of thing ~”

The addressed side blushed but shook his head.

“In your dreams, fucker.”

He stepped closer to the unmoving wall of Creativity. Confidently, he let their chests collide, sending Remus backwards.

The wavering Duke gasped in surprise and squeaked insolently.

“EmO!”, he screeches with a voice that got scratchier and scratchier by the minute. His arms flailed into any direction until he drew them in front of his chest to cross them.

“How can you be cunning and cunt-y?”

Virgil could hear his brain yell a conditioned “language!” response at him. He literally heard Patton scold Remus in his brain. Judging from the sour look on the other��s face, the anxious trait assumed he could hear it too.

“Now you know how tiring it can be to hear something in you, that you can’t stop? Pretty fucking shitty, huh? Move, babysitting you is tiring.”

The reveal of a long, pink tongue was the response but Remus kicked off his boots and patted his clothings until they dissolved into some sort of magical glitter dust. It silently trickled down onto the floor and was blown into all directions of the room.

This place really had a mind of its own. Not that Virgil really minded this.

“Good Remus”, Virgil praised softly as he joined the other on the bed. They laid down together and Virgil kicked a bundle of weapons and books off the bed, “oops. My bad. I thought it was your pet raccoon.”

Remus giggled.

“No! That is you!”

Virgil shook his head, grinning into his oversized mess of a self-ruined jacket. The Duke looked at him in his own naked glory and patted the space next to him. To join him on the fun, he eyed the stack of his dirty single socks collection and gave it a strong kick.

“PARTY!”

“Nooo, nap time. We wanted to be nice to Thomas and fuck shit up tomorrow.”

Creativity blinked at Virgil. A rare occasion. The blinking and directly looking at someone. He usually just stared into something nobody but him could see. It was chilling and so deeply terrifying, Thomas would feel it in his bones when anyone but Logan or the (former) Others interacted with him.

“You will join me?”

Virgil threw his head back as he slowly snuggled up to Remus, filling the spot he had previously patted. A groan escaped his lips and he let his head roll against Remus’ shoulder.

Instead of answering, he clapped his hands together, summoning a little bowl he thrusted into Remus’ hands.

The bowl was full of little gummy worms which looked surprisingly disgusting with how slimy and wet they appeared to be. They had a certain shine to them and the colour was so unnaturally neon orange, they were glowing in the dim lighting of the Duke’s room.

“Have a cursed snack and get your creative energy into a fucked up sex dream instead of making Thomas uncomfortable. He’s got some shit to do tomorrow.”

Silence took over the room.

Virgil caused some rustling sounds as he curled up next to Remus. The room was surprisingly un-stinky compared to what he had expected.

Loud chewing sounds interrupted the momentary silence.

It was good while it lasted but Virgil was willing to trade his own discomfort for the sake of Thomas’ well-being. He needed his sleep with another tough schedule coming up.

“Virgil?”

He hummed in response.

“Are you anxious because of the new projects they planned?”

The former dark side curled further into himself, shaking his head stubbornly.

Chewing sounds continued for a bit until Remus took a small break and suddenly snapped his head back and emptied the whole bowl into his mouth. Without even moving his jaw to chew, he swallowed his big ball of cursed sweets and made a lewd lip-smacking sound.

Virgil opened his mouth to comment on how disgusting the other was but he interrupted him.

“Come cuddle. It is okay to be scared. I will eat your mean anxiety.”

He shook his head. The Duke turned to pull Virgil into a hug. The anxious side chuckled.

“This is not how I work.”

“Yeah, but it is how I work.”

“Whatever, Remus. Shut up if you wanna cuddle, you rat man.”

It was Remus’ turn to chuckle.

“You just wish I was moth man!”

Virgil shook his head, smirking into Remus’ neck. He finally allowed himself to close his eyes and hold onto the other.

It was silent.

For real.

Within minutes, Remus was asleep and Virgil was ever so silently snoring, nobody could hear it.

#ts remus #remus sanders #fanfiction #fanfic #fanficion #fanfic fluff #ts fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides virgil #virgil sanders #joey writes #domestic fluff #Fluffy Fic #fluff

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