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unknownjpegs · 7 months ago

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quitting

The party is just so fucking loud.

Frat house bad; real bad. Two stories with a basement and crammed with people that Xavier didn’t necessarily like, or even get along with that well. But it was almost worse than a frat house, because this tidal pool of people went to university, went to college-college. For smart people. Really smart people, with GPA’s that calculated confusingly, that had triple major’s and two minors and got PhD’s after this. Masters. Belonged to societies, not social clubs.

So Xavier felt more out of place than usual, tagging along after Lark. Felt awkward in his jeans, distressed because he wore them thin, not for fashion. Hole in the knee because he’d skidded across the pavement falling off a skateboard. Out of place in his Carhartt that was stained because he worked a dirty job, not because he bought it that way. Because sometimes he had no rags and just rubbed car oil off on his jacket—that’s what it was there for.

Didn’t help that he was so fucking tall. Red haired. Beacon like. Xavier stood in the kitchen with his hands in his jacket pockets, trying to blend in and doing the exact opposite.

“What do you think?” The pretty blond turns to him then. She has saucer sized blue eyes that keep blinking morse code up at him. Xavier’s cup in his hand needs to be refilled with whatever cheap beer is on keg, but its across the room and these two have him absolutely fucking trapped.

“I uh,” he smiles down at her. “I thought The Shining was just a movie about a dude who goes crazy in a hotel.” Not that he’d stomached the entire thing; he’d made Benny fast forward through the blood elevator scene, which had made him sour the entire evening because it was his favorite part. The girl laughs with her head back. She has all that blond hair gathered up into a high pony tail. Her slim wrist has a gold bracelet on it; the kind that doesn’t unclasp. Permanent.

“Wow, you are so cute,” her companion says, a man only a few inches shorter than him. He has brushed back black hair and the strand that falls forward, onto his forehead seems purposeful. He looks at Xavier with hooded dark eyes that feel invasive. “Like, where did you come from?”

“Boston,” Xavier says, finishing the tepid beer in his red cup.

“Do Boston public schools not have media classes?”

Both of them laugh then, which makes Xavier feel like he’s somehow the shortest one there, despite being tall enough he could reach a hand up and touch the ceiling if he really wanted to. He doesn’t, hunches his shoulders instead, sinks into himself a bit as he scans for Lark’s blond head out in the crowd. When he catches sight, he angles himself sideways and shoves his way between the duo to the sound of their shocks gasps and rude and what’s his problem?

Xavier says, “Get me the fuck out of here.”

At the exact same time Lark says, “I just saw Benji.”

“You saw Benji?” he perks up then, shoulders dropping, tension draining like something was poked and let loose. Xavier has to tilt to look down at Lark, but he doesn’t feel small in front of the runner. Especially not with the way Lark sometimes keeps his chin tilted as if everyone’s meeting his gaze evenly. He’s grinning too, hands in his big track jacket, eyes rolling a little and indicating to the side with his head.

“Didn’t think he’d show—don’t think parties are his thing, but—”

Xavier turns, excited (big toothy grin, ready to find that curly hair, ready to get away from all these pretentious fucks, ready to get into a conversation that won’t make his head hurt, ready—) and his long arms crash into the person behind him. He yelps—and so does she, especially when the cup in her hand upends completely onto her front. Xavier watches in mute horror as beer spills all over a pale pink cardigan and a white dress.

“Oh fuck, I am so fucking sorry,” he pants immediately, blindly reaching into the kitchen for napkins until his eyes raise up from that beer soaked chest to the owner of the white dress and pink cardigan.

“Hi, Xavier,” she says softly and he panics.

“Daisy,” he says, thrusting the napkins onto her chest. “Uh, Daisy,” he repeats and then laughs, continues trying to soak up the spilled beer. When did she start drinking beer? Was a light weight when we dated. Or was she pretending to be a light weight? He swallows and tries to smile at her. She’s so small he has to almost fully arch over to look at her—makes his neck hurt.

“Oh—stop—” she laughs, swatting at his hands. Her cheeks go a dark red color, bloom a blush across her nose, all the way to her ears. She tucks strands of her loose dark hair away. “It—it was an accident, you’re fine.” Her hand smooths down over his and he almost jumps back from it. Afraid she might lace their fingers together like she used to do. He remembers the way she’d wildly swing their interlocked hands, her big, beautiful smile up at him. The little gleam in her eyes, the idolization of him apparent. He swallows hard and his hand lingers on her collarbone.

“Long time no see,” he says awkwardly. She blinks her big hazel eyes and then tilts her head and smiles more.

Xavier wishes he could turn, find that curly head of hair, but, he gets trapped there. Her fingers lace through his and hold him.

—

They catch up for an hour, maybe longer. Daisy talks about the non profit she’s started working at, her new apartment downtown. It’s a loft, with more square footage than Xavier’s childhood home that held four children and two parents. She says he can visit, if he wants, whenever. She hasn’t put together her book shelves because she’s not exactly strong enough; she laughs when she says it, that you know me, laugh. She talks about school, the pressures of it, maintaining her grades, what she’ll do after. And when she finally asks about him, her big eyes up and both her hands holding his one, he doesn’t know what to say.

Haven’t moved from this spot, where we parted. Haven’t really done anything else, Daisy. Would love to tell you that and disappoint you.

“Still smoke,” he says instead, grinning. “Actually, was gonna dip out for one.” Her hand tightens a bit on his, until she seems to collect herself. She makes a small sound of surprise—as if she’s not in charge of her own actions—hands fluttering up to her mouth innocently. Xavier has to look away then, awkwardly to the side door, where he knows freedom is just a step away. Fresh air. Even if it’s nicotine laced.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, eyes averted down. “I’ve like, totally kept you here for so long just blabbering about myself.” It makes his chest squeeze, makes his ribs cage into his heart and he swallows. Contemplates staying there, letting her continue before he slips a hand up to cup the back of his neck. He squeezes there, blinking around the party. She fits in here, because she’s wearing that cute dress he’s ruined. She fits in because she’s pale and pretty and has ambitions and—money.

“You’re fine—hey, we’ll uh, we’ll have lunch soon. Right?”

“Next week,” she says, with a gentle nod, a little soft laugh that’s girlish and sweet. He’d loved that laugh, loved making her laugh, loved telling her dumb jokes to make her laugh. It had made him feel special, sometimes.

They’d promised to stay friends when they broke up. Xavier felt committed to that promise, but had never actually acted on it—was busy. She was busy too, it seemed. But as he backs toward the door, her large eyes capture him again, make him pause. Make him feel like the bad guy as he fumbles for the sliding glass door.

—

It’s when the cold air rushes to meet him that Xavier realizes he might be a little drunk. His cheeks are warm against the biting wind and his hands feel fat and awkward as they shove into his jacket. He stumbles a bit outside, his long legs awkward and his converses sliding across wet grass.

“Stupid,” he seethes to himself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” And he’s angrier still, because he doesn’t have his cigarettes on him. Had left them in Lark’s car like an idiot. Xavier continues sliding across the grass. The house is on a knoll, big mound that lets it sit higher than the road across it where all the cars are parked. Wouldn’t matter even if he did get to Lark’s car, because he doesn’t have the keys. “Stupid.” Xavier hisses once more as he turns and slides a bit more.

There’s a single street light on, and it’s yellow hazy glow illuminates the figure sitting down in the wet grass, just right outside the ring of light. He leans with his legs thrown out in front of him, palms braced behind, chin tucked to his chest. Benji sits there, looking so out of place and alluring that Xavier’s whole stomach drops and he doesn’t recover. He slips again, has to catch himself a bit, hands sliding over the dewy grass as he stares.

Xavier’s eyes sweep over him again. They linger too much on those thrown out legs. One the curve of his body as he sits there. In the wet grass, without giving a fuck about anything. Xavier stares. He lingers.

Lately, it’s been—hard.

“Pff.” He is drunk, because its a difficult thought, but it makes him snort anyway as he starts walking toward the figure. Even if he’s grinning, maybe laughing a little—it has been hard. Lately, it’s been really fucking hard to look at Benji and not feel confused. Because; that’s his friend. That’s his friend. That’s someone he calls a friend, who he refers to as his friend. My friend, Benji.

His friend that he thinks about, in spare moments. Standing in line waiting to order food. Thinks about, when he’s under a car, doing a routine maintenance he could do in his sleep. His friend that he thinks about sometimes before bed, trying to get himself to think about anything else. Trying so hard to think of anything else but his friend.

My friend, Benji.

As Xavier gets closer, he expects him to turn and look at him—he doesn’t, which flares some weird anxiety in him. A did I do something wrong feeling? A little ice cube melting underneath his sternum. Daisy, in the back of his mind, his hand on her collarbone, his hand in hers, her eyes up at him, his guilt. Xavier swallows hard around a rough feeling in his throat, his head dizzy and warm. He slips some more as he finally gets right beside him and smiles down.

“Who’s the most popular guy at the nudist colony?” he asks Benji, standing beside him and looking down. Benji finally lets his head fall back, his brown eyes lifting to look at him. Xavier feels punched by that look, his chest caved in, because God fuck—fuck—just—fucking—fuck does Benji have beautiful eyes. Framed in dark lashes that flutter a bit, thick brows pulled down in his usual scowling grimace. Those big brown eyes are looking at him from behind those thick rimmed dark glasses that make them bigger and they reflect moonlight. My friend, Benji.

“Feels like this one’s gonna be a bad one, Xavier.”

“The guy who can carry a cup of coffee in each hand and a dozen donuts.” Benji blinks those liquid brown eyes slowly, his brows pulling upward. The scowl disappears, replaced with this humored look that fills Xavier’s stomach with butterflies. Really fat ones that ping around everywhere. Xavier lifts a hand and gestures obscenely with a tongue pinched between his teeth. “Get it?”

“So fuckin’ awful, mate.”

He lowers himself to the ground beside Benji then, bending his knees. The sloped hill makes it easier to sit and he watches the street light flicker, as if deciding whether or not it’ll stay on for such a picturesque moment. For a moment, they get to just be quiet—and that’s so fucking nice, it almost makes Xavier want to say it out loud, but that’ll ruin this moment, so instead he tucks his teeth into his lower lip. He looks out to the empty street, the music from the house inside soft behind them.

Xavier likes being quiet with Benji; likes the recuperation of it all. Sometimes, when they’re together, they don’t actually say anything at all. Sometimes, all they do is talk—for hours, about nothing, easy ping pong conversation back and forth, endless. But this is so nice after being inside that stuffy house, inside those waves of people, inside all those conversations and the music. Xavier tucks his knee closer and lays his cheek against it, tilts his face Benji’s way—is shocked to find him already looking at him.

“Do you have a cigarette?” Xavier asks, finds it weird how hoarse his voice is and has to clear it.

Benji fishes around in his pocket. That lightweight button up looks flimsy against the piercing night cold, so as he does, Xavier slowly shrugs off his Carhartt. He drapes it unceremoniously around Benji’s shoulders right as the man turns to offer the pack. They’re close then—probably too close. Xavier should probably scoot back, or at the very least lean away, because his friend, Benji is too close. Instead he stares, with big, blinking, drunk eyes and then grins.

“S’my last one,” Benji says and that grin drops.

“Oh, dude, I won’t take your last fucking cigarette—”

“Naw, we’re gonna share it.”

Before he can argue—because Xavier understands the importance of the last cigarette a man has—it’s being put in his mouth for him. That stuns him so hard the wet grass feels like its sliding up to meet him. Actually is a little because he’s turned on his side to face Benji and his shoulder connects with the ground. He laughs a bit, has to catch the cigarette and right it between his lips as he watches Benji fish out the lighter.

The jacket slips a little, so Xavier reaches up and fixes it more so it wont fall again. It makes Benji pause and glance over. His glasses slide a little down his prominent, strong nose. I love your nose, he doesn’t say, keeps tucked like his teeth in his lips. You have such a handsome nose.

Out comes the lighter then, Benji smiling crookedly. It’s one of those real smiles, no meanness to it. He’s never really mean. Xavier scrubs a hand back through his hair, unable to stop himself from grinning back. He’s not mean, at all. People get that wrong about him. He leans forward as Benji strikes the lighter; and he has to reach a hand up with it. Keep it cupped around that flame so that it won’t flicker out. But his hand wavers—so Xavier reaches up too and loops his fingers around Benji’s wrist to keep everything neat and straight.

He watches the flame at first, touching the tip of the cigarette. But on the inhale, his eyes slide until he’s looking at his pale thumb against Benji’s wrist. He watches, unable to stop himself as that thumb brushes smoothly across his vein, a pulse. Xavier’s eyelids droop, his lungs filling with nicotine as he inhales. Soft. Skates across his mind as his eyes slide back and find those brown ones staring at him through big glasses. Xavier’s hand doesn’t drop.

And when Benji’s hand moves, his fingers somehow trail over Xavier’s cheekbone, sending electric shocks through him. Straight over his spine, down curling lower, underneath his belly button. He has to blink a few times, has to stare forward at those beautiful brown eyes as the hand retreats away. The memory of finger pands on his cheek.

Xavier pulls away only slightly, cigarette smoke pushed from his nose and into the air. It’s then that he finally removes his hand and goes for it, laughing a little on the exhale.

“Fuck, I love smoking” He passes it over then. Their fingers brush. Nothing new. They touch all the time. Last week Benji had fallen asleep on the couch with his legs thrown over Xavier’s. They touch all the time. It’s nothing new. It’s fingers brushing sharing a cigarette. My friend, Benji.

“Tryin’ to quit.” He takes a drag, the cigarette fitted between his index and middle finger. Xavier watches his thumb flick it to send ash off into the grass. “Last one of the day. Half of one anyway.” Benji leans over and holds it out. Xavier takes it, oddly careful before putting it to his mouth. Xavier lays then, lets himself settle into the moist grass, kicking his long legs out. Benji does too, their shoulders brushing—lucky the Carhartt is mostly in the way. Lucky why?

“My neighbor has been mad at his wife for sunbathing naked,” Xavier says, rolling his head to look at Benji. Already looking at him too. He holds out the cigarette and Benji takes it back, tucks it between his lips. They curve, softly, into his smile, his fucking smile—that smile. That smile. The street light flickers again. “I, personally, am on the fence.”

Benji laughs, throwing out a leg to kick Xavier, to tell him, right fuckin’ awful! So fuckin’ bad every time.

And they dissolve into laughter over that, kicking at each other, squirming on the wet grass. That dissolves into talking, into discussing the TV show they’d been binging together; Xavier lamenting how Benji never gets the three-two-one count down correct and he’s always a few minutes ahead when they’re watching in their own apartments. They talk about Benji’s sister coming to visit soon (“Man, I hope she likes me.” “Oh, mate, she’s got opinions.”) and they discuss Xavier’s latest tattoo on his knee, a barbwire fence because he thought it looked cool.

The streetlight flickers off, but they stay there. Talk about something else, for a while.

—

When they get home, Lark is guiding Xavier into their apartment by the hips laughing.

“You always do this.”

“You love taking care of me.” He’s got his long pale arms over Lark’s shoulders, grinning as he stumbles back. One of his hands toy with Lark’s stark blond hair, tugging it a little and making the shorter man growl and glare. “You’re such a mom friend.”

“You’re such a shit head. You’re drunk,” Lark accuses confidently—and yeah. Definitely is. Had a few more beers than he was supposed to have, especially after Lark found him and Benji sitting together, but he feels dizzier than usual. Keyed up in a weird way, wound together tightly and energetic and also exhausted. Syrupy in the head in the same way it feels like that molasses is mixed with fucking pop rocks. He feels over the garden wall.

Lark turns him toward his bedroom then, still guiding him.

“Sleep it off, big guy.” Xavier swirls instead, back to facing him and scoops Lark up into a hug. He has to bend to get to him, has to arch down and hold him close. He feels Lark’s hand patting softly at his side and his soft laughter in his ear. “Man, love you too. Go to bed.”

When he does get into his room, Xavier—despite feeling like he could fall into it and sleep immediately—dedicates his time to getting his shoes unlaced. Puts them by the door, where they always go. He shrugs off his crewneck sweater—realizes then that Benji still has his jacket. The sweater and his jeans go into the hamper, which he stares down at, contemplating that jacket.

It’s his favorite. It’s expensive and worthwhile. He walks backward till the back of his knees hit the bed and he falls down onto it—long arms splayed everywhere and one leg hanging off the edge. His necklace, the little crucifix charm, slides until its all bunched into the hollow of his throat; he brings a finger there and hooks it around the chain and tugs slightly as he closes his eyes. He groans, all that wild energy suddenly leaving him in a rush because, Xavier realizes, he’s—

He’s in love with his friend Benji.

#writing #bp #xw #college au #hj #bp x xw

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orchidyoonkook · 3 months ago

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Next Up Next Up!

Interesting, Interesting... I really liked how it flowed. potentially strange question, are ALL of BTS in this? like is Jin the Chef's son? or is that a secret?

This is very relieving because the flow and pace of this is what was stressing me out the most.

As for your question, yes the are but they will be revealed with time!

The Photoshoots were awesome! I love how Adelaide (sorry if i spelt it wrong I really don't like her so i didn't bother remembering it lol) was butt hurt that she wasn't involved, but didn't care enough to ask anything else but "why wasn't it me"

You're a real one for that Remmy, and I'm the same way. But on a writers note, the fact that you dont like her brings me a lot of pride.

Adeline is... a very complex character in my head. She has reasons for everything she does. And she's very calculated. But then there's times like this where another side of her come out and I wish I could say I;m surprised by her behaviour, but I'm not. Writer perks is I know hy she reacts the way she does. But from a readers POV I love your take with my whole heart.

That was a long ass photoshoot, all the stuff to get ready and put together, then the outfits and the make up and the QUEEN'S EARINGS THAT ARE THE SIZE OF YOUR MIDDLE FINGER?! Hello?! I would be terrified to wear them too! So, I actually had leftover Kimchi fried rice with japchae and bulgogi, so that was immersive lol

I was really excited to share the photoshoot because some feedback I'd gotten on earlier chapters was that folks loved delving into their respective creative processes and so the fact that I got to do that again was very exciting for me!!

And dude, the queens earrings are no joke. They're actually based of cheapy ones I own, so I could show you if you wanted me too, what they actually look like XD. Just minus all the diamonds.

AND NO WAYYYYYYY. That's so funny in the best way!! Oh that's awesome. I love that. 10/10.

from my understanding Solstice is like Christmas.. but at the first 1/2 of December. So what happens for the rest of the month? I hope JK doesn't have take her home for those Princely Duties, they also 100% have to make the cookies.

Solstice is the 21st of December. But yes, it's like a christmas replacement in this world. My mum is pagan so I'm used to also celebrating all of the 'witchy' holidays like solsticies and such. I liked being able to take those and put my own spin on them in this world that's so like our own.

JK's princely duties start from the day he gets home until the 3rd day of the new year. It's stuff like greeting the people and a parade and such. A bunch of little things and a handful of big things the royals do every year to celebrate with their people publically.

As for the "take her home" I'm asssuming you mean Adeline. And on this topic I can't say anything XD

Cookies are goated and they definitely have too!!

the pitter patter when he said picture Nel in front of you.. girl went into a subspace.. then whole phone fight?! which JK totally started! I think Bunny is cute! people could have easily found out what PJK was lol

Something I really like about that scene with the picturing Nel thing is that none of it was conciously done. It was completely her body just reacting, and it was something she'd never experiened before. I like the implied trust her body has with JK over her mind. Like she reasons it out to herself sort of in her head because she has too, but her body did what it wanted to. I love little bodily conflictions like that.

The phone fight makes me giggle, cuz JK is totally the type who would, and the previous colour fight I think established that they playfully bicker and fight like this all the time so the fact that it escalated is only a natural stepping stone in my eyes. And hilarious.

Bunny made me laugh so hard. Because OC would just to piss him off. And I love that about her.

there's Sleep Pods at school?!

Yes! So this concept came from my college actually. We had like. sleeping pod room things for folks who pulled all nighters or who needed power naps. I never used them but I thought they were such a cool idea! So I thought I would include them here too because it seemed like the kind of things rich kids at a rich school would have. (my school was not rich nor were there rich kids)

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 8

Title: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: You're just there to help JK with his final project, so why are you being doused in water, facepaint and smoke? Art. Art is why.

Warnings: T, language, fluff, angst, honestly this one's kinda wholesome and fun, some photogrpahy jargin in there, but nothing a quick google search can't fix if you really need to <3, it's mostly surface level jargin. Also the smoke machine works cuz JK has great ventilation due to the massive windows being open, so don't worry bout that XD, some light and fun name calling, some world building. Ask if you need clarification on anything. That's all I think!

Word Count: 11,684

Release Date: September 1, 2024. 4:30PM

A/N 1: Surprise! Happy JK Day.

PJK [7:36pm]: Saturday afternoon. my place. 11am. PJK [7:36pm]: bring an extra set of clothes, something warm. Sweats if you have them. PJK [7:37pm]: also, Im gunna need your shirt size

The first three weeks of November have flown by and dragged on at the same time.

The weather’s getting colder. You need a thick jacket if you want to be anywhere outside, and all leaves have fallen from the trees, leaving pines the only ones left with their winter coats on. Hot chocolate from greenhouse cafe has become part of your life’s blood so you don’t freeze, and gloves with pocket warmers inside them are once again a part of your everyday.

But November skies have returned. And you frequently set up camp on the drying grass beside the greenhouse, dressing your canvas with oil paint to their likeness as it’s the only paint that doesn’t dry the second it’s out of the tube in the cold, static air.

Jungkook told you earlier in the week the shoot would most likely be this weekend, and that he just had a few final strings to pull together before being able to confirm. So with that in mind, you intentionally tried to finish all your work before this weekend, knowing the shoot will take a while to complete.

He mentioned it may leak over into Sunday depending on how much you get done on the first day, which is fine with you considering you usually spend Sunday evenings at his place anyway. You’d consider it an extended edition of your regularly scheduled broadcast.

And speaking of regularly scheduled, you haven’t missed a single movie night since Nel left. Granted, it’s only been three weeks, but even missing the two you did because of Nel had made an impact.

You’d gotten so used to them, having that time to destress and unwind before the week starts. A nice little routine that helps reset you both mentally and physically.

Suddenly not having that was…a weird feeling you try not to remember.

And you are more than happy to never miss another one ever again.

You aren’t sure what Jungkook tells Adaline he’s doing during movie night, but she’s never interrupted you, not even once. And it’s something you are increasingly grateful for, because she is one of the things you destress from as your unspoken rivalry always amps up the closer to exam season you get.

It’s Thursday evening, and you’re in your room finishing up a Microeconomics 3 assignment while piano music plays on a speaker in the corner. You use it to help you focus, and it’s working its magic as you’re finishing your work in record time.

Music has always helped you work better, and you credit it largely with how you’ve been able to keep up with everything in your schooling.

Yuri’s in her room, doing homework as well you assume. Or maybe texting Tai—the dreamy, big dicked Ilcalos island Count—you swear she’s only put her phone down for sleep and showering, as she’s constantly checking to see if he’s messaged her. And you hope it turns out well for them, Yuri deserves someone who treats her well. Especially after the whole Jungkook debacle—which you’re not allowed to bring up—and then the poor rebound you aren’t allowed to talk about either. You’re just happy she’s finally found someone worth her time.

Picking up your phone, you shoot Jungkook a text back.

You [7:40pm]: okay! saturday at 11 sounds good. I’ll bring sweats and warm socks

You message him your shirt size too, curious as to what he’ll use it for, but you’re sure you’ll find out in due time. You always do.

Subject to many of his homework assignments, you’ve been posed and lit and adjusted every which way.

Jungkook is incredibly professional when you’re with him as a model. Light touches to correct posing, always with a ‘may I’ before he does, and he fills the room with kind words, good vibes, and fun music so you never feel awkward.

At first you were really iffy on the whole idea when he first asked in September, because it would be the prince of your nation photographing little ol’ you. You weren’t anything special—yet—and you’re still never one for being in the spotlight, or for being on camera. At all. But if it was just for homework, and you were helping out a friend…you figured why not?

It helped that all of your worries immediately faded when you saw the results of that first shoot.

An email from a very non-princely email address found its way into your inbox. The subject was the date of the shoot, and the only message inside being:

thanks. Hope you like them.

Let’s do it again sometime.

-J

When you opened the attachments you made a quick dive to catch the phone that fell from your hands in shock.

You looked…beautiful. Like you never had in pictures before. Not in school, or at graduation, not even in the ones you took of yourself.

You didn’t know you were capable of looking like that.

Like how he saw you. Captured you.

And you’ll never admit you’ve held your chin a little higher with every shoot since.

They make you feel powerful, attractive. More confident, and sure of yourself, as if you were always meant to be in front of a camera. Like you’d been in front of one since before you could walk.

They do that for you.

He…does that for you—with his pictures, of course.

Jungkook is very talented. Very skilled with his camera, and you find yourself looking forward to the concepts he comes up with every time. Trusting him and whatever his vision is wholeheartedly.

Though a small, immature piece of you is also pleased he still wants you to model, and not Adaline. That he finds you easier to work with over her.

Your competitive streak never fails to come out, even with the smallest, secretive things.

Take that Adaline.

You gladly help him out with his homework, and he does the same for you.

If you ever need a male reference or a profile study. Anatomy practice, features practice, likeness practice. Anything and almost everything, all you have to do is ask, and he sits still or places whatever you need in front of you while you sketch.

Hands, however, have always been a personal favourite of yours.

They’re one of those things that can be drawn a hundred different ways and never look the same. Always a new position you can put them in. Consistently able to shake things up. And one set is never like the others—like eyes. There’s little differences in all of them and that’s where their magic lies.

You do these studies at the greenhouse, it has the best light to shadow ratio. When you ask him for one, he’ll switch to working with one hand, while the other does whatever you tell it. Normally either placed on your table or if there isn’t enough room, which nine times out of ten there isn’t because of all your supplies, you stick your foot on the lower metal frame of his table and he rests his arm, wrist or palm on your up bent knee.

Due to this, you’ve unintentionally come to find out that his hands are very strong, very calloused, and very, very warm…

Also! Aside from hand studies, you love loose figure studies because they’re great warm up sketches. And what Jungkook doesn't know is that you have dozens of warm up sketches of him. Doesn’t know you sneak pictures here and there when you can, hiding them in a hidden album on your phone entitled ‘hmwk screenshots.’ And he definitely doesn’t know that when he’s sitting at the cafe, nose deep in assignments, you doodle his features or his outfit in real time.

A nose here, a jacket there. A muscular forearm covered in tattoos also tends to find its way onto your page every so often.

He’s got a good physique. And the ridges make for excellent anatomy practice. So does the intricate line work of tattoos, and fabric rippling. Especially in drastic lighting. Consistency is key in maintaining and improving your work and it’s not like any of these sketches will ever see the light of day anyways.

They’re just, well…practice.

A sigh escapes you, and you refocus on finishing your microecon work. You still have two more assignments to get done before Saturday at eleven.

“And why are you working with some random girl when I’m available, again?” Adaline asks. She’s currently sitting on Jungkook's couch in your spot. He’s setting up tomorrow's materials against the big white wall by the floor length windows that showcase his balcony.

It’s why he chose to live here instead of in the dorms or on campus. His place isn’t enormous, like most people would think, it has enough room for everything a regular student needs: bedroom, kitchen, workspace, living room, bathroom, even a guest room. But the one thing he keeps different is the big white wall where a dining room would normally be.

Jungkook’s place has high ceilings, 10 feet tall, which is higher than the average but not excessive. And the wall that connects his kitchen to the balcony is a perfect mock studio. He can even keep all his equipment there; lights, gels, backgrounds, tubs full of props, camera cases, lenses, and more all stored in neat shelving against another wall.

“Because students volunteered for extra credit, and she’s who was assigned to me,” a small lie, one he was sure that Adaline wouldn’t dig into too deeply.

“Why didn’t you tell me I could volunteer?”

“Because you didn’t need the extra credit?”

She pouts, and goes back to her phone.

Adaline also doesn’t know it’s you he’s photographing and that is one hundred percent intentionally planned by him.

He could sense something between you two after you made that one comment after fall break. He notices now how you stiffen slightly every time he mentions Adaline, and the one time he mentioned you in passing to test the waters, Adaline changed the conversion topic almost immediately. A look of annoyance, or maybe even insecurity in her eyes.

So he’s been lucky that Adaline has never wanted to see any of his schoolwork prior to or after the singular shoot he did with her.

Lucky she hasn’t seen your face fill up his screen constantly.

And extremely lucky that she doesn’t know about the hidden folder buried deep in his desktop labeled ‘eqpmt rcpts’ filled with dozens of candid shots of you.

To be fair, you don’t know about them either. They’re random, shots taken every now and then where he thought you looked happy, focused, or just existing. True candids of the most candid person he knew.

It started that day with his first assignment from Professor Hirmer. He’d taken those quick pictures of you painting, and then simply never stopped.

He has pictures of you in the courtyard, walking and talking to Yuri, you smiling. He has some he took on his phone when you’re over for movie night, invested in the film or talking to him. And a bunch of you painting at the greenhouse. It’s hard to take secret candids when he’s right beside you, but he manages seeing as you haven't caught him yet.

He even has a few of you and Nel, love clearly written on your face in every single one of them.

Whenever he spots you before you spot him, and he has his camera on him, he takes a couple.

They’ve amassed into a healthy sum, but he thinks of it as a harmless habit as no one will ever know. And it’s not like he’s following you around to take them or using them for anything nefarious.

He just likes taking your picture. Capturing your spirit, your candor.

Your realness.

You are wholly yourself, always, no holding back, all of the time.

And to him, it feels like coming up for a breath of fresh air.

“Hey!” you say as you let yourself into Jungkook’s apartment. You’d knocked but no one answered and it was currently 10:56am on Saturday, so you knew he was here. Plus, his door was unlocked.

“Jungkook?” you call.

No answer.

You take your shoes off after closing the door and locking it. He should really keep his door locked.

Very quickly become best friends with the couch, you toss your backpack of warm clothes on the floor while you wait for him to make an appearance.

There’s shoot equipment everywhere; lights in the corner, some with soft boxes on them, gels laid out on the coffee table, and what you’ve come to learn is a lens case sits on the couch beside you in Jungkook's usual spot.

Jungkook has also somehow managed to find some small trees in blue ceramic pots and what you’re pretty sure is a smoke machine.

But the most peculiar thing is what looks to be a kiddie pool up against the wall with a folded tarp at its base.

Well that's…interesting…

You hear a door open somewhere in the apartment and running water.

“Jungkook? That you?”

“Hey! Yep. Just give me a sec, I’m almost done.”

The water sounds cease and Jungkook makes his grand entrance as he turns the corner holding a large watering can. Your eyebrow raises.

“For the trees?” you ask.

“What?”

You point to the watering can currently making his veins pop.

He laughs, “Oh! No. This is for later. You’ll see,” and walks to the other side of the room by the pool.

“Aren’t we mysterious today,” you say, following him with your eyes. He’s in ripped black jeans that accentuate the muscle definition of his thighs, and a matching baggy shirt. When his back is turned you snap a quick picture. The fabric folds on his baggy shirts are some of your favourite mindless things to cool down sketch.

“Nah, just focused. We have a lot to get through today.” He sets down the watering can and you can see the moment the switch flips from friend to photographer. “The guest room is ready for you. There’s a clothing rack inside with each look labeled. There’s also makeup and face paint, if you could bring out the make up after you're done changing, that would be great. We’re gonna start with ‘Bright and Bold’, okay?”

You usually use the spare room as a change room when you have to switch clothes for a shoot. But they were always from your own closet. He’d tell you the concept he was going for and you’d bring a few options to choose from.

Makeup you were used to, though. Jungkook loves abusing your artistic abilities for his shoots in the way you decorate your face or body, saying they make his works a level up from the rest of his classmates.

They also usually make for some of the coolest pictures you have of yourself.

This is the first time he’s ever bought clothing, though.

You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, this being his final assignment for an important class, and him being as serious as he is about his work and the final product. But you can't help it, you’re excited to see everything he’s chosen for the shoot.

For you.

For the shoot.

“Yep, sounds good. Be out in a few,” you reply. He nods in acknowledgement before moving to set something up and you don’t stick around to find out, grabbing your bag and heading towards the door lined hall.

The guest room is modest and clean. White sheets and gray comforter with, surprisingly, two throw pillows to spruce it up. The walls are white too, but you’re pretty sure that’s because Jungkook’s not allowed to paint the apartment per his landlord's wishes—a thought that still makes you laugh.

He could buy any place he wanted, but chose to rent. ‘To get the real university experience,’ he explained when you asked him the first time you went over.

Black furniture accents the room. A comfortable looking leather chair sits in the corner by a glass door that leads to the balcony. It has a small table beside it. There’s a dresser with a mirror in the other corner and of course, in the center of the room, is the bed. It’s a nice room. However, the newest edition is what’s keeping your eye.

Four shirts hang from the rack at the foot of the bed. The first is vibrant and colourful, the second a light neutral short sleeved V neck, third is strapless and skin coloured, and the last is made from thin black fabric you assume will be skin tight by the looks of it.

As promised, they’re all labeled with a sticker.

You throw your bag on the bed and grab the colourful one first. Its sticker says ‘bright and bold,’ and you put it on after removing the shirt you came in, then zip it up. The material feels heavy, durable and expensive. You check the tag on the inside seam and see it’s from Ilkaya, one of the biggest and most expensive fashion designers on this side of the realm.

Your eyes bug out of your head, and you try not to breathe too hard for fear of ruining it. Your routine of thrifting all your clothes makes you pretty damn sure you can’t even imagine how much this cost.

It feels good though, comfortable, not itchy. Really freaking expensive.

You look at yourself in the mirror, and you have to admit you look amazing. It fits perfectly in all the right places, compliments your skin tone, and even brings out your eyes. Begrudgingly, you admit to yourself that maybe there’s some sense in what the price tag could be. But it would still be a ridiculous sum for a jacket.

With one last look in the mirror, you grab the palettes, brushes and other tools off the dresser, and leave your designated dressing room for the day in favour of returning to the living room.

Jungkook’s got music going from your shared playlist. Insisting on making one after your second shoot together, when he decided you both agreed to the arrangement becoming a regular thing. It’s a good mix of both of your musical tastes, even though you guys figured out quickly that you liked pretty similar stuff anyway.

“What do you think? Does it work?” You ask as you turn the corner.

Jungkook fiddles with this camera before looking and pausing for a moment to take you in. You hope you look okay, but the weird look he has on his face makes you backtrack a bit.

“Is this not the one you wanted? It had the label on it. But I can go back and double che- ”

“You look amazing,” is all he says, and your worry slides off you instantly. He smiles wide, the one you’ve come to recognize as genuine.

“Thanks. But the colour’s doing most of the work for me,” you say, smiling back shyly.

He has a white background set up, and two differently coloured gel’d lights sit on opposite one another, a third, smaller floor light faces the background. A backlight, he’d call it.

Bright and Bold indeed, though there is the matter of-

“What do you want me to do for my make up?”

“Actually,” he sets down his camera gently on a table, “Is it okay if I do it? I want it to be a little more on the amateur side and I don’t think your years of refined talent would let you get the exact look I want.”

That’s new. But you're here to stand and look however he wants you too, so you allow him with a nod.

“Sure, where do you want me to sit?”

“Here’s fine,” he says as he pulls a stool that was off to one side close to one of the windows. “As long as you don’t mind holding the make up. I don’t have a table to set them down on. Should’ve thought of that, sorry.”

You can tell he’s mentally scolding himself for forgetting something.

“No no, it’s fine,” you say, taking your seat, “I don’t mind, really.”

Placing the balls of your feet on the bar that holds the chair legs together, you make your lap even enough to set the palettes out, and use a hand to hold all the brushes.

Jungkook laughs, noticing your feet as you sit, “Cute socks.”

They’re light blue with a fox face on them, and little ears stick up from the elastic around the ankle.

“Thanks,” you laugh too, they’re your favourite pair. “I call them my fox socks. They’re lucky.”

“Let’s hope so. Wish me luck fox socks,” he calls to your toes, and you wiggle them in response.

He picks a brush and chooses a colour. “Close your eyes and let me know if I’m pressing too hard. If it isn’t obvious, I’ve never done this before.”

You close your eyes and whisper, “Will do.”

It's a uniquely intimate experience having your makeup done. Willingly letting someone get up close and personal with you, allowing them to see every potential scar, blemish and pore in the name of beauty and for the sake of creativity.

In this case, it’s also a little questionable considering where you feel the brush putting down colour: cheeks, lids, temple, nose. However, you’re simply a pawn in a well thought out plan, so you sit and wait for him to finish.

“Annnd done,” he says, making a final swipe with the brush on your cheek. “You look great! I didn’t hurt you, right?” he asks, showing you the makeup in a palettes mirror. Your face looks like it’s been attacked by a rainbow in the best way. You smile, taking the mirror from him and looking at all the little details.

For a first timer, Jungkook did a really good job.

“Nope, I’m good. How do you want me?”

Jungkook leads you to the backdrop, placing you in front.

“One second,” he says, grabbing a remote and clicking a button to lower the black out curtains on the windows, and then another that turns off the apartment lights. He also clicks on all the lights he’s set up and you’re quickly illuminated by a bright red and purple as well as the back light.

“I’m good to pose?” he asks.

“Yep.”

You love that he always asks first. It makes you feel safe and considered, consenting to every touch prior to its occurrence.

Jungkook instructs the first pose to have your hands on the sides of your face, making slight adjustments so that you don’t cover any of the makeup. And for the first time, his touches leave little sparks where they land.

You’re sure it’s just because of the lights or that the shirt is thick and makes you warm.

Or maybe you’re just nervous and need to get the first photo jitters out of your system.

Soon enough, the camera’s pointing at you and you smile the brightest you can. He’s given you the prompt of ‘you’re so excited and happy you can’t hold it in,’ and you work with it the best you can, taking the first few with the pose he gave before being given full reign.

It’s a decent way into the first shoot when Jungkook says, “Hmm…we’re not quite there yet, I need a bit more,” and follows up with, “How about ‘you’ve just been commissioned by the Modern Art Museum to have the leading showcase for next year’.”

You smile the biggest you think you ever have at the thought. Because that’s the dream, that is the biggest goal you could achieve. An entire gallery of your work as the primary exhibition in the Western Shores Modern Art Museum? You couldn’t go any higher. It’s every artist's dream.

“There you go! That’s it!” The camera’s capturing quickly as you imagine what it would be like to have your own showcase at the WS-MAM. Incredible is the first word that comes to mind, your work in the biggest museum on the continent? You can’t even imagine, but you want to.

One day, you promise yourself. You’ll do it one day.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, breaking your daydream, “Let me switch out the gels for new colours and go again. These are great so far though, you're doing amazing.”

You hold your hand out for a high five and he smacks it. “Go team!” you say, and he laughs.

An hour and a half, a makeup fix and three lighting changes later, the first shoot finishes. You collapse on the couch and rub the muscles on your thighs.

Jungkook plops down beside you, nose deep in the pictures he’s just taken, double checking everythings good.

“This is a fantastic start, I hope we can keep it up all day and finish before tomorrow.”

“Me too,” you say, and you mean it. Shoots with him are always fun, but inevitably tiring. “I’m gonna to grab a water, want one?”

“Yes please,” he replies without looking up.

In the kitchen, you open the fridge to grab the two bottles and notice a box, stamped with a coffee mug that has a greenhouse inside of it, on top. The greenhouse cafe’s logo.

“Can I ask what’s inside the cafe box?” you ask as you sit back on the couch and pass him a bottle.

“Ah, caught red handed,” he says, setting his camera on the table and taking a swig. “I may have asked Vivan earlier this week to make sure there was an overstock of tarts so I could grab them for you as a thank you for today.”

...Oh

That’s so sweet. He’s never gotten you a thank you gift before, especially not in the form of the most delicious pastry to ever exist. Maybe you should get him something for all the times he’s helped you with homework? A solstice gift maybe?

There’s heat forming in your chest and you really hope it’s not the beginning stages of heartburn. Maybe Jungkook has antacids.

“You didn’t have to do that, I’m happy to help.”

“So you don’t want them then?” his shit eating grin making a glorious comeback because he knows what your answer’s going to be.

“No! I want them. I most definitely want them.”

He chuckles and puts his water down.

“Okay Donatello, glad you accept. Let's move on to the next set up. There’s makeup remover and cotton pads in the room, and some moisturizer too if you need it.”

The next shoot is called ‘Regality,’ and it has you in the strapless shirt. You find out it’s quite a low cut when you put it on. There’s enough to cover you, but there’s definitely a lot of your chest showing. However, under the shirt on the hanger is a scarf to cover yourself with, which you think is very considerate.

“Makeup?” you ask as you come out again, scarf covering you.

“Neutral, but strong. Kind of like how my mother does,” the background is still white, but you have a hunch that it will remain white in this picture, unlike the last one. “This one is going to be black and white, so try to emphasize your natural beauty.”

You ignore that he essentially just said you're beautiful, surely he’s just being kind and professional. Making sure his model feels good about herself.

Right?

Right.

You put on a coat of mascara and go light on the shadow so it won't be too dramatic on film. You also use a shade of lipstick that adds just a tint to your lips and a blush that makes your eyes pop.

Jungkook has you sit on the stool from earlier and faces your body three quarters of the way towards the camera, but keeps your head turned in profile.

“Oh! Almost forgot, one second,” Jungkook jogs to his room, coming back with a palm sized velvet box. “I had my mother send these over for this shoot. She has better taste than me, so I let her pick them out.”

Your stomach plummets to the floor when he opens the box.

Inside are two dangling diamond earrings, and quite possibly the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

And now you’re terrified.

“Jungkook, I can't wear those. They look like they’re worth more than my house, my car and my tuition combined.”

He takes one out and places it in your hand for you to put in, it’s the length of your index finger. And all you can think about is the potential houses you’re holding as you look at it.

It’s a semi-rectangular earring, encrusted with four columns of diamonds that cascade down, each column longer than the previous. Like a sparkling waterfall you can attach to your ear.

“Don’t worry about it, mum said she never wears them anyway because they’re part of a set that the necklace was lost to years ago. Please,” his face is nothing but reassurance and small smiles, “You’re giving them a chance to live again.”

You couldn't say no to those eyes even if you wanted to.

So you reply, almost breathless and still against your better judgment, “Okay.”

Placing them in one after the other, they have a significant, understandable weight to them. You take a couple deep breaths so you don't freak out, and then you return to your previously designated pose, profile set, body facing the camera.

“Can I adjust?” Jungkook asks, after taking a step back and getting a wider view.

You nod gently, still terrified of the earrings.

He makes sure the earring is visible and untangled first, before a finger gently comes beneath your chin, and lifts it a bit higher.

The feeling they leave behind is all you can think about as you stare at your place on the wall, Jungkook snapping away. Not even the soft light illuminating your profile is enough to make you blink.

This shoot goes by quickly, and you’re relieved to get the earrings back safely inside their box.

“It’s like 2:45, wanna break for a late lunch?” Jungkook asks.

“Please, I’m starved,” you say, returning from the guest room after tossing on the sweater you brought. “What's on the menu?”

“Well, we have two options,” he says, looking very faux serious, “1. We order out from wherever you want and awkwardly wait for it to arrive because the next shoot is not one we can’t prep for, then eat, then shoot. Or 2. I make use of the ingredients I bought to make Bulgogi Kimchi Fried Rice and you get lunch and a show.”

You're shocked.

Jungkook…cooks? Oh this you absolutely must see.

“Hmm….” you say, pretending to really mull it over in the same ‘serious’ tone, “I’m thinking I’ll have to go with option two, Chef. But I’ll lend a hand where I can, no use in standing around doing nothing.”

“Every chef needs a sous.”

With both of you on task, lunch is getting made quickly. Jungkook has all the ingredients to make ‘my buddy’s famous family recipe,’ a man who you assume is a chef back at the palace. The island countertop is currently covered in them; onion, kimchi, marinated bulgogi, gochujang, cooked rice, eggs and more.

You’re surprised at how skilled Jungkook is in the kitchen. He’s cutting the ingredients like he’s been doing it his whole life and working the pan over the stove like the proper technique has been drilled into him since birth.

Thirty minutes pass, and after both of you shed a tear at the cut onions and evenly split the remaining tasks, you’re sitting on the couch about to take your first bite. It smells delicious. Your mouth is watering and you can’t wait to dig in, stomach painfully empty by this point.

Finally taking that first bite, you nearly die of euphoria.

“Ouhmahgaud,” you say, mouth half full. Jungkooks on the other side of the couch, trying not to cough out his own food from laughing at your reaction. His eyes are nearly shut with how wide he’s smiling.

“Good?” he asks after swallowing his food first, like a civilized person.

You’re vigorously nodding as you swallow your own helping in hopes you’re understood.

“You’re giving me this recipe. I need it. I don’t think I will survive if this is the only time I ever get to eat it.” Your bowl is almost half gone already. Thank god there’s leftovers, you will be having more.

Plus, you want to make it for your mom when you go home, she’ll love it.

“I’ll text it to you later, don’t worry.”

You’re very sure the look on your face conveys the gratitude you feel and the rest of the meal passes in a very comfortable and satisfied silence.

Twenty-ish minutes later, after letting your seconds settle for a couple minutes, Jungkook gets back to business.

“Next look is the most adventurous, it uses the facepaint. Are you okay with contacts?”

“I think so, never tried them before though. Just give me a few before we start so I don’t explode when I stand up.”

“All good,” he says, before quirking a lip and adding, “I really don’t feel like explaining why there’s kimchi and bits of you all over my walls to either of our parents, so take all the time you need.”

You laugh, firstly at the visual, then at the idea of Jungkook meeting your mother. That would be something you needed on record, paper and film.

After a minute, you get up, the guest room making your acquaintance once more.

“This one is called Enigmatic,” Jungkook calls.

“Got it!”

You take longer than normal to change, maybe eating before putting on the skin tight shirt wasn’t a great idea. But at least it was stretchy.

It has long sleeves, a high neck, and is a very dark midnight black. There’s a matching black scarf for this one too, and a safety pin attached to the corner.

“Okay, what's the plan for this one? I hear facepaint is involved,” you say, back for round three, scarf in hand.

The background of the set is black now, a close match to your shirt. Jungkook is by the smoke machine, currently set up on the stool and plugged into a nearby outlet.

You hold up the scarf, questioningly.

“That’s to go over your head after the paint, but let’s see if you can do contacts first, they’re in the washroom. Need help?”

“No, I'm good.”

You don’t succeed at first, but after a couple attempts you look in the mirror and see purple eyes staring back at you. You love them.

“I look like a badass,” you say, returning. The smoke machine’s been turned on and it’s created a completely different atmosphere. At your reemergence, Jungkook shuts it off and comes close to give you a look. You freeze a little at the eye contact, his browns meeting your currently violets for a prolonged moment.

“They look better than I’d hoped, this is going to be great.”

He reaches under the gels on the table for a piece of paper. It’s a makeup model face with the look he wants drawn on. “Are you able to do something like this?”

The diagram shows the cheeks, bottom half of the nose and down all the way to the neck as black, and the eyes and up as white, bleeding down into the black like smoke. You’re going to need eyeshadow for that part. If you did that with the face paint it would just become a gray mess.

“Yep, but it’s going to take some time to get it right.”

“That’s okay, I’ll use it to get the smoke machine properly set up.”

You use one of the palette mirrors and start with the white, covering the top of your face and making a good base layer for the eyeshadow. Then fill the bottom of your face and neck with the black. Carefully, so as to not make gray, you use a large brush to cover both sides with their respective eyeshadow shades, before blending them together like the reference. Your skin starts to feel like it’s on fire by the time you're satisfied and you check your phone for the time when you finally finish.

4:37pm.

Not bad. You put the scarf over your head and cover your ears with it, using the safety pin to hold it in place.

“Done.”

Jungkook takes one look at you and lights up.

“Have I ever mentioned how talented you are, and that you make my schoolwork so much more fun? Because I feel like I should again even if I already have.” Your cheeks heat, glad he’s excited you’re able to help. “How did you manage to make it look even better?”

“I do vaguely remember mentioning something about a deal with a semi-suspicious genie,” you joke. And both of you break out in giggle fits after a second, recalling the conversation from forever ago.

Running through the same steps of lighting, posing, and adjustments, Jungkook then flips on the smoke machine and lets it fill the room heavily before starting to take pictures.

You’re sitting on a small box this time, so that you’re slightly lower than the camera. Jungkook tells you to keep your hands at your sides and look up, just above the rim of the camera lens. It creates a very interesting look, and you're excited to see the results.

He has you do a couple more poses before allowing you to do your own thing once more, trying to think of what would look mysterious and enigmatic.

You try to let the music inspire you. This is a look you’ve never done before, so you’re finding it a bit difficult to get into it despite Jungkook's helpful prompts and suggestions. But you flow a bit better with it as time goes on and you become more comfortable.

An idea pops up out of nowhere and you have him do a close up from the middle of your chin to the middle of your forehead. You stare straight into the lens to really showcase the purple contacts and makeup.

“This’s the one for sure,” he says, taking a few more. “Great idea, why didn’t I think of a close up in the first place?” You know he's talking to himself at this point.

It’s close to 6:15pm when Jungkook decides he has enough pictures for this look. You don’t mind the longer shoot seeing as you set aside the day for this, and you can’t wait to see how these ones turn out in particular.

You’re halfway through getting the face paint off, a mountain of gray stained cotton pads beside you, when Jungkook turns the music down.

“Let’s do a light, early dinner and then shoot the last one?” he asks. “I kept this one at the end because it’s going to create the most mess and it’ll be nice to have dinner out of the way for when I have to clean up.”

“More mess than this?” you point to the cotton pad mountain.

“Much more.”

“Light, early dinner it is,” you confirm, not wanting to have to wait till late to eat. “But can we order out so I have time to get the rest of this off?”

“Sure, what’ll it be?”

Clean faced, moisturized and ramyeon filled, you and Jungkook are preparing for the last shoot. Or well, lightly arguing.

“Water?”

“Mhm.”

“On me?”

“Yep.”

“From that thing,” you point to the contraption he calls a c-stand that will be holding the very full, very large watering can over your head for an extended amount of time, “And into there?” you point again to the kitty pool on top of the tarp that’s underneath the watering can c-stand.

“That is the plan,” he looks amused at your slight distress.

“Are you nuts? What if it falls on me? How do I know it won’t unhinge and I’ll have a nicely cracked open skull to explain to my mother on Solstice break?”

“It won’t fall and you know it won't because you trust me and trust I wouldn’t put you in unnecessary danger. But if it does, tell your mom I say hi and sorry.”

You scoff at him, unbelievable. “So you admit there’s a bit of danger!”

Jungkook sighs, and looks to the ceiling. “Yes, YN. There is a touch of danger. But that’s only if, somehow, the c-stand I have triple safety checked, duct taped twice, and quadruple secured with four fifteen pound sandbags, decides that you deserve a watering can to the head.”

You side eye his tone. This wasn’t an unrealistic worry. But you do trust him. And trust he would never intentionally put you in any danger.

The trees are set up near the backdrop that looks like a row of brick houses. The shot is supposed to be ‘The Calm after Before the Storm,’ where you look relieved and happy in an ‘outside’ setting while ‘rain’ falls over you, also in black and white.

“Fine, but if I hear one peep from that thing,” c-stand staring down the tip of your finger once more, “I’m tuck and rolling and taking you out while I do it.”

“Very fair!” he says relieved, and goes to set up the stand with the watering can.

You’d changed into the neutral V neck after dinner, and he’s asked for no makeup. So all you have to do now is stand and pose while trying not to die from foreign objects falling from the sky while you get wet.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

It is incredibly difficult, and you’re glad he made this one last because you’re at best; slightly miserable. Only the promise of a hot shower, hot chocolate with whip cream and marshmallows and your pick of whatever you watch afterward is keeping you going.

You started this one just shy of 8pm after waiting 45 minutes for the food. And it’s nearing 9:30 now. Jungkook has had to refill the watering can four times, dump the kiddie pool twice, and you swear if you don’t finish within the next twenty minutes, you’re going to collapse from shivering.

To be fair, he does fill the watering can with warm water, but it only stays warm for so long before freezing water is pouring on you for the millionth time tonight.

“I have one last idea, and by the way, I’m never doing this concept again so don’t worry about that, but also… don’t shut down the idea immediately okay?” Jungkook says.

The watering can is almost empty again and you’re relieved that your time is almost up. That in itself should make for a good picture. He snaps it.

But his tone makes you a little wary, “Okay… what is it?”

“Pretend I’m Nel and you’re seeing me for the first time in six months, like you do at the end of April.”

Well, you didn’t have that down on your photo shoot prompt bingo card.

Are you okay with the idea? You aren’t sure, but aren’t not sure either.

“I mean, I’ll try. Maybe you could give vocal cues to try and help? But don’t make it weird.”

“I won’t, promise,” Jungkook pauses for a second before adding, “Does he call you baby?”

You nod, and you distantly hear and ‘okay’ as you slowly allow yourself to get into that headspace.

You start, and the camera starts going.

You’re in the airport, waiting for Nel, ‘smoosh’ paper in hand. The gate opens, and through all the other passengers you see him, see that he’s in one piece, see that he’s safe.

Your face illuminates with relief at that so much so that you don’t even notice the water that starts running down your face.

You hear a ‘hi baby’ and in your head, it’s coming from Nel’s mouth as he nears you. You smile impossibly wider at the thought of seeing him, feeling him. Having him here with you.

You look happy to see me, ‘Nel’ says.

“I am,” you reply.

There’s repetitive clicking in the distance, but you ignore it. It’s probably just a flight attendant's heels on the floor.

“I missed you.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Nel speaks again.

I missed you too, baby.

You’re shivering hard now, lost in thought, unaware of reality.

YN, Nel calls.

“Yes, love?”

“YN.”

“Babe, what is it?”

“YN, hey,” you're being shaken gently.

“Hmm? What?” you slowly arrive back to the present. Strong hands grip your shoulders. They feel nice. Solid. Deliciously warm.

A very concerned looking Jungkook comes into focus, camera dangling around his neck and reaching for you.

Oh.

He’s the one holding your shoulders, trying to get you to come back to reality.

“There she is, welcome back,” he lets go and grabs a blanket from somewhere and wraps it around you. “We got the shot, go take a shower and warm up okay?”

“Okay,” you say, still a little dazed, but present enough to function.

You step out of the pool, holding on to the hand Jungkook offers to balance—Warm. Solid. Strong—and head straight for the bathroom, making a pit stop in the guest room to grab your bag with fresh clothes.

The hot water cements your place back in reality, letting it warm you up and cleanse you of the day.

You have no idea what just happened with that whole Nel thing, but it was a new feeling and a new headspace and you really aren’t in the mood to analyze or acknowledge, so it’s shoved onto a top shelf in the back of your mind for a later date.

Once you're able to return to the directory of your mind, you don’t know how long you’ve been in the shower. But you know you’re clean, no longer cold, and in the mood for hot chocolate, so you step out and dry yourself with the towels Jungkook laid out for you on the toilet seat.

They’re soft. So soft in fact you consider only for a second shoving one in your now less full bag to take home with you. However, you do rather enjoy your friendship with the prince, so you think better of it upon second thought.

Dressing in your sweats, you exit, tossing the towels in the hamper and your bag of the clothes you arrived in back into the spare room.

“Better?” Jungkook asks as you sit down in your spot on the couch for the last time tonight, wrapping up in the blanket he left for you. He’s in the kitchen but heard you coming.

“Much, thanks,” you sniff, “Is that hot chocolate I smell?”

Jungkook returns from the kitchen, two mugs in hand. “With extra whip cream and marshmallows, as ordered.”

You carefully take it from him, giving your thanks and happily slurping away the second it’s in your grasp.

“Alright Caravaggio, what are we watching?” he asks, sitting down on his side, sipping away on his own.

Sometime between you leaving for the shower and coming back out Jungkook changed into his own comfy attire, and tidied up the studio space as the pool and tarp are nowhere to be seen.

“I’ve thought really hard about this, all of however long I was in the shower,” Jungkook mutters something about 35 minutes; you ignore him, “And have settled on ‘A Miser Brothers Solstice’.”

He whines just a little when he says, “But it’s November.”

“So?”

“So, Solstice isn’t until the third week of December,” he’s saying this like his point is the most obvious thing in the world.

It’s not.

“Your point?”

“That it’s November, and you want to watch a Solstice movie.”

You’re mockingly outraged.

“Who made you town grinch? I didn’t realize we had a holiday hater in our midst.”

You loved the holidays, all the big ones, and the small ones, but Solstice was special.

“I’m not a grinch, I’m just not there yet, mentally.”

“Then get ready to dive in head first, because you said I could pick the movie for risking my life for you and I pick ‘A Miser Brothers Solstice’.”

Jungkook doesn’t argue further, but he does roll his eyes as he puts on your movie with a small smile hidden behind his drink.

It’s sometime during the first act, you’re lying back against your corner of the couch, feet up and under the blanket when you ask, “What are your solstice break plans?”

Jungkook takes a moment to part from the TV, very invested for someone who was so against it half an hour ago. “I have a lot of ‘princely duties’ to do for Solstice, like standing and looking thoughtful while my dad gives his annual Solstice speech,” you snort. “Then there’s the palace dinner, the parade through the capital, and the live televised event,” he says in a tv announcer's voice, “Where my family and I light the Solstice Star. And then there’s the new year and that in itself has another long list of things I have to do. Besides things like that though? Not much, and then it’s back here.”

Right.

You often forget who he is.

That behind those kind eyes, and small smiles, behind the greenhouse study dates, and movie nights, and photoshoots, Jungkook has an enormous responsibility constantly looming over his head, counting down the days until he finishes his schooling. One that’s just waiting to drop onto his shoulders forever.

You often forget that Jungkook is the Prince, first in line to the biggest throne in the realm. That you spend your time with not only Jeon Jungkook, friend and photography student, but also, His Royal Highness, Prince Jeon Jungkook, Heir Apparent and Future King of The Western Shores.

He just makes it so damn easy to forget.

You only asked because you thought maybe he had plans with friends or family, completely forgetting about all of the things the royal family does during the holiday season to celebrate with the nation, their people, and now you feel like an ass for even bringing it up.

But there’s something in his answer, or lack thereof, that snags your attention.

“What about celebrating with your family and friends in private?”

“No time,” Jungkook’s stare goes distant as he brings his knees up and puts his arms around them, resting his chin. “Friends are always busy with palace preparations and dad’s not really the sentimental type. We celebrated when I was younger; big family breakfast, presents, tree decorating, whole thing. But after I turned about 13 or so, it started dwindling pretty quickly. Now it’s just me and my mom exchanging a gift with each other at midnight under the palace tree.”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard something so heartbreaking yet beautiful in your life.

“Your mum sounds wonderful, I’m really happy you two get that time together.”

He looks at you, and you can tell by the look in his eyes he loves that time with her more than anything else.

Solstice is supposed to be the time you spend with your family, blood or chosen. The time where you all gather to cook and bake, and exchange thoughtful gifts with the ones you love. The time where you truly cherish one another and count yourself lucky for all that you have.

Solstice is your favourite time of the year.

To not spend it like that just seems…wrong. Horribly, painfully, awfully wrong.

“What about you?” he asks.

You don’t want to make him feel bad, so you tone down your answer, taking away the meat and giving the bones.

“My mum and I cut down our own tree and decorate it with the ornaments we’ve collected over the years,” you have them from every place you’ve ever visited, and your mum kept all the ones you ever made as a kid. You even get a new one every solstice to take a picture for and label with the year.

“Then we bake solstice cookies until our hands cramp and survive off only them until solstice dinner; a turkey, honey glazed carrots, mashed potatoes with gravy, essentially if it waters your mouth, it’s there,” he chuckles at that. “We do gifts for each other too, opening them on solstice morning before making hot drinks and reading in the breakfast nook until the sun sets or till we get hungry, whichever comes first.”

Jungkook's eyes glow, radiating warmth, a lazy smile on his face as he listens to you.

“That sounds really nice, YN.”

“It is,” you reply, looking him in those radiant eyes as you do. He looks… happy. Happy for you, that you get to have something like this that’s so special. It breaks your heart a little…maybe you can help.

“You wanna make some solstice cookies with me before break?”

His look of happy shifts to one of slight panic.

“What?” you question, and comically ask, “Have you never made solstice cookies before?”

He hesitates before answering a very quiet, “Uh…N-no.”

Your shock must be incredibly evident in the way he almost flinches at your reaction.

So you try your best to keep your voice level when you ask, “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no. I’ve never made solstice cookies.”

That’s it. You can’t hold back any more, you’ve never heard anything so blasphemous in all your life.

“You’ve never what? How is that even possible?”

He shrinks into himself a little more.

“The palace pastry chef always makes them because that’s kind of his job,” you stare at him in disbelief. “Is this really that big a deal?”

You swear there’s cog’s and smoke flying out of your ears. Solstice cookies are a religion in your household. You know dozens of recipes by heart, always finding a new one each year to try and up your game. You cannot imagine a solstice without making them. Wait no, actually you can, but it would be because you’re dead.

You held back in your answer earlier, for his sake, but you and your mom’s hands cramp up because you make enough cookies to give a box to everyone in the neighborhood. It’s one of your favourite traditions, and your neighbours even look forward to it every year, going so far as sending you both recipes to try out.

“Big dea—you’ve never fucking mad—not even when you were little? No one brought you to the kitchen and let you help? Aren't all your friends back home the pastry chefs' kids or something?” You don’t mean to sound harsh, but your tone is a little more passionate than you were intending.

But Jungkook knows you, knows you occasionally get that passionate about things, and takes your outburst in stride.

“Yeah, one of them is, but we don't sit around the oven and make cookies all break long. And his dad is always too busy to teach us even if we wanted to.”

You decide something. Right then and there.

“This year you are.”

“What?”

“Mark your last Saturday off because I'm going to show up here, ingredients-a-plenty and teach you how to make solstice cookies. I have a million recipes up here,” you tap your head with a finger, “But I'll choose the easiest ones. And I’ll come over early so we can spend the day making all of them. I can’t in good conscience leave for the break knowing you’ve never made them.”

He sighs. “Do I have any say in the matter?”

“Absolutely not.”

Jungkook stares at you and you can’t figure out what he’s thinking. You’re worried he’s going to say no anyway. To say you’re crazy and that they’re just cookies and that he has more important things he has to do on his Saturday before leaving for home.

But he doesn’t. And you should’ve known he wouldn’t, not after all the time you’ve spent together.

You know better. Know him better.

“Alright Picasso. Sounds like a plan. I’m looking forward to it,” he decides, and goes back to watching the movie.

It’s the first time he’s ever repeated a nickname.

“Wait! The wind guy wants to replace who?!” Jungkook shouts.

You laugh at his confusion, and rewind the movie.

Jungkook wakes up sore.

His back is killing him, which makes sense since he’s half lying on the couch, half on the ground.

The TV’s silently playing some slideshow of movie recommendations based on recent watches.

He checks his phone, reaching for it on the coffee tale.

14% battery.

4:07am.

Shit, he fell asleep.

After the solstice movie he wanted to watch its predecessor. You had no qualms and so on it went, but he doesn’t remember much after the brothers started fighting.

Hearing soft, even breathing next to him he turns to see you, hunched over in your spot asleep, no doubt in the process of ruining your own back.

He should go to bed.

You should go to bed.

But you’ve never stayed the night.

What should he do? Should he wake you?

But you look so peaceful. And it’s nearing exams. You barely sleep when it’s exams season.

Instead, Jungkook goes to check the guest room, but it’s a mess with yesterday's comings and goings. Make-up and clothes and hangers strewn everywhere.

Quietly, making a decision he hopes you won’t kill him for in the morning, he pads back to your sleeping form.

It’s for your back, he tells himself. No other reason.

Deja vu sets in as he scoops you up from the couch, blanket and all. Just like last time, you gain enough consciousness to know to wrap your arms around his neck, but not enough to wake up. Your head rests on his shoulder and he selfishly savours the feeling as he walks down the short hallway to his room.

Jungkook sets you down gently on one side of the bed, and your arms release, slumber undisturbed as he tucks you in.

He goes back to the living room to retrieve your phones. Yours is still at 56%, and he places it on the table beside you when he returns.

Climbing into his side of the bed, he’s careful not to touch you.

Though he wants to.

Desperately.

His sleep deprived brain is too slow to block out the thoughts that start to race. Thoughts of how he wants to turn around and pull you into his chest, slide an arm around your waist, and kiss you goodnight. How he wants to wake up in the same position, you still in his arms.

But he’s also awake enough to know that will never happen. That you’re with Nel, and happy with him. That he’s drawn that nice, big line.

He’s awake enough to know you being in his bed is a fluke, unintentional.

A one time thing.

Plugging his phone into its charger, he sets it down on his own bedside table and pulls the covers up, falling back asleep.

His back facing you.

An exhale wakes you.

Warm and cozy, you take a deep breath and roll to your left side, stretching on the way over. The scents of clean linen and something familiar find you. It’s comforting, that smell, but you can’t place it.

Another exhale, but this time you feel it as well as hear it.

You open your eyes to see a sleeping Jungkook face not a foot from your own and you jolt in shock, falling off the bed in the process.

You look up from your new seat on the floor, ignoring the pain in your side from landing, and peer over the covers to check on Jungkook, who, miraculously, hasn’t woken up from your tumble.

Relieved, your mind focuses on more pressing questions like ‘how did you get here?’ And ‘why were you in his bed?’

The last thing you remember was being halfway through the prequel to A Miser Brothers Solstice on the couch, watching Jungkook more than the movie because of how invested he’d become in the story.

But you aren’t on the couch now. You were in his bed.

The bed of the Prince of the Western Shores.

The Prince who has a girlfriend, and you, who has a very long term, very serious boyfriend.

You hear a vibration, and following the sound, you find your phone on the bedside table.

You quickly grab it quickly and go to the living room as quietly as you can manage.

There’s a large number of unread texts.

SlurryYuri [11:08pm]: hey, just checking in. You didn’t get home when you said you’d try for SlurryYuri [11:31pm]: Helloooooooo? YN? You there? SlurryYuri [12:14am]: it’s getting late YN, when are you coming home? Are you on your way?

Missed Calls: (3)

SlurryYuri [2:43am]: it’s been hours, so you better be dead or have crashed in the school somewhere. Either way I’m kicking your ass when you get home

Missed Calls: (2)

(Recent)

SlurryYuri [9:36am]: you’re still not home?? YN seriously, where are you SlurryYuri [10:23am]: If you don’t message me back in an hour I’m calling the police and filing a missing persons

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. You crashed hard, the shoot must have taken more out of you than you thought, so you never texted Yuri you were going to crash in a sleep pod at school like you’d planned too.

You make quick work of messaging her back, glad she unintentionally gave you just the excuse you needed.

YN [10:25am]: ohmygod I’m soooooo sorry, it was the school one. I fell asleep in the school. I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll be home soon, promise. I’m just going to grab breakfast first. Again im sorry

SlurryYuri [10:27am]: thank the gods youre okay!! Don’t ever do that to me again YN! I don’t wanna be the one who has to break news to your mom!! She’s too nice. SlurryYuri [10:27am]: and take your time getting back if your rushing for me, I’m not at the dorm SlurryYuri [10:27am]: Tai showed up yesterday out of the blue and took me dancing. We’re out getting brunch right now, and he has plans for the rest of the day SlurryYuri [10:28am]: Im just glad you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere

YN [10:29am]: me too, and okay I will. Thanks for checking up on me and making sure im safe, youre my favourite

SlurryYuri [10:30am]: damn right I am, see you tn <3

YN [10:30am]: see you <3

You exhale deeply, that was fucking close.

Your stomach rumbles and it reminds you that you actually need to get breakfast.

What could you have? You could order in again, but that means a wait time and you are hungry now. You could raid Jungkook's pantry, or see if he has any fruit, but then you think that’s a gross invasion of privacy when it’s not movie night and you haven’t asked if it’s okay.

Wait.

The egg tarts!

You dash to the fridge, the marvellous sight of a greenhouse inside a coffee mug comes into view. Stuffing one down before you even get the box from the fridge, you exit the kitchen, sit down on the couch, setting the box on the coffee table. Once opened in front of you, you realize there is a healthy amount of tarts inside.

How many did Jungkook ask for?

Speaking of, a bed-headed, yawning Jungkook makes his morning debut, still in last night's clothes.

“Hey,” he says groggily, walking over and stealing a tart.

“Hey!” you say back, not nearly as friendly.

“Overnight tax, Picasso. Room isn’t free.” He chuckles at your faux outrage, popping half the tart in his mouth as he walks to the kitchen and grabs something from the fridge. Returning, you see it’s a morning protein shake.

Gross.

“So is that name the one you’re sticking to now?” you ask, picking up another tart. At this rate they won’t last until lunch.

“Yeah, that okay with you? It’s your name in my phone after all.”

“It is?” You didn’t know that.

“Yeah, has been since the start.”

You’re quickly learning that sleepy morning Jungkook is very different from morning post work-out Jungkook, friend Jungkook and photographer Jungkook. His voice is deeper, he’s a lot more relaxed, and maybe even harmlessly borderline flirty, like he’s not all there yet. Softer.

“Picasso’s just fine. A compliment really.”

“Oh? And what am I in your’s then? Hopefully something just as nice?”

You tell him like it is.

“PJK.”

“PJK?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yeah? It’s obscure enough to not be recognizable if someone were to see it, but enough for me to know who it is.”

“Nah, you need something better, PJK is boring.”

“It’s your initials.”

“And boring,” he’s really not letting up on this.

“Well...what would you save yourself as?”

He mulls it over for a minute before deflating. “Okay, fair point, but I seriously want a new one. Something that can rival Picasso.”

“Do you have any nicknames? Something not completely obvious?”

For a morning person, Jungkook sure is taking his time. Maybe he was only a morning person before 8am, and then if he got up anytime after that he became a normal person who despised mornings like everyone else.

“Uhh…Vivian calls me JK, but that’s essentially the same thing as PJK. My buddies back home sometimes call me Kook, but I don’t think that works either. My mum has one for me that I will not disclose to anyone so long as I am breathing. So I guess not.”

A lightbulb dings over your head. “What about your security? Don’t they have special code names for you when they detail you? Like bear or eagle?”

“Yeah, but it’s not nearly as badass as either of those.”

“Fess up,” you say. Now you have to know.

“Hare.”

“Hare?” Now it’s your turn to be incredulous. “Like a rabbit?”

“Yep.”

An idea pops into your head and an evil grin spreads across your face, one you know is already setting worry into Jungkook’s still awakening brain as you change his name.

“I don’t like that look,” he confirms. “What’d you change it to?”

You flip your phone around and hold it up to him.

“Bunny?” he says incredulously once again.

“Yes.”

“I give you Picasso, one of the greatest painters of all time, and you think giving me bunny is anywhere near on par with that?”

Teasing him is far too fun, especially when he makes it this easy for you.

“Oh absolutely. In fact, I think it’s the best name I could possibly set it as.”

Jungkook disagrees, vehemently. “No, change it back. PJK is fine.”

“Too late. You dug your grave, now lie in it.”

Jungkook brings a hand to his face, pinching the crease between his brows and takes a very long, deep breath, exhaling just as dramatically.

You take that as your victory. But you’re sorely mistaken.

He launches at you, reaching for your phone and you scream, reaching your arm to keep it away from him. You have a fox socked foot on his chest to try and keep him back. His right arm is holding him up near your hip on the couches edge and he’s reaching with his left as far as he can without breaking his sternum on your heel.

“Give it!”

“Never!”

You try to bring up your other foot to push him away, but Jungkook is strong, and forces both it and the one on his chest down with the arm that was supporting him, temporarily keeping himself up with his left hand on the back of the couch.

With your legs out of the way he can almost reach his phone. But in his distracted state, misses the couch when he goes to put his supporting arm down again, and flips onto the ground, taking you with him. You scream, but his arms wrap around you as he makes sure to take the brunt of the impact, landing on his back, you safely secured to his chest.

There’s a moment of pure stunned silence, you resting your forhead on his chest while you process, him not letting go of your waist as he gets a breath into his winded self, before you’re both laughing as you take in what happened.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, you?”

He takes a second to respond. “I’m great.”

You push to sit up, and he releases you from his hold, but that was a mistake. Because now you’re sitting on his lap.

It takes an entire three seconds of you staring at him and him staring right back before you jump and scramble off him as fast as you can.

“Sorry.” you say in unison, you standing and him from the ground. It’s a painfully awkward 8 seconds before you break, cackling at the whole situation, and he joins in with you again.

Jungkook brushes off his pants as he gets up too. “Got any plans before tonight,” he asks, business as usual.

“Nope, cleared my schedule in case this went long, I’ve got the whole day.”

You swear his smile grows two sizes.

“Well in that case,” he looks to the TV, then back to you, “Wanna start movie night early?”

An entire day to relax and chill out before the hell that is exams season takes your every free second?

Yes please.

“Solstice movie marathon?” you propose slyly, near devious.

“I’ll get the popcorn,” he confirms, already halfway to the kitchen.

You spend the day like that, on the couch watching movie after movie, both pretending the little incident never even happened.

But you make sure to go home after movie night this time.

Chapter Nine: TBR

A/N 2: This chapter kicked my ass but it's here and I couldn't be more thrilled. I really like how it's ended so I hope you guys do too.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

#as always remmy #thank you so much for your thoughts and feelings and reviews #i LIVE for this kind of thing #reviews #TWWWBAATA reviews #remmykinsff #REMMY!!#i adore you

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gilbirda · 2 years ago

Text

Dance with me?

DPxBatman crossover. Jazz/Jason pairing. Background BatCat

Two strangers meet at a Wayne charity gala to raise funds for the Arkham Asylum Reform project. What they don't know is that they have much more in common than they think.

“That’s it? One dance? It doesn’t seem that difficult.” He glared at her. “Why, you don’t dance?”

“Not if I can help it.” He grumbled with distaste.

“Why not? Not handsome enough to tempt you, Mr. Darcy?”

NOW WITH SEQUEL -> Can we keep her?

NOW WITH ART!!!!: - Art by @impyssadobsessions: The window jump scene + how Jazz looks after parkouring and kissing - Art by @goingtoast: The strangers at the food table + running barefoot holding hands like teenagers running away

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

Jazz looks like this for the whole story (thank you @impyssadobsessions for letting me use the design!)

----

"’Come to the gala’, they said," Jazz grumbled under her breath, shoving another fancy canapé into her mouth, "’it'll be fun’, they said."

Fun, my ass, she thought. This was not fun, this was torture. Now she understood why Sam actively tried to avoid these things. Jazz was woman enough to accept the other girl was right and she had been a fool for thinking it couldn't be that bad.

Curse the Fenton bad luck. She jinxed herself when she said those exact words.

"Being legally alive is so not worth this." A voice grumbled beside her. She turned, finding a young man stuffing food into his mouth at the same pace as her.

She snorted. That's something that Danny would say. Maybe if he were here it would be a better experience, but she was requested to come alone.

Her reaction made the stranger turn and look at her, blinking as he noticed her presence for the first time. His eyes did a sweep of her in a not creepy way (thank the Ancients, if one more person did that tonight she was going to put the silverware to good use). The way he looked at her was analyzing, calculating. Cautious.

"You are not from here."

If he hadn't clearly discarded his tie already and hadn't talked with the mouth full of tiny food, she would have felt offended — one would interpret his comment as that she didn't belong around rich folks and high society. Which, she didn't, but it was still rude to say.

"I am not."

He chewed the food slowly and swallowed. "Should I know you?"

"I would remember if you did. I’m a therapist at Arkham." She extended her hand for a handshake, but the man only looked at her with an incredulous expression.

"You have to be mad to work there."

Jazz rolled her eyes and withdrew her hand. What a rude man. "And you are so unoriginal by telling me that."

This, for some reason, made him chuckle. He relaxed, as if she passed some kind of test. The stranger smiled and went back to consider what next pretentious tiny food he could stuff his face with.

Jazz took the chance to seize the man. Young, early to mid twenties, really fit, with broad shoulders. And tall. Even in her ridiculous five inch heels he was still maybe a head towering over her. Despite his size, he was dressed properly for the event, sans the tie (she didn’t blame him), and his hair was gelled back in a style she had seen at least five dudes have so far in the event, but his unruly curls were already sticking out of the gel.

What her eyes were stuck on, though, was the white stripe. It looked out of place. Not dyed, though — she knew what dyed white hair looked like. Of course he could have vitiligo manifested in a mismatched hair color, or a type of albinism or—

Calm down, Jazz. Not everything is about ghosts.

She left that life behind, kind of, when she moved to Gotham, chasing her dream to become the best at criminal behavior and rehabilitation into society. She was not a ghost hunter anymore. And white hair didn’t mean ‘ghost’.

“Take a photo, it’ll last longer.”

“Sorry,” she said, “it’s just…” She didn’t know what to say.

“Hm. It’s the white hair, right?” He shrugged, apparently deciding that he had scavenged enough food. He was tense about the hair thing, she noticed, but he hid it well. “People get caught up in that a lot since I came back.”

“Came back?”

A muscle in his jaw tensed. She knew she was about to be lied to, and she didn’t mind (it was, after all, none of her business); but she was amazed at how this man knew how to control his expressions so well.

“Yeah, I was involved in an accident overseas and I was presumed dead for a while.” The way he shrugged was completely different from how he did a minute ago. “These aristocracy-wannabe pricks get caught up on that a lot despite having been a long time ago.”

Presumed dead for a while.

Jazz could feel dormant instincts come back to the surface.

“I have noticed that you don’t like being here.” She changed the topic. Despite wanting to know everything about that little comment, she was aware that this was not a patient she could study and diagnose. Behave, Jasmine.

“Gee, what gave it away?” He deadpanned, turning to look at the people dressed to the nines mingling and talking and laughing. Jazz didn’t need to be a psychiatrist to know many of those were faked.

She turned to look as well. Of course she couldn’t find Marcel, her boss, who had insisted she came to the gala, in the sea of bodies.

“Then why come at all?”

“I was forced to.”

She hummed in solidarity, eyes still on the room. It was nice, this quiet company. “Are you going to hide at the food table the whole night, then?”

“Are you?” She turned, finding him looking at her already. “Or is that dress bait to snatch one of the rich pricks in the room?”

“Why would I be hiding if I wanted to “snatch one of the rich pricks” here?”

“They like the challenge, I guess,” he looked back at the people and the noise. “They don’t want girls who ‘make it easy’.”

“That’s… a very incel and misogynistic way of thinking.”

The stranger snorted and choked on a laugh. “Welcome to Gotham’s high society.” He made a wide gesture towards the room. “It’s disgusting, but it’s not like I can kill every dude that thinks that way.” He rolled his eyes before murmuring against the collar of his jacket: “Not for lack of trying.”

This made her chuckle. She wasn’t supposed to hear that. She guessed that prolonged ecto contamination was useful for something after all.

“So… Who are you hiding from? The person that forced you to come?” She knew it was wrong to poke a total stranger, but she was invested now.

The man scoffed. “My father. He thinks that what I need to ‘calm down’ is settle down with a good girl.” He twisted his mouth in distaste.

Ah. “And you don’t like women?” She ventured, ignoring the slight pinch in her chest. Not that she had a desire to be romantically involved with this man — or the time for romance, altogether.

“No, no, I like women alright, and even if I didn't that wouldn’t be the issue. It’s just — I’m not going to marry someone just because my father wants to.”

“So, any boyfriends yet, Jazzy-pants?”

“We are just worried, you are getting older and we don’t want you to be alone.”

She shook away the memories of her parents’ words from her last visit. She knew they came from a good place, but still, it was heartbreaking that they asked about that and not about her work at Arkham — she had busted her ass making the reform plans and contacting benefactors and striking deals to get what she wanted, but she was still “just a shrink” in her parents’ eyes. They were brilliant scientists, but their bias against the study of the mind was painful.

“Yeah,” she finally said, looking away from the beautiful people and how paired up most of them were. “I think I get you.”

He whistled. “That sounded charged. Wanna talk about it?” The stranger stopped a waiter passing by and took two champagne glasses, extending one for her.

To hell with everything. She took it.

“My parents believe that I’m wasting my life doing what I love — they were proud of me until they learned that I wanted to dedicate my life to criminal psychology and treatment.”

“They resent you or something?” An emotion glinted in his eyes when he took a sip of the bubbly drink.

“No. They are not against it. But they don’t ask about it either.”

He hummed, thinking. “And you dance around trivial topics until an argument breaks out?”

She lifted an eyebrow. He sounded like he talked from experience. “We don’t get into an argument, usually because they get distracted by their own work and talk about it instead.” She let the bitterness bleed into her voice, glad about the anonymity of talking to a stranger.

“Touchy subject, huh?”

“You have no idea, pal.”

They stayed in companionable silence, siping their drinks and getting lost in their memories. She sneaked a glance at the stranger, jumping when she caught him looking at her. Both turned to look at the room.

She could always blame the red on her cheeks on the alcohol.

“My father thinks I’m too violent.” He said, continuing the conversation with a soft voice. “After I came back from… abroad,” his mouth twisted, cementing her theory that he had, indeed, died and came back somehow, “he tried his best to deny I had changed, that my objectives and methods had changed.”

Obsessions, she realized. He came back with an obsession.

“And now?”

His eyes went back to her. If she were another person she would have dismissed the green shine in his blue eyes as a trick of the light. Instead, she smiled broadly at the familiarity.

“Now he should be glad we are on speaking terms.” He placed the empty champagne glass on the food table. “And he uses that opportunity to try and introduce me to some rich girl he swears is ‘super nice’ and could ‘tame me’.” He did the air quotes and everything.

“Seriously?” She giggled at the face he made.

“Well, he didn’t say it like that,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But the intention was implicit.”

“And she’s not that nice or something?”

“I don’t care how she is,” the stranger scoffed, “she could be a saint, for all I care. But that doesn’t change the fact that I hate the idea of starting a relationship with someone just because they could ‘calm me down’ or ‘fix me’.”

Jazz drowned down the rest of her drink and left the glass on the table in a movement to hide the expression on her face. She was sure her face was visibly red now, damn her pale skin.

She cleared her throat. “That’s… very wise of you.”

“I think it should be the bare minimum. I mean, it’s not rocket science,” he crossed his muscular arms over his chest. She was looking very politely at the way the fabric of the suit did little to hide his powerful biceps. “Hoping that someone will fix you when entering a relationship with them will only end in disaster.”

She didn’t know what was that made her heart beat faster; his words, or the way his frown and pout made him look more handsome instead of intimidating.

“That’s why you are hiding?”

“I’m hiding because I promised to dance with her in exchange of being left alone.”

“That’s it? One dance? It doesn’t seem that difficult.” He glared at her. “Why, you don’t dance?”

“Not if I can help it.” He grumbled with distaste.

“Why not? Not handsome enough to tempt you, Mr. Darcy?” The words were out before she could stop them. He was so grumpy it was a logical association.

This made him laugh. She liked how he laughed, with all his body and from deep in the chest. He uncrossed his arms.

“That was something I didn’t expect to hear today. Are you a fan of Austen?”

“I do enjoy her books. Pride and Prejudice holds a special place in my heart, though.”

His smile at her words did weird things to her heart. She was sure her cheeks were permanently red now, but she stopped caring about it.

“You have good taste.” He said, the smile turning into a smirk. He extended his hand for her to shake. His palms were warm and rough to the touch. “Also I think I haven’t introduced myself, I’m—”

“JASON!” A voice cut through their bubble.

Both turned, finding a young man, maybe a bit older than her stranger, angrily stomping his way towards them. There was a certain resemblance, blue eyes and black hair, and Jazz wondered if they were siblings.

“Uh, gotta bounce.” The stranger (Jason?) smiled wider, shook her hand once, and hastily ran away from the food table.

Jazz stood there shocked into silence, watching the other man chase after him, his face flushed and his perfectly styled hair completely ruined.

***

Jason had finally found a good place to hide by the time Bruce had to go give a speech or some shit, he didn’t care that much about the goal of the charity gala to be perfectly honest. It was never about the good causes and Bruce used these to keep up the appearances, so it was frivolous in every way.

The good thing is that since everyone had to stop chasing after him for the speech, they’ll need to start all over again with the search, giving him enough time to find another good hiding spot. Although he lamented the loss of the food table.

And the company.

He didn’t get her name, but the chick was nice to talk to. It was cool to not be judged because of his humble origins, pitied for his little accident abroad, or seen as prey to climb the social ladder in Gotham. Women always tried first with his brothers, but resorted to him when they got rebuffed, and it was annoying as hell to say the least.

Whatever. He would probably never see her again — she was so out of place that he knew she wasn’t usually invited to galas like these. Maybe she was part of the charity people? He could get the guest list and try investigate his way into finding out her name—

He was being ridiculous. He could just ask her name. He just needed to brave his way into the ballroom and search for her, while evading Bruce and the others trying to make him dance with some random rich girl he had no interest in meeting. Easy.

Jason grumbled his way back to the room the gala was held in, sneaking into shadowy corners and keeping one eye open for nosy siblings.

“— and lastly, I would like everyone to give a big applause to the powerhouse behind the project. Without her, this couldn’t be happening today; this gala, this new future, this next step for Gotham.” Jason turned to watch Bruce smiling at the public, one hand gesturing towards someone he couldn’t quite see with people in the way. “A big thank you from the bottom of my heart, Jasmine Fenton.”

The crowd applauded politely, as usual, people whispering among themselves about the new person. If he focused, he knew he would hear a wide range of nasty rumors and slander about her, but Jason wasn’t capable of hearing them.

Because the person that walked up to the podium with a nervous smile and familiar red cheeks, was his stranger from the food table.

Jasmine? Yes, that was her name.

She seemed terrified but hid it well, her steps making the skirt of her deep green dress flow like water, showing the side slits that teased the smooth skin of her legs. The lights on the stand reflected against her clothes and jewelry, the soft shimmer of the green fabric making her look like she was wearing tiny stars, the armband on her left arm and the golden necklace catching his eye as she gingerly put one hand on the podium, probably to ground herself.

Jason gave up hiding and stayed for her speech.

“Um,” she winced at the feedback of the microphone. A woman next to Jason giggled mockingly. “Thank you for this big opportunity, Mr. Wayne.” She nodded at Bruce. “We, and I mean the whole staff at Arkham Asylum, believe there is a real chance at new life, at a new future, for our patients. Even for those that tend to cause trouble, there is a way. With the Reform Project, we hope to break the stigma and transform Arkham into a place of hope.” She smiled nervously. Someone coughed a laugh in the public. “Once again thank you for the support and have a nice rest of the evening.”

There was some more dispassionate clapping. Fucking rich bastards.

He kept his eye on her as she all but ran down the stand and away from the eyes of the people that clearly didn’t believe in her vision but thought it would be good for their image to throw money at it. Well, fuck that.

He ran after her, struggling to keep up despite remembering she had some heels that looked uncomfortable to run with. He thought he heard Dick scream his name for a bit, but after he shut the ballroom door and started checking all the balconies in that floor, he had forgotten about his original objective of hiding from his siblings and Bruce.

He found her in balcony number four. Crying.

“Hey.” He said.

She jumped, quickly trying to wipe the tears gathered in her eyes. “Hello, stranger.” She tried to smile. “Hiding from your father again?”

Jason shook his head and caught the hand that was rubbing her eye. “You are going to mess with your makeup.”

“Oh shit, I forgot I was wearing any. Is it bad?”

He walked closer, grabbing her chin with the excuse of examining her makeup from all the angles. She was prettier up close, and he noticed the gold and green earrings framing her face, very visible since her hair was up in an elaborate bun. He knew how to braid hair and he knew that the braids going down the side of her head and around the bun weren’t that easy to pull off and look professional.

She had dedicated time to look good. She had worn makeup, which was something she didn’t usually do. For this gala. For the ungrateful bastards that laughed at her.

“You look fine.” He finally said, letting her go. “Nice speech, though. Didn’t know the Arkham Reform thing was yours.”

She looked like he had punched her in the gut, but tried to hide it quickly.

“You can laugh if you want. I know it is ridiculous.”

“I’m not laughing. If it were for me I’d burn down the place, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s stupid to believe in making it better.”

She giggled. Ah. That was better.

“Burn it down? Well, thank you for wanting to make me jobless.”

“I mean, I won’t do it now that I know you work there. Not that I have the means to commit arson or anything.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making it obvious that he could indeed commit arson. She found this funny.

“Oh, believe me, I would help you burn the whole thing down. Some days it’s the only thing I can think about.” Her smile was mischievous.

“I’ll call you if I ever decide to do it.”

She squeezed the hand that was still holding hers. He had forgotten about that, but now he didn’t want to let go.

“Thank you.” She said, voice soft. Somewhere, someone opened a door and the music from the gala leaked into their little moment at the balcony. “I needed the distraction.”

“You didn’t look so hot for a second there.”

“It’s the anxiety,” she nodded, “I hate speaking in front of a crowd.”

He made a face, squeezing her hand in solidarity. “That sucks.”

“It does. It’s the crowds, though — I usually can deal with people alright, I’m actually interested in therapy — but since I presented my proposal for the Reform my boss decided that I had to take care of everything, and I mean everything. Funding, support, convincing the patients to collaborate. Everything.”

“That doesn’t sound fair.”

“Marcel only took interest in me after I managed to get Bruce Wayne’s support. When he got onboard, he made it sound like it had been his idea all along! Can you imagine the nerve of this bitch?” She huffed. “Actually I was surprised that Mr. Wayne called me to talk back there, I assumed he bought the bullshit that I was an assistant that my boss had been feeding him.”

Huh. Of course Bruce would know what was going on, he wasn’t stupid to believe that the current Asylum director was suddenly really into reforming the place. It had to be someone from outside Gotham the one that seriously embarked into fixing the Asylum.

Also, quick question, what kind of life this cinnamon roll had to look at Arkham and go “this is the place I’m going to pour my body and soul into”?

He asked her that exactly. She laughed so hard that more tears started falling from her eyes, the hand that was free now placed on his shoulder for balance as she wobbled on her heels.

When she stopped laughing, she smiled up at him, her mascara running a little from the crying. He wiped it with his thumb, letting his hand stay cupping her face once he was done.

“Heh.” She calmed down, still giggling a little. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy?”

He couldn’t help it. He leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, enjoying when she giggled against him.

“What was that for, stranger?” She tried to keep a calm demeanor, but her cheeks were fierce red, betraying her emotions.

He licked his lips. Her lipstick was cherry flavored.

“Wouldn’t you want to kiss a pretty girl illuminated under such beautiful moonlight?”

“Very poetic, mister.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Do you wax the same poetry to every girl you kiss?”

“Why would I?”

“To drive them away, maybe.”

“I thought poetry was the food of love.” He saw the moment she caught on his words, because she smirked.

“Of a fine stout love, it may. But if it is only a vague inclination, I’m convinced one poor sonnet will kill it stone dead.”

He was delighted when she followed his lead. “So what do you recommend to encourage affection?”

She took the hand on her face and guided it towards her waist. “Dancing.” She whispered, letting the soft music coming from the gala weave with her words. “Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable.”

Both snickered at the absurdity of the moment, but started swinging to the music nonetheless. Every time their eyes crossed paths, they started laughing again. It was simple, it was calm, and most importantly, Bruce wouldn’t find them. He felt like he could relax for the first time since the whole gala started.

It was when the song was ending, that Jasmine placed her head on his chest and sighed. He was positive she could hear his heart beating faster, but neither commented on it.

“So you are the Jason Todd?” She asked softly. He hummed in response, but didn‘t know where she was going with this. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you really died, didn’t you?”

He tensed, all relaxation gone from his body. She let him step back away from her, smiling softly when his eyes assessed her like she was a threat.

“I don’t know what you are—”

“My brother died too.” She looked down at their still joined hands. He couldn’t let her go, despite everything. “He came back different. I also— I mean. I am…”

She lifted her head, looking at him with Lazarus Pit green eyes.

He frowned. “Who are you and who sent you.” He wasn’t asking.

Jasmine tilted her head. “My name is Jasmine Fenton. My parents, Madeline and Jackson Fenton, have dedicated their whole lives to the study of the afterlife. My brother and I simply paid the price.”

His heart beat fast, but for a completely different reason than before. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I feel like you also paid a price, and I wanted to let you know that I know.”

He looked down at the hand gripping hers. He angled his fingers so he could place them over her pulse. Although slower than normal, it was steady. She was telling the truth.

“Why?”

She blushed and looked away. “I like… I enjoyed spending time with you. I hope I didn’t read you wrong, but I think you enjoyed it too. I didn’t want to start anything on a lie.”

That was… noble. And sensible. If she ended up telling him later, or worse, if he found out on his own, he would have been devastated.

“I have no idea of the circumstances around your death, and I won’t ask. I hope you do the same about my brother.”

He watched as she slowly closed in on herself, the smiles and radiance he had seen before freezing into a contained steel. This girl had seen serious stuff, probably had done some herself.

“You didn’t die? Just curious.” Jason kept his voice soft and light. If she wanted to deflect the question, he would accept it.

“Something else happened to me.” She shook her head. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

One day.

“That means you want to stick around?”

She saw his question as what it was and accepted the olive branch. “Why? You don’t want to keep dancing?”

“Actually—”

His stomach growled. Damn stupid little food at the stupid fancy gala. Stupid siblings making him run around and get hungry so quickly.

“— maybe we could ditch this whole thing and go get dinner?”

Jasmine seemed delighted. “Ancients, yes. I was about to resort to cannibalism.”

As if on cue, her stomach growled as well. He snorted and both started to laugh again, all tension forgotten.

“How can we get out of here without stumbling into the people looking for us?”

He hummed. “I know a way. Follow me.”

Both ran back into the manor, hand in hand, giggling and sneaking around like teenagers, Jasmine ditching the heels somewhere along the way.

Once they got to Bruce’s studio, Jason ignored the grandfather clock that was the secret entrance to the Cave and beelined to the balcony attached to the room. From there it was easy to jump to a nearby tree and climb down to freedom.

Ah, but—

“Can you do it with that thing on?”

Jasmine’s eyes analyzed the route, catching on his plan. At his question, she smirked and gathered her skirt with the hand that didn’t hold her heels. She lifted the skirt up and up, and Jason was about to look away when he saw why exactly she was doing this: she wore shorts under the dress.

Jason felt his heart skip a bit in his chest.

“Let’s go.”

He did the jump flawlessly, like it hadn’t passed any time since he was a kid and snuck out of the mansion thinking that Bruce or Alfred wouldn’t notice. Of course they did, and they always found him.

He heard the first heel land beside him, and turned in time to catch the other shoe when she threw it in his general direction.

She gathered her skirts better, tied it on her side and jumped to the tree branch, swinging her body to stand on it with a practiced move, making him wonder again what kind of life she had led. Then, she gracefully jumped to the lower branch and from there jumped to the ground, bending her knees perfectly to cushion the impact.

He watched her as she brushed her hands over her dress and her jewelry, checking that everything was still in place. Her hair, sadly, had started to fall off its neat bun.

She clicked her tongue, a bit annoyed, but lifted a hand to free her red locks from the bun, sighing once they started to flow back down her naked back.

He helped her pick out the pins and hair ties that had held the whole thing in place, running his fingers through the silky texture and the braids, enjoying how easily it flowed in his hands.

Jason noticed she was shivering a bit.

“Cold?”

“A bit.” She pushed her now free hair behind her ears. “I guess the backless dress was a bad idea in the middle of November.”

He shed his suit jacket before he chickened out and helped her put it on.

“Thanks.” Jasmine said as she folded the long sleeves so her hands were free. She looked up, giving him a confused smile when he didn’t say anything in response.

He couldn’t. Her dress kept sparkling under the moonlight despite being a bit stained and hastily tied around her hips; she was barefoot, her complicated hairdo ruined and tangled under his jacket that was too big on her slim body; and her makeup smudged from crying before in their little moment at the balcony.

She was the most beautiful thing he had seen.

He lunged, one hand already buried in her hair and the other on her waist, his lips on hers so he could taste the cherry lipstick once again. She made a sound in surprise, and he almost withdrew completely, if she didn’t lift her hands and grabbed his shirt to pull him closer.

She let him push her until her back was against the tree trunk, and he was glad that he gave her the jacket or she would have been uncomfortable.

When they parted, both refused to let go. Their eyes met briefly, hers were green and glowing and he was sure that his were the same. He felt accelerated, his mind scrambled and all over the place, but he felt in control. He felt—

Jasmine’s hand went to his hair, grabbing his curls and pulling his mouth against hers once again, moaning a little as if she wasn’t aware that she did it at all, her teeth softly biting his lower lip and asking permission to deepen the kiss.

Once he opened his mouth for her she had a field day with him, her tongue finding his quickly, another moan getting lost in their kiss. She was ravenous but gentle, letting him chances to stop her anytime he felt like she did something he didn’t want. He felt so wanted just from this kiss alone, and Jason wondered what else she could make him feel.

Her stomach grumbled, asking for attention.

Their chuckles started in the kiss but continued after they parted, her head falling to his chest as she tried to muffle her laugh.

“So…”

“Dinner?” He kissed the top of her head, still giggling.

“Please.”

“Let’s go, my bike is hidden somewhere close.”

She looked at him. “Bike?”

“Are you scared of motorcycles?” He lifted an eyebrow.

Jasmine shook her head. “I had a boyfriend that had a motorcycle and it was like his whole personality. My brother hated him with passion. He will chew my ear off if he learns about this.”

“Oh? We are already talking about exes?”

She blushed, leaning down to pick up her fallen shoe from the ground. “Why, wanna be my boyfriend or something?”

It was his time to blush. “Uh…”

“It’s okay,” she grabbed his hand, “we can talk about it over dinner and reach an agreement, Jason.”

“Call me Jay. And I would like to discuss your terms and conditions, Jasmine.”

She stood on the tip of her toes and yet he had to lean down for her to kiss him softly on the lips. There was still a bit of the cherry lipstick taste on them.

“Call me Jazz, then.”

***

“Aren’t you gonna stop him?”

“Hm,” Bruce said, glancing down at the pair clearly running away from the gala.

He had texted the others a while ago that he had found Jason, but opted for not explaining exactly where he was or what he was doing. There was something in the way he looked at the redhead girl, Jasmine, that made him want to cover for his second eldest.

“You are such a softie, Brucie boy.” Selina softly slapped his shoulder. “And a romantic.”

“I haven’t heard him laugh in ages, Selina.”

Her smile was sad as she held his face between her hands. His eyes went back to his son leaning down to kiss one of Arkham’s most promising psychiatrists. He had mixed feelings about the blooming relationship, but he didn’t want to risk losing Jason again after finally getting him to join family stuff again.

“Is this a good idea?” He finally looked into his girlfriend’s eyes.

“Did you see how she jumped from the tree? She could be a great thief if she wanted.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“What I meant to say is she fits this family perfectly. Vigilantes and cat burglars included. Yeah, I think it’ll be fine.” She softly placed her lips on Bruce's, distracting him from looking from their vantage point at the pair getting on the bike and riding away. “In fact, she already stole the poor boy’s heart, so I’d say she’s on her way to a plentiful career as my successor.”

This made him chuckle.

“Don’t tempt fate, woman.”

“I mean, I can train her. Hmm, I think I like the idea.” She kissed him again. “Another cat and a bat chasing each other over the rooftops of Gotham. So romantic.” She whispered against his lips.

“I think your idea of romance is kind of skewered.” He said, amused.

“But I managed to snatch you, so it worked.”

Both giggled softly, letting the floating music and the moonlight accompany them as they contemplated the changes that would come to the family after tonight.

Bruce could already feel the incoming headache just thinking about it.

---

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hermannsthumb · 3 years ago

Note

possible prompt for a university au: newt is the biology major who maintains all the fish tanks in the physics building at 11pm and hermann is the physics student who likes to wander the halls to think. newt accidentally flings water all over the ground and hermann trips, hijinks ensue.

earlier today I was thinking about how I wrote a college AU fic almost 3 years ago to the date, and how I wanted to do more bc its fun thinking about newt and hermann as dumb college students

----

Newt's not really sure how he ended up with the weirdest work-study job on the planet, but honestly, things could be much, much worse (he could be stuck down in the dining hall, or dealing with confused freshmen in the school bookstore) so he keeps his thoughts on the whole thing to himself. Every Friday at eleven sharp, Newt pulls on his grodiest t-shirt and a pair of long rubber gloves and treks all the way over to the physics department to set to work scrubbing down the fish tanks that line the classroom walls. Why does the physics department have fish tanks? Newt's not really sure about that, either. It's kind of an insane amount of them, too, more than even the marine bio department has. Maybe it's supposed to boost morale or something. Hey, look at these crazy cool tropical fish who get to do nothing but eat and swim in circles, sorry you're stuck inside calculating velocity and shit.

Whatever, Newt's not complaining about that either. Let the physics nerds have their fun. It'll be good for them to branch out a little, realize there's life beyond robotics club meetings.

Also, Newt likes the fish. They're cute. He likes to think they like him, too, because they're very well behaved when he has to scoop them out of their tanks and plop them into smaller fish bowls (the kind goldfish in movies always use). He's going to teach them tricks eventually—he had a beta fish once who would do a little flip when Newt tapped the glass a certain way because he knew he'd get rewarded with dried worms, so Newt knows it's possible. Just imagine, a hundred fish doing flips on command. Newt Geiszler, fish whisperer.

Yeah, maybe the job could be more glamorous. It's really hard to get algae out of the gloves, and he hasn't been allotted the budget for a new pair yet.

"Hey, guys!" he shouts as he pushes in the door to room 214. The fish don't acknowledge him: they just continue swimming in their giant tank. In and out of plastic plants and rock caves. The rock caves were a gift from Newt three months into the job, and so were some of the moss balls—stimulation is important for fish! He wouldn't want to be trapped in a glass box with nothing to do, either. "I bet you missed me. Ready for a clean tank?"

Newt always talks to the fish, even if they don't talk back, because he thinks it's important to build their trust. He'll usually keep a running commentary of his week as he scrubs the tanks, just get everything off his chest that he needs to get off. Stuff he's worried about. Stuff that went well. Stuff that went badly. Therapy's expensive, and Newt's student health insurance can only cover so much, but talking to fish? That's free.

That's also kinda why he does it so late at night and over the weekend. The last thing he wants is an audience. Because, one, talking to fish is admittedly weird, and two, no one wants a glimpse at Newt's psyche like that, probably not even the fish.

The first step in cleaning the tanks is relocation. Newt digs his stereotypical goldfish bowls and an industrial-size mesh wand out of the supply closet, fills the former with some of the special tank salt water, and begins the slow and arduous task of scooping out the fish and depositing them into the bowls. "I had the lamest week," he announces once he's about three clownfish in. "I was working on a group project Saturday—"

Then Newt stops, because he hears footsteps in the hallway just outside the classroom.

Serial killer, Newt's instincts supply helpfully.

No, Newt corrects himself, that's dumb. Why would a serial killer wander into the physics building at eleven o'clock at night? Why would anyone, period? He's probably imagining stuff. Lack of sleep, stress over his upcoming projects, residual embarrassment from his disaster study session Saturday, all of it culminating in Newt thinking there's someone there. No, definitely imagining it. Newt can only even get in this late to the department because his ID swipe card is set up with the right permissions—not even the physics students have the permissions he does to be in this late at night. Well, not unless they clean the kitchenette in the student lounge or something.

Or if Newt left the door unlocked.

More footsteps. Closer now.

Newt's pretty sure he didn't leave the door unlocked, because he thinks it locks automatically behind him, and he would have to literally prop it open for anyone to get in after him. But anything's possible. The door could've caught on a dropped pencil or a paper scrap or other weird shit that physics students leave around, and a serial killer could've noticed and taken the opportunity to sneak inside on the off chance a hapless young biology major was scrubbing slime off fish tanks in the middle of the night. Any minute now, Newt's about to end up on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries. The Physics Department Murder. The Disappearing Biologist. (Nah, neither of those are very good titles, but that's why Newt isn't on the creative writing track.)

Step-tap-step. Closer now; Newt's heart leaps to his throat. Step-tap-step. Step-tap-step. Pausing just outside the door of room 214. God, why didn't Newt turn the lights off? Why didn't he shut the door?

Newt reaches for the first vaguely weapon-shaped thing he can find—an empty fishbowl, because Newt's not going to sacrifice any of the fish for this—and, as the door swings open, hurls it with a cry.

The bowl clunks on the ground. Except it turns out Newt grabbed the wrong fish bowl, because (even though it doesn't shatter, thank God) water quickly begins to seep across the slate floor tiles towards Newt's serial killer, a pathetic little clownfish (Newt thinks this one is named Albert, because the physics department is made up of nerds who do shit like name their random pet fish after their kind) flopping around in the puddle. Newt's serial killer, meanwhile, cries out similarly, his arms windmilling as he loses his footing and slips backwards, his cane—

Oh, fuck.

The intruder is not a serial killer. It's someone possibly worse, actually: Newt's mortal enemy, Hermann Gottlieb.

Newt's not really sure at what point Hermann became his mortal enemy and not just some guy I have class with that I hate, but he can pretty easily say that they've hated each other since the moment Hermann walked through the doors of Engineering 101 and was deigned Newt's lab partner by the Alphabetized By Last Name Seating Chart god. Something about Hermann just gets under Newt's skin. It's not his prissy English accent, or his oversized sweaters, or his absolutely horrendous haircut, and it's not even that he takes every opportunity to savagely rip apart every single thing Newt says in class. Don't get Newt wrong, that's all super fucking annoying, but it's annoying levels he can deal with.

It's the stuff they have in common that makes Newt hate him. It's like Hermann's a slightly broodier and more angular mirror that reflects all of Newt's most egregious faults—his arrogance, his stubbornness, his social awkwardness, his desperation to be taken seriously—right back at him. It sucks.

Plus, one time Newt caught Hermann ripping down the flyer he put up on the quad for Anime Club to advertise his stupid chess club instead, and he's never managed to forgive him for that.

Newt may hate Hermann, but he's not about to let him land on his ass in a puddle of fishy water (especially not on a freezing November night) just because the subsequent bitching would be unbearable, and, yeah, it would be supremely shitty of Newt, so he leaps forward just in time to catch Hermann and his cane before he hits the ground. He's so impressed with himself with his amazing catch that it takes him a few seconds to realize that Hermann is shouting and probably has been shouting since he slipped.

"—bloody maniac! What on earth are you doing in here? How are you in here? Did you just assault me? I'm going to phone campus police, you wretched—"

"Hold that thought," Newt says.

He rights Hermann and snags the mesh net and rescues poor Al before it's too late, dropping him back into the big tank with the rest of his friends. Newt can't be sure, but he thinks Al blows a bubble in thanks at him. Maybe he needs to make friends outside fish.

Hermann is still yelling at him.

"I am going to tell the head of the department you're—you're skulking about in here after hours!" he declares. "You're a menace. Pay attention to what I'm saying to you, Newton!"

Newt sighs and turns around. Hermann's turned an interesting shade of red—sort of like an over-boiled lobster, or if he fell asleep in the sun for too long. Newt wonders if it's from embarrassment (almost falling on his ass) or anger (almost being knocked on his ass). Probably anger. "Look, dude, I'm sorry," Newt says. His face twists like he ate a lemon, and he hopes Hermann doesn't notice. Newt hates apologizing to Hermann. "It's my job to clean the tanks every weekend. You scared the shit out of me and I freaked out—it's just that, like, no one ever comes by this late. Ever." He decides not to mention the serial killer thing. Hermann might make fun of him for being jumpy or paranoid or something.

Hermann's scowl doesn't lessen, but he does nod. Plus, he stops shouting. That's as much as Newt's gonna get of forgiveness. "Hmph," Hermann says. "You clean the tanks?"

"Every weekend," Newt repeats. He realizes he got some fish tank slime on Hermann's button-up when he caught him. Oops. Hopefully Hermann won't notice until Newt's in the safety of his dorm. "Gotta pay for my textbooks somehow." Then he frowns. "Wait, so what are you doing here? I didn't know you had access to the building this late."

Maybe Hermann is the kitchenette-cleaning guy after all. But, to his surprise, Hermann sniffs and casts his eyes to his dorky Oxford shoes. "Er," he says. "It's just—I was having trouble working out a solution to a problem, and thought a walk might do me good. Chilly nights like this one always do. And I quite like this building at night—it's calm, and much quieter than my dormitory." He fidgets. "And—well—only don't say anything to anyone, but I rewrote the permissions of my ID card so I could come and go wherever I please ages ago."

"You rewrote the permissions?" Newt says. "What the hell, wouldn't you have to hack into the security system or something to do that?"

"Well, obviously," Hermann says.

Despite himself, and despite Hermann being his Mortal Enemy, Newt is genuinely impressed. "Dude," he says. "That is so badass." Since when has Hermann been a badass?

Hermann's eyebrows jump, and he blinks at Newt behind his dorky librarian glasses. What twenty-one-year-old wears librarian glasses? With a chain? "You think so?" he says.

"Uh, totally," Newt says. "What problem were you stuck on? The one from Saturday?"

Being lab partners for engineering means Newt and Hermann have to collaborate on pretty much everything, including their midterms. Their midterm is what they've been working on for the past two weeks. On Saturday, though, they met in neutral ground to work on it (a reserved study room in the library), and, after a stupid and massive argument that had the librarians hoisting them out by their shirt collars and threatening to ban them for life, Hermann called Newt an idiot and stomped off into the night. Newt still hasn't gotten around to giving the problem another shot. Whatever, they have another week before the dumb thing is due. Plenty of time. Hermann nods. "Yes," he says. "Er—that one."

Newt glances at the clock ticking away on the wall. Quarter after eleven. Hermann's delayed him a whole fifteen minutes. Technically, he reminds himself, he doesn't actually have to have the tanks scrubbed by Friday night—he has the whole weekend to get it done. Also, he kind of feels like he owes Hermann for attacking him the way he did. Accidentally attacking. "Listen, Hermann," he says, feeling totally insane for what he's about to suggest. But he kind of wants to know more about Hermann The Badass. "What if we went back to my place and worked on it together? I'll buy us pizza, and I have, like, a bunch of energy drinks." The pizza place nearest campus is open until three in the morning, almost definitely because they get all of their business from sleep-deprived undergrads. Plus, they have midnight specials where you get free breadsticks with every pizza. Newt could go for some breadsticks. "It might be...fun," he adds.

Fun? With Hermann? Hermann will think he hit his head or something.

But to his surprise, Hermann doesn't hesitate even a second before saying "Alright, then."

"Oh," Newt says. He honestly thought Hermann would put up more of a struggle. "Cool!"

"But I might need to borrow a jumper," Hermann says. "If you'd be so...courteous, that is. I'm a bit chilly."

For some reason, the thought of Hermann (Newt's mortal enemy, but also a secret badass) curled up in one of Newt's baggy sweatshirts makes Newt feel all weird and warm all over. He swallows a few times, because his throat feels a little weird, too. Too tight. Like he just ate something he's allergic to. "No sweat," Newt says. "Let me just get these fish back in the, um, the tank. And—" He waves his slimy, gloved hands. "Take these off. And clean up that puddle. Gimme—um, gimme like, ten minutes?"

"Of course," Hermann says, and gives Newt a small, terse nod.

From Hermann, it's a smile. Newt almost slips on the puddle he's so blindsided by it. Stupid Hermann, making him feel all weird and clumsy.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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altariaas · 3 years ago

Text

your face all made up (living on a screen)

Adrien knows, to some degree, that it’s the important things that are the most important to say out loud, but it would help to know that someone’s actually listening. It would also help if things would stop breaking every time he acknowledged his emotions, too.

i’ve taken a total of three steps into this fandom but sure, let’s skip to season 4 and fall face-first into the Angst™, as it goes. I just think Adrien should get a little raw powers of destruction sneaking out of control in his daily life. as a treat. Post-Rocketear so lots of spoilers etc.

Adrien walks home from the fight against Nino’s akuma with a raging headache, a developing case of massive anxiety, and a purpling bruise the size of a basketball on his shin.

The last one isn’t actually from the akuma. Those injuries got neatly miraculoused away, along with Nino’s heartbroken betrayal. No, the bruise is from Adrien’s incredibly stupid attempt to funnel his tornado of emotions into something concrete by kicking the front gate, only to completely miss and slam his shin into the solid steel rungs instead, sending him stumbling back in a pained fit of trying to think up creative curse words that won’t result in his father murdering him if he overhears.

Metaphorically, of course. Father’s not a murderer, except when it comes to the slow death of Adrien’s social life.

Though he really…can’t entirely blame that on Father, either.

And there comes the developing case of anxiety. Adrien swallows, a feeble attempt to banish the souring feeling in his stomach and the aching tightness in his chest. He wraps his arms around himself, staring up at the mansion and fighting the increasing urge to run. The inside of his cheek stings as he chews at it, already abused from how hard he’d bitten there earlier when Nino had started making…observations. Accusations. Wildly misdirected statements that definitely aren’t any insight to how Nino truly feels about what might be the truest version of Adrien’s slowly splintering self, if he’s going to be dramatic about it.

Overly passionate, Father’s voice echoes hollowly somewhere in the back of his head. Prone to fits of drama, just like his mother.

Spinning abruptly on his heel, Adrien beats a steady path away from the mansion gates and toward…somewhere. Somewhere that won’t make that developing case of anxiety worse, and where no one can witness his fits of drama.

The urge to send the front camera a rude gesture in farewell is violently stifled as Adrien keeps his arms wrapped tightly around himself, like the action will keep everything in neat and perfect and safe from view. He feels more than hears Plagg rustle curiously in his front pocket, but Adrien ignores the action, keeping his eyes fixed ahead.

Then the sharp reminder of how it felt when Ladybug ignored him in favor of Rena Rouge comes back and bites him solidly in the guilty part of his feelings, so Adrien pats his front pocket reassuringly.

“Just taking the long way home,” he murmurs.

Plagg’s eyes are calculating, almost greener than usual as they stare at him, and Adrien feels uncomfortably perceived. Not in the cold, bug-under-a-microscope way he feels sometimes when Father looks at him, but a hot kind of uncomfortable, the way he feels when someone looks right past the Adrien Agreste mask and sees—

What? What do they see? An awkward boy stumbling back against a wall because he never learned what his real self was supposed to look like? Hollow flirting and annoying with a capital a?

Fits of drama, Adrien reminds himself. He shouldn’t take it so close to heart. Not when Nino looked so devastated, so heartbroken. Not when Ladybug’s been giving him uncomfortably clear signs that Nino might’ve been right.

“If you say so, kid,” Plagg finally replies. “But I better get that camembert sooner than later.”

A half-smile tugs at Adrien’s mouth. “Sure, Plagg.”

At least Plagg still wants him around, masks and all. It’s a small comfort, but Adrien clings to it, his arms tightening around himself. Sure, things didn’t go…wonderfully, today, but it’s not all so bad. He got slammed into a van a couple of times, and maybe a couple of busted ribs, but that’s nothing, comparatively. And sure, Father’s finding more flaws in him to coldly evaluate than usual, and Nathalie’s growing paler and sicker by the day, and Ladybug’s either freezing him out bit by bit or starting to forget about him entirely and he isn’t sure which is worse, and his schedule is slipping further and further from manageable by the day and Nino dislikes a side of him so much it sent him straight into an akuma and—

“—kid, stop!”

Adrien’s thoughts cut off abruptly as his foot catches, his sense of balance going horizontal as he stumbles, and proceeds to nearly slam the rest of him face-first into the concrete. Plagg’s sharp warning echoes in his ears as he rights himself with a panicked yelp, hopping once while frantically hoping no one was around to see — whatever that was.

“Kid,” Plagg starts, but he doesn’t finish. He’s left the front pocket, his eyes bright green as he stares at him.

Adrien blinks, shaking the slight sense of vertigo off. “Sorry, sorry, I—”

Huh. What did he do? Rubbing the back of his head, Adrien glances at the street he stumbled over. He frowns.

The culprit is a jagged, snaking tear in the concrete, half a meter deep and the length of Adrien’s arm. He stares at the spiderwebbing cracks that branch out of it, fine grains of crushed concrete already scattering in the slight wind.

Weird, he thinks. He doesn’t remember fighting Nino this far down the street. Lucky Charm should’ve fixed that, even if he did.

“Adrien,” Plagg says, and there’s an uncharacteristically cautious edge in his voice. “What was that?”

Adrien cups a hand around Plagg, running a finger over his head in apology as he draws him out of view again. “Lost in thought, I guess,” he says, ducking his head. “Sorry.”

Plagg doesn’t reply, still staring at him with a look Adrien can’t quite identify. He feels oddly disoriented, like he actually did fall and hit his head, and now it’s spinning in retaliation. Across the street in front of him, the stoplight flickers — red, then orange, then red again. It flickers out entirely, before snapping back to a bright, acidic green. Adrien rubs his eyes.

“Let’s…let’s go home,” Plagg finally says, tucking himself back in Adrien’s shirt pocket. He doesn’t entirely meet Adrien’s eyes as he does, but he curls up against his chest, solid and warm, and it’s almost enough to banish the ache that lies beneath.

“Okay,” he says, softly. “Home, then.”

————

There’s a memory Adrien has, from when he was younger. It’s one he holds tightly to his chest, tattered and frayed as it is.

He was much smaller than he is now — barely six years-old, maybe, and small enough to hide behind the large statues his mother would put funny hats on to make his father laugh. She’d done just that earlier, standing tiptoed on the staircase as she’d slipped a terrible orange bowler hat on the pretty lady Nathalie said was from Greece. Adrien had giggled behind his fingers and his father had laughed, an unfamiliar sound that’s faded in memory now, but a bright and real one nonetheless.

It had been a good day, until mother had come down with a cold during dinner and Adrien had jolted out of sleep from a nightmare about giant, ugly orange hats that snatched up his mother with their ribbon-like fingers and took her away from him forever.

He’d sprinted through the house like the horrible hat monsters from his dream were on his heels, slipping in his socks up to the cracked door of his father’s study.

He hadn’t needed to knock, then, or even schedule a meeting. He’d slid through the doorway and barreled into his father, only to be caught by strong arms and swept into his father’s lap, warm and safe from any monsters that dared to follow him here.

“I’m worried about your mother, too,” his father had said. “But it’s just a cold, you see? Nothing to go slipping and falling down the stairs about.”

He’d received nothing but a sniffle in response.

“Alright.” Fingers had pinched around his nose as his father sighed. “How about we read a story then, until you’re not so frightened? Just you and me.”

The book they’d started that night was about a prince and a planet and a rose, and Adrien still remembers the sound his father’s voice made as it resonated where Adrien’s cheek pressed against his chest, his arms holding tight and warm around him, like nothing bad could slip in from outside and hurt him.

It’s a favorite memory of his, one Adrien finds springing back to mind whenever Father gives him a smile, half-formed and distanced as they are.

Lately, though, it’s a memory that stings to think about. It makes it harder to look Father in the eye, for some reason.

————

“And like, I really can’t say this enough, but I’m so sorry.”

“I told you, Nino, it’s fi—”

“No seriously, dude, I’m really sorry, I—”

“Nino.”

His friend finally jerks out from his puddle of miserable apologies, and Adrien gives him a weary smile. “It’s fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I dragged you into the boiler room then got akumatized,” Nino says, distressed. “That’s worse than like, the plot of eight different horror movies.”

“Your head was shaped like a giant blue tear, it wasn’t that scary,” Adrien assures him.

“I am ninety percent sure I remember shoving you to the floor,” Nino moans, not reassured in the least.

Part of Adrien’s mind, the part that sounds a little too much like a spurned cat whom hell hath no fury, or however the saying goes, wants to pipe up with the fact that getting shoved to the floor was five-star treatment compared to what Nino (akuma, Nino’s akuma, that’s important) had proceeded to do to him afterwards.

The bus-slamming thing had hurt.

Not as much as hurting Nino would’ve, though.

So instead, Adrien gives Nino the kindest smile he can, lays a gentle hand on his arm, and says, “As if the akuma gave you the biceps to pull that off.”

“Hey,” Nino knocks their shoulders together, his guilt ridden expression easing just a bit as he gives him a half-hearted grin. “I’m ripped, bro.”

It takes Adrien a moment to reply, too busy fighting the overwhelmingly — traitor — urge to follow the warmth of contact with Nino like a starving animal. He doesn’t need to fight for too long — his brain throws everyone thinks you’re a joke at him just in time for Adrien to hunch his shoulders in and give Nino an awkward little grin of his own.

Maybe his brain’s a traitor too, though, because he doesn’t remember Nino even saying that about Chat Noir.

He thinks.

Hopes.

Actually, his brain can go sit in a corner if it’s going to keep throwing stuff like this at him. Shaking anything and everything knowledge-wise that belongs to Chat Noir from his mind, Adrien turns his attention back to the scribbled game of hangman they’ve been playing on the corner of Nino’s history notes. Group projects are supposed to be fun, anyways, especially with Nino.

“Uh, c,” he guesses.

Nino adds a single c to the blank letter spaces. Adrien squints at the paper, his mouth downturning at the suspiciously familiar arrangement he has so far.

_adia_t, ca_ef_ee, d_ea_y

“Nino,” he says, carefully.

Nino smirks. “Mm-hm.”

“If this has anything to do with perfume ads—”

“Uh-huh?”

“Then I hate you.”

Nino cackles, scribbling in the rest of the rest of the accursed phrase as Max loudly hushes him. Adrien rolls his eyes and huffs, but he’s unable to stop the small smile of amusement. It quickly fades as his words to Nino echo with an uncomfortable emphasis in his head.

You’re being stupid, he tells himself. Adrien pushes away the nagging feeling. Nino knows he’s not serious. He knows Adrien doesn’t actually hate him. Just like Adrien knows Nino didn’t mean it, when he said all that stuff about Chat Noir.

His fingers tighten around his pencil. He’s not supposed to be thinking about that. Nino apologized, to Chat Noir himself, and just because Adrien can’t get the sting out, it doesn’t mean that Nino meant anything genuine by it.

Overly dramatic, Adrien reminds himself. Way too emotional.

The ache in his chest makes itself known again with a pang, and Adrien bites the inside of his cheek, glancing at Nino from the corners of his eyes.

Maybe he should tell Nino he cares about him, just to be sure. The words form in his mind, only to catch abruptly in his throat, thick and cloying. He thinks of how thoughtlessly he’s been able to tell Father he loves him. Thinks of how easy it’s always been to tell Ladybug how much she means to him.

He thinks of how neither of them seem to like meeting him in the eyes, lately.

He swallows the words, opting to smile brightly at Nino instead. It’s probably for the best. Nino’s always been better at picking up on people’s feelings, anyways, and he doesn’t need the kind of nagging assurance Adrien does. And it’s not like Adrien’s had much luck telling people he loves them, lately. Actually, if you look at his track record, he probably hasn’t…had any luck at all.

Adrien shakes his head, shoving the coldness creeping into his chest as far to the corner of his mind as he can, and sketches out enough blank spaces on the paper to spell fake mustaches are the new sexy.

If he can still make Nino laugh, it’s fine. He wouldn’t be laughing if he thought Adrien was annoying and obnoxious.

So see? It’s fine.

————

Adrien thinks about elastics, sometimes. The stretchy, rubber kind that Mme Thurston uses to pull back the longer locks of his hair while she’s doing his makeup, tying it up in a neat little explosion on top of his head that makes him look like a blond weed. She makes it look easy, twisting the little bands around and around, until they’re tight enough to hold his hair in place.

(Adrien’s hair is always easy, of course. Chat Noir’s hair, on the other hand, would probably give Mme Thurston nightmares. Mainly because Adrien has a fun little habit of shaking his head side to side until it’s an unrecognizable blond disaster, but that’s not particularly relevant.)

(Ladybug doesn’t even need to use elastics, opting for the soft strands of ribbon that hold her pigtails in perfect place.)

Adrien doesn’t normally use elastic bands either, but he likes the way they feel when he’s nervous, stretching and rubbery, then snapping perfectly back into place, like he’d never twisted them all out of proportion at all. The way he can hook his fingers in both ends and pull and pull and pull, but they never quite snap.

Felix has a fun trick with those, when they do photoshoots together.

(When they used to.)

He’ll press a little elastic against Adrien’s arm and pull the end back, just far enough, then let it snap back into place, stinging little red marks when it slaps against skin.

“Stop it,” Adrien scowls at him, but the expression wavers. Playful isn’t a word he uses along with Felix very often, but photoshoots are always more entertaining with him, at least. Or they were, until his mother disappears, and family photoshoots grind to an utter and complete halt forever—

—just for now, his father says, until something changes, until that something happens, until that metaphorical other foot that’s always hanging over Adrien’s head finally stomps its way back to earth and demolishes him in the process—

Felix replies by stretching another elastic between his fingers, shooting it toward him this time like a little slingshot. Adrien snags it out of the air, slotting it between his own fingers to fire back. It misses by a miserable meter and a half, because at the time this conversation takes place, he and Ladybug haven’t stayed up all night practicing their aim by trying to hit the left ear of Le Stryge on Notre-Dame.

Felix snorts, snatching the elastic from the floor, and makes a show of placing the band back against Adrien’s wrist. He pulls it back with a meaningful look, like an exasperated teacher. “It’s the bounce back that hurts,” he tells him. “Not the stretching part. When it snaps back to place—” He demonstrates by releasing the band, and Adrien flinches at the tiny sting. “—that’s the part that hurts.”

Four years later, having up close and personally experienced what a shattered ribcage stabbing into your lungs feels like, Adrien wants to correct Felix on tiny little elastic bands and what actually hurts, but the point, he guesses, is that he still remembers what it felt like.

He still thinks about those elastics sometimes, and how far they can be pulled until they snap back into place. How the little rubber band can make it so far, get so close to breaking, only to snap right back to where it started.

(Chat Noir doesn’t use elastics, either.)

————

For all that Adrien will stand by stuffing the worst of his emotions into a box and never thinking about them ever as a perfectly reasonable way to go about handling things —and whatever Plagg says doesn’t count, he’s a kwami who compares emotions to cheese — Adrien really does believe in communication as key.

Living it out is just. Another thing entirely.

But Adrien’s lived his life with a cold mansion’s worth of words left unsaid, so on principle, he really does believe that if something’s important, you should say it. Maybe nobody will really listen to you, or take you seriously, but at least you’ll have said it, and maybe at some point they’ll remember you said it, and it’ll mean something to them.

But maybe that’s what stopping him this time — he just can’t decide if it’s the idea of not being listened to that scares him, or the idea of actually being heard that’s worse.

It’s not like he wants to tell Ladybug he’s upset. It’s not like he even wants to be upset.

It doesn’t change the fact that he is, kind of, a little bit, (a lot) — but again, on principle, Adrien just — he doesn’t like being upset. It’s all uncomfortable and hot and it sits on his chest like a rock, weighing heavier and heavier until he learns to get over it.

It’s only worse when he tries to say something about it, because that never works. Maybe it’s a really sucky side effect of being homeschooled for most of his life, but every time Adrien opens his mouth to tell someone he’s upset with them and here’s why, it always backfires spectacularly. There’s a weird moment where something happens and the other person says their part, and suddenly Adrien’s complaints sound so stupid he wants to crawl in a hole and hide. There’s a dizzying one-eighty and Adrien’s suddenly the one in the wrong, and the other person’s upset at him, and now he’s got to apologize before he makes it worse than he already has.

And granted, most of those other people are just Father (or Father’s tinny voice through the phone), but he’s already enough to beat the lesson in.

Metaphorically, of course. Always — always metaphorically. Adrien’s never doubted otherwise.

“Maybe I’m just that bad at arguing,” he mutters, swiping darkly at his phone screen.

“I dunno,” Nino says, his voice consoling. “I mean, you were pretty good at it when you argued me into watching that one anime the other night.”

Adrien rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t upset with you about that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Nino winks at him. “Unless your voice going all high-pitched about why Sailor Moon is the peak of animation is your default setting.”

“I wasn’t upset with you, though,” Adrien shakes his head, cutting him off. “I’m never upset with you.”

And he isn’t, really. Not even when Nino tells him, in an admittedly roundabout way, that he’s annoying and irritating and has loose and shady moral commitment to love and all its forms (or something like that).

He means, it stings, but only in the way Felix’s little rubber band snaps do. Not enough to justify picking an argument with Nino. Not to justify upsetting him, and possibly losing the one friend who’s stuck by him through the worst and actually shares stuff with him these days.

Adrien bites down on the inside of his cheek. If he’s not careful with the way his train of thought’s been steering itself lately, he’s going to accidentally show Ladybug how upset he is, and that’s—

Well, the fallout of that will hurt a lot worse than a little elastic band snap.

A lot worse than it already does, so. Back in your corner, resentful thoughts.

“Uh-huh.” There’s a quiet edge of suspicion in Nino’s voice, and Adrien stiffens, suddenly feeling horribly seen. The look Nino’s pinned on him doesn’t help at all, searching and curious and—

Concerned? Upset? Angry?

Adrien doesn’t know. He thinks it’s concern, but he’s also been thinking Ladybug’s been amused with him when she’s apparently just been annoyed, so who knows, really—

Shut up, Adrien tells his subconscious furiously. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“It’s okay, if you are,” Nino says hesitantly, perhaps having picked up on whatever storm of emotions are slipping through Adrien’s schooled expression. “Upset, I mean. At your old man or me. It’s better to talk to people upfront, y’know? Otherwise…”

Nino’s expression twists in guilt, and Adrien’s lungs feel a little like they’re shriveling up and dying. Or maybe that’s just his chest on the whole, collapsing in on itself and taking Adrien’s ability to breath right with it.

He isn’t upset. He’s not. He doesn’t need to talk to anyone upfront about it, because there’s nothing to talk about in the first place. He’s not going to be overly dramatic about this too, he’s not. He’s just— it’s just—

Is it personal? Was it something he did, that made Ladybug trust everyone else but him? Did he slip up at some point and he just — he can’t remember? She’d told him, she’d promised they were fine after New York, but maybe she’d changed her mind without telling him and decided he needed to figure out on his own where he messed up if he was ever going to be worthy of her trust agai—

“I’ll be — I’ve gotta — restroom,” Adrien stammers, shooting up from his seat and all but sprinting for the doors.

“Wait, Adrien—!”

Nino’s panicked call is lost as Adrien flies down the hall, slipping down the stairs to the bathrooms on the first floor where he’s less likely to be found. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to cry, or anything so humiliating, but there’s an awful crushing sensation in his chest that makes him think he might do something he’ll regret. Or say something, any of the raging thoughts that bang off the insides of his skull with hurt. Something he won’t be able to take back.

Adrien wavers, planting both hands on the edge of the sink and staring at the white porcelain. His breathing sounds odd in the echo of the bathroom, wavering and off-beat. His vision swims traitorously, so he glares up at the mirror instead, only to falter as he catches sight of his reflection.

He looks…not great. Pale skin and bloodshot eyes in the way that’s likely to make Nathalie call a doctor on him. Which would be just fantastically ironic, considering she’s the one who needs a doctor, even if she’s never going to admit it and keep lying to him. Just like Ladybug, all careful smiles and words chosen with forced, casual caution, staring at him with eyes that are a million other places except actually seeing him.

Stop, he tells himself furiously, squeezing his eyes shut. Stop. Ladybug is not Father. Ladybug is Ladybug, his best friend and partner and he trusts her, he trusts her to have her reasons for not telling him. He has to trust her. He does trust her, he—

A sharp cracking sound tears Adrien from his thoughts, and he snaps his head up to find seven of his own disjointed faces staring back at him. He blinks, and suddenly the faces are clinking to the floor, broken fragments of the mirror scattering around his shoes.

His first thought, apart from a bizarre sense of not being entirely in his body, is a well-timed curse word.

Instead, what he gets out is, “Seven years bad luck,” muttered, almost absently, beneath his breath.

Typical. He wonders if moonlighting as a black cat-themed superhero that leans heavily into exaggerated acrobatics counts as crossing one. Like he needs more bad luck, right now.

What he actually needs, is…

Is…

He needs an escape.

From everything, it feels like, but for now, Adrien will settle for an escape from the school bathroom with all the mirrors that just broke.

…somehow.

————

For all that he throws fits of drama about it, the thing is, Adrien has escaped.

He’s made it out of the house, to school. He’s learned physics and grammar and math that Nathalie taught him six months ago, and he’s learned how to play hangman and cut class and tell your friend’s fortune with folded paper. He’s made friends, real friends, and he’s learned how to muffle loud giggles on the phone at night and what kinds of snack food Nino likes and doesn’t like. He’s learned how to pick up on a whole slew of emotions other than disappointment and apathy and mildly reserved approval, and he’s learned how to tell when other people are hurting.

(He’s learned how to tell how he’s hurting, but he’s unlearned that one faster.)

He’s learned the words it takes to voice that Father isn’t always right, learned how to curl his fingers tight enough into his palms that they don’t shake so much anymore, and he’s learned how to stretch like a rubber band against people’s anger, bending without breaking.

(He’s also learned about the perks of night vision and bone density and six different ways to trip someone up with the leather belt you’ve got tied around your waist like a tail, but he can’t credit school for those.)

And he thinks — he thinks he’s come so far, he’s learned so much, he’s so much stronger now—

Then his father’s eyes soften just enough to resemble the eyes of the man who held him close and told him how much he loved him, loves him, who stayed up all night reading Adrien’s favorite book to him and whose lap was the safest, warmest place in the world, and Adrien—

Hates himself. Hates himself as he snaps right back into place, right back into the Adrien who crumbles at Father’s slightest snap of tone. Hates himself so much it stings.

Because it’s so much easier to do that, than it is to hate his father.

————

Adrien doesn’t particularly want to go to the photoshoot after school, especially not now that mirrors are literally breaking at the sight of his face, but — and here’s the fits of drama again — like everything else Father’s deigned to want, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Technically, though, Adrien fantasizes as he fixes his eyes upward so the makeup artist can do her best to hide the darkening circles beneath them (“—really, dear, do you sleep at all these days—”), he could give himself a choice. He could make it fun, too, striking the perfect pose before transforming into Chat Noir right smack in front of the entire studio crew, and then Father would have something truly inspired to review that evening. A perfect snapshot of Adrien cataclysm-ing his merry way out of the studio and out into the gloriously free outside, that’s what.

Except then Adrien would have way too many choices to make, and even less all at once. The identity thing, being one. How to avoid Ladybug murdering him and dancing atop his grave, for another. Not that he thinks Ladybug is capable of murdering anyone, of course—

(—no, that’s solely reserved for him and his powers alone—)

—but he can imagine she’d be angry, were he to stage a reveal that way.

Were he to stage a reveal at all, Adrien thinks sourly, blinking until the stiff feeling of the makeup beneath his eyes fades. His makeup artist’s had to use the thick kind today, the extra-strength stuff that’s going to take forever to wash off. He stifles the urge to swipe at it, trying to relax into the feeling instead. Makeup is familiar, consistent. Sure, it’s technically another lie, but it’s one Adrien’s at least aware of. Makeup, he can see through. He can put it on and take it off himself, exercising some tiny semblance of control over what’s being hidden from the world.

Everything else, though…

“Carefree, my boy, carefree,” Vincent implores, his eyebrows furrowing as Adrien snaps himself back to the present. “You look as if you’re being drowned in mud, not soaring above the clouds.”

Adrien’s cheeks puff up as he blows his breath out, short and frustrated. At least Vincent is every bit as prone to fits of drama as he is, he reminds himself. It’s better to be stuck with someone passionate than someone as open as a brick wall, even if it is just Vincent antagonizing him with a camera again.

“Sorry,” he offers, giving him a weak grin. “I’ll get it this time, promise.”

Vincent doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he rambles about lighting and angles instead of scolding Adrien, which he can’t help but be grateful for. It allows Adrien a moment to let the smile drop, staring at the ground instead of the brightening lights around him.

He toes sullenly at the smooth linoleum of the floor, the solid black of Father’s logo glaring back at him from the side of his sneaker. Maybe he should just get more sleep. Maybe all the ugly tangled emotions in his chest are just residual buildup from being overtired, that’s all. Ladybug mentioned the stress getting to her a little while back, her own eyes bloodshot and exhausted. Adrien’s brilliant solution had been to take her to the movies, which had gone just as brilliantly as every other time he’s tried something like that, which is not very well at all. He’d been worried about her, though, even before she’d thrown him from a roof on accident. Ladybug carries so much on her shoulders, and strong as they are, Adrien knows what it’s like to be strung so tightly that even the slightest extra weight feels like it’ll snap you. He sees the same weight in his own eyes, now, even blinded by the studio lights.

His stomach twists. Ladybug’s eyes aren’t half as bloodshot lately. There’s an easiness to her that wasn’t there before, a lightening of tension, and yes, Adrien’s happy she’s feeling better, he’s nothing but glad that she isn’t so exhausted and worn, but…

But she’d trusted him before, even when she was strung her tightest. And now that there’s relief in her eyes, now that he’s taking a backseat and Ladybug adds more allies to their roster by the day, allies that she knows but he doesn't, allies that Alya and Nino probably know too, just like everything else, now that—

Was he the problem? Was it his fault, that Ladybug’s eyes turned shadowed and her movements wavered? He’s tried, he’s tried to be a rock for her, to be something constant and consistent as Adrien himself wants, but the horrible feeling that he’s not enough is now warring with the awful feeling that he’s the problem in the first place, because — why else? Why else would she shut him out like this? Why else would she decide he’s untrustworthy, after all this time, why—

The lights against his vision suddenly flare painfully bright, so bright Adrien’s forced to stagger back.

Vincent jolts away with a cry, waving his hand frantically as the camera sparks and sputters. Echoed cries of surprise ring throughout the studio as the overhead lights flicker wildly, turning the studio into a frightening mockery of a particularly bad nightclub.

Adrien stumbles again, alarm coursing through his veins like a cold burst of water, and he darts for the intern nearby, who’s fallen over in her scramble to back away from the strobing lights. She’s just taken his hand when the lights go dark, plunging the studio into blackness. Before anyone can react beyond a frightened shriek, the lights snap back on, bright and steady as if nothing’s happened.

Adrien slowly pulls the intern to her feet, staring at the blazing lights as his vision swims, blinking against the sudden onslaught of dark spots in his eyes.

“Is it an akuma?” the intern asks, her eyes wild with fear. “Should we — should we evacuate?”

Adrenaline shoots through Adrien’s veins, his head whipping back and forth as he searches for a spark of purple, for the familiar edge of butterfly’s wings. But there’s nothing out of place, save the sputtering camera Vincent’s fretting over. There’s no sign of garish transformation, no following explosions, no loudly proclaimed demands for miraculous. In fact, if Adrien hadn’t seen it himself, it would appear as if nothing’s ever happened at all.

“It could’ve been the power lines,” someone suggests. “This place is pretty old, you know.”

“With Agreste’s standards?” someone else mutters. “I doubt it.”

“The camera is broken. Unsalvageable,” Vincent announces over the outbreak of murmurs. To his credit, he barely sounds shaken. “It must have been a power failure, or a blown fuse, I suppose. Nothing we can help.”

Vincent’s word is all the rest of the crew needs, and before Adrien can clamber up to inspect the lights himself, he’s being ushered from the studio, another intern furiously muttering about how she refuses to be fired for losing a model to “subpar building inspections” or something along those lines.

Adrien, who is already anticipating Father’s reaction himself, can’t blame her for bailing the moment he’s in the Gorilla’s hands.

————

Adrien is six years and three months old when his father finally finishes reading Le Petite Prince to him, and he comes the closest he ever has to throwing a fit at the ending.

He doesn’t actually throw a fit, of course, because then his father might not read to him ever again. That they finished this book together is already more precious as anything Adrien’s ever owned, and he won’t ruin that with his dramatics.

“Not all stories have the happy endings you want, Adrien,” his father tells him. Adrien feels his arms tighten around his shoulders, where he sits snugly in his father’s lap. “Sometimes you must make the most of what you have.”

Even at a young age, Adrien knows that he has quite a lot. The knowledge only grows as he does, just how much he has from his last name alone. His room alone could rival some people’s homes, Adrien has no right to want for anything.

And yet.

Sometimes, Adrien thinks back to the deep timbre of his father’s voice as he reads about yellow snakes and desert flowers and feels a stinging sense of loss so sharply it takes his breath away.

Other times, though, Adrien thinks about his father choosing to read a story about a boy who could only return home by letting a snake poison him, and wonders what that says about their relationship.

It’s not even Father’s icy tone that hurts anymore, really, Adrien thinks, as he picks at his dinner. Not that he’s likely to hear that tone tonight. Father’s locked himself firmly in his office again, and even Nathalie is nowhere to be seen. It’s quiet enough that Adrien’s gotten away with heating up the cheapest dinner they have in the house, and scouring enough cheese for Plagg that he won’t be complaining for a month.

Well, a day, maybe. Plagg’s a special kind of greedy.

But it’s painstakingly clear that Adrien will be dining alone, tonight. There hasn’t even been a single message fro Nathalie, informing him of all the lessons he’s been falling short in lately. Adrien twists his fork in his hand, setting it down with a weary sigh as dark spots flicker before his eyes again.

At least there won’t be anyone to lecture him, he tells himself, tapping absently on the table. The smooth wood looks immaculate beneath his fingers, the edge of his pinky still a bruised purple from the other evening, when Adrien misjudged the distance from the rooftop to his own window.

Father won’t be able to lecture him about that, either, so it’s a good thing, really. It’s a good thing, that no one will be saying anything to him about the studio mishap earlier, or the darker than usual circles beneath his eyes, or he way he’s been showing up late more often than not to everything. Not about his slipping grades, or the way he keeps forgetting to hide his glare when photoshoots run longer than they’re supposed to.

It’s a good thing, Adrien tells himself, as his fingers clench around the table’s edge. It’s a good thing that he’s alone tonight. Being alone and unseen is much better than the alternative. It’s a good thing, that he can stew in whatever ugly emotions keep threatening to rise to the surface all by himself, where he won’t risk hurting anyone else with them. He can’t mess anything up if no one’s there to see it, so really, it’s a good thing, it’s—

It hits him, all-encompassing and overwhelming all at once.

Unwanted, thick and horrible and choking, the sensation of being traded out and traded off and stepped over, left behind and left out and laughed at in vicious whispers, closed doors and closed expressions and locking him out, like bars sliding down from the ceiling and cutting him off, trapped in place like an animal in the zoo, entertaining for a heartbeat than easily moved past for something better, unwanted and untrusted and alone, alone, alone again—

Adrien buckles and something howls in his ears, his hands burning as his fingers crunch through wood and his vision whites out.

For a heartbeat, Adrien isn’t Adrien — he’s the swelling of flames as fire catches light, he’s the pull of the undertow as it rips across the shore, he’s the blazing burst of lightning against metal, he’s on the edge of a cliff and stepping off—

And then he’s Adrien again, small and shaking and breathing in large, heaving gasps, trying desperately not to throw up all over the table.

“—drien, kid, Adrien, please!”

Adrien tears his hands from the table as if it’s shocked him. Black flecks drift from his fingers as they tremble, and Plagg splits into three as he flits in front of him, six pairs of green eyes staring at him in blazing concern.

“Plagg?” He barely recognizes his own voice, and his throat feels like sandpaper.

“Breathe,” Plagg orders as his image solidifies back to one, more serious than Adrien can remember him sounding. “You gotta breathe, Adrien.”

He does, in stuttering, shaky gasps, because Adrien will do anything Plagg asks him to. He’ll light himself on fire if he wanted, because Plagg is all he’s got.

Plagg is here, and that means more to Adrien than anything else could.

“Breathing,” he finally croaks out. “I’m — breathing, see? S’all good.”

It is most certainly not all good, because Adrien still feels like he got thrown off a building and into a blender, but Plagg almost looks frightened, looking from Adrien to the table to Adrien again, and—

Adrien freezes. The table. The stupidly, enormous, ridiculously expensive, lonely table his family’s supposed to use. The table he definitely, most certainly felt crunch under his hands.

Adrien follows Plagg’s gaze downwards, and suddenly feels like he’s going to throw up again.

“Oh,” he whispers.

Ice coats the inside of his chest, cold and creeping. The sidewalk. The mirrors, the studio camera, and now this.

“Adrien.” Plagg sounds so very serious.

He could explain most of it away. It’d be — it would be easy.

But this?

Adrien stares at the half-decayed table, ashes still flaking from the sides in a way that’s horribly distinctive of his cataclysm. A spiderwebbed path of smoldering destruction, all tracing back to where his fingers had been white-knuckled at the table’s edge.

Something snaps in the chandelier above him, cracking once and fizzling off into sparks.

It feels like something’s snapped in Adrien’s head. Maybe he’s lost it. Maybe he’s finally gone off the edge, and that — that can be his excuse, when Father asks him what, exactly, he did to the table. He can tell Father they’ve both lost it, they’ve both gone mad, and wouldn’t mom think this was all so funny—

A sound like a sob rips itself from his chest, before Adrien can strangle it into submission. He can’t lose it now. He can’t break down, he has to — he has to come up with a way to explain this, he has to find an escape, or Father’s going to be so angry, and so cold, and…and…

Adrien goes still. Like ice, numb and calming, he realizes he doesn’t have to worry about excuses. He doesn’t have to worry about any of that at all. No one’s coming. Not to check on him. The silence of the house is overpowering, the tiny patter of the vaporized table bits as they land on the floor almost thunderous.

“Adrien,” Plagg repeats, softer this time. “I need you to look at me.”

Slowly, he lifts his head, meeting Plagg’s bright green eyes with his own. Something in Plagg’s expression goes tight, a myriad of emotions flickering in his eyes before he schools them back into careful calm.

“Oh, kid.” Plagg’s voice is gentle. It still sounds like a lament.

Adrien tears his gaze away, swallowing. His fingers, still shaking, curl into unsteady fists. They feel odd, almost scalded. Adrien ignores it.

He can hide the table, he tells himself. He can fix the chandelier. No one will notice. He can hide this.

He’s Adrien Agreste.

He can deal with a couple of cracks in his facade.

#ml spoilers #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #nino's here as well #he's just not clogging up the fic with his internalizing like adrien is #ml season 4 spoilers #rocketear spoilers #i just have a lot of thoughts about the powers of destruction #and what that could mean potentially #if you weren't cowards mr astruc

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xylophonetangerine · 2 years ago

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when i say ‘pure conjecture’ i mean things like actual size/weight/speed/composition of celestial bodies. that is pure conjecture and its honestly ridiculous that we even pretend to be able to state with accuracy any of those things, especially when apparent speed/etc/etc is useful enough for most things

This is just not true. They're not conjecture, it is possible to calculate the size, mass and velocity of a celestial body based on observations and our understanding of mechanics, it possible to use stellar spectra to infer the composition of their photospheres and so on.

Just because something is only known through a proxy measurement doesn't mean it is conjectural. If we were to apply the standards by which you call things conjectural to everything all of chemistry would be conjectural because we cannot actually see atoms forming and breaking bonds in chemical reactions, we can only infer that it is happening based on changes in physical and chemical properties and things like spectrometry.

what annoys me is people sucking themselves off for being oh so smarter than those primitive ancients (whose cosmology had flaws but was atleast knew the skies intimately) when their understanding of the universe literally is based on cgi cartoons and theoretical diagrams.

Yes, the 'I fucking love science' people who don't bother to learn the basics of the topics they're soyfacing over are annoying but at least they, unlike flat earthers, realise that people who study things for a living probably understand them better than a random layman does. What you're annoyed by here is that normal people don't have a deep understanding of scientific topics, which is just a thing that is going to be true always. Ancient peoples might have had intimate knowledge of the skies but all ancient people did not. The understanding of celestial motions of a random farmer in ancient Greece was probably about the same as that of a present-day farmer (they know how the moon moves across the sky during the night, when Venus and Mars are visible, etc). (I'm now imagining a 'I fucking love natural philosophy' dude in ancient Greece.) I think it's best just to ignore the IFLS people.

#imo this is exactly what pushes people into flat-earthism. they grow up believing a lot of bullshit; then learn that it was bullshit#and so adopt a different equally bullshit worldview; in defiance of their previous one

This is, in my opinion, a failure of education. People who go through supposedly liberal (definition, sense 1) general education don't really receive proper general knowledge. Instead of learning to understand things they learn a number of facts without anything to connect them to each other and that's why they think it's all 'bullshit' and they turn to flat eartherism, which is a cosmology for people who are chronically unable to connect things to each other and form models and theories. Not many of us would be able to independently come up with Eratosthenes's method of measuring the Earth's circumference if we didn't know the world was round but all of us who are not simpleminded can follow it, flat earthers just refuse to.

i get ridiculed everytime i say this but…

the average persons understanding of space is based on cgi depictions lol. current scientific understanding of space is based largely on pure (albeit educated) conjecture.

flat earthers (atleast the smart ones) understanding of space (or should i say ‘the heavens’) is based on direct observation of celestial motions (relative to earth), which have been continuously observed since the dawn of civilisation lol

this does not make you look smart ^

#effortpost

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sciderman · 4 years ago

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oh god sci high school au and ship dynamics??? you’re on a roll and I’m in cloud nineeee it could only get better with some more of your headcanons or more high school au or just another mini-fic (pls... pls... I’m begging you, PLS

I have so much of that high-school AU down, you have no idea. I’ll probably finish it when I’ve got enough time – I’m thinking I’ll post it whole, though, rather than chapter-by-chapter - I’m very terrible with multi-chap fics, so you’ll be waiting a while for it. But have this cute little scene under the cut!

“I don't remember if you were there, but there was a school trip at the end of last semester. Oscorp.”

“Sure. My parent-slash-guardian wouldn’t fork over the cash for me to go.”

“Oh,” Peter frowned, but it quickly morphed into relief. “Good. That means you didn’t see me throw up all over expensive lab stuff before passing out.”

“Aw, lame, I never got to see you throw up all over expensive lab stuff and pass out.” Wade said, disappointedly. “That’s why they call you Pukey Parker?”

Peter brought his knees up to bury his face in them. “Yeah. Kind of sucks, right? Like, the lamest superhero origin story ever.”

“How big was the spider?”

“Huh?”

“How big was the spider? So I can calculate which octave my scream would’ve been in if it had bitten me. You’re a freakin’ hero, Pete. Spiders are –” Wade shivered, “So freaky.”

Peter peered up at Wade, a faint blush spread over his face, which he hid back behind his knees. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m a freak too.”

“Which is like, a great thing when you realise that means having superpowers, and being able to kick ass.”

“I guess.”

“So could you kick my ass?”

Peter gave Wade a quick glance upwards and downwards, noting his gangly build, and his height advantage. He wasn’t all bone, though. There was a modest amount of muscle to his arms, and scrapes on his knuckles that hinted Wade wasn’t a novice when it came to fighting. Peter, however, had taken down foes five times Wade’s size without a sweat.

“Easily.” Peter said, without any thought.

“Yes!” Wade said, immediately springing to his feet. He held his fists before him. “Hit me with your best.”

Peter looked at him incredulously. “What?”

“You’re going to kick my ass.”

“I – I thought you meant it hypothetically.”

“Ugh. There goes Mr Brain, overthinking everything. I don’t want your hypotheses. I want practical application, you nerd.”

“Dude.”

“Get up, come on.” Wade urged, “I want to get beaten up by a real life superhero.”

Against his better judgement, Peter took to his feet. “You're so weird, you know that?”

“Why should the villains get all the fun?” Wade exclaimed in his defence. “Know any wrestling moves?”

“Eh, I kind of wing it.” Peter shrugged, “I'm precognitive.”

“Oh dude, I'm so sorry. Is it terminal?”

Peter squinted.

“It means,” he said slowly “I can sense incoming threats before they reach me. I call it…”

Peter paused, realising he'd never said any of this aloud before. He was just now realising how ridiculous this all sounded.

“No, go on. What do you call it?”

Peter cleared his throat, like saying it in a deeper tone of voice would make it sound less silly. “I call it my spider-sense.”

Contrary to what Peter expected, Wade didn't laugh. In fact, he seemed to be in awe.

“That's freaking awesome, dude.” Wade said, without a hint of irony. Peter sighed in relief.

Before Peter had a chance to think, Wade charged in with a kick, and Peter dodged on autopilot. Wade fell ungracefully to the ground.

Wade went to sweep Peter’s legs, but Peter easily jumped, hands finding the brick wall behind them and perching there.

“Sick.” Wade said, looking up at Peter’s position three feet off of the ground.

“Solid effort", said Peter comically, looking down from four feet above.

“I keep my effort maximum.” Wade said easily.

“Just an FYI, it's probably best not to battle cry right as you charge at your target. If everyone did that, I wouldn't need my spider-sense.”

“If you don't charge with a battle cry then what's the point?”

Peter dropped to the ground again, light on his toes. “You got me there.”

#sci speaks #spideypool #fanfic #high school au

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going-dead · 4 years ago

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Phasmophobia

Danny was very sick of tourists coming to explore Amity park. Like very sick of them, especially the ‘ghost hunter’ ones. In the end they just caused more problems than the actual ghosts, getting in the way of the fights causing Danny more stress and injuries than normal. Not to mention they sucked at their so called jobs. He was pretty sure even a single elementary schooler of Amity was a better ghost fighter than all of the tourists combined.

But at the moment it was the dead of winter and probably one of the coldest weeks of the year. So only the stupidest of self proclaimed ghost hunters would venture out to hunt ghosts in weather like this. While it was nice not having to worry about danger prone tourists Danny still was miserable, he could deal with the cold just fine in fact he preferred the cold. The problem was that It was the holiday season, the worst time of the year. At least the ghost attacks were less frequent as they all prepared for the Christmas truce party.

Still he supposed it could be worse. His parents weren’t fighting as much this year, though that was probably due to the fact they were still treating him like he was made of glass half of the time after he told them about the whole half dead thing. Danny figured that was due to the fact they blamed themselves for the portal incident, causing them to coddle him to an almost tortuous degree. It was as if they expected him to disappear if he was so much as bumped in the wrong way. It had gotten a bit better at this point at least, if things continued as it did at the beginning Danny was pretty sure he’d rather have them still be shooting at him. Now they only tensed up when he left the house instead of not so subtly stalking him all day.

At the moment Danny was sitting on the counter in the kitchen with his mom while she was cooking dinner. “Danny dear get off the counter that’s where the food goes not you.” Maddie said shooing him off the counter with a spatula.

Danny floated off in a huff, “This is ghostphobic mom. The counter is a perfect seat.”

Maddie rolled her eyes, “The term would be phasmophobic, and no it’s not it’s; I don’t want your butt all over where I’m making our dinner-phobic.”

“Fine transphobic then.”

“How about asking you to set the table? What would that be?”

Danny mulled it over for a few seconds. “A reasonable request I suppose.” He phased his hands though the cabinets grabbing the plates. Honestly he could have just as easily grabbed them normally but he was still trying to get his parents used to him having powers. “Oh by the way Sam, Tucker, and I are hanging out tomorrow to celebrate winter break starting and school being out for two whole weeks.” “Alright sweetie, but be safe okay?”

“Of course I will be mom.”

“I mean it Danny, please.”

Danny sighed “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to text you regularly to let you know I’m safe. I’ll be fine and stay out of trouble, I promise” Maddie nodded seemingly plated at least for the time being.

The next day Danny was really regretting making that promise. The day started out so well too. Danny, Sam, and Tucker were walking along the park trail. Danny was walking a few steps in front of the other two, subtly making the path easier with his powers. The only people out insane enough to bear the cold were people who had to go to work and teens who were bored out of their minds.

“All I’m saying Danny is that if you want to choose that class you should choose a race other than human for once. Hellspawn would be the best option in your case.” Tucker argued.

“Says the dude playing the race for furries.” Danny shot back turning his head to look back at his friend.

“Hey! The beastmen race is a perfect fit for my class, they have an exp boost for trickery and magic skills it’s the best for playing a character who mains in ambushing with traps.

“Boys boys stop arguing. Danny will be fine playing as a human he’s just gonna have to spend more time grinding. Also he’s right, beastmen are so the furry option.” Sam cut in.

“Whatever, I just don’t understand why he always plays the most boring race in every game he plays. I mean why would you want to play as a human when you could be a fantasy race like an elf or something.”

“Well that’s easy for you and Sam to say you both are still hum-,” Danny was cut off mid sentence by his ghost sense and a glowing red circle surrounding the group. He hardly had a chance to go ghost before being fully enveloped by the light.

When Danny was finally oriented enough to open his eyes he vowed to never complain about getting motion sick while his dad was driving again if it meant he would never have to go through that awful experience again. It felt like getting sucked into the Fenton Thermos if it was the size of a straw and being spun in a blender all at the same time. He looked around seeing if his friends were brought along with him. And just his luck, of course they got pulled through whatever the hell that was too.

“Ugh, you guys okay?” He closed his eyes again and focused on stabilizing his core and getting the last of the nausea to leave.

“Bleh I think I’m gonna hurl.” Sam groaned from beside him.

Danny heard Tucker shift beside him. “Yeah I’m good, I guess all that time staying up late playing VR games kinda helped against motion sickness. Landed on my arm though so definitely going to bruise later. Where are we anyway?”

That actually was a good question, Danny lifted himself off the ground literally, using legs to stand was lame anyway. The sight he was met with was both confusing and surprising. Looking down he saw that the three of them were in some sort of red magic circle or something, with candles lit around it. Looking past that was the part that was surprising. He was expecting this to be the work of a ghost but standing in a circle around the three of them were six humans in different colored robes. He couldn’t recognize any of them though, they must have been from out of town or just total shut ins. He was pretty sure he recognized where they were though, it was the basement of an abandoned building next to the mall, Sam was super into urban exploring the year before and it was one of the first places she dragged the two boys to.

“Haha uhh hey didn’t know there was a costume party going on, I would have dressed up, looks like you got all the colored robe thing going on though. Would my hazmat suit work instead of a robe?” Danny looked at the group around him and cracked an uneasy smile. Maybe it was some sort of accidental ghost summoning or something, it wouldn’t be the first time. Though the fact it brought his friends along pointed to it either being on purpose or something much more powerful, or both.

The man in the black robe turned to a woman in a white one. “Why did the spell bring two kids along with it .”

Danny tried to ignore being called an ‘it’ not like his parents didn’t do it before they knew about his identity. “I’m not the murder clown and I do have a name you know.” But his words seemed to fall onto deaf ears.

“I did the calculations right if that’s what you’re trying to imply, as you can see the subject did appear in the circle as planned. We probably just underestimated how much power the sacrifice would provide with the addition of the solstice.” White robe snapped. Great, this was totally just what Danny needed at the start of his winter break. Not only did they seem like ghost hunters they were the crazy obsessed culty ones.

“Either way the goal was achieved in the end, we have the ghost boy.” Black robe pointed to two men, one in yellow and one in blue robes. “Take care of the two bystanders, but don’t kill them. After all we shouldn’t kill our soon to be followers.” Yeah that wasn’t concerning at all Danny thought.

The one in the yellow grabbed Sam and the one in the blue grabbed Tucker at the black robed man's command. Danny assumed that probably meant the black robed one was the one in charge here. “Hey! Get your hands off me you freaks!” Sam yelled, struggling against the man’s grip.

But Danny’s friends didn’t have a chance against people twice their size. Before either of them could struggle more the two men slammed their heads to the ground in almost unison, knocking them out almost instantly. It happened so fast all Danny would do is watch on in horror. He felt like he watched their now limp bodies for ages, their chests shallowly rising at least giving him the relief of knowing they were still alive. But the sight of small puddles of blood forming around their heads snapped him out of his horror and into a rage.

Danny placed his feet to the ground turning to look at the two in the black and white robes. “Why?” He seethed, “You said they were accidentally brought along when you were trying to get me here. Technically in a way this falls onto me. So tell me, why?”

The man in the black robe seemed taken aback from being confronted so suddenly. The woman in white didn’t seem to have the same problem, maybe they both were in charge? Honestly though Danny didn’t care at this point. “We will take over the little town you haunt. After we do that we will find out where all the ghosts are originating from and then make them into our soldiers so we can take over the country and then the world. To do that we obviously needed you out of the way since you seem to be the only one capable of combating the other ghosts that come into this world. Or you would just defeat our pawns before they could take true action. So we found a way to summon and trap ghosts, then brought you here so we could get you out of our way.”

Honestly Danny was disappointed hearing that more than anything, his rage almost completely disappeared after hearing the plan. “Hold up that is the stupidest plan I have ever heard.” And that was saying something seeing as he dealt with Vlad's plans on a weekly basis. “First off you do realize it would be very hard to get or even force ghosts into your service if you don’t offer them, anything in return. Not to mention how some ghosts have almost godlike powers and you expect to overpower them? Also I am not even close to the only one who can fight ghosts. Everyone in Amity Park has at least some know how when it comes to ghost fighting. They sell basic ghost protection equipment at the supermarket. I just happen to be better suited than everyone else because I y’know can like fly and go intangible when chasing them. Using ghosts to take over the world is so stupid do you even know how to properly catch a ghost? Seriously this is like next level dumb, not to mention how did you even know the summoning would work if it didn't you’d just all be standing in a darkly lit room looking dumber than you already do.”

That seemed to anger the white one a lot. Apparently she didn’t like her intelligence questioned. “Why you little-.” She stomped her foot. “This plan was thought through down to the smallest detail. You want to know how it worked huh? How about asking your friend over there. I wonder what happens when the dead are killed? You will find out soon enough.”

Danny looked over to where we gestured and his refound taunting attitude vanished. Laying over in the corner inside a smaller less complex looking circle was a ghost or the ectoplasmic remains of one at least, the core was completely destroyed. Judging by the fact that the ectoplasm was red it probably had a fire core before it was destroyed. From the lingering ecto signature Danny doubted the ghost was even sapient. It was most likely the remains of something like a blob ghost or the ghost of an animal or even a weaker ectopus. Still all he could do was stare at the remains in horror.

“Of course summoning you was harder so we used that thing for its ghost energy to help power the circle. Instead of chalk we used it’s ectoplasm to ensure the strength and longevity of the seal to hold you in the circle.” The woman smiled as if she achieved something great. Achieve something she did indeed, but it certainly was not what she intended.

The rage Danny felt before came back in full force. Before with his friends he at least knew they would recover, all three of them got injured fighting ghosts more often than they should. But to injure a ghost to the point where not even their core remained was something so taboo that only the most despicable ghosts would do. Even Skulker kept the cores of his prey stable enough not to fade away completely. A ghost's form could be completely destroyed but as long as their core remained they would reform back where they first formed in the Ghost Zone. The only ghosts Danny could think of who would go out of their way to destroy a core were some of the ancients like Pariah Dark or Nocturne.

Danny finally managed to tear his eyes away from the ghost's remains to lock eyes with the woman. She and the black robed man took a step back out of instinct. Looking into his eyes they felt the feeling every animal of prey felt when it knew it was being watched, being hunted. The temperature in the room dropped and frost started to crawl across the walls. Danny took a step towards the two leaders before pausing to reconsider and turning and starting towards the two men standing above his friends.

Then men in yellow and blue robes looked to the man in black for guidance, unsure of what action to take. He looked uncertain as well but shook his head. “There’s no way it can pass through the seal, we tested it.”

Danny's eyes flicked over to the man then back to the two who hurt his friends and gave them a predatory grin, his teeth now looking slightly sharper than usual. He made no sound as he stepped over the circle with ease closer and closer to the two men. They both reached for their weapons, small bats, apparently they were the muscle of the group, and swung at the approaching ghost. Danny simply went intangible causing the two to overswing and hit each other instead, knocking the wind out of them both and causing them to drop their bats. While they were catching their breath Danny grabbed them by their hair and knocked their heads together. Their bodies crumbled to the floor just a few inches from the teens they did the same to just minutes before.

The one who had yet to say or do anything, dressed in red, made her way towards Danny while his back was towards her. Just as she got within arms reach of him she slipped and fell. The temperature had dropped even more at this point causing the ground surrounding Danny to ice over. Danny hardly acknowledged the large thud behind him simply trapping the fallen woman up to her neck in ice as he walked past and headed towards his final two targets.

When first summoned by the group Danny could, within reason, probably be passed off as a weirdish looking human excluding the glow around him. But now as he stalked towards his prey that was no longer the case. His chest no longer moved like it was breathing. His feet made no sound as they made contact with the ground. His eyes, non-blinking, no longer had pupils or even whites to them just a void of endless ectoplasmic green. His ears were pointed almost bat like. The tips of which, along with his lips, were tinted blue. His hair, normally white like snow, now was just the white that came from complete absence of any color. The hair was defying gravity almost as if it was underwater while smoke like wisps trailed off from his hair as he moved. His mouth was twisted into an emotionless smile splitting through his cheeks showing needle like teeth all the way back to where his molars would have been, there was no tongue or throat behind them, just another endless green void. The skin of his neck that was showing past the hazmat suit was marked with lightning like scars. The glow around him seemed to absorb all the light in the room.

The man in the black robe looked between the approaching horror and his partner before running towards the exit. Danny moved so fast it was almost as if he materialized right in front of the man. The man stumbled back falling down in shock but still tried to scramble away from him crossing his chest as he did so. Just as Danny started to raise his arm towards the man he paused and lurched back.

He looked down at his chest where an ornate knife was now lodged. Holding onto the hilt was the woman, she gave the knife a final twist before letting go and herding her partner into the corner farthest away from Danny. Danny showed no pain as he grabbed the knife and pulled it out, the blade was dripping with ectoplasm, and dropped it on the ground. The wound in his chest already healing, filling with more ectoplasm to replace what was lost.

The smile that was marring Danny’s face was replaced with a scowl as he made his way towards the corner where the two were cowering. Placing a hand on their necks he lifted them both up against the wall and started slowly burning their skin with an ectoblast. He let them go, letting them fall to the ground only when their screams of pain turned silent as crushed vocal cords and burnt throat muscles took their toll. Both cult leaders looked up at him in horror faces pale. "What's wrong?" Danny smiled, "It looks like you've seen a ghost."

The woman looked at him in fear as she grasped at the raw skin of her throat, which now was covered in blisters and charred in some of the worst places. “Wha-, what, what are you?” She managed to rasp out before coughing up some blood.

Danny let out a dark chuckle, his voice echoed over itself. “I-,” he snarled, “am a Phantom .”

After Danny sent an anonymous tip to the police about the cult, he brought his friends back to his house. Of course his mom freaked out after he stopped responding to her texts and even more when he phased into the living room with an unconscious Sam and Tucker. He was pretty sure she was about to break out the BOOmerang if she didn’t hear from him for much longer. She was more than willing to take the two of them to the hospital to get them checked out.

Danny made a quick stop into the ghost zone to tell Clockwork to spread the word to other ghosts to be on alert and that there were humans that were trying to summon and capture ghosts. After telling Clockwork what happened, in much more detail than the briefest summary he gave his mom, including how he probably went a bit overboard with dealing with the cultists. He also admitted he didn't regret it even if he did go overboard. They hurt his friends and caused a ghost to completely fade, and in Danny’s opinion they deserve whatever came to them. The whole story caused Clockwork to also start fretting over him making sure to let Danny know that his reaction was a completely normal response to someone threatening something that falls within his obsession especially since it happened in his haunt of all places. Danny swore that his ghostly mentor could be worse than his own parents sometimes especially when it came to reassuring him about his more ghostly tendencies.

Luckily after being released from the hospital it turned out the worst Sam and Tucker suffered were concussions that would heal in a decently short amount of time. That didn’t mean they weren’t complaining about it though.

“Stop laughing about my suffering Danny! I won’t be able to start playing Fantasy War Online VII until my two week tech restriction is lifted by my doctor. It was bad enough I had to go to a hospital but to be taken away from my lovely devices as well is just too much.” Tucker lamented.

“Quit complaining and suck it up. I’m on the restriction too Tucker.” Sam pointed out.

Tucker huffed. “Yeah well you’ll probably manage to catch up to all the people who are getting it on release day easily, since you’re scarily good at MMO’s.” He flopped back onto Danny’s bed. “Hey at least this gives us more time to convince Danny to play something other than a human for once in his life. Like I said before the hellspawn is the perfect race for the build you’re going for.”

Danny just rolled his eyes. “And like I said before, I like being a human.” “Whatever dude just don’t complain when I utterly beat you if we end up fighting because you wanted to be the lamest most boring race ever.”

Danny shrugged. “Somehow I’ll cope, I just think it’s nice to be seen as normal and not scary.”

Sam laughed. “Danny you are the least scary person like to ever exist. The only things scary about you are your grades and your wacky parents. I doubt you could be scary if you tried.”

Danny looked out the window watching the stars as they started to appear in the sky. “...Yeah I guess you’re right.”

#guess who back with the phics #danny phantom #phic #My fic #my phic

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thewildwaffle · 4 years ago

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Humans are Weird - Birthdays

Another prompt from a lovely user on ao3

When humans throw a party, they don’t mess around. Or well, they do, that’s like half the point of their parties most of the time. What they don’t mess around with is the planning, preparation, and all-out general excitement and energy that goes into their parties. Scarsels, they'd only gotten halfway through the setup and decorating for Human Dana’s party and it seemed like it would be almost as much fun as the party itself! The special occasion this time was to commemorate the anniversary of Human Dana’s birth. When Peterrias was first told about the party plans, he'd been a bit blown away by just how much of everything there was. His people celebrated the anniversary of their hatching day, sure, but it was usually more of a happy acknowledgment of the day itself and of the life lived to that point rather than a formal festivity. Excited to be a part of such an important Earth culture custom, he had volunteered to help get things set up. There was a lot more that went into a human birthday party than he realized. At first, he'd gone with Human Jackson to help make the refreshments and treats that would be available to guests. He'd spent a little bit of time cutting up fresh vegetables that were edible for everyone on the crew to eat and arrange them on a colorful platter. That didn’t take long to do, but by the time he had it done, all the food preparation tasks that involved working with “safe” ingredients had already been taken. Not wanting to be in the way of preparations there, Peterias had wandered back to the main rec hall where the party decorations were at that point well underway. The humans had requisitioned party supplies the last time they’d stopped in a port with a half-decent market. Earth wares, as popular as they’ve become, were pretty easy to find, even very specific items like balloons, streamers, and a large pack of funny-looking conical hats.

Garubi sefra and human Jieun were setting up the streamers now. They twisted the thin strips of colorful paper into beautiful, swirling, drapes that swept from one side of the room to the other. He paused to take in the sight for a moment. There was something familiar about it all, but he couldn’t figure out why. Anyway, it was a lovely scene. Humans really did go all out. Or maybe this was just a good outlet for them to vent any pent-up creativity and partying they’d been holding in for the past few partecs aboard the ship. He suspected a combination of both. “Is there anything I can do to help here,” he approached the decorators. Human Jieun was having to climb up and down a step ladder to reach high enough to place the streamers. Peterias was one of the few crewmates aboard that stood taller than humans. That with his long arms and great reach, this seemed like the perfect job for him. With a little explanation, a few hijinks that went on while figuring out how to not get the tape to stick to him, he had the entire hall “decked out” as Jieun declared. There was still about half a roll of the decorative paper leftover. He watched it as he bounced it in his hand, smiling as it dawned on him why it looked so familiar to him. It looked just like a popular candy he enjoyed when he was a young hatchling. Wouldn’t it just be like humans to use pretty sweets as decorations? He had to admit, it was kind of a fun idea to multitask like that. Making sure no one was watching, he snuck a tentative nibble at the paper. It was absolutely disgusting. Definitely not a sweet ribbon! Oh, by the stars, it was so bitter! “Did you just try eating the crepe paper?” Jieun clapped a hand on Peterias’ shoulder as he came up from behind. “I’d guess from your face that it wasn’t very good!” “Pleah! Pleh… I… uh, you… you saw that?” He figured Jieun’s laughter was enough affirmation. “To be fair,” Garubi came to Peterias’ aide, “when I first saw the streamers, I thought they looked like large rolls of sweet ribbon as well.” Jieun’s smile remained as large as ever. “Yeah, but you didn’t try eating it!” Garubi took the remainder of the streamer roll from Peterias and went to put it away. “Not when you were looking,” Peterias heard the sefra mutter quietly before he got too far. Even though the room was already looking very festive, humans do not mess around when it comes to throwing parties. He helped Jieun and a few others set up some games and activities for the party. Once again, many hands might light work and the only thing left to do, so Jieun said, was blow up a few more balloons. “Thanks for helping set up though, I really do appreciate it. Dana’s going to love this! She has no idea we’ve got this planned, I can’t wait to see the look on her face!” “Glad to be included in such an important celebration of life,” Peterias closed his eyes and nodded to return for Jieun’s smile. “I am also very excited about the party. If I may ask, do you know how many years Dana is marking today?” “Uh, well, she’s turning thirty-seven in Earth years. I’d have to do the math to convert that to galactic standardized. I know doing that would make it a fraction of some sort.” Peterias tilted his head trying to recall what he knew about Earth. Their day cycles fell into an average length among inhabited homeworlds. The way they divided their days was a little funny but close enough that many humans had no problem converting to galactic standardized times. Years though, years seemed a little long to him, though he couldn’t remember the conversion rate right at the moment. Still, even if they weren’t too far off of GS time, thirty-seven was quite the number! He hadn’t realized Dana was a senior citizen! “That’s amazing,” Peterias’ voice was excited but respectful. “Do you think she’ll stay on the crew much longer then?” “Uh, yeah, I mean I don’t know what she’s planning, but I’d think so. I mean, why wouldn’t she?” “Well,” Peterias wasn’t completely sure how best to say this without sounding offensive or rude. He’d heard humans could be touchy about their ages later on in life. “Won’t she… won’t she want to retire soon?” Half of Jieun’s face scrunched up to make a funny expression. “Retire? Why would she want to do that?” “Um, well, you know… as most species age, they find this line of work to start becoming… uh, well a bit too demanding on… uh… elderly bodies?” Jieun stared at him without saying anything that Peterias started worrying that he had broken some human taboo about talking about getting old. “Dude. Dana’s turning thirty-seven, not eighty-seven. And even if she was, I still don’t think she’d retire. Have you seen her on duty? That lady loves blasting asteroids.” Jieun chuckled as if recalling a memory as he grabbed a rubber balloon and began forcing air into it through his mouth. As Peterias watched the blue shape grow in size, something Jieun said finally clicked. “Wait, eighty-seven? Do humans live that long?!” Jieun removed the balloon from his lips and tied the end so the air wouldn’t escape. “Well, I mean, with proper diet and exercise, a bit of good luck and good genes, yeah. I mean nowadays, it’s not too crazy to see people living and even being fairly active into their hundreds.” “What?!” Jieun had to be joking. Humans loved playing practical jokes. He kept waiting for his crewmate’s face to break into a wide grin and laugh at his attempt to “pull his leg” as the human saying went. As the tiks went by though, Jieun didn’t back down from his bold statement and instead started blowing up another balloon. “Oh,” Peterias shook his head. “Oh how silly of me. I forgot about the year ratio. Earth must circumnavigate it’s star fairly quickly. There for a bit, I thought you were saying humans could live for over 100 galactic standard years.” Jieun opened his mouth and let the half-filled balloon propel itself around the room wildly. “Uh, yeah, we can. Easily. I think the ratio is like, uh just a little over two-thirds of an Earth year for every galactic standardized year. Something like that? If we’re talking SG years, 130 is around the average life expectancy. 180’s getting up there. I think the oldest living human right now is pushing 195 SG years or something like that.” Shivers ran down Peterias’ whole body. He felt the proto-feathers along his spine rise up. He felt like he was frozen in place as his brain used 100% of its capacity to try to process what he’d just been told. There was no way. He’d have known about this before, right? Of all the rumors that flew around about humans, this would have been one of them, right? He kept waiting for a punchline, for Jieun’s nonchalant facade to drop and for him to start laughing at the hilarious joke he’d been trying to get Peterias to believe. But it didn’t happen. He wasn’t joking. Instead, Jieun held out his hand. “Let me see, I guess that would make Dana....” His fingers went up and down as he calculated, “Oh, a little over sixty I guess. In SG, that is.” He then went to retrieve the balloon he’d let escape before and proceeded to blow it up again, tying it off this time. Peterias just stood there, still frozen. He watched the human continue to put the final touches of decorations around the room. How old was Jieun? He saw human Jackson enter the room, being helped by several other crewmates as they carried in platters of prepared party snacks. How old was he? How old were any of the other human crewmates aboard the ship? How much had they seen and how much life had they lived even before they stepped aboard the ship? He was finally pulled out of his frozen state as everyone scrambled to hiding spots. Realizing he was still standing in the middle of the room, Garubi came up behind him and led him to a spot where he could crouch behind a chair. “Come on, they said part of the celebration is to jump out and surprise the birthday celebrant when they arrive at their party.” Peterias allowed themselves to be pulled along and even made sure to tuck their tail in closely so as to hide better behind the chair. It was futile, he was too large, but thinking on that right now seemed beyond his capabilities. Dana was indeed surprised when she arrived. She screamed, out of shock at first, then in delight. There was a lot of laughter, music, and talking, and a surprising amount of very bad, off-key singing to a very repetitive song. It felt almost like visiting a harvest festival back home, so happy and celebratory! Except unlike the festivals, this was for one person. Before, it might have seemed a bit excessive, even by human standards. Now he realized that with this celebration of life, there was a lot of life to celebrate. The planning and preparation that had gone into the party was well worth the effort. Peterias hadn’t had as much fun in some time. It wasn’t any one particular game they played or amusing story that was told that made it so much fun. It was more just, how happy everyone was. The humans, especially Dana, just seemed to radiate a warm happy energy that was particularly infectious. Peterias smiled as he watched Jackson get animated as he recounted an adventure he’d had as a youth on Earth. It was, of course, a story about him doing something dangerous and how he got out of it, and he had several delighted crewmates hanging onto every word. Peterias, chuckled as a thought came to him while watching the scene. Humans live such long lives. He’d had no idea. He supposed that some, after hearing Jackson’s story and knowing what ridiculous antics humans got into on the regular, might postulate that humans live so long because death itself is hesitant to claim them. As he looked around the room though, he caught eyes with human Dana who smiled that strange warm, and slightly scary way that humans do. She held up her hands together to form a shape that he’d been told was a symbol of love and mouthed the words “thank you” to him. Peterias nodded and smiled back. His mind started wandering again. Somewhere in his brain, the new information of human’s life spans was being put together with other tales and warnings he’d ever heard about them like puzzle pieces. That’s why everyone’s always worried about offending humans. They have such long lives that they could hold grudges for what would be lifetimes for other races. That’s why they’re so good at multitasking or will often come onto crews with multiple advanced skills. They have plenty of time to hone their talents. That’s why they can be so forgetful at times. They have a lot of life stored in their memories. There was a large collection of gasps and laughter from the crowd around Jackson as he finished up his story. Soon, Dana took over as the next storyteller about one of her own fool-hardy enterprises she’d had once. It wasn’t quite as much of an adventurous tale as Jackson’s had been, but it was a good story and she told it well. Peterias smiled as he listened in. He was glad humans lived so long, for a lot of reasons. Maybe those who half-joked when they said that death was afraid to claim humans were right. They certainly were a handful in the realm of life, they’d probably continue to be a handful in the realm beyond. In any case, whatever the reason may be, he was glad he’d have his friends around for a long time.

#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans live a long time #space #aliens #writeblr #ao3 #prompt #original writing #birthday #sci-fi

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jaehyunfirstlove · 4 years ago

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Highway to Heaven - Ch. 2

Your best friend Johnny wants to go on a road trip. The only catch? He wants to bring his roommate, Jeong Jaehyun, someone you just couldn’t stand.

Genre: e2l, fluff, angst, (eventual) smut

Warnings: none for this chapter :)

Ch. 1

A/N: So I only did minor research into the area mentioned (meaning I used my memory lol) so please bear with me :)

You stopped to get gas before it was your turn to drive, and you and Johnny argued again while Jaehyun went inside to buy snacks. He didn’t stop or look your way on his way back to the car, just got inside, put his airpods in and tucked into the snacks. By the time you got inside the car you were livid.

“You think you’re always right and it drives me insane!” you yelled at your best friend as you got into the driver’s seat.

“I don’t think I’m always right! But I know I’m right this time!” he yelled back.

“You can think that way all you want, doesn’t mean everyone has to agree with you!”

“I don’t need you to agree with me, I just want you to keep an open mind!”

“I have an open mind! I just happen to know exactly how guys like this are!” You immediately stopped talking, realizing your mistake, and hazarded a cautious look in the rearview mirror to see if Jaehyun heard you. He was looking out the window, humming along to the music playing in his airpods, seemingly oblivious to your tirade.

Johnny sighed in frustration. “Listen, just hold out for the next few days and I promise I’ll never ask for another favor ever again.”

You opened your mouth to answer but there was nothing else to say. Johnny put his airpods in, rested his head on the headrest, and closed his eyes.

You sighed too, turning on the radio for some background noise to drown out the thoughts in your head. You didn’t mean to be so stubborn, you really did have an open mind and weren’t usually so judgmental with people. But your ex-boyfriend had been a player, someone you had loved and trusted and he had broken your heart. You’d had a difficult time trusting anyone since then, and Johnny had been the only one you could confide in. He’d been there with you as you cried your eyes out over pints of rocky road, answered your drunken rants at four in the morning, forced you to eat real food after bouts of depression robbed you of your appetite. So you were completely incensed that he would want you to make nice with someone who had the same qualities as the man who had broken your heart.

Anger bubbled up again the more you thought about it, but before you could give it a voice you felt someone poking lightly at your elbow. You turned to see Jaehyun handing you a bag of gummy bears.

“I meant to give this to you earlier but you seemed busy,” he said softly, keeping his voice low as Johnny was lightly snoring, “I got it at the gas station. Here, I opened it for you,” he propped the open bag up on the console and then sat back in his seat.

You don’t know what came over you but you suddenly felt tears prick your eyes, and quickly swiped them away with the back of your hand. You saw that it was your favorite brand too, not a common one so he would have had to search for it.

“How did you know?” you whispered, still in shock. This was the last thing you’d expected from him. You figured getting you into bed was the only thing he was interested in, not the brand of candy that you preferred.

“Johnny told me,” he shrugged, and gave you a small smile before going back to his airpods.

You shook your head, determined not to let this sway you. It’s going to have to take more than just gummy bears to get you on my good side, you thought.

You set your jaw and stared at the road ahead.

---

When it was Jaehyun’s turn to drive you sat in the backseat and tried to sleep, but the two of them were laughing and joking around so much that it was distracting you. You hadn’t ever really noticed their dynamic, but now that you were a captive observer you couldn’t avoid it. Johnny was just as funny and laid back as he was with you, but there was an easy rapport he had with Jaehyun that you’d never seen before. And this was definitely a side of Jaehyun you’d never seen. He was goofy, cracked silly jokes and made even sillier faces. It seemed like they had a ton of inside jokes, because every now and then they would just crack up after a moment of silence. You were blindsided.

“Y/N, I thought you were going to sleep,” Johnny had noticed you, staring wide-eyed at them.

“Sorry, were we being too loud?” Jaehyun said softly. You blinked twice and then rearranged your features.

“No, it’s okay, I wasn’t tired.” You took that moment to look outside the window and noticed something. “Hey, we’re not on the 101 anymore? Where are we going?”

Jaehyun and Johnny exchanged looks before Johnny turned to you, “We’re heading to a bus station, Jaehyun’s going home.”

“What?” you asked in shock, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Jaehyun answered lightly, “I just figured it was a mistake for me to come along, there’s uh, stuff I need to get done.” He cleared his throat at the obvious lie, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

“Oh,” was all you could say. Your emotions churned in your gut, almost making you feel nauseous. While you’d love for it just to be you and Johnny, like old times, you couldn’t deny that something about Jaehyun was pulling at you. Neither of them spoke after that, and the silence in the car was deafening. You knew exactly why he was leaving.

“What kind of stuff?” you challenged.

“Huh?”

“What kind of stuff do you have to do?” you stared at the back of his head, hoping he felt your eyes boring into his skull.

“Uh, just some, uh, things for work.” He answered, rubbing the back of his neck - a telltale sign of someone not telling the truth.

“Mm,” you hummed. You turned to your best friend, who’d been quiet throughout this entire exchange, “Johnny? Do you have something to add?”

“Nope, nada, nothing.” He made the motion of zipping his lips, and you knew exactly why. In all the years you’d known Johnny, he was incapable of lying. He would stutter, his face would turn red, and he would eventually blurt out the truth in frustration.

Taking a glance at his roommate, Jaehyun laughed nervously. “No really, Y/N, it’s important stuff I need to take care of, I didn’t tell Johnny about it till now. My fault.”

Johnny’s face indeed turned red, “Y-yup! He told me just, uh, just now! N-no idea, he, uh, had this… stuff, he had to d-do for uh, ummm, w-work… ah screw it!” He pulled his hair in frustration. Jaehyun looked over at him, an anxious look on his face. You waited in the backseat.

“He said he heard us arguing and he knew it was about him and he can see that you’re clearly not happy with him coming along! Okay??!! Are you happy?” Johnny blurted it all out in one breath. Your jaw dropped open. Jaehyun’s face turned beet red, all the way to his ears.

“You- you heard us?” you said quietly.

“No! No I didn’t really hear anything, don’t worry!” he tried to smooth everything over, but you knew from the look on his face that he had, “I just don’t want to be the third wheel, this is your trip with Johnny, I shouldn’t have come along in the first place.”

“Dude, I basically forced you to come.” Johnny said in a deadpan voice.

Jaehyun smiled weakly at Johnny, “Thanks man, I know you meant well. I’ll be okay.”

The last part he said with a vulnerability in his tone that made your chest ache. You looked over at his face but it was stoic, only his eyes held something faraway. Despite your misgivings about him, you thought you shouldn’t rob him of time he could spend with friends. You definitely needed it after your breakup, so it would be terrible to keep it from him as well.

“I don’t agree with this plan,” you suddenly said, making both of them turn to you in surprise, “The bus station will take us too far out of the way, adding more driving time to the trip and therefore making it more exhausting for everyone involved-”

“Actually I calculated it and it’s just an extra twenty min-” Jaehyun began.

“-and,” you continued, completely ignoring him, “I totally don’t believe you about this so-called ‘stuff’ you have to do anyway so don’t even bother.”

Johnny snickered, punching Jaehyun lightly in the shoulder, “Told you she wouldn’t believe you!”

---

The little detour put you off schedule so by the time you pulled up to the roadside motel it was late, and the last room left had only one bed. You sighed in exasperation, wanting to blame the two of them for their stupid little charade that put you all in this position.

“Theoretically, it’s a king-size bed so we could all fit…” Johnny started, and you shot him a look that could kill. He only shrugged. “I’m just saying, I’m not precious about these things. I’ll sleep anywhere with anyone. You two figure it out then.” He grabbed his suitcase and started to unpack.

You looked at the bed longingly, you had meant to sleep in the car but never got to, and you were exhausted.

“You and Johnny take the bed,” Jaehyun offered, seeing the look on your face, “I always sleep better on the floor anyway.” Before you could protest he took the extra blankets and pillow from the closet and laid them out on the floor, making a cozy little nest for him to sleep in.

“Is it okay if I wash up first?” he asked, and both you and Johnny nodded. When the bathroom door closed behind him Johnny smiled widely at you.

“See? See what I mean? Isn’t he nice?” he needled you, elbowing you in the side for good measure.

“There’s more to being nice than just giving up a bed for one night,” you huffed. Johnny made like he was going to scream.

“You’re something else, Y/N,” he shook his head, “but I know you, you’re starting to warm up to him!” he teased, acting like a middle-schooler making googly eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you rolled your eyes at Johnny’s antics. You should’ve been used to his behavior by now, but his teasing was starting to get to you.

“You wouldn’t let him go home! I thought for sure you’d be happy that he wanted to leave! I thought you’d say ‘oh, you want to go home? Well go ahead then! Boo hoo you broke up with your girlfriend! Sucks to be you!’ but you didn’t!” Johnny started laughing then, clutching his stomach and falling dramatically to the floor. You wanted to punch him, and if there hadn’t been a third party to witness it you would have certainly done damage.

“No one deserves to be alone in his position,” you said in your defense, “No matter what I think of him, breakups suck and I wouldn’t want even my worst enemy to suffer like that alone.”

Johnny stopped laughing, wiping away the tears that had formed at the corners of his eyes from laughing so hard. He put an arm around you and smiled.

“Thanks, Y/N. That’s all I wanted, was for you to see him as a human being with feelings, not just some preconceived notion of what he was like.”

“I guess he’s not so bad,” you weren’t completely convinced, but at least now you were willing to give him a chance, “besides, the two of you seem really close so I wouldn’t want you to miss out either.”

“Aww, I love you too!” he pretended to sob and pulled you in for a hug. You sighed, laughing at Johnny’s penchant for the dramatic.

“You guys are so cute,” Jaehyun had come out of the bathroom, changed into a simple black tee and plaid pajama pants. His hair was slightly damp, his bangs falling slightly into his eyes, his face fresh and his skin dewy. You’d never seen him in that light and you couldn’t help but stare. He smiled shyly when you noticed him, and quickly went over to his blanket nest.

“Hey, if it’s okay, can you spare an extra pillow? I need something to hug to help me fall asleep.” He seemed hesitant to ask, but it seemed that he was feeling more comfortable with you.

“Oh, sure,” you looked over and indeed there were three pillows on the bed. You grabbed one and threw it to him. He caught it handily and flashed you that dimpled smile, and you actually felt your face flush. You turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see, but Johnny had caught the entire scene and giggled at you. You mouthed for him to shut up, throwing a pillow at him too, but he dodged it easily, laughing the whole time. When you picked up another pillow to throw at him he ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Coward!” you yelled, and you could hear him giggling behind the door. Jaehyun was sitting on the floor watching the two of you, laughing softly. You couldn’t help but smile at how happy he looked, it definitely made you feel good that you could lift his spirits like that.

“You and Johnny are so fun together,” he mused.

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” you answered, sitting on the bed to face him.

“He told me you grew up together?”

“Yeah, we were neighbors for a long time. We went to the same schools, our families hung out together, that kind of thing.” This was certainly the longest conversation you’d had with him, but you found that you didn’t mind it.

“Mm. That’s awesome. I wish I had a friend like that. I moved around a lot as a kid, so I don’t have any lifelong friends. You guys are lucky.”

“Oh. Well you and Johnny seem close? I know you haven’t been roommates for long.” you offered.

He nodded, “Johnny’s one of those people that you like right away, you know? He’s just really chill and really nice, like really nice.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” you agreed.

“It makes sense that you two would be friends. Nice people attract nice people.”

Wait, was that a line?

“Well, good night,” he said, pulling his blanket up and turning over. He pulled the extra pillow towards him and hugged it tightly, and soon enough he was snoring softly.

#jaehyun imagines #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun smut #nct imagines

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years ago

Text

It’s The Avengers (03x15)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 15: Not All Rainbows

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: did someone just go and tell the otp about the otp?

Word Count: you know that feeling when you have had a bad experience on some project or assignment or homework before. And you know that thing is going to come around again next month or something like that. And you just age yourself by giving yourself anxiety by thinking everything that could go worse in that area. Yeah. So, I kinda shut that off for a few hours and wrote this.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

An ice pack sits partially on the sofa’s arm and partially on the head that is being knocked softly- but repeatedly- by its designated owner. The fist taps that forehead with the vigour of a dedicated hammer that is softly checking the tensile strength of its mettle. The second camera takes the liberty to zoom in on Tony’s face that has the tension the size of the Alps looming over his head. Other spectators sit around, going about their activities with their five senses while the sixth was stuck on Tony. One camera panned on Wanda’s figure standing in the kitchenette, stirring her coffee cautiously, locking eyes with the lens.

Wanda: Only if you could see the monstrous cloud looming over his head. *stretches the corner of her lips* It’s made less of anger and more of worry and embarrassment. *blinks and furrows her brows* And choco-chip ice cream for some reason. *shrugs* Though I'm just glad that nothing was broken or smashed today. *stops midway* *raises her index finger* Although...

Scott: *glows inside out with a big smile stuck on his red face* *swings from side to side in the chair* Huh? What? *shakes head* Nothing. Just *inhales* I'm worried about Tony *continues to smile*

"So-" Steve took the first step and everyone held their breath- "now we know why we weren't able to reach Carol before. She is clearly...kinda...sorta stuck right where Y/N and Loki are? I think the kids are safe now." "Oh? The kids are safe? I must have missed the scene where they returned home with another weird pet," Tony remarked monotonously with his eyes still closed. Peter leaned in towards Scott. "So Loki is one of the 'kids' now." Both the shippers fist-bumped discreetly before looking all serious. The camera swivelled right towards Wanda, who shared a look of bewilderment while pointing at the joy of the shippers who were clearly not reading Tony's wavelength. And Tony was not the only one on the wavelength. There in the corner on the dining table, Clint sat lost in some thought so deep that his resting face was now a resting bitch face while he dipped his arrows in tiny bottles- the purpose of which only he knew- and handled them like his own babies. "You still have to find a way to stab him with these," Natasha was quick to mention as she walked towards her friend and sat opposite him. "Oh, I'll find a way. I was in his head too, remember," Clint pointed out. "He completely underestimates me." "Hmm," she scrunched her nose, "just remove that itch-like thing on your neck before you go after him though." "Where?" He asked as he scratched the side of his neck with the end of his arrow, his furrowed brows suddenly releasing themselves at the dawn of realisation before disappearing from the camera frame to fall down from the seat with a thud. "Told you not to wipe both ends with the same cloth," she muttered while wistfully looking down at an unconscious Hawkeye.

That One Steamy Dungeon™ No one knew how, when or why Lulu was sitting there in Carol's lap like he knew her for ages. No one knew why Carol was stroking him with the back of her fingers while her eyes were stuck on you like two magnetic poles finding that one direction and sticking to it. And you genuinely did not know why you could not stop looking at Carol. All of Carol Danvers. Especially her lips. "What?" Carol finally dismissed the silence with one casual word. "Ag-sa-wuu-you're looking beautiful," was what you came up with. Loki stared at Lulu's camera with one long blink of...slowed surprise. The buzzing camera caught all three of you sitting in the returning silence over dried hay, looking at each other before you scooched down a little to hide the embarrassment visible over your face.

You: *whisper* W-well, she does look pretty despite all the dirt she's lying in. I mean *violently points at Carol in the background* look at her!!! How can someone look sooooo fucking beautiful??? *lick your lips* Except for Loki of course. That dude is on a whole another level.

Carol threw a shirt over Loki's face from her backpack. "Weren't your looks enough this time?" "Wasn't your hairstyle enough this time?" came the retort. You sat there in the middle, your eyes moving between both of them to calculate this new chemistry you were seeing. The camera caught you pulling your legs closer to your chest. "I didn't know you two were so...close to each other."

Javier: *signing* Why? *Furrows his brows* does that make you furious, Y/N? *wiggles his brows up and down in question* Hmm? *zooms in on his face* Hmm? *turns the camera towards the screen from which he and Green are watching the live broadcast*

"Close? I met him on one mission and this punk would have been dead had I not saved his ass back then." Carol smirked through the sentence and you did not realise any time sooner that you were staring at her, your mouth almost at the edge of drooling. "You blew my cover," Loki stressed while putting on the grey free size shirt. "And then she had the audacity to make me pay for her bar bill on the next stop," he gasped while looking at you. Javier took the opportunity to make his drone zoom at your iris, catching your pupils dilate in 4K as soon as Loki started narrating the story to you while you nodded in enthusiasm. "You do realise your ex-girlfriend wants to cut off your new girlfriend's head right this moment, right?" Carol was generous to point out while getting up and wiping off all the dirt and hay. "I'm not his girlfriend." "She's not my ex-" Both of you had the synchronisation of an orchestra. Carol took this opportunity to let her eyes pass the judgment- which played from one face to another and back for sheer entertainment.

Carol: *shrugs* *runs her hand through her pixie cut hair* Priorities, I guess. *nods*

"Anyways," Loki tried to cut this weird air surrounding the three of them that apparently Lulu was the only one enjoying, rubbing himself all around Carol's leg, "do you have a plan to get out of here?" "Of course," Carol simply jerked her shoulders, "punch my way through." You blinked at the camera.

You: Is that why they are called Captain? It has to be, right?

You shook your head and looked around in the ground, leaving Loki to do the bickering on your part as well. "Well, Miss one-punch woman, this time you are not the only one that needs to escape." You found a stick in the corner. It seemed to be made of the same ashen wood that Aellae sat on in her throne room. "We have tiny mortals to save too." Carol chuckled. You raised the stick your eye level, feeling the weight in your hands when suddenly your eyes grow wide and your mouth turns into a horror-filled 'O' "What? Where is the comedy?" A violent grunt came from your lungs, turning both Carol and Loki into attack and defence mode in your direction. Lulu's camera caught you taking the stick out of the orc's stomach. The dull creature blankly looked at the blood turning into sparks flying against the gravity before slowly consuming the whole creature, taking him with them. The next twenty seconds were a pause on every breath. You finally turned around, the stick still in your hand. "Did I kill him?" you asked in a whisper. Loki and Carol shared a glance. "It was just a bruise" Loki shoved your concern away with his hands. "He's in heaven now," Carol sang. "He was a bad guy, right?" "Yes," both of them nearly shouted. "It's good that he disappeared. You helped the universe get rid of a bad guy," Loki clapped his hands before give you an awkward thumbs up. You blinked at both of them. The smile eroding on your lips slowly turned the duo uncomfortable. "Good." Was all you said for your stature completely transformed. "Because that felt..." you did not finish the sentence, clearly concerning your company. Well, Lulu seemed to like whatever vibes you were giving off. “Y/N,” Loki pretty much sang your name cautiously, slowly lifting his hands in the air to have a word with you to process whatever you were feeling. But you were already running outside with the most suspicious giggle the room had ever heard. Carol even shivered a bit to shake it off of her.

My daddy's got a gun My daddy's got a gun My daddy's got a gun You better run

The one buzzing drone in the hallway caught the slow-motion emotion of you walking into the hallway with the ash stick in your hand like a gun- locked and loaded- with something fierce burning in your eyes. Behind you Loki was trying to catch up with the adrenaline rush you were feeling, calling out your name to stop you. Carol was close behind, cheering you on as much as she could.

My daddy's got a gun My daddy's got a gun My daddy's got a gun Ga-ga-ga-ga-ga

The orcs didn’t even seek you out. One of the reasons was the fact that you were running towards them first, swinging your arms with as much force as your body allowed, screaming your lungs out and jumping with fueled excitement whenever they went up in flames. Loki had to take a moment out of those crucial seconds to look at you. To look at that animalistic look in your eyes. Pausing for a millisecond to consciously question whether to admire it or fear it, he almost smiled. He might have stood there for a few seconds more had he not felt the blue plasmic force run by his side to destroy the one orc aiming for you from your blindside.

It started with the hayloft a-creakin' Well, it just started in the hay (loft) With his longjohns on, pop went a-creeping Out to the barn, up to the hay Young lovers and they are not sleeping Young lovers in the hay (loft) With his gun turned on, pop went a-creeping Out to the barn, up to the hay (loft)

"Seriously?!" He shouted at the glowing Captain who flew past him. "Catch up. Catch up!" she teased him while leaving a trail of bodies in her way. "ANARCHYYYYYY!!!!!!!" You howled as you ran, following your new crush. Loki sighed, his head trying to hang as low as possible as he looked at the sleek shackles around his wrists. Breathing in a lungful, he grabbed the nearest iron rail from the window looking out at the barren mountains and bent it till it broke in his flexing hand. "Is this why I am still alive?" He whispered to himself while continuing to walk in the direction you just dashed in.

My daddy's got a gun My daddy's got a gun My daddy's got a gun You better run My daddy's got a gun My daddy's got a gun My daddy's got a gun Ga-ga-ga-ga-ga Ga-ga-ga-ga-ga

Throne Room Aellae sat on the ash throne frozen in thought when one of her underlings interrupted her daydreaming with its presence. "What?" She did not disguise her displeasure. There has been a mishap on the laboratory floor, my lady." Her body automatically shifted on her seat. "Four guards are dead. The source is unknown." "Is it the woman?" "No, my lady. I just checked up on her after locking Master Loki up." "Then who is it?" "We are yet to find out. My lady." "Then why are you wasting my time by standing here and doing nothing about it?" The skinny elf-like underling bowed down to her and scurried in the opposite direction. It had reached the entrance of the throne room when a weak scream left its lungs and it stepped back- falling down in the process- to make way for the uninvited guest. The poise on Aellae's face took a turn as she looked at the person casually sauntering in her direction, never realising when she got up. "Oh, don't stand on my account," White mentioned breezily with a smirk, coming to a halt right in the middle of the room. "Zune." She called out the name like spitting a curse. "It's been a while, my least favourite Witch of the West Galactica." Zune smiled his precious smile, standing bright in stark contrast to his dull surroundings. "Last time we met, you were grovelling on the floor, begging for mercy in front of the Silver Court, asking them not to punish you for the endless crimes you committed in the last century." The composure was evidently crumbling away in little pieces. Aellae's stone-like glare was slowly turning into fast blinks. Her usually unruffled breaths were now a mocked laugh. "And the court decided to send you to arrest me? Where is the rest of the coven?" She pretended to guess before snapping her pale fingers. "Oh, right. I burned them all. Poor boys. J'uke, Fae and Mi'in were still so young." Zune huffed and smiled. "Hmm. They were really young when they fought you, weren't they? And to answer your question, no. The court did not send me here." Now this made Aellae burst into laughter. "So, you are here for revenge? For your mates?" Licking his teeth, he bit his lip and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, all the playfulness in his feature draining out with every passing second. "I am just here to clean up the mess that you made. But they are the ones who are here for revenge." Taking a step back, Zune gave Aellae a few seconds to realise that they are not the only ones in this room. And just when it dawns upon her, she sees the rest of the 'coven' come out of the shadows, surrounding her from every probable escape route this place could have. "Fae," she whispered with a deep-rooted horror in her throat, backing up into her throne when she looked at the familiar red figure walking towards her. "When you were setting us up on fire-" Fae carried no empathy in his eyes as he moved closer with every step- "you forgot that you cannot make Gods made up of ancient stars disappear when you please." Every cell in Fae's body vibrated with a demonic aura that made the witch go down on her knees. Her breaths shook and her eyes watered. The claustrophobia resulting from just his presence made it hard for her to breathe. "No," she shook her head, trying her best to mask her fear. "No. This cannot be. I destroyed you. I destroyed the senate. I destroyed everything that stood in my path. I cannot fail this time. This world needs to kneel before my power. That God needs to kneel before me. NO!!" The six looked at their leader to begin the ceremony. "Aellae of the covens abandoned, child of the dark refugees, you are hereby sent to the endless pits of the universe for your crimes against the creatures of the universe." The screams of the witch echoed throughout the castle till every last ounce of life in her voice could be heard fading away by the other group at the far end of the other wing. By the time Carol arrived, all that was left were the seven boys and a pile of ash resting by the throne. “That was fast,” she did not refrain from mentioning, “I thought it would take more than that to get her to give up.” Zune shrugged. “Well, it was easy because we had you and your friends this time. She did not have much to distract us with, unlike the last time she was in prison.” Carol smiled a kind smile at them. “I hope they didn’t give you any trouble?” Fae stretched the corner of his lips. “When you first called us to go around the universe to look for a human, we were a little sceptical. But we were glad to have met her.” “Especially Zune,” Mi’in quipped, earning a yank by the ear from the leader. “Thank you for protecting her.” “No biggie. We would have protected her even if you didn’t tell us to.” Carol furrowed her brows at the statement. “Because Loki had already asked us for that favour,” Zune mentioned, clearing any doubts, “and we owed him from way back.” Feeling the ‘ah’ of a satisfactory conclusion coming on her face, she stopped midway to hear your scream turn louder the second you got closer till you turned the corner to enter the hall with your stick, forcing yourself to stop your lungs from going any further than that. “Oh,” you straightened your stance, giving up on the attack position as soon as you realised there was no more threat, “looks like you guys already cleaned the place.” “You almost sound disappointed,” J’uke stressed, judging by your disapproval of the lack of bad guys. Loki stepped in next, clearly having taken care of whatever tried to attack them from the back. "She hurt my friend. I at least wanted to watch her burn," you simply shrugged. Fae patted your head softly. "Don't worry. You'll get your chance." He smiled the most ridiculously comforting smile. "How?" You whined, "you guys already finished her." All the seven boys, Loki and Carol shared a look with each other while you stomped her foot in the ground while staring daggers at the pile of ashes. "Yeah-" Zune blurted out, scratching an itch in the back of his neck- "we definitely, for sure, totally killed her. Like-" he pretended to chop the air with his hand- "so smooth." Everyone nodded in agreement. Our elder boys of the group supported their leader while Carol gave them soft applause. Loki gave them a thumb's up.

You: *turning away from the scene in the background where everyone now sits outside the castle having a chat with each other* Aww *smile widely* it feels so good to watch them get along like that!! *start staring in the distance* *smile still stuck on your face* I wish my family could get along this well too. You know. *tilt your head* If all of them got along with Loki, I feel like half of the world's problems would vanish just like that. *watch Javier sign something to you* What? Merch store? *reads some more* Manga?? *looks closely at Javier as he continues to sign* Fanfi-what does any of it have to do with Loki? *camera pans in on your confused innocent face*

"Here's my little monster!" Carol talked in a tone that one used on babies while stroking a very excited Lulu. "Who's a scary boy! Who's a scary boy!!! You are!!! Yes!! You are!!!" You chuckled, watching Lulu enjoy the love and attention from the Captain, bumping his head with hers, wiggling in her lap before settling down in her arms, his adrenaline going down. "Who's that?" Carol asked him, pointing at you. Lulu chirped. "And who's mamma's boy?" Lulu chirped again. "Aaaand who's gonna protect mamma from bad guys?" Lulu growled. And then he chirped again, hiding his faceless husk hairy face in his paws. "Oh my God, he growls!!!!" you gasped. "Oh, he is got a lot more to show you, mamma! Give him time." You sat down next to Carol and stroked a yawning Lulu, who was now making biscuits in her arms. "This one's helped me a lot through this weird, fatal, dreamy galactic trip," you mentioned wistfully. The camera- as well as Carol- noticed how your brows furrowed slightly before your teeth bit down on your lower lip and you turned your gaze up to search for something in the rocky terrain before finally resting on Loki. Carol watched this subtle shift, patiently spectating how Loki too was stealing glances your way while having some serious looking chat with the boys.

The boys and Loki: *standing in the grey terrain like a bunch of Gods modelling for luxury hair products* Loki: It's spelt Z-U-K-O Zune: You named a dog after the fire God? Loki: Wha-no. It was all her *points at you*. Apparently, Coco was a bit too mushy for her. Something about 'Zuko reminding her of a guy who was in his redemption arc right now'. Whatever that means. Zune: *looked at the camera panning in on his face*

"So, you wanna go back now?" Carol asked you, her hands still busy stroking a purring Lulu. You inhaled to answer but felt yourself turning to look at Loki. Carol noticed it too. "Of course. H-how, long will it take?" you scratched your forehead. "We were actually pretty close to getting Loki free of his...cuffs. And I'm sure two powerful beings is always better than one." Carol chuckled and nodded. "Tell you what-" she took your hand in hers, something that you were not expecting- "I will go and take care of a couple of things for our return journey. Till then-" she stroked your hand- "you find out for yourself. Whatever it is that you're looking for." That gentle tone and those cryptically simple words changed some spectrum of the emotions on your face. You stared at her for a long while with your mouth agape. "What are you talking about?" Your breath asked in exasperation. "Cuffs, I guess?" she proposed softly with a knowing smirk. You forced out a laugh. "I have no idea what you're talking about," You chuckled and found yourself looking back at Loki again.

The boys- well, at a few of them- tried to calm down the God who seemed to be picking up a rock from the ground. "Okay now-" Gin, our green jellybean, raised his hands- "let's all calm down and talk about this." "Yeah, yeah. How about we all go to the nearest oasis and have a cup of starry vodka and discuss how we are all alive. Right, Mi'in?" Me'isri, sweet yellow candy boy suggested casually. "Right," Loki nearly sang. His every step towards the boys made them retreat two. "We should be happy that the witch is gone for now. What could we possibly have had to do with her anyway? Hm? What's that? Oh! She was the one who stole my essence you say?" "Look," Ho, the sky blue cheery lad was suddenly not feeling so cheery at all, "we did not know-" "You numbnuts were the one who told me that!" Loki was practically hissing through his teeth right now, his steps breaking into a jog that was letting out some potential screams waiting in some lungs. Lulu was having a gala time just jumping in whichever direction the boys ran into as Loki chased them.

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maddiewritesstucky · 4 years ago

Text

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Stripper Bucky / Architect Steve

Words: 3790

Tags: Sexy shower antics, post-exercise endorphin highs, Steve is a badass for like 10 minutes, Bucky is not a morning person (until he suddenly is), enthusiastic morning sex

A follow-up one-shot to the slow death of Steve Rogers. Many thanks to my radiant cassowary @kalee60 for giving it your clever eyes. Infinite birdseed for you 😘

(Also on Ao3)

When Bucky wakes up, he is aware of two things, and two things only.

One - it’s way too fucking early for his eyelids to have peeled themselves back the way they have, if the rosy tint of the sky outside is anything to go by, and two - his foot should have connected with some part of Steve’s anatomy by now on it’s customary post-waking stretch across the mattress.

His body is coming online one limb at a time, and he grunts his displeasure into the rumpled sheets; gaze firmly averted from the clock on the bedside table. Putting a number to it will only make him angry, and the stupid beautiful soft dawn light filling the bedroom tells him everything he needs to know anyway.

Why they had decided to move into Steve’s apartment when Bucky’s actually had things like properly functioning curtains, he has no idea.

"Steve,” he groans, voice thick with the remnants of sleep and the injustice of waking before he intended to.

He kicks his foot out a little further; throws an arm out to join the search party too, but finds Steve’s side of the bed decidedly more vacant than it had been when he fell asleep last night.

Running, some vaguely helpful part of Bucky’s subconscious supplies, you fell for a man who goes running at bastard o’clock in the morning.

He flops over onto his back and scrubs his hands up over his face; up through the tangled mess of hair that seems to find new ways of defying its scrunchie-prison every night. His vision sharpens into focus and sticks a moment on the giant canvas print photo of himself and Steve smiling back at him from the far wall; a grinning relic of a Bucky who was not woken before his time.

It still makes his stomach flip a little, that picture - the two of them stuffed into the heavy-knit sweaters Bucky’s ma had made them last Christmas; both in the throes of losing their shit over the comically absurd miscalculation she’d made on size. Steve’s got tears in his eyes, and Bucky’s aren’t even open, and they’re clinging to each other with that special kind of desperation that intense, prolonged laughter seems to spawn.

It’s everything good about their life together, that photo; the sheer warmth and joy they’ve found in one another over the past year, the sense of home and family and right.

It’s even more heartwarming, Bucky finds, when the sun is a reasonable distance above the horizon.

He drags his protesting body out of its sleep-warmed cocoon, his intentions set on the brand new bag of espresso grind that Last-Night Bucky had so wisely left sitting on the kitchen counter.

He’s going to use Steve’s favorite mug, the one he’d happened across in a yard sale that reads ‘architects do it on drafting tables’ with a lewd stick figure drawing. Partially because it holds the most coffee, and partially because if Steve had remained in bed this morning, with all his familiar warmth and dependable big-spoon behavior, Bucky would have remained blissfully unconscious until his alarm went off.

...Steve’s not here to actually see this particular middle-finger of a gesture, but that’s beside the point. Bucky will know.

It’s not until he’s shuffling his way down the hall, already two steps past the closed bathroom door, that Bucky registers the faint sounds of water hitting tile, and the sporadic, off-key hum of a post-run Steve.

His feet halt in their tracks before he’s even made the conscious decision that coffee can wait.

He wants to keep walking, to get his precious cup of bean nectar and crawl back into bed for another hour or three, it’s just...

Post-run Steve is kind of Bucky’s jam.

He’s sweaty, and loose-limbed, and hopped up on exercise endorphins which, more often than not, make him inexplicably horny and give him the closest approximation of a bad boy complex that someone with Steve’s demeanor could possibly get.

Post-run Steve is the only good thing about being awake at this god forsaken hour.

The sunrise, and the stillness, and the smell of fresh dew can get fucked, but Bucky will carpe the hell out of a diem for some Post-run Steve.

He slips quietly into the bathroom, and is immediately grateful for the time he spent descaling the shower door yesterday when he’s met with an unimpeded view of Steve’s glorious back. What goddamn right an architect has looking like that, Bucky has no idea, but you wanna talk about some aesthetically pleasing angles?

Steve’s got one hand braced against the wall, head dipped to draw out the line of his back. His skin’s a little flushed; water channeling in fast-flowing rivulets between the soft ridges and swells of his drawn-taut muscles, and he’s breathing those quiet grunts of the recently-exerted.

He’s a living, breathing thirst-trap, and the knowledge that he’d only blush and change the subject if Bucky told him so just makes it a thousand times better.

Bucky pushes his soft flannel sleep pants off his hips and lets them fall to the floor, sending up another silent salute to Last-Night Bucky for going commando, and steps forward to pull open the shower door.

...Later on, when Bucky is reflecting on it all, he’ll blame the early hour and his pre-caffeinated state for the fact that he didn’t realise. The soft noises falling from Steve’s lips, the very particular bunch and flex of very particular muscles…

Any other time of day, Bucky would have known straight away.

Any other time of day, and Bucky wouldn’t have even needed to be in the same room - he could be at the bodega down the street, and his nipples would inexplicably harden at the pluck of Steve’s distant arousal on the cosmic spiderweb.

But as it happens in the moment, it’s not until Steve’s head is falling back on a low moan that Bucky realizes exactly what it is he’s walked in on.

“Oh, shit...”

It’s off his tongue before he can reel it back in, and Steve almost jumps out of his skin.

His head whips around, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, he looks shocked and uncertain and embarrassed as all hell.

But this right here is no weekday-afternoon Steve. This is not the blushing, bumbling hunk of love meee that occupies the corporeal form of Steve Rogers 95% of the time.

No, this is Post-run Steve, and it’s all of about two seconds before he’s schooling his features into something more akin to vaguely-smirking indifference; turning until he’s facing Bucky front on, and settling his weight back against the shower wall.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Bucky begins, as close to apologetic as one can really be about seeing their significant other in a compromising yet Very Sexy position. But the words dry up on his lips as Steve lifts a finger to his own in the universal gesture of ‘shush.’

He watches, rapt, as Steve first reaches over to the tap and shuts off the water, and then takes up the bottle of Bucky’s conditioner, squirting some into his hand before wrapping it back around his cock.

And then that jacked-up idiot, that neuro-chemical flooded pseudo bad bitch, looks Bucky dead in the eye...and goes right back to jerking off.

He’s putting on a goddamn show with it too - pulling at his cock, long and slow and tight; dropping his head back against the wall and letting his moans ricochet shamelessly off the tile. The sound of his fist working over his dick is lewd as hell, so much more audible for the fact that there’s no rush of running water to mask it anymore, and Bucky wonders briefly if he ever actually woke up at all, if this isn’t just all a very believable wet dream.

It certainly contains all the usual elements - intense eye contact; a big fat dick getting rubbed off by a beefy, naked, wet dude (bonus that it’s Bucky’s actual, real-life boyfriend); the kinds of sounds you usually only hear in porn…

For all Bucky knows, he could still be tucked up in bed asleep, and not standing here naked and painfully erect in this steamed up bathroom, watching his boyfriend jack it like he’s starring in some locker-room porno.

“You need somethin’, or you just come in here to watch?” Steve drawls, arching a brow at him, and yeah - there’s a lot of things Bucky needs all of a sudden.

He rakes an assessing gaze over Steve’s body, stepping into the shower and pressing his palms to the swell of Steve’s pecs.

“I just wanted to make sure your run went okay,” he shrugs, “no pulled tendons, shin splints...aching muscles…that kinda thing.”

He squeezes at Steve’s shoulders and his biceps and his tiny waist; threads his hands up through Steve’s hair and slots a thigh between Steve’s to push their hips together.

Steve’s skin is so warm, and slippery, and he smells like soap, and Bucky starts mentally calculating just how much time they have and how much energy he can feasibly expend before their respective work days start.

He’s not on stage tonight, but he is on shift for his day job at the community center, teaching a preschool ballet class at 10am, and then a seniors ballroom dancing session at midday before his contemporary classes in the afternoon. Steve’s working from home today, so hypothetically it wouldn’t matter if Bucky wore him out a little…

“Buck...”

“Mm?”

He rubs his whole self shamelessly against Steve, pressing in so the barbells spiked through his nipples drag across the wet expanse of Steve’s chest. He kisses Steve’s neck and his tits and his mouth, hungry and handsy and a little frantic, and Steve laughs softly against his lips as he turns them to push Bucky up against the slick tile of the shower wall.

“Your concern is deeply moving,” he deadpans, caging Bucky in with hands planted either side of his head, “but I think we need to talk about your bathroom etiquette...didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock?”

He’s staring Bucky down with eyes lit up something wicked; his body so very nearly touching Bucky’s but not quite, and it hits Bucky all over again that his boyfriend is, physically speaking...really fucking imposing.

It’s easy to forget, when he’s being...well, Steve. Perpetually polite, kind-hearted, goofy...Bucky feels like when he looks at Steve, he sees the softness of his nature, the quiet goodness that radiates out of him.

He sees the sensible shoes and the khaki pants, the careful artist hands and the way Steve still sometimes carries himself like the much-smaller man he claims to have once been.

He’s Stevie, and Bucky wouldn’t have him any other way.

But all of that also happens to be contained within a 6’2”, 200lb frame, and right now...Bucky kind of wants to suffocate under it.

“I am so sorry, Steven,” he says, though it’s entirely negated by the raging hard on he’s sporting and the giddy, gratuitous manner in which he’s still feeling Steve up.

He skates his fingertips down the rippled plain of Steve’s stomach, down to the trail of dusky blond hair leading south from his belly button, but Steve catches his hands and pins them up above his head.

“I’m sure you are,” Steve hums, “but I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation here. See, you caught me in a very private moment, one that I was very much enjoying, and now I’m all thrown off. You got me feelin’ shy.”

...There’s some very compelling evidence to the contrary rubbing up against Bucky’s hip right now, but that’s beside the point. Steve’s teeth are scraping a line all the way down Bucky’s neck to nip at the ice fractals tattooed across his shoulder, and Bucky’s more than willing to play along.

“However can I make it up to you?”

He arches into the press of Steve’s body, the hard line of Steve’s cock nestled into the crease of his hip.

If Steve shifted just slightly, he’d be rubbing up against Bucky’s dick.

It’s not an accident that Steve isn’t making that shift.

“You really want to?” Steve kisses the question against his skin, making his way slowly back up to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky nods vehemently.

He’s already wetting his lips in preparation for all the ‘making up’ they’re about to do; signalling his knees to get ready to bend and pulling at Steve’s grip on his wrists, but Steve doesn’t release him.

Instead, he pulls back just far enough to look Bucky square in the eye, and smiles entirely too sweet for the authoritative edge that rumbles into his voice. “Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Bucky has to blink a few times as the words circulate in his ears. His expression turns from I’m about to get some D! to oh god I’m being denied the D in about 0.2 seconds flat.

Bed is very far away from the dick that is currently in need of reparations, he can’t achieve anything from bed.

“But—you said—I was gonna—”

“Go. back. to bed.” Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s wrists and leans his whole weight against him, right up in his space so his lips catch against Bucky’s as he speaks, “...and wait for me.”

Oh.

A big, stupid, ‘bout-to-get-railed grin stretches across Bucky’s face. He wriggles free of Steve’s grasp and stumbles out of the shower, stopping himself just shy of a wildly enthusiastic ‘yes sir!’

He thinks he can hear Steve’s laughter as he takes off back down the hall toward the bedroom, but it might just be his own echoing back to him. He throws himself down onto the unmade bed, still warm from when he got up not ten minutes ago, and honestly who needs to sleep in anyway? Sleeping in is for people who don’t have absolute poundcake boyfriends to screw them into the sunrise.

He should have toweled off, he realizes as his damp skin rubs against the bedding, but he cannot be blamed for life choices made before six am, and there are far more important things afoot anyway.

Things like the sound of the shower turning back on for approximately forty-five seconds, then the muted pass of a towel being scrubbed over hair, and footsteps on the hardwood growing ever closer to the bedroom.

God, this is gonna be a good day. What a beautiful day to be greeting the dawn, making the most of his youth, seizing everything life throws at him!

He has the good sense to snatch the lube out of the bedside drawer just as Steve walks into the room, eyeing him with amusement and hunger in equal measures.

“You know what the problem is, with what just happened back there, Buck?”

Steve saunters toward the bed with all the nonchalance of a man whose work day doesn’t start for another three hours.

He wraps his sizable hands around Bucky’s ankles and yanks him down the bed a little - for no other purpose than to hear Bucky’s breath hitch at the unnecessary show of strength - and climbs up onto the mattress to straddle Bucky’s shins.

“The problem is, I don’t like to make a spectacle of myself.” He plucks the lube from Bucky’s hand and pours some into his own, spreading it over his cock in lazy pulls. “Being the center of attention, having eyes on me...that’s more your speed.”

“Mhmm, yes, I am an attention whore,” Bucky nods, reaching grabby hands out at Steve who refuses to shift any further up his body, “and you are humble and handsome and have a big dick. Make out with me.”

Steve tuts and shakes his head, reaching his unoccupied hand to flick at one of Bucky’s nipple piercings.

“Oh, I don’t think you get to make requests right now. See, the worst part of you throwin’ me off back there? I was so fucking close. So now what you get to do, James, is flip the fuck over, and let me finish what I started.”

...Jesus, Bucky loves Post-run Steve.

He’s gonna marry Post-run Steve and have his hopped up little post-run babies, and make sure Steve never misses a single day of early morning exercise so he can bask in the glory of this magnificent bastard every goddamn day of his life.

Bucky flops over onto his front and gets his knees under himself, sticking his ass up in the air with a wiggle that’s probably a lot more comical than it is enticing. But the heat of Steve’s palms hook around the front of his thighs and pull them out from under him, sprawling him flat against the mattress.

There’s a sudden clamping of teeth on his ass cheek and the sharp swat of an open palm, and then Bucky’s being pressed firmly into the sheets by Steve’s weight settling high up on the backs of his thighs.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Steve sighs, planting his hands on the dip in Bucky’s spine, “I’m gonna use your ass to get off, and then I’m going to get back into bed, while you go make us some coffee.”

Bucky nods into the mess of blankets under his cheek, futilely trying to rock his hips up against Steve’s considerable weight. “Yes, agreed, punishment fits the cri-hi wow okay.”

A wholly undignified sound is wrenched from Bucky’s chest as Steve skips all pretense of tease, and thrusts his slicked up cock into the crease of Bucky’s ass, rubbing off between his cheeks with a very singular purpose.

Bucky scrabbles to grab hold of his pillow and drags it down, wedging it under his hips with as much success as can be expected when you’re being pinned by a 200lb adrenaline-testosterone cocktail. It’s enough though, to very favorably cushion the rub of his dick, and all things considered…this whole thing is working out pretty well for him.

He’s expending precisely zero effort, but the wet glide of Steve’s cock over his hole and the push of Steve’s hips rubbing him into the pillow is very much Doing It for him, and he lets his body go loose and pliant as Steve does all the work for the both of them.

And Steve is putting in work - rocking Bucky into the mattress with a fervor that knocks the breath out of him and sends the headboard careening rhythmically into the wall.

“Y’hear that, Buck?” Steve pants, not for a second breaking his frankly devastating pace. “That’s what a fuckin’ knock sounds like.”

“Oh my god.”

This is exactly how every single day of Bucky’s life should begin. Naked, giddy, cocks enthusiastically rubbing up against holes, and Steve running his mouth like he won’t be turning ten shades of red about it later.

If this is the payoff, Bucky will bust in on every single shower Steve has for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” he laughs a little breathlessly into the bedding, biting off a moan at the heat coiling low in his belly.

It’s entirely sincere, and he says it because he means it...but if he also happens to know by now that those words are a direct hit to Steve’s prostate during sex?

That’s just a happy coincidence.

Steve makes a sound like he’s been punched, his thighs twitching and tensing where they’re clamped around Bucky’s hips.

His breaths are coming sharp and shallow, his movements taking on a frantic edge that betrays exactly how close he is, and Bucky would ask him to slow down, except he really, really doesn’t want him to.

“I love you, Stevie,” he says again, letting his own building climax bleed into his voice, “love you so much...come on, baby...”

“Fuck, Bucky, I...oh...”

His weight falls forward over Bucky as he comes, and it’s all the shove Bucky needs to tip over the edge with him.

He spills all over his pillow, burying a moan into the sheets and huffing under the weight of Steve’s body going lax on top of him.

“Oh my god, Buck,” Steve groans, vaguely awed like it wasn’t his own efforts that just brought them both to sticky ruin, and Bucky reaches a hand back to swat weakly at him.

“You said it, pal.”

Steve nuzzles into the crook of his neck, planting breathless kisses against his skin and running his hands over every part of Bucky he can reach.

It’s so tangible, that shift back to normalcy, back to Steve. It always hits Bucky square in the chest, the way he can feel Steve’s edges softening, feel that boisterous energy turn sweet and mellow in the aftermath.

It’s kind of precious, actually, though Bucky would never phrase it like that to Steve’s face.

He squirms beneath Steve’s weight, getting himself turned over until he’s on his back beneath him. “Good morning,” he smiles up at Steve softly, running his fingers through the still-damp tufts of his hair.

Steve sighs happily, letting his eyes drift shut and tilting his head into Bucky’s hand. “Good morning, pervert.”

“Hey, come on, you know I didn't do that on purpose! ” Bucky laughs, cupping Steve’s face and kissing him all over his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, though the smile on his face says Bucky’s doesn’t really have anything to be sorry about. “Guess I can forgive you this one time.”

“You’re a gracious man.”

Bucky drags him down and kisses him right on his smile, sweet and lazy. When they pull apart, Steve’s got that dopey look on his face like he’s feeling a whole lot of something, and Bucky knows exactly what’s coming before Steve says it.

“Glad you love me, Bucky Barnes.”

...He knew it was coming, but it still gets him every time.

“Glad to love you, Steve Rogers.” He feels like he’s glowing a little as he leans up to peck Steve on the tip of his nose. “Now if I’m not mistaken, I owe you a cup of coffee...you’re gonna have to let me up if you want me to follow through on that.”

“Mm, counter offer - we both go wash off, together, and then I’ll make us breakfast while you handle the coffee?”

Bucky pretends to consider for a second before he nods, stretching his body out as Steve rolls his weight off him.

“Agreed.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the door, shooting Steve a wink and a lopsided grin. “Lead the way, pal. I believe you are intimately familiar with where the shower is.”

#stucky fanfic #stucky au #steve/bucky #stripper!bucky #architect!steve #pwp #sexy shower antics #Post-run Steve can get it

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