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sanstropfremir · 3 years ago

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the hotly anticipated kingdom episode 7 review is here!!

this episode was a lot less spectacle-y than the last one (the last episode with stages, i mean), and i think that was a good choice for all the groups on the whole to tone it down on the run up to the finale, because at the rate everyone was headed there would be no room to go any higher. i'm very glad that there was actually a collab stage and not just a song swap, especially because it gives a chance for the boys to work together and make friends when they otherwise arent going to be able to interact much. love love love to see them making friends and having fun doing these stages!

i'm not really sure why mnet didnt put the vocal stage this episode, because what on earth else are they going to put in the next episode with it??? i know it's a content stretch but still, it seems like a weird choice to me. anyways, there’s four stages for me to talk about this time and i'm going to try to not ramble out of control, but we’ll see. i did enjoy watching all of these, but we’ve all got favourites and i'm going to rank by which group i liked better out of the two for each stage, and then i put a few conclusions at the end. strap in folks this is another long one.

rap stages

skz + btob + atz

i was actually really surprised at how much i liked this stage. i would not classify myself as a rap fan and believe it or not i actually do not place a lot of importance on lyrics when enjoying music. although i have very high lyric retention and comprehension, i focus more on the sound than the literal words, so a fair amount of rap is swing-and-a-miss in my personal listening. plus when you add a language barrier on top of that, a lot of the nuance and technical skill of it just flies over my head. so i really dont have much to say about the sonic elements this time around, sorry. also.....i know i joked that nobody from the kingdom staff is reading my reviews.....but is someone from the kingdom staff reading my reviews????? i specifically mentioned that i think skz should do an art themed stage and then we got one????? i know i manifested the punk ateez stage but did i manifest this also??? am i just that powerful???

costume

obviously these are pretty basic rap/hiphop stage looks, but the white was a really good choice for visibility’s sake, and also thematically: it reflects the colours in the lighting really well.

i am DYING to know who the designer of minhyuks jacket is. if somebody knows please tell me i love it so much. it looks like some of the recent belted jackets that dior was putting out, but the drawing on the front armscythe piece reminds me of the superm/kim junggi collab for tiger inside. say whatever you want about superm, but you cannot deny that that is not some of the coolest merch on the kpop scene.

loved the traditional korean elements that came through in addition to the western references: the screens, hongjoong’s fan, minhyuk’s big fuckoff brush, the masks, and the sleeves on the dancers at minhyuk’s bit. those are a costume feature from a style of korean traditional masked dance called bongsan talchum. the masks themselves are versions of hahoetal masks, which are used in a very specific archetypal ritual dance in andong. i think these are imae masks, who is the servant/fool archetype that mocks the nobleman and the scholar. i suspect that was a deliberate choice, but i can only speculate.

another point about the masks which is not relevant but maybe a fun fact for people who don’t know. i actually thought at first that they were western theatre half masks, which are a very old style of mask that, like with hahoetal masks, represent a number of archetypes/stock characters. maskwork is a very common training practice in theatre schools, because it teaches body language and control, because half your face is covered and you cannot speak in your own voice (sometimes you cannot speak at all, this is one of the rules of full mask). the tradition of usings masks to portray emotion goes all the way back to the ancient greek chorus, but more commonly people in the west sometimes know it from the italian commedia dell’arte, of which you will have definitely seen some of the character archetypes before. i just find it neat that the same types of art pop up in different places seemingly independently of each other. humans are cool.

set

not much to say here, it's pretty bare with just some propwork. thought the screen use was fun and they used it smartly in a couple of transitions.

thought changbin’s bit of ‘interrupting’ the artists was cute and fun. there’s obviously a picasso reference there, and the four technicolour paintings are a reference to andy warhol’s pop art silkscreen portraits, most famously of marilyn monroe, but he also did many other celebrities in the 70s and 80s.

lighting

i LOVED this lighting. super bright and fun, lots of use of colour, obviously. the projections were there to enhance the visuals and weren’t distracting in any way. i thought the transition to black and white/ink with minhyuk was smart and had good contrast, it gave a strong rhythm to build back up to for the climax.

sound

bang chan’s ‘spelling colour with a u’ bit had me SCREAMING with laughter. we spell colour with a u normally bang chan, the americans are the ones that are wrong.

staging

i don’t really have a whole lot to say here, it was pretty straightforward and fun. like i’ve said in previous reviews, i wish they were more conscious of the steadicam direction and would stop showing extended bits of the production crew. at least everyone was wearing full blacks this time.

fun use of the upward angle combined with the groundwork/leg choreo during hongjoong’s verse, that was a highlight for me.

sf9 + tbz + ikon

nothing against this stage, the other one just hit harder for me. bobby is the best rapper on the show and he really carried this stage with his charisma. he’s a fun performer to watch and he knows how to command a space. i'm sure there’s technical notes that people have about the raps themselves, but i'm here looking at visuals as a priority, which i'm sure you’ve all grasped at this point.

costume

these were clearly extensions of these idol’s personal styles, with is a perfectly fine choice, especially for a rap stage where the emphasis is more on authorship. LOVED bobby’s 11yro girl at recess look.

amusing that both rap stages involved paint in some way? loved the backup dancers shooting supersoakers filled with paint at them, but i wish i knew the reason for it? i'm glad i saw this stage first because i would have been underwhelmed by the paint throwing if i had seen this after rainbow bonanza.

set

almost no set at all here, just a few props. i'm not judging as harshly on lack of set this round because these stages are meant to be more about skill than anything else.

lighting

i loved the projections, i thought they were unobtrusive and i admit, i LOVE outer space themed anything.

i liked that they did more concert lighting and had no projections in the first half to put more focus on the performers, it really highlighted the fact that this stage was about them, and not about anything extraneous.

sound

it was indeed a song.

staging

i do wish there had been a bit more control of the space, because it did look very empty at some parts and they could have staved that off by keeping tighter camera shots. this stage is so fucking big, holy shit.

they really brought their onstage chemistry and they looked like they were having a blast, which FINALLY!!

i actually really liked hwiyoung’s opening, i think there was a lot of potential there for some sharp contrast work that i wish had been played through a little more, especially with the cool white light overtop the black costumes. it actually reminded me a bit of the intro in the music video from a rapper i do actually listen to, bewhy’s gottasadae.

glad to see some more use of camera effects with the black and white, but why did they do it over the paint throwing? it just made the trajectory of the paint invisible because there was no colour contrast.

performance stages

sf9 + tbz + ikon

ok obviously im gonna have a lot more to say about the performance stages, nobody is surprised there. this one was the better constructed of the two and my personal pick for better stage, but i actually liked watching the both of them equally.

costume

king shit, literally. we love contemporary hanbok in this house. there was good colour and style distinction between the three of them without clashing.

costume change was fun and neatly blocked, it's pretty common to see backup dancers and chorus hiding quickchanges but i liked how this was a more unusual formation.

taeyang rocking the organza skirt and the big purple eyeshadow, thank you for keeping it cunty as always.

i really liked juyeon’s underlayer look. finally we get a good tbz costume look thats thematically relevant!

set

like all the stages this round, pretty minimal. the setting was almost entirely established through the costumes and the projections, which is some really good designwork. it's pretty much just the litters (the lifted chairs they entered on), and some smaller props. they managed to not make the stage feel empty because there was a lot of projection visuals to compensate, which is difficult to do without being overbearing, but i think they mostly pulled it off.

i originally thought it was gonna be weird to try and mesh the traditional korean architectural aesthetic with the weird mnet deco, but i ended up not noticing it as much as i thought i would.

lighting

like i just said, projections very well done and do a fantastic job of conveying setting without being overly distracting. like with the atz/skz/btob rap stage there’s a really broad range of colour use here that they offset by brightening and properly fill lighting the faces so you can actually see what’s happening.

the use of the strobing lasers and more concert style lighting fit really well with the change in the music from traditional instrument sounds to electronica and the more hiphop/isolated movements.

sound

i liked it well enough! i think it had a good arc that we can see echoed through the rest of the piece, like previously stated in the lighting and movement style.

staging

like i mentioned with the quickchange, there was some really interesting formations using the backup dancers here, especially as a lead toward/away from the camera

having the three of them enter on litters; again, literal king shit, love to see it.

this has a pretty clear narrative that doesnt really need an external explanation, which is good. i have to assume that the burning of the paper with 妃 (concubine) is intended to be a gesture of ‘burning’ the love out of their hearts, but that was the only thing i'm still confused on. this may very well turn out to be a reference to a specific story that i just have no idea what it is, but we’ll see once the subs are out!

i loved juyeons solo bit with the alcohol drinking and the table flip, that was the choreographic highlight for me. i just really wish he would use the other muscles in his face more often. we know youre pretty, you dont have to blue steel your way through all your performances!! take a page out of donghyuk’s book and make some ugly faces, it's good for you!!

i though taeyang’s swordwork was fine, but since i do actually have a decade of sword training i'm very judgemental. it's not bad, he obviously has practiced with the weapon and he knows how to control it, but he doesn’t have the same understanding as someone who has trained with a sword as a weapon and not just as a prop. if we hadn’t seen another stage with swordwork in it i probably wouldn’t have brought this up (that's a lie, i still would have brought it up, i have a third dan), but you can really see the difference between how minhyuk moves with his sword and how taeyang moves. a lot of this has to do with the proper weighting of the blade, which i mention briefly in my second episode review in btob’s section (and also this ask here, where i talk about properly weighted weapons in relation to the gun choreo in sf9’s and ateez’s previous stages); minhyuk is likely using a ‘real’ sword (it’s blunted but still made using proper methods and materials), and taeyang is using a cheaper-made replica (unless you’re doing full contact striking a LOT there’s no way a properly made blade breaks like that. also you would never tape it together hello??? respect the blade). if you know what you’re looking for, you can tell from the movements themselves when someone has training. minhyuk did a load of real training for a film where he was a swordsman, and you can tell; the sword is an extension of his arm, all the movements lead with the tip of the blade first, because that’s your first, your fastest, and your most dangerous point. you do 90% of your cutting with the first eight inches of blade, but it takes a lot of specific training to get your hands and arms to a place where that kind of movement is possible. taeyang’s movements are driven from his hands, which is unsurprising, because that’s where he’s used to his extensions stopping. the tip follows rather than leads. wow this got insanely sidetracked i hope you liked this crash course on swordwork.

this is pretty much what i expected to see from this unit. these three groups all have standout soloists, so i wasn’t surprised to see these three boys as the picks. juyeon and taeyang especially, theyre both from groups that are more likely to do experimental stages and choreography that highlights them as soloists and skilled dancers.

skz + btob + atz

this was a letdown from ateez’s last two stages, because they knocked those out of the park, but it's only fair that they have a bit of a fall. that being said, i did really enjoy watching this for its sheer ridiculousness; i’m forgiving the wolf concept this time because well, it’s wolf. you can't cover wolf and not do a wolf concept, that’s against the law. also, like i’ve said before, i'm all for dark concepts IF you give them thematic weight. is it on the nose? yes. is it thematically relevant? also yes. is it dumb? also also yes, but that’s never stopped a single kpop group in the history of ever.

costume

friendship restored with ateez stylists, rivalry started with skz stylists. the fur shoulder fluffs??? stupid and i love them. perfect in every way. however i keep seeing the same fucking costumes on the skz boys and i will come directly for the stylists at jype if they dont get their shit together. be! more! creative!!!

i really really wish they had gone more 2013 kpop with it, we need more of that ugly ridiculous styling. peniel was actually pretty close, with the overly long tunic and those yellow lenses. very vixx on and on (yes i know they were vampires from outer space, let me live)

i actually thought the wolf gloves were fun? the small bits of uv paint actually worked instead of looking out of place, and i'm glad they put them on wooyoung because the uglier an outfit, the better he pulls it off.

set

same dice, just the long table and the camo net at the beginning, which i thought was unnecessary. the table was useful for levels though, so happy to see they utilized that.

lighting

there is so much happening all the time. lots of lasers. it's definitely aiming for camp territory, and i dont actually hate it as much as i did on my first watch. it actually wasn’t as dark as i thought either, because its mostly lit with blue and amber. but it doesn’t really have that great of an arc and its not really that good on the whole.

the projections are a bit much for me, but that’s only when i'm actually looking at them. true to form, i didn’t even notice the excess of red slashes until like my fourth rewatch because i was too busy watching the performers.

sound

rookie exo my beloved. the original wolf goes so hard for absolutely no reason, so i’m not knocking this stage for being ridiculous. in fact it should have been more ridiculous. i think they did a fine job updating the song for a.....less 2013 sound.

i like that they didn’t bother to live sing the stage even though they recorded vocals for it, it gave them all a chance to actually focus on just the dance.

that being said, i am kind of missing all the adlibs from the original. but even though there’s some strong vocalists in this unit, they aren’t made of the same stuff as baekhyun, luhan, chen, AND d.o.

i literally just realized that peniel had already debuted when this song came out AND is technically exo’s senior because btob debuted like two weeks before exo officially did.....oh no

staging

choreographically this feels a lot more like the skz stages that we’ve seen rather than the ateez ones, so i'm curious as to who the choreographer was.

the tricking was definitely more ridiculous in this one, but i can't really say any of it was there for no reason because it all had elements of fighting in it. the scale of the tricks was quite large though and not very well blended with the rest of the choreo, which ending up making them look awkward. i thought it was a nice detail that they shone a green toplight on the dancers that made up the cliff wooyoung climbed up so that it looked like there was grass on it. cute.

the blocking is lacking a lot of fluidity, and i think that’s partially the scale of the tricking and also the editing, because this editing is TERRIBLE. there’s so much cutting, why is there so much cutting!! haven’t we already learned that longtakes are the best for this???

there’s a lot of stuff here that had good potential but could have been pushed a little farther. i feel like i say this for every mediocre stage, but what can i say, i'm good at constructive criticism.

they should have given more showcase to the tree and the scratching arms; it's the most iconic move!! i also wish they had kept some kind of iteration of the different unit ‘leaping’ in over the exiting one, i always thought that part of the original choreo was really fun and did a lot for establishing them as wolves.

i LOVED peniel entering with all those backup dancers in chains, thats some fucking iconic shit. very ‘im the alpha wolf,’ which is valid because he’s like at LEAST five years older than everyone else on the stage. i wish that instead of being the backup dancers it was the actual members, because THAT would have been an image. theyre all wearing harnesses and collars anyways, just clip em in! he’d be like one of those dogwalkers!

me last week: specifically talking about how krump is an uncommon style in kpop and it's very hard to get right kingdom, throwing the manifesting dodgeball at me for the third time: here would you like a KRUMP SOLO?

if you didnt believe me before that krump is hard to get right, i sure hope you do now. peniel did fine, but you can see how easily you can veer off into looking ridiculous.

some conclusions

i mentioned this really briefly in an ask i got earlier today, but i do think it's important to establish that the two performance units are doing two different types of performances. i can understand why people are underwhelmed by the atz/skz/btob stage and wanted it to be less of a traditional kpop dance stage and more like the experimental stages we’ve been seeing for the last few weeks. and i agree! i think they could have done more with it. but i also think that this kind of stage was a good choice for this particular subunit. unlike with the sf9/tbz/ikon unit, there are not really any standout technical soloists in ateez or skz. ateez has, in my opinion, the highest ratio of dancers with actual stage presence of any of the 4th gen groups ive seen. they’re at a solid 75% for any given performance, and occasionally they can bump that higher depending on the stage. that high of a stat is rare. it's extremely rare for a group to have all its members have good stage presence (i can think of like, maybe two or three?), and to get over 50% is pretty damn impressive. but ateez’s strength isn’t in how good they individually are as dancers, but it's in how well they work together. there’s a reason why they put FIVE of them in the performance unit. one of the first things i said about ateez to hanya is ‘i love wooyoung but he doesn’t stand out when he's not centre.’ which is for good reason!! he’s not supposed to! they all willingly give up centre and take it back when they need to, because they have that charisma. there’s a very cohesive push and pull to watching ateez that speaks to their strengths as performers. dancing in a group where you are all meant to be equal is a very different skill than just being a talented soloist. you have to understand what to prioritize in a different way. taemin dances differently with shinee that he does in his solo career, especially since they’ve been back. he understands when to step back; more often than not i find key to be the standout dancer in shinee choreo.

this is a very long winded way of saying that wolf was a good choice for them even though the stage didn’t turn out as well as it could have. also the fact that they made a cohesive performance at all, with a week of rehearsal and while working with essentially strangers is a feat and speaks to all of their skill at their job. performing in a group is a huge part of kpop, and they did call this the performance stage, and not the dance stage.

i'm not entirely sure on what the breakdown is on why each of the subunits were formed. i know the team sizes are extremely uneven, with sf9/tbz/ikon clocking in at 26 people and atz/skz/btob clocking in at 17 (i'm not counting changsub because he's not there and probably has a scheduling conflict), which is like, a whole extra group of difference. but atz/skz/btob utilizing their whole groups for each of the units (5/3/1 for performance, 1/3/1 for rap, and 1/1/1 for vocal, for 7/7/3 total), verses sf9/tbz/ikon only bringing out six people for these two stages and then six for the vocal stage is......weird? that's over half of their group number that’s not performing. i do think the groups brought out their standout performers and made smart choices with the stages but the balance still strikes me as odd. i do wish tbz had actually done some group choreo because they are very strong group performers and it would have been fun to watch.

ateez really played the long game here, good job boys. teaming up with the group who gets the highest fan votes AND the group with the strongest technical skills? i see you.

i think this is probably too wild of an assumption and is only based on circumstantial evidence but.....i think hongjoong might actually have a lot more creative sway than i previously thought. all the stages he’s been a part of have been very well designed, and i know he provided suggestions for the two ateez stages prior to this... i’m probably thinking too much.

ok you know what i know there were some other points in my brain somewhere but this is already 4000 words so i’m going to stop. if i remember anything else its probably gonna end up in the answer to some of the asks i’m inevitably going to get because i think my opinions on these ones are a little bit more controversial, whoops!

not entirely sure if ill do an extensive review for next week’s stage, because i'm not really a ballad fan and i dont really do vocal reviews, but i could do a quick one. i guess it also depends on what else they put in the episode. we’ll see!!

#kingdom #kingdom review #ateez #btob #stray kids #the boyz #sf9 #kpop analysis #if you read this i hope you like fun facts about theatre and swords!#despite having never seen me hanya managed to clock that hongjoong and i are extremely similar #so that might be why ive jumped to this nonsensical conclusion #also tbh i do have an opinion on why the unit breakdowns are like that but its mean so i will keep it to myself #ok im done now #i patiently await my asks #text #lol forgot to tag #ikon

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freedom-shamrock · 4 years ago

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Speaking on My Behalf

Also over on AO3

@saijspellhart allowed me to take this delightful idea and run with it, so here we are. Go team!

Chapter One

"All right," Marinette said, handing Adrien the steaming mug. "One Cheng family, top secret laryngitis treatment. Careful, it's hot." She could smell the fresh lemon juice as it wafted in her face.

Adrien snorted ruefully, grasping the mug carefully before slumping back into the couch.

"He says, thank you," Plagg offered helpfully from his place sprawled in his holder's ultra messy bed head.

Adrien smiled and nodded in agreement.

"I'm just sorry I can't do more to help you," Marinette said, feeling bad. This was his first real illness since they'd decided it made more sense for Chat Noir and Ladybug to share an apartment. It would limit the risk of anyone else figuring out their identities the way they had. The miraculous were excellent for preventing colds and illness, but apparently they didn't really impact allergies. The warm spring had been brutal on her partner and close friend. Tikki would point out that he was also Marinette's first and only love (or strongly imply it in her look and point it out once they were alone together), but she was asleep in her nest in Marinette's room.

Adrien shook his head and waved one hand as if to push her worry away.

"There's only so much even you can do, Buggy," Plagg offered. "He gets that."

Adrien vigorously nodded his agreement with his kwami.

"And to be fully honest," the black cat of destruction continued, "he wouldn't have gotten half this kind of treatment back at the mansion." His face squished up in a way that Marinette had come to learn was disgust. "His schedule would've been cleared, partly anyway, and he'd be abandoned in that compensation-chamber-of-shitty-parenting that his father called a bedroom."

Adrien frowned, looking petulant while he made indignant shushing noises at his kwami.

Marinette moved closer, scooping up the book and laptop from the ottoman near the couch, so she could take a seat there. She'd always felt Gabriel's cold nature ran into neglectful, if not full-on abusive, territory, but Adrien was quick to change the subject when things got too close to discussing his family life. "Nathalie doesn't have much of a bedside manner, huh?"

Adrien rolled his eyes. It was amazing just what he could express without his voice, and it was no wonder he was loving the acting classes he'd snuck into his schedule.

"Well you don't live there anymore, and we Dupain-Cheng folk do not believe in allowing those who are ill or uncomfortable suffer alone." She reached out to run her fingertips over his cheek, pleased when he closed his eyes and hummed happily. "I'll be checking on you regularly, and I won't be any farther away than the other room, so just send Plagg if you need anything, okay?"

His gorgeous green eyes fluttered open and he gazed softly at her.

"Yeah, yeah," Plagg agreed, his voice a jarring break in the gentle moment. "I'll come get you if he needs anything."

She'd brought work home from the La Fleur Fashions, the design house she'd joined before she even finished school. It was a small and highly exclusive house focused on women's evening wear, and while that was a bit limiting for her tastes, it paid well, and she enjoyed what she was doing. She'd made sure her contract allowed her to create her own designs so long as they weren't competing for the same market, for her online boutique. Lucky Bug provided mostly one-of-a kind or commission pieces, including daywear and menswear. "Are you sure you don't want me to bring my work in here?" she asked for what had to be the fifth time.

Adrien's forehead scrunched up as he let out a huff.

"He would like to remind you that he's spent most of his twenty-three years coping on his own when he's ill," Plagg offered.

Adrien's eyes shot up as if he could see his kwami through his skull.

"He'll just feel guilty if you come out here," Plagg added. "No one has the whole guilt thing down like my kitten."

"Don't I know it," Marinette muttered, letting out a sigh and ignoring Adrien's indignant expression. "I promise, I'm happy to be here if it gives you any comfort, but I'm also not going to push. I definitely don't want you to feel more guilty about things that are basic human needs." That had been the first thing they'd had a serious talk about after moving in together. He was constantly apologizing and trying to avoid being a nuisance. "You are my best friend in the whole world," she insisted, brushing her thumb down his cheek.

"Ooooh," Plagg purred. "Better than Alya?"

"No contest," she replied, delighted by his response.

He closed his eyes and melted against her hand.

"I am always here for you," she promised. More than anything else in the world, he needed people who cared for him unconditionally, people who wouldn't turn their backs on him and leave him to languish in loneliness.

⁂

Adrien snapped his laptop closed. He was bored out of his mind and while he should have been happy to binge on Netflix, he was stupidly restless. The bright spots in his day had all involved Marinette, dear sweet Marinette, doting on him. He'd woken with a terrible sore throat from his allergies. He'd been able to easily identify it by the distinct characteristic that it felt like he'd tried to swallow a cactus (which he'd actually done once as Chat Noir, and would not recommend). His room mate, super partner, and all around best friend had been more kind to him in the first ten minutes than his father and Nathalie had been, combined, for all his sick days ever. His throat already felt better, but his voice would be gone for at least the rest of the day, but probably longer.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth and gently poked at Plagg, hoping to go for a run.

"No," Plagg grumbled. "We are not going out as Chat Noir today unless there's an akuma." His words were accompanied by tiny feet stomping on Adrien's head. "The Guardian wants you to rest."

Adrien's groan came out as more of a whine thanks to his irritated vocal cords.

"I get that you're fidgety, Kid," Plagg sounded a touch more compassionate. "But she's the boss, and she's right."

Adrien pouted. It was incredibly unfair that his kwami was so affectionate toward Marinette, yielding to her requests with no need of bribery. His frustration was disrupted by a delighted squeal from Marinette's room.

"Woo hoo!" She sounded giddy, and like she was trying to keep her enthusiasm toned down.

Adrien grinned. She was probably doing that full body wiggle that she did when she was super happy and excited. He opened his mouth to call to her, then remembered he couldn't.

"What are you celebrating in there, Pigtails?" Plagg called. He had almost as many nicknames for Marinette as Adrien did.

"This new dress is so awesome," Marinette replied. "I love it when I nail it on one of these. Monique is gonna love this one."

Adrien snorted. Monique loved pretty much all of Marinette's designs. It hadn't escaped his notice that the head designer and founder of La Fleur was asking more and more of her junior employee. She was clearly coming to Marinette when the stakes were highest, though being the humble person she was, Marinette hadn't noticed this herself.

Adrien waved his hand above his head, frantically trying to get Plagg's attention. He wanted to see that dress. He loved it when Marinette gave him his own private fashion shows. They were his own guilty pleasure, and admittedly featured strongly in his daydreams.

"Yeah, yeah," Plagg muttered. "Hold your horses, Kid." He raised his voice to reach Marinette. "We get to see it, right?"

Marinette's head popped out from the tiny hall toward her bedroom. "You really want to see it?"

She looked so happy, and Adrien felt blessed having her bright eyes so intensely focused on him. He vigorously nodded, cupping his hands together in silent plea.

"It would be rude to leave us hanging," Plagg added.

She disappeared with a giggle. "Okay. Just a minute."

Adrien settled back into the couch, grinning like an idiot and vigorously rubbing his forearms to shed some of his excess energy. A new evening dress. He wondered if it would be cute or elegant, or something else entirely. Since they'd been living together he'd seen her create the gamut of evening dresses, from sweet things for teen starlets, to flirty numbers, to luxurious and sophisticated pieces sought by A-listers. And what color might it be? She'd done everything, though she preferred not to go with black unless it had accents because she felt there tended to be too much weight on basic black. The people wearing her works of art were guaranteed to stand out.

He tried not to pay attention to the sounds of zippers and the swishing of fabric. He was a model for goodness' sake. He could handle having a gorgeous woman change nearby without blowing a gasket.

"These shoes aren't quite right," Marinette cautioned, breaking him out of his little spiral.

"Yeah, yeah," Plagg replied. "It's all about the dress. We got it, Princess."

Adrien couldn't hold back the hiss when his kwami dared use his personal nickname for her.

Plagg merely snickered as he floated off Adrien's hair to land on the back of the couch.

Adrien scowled and batted Plagg off his perch. His death glare seemed to have no effect on the cackling little beast. He felt himself gathering for a pounce when the sound of heels on the wood floor announced Marinette's impending arrival. Freezing, he curled his lip one last time in warning before slowly and intentionally easing himself back into his reclined position.

Marinette sauntered into the room, treating it as her own personal runway. Sashay, sashay. Pause and pose. Quarter turn, pose. He could practically hear the drill he'd walked her through when he'd taught her runway basics. She may not have had real training, because his tutoring had hardly been anything, but she totally killed it, and Adrien was pretty sure his soul left his body the moment he got a good look at her.

The dress was a stunning sleeveless number in a magenta to midnight blue ombre with an overlay of tulle to give the fabric depth and movement without too much weight. The neckline dropped into a gorgeous V ending at her sternum. The skirting had a slit at the front that crept high enough to flash pretty much all over her amazingly toned leg.

She moved to her final pose, directly in front of him, a sultry little smirk on her lips. It was a good thing he was already sitting down, because the wink she threw him would have definitely killed him. She was so amazingly beautiful and talented. Even if his voice had been working, he would have had no words for her now.

After a moment, she relaxed her pose, giggling as she looked down at the dress. "I have to say, this is one of my best."

Adrien nodded vigorously in agreement..

She let out a happy sigh. "What do you think?"

Adrien opened his mouth for a moment, but found himself shutting it again with a little head shake. He still didn't have words, even ones he could silently mouth to her.

"NettieBug," Plagg said smoothly, darting up to float in front of her. "I can answer honestly for the Kid here when I tell you that you're hot as fuck."

⁂

I suspect this will need one more chapter to be truly satisfying.

Apologies for being so absent. I'm still herding kids and managing the household while we are all safe at home for a few more weeks (I can not wait for school to end!). I'm trying to fit in writing where I can, but often don't have the energy.

⁂

Check out Chapter Two >>>

#Miraculous Ladybug #fanfiction #my writing #saijspellhart #fluff #post-reveal pre-relationship #mutual pining #they were roommates #Marinette #adrien #ml plagg #Speaking on my behalf

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writer-akihiko · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 2 - Hanging Out [STARISH]

Chapter 3 →

Otoya Ittoki

You were with ST☆RISH in their studio, coming up with their new song. Masato decided that everyone should take a break, so he, Tokiya and Syo went out to get some food for everyone.

Ren and Cecil had a costume fitting, so they went with Haruka. That left you, Otoya and Natsuki in the studio. Natsuki went ahead and took a nap on one of the couches.

Things between you and Otoya were... awkward to say the least. After completely being frozen on first contact, you didn't strike up any conversation with Otoya.

You decided to relax yourself by fidgeting with your laptop. You played around with one of the downloaded songs you had.

"That sounds great YN-san!" Otoya complimented.

"A-Ah, thanks..."

Otoya then proceeded to sing along.

"Your voice is nice Otoya-san, I'm glad I'm working with you," You complimented back. Internally, you were having a mini panic. I just complimented a guy... Your face turned red at the thought.

"Really?!" Otoya said. "I... was never that confident about how my voice sounded!"

"Trust me, it's great! Better than mine..." You said sheepishly.

Otoya asked, "Do you sing YN-san?" You shook your head. It was one of the reasons you decided to become a DJ anyway. You could make good music, but never have a voice for it.

"Then do you play any instruments YN-san?"

You nodded. "I play the [instrument]."

"Then we can do a duet together! Wait here, I'll get my guitar!" He says. He ran out, and quickly came back with an acoustic guitar.

Since your instrument was in the room as well, you went to it and Otoya struck up a chord. You knew this song. It was one of your compositions. You played along to him.

"I'm sorry about what happened earlier," he confessed.

"Don't be," you said. "I was just extremely shy. It's not a good thing really..."

"Eh? But you were really cute YN-san!"

"Really... Cute..."

Your whole face reddened to the tips of your ears. You stopped and froze like a statue in place.

"Oh no I've done it again!"

"Otoya?" Cecil says as he walks in. "What did youー"

Haruka exclaimed, "YN! Oh no, come back to me!!"

Let's just say that things continued to be awkward between you two.

Masato Hijirikawa

After finally getting a break well-earned from your senpais, you met up with Masato to show him around.

"Hey Prince Charming!" You waved over to him. He came to you with his group of friends.

"So you guys are from Saotome Arts?" You said after introductions. Masato nodded.

"Thank you for showing us around."

"No sweat. Least I could do for beating you in basketball."

A few of his friends snickered at what you said. "Stop that!" Masato says to his friends.

"What do you guys want to see first?" You said. The red-haired boy named Otoya said he wants to meet the football team.

"Sure! They're near the food stalls so we can grab a bite as well," You led them ahead to the wonderful walkway of street food.

His friends went along and left Masato with you to find a bench to sit on. He's a little stiff... you thought. I know how to get him to relax...

Once you two found a table, you went to a friend of yours on the track team. She was handling a yakisoba stall.

"Hey! Mina, add a little kick in it alright?" You reminded her. Mina nodded. You came back to his friends. You took a seat next to Haruka and handed Masato his extra 'kicked up' yakisoba.

"The best yakisoba of this academy!" You said proudly. You watched as he took a bite. He coughed, begging Tokiya for water.

You casually ate yours, pretending that you could handle the spice. "Wanna swap?"

"Please..."

"Okay, glad to see you're not so stiff anymore!" You smiled at him. You could handle your spice, so you were fine.

"You sure have the appetite YN-san," he commented.

"Are you saying something about my weight?!" You mockingly said. You laughed when he made such an apologetic face. "Sorry, you're just fun to tease Prince Charming. Your face gets all red and you just stand there..."

"I-I deny your accusation!" He said.

"You're doing it again! Also, what do you expect? I played at least 3 hours’ worth of game back there. Of course I need some compensation," You said. "Anyway, don't be so stiff! It's a festival after all!"

You left since you needed to go back to the club.

"She's interesting..."

Natsuki Shinomiya

He had come to the café again, but this time he was alone. He brought stacks of books and folders along as well.

You noticed he bought a lot of sugar filled treats today. He had his cell phone close by and was texting whenever he had a puzzled expression.

Since the shop was empty during the evening, you decided to get yourself a warm muffin and sit across from him.

"Natsuki-san?" You said, trying to catch his attention. "Are you okay?"

He continued writing.

"Exam week?"

He nodded.

You were about to leave, thinking it would be better for him to concentrate without you bothering him.

"AHHHH I DON'T UNDERSTAND THIS!!"

"Natsuki-san?"

"YN-senpai, I don't like this! Masa keeps scolding me when I ask for advice! He also talks in a language I don't understand."

"U-Uh... What subject are you learning?"

"Math..."

You pitied the teenage boy. You took a look at his notes. His handwriting... was something. It was quite cute actually.

"I think I can help," You said. You rushed to the apartment you lived with your uncle upstairs and looked through your shelves. You took out a (f/c) translucent folder.

You returned to Natsuki. You handed him the folder.

"What's this?"

"My notes from high school. I didn't have time to clean out my books, so I still have them. You can use them," You explained. "I have no need for them anyway."

"Elizabeth!" He yelled and hugged you.

"Natsuki-san, that's not my name."

"Ah sorry!" He quickly released you and skimmed your notes. "Your little doodles are really cute!"

You blushed at the comment he gave you.

"YOSH! I CAN DO IT!"

"I knew so," You said, applauding him.

You allowed him to study until...

"YN-senpai, I don't know how to solve this question..."

Ren Jinguji

You were navigating through troublesome Tokyo with your cousin. She brought the idol group she is working with since they too had some errands.

Haruka left you and Ren alone since she decided to go to the bathroom.

Ren, curious, decided to play 20 questions with you.

"So fairyー"

"I am not a fairy."

"Sorry, YN-san. So... what's your favourite food?"

"(F/f)."

"Favourite colour?"

"(F/c)."

Ren paused as he was thinking about another question. Unbothered, you asked him one since he was taking a while.

"Is there a purpose asking me all these questions?"

He coughed, "Well, to get to know you better."

"Then may I propose that we do something productive while asking them?"

"What do you suggest?" Ren asked, intrigued by your statement.

"A shogi match." You showed him your portable shogi board.

He led you to a park where there was a bench. You sat on opposite ends, the shogi board in between.

He started to ask the questions again, halfway through the game. "You surprise me, YN-san."

You eliminated one of his kyosha. Placing his piece on your side platform, you commented, "How so? The fact that I captured your kyosha or was it something I said?"

"Something you said," He clarified. "I first thought you were... a tsundere of sorts. But then throughout this trip, I found that you simply speak your mind and are open-minded as well. However, you rarely speak. Even if you do so, it's barely a few words."

You snickered. "You are observant, Jinguji-san," You said, moving your piece. "However, not observant enough."

He glanced at the board.

"Checkmate."

Cecil Aijima

You were at your rehearsal in the auditorium. With your fellow classmates, you were practicing the steps for a dance sequence.

Of course, it was a classical dance. Which you often struggled with. Your senpai ーwho was also your dance partner ー was noticing that you couldn't keep up and asked for a break.

"We'll rehearse again after a 15-minute break. Prepare for the next scene as well," He told the crew.

You plopped on the ground with your head hung low. "I just can't get it right..."

"Hey Goddess YN!" Cecil called to you. He was watching you the whole time. You forgot that tiny detail. You waved back, getting off the stage. You were slightly embarrassed at the nickname as some of your peers stared at him.

"You don't have to call me that Aijima-san," You told him.

He held out his hand to you.

"Huh?"

"Allow me to dance with a goddess," He sweetly said.

"Sure... I guess..." His smooth talking seriously caught you off and you couldn't respond properly.

He then positioned himself in the exact same dance as you were practicing just now.

You were assuming he did not know the steps and began to lead him. Once you had finished half of the steps, Cecil lifted you up and twirled you around.

"Cecil! What are you doing!"

"Hey Leader-san!" Cecil yelled to your senior. "YN can do it!"

"W-Waitー"

Your senpai was speculating the entire scene. "Your friend is actually right... You're actually better at leading! I apologise for never noticing LN-san."

After your break was over, your senior made changes to the dance breaks. Finally when rehearsal was over and everyone had left, Cecil was still hanging around.

"Cecil, I want to thank you for your help today," You bowed to him. "I would've never figured it out..."

"It's nothing really! You can get up ー I was just serving a goddess, that is all!" He said, winking.

You laughed. "You never really stop it with the goddess thing, do you?" You noticed Cecil twirling around the stage.

"Hey Cecil, I can teach you some of the routines in the play. How about it?" His eyes sparkled when you told him. "Really? I can? You're too kind! Your performances are really enchanting to watch!"

You and Cecil spent the entirety of the afternoon learning the dance. Cecil made a few jokes here and there, making you crack up. Soon, it was time for you go. "I have dinner with friends," You told him. "If I ever meet you at the twins' studio, let's hang out!"

"Sure thing..."

You closed the door.

"My goddess..." His voice echoed through the empty auditorium.

Syo Kurusu

You and Syo had grown immensely close after the shooting. Syo admired your hidden strength and you admired his determination. Weeks went by, and you went back to your shrine duties and Syo to his idol work.

You had to admit, more visitors started to come due to ST☆RISH's new release. Oh, the power of fame.

One particular day, you were about to close the shrine and a man in a suit carrying a briefcase walked up to the gate, approaching you.

"Sorry, we don't accept salesmen," You said, about to shut the door.

"Wait!" The man called out. "I'm a TV producer and after ST☆RISH's music video, I hope I can film a short variety show here!"

"What?"

"It's a short promotional show about their new album. This place was recommended by Haruka."

"Nanami?"

"Yes."

You let the businessman in and called for your cousins. As your cousins were discussing regulations with the man, you decided to call Nanami.

"Did you recommend the shrine to Mr. Kagurazaka?"

"Yes. Well, not really... Syo actually said it. I had to say it in place of the group. He said since we filmed here, why not promote here?"

After much discussion with Mr. Kagurazaka, the shrine once again welcomed ST☆RISH.

You were in no contact with Syo most of the recording. You didn't make an appearance in the show as well, for privacy's sake. You did see him once in a while.

You had finished your duties early and decided to get some archery practice in. You weren't a big fan of kendo, so you settled for traditional archery.

"You're really good!"

You yelped in surprise and turned around. Syo was watching you. You prayed that it wouldn't be for the whole time.

"Kurusu-san! You surprised me. Please don’t do that..." You said to him. He was wearing a casual yukata, most likely from just shooting the show.

"I didn't mean to! I mean I didn't want to disturb you, but you were so focused, and I didn't want to bother you, but I still wanted to talk to youー"

You smiled. "I get it. Nice to see you too.”

You two caught up which somehow eventually led to Syo wanting to try out archery. You agreed and took out another set for him.

"Don't shake. Try to steady yourself," You said, straightening his arms.

"Okay."

Syo released the arrow which landed on... a black.

"It's okay Syo! You can try again!"

You stood behind him and adjusted his arms behind him. "I can't see the target since you're taller than me..."

"I'll try my best!" He said. His voice sounded a little nervous.

He shot the arrow. It landed on a red.

"That's a good score!" You congratulated him. "Hey Syo..."

"Hmm?"

"Your face is a little red. Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah. It's nothing! I should... go now. Masato's gonna kill me so... bye!"

"Um... Bye!"

Well, he's still an odd boy. Nonetheless you still quite liked him.

Tokiya Ichinose

You two walked around the convention and talked about the mangas you have similar interests with.

His other idol friends were dragged around by Natsuki, who wanted to check out the Piyo-chan booth. You pitied the boy in the fedora who was especially victimised.

After a tiring walk around the tables and booths of the convention, Tokiya suggested that you two went outside for some fresh air.

"To be frank, I also wanted to ask your permission for a picture or two..." He sheepishly said. "I didn't ask before since the others were around."

"Ah! Send me a copy of it too!" You said. "I'd like to rest for a bit though. We can take the photo near the fountain outside!"

He nodded in agreement. You two sat near a bench which was close to the other cosplayers who were posing in front of their photographers. Tokiya volunteered to get some drinks. You gave him some cash for your drink.

"Excuse me Miss, can I take a photo of you?" A man asked.

You agreed, thinking nothing of it. From the distance, you saw Tokiya. He was coming closer to the scene. However, when he was right behind the photographer, he snatched the camera away.

"Tokiya-san! What are you doing?!"

"Saving you," He said. He passed you the camera. This man had taken panty shots of you!

The other photographers and cosplayers nearby heard the commotion.

A camera man spoke up, "Apologise! It's people like you that give us a bad rep!"

"Yeah! Apologise!" A cosplayer shouted. Many joined in asking the harasser to apologise. Before he could, the security had noticed the noise and came over. He took away the man and the camera.

"Thanks," You said. "You really are like an ikemen!"

His cheeks reddened at the nickname.

"Wait!"

You whipped out your pen and notebook. "An ikemen character in the fantasy series. One who doesn't look for trouble and just gets by his own way, with his good looks!"

You scribbled away and Tokiya was confused. "Sorry," You said. "I get too excited when I get inspiration for a story."

"A character... based on me?"

"Yeah! You were really cool back there." You commented. "So how about that picture?"

You two sat near the fountain and posed.

Click!

"Hey Tokiya-san, see you at school!" You waved at him, as you had to go back to your crew.

He waved back.

"Sure thing, my writer," He whispered to himself.

Chapter 3 →

#uta no prince sama #utapri boyfriend scenarios #utapri ren #utapri natsuki #utapri syo #utapri otoya #utapri masato #utapri tokiya #tokiya ichinose #ren jinguji #uta no prince-sama #masato hijirikawa #otoya ittoki #syo kurusu #natuski shinomiya #utapri cecil #cecil aijima

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littlespaceporgs · 4 years ago

Text

The Clone Wars Reacts - Part 5

Or Leah loses her shit at Jar Jar, thirsts for Aayla Secura for an episode and a half, and then swoons for Riyo Chuchi.

Welcome once more to the Reacts series! I’m a busy woman for now but I am setting up a schedule for this series which will be

Today we’re covering episodes 12, 13, 14 and BONUS! 15. This is because I got super bored during episode 14 and basically didnt write anything so, here you go! As per usual, major spoiler alert for season 1 of the clone wars! If you haven’t read the previous parts to this series, I suggest you do so that you can follow along!

Part 1 - Episodes 1 and 2 Part 2 - Episodes 3, 4 and 5 Part 3 - Episodes 6, 7 and 8 Part 4 - Episodes 9, 10 and 11

Tags (if you want to join, my taglist can be found on my page!): @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @girlvader @simping-for-fives @littlevodika @hounding-around @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @onabouteverything @acciokenobi @catsnkooks @captainrexstan @roseofalderaan @fractiouskat

We’re well past the half-way point, so there is 2 parts left of season 1, and then onto season 2! So lets get into it!

Episode 12: The Gungan General

> heheheheheheheh jar jar I am KEEN

> I get hondo and jar jar in one episode

>> this’ll be funny

>>> actually no scratch that, this is gonna be hilarious

> oh and they woke up in a cell this will be fun

> HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA AND THEYRE BOUND TO DOOKU

> DISASTER I TELL YOU

> “if I keep my mouth shut you’ll devise a plan so get off the god forsaken planet?” “YES”

> this dude seems traitorous as fuck (im referring to one of the pirates, not dooku shockingly)

> I wish Ahsoka and Yoda were in this too, I want more disaster lineage

> ah he is indeed a traitor

> “HEIDY HO CHANCELLOR”

> JAR JAR WHOO

> “stop messing around, we’re landing. Secure yourself” “MESA TRYING ITS STUCK”

> promptly followed by jar jar falling everywhere

> oh and now he’s in the cockpit

> oh shit that senator guy is definitely dead right?

> “do control tour protégées insolence” “anakin, control your insolence, the count is concentrating”

> “do we know where we’re going?” “Ssh anakin” “DO we know where we’re going?”

> is it safe? Of course it i- riiiiiight

>> I forgot this was the clone wars for a second, this is gold

> FRIENDS DONT DRUG FRIENDS HONDO

> y’know, dooku’s quite amusing when he’s not trying to kill my favourite characters

> “are you now in command” “uh no, binks is the highest ranking” ooooohhhh boy

> ooooooohhhh and some mind tricks too, nice

> I hate to say this, but jar jar is actually smart

> holy shit

> beasties are nearby too, we’ll be fine. they run, we run

>> Dayum jar jar actually making good decisions?

> I present a real and accurate image of my reaction to this statement

> Mesa be having an idea oooohhh booooyyy

> obi wan that is no way to speak to your grandmaster

> be patient master the count is elderly and doesn’t move like he used to

> I would kill you both now if I didn’t have to drag your bodies

>> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH this is the only reaction I’ll accept

> then falling all over each other is the only thing I’ve ever needed to see

> “ this is not going well” no shit

> my question is why did obi wan not drop Dooku?? Does he actually still care about this man?

> you’re right, I don’t think youre going to be friends 🤦‍♀️😂

> sneaky lying snake

> bruh they don’t even know you’ve got the Jedi captive??????????

>> so how does that work you dumbass

> no shit, you will look like fools obi wan

> “there be some bombad clankers” 😂😂

>> “huh YOURE right, bombad clankers” I love the shock

> YOURE RIGHT HE IS SMARTER THAN HE LOOKS, GIVE JARJAR SOME CREDIT

> oh boy anakin, just keep your mouth shut genius

> man electrocution doesn’t look like fun

> HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAH

> The next few lines of confused joy are me reacting to jar jar somehow single handedly taking out 3 tanks

> what the fuck

> JarJar I I’m what-

> JUST DID A GOOD THING, I DONT REGERT THIS THING AT ALLLLLLLL

> fuckin JarJar was great

> “KILL HIM HES NOT A REPRESENTATIVE, HES A PLAGUE” I’m ded 💀😢💀

> serves you right you snake, now dooku gonna choke your ass

> oooohhhhh that’s how these two twits (hondo and obi-wan) became friends

> “and... he knows where you live” Oof the subtle threat is real

> hem I love obi wan very much and his sarcasm

Episode 13: Jedi crash

> I JUST SAW AAYLA I AM EXCITED I AM ALSO ATTRACTED TO HER VERY MUCH

> SHES HOT

> I LOVE HER

> AND HER VOICE JUST MAKES ME ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️

> I wish I was bly, not gonna lie

> I have a quick question - the 501st colour is blue right? Then why do they have a gold squad, doesn’t the extra colours just confuse things?

> I love seeing anakin and Ahsoka in action coolest thing to watch

> And anakin

>> I am also quite attracted to him

>>> imagine dragging your hands through that hair as he- wait no I have minors in my followers not gonna finish that

> Uh oh

>> Oh anakin you twit

>>> HE LOCKED HOMSELF IN WITH AN EXPLOSION JDGKJDJFKFKFKFKFF

> HES INSANE

> Are all Jedi so reckless? Just the good ones - love this by the way

> Oooohh shit for a STAR

> I mean like? I know anakin doesn’t die, but this shit is concerning

> Perfected the art of destroying ships and getting master almost killed? Sounds familiar

> I hate it when they just call them “padawan “ it just feels very impersonal like bleh

> Like I love aayla but god the Jedi preach some bullshit

>> God forbid someone raises a child and gets attached to it

>>> Like for fucks sake

>>>> Can you tell this is something I’m passionate about?

> Anyway, moving on

> Oh hi anakin! You’re alive!

> That bird lookin thing is tryna eat my boy 😤

> Oop - well that dudes dead

> Aawwwwwww aayla looks so sad, this makes me sad too

> Can we just appreciate this?

> Well these little critters are cute

> Ooooohhh I think I agree with this little dude

> You can skip the paragraph if you like, its just me going off about ‘peacekeeping’

> Alright gonna get mildly into it for a second, the clone wars really gets into it with episodes like this, displaying how the entire galaxy was starting to lose faith in the Jedi and their peacekeeping ways, in the movies we just got that people just started hating the Jedi because they became part of the war, but this really fleshes it out and shows just how slowly and gradually the loss of faith is. Because he’s right, the Jedi aren’t peacekeepers anymore, they bring as much destruction with them that the separatists do and have become symbols of war. They’re fighting for a good reason yes, but they can no longer claim that they are peacekeepers or that they played no role in this war.

> ANYWAY BACK TO REACTS

> AH MY TWO FAVOURITE WOMEN AND A PRETTY BACKGROUND AGAIN!! They really do be doing me a great service

Part 14: Defenders of Peace

> I’m really not into this episode, just saying it now

> Anakins just as bad as obi wan, like honestly just chill bro, fucking REST

>> MY BOYS DESERVE SOME GODDAMN REST AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL OK-

> Okay but is it taking a life if it’s a droid?

> Ugh this dudes ugly as fuck

> What did you think was gonna happen?? Of course your village was going to be ransacked

> I could go on forever about the pointlessness of this war like it just makes me mad palpatine you slimy git-

> My reacts this episode are really boring huh, I’m not into it 😭

*fully I didn’t write anything for about 10 minutes here because it’s just a little boring*

> HOLY SHIT NOW THATS A FUCKING WEAPON

> Yep sorry that’s it for this ep, I’m so bored 😂

>> Anyway, bonus episode because that one was short!

Part 15: Trespass

> YES OBIWAN WOHOOOOOOOOOOOOO

> AND IS THAT RIYO CHUCHI I SPY?????

> Hahahahahahahhahahaha it’s not tatooine, you got that right

> Oh god this dude already sounds like a dick (its the chancellor dude but not palpatine)

> Why’s he so defensive over it?

> Oh yikes, that does not look good

> Seppies don’t do that though - this is... odd

> Ah and the same thing has been done to the droids

> Off topic, but I think I’m going to make a clone wars drinking game that I can do while I do my reacts, so I’m going to make that this week, send me your ideas in the comments or dm me!

> Back to ep - pfffffffttt obi wans little taps and then anakin really goes WHACK

> Anyway I’m going to do this in the next couple days and then every Friday night I’ll watch a few eps and drink away

> Alright back to the episode once more

> Abominable snowman????

>> Definitely

> This is gonna go well isn’t it?

> “Well? Say something”

>> “Just shut up” *visible eye roll*

> What the fuck is their mouth

> Okay really obi wan, I think it’s pretty clear they don’t speak basic

> YEEEEEEAAAHHH THATS MY BOI ANAKIN

> Awwwwwwww that shits cute, fucking bear huugggg I want to be hugged like that

> I’m not fussed if it’s anakin, obi wan or kit fisto but please someone love me

>> Preferably kit fisto

> Anyway this dudes a dick (again, its the chancellor dude)

> They obviously have intelligence, and this dude has issues

>> I’m thinking he’s trying to compensate for something 👀

> Oof you really gonna tell a Jedi what to do?

> HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA the other people’s were there already

> Ugh he reminds me of my very racist grandparents oh boy

> You’ve been told like 4 times that it is not your jurisdiction anymore and you still can’t take it?

>> BRUH

> She’s so tiny and adorable and her voice is just 🥰🥰🥰🥰

>> Oh no

>>> I’m simping for another character

> Surely this guy dies

> HAHAHAHAHAH HE JUST GOT SPEARED SERVES YOU RIGHT MOTHERFUCKER

> What a dick, he shall not be missed

> She’s just, so pretty??? And smart????

>> FUCK MY BISEXUAL ASS CANT HANDLE THIS

> he’s seriously not dead yet?

> AAAHH RIYO YOU SMART GIRL YEEEEESSSS NEGOTIATE THAT PEEEEAAACCEEEE

> THATS MY GIRL SENATOR CHUCHI YEEEESSS

Welp that’s it for today folks, it was lovely, see y’all at some point this week where I say the drinking game rules and then next drunken Friday (even though these are gonna be released on saturdays but I write them on fridays?)

#the clone wars #tcw #the clone wars reacts #reacts series #star wars ahsoka #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #obi wan kenobi #kit fisto #riyo chuchi #jar jar binks #basically a leah simp fest #fucking sigh #it took one (1) ep for me to simp

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artificialqueens · 3 years ago

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Pretty in Pearls, Chapter 3 (Jankie) - Plastiquedoll

read on ao3 💄| previous chapters

A/N: hi! I was going to update earlie but things happened...... so here's a new chapter. I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading it <3

-3-

It was late when they went back to their room, Jan had only two classes in the afternoon but Rosé had one in the morning, yet, they talked for what it felt like hours and Jan only stopped speaking to read Jackie’s message. She was very happy. During that day she had made several friends –something she couldn’t have imagined a week before- she had met some of her professors and attended a couple of classes so she wouldn’t feel as nervous the following day.

In the morning she heard cursing in whispers when Rosé’s alarm went off announcing she had to get ready to go to class. After the girl left, Jan had the room for herself. She laid in bed watching videos on Instagram for a while and then decided it was a good moment to take a shower and get a cup of coffee.

Tuesdays were her lightest days and she could get used to it. She felt fresh out of the shower, braided her hair, and put on some clean clothes before walking out of the dorms.

On her way out she crossed paths with Nicky and who seemed to be her roommate. The girl had orange long hair and a great amount of makeup on but that worked perfectly on her. She also wore high waist pants with a turquoise loose blouse and dangling earrings. Nicky looked as great as the day before with a mauve off-the-shoulder mini dress and a high ponytail.

“Jan!” She waved at her.

“Hi, Nicky! How are you?”

“I’m doing good, thank you.” She smiled at her. “This is Crystal, my roommate. Crystal, this is Jan, the friend I talked you about.”

“Hi!” Crystal greeted Jan with a lot of energy. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Crystal. Well, I kind of feel like I know you through your room.”

“Oh, God…” She blushed. “I’m not taking the One Direction poster off, I already told Nicky.”

“I swear Niall’s eyes follow me whenever I’m in the room.” Nicky shivered.

Jan giggled.

“I have to go, I’m already running late.” Crystal said while checking the time on her phone. “See you guys later.”

“Don’t forget your keys…” Nicky reminded her.

Crystal pulled a key set with tons of colorful keychains. “Never again. Bye, Jan.”

“Bye!”

After the girl left, Nicky looked at Jan. “You missed a great dinner yesterday.”

“Oh, I imagine but I needed to spend some quality time with my roommate. But I’m still craving Thai food since it was mentioned.”

“There’s no choice, we’ll have to go back soon.”

“Please.”

“Are you heading to class?”

“No, I have my Tuesday mornings free. I was getting some coffee, actually.”

“Ugh, lucky you. I have a class in thirty minutes. Do you mind if I get coffee with you?”

“Sure, that’s great because I was going to google where the café is, I have no idea.”

Nicky just smiled. “I’ll show you the way.”

They walked for a couple of minutes; Nicky pointed to the café’s exterior when they got closer. As soon as they got in the smell of freshly brewed coffee embraced them. Autumn was around the corner and college students demanding pumpkin spice lattes prematurely were flooding the place.

Luckily for them, the line moved fast and the barista quickly took their orders. Jan ordered decaffeinated –because she wasn’t technically allowed to drink coffee after that one incident on St. Patrick’s day- but she compensated it with a lot of sugar and whipped cream. Nicky, on the other hand, asked for an iced Americano.

While they were waiting sitting at a little table, Jan recognized the familiar figure of the one person from her hometown she so badly wanted to see.

“Oh my God…” She suddenly felt coy when he started walking in their direction.

“Janie!” He greeted the girl but his eyes went directly to Nicky who was unimpressed while on her phone.

“Hi, Nathan.”

The name rang a bell for the blonde girl who looked up.

“How are you doing?” He rested half of his arm on almost all the table’s surface.

“Oh you know… just chilling before classes. I have Tuesday mornings free.” She tried to sound chill, smooth even.

“Cool…” He kept staring at the other girl a little too much. “Who’s your friend?”

“Ah, yes… this is Nicky, she’s in the same dorm as I am… Nicky, this is Nathan, he’s…”

“A friend from New Jersey.” He extended his hand to shake Nicky’s but the girl glared at him.

At that moment, their names were called by the barista.

“I’ll get the coffee.” Nicky rushed to leave the table. “Salaud…” She murmured before going.

Jan was thankful because now she had some time to speak with Nathan alone.

“So how’s the-”

“Janie, your friend is smoking and she’s French or something, right? That’s hot. Do you think you could set us up?”

Jan’s spirit sank. She should’ve guessed.

“Uh… I don’t think she’d be interested. She’s already dating someone.”

“What a shame because she’s one hundred percent eye candy.” His gaze followed Nicky’s curves.

“Besides, I thought you liked that girl you met yesterday,” Jan mentioned shyly.

“Abby? She’s alright I guess but this is week one, I have to keep my options open, you know?” He shrugged. “Can’t wait to hit the baseball field next week again, huh?”

“Yes! I’m so excited about it, actually-”

He threw his backpack over his shoulder. “I gotta run, Janie.”

“Oh, okay… see you.”

“Tell your friend that if she ever needs a rebound…” He left, still looking in Nicky’s direction.

Jan tried to smile but she ended up with a weird grimace.

The blonde returned to the table when he was away.

“Here’s your drink…” She tried to put a real smile on the girl’s face but she failed. “Jan, what is it? Did he tell you something?”

“Oh, no… it’s nothing.” She took a sip of her sweet beverage but didn’t enjoy it as she intended. “It’s just Nathan being Nathan…”

Nicky bit her tongue to avoid telling her he seemed like an asshole.

Jan looked at Nicky, of course he’d be interested in her. She was beyond gorgeous and she was stylish as hell with her pretty dress and makeup while Jan had barely washed her face and put on the first pair of joggings and a graphic t-shirt she found in her drawers.

“I bought you a cookie.” She slid the little chocolate treat in front of her.

“Aw, Nicky… thank you.”

Nicky squeezed her shoulder.

“I have to go to class but I don’t want to leave if you’re feeling down.”

Jan shook her head. “No, I’m fine, really…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep, I’ll go to the library or drop by the copy room to annoy Jackie a little.”

“She’s in class during the mornings, someone else is running the copy room in the mornings.”

Jan sighed. “The library is then.”

“Always exciting.” Nicky checked the time on her watch. “Now I really have to go. See you later, dear.” She blew a kiss in the air.

“For sure.” She smiled to show Nicky everything was alright even when it wasn’t.

But enough of being pitiful, she had a cup of coffee, a cookie, and the sun was shining outside. She had this.

The library turned out to be a great place to spend some spare time between classes. Jan met the librarian –Mrs. West- who was probably one of the sweetest people she had ever seen and she was kind enough to explain Jan the rules –besides keeping it low in the study and reading area- Jan walked directly to a free desk and pulled out her computer. She needed to check if she was registered correctly on her classes once again just to be sure and she had to revise if her teachers from the previous day had left some new reading –they did.

She read the two papers and prepared a little draft for the next class before she noticed, it was almost noon. Nicky had said Jackie had classes in the morning but maybe she was free already, so Jan pulled out her phone and typed a quick text.

To Jackie C.: Hi Jackie! Nicky told me you were in class I was wondering if you’re out already, I can drop by the copy room :D

The reply arrived a minute later.

From Jackie C.: I’m already out and heading to the copy room, I’ll be there in no time.

And with that, the girl picked up her things and walked following the map that was scribbled over. She rushed toward the copy room in a way that her former high school teacher would’ve scolded her for« running in the hallways». Finally, she opened the door of the room carefully.

“Hello…?” She walked in.

“I’m over here.” Jackie had a little closet in the corner open. “I’m picking some toner for the machine. I swear, every morning it’s the same, Yvie forgets to change it every time and I have to-”

Jackie smiled as soon as she saw Jan waving in front of her.

“Hi, there.”

“Hi! Thank goodness you’re out of class I was so bored… Well, I was being «productive» or something like that –I’m guessing it’s something college students aspire to be- but then the internet of the library started malfunctioning and I got distracted with the little T-Rex game –do you know which one? With his little jumps and tiny arms, it was so cute- and then I wasn’t being productive anymore so…”

“It’s so good to see you again.” Jackie shook her head.

“How was your morning?” She moved closer to the counter.

Jackie pointed at the chair next to her and Jan sat there.

“All of my classes are during the mornings; that’s how I get to work here after I’m done with them.” She explained while changing the copy machine’s toner. “On Tuesdays, I have this one class with a professor that absolutely despises everything I say because –and listen to this- «I try to push a gender agenda» on his classes.” She scoffed. “Only because they don’t mention women in art centuries ago it doesn’t mean that they weren’t there�� it’s ridiculous.”

Jan listened to Jackie ranting for ten minutes about the class, the girl was fuming but there was something entertaining about seeing her mad and the way she gestured as if it was a Ted talk… not to mention she did it all while doing the maintenance work of the printers.

“I’m sorry, I really went off with it…”

“No! It’s okay. I don’t know much about art and listening to you is like actually taking a class… but more engaging because you’re pissed and it shows.”

“Yeah… I have to tone it down in class or that… professor… is going to fail me.” Jackie let a big sigh out of her chest. “Anyway, I’m sure Nicky told you about last night’s dinner…”

“Yes! I wanna eat Thai food so badly now… Nicky is great by the way, she’s very nice and helped me a lot with the dorm things. Thank you so much for introducing me to her and Jaida.”

“No worries. They all liked you the moment they met you anyway.”

Jan beamed and blushed a little.

“So, you met your roommate…”

“Oh, right! My roommate, Rosé, is great… we got along like, instantly and she’s a theatre major so now I’m sharing the dorm with a Broadway fangirl. It’s going to be fun.”

“Wait, isn’t that the girl with the pink hair? I’ve seen her a couple of times I think.”

“Yeah, she thought you were very serious.”

“Don’t tell anyone I’m nice, I have a reputation to keep.”

Jan giggled. “But you are nice! I can’t believe people think otherwise.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what, I’m having lunch with her right now. I have a class at one so I was going to head to the cafeteria, why don’t you come with me?”

“I’d love to but I have to stay a little longer before taking my lunch break. If you have a class at one you better hurry before it gets too crowded there.”

“Oh, that’s too bad… I’ll get going there but… text me later?”

“Sure.” Jackie smiled at her.

“Okay, have a nice day! See you later!” The younger waved on her way out.

“Bye, Jan.”

At lunch, Jackie sat with her friends and while she tried to finish reading a museum review of a new exhibition, she got a text message from Jan telling her how boring the class was. Jackie shook her head and replied back to her shortly after.

Widow was next to her chatting with Heidi, Jaida was sitting across the table typing on her phone until Nicky arrived so the quick smile that appeared on her face went unnoticed –thank goodness.

“Bonjour, mon rayon de soleil.” Nicky kissed her on the cheek.

“I’ll pretend I understood every word… hi, baby.” She kissed her back.

The blonde sat next to her and they shared a lovey-dovey look.

“I want what they have,” Heidi whispered while looking at their friends. “What does take to get a girlfriend here? I’m in the art department, it should be easier.”

Widow cackled.

“I thought you had retired from the dating world when Janelle Monáe blocked you on Instagram.”

“Okay, listen… I was nothing but respectful to Miss Monáe, I still don’t understand the reason behind that blocking but yeah…”

“Heidi you don’t want to date, you’re just horny.”

The girl gasped. “How dare you?”

“Because… you can’t keep your interest on one person for more than a week.” Jackie pointed.

“I think you’re better off single.” Widow agreed.

“Excuse me… I came here to have lunch and a lovely chat not to be attacked like this.” Heidi crossed her arms on her chest. “Unbelievable.”

They didn’t say a word.

“You may be right though…” She finally admitted.

“Oh! You know who should get a girlfriend…” Jaida glanced at the brunette in front of her.

Jackie sighed. “We’ve been through this yesterday… I already told you she’s out of the conversation.”

“I didn’t give any names though,” Jaida smirked. “You did that to yourself.”

Jackie blushed. “Whatever… I’m too busy to date anyway.”

“But you’d make an exception for a special someone, wouldn’t you?” Nicky pushed.

“She’s straight.”

“So it’s pasta until it gets hot and wet.” Heidi pointed.

“Heidi!”

The table burst into laughter.

“Enough with that, I’m serious. The last thing I want is Jan to feel awkward, she already has a lot on her plate.”

“Right, all jokes aside… I met the guy she pines after this morning…” Nicky started gossiping. “and my goodness he’s even worse than what I pictured… a jerk with capital letters. I think he was trying to get my number through Jan.”

They all made a disgusted sound in response.

“No fucking way…” Heidi’s mouth dropped.

“She deserves better and I don’t even know her personally.” Widow stated.

They agreed, especially Jackie who had seen the guy the day before breaking Jan’s heart in just a matter of seconds.

“Maybe meeting new people will help her seeing beyond his… spell?” Jaida raised an eyebrow.

“He’s not that charming, trust me.” Her girlfriend assured, basing her opinion on the –hopefully- only encounter they had. “But anyway… Crystal has classes until four…” She looked at Jaida with bedroom eyes. “would you like to take a nap with me?”

Jaida caught the hint instantly. “See y’all later, bitches.” She stuck out her tongue and both left the table.

“Maybe I am just horny.” Heidi reflected before sipping her apple juice.

“Be honest with me, do you hang out with us because you like us, or is it part of your sociology thesis investigation?” Jackie asked Widow.

“Bitch, you’ll never know.” She chuckled.

A week had passed and with that, Jan had established a little routine: in the mornings she would go to the library –sometimes on her own, sometimes with her roommate or one of her classmates-, she had lunch at the cafeteria in rotating schedules –as if she was the loving child of a divorced couple- during the afternoons she was at the copy room whenever she had some spare time and when Jackie was there and afterward she’d have dinner with her and her friends or with Rosé. They all ended up having dinner together on Friday night so Jan was secretly hoping the group would merge into one big supergroup.

She had also become close with Jackie’s friends including Widow of whom she had heard a lot but was formally introduced to a few days later and with Crystal, Nicky’s roommate who shared the struggles of being a freshman like her. Plus, she met one of Rosé’s friends from her musical comedy class as well, a girl called Lagoona that adopted Jan immediately and kept teaching her Spanish words.

On the weekend she watched cartoons wearing pajamas with the girls from her dorm in the lounge room and then completed some assignments for her classes with Crystal at the same place.

On Monday, however, she was extra excited –more than usual- because it was the day she was going to play baseball again. She could almost smell the grass of the field, the rubber of her sneakers, and the leather material of the ball… She could picture herself running around scoring like no other.

And because she was so thrilled, time seemed to pass slower than ever.

“Jackie…” She cried while sitting on her –now- regular reserved spot behind the countertop. “I still have to wait another two hours…”

“Two hours are almost nothing, c’mon.” The brunette was in the middle of copying a Shakespeare play for a group of students from the Literature department. “Besides, it’s not like it’s been years since the last time you played.”

“It’s been like two months.” She pouted. “Two long never-ending months.” She dragged the words to make emphasis on her sadness.

“But you survived.” Jackie pointed out before reaching for the staple on the shelf.

That day, Jackie was wearing a pleated plaid skirt with a knitted long sweater and mid-heel loafers. She moved smoothly in the limited space; Jan had memorized her moves by the time; she knew exactly when she had to lean back for the brunette to pass through while she mumbled something about Yvie not taking proper care of the machines or when she was fighting with the printer that didn’t mind for the students’ urgencies at all. She had also discovered that Jackie always hummed to California Dreamin’ no matter how often it played on the radio, that she liked gourmet jelly beans and that she had a stock of candy hidden somewhere -only she hadn’t found her secret spot yet.

“Hi, Jackie.” A girl hummed with a melodic voice as she rested her elbows on the countertop while batting her lashes overly.

Jackie, who was on her back stapling a final set of copies, took a deep breath as she recognized the owner of the voice right away.

“Hello, Vanessa.” She spun on her heels and faced the girl. “What can I do for you?” Her tone was deadpan.

Vanessa, the girl in question, was gorgeous with her long black hair perfectly curled, flawless makeup, and clothing; she was wearing a cropped pullover with the word «Angel» stamped on it a and pair of high-waisted jeans. She was tiny but she wasn’t scared of wearing high high-heels.

She flashed a dazzling smile as soon as Jackie turned around.

“Are you finally going to accept going on a date with me?” She blurted out.

Jan’s eyes got wide. Her type of courage was worth admiring, she was certainly fearless.

“No,” Jackie replied, coldly. “I’ve told you before; I’m not going to date you.”

Jan gasped but Vanessa didn’t even flinch. She just waved her hair and readjusted her pose.

Oh, she was about to say something, wasn’t she? Jan looked, expectant.

“Please…” She pouted. “Pretty please? You can’t say no to a pretty please.”

Jackie rolled her eyes. “There we go.” She shook her head and sighed. “Look, I’m not going to repeat the whole speech but if you have something for me to print or copy, I’m all ears.”

This time, Jan couldn’t keep it to herself. “Jackie!” She shouted and jumped off the chair.

The brunette turned toward her. “What? It’s Vanessa.” She said as if that was a fair justification.

Vanessa waved. “And who are you?” She looked at Jackie, then at Jan, and then at Jackie again. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“No.” Jackie blushed a little. “This is my friend, Jan. Jan, this is Vanessa she’s a sophomore that testes my patience since she was a freshman.”

“I worked very hard for that title.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Jan!” She shook her hand.

“Vanessa has an on and off long-distance relationship and she likes to flirt when she’s on the «off» side,” Jackie explained.

The girl shrugged. “Can you blame a girl for asking? I gotta try once in a while at least.”

Jan chuckled.

“Anyway, can you copy the marked pages of this textbook? I need it for class, you’ll be glad to know I didn’t come here exclusively to ask you out. Although…”

“Give me the book.” The brunette extended her hand to grab the object, Vanessa held it tightly for an instant but Jackie pulled it. “I’ll be done in a couple of minutes.”

“Thank you!” She smiled showing all her teeth. Then she turned back to Jan. “So Jan, is it…?”

“Don’t even try it!” Jackie yelled from the distance.

Once her shift was over, Jackie closed the copy room and walked around for a little before deciding to take a look at Jan’s baseball practice. She told herself it was okay to drop by, after all, she had been hearing about it all afternoon, she was curious now. But being honest, she had to ask around to find where the baseball field was –she didn’t even know their university had a women’s team before she met Jan- so she wandered through the corridors before finding the door that led to where they were playing.

The lights were on since their practice was after sunset and most students had classes during the day. The perimeter was surrounded by a chain-link fence so she guessed that was how close she could get to the field; she finally found a bleachers section -and she was one-hundred percent sure people smoked weed behind them.

She sat holding her purse against her chest. It seemed she made it just in time; it was Jan’s turn to bat. Even in the distance, Jackie had never seen the younger so focused on something as she was at that moment, it was like watching a completely different person. She moved into position and prepared.

She had the number eleven on the left sleeve of her striped uniform, purple socks on and a pair of shoes –already- covered in dirt. She adjusted her high ponytail under her cap before grabbing the wood bat with determination. Jan’s eyes were sharp as she tried to read into the pitcher’s moves.

Jackie had a shiver.

The pitcher threw the ball and she missed it, it went directly to the catcher’s glove. The brunette mouthed some curse. She had never been this invested in some sport.

Second attempt, she would get it this time. Jackie crossed her fingers, her heart was beating faster.

The pitcher threw the ball again and this time, it impacted against Jan’s bat making a thunderous noise that echoed everywhere. Jackie gasped, her eyes followed the girl’s figure as she ran as fast as she could before one of the players grabbed the ball from the ground. Now she knew her heart was about to break her ribcage, she couldn’t get herself to calm down. Jan was running and running like a roadrunner cartoon and she was about to make it when the players started passing the ball, maybe someone was going to catch her before she made it. But she was so close, just one more base to go. She ran, encouraged by her teammates, and drifted creating a cloud of dirt around the base.

She made it.

Home run.

“Yes! Yes!” Jackie cheered and raised her hands in the air.

Apparently, loud enough for the whole team to hear it.

Jan, who was bent over her knees, still out of breath due to her incredible race, grinned and waved as soon as she recognized Jackie. The brunette smiled back and clapped discreetly, even when she had just displayed such enthusiastic behavior.

The team -mainly the batter- had gained a new fan and the season hadn’t even started.

#rpdr fanfiction #jan sport #jackie cox #jankie #jaida x nicky #s12 #college au #lesbian au #slow burn #pretty in pearls #plastiquedoll #concrit welcome

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years ago

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WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN!

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E (explicit sexual content) Word count: 10,358 @spideychelleweek

Spideychelle Week Day 4: Meeting Again After High School

Summary: The fact that MJ bought a ticket to this event doesn't mean she wants to be here. It's a favour for a friend, who is not the man someone in the room is about to win a date with. No, that guy isn't her friend, just a date-skipping, heart-breaking ex from high school. Whatever. She's out of here the second they draw the name. It better not be hers.

“If my name gets drawn, I’m going to murder you,” MJ informs Betty when her friend leans against the bar for a breather. She swallows the end of her drink. “Just so you know.”

“You won’t get picked,” Betty assures her.

She isn’t looking at MJ, but at the rest of the people assembled in the hotel’s large event room, a space generously donated for the occasion. It better be one of them, MJ thinks. Anyone but her.

“I could.”

“You won’t,” Betty insists, turning and flagging the bartender to request a glass of cranberry juice.

“Daring,” MJ mutters.

“I’m working, remember? Anyway, look around. Entry was fifty dollars―”

“That I remember. You’re totally paying me back for doing this.”

Betty rolls her eyes and continues. “It was fifty dollars per entry and how many times do you think they put their names in?” she asks MJ, pointing a subtle finger at a clump of socialites.

“Jeeze, hope nobody blew their allowance,” MJ retorts sarcastically. She’s tempted to get another drink, but more alcohol in her system isn’t going to help her get through this. It may, however, help her get over it afterwards, when she’s back in her apartment.

“Well, one of them’s hoping to blow more than their allowance,” Betty says with a knowing little cock of her head.

“Yikes, Betty, you speak to your grandmother with that mouth?”

Betty ignores her and takes a sip of the cranberry juice the bartender sets before her. She places the glass back on the bar, staring at it for a minute, before she winces―pre-regret, is the emotion MJ’s learned to identify the look as―and asks the bartender to add a splash of vodka.

“I have a lot riding on this,” she tells MJ after a heartier swig of her newly-adult drink.

“I know you do,” MJ replies in a softer tone.

“The event was my big idea and I didn’t think my editor would go for it and now we’ve done so much promotion and if it doesn’t work out...” She turns sharply to her friend. “Do you think it won’t work out?”

“It’s already working out. You got a great turnout. Hell, you got me here.”

“You’re my emotional support though. You don’t count.”

“Ouch. Is that what you tell your fiancé when he comes to these things?”

“I wouldn’t have to. Ned would kill to be here. He’d be laughing his ass off. In, like, a supportive way,” Betty clarifies.

“Guess their friendship’s still strong then,” MJ mumbles. She frowns when the bartender removes her glass. Now she has nothing to do with her hands. She thumps her elbows onto the bar.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know it is. I know he’s still on your radar.”

“He is not. Besides his picture in your paper―”

“It’s not my paper,” Betty corrects, but she’s flattered. Tonight’s event should land her a promotion and that’s one step closer to the editor-in-chiefdom she’s striving to attain by 35. Though she’s still got six years to capture it, she loves to come in ahead of a deadline.

“―I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Well, you’ll see him tonight.”

“Will I?” MJ glances sideways at Betty. “Is he even here yet?”

“Fashionably late,” is her friend’s positive spin. “But it’s fine because I built a twenty-minute buffer into the schedule just in case.”

“You’ll need it. He’s allergic to punctuality.”

Betty sighs so loudly that MJ sits bolt upright.

“Can’t you even say his name?” she snaps.

“Are you ok? Do you need me to find you a paper bag to breathe into?”

“Shut up. God, what time is it?” Suddenly frantic, Betty checks her watch, twisting it around her wrist. She glances up at the stage, where a man in a generic black suit is stepping out to scattered applause. “He’s not supposed to start his speech for another fifteen minutes! Sorry, I have to…”

“Go on,” MJ encourages. “Boss them around. Sort it out.”

“If you see Peter arrive…”

“You’ll be alerted by my loud screeches of aversion,” she promises. Betty hesitates at that, so MJ gives her a gentle shove.

When the back of her friend’s pale pink gown disappears through the crowd, MJ rotates on her stool to observe the room. She still hasn’t said his name and she wishes she wasn’t so aware of it. It’s come out of Betty’s mouth a hundred times today. Besides that, it’s printed on signs around the room, along with his face―unmasked, naturally, to help move tickets. Good looks are always for sale and the newspaper Betty works for isn’t above leveraging that. The money raised by this event is for a good cause though, MJ has to allow that much. Two new clinics to service the city’s vulnerable homeless population, one staffing mental health professionals and the other a safe injection site as NYC combats the opioid crisis. It’d just be nice to attend a fundraiser that wasn’t somehow all about him.

She slips from her stool and realizes cutting herself off at one drink was a good idea; she has unforgivingly-high heels on tonight, the kind that make grown men cry, and her balance is still intact. MJ’s not using the intimidating height the shoes give her to compensate for the secret fear being here inspires. She’s not. Smoothing the front of the silky material of her pants, she lets them fall back into place before circling the room. There’s an art to it, moving through the wealthy strangers without actually mingling, and MJ thinks she’s gotten pretty good at making people scared to meet her eye... until a lackey from the mayor’s office steps directly in front of her and presses a leaflet, featuring the evening’s itinerary, into her hands. MJ sighs and slaps it down on the first tall cocktail table she passes. She doesn’t mean to look, but the white letters on a red background catch her eye: WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN! No thanks, MJ thinks, walking quickly away in search of Betty. I try not to make the same mistake twice.

Half an hour later, with the mayor’s long-winded speech running over before finally wrapping up, MJ watches her friend step up to the podium that’s just been vacated, clapping and beaming. It’s not her stressed smile either. Fuck. MJ exhales slowly. That smile says everything’s going smoothly, which tells her Peter’s here. Where is he? How did she miss him coming in? In spite of herself, she cranes her head around to look, not paying attention to Betty’s speech that thanks everyone for coming before shifting into introducing the guest of honour. She’s heard it before. Helped her friend practice. MJ was open to that kind of thing, weeks ago, before Betty pressganged-slash-guilted her into buying a ticket for the fucking Spider-Man lottery. She’s right though―they’ve sold thousands of tickets. She’ll never win. If she’s really lucky, Peter will never even know she was at this thing.

Which is definitely what she wants, MJ reminds herself, adjusting the lapels of the tightly tailored blazer she’s worn with no blouse underneath. For him to not notice her.

When Peter steps out from a side door with a big wave and a nervous smile, she’s deaf to the fanfare. Belatedly, she starts to clap, glancing around and dropping her hands when everyone else does. She doesn’t want to be the last idiot clapping. He’d spot her then for sure. As she watches him mount the low stage and let Betty guide him into position, MJ thinks he looks fairly anxious. Like, he looks nice, presentable, but unsure of himself. It’s the nicest suit she’s ever seen him wear, but his all-purpose one back in high school didn’t set a high bar.

He says a few words, voice coming out high at first as his eyes dart around the crowd (MJ steps slightly behind a very tall man and tells herself she isn’t hiding), then Betty takes over again, lightly touching his arm and eloquently rescuing him while keeping her event on track. She’s exceptional, MJ thinks. Distinguished master-of-ceremonies and gregarious gameshow host at the same time. MJ couldn’t do this job, which is why she switched from journalism to a literary agency three years ago. She’s better at negotiating than pleasing, better at handling people one-on-one. Except for him. She sees Peter step to the side and try to look excited as Betty holds a red pail (ok, a little lame―one of the interns failed in prop acquisition) for the mayor to submerge his hand into and pluck out a name. MJ had him one-on-one, looking only at her, with no sea of people. She was fifteen, unaware of his secret identity that still was secret at the time, and things didn’t work out. People think dating a superhero is such a fantasy. Disappointment was the boring reality.

A name’s drawn and MJ starts clapping along with everyone else. It takes almost half a minute for her to realize the name was hers.

They want to get her on stage, but she balks. Betty makes an excuse into the microphone, something about MJ not wanting to take attention away from the evening’s mission. The fact that landing a date with Spider-Man wasn’t the evening’s sole mission might come as a shock to some of the whining voices around her. Normally, she’d glare at them or make a sarcastic comment about their noble motivations, but she can’t. First of all, she won’t jeopardize the success of Betty’s event. Second, her human wall has stepped aside and Peter’s looking at her. And MJ’s looking back. Betty gracefully wraps things up on stage, her diamond engagement ring catching the light stunningly to add glamour to her showmanship, and then she, the mayor, and Spider-Man himself are descending into the crowd.

Does she flee? Is this MJ’s one chance to run?

But no, Betty weaves through to find her and grabs her hand like she knows what her friend’s plotting.

“You have to find someone else,” MJ says hurriedly. “Draw another name.”

“I can’t. You won fair and square.”

“I didn’t want to win.”

“I know.” Neither of them are looking at each other; they’re both looking in the direction Peter will inevitably approach from when he escapes the impromptu meet-and-greet.

“Tell them I’m sick.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Betty says. “The date’s not tonight.”

“Tell them it’s the beginning of a prolonged and ultimately fatal sickness.”

“Not very on-brand for Spider-Man to skip out on a date with someone terminally ill.”

“I’ll make it extremely clear that it was my decision. Would you take a last-minute opinion piece on why I hate Spider-Man and publish it tomorrow?”

“Babe, you don’t hate Spider-Man, you just don’t forgive the people who hurt you.”

Betty’s assessment is presented so casually that it startles MJ. It’s absolutely accurate, but she’s horrified that she’s been so easy to read. That’s the problem with having close friends. They know you and on top of that, they bully you into entering contests to date your high school ex. She’s never making a friend again.

“Yeah, I know,” MJ sighs, and then Peter appears, shaking one last hand, before turning their way.

“I owe you, I owe you, I owe you,” Betty hisses. “Please don’t make a scene.”

People are looking. Jealous weirdos.

“Hey, MJ,” he says, eyes catching hers. She breaks that shit off immediately, looking up and away from him.

“I go by Michelle now.”

“She doesn’t,” Betty cuts in.

“Oh... ok,” Peter says with obvious and understandable confusion. “So, you wanna...?”

He goes to put a hand on MJ’s back and she dodges it.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

He glances uncertainly from her to Betty and back.

“Betty said they’d need to take a picture of me with the, uh, winner.”

MJ laughs bitterly.

“This just keeps getting better.”

Betty mutters a reminder: “No scene.”

So she acquiesces, following Betty over to the spot she previously decided on for the photo, next to one of the signs for the event. MJ doesn’t let Peter touch or guide her and he doesn’t try again. A photographer―signaled by Betty―approaches and she tactfully poses her friends to make them look friendly without physical contact. Betty gestures for her to smile and, for her, MJ manages a brief closed-lipped one, standing stiffly at Peter’s side. She’s a little curious about what his face is doing; is he being Spider-Man, beaming and happy to be here, or is he as uncomfortable as she is and just faking it until this evening is over?

After a dozen rapid clicks of the camera, the photographer and Betty walk away, Betty seeming to tell him what else she’d like shots of. Peter can return to his adoring fans, but he hasn’t yet and with Betty occupied, MJ’s floundering for a polite way to excuse herself. She makes the mistake of meeting Peter’s eye and he gives her a soft smile.

“You look so good.”

Heart seizing, she turns and marches for the exit, leaving him standing there.

―

“Thanks for taking the time to say goodbye,” Betty says over the phone, sarcasm perky and damning.

MJ groans. She stretches out on her couch and mutes the TV. It’s the morning after the event and she’s unproductive, not that it has anything to do with seeing Peter last night.

“I’m sorry. I had to get out of there.”

“You know, I think you’re the only person in this city, aside from criminals, who runs the other way at the sight of Spider-Man.”

“I didn’t run.”

“You didn’t stick around either. Peter could’ve used you there.”

“I’m not even going to respond to that.”

“Look, MJ,” Betty sighs, “I’m on your side, but do you really think it’s impossible that he’s grown a little since high school?”

“I haven’t seen any proof of that,” MJ huffs. “What I remember is him always showing up late, if he showed up at all, and let me remind you that he was late last night.”

“It’s the nature of his work.”

“Sounds like you’re defending him and therefore on his side.”

“The world is on his side and not all of us are stubborn enough to disagree with seven and a half billion people!” Betty exclaims. “Fine, I am on Spider-Man’s side, as an admirer of the good things he does, but as a friend, I’m on your side. A hundred percent.”

“You’re still making me go through with this date, aren’t you?”

“I have all the details right here in front of me, if you―”

MJ hangs up. Betty will forgive her.

―

The date takes place in the middle of the day in Central Park. It’s been two weeks since Peter allowed himself to be auctioned off, which has meant two weeks of MJ pleading with an immovable Betty to find a replacement and about two hours of stoic acceptance (just this morning). The time and location were selected for them based on what would result in the best pictures. Oh yeah, there’s a photographer here again, ready to spend the next three hours (three hours?) trailing them around the park to take candid shots of their afternoon. The paper’s planning a big image gallery for their website. According to Betty, this follow-up to her event will be their main photo story of the summer. Fucking excellent. All MJ could really do to prepare was wear comfortable white sneakers and a light denim jacket in case a wind came up or something. She’s already regretting that, with the sun right overhead in the sky and the air totally still around her. She moves her hair off her neck and turns to the photographer.

“He’ll probably be late,” MJ warns.

She, like the photographer, was early. Wanting to get today over with, she paid more attention to her willingness to participate (which might not last) than to showing up a full forty-five minutes ahead of the scheduled time. If this was a normal date, that might look like enthusiasm. Peter, in contrast, probably forgot this is happening today. He’s probably asleep or off somewhere being... Nope, here he comes, bounding up the path. Why did MJ wear the jacket? She’s so overheated.

“Hi,” Peter greets the photographer first, shaking her hand. Perennial people-pleaser, she thinks, but she did the same when she arrived. It just feels so natural to be judgemental towards him.

“And is it MJ or Michelle today?” he asks her.

Ooh, there was a little bite to that and MJ raises her eyebrows at it, though, if anything, she’s impressed that Peter’s developed some measure of a backbone.

“Michelle,” she says. She doesn’t offer her hand. He doesn’t reach for it.

The photographer’s probably great at her job, she wouldn’t have been given this assignment otherwise, but patience must be her next best quality; MJ knows she and Peter aren’t making today easy for her. Things are tense between them, their body language is awkward, their attempts at conversation are worse. She’s done a great job at keeping him out of her life, despite their best friends being engaged, and she really doesn’t want to ruin that by talking about her work, her hobbies, her family, her apartment, her aspirations. None of it. That doesn’t leave a lot and MJ isn’t encouraging Peter to share details of his life either. She’s spent such a long time striving to remain ignorant of everything Peter-related. Basically since they graduated high school.

The best photos of them will probably be at the pond, where they fed ducks and MJ felt her expression soften, if not quite break out into a smile. Then, there was the ice cream. There should be a few useable shots there, seeing as eating doesn’t require smiling, meaning MJ’s lack of a grin won’t seem odd. The best images will probably come from right after. MJ’s ice cream dripped on her jacket, which seemed like divine intervention at first―she finally had a reason to remove it that wouldn’t look like she was trying to get Peter to watch her take her clothes off―until he stealthily grabbed the jacket from her hand while she was trying not to dump the rest of her ice cream. He hasn’t given it back. Probably looks so fucking chivalrous, carrying it around for her and all MJ can do is feel exposed and too aware of her bare shoulders in her green tank top. The self-consciousness makes her grouchy and there’s still an hour of this date to go.

“Michelle, I know you don’t want to be here,” Peter informs her while the photographer’s a short distance away, changing out her memory card, “but this isn’t about you. You could at least try a little bit.”

Her face floods with angry heat.

“I don’t want to be here? Neither do you. You wish I was anybody else.”

His head jerks back.

“What? No, I don’t. If anything, I’m relieved.”

“Are you?” MJ’s suspicious.

“Well, I was when the mayor picked your name. I thought it might be nice to catch up with you rather than have to entertain some rich stranger. You don’t know how exhausting that is.”

She laughs and he spins towards her, clearly upset.

“Why do you have to react like that, like what I do is a joke?”

MJ holds up her hands.

“I’m sorry being with me is so tiring for you. I guess that’s why you were never around when we were supposed to be together.”

“We’re talking about high school now? You know why I missed dates.”

“Or showed up late, or left early,” she continues for him.

“Nobody knew then, dammit! I was all on my own, trying to be me and Spider-Man and, at the time, being him felt more important. Now, I can apologize for that, but I can’t fix it.”

MJ snorts.

“Would you even want to?”

“MJ,” he says, giving up on calling her by her full name, “we were fifteen.”

“And that means what? That it wasn’t a real relationship?”

A laugh bursts out of Peter that the photographer may have caught because MJ can hear her snapping photos of them again. Hopefully, she can’t see the wounded, incredulous look on MJ’s face from that angle.

“It means I was crazy about you and I had no idea what I was doing.”

“You could’ve told me about Spider-Man,” she says, lowering her voice and smoothing her expression as the photographer circles them.

“I kept trying to figure out how,” he admits. She studies his face in silence for a few seconds. “You dumped me before I could.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t very much fun being ignored.”

“I know. That’s been my life ever since.”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“Please. You aren’t ignored.”

“I meant by you.”

She opens her mouth but finds herself shaking her head instead of speaking.

“MJ...” Peter starts.

“Don’t,” she tells him. “Not... right now.”

MJ starts walking again, but not before seeing his eyes turn hopeful at the way she left things open. Peter skips to her side. They look sideways at each other and the atmosphere feels suddenly lighter. It’s been a long time, but also, maybe not so long. It pleases and terrifies her to see that he’s still Peter, even with the fame he’s gained over the years.

“Would you want to have dinner?” he asks quietly. “I think it’s pretty obvious that we have some things to sort out.”

She eyes him, wary.

“When?”

“Tonight?” Peter proposes. “Why not, right? I don’t know what these last two weeks have been like for you, but I don’t want to have to do that again. Sit around and wonder what you were thinking and how you could possibly still be so mad at me.”

MJ’s already told him she won’t get into that again at the moment, but now that he’s offering her an opportunity, she’s unsure if she wants to discuss their history at all. Maybe fourteen years later is still too soon.

“I’m wearing shorts,” she says, like that’s a feasible excuse. Peter looks down as if to confirm that.

“It’s not like I’ve never seen your bare legs before. MJ, come on,” he laughs when she strides away over the grass.

What is this looking like to the photographer? Playful? Adventurous? God, MJ doesn’t envy her or the person who’ll write the story, trying to weave a narrative out of this.

“You can go home first and change.”

“And where am I meeting you?” she asks, like she’s considering the idea.

“My place? Because it’s private,” he explains quickly at the look on her face. “I assumed you would’ve had enough of being watched for one day. If we went to a restaurant or something, everyone would stare.”

Ok, that’s reasonable, she supposes. She still doesn’t rush to agree.

“Just to talk?”

“Just to talk,” Peter confirms, jumping ahead of her and walking backwards so she’s forced to look at him. “I can make dinner too. What do you like? I have to buy groceries anyway.”

MJ halts.

“I’m not picky.”

“That means pasta, unless you say otherwise. Remember, I was raised by an Italian woman.”

“Fine.”

“Ok.”

Peter nods and gets out of her way so they can walk side by side again.

“By the way, all I meant by the leg thing was that I’ve seen you wear shorts before.”

He’s grinning. Such a little liar. MJ laughs loudly, surprising herself.

“Yeah, sure, Parker.”

They walk along in companionable silence for a few minutes, running down the clock on this date. Suddenly, Peter’s head tips towards her and he mumbles something. She asks him to repeat himself.

“Can I touch you now?”

“What?”

“Like, touch your back or hold your hand. Just so whoever puts this article together has something to work with.”

Yes, it’s the same thing she was thinking a little while ago, so she should agree to it, but she was also thinking that before he made another reference to her bare legs, and all the implication behind that comment. Would she say the fact that he brought it up surprises her? Yes. (Does that night still cross his mind?) Would she say there’s any sexual tension between them now because of it? Of course not. (Is she the only idiot here who just realized the feelings she swore she buried before junior year were in a very shallow grave?)

“Gimme my jacket back,” she says. When he does, she sighs and offers her hand in exchange.

―

“Theoretically,” MJ says, hunching and twisting to check her pinned-back hair in the bedroom mirror she hung a little low, “what would you wear to a first date at a guy’s apartment?”

Betty’s gasp comes across loud and clear on speakerphone.

“MJ, you have another date today? I know the one with Peter was technically fake, sorry to all the readers who are definitely going to ship the two of you, but don’t you pace yourself? I had no clue your dating life was so, um, active that you had to squeeze two in on the same day. And don’t tell me how that sounded. I hear it now.”

“None of that was advice.”

“You don’t really want my advice. I bet you’re already dressed. You just needed an excuse to call me because you’re nervous and too proud to ask me for a pep talk.”

“Ok, stop making me feel so fucking transparent!”

“Who’s the guy?” Betty wants to know. “What do we know about him? First date at his apartment, that’s―”

“It’s Peter.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say it’s Peter?”

“Yes, it’s Peter, so you don’t have to worry about me going over to his apartment.”

“But... how do you know where it is?” She can almost see her friend’s panicked expression.

“He texted it to me.”

“He has your phone number?”

“Why do you say that like it’s the most scandalous part of this situation? We exchanged numbers at the park this afternoon.” MJ steps back, still studying her reflection. She’s done the top half of her hair up and it looks pretty even.

“Right, at the park, on the date that you said would be the first and last time you cross paths this decade.”

“Maybe it’s like Cinderella and we get an unlimited number of meetings until midnight.”

“What if you stay later than midnight?”

“No reason to,” MJ assures her. “We’re just going to talk for a bit and eat, I don’t know, spaghetti or something.”

“Romantic.”

“Only if you’re a couple of dogs in a Disney movie.”

“Ok, now I’m curious,” Betty confesses. “What are you wearing to this absolutely not earth-shattering spaghetti dinner? If you say jeans, I’m staging an intervention.”

“Why not jeans?”

MJ says it to provoke her, reaching awkwardly around to fasten the hook at the top of her dress’s zipper.

“I love jeans,” her friend says, “but this isn’t a jeans occasion.”

“No?”

“MJ, quit it. Promise me you’re wearing something nice.”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’m wearing something nice.”

“Good. Put some condoms in your purse.”

“Betty!”

“Just one condom? MJ, it’s always better to be pre―”

MJ hangs up on her again. She’ll have to make up for this one.

―

His apartment isn’t what she was expecting. It isn’t a dump, but… Peter (or at least his alter ego) has to be one of the most renown living New Yorkers. MJ was picturing a space somewhere between ‘tasteful showroom of a modern furniture store’ and whatever the Spider-Man equivalent of Paris Hilton’s interior design sense is―red instead of pink and framed pictures of himself everywhere. This place isn’t any nicer than hers. Actually, it’s a little shabbier around the edges. She must have left her poker face at home because Peter (who, in her experience, is largely oblivious to her feelings) seems to know exactly what she’s thinking.

“I give most of it away,” he calls to her from the kitchen. He paused in his cooking to let her in, but he’s back at it while she tours his cramped living room.

“Give what away?”

He laughs.

“Whatever they try to give me. Free stuff, prize money for being chosen as Hero of the Year or something. I don’t know. I stopped paying attention. I just donate everything.”

“Are you trying to come off all noble and shit?” she accuses. She’s smirking though, with her back to the kitchen.

“No, just trying to guess at the questions you want answered. You don’t do much of your thinking out loud, you know that?”

“Why should I?”

She picks up a framed photo of Peter and Ned at the beach. When she sets it back down, she notices that the one beside it, clearly from the same day, is a shot of Peter and Betty doing a synchronized leap on the sand; Ned must be the photographer. What makes her almost knock it off the shelf is her jerky reaction to seeing Peter in nothing but swim trunks. With a surreptitious glance in Peter’s direction, MJ steadies the frame and steps away, face hot. Yeah, she’s seen his body before―when they were teenagers. Another decade and a half as a career ass-kicker and justice-bringer hasn’t exactly hurt his physique.

Ok, so he looks like a damn underwear model. Whatever. MJ can compartmentalize that and move on.

Joining him in the kitchen, she toys nervously with the box she brought. There’s a chocolate cake inside and she’s too wound up from nerves to be able to tell if it was the right thing to get. Is it too childish, like she sees this evening as some kind of Sixteen Candles throwback to the romance of their youth? Is it too decadent, like she’s trying to show up Peter’s cooking skills? God, she doesn’t know. MJ starts to wipe her clammy hands on her dress before spinning and hiding them behind her back instead as she leans backward into the counter to watch him.

She doubts this guy has experience cooking for an audience (and secretly, she’s relieved at the thought that there hasn’t been a parade of hookups through here). There’s food on his short-sleeved button-down, utensils gripped desperately in both hands, and his feet are bare. Not that it’s a problem, in his own home, it’s just weirdly vulnerable. Although, MJ’s are bare too. It’s summer and she wiggles her toes freely, anxiously, wanting to both have something to do and to stand here observing him without getting involved. Being in Peter’s apartment is already so involved.

“Can you grab the bowls for me?” he suddenly requests and MJ jerks, realizing she’s been staring at the way his shirt hugs his shoulders.

She does it without replying, retrieving the bowls from where Peter points and handing them off with a civil little nod. The closer she is to him, the quieter she seems to get. It feels wrong and like the complete opposite of what happened earlier today. This is her opportunity for closure, isn’t it? If this is really the end, like she told Betty it would be, then that’s why she’s here tonight; they’ll hash things out and spend the rest of their lives peacefully keeping their distance―as opposed to maintaining it irritatedly, the way MJ’s been doing. Why else would she have come?

“Aw man,” Peter sighs as he dishes up their food. He’s just noticed the stains on his shirt.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a hurricane in there.”

“Sorry,” he says, setting the bowls on his tiny kitchen table, “I’ll… I’ll just… You can start eating. I’ll be right back.”

MJ’s going to refuse for the sake of good manners, but her mouth closes almost as quickly as she opens it because Peter starts unbuttoning his shirt faster than he turns away. She almost knocks over her water glass. He might be the one with food on his clothes, but she’s a fucking mess tonight. Quickly, she averts her eyes as he stumbles to the door that must conceal his bedroom, presumably for a fresh shirt. She can only try to calm her heartrate and twist her bowl back and forth on its placemat in his absence. Conclusions. Endings. Closure. Renewed attraction, MJ thinks―staring down into the colourful splay of thin sauce, vibrant vegetables, and bright seafood―is not on the table.

And it really might have worked out the way she planned if Peter had redressed completely in his room, instead of walking out still pulling his t-shirt down. Instead of shuffling towards her as he tugged it into place. Instead of catching her staring at his naked stomach.

She’s flustered by being caught, hands fluttering over her silverware, and by the feeling of him looking at her. Why is he doing that? To make sure she knows he caught her? She’s embarrassed enough. When she reminds herself that she’s a successful, independent adult and not the teenage girl whose heart was broken gradually by neglect, she has the strength to glance up. He isn’t looking at her anymore. They eat dinner like regular people. If anything, they’re more courteous versions of themselves, skimming the details of the personal lives they didn’t discuss earlier in the day. He’s curious about her job; she asks after his aunt, her last memory of whom is a smiling face behind a camera on graduation day. This must be part one of how this goes: catching up.

Towards the end of dinner, when chewing has loosened MJ’s face enough to let the smiles slip out and the wine Peter eventually remembered to open has added more colour to his cheeks than their afternoon in the sun, they slide smoothly into part two: reminiscence. They’re not drunk, there’s just something awfully tempting about the freckles strewn across his nose. Self-policing the way she’s drawn to him makes MJ gawky and making conversation gets dicey. One minute it’s football games and decathlon practices, the next it’s the dates he missed and the passive-aggressive responses she gave him. He’s wounded, she’s flippant. He all but orders her to stay seated while he clears the table; she tosses her hair over her shoulder and swishes out of her chair to get the cake.

“You could’ve called me to say you weren’t coming,” MJ snaps, trying to unknot the ribbon securing the box. She presumed it was purely decorative; it turns out to be shockingly sturdy. “One of those times. Any of those times. But you just… never showed up.”

“I was preoccupied. I was saving people, on my own,” he retorts. She hears the dishes clatter into the sink. “I thought you were the one person I wouldn’t need to explain myself to.”

“I didn’t need a justification, Peter, but it would’ve been nice to know why you were never there.”

“Yeah, and it would’ve been nice if you could’ve been a little less selfish.”

His words land like a slap and she spins around. Likely spotting her movement from the corner of his eye, he turns from the sink opposite, bracing his hands behind him.

“I was selfish?” she echoes. “Because I was fifteen and naïve enough to think that when I finally let somebody in, they’d do the same and be there for me?”

“A lot of people needed me!” Peter insists. His chest is heaving.

“What have they ever given you in return?” she demands. “Money that you won’t take? Awards you can’t use? A date―” She laughs and gestures to herself, hands sweeping her body. “―you sure as hell never asked for?”

“That’s not nothing.”

“It is nothing! I gave you everything!” MJ shouts at him. The roar of it doesn’t stop her so much as convince her that she’s started something she can’t stop. “I went home with you after that party because your aunt wasn’t going to be there. Because you told her you were spending the night at Ned’s.” It’s controlled fury in her voice now and Peter doesn’t try to halt the recitation. “We were so shy with each other that we barely managed to hold hands in public, but I fucking felt something that night, so I got on your bed and said I was ready and when I woke up afterwards, you were gone.”

“There was an emergency,” Peter murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” Her voice isn’t loud, but it flicks out like a whip. “What was it? Can you remember? Do you remember it better than you remember us taking each other’s virginities because, honestly, Peter, I think my memory of realizing I’d been left all alone in that apartment is stronger than what happened before that.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“So it’s nice, actually,” she continues sarcastically, “if us having sex only comes in second place for you too.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“I. Don’t. Believe. You.” Well, she hasn’t cried, so that’s something. She points beside him, hand shaking slightly, at the black block holding a selection of knives. “Pass me a knife.”

“What? No.”

“It’s to get the stupid cake box open. Pass me a fucking knife!”

Peter pushes away from the sink, hard, and holds her eye as he nudges her out of the way and snaps the ribbon with his hands. She’s breathing heavily.

“I don’t know if you like chocolate ca―”

“No,” he says firmly. “We’re not done talking about this. You hurt me. I never meant to leave you there, ok? I came back and you were gone and then the next day you dumped me. It tortured me that I left. It seemed like I was doing the right thing, going out to help people, but how could the right thing have made me lose you? I thought about that night constantly. Not the part where I walked out on you or you walked out on me, but the good part, and I felt guilty about that, like… like I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it? Because it must’ve been wrong since things went downhill for us so fast after that.”

“A mistake,” MJ summarizes. Voice flat. Dead, even. All these years she’s kept that memory and meanwhile, he’s been thinking it never should’ve happened.

“It wasn’t the mistake. I was.”

As mad as she is, she can’t let Peter put this on himself. It just wouldn’t be factual.

“You couldn’t be a mistake. It’s not in your DNA.”

“I never felt like that again,” he admits, offering her something in return for her reassurance. “The way I did the night we were together.”

“You haven’t had sex since then?”

“Oh, no, I have, it’s just never had the same…”

“I know,” she sighs and ignores the look he darts at her. She can’t stop him from replying though.

“Your sex life’s missing something too?”

“That is absolutely none of your fucking business.”

MJ flips the cake box open and crosses to the knife block, extracting a blade with a smug smile. She returns and slices the cake cleanly.

“Plates, please,” she instructs.

“You asked me first,” Peter points out.

“I didn’t make you answer.”

They are not talking about this, she will not talk about this. Not when she’s seen too much of his skin and they’ve finally dumped some of the baggage they’ve been lugging around this hellish airport of a somewhat-grown-up life. No, she’s far too attracted to him right now, with his glorious abs and his emotional intelligence. MJ is going to serve the cake and secure herself some goddamn closure.

“I just think it’s interesting,” Peter observes. He leans on the counter beside her. Sonofabitch, look at those forearms. “That neither of us has experienced anything like that with anybody else.”

With the flat of the blade, she lifts a slice and lays it on its side on the plate he lazily holds up for her.

“Probably just a numbers thing,” she says lightly.

“Meaning we are gonna have sex like that again?”

“Not with each other. Don’t get your hopes up, Parker.”

He grins and she realizes that, in the process of attempting to dissuade him, she might’ve just flirted with him. Completely by accident. MJ rolls her eyes and gets her own piece of cake. With a jerk of his head, Peter leads her over to his couch. When she sits at the far end, he doesn’t try to get too close, taking the other end. They spend a couple of minutes eating. She’s relieved that the cake’s good and that he seems to like it. He did a nice job on dinner.

“I’m a little embarrassed about the t-shirt,” Peter says eventually. She glances over and he looks down at his chest. The temperature’s changed again though; he isn’t being coy or suggestive, just genuinely humble. “I should own more dress clothes, but… I don’t really have an excuse.” He laughs. “I don’t really like them.”

“You’re fine. You’ve always been a t-shirt guy. Maybe this is an ‘if it ain’t broke’ situation.”

“You look really pretty.”

MJ blushes and feels silly about it. Her eyes drop to her plate and she watches herself push chocolate frosting around before piling it up on the cake she has left.

“I think I might be too old for ‘pretty.’”

“Bullshit.” Peter edges nearer and she looks up at him to see him pointing his fork at her. “You’re not too old to be called pretty and I’m not too old to be excited over chocolate cake.”

“It’s good, right?” she agrees with a smile.

“When you opened that box, I just about lost my mind.” He grins at her. “If we hadn’t been fighting when…”

MJ frowns when he trails off.

“What is it?” Her shoulders fall slightly. “Did you sense something? Do you have to go?”

“Unless there’s a meteor headed for Earth, I’m letting the cops handle things tonight,” he promises. “You just… you have chocolate on your lip.”

He traces the spot on his own face and she wipes at hers. Without Peter touching her to do it himself, this shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but the other thing he said won’t let her move on.

“Why should I believe that?” MJ asks. There’s no nastiness in her tone. She sets her empty plate aside and after the final bite of his cake, Peter copies her.

“Because I learned my lesson about priorities really, really well a long time ago.” He shifts closer again and she angles her knees towards him, heart clamoring.

“Are you sure?”

“I think so,” he tells her, face full of honesty. “I’ve never officially tested it because…” Peter shrugs. “…there was never another you.”

“She could be out there.”

“There’s only you,” he says softly, shaking his head. MJ didn’t quite notice when the space between them disappeared, but his hand is gentle on the side of her neck. “And you’re right here.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just happen to take my fake dating responsibilities very seriously.”

“This one isn’t fake.” His fingers slide around to the back of her neck.

“I’ll have to update Betty,” MJ says with airy thoughtfulness as her gaze dips to Peter’s mouth.

“I think you might still have some frosting on your lip…”

Apparently, he can still be as much of a cheesy idiot as he was at fifteen and she’d smile if she wasn’t so terrified. Their lips brush lightly, then Peter seals them together, holding her fast. She cries out a little at his certainty. That’s what it feels like, but certainty in what? In his kissing abilities? In them, here together? MJ isn’t sure where she stands on that issue, only that it’s far from where she started this evening, with her self-delusions on closure and walking out of this apartment either more at peace or completely unchanged. So much for those possibilities. She hadn’t accounted for what their second first kiss would feel like.

They aren’t kids anymore, so she can skip the tentative shit.

MJ grabs his face with both hands, fingers curling beneath his jaw, and kisses him back with a greedy feverishness. There, let him see what she wants. If he rejects her, he rejects her. He’ll never do worse to her than he already has. But Peter doesn’t ease off, doesn’t try to backtrack to a scrubbed-clean Disney kiss that compresses romance to two dimensions. He lets go of her neck and grabs her by the hips, hauling her forward. She takes his shoulders and settles her knees on the couch on either side of him. Right away, he pulls her down and she doesn’t resist, grinding in his lap with her dress accordioned between them. Peter’s hand finds the edge of her skirt and snakes up her inner thigh to cup her over her underwear. In the same motion, he rubs his fingers against her through the lace. She breaks the kiss wetly and pants next to his ear.

“I wanna take you to my bedroom now,” he tells her, still rubbing while she rubs right back, seeking the friction with a jerk of her hips, “unless there’s some other way you want tonight to go.”

“No, I think we definitely better fuck.”

With that unambiguous assent, Peter hitches her hips against his and stands up with his hands secure beneath her ass and thigh. MJ wraps her legs around him and crosses her ankles.

So, this is Peter at 29. His feet slap the floor of his apartment and their mouths meet over and over with passion and imprecision. He makes it from the living room and into the kitchen without hitting anything; the air smells like dinner as they pass through and what wine the pasta in her belly hasn’t absorbed makes her press her abdomen against his cock while she’s still in his arms. He shoves her to the nearest wall and rocks hard between her thighs, squeezed close by her heels digging into his firm ass. At this point, MJ doesn’t particularly care if they do this on a horizontal surface. There’s a lot stoking this fire and while there wasn’t this much heat in their history (they had sex one time and it was gentle, caring, unhurried), the small flame’s kept burning all these years, ready to be fanned high at the first opportunity.

Peter gathers her against him and heads for his bedroom instead. His willpower’s something, with how fucking solid he is in the front of his jeans. (Jeans, Betty! MJ thinks. Goddamn double standard.) He doesn’t stop to turn on a light―taking her right to his bed and never letting her go as he lays her back―but the late summer sun provides a fading glow through his window and the door he didn’t shut behind them lets warm light spill in from the kitchen. MJ’s breathing hard as her hands, trembling with impatience, peel the t-shirt off of the adult boy she knew. Briefly, he hoists her hips to remove her underwear. She’s embarrassed when he draws them down her legs with a look of realization on his face and holds them up for the light to shine through the lace.

“Even with the denial, it didn’t seem impossible that we might end up here,” MJ offers before Peter can comment. She sighs and admits the rest. “I also have a condom in my purse.”

“We won’t need it.”

He dives down, kissing her neck as his hands smooth her dress up her thighs. With her knees bent, it doesn’t take much to make the material pool at her hips. But MJ pushes at his shoulders and Peter lifts his head.

“Like hell are we not using a condom.”

“No,” he says, expression earnest (there’s his face the first time he asked her out), “I just meant we won’t need the one you brought. I, uh, I didn’t only buy groceries before you came over.”

“Good.”

“Yeah?” Peter grins down at her. She nods.

“That means I’m not the only one who…” Felt something. Hoped for more. MJ can’t quite say that yet, so she shrugs and moves on. “Also means I don’t have to go get my purse.”

He agrees by returning his mouth to her throat, sucking until she gasps, then bucking his hips into hers to make her moan.

“Stay right here.”

“Mmm,” she consents, scraping her fingers through his hair.

Noticing him leaning into the sensation, MJ closes her hand into a fist and gives his hair a tug. Peter groans against her neck and wraps his arms around her. With his hands wedged under her back, she can feel him hunting for her dress’s zipper. She’s lying on top of it and there’s the little hook to fiddle with. It's not that she doesn’t think he can figure it out―it’s that she doesn’t want to wait that long.

“Let me do it,” she murmurs, tapping his arms this time to get him to lift off of her.

He looks dazed when he does, flinging himself to the side, which leaves MJ temporarily leaning back with her skirt up and no underwear on. This is completely not how she saw today turning out. It does make her pause and think for a second, to see if this feels wrong or thoughtless or otherwise emotionally harmful to the person she might go back to being when it’s over. Maybe if she waited longer, her inner voice would say something else, but there’s a consensus of tens from the judges (her brain, heart, and vagina) that she should absolutely nail Peter Parker. If they didn’t share this history and he was a guy she met through mutual friends or a dating app who held off on disappointing her long enough for them to get here, would she sleep with him? With those eyes and that ass, yeah, why not? Maybe the rockiness of their mutual past should make this feel worse, but, in this moment, it feels better. It feels like that thing from fourteen years ago. And this time around, she has a confidence in her body that she couldn’t even see on the horizon at fifteen.

MJ scrambles off the bed and turns to look at Peter. On his back with his shirt off in the dying light, he could be selling an expensive cologne. He’s probably been approached. The obvious bulge in the front of his jeans makes it a little racy for ads though. She’ll just have to appreciate it on behalf of Spider-Man fans everywhere. After all, she’s the one who won a date with him.

“The condoms are… where?”

Peter points to his nightstand and her hand hovers in front of the drawer with a second of hesitation. What if there’s some kind of raunchy sex toy in here and she’s about to find out that his bedroom escapades with other women are not something she’s prepared to compete with. Or what if there’s a photo of another ex-girlfriend? She hasn’t had the right to feel possessive of him for a small eternity, but seeing some other woman’s smiling face would be a blow. MJ opens the drawer. Besides the unopened box of condoms, she sees a travel pack of Kleenex, a cord for a cellphone or a tablet, and a couple loose aspirin that he should at bare minimum be keeping in a container, if not in a bathroom medicine cabinet. Overall, she’s relieved. It’s the sort of stuff she would’ve expected if she hadn’t spent the years since high school trying to hate him. She gets the box open and tosses him a condom that he’s alert enough to snatch out of the air. Then, MJ turns to face away from him as she reaches back to unfasten the hook.

“Wait,” he says when she starts on the zipper.

Somehow, she knows what he wants. She drops her hands and takes a step back towards the bed, drawing her hair over her shoulder and twisting it around her hand. Soon, Peter’s hands land on the middle of her back before he lowers the zipper. MJ can hear him breathing. With that done, she shuffles the straps off her shoulders and lets the dress slip to the floor like an exhale. She didn’t wear a bra.

She turns and climbs on top of him. Their kisses are sloppy and demanding and Peter’s got one hand between her legs with the other groping her breast in about a second flat. He discovers how wet she is―it’s wetter than she gets for just anybody―and plunges two fingers inside her, which is really distracting since she’s trying to get his jeans open. Giving in for a minute, MJ holds Peter by the back of his neck, lets her head fall back, and pumps up and down on his fingers while he swears like she’s never heard him swear. No, they never could’ve produced this at fifteen.

Forcing herself to remember that she could have his dick instead, she rides his fingers more shallowly and refocuses on his button and zipper. On the downside, he removes his hand to help her get his jeans and boxers off (Peter, she thinks, you still wear boxers?), but on the upside, those same hands get the condom on with speed and precision. Carefully, she removes the pins that have started to become snarled in her hair and tosses them backwards. Sounds like they skate across his nightstand and fall onto the floor. She isn’t concerned at the moment.

“You like being on top or do you wanna be on the bottom?” he asks, sagged back with his elbows propping him up and MJ perched on his thighs.

“Let’s not ask,” she suggests.

Normally, that isn’t what she’d say at all. She’s big on telling her partner what she does and does not like. Even if it’s someone she’s been with a few times, sex can be a bit of an interaction―you do this for me, I’ll do that for you―with the end goal of both parties walking away sexually satisfied. She wants more from Peter than an orgasm. Not being able to say that out loud doesn’t negate it. She trusts his intuition and, more than that, she trusts this thing between them. Whatever it is, MJ’s leaving everything to it. She’s surrendering control because the thought of cutting this up with questions to make it fit the mould of what sex is like with anyone else makes her sick. She takes a slow breath and speaks again.

“Let’s just… be here.”

He’s nodding so maybe she didn’t sound stupid, or just not stupid to him.

“Ok,” Peter agrees softly. “I’m not gonna fuck it up this time.”

She can’t ask whether that’s a promise to her or to himself because he sits up abruptly to meet her lips with his. As he fills her mouth with his tongue, she relaxes into him, draping her arms around his shoulders and shifting her hips forward. She can feel his cock, rigid and hot. MJ starts lifting up, hinting for Peter to slip inside her, but he flips her onto her back to continue blowing her mind with the desire in this French kiss. He holds his hips back to leave space for his hand to once again work two fingers into her, this time also using his thumb to play with her clit. She’s woozy with how good he makes her feel. Just when the kiss has her thinking they’re slowing things down (and the kiss is getting particularly dirty now, making her clench around his fingers), Peter brings her to climax by sneaking a third finger into her channel and curling all three in a sudden stab at her g-spot. Gasping against his mouth, MJ breaks the kiss, hips pitching onto his hand for almost a full minute from when the bliss first hits.

“Shit,” she breathes.

Peter laughs with disbelief as he draws back to look at her.

“That’s something I never thought I’d get to see again.”

“Yeah, lucky you,” MJ congratulates, smirking liquidly.

He seems ready to proceed beyond foreplay now, withdrawing his fingers and grasping her hip, but she decides to enjoy him a little more thoroughly first. She lets him settle between her legs without pressing inside and winds her fingers into his hair again as she nudges her mouth to his. Peter thrusts slowly along her wetness, making her legs quiver when he bumps her clit. Arching up, her chest skims his and she’s sure that, with a little bit of time, she could come a second time from the way he’s grinding against her and the rub of her nipples over the hard planes of his chest. Spider-Man looks good outside the suit.

When she tumbles him to the side, he goes willingly and matches her fleeting, sultry smile. MJ shifts her weight to encourage Peter all the way onto his back, then gets herself positioned on top of him, still riding his erection without taking him inside. She wonders what’s making her start to sweat―a failure of his air conditioning or the buzz that’s getting stronger with every pass along his sheathed erection. Bracing her hands on either side of his shoulders, she bends to kiss and lick across his chest, finding the same faint saltiness on his skin. He grabs her hips and guides her more forcefully along his cock. MJ’s moaning in short pants, Peter’s groaning brokenly. He rolls her onto her side and their legs tangle before he lifts her upper thigh to make room to fit his hips into the gap and, with their foreheads pressed together, push into her.

She has to close her eyes. Her body takes him in immediately, but her mind needs a little longer.

Peter doesn’t rush her, but he doesn’t back off entirely, the way he would’ve when they were a couple of kids hanging all their hopes on it turning out right. MJ’s not putting that kind of pressure on the sex this time around. Back then, part of how badly she wanted it was that she harboured this belief that being physical with him would fix things; it was finally a way to guarantee his focus was completely on her. For Peter, well, she can only guess, but maybe he needed to feel more grounded in himself when he was living so much of his life in secret as this whole other entity.

“You want me?” she asks him now, opening her eyes to observe his face, so close it’s blurry.

“Yeah, I want you.” Sensing her resolve, he thrusts harder and she makes her leg slack so he can hike it up onto his hip.

“You wanna be anywhere else?”

Peter shifts his head back and she becomes aware that they’re on the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed. It’s so familiar that her heart surges even before he stares her right in the eye.

“Nowhere else,” he swears.

She gives him a sharp nod before her tear ducts can get any ideas and kisses him fiercely, swinging her hips down to meet his upstroke. There’s a choked sound from Peter’s throat and he tips her onto her back with a mumbled, “Oh god, M.”

On her back, MJ reaches to grasp the edge of the mattress and Peter pounds into her. She’s tempted to shut her eyes and drown in the sensations, but she fights it to gaze at him. Initially, she thinks he’s like a machine; strong, efficient, accurate (fuck, he found her g-spot before and he’s hounding it ruthlessly now). On second thought, he is what he made himself; perceptive, considerate, real despite the persona that’s grown and grown and grown. The action figure it’d probably be easy to slink into the shadow of. It’s clear to her that he separates them better now and that somehow embracing his other identity is what allowed him to do that. And she wasn’t around for any of it. Has she just stepped back into his life now that it’s easier for her? MJ has to admit that, on some level, of course. That’s exactly what she’s done, but she didn’t plan it that way and the intervening years haven’t been smooth for her either―changing careers, struggling to stay present with partners, maintaining friendships only with the couple of people who wouldn’t let her dissolve from their lives. It seems to her that she’s ready to hang on at the very moment Peter’s ready to be hung onto. This already wasn’t supposed to happen. The draw she wasn’t supposed to win, the date that she tried to get Betty to find her a replacement for, the invitation to dinner, everything that spilled out between dinner and dessert, and finally, how they came together on his couch. Both of them making that choice.

MJ cries out, one hand dropping to grab his shoulder, then cup the back of his neck, her gaze roving the ceiling.

“You can shut your eyes,” Peter huffs, driving forward. “I’ve got you.”

She does. He has her. Twining her legs around the backs of his, MJ urges him forward blindly. Peter sucks her nipple, runs his mouth up the side of her neck until she shudders, then does it some more. His hand tilts her hips and he slides into her just that much better, striking the right spot with fiery fixation.

“Peter! Peterpeterpeter,” she chants. Her eyes open and his face is right above hers. She orgasms with a flinch that lifts her mouth to his. A new reflex―to kiss him.

His thrusts are short and quick as he finishes, humming against her mouth, a long M. She can’t believe she tried to make him call her by her full name. She’d rather hear ‘MJ’ from Peter, and she’s rather hear it just like this, his lips vibrating against hers, feeling all the years between them and yet, not feeling them at all.

#my writing #spideychelleweek2k20 #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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psychopersonified · 5 years ago

Text

Keep Calm, Dance On

Part of the prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".

I'll post little snippets of their 'not dating' days in this series. Little events that draw them together and the intimacy they share in plain sight.

This particular snippet is an excuse to write a dancing Q and the effect it has on 007.

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“Is that Nish’s mix of Vodka, Redbull and Ribena?” Q surprises him by reaching for the glass, fingers curling around Bond’s to pull it close and takes a sip from it.

The gesture is scandalously intimate considering they are still in HQ among colleagues - if anyone was watching, it would seem as if Bond was feeding him the drink.

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Notes: Inspired by Tom Hiddleston’s dance moves. If you haven't watched it, you have to! ENJOY!

———————————----------------------------------------------------

SIS HQ - Q-Branch Lower Ground Level 1

They have rigged the lights to strobe and change colours like in a club. Electronic dance music blares from the PA system. The office space on Lower Ground level 1 has been cleared, equipment moved to the edges and covered with black cloth.

Bond is nursing a violently sweet concoction that included a large percentage of Redbull, Ribena and Vodka that Nish handed to him at the door.

He sidles up to Eve catching her attention by touching her on the arm with the hand holding the drink.

“What is this?” Bond has hardly been to any social gatherings organised internally. Except formal affairs where attendance was compulsory, he’s eschewed getting too chummy with his colleagues.

Eve smiles at him a little disbelieving, “James, haven’t you ever been to one of these? Oh you’re in for a treat.”

It does not look like much is going on at the moment. A large section of the central floor is outlined and gridded with hazard tape in what looks like a potential dance floor. However, no one is dancing despite the music, preferring to keep to the edges.

“What a smashing party,” his voice dipping with sarcasm.

“Oh James, don’t be so quick to judge. Just wait—…”

And just then, the lights dim as if on cue. The outer glass doors swish open and white smoke floating low on the ground rolls into the main space. A tall slim male figure is silhouetted in the doorway. The crowd quiets down immediately.

“What’s happening?”

“Hush!” Eve bids him, pulling them into a better position.

The music picks up. The figure descends the short flight of stairs, feet quick and lithe, then comes sauntering towards the dance floor in long easy strides. The crowd parts for him.

He stops right in the centre of the dance floor and the lights brighten just enough to reveal of all people, the Quartermaster dressed in an impeccable black suit - this one for once tailored perfectly to his lanky figure. The jacket and trousers are tight accentuating the slim waist and long slender legs. The hair is still a floppy artful mess, but the back is clipped short and neat, making him look much younger than he really is - he could still effortlessly pass as a university student.

Bond chokes badly on his drink, hiding it quickly with a cough. Not quick enough. Eve’s eyes slide to the left to regard him with with a look and a smirk.

On the dance floor, Q strikes a nonchalant pose. A hand comes up to undo the single button on the dinner jacket. His hips start moving to the rising beat. The air is thick with anticipation.

Then it happens - the beat drops and Q is a sudden blur of movement. His long legs ripping up the dance floor in time with the music and with practiced ease. His movements are precise and controlled but infused with fluid grace.

There is no trace of the cloistered, sometimes hesitant and flailing chief boffin that calls this concrete cave his lair. These, my god, these are the confident movements of a young man that has done more than his fair share of clubbing in the trendy nightclubs of London.

Bond is rendered speechless. He is aware that the intense scowl forming on his face is an over compensation - to keep his jaw from hang open otherwise.

The crowd of semi inebriated colleagues ROAR, wildly appreciative. They start to close in on the dance floor.

Around the edges of the crowd, movement catches Bond’s trained eyes. He’s not the only Double-0 invited to party. He can see 003 and 006 emerge from their lurking places behind thick brick columns. Their quartermaster’s sudden display of sexuality has piqued their interest - like predators catching the movement of prey, it is almost as if they can’t help themselves.

This will NOT do. Something that has been smouldering for sometime inside Bond ignites - something deeply possessive and steeped with arousal.

The music builds to a crescendo and the whole thing is over in less than three minutes. Q’s choreography finishing in time with it. He is panting a little, but otherwise unruffled.

There is a brilliant smile on his face as his hands finds the edges of his jacket to straighten it with a dramatic flourish before doing up the buttons again. When he’s done, he spreads his arms, palms up in welcome - and he tips his head to the crowd.

The Quartermaster officiates the party by calling to everyone, “Please, carry on!”

With that the music starts again and the party begins in earnest. People clapping, cheering and pouring onto the dance floor. The place is transformed in an instant.

The melee of moving bodies helps Q melt into the crowd and Bond looses sight of him for a moment. He sees 003 dart out from her position to slice into the crowd. Her red hair and outfit light making her more easy to see.

Shit. Bond scans the crowd for Q. When he finds the quartermaster, he launches himself into the crowd - completely forgetting to take leave of Eve who was still standing next to him.

How rude! Eve doesn’t really take offence. In fact, she’s surprised he’s lasted this long. She barks out a laugh and shakes her head. 007 likes to think he’s an international man of mystery - but he can be so obvious at times.

Conveniently for Bond, Q was making his way in his direction - or more likely towards Eve. They’d probably agreed to meet somewhere near the drinks table.

Bond intercepts smoothy, he passes Q on the man’s right and swings around behind him to end up on the left. This allows Bond to hook his right arm around Q’s waist briefly before resting his palm on the small of his back.

The move catches Q off guard who was about to say hello to Bond. For a moment, he felt a twinge of embarrassment when thought the agent was going to walk straight past him - only to be startled when 007 ends up nearly pressed to his side on the left.

“Have you been holding out on me quartermaster?” the loud music an excuse for Bond to lean in close, lips nearly touching Q’s ear.

He takes the opportunity to glance back to where he last saw 003. She was just ten feet shy of catching up to them. He sends her a wink and she stops in her tracks. She smiles back with a shake of her head conceding defeat.

“Ah, 007. I see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence after all.” Q smiles up at him. He is still panting slightly from the exertion of the dance - his lips are dark pink and there is beautiful colour in his cheeks which just further highlights the smooth curve of his cheekbones.

The effect hits Bond like a punch to the gut. Fuck. He wants so badly to devour those lips. To bury his hands in that ridiculous hair. To make him pant prettily in his arms. ..

“…Bond? Are you alright?” Q’s concern snap him out of his thoughts.

“Ah yes. Sorry where are my manners. Let’s get you a drink.” Bond holds up his half empty glass in his left hand and gestures towards the drinks table.

“Is that Nish’s mix of Vodka, Redbull and Ribena?” Q surprises him by reaching for the glass, fingers curling around Bond’s to pull it close and takes a sip from it.

The gesture is scandalously intimate considering they are still in HQ among colleagues - if anyone was watching, it would seem as if Bond was feeding him the drink.

The thought of it results in a flaring heat of arousal that nearly causes him to trip - and he has to violently push it back into its cage. Bond is pretty sure he is starting to show in his trousers.

“Ugh! Every bit as vile as imagined,” Q passes verdict on the drink. The sip leaves a layer of shiny sweet liquid on his lips and Bond wonders how it would taste if he were to lick it off.

Stop it. Behave! Bond is blindsided by the intensity of his own reactions. At this rate he is not sure how he will survive the night.

“Come. I know what you’ll like..” Q veers off before they reach the drinks table. Bond’s imagination is going to overdrive and his mouth dry. He follows closely because that is all he can do at the moment. He would have followed Q right off a cliff if it meant he could remain within touching distance.

They peel away from the crowd of revellers and make their way to the back of the cavernous space. There is a recessed area in the back, off to the side that serves as Q’s unofficial office. It is dark, but there is just enough light from the party to illuminate the area dimly.

Q ducks into a corner and switches on one of the worklamps, angling the shade upwards so it throws light onto the ceiling instead. The effect is to softly illuminate the recess - almost romantic.

Then Q goes to the filing cabinet behind his desk and pulls out from the bottom drawer a bottle of 12 year old Macallan Whisky; three quarters full. He looks around the workspace for something.

“…I don’t have a clean glass.” Q explains.

Bond looks around, he sees the penholder on Q’s desk. It is an old mug with a broken handle. He removes the contents and then tips the remains of the Vodka-Redbull-Ribena into the receptacle.

Q hands him the bottle of scotch; then moves to sit on the edge of his desk facing the party. His long legs extend out in front of him.

Bond rinses out the glass with the tiniest amount of scotch he can bear to waste, then pours enough for both of them to share. He passes the glass back to Q before settling himself on the edge of the table as well - shoulder brushing Q’s.

“Ah, much better.” Q says after a sip.

“Never guessed you to be a scotch drinker. Then again, never pegged you for a dancer either…” Bond says as he reaches for the glass in Q’s right hand. Instead of taking it from him, Bond returns the gesture Q made earlier - his larger hand wrapping around the smaller one to pull the glass towards himself.

“Did I meet your expectations?” Q asks, eyes not leaving his as he watches Bond take a sip.

“Oh, I’d dare say you’ve exceed it—“ he replies after he swallows. Then right into Q’s ear, “—by a wide margin.”

Q shoots him a fond look that tells him how ridiculous he is being, but makes no move to put any distance between them. It is a brief look, but tenderness blooms in his chest and he has to look away before he does something stupid.

His eyes end up following the stretch of long slim legs clad in tight trousers; which was a poor move. He knows he is going to end up with the worst case of blue balls by the end of the night.

They stay that way for the next half hour. Watching the party, gossiping a little and sharing the drink. Not once did he remove the glass from Q’s hand, preferring to repeat what he did earlier each time he takes a sip - drinking right out of the quartermaster’s hand.

——The End——

Note: If you liked this fic, there’s more like it on the blog. Including my take on a kidnapped Q. Enjoy!

#00q #00q fanfiction #00q fic #q #quartermaster

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years ago

Text

To Keep You Safe

Title: We wear red so they don’t see us bleed

Chapter: 5/?

Author: hopeless_romantic_spoonie

Summary: Life as the assistant to Tony Stark was busy, but boring. All of that changed when I touched something I shouldn’t have and woke up with strange new abilities. If I thought that trying to figure out my new place in life as an Avenger was tough, I had no idea what was in store for me once I ran into the frustrating God of Mischief, Loki.

Rating: E (later on)

Notes: Friendly reminder that this is un-Beta’d, so please excuse any typos or grammatical errors I no doubt missed during revisions.

Also on Ao3 here :)

Warnings for this chapter: Blood, language, and violence

After our talk, to his credit, Loki did give me a wide berth. For the next several weeks of life on the Compound, I trained and practiced with Natasha and Wanda, hung out with Thor and Sam, and watched TV with Steve without a single confrontation–let alone sighting. The Trickster God had to have been using whatever abilities he normally employed to keep tabs on everyone to steer clear of me. And that was one hundred percent peachy-keen in my book.

Tony and Bruce finally finished their extensive testing on all things me. It was decided that the only powers the mystery box gave me were geokinesis and an increased healing rate. When I asked for a reason why this happened, I was given some medical mumbo jumbo that instantly turned my brain to mush. Long story short, they didn’t know what the box had been, only what it had done to me, and it wasn’t going away. This was my new normal.

The knowledge that this wasn’t going away was one hell of a motivator to get a better handle on everything. And because of that, my grasp on my powers improved. I could control more than one object at a time, and it didn’t drain me physically nearly as much as it did in the beginning. Nor did it require such an emotional toll. I could draw on them without bringing forth the full scope of emotional upheaval as before, although that did seem to help. There was still so much work to do, but I was getting there. Slowly but surely.

As for my physical abilities, those lessons were kicking my ass just as much as I had anticipated. I wasn’t super strong like Steve or Thor, so I had to be more thoughtful and strategic when fighting. Brute force wasn’t going to work when I was only five and a half feet tall and preferred cookies to carrots. Natasha worked on teaching me various martial art techniques that relied more on striking effectively than hammering away at my opponent with my fists. It made sense but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard as hell. I limped away from our training sessions covered in bruises and nursing strained muscles more often than not. Thank goodness for accelerated healing. I needed it to keep up with the grueling sparring sessions.

~~~

Flashing red lights and F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice echoing throughout the entire Compound jerked me out of my exhaustion-induced sleep. “All Avengers report to the Quinjet immediately. All Avengers, gather your gear and report to the Quinjet immediately.”

I lurched out of bed and ran to my closet, throwing on a pair of dark jeans and a thick long-sleeved t-shirt. I didn’t have a custom suit like everyone else, but this seemed like it would do for whatever I would tackle. I shoved a sturdy pair of boots on my feet and I was barreling out the door.

Natasha was just leaving her room, already fully dressed and ready to kick ass. We both sprinted down the stairs and through the building, crossing the lawn into the hangar. Thor, Bruce, and Captain were all running inside the jet, followed by Natasha. Tony was poised at the edge of the ramp to get inside, looking anxious as he waved people in. When I tried to rush passed him he put his arm across my chest, barring my entrance.

“No can do, Poison Ivy. You’re not ready,” he stated, leaving no room for argument.

Not that I wouldn’t try.

“But what if I-?

“Nope. You stay here with Rock of Ages. F.R.I.D.A.Y. will keep you updated. You’d be a liability. We can’t risk it.” The visor over his face retracted into the suit, allowing him to level me with a hard stare. He didn’t even glance at Vision flying into the jet while holding Wanda securely in his arms.

“Get back. You’ll get burned,” he said more softly, a paternal concern twisting his lips into a frown. He pushed me away from the ramp and jogged inside, closing it behind him.

I had no choice but to back away out of the hangar, watching uselessly as the Quinjet started up and flew through an invisible opening in the force field surrounding the Compound. Once it was gone I pulled out my phone, checking the time. At only four in the morning, it was going to be a long day if all I did was sit around and wait for them to come back.

After heading back into my room and changing from jeans and boots into athletic shorts and tennis shoes, I headed to the gym. If I wasn’t ready for this mission I was going to be ready for the next one. Even if I had to spend hours taking out my frustration and anxiety on a punching dummy until my knuckles bled.

During a break around noon, I chugged water and wiped the sweat from my brow. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., any news?” I panted.

“Sorry, Jen. All I can say is that they made it to their destination and everyone is still alive,” she responded, somehow managing to sound remorseful even as a computer program.

I snarled in frustration and threw down the now empty water bottle, punishing the practice dummy in front of me an elbow to the face. Several hours of doing my best to beat the living daylights out of the dummy and it was no worse for the wear, while the soreness and exhaustion in my limbs weighed them down considerably. But it was this or stare at the TV or wall in the living room distractedly as my mind raced with all the things that could go wrong for them on this sudden mission, and this at least wore me out enough so that I might be able to sleep later.

“Perimeter breach. Perimeter breach. One helicopter on the main lawn,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rang out through the compound and my phone in my pocket as red lights flashed throughout the Compound.

Just as I did that morning, I dropped what I was doing and sprang into action--despite my protesting muscles.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit,” I cursed, stopping short just outside the building. A sleek black helicopter was hovering over the middle of the Compound with four men dressed in black protective gear descending from the sides on ropes. As I watched in shock, two more helicopters came into view and began depositing their payloads of terrifying men as well.

As soon as their feet hit the ground, they raised impressive-looking guns into their sightlines and ran toward the main building. Right at me.

Ah hell.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., I could use some backup,” I grunted, crouching down behind a bush and looking around to see what I had nearby I could use as weapons. Some trees, basketball sized rocks and a giant decorative boulder were all I could see. Awesome.

“The team is still off-base, Jen,” she replied, her voice muffled from my phone in my back pocket. Super awesome.

It was a long shot, but I had to ask her anyway. “What about Loki?”

“He is handling the intruders on the West side of the Compound, Jen. Several groups have come in on foot.”

Loki was helping? What in the world was that about? Maybe it was just a chance to do something, wreak some havoc, as he had to be bored as hell cooped up here without an outlet. If his boredom and need for mayhem was keeping more men off of my back, I’d take it.

But, that still left the group in front of me for me to handle on my own. I’d never fought anyone, not really. Sparring with Nat and training with Wanda did not live up to this experience at all in terms of preparedness. I was the end of the line, though, so I had to try my best. Gritting my teeth, I focused on the ground, lifting my arms and pulling up as much dirt and debris from the grass as I could. The men slowed their advance at the peculiar sight, but only just enough to look at one another briefly before continuing. With a shout I sent the debris flying at them, hoping to blind them temporarily while I figured out what the heck I was supposed to do next. My weak plan wasn’t the most effective. I was disheartened as they crept on even as they blinked dirt from their eyes.

Plan B. I curled my fingers inward and ripped several thin branches from the tree nearest to myself. Aiming the sharp, broken ends at the men, I flicked my fingers outward and sent them flying with as much oomph as I could muster. Only one went through the neck of a man and sent him bleeding and thrashing to the ground. The rest hit their helmets or thick kevlar vests like they were nothing.

“I’m so screwed,” I muttered. My aim still wasn’t the best with multiple projectiles, and that was without having spent the morning taking out my frustrations in the gym. The adrenaline rushing through me could only do so much to compensate, and that wasn’t going to last forever.

The closest to me grabbed something off of his belt and threw it at the building behind me. I whipped my head around, tracking the beeping with my eyes to get a better look at what had been thrown. Having never seen one in real life, my brain stuttered over what it was for half a second. They had grenades?!

My feet carried me away from the building before I had made the conscious decision to move, propelling me as fast as possible from the explosive. It just wasn’t quite fast enough. The shockwave battered against me, followed by tiny pricks of pain all over the back of my body as white-hot glass embedded itself in my unprotected skin. The cry that tore through my lips was almost silent to my ringing ears, but it was enough to draw the attention of the men, who rained bullets down on me.

No time to think or run, I brought a large, decorative stone in front of me like a shield. I saw dust particles and chunks of rock fall to the ground and I struggled to keep it between me and the men. My teeth ground together and all the muscles in my body strained as I directed all of the energy that constantly coursed through me at holding up the massive weight while also slowly backing away from them. I just needed to get inside the building. I could take them out one at a time if I could get more cover. Maybe.

As soon as I was close enough to the now blown-out glass wall, I shoved my hands and, consequently, the boulder at two of the men and dashed inside, slamming my back into a concrete wall for cover and ignoring the wave of pain it brought to the new wounds I had just gotten. Thank goodness for modern minimalist architecture and adrenaline.

I took a few deep breaths and got to my knees, turning around to poke my head out to see who was left. Two pairs of legs were still beneath the human-sized boulder I had thrown, so that just left nine baddies for me to deal with. Going for broke and hoping that this was something I could do, I reached out towards a tree near the back of the group. I could feel the glowing life-force of it, from the tips of the branches to the roots.

“Here goes nothing,” I growled, directing my energy to the roots, willing them to grow. I reached out and pulled hard, and for my efforts, I saw the thick dark roots burst from the ground and race toward one of the men. They tangled around his ankles as I twisted my fingers in a circle, pulling him down and wrapping around his body. He panicked and fired his weapon wildly, trying to shoot the roots off of him, but only succeeded in hitting the stomach of one of his buddies. I urged the roots to wrap around his chest and neck, and the shooting stopped abruptly.

In the distraction of flexing my newfound powers, I failed to notice the man coming up around the wall until just before he shot. I ducked my head and the bullet lodged itself into the concrete inches from my ear, sending grit flying into my eyes. I wildly turned, flailing desperately and pulling another stone from outside to slam into the back of his unprotected neck.

As the man fell, I saw the muzzle of his gun flash before white-hot agony exploded in my shoulder.

In the movies, when someone gets stabbed or shot, usually they'll fly back dramatically and scream. They have a few seconds to mutter some last words and then it's over. Turns out getting shot isn't like the movies. I didn't fly back several feet, soaring through the air to sprawl ungainly onto the floor. I sank to sit on my heels, blinking harshly as my brain attempted to process the worst pain I'd ever experienced as it radiated from my shoulder. My hand shot up to cover the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood as it pulsed out of my body in time with my staccato heartbeat. It took several tries to take a deep breath, the action seemingly doing more harm than good as the movement tugged on my shoulder.

Gotta focus. I had to get my head in the game. The remaining seven bad guys were still coming, and fast. It didn’t matter that I was injured to them. They weren’t going to stop to give me a time out to get patched up, so I just had to keep going. My best bet on stopping them relied on my being able to see them which unfortunately meant sticking my head out of cover. I clenched my teeth as I got to my feet and let out a guttural battle cry as I turned around to face them.

I was most definitely going to die today, but when my friends returned and watched the footage, I didn’t want them to see me cowering in fear until one of them put a bullet in my brain. That wasn’t what being an Avenger was about. It was about fighting until the last breath, and taking down as many of these bastards as I could along the way. Sorry, guys. Sorry, Tony.

Heads turned in my direction, guns following suit. With one hand busy gripping my bullet wound, the other curled into a fist as I focused on bringing every single stone on the Compound lawn levitating in the air.

“Get down!” Loki shouted, running from the opposite side of the building toward me, looking the battle-hardened warrior in his leather armor. An invisible force knocked me to the ground with such force that the back of my head bounced against the tile floor.

And then everything became a blur.

Loki screaming in rage.

Deafening tearing and ripping sounds.

Bullets flying and smashing into the wall.

Warm blood matting my hair and pooling in the hollows of my neck.

Blood-curdling screams cutting off suddenly.

A pale, unfocused face.

Excruciating pain as I was jostled into strong arms.

Is this what dying feels like?

The scent of iron and sweat and leather and spice.

“I am not allowing you to die, damn it!”

And then darkness swallowed me whole.

~~~

A flurry of voices pulled me from the blissful, painless darkness.

“It’s been three days.”

“I know that. Her vitals are stable. You gotta give her time.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“What else can we do?”

I took stock of my body with my eyes closed. My limbs were heavy on the soft surface that I rested on, probably a bed. Besides the voices, a steady beeping that matched the painful drumbeat in my head. Probably a heart monitor, which meant that I was in some sort of a hospital. Itching fire burned on my shoulder, and I blamed that for the real reason why I had woken up. It was impossible to ignore, just like the loud voices echoing around the room.

“You can stop shouting in my room, for starters,” I croaked, my voice dry and scratchy from disuse. God, I sounded weak.

I peeled my eyes open only to immediately close them against the bright lights above me. Trying again, I opened them just enough to squint at my surroundings. I’d landed myself in the infirmary of the Compound once again. Not a hospital, but I had been close enough. A frazzled Tony, Natasha, and Thor appeared to be the culprits for the shouting match I’d just heard.

“If you’re going to shout, at least give me some more pain meds so I can sleep through it,” I grumbled, hoping that the bad attempt at humor would ease some of the anxiety from their faces as I tried to sit up in the bed, only to fall back down with a gasp as soon as I put weight on my shoulder. The shock of pain was enough to tell me that that was a very bad idea right now.

All three rushed over to me at once. Thor took my right hand carefully, mindful of the IV connected to the back of it, and Natasha took the left. Tony moved behind my bed only to reappear with a syringe full of unknown liquid that he injected into the IV line. Within moments a weight smothered the pain and pulled a sigh of relief from deep within me. Ahh, pain meds.

“Milady, I am so glad to see you awake,” Thor said softly, his thumb lightly stroking the backs of my fingers as he smiled down at me.

“We gotta work on your observation skills,” Nat teased, gesturing to my shoulder and giving me a thin smile.

“Pebbles, I thought I told you not to scare me like this,” Tony chided me, standing at my feet. His hands rested on my blanket-covered ankles, clutching them like I was going to run out of the room and get shot up again. That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Once was enough for me.

“What happened?” I directed my quiet question at Tony, knowing he would have the most forthright answer of the bunch.

“We have been searching for these six rocks, called Infinity Stones. That’s what Vision has in his head, the Mind Stone. This guy called Thanos is trying to get all of them together. Reindeer Games says that he wants to rule the world with it, wipe out half of everything in existence. So, we’ve been trying to track them down,” he said, brow furrowed. “We’ve already destroyed one, well, Wanda did. The Mind Stone. Thor stole it from some nut job on another planet months ago. The Space Stone was in the Tesseract, which Loki had. When he and Thor escaped Ragnarok, Loki brought it back as a peace offering. So that’s one’s gone, too. F.R.I.D.A.Y. is programmed to look for certain… anomalies that might be one of the remaining stones being used. She’s found one in New York City, but the wizard that is currently using it won’t give it up. That’s a work in progress. Something sketchy was happening in New York City, and that was the alert that she gave us. It was Thanos, with the Soul Stone, trying to get the other stone from the wizard. We managed to get it from him. Took a few licks, Steve broke an arm and Wanda a leg, but it’s destroyed now. We’re still looking for the Power Stone and the Reality Stone,” he rambled, exhaustion lining his face as he recalled the events he had rattled off.

“That’s, um, a lot to take in,” I replied, my thoughts muddled by the glorious meds I had been given. That was a lot to unpack, and I wasn’t in any state to even try to do that. It could wait for another day.

“Yeah, so, anyway, we were off fighting Grimace when those assholes from Hydra attacked here. We didn’t even know about it until we got back onto the jet and F.R.I.D.A.Y. let us know. We booked it as fast as we could, but it had been almost a whole day since…” he trailed off, swallowing thickly and gripping my ankles just a little tighter as he shifted his gaze to my blanket-covered knees.

Natasha chimed in, “Tony was able to stream a live feed from F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s cameras. We saw everything.”

“You fought valiantly against the attackers. Loki took up the battle after you had fallen, finishing it in your stead,” Thor added, his voice clear and proud. Whether it was for me or his brother, that was to be determined. I was too exhausted to worry too much.

Tony nodded to Thor and Natasha in silent thanks. “Standing up like some action hero was a dumbass move, by the way,” he paused, staring me down until I felt thoroughly chewed out.

Only after I looked appropriately shamed for my actions did he continue, “Him knocking you on your ass gave you that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. He took out the rest of the Hydra men before getting you up here. I’m not sure what voodoo he did, but he got the bullet out of your shoulder and slowed the bleeding until the doctors I called could get here,” he finished, taking a deep breath.

“By the time we arrived, you were sound asleep and all patched up. Loki hadn’t left your side the whole time,” Nat added, her brow raised.

A yawn escaped from my mouth without warning and I nodded through it, pulling my hand away from her to at least cover my gaping maw. “Loki saved me?” I asked on the tail-end of the huge yawn.

“If it weren’t for Loki, you would be through the gates of Valhalla by now, Milady,” Thor whispered, his eyes grave as they met mine.

Tony let go of me and walked to my side, nudging Nat out of the way so he could rest the back of his hand on my forehead. “You feeling okay?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly.

The change of subject was not unwelcome. The pain meds seemed to spread like molasses throughout my brain, muddling my already scattered and confused thoughts. There were magical stones that some dude named Thanos wanted to use to destroy half of everything? And the Avengers had been going after them all of this time without my knowledge? How long had these missions been going on where I thought one thing was happening and it was something entirely different? And there was no way in Hell would Loki ever save my life. I was a thorn in his side that made his time stuck in this compound a thousand times worse. No one would’ve blamed him if he’d ‘forgotten’ in the heat of battle to push me into cover, letting Hydra riddle me with bullets.

“Uh, yeah, totally. I could go dancing I feel so great,” I muttered sarcastically, pulling myself out of my thoughts and into the room filled with my friends who watched me with concern.

“It’s on, Jen,” Nat said, winking at me from the edge of my bed.

“Let’s give her some space to rest up, guys,” Tony said, flipping his hand around on my forehead and rubbing it lightly with his thumb before stepping away.

Natasha and Thor both nodded to me with a smile before they left the room, the door whirring shut behind them. Tony gave me a final once-over and then left, calling out before the door closed, “The team left some flowers for you on the bedside table. Don’t kill anyone with them!”

After smiling at the expensive-looking glass vase of roses, I snuggled further into the soft sheets and fell into a deep, drug-induced sleep.

~~~

A cool hand on the side of my head woke me suddenly. My eyes tore open and my left hand shot out, grabbing the attacker before they could do me any harm.

“Loki,” I whispered, startled to see the Asgardian Prince at my bedside. What was he doing here?

“If you’d release my hand, I can resume checking your head wound,” he said flatly.

It was hard to grasp, the annoyed god at my bedside in casual black slacks and a white button-down shirt, waiting for me to let him go when he could easily remove himself from my grip. “Oh.” I sheepishly let go of him, my hand falling to rest at my side.

He maintained eye contact with me for a moment, his brow furrowed as he searched my eyes before looking back at the back of my head. His long fingers moved to my jaw, tugging it away from him so he could get a better look at the injury. I felt them move to probe it gently, pausing whenever I let out a hiss of pain.

“I need to change the bandage again.” His voice was firm but gentle. His tone alone threw me for a loop. It was so odd to hear him speaking cordially to me when I was used to him hissing like a snake or shouting up a storm.

As I busied himself behind me, I searched for the remote that typically accompanies a hospital bed. Finally finding it tucked beneath my leg, I used it to slowly move the automatic bed so I was sitting up. By the time I was finished Loki had come to the other side of the bed with a syringe filled with clear liquid. His piercing green eyes met mine once again as he hesitated only briefly before injecting it into my IV. Had he been waiting for me to stop him? The familiar weight of pain medication flooded my body, revealing what he had done moments before without my prompting.

He put down the syringe onto the table beside my flowers. Only now, instead of the single vase waiting for me, there was another. A single sunflower sat in a tall elegant black and gold vase. I looked back to Loki with a furrowed brow, watching him place bandages, gauze, and alcohol next to the new gift.

Finally, unable to hold back my confusion any longer, I blurted out, “Why are you helping me, Loki?”

“Because you are injured. I’ve taken over this aspect of your care since you arrived.” He said it so matter of factly it was almost an insult. As if there was no question that he wouldn’t be doing such a selfless act and he was offended that I would think he’d act differently.

“One of the others could handle this. Why are you helping me,” I pressed.

He sighed heavily and refused to reply, instead reaching out and placing his fingertips on either side of my face to tilt my head forwards off of the pillow. He moved out of my line of sight for a brief moment and I heard water running before he returned to lean over me, his chest inches from my face. This close, I was able to smell the strong spicy and masculine scent that I was quickly beginning to recognize as distinctly him. A warm, damp compress was pressed to the back of my head.

“Some blood soaked through the bandage into your hair. I need to cleanse it before I can remove the bandage.” He smoothed the damp cloth over my head again and again, the pain meds he had given me doing their job to take away the pain and leave only pressure in its wake.

The bloody rag was tossed unceremoniously into a hamper across the room, and then he grabbed the alcohol and gauze next. Some part of my mind screamed that I shouldn’t be letting him do this, that he was going to turn around any second and wrap those long fingers around my throat to finish me off, but a more rational part of me shut that down. If he was going to kill me, there would be no sense in saving my life in the first place.

And there wasn’t any hatred or malice in his gaze as I strained my eyes to look up to him without moving my head. To be completely honest, I couldn’t glean any emotion from his impassive face as he worked over me. Whatever he had to be feeling was currently locked away behind stony eyes and a firmly-set mouth.

“I’ve been watching you, Jennifer. As you train with the Witch and the Widow. Both will throw you to the ground repeatedly, besting you, and you stand right up and try again. You never give up. You clean up after the others when they forget without expecting gratitude or repayment. You set out the protein powder for the Widow and Captain each night. You explain the flavors of the food you’re eating to Vision. When they left you behind three days ago, instead of pouting like a child, you took to bettering yourself.” As he spoke he tended to the large gash on the back of my head, his soothing cool touch at odds with the confusion that littered his own words. As if I were some puzzle that he couldn’t piece together with just my odd actions as a guide.

How long had he been watching me to notice these things? And when had he noticed them? I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him in weeks. He may as well have disappeared off the planet for all that I had encountered him. And had he taken the time to notice these behaviors, or had they simply been a byproduct of his observant nature? Was I a puzzle to him that he must observe to find out, or did he watch everybody that carefully? And how the hell had I not noticed him noticing this?

“And, I need to make amends,” he added, voice so low that I almost didn’t hear it through my scattered thoughts.

His deft fingers left my skin and he placed the remnants of the medical supplies on the table. I took it as a sign that I could move my head and search his face more comfortably, trying to figure out where all of this was coming from. This was not the Loki that I knew. The Loki that I knew would be mocking me for my injuries, possibly prodding my wound to watch me squirm, if he was even here at all. Was this him trying to make things right, to 'make amends' as he had called it? Surely I, the puny mortal, wasn't worth the effort. His actions said otherwise.

He clenched his jaw, meeting my curious gaze with his own. “You knew that you were no match for those men, but you fought them anyway. Why?” Another piece of the puzzle that he couldn’t find a place for.

I swallowed thickly, flashes of the encounters playing through my mind. I killed those men. My heart sped up and tears burned in my eyes despite my clenching them shut. My lungs were unable to hold onto the air from my quick, shallow breaths as their deaths flashed through my mind. Sending an improvised spear through a man’s neck. Crushing a man to death with tree roots. Doing the same to two more with the decorative boulder. Hitting the one who shot me with a rock at the base of his skull. I hadn’t seen him die, but it had hit too hard for him to survive that.

I killed them. I killed them. I’m a murderer.

“Breathe, little one. Breathe, " Loki soothed, his voice velvet as it washed over me.

The bed pitched as he perched himself on it by my hip, and I heard his fingers snapping to get my attention. But it wasn’t loud enough, wasn’t enough to get me to open my eyes and stop the flood of images that refused to leave my mind’s eye.

“If you hadn’t have done what you were forced to do, you would be dead,” he assured me, his voice steady and sure as he tried to pull me out of my ever-increasing panic attack.

I would’ve died either way, so was killing them something I should’ve done? I lowered my chin to my chest, feeling lightheaded as I struggled to take in enough air. My whole body trembled and I pulled my knees to my chest beneath the blankets, wrapping my good arm around them to hold them to me. The onslaught of death paraded through my mind unbidden and unrelenting.

“Look at me,” he commanded. His cool hand cupped my chin, lifting my face so that he could see me more clearly. His thumb brushed against my cheek, wiping away the tears that I hadn't even realized had escaped. But it was as if I lost the ability to open my eyes, his attempts be damned. I couldn’t do it even though I so desperately wanted to.

His other hand reached out and settled onto my knee, and it was so startling that I ripped open my eyes and looked at him. Concern softened his features, at odds the harshness of his tone. “They forced your hand. You are not a murderer."

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so I chose silence as I focused on him. He was breathing more forcefully than normal, in through his nose and out through his mouth, and I copied him. We stayed that way for several moments, him showing me how to breathe through my panic and me following his lead. Slowly, the lightheadedness lessened enough so that I could focus. The terrible visions in my head were replaced with the piercing green eyes that held me captive.

Satisfied that I was calming down, he asked again, “Now, answer me this: Why did you fight those men when you knew you were going to lose?”

I looked away to his hand on my knee, the long fingers completely covering it even beneath the thickness of several blankets. It was easier to gather my thoughts without having to watch his reaction to them.

What had I been thinking?

“I… I knew I was the last line of defense. F.R.I.D.A.Y. said I was on my own. Was I supposed to just let them do whatever shitty thing they came to do? Guys busting through Tony’s forcefield in battle gear and assault rifles aren’t showing up to ask for a cup of sugar. If I hadn’t have done anything, they would have found me and killed me anyway. I was dead either way, but maybe I could stop enough of them that you could take the rest out if you came to help.” I ran my hand over my face, dislodging his grip from my chin in the process. “I-I didn’t mean to kill them, but I did mean to stop them. And then after that asshole shot me, I was one hundred percent dead anyway. I was bleeding out. So I might as well take as many out as I could before I go,” I shrugged, wincing at the discomfort the movement brought to my shoulder, even with the haze of medication.

“That reeks of the same self-sacrificing hero act that my brother and his troupe of morons put on. That was foolish and unnecessary,” he scolded.

I offered him nothing more than another shrug, but only of my uninjured shoulder, for his reprimand. It probably was, in his mind, but that didn't mean that I agreed.

“Did you not think I would come to your aid?” Loki asked, the smallest expression of hurt registering on his face as he brought attention to its cause.

“The last time we talked you held a knife to my throat, and then I did the same to you. Kinda. It was a tree branch, but it still counts. Why would you help me? If they had finished the job then you’d have a much easier life here. You wouldn’t have to avoid me and constantly worry about Thor breaking your face whenever I throw a fit. You could skulk around at night or on the roof without running into me. I’m just in your way.”

A muscle in Loki’s jaw ticked at my words, but he didn’t say anything he as considered them. The silence was almost more painful than the hole in my shoulder. I idly reached up to scratch at the bandage and his hand reached up and slapped it away.

He frowned at me. “I need to redress that as well. Leave it be.”

The silence stretched on as he organized the supplies he’d need in front of him and then tugged the hem of my large hospital gown down my arm to expose my shoulder and better access the bullet wound. His spindly fingers were quick and efficient in their work of removing the bandage, cleansing the wound, and then replacing the dressings with clean ones. His steady touch coming and going from my bare skin sent my heart skittering in my chest. I didn’t allow myself to wonder why it was invoking that reaction in me, but I did allow for the luxury of watching him unnoticed.

I'd never taken the time to actually see the man tending to my wounds. Taking the time to really inspect him, I was surprised to find that he was very easy to look at. His skin was unblemished and smooth, no hint of age showing on it except for the wrinkles that appeared as he furrowed his brow or squinted his eyes to get a better look at his task. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, and I trailed my eyes downward to the small amount of pale chest that his unbuttoned collar revealed, not a single hair to be seen. His shirt didn't hide the lean muscles that rippled beneath his skin as he worked, and some strange part of me wondered what they would feel like if I reached out and closed the distance between us. For lack of a better, more eloquent word, he was beautiful. As if sculpted by the very gods that he proclaimed himself to be. His beauty was more delicate compared to the rugged masculinity of the men of the Avengers that I was used to associating with, but that didn't make it any less lovely to behold. Just different.

I pulled my wandering eyes back up to his, a blush betraying me and heating up my skin when I found that he had been watching me look at him. The intensity of his gaze knocked me back to my senses, and I quickly looked down at my hands as they twisted around themselves. He didn't say anything, however, keeping up the silence until he was finished and throwing away the soiled bandages in the trash across the room. With his overwhelming presence gone and his large hands off my skin, I felt the tension I had unknowingly been holding in my clenched muscles ease away and my mind clear a little more. Loki paused in front of the door with his back to me, one hand resting on the windowsill beside the door.

“One thing I’ve only recently learned from my brother is to never leave a warrior behind. Especially not one of such caliber.” He took a deep breath, his shoulders heaving with the movement. “And I’m not willing to lose anyone else.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind my favorite blood-stained rock on the windowsill.

#to keep you safe #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #loki fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #loki/ofc #blood tw #violence tw #language tw

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mikkock · 5 years ago

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Uhm??????? Unacceptable?? Please tell me more about your OCs in that last art? I demand it? I want a full report on my desk before morning? Cite your sources please?

Oh no,, you’re asking,,, about my own faves,,, sorry to everyone, but I guess im never going to shut up ever now. (i already don’t shut up ever, what have u done, im now going to speak so much that society will collapse AT LEAST)

But for real. I enjoy pretending I don’t have faves, I love all my kids the same, buT WE ALL KNO THAT’S A LIE, those two my fave bitches (they snatched that title from the last two faves, rip to them, and they also snatched, n I must really make that clear, the title of “the bitches with the most AUs from the previous previous faves. Their power.)

SO. Get ready for a ride, table of content: them, their respective character, their story, and the pLETHORA OF ALTERNATE STORIES I GAVE THEM because i must yell about all the versions of my kids i have (non-exhaustive cause its that serious bro, but ill take extra time for the universe depicted in that art just for u bby). (tbh if clamp is allowed to sprinkle their fave gays in all their universes so am i, except they aint secondary characters there, every story is just theirs. love that concept.)(itll be so long you’re getting a whole novel even if i have to post it in two posts)

So~ Em twos. Dari n Wei-wei as I call em, or Dumbass n Egg if you wanna get friendly.

They’re my proudest instance of “oops i made a squad of characters, and two of them just accidentally were so perfectly compatible and complementary oh no I guess they’re in love now.” And then they became my favourite. Cause I guess their potential was too much (jk its bc they hot)

cuties.

I spent ten minutes wondering which to introduce first cause dang son, I want to talk bout them both so much shefjgfdg

First, as I technically designed him first (like ten minutes before the other), my man weiwei. if u ever saw my art its impossible that you havent seen him at least once. cause i’m legit always drawing him. cause im in love bro.

Demonstration : here are my computer scribbled weiweis of 2020 so far (with a few daris there n there they’re a package deal), that i could find, and they do not include all the paper sketches that i’m too lazy to take pics of. (i just been drawing him with so much hair these days that’s illegal, his brand is baldness)

But anyway, he’s CHEN Chia-Wei, he’s 21, he’s Taiwanese n I love him. Two very important facets of his character when you meet him: he doesn’t talk, and is absolutely, in every single dimension, built to make you fall head over heels for him.

He’s (in the “canon” storyline if i may call it that since it’s def not my most developed one but oh well) an art student, mostly paints but is also great at photography and videography (his vibe is busy hectic pieces with strong bold colours, lots of harsh edges, and very people focused).

Aside from that, he’s also super into fashion, and because he’s part of the rich boy squad (the “im broke so im giving half my characters wealth in compensation) he Can and Does exhibit some quite funky fits when he feels like it. (maybe a reason I draw him a lot, since my fave thing is pretty boys in weird ass clothes)(and then i also draw him in just casual shit cuz tittiful men in plain white tees you know. there’s just something about it.)

Small compilation of outfits. ft me and my band handwriting roasting outfits that id also kill to own but ok u know.

He digs music. (i make playlists for my OCs and i gotta say, his is the best one, i spent so many hours researching it, “arranging” it etc n its still a work in progress but dude. she got many moods my fave part is when it suddenly turns into so many cheesy ballads also she’s enormous cause im as wordy in playlists as I am in writing.) listens to a lot, n also he can play piano n guitar. cause you know. heartthrobs got to win your heart with a song (and if he’s alone he can even mumble some songs, who knows maybe even sing em softly, definitly a sight to stumble on accidentally). Big main artists that have his vibes are Hello Nico, No Party for Cao Dong, n Circa Waves’s “what’s it like over there” album.

He does a lot of sports. He ain’t fit through magic, rip to him. He’s got a serious routine, and it’s a time he likes to use alone, cause nothing like running at the break of dawn, alone with your thoughts, which you can just easily forget through the exhaustion of a workout session afterwards.

he also eats. A lot. Food is just good, bro. (the canon story is def happening some place europe aka his biggest struggle is how expensive food is here. outrageous.)

He secretly loves super cheesy movies. the dramatic romcoms??? the cute shows that are just so cute and worriless?? anything involving soulmates??? yeh dude. he watches it, he reads it, he listens to it, and he may cry about it, but no one will know. That’s the one true guilty pleasure. (and he definitly has a collection of romance dvds, books n manhuas in his old room back at the family home. where no one can see it. perks of studying abroad. no one can see ur hoarding of material that clashes your image. “yes i watch edgy experimental things haha yes i love those smart people movies of course wow the philosophy…” and then immediatly goes to watch the trashiest predictable but oh so sweet dramas all night)

While he doesn’t speak (as in with the mouth) he can communicate in a bunch of language, due to having moved around quite a bit. On top of his native mandarin and hokkien, he’s fluent in English, so he can use those to write, and is also fluent in TSL, and pretty good in HKSL (and from that, other close-in-syntax sign languages). So he doesn’t have trouble getting around, but then he is also overall quiet in public (with close friends and over text though, that’s another story, that’s where he gets chattier, and also where you may get more of his true personality). Also, he can speak with his sister. That’s pretty cool bro.

I was going to say he’s a very “hides his true colours under a shell” type of character but you know, for an egg character, that’s pretty ironic. We love poetic cinema.

He presents himself as a very laid back, chill detached dude, going with the flow and all that great stuff, and masterfully mixes just the right doses of mysterious, flirty and calm to just go around vibing. But ain’t that jUST THE MILLENIAL’S ILLNESS, those dANG KIDS, going around, gettin relationships but never intimacy 👏😢 (there’s more to it dont leave)

First of all, before you see the Drama, the Turmoil, the first thing you notice when you really do befriend him is that he’s c h i l d i s h, he gets sulky when things dont go following the plan, he gets whiny n jealous for not getting attention , he gets competitive over stupid challenges, and way too playful if you start teasing, and when he gets flustered too…you think you get cool stoic dude but actually you get a dude who’s reacting to things with way too much intensity, and boi i thought u were gon be mature what’s that why have you been pouting for three days over losing a bet come on- That’s mostly coming up when he interacts with his sister, but the closest you are to him to more of it you get to see.

He’s also an affectionate dude actually. Like physically. As in you’ll get spontaneous hugs. He’s come nap on your shoulder. That’s a perk of befriending him if you ask me.

Also he tries to look so cool, so tough haha. He’s actually a lil sensitiv boi. he gets fluffy, he gets flustered, he heart eyes. you turn around and he’s gazing at ya as if you were the whole universe. he gets a mini crisis for holding hands with his crush. ya know. he’s secretly a softie.

nerd.

Then in the “what he doesn’t show” (my fave part), where you stock all the anxieties, all the trauma… Obviously there’s a lot of anxiety here (selective muteness being a symptom of it, he hides the other ones very well) mostly fear of inadequacy, of abandonement and of loneliness. mmmmmmmaybe that’s why he was v reticent to continue pursuing that one guy he was into when he realised he was just a tad too into him oh no is that some,, like?? some lovey-love?? cant have that im afraid of gettin heartbroken bro. Aint that sad for a someone who’s one true goal is just findin someone to love and to be with forever, the struggles of yearnin for a soulmate when there’s nothing you fear more than getting attached to a person and letting them see you and your flaws.., delicious.

Now tho (because its so alone speaking about a character on their own and i just wanna get to the part where i can speak bout em together and how they bring out bits of each others ya kno, the good kush….), Dari…

He’s pretty, i must say, and got the funniest hair to draw, and comes from the most opposite background to weiwei’s.

Darian Andriev PARVANOV, also 21, comes from the remote Bulgarian countryside, but i still love him (this makes it sound as if i wouldnt normally love someone from the bulgarian countryside. its not what i meant. by default ud remind me of my son so you’d start being liked if u came from the bulgarian countryside) Now for the first instance of “wow, the complementarity”. The first thing i thought making Dari was that he looked too cool, and that he obviously was a dumbass, and mostly that he was physically unable to shut up. (o fuck he’s me)

best picture i could find of him. He’s got the dilemma of “wow he looked so pretty n cool until he opened his mouth”

He’s ALSO an art student (cause they were initially created for the purpose of filling the gap of “i have ocs in every field except the one i sorta know that’s so stupid”), painting major (def vibes differently than weiwei though, he’s doing those soft pretty landscapes n flowers, everything real pretty and peaceful, we got some impressionism nerd in here folks).

He was/is a real country boy, farm family, he helped tend the fields, he worked in plantations for pocket money, he knows how to take care of cattle and chicken and goats and all the cool babies you can take care of, he can tell whether the soil is good or not, he can drive a tractor, and doesnt fear dirt.

but then also he’s kind of a neat freak, he hates getting paint on himself, so the duality of man, dirt ok but paint? disgostin. his spaces are real neat and spotless, he likes cleaning (its relaxing) and does it nearly too often.

his dumbassery comes from lack of common sense and impulsiveness, aside from that he’s actually what you’d call “mad smart”, dude had em good grades, he can memorise pages upon pages of the most trivial information, he has an accumulation of knowledge beyond limits, and is good at problem solving. so he can recite all the words of the F letter of the dictionnary, but would also put a curling iron in his mouth to see if it would curl his tongue. (side note, he does have a problem with heat n fire, most his “oopsie how i wound up hurting myself on acccident” story involve burning -that stove was just too tempting…)

while he doesnt feel very attached to his home country, he does feel strongly for his family. he’d do anything for his mum (and actually does everything to make her proud already, that’s his one main goal), and he’s ready to sacrifice a lot for her (as in, spend years working non-stop a really uncomfortable job so his mother wouldnt have to pay a cent of his expenses even though she said she could by doing some sacrifices herself,and then being ready to come back as soon as needed if anything happened, and potentially drop his career and dream n go back to the farm life to provide for mama)(also he still does hold onto some parts of his home country’s traditions, and does sometimes feel homesick but more in a ‘i left the most beautiful landscapes n the city feels cramped and claustrophobic and i dont know people and i dont feel in the right place cuz im a forreigner with a thicc accent who doesnt master the language of this place and straight up have different body language communicators due to cultural difference oh lord i wanna be home where a nod means no and a head shake is yes i keep misunderstanding everything”)

if you want background noise he’s the perfect pal to call over, he’s just so chatty, he got hours and hours of non stop speech ready for you. you can shut him up once you’re done listening with the offering of food. works everytime.

he’s definitly not shy. neither in terms of talking to people, nor when it comes to making decisions. he’s quite bold, and rarely hesitates to go towards something he wants. he’s direct in his approach to most everything.

he likes partying. mostly the socialising part, talkin to people is just fun ya feel. and being in the crowd, doing whatever, pressure free? ya can dance n enjoy yourself, and people wont notice? yeah that’s nice. but doesnt do it super often cause broke bitches aint got the party time n budget.

he likes arm. (just an excuse for me to drop this thing here cuz i like it)

While he’s an overall bubbly looking character, with a cheery loud personnality, he does carry some youth trauma that has him more reticent to engage in happiness, he comes from what you could call “not the wokest background” and he may have fallen victim of it : he’s kind of a flashy noticeable character, both physically and in his personnality, and doesnt exactly matches the expectations of dudes in the area he comes from (delicate, emotional and sweet guy? that doesnt exist bro). He went through it, and it has definitly had some impact on his confidence in many aspects. But he’s 100% the type of guy to put on the fake happy front because if feeling bad is sad, making the people you care about sad for you too is Unacceptable Right??? relying on friends?? what???

But then what are we supposed to be doing with such charming characters huh,,,

Make them fall in love obviously.

Their story obviously has to do with falling in love and workin a relationship cause if I dont write romance i literally die, but I make the center pivot of all of it communication, and barriers in communications. Most obvious being them coming from wildly different cultures, having different native languages, and also the ways you adapt to muteness (what i love most bout that part is even then they fucked up given the easiest quickest small body language things to communicate are head nods n then i managed to make one come from the one country that reverses those like iconic how do they even understand each other -through a lot of work and love bro) but also on more “introspective” points, how to say things that you are even afraid to think about, how to open up and share your burdens and trauma with someone, how to say words you’ve been convinced you weren’t allowed to, the inner turmoil of communication in short. And then also communication through art, and through alternative unusual ways. If i were snobbish i could call it something like “a thinkpieces on how humans overcome obstacles in communication, and adapt, all for the sake of pursuing love” but fact is its mostly boys being in love n learning how to speak, figuratively and also quite literally. And also its me having fun with making characters evolve from each other, be able to influence each other for the better, helping each other be more comfortable with themselves and express the true things of their personnality, and discover new aspects. I just wanna write intense and soulful love bro.

So in less concept and more facts, weiwei meets dari, dari being his puppy self just immediatly strikes a conversation and weiwei gets interested cause “oho nice pretty boy? very good. i want some of that”. they get closer because you cant fight off the Power of friendship (and also the power of “what your friend is bestie with my friend?? guess we hanging out”) and then friendship and interest turns into pining, held back by respective dread of what romance with the other would mean (as in “romance?? cant have that we cant feel” and “with him?? cant do that, convince yourself he’s just a friend immediatly what would the family think”) but eventually they do have to just crash into one another cause that’s just the gravitational pull bro, its physics bro. and from then on its all unlearning destructive behaviours, bettering oneself with the help of the other, and getting over trauma to finally live ur best life. and gettin fckin married bro they’re both cheeseballs theyll wanna wed

BUT MAKING EM FALL IN LOVE ONCE ISNT ENOUGH time to make 3894853 alternate universes about em.

Lets speak bout my fave of those for a hot second.

First of all, the one of the art that brought this ask, guess i could call it “Pretty Tribes” AU, bunch of tribes live and do their things, having nature and energy powers. Dari n Weiwei’s tribes are bros, the latter’s powers needing them to move around to get energy from different places, enabling them different abilities. So basically they get to hang at the other’s place while the regenerate energy from there, and in exchange they help them out with various tasks (dari’s tribe is a rly farmer oriented one, with plant magic, while weiwei’s got more poyvalent powers, and have very good healers notably, so it comes in handy). The two boys were born a few months apart in their respective tribes, so naturally, anything the two clans meet, they’re put together to play and all, and from that they became besties, and each time they meet, after the gaps of time separating the two groups, they feel more and more of a little something else~ story is themed round growing up, friendship between clans, their traditions and cultures, and pretty boys in pretty clothes in pretty landscapes interacting with nature.

The superpower AU, i fuckin love it bro. Its an old one, made for other characters, but i just love it so much that i had to inject my faves in it. Its got a grimy ugly setting, bad government, propaganda, and fights between super-people (heavily mediatised for entertainment and reinforcing the idea that “look at these evil villains thank god us the good government protects you from them”), with a side of bad ethics in science. In all that, those two have the role of “those two young enemy warrior and villain, they were so powerful and fought so hard”, public figures, legendary and admired by both sides, everyone followed their fights, til one day they presumably died in one of their showdowns. (haha sike they actually found themselves talking for 5 seconds and realised they lived in a society, n built a plan to run away). The main characters get to find they’re alive because one of em had history with super-warrior-golden-boy and go to seek their help to overthrow the Big Bads. (stealing them from their nice gay cottage hermit life smh so rude)

Mermaids. I like those. Sailor weiwei sees merman dari, they both save each other in different occasions, they grow fascinated with each other, they’re at sea, water romance. Amazing. AU made half cuz i just like water n fish. and shirtless sailors.

(i couldnt find art of it in five minutes so have a link to that lil animatic piece i made of it once)

Indie band AU, where i was listening to songs that vibe so well with those two in general n then my brain was like “what if they’re the ones playing”. They’re (along with the rest of the art squad) a nice little alternative rock band, doing their thing, then one of their songs blows up, and they get quite the attention, to the dismay of dari who wrote that song in a moment of “oh no im so in love with my bandmate but i cant tell him what if i ruin everything we have going on ill just have to love from afar and deal with that” and now has way too many people interested in who he wrote it about and theorising from his every move when performing it (a mix of music, secret crushes and social media) (ft a picture of neither of them but its the least ugly art i found of this AU cuz its old and instruments are the bane of my existence)(also kelana is so pretty i gotta flaunt her around)

in kind of the same vibe, as in we’re in a music world overexposed to social media, i also integrated em to an AU i did for fun, “boyband AU” as its called aka idol based band system cuz you kno, i got a hobby, lets apply it. Band boy Dari and bodyguard Weiwei got a thing going on, but can’t really act on it in any way, because they’d just destroy the whole band if it ever came public. Featuring annoying bandmates, catchy pop songs and people making fanaccounts of that one hot Mr.Bodyguard cause dang he hot.

(all the art of this one so ugly im sorry)

SPY AU, one of my fave brand. They spies, they get assigned on the same mission, they work real nice with each other. spies hot. fights. strategy. i just like the concept. Gays taking down the worst traffics imaginable??? I love that song.(i actually have so much on this cause s p i e s are fuckin great)

Fashion. U kNOW i have an AU for fashion. Supermodel and his private stylist, trying to maintain the line of professionalism. And failing to do so. Lets make out in unpractical designer clothes.

Have an highschool AU for a bunch of characters, injected them as “spinoff”, start chatting online being art buddies, fall in love without meeting (ft. all the iconics of internet friendship like knowing tiny details of their personnalities but not the fact that they have a sister or “waIT ur a GUY i thought u were a girl wow wild good news for my gay ass”)

n those are my faves as far as i remember, i got a fuckton of small other ones that arent fleshed out enough, or some that are more of a guilty pleasure universe, and some that are more like “projects that i can expend on as soon as i run out of daydream material” (like u kno those hospital drama shows with super innacurate medicine n shit like idk scrubs or whatever, yeh i want some of that but im keeping it for later)

#thats way less talk than i thought id do #prolly bc i wrote half of it when it was between midnight and one AM #wait no it was 2 am #but ye #sry if shit messy af #those two are my faves tho n talkin bout em on the spot is hard cuz my brain is screaming about everything bout em at once #if u wanna get more info on em do ask i love them so much n i feel i didnt do em justice here cuz speaking is a fraud words dont exist #im glad they caught ur interest tho #nothin more gratifyin than not being the only bitch who likes his own children

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arcticmaggie · 6 years ago

Text

The Art of Deception (pt 5)

Y/N and Harry set off on a mission to thank Kayla for bringing them together. Personal conversations, realizations of feelings, and the art of deception ensue.

(Masterlink in bio! Sorry! links mess up my appearance on tags)

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: rlly short smut in the beginning! that’s it

A/N: Guess who’s back! With yet another super late post! But, I have an excuse this time!! I didn’t have access to my computer for a good 2 weeks sooo. But I’m back and would appreciate feedback! Just one more part and I’m done I promise. Enjoy (or don’t enjoy, it’s up to you)!

Harry really doesn’t understand what took him so long to find a succubus in his life. Sure, him and Y/N got off to a bad start—his first instinct being to track her down and kill her simply because she kind of humiliated him in front of nobody. But you know what? Once he reprogrammed his brain from destroying her to, you know, destroying her, he’s realized she’s not that bad after all. Especially now that he’s waking up with a half-hard cock stuffed into the mouth of the loveliest creature he’s ever met.

“Oh—fo’ fucks sake, love—“ he all but moans out as his eyes squint down at her tired figure lapping on the underside of his prick. His hand instinctively reaches down to her head and he’s encouraged by a sweet hum from Y/N to start combing his fingers through her hair, coaxing her through it. “Was m’cock not enough for yah last night, eh?” Harry mumbles out, now with a fully hardened dick that pulses every time Y/N flicks her tongue against the slit of his head. His tone is a bit teasing, but with slight endearment, because really—how can he be upset with waking up to this? Y/N pops off of him to reply with a pout formed on her lips, “just need to make you feel good. It pleases me to please you,” and goes back down on him, evoking another grumbly moan from the curly haired man. And Satan, he can’t really say no to this girl. He doesn’t even want to say no, of course, for the obvious reason. But she keeps eye contact with him while wrapping her lips around him and—call him crazy, but he thinks there’s this sort of silent spell being cast upon him to coat his entire body with pleasure and ease, making him relax against his pillow, close his eyes and give in. There’s a small thought floating around in the back of his mind about the questionable number of men Y/N has probably already done this to in the past, before literally taking their soul once they’re fucked out and too relaxed to oppose their own death. But this concerning thought is quickly dismissed once Y/N reaches a hand down and squeezes Harry’s balls softly. He leaves it at poor bastards, and thanks Satan himself for taking away his soul the minute he turned immortal. Sure, he might not have a beating heart or a heaven to return to once he’s gone, but he gets to be in bed with a creature who was born to fuck, and honestly, he really can’t complain. -

“Is the only cereal you have really Fruit Loops? Are you a 5 year old?”

“Heeey, Fruit Loops give me enough sugar to energize myself for the day. Don’t be rude.”

Harry snorts and grabs ahold of the box of cereal, pouring himself a bowl now that watching her eat made him hungry for some as well.

After Y/N finished him off, they went back to sleep for another hour or so before she woke up with the urge to pee, tiptoeing over to the kitchen afterwards to start her morning. Harry woke up about half an hour later with the widest smile of euphoria in the world and a growling stomach.

He usually serves himself some eggs and toast—you know, something high in protein and fiber to substitute his lack of blood supply (his feeder is off on vacation to the Netherlands, which is inconvenient for him but she promised to bring back some bitterballen so it’s compensated for). But seeing now that the only breakfast option in Y/N’s kitchen is a kids cereal, he’s gonna have to resort to his 20th century years when sugared cereal was all the rage.

“So,” Harry starts, once he’s poured himself his own cereal (much to Y/N’s disgruntled face as he helped himself to her kitchen without even asking), “what’s on the agenda today? Another helpless man you plan to rob?”

Y/N whines out, “heyyy,” once more and sticks a tongue out to him, which he laughs at and attempts to catch the end of it with his fingers before she retreats it back into her mouth.

“As a matter of fact,” replies Y/N, “I was planning on going downtown to buy Kayla some of her favorite desserts as a thank you for yesterday.”

Harry hums and takes a bite of his cereal before mumbling out, “shouldn’t you be thanking me and my dick as well?”

This time around, Y/N extends a hand out to smack the back of his head from across the small kitchen island, evoking a hiss from the curly bloke.

“Oi—was only joking.” Harry rubs the back of his head with a pouty face while Y/N snickers underneath her breath.

They eat in silence for the rest of the time they’re filling up their stomachs, both in their own world of thought.

Y/N, on one hand, is innocently thinking about what bakery downtown would have freshly baked lemon coconut cake without her having to manually call in and tell them to bake some for her.

But Harry, on the other hand, is mischievously thinking about how he’s going to approach asking Y/N out on a date.

Usually, all it takes for him is his sly signature smirk and girls are more than willing to offer up their ovaries to him. And he’s sure that although most of it is thanks to the fact that he’s a vampire, it also has to do with the fact that he’s undeniably attractive for this day in age and Y/N can’t possibly argue against that. Yet, from what he gathered from the liquor store, a few charming words and award-winning smile will not make Y/N fall to her knees like the rest of the bunch (although, technically, she has already been on her knees for him this morning).

So after he’s finished making a mental list of all the possible approaches of bringing up the romantic subject without sounding like a womanizer (which he totally is) but also without sounding like a complete sap (he will never catch himself being lovey-dovey and pathetic, no matter how lovely Y/N is), he gulps down the remaining milk in is bowl and slams it down on the counter, startling Y/N as he hops up from his seat and marches down the hallway in search of the bathroom to make himself presentable for the public.

Y/N is left confused and with two empty bowls to wash, which she is not happy about, but grumpily starts her way to the sink to wash her dishes. And she takes her time, because well, she doesn’t have class today so she has no reason to be out and about so early in the morning. She figured Fernando’s would have the lemon coconut cake ready and if not, they’ll whip up something fast. Since the last time she ordered, the awkward boy at the cashier put everything on the house (she wanted to refuse, she really did, but she also wanted to get her nails done so, beggars can’t be choosers).

She’s just finished drying her dishes when a scoff is heard from behind her, making her whip around and face a less than amused Harry standing at the kitchen entrance.

“Ahem? We don’t have time for you to go at a sloth’s pace!” Y/N furrows her eyebrows and opens her mouth to question him but he continues, “Go get changed already. It might rain again in the afternoon and since neither of us has an umbrella, we need to hurry downtown and seek shelter before the sky ruins the trip.”

Oh? Harry wants to go with her? She figured he’d finish his business in the bathroom and be on his way to the next girl he wanted to bag. Which, in a way, kind of hurt her to think about, but also, she can’t be one to talk considering that she doesn’t sleep with men because she wants to be with them, she sleeps with them to literally eat their soul. It’s odd for her to admit that she’s glad Harry doesn’t have one.

She shakes herself out of her deep thoughts and looks back at Harry who is now donning an expectant look at her. She flushes a bit and mutters a quick apology before scattering past him and into her room.

He always manages to make her go on a tangent without even realizing and it pesters Y/N. She blames it on him being a vampire. They are always up to no good. She can see it as she returns to him a few minutes later; he looks down at her with a strange gleam in his eyes and a small twitch of his mouth as he fights a smile. He’s up to something, she tells herself as he opens the front door and leads the way outside.

Y/N has seen enough vampire movies to know that they’re supposed to be moody and mysterious and only reply to questions with short ambiguous phrases that leave you lusting to know more.

Harry just happens to be an anomaly.

“And I mean, how can I not accept the preacher’s hot daughter as a sacrifice, yanno? Sure, it was kind of fucked up for me to play along to the whole I’m a vampire and I’m going to suck everybody in town’s blood if I’m not offered a virgin on a full moon, but in my defense, when I was handed the girl, all I did was bid them a nice day, took her to my home, fed her some of my to-die-for linguine and gave her about three orgas—oh, we arrived already?”

Harry, to Y/N’s relief, halts the story of his trip to Italy in the 19th century as she slows herself down to a stop in front of Fernando’s, extending her arm to stop him in his tracks as well.

“Yeah, well it’s only a 10 minute walk from my apartment,” Y/N replies, thanking her past self for picking such a close complex without knowing it would one day save her from getting her ear talked off.

“Well, anyways,” Harry begins once again, reaching out to open the entrance door, but Y/N extends her arm once again to pull him back a bit. He looks back at her with confusion.

“Um, Harry, how about,” Y/N softy starts, seeing how much Harry wanted to recount his life to her, “how about you put this story on hold for a bit? We’re going to be inside with other people and I don’t think they’d find it amusing if they overheard you talking about a virgin being offered in return for not murdering an entire village.”

It takes Harry a second to process her words and then processes his own as he realizes how bizarre he must of sounded to all those strangers walking past them these past few minutes as he recounted his golden era of being a vampire dick. He shuts his mouth and nods at her once in agreement and finally opens the door to lead her in, already trying to rack up another subject to discuss as they wait in line.

Y/N tries not to roll her eyes as he begins to talk about how a bloke named Niall is head over heels for Kayla and pretends to pay attention with random nodding of her head and hmm’s sprinkled in as a response to his short pauses.

She’s maneuvering her eyesight over the menu above the front desk to actually see if the cake she wanted was offered but also slips herself into a small train of thought in the process.

Harry is acting a bit different from that one minute encounter between the two at the liquor store (which seems like ages ago, to her). She figures it’s because of the fact that he was pathetically trying to hypnotize her into giving him the umbrella (she admits inwardly that it wasn’t pathetic, it was just cute). But also, with the night before, he was being a bit annoying with all the dominance he was trying to assert on her. And again, she figures that that’s simply because he’s a vampire and he’s used to having everything go his way.

But listening to him now, go on for so many minutes about his life and the attractive girl he had in his arms without seeming to be bragging about it, just simply relaying what has happened to him in the past, she can’t help but seeing that it’s all a front. This womanizer appeal that he sports seems to be fabricated. Or at least, it’s not who he truly is. Maybe he’s picked up this asshole personality along the way of his years of wandering the Earth, but it’s certainly not his true self. This is his true self, right now, blabbering on about his best friend like a 5 year old at show and tell. He’s sweet, whether he enjoys showing it or not, and Y/N likes it. She likes him.

He’s still talking about how he has started planning a date for Niall to ask Kayla out on since Niall can’t be romantic by himself for the life of him, when it’s finally Y/N’s turn to order her sweets. And he wants to go on talking while she orders but he sees her quirk her smile up delightfully and he feels his throat close up on him, forcing him to breathe in a harsh intake of air. She is so undeniably pretty, Harry thinks, and his face softens at her beauty as her lips move along to the words that are delicately coming out from them. It takes him a second to compose himself once he snaps out of this sudden and unexpected cooing over her, and he has to look down at the floor, clear his throat and run a hand through his hair before looking back over to her. But as his eyes shift up, he catches a glimpse of the teenage boy handling the cashier behind the desk and he has to take a double take.

He can practically see this boy start to drool over Y/N, his clammy hands struggling to input the order into the machine, with the most prominent blush engulfing his cheeks. He wants to laugh at the adolescent, wants to roll his eyes at this young man’s pathetic havoc of hormones. But when he finally turns to Y/N and sees her hand reach up to brush some hair behind her ear while giggling softly at the boy stuttering the amount due, he stops himself and widens his eyes.

Oh, he thinks to himself, she’s doing the thing.

Harry really didn’t consider beforehand that she would use hypnosis to get what she wants. Sure, he uses it almost every time he is confronted with a person who is in his way of getting what he wants. But Y/N just seemed too...pure for that. Which, really, who was he kidding? She’s just as demonic as he is.

But as she turns to him to hand Harry the receipt, she catches at how dumbfounded he is staring down at her, and she blushes with guilt like as if she has been caught stealing candy from a baby, and it’s confirmed to Harry that she’s too pure for this life.

“What was that?” Harry asks, resting a hand on her lower back as he pushes her towards a small table near the corner of the store. The question only evokes a warmer blush and a shrug from Y/N as she sits down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies, keeping her eyes focused down on her fingers twiddling with each other on the table.

Harry’s lips stretch into a wide grin and lightly nudges her shoulder.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” he starts again, “You’re a conniving little shit, aren’t you?”

This seemed to spark a flame inside of Y/N because she quickly whips her head up to look at Harry with an appalled look. “Excuse you, you’re the one who tried to manipulate me into giving you the damn umbrella,” she bites back, but Harry is still grinning ear to ear.

He raises his hands in defeat and nods along, “Alright alright—So we’re both working for the devil.”

His act of backing down from the potential argument causes Y/N to calm down across from him, and she nods curtly to him before casting her eyes back down. Neither of them speak for the next minute, leaving Harry to panic and try to stir up another playful conversation. His eyes flick up to the counter and he sees the cashier boy argue with a confused and exasperated baker, a slip in his hand that Harry can barely make out to read lemon coconut cake. He’s about to comment on the scenario playing but Y/N seems to beat him to it.

“It’s not like--It’s not like I enjoy using my ability to get whatever I want,” she spills out timidly next to him, and he turns his head to see that she’s also looking at that direction with a slight frown on her face. “Like right now,” she continues, “I hate seeing the aftermath of me charming the boy to call out for another lemon cake after he explained to me that they took it off the menu a month ago. But I always give Kayla the lemon coconut flavored one when she helps me out like she did last night.”

Y/N pauses for a bit as she recounts the fact that Kayla’s form of helping her this time around was bringing Harry to her and her cheeks heat up. She continues.

“And I mean, sure, I can just try and find another place that might sell it around this vicinity. But I figure it won’t hurt anyone if I just twist my words a little and smile a bit prettier than I usually do. So I do it. I use the hypnosis strategy. But then--” she takes another pause, this time in order to compose herself because she can already feel her throat closing up and her eyes threatening to start forming more liquid than usual. Harry wants to reach over and take her hand into his as he watches her, his heart clenching (as much as he wants to ignore that).

“But then I end up actually hurting the person I use it on. There have been so many occasions where guys get in fights with others and unintentionally harm themselves just so I can have a milkshake, or a pencil, or a fucking cake. And I instantly regret what I do but I can’t reverse it, and it sucks, and I wish I could learn to stop harming these humans. But even restricting myself from having sex has almost killed me and I just can’t stop and I hate it.”

Harry is at a loss for words.

He never actually thought about the fact that Y/N was beaten up over her own natural essence. Especially considering since he absolutely basks in his own powers. Being immortal? He loves it! Getting people to do what he wants? He indulges in it! He never thinks about the repercussions of his actions in the eyes of the victims, only thinks about how everything goes in his favor. Yet here Y/N is, despising herself for slipping up every now and then.

He’s never really seen himself as a villain, as much as the media depicts his kind as such. But now that he sees Y/N with tears prickling at her eyes—staring at the boy who’s now back at the cashier register with a torn up pink slip and a sour but confused look on his face, probably wondering what got into him to yell at his co-worker—he realizes that he’s a dick. A straight up dick for preying on innocent people who have no choice but to obey what he says as they stare into his eyes. And he wants to stop, for Y/N.

So as Y/N shakes herself out of her own thoughts and sniffs softly, Harry realizes that the only way to get even close to wooing her over, is to be gentle. Be kind and generous and a gentleman, someone to keep her from remembering the fact that they were dark creatures and there was nothing they could do about it.

“They’re not going to bake the cake. We should go home,” Y/N finally says, lifting her head up to catch Harry’s gaze with defeated eyes. Harry wants to erase this emotion from her existence entirely.

But all he can do is offer a soft smile and ask, “How about we go to that bakery next to the movie theatre? The ladies there are the sweetest things to me and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind whipping up a new batch for a pretty girl like you.”

Y/N only responds with heated cheeks.

It makes Harry smile wider, standing up from his chair and offering a hand for her to get up as well.

“Let’s go then, don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Harry walks with her at her side across the room and hurries ahead a bit at the end to open the door for her, and Y/N mumbles out a thank you as she walks out into the open. But she thinks it goes unheard since as she turns around to look at him, he isn’t right behind her. In fact, he’s let go of the door and gone further inside.

Y/N’s eyebrows pull together in confusion and she shuffled close to the window to peer inside and see what he’s doing.

Neither she nor her heart is prepared to see Harry leaning against the front counter, taking the young employee’s right hand and clasping a 10 dollar bill into it with a firm shake of his own hand. Y/N’s eyes quickly flicker up to Harry’s face and she watches his lips form around the inaudible words for your trouble.

She stands there, in front of the window, speechless, and watches Harry finally pivot on his heels and walk over to the door, opening it carefree and stepping out into the chilly morning, eyes sweeping over the sidewalk until he catches her by his side. He grins up at her and offers the space between his arm and his waist for her to grab ahold of him as they begin their journey further downtown. But before she accepts his offer, she suddenly reaches up and plants her hands on his shoulders, raising her heels to lean up and press a firm and sweet kiss on his cheek.

Y/N leans back and her heart skips a beat as she notices the soft red tint creeping up Harry’s neck from the form of affection. She merely smiles brightly at him when he looks at her curiously and loops her arm around his, beginning the steps down the sidewalk with the words, “So, tell me more about your plan to set up my Kayla and your Niall.”

Y/N doubts the bakery they’re heading to will provide her the cake she needs and the next best thing does seem to be this elaborate plan Harry is scheming.

Nevertheless, she lets Harry lead the way to the shop, tucking herself closer to him as small gusts of wind blow against them, blaming the cold weather for her close proximity.

She’s given up on the dessert. But Harry doesn’t need to know that.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry fic #my work

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blueandgoldoffice · 6 years ago

Note

Hi! Can you recommend some long and completed hot/serpent/bad boy jughead and innocent!betty fics? Thanks❤️

Looks like we have quite a few of you asking for around the same type of fic!

@dundelions - @daisy-in-danger - @elizabethcooperjonez

I know each of your asks are a little bit varied, but I’m just lumping them into one massive list! I’ll add some quite a few of my favorites below as well as some relevant tags. Happy reading & please review!

// jughead: serpent // jughead: southside //betty: girl next door //

Because quite a few of these fics are explicit and contain mature content, PLEASE be aware of the tags listed on the archive!

Also, this got a bit out of hand oops? (sorry, not sorry) please read under the cut!

Dandelion Clocks by @itsindiansummer13 (5/9)

Word Count: WIP / Rating: M

Summary: “Any girl?” Sweet Pea scoffs. “The last one you slept with now prefers the fairer sex too.”

Laughter rises from the group and Jughead shakes his head. “Not counting Toni, the Serpent Prince thing works with any girl - believe me.”

His best friend’s lips curl into a smirk. “Prove it: fuck the North Side princess.”

Or, new-to-town Betty Cooper accompanies her sister to Riverdale’s only tattoo parlour - located on the South Side - in an act of rebellion against their parents. There, she meets the brooding, dangerously attractive Jughead Jones, and unbeknownst to her, becomes embroiled in a bet that results in unexpected consequences.

The Art of Redmancy by @xxbettysgirlxx (6/?)

Word Count: WIP / Rating: E

Summary: Redamancy –noun: The act of loving in return.Two strangers find themselves helping each other in more way than one.

Simmer by @lazydaizies (12/12)

Word Count: 84,643 / Rating: M

Summary: They say it was fate that crossed the paths of the brooding biker gang banger and the naïve sassy ray of sunshine, but whatever the force was that brought them together, everyone said Riverdale changed the day that Jughead Jones met Betty Cooper. Some say she turned the bad boy into a puddle of kittens and others say he turned the sweet good girl into a fierce sexy tigress, while each of them would argue that the other was already those things. Whatever the case may be, those that were able to observe it all go down said it was an amusing tale to watch unfold. Because from day one, it was a tale of lust, loyalty, confusion and hilarity, with love just beneath the surface waiting on a slow simmer…

10 Things I Hate About You by @letstakeawalkonthemildside (11/11)

Word Count: 51,763 / Rating: M

Summary: Reggie’s mouth twisted into triumphant smile “You will be compensated monetarily 100$ a day plus whatever gas and dates costs, and if you keep it up till Prom you’ll find yourself with a brand new motorcycle.”

Three and a half months. Winter Formal was the last week of January and Prom was the second week of May. He turned doubtful, “It won’t be easy, and we have a lot of history, bad history.”

Reggie nodded but spoke with complete confidence “Yes, but you’re a Serpent, and as a snake deception and lies are your specialty. You’re the only one that can do this convincingly and bad history is better than no history at all.”

Strong by @allskynostars (10/13)

Word Count: WIP / Rating: M

Summary: Betty Cooper swore she only signed up to tutor a young girl from South Side High, and definitely not for what followed.

And Jughead Jones didn’t sign up for anything.

Fruit Punch Lips & Leather Jacket Dreams by @believe-that-you-can-my-friend (2/3)

Word Count: WIP / Rating: M

Summary: There’s something about the bad boys that makes the good girls fall in love. Betty Cooper, Riverdale’s ultimate sweetheart, couldn’t be the exception to the rule, especially when Jughead Jones, leader of the young generation of Serpents and bad boy in the making, came into her life like a rider amongst pedal smoke. When Serpents are forced to attend Riverdale High, will her infatuation be reciprocated or will the nemesis between the North and the South create a war zone between them? (Slightly AU)

The Baddest Thing by @noorakardemmomesaetre (5/5)

Word Count: 14,502 / Rating: M

Summary: The perfect girl-next-door reputation has preceded Betty Cooper all her life, just as the rough and angry Southside Serpent reputation has preceded Jughead Jones. Could a simple dare in a small town diner challenge everything?

A/U: Jughead Jones has been an established Southside Serpent since his sophomore year of high school. He was never friends with Archie, Betty, Kevin, Veronica or Cheryl. Betty has been an established cheerleader since their sophomore year and her best friend Veronica has been dating Cheryl since then. They are now seniors.

Serpent Kiss by @crashhale (10/10)

Word Count: 58,215 / Rating: E

Summary: Betty Cooper is a college student, sheltered her whole life and craving to be something more than just the average girl next door. Jughead Jones is the leader of the Southside Serpents, closed off with wounds he doesn’t let anyone see. After a one-night stand, by circumstance they meet again, forever changed as they embark on a relationship. Can this pairing ever work?

The Ring Leaders by Marigold77 (4/6)

Word Count: WIP / Rating: M

Summary: Betty Cooper’s life has been a series of suburban events. She crushed on her neighbor. She learned to swim. She got along with her older sister. She wore pink shirts and nice skirts. She’s done all that has been expected of her, but times have changed. Secrets are threatening to break through, some of which Betty would like to personally expose for everyone to see; others she would like to keep locked up tight and throw away the key.

Upon a tragic and chance encounter, Betty meets Jughead Jones, a Southside Serpent who has taken a keen interest in her and her mission. Together they just might be able to straighten up the town, but first they must shred away the layers of themselves that they would rather keep away from everyone, but slowly they realize that it might be the only way for them to not only co-exist, but to be together.

Betty is an intense swimmer (even though I know little about actual swimming) and she has multiple secrets from nearly everyone. Jughead is the son of a serpent leader and slowly falls for the pretty girl who dares to swim across Sweetwater River.*Written pre-season 2*

Fool For You by @bug-headx (12/12)

Word Count: 33,833 / Rating: NR

Summary: Betty Cooper, the A+ student and perfect girl next door, who had been dating the school’s hottest jock since middle school, winds up with the notorious bad boy, Jughead Jones, the youngest leader of the Southside Serpents. Somehow, stars align for them, making them fall so deep in love, but are they able to maintain a relationship through their differences? How strong are they?

Tempting Fate by @kaylaarann (48/50)

Word Count: WIP / Rating: M

Summary: Betty is being held captive by the Ghoulies, only to have an unconscious man she’s never met thrown in with her, Jughead. After helping each other escape, things will only get more interesting as the Southside Serpent and High school cheerleading journalist get to know each other better, much better. Bughead, Humor/Romance/Thriller, Smut, Little OOC… Give it a go, you wont regret it!

Pay the Piper by lilylemoncakes (¾)

Word Count: WIP / Rated: E

Summary: “A Serpent’s help comes with a price. And my price is you. In my bed and at my mercy. For one night.”

Betty goes to the Whyte Wyrm to ask the Serpent Prince for a favor.

The Sacred and the Profane by BubblegumSuburbia (7/?)

Word Count: WIP / Rating: E

Summary: Seeing the twist of emotions and confusion flitting across her face, he leaned in closer to her, so his nose rested on her temple. Eyes dark and sure, he placed his hand on her bare thigh.

“The problem is, Betty…” He breathed softly into her ear, “I would fucking destroy you.”

Riverdale is a quiet town during the Summer. Betty and Jughead, having long lost touch since their days of childhood friendship, are drawn to each other over the months after senior year.

The woe of Juliet and her beloved Romeo by @butwelivehappilyeverafter (9/?)

Word Count: 34,865 / Rating: G

Summary: Before him Betty’s life had been a combination of perfect and completely toxic. She’s forbidden to cross the border to the Southside of town, unable to associate with the ‘delinquents’ that live there to keep up her mothers appearance of a happy Northside family. But all facades fade, and when Betty’s life begins to crumble, she goes to the only person she feels she can trust.

It’s almost a year later, and the Southside is coming to Riverdale High, and so is Betty’s biggest secret.

say my name by endlessdaydreaming (2/?)

Word Count: WIP / Rating: E

Summary: Everything in Betty Cooper’s life was unremarkably constant: Please her mother, envy her sister, pine over Archie, cheerleading with Veronica, write for the Blue and Gold with Kevin, and repeat — until Jughead Jones comes crashing back into her life, with leather jacket, crown beanie, dangerous smile and all.

[Aka that Bughead secret enemies-with-benefits-turned-lovers that I have been dying to read but no one has written yet, where Jughead is a Southside Serpent and Betty had always wanted to be corrupted; featuring sexy af Jughead, slowly corrupted Betty, protective Veronica, and jealous Archie; also angst, issues, pretentious writing, smut, and slow updates.]

#Bughead #bughead fanfiction #bughead fic rec #jughead: southside #jughead: serpent #betty: girl next door #genre: au #genre: smut #genre: high school #trope: enemies to lovers #trope: enemies to friends to lovers #betty: tutor #betty: student #betty: swimmer #jughead: student

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kaepop-trash · 6 years ago

Text

Push and Pull

Rated: Mature

Pairing: DoyoungxReader

Summary: As a curator, it was a matter of pride for you to understand art as well as the artist. But did you really understand Kim Doyoung?

Extra (Part 2?)

“I put my heart and soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process.” — Vincent van Gogh

First movement: Allegro

“You haven’t visited in awhile.” The doctor looked up once, assessing her presence before looking back at the notebook in his hand.

“I didn’t feel the need to.” She relaxed back into the arm chair, caressing the soft fabric on the arm with her hand. The doctor looked back up, towards her arm this time and wrote something down again.

“What made you feel the need to now?” He looked back up, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“I had to go to church yesterday. I say had because an old acquaintance got married and I was left with no choice.” She frowned at the memory for a second before returning her gaze to the doctor who looked up at her, interlocking his palms in his lap as he listened carefully.

“What was that like?” He asked with a passive tone, taking his glasses off, a further indication of his full attention.

“It felt wrong. Like I was an imposter.” She looked away as her mind travelled into itself, her frown growing back on her lips.

“How so?” She huffed at the typical line of questioning.

“There was this painting, tucked away in a corner. An angel was murdering a demon and protecting a human, a helpless looking women with her hair flowing in the wind and blood on her chest. I sat by it the whole ceremony and it was all I looked at.” Her hand stopped stroking the chair and rested still on it.

“Why do you think it was murder?” He asked curiously. She seemed to break from the trance she was in and turned to him perplexed.

“Well that is what it was isn’t it? The angel was killing him.” She tilted her head to the side slightly.

“Wouldn’t you say the angel was protecting the women? Eradicating the evil?” He pushed.

“What determines evil here doctor? Do we assume the demon is evil because it has horns or do we say the angel is evil for killing another being? What if the women didn’t want to be saved? I saw the women and I didn’t see victory or relief, I just saw pain.” The doctor nodded at her words, writing down something on the notebook once again.

“You didn’t answer my previous question.” He said without sounding demanding.

“The first time I went to church was when I was fourteen, after my aunt caught me touching myself. She cried for hours and begged the lord to forgive me before she pulled me to her church and told the priest how my parents ruined me by never making me believe in god. She then shoved me into those confession boxes and told me to seek forgiveness. It’s funny because she already told the priest everything, but I had to do it myself, admit I was wrong.” She laughed a little, shaking her head.

“And what did you do?” He asked and she turned to him with the ghost of a smile playing at her lips.

“Well doctor I confessed of course. I did do it, and I’m not a liar. But then the priest said the lord forgives me so I asked why. He seemed uncomfortable but I was genuinely curious.” She shrugged, crossing her legs and sitting up, tracing small circles on the arm of the chair.

“About what?” The doctor said, picking up his glasses again to take more serious notes.

“If I had done something wrong I would feel bad about it right? I would feel guilt, but it felt good. When I touched myself I felt incredible, the best I had ever felt till then. Pushing my finger in deeper till my toes curled and my mouth hung open. Following the rhythm till my legs were shaking and I was breathless. Why would I want forgiveness for something like that? I was going to do it again and again.” She suppressed a chuckle when the doctor looked away from her, taking a sip of water.

She was standing in front of a painting that caught her eye in the exhibition she was at. It was a modern abstract piece with the dominant use of colour for expression. She stood by it and stared at it for a long time, till her champagne flute was empty and her heeled toes begged for a break.

“Do you like the piece?” A voice broke her trance and she shifted her head to meet the eyes on an attractive man smiling at her. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement rather than of affirmation and turned back to the painting.

“It’s intriguing.” Her brown knit together. The man nodded and slipped a hand into his pocket, turning to the painting as well.

“What do you see in it.” He asked as he took a sip of his own drink.

“It’s chaotic, almost grotesque, like the creator isn’t really sure of it, frustrated maybe. It’s still beautiful don’t get me wrong, but it feels hollow. Like a pretty exterior hiding an empty case.” She let her mind speak.

“Like an artist without a muse.” The man added and she smiled, turning to him.

“Yes,” She confirmed, satisfied to have the right words. “That’s exactly it.” Her eyes glowed with more intrigue as she picked up another glass from a tray passing by.

“Do you know the painter?” The man asked and she shook her head.

“Haven’t had the pleasure actually. His pieces are hard to come by and he’s even harder.” She laughed and he humoured her with a small chuckle.

“Are you interested in his work?” His eyes glazed over with curiosity.

“Not really, I’m more of a fan of the classics. So as a collector it’s great to observe them, but as a curator I’d be happier if I had the favour of one of the most sought after artists in the business.” She laughed again, after a small silence she added a thought.

“I would love to have this one though.” She pointed her glass to the painting in front of them.

“I thought you said it was hollow.” He questioned.

“Yes, It’s fascinating is it not? Making something so detached seem so satisfying at the same time. It’s a pity that his is the only art here not on sale.” She sighed. The man nodded at her words, sympathising.

“Who is your favourite artist?” He asked as they moved away from the painting together, now without distraction she looked at her unexpected companion with more scrutiny noticing his attractive face a little better.

“Van Gogh.” She said without hesitation, her lip curling into a smile when she saw the skepticism in his eyes.

“I always feel like his art is gravely misunderstood.” She smiled wistfully.

“There are only so many ways you can interpret tulips and a rather narcissistic self portrait.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“You’d be surprised, people usually see the beauty, the use of colour and light and just drop the thought. People find beauty very two-dimensional, surely a painting that is beautiful is just that.” She explained, noting how he only partially listened.

“And you disagree?” He smiled, his eyes lit with curiosity as she tried making her point.

“Strongly, if you look at his paintings right, not necessarily intensely. You’ll see this almost subtle disturbance in them, like in the corner of your eye, just out of the line of your sight, something that juxtaposes the tranquility of the scene in front of you, hiding in plain sight. It always makes me so profoundly sad, like his own mind was slowly preparing the wage war against him.” She noticed how he had leaned in closer, clearly she had managed to catch his attention.

“In a way it’s a lot like the painting we just saw and I would love to ask the artist what he thought of when he painted it.” His head perked up at her words, lips tugging at the sides.

“Why so?” He ran his finger over the rim of his glass.

“I feel like if I can be right about this, I wouldn’t be far from my assumptions about the most tragic artist to have lived.” They way his lips curled fully drew all her attention.

They stood by and talked for a good half of the evening while she focused on the way his voice sounded and how his eyes were almost too inviting in the way they were intense and how they held your attention made her mind wander as she slowly lost focus on his words and just focused on the way his soft lips moved. The sound of a phone ringing entered her thoughts but the way his lips contorted into a frown really drew her out of her reveries.

“What?” His face twisted into an annoyed sneer that smoothed out into a gathered forehead of concentration. She bit her lip and looked away, conditioning reminding her of the place and the lack of appropriateness.

“I’m sorry but I have to go.” His voice was compensating for the apology not present in his eyes, “Something came up. But it has been an honour to be of your acquaintance this evening.” She smiled, adept enough to hide her annoyance and disappointment.

“It was a pleasure.” She said curtly.

“The pleasure was all mine.” He smiled one last before making his way out of the small crowd. Once alone, she felt comfortable huffing in annoyance. Not too pleased at basically wasting the evening over a conquest that was now pointless.

Finding another guy was easy but it wasn’t half as fun. She felt her mind wandering naturally to the man from the evening, the curve of his lips, the unrestrained persuasion in his gaze, his smoky voice. She pushed the man currently devouring her breasts rather painfully.

“Is something wrong?” The guy muttered and she looked down at him, considering the situation before sighing.

“I wouldn’t mind if you hurried up, I have to wake up early tomorrow.” She commanded and he nodded diligently. She sighed, trying to melt into his touch, to enjoy it. But her mind seemed to be too absorbed with other thoughts to let herself enjoy her usual distraction. She bit down on her lip and let herself imagine a different face hovering over her and thrusting in with erratic thrusts, his hollow eyes, his fingers digging into her waist as he urged her to go higher, her toes curling till she had no breath left in her lungs. When she finally came she was slightly glad she never learned the stranger’s name.

Second movement: Slow

“Is this the first time you have experienced something like this?” The doctor asked with his usual calm voice. She picked on her nails, chipping the blood red lacquer from the edges and making a mental note to get a manicure.

“I think so. I never really fantasise about a man like this. Much less have it happen when I am with someone else.” She looked up from her nails with a bored expression.

“So what do you usually think about when you pleasure yourself? You must fantasise about someone then.” He inquired matter of factly.

“I think about sex doctor. Not a person, I don’t care who the person is as long as they have a dick they know how to use.” She offered a shrug, her lips curling to the side when the doctor nodded, looking away.

“Do you feel guilty?” His question let her fill her eyes with confusion, “The fact that you were picturing another man while with someone, does it make you feel like you’re doing something wrong?” She smiled slightly at his question.

“Of course not. It’s just intriguing.”

She woke up late one morning to the sound of the doorbell, wrapping a robe around her frame to go answer it. She opened to door to find a man standing outside with a polite smile.

“There’s a package for you miss.” He informed, she squinted not remembering ordering anything. He handed her a vase full of sunflowers which she gave all her attention to till the guy coughed and she looked up and noticed two men standing behind him with a big flat object in their hands. She moved out of the way, not wanting to let them hold the heavy object longer than necessary. Placing the vase on a table and pulling out a card placed amongst it.

I hope you are as right about Van Gogh as you were about my painting.

She stared at the note quizzically and looked up as the men placed the piece against a wall and offered to unwrap it. When she nodded they slowly took the delicate paper covering it off to reveal the painting she was admiring from the other day.

“Thank you so much.” She told the people politely as they left.

“Woah, that’s amazing.” A sleepy voice breathed in from behind her.

“The door is that way.” She informed him without looking away from the painting.

She received the same invitation she did once every three months, a velvety envelope with an unusual invitation inside it. It had been a while but she found herself making note to buy a dress.

Her head rested on the couch as he drew in a shaky breath from her parted lips, all around she heard sounds of people immersed in various degrees of pleasure but she was trying to focus on her own. Her fingers gripped on the guy’s hair tighter and he groaned against her heat, a smirk played at her lips at the reaction. He pushed his finger into her and she screwed her eyes shut once again. After a while she shot her head back up and looked down at the guy, realising she didn’t remember how he looked. He looked up at her and winked, pushed her dress higher up her thighs and looked into her eyes. She smirked and looked away, her expression changing when she caught a familiar face across the room, sitting alone amongst a crowd of people indulging in as many companions as they could see, staring right at her. His lips drew into a smile that, coupled with his shining eyes made her stomach turn.

“Faster.” She commanded and the guy obeyed. She stared the face across the room who tilted the glass in his hand towards her like they were old friends. She kept her gaze fixated on him till her eyes rolled into the back of her head with her release rushing over her in waves, she bit her lip and let her head fall back as she cursed softly at how good it felt after a while. The guy got up and wiped his chin with a grin.

“My name, by the way-”

“I don’t care.” She responded, he got the message and walked away. She looked back across the room to find her vision void of the same face she saw mere moments before, she considered if she was actually losing her mind.

“Fancy seeing you here.” A smooth voice spoke and she drew in a deep breathe in from parted lips. She turned to him and smiled socially.

“The host is a dear friend” She crossed her legs and faced him. He allowed a small chuckle and sat down, offering her one of the two champagne flutes in his hands.

“So you must be a regular?” He asked like it was a simple social event.

“I’ve been to a few, but they get boring quite fast.” He laughed rather loudly at her casual words.

“I never thought I’d hear someone call an orgy boring.” He still laughed as he spoke and she smiled.

“It’s usually the same people, and the same development. You’re new I assume, so it must all seem fascinating to you, but it’ll lose it’s appeal.” She informed him, a smirk plastered on his face. She looked around the large room with people hiding behind flimsy curtains, the noises somewhat muffled by the classical music coming from speakers placed everywhere, allowing a false sense of security.

“Not really, orgies aren’t my thing.” He admitted and she turned back to him, raising her brow till he added to the thought.

“I don’t like sharing.”

“Is that why you don’t sell your paintings?” She questioned and he gave her a shy grin, nodding.

“Maybe, I haven’t really thought about it. I feel like I can only be satisfied if I know someone can really appreciate what I’ve created so I only sell to people who go through the trouble to find the painting they want.” He explained and she nodded.

“All that trouble and then they pay a small fortune because no one finds your paintings.” He nodded at her words, “And yet you just give me one? Should I be flattered or worried?” He laughed.

“Both really, I wanted you to have the painting. But that’s because you gave me the one thing I was desperately searching for. I had to return the favour.” His finger traced over the rim of the glass in his hand and his eyes searched over her features.

“But I have an issue.” He frowned slightly at the words, “You managed to find my address and I don’t even know your name.” Her tongue peeked out to moisten her lips when she noticed his eyes on them. He looked up with mysterious eyes.

“I just asked the gallery if you were a curator there, you weren’t but I found your name and the rest I left to my manager.” He licked his own lip and sneaked another glance at hers before his eyes travelled down her chest, exploring the edges of her low dress.

“That’s a lot of effort to go through to give away something that special.” She focused on keeping her breathing normal as her body reacted to his gaze, her neck flushing, she squeezed her thighs together. Flustered but fascinated by the way her body seemed to react to his simple scrutiny.

“Like I said, you gave me something invaluable.” He looked back at her eyes, his eyes shining with satisfaction from extorting such a response from her. She tightened her jaw when she realised the premeditated nature of his actions. She looked away catching the eye of a girl passing by.

“Could you get me a glass of bourbon from the bar darling.” The girl looked a little surprised at the request but nodded. She turned back to him like she was reminded of his presence, “Would you like something to drink?” He shook his head and she nodded, letting the girl walk away.

“It’s Doyoung.” She looked at him with confusion that turned to amusement when she realised, “My name is Kim Doyoung.” She nodded. They were interrupted by a hand that landed on her shoulder gently, pulling her attention away from him, she turned around and smiled in acknowledgement.

“You’re practically a stranger to us now.” A man laughed and she joined.

“It’s been awhile, how have you been?” She offered courteously.

“I’ve been the same. Can’t say I’m not better now to see you here,” She laughed dissmisively, “Care to join us? Just like the old days.” He pressed his arm around an attractive woman. She smiled.

“Sorry but not tonight, I have other plans.” The man turned to face Doyoung behind her and gave him a clipped smile. Thereafter turning back to her with a sad smile.

“I see, what a pity. See you later then (Y/N), I’ll hold you to the promise.” She nodded and he walked away.

“Tell the wife and kids I say hello.” She nodded and he laughed at her words.

“That’s-” Doyoung spoke from behind her and she smirked, turning back to him.

“The mayor yes, we’re old friends.” She smiled knowingly, noticing the start of indignation in his eyes with victory.

The girl from earlier returned with the drink as promised and she gave her a smile and thanked her.

“Is there anywhere you can go here that has privacy?” He asked casually and she decided to play dumb.

“At an orgy?” He laughed when he realised what she meant.

“There are rooms upstairs, but they aren’t open for just anyone.” She informed and he mirrored the smirk she was trying to bite back.

“Well then I guess it’s a good thing that I know a dear friend of the host.” His words made her laugh, this was too easy.

“That is true, I’ll talk to him.” She nodded getting up and he followed the action, buttoning his jacket.

“You can pretty much pick any women here you choose, a handful of them are prostitutes though so I would strongly advice on protection. You’ll find them with every waiter and at the bar. Enjoy your evening Mr. Kim.” The way his eyes furrowed in confusion pleased her greatly.

“I don’t understand?” He asked, his eyes glassing over with a hint of fury.

“I do have other plans tonight. I promised the host a meaningful visit so I must attend.” His jaw set so hard that she noticed his prominent jaw.

“Let’s go.” She prompted and he nodded still perplexed.

“You have a pretty name by the way.” He said as they walked up a grandiose staircase. She greeted a few more people on the way.

“(Y/N)!” A voice caught both their attention, a tall woman walked up to them, she gave her the same courteous smile and greeted her politely.

“Oh come on, there’s no need for such formalities.” The woman said and pulled her closer and kissed her on the lips, a small touch that turned heated quickly, the women placing a hand on her cheek and deepening the kiss, while her arms stayed on the women’s hips with detached courtesy. The women pulled back and brushed her hair back affectionately.

“This colour looks good on you.” The women maintained the proximity, brushing her hand down the side of her chest. She smiled and thanked her.

“This is Doyoung,” She said after, turning to him. “He’s new.” The women turned to him with kindled interest. He smiled at her easily, taking the arm she extended and kissed her hand.

“Oh what a gentleman.” The women laughed, but (Y/N) turned to him with narrowed eyes as he briefly glanced at her.

“I was just telling him to enjoy himself thoroughly, that is the whole point of course. He’s a little shy.” The women listened intently and looked scanned his frame.

“It would be my pleasure to help him out.” She gave him a flirtatious smirk. His own smirk was indulgent itself.

“Our gracious host was looking for you (Y/N)” The women turned to her and she nodded, “He’s in the other room just wait a second I’ll go call him.” She said and walked away.

“She likes you,” She laughed, “Wants to get rid of me as soon as possible.” He only nodded and she didn’t point out his annoyed expression.

“She’s nice.” She had to hold back the urge to laugh.

“You don’t look impressed.” She pointed out.

“I’m hard to please.” He looked up at her with the same dark gaze as before.

“Me too.” The smirk that lighted up his face at her words made her want to drop her game and fuck him into oblivion. But the women came back with a familiar face.

“Did you make a new friend?” The host asked her, placing an arm around her waist and she laughed, not missing the way Doyoung stared at his arm for a moment too long.

“We’ve actually met before.” She said, placing a comfortable arm on the host’s shoulder. Doyoung raised a brow at her and she only smiled back in response.

“Anyway I was just introducing the both of them. And I wanted to ask if it’s okay for them to borrow a room, Doyoung is shy.” They laughed but he nodded, pointing down the corridor.

“I hope you have fun.” She smirked at Doyoung and he nodded, giving her a dark gaze before walking away.

“Is there a reason you let that incredibly beautiful man slip out of your hands?” The host said as soon he shut the door to his own room. She just smiled knowingly and he sighed.

“It’s unfair, you get an actual god and you give him to the resident cougar.” She sat back on the bed and laughed.

“I wanted to catch up with you.” She mused and he frowned at her.

“Bullshit. I would have dropped on my knees for him if he asked. What is it.” He pried and she smirked.

“He was too sure he was going to get into my panties tonight. I can’t have someone think I’m predictable. The horror.” He huffed in annoyance, sitting down beside her.

“You must really like him if you’re willing to put sex aside.” He earned a smack on the chest for that.”

“I’m just satisfied knowing he’ll have to hold back from saying my name a lot of times tonight.”

Third movement: Minuet

She was busy sorting through some canvases when there was a soft sound of someone clearing their throat, she looked up to see her assistant standing at the entrance.

“What is it?” She asked curiously, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

“There’s a delivery for you, you have to come sign for it.” Her assistant looked apologetic for the interruption. She nodded and followed behind her to the reception, where a boy stood with a large crystal bowl in this hands. She walked up to him and he looked up with wide eyes.

“Are you (Y/N)?” He asked, she nodded and he handed her the clipboard on top of the bowl to her, “Sign this ma’am.” He said and she did so.

When he handed her the bowl she stared at it curiously for a while before a smile bloomed on her lips. The bowl was full of small delicate white flowers, she noticed a red card tucked between them and picked it out.

A promise; We have some unfinished business.

Her smile only grew deeper, a foreign excitement growing in her stomach.

“What are those?” Her assistant asked curiously as she walked to her office.

“Almond Blossoms.”

She was away for work for a week, heavily occupied her mind still wandered to the curious man. She was even caught in a pleasant surprise when she found one of his pieces at a prestigious gallery all the way in Paris. Listening to the curator relay his distress over the lengths he went through to acquire it with, all the while with a secretive smile.

“I’m sure it was well worth it.” She comforted him.

“It’s my job to acquire pieces from the relevant artists, but he’s a real asshole about it.” He sighed and she laughed.

“Maybe he just doesn’t like sharing.”

A good month later, she was fresh out of the bath when her doorbell drew her out of her room. Well into the evening, she didn’t know who she was expecting at the door, but Kim Doyoung wasn’t it.

“I didn’t realise we were close enough for unannounced house visits.” She raised a brow but her lips were already drawing into a pleased smile.

“I just thought I’d check on my painting. See if it’s in good hands.” He was leaning against the door frame with the smirk she had grown to associate with him.

“It’s waiting to find a place on the walls.” She answered and he looked up at her with a playful gaze.

“I thought you really wanted the painting.”

“I did, I just can’t decide if it belongs in my bedroom or out in the hall.” She still made no effort to invite him in.

“Maybe I can help.” He offered generously.

“Enlighten me.”

“If you let me see your bedroom I’d tell you it’s the perfect choice.” His tongue swept by his bottom lip.

“How so?” She entertained.

“I like the idea of you thinking about me when you’re in bed.” His voice had the mystical quality of making her chest heave when he said the right words.

“Those almond blossoms must have been hard to find.” She spoke as she walked in and he shut the door behind himself.

“Did you like them?” He asked and she turned back to him and smiled.

“It was very thoughtful, not sure what I have done to deserve such special treatment.” Her voice was teasing, he only shrugged.

“I believe I’ve already answered that question.” He hid his smile this time, following her as she guiding him to her sitting room. She stopped in front of the painting still leaned against the wall carefully.

“Putting it here let’s me show it off to everyone.” She placed a hand on her hip and wondered. She felt his presence closer to her, his warmth radiating off him and comfortably settling on her skin.

“I’d rather it be a our little secret.” He whispered in her ear and she bit down on her lip to suppress a whimper. She cleared her throat and took a step aside before his arm caught her waist. If he was annoyed, he hid it behind his smirk.

“Would you like something to eat? Or drink?” He gave an incredulous laugh and shook his head.

“I’d like to have some tea.” She said before walking away to the kitchen.

“Do you live alone?” He asked, seated at the kitchen counter as he watched her move around.

“Isn’t it evident?” She said with a distracted voice.

“What about your family?” Her hand stilled for a second while dropping the tea leaves into the pot. She didn’t look up at him, continuing with her actions.

“I don’t have one. My parents died when I was thirteen.” Her voice was still impassive, putting the lid on the pot and placing it in front of him, before coming around and sitting down beside him.

“They were caught in a fire in a hotel while they were on vacation.” She said and looked away to pay attention to the brewing tea.

“Oh.” Was all he said. She picked up the pot and poured it in a cup, handing it to him. She poured herself a cup and sighed after she took a gentle sip. He stared at the cup for a second before taking a sip himself.

“I don’t really drink tea.” He admitted after taking a gulp, his eyes shrinking with focus. “But I like the flavour.” He admitted, lips peeking into a slight smile. She nodded, watching his lips, glisten with tea coating the soft skin.

“It’s a elitist hobby. You need a lot of leisure time to brew and enjoy the perfect tea. Only people who can afford to waste time can enjoy it.” She repeated the words her aunt told her once, wiping the frown that was forming on her face.

“But you’ve finished your tea already.” He pointed and she turned to see that he was right.

“I must be impatient today then.”

He left his half empty cup of tea on the counter as she guided him to the bedroom. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, sighing at the freedom. When she entered her room she stopped at the wall that faced her bed, he came and stood behind her. Too close.

“Yes.” She laughed at his words.

“I think you’re rather biased with your opinion Mr. Kim.” She spoke, her eyes fluttering shut as his fingers slid up her spine slowly.

“I’m not known for my impartiality.” His voice was low. His hand came up to her shoulder and the other slid around her waist, this time she didn’t push away. He slowly pulled at the ribbon holding the flimsy robe on her frame. He closed the gap between them with a small step and pulled down the material slightly from her shoulder, exposing her collar.

“What is it that you are known for then?” She breathed out.

“People say I’m rather unusual. I can be very unfair towards things I have no interest in, or people. Evil even.” His index finger traced rhythmic circles around her belly button. Every inch of her skin reacted to his presence, erupting into goosebumps. His warm lips brushed against her collar, her frigid skin inviting the touch eagerly, he brushed his lips over her skin as he inhaled her scent.

“And what about things you have interest in?” She was trying too desperately to keep her voice steady. His lips moved up her neck, her lips parting to draw in a breathe. His tongue peeked out and left a wet trace under her ear.

“Would you like to see?” He asked and she could only nod. She felt his smirk on her skin. He turned her around slowly. She walked back, looking for the wall for support but he stopped her movements, pulling her back to him. A small distance between them that she didn’t fill out of curiosity. His lips were inches apart from hers, his breath crawling down her skin.

“I like to open up the things that intrigue me, find every little part of them, every hidden object, every dirty secret.” He leaned down, catching the delicate flesh of her neck between his teeth. His hold on her waist tightened and she had to put a hand on his shoulder to keep herself standing straight.

“Does it make you feel powerful? A false sense of authority over someone?” Her voice was small but he stopped his actions and looked up at her. She laughed gently.

“I guess you aren’t the only person who likes getting under someone’s skin.” His eyes bloomed with more darkness from her words. His jaw clenched tight. She decided she liked this expression of his the best.

He pulled her to the edge of the bed, turning her around and dropping her on it carelessly. She watched with heavy eyes as he licked his lips at the sight in front of him, pushing his hand through his hair, letting out a groan before his smirk returned.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He asked as he unbuttoned his cuffs and pushed the sleeves higher up his arm. She laughed indulgently at the unexpected question.

“No. It’s not something I find worth my time.” She spoke to the ceiling, looking back at him to find him watching her closely.

“I’m not warm and fuzzy and I don’t appreciate being emotionally extorted.” She elaborated and he only continued staring at her with a gaze of deliberation. He slowly sat down between her legs, she let out an impatient huff. Her eyes screwed shut when he traced his finger at the edge of her stomach, not close enough to where she wanted it but her body reacted to his touch again.

“Do you think emotions are the only thing a person can exploit?” His voice was curious, when she didn’t answer he bought his finger further down but still refraining.

“It’s the most common,” She let out when she got his unsaid message. “Other forms require more expertise.” She whined. Her words were rewarded with his thumb pressing on her clit, making her gasp loudly.

“What if I were to ask you to have dinner with me tomorrow?” He pushed a slender finger into her and her back arched.

“I’d say your trip here was wasted.” She breathed, her voice as distracted as his actions. He pulled his finger out slowly and pushed it back in again, curling his finger inside making her whimper. He pressed his thumb on her clit again, moving it in slow circles. Her fingers clutched on the sheets under her till her knuckles were white. When she squirmed under his touch too much he placed his other hand on her waist to keep her still. She opened her eyes to see him still watching her, deep in thought as he kept up his slow pace. She bit her lip, getting more frustrated but not letting herself ask him to go faster. She shut her eyes again when he noticed her staring, jumping when she felt his lips where his fingers were a moment ago.

“Do you want me to make you cum with my lips?” He spoke making her shiver but she held back her words.

He licked up her slit and her eyes were moist from how annoyed she felt, he pressed his tongue on her clit and hummed and she groaned loudly.

“Yes. Please make me come with your tongue, fuck.” She blurted out and he wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking and licking with a slightly elevated pace. She finally pushed her hand into his hair, clutching tighter than needed, he didn’t react. His tongue was drawing precise circles and her stomach started to feel the familiar knot she was desperate for by now. He pushed away too soon, pulling her hand out of his hair harshly. Her eyes shot open and she looked up at him with eyes dancing with rage and lust. He smirked at her and shoved two fingers into her, pumping them slowly.

“Do you prefer my fingers or my tongue?” He asked and she answered back immediately, picking up on his game.

“Tongue.” She mewled and he hummed with approval.

“Do you want to come baby?” His voice was impassive, it made her stomach flip with disgusting ease.

“Yes.” Her voice was stressed with a groan.

“Have dinner with me tomorrow.” Tears pooled at the corner of her eyes, she wanted him on top of her, she wanted to dig her nails into his back and ingrave red marks all over his skin. She wanted to have him under her and make him groan and squirm like he was making her right now, she wanted to make him pay.

“Fine.” She spat out, watching him, his impassive gaze filling with victory. Bringing his face back down and moving his tongue into her. She cursed at his frenzied pace, breathing out desperately, her voice a mix of moans, mewls and profane words. She dug her nails into her scalp harshly but he kept up his ministrations, the sounds that filled her room only adding to her growing pleasure.

He bit down on her clit once and she screamed out, coming undone without warning. He kept up his pace till she rode out her high, her back falling back on the mattress as she gasped for breath. The sounds of his shallow breath mixed with hers filled the room, the air hot and uncomfortably heavy. He stood up, wiping his chin on the back of his hand.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.” He said stoically, she only stared at him and he smirked again.

“We’ll continue this after I buy you dinner. I’ll show myself out.” He finished and walked out of the room.

She kept her gaze on the ceiling, hearing the sound of her apartment’s door shutting, too tired to move or think. She looked at her nails, picking at something stuck behind them, noticing blood, the smirk of satisfaction that graced her face was truly involuntary. She sighed deeply once, deciding to just go to sleep like that, not willingly to admit to herself what just happened.

#doyoung #nct #scenarios #smut #fanfiction #kpop #doyoung scenarios #nct scenarios #nct au #au #painter au #angst #nct 127 #nct dream #nct u #way v

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the-magnus-archives-archiver · 6 years ago

Text

Piecemeal

Case: 0112905

Name: Lee Rentoul Subject: Murder of his associate Paul Noriega Date: May 29th, 2011 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

Let’s get one thing straight right off – this is not a goddamn confession, alright? If you go to the police with this, I will deny every word, and I know enough about the law to know that even if I spill my guts to you about all the horrible things I’ve done, it will count for nothing in court. It’s not like you’ll even be able to help me, I just... My mate Hester said he came to you a few years back, been seeing ghosts and that, and you guys looked into it and told him it was some sort of noise messing with his head, ‘infasound’ or something, and he’s fine now. I need that. I need you to tell me that it’s just coincidence and my mind’s playing tricks, and I need to not lose any more bits of me.

So yeah, I killed that asshole Noriega. Stabbed him in the throat and left him to bleed out on the dockside. Maybe that shocks you a bit, maybe not, but trust me when I say he had it coming. Eight years we worked together, and it was him that got carried away kicking McMullen’s head in and moved it from assault to GBH, but sure enough when we get picked up he turns on me and I get pinned for it. Five years I served because of him, while he walked free as you please. I’d say that I was due a bit of payback and I certainly got it.

It wasn’t my first choice, though. I’m not stupid and parole keeps you on a short enough chain that slitting Noriega’s throat was not my top priority. Don’t get me wrong, it was something I’d been itching to do for five goddamn years, but I wasn’t in a rush. I had plenty of time to arrange something nasty for him, and I wanted him hurt more than I felt I had to do the deed myself. So when I got out in June last year, I bided my time and kept my ear to the ground. Tried to get in touch with him, but was told by the few friends we had in common that he wasn’t interested in talking to me. He’d clearly done ok for himself in the years I’d been away, and could afford some muscle to make sure that I didn’t bother him. I ended up with a couple of bruised ribs when I finally got tired of the run-around and tried to have it out with him properly. It was laying there, some grim side street in Lewisham of all places that I came to the decision that if I was going to hurt this asshole, and I mean properly hurt him, I was going to have to think outside the box a bit.

I decided to pay McMullen a visit. Before Noriega had gone to work on him, Toby McMullen was just some street punk. These days he was just a street punk who had trouble turning his neck. I’ve met plenty of born losers in my time, I mean it’s kind of a given in this business, but I’ve never met someone so intent on being a screw-up as McMullen. When I saw him he was high as a kite and barely knew I was there, but you bet his eyes lit up when I mentioned Paul Noriega. It took hours to get anything useful out of that waste of skin, but eventually I pieced together his side of this sorry tale. Noriega had paid him a visit in the hospital, apparently, before the police had picked us up, and promised that if he fingered me for the assault, then he’d have all of the narcotics his little junkie heart could dream of. Only once he was out of hospital and my conviction had gone through, it wasn’t two days before McMullen was out on his arse again, and Noriega didn’t want to know. Any idiot could have seen it would play out that way, but not poor, stupid Toby. Still, he’d been itching to get the knife in for almost as long as I had, and he had had the freedom to plan it, so I asked him if he had anything I could use.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when he suggested magic. Toby had always been into all of that mystical crap, even before the drugs, and if there was some half-baked New Age fad going round you could bet you’d find it dribbling out of his mouth whenever he was coherent enough to actually talk. I punched him in the gut and turned to leave. He followed me, doubled over and struggling for breath, begging me to help him. He said he was serious, said it wasn’t like the other stuff, said he knew someone with real power, who could put the hurt on Noriega, but he just didn’t have the money.

I should have kept walking. I should have shaken him off. I should have beat him so bad he couldn’t turn his neck the other way either. But I didn’t. I stopped and I listened to what that piece of human garbage had to say. I was an idiot.

So Toby took me to see his friend Angela. He never gave me her second name. I asked him what it was: Wicca, voodoo, some crystal bull? But Toby said no, nothing like that. Said he didn’t really know how it was supposed to work, but had a girl a few months back, had told him about Angela; said she’d used her services on a particularly unpleasant ex-boyfriend. Apparently he’d disappeared, and they never found a body. So then I’m thinking maybe there’s no magic there, just a killer with a schtick, but hey, if that was the case it was fine by me, just as long as Noriega got done.

When I finally met Angela, it was all I could do not to cave McMullen’s head in. I’d just about convinced myself I was going to be meeting with a hardened killer, maybe one that kept a bunch of spooky Halloween crap around, but still someone who’d get the job done. I wasn’t even put off when we pulled up to a well-kept suburban house in Bexley. But when the door was answered by an old lady in a lilac dressing gown, I almost lost it. McMullen asked if she was Angela, speaking in a quiet voice like he was actually scared of the geriatric fool. The old woman said yes, she was Angela, and asked us to come in.

The house felt almost as old as its owner – faded floral print wallpaper, dark oak furniture and threadbare carpets. The walls were covered with framed portraits, the sort you’d get in any cheap antique store or charity shop, although as we went into the living room I noticed something that I didn’t expect: they weren’t paintings, they were jigsaw puzzles, each completed and framed. And sure enough when we sat down on the worn cloth sofa, there in front of Angela was another jigsaw, half- finished. I’ve got no problem with the elderly, and if they want to throw away their last years putting together a damn picture then I’m sure not going to stop them, but it wasn’t exactly going to kill Noriega, was it?

I was so angry at this massive waste of my time, that when she offered us a cup of coffee, I almost put McMullen face-first through the glass table in front of us. I grunted something which Angela apparently took as a “yes please”, and so a few minutes later there I was drinking instant coffee from a chipped mug that this doddering old ass clearly hadn’t thought to wipe the dust off of. When she asked if I wanted Paul Noriega dead, I nearly choked.

She asked it very matter-of-factly, like it was a question on some form she knew the answer to but had to fill it in anyway. I glanced at Toby, who nodded at me, and I thought what the hell, I might as well play along. So I said yes. Yes, I did want him dead. And more than that, I wanted him to suffer. Angela smiled when I said that, a warm smile that suited her round face, and said that that wouldn’t be a problem. I started to explain the situation, but she waved it away and told me that Toby had filled her in on all the details, and that there was just one thing she needed from me, that he couldn’t provide. I started to tell her that I wasn’t paying for someone’s gran to take out a hard case like Noriega, but she said no, she wasn’t after money. She said that she was “well-compensated” for the service she provided and that all she needed from me was an object, anything that I had taken from Noriega. Not a gift, she said, staring into my eyes with a look that I recognised from years of working with very unpleasant people. It wouldn’t work if it was a gift.

At this point I was starting to feel uneasy. Not scared, alright, I wasn’t scared of this old woman, but being around her was... bad. I don’t know how else to say it, she was bad. You’ve got to understand, I know dangerous, I understand dangerous, hell, I am dangerous. This was something else. But I wanted Paul Noriega dead so badly. Five years ago, just before we’d been picked up by the police I’d borrowed his lighter. It was a battered old Zippo, used to have a picture of a topless woman on it, but now that was almost worn away. After he turned on me in questioning, I didn’t feel much like returning it to the treacherous backstabber, so I held on to it. I hadn’t thought much of it, but here it was, still in the pocket of my jacket, all those years later. I handed it to Angela, and she gave me that look again, and told me that it would work just fine.

And then we left. Angela told us not to worry about it, that Paul Noriega wasn’t going to be bothering us for much longer; we just had to wait until she was finished. Finished with what exactly, she didn’t say, she didn’t need to. We knew whatever it was we were probably better off not knowing.

The waiting came hard, though. After he’d had me roughed up, it seemed like Noriega had decided I wasn’t worth worrying about. I’d see him walking those streets like he owned them, his pair of leg- breakers in tow, and I knew there was nothing that I could do about it. He knew it too. So I waited. And I waited. I waited for the shot, or the knife, or the poison or the... whatever would end him for good. It never came. Days turned into weeks and there he still was, as cocksure as ever.

I was patient. God, I was patient, but after three weeks I had almost written off that useless old bag as a time-wasting con job. I was going to give her one more week, just one, but then something came up that I couldn’t ignore. Word came down that Noriega was meeting someone at the docks, some fence by the name of Salesa. The man dealt mainly in stolen art and curios, valuable stuff, and was paranoid as hell, which meant Noriega was going to be there alone. It might have been a trap, sure, but I’d been sitting on my ass waiting for him to magically drop dead for so long that if there was even a chance it was on the level, I had to take it.

Turns out it was true, and went off smoother than I could have hoped for. I found the warehouse a few hours before the meet, and staked out a good spot. Then I waited. Salesa turned up first, a big Samoan guy with close-cropped hair, flanked by four men in dark suits, who carried a square wooden crate between them. They went into the warehouse, and sure enough five minutes later there he is, that snake. He was alone, and seemed to be limping slightly. He headed inside through the same door, leaving it unlocked. Perfect. There was no point me going in yet. I wasn’t keen to get my head kicked in by Salesa’s goons, so I just watched, my hand gripping the hilt of the combat knife I’d bought at an army surplus store I know is happy to sell off-the-books.

It was almost an hour later that Salesa and his men left, still carrying that box. They didn’t look happy, but I could have given a damn. As soon as they were round the corner I headed inside, as quietly as I could, and there he was, leaning up against a pile bricks, smoking. I started to move towards him, but as I got near he must have heard me, and turned around. He started to say something about reconsidering, and lowering the price, when he realised I was not Salesa. Then a look passed over the face of Paul Noriega that I will treasure forever. No matter what happens to me, the memory of that look of panicked terror will stay with me.

He turned to run, but whatever was wrong with his leg meant he tripped over the bricks instead. I grabbed him by the collar, my knife already out, and dragged him up. I had always been the stronger of the two of us, and he knew he couldn’t fight me. Holding up his hand, he begged me to wait, to listen. I noticed that his hand was missing a couple of fingers, old wounds that had long healed over, though I didn’t remember seeing them before. It didn’t matter; I could hear the blood pumping in my head and nothing was going to stop me taking my revenge. He begged for mercy, as I plunged the knife into him once, twice, three times. Again and again and again I stabbed that backstabber until, finally, I him let him fall. He landed on the floor hard, dead weight, his head making a thick, cracking sound as it hit the bricks, and blood began to pool on the floor around his body.

As the rage started to fade and my breathing returned to normal, I took a second to look over poor dead Paul Noriega, and saw something seemed to have been knocked loose when his head hit the bricks. Picking it up, I saw it was a glass eye. I looked back at the corpse, and sure enough there was a gaping hole where his left eye should have been. When had that happened? He certainly had both eyes when we had worked together and all ten fingers as well. He’d also had all his teeth, where now I saw gaps all over that dead, smiling face. I shivered, though I don’t know why.

I won’t go into detail about how I went about disposing of the body. Just trust me when I say that even if the cops did find any piece of Noriega’s corpse, they wouldn’t be able to pin it on me. And life went on. His boys did come looking for me when their boss didn’t return, but I knew to lay low for a while, and soon enough they realised that if he was gone, they weren’t getting paid either way and moved on. And so I had my revenge, and that should have been the end of the story. But it wasn’t.

It was five days after I killed Noriega that I found the first package. I was on Tottenham Marshes, near the reservoir, on business you don’t need to know, and I came to a metal bridge over one of the streams there. Now this wasn’t a place I went often, and I don’t think I’d ever crossed that bridge before in my life, but there, lying in the centre of it, was a small box. It was wrapped in brown paper and string, like an old-fashioned Christmas present, and had my name printed on it in clear letters: LEE RENTOUL, FOR IMMEDIATE CONSIDERATION.

Obviously I was a little bit freaked out at this but not as freaked out as when I opened it. Inside, lying was a black cardboard box, full of cotton wool and a single severed finger. It was obviously some sort of threat; some punk reckoned they could put a scare on me. No chance. I threw the finger into one of the canals and set the box on fire before throwing it in a bin. I headed home quickly, keeping my attention all around me and my hand on my knife. I was so busy looking behind me, I didn’t see the hole in front of me, and I tripped. As I fell forward, I felt a hot pain in the hand that had been on my knife. You guessed it. Falling had caused the blade to slice clean through my little finger.

I’m not too proud to admit that I screamed at this. I tore up my shirt, trying to make a bandage to stop the bleeding, at least until I could get to a hospital. But as I began to wrap it up, I noticed that it wasn’t actually bleeding. The wound was closed. It had healed, like it had happened years ago. I didn’t know��what to think. I didn’t know what to do. So I just went home. I wasn’t getting my finger back, so I figured I could try to deal with it after a decent night’s sleep.

There was another box at my flat. Same as before. This one contained two toes. I tried to ignore it and keep my foot well away from any knives, but... I was trying to adjust the settings on my flatscreen when it fell off the wall. Hit my right foot and, well, have you figured it out yet? That was two weeks ago. Since then, I lost four more fingers to accidents, most of my toes, this eye I managed to put out on a goddamn fencepost. I’ve lost count of the number of teeth gone, and believe me when I say that you don’t want to know how I lost the hand. Each time, a box wrapped in brown paper: LEE RENTOUL, FOR IMMEDIATE CONSIDERATION.

I’ve tried everything. Once I thought I managed to outsmart it. Spent the day in my bedroom – nothing sharp, no edges. I’d taken out everything except the mattress. It didn’t matter, I woke the next morning with an agony in my foot far sharper than any knife could cut, and the big toe missing, just like the one I’d received the morning before.

I knew it was Angela. Of course I did, I’m not thick. Whatever curse she’d laid on Noriega must have passed to me. I went over there, you know. Went to confront that old... and you know what happened? She let me in. She was, nice, civil. Offered me another cup of coffee! I told her where to stick it. Demanded, asked, begged her to stop whatever was happening to me. You know what she did? She shrugged. She just shrugged! Told me that “Some hungers are too strong to be denied”, whatever the hell that means. So I went for her. I was going to strangle the life out of that curse-flinging bag of bones. But as I reached for her, I... I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. I know that that’s how I lost the hand. I know I chewed it off.

Look it doesn’t matter. I just need your help. I need this to stop. I don’t know how, but this is your area, right? This is what you do. You look into this weird ghost crap, right? Well this is the definition of weird ghost crap, and I need you to help me. I need you to save me from whatever is happening.

I don’t have much time. I got a box this morning, a few hours before I came here. It was a tongue.

Archivist Notes:

It doesn’t look like this case was ever properly followed up. According to the supplementary notes, shortly after making his statement, Mr. Rentoul became violent towards Institute staff and in the ensuing incident there was... an accident. No details are given, but it apparently required Mr. Rentoul’s hospitalisation. I’m reminded of a somewhat tasteless joke about loose tongues. He did not return to the Institute afterwards, and his statement was archived. According to the arrest records Sasha uncovered, Mr. Rentoul was telling the truth about the somewhat chequered past of himself and his associate Paul Noriega, with extensive files on both of them. The last listed interaction between the police and Mr. Noriega is two months before Mr. Rentoul’s statement, and since then no sign can be found of him in police records, or indeed anywhere else.

I sent Martin to look into this ‘Angela’ character, not that I want him to get chopped up, of course, but someone had to. Apparently he spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws. Useless ass.

Tim has done his best to try and hunt down Mr. Rentoul and see if we can contact him for a follow-up interview or evaluation, but it looks like he disappeared shortly after making this statement. We were able to find his old landlord, though, who said that Mr. Rentoul vanished in early April of 2011, leaving many unpaid bills and no forwarding address. He said that when he had gone to clear out the flat, he had been surprised to find there was no furniture left. All that remained in the house, he said, were hundreds and hundreds of small cardboard boxes.

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 14 Piecemeal)

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #MAG #MAG14 #MAG 14 #Piecemeal #Statement #The Flesh

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mortaljin · 7 years ago

Text

Colorblind

Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: None Genre: Gets a little fluffy at the end. Soulmate!Au Member: Taehyung

Summary: Making it in fashion is hard. It’s even harder when you’re colorblind and the only person who can bring color to your world is your soulmate. Will Y/N be able to find out who her soulmate is after seeing a splotch of color for the first time?

Masterlist | Afterstory Drabble

“Why should we hire you,” the man asked what is probably one of the most common interview questions known to man, his next words were dripping with doubt, however, “Y/N, you are colorblind after all, and the use of color is a vital tool in the fashion industry.”

You knew this quality, or lack thereof, was to be brought up at some point during the interview. This was an answer you had rehearsed for the past week after you had gotten a call back from a well-known design studio. A great deal of thought had been put into the answer you would provide because this studio was the first one to move you to the interview process; all other studios had turned you down after seeing that you had, unfortunately, checked off the colorblind box. Praises were given over your impressive resume, and they had all ended the conversation with a simple ‘call us when the color comes to you, we would love to have you join our team then.’ Throughout your seven-month-long process of hunting for a better position, however, the color never came, and you didn’t think it would anytime soon, but you weren’t going to let that stop you.

“It is no lie that I cannot see color, but it has not stopped me from creating what I think are exceptional pieces.” You could practically feel your heart trying to escape your chest as you feigned confidence. “Statistically, over half the population is rendered colorblind like me, and that is the audience I will do most of my catering to. As you can see with the examples I’ve brought with me, I have managed this far with my own strategies, techniques, and system to create clothing that is appealing to those who cannot see, and even to those who can.” You paused for a moment, and when you saw the interviewers unchanging facial expression, you continued. “In a world obsessed with the idea of color, I want to prove that in this world, and in fashion, color is not what makes or breaks a work of art.” You finished with a shallow exhale and prayed that your determination for success had seethed through your words enough.

“Well, Y/N,” the interviewer shuffled your paperwork as he stood, and you stood with him as you prepared to say goodbye, “it looks like your determination compensates for your colorblindness, and we are excited to have you join our team of designers.”

You stood there dumbfounded for what seemed like an eternity with your jaw slack and slightly open. When you came to your senses, you brought your chin a little higher, back a little straighter, and your voice that much more confident. “As am I, sir, you will not regret this,” you gave his outstretched hand a firm shake, and then followed him towards the rest of the building so he could give you a rundown of the workplace.

Pleasantly exhausted, you made your way to the large, overly-fancy doors to the entrance of the studio. It wasn’t even your first official day at the studio, yet the amount of information was almost enough to wear you down. You were shown your workspace as well as the two designers who would be monitoring you for the next month while the company decides if you are worthy to keep around. The fabric room at the back of the building was filled with what had to be the best quality fabric you had ever seen; there was no doubt that the color selection had to be vast as well. Glancing one more time at your new location, you pushed open the doors to make your way home.

Thud.

“I am so sorry! Are you okay?” A voice rambled as it picked up the folders and items that were now sprawled on the ground. Your eyes had been lowered to the ground as you walked out the building, causing you not to see the man rounding the corner and running straight into him. You just laughed, nothing is ruining your high spirits.

“It’s fine, really. At least neither one of us was carrying coffee!” You joked with him to calm his worries and picked up the rest of your things, “thank you for helping with my papers, take care!” You didn’t give him a second glance, or even a first, as you made your way down the street, a newfound pep in your step from landing such a great job.

This must be a dream, you thought to yourself as you made your way down the final few blocks towards your apartment. Most people to make it in the fashion industry were older, and well, usually married. Color was the world’s wonderful gift that was only bestowed to those who had found their special someone; it was something people could see only after meeting their soulmates. Most people found their soulmates in their twenties, some in their teenage years, few are rarely older than forty, and unfortunately, some never meet them. Your great-aunt was one of those people; no matter how much of a social butterfly she was in her youth, her soulmate never came and neither did the color. Your parents, on the other hand, were just barely eighteen when their entire world became drenched in the beautiful colors, and had you not long after. Maybe I’ll be the medium of the two, you slightly snickered to yourself at the thought. Twenty-five and still without a soulmate, not the end of the world, right? It wasn’t for your great-aunt; at thirty-three, she met a man that, despite not bringing color into her life, made her feel as if he had. They fell in love, although it’s not recommended to do so with someone who isn’t your soulmate, and have spent the last forty years in a blissful, black-and-white world.

Right before you reached your apartment, you stop dead in your tracks in front of the cute little bakery you buy your desserts from. Your mouth grew dry and your throat began to close a little as you stood in shock of the sight before you. It wasn’t the view of extravagant cakes or the heavenly smell of freshly baked goodies that caused your entire world to stop. It was the sign above the door with its once black cursive name now flaunting the horrendous green color that everyone had always told you it would. You squeezed your eyes shut and violently shook your head, reopening them only to find out the sign was still green. Without trying to process whether you even liked the color, you ran into your apartment and began searching every square inch for another sign of it.

“Why did I only see one color?” This phrase had been repeated almost twenty times in the last hour. The house was practically turned upside down, the disastrous aftermath of your quest for color. As you began to place your pots, pans, and cooking utensils back into their respective places, you noticed that at the very back of the cabinet stood a single, lone pepper shaker. Here, Y/N, you can have this pepper shaker. It’s an ugly green color that I know you can’t see anyways. The conversation with your mom from three weeks ago replayed in your head. With shaky fingers, you grabbed it from its place and turned it in your hand, observing how it held the exact same green color from the sign outside.

“Hoseok, please. Will you please calm down and let me finish?” You scolded as you sat across from your best friend. After accepting the fact that you could now see what people said to be one of the worse shades of green, you immediately rushed to Hoseok to figure out what it meant. When you knocked on his door unannounced and quickly blurted out your new ability to see color, Hoseok was ecstatic and began to pull you towards his closet so he could show you the new purple shirt he had gotten yesterday.

“Oh right, of course, I need to know what your soulmate is like! I bet he’s super tall, and smart, I know you’ve always wanted to marry a doctor!” Hoseok began rambling all these predictions before you finally had to cut him off.

“I didn’t meet my soulmate Hoseok,” his eyes went wide and you continued, “well obviously I must have, but not like everyone else has. And I can’t see all color, only this shade of green.” You held out the pepper shaker that you brought with you, as proof to him that you could see that it was green.

“This doesn’t make any sense, Y/N. If you can see this green, then that means you met your soulmate, which means you should be seeing all kinds of color right now.” Shaking his head, he pulled out his phone and began typing away.

“I know, I don’t get it either. I was around so many people today after getting that job. I got the job by the way!” You beamed, you just realized you hadn’t even told him about your new job. “So, I came across and met a lot of people today, some of them were pretty attractive I won’t lie, do you think that has my body thinking it’s trying to meet someone?”

“Firstly, congrats on the job! I knew you’d land one eventually, you have a knack for fashion and once you get the rest of your color, you’ll be unstoppable. Secondly, listen to what I just found. About five years ago, some research was done about the phenomenon that is soulmates and color,” he looked up to make sure you were listening and continued, “it says here that the majority of people who meet their soulmate, meet them in a circumstance where all of their attention is on each other. Like me and Yoongi for example, when I met him at the bar it was like no one else existed but him.” You rolled your eyes and grinned at how cliché and cute their story was. “These people are the ones that see color immediately and in everything, however, there are people, presumably like you, who begin to see splotches of color here and there that gradually bloom. These people weren’t focused on their soulmate or didn’t have a proper meeting. These scientists discovered that briefly touching, bumping into, or talking to, does not fully bring out the essence of the soulmate and causes the person to see few, if not one, color.” You stared at him blankly.

“You mean to tell me, I finally meet my soulmate and I didn’t even do it right?” You were fuming and honestly annoyed at yourself.

“Not necessarily. You were probably just so caught up in getting this new job and meeting all those new people that you didn’t have time to focus on anyone for longer than five seconds.” Hoseok’s smile grew more mischievous as the seconds counted on.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” slight fear in your voice without knowing what he was thinking, “what are you planning?”

“I’m thinking that you need to get yourself a makeover! Now that we know that your soulmate is tied to your job, we have to make sure that you look the best at all times! No more mismatched clothes!” You grimaced at the word mismatched. “No offense, Y/N, you usually do a good job and while those earrings aren’t a total fashion disaster, they’d be better in a different color.”

“I’m going to roll my eyes out of my head because of you. I don’t need new clothes. And excuse me if I can’t tell that this hint of gray isn’t the proper shade.”

“Fine, fine. At least let me come to your house and rearrange and label your closet? You’re due for a new outfit range.” You glared at him before relenting. Having someone label and arrange your outfits for you so as not to wear green shirts with orange pants is nice, but every so often they needed to be relabeled and rearranged so that you could keep the outfits looking fresh. You snatched your green pepper shaker and made your way out the door, forcing Hoseok to run after you before you changed your mind.

The following morning was nothing short of stressful as you ran around your apartment trying to get ready for work. After rearranging your outfits last night, Hoseok became your saving grace and helped you tidy up your destroyed apartment. All this for a pepper shaker? You laughed as his exasperated statement came back to your mind. Pulling on the pantsuit and choosing its new matching accessories, you stood back and looked at yourself in the mirror.

“Hoseok said that this pantsuit is burgundy colored and that it looks good on me. I can’t wait to see this color!” This thought had been said aloud, but your voice trailed off towards the end. What if I don’t see my soulmate again and I never see more color? What if I’m stuck with one shade of green? You inwardly laughed at this last thought, because one color is perhaps better than none.

The commute from your apartment isn’t that difficult, and you felt a little different now that you knew you would be passing that green sign every day. It was strange, everything was once black-and-white, but the closer you look, the more you notice that shade of green found here and there. You saw it on a magazine rack, and then you later saw it on someone’s shirt. It had to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen; how can people say this color is hideous?

You were greeted by the secretary at the front and you made your way to the workspace you had been assigned. A couple of the older women that you had met yesterday came over to you and started up a friendly conversation before the day’s assignments were to be distributed.

“I looked at your portfolio yesterday, Y/N, the way you are able to mix such odd colors together is amazing! I’ve never seen someone mix colors like that and have it still look good!” One of the women, Catherine, had complimented, holding up a picture of one of your dresses you designed.

“Thank you so much! That’s such a compliment,” you gushed, surprised that someone complimented on your skill with color. “Most people brush off my color choices, and focus on my designs themselves seeing as I’m colorblind.” This merited a gasp from the group of women surrounding you.

“What do you mean you’re colorblind, how could you hope to ever work in fashion if you can’t even see color?” This remark came from the woman you met yesterday that seemed to be a little cold, and now she proved your suspicion.

“Well, I mean-” but you were cut off by another coworker, John you think his name is.

“Oh, be quiet Brenda, if you took the time to look at her portfolio like we did, you would realize that she obviously knows what she’s doing despite her color deficit.” He countered her snarky remark and turned to you with a smile. Wait.

“Wait, ‘look at her portfolio like we did,’ does that mean you’ve all seen it?” You asked meekly, fear creeping into you as you learned that all these skilled people, who have the ability to see color, have seen all of your work.

“Of course! We see every newcomer’s portfolio so that we can assess them properly. I think it’s safe to say that we all think you’re brilliant, despite being colorblind!” Catherine praised you and patted your shoulder. Suddenly your boss and another man in tow were approaching you.

“Ah Y/N, good morning! Glad to see that you’re here early!” The man said. Mr. Boudreaux was in his early sixties but didn’t look a day after fifty. He was a legend in the fashion world for this area. The others had returned to their work and had left the three of you alone.

“Of course, Mr. Boudreaux, I wouldn’t be late even I wanted to be!” Shooting a smile his way, he laughed at your enthusiasm.

“That’s good to hear. By the way, this is Mr. Kim. Taehyung got here a few months ago, so he’s new as well.” You shook his hand and introduced yourself, but you were not able to give him much thought as Mr. Boudreaux was talking a mile a minute about all the work he had planned for you. Before turning away to get to work, a ring on Taehyung’s right hand caught your eye. A large stone glistened under the bright lights of the studio and it was a wonderful color you weren’t sure of. This observation made you gasp slightly and left you staring after him as they walked away.

Did I ignore my soulmate again? This thought screamed inside your head as you wracked your mind as to who it could possibly be. There are a couple of the younger men here that you’ve briefly talked to since yesterday, but none of them seem to be your type. Then there’s Mr. Kim. Nonsense, I didn’t see him yesterday. Did I? You wracked your brain trying to come up with any memory of seeing Taehyung and came up empty. Your mind drifted back to the stranger that you bumped into without looking at, and you almost squealed in realization. His voice! Their voices are the same! After making this connection, you added Taehyung to the possibilities on your soulmate list and continued to work your way into your assignments. Apparently, Taehyung and a few of the other workers were invested in a tedious project downstairs, and so you didn’t see any of them for the rest of the day. You didn’t see any color either.

“Hoseok,” you huffed into the phone as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, “I see another color.”

“This is great Y/N! What color is it?” You could practically feel your best friend’s excitement for you.

“Well I wasn’t exactly sure at first, it was a light color, but when I walked outside I saw it in the sky before the clouds came in, so I’m assuming it’s blue!” Blue had always been a color you had dreamed of seeing.

“That’s wonderful, I’m so glad you can enjoy the sky now!”

“Me too, Hoseok. Me too. I wouldn’t have seen the ring on Mr. Kim’s finger if I didn’t have a problem of staring at my feet.” You confessed, wishing you had paid more attention to Taehyung instead of listening to Mr. Boudreaux’s rambling.

“Try to pay attention to him more! Maybe he’s the one!”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see.”

Due to being constantly busy, you were hardly able to pay attention to yourself, let alone any of your coworkers. Thankfully, however, over the past few weeks you were able to narrow it down through a process of elimination. Your two possibilities as to who your soulmate could come down to Park Jimin, the guy that you see once in a blue moon downstairs, and Kim Taehyung, who you also rarely see. You decided to test your possibilities and headed downstairs to make conversation with Jimin. For the first time, you gave him your full attention; the two of you held a pleasant conversation about favorite styles and designs. No matter how much attention you gave him, however, your world never changed. The hidden colors that were left to be seen didn’t come out, causing you to accept defeat and head back upstairs. Time for Taehyung.

This time you were nervous. Through your quick, half-hearted conversations in the coffee room and hellos in the hallway, you began to enjoy his presence. You were scared though. Anything could happen if you found out you were each other’s soulmates. What if he was your soulmate but you were not his? The thoughts ran through your head as you made your way to his office. Quickly you knocked on his door and entered after he called.

“What can I do for you, Y/N?” His eyes never left his papers as he questioned you. Your heart fell to your stomach. You were completely paying attention to him, yet there was no burst of color.

“Oh, I was wondering if you had seen Mr. Boudreaux lately, I went to his office and he wasn’t there. I needed to speak with him.” This was a total lie, you could see Mr. Boudreaux clearly on the other side of the studio.

“He was just in a meeting, he should be back soon.” He never bothered to glance up at you, nor did he say anything as you turned on your heel and shut your door. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes, and suddenly you felt incredibly sick to your stomach. Thankfully, Mr. Boudreaux had swung by almost immediately after.

“Y/N? You look awful, no offense, but are you feeling well?” He looked at you with concern, and all you could manage was a simple shake of your head. “Get out of here then, leaving an hour early so that you don’t puke on the clothes is not the end of the world. Feel better.” With that, you were practically running out of the studio.

You didn’t know where to go to, everything had begun to have color in it and you couldn’t stand the thought of seeing it. Despite this, you found yourself sitting in a park for over an hour. This had become your favorite place as of recent; all shades of green had now been bestowed on you and you came to the park to see it almost every day. A few shades of different colors had come into your life; blues, reds, and yellows could be seen more frequently now, but your world was still mostly under a black-and-white filter. Green was your favorite color, and you still adored the sign above the bakery near your home, despite everyone’s protests that it was awful. Your eyes were glued to the ground in front of you. Throughout the area of the green grass were holes of grey and black. Dirt. I’ve become greedy with seeing color and I’m mad that I can’t see the color of dirt. You wanted to laugh at this thought, but you couldn’t. Tears began to form in your eyes, and suddenly you were sobbing in that secluded part of the park.

“This isn’t fair! Why did I ever have to see color at all!” You screamed, cursing yourself for ever getting that stupid job.

“I thought you were colorblind, Y/N?” The voice came from the right of you, and instinctively you turned away when you realized who it belonged to.

“Not completely, Mr. Kim.” You muttered under your breath. You couldn’t bear the thought of looking at him again and having your dreams crushed, so you hastily stood up and began to walk away. A hand caught your wrist and froze you to the spot.

“Y/N, wait. I need to tal-”

“Please let me go, Taehyung. I don’t want to have a conversation about color with the person I had mistaken for the one who gave it to me.” By now you were crying again, but you didn’t care. You felt beyond defeated. Suddenly you were being yanked back into Taehyung who quickly spun you around. His hands were on your shoulders and shook you a little bit to get your attention.

“Damn it, Y/N, look at me!”

So, you did. When your eyes met his, a slow spread of color began to flow out of his skin. First, his eyes became colored, brown like the dirt below your feet, but so much richer. Then you could see the slight tan of his skin, and the burgundy of his shirt. The world around you started to erupt with color, and you had to cover your mouth to prevent the obnoxious gasps coming from it.

“I don’t understand. Why now?” You had the mixture of every emotion welling up inside of you, irritation, confusion, and especially happiness. “Some people only see color with their soulmate after paying attention to them, and I went to your office to talk to you and I didn’t see any color, so you shouldn’t be my soulmate. I-” your rambling was cut off when Taehyung engulfed you in his arms and ran his hand along your back, calming you down.

“That’s true, technically,” after breaking from the hug, Taehyung reached a hand up to caress your cheek. “But what they don’t tell you is that it doesn’t count if both people don’t have their full attention on each other. That’s why I’ve only gotten a few colors here and there, I always seemed to be at the back of your mind, and perhaps you’ve been at the back of mine sometimes.”

“Can you see everything, too?” you whispered, the sound of your heart beating in your ears seemed to drown it out. Taehyung nodded.

“I can see the color in those beautiful eyes of yours now, the blush in your cheeks is more prominent, and I can finally admire all the beautiful clothes you wear and make.” You giggled slightly as you could feel the heat rising to your face.

“How did you know I was going to be in the park?” You wondered how he even found you in the first place.

“I didn’t,” Taehyung shrugged, “this became a place of solace to me when your green dress became the first color I saw that day I bumped into you.”

#bts fanfic #bts au #bts fluff #taehyung fanfic #bts one shot #pls don't hate me if this is bad omg #bts fanfiction

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