#even in the terribly overexposed lighting here you can see his smile | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

obsidiancreates · 5 years

Text

Gray Area

(Okay so I had one idea about Aziraphale and Crowley’s wings turning gray since they’re truly no longer on either side and then I thought about what if they never did the body swap thing and... ta-da!)

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Aziraphale tried not to show his panic. He made himself look confident, defiant, unapologetic. Inside he was falling apart.

Worse, he was sure that down in Hell they were about to kill Crowley.

They had tied him to a chair. The room was terribly empty, just white floors and walls and windows with light that was far too bright shining through.

He wasn’t sure when the light of Heaven had become too bright for him. It used to upset him, the way it stung his eyes as he gave reports of his activities on Earth. It made him feel... as though he didn’t belong. As though he wasn’t a proper angel.

He knew now that was accurate, of course. He also knew that he didn’t mind that it was accurate. He didn’t belong, and why would he want to belong with these people anyway? The light did still upset him, but now for other reasons.

His last moments, and the final thing he would see was some overexposed angels smirking at him.

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Crowley smirked at the other demons. “Nice place here. A bit bare though. Going minimalist, are we?”

He may have been about to be punished, likely never to be seen or heard from again, but he’d be double-damned if he wasn’t going to go with style. He was Crowley, after all. Everything had to have some flair to it.

“Yes, we are,” Beelzebub said, their emphasis on the we making it very clear that Crowley was not included in it. “Webuilt this place for you specially. It shall be your place of trial, and it shall be your place of destruction.”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. He may be dramatic, but at least he was an interesting dramatic. “So what’ll it be then?” he said as nonchalantly as he could, hoping to piss the other demons off as much as possible before he went. “An eternity in the deepest pit?”

He had a feeling that was it. Hell loved it’s torture, after all.

“No no,” said Hastur, a grin forcing it’s way onto his face. It didn’t suit him, not at all, and Crowley leaned away from him slightly. “We’re going to do something even worse. Letting the punishment fit the crime.”

Crowley became aware of footsteps echoing down the hall he’d been lead down just moments ago. Purposeful, quick, but in a way that screamed of discomfort. He turned to watch the doorway.

Micheal walked through.

“Well, that’s unlikely,” he muttered, unable to stop the words before they escaped him. He noticed the pitcher in Micheal’s hands.

Holy water.

So they were going to kill him then. Well, he should have expected as much. Of course...

He froze. Heaven and Hell were working together, and that meant... “What have you done with Aziraphale?”

He heard Beelzebub laugh from behind him. “You two seemed so desperate not to live without each other...”

“So we decided to do you both a favor and not make either of you go through that,” Micheal finished, unable to hide the satisfied glint in their eye. “We thought it merciful,” she lied right through her pearly white teeth.

“And we thought it would kill you to know your little lover boy was going to die because of you,” Beelzebub said. At least they had the decency to be honest about it, not like that helped anything.

Aziraphale was going to die.

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“Ah, Aziraphale.” Gabriel’s voice boomed from behind. He walked into view, and Aziraphale resisted the urge to glare at him. If he was going to die, he was going to die with dignity.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be just a little sassy. Crowley would sass them. He would do his demon proud.

“You could have just sent a message. A kidnapping, in broad daylight?”

Gabriel shrugged and turned to Uriel. “Have we heard from our new associate?”

“He’s on his way.”

Gabriel grinned. “I bet you’re going to like this. I really do! And I bet you didn’t see this one coming.”

Aziraphale clenched his jaw. ‘Hellfire,’ he thinks, ‘You’ve somehow gotten ahold of Hellfire.’

And then he noticed Micheal’s absence. And a chill ran up his spine.

“You don’t get this view down in the basement!” a voice said. A demon walked over, walked on the grounds of Heaven, and smirked at Aziraphale. The demon threw his hands out, and Hellfire shot out at a small circle marked on the floor. The fire went up, twisting into a tornado, and Aziraphale could almost feel his hair singe from where he sat.

“So, with one act of treason you avoided the war. You ruined our entire plan, everything we’ve worked towards for six thousand years.” Gabriel was barely concealing his anger as he spoke.

“Well, I think the greater good-” Aziraphale tarted, knowing he was about to push Gabriel over the edge.

“Don’t talk to me about the greater good sunshine, I’m the Archangel fucking Gabriel!”

Unfortunate placing of the f-word, Aziraphale thought, but he didn’t mention it. Instead he frowned and said, “We’re meant to be the good guys, for heaven’s sake!”

“Well, for Heaven’s sake, we’re meant to make examples out of traitors. So, into the flame.”

The ropes around his arms were removed, and Aziraphale stood up. He straightened his bow tie, his hands shaking more then he thought they ever could. He swallowed. “Well... lovely knowing you all. May we meet on a better occasion,” he said, giving them a small smile, determined to take the high road.

“Shut your stupid mouth, and die already.” Gabriel gave the most ingenuine smile ever to exist.

Aziraphale’s own smile fell away. He looked at the fire and closed his eyes. He stepped in.

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Crowley watched Micheal pour the holy water into the bathtub. She could have just miracled it full, but no. No, they had to make a show of it. He could appreciate that, to a degree, but all he could think about was what was happening up in Heaven.

Micheal poured the last of the water. She left the room, and Beelzebub grinned. “Go ahead. Any last words?”

Crowley looked at the tub. Holy water... this was really it. He was... he was really about to die. Forever. He pushed down his feelings and smirked. “This is a new jacket, and I’d hate to ruin it.”

He pulled his jacket off, and his pants, watching as the other demons rolled their eyes. At least he was irritating them. He took his glasses off last.

“Go on already,” Beelzebub prompted. “Or I’ll have Hastur push you in.”

‘I’m sorry Angel,’ Crowley thought. And he got in.

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Aziraphale had expected agony. He had expected intense burning, the pain of having every atom of your being burning up, just unspeakable pain.

He hadn’t expected it to feel rather like a sauna. A sauna that was a bit too hot, but a sauna nonetheless. He cracked his neck and sighed. It was almost nice, really.

He opened his eyes. He still had eyes to open, which was very unexpected but he couldn’t complain. Gabriel and the other angels in the room were staring at him, wide-eyed, all of them much farther back then they had been when he’d stepped in.

He smiled at them. His wings felt especially warm, and they stung quite a bit.

“It may be worse than we thought,” Gabriel said.

Aziraphale’s wings stung more, and began to hurt a bit. He brought his wings in front of him.= to see what was wrong.

They smoldered at the tips, the feathers smoking and graying. He watched the fire flick at his feathers, white singeing to gray, the smoke of the bottom feathers staining the ones higher up.

They were... a soft gray, somehow. Almost silver. The tips of the feathers on the edges were a dark, smoky gray, but the rest were light, pleasant. He rather liked them.

Maybe... maybe if he was okay, he could dare to hope...

“Well,” he said. He looked up and beamed. “It seems that The Almighty has other ideas for me.” He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he wanted the other angel’s to believe it. “Thank you for the fire, I was feeling a bit chilly. May I take my leave now?”

Gabriel nodded, slowly, his lips parted in shock. “I think that would be best.”

“Thank you.”

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Crowley flicked the water at the window, watching with glee as the demons behind it scrambled away. Even the walls sizzled where the water hit them.

But he was fine. His skin was a bit red and irritated, but he was fine! “I don’t suppose anyone here has a rubber duck?”

Hastur just stared, not blinking. Beelzebub and Dagon had both stepped back to avoid Crowley’s splashing. “He’s not one of us, anymore,” Beelzebub said.

Crowley brought his wings out, just to see how much they’d spray the water everywhere with their unfurling. But as they curled around him in order to fit in the tub, he noticed something.

As holy water dripped down his wings it left streaks, streak of gray amongst his other pitch-black feathers. The water stayed clear and pure, but it was... almost like it was washing his wings.

Hastur made a choking sound. Beelzebub ran to the window, where all the demons of Hell (or at least, the ones who were best at shoving through crowds) were gather, watching with open mouths.

“What are you looking at! Nothing to see here, nothing to see!”

Crowley leaned back into the tub. He stared as his feathers lightened in the water, becoming a dark gray, like a stormy cloud. They were even lighter in the places that the droplets had dripped down, streaks of near silver.

He grinned. Oh, he grinned.

Because perhaps, perhaps, if a demon could survive a bath in holy water, an angel could survive Hellfire.

Of course, he wasn’t really a demon anymore, was he?

“I came for the- oh, Lord.” Micheal froze, mouth agape.

Crowley was still grinning. “Micheal! Miracle me a bath towel, would you? This has been nice,” he hissed the last word, “But I think I’m done.”

Micheal handed him a towel, pure white and fluffy as can be. She jumped a bit when he reached out to grab it.

“I think,” he said, sitting up and flicking holy water at the remaining demons in the room, “That it would be best if I was left alone for a while.”

Hastur had backed away so far that he was pressed against the opposite wall, his hands opening and closing like he was trying to claw through it to get even further away. Dagon and Beelzebub stood to the side, still, silent. They nodded. Crowley turned his yellow eyes to Micheal, who smiled nervously and nodded too.

Crowley smirked. “Right.”

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Aziraphale shut the door to his bookshop and leaned against it. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily as he slid down. He miracled the door locked and curtains closed.

He brought out his wings to look at them again.

They were... quite beautiful, in his opinion.

The darkened edges of the outer feathers, the way the lighter ones were pale but still clearly not white, the way they gleamed like silver when the light hit them but seemed to be a simple soft gray when it didn’t...

They were not the wings of an angel, but not the wings of a demon, and he quite liked that.

He stood up and walked to his phone. He was still shaking a bit, and as he dialed Crowley’s number it got worse.

What if he had been wrong, and the demon hadn’t...

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He wouldn’t allow himself to go there.

He was just one number away from calling when he heard the door open, and a familiar voice shout “Angel!”

His heart raced. He dropped the phone and ran into the main room. “Crowley!”

Without a thought he ran at the demon and pulled him into a hug. Crowley froze, stiffed, but after a moment he hugged back.

They’d never hugged before. But Aziraphale didn’t care, and clearly neither did Crowley. They held each other for a long time, just... happy.

Finally Crowley pulled away, gently, and Aziraphale did too.

“Angel,” Crowley said, taking off his glasses. “I- I’m glad you’re okay.”

“And I’m glad you are, my dear.”

Crowley’s eyes shifted, and Aziraphale realized that he hadn’t put away his wings. “Ah, yes, it um, it seems the Hellfire had a bit of a... a side effect?” he tried. “I quite like them, truthfully.”

“I do too,” Crowley said. He stepped back and smiled. “What do you think of mine?”

He got out his wings, and Aziraphale gasped. They were a beautiful dark gray, with streaks of lighter gray that, Aziraphale noted with surprise but joy, matched Aziraphale’s own.

“They’re gorgeous,” he breathed. He laughed a bit. “Do you think... do you think this is because we’re on our side now? Do you think She may have had something to do with it?”

“Who know? Who cares? We’re free, Angel. We can do anything!”

Aziraphale looked his demon, or whatever he was now, in the eyes. “Anything,” he repeated, grinning. “Well... how about we start with lunch? At the Ritz?”

Crowley grinned back. “Sounds good to me.”

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(I am very proud of this! Look at these boys! Living it up! After this the Ritz scene from the show happens, and yeah! They just go about happy! Whoo-hoo!)

@victory-cookies @a-humble-narcissus

#Good Omens #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #fluff #good omens fanfiction #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic #my AU

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neohighwayv · 4 years

Text

Snap!

Characters: NCT Jaemin x reader

Genre: photographer!au, strangers!au, friendship!au

Word count: 2.9k

Description: To snap a photo is to freeze a moment in time forever, but the memories and relationships forged during that moment last beyond that fragment of time.

Warning!: None

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Photography had always been your little passion. Nothing that you took too seriously or forced yourself into doing – for pushing yourself too far might end up backfiring and extinguishing the joy you had for the hobby. You just picked up your camera whenever you felt like it. Lately, however, you have been meaning to improve on it. Staring at photos online with good angles, lighting and composition was not going to magically make yours look the same. As with every other art form, one needed to constantly practise to be better at it. Pen held between your lips as you twirled in your swivel chair, you brainstormed for places around your neighbourhood that would serve as a good photography spot. Your favourite hunts come to mind but you quickly shook those thoughts out with a scrunch on your face. You’ve taken enough photos of those places, there would be nothing new to see. When your swivel chair finally came to a stop, your eyes immediately caught onto the postcard hanging on your wall – a souvenir from one of your recent travels. It was a shot of a beautiful water fountain, crystal azure water simmering in the small pond beneath. You practically jumped from your seat when the thought came to you, you could try to take some photos at the newly opened park just a short 15-minute walk from your residence. The highlight was a gushing water fountain, which you knew would look perfect under the evening skies. Throwing on your clothes that hung by the back of your door, you left the house quickly before taking a brisk walk to the park.

Stepping past the magnificent iron-wrought gates, you didn’t have to follow the signs to reach the fountain, you simply followed the crowd. Being a budding photographer meant that your eyes were constantly searching for the next scene to capture, the next moment to preserve and last past time immemorial. Eyes wandering, you constantly stopped to snap photos – the rose bushes, the pine trees and the occasional jogger with their dogs on a run; if you were lucky enough to get a shot that was not blurry due to the movement. As you walked along the well-paved stone paths, the sound of footsteps and murmured conversations gradually gave way to the sound of splashing water and one particularly loud slap of the water against the ground snapped you out of your reverie. Just in time anyways. Snapping your head forward, you watched as the water sprouted high up into the air, the clear water momentarily becoming pink against the backdrop of the baby pink evening sky and cotton candy clouds. The sprouts of water seemed to float in the mid-air for a few moments, inching just slightly higher into the air, almost like they’re trying to reach for the skies. Your eyes followed closely as the trail of water eventually came down, the final splash creating a spray of mist around the surrounding onlookers. The whole moment was magical and magnificent, and you knew instantly that – this – was going to be your only subject for the rest of the evening. You really desired to get a good shot of this spectacular show and you were not leaving until you got it. The collective gasps of the spectators before you had you instinctively rising your camera, your fingers pressing down on the button rapidly as you heard the soft clicks of the shutter go off in succession. You beamed widely to yourself – surely you must have gotten a few good shots.

Wrong.

The more you pressed the next button, the deeper the frown on your face. There was something terrible about each photo that you took. Some pictures were blurred due to movement from the water and people, others looked overexposed or the composition just didn’t look right – the tops of the water sprouts were sometimes cut off. You let out a small huff of annoyance as you deleted each shot, your nostrils flaring as you pushed air aggressively through them. Unbeknownst to you, your little huffs of annoyance had caught the attention of someone standing not too far off from you. Setting his camera down, Jaemin turned towards the source of noise, pausing for a moment to look at you glare at your camera screen. The oncoming breeze ruffled your hair and clothes, causing you to push your hair behind your ears in a futile attempt to keep them out of your face. You were clearly struggling – and no, Jaemin was not referring to your hair. Thankfully, for you, it might be something that he could help with. Taking big steps towards you, Jaemin stood beside you before gently asking.

“Do you need help? You look like you could use some help with your camera.”

“Pardon?”

With the breeze whipping your hair into your face, you couldn’t see who was talking to you. Gathering your hair with your fingers, you pushed your hair back and finally, got a good look at the person standing beside you.

Well-defined eyebrows, wide doe eyes with a plush lower lip. But what left you dumbstruck wasn’t his good looks but rather, his bubblegum pink hair. It was the exact same shade as the current evening skies, and you nearly asked if he descended from the heavens. How else could someone possess such perfect hair that rivalled even the softest clouds? Jaemin did not seem to notice your ogling – or maybe he was just used to it. He quickly slung a reply back.

“I’m asking if you need help with your camera.”

You noted the black DSLR resting around his neck, and you quickly realised that perhaps he was someone that could teach you a tip or two.

“Oh! Yes, I do, actually. I can’t seem to get the shots right; everything just does not look good.”

“Let me take a look.”

You placed the device gently into his outstretched hands and Jaemin sifted through the deleted shots quickly, immediately identifying what was wrong with each picture.

“Am I a lost case?” you jokingly asked.

“No, you’re not. Just lacking some techniques but those are easy to fix. Here, let me show you. Let’s start with the basic camera settings.”

Jaemin then turned off your auto settings, and promptly showed you how to get the correct aperture, ISO, shutter speed and exposure settings – depending on your subject. You quickly learned that the higher the ISO value, the higher the sensitivity to light – and vice versa. All the terms Jaemin threw out was too much for your brain to absorb just by listening, so Jaemin waited patiently as you diligently noted down everything he said, occasionally looking at him for confirmation with your eyes. That was the cycle: he would teach you something, you’ll write it down before adjusting the settings yourself and snapping the shot. Jaemin would then inspect the shot later, and with each passing attempt, he nodded and smiled more. Your improvement was fast and visible, you were clearly a capable and fast learner.

Turning to Jaemin, you asked, “Is there anything else I could learn as a beginner?”

“Just one more, positioning.”

You tilted your head to the side, a sign for Jaemin to carry on explaining.

“It’s simple. We’re going to try out different postures to get different kinds of shots. If you stay in the same spot, your shots are going to be the same, right? So, move around and try out different compositions.”

Without another word, Jaemin took off for the fountain. For the next few minutes, you were chasing Jaemin around the structure, stumbling to catch up with him as he leaped high and low. One moment he was kneeling on the ground, and the next he was up on some empty bench, stretching his arm out to get an aerial shot of the fountain. Then before you even noticed, he had already woven into the crowd, leaving you to squeeze past the throng of people to get to him as you whispered apologies under your breath. After fighting through the crowd to reach him, Jaemin promptly dashed off again, leaving you with a grimace on your face as you took off after him again.

My goodness, would that bubblegum pink boy slow down? He’s bounding around like a bunny; I can hardly keep up! Goodness, where does he get his energy from?

After finally catching up with him, you bent over with your hands on your knees, patting your hand against your chest to slow down your panting. Jaemin remained unfazed, turning to you with a grin on his face.

“Now you try.”

“Let me… let me… catch my breath first. You run really fast.”

“Sure.”

Jaemin disregarded your comment, which left you staring at his back incredulously as he continued to snap photos of the nearby rose bushes.

“Ok, I’m ready. Let’s get those shots.”

“Great. Now lie on the floor.”

“WHAT?”

“I’m serious, lie on the floor. You can get some pretty good angles from the ground.”

From his spot on the ground, Jaemin closed his hand around your forearm before dragging you down to the ground beside him. Your jaw dropped in ridicule initially, but once you were in that position and felt so much smaller compared to the people walking past you with quizzical looks on their faces, you burst into laughter – and Jaemin followed suit. It probably didn’t look the best from the by-standers point of view, two people lying in the middle of the park and blocking the path but you were laughing too much to be bothered by that now. Dropping your head between your hands, you tried to suppress your giggles but it wasn’t working out so well, your giggles coming out as snorts instead.

“What you waiting for? Get some good shots now!”

Jaemin nudged your shoulders and you finally snapped out of it – but not without tears gathering at the corners of your eye.

“Yes sir, I’ll take the photos now. This is just too funny; I can’t help laughing. Two people lying in the middle of a path taking photos. I’m going so far just to take a nice photo.”

“Final tip as a photographer: you must be willing to sacrifice many things to get that good shot.”

“How extreme.”

There under the fading evening blush, you and Jaemin laid pressed shoulder to shoulder, both focused on taking the last few shots until Jaemin’s phone alarm went off. Immediately, he got up from the floor before fishing his phone out of his pocket. You followed suit, now standing face to face with him as he spoke first.

“I got to go now. My part time job.”

“Oh, please go! I didn’t realise how fast time has passed.”

“It’s no worry.”

“Thank you so much for teaching me today, I really did learn some useful tips from you.”

“No problem.”

Jaemin would loved to stay longer to talk to you but he really had to go now, before he was late for work. Bringing his hand up into a wave, you returned his parting gesture before you watched him jog out of the park and into the crowd. You tried following his bubblegum pink hair; that should have been easy to spot amidst the sea of natural blacks and browns. But soon, you had lost sight of that helpful stranger. You stayed to shoot some final shots before you left the park and took a leisurely stroll home. By the time you closed the door to your room, the view outside your room had faded from blush pink to inky black, the evening sun now replaced by the twinkling stars and luminous moon. It wasn’t until you reviewed the photos before you realised your mistake. You slapped your palm against your forehead as you groaned in frustration, the impact leaving a red print on your forehead.

“ARGH, I forgot to ask for his name! He’s helped me so much and yet I have no way to find him to properly thank him.”

You clearly remembered telling yourself that you would buy him a drink as a proper thanks but now… without a name or a contact number… there was no way that you’ll be able to contact him. All you had to remember him by was his face and a nickname that you chose for him yourself: Bubblegum pink boy.

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[2 months later]

Walking along the gallery of your local community centre, you stopped every few metres to observe yet another shot, before using your phone to take notes on it. What was good, and what was bad. According to Bubblegum pink boy (as with many teachers before him), learning by observing is also one great way to get better at your craft. Your local community centre had called for its residents to submit photos taken of the town in celebration of its 50th anniversary. You had taken the plunge, submitted your collections of photos and was pleasantly surprised to get an email back, saying that your photo had been chosen. You had just walked past the photo that you had taken of the fountain that evening, the image immediately bringing to mind memories of Bubblegum pink boy.

I really wonder where he is now and how he’s doing… it’s such a small town, why do I not see him around?

Turning the corner, you glanced at the next photo quickly – only to do a double take when you realised that…you…were the subject of the photo.

What even?

Even though your features were not distinct due to the strong lighting in the background, you recognised your side profile and the water fountain in the background. Then it dawned upon you: you had only visited the water fountain once – and that was the evening where you had met Bubblegum pink boy. There was no doubt about that – this photo could only be taken by him. Stepping closer, you inspected the small information card by the side of the picture.

Title: Passion

Photographer: Na Jaemin

“So… do you like it?” someone whispered beside you. Whipping your head to the side, you jumped back due to the close proximity of your faces, but a smile soon stretched across your lips when you recognised who it was.

“Oh! Bubblegum pink boy!”

The affectionate nickname, however, made the young male raise his eyebrows.

“I have a name, you know. Look here.” he said, pointing towards the small information card.

“My name is Na Jaemin, and if anything, my nickname should be Blueberry boy now. Look at my hair!”

Tilting his head forward, Jaemin pointed towards his freshly-dyed blue hair, the colour indeed looking like a lighter shade of blueberries. Jaemin looked back up and gave you a pointed look, only to be met with your beaming smile.

“Now that I know your name, I won’t be calling you by your nicknames anymore, Na Jaemin.”

“Good to formally know you, Y/N L/N.”

Now, your eyes blown wide at his statement.

“Wait, how do you know my name? I’ve never told you.”

“I walked past your photograph of the water fountain just now, and I took a look at the information card.”

“How were you so sure that was me though? It could have been anyone that day.”

“I know, because I remember inspecting that shot for you before I left.”

“Right… didn’t think you’d still remember it though.”

“Well, I do have good memory, unlike someone here.”

Jaemin pushed your forehead slightly with his index fingers as you swatted at his hands; he was clearly making fun of your frantic note taking that evening.

“Hey! It just shows that I’m a diligent student.”

“Sure~” Jaemin cooed in a sing-song voice, still teasing you with a friendly lint in his voice. You turned back to the photograph with a scoff, eyes now studying the picture intently.

“Thank you for capturing me so beautifully… when did you even take this shot?”

“I took it just before I left the park. It was the perfect moment with the evening light casting its glow on both the fountain and you. Oh, and I didn’t make you beautiful though, you did.”

“How so?”

“Passionate people engaging in their craft will always be a beautiful sight to see, hence the title.”

“You beat me to it; the title was going to be my next question.”

“Well, now you know.”

“I got another question though.”

“Shoot.”

“Would you be free after this? I would like to treat you to a drink – as a proper thanks for helping me that night.”

“I would not be free for drinks…”

Jaemin watched as your face fell but that didn’t last for long.

“But I would be free for lunch.”

“GEEZ!”

You slapped his arm for teasing you once again and Jaemin faked a howl of pain at the light tap as a scowl still decorated your face

“So Jaemin, any recommendations on where to eat?”

“Anywhere but the Dancing Hatter.”

“Why not? I love their milkshakes; they serve the best strawberry milkshakes in town.”

“Because I work there, and you’re welcome for the good strawberry milkshake, they’re likely made by yours truly.”

“Wait, you work there? How come I don’t see you around?”

“Two reasons: you either came in during my break time, or I was busy in the kitchen making drinks.”

“No way, I would have seen you at least ONCE.”

“Well then, maybe you just have bad eyesight. That could be a potential reason number 3.”

“Oh, would you stop roasting me!”

And just like that, both of you finished walking through the entire photography gallery, bickering and bantering with one another. But even then, if someone were to snap a photo with the two of you right there and then, they would have captured two young people just being very happy and content with each other’s company.

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haikyuulovercompany · 5 years

Note

Ash! Your request box is open! Okay can I request a scenario with Ushi, Kuroo and Bo where they give their s/o a hickey and the reader doesn’t notice until someone points it out and that how it comes out their dating? Sorry if it’s unclear

This took me longer than it should, but I hope you enjoy!! (:

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Ushijima Wakatoshi

It was more than a complicated situation she had found herself in. Their whole group was already suspicious something was going on between them, and that was the nail to her coffin.

In her terrible morning, with her strong headache and empty stomach, she hadn’t thought twice when she had gotten the call from Ushijima inviting her to watch movies, have some food, and do nothing for the rest of the day. She had taken a shower barely awake and had gotten ready in the same fashion, leisurely and with little care.

It was his fault as well, because for starters, those purples marks going down on her neck were his doing, and second, he had entirely forgotten mentioning he had invited the rest of their friends. She had arrived to a lot of familiar faces, and while she was slightly disappointed it wouldn’t be just the two of them, she wasn’t mad at all. She just wished she had put more effort in her appearance.

Between the crowd, it had to be Tendou, the sharp observer and the most shameless among them, who stretched a long finger, briefly poking her neck. “Now, now. What’s this _____?”

“What’s what?” you asked, your eyebrows knitting down in confusion. It was Tendou after all, there was no way to tell if he was teasing her for the sake of a joke or for something real. However, when Semi and Leon joined in their amusement she knew Tendou was being serious.

“And you have a couple more here and here,” Tendou continued.

“What is it?”

Semi hesitated before talking. “Maybe check them yourself. I don’t want to assume.”

That was definitely a red alarm. She got her phone out of her pocket clumsily, sliding the screen to left to access the front camera. She finally got to see why everyone was so entertain with her. In an impulse, a natural and honest reaction, she whipped around towards Ushishima, locking eyes with him. This direct reaction was noticed by absolutely everyone in the room.

“No way,” Tendou gasped. “Wakatoshi-kun!?”

He glanced at them, his face as serious and unmovable as it tended to be. He sighed. “We’ve been dating for a couple months now. I don’t see a problem with this.”

The jaws of everyone fell to the ground. They switched their attention back to ______, whose face was entirely covered in a scarlet color. They had concluded they had to tell their friends sooner or later about their dating, but she never imagined it would be in such a blatant manner.

Tetsuro Kuroo

For her, it wouldn’t be the first time she had gotten to hide the hickies Kuroo loved to leave on her skin. He would chuckle mischievously when she showed wearing turtle necks or collar blouses to hide his doings.

It hadn’t been their intention for their relationship to go under everyone’s radar. They had gotten together in the heat of the moment. A discussion in a late afternoon had ended up in a kiss too intense to be their first, but that’s what you got after months of secretly pining for the other and neglected emotions.

The days passed by until they were weeks and those weeks turn into a couple months and they hadn’t told anyone. It was said that everything was better late than never, still they hadn’t got the news out, and even if they had, she would refuse to walk around with red spots all over her neck.

The summer heat was already hitting down on every living being in Tokyo. Classes were more unbearable thanks to this small detail. Their uniform clung uncomfortable over sweaty bodies and the classrooms were like stepping on lava. Unlucky those who sat by the window, their chairs and desks burning them when the metal touched bare skin.

To wear a sweater or any piece of clothing assimilating a winter attire would be a lot more suspicious, _____ figured as she stared at the mirror to the dark spots her boyfriend had left yet again. She couldn’t let her friends find out about her relationship with Kuroo because of the nasty marks on her neck, and less let her parents see them. They were aware of their relationship and they had just gotten bedroom rights, which she didn’t want revoked so soon.

It took her ten minutes to properly hide them and then other five minutes of waiting patiently without a shirt in her bathroom. If she did otherwise, her school shirt would get smeared with make-up, making the obvious more obvious. She tested it with gentle taps on her neck. Nothing on her fingers. Satisfied with the result, she left without noticing she was leaving behind more the same foundation on her bathroom sink.

And it was only so much cheap drugstore foundation could endure during the hot day.

She had got carried away. No one had noticed at the very first hour of the morning, but now that noon had come and gone, and their school day was coming to an end, her skin had gotten rid of the foundation she had applied so instantly. It also didn’t help that her friend, instead of quietly mentioning the bruises, she had gasped loudly, pointing at her neck.

“What the hell happened to you?” she asked, attracting everyone’s attention, and that included Kuroo’s mocking eyes. The eyes of a guy who knew perfectly what he had done.

“What do you mean?” _____ asked in return, entirely oblivious of what was happening.

“Your neck, is all bruised.”

She slapped her neck, covering the marked skin in a natural reaction, her face blooming into an intense red. Her heartbeat had picked up and she could do was to watch as Kuroo snickered to himself, enjoying the predicament she was now in.

“Aren’t those… hickies?” your friend continued. Now you truly had everyone’s attention.

“Why would I have hickies? I’m single as hell,” you stated, glaring discreetly.

“Maybe someone random, someone you didn’t tell us about.” In those very seconds, you would love for murder to not be a major felony, because then your friend would have stopped breathing in that exact moment. “Wow, ______ with who are you hanging out?” she teased at her silence.

“With no one!”

“Your neck doesn’t get like that because of no one. Ghosts don’t give you hickies.”

“Maybe I scratched myself at night.”

“You didn’t have them this morning.” And without a previous warning, her friend wiped some of her make up with a finger, showing the evidence to ______ and everyone. “Spit it out.”

Her mouth went dry, together with her thoughts. Nothing came or go. She had agreed with Kuroo they would find the right time to tell them, and being overexposed like that wasn’t one of the ways they wanted to do it. She was about to lie. Sacrifice herself and save Kuroo, but then, he spoke before her. “It was me.” Their eyes snapped at him. He was calmly grinning, hand in his pocket and the other resting casually on his hip. “We’ve been together for a while now. Sorry you had to find like this.”

The shouts and claims immediately exploded on them, her friend shaking her in pure indignation about her best friend hiding such good news. From the distance, still unfazed, Kuroo winked at her, and she didn’t oppose her eyes rolling at him.

Bokuto Kotaro

He had never done something like that. While he sometimes playfully trailed down her neck in order to get her fluster was common, he had never left evidence of his actions, and this was probably why she had overseen the bruise right on the side of her neck.

She had gotten ready for a hang out with everyone. The day was sunny and the weather promised to be magnificent all day long. With light, flowy clothes, she left the house, the warm rays on her skin bringing pleasant goosebumps through her.

She was one of the last to arrive to their meeting point. Bokuto smiled brightly at her, waving with enthusiasm but not coming too close. She reciprocated his gestures with the same energy to not tell them away. She held a sigh, slowly becoming more tired of their secret. She wanted nothing but to walk by his side with their hands intertwined. It had been only a couple months since their abrupt confessions, but after years of hiding her feelings, waiting wasn’t something she was up to do for much longer.

However, she never imagined her pleadings would be heard and her wishes granted in such an embarrassing way. It took seconds for Akaashi to pick up on the mark, totally oblivious to what it actually was. “______, you’re hurt.”

She blinked bewildered. “Where?”

“On your neck, there’s a bruise.”

Everyone surrounded, trying to get a look. She was still unaware of what it truly was, making her worried. Then, inside someone else’s mind, it clicked. It wasn’t a random bruise. “That’s a hickey. Someone gave you one,” one of them said between giggles.

She kept her gaze in place, not snapping at Bokuto to scold him with a killer glare like she so desperately wanted. She was in a vulnerable place now and was rendered speechless. Her silence apparently made her guilty because half of their friends howled at her subtly trying to guess what could had she be doing the night before.

Again, it was the analytical mind of Akaashi who brought the boisterous banter to an end. “I don’t get it, weren’t you with Bokuto last night?”

“Yes, she was with me,” Bokuto answered oblivious. He had been so entertained by the circus their friends were putting up, that he had not connected why his closest friend was asking such a question, therefore he was the last to connect how big he had messed up. Twice. His first mistake had been to leave a hickey in such a visible place.

______’s eyes were on him big, round and shiny as a full moon in a clear night and her cheeks tinted red. He felt the others staring at him insistently waiting for his explanation, and then he was as speechless as her.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! x you #haikyuu x reader #ushishima x reader #wakatoshi x reader #ushiwaka x reader #bokuto x reader #shiratorizawa x reader #shiratorizawa #fukurodani #nekoma #Kuroo Tetsurou #bokuto kotaro #kuroo x reader

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alleiradayne · 5 years

Photo

Part I - Lesson Learned

Characters: Jared Padalecki, Me, Clif Kosterman Warnings: None, only fluff and mild angst here Word Count: 3,108 A/N: Assume all parties are single and absolutely no spouse hate!

In another minute, I’d have gone to bed.

In five minutes, I’d have passed out.

And in the morning, I’d have seen the post on Instagram and been pissed at myself all over again. 2016 might have repeated itself had I not learned my lesson the hard way that year.

Instead I sat in the chair at the desk of my hotel room, phone in hand, and flipped through every social media platform I had. I searched tags and pictures and an endless stream of fan accounts until I found that for which I willingly sacrificed sleep.

#spnfamily @jarpad Jared and me @ Sneaky Pete’s!

“Ugh, Sneaky Pete’s?! Really?!”

If you can’t tell, I’m not fond of that bar. Every time I’ve been there, someone starts a fight. Something about alcohol and open stripper poles enraging people.

But Jared was there. Though I desperately needed sleep, I wanted to meet him outside of the con. Just once. Just to get that sort of selfie with him. You know, blurry, half-drunk, overexposed, and hair in my face with his perfection right next to my hot mess. That selfie.

The handle of the hotel door clicked before I realized I’d left my chair, tossed on my N7 hoodie, and shut off the lights.

“What am I doing?”

Silly question. I knew exactly what I was doing. Stalking a celebrity. Yup. Real healthy. I know. An endless tirade of chastising thoughts raced through my mind as I walked down the hallway to the elevator. An eternity passed while I waited, and twice I nearly turned back for my room. But when the bell sounded and a door opened, I darted in and smashed the button for the main floor.

In the lobby, I rushed to a side door and avoided any eye contact. If I had looked at anyone, they would know what I was up to. They would know I was leaving my hotel to go to a bar because a celebrity I wanted to meet was there and that I had stalked him on social media. They would know the second they looked at me, with my red cheeks and wide eyes. Yeah, she’s on a mission. A creepy fanatic’s mission.

The cold November air hit my face with such force, it sucked the breath from my lungs. Again, so lost in thought, I’d lost track of myself. It happens from time to time. I get so caught up in my brain, I forget where I am. Usually it's because I’m planning out another piece of writing, whether it’s my novel or fanfiction. Better not think about that too much or your dumbass will end up telling him about it. If you’re even lucky enough to meet him…

I scoffed loud enough to scare a dog and their human as I passed. Should have taken a Lyft. But nope. I had not plan that far ahead. Too impulsive. And by the time I got to the bar my feet screamed for relief, not because of the long walk, but because I’d been on them all day. Saturday at a Supernatural convention is long. The Saturday Night Special had been entirely worth it though. I’d never look at Rob Benedict the same way ever again.

At the door, I handed the guy taking cover a ten-dollar bill, and I barely heard him over the music as he asked for my wrist to stamp. Not that I paid him much attention either. I had a mission. Unfortunately, Minneapolis complicated finding a 6’4” brown-haired, broad-shouldered guy. Loads of men fit that bill there, what with the plentiful Scandinavian population.

Through the entry, I scanned the crowd as I headed to the bar on my right. To my left, stripper poles stood in a line on their platforms, every single one packed with far too many people. Though I laughed at the idea of Jared on a stripper pole in a packed bar, I knew better. He might be silly, but he sure as hell wasn’t dumb enough to do that in public.

With the bar three people deep, I forced my way to the front, a few well-placed elbows and crushed toes parting the throng. The bartender, a harried woman who tried to put on her best smile, took my order, ran off for a glass and the bottle of scotch, and poured my drink. I avoided eye contact again as two men—boys, really, they looked barely old enough to be in the place—on my right tried to get my attention with terrible pickup lines that involved my drink. Not that I could hear them. Bass deep enough to shake the building thumped terrible party music accompanied by terrible lighting and shitty vocals.

Did I mention I hate Sneaky Pete’s?

I emerged from the crowded bar and headed for the stairs, still scanning for a set of shoulders above the sea of heads. When I saw nothing of note, I took the stairs to the speakeasy basement to find it nearly dead.

Nearly.

A few booths sat occupied, couples and smaller groups that wanted to escape the insanity of the main level, music muted to a dull roar. An older man sat by himself sipping a drink at the end if the bar nearest me. And the bartender—a woman about my age—talked with him. She’d get an extra tip with that sort of attention.

With a sigh, I turned back for the stairs, but something out of the corner of my eye stopped me. I looked over my shoulder, then turned back around as I spotted them. At the far end of the bar sat two people, one with long brown hair, and the other bald.

You know, leading up to that point, I never thought it would happen. From the second I’d left my hotel room, I imagined getting to the bar, getting a drink, sipping it down as I walked through the place once, maybe twice, then leaving.

But there at the bottom of the stairs I stared, dead-eyed, at Jared Padalecki.

At the back of his head.

Close enough.

My feet refused to move, though I desperately wanted them to. There were a great many things I wanted to do. But for the life of me, in that first moment, I balked. And it wouldn't be the last time. I damn near ran back up the stairs and out the front door.

But then Clif nudged Jared and pointed my way. He turned and spotted me, and Christ, I'll never forget that smile or his awkward wave. I'll never understand what about him then had managed to ease my nerves, but he had, and one foot stepped in front of the other until I passed him.

“Hey, Cliffy.”

Jared cackled as Clif leaned from his stool and hugged me. “She clearly knows the rules.”

“Get in good with the body guard, right?” I said as we parted. When I turned to Jared, I managed to keep my shit together as he hugged me in turn. “Nice to meet you. Again.”

Parted, he asked, “Were you here last year? What’s your name?” He motioned to the stool Clif had vacated.

By the end of this, you’re going to hate me. I hesitated yet again before taking a seat. “Jeanna,” I replied as I sat down. “And yes, I was here last year with my sister. We bought the very last J2 op Friday morning.”

“Well, then it was meant to be,” Jared teased. “Is that Jeanna with a G or a J?”

A long pull from my drink eased my nerves. That he even thought to ask that question set my heart racing “A J. We were J4 in that photo op. My sister is Jessica.”

“J4, I love it,” he said with a laugh. “So, how was the Special?”

“Rob kissed me,” I blurted.

Jared rolled his eyes, not missing a beat. “Rob can be a cheeky fucker sometimes,” he said. “How did he manage that?”

“They set up a sort of ‘pit’ area in the big aisles on both sides of the theater,” I said as I air-quoted. “A new friend and I stood the whole show. I got some amazing pictures.”

“You’ll have to show me after you get them cleaned up,” Jared insisted. “Twitter?”

“I’d love to…” I started as I looked around the bar. The conversation had started so well and had continued so easily, buy my confidence slipped. It was too good to be true. I had missed something, a sign or a phrase. Clif would escort me away any second. “I’m sorry, I should probably leave you alone. I don’t want to take up your personal time. You’ll be up to your eyeballs in fans tomorrow, and I’ll see you plenty then anyway—”

Before I slipped from my stool, Jared reached out with an unsteady hand but stopped short of touching me. “You don’t have to. You’re not bothering me. Not like there’s a million people trying to get my attention.”

I eased back onto the stool as I thought. I had imagined meeting Jared in public on occasion. But that simple fantasy usually consisted of a short greeting, getting that selfie, and then being on my way. Never in a million years would I have guessed that I’d have him all to myself for a personal conversation. “Are you sure? I mean, like I said, I’ll see you all day tomorrow. I’m in VIP, I have your solo photo op, I have your meet and greet—”

“You bought all that?” he asked.

“Damn straight I did, I love—”

Yeah, I usually say I love Jared Padalecki. But not to his ridiculously gorgeous face. “I uh… you’re my favorite.”

I’d tell you that Jared blushed when he regarded his beer, sipped from it. But the dimly lit bar masked his face in angular shadows so dark, I’d never know. “It’s okay, Jeanna,” he started. “You’re my favorite, too.”

“Wow. Thanks,” I retorted as I sipped from my drink. “I get it, I made it weird. Don’t rub it in. I’m not exactly… it’s not every day I get meet someone like you.”

Jared laughed through his nose as he spun the bottle of his beer on the bar between his thumb and middle finger. “Not many celebrities in the Twin Cities?”

For a moment, I stared at him, unsure of what to say. When he stared back with his easy smile and perfect hair curled behind his ears, I understood. “You are probably aware of this, but, you’re not just some random celebrity, Jared. You’re… you’re an incredibly important person to me. To a lot of people. Your compassion and empathy for people knows no bounds. You’re so selfless, I don’t know how you do it. I’d be exhausted all the time.”

Jared’s smile fell and I resisted the urge to scream, to take it all back the second the words were out of my mouth. Too late, Jared capitalized on the moment. “I appreciate your honesty,” he commented. His hand moved for my shoulder once more, but as before, he hesitated. “I’m… flattered to have had such a positive impact on people’s lives.”

“Good,” I stated, “you deserve it.”

I could have died a happy woman right then and there as Jared smiled in the wake of my words.

If I told you everything we talked about that evening, you'd have a novel on your hands, and a boring one at that. Sure, we flirted here and there, but I quickly understood that Jared was the type of person who truly meets people. He wants to learn everything he can about them before parting ways, take something profound, new, defining with him when he leaves. I told him about things I never imagined I would have—including my ideal final season for the show, complete with angels, demons, monsters, sex (not with monsters), love, and for once, a real shot at peace. Retirement. On a beach somewhere in Texas with a cooler full of Margie. As much as he liked the idea, he confirmed my suspicions. Sam and Dean’s story does not end on a beach with girlfriends (or angel boyfriends) and a cooler full of Wisconsin's fictional pride.

It was one o’clock before I even thought to check the time. We had talked for two uninterrupted hours. And as much as I wanted to stay, I needed to be back up at seven for my much-anticipated Sunday.

But before I said any sort of goodbye, I grabbed a napkin and my sharpie—always carry a sharpie with you at cons, just in case—and wrote down my number. When I slid it to him, Jared picked it up and squinted at it.

“I didn’t even have to ask,” he joked.

“Oh, gimme a fucking break, dude, you’re swimming in pussy,” I retorted.

With a crooked smile, he shook his head. “Not really. Do you think I do this,” he paused as he gestured between us, “all the time?”

“With that face and your body, I would,” I said. “Not to mention your heart and brilliant brain, too. You make conversation too easy.”

A distinct shade of pink slashed across his nose, distinguishable despite the dark shadows on his face. I waited for another witty retort, but nothing came. He simply stared at me, eyes searching mine with an intensity that rendered me speechless.

I had told Jared things about myself most people in my life did not know. And as I sat there, staring at him, I realized that Jared understood that. When he hesitated to touch me for a third time, I spoke. “Are you… scared?”

“Maybe a little,” he mused. “I can promise you, this isn’t something I normally do. Spending this much time with a fan… never struck me as a good idea.”

“And now that you have?” I asked.

Finally, his hand enveloped mine where it sat on the bar. “I'll say this. You’re a natural at meeting celebrities. You played it cool even though you were nervous. You talked to me like I was just… another person. And that’s incredibly refreshing.”

“You make it sound like most fans are cra—”

He shook his head, vehement in his disagreement. “No. You’re not. Ya’ll are amazing and generous and so full of love. I would never disparage any of you. Most engagements with fans, either at a con or out in the wild, are short or in a… sort of controlled or contained system. It’s kind of sterile. It sounds ridiculous when I put words to it, but there’s little margin for error and that’s intentional.”

“So, you’re saying it’s almost scientifically curated to go well,” I offered.

“Almost is the key word. There’s a reason Cliffy follows us everywhere,” Jared added with a coy smirk. “But more often than not, what we need is someone to take care of a crying fan because, if Jensen and I or any of the other cast had to handle that on our own every time it happened, we’d lose our minds.”

I recalled the first time I had met anyone from the show. “I thought I was going to throw up after I met Misha a couple years ago.”

Jared laughed his dorky cackle as he said, “Misha gets that reaction a lot.”

“He was all hands…”

“Oh, I am so sorry.”

“No, it was wonderful.”

Again, Jared cackled as if I’d said some sort of perverted innuendo. With his hand still on mine, he took it from the bar and held it. “See, that right there, that's... oh, how gross, I don’t want to say you’re ‘different’ and make this fucking weird. But… I don’t know, I’m not explaining myself very well.”

“I won’t let it go to my head,” I started, “But I think I get it. This’ll sound weird, too, and it might creep you out, but I’ve always imagined my personality was very similar to yours. I’ve always imagined that, at the very least, were we to have worked together on a set, we would have become really good friends.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jared started, “And it’s not weird. We could be friends.”

I tried. I wanted nothing more than to walk away from that night remembering the perfection of our conversation up to that point. But when disappointment contorted my smile, Jared saw it, and winced. When I started to talk, he spoke over me. “I didn’t mean it like that. We could be friends, sure. But…”

His voice trailed off as he thought, eyes listing to the bar. “But?” I asked.

“But I’m guessing at this point you were hoping for more than that.”

What constituted as “more”? Best friends? Friends with benefits? Long-distance lovers? “Look, I gave you my number as a hail mary.”

“What?”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I couldn’t resist the joke. “It’s a sports term. Like, slam dunk or…”

He grinned as he said, “Ball handler?”

I never thought I’d ever hear my laugh mixed solely with Jared’s. But laugh we did, singing a song I wanted to play it on repeat forever. I had to drop another joke to hear it again, to commit it to memory. With my pithy line readied, I sucked in a breath between laughs and spoke.

Not a single word made it past my lips, for Jared’s landed on mine with such sudden insistence, I froze. His massive hand warmed my cheek, fingers slipping into my hair, and he pressed harder, as if to remind me of what he had done. It worked, but not how either of us had wanted.

I promise, I’ll make up for how ridiculously I behaved here. When I squirmed away from him, I hated myself. I ended the kiss as quickly as it had started, slipped from his arms and off the barstool to race to the stairs. He didn’t follow me. And I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see the dejection on his face that I knew was there.

I was up the stairs and through the front door in seconds. I wasted no time heading straight back to my hotel, oblivious to the chilly November drizzle. Incessant ridicule ran through my head, berating myself for being rude, for being a bitch, for being just downright mean. And for passing up on spending a night with someone I knew that, without a doubt, would treat me with nothing but respect.

How fitting then that, when my phone rang, I answered it without thinking.

Tags: @atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl

Feedback is more than welcome! If you want to get in on the tag list, send me an ask!

#Jared Padalecki #jared padalecki x me #spn rpf fanfic #alleiradayne writes

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ravenvsfox · 7 years

Note

Oh! If i can get kind of specific, and.. not andriel for once.. (clutches heart i love those boys though) would you be willing to do 34 with jerejean, as like, jeremy introducing jean to the rest of the team maybe?

34: “I’d like to apologize in advance for my crazy family”

He has these serious grey eyes, dull like pebbles blazed by heat. There’s the other stuff too, the broken hitch sideways of his nose, the spidering scars all over, like they’re coming straight from the hurt in his brain.

Jeremy sees them and tucks his burning questions away for later. There are more important things to notice. Like how Jean has a very pretty mouth, an overfull upper lip that makes him look like he’s perpetually pouting. It matches the frown line that cuts his brow in two.

He’s seen Jean before, for minutes at most, passing ships at Exy banquets, one intense first meeting when Jean was hastily smuggled onto the USC lineup and Jeremy was asked to do some reconnaissance and a cursory meet and greet.

He’d gone to see Jean, carrying a USC sweater he’d stolen from the bin of spares at the court as a peace offering. Jeremy hadn’t been prepared for the single saddest looking person he had ever seen, stripped of the bravado he’d worn at Riko’s side, cut off from some sort of threat but clearly not from the fear.

Jeremy had pressed the bundle of red and gold into Jean’s hands and Jean had suppressed a jump, worried his torn lip and accepted it gently, gently, as if Jeremy was handing him a bomb for disposal.

Jeremy was nervous, but he fought to scrape the waver from his voice. He’d ignored Jean’s fresh wounds, ignored the look on his face like he was going to get hit or lied to.

They’d spoken briefly about how they’d handle the media, about the superficial scheduling concerns but also the bone-deep concern for Jean’s life that hummed underneath, sickening and obvious. Jeremy was frighteningly aware of the game running adjacent to Exy, always, something deadly eating at their community. The way they were handling Jean’s transfer like it was an illegal exchange of goods, Neil and Kevin in the news with a new bandage every few months, Jean in front of him looking like someone’s make up practice for a horror movie. It was all unmistakable.

And those eyes. He’s worried they’re never going to have anything in them.

They’re on him now, unflinching, and Jean’s less of a twitchy raw wound then he had been that first time the two of them had spoken. Jeremy’s trying to keep his smile pinned up at both sides but he feels like one end keeps sagging. The airport is a streaky spill of reunions and rolled luggage and Jean hoists his single duffle bag and waits for Jeremy to move first.

“How was your flight?” Jeremy asks nervously, trying to steer them out towards the car without getting too close or asking too much.

“How are they usually?”

Jeremy shrugs, offset. “Uhh, I mean. Good or bad is usually the measure. No turbulence and free pudding versus babies and vomit.”

“I don’t like pudding,” Jean says, dead serious, and Jeremy smiles for real.

“Well I like babies, so. It was a flawed example.”

Jean accepts this, looking around delicately, favouring one leg just a little. “My flight was fine. I sat alone because the person next to me was afraid of my face and asked to be relocated.”

“God. I’m sorry, Jean. That’s very uncool of them.”

“Oh,” Jean says, as they break out into the sunshine through sliding doors. “I prefer to be alone.”

“No,” Jeremy jokes weakly. “You’re so personable!”

Jean’s gaze slants over to him and sweeps down: a clean, exposing glance. “Are you mocking me?”

“I’m teasing you,” Jeremy corrects. “You’re going to have to get used to it, now that you’re a Trojan.”

“I am not a Trojan. I am a Raven in a galea,” he says. Jeremy’s lips purse and Jean sighs. “A helmet,” he explains, exhausted.

“I’ve taken history too,” Jeremy says gently. “I just—I don’t think you’re a raven. I don’t think you ever were.”

“You don’t know me,” Jean says curtly.

Jeremy unlocks the car, moving carefully out of Jean’s way, feeling a little pulse of embarrassment warring with his understanding. “I don’t think they did, either,” he tells him.

Jean puts his bag in the trunk gently, not looking at him, overexposed in the sunlight.

“Jean?”

He swallows and looks up.

“I’d like to,” he says. “Know you, I mean.”

_____

The trek to the dorms is a little awkward, but Jeremy fills the car up with bubblegum pop and stacks of questions. Jean only answers half of them, but Jeremy likes when he can startle some attitude out of him.

When they’re walking up to the squat, modern looking box of apartments, he tells him about the practice regimen, because that seems to be what interests Jean the most.

“Three hours in the evening, on a regular day. A full hour of warm-ups and drills and then we switch it up, play some games, you know, cycles of three on three then full blown. If it’s warm out we go play in the fields. One time we cranked Josh’s obnoxious gym mix and played dodgeball for warm-up,” he laughs. Jean looks sick.

“I do not understand how you got to finals every year.”

“Hey,” Jeremy says, wounded. “Dodgeball can be brutal.”

“I’m not here to play dodgeball.”

Jeremy watches him anxiously fingering his floppy brown bangs, stopped in front of the door and waiting, again, to be led. He’s such a strange combination of nervous energy and grit.

“Tough,” Jeremy says. “We’re gonna make you have fun whether you want to or not.”

Jean rolls his eyes. “Open the door, please.” The please is a little clipped by his accent.

Jeremy flips him a key, and Jean scrambles to catch it. “All yours. Welcome home.”

Jean looks far away when he unlocks the door, caught in a current and building a dam behind him so Jeremy can’t follow.

They walk quietly over maroon carpeting, listening to the buzzing of the lights and their own footsteps. The silence is becoming comfortable for Jeremy like silences usually aren’t. They’re a whole different language, with Jean.

“Sara and Laila live here, and so do Trent and Nat, but a lot of the team lives off campus. Although I think Coach would love to have us all eating and sleeping on the court.”

Jean nods. “And you?”

Jeremy grins. “You sure you wanna know?”

Jean gives him a look as Jeremy turns on the spot at the end of the hall, forcing Jean to stop as well. “That’s why I asked.”

“Hmm, I’m not getting a lot of conviction. Ask like you mean it,” he teases, but Jean flinches.

“If it’s not my place, say so.”

Jeremy steps closer and grimaces when Jean steps back. “Hey.” He holds up both hands in surrender. “I’ve gotta get a handle on my joking, sorry. I know I’m not funny. Laila tells me every day.”

Jean looks at something beyond Jeremy’s head and frowns when he says, “you’re funny.”

“I’m also your roommate. I asked to transfer so I could keep an eye on you.”

Jean’s eyes bulge. “You what?”

“I asked to transfer so I could—“

“No, I heard, I—“ he breaks off and says something fierce and unintelligible. Possibly french. “Did you hear me when I said I liked to be alone?”

Jeremy goes sheepish. “Yeah, well. You kind of told me after the arrangements had been made. Besides, what we want and what we need are two very different things.” Jean still looks upset so Jeremy lowers his voice, steps back to give him some space. He offers him a second key with his palm up and unthreatening. “I’ll leave you alone. I read people pretty well. I just want to be a resource if you need. It can’t be easy to adjust to all of this alone.”

“It is—” Jean stops, swallows. “It’s much easier than what I have been doing for the rest of my life.”

It’s the realest thing he’s said for as long as they’ve been skirting around each other. Jeremy flushes with something topsy turvy proud before he can really understand what that might mean.

“Good. Easy. Done. Roommates.” He holds his hand out higher, until Jean gets the hint and takes the key, eyes rolling again. It’s quickly starting to look more sweet than exasperated. Jeremy doesn’t bother to tamp down his smile the whole time they’re delegating sides of the room and bickering over bathroom routines. Jean very slowly puts his precious few possessions on his bed, blinking at the blue swell of thread patterning the bare mattress.

Jeremy’s heart hurts. “We’re gonna go buy you some furniture this weekend. Maybe a lava lamp. Definitely a mini fridge.”

Jean looks at him, no longer lost in whatever keeps trying to blunt his eyes and eat his hard-earned fair mood. Jeremy smiles.

“Come on. Let’s meet the team.”

_____

He knows the court looks impressive the first time you see it, massive and yellow that’s supposed to be gold. Jean’s seen it before at games, of course, but Jeremy can see the glint in his eye that means it’s different now. It’s where he’ll be making a new life, learning to accept help, maybe playing some dodgeball. It’s where they’re going to win.

He hands him his third key of the day and laughs when Jean looks suspicious. He tells him, “I’m captain, and that means I’m key master too.”

Jean starts to get jittery when they’re inside, and Jeremy hopes it’s excitement. It’s the most three dimensional he’s seemed all day.

“By the way, I’d like to apologize in advance for my crazy family,” Jeremy says. “They can be very in your face, and I know you— well. I know you’re not a fan of that.”

Jean shrugs. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can, but Jean—” He pulls him up short by the wrist and feels terrible when Jean’s hummingbird pulse hammers against his fingers. He lets go instantly. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Stop being sorry,” Jean says, annoyed. “I don’t know what to do with your sorrys.”

“Accept them, maybe?” Jeremy says earnestly. He breathes out hard on a dry laugh. “Or throw them in the trash, whatever, I honestly—“ he goes quiet. “I just want you to know that I mean them. My team functions when everyone is comfortable. You push too hard, you make mistakes, you lose finals. That’s where Edgar Allan always went wrong.”

“We always won.”

“Not always,” Jeremy says. He bites at the inside of his lip. “And not for free.”

Jean looks away, and Jeremy considers that it might have been an extraordinarily insensitive thing to say. Like Jean wasn’t intimately aware of the price the Moriyamas forced every raven to pay.

“Sorry,” he says again, uselessly.

Jean is very still. He glances at the door to the actual court and his shoulders level out. “I want to see the court.”

“Right,” Jeremy breathes. “We can do that. You should know that Alvarez is planning a team-wide sleepover at centre court.” Jean swears in precise french, and Jeremy laughs. “It’s going to be a very long and heartfelt welcome.”

They push into the court and there’s an immediate chorus of cheers, red and gold memorabilia strewn over the court’s rich brown and plexiglass. Jean looks split in two, familiar in the court but narrowly confused, perhaps by the way they inhabit it like it belongs equally to all of them.

“Welcome to better days, Jean Moreau!” Sara calls, flapping a wave around her plastic cup. Laila puts an arm around her and smacks a kiss on her cheek. Jeremy wonders idly if they’ve spiked the lemonade yet.

“Um. Thank you,” Jean says, visibly uncomfortable.

“Oh! Wait,” Sara says, tapping thoughtfully at Laila’s arm. “I got this. Uhh de rien?”

“Yes,” Jean replies, as if humouring a child.

Jeremy’s chest swamps with affection. “Can I?” he asks, hand hovering over Jean’s back. Jean frowns, scrunches, considers.

“Yes,” he says again, clearly, and Jeremy slings a gentle arm around his shoulders.

“Kudos for not cussing them out yet,” he whispers, and Jean shivers just slightly under the weight of his arm.

“I’m not a monster,” Jean says, and his eyes flash. Jeremy ducks his head. The team is pouring champagne into some sort of gold painted chalice, and Sara has resorted to miming throwing a lasso at Jean and Jeremy so they’ll come join the festivities.

“No. You’re really not.”

#jerejean get your jerejean here #aftg #the foxhole court #jerejean #tfc fanfic #prompt #mine #Anonymous #ask

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