#i may sound smart but i am bullshitting my way through this fic
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What I think my writing process looks like:
What it's actually like:
#rottmnt two souls#naritalks#i have been winging everything#i have plans and no plans at the same time#somehow the story is still coherent enough#half the time the little details ya'll point out to me are unintentional but it enhances the story#how tf did i survive this long#i may sound smart but i am bullshitting my way through this fic#gaslighting myself in to thinking i did things on purpose
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They Didn’t Even Have To Plot
AO3
Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Tags: Fluff
Summary: Castiel becomes human after losing his grace on a hunt.
Charlie comes to visit, and gets Sam to make Dean talk about his feelings.
It was easier than either of them expected.
Something I wrote for a fic exchange a while back, hope ya like it guys
-----------------
Castiel should have known better.
He should have known a witch powerful enough to capture the Winchesters wasn’t actually interested in money. He should have known it was a trap.
No one that smart ever wanted money.
She knew he was an angel. She knew to pray when they asked him for the ransom.
When he arrived at the place the witch had ordered him to drop off the money, a flash of bright, white light blurred his vision before it went black.
Castiel struggled against the bindings on his wrists, ankles and neck, but found himself stuck, the cold metal digging into his skin. He can’t break free using his grace, so they must have been warded against angels.
“Witch! Let me go, I have your money!”
“My dear Castiel, did you really think I wanted money? I want your power. Your grace.”
She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and Castiel couldn’t help but be taken aback by it.
“Where’s Dean?” he hissed, glaring at her.
A smug smile spread across the witch’s face.
“Sounds like I got the right bait. So what’s going to happen now, is you’re going to give me your grace, or I will rip your little pets apart, piece by piece.”
Castiel knew what he had to do. It's not like he had a choice, Dean and Sam would both die if he didn’t do this. Besides, it’s not like he hadn’t been human before, and it hadn’t been that disastrous, even without any guidance. At least this time he would have a home.
“Get these off me. And give me my angel blade back.”
“So you’ll do it.”
“Of course.”
A few hours later, he was back at the bunker, Dean and Sam with him, alive and well, but without his grace, and without his angel blade.
“Cas, you okay? You seem a little out of it.”
Dean sat down next to Cas on the couch and looked at him, obviously concerned.
“Yes Dean, I’m fine, don’t worry,” Cas said, looking down to avoid Dean’s gaze.
“Bullshit, but I’ll take it for now.”
Castiel knew he should have told him that he lost his grace, but he just couldn’t. He didn’t want to be a burden, and he knew Dean would blame himself, even though Castiel made that choice himself.
He’s exhausted, and although he has been human before, he’s still not used to it. falling asleep is easier than he remembered, but maybe that’s just because he has a home now.
Waking up is harder than it was before. Castiel fades in and out of consciousness, and he can’t force himself to stay awake for more than a few seconds at a time. Suddenly he feels a hand on his cheek, rough and calloused, but warm. He hears someone murmur words in his ear, but he can’t understand them, and he’s abruptly aware that he’s being held, and he panics for a moment, before the steady rise and fall of his chest let’s him know that whoever it is isn’t restraining him. He turns his head against the chest and drifts back off to sleep.
When Castiel wakes up, he feels the body under him shift.
“Hey sunshine, good nap?”
Castiel grumbled in answer and sat upright, stretching his body.
“Now, you wanna tell me what the hell is going on with you?”
“I lost my grace.”
Dean’s eyes widened in concern, and he gently put a hand on Cas’ shoulder.
“What happened?”
And he told him. And he could see the guilt form itself in his eyes.
“Dean, it’s not your fault. I made that choice. I was the one who did not realise there was something wrong.”
“I know Cas. I just– Fuck!”
Dean punched the side of the couch and jerked Cas towards him, holding him close.
“If you need anything, you can come to me. You know that right?” Dean said, without letting Cas go.
Instead of answering Castiel just pressed himself closer to Dean’s chest and let himself cry. He had considered becoming human before, but he wanted to choose that fate, and do it on his own terms, and now that choice has been taken away, and he didn’t know what to do. He was lost.
-----------------
Castiel hid in his bedroom the few days after the incident, only coming out to go to the bathroom or to eat. It was very frustrating, hunger and exhaustion, and it didn’t help that he was constantly fearing the moment the Winchesters would decide that he was never going to be useful again, and kick him out.
His thoughts were interrupted at once by a loud knock on the door.
“Cas, can I come in?”
Castiel got up from his bed to open the door for Dean.
“Hello Dean.”
They both sat down on the bed, and Castiel looked at him expectantly.
“Alright, so Charlie’s here, and we’re going shopping, because you need clothes.”
“Dean, I have clothes.”
Dean rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, mine. Not that I mind, but it would be nice for you to have your own. And you need to get out of here for a while. See some actual light.”
Castiel sighed, and agreed reluctantly, if that is what it takes for him to stay even a few days longer, he’d do it.
-----------------
It was actually quite nice, browsing through clothing racks, chatting about nothing in particular with people he loved. After a few hours, they decided to go to a diner— mainly because Dean wouldn’t stop whining about how hungry he was.
“So how are you doing Cas?” Charlie looked at him worried.
“I’m fine.”
“Cas,” Dean said sharply.
Cas sighed and rolled his eyes.
“I’m fine, I just… I don’t want to be a burden.”
Dean looked at him in disbelief before hugging him.
“You’ll never be a burden,” he whispered, and pressed a soft kiss to his temple before releasing him.
“You two are so disgustingly cute together,” Charlie said while making fake gag sounds.
Dean and Castiel both flushed and stumbled over their words trying to clarify that they were not, in fact, together. Charlie just raised her eyebrows and smiled knowingly.
-----------------
“So, Sam, what’s going on between those two?”
Charlie sits down on top of the map table where Sam is reading a lore book.
“You know perfectly well what’s going on Charlie. They may be too stupid to see it but you definitely aren’t.”
She rolls her eyes and claps his book close.
“We should do something about it.”
“What do you mean?”
Sam would complain that he was reading that, but this was definitely more interesting.
“Oh you know perfectly well what I mean Sam,” Charlie mocked him, a mischievous grin appearing on her face.
-----------------
“Cas.”
“Yes Dean?”
Dean looked at him worried.
“Come tell me if you need anything at all. You’re not a burden.”
“Dean, I know that without my powers I am useless to you. You don’t need to pretend I’m not for my comfort.”
“Fuck Cas! It’s not about whether you’re useful to us or not, you’re family! We love you!”
Castiel stood there, paralised, when he felt a tear roll down his cheek, and suddenly he was sobbing uncontrollably. He felt himself be enveloped in warm arms and pressed against his chest, but it was as if it was happening to someone else, like he was just a spectator to the scene. He only realised his breathing had sped up when he heard Dean tell him to stay calm and take deep breaths.
“Hey buddy, I’m here, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”
Dean rubbed soothing circles on Cas’ back until he had calmed down.
“I think I just had a panic attack,” Cas said matter-of-factly. “Thank you Dean.”
“Do you want to go get some air?”
Dean stood up and reached a hand out to Castiel.
“Yes, that would be nice.”
He took the hand and stood up as well. To his surprise, Dean didn’t let it go and they walked handed-in-hand into the cool autumn air.
“Maybe we should plant a garden here. What do you think Cas?”
“That would be nice.” Does he know he’s still holding my hand?
“We could put a bench over there.” Does he mind that I’m still holding his hand?
“Hmm.” Does he mind?
“Are you okay, Cas? You look a little pale.” Am I making him uncomfortable?
“I’m fine, Dean.”
Dean gave his hand a light squeeze.
“You’ll tell me if you’re not, right?”
Cas gave him a short nod in response.
-----------------
Sam leaned against the door frame of Dean’s room.
“Hey Dean, how’s it going with Cas?”
“He’s not doing so well, but better than a few days ago.”
“At least he’s getting better. And how are you holding up?”
“Me? You know me Sammy, I’m always fine.”
“Yeah, but this stuff with Cas, it’s got to be taking its toll on you too.”
“I mean yeah, but not any more than on you.”
“Dean. The way I feel about Cas is very different from the way you feel about him and we both know it.”
Dean reddened at his ears and stared at the ground.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he murmured, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
Sam raised an eyebrow and looked at his brother expectantly.
“Yeah, okay, you’re right. But he’ll never feel the same way, so it’s no use admitting it.”
“Dude. You were holding hands an hour ago. And yes, me and Charlie both saw that.”
“Look, I don’t– I don’t think he gets the meaning of that. It’s probably normal for angels!”
“Dude, he literally has every single piece of media Metatron ever consumed in his head, I’m pretty sure he knows what it means. Just please, talk to him.”
-----------------
A few days later Castiel is obviously less miserable than he was before, and he’s gotten used to being human again.
“Hey Cas, do you want to watch a movie?” Dean yelled from the kitchen, where he was making popcorn.
Cas had agreed, naturally, and so it happened they were on the couch together, a bowl of popcorn and a healthy amount of distance between them, and The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly playing on the television.
They were about twenty minutes in when Castiel began to complain.
“Dean you’ve made me watch this movie five times already, how are you not sick of it yet?”
“Dude, you can’t get sick of Clint Eastwood, it’s just not possible.”
Castiel rolled his eyes and grabbed another handful of popcorn. Dean cleared his throat and turned around to face him.
“Uh Cas?”
“Yes Dean?”
“I uh– Sam said– I need to tell you something.”
Cas turned off the tv and turned to him, worried.
“Is something wrong?”
“Uh, no, not– not really. I uh, I just need to get this off my chest.”
Castiel nodded for Dean to continue.
“I uh, I think I–” Dean shook his head firmly. “No, I know I’m uh, I’m in love with you.”
It stayed silent for a while, the air thick with tension.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“If I still had my grace the lamps would be shattered.”
“Cas!”
Castiel gently cupped his face with one hand.
“I love you Dean.”
He moved forward and pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s lips. A warmth spread throughout his body, and he smiled into the kiss.
“I guess good things do happen,” Dean whispered softly, before leaning forward to kiss him again.
“I guess they do,” Cas said after they pulled apart, and he put his head on Dean’s shoulder, smiling in satisfaction.
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Isn’t It Demonic
(There’s a bit at the end of this all for @izzymalec who gave me an interesting fic idea that sadly I couldn’t make into a whole fic, but I wanted to give a shout out to it. Without further ado, enjoy Demon Alec and Ghost Warlock Magnus.)
Read on AO3
“You son of a bitch!”
Alexander stands at the edge of the house just inside the door, rage and fire burning through his veins. The warlock who’d summoned him stands outside a smug grin on his face.
“Did you really think I would be stupid enough to not recognize the wording you used in our deal,” Lorenzo says standing there with a pompous attitude he’s nowhere near earned. Alexander is good at what he does, he’d very carefully worded their deal, a series of hard to find ingredients for freedom on earth, no time windows, an open-ended stay. In hindsight now he’s realizing he technically left an opening; an opening that sadly this prick has taken full advantage of. It’s still a broken deal though, free reign this isn’t. “You wanted free and free you are.”
“Maybe you caught on to my slip up, but that doesn’t mean you’re smart. You still broke a deal with a demon, I said free reign, not just free,” Alexander snarls. “This isn’t free, this is a trap, you violated the deal. I’ll come for you.”
“Good luck with that,” Lorenzo says straightening his jacket and slipping away with a smug grin unbothered. The door to the house he’s stuck in slams shut and Alexander seethes. He’s not sure how long he stands there kicking at the door and yelling, but he knows no one is going to hear him. The little bastard isn’t that powerful definitely not powerful enough to kill him, but evidently he’s powerful enough to bind a house and Alexander’s powers and he’s done it well.
It’s going to take some time and some work to get out of here and kill Lorenzo. Luckily Alexander has all the time in the world.
Alexander turns around stalking through the house and into the library. There’s dust everywhere, he doesn’t know who this house belonged to, but they had taste. Clearly it was never actually Lorenzo’s place.
He finds a dusty old drink cart and picks up a well-aged whiskey drinking directly from the bottle. He goes over to the wall of books picking ones off the shelf and tossing the ones that don’t interest him over his shoulder.
“Could you not do that,” a voice says from behind him. “I’m no neat freak and I’ve been known to toss around a book or two, but I do hate to see quality first editions thrown about.”
Alexander turns around and there in a deep red sitting chair is probably the most attractive man he’s seen in his many centuries of existence. The man is sat lazily across the chair like a lounging cat, a very attractive lounging cat. His lean, chiseled chest and arms are a vision in a black button up mesh shirt with a floral pattern, his strong legs in a pair of well-tailored navy pants send Alexander’s eyes trailing up and down his form.
He’s not shy about his interest and the man clearly isn’t either as he gives Alexander’s all black suit ensemble an appreciative up and down glance as well.
Alexander is so thrown by the man’s appearance that it takes him a full minute to realize he doesn’t know who he is or how he’s here.
“Who are you?” he says with a teasing smirk before turning to put the book in his hand back on the shelf properly.
“I should be asking you that question,” the man says suddenly right by Alexander’s side. He didn’t even hear him move. “You are in my house.”
Alexander hums in understanding eyeing the man up and down once again now that he’s standing, he’s only a bit shorter than Alexander and up close he can now admire the sharp line of his dark eyeliner and the deep blue streak at the front of his dark hair. He looks around the room next, the style matching.
“That makes sense,” he says stepping closer, but not quite touching the other man. “Lorenzo must be a pretty good friend if you’re willing to have a demon roommate.”
The man makes a disgusted face, his brown eyes switching to bright yellow cat eyes that glow with anger. He’s a warlock too.
“Never call Lorenzo Rey my friend,” he says stepping away from Alexander. The suspenders dangling from his waist move tantalizingly as he goes and Alexander has to hold in a growl at the view. He may be a demon, but he also likes to be a bit of gentlemen which is the only thing that keeps him from grabbing the suspenders and pulling the man close.
“The bastard did kill me after all,” the man says with unbridled rage. He bends down, Alexander appreciating the view for a moment despite his surprise at the man’s words, and attempts to pick up the book on the floor. His hand goes right through it.
Alexander sits his drink aside and bends down beside him picking up the book. He reaches over the man sitting it on the table beside the chair.
“I’m Alexander,” he says holding out his hand.
The man looks at it skeptically.
“You know I’ll just go right through that right?” he says gesturing at Alexander’s offered hand. “Plus, I wasn’t born yesterday, never shake a demon’s hand you never know what deal they’re cooking up in their heads.”
Alexander smirks drawing his hand back. He had no ulterior motives, this time, other than to hope that maybe a ghost of a warlock and a demon can touch.
“Smart and beautiful, huh,” he says standing to his full height. The man joins him an imperceptible bit of flustering in his cheeks that he recovers from quickly.
“I’m Magnus Bane,” he says walking with grace back over to the chair and draping himself across it once again. “And the only thing I can touch is furniture.”
Alexander unbuttons his jacket and takes a seat in the opposing chair.
“Nice to meet you Magnus Bane,” he says grabbing for his bottle again. “So, you hate Lorenzo too?”
Magnus snorts at that. “Hate is an understatement; he was a thorn in my side for centuries and then when he couldn’t win over enough people to take my High Warlock post he killed me, which for the record had he not caught me off guard by weaseling into my home after I’d been on a night out drunk off my ass and stabbed me in the neck from behind he would have never pulled it off. Then he trapped me in my home with no magic and no way out.”
Alexander tosses the last of the whiskey in the bottle back.
“Well he just trapped me here,” Alexander says crossing his legs.
“You aren’t the first,” Magnus says running a hand through his hair. It draws Alexander’s attention to his biceps. “He’s used my home for this before, you must be stronger than the others though because he just killed them to get out of his deals.”
“I am,” Alexander says with bravado, the bravado that he uses to intimidate, but not to scare, a bravado that clearly doesn’t intimidate Magnus if the way he rolls his eyes are anything to go by. Alexander likes that he’s not intimidated, it’s different from everyone else’s reactions. “I’ve worked very hard to make sure warlocks think me a lower level demon without a face, not a demon somewhere in the middle with this killer physique.” He finishes gesturing to his body; his eyes slip to their natural black seductively.
“And yet you’re still trapped here,” Magnus says with a sardonic smile and Alexander can’t help but grin in response.
They talk for a little while longer. Trading basic information about the house and how they got here. As far as the outside world is concerned Magnus died in a horrible potion gone wrong accident nearly two years ago, the once vibrant potion room still blown to smithereens.
Where Lorenzo lacks in technical skill or raw power he makes up for with dirty tricks, leaving no trace of anything for anyone to find. Even Magnus’ closest friends who’d worked hard to poke holes in the story couldn’t find a single thing to question about his death.
“As far as I can tell only demons can see me, Lorenzo only figured out I was still lingering because the first demon he trapped here had a big mouth,” he explains wandering in circles around the room passing through the walls occasionally. “He worked up a spell to bind my spirit hear just in case after that.”
Alexander tests his powers coming up with almost nothing at every snap of his fingers, it’s a far too damn good binding. Lorenzo had to have had some help, there’s no way someone with a ponytail that slimy could do this by himself. When Alexander poses the theory Magnus is already ahead of him with a list of possible accomplices.
“He’s built up enough dirt to blackmail plenty of people over the years, but those three are the prime suspects, the weakest in backbone, but strongest in power,” Magnus says.
Night turns into day and into night again as they talk, neither the ghost nor the demon requiring sleep. It’s after all those hours that Alexander feels it’s time to pose a deal.
“Make a deal with me,” he says and he can see the no on Magnus’ lips already. He continues quickly before Magnus can fight it. “I’m sure I can muster up enough power to seal a deal, make you corporeal again and grant you access to your magic, all you’ll have to do for me is get me out of here in exchange.”
Magnus looks like he’s considering it for a moment, like the prospect of having his magic again is enough to make him say yes.
“Not a chance,” he says, putting his hands on his hips and for the first time in hours not pacing. “There’s always a catch when you deal with a demon. Especially one as pretty as you.”
Alexander smiles, a real smile at the pretty comment, but doesn’t love the rest of what he said.
“There’s no catch,” he says as genuinely as he knows how to sound. Magnus doesn’t buy it though.
“Bullshit, there’s always a catch,” he says and with that he’s out the door, or through it more so off to some other part of the house.
Alexander lets out a frustrated groan, pushing his hands through his hair.
***
Alexander determines quickly that pushing the deal idea will only make Magnus more opposed to it, so he steps back. If Magnus is hesitant to help him well he’s just going to have to bide his time.
He doesn’t mention getting out of the house or Lorenzo at all, instead he just asks about Magnus. It starts as a game, a game to get Magnus to go along with his plan, but quickly he finds himself interested in who Magnus is not just how he looks and how he could help him.
He tells Magnus about himself in return, about his style of being a demon, how he’s called on more often by bad people than good and he happily takes their souls. How he’s kinder to the kids who stumble on things and call upon him for vengeance or something of the sort. He’s not trying to soften himself to Magnus necessarily, but he’s trying to show him how he deals, how Magnus lands on the side of good and he wouldn’t screw him over.
“What are you playing at?” Magnus asks him late one evening when Alexander starts off the night trading off stories of deals gone wrong. Magnus doesn’t flinch when he tells a story about a mundane that asked for a pet hellhound that ultimately ate him, so Alexander pushes and asks for a little more than just the surface Magnus and gets a few stories in return. Stories about how he grew up, about some of his wilder adventures in the 50’s and 60’s, even one about the 1480’s which Alexander is fairly certain isn’t true.
“I’m not playing at anything,” he says meaning it, he’s really not anymore. Or if he is it’s on the backburner of his mind. “Well, I do play piano though.” He says swerving the subject and gesturing to the piano at the corner of the library, he’s explored a bit, but in the two weeks he’s been stuck here he’s rarely left this room.
He walks over to the piano and sits down playing his fingers over the keys.
“Do you play?” he asks as he plays out a quick short melody.
Magnus joins him sliding over to sit on top of the piano and lay across it on his side. He leans over between where Alexander’s hands are and goes right through the keys. Alexander’s hands move in closer to Magnus’ and he quickly jumps his hand back. He keeps doing that, never letting Alexander get close to even see if they could touch, like he’s scared what it would mean if they could.
“Nope, not even when I could touch the keys,” he explains. “A friend of mine does, I bought it for him when he was staying here for a while.”
“A good friend?” Alexander asks playing another soft melody. He’s a little jealous at the mention of a man who lived here, he’s figured out Magnus is bisexual by now so there could be an implication there. It’s ridiculous even if they were more than a friend it’s not like Alexander has any right to be jealous of an ex, he’s not exactly a blushing virgin demon himself or that he and Magnus are anything more than unwilling, ridiculously good looking roommates.
“More like a brother,” he says and Alexander feels a little relieved. “Or a son I guess considering how young he was when he was turned.”
Alexander raises an eyebrow in question.
“Vampire,” Magnus explains. “He struggled a bit with the change and I took him in.” He sounds sad thinking about the people he’s left behind, Alexander has a feeling this vampire he’s talking about is one of the friends that fought to question if Magnus was really dead.
Alexander nods in understanding, he’s always been a fan of vampires, they’re smart enough to never coming calling on the likes of him for favors.
He goes back to playing, a melody he only barely knows from at least four centuries ago the last time he spent longer than a few short days on earth. This time is far more enjoyable though, that had been a few days of watching the mayhem mundanes caused without any divine intervention, this has been an admittedly frustrating time of being trapped, but being trapped with a man who intrigues him to no end.
***
Weeks pass and Lorenzo never dares show his face in the house again. He makes do though, spending time with Magnus, reading some of his favorite books both in the quiet alone and occasionally aloud just to see Magnus smile.
Despite contrary belief, demons do feel emotion, not easily and not often, but they do feel. Alexander has a fondness for another demon he thinks of as a sister, he’s cared for lovers in the past even if he’s never truly fallen for them, but Magnus Bane makes him feel even more.
Demon’s fall in love rarely, but when they do they fall hard. Their names get echoed in whispers forever about the things they gave up for mere love. The more time he spends with Magnus the more he thinks he’s going end up being one of those whispered names.
Magnus is tough to get a read on sometimes though, he’s open as a book with no binding one moment and then locked as tight as a safe that no one knows the combination to the next. Alexander understands it though, end of the day he’s a demon and getting close to a demon is always to be done with caution.
It doesn’t stop Alexander from flirting to his heart’s content and hoping that his more genuine side shines through.
He spends the time he’s not wooing Magnus wandering through the house, he never goes anywhere Magnus asks him not to, respecting his privacy, but he searches around nonetheless. He even cleans, getting the two years worth of dust off of every surface.
Today he finds himself in the basement, a large empty space it seems aside from the big freezer off to left. He sighs, running his hands along the freezer before lifting it open.
His eyes go wide when he looks inside, there nestled between a few bags of ice is Magnus, or Magnus’ body at least, eyes closed, the hole in his neck from where Lorenzo stabbed him unmissable.
“Holy shit,” he says staring down.
“Such a cliché right?” Magnus says suddenly appearing over his shoulder. “Murdered and tossed in a freezer.”
“This fucker is a regular Hannibal Lector, huh?” Alexander says looking at Magnus now, not his frozen body.
Magnus chuckles. “Blissfully, he’s never cooked any part of me,” he says with a smile.
“Why’d he keep your body?” Alexander asks cocking his hip and leaning against the freezer.
Magnus shrugs mirroring Alexander’s position.
“Not sure, at first I thought he was going to use my blood for some ritual or something, it’s not every day you get your hands on the blood of the son of a greater demon,” he pauses eyeing Alexander like he’s trying to gauge his reaction about the casual reveal. Alexander’s a demon himself, he’s not about to judge. “But instead he just keeps me down here instead of getting rid of the evidence, he doesn’t even bother with glamouring the freezer anymore.”
Magnus stares down at his frozen form longingly. Alexander could probably muster up the power to get rid of it if Magnus asked him to, but he also knows that if they ever plan to get their revenge on Lorenzo having Magnus’ body still here could be an advantage.
There’s also the completely selfish reasoning that if Magnus’ body still exists Alexander could possibly touch him one day.
He shuts the freezer tightly, careful of Magnus’ fingers even though he wouldn’t even feel a pinch if they landed on him and slides down to sit on the floor his back against it. Magnus joins him keeping a good distance between them, but not nearly as much as he usually does.
They sit quietly for a while just sharing space.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Alexander says after a while. He’s genuine and he can tell from the look in Magnus’ eye that he recognizes that now.
Magnus isn’t a perfect person, there’s a darkness in him, in his past, but he’s good down in his core. Far too good to end up dead and stuffed in freezer, trapped as a ghost in his own home spending his days with a demon.
“You’re awfully nice for a demon, Alexander,” Magnus says tilting his head back against the freezer and then towards Alexander.
Alexander huffs. “I wouldn’t exactly call me nice.”
Magnus shakes his head. “You are,” he says lifting his hand like he wants to reach out but can’t. Which technically he can’t Alexander guesses. “You try to hide it, but you’re not one of those demons who just kills indiscriminately. You’ve said it yourself you take deals with bad people and take everything you can, you take deals with good people and go a little easy. You may be a demon, but there’s a good heart in there.”
Alexander doesn’t know what to say to that, he’s always considered himself a demon with a conscious at best, not one with a heart, so he just lays a hand on top of Magnus’ that sits on the cold floor in thanks. Magnus’ hand flickers for a moment almost like it wants to be solid, a brief rush of warmth passing through them both before Alexander’s hand hits the cold floor.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he says knowing from the surprise on Magnus’ face he felt that too.
Magnus meets his eyes, the yellow cat ones always present now, and a smile pulls at his lips just barely concealing his amusement at the unintended pun.
***
They don’t really talk about the moment in the basement. The physics or magic behind how it could feel almost like touch between them probably isn’t recorded anywhere anyway, it’s not like demons and ghosts of warlocks historically spend a lot of time together.
They’re probably the first duo of their kind in history.
But it is like a silent agreement has been made, a barrier has been broken. Magnus doesn’t shy away anymore or disappear for hours on end without a word, he talks a little more, telling stories that don’t feel like they’re made up and Alexander does the same in return.
They get each other, and it’s clear that not many have ever gone out of their way to get who Magnus is, Alexander wants to find them all and curse them. A plan that he knows Magnus wouldn’t judge him for, he’s a demon there’s no getting around that he’s done diabolical things and he likely will again, but Magnus seems to understand him. To understand his motivations and the fact that he’s not all bad, he’s more gray than anything else.
He warms up a little more to Alexander once he understands how he operates, especially when he tells him he loves to give counteroffers to people who are the targets of other vicious dealers.
“Just because I’m designed to be wicked, doesn’t mean I think other people should be allowed to be,” he says one night lying on the floor, Magnus draped across a nearby couch.
“Kind of like the way they say Lucifer doesn’t make man evil, he just punishes the ones who do it,” Magnus says in thought and Alexander smiles a real smile, because he gets it.
Through it all he almost forgets about the fact that he’s trapped, that they’re both still looking for revenge until Magnus brings it up again one day.
Alexander steps out of the bathroom attached to Magnus’ bedroom, a room he’s now been granted access to. The water still runs, and even though he doesn’t necessarily need to he loves a good shower from time to time in the same way he loves a good nap even if it’s not needed either.
He steps out his hair still wet wearing the same pants he’s been wearing since he got stuck here and a dark red shirt with a gold embroidered collar that is actually Magnus’, a little big in the arms he rolls up the too short sleeves when he spots Magnus lying flat on the bed one leg bent up.
His eyes trail down his form, aside from the few pictures he’s been shown and seen around the house, he’s only ever seen Magnus in this one outfit and damn is it a good outfit. The lines of his abs are visible underneath his sheer shirt and Alexander loves to soak up the image.
Magnus lifts up when he notices Alexander standing there moving to sit cross legged with a smile.
“You never asked?” he says out of nowhere no context provided.
“Asked?” Alexander questions moving to sit next to him on the bed.
“About my father, I said the whole blood of a greater demon’s son thing and you just never asked,” Magnus explains.
Alexander shrugs. “To be frank, I don’t give a fuck who your father is, I give fuck who you are,” he says letting that emotion he feels more and more of these days slip through. It’s probably doomed to fall in love with a ghost, but he’s gone and done it anyways. “Plus, honestly most greater demons are assholes.”
He says the second part as a joke, but Magnus doesn’t laugh. He just looks at Alexander stunned and if he’s reading him right grateful.
“Asmodeus,” he whispers and Alexander purses his lips in thought.
“Yup, absolute asshole,” he says with a smirk.
Magnus laughs finally, the laugh that Alexander was hoping to get out of him.
“So you’ve met then,” he says still laughing.
Alexander shakes his head, they’re from different hell dimensions so they don’t exactly run into each other at bars.
“Sort of, only in passing once about three centuries ago when I got into a bit of a scuffle with one of Lilith’s lackeys, and I wasn’t impressed,” he says. “I’m far more impressed with his son.” He adds with a smile reaching out and running his hand along Magnus’ jaw. The same thing that happened in the basement happens, a moment of solid warmth that’s almost real before his hand falls through and back to his own side.
Magnus stares at his fallen hand his face twisted in thought before he lifts his eyes back up.
“What exactly would your terms for a deal be?” Magnus asks and it throws Alexander for a second. He’s barely thought about the idea of a deal between them in months. “Could you really make me corporeal and put my magic back?”
“Well, when I first posed it I’ll admit the second part was a theory, your magical essence lives in your body not your spirit,” he explains. “But, that was before I knew your body was still here, it’s even easier, I just put you back where you belong.”
“You mean like raise me from the dead?” Magnus says skeptically. It’s good he’s skeptic, necromancy is no joke for anyone.
“Not exactly, I don’t fuck with necromancy it always goes bad in the end. But your body and your spirit could reconnect, as could your magic,” he explains, he’s done it once before, so long ago he barely remembers. A deal made for a young warlock who’d lost her adoptive warlock mother. As far as he knows they’re still happy and alive-ish.
“And since he only bound my spirit in these walls, put it back in my body and he can’t hold me or my magic here anymore,” he says, then pauses. “Is it permanent?”
“It can be,” Alexander nods, hoping Magnus wants it to be. He deserves to be as alive as he can be for as long as possible. “It’s not exactly like being a vampire or a zombie, but somewhere in between. You’d essentially be like me, blood in your veins, heartbeat in your chest but no need to live by the rules of any downworlder or mundane anymore. Your immortality will return, but let’s just say it’ll take a lot more than a sneak attack to kill you. Food, sleep, all these things become optional.”
Magnus considers him for a moment scrunching up his face adorably in deep thought.
“What would you need in return?”
“Nothing,” Alexander says. It’s completely unconventional, but it’s true. Revenge against Lorenzo is still important, but Magnus has become far more important.
“Nope,” Magnus says and Alexander goes to defend himself. Magnus cuts him off a finger hovering above his lips. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, I do, but a deal needs to be just that a deal.”
Alexander rolls his eyes, but concedes.
“Fine, dinner, you and me, one dinner, one date, no requirements except I’m buying,” he says with a wicked little smile.
“Just dinner?”
“Yup,” he says popping the p and licking his lips. He’d also like a few things after dinner, he’s spent many a night thinking about getting his hands under that sheer shirt and into those tight pants, but he’s confident enough to believe those things can be given freely and willingly whenever Magnus is ready.
“Okay, then we have a deal,” Magnus says after a few long moments of silence and consideration. He holds out a hand and Alexander takes it best he can, the almost touch must be enough, because Alexander feels the ties that bind a demon’s deal lock into place.
He stands from the bed gesturing for Magnus to follow and goes to the basement swinging open the freezer. Magnus looks down at his frozen form and gulps.
“Ready?” Alexander asks summoning all his accessible power to one point. He hasn’t used a bit of his available power this entire time, saving it for a moment like this. Magnus nods gripping the edge of the freezer. Alexander wishes he could hold his hand. He snaps and Magnus’ spirit disappears, for a deafening few second he’s worried it didn’t work until slowly the color returns to Magnus’ face the ice on his eyelashes and fingertips melting away and the gaping hole in his neck healing back together.
Magnus sits up gasping in a deep breath of air that he no longer technically requires.
Alexander reaches out placing a hand on Magnus’ jaw, there’s no flickering, just solid, freezing cold skin beneath his hand. He runs his hand down to where the neck wound had been, now just a slightly raised white scar against tan skin.
“I’m fucking freezing,” Magnus says reaching up a hand to grip Alexander’s. He laughs pulling back and holding out his hands for Magnus to take. He helps him out of the freezer. Magnus shivers as Alexander closes the freezer tight before pulling Magnus into a hug. They stay there for a long time just holding onto one another, reveling in the touch before Magnus declares he absolutely needs to change his clothes.
“I love this outfit, and clearly you do to,” he says with a shivering smirk. “But I’ve been wearing it every day for two years and I’m over it.”
He snaps his fingers tentatively, uncertainty in his eyes at the prospect of his magic working again, and the outfit Alexander has enjoyed the view of for months now disappears replaced with a whole new equally as stunning ensemble.
He looks down at himself with an unbelievable smile that turns into a wicked smirk on his lips that Alexander wants to kiss when he meets his eyes.
“So, revenge or dinner first?” he asks cheekily.
It takes everything in Alexander not to say dinner first.
***
Watching Magnus work his magic is more mesmerizing than Alexander could have ever imagined it to be.
His arms move swiftly, an entrancing spell of their own and Latin spills from his lips easily, the dep lilting tone of his voice executing each word more perfectly than the demons who invented the language eons ago.
Two years of not a single spell and it’s like it’s only been a few days since he last casted. Magnus eyes are alight with power, his strong shoulders carrying the weight of it all beautifully and with total grace. Alexander watches in awe as Magnus works his way into the walls breaking down the binds that hold Alexander here and limit his power.
A wave of blue magic spirals over the walls of the house and then cascades across Alexander’s skin. The burn against his skin soothes instantly, like Magnus’ magic is healing him even as it burns.
Magnus staggers a bit for a moment after he’s done and Alexander is instantly at his side. He rights himself quickly, his body clearly still acclimating to all being united once again.
“You okay?”
Magnus smiles at him and holds out a hand, “Better than ever. Shall we?”
Alexander takes his hand, now all warm to the touch with magic and blood flowing through him once again. Alexander gives a wicked smirk as he feels his own power flow through him and he snaps his fingers.
***
On the other side of his snap they land in Lorenzo Rey’s living room. His house is more like a castle and it’s hideous, Alexander is not surprised.
They don’t have an exact plan, per se, but they’ve agreed that he deserves a long game of torture, a miserable life trapped as something humiliating, not an easy death.
Lorenzo must feel the disturbance in his wards, he immediately rushes in hands glowing with balls of yellow magic. Magnus and Alec just roll their eyes, he’s no match for the two of them at full power.
“How the hell are you two here?” he says throwing a ball of magic at each of them. Alexander reaches out in front of Magnus and himself and catches the two balls easily in his hands. He shoots them back at Lorenzo’s feet causing him to yelp and jump back.
Magnus smiles and steps forward binding Lorenzo’s hands and feet in burning ropes. He tips over no longer able to keep himself standing. Magnus and Alexander walk over to where he struggles against his burning bonds, each of them standing on one side of Lorenzo.
Magnus twists his hand the ropes getting tighter.
“You really should have gotten rid of my body,” Magnus says crouching down. Alexander joins him.
“And you should have gotten some friends together to kill me,” he says with a no doubt evil smile. It’s a reminder that they still need to figure out who was helping him, he adds it to his mental checklist somewhere after this revenge show, dinner with Magnus and if he’s lucky some other fun with Magnus. “Not that you have any friends.” He adds, a little sharp burn just for fun.
“You can’t kill me, you kill me and the warlocks won’t ever let you have your position back,” Lorenzo spits out.
“Laws don’t apply to me, I can still kill you,” Alexander says gripping Lorenzo’s jaw in a painful hold. His eyes slip into their natural black from the hazel they often sport and he outright growls in anger. Fear lights up Lorenzo’s face.
“Alexander,” Magnus says softly reaching out to circle his wrist. He loosens his grip on Lorenzo and sighs.
“You’re right,” Magnus says diverting his attention to Lorenzo. He tightens the ropes once more just a little, tears forming in the corner of Lorenzo’s eyes. “I can’t kill you, at least not directly, but that’s okay, because I know for a fact that despite your murderous powerplay, Catarina still got the votes for High Warlock and I think she’s better suited for the job than anyone.”
“So no,” Magnus says going to his full height. “You won’t die today, not even by Alexander’s hand. Even though he doesn’t have some of the qualms I do about it,” he pauses smiling at Alexander who’s still crouched on the ground. He lifts a hand floating Lorenzo upright. “But you do have to pay, and I don’t think anyone warlock or otherwise is going to disagree with that.”
Magnus snaps his fingers again and Lorenzo screams. His body convulses, the scales he must hide behind a glamour showing through and then he drops to the ground. His bonds fall the burning ropes settling around a small ugly looking little lizard on the floor.
Alexander stands.
“Hm, he doesn’t look all that different,” Alexander muses eyeing the lizard on the floor. He tries to scurry away and Alexander steps out a foot catching him by the tail. Lizard Lorenzo shrivels back in pain.
Magnus chuckles and waves his hands a cage appearing before him. Magnus picks Lorenzo up and tosses him in unceremoniously, sealing the lid with a small gap for air. He waves his hand again sending Lorenzo off to the basement of his house, right on top of the freezer where he left Magnus’ body all this time.
“So, dinner?” he says stepping back over to Alexander and slipping an arm around his waist.
“Don’t you want to do a dramatic, I’m alive again reveal to your friends?” Alexander asks, knowing Magnus loves a thrill of dramatics every now and then.
“Sort of alive again,” Magnus corrects. Alexander waves the correction away, semantics. “And while I do love the idea, I want to seal this deal first.”
Magnus moves so he’s standing in front of Alexander. Alexander is back in his all black suit and Magnus reaches out fixing the collar of his jacket. He stays put cat eyes looking up directly into Alexander’s still black pools.
Alexander takes the silent invitation and leans in. Their lips meet and Alexander feels like he’s on fire in the best possible way, and he would know he’s been on fire literally before. Their lips and tongues do a dance that feels practiced like they’ve been doing this for centuries not just kissing for the first time. It’s crazy to realize this is only the fourth maybe fifth time they’ve even fully touched.
He’s not sure how long it takes for them to pull back but Magnus’ cat eyes are dilated and he’s sure if he went back to his own hazel ones they’d look much the same.
“Maybe we should skip dinner,” Magnus breathes leaning in to peck Alexander on the lips on more time.
Alexander shakes his head and even though it pains him to say his next words he does.
“Nope dinner first, a deal’s a deal,” he says with a smirk.
***
Six Months Later
Despite the deal being a mess Alexander’s deal with Lorenzo is still technically in place. Alexander does have free reign to stay on earth and stay he does. Dinner with Magnus is great, just being outside of the house is a freeing thing for both of them, but ironically they can’t wait to go back.
He ravishes Magnus’ body that night surrounded by deep red silk sheets and resolves to never sleep anywhere else. Not that either of them have to sleep anymore, it’s just nice to indulge in the act every now and then.
Magnus reveals his rebirth to his friends in particularly dramatic fashion, Alexander’s fairly certain that if a vampire had a still beating heart Raphael’s would have stopped dead in the moment. They welcome him back easily and welcome Alexander in a little more hesitantly.
He gets it, he still is a demon. He still makes deals and collects favors and souls from wicked people along the way there’s good reason to be wary.
They eventually warm up to him though, if for no other reason than the way Magnus looks at him.
They get to work on finding the warlock that helped Lorenzo. Ragnor turns out to be the one with the best lead. They don’t give Malcolm Fade the same fate as Lorenzo though, Lorenzo who last Alexander checked had been turned into a rat for a change Magnus torturing him a bit with a wheel and a treat on a stick he couldn’t reach. A good threat from a demon and a powerful warlock is more than enough to put Malcolm in his place.
Touching Magnus, being able to feel him, not just hear him and see him is like a revolution. Alexander just can’t get enough, life as a demon has left him touch starved and he craves Magnus like a plant craves the sun.
“Morning,” Alexander grumbles reaching out across the sheets. Magnus is already alert sitting up in bed with a book in his hand. Alexander’s fairly certain he didn’t sleep at all.
“Good morning, love,” Magnus says running a hand through Alexander’s messy black hair. He sits up settling next to Magnus and resting his head on his shoulder.
“I had a weird dream,” Alexander says once he’s settled in comfortably. He doesn’t sleep often and he dreams even more rarely, but the more time he spends on earth the more dreams come. “You were a cyborg and I was a merman and we fell in love, but because you couldn’t get wet without malfunctioning we had to find a way to make it work, so we could be together.”
Magnus makes a face and twists away a bit, he grabs Alexander’s chin lightly and examines him. Alexander drops the hazel eyes and goes to full black and Magnus’ breath hitches just a bit, but always one to tease right back he drops his own glamour cat eyes shining with mirth.
“Because being a demon with a conscious and a ghost warlock, turned into an undead warlock isn’t a weird enough love story,” Magnus says, he leans in kissing Alexander once quickly before letting go of his chin. “No more late-night b-movies for you.”
“But I love them,” Alexander grumbles putting on his best big black puppy dog eyes, literally rolling the hazel ones he sports for the world away.
Magnus just rolls his eyes before tossing his book to the side and maneuvering himself so he’s sat on Alexander’s lap. His legs bracket his hips and he leans in pressing his forehead to Alexander’s.
“I love you,” he says bringing his arms up around Alexander’s neck.
“I love you too,” Alexander says, a feeling he never thought he’d feel like this. He pulls Magnus closer, locking their bodies tight together, forever.
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Star Crossed Enemies
Happy Holidays @yellowartistsunshine ! @sanderssidesgiftxchange
Summary: When two rival theatre majors get cast as the leads in "Romeo and Juliet", something blossoms between them. Something beautiful.
This is Roceit, there are some swears. I had lots of fun writing this, especially since this was my first roceit fic!
If Roman despised a single person in the world with all his body and soul, that would be Janus Taylor. He hated how snagging lead roles in plays and musicals always became a fight between them. He hated how smug Janus constantly acted. He hated his stupidly posh accent that was only really obvious when he was on stage performing Shakespeare. He hated how he couldn't have any straight (not that it was possible with Roman any other way) or slightly logical conversation with Janus. He hated him, from the tip of his dumb black beanie, to the soles of his beige loafers. Overall, he hated Janus.
Whenever they passed in the college, there would be a flurry of middle fingers and middle-school-grade insults like "shit head" and "dumbass" thrown about with as much malice as two theatre majors could. They seemed to lose all common sense when in the mere vicinity of each other, instead becoming caricatures of theatre rivals. Arguably, that was exactly what they were.
"Taylor." Roman spat out. "I heard the LGBTQ+ Club's putting up another play soon. Suppose you're going to want the lead role. But it's mine." He declared, as if no one had expected Roman Diaz Santos to want the lead role.
Decei - shit sorry, Janus hissed back. "I heard it's gonna be Shakespeare, and guess who always gets Shakespeare roles? Me. Shithead." He added the “shithead” as an afterthought, as if this was his first rivalry and he had almost forgotten rule #315 of the Rivalry Book of Rivals.
They then tossed each other middle fingers like mutual salutes and marched off, heads held up high and refusing to turn back.
"Man, Janus really is a dick isn't he?" Roman complained to his best friend Virgil Teo, who sighed.
"Yes, Roman. Just like the -" He pulled out a notebook and made a little mark. "534 other times you've told me. This year. I don't even know what's that bad about him."
"Well of course you don't get it. You two dated freshman year. Honestly, I thought you had better taste."
"And I do. That's why we broke up." Virgil slapped Roman's shoulder playfully. "Who are you to insult my dating life? You haven't had a single date since the start of college."
"I've had dates." Roman protested.
"Bad dates, Princey. Those don't count. Maybe you could send it to the Guinness World Records."
Roman gasped in mock annoyance. "How dare you, Virgil.” He gave a wistful sigh. “Anyways, I just want to find my soulmate. They’re out there, I can just feel it. A Juliet or Julien to my Romeo.”
"You're always are full of bullshit, aren't you, Roman?"
---
Patton, a senior, walked up to the front of the leture theatre and tapped the teacher on the shoulder. He whispered something in her ear and the teacher sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose frustratedly. "Hi! The LGBTQ+ Club is putting up two Shakespeare plays for this November! The first one will be a gay Romeo and Juliet, called Romeo and Julien. The other will be a sapphic 'Much Ado about Nothing'. Audition sign ups start next week Monday and end on Friday! Thank you!" Patton was very chirpy for 8 a.m. .
Now, this was when shit hit the fan and our story gets exciting. Roman turned to Virgil enthusiastically. "I'm totally auditioning for Romeo." Meanwhile, all students in the near vicinity who wanted Romeo's role sighed in unison.
Across the lecture theatre, Janus turned to his friend Remus excitedly. "I'm auditioning for Julien! This is gonna be great."
"For fucks sake." Someone in the near vicinity groaned and his friend patted his back sympathetically.
---
Roman sat outside the auditorium, swinging his feet while waiting for his turn to audition. Walking down the corridor, Janus turned to Roman and picked up the chair beside him. He moved 6 feet away and plopped the chair down.
"So, Santos." He started, staring intensely at the auditorium door.
Roman found his shoes absolutely riveting. "Yeah?"
"What role are you auditioning for?"
Tapping the side of his chair, Roman said, "The lead one, obviously."
"Oh." Janus paused and turned to look directly at Roman. Sticking out his hand, he gave him a slight smile. "Well may the best one win."
Roman took the hand hesitantly. "Yeah Janus. Break a leg."
---
The large board outside the auditorium was a crowd favourite among students. It was constantly updated with rehearsal times, casting choices and upcoming performances, you know, the classic cool stuff.
Roman and Janus were the first to arrive at the board and glanced at each other before looking down the corridor with longing.
A boy with big circular wire framed glasses bounded down the corridor, an A4 paper in his hand. He waved excitedly at the two in front of him. "Hi Roman! Hi Janus! Waiting for results?"
The two nodded in synchronisation.
"Oh, well I got them here!" He got out a stapler and stapled the paper to the board, the sleeves of his turquoise hoodie large and dangly.
Romeo: Roman Diaz Santos
Julien: Janus Taylor
The two boys turned to each other in horror.
"Y - you mean -"
"You thought-"
"Julien."
"Romeo."
"WAS THE LEAD ROLE?"
The boy, Patton, looked at them in amusement. "Well, you both got main roles, so congrats! Rehearsals start in two weeks and I'll give you guys your scripts tomorrow. Have fun!"
He patted them both on the back before heading off, skip in his step.
Janus and Roman turned to look at each other in horror once more.
---
There is a moment in one's life, where they will reflect on everything they have done, and wonder what mistakes they had made to lead them down this path. As Roman flipped through the script Patton had handed him, that was exactly what he was doing. "You mean to say, I have to kiss this - this snake 5 times? Outrageous. Unacceptable."
They sat in a circle, everyone who participated in the play knee against knee. It was far too close for comfort and Roman was probably going to vomit onto the rest of the cast.
Virgil, who was in charge of lights and sound and sitting next to him, smirked. "Princey, this is literally a play about you two in love. 5 kisses are the minimum."
"And I am right here, you know." Janus looked slightly offended, leaning over and looking at Roman, who was a Virgil away. "And I'm not that bad at kissing. Ask Virgil. "
Virgil choked.
Before Roman could retort, Patton interrupted them. "Okay guys! Don't forget to practice your lines. Rehearsals start in two weeks so I hope you manage to memorise some of your lines."
As they left the auditorium, Roman whispered to Virgil. "Is Janus actually good at kissing?"
Virgil just shrugged.
Patton called after the leaving group. "Roman? Janus? Please get whatever feud is going on between you two and throw it away. You two need to cooperate so that we can all work together. Go bond over the next few days. Thanks!”
Bond? With Janus? Roman never wanted to hear those words in the same sentence ever again. There was an odd creeping feeling that grew in his stomach and crawled up his throat invasively. It was foreign and weird. Maybe an allergic reaction.
“Oy! Janus! We probably have to - to get to know each other better.” Roman could feel heat spreading from his toes all the way to his cheeks. Why was he blushing? He should not be blushing. “So, do you wanna go grab some food tonight?”
Janus’ eyes widened and he physically stepped back. He pointed at Roman, before pointing back at himself. “You? Offering me? Dinner?”
Roman shot a wink at Janus cheekily, before turning around to hide his blush. What was he doing? He never flirted with his rival. Was that even flirting? Tugging his hair down in a pitiful attempt to hide his burning red ears, he turned to Virgil.
Virgil wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, before elbowing Roman in the side. “Stepping up your game, Santos? Impressive.”
Roman blushed even harder, and looked away.
---
Roman had had his fair share of dates, if that was what you called a dinner like this, and he never knew what to say. He pulled out his best card.
“So...ya like jazz?”
Janus choked on his iced lemon tea. "Fucking Bee Movie?”
“Well, you do wear black and yellow 80% of the time, so you clearly like bees. Ergo, Bee Movie.”
An eyebrow was raised. “Impressive. You almost sound as smart as Logan.”
“I wish. He’s an absolute genius.” Logan was studying law, would probably become the valedictorian, and was dating Patton. Truly a legend.
“What’s your favourite animated movie then?” Janus asked. “Mine certainly is not the Bee Movie. There are loads of better Dreamworks films. I love Megamind."
“Oh, Megamind is really good! Choosing a favourite… that’s so hard though!” Roman bounced in his seat. Another movie lover? Perhaps, Janus wasn't too bad.
Janus laughed and the food must have been tainted or something, because Roman’s heart skipped several beats.
---
“Right! Let’s start at Act 1, Scene 5. You guys are at the party and this is when Romeo meets Julien for the first time. Action.” Patton, perched on the edge of a chair, announced, eyes shining with excitement.
Roman glanced over at Janus, clad in a hoodie and jeans. He was flipping through his script and mumbling lines to himself. It was their first rehearsal so they were still allowed to look at their scripts. It also happened to be their first kiss scene. Pink tinted Roman's cheeks at the thought. Kiss… Janus? The two words seemed so foreign next to each other, yet they felt as though they were meant to be. He couldn't stop his eyes lingering over Janus' light pink lips. He turned away quickly, glancing at his script. Romeo kisses Julien.
Romeo.
Kisses.
Julien.
Shaking his head, he looked up at the people on stage, waiting for his cue. He had to stop thinking so much. Thoughts were dangerous. Who knows where they may lead?
Roman wondered what Janus' lips tasted like.
Oh for fucks sake.
Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Roman shoved his face back into the script, mumbling his lines under his breath and waiting for his queue to come on stage.
Stepping onto the stage, he channeled Romeo Shakespearean thoughts. It was a little hard in his button up shirt and jeans, but he was a professional. “What lord is that which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?” He gestured towards Janus.
A server bowed politely. “I know not, sir.”
“Oh, he doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems he hangs upon the cheek of night. Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear, beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows. As yonder lord o'er his fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch his place of stand. And, touching his, make blessèd my rude hand.” He spoke to the audience, but couldn’t help think about how accurate this was. Janus too, was really hot.
Roman spoke some more about how hot Julien was, and the rest of the rehearsal was a blur. He wasn’t Roman anymore. In front of this audience? He was Romeo, a rich lovestruck teenager.
Then suddenly, he found himself staring into Janus’ eyes, and he was Roman all over again.
Janus’ eyes, a deep, rich brown that gave Roman a steady look, pierced into Roman’s heart. He spoke towards the audience, but he sounded so genuine and sincere as he uttered his lines. “Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”
Roman gave Janus a soft smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Then move not, while my prayers’ effect I take.”
Closing his eyes, he leaned in and brushed Janus’ lips. It was hesitant, and soft, and he could hear Janus' quiet gasp, as if he wasn't expecting it. It was barely a kiss, more like a peck, but Roman could feel heat rushing into his cheeks. “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.” He said, loud enough for the audience to hear him.
“Then have my lips the sin that they have took?” Janus cocked his head to the side, looking far more innocent and coy than Roman had ever seen him behave before.
“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” This time, Janus stood on tiptoes and kissed him. A proper kiss that made the butterflies in his stomach flutter, and Roman wanted to stay like that forever and ever. The scent of Janus' cologne made him giddy and he took Janus' hands, pulling him closer. On one hand, they were playing parts in a play, and on the other hand, everything felt oh so real, from the hoodie toggles that tickled his button up shirt to Janus' soft fingers gripping his hands tightly.
When they finally pulled away, Roman gazed at Janus' shining brown eyes in what must have been a lovestruck expression. He found his Julien.
---
"You BITCH!" Virgil slapped the study table violently.
"What did I do?"
"1 year. 1 fucking year of you making fun of me falling for a white guy and here you are, falling for the exact same white guy." Virgil looked vaguely irritated. "Even my mom was like," He put his hand at his ear like a phone and did an exaggerated Chinese accent. "Aiyah ah boy, I know you like boys, but an angmoh gao is too too much already. But don't worry lah, 4 months is not long, you still can leave him.” Do you even know what that means, you ass?”
He suddenly burst out in laughter. "This is great, it's my turn to poke fun." He rubbed his hands together excitedly. "What was the kiss like? Was it...spicy?"
"Weren't you there?"
"Yeah, but I want a personal recount. Actually, no. Give me the P.E.E.L. format. Point, evidence, example and link on Janus' kissing skills. Go."
"Oh, er. Janus was a… good kisser?" Roman didn't kiss much. "Um, point. His hair is all fluffy and I feel it brushing against my forehead, which gives me butterflies and this warm tingly sensation that ran through my body and gave me goosebumps. And he makes this noise whenever we kiss that is so cute, he honestly sounds genuinely surprised whenever it happens, even though we're following a script. And his cologne smells so good, oh my god I need to get the brand name, it's like kinda ashy, but not quite and it was a bit light, like a nice stroll in a forest. Holy shit it smelled nice. And-"
Virgil raised an eyebrow and paused Roman's tangent. "He wore cologne? He never wears cologne."
"Oh." Roman's eyes widened.
"Maybe…" Virgil wiggled his eyebrows. "He wore it for the kiss scene."
The heat that decided to congregate on Roman's cheeks was undeniable. "Why - why would he do that?"
"He likes you, ya dumbass. And he wanted to impress you, so he decided that hoodie plus beanie plus cologne was a good combo."
Roman stared at his feet. "It was."
Virgil stood up and patted Roman on the head comfortingly. "There, there, it's alright. White guys aren't all that bad."
"Oh fuck off."
Virgil bowed and shot Roman the finger. Truly a man of eloquence and class. Roman opened a picture on his phone from his date with Janus. Janus was smiling, and Roman could feel himself smiling too as he looked at the picture of Janus. Of his Julien.
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MI Fic: Beware of Karen
Title: Beware of Karen
Ships: Guybrush/Elaine, past Stan/OC (if you could call that mess a relationship)
Notes: So this is the result of lots of jokes and headcanon swapping with @captmickey. Hope you enjoy. ;)
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Throughout his adventures, Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate(TM) had seen the strange and impossible…
...And yet none of it compared to the sight of perpetual grifter, Stan S. Stanman standing on a dock before the Screaming Narwhal with a sleeping roll and other items in his (still flailing, how does he do that) arms.
“Guybrush! Good to see you! How’s the wife?”
“...She’s fine?” Guybrush remarked glancing at an equally baffled Elaine to his right.
“What...exactly are you doing here?”
“Haha! A good question! Typical of a smart man such as yourself! See, I need a favor and I figured we’ve been such good friends for so long...”
“You sold me a cruddy ship, I locked you in a coffin, scammed your life insurance business, you tried to sell me a timeshare, and tried to prosecute me on false charges. I don’t think “friends” is the word I’d use.”
At that, Stan’s usual bluster and “charming” salesman smile deflated like a really sad balloon.
“Alright alright. I know we haven’t exactly been on the same page but you’re the only one I actually trust with this.”
Okay that got Guybrush’s attention.
“This being?”
“I need a place to stay. Maybe a few days maybe a week. It shouldn’t be too long… hopefully”
Guybrush and Elaine glanced at each other, warriness and a little bit of annoyance obvious on both their faces.
They were planning on sailing off tomorrow and continuing their Multi-Island Anniversary Vacation. Elaine especially was looking forward to this after all the craziness with the Pox Incident… and the LeWalrus Incident before that. Winslow was even nice enough to be willing to stay at Spinner Cay with Anemone and the rest of the Merfolk so the two could have their space.
Then came Stan like a bad penny.
“Stan… we’re-” Guybrush attempted to explain
“We’re in the middle of something. As a couple. As in something for just the two of us.” Elaine added
“Don’t worry! Ol’ Stan here will be quiet as a mouse!”
Guybrush pinched his nose in frustration at Stan’s refusal to take no for an answer.
“Stan… why do you want to stay with us anyway? What? You couldn’t scam yourself a hotel room?”
“I take personal offense to that, my friends!”
“We’re not friends.” Elaine interrupted
But Stan ignored that and continued, “See I’ve been a businessman for a long time and in that field of work, I’ve met many a character, believe you me! I’ve crossed paths with the prickliest pirates, the saltiest of sea dogs, the most brackish of buccaneers...”
Guybrush muttered to Elaine, “What’s “brackish” mean?”
“I think it just means unpleasant, dear.” Elaine responded
“But none of them! None of those pillaging plunderers hold a candle to the most frightening person in the Caribbean… KAREN!”
Was… was he joking?
Is this one of those weird Pirate Prank Plays?
Was there a hidden audience ready to burst out and laugh at him?
“Unless Karen is LeChuck’s first name… which would be hilarious I can’t lie, I don’t think I see the threat.” Guybrush replied
“Who is Karen anyway?”
“Oh… she uh… she’s… err… she’s my ex-wife.”
An awkward silence hung between the three…
“Alright Guybrush, pull up the anchor.”
“WAIT! Listen I understand that I may have a… unique relationship with the truth but please believe me when I say that Karen is the absolute worst person imaginable and if she finds out that I’m on this island, I am a dead man!”
Okay… wow… even after racking his brain, Guybrush couldn’t really remember seeing Stan so… terrified (well okay the coffin thing but that’s uh something else.) He looked over to Elaine and could tell that she was still less than sympathetic.
Not that he could blame her. A guy, known for exaggeration and bullshit, shows up to your ship and tells you how his ex-wife is somehow WORSE than LeChuck? Not a good look.
But obviously Stan was not gonna go away, Guybrush had to think of something.
“Okay, listen, Stan. Elaine and I are trying to have a nice private vacation as a couple. But since you seem so worried, why don’t I just go talk to Karen?”
“ARE YOU CRAZY!? Stronger men than you have buckled before her! No, it’s better for all involved to just get out of dodge!”
Guybrush just gave a cocky grin in response, “Stronger men, but not wittier. Believe me after dealing with you for years, I think I can handle this.”
Stan merely sighed and muttered, “Sounds like I need to go back to the coffin business because it's your funeral.”
Guybrush turned to Elaine and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
“Don’t worry Plunderbunny, I’ll get this done quickly and we can get right back to our vacation.”
“Oh alright but you owe me a shoulder massage after all this.”
The Mighty Pirate(TM) shot a wink and began to disembark The Screaming Narwhal.
---------
Before long the two were making their way through a marketplace full of merchants, scam artists, and those in between.
“So… how did you and Karen meet?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Yikes, Stan doesn’t want to talk about something? Maybe… this wasn’t a good idea…
...WELL IN FOR A PIECE OF EIGHT!
“Why’d you divorce? Or is that too personal?”
“We began to see each other as competition. And Karen is quite ruthless to anyone she sees as competition.”
Before Guybrush could ask further, a pained high scream rang through the market. A female pirate ran past him and Stan screaming about her eyes as she covered them.
“You’ll thank me when you have to beat the men away with a club!” shouted another woman
“...It’s her.”
Guybrush turned to where Stan was glaring and immediately spotted a woman in a jacket and plaid pencil skirt. Her hair was closely cropped with some parts flared up or sticking out. In her hand was one of those fancy looking glass perfume bottles. Her face was covered in way-too much make-up for one person and she had a pure white salesman smile similar to Stan.
“Karen...”
The woman turned to them and immediately her smile dropped.
“...Stan.”
Hoo boy, Guybrush was wearing a coat and he could feel the chill between these two. Better step in before things get more awkward.
“Um excuse me?”
“Hm?”
Guybrush straightened himself and adjusted his coat.
“I’m Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate™.”
“Uh-huh, that’s nice.” Karen remarked with little enthusiasm
She then turned to Stan and shot him a smug look, “You know Stan, I always said you couldn’t find better than me but wow you really dug rock bottom.”
Stan just continued to glare at her while it took a second for Guybrush to realize what she was saying.
“Oh, oh no! Stan and I are just… acquaintances… who keep running into each other. I’m happily spoken for to the most beautiful ex-government official in the Caribbean.” Guybrush explained, showing off the ring on his finger
Guybrush wasn’t sure what happened next; one moment there seemed to be a glint in Karen’s eyes and then he found himself pulled away from Stan with one of her arms wrapped around his shoulders.
“Oh you’re married huh? Can’t imagine the Missus being too thrilled to see you spending time with someone like Stan.”
“Uh...I mean… you’re not wrong”
“You look like the kind of guy who’s just one mistake away from the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
“I… um… actually Elaine and I-”
“A lady likes to be treated… um… Gasbroom was it?”
“Guybrush… but I’m not here to bu-”
“Of course, of course. And you say she’s ex-government? Well clearly you somehow found a woman of class who deserves only the classiest -and most expensive- items in my collection!~”
Thankfully before Karen could continue with her sales pitch, Guybrush felt Stan pulling him back and he suddenly felt more clear headed. It was almost like a spell had been broken. Or maybe he was now further from the perfume fumes and wasn’t feeling as dizzy.
Karen glared at Stan and crossed her arms.
“Hmph, I see you haven��t changed a bit, Stan. You just can’t stand the mere IDEA of someone buying something from someone other than you.”
“This isn’t about sales and you know it, Karen.”
Guybrush pushed himself away from Stan and faced Karen.
“Listen, I just wanted to talk to you and clear up all… whatever this is!” Guybrush exclaimed, pointing his finger between the two
At that, Karen began to laugh.
“Oh, sweetie, there is no fixing that mess. And that mess could also be in your future if you don’t...”
“I’m not buying anything!” Guybrush snapped
“Oh… no wonder your marriage is on the rocks.”
“HEY! My marriage has survived curses, evil undead voodoo jerks, and my mother-in-law! I think it can survive not buying your stuff”
“See this is what she does! She lies and insults you every way to get you to buy from her!”
Guybrush couldn’t help but side-eye Stan as he remarked, “Isn’t that what you do?”
“Oh no no no. What I do is a little something called Cold Reading. A skill of the trade. All she does is push you down and down until you can’t take it anymore!”
“...Again, sounds like what you do.”
“I agree with Stan, how dare you compare my mercantile skills to this idiot who couldn’t sell a used ship to a pair of monkeys!”
“AT LEAST I DON’T TEST MY WARES ON THE MONKEYS!”
“Still spreading those lies and slander are we? I think we’re done here, Stan. Leave now and if I see your face around here or worse yet, try to set up shop near me. I will have the Island authorities on you like flies on a zombie.”
“BUT! You’re at a marketplace! You can’t have someone arrested for running a business near you!” Shouted Guybrush
Karen smirked, “True but I can if this is what I tell them...”
Instantly Karen pulled out a handkerchief and started crying (without any actual tears, can’t smudge the make-up after all.)
“I-It’s my ex-husband, sir! He-he won’t leave me alone! I just want to run my business in peace but he just keeps harassing me!”
In an instant, the “oh woe is me” act is dropped and that smirk came back.
“Have I made myself clear? Now go on, shoo! You’re scaring off customers.”
Realizing that there was no winning here, Guybrush and Stan began to turn around and walk away. But not before…
“Hey! Goibersh!”
“...It’s Guybru-”
Quickly Guybrush caught a tube of lipstick that Karen tossed at him before it could hit him in the face.
“Consider this a free sample. And when your dear lady inevitably demands more, you’re free to come crawling back to me without Stan.”
With that, Karen went straight back to harassing another “customer” passing by.
“Stan...”
“Yes Guybrush?”
“You can stay on the ship. THIS DOES NOT MAKE US FRIENDS! But I’d feel like a jerk if I just left you to her “mercy.””
“...Thanks. Maybe if we survive this, I’ll give you a ten percent discount on my next business venture.”
“ONLY TEN PERCENT!?”
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Episode 27: The One where I Want to Punch Basically Every Sect Leader in the Face. Repeatedly. With a Chair.
And we start off back in the rain, AKA OUR ENDLESS TEARS
Wwx is like, do you remember our promise?
And lwj flashbacks TO THEIR LANTERN SCENE FROM THE ONE WHERE LWJ FINALLY SEES THE LIGHT
WE GET TO SEE LWJ’S PRECIOUS BABY FACE AS HE FALLS HEAD OVER HEELS IN THAT FLASHBACK
IT HURTS SO GOOD
Wwx: i wished to stand with justice and live without regrets. But tell me now, who’s strong, who’s weaker? Who’s right and who’s wrong?
Lwj: wei ying!
Oh god, his voice! HE’S DISTRESSED
Wwx: is this the promise we pledged our lives to keep?
THEY BOTH LOOK SO HEARTBROKEN RN
Oh, look, lwj is doing the deathgrip of gay yearning on bichen again. We haven’t seen that in awhile AND I WISH WE WEREN’T SEEING IT NOW
Okay, but for real, how can lwj look so hurt here when the actor is literally doing nothing with his face??
I know i’ve mentioned that before, BUT C’MON, HOW?? HOW DOES THAT EVEN WORK??
Wwx: my only regret is that i didn’t stop the jin clan who took living people as bait
I REGRET YOU NOT TAKING DOWN THE JIN CLAN TOO
WE COULD’VE AVOIDED SO MANY PROBLEMS IF WE’D JUST KILL OFF 90% OF THAT CLAN, OMG
And now wwx is all, i missed my chance to protect wen ning before so now i MUST leave to save him
BC WWX IS THE BEST MOST HONORABLE PERSON IN THE WORLD
Oh no
Oh noooo
He’s pulling out his demon flute. We’re gonna get THAT SCENE
Wwx: lan zhan, if i finally have to fight them, i’d prefer to fight with you
Wwx: if i am doomed to die, at least i can be killed by you. That would be worth it.
HE SAYS THAT BC HE TRUSTS VIRTUOUS LWJ TO STOP HIM IF HE REALLY IS IN THE WRONG
AND I AM SCREAMING IN PAIN RN
BC LOOK AT LWJ’S FACE
HE’S LISTENING TO HIS SOULMATE TELL HIM THAT HE WANTS HIS DEATH TO BE AT HIS HAND
Oh god, he’s doing the bichen deathgrip again
He tears his gaze away from wwx and turns to the side TO LET THEM ALL GO PAST
EYES LOWERED AS HIS HEART BREAKS INTO A MILLION PIECES
HE’S CRYING OH GOD HE’S CRYING
THERE ARE TEARS GOING DOWN HIS FACE, OH GOD WHY IS THIS HAPPENING
HE DIDN’T EVEN CRY WHEN HIS HOME GOT BURNED AND HIS FAMILY WAS MISSING AND/OR DYING
And now he drops his umbrella to the ground AS HE TRIES TO DROWN HIMSELF IN THE RAIN
*HYSTERICAL SOBBING*
THEY PACKED ALL THAT HEARTBREAK INTO THE FIRST 6MIN OF THE EPISODE, WTF, SOMEBODY STAB ME
And after all that emotional torture we get Plot Stuff happening
Blah blah wwx at the burial mounds blah blah sect leader banquet blah blah
Ugh, gross, they’re letting the idiot sect leaders talk again
They’re all blah blah wwx is evil blah blah he murders ppl blah blah we hate him blah blah
SHUT UP YOU BUNCH OF WALKING HUMAN-RIGHTS-VIOLATIONS
This whole part here is so difficult to watch. They’re literally just trash-talking my PRECIOUS SUNSHINE BOY
Jc, lwj, and lxc look visibly uncomfortable with what’s going down and they kind of sort of tried to defend wwx but they didn’t present a united front or hold their ground
Instead they let yao and ouyang run their stupid mouths
Anyway
Here’s little itty bitty bits of almost wangxiantics in the middle of this mess
Jgs: yeah, jc, i know wwx is your trusted bro and all but idk if wwx actually respects your authority. Do something about it, maybe
Lwj: *subtly glares at jgs*
And then everyone joins in on dragging wwx’s name through the mud bc apparently that’s the hot new thing in the cultivator world
If you look closely while this is happening, you can see that lwj legit GRINDS HIS TEETH with how much he’s holding back. MY POOR BB HAVING TO SIT THERE AND LISTEN TO EVERYONE DISPARAGE HIS SOULMATE
Jgs: wwx totally doesn’t respect you, jc, my bro. Everyone here heard him say how much he thinks you suck or whatever
Lwj: No I didn’t.
OOOOH, LWJ IS ANGRY AS HELL
HE’S OUTRIGHT GLARING AT JGS
Jgs: what??
Lwj: i never heard wei ying say that, nor did i see him disrespect clan leader jiang
HANGUANG-JUN I LOVE YOU, LOOK AT YOU DEFENDING THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE, I’M SO PROUD OF YOU
And ugh, disgusting, jgy steps in to be all “oh, well, wwx said so many awful things that day, who can possibly remember the specifics?”
Lwj visibly swallows here, as if he’s choking back a response, and his lips are all pursed.
HE’S FURIOUS. HE’S ROILING WITH IMPOTENT ANGER, WHICH IS THE WORST KIND OF ANGER, TBH
That’s all the wangxiantics we get from that terrible awful sect leader banquet
THOSE SECT LEADERS NEED TO GET PUNCHED IN THE FACE
LIKE, A LOT
WITH A CHAIR
OR A TABLE
YOU KNOW WHAT, LET ME JUST TAKE BICHEN AND BEAT THEM ALL WITH IT
OR BETTER, YET, I’LL USE BAXIA. I WON’T EVEN CUT THEM UP. I’LL JUST BEAT THEM WITH THE BROAD PART
*ANGRY YELLING*
Oh, wait a minute. Wait a minute!
This isn’t a wangxiantic
But it is an EPIC MOMENT that should be commemorated.
Because here we get…
*drum roll*
MIANMIAN BEING A BOSS
Jz: blah blah wwx kills our people indiscriminately blah blah
Mm: not indiscriminately
Mm: indiscriminate is not accurate
And everyone around her is like, confused and offended because they’re assholes
Mm: in this specific case, if the overseers did abuse the Wen prisoners and kill wen ning, then what wwx did was not “killing indiscriminately”
Ouyang: nah, the overseers said they never abused/killed anyone
Mm: OF COURSE THEY’D FUCKING SAY THAT. THEY DON’T WANT TO FACE PUNISHMENT, YOU IDIOT
(okay, she didn’t call him an idiot outright or swear, but it was totally there in her tone of voice and also ouyang is an idiot so there)
Mm: you all think you’re so smart and voice your opinions so loudly
Mm: I SECEDE FROM THIS BULLSHIT. FUCK THE JIN CLAN AND YOUR STUPID CLAN POLITICS
And she throws down her jin robes and mARCHES RIGHT OUT OF THAT SHITHOLE WITH HER HEAD HELD HIGH
MIANMIAN PLEASE MARRY ME
Lwj watches her do that and two seconds later follows her out bC HE RECOGNIZES BADASSERY WHEN HE SEES IT (and also she defended the love of his life)
And that badass moment ends
But the banquet of idiots keeps going
The jin clan needs to learn how to shut the fuck up
God, they just go on and on and on
Why are they torturing me like this
OH WAIT, WE’RE OUTSIDE THE BANQUET HALL NOW
We see lwj and mm standing together on a terrace, talking to each other
BUT WE DON’T GET TO HEAR WHAT THEY SAY TO EACH OTHER AND THAT HAUNTS ME TO THIS DAY
WHAT DID THEY SAY
TELL MEEEEEEE
Oh, side note to let you all know this direct quote from nmj - “that girl really has a backbone.”
Okay nmj, i’m slightly less angry at you now. I won’t try to beat you with bichen or a table or a chair.
(but now i kinda wish mm would join the nie clan. I think she’d do well there and also i want to see her carry a gigantic saber)
We get some chitchat with the Official Bros™ but idc let’s move on
(tho i do appreciate the look nmj gives jgy, like, HOW DARE YOU TALK TO ME lolol)
Ooooh, now we’re getting lan fam time
ANGRY lan fam time, uh oh.
Lqr: lwj, have you regretted it? I didn’t punish you when you broke into the Forbidden Chamber bc i thought you’d self-reflect
Lqr: you shouldn’t have gone to qiongqi way and let wwx go. Should you make one mistake after another?
And lwj is kneeling in front of him this whole time with a blank face
Lqr: what’s the use of getting you to memorize the Great Big Book of Lan Fam Rules?? Tell me, what is rule 52?
Lwj: No association with evil
He answers immediately and without any inflection to his voice.
Lqr: did you forget what happened to your father???
AND WE FINALLY GET A REACTION HERE
Lwj practically gasps and lifts his gaze to meet his uncle head-on
Lwj: my mother, she…!
Lqr: hold your tongue!
And just like that, lwj shuts down again; expression flat and gaze lowered
GOD, THIS CLAN HAS HURT HIM SO MUCH THROUGHOUT HIS LIFE
I MEAN, THEY MUST’VE, FOR HIM TO BE ABLE TO JUST DISCONNECT LIKE THAT
THAT IS NOT THE BEHAVIOR OF A NORMAL WELL-ADJUSTED PERSON
Basically the entire lan clan needs to go to therapy, like, STAT
Oh, i just noticed, lwj has his fists clenched at his sides. He’s clenching them hard, too. I think they’re trembling a bit, actually…
Lqr: i’ve been taking care of you since you were a kid; you’re like my son.i was strict bc i wanted you to stick to the right path and avoid your father’s tragedy
Lqr: that’s what i wanted to say to you. I hope you choose the right path. You may leave.
Lwj still bows respectfully before taking his leave
And i’m sure y’all are wondering, hey trensu, why did you make us endure that angry lan fam time that hurt us deep in our soul?? That wasn’t wangxiantic at all!
That’s where you're wrong, my friends!
It’s actually SUPER wangxiantic bc lqr kept drawing parallels to lwj’s dad the practically whole time
You know, the dad that married their mother who murdered some guy and had the whole world turn against her.
(Sound familiar?)
The same mother that dad loved with his entire being and did what he could to keep her safe from the ramifications of her actions? By marrying her? And hiding her in the cloud recesses?
YEAH, HE’S EQUATING WANGXIAN WITH LWJ’S PARENTS’ TRAGIC ROMANCE
Bc, you know, that’s a totally hetero comparison to make lol
Oh, now we get to see our favorite Disaster Het be less of a disaster
We’re not going into detail here bc we’re not here for hetero shenanigans, yuck (actually, i’m apparently weak to Pining Idiots of all kinds bc this whole jzx/jyl scene is giving me tender feelings)
BUT
I do want to add that OMG FOR REAL LWJ AND JZX HAVE SO MUCH IN COMMON WHEN IT COMES TO THEIR LOVE LIVES, IT’S FANTASTIC
I NEED 10 MILLION FICS OF THEM COMMISERATING OVER THEIR SHARED DISASTER-NESS
Also, how the HELL did jzx end up being the one who was able to express his intentions clearly? He was all “please don’t go to the burial mounds, stay here with me so i can protect you from all who would want to hurt you”
DAMN IT LWJ, IF YOU’D JUST SAY THAT TO WWX, HE’S UNDERSTAND WHAT’S GOING ON.
YOU CAN’T JUST BE ALL “COME TO GUSU” WITH NO EXPLANATION
Jzx accomplished this before you did, YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED.
Huh, okay, i guess i did go into a bit of detail with that hetero nonsense. Oh well.
Now we’re at the burial mounds again with wwx
AND WE SEE A-YUAN PROPERLY FOR THE FIRST TIMEEEEE!!
ANY A-YUAN MOMENT IS BY DEFAULT A WANGXIANTIC, GUYS, TRUST ME.
AAHHHH, WE SEE A-YUAN DO THAT LEG-GRABBY THING HE DOES!!!
HE’S SO CUTE. TOO ADORABLE.
I LOVE YOU A-YUAN
Lol, wwx is all if you don’t let go i’ll plant you like a turnip
And a-yuan plops himself down in the dirt like YOUR THREATS DON’T WORK ON ME, OLD MAN, I LIKE BEING IN THE DIRT
Then he asks wwx for 3 elder brothers and 2 elder sisters, awwww. He thinks wwx can grow them in the garden (like cabbage patch kids!!!)
Plot stuff happens
Blah blah wwx and wq share moment blah blah jc shows up blah blah
Lol
Jc sees that glowing talisman door thing and is like THAT SIGN WON’T STOP ME BC I CAN’T READ
And then whips it down with zidian
Now we get some feelings-laden Yunmeng bros time
A-yuan shows up and leg-grabs jc and it’s ADORABLE
But jc yells at him bc he’s a JERK
Wwx scolds jc and then is a Dad to a-yuan: don’t put your hand in your mouth, you were just touching dirt!
Awww, we get to see jc fight back a smile at this! HE WANTS TO BE AN UNCLE, I JUST KNOW IT.
Plot plot plot stuff happens
More plot stuff happens
And the episode ends with us still in the burial mounds with the yunmeng bros
And you know what, i’m just gonna focus on our BAMF mianmian moment bc quite frankly the rest of the episode either had me in tears of anguish or spitting mad. There was no inbetween.
I’m gonna end up having blood pressure problems at this rate.
I’m too poor young to have blood pressure problems.
The Jin clan better pay for any medical bills I get because of them, I'm just saying
Return to Masterpost
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Happy Hour (Mark Lee x Reader smut)
WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT (Alcohol use, no protection mentioned, sexual content), slight dom themes
Word Count: Around 3.3k
Pairing: Mark Lee x Female Reader
PLOT: You landed your dream internship at an entertainment production company and have finally gotten the opportunity to impress your boss when he gives you the important role of casting backup dancers for a music video being shot for a new artist. Unfortunately, you aren’t taking on the project alone and are forced to work alongside Mark, who you’ve known since you were in grade school and who seems to constantly be in competition with you.
MY FIRST FIC! Please let me know your thoughts. All criticism is welcome. Requests are welcome too. Please consider following me and I will follow back! I am quite satisfied with the way this turned out and can’t wait to write more.
- mia rose <3
You tried to hide the disappointment on your face. You had been waiting for months to get the chance to finally prove yourself to your boss, Bishop Banks – the most talented person in the entertainment industry you knew personally. Not only did you work your butt off to graduate from the top communications program in Toronto but you had to go through an intense interview process to land the internship as well. There was no way you were going to pass up the chance to potentially land a full time job at Banks productions. You took a deep breath before responding to the heart wrenching news you just received.
“Working with Mark would be an absolute pleasure,” you said as you forced a smile. Banks didn’t look convinced. He had been mentoring the both of you for the past couple of weeks and knew you and Mark weren’t exactly the best of friends. The tension between the two of you was easily noticed by anyone who spent only minutes in your presence. It wasn’t your fault Mark intentionally tried to push your buttons all the time.
“I know Kioko is a new artist but I need you guys to do well in this casting. His record label has invested a lot of money into the production of his first video and this could make or break his entire career,” said Bishop sternly as he shuffled through pages on his desk, “So, please stay focused and make sure you find the perfect dancers. I have all of their information in these portfolio’s, along with audition tapes and some notes from the director so you should get started if you want to be prepared for tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, Bishop. I can’t speak on behalf of y/n but I got this.” said Mark, as he leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed behind his head, and legs spread apart. You rolled your eyes at him after hearing his comment, and he responded with a wink. Bishop continued flipping through documents and adding final pages to the folders marked with both yours and Marks names on them, oblivious to what had just happened.
You hated how relaxed Mark was. It was as if neither of you had changed since you were kids. He was always the popular kid who never struggled at all. Not only was he extremely good looking, but he was also extremely smart. He didn’t even have to try, which was the most unfair part of it all. You put your blood sweat and tears into everything you did but he seemed to accomplish the same things you did with ease. Not to mention the fact that he seemed to be extremely likeable to everyone else but you. You never saw the side of Mark that everyone else did. For some reason he had always been so tough with you, teasing you and making you nervous whenever he got the chance. It wasn’t until you started University together that he finally seemed to ease up… until you both ended up interning at the same company.
Shortly after, you were ushered out of your boss’ office and finished work for the day. Or at least you should have been. Because the final casting would be starting tomorrow, there was actually a lot of paperwork and footage to go through in preparation.
You found Mark sitting in the common room of the production office conversing with some other employees. Two girls laughed at something he was saying while gazing at him like he was the only man in the world. All girls got like that around Mark. You couldn’t really blame them but you also couldn’t quite understand them either. You hesitated before walking up to them.
Mark was sat in between the two girls on a couch with his legs crossed and his arms stretched across the back. His shirt had the first few buttons undone with its sleeves pushed up to his forearms and his tie from earlier was already off. He clearly couldn’t wait to unwind at the end of the workday.
You stood awkwardly in front of the three of them as they ignored you. Mark was clearly aware of your presence but the girls were too mesmerized by him to even glance in your direction. You cleared your throat and their conversation died down.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we should probably go through some of these documents before tomorrow. The boardroom is free and –“ you began, before being cut off by Mark.
“That sounds great,” he said, his voice dripping in sarcasm, “but it’ll have to wait until after happy hour is over.”
Almost every day the staff would have drinks in the lounge at the hotel down the street. You had been a couple of times but decided it wasn’t really your scene when you saw how quickly everyone let loose. After a particular incident in high school, you quickly learned that it was best to get drunk around your closest friends and no one else. You had made that mistake before and Mark was unfortunately there to witness it. You knew how to have a good time but you definitely didn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself in front of your colleagues.
As if Mark could sense your discomfort, the corners of his mouth turned upwards to form the cheeky smile he always had when he knew he was getting under your skin. You opened your mouth to protest just as your boss walked out of his office and into the common area, stopping to say his goodbyes before heading home for the night.
Mark used the situation to his advantage. He spoke loud enough for the boss to hear.
“You will be joining me right, y/n? We can get started on the work. Unless you want to put this off for a couple of hours?”
You plastered another fake smile across your face before nodding and turning straight for the exit, not waiting to see if Mark was following you. You wanted to get it over with and at this point you were willing to do whatever it took to get through this collaboration, even if that meant suffering through happy hour.
An hour and a half later you were back at the company with Mark in the boardroom. He had put you on the spot in front of a bunch of other interns and you ended up having a drink or three. Luckily the alcohol didn’t hit you then but you were really starting to feel it now. Mark was clearly drunk as well, but as usual he kept his cool composure. You sat in a chair, spinning yourself in circles as you waited for him to start playing the audition tapes on the television screen.
Even though you had broken your alcohol rule, you had to admit you were feeling pretty good. It had been a while since you had gotten drunk like this and it felt liberating. For the first time in a long time you didn’t feel on edge or stressed out. You reached up and released your hair from the bun it had been in all day. As your hair cascaded down, you met Marks gaze across the room. He stared intensely as you arched your back, chest pushed forward, massaging your scalp.
“Ugh, that feels SO much better.” you moaned, as you lowered your arms and leaned back into your chair. You kicked off your heels, because fuck it. No one was in the office and it was probably going to be a long night anyway. And you slipped out of the blazer you wore over your dress.
Mark moved across the room as his eyes scanned all over your body. He took in every last bit of you, from your stockings and back up again. He sat in a chair next to you, not saying a word as the audition tapes began to play. You both prepared yourselves to take notes on each candidate.
After judging the first few dancers it was clear you guys were not on the same page. The once quiet boardroom was now filled with your bickering voices.
“She wasn’t even that good!” you proclaimed.
Mark groaned in response, “What are you talking about? She’s hot. That’s exactly what we need!”
“Exactly! That’s the problem. She’s just hot. We need people with actual talent!” you started, “You’re thinking with the wrong head, Mark. Even I could do better than that!”
Mark broke out into a fit of laughter. “Y/N, the guys you’ve chosen have only been capable of doing corny hip rolls and basic two steps. And we both know alcohol impairs your ability to make good decisions… even though it does make you a really great dancer.” he said, holding back more laughter.
The alcohol had definitely loosened you both up, but that comment still managed to make you blush. You guys hadn’t talked about that embarrassing night from high school so candidly in years despite Mark finding subtle ways to tease you about it from time to time.
You had gotten really drunk at a small party and may or may not have given Mark a lap dance. For years he had been hate-flirting with you, but that night he really challenged you when he made a comment about your so called ‘lack of sex appeal’. You two had been butting heads all night and you got the crazy idea of putting on a little private show for him, which was interrupted by a group of his friends who stumbled into the room. The embarrassment didn’t hit until the next morning when you sobered up.
The memories replayed over and over in your head until you processed what he had just said.
“So you’ve finally admitted it then!” you yelled, jumping up out of your chair and standing over Mark. “That whole sex appeal thing was complete bullshit and you were just being a hater!”
You were stood between his legs now but the sudden excitement from hearing his confession and your abrupt escape from your chair caused you to stumble forward. You forgot that you were still tipsy for a second. Before you could come crashing down on top of Mark, he grabbed onto your hips to steady you.
The mood in the room dramatically shifted. Once again, you locked eyes. His grip momentarily tightened and you let out a quick breath in response as the tension rose. His big beautiful eyes were glazed over, and staring right into your soul. He licked his lips before getting up from his chair, not letting go of your body just yet.
You slowly raised your head as he raised himself out of his chair — standing taller than you, making sure to maintain his gaze as his breathing deepened along with your own.
“You’ve always been good at being a tease, you know that?” he said, as his breathing became more frantic. He guided your hips backwards until you were pushed against the boardroom table. It wasn’t until he released his grip that you realized just how firmly he had been holding onto you. It was definitely going to leave some sexy bruises for you to admire in the mirror later.
His hands rested on either side of you, pressed firmly against the surface of the table with your hands pressed up against his chest. You ran your hands over his body before sliding one over his neck and into his dark hair. The gesture made him break eye contact with you as he shut his eyes and lowered his head, meeting his forehead with yours. He groaned and pushed his hips into yours while struggling not to circle them.
You could feel the stiffness in his pants growing, and let out a quiet moan in response. Mark continued to steady himself on the boardroom table, as his other hand began to wander up your thigh, over your hips, and towards your chest.
“You kind of owe me for what you did to me that night. You turned me on, and didn’t even finish dancing for me.” he said. He had moved his head to the side of your face and dropped his voice lower to a whisper before finishing, “And I’ve had to watch you walk around this place for months in these stockings and all of those mini dresses and skirts.”
You could hear the frustration in his voice as he palmed your breasts firmly, and began really circling his hips. Groaning directly into your ear, he continued airing out his grievances while you let out quiet moans.
“Now I’m forced to work with you and you won’t stop complaining about my choices in women as if any of them could ever fucking turn me on the way you do, y/n.” he said through gritted teeth. He fisted your hair, pulling back with enough force to expose your neck before trailing wet kisses down the length of it as you moaned loudly in response.
“I-I’m sorry.” you muffled, through the moans. You hadn’t intentionally done anything to hurt him but you knew that you weren’t exactly the easiest person to work with sometimes as well. You definitely were a bit of a brat at times and being so hyper focused on your work had been making you more uptight lately.
“Don’t be, princess.” He said, as he momentarily slowed his pace and dropped a single peck on your cheek. “I’ve been an even bigger asshole to you. But I plan on making it up to you right now.”
With a quick motion, Mark wrapped his free arm around you and lifted you up onto the boardroom table. He pulled your two chairs into position, before placing each of your legs on either one and placing himself between your legs.
He gently pushed back on your chest until you leaned back onto your own hands. He watched your chest rise and fall with every breath, pure lust in his eyes. You weren’t sure what to expect from him anymore. He went from being completely desperate for your touch to being dominant within minutes. He was taking complete control but you loved every second of it.
Mark leaned back over your body, lifting you slightly off the table to hike up your dress and exposing your stockings. He gripped the fabric and tore it right down the middle, as you gasped. He pressed his index and middle finger over your clit as you threw your head back moaning. The sudden pressure had caught you off guard and by the time you had opened your eyes again he was lowering himself onto his knees.
He pushed your panties aside and wasted no time pressing his tongue into you. With a single slow lick up your slit, he had you whimpering throughout the entire room. He continued to play with you for several minutes until you were dripping wet. Suddenly, his pace intensified as his tongue swirled against your clit before taking it into his mouth, suckling until your body began to shake, edging closer to its limit. Your body stretched across the table. You no longer had the energy to even sit up and watch him anymore as you writhed underneath his touch in pure ecstasy. “Oh my goodness, Mark… I’m going to –“ you began, as your hips began to raise up. You weren’t in control of your own body anymore. You thrusted against his tongue out of necessity. You needed to feel every last bit of him. He reached up to hold you into position.
“Keep riding my face… yeah, just like that. I want you to come for me, Princess.” he mumbled, between your thighs. His words pushed you over the edge as your body began to convulse, finally reaching its orgasm as your hips jerked and twitched against his wet face. Usually you would have been embarrassed to look so hungry for another persons touch but it felt too good to worry about such things this time.
Mark wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt before standing up again. The fabric of his pants were stretched to their limit, being strained by his hard dick. He palmed himself through his pants.
“You taste like heaven, baby girl. I wish you could see how sexy you look right now spread out across this table.” he groaned as he reached under his pants, stroking himself. He held himself up against the table with one arm as the other one pumped away, with a pained expression on his face.
You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. You watched as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, and the veins in his arms became more prominent with each stroke as his pants dropped lower to expose more of him. The sight alone was enough to send your heart racing. Not only did he take care of you, but the mere sight of you drove him this crazy? You sat up and reached towards him to cup his face.
Your lips slowly and sensually met. It was a kiss long overdue.Your lips parted and you sucked on his tongue, tasting both him and yourself. Mark pulled away as he threw his head back. “Fuck.” he exclaimed as he jerked his hips into his palm. He was getting closer but there was no way you were going to let him finish on his own even though he was clearly too much of a gentleman to expect anything in return.
You leaned back onto the table and slipped out of your dress as marks eyes were firmly shut, focusing on his pleasure.
You spread your legs apart before calling his name, “Mark, it’s my turn to make it up to you.”
You locked eyes before slipping your fingers into your mouth to wet them before reaching towards his member. He released himself immediately and watched transfixed as you jerked him off slowly before directing him to your entrance.
With a quick motion you pushed yourself onto him, meeting his body half way with your own. He cursed under his breath, wrapping both of his arms around your body. He filled every inch of you comfortably stretching your walls and making your legs tremble. His thrust were rough, deep, and slow. With your head thrown back, and his face burrowed in your neck, you both reached your peaks together. With two final desperate thrusts, Mark collapsed onto your body, releasing himself inside of you – with your arms wrapped around one another. Neither of you could believe what had just happened... in the boardroom of all places.
The following day was eventful. You were completely exhausted from the night before. Before leaving, you hoped that no one would look over the security footage and question why you arrived in the office in stockings and left without them, since mark had completely destroyed your favourite pair. You and Mark may have had fun but you still needed to stay late and finish up your actual work and clean up the mess you made in the boardroom you happened to be sitting in at that very moment with your boss, a director, and the rest of the crew, working out the logistics regarding the video shoot.
The entire time, Mark stared intently at you while glancing down at the table, obviously replaying last night events in his head. You tried your hardest to focus on the meeting but couldn’t help but feel turned on knowing he was both unusually quiet for once and also staring at you.
“Great results from the casting, you two. I knew you would be able to come together and play nice with each other to get the job done.” said Bishop Banks as he wrapped up the meeting for the day.
Your cheeks flushed red at his comment as Mark stifled a laugh. If only your boss knew how literal of a statement that was.
#mark lee#mark lee fanfic#mark lee fanfiction#nct 127 smut#nct 127 image#mark lee smut#99 line#99 line smut#nct x reader#nct scenario#nct scenarios#mark lee x reader#mark lee x reader smut#nct127
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A Very Real Soldier
Here ya go, @deano-cas! Johnlock fic, awesome John, Donavan and Anderson are jerks.
"Where on earth is he?" Lestrade exclaimed, perplexed and maybe a bit worried over Sherlock's tardiness. Though Sherlock was known to disappear at random times, and even not be heard from for weeks if there was a break in cases, he was always at a crime scene as fast as possible. It was too much fun for him to miss it.
"He probably with is boyfriend" Anderson replied sarcastically. Everyone at the Yard knew of Sherlock's mysterious 'John', a soldier away at war, and most doubted his existence. Early on, Donavan and Anderson had discovered that the only way to get the detective even a little riled up was to comment on his boyfriend. They had used this knowledge relentlessly, to the point that Greg had to ban them from ever making a comment about the supposed man again. Of course, that didn't stop Sherlock from going on and on about him. Despite the Yarder's insults, he never once stopped mentioning John. Often, when Anderson made a particularly idiotic comment, or when Donavan called him a freak one too many times, Sherlock would mention how, "John would have understood in an instant!" or, "God, John would be able to do your jobs twice as well!" This, to say the least, did nothing to make the police like him more.
"Anderson," Lestrade berated, "what have I said about mentioning him?"
"Sorry, sir" he mumbled. At that moment, Sherlock burst into the building, passed right by the sanitation station, and ignored everyone there as he rushed over to the woman lying dead on the floor. He examined her pink coat, ring, hair, even the back of her stockings. the Yarders were used to this at that point, so they simply gave the detective his space, going back to their jobs. Greg greeted Sherlock, to no reply, then headed outside with Anderson to where Donavan was watching the edge of the crime scene for anyone trying to sneak in. Just as they reached her, a short man approached the scene, grumbling, "stupid idiot with his big coat and cheekbones and two good legs" under his breath. He had close-cropped blond hair, with blue eyes, wore a lumpy jumper, and walked with a cane that showed off his significant limp.
"Hello," he said to the trio, "May I get through please?" Anderson just stared for a second.
"And who are you?" asked Donavan, sounding pissed. Lestrade thought he had heard a rumor about a recent break up, or something of the sort.
"Doctor Watson, Sherlock invited me," he replied kindly, and easy smile on his lips. It seemed that this 'Doctor Watson' was used to dealing with temperamental people.
"What, now the freak's inviting random people to our crime scenes?" Anderson exclaimed, looking to Lestrade in anger and surprise.
"I'm not someone random from the street, Anderson. I've known Sherlock for years," the smile was gone.
"How do you- he- what are you- how do you know my name?" Anderson cried, at the same time as Sally said, "How would you even know Sherlock? The only person he ever talks about is his fake soldier boyfriend," Watson glared at her, completely ignoring Anderson.
"Well, I hadn't actually seen him in person for a year until Yesterday, seeing as I was away in Afghanistan," Donavan and Anderson looked at him blankly while Greg banged his head against his fist, having actually figured it out.
"So? Why would the freak want you here? He doesn't even have friends!" Anderson said, rather idiotically in Lestrade's opinion.
"God, you two really are as stupid as he said!" Watson exclaimed, "Hello. I am Captain John Watson of the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. My boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes, invited me to this crime scene, because I was an army doctor, and have helped him on several private cases before." Anderson and Donavan stared at him, shocked, while Lestrade coughed to cover up a laugh. "Now, if you'll excuse me, there is a woman dead and you are obviously not doing your jobs" He strode as best he could towards the door, right as Sherlock burst through screaming something about a case and "PINK!" The consulting detective fell silent as he heard Donavan call after John.
"How much did he pay you?" John stopped, and his shoulders visibly tensed. He had the look of a man with a short temper, who did his best to keep it in check. Sherlock stood there, a blank look on his face to most, but John could see differently. He saw the detective's eyes flash painfully for just a second, but it was enough to push him past the breaking point. The doctor, no, the captain whirled around, and stalked towards the police officers.
"And what exactly do you mean by that, officer?" Fear crossed Donavan's visage for a moment, but she didn't back down.
"I mean, who in their right mind would date Sherlock Holmes? You're probably just some actor off the street he hired to pretend to be his boyfriend, so we would believe his obvious lies!" Lestrade would not have been surprised if smoke started to billow out of John's ears.
"Unfortunately for you, Donavan, I am no actor. I just got back from three years of bombs and shooting at people, with a bullet in my leg, and all I wanted was to see my boyfriend doing what he loves. I do not want to hear you spout any more of that fucking bullshit around me or him, am I understood?" John practically growled.
Donavan just kept going, "Even if he didn't hire you, you must be nuts to want to date him. He's a bloody psychopath! He doesn't get paid to come to these murders you know, he gets off on it."
"Sherlock helps people! You wanna know why he does this? Because he sees people in this world suffering, and he wants it to stop! He saves lives! And, for the record, Sherlock is not at psychopath! He's a high-functioning sociopath, do your research!" This actually made Greg snort, he had heard Sherlock proclaim those same words on more than one occasion. "He's also, for your information, the most wonderful man I have ever met. He's smart, funny, beautiful, amazingly blunt, and the love of my life. Sherlock has saved all of your asses more times than I can count, and stopped a number of the world's most dangerous criminals!" Donavan scoffed. John kept going.
"Actually, from what Sherlock has told me about you, and from our current interaction, I have this theory. I think the reason you are on such a high horse, telling everyone how awful Sherlock Holmes is, is because you know the truth. You know that you are so dismal at your job that you could never hope to measure up to the incredible man right there. You know that you will never make a difference in this world, and he may just save it. So, for you own good, I think it would be best if you just piss off!"
Donavan stood there, shocked, as Doctor John Watson, Captain in the fifth Northumberland fusiliers, strode over to the consulting detective, grabbed his face his hands, and proceeded to give his a very long, very heated kiss with lots and lots of tongue. He then took a still stunned Sherlock's hand and led them out of the crime scene, nodding to Lestrade. Sherlock stumbled after his boyfriend, staring with practical heart at the man holding his hand. They hailed a cab, and drove off, leaving a frozen trio and several giggling officers behind.
Very few people called Sherlock Holmes a freak ever again.
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ambidextrous | k.n.j
⇢ pairing(s): soulmate!kim Namjoon x reader.
⇢ word count: 2.4K
⇢ genre: fluff, friends to lovers!au, college!au, soulmate!au.
⇢ summary: soulmates were a common thing in this world, yours could hear the thoughts in your head. the only way to know when you’ve met him, is to hear that one keyword.
⇢ warning(s): please read! nothing major, probably swearing.
⇢ author’s note(s): hello babies! long time no see, here’s a little friday fic for you! i’ve had this in my drafts for almost a year so i hope you like it mwah.
Soulmates were a common thing in this world, some liked the idea of having someone that they were destined to be with and some disliked being bound to someone eternally. You didn’t seem to be bothered by it.
You remember when you met your soulmate or rather heard him for the first time. His thoughts growing louder and louder in your head to the point where it caused you to stop playing with the dolls you had out. You had been nine.
You remember screaming and crying to your mother that night, after hearing his sort of inappropriate thoughts and you remember your poor mother having to explain to you from an early age what the birds and the bees were.
It was obvious then that your soulmate was a year or two older than you, you remember being too scared to ask him to cut down on his fun time so writing a letter to recite in your head seemed to work.
‘I-uh... I’m so sorry,’ said his voice after you finished reading, and you blushed at the unfamiliar feeling of a boy’s voice in your head. ‘I’m Namjoon.’
You smiled, finally getting a name. ‘It’s okay, and I’m YN.’
The pair of you became good friends after that, as much as you could without meeting each other in real life. The thing about soulmates was that you’d never know when you’d meet them until they’d said a keyword out loud. It was said that a wave of pure emotion; happiness and love was to crash over you as soon as you head it. You couldn’t wait for the day that you met Namjoon.
He was your best friend, practically; you recalled a time when you were twelve and he’d calmed you down from a panic attack after you’d lost your parents on a family holiday. There was also that time that he stayed up with you until the early hours of the morning; whispering sweet words to you after your ex-boyfriend publicly embarrassed you when you were seventeen.
Namjoon was always there for you; and you for him. There had been many nights when you’d cheered him on at his lowest, Joon was a smart boy and had so much pressure on him. It was easy for him to doubt himself. Though, as intelligent as your future partner may have been; he was also very clumsy and over the years you had spent many a nights scolding him through your mindlink when he’d ended up in A&E.
Sometimes; Namjoon was very analytical. Often sending you into spiels of existential crisis’ with his thoughts. One time, when you were eighteen, you’d spilt coffee all over a customer when Namjoon started thinking about the meaning of life. You had to spend half an hour explaining to your boss what had happened whilst receiving frantic apologies from the supposed love of your life.
So now; aged twenty and at three AM you were lying wide awake as your soulmate rambled on about society and a few other things that you couldn’t quite register. You loved how Joon could always see a deeper meaning in the simplest of things and how he could find beauty in everything, but it was 3 AM for Christ’s sake, and you had a lecture at 9 the same day.
‘Namjoon... you know I love you...’ you started, speaking your thoughts with a tired expression and all his late night ramblings ceased, causing you to smile as you rolled onto your side.
You imagined him smirking on the other side of your mindlink and you wondered what he looked like. ‘Why do I feel like I’m about to be roasted?’
‘Maybe it’s because it’s almost 4 AM and you won’t stop with the philosophical bullshit,’ you teased back, giggling into your pillow. There was a pause before you could hear Namjoon’s melodious chuckle in your head. ‘Your laugh is so pretty.’ you mumbled and he stopped laughing.
The silence caused you to bite your lip as you hugged your pillow to your chest. ‘You’re so pretty.’ he countered, softly.
‘You don’t even know what I look like...’
‘I don’t need to, you have a beautiful personality and I’m in love with you.’
You sighed in content, deciding so utter back a small thank you. You didn’t go back to sleep after that, opting to stay up and not go to your lecture tomorrow. It was just one lecture, you’d be fine. You liked times like this, where you could talk endlessly to your soulmate and it made you almost sad that you weren’t meeting any time soon.
It was five AM when you randomly decided to paint your nails, chatting happily to Namjoon about his plans for the day. You had just finished painting your left hand, the red nail polish contrasting against your beautiful skin tone. Now, you struggled to paint your right hand causing you to pout in frustration.
‘YN, what are you doing?’ Namjoon asked and you almost forgot that you were talking to him. Setting the nail varnish down, you glared at your messily painted nails before blowing on them lightly to dry the colour.
You sighed slightly and leaned back into your plush pillows. ‘I’m tryna paint my nails, the right hand looks so messy, ugh,’ You rolled your eyes when Joon laughed at you. ‘I wish I could paint my nails with both hands, and write too, what’s the word? I wish I was...’
‘Ambidextrous?’ your soulmate finished for you with a smug tone in his voice. ‘If you listened to my philosophical bullshit then maybe you’d know that.’
‘Shut up!’ You grumbled, a coy smile tickling the seams of your lips. You thought about how Namjoon was probably smiling too, a breathless chuckle falling from his lips as sat at a desk or lay on his bed. You sat up, leaning against the headboard of your own bed and listened again for your soulmate’s voice. ‘Say it again for me?’
You asked sweetly, trying to suppress a giggle as Namjoon sighed. There was a slight pause in the conversation from where Namjoon was preparing an accent before he spoke. ‘Ambidextrous...’ he whispered in a low and husky voice before you burst out laughing, feeling the happiest you’d been in a while.
Almost a week later; you found yourself at an all time low. Final exams for the semester had begun to roll in and your college roommate had decided to move in with her partner; leaving you alone to make ends meet. You had acquired the position of barista at the campus cafe due to your short employment in the coffee shop back home. To top it off, you hadn’t heard from your soulmate since that night, leaving you alone with no one to talk or vent to.
Instead you spent most of your days studying behind the counter whilst one of your coworkers took orders. A ticket came in for a tall vanilla latte and peach iced tea and you quickly set to work mixing the syrups and bases. A frown twisted on your lips as you made the drinks, your mind drifting to Namjoon, he had told you that his favourite drink was the Vanilla latte, and it only made you that slightest bit sadder.
Once the drinks were made, you set them on the counter and let your coworker call out the orders, sitting back down, you begun to stare blankly at the study notes you held so tightly...your thoughts now suddenly caught up on Namjoon. That’s when you heard it. A deep, smooth and luscious voice chatting away as they came to collect their drinks; you sat up, easing your hearing into the conversation as their voice sounded vaguely familiar.
“I’m telling you, Jimin , she’s perfect for me... I can’t get her out of my head.” the original voice gushed, causing you to perk up ever so slightly.
His friend sighed, seemingly unamused. “That’s kinda how soulmates work hyung...”
“You know what I mean.” the deeper voice snapped back and the conversation drew to a close as the pair presumably went to find a table. You sunk back into your seat, notebook outstretched on your lap as you tried to focus back on studying. ‘Must be nice’ you sighed to yourself, a little part of you hoping that Namjoon would hear. You were met with silence.
“YN!” you jumped at the sudden shout of your name, dropping your work to the sticky floor behind the counter and you internally groaned as you pulled it up from the floor and offered a sheepish smile to the team manager for today’s shift. “What are you doing?”
Studying. What does it look like? “Nothing,” you beamed, whipping down your apron. Your manager eyed you suspiciously, before shoving a tray of drinks in your hand.
“Table five. The jocks. Now.” She grunted. Bitch.
The table was just as rowdy as expected, with the University’s prized football squad getting their daily caffeine fix before practice. You’d served them quite a few times before, having become their favourite waitress on a Sunday morning, you weren’t sure if it was because the youngest, Jeongguk from your psychology class, had a crush on you or if it was because the boys genuinely liked you. Either way, you got good tips.
“Morning boys, big game coming up?” You chirped, setting out the iced coffees and frappes in front of each designated boy. They all barked out a sweet or cocky reply as you worked.
An orange haired boy grinned up at you. “Why of course Miss YN, have you noticed that I’ve been working out extra hard? I wanna impress you during our match on Friday.”
“Hyung, She has a soulmate!”
“So what? A man can flirt can’t he?”
You chuckled at their antics and rolled your eyes, sliding over the boy’s drink with a mischievous look. What? It was fun to play along. “Ever the charmer, aren’t you Hoseok? Too bad I’m not interested.”
The jocks let out a series of ‘ooo’s as you sashayed away from the table, mentioning how you’d be right back with their breakfasts. You trailed back to the kitchen, grabbing their orders of piping hot hash browns and full English breakfasts before walking through the cafe to reach the boys again. You couldn’t help but zone into the conversations of surrounding customers, one in particular catching your attention.
“You type really fucking slowly with your left hand hyung-” the voice from earlier, Jimin, commented with a slurp of his drink. You heard his friend audibly sigh with annoyance as you walked by and couldn’t help but to smile to yourself. “It’s stressing me out man.”
“Well I’m sorry Jimin, not all of us can be fucking ambidextrous!”
You froze. The small hairs on your skin rising high as a wave of goosebumps crashed over you. The tray in your hands clattered to the floor, as heads whipped in your direction but their judging gazes didn’t matter to you. Nothing mattered. Nothing except him. A sweet taste melted on your tongue and all you could smell was him; pine cones and Earth, candle wax and old paper books. It was all him. All Namjoon.
Slowly, you turned around, arms shaking and body trembling. A boy around a head or so taller than you, stood across from you in the aisle of the cafe, blonde hair parted and swept over his forehead. His skin was a delicious tone that screamed warmth and kisses under the sun and you felt an innate desire to run your finger tips over its supple plains. His eyes were like molten pools of chocolate, his lips so plump and kissable. He was Namjoon, he was your soulmate.
You felt your heart rate increase as the pair of you cautiously approached one another, being mindful to step over shard of broken ceramic plates and pools of baked beans. You met each other halfway, with hesitant smiles and flushed cheeks but Namjoon was the first to break the ice. “Y-YN?” He stammered out, his eyes searching your face and drinking in your features like it was his last meal. You nodded shyly, eyes bulging when the taller boy pulled you into his chest, his arms encasing you. You felt warm and safe and at home. “Wow...I-...I can’t believe you’re really...y-you!”
He pulled away, and you grinned up at him. “Hi,”
“Hi,” he smiled back, still holding you in his arms. “I can’t believe I’m actually holding you, and that we’re in the same university? How have we never met before? How is this even possible? I’m just so-“
You rolled your eyes at him playfully, pressing a finger to his lips to silence his ramblings. “Are we starting with that philosophical bullshit again, Joonie?” You whispered, savouring the sound of his low chuckle that bounced around in his chest.
“Yes, we’re soulmates now. You’re stuck with me,” came his quick-fired response, his hand coming up to encase your own. “And now, I finally have you.”
Never in your life had you felt so much love and it was all for you. The way Namjoon had glanced down at you in that second had filled you with so much happiness, before he was just a voice in your head and now he was a physical form to hold you and care for you. He was yours. “You’ll always have me...” Trailing your finger tips across his broad shoulders, you let them trail up to he hairs on the nape of his neck as the blonde leaned in, his plump lips gently brushing your own before he kissed you, softly, his hands curling around your waist to draw you closer. “Namjoon... I-I, I love you,”
And he smiled, kissing you again, right there in the cafe in the middle of your Sunday morning shift. With your boss and the jocks and all the other students watching, but it felt like you were the only two people in the world.
“Wait.wait, wait...what the fuck?” Jimin called out from the table, an incredulous look plastered on his face, his brows furrowed. The pink haired male looked around, just as confused as his fellow peers, before making eye contact with Namjoon. “Please don’t tell me you just met your soulmate by saying ambidextrous-”
You smiled, still in Namjoon’s arms, who only offered his friend a sheepish grin, sending Jimin into a series of eye rolls and complaints of disbelief. Never him mind though, at least you had your soulmate now.
#bangtanarmynet#bangtanbuds#bts#bts x you#bts x reader#bts au#bts fanfic#bts fluff#bts fic rec#bts fanfction#bts fic#bts imagine#bts scenarios#bts reader insert#bts reactions#bts request#bts soulmate au#bts college au#bts fake texts#bts fake chat#bts namjoon#kim namjoon#bts rm#namjoon#namjoon x reader#namjoon x you#namjoon au#namjoon fluff#namjoon fanfic#namjoon imagine
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In The Morning Light
Summary: An early morning in the Ebi-Branwen-Ederne Household.
Pairings: Clover Ebi/Qrow Branwen/Elm Ederne, Clover Ebi/Qrow Branwen, Qrow Branwen/Elm Ederne (@littlemissmoony suggested the ship name Buried Fortune and I love it)
Warnings: Rated M for coming very near to smut
AO3 Link: [X]
Notes: Hello! I mentioned a few days ago that I was writing this and now I'm posting it! So this is my Clover/Qrow/Elm fic. I'd love to write more for this pairing in the future, especially if people like this one! As a note, this fic gets pretty damn close to smut, but I don't have the balls to go all the way. If anyone would like to pick up where I left off, though, I would not mind in the slightest. Just credit me if you do.
My vision for the relationship dynamic between these three isn't so much that they're all dating, but that Elm and Clover are both dating Qrow. I'm sorry, Clover Ebi just gives off vibes too gay to pair him up with Elm also. It's more of a "Hi, I'm Elm, this is my boyfriend Qrow and his boyfriend Clover" type deal. That said, if anyone wants to write anything for this pairing, you definitely don't have to have that same dynamic.
I hope you all enjoy! Please like, reblog, and comment if you're able!
---
Qrow drifts along aimlessly in a world that is just a little too warm. Everything around him feels soft and airy, and a steady rhythmic sound echoes nearby like the waves crashing onto the beaches of Patch.
Is he on Patch?
Something beside him shifts and he shifts with it. Pressure falls around his waist and he is pulled up against a firm surface. He cannot bring himself to be concerned by the change of position.
He feels safe.
He sinks down again into the ether, losing focus for what seems like only seconds.
When he comes to the world again, he groans softly. He feels hot everywhere. The back of his neck is wet.
Ah, he’d been sleeping.
With no small amount of hesitation, he cracks open his eyes the slightest bit. Immediately, he squeezes them shut again against the light. After a few seconds, he tries again, slower this time.
He’s in bed. The bedroom of their house on Patch glows golden with the indistinct haze of the morning sun that shines through the gauzy white curtains Clover had insisted on putting up as, “a little reminder of Atlas, Qrow.” The clock on the wall ticks steadily, reading 7:32AM. Their alarm won’t be going off for twenty-eight more minutes.
His eyes finally fall to Elm, sleeping facing him. Her face is completely relaxed, and this is the only time when Qrow is able to see her like this. Usually, her sheer enthusiasm and exuberance makes the entire idea of “calm” a stranger to her expressions. Now, though, she simply lies still, her only movements being the measured rise and fall of her bare chest, no longer covered by the blanket which she has evidently kicked to the end of the bed at some point in the night.
The sunlight illuminates Elm’s dark skin, outlining her curves and the contours of her musculature until she looks like one of those old bronze statues that the ancient societies of Remnant would build to honor their goddesses of the hunt and of the sun and moon.
His chest tightens with affection and awe. Carefully, he tries to raise himself up onto an elbow to get a better look at her without disturbing his other bedmate.
An effort which proves unsuccessful as he feels the weight around his waist (which he now realizes is an arm) tighten almost imperceptibly. Cursing his poor luck, he glances over his shoulder and meets tired teal eyes.
“Good morning, little bird,” Clover whispers, raising an eyebrow at him. He smooths his hand out along Qrow’s abdomen and pulls him a little tighter against his firm chest. “You never wake up before the alarm. Something wrong?”
“You’re a godsdamned fireplace, that’s what’s wrong. Between you and Elm and the sun, I’m gonna sweat out all the moisture in my body.” Qrow grumbles back. He wraps Clover’s fingers in his own anyway.
Clover smothers his rough chuckle into the back of his neck and Qrow shudders as he feels the vibration of Clover’s chest against his back. From there, the other man begins to press firm kisses into the side of Qrow’s throat.
Qrow moans quietly at the warm, wet feeling of Clover sucking on his skin. He reaches back to smack lightly at his boyfriend’s face. “Clover--” he hisses, then gasps, “Clover!’ as teeth are introduced to the equation. He slaps with a little more force. “Stop, you’re going to wake up Elm!”
“Oh, please.�� Qrow startles and looks up, his hand falling back to his side as he meets Elm’s warm brown eyes across from him. “Don’t stop on my account. It was just getting good.”
Clover huffs another laugh into his skin. “Morning, Elm,” he says comfortably, without removing his face from Qrow’s neck.
“Captain Ebi.” Elm pulls herself up to rest properly on her side, watching them. “You seem busy.”
Qrow feels his face grow warm--or, warmer, rather. Clover finally backs off enough to shoot the woman a challenging glance. “Definitely working on it. You gonna contribute to this mission, Ederne, or am I flying solo?”
She smirks, “Consider me your Squad Charlie.”
Qrow groans loudly, drawing the attention of his lovers. He scowls at both of them. “Do you guys always have to do that?”
Elm snickers. Clover reattaches his mouth to Qrow’s neck with renewed vigor, and Qrow’s shaky inhale dissolves into a breathy moan as the other man’s teeth scrape against his pulse point. Clover’s arm around his waist tightens momentarily, then releases so he can slide his hand up to Qrow’s chest, finally coming to a stop right over top of where his heart rests under his ribcage--where a puncture scar marrs the skin from the blow that had almost killed him in their final fight against Salem two years ago. Clover pushes down lightly, the pressure soothing something in Qrow’s mind, as it always did.
Qrow whines and squeezes his suddenly-wet eyes shut. His free arm, which had been resting limp on the bed, flies up to thread his fingers through Clover’s hair and encourage him to work his lips down to Qrow’s shoulders.
Then, Elm’s hand is resting on his waist in the same spot that Clover’s had just vacated.
Qrow blinks his eyes open to find Elm’s, so much closer all of a sudden. Her heated gaze runs across his face. “Hi, birdie,” she mutters, smiling tenderly. His breath hitches at the endearment. Clover gentles his trembling. Elm cups his cheek, scratching at his stubble. “May I?”
Qrow’s voice escapes him, but he nods.
Elm’s smile widens into one of her regular blinding grins. Then, she seals her lips over his.
Qrow’s world narrows down to Elm firmly licking her way into his mouth, pressing against the front of his naked body, her strong grip sliding down and tightening around his hipbone until he’s sure that she’ll leave bruises. To Clover, only applying tiny, dry kisses to his shoulder blades, now; running his hand soothingly up and down along Qrow’s side; hips twitching up and into Qrow’s thigh ever-so-slightly. He feels like he’s drifting again, like before he’d woken up.
He makes a helpless noise into Elm’s mouth and wraps an arm around her in return. She hums into the kiss and seals her lips more tightly over his. Her tongue strokes along the side of his own, then over the roof of his mouth. He quivers like a leaf in the wind.
His partners love to shower him with affection. He knows this from three years of experience. But it still feels new and unexpected every time. He doesn’t know that he’ll ever get used to it--that he’ll ever fully feel like he deserves it.
Clover’s hand begins to drift downward in the direction of a certain bit of Qrow’s anatomy that has been steadily growing more and more interested since the morning’s proceedings started. Qrow eagerly arches into the touch.
The alarm blares, an annoying, high-pitched BEEP, BEEP, BEEP that rips them away from each other, chests heaving and eyes wide. Clover only avoids falling off the bed entirely because the blanket has just-so-happened to get conveniently tangled around his waist at some point during their activities.
Qrow groans loudly, throwing an arm over his steadily-reddening face. Elm starts laughing beside him as Clover rolls over to slam the OFF button.
“Ooooo,” Elm coos. Qrow shifts his arm and cracks open one eye to glare suspiciously at her. She offers him a cocky grin. “Bad luck, Qrow.”
“Elm,” Clover scolds as Qrow grabs one of the pillows off the headboard, fully intending to throw it at her. Clover sntaches it out of his hand and fluffs it, replacing it neatly, apparently too used to Qrow’s bullshit.
“Sorry, birdie.” Elm grins crookedly at him, then reaches out to frame his face with her calloused hands. “Let me make it up to you.” She kisses him soundly. And, seeing as how he’s not completely stupid, he decides that he’s willing to forgive her.
Clover chuckles next to them. He runs his fingers through Qrow’s hair, gently detangling a small knot.
Qrow pulls away from Elm to make a face up at him. “Sure you don’t want to just stay home today?” he asks hopefully.
Clover smiles adoringly, “Sorry, Qrow.” He leans down to give him a brief kiss. “Duty ever beckons, unfortunately. Elm and I are needed down at the relay tower. And I believe that you promised your nieces that you would go over to Tai’s house and show them your fancy new leg today.”
Elm laughs.
“Ugh,” Qrow sighs, “why can’t you be pretty and dumb instead of pretty and smart, lucky charm?”
Clover shrugs, shooting him a sly look. “We all have to be bad at something, I suppose.”
Qrow rolls his eyes.
Almost simultaneously, Clover and Elm scoot off the bed, leaving him lying alone in the middle of the mattress. “Aw, come on. You’re just going to leave me here?” Qrow grumbles.
“Well,” Elm says teasingly, “if you hurry up, we could probably catch a shower before Clover and I are due to report in.”
Qrow sits up and throws the thin topsheet off of himself in record speed. The light coming in through the window glints off of the metal of his right leg, shining dark red and slate gray in the morning sun. He glances at it for only a second before hauling himself out of bed and joining his boyfriend and girlfriend in the doorway to their ensuite bathroom. “You had me at ‘shower.’”
---
More Notes: So there we go! This ship really hit me out of nowhere, and it is 100% purely motivated by the fact that Qrow 100% canonically has a thing for muscles and Elm and Clover are both buff af. That's pretty much it.
I know that Qrow probably wouldn't sleep with his prosthetic on unless it was properly fused to him like Ironwood's, but I was having difficulty smoothly incorporating that detail, so we'll just say that he left it on by accident. I was honestly just winging it for most of this fic.
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it!
#rwby#qrow branwen#clover ebi#elm ederne#buried fortune#fair game#luckbirds#qrowver#lucky charms#rwby v7#rwby7#rwby volume 7#rwby 7#rwby fanfiction#my writing#humor#fluff
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❉ 139 Dreams (Naga) If the World Ended…
📑 Table of Contents
Genre: Angst ☁
Word Count: 2,650 ☁
Pairing: Reader x Naga ☁
World: Beelzebub ☁
Author’s Note: Angst. So very much angst. I almost cried a few times while typing this out but I’m also a sensitive lil’ bitch, so.
WARNING: This fic contains the death of an original character.
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁
Your eyes widened at the two demons that had appeared to help Hecadoth. Your heart picked up speed, hammering in your ears. You heard Zenjuurou talking, but it was a blur within your mind, your eyes glued to the short demon standing on Hecadoth’s right.
‘Why is he here?’, you found yourself wondering, but you knew the answer already.
The three demons rushed forward to attack and Zenjuurou countered, the sigil on his hand glowing brightly in the night. Naga realized the power dynamic was not in their favor, so he activated the teleporter on his wrist. Before they vanished, his blue eyes met yours and widened in surprise. It felt as if time slowed down and you resisted the growing urge to step backward.
Time finally resumed and the three demons vanished into thin air.
Your heart was aching. It had been five years since you last saw the blue-haired male and you had only just forgotten about him last year. Now he’s back in your life and, worse, he’s your enemy.
“Y/N!” A rough hand grabbed your shoulder and you jumped, instinctively grabbing their wrist and kicking at their shin, sending them to the pavement as you twisted their wrist to a near breaking point. “Ow, ow ow! What the hell are you doing, idiot?!”
You blinked down at Oga before releasing his wrist with a sheepish grin. “Oh, sorry, Oga.”
“Come on, we need to get Hilda some help.” He scowled at you before heading over to Kunieda and the wounded Hilda. You made a move to follow, but you met Zenjuurou’s gaze and your body froze up. You didn’t know why, but it felt as if he knew there was a history between you and Naga. You could feel it in your gut and it unnerved you.
It took everything within you to tear your gaze away, helping to lift the unconscious blonde onto Oga’s back.
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁
You sighed deeply as you walked down the street, hands stuffed into your pockets. You had woken up that morning intending to go to school, but your head was throbbing painfully and your back was sore from the previous night’s fight. You tried going to the arcade to blow off some steam, but the noises made your headache worse.
After aimlessly wandering around for a while, you decided to stop off at the park, falling onto the bench that sat in front of the fountain. With kids still in school and parents at work, the park was nearly deserted. Birds chirped cheerfully as they hopped around the grass looking for food. The water bubbled up through the stone fish in the middle of the fountain before splashing over.
You took a deep breath and your body started to relax, but it didn’t last long. A familiar presence appeared behind you and your body reacted accordingly, tensing up and preparing for a fight. Your hands clenched around your jeans, ‘Calm down, Y/N! Maybe you’re just imagining things…’
But you weren’t.
“How long do you intend to ignore me, Y/N?”
You released the breath you had been holding, trying to keep your voice steady and monotone. “I thought you left the human world,”
Naga stepped around the bench, but you refused to meet his rich blue eyes. “I broke free of the teleport at the last moment.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “That’s not smart, isolating yourself from your lackeys. You can’t even beat us as three, you think you can beat us as one?”
“That’s not why I stayed,” His eyes narrowed at you and you shifted nervously. You never understood why, but you hated it when he stared at you. It was as if he could look into your very soul and you hated it. Naga’s voice softened, pleading. “Look at me, Y/N.”
You finally lifted your head, eyes slowly trailing up his body and you noticed that he was injured, holding his right arm across his chest. As soon as your eyes met, time seemed to stop. Everything around you disappeared and you briefly wondered if it had ever existed, to begin with. It was just the two of you in the park.
Your lips parted and words tumbled out despite yourself. “I missed you so much, Naga…”
His gaze softened and he quickly turned his back on you. “It isn’t safe to talk here in the open. Where is your home?”
Something deep down inside told you that bringing a high ranking demon to your home was a bad idea, but you didn’t care. You stood up, walking past him and in the direction of your home. His footsteps echoed behind you as he followed you, but neither of you said a word.
‘What would Oga think if he saw me with Naga?’, you wondered. You certainly didn’t want to find out the answer, so you picked up your pace. Even though Naga’s legs were shorter than your own, he easily kept up with you. As you reached the front door, you hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open.
Being alone with Naga made you feel nervous, but you weren’t entirely sure why you felt that way. Though he was easily stronger than yourself, you doubted that he would ever hurt you. Now that you thought about it, what benefited him more – you being alive or dead?
Naga followed you into the kitchen, settling himself at the table. “I never would have thought that you would be one of those who supported Beelze-sama.”
You pulled open the fridge, trying to keep some distance between the two of you. “You, uh… you want some water? Or something,”
“Yes, please.”
You grabbed a bottle of water and a can of soda before shutting the fridge harder than you intended to. You debated on just tossing him the bottle, but figured it might not be the best idea with his injured arm, so you just set it on the table. You glanced at his arm, wondering how bad the injury was beneath his coat.
“I’m fine,” he answered the unasked question, carefully removing the lid of the bottle and taking a drink.
“And I’m the fucking queen of England,” you scoffed, debating with yourself for a moment. “Take off your jacket,”
Naga raised a brow. “You really shouldn’t talk to a demon like that,”
“Just do it and stop being difficult,”
“As fearless as always,” he murmured, standing up to do as you asked. His coat slid off his lithe form, falling to the chair behind him. Beneath the coat was a suit jacket, which he slowly unbuttoned, allowing it to fall from his body. Beneath that was a long-sleeved, white button-up shirt.
“For fuck’s sake, why the hell are you wearing so many layers?”
Naga raised a brow at you, but you ignored him, grabbing his wrist and carefully pushing the sleeve up to his elbow. His right arm had a large burn upon his skin, from the wrist to the elbow, the darkened skin a stark contrast to his porcelain complexion. The teleporter on his wrist had been cracked and melted in several places. With a frown, you gently ran your finger across the length of the burn.
“It’s not nearly as bad as it looks. Demons heal fairly quick.” He commented, carefully watching your face. “You need to stay out of this war, Y/N. It doesn’t concern you.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit,” you narrowed your eyes at him, grip tightening on his wrist. “Oga is my friend, my family, and you bastards come here trying to destroy us because En is scared of a little competition from a fucking infant.”
Naga’s eyes flashed with anger and his hand shot up to grip your shoulder, his fingers digging into your skin. “Watch your mouth, Y/N.”
The fear and nervousness you had previously felt was starting to morph into anger. You shoved his hand off of you, standing tall. “Or what? Just gonna kill me and walk away? Go ahead. I know how strong you are, Naga. I’ve seen it first hand, but I don’t care. Even if it kills every last one of us, we will fight back against all of you and you can bet your ass we won’t make it easy for you!”
“Are you done?”
Your eyes narrowed, offering him a challenging look.
Naga sighed, slipping his clothes back onto his body. “You and I have a bond that is absolute. I won’t harm you, no matter how much you taunt me. However,” he paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at you. “You may be loyal to those humans, but I am loyal to En-sama. I won’t hold back against them.”
As soon as the door was closed behind him, you sunk down to the floor. You knew that all along, but it hurt to hear it, more than you had thought it would. Your body started to shake as you pulled your knees to your chest, burying your face in your arms.
Five Years Earlier
You watched your older brother fighting a gang from another school. He was outnumbered but easily managed to take out the thugs surrounding him. You stood far back away from the fight, half-hidden by the trunk of a thick tree – you didn’t want to get in his way or distract him.
Someone snuck up behind you, arm tight around your throat as he pressed a blade to the side of your face. He half dragged, half shoved you toward the fight, his cracked lips next to your ear. “Go on, scream for help. Call out to your precious big brother.”
You refused, keeping your lips in a firm line. No matter what he planned to do, you refused to cry out and distract your brother from the fight.
The man scowled before stabbing the knife through your hand, which was clutching the arm around your neck. You cried out before biting hard on your lip to muffle the sound. Tears stung at your eyes. Your effort was in vain when your brother noticed you. He screamed your name, not noticing the thug that approached him from behind. You screamed his name, thrashing against the man that held you, but it was too late.
A knife was thrust into his back, the tip breaking clean through his chest. Before he even hit the ground, the group rushed at him, stomping and abusing his body. A metal bat was brought down and you heard a sickening crack over, and over again.
The man holding you laughed and you slammed your head backward, colliding with his face. His grip loosened, giving you enough room to slip free. You screamed as loud as your lungs would allow, trying to shove the men away from your brother, but they were much too strong for you.
“Stupid bitch,” one of them kneed you in the stomach hard, throwing you to the ground. You coughed up blood, clutching your stomach as the group laughed. Satisfied, the group dispersed, giving both of you a kick as they passed.
You crawled over to your brother, hand clutching around his blood-soaked shirt as your head came to rest on his chest. His body was silent – no heartbeat, no breathing.
He was dead.
The realization hit you like a semi-truck and you screamed in pain until your throat was sore, tears pouring down your red cheeks. Pain mixed anger and sadness, swirling around your body like a hungry beast. Footsteps slowly approached and you threw your body over his as some form of protection – it was all you could do.
“Do you desire revenge?” Came a calm, male voice.
You could only blink as you looked up at the blue-haired man through blurred eyes.
He kneeled in front of you, his voice soft as if he were speaking to a child. “I can make you stronger. Strong enough to take revenge on those that took your brother from you.”
You looked back down at your brother’s body, fresh tears stinging your eyes. The man’s words rattled in your brain and you furiously wiped away the tears, turning back to look at him. “I’ll do anything,”
He held out his palm, running his index finger across the skin which then split open, blood dotting from the wound. “Place your injured hand against my own,”
You glanced down at the hand, covered in blood from the stab wound you had been given. Slowly, you raised your hand, fingers brushing his as your palms met. The blood mixed and mingled as a black aura surrounded his body, slowly crawling around his arm like a snake. It continued until it was tightly wrapped around yours, as well, and you felt intense pain within, as if your insides had been set on fire.
Your hand tensed, pushing hard against his own as your head fell back, eyes widening up at the dark sky. The dark aura continued to spread until it cradled your entire body, squeezing you tightly.
His voice was soft and muffled from the blood pumping through your ears. “Our blood is now bound and my power is yours,”
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁
It took an entire month before you were able to get used to Naga’s power enough to wield it as your own. In that time, you had kept close tabs on Yusuke Haraba, the man that had stabbed your brother. He was still with the gang and they spent most of their time hanging out in an abandoned building on the outskirts of town.
“Are you ready, Naga?” you questioned, sparing him a glance. He nodded and the two of you approached the building. Your foot connected with the metal door, kicking it from its hinges. The lower-ranking thugs rushed at you with various weapons and you fought your way to the basement. With Naga’s power within you, they couldn’t hold a candle to you.
You screamed angrily, throwing one of them down the basement stairs. The group inside was alerted, grabbing weapons and rushing to battle. The black aura covered both of your fists, increasing your base power, and they didn’t stand a chance. When everyone else was down for the count, you turned your attention to Yusuke, who was cowering behind a chair while his brothers and sisters fought.
“Haraba!” You barked, fists shaking as the aura spread to the rest of your body, reacting to the anger and hatred within you.
“P-Please!” He begged, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t kill me!”
You grabbed the front of his shirt, cocking back your fist. “This is for my brother!” You put all of your power into the punch, slamming his body into the ground and forming a crater within the concrete. He cried out, spittle and blood leaving his lips as his body twitched before finally stilling as the light left his eyes.
You fell to your knees, body shaking as tears rolled down your cheeks. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders and you wondered if your brother was in peace in whatever afterlife there was.
Naga kneeled beside you, awkwardly patting your shoulder. You didn’t hesitate to throw yourself against his chest, clutching the jacket he wore. Even though it had been only a month, the two of you had gotten quite attached to one another, but he knew that En would soon be sent to destroy the human world, leaving him feeling conflicted.
His arms gently wrapped around your shaking form, holding you protectively to his chest as he rested his chin atop your head. “If this world should ever come to an end, I won’t allow you to burn with it, Y/N.”
At the time, you barely even recognized the words he had spoken to you. Maybe if you had taken them to heart, you could have been strong enough by the time the war began.
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁
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#139 dreams#angst#one shot#anime#beelzebub#naga#naga beelzebub#writing#creative writing#writeblr#scenario#scenarios#anime scenarios#anime scenario#reader insert#reader-insert#reader#fanfiction#fanfic#fanfics#anime fanfic#anime fanfics
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so today is @firelxdykatara‘s birthday!!!! she asked for a fic with natasha in it, and i thought, well, villanelle went home a few days ago on denny but we never got to rp her’s and nat’s reunion. so i did a little fic of it!!! i hope you enjoy, kitty (and i hope i wrote nat okay, im love her) because i do adore this dynamic and i am just so happy we’ve gotten the chance to build it together as much as we have
also, have a wonderful wonderful birthday!!! i know this is not exactly the easiest time of year to be celebrating, but keep your chin up and know that you have friends who love you and certainly love getting to spend a little bit of extra time with you. you have lifted my mood more times than you know by just being around and making me laugh, so i hope i can return the favor <3
Natasha is telling her little parts are enough, and oddly and inexplicably, Vilanelle thinks just then that maybe this is the safest she’s ever felt with another person.
The house is quiet the night Villanelle finally goes home. For a moment, she stands there out on the front porch and just breathes in the familiarity, the smell of the ocean and fire pits from down at the beach on the breeze, the sound of waves crashing against the shore in the distance. It soothes her, even if imagining what might be waiting for her inside does not.
With her and Draco gone, maybe Natasha and Fox have already cleared out. Personally, Villanelle doesn’t see grief or mourning as very good reasons not to live in a gorgeous and expensive mansion, but people and their emotions can be so unpredictable sometimes.
Maybe they are just out doing something. Maybe they are planning her funeral. Villanelle had considered further delaying her return for the sole reason that it would be incredibly fun and dramatic to crash her own funeral.
But barring that, she should probably stop standing here wondering about it and actually go inside, she figures. So she steps up to the door, and --
Damn it.
It’s only when she tries the handle that she remembers she does not exactly have a key on her. To her own goddamn house. Wonderful.
Villanelle steps off the porch in favor of prowling the perimeter of the house instead, making for the pool deck in the back. Neither she nor her roommates are exactly the “hide a spare key under the doormat” type (they are all much too paranoid for that), but fuck, what is she, an amateur? If she cannot even break into her own home?
She’s just trying to figure out a way to do it without having to pay a window repair man -- and that’s when she rounds the corner of the mansion and sees that she was wrong. The house is not completely dark.
There is a light on in (what she estimates with a fair amount of confidence, considering how long she’s been here) Natasha’s window.
And suddenly, Villanelle gets the perfect idea.
Experimentally, she grips some of the ivy casing crawling along the wall and, once she’s sure it’s not going to give, she starts to climb. Natasha’s bedroom is only on the second floor, thankfully, so it’s not like she has to make it the whole way. When she gets up to the window, she pauses briefly to readjust herself before giving it a quick tap. She doesn’t even detect any movement in response, but she knows that’s most likely because Natasha is smart enough not to put herself in plain view of a potential intruder.
Sure enough, the curtain gets pulled back a second later, though, and Villanelle finds herself face to face with her friend with only a panel of glass to separate them.
Natasha stares.
Villanelle grins, and uses her free hand to give her a little wave.
She holds her position as Natasha finally seems to remember herself, unlocking the window and pulling it open, and by way of greeting -- “You... realize you could have knocked.”
“I did,” Villanelle responds innocently. “Technically.”
“At the door.”
“I thought you would respect me making an entrance.”
Natasha’s lips twitch, like she wants to smirk, but she doesn’t. Maybe she’s still a little too rattled. Villanelle will have to try harder. But that will have to wait until she actually climbs inside, which she does carefully when Natasha moves back in clear invitation.
“Surprised to see me?” she asks once she’s steadily back on her feet, offering Natasha a crooked grin.
Natasha doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she first takes a moment to study Villanelle, who studies her right back, taking a quiet sort of delight in how good she’s gotten at reading Natasha’s usually inscrutable expressions.
She takes less delight in the troubled shadow of sadness she sees in Natasha’s eyes, but... well, what can she do? She can’t take back the fact that she was forced into the Games. Or the fact that she died there.
“There were rumors some of the tributes were coming back,” Natasha finally responds. “But the RID hasn’t gotten anywhere close to verifying all of them. So... yes.” She gives Villanelle a tired sort of smile.
Unexpectedly, Villanelle wants to reach out to her. That’s a relatively new impulse -- so far, she’s shied away from too much physical contact with most of her reunions, or at the very least being the one to initiate it. Maybe the difference here is that Nat has always been so unexpectedly grounding for Villanelle -- not that she would ever be sappy enough to put that into words. But --
-- In some ways, it’s only now that she’s here with Natasha that it finally registers that she’s home.
She curbs her impulse and sits down on the edge of Natasha’s bed instead, shrugging. “It was a surprise to me too,” she admits simply. Understatement of the century, but that part probably doesn’t need to be said.
Carefully, quietly, Natasha sits down beside her. “...I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, because at this point that’s a stupid question.”
Villanelle hums in agreement.
“But depending on your level of... not okay, I’m... you know. I’m here.”
And Villanelle supposes that she wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of scaling the wall to climb in through Natasha’s bedroom window if she had not, on some level, wanted her to be. She considers for another stretch of silence before she attempts a response. “...You know what it’s like.” Perhaps not the Hunger Games specifically, but extreme conditions of survival, endless cycles of violence, trauma? Villanelle is sure Natasha’s on the same page. “Sometimes it is best to just compartmentalize and move on.”
Natasha exhales slowly, but there’s nothing remotely judgmental in her expression. “It’s certainly easiest,” she agrees, without pushing. Villanelle instinctively relaxes a fraction. “Especially since you haven’t exactly had a lot of privacy over the last few weeks. It’s just... sometimes it’s also good to have people you don’t have to hide everything from.”
It’s the way Natasha says it that makes Villanelle pause before just shoving the idea away completely. Most other people, Villanelle knows, would have said “you can talk to me” or “you don’t have to hide from me” or some bullshit like that, expecting her to open up like a book waiting to be read.
But Natasha knows that for people like them - people who have worn and shed the skins of many, many different personas, who may not even know who they really are if they dig deep enough underneath all that - it’s not such an easy thing to do. An impossibility, even, to give someone the whole of yourself, or even just the whole of a singular feeling, when you are so used to only chipping off and offering little parts.
Natasha is telling her little parts are enough, and oddly and inexplicably, Vilanelle thinks just then that maybe this is the safest she’s ever felt with another person. She sighs, and then laughs, the sound rusty with disuse. “It feels weird. Giving your life for someone else. Not good. Not special.”
Silence answers her briefly as Natasha turns to stare at the wall opposite, her mouth twisting wryly, sadly. “...Yeah. I know what you mean.”
And she does, Villanelle realizes belatedly. Everything before the Games feels so much further away now, but she still remembers that ridiculous future marriage they’ve both avoided talking about. And she still remembers what Natasha told her, even if she has been trying to do Natasha the courtesy of pretending that she didn’t.
“I know what you did in there must go against all of your instincts. And everything you’ve been taught,” Natasha starts, her voice hitched with just enough emotion for Villanelle to know she’s speaking from experience. “...But you made your own choice. And you did it for someone you love. And whatever else you want to think about it, Villanelle, that still proves that you are so much more than just anything anyone could train you to be. Than every fucked up thing you’ve been through.”
Villanelle swallows without saying anything and stares down at her hands. It makes her think of what Natasha said before, when she had described the sacrifice she’d made for Clint. That she was broken. Villanelle has never thought of herself as “broken”, at least not in any kind of self-deprecating way, but she feels a little bit like she is now.
Mostly, though, she thinks about how Natasha came here after dying. How Natasha has probably not had anyone to tell her these things. And Villanelle, surely, would not be very good at it if she tried, but...
...She finally reaches out the way she wants to, and squeezes one of Nat’s hands with her own. “So are you,” she asserts firmly, determinedly, staring back at Natasha with all the adoration she can still muster (surprisingly, a lot, even given how exhausted she is) as if she can single-handedly, telepathically convince Natasha of how amazing she is.
And when Natasha squeezes her hand back tightly, Villanelle thinks, maybe she can’t fix everything for Nat just like Nat can’t fix everything for her.
But maybe they can do it in little parts, just like everything else.
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AO3 Link!
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: NamKook (Namjoon/Jungkook)
Tags: Smut, fluff, getting together, first time, virgin!Jungkook, bottom!Jungkook, top!Namjoon, bareback
Summary: Jungkook has had a crush on the leader of BTS since forever. Now that Namjoon is helping write his solo for the upcoming album, this could be his perfect chance.
Word Count: ~4.5k
A/N: Written for @softjeon for the @kwritersworld Spring Fic Exchange! I hope you like it!
“You can’t possibly think I’m ready for this,” Jungkook argued. He was sitting next to Namjoon, staring down at the leads of their production team and their boss himself.
“The beat is perfect for you, Jungkook,” Namjoon tried. “We can write something really nice. You can do this. You were beautiful with Begin.”
“But this is different. Begin was— It wasn’t this big.”
“You’re ready for it,” Jungkook,” Adora pressed, offering a comforting smile despite Jungkook’s panicked face.
“I—“
“I’d be honored to put together the lyrics for you,” Namjoon said. “Please say yes.”
Jungkook’s shoulders sank a little. He glanced at the rest of their group, his ragtag family over these years. They were all smiling warmly, waiting for his response. His gaze fell on Namjoon, who’s eyes were glued to his face.
“Okay. I’ll do it. May I listen to the track again?”
Namjoon slapped the table in excitement, beaming at Jungkook’s answer. The music began to play again and Jungkook closed his eyes, letting it wash over him and already trying to get a feel for it, despite there not being any words yet. He trusted Namjoon to handle that beautifully. Namjoon handled everything with a grace and beauty that Jungkook admired and adored. More than, if he was being honest with himself.
Childhood crushes normally faded. At least that’s what Jungkook was always told. He was still a kid, barely into puberty, wide eyed and star struck, when he met Namjoon and the others. He’d had a vague idea that maybe he wasn’t as “normal” as his fellow male classmates even then; he didn’t understand the appeal of dating women or even what was attractive beyond the aesthetic beauty that they - like other humans - possessed.
However, he could easily see the appeal of dating - and more - one of the handsome guys he went to school with. Still he could deny it. Just a phase, a silly confused feeling. And then he met Namjoon.
Choosing a company to sign with was a big deal. Even at his young age, Jungkook knew that the wrong company could shatter his dreams. So, picking BigHit based on the way his heart skipped a beat at Kim Namjoon’s dimpled smile probably wasn’t the best way to make a potentially life altering decision. It turned out for the best, but in hindsight, Jungkook had to admit he probably wasn’t thinking with the right head.
Jungkook knew he didn’t stand a chance with the beautiful rapper he’d fallen head over heels for. Firstly, he was a child compared to Namjoon and he knew it. Namjoon was smart and beautiful and talented and perfect. Jungkook’s strengths included being able to consume two kilograms of bulgogi without puking and play video games for thirty hours straight with only one bathroom break. Still, a boy could dream.
It wasn’t as if his crush was detrimental in any way to the group. In fact, it improved his work ethic tenfold, as he sought to impress Namjoon at every turn.
Only one member knew about Jungkook’s dirty little secret, and that was Jimin. He hadn’t meant to confess to him, but Jimin was much more observant than he let on, and confronted Jungkook one evening in their bathroom. Much to Jungkook’s surprise, Jimin wasn’t angry nor judgmental. He promised to keep Jungkook’s secret and be his confidant, but warned Jungkook to be aware of his gazes, as the heated looks were the main reason he’d noticed something less than friendly going on.
Years passed, and Jungkook’s crush remained. By the time they’d established themselves as a group with some staying power, Jungkook had accepted his crush had found the same foothold. It was sticking firmly in his heart, a steady ache that was both familiar and painful. A growth in the deepest chamber of his heart that was inoperable, but Jungkook had yet to decide if it would ultimately be fatal.
***
Two weeks later, Jungkook was stretched out on the floor of the practice room, scrolling mindlessly through the news on his phone. Jimin was next to him, beanie slung haphazardly over his eyes as he did his best to catch a few minutes of rest before the inevitable practice began once more.
“Has Namjoon-hyung talked to you about the song?” Jimin mumbled.
“Hm? Oh, no. He’s been quiet about it.”
“You should check in.”
Jungkook half shrugged. “I don’t wanna bother him. Or seem to eager.”
“You are eager. I know it.”
“I am. It’s huge. The fans are gonna be impressed if I do well. I’m just...” Jungkook sighed and shrugged again.
“He’ll probably stay after to do work on it tonight... You should stop in,” Jimin encouraged.
Jungkook nodded, pocketing his phone and flopping his face down on Jimin’s shoulder. “Fine, I’ll check in,” he agreed.
Jungkook knocked softly on Namjoon’s door before sticking his head in. Namjoon looked back, beaming brightly. “Jungkook. Come in.”
“I wanted to check in. The— The song, how’re you... I don’t want to sound pushy but Jimin-hyung recommenced. And I just—“ Jungkook closed his mouth and smiled sheepishly when he saw Namjoon smiling patiently at him.
“Relax. I’m glad you came by, actually. I was going to text you to do so.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Come sit.”
Jungkook did as was asked of him, his brow furrowed. Namjoon opened a notebook in front of him that was filled with chicken scratch. Bits of lyrics, phrases, words, doodles, all blended together into a hodgepodge that Jungkook was sure no one could translate except Namjoon.
“What’s up?”
“I want your opinion. I feel like I have a few lines that work, but this is your song.”
“You’re the better writer.”
“Ah, Jungkook.” Namjoon reached over, giving Jungkook’s wrist a squeeze. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat, a common occurrence in his years living with Namjoon. He smiled shyly and shrugged one shoulder. “Tell me the lines, maybe I can help.”
Namjoon nodded. He flipped to another page in his notebook. “So, this has been stuck in my head for a while, it’s: were you wandering around, looking for an erased dream too? I don’t know what else to do with it.”
“Well we know the song is gonna be Euphoria right? Like that’s the decided title.”
Namjoon nodded. “Yeah, and the main chorus with the take my hands now, you are the cause of my euphoria…. I’m just honestly stuck.”
“Play the track.” Jungkook reached over and grabbed the notebook, his eyes scanning over the pages of chicken scratch. Certain phrases stuck out to him, rhyming bits and clever wordplay that only Namjoon would be smart enough to come up with. The track began to play and Jungkook scratched his head. He grabbed a pencil and began to circle certain phrases and words as he listened.
The two worked together for nearly two hours, writing and rewriting certain pieces to fit the mood or other lines. Jungkook lived for moments like this, when he could showcase his talents for Namjoon.
“What about… Something about utopia? It fits, right?”
Namjoon’s mouth curved up into a smile, his dimple dipping into his cheek. “The way you help, one would think you’ve been in love your whole life, Jungkook.”
“Maybe I have,” Jungkook whispered without thinking. He was writing down a few ideas that had popped into his head. When he looked back up, Namjoon was staring hard at him.
“What?”
“Jungkook.. I’ve known you for a long time now.”
“Yeah, years.”
“I pretty much watched you grow up.”
Jungkook smiled fondly and nodded. “Yeah. So?”
“So, I think I… I mean I’d like to think I know you pretty well, right? You’re open with me?”
“Sure, of course.” A creeping worry began to sink into Jungkook’s bones at the solemnness of Namjoon’s expression.
“Who’re you in love with then?”
“What?”
Namjoon motioned to the notebook between them. “Who are you in love with?”
“Oh, I—I meant our fans. You know, the love we all share, that sort of—”
“Cut the bullshit, Jungkook.”
Jungkook straightened up a little at the sharpness of Namjoon’s tone.
“I don’t—”
“You don’t need to lie. You wouldn’t be able to anyway, not to me. Be honest, okay?”
Jungkook’s shoulders slumped a little. He stared at the desk in front of him, his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth. Panic was rising in his throat, hot and frightening. Could Namjoon know? Did Jimin let something slip? Or was Jungkook just that bad at hiding?”
“I can’t. Not about this.”
“Why not?”
“I just… This is something I can’t talk about.”
“Jungkook – I’m one of your best friends. I’m here for you. Is there something that I should know?”
Jungkook shrugged. “I can’t, hyung.”
“Jungkook.” Namjoon’s slender fingers slipped under Jungkook’s chin, curling to grip it lightly and lift Jungkook’s head. His smile was soft.
“Please. Trust me.”
“You’d hate me.”
“I’ve known you for years. You’d be surprised, I think, at how little I hate you.”
“If you knew who I was in love with.”
“It’s a member, right?”
Jungkook tried to pull his face away from Namjoon, but he tightened his grip. “Me too, Jungkook.”
“What?”
“I have secrets too, and that’s one of them.”
“Who?”
Namjoon smiled weakly. “You.” He whispered.
Jungkook’s heart leapt into his throat, stopping his breath. His cheeks flushed, warm from his throat up to his forehead. “What?” He repeated dumbly.
“I know. Stupid, huh? I’ve never told anyone. I hope you don’t think of me differently. I can control it, I—I wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know, so maybe you’d be able to share who—”
Jungkook moved forward, cutting Namjoon off as their mouths met. Namjoon made a small noise of protest, splaying his hands on Jungkook’s chest as if to push him back. Jungkook grabbed his wrists. “It’s you,” he whispered against Namjoon’s mouth. “I’m in love with you, hyung. Kiss me back, please.”
Namjoon’s entire body relaxed at Jungkook’s words. He slid one hand up from his chest to the back of his neck, sinking easily back into the kiss.
Jungkook squeezed the wrist of the hand still on his chest, setting his other hand on Namjoon’s thigh. He sighed against his mouth, heart pounding a hundred miles an hour. They parted when they were both breathless, lips kiss swollen and pink.
“Jungkook—”
“I’ve been in love with you since I saw you the first time. Why do you think I chose Big Hit?”
Namjoon closed his eyes, hanging his head. “You were such a cute kid. When you got a little older, I—I felt so dirty for the way I felt… I never told anyone, even Yoongi-hyung. I was afraid you’d hate me.”
“I told Jimin-hyung. He’s kept my secret so long, I—” He shook his head. “I’ve been sitting with this inside of me for so long. I don’t know what to do now that – You know.”
“How about you kiss me one more time,” Namjoon suggested.
Jungkook grinned. “That I can do.” He leaned forward, pushing Namjoon back in his chair. Their lips met once more but Jungkook kept moving, straddling Namjoon’s hips. He whined softly, placing his hands on the small of Jungkook’s back.
“Wanna move this to the couch?” He mumbled against Jungkook’s mouth.
Jungkook nodded. He scrambled off Namjoon’s lap, letting himself be led to the small couch. Their mouths met once more as they sat down, and Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat when Namjoon gently, but firmly, pressed him into a lying position. He let his legs fall open, gasping at the weight of Namjoon atop him.
“Is this okay?” Namjoon asked, pressing kisses along Jungkook’s jaw.
“Yes. Please—”
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Namjoon admitted. Jungkook buried his fingers in his hair, dragging his head back up and into another kiss. He slid one hand down, pushing Namjoon’s shirt up and gently running his fingers over the smooth skin of his back. He traced the edge of his boxers, peeking out over his jeans, before dipping one finger playfully under the elastic and letting it snap against Namjoon’s skin.
Namjoon gasped, pulling back and grinning. “What was that for?”
“Your jeans are too tight for me to do anything else,” Jungkook pouted, looking up at Namjoon with wide eyes.
“You… Want to do more?” Namjoon asked. Despite the music he wrote and listened to, his inexperience was shining through, and it made Jungkook all the more proud, and excited.
“I do. If you wanna. I know this is new and we’re team mates.”
“I do,” Namjoon reiterated. He leaned back, allowing Jungkook to lift his shift up. He tossed it aside, his cheeks pinking up when Jungkook slid his palms over his bare chest.
“You know, you could show this off as much as me. You’re fit enough.”
“Ah, I’m too shy for that, you know that.”
Jungkook half shrugged. He sat up a little, letting his lips brush over Namjoon’s collarbone before sliding down, catching his nipple between his teeth. Namjoon hissed, his head falling back.
Jungkook teased and nibbled for a few moments before switching the pleasant torture to the other side, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile at the soft whines slipping from Namjoon’s open mouth.
“Can I take your pants off?” Jungkook asked. He kept his face hidden in Namjoon’s chest, fear his warm cheeks would give away his nerves, or make Namjoon less willing.
“We don’t have to… If you want, just… Have you ever done this before?”
“Done what?”
“Anything like this?”
Jungkook hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.
“You’re a virgin?”
He nodded.
“Do you… I don’t want to assume, but…”
“I want you to take it.” Jungkook looked up, his bravery surprising even him. “I’ve fantasized about you being the one to take it since I joined this company. That’s never changed. I’ve had opportunity to lose it but I wanted… In case, you know.”
Namjoon smiled. He cupped Jungkook’s chin and lifted his head up further, pressing a kiss to his mouth.
“I’ll make it worth the wait, I promise.”
“Don’t make me wait longer.”
“We’re in my studio,” Namjoon argued. “I don’t mind… But shouldn’t it be… I don’t know, special for you?”
“It’s with you in the place you consider pretty much sacred, hyung. What’s more special than that?”
Namjoon smiled again. “I suppose you have a point.”
Jungkook bit his lip. He reached down, cupping Namjoon’s crotch and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Do you want to?”
Namjoon nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing wildly. “You have no idea.”
“Maybe you should tell me,” Jungkook suggested. He wiggled his way off the couch and dropped to his knees. As he did, he tugged Namjoon into a standing position, reaching out and undoing his jeans.
“Tell you?” Namjoon asked, watching Jungkook’s hands.
“Mhm. All about what you’ve wanted to do to me.”
Jungkook tugged Namjoon’s jeans and boxers down.
His cock was half hard, just beginning to thicken and rise. “Sit,” Jungkook instructed.
Namjoon obeyed, his hands immediately gripping the couch.
“Did you fantasize about this? My mouth on your cock?”
Namjoon shivered but nodded, his eyes growing heavy with lust.
Jungkook leaned forward. He stroked Namjoon a few times firmly. Their gazes locked for a moment before Jungkook slipped his tongue out, running it teasingly over the smooth underside of Namjoon’s rapidly hardening cock.
“Did I look at you while I did it?” Jungkook whispered. He kept his eyes open wide, giving himself an innocent look, the total opposite of his actions as he slid the tip of Namjoon’s cock over his bottom lip. “Or was I shy? Sucked you with my eyes closed?”
“B— Brazen. You’re always so confident, Jungkook... In my fantasies you are brazen in bed too.”
Jungkook complied without a word. He took Namjoon into his mouth, swallowing him down inch by inch. He gazed up at Namjoon with wide, dark eyes, tears forming when Namjoon’s cock twitched, bumping the back of his throat.
Namjoon placed a hand lightly on the back of Jungkook’s head, stroking his hair. “That’s it baby... Suck it for me,” he whispered.
Jungkook began to bob his head, allowing Namjoon to guide him down. His swirled his tongue over the shaft, his cheeks reddening at the dirty, wet noises me was making.
Namjoon continued to watch him, a gentle affection clear despite the need in his gaze. His grip tightened just a bit.
“Gag on it for me... Just once,” he asked.
Jungkook pulled back and took a breath. He sank down on Namjoon’s slick, hard cock until the tip slipped past his throat. His shoulders jerked, throat fluttering around Namjoon’s tip. He pulled back, coughing.
“Fuck... That was perfect,” Namjoon growled. He dragged Jungkook up and wiped his tears before attacking his clothing, stripping him as fast as he could manage.
The moment Namjoon’s soft lips surrounded Jungkook’s cock he thought he may have died and gone to heaven. He decided he must have when Namjoon began bobbing his head, soft clicks of his throat filling the air between Jungkook’s moans. He grabbed Namjoon’s shoulders, short nails biting into the smooth expanses of flesh as Namjoon choked on him.
“Please—“ Jungkook finally gasped out. “I’m gonna come.”
Namjoon pulled back, wiping his spit slicked chin. “Isn’t that the whole point?”
Jungkook shook his head. “Our first time I— I wanna come on your cock.”
“That so?”
Jungkook nodded. He turned around, dropping down so his hands were on the smooth wood table. He spread his legs, giving Namjoon easier access. “Please?”
Namjoon leaned forward, spreading Jungkook further. He swiped his tongue teasingly over Jungkook’s hole before stiffening it to a point and prodding at him. Jungkook whined, his hips twisting desperately.
Namjoon used his fingers and tongue to loosen Jungkook as well as he could. He rose, padding over to his desk.
“What’re you—“
“Lube,” Namjoon said, fishing a tube out from one of the drawers. He went back to work on Jungkook with his fingers, stretching his right hole as he pressed firm kisses over his ass.
“Think you’re ready?” He whispered when Jungkook’s whines lost their edge. Jungkook nodded. He scrambled onto the couch, and smiled up at Namjoon.
He nodded, settling between Jungkook’s legs. Applying more lube to Jungkook and himself, he lined up, taking a steadying breath as he began to push in. Jungkook opened for him with little trouble, but he pulled back once more and started over, just going deep enough to make Jungkook desperate to feel more.
“Stop teasing, please.”
“I don’t want this to hurt,” Namjoon argued, still sliding slow and steady into Jungkook.
“I might be a virgin, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t fucked myself,” Jungkook hissed. Namjoon hesitated, his cock twitching a little.
“You’ve—“
“For years now, hyung.”
Namjoon swallowed hard. He stopped for a moment, drinking in the image of Jungkook under him. One leg was kicked up on the back of the couch, the other held by Jungkook’s hand, veins bulging and fingertips white with strain.
“What have you used?” Namjoon whispered.
“Fingers first, of course... But I always needed more. Once I was using three regularly I changed to the end of my brush. It felt so good pumping into me... I’d hide in the closet and fuck myself with it... Picturing you.”
“Jungkook—“ Namjoon’s voice cracked. He slid in deeper, earning a happy sigh from Jungkook.
“That’s right... I used to come all over myself pretending you were pounding me against the wall.”
“Do you still?” Namjoon panted.
“No... Now I have a nice thick dildo to fuck myself with.”
Namjoon shivered. Jungkook grabbed his ass, grinding down so his cock slipped deeper. “Just last night I was bouncing on it in my room. I came without even touching myself... I was listening to your music too.”
Namjoon groaned. He leaned down, catching Jungkook’s mouth in a desperate kiss. Grabbing his hips in a bruising grip he drove home, swallowing the shout of pleasure it forced from Jungkook’s lips.
“Is it thicker than me?” Namjoon asked. He began to pump his hips steadily. Jungkook grabbed his ass, digging his short nails into his skin.
“No—“ He gasped. “Just about the same, oh God right there, hyung—“
Namjoon leaned down, mouthing kisses along Jungkook’s neck as he fucked into him. He could feel Jungkook shivering under him, his cock twitching and dribbling between their stomachs.
“I listen to your voice to come,” Jungkook admitted. “Gets me every time.”
“Goddamnit, Jungkook,” Namjoon growled.
“That’s it— Fuck me. I know you wanna. You won’t hurt me,” Jungkook coaxed. Namjoon let himself relax a little, picking up his speed and the depth of his thrusts. Jungkook whispered under him, his back arching. “Please! Deeper—“ he pleaded.
Namjoon’s stomach flipped with knotted arousal. He lifted himself up, grabbing Jungkook’s hips and lifting him for a better angle. He pulled almost all the way out and drove in. Jungkook’s body arched from the couch, his cock throbbing and twitching as Namjoon fucked him deep and hard. He slapped his hand over his mouth, earning a strained chuckle.
“You know this room is soundproof. I wanna hear you scream, Jungkookie.” He drove in again, meeting Jungkook’s wide, wet eyes.
“Harder—“ Jungkook panted.
“Fuck, you’re needy for it.” Namjoon grumbled, but obeyed. His thighs slapped against Jungkook’s, balls striking his tight ass on each thrust. Jungkook did his part, letting himself scream, beg, and moan freely. The grin never disappeared from his face, looking up at Namjoon with a deeper admiration and affection than he’d ever seen.
“Want me to touch you?” Namjoon panted, brushing his fingertips over Jungkook’s swollen, leaking cock.
“No... Talk to me.”
Namjoon nodded. He leaned down, catching Jungkook’s mouth in a kiss. He brushed featherlight pecks over to his ear before nipping the lobe. “You feel so good, baby. So tight for me... Want you to stay this way, okay?”
Jungkook groaned and nodded. “Yes.”
“Not gonna fuck yourself anymore, right? You need to come... You do it on my cock.”
“Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook panted, his short nails raking down Namjoon’s back.
“Oh that’s it, think about that, Jungkookie. Every time you need to jerk off, just using my cock. Riding me or getting fucked until you can’t sit right. Sometimes maybe...” Namjoon trailed off. Before Jungkook could press for more, Namjoon pulled his cock out and drove three fingers into Jungkook’s hole. He crooked them against Jungkook’s prostate, rubbing for a few seconds. Jungkook shouted in surprise, his cheeks burning. Namjoon began to thrust his fingers, the wet, pornographic squelch from the thick lube filling the air. Jungkook flushed deeper, his cock jumping each time Namjoon brushed his prostate.
“Maybe just fingering you like this... Keeping your pants on and just opening you up and making you come in your jeans.”
Jungkook whimpered, clenching around Namjoon’s fingers.
“Roll over,” Namjoon whispered, pulling his fingers free.
Jungkook obeyed, catching sight of himself in the mirror across the room. His face was mottled red, hair a wet, sweaty mess. Namjoon still looked perfect, his face set stoic as he worked more lube into Jungkook’s used ass. He lined up and pushed his ass open before sliding home in one thrust.
Jungkook shouted, reaching back to hold any part of Namjoon he could reach. Their gazes locked in the mirror. Namjoon smirked, pressing a kiss to Jungkook’s temple.
“You’re gonna come on my cock now,” he said simply. His voice was thick and smoky, and Jungkook very nearly came from the sound alone.
Namjoon began to pump into him, keeping his gaze on Jungkook through the mirror. Jungkook screamed Namjoon’s name, his body shuddering against the couch as he was filled as full as possible.
“I’m gonna—“
“That’s it, let it happen.”
“Promise you won’t pull out,” Jungkook pleaded desperately. Namjoon shook his head.
“Never. Now come for me, Jungkook.”
Jungkook’s body obeyed before he realized. He went rigid under Namjoon, his ass tightening and cock throbbing as he spilled onto the slick leather underneath him.
Namjoon groaned, still fucking him through his orgasm.
He forced himself to focus as he came down from his climax. Namjoon’s eyes were screwed shut, his thrusts erratic. He bared his teeth, entire body tensing over Jungkook. He jerked his hips twice, his cock buried as deep as it could go when it began to throb. Jungkook could feel his balls twitching, working to fill Jungkook for the first time - and certainly not the last. He watched with half closed eyes, a pleasant little burn of pride as it sunk in that he was the one to give Namjoon this pleasure. When Namjoon’s body relaxed over his, Jungkook turned his head, pressing a tired kiss to the corner of Namjoon’s mouth.
“I love you, hyung.”
Namjoon sighed softly. He peppered kisses over Jungkook’s sweat slicked shoulder. “Relax for me.”
Namjoon pulled out carefully, grabbing a box of tissues and cleaning himself and Jungkook. They dressed in silence, the weight of what they’d done settling into their bones.
“Hyung—”
“Jungkook—”
They chuckled at their unison, and Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t ruin this,” Jungkook whispered.
“What?”
“Don’t do what you always do. Don’t rationalize this. It’s already rational. You made love to me. I gave you my virginity and I don’t regret it. And I want to do it again. And more, if you’re willing.”
“Of course, Jungkook, I’ve been head over heels for you for years.”
“Then kiss me. Date me and love me.”
“The guys—”
“You know they’ll get it. They always talk about how hard you work. How much you deserve a break and happiness. You don’t think they’ll be happy that I can maybe give that to you?”
Namjoon’s shoulders slumped a little as he relaxed, Jungkook’s words clearly making sense.
“We can’t tell the public.”
“Of course not. They’d crucify us. But we’re okay to do this. We’ll have the guys’ support. Namjoon-hyung. Do you want me?”
“Yes.”
Jungkook opened his arms. “I’m right here.”
Namjoon went to him without hesitation, nuzzling against his neck. Jungkook smiled. He hugged him tightly, grinning as his heart pounded a mile a minute.
Namjoon gasped suddenly, pulling back.
“What?” Jungkook worried.
“I got it.”
“Got… What?”
“It! The song.” Namjoon grabbed his face and pressed a hard to kiss to his surprised mouth before rushing back to his seat at the computer. He woke the screen and pulled up a document. Immediately he began to type, humming and mumbling under his breath. Jungkook smiled softly.
He cleaned up the couch and settled onto it, his head resting on his forearms as he watched Namjoon. Though he’d had a vague understanding before, the knowledge hit home. This was what it meant. Euphoria.
#bangtanarmynet#kwritersworldnet#armyofwriters#btsguild#networkbangtan#namkook#kookiemonster#namjoon x jungkook#jungkook x namjoon#namjoon/jungkook#jungkook/namjoon#bts ships#bts fanfic#mywriting
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FIC: Counting Down the Days, part 2
FIC: Counting Down the Days, part 2
Pairing: Peter Parker/Female Reader
Inspo: “Cancer” by My Chemical Romance
Summary: While visiting a children’s hospital as his alter ego Spider-Man, Peter meets a girl his age. She’s sweet, she’s smart, she’s funny… and she’s dying of cancer. When she laments the fact that she probably won’t get to live long enough to have the typical teenage experiences of prom and a boyfriend, Peter offers to fill those roles for her.
Part summary: Peter tells the reader what it felt like when he got Snapped.
Warnings: Talk of death. The usual cursing (he is from Queens). Endgame spoiler. Making fun of soccer moms who want to talk to the manager.
Tagged: @flokidottir-imagines-br @babyplutoszx2 @musiclover1263 @judemoos @drxgxnslxyer @hollanderheart @thequeensardine @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @captainbuckyy @xxtomxo @deleteidentity @yessterekthings @itsyaspacemom @parrkerspeters @starksparker
Part 1
**
“Alrighty,” Peter said, webbing (y/n)’s hospital room door shut and peeling off his mask. “One cinnamon chai latte for you, one white chocolate mocha for me.”
“Ew, white chocolate?”
“You’re judging me. This is supposed to be a judgment-free zone, (y/n).”
“Please, Peter. This is a hospital, not Planet Fitness.”
Peter just shook his head and laughed as he handed (y/n) her latte. They’d been texting back and forth over the last couple of days, getting to know each other a little better. She asked to see pictures of his friends; he happily obliged (after telling them what he was up to - sort of, in most cases).
“That’s my best friend Ned,” Peter said, pointing at the pictures he was projecting on the wall from his suit. “He knows I’m Spider-Man too, him and MJ. He’s in Robotics Club and Academic Decathlon with me. That’s his girlfriend Betty, she’s on Student Council and she reads the announcements every morning. This is Michelle, also known as the aforementioned MJ. She’s on Academic Decathlon too. There’s Abe, and that’s Brad, and… oh, good, I see Flash found the phone that’s not built into my suit today.”
“Wow, that is exceptionally rude,” (y/n) said, squinting.
“Karen,” Peter muttered, “delete that.”
“Deleting,” Karen said as the photo disappeared; (y/n) laughed loudly.
“So wait, you’re friends with a dude named Flash?”
Peter scoffed loudly. “Not friends,” he muttered, “he’s been bullying me since the third grade. Did you know, (y/n), that he gave himself that nickname because his real name is Eugene?”
(Y/n) cracked up laughing. “Eugene?!” she exclaimed. “Well, fun fact, I went to school with a kid named Elmer. Heir to the McCormick spice fortune, and about as smart as a container of Italian seasoning too.”
Peter just shook his head. “Elmer,” he muttered as he and (y/n) started to sip their coffees.
“Wow,” (y/n) said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a good cup of coffee. The stuff here tastes like it was brewed with dish soap.”
Peter made a face. “We have a coffee pot, but I never drink coffee at home. I love my aunt May, I really do, but cooking is not her forte. And, unfortunately, that includes coffee. I’ve taught myself how to cook some things. Make a pretty mean chocolate chip cookie.”
“Well, I may have to try one of those sometime.” (Y/n) sipped her latte. “This almost feels like a real coffee date, y’know?”
Peter smiled. “Karen, open Spotify and play my Coffeehouse Favorites playlist, please?”
“Sure, Peter.” The air was soon filled with soft, jazzy music.
“Very nice!” (y/n) exclaimed. “Now we just need the middle-aged suburban mom with her may-I-speak-to-the-manager haircut complaining that her cappuccino isn’t foamy enough.”
“Well, I can’t reproduce that, but I can try.” Peter cleared his throat, next speaking in a weird sort of high-pitched voice. “I asked for light foam, does this look light to you??”
(y/n) giggled. “And there are 47 bubbles, I asked for 49. How hard is it to put 49 bubbles in my cappuccino foam?”
And then, in unison, they said: “Where is your manager?”
They both burst into laughter.
“I gotta tell you,” (y/n) said, “that I’ve only known you for, what, three days? And I’ve laughed more in this three days than I have in the last three years. You’re just… you’re so fun to be around. You come here to cheer people up, right? Guess what, Pete… it’s working.”
Peter smiled warmly at her. “Good, I’m glad.”
“Part of me wishes I’d met you earlier,” (y/n) said wistfully. “You know, before I got sick this last time. We could have had so much more time together. But… but I’m almost glad I met you when I did. Being faced with your own mortality really sucks, it’s nice to have a friend.”
“You know the Snap?” Peter said; (y/n) nodded. “I was one of the ones that got snapped.”
“Honestly? When it happened, I wish I’d been snapped. But… then everyone came back. So either way, I’d have to deal with this.” She gestured vaguely at the wires hooked up to various parts of her body. “But the nice part about that was, you didn’t know it was coming. You know? Like it just… happened. You didn’t have to suffer through it.”
“I knew.”
(y/n)’s eyes widened in shock. “You what?”
Peter swallowed thickly. “I knew what was happening. Because of my powers, my senses are, just, super heightened. I feel everything differently than everyone else. So yeah, for everyone else that got snapped, it was quick and painless but for me? I felt everything.”
(y/n)’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, God. What… what was that like? I mean, if you want to talk about it, if not I totally get it.”
Peter sighed. He knew one day he’d have to talk about it. He was kind of hoping he’d never have to. But, if it would help (y/n) feel better, he was willing to push his fear aside.
“Terrifying,” he finally replied. “I was terrified. I felt helpless, alone. Mr. Stark was right there, that helped me feel less alone. Physically it was weird, I could feel myself disintegrating. It wasn’t unbearably painful, but it was pretty uncomfortable. And then my soul just got… I don’t know, transported? Maybe? Sure, transported to the soul world. And it was five years, but it felt like five hours, it was really weird. But then… then I came back. I guess that’s the difference, though, I got to come back.”
(y/n) smiled. “Wow,” she said. “It’s nice to finally meet someone that knows what I’m going through. I’ve been faced with death over half my life and it scares me. I’ve felt so alone. But… now I don’t feel so alone anymore.” She reached over, gently grasping his still-gloved hand.
Peter gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Glad to help.” He smiled at her again. “Um, that latte is getting cold. I don’t want to have to go get the manager.”
“Young man!” (y/n) exclaimed, in her fake customer voice. “This went down to 102 degrees, it needs to be at least 115!”
They burst into laughter yet again.
“What was it like, in the soul world?” (Y/n) asked softly.
Peter shrugged. “Wasn’t so bad. I didn’t feel anything physically. But internally, I felt very at peace. I… I got to see my parents and my Uncle Ben again. But they didn’t get to come back, that’s how the quantum thing worked. If you were dead before the Snap, you stayed dead. You know? But they got to tell me they were proud of me, that made me feel a lot better. I had this overwhelming, just… what was I so afraid of? This isn’t so bad. Then I realized that the thing I was scared of was the uncertainty. What’s happening to me? Where am I going to end up? That’s the part that got me. But once I got there… it was okay.”
“That makes me feel a lot better. Thanks, Peter.” She squeezed his hand again. “So what do I do now?”
“I… I don’t really know. What do you think you should do?”
“I think I should make the most of the time I have left,” (y/n) answered. “Not dwell on the dying part so much, focus on the living part. I know that sounds like all the schlocky bullshit they spout out in movies and whatnot but… but maybe there’s some good advice hidden in that.”
Peter just nodded solemnly.
“So,” (y/n) said, gulping down the last of her latte, “any plans this weekend?”
“I… oh, maybe. Karen, what’s my schedule this weekend?”
“You have an Academic Decathlon competition in Albany this weekend, be at the school by 5pm packed and ready to get on the bus. Estimated return time is 8pm Saturday.”
“And I’m co-captain with MJ this year,” Peter said, “so my presence is definitely required. I’ll get you a postcard or something though. And then I should probably do my rounds after I get home, and then I think I’m free Sunday.”
“New event added to calendar by Bruce Banner,” Karen said, “meeting at Avengers Tower at 2pm on Sunday.”
Peter chuckled. “...and I’ll try to stop by after that. If not, I will for sure Monday. But I’ll text you whenever I can, okay?”
“Sounds good.” (y/n) smiled. “Hey, thank you, by the way.”
“For what?”
“Everyone that comes in here thinks they need to walk on eggshells around me, not bring up the D word or whatever, you know? Thank you for not doing that. Thank you for treating me like I’m just an average everyday kid, and not an average everyday kid that happens to be walking around with a commuted sentence.”
Peter grinned at her. “Hey, anytime.”
“In a weird way,” (y/n) continued, “I’m almost glad I got sick.”
“Why’s that?” Peter asked, nose scrunched in confusion.
She smiled softly at him. “It brought me you.”
Peter could feel a blush creep over his cheeks as he searched for something to say. He settled for squeezing her hand again and replying, “I’m glad I met you too. Sucks it wasn’t sooner, but… better late than never, y’know?”
“Better late than never.” She grinned at him before releasing his hand. “Talk to you soon?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
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Creating our Pitch Document
If you’ve been following our progress with getting GONE on your TV screens, then you’ll already know that we recently asked you, the fans, to send in your fan-art to be used in our pitch document. We were absolutely overwhelmed with the responses we received, and would like to take this opportunity to thank every single person who got in touch! The pitch document is full to the brim with fantastic artwork. Below is just one incredible example:
Credit: Howard by Elina Poznaka
What exactly is a pitch document? AJ and Michael tell all below. Firstly, AJ explains what a pitch document is, and who will see it.
What is a pitch document?
AJ: A pitch document is used to identify key things within the intellectual property, in this case the GONE series. It identifies:
· Who the author is;
· The books publishing history;
· A short synopsis about the world Michael has created;
· Character bios of key characters;
· How the series could be broken down into episodes;
· A detailed synopsis;
· Bios of the production company and producers involved;
· Contact information for all involved; and
· All of the work we received from fans, to showcase the amazing, active audience that the series already has.
As well as all of the above, we also had some key scenes drawn up by a concept artist.
What is a concept artist?
AJ: A concept artist visualises and brings to life ideas, so that they may be ready for production. We do this because Film and TV are visual mediums: the whole experience is centred around watching and listening. Having these graphics created is a great way to illustrate the series on a basic, captivating level. Some absolutely fantastic images were produced - some of which you may have seen already…. Keep your eyes out for more!
If you haven’t seen any of the images, head over to our Twitter (@ajriach).
Who will see the pitch document?
AJ: Most of the people viewing the document will be parties/companies that we’re pitching the project to, be this a studio or another production company. I will be spending some time in LA with Michael over the coming weeks, so watch this space for any updates…
Of course, we are sure some of you are interested in seeing the document too, so over the next couple of weeks we will roll out some screengrabs. Keep your eyes peeled for these, they’re pretty great! Here’s a taster...
Next, Michael shares his experience of putting the document together, and his feelings about bringing GONE to life.
How did you feel when putting together the pitch document?
Michael: I felt guardedly hopeful. I feel guardedly hopeful about most things in life, and I suspect that caution annoys people who expect me to be more excited. But I don’t really do excited, guardedly hopeful is as close to excited as I get. (Gilfoyle from SILICON VALLEY is my spirit animal).
I’ve really enjoyed working with AJ and Ian, as well as Imogen and the two writers, Danny and Ron, who’ve been my mentors in the script-writing work.
Which did you feel was the most exciting aspect?
Michael: Well, see above. The original astronauts had a line about, ‘maintaining an even strain.’ In other words, don’t get too worried by the problems, don’t get too excited about the possibilities, try to maintain a sort of level flight through life. By the way this also answers the question: ‘Why have you never worked in publicity, Michael?’ Also, ‘Why are you not fun at parties, Michael?’
What was it like revisiting GONE more than a decade after originally writing it?
Michael: This will sound like one of those bullshit writer answers, but it’s humbling realizing that something you did a decade ago still resonates with people, that it has a life of its own. You might think that would make me proud or egotistical, but rather the contrary because it’s a reminder of how much the fate of my work is in the hands of other people. I’ve never really seen myself as working for publishers, I work for the readers. I am their dancing monkey.
Were you impressed with the artwork we received?
Michael: It was amazing. When we wrote ANIMORPHS, Katherine (my wife, Katherine Applegate) and I were some of the first writers to encounter the emerging phenomenon of fan-fic and fan-art. At that point no one knew what it all meant. Should we try to stop it, ignore it or embrace it? Our conclusion was that it was incredibly flattering, humbling, and kind of wonderful. So, I’ve always been a supporter of fan contributions.
Now, was I surprised that GONE readers were such a talented bunch? No, not at all, of course they’re talented, and smart, and charming, good-looking and quite frankly the finest bunch of humans ever to tread the soil of this benighted planet! (I’m bad at publicity, but I know how to suck up to fans).
What do you think of the pitch document?
Michael: It’s rather better than the sorts of things I produce on my own with my very limited skills at layout. It’s, like, professional.
How did you feel when you saw the concept art of the key scenes?
Michael: I thought, damn, given the ridiculous time constraints we put on the artist, they were excellent. I know some fans have had concerns, but they need to bear in mind that they’re seeing the embryo, not the eventual fully-formed thing.
What is it like seeing GONE start to come to life?
Michael: Katherine and I were in London looking at neighbourhoods with an eye to moving there. Seriously. I was thinking of a sort of genteel semi-retirement where I’d write just one book a year, hang out in London smoking cigars and drinking Scotch at 10 Manchester Street (my London cigar hideaway) then, whenever the sun deprivation got too bad, hopping down to the Algarve and... well, I had this meeting I’d agreed to and entirely forgotten about until about an hour before. I met AJ and Ian at a restaurant and they basically said, ‘We’d like to try and produce GONE for TV and would you like to write it?’
So, Katherine and I went to dinner that evening and it was instantly obvious to both of us that we were going to do it and that between us we had enough stuff going on in Hollywood that moving there made more sense than moving to London + Algarve. So, because our lives have never been planned in any rational, adult way but always just improvised in a series of ill-considered reactions, we thought, ‘Let’s go to Hollywood! Yay!’ So we pulled a 180 and bought a house in the Silver Lake area of Los Angeles where, I believe by city ordinance, all writers are required to live.
Stay Tuned!
That’s everything for now - stay tuned and keep an eye on our social media, where any and all updates will be posted. This blog will also be updated regularly, to keep you in the loop!
Join the conversation using #GONE and #EngageInTheFayz!
Michael’s Twitter: MichaelGrantBks
Engage’s Twitter: engageproductions
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Ooooh, I saw Havolina on the tags :D :D :D 66 and 77.
A/N: Thank you for the ask, @lessonsfrommadamexmas ! You requested numbers 66 (it’s not you, it’s my enemies) and 77 (in vino veritas) with a havolina ship. I will admit, 66 was a tough concept for me. I had to sleep on it, and I hope you’ll like what I came up with. And since I’m a “show, don’t tell” kinda gal, I’ll just write a little bit out for you. I may have gone a little overboard… This earns a solid “M” rating.
Please keep in mind I know very little about Call of Duty and video game tournaments in general. Forgive the inaccuracies and suspend your disbelief as this fic will focus on what happens around the tournament as opposed to the gameplay itself.
Read on AO3
“This is bullshit, and you know it!” Rebecca screeched. With furrowed brows and nostrils flaring, she stared down Roy Mustang, captain of the front runner team in the Call of Duty tournament. How dare he try to poach Riza, Rebecca’s actual friend, her teammate and the best damn sniper in the amateur bracket, right under Rebecca’s nose! She wouldn’t have it, and that pretty boy had another thing coming to him if he thought she’d let Riza go on her merry way without a fight.
“This isn’t poaching. It’s a couple after dinner drinks, Becks,” Roy said with amused exasperation. “Riza’s not my mark. She’s my girlfriend.” As if to make some salient point - that Rebecca was completely uninterested in, the dark-haired man slipped an arm around Riza. His fingers stretched, seeking purchase on her slender waist as he pulled the blonde closer, too close. In the darkness of the hotel bar, Rebecca’s equally dark eyes flashed dangerously.
“She’s not your girlfriend during this competition,” Rebecca lectured. To drive her point home, she brandished her pointer finger in Roy’s direction and thrust it toward the center of his chest. “While both our teams are in the running, she is an important member of the East City Strikers, and this year we will see you in the finals.”
“Enough,” Riza interjected. Ever the picture of poise under pressure, she wiggled out of Roy’s arms and grasped Rebecca’s bicep, leading her down the long granite bar. When Riza began to speak again, her voice was just above a whisper.
“You two got off on the wrong foot, I admit; however, Roy has been nothing but friendly toward you since we started dating,” Riza stressed, “Also - I say this with a lot of love - you are starting to sound like a deranged lunatic. This is just a game.”
“No, it’s a 500,000 cenz grand prize,” Rebecca retorted defensively, not caring to control the volume of her voice. “You promised there would be no fraternization during the tournament.”
Riza rolled her eyes and sighed, heavily. “The tournament starts tomorrow morning. After the opening ceremony I will be 100% committed to the East City Strikers, but tonight-” Riza paused; she glanced over her shoulder in Roy’s direction, gazing at her insufferable boyfriend with a pair of soft eyes that she wore only for him. “I’m going to have a few drinks with my boyfriend. And before you ask, yes, I intend to spend the night with him. And furthermore, because we are not in kindergarten, you are going to back off and act like an adult about it. Okay?”
Becca crossed her arms with an agitated huff, barely able to meet Riza’s pointed look. She hated Roy and all of Team Mustang. She hated that, after the East City Strikers’ crushing defeat in the semifinals last year, Roy had gone to great lengths to talk to Riza, inexplicably seduce her and then, just to add insult to injury, ask her to be his girlfriend. The very notion of this grievous injustice gnawed at Rebecca’s pride. For as certain as the sun would rise, she believed it to be a long con to ensure Team Mustang’s supremacy at the tournament this year.
“Fine,” Rebecca muttered.
She watched Riza cross the glitzy hotel bar, hand in hand with the competition and did the only thing a well-adjusted hardcore competitor with a grudge to maintain could do. She ordered another pinot noir and told the bartender to leave the bottle.
…
One by one, the other members of the East City Strikers attempted to lighten Becca’s mood, except for Olivier who suggested they turn in early for the evening to leave Rebecca alone with her anger management issues. Sheska followed Olivier’s lead, hopping to the tune of her command like a pup adhering to its master’s will. Maria stuck around the bar for a few more minutes to offer Rebecca a few well-worded pieces of advice.
“When Olivier tells you to lighten up, it’s time to rethink your strategy, my friend,” Maria opined, knocking back the rest of her cosmo. “Ri is a smart girl. She knows how to compartmentalize.”
Rebecca took another sip of the dark wine that matched her lipstick to a tee. “I care too much, Maria,” she explain. “Unless everyone’s plans change, this will be the East City Strikers’ last tournament. I want to go out at the top of our game.”
“Then just play the best you can,” Maria stated matter-of-factly like it was a simple thing to do. “If the best we can do is to get beat in the semifinals again by the team that goes on to win it, I’m satisfied.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s why you’re team captain, and I’m just your average first-person shooter enthusiast. Ri brings the deadly accuracy, Sheska’s got that crazy agility, Olivier gets us the little real life luxuries that keep us sane, but you have the fire. You inspire us to go up against the boys every year and spank ‘em until they beg for their mama. We’ve come a long way from East City, Becks. We couldn’t have gotten here without you.”
With a flushed face, Rebecca grinned, comforted by her teammate’s thoughtful perspective. “And what would you say you do for us?”
Maria sat back from the bar and smirked in a way that crinkled the beauty mark under her eye. “I give the good advice, and my advice for you tonight is to take advantage of the fact that your roommate isn’t coming back.”
…
Rebecca struggled to take Maria’s words of wisdom to heart, but the emptier her bottle of wine became, the easier it was to let her guard drop. Her taste buds drowned in the tart tang of cranberry with hints of tobacco. Her competitive glare grew blurry around the edges as the pop music funneled in through the speakers went straight to her hips. As the time ticked by, the hotel bar became flush with men of all models and makes, but like a hunter taking stock of the available prey, Rebecca waited patiently for signs of intelligent life.
As it turned out, she wasn’t the only one on the prowl.
“Hey, you’re Catalina, right?”
Rebecca swiveled on her barstool to better view the owner of the husky, baritone voice. The sight that met her was definitely easy on her eyes. The fair-haired stranger’s frame was muscular, especially his well-defined arms which extended from the unseasonable short sleeves of a black graphic tee. Rebecca’s eyes flitted over his figure in a flirtatious manner as she swirled the wine in her glass and finally met his blue stare.
“Maybe” she shot right back at him. “Who’s asking?”
The young man chuckled lightly under his breath and shuffled his feet. “I’m really no good at this am I?” he said, scratching the back of his head in a way that flexed his chest muscles through the flimsy cotton. “My name’s Jean. I couldn’t help but notice that your friends left a little while ago, and seeing as mine ditched me too, I was wondering if you’d like some company.”
Rebecca’s head tilted to the side as she fought the urge to bite her bottom lip. She patted the seat next to her casually, inviting Jean to sit. “You’ve got me at a disadvantage, Jean,” she said, relishing the way his name rolled off her tongue. “I’m Catalina, though I prefer Rebecca. Have we met before?”
“No,” he replied, sliding onto the stool. “Not formally, anyway. I’ve seen you play a few times, and I’ve always meant to talk to you. I remember your name Catalina_the_wine_mixer. It’s unique, a Step Brothers reference, right?”
Rebecca groaned playfully, covering her forehead with her free hand. “It is,” she admitted sheepishly. “The name sounded so cool when I first started playing, and after my first tournament, it stuck. I’d change it if I could, but you know… name recognition means something.”
“Tell me about it,” Jean sympathized. “Between this year and last, I found my way to the gym and kicked a few bad habits.” Jean scratched at the nicotine patch peeking out the sleeve of his shirt. “Now, it’s like I’m a complete stranger.”
“So what’s your screen name?” she asked with genuine interest.
“TheJeanMachine.”
Rebecca laughed so hard snorted. “Don’t take that the wrong way. It’s cute and… a little familiar.”
“Oh, I agree. It’s terrible, but I can’t change it now,” he stated.
“Why not? Name recognition?”
“Because it made you smile.”
Rebecca Catalina was smitten. Between the gregarious crinkle framing Jean’s baby blue eyes, his adorable country accent and their witty banter, she’d never stood a chance. All things considered, Rebecca thought it was nothing short of kismet that their paths had crossed on this, the calm before the storm. The one and only time she’d ever dared to let her hair down at the tournament.
“Maybe I’m too hard on my team,” Becca mused, allowing maudlin emotion to taint her giddy buzz. “We haven’t made it official, but this is probably going to be The East City Strikers’ last year. Riza, our sniper, is good enough to go pro if she wanted to, but the rest of us… We’ll have to give this up and focus on boring, practical careers when we graduate. Except for Olivier, the scary one. She’d be the first to tell you that her trust fund lets her do whatever the hell she wants.”
“Your sniper’s good,” Jean admitted, “but she’s got competition. That sniper from Team Mustang, for example. I think he’s pretty good. You ever heard of that team? I think they won the amateur bracket last year.”
“They did,” Rebecca confirmed. “I know of Team Mustang. I mean, I don’t know any other them personally, except their captain, Roy… He’s dating Riza. We lost to them in the semifinals last year, and one of those guys tried to congratulate me after, but I blew him off.” Rebecca frowned at the memory. “I- I’m not a gracious loser. I called him scrawny and said he reeked of cigarettes. It was terrible of me.”
“Everyone has their bad days,” Jean said. “And, come to think of it, you weren’t wrong on either account. But let’s talk about something else. You said you weren’t good enough to be a pro. Why? I’ve seen you rack up crazy amounts of points. Low on deaths and high on kills every single time.”
“Thanks,” Rebecca offered. Suddenly, she wished she could place his username and compliment Jean on his gameplay in return, but the gears in her mind wouldn’t turn properly, influence by red wine and those blue, blue eyes. “My record’s good, but I’m not twitchy enough. You know?”
Jean smirked. The expression that flashed across his face made her toes curl. “Don’t be so sure,” he said low and slow, “with the right technique, I bet you’d be very twitchy.”
Any other day, Rebecca would have rolled her eyes and walked away. But her empty hotel room beckoned and Maria’s advice ricocheted through her mind. Becca told herself that she deserved nice things from time to time. She needed to let loose, and Jean seemed nice, respectful even. If he wasn’t she’d ask Olivier to kick his pretty boy ass all the way back to his family’s rural grocery store.
“Wanna show me your technique?” she chanced flirtatiously. “It just so happens my roommate’s not coming back tonight. I’d like to see your moves.”
“What a coincidence,” Jean responded. He slid from the stool and stood. His head ducked downward to capture Rebecca’s plump lips in a searing kiss. “I’d like to show them to you.”
…
It was a great day to be alive. The sun was shining. The birds were singing, and Rebecca’s morning mountain dew tasted like victory.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Riza observed, popping a piece of fresh fruit into her mouth.
Becca didn’t deny it. TheJeanMachine had certainly lived up to his name. And if her uncharacteristic good mood didn’t give away the fact that she had gotten laid the night before, the trail of hickeys on her neck and chest, artfully concealed by one of Olivier’s vintage Hermes scarves, would have cleared up any lingering confusion.
“Wonder why that is,” Maria quipped with a playful nudge. Even the stoic Olivier grinned at Rebecca over the brim her morning cup of Earl Grey. Sheska giggled scandalously as she polished off her turkey bacon.
“Alright ladies,” Rebecca declared. She straightened her custom team jersey, and stood, ready to tackle the day. “I checked the brackets this morning. Our first game is in the Shambala conference room against The Ishvalan Supremecy. They’re good, especially that Scar guy, but we’ve got this! Let’s get there early and get a feel for the room.”
“Can we stop by the Aruego room first?” Riza asked hopefully. “Roy’s team is playing there in a few minutes, and I’d just like to wave hello.”
“Sure. Why not,” Rebecca merely shrugged to the collective astonishment of the East City Strikers. “We can scope out the competition.”
The quintet of gamers made their way through the crowded hotel lobby and took the elevator to the fourth floor. There, on the Aruego stage, Riza spotted Team Mustang, decked out in dark blue shirts opposite another formidable team dressed in black from head to toe, the Briggs Bears. A small audience had already gathered. Starry-eyed fans and fierce competitors sat in between the two teams, gazing up at a huge monitor that showcased the player’s screens and scores.
It was easy to get lost in the sea of old and new faces, but Rebecca focused in on Team Mustang with a confident smirk. Roy and the rest of his boys were going down, and Rebecca only hoped that the East City Strikers would be the ones to finally knock them off their pedestal. Sure, the Briggs Bears were also good, but Miles2Go’s reaction time was notoriously wanting, and that wasn’t even considering…
A familiar face caught Rebecca’s eyes, sending a shockwave along the length of her spine. Rebecca craned her neck, shifting in the crowd to get a better view of an unfamiliar face amongst Team Mustang. And when, finally, she saw the fair hair and toned muscles of the man she’d spent the night with wearing Team Mustang blue, Becca’s temper flared. The name… That familiar name… TheJeanMachine. The puzzle pieces sickeningly fell into place in a way that made her stomach drop.
“Oh, is that blond guy new?” asked a nearby girl with equally blonde hair.
Her companion, a short boy with a braided ponytail and a sophisticated automail arm scoffed. “Shows how much you know, Winry,” he said. “That’s Jean Havoc. Team Mustang’s sniper. He’s been with them from the start but went on a health kick after last year. Stopped smoking like a chimney and put on some muscle.”
“I bet he drinks his milk,” Winry responded, albeit under her breath.
Rebecca didn’t want to hear another word. She tore from the room, breath coming hard and fast as she weaved through the crowd. Last year’s events flashed before her eyes enhanced by adrenaline, caffeine and the early morning light. Jean had been the guy who tried to talk to her last year, and he’d most certainly known that last night when they’d…
“Ugghhhh!” Rebecca exclaimed, overcome with anger and ashamed of her impulsive behavior. The young woman was so wrapped up in her internal conflict that she didn’t hear her teammate approach from behind. Rebecca shrieked as she felt the pressure of Sheska’s hand on her shoulder.
“Good gracious, Becks,” Sheska said, straightening her glasses. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you alright?”
Rebecca looked back at her bespectacled teammate with a cold gleam in her dark eyes. She vowed to get her revenge on Team Mustang at all costs. “It’s not you,” she said intently, narrowed eyes darting to the screen now prominently displaying TheJeanMachine in his element. “It’s my enemies.”
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#fanfiction trope mash up#Fullmetal Alchemist#fma#havolina#royai#rebecca catalina#riza hawkeye#roy mustang#maria ross#sheska#olivier mira armstrong#jean havoc#lime#you ask i answer#lessonsfrommadamexmas#a passing housewife fanfiction#flourchildwrites
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