#this might make me break out an excel sheet lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

Text

Raise the Barre (Epilogue)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Contributor: @baebae-goodnight for the last Raise the Barre moodboard TT she nailed it

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Warnings: sexual content. Dry humping, fingering, hand job, oral (female), breast play, multiple orgasms, Jimin gets turned on by making someone else come, dirty talk. Jimin’s pants are tight.

Word Count: 13,409

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

“And… more pointe shoes,” you said, opening the box in your lap. “Wow. Thanks, mom and dad.”

Your dad laughed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’re welcome, kiddo,” he said, nodding from the couch. “I know Russet gives you some already, but you can never have too many.”

“Out of curiosity.” You glanced at the tree. “Are there any boxes from you which aren’t related to dance?”

“Not related to dance…” Your mom pretended to think. “I don’t understand.”

“Mom!”

She laughed. “I’m kidding! Yes, there are other presents. You just happened to pick all the pointe shoe boxes first.”

Shaking your head, you placed the box aside. You smiled though, warmth in your chest at being home for the holidays. Classes at Russet had ended a week prior and it had been nice for a few days to simply relax. Already though, you found yourself itching to return to the city. It was strange to wake every morning and not head to ballet. It was even stranger to take classes at your old studio, trying to stay in shape before second semester began.

Playing with the string of your sweatpants, you couldn��t help glancing at your phone on the couch. It had been several days since you’d last seen Jimin in person. Oddly enough, the separation had been harder than you’d thought it would be.

Immediately after ending things with Finn, you and Jimin had tried to keep your distance. The pain of your separation had been too fresh to even consider dating someone else but, as time had gone on, you and Jimin had started becoming friends again.

It was hard not to be, with Jimin continuing as your dance partner and classmate. At the end of the semester, you’d had the opportunity to switch partners, but you and Jimin had chosen the status quo. It just made sense this way; you couldn’t think of anyone else you’d trust as much as him.

At first, things between you were strictly professional. You saw him only within the confines of the dance studio but eventually, his presence bled into your normal life. At first, the outings were small. Jimin went to a pregame you also attended. He saw you once at the coffee shop and, instead of running away, he stopped to chat. One time, he walked you back to your dorm.

When the month became December, you found your outlook improving. Most of November had been spent wallowing in your dorm, but the holiday season brought with it endless activities. The very first weekend of the month, a bunch of your Russet friends decided to go ice skating and you’d ended up tagging along.

The biggest problem had been you’d never ice skated before. Noelle had been patient, skating backwards in front of you and dragging you around the rink. Jimin had done the same thing for Hoseok, who was in a similar predicament to yours, and at some point, they swapped partners and left you skating with Jimin.

When he’d taken over for Noelle, your stomach had swooped. Hands touching, he’d led you gently around the edge and the world had seemed to still. It had been the first time you’d felt anything stir outside of your break-up. Whatever hurt and distance had sprung between you, it seemed something had survived between you and Jimin.

Nose red, Jimin had smiled as he skated backwards. “It’s easy,” he’d told you. “You just swivel, Y/N. In and out, in and out. Got it?”

“Um, no!” you’d yelped, nearly crashing to the ice when Jimin let go of your hands.

He’d laughed, catching you easily and skating like that for a while. Eventually, Jimin had helped you off the rink and gotten hot chocolate, which you insisted on buying. Payback, you said, for the impromptu skating lessons.

That day had been a turning point for you both. Throughout the month prior, you’d texted sporadically but after, you seemed to talk every day.

Jimin even offered to drive you home from Russet, given the fact that your hometowns were so close together. After much hemming and hawing, you’d eventually taken him up on the offer. The savings it gave your bleeding bank account were well-worth the potential discomfort.

This had led to both the best and worst twenty-four hours of your life.

Best, because Jimin was an excellent road trip companion. He let you choose the music, laughed at all your dumb jokes, and agreed to play the road trip games you suggested. You’d already made a firm rule not to compare Jimin to any past boyfriends but couldn’t help but note this as an improvement over anyone prior.

The sole reason the twenty-four hours were also painful was because you stopped at a hotel halfway through. It was either this or drive until 3:00 AM, so you chose the smarter option and rested for the night. You and Jimin bought separate bedrooms, but they’d ended up next to one another, so you’d been forced to spend a sleepless night imagining Jimin separated from you only by a thin sheet of plywood.

You had told yourself this was silly. At Russet, Jimin hadn’t been much further away, but something about the closeness in the hotel made you nervous. It was infinitely easier to forget about boundaries when you were separated by only a car console for hours at a time. Infinitely easier to forget the rules when you were outside of Russet, cocooned by his car and the snow.

You couldn’t help but think about the one kiss you’d shared.

That had only been a taste, barely a teaser, but the memory kept you awake for more nights than it probably should have. You couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like to kiss Jimin again, under different circumstances.

Groaning, you’d covered your face with a pillow that night and tried your best to sleep. It hadn’t really worked, and you’d shown up at the car the next morning with dark shadows beneath your eyes.

Forcing yourself back to the present, you glanced away from your phone and focused on the tree – only to see its screen light up in your peripheral. Grabbing your phone, you realized Jimin had texted. Stifling a smile, you scrolled through the conversation until you found his last message.

Jimin: MERRY CHRISTMAS! [10:23 AM]

Jimin:

Y/N: oh my god everything’s so... coordinated lol how long did that tree take to set up? [10:24 AM]

Y/N: and merry Christmas 😊 [10:24 AM]

Jimin: not long at all. I just googled ‘christmas trees’ and that was the first one I found [10:24 AM]

Y/N: ha ha hilarious [10:25 AM]

Y/N: so, what are the Park family plans for the day? [10:25 AM]

Jimin: the usual. Opening presents, going to my grandparents later for dinner. What about you? [10:25 AM]

Y/N: same, minus the grandparents. We usually have a pretty low-key day [10:26 AM]

Jimin: sounds nice [10:26 AM]

Jimin: what’s your favorite present so far [10:27 AM]

Y/N:

Jimin: LOL [10:30 AM]

Jimin: how many of them did you get? I’ve gotten two new dance bags and seven pairs of black leggings. It’s like our parents have forgotten we do anything else [10:31 AM]

Y/N: no new dance belts? 😈 [10:32 AM]

Jimin: Y/N, I’m shocked [10:35 AM]

Jimin: mind out of the gutter. Stop thinking about my junk [10:35 AM]

Y/N: as your dance partner, I have a vested interest in your junk. What if it breaks free in the middle of practice? [10:38 AM]

Jimin: the more delicate ladies would faint, I imagine [10:41 AM]

Jimin: and probably Paulo [10:41 AM]

Y/N: lmao [10:43 AM]

Y/N: but seriously, I hope you get presents other than dance gear [10:43 AM]

Jimin: back at you haha [10:47 AM]

Y/N: I can’t help but notice you didn’t get me, your dance partner, a Christmas gift though [10:50 AM]

Jimin: was the drive home not enough? [10:50 AM]

Y/N: oh, shoot. You’re right! You did get me a Christmas gift [10:51 AM]

Y/N: I’m the one who’s been remiss [10:51 AM]

Jimin: don’t forget about my housewarming gift, too [10:52 AM]

You smiled, sitting back on the sofa. Jimin was lucky enough to be moving off campus second semester. He, Hoseok and Alex Wong were moving into an apartment not far from Paulo’s. You and Noelle had decided to stay in Grace Hall, but you’d talked about moving someplace else next year.

Jimin was heading back early to move into his new place, so you’d need a different ride on your return trip to Russet. Still, you were looking forward to Jimin’s apartment hosting parties in the new year.

Y/N: don’t get greedy on me now, Park [10:54 AM]

“Who’re you texting?”

Jerking your head up from the screen, you nearly dropped your phone. From the couch opposite, your mom gave you a knowing look.

“No one,” you said hastily, setting your phone aside.

“Oh, really?” She glanced with your dad. “No one wouldn’t happen to have dark hair, his own car and excellent table manners, would he?”

Immediately, you felt your face heat.

When Jimin drove you home before Christmas, your parents had insisted on feeding him before he continued to Harleigh Heights. This had led to the weirdest double date of your life – which was, in fact, not a date – including you, Jimin and your parents for dinner. Luckily, your parents had been great and Jimin hadn’t cared, but you’d been endlessly mortified for your first date with Jimin to have included your parents.

Not that you’d called it a date. When Jimin had left that night, you’d brushed it aside and he’d simply gone along with it. After Jimin had left, you’d gone to your room and wondered what the hell you were doing. It was clear you still liked Jimin and wanted to be more than just friends. Still, something continued to hold you back.

You weren’t sure when it was considered appropriate to move on. The line seemed fuzzy, so you hadn’t dared cross it and Jimin hadn’t asked. You got the feeling you needed to be the one to make the first move – which made sense. You’d been the one who asked for more time. You’d told Jimin you’d say when you were ready.

Any next steps would have to come from you.

It had been weird to go home and not see Finn. His house was only fifteen minutes away from yours – you’d driven past it on your way to the grocery store last week. Still, seeing his home hadn’t caused the pain you’d expected. It was strange not to see him, but more like you’d forgotten something you needed to do, as opposed to missing his actual presence.

If you were being honest, Finn had crossed your mind less and less lately. Possibly because you’d been falling out of love with him long before you’d broken up in November.

Still, it would be unfair to jump into something before you were ready. You’d already hurt Jimin once this past fall and were determined not to do so again. No matter how good things had been lately between you, you didn’t want to make the mistake of dating Jimin too soon.

Despite this, things had become flirtier between you as of late. Exhibit A: casual text conversations about Park Jimin’s junk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said lightly.

Your dad laughed as he stood from the couch. “Alright, then,” he said, grabbing another gift. “How about you open this one next?”

Accepting the thin package he handed over, you frowned. The box wasn’t large and, shaking it slowly, you heard no sliding inside.

“I swear,” you said as you began to undo the bow. “If you wrapped your passport photo again, dad...”

Laughing, he settled back on the couch by your mom. “It’s not that, I promise.”

Grumbling, you opened the box and immediately froze. Staring at the paper inside, you slowly looked up. “Is this… is this what I think it is?”

“It’s a plane flight,” your mom said with a smile. “I know we’re supposed to drive you back on the third, but we thought you might want to celebrate New Year’s with your friends.”

“But…” Speechless, you returned to the box. “We always hang out together on New Year’s Eve.”

“I know,” said your dad. “But maybe it’s time to start some new traditions, kiddo.”

With that, he stood and took his mug to the kitchen. Sensing he wasn’t needed for this conversation any longer, he began washing dishes and to prepare breakfast. Once he was gone, your mom moved to your couch and settled beside you.

“I… this is too much,” you said, immediately backpedaling.

“It’s not.”

“Well…” Hesitant, you considered the possibilities. “I guess Ari will be in the city for New Year’s Eve. Maybe Noelle, too. She mentioned she might go back early.”

Gently, your mom smiled. “That’s great if you want to hang out with them, but… didn’t Jimin mention going back before New Year’s?”

Startled, you glanced up. You were surprised she’d remembered. Jimin had mentioned it briefly at dinner last week – he’d said he was moving off campus, which was why he’d needed to return home to pack.

“I – he might have,” you said cautiously.

“I see.” She paused. “I just… I don’t want you feeling like you need to hold yourself back, honey.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Your mom glanced meaningfully at your phone. “I’m glad you’re taking time to yourself,” she said slowly. “It’s important to know who you are and what you want. But also – don’t feel like you need to follow someone else’s timeline when it comes to moving on.”

“I know, but…” You trailed off. “We only broke up in November.”

She shrugged. “Only you know when you’re ready, honey. I just don’t want you to keep punishing yourself for something that’s over. You’re allowed to be happy, even if you’ve messed up in the past.”

Swallowing, you glanced again at the gift. The plane ticket was for the day before New Year’s Eve. Plucking it from the box, you sat back on the couch.

“But…” you said lowly. “Mom, it’s only been two months.”

“And are you still in love with Finn?”

“No.”

“And did you learn anything from what happened this fall?”

“I… Yes. A lot.”

“Good.” Reaching out, she squeezed your hand. “Learn the lessons you need to learn, and then move on. Self-flagellation isn’t productive, Y/N.”

You nodded, still uncertain about what she was saying. Her words made sense, but everything she was saying uncovered a dormant fear. You were scared. Scared of hurting someone else, scared of being hurt by someone else in return. Your last relationship had ended so badly, it was hard to convince yourself it might be worth it to try again.

Finally, you turned to face her on the couch. “Does it ever get any easier?” you asked. “This fear of being hurt… does it ever go away?”

Something sad passed over her face. “Yes and no,” she said, pulling back her hand. “You’ll never be as innocent as you were in your first love. There’s something special about loving someone and never having been hurt before. Once you’ve gone through that kind of pain, you aren’t the same after. But… it does get easier. And better. You’ll know more about how to support this time, instead of tearing down. How to make a love stronger, instead of hanging on.”

Something about this speech gave you comfort, and you slowly nodded. Again, what she said made sense but if there was one thing you’d learned from the fall, it was no matter how great the advice was, it was impossible to take if you weren’t ready to hear it.

You continued wondering if the risk would be worth it. No matter how much you felt for Jimin, you couldn’t help but remember how you’d felt breaking up with Finn. You hadn’t been in love with him at that point and it had still been so painful. It was terrifying to imagine loving someone again and having things end the same way.

Your mom was right, though. You couldn’t keep punishing yourself for something you couldn’t change. There were several ways you could move on from here. The main question to ask yourself was whether you wanted Jimin in the picture.

“Alright,” you said softly. “Thanks, mom.”

“Anytime.” Smiling, she stood and dusted off her pants. “I’m going to see if your dad needs help making breakfast. Don’t be too long, now!”

You nodded, watching her go, and then glanced at the ticket. Your mom’s words continued to run through your mind and after a moment, you picked up your phone.

Jimin had texted back.

Jimin: I would never! [10:57 AM]

Y/N: hey, so [11:01 AM]

Y/N: I did get one non-dance gift this year. A plane flight the day before New Year’s Eve [11:02 AM]

Jimin: oh, wow! That was really nice of your parents [11:03 AM]

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes. When you opened them, you found yourself newly determined.

Y/N: when do you get back again? [11:03 AM]

His ellipses started, then stopped, then started again.

Jimin: December 28th [11:04 AM]

Y/N: what are your New Year’s Eve plans? [11:04 AM]

For a moment, he didn’t respond, and you felt your heart catch. Maybe you’d misread things. Maybe Jimin had moved on and didn’t care about you anymore. Maybe he didn’t want you to tell him you were ready.

Jimin: I’m free 😊 [11:05 AM]

Jimin: want to be my New Year’s Eve date? [11:05 AM]

Smiling ear to ear, you responded.

Y/N: yes. Please [11:06 AM]

On the actual day of New Year’s Eve, you found yourself stressed beyond belief. Standing in front of the mirror of your dorm room, you adjusted your dress and worried over the hemline. Jimin had arranged to meet you around 7:00 PM and it was dangerously close to 6:55.

“Is the dress too short?” you asked, turning a little to face Noelle. “It is New Year’s Eve in the city. Should I wear pants, or something? Will I be cold?”

Noelle considered, then shrugged. “Just drink more. Problem solved!”

Snorting, you turned back to the mirror. Nervously, you smoothed down the front of your dress. You’d bought it at an after-Christmas sale and had fallen instantly in love. It had seemed perfect at the time, but now you were having second thoughts about the thin straps and tight bodice.

“Alright, so Y/N.” Noelle changed the subject. “Here’s the plan. Are you listening?”

Hiding a smile, you adjusted an earring. “Listening.”

“Good. Okay, so Ari and I will be at a party uptown. If the date goes badly, just say the word and we’ll call you a cab. You can be ringing in the new year with us within the hour.”

“Perfect,” you said. “It’s good to have a back-up.”

“It is.” Noelle paused. “Not that I think you’ll need this, of course.”

“Well, you never know.”

“Please.” She snorted. “What’s Jimin going to do? Be too charming? Too respectful of boundaries? Wear pants that show off his ass a little too much?”

“Noelle!”

She laughed, coming to a stop alongside you. Noelle wore a sparkly dress which made her skin glow, although this may have been the glitter dusted over her shoulders. Looking at herself in the mirror, she fluffed her hair.

“Seriously,” she said, meeting your gaze. “You’re going to be fine.”

“I know, I know.” Shaking out your arms, you forced yourself to exhale. “I’m just nervous, that’s all. It’s been a long time since I went on a first date.”

Noelle considered. “That’s true. Allow me to give you some dating tips, then.”

Laughing, you turned around and sat on the futon. “By all means.”

“Alright – number one.” Noelle removed lipstick from her purse. “Don’t order anything with garlic. I know, that sucks because garlic is everything, but no one wants to make out while they have garlic breath. Rule number two!”

“Whoa, whoa,” you said. “Who said anything about making out?”

Noelle gave you a pointed look. “Just in case it should happen…”

Shaking your head, you sunk back on the futon, but you knew she was right. Tonight was New Year’s Eve, after all. Ideally, you’d like to do more than kiss Jimin, but this seemed like too much of a jinx to say out loud.

Mentally, you agreed to the ‘no garlic’ rule.

“What else?” you prompted.

“Let’s see.” Noelle began to reapply her lipstick. “Relax.”

“What?”

Glancing at you in the mirror, she raised both brows. “I can see your shoulders tensing from here, babe. Just relax, okay? Tonight will be fine. You’re just hanging out with Jimin. You’ve done that before.”

“I know,” you groaned, lowering your face to your hands. “For some reason though, I’m very aware of the ‘date’ aspect of tonight. I don’t know why.”

When you looked up, Noelle gave you a sympathetic look, but before she could say more there came a knock at the door. Half-standing, you moved to open it, but Noelle shooed you back.

“Rule number three,” she said as she crossed the room. “Never answer the door for your own date.”

“What?” you laughed, although you sat back down on the futon.

Grabbing the handle, Noelle pulled open the door. Blocking you from view, she leaned her shoulder against the frame.

“Password?”

“What?” came Jimin’s voice, sounding confused.

“That’s correct!” Noelle stepped aside.

As you stood, you saw Jimin for the first time. He wore a pea coat over his outfit, his dark hair pushed back from his face in a devastating manner. When he saw you, Jimin froze, and you saw his eyes widen.

Silently, you congratulated yourself on having picked the right outfit. His gaze slowly trailed your body, lingering in places which made your cheeks heat. When he returned to your face, he slowly exhaled.

“Hey,” he said. “You… you look beautiful.”

Smiling back, you found yourself at a loss for words. “So do you.”

Jimin grinned and you stood there, smiling at each other like idiots until Noelle cleared her throat.

“Well,” she said, side-stepping Jimin to grab her coat. “I’m going to head over to Ari’s. You kids be safe, okay?”

“We will,” you laughed.

Noelle left in a flurry of kisses and glitter, waving goodbye as she stepped out the door. Jimin turned to face you once she was gone, offering a smile.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked. “I brought you these.”

From behind his back, he pulled out pink peonies, which made you gasp. They were your favorites, a little limp from the cold, but still beautiful. Taking them gently from him, you turned them over in your hands.

“They’re wonderful,” you said happily. “Thank you.”

Jimin smiled. “I’m glad you like them.”

Glancing around, you found a clean glass near the sink and filled this with water. Arranging the peonies on your desk, you took a step back and cocked your head. You’d always thought the idea of flowers on dates was kind of cheesy, but now that you’d experienced it in person, it seemed unimaginably sweet.

“There,” you said, turning back. “All set.”

Jimin smiled at this, then glanced at your bare arms. “You’re going to be cold without a coat,” he said. “That’d be a bad way to start off the new year.”

“Oh – duh,” you said, hurrying towards your wardrobe.

Pulling a coat out, you slipped this over your dress and buttoned the front. As you left the room, you turned off the lights and shut the door behind you. Jimin walked with you down the hall, continually glancing your way from the corner of his eyes.

You felt oddly shy, despite this being Jimin beside you. Jimin, who you’d known since you were teenagers. Jimin, who’d been both the utter bane of your existence, along with the single person you trusted most in the world. He’d tossed you up in the air and caught you no question and somehow, this felt like the most daring thing you’d ever done.

It was strange to walk beside him, out on a date whose future held a large question mark. Excitement and uncertainty warred in your stomach, which only seemed to exacerbate the situation. You felt as though you stood on the edge of a precipice, staring into a ravine with no discernable bottom.

As you left the building, snowflakes swirled in the sky up above and you looked up in surprise.

“Oh,” you exhaled, breath frosting before you. “I didn’t realize it was snowing!”

“Yeah.” Jimin grinned, tilting back his head. “Snow is my favorite weather, actually.”

“The wet and the cold does it that much for you, huh, Park?”

“That, and the romance of it all.”

Your smile softened a little as you fell into step alongside him. The snow continued to drift as you walked, melting as soon as it touched the pavement.

“So, where are we going?” you wondered, glancing at him. “You said you’d tell me once you picked me up and I’ve got news for you, Jimin. I’m here. I’ve been picked up.”

“Right, sure.” He shoved both hands in his pockets. “I made a reservation at this restaurant around the corner. The food’s really good so I hope you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

“Huh.” Jimin paused. “That was easy.”

You shrugged. “I’m just excited for tonight. That’s all.”

His gaze softened a little when he glanced at you. “Me, too.”

Smiling, you continued to walk alongside him. New Year’s Eve in the city was a grand affair. The sidewalks were still lit with holiday lights, people hurrying past in brightly colored coats. Privately, you were glad Jimin had made a reservation at a restaurant instead of trying to brave a club or a bar. You’d heard horror stories from people who paid extravagantly to get into a club, only to spend the entire night waiting in line at the bar.

Turning the corner, you saw the restaurant Jimin had chosen and brightened. It was one you’d walked past several times and always wanted to try but had never found time.

Jimin held open the door as you entered. The inside still had their holiday decorations up, garland strung across every surface with tiny, white fairy lights hung up above. Everyone who was dining wore formal attire, laughing and chatting in the glow of the fireplace. The food smelled amazing and immediately, your mouth watered.

Joining the line at the hostess stand, you waited for the couple before you to leave and then Jimin stepped up.

“Park,” he told her. “Party of two.”

The hostess smiled, nodding as she flipped through her notebook. “One moment, please.” The longer she looked though, the more her face fell. After a moment, she glanced up. “Park, you said?”

“Yes.” Jimin nodded. “P-a-r-k.”

The woman nodded, flipping through her notebook again as though the name might magically appear.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, glancing up again. “There seems to be some kind of mistake. I don’t have you listed as a reservation.”

Jimin’s expression faltered. “Can you look again?” he asked, leaning forward.

The hostess nodded, running her finger down the numbered rows. “I can’t find you anywhere. Do you remember who you spoke with on the phone?”

“Rebecca.”

“Oh.” Her face immediately fell. “Rebecca left the restaurant last week. It seems a few reservations slipped through in the transition. Is there… well, before I do that – let me see what I can do,” she blurted out, turning around to rush into the restaurant.

Jimin watched her disappear and you saw his expression tighten.

Silence fell between you as you adjusted your coat. Jimin looked stressed and you weren’t sure what you should do about it. Frantically, you tried to remember times he’d been stressed during class, but before you could do or say anything, the hostess returned.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, looking harried. “The restaurant is completely booked up. I was trying to see if we could squeeze you in, but there’s just no room. I’m so sorry. Normally, only one person does the reservations, but we’ve been so busy lately...”

“It’s fine,” you said, jumping in. The poor woman looked like she was about to burst into tears. “Please, don’t worry about it. We’ll figure something out.”

Jimin glanced at you, surprised, and then nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, returning to the hostess. “Thank you so much for your help – I appreciate you trying. We actually have a back-up reservation somewhere else, so don’t worry. We’ll come back another time!”

“Oh, really?” Her entire face brightened. “That’s so good to hear. New Year’s Eve, and all. Thank you for being understanding!”

“Yes, busy night,” Jimin said with a smile. “Take care of yourself!”

The woman nodded, seeming grateful when you stepped out of line. Jimin followed your footsteps, heading towards the door and then came to a stop. Slowly, he exhaled.

“So,” you said, turning to face him. “Where are these back-up reservations?”

Jimin winced and met your gaze. “I have none,” he admitted. “She just looked so sad. I wanted to put her out of her misery.”

“Wait.” Piecing this together, you paused. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he said miserably. “I only made reservations here and that was super lucky, considering most places in the city have been booked for weeks. I don’t have any back-up plans.”

For a moment, you could only stare. “So, you said all that just so that poor hostess wouldn’t worry about a mistake her restaurant made?”

“I – well, yeah.”

You stared another moment, then started to laugh. It started out small but grew until eventually, you were wiping tears of mirth from your eyes.

Jimin watched you laugh, seeming thoroughly confused. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just…” Shaking your head, you paused to catch your breath. “You’re unreal. Most people would be super stressed about New Year’s Eve plans falling through, but here you are lying to make a hostess’ night better.”

He blinked, still uncertain. “I’m… sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize!” you insisted as you straightened. “It’s… wonderful,” you said to him shyly. “I like that about you.”

Slowly, his expression changed. “I really don’t have other plans, though,” he admitted. “I wasn’t lying about that. And I am stressed about my reservation falling through. I wanted this night to be perfect.”

The sweetness of this made your heart start to melt and newly determined, you nodded.

“We can fix this,” you said. “We’ll just go somewhere else.”

“Like where?”

“Like...” You paused. “We could hang out at my dorm. Or at your apartment! One of our kitchens has to be free, right? We could make dinner and hang out, watch the ball drop.”

“We could go to my place,” said Jimin slowly. “Hoseok and Alex are at a New Year’s Eve party uptown. We’d have the kitchen to ourselves.”

“Perfect,” you said. “Let’s go there.”

“I should warn you, though – I can only really cook one thing.”

“Spaghetti-o’s?”

“Okay, two things.”

You laughed. “So, what’s the first thing?”

“A pasta dish they taught us in Senior Foods class. But it’s nothing fancy.”

“Perfect.” You shrugged. “That will go nicely with my contribution of store-bought bread and olive oil.”

Jimin started to grin. “Alright, then, it’s settled. Let’s go to my place.”

You smiled when he opened the door, following him onto the sidewalk. Jimin’s new apartment was a few blocks away, but time passed quickly with him beside you. Oddly enough, the mishap at the restaurant seemed to have cleared some of the lingering awkwardness.

Noelle had been right, you realized – you had nothing to worry about while you were with Jimin.

He talked while you walked, detailing the ongoing fight at his apartment about some posters Hoseok wanted to hang. This segued into the general ridiculousness of New Year’s Eve – a topic you wholeheartedly agreed with.

“It’s stressful,” Jimin complained as you walked. “Everyone’s always asking about your resolution, you need to find someone to kiss at midnight, and there’s that super awkward moment with the countdown and your date…”

You laughed, grabbing a basket as you entered the grocery store. Jimin had suggested you stop by, since he didn’t have much food at his place.

“Doesn’t the countdown make it easier?” you joked. “It really dumbs the whole process down. Fool-proof.”

“Well, sure,” Jimin said. “But then you end up staring awkwardly at someone for ten seconds while you slowly lean forward and wonder when you should blink.”

Laughing, you reached on tiptoe for a loaf of bread. “Alright, you got me there,” you admitted. “I’ve never had a proper New Year’s Eve, anyways. I’ve always been dating someone and then, it’s just kind of assumed you’ll kiss. None of the magic you see in the movies.”

Jimin nodded. “Most of that’s just movie magic, though. You aren’t missing much – trust me.”

“I don’t know,” you said as you turned the next corner. “The anticipation sounds kind of nice. Wondering if someone will kiss you back, if they’re thinking about you the same way you are…”

Jimin made a humming noise, low in his throat.

Coming to a stop, he reached overhead to grab some pasta. Putting this in your basket, Jimin casually brushed your arm as you met his faze. Fighting back a shiver, you tried to remember what you’d been saying.

Giving a smile, Jimin continued forward and kept shopping. You stared after him a moment before your gaze dropped to his ass. Inhaling quickly, you remembered Noelle’s comment about Jimin’s tight pants. She hadn’t been wrong about that. Hurrying along, you quickly caught up.

Grabbing another jar, Jimin placed this in the basket. When he caught your eye again, he grinned, his hair falling forward. The sight made your heart flip-flop in your chest.

As you entered the check-out line, Jimin came to a stop alongside you. His gaze traveled the store, eyes widening when he glanced over your shoulder.

“What’s that?” Jimin gasped.

Startled, you turned. “What’s – hey!” you blurted when he took your basket.

Grinning widely, Jimin placed the food before the cashier. “Too slow.”

“Jimin, come on,” you said, slightly flustered. “I can pay. I –”

“You can pay next time, if you want.”

This shut you up and you stared at him a moment before you stepped forward.

“There’s… going to be a next time?” you said.

Jimin glanced in your direction. “If you want there to be.”

“I do,” you said softly, and he smiled.

Taking another step forward, he pulled out his wallet to pay and you let him – this time, anyways. Outside, it seemed to have grown colder since your arrival and you shivered as you exited the shop. Noticing this, Jimin immediately undid his scarf from around his neck.

“Here,” he said, handing it over. “I don’t need this.”

“But then you’ll be cold,” you pointed out, accepting it anyways.

“I’ll jog in place to keep warm.”

“… With me walking beside you?”

“Yep.”

You laughed, even more so when Jimin began to demonstrate. He jogged for a few steps, then slowed to a walk.

“Changed my mind,” he said with a wince. “I’d rather be cold.”

You laughed, cheeks starting to hurt from both this and the wind. Jimin’s apartment wasn’t far, although it did turn out to be a third-floor walk-up. This left you slightly winded when you arrived at his place, to which Jimin shrugged and said the rent had been cheap.

Opening his front door, he led the way into – boxes. Tons of them, although most of the furniture had been set up around them. Jimin fumbled for a light, flicking this on and setting down the groceries.

“Most of the boxes are Alex’s,” he sighed, looking around. “Hoseok and I have a secret deal we’re going to unpack him ourselves if he doesn’t do it by Monday.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a detriment to Alex.”

“I never said what we planned on doing with his things once we unpacked.”

You laughed, undoing your coat to set aside. Glancing around, you saw Jimin was right. Most of the boxes were scrawled in the same handwriting. Beyond them, you saw the living room had been mostly set up with a couch and TV.

To your right lay the kitchen, in which Jimin was already unloading the groceries. Beyond him was a hallway, through which you assumed were their bedrooms and bathrooms. Wandering back to Jimin, you realized he was staring.

“What?” you said, coming to a stop. “Did I spill something on my dress in the store?”

“No,” Jimin murmured, shaking his head. “I just… I know I said this before, but you really do look incredible.”

“Oh.”

Looking at him, you felt your face growing hot. Jimin smiled and ducked his head, resumed pulling things out of the bag. Stepping from your shoes to place in the hall, you returned to the kitchen and pulled out a stool.

Sitting down, you propped your chin in your hand. “Aren’t you going to take off your coat?”

Glancing down, Jimin blinked. “Oh,” he laughed, undoing the buttons. “I forgot I was wearing it.”

You smiled, but this quickly disappeared when you saw what he was wearing. Jimin had worn a dark blazer and trousers, paired with a paisley shirt and black boots. He looked ridiculously good and again, Noelle’s comment about his ass came to mind.

She’d been correct – his pants were well-shaped and well-formed.

After removing both coat and shoes, Jimin returned to the kitchen and pushed a hand through his hair. You watched him get to work, leaning forward a bit when he began to dice vegetables. Immediately, your brows raised. It seemed Jimin had undersold his skills in the kitchen.

When you said as much, he laughed.

“Maybe a little,” Jimin said. As he pushed veggies from the cutting board, the pan began to sizzle. “It’s all part of my master plan. Set expectations low, then over-deliver.”

“It’s working,” you said with a laugh. “You seem pretty damn impressive to me.”

Jimin’s cheeks reddened. “You’re just saying that.”

“Why would I lie?”

“I seem to remember some shocking texts about my junk and dancer’s belts. You could just be after my body, Y/N.”

“I – that’s not!”

He looked up and grinned. “Kidding.”

Flustered, you blurted, “That wasn’t nice!”

Jimin laughed. “I’m sorry.”

You huffed, waiting a minute before you continued. “You do look really good right now, though,” you said softly.

He looked up, eyes wide. As much as Jimin said he enjoyed being liked, it seemed to throw him for a loop whenever you said you liked him. It made you pause, mulling over this for a minute.

“You seem surprised,” you said quietly. “Whenever I say things like that, you always look surprised.”

“Well…” Jimin hesitated. “I just think… there’s been a lot of times where I never thought this would happen. It feels kind of unreal have you here. In my kitchen. On a date.”

“Times after November?”

Jimin paused.

Your brow furrowed. “Before then?”

Opening the pasta, Jimin added this to the pot. He stared into the steam, slowly exhaling before he looked up.

“Let’s just say I’ve wanted this for a while,” he admitted.

“What? But you hated me before Russet.”

“I…” Jimin trailed off. “Kind of. It’s complicated.”

When he failed to elaborate and returned to his cooking, your eyebrows shot up.

“Uh, no,” you laughed. “You can’t just say that and not explain what you mean. What are you talking about?”

Jimin winced as he set down his spoon. “Okay,” he said, gripping the counter. “I guess what I’m saying is I never really hated you. Not truly.”

“You didn’t.”

“No.” He spoke flatly.

“But…” Confused, you searched his face. “You’ve hated me ever since we met, Jimin. That first weekend at NUVO dance competition. We were both called out to demonstrate and you tripped me!”

“Well, maybe that’s not exactly what happened.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jimin released a low breath. “Okay, so here’s the thing. That weekend happened a little differently from my perspective.”

“How so?”

“We were both called out to demonstrate,” he said, repeating your words. “But I hadn’t seen you before then. When we both reached center and I turned and saw you – I froze. I couldn’t remember how to act. Every thought I’d ever had just… flew out of my head.”

You stared at him, speechless.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Jimin continued softly. “I’d never felt like that before. When you started to dance, it only got worse. I’d never seen someone dance like you did. That’s why I entered the combination late. That’s why I was in the wrong spot at the wrong time and that’s why I accidentally tripped you. I was… well, I was distracted.”

“By me,” you whispered. “You were distracted by… me?”

“Yeah.”

“So,” you said, breath catching. “This entire time, you haven’t really hated me?”

“Ah, I don’t know about that.” Jimin rubbed the back of his neck. “You could be really infuriating,” he said with a laugh. “There were times when you genuinely pissed me off. I meant it when I said I wanted to win against you. But also… I don’t know. I never really forgot the first time I saw you.”

“Oh,” you whispered, unsure what you were feeling.

It made your head spin to hear this different version of events. Jimin hadn’t hated you – at least, not in the same way you had. He hadn’t been the one to make the first move after all. You had when you’d decided not to listen to his apology.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“Hey – what’s wrong?”

Dropping his spoon to the counter, Jimin came around and stood beside you. Keeping your head down, you refused to look up until Jimin touched your arm.

“I just,” you exhaled, turning to face him. “It was my fault. This entire time, I thought you hated me and that’s why I hated you. But instead, I just decided to hate you – and for what?”

Jimin’s upper lip twitched. “I wasn’t entirely blameless, you know. I was such a little shit at that age. I wouldn’t have believed me, either.”

“You tried to apologize, though!”

“Hey.” Gently, he gripped your elbows. “If it makes you feel any better, I did trip people just to get to the front. I was an ass. It’s why that Jungkook guy hates me. I started dancing later in life, so I was really hung up on proving myself.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t true,” you told him. “You didn’t trip me on purpose, and if I’d only been less stubborn –”

“Whoa, hey.” Jimin smiled. “You weren’t the only stubborn one. Maybe it started off as a misunderstanding, but I didn’t really fight it. You were my competition as much as I was yours.”

“I guess,” you said quietly. “I just… I feel like I wasted so much time hating you. Maybe we could’ve even been friends.”

His gaze sparked. “Just friends?” he asked with a quirk of his brow.

“Jimin,” you groaned, but started to smile.

“Listen.” Expression softening, Jimin moved closer. “Even if I had decided to explain all this in high school, would you have believed me?”

“Probably not.”

“Exactly. I was a dick back then.” He nodded. “Remember that one time I lied and told you the awards ceremony had been pushed back an hour?”

Sitting up straighter, you glared. “Oh, I remember. I showed up after they’d already taken the photo for Top Junior solos.”

Jimin grinned. “Or the time I put an out of order sign on the women's restroom after your solo at BRAVO, so you had to run all the way across the auditorium?”

“That was you!” you blurted out, wide-eyed. “No one would believe me when I said it was! Every girl was so pissed off at you that weekend.”

“Which is exactly why I could never admit it was me!”

In disbelief, you shook your head. “You did all of that just to get back at me?”

Jimin’s smile disappeared. “Hey, you weren’t innocent either,” he argued. “Remember the time you spilled an entire water bottle next to my bag so that when I sat down, my ass got all wet?”

Devious, you smiled. “Honestly, there was kind of an ulterior motive there. As much as I hated you, your ass looks great in damp sweats.”

Jimin’s jaw dropped a little.

Managing to shut this, he took a casual step forward. “Is that what you thought?” he murmured, barely able to conceal the thickness in his voice.

“I… may have noticed a few things about you.”

When he placed a hand next to you on the counter, your breath hitched in response. Jimin repeated this with his other hand, bringing his body a step closer to yours.

Hesitant, his gaze roamed your face. “What else did you notice?”

“I…” you exhaled and glanced at his lips.

The air between you could have been cut with a knife, heated for a different reason than the stove beside you. Which – eyes widening, you glanced over.

“Shit!” you blurted. “Jimin, the pasta!”

Startled, he looked in the same direction as you and realized the water was boiling. Rushing away, Jimin entered the kitchen and turned down the burner. Now that you were separated by a solid counter, you felt somewhat dazed when you glanced up and saw him.

Meeting your gaze, Jimin came to a stop. “Anyways,” he said softly. “Now, you know. I didn’t trip you on purpose. I never really hated you. And I’m incredibly glad you’re here tonight.”

Watching him speak, something warm bloomed in your chest.

“Me, too,” you whispered.

Smiling, Jimin returned to the pasta and you settled back on the stool. Delicious scents soon filled the kitchen and you realized how truly hungry you were. You hadn’t eaten much at lunch in preparation and by now, you were famished.

It wasn’t long before Jimin placed pasta onto plates, adding the bread you’d cut up on the side. He brought these to his table, disappearing briefly to return with two candles.

“Oo,” you said as you took a seat. “Fancy.”

Jimin lit the one closest to you with a flourish. “We aim to please, here at Park Jimin’s Fine Eating and Dining.”

“Is that the name of your restaurant?”

“It is.”

“And you’re set on that decision?”

“I decided on a whim, but I have no regrets,” Jimin said, taking a seat across from you. “Now, eat before you piss off the chef and he takes back your food.”

Laughing, you dug into the pasta before you. It was delicious and, after the very first bite, you sighed in appreciation. Apparently, Jimin had truly set the bar low. Conversation began to flow, any lingering tension disappeared after talk of your past.

It was the oddest thing. You’d heard stories from friends about other first dates. They worried about how to behave, what to wear, or what to say to their date – but none of these worries seemed to exist for you in the moment. You’d been so concerned before the night began, but now that you were here, all these worries seemed to fly out the window.

You’d thought you’d spend the entire night comparing. Comparing Jimin to your last relationship, comparing Jimin as a date to Jimin as a friend, but instead, it felt like natural progression. It wasn’t a matter of comparing Jimin to anyone else, but rather simply enjoying where the night led.

After dinner, you insisted on helping clean because Jimin had cooked and bought the food. Donning rubber gloves over your dress, you stood at the sink and began to wash dishes. Jimin laughed as he joined, pulling on gloves to dry the dishes beside you. Once this was done, he suggested watching a movie before the ball dropped.

Collapsing onto the sofa, you adjusted your dress and scanned the room. The posters Jimin had bemoaned were now hung over the TV – you wondered if Hoseok had managed to somehow sneak them past his roommates. Small touches here and there made you think of Jimin.

A game he’d mentioned was out on the coffee table and a blanket which smelled like him was draped over a chair. Pulling this towards you, you wrapped it around yourself as Jimin left the kitchen.

Holding two glasses of wine, he paused when he saw you.

“What?” you said, glancing down.

“Nothing.” Jimin cleared his throat. “Are you cold?”

“A little,” you admitted, tugged his blanket closer.

“Shoot.” Jimin frowned. “The heat’s been weird since we moved in. I’m not sure how to fix – oh!” Setting the glasses down, he rushed towards the hall. “Do you want a sweatshirt?” he called.

“Yes, please!”

Jimin reappeared moments later, a navy sweatshirt in hand. Handing this over, he settled beside you on the sofa. He’d ditched his blazer and now, Jimin was dressed in only the paisley shirt and slacks.

Pulling his sweatshirt overhead, you somehow managed to get stuck right away. It was hard not to, with your hair and the dress, trying not to flash him while you kept your legs crossed.

After a moment of watching your undignified struggling, Jimin cleared his throat.

“Need help?”

“Yes, please,” you said weakly.

Jimin laughed, helping you free and once the hoodie was settled, you sighed and leaned back. Glancing sideways at Jimin, you found him already looking at you.

“What do you want to watch?” you asked.

Jimin blinked, then glanced at the TV. “Hm,” he mused, grabbing the remote. “We could watch the ball drop and enjoy the fact that we’re sitting inside, not standing in the freezing cold without any bathrooms.”

“I know!” you said with a shudder. “Out of all the stupid traditions, that’s one I’ll never understand.”

“How do so many people have it on their bucket list?”

“Right? That, and the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Zero out of ten. It’s cold, there’s wind and again, there’s the question of bathrooms.”

Jimin laughed as he scrolled through the channels. “Alright, so no to the ball drop. Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure.”

“What movie?”

“Why’re you making me pick?” you whined, sinking deeper into his cushions. “That’s such a large amount of pressure.”

“Exactly, which is why I don’t want to do it.”

You laughed and after some back and forth, decided to watch About Time. This was a movie about obstacles and falling in love, which seemed more than fitting because of the new year. At first, you and Jimin were watching diligently but eventually, he asked a question and conversation slowly drifted from the movie.

At some point, Jimin lowered the volume to focus solely on you. You curled deeper into the couch beside him, your thighs somehow touching and shoulders inches apart. Jimin’s head leaned against the cushion and he continued to smile in a way which made your heart flip.

“Here’s a question,” you murmured, no longer pretending to watch the movie.

His eyes gleamed in the darkness. “What?”

“Why’d you tell Sabrina you only wanted to be friends?”

Briefly, his eyes widened. “How did… you know about that?”

“She told me.”

“Hm.” Jimin gave you a dubious look but moved past it. Sabrina had begun hanging out with your friends as of late. “But alright, I’ll answer. If I do though, you need to answer one of my questions. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“So, I was single when I came to Russet.” Jimin paused. “It was the first time in a long time, and I may have hooked up with a couple of people.”

“Hm,” you said tightly.

His eyes danced with amusement. “Jealous?”

“Answer the question.”

He laughed. “Anyways, I only hooked up with Sabrina the one time. Afterwards…” Jimin sighed. “I felt kind of weird about her asking me to switch partners. Then I overheard what she said about Ari at weigh-ins and just didn’t feel like anything more... Plus, there was the other reason.”

“And what was the other reason?”

“I was starting to like you,” he said, a bit softer. “The day you said you wanted to be friends was a giant weight from my chest. And the more relaxed you were around me, the more… I don’t know. The more I liked you, I guess. My mom has always called me her hopeless romantic,” Jimin said with a smile. “I don’t know about that, but I can be single-minded when I like someone. That was part of the reason I told Sabrina we shouldn’t hook up anymore.”

“Oh,” you whispered.

His smile turned lopsided. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah. I guess it does.”

“My turn, then.” Smile disappearing, his gaze darkened. “Why did you really call me that night at the club?”

“Oh. That. Well, I –”

“And don’t say it was because I had a car,” Jimin interrupted. “There were a lot of people you could’ve called to help. You didn’t, though. You called me. Why?”

You hesitated before you realized there was only one answer. “I wanted to see you,” you said honestly. “I was scared, I was alone and… you were the person I wanted to see.”

Jimin’s gaze had become nearly black, the air between you thick with something unsaid. You were suddenly conscious of all each part of your body pressed to his. When Jimin shifted on the couch, you moved somehow closer.

He hesitated, then glanced at your mouth. “I don’t…” Jimin licked his lips, sounding hoarse. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“You won’t,” you told him.

Something uncertain passed over his face. “Maybe we should take things slow.”

“Or,” you said slowly. “I could tell you things I like about you, instead.”

“And what would be the point of that?”

Your gaze shifted to his. “You’ve told me a lot tonight about how much you like me,” you said softly. “About how long you’ve liked me. I think it’s time I returned the favor.”

Something in his gaze cracked and he nodded. The TV in the background was quiet, only the noise from the street and the whoosh of the heater breaking the silence.

“First,” you said, glancing down at his lap. “You have really nice hands.”

Jimin’s lips twitched. “My hands? I’ve always thought they were small.”

“Wrong. They’re the perfect size. Never have they dropped me.”

“Mm, that’s a good point.”

“And your smile,” you said.

“What about it?”

“I like your smile,” you told him. “It makes me smile.”

His eyes crinkled in demonstration. “Oh, yeah?”

“And your ears.”

Jimin laughed. “My ears?”

Reaching out, you delicately traced over an edge. “I’ve spent a long time looking at your profile, Park. I know what I’m talking about here.”

As your fingers moved lower, feather-light down his jaw, Jimin’s smile disappeared.

“I like your jaw, too,” you told him.

In the darkness, his gaze glinted, and you felt his jaw tense.

“And your lips,” you added, gaze lowering. “I like those a lot.”

“Y/N…” Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Yeah?”

He slowly exhaled. “I just don’t want you to regret this.”

“Jimin.”

He opened his eyes.

Your expression was serious. “I told you I wouldn’t jump into something before I was ready,” you said, lifting your other hand. “But I’m not in love with Finn anymore. It doesn’t hurt when I think about what happened last semester. I like you, Jimin. I want you. I don’t want to keep pushing you away. I get if you’re unsure about this, though. If you’re unsure about me.”

Jimin’s gaze roamed your face. “Unsure?”

“I know I hurt you before. I shouldn’t have kissed you and ran away. But I promise this isn’t like that. I’m not running away. I’m the furthest thing from running and I –”

Cutting you off, Jimin pressed his lips to yours.

You shuddered a little, leaning into his kiss before he pulled back. Jimin exhaled, barely a breath before he kissed you again.

Noses brushing, lips lingering, the kiss slowly deepened. Your hands curled into his hair, pulling him forward to bask in his warmth. It was dizzying, how different this felt than last time. Last time you’d been heartbroken, desperately yearning each time your lips had touched.

Now, Jimin felt like air, like sunshine as you drowned in his presence. Hand grasping your waist, Jimin moved you closer so your chest nestled to his. Lifting his fingers, his touch skimmed your jaw, your hairline before he circled the nape of your neck.

Drawing away, he bit down on your lip. With a low sort of moan, Jimin sought your lips again. When his mouth opened yours, his tongue swept forward and you nearly combusted.

This was only to tease, though. Only to taste before he pulled away, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Thumb skimming your jawline, Jimin tilted your head back to brush a kiss to your throat. Moving higher, he worshiped a slow path up the column of your neck. At your ear, he nipped gently before he returned.

Now, his kisses began to deepen. Mouths opening, your tongues brushed only briefly before he chose to withdraw. You were glad you were kissing on the couch, because suddenly your own legs felt weak underneath you.

Hand re-gripping his waist, Jimin pulled you against him. Eager, your hands found his neck and the blanket dropped to the floor. It wasn’t enough, though – you needed more, wanted to feel him fully beneath you. Rising on your knees, you swung a leg over his lap and settled on top.

Jimin hissed, his head hitting the back of his couch. Your dress had ridden up in the process, exposing your thighs – his thumbs skimmed the surface before he looked up.

“Shit,” Jimin croaked.

Smiling, you bent to kiss him again. Jimin arched upwards, each part of your body electric where you touched. He shifted his hips, granting friction and heat which made you short-circuit. Pressing yourself closer, your thighs sild backwards until they nestled around his waist.

Jimin’s hand found your spine, pulling you closer as his hips pushed upwards. You groaned when you felt him shift underneath you. The kisses grew steadily hotter, this ache in your core increasing with every touch.

“Can I…” Pulling away, Jimin glanced lower. “Can I take off the sweatshirt?”

“Yeah,” you said, a bit dazed.

Jimin didn’t waste time, helping you pull this swiftly overhead. It was tossed on the ground and when your dress was revealed, he inhaled.

Slipping his hands up your bodice, Jimin met your gaze. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he confessed, his voice hoarse.

“Do what?”

Your breath hitched when his hands skimmed your breasts, lingering in all your softest places.

“Touch you,” Jimin said. “It was torture to see you, to look at you and not be able to do this. Not how I wanted, anyways. I’d tell myself not to think about it, but…”

“Jimin.”

He paused and looked up. “Yes?”

“Touch me. Please.”

Without hesitation, Jimin slid his hands lower. Cupping your ass, he pulled you against him and allowed his other hand to drift up your spine. You shivered, closing your eyes as your head tilted back.

His hands slid up your front, over your breasts and under the straps of your dress. Jimin’s thumbs drifted lower, brushing your nipples through the fabric of your bodice. Opening your eyes, you looked down at him and saw his gaze darken.

Reaching higher, Jimin cupped the back of your neck and returned your lips to his.

He kissed you slowly, purposefully as you melted forward. Shifting against him, the kiss began to intensify. Mouths opening, your tongue swept forward in bold strokes against his. Suppressing a whimper, you ground your hips on his lap.

“Is,” you murmured, breaking free. “Is your bedroom unpacked?”

Jimin went still. “I – mostly, yeah.”

“Can I see it?”

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, releasing your thighs as he stood from the couch.

You laughed, sliding down his front as your feet hit the ground. Tugging your dress down, you followed Jimin when he grabbed your hand. He pulled you down the hall, coming to a stop at the last room on the row. Pushing open the door, he flicked on the light and came to a stop.

Stepping forward, you glanced around Jimin’s room. You recognized some of the items from the two times you’d visited Jimin in the dorms. Photos of his family were carefully hung on the wall and he had the same pillows laid over his queen-sized bed.

Turning around, you took a step backwards and sat on his bed. “It’s nice,” you said, patting the comforter. “I like it here.”

Jimin watched you, his gaze half-lidded from the hall. “I like you here.”

Cheeks heating, you watched him enter and gently shut the door. Leaning back on your elbows, you arched a brow.

“Where’d we leave off?”

Jimin exhaled as he crossed the room. “I think you were on my lap,” he said hoarsely, kneeling beside you.

You nodded, moving to straddle him as he leaned to the wall. Catching your waist with both hands, Jimin pulled you against him, kissing you roughly even before you sat down. Suddenly ravenous, his hands slid to your ass as he rolled you against him. Inhaling sharply, you sucked his lower lip between teeth as he groaned.

Reaching up, Jimin tugged on your hair as you inhaled, throat exposed for him to kiss slowly down your front. When he returned to your lips, you ground your hips impatiently over the bulge in his pants.

Shifting his weight, Jimin’s spine hit the wall. He stared at you, slightly dazed with his kiss-reddened lips. Without looking away, Jimin lifted his fingers and began undoing his shirt. You stilled, watching each inch of skin be revealed. When he reached the last button, you gave in and helped push this aside. Smiling, Jimin sat up as his shirt fell to the floor.

You weren’t sure where to look first. Hands faltering, you slid them up his abs, over his shoulders and down his biceps. He was so perfect, it almost hurt to look at. Jimin’s breath quickened as you touched him and slowly, he lowered you down to the bed.

“Enough,” he said roughly, returning your lips to his.

As you kissed it turned lazy, nothing but grinding and touching. Jimin’s hair was messy beneath the pull of your fingers. He didn’t seem to mind, his own hands digging into the curve of your thigh. Playing with the hem of your dress, he deftly slid upwards.

“Jimin,” you said, breaking free. “Unzip me.”

His gaze darkened. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Jimin nodded, following suit when you sat up beside him. Turning around, you exposed your back and Jimin began to lower the zipper. He moved slowly, taking his time as his fingers brushed skin. Holding the dress up with your hands, you waited until it was fully unzipped before releasing it to the floor.

Turning around, you found Jimin’s jaw slack.

“You…” He roughly inhaled while he scanned your body. “Lace, Y/N? Really?”

“Do you like it?” you asked.

You may have gone overboard preparing for tonight. Although you hadn’t been sure what would happen, you also hadn’t wanted to be caught off your guard. Tonight, your constant need to plan had come in handy. Beneath your dress you’d worn a crimson lace bra and panties – a matching set which Jimin seemed to like, based on his expression.

“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, lowering his lips to your neck.

Kissing slowly down your chest, he came to a stop where the two halves joined together. Skimming the length of your torso, his hands trembled a little when he brushed the lace.

Jimin looked up. “I’m sorry I keep touching you,” he murmured. “I just – you’re driving me crazy. You’ve been driving me crazy.”

“You said that before,” you whispered.

“I meant it.”

Kissing again up your body, he lingered in places your skin was exposed. Inhaling, your eyes fluttered shut as you grasped his shoulders.

Jimin’s hand slid between your thighs. “Part them,” he murmured, and you obeyed.

Heart racing, you opened your eyes and watched Jimin drag a finger slowly up the center of your panties. Even you could feel how damp the fabric was, how wet and ready you were for him.

Lifting his finger to his lips, Jimin sucked. “You’re soaking,” he breathed, sounding eager. “So good to me.”

Lowering his head, his tongue flicked your breast. Teasing the nipple through fabric, he urged and he sucked until it was fully erect. Moving onto the next one, Jimin grazed with his teeth until it pressed wantonly into the lace cup of your bra. Moaning his name, you arched against him.

Finding your wrists, Jimin pinned you backwards as he continued. Thighs caging your waist, he kept you hostage with his exquisite torture. The lace of your bra was now drenched, Jimin sucking debauchedly through fabric.

“Jimin,” you groaned, twisting on the sheets. “Please.”

His hips rolled lazily against your center. “Not yet,” he insisted before pulling back. “Not until you make a mess of my sheets. Want to ruin these panties.”

Sliding a hand between your thighs, he lightly circled your entrance. Feeling how wet you were, Jimin softly groaned. Sitting back on his heels, he finally relented and pulled your panties down. Tossing these to the floor, he returned to your thighs and spread your legs.

Lightly, Jimin dragged the pads of his thumbs up and down your panty line. “God, you’re so perfect,” he murmured. “Got my sheets fucking soaked.”

Separating two of his fingers, he slowly dragged his digits up and down your folds. You inhaled, feeling needy while you watched him touch you. Each brush of his fingers had you dripping – teasing over your entrance, he refused to give you exactly what you wanted. Feather-light, Jimin circled your swollen clit with his finger.

Hands gripping the sheets, you could only stare while Jimin brought you closer and closer to the edge. He was barely touching you, but it was the most turned on you’d ever been in your life. Jimin’s thumb swiped over your clit, rubbing you gently as you keened in frustration, arching against him.

He continued like this until you were gasping, begging for more and then – only then – did he slide a finger inside you. Legs trembling, you arched on his mattress and stared at him, glassy-eyed. When Jimin began to move in and out, you lost all control.

Lowering his head, he closed his lips over your clit.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered as you broke apart.

Barely did he suck before you were coming undone, pulsing around his fingers. Shuddering with pleasure, you collapsed on the bed as you rode out your high. Gently, Jimin pulled out his finger and returned to your lips.

Reaching behind you, he undid the clasp of your bra and tossed this on the floor. Once you were fully naked, he pulled you against him. You felt limp, thoroughly sated, but familiar excitement began to stir at his front pressed to yours. Tilting your head, he gently kissed you while your fingers wound in his hair.

Jimin moved slow, letting you take the lead. Your core continued to throb with oversensitivity, although this seemed to lessen the longer you kissed him. Before long, your nipples were hardening as you rubbed against him. Fingers digging into your thigh, Jimin pulled this over his hip to watch you lazily grind.

Realizing he still wore pants, you lowered a hand, determined to fix this. Jimin helped, dragging the zipper down to throw both these and his boxers down on the floor.

He bent to kiss you again, but you placed a hand on his chest. “Wait,” you murmured. “I want to see you.”

Jimin exhaled, leaning back so you could take in his body. If you’d thought his chest was unreal, it was nothing compared to his trim hips, sculpted thighs and cock nestled between.

“Oh,” you said, dragging a hand down his front.

Jimin shuddered a little. He was already hard, his cock thick and pretty with a reddened tip. It made your mouth water to look at, wanting to lick up the shaft. Reaching between you, you closed your fist around him and slowly jerked him off.

You watched in fascination as Jimin responded. His jaw tightened, abs tense while you teased over his frenulum. His cock responded instinctively, hardening further the longer you touched him.

After a few minutes of this, Jimin shook his head. “No more,” he said huskily, taking your hand in his. “I’ll come if you keep doing that.”

“Oh?” you murmured, gaze darting lower.

He chuckled, a rough sound in his throat. “I like watching you come,” Jimin confessed, his cock hard between you. “It turns me on. I’m… still trying to recover from your last orgasm.”

“Oh,” you said, in a completely different way.

Jimin exhaled, hair falling forward. “I hope that doesn’t weird you out.”

“Does it… weird me out that you like giving orgasms?”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

“How else would I put it?”

His grin became devious. “You could ask for another.”

Breathless, you nodded and Jimin’s gaze darkened.

He descended your body, not wasting any time as he positioned himself between your legs. Licking slow up your center, you gasped and instinctively drew your legs higher. Jimin didn’t bother easing you into it. No, now he ate you out like he wanted to.

Kissing your folds, he returned to your clit and sucked this into his mouth. Rolling the sensitive bud with his tongue, he teased and released before you knew what was happening. He continued to do this, spreading you underneath him and bringing you close to coming, only to pull back and leave you maddeningly empty.

Spreading your folds, he began licking sweetly over your clit. This was followed by loose, lazy sucking and more tender flicks. You stared dazedly at him between your legs, the sight more erotic than anything you could’ve imagined.

Grinding his cock into the sheets, Jimin thrust his hips while he pleasured you. You could tell he enjoyed this; each grunt from his lips was more affirmation. Moving lower, he circled your cunt with his tongue just to lap up your juices. You gasped at the sensation, having never felt it before. Flicking your clit with his thumb, Jimin fucked your cunt with his tongue before he slowly withdrew.

Spreading you wide, he returned to your clit and you clasped a hand over your lips before a moan could escape. Each curl of his tongue left you gasping, writhing beneath the pleasurable onslaught of his mouth. Pulling away, Jimin pressed a gentle kiss to your thigh before he rose up your body.

At your mouth, he kissed your fingers. “You don’t have to be quiet,” he told you. “I want to hear the noises you make, Y/N. It makes me feel good.”

Removing your hand, you slowly nodded.

Jimin just grinned, dropping between your legs to begin eating you out again. This time, you didn’t hold back. Jimin seemed to appreciate this as you slipped further from control. He was so good with his mouth, making you see stars as your legs started to shudder. When he slid his finger inside you and fingered you again, your hands fisted in the sheets.

“Ji-jimin,” you gasped, writhing beneath him. “Jimin, I – oh.”

He began to move faster, adding a second finger as your insides clenched around him. Everything tightened, hovering at a breaking point while Jimin continued, relentless. His mouth on your clit, his fingers inside you – everything broke apart when you came, gasping his name.

Jimin didn’t move, kissing your sex as you slowly came down. He lapped at your sex, licking up your arousal before withdrawing his fingers. Once your breathing had steadied, Jimin returned to the sheets beside you.

“Good?” he breathed, draping an arm over your waist.

“Oh my god, yes,” you exhaled, burying your face in his chest.

He laughed, pulling you closer. Jimin started to pull away, which made you look up and frown.

“What are you doing?” you said.

He paused. “I’m looking for a tissue.”

“Why?”

“I… I’m kind of at a loss here.”

“No, I mean why now,” you said, baffled. “I can come again, Jimin. I want to come with you inside me.”

Jimin stared at you a moment.

“Unless…” Uncertain, you hesitated. “You don’t want to…?”

“Fuck,” Jimin muttered, sounding hoarse. “No – I want to. I really want to. Are you sure, though?” he said, reaching to open the side drawer of his bed.

You grinned when he pulled out a condom, ripping this open.

“I’m sure,” you murmured, moving closer.

Jimin rolled the condom onto himself, pausing before he went any further. Shifting his weight so he hovered over you, Jimin searched your gaze. Reaching lower, you casually stroked his cock and guided him to your center.

He didn’t enter yet, content to take his time. Instead, Jimin bent and kissed you, dragging a hand down your side. His fingers paused at your breast, tweaking your nipple until it stood fully erect. Moving to your waist, he curved under your ass and lifted your hips to his.

Arching upwards, you felt his cock brush your center. The touch made you pant, wanting him inside you and wanting it now. Rolling over his length, you marveled at the feel of him between your legs. Having him so close and not having him inside you was maddening.

“Jimin,” you whimpered.

“Yeah?” he murmured, continuing to thrust between your thighs.

“Please,” you begged him.

“Alright, baby,” he said and rolled you onto your back.

It was the first time he’d used the endearment, sending a wave of warmth through you as your legs parted. Reaching lower, Jimin positioned himself at your entrance. It took him a moment to work his way in; you were so wet, he needed a second try. With only his tip inside, you immediately clenched and buried your head in his shoulder.

Lightly, Jimin brushed a kiss to your hair. “Relax, baby,” he murmured, making you glance up. “I’ll make you feel good. I promise.”

Slowly, you nodded. “Okay.”

Laying slowly back down, you tried to relax while he worked his way deeper. With slow, shallow thrusts, Jimin finally bottomed out and you stared at him in amazement. His cock was thicker than you were used to and stuffed to the brim like this, you felt so full. Glancing down, you saw his hips nestled snugly to yours.

When you looked up, Jimin met your gaze. “I’m sorry,” he exhaled, hanging his head. “I just – I need a minute.”

“What’s wrong?” you blurted, immediately worried.

A smile passed over his lips. “Nothing’s wrong.” He looked up. “You’re just… fuck. I feel like a damn virgin. You’re so tight and wet, I’m losing my mind.”

Hearing him say this sent a shiver through you. Shifting your hips, you reveled in the sensation of him moving inside you.

Jimin groaned. “No,” he protested. “You can’t do that right now.”

“Do what?”

“Try and make me move,” he murmured. “I know you can’t see yourself, so you can’t see how hot you look. Tits out, pussy spread and dripping all over my cock.”

“Oh,” you breathed.

“Sounding like that.”

“Jimin. If you don’t –”

He suddenly thrust deeper, grinding his pelvis against your core and making you groan. Speechless, you stared as he slowly pulled out. Jimin teased you with his tip, moving a few inches back in before he thrust again.

“Oh,” you groaned, jolted upwards on the bed.

His gaze dropped to your chest. “Fuck,” Jimin said quietly, dropping down to an elbow.

He moved again in earnest, thrusting slowly in and pulling back out. It made your breath catch, needing more but loving the torture. It was torture to feel every inch of him and have Jimin continue to hold back. You knew he could go faster, deeper, but wanted to stay in control.

Dropping his head, Jimin slowly kissed your neck. His cock continued to move, fucking you slowly as your legs opened wider.

“Jimin,” you whimpered.

Your hips chased after his, hoping to coerce him deeper.

He smirked. “Yes, baby?”

“Please,” you said, arching against him. “I want more.”

“You want it harder?”

As he said this, Jimin increased his strength. Keeping the tempo the same, each thrust of his cock had your lips parting with pleasure.

“Yes,” you whimpered, barely hanging on.

“And faster? You want that, too?”

You nodded, slack-jawed as Jimin sped up the pace. His cock began to pound into you, hand fisting in sheets as he gave it to you hard. Arching underneath him, your hands dragged down his back as Jimin fully let go. With each thrust of his hips, his pelvis brushed your clit and yet, it still wasn’t enough.

“More?” he teased, continuing to fuck you.

“More,” you whimpered, sliding your hands up your breasts. Tweaking the nipples, you watched his gaze harden. “I want more, Jimin.”

He immediately moved, as though he’d been waiting for this. Grasping your ankles in one hand, he lifted them high overhead and pulled his cock out. You gasped when he did so, your hands falling to the side while you were put on display. The position pushed your pussy lips together, giving an incredible view of your dripping cunt.

Jimin plunged his cock back inside, nearly making you scream. It felt so deep this way – so deep and hard and deliciously wanton. Jimin fucked you from above, hips slamming into you and making your breasts bounce.

Jimin groaned, his hips never faltering. “Touch them,” he said, lowering your ankles to one shoulder. “Touch your tits for me, baby.”

You obeyed, hands sliding over your breasts to tease your nipples. This sent a shock of pleasure straight to your core and Jimin hammered your g-spot, making you see stars. Jaw slack, you could only lie there and take it while he made you come.

It was too much, the wave of pleasure threatening to overwhelm, but then Jimin leaned forward and you finally snapped. You felt him release into the condom as you fell apart, rope after rope of hot cum inside you.

Eventually, Jimin softened and fell onto his elbow. As he opened his eyes, he sought your gaze and you smiled. His cheeks were flushed, his hair dark and sweaty and you couldn’t help the deep surge of affection within you.

“I don’t know about you,” he murmured. “But that was pretty fucking incredible.”

“Same here,” you whispered. “I’d like to do it again sometime.”

“Three orgasms weren’t enough?”

“Were they enough for you?”

“No.” Jimin laughed. “I could watch you come all night. But we should probably get you cleaned up and all that.”

“Probably,” you agreed, although you made no effort to move.

Eventually Jimin sighed and gently pulled out. Tossing his condom in the trash, he showed you to the bathroom and let you do what you needed to do. When you returned, Jimin was on top of his bed. He’d put back on his boxers and held out his sweatshirt.

“I thought you might want this,” he said, uncertain.

Smiling, you took it and lowered it over your head. Climbing beside him on the bed, you rested your head on his shoulder and cuddled beside him. Listening to his breathing, you concentrated until yours started to match.

Outside, cheers erupted from the street. Scrambling upwards, you fought to look out Jimin’s side window. As you hurried to see what the commotion was about, Jimin groaned when you flashed him your bare ass, but followed suit.

Glancing outside, you realized it must have turned midnight. Fireworks went off over the skyline, people cheered below, and someone had lit a sparkler on the street. Voices drifted higher, wishing each other a happy new year as slowly, you turned around to face Jimin.

He smiled at you, his happiness clear when he pulled you to him. A dizzying rush of what-if’s and excitement went through you and somehow, you knew this would be only the beginning.

“Happy new year,” he murmured.

“Happy new year,” you whispered, tilting your face up to his.

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading this series 😊 It’s been a whirlwind, so thank you for sticking with our main characters throughout the journey! I hope you enjoyed and are having a wonderful holiday season :) happy (almost) new year!

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST

#btsbookclub #bangtanarmynet #bts smut #jimin smut #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #bts series #bts writing #jimin series #jimin writing #bts dance au #jimin dance au

2K notes · View notes

klaus-is-the-real-number-1 · 4 years

Text

The day we caught the train (Slytherin!Five x Hufflepuff!Reader)

missvifdor said: It would be for Five Slytherins with a Hufflepuff reader 🤗 they are very opposite in personality but they complement each other. I love Harry Potter and the umbrella academy, so i'm glad you write about both 😄 thank you,

A/N: this was like kinda vauge so i made up like a story line i guess?? Its kinda a mess and really long?? hope this is ok!! I really like these because i used to be obsessed with HP, in this i imagine Five would be from the really posh part of london where, the reader being opposites to him would be from a northern town and theyre both in sixth year which is age 16-17, i had to do so much research for this lol

Words: 2711

Footsteps echoed through the long empty halls as curfew rolled around, the sounds of students rushing to get back to their dormitories after a long night of studying and hushed whispering of passwords was not an unfamiliar sound at this time of night. Pictures were left empty as their residents wandered away out of frame and the castle slowly went to sleep, except for the prefects. As the sun went down, the prefects got up to do nightly patrols to make sure no students were up past curfew, each house prefect patrolled their own areas around their relative commonrooms to catch any wrong doers, not that they were many.

Tonight was your turn, patrolling the basement level and the kitchen corridor around the Hufflepuff dorm room, waiting for anything exciting to happen yet you knew it never would. Hufflepuffs always had a strong moral code and a clear right from wrong, every single patrol you carried out during Fifth year when you were appointed prefect you never caught a single person, now part way into sixth year still not once incident had occurred.

Yet, for some reason, every patrol you had ended up with a certain Slytherin prefect following you around, Five. Five was unusual to say the least, he was a well respected and slightly feared student, cunning and determined, he had a close knit clique of fellow pure blood slytherins, yet for some reason out of everyone in the whole of the castle, he had a soft spot for you. Even though he’d never show it in front of others, during the light of the day he’d sneak in side glances and small smiles, especially in the first few years making sure no comments came your way about your muggle parents or your upbringing.

Exactly on queue, a familiar sound of footsteps echoed down the staircase leading to you corridor only to stop short at the last step. A small ‘lumos’ echoed throughout the quiet hallway before Fives head pops into view, checking it was actually you there before a large smile breaking on his face as he walked into view. “Hey.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?” You smile to him as he got closer, crossing your arms over your chest.

“They know it’s me on, no one would dare try anything.” He smirks knowing he was right, striking fear into everybody, except you. His eyes soften and his tone became gentle when he was speaking with you. He’d always been like that, from your first journey on the Hogwarts express, talking the entire train journey up, secret library meeting when you both realised things weren’t as simple as just being friends. Things got difficult when blood ‘purity’ came into play, when suddenly you couldn’t be friends, which hurt.

The dimly lit hallways excentrated his features, his sharp jaw and high cheekbones cast shadows on his face and neck, yet his dimples still shone through when he smiles and breaks up the harsh exterior that he puts on. Stepping closer, you lifted your hand to run it through his hair, watching his face break out into a smile and wrap his hand around your waist. Small displays of affection weren’t uncommon between the two of you, only increasing through the years of being at Hogwarts. “I’m so glad you stopped gelling your hair back.”

“Don’t remind me.” He rolled his eyes, remembering his poor style choices of his past. You move your hand and run it down the side of his face and across his jaw, taking a second to admire him before dropping your hand.

“I’ve gotta go, my shifts nearly over.” A sad looking smile broke over his face as he slowly lowered his hand from your waist. “I’ll see you tomorrow though.” You say as you lock eyes with him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He repeated back to you. He smiled and started walking towards the stairs, just before his foot touched the first step he turned back to you. “Goodnight, y/n.”

Dueling was always one of the most exciting parts of Hogwarts, it was a welcome break from the immense workload that sixth years had to deal with. In sixth year you were expected to be able to cast non-verbal spells, a mentally challenging task where some were better than others. Over the past month your defence class had been working tirelessly on being able to cast successful non-verbal spells with the promise of having a period where you would be duelling, which was exciting for everyone involved, a chance to show your abilities and represent your house.

“I’m going to be pairing you up today,” Your teacher spoke to you all as he was stood on the dueling table, met with a grumble from the students. “With student of the same ability.” He continued, seemingly unaffected by the disappointed sounds of the sixth years. “When I call you out, both of you will come to the stage.”

Cheers and boo’s echoes throughout the room as students from different houses duled, light flying from wands as students desperately tried to conjure spells without speaking, some pulling through well where others barely being able to produce anything at all. Tension rose throughout the room as more people slowly got paired off, everyone wondering who would be the next pair.

“Y/n and Five.”

Smiling, you walk up to the stage and face Five, seeing a small smile emerge from his stern expression. Wands at the ready, you wait for the call to start from the teacher, already knowing your strategy. The air turned heavy and the room turned quite as everyone was ready to watch the duel, you were both the highest achieving students in the class and people were eager to see who would be the best.

Then it started, Five casting the first spell only to have you deflect it, causing a gasp to echo through the room. You knew it would be a risky move to cast a spell that hadn’t been taught, a spell that wasn’t even in the curriculum. It was the only way you had ever found deflecting a spell without having the spell hit your opponent, Five was stunned for a second before hitting back with another spell, only for you to deflect it again and again and again. Waiting for a hesitation from Five to strike and then you got it, a gap in his relentless spell casting when he took a second too long to think about his next spell.

Before he could blink, he was thrown to the floor with his wand flying out of his hand as you hit him with expelliarmus. Cheers erupted from students interspersed with nasty comments from the Slytherin students, you walk over to Five who was winded from his fall on the floor. Offering your hand he goes to take it before hesitating, under the watchful eyes of his Slytherin clique he lowered his hand and picked himself up, brushing down his robes.

“Right!” Your teacher stood up on the stage with you and Five. “Class is dismissed, remember to keep practicing these non-verbal spells.” Your eyes never left Five as your teacher spoke, you felt a stinging sensation wash over your eyes accompanied by a throbbing in your chest at his actions. You shook your head and turned away, unable to keep looking at him without bursting into tears.

“I need you to stay behind.” He turned to you, giving you a stern look only to soften when he saw you in near tears. Slowly, everyone left the room, either going to the library or commonrooms to await their next lesson due to the early finish. Closing your eyes, you gently tapping the lids with your fingertips to try and ease the stinging feeling, you take a deep breath before re-opening your eyes.

“Am I in trouble?” You say as you sit on the side of the duelling stage, legs swinging as you play with your hands.

“Not exactly,” He sighs, sitting in a chair facing you. “Where did you learn that?”

So you start to explain, lying as you went, as you explained you started to immediately regret even casting the spell in the first place. In fourth year you were spending a late night in the library, trying to find any books to help you excel in your classes, you had piles of books in front of you and then one book you opened had sheets of parchment paper interspersed with the other pages filled with spells that weren’t on the curriculum. It was filled with defence spells, jinxes, curses and more, it had been your guide ever since you found it. This, however, was not what you explained to him, simply saying you were doing some reading and found it and were unable to find the book again.

You could tell he didn’t believe you, but sensed that he wouldn’t delve too far into your story. “You can’t pull anything like that again,” He looked at you for a response so you just nodded. “I won’t go any further with this, you can go.”

The rest of the day went slowly, doing everything in your might to avoid Five, you had been patient with him all these years and him not even wanting to let you pull him up because of his little gang looking at him hurt, it stung. You know he’s loyal to his house but after 6 years of always hiding and sneaking around you just couldn’t bare it anymore, couldn’t bare the fact that Five had let this wizarding class war consume him.

Post day was always fun, hundreds of owls flying into the great hall and dropping off post from friends and family at home, some received letters while others got large packages sent in. Bruce was your barn owl, he was large, brown and robust, he would usually reside on your parents farm, being well loved and looked after by your whole family whilst you were away but always knew when you needed him in the castle.

In he came, swooping down with a letter tied to him and landing elegantly in front of you. Petting him with one hand while the other unties the letter, excited chatter filled the room as most other people were doing the exact same thing, wondering what their loved ones had sent them. Carefully opening the letter, trying not to tear the envelope, your eyes scan over the hand-written letter, smiling at all the information that was written in great detail.

At the very bottom they’d attached a photograph of them all together smiling, along with your dog and a few other animals they all looked after. As you were smiling and showing your friends you felt it get pulled out of your hand; turning around, you were met with one of Fives Slytherin friends waving your photo around, calling on his friends.

“Ere’ give it back.” Getting up, you try and swipe it from his hands only for him to hold it higher, scrunching it as he did.

“What are you going to do about it, mudblood-” Before he could finish his sentence the photo was snatched out of his hand by Five, lightly tapping it with his wand and the photo returned to pristine condition before handing it back to you with a small smile.

“Behave.” Five said to him, pulling him away from your table and back to theirs. A smile snuck onto your face as you sat back down, Five had never done anything like that outside the darkness of the library or the nightly patrols, let alone in front of his friends.

Then, very slowly, he started to actively integrate himself into your life, talking to you in class, helping each other with homework after classes and even sitting with you at lunch on a regular basis. Building up your trust for him again, building up your friendship publically even with all the snide comments other people gave him, he ignored them all for you.

As winter rolled round, snow dusted the castle and surrounding areas as if it was a cake getting doused in icing sugar about to be presented for a meal. Cold nipped at your noses as you made the trek into Hogsmeade, students rushing to buy last minute presents for loved ones before christmas break as well as a stream of students flocking to the Three Broomsticks to get their last sips of butterbeer before the train journey home.

The Three Broomsticks was so full that students were being turned away, it was bursting at the brim with some students even even sharing chairs. The atmosphere was buzzing with excited students, conversations so loud that you couldn’t even hear yourself think. Five and yourself had been lucky, opting to come to the pub first thing then doing your christmas shopping, finding a small booth hid in the corner.

“So are you excited to go home?” He was wrapped up in a hoodie and jacket, a discarded hat and scarf lying on the table, leaving him with flushed cheeks and tousled hair.

“I ain’t going home,” You say, taking a sip of butterbeer. “I never have, I’d have to get the muggle train back north, costs around 100 quid each way.” You tap your fingers against the half empty glass. “Canny afford it.”

“You’ve never gone home for christmas?” Sadness was present in his eyes as he locked them with yours but you just shrugged.

“It’s not that bad, it’s like, my sixth year staying so everyone is just used to me now, I get to phone home and they basically give me access to the kitchen and all the teachers who stay put on interest lessons and such.” A breeze caused you to shiver, wrapping you jacket tighter around you. “I also help with the animals.”

Upon seeing you shiver Five leant over the table to wrap his scarf around your neck before gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear; the small display of public affection causing you to blush. Once you’d finished your drinks you head into town, looking down the alleys for all the little shops you could find, looking for the perfect gifts for your family, asking a slightly unenthusiastic Five for a second opinion and just receiving a series of raised eyebrows or nods of his head.

Taking your time to walk back to the campus, Fives hand had found its way into yours, swinging your entwined fingers as you went. As the large castle came into view a bittersweet feeling washed over you, knowing that Five and everyone else would be leaving for the holidays tomorrow while you stayed at the castle. Even if the empty hallways felt like home there was always a pang in your chest on christmas morning, even if it did ease off during the day whilst sat round with friends and teachers, it still made your chest throb.

Joy was evident in the great hall, everyone talking loudly and laughing with their friends knowing they won’t be seen for the next two weeks, an exchange of gifts and cards being passed around. Slowly, everyone faded out to the dining hall, getting ready to get on the Hogwarts express home, you passed around hugs and goodbyes as your friends left the common room, all of them leaving cards and parcels by your bed and made you swear not to open them until christmas day.

All morning you were looking around for Five but were never able to see him and as everyone left for the station you were convinced he had gone. Defeated, you walk through the empty hallways to the great hall for the regular meeting where the staff discuss the rules with the rest of you who had stayed behind. You heard a voice call your name behind you, quickly turning around, you see him. “Five?”

“They needed a male prefect to stay on campus,” He says as he gets closer, grin covering his face. “So I volunteered.” Instead of answering you just throw yourself at him, embracing him in your arms. His arms instantly wrap around your figure, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Thank you, Five.”

#number 5 #number 5 x reader #number 5 fluff #number 5 imagine #number five #number five x reader #number five fluff #number five imagine #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves fluff

192 notes · View notes

magic-number-3 · 4 years

Text

okay so i actually did watch a few episodes of 911 this week without liveblogging them but i did take notes as if i was liveblogging and then just,,, didnt lmao so in case anyone cares about my thoughts im going to share them anyway asdlfkjsdl mostly i think they’ll just be fun to look at later

2x02

CHRISTOPHER CAN BE ON SCREEN FOR 2 SECONDS AND I LITERALLY LOVE HIM SO MUCH

Eddie Diaz is soooooo fuckin dreamy i stgggggg

“I cant order you guys to go inside that building and im not gonna judge you if you decide not to” “Hen, you got a kid, so...” “Yeah. And I’d hope if someone whose job it was to save him they’d do it. No matter what.” QUEEN SHIT 😤😤😤

Marvin you on thin ice but you right; you a king

IM GOOD COACH HEART OF A CHAMPION WHY AM I CRYING

HEART OF CHAMP I AM CRYING AND THEY ALL KEEP SAYING IT BACK TO HIM IM- IM FRAGILE RN. LITERALLY WHY DID EVERYTHING ABOUT HIS ARC MAKE ME SO EMO

NOT HENRIETTA. FUCK

2x03

MADDIE I BELIEVE IN YOU YOU GOT THIS QUEEN

“They could really use a miracle today” “I might just have a few of those left. I see them.” ALSKFKGKS crying why is the dialogue so good in this show???

FUCK. RUSS ITS YOUR DAY OFF

Russ gonna die im calling it. They saved the athlete and they’ll probably save the little girl?? So hes not gonna make it. At least hen is okay

“Even i couldnt save me. You dont know me, but im good.” “Oh yeah? Well maybe im better”

FUCK. I called it but it still hurts

CLOSE CALL WITH THAT ELEVATOR OMGGG

ALL OF THAT ENDING??? WE CAN BE HEROES SLAPS AND IK WE BEEN KNEW BUT ALDJFKFKSKJ everything about the end to that episode is so 👌👌👌 i wanna cry

EDDIE RUNNING TO HIS BOYYYYYYYY IM

ATHENA AND BOBBY HELL YEAHHHHH the husband is a straight g pullin thru for him like that

2x04

OMG CHRISTOPHER AND EDDIE IM 🥺🥺🥺

Also Christopher is such. Lil cutie

THEIR LITTLE FAMILY!! THE ABUELA?

“These fire guys are totally hot” LAKJDFKAL I MEAN YOURE RIGHT

AKJDKLASDJ YOU LIVE IN YOUR INVISIBLE GIRLFRIENDS HOUSE AND YOURE TELLING ME ABOUT WEAK EXCUSES. THAT SMUG LOOK ON EDDIES FACE IM ASLKFJSAL

Oh sheet Eddies abuela 😞

Every interaction between Eddie and Christopher got me like 🥺🥺🥺

Okay how are you not supposed to ship Buddie they’re talking about being single together and then his aunt telling buck about how ‘he’s a saint’ and all that??? THATS SUCH ROMANTIC INTEREST SHIT. WHEN DO YOU HAVE A FAMILY MEMBER GUSHING TO A MAIN CHARACTER AND THAT CHARACTER ISNT THE LOVE INTEREST????

HE BROUGHT CHRISTOPHER TO WORK AWWWWW!! THEYRE GOING ON A MISSION TOGETHER

Oooh I love this song STUCK IN THE MIDDLE WITH YOU

“Now I feel kind of lame” “BECAUSE YOU ARE” LMAO HEN

Ooooh yeah why do you call him chim???

BOBBY AND CHRISTOPHER. CHIM AND CHRISTOPHER. THIS IS SO CUTE

AWE EDDIE AND CAP

BOY CRUSH ON EDDIE ADLSJFLDKS

Awe good for Maddie omg 🥺🥺🥺

CHIMNEY IS A MODERN MEDICAL MIRACLE???? I mean good for him bro figured lol but for it to be said out loud shittttttt

AKSFJALSDK TATIANA SHES FUCKING MARRIED YOURE KIDDING ME HOW QUICKLY DID YOU GET MARRIED AFTER BREAKING UP WITH CHIM

alkjsdskla im losing it over Tatiana

Awww now this is sad :( chim’s got noboddddddy

Sdkljfas Buck you have GOT to move out of Abby’s place dude

‘I had a life-altering trauma and her life got altered. All I got was the trauma.’ THATS SUCH A GOOD LINE SPEAK YOUR TRUTH CHIM

YOURE MY FRIEND SHES YOUR EX. YOU GET TO FORGIVE AND MOVE ON I GET TO HOLD A GRUDGE UNTIL THE DAY I DIE ALSKFDSDA

Chim 🥺 awe. “Wakes me up in the middle of the night”. Buddy :( CAPS GOT YA

CARLAAAAAAAAAA HELL YEA

“BESIDES THAT PERFECT BONE STRUCTURE” SDKAFSJA

like. Fuck Tatiana. But also good for her. And Chim gets to start to move on!! That was a really sweet scene

Aw Bobby gets Athena ^-^

This was such a good fucking episode yo. Like the way the idea of being stuck had to do with the 911s lives while also all of the calls they went one were being physically stuck and the way the proposal instigated Chim’s breakdown to allow him to finally move on…. just. Excellent television!!!!

So proud of Maddie!!!! So proud of everybody this episode :)

Buck yeah you gotta move out buddy

2x05

ASKFJHASJLAD this has gotta be fake im sdlfkjsaldk

LMAOOOO THIS BITCH she’s gonna end up actually getting hurt

OMFGGGGGGGG this bitch had it coming

DONT WE KNOW YOUUUUUUUUU THE PORCH PIRATE?? ASLDKJFALKSS

What is this girls fucking problem with Maddie lmaaooooooo fuck off

Awe this lady with the muffin or whatever is so sweet. This places Celine dion 😂😂😂 queen

Lmao wait why is she actually horrible 😂😭😭

BUCKETTE LMAOOOOO

Omg Maddie and Athena are so fun

THEYRE PROTESTING HOMOSEXUALITY??? WHAT THE FUCK

HES A FUCKING RACIST TOO???

I CAN HELP YOU WITH THE SWEDISH HALF BUT I DONT KNOW WHICH HALF THAT IS SLKDFJASLK EDDIE

I love Maddie and Athena so much alsdkfj

WHATS HER FACE? EVA? STRAIGHT UP BITCH JFC

Gloria im sorry but you’re getting what you deserve.

LKAJSDALKS. “People who yell and scream and cry and expect you to do something for them” GIRL YOU ARE LITERALLY A 911 RESPONDER THAT IS YOUR GOT DAMN JOB???

“Do they ever think of anything but themselves and what they need?” THEY ARE USUALLY DYING GLORIA

“SNITCHES GET STITCHES” JEEZ WOMAN

I feel so bad for Hen and Karen :( Eva can fuck off dude. Can’t they get sharing rights with the dad? I mean yeah it sucks that Eva is just doing this to fuck em over but like.. the dad still deserves to get to know his son if he wants to. Though Eva would probably try to stay with him just to turn Denny against Hen and Karen… UGHHHHHH

Lil denny :( aw Hen. I love her sm

Hen what u doing girl…. Cant it make the case more difficult if you keep interacting with Eva?

I love Karen and Hen sm 🥺

WHAT YOU DOING HEN. ARE YOU JUST GONNA LEAVE HER???

YOURE FINGERPRINTS ARE ON HER NOW DUDE. GO BACK

Ugh I hate that she lived but it was the right thing to do….

“I save awful people every day its my job” Hell yeah girl

SHES GOING BACK TO JAIL HELL YEAH

Dont love cheering for her going back tho jail can be terrible…. But at least she’ll be out of Karen and hens lives. we’re not meant to think too deeply about this is.

LOVE MADDIE AND ATHENA

GLORIA IS THE FUCKING WORST

oh…. gloria… damn.

Cant you just share custody?? :( I mean it sucks but like… just talk to him.

“Yeah people can be awful… but not everyone is awful… but you’ll never know what kind of person someone is unless you give them the chance to show you” :(

WOW THE DAD IS THE FUCKING BEST?? HELL YEAH

ATHENA AND BOOBBY ARE SO FUCKING CUTE

Wow the last shot of the episode thats like the long shot at the dinner table with the narration was real fucking good :( im emo.

2x06

ADSLFJLK;ALSD. BUCK THOUGHT SHE WAS CALLING EDDIE CUTE BUT SHE MEANT CHIMNEY

listen. I do know what happens between those two and I am very excited.

Oh no maddies so anxiousssss

Buck fangirling over this reporter lady im asldkjflksad

“But the way they cared for me, thats what kept me alive” :( Hen :(

Omg are Athenas kids like the same age as Bobbys :(

SOMEONE SENT THEM EDIBLES????? OMFGGGGGG

OH NO CHIM IS THE ONLY ONE THATS SOBER

THIS WOMAN HAS A HIGH HEEL STICKING OUT OF HER FACE EWWWW ITS SO GROSS

DID THESE BEAUTY QUEENS SHRINK OR ARE WE SUDDENLY GIANTS ALKDSJFLKAKL

TEEN TINY THE WAY HIS VOICE FUCKING CRACKED

SDKFJSKDA THEYRE ALL FUCKING HIGH IM

HIGH BOBBY IS SO FUCKIN FUNNY

Oh no eddies upsetttttt 😂

This is fucking HILARIOUS

Oh no bobbyyyyyyyy :((((((

Awe the news piece was so nice

CHIMNEY AND MADDIEEEEEEE

Oh shes got a fucking POPCORN MAKER IM SO JEALOUS

Wow Taylor was really going to use the footage :/

“Just get a room already” BUCK NOOOO DUDE

The way bobby always fist bumps Athenas son whenever they say hello/goodbye. So fun 🥺good content right there

DONT TELL ME THEYRE GONNA ASK HIM TO BE IN THE PIC????

OMGGGGG BOBBYYYYYYY IM CRYINGGGGGG

AWE AND THE FUCKING SONG; WHEN YOU LOVE SOMEONE YOU MAKE ROOM YOU PROBABLY NEVER LOVED SOMEONE LIKE I DO

#LONG POST #LONG ASS POST #lol #ellie liveblogs #911 #my posts

16 notes · View notes

coralstudiies · 4 years

Note

omg my revision is gg terribly and i’m so far behind :-( do you have any tips to keep me going/ how to plan an effective revision schedule?

alright dearie dont be worried :(( its not too late yet ok! always keep going even when it feels like the odds are against you :)

ok so trust me you have to dedicate one day for this: what you need to do now is to make a google/excel sheet or just write down all the chapters for all your subjects. if you havent summarised each chapter for yourself on a review sheet (you can check out how tbhstudying on youtube does hers or you can follow mine but mine's not as condensed LOL) you should spend 1.5-2hrs doing so because it helps a lot in your revision. instead of mugging a lecture book or textbook witth of content, you have one piece of paper per chapter!

next, file and organise all your worksheets/papers into binders neatly. go by chapter and if you're missing anything important, ask a friend for theirs to photocopy or just take a photo. you can actually leave this for the weekend if you dont have the time on school days.

afterwards, use google sheets to create a schedule for yourself. basically what you do is: select templates for google sheets and select the schedule option. just make a note when your school day ends and when you'll reach home. from then on, block out time for you to eat, shower, leisure (keep it short tho, 30mins maybe) and try to sleep early(1130latest)

in between that, allocate some time for homework (1-1.5hours maybe?) And the rest of the time for revision.

so let's say i end at 4 on monday. i need an hour or less to get home so ill reach home at 5, have a snack and clean up till 5.30. i eat dinner at 7.30 so i'll finish my homework and practice my piano repertoire for that 2 hours. after dinner i have 1 hour more to practice/homework or sort out any important issues for school so that's 8:30! afterwards i'll have to go for a run and do some other exercise and shower so that means i'll usually be done by 10:30. then i have all the way to 12 to study/make notes. of course you can structure your day differently and it wouldn't be as packed as mine (literally my busiest day of the week) and my leisure time is spent either during study breaks or on the piano.

also, try to figure out what is your 'attention span' for studying. some people do best with 25 study-5 break, others with 45study - 15 break etc. so you have to time yourself and see how long you can last before you get distracted. i'd recommend you get a study timer app like tide (my fav! altho i havent used it in a while oops) to help you focus. lets say if you start off with 25-5, just allocate one 30 min block to that 'focus period'. usually i need at least 1-1.5hours to summarise a chapter but that might differ for you so adjust accordingly!

now, using the google sheet of chapters you created, start by inputting the chapters that you're least familiar with first so that you patch up your weaknesses. i'd recommend you review whatever you learnt frequently; read through the notes on the bus, or you can allocate 30 mins a day to recap concepts that you frequently forget later on. make sure you've covered every chapter for every subject (takes a bit of trial and error) but you have to do this!!!!

afterwards when you go on study break, you should more or less have finished every chapter and be 80% familiar with content. here it might be appropriate to start doing practice papers to fortify your understanding! time yourself and be honest to yourself when you mark your work. consolidate your errors on a postit at the front of the cover.

also some general tips: go for a walk/run frequently because i find that it helps with my focus! invest in some healthy study snacks and fruits to keep you awake while you study and drink lots of water to keep yourself healthy. lock your phone away in a drawer while you study (especially if you're trying to memorise content) and keep your day's plans on a post it that you can paste on the wall/elsewhere where you can see it frequently. also rmb to clarify doubts with your teachers and dont brush it off as something you'll understand later :))) Okai thats all sorry for the late reply but i didnt have time to finish typing this xD

#coralstudiies #asks

15 notes · View notes

drunklander · 5 years

Text

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 506

STAY AT HOOOOOOOME!!!!!

Ok, now that that’s out of the way... I kind of liked this episode. Which surprised me. Because usually I find myself neutral at best. But, considering how much I’ve hated disliked the last few seasons, I guess that feeling mostly neutral means this season has been better? The bar is low, y’all.

Could 1000% still use more Claire though. And more Jamie and Claire. And yes I know I’m saying that in the recap for an episode where the two of them bang.

I said what I said.

The title card’s powder blocker thingy looks like a plague doctor mask. We should bring those back. I found a box that had a bunch of them in it in the closet at my office once. That was weird. Also, stay the fuck at home and 6′ away from people if you have to go out on a supply run or take a walk.

Ooo, a flashback! I miss Scotland.

“Whom do I address, sir?” “I am Samuel Torrington,” said the guy who is most def *not* Samuel Torrington.

I know I shouldn’t laugh because of what’s about to happen, but looool at the girl for stepping in the literal one spot of mud.

Well that was dumb. Why the fuck would you run in between your dad and the guy he’s clearly gonna shoot?

I mean, it’s super sad, I guess. But also hella dumb.

Ah, a lavender pillow. Yes, I know it’s from the book. But between this and the BJR stuff, it’s like, do they know other smells exist?

But yeah, guess I shouldn’t talk since I have lavender hand soap, lavender lotion, lavender tea and a lavender candle.

It’s the best smell.

Ok, I get why Murcasta can’t be endgame. That was a good decision. But including Innes BeCaUsE tHe BoOk is dumb af. They got to the right decision to break up Murcasta, but for the wrong fucking reason.

Like, seriously though, can we please take a moment to appreciate how dumb this is? Like, book!Innes is from Ardsmuir. He’s been part of the squad. He’s basically one of Jamie’s most trusted friends. And he marries Jocasta. Show!Innes is literally some dude we’ve never heard of until last week because the fucking writers were like oh, Jocasta has to marry someone named Duncan Innes. Guess we should make that happen, out of the blue, for no other reason. Lazy idiots...

Jocasta has better handwriting than I do and I can fucking see what I’m doing.

Also lol at her straight up ignoring Roger saying that Jemmy won’t take her money.

Cut to Jemmy crying about the fact that he is now a participant in chattel slavery. I feel you, Jem.

Oh, it’s a cold? Ok fine, but also the whole chattel slavery thing.

ADSOOOOO! Such a good lil floofer! Look how nice he is, bringing them that excellent bug! WHO’S A GOOD KITTY? YOUUU ARE!

I really like Claire’s necklace. Also Claire’s neck. Also Claire’s collarbones. Also Claire. Can we have more Claire please? And less manpain in general?

D’awww, Lord John Grey the awkward gay. GIVE HIM AN APPROPRIATE BOYFRIEND ALREADY, YOU COWARDS.

Tryon is such a fucking douche. So is Quincy Arbuckle.

Well, it might not prevent tumultuous and riotous assembly, but not hanging out in groups larger than 10 sounds like a greAT FUCKING IDEA RIGHT NOW.

STAY AT HOOOOOOOOOOOOME. (If you are able to, and if you have to go to work, WASH YOUR HAAAAAAAAAAAANDS.)

Fergus, Marsali and Bree standing around this room being disappointed with Roger is A Mood™.

Team Give Fergus and Marsali More to Do

Oh, you’ve never been comfortable in your big fancy mansion? Poor you. *plays the world’s smallest violin*

News spreads slowly in/from the backcountry except, apparently, Claire’s medical advice.

Claire Fraser said reproductive rights!!! *ups monthly donation to Planned Parenthood*

The casting for Wylie is fucking perfect. Like kudos to the casting folks again.

I cared more about the Regulator shit in the show than the book because Murtz, but all the “Oh it’s happening! JK, it’s not! JK, it is!” that they took from the book is making me care less about it. Just happen already or fuck off.

Yes, I know it’s gonna happen next week.

Roger shoveling shit makes me happy. Because it’s gross and I do not like Roger.

“You keep shoveling your shit.” -- The Fandom Bree

Wylie should be a caricature with how fucking terrible he is, but let’s be real. We've all run into a guy like that.

Oh, Claire’s rings.

I did some mental gymnastics years ago to try to wrap my brain around why Claire would still wear an emotionally abusive piece of shit’s Fred’s ring. And the fact that the books and the show are like nope, she just likes Fred, drives me up a fucking wall every time.

“He must have been quite the man to inspire such devotion after all these years.” “Nah, he was an asshole. A complete and utter piece of shit. And instead of going with that and all the complexities it brings, we continue to gaslight the audience that he was a Good Dude. Instead of using the ring as a symbol of something more than fucking Fred, we just keep on pretending he didn’t suck.”

I hate everyone involved with refusing to acknowledge how shitty Fred was.

There is literally only one smuggler in the Carolinas.

DO NOT GO WITH THE CREEPY MAN TO A SECOND LOCATION. CLAIRE, THIS IS BEING A WOMAN 101. NEVER GO WITH A CREEP TO A SECOND LOCATION.

“I get a biblical plague.” You get what you deserve, Rog.

Jamie, chill with the extra testosterone. Just punch the bro or something.

Also don’t fucking blame the victim, asshole.

Literalol at Bree showing the women her like stick and sheet fan thing and then cut to all the people with just little squares, barely doing anything.

“Don’t stop! Keep your fires going!” *everyone stops and just stares at the bugs*

Gonna go ahead and take this time to remind folks that’s it’s fucking gross to get married on a plantation. Don’t do that thing.

I know a guy who is like proud of the fact that he’s an asshole. He talks about it like it’s one of his defining traits. This scene with Wylie being like “buddy, I love my shitty reputation” reminds he of that guy. I cannot fucking stand that guy.

*ignores Claire’s feelings about Fred’s dumb ring and headcanons in my own reasons instead because I cannot even with this nonsense anymore*

Ah, the Lindsays like Roger now. I still do not like Roger.

I fucking love this whole Murcasta scene. Can we get one of these for Jamie and Claire? I miss them having big sweeping scenes that have time to breathe and unfold and all the good shit like Murcasta gets here.

The show keeps trying to deny it, but scenes like this are where it’s strongest. But it refuses to accept that this is its lane and keeps trying to go elsewhere.

I miss Jamie and Claire.

I miss the MacKenzies.

I wanna give Jocasta a hug. She’s still trash for enslaving people, though.

Maria Doyle Kennedy is a goddamn treasure. Seriously, her casting was the best choice the show made in years.

That and saving Murtz, of course.

So fucking glad they cut the creepy-ass foot thing.

Jamie, you’re drunk, but read the fucking room. Claire’s right. Just because she says shit from the future all the time doesn’t negate the fact that she’s right about you right now. Also, seriously? You’re taking *this* opportunity to call her out?

Buddy deserved that slap.

Look, I’m always down for the Frasers to fuck. More Fraser fucking, I say. But this is just another instance like their fight at Lallybroch where the fight itself is never actually resolved like it should be. They just fuck about it and magically everything is ok again. Le sigh.

Murcasta gets a big long scene with time to breathe and talk through everything and it’s riveting af. But Jamie and Claire never get that anymore and it pisses me off tbh.

Stop shoehorning in book lines! She can’t see shit through all the skirts and stuff!

I miss the Lallybroch ring. What did they ever end up doing with it? It’s floating around somewhere.

Bonnet is so evil to 11 about fucking everything that it makes him boring. We get it. You’re a bad guy. Do you also have a tiny dick or something that you’re overcompensating for?

Can we please wrap this Bonnet shit up this season? I swear if they drag it out as long as they do in the books I’m gonna be rull annoyed.

Ok so now the war is actually gonna for real happen and I’m like legit out of fucks to give about it because Murtz aside, they’ve done the “it’s coming, jk!” fake out too many times...

Can they try to hang Murtz instead? Because I swear spending half a season with emo!Roger is cruel and unusual punishment.

#*#outlander starz #outlander 5x06 #drunj!der yells about outlander

48 notes · View notes

theemptyquarto · 4 years

Text

Abandoned WIP

Warstan (but John got killed off before the story starts) and purely platonic Sherlock & Mary. Quite AU... John and Mary get together before Sherlock jumped off of Bart’s. Maybe a little bit of hinted unrequited Johnlock, I honestly can’t remember if I was going there with this fic. A “Mary is the new Watson” retelling of “The Adventure of the Empty House,” rated T. This was written before S3 happened and I fell in love with BBC Mary and she actually made me view BBC John as an interesting character in his own right and I rejiggered my alignments.

I’m going to rant here, just briefly, about how ACD’s Mary Morstan is probably one of the most wronged-by-their-author characters that I can think of, which is why I started writing this fic where she takes the lead.

She appears for the first time in the second-ever (authorially, not chronologically) Sherlock Holmes story, “The Sign of the Four,” and is delightful. Watson falls hard in love right away and acts like a huge dweeb about her, she’s courageous, clever, and kind. Maybe without all the panache of the later Irene Adler, but a more traditionally Victorian heroine for our more traditionally Victorian junior protagonist. Her next appearance, “The Adventure of the Crooked Man,” is significantly more tangential, but she sets the action of the story in play and is shown to be a helpful, kind figure.

And then all of a sudden Conan Doyle ships her off to visit her mother (she was established as an orphan), stops using her at all, and finally kills her off.

Not even on the page. Between books. And it’s mentioned so tangentially in two lines of “The Adventure of the Empty House” that you can easily miss it if you aren’t looking for it.

(Incidentally this sort of shit is why ACD fandom can’t agree on how many wives Watson had or who the subject of his “sad bereavement” is. The number ranges from 1-13.)

Why, Artie? Why did you do that? I mean I get if you want to park Watson back at Baker Street you probably do have to off her but you were a fairly good hack and doing it this way made you give up the opportunity to have some sort of emotional payoff in your stories. Especially since you later introduce another wife character who is in no way distinct from Mary (a niche component of ACD fandom thinks that Mary didn’t die at all and Watson “abandoning (Holmes) for a wife,” was him and Mary reconciling after an estrangement.)

Anyway. Don’t create cool characters and then kill them for no good reason. That’s my point.

_____________

The Empty Flat (Mary)

I had been widowed for three months and was rather surprised at how badly I was doing with it. The snug three-bedroom garden flat in Maida Vale had been the perfect size for a not-quite-young couple planning on children. Now it seemed vast and empty and utterly, utterly silent. When I slept, which wasn’t all that much, I did it on the sofa. Our bed still smelled faintly of his aftershave, and I couldn’t stand either to sleep there or to wash the sheets. Arthur, the blue point Siamese cat who I had bought into the marriage, would curl up on my feet and awaken me with his yowls in the morning.

To some extent I had been able to occupy my mind with work, and the requirements of my job had kept me more or less a functional adult. But the summer holidays had begun a week previous, and I was thus thrown entirely on my own resources, which were scant. What family I had left were all back in America, and the friends I had made in England seemed to have melted away since John’s death. Some days, I thought that this was due to the universal impulse to avoid reminders of mortality. Other days I decided it was more likely due to the fact that I deleted their emails and declined to answer their phone calls.

The truth, as always, was probably somewhere in the middle.

Whatever the cause, my life was empty. I ate when I remembered that I was meant to. I wore pajamas all day. I left the flat when I ran out of cat food, and at night I would turn on the tv and stare at it without paying attention until I finally sank into oblivion.

Presumably it was on one of those descents into the maelstrom of crap British late-night TV that I first took note of the murder of Ronald Adair. The dead man was vaguely familiar to me, though I had never watched any of his shows personally. He was a scion of one of those impoverished but very old-and-noble families that the English keep on out of sentiment. Showing unusual initiative for one of his class, he’d made a success of himself by appearing on a famous reality show, then on the “celebrity” version of that show, and parlaying that into one of those mysterious but apparently quite lucrative careers that consist mostly of having your picture taken.

And now, he was dead, shot in the back of the head in his own bedroom on Park Lane.

The story struck me, for some reason. John, when he’d been alive, used to take four daily papers and half a dozen weeklies, and I had not cancelled them yet. I plucked a week’s worth out of the recycling where I had tossed them, unread, and scanned through them for articles about the murder.

Ronald Adair had been alone in his bedroom, drinking neat whiskey and updating twitter, when he died. His last tweet (@JustLukeyA, “LOL C U @ Ibiza”) had been sent at 10:11 in the evening. His personal assistant had heard the sound of breaking glass, broken down the locked door that led into the bedroom, seen his body, and dialed 999 by 10:17. The bullet had been a large caliber hollow point round that had done severe damage to the back of his skull, and he had most likely died almost instantly.

The entire affair was mysterious. While the police hadn’t released any real statements, the personal assistant had been the only other person in the house at the time of the shooting, and had been released after questioning. This would suggest the shot had been fired from outside, but the window in Adair’s bedroom, while open, was on the fourth floor. There was no evidence to suggest anyone had climbed to the window, meaning that the shot had come from somewhere outside.

This made no sense at all to the gossip rags. The window faced directly over Hyde Park, and any level shot would have had to come from over a mile away. And shooting from ground level would have been impossible: the Park was open, reasonably crowded given the warmth of the summer evening, and no one had heard a thing. The American embassy was less than two hundred yards away, and even its overblown security hadn’t noted any unusual activity. Essentially, it was impossible that he could have been shot, and yet there he was.

As I read through the papers, I thought how John would have gone through them at the breakfast table to try and figure out what had happened. Although his professional interest in solving mysteries had died with Sherlock, he never lost his fascination with the more arcane sorts of crime. He would have loved this one, and I could imagine the crinkles that would form around his eyes as he would describe the possible motives, mechanisms, and solutions. It was a Sunday, and I suspected that he would have wheedled me into taking our normal long walk in the direction of the crime scene. I’d have teased him, said he was morbid, but I’d have gone, and he’d have hypothesized happily for a while.

I could so clearly imagine it, and it made me smile, despite myself. It had been difficult to like Sherlock Holmes, and very difficult to deal with the fact that their association put John into danger on a regular basis. Yet, now that they were both gone, I found myself forgiving every thoughtless insult and sleepless lonely night the detective ever gave me, since he had made John so happy.

Wishing to hang on to my happy memory, I decided, abruptly, to take the walk over to Park Lane myself, just as John and I would have done. It was past time I actually started doing things again. I would go and see where Ronald Adair had died, and I would try and solve the mystery, and I would remember John. Quickly, before I could change my mind, I showered, dressed, and left the flat.

July, in London, is one of the few times of the year when it approaches being warm enough, and it was a beautiful day. I took the long route around Kensington Park, since a straight shot would have taken me directly past St. Mary’s Hospital, where John had worked - and where his body had been taken. The trees were brilliant green, and it seemed everyone in London was sunbathing or playing football or falling in love around me.

Ronald Adair’s flat was adjacent to the Mariott, in one of the converted brick Georgian edifices that infest all of Park Lane. I had forgotten to take note of the number, but it was easily identifiable by the flowers and stuffed animals heaped up on the low fence that surrounded it. There were a fair number of gawkers, and by asking, I found which window Adair had been shot through. I was stumped, for the moment, but thinking logically, decided the best route was to see from where I could have made the shot. The busy street and the shrubbery borders of the park being ruled out, necessarily, I confined my attention to the sidewalks. I took pictures on my phone, and paced around, and tried to work out the trigonometry involved.

Then I stopped. There were half a dozen locations from which the shot could have come. It would be the hell of a task: the window was small and high, but if it were dark out and the shooter were aiming into a lit room, it would be possible. I had hunted a lot as a kid, and might have been able to make it with a rifle. John, who had been an excellent marksman, might have been able to do it with a handgun. But to do it quickly enough to avoid notice in a busy neighborhood, to do it silently? That was impossible.

All facts that were undoubtedly obvious to the police. If John had been with me, it would have been a fun little mathematical exercise. We’d have followed it with a walk home, dinner at the pub on the end of our street, and making tipsy love in the light of a summer sunset in our flat. But he wasn’t with me, and he never would be again, and the day would end as all days did, alone with the cat and the television and the dark. The whole thing was a pointless, futile exercise - a little girl’s attempt to play make-believe.

I knew, suddenly, that I was going to cry. It happened a lot, and it wasn’t an experience I wanted to share with all London, so I spun around to depart and slammed full-force into a souvenir hawker who had been just behind me. Grace has always eluded me. The pole she carried, hung with ballcaps and other tat, fell to the ground, and she gave an indignant Cockney squawk of “Oi! Watch it!” I bent to retrieve her pole and handed it back to her, mumbling, “Sorry, sorry,” and fled outright into the park, keeping my eyes firmly on the ground.

Leaving the path, I hurried through the park, not really aware of where I was going as long as it was quieter and emptier. I reached a dim copse free of children, tourists, and lovers, where I sat down, and let the tears flow.

It’s easy to see why the ancient Egyptians thought that the heart, and not the brain, was the source of love. True sadness isn’t felt in the head, it’s felt in the chest, and I could feel every choked beat of my heart as I sobbed and gasped and tried to catch my breath for what seemed like ages. But from a pragmatic point of view, I’m sure I didn’t go for long. Crying is too tiring to keep up for much time. Of course, I had come out without any tissues, so I wiped my aching eyes and puffy face on the corner of my cardigan.

At that moment, the hawker walked into the copse.

“There you are!” she called out, “Wondered where you’d got to!”

I sighed. “Look,” I said, “I’m sorry about knocking into you. It was an accident. If I’ve damaged anything I will be happy to pay-“

“Na, na, love. Just a load of rubbish. Can’t hurt it if it isn’t worth anything to start with. But I saw your face and thought you might be in some trouble.” The woman was elderly, with a mop of dyed auburn hair and a thick Docklands accent which I would love to render in text, if it didn’t look so silly. But her blue eyes were kind, and she handed me a miniature water bottle marked with “Souvenir of Hyde Park.”

“I’m – fine. I just got a little upset. Thank you.” The water was lukewarm and tasted faintly of plasticizers, but it soothed my irritated throat.

The woman seemed to take this remark as an invitation, and placing her wares on the grass, sat next to me. I have lived in London since I was twenty-five years old and I could tell what was coming. There are two main personality types among the English: the type that is intensely uncomfortable with any sort of emotion, and the type that delights in every possible expression of sentiment and wishes to hear all about it. They’re like New Yorkers in that respect.

Apparently I had found one of the latter variant.

“You get to see a bit of everything, my line of work,” she said, digging a battered packet of Silk Cut out of her pocket, “Care for one?”

I had officially quit smoking years ago, when I finished my doctorate, and stopped even having the occasional one when I started dating John, since he loathed the things. Just at that moment, though, it sounded like heaven. “Yes, thank you.”

She shook two out of the packet, and passed one to me before getting out a transparent plastic lighter. She lit hers, and then handed over the lighter. A brief breeze kicked up, and I bowed my head over the tiny flame, trying to make the cigarette catch, as she said, quietly, “Now, Mary, you need to remain calm.”

The cigarette caught, and I took that first delicious, poisonous drag, before the fact that this stranger knew my name really filtered into my mind.

I looked over, and where the woman had been, sat Sherlock Holmes.

The Sign of Four (Sherlock)

The art of disguise, as I have often remarked, is in context far more than it is in costume. Truly approximating the appearance of someone else is only possible from a distance: in ordinary situations major alterations to the face appear theatrical and attract more attention than not. If, instead, you select a character who would be entirely appropriate in the context in which he appears, you need make only minor changes to your own appearance. The observer’s mind will then do ninety per cent of your work and you will be de facto invisible. I intend to write a monograph on the topic when I have the time.

Mary Morstan may have had some subconscious understanding of this. On the occasion of our first meeting, I observed that she was wearing a carefully calibrated disguise, although I doubt she would have referred to it as such. Very high heels, but an intentionally prim and boxy suit, severe makeup and hairstyle, heavy-framed glasses. She introduced herself with a flat, middle-American accent, only slightly sharpened by years of living in London.

Just after she arrived, John walked into the flat, his arms filled with carrier bags of groceries, which he set down with great rapidity in order to shake her hand.

“Mary Morstan, my associate, John Watson. Miss Morstan,” I said, “Teaches maths at Westminster School.”

She stared at me when I said that. John, I noted, didn’t let go of her hand when her attention was distracted.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

I sighed, though in truth I always enjoy it when they ask for the reasoning.

“You’ve obviously come straight from work, meaning that you work Saturday mornings. Chalk dust on the right cuff, which is worn in a way that you only ever see with people who spend a great deal of time writing on blackboards. There are traces of red ink on the heel of your hand and a splotch near the tip of your index finger. Thus, teacher.”

As I’d expected, she dropped John’s hand to examine her own.

“You took the tube to get here, and in those shoes you probably didn’t walk far before you boarded at Westminster station: there’s construction digging up the street there and the fresh splashes of yellowish mud on your left stocking are quite distinctive. Half a dozen schools in that area, but your ensemble suggests older students and moneyed parents. Hence, Westminster School.”

The last was a gloss, as her ensemble suggested nothing of the sort. It said quite plainly “I teach older boys.” Her skirt was unfashionably long, her blouse was buttoned up to the neck, and her jacket was boxy in order to conceal her rather large breasts. Having attended an all-boys senior school, I recognized the style, and the motivation behind it. But since I was undoubtedly going to receive the ”abrasive” and “show-off” lectures after her departure, I saw no reason to add the “inappropriate” one, and simplified the matter.

“And… maths?”

I sighed again, this time sincerely. The easy ones are never any fun.

“There’s a graphics calculator in the right pocket of your overcoat.”

At that, she laughed. Giggled, really. But almost instantly, she caught herself, cleared her throat, and dropped back into the lower vocal register that she had previously affected. Everything I could ever have wished to know about Mary Morstan’s character was thus revealed in the first five minutes of our interview. Nature had given her a respectable brain and deposited it in a body that was small, blonde, and rather fluffy. Her disguise did a reasonable job of concealing this, but she would spend the rest of her life trying to make people take her seriously.

“That’s amazing,” she said, “I read in your blog, Doctor Watson-“

“John, please,” he interrupted. Oh dear.

“John. I read about this kind of analysis but it’s remarkable to see it in real life.”

“Can be a bit creepy if you’re not used to it, though,” John replied, which I thought extremely unfair, given that I had been very polite and not mentioned that her teeth demonstrated her adolescent bulimia or that her fingers and eyebrows strongly implied a mild obsessive-compulsive condition. I maintained my dignity, and said only,

“Thank you, John. State your case, Miss Morstan.”

“Right. Well. I suppose I have to go back to the beginning. My father, Thomas Morstan, was English. I was actually born in Sussex, but when I was two my parents divorced and my mother and I moved back to America. I never got to see him much, growing up, but he always kept in touch, by phone and letters, and then by email when that came around. Sent birthday gifts and that sort of thing. Ten years ago I finished grad school, and he offered to buy me a ticket to come and meet him in London. I hadn’t seen him for several years at that point and I didn’t have a job so, obviously, I said yes.”

“Mmm. Continue.”

“He’d booked us rooms at the Langham, which I thought was much too expensive for him, but he said it was a treat for my graduation.”

“What was his profession, then?”

“He started off in the Army, but he resigned his commission after the first Gulf War and joined the diplomatic service.”

“As?”

“An attaché. Just an office job, basically. Visas and helping distressed tourists and so on.”

“And his rank in the army?”

“Ah, he ended as a Lieutenant Colonel, I believe.

“Go on.”

“I flew to London, expecting him to pick me up at Heathrow, but he wasn’t there. No answer when I tried to call him. I took a cab to the Langham and asked if he’d checked in, and he had, but there was no answer when they called up to his room. Eventually they agreed to open the door – he’d had a heart attack a few years before, and I was getting very upset - and all of his things were in there, but no sign of him. I never saw him again.”

“Interesting. Did the police investigate?” John was patting her shoulder, sympathetically, which seemed excessive given that the death (and yes, it was death, almost certainly) was ten years in the past. She should have been well beyond it by this point. But upon closer observation, I could see that he was right: a slight swimminess around the eyes and the set of the jawbone indicating gritted teeth. Oedipal complex. She replied, calmly enough.

“Yes. They didn’t find anything.”

“Of course they didn’t. They never do. Did your father have any acquaintances in London?”

“Only one that they could find: a Major Sholto. He had no idea Dad was even in town.”

“Mmm. I doubt a disappearance ten years ago would incline you to seek the services of a consulting detective today. What has changed?”

Morstan cleared her throat and opened the battered leather attache case that had been sitting at her feet. From a manila folder, she removed a broadsheet page of yellowing newsprint, with a quarter-page sized advertisement in the upper right hand corner circled in red ink. The paper was the Omaha World-Herald, the date was May 4, 2004, and the advertisement simply stated:

“If Mary Morstan, daughter of Captain Thomas Morstan, will contact the address below, it will be to her advantage” followed by an email address.

“Half a dozen of my friends from high school saw this and forwarded it on to me.”

“And what did you do?”

“I sent them an email. I said I was Thomas Morstan’s daughter, that I’d relocated to London, and asked what they wanted.”

“Any reply?”

“No. And when I sent on a follow-up a few days later, it bounced. It was just Hotmail… could have been anyone. But then a few days after that, I received this in the mail.”

Reaching back into the attaché case, she pulled out a small pouch made of black jeweler’s felt. Loosening the drawstring, she tipped something small and square into her palm, and passed it over to me.

I could hear John inhale sharply through is teeth as I reached for my lens. Mary said, wryly, “Yes, that’s pretty much how I felt. It’s a three carat, blue-white, flawless diamond. Probably dug up in India, if that’s any help. It’s worth around $150,000, retail.”

“Unusual cut,” I murmured, looking at the magnified lump of crystallized charcoal, “It’s called the-“

“The old mine cut,” interrupted Mary, “Meaning it was most likely faceted sometime between 1700 and 1900. I know. After the police gave it back to me, I had it appraised at Sotheby’s.”

“You went to the police again?”

“I did.”

“Any good?”

“Not really. They hung onto it a while, but nobody reported any similar gems lost or stolen, and then they gave it back. Apparently it’s “not illegal to be given things.” So after that I was on my own. But I still didn’t feel right about it, so I had the appraisal to see if a real professional could find anything more useful.”

“Well done,” said John, heartily. He was in a fair way to make an idiot of himself over this woman, although she seemed flattered by the compliment.

“Thank you,” Mary replied, “And then, the thing is, Mr. Holmes, that it didn’t stop with this. Every year since then, on May 14, I get another one of these in my mail. I’ve changed addresses and it didn’t make a difference. Perfectly matched, very expensive diamonds. I left the rest of them in my safe deposit box: even carrying one of them around makes me edgy. And then, yesterday, there was this.”

She passed over a letter. Fine, high linen content paper, no watermark, 10-point… Trebuchet font, printed on an HP laserjet printer. It read, “Be at the third pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre on Saturday, July 9 at seven o'clock. If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged woman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you do, all will be in vain. Your unknown friend.”

There was no signature or address.

“Did you keep the envelope?”

“Yes, here. And here,” she said, passing over a small heap of padded mailers sealed into plastic zip-topped bags, “Are the envelopes the diamonds came in.”

“Well, you do have the right instincts. Not much to see here, though… the letter and the last three packages had their labels off the same printer. The first four were from another. It stretches credulity to think that there are separate groups doing this so we’ll assume for the moment it was simply a matter of replacing an outdated device. The mailers can be bought anywhere. Various London postmarks… thumbprint on this one, Miss Morstan, may I see your right hand please? Thank you. Your thumbprint. I’ll put them under the microscope later but I doubt there’ll be that much to learn.”

“And you’ve no idea at all who may have sent these? No… admirers, things like that?” John asked.

She laughed at that. “Generally, when men are interested in me they go more for things like asking me to dinner rather than anonymously sending me a million dollars in gems over the course of seven years. I’m not that unapproachable.” I rolled my eyes at their stale flirtation, although I don’t believe either of them noticed it.

“But…” she continued, more hesitantly, “Mr. Holmes, do you think that there’s any possibility that these are from my father?”

John was glaring at me, and so instead of saying “Of course not. He’s been dead for ten years,” replied “I’m afraid it’s very unlikely.”

“I see,” Mary replied, quietly. She drew a deep breath and continued, “Well, regardless, I had planned to go… unless you can give me a real reason not to. If whoever it is wants to hurt me it seems like they’ve chosen a really baroque way of going about it. I mean, they already know where I live so it’s not like there’s much point in avoiding them. And I’m getting sick of this mystery.”

“There are, however, a few points of interest in it. As you are allowed to bring two friends and John is already planning on accompanying you, I believe I shall join him.”

She darted her gaze back and forth between us, smiling, “Really? You will? Both of you? Oh, thank you, thank you so much! This whole saga has just been so shady and I didn’t know anyone who’d be any help with this kind of thing. It’s such a weight off my mind. Thank you.”

She was gushing, and her voice had inevitably pitched up again. I responded calmly with, “Yes, well. Can you be here by five thirty on Saturday? And leave us your contact information.”

“Of course!”

And, writing an email address and a phone number on a sheet of scrap paper, she disappeared in a whirl of gratitude.

John rose to escort her to the door. I remained seated, and began texting.

“That, he said, picking up his carrier bags and taking them into the kitchen, “Was a very attractive woman.”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

“Really. I knew you were a human adding machine but I never thought you were actually dead. Sherlock, it’s an objective fact! She’s got a beautiful smile.”

“Very short.”

“Oh, come on. She’s an inch or two shorter than I am.”

While this statement would not actually exclude “short” from consideration, I simply raised my eyebrows and replied, “Women have developed this remarkable technology called shoes which they use when they wish to increase their height, John. She’s no more than five feet tall.”

“Yes, well, shortness is not a handicap, Sherlock. And she’s clever.”

“She’s adequate.”

“And brave. She was going to walk by herself into a threatening situation just because she wanted to find out the truth.”

“So are you. So am I, for that matter. I fail to see why it’s so much more meritorious when it’s her doing it.”

“I’m a combat-trained military reservist, and you are England’s only consulting detective. It’s our job. She’s a very small maths teacher.”

I set down the mobile and glared at him, “Mary Morstan, John, is in no need of your protection. This affair of the diamonds is a mere personal intrigue. She’ll meet with the woman and resolve it without the benefit of your attention.”

He paused from putting the potatoes in the bin and inquired, “It’s a woman sending the diamonds? You’re sure?”

In general, I don’t admit which of my deductions I’m certain of and which are (very good) guesses. Maintaining a reputation as infallible isn’t a trivial exercise. But John had repeatedly earned the truth from me, and so I said, “No, I’m not. I’m reasonably confident, given the font choice, the computer used, and the wording, that it’s a woman, and a rather melodramatic one. But there’s more – uncertainty in these things than I would like.”

John chuckled. “I should take a picture of you right now and call it ‘Sherlock Holmes admitting he might be wrong’. They’d love to have it down at the Yard. So why take the case if you don’t think there’s any mystery?”

“Oh, there is one, just not the “why is someone sending me expensive gemstones” one she came in with. Can you log on to the GRO database and look something up for me? My email address and password will get you in.”

“Sure,” he said, walking back into the sitting room and picking up his laptop, “What?”

“Deaths. Start by looking for “Sholto” in late April, early May of 2005. If that doesn’t bring up anything, look for ex-military, older, in London, same time frame.”

“Right. What are you going to do?”

I held up my mobile. “I’ve done it. I’ve sent a text to brother Mycroft.”

“Why?”

“Watson, when a man leaves a high rank role in the army to become a low-end functionary in the diplomatic service, what does that suggest?”

“Er, PTSD?”

“No. It suggests spy. I want to find out exactly what Thomas Morstan did for a living.”

A week after that, Mary Morstan arrived punctually back at Baker Street. She’d replaced the dowdy suit with trousers and a blue blouse cut low in the front, left off her glasses, and undone her severe bun to let her hair hang over her shoulders. She had chosen flat shoes this time, which was a relief, as it showed the target of all this display was John rather than me.

Six hours after that, I saw that the display had been successful. I had to physically restrain John from going to her as she was handcuffed and loaded into a black maria for the murder of Barbara Sholto. As typical of Americans, she was explaining loudly and slowly to the arresting officer that there had been a terrible misunderstanding, clearly expecting this to rectify the situation.

“John, look,” I said, sotto voce, as I pinned him to the wall of the alley, “If you go over there you’ll only be arrested too. Athelney Jones has already picked up the entire domestic staff and Theresa Sholto and would be only too happy to increase his bag. The man’s an idiot, even by the standards of the metropolitan police. We’ll text Lestrade to let him know, and the worst she’ll have is a few uncomfortable hours, but we need to be on our way if we’re going to actually catch the killer which is the only thing that will do her any good.”

Even that early, I suspected that Mary would not be as swiftly forgotten as the rest of the girlfriends.

Three days later, Mary was a free woman again. The lost crown jewels of the Russian Tsars, of which she had been offered a one-third share, were scattered along six miles of the bottom of the Thames. She had accepted this development with equanimity. As she said to John, “Even if they hadn’t been lost, it’s not like I was expecting to keep them. I’m sure there’s still some Romanovs somewhere who’d like to have them back. The whole time Teresa was telling me the story of how she got them I kept thinking “Yeah, this kind of stuff doesn’t happen in real life.””

I heard, while they were falling in love, enough of “The Things Mary Says” to gag a cat. I heard about Mary’s feelings on politics, the arts, and current events. I heard about Mary’s emotional turmoil on the discovery that her father was an intelligence agent who had taken the pay of so many competing nations and organizations that even now nobody could say who he had really worked for. And that was apart from his being a jewel thief. I heard enough recitations of her personal charm, intelligence, and integrity to gag a dog.

Not being enamored of her, I was able to observe her far more clearly. I saw that she omitted to mention during the investigation that she was already in receipt of seven perfectly-matched flawless three carat blue-white diamonds, pulled from a coronet made for some forgotten Tsarina. I saw no reason to bring it up to anyone, if she had overcome her scruples about receiving stolen property. I would rather the money have gone to John than to anyone else, and it was clear by that point that it would.

Over the next months, Mary incorporated herself into John’s life, and thus, into mine. I grew accustomed to the scent of her cosmetics in the flat’s shared w.c. (she was a disgustingly early riser and had usually gone before I woke up), and the sounds of their post-sex conversation from the upstairs bedroom (they kept the actual lovemaking quiet, out of politeness, but the after-chat was quite distinct). I drew the line, however, at allowing her to tidy the place. She didn’t understand the system and would have made a hash of it.

Ultimately, just over six months after the day she rang the bell at Baker Street, I found myself ordering a round of tequila shots at the bar of the White Lion and slipping chloral hydrate into three of them. Earlier, Mary had balanced on tiptoe to kiss my cheek and whisper in my ear “Can you please try not to let them get him too drunk?” I carried the round back to the table where a flushed and grinning but not yet weaving Watson listened as a dozen of his Army and medical school friends speculated on whether Mary would qualify him as “Four-Continents Watson” or if the actual location of the coitus mattered more than the origin of the lady in question. I passed the shot glasses around, judging that the administration of three Mickey Finns to three particular members of the party would bring the night to a graceful but early end in about an hour.

I judged, as usual, correctly. After decanting the three dazed ringleaders into a cab, the party broke up, and John and I made it back to Baker Street with only slightly more difficulty than usual. The stairs did give him some trouble, but ultimately I was able to successfully deposit him on the couch. I shook two aspirin from the bottle and handed them to him along with a glass of water. He took both uncomplainingly.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks. For whatever you did back there. I’d hate to be a mess tomorrow.”

“I looked up the duties of the best man and apparently making sure the groom is present and presentable are tops on the list.”

“And you even agreed to wear a tie!” This non sequitur amused him, and he chuckled at his own joke for a moment, before sobering (comparatively), and staring around the flat. “I’m going to miss all this.”

“No, you won’t,” I predicted, climbing the stairs to fetch the blankets off his bed.

“I will!” he insisted, “I’m happy, really happy, about Mary. She’s wonnerful. But I’ll miss this life. And you.”

“It’s not as though I’ll be dead. You’ll be ten minutes away. I’ll be sure to call you whenever I need my cases blogged.”

“I love you, mate, you know that? Even though you are- just such a prick.”

I smiled and pitched the blankets at his head. “I do. Tosser. Now go to sleep. You have a busy day ahead of you.”

He was out and snoring, wearing everything but his shoes, five minutes later. I refilled his water glass and left it on the end table.

At noon the next day I (wearing not only a tie but my entire morning suit) stood at John’s left shoulder and watched Mary Morstan walk down the aisle. I doubt she saw me: her eyes were fixed on John, who was sober, alert, and in full dress uniform, as requested. The expression of love and joy on her face obliged me to concede that, at the moment, she was in fact a very attractive woman.

I don’t think I could have given him up to anyone who loved him even a bit less.

At the reception I gave a speech which everyone said was very interesting, and drank one and a half glasses of inferior Prosecco. I watched them cut the cake, noting that the new Mrs. Watson was far more comfortable with John’s ceremonial saber than he was. She’d lost the callosities of the dedicated fencer, but the skill remained. Then, as Molly Hooper was prowling around with an eye towards dancing and my actual duties were complete, I slipped out of the hall and walked back to Baker Street.

I stopped in at the chemists and bought a packet of cigarettes, then let myself into the flat. There was a peculiar sensory illusion that it was larger and emptier than normal: nonsense, of course. John was routinely absent when I was there. The fact that the absence would now be permanent didn’t alter the actual physical size of the place.

There was always work, and heedless of my dress clothes, I went to it. Three months later, I “died.” And three years after that, I returned to a London which seemed larger and emptier than I recalled. Sensory illusion again. The softer emotions have a very negative impact upon accurate observation, and the world in general doesn’t change at all when a single person drops out of it. On an individual level, though, a single death can rip the bottom out of everything. Such was the case with Mary Watson, who I encountered on a bright August day in Park Lane. She’d lost a stone in weight, which was significant at her height, and was wearing an oversized camel-colored cardigan which I recognized with a pang as being one of Watson’s. She had, in general, the appearance of a child’s toy where the stuffing had been pulled out. I approached her, unseen, as her attention was on Ronald Adair’s flat. When she lost her composure and fled, I hesitated. Then I followed. There were two reasons for this. The first, as always, was John. I couldn’t envision a situation where he would not have come to the aid of a crying woman. In the particular case of Mary, he’d have sprinted to it.

As for the second, well… On the occasion of the case of Neville St. Claire, John had said to me that, “People in trouble come to my wife like birds to a light-house.”

And I truly had nowhere else to go. Chapter 3: The Death of Ronald Adair (Mary)

In general, I am not a fainter, and I didn’t faint then. But a grey mist swirled in front of my eyes, and when it subsided I noticed I had dropped the cigarette onto the well-clipped Hyde Park grass. I picked it up with numb, nerveless fingers. With my other hand I reached out to Sherlock and pushed on the flesh of his bicep. He was reassuringly solid.

“So I haven’t gone mad.”

“No.”

“Not dead, then?”

“Yes.”

I took a drag from the Silk Cut and asked, “Does anyone else know besides me?”

“Mycroft.”

“Of course.”

“And Molly Hooper.”

“That bitch!” I exclaimed, before I could stop myself. I wouldn’t quite have called Molly a friend. We didn’t see much of one another, but her quiet competence had gotten me through the hellscape of the funeral. I found it startlingly painful to believe that she had been concealing a secret like this- especially from John.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at me and said, “You’re harsher on her than on Mycroft?”

“There is nothing that I would put past one of the Holmes boys.”

He sighed, and drew on his own cigarette. The sun dipped below the treetops and set us into shadows.

“Sherlock,” I asked, eventually, “What do you want?”

“I need a gun.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Of course you do.”

“Mary, please-“ and he hesitated. He and I had never been more than “friendly”, and he certainly had never been inclined to ask any favors of me.

“You’re still in trouble, aren’t you?” I accused.

He hesitated again.

“Yes.”

“Right,” I said, brushing off my pants and rising, “We’ll talk. Baker Street, or our place? My place.”

“Baker Street is being watched.”

“Can we take a cab?”

“Probably.”

It was actually very impressive, how he collapsed his face into that of the Cockney souvenir hawker. He even seemed to lose several inches in height. The stage lost an excellent actor when he decided to go into detective work.

We walked in silence back to Park Lane, and took a cab (after he’d dismissed the first one that tried to stop). He sat next to me in silence, until a horrible thought overtook me, and I said, “Oh, God, has anyone told you? About-“

“Your… bereavement? Yes. I was… very sorry to hear of it.”

It was a relief. It had already happened several times: some colleague or acquaintance who I hadn’t seen in a while would, in the course of ordinary chit-chat, drop, “Oh, and how’s John doing?” into the conversation. And then I would have to watch their faces change from polite disinterest to horror and pity as I gave them the news. I would say it was the worst thing I had to do, but I had developed an entire new suite of worst things in recent months and was somewhat spoiled for choice.

We didn’t speak any further until I let us into the flat.

“Have a seat. I’ll just go get it.”

John, given that he was occasionally prone to physically violent nightmares, had always kept the Sig Sauer semi-automatic securely locked away in a box in the master bedroom closet. I retrieved it, and returned to the living room. Sherlock had installed himself in his old favorite spot on the sofa, and Arthur had climbed onto the arm next to him. They were watching each other with matching expressions of flat-eyed distaste.

“I don’t know where the key is,” I said, passing the box over.

“It’s fine,” he replied. And indeed, he materialized a lockpick from somewhere and opened it within ten seconds.

He’d removed his auburn wig, although he still had on an excellent shade of lipstick for his complexion: a glossy transparent berry-stain. It was almost the only color on his face. Whatever he’d been up to, it was doing no favors for his health. I wouldn’t have thought he could have gotten thinner or paler, barring his contracting tuberculosis or vampirism. And yet, he had managed. At some point, he’d cut his hair off close to the scalp, and it was faintly peppered with grey. Sherlock was a year or two younger than I, but at the moment I could see what he would be like as an old man.

“You know that thing’s illegal, right?” I said.

“It’s not something that’s a real concern just at the moment,” he returned, calmly.

“It should probably be cleaned. It’s not been touched since… well, I’m not sure of the last time John cleaned it.”

“It will be fine. They’re very simple instruments and Watson was always over-cautious. I didn’t clean my old one for years and it never had any problems.”

“That’s because John would secretly do it for you every few months.”

One of the small pleasures in life that everyone should get to experience at least once is to watch Sherlock Holmes’ face when he is informed that one of the normals has gotten something past him. I had to suppress a flicker of a smile at how thunderous he looked.

“Look,” I said, “Give it here and I’ll do it. The cleaning kit’s on the top shelf above the stove in the kitchen, if you’ll reach it down for me.”

I could hear him rummaging around in the cabinet as I released the clip, disconnected the slide, and popped out the spring. I laid everything down on the coffee table and accepted the kit when he returned and gave it to me. When I sighted down the barrel, I could see ample dust, and a fair bit of corrosion from the soggy English atmosphere. It only made sense, really. When Sherlock had died, John had lost any professional reason to carry a gun, and gained a strong personal reason to lock it away and leave it to rust. Dipping the cleaning swab into the wide-mouthed jar of solvent, I began passing it through the barrel.

“’In a self-defense situation, there will be many things you can’t control. The condition of your weapon is not one of them,’” I quoted.

“Did Watson say that?”

“No, though he’d have agreed with the sentiment. That was my stepfather. He was the one who taught me about shooting.”

Sherlock blinked at me. “I didn’t know you had a stepfather.”

“Like everyone else, I do actually have an objective existence apart from the parts you find interesting, Sherlock.”

I sounded bitter, but I didn’t care. I had been the one to put John back together after Sherlock’s quote-unquote death, and having him sitting calmly on my sofa irked.

“I only meant,” he replied, “That he wasn’t at your wedding.”

“He has congestive heart failure and travel is very difficult for him!” I snapped,

“Sherlock, why the hell did you do this?”

“Well, I had in fact been exposed as a fraud and-“

“Bullshit. You have been more or less cleared for two years and I’m sure your brother told you that. D.I. Lestrade had to demonstrate that you weren’t, in general, a criminal, because he wanted to keep his job. Fifty people, including me, by the by, came forward to tell stories of how you had solved cases that you couldn’t possibly have faked. The only real mystery remaining is this whole affair with Richard Brook, and frankly the best person to justify that would have been you.”

He scrubbed his hands through the bristles of his hair. “There was more.”

“So tell me.”

Sherlock sighed, and stared off into the space over my left shoulder. “When the head of an organization is removed, the organization generally remains. John Kennedy is shot, the United States persists. The death of Jim Moriarty left a thriving multinational criminal organization with a vacancy at the top for which there were numerous keen candidates. I have spent the last three years attempting to take advantage of this situation and dismantle its operations entirely.”

Something about the cold way he said “dismantle” made me think I really didn’t want to hear much about this process. I asked, “And you couldn’t have done that in your own persona?”

“No. Because- Moriarty was in many ways a remarkable man.”

The tone of this statement was pure admiration, and I rubbed my forehead where I could feel the old familiar “Sherlock” headache coming on. “How’s that?” I asked.

“I don’t want to say he founded a cult of personality, but in his immediate circle were several men who genuinely did admire him and support him in his goals, as opposed to the ordinary hangers-on who simply were in it for the profit.”

“So, his friends.”

“What?”

I sighed. “Never mind. Continue.”

#quarto's fics #warstan #Sherlock&Mary #major character death #Mary morstan #mary morstanning #ACD Mary in BBC Sherlock #which used to be a thing

1 note · View note

gelo-p · 4 years

Text

Cycling Seasons, Fresh Skies: Memories

I knew from a long time ago that if I’d ever go for a T10, this would be it. When the event was finally getting closer, early estimates told me I was 900 flames short; I’d have to buy stars for this event.

(WARNING: A rather image-heavy post)

Perhaps the moment I honestly considered T10 instead of settling for T100.

Definitely the moment I knew there was no turning back. :)))

Believe me, this was not the only purchase I made for this event.

I needed a better Challenge Live team, so I knew getting a 4* Happy Ran is required, to complete my Happy Afterglow team. I’ve never gotten any 4* Ran before, so thank god the 4* Exchange Ticket had the perfect timing.

“WAIT. YOU WERE USING A HAPPY TEAM ALL THIS TIME???”

Yep. ^^ Well, my Multi Live team was Powerful Afterglow-based, but had only 2 4-stars, sooo I knew it wouldn’t cut it.

There she is <3

I’ve always stopped at Skill Level 4, but I really had to pull out all the stops. Ran is my first Skill Level 5 member. ^^ (everyone in my CL team also received the level 5 upgrade)

Alright, let’s do this! Hey Hey Hoh~!

The event has finally begun! I initially found it amusing seeing all sorts of titles being shown off. This one in particular stood out to me. XD

(Looking back, that Sinz person would later turn out to be a serious T10 contender. I think they changed their name to Pyokun after some time)

Here’s a screenshot of a rare T5 GeLö-P. I really wanted to share this with you guys, but I figured I’d jinx myself by revealing publicly what I was trying to do. :>

(I will doubt the existence of God Almighty, but believe in being jinxed. Life is weird sometimes.)

Well, that’s the Grand Room for ya’. Meta songs all the way~

How do you even react to that?

With this. :)))

NEXT YOU’LL SAY FUEEEEE

Home Street...

Home Street.......

HEY HEY HOH~!

The moment I ran out of large energy drinks, and had to start spending stars. </3 Small energy drinks were still reserved for moments I can afford to wait out the 30-minute refill timer.

The 5 Horsemen of the Apocalypse

My first time doing the “recover waaaaay more than 10 flames” thing

Huhehe huhehe huhehe...

I too would like some of those Afterglow pins. T_T

Baby Shak my as-

Aaaand we have a dodger, ladies and gentlemen. XD

I think this guy needs to be banned.

Home Street? Pssh, that was so yesterday. Jumpin’ is the shit now.

Ganbatte, P5.

Himari~

My 2nd encounter with Ghostkillers (who later become T12..?). He chose Senbonzakura the first time, so when he did it again, I thought I’d save it for posterity. ^^

The “I too would like to live dangerously” gang 8-)

The first time I switched away from my dua T100 titles. I figured I’d stop trying to “scare” the competition.

First time tracking T10 scores. This would later prove to be very useful in seeing if my projection will hold (although I shifted to tracking T3 - T12).

Taking a break, so I watched ads for free flames. :)))))

Moca, Ran, GeLö-P, and a weird name. Huh. Okay.

Kyu~Mai * Flower was released! Played this one on Hard.

...this one I played on Expert...

...and thank fuck I got it first try, because oh boy I’m not playing that beat map again. >_<

“Ban me if you can” ?? Why??

Aaaaand this motherfucker right here was cheating and inflating his score. I personally reported him to the game admins over on twitter, and they’ve informed me that they were already aware of this idiot. Saw him just once more after this.

Yes. That’s 91 million, 798 thousand, 346.

I actually encountered them once before this, but didn’t notice anything off about their score (was already dazed at that time). And then a discussion started over at reddit, so when I met him again, I took screenshots.

Ganbatte :))

Had time for a quick hey hey hoh spam ^^

Which day was this..? Anyway I came up with my brilliant pun. Read the comment, see if you can figure it out. :3

MocaRan and YukiLisa. Sigh. I don’t think we can be friends, P5.

:)))

Told you, Ghostkillers only pick Senbonzakura XD

Tomoe’s Birthday! ^^

Even the game won’t let you have a GF, P5. XD

HEATHCLIFF STOP PICKING BABY SHARK

(almost sure they’re famous in the competitive scene... I don’t know them tho LOL)

I woke up one morning to find there was no internet.

FUCK ME

I knew mobile data was going to result to multiple disconnects, but thank fuck I had lots of challenge points to spare. I passed the time productively, and by the time I was done, internet was back. Whew.

Rank update: currently T8. ^^

More of Ghostkillers x Senbonzakura and JFC that name tho P2

Shitpost comment XD

First time seeing 2 other T10 contenders in the same room: Itsuki and Ghostkillers.

Probably the point where I started spamming Tokimeki Poporon instead of Home Street.

Also there’s a looot of interesting names in Bandori.

As a YukiRan / MocaLisa shipper (well more of SayoLisa nowadays), it is my job to destroy players 1, 3, and 5. >:(

Wallet: IT’S NOT POSSIBLE

Me: NO, IT’S NECESSARY

...aaaaaand I immediately threw away 10k stars hoping for Megane Ran, but got shit. (This would later force me to make 2 more purchases XD Seriously though, I could have saved a lot of money with a better star purchase plan)

I got Loli Rinko tho. <3

Which day was this...? I think this was the moment I knew Ghostkillers has given up. I was laughing my ass off reading the comments. I think everyone of us was half-dead at this point. XD

And so we’re down to the final 11.

I’ve started considering the possibility at this point that I might be the final one to bow out.

OMG I CAN’T SEE PLAYER 2

BUSHIDO~!

I was feeling the despair at this point, and thus started singing Komm Susser Tod

I do mini-sprints in the morning, so I’m T6 here. I usually fall back down to ~T9 in the afternoon.

I usually level up once per event. I started this event from Rank 193. :)))

(well it was technically 192, but I was like 2 games away from leveling up)

There are no experts in this room :v

Jumpin = NO FEVER, but picks meta song anyway. Okay. :v

Hey! All Random!

Game: DID SOMEONE ASK FOR A META SONG

I have a lot of friend requests at this point (probably from people seeing me on the T10 list), but I don’t have enough space to accept them all :((

Bread-themed profile!

Poppin’ Party, Puff n’ Pastry... get it?

Itsuki started spamming BOF at this point.

Doki doki~

HIT ME BABY ONE MORE TIME~ ♪ ♫

P1 is an IRL friend :))) I’d later tease her about how slow she is picking songs LOL

Some Initial D reference for overtaking :P Of course I was badly falling behind at this point (T9 is hella dangerous), but I had no choice but to continue to believe in the math (and that early overtaking is a bad choice).

“Early moves lets your opponents recover from mental shock.” - Ryosuke Takahashi, Initial D 3rd Stage

No seriously, that’s exactly what I was thinking of. And also “Not yet, not yet, now” from Ford v Ferrari.

P1 & P5 get married already...

FINAL NIGHT.

I’m down to T11, and everybody else already did 2.3M-sprints some hours earlier, and have considerably slowed down.

I, on the other, was about to go to sleep. Yes, I, the current T11, was about to let the others pull away. All I could do was believe in the Math at that point, because let me tell you-

I had 105k challenge points left. That’s 3.4M event points I had yet to sprint.

This was during the final morning, 9 hours before event ended. When I woke up that morning, my heart was pounding like crazy. What if everybody has pulled ahead?

When I finally checked, most of the T10′s were still in the 17M-range. Itsuki was on T10, and he was only 500k away. I knew at that point that my chances were pretty good; however, I shut up about it, set my comment to “Now Playing: Running in the 90′s”, and got to work.

There was nothing else I could to but consume all the CP I had left. No more tracking. A literal 5-hour non-stop sprint to 19.2M points. If they can still catch up even after they’ve already expended their CP yesterday, then maybe I don’t deserve this T10 after all.

All I need to do was beat one of them. It was me or them.

Holy shi-

I wasn’t out of the woods yet, had to make sure at least one of them didn’t overtake me. Of course that was more up to them, since I didn’t have any strength left (my thumb stopped working at that point, no seriously, it’s still not working properly even today). I also didn’t have any significant stars left.

I managed to sneak in a few songs, but that was it. I was done. The others managed to close the gap, but I stayed in T6.

And then the event was over.

I fucking did it.

------

I would later learn that this was the bloodiest (Challenge Live) event in the history of ENdori. In one redditor’s words, I “ ...sure picked a hell of a time to go for it.”

I had no choice. This is Megane Ran we’re talking about. <3

I had some idea tbh, because I managed to read a tweet in the middle of the event, that “this was one lit T10″. Apparently we were on track to beat the previous record-holder, which was Sayo’s Umbrella event.

I’m... really glad to have been part of this event. I feel so darn proud of myself. >:3

But I couldn’t have done it without the help of the Grand Room. Seriously, I only played in the Grand Room.

Remember this?

I don’t have (competitive) friends. :))) So thank you, all. *bow*

I’d like to thank IRL-friend otearaisu over at twitter for putting up with my excessive score projection updates. XD I have a really detailed excel sheet to check if I was on track or not, and whenever there were developments, I’d always tell him about it, even in the dead of the night. XD

------

Would I ever do this again? Probably not. This was the only event that I knew I really wanted to go for, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. Maybe I’ll get a couple of T100′s in the future, but that’s it. ^^

See you in the lobby~

#bandori #bang dream #cycling seasons fresh skies #garupa #event

6 notes · View notes

set-phasers-to-whump · 5 years

Text

waking up

fandom: roswell new mexico

whumpee: max evans

i wrote this last tuesday and never posted it here lol so here you go. this thing is full of my own headcanons and general disregard for the rules and very little plot but i hope you enjoy!!! also i just rewatched the first episode and realized that michael’s truck actually does not have a backseat but we’re going to pretend it does ok.

The first thing he realizes when he wakes up is that he is alone. The room he is in is utterly empty, apart from himself and the table that he is strapped to. More than that, though, his siblings aren’t with him-in fact, their presences are so remote he wonders if he’s still in New Mexico at all.

His first thought upon discovering this information is good. If Isobel and Michael aren’t here, they can’t get hurt. (They also can’t help him, but that is less important-it is always them, their safety, that takes precedence).

The second thing he realizes is that he has no idea how exactly he ended up...wherever the hell he is. He tries to think backwards, but there is nothing before that is helpful. Extrapolating from this, he comes to the realization that he has no idea what day it is, and consequently, how long he’s been missing, and, furthermore, he has no idea why he’s here. Logically, he thinks it must be something to do with the whole alien thing, except he can’t figure out how anyone would have found out about only him, and not his siblings.

This causes a horrible thought-what if Isobel and Michael are here right now? What if he just isn’t sensing them properly, what if there’s some dampening field or something that’s been used on him? What if they’re in danger?

He’s in danger, too, a voice at the back of his head reminds him. Not that it matters. All that matters is getting off of this table, out of this room, and to his siblings.

Easier said than done. His wrists and ankles are bound to the metal table with chains that are tied so tightly he can barely move his limbs at all. He pulls against them until his wrists are raw and bloody, but the chains don’t move an inch, and he is no closer to escape.

He tries to call to his siblings, though something tells him they won’t hear. As he expects, there is no pull at the other side of their bond, nothing at all to tell him they feel him. He tries to actually call to them, too, but their names simply echo around the empty room until they fade.

His shouting does alert someone to his presence, though, and the door bangs open. A man strides in, the grin on his face making him look like a predator whose prey has just stumbled fatally into a trap. He isn’t military-Max gleans this right away, something about the way the man carries himself, as though he’s the only one of importance and not part of a larger group. He’s dressed like a military man, however. Ex-military, maybe, Max thinks. Dangerous. No master but himself. No rules but the ones he creates.

“You’re awake,” the man says. Something in his voice sends a shiver up Max’s spine. “Good.” He smiles that predatory smile again, and Max mentally urges him closer, preparing to attack him like he attacked that creep in the desert all those years ago.

He feels his palms get warm, feels the power build up-and then it stops. Like he’s run out of gas.

“We can’t be having that,” the man says. “Can’t have you trying to kill me before I even get started.”

“How did you...started with what?”

“Experimenting, of course.”

Max swallows harshly, not liking where this is going. “Experimenting?”

“What else does one do when they come into possession of an alien life form?”

He’s about to say something else, to defend, deny, something, but suddenly there’s a needle poking into his neck, and everything fades away.

---

He’s in a new room when he wakes up. Where the other room had been basically empty, this room is filled with shelves and cabinets and tables. He is still on one of those tables, though this one is larger than the one he’d been on before. He’s still tied down, as well, and these chains feel even stronger than the others. Not a good sign, Max thinks.

He looks around as best as he can. Two people are standing over him now, neither one the man who’d been there before. They, too, are dressed for the military, and step away from him when the man-who must be in charge here, Max decides-comes into the room. He gives them each a curt nod, and they leave the room. The man steps closer to Max, looming over him.

“Welcome to the lab,” he says, indicating the room with a wide sweep of his hand. He turns away from Max and calls to another two people at the other end of the room.

“Peters! Anderson! Come here and say hello to our guest!”

Two people in lab coats approach him, hanging back slightly as though he’s something dangerous. Maybe I am, he thinks. Certainly he could be, if he could only use his powers.

“Come closer, don’t be shy.”

The scientists-what else can they be?-slowly walk closer. They look at him intensely, like they’re analyzing him, like he’s a specimen.

“I thought it’d be...more alien, Commander” one confesses sheepishly to the man-Commander, Max notes. Not a name, but a start.

“He may look human on the outside, but I promise you that’s where the resemblance stops,” the Commander says, almost reassuringly. “Ready?”

Both scientists nod firmly. “Yes, sir!”

“Good. Let’s start out with a quick pain test, just to gauge the reactions. How’s the blood work coming?”

“Jones said it would be only half an hour more, sir.”

“Very good. Once we get that back, we can really get started. In the meantime, you may begin.”

“Yes, sir.”

Max strains desperately against the chains. He doesn’t know what exactly a pain test entails, but it cannot possibly be pleasant. He shudders to think of what they might do with his blood. What do they want from me? he wonders desperately.

“What do you want from me?” he near shouts, hoping it comes off angry but feeling the desperation leak into his voice.

“I thought I told you. Experimental results. We want data.”

With that, the scientists turn away from him, grabbing various bits of equipment from the shelves. He tries to see what they’re getting, but half of it looks like nothing he’s seen before, and the other half makes him close his eyes involuntarily, like if he can’t see it, they won’t use it.

The next few...minutes? hours? days? pass in a haze of pain. The first thing they do to him is stab him, through the shoulder. He feels the knife embed itself into the table below him, as though he’d needed to be pinned further. He doesn’t make a sound. It hurts, of course it hurts, but they don’t have to know that. Maybe if he outlasts them, they’ll…

He does not get to decide what they might do, because suddenly the knife is twisted inside him, horribly slowly. He bites his tongue to keep from screaming, feels his mouth fill with blood. I’ll get out, he tells himself. I can beat them.

They beat him, instead. Quite literally. After the stabbing and subsequent twisting and further prodding of the wound, they inject him with something that makes him go limp, then unchain him and rechain him, this time to a hook from the ceiling, so he hangs from it like a punching bag.

The scientists aren’t ones to get their hands dirty, it seems. Either that or the Commander really has it out for him.

Blow after blow lands on him, predominantly to his torso, but occasionally to his head, sometimes his throat, just to spice it up. At some point he does scream, or maybe it’s just a whimper, but whatever it is, the beating stops.

“There it is,” says the Commander, wiping Max’s blood off his knuckles. One of the scientists writes something down. “The pain threshold.”

He passes out of his own accord this time.

---

When he wakes up again, he’s back on the table, still in the lab. The same people are there in the room with him. The Commander and one scientist are standing over him, and the other scientist is working at a computer, glancing between the screen and a sheet of paper every so often. Max has a sinking feeling that the blood work is back.

Every part of him hurts. The stab wound pulses in time with his heartbeat. His torso just aches. It hurts to breathe. It hurts worse to not breathe.

“Welcome back,” says the Commander, looking Max in the eye. “You’ve given us some excellent data so far, so we’re going to give you a quick break and ask you some questions instead.”

Max won’t answer. He won’t.

“Where did you come from?”

He says nothing.

“How old are you?”

Nothing.

“Do you know of any other aliens?”

Nothing.

“Well, it’s not helpful if you’re not going to participate. I was going to let you rest and recover a bit, but we can get right back to it, if you’d rather.” He turns to the scientist next to him and opens his mouth to give a command.

“Wait!”

Everything hurts.

“I’ll answer your questions.”

“Very good. Now. Where did you come from?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s an answer, at least. I don’t believe it, but that hardly matters. How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.” Or seventy-two, depending on how you looked at it.

“Do you know any other aliens? Any others like you?”

“No.”

“Really? What about those people you were yelling for earlier? Isobel and Michael, I believe? Are they aliens?”

“No. They’re...my friends. Humans.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Too bad.”

Probably not the best thing to say to a man who could presumably kill you if he felt so inclined. Fortunately, all it earns him is a sharp slap to the face, which he barely registers over the pain of everything else.

“Guess we’re done, then. Peters, get over here a second!”

The scientist who’d been working at the computer quickly scurries over, carrying a clipboard.

“You may begin phase two.”

Great. Multiple phases, Max thinks, and closes his eyes, trying to fall into unconsciousness once again.

“Oh no, you don't,” says the Commander, slapping him again. “You need to be awake for this.”

“‘Wake for what,” Max mutters, though he really doesn’t want to know. He coughs and feels the now-familiar sensation of blood filling his mouth.

A small box is brought out, and Max recognizes it at once-his salvation, an electroshock machine. The power from that...whatever they did to him to dampen his powers, this will surely overcome it.

They hook up the machine and switch the metal chains out for thick scratchy ropes. The machine hums as it turns on, a familiar buzz of electricity that feels more welcoming than sinister.

They shock him once-a low voltage, presumably so they don’t kill him right off the bat, and it barely feels like anything. They up the voltage. It’s slightly uncomfortable, but he can feel the electricity slowly seep into his skin. He waits. They up the voltage.

It hurts now. His body jerks with every shock, but the electricity is building up inside him, more slowly than he thinks it should be, but building up all the same. He waits. They up the voltage.

He’s screaming now, he thinks. They have stopped pulsing the electricity, and are running it through him like he’s part of a circuit instead. It’s still building up, though, which is the important thing. But it hurts. It hurts in a way that’s unfamiliar to him, that unique and terrible feeling of being hurt by something important to you, something that’s part of you. His head pounds, and he can barely hear his own screams over the rushing in his ears. Everything tastes like blood and bile and his wrists scream along with him, jerking into the ropes sharply with each convulsion of his body.

But the power is there, it’s building up, it’s so close to being what he needs...and all of a sudden it hits that threshold, and his vision goes white, and he just lets go.

---

He wakes up trapped. Some sort of beam is pinning him down, and rubble surrounds him. Rubble and bodies and blood.

There is rope still around his right wrist, but his arms and legs are free of their restraints. Not that they’re of much use to him now-the beam is far too heavy for him to move under the best of circumstances and now-well, at least some of his ribs were already broken, so it could be worse, he supposes. He can hardly breathe, but he could hardly breathe before.

He shifts slightly amidst the rubble, just to see if he can. It hurts, but it’s possible, and he’s about to try something, anything, when Isobel and Michael’s presences rush back into his mind, slamming his head back to the ground with the overwhelming, unexpected intensity of a flash flood in the desert.

He calls out to them with as much strength as he can muster (which is not very much). He hopes they can hear him anyway. He wonders how long he’s been gone.

Dimly, he thinks that maybe he should try to use his powers, heal himself. He raises a shaking hand to his head, his entire body trembling with the effort, and cannot manage to do anything but drop it back to the ground. He closes his eyes and hopes to wake up to something better.

---

When he wakes up again, it’s to the sudden absence of a crushing weight on his chest and the agony that replaces it. He groans and opens his eyes.

“You with us?”

He groans again. There is a hand on his face and he pulls away from it. He’s been slapped too many times recently.

“Stay awake, please, Max.”

But it all hurts so much, and he’s supposed to be the strong one, so he closes his eyes to hide the pain.

---

The next time he wakes up, he’s moving. He’s also lying down. He’s in a car...no, he’s in Michael’s truck, which is going far too fast and hitting far too many bumps in the road for his liking. Everything still hurts so much, and he wants to just go back to sleep and ignore the pain, but the truck hits another bump and he yelps, and Isobel turns around in the front seat and tells him to stay awake, just stay awake, please, and he has to listen.

“Hurts,” he chokes out. “Can’t...can’t heal it.”

“I know, I know. Just stay awake.”

It’s so hard to stay awake, but he manages it. The truck stops, and he realizes with a start that they’re at the hospital.

“We can’t...the hospital…”

“It’s fine, we’ll find Kyle, he’s on shift today,” says Michael. “We won’t let anyone else touch you.”

Max nods slightly, a bad decision which just makes him dizzier. His siblings clamber out of the front seat, and Michael opens the door closest to Max’s head.

Max sits up slightly, or tries to, but the movement makes each one of his injuries hurt even more, somehow, sending a pounding wave of agony and nausea through his body. He turns his head to the side and throws up, and it burns and it’s full of blood, and Michael says, “shit,” and Max whimpers. If he was in his right mind he’d hate himself for it, hate himself for being so weak, but he’s half delirious with pain and too weak to even cry, and he just lies there and whimpers again when Michael telekinetically lifts him as carefully as he can into his arms. Isobel is right there, too, saying something to him. He hopes it’s not important, because all he can focus on is the soothing sound of her voice and the feeling of Michael holding him, which hurts, sure, but everything hurts, and he feels safe for the first time in god knows how long.

---

He drifts in and out of consciousness for a long while, catching snippets of conversation that he can’t make any sense of before he falls asleep again, until finally, he wakes up for real.

He’s in a hospital bed, in a small room with curtains drawn over its single, tiny window, so that he has no idea what time it is. Michael and Isobel are seated in chairs next to his bed, asleep, their heads resting gently against each other. He smiles softly at them, then looks at his room, which is not a hospital room. It may be in the hospital, but there’s a desk and a chair, and a couple bookshelves, and various medical diagrams on the walls. He wonders whose office he’s taken over.

He’s about to wake his siblings and ask, among a few other questions, exactly how much acetone they’ve given him (he can barely feel anything, and it’s great), but the door opens before he can say anything, and Kyle Valenti steps in.

“Nice to see you fully conscious, Evans. How you feeling?”

“Better than I probably should.”

“You’re on a hell of a lot of acetone. You should’ve seen the look I got from the drugstore cashier.” Kyle smiles lightly. “I’m gonna go call Liz. You’ve been out for a while, and she was freaking out, so I told her she should grab some lunch, clear her head.”

Max nods, which doesn’t hurt his head as much as it had the last time he’d tried it. “Thanks.”

Kyle nods back. “Don’t mention it.”

He heads out of the room to call Liz, and Max carefully pulls an arm out from under the blankets. It only hurts a little, so he slowly reaches over and taps Michael on the arm.

Michael’s eyes fly open, and he looks around the room a second before his gaze settles on Max. He gently shakes Isobel’s shoulder. She slowly opens her eyes, and absolutely beams when Max meets her gaze.

Max smiles at the two of them, and before he knows it, he’s crying, and then there are three fully-grown adults crammed into a tiny, creaky hospital bed and it is extremely uncomfortable, but their arms are around him and they are radiating sheer relief, and he falls asleep feeling warm and content and completely safe.

thanks so much for reading this stupid thing!!!! hope you liked it!

#my writing #i say things #max evans #tortured #torture #cant remember which tag i used #roswell new mexico #unconscious #lots of that lol #i posted this to ao3 on tuesday but forgot to do it here so thats why its later but anyway hopefully it wasnt too bad!!!#i just love me some sibling dynamics and some max whump #also no joke i think this is the longest fic ive ever written which is. kinda pathetic. but whatever

7 notes · View notes

morelike-bi-light · 5 years

Text

Bingo Fic: Rosalie and Emmett as Parents

So this blog reached 500 followers this week! When I started this blog, it never occurred to me that this would happen, or that I’d find such an awesome fan community and such incredible mutuals, but it did and I did, and it’s kind of changed my life! So much so, that I wanted to celebrate! Those blog bingo sheets have been making their rounds, so I made one for myself, and decided that if anybody filled it out, I’d gift them a 500 word fic (500 words for 500 followers, but that wasn’t planned lol) for a prompt of their choosing!

One of my fav mutuals @rosalie-stan was the first to reply, and thus, the first bingo fic is all for her, for the prompt in the title! Hope you don’t mind - I went a little over 500 words, and then added some headcanons, because I honestly loved your prompt way too much. Hope you like it!

❤️❤️❤️

It's a quiet summer afternoon for the first time in almost a decade. The air conditioner is whirring gently, even if Rosalie and Emmett can't feel it. It's not for their sake - Bree volunteered to take the kids out to a movie, but little Alicia was still too young for the theater.

Not that Emmett minds - in fact, he can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be, than plopped down on the couch with his exhausted baby in his arms, and his soulmate tucked against his shoulder as she fingers through a piece of historical fiction that Carlisle had called 'certainly' entertaining and 'passably' accurate.

"Aw. Blinky," he grins, cradling the baby’s curl-covered head closer to his chest as she gurgles sleepily. His brows furrow for a moment. "That is crazy. She's like a little mini Rose."

Rosalie glances up to shoot him a dry look before going back to her book.

"Why do you insist on doing this?"

"What, tell the truth?" He shrugs, carefully so as not to jostle either his daughter or wife. "It's not my fault you married an honest man."

"She's a baby."

"So?"

"So, she looks like a baby - which I'm not."

Emmett springs for the throat. "You're my baby."

Rosalie bites her lip, smothering a grin. She shouldn't reward his bad behavior.

“Don't be funny," she huffs, batting at him absently.

"Impossible," he declares with a smirk. "And you know how many little brothers and sisters I had. I'm a certifiable baby face expert. Trust me, she's almost as close to you as Donnie."

"I trust you more than anyone else in the world," she deadpans. "Doesn't mean you're right."

"But you haven't disagreed either," he points out. "Not that it matters. Whether you disagree or not, she still looks like you."

Rosalie turns on him, closing the book. "You say that about all our kids!"

Emmett shushes her, pressing a cheeky finger to his lips and nodding at the drowsy baby curled in the crook of his arm. Rosalie rolls her eyes - Lisa could sleep through a hurricane - but lowers her voice just a bit.

"A few months ago, you tried to convince me that Bree has my smile, and she's not even related to us."

"I didn't say that," he snorts. "I said you smile the same way."

She raises a perfect brow in disbelief. "And that's different?"

He's as unaffected as she is unimpressed. "Totally."

"Well, I'm not buying it."

"No, really," he drawls. "You both do that cute little thing where you clamp your mouth shut like you're trying to hold it in, but then something will make you laugh, and it'll stretch real wide and get all dimpley."

If she could flush, Rosalie thinks she'd be beet red. Emmett's eyes are crinkled, glimmering like stars. Home, they say, I'm home when I see you, when I see our kids. It should be impossible to say so much with a simple look. She has to duck her head, look at her book's cover instead. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, it's so," he murmurs softly, and sits up straight. "And I can prove it... 'cause you're doing it right now."

The dam breaks, and she can feel the truth of his words as a smile blossoms on her lips.

"You're ridiculous," she says.

"You love it." He's right again.

She shakes her head, sighing as she leans against his shoulder, looking over their fourth child carefully.

"You're wrong about this one though. If anyone, she looks like you - the little button nose, and those same curls like you and Beth." Her smile softens. "This one's all yours."

Emmett shakes his head right back. "She might have my hair, maybe my nose, too. Hard to say - but look."

Alicia's eyes flutter softly as she pries them open, a sweet, familiar blue. Her gaze wanders a moment then settles on her parents, before she babbles a short hello.

"Look at those baby blues. Those are yours, right?"

Rosalie stares for a moment. A phantom pain burns like ice in her throat, but just for a moment.

"Right." She swallows, but she doesn't try to hide her smile this time. "Right. Those are mine. I guess she's both of ours."

“Course, she is,” he hums. “They all are. Always will be.”

❤️❤️❤️

As I mentioned, in the process of writing this, I accidentally created a whole Rosalie-Emmett family, so paragraphs of headcanons for context galore under the read more! Otherwise, hope you enjoyed the fic and thanks for following!

So as you probably noticed, Bree is alive and well and a part of the family in this AU. She not only lives and is a Cullen, but Emmett and Rosalie have adopted and adore her just like their own. Thus, she’s the oldest kid in the Rose-Emmett fam. They've had her for about a quarter of a century during this fic. Eight years ago, Carlisle discovered that a vampire couple could genetically have a child by using a surrogate. After some discussion between Emmett, Rosalie, and Bree, the family decided to expand. Yay!

With this, the second eldest kid is Elizabeth Cadence 'Beth' Cullen, age seven. When she was a human, Rosalie had always pictured naming her first daughter Elizabeth, and her middle name comes from her father's favorite human sister whom he'd once promised a goddaughter. Seeing as he’s the only Cullen with a happy backstory, I like to think he’d want his kids to have ties to his human family, even if he’s outlived them by a century. Anyways, they call her Beth. She has black curls, big wide eyes, and an easy smile like her father, plus the small, straight nose and excellent bone structure of her mother.

Beth is a goofball who loves to get herself into either trouble or danger, though the latter of which is hard to come by with an extended family of vampires and werewolves at her back. However, she is also incredibly generous, whether with her toys, her time, or her patience. She has a quick temper, though, and goes cold when she's angry, like her mom. Her favorite activity is running with her family, especially when Bree picks her up and carries her on her back, but she's also fond of music, and is passionate about dance. Her favorite babysitter is either Aunt Alice or Uncle Jasper, both of whom coddle her immensely, and her role model is definitely Aunt Leah.

Their third child is Donovan Matthew Cullen, age three. He gets his first name from a baby book, but his middle name is that of Emmett's eldest human brother, who always looked after the rest of the Masen clan. He has soft, wavy dark blonde hair, doe eyes, and a full pout like his mother, but he shares Emmett's button nose. During the summer, his cheeks get freckly and the tips of his hair gets sun-bleached almost white. (He also needs glasses as he gets older.)

Baby Donnie, as his older sisters call him, is a serious little fellow, very polite and horribly gentle, who likes to read - which is why he gets on with his aunt Bella so well. However, he can get just as rowdy as his sister, though he is greatly less likely to get messy due to his thoughtful nature and sensitivity to criticism. He gets along perfectly with both Grandma Esme and Uncle Edward, who is dying to teach him the piano, but secretly his favorite is probably Uncle Seth, who always knows how to make him feel both good and normal.

Their youngest, and the topic of this ficlet, is Alicia Esme 'Lisa' Cullen, not yet one. Obviously, her first name is derived from Alice, and her middle from Esme. They chose a slightly different name for her first because as Rosalie puts it, she should always remember to be her own person, even as she learns from others. Emmett assures Bella she has dibs on the next daughter, but I think four is enough for them - and she tells him as much. From Emmett, Lisa inherited dark, wavy hair, a button nose, and a round babyface, but she has her mother's eyes and full, solemn mouth.

Lisa grows up to be a mellow kid, partially due to nature and partially because she's had to learn to adapt on the fly without breaking too much of a sweat. She has the best sense of humor in the family, and the sharpest wit, due to observational skills and an impeccable sense of timing honed by years of living with the boisterous extended family she has (which includes the Clearwaters as step aunt and uncle, and through them, the wolf pack.) Out of everyone, she is the most down-to-earth, but also has the hardest time initiating confrontation when she’s hurt or upset. She has a very special bond with Grandpa Carlisle, and she adores her Aunt Victoria (because why not combine all the AUs?).

Whew, that was a lot! I would not blame anyone who took one look at those blocks of text and ran the other direction. But I enjoyed writing them, so it’s all good! If you actually made it this far, I am very impressed, and flattered, and I love you and thank you with all my heart. Hope you had fun reading!

58 notes · View notes

thewritewolf · 5 years

Text

Nino’s Quest Chapter 7: Audience With the King

The party finally meets up with the King and they receive their next quest.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3. My ko-fi.

Direct Message From Alya

Alya: babe. Have you noticed anything… ...weird? With the babies

Nino: Our babies? Yeah M’s back to her usual with my bro And adrien is a blushy mess around her Crazy

Alya: Is this progress? It feels like a side step Or taking a step forward… ...and tripping on their face.

Nino: Well, if they could get comfortable around each other before…

Alya: Babe its WAY worse now than what it was before Now NEITHER of them are talking to each other God they’re frustrating

Nino: Did it have something to do with that last akuma? You said you saw them heading toward it before things got crazy

Alya: Maybe? BUT OMG THAT BATTLE

Nino: ??? What happened??

Alya: After they beat the akuma They got the hell away from each other Super pale No fist bump I posted pics on the ldb

Nino: Lemme check Wait Are they blushing?

Alya: gr8 Now i’m even more confused

Nino: lmao Your fleet of ships! It is sinking, babe

Alya: Don’t even JOKE about that! Ladynoir WILL set sail Marinette WILL get her hamsters with Adrien

Nino: lol Just teasin Let em figure stuff out on their own They’ll get there

Alya: I hope youre right…

Nino: Trust me, babe. I AM a master of romance

Alya: Yeah? Where’d you get those credentials, huh?

Nino: I got you, didn’t I?

Alya: … Smooth, cappy Very smooth

-------

Lord DM: Alright, my dudes, we have agreed that there WILL be dnd this weekend. The question is now… ...where the heck is it going to be.

Adrien Regreste: Definitely not at my place They are barely letting me out No way are they going to let me have friends over [crying cat face]

Alya’ll Beware: yeah and its not going to be any better at my place Esp with Nora back in town

Lord DM: What bout u, M?

Marinoodles: There is a big order at the bakery They don’t need my help BUT They DO need the extra space My place is out

Lord DM: Well dang Looks like i’ll have to bring out the big guns You guys can come over to my place

Adrien Regreste: [shocked emoji] I never thought I’d see the day…

Alya’ll Beware: lol, chill sunshine. Stay focused on the dnd

Lord DM: No no Let him bask Few mortals get this honor

Alya’ll Beware: [eye roll emoji]

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

Saturday arrived at long last, and Nino took stock of his preparations for the day. His little bro out with their parents. A stack of chip bags and pop and all the things that would make Adrien’s nutritionist twitch. Bean bag chairs for him and all his friends. Ambiance from tabletop audio. Everything had to be right - they were meeting with the Good King Haman, after all. It was one of the climaxes of the campaign.

Which was why he was worried when everyone finally got there.

Adrien had picked up everyone, of course, which might explain why he and Marinette were already a blushing mess. Nino glanced to Alya for clues, but all she had for him was a frown and a shrug.

The two of them sat opposite each other, with Alya opposite Nino. There was a pregnant silence where usually they would have their pre-session chat.

Nino considered himself a pretty empathetic kinda guy. It wasn’t that hard for him to get a feel for the room, or put himself in other people’s shoes. But even for him, his two friends were a stone wall. The only thing he could say for sure is that they weren’t angry with each other. Maybe just… scared. Which was weird, but hey - Dungeons and Dragons hadn’t let him down yet. Maybe it could help them now.

With that in mind, Nino started the session. “After spending the morning making yourselves look like you totally belong at court - with different amounts of success - you make your way to the royal castle. Looks like someone’s looking out for you, since the usually long line to see the king is super short today.”

“Finally, some kind of break,” Alya grumbled. “After bandits and assassins, at least we don’t have to wait in line.”

“After an hour, you finally find yourselves face to face with the King himself. While it is clear that he is no longer the adventuring knight of his youth, he’s still got the broad shoulders and strong arms of a fighter. His jeweled, golden crown rests easily atop his head. He watches you intently as you approach, a well groomed eyebrow raised as he takes in your martial appearance.”

Adrien furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, we’re in armor and stuff?”

“Well,” Marinette responded, “we are adventurers. We should never be too far from our gear.”

Bowing his head in acquiescence, Adrien returned his attention to Nino.

“After you are declared, the King seems even more curious about you. He speaks with a clear, booming voice, one used to commanding armies in the field. ‘I recognize your names. There was a wretched matter afoot last night - one that you were the center of. I admit, I had wondered what would force someone’s hand in such a way as to send assassins. What business do you have with me?’”

When it became clear that both Marinette and Adrien weren’t going to speak up - each seemed to be stuck in a cycle of catching the other’s eye, blushing, and looking somewhere else - Alya sighed and responded.

She cleared her throat. “During our travels, we uncovered something that we felt you ought to know. There was a…” Her eyes widened and she glanced between her flustered friends. “Um… What was he called? An evil sorcerer?”

Marinette mumbled something that might have been, “Dark adept.”

“Thanks, M.” Straightening her back, Alya looked toward Nino again. “There was a dark adept raising the dead to fight for him.”

“A flurry of murmuring erupts around you. The royal guard flanking the King tighten their grips on their halberds. The King himself has his lips tighten into a thin line before saying, ‘That is a bold claim, young knight. I trust that you brought justice to this renegade, in accordance with the laws of our land?’”

Alya nodded. “Of course! But there is more to it than that.” She checks her character sheet. “Who has the decrypted journal of the dark adept? It looks like it isn’t on me.”

There was a rustling of papers.

“Oh, right,” Adrien said, “I forgot that I was checking it for other clues.”

“Is that when you rolled another one and forgot how to read for a few hours?”

“Hush.”

“Anyway,” Alya said, returning to her character voice, “My ally has a decrypted journal we took from the adepts quarters. There were repeated references to the adept’s master, and hints of a larger plot against the kingdom.”

“The King frowns. ‘Let me see this journal.’”

“I’ll take it up to him.”

“He takes it from Adrien’s character and quickly skims through it, his eyes narrowing as he reaches the end. ‘I must thank you for your work in ending this threat, but it seems a larger one has made itself known. While I am sure you must want to rest, I must ask you to meet this threat to the kingdom.’ He gestures to an advisor nearby. ‘Pay these heroes five hundred gold pieces for each of them.’ His eyes land on you once again. ‘I’ll pay double that once you bring me proof that the Necromancer is dead, and his plot has died with him. Do you accept?’”

The other three exchanged looks between them.

“I’m all for earning a name for myself. And a quest from King Haman himself is about as good as it gets. I’m in.”

“I don’t have anything else planned,” Marinette shrugged, her eyes pointedly on the table in front of her. “I’m sure fighting evil will be its own kind of fun.”

“And where she goes,” Adrien nodded towards Marinette and met her eye. His voice lowered to almost a whisper. “...I’ll follow. Always.”

Something passed between them and it felt almost as if Nino were intruding. The moment passed, and the two of them broke out into furious blushes again.

“Right… so. The king nods, a faint smile on his lips. ‘Excellent. May the gods be with you in your quest.’” Nino took a sip of his drink. “Well, now you’re a little richer, and its time to level up your characters.”

For the rest of the session, Nino walked them through their first time leveling up and taught them the time honored art of spending their hard-earned gold. A new rapier for Adrien. Alchemist’s fire for Marinette. That sort of thing. They were feeling more confident now that they had more than their starting array of equipment, and Nino smiled as he watched them work. It was good to be the dungeon master.

--------

Later, after Adrien had taken Marinette home, Alya and Nino cuddled on the couch. With how big both their families were, it wasn’t often that they got a chance to hang out alone.

For a while, Nino was comfortable with the silence. But then curiosity got the better of him.

“So… how are you liking Dungeons and Dragons now? Still think it’s just for nerds?” He smirked at her as she rolled her eyes.

“Okay, I admit… I’m having loads of fun. It’s always nice to spend more time with you guys. And you especially,” Alya said, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “I’ve gotten surprisingly invested in this story. It almost feels like being Rena Rouge again, fighting evil and all that.”

“Not as likely to end up getting thrashed by a super villain, though.”

“Fair. And it’s nice to act like someone else for a while. Although,” she stretched, “it’s also nice when I don’t have to be the one taking the lead. I hope the babies get their act together soon. Being the leader is exhausting.”

“Poor babe,” Nino cooed, earning himself a gentle punch in the shoulder from his girlfriend. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll figure things out sooner or later.”

“It’s the later part I’m worried about. I just hope they’ll get their act together by next session.”

“I’m sure they will.” Nino wrapped his arms around Alya. “What’s the worst that could have happened? It’s not like they have big secrets that they are sitting on.”

They considered this for a few moments before Nino added,

“Besides the obvious crush thing, at least.”

#Miraculous Ladybug #Nino Lahiffe #Alya Cesaire #DJ Wifi #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Adrienette #D&D #Dungeons and Dragon #DnD #ml fanfiction #my writing #Nino's Quest

16 notes · View notes

catnip-smuggler-radio · 5 years

Note

Have you ever made any characters that you really liked but never went anywhere?

You bet your sweet butt I have!Shoot. So, I’ve been rping in Realm for like six years. First time ever rping in really any medium actually. My first character was a Garlean bomb maker but after about two years and major life events both IC and OOC, I lost my ability to headspace him well and tried to make a new ‘main’. What followed was about a year of me flailing around as I tried to find a new character I wanted to play. I made around half a dozen or so during this time. Three are throw aways not worth mentioning now but I did make three good ones that sort of failed for different reasons.First major character I was considering sticking with was a Bounty and Void Hunter named Hojo’to Zuginoch. He was alright but for some reason I just never clicked with him despite him being a solid character. However his creation lead to ultimately my most important creation:The Voidspawn Rhyme was created to be Hojo’s main antagonist. Rhyme has been a staple of my plots for awhile now but since I couldn’t have Rhyme as a character in game, I had to make some that could wield him and thus we get our third character: the mad miqo’te necromancer named Crate.Here, we find my most important character during this transition.Crate became a linchpin between all my old characters as well as a sort of prototype for Tray.Crate was, is actually since he’s technically still alive, a short, blonde, egotistical maniac that partied hard and enjoyed creating chaos for the sheer sake of fun. He was actually a delight to play and had some fairly serious play and even several player antagonists. He even has one of my all time favorite posts I ever did on the RPC. Ill post that below if anyone is interested.He was a stinker.And there in dwelt the problem.He had no balance.To play him properly meant, well, I had to be willing to literally find moments to cause chaos constantly. And a few times, when in the middle of a scene, Crate would de-rail the scene by acting in character and causing problems. Like one time he started a bar brawl by harassing someone’s husband and basically ruining a bar night an FC was hosting as it devolved into like ten people fighting. Memorable and funny but impacted others RP and thus it was hard to establish connections with him outside of the antagonist sort of relations. I stuck with Crate the longest during that year of transition but eventually realized I needed a more toned down version of his antics and eventually brought some of those -party boy- traits to Tray, but on a more balanced scaleSo, Crate was a very important experiment for me. He taught me the need for balance in my characters, and that being true to a character is awesome but not always good for a -main- since you want a main you can get rp with. LOL.He hold a special place in my heart.Now, as promised, here is the copy/paste of that scene. BUT I’ll put it below a cut since this is long enough as is. ((Thank you very much for the ask!))

The restaurant had once been a high and well to do establishment, nestled comfortably between massive building that towered up to join the rest of the Limsa skyline. But that was no more. Now the renowned restaurant had fallen to the wayside and clung to its former glory as best it could. Few, if any one of any upper class status now came here and even fewer working class figures came here due to the still extraordinarily high prices the menu claimed the food was worth. But despite all this, a lone figure sat at a table; his mouth chewing veraciously on a mouthful of meat. On the table before him was a pile of dirty and used plates, cups, bowls, napkins and silverware; all crusted with food.

The young looking miqo'te that called himself 'Crate' tore another chunk off of his sandwich and chewed, his ears ringing with the loud music pumping through the two, custom built linkpearls that were inserted into his pointed ears. He was small and sickly looking and dressed in robes that were several sizes too big for him. For a Seeker, his flesh was a disturbingly pale and his blond hair was a puffy, tangled mess. His twin, black eyes looked over the sea of food that awaited him and he kept eating. In truth it was amazing that a, well, boy whom looked like a strong wind might blow him over, could consume so much

For the past three and half hours Crate had been sitting at the table, eating and keeping the flames in the kitchen burning hot. The thin, young man was enjoying himself immensely, though the restaurant staff was growing tired. Crate swallowed a chunk of food, his throat bulging as the wad slid slowly down, his body shaking wildly to the instrumental beat that pulsed into his ears. He was about to take another large bite when a figure tapped his shoulder and he spun around quickly, his eyes gazing up at a tall man dressed in a fine suit. Crate beamed a smile at the newcomer. The waiter moved his mouth to say something but whatever he had said was lost as the music’s roar.

“What?”Crate yelled, forgetting that he was the only one hearing the loud noise that was coming through the pearl. The waiter, slightly startled by Crate’s outburst, took a moment to recompose himself before asking again. Again, Crate couldn’t hear any thing and shouted as he stuck the last piece of the sandwich into his mouth.

“Sorry!” Crate yelled. “Still can’t here you!” The waiter brushed the showering of crumbs off his suit and pulled the pearls out of Crate’s ears and handed them to the miqo'te.

“Hey now!” protested Crate, his mouth still full of food as he snatched up his linkpearls. “I was enjoying that.”

“I am well aware of that fact.” came the waiter, who was doing his best to hide the edge in his voice as he spoke to the young man.

“Then why’d ya go and pull it off like that?” whined Crate as he swallowed; his eyes bulging slightly and a smile covering his face. “Could have just asked.”

“I tried,” the waiter paused and decided best to just move to the matter at hand. “Anyway the cooks are taking a break, so I’m going to need to ask that you pay your tab now and leave.”

“And what if I’m still hungry?” Crate inquired, his eyes wide and pleading. The waiter looked at the mountain of plates stacked up before him and raised an eyebrow.

“If you are,” muttered the waiter. “I’ll need to send you down to med hall for examination.” Crate burst into hysterical laughter and leaned back in his chair, his left arm slapping the waiter good humoredly.

“Well I guess I can call it a day then. But I’ll be back later. After all, I'm eating for more than just me!” Crate finished speaking and then calmly let himself fall backwards, his chair hitting the ground. As soon as the wooden chair hit the marble floor, Crate used the inertia created to roll backwards and rise to his feet. The waiter stood, staring at the spectacle. “Well thanks for the grub. Laters.”

Crate was already halfway towards the door when his field of vision suddenly became consumed by a small sheet of white paper with a very large number attached to the bottom. The waiter cleared his throat.

“Your tab.” and after a moment, the Waiter added sarcastically. “Sir.” For a moment Crate could only stare at the number, his smile falling slightly.

“You sure that bill is mine?” chuckled Crate, his eyes twinkling suddenly as an idea crept into his blonde haired head.

“Without a doubt.” replied the Waiter and Crate didn’t miss the hint of triumph in the voice.

“Well then.”Crate paused and looked over at the bar. “Since I don’t think that’s my tab, I’m going to challenge you to a little drinking game.” The young man was already over at the bar and seating himself on a stool, his eyes running over the various liquids available. “Here’s the game. I bet that I can empty one glass of milk before you can drink two shots of any liquor you choose. I win, the tab isn’t mine, you win and I’ll do all the dishes for you, plus pay the tab.” Crate turned back and looked at the stupefied waiter. “Sound fine to you?”

For a moment, the man in the waiter’s suit could only wonder at the ridiculous statement the boy had made. This was absurd! But Crate gave a cough and the waiter thought. If he was too lose, his boss would take it out of his hid for losing all the money. On the plus side, it would be wonderful to see this boy put in his place for once. Besides, there was no way Crate could drink a large glass of milk before he could drink two shots. So, with a bit of a strut, the waiter climbed behind the counter and looked Crate right in the eyes.

“You’re on.”

“Excellent.” was Crates response and he watched with feigned interest as the waiter began to fumble with various cups. Crate was not surprised when the biggest glass he had ever seen was placed before him, the milk right up against the brim. The waiter then placed to shots of Brandy on the counter and the two glared at each other like a pair of gun slingers.

“I trust you’re ready?” sneered the waiter.

“I guess.” replied Crate, a yawn escaping his lips.

“Then, go!” the waiter had already seized the first shot and had thrown his head back, the brandy hot on his throat. His other hand was already fumbling for the second shot when he felt something cold and wet hit the flesh of his hand. He looked down and saw the tall glass upside down and the milk flowing all over the counter and dripping off the sides onto the floor. Crate had already left his seat and was heading out the door.

“Hey!”shrieked the waiter, his face a mask of utter outrage. “Just what are you doing?”

“Um,” came Crate, sticking his head back through the door. “I won the bet sooooo I’m leaving.”

“You did not! You didn’t even have a sip, you only spilt the glass. You lost” shouted the obstinate waiter.

“No,” came Crate again, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I won, see the bet was I could empty a glass of milk before you could drink two shots of liquor and from where I’m standing, that glass looks pretty empty.” The waiter stared in shock, the realization of Crate’s words hitting him like a hammer. Crate shrugged and flashed the waiter a wink. “See you for dinner!” And with that the young man was gone, the door closing with a triumphant slam. The waiter paused a minute, his brain still processing what had transpired. Suddenly he came to life and ran for the door after Crate to force him to pay. The waiter burst into the street but by then, Crate had disappeared in the crowd.

Among the throngs of people, the small miqo'te weaved, slipping his linkpearls back in, the music playing again as he grinned to himself.

"Crate." the small male blinked as his master's voice spilled over the comm and he waved his hand. The music stopped and he lowered his voice as he smiled.

"Ah, there you are, my dear master. Was wondering when you would be contacting me."

"I apologize for the delay." the sultry, female voice replied back. "There have been some issues. But things are progressing."

"So the prison is weakening?" Crate inquired as he ducked down a side alley.

"Slowly, but we need more help and William's coven was just butchered."

Crate stopped to stand, stupidly, as he pulled out a toothpick and began to pick roast beef from between his teeth.

"Well, shit. That's a set back."

"Not entirely." the female voice answered. "One of the voidspawn managed to find an old friend of mine from Kerhiem.

Crate blinked.

"Tornel?" Crate answered at last as he flicked the tooth pick away. "He's in the asylum I...oh!" Crate nodded eagerly, his mop of hair shaking. "You mean the sexy collection of metal and muscle. Mhmm I've missed that delicious morsel."

"For a creature over a hundred, you certainly have the drive of a young man." the female replied. Crate laughed.

"Blame the hormones in this body. Now then, I take it you didn't call to tease me with a good time."

"Not at all." the female chuckled. "I need you to get to Tornel before Hojo'to does. As much as it pains me to say this, I need Tornel removed from this world."

"Axing off an old lover and a useful pawn. Man, this is urgent." Crate twitched his tail. "Can't you make him kill himself via the hex on him?"

"He's warded from me." the female replied. Crate grunted at that.

"Great, gotta do this in person. Alright, I'll start packing and have it done quick as a couerl takes a shit. Or as quick as a virgin man comes" Crate snickered impishly.

"Crate." the female voice added, ignoring the miqo'te's lewd statement. "You are not to tamper with his soul or reanimate his body. A clean death."

"Excuse me..." Crate laughed. "Is that a soft side to you I'm seeing? Never fear, it'll be clean, Master. Nice and clean. I'll be in touch once its complete."

"Expect to be checking in with Terbia's coven once done. Now that William is a splattered ruin, her organization remains the most efficient means at drawing out the voidspawn at a reasonable pace."

"Your will be done Master." Crate heard the line go dead. He waved his hand and the music resumed.

"It's a good day." Crate grinned as he began to head back towards his hotel room, excited.

3 notes · View notes

phanomeheart · 4 years

Note

Hi! Just wanted to say I reeaaaaaally liked your crossword!! I actually turned all electronics of and sat with it for at least an hour and it was amazingly good!! I did eventually go over to watching old videos where the answers might be and I just really loved it overall!! Hope you do more!!

Anon! This is honestly such a nice message to get and now I’m feeling all gooey and happy. Part of why I like making crosswords (in the whole week that I’ve been making them lol) is how immersive a process it is and how welcome that is right now, and it’s SO nice to hear someone else got a little break from stress from my crossword too!

I definitely want to do more! I’m about halfway through another one square-wise, but there are some issue areas at the moment and the farther you get the harder it gets (plus I have a ton of grading to do this week ahhhh), so idk when I’ll finish it. I’ll post it when I do, though. And if you (or anyone else) has feedback on the way I share them let me know. I don’t know if an excel/google sheet is the easiest way to fill it out. Or feedback about answer/clue difficulty. I want to make them challenging but not frustrating, you know?

Thanks for sending me this ask and I’m so glad you enjoyed it! <3

#honestly the thought of someone taking a little electronics break with my puzzle is just...making me emotional #so ty #hope you have a good rest of your day!#anon

1 note · View note

jasntodds · 6 years

Note

Okay. Read the chapter here is: The longest series of asks ever feat. DYTM Ch 13 Commentary (happening as I read). 1. I love when you have her sleep in his bed with him. Always adorable and makes me soft. 2. I knew she was going to be asleep but I hoped anyway. This is why we don’t get our hopes up in life 3. Except you KEEP mentioning it so apparently I haven’t completely crushed my hopes yet. Poor Tom and me both like “okay okay but when we chatting about the I love you?” -Rambley Anon 1/?

4. THE CAMERA STRAP 😍 5. The mugs awww why am I not a part of this friend group?? 6. What kind of job was she photographing? Do you know? Just curious.. 7. Jenny’s call?! Oh shit. And Y/N finding a cop-out method for him. I let out a breath with Tom. Phew. 8. Who breaks up with somebody and then moves to a different state the NEXT DAY???? And who doesn’t even try to tell somebody who is/used to be their friend?!?! Wtf with this Jenny person. - Rambley Anon 2/?

9. Ohhhhhhh shit. Tom can’t say it but Jenny ain’t throwing no punches. Dude. AND SHE KNOWS ABOUT Y/N telling Tom?!?! 10. “Time is just a concept” lmao if that ain’t me 11. I still don’t like that jenny just up and ran away but I do like that Y/N has somebody besides Haz to vent to about Tom now. Or at least gush over stuff with. I do like that for her 12. The cheek and forehead kisses and blushing. Love. That is not friends with benefits kids but it is absolutely adorable. - Rambley Anon 3/? 13. Sitting with Tom while he plays the keyboard sounds so relaxing. Man. 14. Jenny is stirring up the pot BIG TIME yikes 15. Barnes and Noble is such a good place to go to distract yourself excellent choice 16. I wish Harrison would tell her but at the same time I don’t want him to break toms trust and just oh boy. She’s so sad good luck trying to convince her man 17. I want to go to Barnes and Noble now. I can practically smell it.... EXCEPT - Rambley Anon 4/? 18. If you kill these children I’m going to be so upset. Also now I’m going to think of this every time I go into a bookstore. Why why why. You did say in the A/N “don’t let your minds go there” SO I will be hoping and praying that means everybody survives. But also so many other possibilities. - Rambley Anon 5/? I’m guessing this means hospital scene... but there’s so many horrible things that could happen ASIDE from death? Comas. One of them could be paraplegic. Long term smoke inhalation problems. Shit. Shit. Shit. Kaylee!!! We were strolling along and doing so well and then BAM. Should’ve prepared myself better honestly. And WHERE IS TOM??? What if he was in the building to meet them???? They texted him! What if he doesn’t know about it until too late?!?! - Rambley Anon 6/? Why did you have to get dental surgery this week. 😩 (I’m joking tho like update as late as you want. I’ll just be panicking until then. It’s fine. Don’t mind me.) but honestly such a good chapter. And while not a lot “happened” until the end I feel like we learned a lot of valuable info from Miss Jenny there. Now I just want to know what else she was saying to Tom. That girl keeps no secrets and holds no punches. - Rambley Anon 7/? And finally, I wanted to let you know that Tumblr thought I was spamming you so I had to wait like 45 minutes to finish this chain. Lmao. Worth it. PS on my drive home snow like came in through my vents??? And I tried to get it off my inner windshield and then it FROZE so there was a sheet of ice in front of where I look out. Basically, it was the most dangerous and dramatic drive home I’ve ever experienced. 😮 - Rambley Anon 7/7

1) Awww thanks!! I love when they share a bed, mostly his. It’s just soft.2) I legit fucking cacked lmao making y’all give up hope on life jasgfl3) You truthfully never know about me4) I wish I had actual images of how I picture them cause they’re cool in my head lmao5) Right??? I want this friend group lmao6) It was actually one for junior football team and that was part of why she wanted to never work with kids again lmao parents and coaches and kids in one place just had her patience GONE7) Reader is only out here looking out for Tom when it comes to Jenny!!8) Jenny lmao No one said she was smart kjjsaghfle9) Jenny gives no fucks lmao AND SHE DOES JENNY KNOWS ALL 10) That was lowkey me straightening out my timeline lmao11) Yeah, no same. Reader needs someone to talk to but Jenny still fucked up so it’s like, sleep with one eye open12) They’re literally stupid for thinking that’s how friends with benefits works but I love my idiots anyway lol13) Right though? What a need14) Jenny still gives no fucks AT ALL lmao15) Big mood16) Harrison is like the ultimate friend in that he will keep a secret even if he should probably just spill but instead, he just tries to make the other one feel better. We all need a Harrison17) I hope you go to Barnes and Noble soon!!!!18) lmao guess you’ll have to see!! And iwaehfilsh OH I meant like it’s an accident, like the explosion and not like......someone actually set it up. We’re not going that dark here kjwehflI

I fucking LOVE hospital scenes though lmao and I do love a good permanent injury so you never know, man you never know with me lmao Imagine Tom like walking into the building and then the explosion happens, that poor boy man. Jenny might be telling Tom everything or she might be fucking with him. Who knows?(I do for once lmao) And honestly, I’m hoping I can’t go for whatever reason cause I don’t wanna lmao And thanks dude!!!! It really means a lot!! It’s alright though, I was sleeping when you sent the messages so I didn’t even know Tumblr was being annoying lmao

I HAD THAT SHIT HAPPEN BEFORE!!! I was driving home and then bam, sheet of fucking ice over my damn windshield. And my mom gave my brother the scraper so I literally sat at my pharmacy like “What the fuck do I do?” because NOTHING was working, including my defrosters. Like nothing. I had to WAIT until soeone pulled up and had a scraper to help me. Ice is fucking stupid and it should all just melt lmao But I’m really happy you were able to make it home though!!!! That shit is scary and not fun!!

#Rambley Anon #dare you to move #Anonymous #kaylee answers

2 notes · View notes

hayjeon · 7 years

Text

Yours [M] ft. Jungkook

gif creds

Drabble game #83. “Just once.”

→ captainAmerica!Jk finale, part 1 here → 10k words, finally I think i’m over my writer’s block LOL this monster took me all night.

a/n: i know in the movies cap!am doesn’t have his own company like stark does, but let’s just deal. you know. it might oscillate between like a ceo!jk and captain!jk, but just assume that after avengers went popular or whatever, he built himself the same name and wealth for himself like stark did.

also rated, for….well….jungkook basically. this is pretty nasty LOL

It’s been weeks. Weeks since Jungkook barged into your apartment that one time and fucked you until you forgot your own name, breaking his rules about sleeping over and doing anything but sex.

Weeks since he left you confused and helplessly sore and even more in love with him. He left you empty, no calls or even a goodbye before he left while you were sleeping, not even a piece of clothing left behind to even prove he’d been over. The only evidence was on your own body, the full ache and throbbing of your core and the hickeys and bruises scattered over your chest and hips. And in your dreams you can still vaguely remember the pressure of his hands pressing yours down into the sheets and gripping your hips as he drilled into you, the growl of his voice demanding you to scream his name…dreams that had you waking up in a sweat and with arousal slicked between your legs.

Even in the office he doesn’t give you another glance than he does the other employees. Not even a curt nod, or a lingering look to indicate a deeper relationship.

Heck, he even treats Stark better than you, which is a lot saying he absolutely hates his guts and Taehyung Stark was the only person Jungkook would actually let get on his nerves.

The nations number one role model still had his weaknesses.

You sigh as you type away on your computer, organizing his schedule and contacting the other offices for files and documents for the upcoming merger. Almost month and a half of not seeing Jungkook privately and not even being able to get off on your own.

Your best friend Chaeyoung was having a fit. “Get a boyfriend! And stop whining over that guy, he’s definitely not worth it. Asshole.” She was the only other person in the world who knew about your little affair. She’d accidentally walked into your apartment before you got a chance to hide the discarded captains uniform crumpled on your bedroom floor and had run straight into a ruined bed and your clothes scattered all over the house.

And after she’d gotten over the whole you’re-fucking-captain-America shock phase, she’d been badgering you on breaking it off to preserve your own heart. It was painfully obvious to anyone that you were head over heels for him. But no one was allowed to know.

So when the two-month mark hits, of not having any conversations other than your polite greetings to Jungkook and fleeting glances on your part down hallways, and catching glimpses of him only through the pixels of your computer or tv screen on the local news or broadcast, you decided it was time to finally let go.

Chaeyoung’s boss was holding a big get together for the holidays at his condo and had invited all of his employees who were allied to bring plus ones. She’d excitedly dressed you up in one of her classy-but-confident ensemble of a dark blue dress, strapped heels that were higher than the building you worked at, and perfect hair and makeup that took her hours to perfect. She’d gotten herself ready in a flash as you finished curling her hair and finishing a few documents from work.

The taxi arrive on time and the both you clamber out and take a moment to gawk at the estate. Chaeyoung said it was supposed to be a condo, but it seemed like this was an entire city packed into one home. The huge building decorated with classy Christmas lights, a huge tree in the middle, and a buffet of food off to the side that your mouth was watering for.

Chaeyoung nudges you as you two enter the two double doors, receiving nods from the bouncer as they recognize Chaeyoung. “That’s the host, him, over there. Stark Taehyung.”

You turn to her in shock. “What the fuck Chae,” you hiss, pulling her close, “you don’t work for Stark! I thought you said the host was your boss!”

She slips away from you, rubbing her neck.

“Technically Stark enterprises bought out my company sooooo…” she trails off, grinning at you knowingly, “he is my boss. And he specifically asked me to bring you.”

You curl back. “What? Me?!”

She nods, glancing back at him as he expertly chats away a group of important-looking men. “Yes! Y/n, why would he do that! It’s cause he’s interested! Now go, go and flirt. He’s much nicer and sweeter than Jungkook can ever dream of being.”

You frown. “I don’t know. It feels a little wrong you know?”

She rolls her eyes. “Would you break out of that shameful little secret you had with Mr Jeon? This is different. Taehyung is not morally obligated to be a role model fake ass hoe like Jungkook was. He can do whatever he wants, which includes flirting and most likely boning you tonight.” She winks.

You elbow her. “Stop, two months is not too long.”

She scoffs. “I just hope that your vagina isn’t still using sticks to create fire and actually understands that the world is round.”

You giggle and shove her lightly, as she gently pushes you towards him. You turn and see Taehyung take a quick glimpse in your direction, catch your eye and raise his glass and smile at you, and quickly turn back to his conversation and end it before jogging over.

You’re a little breathless.

He’s gorgeous in photos and news broadcasts, but it’s your first time seeing him in person, especially after spending so much time with Jungkook, who made it his personal mission and agenda to cross paths with Taehyung Stark as least as possible. And in person, Taehyung is absolutely gorgeous and tall and piercing.

He smiles, “y/n! Nice to finally meet you in person.”

You laugh, accepting the flute of champagne. “You know me?”

He laughs, sipping his wine. “Of course, you’re a celebrity in the department for being the most excellent worker.”

You blush. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just look like I have a lot to do.”

He laughs, leaning against a chair. “You mean, juggling work and relationship?”

You finish off the flute and grab another from a passing waitress. “No,” you shake your head, “I’m not in a relationship. Just my job!”

He clinks drinks with you. Winking, “Ah, well that’s just awful! A woman like you, with your hard working personality, your beautiful looks, who wouldn’t want to date you?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol making you a little nervous and honest right now. “I know right? I should just go out and find the right one.”

“Hm, seems like you do have someone in mind. Does this person not know of your feelings for him?”

You rest your elbow on the table and cradle your head in your hand. Staring sadly at the bubbles in your flute, you mumble, “Mhm. Doesn’t even give me a look,” You scoff, finishing off the champagne with another quick swig.

Taehyung just watches you with a little smile on his lips. You keep going. “Can you even believe it though? Doesn’t even say hi, not even a look, who does he think he is?”

He eventually stops you from drinking any further, but stays by your side all night, until you slowly start to feel yourself sobering up. You sway a little by the balcony, and he immediately catches you by the waist, helping you steady yourself on your heels.

“Careful there,” he says lowly, letting go when you lean against the railing. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark, I’m feeling a little better.” You sip on the water bottle he gave you. “Um, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure darling, go ahead.”

The nickname seems to make you even drunker. “Would you like to have se—”

“Y/N.” A low voice cuts you off from behind and you whirl around at the familiar tone. Jungkook stands behind you with a tick in his jaw and his tuxedo jacket thrown over his forearm. He strides up to the both of you, and you stumble a bit as you hastily move to straighten up. Taehyung grabs you from behind, large warm hands cradling your waist and you catch the way Jungkook’s eyes linger darkly on the sight before moving back up to your unfocused ones.

“Captain Jeon,” you mumble, bowing clumsily.

"Are you okay?“ He asks, stepping forward to wrap his jacket around you, "this womanizer isn’t trying anything on you?” He throws a look at Taehyung.

"Woah woah,“ Taehyung interjects, both hands up, "I’m a gentleman. I would never."

Jungkook snaps back, "then why the fuck would you let her get this drunk? It’s a cocktail party for fucks sake, not a college frat party."

You shrivel under the harsh tone he spits at Taehyung, feeling the burnt of the remark because it’s mainly aimed at you. You were the one who drank the alcohol, not Taehyung. But mr. stark doesn’t say anything and just smiles, finishing off the rest of his glass and sauntering away. Ever so always the slick one.

As soon as Taehyung is out of sight, Jungkook turns to you and immediately his brow furrows. You hunch as small as you can, feeling the heat of his glare. But his tone is a bit different from how pissed he looks.

"Why can’t you take care of yourself? Be careful of getting too drink with another man,” he murmurs, tucking his coat tighter around your bare shoulders. “You don’t know what they want."

You probably shouldn’t have drank so much. Chaeyoung always scolded you for having a loose lip whenever you get a bit tipsy. So you blurt out, "what do you want Jungkook?”

He blinks back at you, frowning. “What?” He takes a look around, making sure no one is close enough to see or hear the both of you.

You slur, “I said, what do you want from me? You’re a man. I’m a woman. What do you want?” You press closer to him, and his large hands come to your elbows, holding you at an arms distance away.

He sighs, brows knitting even closer on his handsome face. “You’re drunk, Y/N. Let’s get you home.”

You shake your head so hard you stumble a bit, and the hands on your arms help steady you, maneuvering you to lean heavily against his side. “Don’t wanna” you mumble, closing your eyes as he begins ushering you to a back entrance, probably to his car. “I hate you.”

His voice rumbles in the chest you’re leaning against. “You hate me huh?”

You nod, pushing hair away from your face. It was probably a mess right now, but you couldn’t care less.

“Yeah, I hate you. I’m over this.”

The last thing you remember is Jungkook carefully placing you in his car, and then sitting down into the driver’s seat, exchanging a few muffled conversations with you before you black out.

Your head is throbbing and it is so fucking hot in the room when you wake up. Your back is slicked in sweat, and your face feels warm and stuffy. Squeezing your eyes shut you groan and sit up, pushing your hair out of your face. Peeping one eye open, you stare at your surroundings, groaning as the white covers reflect the sunlight filtering through the window–

Fuck. You didn’t own white covers. And if the sun was already up, you were definitely completely fucking late. You scramble up, staring and gawking at your surroundings, mouth gaping as you try to rack your memory for what the hell happened last night. This place was a gorgeous room, decked with expensive looking draperies on the 4-poster King sized bed, dark grey carpets matching the gray marble in the restroom you could see from here. You scan the area for your belongings and find your purse and heels sitting on the nightstand. Grabbing them and strapping on your shoes, you grab your purse and the accompanying jacket lying there and scramble out of the house.

It’s a huge estate, spacious and large and surprisingly empty, and you thank the gods as you make it to the front door and down the hall without running into anyone. As you punch your finger desperately into the elevator button, you realize you’re on the topmost floor in the center of Seoul.

Confused, you slump against the glass walls of the elevator, catching your breath and rubbing your temples. The last thing you remembered from the party last night was chatting with Taehyung before you got extremely drunk. Frowning, you couldn’t remember any details about him carrying you home though.

You sigh as you make it to the street without any problems or running into any familiar faces who’d definitely recognize you despite the day-old makeup and the horrible nest of hair on your head. Flagging down a taxi, you hurriedly bark out your address and the driver understands and zooms down toward your place.

Chaeyoung isn’t home either, and you jam your phone into its charging port as soon as you open your door. While it turns on, you throw off your clothes into the hamper, including the jacket and jump into the shower to wash off all your makeup and somehow gain control of the mess of hair. If you were going to be late, you might as well look presentable while you’re apologizing.

After the quickest shower in your life, you scurry out and quickly throw on a formal business set of clothes, spritzing some perfume on your wrists and letting your hair down to blow dry a bit. After some mascara and some lipstick, you’re ready to go. You grab your phone and quickly make it downstairs in time to catch another taxi to work.

You scroll through your notifications, including a dozen emails from Captain Jeon’s partners and collaborators, asking to fit themselves into his schedule. A couple missed calls and texts from Chaeyoung demanding to know where the hell you are, and then finally, a text from an unknown number.

[12:04AM] Did you make it home last night? - TS

You immediately recognize the initials. You quickly reply to Chaeyoung and then type back a response.

[9:03AM] Yes, thank you. How did you find my number?

The response is almost immediate.

[9:03AM] I have my ways ;)

[9:04AM] What are your plans for tonight?

The taxi driver slows to a stop in front of Jeon Corporations. Thanking him, you tip him generously and walk out towards the entrance, sheepishly greeting the receptionist as you hurry through the security doors.

On the elevator ride up, you respond to Taehyung.

[9:08AM] I guess it depends on what the captain has planned on his schedule today.

More people filter into the elevator.

[9:08AM] You know that’s not what I mean, Y/N.

Frowning, you lock your phone and stuff it in your purse. You were extremely late and about to get chewed out by whoever was inconvenienced by your tardiness in a couple seconds. You didn’t have time to think too hard about these texts like a giddy high school girl.

Smoothing down your hair and straightening your shoulders, you wait until the elevator stops at the highest floor, and step out gingerly in your heels. Breathing in short breaths, you round the corner until you see your desk empty, and gingerly sit in the seat without making too much noise. Your co worker looks up from her screen and her eyes bulge out at you, glancing quickly toward Mr. Jeon’s office before throwing you a look.

You smile, apologizing with your lips, and you stand up with her as she leads you to the break room.

“Y/N,” Seulgi hisses, “Do you know what time it is?!”

You groan, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “I know, I know. I’m so late, I’m sorry. Is everything in the office okay?”

She sighs, watching you rub your temples. “No, honestly. Two deals got canceled today. He’s not in a good mood.”

You sigh, mixing in more cream and sugar. You were gonna need it. “Fuck,” you mutter, “well, guess I’m in for a chewing out by the one and only.”

She leans against the counter. “Where were you last night?”

You sigh, straightening out your blouse. “Okay, honestly? I don’t know…”

Her eyes widen and you continue. “I remember talking to Taehyung Stark about something and then that’s where my memory kind of cuts off…” You trail off.

“Damn,” she whispers, “you got hammered didn’t you? How much wine did you drink?”

You shake your head. “I seriously don’t even remember. I haven’t drank like that since my 21st birthday. I woke up in a stranger’s room.”

“Y/N!” She squeals, eyes wide, “I can’t believe you! Did you get laid?”

“No!” You hiss, “I didn’t!”

She laughs, leading you back to your desks. “Well, damn, if I got a chance to romp with Taehyung, damn me.”

You giggle at her, cradling the cup in your hands. “Oh shut up. We didn’t even do anything.”

“Do what?” A deep voice startles the both of you and you snap your head to see Mr. Jeon standing in his doorway, watching the both of you with a dark glint in his eye. Seulgi stammers out an apology and scurries back to her desk. You stand there with eyes wide and panic mode, trying not to drop your coffee all over your new Jimmy Choo’s.

“Uh,” you mutter dumbly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “G-good m-morning, Mr. Jeon.”

He just stares you down a couple of feet away from you, glowering. “Meet me in my office, Y/N, 2 minutes.” He turns on his heels and slams the door behind him, leaving you quaking in your heels. You glance at Seulgi who looks like she’s about to cry, and sigh as you set down your coffee and enter his office. You let the door shut quietly behind you and linger by the doorway, hands wrung in front of you and eyes cast down at your shoes. You couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Y/N,” he says lowly from his seat at his desk. “come here.”

You look up at him and slowly walk over to in front of his desk. “Yes sir.”

He hums behind his hands. “How late were you today?”

You cringe. “Two hours sir.”

“Why?”

You blink. “Um, I ran into some unprecedented troubles in the morning, sir. I am so sorry about that, I assure you nothing like this will happen ever again.”

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Does it have anything to do with how drunk you were last night?”

You snap your head up, staring at him in horror. He’d witnessed your state! Internally groaning, you let your chin drop down again as you mumble, “Yes sir. I apologize for any inappropriate behavior last night sir. I completely must have lost my mind.”

He stands up, hands in his pockets. “What kind of behavior are you sorry for?”

You bite your lip. “I’m not sure, I can’t remember much.”

“You can’t remember?” He seems a bit caught off-guard, and you cock your head to the side as you try to rack your brains on what he might be referencing. Were you seriously such a drunk idiot last night that he was questioning you like this?

“Uh, y-yes sir. I’m afraid I can’t recall anything…”

His face hardens, his jaw tightening and he turns away from you to face the huge window behind his desk.

“That’s all for now. You can leave. Have Seulgi come in later to read me my schedule.”

What the hell? That was odd, you’d expected him to at least give you a slap on the wrist for being so late. But this, this was not good.

“Oh, okay. Is that all you have to say to me today sir?”

He doesn’t turn, his shoulders tightening from where he stood. “Yes. Get out.”

You bite your lip and mumble another apology before quietly exiting the room. Tears burn behind your eyes, feeling absolutely humiliated by him and disgusted with yourself. Sitting quietly at your desk, you blink back the anger and heat and focus entirely on re-doing Mr. Jeon’s schedule to an impeccable perfect calendar, adding in the emails that you missed this morning and finalizing some more appointments and organizing a few more reports.

Halfway in, you throw a glare at his door.

How could he just question you like that, make you feel like an idiot, and then throw you out? This wasn’t even the first time. He was just so cold. After all that you’ve done with him…

Glancing at your phone sitting on your desk, you grab it in a moment of pure compulsiveness and type out one daring message.

[10:02] Taehyung, what do you say you take me out tonight?

The response comes back immediately. So different than Captain Jeon, who took hours and hours to respond to any of your messages.

[10:03] Perfect. ;) I’ll pick you up at 6.

Locking your phone, you take a quick look at your reflection in the mirror, and unbutton the first two buttons on your blouse. Today was going to be the day you officially moved on.

Taehyung made quite the show of showing up at Jeon enterprises with a sleek black Rolls Royce and stepping out of it to wait for you to exit the building. Blushing, you greet him with a smile, and try to step into the vehicle as quickly as possible to avoid any looks. Thank goodness the Captain had left an hour ago to attend the last business meeting of the day. If he’d seen the car, he’d be livid.

Who were you kidding though, there were already crowds of people lingering in the glass lobby, staring at the both of you and wondering how the hell the president’s secretary was stepping into the expensive car of his rival. There were probably already rumors going around as you took each next breath.

Taehyung gets in behind you, shutting the door and the driver begins driving smoothly to a destination without him having to ask anything. Turning to you, he smiles widely, charmingly handing you a single rose and kissing the back of your hand.

“So, how was your day?”

You put the rose in your purse. “Horrible. Thank you for picking me up, Taehyung, I needed this.”

You see his eyes linger on the exposed skin of your chest when you lean forward. His eyes are a bit darker when he looks up at you again and throws you another charming smirk.

“I needed this too.”

“Where are we going?” You ask, surveying the passing surroundings in your window.

He hums, sitting back into the plush leather seats. The sun is setting and one by one, the street lights begin to flicker on, shrouding the city in a beautiful blue and golden glow. “How about some drinks?”

You hesitate and he chuckles. “Don’t worry, we’ll eat too, so you don’t get so tipsy.”

Groaning, you step out when the car slows down to a stop in front of an expensive looking restaurant and bar. “You remember?”

He laughs, helping you out with a large hand clasped around yours. His fingers are long and warm against yours and squeeze them a bit as you steady yourself. “Of course, more than you do.” He gives you a flirty wink and nods at the host standing in the entrance. Without having to look at his list, the host escorts the both of you to the back of the restaurant, where a table for two is already set up with menus sitting on the top.

Taehyung murmurs an order of some wine that goes over the top of your head and you let him pull your chair out for you as you sit down. Surveying the lavish decorations of the restaurant, you gawk at the floor-to-ceiling aquarium decorating an entire wall, and the brilliant chandeliers that look like they’ll cost your yearly salary suspended throughout the room. Even the wine glasses have intricate designs cut into the crystal, and the plates look like they’re lined with genuine gold.

The menu doesn’t even have prices. Just a couple choices and quite simple ingredient lists below them. But even the paper of the menu feels heavy and expensive in your hand, and you politely choose a plate that doesn’t look too much.

The waiter comes with a smile and silently pours the dark wine into your glasses as Taehyung tells him your orders. When he leaves, Taehyung grins at you.

“What?” you quirk, taking a sip of your wine.

“Nothing.” He grins, unashamedly staring at you.

You bashfully take a few more sips of your wine. You remember what Chaeyoung told you when you got the party last night. Taehyung was a good man, and was okay with no-string relationships. Maybe this was your chance to finally get over the captain.

Clearing your throat, you lean forward, letting your lashes fall heavily on your cheeks, and you lower your tone a few notes. “So what happened last night?”

Bingo, Taehyung’s eyes flit to your chest once more before they focus on your lips that are curled in a smirk. His eyes meet yours again, dangerously glinting with excitement and eyebrows raising as an acceptance of your challenge.

He swirls his wine in his glass, “Well, for starters, you were blubbering about the things you hated in your work.”

Your mouth falls open. “I did?!”

He chuckles, “Yes, Y/N. It was hilarious.”

“Why? Do my miseries at work humor you?” You quip.

He raises his brows, smirking back at you knowingly. “Of course not, I’d never laugh at a lady. I’m laughing because we both know that I’d treat you better than Jeon does.”

The statement has a lot more implications laced into it, and his eyes glint darkly at you in the dim lights of the restaurants. Your breath becomes short, as you hesitate. Not only was he offering you a job, but a break.

“What do you know?” You breathe out. He knew, he knew about you and Mr. Jeon. You’d spilled it. You’d made the biggest mistake of your life.

He meets your gaze, recognizing the fear immediately. “Oh no, Y/N, you didn’t have to say anything. Although your reaction gives me quite enough information.” He takes a sip of your wine, grinning at your horrified expression. “Any idiot can tell from the way you look at him.”

You frown at him. “What do you mean? The way I look at him?”

Something catches his eye behind you, and he takes a last swig from his glass. Cocking his chin up towards your right, the grin falls from his face. You turn in your seat and swivel to see a sight that makes your throat close.

There, a couple tables away from you in the restaurant, sits Jeon Jungkook in the suit that he wore today to work, and a girl you recognize as one of the partners of his business sitting with him. She’s ditched the seat across from him, judging from her purse and coat on that seat, and opted for the one a few inches from Jungkook, giggling as she loops her arm around his and pops a grape into his mouth.

He laughs, moving over to nuzzle her ear, and looks up, eyes running lazily over the room before they settle on you in your seat. They widen, and Jungkook’s brows furrow as he pulls away quickly from the girl and straightens in his seat. You can see the way his figure tenses as he spots who is accompanying you, and his jaw tightens as he leans over and whispers something in the girl’s ear that makes her giggle.

You feel the tug in your chest and the burn behind your eyes.

“That look.” Taehyung responds lowly, pouring himself another glass of wine. You turn to him slowly, eyes blinking back tears. “You look at him like you love him.”

Your mouth presses in a tight line as you try desperately to bite back the tears.

“Please,” you whimper, “please get me out of here.”

Taehyung’s jaw hardens as he waves over the waiter. “Tip yourself double the bill.” The waiter nods, eyes wide as he realizes how big of a tip he’s receiving today and hurries to clean your table. Taehyung briskly grabs his coat and helps you up, wrapping it around your shoulders and walking you out of the restaurant into the waiting car.

You open your eyes and cast a look back at the restaurant, and you swear you see Jungkook getting up from the table and running towards the entrance, but Taehyung tucks the jacket around you tighter.

He holds you close, and you sniffle with your head cast low to hide your tears. He silently just keeps his arm wrapped around you as the driver asks you for your address.

When you calm down, the car is beginning to turn into the familiar road towards your place.

Realizing Taehyung’s arm is still around you, you shift and he retracts it, and you glance down at the jacket. “Thank you,” you mumble, taking it off and handing it back to him. “Oh, I still have your other one back at my place. Thank you for letting me use it last night.”

“Huh?” He stares down at you with confusion.

You gesture at his coat. “You left a similar one, black, with me when you let me stay at your place? Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Wait, Y/N, what? What are you talking about? You went home with Jungkook last night. I saw him take you into his car.”

You frown, remembering the unfamiliar room and the jacket. There was no way-

And then it hits you, the mumbled conversation you had with him in the car.

“Yeah, I hate you. I’m over this.”

He turns in his seat, his hand on the steering wheel as he stares at you. “What are you over?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, cheeks hot and mind reeling from the haze. “This game that you want to play, this stupid dumb game where you fuck me until I love you and then you retreat and act like I’m not worth anything to you.”

He pulls out of the parking lot, the low hum of the car lulling you to sleep.

“Y/N, it’s not a game.”

When you don’t respond, he glances at you. You’re not completely asleep yet. “You’re mine,” he growls. “Mine.”

You feel a heavy pressure on your hand. He’s holding it tightly with the one that’s not gripping the steering wheel.

“And I’m yours.”

You shake your head as the memories come rushing back, too heavy and too fast for you to handle. The tears spring up again and Taehyung assumes it’s because he’s mentioned Jungkook.

“What do you want, Y/N?” Taehyung whispers, staring down at you with a heavy look.

You blink up at him, and in brash attempts to save yourself from drowning in the love you have for Jungkook you painfully croak, “Help me forget him, Taehyung,” you whisper, blinking back tears, “Just once.”

He nods, and takes a large hand and wraps it around the nape of your neck, drawing you in quickly into a kiss.

His lips are warm and strong against your trembling ones, and yours immediately open up to sigh into his mouth as he presses his urgently against yours. He kisses you softly, lips gliding over yours and collecting momentum and confidence as he tips his head slightly to the left whilst a hand comes up to cup your cheek to the right. His lips delve deeper and his tongue flicks over your lower lip, drawing out your reactions in slow and deep drags of his mouth against yours.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but you can’t help the whimper that turns into a sob as tears begin streaming down your cheeks. Taehyung feels it and detaches from you, worriedly looking into your eyes that are crying uncontrollably.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you choke out, and Taehyung just looks understandingly down at you and murmurs to the driver, “Pull over.”

The car comes to a stop and you squeeze his hand with trembling lips.

“Do you know why I don’t do romance, Y/N?” He murmurs, his thumb swiping over your knuckles softly.

You just stare at him as he continues sadly.

“I assume it’s different for Jeon, but for me, I could die any minute protecting this country. I would never do that to the woman I love.”

“Love?” You croak out.

He nods, gazing at you sadly. “It’s quite obvious the way he looks at you Y/N. I’ve worked with him for decades, and I’ve never seen him look at any other woman the way he looks at you.”

The tears stream down, and you sob into your fist as he continues.

“Maybe he pushes you away because he knows it’s dangerous, that it’s not worth hurting you to be selfish for once.”

You haphazardly wipe away the stray tears on your cheeks and throw open the door of the car. He just smiles sadly and let’s you go without another word, which you’re eternally grateful for.

Thankfully the driver has carefully parked in an area that’s not too far from the restaurant. In your heels, you slam the door shut behind you and begin scrambling towards the direction of the restaurant, crossing streets quickly and praying under your breath that Jungkook didn’t leave the restaurant yet.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t sleep with Taehyung because you’d be betraying your heart, your body, your mind, every part of you that screamed for Jungkook, longed for him. Every waking moment was consumed by him, and every dozing moment before you closed your eyes were always captured by him. You didn’t know if he returned it. But if you were going to live, you wanted to do it right. You didn’t want to regret this years later, being disappointed and regretting that you didn’t get a chance to voice your feelings to him in a sober state.

You finally reach the restaurant, and in your breathless and sweaty state the host casts you a look, before finally recognizing the guest of the guy who’d tipped the biggest tip of the night, and mumbles an apology under his breath before letting you back in. You thank him haphazardly and run into the restaurant, drawing a few stares from the rich guests whose quiet dinners are interrupted by the sound of your heavy breathing and clicking heels, and the sight of your desperate figure scouring the restaurant for any sign of Jungkook.

But the table he was seated on has been cleared and is set up impeccably, as if he’d never been there. Cursing, you turn on your heel and run outside, flagging a taxi. The last and final resort was to try and get to the house that you’d woken up in last night.

You pray that he had the mind to at least invite the girl over to his place instead of going to hers.

As you slump into the seat, you scoff at yourself.

You were completely pathetic, wishing to yourself that Jungkook had brought the girl home to his house rather than going to hers. You didn’t even have your wallet or purse with you, just your phone tucked into your hand. You didn’t even have his personal mobile number, just the digits that corresponded to his office line. This was your last chance.

The taxi drops you off in front of the estate and the man lets you pay with your phone with a frown. Ignoring the passive-agressiveness, you thank him and leap out of the taxi with your phone in tow, running up to the building and showing the security guard a picture of your work ID tag, blurting out some excuse about needing to notify your boss immediately about some important issue about the company.

He’s about to deny you entrance, but then seems to think about how the fact that you know that Mr. Jeon resides here, means you must be someone important to him. He gives you a once over again, and you promise him that you’re not anyone dangerous, assuring him that if he calls someone at the company right now, he’ll realize that you’re Mr. Jeon’s personal assistant and secretary.

“Is he here with someone?” You gasp.

The man sighs, “No, miss. He came alone.”

You mull over that. Alone? That meant he didn’t come in with his date and returned home alone?

You thank the guard before running over to the elevator and jamming your finger into the button repeatedly. It comes in an instant, and you step in, immediately pressing the highest number you can see on the board of numbers.

The doors open with a ding, and you step out hesitantly.

The cold air in the hallway is chilling against your clammy skin and you breath shakily as you survey the single door at the end of the beautiful hallway.

Your feet ache, and you sigh as you remove them, groaning lowly as you step on the cool marble that helps chill and soothe your aching feet.

The hallway feels like miles long, as you quietly pad down it and reach the door. It has no number, no peep hole, and is a very simple door. But you recognize this hallway, you realize that the jacket you brought home was definitely not Taehyung’s, because it has that aroma that makes you go crazy. And you can smell it slightly on the floor of this building, and you hesitantly bring your hand up to knock on the door in three clear pounds.

You don’t know what to say. You didn’t prepare a speech or anything, and you’re sure your hair is completely winded and your blouse is probably now drooping past your shoulder, your feet red and swollen from running in heels. Your makeup is probably smeared from the crying you did earlier, and you can feel the sweat sticking your blouse and skirt to your skin.

But you don’t care.

The door sounds a slick sound of a lock turning in its place and it opens outwards. You step back as you come face to face with the confused and puzzled dark look of Jungkook.

His eyes harden as they sweep across your blotchy cheeks and down to your swollen feet.

Immediately, as soon as you meet eyes with him, the tears come back, your heart growing three sizes and bursting forth in a tsunami of ugly emotions. You blubber, “I-I came because I tr-tried to forget and I can’t and I–”

He closes the distance between you in a swift movement and swallows your words with his lips, hands gripping your cheeks and carding through your hair as he presses you against him and steals a kiss in greedy desire. You lose your breath and all your inhibitions are thrown out the window the moment his lips touch yours in familiar passion.

You drop your heels and wrap your arms around his neck, sighing into the kiss as he holds your waist tight against his body, pressing you to him as he imprints his taste into your mouth, pulling breaths and sobs from your lips until your cries turn into breathless pleas and sighs.

His lips demand your submission, assuring you of his presence, swiping across yours in passionate desire and perfection. He drags the pleasure out of you and pulls out the deepest darkest desires in your heart as he pulls you into his apartment. The door closes shut with a sound and he presses you up against it, hands gripping heavily through your blouse.

He pulls away to catch his breath, and it’s only then that you can see that he’s only dressed in a white dress shirt and the slacks he wore to work today. His tie has been thrown off and the first few buttons opened, revealing his heaving and flushed chest.

You raise your eyes to look at him and he’s staring down at you with utter concentration, eyebrows furrowed and irises dark as he surveys your expression. Before you can even say anything, he reaches down and captures your lips again, and you sigh into the kiss in silent consent, fingers coming up to unbutton his shirt. This you understood.

He groans and begins kissing down your neck, tongue and teeth scraping the delicate skin and marking it with sheer possessiveness. The groans he lets out when he noses your skin shoot straight into your core and you whimper as you struggle with the last few buttons near his lower abdomen. He grips your wrists in his large hands and presses them against the door behind you, rendering you completely exposed to his lips.

He cards them roughly down your neck and onto your exposed shoulder, mouthing at the skin there and lapping up after he bites into you.

“Fuck, Jungkook, please,” You whine, blubbering pleas as his strong hands keep yours anchored to the door. He finally lets them go but immediately rips open your blouse, buttons skidding and clattering off the tile as he yanks your bra down to envelop his lips around a nipple.

It’s long hard licks with his tongue spread wide against your skin, his nose brushing at the swell of your breast as he moans into your skin. Your knees buckle and he mounts you there, hips pressing hard into yours against the door to keep you upright.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “I missed this,” he groans, his other hand coming up to surround and knead your other breast. You moan and keen into his mouth, upper body curling into him as he licks you so good with his tongue, moaning around your nipple, sending the vibrations straight to your core.

“Jungkook,” you breathe out, scrabbling for his hair or his shoulders or something to grab onto to keep yourself grounded. You yank at the hair on his nape and he detaches with a groan, glaring down at you as he straightens back up. You discard the shreds of your blouse and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your trembling lips desperately onto his, tip toeing to tongue at his lips.

“Please,” You mumble, brave with your words and what you asked of him. “Please, please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for at this point, but Jungkook seems to have an idea.

His lips don’t part for you as you kiss him, and you whine desperately and pull back to look at him. His eyes are still open and dark and angry as he stares down at you, and he lets out a curt, “No. Tonight I’m going to take my time.”

Before you could even respond, he reaches down and picks you up, and you gasp, holding onto him as he walks briskly past the other doors to the familiar door at the end of the hallway. He throws it open and throws you onto the 4-poster bed that you’d woken up in this morning, and straightens up at the edge of the bed, as he undoes the buttons on his wrists.

Pushing his sleeves up past his gorgeous forearms, he crawls on the King mattress, looming over your body. He encircles your ankle in his grip and pulls you close, dragging you underneath him as he presses a hand next to your head on the mattress.

The same hand gripping your ankle drags up your leg and disappears under your skirt as he leans down to press his lips against your neck again, and you sigh at the touch, hands coming up to encircle his neck as he begins to make love with his tongue to your breasts again. The hand under your skirt pushes aside your underwear, and parts your folds with familiar practice, collecting the wetness on his fingertips and dragging them all the way up your slit until he finds your clit.

You choke on nothing when he does, breath catching in your throat and leaving your lungs in a whoosh that he feels with his mouth when your chest heaves. “Oh my go–” Your statement cuts off when he slides his fingers right in, curling upward to find the spot that has you squeezing your eyes shut and tightening your thighs around his hips.

“God, you’re so wet.” He groans into your skin, and you can even hear the sounds of your arousal, your walls sucking his fingers in as he moves them in and out, aiming for the spot inside you whilst his thumb joins into rub at your clit.

“Ohhh Jungkook right there,” you breathe out, swallowing heavily as he finds the rhythm that has you teetering on the edge. He sucks even harder at your breasts, tongue flattening out and dragging the rough pad of his tongue over the sensitive skin as you fall apart on his fingers, crying his name and rocking your hips desperately against him.

He touches you and kisses you through the orgasm, groaning along with you as he feels your walls clench down on him and spasm over his hand. He stops to look down at you, with his hand still inside you, surveying the marks he’s made all over your chest and neck. Smirking, he removes his hand and immediately laps up the wetness he’s collected there, and in the smoky haze of post-orgasmic bliss, you watch him in awe as he stares down at you with a dark glint in his eyes as he skillfully moves his tongue around his digits and cleans it of the glistening remnants of your orgasm.

“Fuck, taste so good,” He grunts, letting go of his fingers and reaching for your skirt, yanking it down your legs and throwing it over his shoulder. You’re now completely nude, and you stare down at him as he lays on his stomach and throws your leg over his shoudler.

“N-no Jungkook please,” you whimper, half desperate for the immeasurable amount of pleasure you know he guarantees you, but half cringing from the sensitivity from the orgasm he just gave you.

But he ignores you and strong hands grip your inner thighs and spread them open, lips immediately dragging over the wetness that he’s already pooled there, and tearing a high-pitched cry of his name from your throat. You immediately grip his hands that are resting on your hips, scratching at his fingers until he yields and threads his fingers through yours, mounting them to your hips.

Your back bows and arches up into his mouth as he licks up lasciviously into you like he doesn’t know whats up or down anymore. He moans into the skin, sending vibrations straight up down your toes and making you curl away and cringe from the oversensitivity. Tears prickle at your eyes as he tears yelps of his name from your lips, tongue dragging over sensitive flesh and abusing the swollen nub that has you gripping his hands tighter, and clenching down on nothing to try and appease the pleasure.

“Do you want to cum?” He mutters, and you open your eyes to glance down and almost cum right then and there. He’s breathing heavily, glaring up at you with dark eyes with pupils almost blown out of proportion, lips glistening from your arousal.

“Fuck,” you cry, head dropping down on the sheets.

He squeezes your hips in his hands, “Say it.”

“Fuck!” you yell, tears streaming down. “Yes, yes, yes, yes! Please Jungkook, please, let me cum!” You’re blabbering nonsense at this point but it doesn’t seem to stop Jungkook from returning to your folds with newfound purpose and immediately makes a suction at your clit, teeth grazing the bundle of nerves in a slick motion that throws you over the edge, completely unprepared.

You convulse against him, your walls clenching on nothing as he continues to kiss you and work you through your orgasm until you’re yelping from the pain and pushing him away and cringing away on the sheets, face and upper body twisted in an attempt to get away from his mouth.

He relents, and watches you twitch beneath him, crying out in pleasure and wanton desire as you grip his hands and squeeze your eyes shut as you ride the waves of your orgasm.

“Fucking beautiful.” He says, moreso to himself than to you.

When you come back to earth, you’re breathing heavily and you see that he’s taken off his shirt and belt, waiting and watching you with a hard look.

You feel drunk, so drunk off of the pleasure, but even moreso in your love for him. You reach up, cringing at the swollen feeling of your folds, but choose to ignore it as you kneel up against him, hands sliding up his body.

The lines there are as you left them, the muscles hard from their training and the fighting. But while he graced televisions all over the country and billboards and ads, the bare body was all for yours for the taking.

Your hand trembles as it dips into the hard lines of his abs as you run your hand from his hips up to his chest. He shivers under you touch, but kneels high above you without a word, silently watch you touch him.

You finally reach his chest, hand resting over his chest where you can feel it heave with the breaths that he takes and the fluttering heartbeat. You look up into his eyes, and sit up higher, whispering to him.

“I can do this. Please, please let me in. You don’t need to think about anything else. Please, just–” You don’t know what to say, and the words become jumbled and blubbered as the tears come again.

“Please just let me love you.”

You reach up and kiss him, softly pressing your lips to his, and you begin moving them. He seems to fight it for a moment, and then relents, his hands coming up to card into the strands of your hair as he exhales into the kiss, eyes closing as he leans down a bit to fit your head tighter against his.

He lets you kiss him, lets you run your tongue into his mouth and taste him for all he’s worth, and you pour yourself into the kiss, communicating to him how much you love and adore him.

With a push to his chest, you push him back against the sheets, and he goes down with you on top, hands coming up to cup your waist in his hands. You kneel over him, kissing his lips and trailing off to the side, running your lips over the edge of his jawline, down his gorgeous neck. In spite, you defiantly suck a hickey into his neck and chest as you move lower down, running your tongue over the hard lines of his chest, brushing up against his nipple and relishing over the choked sound he makes in his throat.

When you move lower down his abdomen, his grip on your hair gets tighter and stops you from continuing.

He’s breathing harshly, and you can see the bulge in his pants.

“Fuck, I need you right now,” he breathes, pupils blown wide as his mouth hangs open in pants.

You nod, quickly getting up and helping him cast his pants aside. But he catches your wrist as you move to get off of him.

“Ride me like this,” he mutters, leaning back on his back against the pillows. You bite your lip and nod, hestiantly throwing your knee over his hip and settling on his thighs as you steady yourself with a hand on his lower stomach.

He grips himself and strokes himself in his fist tightly as he stares up at you. You can’t tear your eyes away at how hot it is to watch him do that, but a hand taps against your hips to remind you.

You crawl a bit further up and reach down to guide his tip into you, and once his thick and hot tip is nestled right against your entrance, you brace yourself on his shoulders and sink down.

The both of you simultaneously moan at the sensation. Jungkook groans like he’s in pain, eyes squeezing shut as he clenches his jaw and grips your hips so hard they’ll bruise. His chest is flushed and his abs clenched so hard it looks like he might cum any second.

You’re not any better, your folds clenching around him, still sensitive and glowing pink inside from the two orgasms he drew out of you. You tremble above him, choking out his name at the sensation of him completely inside of you after so long.

“Fuck Jungkook I–” You stammer, dropping down to mold your upper body against his and bury your face in his shoulder. “I–I can’t, I’m too sensitive, I can’t, I–”

“You can,” he grits out, and ruts up into you with a roll of his hips so smoothly that it hits your spot instantly.

You garble out his name, crying out at the oversensitivity, nipples hardening against his chest as you hear his heavy breaths against your ear.

“You can,” he repeats, harshly rutting up into you, feet braced against the mattress. “Give me one more, Y/N.” He raises his torso, taking you along with him so that he faces you, rocking you onto him.

“I-I c-can’t,” you sob, against him, teeth scraping against any skin you can find to distract yourself. “S-so good,” you breathe out, toes curling underneath you, “S-so b-big, god.”

He groans at the praise, finding more purpose and control in his grinds against you, eyes finally opening up and drawing your face back so that he can look at you properly.

His gaze runs over your tear stained cheeks and his brows ease out as he leans in to sweetly and softly press his lips against yours. He swallows your mewls and pleas as he ruts his hips up into yours, hard and calculated, waking up nerves in you that you could never reach on your own.

You move your hips blindly against his, rocking up and down and clenching and unclenching your walls to draw moans and groans of your name out of his lips. He’s gorgeous like this, completely fucked out and eyes hazily looking up at you like you’re the last thing he needs before he dies.

You cry out in pleasure, a blubbering mess of his name, and the pleasure starts to become too much, the webs of pain and pleasure drawing higher and higher until you can’t take it anymore, can’t handle the immense love that he gives to your body.

“Fu—” You keen, hips moving faster against his, “Jungkook I’m–!”

“That’s it baby,” he breathes, hips matching your pace, thrusting up in the perfect angle to hit the spot that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, one more, do it for me. Give it to me. Fuck,” he breathes out, seeing the way you lose focus.

“Yeah, only you. Shit,” he grits, sweat trailing down his temple in the sheer effort it takes to hold back his orgasm. “Only you, can make me like this. Only you, fuck. I love you, fuck, holy shit.”

The praise and the declaration you’d been waiting for all along tumble out of his lips and you cry out and press your lips against him as you fall apart.

“Jungkook!” You cry out, unable to say or do anything else but think about him him him.

You sob against him, tears of joy and pleasure and shock and relief flooding down into your hair as he grips your waist and turns the both of you to press your back into the mattress and thrust a few more times into your pulsing core until he’s coming apart, spilling into you with a groan and a strained cry of your name.

He swallows your moans with his mouth and you take what he can give you, sucking the breaths out of him as they come, mewling against him as he rides out the both of your orgasms. You’re completely limp, helpless against his hands and his body as you twitch and writhe in the presence of the onslaught of pleasure and love and relief.

He breathes heavily against your shoulder, panting as if he’s run a marathon. His chest heaves against yours, matching your heartbeat in a skittish flutter that warms you from head to toe. And it’s not just in the post-orgasm bliss.

He loves you.

When the both of you calm down, he pulls out of you with a wince, and walks over to the restroom to grab a towel and run it under warm water. He cleans himself off and then pads back to clean you between your legs. You’re collapsed on the bed, still awake, but reeling in shock and oversensitivity.

He puts on his briefs and grabs his white dress shirt, and threads your arms through the arms and tucks you into his arms as he settles next to you on the bed.

The both of you are still a little breathless, but you break the silence.

“So, what does this mean?”

He looks down at you, and you can see the sadness and turmoil that swirls in his irises.

“I don’t know.” He whispers.

You reach up and cup his cheek in your hand, drawing him close in an innocent soft kiss, trembling lips against trembling lips.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” he whipsers against your lips, and you draw back in confusion. “I already lost one. I can’t die, I can’t grow old with you.”

You blink back at him, stroking his sideburn. His hand grips your waist, and right now, he looks like a little child, a little boy who’s lost everyone close to him and has cast away anyone who tried to get close.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Let’s not think about that right now.”

He nods, and you bury yourself in his chest, and his strong arms wrap around you, caging you in a warmth that you haven’t felt for years.

You’d never slept better.

The both of you face each other in the laboratory as you sit on the table.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asks you once again, hand wrapping around yours.

You nod, “Yes, for the last time. I’m ready.” You glance down at the ring on your finger and give a nod to the doctor, who prepares the syringe. The formula that would grant immunity from death, without the side effects of strength or whatnot. This was exactly what you’d been waiting for.

Smiling, you face your fiancee, too happy to notice the sting of the needle in your forearm.

You loved him, and he loved you.

It was an honor to spend eternity with him.

#fics #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #oh god this is actual sin #forgive me lord #for i have sinned #Jungkooks pov coming soon I guess

913 notes · View notes