#in my defence I forgot how to draw in the past weeks and needed to fuss with this a little to reset my brain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bluesfortheredj · 4 years

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Would I lie to you?

Smut ahead.

There’s a short, sharp tapping at your front door and your eyes flick up to the clock on the wall to see that it was still an hour until Taron was due to pick you up, so you take your hands out of the washing up bowl and dry them on the nearest towel before throwing it over your shoulder and making your way to the door.

“Oh!” you smile, surprised at seeing Taron so early, “uh… I’m not ready yet!”

“No, no, that’s fine, I just… I really need to speak to you before tonight. Can I come in?”

“Of course, of course,” you nod, stepping to the side and allowing him to pass by before you shut the door, “come into the kitchen, I’m just finishing the washing up… you can dry.”

He grins at your comment and you hand him the tea towel before your hands dive back into the water and you raise your eyebrows at him as a signal for him to say what he needs to say.

“So you know it was a few weeks ago that we arranged this dinner?” he begins as he tentatively picks up a plate to dry it.

You hum in agreement as a fork slips from your fingers and you sigh as you fish around in the water to find it again.

“Well I may have said something a little silly to my sisters and they may have told everyone in the entire family and their pets about it.”

“Oh Taron,” you chuckle, “what have you said?”

“I didn’t mean to… I didn’t even really say it… I just agreed with what they said because you know how kids are, they go on and on about something and will not let it go until you agree with them-”

“Spit it out already!”

“They kept hounding me with the question ‘is she your girlfriend?’ and I… well, I said yes. In my defence they wouldn’t have shut up if I hadn’t said it.”

You turn your head slowly to look at him with wide, questioning eyes and your brow furrows a little as you realise what this means for later.

“So to save yourself from being harassed by your little sisters, you’ve let them believe I’m your girlfriend?” you clarify.

“Uh… yeah...” he blushes, hurriedly picking up a bowl to fuss over as he avoids eye contact with you.

“Well jeez Taron, you’ve had weeks to tell me and here you are an hour before we go for the barbecue at your mum’s house letting me know that we’ve got to pretend we’re in a relationship?!” you laugh, out of disbelief more than anything else, “bloody hell.”

A silence falls over you both as you take in his confession but it’s not awkward, simply thoughtful instead as you figure out how this is going to work. You’d always been close ever since you met but neither of you had crossed the line into romance even though at various points along your friendship there had been feelings shared by the two of you, although sadly unspoken. It wasn’t a daunting prospect to pretend to be his girlfriend, in fact it was rather an inviting opportunity in all honesty, and you certainly weren’t going to argue about it. You can feel Taron’s eyes on you as you place the last plate in the drainer for him to take, then you empty the bowl and finally turn to face him.

“Right,” you sigh, “guess I’d better get changed then.”

You return to find him sitting on the sofa with the telly on so you move to block his view with a smile as his eyes travel up from your stomach to your face, taking in your ruffled white dress with black spots as he goes.

“That’s...” he swallows heavily, “that’s a nice dress.”

“Thought I’d make an effort being as I’m your girlfriend now,” you shrug, “you ready then?”

“Yep, yeah,” he nods, switching the telly off and rising from his seat.

It was just a few hours in their garden where you had to pretend you were in a relationship with your closest friend; it would be unbelievably easy. His family knew you anyway so there were zero introductions to be made and it would practically be like any other time you saw them, except for maybe being a little bit more tactile with one another.

“Ready?” he asks before he reaches out for the back gate.

“Of course.”

He opens the door and quickly grabs your hand before stepping into the garden as the familiar faces of his family turn to smile at you both, and his sisters run up to him with mischievous grins on their faces.

“We knew you were his girlfriend,” the eldest smirks, “you always come to our house with him!”

“Nothing can get past you two clever little munchkins can it, eh?” you laugh.

“Nope!” they both chime together.

“Okay girls, come on, leave the lovebirds alone!” his mum calls out.

Taron turns to you with an apologetic look upon his face, “we can turn around right now and leave if you want,” he whispers.

“And why would I want to do that?” you ask with a smile as you place your free hand on his cheek and sweep your thumb underneath his eye before sliding down to his neck.

“I have a sudden urge to kiss you,” he states as his eyes flick from your gaze to your lips and back again.

“Well we do need to make this believable...”

He moves quickly, pressing his lips to yours with a deep yearning yet keeping the kiss soft, and you’re taken aback by how much feeling goes into this supposedly fake action, but you embrace it nonetheless.

“I think a line has just been crossed, and I don’t want to move back over it again,” he admits, his lips hovering in front of you as his nose nudges against yours lightly.

“Are you going to join us or stay wrapped up in one another by the gate?” his mum chuckles, “food’s getting cold!”

You turn to face her with a smile and tug on Taron’s hand as you walk up the path to patio where everyone sits with a plate of food already. Taron’s hesitant now, you hadn’t replied to his bold comment and he was worried that you didn’t feel the same, and as soon as your hand slips from his as you reach a chair his heart sinks a little in his chest.

“So come on, how long have you been keeping this from us then? We knew there was something going on, we just couldn’t quite put our finger on what,” his mum smirks, looking between the two of you.

“Uh...” Taron starts.

“Six months, give or take a week or two,” you answer confidently.

“Really? No longer?!”

“We took our time actually admitting that there was something more than friendship between us,” you laugh, “neither of us wanted to cross that line, just in case it went wrong, but we’re mighty glad we did.”

Taron looks up at you with a smile at your words and he knows in that moment that you were both on the same page. Just as quickly as you’d arrived, the evening suddenly begins to draw in, and the girls are soon off to bed as you help clear up some of the plates and glasses on the table. You pick up a beer bottle by the neck but it somehow slips from your fingers and lands with a crash on the patio as you gasp at what had just happened.

“Shit!” you exclaim, bending down to pick up the shards, “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay! Be careful on the-”

“Oh no… Oh no...” you grimace as blood begins to seep down your hand.

“Taron!” his mum calls out, “(Y/N)’s cut her hand, can you get a towel please?”

He comes running out within seconds, knowing full well that you didn’t deal well with blood at all and he helps you stand from your crouched position to take you inside with your hand covered.

“I’m going to take her up to my old room so that we’re near the bathroom… she’s not a massive fan of blood,” he explains.

His mum nods and you sort of zone out as he helps you up the stairs then sits you down on his bed as he keeps a tight hold of your hand with the towel wrapped around it to stem the bleeding.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay?” he asks as his free hand strokes your cheek and pushes the hair back from your face.

“Yeah, I’m… okay.”

“Right,” he nods, peeking at the wound which had now calmed down, “I’m just going to get something to stick over this, but don’t look at it okay?”

“Got it.”

He doesn’t waste any time in getting the first aid kit out and grabbing a handful of plasters to see which one would fit the best, then he’s at your side once again, slowly peeling away the towel and wiping it over with an antiseptic wipe before sizing up each covering until he finds the perfect one.

“There, all done,” he sighs as he sticks the corners down on your hand.

“What would I do without you?” you smile.

“You’d cope.”

“I don’t think I would.”

His fingers linger on your hand then you both lean forwards until your foreheads meet in the middle softly, and he very gently moves closer to you on the bed before tilting his head so that he can kiss you. Your bodies gravitate towards one another as the kiss becomes more intense and soon the first aid kit is crashing to the floor and spilling its contents across the carpet, and your lips break apart as the two of you chuckle at the noise.

“Let’s hope no one comes up here wondering what that noise was,” Taron whispers as he slides his nose against yours, “they may find us in a compromising position.”

His hands gather your dress up at the sides of your thighs then when he reaches the hem you lift yourself off of the bed just enough so that he can pull it up over your body and discard it on the floor. Your dress ends up being hidden by his clothes then both yours and his underwear, and the bed lets out a loud succession of creaks as you lay down with him hovering over you.

“I forgot how much noise this thing makes,” he laughs, and you giggle as he shifts his weight and it creaks a couple more times, “fucking hell!”

You cover your mouth with your hand as you continue to laugh, “floor?” you suggest.

“I’m not making love to you for the first time on the floor!”

“Well it’s either that or...” you bounce a little, a creak sounding out each time you move.

“Creaks it is,” he winks as he leans down and kisses your neck slowly.

Short bursts of laughter break through the otherwise electrified air around you both thanks to the comedic timing of the bed and its loud noises that almost, but not quite, ruin the loving moment. Your bodies fall quickly into a natural rhythm together, the intrusive sound of your chosen place to have sex now fading into the background as pleasure overcomes you both, the fact that you need to stay quiet yourselves very nearly slipping your minds with every moan that escapes the two of you. The bed alone is enough to give you away, you certainly didn’t need to give those downstairs any more proof of what you were up to in his room; yet there was the hope that they were still out in the garden.

“Taron,” you whisper eventually, dangerously close to the edge.

He nods at you and you take one hand away from his body and curl two fingers up before bringing them up to your mouth and biting down on them as a stuttered, breathy moan slips between the gaps. Taron soon buries his face in the pillow your head is resting on and you hear his muffled repeats of your name until his warm breath is heating the skin of your neck as he turn his head to face you. He settles down next to you, the bed relentless with its creaking as he does so, and the two of you laugh as you tangle your bodies together as carefully as possible.

“So much for pretending, huh?” he grins.

can I request something with Taron? Maybe something fluffy and smutty?

@crazedcatcuddler @aynsleywalker @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @lovemarvelousfics @lovemelikeyou1997 @godohammers @celine-wanderwall @lv7867 @nellietara @crazy-souless-demon @queenslandlover-93 @kurtis-conner

#taron egerton x reader #taron x reader #taron imagine #taron smut #taron fluff #taron egerton

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

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The Witcher’s Companion pt.2/6

(Other parts are on my pinned masterlist/AO3)

Geralt hadn’t been paying much attention to where he was going. He’d just been following the path, his last contract had paid well and if he was lucky then he would even managed to stop by the whore house next time he reached a town. It wasn’t until he heard someone shouting his name that he even realised where he was.

Lettenhove Castle.

He hadn’t been back since the fiend. He scowled as a boy came running up the path with a sword strapped to his waist and a lute on his back.

“Geralt!” The boy cried.

Geralt couldn’t stop the small smile on his face. He would recognise those bright eyes anywhere.

Julian.

He was taller than the last time Geralt had seen him, and he’d certainly filled out, but he was still a boy.

Geralt dismounted Roach and went to greet the young lad. “Julian.” He nodded.

“I can’t believe you came back!” Julian beamed up at him. “You haven’t change a bit!”

Geralt shrugged. “Didn’t mean to, and the mutations do wonders for wrinkles.”

Julian visibly deflated. “You didn’t mean to, no of course you didn’t. Why would you?”

“Julian.”

“Save it, Geralt.” The boy muttered. “You are not welcome here. My mother would release the dogs if she saw you.”

“And your father?” Geralt crossed his arms.

“Dead.” Julian didn’t sound particularly bothered by that fact. It must have happened a few years ago. “Last winter. He got sick, never got better.”

Geralt frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Julian spun round to peer at him again. Those brilliant cool blue eyes watching him fiercely. “Why are you here, Geralt?”

Geralt raised his chin. “I was in the area.”

Julian scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh sure. He was in the area. Fucking witcher.”

“I’ve offended you.” Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“Years! Geralt! I’ve been throwing myself into training and studying and anything I can think of that will prepare me to travel with you for years!” Julian prodded his chest. “And you weren’t even going to come back!”

Geralt frowned. “How many years has it been?” He asked. “You’re still a boy.”

“I” Julian announced with wide arms. “am the Viscount de Lettenhove!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “How many years, Julian?”

“It’s been five years, I’m thirteen, in case you were wondering.”

He was.

“And it’s not been easy either. I had to find excuses that weren’t witchery for every single thing that I learned.” Julian pouted. “And you just forgot about me.”

Geralt scowled. He hadn’t forgotten per se. It was just that he’d been busy. He hadn’t even been back to Kaer Morhen for the last two winters. There had been an unusual spike in monsters just before winter each year. He’d sent word to Vesemir this year, worried that a pattern might be occurring. The old witcher suggested that either the monsters were beginning to evolve, or someone was helping them out during the winter months.

Eskel hadn’t been able to return to the keep either, Geralt had met up with his friend outside Vizima. Eskel had looked as exhausted as he felt. Neither of them had managed to have a proper break in two years and they were starting to feel it.

Perhaps Vesemir’s theory about a mage or sorcerer making trouble wasn’t too far off. Tired witchers got killed more easily. Preventing them from returning to their homes for winter would, in the long term, be fatal. He would have to see if he could track down the source of the spikes. He desperately needed to rest this winter, or next winter at the least.

He looked back down at the boy in front of him. He was pouting with one hand on his hips, his brown hair had grown out since Geralt had last seen him and now covered his ears, his fringe falling in front of his cornflower blue eyes. Geralt’s gaze fell on the sword at the young viscount’s hip.

He drew his sword from his back and pointed at the boy’s chest. His eyes widened and he stumbled back a few steps.

“Geralt? What, what are you doing?” He stammered.

Geralt smirked. “You’ve been training?”

“Yes.” Julian gulped, a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Go on, draw your sword, prove it.” Geralt swished his own sword through the air lazily and shifted into a sparring stance.

“My mother will have your head, witcher!” Julian snapped but fumbled to draw his sword.

“If there had been bandits on the path, you would be dead already.” Geralt chided.

Julian rolled his eyes and lunged in for an attack. Geralt parried the blow easily, he could have dodged but there was no point. He used the parry to pull Julian’s sword from his grip. “You’re holding your sword wrong. No wonder you can’t keep hold of it.”

Julian yelped as Geralt spun round and pulled Julian to his chest, holding his sword to his neck. “Dead.”

“I wasn’t ready!” The boy protested.

“Monsters don’t care if you’re ready. Again!” He pushed Julian away.

Julian scrambled to find his sword on the ground. “Geralt we need to move away from the house. My mother—”

Geralt sighed and sheathed his sword. “There’s a clearing nearby, next to the river. Make your excuses and meet me there in an hour.”

Julian’s face lit up. “Oh thank you! You won’t regret it.”

“Only for this afternoon.” Geralt said firmly. “You’re still too young to come with me.”

Julian’s face dropped. “Geralt!” He whined.

“One hour.” He gave Roach a quick stroke on her muzzle before mounting. The hour would give him time to meditate and eat. He was tired and could do with the rest.

He spurred Roach on and galloped back down the path before veering off into the woods. He had to slow to a canter as he darted through the trees, ducking under the branches. He focussed his senses to scout the area for monsters or wolves but the woods were silent, only the sound of the wind whistling through the trees. There was a faint smell of a bear but the beast must have moved off. He reached the clearing and hopped off Roach, leaving her loose so she could graze the area.

Geralt took the opportunity to wash up in the river. He hadn’t managed to have a proper bath in a while, another thing to do when he reached the next town. Baths and whores. Not a bad way to spend the evening.

So why was he waiting for a thirteen year old boy in the middle of a clearing?

The kid had a good heart, he’d been kind to Geralt all those years ago. That was why. Geralt was just returning the favour. Perhaps once the boy’s mother passed he would have a friend in the Viscount and somewhere warm to stay in the castle. It always helped to know where he could rely on help. So far his best bet away from Kaer Morhen was Nenneke at the temple of Melitele and that could be weeks away, not much good if he got injured on the wrong side of the continent. Lettenhove could make a good base for the witchers if he managed to befriend Julian now.

He finished washing and pulled on his clothes. The water was icy cold, even in the spring, but it hadn’t bothered him. He searched Roach’s bags for something to eat and then sat down on the grass to watch the river flow as he ate.

The sun began to set before Geralt realised how much time had passed. He felt the cool evening breeze brush against his face and he opened his eyes, instantly scowling around he clearing. He sniffed as he got to his feet. There was no sign of Julian and it had certainly been more than an hour, judging by the sun it had been almost three.

He left Roach by the river and slowly made his way back towards the castle on foot. It wasn’t far and this way he was less likely to knock the boy off his feet. He was almost back at the castle when he spotted Julian running through the doors. He had a bow on his back and his sword around his waist.

Geralt stayed hidden in the trees as the boy scampered past him. He smirked and spun round, hitting Julian with a weak Aard spell. It was enough to push Julian forward but not enough to knock him to the ground. Geralt drew his sword and shifted his stance.

“You’re late, Julian.” He called as Julian twirled round already drawing his sword.

Good. He was learning already.

“Mother!” Julian rolled his eyes. “She wouldn’t let me out of her sight. I think she knew I was up to something.”

His grip was still wrong and Geralt flicked his wrist as he had before to disarm the boy. The sword went flying and Geralt laughed.

“Bollocks!” Julian stamped his foot and then squeaked as Geralt lunged for him. This time the boy rolled into a dodge and picked up his sword, raising it above his head before Geralt’s blow could hit. “Ha!” He grinned.

Geralt hummed and nodded. “Good.” He sheathed his sword and gestured for Julian to come closer. “Let’s sort out that grip.”

“But Master Rhindon—”

“Is wrong. Come here.” Geralt said firmly. “If we don’t correct that now you’ll be stuck with the habit for life, and that won’t be a long life.”

Julian pouted but stepped forward. Geralt gently adjusted his grip on the sword. “Like that. Do you know any sequences?”

Julian nodded.

Geralt gestured for Julian to show him. The boy stuck his tongue out as he began to step through a defence sequence with his sword. His gripped shifted back within two moves and Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “Grip!” He barked.

Julian almost dropped the sword but adjusted his grip, wrong. Geralt rolled his eyes. It was going to take some time to break that habit. “We’ll go to the river. You’ll be late home.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Julian glared up at him petulantly. “Mother thinks I’m in bed.”

Geralt nodded. “I’ll stay a week to train you in exchange for food, deal?”

Julian grinned and held out his hand. “Deal!”

Geralt scoffed but shook the boy’s hand. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”

Julian nodded. “I know.”

Geralt smiled at Julian’s admittance. It was a good sign. Yes, the boy was undoubtedly stubborn, but Geralt could hardly blame him for that. In his eyes a bit of stubbornness was good for the soul, and Julian had a good soul. It was why he was taking the time to train him, even if Julian changed his mind about coming with Geralt at least Geralt would know that he’d done his best to ensure the young viscount could defend himself. There would inevitably be duels or assassinations. There always was with nobility, plus it made a change from killing monsters for coin.

They reached the clearing, Roach was thankfully still grazing near the river, and continued training. They trained until well after dark. Julian had protested once they sun had set completely but Geralt insisted that it was good to learn to fight without relying on his eyesight.

“You never know when it could be taken from you.” Geralt grunted.

Julian whined but to his credit kept going.

He improved quickly, even landing a blow on Geralt’s shoulder when he’d been distracted by the sound of leaves crunching nearby. Julian had instantly dropped his sword to make sure he hadn’t actually hurt Geralt. The blow hadn’t even cut his armour but it would probably bruise.

Which meant the sword was shit. A witcher’s sword would have at least left a scratch.

“You need a new sword.” Geralt grumbled.

“Master Rhindon says—”

“Master Rhindon knows shit all.” Geralt growled. “By the end of the week you’ll be a better swordsman than that so called master.”

Julian stifled a yawn but he couldn’t hide it from Geralt’s enhanced senses, not even in the dark. Geralt glanced up at the moon. They’d been training half the night. He hummed and sheathed his sword. He scooped up Julian and dumped him into Roach’s saddle.

“What, Geralt?” Julian cried.

“I’m taking you home. It’s late.” Geralt grumbled and led his mare by the reins back to the castle.

Julian fell asleep in the saddle on the short journey back. Geralt rolled his eyes and shook the boy awake before helping him back to the ground. Julian yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“After breakfast. I’ll be waiting.” Geralt muttered.

To his surprise the young viscount hugged him. He awkwardly patted the boy on the head before pushing him towards the house.

“Thank you, Geralt. I’ll make you proud!”

Geralt allowed himself to smile as the boy ran to the house. He was already proud, not that he would ever admit it to the boy.

Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard @genkitaco @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon

#the witcher #geraskier fanfiction #jaskier pankratz #julian alfred pankratz #geralt of rivia #the witchers companion #wolfie's witcher writing #I use geraskier loosely in this story #they grow to be more QPR but you can interpret however you like #once they are older of course

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softlass27 · 4 years

Text

Robert Week 2020 Day 3: Family A family dinner goes awry when revelations about the Sugden brothers' past come to light.

FYI, this is set in a slightly AU version of husbands era where Andy returned at some point and is living in Emmerdale again (I brought Adam back too, because why not).

Also, this fic refers to an old storyline that I must have watched but have no real memory of, considering how long ago it aired. So I've had to rely on gifsets and the Emmerdale Wiki, which you can see here:

https://emmerdale.fandom.com/wiki/Stephen_Butler https://isabellaofparma.tumblr.com/post/176241877331 https://robsugdens.tumblr.com/post/176241303211/i-didnt-have-it-easy

On a warm Saturday evening in August, the Sugdens and their other halves all gather round Diane’s table for their tea. Family time still isn’t a particularly common occurrence for them, but Diane and Victoria insist on it every now and then, and they mostly manage to get through the odd meal without any drama these days.

So as Aaron sits in his usual spot next to Robert and Seb, he doesn’t expect much more from the next couple of hours than some small talk with his in-laws over homemade shepherd’s pie and apple crumble.

Andy and Victoria are both in a nostalgic mood, it seems, tossing childhood memories back and forth as they eat. Nothing too heavy, thankfully, just funny – mostly farming-related – anecdotes from their youth.

At least, Andy, Vic, Diane and Doug seem to find them funny. Adam smiles and laughs easily along with them, but Aaron’s mostly left nonplussed. Honestly, the only thing getting him through it is the eye roll and small kill-me-now grin Robert shoots him whenever they catch each other’s eye. Aaron’s husband is clearly just as bored by the farm talk as he is, only chiming in when someone addresses him directly.

How many stories can you possibly tell about runaway cows, anyway?

As the first hour drags by and some of them start helping themselves to seconds, talk turns to Butlers farm and how the Sugdens had come to take it over back in the day.

“Who were the actual Butlers, anyway?” Adam asks, shovelling a forkful of mashed potato in his mouth. “Don’t think my mum ever said when we moved in there.”

“Just a bloke who was getting too old to keep up with things,” Andy replies with a shrug. “Will or Wilf, I think. And he had a son, too, about our age, right Rob?”

Robert nods as he wipes Seb’s mouth (he’s going through an incredibly messy phase of insisting on feeding himself) but doesn’t add anything.

“Drawing a blank on his name, though – ”

“Steve,” Robert interrupts quietly, turning back to his plate.

“Oh yeah, that’s it,” Andy snaps his fingers as the memory comes back to him. “Steve… dunno what happened to him. We were mates for a bit but he moved away in the end. We’d fallen out, can’t remember why but – ”

Robert’s scoff cuts Andy off. Everyone pauses and turns to him as he finally lifts his head to stare at a confused-looking Andy.

“What?”

“Are you kidding me?” Robert asks incredulously.

Victoria tenses and glances warily between the two of them. “What’s the matter, Robert?”

“Yeah, what’s your problem?” Andy says with a frown.

“You seriously don’t remember what happened with Steve?”

“No… ” Andy’s bewilderment is quickly turning to annoyance. “Who cares, it was like, a million years ago. Do you remember everyone you fell out with when we were kids? Saying that, it’d be a pretty long list for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Boys, come on now,” Doug rumbles quietly. “Let’s not spoil the evening.”

Robert stays silent, but Aaron can see he’s biting the inside of his jaw. A telltale sign that he’s upset but trying to keep it together. He rests a hand on Robert's tense thigh under the table, ready to jump in to his defence if needed.

“Well, share with the class,” Andy drawls, ignoring Doug’s words with the beginnings of a smirk. Aaron has no idea what this is about, but he wants to punch it off his face. “What was it, then?”

Robert hesitates, eyes darting to Seb – who’s thankfully still oblivious to the tension – before shaking his head and stabbing at his food with his fork.

“What, nothin’ to say?”

“No.”

“Maybe we should just change the – ” Diane begins, but Andy speaks over her.

“No, come on, he’s started now. Spit it out, Rob, whatever it is that's got your back up.”

“I said no.”

No one else at the table would have caught it, but Aaron hears the wobble in Robert’s voice. He tightens the hand on his husband's thigh, trying to keep him calm, remind him that he's not alone at the table.

“What d’you bring it up for, then?” Andy isn’t taking no for an answer, apparently, and he’s starting to get on Aaron’s last nerve. “God, you always do this, always have to turn everything into some big drama, don't you? Come on, what was it that was so bad that – ”

“You found out Steve was gay,” Robert cuts Andy off, voice low but unmistakably clear.

Silence rings over the table as everyone freezes on the spot. Adam’s fork hovers in the air for a moment, before he sets it back on the plate with a clatter.

“Or, you heard rumours that he was gay, from that Ali kid. I dunno if he actually was, but that was good enough for you. You heard the rumours, you believed them – started passing them on to other people too, if I remember right – and after that, you wanted nothing to do with him.”

Aaron’s heart is thumping loudly in his chest, a familiar anger and defensiveness – for Robert, for himself, for this Steve kid – surging through him like wildfire. He watches Andy open his mouth uncertainly before closing it again, the irritation vanished from his face and replaced with shock. He looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“I asked you what the big deal was, why you cared so much if Steve was gay,” Robert continues with an air of apparent nonchalance, though Aaron knows better than to fall for the act, he knows Robert's fuming. Hurting.

“You said he shouldn’t have kept it hidden from everyone, you had a right to know what sort of person you’d been hanging out with. You were also very keen to make sure everyone else knew that just because you’d spent time with him, that didn’t make you ‘queer’, as you put it.”

Diane and Doug both look on uncomfortably, while Victoria brings a hand to her mouth in shock.

“Andy, you didn’t… ” she whispers with wide eyes. Adam lays a hand on her shoulder, looking almost as taken aback by the situation as her.

“I… ” Andy flounders helplessly, head whipping to his sister then back to Robert.

“Steve ended up moving away from the village in the end,” Robert finishes, pushing his plate away and tossing his napkin on to the table. “I guess all the shit he got over it – the name-calling and bullying – became too much for him to cope with, so he got the hell out of there. And no one ever mentioned him again.”

“Robert… ”

“Any of this ringing any bells for you, Andy?”

Andy gulps loudly before giving the slightest of nods.

“I – I forgot.”

“That’s nice for you,” Robert lets out a hollow laugh, before abruptly pushing his chair back with a loud scrape. “Sorry Diane, dinner’s been great but I don’t really fancy pudding. Lost my appetite.”

He scoops Seb out of his high chair and strides out of the room with a backward glance. Aaron rises quickly, muttering his thanks to Diane for the meal and following him, only stopping to throw a hard glare back in Andy’s direction. When Andy’s eyes meet his, he cringes and shrinks back in his seat.

Good.

“S’been a while since I’ve sat in on some proper Sugden drama,” Aaron say lightly, passing Robert a brew and Seb his sippy cup of juice.

Robert lets out a small huff but doesn’t speak, silently watching Seb playing with his toy cars on the rug. He hasn’t said much of anything since they left Diane’s and Aaron hasn’t pushed him. Not until now, anyway.

Careful not to spill their teas, he sinks onto the sofa and nudges Robert gently, raising a questioning eyebrow at him. Robert glances at him before sighing heavily.

“Probably gonna get an earful off Diane later,” he eventually mutters. “Causin’ a scene, spoiling a family meal again.”

“Somehow I don’t think she’ll blame you for this one. And if she does, she’ll have me to deal with.”

That gets him a tiny smile, at least.

“Gonna tell her off, are you?”

“I ain’t scared of her.”

Robert chuckles and leans into him, taking a slow sip of his tea. They sit in companionable silence for a few moments, before Robert begins to speak.

“I know Andy doesn’t have a problem with me, with you and me. I know he doesn’t think like that anymore, I wouldn’t speak to him if he did,” he says quietly. “We were just kids, and kids can be idiots, I get it. It’s just – it’s the fact that he didn’t even remember. To him it was clearly just a stupid bit of teenage drama, it didn’t mean anything. He probably never even gave it a second thought after Steve was gone. Whereas I… ”

Robert trails off, blinking rapidly and looking frustrated. Aaron reaches over to lace their fingers together, squeezing gently. As out and proud as his husband is now, it's still difficult for him to talk about his sexuality sometimes, about all the time he spent in hiding it.

“That day,” Robert eventually continues. “When Andy said all that stuff about not wanting to hang out with Steve anymore, I thought I was gonna be sick there and then. The way he acted like it was the most disgusting thing he’d ever heard… I don’t think I got a wink of sleep that night. I just lay there in bed, picturing Andy’s face if he ever found out about – about me. If he knew what Dad knew.”

He sets his mug down and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“It wasn’t like I’d been about to come out or anything, this was a couple of years after Dad… you know.”

Aaron nods wordlessly, feeling the hatred he’d carried for Jack Sugden ever since he learnt about that day bubble rapidly to the surface.

“I’d already buried the fact that I liked boys, I'd decided I was just gonna pretend it wasn’t there. But – but hearing Andy say all that stuff about Steve, the way he reacted to even the possibility that his mate was… It was like like the final nail in the coffin, y’know?” Robert’s bottom lip wobbles as he shakes his head, sounding so resigned.

“I knew then, that I could never tell him. Or my friends, or anyone in this stupid village. Any hope I’d had, deep down, that being myself might be... I don’t know, not accepted but… tolerated, maybe? It pretty much died that day.”

Sometimes, Aaron is reminded of just how drastically things in Emmerdale have changed in recent times. His adolescence and Robert’s were only a few years apart; on paper the time seems like nothing. But the reality is that in terms of mindset and attitude, things couldn’t have been more different for the two of them.

He remembers the fear, the absolute terror of others finding out the truth about him all too well. But once he was out, once the dust settled and everyone knew… apart from the odd snide comment from some tosser he didn’t even know, people were fine with it. His family, Victoria, Adam, Ryan, Holly… none of them cared, no one saw him any differently. If anything, he became closer to nearly every person around him.

The fact that Robert not only believed that the opposite would happen to him, but basically had actual confirmation of it played out right before his eyes, breaks Aaron's heart.

He puts down his own mug so he can pull Robert into him and tuck him under his chin, Robert’s arms circling his waist as he buries his face into Aaron's chest.

“I love you,” he murmurs into his husband’s hair, hands stroking softly. “You deserved better.”

Robert clutches him tighter.

Later that night, Adam texts him while Robert’s in the shower.

so that was fun

Aaron readjusts a sleepy Seb in his lap so he can reply.

What happened after we left? Andy say anything?

not much. diane and vic gave him an earful, he left pretty sharpish. looked proper ashamed of himself too. vic’s been going spare ever since, i’ve had to stop her from going to yours 3 times. u both ok?

We’re fine. Tell Vic that Rob’s alright, I’ve got him

will do. night mate

“Well, you’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.” Is the only thing Aaron says when he opens the front door to Andy the next morning, folding his arms across his chest.

Andy shuffles awkwardly on the welcome mat, a hand coming up to scratch his bushy beard.

“Is Robert here?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t step aside to let Andy in. When Andy realises that Aaron isn’t budging, he sighs heavily, shoulders slumped.

“Look Aaron, I uh… ” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry."

“Not me you need to apologise to.”

“No, I know, but I just wanted to say that I was a right idiot back then, really stupid. Ignorant. And I’m – I’m not proud of it, but I don’t want you thinking I’m still like that because – ”

“I don’t think you’re like that,” Aaron cuts him off.

“…Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t still be standing here if I did.”

Andy pauses and blinks, face twisting nervously.

“Right, well uh… good, I’m glad. So… can I…?” He gestures to the inside of the house.

“Wait here.”

He closes the door in Andy’s face (not exactly necessary, but he takes some petty pleasure in it) and walks through the living room to the back door, stepping out into bright sunshine and the sound of splashing and laughter.

Seb’s playing in his paddling pool in the garden, happy as a clam, while Robert sprawls on the grass beside it, occasionally passing him one of the bath toys they’d brought down to the garden. The front of his t-shirt is absolutely drenched.

“Alright?” He asks as Aaron approaches.

“Andy’s here. Asking for you.”

Robert stiffens, grin dropping off his face.

“Want me to send him packing?”

There’s a long pause, before Robert sighs and shakes his head. “No… suppose he can come through.”

Aaron returns to the front door and beckons Andy, leading him to the back garden.

“Andy!” Seb cries when he spots them. “Pool!”

“Wow, look at this!” Andy calls as he steps closer. For all his and Robert's issues, he adores Seb. “You havin’ fun, mate?”

Seb nods vigorously, his damp sunhat bouncing on his head as he smacks his hands into the water. Robert tilts his head up to stare at Andy.

“Alright?” Andy tries for a hopeful smile, which Robert doesn’t return, instead refocusing his gaze on Seb.

“Can we have a quick chat?”

Robert passes Seb a rubber duck.

“Rob, come on,” Andy pleads, looking down at him imploringly.

Robert rolls his eyes, before pushing himself up and wiping his palms on his shorts.

“Can you – ?” He asks Aaron, gesturing to Seb.

“Course.” Aaron gives Robert’s wrist a brief squeeze as he passes him, before settling down next to the paddling pool, flicking some water in Seb’s face to make him laugh.

As he plays with his son, he keeps an eye on the two brothers, watching as they walk to the deckchairs at other end of the garden, sitting sideways on them so they’re facing each other.

Aaron can’t make out exactly what’s being said, not over the sound of Seb’s splashing and yelling, but neither of them look angry, which is a good sign. He just hopes Jack’s name doesn’t come up, otherwise that could all change in a heartbeat.

Andy’s doing most of the talking, elbows resting on his bouncing knees as he leans towards Robert. The expression on his face is uncomfortable but earnest, as he offers what is clearly an apology – Aaron doesn’t need to hear them to know that much. It makes a change; Aaron’s never known anyone so keen to deny any wrongdoing as Andy Sugden – especially when it comes to Robert and their childhood.

Robert keeps his face blank, sitting ramrod straight and staring somewhere past Andy’s shoulder as he listens. But as Andy continues speaking, his face begins softens a little and he eventually begins talking back quietly. Andy fidgets and looks down, but he doesn’t interrupt except to nod occasionally, replying only when Robert finishes speaking. It’s probably the most the Sugden brothers have communicated in years.

Aaron wishes he could lipread. Or that he had a slightly quieter child.

“Daddy!” Seb cries for his attention, hitting him in the chest with a plastic bucket.

“Oh, sorry mate, did you want a shower?” He fills the bucket with water and tips it all over Seb’s head until every inch of him is dripping, causing him to shriek loudly.

“That’s what you get,” Aaron laughs at the indignant expression on his son’s face, before glancing up to see Robert and Andy have stopped talking in favour of watching the scene fondly.

Andy stands and stretches. “I should get going, then,” he says to Robert, who stands to follow him.

“Stay for a bit if you like? We’ve got lemonade in the fridge, lots of ice.”

“Nah, you’re alright. I’m taking Sarah shopping soon,” he claps Robert on the shoulder. “Another time, though?”

“Okay, yeah.”

“I’ll see myself out.” Andy leans down to tickle Seb under the chin. “Enjoy your pool, Seb.”

He starts walking across the grass, before pausing and turning back to them.

“Rob?”

“Yeah?”

“You – you’re my brother,” Andy chews his lip, looking serious. “My family. Family’s supposed to rely on each other, and I made you feel like you couldn’t. I really am sorry.”

There’s a long silence as Robert stares at him, unmoving. For a moment, Aaron thinks he isn’t going to say anything back, and then –

“S’okay, Andy. It’s forgotten.”

“Okay,” Andy nods, sounding relieved. “Oh, and please let Vic know that I’ve spoken to you, will you? Before she castrates me.”

Robert’s mouth twitches. “Can’t have that. I’ll let her know.”

“Cheers. See you, Rob. Aaron.”

Andy takes his leave, shoving his hands in his pockets and disappearing around the corner of the house.

Robert sinks down onto the grass next to Aaron and lets out a long breath.

“Okay?” Aaron asks.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

Robert smiles and presses a kiss to the side of his head. “I’m fine. We talked, it was good.”

That’s probably the most Aaron’s going to get out of him, for now at least, so he smiles back and snakes an arm around his waist. If Robert’s good, then he’s good.

“D’you want me to get the drinks from the – hey!” Robert splutters when he’s cut off by Seb chucking a bucketful of water in his face, giggling madly when he hits his target with impressive accuracy.

“Good aim, kid,” Aaron grins, ruffling Seb’s soaked hair.

#robertweek2020 #sugden brothers #robron #ALL THE FEELS #my writing

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lokisgame · 5 years

Text

A Generous Donation [10]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9]

The day rushed by, as Scully drowned the uneasiness in workload, grateful that she was still able to focus on her patients' problems instead of her own. Mulder texted her around 5pm, saying he was done with the tests and that his invitation still stands, and she realised, that somewhere between exams and paperwork, the thought of facing him again, didn't paralyse her anymore. She still didn't know how to tell him about Will, or had any idea how he might take the news, but the truth settled in.

Charlie was right, he really was a great guy after all. If she ever wanted a father for Will, Mulder would pretty much fit the bill, smart, funny, kind and as far as she could tell, steadfast. He would be the kind of dad who never forgot to pick him up from school, was there for the baseball games and swimming tournaments. She could see herself sharing couch with them on Saturday evenings, eating popcorn and watching macho-movies. Though it was dangerous to hope, if fate allowed she might still have that.

She went to see Will at the end of her day, pausing by the door to watch him for a second through the window. He was reading, curled up on his side, earbuds in, completely enthralled, and now when she knew, she couldn't help but notice the similarities. The chestnut mane, the tall and lean frame, high cheekbones, and finally, definitely, undeniably, Mulders' mouth. That pout that usually got him his way, the smile that brightened her day, is was Mulder all over again. Will must've felt her gaze because he glanced up from his book and smiled, sitting up. He looked pale and tired, but his eyes were bright. "Why are you staring at me?" He asked, when she came in and dropped a kiss on top of his head. "I just got here, you must've sensed me coming." "Spooky," he grinned and scooted over, letting her sit beside him. "What are you reading?" "Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy," he said, closing the book to show her the cover, "uncle Charlie brought it." "And the t-shirt?" "Aunt Missy," he grinned pulling at the hem of his new PJ's, on it, planes were chasing UFO's around the world, the words Foo Fighters written across the front, "she remembered the UFO's, but Emily said, she didn't have the heart to tell her it's a band." "Be glad it's not a tie-dye," Scully laughed. "Yeah, aunt Melissa, the last hippy on earth." "Will," she nudged him lightly making him laugh, and it was the warm honey sound she loved most. "Mom?" "Yes honey?" "Doctor Skinner was here to see me, too." "You had a busy day," she said, keeping her voice light. "Does that mean, he found someone?" "I don't know," she said, kissing his temple, "these things take time." "Because I wouldn't mind getting out of here." "And I wouldn't mind taking you home, either." A knock made them both look up and a second later, a young girl came in, her red hair cut short almost like a boy's, piercings catching the light from the fluorescents overhead. "Emily!" "Hi, aunt Dana," she said, kissing Scully's cheek before ruffling Will's hair, "told you I'd come back." "You got it?" Will perked up. "Yup," she plopped across the foot off his bed, dropping a small box between them. "Cards?" Scully laughed, letting go off Will, who reached for the deck and immediately started shuffling. "There's only so much TV I can stand." "Why didn't you tell me." "Haven't thought of it until I saw this one here," he chuckled, jerking his chin at Emily. "Right, because I'm known for bringing up base instincts in men." Scully felt slightly uncomfortable, Em was 24, but in her eyes, she was still that teenage girl who watched cartoons sitting on the floor with her son. "How's Palo Alto, Em?" "Dry, I miss Boston," she sighed picking up her cards, "and this little one." "If you didn't give up that scholarship at MIT and sell out to the blue chips," Will said. "I wouldn't have that house with a pool I just sold, to move back here." Will's ears went up so fast he almost jumped. "You're coming back?" "Yup," she grinned and he threw himself at her, both of them laughing. Emily held him tight and Scully heard her tone change, "so now you have to get better, you hear me?" "Yup," William said, letting go off his childhood best friend. "What does your mom think about this?" Scully asked, proud of her brilliant punk niece. "She's not thrilled," Emily sighed a little sad, but then smiled at them both, "but that's what I want to do, so it's happening." "Well, if you need a place to stay in the mean time." "Thanks," she smiled brighter, fixing the sheets Will kicked over, "I'll come to you when Charlie grows tired of me." "Or his next girlfriend shows up." Will said, then picked up his cards. Scully played three hands with them then kissed the kids goodnight.

A nurse came by with Will's meds and took a few notes on his chart, while Emily paced the room, noticing the pile of books on his nightstand. "Visiting hours end in one hour," she reminded and left, and Em was back, sprawled at the foot of Will's bed. "What's this?" She said, showing him one of the books, the one with the UFO on the cover. "Extra reading for my psychology class." "It's signed." "Yeah, the guy's my professor and he kind of dates mom." "Why kind of?" She asked, looking at the photo on the back. "You know, not like Charlie dates girls, takes them out a few times and you know they'll disappear, mom and Mulder, I think they're past that." "You don't like it?" "It felt weird at first, but then I saw her coming home from seeing him and wow, I don't think I ever saw her that happy." "Really." "She doesn't hum show tunes to anything, she just sort of, glows." "Hmm, she didn't seem glowing to me." "That's because you didn't see her a week ago, heck, last Thursday even, I'm telling you, that guy is different." "He is cute, and," she held up the book, looking first at the picture then at Will, then at the picture again, "he sort of looks like you." "What?" "I mean, if you skip the eyes and the nose," she covered half of the picture with her hand and glanced at Will again, "yeah, definitely." "I don't think that's why she likes him." "No, I think it's the glowing part," Emily said, wiggling her eyebrows and Will gaged. "Ugh, let's not talk about my mom and that." "Why?" She laughed, stretching out like a cat, and if he didn't know his cousin since before she had tits, he'd find the sight very attractive. "Let me give you a piece of advice, you want to keep a girl, be that guy, one who makes her glow." "That's it? Sex? What about connection, shared views and mutual trust?" "That's when you're looking for a friend, and believe me, it's even rarer than great sex." "Well, I'll have it both." Will sighed, shuffling the cards, looking a little embarrassed and she covered his hands with hers. "You will," she said without teasing, "you just have to get out of here."

Mulder decided on the epitome of comfort food, chicken casserole, but the longer they sat at the table, in the warm light of his kitchen, the stronger was the sense, that something bad was about to happen. Scully kept smiling letting him fill silence with chatter, but her eyes were unusually present, fixed on his face as if she was looking at him for the last time, determined to learn his face, before she told him goodbye. Fear, uneasiness, long silences, he could understand, but at the same time, he itched to touch her, just to make sure she wouldn't push him away. They moved to the couch after dinner and when she folded herself against his side, the relief was instantaneous. "The dean wasn't too pleased when I asked for the week off," Mulder said, drawing her closer. "But Skinner said I should avoid public places, so I wouldn't pick up any infection, in case the tests came back positive." "Walter knows what he's doing, you're both in good hands." "You haven't told Will yet?" "No, I don't want to scare him," she said, taking his hand and lacing her fingers through his, "he keeps joking and teasing, but I know it's an act." "That's him, being your son," he said, kissing her temple, "you're both so careful not to show weakness." "You say it like it's a bad thing," she sighed. "There's time and place for everything, and Will knows what he's up against, there's just nothing he can do about it, and goofing off is his defence mechanism. I think he's scared just like everyone else." "Why are you doing this?" She asked quietly, stroking the back of his hand. "Why help us?" "Because I can," he said simply. "Because you got dealt this shitty hand and I wouldn't be able to live with myself, if I just stood idly watching a great kid fade away, while his mother fought the fight alone, for both of them. Even thinking about it makes me wanna kick my own ass." "So you feed me and fuck me and let me stick a needle in your butt," she said, turning in his arms, and cupping his cheek, drawing his lips down, "because you can." "There's no endgame for me here," he smiled, feeling her warm breath, "you might as well ask me why I breathe." "Why do you breathe?" "So I we can keep having these talks, apparently," he said and let her kiss him, because that was what she needed from him.

They moved slowly, bodies wrapped around each other, arms and legs and mouths drawing lines. In the dim light he held her gaze, luminous blue beneath delicate skin and lashes, with every stroke bringing her higher and away from her problems. A moment of release was all he could offer, but he made damn sure, the moment was worth it. Her eyes locked on his, lips parted, heart pounding, his, hers, he didn't know anymore, didn't care. She bit her lip, he caught it, freed it, soothed it. "Don't hold, back, let me, do this." "Thank you." "What for?" "Everything," she breathed, raking his back, drawing him in. "Shhhh," he kissed her neck, lips against her ear, "don't thank me, feel me." And for a time, that was all she did.

Scully woke up sometime past midnight to moonlight filtering through a crack in the blinds. The light cast a blue glow over his face, drawing the story of his life in a secret language of lines and cracks. How would they look like, if she was there to watch them grow, would there be less of them, or more? How many cracks formed, because there was no one to hold him, which lines were ruts, carved by the same old jokes. She touched his cheek and he shifted, arm falling around her without thinking. "I hope you'll forgive me," she whispered, brushing his lips lightly and the arm tightened around her, drawing her in.

#generous donation #au #x files fanfic #sweet nothings

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writingsofmyimagination · 5 years

Text

Sweet Histamine

Sooo this was for the kwritersworld spring fic exchange!

My writing partner was @njssi . Sorry for jumping the gun :P The keyword Pollen Allergies with BTS pairing was an interesting one, but naturally because i’m going to hell I had to make it smutty! Enjoy!

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Summary:Who would have thought forgetting to take your hay-fever tablets could end so sweetly.

Word Count:2663

Warnings:Smut (hot and heavy nothing too extreme), PWP. Swearing.

The sun was raining in through the window, sprinkling you with the glorious rays warming your skin. Your apartment overlooked an expansive park, clouds of leaves atop ancient trunks. The bustle of families, lovers and friends enjoying the parks greenery amongst the flowers and the centre piece fountain which offered a consistent flow of children wishing their pennies away.

“Achoo” you blew your nose and stuffed the tissue into the back pocket of your denim shorts.

“You forgot to take your antihistamines again didn’t you?” Jimin wrapped his arms through your and clasped around your waist from behind.

“Well in my defence someone was distracting me this morning” you twirled round in his embrace knocking his lips from your neck and redirected them to give your lips some much needed attention

“Don’t blame me, have you taken some?” his mahogany irises glimmered with a shy sense of amusement littered with sincerity. His hands dropped and rested at your hips as yours were linked softly at the back of his back.

“Yes, I’ve taken some, what time are we heading over to the dorms?”

“In about ten minutes if you’re ready?”

“I’m ready, all snacks packed and accounted for” you beamed “Achoo” When you looked up a smirk had crept on his face.

“Go and lie on the bed baby” Jimin demanded softly, tracing the outline of your figure with equal pressure.

“What?, We don’t have time for…” you protested

“It’ll take less than ten minutes I promise” his saccharine smile comatosed you into complying, like a puppy you just couldn’t say no.

“Lie down, eyes closed, no peeking” You rolled your eyes searching for a hint of his intentions before shutting them. You heard drawers open and close, the bed depressed as Jimins weight left the floor. His fingers teased open the button on your shorts, your hands flew to his in protest

“How is this going to take less than ten minutes” the words rushed out forcibly. You sighed audibly when he pinned your nuisance hands above your head and absorbed any more contesting by enveloping you into a heated kiss; which you naturally arched yourself into.

“I promised didn’t I? I just want to make your pollen allergies more…fun” Okay now you was confused. “Now are you going to behave and let me carry on or this will take more than ten minutes?”

Such a brat you thought.

He took your silence as the answer he wanted and you allowed him to slip your shorts and underwear off with no more complaints and one more sneeze into the back of your hand.

His lips first ghosted at your navel which was exposed thanks to the black off the shoulder crop top you’d decided to wear. His lips danced downward and you ceased to care about time. He knocked your legs further apart and your hands gripped round the pillow above you as his tongue continued to dance fluidly over your bundle of nerves. The interval was all too soon, pulling a wanting sigh past your lips as his left you. Before you could whine about anything his fingers took over the lead. You heard a satisfied moan of approval

“Always so wet for me baby, ready?” you didn’t need reminding.

“Mmm” was all you mumbled, not really knowing what you was agreeing so amenably too.

“Fuck Jimin!” you cried, the shock jumbling with pleasure. You’re eyes flew open and you rested on your elbows to get a better view. Jimin was sat on his legs, wicked grin plastered on his face, the wickedness also mimicking through his eyes. Your body adjusted to the feeling of Jimin’s great idea.

“I bought you some kegal balls, I was going to wait until your birthday but with you sneezing like nothing else I thought this would be a good opportunity to play with them to see if they’re fun” Jimin explained triumphantly.

“Seriously?, we’re going to be out?” you affirmed, your sudden anxiety glued your body in place.

“Exactly, I can’t wait to watch you become a flustered mess. You’ll be begging me to take you home”

Oh so he wants to play today

The possibilities of the next few hours flashed through your mind, working like acetone and unstuck? Your muscles into their normal state.

“I could just take them out” you challenged, fishing for his reaction.

“You will do no such thing, I’ll ruin all your orgasms for three weeks” Well. That told you. Lips pouting, he just looked at you bemused for a moment before climbing further and kissing the pout away. His knee pressed generously in between your thighs to feed of your gasps.

“Come on, we better get going” he starved you of anymore affection jumping up and offering you his hand to pull you up.

“Agh” Jimin’s palm burned into your behind, you exclamation was more the results of the balls shifting inside you. The feeling was like a half satisfied itch, it left you craving much more. Jimin’s smirk turned wicked as you finally realised how much torture you was going to have to endure.

“I hate you” you joked.

“You won’t be screaming that later, I promise”

As soon as you arrived at the dorms the aroma of BBQ teased your senses and woke up your apparent hunger, especially when you saw that Yoongi was head chef at the grill through the large panel windows onto the balcony.

“Achoo…aah”

I’m not going to last all evening

You brows furrowed, aiming directly for Jimin who met your gaze with a miniscule tug of his bottom lip between his teeth. Your blood heightened to a few more degrees, he knew what he did to you and how to get you.

“Where do snacks live?” you inquired holding up the bag of goodies.

“Just bundle them on the table in the living room with the others” Jungkook directed, carefully trying to decipher the snacks beneath the plastic with inquisitive eyes. J-Hope’s unmistakeable laugh ricocheted through the open plan living room and kitchen, drawing your attention from the large flat screen playing a standard music channel.

All the boys apart from Yoongi and Jungkook were lounging in the metal garden chairs, drinks in hands. Jimin tapped his knee and you sat obediently. One arm worked round your waist to sit lazily, fingertips ministrating slowly against your skin. You pleaded to your antihistamines to stop any more sneezing. Jungkook handed you a glass of soda, it sucked you was driving.

Food was cooked, food was eaten and everyone was full of delicious goodness. Now was the debate of what film to pick

“So Jurassic World two or Incredibles 2” RM announced.

“Obviously Jurassic World” Jimin blurted out in a high plea blanketing the pair of you on one of the corner sofas and slumping down at your side. Yoongi was sat non-chalant at the edge of the sofa quietly scrolling while the children squabbled amongst themselves.

“We’ve waited like 15 years for incredibles” Hope added.

“Yeah what’s wrong with you hyung, Incredibles all the way!” Jungkook blurted at Jimin and added in a slap on his legs for good measure before resuming his position sprawled on the floor on his front with V; both had pillows hugged at their chest resting their chins. He leaned into you as he flinched and his adorable laugh caramelised through your veins, the viscosity did nothing to slow your heart rate throbbing in your chest and the blood flooding down in-between your thighs.

“Y/N it’s all on you, you’re the guest, and we’ll be here for hours otherwise” RM suggested from the other sofa

“No pressure then” you leaned forward reaching for a bag of cool Doritos. “Obviously Incredibles” all you got in response from Jimin was a pair of bambi eyes with his lips at a pout.

Serves him right.

Jin drew the curtains and plunged the room into near darkness, the gentle glow from the lamp at the end of the other sofa chased away most of the shadows. The two of you were seated furthest away from the light, leaving you with the most shadows interrupted only by the rays of the TV.

“Achoo… bless me” your thighs squeezed together to cushion the sensation of the balls hitting your walls, you fidgeted your entire lower half until the hit had done its damage. A breathless moan reached Jimin’s ears and your peripheral vision discerned his lips creasing upwards.

“Want me to fuck you yet?” his whisper ghosted the skin on your neck causing a ripple of goosebumps to stand to attention. You turned your head to him quickly, your eyes sheepishly scanning the room for witnesses.

“Anyone need more popcorn?” you asked, your cheeks tainted a light pink as you got up and grabbed the two empty bowls on the table and headed to the kitchen completely ignoring his question.

The ache was becoming unbearable, but you were determined not to let him beat you. The microwave was whirring happily with you leaning against the side checking your social media to pass the time and distract yourself. Your boyfriend emerged in the kitchen not long after, sinful expression slapped on his face and grabbed at one of your belt loops propelling you into him, your dropped your arm to avoid your phone hitting his face.

“Can I help you?” you asked unperturbed.

“Yeah, I want you to answer me” his lips mere centimetres away from yours holding then in a desperate limbo. Your eyes sparked off each other, dangerously close to igniting.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself” you quipped, taking his hand and teased it down beneath your waist band. You knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with just a touch. Before he starting to tease with his fingers and before you’d completely cave and let him have you in the kitchen you pulled his hand away, kissed him in a heated burst shutting off his whine and not allowing a pout to form from his lips. The spark in his coffee eyes burst.

I have him

“Two can play the tease game my prince”

DING! Before he had a second to react you grabbed the popcorn and bowls and returned to the living area your chest puffed slightly and an accomplished grin sneaking through.

“Hey guys is it okay if we make a move, I definitely underrated my lack of sleep last night” Jimin was at the living room doorway framing his small stature, he rubbed at his eyes and threw his arms up into a full body stretch.

From the shadows your head shook with a one sided coy smile.

He’s unbelievable

“Remember we have practice at half seven, rest well hyung” RM well wished.

“I will, I’ll just go pack some things, Hobi did you move that attack on titan replica to our room yet? Y/N’s been asking about it”

He really is unbelievable but he knows how to get me where he wants me

“Yeah it’s in there” Hobi replied.

“Come on then babe” Jimin prompted. He did not have to ask you twice.

As soon as the door to his bedroom was shut, he was on you, he pressed into you with a primal roughness you rarely saw from him. You tried to push back a little to stop from slamming into the door and hopefully cushioning the sound. Your hands were both scrambling at each other’s sides. His brown hair was silk underneath your fingers as they crept up the back of his neck. His lips scattering desperate kisses at your collar bone. You pushed him back harder this time.

“Not here” you half pleaded in between struggling breaths “Someone could walk in” You tried to take a few more steps into the neat light pastel pink room. You were always more cautious about these things at the dorm, naturally; especially when Jimin doesn’t have his own room when him and J-Hope are the only two who share.

“I am NOT waiting until we’re back at yours” He unbuttoned your shorts gripped at your shoulders and spun you round to face the wall, instinctively your hands flew to the wall, palms flat against the cool surface. “We’re not exactly going to be long are we?”

I definitely wasn’t

His hands entangled in your hair and with a yank your neck in full extension releasing a strangled groan from your throat. His lips next to your ear, his body tight against your own, his desperation digging into you.

“But you’ll have to be quiet, don’t want us to get caught again princess, can you do that for me?” your skin flushed with heat

“Mmmhmm” you answered, he relinquished his grip on your hair and your forehead rested against the wall as your shorts and underwear were hastily sent pooling at your ankles. The humidity shrouding you both was near suffocating, there was nothing but hot blooded need flooding through your system. You needed him to fuck you and you needed it now. His hands locked onto your hip and pulled you back slightly and pushed your back, you bent at his touch so willingly. Your fists contorted into balls as his hands stroked through your heat from behind

“I think we’ll use these again” he said as he pulled at the silver chain.

“Aa…” your hand secured over your mouth cutting any more noise from falling out. The emptiness you felt was anything but a relief.

“Jimin, I swear to god if you don’t hurry up and fuck me” he’d gone to his bedside table to grab condom “We don’t need ..”

“I’d rather not deal with the mess” he rushed, it was his turn to scramble at his clothes, his belt buckle clinked, the noise only served as to heighten your anticipation and impatience.

With his cock finally against your buzzing nerves, you tilted your hips in a fluid motion to get more contact.

“Always so impatient”

“Fuck” you breathed in a forced whisper. Jimin’s moan was flooded with relief, the fingertips that were digging sweet half crescents into your skin held you firmly in your place. Every thrust it was becoming harder and harder to filter out your moans through pursued lips. You were neglected of the usual beautiful sounds that Jimin would give you in moments like this, the sweet high notes that would escape him, the desperate and satiated whines.

You grabbed behind you, clawing at the side of his behind as hips began jerking unevenly as he was racing towards his end. You was both chasing that impending high.

“Stay with…me baby…I’m so close” you panted barely holding on to your own control.

More and more volume was slowly creeping out amongst the gasps and pants

“Fuck Jimin, I’m….” your body gave in to an onslaught of pleasure that threatened to buckle your knees. The pulsing of your core around him knocked him falling into his own release he’d so desperately held off for you. His body still behind you, breathless obscenities flowing from his lips under his grunts. The pressure at your hips lifted and a more delicate pressure enveloped your waist his head dropped onto your back, savouring the afterglow of the heat as it dissipated.

“I love you soo much you know that” he spoke into your back. Your body satisfied and no longer clouded with uncontrollable lust, sense and social awareness seeps back in; bringing back with it a rush of self-consciousness.

“I love you too” you rushed out “but maybe let’s get redressed and get your stuff” You pictured the content grin you knew he’d be wearing.

“It’s not like you to get shy baby, but fine!” he huffed, exposed your skin from under your shirt to bury a kiss against your skin. He separated from you and allowed you to cover yourself restoring all dignity.

“And for god’s sake remember to put those balls away, I will literally die of embarrassment if Hobi sees them”

#bts #kwritersworldnet #kwspringexchange #btssmutclub #bangtanarmynet #kpopwonderlandtag #jimin x reader #park jimin #bts smut

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x-kytanna-x · 5 years

Text

Cheeky business

Happy Valentines Day everyone! In particular to @mizimeluh, @marimba-mallets and @loveherpizzapalace who had patienly listened to me blabber about this fic, real angels, the three of them.

You can also read the fic on ao3.

------------

Thorin didn't have an obsession, no matter what the others said. He didn't. So what if he sometimes lost track of time watching Bilbo walk from behind; it definitely wasn't because he was too focused on that plumb, pert, bouncy-

Fine.

He might have a slightly fixation with certain parts of Bilbo. It was hardly his fault thought, his husband was irresistible and Thorin was a weak, weak dwarf. Besides, Bilbo didn't seem to mind the attention, he certainly enjoyed when Thorin was rough with him and the next day he woke up with bites and fingerprint marks on his backside.

After they had brought Erebor to it's back glory and Bilbo and him had been crowned they had been so busy…

Thorin just wanted some alone time with his ghivashel.

Like in that very moment, Bilbo and him were in a meeting with Thranduil, may his soul be cursed to end of the days, but the two of them had started talking in Sindarin a while ago.

Thorin was so bored, he would rather be somewhere else, luckily they were almost finished and the elf lord would go back to his ugly creepy forest.

Thorin took a step back to admire better at his consort, Bilbo was dressed in his formal clothes that were so becoming on him, sadly they also covered his bum too well for Thorin tastes. He got called a lecherous old dwarf for making his concerns known to Bilbo, but then again, Bilbo gave him a thorough kiss after that so Thorin guessed he really didn't mind.

A sharp pain on the back of his hand brought him back from his musings, he quickly looked around to see what had caused it and saw Bilbo glaring at him with his own hand curled in a tight fist.

Thorin raised his brown questioning, he then directed his eyes to Thranduil when he heard an amused sound coming from him.

“I should take my leave, it seems you are rather...occupied.” Said the tree shagger, tilting his head slightly and then turning towards the door.

Thorin saw Bilbo blush as he stammered and walked towards the elf. “L-let me accompany you.”

“That won’t be necessary, I know my way out, you have better things to do, like deal with your husband.” Replied Thranduil tauntingly before disappearing behind the door.

As soon as it closed Bilbo turned to him and started slapping him on the arm repeatedly.

“Bilbo, what are- Stop!” Thorin managed to hold his hands and stop him from hitting him.

“You lewd handsy old sod!”

That made Thorin stop for moment enough for Bilbo get free from his grip. “What?!”

“You heard me! Honestly, groping me in front of Thranduil.” He paced around the room while Thorin looked at him in complete shock.

What was his husband even talking about?

Bilbo turned to face him at last and asked. “What were you thinking? You know I don’t mind this when is just the two of us but-”

“Groping? What groping?” Thorin interrupted him

Bilbo looked at him open mouthed for a second before uttering an incredulous sound. “Oh for Eru’s sake! You didn’t realize?!”

“What?! Realize what?!”

“YOU GROPED MY ASS IN FRONT OF THRANDUIL, YOU CLUELESS SOD!!”

“No I didn't.” Thorin was plenty sure he would have noticed if he had done something like that.

Right?

“Yes you did!”

Or maybe not.

“I-”

“We will talk about this later, you have a meeting with the blacksmiths guild in ten minutes.” Said Bilbo, giving him a warning glare and taking his leave from the room without another word.

Thorin sighed in the empty room.

******

Thorin was fuming; the rest of his day had been atrocious. He had been roped into meeting after meeting and had barely made any advance in any of them, which meant he will keep having meetings in the foreseeable future.

It was when things like this happened that he could commiserate with Bilbo. Dwarves were indeed stubborn beyond measure.

He strutted through the hall towards the library were he had been told his husband was, Thorin had another meeting in five minutes so he had to be quick.

Thorin barreled inside the library, not caring about the startled dwarves he left on his way, he only had one target and said target was currently sitting in the far end of the room, discussing some papers with more dwarves.

Thorin quickened his pace once he knew where his hobbit was and walked purposefully until he was standing in front of him; Bilbo had noticed him when he had entered the library but hadn't said anything so far; and before he could say anything at all Thorin put his hands on his soft round face and proceeded squeeze and squeeze, as if that face was the cause of all his misfortunes.

Thorin squeezed and pressed his palms against his husband's cheeks, pushing them together and making Bilbo look like a fish. He was so cute. He kept playing with Bilbo's cheeks for a while, until he could feel the stress and annoyance leave his body.

Bilbo just looked at him patiently until Thorin was done, while behind his back the other dwarves were trying to hold their laughter, and took his hands in his smaller ones.

“The meeting was bad I presume?”

“They finally broke the table.” He encircled Bilbo with his arms.

“Oh.” Replied Bilbo, hugging Thorin's waist.

Thorin hummed and pressed his cheek against his husband's head. “Are you still mad at me?” Answered, changing the topic.

“Hm, a bit, but I can hardly be cross with you. The mountain is still talking about that time I caressed your whiskers in front of the whole kingdom.”

Thorin clucked lowly into Bilbo's hair; it was true, the whole mountain still talked about it.

It had been a couple of years ago when they finally got married, after a long courtship, but to Bilbo's later dismay he completely forgot about the rules dwarves had about their beards, in particular about how you only stroke your partners beard in private. Bilbo had, to the absolute scandal of the whole mountain and the glee of their nephews, stroked his whiskers with his thumbs at the same as he kissed him. In Thorin's defence he had forgotten for a moment they were in front of the whole population of Erebor so it wasn't his fault either that he had encouraged Bilbo further.

“Come on love, you must go back, if I remember correctly you still have a few meetings left”

Thorin groaned.“Don't remind me.”

“The sooner you go the faster you will come back to me.”

“Won't you give me something to look forward until we meet again?”

“Ha! I have already let you knead my face as if it was bread dough, besides it won't me more than a few hours until supper and surely you will be finished by then.” He gave Thorin a pointed look as if daring him to say otherwise.

“I will be there. So you won't even give me a kiss? I have to deal with Lord Faek later, I'm sure he will ask about today's groping incident.”

Bilbo gave him a considering look to then give him an innocent smile that Thorin wouldn't trust for all the riches of Erebor. “Well, in that case I suppose I can make sure Lord Faek has something else to talk about.”

Before Thorin could ask what he meant by that, Bilbo captured his lips between his own and Thorin wrapped his arms around him without thinking; licking his way inside and tasting honey with a tinge of raspberry, that Thorin guessed came from Bilbo’s frequent snacks. Before Thorin knew it he had lifted his hobbit off his feet and Bilbo had not wasted any time in wrapping his legs around his waist. Thorin took a hold of Bilbo’s ass to draw him near and couldn’t stop the loud groan that left his mouth when Bilbo tugged into his beard to tilt his head to the side so he could deepen the kiss further and slid their tongues together.

Bilbo kissed like a hurricane, taking everything Thorin was on his path and making him all anew. Saying that he lost track of time when Bilbo kissed him would be an understatement.

When they finally separated, Thorin buried his face in his beloved neck, taking a deep breath and smelling that heady scent Bilbo naturally posseed.

“You naughty wanton thing.” Said Thorin, making both of them chuckle. “You can’t truly expect me to go after that.”

“I surely can and you will. As I told you, the sooner you finish the faster you will be by my side again.” Said Bilbo, pressing their foreheads together and rubbing their noses the way he always did when he was happy with Thorin.

“Will you be waiting for me?” Asked Thorin, giving a meaningful squeeze to Bilbo's rear.

Bilbo slapped him on the back, he then slipped a strand of hair behind his rounded ear and brushed his plush lips against it, making Thorin shudder at the same time as his breath faltered.

“We will have a nice and pleasant meal with the boys, then we will retire to our chambers and then...” Bilbo pulled slightly his ear with his teeth, making Thorin tighten his hold on Bilbo ass, which in exchange made the hobbit stifle a moan on his shoulder. “Then I will let my tongue tell you how much I crave you.” Said at last breathlessly.

That last phrase almost made Thorin lose control, but the gasps he could distantly hear stopped him.

He wanted thought, by Mahal he wanted!

Him and Bilbo had been extremely busy in the past week and had being too tired to do anything about their thirst for each other. So the last thing he needed was to be reminded how well his husband could take his cock; either with his mouth or with his ass. Thorin wasn't very picky in that aspect, he loved every part of him.

Laying with Bilbo was always an earth shattering experience, one that Thorin was completely addicted to, and by what he had seen, Bilbo was no different.

Thorin, as much as it pained him, placed Bilbo back on the ground; feeling thankful for the many layers he wore that were able to hide, with ease, the hardness of his cock.

“Tomorrow were are having the day off and when I get back from my meetings I'm going to have you in so many ways you will forget your own name.” Said Thorin, giving Bilbo a soft and chaste kiss on the forehead, completely at odds with what had been previously said.

“Is that a threat?” questioned Bilbo, giving him a playful smile.

“Is a promise.” Thorin gave him a last kiss on the lips before turning and walking towards the door, listening to Bilbo's laughter at his back.

The whole mountain would probably be talking about their display by the time Thorin was actually done with that day's work.

It was absolutely worthy thought, just to be able to listen to Bilbo's happy laugh and to feel the same happiness in his heart.

And honestly, could anyone really fault him? His husband was delicious.

#bagginshield #bagginshield fic #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #thranduil #fluff and humor #thorin and bilbo are naughty #the hobbit #my writing

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malecsecretsanta · 6 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @toreadthestars!

So I hope this bit of Malec silliness hits the spot...or my version of a coffee shop AU - as I’m a sucker for drunk Alec there’s a teensy weany bit of that too....

Read on AO3

*****

Sometimes Coffee Is The Only Solution

The first thing Alec noticed when he woke up was that, somehow, he’d managed to not draw his curtains properly before crashing out last night and the bright morning light shining into his eyes was borderline painful.

With a grunt of discomfort he rolled on his side, trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the way his stomach seemed to be doing somersaults. Blearily he looked around the room and noticed the glass of water and painkillers and thanked the angel that ‘drunk him’ seemed to have at least some common sense.

Carefully sitting up, he grabbed the glass and swallowed the pills before gingerly stepping out of bed to pull the curtains shut before crawling back under the sheets.

Ordinarily Alec wasn't much of a drinker, and lying in bed waiting for the painkillers to work their magic, he was starting to remember exactly why. The worst part was he really should've known better, but after weeks of excuses, he’d finally given in and accepted his siblings invite to come out with them.

Beyond that, things got a little fuzzy. He remembered arriving at the bar and meeting up with Clary and Simon and everything was pretty much ok until, about an hour in, Jace had suggested shots. In his defence, he may well have over indulged, as evenings spent with Izzy and Simon and Clary and Jace, two couples that were sickeningly loved up, really only served to remind him of the one thing he really wanted to forget, the nonexistent state of his own love life. He’d only gone because Izzy had promised that her hot friend, a guy called Magnus, was coming along too, but as far as he could remember he’d been a no show, so really, the only solution was to drown his sorrows.

All in all the night had been a complete disaster and, quite frankly, Alec was glad he didn’t remember much of it.

……..

Having forced himself into the shower, Alec began to feel somewhat more human, although he was desperately in need of coffee. Throwing on some clothes he trudged out to the kitchen hoping that it was still too early for his siblings to be awake, knowing full well the pleasure they’d take in tormenting him for his drunken antics.

“Shit..” Alec searched through the cupboards frantically only to find an empty pack of coffee and nothing else. Typically, Jace had forgotten to restock.

“Oh my god, it lives..” Spinning round Alec saw Izzy perched at the breakfast bar looking remarkably chipper, considering last night. “Didn’t think you’d surface for hours. No offence mi hermano, but you were wasted last night.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Alec grumbled, contemplating making himself a tea but deciding that the crusty old container didn't exactly fill him with confidence.

“So...do you remember anything from last night?” Izzy teased, as Alec continued to desperately scramble through the cupboards in the vain hope that it was just his killer hangover that was stopping him finding some coffee.

“Don’t, just don’t.” Alec glared over his shoulder, getting increasingly frustrated with the situation.

“Oh come on Alec, it was funny..I mean, you were on top form.” Izzy laughed and the sound went through him like a knife.

“I literally couldn't care less right now. All I want is a drink and Jace forgot to get any goddamn coffee, as per usual..” Alec snapped.

“Suit yourself, but let me tell you, it’s a great story.” Izzy seemed totally nonplussed by Alec’s mood.

“Whatever. I’m going out..” Alec pushed past her, marching to the hallway to grab his coat and boots. Feeling a little guilty for taking his mood out on his sister, he paused for a second and turned to look at her. “You want anything..?”

“You going to Java Jones?”

Alec grunted in reply.

“Then get me a mocha and double choc muffin.” Izzy grinned, reaching for her phone and beginning to tap away.

With a final huff of indignation, Alec stalked to the front door and let himself out.

……..

Alec wasn't sure if it was the painkillers or the fresh air on the walk to Java Jones but as he entered the doorway, he almost felt human.

The coffee shop was fairly empty this time on a Sunday morning so he decided that enjpying his drink there was a much more preferable option than going home just yet. Especially as home, he was pretty sure, meant a morning of inevitable teasing by his sister.

Reaching the front of the queue, Alec was relieved to see his friend Maia on duty.

“Hey Alec, wow, you look like shit. Bad night or a really, really good one?” Maia teased.

“Bad, really bad… and no, I don’t want to talk about it..” Alec held his finger up, shaking his head slightly in defeat. Thankfully it didn't hurt as much as it did this morning or he’d have seriously regretted the gesture.

“Ah c’mon, I’m stuck here all morning, I need gossip to keep me going.” Maia pouted briefly before starting on Alec’s coffee, knowing without asking what he’d want.

“All I’m gonna say is I’m never ever letting Izzy talk me into a night out again..” Alec grabbed his drink from the counter as soon as Maia put in down, warming his hands on the cup.

“That bad..” Maia raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, apparently some friend from yoga class was supposed to turn up but I apparently even get stood up by blind dates.” Alec grumbled before cautiously sipping at his coffee which was still really hot.

“Oh Alec..”

“Yeah, and trust me, an evening spent watching the four of them swooning over each other is not as much as fun as you’d think.” Maia began to laugh again as he spoke and Alec couldn't help but smile. “Seriously, alcohol was the only option..”

“Damn, I wish I’d been there..”

“No you don't.”

“No, I don't..”

Behind him the door chimed signalling another customer arriving and making his excuses, Alec grabbed his coffee and shuffled off to a corner booth.

………...

Alec drained the rest of his coffee and sat staring at the empty cup for far longer than was really appropriate, tossing up whether to go for a refill or return home and face the music. He had the distinct feeling Izzy knew something he didn’t and he dreaded what that could be.

“You look like you could do with this.” The man’s voice sounded strangely familiar and yet Alec was sure he’d never heard it before, but what really grabbed his attention was the ring-clad hand that slid the cup towards him. Suddenly his mind flashed back to the previous night.

“Wow, you’re hands are so pretty.” Alec gasped, grabbing the man’s hand and holding it up to look at it more closely. “Look Izzy, they’re all twinkly..”

Alec fought down the feeling of nausea in his stomach.

“I take it you’re suffering a bit this morning.” The man laughed and instantly another memory resurfaced.

“By the angel, your laugh, it’s like music.” Alec gazed with adoration into the face of possibly the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. “How are you sooooo beautiful? Are you even real, ‘cos if this is a dream, best dream ever!!!’

“You mind if I join you? If you’d rather be alone I’ll understand of course.” Alec nodded his head, not daring to look up just yet because the sound of that silky smooth voice was bringing back a wealth of memories each of which were excruciatingly embarrassing.

Pinching the bridge of his nose he took a deep breath and using every ounce of courage he had, forced himself to meet the man’s eyes.

“Magnus…” The name came back to him instantly as soon as he saw the man’s face, flawless tawny skin and the deepest brown eyes accentuated by dark kohl.

“Oh, you do remember me then? That’s good to know.” Magnus’ eyes danced with mischief and Alec groaned, his head in his hands as another memory came flashing back.

Alec reached forward and touched the man’s bicep, holding on a little more firmly than was appropriate as he swayed from side to side.

“You’re really, really real. Are you sure you’re not an angel because those arms, that face… I mean, wow, no human could look that good….” Alec slurred, not letting go of Magnus's arm as he turned to his sister and leant on her heavily. “Izzy someone sent me a literal angel…”

Izzy chuckled before turning to speak to Magnus.

“Magnus, I’m sorry about my brother. I promise he’s not normally like this ….”

“Magnus …. your name’s Magnus…. even your name is pretty….” Alec blabbered on obliviously.

“I promise you, it’s fine. I’ve doubtless been in worse states myself and I was ridiculously late so…” Magnus laughed.

“Oh god…” Alec muttered into his hands before peeking out between his fingers to see Magnus trying to hold back his laughter. “Please tell me this is all some horrible nightmare and I didn’t make a total fool of myself last night. I’m so embarrassed .”

“Oh Alexander, there’s honestly nothing to be embarrassed about. I actually think you’re a rather adorable drunk..” Magnus winked and Alec felt himself flush. “Anyway, shall we start again? Hello, I’m Magnus, Izzy’s friend from yoga class.”

Magnus smiled as he extended a hand.

“Hi.” Alec smiled shyly before shaking his hand, trying desperately to ignore the tingles that ran up his arm from Magnus touch. “Alec. Thanks for the coffee by the way, I’m not normally much of a drinker so…”

“So I take it you don’t remember a great deal…” Magnus smiled.

“Um yeah..” Alec shifted uncomfortably in his seat as another memory resurfaced.

“C’mon you. Let's get you in a cab.” Izzy grabbed his arm and began manhandling him towards the exit with remarkable strength for someone so little.

Alec tried his best to resist reaching back to Magnus imploringly.

“No…..don't make me leave the angel man...please let me worship him…”

Izzy was having none of it and dragged him away, his last glimpse of a smiling Magnus shaking his head in amusement before being bundled outside.

Magnus looked at him carefully, eyes slightly narrowed and the corners of his mouth quirking as if he was trying to suppress a smile.

“Alexander Lightwood, why do I get the feeling you’re possibly being a little economical with the truth here?” Magnus waved a finger in admonishment. “I think you remember more than you’d like to admit.”

Alec blushed bright crimson as he had to fight the urge to facepalm.

“Okay, okay..I do remember bits and pieces, but honestly I don't know what got into me and I didn't mean..” Alec stopped speaking when he saw Magnus pout a little. “What?”

“Well I have to say Alexander, I’m a little disappointed.” Alec looked at Magnus warily only relaxing a little when he saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Does that mean you don't want to worship me and climb me like a tree…?”

“Oh god… I said that, didn't I?” Alec groaned as Magnus nodded.

“Because I would definitely not be adverse to that.” Magnus winked and Alec damn near fainted on the spot.

“You would…?” Alec asked hesitantly, biting his lip anxiously as he awaited the answer.

Magnus looked him up and down pointedly and Alec had to suppress a shiver.

“Well, you’d need to buy me dinner first.” Magnus tilted his head to the side coquettishly.

“I can do that..” Alec said with a bashful smile.

“And, actually, I think a movie too..” Magnus teased.

“Yeah?” Alec felt himself leaning forward, elbows on the table, mesmerised by Magnus’ smile.

“Most definitely..In any case, think of the fabulous story we’ll be able to tell our grandkids about how we met..”

Alec burst into laughter, a mix of happiness and relief.

“Well then, I guess we better do that...you know, for our future grandkids..”

“It’d be rude not too.” Magnus agreed in mock seriousness.

“Exactly.”

“A toast then, to dinners and future grandkids..” Magnus held up his cup.

“Sound good to me.” Alec smiled before doing the same, already anticipating the best date EVER.

#toreadthestars #malecsanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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katemarley · 6 years

Text

fanfiction: krampuslauf

Fandom: Hetalia - Axis Powers Pairing: Austria/Prussia Characters: Austria, Prussia, Kugelmugel Rating: G

Summary: Austria, Prussia, and Kugelmugel are on vacation in rural Salzburg when Austria gets talked into participating in the local Krampuslauf, a traditional parade, as a fill-in. He doesn’t like the idea—Krampus runs are loud and rough and sometimes violent. Since he agrees nonetheless, someone needs to look out for Kugelmugel during the parade.

A contribution to the @pruausadventcalendar. Also available on my AO3 and fanfiction.net.

Some notes before the story begins:

The city of Salzburg is the capital of the Austrian federal state of the same name, colloquially called Salzburgerland. This story refers to the latter (the rural part of the federal state). Sankt Johann im Pongau, where the story is set, has about 11,000 inhabitants.

In Austria and some other regions of the eastern Alps, the Krampus is a horned figure with (at least traditionally) a long tongue and one cloven hoof reminiscent of the Devil. Several of them traditionally accompany Saint Nicholas (feast: 6 December) who brings presents to nice children. There is also the tradition of the Krampuslauf (“Krampus run”) on 5 December (“Krampus Day”) in which several groups of Krampus with Saint Nicholas (Passen; singular Pass) parade through the streets, wearing clanking cowbells. Sometimes, children and adolescents try to pester the Krampus without getting hit by their birch rods (a tradition called Kramperltratzen or Kramperlstauben). There are increasing complaints about the Krampus becoming too violent. Indeed, people can get injured during Krampus runs, resulting in broken legs and the like. (I wonder if they’ve actually become more violent or if people are just more sensitive towards violence occurring during folkloristic traditions nowadays than a few decades ago.)

Friedl (short for Friedrich) is the human name I use for Kugelmugel (after Austrian artist Friedensreich Hundertwasser, 1928-2000).

Sankt Johann im Pongau, 4 December 20xx

“It would be much appreciated if you agreed,” Mrs Schneider said. “My husband has a touch of the flu, and the performance of his Pass is arranged so all Krampus parade parallel to each other in groups of two, performing a certain combination of steps. When Saint Nicholas gives the signal with his staff, they dash to the sides, rattling at the barriers where the spectators are. Then, they get back into formation.”

“I don’t know,” Austria said doubtfully. “Shouldn’t they ask someone from Sankt Johann first?”

“On this short notice, they need someone who has a certain sense of rhythm and who actually knows how to dance,” she explained. “That’s why the boys asked me to ask you.”

“Why don’t they ask me directly if it actually matters to them?” Austria was still putting up defences. Prussia could tell he had no intention to agree.

“Because you’re my holiday guest for this week, and because I know you better than them.” Mrs Schneider, on her part, had no intention to give up.

“Please, Mr Edelstein,” Lena, Mrs Schneider’s eight-year-old daughter, begged. “I was so looking forward to seeing Papa in his Krampus costume. Please let me at least see his costume tomorrow evening.” She looked at Austria with beseeching blue eyes.

Prussia could see how his lover’s resistance melted like snow inside their holiday home. He understood. There was hardly any means to resist against a pair of wide children’s eyes.

“Fine,” Austria sighed. “What do I need to do now?”

“There is a final rehearsal this afternoon,” Mrs Schneider explained. “Wait, let me show you where they meet…”

Lena turned to Prussia, raised an eyebrow—See? That’s how you get what you want—and rushed out of the parlour in order to play in her room.

“Looks like Roderich has quite the task to fulfil now,” Kugelmugel commented dryly. The micronation sometimes sounded far too worldly-wise for his physical age. Prussia snorted. He knew what Krampus were from his previous experience of his lover’s lands in the Christmas season.

“I have a hard time envisioning him participating in a Krampus run, to be honest.”

“Who knows.” Kugelmugel shrugged. “Maybe the old man is going to surprise us by actually being cool once in a while. —Well, sort of,” he added after a short pause. “As cool as you can be when you’re wearing fur all over.”

“So, how was it?” Prussia asked when Austria returned from the rehearsal.

“Exhausting,” Austria replied, flopping down on the wooden corner bench where Prussia already sat. “I didn’t expect the fur, the mask, and the cowbells to be so heavy … Well, I actually did,” he corrected himself. “But it was still strenuous to wear them during the whole of the rehearsal, and the fur smells strange too. The good thing is I probably won’t be cold during the Krampus run tomorrow evening.”

“Yes. About that.” Prussia sniffed. “I can smell it was exhausting. You should take a shower.”

“And you are, as always, Prince Charming,” Austria grumbled, boxing Prussia lightly against the arm. Nonetheless, he rose from his seat, heading in the direction of their room and the bathroom. “Did I already mention I’m not exactly fond of sweating outdoors in winter when it’s not for skiing?”

He hadn’t, but that wasn’t exactly news to Prussia either.

5 December 20xx

“…and pay attention to what Friedl is doing!” Austria said for what seemed to be the hundredth time. “I don’t trust the boy not to do something stupid during the parade!” By something stupid, Austria referred to the tradition of leaping over the barriers in order to pester the Krampus in the parade without getting hit by them. Prussia had seen that before. He had to admit it did look dangerous, especially if he imagined a lank person like Kugelmugel in that situation.

“Yes; yes, I will,” he mumbled once again. “Even if I doubt Friedl would do anything like this.”

“I know you doubt it, but he would,” Austria said in an exasperated tone. “That’s why I keep repeating how important it is that you pay attention!” He paused. “Friedl isn’t Ludwig, you know. Ludwig has always been a responsible boy. He’d never have done a dangerous thing such as this. Friedl, however…” Austria sighed. “Friedl would do—and has, in fact, done—many a stupid thing in the name of art. Please don’t have me worry for his safety while I can’t look out for him.”

“Okay,” Prussia finally said. “I will. Promised.” Austria nodded.

“Good,” was all he said before he left in order to morph into a scary beast for the Krampus parade.

The spectators of the Krampus run crowded around the barriers, waiting for every Pass to come close. Kugelmugel and Lena had managed to gather right behind the barriers. Mrs Schneider didn’t appear to be worried, but Prussia felt a little queasy when he saw how close some of the Krampus came to the crowd. A few of the scary-looking figures in their shaggy fur even jumped against the barriers, causing the startled crowd to draw back a little … but never for long. So far, however, none of them had joggled the barrier right where they stood.

Then, the next Pass emerged from the darkness; a group of figures coated in fur prancing closer, making noise with the cowbells around their belts. When the Saint Nicholas who lead them raised his staff, they dashed to the barriers, growling at the spectators. This time, one of them appeared right in front of Lena and Kugelmugel.

“Hello,” the girl cried cheerfully, extending a hand towards the Krampus, patting his fur. Kugelmugel took that as his cue to grab the fur around one of his arms, pulling.

“Friedl!” Prussia exclaimed, snatching the micronation away from any potential whips with the birch the Krampus had put under his belt.

Instead of the birch, a cool and slightly reddish hand appeared from under the fur, stubbing gently against Prussia’s nose.

“Very good,” Austria’s voice said from under the fur. “That’s what I asked of you when I told you to take care of him.”

Prussia felt himself blush regardless of the cold. Even if Kugelmugel didn’t seem particularly impressed at Austria’s costume, Prussia couldn’t help thinking that his lover fulfilled his Krampus role better than he would have given him credit for. He had only left said role in order to reveal himself to Prussia who seemed to be the only one not to recognise his lover in the first place. Then Krampus-Austria pulled back, re-joining the formation as it trod past.

Austria as Prussia knew him returned to their holiday home shortly after Mrs Schneider had left in order to put Lena to bed. Kugelmugel had gone into his room in order to paint Austria in his Krampus costume before he forgot how his brother had looked like.

“Didn’t you stay with the other guys in your Pass?” Prussia greeted him, realising he sounded almost reproachful even if he didn’t intend to. “Mrs Schneider told me all of you are supposed to be drinking beer now.” Austria shrugged.

“I told them I’d prefer spending the evening with my partner because I don’t see him as often as I’d like.” He smiled a tiny smile.

“And what did they say?”

“They mocked me for being domestic but let me go.” His smile grew broader. “I take it you realise they knew who I actually am?” Prussia nodded.

“I didn’t know, but I suspected. They wouldn’t have let you participate in their Pass if they hadn’t known you’re Austria, right?”

“Exactly.” For the second time within one day, Austria sat down next to Prussia on the rustic corner bench. “I don’t think they know who you are or who Friedl is, but they did realise we’re … well. Sort of a family.” He rested his head against Prussia’s shoulder, taking his hand.

“On holiday with my little brother and my loved one,” Austria whispered. “I’m happy now. And if that means I’m domestic and a bit of a bore, so be it.”

“You aren’t boring,” Prussia said, squeezing Austria’s hand in turn. “You’re actually pretty cool as a Krampus.”

“I love you, too,” Austria said, leaning forward in order to kiss Prussia on the tip of his nose this time.

#pruausadventcalendar #hetalia #pruaus #aph austria #aph prussia #aph kugelmugel #aph fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction #my fanfiction #aph #fanfiction

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kaepop-trash · 7 years

Text

Of Snakes and Lions Ch-7

Rated: Smut

Pairing: JaehyunxReaderxTaeyong

Summary: Your new term at Hogwarts starts with more drama then you intended. You didn’t expect your oldest friend to have feelings for you, but you didn’t expect to have feelings for a Gryffindor jock either.

Mini Masterlist

The next day she was already studying with Doyoung for their next assignment. She noticed his lingering gaze at moments but decided not to point it out. Focusing on work instead.

“Are you guys working on the History of Magic paper?” She looked up and smiled noticing Johnny.

“Yes, want to join us?” She said without hesitation and he nodded sitting down.

“Hi Doyoung.” Johnny smiled at him politely and he gave him a half hearted smile.

“Johnny is really good at the subject.” She explained to Doyoung who offered a distracted nod as he continued writing in his notebook.

“I was always fascinated by those.” Johnny said, pointing at Doyoung writing.

“The pen or the notebook?” She inquired.

“Both.” He admitted, “I swear you all have such amazing things in the Muggle world.” He said with wonder and she laughed. She rummaged through her bag and picked out a notebook and a pen.

“This is empty so you can keep it.” She offered it to him and he looked flustered.

“No I can't-” He stuttered.

“Please, I insist. I have plenty more. Consider this a thank you for helping me with this subject every time.” They both laughed at that.

Doyoung listened to their conversation quietly, holding onto his book a little tighter and not looking away from it. He didn't need any help so he didn't interrupt as Johnny explained some things to her, he was clearly better at the subject than he himself.

By late morning they were joined by Sicheng and Johnny's best friend Ten. No one was studying anymore and they three boys only told them about things that happen in the Gryffindor dorm too often.

“I was supposed to study divination.” She sighed after a while, still laughing at an anecdote.

“We're sorry.” Johnny said and she shook her head.

“No I really enjoyed listening to those. It must never get boring in the Gryffindor Tower.” She said and they laughed in agreement.

“I'll just go finish the rest of this in my room.” She announced, already packing her things.

“Or you could come with me to my room.” Her hands froze as Doyoung spoke beside her, “I have a book that could help you.” He said casually and she turned around to look at him, her stomach dropping already.

“Okay sure, let's go.” She nodded at him and he smiled.

“And then?” Hansol asked as he chewed on the same candy.

“We didn't do any studying.” She groaned, dropping her head into her hands with embarrassment. He chuckled lightly.

“Well at least your afternoon was eventful.” He chuckled, his voice held no sign of judgement or caution. And that's what she truly adored about him. She laughed and hit his arm playfully.

“Are you sure about him though?” Hansol asked as he offered her a piece of candy and she took it.

“Of course not. This is Doyoung, things are never simple with him.” She admitted.

“Then why?” He inquired and she groaned again, very dramatically.

“He just fucks me in a way I enjoy. I forgot what a good fuck he was.” She sighed and laughed when Hansol’s face contorted.

“I'm more than willing to listen to your greek tragedy but please keep the details off the table. I don't need to know how you like to have sex.” He shoved her gently.

“But it's relevant, I'm so stressed because of school work. Then I landed up in the infirmary, this is really not my year. He just makes me feel nice, and wanted. Also this is Doyoung so I don't have to worry about breaking a heart that doesn't exist.” She explained. Hansol nodded and got up, giving her a last piece of candy.

“Greek Tragedy.” He stated, “I have to go for class bye.” He waved and walked away.

She sat on the pebble beaches, listening to the water splash inches away from her. The wind was blowing so she didn't hear the approaching footsteps till they were closer, opening her eye when she heard the distinct crunch to find Jaehyun standing over her with a curious smile.

“We were both caught injured after curfew you know.” He stated and she smiled.

“Yet here we are.” She smiled back and he chuckled as he sat down beside her.

“Did you need fresh air again?” He asked after a moment, watching her peaceful face as she sat with her head back and her eyes closed.

“No I need to think.” She spoke softly, opening her eyes and turning to Jaehyun, who turned away when she caught him staring. Face red with embarrassment.

“What are you thinking about?” He said awkwardly, only turning back when the silence stretched a little, to find her deep in thought.

“I feel like I'm making a huge mistake. Like I know it's wrong, but it feels irreversible somehow.” She stated, looking up at him and clearly confused by her own admittance.

“Then don't do it.” He offered and she couldn't help her laugh at the seemingly simple solution.

“It's not that easy.” She sighed.

“Things are only as easy and as difficult as we make them. If you think something is wrong then you also know what is right.” He said and she looked up, contemplating his words.

“I think both my choices are furiously wrong in their own ways.” She groaned and Jaehyun nodded.

“Then try both and see which one you like better.” He grinned and she laughed indulgently.

“I like your philosophy Jaehyun.” She laughed again, really contemplating his words.

The sound of cheering entered the practically empty castle, making Doyoung click his tongue with disapproval again. She looked up at him and chuckled a little, his eyes drawn together with irritation and concentration all etched into one beautiful face. She looked away and went back to her book.

“I can't do this anymore. These people are so inconsiderate.” Doyoung complained as he sat back and raked his fingers through his hair with frustration.

“Then leave it. Do it later.” She offered without looking up from her book. She could practically hear his mind winding as she felt his eyes spaced out on her. He got up quietly after that, coughing to get her attention.

“Let's go.” He said with a strange bit of conviction.

“Where?” She asked quizzically as she looked up at him. The moment she say him bite down on his lip she didn't need an answer.

“No.” She said, heat already spreading up her neck as she forced her eyes away from him and back to her book, “I can finish my work just fine.” She added.

“You aren't doing anything.” He said almost restlessly and she refused to look back up at him.

“Yes, especially not you.” She clarified.

“What's wrong?” He asked as he walked around over to her side and she suppressed a hefty sigh.

“Nothing is wrong.” She turned a page, focusing harder on the words on the page.

“You didn't mind me ramming the breath out of you earlier this week.” His deliberate choice of words made her breathing hitch.

“Careful Doyoung, someone might think you actually like me at this point.” She tried her best known defence against him. Instead of him shutting down or leaving, she was given a response by his fingers, unbuttoning two buttons before her hand went down to stop him.

“You really need to learn to learn to take no for an answer.” She warned with a bored gaze. He smirked, pushing her hand away easily and sliding his hand in to trace up and down her thigh till he felt goosebumps.

“Oh baby, I promise to do nothing till you beg me to fuck you raw.” He whispered against her ear. Pulling his hand out after and closing off all her buttons.

“I'll see you in class later. I'm going to go take a nap.” He said casually like none of the last few minutes happened. He didn't wait for her respond, smiling sweetly and walking out.

“Ravenclaw won.” Yuta spoke, first to enter the hall. Clearly still pumped from watching an eventful match.

“I don't care.” She said, relieved to finally have silence. As she got up from her seat, “We have a class now Yuta let's go.” She stated and he nodded.

“Your team won.” Yuta told Doyoung as he sat down on the desk beside her in class.

“I don't care.” He said monotonously.

“You know if it wasn't such a catastrophic idea, I'd suggest both of you get married.” Yuta pointed at both of them.

“Shut up Yuta.” She sighed and he laughed in return. Taeyong entered a little later, with Jaehyun stalking behind with Johnny. Taeyong came and sat beside Yuta, greeting them pleasantly and Johnny waved at her and came and sat in the seats in front of her and Doyoung.

“We suddenly have too many friends. Are you going to be okay?” Yuta leaned into the aisle. She scoffed and told him to stop annoying her.

Class went on as usual the professor finishing his lesson halfway through and giving them work to do. This was the point where no one did any work, which is why she preferred to sit next to Doyoung. But halfway through the lesson, Doyoung had put his hand on her thigh and his thumb kept drawing circles while he focused on class.

She turned to him several times but he looked completely engrossed in his own work, and his actions felt more subconscious. She felt telling him to remove his hand would be pointed it out and she just tried to think past it. The more she tried to not think about it, the more it became all she thought about. To the point when Johnny turned around to call her, she practically jumped at his tap, Doyoung's hand stilling on her thigh.

“There's a small gathering at our tower today. I won't take no for an answer this time (Y/N).” He grinned.

“This time?” Jaehyun asked him confused. And Johnny nodded.

“I asked (Y/N) to join us on the day we were trying out hexes, but she refused.” Johnny said.

“Why are you hexing each other recreationally?” She asked with a little concern.

“It's fun.” Jaehyun offered as an explanation.

“Gryffindors..” Doyoung said under his breath and Jaehyun frowned at him.

“And we only do it in a small group. But today we'll be drinking firewhiskey.” Johnny said like it was definitely the better option.

“My drinking history isn't the best.” She said sheepishly.

“Funny, Jaehyun said the same thing.” Johnny said cluelessly and both of them blushed.

“Both of you should definitely marry each other.” Yuta spoke up from beside them suddenly, catching everyone off guard.

“Ignore him.” She said dismissively, avoiding Jaehyun's gaze anyway.

“Please come, it will be fun I promise.” Johnny insisted and she hesitated.

“She'll come. Don't sweat it.” Yuta spoke up, “How bad can your drunk mistakes be? You were sober when you agreed to date that one.” Yuta pointed at Doyoung, who's hand on her thigh tightened making her hold back a yelp.

“Yuta behave.” She warned.

“Kinky.” Yuta winked at her and she sighed.

“I'll come okay? But don't blame me if I don't drink too much. I'll get him too.” She pointed at Yuta who turned towards her.

“Who said I want to go?” He asked half jokingly.

“I did. Just now.” She smiled with forced sweetness and he didn't refute.

“I heard you got a cat.” Jaehyun inquired and she looked up towards him and nodded.

“What is it called?” He asked and she squinted with guilt.

“I can't decide what to call her yet.” She admitted and he laughed.

“Maybe you can name her nightshade.” His voice was a hesitant mumble. She looked up with bright eyes.

“That's perfect actually.” She said, ignoring the way her heart thumped a little.

“Why nightshade?” Doyoung asked and she smiled and shook her head, glancing at Jaehyun, both of them smiling at the significance that felt like a shared secret.

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cheeruplovely · 7 years

Text

Olicity: Zephyr

Chapter 1: Taking Out The Trash

Summary: “Zephyr” (zɛf ər), noun | A gentle, mild breeze. It does not disrupt, nor cause chaos, it merely brings a pleasant sensation on a warm summer day. (via wordsnquotes) Behind the vigilantism, they have to live. A look at our heroes as they go about the more normal moments of their lives.

Welcome to my new series, Zephyr!! We're going to be looking at the most domestic, normal, downright boring moments of life with Olicity. Still with me? Great, I hope so. Because I've realised that the moments I love writing most are the normal ones, so I'm hoping this can be fun.

The first prompt: @aussieforgood said: You want boring, here's boring. Taking out the trash.

“This isn’t going to fit, we need another bag.”

Those words make her stomach drop. They’ve been standing in the kitchen for ten minutes organising and clearing up, neither of them fully focused on what they’re doing, but as soon Oliver says those dreaded words, Felicity just wants to throw it all on the ground and go to bed.

Or finally hire a cleaner. That’s sounding more and more appealing every time they joke about it and quickly talk themselves out of it.

“We don’t have another bag,” she tells him tiredly. “It was the last I could find in the cupboard.”

Oliver looks up from the overpacked trash bag with a look on his face that can only be pure resignation. “I thought we had plenty?”

She shakes her head, leaning her elbow on the counter beside her as her husband’s gaze turns back down to the garbage bag he’s holding open. “I was going to get some tomorrow when I went to the store after work, but I forgot that garbage day moved.”

She’s seen this look on his face before. It’s the look he has when he spends an afternoon downstairs working on his bike only to come upstairs and throw his tools in the closet with far too much force. It’s the look he has when she’s used all the hot water and he’s just finished a ten mile run. It’s the look he has when she opens the bathroom door slightly quicker than he can cover up his real feeling over how long she’s taking to get ready for dinner.

“I don’t know why we can’t just have one garbage day and stick to it,” he sighs.

“I know. Thursday’s were so perfect,” she agrees, mourning the loss of their previous evening schedule. “We could just take the trash out after dinner with Thea, and now…”

“Wednesday’s are not a good garbage day,” he grumbled, shifting the bag in his hands slightly before he sighed again, resting the bottom of the bag back on the kitchen floor with a shake of his head. “I think something has to go back in the trash for next week’s collection.”

Her nose wrinkled up without control. Not just the idea of week-old garbage going back into their trash but also the idea of fishing through said trash for an item that could make the cut. “Isn’t that a bit...gross?”

Of course he knows that. This is a man who had never done his own chores growing up, which was one of the benefits of a spoiled rich-boy lifestyle. Felicity has known for quite some time that trash duty is one of the worst household jobs, which is why they’ve decided to conquer this particular chore together.

“Felicity, I don’t think we have any other choice.”

“Ugh, you’re right.” She hops down from the counter, planting her hands on her hips as she assesses the dire situation of the garbage bag just as he had done. “What if you held it down a little and I tied the bag closed?”

Her suggestion is met with an unfair frown. “Why do I have to hold it down?”

“I don’t want to touch the garbage.”

Oliver fixes her with a knowing expression, dragging his eyes slowly down from her to the open bag he’s still holding. “Felicity, half of this bag is food packaging, and I think we both know who ate so many cookies this month.”

“In my defence, those girl scouts really deserved a reward for getting past the doorman of this building.”

“He was probably bribed with cookies. Instead we paid…” He stops, looking back up at her. “How much did we pay?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “You’re all ‘I must save the city’ and all those donations stay in the local area, which benefits the community and encourages young girls to develop their skills with decision making and planning and people skills and money management, business ethics…”

“Okay, I get it,” he cuts her off. “Girl scout cookies are worth the investment.”

“I thought that after Wonder Woman you’d be a little more encouraging of girl power,” she points out, after they’d actually made it to a date night last weekend and decided to go see a movie. NIghts off are still rare for them, but they’re trying to find more of a balance. Sadly, chores are part of the balance, but for the most part they’re getting to enjoy married life like a normal married couple.

Well, their version of normal at least.

“I love girl power. Anyway, we’re getting off topic,” he points out. “We need to take the trash out and we’re running out of options.”

“I thought we’d already run out.”

Not to be deterred, Oliver starts shifting the weight inside the bag and leaning far close to it than Felicity would ever allow her nose to get. She threw away some cheese that was questionable yesterday and she doesn’t want to go anywhere near that again. “Wait, can we recycle this instead?” he asks, nodding his head towards a piece of packaging.

Peering in as much as she’ll allow herself too, she spots the item that she recalls casually brushing aside the evening before, and it must have landed in the trash by mistake. Another reason she shouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen. “Oh, yeah that shouldn’t be in that bag.”

“Can you take it?” he asks. “Then I can fit this in and we’re good.”

Steeling herself, she reaches into the bag and takes out the crushed piece of cardboard and holds it as far away from her as possible. “Is that last night’s spaghetti sauce?”

“Just rinse it off,” Oliver tells her, as she holds it over the sink and quickly lets the water take away the remains of last night’s dinner.

When she’s done, she places the cardboard down with their other items of recycling. “This is the worst job.”

He agrees with a firm nod, as he manages to get the garbage bag closed at last with a tight knot at the top that just might make it down to the dumpster behind their building. “It makes me miss Raisa.”

She misses Raisa too, so she knows when Oliver says that he means it. It’s not really about the household chores though, it’s about the company. Raisa was such a crucial part of his upbringing and he loves her for that, and she’d gotten to witness that firsthand when they got together with her and her family over the last holiday season. “I thought you missed Raisa because of the cookies.”

“Well, we have girl scout cookies now,” Oliver indicates to their still fairly substantial pile of cookies on the kitchen counter. So Felicity has a weak spot for cookies, who cares? There are worse things to be addicted to. “I wouldn’t want to get nostalgic and risk not supporting the future women of Star City.”

He winks at her. She tries not to let that make her stomach flip. She fails. After all this time, he still makes her feel like a teenager in love for the first time.

“Good answer,” she tells him, leaning up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek, “but you’re still taking the bag down to the dumpster.”

He scoffs out a laugh. “I didn’t charm my way out of that one, huh?”

“I did it last week,” she points to the schedule they pinned to the side of the fridge. It’s nothing to laugh at, but when you spend a great deal of your evenings running a base of vigilantes, you can’t always remember when you last cleaned the bathroom or if you have a clean dress for work. “It’s your turn.”

With one arm, he catches her waist and draws her back to him. She smiles when he nudges his nose against hers. “Can I exchange my turn for something else?”

“Oliver, I love you. But no.”

“Just no?”

“Just no,” she tells him, slipping out of his grasp. “Now hurry up or we’re going to miss Game of Thrones.”

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in other fics, or have a prompt, or any comments at all, please feel free to drop me an ask HERE.

You can also following me in other places: Twitter: ghostfoxlovely AO3: CheerUpLovely

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@zinny333

#Olicity fic #arrow fic #arrow fanfiction #arrow #fanfiction #olicity fanfiction #olicity #oliver queen #felicity smoak #olliver x felicity #felicity x oliver

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advxjennie-blog · 7 years

Text

the games we play: solo!

Months.

Of reconnaissance. Of dressing up and dressing down to fit the backdrop of her gamers’ lives. Of rewiring personalities to become someone she’s not, but to fit the ideals of someone she longs to kill. Of smiling till her cheeks hurt, even though the bitter taste of contempt is present on her tongue. Of being stoic and hiding the effervescent joy that her late father so loves her for. Of being touched even when it’s the last thing she wants. Of pretending it’s the very thing she wants. Of having to bite her tongue and endure the odd looks like she’s not affected by it in the slightest—because such is her in-your-face behaviour, so she must be comfortable with the judgement that comes with it, right? Of being screamed at due to her persistence. Of running back to the drawing board as she blocks out all emotion of sadness and disappointment, because all she has endured may very well have been for nothing. Of never giving up regardless.

Weeks.

Of sleepless nights and blocking the release of melatonin—the hormone responsible for tiredness—released by the pineal gland. Of cans upon cans of energy drinks and an uncountable number of coffee cups of different shapes and sizes. Of cracking codes. Of breaking through the defences of anything from military databases and police files, to social media accounts. Of having to read through every painful conversation and looking at the occasional scandalous pictures, in hopes of finding that one piece of information she can use to end this suffering and move on to the next. Of having those pieces of information escape her. Of having her days and nights blur into a single moment: her, sitting at her cluttered desk as she forces the sleep out of her eyes and blink away the tears caused by the bright laptop screen. Of having to start again.

Days.

Of planning. Of dissecting the mysteries that are her gamers’ personalities. Of trying to figure out the boundaries of their comfort zone, and trying to figure out how to push them past it. Of guessing what they’re willing to do and what they’re not, and of how suspicious they are. Of tailoring tasks that are unique to their skill set, courage and respect for the justice system. Of having to piece everything together perfectly, because she is about to tangle her gamers’ lives together intricately, and if one rope happens to be faulty, the whole system collapses. Of finally avenging her father. Of finally taking revenge on her mother.

It all ends here.

Here is a boy with adventure written into his genetic code. There is an insatiable lust erupting within him that longs for adrenaline to pour under his flesh, an unexplainable need for the spark of life to run through his veins. If there is ever a man who would choose to live out of suitcases and in the snug economy seats of a budget airline in place of living in an extravagant mansion and lying on silk sheets and beds that are unnecessarily large, it would be Kiwoon. But the thing about him is neither the former nor the latter is an option: because on days when he is not off chasing the stars, he is scrubbing floors and washing dishes in a local diner.

He is the embodiment of peaks and troughs living a life of flat-line, and God, all he longs for is to escape.

And so he fills his idle moments with activities that trigger the release of adrenaline. It starts oh, so very vanilla: walking up to a pretty girl to ask for her number, or joining the local dance competition. But very gradually, it turns much, much darker: grabbing anything he can from the local mart and hiding the items under his jacket, jacking a parked car to test its control and acceleration and attempting to put it back with none the wiser. It is as though he starts to get used to the activities that once charged his bones with electricity, starts to see them as simply another part of his monotonous life, and so he begins to look for more dangerous, adrenaline-triggering things to do, and oh, how slippery he finds the slope. His heart sings when he partakes in activities that are decidedly bad, and although his mind is plagued by guilt and regret, it does little to stop his fingers from shaking as they itch to feel the smooth texture of a leader-covered steering wheel of a car his bank account most certainly cannot afford.

His reckoning comes in the form of a series of joyful pings from his phone while he’s busy at work, and he quickly steals a glance at the texts—surely his boss wouldn’t mind this much—but what he sees sends his phone falling to the ground due to a loosened grip and the forces of gravity. Because in it are video footages from hidden security cameras of him stealing from the local mart, as well as him breaking into a moderately priced car. It seems odd for the guards watching the security footage to have missed all of this, but perhaps it is because they had been oddly deleted, as though someone wishes to save him from the police only to exercise justice in their own, special way.

[private number] I wonder what mommy and daddy would think if their baby boy went to jail?

[private number] Maybe you shouldn’t have been so chatty with the regulars at the diner.

[private number] Wait for my instruction! xoxo

His eyes dart to the many customers in the diner as though afraid someone had caught him, and if he’s noted the ‘regulars’ comment, he doesn’t bother wondering which as he has bigger problems to deal with. He’s quick to pick up his phone, drop it into his pocket and pretend like he is not phased, but the sweat that breaks out on his forehead and the permanent wrinkle between his eyebrows betray his countenance.

He is awaken by the next text that comes in the middle of the night.

[private number] Knock, knock! You ready, Woonie?

[private number] Let’s go on a ride! Get dressed and be at the nearest convenience store in twenty minutes.

[private number] Might be smart for you to wear all black today. A hoodie would be good! Also maybe one of those surgical masks you use as fashion statements.

Perhaps he is angered from being rudely awaken, or perhaps he is just angered by the blackmail in general, because he is quick to slam a reply that consists mostly of cursing and threats. But he doesn’t get a reply back, and because he is truly, truly afraid of going to jail—or of having to force his parents to pay a fine when they’re already struggling as is—he decides to do as the texts say.

When he gets there, the first thing he does is scan the store for his perpetrator. Unfortunately, all he sees are two cops chatting over an early breakfast of cup ramen. Kiwoon pretends to be busy deliberating over candy bars when really, he just longs for his phone to ring so he can get this nightmare over and done with. And then, he’ll never steal again; this is enough adrenaline to last him a damn lifetime.

The phrase ‘speak of the devil and he doth appear’ proves itself to be true when his phone rings just as he had wanted it to before, but now that his wish has bled into reality, he finds that it is not as satisfying as he had imagined it to be. Still, he fumbles with his phone before reading the texts.

[private number] You’re early… I’m really impressed!

[private number] Anyway, you still know how to jack a car, yeah?

[private number] Show me. Black hummer parked on the far right. It’s the only car in the parking lot.

[private number] Sorry I didn’t tell you to bring your equipment. I forgot. Maybe. :P

[private number] But the good news is there are a lot of rocks! You can break the window.

When the police are this close? The person must not be aware of the situation. He texts his concerns, but he gets a simple ‘:/’ emoticon in return. What the hell could that possibly mean? After five minutes of waiting for another text, he decides to leave the store and check the car out, just in case.

The car is a beauty, there is no denying it. As his eyes land on the silver of light made by the reflection of the sleek, gloss finish, Kiwoon’s hands begin to tremble. Fingers reach out to caress the side mirror in adoration, and he belatedly pulls himself back and reaches for his phone in hopes of finding a new series of text messages that he may have missed in his haze. What he gets instead makes his heart sing, but his teeth grit in frustration.

[private number] Pick a rock for your favourite girl. I happen to like the big, sparkly ones, just FYI.

So it’s a girl; he guessed as much from her use of x’s and o’s. His mind spins as he thinks of what he could possibly do with this information, but agitation grows when he finds that he can do absolutely nothing, and so a succession of slamming the side of his fist against his forehead in frustration follows. But Kiwoon has no time to think: the cops are in the store, and they could be done with their ramen and chatter at any moment. And so he grabs a rock the size of his palm and slams it repeatedly against the window. The window shatters shortly after the alarm blares, and Kiwoon hops into the driver’s seat and reaches for the wires hidden beneath the plastic cover of the steering column. The addictive hum of the engine starting causes a wild, euphoric smile to pull on his lips, but the mood is ruined by shouts that he later realises are coming from the two cops whom have since left the store, and so Kiwoon steps on the gas and escapes with the car.

He’s driving on some small road, a large smile plastered on his lips in response to the rapid beating of his heart against chest that he is so desperately addicted to, and he is so taken with joy that the ringing of his phone does not dampen his mood. He parks on the side of the road and unlocks his phone hastily.

[private number] That was impressive! You’re so cool!

[private number] Drive the car to the address attached and leave it near the front door.

[private number] Leave the door unlocked and the engine running.

[private number] No time for sleep, sorry. :( You have a big day ahead of you!

His heart falls at the text. He’s done everything she’s asked for; is it too much to ask for her to let him go now? He types up a series of texts conveying his anger and brokenness, but he is greeted only with silence. Dejected, Kiwoon slowly drives the car towards the given destination. He’ll deal with everything else later.

There was once a girl with galaxies in her eyes. Her soft kisses could turn beast into man, her innocent heart making a sinner fall to his knees in awe and repentance. And perhaps her alluring nature has sparked the jealousy of the snakes she calls her friends, because they bare fangs that are sheathed with layers upon layers of lethal venom, and they poise to strike. It starts small: in place of Yeonjoo, they call her ‘piggy’, their thin fingers pulling back the tips of their noses as they snort in mockery. And it escalates: they catch her off guard by pinching her belly, they point and laugh, they push her down until her knees are scraped and her tears fall to the ground. It all hurts the same.

They tell her that she is ugly, and that no one is capable of loving her, and she starts to believe it; but what she doesn’t realise is that if she’d only see her true worth, she’d see that there are fairy-tales written of her, and in those stories, her love is the treasure below the x, the ethereal princess guarded by a menacing fire-breathing dragon, and still, it would not deter the many who would fight for and gladly die for her affection. But as she stares at her reflection, all she sees are their shallow words that, beneath the veil, lies jealousy in its rawest form. As she stares bitterly at the girl she so loathes in the mirror, she finds that she becomes her worst critic, and she morphs into the very girls who crush her spirit—the very villains of her fairy-tales.

In the vacuum of space, a star burns out.

Here is a girl with heavenly lips and an angelic face; but do not be deceived by her cherubic appearance, for she snarls and snaps at anyone who dares approach her. She is venomous tongue and biting words, and she has black holes for eyes that whisper a tale of once having brilliant stars beneath her flesh, stars that have since died and in its place, lies a petrifying vacuum that swallows men whole and leaves only their shell behind. Through secretive surgeries, Yeonjoo has now attained the shell she has always wanted, but she has lost the person she had desired to be in the process.

She blames her success—or perhaps, is it her downfall? The lines are awfully blurred—on fat camp, and she spits on all the girls who once laughed at the numbers that show up on the scale she steps on. Oh, look at her now, as her sharp heels leaves holes in the hearts of men and women alike. But she has never truly escaped the villains of her story, has she? For still, she keeps them in her presence, and still, she secretly and oh, so desperately longs for their approval. (As she looks in the mirror, the person that looks back is not her, but them.)

And that is the cause for the rapid tattoo on her chest, the gasping for breath and the way her arms reach out for something to hold as she attempts to steady herself. Because there, in her phone, lies the evidence that her rapid weight loss had been the work of doctors rather than trainers—information she was promised would never see the light of day—and there, in her inbox, lies a series of messages:

[private number] Would be such a shame if this got out and your posse hears about it, no?

[private number] This is what you get for playing nice with your stupid ex-neighbour, Kim Jinyoung.

[private number] Wait for my instruction! xoxo

And like a wilted flower, Yeonjoo falls to the ground in heaving sobs.

[private number] Morning, Yeonnie! Are you ready?

[private number] There’s a black hummer waiting for you outside. The door is unlocked and the engine is running.

[private number] Drive it to the next street and park in the third bay of the closest gas station.

[private number] You’ll be picking up a passenger. He’ll come to you, so all you have to do is wait!

With shaky fingers and trembling knees, Yeonjoo drags her weight to the car parked in front of her house, the low hum of the engine confirming that the text messages, unfortunately, hold no lie. The way in which she hurriedly runs towards the driver’s seat shows her desperate want to quickly get this over and done with, but the broken window that she’s first greeted with momentarily slows her pace. Slim fingers comb through her hair in disbelief as her vision begins to cloud from the tears that surface, but Yeonjoo bites her lip and pulls her hoodie further towards the front, determined to just hurry up so she can wash her hands of all this mess. She quickly slips into the driver’s seat of the car, and the other thing that catches her attention is a black, square object with a blinking red light stuck to the dashboard. If she had any suspicions that it was anything other than a camera, the confusion is quickly cleared by the loud ping of her phone.

[private number] Stop looking so glum! Smile for the camera, won’t ya? :D

An unfitting scowl graces her cherry lips, and her thumbs slam against the screen as she conjures up a reply, but as she catches sight of all her previous inquiries and pleads to leave her alone from the night before—all of which have been left unanswered—she decides that it would be wise for her to save her breath and just drive. Besides, all she has to do is pick up a passenger, yes? It shouldn’t be too hard, she reasons.

(But oh, is she in for a surprise.)

Jaesuk is a snake. There are no other words to describe him.

Perhaps there is a mistake in his genetic code, because disloyalty seems to be etched deep in his bones, and for the life of him, he cannot think about anything other than his own benefit. But he has a small mind, so he does not have the capacity to think so far into the future, and that is how he ends up angering many, many trigger happy individuals who act as though they have been given the license to kill.

Unfortunately, their weapons are all aimed at the same spot between his eyes.

But regardless of being dense, like a snake, Jaesuk’s key trait must be that he’s slippery, because he seems to be able to evade their shots and hide in places that no one would ever find him. He slithers into holes and hides between bushes, and when he thinks it is safe, he comes out yet again and hunts for his next prey.

Perhaps in an alternate universe, Jaesuk could change. Perhaps he could build friendships and strike alliances if he were only tamed into submission; but as of yet, he is like a child that has been spared the rod, and so now he is spoilt rotten. What use is it to change the only way he knows how to live, when he proves, time and again, that it is the best lifestyle for him to have?

(As said, Jaesuk is hardly the most intellectual, because as he foolishly tempts fate with rhetorical questions, he’ll find that fate always has unlikely answers.)

Like clockwork, at eight o’clock on a Tuesday night, Jaesuk stands in front of the window of an electronic shop with a cold drink in his hand, eagerly waiting for his favourite program to air on the many different televisions in front of him. What greets him instead is a nightmare in the form of a series of footages all staring a very familiar reptile.

There he is, slipping into his favourite hidey hole that he visits thrice a month. And there he is, slithering through the crowd and into the darkest alley of Incheon, so dark that no one—not even criminals—dares to enter. (Jaesuk had spread enough rumours of that place to keep everyone out, but it seems that his efforts are all for naught, for there it is on the screen for all of South Korea to see.) And there he is, walking towards his favourite struggling restaurant that only ever holds three customers at once. And there he is, there he is, there he is, at all his favourite hideouts that he had been so sure no one knew about.

The shrill tone emitted from his phone scares him half to death, and during that brief distraction, the screen cuts back to his favourite program, and his eyes meet with his favourite actress as she cries about a love lost. Tears build up in his eyes as well, but for entirely different reasons.

[private number] Did anyone tell you you sucked at hide and seek? Because you really do.

[private number] Relax! It wasn’t on national TV. Just on those TVs. You’re welcome!

[private number] It will be aired nationwide, though. Be sure to catch it at 8pm on Tuesday! Sorry for ruining your favourite broadcast again, oops.

[private number] You can get out of it, though. Just turn up to the Citibank across the street next Tuesday at 10am. Bring your gun and a hat. Maybe some sunglasses. Oh, also a duffel bag might be handy.

[private number] …yup. That’s exactly what it sounds like, Sukkie. :(

[private number] Probably should’ve kept your hands to yourself, and definitely off that old hag, Kim Jinyoung.

[private number] Wait for my instruction! xoxo

Jinyoung? Who the fuck is that? From the message, Jaesuk suspects it’s one of his one night stands, and if he ever sees that woman again, he’d kill her. But God, he has absolutely no idea what she looks like, for the women he shares his nights with have all blended together to make an unidentifiable face.

But whatever; none of that matters, because he’s not going to do it. To think that someone could threaten him—him, the person who has more lives than a damn feline—is laughable. So his old spots have been revealed: bad luck, but that simply means he’ll have to find new hideouts. Jaesuk texts a simple ‘fuck you’, throws both his drink and phone into the bin closest to him and leaves before his favourite broadcast is over. He’s lost the mood and besides, it seems he needs the time to look for a new spot to sleep tonight.

He’s lying on an old, springy mattress in the middle of some abandoned building when the bullet hits his shoulder. Screams of agony echoes through the room, but Jaesuk knows that if he were to cave to his want to lie down and baby himself, he’ll die. And so he bites his lip and roars as he pulls himself up and runs to take cover, his hand wet as he rests it on top of the wound in a lousy attempt to slow the bleeding.

A fucking sniper; and he already has a good idea of who the bullet belongs to. Why, it had been twenty years ago when he made nice with Jeongah, a girl with a penchant for falling in love: first with weapons, and then with him. But what she does not understand is Jaesuk does not make connections, he makes scapegoats; and so he had charmed her into taking a leap of faith with him, but as she jumped, she had belatedly noticed that his own feet did not leave the ground.

He left with the money, and she was left with the blame.

But now she’s back with a vengeance it seems, because there is a bullet lodged in his bone.

(And how does he know it’s her?)

It’s simple, really. Jaesuk had been drawn to her all those years ago because of it. The thing is, Jeongah is the type of girl who loves a challenge, and so she had always found sniping at a stationary target boring and frankly, thoroughly unfair for her victim. This is the reason why her first shot is always non-fatal, despite being known to never miss: it’s purely because the first shot gets them running and then, that’s when the game really starts. Well that, and because she’s the only sniper with a reasonable excuse to want him dead.

Jaesuk knows it is imperative that he leaves before she takes her second shot, because if she does, it’ll be his head. He knows in his heart that there is a small chance of survival, but still, he grips his shoulder a little tighter as he prepares to make a run for it. But just as he’s about to stand, his new phone blares.

Really?

Still, he is safe where he sits now, and he knows the second he moves will most definitely be his last. So he stalls and prays for a miracle, and then he pulls his phone out and quickly scans over the text messages.

[private number] I really have to hold you at gunpoint, huh?

[private number] Jeongah really wanted to kill you, but I’m holding something juicy over her head.

[private number] Did you know she had a son!? :o

[private number] Anyway! Tuesday, 10am. Yes or no?

Yes. Yes. Fucking yes. Blood is smeared onto the screen as he hastily types in the reply. He receives a response instantly.

[private number] Great! That wasn’t so hard, was it?

[private number] I’ve put her leash back on. You can let your guard down! Best take care of that arm before the big day. She tells me it’s rather bad.

Slowly and cautiously, he stands and turns to look behind him, just in time to see the menacing figure of Jeongah standing on the roof, a sniper rifle lax in her hand.

[private number] You ready, big boy?

[private number] There’ll be a black hummer waiting for you in the gas station beside the bank. Third bay.

[private number] Good luck!

The scowl plastered on his face is hidden by the surgical mask he wears. Fingers fly to the bandaged gunshot wound as it throbs beneath his clothes, and he allows himself one deep breath before paying no heed to the pain altogether. This should be quick and easy, he thinks; he’s done this once before, so it really shouldn’t be any different from the last time, right?

Without further ado, he pushes past the glass doors, pulls the gun out from under his jacket and fires at the ceiling.

Yeonjoo startles when the door on the passenger side opens, and when she catches sight of the gun in his hand, her soft lips part as a scream threatens to spill from her lips. But he had already seen what she had looked like through the broken window—had seen her fidget, her looking around nervously like a damn gazelle—and so he aims the gun directly at her forehead and screams for her to “just drive, Goddamnit, or I’ll blow your fucking head off,” and so she hurriedly steps on the gas and leaves skid marks where the car was once parked.

She sobs uncontrollably as she drives, pleads spilling pathetically from her lips as she struggles to keep the car moving at a consistent pace. It is clear to all that she is just a child with not a bad bone in her body, and so Jaesuk sighs audibly as he puts the gun away. And then come the plethora of questions that has him reaching for his gun again, if only to get her to shut up.

“W-Did you just rob the bank? Why are you— Wh— Why is this happening to me, oh God—”

He blocks it all out and instead, unlocks his phone to read the new message.

[private number] Good job! I’m so sorry you have to deal with Yeonjoo.

[private number] Anyway, I’ve attached the address to drop the money.

[private number] Leave the gun in the car and bring Yeonjoo with you.

[private number] I’ll be meeting you guys there!

[private number] Also, I can see you from the camera. So no funny business! Leave the gun, or Jeongah’ll pay you a visit very shortly.

There is fire in his eyes as they dart up and scan the car for a camera, and his jaw locks upon realising that it’s on the dashboard, right in front of the sobbing mess of a girl. In his anger, he carelessly attempts to reach for the camera for the sole purpose of yanking it off and destroying it, but the wound begins to throb at his hasty movements, and so he is forced back into seat. Of course, another consequence of his sudden movements is a scream coming from the girl in the driver’s seat, and it has him rolling his eyes so far back, they begin to hurt.

“Would you just shut up, for the love of God—” he pleads, but it only invites louder sobs. He gives up altogether and decides instead to gruffly pass his phone to Yeonjoo. It takes her a few seconds to finally take it from his grasp.

“T-there? They want me to drive you there?” she asks between hiccups, a hand reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks with her sleeves.

“They wants you to drive us there.”

And the sobbing returns with full force.

Yeonjoo had always believed she coped well with stress, but today is the day she finds out that she most absolutely does not. She doesn’t mean to be such a cry-baby, really, but try as she might, the tears keep coming. And now, the hardened bank robber who previously held her at gunpoint wants her to follow him past some trees and into what seems to be a damn forest. She’s watched enough movies to know how this ends up.

“I— please, please don’t do this! I won’t tell anyone, I promise, just please, please let me go, please—”

The gun is aimed at her once again, and Yeonjoo flinches and cowers at the sight.

“I will kill you if you don’t get out of the car right now,” Jaesuk threatens through grinding teeth, “I’d go by my damn self—I don’t need some deadweight who only knows how to cry and beg—but they said you had to follow me, so stop fucking around!”

Yeonjoo holds her face in her hands. With eyes shut, she barely whispers words of comfort and tells herself that this is not happening, that she’s somewhere else, that this is all a dream—

She feels the cold rim of his gun touch her forehead, and an embarrassing sob spills from her lips.

“Get. Out. Now. I’ll count to ten, and then I’ll blow your fucking brains all over this car! Just fucking get out!”

Please wake up, please wake up, please wake up—

Her hands fly up in surrender, and her eyes stay permanently on the ground as she clumsily falls from the safety of the car. Her legs tremble as they struggle to keep her up, and when she finally gathers the courage to look up, she sees him slamming the door shut and throwing the gun into the car through the broken window. She feels a heavy burden lift from her chest, but she is plagued with confusion.

“Why—”

He doesn’t let her finish her sentence, merely pushes her forward harshly, and she stumbles as she attempts to steady herself. They quietly walk past the trees and what seems like forever is really only a few steps, and then they arrive at a clearing. There is a lone figure that greets them.

The person turns towards the direction of footsteps and the ruffling of leaves, but Jaesuk does not give them time to do any more before he lunges, one hand wrapping around their neck to choke them. Yeonjoo screams yet again as the two fall and roll around the grass, and the situation is so catastrophic that they fail to notice the whirring of a drone camera fast approaching.

“Starting early, I see!” the voice blares from the speaker taped to the drone, and it’s enough to halt the struggle between the two men, “I like it!”

A maniacal cackle follows, and if it wasn’t obvious who the real culprit was, it is now.

“Welcome, welcome, to the game of life! As you can see, Jaesuk is carrying a black bag with lots of cash, and today, one of you will be the lucky winner!” she sings in an inappropriately cheery voice, and it causes wrinkles to form between Kiwoon’s and Jaesuk’s eyebrows—not Yeonjoo, though, she’s still sobbing and using her sleeves to dry her never-ending tears, “the rules are simple: kill, or be killed. The last one standing gets the gold! So don’t say I never reward good behaviour! You have 20 minutes to beat each other to the pulp, and if there’s more than one of you alive by the end of it, I’m afraid I’m going to have to publish all those dirty, nasty things you’re trying so hard to hide. So if you’re thinking of holding back, don’t—”

“Just fucking post it! Tell them! I don’t care! Just let me go, you bitch—” the scream grates against Yeonjoo’s sore throat after having gathered enough courage to fight back.

Jennie growls in anger at the rude intrusion, but she gives herself a second to calm down before she replies in a comforting tone that is very obviously fake, “Yeonnie, dear. Oh honey, you were an accessory to a bank robbery! Remember the camera? I have all the footage I need to send your cute butt to jail! You don’t want to go to jail… do you?”

A loud sob follows.

“I figured as much! Anyway, let’s not waste any more time. Now, Jaesuk and Kiwoon, please get off of each other; we want a fair fight, alright? Surprise elements are a no-no!” Jennie chastises, before once again getting back on track, “anyway, without further ado, the game starts in 3, 2, 1. Your twenty minutes start now!”

Kiwoon clenches his hands into fists and brings them up as he assumes a Southpaw stance, but the trembling of his lips and the rapid blinking of his eyes as he fights his tears reveal that he is not at all skilled in fighting. Adrenaline flows through his veins, but as he readies to fight for his life, he wonders why any of it ever mattered so much.

Bloodied hands reach to grab the black duffel bag on the ground. His eyes are reduced into thin slits, swollen and bruised from receiving punches. A small chuckle escapes his lips as the words, ‘you should see the other guy’ flies past his mind, but the chuckle slowly morphs into a whimper, and his once confident stance now melts to the ground gracelessly.

He hears the sound of police sirens through his heaving sobs, and what follows are thunderous footsteps and a shout, “freeze! Hands in the air where I can see ‘em!”

Kiwoon doesn’t struggle.

They say that he was so tired of his life, of being poor, and he was so desperate to turn his situation around that he resorted to going above the law and taking what he needed forcefully. A quick fix. They say he was the mastermind behind it all: that he had found unlikely alliances with a wanted criminal and a beauty queen, and that he wasn’t willing to split the money three ways, so he murdered them all in cold blood once they had done most of the dirty work for him. They say that he was an adrenaline junkie, and this was his biggest rush yet. Some try to put themselves in his shoes and say that he did all this for his sick mother and struggling father—that he was desperate to get her the help she needed but could not afford—and others counter, “but at what price?”

The media paints him in a tragic light, a victim of circumstance, and the masses criticise the news stations for glorifying a murderer. Some praise the media for being able to read between the lines. There are mixed reviews, but whatever the verdict is, time goes on, and soon, everyone forgets about a friendly guy who once worked in a rundown diner, who had monsters dancing underneath his skin. Instead, they talk about how scandalous a dress a certain actress donned on the red carpet, or speculate how accurate it was for a certain high profile CEO to be accused of embezzlement.

(And as for the phones? The text messages? The evidence of another possible explanation? Why, they cease to exist, because Jennie has already hacked into phone companies and deleted any archives kept.)

Everyone forgets, but Jennie always remembers. A sinister smirk graces her lips as she stores the video recording of the fight—of her games—onto a disc, and she places it on the shelf beside the many others. Just in case she ever finds herself bored, and is ever in the mood to relive her success.

She clears her desk of the empty cans of energy drinks, coffee cups, and shreds the many documents she has on her deceased gamers and she burns the evidence. And then she fills her empty desk with new energy drinks, full coffee cups, and her printer once again gets to work as she prints documents upon documents of information on her newest victims.

Today has passed, and dawn breaks, signifying the arrival of a new tomorrow.

#s: the games we play #tw: manipulation #tw: bullying #tw: murder #tw: intimidation #tw: swearing #tw: blood #tw: just... jennie #( ho l y fuck i spent the entire week working on this #6.1k words fuck me up #also in case anyone was wondering how her games worked #this is a v watered down version of it #i imagined it to be more complicated and w more gamers but li s te n #i am not writing anymore im sr y )

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Careers Advice

'But why haven't you got Occlumency lessons any more?' said Hermione, frowning. 'I've told you,' Harry muttered. 'Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now I've got the basics.' 'So you've stopped having funny dreams?' said Hermione sceptically. 'Pretty much,' said Harry, not looking at her. 'Well, I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them!' said Hermione indignantly. 'Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask-- ' 'No,' said Harry forcefully. 'Just drop it, Hermione, OK?' It was the first day of the Easter holidays and Hermione, as was her custom, had spent a large part of the day drawing up revision timetables for the three of them. Harry and Ron had let her do it; it was easier than arguing with her and, in any case, they might come in useful. Ron had been startled to discover there were only six weeks left until their exams. 'How can that come as a shock?' Hermione demanded, as she tapped each little square on Ron's timetable with her wand so that it flashed a different colour according to its subject. 'I dunno,' said Ron, 'there's been a lot going on.' 'Well, there you are,' she said, handing him his timetable, 'if you follow that you should do fine.' Ron looked down it gloomily, but then brightened. 'You've given me an evening off every week!' 'That's for Quidditch practice,' said Hermione. The smile faded from Ron's face. 'What's the point?' he said dully. 'We've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming Minister for Magic.' Hermione said nothing; she was looking at Harry, who was staring blankly at the opposite wall of the common room while Crookshanks pawed at his hand, trying to get his ears scratched. 'What's wrong, Harry?' 'What?' he said quickly. 'Nothing.' He seized his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and pretended to be looking something up in the index. Crookshanks gave him up as a bad job and slunk away under Hermione's chair. 'I saw Cho earlier,' said Hermione tentatively. 'She looked really miserable, too ... have you two had a row again?' 'Wha--oh, yeah, we have,' said Harry, seizing gratefully on the excuse. 'What about?' 'That sneak friend of hers, Marietta,' said Harry. 'Yeah, well, I don't blame you!' said Ron angrily, setting down his revision timetable. 'If it hadn't been for her ...' Ron went into a rant about Marietta Edgecombe, which Harry found helpful; all he had to do was look angry, nod and say 'Yeah' and That's right' whenever Ron drew breath, leaving his mind free to dwell, ever more miserably, on what he had seen in the Pensieve. He felt as though the memory of it was eating him from inside. He had been so sure his parents were wonderful people that he had never had the slightest difficulty in disbelieving the aspersions Snape cast on his father's character. Hadn't people like Hagrid and Sirius told Harry how wonderful his father had been? (Yeah, well, look what Sirius was like himself, said a nagging voice inside Harry's head ... he was as bad, wasn't he?) Yes, he had once overheard Professor McGonagall saying that his father and Sirius had been troublemakers at school, but she had described them as forerunners of the Weasley twins, and Harry could not imagine Fred and George dangling someone upside-down for the fun of it ... not unless they really loathed them ... perhaps Malfoy or somebody who really deserved it . Harry tried to make a case for Snape having deserved what he had suffered at James's hands: but hadn't Lily asked, 'What's he done to you?' And hadn't James replied, 'It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean.' Hadn't James started it all simply because Sirius had said he was bored? Harry remembered Lupin saying back in Grimmauld Place that Dumbledore had made him prefect in the hope that he would be able to exercise some control over James and Sirius ... but in the Pensieve, he had sat there and let it all happen ... Harry kept reminding himself that Lily had intervened; his mother had been decent. Yet, the memory of the look on her face as she had shouted at James disturbed him quite as much as anything else; she had clearly loathed James, and Harry simply could not understand how they could have ended up married. Once or twice he even wondered whether James had forced her into it ... For nearly five years the thought of his father had been a source of comfort, of inspiration. Whenever someone had told him he was like James, he had glowed with pride inside. And now ... now he felt cold and miserable at the thought of him. The weather grew breezier, brighter and warmer as the Easter holidays passed, but Harry, along with the rest of the fifth- and seventh-years, was trapped inside, revising, traipsing back and forth to the library. Harry pretended his bad mood had no other cause but the approaching exams, and as his fellow Gryffindors were sick of studying themselves, his excuse went unchallenged. 'Harry, I'm talking to you, can you hear me?' 'Huh?' He looked round. Ginny Weasley, looking very windswept, had joined him at the library table where he had been sitting alone. It was late on Sunday evening: Hermione had gone back to Gryffindor Tower to revise Ancient Runes, and Ron had Quidditch practice. 'Oh, hi,' said Harry, pulling his books towards him. 'How come you're not at practice?' 'It's over,' said Ginny. 'Ron had to take Jack Sloper up to the hospital wing.' 'Why?' 'Well, we're not sure, but we think he knocked himself out with his own bat.' She sighed heavily. 'Anyway ... a package just arrived, it's only just got through Umbridge's new screening process.' She hoisted a box wrapped in brown paper on to the table; it had clearly been unwrapped and carelessly re-wrapped. There was a scribbled note across it in red ink, reading: Inspected and Passed by the Hogwarts High Inquisitor. 'It's Easter eggs from Mum,' said Ginny. 'There's one for you ... there you go.' She handed him a handsome chocolate egg decorated with small, iced Snitches and, according to the packaging, containing a bag of Fizzing Whizzbees. Harry looked at it for a moment, then, to his horror, felt a lump rise in his throat. 'Are you OK, Harry?' Ginny asked quietly. 'Yeah, I'm fine,' said Harry gruffly. The lump in his throat was painful. He did not understand why an Easter egg should have made him feel like this. 'You seem really down lately,' Ginny persisted. 'You know, I'm sure if you just talked to Cho ...' 'It's not Cho I want to talk to,' said Harry brusquely. 'Who is it, then?' asked Ginny, watching him closely. 'I ...' He glanced around to make quite sure nobody was listening. Madam Pince was several shelves away, stamping out a pile cf books for a frantic-looking Hannah Abbott. 'I wish I could talk to Sirius,' he muttered. 'But I know I can't.' Ginny continued to watch him thoughtfully. More to give himself something to do than because he really wanted any, Harry unwrapped his Easter egg, broke off a large bit and put it into his mouth. 'Well,' said Ginny slowly, helping herself to a bit of egg, too, 'if you really want to talk to Sirius, I expect we could think of a way to do it.' 'Come on,' said Harry dully. 'With Umbridge policing the fires and reading all our mail?' 'The thing about growing up with Fred and George,' said Ginny thoughtfully, 'is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve.' Harry looked at her. Perhaps it was the effect of the chocolate--Lupin had always advised eating some after encounters with dementors--or simply because he had finally spoken aloud the wish that had been burning inside him for a week, but he felt a bit more hopeful. 'WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?' 'Oh damn,' whispered Ginny, jumping to her feet. 'I forgot--' Madam Pince was swooping down on them, her shrivelled face contorted with rage. 'Chocolate in the library!' she screamed. 'Out--out--OUT!' And whipping out her wand, she caused Harry's books, bag and ink bottle to chase him and Ginny from the library, whacking them repeatedly over the head as they ran. As though to underline the importance of their upcoming examinations, a batch of pamphlets, leaflets and notices concerning various wizarding careers appeared on the tables in Gryffindor Tower shortly before the end of the holidays, along with yet another notice on the board, which read: CAREERS ADVICE All fifth-years are required to attend a short meeting with their Head of House during the first week of the summer term to discuss their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below. Harry looked down the list and found that he was expected in Professor McGonagall's office at half past two on Monday, which would mean missing most of Divination. He and the other fifth-years spent a considerable part of the final weekend of the Easter break reading all the careers information that had been left there for their perusal. 'Well, I don't fancy Healing,' said Ron on the last evening of the holidays. He was immersed in a leaflet that carried the crossed bone-and-wand emblem of St. Mungo's on its front. 'It says here you need at least "E" at NEWT level in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. I mean ... blimey ... don't want much, do they?' 'Well, it's a very responsible job, isn't it?' said Hermione absently. She was poring over a bright pink and orange leaflet, that was headed, 'SO YOU THINK YOU'D LIKE TO WORK IN MUGGLE RELATIONS?' 'You don't seem to need many qualifications to liaise with Muggles; all they want is an OWL in Muggle Studies: Much more important is your enthusiasm, patience and a good sense of fun!' 'You'd need more than a good sense of fun to liaise with my uncle,' said Harry darkly. 'Good sense of when to duck, more like.' He was halfway through a pamphlet on wizard banking. 'Listen to this: Are you seeking a challenging career involving travel, adventure and substantial, danger-related treasure bonuses? Then consider a position with Gringotts Wizarding Bank, who are currently recruiting Curse-Breakers for thrilling opportunities abroad ...They want Arithmancy, though; you could do it, Hermione!' 'I don't much fancy banking,' said Hermione vaguely, now immersed in: 'HAVE YOU GOT WHAT IT TAKES TO TRAIN SECURITY TROLLS?' 'Hey,' said a voice in Harry's ear. He looked round; Fred and George had come to join them. 'Ginny's had a word with us about you,' said Fred, stretching out his legs on the table in front of them and causing several booklets on careers with the Ministry of Magic to slide off on to the floor. 'She says you need to talk to Sirius?' 'What?' said Hermione sharply, freezing with her hand halfway towards picking up 'MAKE A BANG AT THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL ACCIDENTS AND CATASTROPHES'. 'Yeah ...' said Harry, trying to sound casual, 'yeah, I thought I'd like--' 'Don't be so ridiculous,' said Hermione, straightening up and looking at him as though she could not believe her eyes. 'With Umbridge groping around in the fires and frisking all the owls?' 'Well, we think we can find a way around that,' said George, stretching and smiling. 'It's a simple matter of causing a diversion. Now, you might have noticed that we have been rather quiet on the mayhem front during the Easter holidays?' 'What was the point, we asked ourselves, of disrupting leisure time?' continued Fred. 'No point at all, we answered ourselves. And of course, we'd have messed up people's revision, too, which would be the very last thing we'd want to do.' He gave Hermione a sanctimonious little nod. She looked rather taken aback by this thoughtfulness. 'But it's business as usual from tomorrow,' Fred continued briskly. 'And if we're going to be causing a bit of uproar, why not do it so that Harry can have his chat with Sirius?' 'Yes, but still,' said Hermione, with an air of explaining something very simple to somebody very obtuse, 'even if you do cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?' 'Umbridge's office,' said Harry quietly. He had been thinking about it for a fortnight and could come up with no alternative. Umbridge herself had told him that the only fire that was not being watched was her own. 'Are--you-- insane?' said Hermione in a hushed voice. Ron had lowered his leaflet on jobs in the Cultivated Fungus Trade and was watching the conversation warily. 'I don't think so,' said Harry, shrugging. 'And how are you going to get in there in the first place?' Harry was ready for this question. 'Sirius's knife,' he said. 'Excuse me?' 'Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that'll open any lock,' said Harry. 'So even if she's bewitched the door so Alahomora won't work, which I bet she has-- ' 'What do you think about this?' Hermione demanded of Ron, and Harry was reminded irresistibly of Mrs. Weasley appealing to her husband during Harry's first dinner in Grimmauld Place. 'I dunno,' said Ron, looking alarmed at being asked to give an opinion. 'If Harry wants to do it, it's up to him, isn't it?' 'Spoken like a true friend and Weasley,' said Fred, clapping Ron hard on the back. 'Right, then. We're thinking of doing it tomorrow, just after lessons, because it should cause maximum impact in everybody's in the corridors--Harry, we'll set it off in the east wing somewhere, draw her right away from her own office--I reckon we should be able to guarantee you, what, twenty minutes?' he said, looking at George. 'Easy,' said George. 'What sort of diversion is it?' asked Ron. 'You'll see, little bro', said Fred, as he and George got up again. 'At least, you will if you trot along to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor round about five o'clock tomorrow.' Harry awoke very early the next day, feeling almost as anxious as he had done on the morning of his disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic. It was not only the prospect of breaking into Umbridge's office and using her fire to speak to Sirius that was making him feel nervous, though that was certainly bad enough; today also happened to be the first time Harry would be in close proximity to Snape since Snape had thrown him out of his office. After lying in bed for a while thinking about the day ahead, Harry got up very quietly and moved across to the window beside Neville's bed, and stared out on a truly glorious morning. The sky was a clear, misty, opalescent blue. Directly ahead of him, Harry could see the towering beech tree below which his father had once tormented Snape. He was not sure what Sirius could possibly say to him that would make up for what he had seen in the Pensieve, but he was desperate to hear Sirius's own account of what had happened, to know of any mitigating factors there might have been, any excuse at all for his father's behaviour ... Something caught Harry's attention: movement on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Harry squinted into the sun and saw Hagrid emerging from between the trees. He seemed to be limping. As Harry watched, Hagrid staggered to the door of his cabin and disappeared inside it. Harry watched the cabin for several minutes. Hagrid did not emerge again, but smoke furled from the chimney, so Hagrid could not be so badly injured that he was unequal to stoking the fire. Harry turned away from the window, headed back to his trunk and started to dress. With the prospect of forcing entry into Umbridge's office ahead. Harry had never expected the day to be a restful one, but he had not reckoned on Hermione's almost continual attempts to dissuade him from what he was planning to do at five o'clock. For the first time ever, she was at least as inattentive to Professor Binns in History of Magic as Harry and Ron were, keeping up a stream of whispered admonitions that Harry tried very hard to ignore. '... and if she does catch you there, apart from being expelled, she'll be able to guess you've been talking to Snuffles and this time I expect she'll force you to drink Veritaserum and answer her questions ...' 'Hermione,' said Ron in a low and indignant voice, 'are you going to stop telling Harry off and listen to Binns, or am I going to have to take my own notes?' 'You take notes for a change, it won't kill you!' By the time they reached the dungeons, neither Harry nor Ron was speaking to Hermione. Undeterred, she took advantage of their silence to maintain an uninterrupted flow of dire warnings, all uttered under her breath in a vehement hiss that caused Seamus to waste five whole minutes checking his cauldron for leaks. Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible. Harry was, of course, well-used to this tactic, as it was one of Uncle Vernon's favourites, and on the whole was grateful he had to suffer nothing worse. In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement, and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson he scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it and took it up to Snape's desk for marking, feeling that he might at last have scraped an 'E'. He had just turned away when he heard a smashing noise. Malfoy gave a gleeful yell of laughter. Harry whipped around. His potion sample lay in pieces on the floor and Snape was surveying him with a look of gloating pleasure. 'Whoops,' he said softly. 'Another zero, then, Potter.' Harry was too incensed to speak. He strode back to his cauldron, intending to fill another flask and force Snape to mark it, but saw to his horror that the rest of the contents had vanished. 'I'm sorry!' said Hermione, with her hands over her mouth. 'I'm really sorry, Harry. I thought you'd finished, so I cleared up!' Harry could not bring himself to answer. When the bell rang, he hurried out of the dungeon without a backwards glance, and made sure that he found himself a seat between Neville and Seamus for lunch so that Hermione could not start nagging him again about using Umbridge's office. He was in such a bad mood by the time he got to Divination that he had quite forgotten his careers appointment with Professor McGonagall, remembering it only when Ron asked him why he wasn't in her office. He hurtled back upstairs and arrived out of breath, only a few minutes late. 'Sorry, Professor,' he panted, as he closed the door. 'I forgot.' 'No matter, Potter,' she said briskly, but as she spoke, somebody else sniffed from the corner. Harry looked round. Professor Umbridge was sitting there, a clipboard on her knee, a fussy little pie-frill around her neck and a small, horribly smug smile on her face. 'Sit down, Potter,' said Professor McGonagall tersely. Her hands shook slightly as she shuffled the many pamphlets littering her desk. Harry sat down with his back to Umbridge and did his best to pretend he could not hear the scratching of her quill on her clipboard. 'Well, Potter, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into the sixth and seventh years,' said Professor McGonagall. 'Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?' 'Er--' said Harry. He was finding the scratching noise from behind him very distracting. 'Yes?' Professor McGonagall prompted Harry. 'Well, I thought of, maybe, being an Auror,' Harry mumbled. 'You'd need top grades for that,' said Professor McGonagall, extracting a small, dark leaflet from under the mass on her desk and opening it. 'They ask for a minimum of five NEWTs, and nothing under "Exceeds Expectations" grade, I see. Then you would be required to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests at the Auror office. It's a difficult career path, Potter, they only take the best. In fact, I don't think anybody has been taken on in the last three years.' At this moment, Professor Umbridge gave a very tiny cough, as though she was trying to see how quietly she could do it. Professor McGonagall ignored her. 'You'll want to know which subjects you ought to take, I suppose?' she went on, talking a little louder than before. 'Yes,' said Harry. 'Defence Against the Dark Arts, I suppose?' 'Naturally,' said Professor McGonagall crisply. 'I would also advise--' Professor Umbridge gave another cough, a little more audible this time. Professor McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment, opened them again, and continued as though nothing had happened. 'I would also advise Transfiguration, because Aurors frequently need to Transfigure or Untransfigure in their work. And I ought to tell you now, Potter, that I do not accept students into my NEWT classes unless they have achieved "Exceeds Expectations" or higher at Ordinary Wizarding Level. I'd say you're averaging "Acceptable" at the moment, so you'll need to put in some good hard work before the exams to stand a chance of continuing. Then you ought to do Charms, always useful, and Potions. Yes, Potter, Potions,' she added, with the merest flicker of a smile. 'Poisons and antidotes are essential study for Aurors. And I must tell you that Professor Snape absolutely refuses to take students who get anything other than "Outstanding" in their OWLs, so --' Professor Umbridge gave her most pronounced cough yet. 'May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?' Professor McGonagall asked curtly, without looking at Professor Umbridge. 'Oh, no, thank you very much,' said Umbridge, with that simpering laugh Harry hated so much. 'I just wondered whether I could make the teensiest interruption, Minerva?' 'I daresay you'll find you can,' said Professor McGonagall through tightly gritted teeth. 'I was just wondering whether Mr. Potter has quite the temperament for an Auror?' said Professor Umbridge sweetly. 'Were you?' said Professor McGonagall haughtily. 'Well, Potter,' she continued, as though there had been no interruption, 'if you are serious in this ambition, I would advise you to concentrate hard on bringing your Transfiguration and Potions up to scratch. I see Professor Flitwick has graded you between "Acceptable" and "Exceeds Expectations" for the last two years, so your Charmwork seems satisfactory. As for Defence Against the Dark Arts, your marks have been generally high, Professor Lupin in particular thought you--are you quite sure you wouldn't like a cough drop, Dolores?' 'Oh, no need, thank you, Minerva,' simpered Professor Umbridge, who had just coughed her loudest yet. 'I was just concerned that you might not have Harry's most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts marks in front of you. I'm quite sure I slipped in a note.' 'What, this thing?' said Professor McGonagall in a tone of revulsion, as she pulled a sheet of pink parchment from between the leaves of Harry's folder. She glanced down it, her eyebrows slightly raised, then placed it back into the folder without comment. 'Yes, as I was saying, Potter, Professor Lupin thought you showed a pronounced aptitude for the subject, and obviously for an Auror--' 'Did you not understand my note, Minerva?' asked Professor Umbndge in honeyed tones, quite forgetting to cough. 'Of course I understood it,' said Professor McGonagall, her teeth clenched so tightly the words came out a little muffled. 'Well, then, I am confused ... I'm afraid I don't quite understand how you can give Mr. Potter false hope that--' 'False hope?' repeated Professor McGonagall, still refusing to look round at Professor Umbridge. 'He has achieved high marks in all his Defence Against the Dark Arts tests--' 'I'm terribly sorry to have to contradict you, Minerva, but as you will see from my note, Harry has been achieving very poor results in his classes with me--' 'I should have made my meaning plainer,' said Professor McGonagall, turning at last to look Umbridge directly in the eyes. 'He has achieved high marks in all Defence Against the Dark Arts tests set by a competent teacher.' Professor Umbridge's smile vanished as suddenly as a light bulb blowing. She sat back in her chair, turned a sheet on her clipboard and began scribbling very fast indeed, her bulging eyes rolling from side to side. Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, her thin nostrils flared, her eyes burning. 'Any questions, Potter?' 'Yes,' said Harry. 'What sort of character and aptitude tests do the Ministry do on you, if you get enough NEWTs?' 'Well, you'll need to demonstrate the ability to react well to pressure and so forth,' said Professor McGonagall, 'perseverance and dedication, because Auror training takes a further three years, not to mention very high skills in practical Defence. It will mean a lot more study even after you've left school, so unless you're prepared to--' 'I think you'll also find,' said Umbridge, her voice very cold now, 'that the Ministry looks into the records of those applying to be Aurors. Their criminal records.' '--unless you're prepared to take even more exams after Hogwarts, you should really look at another--' 'Which means that this boy has as much chance of becoming an Auror as Dumbledore has of ever returning to this school.' 'A very good chance, then,' said Professor McGonagall. 'Potter has a criminal record,' said Umbridge loudly. 'Potter has been cleared of all charges,' said McGonagall, even more loudly. Professor Umbridge stood up. She was so short that this did not make a great deal of difference, but her fussy, simpering demeanour had given place to a hard fury that made her broad, flabby face look oddly sinister. 'Potter has no chance whatsoever of becoming an Auror!' Professor McGonagall got to her feet, too, and in her case this was a much more impressive move: she towered over Professor Umbridge. 'Potter,' she said in ringing tones, 'I will assist you to become an Auror if it is the last thing I do! If I have to coach you nightly, I will make sure you achieve the required results!' 'The Minister for Magic will never employ Harry Potter!' said Umbridge, her voice rising furiously. 'There may well be a new Minister for Magic by the time Potter is ready to join!' shouted Professor McGonagall. 'Aha! shrieked Professor Umbridge, pointing a stubby linger at McGonagall. 'Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Of course! That's what you want, isn't it, Minerva McGonagall? You want Cornelius Fudge replaced by Albus Dumbledore! You think you'll be where I am, don't you: Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and Headmistress to boot!' 'You are raving,' said Professor McGonagall, superbly disdainful. 'Potter, that concludes our careers consultation.' Harry swung his bag over his shoulder and hurried out of the room, not daring to look at Professor Umbridge. He could hear her and Professor McGonagall continuing to shout at each other all the way back along the corridor. Professor Umbridge was still breathing as though she had just run a race when she strode into their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that afternoon. 'I hope you've thought better of what you were planning to do, Harry,' Hermione whispered, the moment they had opened their books to 'Chapter Thirty-four, Non-Retaliation and Negotiation'. 'Umbridge looks like she's in a really bad mood already ...' Every now and then Umbridge shot glowering looks at Harry, who kept his head down, staring at Defensive Magical Theory, his eyes unfocused, thinking ... He could just imagine Professor McGonagall's reaction if he was caught trespassing in Professor Umbridge's office mere hours after she had vouched for him ... there was nothing to stop him simply going back to Gryffindor Tower and hoping that some time during the next summer holidays he would have a chance to ask Sirius about the scene he had witnessed in the Pensieve ... nothing, except that the thought of taking this sensible course of action made him feel as though a lead weight had dropped into his stomach ... and then there was the matter of Fred and George, whose diversion was already planned, not to mention the knife Sirius had given him, which was currently residing in his schoolbag along with his father's old Invisibility Cloak. But the fact remained that if he was caught ... 'Dumbledore sacrificed himself to keep you in school, Harry!' whispered Hermione, raising her book to hide her face from Umbridge. 'And if you get thrown out today it will all have been for nothing!' He could abandon the plan and simply learn to live with the memory of what his father had done on a summer's day more than twenty years ago ... And then he remembered Sirius in the fire upstairs in the Gryffindor common room ... You're less like your father than I thought ... the risk would've been what made it fun for James ... But did he want to be like his father any more? 'Harry, don't do it, please don't do it!' Hermione said in anguished tones as the bell rang at the end of the class. He did not answer; he did not know what to do. Ron seemed determined to give neither his opinion nor his advice; he would not look at Harry, though when Hermione opened her mouth to try dissuading Harry some more, he said in a low voice, 'Give it a rest, OK? He can make up his own mind.' Harry's heart beat very fast as he left the classroom. He was halfway along the corridor outside when he heard the unmistakeable sounds of a diversion going off in the distance. There were screams and yells reverberating from somewhere above them; people exiting the classrooms all around Harry were stopping in their tracks and looking up at the ceiling fearfully-- Umbridge came pelting out of her classroom as fast as her short legs would carry her. Pulling out her wand, she hurried off in the opposite direction: it was now or never. 'Harry--please!' Hermione pleaded weakly. But he had made up his mind; hitching his bag more securely on to his shoulder, he set off at a run, weaving in and out of students now hurrying in the opposite direction to see what all the fuss was about in the east wing. Harry reached the corridor to Umbridge's office and found it deserted. Dashing behind a large suit of armour whose helmet creaked around to watch him, he pulled open his bag, seized Sirius's knife and donned the Invisibility Cloak. He then crept slowly and carefully back out from behind the suit of armour and along the corridor until he reached Umbridge's door. He inserted the blade of the magical knife into the crack around it and moved it gently up and down, then withdrew it. There was a tiny click, and the door swung open. He ducked inside the office, closed the door quickly behind him and looked around. Nothing was moving except the horrible kittens that were still frolicking on the wall plates above the confiscated broomsticks. Harry pulled off his Cloak and, striding over to the fireplace, found what he was looking for within seconds: a small box containing glittering Floo powder. He crouched down in front of the empty grate, his hands shaking. He had never done this before, though he thought he knew how it must work. Sticking his head into the fireplace, he took a large pinch of powder and dropped it on to the logs stacked neatly beneath him. They exploded at once into emerald green flames. 'Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!' Harry said loudly and clearly. It was one of the most curious sensations he had ever experienced. He had travelled by Floo powder before, of course, but then it had been his entire body that had spun around and around in the flames through the network of wizarding fireplaces that stretched over the country. This time, his knees remained firm upon the cold floor of Umbridge's office, and only his head hurtled through the emerald fire ... And then, as abruptly as it had begun, the spinning stopped. Feeling rather sick and as though he were wearing an exceptionally hot muffler around his head, Harry opened his eyes to find that he was looking up out of the kitchen fireplace at the long, wooden table, where a man sat poring over a piece of parchment. 'Sirius?' The man jumped and looked around. It was not Sirius, but Lupin. 'Harry!' he said, looking thoroughly shocked. 'What are you--what's happened, is everything all right?' 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'I just wondered--I mean, I just fancied a--a chat with Sirius.' 'I'll call him,' said Lupin, getting to his feet, still looking perplexed, 'he went upstairs to look for Kreacher, he seems to be hiding in the attic again ...' And Harry saw Lupin hurry out of the kitchen. Now he was left with nothing to look at but the chair and table legs. He wondered why Sirius had never mentioned how very uncomfortable it was to speak out of the fire; his knees were already objecting painfully to their prolonged contact with Umbridge's hard stone floor. Lupin returned with Sirius at his heels moments later. 'What is it?' said Sirius urgently, sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes and dropping to the ground in front of the fire, so that he and Harry were on a level. Lupin knelt down too, looking very concerned. 'Are you all right? Do you need help?' 'No,' said Harry, 'it's nothing like that ... I just wanted to talk ... about my dad.' They exchanged a look of great surprise, but Harry did not have time to feel awkward or embarrassed; his knees were becoming sorer by the second and he guessed five minutes had already passed from the start of the diversion; George had only guaranteed him twenty. He therefore plunged immediately into the story of what he had seen in the Pensieve. When he had finished, neither Sirius nor Lupin spoke for a moment. Then Lupin said quietly, 'I wouldn't like you to judge your father on what you saw there, Harry. He was only fifteen--' 'I'm fifteen,' said Harry heatedly. 'Look, Harry' said Sirius placatingly, 'James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other, it was just one of those things, you can understand that, can't you? I think James was everything Snape wanted to be--he was popular, he was good at Quidditch--good at pretty much everything. And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts, and James--whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry--always hated the Dark Arts.' 'Yeah,' said Harry, 'but he just attacked Snape for no good reason, just because--well, just because you said you were bored,' he finished, with a slightly apologetic note in his voice. 'I 'm not proud of it,' said Sirius quickly. Lupin looked sideways at Sirius, then said, 'Look, Harry, what you've got to understand is that your father and Sirius were the best in the school at whatever they did-- everyone thought they were the height of cool--if they sometimes got a bit carried away--' 'If we were sometimes arrogant little berks, you mean,' said Sirius. Lupin smiled. 'He kept messing up his hair,' said Harry in a pained voice. Sirius and Lupin laughed. 'I'd forgotten he used to do that,' said Sirius affectionately. 'Was he playing with the Snitch?' said Lupin eagerly. 'Yeah,' said Harry, watching uncomprehendingly as Sirius and Lupin beamed reminiscently. 'Well ... I thought he was a bit of an idiot.' 'Of course he was a bit of an idiot!' said Sirius bracingly, 'we were all idiots! Well-- not Moony so much,' he said fairly, looking at Lupin. But Lupin shook his head. 'Did I ever tell you to lay off Snape?' he said. 'Did I ever have the guts to tell you I thought you were out of order?' 'Yeah, well,' said Sirius, 'you made us feel ashamed of ourselves sometimes ... that was something ...' 'And,' said Harry doggedly, determined to say everything that was on his mind now he was here, 'he kept looking over at the girls by the lake, hoping they were watching him!' 'Oh, well, he always made a fool of himself whenever Lily was around,' said Sirius, shrugging, 'he couldn't stop himself showing off whenever he got near her.' 'How come she married him?' Harry asked miserably. 'She hated him!' 'Nah, she didn't,' said Sirius. 'She started going out with him in seventh year,' said Lupin. 'Once James had deflated his head a bit,' said Sirius. 'And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it,' said Lupin. 'Even Snape?' said Harry. 'Well,' said Lupin slowly, 'Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James so you couldn't really expect James to take that lying down, could you?' 'And my mum was OK with that?' 'She didn't know too much about it, to tell you the truth,' said Sirius. 'I mean, James didn't take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?' Sirius frowned at Harry, who was still looking unconvinced. 'Look,' he said, 'your father was the best friend I ever had and he was a good person. A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it.' 'Yeah, OK,' said Harry heavily. 'I just never thought I'd feel sorry for Snape.' 'Now you mention it,' said Lupin, a faint crease between his eyebrows, 'how did Snape react when he found you'd seen all this?' 'He told me he'd never teach me Occlumency again,' said Harry indifferently, 'like that's a big disappoint--' 'He WHAT?' shouted Sirius, causing Harry to jump and inhale a mouthful of ashes. 'Are you serious, Harry?' said Lupin quickly. 'He's stopped giving you lessons?' 'Yeah,' said Harry, surprised at what he considered a great over-reaction. 'But it's OK, I don't care, it's a bit of a relief to tell you the--' 'I'm coming up there to have a word with Snape!' said Sirius forcefully, and he actually made to stand up, but Lupin wrenched him back down again. 'If anyone's going to tell Snape it will be me!' he said firmly. 'But Harry, first of all, you're to go back to Snape and tell him that on no account is he to stop giving you lessons--when Dumbledore hears--' 'I can't tell him that, he'd kill me!' said Harry, outraged. 'You didn't see him when we got out of the Pensieve.' 'Harry there is nothing so important as you learning Occlumency!' said Lupin sternly. 'Do you understand me? Nothing!' 'OK, OK,' said Harry, thoroughly discomposed, not to mention annoyed. 'I'll ... I'll try and say something to him ... but it won't be--' He fell silent. He could hear distant footsteps. 'Is that Kreacher coming downstairs?' 'No,' said Sirius, glancing behind him. 'It must be somebody your end.' Harry's heart skipped several beats. 'I'd better go!' he said hastily and pulled his head backwards out of the Grimmauld Place fire. For a moment his head seemed to be revolving on his shoulders, then he found himself kneeling in front of Umbridge's fire with it firmly back on and watching the emerald flames flicker and die. 'Quickly, quickly!' he heard a wheezy voice mutter right outside the office door. 'Ah, she's left it open--' Harry dived for the Invisibility Cloak and had just managed to pull it back over himself when Filch burst into the office. He looked absolutely delighted about something and was talking to himself feverishly as he crossed the room, pulled open a drawer in Umbridge's desk and began rifling through the papers inside it. 'Approval for Whipping ... Approval for Whipping ... I can do it at last ... they've had it coming to them for years ...' He pulled out a piece of parchment, kissed it, then shuffled rapidly back out of the door, clutching it to his chest. Harry leapt to his feet and, making sure he had his bag and that the Invisibility Cloak was completely covering him, he wrenched open the door and hurried out of the office after Filch, who was hobbling along faster than Harry had ever seen him go. One landing down from Umbridge's office, Harry thought it was safe to become visible again. He pulled off the Cloak, shoved it in his bag and hurried onwards. There was a great deal of shouting and movement coming from the Entrance Hall. He ran down the marble staircase and found what looked like most of the school assembled there. It was just like the night when Trelawney had been sacked. Students were standing all around the walls in a great ring (some of them, Harry noticed, covered in a substance that looked very like Stinksap); teachers and ghosts were also in the crowd. Prominent among the onlookers were members of the Inquisitorial Squad, who were all looking exceptionally pleased with themselves, and Peeves, who was bobbing overhead, gazed down at Fred and George who stood in the middle of the floor with the unmistakeable look of two people who had just been cornered. 'So!' said Umbridge triumphantly. Harry realised she was standing just a few stairs in front of him, once more looking down upon her prey. 'So--you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?' 'Pretty amusing, yeah,' said Fred, looking up at her without the slightest sign of fear. Filch elbowed his way closer to Umbridge, almost crying with happiness. 'I've got the form, Headmistress,' he said hoarsely, waving the piece of parchment Harry had just seen him take from her desk. 'I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting ... oh, let me do it now ...' 'Very good, Argus,' she said. 'You two,' she went on, gazing down at Fred and George, 'are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school.' 'You know what?' said Fred. 'I don't think we are.' He turned to his twin. 'George,' said Fred, 'I think we've outgrown full-time education.' 'Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself,' said George lightly. 'Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?' asked Fred. 'Definitely,' said George. And before Umbridge could say a word, they raised their wands and said together: 'Accio brooms!' Harry heard a loud crash somewhere in the distance. Looking to his left, he ducked just in time. Fred and George's broomsticks, one still trailing the heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge had fastened them to the wall, were hurtling along the corridor towards their owners; they turned left, streaked down the stairs and stopped sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor. 'We won't be seeing you,' Fred told Professor Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick. 'Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch,' said George, mounting his own. Fred looked around at the assembled students, at the silent, watchful crowd. 'It anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley--Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes,' he said in a loud voice. 'Our new premises!' 'Special discounts to Hogwart's students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat,' added George, pointing at Professor Umbridge. 'STOP THEM!' shrieked Umbridge, but it was too late. As the Inquisitorial Squad closed in, Fred and George kicked off from the floor, shooting fifteen feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below. Fred looked across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd. 'Give her hell from us, Peeves.' And Peeves, who Harry had never seen take an order from a student before, swept his belled hat from his head and sprang to a salute as Fred and George wheeled about to tumultuous applause from the students below and sped out of the open front doors into the glorious sunset.

#OrderofthePhoenix #HarryPotter

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