#it’s not often that i’m rendered genuinely speechless by something but oh my god

[apoptoses]

Did exactly as you said and read chapter 4. It’s now 3 hours later and I’m still in pieces. Took another nap but I still feel so emotionally/physically drained lmao I was genuinely sobbing into my pillow and I had to pause several times to either marinate in my feelings or play a song that I thought fit the scene I’d just read (literally listened to Instant Crush by Daft Punk ft. Julian Casablancas 3 times at one point like... “that summer memory that just never dies, we worked too long and hard to give it no time. He sees right through me, it's so easy with lies, cracks in the road that I would try and disguise. He runs the scissors at the seam in the wall. He cannot break it down or else he would fall. One thousand lonely stars hiding in the cold”). Babes I was going THROUGH IT. So hopefully this makes sense🤞

"That first conversation in it was entirely redone thanks to you ♥” god I’m so flattered! It was absolute perfection and it hurt so good. I have no idea how it used to look before our conversation but the way you had Armand on the verge on a panic attack? with everything crumbling down around him during those brief moments in which he thought he’d lost Daniel again... stunning. "How could you possibly think saying something like that is fair when just last night I told you how your running affected me? Am I meant to be kept on the pillory for this entire trip while you come away unscathed?" Armand asked. "It's not fair, Daniel." NO IT’S NOT, and Daniel owning up to it and trying to comfort him even in the middle of a fight was so lovely, so him. 

This though: “There’s a part near the back, the purple post it? Read me that part,” Daniel said. “I want to hear it from your own mouth.” NO. LISTEN. I  put down my phone, phisically backed away from it and said “OH SHIT”. It was fucking brutal and I was speechless. My favorite bit so far I think but I’m not sure if I’m brave enough to actually read it again. Wow. 

And I just love your use of rain as a motif here, and the weather in general, them driving through a thunderstorm both externally and internally is such a great choice. And how them getting through the worst part meant they were almost there. Besides, rain was also a thing in canon for them, and I’d like to think Anne made a deliberate choice when she gave them their first “big” moment together in years, alone in the rain, like you did here. In both instances it feels like it’s about washing away regrets, insecurities, doubts, and finally having them see each other as they are. 

“I want the Armand that woke up excited every day looking for a new adventure, where has that part of you gone? Did it really die with me?” Yeah THIS. I think it’s something that gets brough up often in fandom conversations (maybe not as explicitly as you put it here but it’s the underlying message we’ve been trying to convey imo). How serious, stiff, aloof Armand seems in later books, like he’s just going through the motions, only kind of coming back to life whenever Lestat is around or something’s happened to him. But that overly excited, curious, affectionate, intense young man we met in QotD seems to be gone for good. Like that’s a version of him nobody but Daniel met (maybe only the boys at the palazzo? but that was Amadeo, not Armand, so it’s not the same), only to disappear forever after Daniel left. Seeing Armand tell him that he also misses that part of himself and wants to recover it felt like a punch in the gut. 

“Wondered what exactly it was that had turned his emotions into these calcified things that were trapped inside of him, impossible for anyone to excise no matter how much they loved him.Perhaps it was Marius. Something passed on in the blood, a genetic indisposition to being vulnerable. Or perhaps it was that first assailant who had forced himself inside of Armand and in doing so stole the memories from his brain and tied his tongue in a knot so tight he was rendered unable to speak. Or was it the rejections he’d endured that had solidified the belief that he was a tainted and an unloved thing? Or- worst of all- maybe it was some inherent quality of his own. Some flaw of the personality, as immutable as the length of his hair or the color of his eyes. Forever frozen in time by his immortal blood”. Fuck. I mean we know others have wondered. Marius said just as much at some point didn’t he? How he thought Amadeo’s eyes had been “cruel” even as a mortal boy, how there was something innately wrong with him that he couldn’t wipe away even with all the love in the world. And then Armand himself saying how he feels there’s an “eternal winter” inside of him, how everything he holds in his hands, as you put it, “crumbles into dust”. GOD.

And then when Daniel started sobbing? I WAS SOBBING. Armand feeling like he had to get out of the car to comfort him or otherwise he’d lose him for good broke me. 

“There was no real need for him to look over to change lanes, except the desire to catch another glimpse of Daniel’s curious expression. Armand’s heart fluttered fast as Amadeo’s when their eyes met. “What was that look for?” Daniel asked. “Nothing. I was only checking the traffic.” AWWWW my babies, I love them sm they’re getting there!!! 🥹 And I LOVE how you keep building up that kiss they haven’t had yet. I have no doubt it’ll live up to the hype. Every single line in this is canon to me ofc you’re incredible xoxo DA ❤️

DA, I'm so glad you survived it haha

I have no idea how it used to look before our conversation but the way you had Armand on the verge on a panic attack? with everything crumbling down around him during those brief moments in which he thought he’d lost Daniel again... stunning.

Yeah, in draft one Daniel kinda just....got away with it haha Armand got called out for pushing him away when he was just trying to comfort him, but Daniel caught no flack at all for running off and didn't apologize and I thought NOPE, no that's wrong. They gotta touch on that problem and Armand can't let this trip just be the Roast of Armand de Romanus. So. There :) I'm glad it worked!! I think the story is much better for it.

It is a topic they bump up against again but that's a quieter, less charged moment.

The book conversation though! I wanted THAT to happen for a long time. What's more brutal than being forced to read out your own words and explain them? Nothing!! And I think it's something that was on Daniel's mind the first time he ever read that part. He wanted to hear it from Armand's mouth because he couldn't believe it was real.

Besides, rain was also a thing in canon for them, and I’d like to think Anne made a deliberate choice when she gave them their first “big” moment together in years, alone in the rain, like you did here. In both instances it feels like it’s about washing away regrets, insecurities, doubts, and finally having them see each other as they are. 

Thank you!! I really wanted them to HAVE to drive slow, to need to stop at some point. And rain was the best way to do it. I actually forgot it was raining the night Daniel died! It's such a nice accidental parallel.

How serious, stiff, aloof Armand seems in later books, like he’s just going through the motions, only kind of coming back to life whenever Lestat is around or something’s happened to him.

Right! I think about it a lot. I mean, it makes sense in the wake of his attempt at going into the sun. Depression isn't cured just because he survived. But it's really strange that he's got two fledglings living in his home and he just doesn't seem happy. It's like he never did the work to figure out what made him so unhappy in the first place, so Daniel has to push him to look at that and figure it out.

Fuck. I mean we know others have wondered. Marius said just as much at some point didn’t he? How he thought Amadeo’s eyes had been “cruel” even as a mortal boy, how there was something innately wrong with him that he couldn’t wipe away even with all the love in the world. And then Armand himself saying how he feels there’s an “eternal winter” inside of him, how everything he holds in his hands, as you put it, “crumbles into dust”. GOD.

Exactly. I don't think he's cruel like Marius characterized him. I think he's traumatized, he's had C-PTSD immortalized into his veins via the blood. The eternal winter in him is just all the things he never worked through and that Daniel is going to ask him to sort through now so he can understand him and start to heal with ihm.

And then when Daniel started sobbing? I WAS SOBBING. Armand feeling like he had to get out of the car to comfort him or otherwise he’d lose him for good broke me. 

Armand is a good boyfriend at heart 🥹 He's been so paralyzed up to this point and now he's taking action! He can do better he can be better!

I love them sm they’re getting there!!! 🥹 And I LOVE how you keep building up that kiss they haven’t had yet. I have no doubt it’ll live up to the hype.

They're trying hard! That first kiss- it's a lot, it's explosive! And a lot of softer kisses are sure to follow. I hope it stands up to whatever you're hoping for ♥

You're incredible for delivering these reviews right to my inbox!! I'm so happy you like it 🥹

#apoptoses answers #dungeon anon

[myheartissetinmotion]

guess who just saw dead poets society for the first time

...so yeah long story short i’m emotionally destroyed

#it’s not often that i’m rendered genuinely speechless by something but oh my god #dead poets society #movies tag #my life

[monicashipsnickyjoe]

(modern au)

Nicky takes the train to work every morning. He sits in the window seat and stares out at the passing trees and buildings and life outside. He goes to work, he goes home, he goes to sleep. Everyday, the same routine.

He doesn’t smile much anymore. Or talk, except when his bosses ask him questions. He watches the news on low every night and falls asleep on the couch to the sound of late night talk show hosts sharing laughs with their guests.

The view through the train window starts to make him sad, so he brings books to read instead.

One day, he finishes a book of fiction on the way to work, so he stops by the nearby bookstore on his lunch hour to pick up something for the ride home. He stares at the stacked bookcases labeled fiction, unsure where even to begin, when one of the employees directs him toward a different shelf, this one reading local authors. Nicky’s so surprised to be talked to that he follows the employee without question. He decides to buy the first book she puts in his hands.

It’s poetry. He almost puts it back but the title stops him.

Relief for a Lonely Heart by Yusuf al-Kaysani

He buys the book. He reads it, and falls in love.

In the following weeks, he buys all of al-Kaysani’s collection. His copies become well-worn and well-loved. He takes them on the train with him often, whenever he feels sad, and they help. These words, so close to the longing of his own heart, ease his loneliness in a way he never thought possible.

He’s nose deep in his favorite poem one morning, so lost among the pages that he misses when someone speaks to him, until they do so again.

It’s a man across the aisle, leaning over it, pointing. “Do you like that book?” He has soft brown eyes and a head of curls, with a full beard. He’s wearing a suit, sans tie, with the top top buttons open. He’s movie star handsome, and Nicky, though he heard him this time, has to make sure.

“Pardon?”

“That book you are reading,” the man says. “Do you like it?”

“It’s my favorite,” Nicky tells him. It’s different to talk to a stranger, but when lines crinkle beside the man’s eyes when he smiles, Nicky can’t help but be charmed.

“I like it, too,” the man says. “You know he’s a local author?”

“I do.”

“Have you ever met him?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?” the man asks.

Nicky lowers the book. “You know Mr. al-Kaysani?”

The man’s smile grows impossible wider. Nicky’s certain they could use that smile to power the train. “Call me Joe.”

“I’m Nicky.”

Joe holds his hand out across the aisle. Nicky reaches and takes it. The handshake is firm. Joe doesn’t let go right away, so Nicky doesn’t either. He can’t remember the last time he’s had eye contact this long.

The thought startles and embarrasses Nicky, so he glances down and withdraws his hand. “You were saying you knew Mr. al-Kaysani?”

“Um,” Joe says. “Yes, that’s true.” He motions to the open seat beside Nicky. “Do you mind if I join you there? I feel very far.”

“Of course,” Nicky says and moves his bag to the floor to give Joe room.

“Thank you.” Joe rises and crosses the aisle. He sits to Nicky’s right, so close their elbows brush on the armrest. Nicky thinks to move, but doesn’t. Joe leans closer, lining their arms from elbow to shoulder. He’s so warm and solid, and this close, Nicky can see the kindness in those eyes and the freckles on his nose.

“Breathtaking,” Joe says, stealing the word straight from Nicky’s thoughts, but he’s looking at Nicky. He means it for Nicky.

Joe clears his throat. “Tell me your favorite poem.”

“Only if you tell me yours after,” Nicky says.

Joe nods. “Of course.”

Nicky still has his thumb in the page. He lifts the book and shows Joe. It’s a melancholy poem that compares loneliness to sitting on the side of the road, watching the cars go by. You can see the people but they move too fast. If they see you, they are gone before they can speak. It’s a poem that whispers to Nicky’s very bones, though admittedly less so, since Joe sat beside him.

“This is your favorite?” Joe says. “Not one of his love poems?”

“The love poems are wonderful,” Nicky tells him, “But...” He doesn’t know how much to share with this stranger, not wanting to offend him.

“Go on,” Joe says. “I’m so curious to know your thoughts.”

“They don’t feel as genuine,” Nicky says. “I believe Mr. al-Kaysani loves the idea of love, but I’m unsure if... Well. Or perhaps the fault lies with me.”

His elbow still on the armrest, Joe lifts his hand and drops his chin into his palm. He’s even closer now, watching Nicky with a curious expression. He doesn’t seem offended, more intrigued, and the look gives Nicky the courage to continue.

“I’ve never been in love. Not really. I thought I was at the time, of course, but... in hindsight.” Nicky shakes his head. “No, the poems of loss and longing, they feel more real. The love poems are told from a distance. These here...” Nicky points to the poem on the next page, the one that longs for a home that either no longer exists or never existed. “These strike the soul.”

Joe’s smile is soft. His eyes are warm and welcoming.

“It’s your turn,” Nicky says with a shy smile of his own.

“Ah.” Joe lifts his head from his hand and lets his hand drop. He straightens against the seat, and Nicky instantly regrets the distance he’s placed between them.

“Joe, you don’t have to -”

“My favorite is the one I’m writing right now,” Joe says.

Nicky snaps his mouth closed.

“Your eyes are a most unusual color. Difficult to put into words,” Joe says. He taps a finger to his cheek, just above the edge of his beard. “I wonder if I’ll struggle forever.”

“You...”

“Forgive me for not telling you,” Joe tilts his head down, and looks up at Nicky through his eyelashes. Nicky knows he would forgive this man anything, with that look. “I was about to, but then... Well, it was so refreshing to know what you think.”

Oh, God. Mortification rushes through Nicky’s blood hot and fast. “Joe, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“No, no.” Joe places his hand on Nicky’s arm on the armrest, just above his elbow. “Don’t misunderstand. You are right.” He looks away a moment. “My publishers insist I write the love poems. They sell. I do love love, as you said, but you are also correct that I... I have struggled to find the other half of my heart.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicky says, though he’s no longer sure what he’s apologizing for.

“Nicky.” Joe glances back to him, and Nicky couldn’t look away if the train derailed. It already did, for all he knows. “You see the longing.”

“I share it,” Nicky says.

Joe nods. “What if... That is... Perhaps...”

Nicky surprises himself, with a small laugh.

Joe’s eyes widen. His mouth falls open. Nicky would be embarrassed but Joe’s expression is one of wonderment, not humor. Nicky wants to give him more.

“You are a master wordsmith, Yusuf al-Kaysani,” Nicky says, amazed by his own boldness. He has been alone for far too long. With Joe, he feels as if he is finding himself again. “What could possibly have rendered you speechless?”

“You,” Joe says.

Warmth takes root in Nicky’s heart and blossoms outwards until he is nearly set ablaze.

“Have dinner with me,” Joe says.

“Yes.” Nicky lowers his hand to find and connect with Joe’s. “No more lonely poems.”

Joe smiles wide. “The next love poem I write will be genuine,” he says, “Because, Nicky, it will be for you.”

A year later, Joe gifts Nicky an entire book of poems. Nicky, in return, gifts Joe a ring.

“A lifetime of poetry,” Joe offers.

Nicky kisses him and corrects, “A lifetime of love.”

“My heart,” Joe laughs against Nicky’s cheek. “Ever since I met you, those have been one and the same.”

#i wrote something nickyjoe #nicky x joe #joe x nicky #kaysonova #modern au #poet joe #lonely nicky #happy ending #meet cute #getting together #fan nicky #i guess?? #a lack of actual poetry #i could write you a world of prose but lol no one wants to see me write poetry pls

[jiminrings]

would you (I)

pairing: jimin x y/n

wordcount: 8k

“Make it up to me then.”

The breeze in his tone is enough to make you laugh, sometimes slipping your mind that his personality and ego is of Park Jimin’s, the model who’s been rapidly rising for his presence and skills; the one you’d be unsurprised of when he makes it big and becomes world-famous overnight.

He’s already booked for more shoots that get bigger than the last time, and it isn’t a secret that this bar gained more patrons just by word of mouth that a handsome guy with silver hair and hoop earrings would be there on the nights your shift started.

Your cheeks heat at Jimin’s words as you’re trying to distinguish as what he’s insinuated right before he added on to his previous statement.

“I don’t want my bed cold tonight.”

That simply meant he wanted to get laid, and he wanted you to to sweet-talk and praise him loud enough for the next girl who attempts to sit on the empty stool beside him.

This whole thing of you becoming his right-hand accomplice whenever he wanted someone initially started off as an accident. It was never your intention, really, but despite your genuine intentions, Jimin thought of it becoming beneficial.

For him.

or the one in which you’re a bartender, jimin just wants some company, and unrequited love is worse than a hangover.

would you by pink sweat$

part one | part two | part three

Jimin could learn another thing or two about catching you off-guard.

Most of the time, it’s his nimble movements that make you yelp and your pupils shake before trying to collect yourself before trying to chastising him. He’s always reasoned it off saying that he “dabbled” in dance and ballet as a kid, but you don’t believe that for one bit.

Jimin was too graceful for you to even believe that it was just a brief stint. He carried himself with refinement; he could be what you require him to be, really. He’s proper and dignified when you need him to. He’s playful and bubbly for the most part, but no matter how over the place he could be, he’s still that same guy everyone would gravitate towards.

More often these days, it’s his mere words that render you speechless. Sometimes he’s just too smooth and too upfront, and you wonder if it this was what the women he’d pursued felt.

“If I called that night for you to bail me out, right before you went to sleep, would you have done it?”

Jimin materializes out of nowhere as he seated at the barstool in front of you that you jolt in place, a steady look of shock tinting your face.

Bailing him out meant you being who he needed to be — whether as his sister, his manager, his driver that’s rushing him or even his fiancée– anything. Just anything and anyone he could think of as long as it meant no one would stay over and one-night stands were true to word.

“I think we both know that we would.”

It was true — you did fall asleep out cold. Somewhere in between the lines that you were fatigued from your shift, stressed that Jeon Industries still hasn’t called you back and that you were forced to pick up this bartending job so you wouldn’t wither while waiting, and resistance to pick up your phone because you couldn’t be bothered.

Jimin was only a little perplexed last night on why you wouldn’t pick up when normally you would on the first ring. That night would’ve been a perfect chance for you to flaunt the ring he’s bought you a week ago.

Just a simple silver wishbone ring he’s gotten for you in sale and it had you already squealing and desperately hugging him, waving you off when he mistakens the realization in your face that oh god Jimin bought you a ring, for guilt that you wanted to pay him back.

“Don’t need to pay me, silly. I’m benefitting from this too. Pull off a girlfriend part for me or something, keep it up, and I might even buy you a wedding ring!”

He lifts up his face from his hands, tilting his visage before a bright smile encompasses his face.

“Make it up to me then.”

The breeze in his tone is enough to make you laugh, sometimes slipping your mind that his personality and ego is of Park Jimin’s, the model who’s been rapidly rising for his presence and skills; the one you’d be unsurprised of when he makes it big and becomes world-famous overnight.

He’s already booked for more shoots that get bigger than the last time, and it isn’t a secret that this bar gained more patrons just by word of mouth that a handsome guy with silver hair and hoop earrings would be there on the nights your shift started.

Your cheeks heat at Jimin’s words as you’re trying to distinguish as what he’s insinuated right before he added on to his previous statement.

“I don’t want my bed cold tonight.”

That simply meant he wanted to get laid, and he wanted you to to sweet-talk and praise him loud enough for the next girl who attempts to sit on the empty stool beside him.

This whole thing of you becoming his right-hand accomplice whenever he wanted someone initially started off as an accident. It was never your intention, really, but despite your genuine intentions, Jimin thought of it becoming beneficial.

For him.

You’ve only become friends with Jimin at your last year of uni, yet you already knew him when you were still a freshman because unsurprisingly, he was already famous early-on. He was known for his good looks and the way Park Jimin just sounded so natural in everyone’s vocabulary, the feeling of having known him for years even they’ve met him an hour ago.

Granted, and even he admits it himself, he’s not that much of a genius in the upper department. Sure, he could solve and answer things if he listens and crams hard enough to the professor, but never to the genius level type of comprehension.

He’s memorized the multiplication table at an early age, and Jimin would be lying if he said that he doesn’t panic at the mention of mental math without studying the night before.

“I’m only smart when I need to be.” was what he described himself in his own words, and the way he giggles throughout his own statement was what made you want to take care of him all for yourself.

Perhaps you’ve fallen the moment he sat beside you at your shared class of chemistry, after having observed you three days before because you’re always one row down from where he’s sat and your lavender cardigan with the flowers embroidered is just too eye-catching for him. Jimin would find himself tugging at a loose thread of the knit you were wearing whenever he grows bored, and well you always noticed him doing it, but never really commented on it besides a gentle smile to your face as you just pray that your cardigan would still be intact at the end of the semester —

And when one day Jimin just can’t have his brain absorb a single fucking thing and he finds himself crumbling and worrying that your sweater would be in tatters at the end of this class, that’s when he forcibly comes down to your row, nudged at this guy beside you (his name was Hyunjin but he can’t be bothered to learn it) and sat with the biggest grin.

“I’m Jimin! You must be my best friend that’s gonna help me study.” He leans his head on his hand with his dimples popped, grabbing the attention of the students around you but he didn’t really mind.

“I am?”

You’re perplexed and amused to say the least, a steady hum as you try to gauge on why Park Jimin, went from picking at the loose threads of your cardigan to actually talking to you and going so far as to shoo Hyunjin from his seat beside yours.

That probably does the trick as he gets bubbly even more, stretching out his hands that even Professor Sejin all the way down the podium flinches.

“You are!”

You thought helping him out in his classes would be a one-time thing, but surprisingly enough for both you and him, he stuck around.

Stuck around to you whenever you were free and whenever he just wanted to, regardless if he had a class or not. Regardless if there would be more than a handful of girls that are unsure whether they should envy nor pity you — but you didn’t mind.

Jimin, however, did mind. He’s more perceptive and intuitive anyway, which is why he found himself rolling his eyes whenever he saw someone linger around him with things that he knows you by.

He saw considerably more girls wearing cardigans nowadays and he just about knows that they’re probably going out of their minds trying to find an exact replica of your own, the lavender he’s grown to love and pick apart.

You found yourself attached to him because well, it was practically hard not to. He’s quite the specimen as you came to think about it because you’re almost positive that there isn’t a specific side to Jimin. He’s erratic and stable at the same time. He’d shoo you off when you’re babbling because his ears are sensitive, but at the same time he’d get mad at you when you won’t talk to him.

He’s as low-maintenance as a succulent half of the time, only needing attention from you when his queue list at Netflix was starting to fuse together all in one and his designer specs can’t do shit because after all, they aren’t prescription as he needed him to be. The other half had him as fussy as a newborn needing warmth and skinship, something as temporary as an incubator irking him to the best of his abilities — after all, he does need something real from time to time.

And you yearn for Jimin more than you credit yourself for.

The act of seeking him out silently is already embedded in you, something as miniscule as a paper clip reminding you of him and that time he accidentally screwed up your first impression when he just wanted to help out, using a stapler instead of a paper clip when it came to your requirements and it had you grunting and in awe simultaneously.

Something as simple as Jimin dropping in for your bartender gig for the first time, not seeing each other for a week prior, you complimenting him, and it just so happens that it unintentionally came off across as you pimping him out to the girl sitting beside him on the stool.

Thanks to you, he came home with someone that night.

“Really? Again? I think I should buy you one of those electric blankets,” you’re only half-joking as you wipe down the counter, seriously considering buying one for him as he only waves off your preposition with a hearty giggle.

He finds you endearing most of the time, sometimes too much for someone who he only finds as his friend (but no he’s not gonna go down that hole to try and prod further) that’s genuine with him — not the occasional ones that would stick around when they find his post of him in a shoot and them suddenly wanting to reconnect.

Jimin isn’t dependent on you (or atleast he thinks so) and he doesn’t want to become dependent on you for the reason that he wants his life to remain the same with or without you. It’s melancholic to think of and even you call him out on that after he admitted that tidbit in his mind, right after a fifteen-hour shoot he wasn’t well-compensated by and the only thing he wanted was cinnamon rolls and there weren’t cinnamon rolls — and the only logical solution for him was to call you at eleven in the evening to come get him some.

It probably explains why the new and much better apartment he’s moved into almost a year ago doesn’t scream his name and looked too minimalistic for his taste and personality. Or how he’d rather buy multiple hypoallergenic and standard pairs of earrings rather than spend his buck on one (1) expensive pair. Also to how his wardrobe doesn’t follow a specific theme or to how he’d always keep another box of bleach and hair dye in his cabinets.

Jimin doesn’t want to commit.

Makes sure that he has all the options to not be tied down regardless of the situation. Doesn’t want to be too attached to something that doesn’t guarantee permanence. He doesn’t want to hang up frames and posters he’s always wanted to or get a TV that’s bigger than 32-inches. What if he needed to move? Jimin won’t spend a pretty penny on a pair of designer and high-quality hoop earrings; what if he hates them two weeks later?

“And what? Spike up my electricity bill? No thanks. Come on, we’re a team!” He looks almost offended that you suggested such a thing, lips in a firm line that’s telling you that he would be stubborn about it.

“You just need to help me out like you always do.”

Ah, there’s the dependency he doesn’t realize he’s displaying. It’s on the pettier side but it is what it is, something that briefly humors you before scoffing as you realize what he’s actually asking you for.

There’s an automatic frown in your face, contained anger in your fingertips that you take out on a random stain in the counter in front of you that’s long been gone but you rub aggressively nonetheless.

“Jimin, that would be like what, ten dollars more a month? You don’t even wanna share your oatmeal with the girls you bang-“ he gasps at your bluntness, you remaining unfazed in the other hand as you try to bite back a remark on your cheek but it overpowers you, a tentative laugh to hit him right in the spot.

“That is if they stay the morning though.”

It’s enough to make him throw his head back and you have to contain yourself from doing the same, a smile of mock offense as he rests his chin on the back of his hands while he looks up at you from the counter.

It’s these fleeting moments that you wanted him so bad — warm and tinkling eyes on you that you only wish this was set in any other context; pretending that it’s him from your dining table in your non-existent shared apartment suddenly telling you that you’re beautiful underneath the non-existent soft cloud light, to a pretend-situation of him suddenly coming to realization that he has so much love for you in the middle of you talking to someone else at a non-existent party.

“I’ll have you know that they can’t get enough of me. A girl even told me once that they’ll split the month’s rent with me if I just go down on her again and-...”

“I don’t wanna hear that,” you tell the full-pledged truth, having to physically shake your head just to get the thoughts of Jimin with someone else, someone that isn’t you, to get out of your mind.

It’s an immediate reaction of him groaning, bouncing in his seat to tug at you that you sputter and had to wave off Seokjin that his co-bartender is doing just fine.

He doesn’t seem to mind the attention he’s garnering, translating to you having to take his grip off of your arms as he pouts and practically whines.

“Come on, you’re my best girl. You just talk a little louder, I giggle sweeter, and then it’s done!” his dignity’s practically out the door with how desperate he’s pleading, giving you puppy eyes that you’re close to being immune towards and Jimin feels like he’s losing, jutting his bottom lip out, “please, baby?”

You blatantly tense up at that and if not for the steady hold you have on the counter, your knees would’ve probably buckled. That’s the thing -- the stupid endearment he uses on you from time to time and it’s clearly his ace judging from your reaction.

It’s hard to dwell over the fact that you’re only his baby when he needs something for himself. Truly, it does make your breath shallow and your eyes downcast. The inkling of confusion to whether it’s just a slip of his tongue or his trump card that he knows about or well, if it was genuine that he meant it.

The way how Jimin simply is makes you slightly infuriated, something ticking within that you don’t realize your jaw clenching nor the way you’re holding an empty shot glass. 

You know what? If Jimin brags about girls throwing themselves left and right at him, how about he finds his own lay tonight and not bother you for it? 

“I’ll share the goodie bag those makeup artists give me on shoots,” he sing-songs and he isn’t even aware that you’re effectively tuning him out by doing your job and taking orders and not giving him any attention, although he hasn’t caught up yet that he’s irking you above and beyond.

It’s at the same time that you don’t want him to. You don’t want him looking by himself and it’s the conflicted part of you that wants to pull at your hair because for the love of god, you can’t even fucking make up your mind! Either way, it’s Jimin who gets what he wants, not you.

He’s admittedly a little dense, but this time he doesn’t fail to see the concentrated knot in your brows and the adorable little huffs under your breath. He almost apologizes, but he doesn’t know what for honestly. Was he being a little too demanding and persistent? The thought of it makes him giggle in the slightest (and he’s almost positive that you gave him a side eye for a brief moment) because certainly, you’re used to him. That was him and he’s almost a hundred percent sure that you accept that (sometimes) obnoxious and spoiled part of him.

Somewhere along in the middle of you hastily making manhattans and taking orders even by the far opposite end of the bar, which was Jin’s turf and he’s not exactly complaining but he’s not exactly lightened either, all in the haste to ignore Jimin — someone along the row of stools you were passing by giggles in amusement.

“Me please!”

Funnily enough, it reminds you of a friend back in high school that harbored the same giggle and the same giddiness in her words whenever she exclaims; phrases that were so out of the blue in a random setting likewise that made you shake your head.

You abide nonetheless, finally being shooed of by Seokjin and comply with this eager customer, somewhere in between being lost in you that you aren’t that far from Jimin now.

“Jisoo?”

You had to do a double-take to confirm that it was indeed her, the same person in your mind not a minute ago being the one who you exactly thought it would be.

She perks up at that, a gentle wave thrown at you as she flashes her signature smile.

You’ve seen more than enough of her during high school considering that she was dating Taehyung, your best friend that you were practically attached to the hip to.

You thought she’d find it off-putting that you and Tae were close because truth be told, the two of you only had each other during high school, and it wasn’t always a pleasant title to be the best friend of the opposite gender to perhaps the most handsome guy on campus — surprisingly enough, Jisoo didn’t mind at all.

Didn’t wean herself between your blatant platonic friendship since she reasons that she trusts you both enough. “She’s the coolest girlfriend, I’m telling you.” is what Tae would remind you each and every time, a keen thumbs-up to accompany the sentiment of how much he loves her.

You did fall out with Taehyung but for a reasonable distance (it was barely even noticeable), coming to terms that he has someone else constant in his life other than you and you, well... you’re gonna get there... eventually?

That meant seeing Jisoo in every holiday and every outing you could ever think of. She’s a nice breath of fresh air, appreciating her mostly when Taehyung wasn’t saddened by a fight between the two of them.

Tae would find himself lying down on your lap munching on any ice cream you could offer, whining and threatening that he’d cry even more if you stop patting his head and carding your hands through his hair — trying to pick up what’s left of him after every fight and misunderstanding and break-up with his girlfriend.

It’s not your business to meddle but well you couldn’t help it when he tells you everything without bias. Whenever he’s angry at Jisoo, you’d be mad at her too. If he fesses up that perhaps he’s in the wrong this time, you’d be mad at him and when he mopes enough, you’d help him make it up to her.

They’re a nice couple with their less than nice problems from time to time, but still. Lasted long up until the first year of college — and that was it.

Jisoo was in college upstate, while Taehyung was enrolled at another with you coincidentially, and it didn’t work. The short explanation of how it’s him breaking it off this time for good because he’s too sensitive as she’s worded it, and she always wants something more without an ounce of contentment, as he phrased.

At second year, Tae continued his studies abroad, and that’s the last you’ve physically seen of him regardless of how you’ve kept in touch. If you try to remember hard enough though, he did tell you that he’s coming back in a few months or so because he’d finally finish his studies!

Your thought process is slurred even though you’re completely sober, not knowing what to feel seeing Jisoo after a long time — although it looks like she knows because she’s standing up immediately, hugging you from across the counter between you that it looked awkward and you had to pat her back in acknowledgement.

She opens up her mouth to properly greet you this time and you smile, eyes flickering and you almost wish you didn’t.

Jimin’s followed your line of sight instantly, feeling as if things were in slow-motion at the way his mouth parted and his eyes twinkled.

He’s absolutely done for.

And so are you.

Your face falls at the realization the moment Jimin turns around to look at you, the obvious tension and hurt in your face evident if it wasn’t for Jin discreetly bumping you quickly from behind because he knows a thing or two about your thing for the guy you only argued to be as your best friend, his equivalent to a pinch that this was indeed happening and you shouldn’t freeze.

Jimin doesn’t know a single thing about the turmoil and everything else crestfallen unfolding within you, a grin on his lips as he not-so-subtly gazes at Jisoo; whatever brewing in between the two of them that the patron in the stool between them steps out.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

You’ve never hated Jisoo.

She was the literal it girl that bagged attention without even meaning to, anyone desperate enough willing to literally kneel on the floor just to get an ounce of acknowledgement with their praise.

It made perfect sense for her to be linked with Taehyung. No matter how much you told him the truth that he’s the dream boy without even intending to, he’d inherently deny it. From the way he’s closed off enough to become slightly enigmatic to how he dressed and carried himself, up to the last detail of how he’s perhaps emotionally constipated — it makes perfect sense. Walking along hallways with the two of them in tow always raised quite a reaction, the odd yet unsurprising trio making them glance twice.

However, you did hate her whenever she hurt Tae’s feelings. You didn’t like Taehyung in that way but there’s this irrevocable desire in you to protect the people close to you. Specifically him because he mostly resembles you and you don’t want his soft edges to be softened even more beyond recognition.

The both of you look out for each other, and it’s as simple as that.

Jisoo knows what she wants and there’s nothing particularly wrong with that. It was good too because atleast she’s sure of what she has in mind compared to you who’s on the indecisive side of the coin. But sometimes it’s just too cutthroat and insensitive that he felt like he was lacking whenever she spoke her thoughts.

You can’t blame her either because you also do yearn for the constant assurance, and the way that you see yourself in the both of them made sure you’d never stay in the other’s side for too long. Although you might be a little biased towards Tae, you’d rather run your mouth to your potted succulent than have your situation compromised getting stuck in between the two of them.

You don’t have to worry about that with Jisoo and Taehyung because after all, they’re no longer together.

That didn’t mean you weren’t gonna worry about her and Jimin.

You can’t bring yourself to hate Jimin.

Given that he could be a little standoffish, he doesn’t fail to remind you that you should be thankful because it’s rare for him to be as warm and as soft as he is with you, not to mention that he’s the one who came to you in the first time -- proving furthermore that he’s a cocky piece of shit from time to time.

It causes an undeniable flutter in your heart knowing that he’s a little different towards you as he reiterates and if you’re being just as boastful, you’d never live the fact down that you’re the only one who can cut his hair besides his mom and his favorite hairdresser that lives atleast two hours away, with no bribery at all.

There’s vulnerable moments lingering in your mind that Jimin looks and feels too good for you. There’s guilt knowing that some would risk it all just to be a part of his friend group, and you’re here meanwhile (pretending to be) annoyed that he keeps asking you to hang out, but he doesn’t have to repeat his pleads because you’d be there nonetheless.

He praises you that you don’t have a mean bone in your body, and that’s not entirely true if you reflect deep enough. You could be rash! You could be all over the place and you’d let your first thoughts of people precede them! You’ve argued that point nonetheless because he keeps bringing it up whenever you save his ass for any circumstance, but you take the compliment at the end of the day. 

There’s things that do tick you out; you aren’t even gonna deny it.

Walking in extremely soggy and wet grass that your shoes sink in make you scrunch your nose in disgust, the smell of the earth combined with the consistency reminding you of phlegm and you gag just by thinking about it.

Disposable utensils that are so brittle that the moment you dig in the spoon to the cup of rice, it automatically bends and snaps? They irritate you to no end and even more because you always forget to bring your own utensils, and it’s just a never-ending cycle.

People who had someone with them and would discreetly whisper your name and said someone would try to look at you equally as discreet? Absolutely irking. It doesn’t really help that you’re skilled at distinguishing whatever that’s at the side of your peripheral version. Also didn’t really help that thanks to your well-known best friend, you’d get second glances regularly back at college for even just standing within five feet of him.

If Jimin paints you as a soft and healing human being with the most relentless and forgiving heart, then maybe, just maybe -- you really were.

It shouldn’t make sense to how their two personalities mesh so well together. Or how Jisoo is someone he’s just met but he looks at her even more fondly than you who he’s known for years.

There’s an overwhelming sense of familiarity between the two of them and it feels like you’re the one who’s intruding despite having been the bridge for them to be even introduced to each other.

You badly wanna hate the two of them. 

Jimin uses your scrunchies.

There isn’t any viable excuse that he gives you. He would just snatch at whatever he gets his hands on with his eyes smiling, and that should be enough of a reason altogether.

He’s garnered quite a collection and it’s not lost on you that you have to keep some of them completely hidden, not even bothering to put it on your wrist because he’d by a sly fox and someway somehow he’d be able to pocket it by the end of the night.

The pack of silk scrunchies you bought? He would’ve gone through your entire stash if only you hadn’t seen one supporting his manbun when he was crouching down to take off your heels because you were too tired from working that you couldn’t bend.

The cheap yet surprisingly durable ones you’ve ordered online that came in a ziplock? He left half of them to you out of common courtesy.

Or the cuter and more peculiar ones with the mesh and a twisty worm or two on the inside? Kept them inside an old padlocked notebook (that you could remove if you yank hard enough), Jimin practically cursed and rolled his eyes at you. And if that wasn’t enough, he ignored you until you caved and gave him one from the three you bought.

You never really knew why he kept stealing them. Although, you’re sure that Jimin doesn’t really keep all of them. He’s misplaced more than a couple and he’s as nonchalant as he could get.

When his hair grows too long and too thick, that would be the time he could force it into a tiny ponytail of sorts. If it wasn’t up to par, he’d wear your scrunchie from time to time on his wrist and he’s accumulated so many to the point that he could easily have one match his outfit.

He doesn’t have something to tie the long cord of his toaster? Your scrunchie. His coffee’s too hot and the sleeve isn’t effective? Easy. He’d take multiple and wrap it around, and it’s good to go. You did find it slightly annoying to a degree because you’d have to constantly look for one, but it was more endearing than it was annoying. Somehow, a piece of you is what Jimin wears and it makes you wonder how warmer it’d feel if only he viewed the sentiment unironically.

You don’t complain about it anymore and in fact, you’re now the one who willingly gives them away and that way he won’t have to beg. But what you don’t get, however — what you don’t get at all for that matter — is whose scrunchie is Jimin wearing around his wrist and why isn’t it yours?

Your right eye twitches involuntarily and you’d actually be mad if only your own nails that are digging into your palms are keeping you in check.

There’s something about the familiar velvet scrunchie Jisoo’s worn throughout high school, never misplacing it that it somehow irritates and amazes you at the same time, that makes your own wrist burn at the sight of it around Jimin’s dainty one -- a disgraced scowl painting your lips even before you could process.

“Ya, stop replacing me with Jisoo.”

The playful taunt that left you sounded more insecure and agitated rather than playful, making it even more confusing because you’ve sprung it out of nowhere.

After all, you and Jimin were only supposed to cook and watch whatever’s on the Top 10 list of Netflix -- not you focusing on him and the stupid velvet scrunchie on his wrist that clearly isn’t yours instead of the pasta you were trying to boil. Not you getting irritated and vulnerable at the same time over a damn piece of fabric and elastic.

“Would never!”

Jimin’s taken aback from your sudden attack and the clear mention of Jisoo has him alert, even stopping in his tracks of trying to work out the damn HDMI cable because Netflix won’t start up in your TV that’s supposedly smart and he’s been going at it for an hour.

He’s casual as if he’s unfazed over the whole scene of you going cold in a mere snap, shrugging as if acting suddenly territorial doesn’t make him question it twice before going back to plugging and unplugging this stupid jack. “You’re my best friend, y’know.”

Your grip on the spoon goes lax before it tightens, eyes not even daring to move in fear that Jimin could see right through you and every single thing you’ve ever thought of.

His voice trembles and you almost assume a whole new perspective by just a quiver, trying to calm yourself as much as he’s doing now.

Jimin’s nimble fingers stop fumbling for the cord and a blush rests on his cheeks with him well-aware, trying to contain a grin as he looks at everywhere but you.

“And well Jisoo... she’s my uh-“

He stops himself even before he could get beyond himself, trying to be cool about the whole situation as he clears his throat and tries to keep the straightest face possible. “She’s someone special alright.”

Jimin leaves it at that and you don’t question it either, nodding and going back to your pot as you go quiet to mull over your thoughts.

It’s always been her through and through the whole time you’ve known her. You may have not liked Taehyung in the same way as you like Jimin now, but the opportunity always presents itself; and Jisoo’s already one step ahead before you can fully come into term with your feelings.

“You’re my best friend, y’know.”

Of course.

That’s all you’d ever be.

The goal is to not remember.

The goal is to selectively forget every handpicked memory of Jimin slipping away from your grasp little by little until all that’s left is awkward silence and hugs that bring more coldness than warmth.

Your job did revolve around alcohol seeing to it as you were a bartender (you’d leave in a blink if the company you’re aiming for finally calls you back), but that just assured that you shouldn’t be intoxicated on the job because it was yours to fulfill for others. Closest thing you’ve ever got to being drunk on the job is sharing half a soju bomb with Seokjin when nobody was looking, and even that had to call for pressing your fingers into his trigger points so he would only take half.

You’re not a bartender tonight, though. 

This time, you’re just the customer and Seokjin’s the bartender who has to watch you go through your self-destructing process of trying to not remember.

“Stop watering it down, Jin,” you grimace as you taste yet another shot of vodka that’s too bland that it could pass off as water, this time you’re sure of because you thought you just drank yourself silly the first time you tasted it.

He’s pleasantly surprised you managed to notice still because he thought that you’d be inhaling any drink he’d give you, scoffing as he throws a towel over his shoulder. “Stop spending a day’s paycheck over drinks.”

He’s caught track of how much you’ve ordered and how they’re piled up, just a couple of straight shots away from reaching his quota you could single-handedly give him in this shift of his.

“It’s in Jimin’s tab,” you shrug as you sip at what Jin slips in front of you and you recognize it as water, scrunching your nose as you slide the glass back for him to push it back to you again, “besides, you can’t blame me! I’m drinking for the three of us. They’re just busy talking? Fucking? God. Who knows? Jus’ know that I’m not a part of it.”

For a moment do you forget that you didn’t come alone, your supposed two companions doing whatever they pleased as you’re left miserable with your spiraling thoughts and a Jin that feels both sorry and distraught over you.

For a moment too, you forget that this was originally just supposed to be a time with Jimin, and in a rather straightforward turn of events in the name of Kim Jisoo, you’re the one who becomes the third wheel.

You’re not surprised that he’s blew you off again in some sorts. his presence here but he’s not with you in any sense besides physical like how the last few weeks have been going.

You’re not close to being ready to admit that there’s this rift that’s starting to grow between you and Jimin because you are a hundred percent sure that nothing’s wrong! Not a single thing! No one is drifting apart and no one is growing cold. You’d rather be woken up rudely at 3 AM in the middle of winter and take an ice-cold shower than admit it. And well for the endgame --  you technically can’t admit anything because there’s nothing!

You’re denying and thinking too loud that Seokjin could hear your thought process, and for someone who almost took psychology for their course in uni, he looks absolutely displeased both as a friend and an almost-professional who has a gist of things.

“Y/N, do you think this is still healthy for you, babe?”

He asks with a trained look of concern on you, wiping down glasses and flickering his glance to you and Jimin who he could spot sitting in a booth; completely oblivious how you’ve disappeared from his sight because he’s obviously pre-occupied, judging by the way his lips are locked with Jisoo’s.

There’s more of a raging feeling in his gut that you don’t want to see that and he uses everything within his cards to shield you away from the sheerness of it all that yes, in fact, maybe you should stop and finally accept the fact that your best friend wouldn’t return your love although it’s a great loss!

On second thought, maybe that would be better as a wake-up call but seeing that you’re frail and you could shift from the snappy drunk to the emotional drunk, Jin decides to dismiss the second option for now.

“Don’t pull that with me! If anything, I think your liver’s suffered more than mine ever did! H-hey, remember when we like, uhm, what happened that time again? I think you puked in my front seat and-...”

“Aha -- no, no,” he waves and cuts you off quickly and if you weren’t intoxicated, you wouldn’t mistake his eagerness to forget that memory for actual giddiness to solve your emotional constipation. “I meant you pining over him.”

That instantly shut you up, wide glossy eyes suddenly snapping over to look up at him and that’s when Jin thought that he finally made a progress and led you to a big brain moment, but that all goes lost the moment you shaked your head like a lost puppy and frowned.

“W-where’s Jimin?”

An all-knowing sigh left him as he rolls his eyes at your blatant ignorance over the side of reality when it comes to these things. Don’t get him wrong though, he’s not a debbie-downer but he just wanted you to approach this one-sided love thing with rationality, the option of going heart-first seeming dumber the longer it gets.

He can’t do anything about it because you’re so strong-willed when it comes to Jimin that it perplexes him, but atleast he’ll be here when it goes south -- and that’s when Jin fixes his gaze on the booth for you to follow (or more like wobble towards to) and seek who you’re desperately looking for.

In your drunken mind could you see only Jimin, and although that’s not too far from your sober mind, and him alone that you immediately zero towards him that you forget about Jisoo and her exiting the booth.

Somehow you forget how you immediately squeeze yourself besides Jimin and practically coil around him, his automatic response of slinging his arm around your shoulders.

It’s within these moments that god, you fall deeper in love with him. It maybe to how this bar’s lighting is all over the place, or how your eyes are close to worsening with astigmatism as the doctor explained but weren’t paying attention to, or maybe it’s just what falling in love in slow motion feels like, but the lights dangle around with lag in the background and he’s your focal point, the only thing close to stable with everything erratic around him.

“Love you.”

You mumble and he isn’t fazed at all, patting the top of your head as he replies with ease.

“Love you too.”

It’s what you want to hear but it’s the emotion lacking behind it that you don’t, brows knitting together as you look up at him with the most defensive pout he’s ever seen and he wonders for a moment if he’s scruffed your brand new heels.

“I’m in love with you. Pretty sure I am.”

It takes a moment.

Then a moment.

And another one.

Jimin snorts as he registers your words, laughing as he tilts his held back and let his cool palm cup at your nape.

“Pretty sure you’re drunk, baby,” he says it more than surely, right hand tipping a shot glass into your mouth as one cups your jaw and you grimace at the absolute dismissal and his reaction.

You probably don’t mean it anyway, considering the well-known fact that you won’t even remember the next day because you’re notorious for being clueless the day after being wasted.

His hand’s pushed away and the spilled shot of liquor coats his fingers and slicks down to his knuckles and the space in between his rings, the sudden movement that resulted into stickiness making his jaw clench.

Maybe it’s how Jimin’s patience hasn’t been the longest lately and you always get the shorter stick of it, but there’s just something to how he squishes your cheeks together and leans his face down that you’re so so close. “Get this through your head, babe.”

His tone’s the absolute contrast of his actions, a soft and gentle one compared to the intensity of his gaze that quivers and it makes him drop his hands, an inaudible whine from you because you wanted his hands on your cheeks a second longer.

Maybe it’s the somberness that he holds that suggests he’s being sincere, a look of remorse on his face for a quick second that he wipes off. You’re unsure on what to think because your mind’s empty but in the same time it’s full-capacity, tilting your head like an inquisitive deer as you stare at his pillowy lips while waiting.

“I’m not in love with you, okay?” 

Maybe that’s just it.

Jimin runs a frustrated hand through his hair and he feels all sorts of pressured to even think that you felt this way and would spring this upon him. He isn’t all that oblivious from how much his friends tease him that you’re head-over-heels for him but he’s the only who hasn’t noticed. “I’m sorry and I-I really don’t think I should apologize for my own feelings but it’s just that — Jisoo, okay?”

It’s always her. 

It’s as if everyone in the world is Kim Jisoo and you’re the only one who isn’t with just how sheer that you’re practically hopeless and unlovable, unlike her. The repeat of heartbreak comes in the form of a woman with a bright smile, and she just happens to be the fantasy of everyone alive unsurprisingly.

“I love her a-and I think I’m never gonna love anyone else like her. I’m just so, so, happy and look at her! She’s the complete package. Think I’d be her doormat if she asked me to, to be honest.”

He rambles on and on and it’s completely lost on you, white noise filling your ears and for a moment, a flat line rings and it confirms the fact that you feel like you want the ground to swallow you whole right now.

Jimin’s in love and he has it so bad, the only hiccup in the road being that it’s not you who he’s in love with.

A mindless snicker leaves your lips, your throat dry and maybe this isn’t just because of the alcohol anymore. You’re breathless and you try to gasp but nothing comes out of it. Nothing productive and nothing to soothe you from the pain so sharp that it doesn’t feel like anything.

It’s the most pathetic thumbs-up anyone and their mothers could ever see, trepidation in your hands as you’re gonna shake it through because you have no other choice.

“That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

You remember. You remember everything.

The driving factor for Jimin last night, something other than his total adoration for someone you can’t even stomach saying their name of, was the insurance that you won’t remember a single thing. 

It might be the reason to how he sounded so stern and so decided that intimidates you still, but you honestly even can’t think straight with everything sinking in at once.

You hated that you never remembered any of your drunken escapades with how so many people testified to say that you were the life of the party and they had the time of their lives laughing their asses off.

Taehyung finds it a total shame that you can’t remember the time that you did a keg stand and managed to dive into the pool because of a stupid dare, then afterwards have the actual audacity to offer to him that you should totally go on a hike! He felt like he was going to split open with how hard he’s wheezing and cackling.

Jin finds it repulsive that you don’t remember being such a defensive and productive drunk at this party one time, that someone gave you scissors and you managed to give everyone who lined up for a goddamn haircut (thirteen people did and he’s not sure of who’s dumber) after he told you that you can’t drink and do a straight line no matter what. He has the whole thing on video and he’s backed it on every hard drive he could get his hands on.

None of those matter and a few other hundred ones, because this -- last night -- is the only thing that you’re more than willing to forget in a heartbeat. 

You don’t know how to come into terms with the fact that Jimin’s never gonna love you like that and out of all the people, it has to be your friend that you can’t even amount to as half of her.

Asking for signs was only something that you did for the small things, but other than that, you find them absolutely useless. It’s either you’re sure or you’re not, and leaving anything so important to odds makes you unable to sleep at night.

Your exceptions, of course, always expanded when it comes to Jimin.

If this guy orders another beer, you give up on Jimin. 

The guy that looked like he belonged to a frat (from the baseball hat indoors all the way to the flashy shoes that don’t have a single crease on them) did end up ordering a beer, but you don’t take it down because anyone could order a beer, right?

If Jin cracks another joke? You’re not even gonna finish that thought because it’s an everyday occurrence, or maybe even more frequent than that, and following through the sign meant the obvious.

It’s the straightforwardness of whether you’re sure or you’re not. There’s no fine line nor gray area -- it’s either you’re invested or not and that’s just about the end of it.

You barely see Jimin anymore nowadays, and you have no pride left to admit freely that you yearn for him than you ever did in the past years.

Asking him out for movie night or asking to tag in for his shoot and watch in the sidelines or do absolutely nothing becomes a little more desperate as you try to ask for them verbally and in your mind. It’s always the same excuses rephrased and you feel yourself slipping after each and every one.

a lil busy :D i’ll make it up to you in the next one!!!

sorry y/n!! jisoo wanted to see the movie too but she wanted to go to the fancier cinema an hour away!! i’ll take you there next time

YES i know i haven’t replied for like three days lmao but i am alive and well i swear <3

date with jisoo; you know how it is! next time y/n :))

There’s the tiniest thread of hope, wishing that he’d be a dark horse this time even if it’s only for today.

After all, it is your birthday and Jimin would make an exception for you, wouldn’t he?

He’s promised to take you out for a day that he’s planned himself and he’s hyped it up to you countless of times even before it was your birthmonth; even before Jisoo came around.

It’s with utter excitement that you actually looked forward to your birthday for this reason alone, unable to sleep without a lingering smile on your lips just thinking how you could be at peace in just a few days’ time.

He’s the exact reason why you got up extra early today when you would stay in bed in any other birthday as a treat for yourself. Even postponed opening up the numerous messages and greetings you’ve acquired throughout the night for the sake of having more time to prepare yourself.

The excitement of seeing and wearing the dress you’ve spent a pretty penny on is pure serotonin, something about the way it accentuated what you wanted it to and made you radiant, making you love what you see in the mirror even more.

It’s when you’re trying to look effortless sitting on the couch because anytime now, Jimin’s gonna be entering your apartment abruptly with his spare key and-

You’re thankful for the birthday greetings but you can’t be bothered now with another call, hastily picking it up to immediately say thank you but you’ve gotten ahead of yourself as always.

“Happy birthday to you!”

Jimin’s voice floods your ears instantly, the sweet and endearing tone holding you captive that it makes you grin from ear to ear before then sinking in the complexity of the situation.

It only makes sense that he’s on the phone and not inside your apartment, and the fact that his voice isn’t clear enough to know that he’s not outside the door -- and the familiar laugh of Jisoo in the background only adds up to the conclusion.

He’s forgotten.

Jimin keeps singing and at some point she chimes in, but at your end you can’t even discern what’s happening -- this hurt more than the last time like every preceding situation, and it’s the kind of pain you don’t even think you can bear for another time.

Maybe it’s time to let go.

#feedback pls and thank you i sPENT MANY OF MY TIME AND BRAINCELLS ON THIS :D #jimin #park jimin #jimin imagine #jimin imagines #jimin oneshot #jimin oneshots #jimin drabble #jimin drabbles #jimin angst #jimin angst imagine #jimin angst imagines #jimin fluff #jimin fluff imagine #jimin fluff imagines #jimin fic rec #jimin fic recs #bts jimin #bts jimin imagine #bts masterlist #bts fic recs #would you

[give-seconds]

Survival of the Fittest

Summary: Welcome to the Badlands of Montana! This will be the setting of our game. What’s the name of the game? Simple, make it out alive. In which you and Jaemin are kidnapped and forced to try and find your way out of the Badlands.

Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“What’s that?” Jaemin asks as he walks over and picks up his sweatshirt.

“I think it’s a walkie-talkie.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, the device comes to life. “Numbers 24 and 25.”

---Part 5

You and Jaemin freeze at the voice, turning to look at each other with wide eyes. Once Theos’ voice continues, your attention is brought down to the device in your hand.

“In past experiments, I have refrained from talking to my subjects until later, but I decided to make an exception for you.

“In the past, I’ve had subjects that took a day to move from the starting point; I’ve had subjects that started the game by going in the wrong direction; I’ve had subjects that missed the first bag; and even some that missed all three. But you two, you two are by far my most promising batch.”

As the words hit your ears, your stomach flips. His voice is like the voice of a proud father whose child won first place in a competition.

“Now, you might not be the first batch to escape, but there’s no doubt in my mind you two will be the cream of the crop so to say.”

“If we’ve already proven ourselves, why don’t you tell us we’re walking in the right direction? Rewarding good behavior and all.”

You’re surprised by the strength in Jaemin’s voice. Despite not having seen Theos, his voice alone is enough to scare you in a way you’ve never felt before.

“Instead, I’ll tell you why I chose you two to be my final subjects.”

You and Jaemin nervously glace at each other before looking back down at the device in your hand.

“I first saw you, Jaemin, at the grocery store. I remember thinking how weird it was that someone so young was shopping with someone even younger. So I followed you home, and I waited. I waited for three days, installing one of my cameras across the street so I could watch you without being there, and your parents never came home. So I went back to your house, waited until you and your sister were at school, and then broke in.”

Your head snaps up to look in Jaemin’s direction just in time to see the color slightly drain from his face. Your doom always had random people in it, your roommate is somewhat of a party person. Even if the parties were just five friends sitting on her bed, you learned to get over the uncomfortable feeling of random people in your space.

Jaemin shared a house with his family, presumably the house he and his sister grew up in. The idea of someone coming into something so private, someone as sick as Theos, was nauseating.

“Turns out, your parents left for Africa last year. You were left to take care of little Emma, even if she was a freshman at the time. Because that wasn’t the first time you had to take care of her, was it?”

“I don’t - this can’t have anything to do with why I’m here.”

Your heart breaks slightly how comparatively shaky his voice is, and it took everything in you not to look at him. He doesn’t need your questioning looks on top of everything else.

“Oh, but it does. You’ve taken care of Emma since you were in middle school, but not because you wanted to. If I learned anything from your parents’ service journal, they left you alone as soon as you turned ten. But if I had to guess, they weren’t around much before then.

“Reading those journals, along with that note Emma wrote you for your birthday thanking you for taking care of her, I knew I had to have you.”

Theos pauses, and you take the opportunity to try and mentally prepare yourself for “your story.”

“And then I saw you, y/n. If I’m being honest, I don’t know what first drew me to you. Maybe it was the countless hours you spent in the student lounge or the library while your roommate invited people over.”

You already felt sick for Jaemin, knowing this sicko had not only been watching him and his sister, but broke into their house and looked through their things. But knowing all that wasn’t enough to prepare you for the different kind of sickness that coursed through your body at the sound of your name.

“Or maybe it was the fact that after learning your name and searching for any social media, I couldn’t find any. I mean you have to admit, someone in this day in age not having any social media is pretty interesting. So when I wasn’t watching Jaemin, I was trying to find information on you. Eventually, I found your ex-husband, and I was shocked for the second time during my investigation. Here you are, a freshman in college, and you’re already a divorcee? I had to find out more. Skipping all the boring details, I managed to find out about your family.

“Your mom had been married three times, two alcoholics and one weirdo. If I’m right – that is, if Sam is right – you were kicked out at age 15? He also said that when you were kicked out, you lived with your dad. That he would refuse to take his medicine and would have seizures. He said you were always the person who had to take care of him.”

“Oh my God,” you whisper, bringing your hand to cover your mouth in shock.

You know the only person who would know that is Sam; he’s the only person you’ve told this to. You may not have spent a lot of time together, but the only condition Sam had for giving you the ticket here was that you told him about your life.

“I know you’re doing this as a test, but please tell me he’s okay?” You can feel Jaemin’s eyes on you, but you keep your eyes trained on the device.

“See, that’s the second plot twist I found in my research about you. Why would your ex-husband care so much about you? And judging from the fact he’s the last person you texted, I’d say you don’t hate him. After some convincing, I got Sam to tell me why you two got a divorce. He wants to love you, but he can’t. He’s aromantic.

“He told me he didn’t want to get too close to you in case you caught feelings for him. So instead of befriending you, he acted as cold to you as he could. He told me he could see how much you were struggling and that he liked it; it was easier for him to learn about your troubles instead of dealing with his own.”

“I know all this, I’m asking if you’ve hurt him.”

After hearing the strength in your voice, you understand how Jaemin was able to speak so confidently before. It isn’t about actually feeling in control, it’s about not letting the man spitting hurtful words at you win.

So yes, the reminder that even though you pretended not to know why Sam helped you, you knew why. That even though you told Jaemin he probably saw you as a charity case, the reality is, he saw you as a distraction. He used your problems to hide from his own, drinking in your life stories to ignore the fact he didn’t fit into the mold society had set.

He told you all this through a letter, apologizing for using you and acting the way you did. He explained that even though it started as a way to hide from his problems, it ended up

confirming the doubts he had. “I can’t stay married to you” he had written, “but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I owe you.”

When you read that, it wasn’t that he had used you that hurt most. It was that he was the one person you thought wouldn’t have the energy to be fake to you. You always thought Sam was just bored and looking for something to fix. He never tried to help you fix those relationships, instead offering a way out. It was refreshing to not have to deal with fake politeness.

As it turns out, he was fake from the very beginning. And after figuring that out, it was just easier to portray Sam as the man you thought he was.

“Did you love him? Or was he able to pull off that cold, distant personality better than I give him credit for?”

Theos’ voice draws you out of your thoughts, only to render you speechless once again. This entire time, the only thing you thought you had the upper hand on was that there was no one relying on you. You often pushed the thought of Jaemin’s sister from your mind. You know what it is like to be alone, and imagining that girl alone and scared for her brother’s safety made you anxious. With such thoughts for someone you didn’t know, you couldn’t help but feel relieved that no one was waiting for you.

Now that someone could be hurt because of you, someone you didn’t even love, you felt like you were suffocating. He had hurt you, but he didn’t deserve to be wrapped up in this.  

“I’ll let your silence speak for itself. You’ll be happy to hear that he’s safe with the subjects that escaped. I hope you feel special number 25, I haven’t had to kidnap anyone for information before.”

He laughs to himself, and you imagine he meant it as a genuine compliment.  

“As I said at the start of this game, I think you two are my most promising batch. You both have someone to live for, someone who depends on you. Both of you are fighters, not the type to give in. I thought these stories were important to tell you both, after all, trust is the important thing when trying to survive together.”

With that, the line goes quiet. A silence hangs over you two as you both continue to stare down at the previously live device.

“We um, we have to keep going,” he says quietly, breaking the silence. He lightly pushes your hand holding the walkie-talkie down to your side.

“Let’s change out the camera first.”

You shake your head, trying to push the conversation with your capture from your mind. Silently, you drop the walkie-talkie back into the bag and start looking for the cameras.

After you both exchanged the cameras, you transfer the leftover supplies from the old backpack into the new one. Before you had found the walkie-talkie, you were going to suggest that you two stop to eat. But now, and you’re sure the same is for Jaemin, you feel too sick to eat.

Silently handing him the bag, you can’t help but notice the shift in his attitude. You yourself are in no mood to partake in one of the many time passing conversations you two have come to have. But his attitude feels different, like he’s a shaken bottle of Coke ready to explode.

“Are you okay,” you ask timidly, not wanting to upset him anymore.

“I’m fine.”

“Jaemin-“

“No, y/n, no,” he snaps, turning to face you. “Just because we now know each other’s backstories doesn’t mean you get to do whatever this is. I’ve worked hard to make sure no one knows that about me and Emma. I called the schools for her when she’s sick, I taught her how to drive, and I’ve handled every finance that aren’t bills,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “My parents have the decency to do that for us. So don’t think just because you know this about me means I need your help. Because I don’t.”

For the second time in the past five minutes, a silence hangs over you two. You’re staring at him, a blank look spread across your face, as he stares back, breathing heavily from his sudden outburst.  

As shocking as it is, you can understand it. He’s feeling the same things you feel about your past.

Fear and shame.

Fear that because of his parents, he’ll be looked down upon. And shame because while he's afraid of being looked down on, he knows it’s justifiable.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. Just because I know that about you doesn’t mean I get to try and help you. God knows if any of us need help, it’s me. So let’s keep going.”

He looks at you, confusion replacing his previous hardened expression. You slightly smile at him, hoping to show him you’re on his side.  

“Come on,” you say, reaching out your hand to grab him and start walking. You’ve never been good at subtle comfort, but you’re hoping that by showing him you’re not going to judge him is a good start.

At first, he lags behind a few steps, letting you drag him. But when he eventually falls into step with you, he smiles at you over his shoulder, the same kind of smile you gave him.

Trust is everything when you’re trying to survive.

---

I’m sorry that took forever! I decided to join a few collabs to get over the writer’s block (which worked for the most part) and those ended up taking more time than I thought they would. 

I hope everyone has an amazing day/night, and I sincerely thank you for taking the time to read my stuff.  

Taglist: @drydrops891 

Previous | Next

#na jaemin #nct jaemin #jaemin x reader #NCT #nct imagines #nct scenarios #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #gender neutral reader

[choices-love-affair]

In another world...

I wrote this with the idea that MC and Ethan had already met before the first morning of intern year, and explained why Ethan always seemed to be drawn to, and intrigued by, MC.

This is set prior to the pair ever meeting. 

ps. my MC - Lorelei Stannaway, is as awkward as they come!

Enjoy!

“Iced latte, please.” Lorelei ordered, standing at the front of the long cue in Derry Roasters.

“Name?” asked the barista unenthusiastically.

“Rori” she replied, offering her most genuine smile, eyes crinkling in the corners as she tried a feeble attempt to brighten the young man’s day, handing her card over to pay for the order.

“Next!” he bellowed after tapping the card and handing it back to her without as much as a second glance. Lorelei cringed in response as she side stepped quickly out of the way of the cash register and directly onto the foot of an older man who was also waiting for his order.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Lorelei fumbled with her words as she rushed to make sure his foot was okay.

“It’s okay, I’ve got another” the older man shrugged nonchalantly, flashing her a somewhat restrained yet irritated side glance, before his hardened features softened immediately.

Lorelei found herself critiquing the mans chiseled jawline and high cheekbones that shaped a handsome face. A crisp, white, button up shirt donned wide, strong shoulders, and blue, immaculate slacks hugged him appreciatively. Her eyes raked over him, and as her gaze wandered back up and met his eyes, she found her cheeks flushing red with heat as the gentleman was looking back at her expectantly, accompanied with a humorous grin spread across his face.

“Ethan” he broke her reverie, shifting a worn book from under his right arm to his left and holding his hand out in an anticipatory handshake “going to assume you’re Rori?” he raised his eyebrow expectantly at her when he didn’t receive any response.

Lorelei placed her small delicate hand in comparison into his large albeit soft one “…yes… yeah sorry! I’m Rori” she replied eventually shaking her head to shift the metaphorical fog that had consumed her mind, offering him a timid smile as she glanced up at him from under her lashes. She found herself getting lost inexplicitly in his eyes, unable to look away.

“I’m sorry, your eyes are just so …blue!” exasperated Lorelei

She was met with a chuckle from Ethan, “surprisingly not the first time I’ve been told that” he grinned at her “although, never quite that… awkwardly” he grimaced in empathetic embarrassment as he glanced down at the cringing woman.

“I’m sorry! I’m so unapologetically awkward, I imagine a corpse would have better flirting skills than I do!” she laughed, shaking her head at herself humorously

“Well I happen to like corpses… wait-” Ethan’s eyes went mortifyingly wide before he squeezed them closed tightly, rubbing his hand over his face before staring at the wall in front of himself incredulously.

Lorelei let out a loud, hearty laugh in response to Ethan’s less-than-attractive reply, which cut through the hum of the café, a snort escaping her. Cupping her hand over her mouth in shock, she looked over at Ethan with wide eyes, who was silently laughing into his hand that now covered his face, shoulders wiggling with the effort of his laughter.

“Now would be an ideal time for the ground to just… open up …huh?” Lorelei shyly asked, her face screwed up distastefully at how completely awkward they both were.

“and what? Miss the opportunity to wallow in this abysmal excuse of an introduction? Now where is your sense of adventure?” queried Ethan, an empathetic smile spread across his face as he collected his drink from the barista

“I was going to take my drink to go, but if you’d enjoy continuing this exquisite conversation” he asked in dry sarcasm “I’d be happy to stay behind and oblige?” he asked, attempting to appear as neutral as possible as he stirred the contents of his cup around, meanwhile his stomach was in knots at the thought of getting to know the first woman to genuinely pique his interest in a long time.

“Oh, well how very chivalrous of you, to stay and pity the awkward girl in the local café. My knight in shining armour” she quipped, winking at him flirtatiously as she too collected her drink from the unimpressed barista.

The pair began to move from the counter, remnants of awkwardness still lingered between them as they participated in a reinvented cha-cha, each trying to make the first step, met by the other with the same intention

“ladies first” Ethan eventually gestured with his hand, allowing Lorelei to walk off first, and followed her to a secluded table in the corner of the café, right by the window.

“Why the window?” Ethan queried as he nestled into the comfortable armchair and sipped at his drink, looking across at Lorelei over the lid of his cup.

“People-watching” replied Lorelei absently, struggling to remove her backpack straps from her shoulder, glancing over and sighing in relief at Ethan when she finally managed to get it off, as she too nestled back into the armchair and warmed her hands against the contents of her cup.

Ethan assessed the woman before him for a brief moment, watching as she gazed out the window, a petite smile gracing her kind face as she truly appreciated the view from the comfort of her chair. She glanced over at Ethan, catching him staring and offered him a dazzling smile that made the edges of her eyes crinkle

“what is it?” she asked him

Ethan found himself speechless, partly because he felt truly out of his depth with a woman so extroverted as her, but also partly because he truly didn’t know what to say to a question like that. She rendered him a shell of the hard, arrogant man he was so often infamous for, not that he would ever bring himself to admit that to anyone, especially himself. He found himself genuinely intrigued by the bubbly and vivacious young woman, who, from as far as he could tell, was completely oblivious to who he was – it was an endearing and refreshing change. He quickly found himself drawn to all that was ‘Rori’.

“So, what are you doing in Boston, Rori?” Ethan asked genuinely,

“I actually moved here a week ago for work! Tomorrow I start my int-“ Lorelei spoke excitedly, her eyes shining brightly to meet the emotion in her voice, before she was cut short by the ping of a pager, beeping loud and obnoxiously from Ethan’s pocket.

Ethan offered her an apologetic look before glancing at the screen “it’s work” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance before standing from the table and pushing in his chair.

“it was lovely meeting you, Rori” he offered her a polite smile

“likewise…” she replied, an edge of disappointment on her face that saturated her voice, neither going unnoticed by the gentleman.

As Ethan moved towards the door, a pang of uncertainty stewed in his chest, as mutual disappointment hung above his head. Something about leaving this intriguing woman without as much as a number didn’t feel right. He stopped just passed the armchair she was occupying, hand upon the headrest, and battled with the internal dilemma playing out in his mind, and the impending regret if he didn’t at least ask.

“…Rori” he spoke, nerves in abundance as his stomach felt alive with butterflies once more, awaiting her reply.

Lorelei turned in the chair a little too eagerly than she would have liked and looked at him expectantly

“Yes?”

Ethan found himself stunned into silence momentarily once more at her before he managed to regather his thoughts. Clearing his throat loud and deliberately, he began subconsciously toying with a stray piece of cotton from within his rolled up sleeve before he spoke “I’d like it very much if I could see you again… would it be ok if I was to ask you for your number?” he asked nervously.

“I’d like that very much” she grinned her dazzling smile once more at him, all signs of awkwardness between the pair dissipating, as though it had never existed to begin with. Lorelei scribbled upon a stray piece of paper she found in her bag before folding it and handing it to Ethan. He accepted the paper immediately, gripping it like an important document.

“I’ll call you”

“I look forward to it!”

Ethan stepped out into the bustling Boston street, and quickly made his way back to the hospital, not daring a tempted glance at the piece of paper until he was far enough from the window of the café window. When he estimated he was a safe distance away, he hazarded a glance down:

Call me for a ‘corpse’ of a time! -Rori.

Followed by what he could only assume was her phone number, he smiled at how unapologetically awkward she truly was. Sighing in contentment, he carefully placed the number into his pocket and continued on his way to the hospital, anticipating excitedly about how their first date would unfold when he, in no uncertain terms, would definitely call to organise.

Taglist: @ethandaddyramsey @trappedinfandoms @openheart12 @mvalentine @kaavyaethanramsey @newcolonies @missmiimiie @nooruleman @drethanramslay @professorkingslay @agent-breakdance @angela8756 @utterlyinevitable @maurine07 @shanzay44 @youamazemex21 @queencarb @mysticaurathings

#ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan jonah ramsey #open heart

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Which Stark do you think Ashara turned too?

*rubs hands together*

Oh, I’ve been patiently waiting for the day I’d get this ask! Big thanks to @ktwrites who helped me iron all of this out long ago! 🐺

I. Ashara probably wasn’t dishonored at all.

“If I had unhorsed Rhaegar and crowned Ashara queen of love and beauty, might she have looked to me instead of Stark?”

Barristan Selmy believes Ashara was dishonored at Harrenhal. But here’s my take on why he might think so: Selmy was working alongside fellow Kingsguard Arthur Dayne, who was most likely an overprotective older brother to Ashara. Whether or not Ashara consented to whatever took place, her brother might not have seen it the same way.

Case in point: Brandon Stark. After all, the person who seemed to be the most upset by Rhaegar crowning Lyanna was her overprotective older brother, who considered it a dishonor. I suppose he could be a total hypocrite, but based on what we know about the Starks in the story—why assume the worst of him? Because he’s ‘wild’? (We’ll come back to this, later)

Lastly, to me, it always seemed curious that two of the most honorable men around—who both had Lyanna and her son’s best interest at heart—felt it necessary to fight to the death at the Tower of Joy. Selmy knew it was ‘a Stark’, but Arthur might’ve known exactly which one—Ned. *adjusts tinfoil hat*

II. Ashara looked to Ned Stark, not Brandon.

We can probably rule out Benjen Stark as a suspect, who was 14 at the time. That out of the way, it is this vague mention of ‘Stark’ that leads people to believe that Brandon Stark was the one to ‘dishonor’ Ashara. However, by the time this topic ever comes up, we’re already told by several characters (Catelyn, Cersei, Edric Dayne and Harwin, a guard at Winterfell) that the rumors are of Ned and Ashara, not Brandon!

And the stories are known from Dorne to King’s Landing to Winterfell. That’s basically the whole damned realm!

• Meera Reed recounts to Bran how Ned and Ashara met at the Tourney at Harrenhal:

“The crannogman (Howland Reed) saw a maid with laughing purple eyes (Ashara Dayne) dance with a white sword, a red snake, and the lord of griffins, and lastly with the quiet wolf (Ned Stark) … but only after the wild wolf (Brandon Stark) spoke to her on behalf of a brother too shy to leave his bench.”

• Catelyn confronts Ned about Ashara:

“And they told how afterward Ned had carried Ser Arthur’s sword back to the beautiful young sister who awaited him in a castle called Starfall on the shores of the Summer Sea. The Lady Ashara Dayne, tall and fair, with haunting violet eyes. It had taken her a fortnight to marshal her courage, but finally, in bed one night, Catelyn had asked her husband the truth of it, asked him to his face. That was the only time in all their years that Ned had ever frightened her. “Never ask me about Jon,” he said, cold as ice. “He is my blood, and that is all you need to know. And now I will learn where you heard that name, my lady.” She had pledged to obey; she told him; and from that day on, the whispering had stopped, and Ashara Dayne’s name was never heard in Winterfell again.”

• Catelyn later reflects on Ashara after Ned’s death:

“If Jon had been born of Ashara Dayne of Starfall, as some whispered, the lady was long dead; if not, Catelyn had no clue who or where his mother might be. Ned was gone now, and his loves and his secrets had all died with him.”

• Even Cersei Lannister is aware of Ned’s relationship with Ashara:

“How dare you play the noble lord with me! What do you take me for? You’ve a bastard of your own, I’ve seen him. Who was the mother, I wonder? Some Dornish peasant you raped while her holdfast burned? A whore? Or was it the grieving sister, the Lady Ashara? She threw herself into the sea, I’m told. Why was that? For the brother you slew, or the child you stole? Tell me, my honorable Lord Eddard, how are you any different from Robert, or me, or Jaime?”

• When Arya encounters Edric Dayne (nephew to Ashara) meets Arya, he tells her:

“Your lord father never spoke of her? The Lady Ashara Dayne, of Starfall?”“No. Did he know her?”“Before Robert was king. She met your father and his brothers at Harrenhal, during the year of the false spring.”“Oh. Why did she jump in the sea, though?”“Her heart was broken.”Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid. She couldn’t say that to Ned, though, not about his own aunt. “Did someone break it?”“Perhaps it’s not my place…”“Tell me.”“My aunt Allyria says Lady Ashara and your father fell in love at Harrenhal—”

Edric Dayne (nephew to Ashara, who curiously goes by the nickname ‘Ned’) tells Arya that his aunt killed herself over a broken heart, implying it was her father who drove Ashara to do it.

• Arya later discusses the strange tale with one of house Stark’s guards, Harwin:

“Lady Ashara Dayne. It’s an old tale, that one. I heard it once at Winterfell, when I was no older than you are now. I doubt there’s any truth to it. But if there is, what of it? When Ned met this Dornish lady, his brother Brandon was still alive, and it was him betrothed to Lady Catelyn, so there’s no stain on your father’s honor. There’s nought like a tourney to make the blood run hot, so maybe some words were whispered in a tent of a night, who can say? Words or kisses, maybe more, but where’s the harm in that? Spring had come, or so they thought, and neither one of them was pledged.”

Harwin implies that as a young boy, he heard gossip of Ned and Ashara Dayne, even going so far as to paint a picture for us about what might’ve happened between them at the Tourney.

I see their: “The Honorable Ned Stark would never!”

And I raise them a: “What is honor compared to a woman’s love?”

Perhaps this is a mocking nickname, akin to Jaime’s “Kingslayer” or Brienne’s “The Beauty”. And would he really never? Oh, you mean the guy whose whole life is built on a series of lies? Yeah, him.

This isn’t me besmirching the man, either. But to say that a young man without a pledge riddled with what was likely a mutual lust with one the most beautiful women in all seven kingdoms—Yeah, he probably would. Like Harwin told Arya, it was no stain on his honor. Not yet.

And I see the argument that “Ashara wouldn’t want Ned, he was too shy to talk to her”. I can assure you, many women find that sort of thing attractive/endearing (myself included). To quote ladyofdragonstone (albeit a bit out of context, lol)…

“Ned can get it.”

III. Defending the honor of Brandon Stark.

Let’s take a closer look at Brandon and his character.

Many assume that his ‘wolf’s blood’ means he was promiscuous. But let’s look at the context in which it’s described by Ned:

“Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. ‘The wolf blood,’ my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave.“ Arya heard sadness in his voice; he did not often speak of his father, or of the brother and sister who had died before she was born. “Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her.”

Now if you don’t come away from this paragraph assuming Arya and Lyanna to be promiscuous, why should we assume ‘wolf’s blood’ means something different for Brandon?

Yes, Brandon had a tasteless joke about his sword—‘I want it sharp enough to shave the hair from a woman’s cunt’, but considering some of the raunchiest jokes I’ve ever heard were from when I was about Arya’s age in grade school… I’d say a joke graphic or sexual in nature doesn’t ensure someone’s promiscuity, either.

Somehow, Brandon has got the reputation for being a bit of a ‘manwhore’, yet the only person we can confirm he’s slept with was Barbrey Ryswell, whom he almost certainly cared for—yet duty required a match with Catelyn Tully, instead. Barbrey seems to still harbor love for Brandon, even lamenting that she never got to be a Stark. She said he wasn’t shy about taking what he wanted, but there’s no actual proof he’d ever taken anyone else’s ‘maidenhead’ other than hers.

“The day I learned that Brandon was to marry Catelyn Tully, though … there was nothing sweet about that pain. He never wanted her, I promise you that.”

She can promise it. And to me, it sounds like he might’ve genuinely cared for Barbrey. The woman is still haunted by this all these years later. Sounds like she loved him, too.

“I still remember the look of my maiden’s blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes.”

This is open for interpretation (as is everything), but to me, the fact that she bled might hint that he didn’t have a lot of experience with women.

Lastly, back to Brandon’s protectiveness for a moment. He had to be restrained from confronting Rhaegar after his sister was ‘dishonored’ with a garland of roses. Upon her disappearance, he accompanied his father to King’s Landing to confront Rhaegar and retrieve Lyanna. When Aerys captured them, Brandon even choked himself to death in an attempt to reach his father, to save him.

Assume what you will about Brandon’s sexual proclivities, but…

Family meant everything to Brandon Stark.

Maybe he was a raging ‘manwhore’, just like Robert Baratheon.

…But (and you know what the Starks say about everything that comes before the word ‘but’) I don’t believe for one minute that this man turned around and slept with (or gods forbid raped) Ashara Dayne, who his brother was so fond of, he was rendered speechless and red-faced. That’s not Brandon Stark. Brandon asking Ashara to dance with Ned was just another good brotherly deed amongst many.

“And what is duty against the memory of a brother’s smile?”

I’ve put a lot of thought into this very topic. And in my research, I can say that there just isn’t anything, not even his supposed ‘reputation’, that might hint at Brandon dishonoring Ashara Dayne at the Tourney at Harrenhal—nothing but the name ‘Stark’. 🤷

#brandon stark #ned stark #ashara dayne #tourney at harrenhal #meta #ned x ashara #nedshara

[multifandom-hoes]

The Meaning of Love

Member: Johnny // NCT

Genre: Fluff, Romance

Words: 1,9k

Love / lʌv / noun 1.a strong feeling of affection.

Was it the feeling of affection that arose within him upon seeing you smile up at him? Your crinkling eyes as you beamed and jumped around, retelling him your day and any memorable events, even if to him your whole day sounded memorable.

Or perhaps it was feeling his tense body relax under the touch of your magical fingers upon any place of his body? Your hugs, the pats upon his shoulder by your small hand, or even the way you ruffled his hair sent him almost sprawling on the floor, toppling you with him.

Or was it rather him seeing you sad and wishing to know who or what was the cause of your unhappiness? Often times he wished to shoulder your burdens and knock down the causes of your frown.

Was that the meaning of love?

Her red nose was peeking from above the grey, fluffy scarf as she stood by the bus shelter, waiting for her transport to arrive and carry her with it. The snow was falling softly around her, touching her cheeks and eyelashes before melting the next second. He stood at the other side of the same shelter, all for the same purpose, with a scarf to ward off the cold weather of January.

The first thing he really noted about her after putting his phone into his pocket was the fact that she was smiling. Or he guessed she did, because he couldn't really see the lower half of her face due to the scarf. Yet her eyes were crinkled and she was looking up, towards the grey clouds that were promising a lot of trouble in a quick while, to where the snow was falling and flutter and dancing and playing. She seemed to enjoy the snow yet not the cold, as the second thing he noted about her were the layers and layers of clothes. She was nearly a perfect circle where she stood, and from beneath the scarf, he could see, if he really squinted, a multitude of collars peeking out.

Without being able to hold in his chuckle, he snorted, and then coughed, trying to pretend that whatever the sound he just made was a genuine cough and not him laughing at her. Because by all gods he wasn't laughing at her- well, he was, but not in a rude manner. Rather, it was like admiring something cute, like a small puppy, make its first steps.

Her eyes landed on him, still crinkled and somehow wild with excitement, and he jumped with a start. She was no dog, you idiot, Johnny had thought at the time, she's a human. Yet he found no better annotation to highlight his own internal thought.

It hadn't yet dawned on him that he considered her to be cute, without seeing her full face.

"Caught a cold?" a muffled voice asked, and with a start he realised that it was her talking, to him, and him staring at her, dumb with confusion.

"Huh?"

"The cough, I mean." Ah. He had made her flustered. Now he felt like an asshole.

"Ah, no, not really, don't worry about it, just a cough." His reassuring smile was frozen on his face as he scolded himself for making absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Her lips pouted at his, what seemed like, dismissal, and she furrowed her brows while turning to face him fully. "During a cold winter like this one, simply a cough does not happen. When you get back home make sure to wrap yourself in blankets after eating some warm soup. It's extra important to stay cautious during winter."

He could not hide the chuckle that escaped him next. Rather than a chuckle, really, it was a laugh, and the poor excuse of a cough would no longer work. "You sound like my mother. She would always scold me during winter as well- this brings back memories." The smile on his lips was genuine.

"She doesn't scold you anymore?"

"She would if she could."

The atmosphere shifted suddenly, as if a heavy load falling onto his shoulders as he looked over at her with surprise in his eyes. She looked serious, eyebrows still furrowed yet now with another sort of concern. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked..." her words wondered off as awkwardness filled the air further.

He suddenly wished the bus would come sooner.

"Wha..? Why?" her mood change was too sudden for his tired mind to keep up. Did he say something wrong? Did she finally realise that she's communicating with a complete stranger in some bus shelter?

"It sounded like a touchy subject, sorry..."

Now he was definitely dumbstruck. And then he laughed. Again, yet much louder this time, doubling over and lowering himself to sit back on his haunches, feeling tears prickling his eyes. "Miss, I'm sorry to break it to you," he stuttered out, barely audible due to his lack of air from all the laughing, "but it seems to me that you might have watched one too many a drama."

It was her turn to be confused, and then embarrassed. She was quiet for a good while, her cheeks seeming to redden even more than they were before. "Oh. Please pardon my blubbering. I was just so into this drama that I must've unconsciously made some stupid ideas. Sorry."

Ah. It seemed she was the apologetic type. "No, no, it's no big deal at all. If it'd reassure you any more, my mother's well and fully energetic- we live in different town's, is all. So she can't scold me any more. Well, over the phone she does but that's.." his speech was interrupted by her chuckle.

"I see." She spoke, her words no longer muffled as she pulled the scarf away from her face, extending her arm to him, intending for him to shake it. "My name's {Y/N}. And your's?"

As the world goes, and one thing leads to another, Johnny Suh did, indeed, catch a cold the day after his first meeting with you. He lay in the bed that morning, eyes glassy and throat almost suffocatingly sore, with shivers wrecking his body, yet his mind was soaring towards you and the image of your smile materialised before his eyes like a hallucination. 

He thanked the gods for having exchanged phone numbers with you, albeit he couldn't particularly explain his happiness all that well. He wrote it down to simply being happy at having made a new friend, at the time.

It was his instinct to text you first.

It seems like I'll have to listen to your warnings more often. I did catch a cold.

From winter to spring, and then onto summer. Through the seasons, he had kept in contact with her, usually meeting up in a restaurant or going for movies.

As time flew by, he could no longer write down his happiness of being with her to it being a friendly affection. His feelings grew too large too quick.

He felt like he needed to say that he liked her. He felt like he needed to compliment her. He felt like he needed to protect her. He also felt immeasurably confused at his own feelings.

What was it that he was feeling?

Was it the feelings of a genuine friendship?

A crush?

Or was it love?

But Johnny Suh had never loved, not in that way. A familial love was familiar to him, as he loved his parents dearly, but a romantic love was a new indulgence. What was that sort of love? What did it mean to love?

"You looked spaced out today, Johnny. Something's the matter?" her voice broke him away from his reverie, and only then did he realise that he must have been staring at her the whole time he was contemplating his own inner turmoil.

"Ah, well, that..." he was flustered,once again struck down by her eyes peering into his own, rooting him to his chair and rendering him speechless. He often feared that those eyes of hers could see anything through him.

"Say, Johnny... Can I confess something?" she sighed as she realised he was not about to answer to her question. Then her hands went to hold her cup that was placed on the table, playing around with the handle as she tried to prevent her fingers from fumbling.

His heart skipped a beat. "Yeah..?"

"Well, that is..." she whispered, eyes no longer looking up at him but instead into the liquid splashing in her cup. "Well..."

"Yeah?" he encouraged her, eyes wide with anticipation. But why was he excited? Was it because her next words would decide something with his own confused emotions? Was it because her next words would be the deciding line that would teach him what love was?

"I... Uh... This is surprisingly hard to say..." she chuckled nervously, her hand going up towards her hair to twirl it with her fingers. "Okay, I'll just spill it and stop breathing, and hope that works. Okay. Here I go. Yes. I can do this..."

"Uh, {Y/N}?"

"Johnny Suh, I like you." She nearly yelled out, but then her voice calmed again, and she was not breathing just as she said she would, and her eyes were tightly shut and it seemed like she was blocking out the entire world.

"You... Do?"

Her nod was furious, cheeks a mess of red and pink and burgundy, yet so pretty and soft- all he wanted was to cup them, trail his thumb over them while singing serenades for her ears only. "I did for quite some time, now, but I never... never had the courage to actually speak it out loud. And in reality my courage right now is quickly dissipating and I feel like running away so I feel like I need you to quickly give me an answer so that I can just... get over the rejection and then maybe, just maybe, of course, we could still remain as friends? Or maybe not, if you'll think it's too awkward... Oh god, I'm so sorry for ruining our friendship, I'm so selfish, I'm--"

"I like you too."

"What?"

Step by step, he had learned what the meaning of love was. It was all thanks to you, really.

The way your gentle hands hugged him and cleared his day with a permanent sun plastered in the middle of his world.

The way your smile warmed him on the coldest winter nights.

The way his heart got jealous when some other flirted with you, yet was easily elevated when you brushed them all off with a flippant smile, not the one you gifted to him, and it seemed him only.

That was all love. That was all romantic love. The feelings he felt when he was with you, the way he might get annoyed, or angry, or happy, or excited- those were all love. A bundle of different emotions all added up to create one joyful thing- he was sure, with your help, that what he was feeling was truly love.

Even now, as you lay down beside him, arms encircling his torso while your eyes were plastered on TV, though slowly shutting down, he knew he loved you from the way his heart beat in his chest. A steady rhythm. A calm rhythm. Like a tune to a waltz, smooth and fair- feeling like home, sounding like home. He was washed over with the feelings he'd have when he was at home, feeling secure and warm and happy to simply be in your presence.

That was the meaning of his love.

#nct #nct scenarios #nct requests #request #kpop requests #nct scenario #nct johnny seo #nct johnny #nct johnny seo scenarios #nct johnny scenarios #johnny seo scenarios #johnny scenarios #johnny suh

[bookmawkish]

Prompt fill: Secrets (ctnd)

Parts 1, 2, 3

@worldoftherandom can be blamed for pretty much everything about this except Bruce. Bruce got out of control. We totally owe Heckyl some fluff. 

Double prompt fill, including your request for “Heckyl kind of talking to Bruce about the fact they both have/had monstrous alter-egos.”

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE ATTEMPT

“Loki - “

“No.”

“Hey, you’re back - “

“Later!”

It is Tony who gets the brunt of it, purely by being the last obstacle in Loki’s path between the elevator and the lounge. And, to be fair, by just being Tony at a moment where being Tony was definitely neither required nor welcome.

“Oh wow,” Tony says, stopping dead, right in the doorway. “Wow. Lokes, you really need to rethink your choice of holiday destinations. Prince Albert there looks like death. What have you been doing to him? Scratch that - I don’t want to know. Let’s -”

Loki’s hand - the one that wasn’t currently making sure Heckyl didn’t just collapse to the floor - shoots out and locks around Stark’s throat. Not squeezing. Not yet.

“Let’s not,” he hisses. “In fact, let’s never.”

And he lets go. Tony, for once rendered momentarily speechless, flattens to the doorframe as Loki sweeps past. “Okay,” he says, once Loki is safely inside, “okay. My fault. Something bad happened. I get that.”

Loki guides Heckyl to the couch, and Heckyl, apparently functioning completely on automatic pilot, sits down, drawing his feet up and hugging his knees. Loki starts unlacing his companion’s boots and removing them without a word. Although he won’t admit it aloud, he’s worried. Heckyl hasn’t said anything since declaring his memory is no longer lost. It’s been almost a day. And he looks utterly traumatized.

This is not unsurprising, Loki thinks, glancing around for a blanket, a throw, anything he can bring over. Heckyl’s skin is cold. Shock, he supposes. The alien is thousands - perhaps tens of thousands - of years old. That’s a lot of memory to lose. And equally, a lot to get back all in one lump. In the best-case scenario here, it’s just all too much to process quickly.

A hand appears in front of him, holding a thick red sleeping bag. It’s Stark. Loki had entirely dismissed him from his mind.

“Here,” he says, and his dark eyes are, for once, serious and focused. “I’ll go get Bruce.”

Once he’s gone, Loki checks the place where Heckyl’s leg was wounded during the escape, and finds that it has healed rapidly and well. The same evidently cannot be said of his soul.

“I am not sorry,” Loki says, almost angrily, because he isn’t. Heckyl just curls up more tightly around his knees and doesn’t say anything.

 “Hey,” says Banner.

He doesn’t sit down, or approach. He stays at a polite, safe distance, as if Loki is a rabid lioness with a sickly cub to protect. “So I hear there’s a little problem,” Bruce continues, running a hand up over the back of his head in a habitual nervous gesture. “You want to talk about it?” He glances from Heckyl to Loki, back and forth. “Um. Either of you. It’s okay.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” says Loki, with more venom than is perhaps called for, but it’s been a long, exhausting and irritating few days, and he’s more worried than he cares to admit about the ridiculous alien now huddled under a puffy red sleeping bag on the couch. Bruce just looks at him for a moment, nods very slightly as everything is suddenly clear, then says:

“Well. I’m…I’m just going to make some tea.”

He leaves the door to the kitchen open. So naturally, Loki follows him and tells him everything, or at least an edited version of everything. It still takes almost twenty minutes, and Bruce’s tea gets cold.

And by the time they get back Heckyl has already managed to bite his own right wrist open with his teeth and is starting on the left. And he is doing it in eerie silence.

Loki‘s weariness, concern and annoyance instantly solidifies into pure rage at the sight. Rage at whoever did this to Heckyl in the first place. Rage at Amora for teaching him how to split souls. Rage at himself for not handling it differently.

“Oh, my god,” Bruce says, and then his tone deepens from alarm directly into firm crisis management. “Absolutely not. Stop that.” He lunges in, drags Heckyl off the couch and onto the floor in one motion, effectively interrupting the biting, and as Loki starts forward with a snarl, Bruce flings out his hand in negation. “And you. No. Just…just no. I’m not hurting him. Back off. Once he’s not trying to kill himself, you’re more than welcome to take a swing at me for touching your boyfriend. Now get me something to tie this with.”

“This” is Heckyl’s wrist. There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen. Of course there is. Avengers Headquarters is a hotbed of minor (and major) injuries. Bruce deals with it all very swiftly and professionally but keeps up a steady stream of monologue directed at Heckyl the whole time.

“Okay, first of all, hi. I know we haven’t spoken a lot, and to be honest, that’s not you, it’s me. Never been much of a joiner, especially not since the whole…you know. But I guess you really would know, huh? Yeah. So Loki told me. Don’t be mad at him. He’s worried about you. I’m serious. I mean, he was ready to take me on, and he’s probably told you that he and the other guy kind of have a violent history. That’s something he wouldn’t take on lightly, you know. Hold that there.”

Heckyl, who is regarding Bruce with wide, uncomprehending eyes, holds the loose end of the bandage with a finger as directed as Bruce completes the binding. “Great. That’s great. You know, you missed all the major veins here. Good for you. So what did he look like? Your Other Guy.”

And Loki finds he breathes easier when he hears Heckyl reply (albeit quietly, and as if his throat is sore). Evidence that he’s not irreparably broken.

“Huh,” says Bruce. “Well that sounds…don’t be offended…horrible. These other guys…they’re not often great strategic thinkers, are they. Now I’m going to put a couple of steristrips on this one. We might sew it later, I’m not sure.”

“He heals fast,” says Loki. “He’ll be fine in a few hours.”

Next to Bruce, Heckyl echoes, though less than convincingly, “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, sure,” says Bruce, and when he glances up at Loki his eyes are steely. “He seems fine. Everything about what we’re doing here is…is absolutely fine. Listen, Heckyl, I get it, I really do. I’ve done worse to myself to try and break free. So I’m not gonna be the one to tell you not to. To tell you that you’re selfish, or weak, or stupid. I know you’re none of those things. But the next time, you talk to me. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning and I’m sleeping. I mean obviously I’d rather it wasn’t. But come to me. We can…ah…hang out. Swap monster stories. Okay? I’ll give you a hint, I’m not leaving until I hear an ‘okay’.”

“Okay,” says Heckyl, who looks completely confused by this whole situation. Unsurprising, really. Millions of years of people not giving a shit about you will do that. Bruce gives him an uncertain pat on the shoulder, then stands up, gathering the remains of the first aid kit. “Say, Loki, you want to give me a hand making some more tea? Heckyl looks a little dehydrated.”

Somehow it’s one hundred percent clear that this isn’t a suggestion. And Loki, for once, decides not to make an issue out of it.  

Bruce closes the kitchen door behind them and before Loki can get a word out, he finds a single finger in his chest, pinning him in place.

“I’m a normal kind of guy,” Bruce murmurs, and although his voice is as quiet and level as ever, somehow Loki can feel the full weight of the man’s massive alter ego behind it. Is that a hint of virulent green lurking in the man‘s irises? “And I wouldn’t presume to lecture anyone on how they handle their relationships, god knows I don’t have the high ground on that one. But you need to do better, do you understand? I don’t care if you want to be a complete asshole ninety-nine percent of your life. I genuinely don’t give a crap. But for the one percent you’re using on this man, you need to be the good guy. Because he doesn’t have anyone else and for some bizarre, fucked-up reason he’s chosen you.”

He thrusts the teapot at Loki brusquely. It’s probably one of the only times a teapot has been used as a threat.

“If I have to patch him up again, I’ll lock you in a room and let the Hulk go to work on you. That’s a promise. Now make him some tea, you can use my chai. Jesus. What a fucking day.”

The door slams behind him. And Loki is left in the kitchen, next to The Chart, holding a gorgeous original British Blue Willow pattern ceramic teapot and trying to decide between being furious at the sheer unadulterated nerve of talking to him that way, and being terrified that Bruce actually means it.

“Loki?”

Heckyl’s voice, from the next room.

“I’m here,” Loki answers, immediately. And he is.

#fanfiction prompt #fanfiction #power rangers dino charge #Power Rangers #power rangers fanfic #heckyl #heckyl/loki #loki #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #MCU #prompt fill #tw suicide #hurt/comfort #angst

[inkbyajm]

Strangers

request from @justcallmecinammon : In a Stephen Strange x humanreaper!reader oneshot, she meets him when he's in the out-of-body dimension where he's looking for an artifact and she's casually like "it's over there" and he's like "wait how are you here?" "Because I walked through the door" and they develop a cute friendship in the regular earth dimension and his cape adores her with a fluffy ending where they end up together? Pretty please? Reader is short and petite and silly

A/N : Good JESUS this took some time to post, I did not forget about this cute idea XD I was travelling and couldn’t put this in queue because I wanted to make a few changes, I’m so sorry ! But yeah, never wrote for human reapers before, this was very strange (lord forgive me for i have sinned) but fun to write ! Hope you like it ? I apologise if it’s bad ._.

Warnings : I have never read the Dr Strange comics and none of this is actually accurate, so please, do not attack me ! (lol)

The Astral Dimension was so bizarre, Stephen couldn’t get used to it no matter how many times he’d separate from his physical form. However this time he was on a mission. And he had been looking everywhere. The Ancient One said it was going to be here but it was odd as he didn’t find anything that resembled an artefact. Walking into a room, there were bookshelves everywhere. This was going to take some time.

————

After long minutes, Stephen let out a long exasperated sigh.

"It’s right over there" he heard a voice speak behind him.

He quickly spun around, prepared to fight whoever or whatever present.

"Attacking me for helping you? How dare you, sir?" the person dramatically gasped, clearly not afraid.

In front of him stood a rather small individual, well, she was to him at least. She walked over to a bookshelf and jumped a couple of times to grab something off of one of the top shelves then walked back to him. She handed him over a deck of cards as he looked at her confusedly.

"What- what is this ?" he asked bluntly, turning it in his hands.

"What you’re looking for, trust me." she replied with a confident smile.

So many questions swirled in his head.

"Alright, first off, how did you-? I mean, where did you come fro-?" he was saying until the girl took a step back towards the door.

"The entrance" she bluntly pointed out.

"Yeah, but I don’t remember hearing you en-" he stopped mid-sentence when she just reached for the door and her hand went through it.

Stephen was speechless and felt a little more vulnerable.

"I wasn’t gonna walk through the walls, I still have my manners" she told him, putting both hands on her hips.

"So, I’m assuming you’re in an Astral Projection at the moment because you look too chic to be dead. Wait, you’re not dead, are you? I am so sorry for judging you straight away, I-"

"No. I mean- yes, I am currently in Astral form." he explained "I'm assuming you are as well?"

"Oh, no, I’m not in Astral mode. I’m not dead either, don’t worry!" she cleared out.

Her silliness actually made him let out a short laugh.

"What’s your name?" the man asked, quite interested in this mysterious lady.

"(Y/N)" she replied cheekily and they shook hands.

"Stephen, Stephen Strange. Nice to meet you. May I ask what you are, (Y/N)?” he questioned, trying not to be rude.

"I am a reaper. I transport dead folks to wherever their destination is. We can see dead people as well as Astral people, we can also make ourselves visible to humans but that’s usually unnecessary. You don’t encounter one of our kind very often so you’re one lucky guy, Mr. Strange!" (Y/N) exclaimed and they both chuckled.

"Alright, I have to go back, uh, would you like to accompany me?" he offered and she shrugged as to why not.

————

Some time later, he finally found his physical body and when he looked around, (Y/N) was nowhere to be seen. Feeling a bit bummed, he went back to the Sanctum Sanctorum.

He walked into the building, the exhaustion finally hitting him.

"This is awesome!" he heard a familiar voice and whipped his head to the side.

There she was again, admiring the place.

"Do you live here?" (Y/N) asked in awe.

"Wha- no, I mean yes. It’s more my workplace but I have to reside here as well." he explained.

"Well, since you’re here, care for a drink? Tea, coffee, soda, beer?" Stephen offered.

"Tea sounds wonderful" she nodded, offering a warm smile.

————

Once they were sat with their cups, which magically filled themselves back, the two started chatting about anything and everything.

"So, what’s your job?" the damsel asked.

"Interesting question, very interesting question. So, I, uh, used to be a neurosurgeon, but I got into a car accident and damaged my hands. Later, I learned that they had been subjected to severe nerve damage and rendered inoperable." the man explained, showing both hands.

(Y/N) gently took them in hers as if they were still fragile and examined them, making the doctor’s heart flutter.

"I am very sorry for that, you must’ve been excellent at your job" she spoke with a hint of genuine sadness. Stephen’s mind was off for only a second as he cleared his throat.

"Long story short, I went to The Ancient One for help and became the Sorcerer Supreme. Now that I look back at my past, I actually feel very disgusted and ashamed at how arrogant and selfish I used to be" Stephen let out a short laugh.

"I believe you were good from the start. A man does not change unless he wants to, unless he believes in it” she told him with a smile, making him smile back.

There was a short moment of silence, and oddly enough, it didn’t feel awkward at all.

"By the way, forgot to mention it, but I like your cape. It looks amazing and suits you quite well” the girl said pointing at the garment.

To her surprise, the cape detached itself from the hanger and flew towards (Y/N) to wrap her in a hug.

"Thank you, It is very grateful" Stephen chuckled at the bonding.

"Aw, such an adorable thing you are, you’re so soft too" she cooed while stroking it.

"Okay, alright, It’s not really a pet-" he spoke, reaching out to the cape, when It smacked his hand away and continued leaning into her.

"Ow- how could you?" the doctor gasped at his companion’s betrayal.

"I think It likes me" (Y/N) grinned with the cape now attached to her instead.

Though despite his words, Stephen did not at all mind the wholesome moment.

2 months later

Running in the streets was a lot weirder than it seemed. Stephen and (Y/N) ran through the crowd as they chased after some type of men who were apparently a threat to the New York Sanctum.

"Stephen, could you not just place us in your mirror dimension thingy? We’re getting weird looks" the girl advised.

"Good idea" he replied and instantly warped the whole street, making it even weirder.

"How are you not getting tired?" the man panted slightly.

"I’m a reaper, it’s part of our abilities” she answered effortlessly.

That’s when the Zealots stopped running. Finally some action! Strange and (Y/N) fought back to back, each having their own powers and weapons.

"Stephen, look out!" he heard her say when he turned around a second too late.

A bullet had pierced his shoulder as he winced in pain and fell to his knees. (Y/N) knocked the last man out and hurriedly rushed to his side.

"Oh god this hurts way more than I expected it to" Strange grunted.

"Wait, wait, hold on" the girl said with a hint of panic in her voice.

She pressed her palms onto his injury, making him shut his mouth to prevent making any noises. A few seconds had passed and the pain was gone. He confusedly checked his shoulder to find it clear of any wounds.

"Wha-"

"I’ve never done that before, but hey, it worked!" she chuckled.

"Why, how else could it have gone?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well, I could have maybe kinda killed you..? I never had a chance to use that ability before so I was a bit skeptical about it" the reaper explained casually.

She then got up and walked up to the previously unconscious man who was now screaming in pain.

"You’re a very bad man, didn’t your parents teach you manners?" she scolded the guy, then proceeded to touch his forehead, turning him into dust.

(Y/N) looked over to her wide eyed friend.

"I transferred your injury onto him. He was mean anyway and a crap human being" she told him matter-of-factly.

"I guess I’m very glad to not be in his place" the sorcerer mumbled to himself.

"Another successful mission!" (Y/N) exclaimed with much enthusiasm.

"I wouldn’t call it a mission, maybe self-defense." Stephen told her.

"Well, everything seems like a mission with you. A cool, badass mission with a cool, badass sorcerer" she proudly stated.

It made his heart flutter, her sole presence made him nervous.

"What would I be without you” he muttered under his breath but with her being a reaper, it didn’t go unnoticed.

"A cool, badass and...very smart sorcerer..?" she spoke bluntly, earning a light chuckle from her partner.

Strange turned to face her and she stopped walking as well.

"(Y/N), I..I’ll be honest- I’m not the best at these uh..confessions. But, I feel joy when you are around. I don’t feel lonely anymore and it makes very happy and I just...I would love to have you...around, more.” the man awkwardly announced.

There was a brief moment of silence which did make him uncomfortable but he didn’t dare speak further.

"Stephen Vincent Strange. The great Sorcerer Supreme- Master of the Mystic Arts. Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?" she said with a strict tone and crossed arms.

"Well, I just thought-"

"Without even asking me, a human reaper, out on a single date?" her voice rose higher.

The doctor was now terrified and seemed to have lost his voice.

"I’m kidding, of course, I’d love to!" she said then jumped to wrap her arms around his neck.

He returned her embrace, relieved but confused at the same time. Unsure of her response, he looked into her (E/C) eyes.

"Wait, really? You’re serious?" he asked.

"Yes! I don’t come across great guys very often, in fact, it’s really rare. And you’re such an amazing man I just- you make me super duper happy too!" she laughed, spreading it to him as well.

"Tell you what, how about we go get a dessert and have a little tea party at home?" Stephen offered when she immediately hopped off of him and sprinted towards the closest bakery.

"We’re eating cake and your opinion doesn’t matter!" the girl yelled, he laughed at how childish she could be.

"Choose quickly, otherwise I’m stepping in!" Stephen yelled back and followed his loved one to her own personal heaven.

#stephen strange #doctor strange #dr strange #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange fluff #doctor strange fanfic #doctor strange fic #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange oneshot #doctor strange one shot #doctor strange x reader fluff #marvel #marvel fluff #marvel x reader #marvel x reader fluff #marvel oneshot #marvel one shot #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

[writingwife-83]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 2- First Date

Last minute decided to write this one for Day 2. It kind of randomly came to me, but I ended up being pretty happy with some of the Sherlock feelsies in this one. Enjoy! ;)

Fancy a Date?

“Thank you again, Molly,” Sherlock said genuinely as the cab neared her flat in the dark of night. “And I know John is grateful. Rosie was a bit too crabby for a sitter tonight.”

“Oh no problem, I don’t mind.” She smiled and began gathering her bags in preparation to exit the once the vehicle stopped.

Sherlock felt suddenly panicky. The evening had been so wonderful up till then. They’d analyzed clues from a body, tracked down a suspect, informed Lestrade, and got the man arrested. It had all been rather perfect, and Sherlock hardly wanted it to end now. It was probably one of the best days they’d spent together since the mess of Sherrinford.

As the cab came to a stop, the words suddenly tumbled from Sherlock’s mouth.

“Molly, wait!”

She halted and raised her brow expectantly.

“I…was wondering if you’d like to…” His mind raced frantically. He needed to suggest something! But what? And then miraculously, a light switched on. A rather large one actually. “Would you make one more stop with me tonight? There’s a place I’d like to share with you.”

Her gaze swept his face and she slowly smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Sure, why not?”

Sherlock returned her smile, speaking to the cabbie in the front without breaking eye with her.

“Driver? Slight change of plans…take us to Big Ben, please.”

Molly huffed another breath while rounding the last bunch of steps. Good God, she thought with a laugh. Was this Sherlock’s idea of saying thank you? He’d already had her running around the city all evening, and now-

Her thoughts hit a brick wall as she felt his large hand close warmly around her smaller one, giving her a little helpful tug as they made the final push to the top. She didn’t ask questions, but just squeezed his hand in kind and bit her lip to keep from grinning like a fool.

“Well,” Sherlock said and exhaled in a puff. “Here we are!” 

Molly looked up as they rounded the corner to stand behind one of the clock faces. It was truly awe inspiring. 

“Beautiful. Bit bright though,” she commented, shielding her eyes from the bulbs that lined the wall which lit up the clock faces through the darkness of night.

“It is, yes,” Sherlock agreed. “If I came here wanting to get some rest, I tended to stay in the clock room. Follow me, I’ll show you.”

They rounded a couple more corners till they came to the large room which held the inner workings of the actual clock, the rhythmic ticking which filled the room rather pleasant in Molly’s opinion. She gazed around in wonder till she realized that Sherlock had begun creating a little space on the floor. 

He pulled out a sleeping bag from some hidden spot and rolled it out, gesturing to it in invitation. Molly was beginning to wonder about this unusual version of Sherlock Holmes, but did happily take a seat next to him. He was quiet for a moment before clearing his throat and speaking hesitantly.

“Perhaps I should have…planned a bit better. Brought some snacks or a drink, or maybe even chosen music. Not that I couldn’t find some on my phone right now…”

“Music?” Molly questioned with a laugh. “Sherlock, what is this?”

He looked sheepish. “That will largely depend on you, I suppose. But I was rather hoping that it could be something like…a date?” His eyes narrowed, almost as if anticipating rejection. 

Her jaw dropped briefly before morphing into a smile. “A- a date? Really? Like, a real date with two people who-”

“Yes, Molly. Two people who have feelings for one another.”

Molly was rendered a bit speechless as Sherlock inhaled slowly and went on speaking, his voice soft and smooth.

“I’ve come here many times, you know. Always alone, always hoping not to be found. That was the point. The whole idea of these bolt holes, including this one, was to remain out of sight, away from prying eyes and even attempted help. I ran to places; places where I could be on my own. Though, there was one exception.” He locked eyes with her. “You.”

Sherlock reached over for the second time in a matter of minutes and took her hand in his before continuing.

“Every other bolt hole was a place, nothing but a location in which to hide. Even this,” he said, glancing around them. “All it’s majesty aside, it’s just a building. Just a structure that I could plant myself in till I decided to let myself be found. But you were the only person that I ran to. And if I’m completely honest, I only ever wanted to run to you.”

Molly blinked rapidly as her eyes began to sting. But this was a strangely pleasant sort of sting which was accompanied with the warmth that was rapidly spreading outward from her heart.

“Naturally I couldn’t always go to your flat,” he added with a little sigh. “Sometimes you were unavailable or I didn’t want to have danger follow me to where you live. Or sometimes…sometimes I was too ashamed to be seen by you.”

Molly chewed her lip, knowing what he must be referring to. It was true. He never did show up at her flat under the influence of anything illegal. She had already guessed that he didn’t want to deal with her reaction during those less than exemplary moments in his life.

“But even when I wasn’t with you, I found myself often thinking of you. I’d lay here, listening to the ticking and trying to imagine it was the softer ticking of the clock in your flat; the one on the mantle above the fireplace.” He smiled. “I liked that sound.”

“Not that you ever slept on the couch,” Molly finally spoke with a smirk.

Sherlock chuckled, but a moment later his expression stilled and brow crinkled in concern. “Is this a- a really terrible date?”

Molly licked her lips and paused, unsure of how steady her voice would be. “Sherlock this is, um…this is the best date I’ve ever been on. No exceptions.” She gave him a smile of reassurance as well as an extra squeeze of his hand.

His eyes lit up like a small child’s and he grinned in relief. He then leaned over, pressing a warm and lingering kiss to her cheek, slipping away especially slowly afterward, his lips almost brushing hers in the process, sending a pleasant shiver skittered up Molly’s spine. She sighed contentedly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her gently in to lean against him.

“I’m grateful for how easily impressed you are in this case,” Sherlock murmured. “Though I maintain I should have included some of the more proper aspects of a date.”

Molly lifted her head from his shoulder with a smile. “Oh, actually I think we can have a little snack, if you feel like that would make it a bit more traditional.” She began rifling through her large bag and finally pulled out a little snack baggie. “See! I usually carry some Ginger Nuts. Just in case.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and darted back and forth from the snack bag to her brown eyes.

“Sherlock? What?” Molly asked with a little laugh.

“I’m not terribly experienced, so tell me,” he said with a little crack in his voice. “Is it completely inappropriate to…propose on the first date?”

#sherlolly #mollock #sherlollyweek2017 #day 2 first date #fancy a date? #Will post on AO3 soon

[headoverhiddles]

Summertime [Daveed x Reader]

Description: Female!Reader x Daveed. You’re partying at the Wave House in San Diego, when you run into a very attractive stranger who buys you some very expensive tequila. Who are you to refuse? 

Genre: Smut 

Rating: M for bathroom fucking and dirty talk. 

Notes: This is set when Hamilton was in its Public days, so Daveed’s pretty much just begun work on it. Ft. my favourite clippng song and Rafa because Rafa is huggy bear. (I don’t know if he can surf- just go with it shh)

The ocean air was a relief to your lungs- San Diego never disappointed for a vacation. Pacific Beach was one of your favourite places to go, be it for a morning tan, sunset bike ride, or a night at a party you were sure to regret in the morning. Of course, you never could bring yourself to regret it the next day, as the west coast vibe just kept you in a good place. 

The night breeze rolling off the nearby waves sends you shivering in your bikini top and shorts, but just as soon as it comes, it’s replaced by a wave of warmth from the fire pits. The nearby screams of Belmont Park ring out through the night with the music, the Big Dipper coaster roaring by every so often. Where you are, the bar is crowded, the flow barrell is still open, (flow rider is closed; the kids had all gone home hours ago), and the music is loud. Sauntering over to the steps where people are watching someone surf the barrel, you lift your beer to your mouth, drinking the last of it. The guy on the wave’s been up there for a while; he has dirty blonde hair and a couple of tattoos up his arms... not bad looking, you think. 

You consider the guys around you, wondering how many of them would try and come onto girls looking to get lucky tonight. You had really just come out here for a good time, and you certainly weren’t in the mood for any half-baked pick-up lines from a... well, half baked guy. 

Until you approach the bar, and find a drink plopped down in front of you. 

“Thanks for the gift,” you smirk, and the bartender, (who looks a little like Shaggy Rogers, and stoned enough for it too) just puts up his hands. 

“Hey man, normally it would be on the house for a pretty chick like you... but this one’s from Corbin Bleu over there-” he leans in close, smirking, “Dude’s been eye-fucking you all night.” 

Your eyes follow his gestures, and you see a guy with curly hair in a black Oaklandish tank staring over; he looks familiar to you, for some reason. He doesn’t smirk at you, doesn’t wink, doesn’t do anything usually cheesy... just gives a small wave, offering a genuine smile your way. Interest piqued, you lift the glass his way in thanks, and tip it back. 

Patron. Expensive tequila. Who is this dude? 

Bringing it down from your mouth, he’s gone.

“So... you accepted my drink,” his voice said behind you, speaking over the roar of the music and the cheers of the surfer’s growing audience, “Can I assume you’re a little interested?”

“A little,” you reply nonchalantly, swishing the ice around at the bottom. You swivel around to look him over up close, admiring the toned muscles he’s got all the way up his arms, flexing every time he makes a move. Suddenly, a new song begins- Summertime, by clippng. “God, I love this song,” you mutter, getting up to sway your hips a little to the californian style beat. The guy immediately laughs, ducking his head. “What?” you scowl, ready to defend your taste, “They’re a great band.” 

“Yeah, we are,” he laughs, and your eyes widen. 

“Oh fuck! Are you-”

“My name’s Daveed Diggs, I’m... the vocalist of this band, yeah.”

“It didn’t even hit me...” Your eyes widen. 

“Well, at least you didn’t say we were shit,” he grins, “Then you’d be in an even more awkward position than I am.” You can’t help but adopt his infectious beam and laugh with him. 

“No, but... I do really love this song,” you murmur, lifting your arms above your head to move a little more freely, “You guys are great.” When your eyes open again, you catch his own eyes dropping down to your chest... you realize the bikini top you were wearing had no support whatsoever, and the button of your shorts had snapped off months ago, so... 

It's summer, that pot stick  Block burning, G's banging on the beach White tees, no socks shit Palm tree on lean, bass rocks with the knock

“Where do you live?” you ask, because talking more would probably eventually lead to talking less. 

“Far away from here,” he grins endearingly, “New York, actually.”

“New York? Shit, what’re you doing all the way out here?” 

“A bay boy’s gotta come back to his roots when he’s got the time. ‘Course, San Diego’s no Oakland, but the nightlife here is lit.” 

“Can’t disagree,” you smile, “Is it a good scene in New York?”

“Busy as all hell right now,” Daveed huffs, “It really is the city that never sleeps, and I can see why. I’m in workshops right now for this rap musical about the founding fathers...”

“Rapping founding fathers?” 

“Yup,” Daveed frowns, “Terrible idea, fucking brilliant music. Guy who created it’s a genius.”

“Who’re you gonna play?” you murmur, biting your lip, “The guy on the ten? He’s hot.”

“Ha! No, he’s the title role. I’m the guy on the two.” 

“I could try and remember who’s on the two, but I’m a little tipsy and I kind of don’t care about the order of the presidents right now,” you smirk, and he laughs loudly, subconsciously leaning in closer. 

“That makes two of us.” 

“Mmm... wanna buy me another tequila?” you suddenly come out and ask, feeling bold as you dance closer to the attractive rapper. His eyelids droop a little as he shakes himself free of your spell. Opening his mouth, his filter seems to temporarily malfunction.   

“Actually, I...  low-key wanna make you come up against a bathroom stall.” 

“Only low-key wanna?” you tease, wiggling your hips back against his ratty jeans, predicting something to grind against and... yep, there it was, his boner. 

“Okay, very high-key,” he corrects himself with an inopportune voice crack, and you giggle flirtatiously, wrapping your arms backward around his neck. He leans forward a little, trailing his lips up your neck. You keen a little, leaning back into him and his erection that keeps on filling out, and he places kisses up your exposed throat- you can feel his hot breath on your skin, and a shudder runs through you. The night ahead of you will sure be a story worth telling your friends, the way this is heading. 

Low nose clown on they pogo bounce when they slow-mo round Make the hoes go down, homies smoke that loud 'til they choke fall out And they run they mouth, what they don't know might end 'em Cause the women so fine in the summertime Turn a six to a dime in the summertime

“Hun- are you sober enough for it?” he all but whispers, and you can feel him swallow apprehensively. 

“Hell yes,” you breathe, moving your hips, “But hey, I’m here partying in San Diego for a reason... I’m bound to make a couple good, memorable mistakes tonight.” You smirk, turning around to face him. “Wanna be one of them?” 

“I’d love to be all of them,” he growls, and grabs your wrist, leading you through the people dancing and over the cool sand to the shacks.

“That surfer’s really good,” you comment on the way, and Daveed looks back absently. 

“Oh, yeah. That’s actually my friend Rafa- we grew up in the bay area, so surfing’s been his thing, aside from poetry and spitting bars of his own, for a while.” 

“Wow... he’s amazing on the barrel!” you repeat animatedly, hoping to get a rise out of him, “Normally, folks barely last five minutes on the thing.” As you had expected, Daveed gets a bit of a jealous flash. 

“Yeah, well... he’s not good at much else, shit.”

You giggle, squeezing Daveed’s wrist lightly. Too easy. “Chill, Diggs, it’s not like I want his dick in me.” Daveed huffs, and opens the door to the women’s room, peeking inside. 

“Oh shit,” he mutters, pulling back out, and you frown.

“What?”

“Someone’s puking in there, let’s try the men’s.”

A couple of burly guys exit the men’s, giving you a once over, but Daveed seems to scare them off with his stature alone. You and Daveed go in... empty, but your eyebrows immediately go up.

“I thought there’d be a little more room in here,” you murmur, “These stalls are small for a five year old, same as the women’s.”

“Oh yeah,” Daveed lets out a laugh, “We’re probably gonna break the stalls if we try to fuck in there.” 

"Wall?” You lick your lips invitingly, backing up to splay yourself against it. 

“I don’t feel like getting arrested tonight if someone walks in and reports us for public indecency, thanks.” 

"Arrested?” You tug at his shorts. 

“It’s not fun to say the least, wouldn’t recommend it,” he nods, and leads you into a stall, “I guess this is fine... we didn’t need breathing room anyway.” With that, he slams the stall door shut and smashes his lips into yours, teeth grazing upon impact. His pelvis is grinding against you, providing a frustrating friction you wish he would increase. Your hips chase his as he pulls back just a little, and he smirks at you. "Oooh now, impatient." 

"Desperately turned on," you correct with a frustrated huff. 

"I wonder what else I could make you do for my dick..." 

You huff, untying your flimsy bikini top and dropping it to the sandy floor. His eyes immediately fall to your naked breasts, widening comically. You smirk right back at the power shift, twisting a finger in one of his tendrils and tugging. "You were saying?" 

"Uhummm..." he mutters, rendered absolutely speechless, so you take over, bringing his face down into your cleavage and moaning a little. He whimpers, and his instincts kick in as his dick practically guides itself back toward you. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper through a grin into his hair, and Daveed doesn’t need to be told twice. Placing fervent kisses around your nipple and stimulating one with a bite between his teeth, he tugs your denim shorts down to your ankles as you squeal. 

“How the fuck can you even call these shorts?” he breathes, kicking them aside, “It’s practically a damn thong.” 

“Would you rather I’d worn my great aunt capris today?” you tease, and his long, slender fingers squeeze into the meat of your ass and roll it around, lifting you up against the stall wall.

“You could’ve been wearing a damn wetsuit, wouldn’t change the fact that I’d still be getting you naked.” 

“I’d be too hot in a wetsuit,” you complain with a pout.

“Good thing you opted for butt floss then,” he laughs, and goes back to attacking your neck with kisses. 

“Fuck, get in me,” you moan, squeezing your legs around his back, and he uses one arm to hold you up, one to untie his tented swim trunks. Digging around in his pocket, he pulls out a saltwater soaked condom packet, tossing it up to you, where you open it and roll the thankfully dry protection onto him. “Holy shit.” According to you, size mattered, and well...

“What?”

“I didn’t know you would be so huge.” 

Daveed’s visibly aroused by the praise. “I’ll go slow,” he murmurs, though he gulps while saying it. 

“Ha! No thank you,” you whisper back, and thrust your hips forward, burying his tip just inside of you. Daveed lets out a strangled noise, and clutches at your shoulders as he finds his footing, sinking into you all the way. Already, the warm Californian breeze has made the air between you hot, sweat beginning to bead between your breasts and over Daveed’s face and chest. You can hear the music thumping outside, with the beat of the midnight tide nearby; you feel endless. 

“Good for you?” he asks, mouth slightly ajar in bliss. 

“Amazing,” you breathe back, digging your nails into his back and resting your forehead against his. Breathing each other’s air, you both lean in every few thrusts to facilitate a sloppy kiss, tongues down each others throats as Daveed continues to bring you and himself closer. For your part, you squeeze yourself around him and slide down to meet him every time he slams in, making him groan for you. 

“Touch me,” you manage out, and he uses one hand to massage a perky breast, the other to rub circles around your clit. He’s keeping your body up against the stall with his body weight only, which is pretty impressive. “Mmm, that’s good, that’s good, oh my god...” you whisper, and a shudder runs through him, making his curls bounce. 

“I can’t last- ugh... you’re so damn hot...”

“I’m so close,” you groan, tossing your head back. Daveed is just as far gone, chest heaving and thrusts uneven as his body quivers. “Come for me, hun,” he murmurs, and with that encouragement, you squeal, gushing around his thick cock. Watching your face contort with your orgasm, Daveed lets out a choking noise, offering two deep thrusts before blowing his load inside the condom. 

“Wow,” you breathe, running a hand through your hair. He pulls out, and sets you down gently, grabbing some toilet paper to clean off. 

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit.”

“Totally, right?” 

“I guess I... won’t be seeing you.”

“Right... I guess not.” 

You clear your throat- parting was always weird after a no strings attached type thing. “Good luck on your, uh... history show!”

“Yeah, you too,” he replies, then his face scrunches up at his painfully awkward response. 

You two put the clothes you had taken off back on, (all this sand would be a horror to try and get out of the crotch of your shorts later) and walk back out to the Wave House. The place’s vibe has since chilled out even more, and Rafael’s not up on the barrel anymore- it’s a girl now. 

“Diggs!”

“Yo,” Daveed says to someone, and you turn around to find Rafael draping himself over his friend. 

“Get this, right- I forgot my shirt in some chick’s place last night... I’m pretty sure she threw it in the ocean out of sheer spite,” he said, squinting. Daveed snorted. 

“No shirt, no cash looks like... guess you want a ride home.”

“Hell no! The party’s not over yet, I’ve got a tab going, and hey- you haven’t introduced me to your lady friend yet!” 

“Oh, I’m-” you jerk a thumb in the opposite direction, but Daveed suddenly pulls you close, so Rafa bows dramatically, wiggling his eyebrows. “Greetings, lady friend.”

You giggle, wondering where this was going. “My...my name’s (y/n). Your name’s Rafa?” 

“Diggs, you tell people about me?” Rafa mocks swooning, and falls into Daveed’s arms. Daveed shakes his head, and gives him a hug before standing him up properly. 

“Go have some drunk sex, Rafa, it’ll do you good.”

“What, like you? Nah, I’m spent, man. Let’s go smoke up, I’ve got the sweet sticky shit!” 

“I’ve got an off broadway show that’s about to open, shitcarriage, pot kills my chords.” 

You speak up. “Let’s buy some tickets to Belmont, then.” Rafa’s eyes widen, and he stumbles over to you. 

“You’re my hero. She’s my hero, Diggs. I like her. Keep her, or I will.” 

“Noted,” the taller rapper grins, steadying his friend again, and he picks you up off your feet and into his arms. You swing your legs over his shoulder as you make your way to the beachside carnival under the stars. 

“Let’s ride the Big Dipper first,” you suggest, and Daveed nuzzles into your neck with a smirk. 

“I thought you just did,” he grins, and Rafa’s wolf whistle is so loud you hear it over the current clippng song they’re blasting back by the bar. 

#daveed diggs x reader #daveed x reader #summertime #clippng #clipping #it's clipping bitch #clippng. #daveed diggs #daveed #thomas jefferson #lafayette #hamilton musical #beach #reader x #reader insert #imagine #imagines #reader x daveed #reader x daveed diggs #hamilton cast imagines #rafael casal #san diego #wave house #mission beach #pacific beach #hot fuck no love #wall sex #semi public sex #dirty talk #size kink