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manyothermusingsofmine · 2 years ago

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Survive a riot || One-shot

Fandom: Ace Attorney Wordcount: 4451 Warnings: Physical altercation, blood, being suffocated/asphyxiated (by hands and by chain), breaking a nose, biting hard enough to draw blood. Translation notes: Mon ami - My friend Connard - jerk/asshole Merci - Thanks Fahr zur Hölle - f*ck off (literally “drive to hell”) Verdammt nochmal - damn it.like just presume that when I use some language other than english 8/10 times its an insult and the other 2 times it’s something affectionate, lol, I don’t seem to incorporate languages any other way AN: A story that I’ve been brewing on for quite a while, but that’s not fully totally a part of my personal canon. It’s complicated, there’s stuff I like and stuff I dont want to add to my personal canon. Summary: Simon and Klavier get entangled in a prison riot, but Klavier gets the worst of it as he doesn’t make it to an exit in time the first time around. ------------------------------------------------------------------- "Why did you ask me to come with you?"

Simon snapped out of his thoughts for a moment, looking at the other prosecutor as he was trying to ignore the very familiar sound of cell doors being shut.

"I do not exactly have pleasant memories of places like these," he answered with a shrug, unsure of what Klavier wanted to hear instead of that. It wasn’t exactly a secret around their shared space of work that Simon was rather well acquainted with prison life.

"Yeah, okay, but why me?"

".... You were available."

Simon raised an eyebrow. Now that it was brought up; Klavier didn't seem like his usual outgoing self. Was that just because of the place where they were, where he had seen optimism beaten out of people before, or was there something more to it?

"... Are you alright, Gavin-san?"

"... You promise this guy we have to listen to isn't in cellblock A?"

"Our destination is the interrogation room west of cellblock E. Why?"

Klavier shrugged, not entertaining that with an answer. Simon decided it wasn't worth it to pry about, because Klavier wasn't the one to open up when pried about his personal ordeals. Plus, this should be an easy case for the both of them; Listen to what the inmate had to say, see if there was enough merit in their claims to reopen the case, and get out.

And yet, roughly 40 minutes after they had started their interrogation of the inmate, all hell broke loose.

Simon noticed first. He had his firsthand experience in this particular jail and still knew the routines decently well, so when the guards started to behave in a panicked-but-trying-to-hide-it manner immediately a sense of protection rose in him.

Between him and Klavier, he was far more aware of what could happen and thus felt more responsible for Klavier's safety. So when the guards very clearly were starting to get the hell out of dodge, he immediately pulled Klavier along by the elbow.

“Hey, woah, wait, what’s happening-“

“Just run!”

The sharp tone of his voice was enough to convince Klavier that Simon wasn’t messing around, nor in the mood to be dealing with Klavier’s usual dramatics. And honestly, when someone like Simon tells you to run like he just did, you fucking run, and ask questions later. Both of them ran after the guards, trying to find the quickest and safest route to the nearest exit as more and more sirens and lights started blaring and going off.

This was not good. None of this was any good. Simon gave a whistle, sending Taka ahead. He very much preferred his bird to get out safely, and he just followed after the guards in a close manner until he found himself outside of the building.

He took a moment to catch his breath, hearing the door shut behind him and lock into place.

Wait a bloody minute.

Now, normally speaking, Simon Blackquill was a calm and collected individual. Smart and calculating and a great problem solver all in all.

But all of that was hard to hold onto when two guards shoved him away from the door the three of them had just gotten out of a few minutes ago, and as it had been locked Simon had come to an absolutely stomach dropping conclusion.

"Let me back in there!" his voice and volume making the demand sound like a roar.

"We can't, prosecutor Blackquill! We have to wait for back up!"

"We do not have the luxury of waiting for back up! Gavin-san is still in there! Let me back in!"

It only resulted in him being shoved back again and needing to find it within his own personal restrain to not knock the lights out of the guards. Honestly, it would help no one if they ended up arresting him for assaulting officers, least of all his coworker trapped on the other side of that locked door.

The other side..

He gave another quick whistle, signaling to Taka to do a search of the perimeter in the hopes that Klavier had made it out of the prison walls through some other emergency exit. Please, please, please be out there somewhere.

Well, the truth of the matter was; Klavier had honestly been right behind Simon for most of the time as the situation at the prison had escalated into a full blown riot. But as the inmates started to group up themselves and began to fight one another, one of those parties of inmates had managed to cut him off from the group and pushed him into a different direction all together.

"Where do you think you're going, prosecutor?" the leader sneered, closing in on him threateningly with clear malicious intent.

"Well, uh, geeh, would you look at the time, I've really got to-" and with no further warning Klavier lunged forward, pushing the leader of the group with brute force so that he stumbled backwards and fell, taking several other inmates with him in the fall. On the same beat Klavier turned on his heels and bolted down the hallway, clearing one of the corners at the t crossing in the corridor.

He didn't bother to look back for even a split second as voices behind him were quickly rising in anger. He dove away in a janitor's storage and shoved a heavy feeling box in front of the door, anything to give himself a moment to catch a breath.

"Right. I'm screwed if I don’t figure something out, so… What do I do now?"

Well, best plan of attack was to figure out where exactly in the building he was. Apparently faith was in a good mood today, because the janitor’s storage did have a map of the building framed on one of the walls. Quietly following the lines of where he was to where he was most likely to find an emergency exit, Klavier sounded out his plan wordlessly before his hand suddenly halted.

Oh. That would take him right past..

Well, there was no time to think about that for too long. It wasn’t like he was here on a pleasantry visit, he needed to get out before a bunch of inmates got to him- it wasn’t exactly like he had a lot of friends in here.

He shoved the heavy box away from the door when he was sure that no voices or footsteps were coming closer, and quickly slipped out and down the hallway where he needed to go.

Despite occasionally diving away in frightfully empty cells, Klavier made his way down to cellblock A. He promptly halted when he realized a particular cell was open, but it’s resident was still very much inside; sitting on the ground with their back against the wall, seemingly staring into nothing.

He looked downright awful. His long, platinum hair had been haphazardly and diagonally cut, leaving the right side of it much shorter than the left side. He didn’t seem to have his glasses on anymore, which would explain why he wasn’t doing much but blank staring at the wall in front of him through the open door of his cell- he wouldn’t be able to read any of the books in his extravagant cell if he had somehow managed to lose his glasses, the lines and words would just become one tangled blur. Even so, had he desired to do so, nothing would’ve stopped him from wandering out of his cell, joining the riot, or just straight up walking out.

Klavier took a few steps toward the cell, wondering for a moment if he should talk to him. But as he was shaking off that thought and decided it would be better to get the hell out of dodge, someone grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around before he got slammed into one of the walls of the hallway- hard enough to momentarily knock the wind out of him in a very involuntary yelp.

“Oh, did you think it was that easy?!”

Now at 6 foot even Klavier was far from small, and thanks to his work and hobbies decently in shape to boot. But the criminal in front of him stood at least four inches taller, if not more, and seemed to have made working out in the prison yard his favorite past time while in jail. The exact jail that Klavier, through his job, ended up putting this man in.

He tried pushing back to escape, but pretty much as soon as he had freed his hand it was harshly pinned to the wall behind him. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, almost literally, and feeling so incredibly cornered started a tidal wave of panic to flood up inside him that he hadn’t felt in many, many years. Maybe it was because of the literal years that had passed since he had felt his heart race in this much pure panic and fear, that he instinctively called for the same person he would’ve cried out for all that time back. “Kristoph!”

“Oh, such a tough guy you are, calling for your disgraced brother who spends most of his days counting the lines on the walls; He won’t come to help you, either.”

The literal cry for help was smothered as two very strong hands lunged around his throat and immediately applied pressure from every possible angle. He only vaguely realized he was partially lifted from the ground, much more preoccupied with desperately clawing at the hands that was squeezing his airway shut as much as it could.

As it had been applied, the pressure around his neck was gone just as quickly, even if it felt like it had been much lingering for much longer than he would’ve wanted. Klavier fell to his knees desperately gasping for air, before looking up to see what was happening as his assailant was now the one struggling for air.

Apparently, somewhere in their struggle that ended with Klavier being shoved into the wall, the chain necklace he always wore had been pulled off him by the muscular inmate and thrown off somewhere to the side. And while the clasp of it gave away as soon as it was yanked, a safety measure, that actual metal chain had now been wrapped around the guy’s neck and someone was pulling it tight to give the inmate a taste of the medicine he was dishing out.

The guy hadn’t been lying. Kristoph hadn’t really interacted much with the other inmates in the time he had been at this facility, rather getting lost in his own thoughts as he waited for the time to come where he would be transferred to someplace else. So lost in his thoughts, that he could often stare at the same spot for hours on end and nothing or no one seemed to be able to snap him out of it.

However a familiar voice had pierced through the fog in his mind; and the terror in Klavier’s voice had hit some incredibly deep, fundamental part of Kristoph’s being. It had been hidden away under layers upon layers of envy and despair that had cultivated over years, but in one fell swoop it was brought back to the surface. “Keep your fucking hands,” he started, his voice low and deep to a threatening degree especially with the venom and chill as he pulled the chain even tighter- really throwing his full weight into it, “ -off my brother.”

The final three words came out in an even lower growl; Kristoph had nothing left to lose, and had already crossed lines of which there was no coming back from. So he really had no qualms about strangling a guy to death if it meant sparing his younger brother from that same fate.

However, there was a problem. Kristoph stood somewhat taller than Klavier at 6’2 and was in pretty decent shape himself, but that meant little when the guy he had jumped on was still taller and broader than him. When the guy threw his head back, it sharply connected with Kristoph’s nose, breaking it with an almost sickening snap.

It threw Kristoph off, releasing the chain to reach for his nose which had started pouring blood. The sight, smell and sharp pain honestly just fueled the fire of his wrath, and when the assailant swayed back towards Klavier who was unsteadily shaking on his legs and still trying to get his breathing back to normal, it was almost as if someone pulled a red veil over Kristoph’s eyes.

He charged at the guy, harshly shoving his full bodyweight into the other’s side; pushing him further down the hallway so he was in between the attacker and his brother. His icy eyes were ablaze with a rage that had probably factored into everything he had done before- and now he had an actual reason to let it all out.

Klavier looked at his brother for a moment, almost feeling the wrath radiating off him; and at the same time fearing even that wasn’t enough to help either of them. He had to help, somehow, but what could he possibly do to- His eyes fell on Kristoph’s cell. He pushed himself up as much as he could, making his way over there and grabbing onto the chair that was standing there as well.

Meanwhile Kristoph had stopped the inmate from trying to lunge for Klavier yet again, but now found himself in a bit of a struggle as he was suddenly and unceremoniously flipped over and put in a headlock. After clawing at the offending arm for a split second and realizing he needed to be a lot harsher to get free, he pulled one of his arms forward before sharply throwing it backwards- his elbow aggressively connecting with some part of the attacker to the point where the grip on his neck was slightly loosened.

With a near feral snarl he bit down on the arm that had a hold on him; hard, with the intention to draw blood or worse. He really sunk his teeth in, paying no mind to the screams of pain that it got from the other inmate.

He was free for a moment before he was shoved to the ground, flipped over and promptly found two hands around his neck pressing down with force. But with both hands occupied, the other inmate couldn’t protect himself from the aggressive manner Kristoph tried to break free.

Nails were scratching at any piece of skin they found, and one of Kristoph’s clawed hands made its mark on his attacker’s face, when a harsh sounding “Thwonk!” echoed through the hall and the assailant finally collapsed.

“Get off me,” Kristoph growled, shoving the guy off and away from himself, only to then notice what had actually happened.

Klavier stood there, trembling from the whole ordeal, his hands firmly holding the goat statue that usually sat on one of the shelves in Kristoph’s bookshelf. With how much his hands were shaking though, he lost his grip on the statue slowly but surely, and it eventually hit the floor with a loud sound.

“Is.. Is he…?”

“Doubt it. You didn’t exactly pull through on that hit.”

Kristoph got back up, seemingly regaining his composure as he looked at his little brother- who looked worse for wear. This was absolutely no place for him, especially not with what was currently going down. He looked down the hallway that was no doubt Klavier’s intended escape route, thinking for a moment.

“Kristoph-“ “8695.”

Despite everything, Klavier managed to still feel some level of worry for the state his brother was in; that bloody nose really did not look good. But he just blinked at his brother, confused at the sudden series of numbers thrown at him while Kristoph simply pointed down the hallway. Kristoph’s free hand subconsciously shot up to wipe away blood from his upper lip, but he didn’t truly seem to notice.

“West door’s your best chance. Down the hall, left, right, right, straight ahead until you reach it. 8695. Door code. Go.”

“But-“

“Go.”

The tone of his brother’s voice was enough to make Klavier start running, but halfway down the hall he stopped for just a second and quickly turned around.

“… Danke.”

Before Kristoph even had a chance to yell at him to fucking bolt already, Klavier was gone. With the silence returned he suddenly felt himself reaching up to his nose as the pain returned with an angry vigor.

“… Ow.”

Oh, that was not a good feeling in the slightest. It was sore, throbbing, and made a noise it wasn’t supposed to make when touched. He heard a grunt from somewhere below him, and instinctively kicked the inmate hard in the side out of anger for his bleeding injury

“Shut up,” he growled. “You’re getting on my nerves.”

A trip to the infirmary might be a good idea, even if just for something to stop the bleeding of his nose, hadn’t people raided the place already. And of course, who would be there but the last person he actually wanted to see. Kristoph rolled his eyes so hard it almost felt like they would get stuck, when the much broader built brunet looked at him.

"Ai, mon ami, did they damage your pretty face?"

"Jacques-" Kristoph started, before a hiss of pain left him. His nose was starting to hurt more and more, and the blood was still dripping down though it had thankfully lessened since he got there. Still, it was painful, and he didn’t want to touch it because he absolutely did not like the crackling noise it made when he did- never mind the pain when any pressure was applies. So he just watched for a moment as Jacques grabbed the singular icepack still left in the chaos of the infirmary. Oh, hell no.

"Don't touch me," Kristoph growled, before easily being shoved into a nearby chair as Jacques seemingly remained unimpressed by the near feral behavior of his fellow inmate.

"Move your hand."

"I swear to God if you touch me I'll fucking kill you."

"Let me help you, connard, or do you want to keep walking around like this?!"

Okay, that was a fair enough point. Plus, Jacques played sports; pretty much all of them. It was a fair bet to assume that he knew what he was doing when it came to injuries like this; surely he would’ve had to deal with a basketball to the face every once in a while. So Kristoph resigned himself to listening to his advice- he just knew he was going to protest the whole way. Also, he felt like whatever he was just called in French was probably not a nice thing to be called.

"Lean forward. Better to not have all that blood drain into your throat. Breathe through your mouth."

With an annoyed huff Kristoph leaned forward, feeling the bruises left on his body protest as he did. Figures, that as the adrenaline was leaving he was starting to feel more and more miserable. And honestly, there was currently only one person in the vicinity that he could take it out on.

"Great, I'm a mouth breather like you, now. How ironic."

Jacques simply didn't reply to that insult, looking for something to wrap the icepack with. The last thing he wanted was to create frostbite- if only to save himself from being actually murdered by the former defense lawyer. When he found it, he turned back to Kristoph, who did honestly look a bit worse for wear. He walked back over, easily grabbing a chair along the way and sitting down next to him.

"You're not going to like this."

"I already don't- Ow, Scheiße!"

Yeah, the first connection of the sudden cold of the wrapped icepack to the injury was not that great of a feeling, actually. A sharp hiss left the blond and Jacques only barely avoided the clawed hand thrown his way. Kristoph forced himself to take a few deep breaths through his mouth to try and regain his composure.

"You good?"

"No, you stupid-"

"Aw, you'll be fine, pretty boy. Just some bruising that’ll go down if you ice it properly; and no contact sports for three weeks."

The deepest, most annoyed groan left Kristoph, as his gaze towards the French man turned straight into a scowl. Heavens above, this guy was just so ungodly annoying.

"I don't play sports, you asshole."

"So you should be fine, then- Let me see."

Jacques momentarily removed the icepack, taking a quick look at the other's nose. It would have been better if he could actually touch it to see if anything was misaligned, but he was pretty sure he would get bitten if he tried that. Oh, it was absolutely going to bruise, for sure; but as far as he could tell nothing seemed to be out of place.

"You'll be fine, nothing seems crooked."

"Seems? How reassuring."

Jacques ignored that, glad to see that the bleeding had stopped in the meantime. He just pushed Kristoph back a little, elevating his head- while also ignoring the hissing and protests coming from the other before pressing the icepack back in place.

"Y'know, you could just say merci."

"Fahr zur Hölle."

"I’ll just assume that’s not a nice thing to say and we’ll call it even on what I said before, oui?”

Klavier found himself momentarily against a wall, trying to catch his breath while simultaneously trying to ignore the pain in the back of his torso and around his neck. God, he just wanted to get out of here. What had Kristoph said again? 8695, yeah, okay, that was the door code. Was it two lefts and a right? Wait. No. One left and two rights. Ow.

He had to get out. He just had to. He grimaced in pain for a moment, but pushed through it to run down and take two right turns before running straight ahead to the door that would hopefully let him back out into freedom.

And it did; as soon as he typed in the four digit code the door unlocked. He threw it open, ran outside and threw it shut behind him. He then sank down to the ground, sitting on the small steps with his back against the door. He felt his breath choke somewhere in his throat, as the gravity of the whole ordeal very suddenly sank in all at once- and with that panic crashing in him he barely noticed the bird of prey circling overhead.

Taka quickly flew off to alert Simon with a screech, immediately flying back over to Klavier and landing right next to the prosecutor. While the bird usually didn’t care much for people other than his owner, he also didn’t react in a negative way when a hand was placed on him. He just fluffed up, allowing the petting to happen.

“Gavin!”

Simon arrived to the spot mere moments later, letting out a sigh of relief when he finally found Klavier outside of the prison building. However, his relief quickly turned to concern when he saw how Klavier was trying to keep everything together, and more importantly, when he saw the bruises that were starting to form around the other’s neck.

He carefully approached, crouching down to be on the same level as Klavier and gently tapping his knee to get his attention.

“Are you alright?”

Well, the gaze thrown at him told him enough. Simon got back up from his crouched position, reaching a hand out to Klavier as an offer to help him up. It was accepted, and with a gentle pull he helped the other prosecutor back on his feet. Klavier stood there for a moment, seemingly in a daze, before stepping forward and pressing his face into Simon’s shoulder.

Simon froze in response, even more so when two arms were wrapped around him and ten fingers desperately clutched onto the fabric of the long coat he always wore, right below his shoulder blades. Oh, he was not good at giving comfort in this kind of way.

But at the same time, Klavier had obviously been through quite an ordeal- the marks were rather telling and so was the trembling of his body. Simon held back a sigh, awkwardly moving his arms in an unsure manner until he decided to very lightly pat a shoulder. That seemed like the best option, to just give Klavier a moment to pull himself back together.

“You.. uh.. want to tell me what happened?” he asked, not entirely sure what else to ask.

“… Ran into my brother.”

“Oh. Did he-“

“No. I think- I would’ve died if he hadn’t interfered but.. I don’t want to unpack that, right now.”

Klavier sighed, pushing himself back up and away, releasing the other prosecutor in the process. Sure, the embrace had been somewhat awkward, but also appreciated. Because honestly, a part of Klavier had been scared that he would never get out again, that some other person with a vendetta would’ve found him and finished the job.

And, in all honesty, compared to all that; Simon had been a sight for sore eyes.

“… Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Mh, it is alright.”

Right in that moment, they both turned to the sound of a red car coming to a screeching halt- Oh. Oh no. Klavier recognized that car in a heartbeat, for it was an absolute beauty that only one person was brave enough to drive around town.

“You told Herr Edgeworth?!” he asked incredulously, turning to Simon as he did.

“No, he called me-“

“Oh tell me you told him some kind of white lie and he bought it?!”

“Wha- Thank you for your unwavering faith in my abilities, Gavin-san, but if you think I had any choice other than to tell the Chief Prosecutor the truth-“

“Ach verdammt nochmal, Herr Samurai!“ Klavier groaned, immediately buttoning his shirt up so the marks on his neck were mostly hidden- he really didn’t want to have this particular talk with Edgeworth right about now. The Chief Prosecutor however made a beeline directly to the two prosecutors, honestly relieved that they were okay but upset about the turn of events.

“Are you two alright?! I heard- what happened to your neck?”

Klavier felt himself huff in surprised disbelief, only to realise he had actually forgotten a button and thus a small part of the rapidly spreading bruise was visible from above his collar.

“… Herr Edgeworth, can we please discuss this some other time? I honestly just want to go home..”

#Drifting writes things

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basicjetsetter · 4 years ago

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The Rise of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Language, Adult Themes, Violence, +18 Smut (If you are under age, please do not read this).

♢ Word Count: 7.2k

☆ A/N: Okay, so I got a little carried away. This is such an indulgent mess, I love it to pieces. If you haven’t read The Fall yet, I suggest you read it before you get to this part. It takes a while to setup, but I promise it’ll be worth it. Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading! (P.S. I like these two characters so much, I might just write some more moments for them).

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

You’re not a great poker player.

In fact, compared to Peter and even Rumlow, your skills are subpar at best. The idea of betting everything on chance rankled the very fibers of your being, and you never could quite remember which hands beat which. But you were excellent at reading people.

It’s how you became New York’s best attorney. That, and because you were sharper than most people assumed you were.

Exhibit A: Rumlow.

You have to give it to him, though. He was initially difficult to read.

Earlier in the game, you tried to gauge his tells as he demolished Peter. Everyone reacts when they have a good or bad hand, whether they’re aware of it or not. As an attorney, you study your clients, plaintiffs, and sometimes the theoretically impartial jury for their tells—how they react to damning information, or rather, how they choose not to react.

The truth is in their eyes. The way they hunch their shoulders. Touch their face. Purse their lips. Breathe. Everything is a tell.

Rumlow’s whole personality screams dominant knowing, and he strategizes that way. Like he’s seen your hand before you even pick up the cards.

He plays too smart. And when he’s drunk, it becomes all the more apparent.

The way he rubbed his bottom lip before bargaining the final bet, slow and methodical, sealed the game against him. It’s not much to go off of for some, but for you, it’s more than enough. It’s a nervous habit—the movement confirming that his hand isn’t crap, but it isn’t the best, either.

You glimpsed down at your hand, then back up to Rumlow with a pleasant expression.

No, you aren’t a good poker player. But Peter is.

“Save your time, sweetheart. Let’s just get this over with,” said Rumlow, leaning back in his chair. It creaked under his muscular weight. “Fold.”

You arched an eyebrow, then crossed one leg over the other, causing the hem of your dress to ride up and show a decent amount of skin. “Don’t I get to place a bet of my own? You know, just in case my hand is better.”

Rumlow’s eyes predictably feasted on your exposed skin before he dragged them back up to your face. “What makes you think your hand is gonna be better than mine?”

“Indulge me, Brock,” you nearly purred, internally gagging as Rumlow’s breathing became labored. “If you know your hand is better, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I just want to have a little fun.”

Part of you is grateful that Peter is handcuffed in the back of a police car, not here to witness your attempt at seduction. You needed to do it while Rumlow is still drunk enough to fall for it.

Rumlow contemplated your words for a split second, eyes dipping down once more to relish the sight of your skin while his thumb repeatedly ran over the top of his cards. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

He finally said, “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

Saccharine venom oozed into your words as you held a charming smile. “When I win, you’re going to give me $20 million, all of your inventory and routes to Peter, and I want your promise that the Scorpions will no longer operate in New York. You can go be someone else’s problem.”

The smug light fizzled out of Rumlow’s eyes, and his mouth hardened into a flat line. “Not going to happen.”

“And why not?” you asked innocently. You’re having way too much fun with messing with Rumlow’s head. “What’s so different about my demand from yours?”

“You don’t think you’re asking for too much?”

You leaned forward, letting your eyes slowly roam over his face before settling on his dark eyes, loving the way it made him uneasy, then said matter-of-factly, “Not at all. If you want everything from Peter, then I want everything from you. Only seems fair. That is, of course, if you want to renegotiate your previous proposal…?”

Rumlow sat up in his chair, staring too hard into your face. Searching for a crack in your armor. He wasn’t going to find anything that wasn’t already there. You’re sincere and know next to nothing about manipulating a game of luck, and it showed all over your face, clear as day. He’s got nothing on you.

“What is this?” He looked around the room as if there were hidden cameras on the walls, looked at the clueless faces of people spectating the game.

Tony muttered, “Well, this was supposed to be a party, but I’d say we’re miles away from that—ouch!” He groaned as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs.

“What do you think this is?” you questioned him back using the same inflection.

Rumlow’s head snapped back to face you, his eyes practically pitch-black. “A fucking setup.”

“It’s just a game, Brock. That’s all it is.” You’re surprised at how serene you sound because your heart is leaping around in your chest, about ready to burst free and fly away from the excitement of it all, but you’re conscious enough to keep the surprise off your poker face. “Do we have a deal or not?”

He filled his lungs with a ragged breath, expelling it out of flared nostrils. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Strategized. “$25 million. Everything else stays the same. His routes. His connections. You.”

You nod once. “And you accept my wager?”

Rumlow begrudgingly nodded. His knuckles turned white from clenching his cards.

“On three, we show our hands,” you said and waited, giving him one last chance to object. He doesn’t; he just keeps his hawk-like stare trained on you.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

You both turn your cards over at the same time.

Rumlow’s hand shows a Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven, all clubs. Straight Flush.

Peter’s hand shows a King, Queen, Jack, Ten, and an Ace, all hearts. Royal Flush.

“Bullshit!”

Rumlow shot up from his chair, threw his cards to the floor, and snatched the gun from one of his men, aiming it at you.

Gasps filled the room, and you’re certain you heard Tony shout your name in alarm. Just as they’d done with Peter, the venue's guards raised their weapons at Rumlow and his men.

You broke out into a fit of giggles. There were uncontrollable, bubbling from your lips and almost doubling you over. Maybe it was your nerves finally getting the best of you, or perhaps it was the dumbfounded shock on Rumlow’s face as he pulled a gun on you. Either way, you didn’t have a hope of taming them.

Rage intensified the crimson flush on Rumlow’s face. He barked out, “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

You struggled to pull it together. “Di-Did you honestly think you could beat Peter at poker, of all things? Seriously? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you were dense, but geez.”

“He cheated. Ain’t no way he got that hand. Ain’t no fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, trying hard to stifle the giggles. “You said it yourself. Peter's a lucky son of a bitch.”

Rumlow took a minute to process the loss, eyes spacing out while the gun remained pointed at you. Your giggles died down as you sat patiently, drumming your fingers against your thigh and staring right back at the gun, uninterested. He wouldn’t shoot you. Not if he valued his life.

If Peter were here, you knew he’d be proud. Furious, yet proud.

At last, the arrogance returned to Rumlow’s smile, and he scoffed, “Congratulations, I guess. But um, I don’t really have to give you anything, you know. All bets have been word of mouth, nothing written down.”

Your smile never faltered. “Don’t do that, Brock. That isn’t how this works, and you know it. You were fully expecting Peter to hand me over to you with a nice, shiny gift bow taped to my ass and $25 million. Right? Or are you pointing a gun at me just because you feel like it?”

Rumlow shrugged with one shoulder. A hint of his anger traced his features before it faded back into an impassive mask.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not giving you shit.”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. Be that way. But this is how it’s going to play out, regardless. You have three choices.” You ticked them off on your fingers. “One: You give me what I won and leave New York. Two: I sue your ass until you have nothing. Three: You get to deal with Peter. That last one won’t bode out too well for you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, snickering. “And what you gonna sue me for, sweetheart? Gambling?”

Your eyes firmed into a severe gaze as you spoke. “I had a nice little chat with Miss Shuri Udaku earlier.”

The dark look passed over his eyes again. A thick mask of indifference tried to hide his culpability before you could spot it, but you didn’t even need to see it in his face. The guilt in his tightened shoulder blared like a blinking neon sign.

Bullseye.

You forged on. “Now, if what Shuri told me is true, which, guessing by the look on your face, it must be, you’re in deep shit. And I’ll take an educated guess and presume she isn’t the only one you’ve…spoken with.”

You paused for him to defy your assumption. He remained silent, his jaw grinding.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you inquired with a faux mask of concern. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Rumlow’s eye twitched as he lowered the gun. Defeat heavy in his furrowed brows. “I’m gonna make you pay for this. You and him.”

“Just be sure to run me my money, first,” you said. A sly smirk curled up the corner of your mouth. “I want the whole amount by tomorrow, and I want you out of this state by the end of the week, got it?”

A snarl rumbled in his chest. “Got it.”

“Good,” you smiled brilliantly. “Now get your ass out of here. And take the Dynamic Duo with you.”

Everyone lowered their weapons as Rumlow and his two shadows stomped out of the Terrace Room. You watched their backs until they were no longer in your eyesight. It’s over. You won. A rise of applause swelled after the threat ultimately left the room, catching you off guard as you moved to retrieve Peter’s cards from the ground. You curtsied for them and offered a humbled grin.

A rush of adrenaline is humming through your veins, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You’re positive you could scale the Empire State Building without so much as a harness, just running on pure pent up energy. Maybe you should do this kind of stuff more often.

Steve was the first to come up to you, confusion laced in his blue eyes. “We’re letting him go? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“He pointed a gun at you!”

You brusquely scanned your unscathed body. “No harm, no foul, Lieutenant Rogers.”

“Jesus, you and that kid are a match made in Heaven,” Steve mumbled, shaking his head in shock.

“Wouldn’t be marrying him if we weren’t. And thank you for reminding me…” You trailed off, heading in the direction of Tony and Pepper.

You had to tell Tony the truth about you and Peter before your nerve wore off, or else you’d never find the courage to ever say it straight to his face. Even as you trudged over to him, a leaden ball of anxiety smothered your chest.

Shuri sprang at you without warning, tightly hugging you and jumping up and down as she squealed, “That was so awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you said mirthfully.

“It was everything! That man’s been breathing down my neck for months about those weapons. I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing him. I can’t thank you enough.” As you broke apart, she handed you an embossed card. “If Peter is interested, I would love to have a meeting with him. Maybe we could all catch lunch.”

“He is definitely interested. I’ll be sure he calls you,” you assured, beaming her a friendly smile.

She nodded in agreement then waved her goodbyes, walking away to find her companions.

Everything always falls right into place for Peter.

You shook your head in awe as you made your way over to Tony and Pepper again, this time scanning your surroundings to ensure no one else ambushed you. Once you were close enough, they both threw their arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a protective embrace.

“We’re so glad you’re okay, sweetie,” said Pepper as she rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back.

“Don’t you ever pull something like that again, you hear me?” Tony chastised, his tangible relief choking up your throat. He pulled away to look into your eyes thoroughly. “I almost had a heart attack watching that. How could you just stare at the guy as he held a gun to you? You didn’t flinch or anything. I swear you’re turning into a different person right before my—”

You blurted out, “I’m marrying Peter.”

Tony blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the floodgates bursting open as you spilled everything.

“He proposed three months ago, and I said yes because I am in love with him, Tony. I am in love with Peter Parker, and I know you hate his guts because of what he does, but I don’t care. And…” you stopped, sucking in a deep breath to steady your trembling words. “And I don’t care if me loving him means you hating me. You’re like a father to me, and I respect you, but I won’t continue to let you badger me about being with Peter.”

Tony interjected, “Woah, woah, woah, pump the brakes. Where did you get the idea that I’d ever hate you for being with Parker?”

Both you and Pepper raised an eyebrow at Tony, a universal look that easily translated to Your words said it all.

“Alright, sure, I never really liked the kid. He’s this devious little mastermind who circumvents the law to get what he wants and somehow even got you. But I can hate him and still love you, hon.”

You coughed up a laugh partly because of your relief and partly because of how ridiculous Tony was. “I want you to tolerate him at least. That means no more bringing up the fact that I am his Personal Attorney, no more threats of arrest, and no more nicknames.”

Tony sighed and said, “Okay to the first two, but I can’t make any promises for the nicknames. Baby-faced Criminal has a nice ring to it.”

Your smile brightened. “Deal.” You stepped back into his hug, pressing your face against his shoulder and exhaling. Finally, having the truth out in the open felt like releasing a breath you held in for three long months.

You heard Tony add, “ ‘Sides, I already knew you were engaged.”

“What?” you screeched, stepping back. “What do you mean you already knew?!”

“First of all, ouch,” Tony groused as he rubbed at the ear you accidentally screamed in. “Second of all, Pepper is not really that great at hiding wedding preparations as she thinks she is. And Parker came to me about four months ago.”

You’re so shocked you forgot to breathe, involuntarily pulling in a long drag of air as it dawned on you that your tormented lungs screamed for oxygen. “What—what do you mean Peter came to you?”

“Your young man thought it proper to ask me for my blessing before popping the big question, and I may have expressly told him to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle.” At your expression, he quickly added. “Well, he didn’t!”

“It’s just—He never told me that he asked.” You omitted the part where Peter held your refusal to tell Tony about the engagement against you. Tony wouldn’t understand Peter’s motives any more than you could. But you were going to make him explain himself.

A brief impression of chagrin flashed in Tony’s eyes. “I admit I wasn’t that forthcoming about it. He probably thought it’d be better to keep it to himself than tell you I said no.”

That’s not what it was, but you hummed in agreement anyway.

“Welp, my party mood’s long gone,” Tony stated, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. “Anybody else up for some Shawarma?”

| Next Morning |

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

One of the guards, a new hire with a tag reading Lang, shadowed you as you walked out of the detention center’s lobby and into the bustling dayroom, then up to Peter’s cell. An untrained eye wouldn’t notice the guard’s careful proximity, and an untrained ear wouldn’t hear his trepid footsteps. You knew better.

Your fiancé is many things, and cautious just happens to be a large part of his make-up. None of the inmates lounging around the dayroom dared to glance your way, not because of the authoritative figure trailing behind you, but because of Peter and his imposing rap-sheet.

While Lang’s presence was somewhat reassuring on your way around the crowded cells, you didn’t need the security detail. You weren’t afraid of anyone in this facility. The moment you propositioned to be his attorney, he should’ve known you weren’t one to be easily rattled.

When you stood in front of Peter’s cell door, Officer Lang moved up close enough to smack the door twice, then placed the key in the lock. As the heavy metal door swung open, you weren’t sure what you might see.

He’s been away from the action, holed up in here all night. A tiny part of you expected Peter to be pacing the floor, running his hands through his hair and wringing them together in distress, beads of sweat trickling down his neck as he counted the seconds to your arrival. You wondered what it would be like to witness God panicking.

What you saw made you smile. Peter, sitting on his squalid mattress with his body propped up against the wall, his eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, is sound asleep. Some of his brown curls are slightly lying over his forehead, giving him the perfect air of innocence.

Lang took a half step through the door, poked his head in the room, and loudly sang, “Wakey, wakey, Parker! You’re sprung.”

Peter jolted up from his position, looking around as if he forgot his bearings. The moment his eyes landed on yours, a sly smirk slid onto his lips, and the air of innocence vanished.

“Took you long enough.”

He got up from his bed with a low groan, stretching out the kinks in his neck. His dress shirt from last night is has a few more buttons open, exposing his black undershirt, and his shoes are in the corner of the room. The guards didn’t bother giving him a change of clothes because they knew he’d be out in less than 24 hours.

“I could always leave you in here, Mr. Parker,” you said, a small, teasing smile playing at your lips.

Peter grinned back at you, then retrieved his shoes. Lang stood against the wall like a statue, head forward and hands crossed in front of him.

When he was out of the cell, and Lang locked the door behind him, Peter addressed Lang. “She can take it from here, Scott.”

And just like that, Lang’s stoic face melted into a rueful grin as he mockingly saluted Peter and walked off, leaving the two of you alone.

Your mouth gaped for approximately two seconds before you caught on. “You hired him to play pretend-cop?”

“Oh no, Scott works here.” Peter slipped his shoes on and unbuttoned the rest of his dress shirt’s buttons. “He just also happens to work for me while working here.”

You wanted to ask how many Scotts he had in this facility but thought against it, deciding to quietly lead him out of the dayroom and into the lobby. No one acknowledged your departure. Every single one kept their heads down and tended to business as usual.

Peter’s driver, Flash, leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. Once he saw you both approach, he stamped it out and immediately opened the back seat door for you and Peter.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, always overly cheerful.

Peter clapped Flash on the shoulder and said, “Hey, man. How you doing?”

“Good, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Dude, we talked about this. Stop calling me ‘sir’ so much. It’s getting weird.”

Flash automatically nodded, saying, “Right, sorry about that,” before closing the door behind Peter. He’d call Peter ‘sir’ again by tomorrow.

Peter groaned in instant satisfaction as he sank into the leather seat. It’s a low and throaty sound, and you felt its vibrations all the way to your core, leaving a flustered mess for longer than you’re proud to say. Two years you’ve been with this man, and the lust hasn’t dimmed.

Peter got right to the point. “So, how’d it go?”

You smirked contentedly, flattening your hands across the lap of your pencil skirt. “You are $20 million richer. And you have the Scorpions’ trading routes and connections, along with a guarantee eviction by the end of the week.”

“20 million… Damn, baby, I knew you were a hustler, but that’s in-fucking-sane!” Peter whooped, turning in his seat to face you fully. His face radiated with excitement. “I bet Rumlow’s pissed.”

“Oh, yeah. He was pissed, alright. He tried renegotiating, then tried to worm out of it. It was fun to watch him squirm.” You’d never mention the part where Rumlow pulled a gun on you to Peter. Not because you cared for Rumlow’s safety in any way, but because you’ve seen how Peter reacts when someone threatens his loved ones, and you never want him to go down that dark tunnel again.

Peter leaned his head against the headrest and wistfully said, “Wish I could’ve been there. Stark didn’t give you a hard time for gambling, did he?”

The topic shift smacked you with the remembrance of what happened last night, what Tony had said. It shouldn’t have kept you up all night, but you tossed and turned with the nagging fact that Peter both hid his confrontation with Tony and had the nerve to pester you about not telling Tony something that he already knew.

For a while, you stayed up wondering why Peter even brought it up at dinner. What was his purpose? Why act cold towards you if there wasn’t a reason? Or was it even an act? Did he genuinely resent you that much for being anxious about telling Tony? Would you ever see that side of Peter again? So indifferent, so cruel. So quick to discard you.

The rest of the night, you replayed over and over how he ignored you, how he minimized you. That wasn’t part of the plan. Most of what happened before the cards got into your hands played out unexpectedly, and you understood why that had to be at some degree, but the ambiguity of it all ticked you off. Did he not trust you?

When he dismissed you, you actually thought about leaving him there alone. Was that not real?

That ache in your chest was real.

“Babe?” Peter waved his hand in front of your face. “Babygirl? What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his. They strayed to your lap, refusing to move even as Peter hesitantly took hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. He emphatically called your name a few times, worry intensifying more and more as an unspecified amount of time passed. Peter never dropped his hand. His thumb caressed your chin while he waited for you to speak, knowing you would.

The desire to verbalize took longer than you expected. There just didn’t seem to be a right way to say what was weighing on your mind. Outright confronting him with only inference to go off of felt childish, but so did beating around the bush. You ultimately chose to address the subject of your silence.

In a tense voice, you said, “Tony told me that you asked for his permission to marry me.”

About thirty seconds ticked away. Peter sighed, “Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?”

You nibbled on your lower lip, then brought your eyes up to meet his. Mild concern drowns his warm brown eyes, somehow increasing their depth, and frown lines creased his forehead. If this were one of your typical squabbles and he stared at you with those damn eyes, you’d have been a goner.

“No.” You shook your head to clear the effect of his gaze. “I’m upset that you asked Tony and then proceeded to act like I had an obligation to tell him something you already told him. And then you got so mad about it last night…” you trailed off in a whisper, recalling his restrained animosity, something you never thought you’d experience with him.

“I wasn’t actually mad,” he rushed.

“So you were pretending?” You asked lamely, feeling the ghost of last night’s ache lash around in your chest. “All that wasn’t real? Ignoring me? Snatching your arm away from me? Dismissing me?”

He insistently shook his head, brown curls swaying across his forehead. “None of it.”

To you, the truth is almost as bad as the lie.

“It felt real to me.” Your voice sounds so small, it’s humiliating. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, severing the eye contact again. “The fact that you couldn’t just tell me that that’s what you were doing beforehand makes me feel like… like you don’t trust me. Like you’re willing to sacrifice my feelings for some stupid game. Like I’m a pawn.”

“Fuck,” Peter cursed, running a swift hand through tousled his hair. “No, baby, that’s not it. Come ‘ere.”

Peter reached over the divider and pulled you into his lap despite your attempt to scoot away. You didn’t want him holding you, consoling you because even if you tried your hardest to resist him, an irrational part of your brain would immediately relent to his closeness.

You stiffened at the touch of his hand rubbing small circles on your lower back, then loudly to clear your throat. “What is it, then?” You spoke to him as if he were one of your clients. Professional. Distanced. But you couldn’t look into those eyes.

“I was giving you an alibi,” he confessed, not fazed by your tone. “In case anything went wrong. We needed to look distant so Rumlow wouldn’t catch on to how coordinated everything was.”

Okay, that’s nowhere near the answer you were expecting. Because, of course Peter would come up with a convoluted explanation that only made sense to him. Irritation rose in you like a brewing storm as you peered straight into his eyes, ignoring the visceral pull as they locked on you.

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m a grown-ass woman who can handle shit by herself? I didn’t need a fucking alibi, Peter,” you said, indignation souring your tone. “What, did you think I was going to fuck up that bad?”

“No,” said Peter firmly. When you scoff, he persists. “I mean it. I was just—I was just trying to look out for you.” He held your chin again, applying a slight amount of pressure to keep your eyes on him. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I love that about you. Sometimes, though, I want to be there for you as much as you’re there for me, if not more.”

You stubbornly held your tongue. You’re not going to cave with a simple apology… no matter how sincere it sounded.

Peter leaned in closer, poorly hiding his smirk as he heard your breath hitch while his lips skimmed up your neck. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “I apologize for not considering your feelings.” He placed a tiny kiss on the crook of your neck, trailing the tip of his nose against your jawline. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark.”

An undeniable heat flickered to life within you, building as Peter’s actions grew enticingly bold. The pads of his fingers glide up and down your stocking-clad thighs, and each motion brought his hands down further and further until his whole, warm palms flattened down to massage your calves and thighs. Unknowingly, you inclined your neck to allow him to access a larger expanse of your skin.

Any resolve you cemented against Peter crumbled as a pair of lips outlined the shell of your ear. His voice comes out hoarse when he speaks, hoarse and deliberate. “I trust you with everything I have. You know that, don’t you?” His lips hover dangerously near yours.

You exhaled out a breathy, “Yes.” You do know that. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to hold those cards but you, wouldn’t trust anyone else bargaining with his assets but you.

Peter held your lowered gaze steady as he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you up so you fully straddled him, your pencil skirt elastic enough to permit marginal movement. A low whine emitted from your throat as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, then pulled away to stare at you, using the full force of his immorally brown eyes.

“Can you forgive me?”

It’d be as simple as sin to whimper out a pathetic affirmative and let him off scot-free. Excruciatingly simple. You knew he meant every word, and you were glad he let you express your anger before apologizing. You wanted to forgive him. But your mind currently wasn’t on the same circuit as your mouth, refusing to utter a single word, wondering where that would get you.

“Hmm,” Peter hummed pensively, contemplating while a predatory grin crept onto his lips. “Guess I gotta work for it, then.”

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Your back arched up off the bed, and you toss your head back as you gutturally cried out Peter’s name for the fourth time.

The moment you two entered the house, Peter was on you, guiding you to the bedroom with his lips attached to yours and his hands groping your backside. His hands never left your body, and once they did, it was only to tear off his clothes. You weren’t sure what you signed up for, but something glinting in Peter’s eyes, an erotic passion you’ve encountered several times in your relationship, bespoke of an intense afternoon headed your way.

Before you could even guess what that might entail, you were lying on your back in the middle of the bed, and Peter was parting your legs open.

Currently, his grip on your bucking hips remains vice-like as he keeps his face planted between your quaking thighs, still lapping up the rest of your orgasm and staring you dead in the eyes with wicked lust.

Each time he made you cum, he’d huskily ask, “You forgive me?” The first time, you were cheeky, shaking your head with a tiny pout on your lips and eagerly wiggling your hips and tugging on the silky strands of his hair for more. The second time, your body ached wonderfully, and you lazily nodded your acceptance of his apology, but he didn’t stop, tightening his hold on the swells of your hips and delving his tongue through your silken folds. By the third time, you were religiously chanting, “I forgive you,” grasping the sheets for dear life as Peter solely sucked on your clit and salaciously groaned into your core.

On the fourth orgasm, your whole body is aflame, your fingers are desperately clutching Peter’s wrists, and you’re a blissed-out, gibbering mess with tears of ecstasy streaming out the corners of your eyes.

“You forgive me?” Peter rasped, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. He alternately kissed your inner thighs, sometimes gently sucking the skin until he left stinging love bites.

Knowing words were well beyond your reach, your jerkily bobbed your head up and down, gulping in air to calm your heaving chest.

A whine of relief breaks free when Peter finally lets go of your hips and leads a sloppy trail of kisses up your abdomen, between the valley of your breasts, along your neck, your jawline, until he claims your lips in a sensually slow kiss, one that stole away your regained breath. You mewled into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. He lowered his body on top of yours, deliciously suffocating you with his body heat and his scent—an intoxicating aroma of smoky spice you only associate with Peter.

Your brain treads on a fine line near oblivion. All your mind can comprehend is Peter. His soft little grunts in your mouth, his toned chest brushing against yours, his hardened cock against your stomach as he ruts into you.

“I want you,” you panted, wanton need thick in your voice. You’re entirely spent, but you couldn’t help but crave more of Peter, couldn’t help but want him to thoroughly build you up only to tear you down all over again.

Peter teasingly nipped at your lips, mumbling, “Where do you want me?”

You let out an impatient, low-pitched groan. “Inside me, baby. Please, Peter.” Your hips angled up on their own accord, grinding your dripping core against his cock. “Please, fuck me.”

His eyes rolled back, mouth slightly agape, and his face pinched in pleasure—what a pretty sight. Your eyes drank him all in. You loved the way he squinches up his eyes, almost as if all the sensations are too much to process. You loved how the flush creeping up his neck turned his skin a lovely scarlet. You loved watching him try to be attentive to you while being so engrossed in his own bliss.

Unhurried, Peter took himself in his hand, then slid his length through your folds before guiding his tip to your entrance. He always liked to draw this moment so he could hear the desperate noises you’d make for him. Your whole body sang out for him, from the broken moans spilling from your lips to the constant, stuttering pitch in your hips.

At an agonizingly slow pace, Peter slid inside of you, hissing out a drawn-out Fuck. You jumped and gasped at the slight sting as he stretched you out, gripping onto his biceps and clenching around him as the sting built up to a toe-curling burn of ecstasy.

He stroked into you with painstaking emphasis, hitting a deep spot within you that brought stars to your vision while capturing your lips in a blistering kiss. Your hands held his face as the kiss deepened, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths in carnal abandon. Yeah, it definitely tops the sex you had on the night he proposed.

Peter broke the kiss to dip his head down and favor the skin on your neck. His voice is a low murmur when he speaks, barely louder than your gasping breaths. “You forgive me?”

You practically sob out, “Yes! Yes, baby, I forgive you.” The flames are multiplying, licking up from your lower region and engulfing you as his strokes rock steadily.

“You know you’re my everything,” he grunted, sucking down hard on your skin and laving it with his tongue after you yelp his name.

Your heart flutters as you moan, “Yes.”

“Say it, baby,” Peter mumbled, an undercurrent of firmness in his voice. “I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’m your everything.” The things this man does to you…

“Good girl.” Peter’s hand wedged between your entwined bodies, reaching down to rub your overstimulated clit, watching the tremors shaking through your body as your mouth hung open in a silent moan. “I want you to remember that,” he ordered. “You’re my everything, and I’m sorry I”—grunt—“Fuck, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He carefully collects you in his arms before rolling over and putting you on top, wrapping his arms around your back so your bodies remain pressed together. Some of your twists cascade on either side of Peter’s face, but he doesn’t mind, keeping his head buried in the crook of your shoulder as he pumped up his hips, deeply thrusting into you.

“You feel so good, babygirl,” Peter said roughly, his hips picking up into a bruising speed. “So wet for me.” His hands slide down your back and squeeze your ass. “Always take me so well.”

All you could manage were needy, shameless whimpers in response as his dirty words, his scorching touch, his soft lips, his slick body against yours all sent you reeling towards a rapturous release. Every stroke brings you closer to the edge, and you know Peter isn’t far behind.

With some effort, you drag yourself up to sit on Peter’s cock and brace your hands on his chest, lolling your head back as the new angle allowed him to hit a deeper spot within you.

Peter admired you through half-lidded eyes. “So fucking beautiful.”

You mustered up a beaming smile for Peter, then set your focus on riding him with the little energy you had left, slowly bouncing up and down on his thick length and loving the quick hitch in Peter’s breath as you took control. You wanted to see him writhe underneath you as he came inside you, wanted to see his pretty lips part as he called out your name. You’re so close, it’s maddening, but you’re waiting for Peter to fall off the edge with you.

As soon as Peter’s hips began to chase yours in a broken pattern and a repeated mixture of your name and fucks streamed out of his mouth, your climax slammed into you, slightly choking you up as you came with a high-pitched, quivering gasp and cried out, “Peter!”

Peter’s crashed down on him with the same force. His hips stalled for an instant before jerking up into you one last time, your name tumbling from his lips in a hoarse groan as he filled you with his hot, sticky cum. It feels as if you’re riding the wave of your orgasm for hours, and you blissfully drown in it. Savor it. Bask in the absolute pride of knowing that this man is yours and yours alone even though you have yet to seal it with the promise of ‘for as long as you both shall live.’

The comedown is a sluggish process, like trying to swim the length of a 10-foot pool of honey. Your heart rate is the first to slow down into a stable rhythm, then the raucous hum singing in your body simmers down to a delicious buzz whose sole purpose is to remind you of the five breathtaking orgasms Peter drew out of you. Every part of your body aches when you merely think about moving, so you cave and slump onto Peter’s torso, eliciting an amused oomph from Peter as he wraps an arm around your waist. When he pulls out of you, his cum smears a sticky trail in between your thighs.

Peter brushes away some of your twists from your face to press a gentle kiss to your perspired forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo back, leaning up a little to peck his jawline. You snuggle up closer so your head rested on his shoulder. “And I really do forgive you. Your intentions were pure, and I know you were just trying to protect me.” You reach up and grab his chin, making him look into your eyes. “But I want your complete trust, Peter. Trust that I can handle things on my own.”

“From this point on, you have my whole trust,” Peter promised. He took hold of your hand, entwined your fingers together, and then put your hands over his heart. Its slow thud matched yours. “You have my word. No more alibis.”

You laughed tiredly. “Thank you.”

For a while, you two just stayed in each other’s embrace, your eyes falling as Peter’s finger lazily traced an infinity sign around your knuckles. You’re still buzzing, and you know you should roll out of bed to wash up, but you try to save these soft moments in your memory, to help remind you of the kind man who can be, at times, too cruel for words. That’s when he’s Deus. Right now, he’s your Peter.

Seconds away from succumbing to sleep, a thought occurs to you, and you quietly ask, “Hey, babe?”

Peter sounds wide awake. “Yeah?”

“Did Tony literally tell you to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle when you asked him for his approval?”

He snickered. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Go to hell, Parker. Better yet, why don’t you do us all a favor and take a swim in the Bermuda Triangle, and become a cold case?’”

Geez, Tony. You bit your lip. “And you still asked me to marry you anyway, even though he didn’t approve?”

“I was going to, regardless,” Peter murmured, and you could hear a smile in his words. “I just wanted to try and, you know, see if I could make you a little happier. Me and Stark bump heads a lot, and I saw how it upset you, so I thought asking him for his permission would get us on the right track to some sort of civility. Wanted it to be a surprise if he did say yes.”

Unexpected tears gathered in your eyes, and your chin wobbled. He tried for you. Had been trying for you. He even noticed how his and Tony’s bouts caused you to be anxious about your future together and tried to mend the stupid rift between them, for your sake. You aren’t going to lie and say that you’re glad Tony refused. You wished with your whole heart that he could clearly see how much you loved Peter. But, from now on, you’re no longer going to be scared of what Tony thinks of Peter. You love him, and he most certainly loves you, and that’s all that matters.

You scooch up a little more and capture his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He’s only caught off guard for a second before kissing back, wrapping both of his arms around your waist. When Peter felt the wet tear tracks on your cheeks, he brought up his hands and wordlessly wiped them away.

As you pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his and said, “I can’t wait to marry you, Mr. Parker.”

Peter lightly rubbed the tip of your nose with his, replying, “I’m already yours, Mrs. Parker.”

#peter parker #peter parker au #mob!peter parker #mob!peter #peter parker x black!reader #black!reader #tom holland #peter parker smut #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #the fall and rise of deus #the rise of deus #peter parker x black reader #peter parker x reader #black reader

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yoonjinkooked · 5 years ago

Text

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien | Jimin

moodboard by the lovely and amazing @flajka, who was also my #1 helper and support through the torturous 10 month journey that this story was.

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Strangers to lovers, smut, romcom

Warnings: explicit sex, slight exhibitionism (fingering, out in the open but not in public, boat sex, oral (f and m receiving) brief but gory painting description, a lot of cursing, Jimin will end you Word Count: 19k+ Summary: You keep meeting a handsome stranger in Paris. One coincidence after another leads to the most amazing trip of your life A/N: This shit took 10 months to write. Thank @flajka, Kehlani and Jimin’s sexy Paris photos. Spotify playlists for this fic are: 1 / 2 / 3 - I had to separate them because you can’t put Edith Piaf on the same playlist as Ace Of Base. Hope you enjoy!

Looking up from the screen of your phone, you blink once, twice, three times – you are not where you are supposed to be and Google maps are the stupidest invention ever.

It took you two hours to find your Airbnb apartment yesterday, all because Google maps were not quite user friendly. Not to mention that your sense of direction was utterly pathetic.

Yet despite all of that, you were absolutely positive that finding ‘Shakespeare and company’ would be an easy task – after all, you were so close to it, having just spent 10 minutes mourning the fact that the Notre-Dame was still very much unapproachable. From there to the bookstore, the route should have been easy to follow but alas, it was not. Somehow, you have managed to confuse yourself even further.

Looking around in place, you breathe a sigh of relief when you see the green doors and a sign that tells you that perhaps your sense of direction isn’t as bad as you think it is – ‘Shakespeare and Company’.

There it is, the bookstore with such rich history, one of your must-see places in Paris, something that the ‘Midnight in Paris’ lover in you had to tick off the list – there it is, right before you and very much closed. You check the time, finding that it is almost nine – a quick Google search, which is something you should have done before leaving your apartment – tells you that it opens up at half past nine.

You don’t have time, you absolutely don’t have time to sit around and wait for it to open. It’s going to take you some time to reach the 7th Arrondissement and once you do get there, two museums await. Wasting time, waiting for a bookstore to open is not a luxury you can afford right now.

Perhaps you will have time before you leave. After all, you still have a week to spend in the city of light and although your plans are pretty strict and well-organized, you are aware that some changes are bound to happen. But you will leave that for the last day – right now, you only have a few minutes of your life to offer to a closed bookstore.

As you take photos of the famed location, you recall the comments your mother made before you left, about how a young woman shouldn’t travel alone in a foreign country. She had a point – one shouldn’t travel alone if they want to have at least one photo of themselves on the memory card. It sucks a bit but you don’t let it dampen your mood – you don’t need photos to preserve the memories. A selfie stick was always an option but it was also beneath you – something you’ve decided when they first appeared.

“Is it closed?” a voice asks from behind you, making you jump a bit, as you weren’t aware that you had company. The man looking at you seems to be about your age and a tourist, if the camera around his neck is anything to go by. The brief once-over you give him lets you know he is also unnaturally attractive.

“Yeah,” you tell him, offering him a compassionate smile when you see his expression sour. “It should open soon though – about half an hour, if Google is correct.”

“Thanks for the info,” he smiles, before he lifts up his camera and starts taking photos. You realize that the chit-chat is over, so you resume taking photos as well. Just a few seconds later, his presence gave you an idea.

“Hey, would you mind taking a photo of me?” you ask sheepishly, smiling when he nods his head at once. “I’m travelling alone and I just want at least one photo of me in the folder, you know?”

“I can relate,” he chuckles as he takes the camera from you. “How do you want to take it? Casually touristy, right in front of it or artsy, with you looking up at the sign in awe?”

“Artsy,” he laughs at your immediate response, to which you simply shrug. “When will I be artsy if not in Paris?”

“Touché,” he agrees, before directing you so that he can take a decent shot. “Turn a bit to the left.”

A few seconds later, it’s his turn. After settling your own camera around your neck, you take his and take a few photos of him as he stands in the same spot you did, looking up at the sign in fake awe. This gives you a chance to properly look at him for the first time. He is indeed handsome, insanely so. Dark brown hair swept away from his face, insanely clear skin and a jaw that could cut right through glass. Looking right at him is almost blinding and you rush to take the photos.

“All done,” you smile as you return the camera to him. “I think you have a few decent shots there.”

“Thanks,” he smiles as you adjust your backpack, ready to take your leave – Shakespeare will have to enjoy your company some other day. “Enjoy the rest of Paris.”

“Yeah, you too,” you smile back at the man, mumbling under your breath as you leave because it serves you right to meet the most handsome man ever half-way across the world.

By the time you finally escape the Parisian metro, you are dead tired. Musée Rodin was just as beautiful as ‘Midnight in Paris’ made it seem to be. You’ve spent the good part of the morning roaming it’s gardens, before finally moving onto Les Invalides, which housed the tomb of the oh so great Napoleon Bonaparte. That was arguably less exciting than Musée Rodin, with you actually giving up on it completely as soon as you saw his tomb. The comments you thought of while admiring the size of the tomb and him obviously carrying his complexes into afterlife were left to you alone, making you chuckle at random times and earning a few curious looks from your fellow tourists.

Your tourist escapades ended at Champ de Mars, with an impromptu picnic which included sitting on your jacket and eating a marvelous French feast made up from pre-packaged Starbucks caramel macchiato and salt&vinegar chips – mmm, so French it hurts. Originally, you wanted to wait for the infamous light show to start but after just an hour, you have already given up and made your leave, hoping not to get lost in the metro yet again.

Luckily, you didn’t. You were so tired by the time you got to the place you rented in the outskirts of Paris that you barely had the energy to shower. And tomorrow, with Versailles being your top priority, your day was bound to be even more tiring.

You are fuming, absolutely fuming, wanting nothing more than to curse out loud and stomp on the ground. You have been tricked and that was just the drop that made the glass overflow.

You woke up with a massive headache and after forcing yourself to eat a bit, you could finally drink medication. By the time you were ready to leave your rental apartment, the timetable you made for today was already long forgotten – you’re at least an hour late.

But that isn’t a problem. It’s not even the ever confusing metro, because somehow, with a lot of help from locals, you’ve managed to figure out where you should wait for the right ride to Versailles. All of it was a bit stress inducing but definitely not a problem. The real problem occurred when you were in front of the magnificent golden gates, which you couldn’t even see because of the massive line.

Clutching your fast pass ticket, you approach a smaller line leading to the entrance, hoping and praying that you weren’t wasting your time waiting there instead of in the massive crowd, hoping that your fast pass can actually let you pass, fast.

You were mistaken. Apparently, every single human being waiting in the long ass line also had the fast pass ticket. How long do people without a fast pass have to wait is a question you don’t even want to know the answer to. With a few huffs and puffs, you took your place in line, annoyed at anything and everything, starting from the stupid agency who sold you this worthless ticket, right down to your best friend who suggested taking this trip together, only to bail on you to let her boyfriend take her to Ibiza.

As if all of that was not enough to ruin your mood, rain had started to fall, damping your clothes enough so that they match your mood. At least you were ready for it, having read up about the unpredictable early summer rains of Paris and making sure to never leave the apartment without your hideously yellow umbrella.

An hour and a half later, you finally put the damn fast pass into use and enter the extravagant home of some Louis – you’re not ashamed to admit to not know which one. After all, you were about to learn.

The inside of the magnificent palace left you with mixed emotions, in all honesty. On one hand, it truly is as grand and striking as you had always imagined it to be. On the other hand, the crowd was killing you. Teens running around and touching things they shouldn’t be touching, people looking at everything through the screen of their phones and cameras instead of actually looking… It all left you feeling a bit on edge and wishing you had a chance to attend a private tour or something. Knowing that you will probably experience the same thing later today in the Louvre wasn’t helping either.

Every time you would pass a window, you found yourself wanting to be outside and after an hour of torture and not being able to enjoy anything, you have finally given up – fuck the rain, fuck it all – most people are still inside to avoid the rain after all and you do have your trusted umbrella with you.

Stepping into the gardens of Versailles was the best decision you could have made and you regretted not making it sooner. There were very few people outside and even the light drizzle could not ruin the experience of such a beautiful place. It’s fascinating, really, to look from the balcony above and to not see the end to all the gardens, green labyrinths, with many fountains and statues placed at nearly every corner.

It was almost impossible for you to decide where to start, so you just decided to roam freely, with no end goal in mind. You don’t even bother with your camera much, once you reach the seemingly endless green maze. The view from higher ground is magnificent but as you walk around, all you see is green hedges, incredibly tall green hedges – a very literal maze of plants. The smell is comforting – a mixture of the familiar smell of rain and of plants – more specifically, grass.

You wander around, enjoying the peace and quiet. There are more people in the maze but they are far from you and compared to the crowd you were in just minutes ago, they are ignorable, unless they are heading directly in your direction.

You recognize him instantly – other than a few locals you’ve asked for directions, he is the only person you exchanged more than one sentence with – it’s the guy from ‘Shakespeare and Company’, walking towards you. Your fear of awkwardness makes you lower the umbrella so that you can pretend that you simply didn’t see him. You only lift the umbrella up when you see his feet walk by you.

It would be weird and awkward. What do you say to someone you recognize but don’t really know? Hey? What if he doesn’t remember you and you embarrass yourself for no good reason? No, this was completely ignorable, luckily for you.

You are not fast enough the second time. The next crossroad in the maze leaves you making eye contact with him, as he is standing parallel to you, with a solid distance in-between. Solid enough for you to still pretend you do not recognized him. The eye contact made you feel a bit uneasy because what if he remembers you too? The awkwardness you’ve wanted to avoid might have just doubled.

So you walk on, taking a left turn as soon as you find one, finding the first ‘hidden room’ of the maze and a breathtaking, extravagant fountain that all but begs for you to take photos of it. Consciously steering away from the direction he seemed to have been taking, you walk along.

Left, straight, left again, straight, a bit to the right – you even manage to lose track of your surroundings, hoping that you are heading towards the gigantic fountain you’ve seen from the upper balcony.

Yet somehow, you still manage to see him again and much to your dismay, make direct eye contact. He is standing parallel from you and before you turned around and started walking, you could see what looked like mild confusion on his face.

Crap. He must have recognized you to a certain extent and now you’re making it painfully obvious that you are running away from him. For no good reason, too. You could have simply said “Oh hey, I remember you from yesterday, enjoy Versailles” or something along that line and made your exit but no, god no, you just had to make a fool of yourself.

You’ve never taken pride in your title of awkward social potato and this little mishap has to rank pretty high on your list of embarrassing moments. Sure, weird eye contact isn’t that big of a deal but the fact that it could have been easily avoid it and wasn’t only makes it 10 times worse.

Surprisingly enough, as soon as you realize that you’re being ridiculous, you have a chance for a do-over.

By the time you’ve reached the grand fountain, with a very confusing yet majestic statue of horses in the middle of it, you see him again, standing right on the edge of it, luckily not looking your way. Once again you are reminded of just how good looking he is and it’s not helping you with what you are about to do, since insanely attractive men tend to make you nervous and tongue tied.

“Well, at least the Versailles was open,” you try to sound as casual as possible as you stand a few feet away from him, watching as confusion disappears from his face as he puts two and two together.

“I thought I recognized you,” he laughs and you realize that his laughter is as melodic as his voice. Damn him. “They opened yesterday minutes after you left,” he tells you and to that you shrug.

“Nine days in Paris aren’t enough – I had museums to see,” you tell him, watching as he nods in understanding, still smiling at you. “I hope you enjoyed it, though.”

“I did,” he tells you. “Since you’re here, would you mind taking a photo of me?” he sounds as sheepish as you did yesterday. “You’re the only stranger I’d trust with my camera,” he adds. He makes a simple sentence like that hit you like a full force flirt and by the time you actually take the camera from his hands, you are positive you are blushing.

You take a few photos of him, his insanely good profile in particular, hoping that you are not drooling all over yourself. “Return the favor?” you ask, lifting your own camera, to which he laughs and extends his hand to you.

Posing is always awkward, period. Posing to a hot stranger is borderline traumatic. You do it anyways, looking away from the camera because you’ve had enough “eye contact” with him to last you a lifetime. Awkwardly standing in front of him, you wait as he checks the photos before smiling up at you and offering the camera back to you. “Perfect.”

“Thanks. Enjoy the rest of Versailles,” you casually announce your departure, feeling relieved and regretful at the same time as you walk away from him, backwards. In all honesty, the kind smile on your face made you want to stick around for a while longer.

“Thanks, you too.”

You turn around and walk away, taking a deep breath to relax yourself. The Louvre awaits – hot strangers will have their turn some other time.

Four days in Paris were enough for you to start your own list of unpopular, maybe even popular, opinions about the city. You were always interested in the city but never obsessed with it, like many are, so you’d say that your opinions are unbiased, at least to a certain extent.

For example, Parisians are nice and they actually do make an effort to speak English if you ask them something. Of course, not everyone has the same experience but the urban myth of them being condescending, rude and downright ignoring people who speak English was proven to be false.

Yes, the city is gorgeous but it has so much to offer beside a fairly tall tower.

And last, but certainly not least – the Louvre is overrated.

After waiting in rain, again (not the museum’s fault, obviously), you finally got inside, only to proceed and get lost four times. Actual four times, you had no idea where you were and where you were supposed to go next. You were nearly trampled in front of the Mona Lisa, all while watching in shock as the people were pushing each other to try and take a selfie with the iconic painting behind them. That was the first instance when you thought how much you hate people. The next one was when you saw a grown adult, a man in his 30s, grabbing an antique Greek statue by the balls.

It was at that point that the museum walking became torture to you. Paired with its confusing layout and the employees who either truly had no idea how to help you or simply didn’t want to bother with helping a pesky tourist, you ended up wandering aimlessly, looking at everything and nothing at all, wondering how much it would cost to get an exclusive, chaperoned, after-hours tour of the Louvre. Probably too much for someone who’s keeping cheap ramen in their rented apartment.

Muse d’Orsay, your present location, is something else entirely. It is painfully obvious that at least a third of the yesterday’s crowd only went to the Luvre because someone told them they should, you overheard a few say as much, and compared to that, the visitors of Muse d’Orsay came here on their own accord. It is decently full, but not crowded. The only place where you actually had to wait in line was in front of Van Gogh’s artwork, which was to be expected.

The entire place is casual, yet sophisticated, far less confusing compared to the gigantic mess that is The Louvre. You can take your time and go wherever, without having to consult a map and pray that you’re not confusing yourself even further. You can also sit and relax for a little while, which is something your tired feet are extremely grateful for but in a very unusual way, the people around you are making you feel uncomfortable. Most of them are casually sitting and sketching the gigantic clock, the centerpiece of Muse d’Orsay and while observing that is beautiful, it also remindes you that you are, to put it nicely, talentless in the same field.

So you keep on roaming, until you find your place on a bench set before an enormous painting. Definitely three times, if not four, your height, The Women of Gaul has your full attention. The piece is as eerie and hauntingly beautiful as it is confusing – like many times over the last couple of days, you’re not sure where to look first. What catches your attention, bizarrely, is the center character – a woman, standing tall and proud with an angry look on her face and holding a dead baby by the arm.

It appears as if she has killed the baby on her own accord – she’d rather lose everything she has than surrender. Admirable and scary at the same time. With all due respect to the masterpiece, she looks ready to bitchslap some soldiers.

“We meet again, stranger,” you only realize someone is talking to you when they sit a few feet away from you and you nearly choke on dry air when you realize it’s him – the Shakespeare guy, the Versailles guy, your unofficial photographer, in all of his ripped jeans glory.

“Wow,” you laugh. How big is Paris? How many people live here, how many tourists roam the streets every day? And yet three days in a row, you see him. “We keep bumping into each other.”

“Looks like our travel itineraries keep overlapping,” he chuckles. “I’m Jimin, by the way,” he adds, before the silence turns awkward. “It’s nice to officially meet you,” he offers you his hand, which you accept instantly.

“Y/N,” you shake his hand. “So, how’s Paris working out for you?”

“I love it,” he admits, looking away from you to focus on the much less friendlier woman in the painting in front of you. “I like it more than I thought I would, in all honesty.”

“Same here,” you admit, finding it quite easy to talk to him, given that you are usually definitely more apprehensive when it comes to people you don’t know. But hey, you know his name now – that counts, right? “From word of mouth alone, I thought it was a bit overrated but it has its charms. Plenty of them, actually.”

“Museums or city streets?” he asks, turning to look at you again. He has striking, dark eyes that have no trouble looking directly at yours – you, on the other hand, swallow a lump. “Which do you enjoy more?”

“A bit of both, depends on the day,” you sound way more casual than you feel. “You?”

“City streets,” he answers, focusing on the painting again. “Art is amazing but art is art, wherever you are. While cities… they’re all different. Each city has its own thing and as much as I enjoy looking at artwork, I’d rather pick… exploring the city, breathing it in. Polluted air and all.”

“Makes sense,” you agree, knowing just how right he is. A museum is a museum, whether it’s in Paris or the tiniest of towns. It’s fascinating but it’s still a building with four walls and a roof – outside, the streets, the people, the charm distinct to each city – that’s where all the fun is at.

“Have you seen the impressionism area?” he asks.

“Not yet, why?”

“Me neither,” he laughs, confusing you a bit. “Travelling alone is fun but at times it can get painfully dull. I thought maybe you’d want to look around the museum a bit more and then we can go somewhere?”

Oh. Okay. He wants your company. Surprising, yet flattering.

“I’d love to,” you find yourself answering, ignoring all the possible red flags you probably should have not ignored – after all, this is fairly similar to the plot of Taken, and you don’t have a Liam Neeson waiting to rescue you. Mr. Ripped Jeans Jimin has a point – travelling alone can be very dull. With how the two of you have been running into each other for days now, it seems like the universe wants you to have someone to talk to for a while. “Anywhere you’d like to go in particular?”

“Montmartre?” he suggests after considering your question for a few seconds. “The stairs in front of Sacré-Cœur are always a good idea?”

He isn’t wrong - Sacré-Cœur is very much on your bucket list – scheduled for tomorrow, right on time to see the sunset. But at the same time, you have no specific plans for this afternoon and Jimin does seem like he could be good company.

Why not?

“Sounds like a plan,” you agree, feeling a metaphorical punch to your gut when his face lights up once you agree with his idea. “Let’s see those impressionists first, shall we?”

The language barrier is quite something. Despite knowing a few basic French words and phrases, your pronunciation is so damn tragic, no transaction was possible without the use of English and sometimes, like right now, lots of waving and pointing.

Jimin was looking at you in amusement while you desperately tried to explain that you need one chocolate croissant. By the point the lady behind the counter understood what you wanted, you were more than happy to leave with whatever the hell she’d give you, even if it’s not your precious croissant.

“Do you want something? Are you hungry?” you ask, wanting to treat him to some food since he insisted on paying for the bottle of wine that is currently in his backpack.

He nods, proceeding to speak to state his order in what sounds like fluent French. “I got some for you too,” he tells you as he elegantly stands in front of you, taking out his wallet and smiling as he sees that you are about to protest. “No way,” he shakes his head. “I’m paying – I ordered more. Besides, if you are buying the chocolate croissant, you obviously have no idea what you’re doing.”

A comment like that could have sounded extremely condescending coming from anyone else, but from Jimin, with his kind smile? No way. “You did not just diss a chocolate croissant!”

“Oh, yes I did,” he chuckles as he rushes to offer money before you can – defeated, but a little glad, you return your wallet into the bag, thinking how maybe you will treat yourself to more than instant ramen for your lunch tomorrow. “I love chocolate as much as the next guy but the raisin one? Hell, even the plain one – much better,” he tells as he takes the bag and exits the bakery, leaving you to follow him.

“I’m all for experimenting but come on – it’s a chocolate croissant. It can’t be bad.”

“I’ve never said it was bad,” he laughs at you as you finally catch up with him and the two of you walk side by side. “I’ve just said others were better, which you will confirm once you try them. Now – do we walk or do we waste money on the lift?”

How can a question so simple be so complicated? Your feet hurt, you’ve walked more since you landed in Paris than you have the whole last month – of course you want to take the lift and avoid unnecessary stairs. On the other hand, stairs pretty much guarantee that you will have more time to spend with Jimin and so far, he’s been a decent companion.

“How about… we take the lift to go up and we walk on our way down?” you suggest.

“Deal.”

He didn’t have a chance to see Montmarte either, he tells you on your way up. Much like you, he had a schedule and he kept to it. Until today, when he spontaneously dropped his plans and invited you to spend the rest of the day with him. You did not have solid plans to begin with, so it wasn’t much of a change, save from the fact that you were in good company.

And good company he was – surprisingly, there weren’t many moments of awkward silence as the two of you tried to find a place that fits you both – that was a challenge, seeing as many people have gathered to enjoy the view, a nice drink and an impromptu performance by buskers. In the corner of the stairs, a little bit away from the crowd, the two of you sit and it’s a matter of seconds before Jimin is opening the bottle of wine with a swiss knife he pulled out of his bag – a bag that looks like it costs more than your monthly rent – not that you were paying any attention to it.

“So…” he starts, pausing to smile at you as he gives you your cup, before moving on to fill his own. “Tell me something about yourself. I only know your name and that we live in the same city.”

“And yet somehow we’ve met on a different continent,” you add, smiling when he ‘clinks’ his plastic cup against yours. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything,” he shrugs, nodding in approval at the taste of the wine. “Why Paris? Why alone? What’s your favorite color? An actor you hate but can’t explain why? Tell me anything.”

“Why Paris? Why not Paris? There are so many places I want to see, cities I want to explore and it all had to start somewhere. My friend had wanted to see Paris while I was pretty much up for anything. Of course, she then decided that Ibiza with her boytoy sounds like a better idea than Paris with her friend,” you add, sounding just a little bitter. It’s not the nicest thing she has done but you’ll get over it.

“And your boyfriend was not interested in the beauty of France?”

Now you are confused. His raised eyebrow and tiny, barely there smile, tell you that he is absolutely asking about your boyfriend for no other reason but to confirm whether or not you have one. However, this wouldn’t be the first time for you to completely misread signs and confuse flirting with casual conversation. You decide to play it safe and not waste time on reading between the lines.

“Don’t have one,” you shrug, looking away from him and focusing on the buskers. “It does get quite boring after a while. It would be nice to have a travel partner.”

“And if you don’t, you can always ask a random, kind stranger to take your photos for you?” you join in on his laugh, glad that you spoke up that day in front of ‘Shakespeare and Company’. If you hadn’t, chances are you wouldn’t have a conversation in Versailles, which then would not continue today.

If he can do it, so can you – the can of worms is wide open. “And what does your girlfriend say about you traveling without her?” you asks, before backtracking quickly. “Or boyfriend. Or one of each, really,” you add, making him laugh.

God, there really is no smooth way to ask about the relationship status of someone you barely know, someone you’re not even completely sure you like. If two are at a club, where the music is loud and they can’t even keep a conversation, ‘are you single’ is completely acceptable. And that setting is perfect for a rejection – if they say no, you just dance away to your drink or to the next person.

This? It’s a warm day in Paris and you are surrounded by people of all ages, families even. You have been talking about the city, travelling, art and now what, ‘are you single’ or ‘would you be interested in sleeping with me’ is the next topic of conversation? No, it doesn’t work that way. Especially when you’re not even sure what you want, much less what he wants.

“Well, I don’t have either of the two so I can’t really answer that,” is that a hint of a smirk you see on his face? Okay, you may not be a champion at flirting but it looks like things are heading that way.

“Interesting,” you mumble, earning an eyebrow raise from him. Shit. You panic and focus on the plastic cup full of wine, hoping that if you drink enough of it fast, the blush that is taking over your face can be attributed to the alcohol. It doesn’t help – you move the cup away and meet his eyes, only to find him obviously waiting for you to explain your comment.

“Are you going to explain why that’s interesting on your own or should I ask about it and force you to elaborate?” he asks and you immediately turn to your cup, making him laugh, loudly, in a way that makes his eyes crinkle and his whole body move.

“I’m awkward, please don’t make it any worse,” you tell him, a part of you hoping he won’t hear you.

“As you wish,” he is still laughing and you still want to die of embarrassment. That being said, him teasing you is a good sign, you think. Now, you’re fairly certain that you absolutely are in the flirting territory and while that doesn’t make things easier for you one bit, at least now you know you perhaps won’t make a fool of yourself if you are more straightforward. Or maybe you will. Who knows?! “Y/N, do you believe in destiny?” he asks and while you’re glad the topic is changed… really?

“That’s such a broad question,” you chuckle, pausing to think about it for a second. “I suppose I do, but you’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that. What kind of destiny?”

“Okay… first, do you believe that it’s all planned out? Like, your entire life?” he asks.

“Hardly,” you answer immediately, having thought about that already, many times in your life. “I suppose that to a certain extent, it is destiny. Like… the situations that you will be put in. But your reactions to said situations are your own. Destiny can’t control how you, or the people in your life, react to something. So I guess… no?” you try to sum it up, laughing at your own rant.

“Makes sense,” he agrees as he leans back, now almost lying down on the staircase, propped on his elbow as he looks away from you and towards the magnificent view of Paris. You realize once again that he looks like a full course meal, skinny jeans and all, and you reach for your plastic cup for solace, again. “Some things are set in stone… like where you’re born, who your parents are, maybe even who you’re going to be in life. But not the tiny details… like what kind of friend you are, if you can cook or not, who will be your first kiss and so on… Is that what you meant?” he asks, suddenly turning his eyes on you and faced with them, you nearly choke on the drink you’ve been hiding behind.

Damn him and his eyes. And his smirk. And yes, his ripped skinny jeans too.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“And what about us?” he asks, smirking your way again. “We’ve been running into each other all over Paris… that’s why I thought that there has to be a reason behind it… don’t you agree?”

“Could be,” you agree, knowing that no matter how skeptical you might be about the concept of destiny, even you have to admit that the amount of times the two of you have crossed paths this week is something unusual. “You think it was destined for two of us to meet and hang out on these stairs?”

“Why not?” he laughs, sensing the trace of skepticism behind your words, even though you mostly agreed with him. “I can accept that not every cute girl I meet is destiny playing its tune but we couldn’t have avoided each other even if we tried, could we?”

You’re cute. Okay. You can live with that. You can definitely live with that.

“What else does destiny want us to do?”

You’ll admit it, you feel bolder now, knowing how shamelessly he had admitted that he obviously thinks you’re cute. Sure, you’re not nearly as bold as you wish you were but… step by step?

“Well, there’s this party down at the 8th Arrondissement that I thought of going to. Nothing huge, just a regular club. We don’t have to, if you don’t feel like partying. If you do, we can sit here for a while longer and then take a cab down there or something?” he suggests.

First he thinks you’re cute. Then he wants you to go clubbing. Sure, he isn’t hitting on you per se, but he obviously wants to spend more time with you and knowing that makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery. Maybe it’s the butterflies that you’re feeling now, after ages of them being MIA, maybe it’s the way Jimin looks at you, with the tiniest of smirks gracing his face, or maybe it’s just Jimin himself – you’re not sure and frankly, it doesn’t matter. Bottom line is, he wants to spend more time with you and despite you not really giving a shit about destiny, you do want to spend more time with him too.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

And then he goes and bites his lip, mid-smile.

Yeah, there’s no way in hell you’ll survive clubbing with him. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try.

It didn’t take you long to realize that Jimin is a piece of work, in the best ways.

He is confident when approaching strangers, whether it was you, earlier today, or a random person to ask if the two of you could join their table. He can handle his drink and he does, in fact, drink quite a bit. His behavior doesn’t change – he’s still smiley, friendly, his words never slurring, his walk as perfect and sexy as it was when he was 100% sober – the only real change in his appearance is that three tequila shots in, he’s red in the face.

You? You’ve stopped drinking one shot ago, not wanting to push yourself into the state of ‘please fuck me in the alley behind this park, Mr. Stranger’ because you do tend to turn clingy after drinking a bit too much. No, this time around, you’ve kept yourself tipsy enough to throw away some inhibitions but sober enough to not jump on the guy in the middle of a crowded club.

And lord almighty, it is crowded.

You would have never thought that Parisians and a couple of tourists would be this into 90s trash music but here you are, dancing the night away with a hot as hell stranger to the tune of ‘Be My Lover’. You’ve been dancing nonstop for what feels like hours, the only break happening when he goes to the bar to get the two of you drinks and you take that chance to lean against the wall to catch your breath.

You want to chastise yourself for trusting a stranger with your drink but after debating it while you were still sober, you’ve come to the conclusion that you’re going to trust said stranger.

Taking a deep breath, you rummage through your bag, trying to find something to cool yourself down with, settling for a brochure you had picked up in Musée d'Orsay earlier today. You fan yourself, staying comfortably away from the crowd that’s dancing like their life depends on it.

It’s hot, it’s crowded, you’re tipsy and if you’re being completely honest, you’re turned on. Yes, in a tiny, dark, hole of a club, with a 90s eurodance song in Spanish blasting through the speakers, you can still manage to feel that way and it’s solely because of him.

For the past two hours, he has been flirting with you in ways that make you wonder if he’s actually flirting of he’s a hallucination of your deranged mind.

He hasn’t stopped touching you all night, but he does so in ways that are not… obvious. He holds your hand while you are walking through the crowd. He puts his hands on your waist while you’re dancing, but they’re positioned in a way that makes you think he just enjoys having a dance partner, not that he wants to fuck your brains out. He is close, but not close enough to make you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wants to kiss you. It’s driving you insane and you’re feeling hot – literally and metaphorically.

The song changed to something a bit more bearable for listening, but still trashy enough, when you finally felt your body relaxing and calming down after the onslaught of senses it has been through in the last two hours. However, the moment you think you’ll manage to cool your head, you see him.

It’s not that he is hot. Sure, he is hot as hell and nice on the eyes, which is something you see others noticing, as they turn their heads while he walks past them, drinks in hand. It’s not that he is so damn charming, although that plays a part too. What’s really getting to you is simply the way he looks at you.

Even now, in the crowd, as he makes his way to your little makeshift hideaway, his eyes are directly on you. He’s not even paying attention on if he’s spilling your drinks or not – nope, he is looking right at you. And despite the feeling of panic that causes, you can’t look away. You can’t hide from it, you can’t fight it – you just have to keep eye contact with him, even though you feel like weak prey.

You’d lie if you say that there weren’t moments when his eyes would look… elsewhere. Your lips, your neck or at the tiny trace of cleavage your shirt lets him see (is that one a blessing or a curse?)… That you could deal with, as much as you were figuratively on fire. But a man with confidence to look you directly in the eyes, all the time? Yeah, you’ve kind of wanted die.

Especially now, with him sliding through the cracks between people, smiling your way, eyes burning into yours. With mere seconds to get yourself ready for him, you take a deep breath, thanking your lucky stars that he looked away, enough to put your drinks on the table next to you.

“I know you didn’t want anything, but I got you a cocktail in case you change your mind later,” he tells you and the only reason you actually understand every word he is saying is because you are staring at his lips. The music is loud, loud enough to make you want to come closer to him and ask him to repeat his words but at this point, you are a certified lip reader because good god, his lips.

“That’s okay.”

You wanted to say more, you really did, but the moment he put those drinks down, his hands were on your waist and he was close now, closer than he was before, with just an inch of space between your face and his. And even this close, even with a damn inch between the two of you, he stares into your eyes, directly into your eyes, as if he knows what he’s doing to you. And frankly, he most likely does.

“Let’s dance, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You let him take you down into the crowd again, not even noticing the loss of your precious brochure you’ve used as a makeshift fan. You let him stay close to you and you let him keep his hands on you at all times. You let him take over your entire mind, knowing that at this point, you can’t think of anything that isn’t him.

Where? Where are guys like these? Where are guys who are confident, funny, charming and sexy, without trying to get into your pants like desperate teenagers? He has the right amount of everything and a part of you wonders where are others like him? But with him in front of you, directly in front of you, with barely an inch of thin air between you, does it really matter?

You’ve given up, totally and completely. You let him eat you up with his eyes, sway your hips to the beats of bad music in any direction he wants, smiling back at him when he smiles at you.

He is closer now, even closer than before, your noses brushing against each other every other moment. He is closer and you feel like you’re going to faint if he doesn’t do something, anything really.

It’s a weird feeling to describe. You don’t know what you want but you want it, bad. And while in theory, it would be easy to take the last step and just kiss him, you can’t do it. What’s stopping you – you don’t know, you really don’t. Yes, he hasn’t explicitly said that he wants you to do anything but his actions speak enough on their own. You could close the space between the two of you and end the misery but you can’t. Something is stopping you and at this point, it feels suffocating.

All of it. Him, the crowd, the sweaty bodies all around you – it’s too much. You need fresh air. Right now.

“What time is it?” you yell at him and you can see he’s surprised – you’ve mostly been quiet, overcome with everything else to form rational thoughts. Not only that, but you’re asking about time, of all things.

“Almost 1:30AM,” he tells you, after glancing on his wristwatch, before returning the hand back on your waist. “Why? Do you want to leave?” he asks and for one second, one damn second, you see a trace of something other than pure confidence on his face. It’s not insecurity or worry, not even disappointment. It looks like a mix of all three and something else, but it’s all very faint and lasts for barely a second before he smiles at you. “It’s okay if you do. Truly.”

“It’s not that I want to leave,” you mumble, before remembering you’re in a damn club. So, you close the space between the two of you and put your lips to his ear, brushing his skin as you speak. “It’s not that I want to leave. But I need some fresh air. We can come back if you want to.”

“You want me to go with you?” he asks as you pull away and you nod. “You sure?” he asks, looking at you with worry in his eyes. He’s questioning it, if only a little bit, probably worried that you’re running away and he’s being pushy. Which isn’t the truth. You are running away, but not from him, not exactly.

“Yes,” you laugh, taking his hand, as if to show that you mean it. He smiles back at you and leads the way. You think he’d go back to your borrowed table, so that he can finish his drink but he doesn’t seem to care. Instead, he leads the way to the area where you left your bags in exchange for 5 euros.

Seeing as you are the only ones leaving this early, the exchange for your stuff is quick and by the time you are breathing in the cool Paris air, it hasn’t been more than a few minutes since you’ve expressed your desire to leave. And the cool air helps. Well, it’s either the cool air or the fact that Jimin isn’t attached to you at this moment. With a bit of distance between you, you can actually use your brain.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he watches you take deep breaths. “We can walk it off if you’ve had too much to drink? I can walk you back to your place if you want to leave?” he suggests.

“No,” you smile at him, feeling a little bit overwhelmed by how helpful he is, as well as worried. “I’m not wasted. I don’t even know if I’m tipsy anymore,” you tell him. Sure, you might not be tipsy from the alcohol but he is a different story – you are very much drunk on him. But you won’t tell him that. “I just needed a bit of air. Maybe we can walk? Then come back or something?”

“Sure, yeah,” he nods and you lead the way. “You know, we don’t have to come back here because of me. I’m perfectly fine with just walking around. We can go somewhere else or find a bench to sit on. I can call a cab for you if you want to go back to your place.”

“I’m enjoying tonight very much,” you reassure him. There are… so many other things that you’d like to say, about him and the way he makes you feel, but you just… don’t have the balls to do so. So you simply settle with reassuring him that you’re enjoying the night. “Let’s just walk around and then figure out what we want to do next. The same goes for you – I’m fine with doing whatever you want to do.”

“You know, the last light show of the night is at 2AM,” he tells you, glancing at his watch quickly. “We can still catch it, if you’d like to. Maybe we even have time to go to the tower itself but we can definitely make it to Trocadéro on time?” he suggests and even though you normally refuse to be such a basic tourist, a huge part of you is excited at the thought of seeing the tower light up.

“I haven’t seen it yet. You want to go?” you ask, continuing with the tradition he had started of questioning everything for whatever reason.

“Sure, let’s go.”

There are people roaming around the area – of course there are, it’s Paris, there are tourists in every nook and cranny of the damn city. However, the numbers are smaller than they were when you went here the other day. You were definitely not alone but you did manage to find a section of the fence where no one was waiting with their cameras ready. Which is exactly what the two of you are doing now, waiting to capture the perfect moment of the tower lighting up.

You’ve been fairly quiet since you’ve left the club but it wasn’t the negative kind of silence, not at all. It was the silence that comes after a slightly overwhelming moment. You’re not sure if Jimin feels the same and if he does, he sure didn’t show it, but he was quiet along with you, speaking up only when you do, smiling your way whenever you’ve felt brave enough to make direct eye contact. It was comfortable and it made you realize just how much you have let this total stranger get under your skin.

“Doesn’t this feel a bit like the New Year’s countdown?” you ask, adjusting your camera so that the tower is right in the center of it – as much as Jimin is overwhelming, you still want to capture a decent photograph. It’s a once in a lifetime event. At least for us, non-Parisian commoners.

“It does,” he chuckles. “Ah, here we go!”

It’s impossible not to laugh at all the sighs of wonder you hear coming from around you. Yes, it’s a beautiful sight but… come on! It’s not a natural phenomenon; it’s a tower with lights on it! You sense Jimin reacting to it the same way you do, laughing a bit at the amazement of everyone around you but still taking a photo and enjoying the moment.

“Wait, let me take a photo of you,” he tells you and to your surprise, he doesn’t ask for your camera – he simply steps back with his. You don’t say anything and you try not to think too much of it but at the very least you are now expecting an exchange of social media or emails, knowing that you now have a perfect excuse of contacting him. Unable to hide a smile at the realization, you try to strike a casual pose, all while feeling like a complete idiot because he is looking at you again. “Wait,” he suddenly says and walks back up to you, reaching his hand closer to your face. “May I?”

You nod, not even sure what exactly you’re agreeing to here. Gently, he runs his hand through your hair, similar to the way he runs it through his own hair a few times a minute, messing it up a little bit. You don’t exactly have a mirror on you right now, but you imagine it’s the cute kind of messy, not the messy kind of messy. Why would he want you to look like shit for the photo? So, you let him, trying to ignore the way your pulse races because of him being so close. “There,” he steps away from you, smiling.

“Messy enough?” you joke, laughing when he does.

“It’s not messy, it’s sexy,” he tells you and yeah, your stupid heart is in overdrive, the butterflies in your stomach wilding and your face absolutely blushing. “It’s cute, natural. It’s more you than the preppy pose you’ve just tried to pull off,” and now he kind of insulted you.

“Hey!” you snap back, unable to keep a straight face when he starts laughing again. “You’ve known me for a few hours, how do you know preppy poses aren’t my thing?”

“I just know,” he shrugs. “Now act natural. Smile.”

You wanted to fight him back in a passive aggressive way and remain preppy but you just can’t – not with him making you smile. So you smile and giggle, pretending like he doesn’t have a camera in front of his face. If he wants you to be natural, you’re going to be natural.

After a few shots, he moves the camera away from his face and gives you the most blinding smile he had given you so far.

“Your turn,” you order him, unsure how you can even talk anymore. You feel like jelly on the inside and it’s actually quite worrying, seeing as you haven’t felt like this many times in your life. Of course, you liked people, you dated people, hell you’ve even loved a guy or two! But god good, they’re not Jimin. The guy has it all and all of it is affecting you in ways you didn’t know you could be affected.

You swallow a few lumps as you try to focus on the tower too, and not just him, because yes, it kind of needs to be in the picture too and that is the whole point of this, isn’t it? It takes you a few tries but you end up with a good shot. No matter how tonight ends, you’ll have a palpable memory of Jimin saved in your camera and you’d be lying to yourself if you say that doesn’t make you feel a bit more at ease.

“How can something be so tacky and so breathtakingly beautiful at the same time?” you ask while walking back towards the fence, letting the camera dangle around your neck as you stand next to Jimin.

“It really is amazing, isn’t it?” he chuckles. This time around, you are the one shamelessly staring – he is too preoccupied with looking at the tower. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if it’s Paris, or just tonight or maybe even you, but everything feels so… I don’t know, honestly,” he laughs, shaking his head as if he’s in disbelief. “I guess I’m just… really enjoying tonight.”

Here he is, this… beautiful, hot, kind, charming stranger, right next to you. Just a few days ago, he was no more than a fellow tourist. Just a few days ago, you didn’t think much of him. Today was a different story. Today, he didn’t let you push him into the back of your mind. Today he had made himself the focus of your day, night and quite frankly, this whole damn trip.

You don’t have to see him ever again if you don’t want to. If destiny keeps messing with you, you might run into him back home but by then, enough time would have passed for you to be able to keep your cool. If it goes good… it’ll go good. And if it goes bad, you can go back to pretending like none of this ever happened, and that your whole Parisian escapade was not Jimin centric. It might be easier said than done but you’re a tough cookie. You can do it.

Why not go for it? Seriously Y/N, why not go for it?

So you do.

You step closer to him and reach your hand out, putting it on his cheek and turning him to face you – he doesn’t have enough time to react properly but you can see the flash of surprise on his face. There is no time for him to say or do anything, because you lean in and press your lips to his.

Fuck it. Seriously, just fuck it. You’re here, he’s here and with doing practically nothing, he’d made you feel more than you’ve felt in months. As tacky as it is, you truly do only live once and you know yourself well enough to know you’d end up regretting not doing this.

You might regret it anyways, who knows. But you’d eat yourself away if you hadn’t gone for it.

You’d be lying if you said that the kiss is magical. Really, it’s awkward. Your lips are not much in comparison to his beautifully plump ones and while that could be overpowering, he technically isn’t moving. What you thought would be a kiss that would rock your world, ends up being nothing more than one slightly longer peck because he isn’t moving.

You can feel it – you’ve fucked up. You went for it and in hindsight, you shouldn’t have. Feeling absolutely mortified by his lack of response, you pull away, feeling even worse when you see the way he’s looking at you – no awe, no surprise, no excitement. He doesn’t look pissed either, or confused. It’s difficult to describe it but he’s almost… scowling at you.

You’ve fucked it up. But that’s okay. At least you won’t wonder about the ‘what ifs’.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking away from him quickly. As much as you’re trying to reassure yourself that it’s better to know than to wonder, you’re absolutely dying on the inside. If there’s a hole near here in which you could hide, right this second, you’d go there. Alas, you’re out in the open and have to deal with the mess you’ve made. “I guess I’ve misread the signals. I-“

With his hand on your back, he pulls you smack into his chest, not leaving any room between the two of you whatsoever. All that you see is him leaning into you with his eyes closed.

It’s not a peck – it’s anything but a peck. His lips guide yours to open and not even a second later, you feel his tongue moving against yours. He pulls you even closer to him, your bodies practically stuck together, with your hands squished between you. You feel him run his other hand through your hair, turning your head a bit towards the side so that he can have more access to you, as if he hadn’t had enough to begin with. His tongue is relentless and you’re absolutely sure that you’re about to faint, knees barely managing to keep your body standing.

You have never been kissed like this. Definitely not in public.

He pulls away slowly, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he goes. He’s not scowling like he was moments ago, but he’s also not the cute, smiley Jimin he was for the better part of the day.

And you? You’re honestly struggling to breathe. A kiss is a surprise itself but a kiss like that is not something that’s easy to survive. You’re well aware that you’re practically panting because of him but it’s hardly something you can hide. You’re affected and you’re going to be affected, no matter how embarrassed you are about it.

“If you’re going to kiss me,” his voice is low, much lower than before and it’s not helping your situation at all. “You should kiss me like you mean it.”

Fuck everything.

You grab his shirt and pull him towards you once again.

Life works in mysterious ways. Just this morning, you were a regular tourist, doing regular tourist things, sticking to your itinerary as you try to cram all of Paris into one week. And now? Now you’re pressed up against a wall of a random building in a part of town you haven’t ventured into before, making out with the hottest guy you have ever met, who is also pretty much still a stranger.

You don’t even care about how uncomfortable you are in this position – him kissing you makes it all better, very literally. He is a marvelous kisser – hungry, but not overpowering, with lips for days. He smells of cologne you have never smelt before but somehow know you won’t be able to forget anytime soon. Even the soft cotton of his white shirt that your hand is digging into feels heavenly.

Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. All you can focus on is Jimin, to the point of even almost managing to ignore a whistle directed towards the two of you.

You’ve had it coming, really – almost dry humping in the middle of the street. When Jimin starts to pull away, probably because of the wolf whistle, you still chase after him, desperately trying to keep your lips stuck together. He still moves away but not too far – he nuzzles into your neck, leaving you gasping for air at the feel of his lips attacking your neck.

Is it too far? Maybe. But too far is the exact direction in which you want to go.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” you suggest. You’ve never directly propositioned sex to someone you weren’t in a relationship with and while you were internally panicking, you also know he probably won’t refuse you. Unless the thing you’re feeling against your thigh is his phone and not him being happy to see you. “My airnbn is a bit far but we can go there?” you suggest, not wanting to be too direct and invite yourself to his place. Honestly, you’d even go into a public toilet at this point, but you’ll keep that bit of information to yourself.

He doesn’t respond immediately and you would have worried about it, if he wasn’t preoccupied with biting your neck, with enough force to leave marks and make you want to crumble. You shudder, actually shudder with pleasure as you feel his tongue run over your skin. “The place I’m staying at is just a few minutes away,” he finally speaks up, stepping away from you for the first time in what feels like forever. “Do you want to go there?” he asks.

The way he looks at you tells you he’s asking you more than to just go over to the place he’s staying at. You know it, he knows it. Even though it was your suggestion, he is still checking in with you, despite probably already knowing that you’d agree to pretty much anything. You laugh at his question.

“Jimin… I’m… I’m more than fine with going to your place, yeah,” you settled for that. Letting him know that you’d let him fuck you in the middle of the street, right here, right now, might be a bit too forward of you. Incredibly accurate but perhaps too forward.

The beaming smile you get from him when you agree serves like a confirmation to yourself that no, this is absolutely not a bad idea. This is everything you’ve hoped for but didn’t think would happen. This is the brief romance that novels are written about, a story you might remember when 30 years from now, your 20something-year-old daughter goes on her first trip to Paris and you remember him. Jimin will be your story, one that you might revisit often, depending on how the night ends.

Taking your hand in his, he leads the way and you follow blindly, enjoying his touch even during simple handholding. You want to do more, so much more, but if you do, you’ll never get to your end destination. Jimin must have sensed that, because the two of you are walking faster than you did this whole day – now you actually have a goal in mind. And what a goal that will be.

“Not to bring the mood down but we could have been going to your place a lot sooner if you’d kissed me back in the club,” you admit. Maybe that was a little bit unnecessary but you want to break the silence between you – and if you can compliment him in the process, why not?

“Hmm, maybe,” he sighs, suddenly letting go of your hand, only to hug you around the waist and pull you into his side, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re not the only one that was worried about misreading some signals. I wanted to be sure, so I consciously waited for you to do something.”

“Thank fuck I did because that was a close one,” you laugh in disbelief, amazed to know how close you were to this simply never happening.

“Not gonna lie, I was worried,” he laughs too, giving you another quick peck. You’re positive that you’re blushing again. Every time he kisses you, your stomach does somersaults, excited at the thought of him wanting to kiss you as much as you want to kiss him. Which is a lot. More than a lot. “I’m glad you mustered the courage to kiss a guy that’s quite obviously wanted to kiss you all afternoon.”

“For future notice – be more direct,” you warn him through laughter. The lucky girl who gets to experience him next deserves to be spared the inner turmoil you’ve went through. He spent the entire night dancing on the line between being very direct and not direct enough. One step in either direction would have settled your dilemma, so hopefully the next person will have more luck.

“I’m a bit preoccupied with you right now, thanks,” he chuckles as he sneaks his hand down to your ass and squeezes it shamelessly. You jump up in surprise but don’t feel particularly troubled about being in public, seeing as there is no public around you, at all. It’s just the two of you, walking along the river, the boats moored along the way seemingly empty. Feeling brave, braver than you ever remember feeling, you’re the one who initiates the kiss this time, making sure to show him how much you want this. You move slowly, enjoy the feeling of taking the lead and the lazy movements of your tongues, interrupted only when you feel the need to bite his bottom lip, which is way more often than you’d be willing to admit. Somehow, you once again end up being sandwiched between him and the half wall behind you. Seizing the opportunity, you sit on the half wall, pulling Jimin towards you by the belt – his hands find their way to your waist as he situates himself between your legs. This time around you’re sure it’s not his phone you’re feeling. It’s a very prominent bulge, noticeable enough to make you salivate at the very thought of what’s hidden. You’re not the only one acting braver – for the first time tonight, Jimin’s hands find their way under your shirt, eliciting goosebumps on your back almost immediately.

It’s when his fingers move to the front and graze your bra that you remember the two of you are still very much out in the open. And while at this point you wouldn’t particularly mind letting him have you here and now, the last thing you want to add to your Paris story is being arrested for indecent exposure.

“If you keep kissing me like this, we’ll never get to your place,” you warn him and contradict yourself immediately, attacking his neck with bites that make him sigh and shudder.

“Thank fuck we’re already here.”

You reluctantly detach yourself from his neck, looking around in confusion – you don’t see a house around you, at all. There’s nothing but the walkway and the park across the street. And as much as you like Jimin, you’re not going to fuck him on a bench which he sleeps on. He sees your confusion and nods towards the river. It takes you a bit too long to connect the dots.

“You’ve rented a houseboat?!” you ask in surprise and he gives you a quick kiss, pulling away with a smile.

“Of course,” he chuckles. “Hotels are boring. Boats are awesome.”

“Who even rents a boathouse?” you ask in wonder, all the while feeling slightly pissed at yourself because why the hell didn’t you think of that? It sure would beat your tiny airbnb, with a building that has no damn stairs – nothing but an elevator. Why would you be locked in such a claustrophobic space when you can have a damn boat? Lesson learned.

“I do,” he smirks at you. “And tonight, I’m going to fuck a very beautiful girl on that boat. So I guess it was a good call. Don’t you agree?”

“Yep. Wholeheartedly. You win.”

You know you’re going to die of embarrassment when he realizes just how wet he’s made you but you’re past the point of caring. With the words he says and the way he kisses you, you and your pussy never stood a chance.

Before you can kiss him again and prolong the wait, he takes your hand and leads the way, first down a set of concrete stairs and then towards the second houseboat in a row; it’s close to the ones on its side, but not too close for comfort. Climbing up the stairs that lead to the impromptu balcony on the boat, you immediately realize the appeal of choosing housing like this – once you can take your eyes away from Jimin’s ass, that is. No, once you are not looking at it, you can appreciate the view the boat has – you can even see the Eiffel tower, a bit down the river. The deck has a huge table, a few chairs and way more plants that a boat deck needs. It looks comfortable, beautiful and with how easily accessible it is, just a bit dangerous. All the words you can use to describe the man who is now kissing your neck, standing behind you as you reach and lean yourself on the boat rail, hoping it is safe.

“I see you’re an exhibitionist,” you laugh when he pulls you back so that your ass is right against his crotch and good god, you can feel how hard he is as he rolls his hips against you.

“No. Maybe just a little,” he chuckles. You laugh too, until you feel one of his hands leave your hips and reach for the button on your jeans. You gulp, eyes widening and as if he can sense your alert, he doesn’t unbutton them immediately. “You?” he asks. God, consent is so fucking sexy.

You’ve never dabbled in it, never really thought about it either but now, in this predicament? “Maybe just a little,” your voice is low as you give him permission. You weren’t joking when you thought that he can do anything he wants, were you? It doesn’t matter, because you said yes and holy fuck, his hand is going down your pants.

You jolt immediately and how could you not, when he went straight for your clit, right off the bat. Jimin does not play around, that much is obvious. You can only pray the fence is secure enough to keep you out of the water.

“Didn’t think you’d be this turned on by foreplay in public,” he laughs directly in your ear because the moment he ran his fingers against your slit, you threw your head back to lean onto him more, afraid of your legs actually turning into jelly because of him. “I’m proven wrong.”

“You don’t know me well enough to assume my sexual preferences,” somehow, you manage to laugh and remain sassy, thought that is cut short the moment he returns his attention to your clit, circling it very, very slowly. “But I suppose you found out some.”

“And I have the whole night to learn, don’t I, Y/N?”

“You do,” you bite your lip to hold back a moan because he started rubbing his fingers against you, the sudden change from slow to fast catching you off guard.

“You don’t have to keep quiet baby,” he presses a quick kiss against your neck, pushing you more into the rail as he rubs himself against your ass in a manner that almost has you begging for more. You are, internally, but not aloud. Not yet, at least. “I don’t think anyone could hear you down here. And I know I want to.”

“Duly noted,” you moan out because he presses his fingers into you harder – with the pressure and the speed, you know you’re going to fall apart way sooner than you’d though.

There has to be some flaw, right? He cannot be this perfect, no human being can be this perfect. If you were to stick around long enough, maybe you’d find a personality trait of his that makes him less perfect than what he is now, in your eyes, but you won’t be staying long enough to find out. For tonight, you’re more than fine with letting him be your little perfection.

“Let’s go inside?” he suggests as he drags his hand away from you and that is by far the worst thing he had done the whole night. You never want him to stop touching you, but that can be arranged at a more appropriate location. You nod, or so you think you do, unsure of your movements and thoughts, and you let him pull you by the hand and towards the door, pausing to fumble with the keys.

He opens the door and you stumble inside as he puts his bag on a hallway table – you choose to throw yours on the ground, waiting for him to turn on the lights. The moment you can see him clearly, the passion takes over you.

Driven by it, you all but slam him into the wall, almost laughing as his eyes widen in surprise. You don’t though – you don’t laugh, you don’t say anything. You simply reach for the hem of his shirt and lift it up slowly, making sure that your fingers cross every inch of skin you uncover. Seeing him shiver is worth the torture you’re putting yourself through, because a part of you wants to drop to the floor and start unbuckling his belt. You fight your own instincts, wanting and hoping to give him at least a fraction of the pleasure he had given you just moments ago.

Soft to the touch but very well defined, his body is a work of art that could rival those that you have spent the last few days observing. The tattoo you discover on his ribs serves as a perfect imperfection, a blemish on the canvas that somehow looks so right. Gulping, you let him take off his shirt and as soon as he does, you’re against him, kissing those lips of his again.

You don’t stay there long – slowly traveling under his chin, down his neck and all over his chest, staying there long enough, pressing soft kisses and licks until he is properly panting. When his hips roll, subconsciously looking for any kind of friction, you decide to move further down, slowly kissing a trail down his stomach, looking up at him, enjoying the sight of him so visibly… distraught. The moment your eyes meet, he closes his. And now you know you’re doing it right, if for the first time he is the one afraid of eye contact and how deadly it can be.

“You’re killing me,” he chuckles nervously, his voice breathless. And you simply smile, slowly unbuckling his belt and pushing the pants down to his knees as slow as you possibly can. You want to offer a remark about how he’s clearly enjoying it but his cock is one major distraction, in the best way possible.

He’s hard and ready, the sight filling you with instant pride because you know that you did that. You made him like this. A little bit pliant, a little bit breathless and very much not ready for what’s about to come. He’s hard, twitching under your gaze, making your mouth water. You still take it slow, enjoying the pace set to tease him – slowly licking the tip of his dick, smiling as you watch his Adam’s apple bob from above you – he still can’t look at you.

“I love how you’ve been staring me down the whole night and now you can’t handle looking at me,” you admit as you slowly drag your hand up and down his cock. Of course, now he opens his eyes and looks down on you but the lump he swallows shows you that even though he responed to your challenge, he is still very much affected and you’re living for it.

“I see you like to tease,” is what he says, making you smile.

“Very much,” you nod, giving him a quick lick that is followed by another muffled curse coming from him. “But I can be kind too,” you conclude, before finally taking him into your mouth properly.

It’s a bit of a challenge but you are more than happy to take it, slowly sinking your mouth up and down his dick, enjoying the symphony of noises that is coming from him. Every sigh, every curse, every moan – it all just makes you even more adamant to give him the best head of his life.

“Fuck Y/N,” he barely manages to say, moaning as you speed up your movements. He gathers your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slowly starts guiding you faster, eyeing your reaction, despite being momentarily distracted by the sight of you taking all of him into your mouth. “Fuck, you look so… You’re gonna make me come,” he lets out a slightly panicked laughter, gently pushing you away from him, to which you pout. Despite not being that big on blowjobs, giving one to Jimin felt somewhat like a privilege and you wouldn’t admit that lightly. Not wanting to stop completely, you squeeze him in your hand, slowly moving up and down, watching as he goes through another crisis. “Y/N,” he laughs in warning, making you stop, albeit reluctantly.

“Isn’t it the point to make you come?” you ask but still stand up when his hands grab yours by the elbows and he lifts you up to stand next to him.

“Absolutely,” his eyes don’t leave your lips and he gives you a quick kiss, biting into your bottom lip hard enough to earn a moan. “But not like that, not before I fuck you. Not before I have my way with you.”

The smile on his face looks sinister enough to make you even wetter than you were moments ago. He doesn’t sound like a man who makes promises lightly and you get your confirmation as he puts his hands on your hips and starts pushing you back towards the room behind you. You’re too fucked out to notice anything other than the fairly modern design of the furniture around you. Before you can notice anything in particular, your ass slams into a hard surface and you jump up, letting him settle between your legs again and kiss you even harder than he did all night.

You’re the target now, and good god, you’re loving it. His lips alter between being gentle and harsh, kissing you with so much passion before biting, as if he wants to show you that he’s the one in charge. And you let him. By god, you let him.

He takes your shirt and bra off quickly, not wanting to drag it out like you did, but the moment you’re half naked before his eyes, he slows down. If him staring you down made you feel nervous before, you are positively burning right now because he is eating you up. He doesn’t even have to touch you – just the sight of him, looking like he’s about to ruin you is enough to cause goosebumps to form all over your body. He comes closer, attaching his lips to your chest. You are losing your mind because he is purposely slow, kissing you all over before finally attaching his lips to your nipple, taking it into his mouth and slowly rolling his tongue against it. You swear you can feel him smiling, but you’re too far gone to check – especially not when his hand reaches for your other breast, squeezing it shamelessly. You’ve been able to control your noises for a little while, but the moment his teeth come out to play, you’re a goner. With his fingers and lips moving at the same time, you can only moan, reaching towards something, anything to hold and settling for his hair. You grip it, perhaps a bit too harshly if his moan is anything to go by – but he doesn’t stop you. In fact, he simply sucks harder, making you arch your back towards him.

He’ll ruin you. He will absolutely ruin you and you are perfectly fine with it.

After what feels like an eternity, he detaches his mouth away from you and your eyes meet. He truly is a sight for sore eyes, especially now when he looks so blissfully fucked out. His hair is a mess, his lips red from all the kissing and sucking, his torso a work of art. He looks so fucking hot, you moan. At the very sight of him, you moan. He’s not touching you, he’s not teasing you, he’s not doing anything but looking at you and that is enough to make you moan, moan and rut your hips in his direction, looking for friction which you find in the form of his thigh. He lets you, he lets you move against him. Your moment of pleasure doesn’t last long, because he steps back, fumbling to unbutton your jeans. You lay down, ignoring the cold of the table against your naked back, lifting your hips to help him undress you completely. Unlike the slow, sensual moves that you used on him, he is quick, taking them off as fast as he possibly can. When you’re left in nothing but your underwear, that is when he slows down again, crouching down out of your sight.

“Fuck!” you gasp in surprise when you feel him nuzzling his nose against your clothed center – you can feel how wet you are and you know, you know he can smell it, feel it, see it and you absolutely do not care. In fact, you’re even more turned on by the thought of it – he clearly is enjoying it and you want nothing more than to let him know how good he’s making you feel.

He doesn’t torture you for too long and other than a muffled curse, he doesn’t comment on how wet you are for him. Instead, he goes right down to business, using his fingers to move your underwear to the side and he immediately attaches himself to your clit, sucking on it harshly, with the same fervor as when he was sucking on your nipples.

“Fuck, Jimin!” you moan out, gripping his hair with all the strength you have, knowing that that must have hurt – again, he shows no signs of having a problem with it. Fuck, he probably even likes it.

“What is it baby?” he asks, not waiting for your response and instead choosing to lick up your center. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” you manage to reply, momentarily distracted by the feel of his finger sinking into you.

“If you let me, I’ll eat you out for hours tomorrow morning,” he tells you, pausing to bite on your thigh, a bite that you know will leave teeth marks, but you don’t protest. “As much as I’d be willing to do it for hours right now, I really need you on my cock.”

“Yeah, okay,” you laugh, biting your lip at the feel of him sinking another finger into you, slowly dragging them in and out as he stands up, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. You say nothing more – you couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You move your hips in time with his fingers, riding them like you would, and hopefully will, ride his dick in a matter of moments.

“Bedroom?” he suggests as he stops his assault on you. You nod, somehow managing to sit up, nearly laughing at the sight of him. Half naked, with his jeans still hanging right above his knees, his member standing up proudly. How he could wobble you towards the table in that state is beyond you. You don’t have a chance to ask, too distracted with the sight of him licking his fingers, all while looking directly into your eyes. He’ll be the death of you, that’s for sure.

You stand up, leaning against the table as he loses the last articles of his clothing – you barely have the time to take a few deep breaths before he starts kissing you again, his tongue overpowering yours as you moan at the taste of him. You don’t bother opening your eyes, letting him lead you towards the bedroom, trusting him that you won’t end up overboard, hoping that if you do, you wouldn’t be too turned on to notice. You hit a wall and a door on your way there, giggling by the time he is pushing you onto a bed, finally letting you breathe. Standing above you, he somehow manages to look both menacing and hot at the same time. His eyes tell you to wait, which you gladly do, watching him as you settle yourself on top of the covers. You choke on your own breath when you notice his ass, for the first time without the barrier of skintight jeans – it’s a sight, alright. You watch as he fumbles through his suitcase, smiling at him when he turns around, waving a condom at you.

No matter how much you’re into him, there’s no way he’s fucking you without protection. You’re glad he’s on the same page, not even stopping to suggest going bare. While you’d like that and you’re guessing so would he, it’s simply not happening. He walks towards you, not putting the condom on immediately, instead choosing to give his member a few strokes, enjoying the view of you on his bed, naked and waiting. Though your lip bite was an unconscious reaction at the sight before you, he is affected, grunting at the sight – the moment the condom is covering his dick, he is rushing to get on top of you, finally letting you feel his whole body against your own.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he tells you before kissing you passionately, flicking his tongue slowly as he settles between your legs. He doesn’t enter you immediately, instead choosing to grind onto you, making the both of you moan into the kiss. You’re the one who pulls away, if only for a moment.

“Please,” you moan out, enjoying the feel of his dick rubbing against you, pushing you closer to the edge – too close, considering you didn’t even have a chance to feel him inside of you. “Please just fuck me.”

“Gladly,” he gives you a quick kiss before finally sliding into you. Slowly and with ease, he fills you up in a way that makes you moan – louder than you did the whole night, feeling absolutely shameless. You don’t care, you don’t care where you are or who can hear you, if anyone – he feels that damn good.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you gasp, taken by surprise with him slowly rolling his hips into you. It’s as if he can tell you need no more time to adjust to him, he starts moving a bit faster with each roll of his hips, making you curse out as you grab onto him, your fingers digging into his skin. It seems he enjoys you being rough with him, showing him how good he’s making you feel because he isn’t complaining and you know it has to hurt. He wastes no time, dipping down to take your nipple into his mouth, never stopping his dick from moving in and out of you in the best of ways.

“God,you’re so tight baby!” he grunts as his thrusts become harder and faster, so much so that you faintly notice the sound of the bed thumping into something, most likely the wall. You don’t care, you really don’t – you pull him closer to you, blindly reaching for his lips, enjoying the way he overpowers your senses, even smell - he smells like sex and expensive cologne, the most mouthwatering scent you’ve ever had the pleasure of smelling. The moment your lips touch, you feel his hand graze your clit, eliciting a particularly loud moan for you. Unable to focus on anything, you give into pleasure and let him do whatever he wants with you, the onslaught on your senses killing the little sanity you had left.

You dare and think it can’t get any better than this and right as you do, he delivers a particularly hard thrust, pinching your clit between his fingers at the same time. You weren’t ready – you weren’t ready for it at all and with his actions catching you by surprise, you lose the little control you’ve had, coming hard. The orgasm washes over you stronger than any orgasm in your recent memory, making you gasp and moan, holding onto him with all the strength your body has left. He is losing his cool too – his hands give in and he’s pressed up against you completely, lips grazing your ear. “Just like that, come all over my cock,” he urges you through your high, his words making it even harder for you to calm down.

Body shivering, you somehow calm down your breathing – it’s a challenge, seeing as he still hasn’t stopped moving completely. He slowed down enough not to send you in complete overdrive too soon. Even his consideration is a turn on – almost as strong of a turn on as him using your body to pleasure himself, still rolling his hips into you and moaning softly, directly into your ear, the moan turning more high pitched when he feels your nails running up and down his back.

Turning your head towards him, you search for his lips. He kisses you eagerly, stilling himself inside of you for a moment, as if he wants to focus on the kiss and kiss alone. Slowly, he moves away from you and leans back, running his hand up your thigh. He raises his eyebrows as he pushes your leg up, asking you for permission. You nod, moaning as he moves your leg towards the side. Quickly, you turn to your side completely and judging by the moan he lets out, that’s exactly what he needed you to do.

You want to do more, you do. You want to ride him till you can no longer move but he is so damn overwhelming, all you can do right now is just… take it. And you’re not complaining. Slowly but surely, the pleasure builds up again and you realize there’s a strong chance you’ll come again. Suddenly brave again, you look at him, directly at him, as you put a hand between your legs and start rubbing yourself. The moment he realizes what you’re doing, he looks down, lifting your leg up so that he can have a better view. “Fuck,” is all he says, followed by the sexiest groan you have ever heard a man make.

“I’m so close,” you warn him, wanting to feel all of it again but somehow not wanting it to end.

“Come on baby, come for me again,” he urges you on. As much as you want to, you really don’t want it to be over anytime soon - the buildup was so damn hot and you simply don’t want to stop. Thinking about his earlier promise about eating you out for hours is what pushes you over the edge. Feeling Jimin and think of the dirty words he whispered in your ear is enough for you to come again, your entire body shivering with pure pleasure. Looking up at him, you notice the way his face scrunches, the way his voice is deeper and his moans never stopping… he takes over you again.

“I’m going to come,” he warns you, making you remember that he can’t come inside of you and fill you up, which is something you would really, really like. You settle for the next best thing.

“Come on me,” you tell him, moving your leg out of his still firm grip, and spreading your legs as much as possible, now having a perfect view of him slamming into you, much faster than he did before. “Come anywhere you want,” you urge him, biting your lip as his hips lose rhythm at your suggestion. In the speed of light, he slips out of you, leaving you empty and wanting more, more of him, more of his dick, more of anything he’d be willing to give you. You watch as he takes the condom off in the speed of light, still rubbing yourself and ignoring the overstimulation you are feeling, absolutely urged by the hottest sight you have seen in your entire life: Jimin, stroking himself with a firm grip, moaning loudly as he closes his eyes, his face scrunched in pleasure.

You watch in awe as he finishes all over you, the streaks of his cum reaching all the way up to your breasts. You have never, never in your entire life, experienced anything hotter than this. You know now, there is nothing hotter than watching Jimin orgasm. And you have never in your miserable life had sex nearly as good as the one you had now.

Jimin’s body gives up and he falls directly on top of you, making you chuckle. Your hands roam his back, as if you are comforting him through the aftermath, completely ignoring the fact that his now softening member is still rubbing against you. Both of you are sweaty, your bodies covered in his cum but you don’t care and neither does he. Once he is finally able to move, he simply leans a bit to the side, just so that he can look at you. And he does. With the brightest, sweetest smile that shouldn’t belong to a man who fucked you as hard as he just did.

“Hi,” you speak up first, shocked at how rough your voice sounds. Perhaps you were a bit louder than you thought you were. He smiles and you feel yourself melting again, accepting that you are whipped for him, way more whipped than you should be for someone you barely know. He doesn’t make it any easier on you when he leans in for a kiss, his lips slow and lazy and yours following suit, ignoring the butterflies that are going berserk in your stomach again. You ignore it all, shutting your brain off and enjoying the post sex glow that he is radiating with.

He pulls away but not before caressing your face and pushing hair behind your ear – a very sweet action for someone whose mouth can do all those dirty, lovely things.

“That was… wow,” he admits and for the first time since you’ve met him, you think you see a blush on his face – a blush that isn’t caused by alcohol, that is. Is he suddenly shy? Is it the post sex blush? You don’t know and you don’t care, as long as you can keep looking at him.

“Wow seems appropriate,” you agree, joining in his laughter. He is still chuckling as he nuzzles into your neck, giving you a few quick pecks before pulling away.

“Do you want to stay the night?” he raises his eyebrows, giving you a way out if you don’t want to take him up on his earlier offer. “I could call you a cab or even walk you back to your place. I’d like you to stay the night though.”

“Good, because I don’t think I can use my legs at the moment.”

It wasn’t supposed to be such a funny remark but for some reason, he laughs hard and after fighting it for a few seconds, you can’t help but join in. If you look past his hotness and the ease with which he communicates with people, he really does have a comfortable aura around him – if he laughs, it’s contagious and you don’t mind joining in.

The two of you calm down and after a few moments of silence, he runs his hand through your hair again, pushing it away from your face as his eyes focus on different parts of it – first your eyes, then your lips, then your cheeks. It looks as if he is trying to memorize you and to that you can relate because this is one night you’d never want to forget, not one part of it. And not one part of him. “Let’s go and get cleaned up?” he suggests.

You’ve lost count of how many times you have let him take you by the hand and lead the way for the both of you. You are yet to regret those decisions, gladly letting him lead the way now, knowing that wherever he takes you… it’s going to be good.

You wake up feeling content, well rested and sore, all at once. With a dumb smile on your face, you giggle and bury your face in the pillow – it smells of him, making your memories of the night before even more vivid.

His promise of devoting hours to you and your body this morning did not wait until dawn. It all occurred the night before, with you still kissing one another by the time sun had started to rise and the birds had started chirping.

It all comes back to you in flashes, the bath you took together, the way he caressed your skin as he was washing you up, before his hands went a bit further south. Both the sweet words and the dirty talk are engraved in your mind forever, just like the way he made you feel all of last night.

You knew it before, you’re sure of it now – he has ruined you. He has absolutely ruined you, in the best way possible. And you don’t want it to end.

You knew it had an expiration date. This is a trip romance – short, sweet, steamy and memorable. It had an expiration date the moment the two of you shared the first smiles in front of ‘Shakespeare and company’. While the thought of it does leave a bitter taste in your mouth, you’re a big girl and you can live with it. Smiling, you decide to enjoy the morning, or early afternoon, with Jimin. You’ll deal with the negative side effects later.

“Afternoon, beautiful,” you hear him, turning around towards the direction his voice is coming from – he is leaning against the doorway, smiling at you, looking too hot for his own good with gray sweatpants, a white shirt and a part of his dark hair pulled back in a makeshift bun. “Did you sleep well?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” he smiles as you close your eyes and shamelessly yawn, remembering a second too late that you should put a hand over your mouth. You open your eyes just in time to see him sitting down on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on your naked thigh and slowly moving it up and down your skin. It’s not as sexual as his touches were last night – in fact, this feels more comforting than anything else. “How long was I out? Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, I slept like a log. And it’s 2PM now, so you’ve had a few hours.”

“2PM?” you’re shocked to realized you’ve already lost half the day. It was very much worth it, though.

“You have somewhere to be?” he teases you, probably unaware how he makes the butterflies in your stomach go nuts. You have a sneaky suspicion that he’s not aware of your dilemma – do you go, do you stay? Does he want you to go or does he want you to stay? What are you even supposed to say now?

“No, not really,” you shrug, cowardly throwing the ball into his court. You’ll admit it, you’re a whimp and you are more than happy to let him decide if you should be on your way or stick around a bit longer.

“Well, I’ve made us some quick lunch. I wanted to order something but wasn’t sure if you’d want to stick around for food… so I figured I’ll make something and eat both portions if you bolt,” he admits through laughter and you’re immediately relieved – you weren’t the only one uncertain about everything.

“I don’t have to bolt. And I’m also kind of starving,” you admit, shuddering when you remember that the last thing you ate was a croissant almost a full day ago – you’re absolutely starving.

“We can eat on the deck if you want?” he suggest, before breaking out into a sudden smile.

“What?” you ask, confused with how he’s looking at you. You either have something on your face or he’s going to make this whole thing 20 times more difficult and you’re afraid the second situation is more likely.

“Nothing. You’re just beautiful like that,” he shrugs as you let him run his hands through your hair.

“Half-dead and messy looking? I’m sure I am,” you roll your eyes.

“Not messy. Sexy,” he corrects you, the same way he did last night. With a sigh, he pulls away and stands up. “I’m starving too, so you’d better hurry up if you don’t want me eating you up instead.”

“I don’t think I’d mind that, to be honest,” you admit, hiding your face in his pillow, knowing that you no longer have the dark to hide the blush that appears whenever you say something a bit more straightforward.

You expected him to say something or maybe laugh – you absolutely didn’t expect to feel his teeth on your right ass cheek. You jump up in surprise, nearly hitting him in the head when your leg jerks, but that only makes him laugh. You’re smiling way too wide for someone who’s just been bitten on the ass and you decide to scream into the pillow once he’s away enough not to hear it.

“Your clothes and underwear are dry and clean but feel free to steal that shirt from me,” he winks at you. “I’ll wait on the deck.”

With that, he leaves you alone to get dressed, try to gather your thoughts and maybe, just maybe, control your emotions a little bit. It would have been a lot easier if he was the ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ kind of guy but surprise, he’s not! No, he fucked you like a full-fledged sex god, giving you the best night of your life, while caring enough to throw your clothes into the washer and drier and even wanting to feed you the next day. Nope, still no flaws in sight for Park Jimin.

You wash up quickly, slapping yourself a few times for good measure, hoping to calm yourself down enough to be able to turn around and leave very soon. You still don’t know if it had worked but your bag is packed and you join him on the deck, dressed in your jeans and the shirt he wore yesterday that he generously let you sleep in and steal for good.

He doesn’t notice you immediately, leaned back in the chair with his eyes closed. The sight of him sitting like that, with his dark hair pulled back and tied, his neck in full view and all but glowing in the sunlight makes you want to cry. The man is actually so goddamn pretty it almost brings tears to your eyes. It doesn’t help when he notices you and smiles at you, pointing at the two bowls set on the table.

“I know it’s just noodles but honestly, I’m too pretty to know how to cook,” he explains as you take a seat. You burst out laughing at his comment.

“Cocky yet very true,” you nod in appreciation. “Don’t worry, I love ramen.”

“It’s lame but I at least I’ve added poached eggs,” he tells you, looking oh so proud about adding an extra ingredient.

“Nothing beats instant ramen,” you reassure him. “It smells of youth, not having enough money and artificial flavoring. I’ve never felt more at home,” this time around, it’s he who laughs, wishing you a good meal as the both of you dig into the food. You weren’t lying when you said it’s more than okay – you just need some food in the belly and it’s not like you’ve expected him to greet you with a full course meal. It’s the thought that counts and it’s more than enough. Actually, it might even be too much.

Halfway through your lunch, the silence between you turns slightly uncomfortable. It isn’t anything that either one of you did – it’s just the entire situation. The clock is ticking, the both of you know it and neither one of you is quite sure how to act about it. You can’t stay here for another day, even if you wanted to – your stuff and a huge chunk of your money is back at your airbnb. Even with that little detail aside, you’re not even sure if you want to say – not to mention, if he wants you to stay or not.

But it feels… wrong. It feels wrong to leave just like that, pretending like he hadn’t given you an amazing night. Not only was the sex mind-blowingly good… even before that, he was a perfect travel partner yesterday. He’s good company and knowing you’ll be saying goodbye to all of that… it doesn’t sit well with you.

Despite avoiding eye contact for a few minutes now, you fail and the moment your eyes meet from across the table, you know you’ve reached that page of the little novella the two of you wrote. He knows it too, setting away his chopsticks, sighing as he leans back into the chair. You say nothing, watching him as he stares you down, slowly shaking his head.

“I don’t want this to end,” he admits. You stay silent, following his suit as you put away your own chopsticks and lean back into the chair, completely shutting down the rest of the world – you no longer hear the birds or passing boats. You don’t see the tourists walking along the river, you don’t even feel the subtle waves that gently sway the boat you’re on – you can only focus on him, on his face, on the way he looks bothered by this. “It feels wrong to end this but at the same time, doesn’t it feel like the only proper way to go about it? Am I making any sense?” he asks, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah,” you nod immediately, assuring him that you do understand it. “It feels good, it feels right, like it would be a shame to walk away from but… what else can be done?”

“Exactly,” he agrees, leaning towards you. “It feels equally right and wrong. What are we going to do?”

You can go back to get your stuff and spend the rest of the trip here with him. You can exchange numbers and meet up back home. It could lead to something beautiful, a continuation of a marvelous chapter one, just as easily as it can lead to a complete disaster. Life’s unpredictable and you don’t know if it’s worth it to possibly ruin this amazing… encounter.

How can you even find an answer to that? Not like this whole thing hasn’t been…

“You believe in destiny, don’t you?” you ask him, suddenly putting two and two together, smiling at the confused nod he gives you. “We met here so many times. Different days, different times, we somehow ended up together. Who’s to say that won’t happen again?” you ask.

“What are you suggesting here? To… see if we meet again?”

“Exactly,” you nod, feeling proud of the solution you’ve come up with. “You believe in destiny and I don’t. If we meet again, I’d be willing to question that belief. We go our separate ways. If it ends up being a onetime encounter, we’ll remember it with smiles on our faces. And if we meet…”

“I don’t let you walk away again,” he smirks at you. You don’t say anything as that smirk turns into a genuine, real smile. He means it, he actually means it. And if you meet him again… you will too. “What happens if we run into each other back home?” he asks.

You remember how you talked last night, realizing that the two of you were hanging around the same places before, perhaps even at the same time. It made you wonder how many times you have passed one another, without a second glance, thinking of other things, of other people. Running into him back home seems more likely than seeing him again here in Paris.

“Then we say hello and see where that takes us,” you answer adamantly.

“Deal.”

He offers you his hand from across the table and you shake it firmly, suddenly a lot more hopeful than you were moments ago. No, you don’t believe in destiny but if there’s someone that could make you question that, it’s Park Jimin himself.

“Fucking hell,” you curse under your breath as you wrestle your way through the crowd – for the first time since you’ve arrived in Paris, you were stuck in the metro during rush hour and you have never felt so many backpacks smacking your face in such a short amount of time.

Trying to get Google Maps on, you make your way up the stairs and into fresh air, taking a deep breath when you do. If your phone is correct and based on your previous experiences, it’s probably not, you’re a five minute walk away from the Luxembourg Gardens. A perfect way to end your last full day in Paris – outside and hopefully away from any kind of crowd.

You walk in the direction your navigation deems right, checking every few seconds if it had started spinning out of control like it did yesterday – there is nothing more stressful than your GPS telling you to turn right and once you do, immediately telling you to take a sharp left.

It’s the smell that makes you take a detour – it’s always the smell. Sure, you could continue to sheepishly follow your navigation but when the smell of freshly baked pastry smacks you in the face, you know where you’re heading. The bakery is fairly empty and you test your poor French as you order a plain croissant.

Damn him and his plain croissants. Something that should be so simple and so irrelevant now irks you, almost to the point of you changing your order to a chocolate one. You don’t, already knowing that you’re nowhere near proficient enough in French to explain your change of heart.

The lady behind the counter is a bit of a bitch, not waiting for you to put your wallet away before she hands you your meal, giving you a dirty look when it takes you a second too long to take it from her. Offering her a sour, kiss-my-ass smile, you take the pastry and head towards the door, now trying to juggle your food, phone, wallet and the door handle, all at once.

You’ve just managed to close the door behind you and turn around, nearly avoiding a collision.

“Jesus Christ!” you gasp, gripping your phone and the pastry harder, stopping them from flying out of your hand.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!”

Your heart stops at the sound of his voice. You slowly look up, scared of both confirming and denying your suspicions, unsure which one would hurt more – him being here or him being a product of your imagination. You know that voice and you know it well.

It’s him, looking panicked and checking if you have a hold on your things. “I’m sorry, I…” he goes mute once his eyes meet yours and he realizes it’s you.

Jimin stares at you, not saying anything. One second before the encounter turns uncomfortable, you watch in amazement as he grins at you, a grin so wide and genuine your heart skips a beat.

“I… I could have dropped my croissant.”

He huffs a small laugh at your horribly timed Vine reference, pursing his lips as he tries to hide his smile – why, you don’t know and don’t care to find out because he can’t do it. He can’t hide his smile and it’s evident that he’s happy to see you. So are you, thanking and cursing at destiny at the same time.

Taking your empty hand in his, he says nothing as he intertwines your fingers and starts walking, slowly leading you away with him. You follow him, desperately thinking of what to say, of what to do but somehow too panicked to actually do anything. It feels like one of you should do something and apparently, he thinks the same because he suddenly stops and turns your way.

He puts his hands on your face, pulling you in for a kiss. The moment your lips are pressed against his, you remember how much you’ve wanted to do this since the last time you’ve kissed him, before walking down the steps of his boathouse. The relief that fills you as he deepens the kiss makes you a reluctant but firm believer in destiny.

No words are needed, you know that now. So when he leans away and smiles at you, you smile back, reaching for his hand again. He leads the way and again you follow, knowing you’re definitely not going to regret it this time either. THE END

#jimin smut #bts smut #jimin scenario #bts scenario #jimin #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts au #jimin au #park jimin #jimin writing

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itsmariejanel · 4 years ago

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6. “thanks” for the memories

< previous [.beginning.] next >

transcript under the cut

Makoto: Sunny? Can I come in?

Kiara: Of course you can, Ace.

M: How are you?

K: *sigh* Fuck. I shouldn’t have ran out like that.

M: You didn’t answer my question.

K: I’m ok, really. It’s just… I’ve been healing for quite some time, and honestly I haven’t even thought of Dustin till the room conversation. That brought some unpleasant memories.

M: I know Sunflower, I know… Just breath ok? I’m here… I’m sorry. You know my sister, she has no filter, and sometimes she’s not really aware....

K: *chuckles* I love her for that.

M: Really? You have problems.

K: *chuckles* C’mon, you love her too. You couldn’t live without her.

M: Ugh, fiiiiine! But don’t tell her, or she won’t shut up about it for at least a week!

K: *laughs* Deal.

M: So, but K… For real though. I know you say you’re ok, but if you ever, like EVER need to vent, rant, or just talk really…

K: I’ll just call you, beep you?

M: When ya wanna page me it’s okay!

*singing Kim Possible*

K: *laughs* Thank you for that, Ace.

M: I love you bestie, you know that right?

K: I know. I love you too bestie! Now piss off! Lemme dress!

M: Ugh, fine! What do we do about the room though? Honestly, the guy seems decent to me. Kinda looks like he went through shit. He could use some friends…

K:Tell the guy the room is his.

M: Yes ma’am! C’mon, get dressed! We’ll have to take care of his room and eventually show him the beauty that is Strangerville.

K: Strangerville is a gem! If you’re being sarcastic I swear I’ll never sing with you again!

M: *gasp*

K: *chuckles*

I truly hope from the bottom of my heart that you sang the Kim Possible song with them, as I did.

#contagiouschemistry #ts4 story #sims 4 story #simblr #new story #sims 4 #their friendship is precious #kiara gold #makoto hino #mp

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masterjedilenawrites · 4 years ago

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Blueberries and Cowboys: Chapter 1

A choose-your-own-adventure style fic. First, 2 platonic chapters for set-up/build-up. And then, the story will split into 2 paths depending on your romantic pairing preference: You and Thrawn, or You and Eli.

Set Up: You are an outcast at the Imperial Academy, which means your only options for friends are the tall and stoic Chiss Mitth'raw'nuruodo and his translator from Wild Space Eli Vanto. The three of you get along, for the most part... Thrawn is obsessed with acing all the exams, Eli is desperate to show up his classmates, and you... well, you just want to feel like you belong somewhere. And hiding beneath it all are your unspoken feelings, longing to be realized, but fearful of ruining the balance of your trio's friendship....

Chapter Masterlist

Chapter 1: The Problem

Pairing: None yet, just a nice friendship trio

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of bullying

Length: 2k

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

You wound down the hallways of the building with a scowl on your face. You would never grow used to this ridiculously long walk, from your first class of the day to the next, so conveniently located on complete opposite sides of the facility. Whoever had designed your schedule this year was either an utter imbecile or had done so on purpose, just to tick you off. At this point in your education here at the Imperial Academy, you knew either scenario was equally likely. You weren't exactly liked by the staff or your peers, and there were plenty of idiots to go around.

The one saving grace of your journey was that you would eventually cross paths with the only two friends you had managed to make in this elitist hell-hole: Eli Vanto and Mitth'raw'nuruodo.

Eli would be the first, his class letting out just a few corridors away from yours. He was leaning against an alcove in the wall just out of the way of passing traffic, his usual spot. When you rounded the corner, he pushed off and fell into step beside you.

"What happened?" you asked, having noticed he was scowling as well. His resting face usually made him look like a sad puppy, so for him to have such a prominent frown this early in the morning, something really upsetting must have happened.

"Lost the debate," he grumbled.

Ah, you'd forgotten he had that today. You and Thrawn had helped him practice for weeks, covering every possible argument and rebuttal from his opponent on the assigned topic. He had it in the bag, or so you'd all thought.

"What? How? Don't tell me you got stage-fright."

He glared over at you. "No, I wasn't nervous or anything. I did everything perfect. But all Arden had to do was throw in a few snide remarks about my accent and that got the whole class turned in his favor."

Eli started biting down on one of his nails in frustration. You frowned along with him. That was a variable none of you had accounted for while practicing.

"Is Arden the pimply-faced guy?"

"Yeah."

"Hate him," you muttered.

"Yeah."

The two of you paused at the doors of a lift, waiting for the previous occupants to exit before filing in yourselves and punching the button for the next level up. Eli was still chewing on his nails.

"Stop," you exclaimed, swatting his hand away from his mouth. "I told you that's a bad habit."

"Oh yeah, what's this then?" He grabbed one of your hands and twisted it around so you could see the splotches of chipped polish on your nails.

You jerked your hand away and held it defensively against your chest. "There's only so much I can do with this insane caseload, okay? I haven't had time to think about my nails."

"Then why'd you paint 'em in the first place?" he said with a bit of a laugh. Well, at least his mood was improving, even if it was at your expense.

You swatted at him just as the lift doors opened. "Maybe I want to try feeling pretty sometimes, not like some zombie student."

You both were keenly aware that the cadets waiting to board the lift had backed up significantly as you passed, despite not having been in your way at all. They were all whispering too, and by the tone, it was probably not about very nice things. It was always like that, wherever you went. Even if they didn't know your reputations of being from wild, "backwater" planets, they need only hear one of you speak to know you were different. And in these Core worlds, different was inferior.

"You know you don't have to follow our course map, right?" Eli spoke up again, once you'd put some distance between the lift of sneering cadets. "Me, I don't have a choice. Thrawn's determined to graduate in as little time as possible, and I'm the sorry sucker who has to follow 'im. I'd run far away from the guy if I were you. Enjoy your freedom."

Eli complained about the last member of your trio, Thrawn, at least six times a day. And half of those complaints ended with him telling you to make a break for it. You knew he didn't mean any of it; the two of you had spent the last holiday break at a bar, and in his drunkenness, Eli had confessed to being secretly grateful for having met the Chiss. He only complained to cope with the stress.

And you... well, you weren't really sure why they let you hang around. They'd both easily become your closest friends, but you weren't always sure where you stood with them. Maybe they did like your company. Or maybe they just felt sorry for you. They were both friendly enough, allowing you to join them on Thrawn's "fast track" out of the Academy. But you had a feeling that as soon as you all graduated, they'd leave you behind and move on to whatever mission the Emperor had planned for Thrawn in the Navy.

You tried not to think about it too much.

Speaking of your friend, Mitth'raw'nuruodo emerged from a classroom doorway just a few paces ahead. Right on time, as always. His specialized "tactical statistics" class ended several minutes ago, but he had learned to carefully time your path so he wouldn't have to stand awkwardly in the hall waiting. It was for the best; you and Eli may sometimes draw unwanted attention, but poor Thrawn always stood out like a very big, very blue sore thumb.

"We have a problem," he stated, coming up on your other side. You never had to ask Thrawn what was wrong; if he had a problem worth sharing, you would hear about it.

"Hallway problem or 'fresher problem?" asked Eli.

You'd all agreed long ago there were some topics of conversation best had out of earshot from any passerby. And since most scurried out of the refresher whenever Thrawn went in, that became the only suitable place for such conversations, if it couldn't wait until your dorms at the end of the day.

"Refresher," Thrawn said. He looked down at you. "You'll be late for your class."

You shrugged. "If it's important...."

"It is."

You trusted him; he wasn't the type to make up drama or blow things out of proportion. The three of you picked up the pace, turning right instead of the usual left, and slipping into the men's bathroom. Thankfully it was already empty. Eli turned the lock just in case.

Thrawn wasted no time diving into the particulars. "I have come to learn our flight instructor, Commander Burdick, intends to sabotage my simulation tests next month. He is acquainted with Admissions Supervisor Aberdeen and understands that a failing mark will require a remedial course before being allowed back into the program. This would set my graduation back several months."

That was a problem. The flight course was one of the longer ones, and mandatory, and you were all so close to finally being through with it. Just one more round of simulation tests and then an actual flight around Coruscant.

Eli was groaning by the door. "You've gotta be kidding."

"I am not," said Thrawn in a measured voice. He knew it was just an expression, but you knew it was one of his pet peeves.

Eli wasn't listening, instead kicking at the tiled floor and mumbling about how this was so typical and why can't we just be left alone.

You turned to Thrawn. "Just you?"

"The ill will seems to be mostly directed toward me. Supervisor Aberdeen does not appreciate the special provisions that have been afforded me on behalf of the Emperor, and has coerced Commander Burdick to indulge in his spitefulness. However, I would not put it past them to also have plans for either of you, as well. They are aware of our... connection."

You were certain he was about to say friendship but changed his mind. Did he not know the word for it? Was he too embarrassed to admit it? Or did he truly not see you or Eli as anything more than connections?

"Okay, but..." Eli was still processing things. "How? What's their plan?"

"I purposefully said the Commander intended to sabotage the tests. He does not yet have a plan."

"So... we stop 'im," said Eli.

"Or," you countered, a mischievous smirk playing about your lips. "We don't."

Eli merely blinked at you, but Thrawn was very interested. "Go on," he encouraged.

"If we learn what the plan is, or maybe even give him a plan of our own, then we can let it play out and ensure he gets in trouble for it."

Thrawn rubbed his chin as he considered. You knew he'd soon slip into his usual routine of pacing and muttering in unknown languages, which could take a while and make you even later for your class. You cleared your throat, drawing his two red eyes back to yours.

"Surely a Commanding Officer wouldn't dare do anything to sabotage you directly," you offered. "He'll either look for some help or pin it on someone else, in case there's an investigation."

Thrawn rubbed his chin again. "You think we should influence the Commander on who to pick to be his... what do you call it, ensipki?"

"Scapegoat," Eli said quickly. It was becoming second nature for him to translate what was left of the holes in Thrawn's understanding of Basic.

"Right, and then we can expose the deception just before the tests," you said. "Before there's time to come up with another plan."

Thrawn's eyes narrowed in thought. "A decent idea, but it would require the education of one of our fellow cadets to be jeopardized. It should not be our first plan."

"But if he's going to use one of them anyway..." you started to protest.

"Then we should seek to expose his connection to that person as well. This is an instructor who is not serving the best interest of several of his students. He should be the only one blamed."

You weren't going to let his logic win this time. As far as you could tell, this was a perfect opportunity to get revenge on your obnoxious classmates. "It's going to be a lot easier to take issue up with the Board against a student than an instructor. We can try to expose both people, but if we can't, then at least we can nail one of them. It's called a scapegoat for a reason."

Eli spoke up before Thrawn could respond, throwing you a meaningful look. "Arden's in his class. Different time, same instructor."

"Who is this Arden?" asked Thrawn.

"The racist asshole who unfairly stole Eli's grade on the debate today," you said. You'd picked your words deliberately, and it did the trick.

"Very well. We have our scapegoat," said Thrawn.

You winked at Eli and he hid a smile.

"So," Thrawn continued, fully invested now. "We will need to push Arden toward the Commander as a viable accomplice. We will need to gain insight into the details of their plan. And then we will need to ensure those details are brought to light at the right moment."

The three of you looked among each other. This was probably the tenth plan this year alone that you'd all devised to take care of some kind of "problem." Just last week Thrawn had discovered misinformation in one of your textbooks that took the three of you on a field trip to the lower levels of Coruscant to find a con-artist who'd sold a quarter-hundred counterfeit materials to the Academy library. You'd only had the weekend to catch up on all the rest of your homework, and here you all were again, ready to jump into another scheme.

You had suggested the idea, so you were already grinning and ready to go. Thrawn had just put together a to-do list, and you could almost see the gears in his head continuing to spin as he determined more points to the plan.

The deciding vote was Eli. Though he often complained about not having a choice, you and Thrawn rarely forced him to do anything and were always respectful if he had a differing opinion. This time, you had a feeling he'd be on board.

He set his hands on his hips and smirked. "Disgracing a shitty classmate and a shitty teacher in order to save our grades? Let's do it."

Next Chapter: The Plan >

#star wars #thrawn #eli vanto #thrawn x reader #eli vanto x reader #choose your own adventure #friendship #romance #mitth'raw'nuruodo

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browniefox · 4 years ago

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The Spectral Turnabout 1/?

I did it. I’m writing a lil fic for an ace attorney and paranatural crossover

oOo

Okay, Phoenix thought, I’m having a mental breakdown. That’s fine, this is fine.

To be fair, it’d been a stressful few hours. It wasn’t everyday you walked into the office and found your boss dead with her sister sitting next to her body, and then stayed there as the body became cold, the scent of blood so strong and present that at some point you stopped noticing it. To be so close to death, and of someone you knew...

Then there was the questioning after the police arrived, going over the same facts again and again and again. It dragged on for hours, caught in that system, cold and judging people staring at him. He’d been on the scene, it was natural he might've looked a bit suspicious. It was morning by the time he was let out, a weariness weighing him down from not having gotten any sleep that night. The original shock had worn off at some point, but there was still this numb disbelief. Mia… Mia was dead.

There were also the hallucinations, and what made him conclude he'd lost some marbles sometime over the night.

For the few days, Phoenix had sworn he’d been seeing things. It had started small, just flashes of pale-purple at the edges of his vision. They’d started to appear with increasing frequency, and no rest seemed to solve it. Phoenix had figured it was just stress from work.

Well, Mia’s death had officially pushed him over the edge.

Ever since the police had taken Phoenix in for questioning, the purple figures had resolved into full-blown monsters. They ran around, seeming to only occasionally care about things like doors and walls when it suited their need. Some just stayed up at the ceiling, looking down with mild interest, while others were more active. And absolutely nobody else seemed to notice them.

“What the hell?” Phoenix hissed under his breath as an odd gecko-looking thing skittered across the room, going right over his foot. He swore he’d felt the weight of it as it’d done so, and the creature had paused for half a second and looked back at him before continuing on its way. He shook his head. Just his imagination. After he talked to Maya, he’d go home and get some sleep, and if the problem persisted then he’d probably see a doctor about it…? No, he couldn’t do that, not when he was probably out of a job now! Okay, he’d just ignore the problem then. Maybe it’d go away eventually.

Maya entered the visiting room looking just as glum and sad as when Phoenix had last seen her, but that wasn’t much of a surprise.

“Oh, it’s you. The lawyer.” She said, clearly surprised at seeing him there. Phoenix nodded. She sat down in the chair on the other side of the glass. He’d followed Mia to meetings with defendants before, he was vaguely aware of how this went.

“G-good morning!” He rubbed his eyes, trying to stay awake, and also trying in vain to make the hallucinations go away. There was a particularly strong one hanging around Maya, a dark-purple mist seemingly coming off of her and falling to the floor like dry ice. All of his hallucinations seemed to carry with them some form of that mist, although the color changed from figure to figure, and there was something about Maya’s that was just… sad.

Then, suddenly, she perked up a bit, looking him over. Phoenix flinched back a bit at the sudden interest in her eyes.

“Mia didn’t tell me you were a spectral.” Maya said.

“I-, uh, I’m an a-attorney?” Phoenix corrected.

“I did know that, but you’re a spectral.” Maya insisted, brow furrowing a bit, and gestured to Phoenix. He looked around himself, trying to pinpoint what made her think the word ‘spectral’, whatever the hell that was. He was in his suit still, he’d stopped by the bathroom to make sure his hair was still in decent enough condition. His hallucination did seem to extend to himself, indigo-vapor that wasn’t really there floating off of him in spikey and nervous waves. He looked back at Maya, still very much confused.

“I- you’re, uh, I’m an attorney, and I think you might need one…?” Phoenix fumbled awkwardly. She was still looking at him oddly and it made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. The mist coming off of her started to morph and shift, and right before Phoenix’s eyes it formed the words ‘Can you read this?’

This was starting to get a bit too weird for him, but Phoenix was tired, and probably still in the denial part of the mourning process which wasn’t doing him much help, and before he knew what he was doing he’d opened his mouth and said,

“Y-yeah, how’d you do that?”

“How long have you been seeing things?!” Maya demanded, sitting forward now and close to the glass, and Phoenix flinched back.

“For a couple days, but it’s gotten really clear since sometime last night.” He admitted. Maya gasped.

“Oh my gosh, you don’t know.” She said.

“Know what?” Phoenix was sitting forward now, because he wasn’t going crazy, except he still sort of felt like he was, and his boss was dead, and he was talking to his boss’ sister who was being accused of murdering her, and he was hallucinating but hallucinations couldn’t really be shared and Maya clearly understood what he was going through, and it had been a very long night.

“You’re a spectral.” She repeated.

And then she explained.

oOo

The details were a bit hard to take in, but Phoenix managed to grasp the gist of it - Maya had been a little quick during her explanation, but that wasn’t too surprising considering the whole ‘murder trial’ they were both preparing for.

So, he was now something called a ‘spectral’, which meant he could see spirits. Yes, ghosts did exist. No, spirits weren’t really ghosts per se. Maya and Mia were from a long line of spectrals who doubled as spirit channelers, capable of pulling ghosts from wherever ghosts went when they died and allowing them to speak through them. It was probable that he’d become a spectral due to being around Mia, but there were several factors that went into it. Colors of spectral energy - the mist he’d been seeing - didn’t mean anything he needed to worry about, and she’d promised to show him some tricks to it when the trial was over.

Actually, Maya had offered to show him some tricks before the trial, but Phoenix had insisted that they wait until she was declared ‘not guilty.’ She’d looked away from him at that moment, but Phoenix had insisted again he’d get her free.

He couldn’t let Mia down like that.

Seeing Miles in court was a shock, but in another way, Phoenix had to admit he'd badly wanted to. If only it wasn't such a high-stakes case like this. The bigger surprise was the spirit that stuck around Miles.

It looked a bit like a borzoi, but much longer to accommodate an extra pair of legs and an insanely long and fluffy tail. The back two pairs of legs were more like a bird’s instead of a dog’s, and its ears were replaced with wings. It had wrapped itself around Miles, head near one of his shoulders and then spiralling around him. A muted purple spectral energy poured from the spirit in calm and steady waves, and it kept its eyes on him.

Miles didn’t react at all to the spirit, although it seemed to be fairly in sync with him, responding to Miles’ moods and such. Phoenix wasn’t sure how normal that was. There were spirits everywhere. Not enough that any place felt crowded, but more like mice or spiders, always there somewhere. So far, though, none of them seemed overly concerned about people other than watching the trial like the rest of the spectators.

Well, again, none other than the dog-like spirit who seemed intent on hanging around Miles.

During the recess, Phoenix asked Maya about it.

“Well, sometimes a spirit will hang around somebody they find interesting, especially if that person is a spectral.” Maya told him.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Phoenix sighed, shaking his head, “Edgeworth didn’t seem like he even realized it was there. And he doesn’t have spectral energy.” The spirit had floated off of Miles when he’d left for the recess, landing on the floor and following at his feet. On his shoulders, it’d given Miles the illusion of maybe being a spectral, but separated it became clear the essence was coming only from the spirit. “Could it be the ghost of one of someone he knew?”

“No, ghosts always look like they did in life. Occasionally, they’ll have minor changes in their appearances depending on how they perceive themselves, especially if it’s been a while since they died, but I’ve never heard of one changing shape that much.” Maya shot down.

“Well, no reason to dwell on it,” Phoenix shook his head, “We need to stay focused on proving your innocence.”

oOo

Being a spectral was, surprisingly, not all that different from not being a spectral. Having magic ghost energy didn’t mean he didn’t have to pay rent, and he still needed to eat, and he couldn’t fly or anything.

Maya kept her word, and they spent most of the days in the office teaching him the ins and outs of the world he was now a part of. She was a pro, easily able to create ‘compressed spectral energy burst shots’ - or ‘spec-shots’ - while Phoenix fumbled his way through the motions. It was a bit odd at first, being taught by somebody younger than him, but Maya was a surprisingly decent teacher. She was clearly experienced in the craft, having been raised a spectral.

He found himself thinking a lot about how Mia had been one too. Some late nights, when they were eating in the office, waiting for a client, Phoenix sore from the training, they’d talk about her. Apparently, Mia had noticed that something was up with Phoenix and had suspected he might be becoming a spectral. She’d planned to talk to him about it the night of her death.

Well, the best laid plans and all that.

“So, can things really be haunted?” Phoenix asked her one day while trying to focus his energy into a specific shape. He was trying to make it look like a dog, and it more closely resembled how he used to draw them back in kindergarten.

“Oh yeah, that happens all the time. Here, I actually have a tool on me.” Maya pulled a jade green gem from somewhere in the folds of her robes. She handed it over to Phoenix, and he turned it over in his hands. It was smooth to the touch, and shaped like a teardrop or a comma with a perfect hole in it, big enough for Phoenix to fit his pinky through. “This is my magatama, and you could say that it’s ‘haunted’, although the technical word is that it’s now a tool. A spirit was injured long ago, and now they live here! They’ve been passed from Fey to Fey for years.”

“Huh.” Phoenix said. It didn’t look particularly special. He handed it back to Maya.

“You probably won’t have to worry about that, though. Tools are usually used by people who are fighting spirits and stuff!” Maya smiled.

“Yeah, I think I’ll stick to being a lawyer.” Phoenix gave a small laugh.

oOo

So, maybe Phoenix had come to the conclusion about Miles not being a spectral a bit too quickly.

#paranatural #pnat #ace attorney #phoenix wright #mia fey #maya fey #miles edgeworth #browniefox writes #the next one is edgeworth centric #the spectral turnabout

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kuronekonerochan · 4 years ago

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The laziest compilation of thoughts about the mess that was Alice (spoilers)

I finish a lot of shitty dramas. Like a lot. I could review them, but I won’t bc there’s too many and I’m too lazy (when you ff some dramas from 45min to 5 per episode it doesn’t really count as watching too many dramas bc it’s really a commercial break, lol). Some I watch for the so bad it’s good content, or love hate watching or just to have something to watch while I eat, even if they’re boring af. It’s also a tiny bit of ocd bc I need to see how they end (even the ones I drop I check out the finale). I only drop the ones that as Marie Kondo says *Do Not Spark Joy, more specifically...annoy me and make me cranky.

I sometimes bitch about it on DMs with ranty spoilers without structure and that reference other unrelated dramas or shows, because ADHD and my mind refuses to stay on topic, which would make it probably unintelligible except if you are in the niche who happens to have watched the other unrelated dramas, so it’s probably useless as a review.

That said, here are some random disconnected thoughts about Alice.

MAJOR SPOILER ALERTS BEWARE

(this is like partly copypaste of DM rants bc I am that lazy biatch. Also, fair warning I will seem super harsh or this drama because that’s the thing about a bitching dm versus a proper review... I am not bringing up all the points and talking about the good and what I liked as well as the bad, it’s just the bad...and although the drama is imo a mess, it does have some good in it. So if it were a review I’d always argue pros and cons...ranty thoughs who cares about pros? boring..I will not be bothered with devil’s advocate).

This was fascinating to watch, interesting but not good... but like a trainwreck.

I continued watching this mess despite the headache inducing convoluted plot (I watched a lot of timetravel stuff and I love it...encompassing all the theories about it, from butterfly effect, to effectively changing the future (with characters forgetting it or keeping it in memory because “eye of the storm” theory, the “efforts are futile and you can try to change it but the future is set in stone”, to “small changes can be made but big events are fixed points in time”, to “every change creates a new time line” and multiverse, etc... and trust me, all of them can be done well when well written or turn out a confusing illogical mess and that has nothing to do with the theory chosen, but with presenting how time travel works for that story and what the basic rules are and sticking to them...or when something happens that contradicts them, come up with an explanation as to why that happens.

I don’t mean the drama should be an exposition borefest with too much pseudosciency jargon...but this drama gives you too little in the way of rules and the viewers sort of figure out how timetravel works (which is not bad per se, huge fan of show don’t tell...but there’s a limit to how much they cannot tell or the characters chose not to ask just for the sake of plot and not without any logic to it). Anyways, the little “rules” that we gather along the way...the writing doesn’t stick to them and keeps contradicting itself without addressing or explaining it and hoping we’re so confused we don’t notice. Some dramas you just say “eh, forget it, it doesn’t make sense, let’s turn off our brains and enjoy it”, but here if I wanted to try and follow what was going on at all it required “brain on” mode for their convoluted plot twists...which also made me aware of so may plotholes the time road should have looked like Swiss Cheese. I could go into them...but I cannot be bothered and the list would be extensive and still incomplete, so I will just put 3 here bc I can’t help it:

1) Hot Daddy with emotional turmoil the entire drama of “Oh no, I abandoned her in 92 and regretted it, it happened 1 year ago for me, and now I find out she died in 2010. How was she, did she suffer? What did she know? Oh god, if only I were a time traveler eventually going rogue who could show up and talk to her any time in the timeline between 92 and 2010...Alas, I have to live in misery with the consequences of my actions...there is just ABSOLUTELY no way of solving this. I guess I’ll just keep making unauthorized time travel journeys from 2050′s time agency back to the year of 2020 and only 2020 to constantly be blindsided by murder attempts on everyone everywhere without having a clue to what’s going on when I could simply go back to before 2010 and talk to the one person who is proven to know what is going on.” Here is where there could be a bullshit reason as to why he could go only go to 2020 and not before, but the drama didn’t even bother.

2) They say Tae Yi’s mom was originally a time traveler who settled with her physicist dad in the past, eventually making way for her to discover time travel herself. The mom is missing and this is never addressed again.

3) The book...who wrote it? Because I have guesses but they never outright answer it... and if the biatch author knew that stuff why the alice in wonderland stupid analogies?

Coward, or petty, or both.... or maybe just a chaos gremlin godlike entity who wanted to watch them all squirm, like the author from Extraordinary You...and that I could get behind, but sadly they don’t go that metaphysical/theological with the plot...which is honestly the main problem with this drama. It seems ambitious in concept but it’s never explored decently in any way, not in the pseudoscience, not in the philosophical sense of the meaning of time/space/existence, not even in its relationships, with the constant back and forth and weirdness of it.

Besides the timetravel migraine, we had the weirdest directing, that made the relationship between the leads feel a bit too incesty...which was the main reason I kept watching this drama...morbid curiosity of how they wrapped up this mess of a plot AND especially the relationship payoff...would it keep being weird with trope romance drama scenes like the female lead and second female lead facing off and being jealous, or that weird hair washing that felt more sensual than maternal? I knew it wouldn’t happen but my inner chaos gremlin wanted kdramaland to grow some balls and go full “predestination: oedipus edition” with this mess. Alas they sort of did, mostly didn’t. Even that angle was a whole inconsistent mess: there were times where it felt too romantic, then for a short minute I misguidedly shipped the journalist friend, then it seemed the dude was ace, then they calmed their tits with the whole weird romantic vibes and it got platonic cute, then with the memory merge thing finally motherly vibes, then I shipped the journalist again for 1 sec only...and then the ending:

Alice ended with the lead solving every problem by shooting himself (technically) in the head...and that's the second meta perfectly fitting ending for a drama with a good cast and terrible writing that drove itself into a corner this year, after the sleepless princess ended with the leads jumping off a cliff. I don't think it's a self aware choice of the writers, or an admission that they themselves know it was bad, but the irony is delicious.

Spoiler for the ending: he undoes timey wimey stuff from when his mom first got killed in high school and closed the time travel door. So he became an architect and new Tae Yi just woke up in her bed remembering everything, but in reality she had just come back from a conference abroad and had never met him. So mom TaeYi didn't die then, but never got back on screen after the time undo so who the f knows what happened to her.

Also, if new Tae Yi remembers, does that mean hot daddy from the future does as well, but he is just stuck in the future without a time door to ever see them again? The drama doesn’t care answering that and forgets his character is even a thing...I will miss you, my fave who looked emotionally and literally constipated 24/7 (it doesn’t care answering much at all tbf... a little known fact about the time travel paradoxes according to the physics of this world is that besides doppelganger chickenpox it induces severe lazy writing).

Anyways new Tae Yi went looking for architect (? okay...I guess) ML after she woke up, at first he didn't remember her, but it ends with him meeting her, apparently remembering her and they stare at each other... you know, like any bad traditional romantic kdrama finale....so there is still THAT vibe.

Honestly, the usual romantic ballad score for scenes between the leads WAS NOT the most intelligent choice for this drama in specific but boy did they stick with it (not to mention the ending song... that goes, in english “we be like Bonnie and Clyde we ride or die...which...k, sure)...so technically the ending was exactly the cliche post amnesia running back to each other and staring for the final scene while romantic music blasts trope. Take it as you will.

#alice #sbs alice #kdrama #mine #kdrama edit #kdrama rant #kdrama rambles #sleepless princess #cdrama #just the reference tho #alice kdrama #alice sbs

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hood-ex · 4 years ago

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If you like hurt!Jason + Dick being a good older brother then boy howdy, do I have a fic for you.

Summary:

For the fifth time in less than a minute, Dick cursed his luck that Jason got knocked out from a tranq while they were being chased by magic androids in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

“Thanks a lot, kid,” he muttered as he stumbled over rocks and fallen branches. Jason, who was too dead to the world to realize that Dick was fireman carrying his ass away from danger, wasn’t able to answer with a snarky remark.

Read on AO3 or below the cut. Chapter 1/2.

For the fifth time in less than a minute, Dick cursed his luck that Jason got knocked out from a tranq while they were being chased by magic androids in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

Dick tried to ignore how the silence from his brother unnerved him by pausing to check over his shoulder for any androids on their tail. All he saw was lush green trees and bushes that stretched on for miles and miles. No shiny metal in sight.

Dick didn’t dare let his guard down. He knew the androids were coming for them. Well, more specifically, for Jason. The Outlaws were clearly on someone’s shit list and were being hunted down like dogs.

They’d learned pretty early on in the fight that the androids weren’t interested in Dick, but they’d been more than happy to swarm Jason and Artemis. Dick figured the androids were programmed with facial recognition, and since they weren’t programmed to recognize Dick’s face, they ran right past him. It was a blessing for Dick and a curse for Jason.

The androids were drawn to Jason like a beacon. Dick doubted the explosion he set off earlier would dissuade the androids from finding them for much longer.

Sweat from Dick’s temple trickled down towards the corner of his lip. He wiped it away on Jason’s pants. Fuck, it was hot outside. Running around with over two hundred pounds on his shoulders in Maine’s humid air was almost unbearably uncomfortable.

He was running pretty low on energy, having used most of it to smash the android’s heads in. Carrying Jason around certainly didn’t help. It was frustrating because Dick knew his slow pace was putting them in danger. On the flip side, stopping would shorten the distance between them and the enemy.

Still, he wouldn’t be much use if he was too exhausted to protect Jason. And another problem he’d been thinking about for a while was that he needed food and water to be at the top of his game.

He wasn’t too worried about food since he had a protein bar stored in his glove. Water was the bigger worry. They had some on their plane. Only problem was that it would take Dick some time to backtrack to get to it, assuming he’d even get to that point. If he couldn’t make it to the plane by evening, he would have to track down a creek or a river. The thought was extremely unappealing to his tired mind and muscles, but if it meant life or death, he’d do it. With that thought in mind, he decided to find a place to recharge.

Dick was panting by the time he stumbled upon a cluster of giant rocks that were shrouded somewhat decently by neighboring trees. Two of the large rocks crossed over each other, leaving a hole between them that looked just big enough to fit both Dick and Jason inside of.

Arms and shoulders burning, Dick decided the rocks would be good enough to camouflage them from sight. He stopped in front of the hole, and with a grunt, he carefully lowered Jason to the ground. Knowing Jason’s head was protected by his helmet, he grabbed Jason by the legs and slowly dragged him inside the hole. Jason would probably be pissed about the dirt stains on his jacket when he woke up, but Dick was quickly running out of fucks to give.

It wasn’t until Dick was fully submerged in the hole that he realized his mistake. The smell of soil invaded his nose, and before he knew it, he was living through a PTSD nightmare. There was an instantaneous feeling of his lungs feeling way too small, like he was breathing through a straw.

It was too tight here. Too small. Too dark. Dirt was fucking everywhere. In his hair, on his legs, under his fingernails. His hands hurt so bad. He needed to breathe, but he couldn’t. He had to save his air. There wasn’t much of it left. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic!

Hands shaking, Dick ripped off his gloves and threw them to the side. He blindly reached out towards Jason and ended up grabbing Jason’s arm. Dick immediately started rubbing his hand against the leather, buttons, and zippers on the jacket. He focused on the rough texture of the leather, the hard metal of the buttons, and the biting teeth of the zippers.

“My name is Dick Grayson. I’m with my brother on a mission in Maine. I can see the sky. I can smell the fresh air. I can hear the birds chirping and the bugs buzzing. I can feel my brother’s jacket. I’m not in a coffin. I’m not underground. My mind is my greatest weapon.”

Dick had no idea how many times he repeated his mantra before the anxiety that was threatening to choke him slowly eased up. He stumbled towards the opening of the hole and greedily sucked in large amounts of air, making sure to focus on the trees swaying in the breeze against the bright blue sky.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he felt himself become grounded back to his current reality. The panic began to fade. His chest didn’t feel like it was about to give out on him anymore, and his shaking shifted to a slight tremor. He did one more controlled breathing exercise just to be on the safe side.

He could do this. He was okay. He was okay. He was okay.

Fuck, he did not expect that. Fuck his brain for doing that to him at a time like this. Christ, seriously.

There was no time to reflect on it right now. He needed to take care of his brother. With more reluctance than he'd like to admit, he slowly dragged his feet back to where Jason was lying on the ground.

Dick gently raised Jason up by his shoulders and situated him against the rock wall. He eyed Jason’s location in the middle of the hole, and on second thought, he moved Jason closer towards the opening where he’d be able to see the sky in case he woke up suddenly.

Dick wasn’t the only one in his family that was triggered by dirt.

He felt more in control of himself as he worked on taking Jason’s helmet, jacket, and gloves off, worried that Jason would overheat in them. If he spent a little extra time rubbing the varnish on the helmet, or feeling the texture of the gloves, well, that was neither here nor there. He finished by placing the items next to Jason’s side where they could air out a little.

Jason’s hair was damp and his face was covered in dried sweat tracks. Dick knew his face was probably in a similar state. Sighing, he grabbed Jason’s wrist and checked his pulse. A minute passed. Dick set Jason’s arm back on the ground, content that his BPM fell in the normal range. He placed the back of his hand against Jason’s forehead and his cheeks, checking to make sure that Jason wasn’t in danger of heatstroke. To his relief, Jason seemed to be in as good a state as Dick was, which was one less thing to worry about.

He just wished he knew exactly what had been in the tranq so he would have a general idea of what he was dealing with in case Jason started having any weird side effects from it. It was most likely an anesthetic that lacked neuromuscular blocking agents. Jason wouldn’t have been able to breathe by himself if NBA’s were present, and as far as Dick could tell, Jason’s breathing was fine.

Knowing Jason was okay made some of the anxiety in Dick’s gut disappear. That taken care of, Dick carefully moved to the entrance of the hole and looked out into the forest. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual. Just trees, trees, and oh yeah, more trees. Nothing to be alarmed about.

What Dick really wanted to do was do a brief sweep around the perimeter to check for anything in the distance. It would be too risky to reveal himself in the daylight. But now that he was thinking about it, would the androids even react if they only saw him and not Jason? The fight proved that they didn’t consider Dick a threat, and they’d made no move to attack him. Would they simply walk past him just like they’d done thirty minutes earlier?

Dick had to take into account that whoever was responsible for the androids was probably now aware of his existence.

During the fight, he’d noticed that the androids had white crystals implanted on the back of their heads. He’d spotted the crystals while frying the androids with his escrima sticks, and what he’d found out was that the crystals emitted heat and an aura of magic.

The magicked androids were more resilient and adaptable than regular androids. Dick assumed the magic would also make it way easier to reprogram the androids on a whim, meaning the maker could have easily included Dick into the list of faces the androids could recognize. Knowing that was a possibility made Dick hesitant to put his theory to the test.

Feeling tired from the heat, he returned to his spot across from Jason, stretching his legs out as much as he could in the small space. The shade from the rocks made him feel a little bit cooler. He’d kill for AC and a cold glass of water right about then.

That shit would have to wait because Dick needed a plan. He looked at Jason’s slack face and frowned. Taking Jason’s current state into account, Dick ran a few different scenarios through his head. While he thought, he brought up his wrist computer on his glove and tracked Artemis’s location. As far as Dick was aware, she’d retreated in the direction of their hidden plane. His tracking device said differently. Artemis was actually somewhere closer to the building that Bizarro was trapped in.

Dick was worried she would try to save Bizarro without any backup. He didn’t want her to get captured as well. Jason had been pretty adamant that the guy holding Bizarro prisoner wasn’t a magic user himself, which made Dick feel slightly better. The last thing they needed was a magicked Superman clone and a magicked Bana Amazon.

Dick checked his and Jason’s own location on the GPS and calculated what steps he would need to take. The plane was parked three miles East from their current location. The building holding Bizarro was two miles from the plane.

Dick and Jason could easily cover that kind of ground in an hour under normal circumstances. In their current situation, it would take Dick much longer to navigate through the forest with Jason on his back. Carrying Jason for that long in this kind of heat ran the risk of depleting Dick’s energy to the point where he’d be no use in a fight.

What Dick really needed was for Jason to wake up. Without the NBA in the anesthetic, the effects of the drug shouldn’t last as long. It had already been a little over half an hour since Jason had been dosed, and since he wasn’t being fed multiple doses of anesthesia, he would probably be pretty close to being conscious.

Only one way to find out.

“Hey.” Dick got on his knees and leaned towards his brother, gently tapping his hand against Jason’s cheek. “Hood. Jay lad. Annoying pain in my ass. Hey. Hey. You awake?”

Jason carried on sleeping like a log, not having moved a muscle. Dick sat back on his haunches and sighed, rubbing his hands over his eyes in frustration. He was clearly going to need another plan.

But first, he took another look outside the hole to make sure they were still in the clear. Blue eyes scanned the tree line and found nothing unusual or out of place. Just the same old forest.

Despite the distinct lack of androids, Dick was beginning to feel restless. He’d already wasted enough time hiding here. No doubt the androids were minutes away from their location unless their maker had called them back at some point. And if Dick couldn’t run from them, maybe he could trap them?

There wasn’t much for him to work with in terms of supplies and weapons. If he’d been given the whole day, he could’ve set up some booby traps. If he’d gotten the chance to return to the plane, he could’ve grabbed some useful explosives or tech.

There was no time for that now. All he had was his escrima sticks, wingdings, grapple gun, and some smoke pellets. What else was around here that could be useful to him? He thought back to the research he had done on this environment before the mission. He had a general idea of where the trees thinned out the most and where the closest houses were. But he needed something a little more useful. Something that could help him blow up a bunch of metal. Something like…

“The river!” Dick said excitedly.

“Ngh…”

Dick’s head shot up so fast, he nearly smacked his head into the rock. He barely noticed, eyes now locked on the slight fluttering of Jason’s eyelashes. It was another minute before Jason’s eyes slowly blinked open, revealing blue eyes that were glazed over. He let out a sleepy exhale through his nose.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey, kiddo,” Dick said while tweaking Jason’s nose.

If Jason was more coherent, Dick knew he would’ve gotten his finger bitten off for that. As it was, Jason could barely do anything more than blink in confusion. Dick could already tell by the way Jason’s eyes were drooping that Jason was simply too groggy to speak.

“You’re going to fall back asleep on me, aren’t you?”

Jason scrunched his face up as if annoyed that he had to listen to Dick’s voice. Seconds later, he was out like a light, just as Dick predicted.

That was the exact moment when the birds went silent and the clanking of metal thundered in the distance.

#Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #my fic #err warning for PTSD i guess?

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dascarecrow · 4 years ago

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The ACE Reports - The Lost Superstars

“Buongiorno everyone and welcome to the first episode of the ACE Reports. S here to bring you on a deep dive into the secret files of this esteemed agency. For our first go around I decided to cover something a bit off-kilter but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“If you’re a fan of Hanna-Barbera or just of animation in general then you more than likely have heard of the Superstars 10. For those unaware the Superstars 10 were a series of made-for-tv movies that were focused on some of Hanna-Barbera’s most iconic characters. If you grew up in the 90′s to the early 2000′s then you likely saw some, if not all of them, on Cartoon Network’s Cartoon Theatre. (You know when Don LaFontaine did the commercials and previews) The concept was honestly brilliant. A series of movies focused on HB’s most well known characters but created for a televised format across the course of two years. It was a good way of showing how big the characters of the brands involved could actually go while still being affordable in doing so for the studio. The films would continue to be rerun in syndication for years after premiering, admittedly some more than others, keeping them in the public mind. It seems the studio was emboldened by the project because they actually planned to release a second wave of movies. Unfortunately corporate and executive concerns killed the plans for that idea. Around the time Hanna-Barbera would have been working on this the studio was acquired by Turner, which put a halt to everything in development at the time which included the planned Superstars films. This resulted in almost every planned project by Hanna-Barbera being scrapped entirely.”

“I consider this to be just plain unfair so I decided that today we would go over what this scrapped second wave of movies would have been about. We’ll be covering everything I’ve been able to discover about these Lost Superstars movies, the plots and characters behind them and some assorted trivia. Let’s get started.”

“We’ll begin by going over a movie that was actually planned for the first set of films in the Superstars 10 but wound up retooled for whatever reason. HB had actually planned to release a Wacky Races movie in the first wave called Around The World With The Wacky Racers. I wasn’t able to find out much about the plot but it seems that it was meant to be global version of the usual Wacky Races from the cartoon. Hanna-Barbers didn’t seem to have the most confidence about a movie based on Wacky Races though because they wound up reworking the idea into Yogi’s Great Escape, the first of the Superstars 10 movies released. I honestly do wish they had released Around The World. Great Escape is a decent movie but it’s one of the weaker Yogi projects HB has released in my opinion. And Yogi got three movies in the series, tying with Scooby-Doo for the number of films in the series it received. HB had no problem with going for less well known properties with the projects it made, considering Top Cat got a movie. Then again Jetsons technically got two movies in the series, one more than it’s inspiration The Flintstones got, so who knows what HB was thinking.”

“Now something interesting is that two of the planned second wave of films actually did get made. The first of these was A Flintstone’s Christmas Carol which released in 1994. The second was Jonny’s Golden Quest, which was a Jonny Quest film and released in 1993. Golden Quest came about in part because of interest from the USA Network, making it a rare project from Hanna-Barbera at the time that could be developed under Turner’s restrictions. I was surprised to discover these movies were actually part of an esteemed pedigree as intended additions to the Superstars 10 line. Golden Quest is also the only movie that falls under the Superstars 10 umbrella that didn’t air on Cartoon Theatre so it’s a bit more obscure. I honestly didn’t know about until I saw the film in channel listing for Boomerang years ago and I didn’t know right away that it was about Jonny Quest.”

“Moving on from the projects that got lucky let’s turn our focus to the ideas that didn’t luck out. One of them was a sequel to The Jetsons Meet The Flintstones, which would have reunited the stone age and space age families. They would have been sent through time again but this time to Rome where they would meet the cast of The Roman Holidays, a lesser known Hanna-Barbera sitcom cartoon. This is the only confirmed sequel idea I know about and it’s honestly a shame it didn’t get made. Not only would the sequel concept be original but it would also introduce audiences to a less well known HB property. I would certainly call that a missed opportunity.”

“Speaking of sequels there is some speculation that the Scooby movies were meant to receive some as part of the second set of movies. If I’m being honest I could only see two of them getting sequels. Reluctant Werewolf would be the frontrunner for me given it’s ending but I could see Ghoul School getting one too. The original characters from there are very popular, even to this day. So much so that they actually made a guest appearance in OK KO. I’ve also read there were ideas for another Top Cat movie but I haven’t been able to find anything about it.”

“Now that we’ve covered follow up, let’s discuss original ideas. I have found there was a plan for another Yogi movie that would have seen Yogi being shipped off to Russia and meeting Russian counterpart to himself called Yaki Bear. I haven’t found anything else about the idea but I do think it would have been a strictly Yogi project like Invasion of the Space Bears was. No appearances by any other Hanna-Barbera funny animals like Huckleberry Hound or Snagglepuss. If that was the case I think it would have turned out pretty well. Invasion was honestly very good in my opinion and it would be interesting to see if they could recapture that feeling with this.”

“Now most of what I know about this second set of movies comes from what I’ve read. But what actually clued me in about the existence of this second wave of Superstars 10 movies was an image of posters for some of the projects I found on Reddit. One of these was for Droopy Master Detective. This idea did see life as a cartoon of it’s own and I haven’t found anything corroborating it as a planned film by Hanna-Barbera but for the sake of argument let’s say it was intended as a film. This would have been very unexpected and I honestly don’t know if they could have done it or not. I don’t really have strong opinions on Droopy and it’s a coin toss if he could carry his own movie or not. The original Superstars movies do hold up so I’ll be cautiously optimistic.”

“Another one of the posters I found was for a Quickdraw film.”

“Titled The Quickest Draw In The West it seems it would have been another western, much like the Huckleberry Hound one was. Quickdraw would have gotten a love interest and presumably he would have been in conflict with some character or other to prove himself as the Quickest Draw In The West. I’ll be honest, this one seems like a coin toss on working to me. HB already did the western story with Huckleberry Hound and going by the poster it doesn’t seem like they would have included any other funny animal characters. Quickdraw is fun, especially with his El Kabong persona, but it’s iffy as to whether he could carry his own movie.”

“The final project I’m aware of was of all things, a Magilla Gorilla movie.”

“This is surprising and quite honestly this project is the most intriguing of the scrapped Superstars 10 projects for me. For starters Magilla has always been a backburner character for HB, most of his appearances and focus have tended to be in ensemble shows and even there he’s rarely a figure of prominence. I believe the most stand out focus he’s ever gotten has been in a DC comics special issue where he crossed over with Nightwing. And even there he had to share screen time with Grape Ape. So making him the star of the film was a unique choice to say the least.”

“And speaking of unique choices this is probably the project that we can divine the most details about, going by the poster. The title is appropriate for a Hanna-Barbera work, being called A Night at the Ape-ra. It just feels like some of that old HB magic with that title. Magilla would have gotten a love interest, which is the least stand out thing in these details. Wally Gator and Top Cat would have also factored in. It’s not clear how exactly but presumably they would be friends to Magilla. Dick Dastardly and Muttley seem to be the ones chosen as the villains for the film which definitely stand out. These two were prohibited from appearing in Hanna-Barbera productions for a long time, owing to ownership disputes regarding the characters. This necessitated Hanna-Barbera creating copies in the form of the Dread Baron and Mumbly, who appeared in the Spruce Goose movie. So seeing them planned as the villains is a bit of a surprise. If HB would have been able to include the duo is another question altogether.”

“It’s unclear exactly what the plot would have been but the details in the poster do give something of an idea as to what it might have been. Magilla wants to sing at the opera, that much is easy to discern. Dastardly and Muttley are the villains and trying to capture him. Going by Dastardly’s attire it’s quite likely he’s a zookeeper and with that in mind it could paint the picture that he’s either trying to capture Magilla for the zoo or trying to return him there. Either or would work in the context of the story. A zoo setting would also be an ideal way of including Wally Gator whose zoo life factored into his own show and his appearance in Great Escape. Top Cat is an odd duck in this situation but he could have factored in as someone who knows the streets that helps Magilla get to the opera given that one of lines hints that Magilla actively wants to sing at one.”

“Story speculation aside I honestly wish I could have seen this one. If I had to choose any of the scrapped projects to be made today it would be this one. The idea of Magilla as a lead is certainly something different and having an ensemble showing that lacked Yogi Bear would only make it more unique. Having it be a full blown musical would also make it stand out. The music in these movies was always stand out and phenomenal *remembers Scrappy’s rap from Ghoul School* well mostly, and seeing a project that was a full blown musical would only take it to a new level.”

“All in all the Lost Superstars were an intriguing idea that will forever plague the minds of those who know of them, wondering what might have been if the almighty dollar had not struck them down. There were ideas that may not have changed the world but might have given us a good time regardless. All we can do is walk the web, praying that one day we’ll find out just one more word that could describe this lost art.”

“So for now we look to the stars, and wish that somewhere, someday we may see these Lost Superstars again. Volare via everyone.”

#The ACE Reports #Ep. 1

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starrynightshade · 5 years ago

Note

If you can, can you give us a little drabble about the first time Gendry felt attracted to Arya and/or the first time Arya felt attracted to Gendry?

Your wish is my command!

Arya rolled her eyes as the giggling on the other side of the wall amplified. She was trying to finish The Great Gatsby for her English class, but that was easier said than done with Jeyne and Sansa giggling like a couple of idiots just a few feet away. She could see Sansa’s feet swinging off the edge of the bed through the fireplace and figured Jeyne was probably behind her on the bed, braiding her long hair or twisting it up into a bun.

“Okay, but his friend is kind of hot though, right?”

“Gendry? I guess… if you’re into the strong and silent type.”

Arya wished her sister were the silent type. She pulled closed the curtains on her bed, blocking out most of the light but none of the sound. She could still hear Sansa’s voice as she and her friend kept chatting.

“Okay but have you seen his arms? Yummy,” Jeyne carried on.

“Not exactly a shining personality,” Sansa scoffed, causing Jeyne to giggle once more.

Fuck it.

Arya slammed her book shut and threw it down on the bed, not bothering to hide her annoyance as she stomped out of the room. Jeyne and Sansa watched her go, as if they had only just remembered that she had been tucked away in her little turret. Arya would have killed for an actual door and a solid wall without a double-sided fireplace in it, if only for a little bit of peace and quiet. Instead she found herself fleeing her own bedroom again just to try and get a little peace.

It wasn’t hard to find her way up the stairs in the dark. She could hear Rickon and Lyanna playing as she passed his door, They should really be asleep, but it was spring break and they were bound to be wrapped up in the excitement.

She didn’t bother knocking when she reached her oldest brothers’ room, just pushed the door open and walked right in. Because of the age of the manor, it had an odd layout. The actual bedroom fed into a sitting room at the front of the house, so it was more like two rooms than one. The larger of the two, which Rob and Theon shared, was empty so Arya wandered into the former sitting area that served as Jon’s room.

Robb, Jon, Theon, and Gendry were splayed across Jon’s rug with cards in their hands and three spoons between them.

“...just take one when I have four?”

“You can’t just grab it,” Robb said in response to Gendry’s question. “You’ve got to be sneaky.”

“Or quick,” Theon added, snatching one of the spoons from the center and laughing when Jon and Robb grabbed the other two before Gendry even knew what had happened.

“Or both,” Arya said, strutting into the room and wedging herself between Jon and Robb. “Deal me in so i can show him how it’s done.”

Theon finished collecting everyone’s cards and began to shuffle them, then placed them into five different stacks. “I thought you were working on your sacred sisterhood journey or whatever.”

Arya rolled her eyes. Her relationship with Sansa had improved, thanks to the help of their therapist, but that didn’t mean they were BFFs all day every day. “She and Jeyne are having a little ‘girl talk’ session,” Arya said. “And if I have to hear about how ‘yummy’ Gendry’s arms are for another second, I’m actually going to puke.”

Her brothers laughed as Gendry’s cheeks turned pink.

Theon handed out the stacks and started pulling from the pile of cards at his side. “Wait, was it just Gendry or did they say something about me?”

Ary glanced down at her hand and saw that she already had a pair of eights.

Robb scowled at his best friend. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“What? Jeyne’s kinda hot.”

“Not that your ego needs any more inflating, but she did say you have nice eyes,” Arya said, picking up the first in Robb’s discard pile and placing it in front of Jon when she saw that it was a three. “Too bad nobody can see them behind all that hair.”

She picked up another eight as her brothers began trading insults, always keeping one eye on the cards and one on the center of the circle. Nobody had taken a spoon yet. She spared a quick second to glance at Gendry and noticed that he seemed content to be excluded from that particular exchange.

He was alternating between staring at his cards and glancing worriedly at the spoons in the center of the circle. Arya could admit that it was kind of cute how his eyebrows drew towards one another the more he focused on the task at hand. Kind of cute, but not really.

No, definitely not.

Finally she got the fourth and final eight and slipped it into her hand, discarding an ace she’d had since the start of the game and discreetly snatching up one of the spoons as she drew her hand back from her discard pile.

A moment passed, then another, then someone (Theon, she thought) lunged for one of the remaining spoons and all hell broke loose. When the dust had settled, Gendry was the only one without a spoon in his hand.

“Better luck next time, Waters.” Theon patted his shoulder sympathetically, then started gathering all the cards again.

Usually the loser would be out for the rest of the game, forced to watch as each match whittled the competition down to two opponents. Gendry was still learning though, so they decided to take mercy and let him stay in the game until he finally managed to snag a spoon after about six more rounds.

Despite how much fun she was having, Arya found herself yawning not long after. It was nearing one in the morning and she was tired from traveling.

“Time for bed,” Jon chided, nudging her shoulder with his own. “Sansa and Jeyne are probably already getting their beauty sleep.”

She didn’t even have the energy to argue. Instead, she rose from the floor and stretched while the boys began to do the same.

“Hey, can I go grab some water before we go to sleep?” It was Gendry’s voice, low enough that it was hard to hear and deep enough that it carried over to Arya’s ears.

“We have water bottles in the kitchen,” Arya offered. “I’ll show you where we keep them.”

He offered her a soft smile and Arya realized that maybe Gendry wasn’t quite as grumpy or stoic as she’d thought. Maybe he was just shy. Or maybe it was a bit of both.

“I'd appreciate that. Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m headed downstairs anyway.”

She wished her brothers a good night and Let Gendry follow her out into the hall, suddenly very aware of just how short her sleep shorts really were.

“Jon said you’re studying engineering,” she said as they descended the staircase.

“Yeah, mechanical engineering.”

“And you fix cars?”

“For now, yeah. It’s not a bad gig, and the pay is decent.”

They rounded the corner into the kitchen and Arya pulled one of the cupboards open to pull out a water bottle for him. Why her mother insisted on keeping them so high up, she would never know. Just as she was lifting up onto her toes to grab one, a long arm appeared in her field of vision and plucked one from the cupboard.

Gendry offered it to her silently, as if it were a peace offering.

“I’m fine, thanks. You can fill it up from the fridge or the tap.”

“Well, Jon does keep insisting that New York’s tap water is the best.”

“He’s right. LA’s water is garbage.”

Gendry grinned at that. “I guess we’ll see.”

He shut the sink off and turned towards her.

“You can find your way back from here?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks, Arya.”

Maybe it was the way the moonlight was filtering into the room, or maybe it was her tired eyes playing tricks, but she could see what Jeyne meant. His hair was dark and disheveled from him constantly running a hand through it, and she could see the definition of his arms through his t-shirt.

It was his eyes that made her pause though. They were the most unusual shade of blue she’d ever seen - clear and dark at the same time. They made her think of deep bodies of water. Or the sky when there’s only a sliver of sun left on the horizon. They were almost hypnotizing.

And she was staring.

“Well, goodnight then,” she said, trying to make a hasty exit and hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah, you too.”

They went their separate ways, and If Arya thought about those eyes as she fell asleep… well, that was nobody’s business but her own.

#friday i'm in love #something to tide you guys over #gendrya #fanfic #unedited because I'm sleep deprived

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steve-needs-a-hug · 4 years ago

Text

in which Draco needs to ace Herbology

Part 1/? (I don’t know how long this is going to end up being lol)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25758838/chapters/62556034

Setting: Hogwarts, 3rd year

Content warnings: None. Contains subtle hints of Drarry (with more to come)

Summary: Star student Draco Malfoy is acing all his courses...except Herbology. His father threatens to pull Draco out of Quidditch if he doesn’t get straight As on all his exams, and with time running out before the Herbology final, a desperate Draco finds himself reluctantly accepting help from a most unlikely source.

Featuring: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley

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

“Draco!” Lucius Malfoy’s cold, stern voice reverberated throughout the Great Hall, causing many heads to turn to the Howler that had just flown in to interrupt everyone’s luncheon. Draco Malfoy put his head into his hands as his father’s voice began to berate him about his mid-term progress grades. “Your school performance thus far is highly unsatisfactory.” Draco got mostly As with a few Bs. “Don’t you dare tarnish our family name with a B again. If you don’t bring your average up to an A by winter break, I’m taking you off the Quidditch team!” The letter promptly burst into flame and burned into a little pile of ash on the table. Draco’s Quidditch teammates looked at him with worry and discomfort at the thought of losing their star Seeker, while quiet chuckles and snickers came from the other tables.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Ron Weasley, turning to a wide-eyed Harry Potter. “What are them Slytherins going to do without Malfoy hunting you down every game, Harry?”

Hermione Granger shrugged. “I suppose Gryffindor is going to start winning a lot more matches.”

“I guess so,” agreed Harry absent-mindedly. According to Harry, Draco Malfoy had a lot of deficiencies, but intelligence was definitely not one of them. Lucius Malfoy’s standards must have been very demanding. The trio, along with just about everyone else, watched as a sullen Draco pushed away his half-eaten lunch and slinked out of the Hall.

The loud cheers faded into the background as Harry strode into the locker room. His last Quidditch match of the term had just ended with a Slytherin victory, but he was still in good spirits, energized by the lingering sensation of the cool autumn wind in his hair and on his cheeks. He took his time changing out of uniform and back into his regular school robes, aware that this was the last time he would get to do so until next term. By the time Harry started to walk casually towards the exit, nearly all the other players had already gone. But in the corner of Harry’s eye, he spotted a lone hunched-over figure sitting on one of the benches, his blond hair hanging over his eyes. Harry hesitantly turned away from the exit and towards Draco Malfoy. Harry was used to Draco’s excessive gloating after every Slytherin victory, yet despite the fact that he had just secured the win for his team that day, Draco seemed pretty downcast.

“Is your dad really going to take you out of Quidditch because of bad grades?” Harry inquired. “You seemed to be doing pretty well in Potions.”

Draco glared up at him with stormy grey eyes. “I’m acing Potions. It’s Herbology that’s the trouble. It’s boring and useless -” (Harry shrugged understandingly; he never cared much about plants either) “- and Professor Sprout never grades me fairly. I suppose that teacher’s pet Granger doesn’t have that problem, does she, Potter?” Draco sneered. His hostile expression quickly weakened, however, as he looked around the familiar locker room.

Since the classroom environment was so restrictive, the only time Draco ever felt truly powerful was when he blasted through the air on his broom, knocking opponents out of the way and skilfully dodging obstacles as he chased victory and received the cheers and admiration of his peers. He couldn’t imagine his life at Hogwarts without Quidditch.

Draco groaned in frustration and ran his hands through his hair as Harry stood there awkwardly. He knew Draco needed help, but he also knew the proud Slytherin would never ask. He arguably didn’t even deserve help, but Harry found himself thinking about how terrible he would feel in Draco’s current position. Powerless, and desperate, even. An idea began to come alight in Harry’s mind.

“Why don’t you…” Harry started carefully, “…come study with us? Hermione got ‘perfect’ on her last assignment – which I honestly didn’t even know was possible – and she could teach you all her tricks. She’s smarter than anyone I know.”

“Oh, yeah. Exam prep with the Mudblood, the Weasel, and the Wonder Boy. Sounds great,” Draco retorted sarcastically. “The noble, virtuous Saint Potter, rescuing me from my plight!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Listen, Malfoy. You either ace Herbology or you never get to knock me out of the sky again. You choose.” Harry stared Draco straight in the eye, as if challenging him. How far would he let his pride go?

Draco clenched his jaw and turned away from Harry’s intense gaze. Crabb & Goyle certainly weren’t ideal study partners, and Draco didn’t exactly have a cooperative reputation even in his own House. The Herbology final was mere days away and his options were narrow. “No one can see us together. It’ll be the first and the last time I ever choose to be around you lot.”

If Harry didn’t know any better, Draco was making it sound like they were going to start secretly dating or something. Harry fought off a smug smile. “We know a pretty secluded area of the studying commons. It’ll only be a couple of days, really.” Draco did not protest, so Harry continued. “Bring your book and notes and meet me after dinner tomorrow at the studying commons entrance, and we’ll get it done. You’ll see what kind of a whiz Hermione really is.”

Draco sighed. “Fine. But you better keep out of my sight until then, Potter.”

“Gladly,” Harry smirked. “Tomorrow, then.”

Draco shook his head as Harry left, feeling his stomach sinking as he processed what he just agreed to. Studying help from the three Hogwarts students he despised most. This better be worth it.

Harry ran into the Gryffindor common room where his friends were relaxing and enjoying their downtime. “Hey, guys!” he whispered to Ron and Hermione, gesturing for them to come closer. “I’ve got some news to tell you!” Ron and Hermione shared a confused glance, and went over to their grinning friend. They looked at Harry expectantly. His bright eyes were glinting with excitement (and a hint of panic), and he paused for effect.

“…Draco Malfoy is going to be studying with us for the Herbology final!”

“Hah!” Ron guffawed loudly. “Good one, mate!”

“Very funny, Harry,” said Hermione with her arms crossed. “Now what were you really going to tell us?”

“No, really!” Harry persisted. “He needs to get an A in Herbology to stay on the Quidditch team, and I told him all about how smart you are, Hermione.”

“Oh please, you can’t be serious, Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. “He’s done nothing but be awful to us!”

“She’s right, mate!” Ron echoed. “Bloody good riddance if he’s off Quidditch!”

“No, listen, don’t you see?” Harry insisted in a conspiratorial whisper. “If we help him…he owes us.” He gestured to Ron. “We can get him to stop calling you ‘Weasel’!” He pivoted to Hermione. “And we can get him to stop calling you…you know…that.” Hermione crossed her arms even tighter.

“The point is,” Harry concluded, “If we’re nice to him and we help him out just this once, maybe he’ll be more decent towards us too. I didn’t come to Hogwarts to make enemies. And honestly, Quidditch wouldn’t really be the same without him.”

“Yeah, we’d win more,” Ron scoffed. “I don’t think this is a good idea, mate.”

“Just trust me, guys,” said Harry. “If it turns out to be a disaster you can say ‘I told you so’.”

“You can count on that,” Hermione said with a smirk. Harry grinned and left to go upstairs. As soon as he was out of sight, Ron turned to her with an anxious expression.

“What do you really think of all this, ‘Mione?”

She let out a deep sigh. “I think…that no amount of niceties or politeness or favours could ever make someone like Malfoy think any more highly of anybody like me or you.” Ron looked down at the floor. “I’m just going to go through with this for Harry.”

“What do you suppose he thinks of Harry, then?” Ron inquired.

Hermione looked into the distance thoughtfully. “I’ve always thought that Malfoy’s jealous of Harry. For having real friends, and being popular without having to treat anyone horribly. I’ve never known anyone as rude as Malfoy.” Hermione shook her head. “I don’t understand why Harry thinks this is going to work.”

Ron nodded dismally. “I’m going to talk to him about it tonight. Don’t worry.”

“Harry?” Ron said quietly as he untucked the covers and climbed into his bed.

“Yeah, Ron?” Harry replied, already lying down and staring up at the ceiling, his glasses sitting on the bedside table.

“Why do you want to help Malfoy?” Ron asked honestly. “He’d never do anything of the sort for us. ‘Mione and I are worried, you see. We can’t trust him.”

Harry sighed, still looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I just had a feeling. What would you do, Ron, if you weren’t allowed to play Quidditch anymore?”

Ron tried to visualize himself in that position. “I reckon I’d feel pretty angry. I’d do anything to stay on the squad.”

Harry knew Ron would feel the same way he did about that. “Now just imagine Malfoy next term, all angry and bitter now that he can’t play anymore, and then he sees us walking down the hall celebrating all our wins.”

A terrible realization dawned on Ron. “Blimey, he’d be even worse to us than he was before. Hermione said he’s jealous enough of you already.”

Harry chuckled. “I really didn’t even expect him to agree to come study with us. Though he did make me promise to stay out of his sight until then. Not sure how that’s going to happen since we have the same class tomorrow morning.” This prompted a giggle from Ron.

“We’re all going to be a bunch of chums,” Ron joked as he turned over and squirmed into a comfy position to drift off into an uneasy sleep.

Harry stood outside the entrance to the studying commons near the library, arms crossed. That morning in their last Potions class of the term, Malfoy did not look his way even once. Not even when Neville accidentally spilled the wrong ingredient into Harry’s brew and it bubbled over and poured all over the table. During dinner, Draco sat with his head down the whole time, barely saying a word to his friends who were loudly squabbling over all manner of petty topics. Ron had elbowed Harry and asked why he was watching Malfoy like a hawk all day, while Draco had done everything possible to avoid Potter’s gaze. “I’m just not used to it, I guess,” Harry replied. “He didn’t even say anything when Neville made my brew spill over.”

Hermione shrugged. “I guess he’s just dreading spending time with us as much as we are.”

Now Harry was standing there, waiting for the lively-turned-sullen Slytherin to show up. Hermione and Ron were already seated inside (Hermione was amassing an intimidating stack of textbooks to scrutinise). Finally, a pale blond head emerged out of the shadows. Draco slinked over to Harry, book bag over his shoulder.

“Hello, Malfoy,” said Harry politely.

“Potter,” Draco curtly replied. “Let’s get this over with.” Harry fought the urge to smirk, enjoying Draco’s evident displeasure with the situation. No matter how much Malfoy didn’t like it, he needed their help and he was here.

“Follow me,” Harry said, leading Draco into the large room of studying desks and chairs tucked away between bookshelves full of large, musty academic volumes. Some students were clustered together in small groups in different pockets of the room, but despite the quiet hum of voices and flipping pages, the place did not feel particularly busy. A few lamps here and there offered some dim reading light. Draco looked around as if he hadn’t been here many times before.

As promised, Harry led his rival-turned-study-buddy into a far corner of the commons hidden away behind tall bookshelves, where Ron looked on in despair as Hermione laid yet another massive volume on top of her studying pile. The anxious red-head turned to see Harry enter, hoping for some good news, but alas. There was Draco Malfoy, their haughty tormentor. Except now he was standing there uncomfortably, fidgeting with the strap of his book bag.

“Hey, guys,” Harry sighed. “I’m sure you all know Draco Malfoy,” he joked half-heartedly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Sit down, Draco.” She ordered, pointing at the empty chair in front of her, beside Ron. Ron looked from Hermione to Draco to the seat, and he jumped up and clambered into the chair beside Hermione to avoid sitting next to the awkward Slytherin. Draco narrowed his eyes and reluctantly took his seat, followed by Harry sitting down beside Draco where Ron was glad not to be.

“Alright, then,” Hermione began, clearing her throat and smoothing out her frizzy hair. She hoped going into full-on study mode would successfully distract her from her uneasiness. Ron watched the beady-eyed Slytherin look around the room once more before reluctantly turning his attention to the large stack of books on the table. “Let’s start with the basics,” said Hermione, lifting a thick volume detailing the magical properties of thousands of plants off the stack and placing it on the table with a thud.

This is going to be a long night, thought all four of them.

“Blimey, Harry!” Ron exclaimed as Draco smiled smugly and Hermione shook her head in exasperation. “Everyone knows that Valerian sprigs are a main ingredient in a Forgetfulness Potion!” After going over their notes and looking up more information on some of the plants that Professor Sprout highlighted in class, they had just started quizzing each other on the properties and uses of different herbs.

“Actually, Ronald, I seem to remember you having a particularly hard time recalling the most crucial ingredients of a Forgetfulness Potion,” Hermione remarked. “But honestly, Harry, this is first-year stuff!”

Harry shrugged apologetically. “I know we’re already in Third year, but I’m still not all that familiar with these things. I didn’t grow up in a magical family like Ron or Malfoy, remember?”

“That’s no excuse,” Hermione retorted. “Both my parents are Muggles and I still know everything I need to know to pass my exams.”

Draco scoffed. “No matter how many books you cram into your head, that doesn’t change what you are.” (So far he had done a pretty good job of keeping snarky remarks to a minimum, but as far as he was concerned Hermione had just walked right into that one.)

“And what’s that, exactly?” Ron exclaimed, incensed.

“Remind me why we’re helping him, Harry,” Hermione said bitterly. Draco shot upright but Harry grabbed his arm and plunked him back down in his chair. Draco frowned and brushed his arm off dramatically.

“She’s right, Harry,” Ron argued. “We can’t just let him insult us the way he does. If he wants our help, he has to start acting decent.”

“I don’t need your help!” Draco spat. Harry looked over at him with a Really? expression. Draco looked down at all the extra information he’d added onto his notes. The studying had actually been going pretty well (until this point, that is).

“It doesn’t matter if Hermione’s parents are Muggles,” Ron said, more calmly now but firmly. “She’s bloody brilliant and she can help us all get an A on this bloody final.” Draco didn’t look up.

“Come on, Malfoy. You can keep studying with us until the Herbology final if you just act civil,” Harry told Draco. “We’ve already made a lot of progress. Let’s just keep at it until it’s over.”

Draco sighed in defeat. “Fine.” Without further ado, Hermione reopened one of the textbooks and flipped a few pages to where they were before. “What is Wormwood used in?” she asked in a resolute voice, keeping her eyes firmly glued to the book.

“Draught of Living Death,” Draco replied without missing a beat.

Hermione nodded. “And?”

“And…? What?” Draco was getting annoyed. Ron shook his head, knowing what was imminent.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. “If Professor Sprout asks us that question on the exam, naming one use of a plant is not good enough! We have to show her how much we know, give her all the details we can. Wormwood is an ingredient in Draught of Living Death and Elixir to Induce Euphoria and Shrinking Solution.”

Draco rolled his eyes as Harry and Ron chuckled at Hermione’s meticulousness. She flipped a few pages forward. “Try again. What can stinging nettles be used for?”

Draco recalled that particular plant being mentioned in class. “Dried nettles are used in the Boil-Cure Potion…” Hermione, Ron, and Harry raised their eyebrows expectantly. “And in nettle tea and soup?”

Hermione nodded in satisfaction, but Draco wasn’t done.

“And I heard nettles can improve the glossiness of one’s hair,” he concluded with a smirk, smoothing down his own sleek blond locks and eliciting a chuckle from Harry (and eyerolls from Ron and Hermione).

The rest of the studying session was surprisingly productive. Turns out the four of them could get a lot done when they momentarily put aside their grievances and got to work. By the time they were done Ron felt like his head was swimming with plants and potions. Overall, except for the rough patch in the middle, Harry thought that it went better than he expected.

Harry turned to Draco as they were packing up their notes. “Hey, Malfoy, we’ve still got one more night to study before the exam. Do you want to join us tomorrow?” He half-expected Malfoy to say “No way”.

But Draco just shrugged. “Sure,” he replied. He wasn’t particularly excited about studying with them again but he also had to admit that it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. Since he’d gotten this far already, he didn’t see any good reason to stop now. He just hoped he would end up getting that A and it’d all be worth it. He was too tired to worry about his reputation now. Without another word, he slung his book bag over his shoulder and went on his way.

“Hey, Malfoy, where you been?” asked Crabb as Draco slinked through the dark Slytherin common room on his way to the dorms.

“Nowhere,” he briskly replied. Realizing that might make him sound a bit suspicious, he quickly rebounded. “Studying. For Herbology.” His friends looked at each other, wondering why Draco was acting a bit odd but not really wanting to ask.

He walked past them without another word and went up to his room. He set his book bag down and sat on his bed, looking out the window at the dark night sky. The more Draco stared out at the sky, the more it seemed to swallow him up in its pitch-black expanse. The only way he could explain how he was feeling right now was “weird”. He was uncertain, about how the exams were going to go, about what the next (hopefully last) study session with Harry and his strange friends was going to be like, about how his father was going to greet him when he comes home for winter break. “Hello, dear son, I’ve missed you”? Not too likely.

If my father cared about me then why would he pull me out of Quidditch? He only cares about himself. And his reputation, Draco thought to himself bitterly, leaning back onto his pillow. As if a B in Third year Herbology would leave such a stain on the family crest. It’s certainly not as embarrassing as studying with Granger and Weasley. The thing that frustrated Draco the most, though, was that he wasn’t as riled up about the studying session as he felt he should’ve been. He didn’t even feel particularly proud of the jab he took at Hermione. When it was his gaggle of friends behind him egging him on, he relished every chance he got to belittle Potter and his sidekicks. But Draco was not on home territory tonight, and there was no one to laugh.

Then Draco sat up with a jolt, suddenly remembering Harry audibly chuckling at Draco’s comment about stinging nettles and silky hair. Draco didn’t know why he was so stunned by the sudden memory of his nemesis Harry Potter laughing at his harmless joke. That moment was probably the friendliest one they’d ever had. Then he recalled Harry quietly and politely, almost carefully, asking if Draco wanted to join them again. Draco remembered the day he met Potter like it was yesterday, and Harry seemed thoroughly disinterested in being friends then, so why was he acting so agreeable now? A deeply buried sentiment started to bubble up to the surface, 11-year-old Draco’s wish to be friends with the famous Harry Potter, to feel like more than his rival.

But Draco’s cynical side pushed these thoughts away. They must be up to something. I don’t care what. I just need that A, he reminded himself yet again. His mind wandered back to when he got up to leave after offending Ron and Hermione, and how Harry just wordlessly pulled him back into his seat. Harry wanted him to stay. Draco stood up and tried to shake these thoughts away. No point in dwelling on it. Things will go back to the way they used to be after the exam.

~ Part 2 coming soon! DM me if you want to be notified when the next part is up ~

#harry potter fanfiction #will things go back to the way they used to be? guess we gotta find out #spoiler alert: they pull a late-nighter studying and draco and harry fall asleep on each other #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry fanfic #ron weasley #hermione granger #drarry fanfiction #harry x draco #golden trio + draco #group studying #harry and draco

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