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julemmaes · 4 years ago

Note

Nesta comes home from the school run and finds Cassian asleep on the sofa with baby Andra asleep on his chest

So At Peace

Nessian modern au set in the The Seven Of Us universe (masterlist)

acotar next gen fan fiction

A/N: just fluff with some boobies jokes for my girls (Maizie, Sayo, Sim and Cass) cause they could sue me for emotional distress every day but they don’t and I call that friendship:)

Word count: 2,445

Nesta felt like she could close her eyes and never wake up again. Ezra and Cal were playing in the back seats of the car, screaming about fantastic animals and people with bat wings, fighting an evil king over some weird pan, but she wasn't paying that much attention.

It had only been two weeks since she had returned to work after Andra's birth, and although she no longer had any kind of physical pain that she could justify with her pregnancy, every now and then she felt as if her whole body was being crushed under a press, repeatedly, until not a single intact bone remained under her skin. And today had not been a light day.

Her boss had sent her so many manuscripts from authors who had explicitly asked for her, and she hadn't managed to finish a single one, when in normal circumstances - where she could sleep for more than four hours straight - she would have read at least two and started editing one.

But being a full-time mother of five young children and working in a publishing house was too much even for her sometimes.

She sighed with relief when she turned right and saw the house in that familiar light yellow. She couldn't wait to leave her two sons with the neighbour for a few hours and enjoy the evening with her husband and her little girl. She couldn't wait to lie down on the couch and sleep for a few minutes while she fed Andra and let Cassian take care of dinner.

The other two girls were at Gwyn's house, who, with all the recommendations and prodding Nesta had given her, had kicked her out of her house yelling not to come back until eleven the next morning. The new mother had stood motionless for a few seconds, blinking at the door they'd just slammed in her face, and then giggled when she'd heard Azriel ask his daughters and hers what they wanted to do first - whether to put on nail polish or play "assassins".

That game wasn't exactly the mothers' favourite, but whenever the three brothers got together on the weekends, all the families ended up picking up one of the fake guns that fired rubber bullets and it was war. Countless times one of the fathers or uncles had hit one of the children in the eye before Lucien hit Dara and Elain decided that if they wanted to continue playing that game, they would all have to wear goggles.

Now, at her front door, she waited for her sons to reach the one at Drakon's house, and as soon as the man waved at her and her children blew flying kisses as they entered the older couple's home, she flopped against the door, closing her eyes.

She sighed again, bringing a hand to her face.

Nesta was so tired that she was seriously considering breastfeeding Andra and then going straight to bed. Cassian would be more than capable of picking up Ezra and Cal later and putting the youngest to sleep. He didn't need her that night.

She slipped the keys into the lock and taking a deep breath entered the house, finding it strangely quiet. She immediately thought that her husband must have taken Andra out for some air because there was absolutely no way that the two of them were here and not singing or dancing together or playing with one of the billions of toys she was given by friends and family. She slipped off her shoes and jacket, setting her computer and bag down on the cabinet in the doorway and smiled.

Cassian had been so patient lately. Much more than usual.

The labour had been long and painful, the delivery excruciating, and Nesta had never been more scared than when the doctors had pulled Andra out and the baby hadn't cried. But they were all fine now. Both she and their last child were alive and breathing and Nesta couldn't have asked for more.

She walked into the living room dragging her feet on the floor, wanting only to lie down and sleep until she had to breastfeed. She groaned thinking she couldn't even take off her bra or she'd stain another shirt with milk, but stopped as soon as she could see over the couch back, in front of one of the scenes Nesta would never tire of.

Cassian's massive muscular body, sprawled out on the cushions taking up every inch of free space on the couch, was dressed in black sweatpants and a simple white shirt that left her husband's tattoos and thick arms on full view, just as big and wide as the little pink and purple bundle curled up on his chest.

A smile broke out on Nesta's lips as she brought a hand to her throat.

Andra's legs were folded under her and one of Cassian's hands against her tiny bottom held her in place while the other was resting gracefully on her back. Back that rose and fell slowly, in time with the rhythm of her father's breathing.

Cassian's hands covered the girl's body almost entirely and Nesta couldn't help but think how relaxed and protected Andra must be feeling, her face so calm and her features drooping as her eyelids flickered. She knew very well what it felt like to lie on the man's chest while he rubbed your back to put you to sleep. Nesta had had the best dreams on that chest.

They looked so at peace.

She shifted her gaze to Cassian's face and felt a completely different emotion take over, but no less important, no less intense. She walked over to them, crouching down beside the couch and getting down on her knees right in front of them.

His dark lashes grazed the skin on his cheekbones and for the millionth time she felt jealous of how thick and dusky they were. Elegant and beautiful. She laid her head on the armrest, careful not to touch his shoulder, and reached out a hand towards Cassian, moving his hair away from his face and brushing the crinkled skin between his eyebrows. His forehead relaxed and he let out a sigh in his sleep, pushing his head against that touch involuntarily.

Nesta smiled again, admiring the beauty in those features, the line of his nose, the contour of his eyes, that pronounced jawline, until her gaze ended on the full red lips of the man who was sleeping so blissfully that he hadn't even realized someone had entered the house.

Nesta's hand moved lower, cupping his cheek, and she moved her thumb to graze his lower lip. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel him close. She wanted to taste him.

His lips twitched, as if acknowledging her touch, but he did not wake. She held her breath, feeling the heat pool in her lower stomach, and withdrew her hand slowly. She couldn't think about those things now.

She was tired and Cassian was exhausted, she could tell by how deeply he was sleeping, and he wasn't going to let their first time since Andra's birth be on a night when neither of them would fully appreciate it.

After what had happened with Celia, after she had been pregnant so soon after Nora, they didn't fancy having another child in the immediate future, and Andra's birth had put a fear into her that she had never felt before with her previous children. That was why Cassian had limited himself to using his hands and mouth, why Nesta had done the same.

She shifted her gaze to Andra and her smile doubled. She reached out her hand towards her, but didn't even have time to brush her face when Cassian sprang to his seat, taking the girl with him and bumping into Nesta's arm. He was on his feet in a second as he clutched Andra, who had burst into tears from her sudden awakening, to his chest. The little girl's piercing scream made them both flinch, but they knew she had only been startled by the sudden movement.

When Cassian lowered his gaze to her, who sat with a furrowed brow and her arm still outstretched in the air, he let go of a breath, closing his eyes and moving his hands to settle Andra against him, "God, Nesta," he sighed, laying a hand on Andra's head and beginning to cradle her, then gave an amused dry chuckle, "you scared me."

Nesta pulled herself up in turn, smiling, "Sorry, not my intention."

"Maybe next time don't stand so close to my face," he laughed, his eyes full of sleep but still glowing. Andra screamed again, squirming in his arms, Cassian grimaced. "I thought you were a robber or something."

Nesta shook her head as she moved closer to the two and he took a step in turn, leaning in when they were close enough. He smiled at her, "Hello, sweetheart," he closed his eyes lowering himself more and leaving a light kiss on her lips. Andra moved so much that Nesta felt the little one's head slam against her chest and they broke away chuckling. "I think she's hungry," then he looked to the wall, squinting to read the time on the big clock there. He opened his eyes wide, "We slept for four hours," then looked at her, mouthing a what the fuck.

Nesta snickered, wrapping her hands around her little girl's delicate, slender torso and feeling a sudden surge of affection when finally Andra's clear, huge eyes - full of tears - looked up at her and the crying suddenly stopped. Nesta pushed her nose against the little one's, "Why hello, beautiful creature."

Andra cooed, bringing her small hands to Nesta's cheeks and slapping her gently. She brought her against her side and looked at Cassian, ready to ask him when and how much she'd eaten last time, but the look on his face stopped the words in her throat.

He was smiling weakly at her, the weariness now much clearer in the features around his eyes, his mouth, but he was smiling as if he had never seen anything more beautiful in the world, "This is my favourite time of the day." he whispered softly, bringing a hand to his daughter's head and leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Nesta didn't know if she could still blame the hormones for the strong emotion that hit her, but she knew she didn't want to cry and said the first thing that came to her mind, "Just because I take my bra off and you can see my boobs."

Cassian threw his head back and burst out laughing, startling the little one in her arms, but Nesta smiled at her, giving her kisses on the cheeks as she relaxed again.

"You're right," he breathed and one corner of his mouth curled, "and it's because I don't see them enough."

Nesta snorted through her nose, "What are you talking about?"

"It's true, I don't see them enough. I miss them." he pouted, pushing her back to the couch and heading for the door. He looked over her shoulder, "Shall I fetch your nursing pillow?"

"Yes, thank you." nodded Nesta sitting down with her legs crossed, "And you see them at least twice a day!" she shouted so he could hear her.

"Exactly! Not enough." he shouted back, eliciting a laugh from her.

He adjusted Andra so that she was lying on her lap and began to unbutton her blouse just as Cassian walked back into the living room. He smiled mischievously at her as she lifted Andra up and he adjusted the pillow around her hips.

He sat down next to her and stretched his legs out, putting his feet up on the coffee table as Nesta unhooked the cup of her bra and set aside the breast pad. Andra's head slammed so hard against her breast that Nesta grunted in pain and hissed as the baby began to pull almost fiercely.

"God Cass," she murmured, adjusting Andra's position better so she wouldn't choke, "You starved her." she turned to him with a worried look and furrowed brows.

Cassian looked just as concerned, "She didn't wake up and I didn't think she was hungry." he scratched his head as he turned on the television and turned the volume down to minimum so as not to disturb Andra. She was never going to fall asleep after all those hours of napping, but they could always try and by now it had become a habit to watch TV without volume.

"It's okay," she said, grunting at him when Andra clamped her gums around his nipple, "It's just that she's never been this... aggressive."

He shrugged, "Maybe she's teething?"

Nesta blinked, "When you ask these questions I wonder if you're really the father of four other children or if you've just been pretending to be here for the last ten years," she murmured, "She's three months old, honey, she can't be teething."

Cassian looked at her smiling, put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him, "Sorry, Miss baby teeth expert." then he looked at Andra and his gaze softened. He sighed and his chest vibrated against Nesta as he chuckled softly.

"What?"

"It's just that she's so beautiful," he whispered.

Nesta couldn't help herself, "Are you talking about my boob?"

Another hearty laugh, then Cassian turned to her again, looking into her eyes and placing a hand on her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb, "You're beautiful too."

"Thank you, you look pretty good too," she murmured to him, shifting her gaze to his lips. Lips that opened in a brilliant smile and closed on hers seconds later.

When they both had to pull away for air, Nesta was panting and Cassian looked more than satisfied to see that her cheeks were flushed. He left a quick kiss on her forehead and then the hand that was on her face slid down and perhaps Cassian didn't realise it, but he brushed her still covered breast with his fingertips and a jolt of excitement went through her entire body.

He placed his hand on hers, which was caressing little Andra's back in circular motions, and stayed there for the rest of the evening, until Nesta's belly began to grumble and he had to get up to cook dinner.

They put Andra to sleep immediately after eating and settled back on the couch, cuddling until sleep claimed them both as Nesta took the place that had been her daughter's until a few hours ago on his chest.

acotar tag list (if you wanna be added or removed just send me an ask or dm me)

@sjm-things @kris10maas @awesomelena555 @sannelovesreading @queenamydien29 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @messyhairday-me @ncssian @observationanxioustheorist @my-fan-side @booksstorm @maastrash @sayosdreams @thedarkdemigod @courtofjurdan @thewayshedreamed @ladywitchling @nahthanks @archeron-queen @sleeping-and-books @bri-loves-sunflowers @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @queenestarcheron @oop-theregoesgravity @perseusannabeth @simping4bookboisngrls @anne-reads @fantastypenguins @laylaameer01 @thalia-2-rose @darkshadowqueensrule @bookstantrash

#TSOU #TSOU nessian fic #the seven of us #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fic #nessian child #nessian children #nesta x cassian #acosf #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fic #nessian fluff

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beholdme · 4 years ago

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All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 7

Chapters: 7/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

They are absolutely trashing Martin's bathroom, but he can't bring himself to mind. Not even if it costs him the security deposit on his ridiculous, tiny flat.

Gerry is sitting in the empty bathtub, stripped to his briefs, laughing so hard that tears roll down his checks, tracking black eyeliner with them, and Jon is sitting on the edge of the tub and trying to keep track of which pieces of hair have been dyed while Gerry refuses to keep his head still. Martin is sitting on the floor next to them and holding the bowls of varying shades of purple dye.

The dye itself is flying everywhere, between four hands attempting to apply it and Gerry's apparent inability to keep stationary and stop laughing for even one second.

"Gerry! Keep still," Jon yells in his best teacher voice. His imperious tone is demanding, but the grin on his face rather undercuts it.

"Can't," Gerry insists, pulling his head down (with dye covered hands) to press their lips together. The kiss is sweet, but Jon doesn't appreciate all the new places it covers him in hair dye.

"Gerry, it might all go more smoothly if you just let Jon and I do it for you." Martin advises him.

Gerry pouts, "Letting the men in my life just do things without my participation wouldn't be a very 'strong independent woman' move on my part."

"You're not a woman," Jon points out drolly, "Besides, what does that say about me, with the way you two are always arranging to pay for everything we do and everywhere we go?"

"It says you have two incredibly attractive men who like to do nice things for you." Martin tells him firmly, as he always does when the topic arises. They all hear Jon's eyes roll.

"Gerry," Martin starts in the voice he knows gets just the right response from him. "Stop being a brat and. Sit. Still."

Gerry sits still. Martin kisses him to inspire continued good behavior, and Gerry's teal eyes practically glow in a way that fills Martin with supreme satisfaction.

With their target stationary, Martin and Jon make quick work of Gerry's remaining hair.

He is ordered to stay put in the bathtub while it sits, and Martin starts cleaning up the bathroom. Jon heads into the shower to avoid being dyed in a plethora of bizarre places.

Martin goes to return the dye to Gerry's hair product box, and pauses with his hand in it.

Gerry, sensing Martin's distraction, jumps up to go over and stand behind him. Martin settles back into the warmth of his chest, and Gerry's arms snake around him.

"You would look very fetching in that colour," Gerry whispers enticingly in Martin's ear.

"You think?" Martin murmurs back, eyebrows rising in consideration.

"Yes," he replies, leaning forward to bite Martin's ear lightly. "Please."

"Whatever might you two be consorting about over there," Jon demands cheerily, emerging from the shower wrapped in his towel.

"Martin was just about to agree to become the next hair dying victim." Gerry informs him confidently, snaking an arm around Jon's shoulders and bringing him in close so he too can see the bottle sitting in Martin's hand.

"Oh." Jon says in a reverent sort of voice. "Yes, I think that's a very good idea indeed."

***

Martin sits still much better than Gerry did, and Gerry does his hair himself, Jon having already rid himself of persistent stains and wandered off to make something for lunch.

Gerry pushes Martin in front of a mirror (not Martin’s favourite pastime, but for Gerry, he suffers it) and they both look at him. Gerry grins. “It’ll look better in the end obviously, but what do you think, love?”

“I like it, actually.” Martin whispers, like a confession.

“Actually? I expect more self-confidence than that from my masterpieces, babe.” They laugh and sway together in front of the mirror.

“I love it, thank you.” Martin turns in Gerry’s arms and they kiss slowly and thoroughly.

Martin presses his hands along Gerry’s bare sides and up along his spine, where he knows a line of eyes is inked along each vertebrae.

Gerry keeps his hands on Martin’s chest, in an effort to keep their respective hair dye where it belongs, although his hands cling to Martin's shoulders and push and pull in response to their movements.

“Really you two? I leave you alone for 5 minutes and you’re both half naked and making out?” Jon interrupts them from the doorway, his words soft and appreciative.

“We could be even more naked, if you're interested in that?” Gerry offers, winking at him.

“Could we?” Martin asks, apparently just wondering out loud.

Gerry raises a suggestive eyebrow at him. “We definitely could be.” Gerry smirks, "You are familiar with how nudity works, yes?" He illustrates his point by pulling at the waistband of Martin's briefs and letting them snap back into his hip.

"Yes, I am familiar." Martin growls into his mouth, biting his lip for good measure. "Care to join, Jon?"

"Maybe when there's less hair dye on the table, so to speak. Ger, your timer went off, you'd better jump into the shower and wash off."

"Yes, sir." Gerry pecks Martin one last time, salutes Jon and strips off to hop into the shower.

Martin flushes at his casual nudity, and a heavy look passes between him and Jon.

Taken with Martin's pink laden head, Jon can't resist going over and pressing just one kiss to Martin's soft lips.

Later, when the bathroom is clean and everyone has washed, dry hair, they all pile around Martin's sitting room, a documentary playing softly in the background. Martin's new soft pink hair looks even better dry and Jon had whispered to Gerry conspiratorially that it reminded him of Martin's sweet early morning blush.

Martin is braiding Gerry's now wildly purple hair, and Gerry has convinced a reluctant Jon to let him paint his nails.

"We really shouldn't." Jon protests, even as Gerry paints on the base coat. His own nails are painted black, of course. His artist's eye appreciates Jon's neat, smooth nails, and he considers what kind of tiny designs he might be able to sneak onto them at some point.

"Why not? I used to paint your nails all the time when we were younger. That's where I got most of my early practice."

"I'm not a teenager anymore, Gerard. I have a professional job!" Jon complains, but Gerry knows these are only nerves, not lack of desire.

"Oooh, Gerard!" Martin coos, before tumbling into a laugh. "There's nothing in the dress code that says you can't have painted nails, Jon. And we all know you like having them done."

"That's meant for women, and you know it, Martin." Jon protests.

Gerry and Martin both stop their tasks abruptly to stare at him. "Jon, babe," Gerry can barely contain himself. "You are wearing a skirt. Martin has pink hair. I'm getting my absurdly long hair braided - into pigtails. I don't think any of us are exactly paragons of toxic masculine stereotypes."

"Besides," Martin adds, when he can speak calmly without tumbling into hysterical laughter, "there's no gender specific dress code at the library. All it says is 'If nails are painted, they must be neat and unchipped.'"

Jon looks askance at both of them, crossing his skirt clad legs primly.

"Come on," Gerry encourages gently, "It's just this one time. If you don't like it, we can take it off before you go to work on Monday morning. Or while you're at work on Monday. Or in an hour. Or anytime at all. It's just one small adventure."

"I know it's been a while, love." Martin pitches in, "But, don't worry, Gerry will be gentle."

Jon ends up with green nails, which he likes very much. Gerry is enamored with his braids, and begs Martin to teach him to do it himself. Martin is simply delighted to have a house full of laughter and colour for the first time in his life.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

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klainetrashnumberone · 5 years ago

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(i was tagged by @justgleekout , thank you ms. president <3)

rules : spell your url with song titles and tag 10 people.

oh boy i regret having a username this long,,, i don’t think i know enough songs

K arma Police

L ove Is All Around

A nother Day of Sun

I n the Mourning

N o Good Deed

E verybody Talks

T he Longest Time

R eise Reise

A nd I’m Telling You

S helter

H eart And Soul

N ine In The Afternoon

U nder the Sea

M ambo no 5

B ulletproof Heart

E nd Of The World

R osenrot

O ne Less Bell To Answer

N orthern Downpour

E ndless Love

(i had to move onto music i last listened to in 6th grade, there are literally no songs starting with R)

quarantine asks :

•where are you isolated ??

- In my flat with rats and silverfish! (the rats are pets don’t worry)(the silverfish aren’t pets though :/)

•what are you currently reading or watching ??

- reading: ATOG, also I’ve had Oscar Wilde's “Teleny“ sitting on my bedside table since March, watching me accusingly every time I open another fanfic

- watching: Glee, I’m also slowly going through my multiple page film-and-musical list. This month I’ve watched: Phantom Of the Opera, West Side Story, When Harry Met Sally, The Sound Of Music, Funny Girl, Moulin Rouge, La La Land, probably something else that I forgot. I would definitely recommend Moulin Rouge to everyone. It’s so amazing!!

•if you can go outside, what do you like to do during this time ??

- I can but I choose not to, I live in a sketchy neighborhood And hate the sun so. No going out during the day and no going out after dark, us vampires have a hard life ;(

•any fascinating concept you’re studying ??

- I accidentally got really into winemaking, it’s so interesting and there is so much to learn!! Then I read Sotto Voce too, now I’m even considering buying a book on the subject. Also now that I’m 18 I’m actually buying wine but only for research purposes, i swear

•what kind of acts of creativity / forms of art are you currently doing ??

- I’m building a cardboard fort for my rats

- I sing

- I like to read fanfics and then recreate the apartments and stuff in sims based on the description in fic, my current project is the bakery/apartment from Honey and Syrup!

- I’ve been exploring audio/video editing

•a song that resonates with your state of mind at the moment ??

- Grand Machine no. 12 by Electric President

•favourite impulsive / “bad” coping techniques ??

•favourite healthy / “good” coping techniques ??

- Stress cooking, I chop those onions until my mind is at peace!

- I started learning the single ladies dance for the meme but turns out I still have some muscle memory from my childhood so it’s fun and stuff! So exercise I guess :0

- And most important of all: playing with my rat babies! They are so cute and wholesome, I can’t help but to coo over them and forget everything else

rules: bold everything that applies to you & tag 10 people you’d like to get to know better.

A P P E A R A N C E

I’m over 5′5″. I wear glasses / contacts. I have blonde hair. I prefer loose clothing to tight clothing. I have one or more piercings I have at least one tattoo. I have blue / green eyes. I have dyed or highlighted my hair. I have gotten plastic surgery. I have or had braces. I sunburn easily. I have freckles. I paint my nails. I typically wear makeup. I don’t often smile(not in public places). I am pleased with how I look. I prefer nike to adidas. I wear baseball hats backwards.

H O B B I E S A N D T A L E N T S

I play a sport. I can play an instrument. I am artistic. I know more than one language. I have won a trophy in some sort of competition. I can cook or bake without a recipe. I know how to swim. I enjoy writing. I can do origami. I prefer movies to tv shows. I can execute a perfect somersault. I enjoy singing. I could survive in the wild on my own. I have read a new book series this year. I enjoy spending time with friends. I travel during school or work breaks. I can do a handstand.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

I am in a relationship. I have been single for over a year. I have a crush. I have a best friend I have known for ten years. my parents are together. I have dated my best friend. I am adopted. my crush has confessed to me. I have a long distance relationship. I am an only child. I give advice to my friends. I have made an online friend. I met up with someone I have met online

A E S T H E T I C S

I have heard the ocean in a conch shell. I have watched the sunrise. I enjoy rainy days. I have slept under the stars. I meditate outside. the sound of chirping calms me. I enjoy the smell of the beach. I know what snow tastes like. I listen to music to fall asleep. I enjoy thunderstorms. I enjoy cloud watching. I have attended a bonfire. I pay close attention to colors. I find mystery in the ocean. I enjoy hiking on nature paths. autumn is my favorite season.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

I can fall asleep in a moving vehicle. I am the mom friend. I live by a certain quote. I like the smell of sharpies. I am involved in extracurricular activities. I enjoy mexican food. I can drive a stick-shift. I believe in true love. I make up scenarios to fall asleep. I sing in the shower. I wish I lived in a video game. I have a canopy above my bed. I am multiracial. I am a redhead. I own at least three dogs.

Pardon me if you’re already done this! I’ll tag @kuhlaine @esperantoauthor @sassynosubete @blaineskurt @kurtstinypurse @books-and-violets @theyaskedmeto @anyone else who wants to do this! <3

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birbleafs · 5 years ago

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[fic] Strange Creatures

Series: Artemis Fowl Rating: G Genre: Friendship & Humour, Post-series Character(s): Beckett Fowl, Myles Fowl, Mulch Diggums, Juliet Butler, Holly Short and Artemis Fowl II Summary: Mulch Diggums finds himself abruptly enlisted by the Fowl twins, Myles and Beckett, to create the best Eldest Brother’s Day gift for Artemis, much to Holly and Juliet’s amusement. A/N: Here’s my full piece for the Artemis Fowl Fanzine: A Fowl Mood! It was really fun to be part of this project - many thanks to the mods & fellow contributors for all their hard work. Thanks also to my bro Digi for being a wonderful beta ♥ There are still some leftover merch for sale if anyone’s interested. This fic is set a few years after The Last Guardian, without taking into account the events in The Fowl Twins (as I’d finished writing it last July). Fic can also be read on AO3. _______

“What strange creatures brothers are!” -Jane Austen- ~.*.~ Mulch Diggums was once again on the run and back to his old habits of skulking among dastardly rich Mud Men, pilfering trinkets and valuables from their homes. And once again, word of his not-quite-earnest—or legal, for that matter—endeavours soon reached the LEP’s ears. In fact, his current whereabouts had turned up as a flashing blip on Foaly’s screens when the centaur had been running one of his routine surveillance sweeps of the surface. That, however, is another story altogether, one that Foaly would happily indulge in if you let him. But Captain Holly Short is a busy elf—short on time and even shorter with patience. So alas, Foaly’s tale would have to be shelved. For now, at least.

So it was that Mulch found himself abruptly cornered by an LEP Retrieval squad in his own home—well, he was house-sitting at the moment, but hey, same difference—just as he was settling into a nice, warm mud bath. That’s the thing about the LEP. Always with the atrociously bad timing, never an ounce of tact. So much for being role models, upstanding fairies of the People. The last thing Mulch saw and heard was a deafening blast as the bathroom door burst wide open, and the zipping sound of a fabric-like netting whirling tight around him. There was a flurry of movement as he struggled in the velvet darkness enclosing him, before he found himself promptly hauled back to Haven City and into the dimly-lit interior of a drab holding room, sitting once again before Captain Short. “Holly! Mon chéri… Compadre!” Mulch cooed, tuning his natural dwarfish charm up a notch. “How’s my favourite elfin lady today?” “Cut the chatter, Mulch. I’m sure you know exactly why you’ve been detained.” Truthfully, Holly didn’t have any hard evidence for Mulch’s arrest this time—not yet, at least. But Mulch had hardly ever been innocent, even when he wasn’t actively committing a crime, so it wasn’t too difficult for her to pretend the LEP knew of his most recent of illegal endeavours (which they didn’t). Besides, she’d lost a stupid bet during a party several weekends ago, and—well. You reap what you sow. Holly made a mental note to never take another sip of a certain centaur’s home concoction of sim-alcohol, recreational study or not. Anyway, back to the plot: She had lost a bet and now she had to pull this dumb prank on Mulch in return for a favour for a certain Mud Boy’s family. Holly could almost hear said Mud Boy’s tired sigh of disapproval upon hearing of his friends’ latest shenanigans. Still, she’d also promised Artemis she would visit the twins soon and she figured this was a nifty way to kill two birds with one stone. Technically, it would be two Fowls and a dwarf. Holly chuckled at her own joke, certain that Artemis wouldn’t have appreciated that quip at all, figurative murder or not. Before Mulch had a chance to explain his innocence this time, Holly began listing down the years he’d have to serve, the cell block they had carefully picked out for him this time, the terribly cold draft they had made sure would pass into said cell every night. And just as Mulch was about to get suspicious, Holly shifted gears and offered a compromise instead. Even though he was still confused and rightfully wary of the sudden turn of events, Mulch tentatively accepted Holly’s deal. And soon, he found himself whisked away on a shuttle topside, piloted by the Captain herself. “So where are we headed?” Mulch asked once he’d settled comfortably into his seat. “Now that it’s just you and me, Captain… I’m allowed to be privy to the details of said ‘deal’, right?” Holly was tempted to reveal the truth then, but she figured it’d be funnier if she let the dwarf discover it for himself. Mulch was a crafty one, after all—it wouldn’t take him too long to realise what was really going on. She only gave him a knowing smirk and murmured ominously, “All things in good time, Mulch.” * From the E1 shuttle port at Tara, it was a quick jaunt to the Fowl Manor. Holly could already hear the voices of the twins drifting over the wind as they made their way past the last cluster of Artemis’ fairy roses and to where the twins and their nanny Juliet Butler were seated by the fountain in the courtyard. Seven-year-old Beckett Fowl was the first to glance their way; Holly could’ve sworn the child had canine-like senses, what with the way he had whirled around at their near-silent approach. He was the very picture of innocence as he bounced up to them, his radiant curls and bright-eyed stare reminiscent of an eager golden retriever puppy. “Holly’s here! And S’Mulch Dinggus!” Beckett squealed happily as he launched himself at her. Holly embraced him warmly, before waving a greeting to Juliet who stood patiently behind the boy. The dwarf tutted, unimpressed at the butchering of his name. “We’ve been through this the last time, little Mudskipper. It’s Mulch Diggums.” “That’s what I said,” Beckett giggled, turning back to look at Juliet. “S’Mulch Dinggus. Funny he can’t remember his own name.” Before Mulch could get a protest in edgewise, he was interrupted by a small, polite cough. He turned and saw a bespectacled, raven-haired Mud Child appearing by Beckett’s side. Myles Fowl had the same piercing blue eyes as his free-spirited twin, but unlike his twin, he was the seemingly more precocious and finicky of the two. He looked every bit the likeness of his eldest brother, Mulch noted humorously—from the meticulously pressed suit and tie to the neatly-combed dark hair. Heck, the kid had even perfected the infamous Fowl glare to an art form, crystalline and frigid as an Arctic winter. “You’re finally here as summoned, Mister Mulch,” Myles greeted solemnly. He ignored the wet, icky sounds of Beckett blowing raspberries beside him. “Took you long enough.” “Summoned?” Mulch frowned, before a thought struck him. He grinned toothily at Holly. “So that’s what this is about, eh, Captain Short? ‘Detained’, my hairy as—” “Language, Mulch,” Holly said, stepping on the dwarf’s toes all while matching his grin with a serene, innocent smile of her own. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry I had a Retrieval squad jump you back there in the house. But it’s not like you were likely to be agreeable and come quietly if you knew the Fowl twins had extended an invitation and personally requested for your…er, assistance.” “Is not invitatitions,” Beckett chirped as he chewed on a piece of purple beeswax crayon. “Arty said summons would do in the tongue of magicks, so we summons S’Mulch!” He gave a sagely nod, his mouth stained and flecked with purple now. Mulch gave Holly a look of disappointment. “Frankly, I’m hurt you think I’d even pass up the chance to humiliate my favourite Mud Boy, and what’s more, by teaming up with his own cute brethren. Okay then, little Fowl nuggets. What dwarfish advice would you need this time?” “First of all, we’re not nuggets,” Myles said coldly, just as Beckett clucked like a gleeful hen and made flapping motions with his arms. “I assure you that we are still one-hundred percent Homo sapiens, even if Beck has gotten very good at animal mimicry of late.” “I see this one’s got a great sense of humour,” Mulch observed drily. “Definitely Artemis’ brother.” “A-hem. As I was saying...” Myles scowled at the interruption, and Mulch held up a placating hand in apology. “Secondly, Beck and I, we thought it through for many weeks—Well, I did anyway. However, we weren’t able to make any significant progress in the lab even with Professor Primate’s expertise—” “Not quite sure where you’re going with this riveting story, kiddo,” Mulch muttered. “But I’m still listening, if that helps.” “—and after several failed attempts, we have conceded that we need help from someone with the right skills. Skills we do not yet possess.” Myles paused, his young face pinched with doubt. But his hesitation was fleeting, and he met both Mulch and Holly’s curious expressions with a determined gaze once more. “We want to throw Arty the best surprise Eldest Brother’s Day when he gets back,” the boy said. “So, would you please honour us, Mister Mulch, and teach us how best to make—” “Flatulence!” Beckett crowed as if on cue, punching a fist victoriously into the air. “Please, brother. Not this again.” Myles groaned. “You boys want me to teach you how to let a mighty rip?” Mulch asked, incredulous. “No, that’s not it!” Myles cried, exasperated. “Beck has gotten it all muddled! He means the fettling process used in pottery, not the crude effusion of intestinal gas!” He tugged frantically at Beckett’s sleeve, trying to stop his twin from belting out his favourite self-composed tune called A Song of Gas and Fire, to no avail. For two whole minutes, the group was forced to listen to Beckett’s high-pitched singing of “Pbbthh, pbbthh, rattle-boom! Gas and fire, gas and fire! Heave-ho, the window’s blown!” “Thanks, little Mudskipper, for that, uh, delightful performance,” said Mulch, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes once Beckett had finished his song. “I gotta say, you sure are a natural. But there’s still something I don’t really get. Why would you need my help for the surprise? Like don’t get me wrong, kiddos, I like you two enough. But what’s wrong with Holly or Juliet here, or even Butler himself? If anything, they’re better suited at picking out the mushy gifts...” He trailed off, thinking hard. “Well, I trust the Big Man’s taste for the sentimental, at least.” “Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Mulch,” Juliet deadpanned, with only the slightest roll of her eyes. “It’s true Butler had some good suggestions for gifts, but this is a Fowl twins initiative, so we figured we’d let the kids decide on their own. Besides, Beck had other ideas.” “My ideas the best ideas!” Beckett chanted, beaming brightly. “We decided that we want to make Arty a sculpture for Eldest Brother’s Day.” Myles supplied, glancing at Mulch once again. “We know that Mister Mulch is highly attuned to the necessities of good clay work by virtue of his biological make-up— “S’Mulch is good with muds and gas! I wanna learn how to blast clay backwards too!” “—therefore, you are best suited to teach us how to sculpt and—” “And flatulence!” Mulch tried his best, he really did, but he couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. He didn’t know which was funnier: the thought of the twins gifting Artemis Fowl, ex-criminal virtuoso and menace of the People, a squishy caricature blob of his miniature being or Beckett performing a pompous and fartastical symphony of A Song of Gas and Fire for his dear eldest brother. Either way, he was rightfully tickled and the twins were in luck. Unbeknownst to many, Mulch had spent some time dabbling in pottery and sculpting with clay when he’d lived amongst the celebrity Mud Men; he had chalked it up as weird hobby of sorts. “You Mud twins are hilarious,” he said, once his laughter had subsided and he’d managed to straighten himself up again. “All right, I’m sold on this crazy venture. I’ll help with the sculpting of a masterpiece for ol’ Arty-boy.” From the corner of his eye, he caught a glance of Juliet’s smug expression. Her lips were curved into a wide Cheshire grin as she tapped Holly’s shoulder expectantly. The elf only groaned, before she reached into her back pocket to fish out a single gold coin and slipped it into Juliet’s fingers. Mulch frowned at the exchange, throwing them his best hurt-puppy look. “Running a betting pool on me and for only a single gold coin? I’m affronted, ladies.” “You only wish your crooked mug is worth half a penny,” Holly shrugged. “I’m being generous because Juliet’s a friend.” “Aww, I knew you were a big old softie inside!” Juliet sighed happily, reaching forward to teasingly pinch the side of Mulch’s face. “Now that that’s settled, someone can finally knead clay with the kids and get some work done before Artemis gets home from his conference this weekend.” She quickly stepped away, disappearing into the nearby garage for several minutes before she returned carrying a craft box packed with an assortment of smaller items inside. “These rascals had me running to art stores all over Dublin the past two weeks looking for all kinds of overpriced play-dohs, and yet hardly asked if I could help them to sculpt!” She grumbled, not quite unkindly, as she shook the items out from the box, laying them out on a patch of grass before them. Holly looked over at Juliet in surprise. “I didn’t know you were into sculpting.” She thought of all the hours the young woman had spent whooping over her favourite wrestling matches on TV as a teen. “Never pegged you as the artistic type.” Juliet snorted. “Pfft, me? Nah, I don’t sculpt. That’s more a pretentious Artemis thing.” “Why would you expect the twins to ask you to teach them, then?” “Well, I’d like to be asked first, at least! I took the time to buy all these fancy play-dohs for them, didn’t I?” Mulch leaned forward in interest, looking over the packets of “play-dohs”. He spotted several labelled as Creative Paperclay—at least Juliet managed to get some of the good stuff. He grinned toothily as he rolled up his sleeves, feeling a spark of excitement at getting to work with clay again. “Okay then, kiddos. Let’s get cracking and moulding.” * “What’s this Eldest Brother’s Day thing you Mud Men celebrate like anyway?” Mulch asked. They’d made their way from the courtyard into the Manor basement where Artemis had set up a work space for Myles’ messier experiments and tinkering projects. The group stood now before the large experiment bench. Juliet covered the top with a large plastic mat, and turning the craft box over, shook packets of Creative Paperclay and several plastic and wooden crafting tools out on the bench. At Mulch’s question, she turned and gave him a strange look, brows furrowed. Then she let out a short laugh when she realised he was actually being serious. “Silly fairy,” she snickered, glancing over the top of Myles and Beckett’s heads before she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper: “There’s no such thing as Eldest Brother’s Day. It’s just something the twins came up with but I’m not going to ruin it for them and tell them it isn’t actually a thing. I’m not a monster, you know.” “We know it, Juliet,” Beckett said suddenly, blinking up at her with those large blue eyes filled with mischief and daring. “But Artemis’ a simple-toon—” Myles giggled at his twin’s use of their brother’s old nickname, even as he fought to keep his expression stoic. “—and simple-toons need Eldest Brother’s Day. So we celebrate.” Beckett finished with a nod, as though he’d just gifted both his human and fairy nannies with his brand of enlightenment. “Riiiight,” Mulch said, shaking his head. He figured some things were best left unasked and unexplained, especially when dealing with incorrigibly irreverent Fowl children. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for that impromptu alliteration (it was the playwright blooming within him, he was sure of it) and turned back to the project at hand. The twins had already decided early-on the sort of sculpture they had wanted to create. After ruminating over it weeks before, Myles had settled on recreating a 5-inch figure of Jayjay the silky sifaka, the fluffy white lemur whose whimsical escapades were often included in the bedtime stories Artemis read them. Beckett, on the other hand, had chosen to fashion an honorary tribute to Artemis’ late Syrian hamster, Lady Maeve, poised upright on her hind feet in an impassioned stance, gnawing away at a two-headed wyrm. Once the twins had sketched out their preferred designs on paper, Juliet pinned the sketches up on the cork board on the wall for easy reference. Then they got to work. Mulch placed two cups of water on the bench, and proceeded to show the twins how to gauge the amount they needed for their sculptures and how to knead the clay to warm it up and make it more malleable. “It’s a bit like baking extravagant pastries,” he said as he cut a block of clay into various-sized pieces. “You roll the individual shapes out like this and then stick them together to form a whole creature. Like an animal jigsaw puzzle, so to speak.” “They aren’t edible or taste any good though, not like pastries,” Holly added quickly when she noticed Beckett staring a little too longingly at the piece he’d been kneading. She tapped his fingers away just as the boy lifted the clay to his mouth for a quick nibble. “No tasting?” Beckett asked mournfully. “No tasting.” The elf shook her head. “But I do have some special treacle and espresso power bars from Haven City. It’s much better than consuming bland clay. I’ll let you have a bite later when we finish sculpting Lady Maeve, okay?” It seemed like a good bargain, so Beckett closed his mouth and chewed at his lower lip instead, rolling his clay pieces under his palms with renewed fervour. They continued shaping their pieces. Mulch showed the twins how to score the ends of the individual pieces they’d made for the limbs with a plastic knife. Then they connected the scored ends of the limbs to the body, blending the seams and smoothing it down carefully with their fingers and dabs of water. They continued in a similar fashion for the heads, noses, ears, and tails. Once the twins were satisfied with their sculptures, Mulch carefully placed the pieces on a cool, clean shelf to gradually dry and set over the next 24-hours. When they returned later to check on their work, the twins found the dried sculptures were now off-white and grainy to touch, quite unlike the squishy beige blobs they had been pinching and moulding with their hands the day before. “And now for a good splash of colour to make your pieces really pop,” Mulch said, dumping several tubes of acrylic paints and brushes on the bench with much more flair than necessary. He had a paint brush stuck behind one of his hairy ears—it helped him feel attuned with the art connoisseur in him. “Jayjay has a mostly pure-white coat,” Myles mused as he picked out a few choice colours, “but I think a gold accent to his fur tips, ears and tails would bring out his features more.” “Gold, huh?” Mulch looked over the boy’s chosen colour scheme with approval. “Good aesthetic you got there, Mudling.” “A very Fowl aesthetic for sure.” Holly couldn’t help the quip, her eyes twinkling with mirth. Artemis would certainly appreciate the touch. “Lady Maeve wants to be purple like rain,” Beckett declared solemnly, having been uncharacteristically silent for five whole minutes. “Purple? But Beck, Lady Maeve was a golden long-haired Syrian.” Myles tilted his head towards his twin. “If you paint her fur purple, Arty might not recognize her.” Beckett’s attention, however, seemed to be two steps ahead of the conversation. He’d already dipped his brush with paint and was dabbing streaks of purple all over the hamster’s body. “The Lady requests a cloak of purple rain, so purple she shall be.” The adults could barely stifle their chuckles while Myles groaned once again in defeat. He decided it was probably for the best and turned his attention back to painting his lemur. It was nearly noon when the twins added the last dabs of paint, after which Mulch proceeded to spray a coat of clear acrylic varnish over the sculptures to preserve and seal the colours. Then, he stepped several paces back from the bench to marvel at the fruits of their labour. “We have finished at last.” Myles’ voice was soft, awe pooling in his eyes. Hesitantly, he turned to Juliet and Holly, and then glanced back at the dwarf, searching for reassurance. “What do you think, Mister Mulch? Will Artemis like it?” Mulch rubbed at his beard thoughtfully. Both sculptures looked very much like what you would expect of two seven-year-olds’ valiant attempts at artisanal clay work. “Hmm.” He clicked his tongue lightly as he paced around the work bench, reaching into his inner art critic for the right words. “Now, Myles: Despite the crooked tail, you did a fairly good job at carving the fur textures on your lemur. Plus, adding gold accents to the white fur is very innovative and makes Jayjay glow nicely under the light. A very regal and classic touch overall.” Mulch came to a dignified pause before the second sculpture, rubbing his palms together as if in deep thought. “As for Beckett’s recreation of Lady Maeve: It seems far more… robust than the original, almost challenging anatomy and even physics itself. But the bright mixes of purple and gold contrasts nicely with the green and gore of the flailing wyrm, adding a surprising dynamism to the entire piece. All in all, two very good attempts, my young apprentices.” Holly and Juliet were already sighing halfway through Mulch’s needlessly opulent commentary, but even they agreed with the dwarf’s final assessment, much to the relief and delight of Myles and Beckett Fowl. * When Artemis Fowl the Second arrived home from his two-week long conference on Wildlife and Biodiversity Conservation, he was surprised to be greeted only by an unusually silent living room, devoid of the typical sounds of playful bellowing and childish laughter. Leaving Butler to unload his luggage from the Bentley, Artemis wondered briefly at the absence of his two brothers and Juliet, their sitter, before he noticed a strange sort of rumbling noise and vibration coming from somewhere below him. Curious, he headed for the basement, moving cautiously towards the noise. It was there that he found the twins asleep and cuddled around a familiar rotund shape sprawled upon an old velvet sofa. The fairy had his head thrown back against the cushion and was snoring rather noisily. “Ah,” Artemis said, eloquent as ever. He steepled his fingers together, taking a moment to process the scene before him. “Arty…? Oh, you’re finally back.” Holly’s soft voice broke him out of his reverie. He turned to see his old friend curled up on a second sofa, blinking the sleep from her eyes. “Welcome home,” she yawned a greeting. “Juliet’s in the kitchen fixing up some snacks, I think.” “Hello, Holly. It’s good to be back among familiar faces again. It seems that I’ve missed quite a party while I was away…” Artemis trailed off when he caught sight of the strange creatures placed on Myles’ experiment bench. “They’re supposed to be a surprise for you when you returned. For Eldest Brother’s Day.” Holly explained when Artemis raised a delicate eyebrow. He lifted up one of the sculptures for a closer inspection, his forehead creased in confusion at what looked to be a purple rodent gnawing on a plump string of green linguine—Beckett’s. “Eldest Brother’s Day?” Artemis echoed. He reached for the second sculpture—Myles’ lemur—before walking over to take a seat beside Holly on the sofa. Holly stretched her arms as she sat upright. “It’s kind of a long story.” “I expect so. Do enlighten me, if you will.” “Well, let’s see...” Holly began, brushing the side of her cheek with a finger. “Once upon a time, there were a pair of twins who, Frond only knows why, admired and looked up to their chaotically unhinged older brother greatly.” Artemis gave her a slightly wounded look, pressing a hand to his chest in a show of mock offense. “I’m appalled, Holly. You of all people know I prefer calculating to chaotic. There is a method to my madness, after all.” “Ever the theatrical misunderstood genius, aren’t you?” Holly rolled her eyes, even if she couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her lips. She nudged his shoulder playfully with her own, a show of affection. “Myles and Beckett adore you immensely—you know that, right?” Artemis beamed, warmed by Holly’s laughter and the comfort of being close to friends and family once more. He watched his sleeping brothers, curled closely towards each other much like two peas in a pod, before he turned his gaze back to the sculptures in his hands. “I know,” he said softly, still marvelling at the twins’ recreations of Jayjay and Lady Maeve. And for the barest of moments, in the quiet that stretch comfortably between them, Artemis Fowl knew that this may only be the start of the first (of many) Eldest Brother’s Day he would experience, but it was already a very good day nonetheless. And he was content. —End—

#artemis fowl zine #artemis fowl #holly short #mulch diggums #beckett fowl #myles fowl #juliet butler #fanfic

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jimlingss · 6 years ago

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[2/2] The Airport Couple: Park Jimin’s Cock[pit]

CO-WRITTEN WITH @dovechim

Read the spin-off: The Airport Couple: P[ass]enger from Hell

➜ Words: 12k

➜ Genres: Tooth-aching Fluff, Extreme Crack, Smut (dear lord), Pilot!AU

➜ Summary: Talk about Angry Birds, and most people would immediately think of the mobile game app. But within your circle of friends, it stands for something else. It’s synonymous with Park Jimin, one of the most talented pilots from your batch who also just happens to have anger issues, or in other words, air rage. He is your best friend, but when you get teamed up with him as his co-pilot, you can only pray that things don’t go south… literally.

➜ Warnings: handjob, cum all over face (and near the eye which is super dangerous), tons of sexual innuendos, unsafe behaviour on a plane (please don’t do this!! This is a work of fiction only, hence please use discretion if any of you happen to be pilots yourself!)

➜ Notes: this was written with the lovely Addie @dovechim, so if you liked this, please send a sweet message her way as well as mine!! we decided to bring Park Jimin’s potential road rage into the air...lol, also please don’t have sex on a plane if you’re navigating/driving it....anyways, enjoy!

You’re stirred awake by the alarm you set on your phone just four hours ago, and you hurry to turn it off before anyone can complain. The pilot’s lounge is small, and from your position on the upper deck of the double decker bed, you can see a few sleeping bodies stir restlessly. Your schedule says you have an international flight in just over two hours, so you force yourself to climb down as quietly as you can, making your way to the communal bathroom to make yourself presentable to the world. Right now you look like an exhausted witch who’s finally returned to her body after being god knows where, maybe asleep for ten decades. On the way you are accosted by your fellow co pilot, and he has to shake you by the shoulders a few times to really wake you up. “Hey, you checked today’s flight schedule right?” Namjoon says, repeating his question louder when you take a tad too long to answer him, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Yes, yes…what kind of pilot do you think I am? Of course I checked it. I checked it before my nap.” You brush his hand away, almost losing your grip on your makeup bag in the process. “Let me go, I need to remember how to be awake again.” “No, it’s been changed, you see,” Namjoon clarifies. “I was just notified of the change just an hour ago. Apparently there’s been some reshuffling, and we’re not doing today’s flight together anymore.” The revelation really gives you a wake up call, and you open your eyes wide, scrambling for your phone to check if he’s right. But Namjoon spares you from it. “You’re with Park now. I got pushed to the 2.15 flight to Bangkok tomorrow.” Namjoon finally releases his grip on you, giving you a look that you recognise as pity. Oh god. Thinking that today’s flight would be an easy one as Namjoon’s co pilot, you hadn’t spent much time going through the flight plan like you normally would if you were with Jimin. Flying with Namjoon is an absolute pleasure. The man is so pleasant and nice to talk to, and the two of you often have philosophical discussions while 3000 feet in the air. He really makes the time fly by, literally and figuratively. But Park Jimin… that man is a whole other story. Now you can really feel the panic starting to set in, waking you up more effectively than any cup of coffee. In your entire team, everyone, including you, dreads having Park Jimin as a captain. It’s not that he’s incompetent or anything, it’s just his… less than graceful landings and his absolutely filthy mouth, which would have gotten him kicked off the team were he not so talented. In other words, people say that Park Jimin has road rage. Or in this case, air rage. Immediately thrown into a state of panic, you leave Namjoon in the hallway and rush through your bathroom routine, ignoring the buzzing in your back pocket in favour of making sure you get your makeup done in under five minutes flat. You just manage to answer his third call as you step out of the bathrooms, and Park Jimin barks in your ear right away. “Where are you? We need to review the flight data and fuel gauge. I just finished the aircraft check and—” “Good morning to you too,” you grumble as your heels pinch your toes. “I just found out about the shuffle.” “Aren’t you absolutely thrilled to be my co-pilot?” You can almost see Jimin’s gloat from this end of the line. “I think you really lucked out today. We haven’t done a flight together in… how long? I can’t believe I finally get to pilot a plane with my best friend.” “I’m… um… thrilled of course,” you struggle to inject some enthusiasm into your voice. Park Jimin himself is unaware that people call him the Angry Bird. Of course, you want to spare his feelings as much as possible by keeping it from him, but something tells you that your best friend’s ego is far too big to be deflated just like that. The man knows he’s talented, one of the best pilots in the team. Your standard routine is to get a latte and a sandwich from the airport Starbucks since in-flight meals are absolutely revolting. Then, you’ll contact the scheduling department to confirm your flight check in before going through the standard security checks before doing exterior and cock-pit checks. Jimin is already waiting at Starbucks with your drink and a paper bag, and you wonder if he even slept at all for this early morning flight, but you push those thoughts aside when you realise that he isn’t he isn’t alone. He seems to be talking to one of the air crew...or rather, flirting. “You’re so funny, Jimin!” The head stewardess is giggling softly with a white-gloved hand covering her mouth as if she’s trying to be polite and hide her perfect teeth. Flight attendant uniforms are a lot prettier than your standard white shirt, black trouser duo. She’s wearing a royal blue blazer and pencil skirt that emphasizes her feminine figure perfectly, white shirt and a floral scarf tied into a bow around her neck. Meanwhile, you’re stuck in this terrible dress pants and blouse. You’ve never looked good in pants, and let’s face it, dress pants only look good on men. Your blazer isn’t even fitted for heaven’s sake. You’re almost envious at how stunning she looks, attire hugging her hourglass body shape, yet retaining a classy vintage sort of aesthetic. Her dark hair is tucked into neat bun at the back of her head, a rosy hue staining her lips, wearing enough makeup to make you suspect that she has someone to impress. “Am I?” Jimin laughs obnoxiously and you narrow your eyes at how picturesque they look next to each other, like the perfect couple to represent the airline’s advertisements. You resist the urge to frame them with your fingers just for the sake of it. “I didn’t think my story of accidentally flushing my pet goldfish down the toilet would be that funny. My brother was furious when he realised what happened to Sushi.” The head stewardess brushes her hand on his arm, laughter still bubbling at her pretty lips. She’s practically salivating and drooling all over him. The flirting is hardcore and sickening to observe. “No, you just know how to make others laugh that’s all. You’re too sweet.” “Why, thank you.” Jimin is practically beaming like the motherfucking sun from the praise and you roll your eyes, interrupting with a loud ‘ahem’, noisily like you’re choking on a chicken bone. Jimin turns and his brows raise, a bigger and more genuine grin spreading through his face. “______!” “You’re here early,” you comment as you take your drink and sandwich from him, peeking into the bag to confirm that he bought you your favourite: tuna and egg mayo. “I was up early to iron this,” Jimin beams as he puffs up his chest to show off his pilot’s uniform, consisting of a navy blue blazer and white dress shirt, and dress pants to match. He tugs on his tie a bit before smoothing it out with his hands. “Didn’t I iron it well? It took me almost two hours. And I even shined my shoes too!” “It looks great, Jimin! You look so sharp and handsome,” the girl at his side almost coos, and it makes the coffee in your mouth turn bitter. She places an arm on his bicep to get Jimin’s attention even though it’s clear that his questions were directed at you, and Jimin glances at her for a brief second. “Oh, ______, this is Yoonji. She’s flying with us later, and we just happened to run into each other just before you came.” You give her a brief nod. Typically, you don’t really interact with the flight crew until an hour before departure, but you suppose that it wouldn’t hurt to get on more friendly terms with them. Jimin has bragged to you a million times about how he was able to get non-alcoholic champagne delivered to the cockpit just because he was close to a stewardess or two, on the rare occasion even snagging a first class meal of lobster tail. But you prefer to keep to yourself even if it means having to scarf down a lunch of overcooked, dry beef lasagna. Something about the way she’s clinging on to Jimin’s arm and shooting him looks of adoration sets you on edge, and you give Jimin a nudge. “We need to get through customs. How did you already review the flight plan?” You start to walk towards the departures area and Jimin tags along after saying a hasty goodbye. “That’s fast. I thought you only checked the revised schedule an hour ago.” “Oh, I was finishing up another flight simulation when Namjoon texted me to tell me,” Jimin answers, checking his reflection in a passing surface. “So the hardworking me thought I might as well just call up the flight plan and get it done.” You turn to frown at him. “Wait, another flight sim? Isn’t this your third one this week? Park, are you even sleeping anymore? You realise that you have a bed at home that needs to be used right?” Jimin seems to be a little embarrassed to be called out like this, as he rubs the back of his neck. “Yoongi assigned me a couple more. Said it was because I got several complaints about my landing last time.” “Yoongi…? Isn’t that…the name of the flight stewardess just now?” Your first instinct is to jump to his defense. “And was it the early AM flight to Japan last week? Come on… I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” You’re lying. Namjoon had been the one to co pilot that flight with him, and when he got back he’d told you that there was so much turbulence mid-flight that two passengers threw up, and another three had to request for medical attention for their migraines. And the weather had been perfectly fine. His landing had been rough as usual, even though he swears it’s because “the Narita airport has an uneven runway”. Usually on flights with him you try to schedule it so that he does takeoffs and you do landings, but that sometimes it can’t be helped, the shifts don’t rotate that way. If Pilot Jimin has one flaw, it would be rough landings. Everything else he excels at, flight rage aside. “No, no, that was Yoonji, this is Yoongi,” Jimin clarifies with a wave of his hands before sighing melodramatically. “And I know right? My flight hours must have doubled in the last month alone.” Security check is sped up for air crew since you already know the process like the back of your hand, and you and Jimin are through to the airside and on your way to the plane to carry out the cockpit checks. On the way, you review all the information given, from the weather to the number of passengers and the other crew members working on the same flight. And after both you and Jimin work out the flight plan, you file with air traffic control. That’s when your phone rings, right as you’re on your way to meet with the rest of the crew in the crew’s waiting lounge just before you board the plane. The first thing you hear is cackling, so loud that it might as well been a blow horn in your ears. You wince, taking the mobile device off your ear and hoping your eardrums aren’t permanently damaged. Immediately, Jimin looks over with concern, but you don’t give him a chance to ask. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Jin?” You speak sharply and the man continues with his shrill laughs on the other line. “You’re co-piloting for Jimin?!” Seokjin is in absolute hysterics and you can only imagine his punchable face behind your eyelids. “Rest in peace, ______. I hope you survive and if not, I’ll leave a nice note in your obituary. The entire control tower is panicking right now, it’s hilarious.” “What’s he saying?” Jimin invades your personal space, putting his face in front of yours to steal back your attention and also being too curious for his own good. “Nothing. Just that he’s going to be our air traffic control officer and he’s excited since it’s you and he’ll have an easy time,” you manage to lie and Jimin stands straighter, a huge smile plastered across his cheeks, satisfied from the praise. Jin continues laughing chaotically on the other-line. “Oh my god, you are so whipped for him. Why do you even bother trying to save his ego? Do you want some of his ass that bad? I’ll admit, it’s a pretty good fucking ass, plump like two giant pumpkins in a pumpkin patch, but damn dude, even my thirst wouldn’t let me lie that far—” You close your eyes at the very descriptive imagery of your pilot’s ass. No, you can’t be thinking about Park Jimin’s ass right now, not when you’re about to be stuck in a cockpit with him for the next six hours, alone. Damn it, you really don’t need this right now. “I know, right? Jimin's a great captain. He aced all the exams back in the academy and gave me a run for my money.” You give some awkward laughter and Jimin’s practically floating beside you, glowing like a flashlight from the compliments he hears coming out of your mouth. His pink cheeks looks like they’ll burst any second now. “Oh, the weather’s still good? That’s great! Not too cloudy either?” “Look, all I’m saying is that Jimin’s got some...air rage and you seem to be the only one who makes it better. In all the flights I’ve done with him, I must say you have a special talent for containing the Park Rage. ” Jin barely composes himself and he mumbles something about his job. “If I had to guess, I’d think that you had some special way of calming him down, and what calms a man down faster than anything? A blowjob. Or just a simple handy really. Props to you for handling all that equipment so well, a joystick in one hand and-” “KIM SEOKJIN!!!!!!” You yell out his name to stop him from his tirade, all too aware that Jimin could overhear him at any second. Your breath is coming in flustered pants and Jimin is staring at you in concern, even raising a hand to your forehead to check if you have a temperature. You bat his hand away hurriedly to keep some distance in between the two of you as you realise that Seokjin is still rambling. Something about not getting the controls wet… “Seokjin, uh, we have to check in now so talk to you later! Bye!” “-should maybe just swallow to save you the trouble- alright alright, just say safe, okay? That goes for the both of you. Good luck. And for the love of god, don’t crash the plane.” “Wow, that’s some solid advice. Very good. I’ll have to write that down.” Jimin is infamous everywhere he goes and at this point, every airport knows his name. But his turbulence really isn’t that bad. And you’re not just defending him because he’s your best friend and those are your obligated duties. Most passengers don’t mind that it’s a bumpy ride since he always gets to the destination half-an-hour faster. Sure, one time he accidentally left the intercom on the whole flight and everyone heard him cursing and swearing. But it isn’t that terrible. “Ooh, what was all that about?” Your best friend’s eyes glimmer when you hang up the phone. You frown. “What do you mean?” “You and Seokjin….?” Jimin wiggles his brows up and down, even playfully nudging you. But even if he’s joking around, your heart is pierced. But like instead of Cupid aiming its bow at you, he’s stabbing you over and over again with an arrow. You can’t believe Jimin would even insinuate such a thing and be seemingly not affected at all. Goes to show his flirting means nothing. It’s time to get your head out of the gutter. “Oh god, no.” You shake your head. “No, not at all.” “That’s some passionate denial,” he muses. “What about you and the head stewardess?” You raise your own brows, clearing your throat and stealing a glance at him. “Planning to get it on with her? In all honesty, she’s hot. Even I’d smash that, so….” “You mean Yoonji?” Jimin’s lips are pouty and he shrugs. “Maybe. I dunno know. I don’t even know where I’d take her.” “You can’t take her anywhere,” you snort before nudging him this time. “How can you take her on a date if you can’t even drive a car.” It’s ironic, really. Park Jimin can drive a plane, but not a motorized vehicle. You’ll never stop giving him shit for it. One time, you tried to take it upon yourself and teach him how to drive. All you remember about that day is a barrage of swearing, Jimin’s fists pounding against the horn, and a few near miss altercations. After that day, you had to replace the battery for your car’s horn, and designate yourself to be his driver for the rest of your life. “Heyyyy, we can always take the bus.” He nudges you back, making you stumble on your feet as squeaky giggles stream from his mouth. “You wouldn't mind taking the bus with me.” “You’re right, I wouldn’t,” you mutter bitterly, the singleness of your life suddenly hitting you hard. Maybe Jin’s right. Maybe you are too whipped for your friend. Somehow, you suspect Jimin’s innocent smiles and whiny, clingy personality that plagued you for all these years was a tactic to lock you down and keeping you single forever, pinning after something that can never be achieved. Of course. The bastard would do something like that. You really need to go on a date soon….or at least get a decent dicking. “You’re frowning again.” He pokes the scrunch between your brows and you flinch. Jimin laughs and throws an arm around your shoulder, patronizing you as if you were his younger sibling. “Y’know, I still haven’t gotten my thank you yet. I had to stand in a ten minute line to get your favourite sandwich and I even got your favourite coffee. I remembered how many sugars and creams. Tell me I did a good job.” Sometimes, you’re baffled at how shameless he is. “You did a good job,” you state impassively, not even hesitating or bothering to make eye contact with him before taking another sip of your drink. Jimin’s arm suddenly tightens around your neck, making you choke on your coffee and wheeze. He pulls you closer, lips pursed in a tight-line. “I’d more genuine about that, ______,” he whispers lowly in your ear. Immediately, you pull him off of you, gaining some distance and making it easier to breathe. And it’s not because of the near choke hold he had with his biceps around your neck. Your thumb shoots up, a twitching grin lifting on your cheeks, and you inhale. “Wow~ you can stand in a line for ten minutes?! Amazing! You are the strongest. The mightiest. Park Jimin, everybody. You are my biggest role model. I can’t believe you even paid for me?! What a kind hearted man. Truly. The. Best!” Jimin laughs so hard he folds his entire body in half. “That’s not what I mean!” Despite getting embarrassed from your excessive, exaggerated praise and the people around who shoot you two odd looks, you can tell the little shit loves every second of your attention. “C’mon, hurry up.” You tug on his sleeve, dragging him away with your own smile on your face. “Everyone’s waiting for us. We’re going to be late.” As much as Jimin fucks around, what surprises you the most is how serious he can be about his job. It nearly gives you whiplash at the change in personality. From boyish and aggravatingly annoying to being professional and stern. Times like these, you remember why you don’t run for the hills whenever he’s around. Even though you’ve all signed the flight release forms about a thousand times, Jimin still takes the time to read through every word before inking his name at the bottom. And when it’s time to meet the rest of the crew, he greets every single one of them by name, making them feel at ease with his lame jokes. Jimin truly is the mood maker of your team. “Ready for the cock-pit check, co captain?” Jimin shoots you a grin as he pauses at the doorway of the plane, making a grand sweeping gesture as he bows his head. “Ladies first.” “Didn’t think you’d pass up on a chance for an innuendo there,” you give him a wry smile as you make your way into the cockpit, retrieving the flight log and preparing to go through it and make sure that any required inspections and repairs to the aircraft have been duly carried out. “If you wanted to inspect my cock, you could have just said so,” Jimin grins from ear to ear, as if he was just waiting for you to bring it up. He seats himself in the pilot’s position, going through the controls and making sure everything is in working order. You let out a loud groan in response, rolling your eyes at him. “And there goes my last shred of respect for you.” The two of you work in silence for a moment, like a well oiled machine as Jimin goes through the position and the operation of the plane’s systems before recording them meticulously onto the flight log that you pass to him. He inspects your work with a thorough glance before signing at the bottom, and you move on to contacting the control tower for a weather update. “This is KR130 to control tower. KR130 departing from Incheon, Seoul, destination Hong Kong. Estimated departure time is 11.40AM, flight duration 4 hours. Requesting pre departure weather report.” “Control tower to KR130,” Seokjin radios back. “Weather report is slightly cloudy, wind speed is…. Ah you know what, I’m lazy to read this all out. I’ve sent it to your printer and you can read it yourself.” You make sure the radio is off before asking yourself why you even bother radioing him if he’s just going to send you all the information by bluetooth to your in-flight printer anyway. The printer sputters to life behind you, and you spin around on your chair to grab the stacks of papers it spits out to review while Jimin is doing the external walk around to examine the body of the plane. This is another reason why you’ve harboured a secret crush on Jimin for this long — he is considerate beyond belief. By doing most of the external checks, he saves you from having to go out into the cold and brave the winds in your heels. When he returns, his cheeks are red and his nose is pink, his hair windswept as he rubs his hands together rapidly. You have to physically stop yourself from reaching over to pinch his cheeks and rub them in between your own hands, instead you have to keep your thoughts about how cute he looks like this to yourself. “Weather report done?” Jimin blows into his clasped hands as he takes his seat again. “Done, passenger count done too. The plane should be boarding right about now,” you check the time on your watch. Everything seems to be set so far. The check-lists are finished, the inspection for emergency equipment, electrical circuit breakers and the departure briefing has been completed as well. “Hmm, well we’re done with the pre flight checks, wanna go greet the passengers?” Jimin adjusts a few more levers and switches before turning to you. His eyes are sparkling with excitement and you know interacting with travelers was one of Jimin’s favourite parts about the job. You don’t mind it either since it was always interesting to see where everyone was going and for what reason. Often times, you’d like to play games inside your head, guessing if they are traveling for work or personal reasons, or maybe something crazy like a husband running off on a rendezvous with his mistress who’s actually a private investigator hired by the wife. Things get wild in your mind sometimes. “Alright, let’s go.” When you both leave the cockpit, a few first-class passengers have already boarded and Yoonji, the head stewardess is standing with her hands folded together, pretty smile placed on her lips. As passengers enter, she bows from her waist and Jimin nods with his hands behind his back. “Welcome to Asiana Airlines! We hope you enjoy the flight!” “Hello!” Yoonji is so pretty, you can’t stop staring at her. She has clear skin, a perfectly oval face, long lashes, pink cheeks, bright eyes — you think you might actually be falling in love with her. It’s no wonder Jimin’s so smitten with the woman; the one peek she steals at your partner in crime, the shy smile she gives, it has you swooning. “Hello! Good afternoon! Welcome to Asiana Airlines!” The trance you’re in is shattered when Jimin roughly nudges you. “______.” He smiles when he finally has your full attention again. “You never told me what you thought about my ironed uniform. See? I ironed it. It took a lot of work!” “Yes, yes,” you mutter to appease him. “It’s very well done.” “And I packed really well too! TSA didn’t stop me this time. Did you notice?” You’re not sure why he’s being embarrassing directly in front of other people like this. Usually he would bring his attention-starved puppy nature in private, gloat at your praise when it’s just the two of you. You’re about to shove him to the ground, but Yoonji turns around instead with a small giggle. “You’re really cute, Jimin,” she says with a blazing smile. That little shit. Was he really using you to get a compliment from another girl instead?! The audacity! You’re about to give him a piece of his mind, struck with hurt that you were used in such a way, but then Jimin quirks his head to the side, giving the stewardess the most blank expression. “I was asking ______, not you.” She blinks. You whirl your head towards him, brows furrowing, wholly confused. The head stewardess opens her mouth, maybe to apologize for interrupting your private conversation, but then someone staggers onto the plane, pushing up her little reading spectacles and croaking out, “Excuse me, dear. Could I get some help?” “Certainly.” Yoongi steps towards her and helps with the old woman’s luggage. “Oh, thank you. I just can’t seem to find where my seat number is on this ticket. They ought to have it bigger, at least for people like me.” “Let’s see here. You’re in 27C. Let me help you!” The head stewardess kindly leads the old woman down the aisle, swiftly avoiding other passengers who are getting settled and putting the baggage in the overhead bins. When she’s out of earshot distance, you spin towards your captain with a scowl and a harsh whisper. “What was all that about?” He’s unfazed, batting his lashes innocently. “What do you mean?” “I mean you were kind of a jerk just now,” you sigh out with arms crossed. “You were a blatant rude asshole and it came out of nowhere.” “Would you rather me be nice to her then?” Jimin raises his brows, eyeing you carefully. “You want me to flirt with her?” “I-....I mean...I...” You’re stuttering like a damn fool and it takes a deep breath before you get a grip on yourself. “I don’t want you to be a douchebag. Did you get a stroke, dude? Aren’t you trying to win a date with her?” “I never said that. Not once. You said that, but never me.” There’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes and he bumps his shoulder with yours. “Frankly, I don’t want to win a date with anyone, but you.” “Oh my god.” You roll your eyes to the back of your skull. “Don’t even, Park. I’m trying to have a serious conversation here. For once, can you just not be yourself?” Jimin laughs and you decide it’s better to ignore him. Passengers come filing through the door, greeting you with anticipating and nervous smiles. You greet them one by one, wishing them a good flight. But it still doesn’t stop Jimin from being an ass and purposely enjoying how he gets onto your nerves. When you tell someone you like their hair, he asks you what you think of his hair. You’d sucker punch him in the gut to get him to stop, but you’d rather not get filmed and go viral on YouTube with a viral clickbait title: ‘PILOTS FIGHT TO DEATH (GONE WRONG) (GONE SEXUAL) POLICE 9-11 CALLED!’ As you’re trying to peel a clingy Jimin off your side and try your best to disregard his annoying behaviour, another person captures your attention, or rather, the cutest goddamn child you’ve ever seen. The four-year old has a massive Mickey Mouse backpack that’s bigger than his entire torso, larger than his vibrant green overalls and hanging on his shoulders. His black hair is ruffled and sticking up like he hasn’t run a comb through it since yesterday. Yet, despite appearing like he just woke up from a nap, his large eyes are alert, wide and bright. He runs onto the plane and looks in every single direction like a hyperactive hyena ready to run wild. “Hi!” You lean down with a tiny smile. “Hello there…” Deep down inside you pity the stewardesses- they’re going to have a lot on their hands for this flight. As for you, the soundproof, access denied cockpit is the main reason why you can coo over this cute little tyrant. “Is this the plane?!” He’s leaning back to look at the two of you, grinning and amazed as if you’re the biggest heroes in the world. “You bet it is, bud.” Jimin smiles, amused with the child and having his heart strings tugged. As many rude and irritated passengers that you get, once in a wild even getting an unruly one that needs to be removed, there were some travelers that make up for the bad ones. “This is so cool!” The child hops both feet like a rabbit on a sugar-high. His hair flops as he jumps. “Does this plane shoot guns?!” “I wish.” Jimin’s brows furrow slightly in disappointment, though his lips remain upturned “But unfortunately, this isn’t a fighter jet. We’re just a normal commercial plane.” Thank god. You can’t even begin to imagine what would happen if Jimin had access to deadly arsenals in the air. He might just open fire on the unfortunate bird who decided to cross his flight path. “What’s there?” The kid leans over, looking between your legs towards the door. “It’s my cock……..—pit.” Jimin adds on the last syllable a few seconds later and he has a sheepish smile when you glare at him. “It’s where we sit and drive the plane.” The boy hums and nods rapidly, almost breaking his neck doing so. Then his irises glitter as he gazes up at you. “Can I drive the plane?” “You need a licence.” You try to let him down gently, scared of disappointing him. “Give it a few years and with some hard work, maybe you can one day!” He doesn’t seem that broken-hearted over the news and moves onto his next curious question, so straightforward that it nearly gives you whiplash. “What happens if we fall in the sky?” “Uh, hopefully that won’t happen.” “Don’t worry.” Jimin’s hand lifts and he squeezes your shoulder reassuringly while gazing softly at your profile. “If it does, I’ll catch you.” You turn to him with yet another look, unable to discern whether he means you or the kid, but this time you can’t help the tiny smile that graces your features. “We’ll burn and crash together, idiot.” “Hoseok!” The child’s parents finally appear, lugging all their belongings with them. You suppose it must be a family vacation and it seems like the mom needs it. She appears exhausted and you’re sympathetic. “I’m sorry, he’s such a handful.” “Not at all. We’re happy to have him onboard!” And you really mean it. You haven’t seen such an eager passenger in a long while. “This is the first time he’s been on a plane,” his father says and takes Hoseok’s hand while two duffle bags are piled on his shoulders. “Really?” Jimin squats down. “Well guess you’re in for a real surprise, buddy. It’s going to be great!” With Jimin as captain, it’ll be more like a roller coaster. But they don’t need to know that. The two parents wave goodbye, expressing their gratitude for taking the time to indulge in their son’s curiosity. Hoseok waves as well, shouting a shrill ‘see you later’ that has first-class passengers glaring. You watch as they walk down the aisle towards economy class and Jimin gets back on his feet, glancing at your profile before leaning over and whispering in your ear, “You like children?” “The cute ones,” you muse with a shrug. “Well, if you ever want a kid, I can help you with that…” Jimin peeks at you slyly, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards when his pupils glance at your pink lips. “....just make sure you don’t accidentally swallow it.” “Jimin!” Your face heats up immediately at his implication and he relishes in your expression. “Our kid would be cute, right?” Jimin has a cheeky smile. “You gotta admit, they’d be one beautiful baby.” It’s harder and harder to brush him off, and you’re at a loss for words. Just the thought of being in that position, on your knees sucking him off makes it harder to breathe, and it’s not the stale recycled air of the plane that’s affecting you. You have no idea whether he’s joking or not, but he’s never been this direct before. You don’t want to shut him down for fear of him simply laughing at you and telling you to lighten up, so instead of answering you turn away from him and head toward the safety of the cockpit to prepare for takeoff. Once inside the cockpit, you know you’re saved because of the sterile cockpit rules that allow only essential communication between pilot and co-pilot. It only lasts till the plane reaches an altitude of 10,000 feet, but at this point you can’t exactly put a wall between you and Jimin, so that’ll have to do for now. “KR130 to Control Tower, permission to begin taxi,” you say into the radio after you seat yourself on Jimin’s right hand. “Permission granted, begin taxi toward runway 12,” Seokjin’s reply comes back over the air. With clearance from air traffic, you reach for the plane’s intercom and flick it on. “Good morning, this is your co-pilot ______ speaking. A very warm welcome to Asiana Airlines, this is flight KR130 from Seoul, Incheon to Hong Kong, and we thank you for flying with us today. Our flight this morning is an estimated four hours, and we are currently second in line for take-off. We ask that you kindly remain in your seats with the seatbelts fastened, with your seats and the table tray in upright position and secure all baggage in the overhead compartments. Smoking is strictly prohibited aboard this aircraft. Thank you for choosing Asiana Airlines and enjoy your flight.” Jimin flicks a few switches to fire up the engines and double checks the critical airspeed as the plane slowly rumbles into a slow amble toward the active runway. It continues to taxi for a few minutes till the signal for takeoff crackles over the radio. On Seokjin’s cue, you flick on the intercom again. “Cabin crew please arm doors and cross check.” “Cross check complete,” Yoonji replies. “Cabin crew please be seated for takeoff,” you impart your final instructions over the intercom as Jimin begins to rev up the engines and the plane roars to life. The initial thrust of the plane sends a thrill singing through your veins as the whirr of the engines sound in your ears. The plane begins to pick up speed, and you keep an eye on the speed gauge in order to alert Jimin when the critical airspeed is reached. “V1,” you alert him when the plane’s speed reaches the critical value in which the take-off must be performed, and Jimin barely acknowledges you with a nod. Shortly after, you alert him again, “VR.” That’s when he starts to lift the plane’s nose into the air, and the rest of its body follows as it glides into the air seamlessly. You feel the lift of the plane in the pit of your stomach as you monitor the altitude, retracting the flaps and wheels once you reach 400ft. You work in silence for a moment, busying yourself with after-take off and climb checklists while Jimin mans the helm, occasionally communicating with air traffic control and monitoring the atmospheric pressure, making changes should there be a need to. Once the aircraft reaches above an altitude of 10,000 feet, Jimin switches over onto autopilot, reaching over to your side to flick on the intercom, his hands dangerously near your thighs. “Good morning ladies and gentlemen,” he says into the intercom with a charming smile that resonates in the smooth lilt of his voice. “This is your very handsome captain Park Jimin speaking. I’m pleased to welcome you aboard flight KR130, we are currently cruising at an altitude of 30,000 feet at an airspeed of 400 miles an hour. The current local time is 11:53AM, the weather looks good and with the current tailwind on our side we are looking to reach Hong Kong an estimated 15 minutes ahead of schedule. The cabin crew will be coming around in about twenty minutes time to offer you a light snack and beverage, and the inflight movie will begin shortly after that. I'll talk to you again before we reach our destination. Until then, sit back, relax and enjoy the rest of the flight.” You’ve always admired the professional ease with which Park Jimin does his announcements. His voice over the airwaves sounds absolutely melodic and entirely at ease, and the look on his face tells you that it’s one of his favourite parts about flying as well. Unlike you, announcements come easily to him, the words just flow from his lips and he doesn’t seem the least bit nervous at all. Focusing your attention straight ahead to keep yourself from ruminating over the side profile of his pouty lips, you hope and pray for this flight to go by quickly. “Jimin, it looks like there are some dark clouds ahead,” you caution him, frowning as you cross check Seokjin’s weather report once more. Jimin notices the clouds too, and he begins to swear under his breath, and that’s when it all begins. Park Jimin’s famous air rage. “Fucking Kim Seokjin, sunny weather and slight wind? What kind of idiot does he think I am? All those flight plans gone to waste...” He mutters to himself as he begins to make calculations and calibrations to alter the flight path, keeping an eye on the atmospheric pressure at the same time. “At this rate he should be a weatherman instead, that way he’ll at least have a fucking reason to be wrong all the time!!!” You are working furiously to support his calibrations, attempting to radio back to the control tower to get an update on the weather. Jimin grunts under his breath as he tosses the report aside. “Forget it, it’s fucking useless. KIM SEOKJIN YOU PIECE OF SHIT, MOVE THOSE FUCKING CLOUDS NOW OR ELSE!!!!” Make no doubt about it, Park Jimin may seem like a cute angel who can do no evil, but catch him in a mood like this… He is practically roaring in that tiny little cockpit, so much so that you even wince a little at how loud he gets. “Jimin,” you caution him. “It’s just the weather, you know control tower can’t do anything about that-” That’s when you notice the red light of the intercom still flickering, and you gasp, diving toward it to switch it off immediately. Jimin whips his head around to stare at you when he hears your gasp, raising an eyebrow in question, anticipating some sort of problem.

“No, no, everything’s fine,” you wave a hand at him. “It’s just um… you forgot to turn off the intercom.” And that unleashes a whole litany of curses once more, after he makes sure the intercom button is securely turned off, that is. Your temples are throbbing, imagining the uproar that must be occurring in the cabins right about now. Kim Seokjin is going to have a field day when he hears about this. You can already hear his window wiper laughter in your mind. And when you close your eyes you can see the stack of reports waiting to be written about this incident, all courtesy of Mr Park Jimin of course. “Fuck. these. birds!” “What did birds ever do to you?” You’re slightly amused at how cute and small Jimin is when he’s been reduced to a ball of anger, and another part of you has accepted that this is who he is. He’s still a good pilot...with only a quirk or two. “Exist,” he spits out. “And get in my way.” The worst thing that could happen is if he busted a vein at his temple or got a heart attack from high-blood pressure, so you try to placate him. “Calm down, Jimin.” “Don’t tell me to calm down,” he huffs out and shoots you a glare, caught up in his fury to act rationally. “You act as if I’m unreasonably angry.” Trying to reason him is like trying to use logic with a child. “Well, maybe because you are unreasonably angry.” There’s a moment of silence. You heave a sigh of relief, happy that it’s over. It’s not like you like arguing with your best friend and it’s not like you bicker often either. But then— “I am your captain. That’s no way to speak to me.” “Excuse me?!” Your mouth drops and your brows shoot upwards, turning to look at the profile of his impassive face. “We’re friends, but when we work together, I still have seniority over you,” Jimin says and the sudden cold tone shocks your system. “For one, you’re supposed to call me ‘sir’ and you do as I tell you.” You scoff, unable to believe he’s redirecting his air rage onto you. “Or else what? What are you gonna do?” “...I’ll throw you off this plane.”

“Oh my god.” It’s so outrageous, you feel steam coming out of your ears, your pressurized temper blowing off its cap. “That sounds like a fantastic idea! Just strap a parachute to my back and throw your co-pilot off this plane! The airline would fucking love that, wouldn’t they?!” “Why can’t you agree with me on anything?!” Jimin’s frown deepens and his pitch increases in volume to match yours. “You don’t think these birds and fucking clouds are annoying as shit?!” “These are petty issues, Jimin!” You throw your arms into the air. “It doesn’t even matter!” “It does matter!” He’s screaming over you. “If you knew better, you would actually help me instead of trying to tell me to calm down which mind you does not help with the situation at all!” “Well sorry for actually giving a shit and not wanting your pilot license to be taken away!” The two of you bicker back and forth. This isn’t what either of you want, but maybe if you weren’t so caught up in it, you’d realize that something was off. “Why the fuck would it be taken away?! I’m the best goddamn pilot this airline has seen!” “Yeah, but you’re swearing and screaming! What sane person would fly beside you?!” Jimin barks out a chilling laugh before staring into your eyes. “You would!” “Guess I’m not sane then! Guess you’re not the crazy one! I am!” It’s infuriating how you’ve become unhinged and lost all control of your emotions. Now you’re the raging one and it’s unsightly. “Is that what you’re trying to say?! Well, Sherlock, I’m not the one screaming at clouds and birds, alright?!” “Goddammit, _____.” Jimin is as upset as you are and he sits back. “I wanted this to be perfect, okay?!” You shake your head, yet another scoff coming from your mouth. “Why the fuck does that matter?!” He’s so utterly frustrating at the moment, you want to throttle him and throw him out the front window. You hate how he can get under your skin. You hate how this entire thing has spiraled out of hand. More importantly, you hate Jim— “Because I wanted to impress you!” “.....” There’s a second of complete silence. His crisp voice reverberates around the small cockpit, piercing through the white noise of the aircraft’s engine, and it echos into your mind. You are bewildered to say the least. “What?” Jimin sighs and runs a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back before his hands return to the controls. He swallows hard and continues looking straight ahead, avoiding your intense gaze. “I know you’ve been avoiding me. Why?” “I have not!” Your defense is weak. “Don’t accuse me—” “You think I’m that stupid, don’t you?! You think I’m blind? I heard from Namjoon and I saw the look on your face this morning!” He’s still angry and frustrated, but the hurt in his timbre is all too evident and even though you’re still supposed to be irritated with him, instead you feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. “You didn’t want to be my co-pilot!” “T-that’s not true!” “You’re a liar! You’ve been trying to switch every single time we have the same schedule together! Why?!” No matter how many times he’s thought about it, he can’t seem to work it out inside his mind. “Did I do something wrong?! Am I really that bad that you’re scared to be next to me?!” “No! Fuck—” Jimin finally turns to you. His dark locks flop back into place, brushing over his forehead in a disarray. His soft eyes gaze back into yours, his deep irises meeting yours. His plump lips part slightly, inhaling a slight breath. “Or is it because you finally realize you’re in love with me?!” Shit. “What the fuck—” “You think I wouldn’t notice?! I felt you hold my hand when we were asleep on that trip to Barcelona!” Somehow, this fight has led to you being on the witness stand as Jimin questions you to death, pushing you into a corner to admit your crimes. One moment you’re both yelling at each other and the next, you find out that he’s been onto you for the past year. You’re still reeling, getting whiplash at how the exchange morphed so quickly. “And that time we were in Bangkok and I got food poisoning, you kissed me when you thought I was asleep!” “I kissed your forehead!” “So you admit it?!” This is humiliating. This is absolutely embarrassing and now you really wish you had taken that offer of being thrown off the plane when the opportunity was given. Maybe you can throw yourself off the plane instead. “You really think I wouldn’t know?! We’ve been friends for what? Nine years now?! I can read you like a book!” “Oh really?!” You challenge him, still not backing down. “Then what am I thinking now?” Jimin steals a glimpse of you before turning back to the open skies ahead. He has the biggest grin plastered over his chubby cheeks and you think it might break his goddamn face. “You’re in love with me!” “Oh my god! Fine! I am in love with you, dumbass!” It’s out in the open. No more secrets. And admitting your feelings lights your face on fire. You’re sure you’re going to wake up screaming for the rest of your life about this nightmare of a conversation. “Happy now?!” He lets out a ‘hmph’, like the cocky bastard that he is. “Very!” “I’ve been trying to sort this shit out ever since I fucking caught feelings and now you’re stepping all over me for it?! You force me to confess just so you can get a free ego boost? Thanks, jerk!” The pair of you are so childish, it’s painful, but at this very moment, you don’t care. You’re just trying to hold yourself together, forcing yourself not to start crying out of shame. It’s frustrating because you can’t even storm off or leave him in the dust. You have a plane to fly. And you can’t imagine what the next four hours is going to be like. “I get it, okay?! You’re not interested! So, I’ll deal with this myself! You can fuck Yoonji in peace!” “The hell, woman!” He whirls his neck over, frown gracing his features. “Have you heard anything that comes out of my mouth?! I never said I was fucking her!” “You didn’t need to! She’s practically moaning when you look at her!” “Fuck these fucking birds,” Jimin mumbles before turning to you once more. “Look, I’m in love with you too.” “What?” “Yeah and I have been for some time now—” He’s interrupted by some knocking on the door. Then, there’s the sound of someone punching the touchpad code in. In another moment, the head stewardess has her slight head peeking in, not to disturb the two of you. “Um, is everything okay?” Yoonji asks with pouty lips and a concerned expression. “We heard some shouting.” “Um, everything’s fine.” You smile at her, wondering how loud you both were to leak sound from the supposedly soundproof door. “Yeah, we had one or two…misunderstandings, that’s all.” “Oh, okay.” She nods, put at ease with your reassurance. “Would you like some drinks?” “Sure. I’ll...um...have some water.” Jimin clears his throat and nods as well. “I’ll take a coffee.” “Any creams or sugars?” The pretty stewardess has her hands folded together, scarf perfectly tied, eyes glistening as they pin onto the man beside you. She hangs onto every word of his. “No, I’m fine. Actually...just one cream.” “Okay.” It’s excruciatingly slow and awkward. It reminds you of when waitresses at restaurants come by to pour water and the conversation just completely dies as the both of you watch her. It feels like her movements are that of a turtle’s; she’s taking forever just to finish pouring and bringing your drinks over. “Here you go and here you go. Would you like anything else? Any meals or anything? We have peanut snacks and lightly-salted crackers. There’s also some chicken, beef, or vegetable rice available.” “I think we’re okay for now, thank you.” Jimin is curt, brushing her off and not paying any mind when she’s straight on staring at him. The tension in the small space can be cut with a knife and you’re beginning to break a sweat from it. “Alright.” She smiles meekly, preparing to leave and completely unaware of what was transpiring before she interrupted. “Just call me if you need anything.” “Thanks.” It’s deadly silent. The conversation takes its time to sink into your skin. There’s a full ten minutes of you and Jimin purely focusing on driving the plane and flying safely through the clouds. He looks forward, trying to decrease the turbulence with the oncoming wind, and you keep your eyes trained outside the window. He only mutters every so often under his breath before taking sips of his coffee to calm himself down. Eventually, you can’t bare it anymore and you glance at him, clearing your throat. His ears perk at the sound and you brace yourself. “That takeoff…….it was pretty smooth.” “Thanks.” “You did a good job.” You swallow hard. “And...uh….you dealt with the changes in the weather well.” The corner of Jimin’s mouth twitches, threatening to spread into a smile. He muses how you know exactly where to hit his weakest spots. He can’t help but indulge in your compliments. “I know.” “You’re a good pilot.” You capitalise on his number one weakness, unashamed to use it to your advantage. Jimin has always softened like putty in your hands every time you pay him a compliment. It wouldn’t hurt to lay it on thick. “You look really handsome in your pilot’s uniform, I can’t believe you ironed it so well.” Jimin is full on fighting with himself not to just break out into a fit of giggles as he maintains a straight face. He glances over at you and casts his eyes down your body. “You look nice too. In that suit. Your… legs are nice.” You almost spit out your water. Jimin isn’t the type to return compliments, usually he’s too busy basking in them, and although he does sound a little awkward, you can tell that he really means it. You’re at a loss for words because that means… that he’s actually taken notice of you? In this grubby little pantsuit? Suddenly the atmosphere in the cockpit has changed. It’s no longer tense or charged with the weight of both your tempers, it now borders upon uncharted territory, and your mind feels as foggy as the sky outside. While Jimin has almost all of his attention on the route in front of him, trying to steer the plane through the worst of the turbulence, you can’t help but crave for more of his compliments. Wait, when did the tables turn so suddenly? “Wh-what about my legs?” You hazard a glance at him, and when Jimin looks over at you in confusion, you clear your throat. “You know, I was just thinking about how unequal this relationship is. I always give you the most detailed compliments, and you never return any of them.” You can see Jimin visibly struggling to get his words out. His jaw is clenched and a muscle jumps in his cheek, and you can feel your breath catch in your chest. Finally, Jimin reaches over to hit the autopilot setting again and turns his gaze to you. And when he does, his gaze is absolutely predatory. “That’s my bad then, how shall I begin to make it up to you?” Jimin swivels his chair so that he’s facing you, and you can see his knees spread outwards, drawing your gaze up to his crotch in those deliciously tight pants of his. “What about my legs?” You purposely cross one leg over the other to draw his attention to them and you pretend to be disinterested when actually… you’re thinking of a way to get him to say that you have better legs than that beautiful bitch, Yoonji. “Most people usually use a scale for reference when they give compliments…” And then your eyes slide over to the entrance of the cockpit, giving him an extra hint. Jimin follows your gaze and smirks to himself when he realises what you want. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t tease you for a bit first. “Your legs are really long,” he starts off, running his eyes slowly down from your hips all the way to your toes. “And they’d look really good wrapped around my waist.” Your breath hitches in your chest as your thighs clench involuntarily. Jimin’s eagle eyes catch the subtle movement and he raises an eyebrow. But you’re not letting him off the hook that easily. “What else?” “I was also thinking of how they’d look like resting on my shoulders,” Jimin rubs his chin thoughtfully, licking his lips as he pretends to ponder. “And how my finger marks would look like on your inner thighs.” He is infuriating. By now you can see from the smirk on Jimin’s face that he knows exactly what you want to hear. “And?” Jimin makes a humming noise in the back of his throat, ever the tease. You decide that you need to up the stakes, and you lean over to rest your hand on his knee, fingers inching upwards ever so slowly. His muscles turn solid under your touch, and there is a sharp intake of breath. Jimin’s eyes are fixated on your fingers making the slow crawl up his inner thigh, towards the obvious tent in his pants, before you stop just short of making contact with it. “And, what else,” you prompt him again. Jimin’s fists are clenched, his knuckles white as he considers his options. He’s so rock hard in his pants right now, unbelievably turned on that he thinks he could come in his pants untouched. But just how far are you willing to take this? He’s sure that the both of you are breaking just about every rule in the pilot handbook right now, and yet, he’s dying just to feel your hand wrapped around him… “Y-your legs are…” Jimin meets your eye with a visible shudder as you begin to run your nails up and down his inner thighs. “Better than Yoonji’s could ever be.” A satisfied smirk paints itself upon your lips as you finally place your hand on him fully, giving him a firm squeeze to reward him. He feels thick in your palm, and your mouth salivates, wishing that the two of you were off this damn plane just so you can get a taste of him. Jimin groans and tilts his head back against the headrest, knees spreading even wider. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath before swallowing hard. “First Officer, would you like to grab my joystick for me?” It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s been waiting to use this line for the longest time. His terrible innuendo makes you want to laugh, and you just manage to bite it back as you flick open the button on his pants and drag the zipper down. He is already dripping with precum when you pull him out and give him a few test strokes. “Yes, fuck,” Jimin groans at your touch as you swipe your thumb over his head. “Make sure to grip it tightly, Officer. Your hand needs to go up and down too.” If someone had told you this morning that you’d be giving Park Jimin a handjob over 30,000 feet in the air, you’d have laughed it off. But as you follow his instructions, you can’t help but feel a thrill sing through your veins at the thought of all the other passengers on the other side of this door. And Min Yoonji who potentially thinks she can just bat her lashes and get any guy she wants. “What do you think of my joystick, Officer?” he huffs out, putty in your hands. “Should turn the radio on. Let Seokjin fucking hear this.” “But I don’t want anyone else to hear you. This is for my ears only...” you can’t help the little pout that sneaks up your face and he mutters a curse, unable to resist lifting his hand to curl around your wrist and control your pacing. You blink innocently at him as your strokes continue to alternate between slow and fast. “Your joystick is the thickest I’ve ever seen… Am I doing a good job, Captain?” “S-so good, you’re passing the simulation with full marks if you keep this up,” Jimin bucks his hips into your hand. When your other hand drops to fondle his balls, he groans low in his throat and twitches in your grasp. “Fuck, I-I’m carrying such a full load today, Officer, did you know that?” You glance up from weighing his balls in your palm, stroking him faster and relishing the loud, obscene sound that echoes around the tiny cockpit. “It does seem to be very heavy indeed, Captain… maybe you need some help unloading it? Where should I put all the cargo?” “God, fuck, you’re such a fucking minx,” Jimin bites his lower lip as he groans. His little sounds and the cute, tiny moans that spill from his pretty lips only encourage your ministrations. Your underwear becomes soaked and uncomfortable, and as you watch his face scrunch, it sends an ache straight to your own core. “I can’t wait till we’re off this plane so I can blow my fucking load on your landing strip, Officer.” “My landing strip?” You raise an eyebrow at him, not knowing that he’d be into finishing all over your body. The thought of the both of you watching his cum drip from you has your panties soaked. Maybe you can’t give him that now, while you’re on this godforsaken plane, but perhaps you can give him something else. You push yourself off your seat to kneel in between his legs, opening your mouth and showing him your tongue. “It’s all clear for you, Captain.” There is sweat beading on his forehead as Jimin reaches down to wrap his hand around yours, helping you to jerk him off right onto your tongue. The first few spurts are far too strong and miss your mouth entirely, landing on your cheek before you feel the bitterness on your tongue as Jimin shifts his hips forward so that his tip is resting on your tongue directly. You wiggle your tongue to massage the head of his cock as he continues spurting cum, and you can feel him filling your mouth up to the brim, that you have to tilt your head back to make sure it doesn’t spill. Jimin sinks back in his seat, eyes closed as he tries to catch his breath. You can already feel the streaks of cum drying on your face, so you push yourself up, closing your mouth carefully. Jimin opens his eyes then, catching sight of you settling back in your chair. “You look so pretty with my cum on your face,” he remarks, reaching over to carefully wipe a smear that’s close to your eye with the pad of his finger, then bringing it to his lips, tongue peeking out to lick it away. “Do you need to spit? Here, have my cup.” He offers you his coffee cup from earlier, but you shake your head, making eye contact with him as you swallow deliberately and open your mouth to show him your clean tongue. Jimin swears under his breath, thumb coming to rest just under your lower lip. “That’s so hot. You’re fucking amazing. When we get off this plane, we’re going straight to the airport hotel.” The sight of your swollen lips and cum streaked face makes Jimin want to bend you over the controls and eat you out till you come all over his face, then fuck his cum into you till you’re leaking. But he’s already broken enough rules for today; put others’ lives at risk even. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that—” you start, tucking your hair behind your ear. “No, it takes two hands to clap,” Jimin sighs as he tucks himself back into his pants. “I should have had better self control. It was irresponsible of me, the Captain of this plane. It’ll never happen again. Because once we’re on solid land, I’m fucking you so hard that you won’t be able to walk till our next flight back.” A signal comes in from the plane’s radio, and you glance over to the autopilot timer, saved from having to reply. It’s only been ten minutes since Jimin switched it on, but now that you’re more level-headed and thinking clearly, it was highly irresponsible for the two of you to leave the plane like that, even if autopilot allows you to be hands-off. Thankfully, nothing happened, and you can see that Jimin is equally sobered as he checks in with control tower and resumes control of the plane. “Go clean yourself up, I got it from here,” Jimin glances toward the cockpit entrance. You rise from your seat, hoping that you can somehow make it to the staff lavatory without running into anyone. But just as you press the exit button and step out of the cockpit, as your luck would have it, you almost crash straight into Yoonji carrying a tray with two prepackaged meals on it. “Oh! Officer ______! Didn’t see you there, are you alright? I was just bringing you and Captain Park your in-flight meal...” Yoonji is concerned as she glances at your face. “You look a bit…” Belatedly you realise that you have cum on your face, and the tight sensation around the corner of your lips tells you that there’s probably some there too. By the look on Yoonji’s face, she’s obviously caught on to what that mystery white substance is as she flushes a deep red, and you take the opportunity to rub it in her face….not literally though since Jimin’s cum belongs to you and only you. “Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry,” you give her a sweet smile as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Captain Park was just teaching me how to handle his joystick. He was giving me a bit of one-to-one coaching on the techniques, grip, pace, complicated stuff like that. I’d tell you more, but I don’t think you’d understand.” Her mouth drops open. “Oh, and…” you glance at the in-flight meals on her tray. One lobster bisque with salted egg yolk sauce, and the other is a plain old chicken with green beans and potatoes. That nasty little witch’s favouritism has always been too obvious. “Actually, Jimin is allergic to green beans… could you change his to lobster too? Thanks, Yoonji!” “B-but the lobster was for h—” Without waiting to hear the rest of her sentence, you saunter over to the staff lavatory, feeling her glare on your back the whole way. It feels good, more than good. As childish as it is, you got to assert your dominance like some kind of alpha wolf, and the adrenaline from your dirty antics is still coursing through your veins. You didn’t get your own release and your underwear is still sticky, but in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t bother you too much. If anything, you’re a bit disappointed that you have to wash his cum from your skin, even if it was drying and becoming uncomfortable. You wish he marked you in a better way. Maybe you’ll suggest it to him later. But what’s more important to you is that he feels the same way. Park Jimin, idiot extraordinaire, adorable puppy with sharp teeth, actually likes you back. No….wait, a minute...he doesn’t just like you— “I’m in love with you too.” It echos over and over in your brain again. You’ve imprinted the simple sentence, memorized the way he spoke every syllable, how his breath paused in timidness, how he gazed at you. You grin at yourself in the mirror, turning your head from side to side to admire the glow on your cheeks. Honestly, with you looking this good, you don’t know how Jimin managed to hold out this long. You’ve never seen yourself looking so radiant and glowy, although it may just be the effect of his cum… you’ll have to look into that one later. You might look crazy, but you don’t care that you skip back into the cockpit with one cheesy smile plastered on your aching cheeks. You don’t care that you’re giggling like some teenage girl who just received her first confession from her long, unrequited crush. You’re going to savour all the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach and embrace the flowers that are blooming inside your chest, bouquets that all belong to one man, Park Jimin. The cockpit smells of sex and Jimin, and you don’t mind in the least bit. He’s chewing on a cubed cantaloupe, having yet to dig into his lobster. Your bright smile is infectious and he can’t help but mirror it, chubby cheeks swelling up as he chews. “Oh, I think you’ll want to hear this. Yoonji was just here bringing us our food and she said this place smelled…musty. I told her I was just giving you a private flight lesson.” “Really?” you chime out before coming behind him, not really caring about what Yoonji thinks. “Why do you look so happy?” You lean over to plant a soft kiss on his cheek and hop back to your seat before Jimin has a chance to blink or react. He turns to you and his grin expands. “Maybe it’s because you told me you love me.” “I do,” he reasserts without a second thought, having too much fun watching you. Jimin has an endeared expression written across his features and it only squeezes your heart more. You wish you could just roll in bed and kick your blankets, too giddy for your own good. Yet, you hold yourself together, doing your best to remain professional and bring this plane to its final destination. “Before we were interrupted…..you said you’ve been for a long time now?” Who knew that you equally loved basking in his attention as he did in yours. You don’t really care about Yoonji anymore. She was just an excuse, really. Little things like that don’t seem to matter when it’s just you and him. “Of course,” Jimin scoffs. “Are you kidding me? How could I not notice the cutest and funniest girl in my class who turned out to be super smart and second best to me?” Your smile drops and your brow raises. “Excuse me….second best?” The little shit ignores you. “I’m just happy that you finally realized how much you’re crazy for me.” “Psh, how cocky can you be?” You turn back towards the front windshield, returning back to help with the navigation. “I’m not crazy for you.” “You’re right.” He grins. “You’re just crazy.” If looks could kill, the man would’ve turned to ash by the way you glare at him with a murderous glint in your eyes. He immediately retracts his words with a laugh, “I’m joking! I’m joking! I mean you’re crazy for loving me too because you’re so fucking amazing and incredible.” “Save it, Park.” Except, he’s a brat that never listened to you, and he steals the chance. Jimin completely catches you off guard when he suddenly leans over and kisses the corner of your lips, pulling away after the simple peck. When you turn in surprise, his gaze softens. “Now go eat your lobster. I need you to be hungry when we get off this damn flight because I decided that I’m asking you out to dinner before I tie you up for the next three days in the best damn hotel suite the airport has to offer.” It’s too hard not to smile and you feel like an idiot when your grin makes yet another reappearance. “Don’t you know I don’t put out on the first date?” “Who said it’s our first date?” A glimmer of mischief sparkles in his irises when you both glance at each other. “This is our fiftieth.” “What? Since when?” “Since our after our first flight exam and I invited you to McDonalds at midnight. That was our first date.” You’re appalled, recalling the memory with the snap of your finger. You’d never allow a first date to be so shitty, even if it was with him. “That so does not count!” “It did in my mind,” he giggles. “You’re ridiculous.” “—ridiculously in love with you,” Jimin adds on and you can’t resist your smile. The pair of you might be over 30,000 feet in the air, but at this rate, it feels like you could float up to the moon and stars. You can’t wait for tomorrow, for the next day, for the day after that. The anticipation bubbles in your stomach, joining with the storm of butterflies and blooming flowers. You can’t wait to travel with him again and again. For the rest of your life, you get to go across the entire world with your best friend. If it’s with him, you can go anywhere….even if Jimin rages on all the birds in the sky.

#bts scenario #Jimin fluff #jimin fanfic #jimin smut #bts smut #lol i can finally tag one of my fics as smut y'all #mAN i can talk ALLL day about how great pilot uniforms are #that shit is really something

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dumbbenergy · 5 years ago

Text

to noelle

April 2018

To my soon-to-be baby sister,

Hello there! I'm Ysa, your soon-to-be favourite older sister! Your parents gave me quite the scare today— they told me about you! Don’t worry, you were a happy surprise, but did they really have to tell us in a restaurant of all places? Your other older sister (you have many siblings, so get used to hearing that a lot) screamed bloody murder, and your brother wasn’t any better. Surprisingly, we didn’t get kicked out, despite the choice of… words… your other older sister used. Mom probably wanted to wash her mouth with soap on the spot, but refrained because we were in public. Nevermind that we were already causing a scene.

I don’t recall myself screaming, but that's probably because I was choking on a sashimi roll. I don't know about you, but I didn't expect my mother to pop out another kid after nearly twelve years. Not that mom is old or anything. It’s just that, giving birth? Not that easy. Mom’s a toughie!

The “reveal” itself was pretty funny, not gonna lie. Neither your mom or dad had to say anything. Confused? I’ll explain: Your parents told us about you via NOTES stuck under HERSHEY KISSES. It was like a fortune cookie, but instead of a fortune I got “YOU’RE A BIG SISTER AGAIN.” Hence the screaming. And the choking.

But yeah. You were a happy surprise.

Love, your soon-to-be favourite sister, Ysa

p.s. don't tell mom I swore!

p.p.s don’t tell mom I told you not to tell her I swore!

July 2018

To Noëlle,

You see that? You've got a name! Your parents and your siblings (including me) have been arguing pretty intensely about it over the past couple months. We wanted you to have the perfect name. It’s not like naming your pet, or your Sims, or the characters in the stories I like to write, as much as I like to call them children of my own.

Noëlle Carisa is close enough, don’t you think?

Love, your soon-to-be favourite sister, Ysa

October 2018

To my Noëlle,

All my life, I’ve been told that babies are ugly when they’re born, and that anyone who says otherwise is lying. You, cutest of the cuties, beat all the odds and were born, you guessed it, adorable— all wrinkly, red-faced, and tiny. So, so tiny. Your hand could barely wrap around my finger, and you couldn’t quite open your eyes yet. I remember being entranced by your lashes, long and soft and brushing against the smooth edge of your cheekbone.

Then I held you in my arms. You were as light as a feather, like a gust of wind could blow you away. Yet, you were as warm as a hearth. I wanted to hide you from the world. Wanted to quell tears before they could spill.

I can’t, though. No one can. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.

Love, Ysa

xxx 2019

Noëlle,

You said your first word today.

Ate. Older sister.

Funnily enough, you said that to your brother. Although initially dismayed, he did eventually acknowledge that ate is easier to say than kuya, so you were forgiven pretty easily.

Just say it to me next time, okay?

Love, Ate Ysa

xxx 2019

You said it to me today!

September 2019

Noëlle,

From this day onwards, I’ll be picking you up from daycare! Now that mom’s back to work, it’s gonna be you and me for a couple hours every day, along with your brother, as useless as he is. Not to say that he doesn’t help out, but his tolerance for you is like, ten minutes per hour. He loves you to death, don’t worry, and he does help me whenever I start getting overwhelmed. He’s not that useless.

Let’s be good to each other, okay?

Ate Ysa

September 2019

Noëlle,

You sure do love your stroller. Despite the number of times we’ve walked down the same street on the way home, you’re always looking around in amazement, cooing at everyone that passes, bright eyes even bigger than usual. You’re never like that when it’s just us in the apartment. I guess you just like the outside.

I wonder how you see the world sometimes.

Ate Ysa

October 2019

You wouldn’t stop crying today. No matter how many times I checked to make sure you were changed, how many times I whirled you around, how many times I tried feeding you, and playing with you.

You wouldn’t. Stop. Crying.

I cried a little too.

Ate Ysa

October 2019

I’m sorry, Noelle. None of this is your fault.

I think I’m just a little stressed out.

If my eyes seem dim recently, and I act like those dolls you like to play with, don’t think about it too much. Shoulders as tiny as yours shouldn’t carry my burdens— and this goes for the future too, okay? Don’t worry about me. Just look out for yourself.

Ate Ysa

October 2019

You smiled more today.

You giggled.

You called me ate.

I kissed your cheek, and you laughed.

It’s days like these when I really do feel like I’m your favourite.

Love, Ate Ysa

November 2019

I still get frustrated, most days. I still cry sometimes. But my heart doesn’t feel heavy when I look at you, all my fears and thoughts taking a backseat in favour of trying to figure out how I can make you laugh. Make you smile. How I can feed you mushed mango without completely ruining my shirt.

I may not be your favourite yet, but give it time. I have the rest of my life to prove myself to you.

Love, your soon-to-be favourite older sister, Ysa

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leonajasmin-writeblr · 7 years ago

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25 Questions

Thanks for the tag @rain-likes-to-ramble ! It’s the longest tag game I’ve done, so I’ll put it under the cut. Be warned, it gets progressively more sarcastic.

1. Is there a story you’re holding off writing for some reason?

I’ve been wanting to try and rewrite some of my fanfic from when I was 13/14 for a while to make it less cringy and have a direct comparison on how my writing has changed. But the main thing I’m holding off is a novel(la) called The Scramble. It’s in the same universe as my other WIP’s (with some of its events being mentioned in The Indignant including an appearance from Chris) but it can be read standalone. I’ve got the cast and rough plot sorted out but as it was originally fanfiction, it’s taken a while to weed the fandom parts out of it.

Brief summary: Sigurd Losnedahl, being the backstabber he is, decided to get involved with the Norikan Civil War despite insisting to his two sons he wouldn’t. Now Eirik and Halldór are stuck in the epicentre of the battle and since neutrality is even more dangerous than picking sides, they’re scuppered. After being taken under the wing of enigmatic Taisto Astergaard, Eirik is entangled with the man’s adopted daughter, Christine, and the only way the polar duo will live is through them ending the decade-long war. The only problem is, his father’s so obsessive with his cause that he now will do anything to put a bullet in his head. And Halldór’s disappeared- how convenient.

2. What work of yours, if any, are you embarrassed about existing?

The fanfiction that I mentioned in Q1 that I plan on rewriting.

3. What order do you write in? Front of book to back? Chronological? Favourite scenes first? Something else?

Front to back. I tend to leave exposition and descriptions out of the first draft (unintentionally) so I’ll fill in those when I feel like it.

4. Favourite character I’ve written?

Phineas. He was originally a one-dimensional villain (I created him when I was 9) but he’s now one of the most complex characters in the series with the undoubtedly the most well-developed backstory. He’s also developed a great sense of humour over time, and his relationship with Jonathon (who I haven’t introduced on Tumblr yet but I need to. He’s a close second) is one of my favourite things to write.

5. Character you were most surprised to end up writing?

Vladislav. In my plan, he was only supposed to appear in 2/41 chapters. After his personality change, he quickly became one of the major characters. Originally, he was a vain flirt with an ego out the roof. Now he’s a sensitive but righteous boy training to be a lawyer to persecute his mass murdering uncle. Pretty big development for someone who was only created 7 months ago.

6. Something you would go back and change in your writing but it’s too late/complicated to change now.

I’d have added a District based on somewhere in South Asia and also one based on somewhere in Africa. I’m thinking about adding them at the end (since I’ve already stated in my novel that more Districts will come with time), but it’s too late to add them from the beginning.

7. When asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

I love telling people I write but hate the follow-up questions, “Tell me about your book!” *pulls out garbage which doesn’t even reflect what my novel is about*

8. Favourite genre to write.

Speculative Fiction. While making characters is my favourite part of writing, I also love world-building.

9. What, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

I actually play High School Story, Hollywood U and The Sims with my characters inserted. It’s been helpful for one-shots and AU’s more than anything but has given me traits about characters to add to their dimensions for my main works, so it’s win-win.

10. Write in silence or with background music? Alone or with others

Background music and alone. The music has to be a specific genre though.

11. What aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

How I portray emotions. In my older drafts, characters recovered from the deaths of their close friends/relatives in 10 minutes and seemed callous. Now they are all crybabies to compensate.

12. Your weakness as an author?

I rely too much on dialogue and miss out a lot of description.

13. Your strength as an author?

I write a pretty mean villain (pun intended). This man was reading my work over my shoulder since I mostly write on the bus home and the first thing he said after, “Are you okay?” was “I like Rylan even though he’d scare me sh*tless from the looks of things.” I think I should put that as a review on the book’s cover once it’s (hopefully) published. A 70-year-old man I met on the bus does sound like a reputable source.

14. Do you make playlists for your work?

I have a playlist for Cyrus and that’s it which 90% is Eurobeat since he has a needo for speedo. There’s only has one chapter in his POV.

15. Why did you start writing?

I was a cocky six-year-old and thought I could write a better version of a film I’d just watched. It ended up being about two best friends in a milkshake parlour despite the original film being about a castaway girl. The connection still makes more coherent sense than the fact I got the idea for The Mastery from Mario and Sonic at the Vancouver Winter Olympic Games 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

16. Are there any characters who haunt you?

Alex in his angsty stage. He would threaten to kill people 25/8 because he found out he was adopted.

17. If you could give your fledgeling author self any advice, what would it be?

Keep writing. If you’re that dedicated to your project that you have to write it straight away, remember you can always edit in the future if it’s not up to your standards. And even people who’ve been writing decades are still improving as writing is wayyyy too subjective to be ‘perfect’ at.

18. Were there any works that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style?

George Orwell’s 1984 has affected my world-building. Malorie Blackman’s Noughts and Crosses and Maggie Stiefvater’s Wolves of Mercy Falls series gave me the idea to write under two characters alternating POV’s.

19. When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, etc.?

Charahub and a timeline which I’ve drawn by hand on the back of some unused wallpaper.

20. Do you write in long sit-down sessions or little spurts?

Either 5 words or 5000, no in between. It depends on whether I feel inclined to write or have inspiration.

21. What do you think when you read over your older work?

Cringe at all the unnecessary words and repetition- one sentence in my 2012 draft of The Mastery is literally, ‘Alex got up off his bed, walked out of his bedroom door, walked down the stairs, walked into the living room before standing in the doorway of the dining room’.

22. Are there subjects that make you uncomfortable to write?

Anything to do with extreme physical or sexual assault. Or sex in general since I’ve not written much smut before.

23. Any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

Meeting my biological father at 16 rather than knowing him from birth. Also, one of my characters has impaired vision like me so its easier since I knew all the terminology and experiences without much research.

24. Have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

Handguns. I’ve used rifles before (I’ve gone clay pigeon shooting before) but since handguns are illegal where I live, I’ve not seen one in person nor had any idea of their usage or the terminology. Quite a few of my characters own them as a precaution so I had to learn.

25. Copy and paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you are particularly proud of.

(It’s not short but I freaking love how Chapter 36 of The Mastery panned out. Note this is the chapter 70-year-old man liked)

“Cyrus, Keung. Not the most ideal reunion. How has the family been since I was disowned?”

Keung’s jaw twitched, “I think the reason you kicked out was valid enough. You killed your own grandmother, Rylan.”

Rylan, another one of my many cousins, let out what from his mouth movement looked like was a hearty laugh but sounded like a giggle, “It sounds more impressive than getting disowned for supporting the black sheep in an argument, does it not?”

Keung’s hand had been on his spoon all this time, and he was clenching it to the point his arm shook, “I know grandfather wants nothing to do with either of us Rylan, but that doesn’t mean I want to associate myself with a murderer.”

“You stayed under the Xu thumb for long enough. There are fewer fingers in this room than the number of people Tatsuo has killed. Some are justified, I’ll give him that, but others were falsely accused with no chance at justice.”

He leaned at an angle so that he could stare at me, “It’s good to know that you’re being independent for once in your life, Cyrus. Regardless, it’s a real shame you subsequently allied yourself with another family of murderers.”

“What else could I have done?” I said, “The Ninth District needs allies, and I have genuine friends from Ivanska, Phinea and Willsborg.”

He cooed as he came to lean against my back, “Considering how we’re he half-breed scum of the family, I thought you’d have considered an alliance with me. You’re the only relative of mine I like and who hasn’t seemed to have fallen under Xu indoctrination.”

“Grandmother accepted the fact we didn’t decide to be half-breeds,” I hissed, “Out of everyone you could have killed, why her?”

He lowered his voice to a whisper, “I intended to kill Tatsuo. The fact she drunk the poison I’d slipped into the Mansion was a mistake. I don’t have many regrets but that is one of them.”

He distanced himself, “I have little in common with the man who I once saw as my dear grandfather, but one of the few things I’ll admit is that if we need to, we’ll both use blood to make a point.”

My tags are (don’t feel obliged!) @unico-rn-ffee and @alittle-writer

#25 questions tag #tag game #writing tag

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 8 years ago

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Shoes

This was a challenge fic from my hubby. Prompt, prop, and person of his choice.

Prompt: “I don't think of you as a protector. More a distraction.”

Prop: Shoes

Person: Steve Rogers

“I don't think of you as a protector. More a distraction.”

Steve stared at Jaelyn like she’d lost her ever-loving mind, but she couldn’t help but be honest.

After two years working with the man he was a very large distraction, often a pain in her ass, but even when he was handing her another broken cell phone or asking questions about things like Facebook and Tumblr, he was always polite and usually came bearing a peace offering.

This time it was coffee and a red velvet cupcake. She didn't mind the coffee, caffeine was the lifeblood of her continued survival here as the handler for the team, but he really needed to stop bringing her baked goods. Jaelyn didn’t think her butt needed the added encouragement in the growth department.

But it was from that bakery she liked, the one with the TV show and the amusing Italian family, so she put it on her desk and sighed when he handed over the phone. “Dammit, Rogers. Stop killing my babies!”

“It's not like I'm trying to murder them! It just happens!” he groused, tucking his hands in his pockets and hunching beneath her scowl. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

“What?” she asked, turning her back to bend over and rifle through the bottom drawer in her desk. She could feel those baby blue eyes of his staring at her ass but ignored it. It was right there after all, practically in his face so where else was he to look?

Steve cleared his throat, trying not to notice the way the skirt rose up her legs, the frill of black lace around the bottom was all that kept her womanly parts to the imagination. “That I'm not your protector. You know I'll always watch out for you, doll.”

“Stop staring at my ass, Steven. I have shorts on under my skirt, so there ain't nothing to see there,” she muttered darkly and looked up in time to watch Captain America blush. It was adorable in a golden retriever puppy kind of way. “I may look like a strong wind will blow me off my heels, but I'm trained no different than anyone else.”

“And just how do you expect to defend yourself when you've got those ankle breakers on?”

He looked down at her favourite pair of Louboutins with disdain. The four-inch pumps with their signature red soles were the first thing she’d bought after hiring on and receiving her substantial first paycheck. They were her power shoes, the ones she wore when an ass needed a metaphorical kicking or she had to speak with the press. Today she’d had a meeting with Fury and Maria, and had dressed appropriately. The white, thigh length skirt with its overskirt of black lace, paired with a fitted red blouse and her killer shoes had been just the thing to keep Jaelyn’s confidence up with two of the more intimidating members of the Avengers team.

Fury was Fury. He was and always would be the most intimidating man she’d ever met, but Maria Hill had always made her just as nervous. Jaelyn hung out all the time with the others and had gotten over her nerves with them a long time ago, but Hill was Fury’s right-hand woman and was all business when she was around. Which, thankfully, wasn't all that often.

“You think I can't defend myself because of my shoes?” she snickered. “You clearly don't know women. I could run the length of this building without so much as a misstep.” Scoffing, Jaelyn flicked a hand at him before pulling the SIM card from his battered phone.

“Care to make a wager?” Steve asked, sounding very self-assured.

“On?” she responded not willing to agree with anything until terms were set.

“You run the length of the building, with me on your heels, without breaking an ankle in those shoes and I'll never question your footwear again. But, you stumble at all, doll face, you have to give ‘em to me and earn them back.”

Intrigued as Steve had a tendency to get all up in her stuff over her shoes, she muttered, “Just run? No interference from outside forces?”

“Just you and me.” He agreed.

“And no weird floors like the lab or the training wing?” The lab's floors were like glass, slicker than snot, and the training wing had a host of squishy mats that really would trip her up.

“We can use the corridor upstairs that goes past the team’s living room.”

She pondered the offering. A twisting hallway but no slick floors and no doors. “And if by some slim chance I should lose, how do I earn my shoes back?”

“I need a new sparring partner.”

She snorted. “Try again, Rogers.”

“Those are the terms, doll face. Plus you can't give me a hard time if I break my phone.”

Punching the SIM card into his new phone, she held it in her hand but pulled it back when he reached for it. “When?”

“I'm free now, and everyone's out for the day.” The floor would be empty.

She eyed him a little longer before giving cautious agreement. It all appeared kosher, but the much too innocent eyes of one Captain Steve Rogers was making her nerves jump. That was never a good sign. “Fine, but I'm changing my shirt.” She handed him his new phone and turned toward the opposite wall. Having a change of clothes in her office was a necessity what with the hours she worked, and with the uncanny regularity of crazy antics Sam or Nat or Bucky were pulling her into next.

“Whatever you think will help.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, she pulled open another drawer and lifted out a thin cotton t-shirt in blue. “Let's do this.”

The ride up in the elevator was done in silence, and when she got to the floor that was their home away from the compound, she turned left and stalked on four-inch heels down the hallway towards the far end and, coincidently, Cap’s room. “Do you mind?” she asked, hand on his doorknob.

“Be my guest,” Steve murmured, shrugging out of his jacket. “Can you throw that on a chair?”

Nodding, she accepted the leather jacket and walk into his room. If, once the door closed, she lifted it to her nose to inhale his very pleasing scent, who was to know? Stripping off her shirt, she folded it neatly beside Steve's jacket and slipped the t-shirt, one from a concert so old, she didn’t think the band was even together anymore and shimmed out of her skirt. Like she’d said, yoga shorts covered her adequately and wouldn't restrict her stride. Jaelyn liked a short skirt, but that didn't mean she wanted to show the world her underwear if Thor decided he was going to pack her over his shoulder like an Argethion Snedor hog again, whatever the heck that was.

Walking out the door, smoothing the hair that had come loose from her classy blonde chignon, she noticed the way Steve's eyes trail down her body in surprise. “What?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Ready?”

“Always,” she cooed, just to rile him up and see if he’d blush again. He did, making her snicker.

“Then you'd best get going. It's a long way to the other side of the building… and I'm playing bad guy.”

His grin was decidedly evil, and she slowly backed away as he advanced. “Now hold on! You said it was only a run! A run without outside interference!”

“No. I said it would be you and me. I never said I wasn't going to be your interference.”

“That's not fair! You're enhanced and faster than me!” she squeaked continuing to back away from him.

Growling softly, Steve grumbled, “Five seconds, Jaelyn. Make ‘em count!”

Turning on her toes, she took off and listen to the countdown as she raced for the far side of the tower.

Steve watched her long legs eat up the ground and was suitably impressed that, yes, she really could run on four-inch heels. Hitting five, he took off after her in her body-hugging shorts and a ratty t-shirt. Who would have ever guessed that adding high heels to that outfit would make a woman look like sin on legs?

The counting had stopped, but she didn't bother to look back. It wasn't as if he was trying to be quiet after all, but when his hand snapped out to grab her by the wrist, she put her other training into effect.

At the intersection between two hallways, she spun out of his reach, causing him to bypass her, and dropped into a spinning crouch, sweeping his legs out from under him in a mighty crash before leaping up and continuing on. “Sorry, Cap,” Jaelyn called as she ran on.

Slamming into the floor had not been part of his plan, and now Steve was doubly determined to catch her. Lurching to his feet, he was steps behind Jaelyn when her feet went out for under her.

Gasping in fright, she prepared herself to hit the ground only to land in strong arms and be swept up against a broad chest.

“I got you, baby,” Steve murmured, his heart pounding seeing her go down like that.

“What the hell did I slip on?” she asked, glaring at the spot on the floor.

Standing outside Sam’s door, Steve took a cautious step forward and glared at the way his foot slipped over the sheen. “Looks like hydraulic fluid.”

“Son of a bitch! I lost because of, Wilson? I'll kill him!” She kicked her feet and brought her fist down on Steve's shoulder. She could see the windows that ran the length of the far side of the building from her perch in Steve's arms. So close, yet so far.

Chuckling softly Steve smiled down at her. “Got to admit that was pretty impressive.”

“So I can keep my shoes?” Jaelyn asked with a sly smile and flutter of her lashes.

“No dice, baby,” he murmured, eyes drifting down to her red lips before he turned around and headed back towards his room.

“But it's all Sam's fault! I'd a won if it wasn't for his slick floor. I call that outside interference!”

“Sorry, doll face. Not like he tripped you up on purpose. Them’s the rules.” He chuckled softly.

“No fair.” She pouted before poking him in an impressive pectoral. “I even took you down, Steve! In four inch heels. I think I've proven just fine that I don't need your protection.” The door to his room slammed at his back, and she suddenly found herself pressed against it with the super soldier wedged between her thighs.

“Then how's about I be that distraction instead?” He growled, grinding his hips into her. “You drive me damn near insane with the way you dress. A classy dame with just enough sex kitten thrown in to make me want to fall at your feet. Well, I’m tired of beggin’ for scraps, doll face. I want the whole meal.”

Jaelyn wrapped her legs around his waist and grabbed a fistful of his hair. “About damn time, Rogers.” Slamming her mouth down on his, she whimpered when he turned the tables on her and ground down against her core.

He kissed her until her lips were swollen and pulled back only to stare in amazement. “Well, ain’t that something.”

“What’s that, Cap?” Jaelyn asked, her breath coming in quick hard gasps.

“I’ve seen some pretty amazing things in this era, doll, but I never imagined lipstick would be one of them.” He’d kind of expected to be wearing half of it himself at this point, but they hadn’t even smudge it.

She laughed softly. “Longwear. It’s a stain. You can’t smear it without great effort.”

“I do like a challenge,” he growled, grinning wickedly at her.

“Me too, Steve.” His mouth returned briefly to hers before dropping to her throat, and Jaelyn tipped her head back against the door.

“Jae? Can I tell you a secret?” Steve murmured, tugging on her earlobe with his teeth.

“Personal or National?” she quipped, quivering with the way he nibbled on her.

He chuckled and said, “Personal.”

“Then yeah.” As long as he kept doing things with his teeth, she didn’t care.

“I really like your shoes. So much so that I’d really like to see you in them. Just them,” he purred against her cheek.

Bucking her hips into his, Jaelyn smiled. “Anything you say, Cap, as long as I can keep my shoes.” Steve was laughing when he swung her from the door and took her to his bed where everything came off…

Except the shoes.

-The End-

#avengers fanfiction #fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #avengers #avengers au #challenge fic #testy

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beholdme · 4 years ago

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All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 16

Chapters: 16/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15]

Right in the middle of mild renovations, and Martin moving into the loft, Gerry has a showcase sneak up on him.

They're in the very chaotic process of turning three lives into one and it's unfortunate timing, but he's willing to cope to have his partners close at hand.

Jon is also in the process of moving in, but more slowly, having kept his flat for an extra month, hoping to ease the chaos. Two cats and several duplicate pieces of furniture clutter the space, and everything is just a bit out of sorts.

Gerry's showcases are an odd thing. As an anonymous artist, working under a pseudonym, he doesn't technically have to go to his shows, but Gertrude likes for him to be around, and she tells everyone he's one of her assistants so he can attend without a fuss. No one ever takes any notice and he gets to watch people react to his paintings with absolutely no idea that he's present. It's an odd feeling that often leaves him disquiet, but he never regrets going. As an artist, there's nothing better than seeing your art on display, with just the right environment and just the right lighting.

This time, he also has a bit of a plan brewing.

Feeling truly rooted in the foundations of their relationship after more than a year, Gerry presents Jon and Martin with very fancy, formal invitations, complete with a bow and a suggestive wink.

“Will you be my companions for the evening, gentlemen?” Gerry seems to be doing a very pompous impression of Elias, which sends Jon into instant hysterics.

While he’s distracted, Martin pulls Gerry close and they swing around the room, mimicking some kind of waltz, before bashing into a table and then a couch. They cut their losses and simply kiss breathlessly in the middle of the laughter.

"So," Gerry asks them when they've all settled down and gone back to trying to install the new storage cabinets. "What do you think? Want to be my plus two?"

Jon laughs sweetly from nearby, a screwdriver in hand. "I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we wouldn't miss it for anything."

***

There's a fair amount of chaos as the day approaches, Gerry trying to complete and send off several final pieces while Martin and Jon frantically search for their formal wear in the boxes that currently pass for their wardrobes.

Eventually giving up on trying to organize the walk-in closet to accommodate all three of them, Gerry and Tim drag both Jon and Martin's armoires up the stairs and they all unpack their clothes in their own wardrobes.

This is a rather tumultuous activity, which somehow ends with Tim shirtless and Gerry wearing a bright teal and pink Hawaiian shirt, open over a black lace bralette. No one even tries to guess where the bralette comes from, but Gerry decides he likes it, and Jon eyes him approvingly.

"You should wear that to the opening, Gerry," Martin suggests provocatively from nearby. "Give your own art some competition."

Gerry smirks at him. "I think you should come over here and say that to my face."

"Oh God, can I watch?" Tim asks a hopeful excitement not quite masked by the humour.

Jon manages to sneak a sweet candid of Gerry and Martin laughing with Tim, all looking like they showed up to different parties. Overcome to see his two partners and his best friend all so happy together, Jon decides it might be his favourite thing ever.

***

In the end, their suits are unearthed, wrinkled but intact. They send them off to be dry cleaned right in the nick of time.

The night before his event, in a pique of creative mania, Gerry dyes his hair alone at 3 A.M. Martin and Jon wake up to find his hair a slightly blotchy silver-grey, which they both coo over lustily.

Jon gently helps him even it out, and by the time his hair is clean and dry again, he looks striking and angular. In his dark blue trousers and well-fitted waistcoat, eyeliner and piercings in place, he looks downright picturesque himself- a work of art who also happens to create works of art.

Jon has a favourite black suit with a very faint pinstripe pattern, which he wears with a green waistcoat and matching green tie, to compliment his mossy eyes. His white shirt contrasts pleasantly against his tawny skin and even he agrees that he looks rather handsome.

Martin owns exactly one suit- it's a light grey colour just a little too cool to flatter his summery skin tone, and it doesn't fit quite right through the shoulders, if he's being honest. Gerry gently encourages him to wear his trousers and crisp white shirt with a warm maroon sweater. It's soft cashmere, made even softer (according to Martin's poetic side) by the fact that his lover's gave it to him for Christmas. Gerry's artist eye managed to pick out precisely the right shade to compliment his warm brown eyes and pink hair, and the ensemble leaves him looking quite lovely.

He eyes his bow ties indecisively, and Jon wanders over and hands him a dark blue-grey one with tiny white dots. He even ties it for Martin, and he offers a sweet kiss in exchange.

“You look splendid,” Jon remarks, pulling Martin carefully towards him by the elbows before pressing their lips together chastely. They kiss for several moments, lips dragging together pleasantly. Jon runs his hands down Martin’s forearms to tangle their fingers together, where they fit together snuggly.

Martin sighs as they part, all outfit uncertainty having fled. “What was that for?”

“I just couldn’t help myself.” Jon chuckles, grinning. “I see a stunning man, I have to kiss him.”

“So it’s not because my dotty bow tie fills you with incandescent joy?” Martin presses their foreheads together, simply basking in Jon’s presence.

“Everything about you fills us with incandescent joy,” Jon whispers to him. “Especially the way you can make the perfect cup of tea."

“And,” Gerry adds, coming up to place a hand at the small of Martin’s back. “The way that you can remember the love story from every book you’ve ever read.”

“I-” Martin laughs sweetly at them, blushing fiercely. “You guys.’’

They all stand together for a moment, each looking spectacular in their own ways, soft looks on their faces. Gerry vaguely wishes this was the whole day, that he could just stand here with his lovers and convince Martin that he is the most perfect man on earth. He wishes he could just tease Jon until he snaps and tries to tickle Gerry to death, and they would end up all rolling around the floor, ignoring the many extra pieces of furniture currently occupying the flat.

Gerry wishes for these soft and special moments and knows that there will be a million more of them as time goes on and that the moment coming will (hopefully) be perfect in its own way.

They each share a kiss with the others, then they grab their things and make their way downstairs, excited and jubilant, all laughter and easy affection. They pile into a cab together and Gerry tells them stories of past showcases, full of ridiculous moments and strange pride at his impossible artistic success.

The second they arrive, Gerry is summoned away and with a wink and a grin, he’s gone. Martin and Jon exchange a smile, joining hands and moving through the gentle crowd. There are plenty of people in attendance already, but the sorts of people who go to galleries are the quiet sort, and there isn’t a lot of boisterous energy flying about.

They wander around, finding many paintings which they have seen Gerry working on over the last year, and unsurprisingly, several they’ve never caught a glimpse of.

Sometimes Gerry will work on a painting for weeks and then keep it around for months, looking at it every day, and then other times he'll paint an entire piece in 18 hours, decide he never wants to see it again and send it straight to Gertrude for safekeeping.

It’s all a part of his creative rhythms, and they’ve long since grown accustomed to it.

The gallery itself is a series of thin rooms, with a bench down the middle for extended viewings. Each is filled with four paintings, even if they are wildly different sizes. They seem to be arranged by vague categories, but Jon and Martin are amused to see that a 3D piece made mostly out of torn book pages and painted to appear aflame is hung across from an oil painting of a colony of seals swimming across a galaxy in the night sky.

Gerry reappears at intervals, whispering secrets to them as they consider one piece or another. At the painting of a siren singing longingly to a falling comet, Gerry whispers something into Martin's ear which makes him smirk in a way that fills Jon with burning curiosity. Instead of sharing with him as well, Gerry pecks him on the cheek and then dashes off at the behest of a harassed looking assistant of Gertrude’s.

“What did he say?” Jon implores Martin softly after he’s gone again.

“Apparently he was thinking of us in a very specific way while he painted that one.” Martin is still grinning smugly.

“Ah,” Jon says, nodding. “Naked?”

“Very naked.”

“You know, I rather imagined that was what he was always thinking of while he painted.” Jon confesses.

“Really? That’s a lot of imagined nudity.” Martin whispers, threatening to spill over with laughter.

“Well-” Jon bristles slightly. “We’re very nice to look at naked, like- like muses!” He finishes triumphantly.

“A point well made, love.” Martin concedes.

He drags Martin to the next room after that, and they find it to be the final part of the exhibit.

There are only two paintings here, a matched pair of the same size, sitting on the end wall side by side. They’re another two neither of them has ever seen before, and Jon draws Martin to sit on the bench and simply absorb the art together. Their hands are twined, and they feel rather overwhelmed with unspeakable emotion.

There are a pair of matching sold signs beneath them, bold and unmissable.

Gerry finds them sitting there, and he sits himself on the other side of Martin, gently taking his other hand.

“Oh, Gerry.” Martin eventually whispers, awe-struck.

“Do you like them?” Gerry squeezes his hand, and Jon reaches over Martin to tangle his fingers in the pile. It’s messy, just the way they all like it.

“Very, very much,” Martin affirms.

“Gerry, they’re spectacular.” Jon offers his appreciation. “How did you get them done without us ever seeing them? They’re huge.”

“I finished them months ago, before we spent so many nights all together, then I kept them in the storerooms before I shipped them off to Gertrude,” Gerry explains. “I wanted you to see them here, like this, for the first time.”

“Why?” Martin asks, voice full of warm curiosity.

“It's the way you each make me feel, and I wanted you both to have this moment, to see them displayed to their best potential,” Gerry whispers to them, the space feeling sacred and private, despite the people wandering the gallery around them. "It seemed more poignant than simply saying 'I love you,' back in the days before we said those words so easily."

"I can't imagine being filled with so much talent that I could just…" Jon begins, voice laden with unexpected emotional fragility.

Martin continues for him, "Paint the way you love someone?"

They don't notice, but Gerry actually blushes, hot embarrassment and pleasure filling him in equal parts. His voice is smooth and clear, mercifully, as he starts his explanation.

“Martin, yours is that moment of dawn breaking, out somewhere that there are no other people. Maybe you feel alone, but you never feel lonely, because the sun is rising and it reminds you that the world always moves at its own rhythm. Like sometimes I haven't seen you in a while but I walk into the bookstore or you come through the door, and your smile fills my heart, as steady and unchanging as the rise and fall of the sun in the sky.”

The painting in question rather does convey that feeling, a foggy moor stretching towards a tree-lined horizon, dawn breaking and bringing light and warmth to the cool edges of the space. Darkness sits in the corners, but it only serves to enhance the light, drawing the eye towards the sweet sunrise.

Gerry continues, this time focusing on the darker painting, an intricate stained glass window refracting down, colourful light filling a room with books stacked haphazardly everywhere. “Jon, yours represents what it’s like to try navigating our relationship together. The books are not sorted or organized and they can be tricky to understand, but the comfort and ease of that familiarity can still fill me with peace in the most unexpected moments. The light is colourful and ever-changing, both a familiarity and yet always shifting to suit our moods and seasons together.”

"Constant, but never the same," Jon whispers in return, and Gerry is pleased to hear he knows the feeling.

They simply sit with each other a moment, the sheer scope of their emotions filling them up with warmth and a sort of profound understanding that just doesn’t come from simple words. It’s a gesture as wild and unexpected as Gerry himself, and Jon and Martin bask in it.

“They're breathtaking, love.” Martin declares, turning to him. “It's a pity they're sold. I suppose we couldn't afford them anyway, but I wish I could buy them.”

Gerry grins, pleased. “They were never for sale. They're only here to be displayed. They're gifts. I was hoping- that is, I hope you and Jon will accept them. I painted them to go in your studies in the loft.”

“They're for us?” Jon murmurs incredulously.

“Yes, as a way for me to express just how much I adore you both,” Gerry confirms, giggling a bit at his own words. “How could I pour so much love into paintings, and let them live with anyone else?”

“I’m glad you couldn’t because I love them so much,” Martin tells him earnestly.

“I feel the same,” Jon adds, voice gentle.

“They’re- They’re the best things I've ever made. I’m so glad you like them.” Gerry whispers, surprised to find himself overcome with a hot swell of emotion.

They continue to sit together, hands tangled, lives knit together. Hope and certainty, two emotions none of them have ever been allowed to indulge in, blanket around them, cementing this moment forever.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

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