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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years ago

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Raise the Barre (Epilogue)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

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

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

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

Word Count: 13,409

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin: MERRY CHRISTMAS! [10:23 AM]

Jimin:

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

Y/N: and merry Christmas 😊 [10:24 AM]

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin: sounds nice [10:26 AM]

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

Y/N:

Jimin: LOL [10:30 AM]

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

Y/N: no new dance belts? 😈 [10:32 AM]

Jimin: Y/N, I’m shocked [10:35 AM]

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

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

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

Jimin: and probably Paulo [10:41 AM]

Y/N: lmao [10:43 AM]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’re you texting?”

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

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

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

Immediately, you felt your face heat.

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

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

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

Any next steps would have to come from you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean by that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And are you still in love with Finn?”

“No.”

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

“I… Yes. A lot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin had texted back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His ellipses started, then stopped, then started again.

Jimin: December 28th [11:04 AM]

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

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

Jimin: I’m free 😊 [11:05 AM]

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

Smiling ear to ear, you responded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you never know.”

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

“Noelle!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else?” you prompted.

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Password?”

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

“That’s correct!” Noelle stepped aside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We will,” you laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That, and the romance of it all.”

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

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

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

“I’m sure I will.”

“Huh.” Jimin paused. “That was easy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Park,” he told her. “Party of two.”

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

“Yes.” Jimin nodded. “P-a-r-k.”

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

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

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

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

“Rebecca.”

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

Jimin watched her disappear and you saw his expression tighten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I – well, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like where?”

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

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

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

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

“Spaghetti-o’s?”

“Okay, two things.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin made a humming noise, low in his throat.

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?” Jimin gasped.

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

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

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

“You can pay next time, if you want.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll jog in place to keep warm.”

“… With me walking beside you?”

“Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you said as much, he laughed.

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

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

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

“Why would I lie?”

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

“I – that’s not!”

He looked up and grinned. “Kidding.”

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

Jimin laughed. “I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“Times after November?”

Jimin paused.

Your brow furrowed. “Before then?”

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

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

“What? But you hated me before Russet.”

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t.”

“No.” He spoke flatly.

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

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

“What are you talking about?”

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

“How so?”

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

You stared at him, speechless.

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey – what’s wrong?”

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

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

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

“You tried to apologize, though!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Probably not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin’s jaw dropped a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Watching him speak, something warm bloomed in your chest.

“Me, too,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

“Is that the name of your restaurant?”

“It is.”

“And you’re set on that decision?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you said, glancing down.

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

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

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

“Yes, please!”

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

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

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

“Need help?”

“Yes, please,” you said weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

“What movie?”

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes gleamed in the darkness. “What?”

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

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

“She told me.”

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

“Deal.”

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

“Hm,” you said tightly.

His eyes danced with amusement. “Jealous?”

“Answer the question.”

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

“And what was the other reason?”

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

“Oh,” you whispered.

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

“Yeah. I guess it does.”

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

“Oh. That. Well, I –”

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

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

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

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

“You won’t,” you told him.

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

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

“And what would be the point of that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm, that’s a good point.”

“And your smile,” you said.

“What about it?”

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

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

“And your ears.”

Jimin laughed. “My ears?”

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

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

“I like your jaw, too,” you told him.

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

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

“Y/N…” Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Yeah?”

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

“Jimin.”

He opened his eyes.

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

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

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

Cutting you off, Jimin pressed his lips to yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit,” Jimin croaked.

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you said, a bit dazed.

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

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

“Do what?”

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

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

“Jimin.”

He paused and looked up. “Yes?”

“Touch me. Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin went still. “I – mostly, yeah.”

“Can I see it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’d we leave off?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gaze darkened. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

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

Turning around, you found Jimin’s jaw slack.

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

“Do you like it?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

“You said that before,” you whispered.

“I meant it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” you murmured, gaze darting lower.

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

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

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

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

“Well, when you put it like that.”

“How else would I put it?”

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

Breathless, you nodded and Jimin’s gaze darkened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Removing your hand, you slowly nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” you said.

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

“Why?”

“I… I’m kind of at a loss here.”

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

Jimin stared at you a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jimin,” you whimpered.

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

“Please,” you begged him.

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

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

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

Slowly, you nodded. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

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

“Oh,” you breathed.

“Sounding like that.”

“Jimin. If you don’t –”

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

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

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

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

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

“Jimin,” you whimpered.

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

He smirked. “Yes, baby?”

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

“You want it harder?”

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

“Yes,” you whimpered, barely hanging on.

“And faster? You want that, too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Three orgasms weren’t enough?”

“Were they enough for you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy new year,” he murmured.

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

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

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST

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

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jadeyarts · 3 years ago

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ok (metaphorically putting on my glasses and pulls out a clipboard) so, like

the premise of the au is based on old stories where entering the realm of fairies would transform humans into something... other, something magical. not a fairy, but no longer completely human either. that doesn’t totally apply to fop’s setting - after all, timmy has visited fairyworld so many times and so has every other godchild and yet nothing has really changed about them. and the same goes for mr. crocker, chip skylark, and britney britney. all humans, completely unaltered by visiting fairyworld! so for the sake of the premise (which was, “i wanted a really good excuse to explore the concept of changelings in fop's setting” + “what if timmy had magic as a child, live action movies do not interact”) i decided a developing infant could absorb a sufficient amount of magic due to early exposure of fairyworld and pretty much do the same thing (so, yeah, timmy and chloe have magic)

au and it’s tag was originally called fop: wizard life but i don’t really like the name much anymore and everything in the tag is so outdated and disjointed that i don’t think it reflects my ideas or opinions anymore lmao - when i rewatched fop last feb i wanted to bring the au back but i needed to overhaul it to be interesting and believable to the current me, not the me of 6+ years ago

cliff was also not originally supposed to be a major part of the au, but just a fairy kid named robin goodfellow - as a reference to puck - who existed solely as an example of another changeling besides timmy. but when season 10 was announced and i wanted to add chloe to the au, i needed to make alterations to justify the idea i had for her - human raised as a fairy - so i just used cliff to fill in the blanks lol

^ cliff’s 2021 redesign also almost looked like that until i realized that... jorgen von strangle and the tooth fairy are the only other recurring married fairy couple besides cosmo and wanda... and both conveniently had features that could produce a child that resembles chloe enough that they could be fooled into believing chloe is their child. so he was redesigned to be the biological child of jorgen and tooth, he has jorgen’s hair color and his nose and tooth’s eye color and head shape. so by sheer coincidence, both the carmichaels and the von strangles wind up having children that believably pass as each other’s children.

“wouldn’t the wings be a give away?” YOU’D THINK, HUH!

so in any episode jorgen appears you might notice an interesting little detail... jorgen does not have wings. he is in fact one of the only fairies to not have wings. but this is never commented upon, ever, suggesting this is a completely normal and unassuming thing. it’s a holdover from the oh yeah cartoons! shorts where he had a jetpack instead. but while the joke is that wings were not masculine and tough enough for the toughest fairy in fairyworld, the jetpack never carried to the series - and he never comments on the perceived weakness of the bumblebee wings of the average fairy, ever. and he passes for completely human in several episodes, without shapeshifting, it’s believable that his offspring could pass for human too, right?

so, jorgen has a genetic mutation where he simply never developed wings, ever. this was assumed to have been inherited by their child - both before and after the swap, their child didn’t have wings. cliff was a late bloomer and never grew wings until he was twelve, so he never realized he was never human until then. his hair is dyed because he felt an almost... unnatural draw to the color. and meanwhile chloe, being human, would never grow wings either... but jorgen and tooth both already knew this was a possibility, because jorgen never grew wings either.

but the end result is that jorgen and tooth never have any reason to believe chloe isn’t their child, and chloe has no reason to believe she’s not a fairy. meanwhile, the carmichaels certainly expected that cliff’s body would begin changing around puberty... but the wings and increasingly impossible magical feats following him wherever he goes were a little unexpected!

and thats about all the lore i can give you that has been updated following my big fop rewatch - everything else is very much so up in the air and surrounded with confusion (aside from poof and timmy having been swapped and then swapped back - but the finer details of that i haven’t decided on lol)

#from jadey to you #fairly oddparents #fairly wizkids

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the-bau-quinjet · 4 years ago

Text

Hygge

Summary: Y/N introduces Bucky to the little things that he missed out on since the 40s.

Warnings: Absolutely none, just fluff :)

Word Count: 3527

a/n: Hygge is a Danish word, and from what I can tell it perfectly encompasses finding happiness in the little things.

This request honestly had me smiling the whole time I wrote it. Thank you to everyone who gave me suggestions of things to introduce Bucky to (including my sisters who don't know why I asked them that question lol)

Also, I find happiness in looking at this gif so I would like to thank @thebritishstanfan for its existence on this app

You heard the door open just as you finished running the bath.

"Bucky!" You ran out to the living room, throwing your arms around him in greeting.

"Hi, Doll." He whispered into hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He instantly relaxed at your touch.

"I have a surprise for you." You grabbed his hand, leading him to the bathtub. "I thought you might want to relax a bit, so I ran you a bath."

Just being in your presence was relaxing to him, but he wouldn't turn down a bath, especially one with the potential of you joining him.

"Are you going to relax with me?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively eliciting a laugh from you.

"Maybe later, this is about you right now." You smiled softly, eager to help him unwind.

He undressed quickly, lowering himself into the warm water as you searched through a shopping bag.

"Okay. Big Blue, Intergalactic, Love Boat, or Goddess?" You looked at him expectantly.

He stared at you, confusion evident on his face.

"Oh, do you want to smell them and then decide?" You questioned with a tilt of your head.

"Smell what?" His brows furrowed, mouth slightly agape.

"The bath bombs silly." You smiled brightly, bringing the bag closer to him.

"Why would I want a bomb in my bath?" He questioned your odd behavior.

"It's not a real bomb, Buck." You shook your head, randomly removing one of the bath bombs from the bag, Goddess. You held it out for him to take.

"Smell it." You instructed.

He was apprehensive in his movements, but slowly moved the purple ball to his nose.

"It smells like flowers." He stated plainly, waiting for you to explain more.

"Yep. Here, smell the rest of them." You handed him each of the bath bombs, waiting to hear his verdict on each one.

"Oh, that's surprisingly citrus-y." He held out Love Boat for you to take back.

"This one smells too clean." He shook his head, dropping Big Blue into the outstretched bag.

"I like this one." He held Intergalactic in his hand, smiling proudly.

"Perfect. Lower it into the water." Your eyes were filled with love as you watched him follow your instructions.

"It's fizzing." He looked at you, concern evident in his bright blue eyes.

"It's supposed to. It dissolves in the water, coloring the bath and also adding scent from essential oils." You did your best to explain.

"Why?" He narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"It's just... have you ever heard of hygge?" You waited for his answer.

"Yeah, I've heard the word. It's like feeling cozy and happy from little things." He looked to you for approval.

"Exactly. That's what bath bombs are for, at least to me. They make me happy, so I thought you might like to try one."

The bath water had turned a dark blue, glitter floating throughout.

"Nobody thought to explain bath bombs to me, I guess." He smiled at you, relaxing into the bath. "What else makes you happy?"

"You know what, I'll make a list of little things that I love and then we can spend a day together where I show them to you." You bit your lip in anticipation of his response.

"I'd love that." He grinned.

"Yay! I'm going to get started!" You quickly left the bathroom, leaving him to relax on his own.

"What's got you so excited?" Sam gestures to your bouncing knee.

"Oh, I didn't even notice. I'm just showing Bucky some things that he's missed out on since the 40s." You smile grew as you thought about the list you had made.

You were just about to find Bucky and show him the list when you had to leave for an impromptu mission.

You were definitely annoyed your plans had been delayed, but it made you a force to be reckoned with while fighting.

"So that's why you were so ruthless. You've got a hot date." Sam winked.

"Whatever you say Sam." You shook your head. "I've got to drop by Starbucks before they close. See you later!" You called as you ran from the jet, still in mission gear.

The disheveled state of your clothing and hair earned you some looks from the Starbucks employees, but you were too excited to care.

You quickly stopped in your room to change before heading off to find Bucky.

"BuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBucky!" You said his name over and over as you ran to the common area.

Skidding to a stop, you held up the drinks in your hands. "Bucky! Are you ready?"

He seemed to be in the middle of something with Steve, but abandoned it immediately at the sight of you.

"Sorry, punk. I've gotta go." He grabbed a drink from you, sliding his other hand into your newly empty one.

"Wow, jerk. You get a girlfriend and replace me!" Steve yelled after you in a joking tone.

"Don't worry Stevie. Nobody could replace you." You called back over your shoulder, dragging Bucky to the kitchen.

"Okay, I've got a few different categories. The first one we're going to tackle is food!" You smiled brightly, nearly bouncing in anticipation.

"Can you preheat the oven to 350 degrees?" You asked as you grabbed a bag from the freezer.

You swiftly dumped the contents onto the tray, shoving them into the oven while it preheated.

"Aren't you supposed to wait until it's hot?" Bucky watched as you slid around the room.

"Yes, but I've always been impatient. It'll be fine. I promise! While those are cooking, I've got a few other things for you. These are from the 90s."

You handed him a bag of flamin' hot cheetos, watching with bated breath as he opened it and sniffed the contents.

"They smell bizarre. Why are they so red?" He looked at the cheeto in his hand with confusion.

"It's the flamin' hot cheeto dust! It may be unnaturally red, but it's so satisfying to eat." You grabbed the bag from him, eating a cheeto of your own.

He eyed you carefully, slowly popping the cheeto into his mouth and chewing carefully.

"Doll, these are terrible." He deadpanned, grinning when you pouted.

"Bucky!" You whined. "You have to eat more than one for the full experience. It doesn't matter that they aren't the best flavor wise, there's just something about them that's addicting." You laughed, eating a few more cheetos.

"Alright, alright. I'll follow your lead." The two of you snacked as you brought his attention to the next item.

"Okay, these don't really go with the cheeto flavor, but they still make me happy. Starbucks only does holiday drinks around the holidays, obviously. These are my two favorite."

You handed him one beverage, gesturing for him to try it.

"Minty..." He waited for an explanation.

"Yes. Peppermint mocha!" You swapped the cups, letting him try the next drink. "That one is an eggnog latte."

"They're both pretty good, although I still like my coffee black." He placed the cup back on the counter.

"Yeah, I thought you might say that. There's just something about them. Probably because they're seasonal drinks. It makes me associate them with the holidays and spending time with friends and family and that makes me smile."

He pressed a kiss to your nose. "You are too cute."

"I know!" You scrunched your nose, knowing he finds it adorable. "Next item!" You presented him with three different packages of Oreos.

"Why so many?" He questioned.

"Because, they're different flavors. I now Oreos were originally produced in like 1912 or something, that's why I got different flavors."

"Actually, I don't think I've ever tried one." He eyed the blue package excitedly.

"Ahh, while I got double stuffed because they're obviously better than the regular ones. I've also got peanut butter and mint. Honestly, pretty mild flavors all things considered." You laughed, picturing the key lime flavor you avoided.

Bucky grabbed one of each, excited to try all three.

"I think the mint one is my favorite. It really goes with the peppermint mocha." He nodded as he spoke, as if he needed to convince himself.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." You smiled, watching as he ate three more cookies.

Before he could reply, the timer went off.

"The dino nuggies!" You reached for the potholder, pulling the tray out of the over. "This is the last food item."

He looked at the tray, confusion clear in his eyes.

"Doll, are these just chicken nuggets?" He picked up a brontosaurus from the tray.

"Well, yes." You huffed. "But! They're shaped like dinosaurs!" You bit your lip in excitement, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

"So? They still taste the same..." Bucky clearly did not understand the hype.

"Right again. It's so much more fun to eat though. Gives you a childlike enthusiasm, even as a fully grown adult." He eyed you skeptically as he bit off the head of a dino.

He couldn't help but smile as you watched him, anticipating his reaction.

"Ya know, you might be right. That was weirdly satisfying."

The two of you spent the next few minutes eating chicken nuggets, hot cheetos, and oreos, occasionally sipping from the holiday beverages.

After quickly cleaning up the kitchen, you lead Bucky to your bathroom.

"Sit down." You gestured to the toilet.

"Why?" He still did as he was asked.

"Because." You answered petulantly. You filled a paper cup with water, carefully dumping it on his head to get his hair wet.

"Y/N!" Bucky jolted from the cold water.

"Sorry! I forgot it was cold!" You quickly plugged in the blowdryer, letting the warm air waft over his head.

"You know, if that thing was quieter, I think I could fall asleep right now." Bucky stated calmly as you ran your fingers through his hair, trying to evenly distribute the warm air amongst the hair.

"I know, right! There's something about someone else blow drying your hair that is so soothing."

You spent the next few minutes drying Bucky's hair and massaging his scalp.

"All done!" you exclaimed, unplugging the blow dryer and putting it back in the cabinet.

"Are you sure you don't want to do that again?" Bucky questioned, still sitting on the toilet.

"Yes. We've got more things to cover!" You pulled him off the toilet, nearly dragging him to your bed.

"Next category is entertainment, I guess." You brought out your laptop, certain apps already open to show him different things.

"We'll start with animals!" You were buzzing with excitement, and caffeine, as you opened two different browsers.

"Doll, animals existed in the 40s." He shook his head, endlessly amused by your behavior.

"I know that. Have you ever seen a Highland Cow?" You raised your brow, challenging his statement.

"I can't say I have." He shook his head slightly.

"Well, there you go. Animals it is. Actually, have you ever used Alexa?" You questioned him.

"No... Who is Alexa?" His confusion earned a laugh from you.

"An AI." You explained before bursting out into laughter again.

"Oh, like Friday?" He questioned.

"Yeah, but Alexa's not nearly as advanced. Here, watch this." You cleared your throat, making sure to speak clearly. "Alexa, show me pictures of Highland cows."

After a brief buffer, the AI responded. "Here are pictures of Highland cows." The google search appeared on your screen.

"So you can ask her anything?" Bucky questioned.

"Sort of, Friday knows way more. Alexa's good for little things though. Tony gets annoyed if you ask Friday to do too many small things because it can take up too much RAM and... You know what, it's not important." You decided against explaining since Bucky already looked confused.

You shifted your screen so he could see the many pictures displayed.

"Okay, so what's so special about a Highland cow?" He scrolled through the images, unaware of the smile forming on his face.

"There's just something about them. You'll find that same explanation for a lot of things I'm showing you, but it's true. They just make me smile. Look at how cute they are!" You emphatically gestured to the screen, nearly squealing at the adorable display.

"I actually see what you mean. Looking at them just makes you smile." He nodded his head thoughtfully, a small grin still pulling at his lips. "What other animal are you introducing me to?"

"Well, I assume you know what a puppy is." You said in complete seriousness.

"I do, indeed." He matched your tone, mocking the seriousness. He was really enjoying the playfulness you were showcasing.

"Well, here is a video of actor Tom Holland... you know Tom Holland, right?" You turned to face him.

"Tom Holland. Tom Holland... What's he in again?" His brows pinched together in thought.

"We've watched a few of his new movies together. Chaos Walking, The Devil All the Time, a few animated films, In the Heart of the Sea."

"Oh! The British one?" Recognition crossed his features.

"Yes! That one. Okay so, this is an interview of him..."

"Okay?" Bucky was more confused now than any other point of the night.

"Playing with puppies!" You're mouth dropped open in a wide smile, clearly excited about even the idea of puppies.

"I think I understand this one without even watching the video." he laughed, laying back with you to watch.

"You can't have pitbulls in England?" Bucky was affronted.

"I know. It's so sad." You pouted, still staring at the puppies on the screen.

"I have actually always thought puppies smell really good." He easily commented, agreeing with the famous actor.

"I know, Buck. I know." You shook your head playfully.

"Twinkies are pretty gross, he's not wrong." It was your turn to comment on his answers.

"I see your point." Bucky agreed as well.

"I definitely understand why this one makes you happy." Bucky smiled, kissing you on the cheek. "You know, he kind looks like Peter."

"I mean, maybe a little." You shrugged moving on to the next thing on your list.

"Still in the realm of entertainment, I've got some music for you." You knew Bucky was going to pout here.

"Doll, you know I'm just fine listening to my 40s music and calling it a day."

"Yes, but this is my list and you have agreed to be subjected to it." You queued up a few songs. "The first one, again, just makes me smile. I babysat a lot when I was younger, and there's something about this theme song that really hits different."

"Hits different?" Bucky stared at you like you had two heads.

"Yep. Just listen."

I was a girl in the village doing alright, then I became a princess overnight. Now I gotta figure out how to do it right, so much to learn and see.

You bobbed your head, mouthing the words as the theme song to Sofia the First played.

"I don't get this one." He figured honesty was the best policy.

"You say that now, but a week from now... You'll be singing it while you punch a bad guy in the face." You deadpanned, earning a laugh.

"Okay! Actual songs now." You took a deep breath, tring to prepare for his rejection. "Taylor Swift."

"Taylor Swift?" He repeated, waiting for you to say something else.

"To quote one of my favorite tik toks I've ever seen... 'If you don't like a single Taylor Swift song, I'm taking a crowbar, and I'm propping open your chest to see what's powering that thing in there, because it's not a heart.'"

"That's a bit extreme, don't you think." He eyed you cautiously.

"No. It's true. Her discography is so versatile, everyone can find at least one song they like." Your playful mood from earlier was still present, but hidden behind a slightly threatening glare.

"Which song are you going to play for me?" He was honestly nervous to hear it.

"Actually, you can pick. This playlist is songs of hers that make me smile, so pick whichever one you want." You smiled, eager to see his choice.

He scrolled through the playlist, reading each title carefully.

"Okay, You Are In Love or New Year's Day?" He asked your opinion.

"Both good choices, why those two?" You eyed him curiously.

"Well, You Are In Love because that's how I feel about you and New Years Day because you put it last in the playlist, so I know it must be one of your favorites."

You couldn't hide the way his words made you smile if you tried.

"I love you so much." You kissed him quickly. "Go with New Year's Day, I think it will resonate with you a bit more."

He smiled, tapping the screen gently to play the song.

The two of you remained quiet through the song, just enjoying the soft melody and storytelling.

"Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere." He quoted when the song ended.

"I'll be there if you're the toast of the town, babe, or if you strike out and your crawling home." You sang softly in response.

He cleared his throat. "I think I understand this one."

"I'm glad. I mean, it obviously doesn't have to be Taylor Swift, but everyone should have at least one song that makes them smile." You leaned into his embrace, enjoying the time spent together.

"What else have you got for me, Doll?" He held you close.

"Two more things. Here." You handed him two slightly sticky balls.

"What the hell is this?" He laughed, prying the toy from his metal hand.

"Throw it at the ceiling." He did as he was told, following your lead.

"Friday, can you turn off the lights?" You asked the AI.

"Of course, Ms. L/N."

The two of you were quickly shrouded in darkness. The balls you had thrown at the ceiling were glowing.

"How do we get them down?" Bucky whispered, his voice matching the darkness of the room.

"Just wait..." You stared at the ceiling, waiting a few seconds before the balls began to fall.

"So you just throw it and catch it?" Bucky questioned, again following your lead.

"Yep! It's weirdly relaxing after a long day." You smiled, catching and throwing the neon balls over and over again.

"You're absolutely right." He laughed, catching the blue ball before it could hit him in the face. "Especially just laying in the dark."

"Exactly! I'll go get the last thing, you can keep going." You pressed a quick kiss before heading to the kitchen. You tossed a few stuffed animal heating pads into the microwave.

While they were heating up, you grabbed yours and Bucky's water bottles to fill up with the fridge filter.

The beep sounded, indicating you could grab the animals and head back to Bucky.

"I'm back!" You called softly as you closed the door again. The room was still dark, causing you to turn on the lights. Bucky was frantically catching and throwing all four balls.

"It's a bit less relaxing when you've got to keep track of so many." He laughed as one fell and stuck to his elbow.

"Yeah, more like a game then." You smiled, happy to see him having so much fun.

"So, what's the last thing?"

You held up a bright yellow duck and an equally bright green frog.

"Stuffed animals? Doll, how old do you think I am?" He laughed lightheartedly.

"They're not just stuffed animals. They're also heating pads." You smiled, handing the duck to Bucky.

"What do you do with it?" He questioned.

"Men." You couldn't help but mumble it under your breath. "Well, after a mission, when you're feeling sore you can cuddle with one of these and it helps soothe the ache."

"Really? Nothing else you've shown me has been this practical." He chuckled again.

"That is true, but the fact that it's a stuffed frog makes me happy, even after the worst day."

"I guess you have a point." He pulled the duck close to his body, snuggling with it. "I like cuddling with you better." He pouted.

"I like cuddling with you too Bucky. Promise." You turned to face him, holding the frog to your chest with one arm.

"Thank you for sharing all this with me. I honestly don't remember the last time I smiled this much." He looked at you fondly, still smiling.

"Me either. There is one more thing that makes me really happy, though." You whispered.

"Yeah, what's that?" He watched you eagerly, waiting for the last thing.

"You." You watched his smile grow. "Even just spending ten seconds with you makes me happy after a totally shit day."

"Y/N, you make me happier than anyone I've ever met, Steve included." He joked. "I love you so much. More than I ever thought I could love someone."

"I love you too. So, so much." You rested your head on his chest, cuddling as close as the stuffed frog allowed. "Goodnight, Bucky." You whispered softly, eyes already falling closed.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, sighing contently.

"Goodnight my love."

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @madewithsebstan

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes one shot #bucky one shot #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic

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teambestest · 3 years ago

Text

Okay so I had a really weird dream last night

So hlvrv was on its final chapter and it was like. All the characters were there and there was this finish line at the end with a button and a small small sign that said “end.” Now all of the characters looked really weird, too.

Gordon B was loverboy again for some reason, he looked the same except his hair was white with pink strips in it (which actually looked really cool) and for some reseason y2kvr!coomer was there and he was..a button?? Yeah I have no idea why either. Also Y2kvr!Benrey was there too.

Doc had a really cool outfit

It kind of looked like this except with much brighter colors. His hair was also white except with green, purple and orange strips in it. He was also acting much more...mad scientists like. He was also an ASSHOLE for some reason.

Freeman wasn’t even there for some reason. We did cut back to him at times but he was trapped in an empty ikea. He also had a blue HEV Suit on. His hair was also very sparkly!!! It had cute little stars in it.

Swap had tentacle hair and was wearing a really cool outfit

It looked like this except a cyan and blue. He also wore a cute little headband that had sparkly blue horns. His eyes were a bright cyan with yellow eyewhites.

Player was a clown for some reason. Yeah I don’t know why but he had a very cute little clown outfit and honked his nose every couple of minutes.

Neo and Malcom were both... villains? They both looked very cool but it was very interesting

Malcom’s outfit looked like this

And Neo looked like this

Also neo had strips of hair that were rainbow and malcom had a strip of pink hair.

Spork was lovecoreified for some reason and had a kickass outfit

I can’t find a good outfit that represents what they looked like but it was a mix of lovecore and punk. They carried around a cute guitar that was in the shape of a heart.

That’s about it. My dreams are weird lol

#lemmy.txt #hlvrai #hlvrv

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di-kut · 5 years ago

Text

Baar Bal Runi: Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Words: 4k

Summary: (Body Swap AU) You are forced out into the desert to find moisture farmers on the desert planet. On your trip the Mandalorian asks you questions about your past he’s wanted to know for more than six months, and some truths are revealed.

Rating: A cautious M. This chapter has some descriptions of canon typical violence. While it’s not graphic it is very obvious what is being discussed. Violence related to war.

Tags: body swap, force sensitivity

A/N: This is the second part of the not officially two parted chapter and this is the GOOD part (hopefully, lol) Backstory amiright ladies? Backstory backstory backstory and MORE backstory. I’m a slut for it. Also an excuse for some e m o t i o n s Because I JUST KEEP FEELING THEM. Also fckn s/o to @namay @hdlynn @sistasarah-sallysaidso and @fleurdemiel145 for the beautiful feedback u guys r everything 💕

It's the beginning of harvest season. The aliens which run the moisture farm are ones you have never seen before, hard skin, narrow eyes almost shut against the glare of the desert. They speak no basic, but sign in a language similar enough to Tusken that Mando can negotiate a price. The two tanks of water you buy are barely enough to drink for a week. Will only get you to the next nearest planet with a trading centre by millilitres. It costs you all the spare parts you have. Makes you grit your teeth beneath the helmet.

They offer you shelter in a small outhouse. A round, domed building made of the same red dirt as the surface of the planet. Mando is quiet the whole day. Barely speaks even when the farmers leave you alone in the hut. The child’s crib finally open in the controlled air. Outside the shape of the vaporators on the horizon spear against the sky. Mando shows you how to tilt up the helmet just enough to eat without pulling it off. The farmers come by to check on you with frequency which makes you too nervous to take it off completely. He’s tense and stiff even when you are alone. You find yourself buried in your blankets before the sun begins to set. Sore from two days riding and sorer at knowing there is the same ahead. Find yourself missing your lumpy cot on the Crest.

The next morning Mando wakes you before dawn. The farm is already busy. The air is bitterly cold before the sun rises. Mando has his scarf wrapped so tightly around his face even his eyes are barely visible. It is not until well after dawn your tanks are loaded onto the carriages of the two bikes and ready to go. Mando signs his thanks. He is unsettled, twitching to leave. You set out when the last of the stars have finally faded away, melted into a pale blue sky.

The sun rises quickly once you set out. The air becomes bearable. You think that the warp of haze in the desert is worse that day, so there is no horizon. The sun is so bright your eyes begin to strain. The terrain so flat and constant. You will be glad to turn your backs to the planet and move on. The day slips by. Slow at first, so that you think maybe you will be stuck in the desert forever, and then too quickly. Your toes had gone numb first. Then your legs. Your fingers burned around the handles until they didn’t anymore. Mando doesn’t stop to eat or rest and you follow.

It's pitch black but for a beam of white from the front lights of your bike when you finally stop. You leave it on, stagger off your bike. Hands aching and sore to flex from clutching the bike. It takes some time for the blood begin to flow, hurts your toes when it does. But you have no time to linger and ease onto your feet. Mando hasn’t moved from the bike, he’s so stiff and still even in the dark by the light of the stars you can see it. You almost trip getting to his bike and when you finally do he moves, peels himself off the bike with enormous effort. He stumbles and you manage to catch his arm. It’s shaking. Badly. You should have stopped an hour ago. More, maybe. The cold is coming on too fast in the dark. You should be angry at him – angry he would risk exposing you both to the freezing night air.

“You idiot, Mando.” It has no bite. No anger. You help him to sit on the dirt and make quick work of extracting his bed roll and thermal cape from his pack. Roll them out and check you have everything in the bike light. Set the bed rolls out and catch something before you can add the thermal cape. A patch of light through the middle of it.

You move and hold it up to the light. The cape is threadbare, worn through in places so you can almost see the bike behind. You drop it to the ground and dig out your own pack, fumble for your thermal cape. Hold it to the light as well. Its seen better days, but it is whole and not so thin as Mando’s. The anger you knew you should have felt before surfaces now and you turn back to him, rolled into his bed and pull the covers back. Wrap the thermal cape around him and cover him again. He stares at you, just his eyes over the top of his scarf. You want to scream at him. Don’t. Turn back to your packs to extract the woodbricks.

It takes you several tries to get the fire going. The cold is biting, but nowhere near as bad as you know it must be for Mando. Whatever is lining the armour is keeping your body heat within and the coating on the coarseweave keeps the worst of the cold at bay. You coax the flames as they begin to eat through the woodbrick, poke at them until the blaze is hot and bright. Hold your hands out in front of it to warm them. Mando shifts closer beside you. As close as he can without setting himself and his bed things alight. You crouch there until your fingers no longer burn from cold and your toes have feeling. Only then do you lay out and climb into your own bedroll, sitting upright.

“What in the kriffing hell is wrong with you?” You snap at him. Hold up his ragged cape. “Why do you have this?”

“Only have three.” He says. You can still hear the shake of his shivering.

“Why do you have the worst one?” You want to hurl the thing at his head, peaking out the top of his blankets. “You don’t have the armour on anymore! You’re going to freeze to death out here.”

He doesn’t answer.

“We should have stopped an hour ago. What the kriff do you expect me to do if you die?” You wait. Wait for some kind of response. He doesn’t say anything. “Mando!”

“We’re fine.”

You could scream. Have the sudden and childish urge to hit him. You drop the helmet into your hands. You can’t think of anything to say to that. So you clamber back out of the protection of the bedroll and check the kid. Pull out some of the salted meat and pass it in to him quickly with a gentle pat behind his ear before you seal him back in. Wary of the cold. But the crib is warm inside. You find yourself wishing for one. Wish it were big enough to crawl in with him and avoid the cold.

By the time you settle back in your bedding you are too tired to be angry. You pass over Mando his share of the food. He grabs your wrist instead. Catches your eye. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

You sigh. He takes the food and draws it under the blankets. You watch as he tucks as much of himself into it before unwinding the scarf. He eats quickly. Mustn’t even taste it. Winds the scarf back up around his nose and mouth and pulls the blankets up over his head.

“Are you at least getting warmer?” You ask.

He grunts.

You think it means yes.

The feeling is creeping. Slow and quiet. Until it’s not anymore, until you realise it isn’t yours. It’s an aching feeling, tired and sad. Almost guilty but not quite. Loss. Grief – not new, but not old either. Still weeping and sore. You nestle back into your bed covers, lay down finally. Your uneaten food next to your head. The Mandalorian must feel everything so intensely, because it fills you up until you have no room left in your heart for anything else. Just like the first time you had ever felt him on the Crest. It lingers and hurts until it becomes dry. A well all used up. And then it becomes soft. Aching in a different way. Familiar somehow, but before you can place it the feeling retreats and you are alone with your own heart again. When you twist slightly so you can see his face, his eyes are visible again. Looking at you.

“Why didn’t you come with me when I asked you on Batuu?” He says, voice muffled by the blankets.

The fire cracks and pops. A small shower of sparks illuminates the dirt beneath for only a moment before they fizzle and fade. The question sits heavily between you, so heavy it’s almost visible. He doesn’t look away and you can’t. Can’t find a way to tear your eyes from his. Aren’t sure where the question has come from.

“I…” You let out a shaking breath. “I was scared.”

“Of me?”

“No!” You jerk back slightly. And then more calmly, “No, Mando. Not of you. Maybe – maybe at first. I thought… I thought maybe when you came into the shop you were going to collect the bounty on me.”

“I was never going to.”

You smile. “I know now.”

He looks away first. He has relaxed finally, not curled in on himself so tight. You peer through the dark, think he has stopped shaking as well. Feel yourself sink further into your own blankets. More comfortable. Still too cold to be tired.

“What were you scared of?” He asks.

You roll onto your back. Above you the stars are visible, a river of silver light across the sky. Winking from the heavens. Bright. Infinite. They seem further away than you could ever reach, even in one hundred lifetimes. And yet, in the frigid desert air, close enough that if you brought your hand out from the blanket you could touch them. Trace the shape of them in the sky. A sky filled with life, and yet you are completely alone with the Mandalorian and his son. The darkness beyond the light of the fire so absolute you could be your own planet, floating with the stars.

“Everything.” A whisper. “After – after Coruscant. I’d never been alone before. Not really. And I thought… maybe… maybe I was better off. There, on Batuu.” You swallowed. Look at him again. He’s watching you too. “I regretted it, you know? After you left the first time. I thought I was never going to see you again and I thought – ”

“What?” He asks when you stop. “What did you think?”

You can’t hold his gaze, so you turn back to the stars. “I realised I was already alone.”

He’s quiet. Hums softly. You hear the sound of him shifting and when you chance glancing at him from the corner of your eye he is rolled onto his back. Staring with you into the galaxy. The moment settles around you. Peaceful. Easy. You tilt your helmet up like you had the night before, the way Mando had shown you. The air is so cold on your bare skin you hiss and swear. Hear the deep sound of your voice without the vodocor and it makes your stomach tighten. You can feel Mando look to you again at the sounds. Eat as quickly as you can. Feel relief when you can pull the helmet back down and the warm fog of your breathing warms your face.

You nestle deep as you can into your blankets. You aren’t as warm as you had been the first night out in the desert. Certainly not as warm as the night before in the dirt hut with the moisture farmers. Think you might kill the Mandalorian for giving you the warmer cape. So very typical of him not to say anything. You still miss it as you wait for the blankets around you to heat, hardly as effective without the thicker thermal cape. You tuck the thinning one in anyway, figure it must be better than nothing. You close your eyes. Open them again. Remember Batuu without really meaning to. The heat. The mech shop. The first time you’d seen the gleam of the Mandalorian’s armour. A lifetime ago. Really only six months. Think of the welding mask he’d given you as payment on his second visit to Batuu, hidden away under your cot on the Crest. You hadn’t needed it since coming aboard. Remember the way he’d tilted his helmet when he’d seen you carrying it after he’d given it to you. It makes your chest tighten.

“I don’t feel alone anymore.”

You feel silly as soon as they slip out. The words so quiet they crackle through the modulator. Drop in and out. But so loud in the quiet. Mando turns his head back to you. Eyes glowing in the flames of the fire. You don’t feel silly when you see the intensity there. It makes the tightness in your stomach double and twist. Feel a flush along the back of your neck and ears. The confession feels somehow more intimate because you are blushing in the Mandalorian’s body. Because it is his stomach you feel tightening.

“Gotabor.” His voice is so gentle. Makes the name feel different. Special. Not just engineer. The first time he’s said it to you since the swap, except – your panic attack. He had said it then too. Just as soft. Just as gentle. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you do it?”

You don’t need him to elaborate. Don’t need any more explanation, even though he had never asked you before. Never brought it up. Never even asked what the records contained. He knew your bounty. Traitor to the Empire. Aid to the Resistance. Wanted dead or alive. With some number, some meagre amount which felt too infinitesimally small to represent your life. As if your life could be contained within some amount of credits. Worth so little. Your bounty didn’t say why you were wanted, that you had leaked Empire orders for tie fighters, but he had known that when he found you on Batuu. Knew your real name.

You shake your head. “I don’t know.”

He’s silent.

“I didn’t even think about it first. I don’t think I even thought about it while I was doing it. It was so stupid. There was this guy, I can’t even remember his name. Some guy I met when I was out for drinks. I remember seeing him there and just thinking he was so… dirty. No one looked like that on Coruscant,” you say. Wish it didn’t sound as awful as it was. “And I saw him show some guy this little badge. I knew it. We all knew it. The insurgents. The rebel scum. And I just followed them. They didn’t see me.” You close your eyes. “They used to show these photos, you know. Have these big triumphant displays up in all the records buildings. And they had this one the next day of this – this – this pile of people. Like it was some, some victory. I never liked them. But after that night all I could see was that man in the bar lying in the pile with them. It was so stupid. And I just… I just did it. I found him again and I gave them to him. It probably meant nothing to them. Just spec sheets. Diagrams. How many they were ordering. They would do hundreds of orders. I – I guess it made me feel better. Like I wasn’t as bad as the rest of them.”

You open your eyes again. Look at Mando. Expect to see the hatred there. The revulsion. You feel it yourself, when you let yourself think about it. About life before Batuu. Some ridiculous little story of self-redemption while his people had burned at the hands of the Empire. But you don’t see them. His eyes are still gentle. The air around him is still quiet. It makes you feel better, lighter. Makes you feel even more stupid.

“I regretted it,” you say. “I went home afterwards and cried. So spoilt.”

“But you did it again.” Not a question.

“Yeah. Three more times. But the Empire was already falling apart. By the time anyone realised, I was long gone.” You want to stop, but now you’ve started you find you can’t. Words you’ve never said tumbling out. “They make you feel so important. The Empire. They make you feel like if you fall short then everyone does. Like we’re not some expendable cogs to them. Like you really matter.” And you feel awful, you feel terrible, but the words don’t stop, “The rebel guy. The informant. He said the same thing to me. The same thing as the Empire did. I was important.”

Mando is quiet again.

“I didn’t want to be just someone’s cog.”

You’re breathing hard. Almost panting. You aren’t sure if you feel better or worse having it out. Having it said. You think it might sit somewhere between. Some sort of shifting feeling between relief and fear. You wait for Mando to tell you how silly you sound. How childish he finds the whole thing. But he doesn’t. He just watches you, unchanged. Still looking at you the same way.

“Do you regret it now?”

Coruscant was different to this. Different to everything you knew now. Had been cold after your mother died and left you in the hands of the academy. But it was easy. It was inevitable. Life simply went on there. A Galaxy away from the Outer Rim. From Batuu. From the Mandalorian and his son. A son who maybe was like you. On Coruscant the war had felt like some holodrama. It hadn’t even been given the dignity of being known as war. It was a blight on the Empire, some upstart uprising. Some distant petulant child, throwing empty threats at an adult. But they had won. The Resistance had won. And life was the same for everyone else. Coruscant was too far away for the Resistance to control, and the Outer Rims too wild. But you aren’t resentful any longer.

“No. Not anymore.”

You are warm. Finally. The thinner thermal cape finally trapping in the heat of your body. You feel the weight of your eyelids. Time begins to slip, pull all around you. You think Mando is pleased at your answer, but you are too tired to figure out why. Happy he doesn’t hate you for the life you used to live. The fire still burns bright, heat pulsing against your bed rolls. You turn onto your side. Tuck your hands beneath the helmet to try and reduce the pulling it makes against your neck. You will be glad of the Crest when you get back so you can remove it.

“Mando?” You call. Not quite ready to sleep yet. He hums in response. “Why did you save the kid?”

He’s silent. You think maybe he had fallen asleep already. But finally, you hear a rustle. He turns on his side to face you across the flames. Looks as tired as you feel. “I don’t know,” he echoes you. “It just… seemed like the only option.”

You nod. There is another moment of peace. Warm and understanding. You feel the space between your souls pull. Closer together. You think you feel him again, a brush against you, but the feeling is gone before you can latch onto it. Retreating back into Mando. You think you will have to tell him about that also, three times now that you have felt his heart. But not tonight.

Mando goes slower the next day. Stops halfway back to let you both stretch and move. The ride is worse. Worse because your muscles ache in protest to clamping your weight around the bike. Better as well, because you will be back to the Crest in a few hours. Bearable because it is nearly over. The haze is not so bad either. It doesn’t hurt your eyes so badly. You can even manage to find a beauty in the flat, red landscape now that you know you are leaving it. You mention this to Mando while you lean, side-by-side, against his bike. It makes him laugh. The air around you both feels lighter than it has weeks. Longer even than the swap.

You load the water into the ship’s tanks with the mechanic. Mando avoids the yard, returns the bikes one by one. You are grateful when the mechanic is too terrified to talk to you, although a part of you thinks you shouldn’t be. You pump what you need into the ship’s tank, load the rest into the filtered water reserve. Let the mechanic talk you through the work he’d done on the ship with more patience than he deserves. It takes some time, and you double check everything by habit, protective of the ancient ship which has become your home. The mechanic fades off, leaves you to your checks. The kid is with you, you’d packed the crib aside and let him wander after you freely. Guilty he’d been cooped in there so long. He’s gleeful at the chance to stretch his legs. Sometimes crawls onto your boot and hangs on while you walk, squealing in delight at every step.

Mando arrives back as you finish closing the hatch. Eyes the smears of engine grease on the Beskar and the coarseweave.

“When we get to the next planet we need to shower,” he says. The bluntness makes you flush. “I’m going to clean the Beskar.”

You nod carefully. Relieving yourself was enough, certainly necessary. You know this will be different, though. A new kind of intimate. Know under the Beskar you must need it desperately. Know you will feel better with the grit of almost two weeks finally washed away. But – you try not to imagine it. You have enough material already that the image is clear enough without having ever stripped out of his underclothes. Try not to think about Mando surely also having the same thoughts. Seeing all of you. You manage a strangled sound of assent and have to walk onto the ship, can’t look at your own face. Can’t look at the dark blush marking those cheeks the longer you take to reply.

He doesn’t bring it up again. Let’s you empty both your packs and climbs into the cockpit. He waits for you to climb the ladder before he shows you the planet nearest to you. A trading port. You will need more fuel before long. Need more water. He’d calculated the distance already, you would make it there with what you had, but not with another jump to hyperspace. Another four days. Nearly a week. You have enough of the dried bread and fruits, and salted meats for longer. Spare rations bars. You collapse into the co-pilot’s chair while Mando sets coordinates. Prepares to leave.

Your legs are aching from the bike. Finally sitting it rushes over you fully. You groan and stretch them in front of you, stretch your arms above your head. Your back is the worst, hunched over the handlebar for days. Curled onto the hard dirt in the desert.

“Maker, I’m sore.” You tilt your head, stretch your neck out. Feel the muscles twinge and resist. “Kriff I am so sore.”

Mando huffs. “Back’s probably locked up.”

“Yeah, it feels like it.”

“Take it easy.”

You continue to move as much as you can bear. “Why am I so sore? Are you not sore?”

“I get thrown around a lot. Get hit a lot.”

You pause your stretching. For a moment you can’t piece together what he’s saying. And then. “Is this – is this a you thing? Maker, Mando, do you always feel like this?”

“Bounty hunting isn’t exactly an easy job,” he mutters. “Only if I’ve been sleeping rough. Or fighting someone.”

You groan and begin stretching again in earnest. As much as you can with the restriction of the Beskar. Mando is shaking his head from the pilot’s chair. You feel him watching you out of the corner of his eye. You push yourself up, ignore the way he tilts his head. You push your arms over your head and then drop your whole upper body down. Fold in on yourself and let your hands hang as close to your toes as you can get them. Straighten slowly. Change your stretch. It’s tight in the cockpit. There’s barely enough room for you both to sit, let alone stretch out. But you don’t think you will make it down the ladder. Eventually Mando abandons any pretence of ignoring you and swings the chair around fully. You have your back to him, but you still hear the muffled laughter.

“Shut up, Mando.”

Gotabor: Engineer

Tags:@btillys @vercopaanir @absurdthirst @sistasarah-sallysaidso @adikaofmandalore @babyomen @purpleeeslurpppp @fleurdemiel145 @hdlynn

#backstory!!!#I love backstory!!!#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #reader insert #force sensitive reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #fic #my fic #baar bal runi

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years ago

Note

How do you like NaNo so far?

Okay tea! It’s going okay! Honestly, it’s not going as well as I expected but also going... better than I expected (simultaneously lol)!

I’ve been tracking a LOT of things, so on my MyWriteClub, I track if I’ve written that day (I’ve written 12/19 days of the month so far), and I’ve also been tracking on NaNoWriMo’s website (I’ve written just over 4300 words this month). This is a pretty solid streak, and I’ve definitely been writing WAY more often than I usually do, and enjoying it WAY more because of where I’m at in the book.

Y’all, I gotta say it... I love Feeding Habits. I’ve got a huge, huge problem with writing a book, loving it, then feeling embarrassed by it after a few weeks of finishing it, and with Feeding Habits, I’ve been extra hard on it. It’s not that I feel embarrassed by it like I do Moth Work (this is a whole other issue), it’s just been two moods: grueling to write, or magnificent. Most of the time, it’s been grueling, and I have a really hard time not enjoying drafting because it’s my favourite thing about writing and so that affects my mental health, etc, etc. So when I, in this moment, am saying I love Feeding Habits, I just want myself to fully, 100% feel this way, because I know, with the last few books I’ve written, it doesn’t last (not to be pessimistic, but to be grateful for where I am).

NaNo is actually not all that different to me usually writing proces. I actually always think about writing every day, it’s just about 1/7 days a week I may actually do it, more if I’m in a good patch. I can’t give NaNo full credit for my productivity, however. I am in a really great place in Feeding Habits right now, and NaNo occurred right at the start of that, so it was really coincidence and timing that I’m currently doing okay in the book, and therefore, able to produce. I’ve mentioned that I just can’t write when I’m mentally unwell, and that not writing furthers that mental unwellness and so I’m really, really happy with how this month is going with writing right now. I don’t feel heavy, I feel I’ve written a lot of great (and very gay <3) stuff, and I’m so pleased.

I am only tracking NaNo progress for Feeding Habits specifically because I wanted to put more attention on it, and I definitely think it has been successful in that regard! I’ve been doing tons of other writing though, either for classes, or personal stuff (do not ask me how submitting a poem at 11:59pm on the day of the deadline went hahaha), so I feel like I’m... thriving??

Excerpts from Feeding Habits stuff I’ve been working on recently under the cut!

This is the boys’ first ever conversation in months and in the book:

A canoe-rental kiosk ruching the Hudson River. Harrison pays for a two-hour time slot with the last of his savings and lugs it to the shoreline by himself. It is nearly midnight, the sky clogged with fog and moonlight.

Lonan will not enter the water. Back near the kiosk, he fiddles with a beachstone, bathing in tungsten from the streetlamp above him. He gave no reason for his rejection, just picked stones as they walked along the boardwalk, through the parking lot, to the kiosk. As if he’d polish them, feed them through a rock tumbler as if he has patience for that, tend to them like infants, shape, polish, burnish, sell them for thirty dollars a piece and donate the money, as if has the mind to.

Harrison shifts the canoe perpendicular to the water and steps in. The boat cranks under his weight, its coldness seeping through his jeans.

Lonan stoops for more stones. His knees luminescing in white sand. His hair oilslick, cropped to his scalp like blunt grass. His fingers arrowing through sand, a raven filching seed. He unearths the stones with urgency, a paleontologist, a gravedigger.

“You’ll never make a sale on those,” Harrison shouts from the canoe. His voice splinters the night and puffs with the sand.

Lonan nearly drops his handful of stones. It takes him a moment to look up, and when he does, he searches the treeline first, the windows of a parked SUV, the gaps between a thicket of lifejackets before reaching Harrison, and he’s so deerlike, Harrison thinks, he’s so limp, so feeble, so susceptible. His hair jutting briefly from his scalp like an accordion, badly cut probably because Eliza likes it that way. His skin nearly lilac in places, a gauntness in his face, a hunger.

“My mother tells me you like her cooking,” he continues. “That you’re here for your sister. That you’re here alone.”

Lonan reaches for another stone.

“Eliza wants you to look like a deacon.” Harrison frills a hand toward his hair, snaps his fingers like scissors. “So holy. I could ordain you right now. Make you born-again. There’s so much water.”

“I don’t swim,” Lonan says. He reaches for another stone, then another so his palms turn into one.

“You don’t? You’re a land mammal. Rhinoceros. Hippopotamus. Is it the stones? You’re afraid they’ll sink you?”

CANOE SHENANIGANS (#BOYSINABOAT):

Harrison shuffles forward until their knees touch. He reaches. He makes contact. He touches his skin. He touches his ear. He touches cheek. He touches eyes, fingerprints his irises, wrings the tears from his eyelashes, pulls his face by the jaw, cradling his land mammal. He is crying. They should both cry. They are both crying. Their own lake puddling in Harrison’s palm. Theirs as Harrison dips his free hand into the water. Theirs as he hushes Lonan’s writhing. Theirs as he christens him, the water gorging his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Theirs as he promises it will be okay. Theirs as he says he will get to know this stranger. Theirs as they promise to both regrow. Theirs as Harrison jerks the canoe. Theirs as they capsize. Theirs as they reunite in fizzing tide, caught in the river, both animals trapped in amber.

Some context for this next excerpt: Lonan and Harrison get into shenanigans the night before, Harrison ~robs Lonan, abandons him, and yeets himself to the barn mentioned in chapter six where he falls asleep for the night. Here, he wakes up at dawn and is coming up with an excuse to explain why he’s there early to the homeowners. He decides, since they hired him to fix up their barn, he’ll just say he was trying to be a good worker:

Harrison fixes himself in the reflection of an overturned wheelbarrow, its silver belly clouded with rust. He exists the barn dry, well-rested, a richer, more fashionable man.

Before he even finishes ascending the veranda of the Harvey house, Sharleen opens the door. Her white hair is pearled into a bun. She wears a paisley patterned apron, chartreuse.

“Raspberry danishes,” Harrison says. “All I wanted was to bring you some fresh raspberry danishes, but all the bakeries were closed.”

Sharleen rolls up her sleeves. Her hands are caked with flour and fat.

“I considered tulips, but realized I’ve never asked for your favourite flower. Is it tulips? Hydrangeas? Chrysanthemums?”

Sharleen juts open the screen door and holds it open for him. He enters the foyer, and it smells like cinnamon, like sugar.

“I’ve heard marigolds are helpful for warding off squirrels,” he says, taking the hand she offers for his jacket. Sharleen doesn’t jump when he runs his finger across her wedding band and pecks her knuckles with his mouth. She doesn’t even speak. “Is that true?” as they usher toward the kitchen. “Pretty and purposeful. Sounds fake.”

Sharleen dusts her hands on her apron and jars open the kitchen door.

“Could be a double whammy. Or a scam. Or an old wives’ tale,” Harrison says as they walk into the kitchen, so occupied with the marigolds he does not notice when Sharleen returns to the stove to flip a pancake, so occupied, when he turns to the kitchen table, expecting only Harvey but seeing Lonan, all he says is, “Sounds too good to be true.”

The embarrassing aftermath of that lmfao :)

Harrison eats his pancakes on the porch. The Harveys’ dog joins him, a golden retriever named Leila. He cuts her a rift of cake and slots it into her mouth when she whines. One bite for him, another for Leila. Him, Leila, him, Leila. The good news is since he fixed their coffee machine, he now drinks drip.

It does not take long for Lonan to follow him outside. Harrison’s known this was inevitable and has dreaded the last five minutes because of it. He slits another triangle of pancake and feeds it to the dog.

It’s too cold to be out without a jacket. Wind nips Harrison’s ears and icicles his fingertips. Lonan’s shirt, the pale blue button-up he nabbed knowing he’d have cash, brays under the breeze, barely denser than a tissue.

So, after Harrison knocks them into the water (lol), this happens. My favourite description of Lonan: grass, and speck. (TW murder-y??):

“Pull me under,” Lonan said, spitting water, his voice grating under pressure. He trembled, his limbs his betrayal, tremoloing in the waves.

And Harrison did. Dousing him by the shoulders and holding him under so only he floated in the miniscule gap of air, Lonan a sunken, thrashing speck. It was thrilling, holding a body in his hands, determining its fate. And equally as thrilling to hold it as he lulled Lonan back up and over his shoulder where he deflated, gasping. At first Lonan coughed, once twice, heaving saltwater and saliva. But then a birdlike sound, compact but jittering, the wisp of a laugh, and Harrison couldn’t help but wonder if he was thrilled, too

“Do you feel accomplished, Harrison?” Lonan asked, his teeth prattling like an accordion. His hand trailed up the tail of his jacket, scrawling along the soaked leather. Lonan shifted, his body dead weight nearly drowned. And there was the sound again, chirping, “You’re not the first person who’s tried to kill me this year. Congratulations.”

So the tea is that Harrison robs Lonan by swapping shirts with him (tea tea tea), so here’s that scene where they re-swap and Harrison pesters Lonan about not marrying Eliza:

“Why won’t you marry her?” Harrison asks. “You could have children. A honeymoon.”

Lonan stuffs his free hand into his pocket. His breath fogs with every exhale, his nose pinkish with cold. Harrison doesn’t feel any of it, the breath, the cold, his hands. He doesn’t move to button up his flannel. He doesn’t want to move.

“You’re going back to her. You’re here to check on Reeve, and then you’re going back. To get married. To have children. To honeymoon forever.”

Lonan’s hair is awful. Spoking from his scalp like a raven’s wings, some sections ragged, uneven. Not a haircut, but punishment.

“You’re perfect,” Harrison says. He should being shivering, be freezing, but he feels nothing. “Why can’t you say you’re perfect?”

Lonan moves first. They could reabsorb. Go back to blue. But he only reaches for the flannel with his free hand and drapes it around Harrison’s shoulders. Arm by arm, slotting them through the sleeves. Button by button, securing it up his abdomen, his chest, right up to his throat. If Harrison looks closely, one of his eyes is rimmed with scarlet, like a vessel there popped, and a pool of lilac simmers, almost undetectable, across his temple.

“You could’ve married her,” Harrison says. His voice has dropped to a whisper. Lonan swings his jacket around his shoulders, securing his arms through each loop of leather, one, two. Zipping so his exposed skin may rewarm.

“I need to take you home,” Lonan says. Lonan with the broken eye. Lonan with the blackberry skin. Lonan with the teeth-shorn shirt. Lonan with the mowed hair. Lonan with the burned palms. Lonan with the wedding ring that was never really a wedding ring. Lonan who looks as if he’s always prepared to blink, just in case something comes out to get him.

(lonan’s dialogue IS SO SOFT gay PINING said WHOMST i did i am whomst)

god i want to share more but I need to save stuff for the writing update, here’s one MORE THEN I AM GONE:

Harrison sleeps in the car on his way back and doesn’t wake until the next day. In that time, Suzanna slots takeout boxes through the unrolled window, three full meals: sweet corn and tomato fusilli, beef stifado, meatless cassoulet. What she doesn’t know is they sit, untouched, under the passenger’s seat, not because Lonan is averted by her cooking, but because he’s saving them to share, just in case. She brings a vacuum sealed bag of extra comforters the first evening when flurries dot the windshield, Harrison is swathed in them all by the time the snow reaches half an inch. One lined with Sherpa closest to his skin when he stirs, the bulbs of fabric like cottage cheese. In the time he’s in the car he dreams. Of driving into the ocean. Of haircuts. Marriage.

OK BYE

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #feedinghabits #fostered #mothwork #asks

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aurumacadicus · 5 years ago

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Do the boys ever take Tony out for dates individually? What are they like? (Sorry for the lame question i realize I didn't actually prepare one kdjfkcjskks)

There are no lame questions here!!!! This is Jingle Your Bells AU where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts!!! (Except when when it’s ugly and it hurts I guess lol.)

They do take Tony out for dates individually! In fact, that’s the case more often than not, at least in the beginning. Tony is so stressed out about the idea of all three of them leaving the North Pole at the same time that Steve and Bucky take turns staying behind to “be in charge.” (Mostly they just end up pestering Coulson and Pepper until they are (sometimes literally) booted from the workshop.)

Steve likes to take Tony to museums and art galleries. Tony always looks a little awed as Steve leads him along, pausing in front of paintings and sculptures. Steve hadn’t actually imagined Tony would like them that much when he’d decided to take him to them. He’d been scrambling for ideas, but even Tony hadn’t really known what he liked after giving up all hobbies for work. So he’d just thrown his hands up and yelled “MOMA” at the ceiling before finally getting ready for their date, figuring that he could gauge Tony’s opinion toward art before planning any other dates. Bucky would have laughed at him, but it made him realize he actually had no idea where to take Tony either.

It makes sense though, in retrospect, that Tony likes looking at art. After all, one could consider his tin soldiers miniature sculptures, so he knows and understands the patience of shaping something into what he wants. And Tony has always been interested in watching Steve paint, eyes wandering over his sketches or brushstrokes.

Steve still gets a little choked up when he remembers one particular date, after Tony had examined some pieces by Picasso and then declared, very seriously, “I don’t like these. You paint much better than this guy did. They should put your art up instead.”

Bucky tries to come up with something as romantic as museums, but he’s not really artistically inclined and he can’t really fake being romantic about something he doesn’t know. So he eventually just shrugs on a jacket and tells Tony they’re going on an adventure.

“Will there be food at the end of the adventure?” Tony asks, because he might be small but his appetite is mighty.

“Of course,” Bucky says, and then they window-shop in different cities until Tony’s hunger gets the better of him and he follows his nose to a restaurant. It takes ages for Tony to figure out that that was Bucky’s plan all along, too pleased with pointing out things in store windows that would look good on Steve and Bucky. He hadn’t realized how nice it was to do that, look at things and not want to make something like them, or use them to make something entirely new. Sometimes it’s okay to just… let things be. It takes him a while to get the hang of it, just pointing and saying “that looks nice” instead of “it could be improved this way.” But it’s worth it when he finally points at a black leather jacket and says that Bucky would look dashing in it, and Bucky beams at him like he’s just solved world hunger.

Still, when Bucky had shown up in the workshop the next day wearing it, Tony walked into a wall, embarrassed and flattered and maybe, possibly, an iota aroused.

Steve and Bucky swap notes on what happened and they are absolutely smitten with this elf.

(“He said your paintings should go up instead of Picasso’s? That’s so stinkin’ cute I’m gonna smother myself,” Bucky whispers, delighted.

Steve beams back at him. “I know! And he didn’t even know what a dick Picasso was when he said it! I’d almost considered telling him about the artists but he seemed really turned off by that when he was reading the plaques under the paintings so I mostly just told him trivia. He was really interested in Van Gogh’s Sunflowers so I told him about the foxglove thing and he was absolutely enthralled!”

“What foxglove thing,” Bucky says.

Steve sneers at him. “Last time I was telling you about Van Gogh’s mental illness you fell asleep.”

“Oh, yawn, boring, I’m glad Tony likes it,” Bucky replies, unrepentant.

Steve snorts, amused, because he knows that art bores Bucky to tears.)

((“So how did your–what the fuck is that,” Steve asks when Bucky struts into their room wearing a black leather jacket.

“Tony pointed it out to me. He said it would make me look dashing,” Bucky says smugly.

Steve is unimpressed. “I’ll admit that you’re edible but you’re absolutely not dashing.”

“Tony walked into a wall when he saw me in it,” Bucky declares.

“Boo, why didn’t you wait until I was there to see it,” Steve complains without heat. “Do I get to wear the jacket?”

“No only me because I’m the one Tony was thinking of when he saw it,” Bucky says immediately like a child, even though he knows he’ll eventually let Steve wear it.

Steve tilts his head wonderingly. “What if it was Tony wearing it instead?”

“Hng,” Bucky answers, and sits down on the bed before his knees give out. Holy shit yes. Tony in this jacket. It would go down to his thighs on him, simultaneously cute and sexy.

“You know I meant over his clothes, right?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“Hng,” Bucky says again, because he absolutely wasn’t.

Steve doesn’t fault him for it, though. Tony would look sexy in the jacket and nothing else.))

#aurumacadicus answers #jingle your bells au #ifdragonscouldtalk

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miss-psyson · 5 years ago

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My version of the Super Mario cast, but genderswap ^-^ I want to try and do it as accurately as possible, so I hope it turn out okay

Here’s some side notes if anyone is interested in them

Little disclaimer: I DIDN'T MAKE THIS TO CORRECT ANYONE OR MAKE IT SEEM LIKE THEIR VERSION IS WRONG. THIS WAS MADE FOR FOR FUN AND I DON'T WANT ANYONE TO TAKE THIS IN THE WRONG WAY. (Just wanted to post this note her just in case I get comments about ^-^) Characters from left to right with notes: Toadette > Toad - I decided to just swap the names and body of Toad and Toadette, but keep the color palettes the same (because to be honest Toadette is just the female version of Toad and vise versa) Toad > Toadette - Same thing I said for Toadette Mario > Maria - Pretty simple name change. I wanted to keep the same iconic look, but without the mustache and thick eyebrows. (Some of the genderswap versions of Mario are either drawn a little thinner than his normal size or his nose is draw smaller, so I wanted to keep his iconic look without exaggerating the proportion to much) Luigi > Luisa - Same with Mario. Keep the same look without changing it to much. Wario > Waria - A little more challenging than Mario and Luigi, but I think his genderswap version turned out pretty okay. Waluigi > Waluisa - Funny thing is that it all started with him and Rosalina before I made the rest, so I already had a design look for his genderswap version and everything. However, as I started making the rest, I realized that the hair needed to be changed (because for Mario, Wario, and Luigi, I made their genderswap versions' hairstyle similar to the way their mustaches look).

- First design:

- Also if your wondering why I gave his genderswap version yellow and white stockings, its because I always imagine that Waluigi had stirpe socks like Luigi, but a different color. Rosalina > Rosalio - Like I said with Waluigi's genderswap version it all started with him and her, so I already had a designed planed and everything. I had to alter the hair a little, but I like how it turned out. Peach > Plum - This one was probably the hardest out of all of them because I wanted to keep the iconic look without over detailing it (because a lot of her genderswap versions are a little over detailed for my taste. I tried a couple of things here and there, but I feel like this one worked out the best.

- Genderswap Peach version:

- I had a difficult time with choosing a name too. At first I choose "Peak" because it sounds like "Peach", but I decided to go with Plum. Daisy > Daffodil - Kind of the same deal with Peach, but not as difficult because I was going based on her genderswap version to create Daisy's, so not much to say her. (I did try her version with a beard thou, so I thought I'd share that:

- I also had a diffcult time with the name and went with "Dais" at first, but it didn't make much sense to me and I just went with "Daffodil". (I can imagine him using "Daff" or "Dil" as a nickname lol) Pauline > Paul - The name change was easy, but deciding a design was pretty diffcult. I had to look up a few references, but it ended up working out in the end. Bowser > Bowsa - This one was pretty easy. I just had to darken the eyes a bit, add lips, and shape the body proportions a bit Bowser jr. > Bowsa jr. - Also pretty easy. I just added a bow and eye lashes

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alagaesia-headcanons · 5 years ago

Text

Morzan AU 2: Electric Boogaloo

(I know this is late, but I almost doubled my word count from what I had when I thought I was almost done, lol)

(Also, this is so long I posted it on AO3 here. Read it there if you want to.)

Guys... if you think that one Morzan redemption au is the only one I have... I’m bout to show you what’s what.

And guess what?????? ROLE SWAP AU! LET’S GO!!

This AU follows canon up until Murtagh’s birth. Like last time, for the sake of this AU I’ll specify that Morzan wasn’t the one who killed the first Saphira.

The news of Selena’s pregnancy brings Morzan no joy. He doesn’t believe in happy families. He puts no faith in family at all. To learn that he’s being forced into one he never wanted is... less than thrilling.

His mother resented him from the moment he was born and did all she could to get him out of her hair. He would say that she raised him alone, if not for the fact that she barely raised him at all. Her affection was miserable and her punishments harsh, but she taught him one invaluable lesson: the world is cruel.

All those kids he trained with, Brom and the rest, with parents who visited them and spoiled them, were all full of shit. They were faking it. They just pretended they weren’t fucked up like he was so they could feel better about themselves. So they could look down on him.

Morzan’s aware, in some suppressed part of his mind, that with this mentality, he’s shaping up to be just as terrible of a parent to his unborn child as his mother was to him. But whenever that thought worms its way back into his mind, he pulls open a new bottle of wine to drown it away again.

Selena’s not much better. She had taken to Morzan’s missions with a fervor, and she resents the child for forcing her to give them up. She itches to return to her work in service to the Empire and grows more and more irritable every day.

Arguments between Morzan and Selena grow more frequent and more dangerous. Their relationship, unhealthy on its best days, frays thinner than ever. The serving staff desperately attempt to stay out of their way; it seems like every other day one of them is on a warpath. By the time the baby is almost due, the tension has mounted to near unbearable.

Morzan stays as far away from the labor room as he can. He drinks through the whole birth. His hand shakes as he raises the goblet to his lips and he will never admit, not even to himself, how afraid he is. He’s not ready for this. He’ll never be ready for this.

By the time his child comes into the world, Morzan’s blacked out.

The next day, he puts off seeing the baby for as long as he can under the excuse of tending to his hangover. When he finally goes to the nursery in the late afternoon he finds Selena resting in bed and the baby in the arms of a nursemaid seated in the corner. He’s startled to see her, he thought that Selena would want to nurse her own child for at least the first day. Though, once he sees it, he can’t fathom why he thought she’d be interested.

He makes his way to the corner, ignoring a biting comment from Selena about his tardiness. The nursemaid offers him the baby, sleeping peacefully, but he stirs when Morzan lifts him into his arms.

He squirms and swings a chubby arm into Morzan’s face. He grabs the offending limb to push it aside, but the sight of his tiny, delicate hand in the grasp of his thick, calloused fingers freezes him in place. A heavy weight seems to settle on his shoulders. An unexpected sense of responsibility goes through him as he realizes how easily he could hurt this child, how fragile it is.

A playful squeal shakes him from his thoughts and for the first time Morzan meets the big gray eyes of his son. Something tugs in his heart that he’s not sure he ever knew was there. Without thinking, he lifts a hand to brush his finger over his little nose and smiles when his face scrunches up. He burbles and catches his finger with a clumsy hand and tugs. Morzan lets him hold on as he studies his baby with fascination for another minute.

Then he squeezes his eyes closed and starts to cry and Morzan abruptly feels extremely guilty. The nursemaid tells him he’s probably hungry and he lets her pry him out of his arms with surprising reluctance. He stares a moment longer then turns and walks out as fast as he can, feeling even less sure of himself than when he’d entered.

The next day, Selena announces that she will be leaving in a few days. As soon as she regains her strength to use her magic, she intends to leave on her next mission. Morzan barely stops himself from gaping at her. How can she possibly focus on that? He’s been so distracted he couldn’t even sleep last night!

Morzan had picked over his food and, for the first time in a long while, barely sipped at his wine. He readied for bed, mind fully occupied by those moments with his son. He stood hovering at his bedside for a long time before abruptly striding out of the room.

When he had picked the child up that time, he didn’t wake and continued to doze in Morzan’s arms. He held him for several minutes, examining his indistinct features and stroking his little hand with a thumb, until his pride would allow it for no longer. He handed him back to the nursemaid and realized he knew nothing about her. He had nothing to do with her selection and now he regretted it. With a cold glare, he threatened her extensively should she ever let harm befall him until he was satisfied with her terror. He left.

But when he finally settled into bed, he found no rest. It was as if he’d left his mind behind in the nursery and it couldn’t move anywhere else. He tossed back and forth restlessly, head filled with thoughts of the baby and heart filled with emotions he didn’t understand. To be frank, he didn’t want to. This single day had thrown everything he’d felt for the past eighty or so years into disarray. He hoped this was some sort of fluke, that tomorrow, he’d wake up feeling the same as he always did and things would return to normal.

They do not. Morzan continues his unusual behavior, surprising everyone, including himself, up until Selena’s departure. Morzan watches silently as Selena packs her belongings for this latest, bloody outing, arguments building on the horizon like storm clouds. For once, instead of breaching them, Selena just says, “I’ll be back in a fortnight. You’ll look after the baby?” “Of course!” Morzan barks, a moment before he realizes her tone was condescending and mocking.

Her eyes widen at his response then she snorts at him. Morzan scowls and spits, “I do what I want, woman,” although, he doesn’t quite know what he wants right now. Or maybe he does know and just doesn’t want to admit it because, after Selena leaves, Morzan’s feet carry him back to the nursery.

The staff are confused, even wary, at the sudden changes in the head of the household. They shy away, almost suspecting some sort of farce. All of them notice, including the old gardener in the one room cabin on the grounds.

Brom’s first several years disguised at Morzan’s manor were much the same. Eavesdrop on the staff, spy on the Black Hand’s outings, watch Morzan drink himself near to death every couple weeks. It was routine. All these things surrounding Murtagh... he wasn’t counting on this.

He sees the first time Morzan brings him outside, up on a balcony overlooking the gardens. He has little Murtagh hoisted in his arms and his eyes go wide as he brings him out into the great wide world. Brom’s too far to hear his words, but his look of fondness while he murmurs to his son is one Brom never thought to see on Morzan’s face. When Murtagh starts to cry after a while, Morzan gently brings him back inside and Brom realizes his jaw is hanging open.

He’s there about a month later when a commotion breaks out around the side of the castle. When he wanders around, he finds Morzan bellowing at a carriage driver and a few work hands that had arrived. They bow and scrape but Morzan doesn’t stop shouting until he’s chased them away. Only as Brom watches the retreating carriage does he realize that it was the regular delivery of wine, which Morzan would have rather killed than go without. At least, he would have before...

(This one concerns him. He’s built a good disguise, but he also counts on Morzan’s perpetual drunkenness to keep him from being recognized.)

He watches as Morzan and Selena storm onto the balcony of their room, arguing explosively one night. Morzan has Murtagh, crying, tucked against his chest and Selena keeps gesturing to him as she shouts. After a time, she lunges forward and grabs at Murtagh and Morzan jerks back. Murtagh starts wailing louder than ever. A painful moment passes where Selena glares and Morzan gapes, then he whirls back inside. Brom cranes his neck futilely to see inside, and wonders if the child was hurt.

He sees Morzan introduce him to his dragon for the first time in the enormous courtyard in the grounds. Murtagh squeals with glee and reaches his little arms out as far as he can. Morzan lifts him up and the great red beast lowers his head to meet him. Murtagh wraps his arms around the small span of his snout that he can muster until the dragon gently pulls back. Despite Murtagh’s obvious joy, Brom sees sorrow in Morzan’s eyes as he beholds his mindless partner.

He’s there when Morzan brings him out into the garden, holding his hands as he totters along. He laughs as he chases after butterflies and encourages him to befriend the garden cats. But Brom also sees his glances up at the balcony when Murtagh’s back is turned and sees his apprehension. He wonders what Selena’s relationship with her son is like.

He knows when Morzan’s resolve fails and he descends into the cellars because he finds him passed out, breath stinking of wine, on one of the benches outside to avoid bumping into Murtagh in that state. With his face relaxed, Morzan looks more human than Brom has ever cared to see. One especially cold night, Brom brings out a blanket and lays it over him without stopping to consider the gesture.

He watches when Morzan returns from one of Galbatorix's missions and heads straight for his son. Murtagh shouts and runs to him the moment he sees and Morzan sweeps him up in his arms. He showers him in kisses as he giggles and squirms and he tells him how much he missed him.

And he wakes up in the middle of the night one night when he hears a knock on his door.

His heart rate spikes when he opens the door to find Morzan, but before he can react, he's grabbed his chin and tilted his head back. Brom manages a "Can I help you?" but when Morzan continues to turn his head to examine his features, he knows the jig is up.

Morzan's voice is surprisingly calm when he says, "Hell, it really is you. How long have you been living here, right under my nose?" There’s a pause, and Brom nearly bites out a caustic response when Morzan says, “Gods, I was terrible to you. I should have treated you better. I should have never left you to join that rabid traitor. I’m sorry.” He releases him gently.

Of all the things Brom expected, an apology was the very last one. He takes a step back in shock, and Morzan takes it as an invitation to come in. “So you’re spying for the Varden, I imagine?” Brom regains his wits and snaps, “Do you expect me to tell me anything?!” “No, I suppose not...”

The silence lasts until, suddenly, Morzan is talking. He’s discussing Galbatorix’s most recent plans, the Varden outposts they’re aware of, the mission Selena is planning next, and more. Brom just stares as he divulges this veritable treasure trove of information; he would be salivating if he didn’t feel so suspicious.

When Morzan finally trails off, Brom asks, “Why would you tell me any of that?”

“Because I was wrong. And damn me, it took nearly a century to realize it, but I was wrong the whole time. Everything Galbatorix has done has made things bad and worse and nothing makes up for it. Not the power I gained, not the grudges I settled... None of it was worth it. You were right all along but I never bothered to stop and see it. Maybe I can make it up to you, even just slightly.”

“And Murtagh?” Morzan sighs sadly. “I know that if anyone can make a better world for him, it’s you. God knows I’ve just fucked everything up. But I’ll do what I can now.” “You’ve changed enough?” “For the first time in... ever, I’ve realized the value that life has. How special it is. Yes, my Name’s changed; he’s changed it.”

Then Morzan swears in the ancient language that all the information he gave was true and Brom’s opinion of him, which had been in limbo for months, snaps into something like respect. So they settle into an agreement where Morzan will report to him and Brom will send his information on to the Varden.

It’s a precarious and dangerous game when surrounded by such dangerous and intelligent people as Selena and Galbatorix, but Morzan manages to hide his shift in allegiance. Luckily, it’s not terribly difficult to sneak out of the manor, considering how often Selena is away on her missions. So, some nights, Morzan goes out into the ground to discuss matters with Brom in the little, one room cabin.

At first, their relationship is completely professional, they go over the matters that they need to, then go on their way. But it doesn’t stay that way. For one thing, it has been a very long time since Brom could converse with someone who knew who he was, and he can’t help but give into the temptation to tell Morzan about his experiences, to complain, banter, and laugh.

(After one cheeky complaint about living with Morzan’s miserable pay grade, Morzan actually does give him a raise. In fact, he gives all his staff a raise. He claims that it would be too suspicious to give it to Brom alone, but Brom sees it for the kind gesture it is.)

Morzan, for one, relishes in finally having someone he can brag about his son to. He’ll talk about Murtagh for as long as Brom will tolerate it, which is actually quite long because he finds it sweet (though he won’t admit it). Even after witnessing everything that he has, it’s these late night conversations that really reveal to him the true scope of change Murtagh has inspired in him. It’s a strange feeling to observe the man he could have been all those years.

At first, Brom is bitter, thinking it unfair that Morzan has only changed now, after so long, after so much damage had already been done. But he can’t ignore how hard he tries- he sees it every time- how much Morzan wants to make it worth it now that it’s happened. It’s in the back of both of their minds, that it might be too late now to make a difference. Morzan does everything he can to prove that wrong.

In the end, Brom chooses to focus on who he is now. He can’t change what happened in the past anymore than Morzan can, but he can aid him now. He can report his news to the Varden, he can deflect probing questions from the rest of the staff, and he can hold his hand when he chokes up as he talks about his dragon.

He helps Morzan help himself, and just maybe, it might ease some of the burden long resting on his heart as well.

The atmosphere between then starts to pick up strain each night they meet, until one night, when they remain after having discussed the tactical and the not so tactical. The uncomfortable silence lasts until Brom finally snaps, “Well are you going to kiss me or not?” Morzan frowns, “Do you want me to?” and that settles it. The old Morzan would have never asked, just taken what he wanted, so the fact that he asks now... Brom kisses him himself.

After a time, Brom mutters, “Damn you... Damn you for pulling me back into this, after so long...” Morzan pulls back. “You’re the one who kissed me.” “I know.” And he kisses him again.

Returning to his and Selena’s bed gets harder after that. The nights that she’s there are few enough, but she’s a cold, hard woman. His betrayal only adds to his stress and his paranoia keeps him from sleeping soundly with her at his side. He’s afraid he’ll wake up one morning with his throat slashed.

Increasing arguments don’t help either. They both fight frequently over how to raise Murtagh. Selena cares little for his tender age or childhood. She scorns his love of playing outside and his budding interest in the dusty, old piano. Whenever she catches Morzan playing with him or doing a project with him or telling him fantastical tales, she rages that he should be starting classes: learning about history, politics, and strategy.

Morzan tries to shield little Murtagh from all this as much as he can, but he can only do so much. Inevitably, Murtagh will seek out Selena on his own without Morzan there to defend him. He longs after the love and approval of his mother. The results of these exchanges are always fruitless and sad. Sometimes even dangerous.

When Murtagh is learning his letters, he gets distracted making a classic child’s illustration of his family. Wobbly stick figures made with an unsteady hand, wide smiles, scribbled hair, and splatters of ink from overly enthusiastic dips into the inkwell. He presents it proudly to Morzan who smiles at the rendition of the two of them holding hands. Murtagh even took care to draw Morzan’s blue eye as an open circle and his black eye filled in. But his heart sinks when he sees Selena’s smile, and then lower when he sees the vague, dragon shape clearly meant to be his partner.

He would have loved him, he thinks.

But Morzan still kisses him and tells him how proud he is and suggests he put the picture up in his room. Selena wouldn’t like it in theirs. It leaves his mind until Murtagh pulls out the parchment again at dinner. Before Morzan can stop him, he’s presented the drawing to his mother and waits with a painfully hopeful expression. The air goes cold as Selena examines it for a long minute. Then, detached as stone, she folds it, stands, and ignites it over one of the candles.

She looks over at Murtagh’s pained gasp and glares. “You should be focusing on your studies, not this trivial foolishness. Your absentmindedness is a disappointment.” Her voice is like ice. Murtagh sniffles. “Don’t you dare start crying. You need to stop acting like a child.” She manhandles him back into his chair. “Now you will stay there, silent, until you finish your meal. If you start bawling, I swear, I will spank you sore.”

This immediately alarms Morzan. He’d never know her to hit him. But the way that Murtagh flinches at the words assures him that he intimately understands that threat. Inevitably, there were times when Selena was at the estate when Morzan wasn’t and it seems that Morzan’s fears about them were justified. Yet, he keeps his mouth shut at the moment for Murtagh’s sake; another argument right now would likely be at his expense.

The moment Murtagh finishes his meal, however, Morzan rises to escort him back to his room. Once there, he starts sobbing into Morzan’s arms, barely able to articulate his grief over the burned drawing. After a while, Murtagh looks up and whimpers, “Why doesn’t she love me?” and Morzan’s heart just stops. Because how can he answer that? How can he tell him that his mother is cruel, cold, simply doesn’t care about him? How can he break his heart like that?

After a long hesitation, Morzan just tells him that there is more than enough love in his own heart for him, and whenever Murtagh needs it, he’ll be there. It feels woefully inadequate, but Morzan doesn’t know what else to do. He squeezes himself into Murtagh’s child sized bed to comfort him as he sleeps that night without bringing him to his own bed with Selena. He manages to coax Murtagh into making a new drawing the next day by making one with him. This cheers Murtagh significantly, but the incident remains in their memories.

Similar incidents continue to occur until the situation comes to a head violently one night.

Morzan has just returned from a mission from Galbatorix that he did his best to undermine without being too obvious. It was exceedingly difficult, however, and when Morzan finally returns, he wants nothing more than a hot meal and a long sleep. Unfortunately, the king had more plans that needed immediate discussing with Selena, meaning he would get no rest any time soon. The two of them storm into the library, then seal it shut, arguing ferociously. Selena, naturally, has come up with the most ruthless and brutally efficient way to carry out Galbatorix’s will, while Morzan tries to steer the plans in a direction less harmful to the Varden.

They spend several minutes in hot debate when a clatter behind them has them whirling around and drawing their weapons. Morzan sees Murtagh trip over the corner of a bookshelf he had been creeping around, a children’s book peeking through its place clutched in his arms. But before Morzan’s muscles even have the chance to relax, he hears Selena shout, “Kverst!” and he can only watch in horror as the blow takes him full across the back, cleaving him from hip to shoulder.

With Murtagh’s scream still ringing in his ears, he roars, “What have you done?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

“He was eavesdropping! If this information gets out, it could damage the Empire! He needs to be-” Morzan doesn’t wait to hear the rest. He scoops up his son and flees the room. Once he considers them far enough, he sets Murtagh on the ground and starts to heal him. He barely makes any progress before he has to stop, hands shaking as they go cold.

He had expended enormous amounts of energy on his mission and he had no chance to gain it back. His dragon had already gone to the hold to sleep, his energy also drained, so he couldn’t rely on his power. He would die before he could save Murtagh, Morzan realizes chillingly. So, with the last of his strength, he carries Murtagh outside, as far as he can before he collapses in the courtyard. And then he screams.

Morzan screams, cries, wails for help, his agonized keening splitting the night air. Desperately, despairingly, deafeningly, he begs and pleads. In less than a minute Brom is sprinting up, chest heaving, and stops dead at what he sees. Morzan, trembling over the broken body of his son, cheeks drenched in tears and hands drenched in blood. “Please, please, save him, save him-!”

Brom knows this could mean his end; this could expose him for who he truly is, but when Morzan shuffles back, revealing Murtagh crumpled on the ground, all his concerns evaporate. He kneels at his side and starts to heal him, his gedwey ignasia glowing faintly beneath the dye on his hand. He works with single minded focus, casting magic unfalteringly until he can do no more. When his hands start shaking like Morzan’s had, he pulls back, examining the wound.

The horrific thing is far from fully healed, but Murtagh’s chest rises and falls steadily and his life is out of danger. Morzan drops his head onto Brom’s shoulder and whispers, “Thank you... thank you...” sounding profoundly exhausted. “Of course,” Brom answers because it’s true. Despite his initial trepidation, he would never leave Murtagh and Morzan to suffer like that.

Soon though, Morzan lifts Murtagh and staggers back inside with him, leaving Brom alone in the courtyard. The couldn’t risk staying together like that. Brom is left to slowly pick himself off the blood stained cobblestones then make his way back to his cabin. Rest doesn’t come easily after all that.

For the next couple of weeks, Morzan doesn’t come out to see him. Instead, he stays with Murtagh, trying to aid and comfort him as he heals. It’s in these weeks that Brom is contacted about Jeod finding a passage into Uru’baen. Brom knows this requires his immediate attention, but it feels wrong to simply leave Morzan without a word. He lingers on packing as long as he can justify. Then, to his great pleasure, Morzan shows up at his door the last night he intends to stay.

Morzan begins by explaining the full situation with Selena and how Murtagh was injured. Apparently, he has finally managed to chase her away from the estate for the time being, though he doesn’t expect it to last long. Brom breathes a heavy sigh of relief when he tells him that Murtagh will recover, but his voice goes quiet as he says that the scar will stay with him for the rest of his life and that they don’t yet know how it might come to pain him. Brom pauses to examine his features and sees how exhausted and defeated he look. He meets his gaze and some of it eases.

“You saved him. You saved his life. I can never repay you for that.” “Maybe you can.” Brom goes on to explain that something arose that he needs to attend to, and that he has to leave. He leaves the details vague, not out of distrust, but out of fear for what Galbatorix could learn if he realizes Morzan’s betrayal. Morzan accepts his secrecy with an even nod. Then Brom asks, “What do you know about where the dragon eggs are kept?”

Morzan frowns. That’s a tricky topic. Even after being released from his oaths from his True Name changing, the location of the eggs is surrounded by so many wards to prevent its disclosure. After some trial and error, Morzan is able to make a crude map for Brom to see. It’s not perfect, especially considering how labyrinthine the citadel of Uru’baen is, but it serves.

Brom knows that Morzan has probably surmised much of their plans from the question alone, but he hopes it’s not enough for Galbatorix to stop them should he find out through Morzan. Besides, he had to take the risk. Better to ask now than to fumble through Uru’baen in search later. Morzan gives him a weak smile and says, “Stay safe. Don’t be reckless.” Brom smiles back. “You too. And keep him safe as well.” “Always”

They linger together a long time that night. A single goodbye kiss is not enough when they’re both aware they may never see each other again. So they kiss gently for a long time and doze lightly in each other’s arms. They rise a few hours before dawn, when Brom departs and Morzan returns to Murtagh.

When Galbatorix summons Morzan a month later, raging over the theft of one of the eggs, Morzan can barely keep a grin off his face, knowing Brom's plan must have succeeded. When the king sends him after it, though, that takes the edge off his happiness. He can't reclaim it, Brom has to get it to the Varden, but if he fails, Galbatorix would examine his mind to find out why. That would most certainly spell his torture and death. But there’s nothing he can do for now but obey, and if he dies in the end, so be it. He’s found something worth dying for.

Soon after he heads out, however, he’s made aware that Brom doesn’t have the egg at all. Apparently, the plan was only semi successful; the thief did manage to swipe an egg, but then he fled the Varden as well as the Empire. Brom is on the hunt just like he is. Learning this, Morzan commits himself to the search. The egg would do no good in the hands of a renegade. If he could capture it himself, he could turn it over to Brom and ensure its safety with the Varden.

The hunt seems to stretch endlessly. Month after exhausting month go by without capturing the dragon egg. Inevitably, over such a long span of time, Brom and Morzan cross paths occasionally. Jeod is more than suspicious about Morzan, but Brom manages to convince him of his good intentions. If nothing else, the tender look in Brom’s eyes when he talks about Morzan makes Jeod too empathetic to demand that they don’t meet. The encounters are fleeting but meaningful.

Seven long, desperate months pass until Brom, Jeod, and Morzan are able to corner the thief in Gil’ead. The resulting clash is chaotic and vicious. The thief, feral as a cornered wolf, fights with nothing in reserve and Empire soldiers attempt to interfere, unaware of Morzan’s true intentions. All this turns the battle into a roiling mass of confusion with deadly consequences.

A reckless and poorly thought out spell of Brom’s goes awry and hits Morzan’s dragon instead of the intended target. He dies instantly.

Morzan staggers to a halt, as if wounded, but before any of his enemies can take advantage of the situation, he goes savage. For a moment, Brom fears for his life, thinking that Morzan went mad like he did when Saphira died, but it quickly becomes clear that he kept his mind in his grief and rage. Fueled by that, Morzan manages to kill the thief and destroy the soldiers Brom had not already taken care of.

A profound silence falls then.

Brom slowly approaches where Morzan collapsed at the side of his dragon. He says his name softly and Morzan turns, head lowered, and sets the egg he had claimed from the thief on the ground in front of him. “I’m sorry,” Brom whispers, and when Morzan lifts his head, he sees tears streaming down his cheeks.

“He was already dead,” he chokes out. “He died when his Name, his mind, was destroyed, all those years ago.” His chest heaves. “He was already dead. I just- never had the courage to put him out of his misery myself.” He whispers, “It’s not your fault...” A long pause follows, then Morzan says, “Go. Take the egg. Leave me to mourn.”

Brom knows he’s right. He must bring the egg to the Varden immediately. After a brief deliberation, he leans forward to place one, short kiss on Morzan’s lips. He tastes the salt of his tears. “I’m sorry,” he says one more time. It’s the hardest thing Brom has done, to abandon that battlefield with the echoes of Morzan’s grief fading in the distance.

After long, uncounted hours, Morzan’s cloud of pain clears enough for him to consider his path now. Returning to the king would gain him nothing but pain. There is no returning to his life a turncloak spy anymore, not after what he’s done. If he is wise, he would flee the Empire and live alone, outside of civilized rule. But when Morzan rises, he looks West, not East.

It has been seven months since he’s seen Murtagh, the longest he’d ever been without his son. He knows that if he runs, Murtagh will be seized and raised by Galbatorix. The thought nauseates him. He remembers the first time he laid eyes on him and how delicate his hand looked within his own. He remembers how easily he could hurt him. Or perhaps... how well he could protect him. He leaves the body of his dragon with one final goodbye, then takes a horse from Gil’ead and races back to his castle.

Morzan isn’t sure whether he managed to return before the news of his betrayal, but Murtagh has not yet been taken to Uru’baen when he returns. He’s not sure he has ever heard better news. Except, perhaps, hearing that Selena is not there, in Uru’baen herself. Apparently, during his absence, the Black Hand took up doing missions directly from the king. This concerns him, but he has a different priority right now.

Murtagh follows his father gratefully a soon as he gets back. Dutifully restraining his questions, he settles in the saddle of a fresh horse in the stables, and they’re both off within the hour. The journey is arduous on account of Murtagh’s age, injury, and the limited stamina of the horse. Morzan pushes as hard as he dares. For what it’s worth, covering their tracks is much easier when traveling by horse as opposed to dragon, but that thought aches, so Morzan casts it aside.

Murtagh is subdued during their journey; he picks up on his father’s pain and anxiety. Although they have not seen their pursuers, they are most certainly out there. Without any Forsworn left to pursue them, the Ra’zac seem their most likely enemies. For better or for worse, Galbatorix already knew the location of the Varden, information Morzan was privy to, so he knows the way to Farthen Dur.

Morzan tries to assuage Murtagh’s fears when he noticed them, but it’s hard to do under the weight of his own stress. He hadn’t had the chance to recover from the loss of his partner either. The pain and paranoia keep building up inside him. One night, Murtagh approaches him cautiously and asks slowly, “Where is your dragon? Shouldn’t he be coming with us?” Morzan simply starts crying.

Morzan feels enormously guilty, revealing his vulnerability when Murtagh already feels so afraid, but suddenly Murtagh crawls into his lap and hugs him, murmuring, “It’s okay...” He continues to spill out little encouragements and Morzan easily recognizes that Murtagh’s just repeating what he himself has told him when he was upset, but it eases the pain in his heart. To know that his son, who he cares for immensely, cares about him in return, touches him. He knows, then, that even though it will take time, he will recover from all that has happened. He needs to, for Murtagh’s sake, for his dragon’s... and also for his own.

Returning Murtagh’s embrace, he declares how much he loves him, over and over, until they’re both giggling from the silliness of it. Giggles turn to shrieks as Morzan ambushes him with tickles as his tears dry on his cheeks. Morzan sleeps better that night than he had since Gil’ead.

The journey continues to take its toll, however. They see the Ra’zac for the first time the next day, mounted on the Lethrblaka far in the distant sky. They don’t seem to know their location, but their mere proximity causes their desperation to spike. Murtagh buries his head in his coat and Morzan hunches over him protectively. Their stops grow less and less frequent as Farthen Dur grows nearer.

One night in the valley leading to the mountain, this proves not enough. Luckily, from having to work with them for ages, Morzan knows more of the Ra’zac’s capabilities than most. He knows they’re undetectable by magic, so he sets up other precautions. And so, when Murtagh screams in the darkness, a single shout of “Brisingr!” has a huge, unlit bonfire flare to life instantaneously.

The Ra’zac shriek and cower in the sudden light. One drops Murtagh from where it tried to lift him from the ground and Morzan shoves him back, further from harm. With Zar’roc, Morzan, manages to wound that Ra’zac quite badly before it can recover from its shock. The other, however, launches an attack as soon as it regains its wits. The following contest is fast and savage. Only lightly armored, Morzan takes several blows before he can injure it enough to drive it away with its partner.

The only fortunate thing about the conflict is that the Ra’zac had to abandon the Lethrblaka to sneak up on them and would likely have to backtrack to them before they could follow them again. Pausing for nothing, including healing his own wounds, Morzan grabs Murtagh, mounts their horse, and takes off. He feels Murtagh shivering with fear in his arms, but they can stop for nothing now.

The final push is agony. The untreated wounds keep Morzan in constant pain. Their horse froths at the mouth and staggers with increasing frequency. Murtagh grows restless in his terror, squirming, trembling, and crying. All the while the Ra’zac creep closer and closer in the sky closing in on them, pinning them in this dead-end valley. Caving under panic and despair, when Morzan finally begins to think that he’s doomed them both to death with this desperate venture, Brom rides out of the undergrowth to meet them.

Morzan could weep. He’s never been so happy to see someone in his life. Brom’s talking rapidly, saying something about how he got a report that the Ra’zac had been sent on a hunt and were seen closing in on the valley and he had hoped it could be them, but Morzan barely listens. He’s beckoning them, saying something about a faster way to Tronjheim, as Morzan dismounts with Murtagh. He steps forward and Brom cuts off as he presses Murtagh into his arms. He takes him reflexively, but his jaw drops when Morzan steps back. “What...?”

“Please, take him. The Varden is the only place he can be safe now, you know that. Please, keep him safe. For me.” “But you-” “I can’t go with him! It would only put him in more danger! The Varden will never accept me, you know that. You know what they would do with me. He doesn’t need that. And there are many who would use him to get to me; I won’t put him at that risk! There’s nothing left for me... He has to go with you.”

Murtagh doesn’t understand everything he said, but his expression contorts in distress under the dawning realization that he intends to leave him. Murtagh starts to writhe in Brom arms, trying to escape, reaching out and calling for Morzan. Brom keeps him in place, and asks, “What will you do?” Morzan mutters, “Find some place to die, I suppose,” and when Brom sees the defeat in his eyes, his heart breaks.

Morzan takes two more steps back and Murtagh starts fight harder. Tears spill down his cheeks and he thrashes within Brom’s grasp as he starts to beg. “Please-! Please father, you can’t- please- DON’T LEAVE ME!” Brom can’t fathom how, but Morzan keeps their gazes locked despite Murtagh’s heart wrenching screams. "Promise me you'll do this. Promise me you'll protect him." "Of course, but you..." But Morzan has already looked down.

He strokes Murtagh's hair and kisses his forehead with a sad smile. Murtagh snatches his hand fiercely. "Be good, okay? Always remember that I love you." Then he pulls out of his grip despite Murtagh’s best efforts and another scream of “DON’T LEAVE ME!” Morzan turns away. He starts to readjust the saddle on his failing horse, but before he can mount, Brom snaps out of his daze and lunges at him. When he turns Brom fixes a twisted grip in the front of his shirt. Before Morzan can say anything, he asks, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” “Then trust me to protect both of you.” He thumps Morzan’s chest slightly with his fist and his eyes blaze. Morzan feels his throat close. “I promise,” Brom declares. Then his expression softens some, into something so painfully fond. “Besides... Your son does not deserve to grow up without his father who loves him so much.” Morzan only realizes the trap after he looks. When he meets Murtagh’s eyes, puffy and red with tears, his resolve fails. He clasps Brom hand over his chest. His lip trembles. “I’m trusting you.”

They reach Tronjheim through a side tunnel. There, Morzan finally has his injuries seen to, and Murtagh gets a well deserved nap.

Then comes the fallout. As Morzan predicted, Ajihad, the recently appointed leader of the Varden, wants him executed. For one thing, very, very few people knew that Morzan had betrayed the Empire to help the Varden, out of fear the information could be learned by a spy. So, the people of the Varden only know him from the crimes he committed in service to the Empire. They would all demand his head. The dwarf king causes another problem. Hrothgar has never loved the dragons or their Riders; he would never allow one of the Forsworn amnesty under Farthen Dur.

Ajihad argues all this and more to Brom over the following days. Morzan had been detained upon his entry to the city and Brom is left to argue his case. He points all the risks he had taken in the past years to inform on the Empire to the Varden, and how he had undermined his own tasks from Galbatorix to weaken the Empire. As the days drag on, he tries changing tactics, suggesting that, after everything he’s done for the Varden, including founding the damn group, that they owe him a debt. Has he not earned some trust and respect here?! Let him have this!

Nothing sways Ajihad. Brom can tell that he actually agrees with many of his arguments, yet he simply doesn’t find them enough. And so, on the last day Ajihad is willing to discuss this before arranging Morzan’s execution, Brom pulls out his trump card. He brings Murtagh.

Now, Brom has always known Murtagh to be a kind and gentle soul, so it shocks him when he starts with a tirade. Murtagh stands up in his chair and berates Ajihad for being mean and stupid. He tells him that he hates him and says a couple of words that Morzan would not have liked. Ajihad takes everything stoic as stone until Murtagh eventually runs out of steam and falls back into his chair.

Then he starts telling stories about his father, everything Morzan would do for him back at the manor, how he would play with him, tell him stories, teach him new things, how he would protect him from Selena, how he helped him when he was hurt, and everything else. As Murtagh shares all the reasons he loves Morzan (interspersed with some insults to Ajihad), Brom is reminded of how he felt watching the two of them after Murtagh was born. How he felt seeing Morzan’s change and the little boy that caused it.

It might not have worked if not for Nasuada. Murtagh reminds Ajihad of her. His daughter is a year younger, but they’re both fierce, loyal, and loving. As he thinks of her, he can’t bring himself to destroy the last family Murtagh has left, even if it is the most strategic thing to do. After a long suffering sigh, Ajihad declares that if he ever has reason to regret this, he’ll pin the entire thing on Brom’s head. “Deal,” Brom agrees immediately.

Ten minutes later, Morzan’s cell opens and he looks up to see Brom standing in the doorway with Murtagh riding on his shoulders. They both wear identical, wide, self satisfied grins. “Hey, guess what?” Brom says.

For my own sake, I’ll stop there. I’m not sure what I’d do with the rest of the au anyway.

It occurs to me that this could lead directly into a Eragon and Murtagh role swap as well, with Selena having conceived Eragon either with Morzan right before he took off after the egg or with some other man in Uru’baen. Eragon would be raised in the Empire and Murtagh in the Varden and when their dragons hatch, Eragon is the one enslaved, but that’s a whole nother beast. It could also follow more closely to canon with Murtagh eventually being kidnapped and taken to Galbatoix. I like the added angst levels of being forced to fight the people he grew up with, but I don’t know. This is already by far the longest post I’ve written.

Spare me.

#eragon #inheritance cycle #morzan #brom #selena #murtagh #jeod #ajihad #bxm #morzan au #role swap au #which if it wasnt obvious was morzan and selena #please reblog i put so much work into this #in case ur wondering #this is 7.2k #*marge simpson meme* i just think hes neat!

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