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foreverdolly · 2 years

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heyy can u do a toxic relashionship with austin? only if you are comfortable ofc<3 love your fics!!

warning/notes: austin is insanely possessive of you, and is made easily jealous. as someone that has been in a relationship like this, it is entirely exhausting and very defeating, so i hope this was toxic enough for you ! he just loves you so much that he wants to keep you his, his, his, his.

“Who was he?” Austin didn’t even try to lower his voice, being even more obvious as he pointed after the man as he weaved through the crowd. Your excited smile faltered, your eyes narrowing with concern. “He works with Rolling Stone Magazine. Remember when I sent him my portfolio two weeks ago? He recognized me and approached me! He said that he loved my work, and that he’ll be messaging me Monday about potential-” “He was a little too close to you, don’t you think?” His blue eyes were narrowed on you now, his lips downturned as he looked you up and down. The outfit you were wearing tonight had been a big cause of discussion earlier on in the night. The halter top was extremely low cut, and the leather pants skintight. After he had practically reduced you to tears, he had finally let up. Finally admitting that he thought you looked beautiful, he also let it slip that you wearing the outfit made him afraid of any unwanted male attention. You understood that his personal image was important, but you would think that having a sexy girlfriend would be a good thing for publicity. His fans absolutely adored you. They even went as far as to call you a “fashion icon” over the past year and a half of your relationship with Austin. It added a lot of extra pressure on you, hence why you spent so much time worrying over your own appearance. You didn’t dress for the male gaze. You dressed for yourself, so you weren’t used to so many people paying such close attention.

“Aus, he’s pushing sixty and his wife is right there.” You pointed to the middle aged woman dancing in front of the stage, who was soon joined by her very rich husband. The live band was playing all classic rock tonight, which always attracted an older crowd. You and Austin loved making the short drive from your apartment down to the bar when you two had the time to spare. The bar wasn’t very popular amongst the younger crowd, which gave you and Austin the freedom to dance and make friends with local bands and performers.

During the earlier stages of your relationship, things had been more relaxed. Austin had never been this possessive or overly jealous, but now that the two of you were seriously committed to one another, his behavior was off the charts. Any man that interacted with you, whether it was for work purposes or not, was a potential threat. Tonight was a perfect example of that. You didn’t necessarily blame him, but you found it easy to get annoyed with his constant huffing and puffing when the two of you were out together. Either he’d turn up the PDA until it was damn near inappropriate or he’d completely subtract you from the situation at hand, wordlessly heading in the opposite direction that the ogling man was standing. What Austin didn’t seem to be able to understand was the fact that you couldn’t control other people, or whether or not they were attracted to you. “I know how men think, baby.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the stupid excuse he gave for his bad behavior. Your cheeks were already heating up with embarrassment as you realized that couples at nearby tables couldn’t probably hear him since his voice was raised. You were hoping to be spared from any sort of public humiliation. You let out a deep groan, your shoulders slumping in defeat before you merely nodded your head, starting to walk back towards the bar in order to close out your tab. It was obvious that the night was ruined, and there would be no salvaging either of your sour moods. At least- not while the both of you were out in public. The dirty blonde was quick to reach his hand out, grabbing you by the wrist to stop you. You could feel people’s eyes on the both of you, probably recognizing you and your boyfriend from tabloids. Seeing a normal couple fight in public was always slightly entertaining, but a celebrity fighting with his girlfriend in the middle of a bar? Everybody seemed to take note of your body language, and knew that it meant nothing good. You needed to lighten the mood, and quick. The two of you had been lucky enough to stay out of drama throughout your entire relationship. The last thing you needed was for someone to video the two of you in the midst of a little altercation with one another.

“Let’s just go home, alright? These heels are killing me, and I want to take a shower.” You tried to play it off, shooting him a small smile. The actor had the inability to say no to you most of the time. He always went out of his way to take care of you- often times taking it too far, like tonight. He caved, Austin’s eyes softening as he took in the lazy half smile on your face. He was quick to nod his head, lifting your hand up so that he could kiss the back of it. You could tell that he was regretting his mini tantrum. He always did this. He’d accuse others all while calling you naive, and then make up for it by love bombing you. As much as you adored him, you were starting to grow tired of it. You knew that if you didn’t say something now, that it might get worse for you, but you didn’t want to risk a major blow out. The blue eyed boy was the type to take things to heart. Instead of moving forward and fixing his behavior, he felt guilty about it, and moped around the house for days. Despite his age, he lacked a lot of mental maturity. He gently walked you up to the bar, keeping his fingers intertwined with yours as he leaned an elbow against the stained wood. “I need to close out my tab.” He called over the loud music. The bartender nodded, rubbing his hand over his beard as he looked over the two of you. “Butler, right?” You two came in on a regular basis, so all Austin had to do was smile before the man pressed a few buttons on his POS system. A check was placed down in front of the two of you, and Austin was quick to sign his name, giving the man a hefty tip- per usual- before pocketing his card. “Thanks, man.” The older bartender nodded, waving you two off. “See you both next time.”

The short drive back to the house was tense, but only on your end. Austin was busy rattling on about the band that had performed, and how talented the bass player was. You smiled and nodded along, piping up to agree every now and again so that he wouldn’t notice the gears steadily churning in your brain. You could tell that he was ignoring the topic of the earlier altercation completely, already regretting the way that he handled things so publicly.

If you didn’t speak up now, then the two of you would be stuck in this toxic cycle. You were sick and tired of constantly having to check in on him. You hadn’t ever given him a reason to doubt you or your intentions with him. The two of you had all of each other’s passwords, you were constantly with one another- even on days where he was filming. How could he not possibly trust you?

“Do you not trust me, Austin?” You blurted out. Your mouth went numb the second the words tumbled past your lips, and slowly you pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, cursing yourself for not waiting until you got back home to start this cursed conversation with him. He blinked a few times, turning to look at you once he had stopped at a red light. “W-What? Where the hell is this coming from?” But you could tell that he knew exactly why you had said that. You hated when he tried to play dumb. “I love you, Aus. I really do. . . but this constant jealousy and possessiveness is starting to get out of hand. I’ve never given you a reason to find me untrustworthy, have I?” He opened and closed his mouth a few times before quickly shaking his head. “No! You haven’t. . . It’s not you that I don’t trust. It’s them. You’re too nice, Y/n. I just don’t want anyone to try and take advantage of you. I’m trying to protect you.” Was that really what he thought that he was doing? You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was telling you the truth. Sure, you had never been a guru went it came to interacting with boys. Sometimes you find it hard to tell whether or not a guy was flirting with you. Back in high school you had a crush on a boy for a full year before finding out that he was gay. Never once had you gotten the hint. You might be an idiot around boys, but that didn’t mean that you would ever let anyone cross a boundary with you. You pursed your lips, trying to find the right words to use. Before you could speak the light turned green, causing him to turn his head to face the road yet again. Now that his eyes were off you, you found it easier to speak. Less pressure. “I appreciate how much you love me, but it’s beginning to get a bit embarrassing when you act like that in public. People were staring at us-” “Then fuck them. I’m not worried about what other people think. That old guy was clearly drooling over you. I go to the bathroom for two minutes, and all of a sudden there’s this guy all over-” “It’s my dream job, Austin! He wasn’t being rude or disrespectful towards me or our relationship. He didn’t even compliment my physical appearance once. He told me that my portfolio was diverse and that I’d make a good fit for their current team. If he had heard you, then that could have ruined everything that I’ve worked all of my life for.” You looked over to catch a glimpse of Austin’s pale face. You could see the weight of your words finally hitting him. He had almost ruined your career as a journalist, and it would have all been over his petty sense of jealousy and possession.

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colorsunimaginable · 1 month

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the spare // chapter sixty-eight // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary:

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this fic: 6.7k warnings for this chapter: p in v, fingering, dirty talk

a million boops to my beta reader banners by @cafekitsune

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Sixty-Eight:

Cliveden’s gardens at night in the winter are beautiful. They’re vast and eerily empty, though that could just be the stillness of the night. Victorian lamp posts light the way and with the gently falling snow, kinda gives me Narnia vibes.

I wander around, careful to stick to the crunchy gravel paths and keep the main house in sight. This isn’t the first time I’ve had such an opportunity for escape. Yeah, I could Apparate anywhere, but why? Now that a plan will be in place, what’s the point? It’s exactly what I wanted.

Movement draws my eye and I catch Diana’s head above the shrubbery, heading in my direction. I’m not ready to go inside yet, so I sit on a nearby bench and wait for her to join me.

“Did they send you to make sure I was still here?” I ask, mostly teasing.

“Kyle did,” she admits as she sits next to me. She’s all bundled up in a stylish thick wool coat while I’m just fine in my Ilvermorny sweater and Thomus’ scarf. “But that’s alright, I’d much rather talk to you.”

Instantly my guard's up. “About what?”

She hesitates for a moment, but I give her my best encouraging expression, despite my raging nerves.

“Well, I wanted to ask how you feel about Thomus.”

I blink, my eyebrows shooting up. “Oh, um, well, I -”

“It’s just that Jake seems to think you genuinely care about him because of how adamant you are about his safety,” she says. “Now that I’ve met you and I’ve seen you two together, I think he’s right, but I wonder if it’s more than that.”

I think about my answer for a few moments, but respond with a question instead. “Is this because you two used to date?”

She immediately shakes her head and chuckles. “Definitely not. It didn’t last longer than a month or two and it was a long time ago.”

“Did-did he break up with you?” I ask with some hesitation.

“I dumped him actually,” she says. “He just… When we hung out or went on dates, his mind always seemed like it was elsewhere. The only time he seemed fully present and invested was when we…” she trails off.

“When what?” I prompt.

She gives me a sheepish expression. “Sorry, it might be a bit TMI.”

I shrug and shake my head. “Don’t worry. There’s no such thing as TMI for me. I need everything.” Even if that information guts me. I’d always rather know.

“When we were sleeping together,” she says all in one breath.

I don’t say anything, waiting to hear more. “Oh, is that it?”

Her eyebrows tilt up in sympathy. “I suppose if I were in your situation I wouldn’t want to hear about it.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking down. “I can see that. Do you know what he was so focused on?”

“Well, I know his mother had passed away a few months before and then there was… her .”

“Bellatrix,” I sigh knowingly.

“He visited her every couple weeks - no matter what. I didn’t even know he was still going after we started dating. When I confronted him, he insisted there was nothing physical going on between them, but I… had my doubts. He told me he stopped going after that, but I know he went back after it ended,” she explains. “Does he still see her often?”

“I… have no idea honestly.”

“Have you not asked?”

I shake my head. “Why would I?”

“Because you two are…” she sighs. “It’s complicated, I know.”

“There’s a massive power imbalance between us and I’m not going to let myself forget that, regardless of how I feel.”

“What about how he feels?” she asks gently.

“If anything he feels is real, then why am I still his prisoner?” I answer a little too quickly. “He doesn’t see me as his equal. I don’t want to belong to him like I’m some kind of possession. I want a partner willing to rely on me as I want to rely on them in return. How can anyone be devoted to an object?” I finish by inhaling sharply, having taken short breaths during my lament.

Her lips press together as she regards me with a cautious look. “The world has really changed since Harry Potter died,” she says. “No one is doing well - especially muggleborns. No one has been able to fly under the radar since they started implementing some kind of forced registry.” She pauses and then chuckles. “And you would not be able to go unnoticed.”

I sigh. “It’s the hair isn’t it?”

“Actually, no,” she says. “You’d be surprised how popular some of these articles about you have been.”

Now this, I’m taken aback. "Articles? As in more than one?"

"I'm afraid so. The best one is from the New York Ghost , but Witch Weekly's was pretty nice. Does someone have it out for you at The Daily Prophet , by any chance?"

"Probably Rita Skeeter," I grumble. I want to know what they've been saying about me. "Though I'm surprised I was interesting enough for one article, let alone multiple."

"I disagree," she says. "I think what you're doing is very brave. You haven't given up despite all these odds stacked against you. Honestly, I was really excited to meet you when I heard you were coming."

I blush, laughing awkwardly. "I, um, I'm sorry, I definitely had no idea you existed until tonight. Thank you for inviting me to that thing on New Years Eve, even though I can't go. It reminded me of what being normal was like."

"No problem!" she smiles. "I would've been glad to have you. You’re super cool and totally normal.” She winks at me and quietly laughs to herself. “But seriously, you should consider thinking that he might just want to keep you safe, where he can protect you.”

“But I can protect myself ,” I gently protest. “It’s because I’ve been under his ‘care’ that I’ve been vulnerable! He has to realize that.”

Her eyes soften with sympathy. “I think he does, because there was one weekend Jake told me about. He’d just met you and Thomus in Edinburgh and you’d been… assaulted while they’d all just been standing there, unknowing. He said he’d never seen Thomus be that violent before - violent without using magic that is.”

I stare at her eye-wided, enthralled with this story. This change in perspective.

“And then the next night, there’d been this party Thomus got drunk at and Jake said he could tell something was really bothering him. Apparently, he was really reluctant to talk about it, too.”

I scoff. “I hope he got over himself and opened up so you can share this information with me now.”

“Yeah, so he finally said he blamed himself for being an idiot and not paying better attention. Like, it really hit him that your safety was in his hands.”

I… don’t know what I’m allowed to feel. My heart wants to swoon and my mind wants to roll its eyes. Except, if he’s not as terrible as I thought, am I allowed to hope?

“I think I remember when he came home,” I admit. “We continued drinking and he asked me how I felt - which was very new for us at the time.”

Diana smiles ruefully. “Does he get points for trying, at least?”

“We’ll see,” I say. “I’m definitely nervous that it could all just be a… fling to him.”

Diana startles me by releasing a loud cackle.

“A fling?!” she bellows, struggling to catch her breath. “Oh honey, you’re delusional.”

“What? No!” I protest. “I’m being realistic.”

“Oh Lady Morgana,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes and standing. “Come on, let’s go inside before my fingers fall off.”

~*~

By the early hours of the morning, I’m utterly exhausted.

Kyle had changed his mind and decided to tell me his roughly outlined plan. It’s not terrible, but luckily the rough bits still have time to be hammered out. I should have plenty of notice before I have to leave, plenty of time for contingencies.

Thomus is out like a light, still snoring softly, when I return. I try to be as quiet as possible as I strip down to my undies and crawl into the massive four-poster bed with him.

It must not be massive enough, though, because just me softly rolling into position beneath the covers is enough to rouse a few sleepy words from him.

“Darling?” he rasps and I feel his hands reach for me in the dark.

“Hi,” I whisper. “Sorry I woke you.”

He hums and pulls himself closer, resting his head on my chest. “How did we get back to the cottage?” he says sleepily, curling himself against me.

“We didn’t,” I say, running a hand through his hair and the other over his shoulders. “We’re still at Cliveden.”

“Hm, I don’t remember getting here.”

His tone isn’t setting off any alarm bells. It’s low and gravelly, like he’s not entirely awake yet. He’s just mindlessly chatting and I just have to be casual.

“Well, you were very drunk,” I say. “You passed out playing Exploding Snap. Jake had to levitate you up here.”

His arm around my waist tightens, pulling me tighter against him. “You didn’t leave.”

I don’t say anything, panic instantly spiking my heart rate, and I hope he’s not awake enough to pay attention.

“You could have, but you didn’t,” he continues. “Not that I’d blame you if you did.”

I stay silent, trying to convince myself that his calm demeanor is because whatever he’s talking about, couldn’t be about the drama of the night. There's no way he was awake enough to hear what we said.

“No,” I murmur. “I didn’t.”

“What room did he put us in?” he murmurs.

I let out a sudden strained laugh. “You’d never guess.”

~*~

On New Year’s Eve, Thomus leaves again. He says it’s to finish last minute tasks for the Gala and whatnot and I feel… depressed… again. I’m mostly uninterested in eating - I ate a bologna and cheese sandwich for dinner. I’m not in the mood to read, listen to music or watch any movies, but I’ve had The Nanny on all day - just to make the house less quiet.

So I just go to bed at the blessed hour of 8pm.

I’ve barely been in bed for longer than fifteen minutes when the easily recognizable sound of the Floo roaring to life drifts up the stairs. I’ve sat up by the time Thomus finds me.

“In bed already?” he asks, surprised. “On New Year's Eve?”

I shrug, holding the blanket up to my naked chest. “It’s not the easiest holiday to spend by yourself.”

Thomus sits on the edge of the bed, swiftly leaning in to kiss my cheek. “And I don’t intend for you to, I agree completely.” He jumps up, taking long strides through the bathroom to my room, where I hear him opening the wardrobe. I sigh, scooting to the edge to throw my legs over it. It’s just my luck I was already in bed.

“A little warning might have been nice,” I say when he returns, arm cradling a black hoodie and black leggings.

He takes one look at me and the next moment he’s tossing my clothes on the bed and crowding into my space. His large hands cradle my head as he braces me for his lips on mine. He leans in and I have to prop my arms behind me so we don’t fall backward. Of course this causes the blanket to fall and his hand swoops down to cup and grope my chest, the attention causing my nipples to harden.

His kisses take my breath away and my thighs are quick to part for him. His hips slide right into the space provided, grinding his hard-on against me. My kisses slacken because all of my attention goes right to my throbbing clit and I desperately whimper.

His hips rock against me one more time before he pulls away, both of us breathless. His eyes trail down my body as he speaks. “We don’t have much time,” he says. “I will have to savor you later.”

When he steps completely away from me, I’m left cold, so I quickly slide on the oversized hoodie as he adjusts himself in his pants.

“Savor me?” I ask when I stand, stepping into the pants one leg at a time.

He chuckles, watching me wiggle the waistband up over my hips and stomach. “I thought it was a bit more romantic than fuck.”

Ping . There goes the tiniest fracture in my heart for him. I scramble for something clever or funny to say.

“I suppose it could’ve been worse,” I say, popping in a British accent for the last word. “You could’ve said shag .”

“Cute,” he smirks.

I follow him downstairs, sliding on my socks before I stop at the door for my sneakers and turn for the fireplace.

He clicks his tongue. “Not that way.”

I narrow my eyes and follow him out the door. He takes me to the spot beyond the fence and touches the tattoo before Apparating us to the Manor. The front gates are open and he swiftly takes hold of my tattoo again to get me over the barrier.

We walk down the entrance path, under gilded arches and golden fairy lights crossing overhead from the tall hedges. Holding my hand, he pulls me around the building along the back toward a door being held open by an elf.

“Miss,” Remmy says to me in a disinterested greeting and drops his voice to a whisper. “Master Thomus, Mistress expects you in fifteen minutes. Master isn’t even dressed -”

“Don’t worry, Remmy, I will be there,” Thomus reassures them as we pass. “Mums the word about Miss Alder, remember?”

“Yes, yes, Remmy remembers,” the elf dismisses.

Thomus leads me to his room, making sure to use hallways noticeably absent of chatty portraits. A familiar route because of the many times I'd avoided them myself. The moment we’re in his room, he heads for the bathroom, already stripping. There’s a black robed suit hanging from a hook on the door.

“Please tell me you're not gonna surprise me with a ball gown, are you?” I ask, hopping up onto the bed and toeing my shoes off.

“I value my neck, thanks,” he remarks, pulling on first his suit pants, then the black button up shirt. “Would you grab me a pair of cufflinks from the closet?”

“Does it matter which one?” I ask, knowing he's got a variety.

“No.”

By the time I emerge from the closet, elegant silver M stamped cufflinks in hand, he’s already dressed. He smiles at me as I pass him the tiny pieces of metal.

“All you have to do is wait for a few hours,” he says, his mood curiously… cheerful? “Go back to sleep if you'd like - just don't leave this room. Only Remmy knows you're here.”

“Why all the fuss?” I ask, my eyes greedily taking his suited form in. I suppress the desire to pull him close by his silk tie for a kiss. He looks too suave and sophisticated and… way out of my league.

“For the simple reason that I don’t want certain guests to know you’re here,” he explains, stepping into the bathroom once again. I hear him spritz a bottle of something.

“And why is that again?”

He glides out of the bathroom, passing me by with a quick peck to my cheek. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

I completely ignore the fact he didn’t answer my question, because I’m way too distracted by his suddenly fragrant cologne. I breathe in lung-fulls of cedar and pine, trying not to swoon in his wake as he pulls out his wand to light the fireplace.

Then he’s gone, the door audibly locking behind him.

~*~

Well, I definitely try to sleep. Except I wasn’t even tired when I climbed into bed the first time.

First I change into a purple wispy nightgown with a deep vee in the neck that stops at my thighs. Then I change out of it when the frills around the short sleeves become too itchy under the covers, opting instead for a simpler one with long sleeves and a hem that falls around my ankles.

All this, just to be uncomfortable in every position I try. Nevermind the fact my mind keeps doing laps of worrying, wondering who exactly Thomus doesn’t want to know I’m here. Rodolphus? Bellatrix? Is he dancing and flirting with her while her husband tracks me down this very moment?

Finally I give up and decide to grab a handful of Thomus’ old Daily Prophets and settle on the cushioned bench in the alcove of one of his windows. I sit sideways on it, my back against the wall with the door in my line of sight.

I’m about to cast a subtle illumination spell to help my poor eyesight in this dim lighting when movement out the window catches my eye. It’s the curtains billowing out of the open doors to the ball room - or the large drawing room as Narcissa calls it. Golden light spills from windows and the doorway as the guests' shadows and silhouettes move within. Some are moving swiftly as if dancing while some are mingling. Before I can think better of it, I’m pushing open the French window closest to me.

I hear boisterous laughter and the low hum of chatter, and best of all, music drifts up to me like a leaf in the breeze. It’s the exact kind of music I’d imagine would play at a ball like this, and I can’t help but picture myself down there, in some pretty dress twirling around the room with Thomus.

I sit there, content to listen to the string quartet and people watch. Some come outside for the cool air, others to have a private word alone with each other.

Hermione is relatively easy to spot. Her black gown is ridiculously puffy around the skirt, but synched skin-tight in the bodice, and even from here I can see the jewels glittering on her chest. I’m surprised to see Draco by her side, dressed head to toe in white. They linger by the door, always surrounded by ladies vying for his attention. I can’t help but notice how his hand slowly caresses her back, almost… lovingly from her waist up to her shoulders and nape when he thinks no one is watching.

Thankfully, I don’t see Bellatrix, but I also don’t see Thomus, either. An inconsequential fact I try not to linger on.

I don’t know how long I sit like that, but eventually Thomus returns, quietly stepping into the room with two empty champagne glasses and a bottle.

“I kinda feel like Cinderella wanting to go to the ball,” I say softly as he approaches. He looks politely puzzled and before he can ask, I explain, “It’s just a No-Maj fairytale.”

“Ah,” he hums. He takes hold of the forgotten newspapers on the other side of the bench and raises an eyebrow.

I feel a blush creep up my throat and try to keep my tone nonchalant. “I… maybe like to read your articles,” I say. “It’s crazy to think we both spent time at The Daily Prophet , but at different times so we never ran into each other.”

I feel like I’m rambling, but how could I not? He looks and smells far too dashing for me to think clearly.

“It is a bit ironic,” he says, replacing his papers where I’d gotten them from before returning. He takes up the rest of the bench, his back to the window, and places the glasses and bottle on the floor next to him.

“Do you think things might’ve been different if we’d met there instead?” I ask hesitantly, knowing all too well his opinions on ‘what if’s. “Before?”

Thomus sighs heavily and the air puffs out his cheeks. He raises an eyebrow and gives me a sideways look. “Honestly?”

I nod. “Yeah, always.”

“Hm, I think…” his mouth downturns as he speaks, his voice betraying his amusement. “I’d find you the most annoying person on the planet.”

A disbelieving laugh bursts out. “What?!”

He nods, completely solemn. “Oh yeah, always asking questions, always bothering me.”

“Oh no, I’d have to talk to you about our job ,” I say with dramatic sarcasm, trying and failing to keep the smile off my face. “Oh no, what a nightmare.”

Thomus grabs my ankle, lifting my foot so he can shift closer, until my calf rests on his opposite thigh. That hand slides from my ankle all the way up my leg, and I’m disappointed it’s not under my nightgown. “It would have been an absolute nightmare to have you prance into my office every bloody day,” he continues as his fingers meet the crease at my hip and wedge themselves in. Then they keep traveling and grip all the plentiful flesh there. “I’d never be able to get any work done because I’d constantly be thinking about bending you over my desk.”

My eyes run laps over the sharp lines of his face, trying to determine if he’s serious. “Is that so?”

Thomus’ eyes drop to my mouth, his free hand brings his thumb to brush my lower lip. “These would be the worst. With every meddlesome question you ask, I’d only be able to think about how they’d taste.”

I’m holding my breath - my heart thudding, my ears burning. I’m suddenly very unnecessarily conscious of how far my glasses have slipped down my nose, the cool breeze from the window across my chest, and how heavy I’m breathing over his thumb. And for some reason his accent is doing funny things to my insides right now, of all times.

His voice is low, husky, and oh, so hot. “I’d be thinking about how you’d sound when I touched you. And yes, I say when . I could only endure such torture for so long before I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

I snort, a disbelieving smile breaking out under his thumb. “You make me sound like some kind of irresistible vixen.” A chuckle rumbles out of his chest, but I keep going. “Well, I have good news for you - I wouldn’t object to any of that.”

“Is that so?” His hand caresses from my jaw to my neck.

I bite my lip to control my grin. “Well, yeah. Why do you think I’d be bothering you so much in the first place?”

Thomus lets out a breathy chuckle and sits back, his eyes crinkling in the corners. I can only stare, mesmerized by seeing genuine happiness on his face.

“So,” I say brightly. “Are you enjoying this party you put so much effort into preparing?”

His smile fades. “Not as much as I ought to, I suppose.”

“Oh, why not?” I ask, placing my hand over his one on my neck, feeling along the lines of his knuckles and fingers.

“The people down there…” he starts, eyes gazing out the window, “the only thing I’ve ever been to them is a source for gossip and scandal. And then the few who look past all that see the Malfoy name and nothing else.”

I let that process. “So what you’re saying is you’re a real catch?”

He bursts out laughing, the hand from my hip reaching up to scratch his chin. “Yeah, for those desperate to social climb.”

“So you’re a desperately eligible bachelor ?” I tease with a bit more drama to my tone. “How interesting. All the finest debutantes must be lining up down there, so what ever are you doing up here with me?”

“I’m a little old for debutantes.” He settles toward me into a more relaxing position, pulling his knee up and pressing his calf onto the bench under my thighs. With his face closer to mine now, his softly spoken words are loud and clear. “And besides, your company is vastly preferable over theirs.”

My face floods with heat and I crumble under his direct eye contact. My mouth suddenly feels as dry as the desert while I’m forced to figure out some kind of intelligent reply. “Quite shocking, really,” I say, my voice a whisper until I clear my throat, swallowing down some nerves. “Who wouldn’t want to hang out with the wizarding world’s most crankiest?”

He laughs again. “Are you talking about me or them?”

I’m about to answer, but a dull tapping sound coming from the party draws my attention. The guests are returning inside, tapping their wands against their champagne glasses.

“Ten minutes to midnight,” Thomus explains. “Lucius and Narcissa are about to make their toast.”

I slip my other hand around the one he has at my neck, both of mine cradling it near my chest as I glance at the clock on his mantle. “I guess that means you have to go?”

“Probably,” he admits slowly. “But I’m here.”

“Hold on, speaking of being here, isn’t Draco supposed to be in Switzerland?” I jut in, my eyes easily finding him and Hermione on the edge of the crowd.

“He is and Lucius is absolutely furious,” he sighs. “I can’t believe he’d be so foolish.”

“Well, it's obvious, right?” I ask, side-eying him, unsure if this is something I could even talk about. “He’s like, really into Hermione.”

A few moments tick by in silence as I stare at the crowd below. I glance at him to see his eyes had been on me the whole time, his expression pensive. When our eyes meet, he holds them for a moment before his gaze follows his hand as both of his gently hold mine instead. He pulls back my left sleeve, his fingers lightly tracing his name inked on my skin. Then he goes further, tracing the white puckered lines of the scar Bellatrix left me.

“What’re you thinking about?” I whisper.

His lips curl ruefully. “I’m thinking about how much of a hypocrite I am. I’ve called him foolish when here I am,” he says. “Unable to stay away.”

“From what?” I breathe, feeling stupid the moment I finish. My heart is beating so hard I wonder if he can feel my pulse where he holds my arm.

Thomus’ eyes hold on my arm, avoidant of my own. His voice is soft like he's telling me a secret. “I snuck you in tonight because I couldn’t bear not spending it with you.”

My eyebrows come together and I feel my head shake. “It’s just another year.”

“No,” he says, his eyes flashing up to mine, adamant. “Moments like these are important, to spend with those who are important. That’s why they’re all gathered down there, isn’t it? To go into the New Year praising the Dark Lord’s reign, congratulating themselves for their accomplishments this year.” He looks back down at our hands, at his name. “I know I don’t have much to celebrate in that regard, but I do know that you’re important to me… and frankly I'm tired of pretending otherwise.”

I can only stare at him. Unable to think, unable to breathe . How could he say something like that?

When I finally have to draw breath after what feels like an eternity, I only get to say his name. “Thomus -”

The loud popping of fireworks bursts from below, along with some cheer that has me turning my gaze away only briefly. I turn back and Thomus’ mouth descends on mine.

The kiss is full and wonderful, but short. He pulls back inches away to search into my gaze, like he’s asking for permission, like he’s making sure what he just said was okay.

It was more than okay. It’s exactly what my heart wants to hear, even though my own stubborn insecurities push doubt into my mind.

I can’t say anything back. I can’t tell him how I feel.

But I can show him.

Our lips meet again in a rush. At least it feels like that to me, like we just can’t bare being apart anymore. I pour my heart and soul into this kiss. My hands find their way into his hair, his caress and grip every part of my body he can reach.

Soon I’m pushing him back so I can climb onto his lap. He’s pulled up my nightgown and the cool air feels amazing on my bare legs. I’ve got one foot on the floor and the other is bent at the knee, helping control my balance while I’m grinding on him.

He keeps pulling me to him, my weight rocking into him, and I brace a hand on the wall in the bay window as he falls further back, keeping me upright. His hands slip under my nightgown, roaming my thighs. I adjust my hips, feeling brave enough to put both hands on his chest to steady me. His suit pants can’t hide how hard he is. I try to use that as a reminder he’s genuinely into me. No matter how many times I’m in his lap, it’s still hard to believe he wants me here.

“How long till you have to go back?” I ask with controlled breaths.

He growls. “Just fuck me, baby.” His fingers painfully dig into my hips as he pulls me down, undulating his hips against me. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

There are things I want to blurt out, simple little words swelling in my chest that threaten to ruin everything.

But if I confess how I feel, it wouldn’t change anything. I’ll still be his prisoner. His possession.

I don’t wanna be an object. I long to be more .

My hands slide up his chest to meet at his neckline, shoving my fingers into the knot on his tie. I don’t bother pulling it all the way off before I go at his buttons, not stopping until his muscled chest and abdomen are revealed. My hips rock, rubbing my pussy over his cock straining to be let free.

Then I jump up, standing to shimmy my undies to the floor. Thomus sits up and shrugs off his suit jacket, pulling off his tie completely. I pause, waiting to return to my seat, but then he looks at me, his eyes raking me up and down.

“I want that off,” he says, referring to the only article of clothing I have left.

I struggle not to make a face, because I still have a hard time being completely naked in front of him. If we were in bed, that would be different. This just feels too exposed.

I grip the material around my hips and step toward him. “Take it off for me?” I ask.

Lust-filled eyes lock on mine and his hands go to my thighs, sliding them up my sides, taking the gown with them. I raise my arms to help him pull it off the rest of the way and a blast of cool air from the window makes goosebumps rise all over me. It sends a shiver through my body and my nipples harden.

When my arms are free, I step even closer and cup his face, pressing my lips to his. I kiss him softly, from one corner of his mouth to the other. While I distract his mouth with sweet kisses, one hand takes off my glasses and the other goes to his belt.

Of course, I can only use one brain cell at a time, so my mouth becomes distracted when I struggle with undoing his belt. I just pull my mouth away all together so I can get a visual on my hands. I glance up at Thomus’ face to find his heated gaze focused on mine.

“Sorry,” I mutter, looking down at the matter at hand. “Not very sexy, I know.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” he says and inhales sharply when my hands finally wrap around his swollen cock. My palms glide up and down gently before giving it a firm squeeze. My thumb circles his head, spreading a bead of pre-cum, and he leans forward, lips and tongue tracing a path from my neck to my breasts. One of his big hands cups my breast and when he immediately bites down on my nipple, I gasp and whimper. His tongue soothes away the pain, swirling around the stiff peak.

His other hand slides down my thigh, fingers feeling the dimples and divots until they hook behind my knee. My hands go to his shoulders for balance as he lifts my foot until it’s on the bench. His fingers quickly glide back up my thigh, this time underneath it to where it’s most sensitive and softest.

Thomus’ lips release my nipple and he pulls back enough to see my face. “I think you’re very sexy,” he murmurs. “From this pretty little pussy of yours” - his fingers glide through my folds, teasingly spreading the slipperiness from the center to my clit - “to those lips I just can’t seem to get enough of.”

His thumb presses in on my clit and my train of thought struggles to stay on track. “You’re pretty hot too,” I say breathily. “You’ve got these shoulders and thighs and hands that just -” My words are cut off by a moan when he slips two fingers inside me.

“That just what?” he teases, unmistakably smug.

It takes me a moment to answer because his thumb in combination with his fingers curling against my g-spot have my hips rocking and my brain turning to mush. My breaths come in short pants and my eyes are pinched closed, focused on riding the pleasurable waves his fingers are orchestrating.

“Concentrate, darling,” he presses. “Answer me.”

“Hands,” I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders, “hands that do terrible… awful things to me.”

His fingers turn aggressive, pressing harder and rhythmic as he hums in approval. “That’s a good girl.”

His lips return to my nipple and that pushes me past the point of no return. A stream of curses and Thomus’ name tumble from my mouth. My toes curl and my body goes stiff as my orgasm washes over me. Thomus slows his long fingers, but still presses in hard on my g-spot as my pussy pulses around him.

When I can finally breathe again, I push at Thomus’ shoulders and he leans back, bringing his drenched digits up to his mouth. He groans at my taste and resituates himself on the bench, pushing his pants and briefs past his thighs. I’m still dazed from my orgasm when Thomus pulls me on top of him. He holds his cock at the base and guides me until he’s sliding home, deep inside my pussy.

“Oh fuck,” I moan, my eyes closing. This position never fails to put him as deep inside as possible, and if I really sit on his lap, he’s hitting my cervix. But that would be painful, so instead I move my hips around slowly, figuring out what angle works best and won’t kill my thighs. One particular move makes him groan and my eyes flutter open to find his locked intently on me, watching my body move. I definitely found the right one.

I start to go a little faster, a little harder. I have a hand on a window pane and the other grasping his shoulder to stabilize me. My thighs are burning, but the pain isn’t enough to make me stop. He’s inside me, and I love being connected like this. What I feel for him never feels more real than it does in moments like this. When I can’t be in denial.

With the increasing intensity of my hips, little whimpers start to tumble from my mouth alongside my panting. My bottom lip is nailed between my teeth and as I can feel my orgasm hurtling towards me, fuck is the only word coming out of my mouth.

Whenever he feels they could use more attention, his hands never fail to stray to my breasts. Supporting them as they bounce and sway, leaning forward to kiss and nibble at my nipples.

“So fucking beautiful,” I hear him grind out above the steady and erotic sound of our bodies joining.

My orgasm is close - so, so close. I’m starting to go crazed, desperate to cum again. Thomus is, too. I can hear it in his voice as he groans.

“Baby, I need you to cum on me.” His voice is strained like he’s in utter agony.

I let out a frustrated whimper as I pause to grind on his lap, hoping for an angle that hits my clit.

“I need - can you - ?” I gasp out.

I don’t even have to finish my sentence before his fingers wiggle in under my belly. My pussy’s so slippery, the pads of his fingers find the hood of my clit and press in, rubbing it in circles. My hips jerk, bouncing up and down on his cock, continuing even as my orgasm finally crashes over my body. I throw my head back as my back arches. His body stiffens below me as he cums, groaning out his pleasure.

“Beautiful darling, well done,” he pants with praise after we both have a chance to breathe, his voice shaking. “I lov-”

Thomus is abruptly cut off by loud banging on his door.

We both jump like we’ve been hit. There’s a moment where our eyes meet and I see panic cross his face just as it does on mine.

“Thomus!” a familiar man’s voice calls from beyond the door.

Thomus blinks, his expression hardening. He brings a finger up to his lips, warning me to be quiet. “Closet,” he whispers. “Go. Now.”

Nodding, my legs are like jelly as I push myself off of him. He’s hastily throwing on his suit as I bend to scoop up my nightgown and undies. I dash for the closet. It’s dark enough I can just hide behind the open door. Instead of the nightgown though, I opt for my pants and hoodie. Plus a pair of Thomus’ socks while I’m at it because mine are lost in the sheets somewhere.

While I’m desperately dressing, the man at the door calls for Thomus again. “Where have you been, Thomus? I’ve been sent to fetch your ungrateful ass.”

I squeeze behind the closet door to peek through the crack between the hinges just as Thomus strides to the door. He’s fully dressed and smoothing back his hair with his fingers. He pauses to take a deep breath before opening the door.

It’s Rodolphus.

“What do you want,” Thomus demands, sounding amazingly composed.

Rodolphus leans a hand on the doorframe. “You missed your brother’s toast,” he says, a mocking lilt to his tone. His hair is disheveled, the tie to his tux hangs loose around his neck. “How could you have missed this moment to show support for the Dark Lord? Your family? ”

“I don’t answer to you,” Thomus says. He keeps his back straight and his chin up.

Rodolphus puts a finger to his chin, tapping it. “And then I remembered a few other times you’ve mysteriously disappeared from similar events,” Rodolphus continues before abruptly shoving past Thomus into the room. Thomus tries grabbing his coat tails, but he somehow avoids him.

Rodolphus stops in the middle of the room, eyeing it while slowly turning back to Thomus. He inhales heavily through his nose and steps back towards the window with the bench. “A moment ago, I was convinced you were up here fucking my wife,” he says casually. He reaches for something on it and my anxiety explodes in my chest the moment I see him pick up my glasses. “Of course, I was only half-right. This room reeks of sex, but my wife has never hid.”

Rodolphus drops my glasses and stomps on them with his shoe, crushing my lenses under his sole. The glass crunches as he turns, backing up towards the closet. Thomus watches him with furious eyes. His hands are empty, but I know in the blink of an eye he’d have his wand.

“I’m surprised you can still get it up for her since her… accident ,” Rodolphus taunts. “She’s utterly repulsing if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Thomus bites.

He’s so close to the closet. My fingers feel for anything on the shelf behind me and immediately feel the unmistakable smooth metal of Thomus’ shoehorn, the very one I tried to pummel him with.

Maybe New Year’s Eve kisses are good luck.

I raise it over my head as he steps to the doorway.

“Your silence is very telling,” Rodolphus chuckles as he slowly steps into the closet. I hear his footsteps on the wood floor as he disappears on the other side of the door.

I’ve shoved my anxiety down enough so I don’t panic as he reappears, wand scanning the room.

Just as he turns to me, I transfigure the shoehorn into a dagger, and hold it up to his throat.

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scotianostra · 1 month

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On April 8th 1820 violence erupted when Radical prisoners were taken from Paisley to Greenock jail.

This is a direct follow on from the Battle of Bonnymuir post from three days ago, and the Radical War.

It always worries me posting stories like this, even though it was over 200 years since it happened we Scots have awfy long memories, especially when we sense some injustice.

Some Radical prisoners from Bonnymuir were taken from Paisley to Greenock jail under escort. The citizens of Greenock fought their escort, the Port Glasgow Militia, until they reached the jail, the militia fired indiscriminately into the Greenock crowd, resulting in eight deaths and ten wounded. In spite of the enormity of the Militia’s deed no disciplinary action was taken.

At night the citizens of Greenock rescued the Paisley Radicals, only one of whom was subsequently re-arrested..

The Greenock dead and wounded ranged from eight year old James MacGilp to sixty-five year old John MacWhinnie.

Adam Clephane (48 years) dead

James Kerr (17 years) dead

William Lindsay (15 years) dead

James MacGilp (8 years) dead

Archibald Drummond (20 years) dead

John Mac Whinnie (65 years) dead

John Boyce (33 years) dead

Archibald McKinnon (17 years) dead

(Died of his wounds on 5th May 1820)

Mrs Catherine Turner (65 years) leg amputated

Hugh Paterson (14 Years) leg amputated

Peter Cameron (14 years) flesh wound

John Gunn (24 years) flesh wound

John Turner (22 years) flesh wound

Gilbert MacArthur (18 years) slight wound

Robert Spence (11 years) slight wound

David MacBride (14 years) slight wound

John Patrick (30 years) slight wound

George Tillery (25 years) slight wound.

Pics are the the Greenock Helping Hand Memorial and the names of the dead on a wall nearby.

#scotland #scottish #history #radical war #political unrest

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bisexualbumblebee-writes · 2 years

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Dwarrowtober 2022 Day 6: Mining- Bofur x OC

Bofur x Gemma

Description: Gemma hates when Bofur goes down to the mines, and it turns out her fear is not without basis.

Word Count: 1.6k

Setting up a toy shop in Erebor after it was retaken was one of the best things Bofur and Gemma could ever do. They’d used some of their share of the treasure to finance it and it was thankfully done in time for Dwarf families to move back. It brought them so much joy to watch kids light up at their creations, and it made all their hard work completely worth it.

But, while they were happy doing that, Bofur still opted to start working in the mines sometimes as well. It gave him a chance to talk with friends while they worked and even earned him some extra money. Gemma wasn’t too thrilled to learn that he wished to do it. It made her nervous when she heard that they hadn’t had time to make new mining and/or climbing equipment. That meant that they were using equipment that hadn’t been used in sixty years and was likely much weaker now. It took quite a while for Bofur to convince her that it was safe and he would be okay, even promising that if something happened to anyone while mining he would stop. Eventually she agreed and learned to be okay with it. After all, what could go wrong?

Several things, apparently. Gemma was a natural worrier. It was nothing new, she’d always sort of taken on a maternal/ older sister role for all her friends and other loved ones. But this time she had spent so much time worrying about something happening to her husband that she hadn’t stopped to consider something happening to her in the mines. She had a bad feeling about today. In her gut she felt like something bad was gonna happen. Her gut was seldom wrong, there’d only been two occasions when her instincts were off, and now something felt wrong and she didn’t want Bofur to be there for it.

Gemma went to the mines to ask Bofur to come home. She wanted him to be nearby until that anxious feeling finally left her, you see. So, after walking into the mines she went and searched for Gloin, who she knew to be the manager of Bofur’s cave section. “Ah miss Gemma,” the older Dwarf greeted upon noticing her arrival. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” His jovial tone made the girl smile despite her nerves gnawing at her.

“Good morning Gloin. I was actually coming here to search for my husband,” she explained before looking around. “Is he here?” Gloin hummed in thought for a moment.

“Well, last I heard he was going to get something to eat as he was feeling a wee bit tired today, but you’re more than welcome to check the cave he’s going to be working in. I only just got here a few minutes ago.”

“I believe I will. Do you mind showing it to me?” She asked politely, adjusting the shawl that was wrapped around her shoulders. The red haired Dwarf nodded and led her down the steps towards one of the many caves in the mining system. As they reached the mouth of the cave Gloin held up his lantern.

“Bofur? You in here?” He called out. They received no answer, which made them believe that Bofur wasn’t there. However, as they turned to leave, they heard what sounded like a heavy creaking. Almost all noise around them stopped as the other miners seemed to have heard it too. That same sinking feeling settled in Gemma’s stomach, but as she turned to Gloin to question him she was cut off by a loud crash.

“Gemma move!” And with that she was tackled inside the cave by Gloin, having nowhere else to go as the area above the cave suddenly collapsed. Pieces of large rubble fell in front of the mouth of the cave, stacking up until the light of the outside world was gone. For a moment Gemma could only stare at the scene in shock as reality set into her. They were trapped.

“Gemma, are you okay?” Gloin asked quickly after gathering his bearings, holding up his lantern to see her better. The girl licked her lips, though it didn’t do much good as her mouth had gone dry, and she nodded.

“Uh, ye-yeah. I’m fine,” she said slowly. She attempted to move away from the rubble but was stopped by a shooting pain in her ankle. A pained gasp left her lips and she looked down at the cause of it, only to realize that a medium sized debris had landed on her ankle, trapping her there.

“Gl-Gloin, I’m stuck,” she whimpered as she desperately tried to move out from under the rock. That immediately backfired as the pain became worse and she couldn’t stop herself from tearing up as the panic set in.

“Alright lass, just calm down,” the redhead said soothingly, kneeling beside her. “I think the debris is light enough for me to pick up long enough for you to move. Do you think you can hold the lantern for me?” The girl nodded shakily, trying to calm her breathing as she took the lantern and held it up.

“Alright, ready?” Gloin asked as he grabbed the rock, earning a nod. “Good. As soon as I lift the rock I need you to move as quickly as you can. 1… 2… 3!” In one fell swoop he lifted the rock just a few inches off of her. That was more than enough space for her though and so, without hesitating, she moved her foot away with a pained cry. Her ankle was a rather gnarly sight. There was a large gash where the rock landed that was beginning to ooze with a nasty purple bruise surrounding it. Gemma couldn’t look at it for long and instead focused on Gloin when he spoke.

“Well done!” He praised after dropping the rock. “You did fantastic, Gemma. Now I need to wrap your ankle and stop the bleeding. Stay as still as you can.” He carefully grabbed the shawl from her shoulders and began wrapping it around her ankle. Gemma had to hold her breath so she wouldn’t cry and move too much. Thankfully the process didn’t take long at all and before she knew it, it was over. She barely had time to thank her friend before they faintly heard someone call out from the other side of the rubble barrier.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?” Gloin immediately stood up and walked over to the rubble.

“Yes, there are two people in here! I am Gloin Fundin, and Gemma Rankin is also here,” he called back. “Gemma is injured and needs medical attention as soon as possible.” There was a brief moment of silence before that same voice called back.

“Alright. We will try to pick at the rubble as delicately as we can, but we need you to stay away from it just in case. Can you do that?” After getting the okay from Gloin, Gemma could hear the people on the other side begin working on the barrier between them.

It felt like several hours passed. Gemma and Gloin had moved several feet into the cave away from the rubble, leaning back against the wall as they waited. The latter refused to let the girl look at her foot, and based on how lightheaded she’d become, she understood why. By her guess she was probably losing quite a bit of blood, which meant she wouldn’t last much longer down there.

Thankfully, after what felt like forever to her, they heard a cracking sound. Before they even realized it, the barrier began to chip and fall away. Both heads snapped over just in time to see the last few pieces fall away, revealing a small group standing in front of it.

Things felt like a blur after that. Before she knew it she was laying on a bed in the medical wing of the mines. Her ankle had been properly cared for and wrapped, but it was likely that she’d have to be on bed rest for at least two weeks while she healed. Now, she was waiting until she was awake enough to go home. Bofur sat beside her, tapping his foot anxiously while she watched with a sad look.

“It’s not your fault, Bo,” she muttered for the fifth time in that hour.

“It should have been me down there, not you,” the Dwarf shot back.

“I would rather it be me than you,” she retorted without a second thought. “It was my mistake for going down there knowing that the mines were dangerous. None of this was your fault.”

“You wouldn’t have been down there in the first place if you weren’t looking for me.” That made the girl sigh, and she shook her head.

“Bofur, what’s done is done. We are both out of the mines, and we are both safe now. That’s all that should matter. Can’t you just leave it at that and help me feel better instead of arguing?” Now it was Bofur’s turn to sigh, but he ultimately nodded.

“Very well. We won’t talk about it anymore tonight,” he responded before offering her a small smile. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“Promise me you won’t go down to the mines again?” She asked hopefully. “I know you like to see your friends, but you could always be with them after work. And with what’s left of our share of the treasure plus what we make with the toy shop, we need no more money. Please, just promise me this one thing.” Her begging made his eyes soften, and he found himself leaning closer to her as he took her hands in his.

“You’re right, there are other solutions and I’m sorry for not listening to them before. I’m never going back into those mines again,” he promised firmly, which made her smile for the first time in the past few hours.

“I can live with that.”

#the hobbit #the hobbit imagine #bofur #bofur imagine #bofur x oc

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pashterlengkap · 5 months

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I started to panic when I turned 60. But it wasn’t the usual mid-life crisis.

I recently turned sixty. Don’t worry, I don’t have a list of sixty pieces of advice I’ve learned over the years. But I did recently refer to myself as “middle-aged.” To which a friend quipped, “Oh, really? So you’re planning to live to be a hundred and twenty?” Related: My mom’s gay best friend was a boisterous, chain-smoking alcoholic. He taught me so much. There are almost eight billion people on the planet — and there are exactly that many different ways to live. Later, I did a a Google search on “middle-aged” and, at least according to Merriam-Webster, it means the period of life from about 45 to about 64. Never Miss a Beat Subscribe to our daily newsletter to stay ahead of the latest LGBTQ+ political news and insights. Promotions (occasional) * Week in Good News (one on the Weekend) * Week in Review (one on the Weekend) * Daily Brief (one each weekday) * Sign Up I thought about throwing this in my friend’s face, but you know the old political expression: If you’re explaining, you’re losing. The truth is, my friend had a point. No matter how Merriam-Webster defines my age, there’s now considerably less time in front of me than there is behind me. Previously, getting older has never bothered me. Turning thirty, forty, and fifty didn’t faze me at all. It’s partly because my life has mostly only gotten better with each passing decade. But as I approached my sixtieth, something did feel different. But what? Did I see myself in some new way now? Less capable? Less relevant? Was I worried about dying? I pondered my feelings, trying to figure it out. But it didn’t seem like any of that. My husband, Brent, and I are currently in Sydney, Australia in a beach suburb called Cronulla. It’s a very special place to me because when I lived here as a high school exchange student, the experience transformed me. As soon as we arrived Cronulla, I started planning all of the things I wanted to do: * Catch up with old friends. * Hike the nearby Royal National Park. * Hike the other nearby park, Kamay National Park. * Walk the coastline to the north and south. * Spend the afternoons body-surfing in the water and swimming in the rock pools. * Walk the Esplanade and catch the sunrise every morning and the sunset every night. * Take loads of pictures. * And oh yeah, continue my full-time job producing a newsletter with Brent. Looking back, I can see I may have been being a little, uh, manic. Making matters worse, Sydney’s spring weather wasn’t cooperating. I couldn’t do half the stuff I wanted. I started to feel very, very frustrated. Mania turned to, well, panic. Because I really wanted to do all of the things on my list. No, I needed to do them. This wasn’t normal behavior for me. Make no mistake: As Brent and I travel the world, I always want to make the most of my time wherever we live. Brent might tell you that when it comes to sightseeing, I am often a bit driven. But this frantic urgency boiling inside me felt different. I might not have known what it was or what was causing it, but I knew I didn’t like it. One Saturday, Brent was scheduled to be busy all day online with some friends. I decided to do one of the coastal walks I had planned. As I researched my day, I discovered two of the walks weren’t far from to each other. If I did them back-to-back, I could kill two birds with one stone! Early Saturday morning, I shot out of the house. I started in Bondi Beach where I had also planned to take pictures of the murals along the boardwalk. But I moved so fast, snapping pictures all the while, that I barely noticed the murals or the coast. I left Bondi behind and headed north, but a number of sections were closed, which meant long detours. The legs that were open were, quite frankly, boring. I wasn’t happy. I finally reached Watsons Bay, near the end of my first walk. The best part was supposed to be the… http://dlvr.it/T0dk25

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the-night-night-owl · 9 months

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I’ve always thought ghost cars to be a uniquely American idea. The country, not the continent that is. Tales of ghostly cars tearing down motorways at impossible speeds, going from horizon to horizon. Points unknown to destinations more unknown. What other country has such a unique mix of car culture and size and myths? Let’s face it, only an American could come up with the idea of a ghost car and make it interesting. Certainly no British person could do it. We have the ghosts yes, but we just don’t have the land for it. You can’t tear down a lonely road at impossible speeds in Britan for long until you hit a bend or a junction.

There’s a saying . “The difference between an American and a Brit is that the American thinks one-hundred years is a long time. The Brit thinks that one-hundred miles is a long way”. It’s true; Americans concept of size is very much affected by the size of the United States.

I considered how my concept of size was affected by my awful car as I drove down A23. It was an ancient mini, one of the first really popular ones, and it showed. It was a dark clunky thing, all thick walls and peeling paint. The speedometer went rather optimistically up to 120 miles per hour, though I very much doubted it could reach it. Frankly I was worried about the sixty miles it was keeping up. I started to think about my old cars fuel efficiency, then stopped. It was too much wasted petrol to think of comfortably.

The headlights weren’t very good either. They barely lit up the required fifteen metres of the motorway ahead. The road was a relatively modern one, built about the time we got really good at making straight roads but before we got good at safety. That’s why I was thinking about my crappy headlights you see. Despite this being a main road there was only a few streetlights to a mile. My eyes got just about enough time to adjust to the dark between streetlights to be blinded when I reached it.

It was just light, dark, light, dark, light-

Green?

Sometime in the second or two I was blinded; I had found another car on that lonely road. It was a hulking thing of green steel, lit by a single light where a car’s license plate normally would be. Its silhouette all but blocked the view in front of me. It was a shape I recognised. I had been an air cadet and all-around military nut as a kid, and I had prided myself on my recognition of military vehicles. I had flashcards for god’s sake!

The point is that I knew the car that I had nearly ran into. It was a T7E1 Staghound. I had left my military geek days far behind me but seeing one in the flesh still excited me. You see, the Staghound was mostly used in the eighties. There was literally no reason there should be one on a random motorway in the south-England countryside.

I considered for but a moment if it was being driven to a car show or a museum, (as I knew for a fact that there were some nearby),then dispelled the idea. It was an older vehicle yes, but not old enough that it would be any use in a museum, nor well known enough to be in a car show. I glanced at the armoured vehicle ahead of me once more, assuming that I had simply misremembered the model, but I caught a glimpse of something dark green out of the corner of my eye.

Sure enough, reflected in the dull glass of my wingmirrors, was another dark-green Staghound. It drove along at a respectful breaking distance behind me, but it was obviously wating for something. In that moment, I came to a conclusion. Somehow, in that moment of blindness, I had driven into the middle of a military convoy. So, I did the obvious thing. I flicked on my indicators and drove into the lane to the right. I kept my eyes on the lain of the left, though. There probably more vehicles behind and ahead of me, blocked by the bulky silhouettes of the Staghound and the Military-nut within me very much wanted to see them. I might even get to see a tank!

But there was nothing. No military motorbike, no tank, not even the armoured frames of the Staghounds. There was just an empty lane, with dark forest on its left and lit by a single streetlamp which soon disappeared out of sight. Utterly confused and working on automatic, I turned my head to the road in front of me. Sure enough, there was a wall of dark green metal. I checked my wing mirrors and, yup another ‘stag behind me, this time a little closer.

I sighed. We had obviously both decided to get out of the way at once. So, I once again switched lanes, this time accelerating so even if we made the same decision, I would still be in front of them. The stark, blinding light of a streetlamp came once more and for a few seconds I was frozen. I just sat there, muscles tense, foot on pedal, accelerating in the blinding light. Then the shadow came and with it, a dark hulking shape. All dark steel and green paint.

That was of course, impossible. They would have to move, at the same time and at the same speed as me. Even if they were trying to stick behind me, despite my cars advanced age it would of easily out-accelerated an armoured vehicle. It just wasn’t possible.

I think that what caused the problem. The shock I mean. Fright flight or freeze took over my body, and freeze won. My muscles in place for just a few more moments. Then I realised what I was doing. I was accelerating down a motorway, at around ninety miles per hour with no visibility behind or in front of me. There could be a bend in the road or god-forbid, another car, that we were heading for. To make things worse, I was surprised my car could even reach that speed. It must of taken a huge toll on the car. But I couldn’t take my foot of the pedal, right? I doubted the cars could match speed with me if I slowed down. Besides, the previously respectful breaking distance they had stayed at was now a danger, considering our current speed.

Just as I began to consider how to slow down, the light of the streetlamps came once more. For a second, I was blinded. Even my eyes cleared however, I could not see. The entire time, I could see something, The road directly ahead and behind me, and the Staghounds on them. Illuminated by my faint headlamps. My old, broken, headlamps. I swore, out of all the times they could turn off!

I then came to a conclusion. I could either drive until we crashed at ninety miles per hour, or slow down as much as I could and crash at slightly less than ninety miles per hour. So, I took my foot off the pedal and sat there. In the dark. The roar of wheel on road and wind in my ears, (my windows were open, when did that happen?) slowly petered off. I could hear other things now. There was the pitter patter of rain on the roof, the faint cawing of crows and even the rustle of grass outside.

Sitting there, all alone in the dark, I began to relax. My muscles untensed, I stopped gripping the steering wheel quite so hard. I even tasted blood in my mouth. I had obviously been chewing the inside of my lip, a familiar bad habit. There in the night, I began to wonder if the cars even had been real.

With the limited night vision my eyes gave me, I saw the speedometer drop from twenty, to fifteen to ten and then…..

And then the calm exploded into noise. The radio clicked on, all by itself and began to spit out a tirade of static. The horn began to emit what sounded like a low scream, the breaks began to screech in pain.

Something slammed into the back of my car, with enough force to throw my face into the steering wheel. The airbag deployed, but the force was still enough to make me bite down. Hard. Something came away in my mouth, a tooth perhaps? But that wasn’t what I was worried about. What worried me was behind me. For directly behind me, was a dark hulking shape, all visible rivets and peeling green paint. It had rammed me, pushing me forwards until I had slammed into its twin in front of me. But now, it was not matching my speed, but accelerating.

You see, I had been watching the speedometer the entire time. I had almost memorised its round shape, its dark red face. It was doing something it had no right to do. It’s red hand, the one denoting its speed, began to quicken. It went faster and faster, twenty then forty and now sixty. I couldn’t stop it.

My radio, already hurting my ears, reached a crescendo and out of the screeching static came a single clear sentence-

Do you believe in ghosts?

Well, do you?

Of Course!

“Of course I believe in ghosts, but that story is bullshit!” cried the man in a voice that was more of a chuckle than a sentence. His throaty laugh, more than a little helped by the beer bottle he now held in his hand, was echoed by everyone in the pub. The free-house was warm and bright, a far cry from the man’s tale of ghosts and lonely motorways.

Perhaps if the tale had been told around a campfire, or whispered on a deathbed, it would have been more believable. But in the warm haven the listeners found themselves in, they felt like nothing could be wrong in the world.

Still, whenever the roar of a car passed by the pub that night, the listeners would go silent, for just a moment. They would then laugh and forget they ever did it.

The peeling sound of their laughter would spill out of the tavern, drift down the lonely road. It could be heard by drivers and neighbours alike for nearly half a mile on that silent night.

It could even be heard in a lonely lay-by, hidden by peeling signs, marked with the legend” Police, keep out!”. The sound did not and it echoed around the singular crushed car that took up the middle of the space.

If an observer had been there that night, they might of wondered how a car could have been crushed from both sides. If they had taken the time to look a little closer, they might of wondered about the tiny flecks of green paint on the front and back of the car, almost fused with the metal.

Remember, if you drive along roads at night, to look out for impossible cars going to places unknown. Stay out of their way and move into a lay-by or drive onto the grass if you need too, do not simply change lanes. The roads of the world have many ghosts and every lane has its wanderers.

Most of all, remember this.

Even if you do not believe in them, they believe in you.

Of Course not!

>No

>What?

>No I don’t believe in ghosts

>But they believe in you

>!?

>Dude a Staghound just went past my house, were you in it? Not funny.

<User.1 has left>

>Well that was guy was fucking weird

>Yeah

>Y’know what?

>I’m going to walk home tonight.

>Enjoy

<User.3 has left>

<User.2 has left>

#horror #multiple choice #creepy #ghosts #short story #choose your own adventure #(kinda)#ghost story #ghost cars #creative writing #writing on tumblr

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xtruss · 10 months

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US Should Clear-up Bombs It Left in Laos 🇱🇦 Before Questioning China's Influence There

— Ding Gang | July 26, 2023

Illustration: Liu Rui/Global Times

During Henry Kissinger's visit to Beijing last week, I was traveling in Laos. In conversations with Lao political and academic friends, I could always detect the presence of a shadow, that is, the influence of the US on Southeast Asia.

The US has a powerful presence in the region's economic, trade, political, and diplomacy spheres, even though the US and the region are separated by a vast ocean.

In Laos, looking around you feel like everything is from the past, like an old photo that has turned yellow but it's still clear. Older people will talk to you about the "secret wars" that the CIA orchestrated in Laos in the 1960s, and outside some houses, you will see American bomb casings erected. US warplanes dropped them on Laos decades ago, and sometimes they explode, injuring people nearby.

More than anything else, reality exists. When we talk about the Belt and Road Initiative, the cooperation in the Greater Mekong Region, there is always a mention of how the Americans see it, how the American media report it, and how they hype the so-called debt issue.

When a Hong Kong-funded company built a civilian airport in the Bokeo Province of Laos, US officials immediately came up to "visit" the region. It seems they were interested in more than just helping Laos remove the bombs.

A few days ago, the ISEAS-Yusof Ishak Institute, a Singaporean think tank, released a survey titled "Changing Perceptions in Laos Toward China," which said that more and more Laotian respondents are worried about China's economic influence. I wonder if the scholars who conducted the survey asked any Laotian farmers who benefited from eliminating bombs left by the US military by the Chinese companies or any Laotian employees who work for Chinese companies how much they earn per month.

In a recent report from the Chinese edition of the Voice of America, one scholar took the opportunity to call on Washington to commit to seizing the opportunity as a breaking point to check Beijing's expansion in Southeast Asia.

“US 🇺🇸 Dropped Bombs 💣 in Laos 🇱🇦, China 🇨🇳 Builds Railways 🚃”

"Check and balance" immediately makes me think of Henry Kissinger. It is the primary tool of the strategy of equilibrium that Kissinger "created" and utilized. The US has used such a tool to balance the challenges and maintain its hegemonic position.

Looking back over the past sixty years of China-US relations, it is easy to see that China is no longer a force that the US needs to utilize to counterbalance a main adversary.

Now, China is a friend of the US' enemy and even its foremost and long-term rival. That is why it is the first target of the US to check and balance.

This concept of checks and balances has profoundly affected the geopolitical understanding of China's neighboring countries, which have come to a juncture where they must draw a line in the sand.

When I took the high-speed train from Luang Prabang to Vientiane, I saw that all the compartments were almost full of passengers, most of them were Laotians. I observed them getting on and off the train with big bags, and I suddenly had a feeling that the US was tired. Suppose the China-Laos high-speed rail is seen as the rising China's economic energy spillover, reflecting the common pursuit of the development of China and Southeast Asian countries. In that case, who will the US checks and balances favor? And, can the US be checked and balanced?

China is not the Soviet Union in the Cold War era. China's rise is all-encompassing and multi-layered, a wide-ranging engagement and intermingling with its neighbors and the world, including the US, in almost all fields of industry, education, finance, culture, etc., and likewise a process in which 1.4 billion people are running towards affluence through peaceful development.

After I visit Bokeo Airport, I would like to say one thing: Americans are welcome to Southeast Asia to participate in the development. The infrastructure China is helping to build there will surely be a boon to American investment.

However, the best way for Americans to gain the trust of the Laotians is to first clean up the bombs they left behind.

It's time for the Americans and those who follow them to jump out of the loop of the equilibrium theory that has gone out of fashion.

— The Author is a Senior Editor with People's Daily, and currently a senior fellow with the Chongyang Institute for Financial Studies at Renmin University of China.

#Laos 🇱🇦#China 🇨🇳#Southeast Asia #United States 🇺🇸#Secret Wars of CIA #Belt and Road Initiative #Greater Mekong Region #ISEAS-Yusof Ishak Institute #Laotian Farmers #Bombs 💣#Luang Prabang #Vientiane #High-Speed Train 🚅#Soviet Union #Cold War #Ding Gang #People's Daily #Chongyang Institute

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cassidydylxn · 2 years

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You Give Me Nothing →

It was all very routine at this point, the shady alleyways, the irritating feeling of the cold, rough, concrete against her knees, the sounds of people making their way home from a late night at work or taking the trash out before closing up, or the ones stumbling into cabs. She didn’t know why she still agreed to these sorts of things. She really didn’t need to, she had made a name for herself when it came to this specific profession, though most wouldn’t call it that. But, she’d spent too many years on her knees in alleyways, behind dumpsters, in backseats. Maybe it was the thrill of it still?

Before she’d done it to survive, because she had no where else to go. The only cash she had was whatever she picked up after another happy client. But now? Now, people paid for her specifically, for her to meet them in lavish hotel rooms, real money, not ripped up dollar bills or Monopoly money -that was a good one-

She figured one positive was this current customer wasn’t as...revolting as some had been in the past. She often had fun imaging what their home life was like, what their poor wives were thinking, waiting up and worrying about them, thinking the worst could have happened when instead they were busy looming over her, trying to prove to her how much of a real man they were.

For something so random, sometimes it did shock her how exactly alike everyone was.

But, thankfully this transaction had come to it’s climax and she was already planning where to order in for dinner tonight as she cleaned off her now coated chest. Rule number one, always bring wipes.

Tying the belt on her jacket to cover her scantily clad body she arched an expectant, and perfectly practiced brow. Holding out her hand for her payment.

“Pleasure doing business with you,”

“Right, I know the pleasure was all yours,” glancing down as a measly five dollar bill and some old gum wrappers were shoved into her hand Cassidy wasted no time in taking the few quick strides to catch up with her now retreating client, her heels clicking against the pavement.

Clearly she had been reminiscing too soon.

“Hey, five, really? That’s not what we agreed on. Where’s the rest of it. Also, who even chews juicy fruit anymore, what are you sixty? Hey, I know you can hear me, don’t worry I’ve got time, I can follow you to the atm, or maybe even back to your poor wife, I’m sure she’d love to hear how you ripped me off”

The harsh shove that knocked her into a nearby garbage bin wasn’t too surprising, what was however, was the arm now firmly lodged against her collarbone. But, she didn’t falter, just kept her arched brow and slight smirk.

“What happened to all that honorable men stuff? Or was that washed out a hundred or so years ago? Give me the rest of it, and also a little extra considering you stained and ruined my bra, and I’m sure your not aware, but they are very expensive. So I expect another eighty for the bra alone”

“Don’t get smart with me, little bitch. Be glad you even got what I gave you. It’s obvious that pretty little mouth is only good for one thing.”

Smacking his hand away from her face the moment his calloused fingers gripped her jaw, any small space that she did have between them was quickly closed as all of his weight was applied to the arm across her collarbone, which was inching upwards to slightly press against her throat.

“Give me the rest of it.”

“Or what? Huh?”

“Or I tell everyone on main street down there how you grabbed me, took advantage of me and forced that pathetic excuse for a dick in my mouth. That’s what.”

“You think they’d believe you? You’re just another whore on the street corner, baby. And not even a classy one at that. But by all means, scream away I’m sure your smeared make up and not so hidden lingerie will make a great case.”

If he wanted to challenge her, that was fine. Most people would think they had the upper hand at this point, well not most people. Most disgusting men, would think they had the upper hand at this point. But, sadly for them. Cass did love a challenge.

Her scream was almost instantly cut short by the hand now clamped over her mouth. Pushing against his chest and smacking his hand away she wasn’t going to miss the now open opportunity. Which was when she landed a hard slap to the side of his face, enough that she could have swore it echoed throughout the alley. Struggling to get out from against the dumpster she decided to just say fuck it, this guy clearly wasn’t going to give her the rest of her money. Hell, he probably didn’t even have anything other than that old coat pocket hand out he’d given her.

Before she could get halfway down the alley her knees met the pavement again, only this time scraping against them as she was shoved down. Clenching her fists she told herself to just let it go, that just like all the rest of the douchebags he’d just walk away. But, he didn’t and it was when she felt the harsh tugs to her jacket and the sound of ripping fabric that she fought back, rather glad she had decided on these heels considering their point. “Really, my jacket too? You are raking up a huge bill here, dick.”

“Now your feeling shy? What happened to letting main street know what a great whore you are.”

Struggling against him she continued to work at kicking him away, looking for anything around her she could use to hit him with. Hearing another part of her jacket ripping just pissed her off even more. Which was when she landed a swift kick to his knee, managing to get him to let go and stumble back slightly. Which was when she forced herself to move out of the middle of the alleyway and at least to the side of it. Using the building for support she slowly pulled herself up until she could somewhat fully stand again.

“Just fuck off, go back to your wife. Asshole”

#para #p: 001

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wandaluvstacos · 2 years

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Chapter 18 of Good Investment is now up on my Patreon!

Good Investment is available at the $5/month tier. People who pledge $5 a month have access to not only Good Investment but The Sponsors series (ongoing), Pretty Things (complete), May the Blood Run Pure (complete), and Kept Man (complete), along with the $1/month tier books, the Reflections trilogy (ongoing) and The Halfwife (ongoing).

Adri Schvaneveldt has always felt split between two worlds. In one world, they are the adopted child of a large and conservative Mormon family. In another, she is the CEO of a burgeoning fashion empire that pushes boundaries. But in order to be the latter, Adri first has to find the funding. After gaining a hefty following as a social media influencer/model, Adri has the potential customers– if they can get a reliable production model pounded out. And that means a bit of groveling at the feet of investors, most of who have never even heard the term “non-binary”.

But Adri lucks out with Gideon Snow, whose youth and open mind bring much needed funds to make Adri’s dream of diverse, accessible fashion a reality. Of course, lifting a newborn company to its feet is no small task, and late nights drive Adri to occasional stays at Gideon’s nearby house, where their relationship begins stretching beyond business. Adri knows they can’t put an entire business venture at risk for the turbulent whims of their heart. But reason doesn’t always win out.

Excerpt:

Marquis took Adri’s phone without warning, squinting at the photo. “I dunno, I think he’s kinda cute.”

“Lemme see.” Now Elijah wanted to analyze it, and they fought over the phone a moment until they’d both gotten their share of the photo. Again, it was amazing they weren’t related. Adri was a bit shocked they’d never dated one another, but the one time Adri had asked about it they’d gotten a sullen it’s complicated from Marquis, so perhaps it was best not to bring it up.

“You said he’s an investor?” Marquis asked. “So you’re saying he’s got money.”

“He sold his company a few years ago for sixty million. Split between him and his cofounders, it left him with twenty.”

“Are you fucking with me?” Elijah blurted, eyes wide at the same time Marquis said, “Shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh well now I gotta see his picture again.” Marquis looked back at the phone, and Adri laughed. “Alright, he’s gone up a few points. Now he’s fine as hell.”

“I’m not his friend because he’s got money. We actually have a lot in common.”

Elijah pursed his lips. “Friend? Girl, if my friend had twenty million dollars his dick would be in my mouth everyday.”

Adri laughed again. “I haven’t yet resorted to dick sucking for money.”

Marquis finally handed back Adri’s phone. “That’s why we call you the bougie one.”

“I think I may have a crush on him though.” Adri took the phone and used burying it in their purse as an excuse to hide their hot face for a moment. “It’s inconvenient.”

“I’ll tell you what’s inconvenient. Waiting in line to go to the bathroom is fucking inconvenient. Having a crush on a man with twenty million dollars is not that.”

“I don’t need his money. I’m doing well enough on my own.”

“You got twenty million dollars?”

“No, but maybe I will some day.” Adri doubted that, but one could dream. It would be nice to be so financially secure that they’d never have to worry about failure. “Whatever it is I feel, I can’t act on it. It’d jeopardize the business. He gave me serious money, and it means our relationship has to stay professional.”

“People do unprofessional shit every day of their lives,” Marquis said. “The world still turns.”

“My business is my life’s work. I can’t fuck it up.”

“I love what I do too, but I also like getting fucked,” Elijah responded. “You gotta balance the two.”

Marquis nodded. “He gave you money without you letting him hit it. Imagine how much more he’ll give you if you do.”

“You two are not helpful at all.”

“I’m just saying that sometimes you take shit way too seriously.”

“Eli means that in the nicest way possible,” Marquis said. “We love how professional and put together you are, but sometimes you need to release your inner ho. Like that flower. What’s it called?”

“The corpse flower?”

“Yeah, that thing.”

“Lovely metaphor.”

“They hire me to put on eyeliner, not come up with good metaphors.”

None of this conversation clarified anything for Adri or made them feel any better. It was starting to get late and Adri’s guilt still hadn’t subsided, so Adri started the process of a farewell.

#Good Investment #original fiction #patreon #update #excerpt #my writing

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josefsenbjerring92 · 2 years

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Next Level Guitar - Learn To Play The Guitar

If appear in a bit sheet music, you can easily notice every single system of stance has 5 lines and 4 spaces, and always an odd symbol in the beginning. Don't fret (no pun intended). I have been playing guitar professionally for over 30 years and spent a strong part of this time teaching guitar help. Now that in order to thinking to obtain yourself a guitar or have already bought one I know you wonder how are you ever going to learn to play it. Beneath are the several things you are able to do. Actually, there are couples of how you can do this minus the pianos help (if there is absolutely no luck in locating one). You can use computer software such Guitar Pro or the like. Search the internet how the E chord sounded that include. Listen to idm free and memorize the sound it becomes. Also, there are lots of auto tuners that you can purchase to a store or you can look in Google about it's. Do not limit your resources and you should find for you to make this more convenient for you because Take into consideration understand how hard may be to learn this thing and this job needs hours and hours about which. So, idm crack serial key can also socialize with other guitarist and enquire them the way to do so it. PRO: idm crack latest version 2021 comes with the best rated programs signifies you can basically consider it out for free (with a no questions asked sixty day refund menstruation.) Try getting a refund from any nearby guitar teacher, it's not going happen! Your guitar is a useful and cherished piece get the job done. Learn the tricks from the pros and spend less of your budget on new strings and retain a bad you love longer. So Whether myself, hmm the amp hasn't changed, the guitar hasn't changed so. you could hear the penny drop over our very loud drummer. The realisation i had forgotten how to squeeze the top out associated with the amp any hard someone to take but a properly worth driving lesson. 6) Try to get Control--Not Care. It is much more important that you may play a physical exercise slowly in addition to in control, than playing it fast but poorly performed. When you get to Carnegie Hall, then you are worry about perfection. However for now, an individual learning, seek out controlled competence, not care.

#IDM

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junghelioseok · 4 years

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clandestine. | 03

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 9.2k [3/6]

notes: this will likely be my last update of this fic until the new year, because i have two (2!!!) other fics that i’m planning to post in december, including another jungoo one, so! please look forward to those, and enjoy this chapter in the meantime!

warnings: jk’s massive noona kink: a recurring yet warranted warning, me absolutely fucking up everything about korea’s geography probably, semi-public? fingering???, jungkook....... shall we say, rocks the boat, there is one (1) dick pic but no one’s complaining

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

Monday - 11:27am

Kim Taehyung added you to the group: the great escape!!!!!! 🏝🚗💨

[11:27am] Taehyung: let’s gooooooooooo!!

[11:27am] Jisoo: ???

[11:28am] Lisa: go where?

[11:28am] Taehyung: parks lake house this weekend! we’re going on vacation!

[11:28am] You: hold up tae, we haven’t even asked our parents if we can have the house yet

[11:29am] Chimchim: oh yeah lmao

[11:29am] Chimchim: u wanna go ask noona??

[11:29am] You: nope

[11:30am] Chimchim: ugh, fine

[11:30am] Chimchim: u big baby

[11: 31am] You: 🙄

[11: 37am] Chimchim: they said yes!

[11:38am] Taehyung: LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

[11:38am] Minho: sweet 👍

[11:38am] Taemin: tight

[11:39am] Jungkook: dope

[11:40AM] Jisoo: you’re all idiots 🙄

Tuesday - 2:34pm

[2:34pm] Chimchim: i’ve secured the van

[2:34pm] Chimchim: for the trip i mean

[2:35pm] Taehyung: noice

[2:35pm] You: 10 people aren’t gonna fit in mom’s van, chim

[2:37pm] Jungkook: i can drive too

[2:37pm] Chimchim: 👍👍

[2:37pm] Chimchim: see? nothing to worry about

[2:38pm] Jungkook: yeah noona, nothing to worry about. nothing at all.

Wednesday - 9:49pm

[9:49pm] Taehyung: oh my god we need FOOD

[9:49pm] Lisa: you’re just realizing that now?

[9:50pm] Taehyung: shut up

[9:50pm] Taehyung: i have a cooler

[9:51pm] Lisa: and ice?

[9:51pm] Taehyung: ………… i will buy some ice

[9:52pm] You: there’s a grocery store on the way up that we always used to go to, we can stock up there

[9:52pm] Taehyung: 👍

[9:54pm] You: you also better remember to bring your own towels. and more than one change of clothing

[9:54pm] Taehyung: 👍👍

[9:55pm] Chimchim: yes, mom

///

The day of the trip finds you standing in the foyer, rifling through your purse to make sure you have all the essentials. Off in the distance, you can hear Jimin sprinting around frantically, catching the briefest glimpse of his ruffled blond hair before he disappears again into the depths of the house.

“Chim, I swear to god. Why didn’t you pack earlier?”

“I did!” your brother whines, poking his head out from the living room where his suitcase is lying wide open, belongings scattered in every direction. “It’s just that—oh, fuck. Do you have my toothbrush?”

“Why would I have your toothbrush?” you deadpan.

He ignores you, and not two seconds later, he lets out an excited shout. “Never mind! I found it!”

You sigh and rub your temples. The trip hasn’t even begun, yet you’re already feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. “I’m going outside,” you call to your brother, who grunts in acknowledgement. Opening up the front door, you drag your suitcase out onto the sun-drenched porch, relishing the welcome breeze that caresses your cheeks and whispers through your hair.

The rare moment of peace is broken almost immediately by the rumble of a starting engine—the sound shuddery and wavering before it finally evens out into a steady, mechanical purr. It’s coming from nearby, and your gaze immediately travels to the neighboring driveway where a beat-up sedan sits, torn between exasperation and amusement when you see Jungkook waving at you from the driver’s seat.

“I’m coming to pick you up!” he calls through the open window, and you hold back your laughter as he reverses out of his driveway, rolls ten feet down the street, and pulls into yours.

“Was that really necessary?” you ask once he’s parked.

“Of course it was,” he replies, hopping out to grab your suitcase. You watch as he pops the trunk and loads it inside, and blanch when you realize what that means.

“Wait a second. Am I riding with you?”

Some emotion flashes across his face, but he wipes it away before you can identify it. “Would that be so terrible?”

It’s been one week since Taehyung’s party, and Jisoo’s warning still rings loud and clear in your brain. Still, you feign nonchalance and tamp down the uptick in your heart rate, offering him a shrug. “Just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

He grunts. An awkward silence settles over you as he adjusts your suitcase in the trunk beside his, and you distract yourself by fiddling with your purse strap until he slams the lid closed.

“So…” you start after a few seconds. “Are we picking anyone else up?”

“Yugyeom,” Jungkook replies, opening up the driver’s side door and climbing in. Hesitantly, you make your way over to the other side of the car, wondering if there’s any way you can avoid sitting in the passenger seat without looking like a total weirdo.

“Oh! Jungkook’s here already?” Jimin exits the house at last, lugging his suitcase and a smaller backpack. He shoves both into the backseat of your mother’s van before coming over, frowning when he sees you hovering near the trunk. “Why are you just standing there?”

You make a face at him. “We’re waiting for you, dumbass. Who’s riding with you?”

“Tae, Minho, and Taemin,” your brother replies. “Didn’t you see the group chat this morning?”

“I muted it days ago,” you admit. “You guys were annoying as hell.” Then another thought strikes you, your brain belatedly registering the names Jimin listed. “Wait, what about the girls? Aren’t they coming?”

Your brother rolls his eyes. “Jisoo’s working as a camp counselor this summer, and Lisa has other vacation plans. Maybe if you hadn’t muted the chat, you’d have known that.”

He has a point, though you aren’t about to admit that. You’re also wise enough not to inquire about the third member of the trio, remembering Jisoo’s revelation at the party. It’s no surprise that Chaeyoung isn’t joining you for the weekend—you’d want to avoid extended periods of time with your ex-boyfriend too. At the thought, your gaze reluctantly flits back over to the ex in question, who raises an expectant brow when he catches your eye.

“Ready?” he calls out the open window.

No, you want to say. But Jimin has already clambered into the van and slammed the door shut, and Jungkook’s car is blocking the van in the driveway so you suck in a deep breath and slide into the passenger seat beside your dark-haired neighbor.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Jungkook nods and throws the car into reverse. One hand splays across the wheel while the other comes up to rest on the back of your seat, and your breath hitches when he cranes around to check his blind spots, his face suddenly too close for comfort.

He’s playing with you, you tell yourself firmly, leaning back until your back’s pressed against the door and you can safely breathe again. Chaeyoung. Think about what he did to Chaeyoung.

“Hey, I made a roadtrip mix,” Jungkook pipes up all of a sudden. He grabs his phone from where it’s resting on the dashboard, tapping at the screen until the first strains of a melody filter through the car speakers. “It should last us the whole way.”

You perk up when you recognize the tune. “Oh! I love this song.”

Jungkook watches out of the corner of his eye as you bob your head to the beat, before smiling down at his lap. “Yeah. I know.”

///

Yugyeom lives on the other side of town, in a sprawling, winding neighborhood that sends your brain—and your phone’s GPS—into a complete and total tailspin. “Wait, wait—hang on. I think you missed a turn. You must have.”

Jungkook’s face crumples in confusion as he slows the car to a crawl, drawing a few irritated honks from the cars behind you. “There weren’t any streets back there, though.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, twisting in your seat to get a better look. “The directions said to take a right in… oh, fuck, hang on. We’re not even on a digitized road anymore, apparently.”

Jungkook heaves a sigh, but when you glance up at him, he’s wearing a grin. “Come on, Noona. You’re supposed to be my navigator. I’m depending on you.”

“I only know how to get us to the lake house, not Yugyeom’s,” you sniff defensively. “This is way beyond my pay grade.”

Jungkook chortles and reaches out, extending an open palm. “Can I see your phone for a sec?” You nod, handing it over, and he clicks his tongue as he turns it upside-down—rotating it a full three hundred and sixty degrees before returning it. “We might be lost,” he declares.

“Gee, you don’t say.”

He chuckles again. Picking up his own phone, he swipes a thumb across the screen before handing the unlocked device over. “Here, call Yugyeom. Put him on speaker, yeah?”

You hum in acknowledgement and scroll down in his contacts until you find the other boy’s name, clicking it open. A photo fills the screen as it rings—clearly a group photo from the way it’s cropped, zoomed in on Yugyeom and the ridiculous face he’s making.

“Is this from graduation?” you ask curiously.

Jungkook blinks and tears his gaze away from the windshield. “Huh?”

“Yugyeom’s contact photo,” you clarify, tilting the phone screen so he can see. “He’s got robes on.”

“Oh.” He looks away again, cheeks flushing. “Yeah. It’s lame, I know.”

You shake your head. “Don’t say that. I think it’s nice.”

Jungkook doesn’t get a chance to respond, but it’s impossible to miss the grin that crinkles his face and settles there. There’s a staticky hum as the line connects, and then Yugyeom’s voice is filling the vehicle, sounding as if he’s just rolled out of bed.

“Whaddaya want?”

“We can’t find your fucking house, man,” Jungkook says bluntly, turning onto a street that you’ve driven down at least three times by this point. “Where do you live?”

On the other end of the line, Yugyeom sighs. “Okay, okay. What street are you guys on?”

That gives Jungkook pause. “Uhh, Cedar Street? Oak Avenue? It has a tree name.”

“Neither of those streets exist, dude.”

“Birch Boulevard!” you exclaim. “We’re on Birch Boulevard. I saw the sign a while back.”

“Ah, okay. You’re close, then. Do you see a sign for Linden Lane?”

You glance around until you alight on a signpost. “Yeah.”

“Turn right onto it. Then take the first left, go past the cul-de-sac, and another left. Do not pass Go, and do not collect two-hundred dollars. I’m the fifth house on the right.”

He ends the call before you can ask him to repeat the directions, and you send Jungkook a helpless look. “Did you get all of that?”

“Besides the overused Monopoly joke?” Jungkook asks.. “Yeah, I got it. Right, left, left. Fifth house. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to get there.”

And true to his word, you arrive at the house three minutes later. Yugyeom is standing on the front step with rumpled hair and a duffel bag at his feet, and you snort when he throws open the car door and flops across the entirety of the backseat.

“Rough morning?”

“Stayed up late packing,” he says by way of explanation, his eyes already beginning to drift shut. Jungkook immediately turns the music up, and you giggle when Yugyeom shoots upright at the bassline that’s now shaking the entire vehicle. “I’m up, I’m up! Jeez, man.”

Jungkook just sends him an innocent grin in the rearview mirror. You turn the volume back down to a reasonable level as Yugyeom directs Jungkook onto the best route to take out of the neighborhood, and it isn’t long before you’re merging onto the highway that leads toward the coast.

You’re just beginning to get comfortable, staring out the window at the passing cityscape, when your leg vibrates with an incoming text notification. Glancing down, you see that Jungkook’s phone has slipped between your thigh and the seat, the screen lit with a new message.

[10:21am] Minho: gonna be at the store in 10

“Minho says they’ll be at the grocery store in ten minutes,” you relay to your companions. “We have a little longer to go. Probably another half hour or so.”

“We wouldn’t be so far behind if Yugyeom didn’t live in a fucking labyrinth,” Jungkook remarks, but a glance at the young man in the backseat reveals that he’s drifted off despite your earlier stunt. Rolling his eyes, he turns to you. “Can you text him back, Noona?”

You nod and hold out his phone so he can unlock it with his thumb. “Hey,” you say once you’ve hit send on the message. “Do you have a contact photo for me?”

Jungkook stiffens slightly, his gaze skittering between you and the road. “Oh. Uh, yeah, I guess I do. But it’s nothing, really. It’s kinda lame. But you… you can look at it if you want.”

Curiosity piqued, you scroll down until you find your name, tapping on the image beside it. The photo is from several years ago, during a family trip to the lake house with the Jeons. You are no older than fifteen, your arm slung around a fourteen-year-old Jungkook as the two of you stand knee-deep in the lake, wearing swimsuits and bright smiles. In the background, you can just barely make out a blurry Jimin mid-splash.

“I remember this,” you murmur, zooming in on your smiling faces. “That was a fun summer.”

“Junghyun was grumpy the whole time,” Jungkook recalls with a laugh. “But we had a good time, didn’t we? We practically lived in the lake that entire week.”

“Or that old canoe.” You grin, taking one last look at the photo before locking his phone and handing it back to him. “Remember? We’d always row out too far, and our parents would scream for us to come back before we fell in and drowned.”

Jungkook snickers. “As if I’d ever let you drown. I’m a great swimmer.”

“Are you saying I’m not?”

He backpedals immediately, realizing his mistake. “Hey, don’t twist my words. I said nothing of the sort.”

“That’s what I thought.” Giggling, you turn to look out the window, propping your chin in your palm as you watch the scenery flash past. “And I want that photo, by the way. Send it to me?”

“As soon as we get to the store,” Jungkook promises. “Speaking of which, we’re getting close. Keep an eye out for the exit for me?”

“Deal.”

///

Jimin and the others are waiting in the parking lot when you arrive, perched on and around the van as they watch Jungkook expertly maneuver the car into a neighboring parking space. “Took you long enough,” your brother says once the engine is cut, hopping off the hood and landing lightly on both feet.

“We’re here now, aren’t we?” you snark as you join the others hovering near the grocery store entrance. Jimin makes a face at you, and you stick your tongue out in response. After a quick huddle—wherein you form a very haphazard game plan—everyone disperses. Jimin grabs a shopping cart and heads inside with Taehyung and Minho, the latter of whom is trying to clamber his way into the cart to hitch a ride.

Sighing, you grab a shopping cart of your own and scan the interior of the store for the produce section. They’ve rearranged the aisles since you were last here, but you quickly find what you’re looking for and begin picking your way over when Jungkook materializes at your side.

“So, what are you thinking for food?” he asks, nudging you away so he can push the cart in your stead.

You allow him to take over, gesturing toward your destination. “I know my brother,” you tell him dryly. “He’s going to buy meat and completely forget about everything else. And I don’t trust any of you to buy a single fruit or vegetable.”

“I like fruit and vegetables,” Jungkook defends.

“You like everything,” you correct, flashing him a teasing grin before leading him into the produce section.

Grocery shopping with Jungkook turns out to be surprisingly pleasant—comfortable, even. He proves adept at finding the ripest fruits and greenest vegetables, and when you ask him to find some apples, he trots off immediately and returns with a handful of sweet potatoes in addition to your requested fruit.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you planning to do with those?”

Jungkook feigns offense, slapping a hand to his heart. “That’s cold, Noona. Don’t you think I can cook?”

“I’ve never seen you cook in my life,” you respond. “How am I supposed to know if you can or not?”

“I can,” he promises. “And I’ll prove it too, if you let me.”

You get the feeling he’s not just talking about cooking anymore, but he doesn’t give you a chance to answer. Dropping the apples and potatoes into the cart, he flashes you a crooked little smile before turning toward a display of cabbages, leaving you to wonder at what exactly is going through his head.

///

It’s nearly one in the afternoon when you arrive at your family’s lake house. The last stretch of the drive takes you through the forest along a winding, narrow road, but Jungkook is a capable driver and you know the way well enough to warn him about any upcoming hairpin turns. Piling out of the car, the three of you make quick work of putting the food safely into the refrigerator. By the time you’re finished, Jimin and the others have arrived as well, lugging their belongings inside and setting them inside the entryway.

“So who’s sleeping where?” Taehyung asks, glancing around the house. It’s modestly sized, with a living area on one side and a combined dining room and kitchen on the other. Three bedrooms and a bathroom branch off of the hallway between them, ending in a back door that leads out to the lake. Through the window, you can see the water glimmering in the sunlight, hazy and golden.

“We’ll have to share,” Jimin says. “ If Noona takes one room, that leaves two bedrooms and the pullout couch for the rest of us.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “Rock, paper, scissors?” he suggests, drawing a chorus of groans.

“I always lose!” Jimin complains. “And Taemin cheats!”

“Do not!”

Laughing at the indignant expression on your brother’s face, you decide to leave them to it and head to your bedroom with your luggage in tow. The room is just as you remember it, with a bed tucked against one wall and a dresser on the opposite. There are three doors in total—one that you just entered through, and another that opens into a small closet. The third leads to a bathroom—shared with the bedroom on the other side of the wall that usually belongs to Jimin. Vaguely, you wonder who will be sleeping there tonight, before setting your suitcase on the bed and unzipping it.

“Fuck!”

You jump at the sudden shout, poking your head out into the hallway to see what’s causing all the commotion. Yugyeom is kneeling on the floor with his head down, a crestfallen Taemin standing beside him. Meanwhile, Taehyung and Minho look supremely pleased with themselves, and you see why when they grab their bags and practically skip to the master bedroom across the hall, collapsing onto the king-sized bed.

“Have fun on the couch, losers!” Jimin singsongs, grabbing Jungkook by the wrist and dragging him into their newly won bedroom on your side of the hallway. “Lake in fifteen minutes, so get changed! Last one there’s in charge of dinner!”

The door slams shut behind him, and you roll your eyes before turning back to your opened suitcase and pulling out a book. There’s a perfectly shaded spot beneath one of the trees along the water, and you fully intend to capitalize on the last few hours of daylight before the sun begins to set.

Minho is the only one outside when you exit the house, standing on the dock in a pair of green swim trunks. He waves at you cheerily before cannonballing into the lake, and you squeak as the resulting splash sends water splattering across the front of your shirt.

“Sorry!” he calls when he resurfaces, shaking his hair out like a wet dog.

You wave off his apology with a laugh, settling down onto the soft grass at the base of your chosen tree and opening up your book. The other boys trickle out of the house one by one, but you barely notice. It isn’t until a triumphant shout pierces the air that you finally glance up to see what’s causing all the commotion, your gaze immediately landing on Taehyung standing on the back steps of the house.

“Trust me,” he says, unbothered by his apparent tardiness. “You don’t want me to make dinner.”

Minho pulls a face and straightens up from where he’d been floating on his back. “You know, he kinda has a point there.”

Murmurs of agreement all around. Taehyung gives Jimin a smug smile, who scowls from where he’s sitting at the end of the dock, his bare feet dangling over the edge. “So what now? Do we have to play rock, paper, scissors again?”

“Nah, I’ll do it.”

Every head whips around to face Jungkook, yours included. He’s standing a short ways from where you’re sitting—his approach so quiet that you hadn’t even heard him arrive. The last time you checked, he’d been diving off the dock with Minho and Yugyeom, water pooling in his collarbones and dripping down the ridges of his taut abdomen each time he resurfaced.

Not that you’d been looking, of course.

“Really?” Jimin looks aghast at his best friend’s declaration. “You can cook?”

Jungkook scoffs in disbelief and plops down beside you, leaning back against the tree trunk. “Why does everyone in your family seem surprised by that?” he asks, his lip jutting out in a petulant frown. “Do I seem like someone who can’t cook?”

“Yes,” you tell him honestly, marking your page and letting the book fall shut. “Don’t take it personally, though. Men only learn how to cook in college when they have to start fending for themselves. And sometimes, not even then.”

The noise that leaves Jungkook’s mouth can best be described as disgruntled, but he doesn’t press any further. Instead, he peers over your shoulder to get a look at the cover of your book, mouthing the title to himself before glancing at you. “Haven’t I seen you reading this before?”

“Probably,” you admit. “It’s an old favorite.”

He hums, slouching back against the tree again, and when you look over, you see that both his eyes have fallen shut. With his mouth parted and his dark lashes resting on his cheeks, he looks years younger than he is—and so much more like the Jungkook you used to know.

“Tired?” you whisper.

“Long drive,” Jungkook whispers back, his head already beginning to loll. “Lemme sleep, Noona.”

Smiling to yourself, you return to your book and leave him to rest.

///

“So, what are you even planning to make?” Jimin asks, swinging his legs. He’s seated atop the kitchen counter, taking up the majority of what precious little space there is to begin with, and Jungkook sighs deeply as he’s forced to dodge around him yet again to peer into the refrigerator.

“You’ll see.”

“I don’t think you even know yet,” Taemin pipes up from the doorway. The other boys are in the living room playing Mario Kart, but Taemin and Jimin have selflessly pulled themselves away from the game to help their friend in the kitchen—or so they say. As far as you’re concerned, they’ve been nothing but a nuisance thus far, but you don’t voice that particular thought aloud.

“Ramen doesn’t count as making dinner,” Jimin points out snidely when Jungkook pauses too long next to the box of ramen packs. “Anyone can boil water. And you don’t get to add an egg and call it fancy, like you usually do.”

“My ramen is delicious, excuse you,” Jungkook retorts, pointing a spatula at him. “And that’s not even what I’m making, so fuck off.”

Jimin shrugs, but shuts his mouth nonetheless. You take the opportunity to throw some pork belly at him, the meat wrapped neatly in paper and tied off with twine. “Here,” you tell him. “You could at least make yourself useful and start grilling the meat.”

“Okay, mom,” your brother grumbles under his breath, hopping off the counter. He and Taemin head out to the back porch where the grill sits, and you join Jungkook at the stove where he’s staring thoughtfully at an empty pan.

“Try twisting the dial. I’ve heard that helps.”

Jungkook snaps out of his daze and turns to you. “Huh?”

“The stove. It won’t light itself, you know.”

Chuckling, Jungkook twists the dial as instructed, adding a drizzle of oil to the pan. As it heats up, he turns and selects a knife from the cutlery drawer. The sweet potatoes he’d insisted on purchasing are already washed and peeled, and you watch as he begins to slice them, your gaze automatically flitting down to his exposed forearms, his muscles flexing with every movement.

“Hey, Noona? Can you do me a favor?”

You blink, tearing your gaze from the branching veins lining his arms. “What?”

Jungkook, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice your distracted state. “Can you put the rice in the microwave?” he asks, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Why?” you tease. “Are you still scared?”

“Of course not,” he retorts, but you don’t miss the wary look that flashes across his face when you plop the rice inside and go to punch in the cook time.

The remainder of the cooking goes smoothly. Jimin and Taemin return with the grilled meat, and Jungkook rebuffs your offer to set the table, leaving his position at the stove to lay plates and utensils down on the table himself. “I’m just about done, anyway,” he tells you, gesturing at the plate of glazed sweet potatoes on the counter. “Sit down and relax, Noona.”

“Fine,” you relent, taking a seat. Jimin takes the chair beside you, and Taemin plops down on his other side. Jungkook sits down just to your left once he’s finished laying out the food, and for a brief, insane moment, you almost think that he’s going to repeat what he’d done at his graduation dinner. But the dark-haired young man remains on his best behavior, keeping his hands to himself under the table, and you aren’t sure whether you’re grateful or disappointed.

The meal flies by in a flurry of laughter and conversation. Jungkook discovers that his glazed sweet potatoes have adhered to the plate, and sends everyone into hysterics when he promptly starts spinning it around like a steering wheel.

It’s a good night. And at the end of it, you go to bed warm and content, with a belly full of food and a smile on your face.

///

You awaken to the sound of chirping songbirds and gentle waves lapping at the shore the next morning, thoroughly rejuvenated after an undisturbed night’s sleep. Stretching your arms overhead, you yawn and bask in the comfort of your bed for a few more moments before getting up and heading to the bathroom, thankful that you don’t have to fight anyone for sink occupancy. The toilet seat is even down, which comes as a welcome surprise, all things considered.

Before long, you are back in your bedroom, rifling through the contents of your suitcase. Belatedly, you realize that you’ve packed only one swimsuit—and a bikini, at that. Cheeks warming, you pull the two pieces out, holding them up against your body. Has it always been this small? You don’t remember. All you know is that Jungkook has two fully functional eyes, and there’s no way that he won’t be looking at every inch of skin you choose to expose.

In the end, you settle on wearing the bikini beneath a flowy, floral kimono-style robe, tied at the waist to form a makeshift dress. The ensemble reaches just past your knees and is sheer enough to still show skin, but you no longer feel as self-conscious going out into the view of your companions and that’s a victory as far as you’re concerned. Checking your reflection one last time, you adjust your sash before opening the bedroom door and heading down the hall for some breakfast.

Unsurprisingly, the kitchen is empty when you walk in, tiptoeing past a still slumbering Taemin and Yugyeom on the pullout couch. You savor the quiet as you start up the old coffeemaker, pulling a mug from the cabinet and rinsing it out to get rid of any lingering dust. The weather app on your phone promises that it’ll be a clear, cloudless day, and a glance out the window confirms it. Silently, you debate whether or not to crack a window.

Your musings are interrupted by the arrival of Taehyung, his brown hair sticking up at all angles. Blearily, he trundles to the fridge and grabs the orange juice, seemingly two seconds away from chugging it straight from the carton before you clear your throat and push a clean glass toward him. You think you hear him mumble a thank you.

As the morning wears on, the others slowly begin to trickle in. Breakfast is a disorganized affair that leaves bread crumbs all over the counter, and nearly causes a fight when everyone seems to want their eggs cooked a different way.

“Look, if you wanted your egg soft-boiled, you should’ve made it yourself!” Jimin grouches to Taehyung, the t-shirt over his head muffling his words. Everyone else is already in the water, splashing about, but you’re seated on the end of the dock with your brother and Taehyung, who looks thoroughly unfazed behind his tinted sunglasses.

“Maybe if I knew how to soft boil an egg, I would have.”

“Google exists,” Jimin says, finally freeing himself from the shirt and tossing it aside.

Taehyung nods sagely. “Exactly. So why didn’t you use it?”

Jimin is beginning to look positively murderous, so when Minho swims over and taps your submerged ankle, you are beyond grateful for the distraction. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Are you gonna swim, or are you gonna sit onshore the whole time?” Minho asks, raking his wet bangs out of his eyes. “The water’s not even cold, so get in here.”

Pointedly, you wiggle your toes. “Feels pretty cold to me.”

“Okay, fine. It’s cold.” Minho grins. “But you get used to it.”

You sigh at his easy admission. “All men do is lie. How am I supposed to believe you?”

He raises a brow. “Do I need to pull you in and dunk you under?”

“I will kick you if you even try,” you tell him, standing up and shrugging off your robe. An audible hush falls as the gauzy material pools around your ankles—Jungkook stops wrestling with Yugyeom and trying to dunk him underwater, and Taemin pauses mid-splash, his hair drenched and dripping.

It’s Minho who breaks the silence first, letting loose a low whistle of appreciation. “Damn, {Name}.”

Jimin grabs a shoe from the pile on the dock and chucks it at him, hard. “Dude, that’s my fucking sister!”

“Ow! What the fuck, man, that’s my shoe!”

“Quit ogling my sister!”

“I’m not!” Minho yells, just as Jimin chucks the other shoe and hits him square in the mouth. “Okay, I’m not anymore. Sorry, okay?”

Once he’s sufficiently sure that Jimin is done attacking him, Minho turns to you. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you reassure him. “Honestly, it was kinda good for my self-esteem. And I don’t need you defending my honor, or whatever it is you think you’re doing,” you add, glancing over at your disgruntled brother.

“Men are pigs,” Jimin sniffs. “I won’t apologize.”

You ruffle his hair good-naturedly. “I know, Chim. You’re right.” Then your smile turns mischievous. “I won’t apologize for what I’m about to do, either.”

And then you grab him by the arm and drag him into the lake, the cold water submerging you in an instant and stealing the breath out of your lungs. You’re both gasping by the time you resurface, blinking water out of your eyes, and you squeal when Jimin takes the opportunity to splash you again.

Hours pass—the sun rising higher overhead. Around noon, Taehyung disappears inside the house and returns with an assortment of snacks and sandwich fixings, ushering everyone over for an impromptu lunch on the dock. You dip your feet into the water as you munch on a bag of chips, and Jungkook plops down beside you with a juice box in one hand and a ham sandwich in the other.

“Wanna go for a ride in the canoe after lunch?” he asks, jabbing a thumb back in the direction of the house. “I found it in the garage.”

You laugh. “Really? I thought for sure we got rid of that thing. Are you sure it hasn’t sprung a leak?”

Jungkook’s face crinkles into a grin. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see, huh?”

You grin back and raise your cup, the lemonade inside swishing around. “I’ll hang on to this, just in case I need to start bailing water out.”

Lunchtime winds down gradually. Jungkook polishes off his sandwich and trots off to fetch the canoe, waving off your offers to help before disappearing around the corner of the house. You watch him return a few minutes later from your seat on the end of the dock, resting your weight back on your hands and swirling your pruney toes in the water. He’s stripped off the loose white tee he’d donned during lunch, his golden skin cast in shadow by the canoe perched across his bare shoulders, and your gaze trails from his bulging biceps down to the ridges of his abdomen. The muscles flex with every step he takes, and you hastily take another sip of lemonade in an effort to combat the sudden dryness in your throat.

With a grunt, Jungkook comes to a stop at your elbow, heaving the boat into the water. The impact sends ripples across the lake and the butterflies in your belly into a frenzy, and you nearly fall off the dock when Jungkook touches your shoulder gently.

“Ready to go, Noona?”

You nod, not quite trusting yourself to speak. Jungkook holds the boat steady with one hand while offering you the other, and you gratefully grasp it as you step off the dock. The canoe rocks dangerously when Jungkook clambers in after you, but quickly steadies when he picks up an oar and jabs at the dock to push off into the lake. The glimmering expanse of blue water stretches before you, and you relax as you let your fingers dangle off the side of the boat, watching ripples form beneath your fingertips.

“I can help row,” you say after a few moments, casting a glance over at Jungkook. He’s settled into a rhythm now, the veins and tendons in his arm flexing with each movement, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he’s sitting.

“You—” Jungkook says, fixing you with a playful stare, “—just enjoy the ride, yeah?”

Shaking your head, you smile and turn back around to admire the view. Sunlight reflects off the rippling water, lending a golden iridescence to the glittering blue depths. In the distance, the opposite shoreline rises up, crowned with rocky outcrops and majestic dark green pines.

With a start, you realize how far away you’ve gotten from the other boys. The shouts and laughter from the house are quickly fading into the background, and you nervously turn to look at Jungkook as he rows you even further.

“God, my dad would freak if he saw us right now,” you remark, trying to diffuse the sudden tension that’s settled. “I mean, we don’t even have life jackets. He’d lose his mind.”

Jungkook hums. He stops rowing, his hands stilling on the oars, and you’re just about to ask him what’s wrong when a warm hand glides up your thigh.

“You think you could maybe stop talking about your dad, princess?” Then he smirks. “Unless you’re into the whole daddy kink thing, because I’d be down to explore that at some point if you want—“

“Jungkook!” you hiss, scandalized.

“Yes?” the young man in question hums, his face the picture of innocence. It’s hard to muster up your vocabulary when he’s looking up at you with those wide doe eyes, but you somehow manage to prevail over your malfunctioning brain.

“We’re in public!” you whisper, glancing back at the shore where your brother and his friends have started an impromptu game of water polo.

Jungkook smirks crookedly at you. “Guess you better not scream too loud, then.”

And then, before you can open your mouth to protest—before you can even try to call his bluff—he’s slipped his hand into your bikini bottoms and found his way to your clit. Your entire body spasms when he presses into it experimentally, and the resulting snicker that escapes him is nothing short of infuriating.

“Careful,” he coos, laying his free hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing nonsensical circles into the soft skin. “Don’t wanna rock the boat, now.”

Then he returns his attention to your clit, pinching the nub just to watch you jolt in his grasp and soothing you with a gentle kiss to the knee afterward. Your skin warms beneath the plush of his lips, and the pleased smile that curves them is all the warning you get before he sheathes a single finger in your clenching core. “Jungkook—” you gasp, shoving uselessly at his bare shoulders, but you can’t keep the edge of desire out of your voice. You can’t hide the growing wetness between your legs either—wetness that he most certainly feels as he slips another finger inside, pumping into you with ease.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes trained on the way you clench around him. “So pretty like this. So pretty, getting fucked by my fingers. I could do this all day.”

“We—we don’t have all day,” you whisper. The last syllable dissolves into a moan as Jungkook eases a third finger into your cunt, and you scrabble to ground yourself when he picks up his leisurely pace. One hand settles on the edge of the boat, your fingernails digging into the wood, while the other finds Jungkook’s bicep. His arm flexes beneath your grip with each snap of his wrist, and you keen when he crooks his fingers just right and sends stars skittering across your vision.

He knows that you’re getting close. You can tell from the growing furrow between his brows and the hard set of his jaw, and you can tell that he won’t stop until he gets you off. Concentration etches across his face, and you gasp when his thumb finds your clit again.

“Oh, fuck, Jungkook—”

“That’s it,” he rasps, digging deeper and thumbing roughly across your bundle of nerves. “Cum for me.”

And you do. With one final flick of his wrist, Jungkook sends you hurtling over the edge that he’s so effortlessly built, a cresting wave of pleasure overtaking your body and spreading through your veins. Your leg kicks out instinctively, rocking the canoe dangerously in the water, but Jungkook catches you by the ankle with his free hand and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. He shifts his weight until you’re steadied once more, and only then does he ease his fingers out of you, raising them to his mouth to lick them clean.

“Think we can sneak away so I can fuck you properly?” he asks.

Your cheeks heat up at the lewd display, warming even more when his words register in your muddled brain. “Oh my god, Jungkook.”

“That’s exactly what you’ll be saying when I really get my hands on you,” Jungkook agrees. Flashing you a mischievous grin, he drops his hand over the edge of the boat, letting the turquoise water wash away any lingering fluids. “What do you think? The backseat of my car isn’t half bad…”

“I will literally push you into this lake,” you tell him, trying and failing to hide a disbelieving laugh. “Why are you such a perv?”

“You like it,” Jungkook defends immediately. “‘Sides,” he adds, casting a wary glance at the shore where Jimin and the others are still fully engrossed in their game, “I wanna kiss you while I fuck you. It’s not as good like this.”

At that, something dangerously close to affection blooms in your belly, winding its curious tendrils around your heart. Swallowing the feeling down, you pick up one of the oars instead, handing it over to him before hefting the other. “Come on,” you murmur. “They’re gonna get suspicious if we’re gone too long.”

Jungkook hums. “Yeah. Probably.”

And then he raises the oar you just handed him, lifting it until the paddle covers both of your faces, and boldly plants a firm kiss on your mouth.

“I’ll row us back,” he declares casually when he pulls away, as if he hasn’t just stolen all the oxygen from your lungs. As if your lips aren’t burning where he’s kissed you, your cheeks hot beneath his gentle exhalations. As if you aren’t positively thrumming with the desire to pull him back in, and maybe take him up on his offer to fuck you in the backseat of his beat-up sedan.

“Yeah,” you say instead, your voice hoarse. “Let’s go.”

///

What few remaining hours of daylight you have, you decide to spend inside. Jungkook gets roped into the water polo match as soon as the two of you return to shore, and you take the opportunity to slip into the house and clean yourself up. Safely locked away in the bathroom, you strip off your damp bikini bottoms and toss them in the sink. The top follows, and you give both a quick wash, doing your best to ignore the remaining slick from your orgasm that stubbornly coats the material.

Once everything is washed and hanging up to dry, you step into the shower. Warm water soaks your hair and slides down your back, and you tilt your head back to let the spray wash your worries away, relishing in the rare moment of peace and quiet.

By the time you’ve toweled off and gotten dressed, you can hear the boys beginning to traipse back into the house. From what you can make out, they’re making dinner plans, and you poke your head out curiously when Jimin mentions you by name.

“What are you saying about me?” you ask, narrowing your eyes accusingly at your brother.

Jimin whirls around, his cherubic face a perfect picture of innocence. “Nothing! I was just talking about your fried rice and how good it is…”

“You’re trying to get me to make you dinner,” you sigh. “I knew it.”

“No, we’ll help!” your brother promises. “I swear, as soon as I get out of the shower, I’ll chop all the vegetables.”

“Sure you will,” you snort, brushing past him and heading for the kitchen.

Much to your surprise, the kitchen is already occupied when you arrive. Jungkook and Yugyeom are at the counter—the former poised with a knife at the ready, about to slice into an onion. The latter is digging through the cabinets, and both turn at the sound of your footsteps.

“Hey,” Yugyeom says. “You probably know where the bottle opener is, right?”

You nod. “Left of the sink, second drawer down.” Then you turn your attention to Jungkook, peering curiously over his shoulder. “What’s the onion for?”

“Dinner,” he replies, flashing you a crooked little smile. “We’re making fried rice, aren’t we?”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest and races to catch up, thumping erratically against your ribcage. It’s hard to ignore the warmth blossoming in your belly—near impossible to ignore the butterflies that have made a home there—but you somehow manage to school your expression into something passably neutral and busy yourself with the other vegetables on the counter. “I see Jimin got to you, too. Is the other cutting board clean?”

Jungkook nods, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the dish rack. “Washed it last night, yeah. It’s all yours, Noona.”

You hum and skirt around Yugyeom to grab the clean board and another knife. Chopping vegetables goes a lot faster with two people, and Yugyeom does his part by cracking open two bottles of beer and plunking one down next to each of you before opening a third for himself. “Hydrate,” he orders, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and taking a sip.

It doesn’t take long to finish making dinner. As promised, Jimin joins you as soon as he’s out of the shower, plucking the knife out of your hand and nudging you aside so he can finish cutting the vegetables. You fire up the stove and drizzle some oil into a pan, and smile when Taehyung brings you the container of leftover rice and a large serving bowl.

“You know what we should do?” Minho asks as you’re all sitting down to eat. Yugyeom’s opened more beers, and Jimin’s brought out the wine as well. Jungkook is spooning out fried rice for everyone, and you accept the bowl he hands you with a murmur of thanks before looking at Minho expectantly.

“What should we do?”

“Go to the beach,” he replies, tilting the remainder of his beer back into his mouth. “It’s only an hour away, isn’t it?”

“Closer to half an hour without traffic,” Jimin corrects. “But, yeah, we should go. That would be fun.”

By the time dinner is finished, you’ve finalized plans to drive down to the beach in the morning. “Remember, we’re leaving at ten,” you tell Jimin, elbowing him in the ribs. “That means you have to wake up before ten.”

“I know!” your brother whines, rubbing the spot where you elbowed him with a grimace. “Jeez, Noona. I’m good at waking up. It’s Jungkook and Tae you have to worry about.”

“Says the punk who takes hour-long showers,” you snark. “What are you gonna do when you have to pay your own water bills, huh?”

“Shower at your place,” he replies smugly. “You can’t turn me away. I’m your brother.”

“Please, that’s exactly why I can turn you away, you little mooch.”

“You love me!”

“Really? You wanna test that theory?”

The remainder of the evening passes in a blur of booze and board games, unearthed from the closet in the hall. Despite your collective agreement to go to bed early, it’s past midnight when you finally bid everyone goodnight and crawl underneath your covers. Shutting your eyes, you will your brain to settle and your limbs to relax, and you’re on the verge of drifting off when your phone suddenly buzzes. Lazily, you roll over and snatch the device off the nightstand, taking in the late hour before your eyes flit down to the new notification and go wide.

[1:02am] Jungkook: IMG_497

You freeze, thumb hovering just above the message. Even when your screen goes dark again, you can’t erase the sight of his name lighting up your phone, the attachment sitting there like a taunt. You shouldn’t open it. You can’t open it.

But curiosity gnaws at your belly, fraying the edges of your resolve. Slowly, you wake the screen, watching as Jungkook’s name fills it once more. You hesitate, bottom lip finding its way between your teeth.

And then your phone buzzes again, several times in quick succession.

[1:04am] Jungkook: i miss you, noona

[1:04am] Jungkook: miss your pretty face

[1:04am] Jungkook: miss how tight your pussy felt around my fingers

You drop the device as if scorched. It takes several moments to gather your wits again, but when you do, pick up your phone, clicking on his name and scrolling up to the attachment. In the darkness of your bedroom, you watch with bated breath as it downloads.

“Fuck.”

The expletive slips past your lips, unbidden, but you can’t help it. Jungkook stares out at you from the photograph illuminating your screen, his eyes hooded and his lips curled into a devious smirk. He’s in the shared bathroom between your bedrooms, and even though it’s dark inside, the flash of his camera is just enough to illuminate the distinctive palm tree patterned shower curtain behind him.

But, you aren’t focused on that.

No, your focus is zeroed in on the foreground of the photo, where you can perfectly make out the head of Jungkook’s cock, sticky and leaking copiously from between his fingers.

“Fuck,” you repeat, louder this time.

And as if reading your mind, another text flashes onto your screen.

[1:07am] Jungkook: wish your pretty little pussy was stretched around my cock right now, princess

You aren’t sure what possesses you to send the response you do, but your thumbs are moving before the more rational side of your brain can catch up and stop you.

[1:07am] You: why don’t you come over and make it happen then?

You’ve only just hit send when the bathroom door swings open, revealing Jungkook standing there in nothing but sweatpants. His face is illuminated in the stark white light shining from his screen, his eyes dark and his smirk even darker. Every movement drips with intent, from the way his lips quirk upward to the way he saunters over to join you on your bed, dropping his phone somewhere amongst the rumpled sheets. The room goes dark.

And then…

“Hey, princess.”

His lips are at your ear, hot breath caressing your cheeks and sending shivers down the length of your spine. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he joins you, a hand finding your bare thigh before sliding up to grasp your hip. Only an oversized t-shirt and a thin pair of cotton panties shield you from his roving fingers, and you can tell from the pleased curve of his mouth that he isn’t going to let either stand in his way. One hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt, dancing along your ribcage, and you let out a breathy gasp when he trails up and skims along the soft skin just below the swell of your breasts.

“Been thinking about you all night, you know,” Jungkook whispers, pushing up your shirt and peppering kisses along every inch of newly revealed flesh. “Been thinking about how pretty you looked, cumming around my fingers, and how much prettier you’d look cumming around my cock.”

Your shirt is long forgotten by this point, tugged overhead and thrown carelessly over his shoulder. Jungkook hauls you closer, slotting himself between your spread legs, and you shiver when he presses the pad of his thumb against your clothed clit, the material uncomfortably damp as it clings to your folds.

“Jungkook—” His name escapes you in an airy whisper. “Please.”

Even in the darkness, you can see the satisfied, self-assured tilt of his lips. “Such a good girl for me,” he croons, leaning down to press a kiss to your waiting mouth. His free hand comes up to cup your cheek while the other remains between your legs, and you gasp sharply when he digs his thumb a little harder against your clit, circling the sensitive bud.

Jungkook seizes upon the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, licking into your mouth with unrestrained ardor. Your panties are peeled away, the cottony material disappearing right alongside the pressure of his thumb, and the inadvertent whine that escapes you has him chuckling darkly in his throat.

“What is it, princess?” Jungkook rasps, his voice dipping several pitches. “You have to tell me what you want, remember?”

You clutch at his wrist weakly, tugging it back between your legs until he finally indulges you and resumes his lazy revolutions around your clit. “Want you,” you whisper. “Want you inside me.”

Jungkook lets out a pleased hum, rewarding you with a single finger that he slips into your sopping entrance, your juices aiding the smooth glide as he curls it up in search of the spot that’ll have you seeing stars. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” you agree shakily. “But it looks like you are, so why don’t you let me help you out?”

Jungkook chuckles softly, his lips ghosting across the swell of your cheek. “Oh, yeah? And how exactly do you plan on helping me?”

Slowly, you reach down, letting your fingers graze the sizable bulge in his sweatpants. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? Me, stretched around your cock?”

A low groan escapes him when you give him a firm stroke, your fingers barely meeting around his length. “On your back,” he commands hoarsely, nudging you backward until you’re nestled into your pillows. Freeing his erection from the confines of his sweatpants, he settles comfortably between your spread legs, the mattress groaning in protest at the shift in weight.

“Wait,” you whisper, grabbing his wrist. “Did you hear that?”

His face scrunches in confusion. “Hear what?” he asks, as if he’s never heard that particular string of words before. “Are you sure it wasn’t just—”

He stops mid-sentence, and you both hear it again—the unmistakable creaking of bedsprings from next door. “Shit!” you hiss, scrambling back on the mattress until you’re nearly pressed against the headboard. “Oh, god. That’s Jimin. He’s going to kill you if he finds you in here—”

On the other side of the wall, the door to the shared bathroom opens, the light flickering on and illuminating the crack beneath your door. You hear your brother cursing sleepily under his breath as the toilet lid clatters open, and nearly shove Jungkook off the bed in your haste to get him out of your room.

“You have to go,” you whisper frantically, herding him toward the door that leads out into the hall.

Jungkook hurriedly pulls his pants back over his hips, and you can practically see him willing his erection to go away. “What am I supposed to say if he asks?”

“I don’t know! Pretend you were going for a glass of water or something!”

With a final push, you shove him out of your bedroom, leaning against the door with a relieved sigh when it clicks shut behind him. You hear Jungkook shuffle off just as Jimin flushes, and cast a prayer up to any deities that may exist as you listen to him wash his hands. And it seems your prayers are answered, as quiet descends over the house once more. Off in the distance, you think you hear Minho snoring.

Letting out another sigh, you return to bed, crawling beneath the covers and getting comfortable. And when sleep finally takes you, you dream of Jeon Jungkook.

#bangtanarmynet #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #jeon jungkook #bts #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #lia writes

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some-messed-up-writing-for-you · 3 years

Note

There's a team of heroes vs one villain in the town and one of the heroes gives the others away when they all decide cover up something awful. Villain applauds the hero for coming forward, showering them in praise and affection, but Hero is apprehensive about everything because under the masks they still were friends with the other heroes- and they betrayed them. With no friends and no job, however, they keep coming to Villain for their needs.

Request #16

Warning: torture, descriptions of harm & wounds.

Here you go! 💖💖

~~~~

Hero couldn't believe what lay before their eyes. While they were out on patrol, their teammates had called them, telling them to get back to base immediately. Apparently, they had caught one of Villain's henchmen and were in the middle of interrogating them.

This, however, was not how Hero imagined their 'interrogation' would look like. Henchman's bruised and bloodied body was lying on the cold stone floor, shaking, their breathing dangerously heavy. "W-What happened?!"

"Oh, yeah, they didn't wanna talk, so we had to uh... get a little rough, ya know?" - Second Hero answered, calm and unbothered, Third Hero and Fourth Hero equally unconcerned.

"Anyway, where were we?" - Third Hero asked no one in particular as they moved closer to the fallen henchman. Calling forth their power, they continued, "This bitch still hasn't said a word."

Henchman tensed up, preparing for more pain, before Hero suddenly interrupted, "Hold on, uh- How about you let me take a crack at 'em, ay? And you guys go take a break; it looks like we're gonna be at it for a while."

The third hero considered their suggestion for a moment, not noticing the bead of sweat going down Hero's forehead, and then responded with a grin, "Aight, leave some for us to play with later, though."

The three blood-covered heroes exited the room chuckling, leaving Hero and Henchman alone. As the hero neared the beaten-up crook they tensed up, jaw locking tight.

They did flinch, however, as Hero's hand gently landed on their shoulder. The henchman dared a glance at them, and their confusion only grew as they saw the worry on the other's face. "Are- Are you alright?"

"..."

"Right, okay- you don't want to talk- uh... here." - Hero continued the one-sided conversation, carefully lifting Henchman into a bridal carry. The criminal tried to fight against them but only hissed as pain shot through their entire body. They rested their head against the hero's shoulder with a groan, letting them do as they pleased.

Hero called upon their power, their eyes glowing in the dimly lit room. Henchman was ready for pain, but to their surprise, the hero did not use their power to hurt them. Honestly, they weren't even sure what their power was, as they've never seen them use it.

The faint sound of pitter-patter caught their attention. The room's door opened, and through it came a... spider-shaped machine...? It was quite odd-looking, a short cylinder with some pointy legs attached to it, alongside what was probably cameras going all around its side, giving it three-sixty vision. The contraption was big, too, and apparently sturdy enough for the hero to stand atop it with the henchman still in their arms.

"W-Wha...?" - Henchman tried, but the Hero quickly cut them off, "I can control machines with my mind."

With a surge of power from the hero, the odd metallic spider moved again, taking them out of the interrogation room. It skittered along the ground before suddenly climbing onto the wall. Henchman yelped as they expected gravity to drag them to the floor but were surprised yet again as both humans and the robot moved horizontally to the ground without issue.

The henchman didn't even bother asking as they moved along the ceiling, traveling upside down; they just assumed it had something to do with magnets. They were very high up. The heroes' base had some awfully tall ceilings, but they supposed it was convenient in this scenario, as the two wouldn't easily be spotted. Upon looking up- or down? Whatever it was, they noticed they were currently in a lounge room, the other three heroes chatting amongst themself below them.

Both Henchman and Hero kept their mouths shut tight as they passed over the team and slithered into another room. Once the human chatter faded from their ears, they both let out a breath, the hero's machine speeding up, crawling to a nearby window.

As the cool outside air hit their face, the henchman let themself relax a bit in the other's hold, still confused but now more convinced that they were being helped. The sun had nearly set, and nighttime's darkness was slowly enveloping the city.

As the moon began rising into the sky, Hero and Henchman moved across rooftops and between alleyways, headed straight for Villain's lair.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You know, I probably should've asked earlier..." - Henchman began. The two were standing atop a building, looking down at the villain's lair. " But why are you... helping me?"

"..." - Hero was silent at first, a pained frown taking over their face as they thought about their teammates, their friends. They never expected the three would do something like this...

"I... I couldn't just let them hurt you like that. It- It wasn't right..."

Without another word from either of them, they descended down the side of the building and moved closer to the guards stationed outside. Before entering the henchmen's line of sight, Hero moved off their machine, hiding it nearby, and walked closer.

They immediately became surrounded, power-enhanced guns pointed right at the hero. They stood still as a rifle was pressed against the back of their head, and Henchman was carefully taken from them. Their arms were then forced behind their back and put into power-suppressing cuffs.

As the henchmen dragged them along, they could only ponder whether this was a good idea or not. Hero should've thought this through a little bit better, shouldn't they have? It was a very rash decision on their part, but they couldn't just stand by and let the poor henchman get tortured!

They- They were a hero. Their teammates too! All four of them were, or rather, they were supposed to be. And heroes- Heroes weren't supposed to hurt people...

Lost amidst their thoughts, Hero failed to realize that they were already standing before the villain's office. The doors swung open, and they were thrown inside, falling to their knees. Villain looked unsurprised; their henchmen had no doubt informed them of the intruder as soon as they had appeared.

The doors closed and locked, and Hero was now alone with the enemy. The villain was staring down at them, arms crossed and a calculating look in their eyes as if they were trying to figure something out.

Villain was the first to break the silence, "You brought Henchman back."

"So I did."

"...Why?"

Hero went to answer, but a frown returned to their face, the memory of seeing their friends being so casual about hurting someone... It... It just...

"It wasn't right..." - they muttered, the villain barely understanding their words. "They were hurting them... Torturing them..."

"And even though they're your teammates, you still went against them and saved one of my henchmen." - Villain said, a grin taking over their face as they knelt down to the other's level. The hero grew confused as the villain took hold of their chin, locking their eyes.

"I must say, Hero. This was very unexpected but brave of you."

"H-Huh?"

"So, what are you going to do now? Do you have any... evidence of what your little friends did?" - Villain continued as they undid their restraints, letting them stand.

Hero's eyes widened both at the villain's actions and as they realized that they did, in fact, have something, "The security footage..."

"Well, there ya go!" - the villain exclaimed, giving them an oddly reassuring pat on the shoulder. Why were they suddenly being so friendly to the hero? Not to mention they just... uncuffed them like it was nothing!

"Hey, uh... Villain?" - Hero started, uncertainty clear in their voice. They watched as the criminal moved to their desk and sat down. They trailed after them and continued, "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but um... why the sudden... friendliness?"

"You saved one of mine and returned them to me. Is it bad that I'm grateful?" - Villain responded, tilting their head to the side and observing the hero curiously. Hero seemed a bit shocked, if not flustered at their reply.

"Ah, well, no- it's not a bad thing! I just- uh-" - Hero attempted a reply, but the villain's chuckle ended their ramble. They stood there unsure of how to proceed and just let the other talk.

"Why don't I repay you, hmm?" - Villain asked with a smirk and a look that made Hero's face hot.

"Uh- Repay me h-how?"

"I'll help you bring your friend's misdeed to light." - they answered, adoring the slight embarrassment the hero couldn't hide. They obviously knew where Hero thought that was going to go; they made them think that on purpose. Villain just couldn't help themself; the hero was always so adorable when they tried to avoid their gaze in that shy manner of theirs.

"O-Oh, right."

Giving Hero an amused look, the villain stood and went for the door, motioning for them to follow. Together, they went to expose the hero's teammates.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few weeks had gone by, and the footage of Hero's teammates torturing Henchman had gone viral online. Millions of people had seen it already and were raising hell, demanding answers from Organization.

The hero had also stepped forward and spoke about it. They thought that this was the right thing to do. They thought that the higher-ups would be pleased with them for bringing such a crime to light. But instead of praise, Hero was met with hostility and threats. They had no choice but to leave behind their heroic work and go into hiding.

As the days went by, they became more and more paranoid, terrified that the organization would find and catch them. Luck, however, seemed to be on their side. A little while after they had gone off the radar, the villain had found them and offered them their help.

Hero was very apprehensive about taking up their offer but nonetheless found themself regularly coming back to Villain's lair. With no job and no friends of any kind, the villain was now, ironically, their only ally.

You'd think that Hero could just find a new job, right? Something normal for a change, but no. That was unfortunately not an option; not only did their teammates know what their face looked like, but so did the rest of the world now. Organization had exposed their face to the globe, and now there was no going back.

They pondered over all of this, questioning what to do. At first, Hero had been living off of whatever scraps they could find, only occasionally coming to Villain for help. But now? They were practically living in their lair, and they hated it. It made them feel like a leech.

Another thing that bothered the hero greatly was that not only did the villain supply them with food and shelter, but they also, at some point, started to take care of their more... emotional needs. Reassuring them, praising them, holding them, it- it was confusing but... welcome...

And it was actually happening right now. The two were currently in Villain's courters, lying on their bed. The villain was on their back, with the hero on top of them, their bodies facing each other. Hero's face burned hotter than the sun as they cuddled, the other's arms wrapped around them, one hand petting their head. How they got into this situation, Hero did not know.

"You know my other offer still stands, right?" - Villain asked softly, breaking them out of their thoughts. The hero snuggled their face deeper into their chest, too embarrassed to look at them before muttering, "I know..."

"Then why not take it? I'd love it if you joined me." - the villain whispered in their ear, making them shiver a bit. Hero had to admit, they have considered the offer quite a few times now. They just... weren't sure if they'd be...

"Would I even be good enough for this...?" - the hero questioned, slightly tilting their head so that they could glance at the other. Villain's hand moved from their head to their chin, lifting it and locking their eyes.

"Oh, of course, you'd be good enough! You'd be even better than that!" - the villain reassured, a gentle look overtaking their features.

"R-Really?" - the hero was still unsure, but they couldn't help but relax under the criminal's gaze and touch.

"Yes, really. After all, you saved my henchman so exceptionally! Sneaking around those heroes and through the city like it was nothing!" - Villain praised, and Hero found themself slowly believing them.

They lay there silently for a moment, Hero battling internally before finally deciding, "A-Alright, I... I'll join you!"

"Marvelous~." - the villain purred, and a new chapter began for both of them.

#hero x villain #villain x hero #writing #writeblr #hero #villain #writing prompt #prompt #request #prompt request #request prompts #short story

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toosicktoocare · 3 years

Text

ya’ll ever dissect a brief two-second clip in a trailer for a season of a show that hasn’t come out yet and concoct a small story around it that turns into an almost 2k-word fic at almost 2 am in the morning? no? just me?

anyway, i’m obviously hung up on that brief clip in the 911 season 5 trailer where Eddie falls. Is he panicking? Maybe, and that’s definitely what I wrote about. though, halfway through writing, when I was just watching a gif set for the clip, i had a thought that maybe he was poisoned instead. but, well, I was in too deep by that point.

Trigger Warning for Panic Attacks.

There’s panic, Eddie thinks, when he’s on the job. Panic that strikes a chord against the adrenaline thumping in his blood. Panic that drives his muscles and activates the sheer need to act and save in his mind.

This, Eddie thinks, is not that type of panic.

This is the panic that pools at the bottom of his stomach, always there and always waiting to accumulate, to feed on his fears, to expand upward. This is the panic that slides past his rib cage in the background until it’s snaking around his lungs, constricting slowly until he suddenly can’t suck in a deep breath and thus panics harder.

This is the panic that chips away at his brain, replacing the known with the biting edge of the unknown. Burning away the calm and revealing the trauma that’s been tucked away. This panic nips at his heart and eats at his nerves until he succumbs to it, the icy trace of its presence bringing with it a cold sweat that slips down Eddie’s temples.

He tugs at his collar, his pulse pounding hard against his neck, but it’s not enough. His breath is trapped, unable to sneak past the panic molding over his lungs. His hand falls to his side limply, and for a moment, he stares at the ground, his vision swimming, the faint background sounds becoming lost to the roar of his heart.

He doesn’t realize he’s falling until his back hits the ground, the air trapped in his lungs pushing out with a low wheeze. The pain that erupts along his back is numbed under the weight of bottled memories, of the gun shot that ripped through his arm, of the blood painting his world in a thick, deep red that drowns him.

“Eddie? I heard something fall.”

He’s no longer on the floor, instead lost in a hazy limbo, what he fears most unfolding before him. He’s gone, and Christopher is grieving. His son is shutting everyone out, his voice muted under the pain. The 118, once a solid foundation, cracks, and Buck? Buck screams his voice raw. Buck punches at a brick wall, over and over until his knuckles tear and bleed. He swings when Bobby tries to stop him, and then he crumbles.

“Edmundo!”

As quickly as it comes, it’s gone, and Eddie gasps, the single breath a mountain to climb over. He’s at Ana’s. It’s their date night, and she was finding a pair of earrings she received as a birthday gift a few years back. They were set to leave for their dinner reservation in just a few minutes.

His shirt is damp against his skin, and he trembles the entire way to his feet, each muscle wobblier than the last.

“Edmundo, what happened? Are you ill?”

Ana’s frantic at his side, and she palms at his forehead, the worry across her face evident even through his fuzzy vision. He shakes his head, and she pulls her hand away, lips pointed downward.

“You’re ice cold,” she worries, one hand sliding down his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head again, unable to speak around what little breaths he’s able to take in. He’s on autopilot when he’s helped over to Ana’s couch, and he fades in and out of the present, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he struggles to recapture his breathing. His hands are fists at his knees, and he hunches over, curling in on himself, shielding himself.

He stays this way until a hand tugs lightly at his wrist and a voice calls out his name gently. He’s slow to lift his gaze, but when he does, Buck crowds his vision, blue eyes impossibly worried before him.

“Buck?” He croaks out, and Buck nods sharply, his fingers pressing to the inside of Eddie’s wrist.

“It’s me,” Buck reassures calmly. “I’m going to check your pulse, okay? Keep your eyes on mine.”

Eddie can only nod, the lump in his throat keeping his words from him. He trains his gaze to Buck’s. He knows Buck is counting silently to himself, and yet, Buck’s gaze doesn’t waver; his concentration doesn’t fold in the slightest. His eyes are sharp, focused, and after sixty seconds, his face relaxes a fraction, and Eddie’s lungs deflate with a low sigh.

“You’re okay,” Buck whispers, leaning forward until his forehead knocks lightly against Eddie’s, warm compared to his Eddie’s clammy one. His hand finds the side of Eddie’s neck, cups it gently, and Eddie holds the position, pulling all his focus toward the weight of Buck’s hand, the heat spreading across his forehead and down to his cheeks, his neck, stopping at his heart.

“I’m okay,” he finally repeats, voice low, cracking slightly, and only then does Buck pull away, frowning.

“Ana called.” Buck keeps his voice quiet, just a breath above a whisper. “She said she found you on the floor.” He opens his mouth, prepared to press further, but Eddie shakes his head sharply.

“Not here. Where’s Chris?”

“Kitchen with Ana.” Buck rises to his feet and steps away from Eddie’s view. “Sorry, I didn’t want to leave him—”

“—It’s fine,” Eddie mutters, his ears perking up to hear Christopher and Ana talking nearby. Christopher giggles quietly, and the furrow of Eddie’s brow smooths over slightly. “I need to postpone our date,” he adds, more to himself, and Buck extends a steady hand to help him off the couch.

“I’ll get Chris settled back in the jeep. Will you be okay to drive your truck back, or should I arrange to get it for you later?”

“I can drive,” Eddie mumbles weakly, and then Buck crowds his vision again, worry painted down every inch of his face.

“Try that again. If I still don’t believe it, I’m taking your keys.”

Eddie sucks in a deep breath. His chest still hurts, the panic still a nagging sheet of ice burrowed deep in the base of his stomach, but he’s able to hold air in his lungs until he exhales slowly, the line of tension across his shoulders breaking.

“I can drive.” He repeats, stronger, and Buck nods, his own body relaxing.

“I’ll see you back at your house, then. Be careful.” Buck turns on his heel, a smile playing across his lips as he rounds into the kitchen with Eddie close behind him.

“Chris! Do you want to put the band-aid on your dad’s arm?” Buck turns to lean in close to Eddie, whispering, “I told him you fell and hurt your arm.”

Eddie mouths ‘thank you’ at the same time Christopher shouts, “Yeah!”

Eddie plants a smile across his lips, forced against the lingering, nagging edge of panic, and he rolls up a single jacket sleeve halfway up his arm. He crouches down, points to an unmarked spot on his arm, and Chris carefully, almost delicately, spreads a Superman band-aid across his arm.

“All better?” Chris asks, and Eddie nods as he gets to his feet. He ruffles Christopher’s hair, his own smile warming across his lips.

“All better,” he repeats. “Thanks, bud. You okay to go back to the house with Buck? I’ll meet you there?”

“Yep!”

Christopher offers multiple goodbyes before he and Buck slip out the door, leaving Eddie to work around just how exactly to explain to Ana that he’s not sure he can do this right now, that he’s succumbing to the issues he’s been too stubborn to recognize over the last couple of months. That he would be miserable company for he’s too wrapped up in a gut-wrenching fear that bears its fangs when he least expects it.

“It’s okay, Eddie.”

Her voice is impossibly soft beside him, soft but classically genuine, and he turns toward her, frowning.

“Ana, I’m so sorr—”

“—Don’t,” Ana interrupts, stepping toward him and brushing a feather-light kiss to his cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Her breath is warm against his skin, her voice delicate, her words knowing where to step and where to tread gently. When she pulls away, Eddie almost feels guilty at the relief, at the weight that drops from his shoulders.

“Talk soon?” He asks, and she nods, a small smile tight at her lips.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” he tells her, and he means it. Every inch of him means it.

---

When Eddie pulls into his driveway, he turns off his truck, but he doesn’t rush to get out, instead sinking against the exhaustion that’s been creeping over him his entire drive home. He’s drained, emotionally and physically, and he tips his head back, his eyes fluttering shut. He doesn’t look when his car door opens at his side; he only sighs.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.”

Buck’s being careful, Eddie thinks. He can tell by the way Buck’s tone almost tips up into a question, just not quite reaching that pitch. He’s leaving an opening for Eddie, and Eddie takes it. His eyes flutter open, and he rolls his head toward Buck.

“I’ve got some issues,” he says, and the laugh Buck lets out is nervous, worried.

“You don’t say.”

“I’m not sure what to do,” Eddie admits, twisting around until his legs are hanging out of the door. “Tonight was a lot.” He can see Buck taking in his words, dissecting them in a way he does best.

“You look exhausted. Do you want me to go—”

“—No!”

Buck’s jaw snaps shut at the force of Eddie’s single shout, and Eddie slides out of the car, slumping forward, his forehead dropping against Buck’s shoulder. “Sorry. No, I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to be alone right now. My thoughts are—”

“—dark?” Buck finishes, his hand slipping to the small of Eddie’s back. “Not you,” he continues. “Scary?”

“All of the above,” Eddie mutters, and Buck’s hand presses against his back, pushing until Eddie’s flush against his chest. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s back, and Eddie returns the hug, melting against him.

“It’s going to be okay,” Buck whispers. “I’m going to be here, and I’m going to help you.”

Though Eddie knows Buck would quite literally bend over backwards for him, the ease of Buck’s tone, the determination laced within Buck’s words, cracks the icy panic that’s nestled in his stomach. It surprises Eddie still—just how much Buck is willing to be there for him no matter what.

“Thank you,” he mutters, and for the second time in a single night, every entire inch of his being means it.

#911 fox #9 1 1 #9 1 1 fox #911 season 5 #Eddie Diaz #evan buckley #tw: panic attack #i know what you all are thinking #why is someone who eats sleeps and breathes buddie writing Ana #well what had happened was i had no fucking idea where Eddie was in that clip #or why he was dressed so well (which i am not mad about in the slightest)#at first i tried to build a story around some kind of firefighter gala #but i kinda got hung up on him being at Ana's house #i couldn't remember if we've seen her house before #but if you look at the trend of the 911 writers #Ana's house is the more believeable location #and that's how i kinda wrote a hopefuly supportive sort of break up after a bad panic attack

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lettheladylead · 2 years

Text

running in circles

chapter eighteen: how long can we keep this up, up, up? summary: Goldie and Scrooge follow a lead to a new adventure in Australia. warnings: references to sex, nothing explicit wordcount: 3448 playlist (will be updated as chapters are posted): shorturl.at/bfBCQ ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33776632/chapters/89899609

here’s chapter eighteen!! text will also be included in this post for those of you that don’t use ao3:

1926; Alice Springs, Australia:

He had his own plane.

Goldie shouldn’t have been surprised by that. It was the fastest way to get around the world, after all. And because of all the urgent technological advances during the war (the war that she and Scrooge had completely missed, thanks to being frozen), planes were safer and faster than ever. So yes. She shouldn’t have been surprised at all.

It was still an odd experience. Goldie had been on a plane plenty of times since opening her hotel in Portugal, but she still wasn’t used to it. She spent sixty years on the ground and in the water, the sky was a whole new thing.

Her anxiety about the long - long, long, loooong, long - trip didn’t stop her and Scrooge from having some fun up in the air. In fact, she felt like it eased her worries quite a bit.

Scrooge did that a lot. Mostly unintentionally. But a part of Goldie couldn’t stop thinking back to their first month together when he saved her life and held her in his arms and she felt so safe and warm with him...there was no feeling quite like it.

More than a day of flying went by quickly when they were spending it goofing off, talking about business, going over plans for this adventure and, of course, having a good time.

When they finally landed in Alice Springs, Goldie couldn’t wait to get off that plane and feel solid ground under her feet again. But she also knew they needed to hurry. The rich muckety muck they’d eavesdropped on in Florida was probably on the move to find that gold and they needed to get there first.

---

Scrooge knew that inviting Goldie on this adventure/gold hunt with him was a risk. He was all too familiar with Goldie O’Gilt, after all. She meant confusion and heartbreak and almost inevitable betrayal.

But she also meant fun. Not just the sex, but their chats and arguments and their shared history and a surprisingly amount of cuddling. It was the little things that made him want to keep spending time with her no matter how bad an idea it was.

So far their journey had gone without a hitch. But that wasn’t unusual for adventures with Goldie. Everything would seem fine and dandy until suddenly she’d take the gold and run.

Well not this time!

Scrooge was going to make sure she didn’t distract him and get away with the treasure. Especially with the amount of money he was spending on fuel and guides to make sure they got to their destination safely...the only thing worse than Goldie running off with the prize would be no prize at all. They were going off of flimsy details from a conversation overheard at a fancy party. Maybe he hadn’t thought this through as well as he should have.

Sitting in the back of a chauffeured car through the Australian desert, Scrooge glanced down at Goldie. She was leaning her weight against him and had her eyes closed. She didn’t seem to be sleeping, but she looked very serene.

He was frustrated as always by his feelings for her, but God if it didn't feel good to just spend time with someone he really...loved.

The ride was comfortable - only a few hours and they'd be dropped off just outside of Ayer's Rock. The driver agreed to wait in a nearby town for two days, and if they didn't return by then he could leave them behind.

Goldie objected to the deal; it was very similar to one she'd made in Alaska years earlier. But Scrooge was confident they'd be back well before then. He was Scrooge McDuck, after all. And it was just a big rock in the desert!

"Uluru is not just a big rock," their driver said with an offended frown. "It's sacred. It's been around since the beginning of time."

Goldie elbowed Scrooge in the chest as they exited the car. "Uluru is the native name for it?"

"Yes," the driver said quietly. "The proper name."

The two adventurers glanced at one another, then put on their backpacks and stretched. It was going to be a bit of a walk to get to the Rock, and then they’d spend hours and hours traveling around and on top of it trying to find the treasure.

Good thing they were both gold-obsessed, experienced adventurers or it’d probably be hard to find. Scrooge could smell gold from a mile away and Goldie could catch sight of the sparkle of gold without any light to speak of.

As they got closer to Ayer’s Rock, the evidence of other explorers was blatant. Scrooge and Goldie knew they had to move fast and make sure they got the gold before anyone else could.

---

“What exactly does vein of gold even mean?”

“It’s...well, I dinnae the science behind it, but it looks like melted gold dripped between other rocks.”

“Ahh, so it kind of looks like veins with all the little branches and whatnot. I get that.”

The two ducks spent several hours hiking up and around the site, keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of gold. Though getting around the rock itself should’ve only taken four hours or so, they were going slow and steady to make sure they didn’t miss anything.

Goldie had suggested she look low while Scrooge looked high, but he rejected her suggestion with a less-than-subtle accusation that she’d keep information from him. As if she could really do that in a place like this. What was she supposed to do, say there was nothing there and then sneak back in the middle of the night to dig out her prize? It didn’t make any sense.

So instead, they zig-zagged all over the rock for hours on end.

During one of their later climbs down the side of the rock, Goldie’s head turned instinctively towards a gleam she’d seen out of the corner of her eyes. She’d recognize that gleam anywhere.

“Gold!”

Within a second, Goldie made her way to the shiny mineral, Scrooge following closely behind. They both squinted at the rock wall in front of them.

“Is this it?” Scrooge asked, unable to mask his disappointment. “The man in Florida said it was huge!”

“I haven’t seen anything else,” Goldie grumbled. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe it goes in really deep?”

Scrooge scoffed and pulled a small pickaxe out of his bag. “Just means more work for us.”

---

The ducks spent two hours hacking away at the side of the rock, collecting little bits of gold in their shared bag. It wasn’t much - would cover the cost of their trip, for sure, but not much beyond that.

“This is what we get for followin’ such a shady lead,” Scrooge grumbled.

Goldie shrugged next to him. “Well there wasn’t nothing. If you weren’t so rich, you’d probably be excited by this much gold.”

Scrooge paused as he considered her words. She was right, just three decades ago this amount of gold would’ve made him jump for joy. And here he was complaining about it. Had he become spoiled in his wealth?

At the realization that she was the only one currently working, Goldie turned around to yell at her frozen partner. She was immediately distracted by a menacing shadow looming over the two of them. She eyed the shadow, following it all the way to a group of kangaroos headed towards them. Goldie tilted her head and watched the animals cautiously, realizing just in time that one of them was about to attack.

“Oh, shit - Scrooge!” Goldie shouted as she grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the way.

The kangaroo’s feet smashed into the rock right where Scrooge’s head had been. The two of them stared at the spot with fear in their eyes.

“Curse me kilts!” Scrooge adjusted his hat and scooted back. “What’s with these kangaroos?!”

Goldie dragged Scrooge out of the way of another attack and scowled. “They must be protecting the gold!”

There were five kangaroos in total and both Scrooge and Goldie knew that if they stayed too long they’d get beaten to a pulp. Kangaroos were known to be aggressive under normal circumstances, but if they thought these ducks were trying to encroach on their territory...

Goldie and Scrooge ran along the edge of the rock as the kangaroos kept after them. They were outnumbered and outmatched and knew it was safest to get out of dodge. But the kangaroos were fast and although he and Goldie kept pulling and pushing each other out of the way of attacks, eventually one of them managed to hit Scrooge in the side and send him flying into Ayer’s Rock.

He heard Goldie screech before he passed out.

---

“C’mon, c’mon! Stupid sourdough...just stay still!”

Scrooge felt an aching pain in his side and in his head. His whole body was hurting, actually. But he could distinctly feel someone moving him and hear Goldie grumbling urgently nearby.

“If he needs medical attention this is probably just gonna make it worse. But what the hell can I do? I’m in the middle of nowhere talking to a fucking kangaroo!”

He scrunched his eyes, trying to understand the words she was saying. Medical attention? Kangaroo?

Oh, yes, that’s right.

“Goldie!” Scrooge shouted as he quickly jolted to attention. It brought a stabbing pain to his head, which he immediately cradled.

“Oh, Scrooge!” Goldie sounded shocked. “Perfect! Can you hang on to here?” she asked as she tugged his hands forward and wrapped his fingers around clumps of fur.

He squeezed. “What’s this…?”

“Our ticket out of here,” she said.

Scrooge’s vision became perfectly clear just in time to see Goldie hop on top of a surprisingly docile-looking kangaroo. That was odd. Scrooge looked down at what he was sitting on only to find...another kangaroo. “Wait, what?”

“C’mon, boys! The others will be coming after us soon!” Goldie shouted as she pointed in some direction away from the rock.

The kangaroos started to run and Scrooge squawked, wrapping his arms around his ride’s neck to make sure he didn’t fall off. “Wh-wait, Goldie! What about t-the gold?!”

She turned around and spotted the other kangaroos coming up behind them, but seemed confident enough in their lead that she gave Scrooge a bright, enchanting smile. “Got as much of it as possible into our bags, Scroogey! Don’t worry your pretty little head about it!”

Her words made Scrooge feel much better about the whole situation, though he had no idea what had happened. He loosened his grip on the kangaroo and grabbed it properly, whispering a little apology for squeezing so hard. He turned around to see if they were being followed and in the distance he could make out the rest of the kangaroos from earlier.

Scrooge wanted to ask Goldie more about what had happened, but when he turned to look at her, she was fixing her ponytail and at that very moment her hair was loose and flying behind her dramatically. The view was distracting and Scrooge felt himself leaning against the kangaroo. She looked so…

“...beautiful.”

Goldie raised an eyebrow at Scrooge. “What’d you say?”

Scrooge continued to stare for a moment until her voice registered and he sat up straight again. Had he said something out loud? Maybe he hit his head too hard. “Where exactly are we goin’?”

“Well...away from danger was my first priority,” Goldie answered with a shrug. She glanced behind them and smiled again. “I think we’re out of harm’s way. Let’s just try to find Jack so he can take us back to Alice Springs.”

---

After a few hours of wandering around on their kangaroos (Scrooge still didn’t understand how Goldie managed to corral them, and her only response when he asked was that he shouldn’t have passed out), the two ducks decided to give up before the sun went down completely. They probably weren’t terribly far from civilization, but they had no way to know for sure and they had enough supplies to keep themselves and their friendly kangaroos alive for another day.

They ate some food rations and chatted idly as the sun went down. Scrooge didn’t make a peep as he watched the kangaroos lay down to sleep and despite a bit of fear that they might be mad, he decided their bodies looked like comfortable pillows.

Goldie watched him as he gently laid his head down and they both stared at the kangaroo’s face to see if it would react. It looked at him for a moment and then closed its eyes.

Scrooge smirked, feeling very proud of himself.

“Looking comfy there, sourdough,” Goldie commented quietly.

He smiled at her and patted the spot next to him. “Are ye gonnae come find out?” he asked with unexpected confidence.

Goldie looked surprised for a moment before crawling over and laying her head next to his. They made eye contact and she felt her heart racing more than it should - this wasn’t an unusual position for them. Nothing about this was unusual. It’d just been such a long time that she’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

Scrooge wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him.

She let out an amused sigh and put her hands on his chest. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I suppose I am,” he responded quietly. “Probably from gettin’ smacked in the head.”

Goldie suddenly slid her hands up to his head and started poking and prodding. “I completely forgot to check if you were concussed after that hit. Does any of this hurt?”

“Not anymore than usual,” Scrooge mumbled.

“Of course you’d bounce back from that completely unbruised.”

“I am Scrooge McDuck,” he whispered, leaning his face closer to hers. “Nothin’ can take me down.”

She didn’t respond and just stared into his eyes, enjoying their last moments of daylight together. Goldie didn’t know what it was about this particular moment, but she felt herself drawn to him in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Nothing special happened. He didn’t say anything or do anything. He was just...Scrooge McDuck. And she’d missed him.

A moment later and they were kissing. Two sixty-year-olds sprawled out on the dirt making out under the gradually appearing stars...it wasn’t exactly the stuff of romance novels. But it felt right.

Both ducks wanted to take their usual route and go further, Scrooge turned on by her adventuring prowess and the fact that she’d saved his life, Goldie turned on by his gentle gaze and confident smirk, but their kangaroo company was keeping them abstinent for the time being.

They kissed for longer than necessary, neither really interested in sleeping just yet. They wanted to enjoy being in each other’s arms until sleep took over.

---

Goldie woke up in the middle of the night. Still in Scrooge’s arms.

Her face went red and hot and she looked away from his relaxed expression to berate herself. She’d been through this with him before. She’d gotten too far ahead of herself and expected way too much from him and then ended up disappointed and feeling like an idiot.

She would not let that happen again. Scrooge was a consistent man - Goldie had started to learn over the years how to predict his moods and his actions. If she stole the treasure and left in the middle of the night, he’d wake up and curse her name and get back to civilization using his ridiculously impressive skills, and then do nothing about it until the next time they met.

His interest in her was reliant on her presence. He didn’t think about her when she wasn’t around and she’d accepted that. It pissed her off to know she’d never get a personal invitation to his mansion or his family’s castle, but Goldie had decided she didn’t care.

If she wanted to go to his mansion, she would go. If she wanted to see his castle or meet his parents, she’d just do it. She didn’t need his permission.

Goldie sat up carefully, not wanting to wake Scrooge. He barely moved, only shivered slightly at the loss of her body heat.

In an annoying burst of affection, Goldie leaned down and placed a kiss on his cheek before she got up to grab her prize and go. She’d leave him with the kangaroo he was sleeping on, at least. He wouldn’t be able to say she was completely heartless.

She sighed as the sun started to come up and highlight the color in his cheeks. Goldie really, really wanted to just lay with him forever. But she couldn’t lead herself on like that. She knew better than to completely give her heart to Scrooge McDuck.

---

Scrooge was rudely awoken by his pillow deciding to get up and move, his head smacking into the hard ground underneath.

He sat up and rubbed the new sore spot on his forehead, then opened his eyes to look around. The sun was barely out. He squinted in the weak daylight to check whether their stuff was still nearby.

“Goldie, I think-” Scrooge started to say, but then he paused. He glanced at the spot next to him where Goldie was a few hours ago and then lifted his head to properly look all around.

No sign of Goldie anywhere.

He sighed and let himself drop back onto the ground, laying on his stomach. What else did he expect? She saved his life and then they kissed and cuddled and he felt like he could marry her, so obviously the next thing she would do is leave. That was just how Goldie operated.

Scrooge turned his head to look at his bag of supplies. What was the chance there was any gold still in there? He knew he needed to hurry up and check so he could decide whether or not to chase after Goldie, but he also knew she was long gone.

He opened up his bag and saw his supplies intact and the tiniest scattering of gold chunks at the bottom. "Backstabbed. Again. Of course," Scrooge grumbled out loud, causing the kangaroo to stare at him.

As Scrooge stood up to start preparing for his solo journey back to Alice Springs, he let out a deep, contemplative sigh. He didn't feel heartbroken over Goldie's betrayal this time. He considered it an inevitability, and despite losing most of the treasure to her sticky fingers, Scrooge felt okay. He fell in love with her knowing full well this was how she treated him. Maybe they'd never get married, but that didn't mean they wouldn't continue to spend time together for years to come.

He knew he'd see her again. Wherever there was gold to find, there would be Goldie.

---

After a few hours, Goldie had made her way back to Alice Springs and let her kangaroo loose, waving goodbye as it hopped in a new direction to start a new life. She sighed and looked around, deciding the easiest way back to North America would be sneaking onto a military plane.

She'd done it before and she was happy to do it again. Though she was struggling to ignore the hollow feeling in her chest when she thought about Scrooge. He would be fine, she was confident of that, but she still felt a little bad. She didn't want to. She needed to do something to keep herself from staying too close to him. She had messy, complicated feelings, but so long as she could convince herself that those feelings weren't love, then she'd be fine. She didn't want to be in love with Scrooge McDuck. And just having fun with him every once in a while was fine with her. Thirty years of being rivals-with-benefits and somehow it still hadn't lost its charm.

The plane she'd made her way onto was apparently headed to an island called Hawaii. Goldie had never been.

She was tucked away in the luggage hold, comfortable enough to make do for several hours. But she couldn't stop staring at her hands. She felt old. Uncomfortably old. Maybe Hawaii had a fountain of youth or something 'cause she felt like she needed to take another sip. But not because of Scrooge. Simply because she wanted to live for a very, very long time.

She still had so much to do and so many places to go. The world was changing rapidly and she wouldn't let Scrooge be the only person to watch it all happen.

---

REAL HISTORY FACTS:

- Vancouver to Alice Springs would be 21 hours today, so...even more than that back then. - Uluru is sacred to the native people from that area. It was renamed Ayers Rock by colonizers, named after Sir Henry Ayers, the then-Chief Secretary of South Australia.

DUCK FRANCHISE REFERENCES:

- From the DT17 book Solving Mysteries and Rewriting History: "Putting on Airs at Ayers Rock: We got word there was a vein of gold deep in the landmark protected by killer kangaroos. When they had us cornered, she figured out a way to saddle them and leap us to safety."

#ducktales #scroldie #scrooge mcduck #goldie o'gilt #glittering goldie #running in circles #fic #fics

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