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deliriousgeek · 3 years

Text

Thomas Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: A quiet evening meant for celebration is thrown into chaos. Y/n wills herself to play into the daunting role that comes with being Thomas Shelby’s wife, because it might be the only thing keeping her alive.

Masterlist

Tommy lowkey feels very oc so idk how to feel about that. im not good at writing suspense...its also very long. ha :,)

Warning: blood, guns, knives, fights, usual peaky blinder violence

If anyone knew Y/n Shelby, then they would know that she can’t stand seeing dead bodies. Although in her case, having that reaction would seem ironic, considering her husband was Thomas Shelby.

It was around 9pm when Y/n slipped her night robe off and lay back on her bed. Her night was just winding down and she was waiting for Thomas to get back. He said he would try to be home around midnight, and to not wait up. He and his brothers would be at the Garrison, celebrating Arthur’s return from prison and discussing what was to be done with the Jews and Italians next.

Y/n knew it would be a couple hours for Tommy to be home, so she settled onto their bed and grabbed a book off her night stand.

The room was bathed in a warm, orange and yellow light— the type of light candles can give. When she was home alone, Y/n liked to use candle light. It reminded her of a time before the war and before this gang business, when all she and Tommy had to worry about was getting enough candles to light up the dinner table.

Half an hour had passed and Y/n had gotten through a decent number of pages in her book. She felt her eyes drooping and decided it was time to call it a night. She stretched and cracked her neck before turning to place her book on the nightstand. Just as she was about to place the book down, she heard a creak downstairs.

She froze.

Tommy wasn’t supposed to be back until midnight and none of the Shelby family would come over this late without a call, that was their safety protocol.

She listened for more creaking.

After Tommy had bought their house he had insisted on replacing the creaky floor boards, but decided to keep a few. In certain spots, that could be easily avoided if one knew where to walk, the floor would still creak. It was a safety thing that Tommy and Y/n agreed would be good to have. If the floorboards downstairs still creaked after the first step, it wasn’t one of them.

Creak...creak...creak...

That wasn’t Tommy.

Y/n took in a deep breath as she put herself back into a sitting position on the bed. An intruder was in her house. At the moment, the Peaky Blinders had a lot of enemies. It could be anyone. Mostly, someone with a gun.

She listened as the person made their way upstairs. She could hear them passing Tommy’s office, and the guest bedroom. This person knew where their room was, and she could only deduce from their movement’s that they were coming for her.

Y/n was scared. She knew how to defend herself, but didn’t like doing it if she didn’t have to. Rolling her shoulders, she prepared herself for the inevitable. She’d have to fight tonight.

To be clear, Y/n Shelby wasn’t unable to fight. She was a pro at throwing knives, which she preferred to guns; much to Tommy’s dismay. She knew how to shoot a gun and could decently fare in hand to hand combat, but she was still scared. Her heart beat in her chest quickly and anxiety bubbled to the surface. A normal reaction to knowing someone broke into your house to hurt you, or worse. Y/n assumed it was the latter. However, instead of letting her fear show, she turned on her fake calmness. A trick she forced herself to learn as Thomas Shelby’s wife. The alarm that was spread across her face vanished, instead being replaced with an eerily calm facade.

There was no point in locking the door. The person knew how to get past those if he made it into their living room. She heard their steps stop at the front of her door, she raised her book to her face, pretending like she was reading.

Act calm. She told herself.

Then, the door burst open.

Back at the pub, the Shelby brothers were sitting around the table in the snug. Sharing laughs and taking on their third round of Whiskey.

“Alright boys,” Tommy began, placing his glass down and looking around the table. “We’ve had our fun, business begins now.” His content expression turned serious.

His other brothers, and cousin Michael, cleared their throats and straightened up.

“As you know, taking Arthur out of prison is a direct threat to the Sabini’s. It shows that even in London we have enough influence to get our own men out, if needed.”

The brothers nodded, and shared looks.

Tommy continued, “Getting Arthur out was our first move. Now it’s the Italian’s and the Jew’s turn but we don’t know when their next strike will be. So, from this moment on we have to be aware, alert, and ready for every—”

The door flew open.

Sir!” Out of breath, Isaiah stood with one hand on the door knob, looking at Tommy.

“Oi!” Arthur shouted. “You know better than to interrupt!”

Tommy nodded his head at Arthur, then turned to Isaiah. “What is it, lad.”

“Better be important,” John added.

“Sir, the Italians are here. My dad spotted them making their way down the lane. They got a group with guns and a car. We best hurry.” Isaiah said in a rushed voice.

With that all the Shelby men stood and placed their caps on, rushing out of the snug.

Upon noticing the urgency in which the brothers exited, the rest of the Peaky Blinders in the pub were at full alert, waiting for Tom’s next words. The crowd silenced as the brothers stood at the snug doors, facing the onlookers.

“If you aren’t a Peaky Blinder,” Tom eyed the crowd, “leave.”

Noise filled the bar again as chairs shuffled, cups were placed on tables, and the front doors opened and closed.

Tom didn’t speak again until there were only Peaky Blinders left. He pulled out his revolver and checked it, making sure there were bullets, before looking up again.

“Battle formation, men. The Italians are here.”

Then in a flurry of peaky hats and over coats, the rest of the men got into their positions. Some ran up the stairs to get the extra cases of shotguns and revolvers. Others pulled out their own handguns and checked them as well. The Shelby boys looked at each other, a silent way of saying ‘good luck’.

Once Tommy deemed every one armed, he nodded to Arthur, who shouted to move out.

The Shelbies were at the front, while everyone fell behind them in triangle formation. As they marched outside, they could see the group of Italians rounding the corner.

It was rather intimidating. An outline of men and guns on shoulders, a rather sizable group at that, illuminated by the truck headlights that followed behind. It was a sight to see.

Darby Sabini stood at the front, a shotgun slung over his shoulder.

As the groups marched towards each other and came to a stop, a man behind Thomas called out to the front. “At your command Sergeant Major.”

A hushed tone of agreement spread throughout the group.

Darby stepped forward. “Thought you could come on our turf and get away with it, aye?”

Tommy stepped forward as well, hands in his pockets. “It was meant as a friendly gesture, but I don’t think you have enough friends to know what that means.”

A small smirk made its way onto Tommy’s face as he stared Darby down.

Darby narrowed his eyes, irritated at that remark. “I’ll show you what friendly means. Now!”

A hail of gunfire began and the sound of shots being fired filled the lane. It was chaos. Bullets flew and body’s fell. Punches were thrown and blood was spread. More men jumped out of the covered truck and ran to beat down the men on the other side.

Tommy ducked and punched, kicked and shot. In the middle of punching a man in the gut he yelled, “Leave Darby for me!”

His men did just that.

Thomas fought his way to the center of the fight, where Darby had just knocked out a Peaky Blinder. Tommy aimed his gun and walked forward, aiming at Darby. The fighting on both sides ceased.

“I didn’t bring a battalion to your town.” Tommy spoke clearly, in a raised voice.

Darby aimed his gun as well. The two circled each other as men on both sides stopped to observe the interaction. They watched Tommy and Darby tread carefully, like two tentative predators waiting for their opposer to falter.

“You still showed up. That was enough.”

The two men were breathing heavily, a result from the brawls they just finished.

“What’s your purpose for being here, Sabini?” Thomas stopped pacing, his gun still firmly held up.

Darby stopped as well. An obnoxious laugh left his lips. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Tommy didn’t move. He held a blank face, but his eyes still watched Darby with intensity.

Not waiting for a response Darby continued, “I’m reminding you that I can take away everything you have in an instant. I already put your brother in jail, which it seems wasn’t a good enough warning for you, since you stupidly had him released so quickly.”

Darby took a couple steps toward Thomas, gun raised.

“Killing me won’t do anything. I got people in place to still ruin you.” Thomas stated, his tone flat.

Darby lowered his gun, a sickly calm smile spread across his face. It was an unsettling sight that made Tommy begin to think something was off.

“Oh Tommy boy, I’m just the distraction,” Darby’s eyes noticeably darkened, “How’s your wife these days?”

Tommy’s eyes widened and his finger pulled the trigger.

Darby fell to the ground dead, a bullet was lodged in the center of his forehead.

Then like a wave, the fighting began again.

As soon as the gunshot rang, Tommy saw red. He shot, punched, kicked or swung at anyone in his way as he fought to get out of the crowd. He didn’t bother shouting an explanation to his brothers as he ran to his car.

Tommy shoved his keys into the ignition and started the car. Tommy slammed his foot on the gas as soon as the engine roared to life. The car’s lights illuminated the carnage left from the battle. The Peaky Blinders were the last ones standing, as Tommy expected, but paid no mind to. His thoughts too consumed with conjuring the hundreds of horrible possibilities he might see upon arriving home, all ending with a bloodied image of Y/n.

John and Arthur ran towards the car, causing Thomas to slam on the breaks.

“Where are you going?” John asked urgently.

“They’re going for Y/n.” Thomas hastily replied.

John and Arthur jumped on the side of the car just in time before Tommy could speed up again.

Michael and Finn watched as the older Shelby boys passed them.

“Great. So we’re left to clean up the mess.”

At the house, Y/n held her book to her face as the door burst open. She turned her head and was met with the sight of a man pointing a gun at her. His clothes were clean and he looked very young. Her eyes flitted from the gun to his shoes, then to his eyes, then back to the gun.

“On your feet.” He demanded.

“What?” Y/n feigned innocence, despite her struggle to keep calm.

The man, gun still held towards her, trudged over and ripped the book from her hands, throwing it onto the floor.

“I said on your feet!” He yelled in her face, backing away so he was a few feet from the bed.

She stared into his eyes, an impassive look on her face. Y/n looked back down at the gun.

With a purse of her lips and a shrug she stated, “I’d rather not.”

The man’s soldier esc demeanor nearly slipped at her blatant defiance of his orders. “It’s not an option lady! Get up.”

She chuckled. “Y’see, lad. I’ve been on my feet all day. Have you ever worn heels for over six hours? Rather painful you know.”

Her cocky attitude betrayed her quickly beating heart that was full of adrenaline.

In an effort to scare her, he menacingly stepped forward. “I ain’t afraid to hurt you lady, but the boss wants you alive. If you keep disobeying me, I'm allowed to use force.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh really, and who is your boss? I must thank him for not wanting me dead.”

She knew she was playing with her life, but if this boy was as inexperienced as he looked, she would get the information she needed to warn Tommy. Granted, if she got out of this situation.

“Sabini.” The man bluntly answered.

Y/n swallowed. This wasn’t good. If Sabini’s men were here and not in London, she needed to warn Thomas immediately. Her heart pumped faster than she thought possible and every nerve in her body was on the verge of trembling from fear.

“I see.” Y/n turned her head to the foot of the bed. “Well, like I said, I’d rather not get up. Matter of fact, I’d rather keep reading. So be a dear and hand me my book, would ya?” She was stalling.

“C’mon lady, stop being stubborn. You don't even got a weapon to be making these demands.” The man sneered.

Y/n slowly adjusted herself so that she scooted away from the pillows that propped her up. She straightened her legs on the bed, her left crossed over her right. Then she leaned back on her arms, purposely pushing up her chest to show off her unbinded chest. Hopefully, he’d be dumb enough to look at her distraction, and he was.

“Ah, well. It was worth a shot. I can tell that you're new to this whole— kidnapping thing. If you want to get better at it then you should learn this.” She paused before looking back at the man, “Always do research on your target.”

The young man’s brows furrowed, obviously confused.

“If you did your research, like a good little gangster,” She began as she slid her left leg up off her right, causing her silk nightgown to slowly expose her leg. The man’s eyes roamed her leg once she stopped moving, leaving her left leg in a bent position. She reached for the hem of the dress and raised it further up her left leg, stopping until it got to her mid thigh, “Then you would know, that I’m always armed.”

In a swift and well practiced motion, Y/n grabbed the sharp, throwing knife from her thigh holster, and threw. The knife landed in the man’s chest, in his heart. Looking down at the knife, the man stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling onto his back. Blood quickly formed a growing splotch of red on his shirt. Y/n quickly stood from the bed to remove the gun from the man’s hand, she then crouched over him.

She placed her hand on the knife handle, “It was a shame you didn’t do your research.” Then she pushed the knife forward, until she felt through the blade that it had really punctured his heart.

Y/n stood over the man’s body, gun in her hand, and watched the blood puddle grow. She backed away until her knees hit the bed and gave way. Letting out a shaky breath, she sat with the gun in her lap. In an attempt to avoid looking at the body laid in front of her, Y/n stared at the ceiling.

The adrenaline began to wear off, and the reality of the situation dawned on her. She could have died, quite easily too. If her attacker had not been so inexperienced and if she wasn’t wanted brought back alive, she could have died. Then, she thought of her husband.

Tommy.

Had the man lying dead on her carpet opened the door and shot, Tommy would have had to come home to her dead body instead. The thought of Tommy finding her body, cold and bloody, scared her more than death. She couldn’t imagine the pain of him being alone. He would blame himself for her death. He would say he couldn’t protect her, and he would loathe himself for the rest of his life. Tears began to prick her eyes and her throat tightened. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to go away and for her erratic heart beat to calm down.

She killed a man.

That’s the only thought she could process. Her emotions muddled her thinking. Never before had she used her knives to kill. She used guns, from far away. She used punches to knock people out. She used her knives to injure, but never before had she needed them to kill. She was slightly glad for the memory of Tommy coming back home from an errand, returning with the thin knife holster that he insisted she wear when he wasn’t home. She was also glad that she made it a rule for herself to never take it off unless Tommy was home with her.

Then, the silence of the house was broken again. She flinched. This time, the sound came from the front door slamming open and muffled shouts that she could only register as her name.

“Y/n! Y/n where are you?” The voice shouted.

She couldn’t pinpoint who it was, not in her boggled state of mind, but she knew it was safe. So she answered.

“In the bedroom.”

Her eyes were still shut and her head faced the ceiling when Tommy rushed in.

“Y/n.” His voice was slightly breathless as he took in the sight before him.

The room was covered in warm, candle light, giving a complete opposite tone to the tense atmosphere. His wife sat on the bed with a gun in her lap. A man, with his wife’s knife in his chest, laid dead on the ground and a puddle of blood surrounded his wound.

Y/n opened her eyes and looked at her husband. She could see the fear and worry that filled his eyes, his face in slight shock.

Thomas was relieved to see his wife unharmed, but he could see the tears that were threatening to fall. Her slumped shoulders were signs of exhaustion. The way her chest moved up and down with heavy breathes told him she was on the verge of holding herself together.

Arthur and John came bounding up the stairs next, and found their places on either side of Thomas.

Y/n’s voice came out void of emotion, but her teary eyes said it all. “One of Sabini’s men.” She stated before turning her eyes to the ceiling once more, trying to blink away tears. “Please get him out of my sight.” The growing puddle of blood made her want to throw up.

“You heard her,” Thomas said in a low tone, staring at his wife with concerned eyes. “Get rid of ‘em.” His voice was just above a whisper.

Arthur and John stepped forward, grabbing the man by his arms and lugged him out of the room. Only once the man had been removed did Thomas walk towards his wife. Only when he wrapped his arms around her did she let herself cry. She let herself sob and express how truly scared she was when the man burst into her room, and pointed a gun to her head.

Thomas held her close and kissed her head. He whispered in her ear that she was okay, and that she did what she needed to do. Holding her close, he told her he loved her, and promised to never let anything like that happen to her again.

Masterlist

well I tried

Edit: Bro this blew up in less than a day with 41 notes. Thank you♡

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plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms · 3 years

Text

Nemesis: Retribution (3)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: EVENTUAL SMUT. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOURS. (18+ ONLY), polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, lots of angst, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, strong language, mentions of trauma, character death, fluff if you squint

A/N: We’re playing fast and loose with canon here people. Also thank you for the interactions. I love reading what you think and it helps me write the next chapters better. Also, I enjoy having someone to freak out with. Highlight of my life I swear to god. Enjoy!

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

1:3 Hard Candy

Natasha stormed off the jet and into the conference room where she knew the rest of the team were waiting for them, fury radiating from her small frame. Catching sight of her target only made her grow angrier. She immediately ran up to Steve and growled up in his face causing him to immediately take a step back. Sam and Bucky were immediately alarmed, standing up to intervene and the latter's black vibranium arm whirring in preparation but Steve held up a hand to stop them.

"What the hell, Rogers? You send me on a mission with zero intel and this is what I find? Did you know?"

Steve's eyes narrowed down at her, the thick beard and longer hair adding even more to his already commanding presence. He knew exactly what Natasha was talking about and he did expect her to react this way.

"I wasn't sure, Nat. And I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up if I was wrong."

"And if you were right?" she scoffed.

Steve swallowed hard before he answered, the blue in his eyes calming considerably. "I thought the three of you deserved to be the first to know."

"What the hell is going on?" Bucky asked, arms crossed on his chest and brows deeply furrowed. They didn't even know about any mission.

Natasha chuckled humorlessly and backed off from Steve. She ran a hand through her hair, the red bleeding into the old blonde color, and gestured toward the door at the approaching people.

"Well you weren't wrong, Steve."

Shock.

That was the overall theme of the day it seemed. None of them could hardly believe that you were actually standing at the doorway. It's been ten long years and you were like the ghost haunting their dreams during that time, a pure and kind soul taken far too soon. Hell, they told stories about your selfless sacrifice to the new recruits. You had unknowingly become a legend.

A legend turned ghost story.

Now you looked more like a nightmare; dried blood caked your clothes and skin, a cold smirk lifting the corner of your lips, and a dangerous unhinged glint in your eyes.

"Well, I'll be damned," Sam breathed. "Y/N?"

"Hey, Sam," you said, the almost flirtatious lilt in your voice sending a shiver down their spines. "I go by Nemesis now."

"Nemesis?" Bucky snapped out of his daze, brows raised high and his jaw clenched, features seen clearer now with his shorter hair. "The notorious mercenary Nemesis?"

"I prefer private contractor."

While they had been honoring your memory, you had been building a ruthless reputation of your own that was widely considered on par in violence with The Punisher but with the added disturbing fact that you could be hired. Of course, no one but a select few knew who you actually were.

Until today.

Nemesis. The Greek goddess of divine retribution and revenge. A name that suited the dark avenging persona you had adapted and the only purpose you now lived for. In a twisted kind of way, you were doing the same work they were only with far less finesse and none of the righteous for the good of mankind purpose they usually had.

You shrugged, sitting yourself casually down on the nearest chair on the other end of the long table from where they stood. You have had a long night, your feet were tired and they were still looking at you with absolute confusion and disbelief. This looked like it would take a while.

You rolled your eyes as you unbuckled your stained bulletproof vest, throwing it haphazardly on the table. You hazarded a glance at each one of them as you made yourself comfortable, noting the changes in them too. The years had given way to a solemn maturity to each one, it seems things had changed for them too.

"Now that I'm here, you have 12 minutes."

"12 minutes? Until what?" Steve stammered.

He couldn't keep his eyes off you, couldn't for the life of him reconcile the person he was seeing in front of him with the person he knew. From your expressions to your movements and even to the tone of your voice, you were just so different and yet it just seemed to make you a more magnetic presence. Fresh guilt washed over him, knowing that he had failed you as your Captain. They should have kept looking for you.

"You'll see. 11 minutes now. Either ask your questions or tell me what you want."

"We all thought you were dead," Steve muttered, taken back by your hostility.

"Well that obviously didn't stick. How did you find me, Cap?"

It was Steve who found you. At first he couldn't believe it was really you, but the split second glimpse he got of your eyes from the body cam on one of the field agents weeks ago drove him to obsessively dig further. It was a shot in the dark when he sent Natasha and the twins on the mission tonight.

"By chance," he admitted. "We've been chasing a group of people suspected to be manufacturing and selling the super soldier serum. Our agents have had a few close encounters with you. I think we're going after the same people."

"So you're asking for intel?" you snorted, absentmindedly picking at the bloodstains on your sleeves.

"No," he said cautiously, wary at how relaxed yet tightly coiled you looked. "I'm offering you your spot back with the team."

You almost choked on the laugh that just escaped your lips. You couldn't help the short bark of laughter at the ridiculous proposition. Looking at their faces though it seemed that the offer was serious, although the reluctant look in their eyes at your transformation showed their inner conflict. You straightened your features and shook your head, the amused smile still on your lips.

"Look, I'm not exactly on brand for you guys anymore." You leaned forward with your arms on the table and landed your eyes squarely on Bucky's, the venom unmistakable. "Besides, I seem to recall I was deemed not cut out for this team."

Bucky felt like his soul left him at your words. There was a Molotov cocktail of emotions raging inside him; surprise, shame, relief, anger, guilt, and longing. It was killing him knowing that he had a hand in how drastically you had changed. He was deathly afraid of finding out your full story. He wanted to talk to you, wanted to beg for your forgiveness and make things right. How many chances would anyone get to redeem oneself with a ghost? He couldn't find the words though, his throat going dry and his tongue heavy in his mouth.

"Y/N, you know that's not the truth," Steve tried to insist.

"I'm not Y/N anymore and I already have a team." You waved a hand dismissively. "Also your 12 minutes are up."

All at once the power cut out in the Compound, drenching the room into darkness punctuated by the flashing emergency lights. You felt yourself get lifted off your seat and the next moment you were standing behind a formation of Avengers in the arms of the resident speedster, your arms on his chest to steady yourself from the daze of the sudden movement. His muscles were tense beneath your hands but his expression was gentle as he looked down at you.

He had wanted to rush over to you the moment you revealed your face. He wanted to hold you, jump for joy, speed around the entire city with you in his embrace. How you were alive didn't matter to him.

Only that you were.

It was only at Wanda's warning for him to stay back that he did. She showed him that you weren't the same person anymore and that they weren't sure whether you would still be friend or foe. To Pietro though, you weren't different.

You were just angry.

To him you were still his little star despite the others thinking you were closer to a supernova now. His little star was just hurting and he decided that he would do everything in his power to help you heal. He held your head tighter to his chest, intending to protect you from the anticipated danger and ready to get you to safety at a moment's notice.

"What the damn hell is going on?" Sam yelled, readying his guns.

A figure silently jumped through the window and rolled on the floor to stop right in front of the group, jolting the Avengers to defend. He stood to full height and took a fighting stance; clad in head to toe red, billy clubs at the ready, and horns glinting in the sparse light atop his head.

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

"Let Nemesis go," he growled.

Natasha stepped forward, snapping her own batons in place. The crackling of the electricity from it sent lights to dance on the menacing expression on her face. The rest of the team watched closely the other entry points, expecting more to come in and if the first was any indication then they were in for a real fight.

Footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway, loud and not at all trying to be concealed. Walking straight through the front door, were two towering men in heavy military gear each holding an assault rifle aimed at the group. The sneer on one lent a dangerous taunting aura to his surprisingly handsome features as if to say just fucking try me. While the other had a burning steely focus that instinctively made anyone back off, the emblem on his black vest told them exactly who he was.

The Punisher.

The Avengers snapped to attention, each one drawing their weapons and aiming back. The air was crackling with animosity and fingers that itched to pull their respective triggers. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the first to break the standoff in the enclosed space. Willing for someone to break it.

You laughed.

The disorientation at your reaction was palpable across the room. You patted Pietro's chest, grinning up at him in reassurance that everything was fine. He released you from his hold reluctantly and let you step out of the protective cluster they had inadvertently formed around you. The three newcomers visibly relaxed the slightest bit at the sight of you.

"Weapons down," you said calmly, eyeing each one in the room. No one budged. "All of you. Now."

Steve being the first one to lower his shield was the catalyst in diffusing what could have been the fight of the century. As outnumbered as the newcomers were, they lacked nothing in skill and precise brutality. Frank followed in lowering his weapon and soon everyone did the same. There was still tension but at least it was now reduced to intense glaring.

You tutted and shook your head as you strutted your way to your three rescuers. "What I needed was a ride home, Frankie. Not a goddamn full extraction op."

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, not sounding at all apologetic and knowing you weren't really angry if the tired amusement on your face was anything to go by.

He smiled at you, that small open quirk at the corner of his mouth that was always accompanied by a roll of his tongue. He reached for you when you got close enough, drawing you close with a burly arm around the back of your shoulders. He kissed you on the forehead, a lingering gesture that clearly showed an intimacy between the two of you. The soft look on his face was reserved only for you and when he raised his face to the Avengers it was back to the cold threatening glare.

"Can you blame us though?" His voice came out gravelly, a favorite sound of yours. "The last time you were with these guys you were captured and tortured."

Tortured.

The word hung heavy in the air and though your back was turned, you could imagine the look on the faces of your former team. They didn't know about that yet. How could they when they had believed all this time that you died in the explosion?

"You forgot to mention blown up," Matt added, grabbing your hand and pressing it to his lips.

He removed his helmet, floppy brown hair instantly softening his persona. He peppered kisses on your palm and the inside of your wrist as he breathed in your scent to calm his own anxiety. He almost lost it when Billy had called saying that you had been taken. He was usually the last one to jump to immediate violence in your group, but the thought of you gone filled him with irrational fear. The possibility that history could repeat itself was unacceptable to him.

"I should have come with you."

"I could handle it and Billy was with me."

"Lot of good that did," he scoffed, switching to lightly biting your wrist. This wasn't unusual. Being blind, he relied on a more intense physical reassurance that everything was still as it should be.

"They weren't gonna hurt me, Matty," you argued, but it was more to help settle his nerves.

"All right, leave the foreplay for later," the last of the trio said, pulling you by your other hand closer to him.

He held you tightly by the waist and pressed you close, molding your body to his in a practiced motion. The smile on his face was scandalous and the mischief in his eyes was one that spelled trouble. The cheeky bastard winked at you before dipping his head to lay open mouthed kisses on your neck up to your ear right along your old scars. Shivers went down your spine and you couldn't help the low hum as your body reacted instinctively to him, stepping closer still until you could feel the heat of his body through his gear.

You knew exactly what he was doing. He was always the quickest to show affection in front of company, but this was a particularly golden opportunity for him to stake his claim in front of people he believed did not value you enough. Billy wouldn't be Billy if he didn't take it.

"Hey, pretty girl."

Across the room, the Avengers watched on with blatant curiosity at the apparent intimately familiar exchanges. It wasn't as much the fact that three men were bathing you with affection, but more that this cemented how far removed you were from their memory of you. They knew you as a starry-eyed recruit who stuttered at light teasing and preening at the slightest validation.

"Y/N," Steve called for you, forcing you to step away from Billy for the moment. You turned around to face them but Billy didn't let you go far, slinging his arm over your chest and this time contorting his body to yours.

"I told you, Steve. I'm not Y/N anymore," you said, a fleeting sadness flashed in your eyes before it was replaced with a firm pride. "And this is my team."

"We're taking our girl home," Frank declared, the threat underneath didn't need to be verbalized. If they took you again, it wouldn't end well for anyone.

"Wait!" Steve said urgently, halting your exit. "We'll hire you."

It was a last ditch effort. He was grasping at straws to keep you from disappearing from their lives again. He knew that if you walked out that door now there was no chance of ever getting you back. He just could not let that happen. This would only be temporary at best, but at least it would buy him time to convince you of a more permanent arrangement.

"Not interested."

"Nem." Matt as usual cautioned you from being too hasty. "Is this about the syndicates?"

You sighed. Matt was like a dog with a bone now. There was no choice but to let him chew on it. This was particularly important to him because the syndicates had been running amok in Hell's Kitchen and he was starting to find it difficult to keep his backyard clean.

"Yeah, apparently the stuff we found in the shipment yard was for making super soldier serums. The Avengers have been following the trail too."

"Why not just join forces then? We can get this done and over with a lot faster with their help," he reasoned.

"We're doing fine on our own, Matty."

"Matt has a point, sweetheart," Frank cut in. "We've been chasing this for years. I know a part of you is just itching to end all of this."

"It might help us find him faster. Do you really want to spend another ten years pulling at threads?" Matt added.

You closed your eyes, hands clenching at your sides to control your anger. It grated at you when they ganged up on you like this, but your anger was more because they were right and you knew it. You hated it, but they were right.

It was Billy who intervened, pulling you again to hug you from behind. His hold was firmer than before, aimed more to calm your shaking body. His voice came out calm, but resolute. His first priority was always making sure you were okay and you obviously weren't okay with this.

"You heard the lady. It's a no."

Frank and Matt sighed and shook their heads, but backed off. They weren't about to push you about this no matter how much they knew this would help you. They'll try again to convince you later, but they weren't optimistic. It was fortunate for them that there was more than just one stubborn person in the room.

"Please," Steve interrupted. You had almost forgotten that there were other people in the room. Almost. "We need your help. They have someone who keeps getting in our way and every time we get close he either fights us long enough for the trail to grow cold or leads us on wild goose chases. We can't let that serum be available to whoever can pay for it."

He didn't know what it was that he said that made all of your heads snap in his direction. Your eyes in particular were suddenly wild with barely restrained fury. He would take it. At least he had your attention.

"We can't let that happen, Nemesis," he finished, making sure to use your preferred name. Anything to possibly get himself into your good graces.

"Do you have a name?" you ground out.

"What?"

"A name, Steve. Do you know who this guy is?"

"By the way he fights he seems to be a merc too. Looks like military background though from where I'm not sure," he said slowly, carefully choosing his words in the hopes of you changing your mind. "He goes by Salvacion."

"We're in."

Earth's Mightiest was stunned at the sudden reversal of your decision. As firm as you had rejected the offer, you were jumping at it now with the addition of your own team.

"Let's get one thing straight though, Cap," you began, the rage still burning in your eyes like wildfire. "My team and I will work with you. It's all of us or none of us. We'll help you lock up the syndicates and destroy the serum. We'll play nice, but Salvacion is mine."

Steve took a deep breath, relieved that you had agreed but also deeply concerned at your visceral reaction to a name. He had to ask.

"Why?"

"Because that's the motherfucker who killed my sister."

--------------------------------------

A/N: I feel like you guys have more questions now. Come freak out with me through the comments and reblogs! I write faster when people freak out with me. It’s the truth. Now that you’ve seen our girl with ALL our strapping men, what do you think? Who are you most curious about now?

--------------------------------------

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procrastinatingsapphictrash · 3 years

Text

I came back for you

Word count: 2123

Genre: Angst but happy end

Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: Abusive prison/government (let me know if I need to add any)

Request: Hey, so this is kind of a weird request, but could you do a Nattie x Powered! Reader during Civil War, where Nat, of course, is on Tony's team, and the Reader is trying to keep the peace between the two teams. Maybe the government takes (Y/n) and puts her in a shock collar like Wanda's because they think she was on Steve's team? Sorry this is so weird . . .

Summary: You are neutral in the fight, or so you think before you are told you can't be and are taken away with the rest of Cap's team.

A/n: Thanks @thewidowsghost for requesting this! Honestly I didn't plan on writing anything or posting anything today but I saw that I had a little bit of this done and to be honest my day has sucked so I needed a distraction and this worked perfectly. Also I could someone tell me how the formatting looks? I'm trying the new beta editor and I think I'm doing things right but idk. Anyways I hope you all enjoy!

As you take in the scene that surrounds you you can’t believe that you once considered everybody to be a big weird family. Certainly none of them are acting like it now. It breaks your heart to see them on opposite sides, throwing themselves at each other because apparently their personal beliefs are more important than their friends.

Neither of them are right or wrong in your opinion. There’s too many factors and both options suck, it’s the government’s fault for placing the team in this situation. However you are not happy with the way anyone is handling it, especially Steve, Tony and Natasha. Both Tony and Steve are acting based on what they think is right without considering the other sides to the story, although you can’t say that’s surprising coming from them. You do know that they genuinely do care for others but they can be very hard headed and neither of them like to be wrong.

It’s Natasha who you’re most disappointed in though, you thought that she would be a better negotiation, helping ease the tension but she’s out there fighting like the rest of the idiots. You thought that she would agree with you and try to bring together the two sides.

You narrow your eyes and zoom in your vision to the far side of the airport where you see Spiderman. You have no idea who he is but you can tell just by looking at him that he’s only a kid and it was irresponsible of everyone to let him be here and to fight him. You use your superspeed to get to him quickly and take him out of the way of flying cars and leave him by the side where it should be relatively safe.

“Stay here.” you tell him.

“But-”

You glare. “Stay here.”

You rush off before you can make sure he listens because you can hear a grunt of pain from Rhodney. He’s lying on the ground with Tony standing over him and Sam a few meters back. The fight seems to be ending now, you see the plane leaving and the rest of the avengers start to gather but it doesn’t matter because the damage is already done. You don’t know exactly what happened but it looks like a freak accident, somehow nobody’s fault and yet everybody’s fault for getting into this situation in the first place.

The mood is weird, as if everybody is holding their breath and taking in what they’ve done. In the background you can hear trucks pulling up and footsteps follow soon after. The first man grabs Wanda and she blasts him back lightly so he falls down. Immediately a circle forms around her, everyone pointing their guns. Clint takes a step in, raising his arms and trying to calm the situation down but the guns shift to him and one agent steps forward and roughly grabs him, forcing his wrists into cuffs.

They go for Sam next and he looks pissed but lets them cuff him without comment. Scott looks completely confused and out of his depth. You don’t know him but it’s obvious that he is not trained for these types of situations and is in over his head.

It’s Wanda that makes your heart break the most though. She’s like a little sister to you so seeing the tears in her eyes and the terror on her face as the agents move in to cuff her makes you want to wrap your arms around her and promise it will all be okay. But you can’t, that would be a lie because everything is not okay and trying to hug her would only make things worse.

The agents start to move away, leading Cap's team to their trucks to be taken away. One of them turns back and notices you, murmuring something to the agents beside them. Before you can even understand what is happening they are right back and grabbing at your arms roughly. Naturally you try to pull away but they are strong and once you realize what is happening you stop struggling.

“I didn’t pick a side,” you try to explain, “I was just trying to make sure everyone was okay.”

“You didn’t sign the accords and therefore have no right to be here.” one of the men tells you. You look towards Tony’s team for help but they all seem to be busy. Tony and Vision are trying to make sure Rhodney is okay and the kid is luckily back where you left him. T’challa is shaking hands with one of the agents and although it makes you sick because of the way they are treating some of the others you understand, he does have a country to run and his people must come first after all.

Natasha is the only one not doing anything and she meets your eyes. You silently beg her to do something, anything against what is happening. She stares you straight in the eye and shakes her head. You actually shiver at how cold her look is because you never thought that would be directed at you, you thought that the two of you were close.

“I’m not going to help you Y/n, you made your own choice and I made mine.” Is all she says before turning away. You watch her back as long as you can as you are led into the trucks, wondering how everything went wrong so quickly.

---

Nobody talks. You aren’t even sure if you’re allowed to. There is no way what they are doing is legal but who is going to argue with the government. A secret prison built just for enhanced individuals and imprisoning people without trial isn’t right. You were neutral before but the more you see of how the government operates the more you start to lean towards supporting Steve and the rest of his “team”.

You shift slightly because the shock collar is getting even more uncomfortable. Wanda is wearing one too, probably since the two of you are the only ones that have powers unrelated to technology and suits. She looks smaller than ever in her cell and you close your eyes because if you continue to look at her you know you’ll end up crying.

Nothing changes throughout the day until you hear the door creak open. Everyone glares when they see it’s Tony and he and Clint share a few words before Tony practically begs Sam for information. Sam’s reluctant but gives in, seeing that Tony is sincere and knowing that although he disagrees with Tony it’s not really his fault that you’re all here, it’s the government’s.

When Tony leaves things go silent again for a few hours. You haven’t been fed since you’ve gotten here, you realize, but you aren’t hungry anyways, your mind can’t stop picturing the fight, being arrested and most of all Natasha’s attitude towards you. It hurts even more than you would like to admit. You considered her your best friend but you also had feelings for her and you were dumb enough to think that just maybe she felt the same things about you. Obviously that is completely untrue and you wonder if even your friendship was a lie.

“How long do you think we’ll be stuck here for?” Wanda asks finally and although her voice is quiet you wince at how it breaks the silence.

“I don’t know kid.” Clint responds. “Too long. My wife is going to kill me and my kids-”

He stops himself, getting a little choked up which surprises you. You’ve never seen him this emotional before.

“I already miss my daughter.” Scott adds on and there is a moment of understanding that passes between the two of them.

“I don’t have my own family but I’m going to miss my sister.” Sam says. “She probably won’t even find out what’s happening until it’s on the news, if the news even covers it.”

“I miss the team.” you add. “Before this fight, we weren’t perfect but I considered everyone family.”

“So did I.” Wanda says and you all take a moment to miss what used to be.

“I miss pizza.” Sam jokes, trying to lighten the mood. It works and soon everyone is adding on ridiculous things they miss and things they want to do when you get out (you can’t even think about the fact that the “when” might actually be “if”).

Your eyes snap to the door when it opens and everyone shuts up immediately. You look warily at Natasha, unsure of why she’s here. Maybe the government sent her in to interrogate, god knows she is amazing at that and you honestly wouldn’t be able to not talk to her, as much as you’re mad at her right now.

She doesn’t speak, going straight towards Sam’s door and kneeling down, fiddling with the lock. After a few seconds it clicks and the door swings open.

“When did you switch sides?” He asks, raising his eyebrows, impressed.

“I don’t pick sides, I do what makes the most sense and right now breaking you out is the right thing to do. Besides I’m wanted now too, apparently the government doesn’t like it when you aid fugitives in escaping.” she responds smoothly, moving onto Wanda’s cell and repeating her actions until it opens.

“Do you know how to take the collar off?” she asks and Sam nods. He gets to work while Natasha moves on. Both Clint and Scott pass at her offer of freeing them. They both look like they’re itching to escape but you respect that they’re putting their families first.

You’re surprised by how emotional you get when she unlocks your cell. You thought she didn’t care about you so to have her here now is amazing and makes you feel bad you ever doubted that she would do the right thing.

“Y/n, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” she tells you as she undoes your shock collar carefully, doing her best to not hurt you.

“I-I thought you didn’t care about me anymore.” you admit, a single tear dripping down your face.

She wipes it away with her thumb. “Oh sweetheart I care about you so much, more than you could ever know and I want you to always remember that, promise me.”

You nod, sniffing. “I promise Tasha.”

“Good because I came back for you and I will always come back for you.” she says, leaning in closer. You look down at her lips as she continues to lean in because she is so close and it seems like she’s going to kiss you.

“Glad to know Y/n was the only reason you came back.” Sam says, smirking. You love him but you also want to strangle him right now, that bastard could totally see what was happening and ruined the moment on purpose.

Natasha flips him the finger but otherwise ignores him. “Steve and Bucky are waiting in the jet outside, I was able to dismantle alarms and cameras but we only have a few minutes left so follow me and be quiet.”

She grabs your hand as she moves out of your cell and you walk with her, the others trailing behind slightly. The halls are clear and it’s only a few turns before she ushers everyone into a vent. It’s a tight squeeze but you make it through and you pop out to find sturdy wires attached to the side of the raft coming from a nearby jet. Wanda and Sam each take one and their wires retract, pulling them into the jet. You gulp nervously, heights are definitely not one of your favourite things.

“We have to go Y/n.” Natasha whispers just as alarms start to sound, the noises loud with flashing lights.

You take a deep breath and grab the remaining wire and once you’re secure Natasha grabs it too. Closing your eyes tightly so you don’t look down you feel a strange whooshing sensation before it disappears and your feet touch down on the jet floor.

“So what next?” Sam asks once you’ve all collected yourselves, directing his question at Steve.

“We lie low and try to help as best we can.” he responds, sighing heavily. “We’ll figure out the details as we go, what matters is that everybody is safe.”

Natasha holds your hand again and squeezes it tightly. “And that we are together.” she whispers into your ear so only you hear.

You squeeze her hand tightly back. Your relationship with her has gone through a rollercoaster of a day and is mostly undefined but she’s right, all that matters is that you’re together now and you wouldn’t rather be with anyone else.

---

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#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel fanfiction #x reader

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jtrbluv · 4 years

Text

we’re not really strangers | pjm

summary: We’re Not Really Strangers is a purpose-driven card game and movement all about empowering meaningful connections. Three carefully crafted levels of questions and wildcards that allow you to deepen your existing relationships and create new ones. Ready?

or alternatively,

your furtive infatuation with your lifelong best friend proves to be hard to suppress when there’s (1) alcohol involved and (2) a card game that forces you to reveal more about yourself than you could ever wish for. in short, no, you are not ready.

[friends to lovers!au]

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: fluff, crack, slight angst

word count: 8.7k

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, two emotionally constipated best friend, PG-15

A/N: hi, i’ve been really excited about this fic for a while, and i’m genuinely so happy that i finally finished it! the card game is in fact real and i got inspired for this fic after i had played the game with a couple of friends myself. AHEM! @koushiningg ! we both cried and i do highly recommend to play it! but anyways, i hope you enjoy this fic because i had a lot of fun writing it! sending love always... jumi out!

EDIT: @bangtans-peaceful-piegon i’d also like to thank the lovely pidge for beta reading this 4 me as well! PIDGE I FUCKIN LOB U!!!

PLAYLIST ; SEQUEL

♤ ♤ ♤

Not once in your life did you ever imagine a simple card game to become the bane of your existence.

Yet Park Jimin was able to prove you wrong.

Let’s play ‘We’re Not Really Strangers’ he said. It’ll be fun, he said.

You stare down at the card in front of you—everything else in your periphery was blurry in vision and you can audibly pinpoint the erratic beating of your heart.

The card was practically taunting you, laughing in your face. It was as if there was a sentient being in the room who was aware of your own subconscious and the not so latent feelings you had for the boy sitting in front of you.

Same said being loved to constantly place you in a state of trepidation concerning your current situation—your blood pressure skyrocketing—nearly feeling the muscular pink thing inside of you thrusting itself against your ribcage.

The white card with crimson red writing made sure to leave an impact, making you feel the most ridiculed you’ve felt all night which says a lot—leaving your mind in a complete frenzy although you refused to let it be known.

And so you sat there. Fiddling the card in between your fingers, feigning nonchalance. You were very much on the brink of cracking your facade—your sanity practically crumbling as the minutes ticked by. You didn’t think you’d last this long to be honest. Yet an hour and a half proved to be way too straining on your body, especially your heart.

He simply sat there with his hands folded on the table—void of emotion, whistling a familiar top 50s tune you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You considered shifting your focuses on trying to comprehend the tune—hoping it would ease the concerning state of apprehension you were in.

But then you remember that you aren’t that pathetic. Even though you both had probably been sitting in complete silence for about two minutes now. Up to the point where you could probably hear the crickets chirping outside his apartment, except the only sound that was filling your ears was your own conscience telling you how idiotic you were being.

Your face may be gradually morphing the same shade of crimson as the writing inscribed onto the card itself, and you may have a whole line of sweat encompassing your hairline. But it’s just a stupid little card game. You could say any stupid little answer and the stupid not-so-little boy wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care. So you shouldn’t care.

When did you become so pathetic after all?

-one hour and a half ago-

“Why can’t we just play Mario Kart or Uno? This sounds like there’s too much thinking involved,” you whine, leaning against the side of his couch.

“One, we always play that. And two, I always lose,” he grumbles, plopping down onto the floor.

Jimin rests his back on the frame of the couch as he sits in the small gap made by the large piece of furniture and the coffee table that resided in front of it. You decide to sit on the floor as well, around an arm’s length away from your friend. He places the red box down onto the table—opening the cap and revealing the contents with a mischievous glint in his irises.

Within the box was a deck of cards, separated into three piles with two pencils on either side. Knowing Jimin, you assumed this game had an ulterior motive you were unaware of, and by the title of the game, you could already tell that you weren’t going to like it very much.

“How do you even play this?” You ask, causing him to look up in return.

He bites his lip, taking a couple seconds to ponder on your question, “I don’t know it’s my first-time playing too,” he shrugs. “I was watching Jin and Namjoon playing it a couple of weeks ago and for some reason, Jungkook started crying.”

“He is a sap,” you hum in agreement, thinking in retrospect of Jungkook crying from various situations such as Iron Man dying or that one time Jin farted on his pillow and he got pink eye for a whole week.

“The biggest,” he concurs, “Hm, there’s no instructions in here.” He mutters while shuffling through the cards.

“Why don’t you just search it up?” You suggest, sliding the box to yourself as he nods and fishes his phone out of his pocket.

While holding the box in the palm of your hand, you scan the contents—turning it around in your palm until your eyes narrow in on the words printed at the bottom.

“Oh, it says something here.”

His head perks up. “Hm? What is it?”

You clear your throat at the sight of the long explanation. “We’re Not Really Strangers is a purpose-driven card game and movement all about empowering meaningful connections. Three carefully crafted levels of questions and wildcards that allow you to deepen your existing relationships and create new ones.” You internally grimace at the words. The game hasn’t even started and you already had a bad feeling about it all. “Ready?” You say through clenched teeth, purposely keeping your head hung low.

Jimin’s lips quirk up into a cheerful grin, unaware of the piercing stare you were giving him. “Okay, I think I got it,” he declares, eyes zeroed in on his phone once more, ”There’s three levels—perception, connection, and reflection. Each level we pass, the deeper and more thought-provoking the questions get. Helping us make a deeper connection and get to know each other better yadda yadda yadda.”

You nod in understanding, sliding the box of cards back towards him—forcing the grimace that kept threatening to plaster itself onto your face into a small, smug smile.

“The first thing we have to do,” he begins, taking out two pencils and two small pieces of paper, “is write messages to each other. We won’t be able to open these until after we leave.” He explains, sliding a pencil and paper towards you.

“Wow, very cryptic,” you tut, biting down on your bottom lip before more distasteful remarks decided to leave your lips. He doesn’t catch your reaction or your comment though because he’s already got his pencil in his hand, scribbling vigorously onto the tiny piece of paper. Knowing him it could very well be nonsensical insults and doodles, or a whole essay about your friendship and what you mean to him. Most likely ludicrous and full of thought, either way, just like him.

Without much thought, you lazily jot onto the paper.

know that i love u, u fucker <3

-y/n

The sound of your pencil falling against the table causes him to look up at you, eyes knit together in confusion.

“You’re done already?”

You chuckle, “I mean, I wasn’t going to write an essay. You already know how I feel about you. But it seems like you’re writing one though.”

His eyes narrow in on you—giving you an indiscernible look before letting out a small ‘hmph’ and lowering his focus back down to his pencil and paper. You dismiss his enigmatic behavior—deciding to mindlessly scroll on your phone while waiting for him to finish his MLA formatted essay.

Two minutes pass and you hear the sound of his pencil being placed onto the table. “Done.”

“You added citations too right?”

He scoffs, “No, but i’ll gladly add some if you’d like.”

You roll your eyes for what seems like the umpteenth time in the last five minutes, “Just start the goddamn game.”

He takes the first stack of cards and shuffles them between his hands. “In all three levels, there are wild cards or basically dares we have to complete. And for each level, we get two ‘dig deeper’ cards. Pretty self-explanatory. So this is the perception level. It’s basically designed for first encounters and strangers, and we’re gonna be asking each other questions about ourselves.”

Your eyes widen at the whole confidentiality of it all. “Are we going through all of those cards?” You blurt out, staring at what seemed to be like 50 cards in his hands.

“Oh no,” he quickly refutes, “It would take hours. We’ll just do like 12 cards each.”

“Alright,” you huff, letting out a small breath of relief.

“Yay! Okay I’ll go first,” he beams, his toothy smile evident as he places the deck in between the two of you while grabbing a card from the top, “What do you think my name is?”

You snort at the conspicuousness of the question, “Jamal.”

He immediately guffaws at your response, throwing his head back in addition. “Hey, I don’t mind that.”

“Are all of the questions like this?” You say in between hushed laughter.

“Nah,” he shakes his head as you pick up another card from the deck, “now you ask me.”

“Alright, what’s the first thing you noticed about me?” You ask, slightly taken aback by the sudden earnestness of the question, causing you to become genuinely curious about what his answer was going to be.

He hums, taking a second to think it through. “I think your smile and your laugh. It’s always been really contagious since the day I met you.” He admits, almost matter-of-factly as if it was something you should’ve known by now, yet you did not.

Your heart nearly disintegrates into a puddle of goop right then and there, but you manage to conceal your reaction, “Aw, you actually like me.” You tease.

He scoffs with a playful grin on his lips. “Don’t flatter yourself. You still cackle like a damn hyena.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “At least I don’t laugh at every single of Jin’s lame ass jokes.”

He gasps, jaw slack open due to your all too accurate truthbomb, “I did not ask to be attacked in my own residence.”

“Well, what are you gonna do about it then.”

He snorts. “Holy shit, do you remember when I banged my head on the corner of his coffee table.”

“How could I forget? I had the picture of the bump on your head as my lockscreen for like a month.” You reminisce, resisting the urge to pull up the picture from your phone.

“Yeah, and that same month I bought and rotated between the same 10 hats.”

“Hey! It genuinely didn’t look as bad as you thought.”

He whips his head towards you, giving you a piercing glare that made you want to redact your statement immediately.

He grins from ear to ear, the little shit, amused at the reaction he was able to garner from you.

“Aha!” He suddenly guffaws, shooting out of the floor and prancing towards his fridge. He then takes out three bottles of lychee-flavored soju and makes his way back towards the table.

Jimin being the borderline alcoholic he is, it doesn’t come as a surprise to you. Not even after he takes another trip back to the fridge to grab yet another three bottles of soju, mango-flavored to be exact. He has probably one of the stupidest grins etched onto his face as he held onto the bottles—meanwhile you were more concerned about the possibility of having to clean up a bunch of broken glass and wasted soju. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“And do you plan on drinking all of this by yourself?” you say, gesturing towards the bottles.

“I know my liver is strong, but I don’t buy this shit just to enjoy alone,” he retorts. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you shake your head as you click your tongue, “Playing this while tipsy just sounds ten times better don’t you think?.”

You shrug—although you had a strong hunch for what he was insinuating, “I mean I guess.”

He starts to pour soju into his shot glass, stopping just before it hits the brim. He slides the glass to you and you take it into your hand, eyeing the sparkling fluid and thinking about the way the contents would do its little all-too-familiar dance on your tongue.

“Well, you know what they say,” he says, pouring a glass for himself, “drunk words are sober thoughts,” he finishes while dragging out the last word—downing the first shot in one quick swig. You follow his lead soon thereafter, refusing to let your mind linger on what he had just said and the viable likelihood of you spewing out the words that could just make or break your longstanding friendship and lead to a lifetime of regret.

Obviously, everything’s going fine and dandy for you.

The next 20 minutes consisted of a plethora of superficial questions that would vary from:

“What's your favorite song lyric you can think of off the top of your head?”

Your head shoots up as if the lightbulb in your head just flashed on. “Easy. Shawty’s like a melody in my head that i cant keep out got me singing like-“

He lunges over to clap a hand over your mouth before you could sing the next line. “Na na na na no Y/N. Please stop.”

Or something along the lines of:

“What character do you think I'd play in a movie?” He asks with a smug smile.

“You’d be the second male lead that everyone secretly wants to end up with the main character because you act all sweet and kind and and genuinely cares about her but instead she chooses the other guy because something about him draws her in and it was her ‘gut instinct’ or some shit like that.”

“So I would get second male lead syndrome?” He reiterates.

“Yes.”

He sets his shot glass back down with a glower, clearly taken aback. “That is the biggest insult I’ve ever gotten in my entire life.”

You also couldn’t forget about:

“Oh, this one says to create a secret handshake.”

“No.” You deadpan.

“And why not?”

“Your pinky‘s the size of a vienna sausa—“

He smacks you square in the cheek with a pillow before you could finish your sentence. You don’t even fight back because your mind was so slow to process what he had just done. The fact that you only slept for 5 hours last night didn’t help whatsoever. Your evident lack of energy causes him to jab his finger into your side, causing a loud shriek—your fight or flight response starts kicking in as you grab the back of his neck and slam his face against the fabric of the couch cushion.

Soju was never able to make the two of you full on drunk—buzzed of course, but not enough for complete incoherency. And so you both down a bottle each before finishing the first round.

“I’m surprised we didn’t get any wild cards that round,” he says while resting his head on the couch.

You purse your lips, “You spoke too soon.”

His eyes flash open as he cranes his neck in an attempt to see the card. “Wait actually?”

You can feel your insides churn as you read the words in front of you, and you were sure that it wasn’t the alcohol talking. “Write down the three most important things to you in a relationship for 30 seconds and then compare.”

Jimin reaches over to grab two pieces of paper and pencils while unlocking his phone to find the timer app, “Okay, I’ll put a timer on for 30 seconds starting… now.”

And so the internal monologue in your head begins.

Three most important things… only three? That’s not anywhere near enough to suffice. Wait, what would the first one even be… oh yeah, trust. Trust is very much important yes, yes, yes. What else? Um, communication? Yes of course, that’s essential. Okay, what would the last one be?

You sneak a glance over at Jimin. His cheek is squished against the palm of his hand, making his cheek fat (an area in which he lacked in) more prominent and the pink, plush flesh of his lips appear even bigger than they already were.

The ceiling light emitted a faint, ambient glow—the lights and shadows hitting all the slopes and curves of his face. You never understood how someone could be so effortlessly stunning. Even the mess atop his head that’s supposed to be his hair looks purposely tousled—the ebony strands sticking up in multiple directions was framing his temples and contrasted with the honey-like hues of his skin.

Unlike the glow that radiated from the lights of the worn-down apartment and the radiance of whatever was beyond the glass of the window behind him, everything about him seemed to glow much brighter.

“Hello, earth to Y/N, your 30 seconds is up.” He interrupts pointedly, waving a hand in front of your face.

Blinking rapidly, you shake your head as well as all preceding thoughts that definitely weren’t consuming your mind a few seconds ago, “Sorry w-what?”

He laughs at your disoriented state, “Did you finish writing your three things?”

No, I wrote your name as number 3. “Yeah, I did. You can go first though.”

He nods with a small smile. “Oh, okay then let’s see. First, I put trust. I don’t know, I think everyone puts that to be honest. After that, I put communication. I feel like that’s just a given y’know. Another thing I feel like most people would say.”

You utter a timid “mhm” under your breath albeit zoning out and being unaware of what he was saying. Opportunely, you managed to scribble out his name with the mere seconds that had passed and now you were tapping the lead point of the pencil against the paper, littering the page with a bunch of grey, little dots—incognizant to the fact that he had his eyes focused on you the whole time.

“I didn’t really know what to put last. Three things isn’t anywhere near enough in my opinion. But at the last second, I wrote down vulnerability,” he continues.

You look up upon hearing the last word. “Oh wow, that’s good. I didn’t even think about that.”

He chuckles unabashedly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Right? I just figured. At first, I thought it would go in the same category as trust but then I thought about it more. Yeah, you can trust someone and someone can trust you, but to what extent does that all go to. Where does it start? And where does it even end? You need to be able to open up to the person I feel like. So I guess trust and vulnerability go hand in hand.”

Impressed with his words, you decide to chime in. “Wouldn’t communication go along with it too?”

“Hm?”

You place your pencil down. “You would open up to each other by means of communication, becoming more vulnerable, and then overall gaining more trust in the end.”

His brows raise at your sudden revelation, “Wait, you’re so right, did you just wax poetic and full cycle all that?.”

You smile, “I mean I guess,” you respond humbly, “ it does make sense though, does it not?”

He hums in agreement while downing another shot, “It applies to us, right?”

You force out a chuckle, but it comes out a lot more faux-sounding than you would’ve liked. “Haha, yeah I guess it does, doesn’t it.” Once again, starting to dive deeper into the abyss of pitiful hope and unrequitedness.

“Describe your perfect day.” He suddenly interjects.

You quirk a brow. “Didn’t I just go?”

“It’s okay, I’ll go for this one too.”

“Alright,” you say, foot tapping on the wooden floor as you look past him and out into the glass window of his living room, “well, I wouldn’t have school of course. And I think it would all depend on how I feel that day. If I was feeling particularly lazy, the day would probably consist of me binge-watching shows in bed while eating a shitton of carbs. And the other case would probably be galavanting around the city or going to an amusement park with friends.”

Jimin listens intently and smiles as you speak, causing you to avoid his stare before pigment threatened to rush to your cheeks, “Both of those scenarios sound really nice. I better be included too.”

You roll your eyes, turning away to hide the grin creeping up your cheeks, “We’ll see.”

He groans, standing up from his spot on the floor and falling onto his couch instead, “My asscheeks hurt.”

Your face contorts into a look of disgust, “And you want me to do what with that information?”

Scoffing lightly, he leans back into the cushions and tilts his head back, “It was a declaration, not a cry for help.”

“Yeah, and it’s the bony ass for me.”

His head perks up. “It’s having a flatter ass than their guy best friend for me.”

Gulping down the sad but unequivocal truth, “It’s kissing up to every teacher’s ass for me.”

His eyes narrow in pure chagrin, “It’s the crying on your teacher’s doorstep for them to round your grade for me.”

“It’s splitting your pants on orientation day for me.”

“Fuck you, people would pay to see this ass! It’s getting a concussion from falling down the main hall stairs for me.”

“For fuck’s sake, I told you that they waxed the floors that day!” You snap back.

“Okay, and who said it was a good idea to walk down three flights of stairs while trying to cram for a midterm? Yeah, exactly no one.” He says incisively, giving you an even bigger urge to push him off of the couch, yet you digress.

“This could go on for hours.” You heave out.

“Is that the sound of someone giving up I’m hearing?”

“Is that the sound of a midget I’m hearing?”

“But I’m taller than you?!” He screeches petulantly, smacking your shoulder. You burst out into a fit of laughter—toppling onto the wooden floor with pure malice.

Gasping for air, you attempt to stifle your laughter and regain your breath. “Wow, I’m on a roll today! I deserve another shot.”

He shakes his head, his anger quelling at the sight of your giddiness. “Remind me to not let you drink and play this game.”

You turn over from your side to lay on your back. “This will be the first and the last time I play this game with you.” You say almost immediately—the words involuntarily slipping from your mouth before you could stop it.

He sinks in his spot on the couch, brows knitting at your comment. “Why?”

Sobriety crashes into you like a colossal wave —your irritation dissipates almost immediately. The exaggerated tone your voice begins to register through your head—as well as the fact that you sounded a lot more disapproving than you intended.

Groaning at your hindered ability to think and process properly, you attempt to clear the air, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. We just... practically know everything about each other I guess. What else is there to know?”

He hums. “You sure about that?”

What? “Wait what?”

“Nothing,” he chuckles awkwardly, “next question.”

The straightforwardness of the next question causes you to quirk a brow, “How are you, really?”

His eyes widen. “Well, that’s a deep one, isn’t it?”

You smile. “A little.”

He sighs, a small grin lacing his features, “Hm, how am I,” he affirms, adjusting himself in his spot on the couch, “I feel content with where I am right now, I guess. Things can always be better, but at the same time they could be worse too.”

Your number one defense mechanism as of late has been to constantly tease and make jokes at the poor guy—essentially using him as your own mental punching bag. He went along with it out of the assumption that it was all caused by your stress from school while you knew the true origins of your behavior.

You smile at his optimism, "Hey, that's always good to hear."

He chuckles, shifting his position on the couch so he could face you directly, "I don't know, maybe it's the new sense of freedom. Or all the amazing people I've gotten to meet and the opportunities that are offered here. Or the fact that I'm still going to the same school as my best friend after all this damn time."

"Chim, don't get sappy on me man." You warn him while pouting exaggeratedly— slumping onto the frame of the couch while he takes a strand of your hair in between his fingers. You bask in the moment, your eyes shutting close.

"Hey, I'm just being honest! For some reason, it all makes up for the impending student debt and draining lectures and professors that have a superiority complex as fat as their paycheck."

"Too bad their paycheck still isn't as fat as your ass."

An audible gasp coming from the only other person in the room causes your eyes to flutter open.

"Aw," he coos, ruffling the hair atop of your head, "that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night. Admit it, you love me."

Out of instinct, you opt to stick your tongue at him instead of replying with a witty comeback. You turn away from him before mumbling to yourself, "More than you'll ever know buddy."

"What was that?"

Shit. "Nothing. Next question!"

After twenty questions and a whopping 10 empty soju bottles later, you are quite literally about to implode.

Your eyes stare down at the card in front of you—everything that surrounds it is blurry in vision and you can audibly pinpoint the erratic beating of your heart.

The card was practically taunting you, laughing in your face. It was as if there was a sentient being in the universe who was aware of your own subconscious and the not so latent feelings you had for the boy sitting in front of you. Same said being loved to constantly place you in a state of trepidation concerning your current situation—your blood pressure skyrocketing—nearly feeling the muscular pink thing inside of you thrusting itself against your ribcage.

The imminent headache was starting to spread towards your temples and you practically felt like you could feel your brain shifting inside your head at this point. Although you felt groggy, you were certain that your heart was at a rate that is way faster than it should be. And sitting on your legs has caused them to lose all feeling from the tips of your toes all the way up to your kneecaps. One attempt at standing and you would come crashing to the floor in a heartbeat.

To say you were mad was an understatement. Out of all the times throughout the entirety of this hour and a half that you were playing this game, he decided that now would be the best time to use his 'dig deeper' card.

There it was.

Admit something.

"Okay fine, I was the one who stuck pink hair dye in your shampoo last semester."

"Y/N, did you really think I didn't know? C’mon I know there’s something else in there.”

You scowl, brows furrowing, “Why would I keep something from you?”

“Why are you getting so defensive over this?”

"What the hell is there for me to admit to you?" You snap back in exasperation, the harsh tone of your voice rendering the two of you speechless.

He averts his gaze, closing his eyes while inhaling a deep sigh. "Ever since we started college, why have you been treating me so differently?"

Your eyes widen in disbelief, stumped. Yet you refuse to wither out of this.

"I– are you mad?"

"No. Of course not," he quickly digresses, softening his gaze, "I just noticed after all this time that you've only been acting differently towards me. Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong Jimin. You never have."

His eyes narrow, giving you yet another indecipherable look, "I'm using my 'dig deeper' card." He deadpans.

And so you sat there. Fiddling the card in between your fingers, feigning nonchalance. You were very much on the brink of cracking your facade—your sanity practically crumbling as the minutes ticked by. You didn’t think you’d last this long, to be honest. Yet an hour and a half proved to be way too straining on you in a variety of different ways.

He simply sat there with his hands folded on the table—void of emotion, whistling a familiar top 50s tune you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You considered shifting your focuses on trying to comprehend the tune—hoping it would ease the concerning state of apprehension you were in. But then you assured yourself that you haven't reached that level of patheticism yet.

Even though you both had probably been sitting in complete silence for about two minutes now —practically anyone else could detect was the crickets chirping outside his apartment, yet the only sound that was filling your eardrums was your own conscience telling you how idiotic you were being.

This was it. There was no point in trying to weasel yourself out of this situation. If you tried, your more than futile attempt could very well end up causing more problems than if you were to go with the latter.

So instead of constantly wracking your brain with witty banter and deceitful ways to gaslight your feelings for the man sitting in front of you, you come to terms with the fact that your time had run out. You internally commend yourself for putting up a good fight, as well as internally become accosted at how immature you were at handling the whole situation.

You sharply inhale through your nose, peering at the man sitting in front of you as his eyes meet your own, "Alright."

He offers you a small yet empathetic smile in return, giving you the tiniest sliver of reassurance. His hand pats the couch cushion next to him, motioning for you to sit down next to him.

You push yourself up from the floor, immediately propping a leg onto the couch to avoid your numb limbs to be the cause of your embarrassment.

You inhale slowly through your nose and out through your mouth. "This is going to sound really absurd. Like more than absurd. Possibly borderline hysterical." No Y/N, why would you say that?

He interjects, placing a hand on your forearm. "I'm beginning to think you're becoming borderline hysterical," he lets out a small chuckle, "slow down Y/N. One thought at a time."

Your jaw is still slack open due to your previous rambling. "I'm sorry, I just—I don't think I've ever felt this anxious… around you at least."

He bites his lip, eyes trailing away from yours as he tries to think of a way to aid you, "Will it help if I turn around?

"Maybe." You reply timidly, smiling to yourself as his back came into view.

“It’ll be pretty funny if we don’t remember this in the morning,” you start off with, “I shouldn’t be saying that either I’m sorry. Stupid alcohol.”

He snickers at your drunken state, it was adorable. “Pretend I’m not here Y/N. Like you’re talking to a wall.” He advises, back still turned.

You nod although he can’t see you. “Okay. Well, hi Mr. Wall. I’ve been keeping a secret from my best friend for as long as I’ve known him and I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve suppressed it all this time in hopes that it would eventually fade away, and it almost did. No really, it actually almost did. But now it’s back again and all the same feelings came, but like freaking twofold. No, tenfold. No, like a hundred fucking fold.”

Jimin tries excruciatingly hard to stifle his laughter, cupping a hand to his mouth so he wouldn’t move and distract you.

“I’m literally in love with my freaking best friend when I know he doesn’t see me in that light nor will he ever. If he did, we wouldn’t be where we are right now because I am so shitty at hiding my feelings that I am more than certain that I’ve let the truth slip a couple of times.” You say all in one breath.

He slowly detaches his hand from his mouth, eyebrows raising in disbelief in the words you had just said. His body urges him to turn around. Yet you continue to think out loud. So he digresses.

“Towards the end of high school, I think my feelings started to become more dormant because I had become more concerned over finishing high school and transitioning into college. I was content and I convinced myself that my feelings were fleeting for once.” You begin with, allowing whatever thoughts that you consumed your mind to spill all out for Mr. Wall to hear.

You sigh, taking a pillow from his couch and squeezing onto it for dear life. “That was until we ended up getting into our top picks and going to the same school. I couldn’t believe it. My stupid head tried to convince me that life had always just paired the two of us up together for some reason. And that maybe, just maybe I had a chance. But whatever I guess. I don’t know.”

A notification causes your eyes to trail to your phone. Really, Professor La, this is not a good time to tell me to finish my research paper. You swipe at the notification, revealing your lock screen—a photo of you and Jimin at an amusement park back at your hometown, sporting matching university hoodies with bright smiles on your faces that were captured mid-laughter.

Setting your phone down, you lean into the couch—letting your head fall into the cushions as your eyelids slowly start to droop shut. “What also didn’t help is how college life just seems to suit him perfectly. He just always looks so happy now. Like yeah, he’s always been a social butterfly. Yet in addition to that he has top notch grades. He charms professors. For fuck’s sake the Dean treats him like a son. His passion, his laughter, his love, his happiness. It’s always been so infectious. But college just made the effect he has on people grow even stronger. I-,” you stammer, pausing breathlessly, “it just looks like he truly belongs here. Like college was just made for him.”

He sits there in a complete stupor—still trying to process all the words that he had just heard. His body is itching to turn around, take you into his arms, whisper soft nothings into your ear. Anythings. Everything. He never wanted you to feel anxious about his feelings for you ever again.

“Mr. Wall, that was a lot, I’m sorry. But I’m really… really tired.” You utter quietly, a long yawn escaping your lips. You fall asleep.

Ten seconds pass until Jimin sneaks a glance over his shoulder, scanning your body as he notices your shut eyes and timid grip on his pillow.

“Y/N?”

You’re unresponsive.

He grins at the sight. Getting up from his seat, he makes his way toward you—slowly prying the pillow from your grasp as you carefully slides his hands under your body and picks you up from the couch.

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his shoulder as he carries you to his bedroom. You are very much still asleep, yet you always had the habit of needing something to hold onto while you were unconscious.

Kicking the sheets aside, he makes room for you to lie down as he gently places you onto his bed. He quickly scurries to the other side, slipping into the covers himself as he lays down beside you.

The sudden contact causes you to shift in your sleep—suddenly wrapping an arm around his torso. He lays there, completely stunned at your actions and begins to heavily debate whether he should give into his desires or not.

The internal conflict lasts about two seconds before he turns to his side—placing his free hand on the small of your back and pulling you into his chest, leaving a small pocket of space in between your two bodies.

Unknowingly, you close the gap almost immediately—nestling your head into the crook of his neck as your arm that was lazily slung over his torso starts to tighten its hold around his body.

His arm slings over your unconscious form, his hands making his way to your back as he basks in the foreign feeling, being this close in proximity to you. It was different. Yet it almost felt like it was where he belonged. And he was scared because he didn’t want it to end.

While gently placing his chin on the top of your head, he begins to stroke your hair as fatigue starts to wash over him as well. “Things will make sense soon Y/N, I swear.”

He retracts, craning his neck in an attempt to see your sleeping form. His attempt proves to be futile when an indecipherable groan leaves your lips—brows knitting slightly and lips curling downward from the sudden lack of warmth.

His soft laughter fills the room as he obliges—carefully pressing a small kiss to your forehead before reverting back to his original position.

“For now, just know that I love you too.”

The intolerable throbbing sensation in your temples caused you to stir in your sleep.

The only events you could recall from last night was being at Jimin’s apartment, playing that stupid card game, and downing the most soju you’ve ever had in one sitting.

It only occurs to you that you’re wrapped in someone’s arms when you open your eyes and the only thing in your periphery is a firm chest, steadily heaving each time they take a breath.

Your legs were messily entangled with theirs—arms slung around each other’s torsos as you felt a strange yet dense weight on the top of your head.

Carefully, you try to pry yourself from their grasp albeit your haphazard state of mind. You pull back ever so slightly, making sure not to wake them up in the process, discovering that the excess weight was actually their chin that had been resting on top of your head. Their fingers were still twined in your hair as you pulled back, making you freeze in your spot. Curious, you tilt your head, peering upwards and catching a glimpse of their face.

The boy is undoubtedly still asleep. Eyes shut and ample lips slightly parted. Your timid movement, to your luck, which hadn’t phased him in the slightest, as he was unperceptive and nearly immobile at this point.

If it weren't for your abhorrent headache and the even more abhorrent symptoms that had rooted from your hangover, it would be an understatement to say that you would be freaking out right about now. In reality,

You'd be in a complete state of manic.

Because of the fact that your body was paying for the despicable amount of alcohol you had decided to consume the night before, an influx of any intense emotion would cause your body to exacerbate itself even more. And the last thing you needed was to puke all over the poor guy after sleeping together for the first time.

While you were physically experiencing withdrawals, your mind felt slightly inebriated nonetheless. You weren't quite sure if it was from last night's affluence of liquor or the way everything's starting to come back to you. And the longer your eyes linger on the boy's face, the clearer everything starts to become. From the foolish banter to your childish outbursts leading up to your intoxicated yet conscientious confession.

You left your heart all out for him to witness last night, and now the only thing you could do is wait for a response.

Taking a deep sigh, you retreat back to his body—deciding not to ponder any longer on the matter and wait until you had felt physically capable of doing so.

Steaming hot streams of water splash against his back. He stands under the shower head while massaging soap into his hair, replaying the events that had happened last night on loop.

The words that left your mouth were engraved into his mind as they involuntarily kept replaying over and over again—particularly your inebriated confession, which kept garnering the same reaction of both hope and frustration within him.

The solution should be simple. In reality it is, yet he still felt so internally scattered.

“—he doesn’t see me in that light nor will he ever...”

That was the singular line that he just couldn’t wrap his head around. There was never a moment where he would hesitate to drop everything he was doing to be there for you and make sure you were okay.

Yes, he knew that you two were best friends and that it was natural. But what best friend drives across town at 2am because you had the stomach flu and your parents were out of town. Keep in mind it was his mom’s birthday that day.

What best friend ditches their prom date when yours had stood you up. Or coax the drama teacher into giving you the lead in the school play because he saw the ways your eyes glimmered when you saw the words ‘High School Musical’. And damn, weren’t you justthe greatest Gabriella he’s ever seen.

Little did you know that in reality, he always wanted you to be the Gabriella to his Troy, and not Chad. Yet you seemed to have believed the latter all along.

But in the end, what the hell kind of best friend remains oblivious to the fact that for years, past exes have consistently broken up with him for the same reason.

“Your heart belongs to someone else.”

Or alternatively,

“I’m not the right person for you.”

Straight A’s don’t mean shit when no teacher has ever taught him how to realize that he was irrevocably in love with his best friend, and that she had always, almost candidly, felt the same way.

He shuts his eyes tightly, hands aggressively running through his soaked hair as he comes to a conclusion.

Being strangers could never be an option. Being friends, or moreso, best friends was fine. But that’s it. It was just fine. It was normalcy. It has been for years.

And that just wasn’t going to cut it for him anymore.

Your arm traces along the fabric of the bedsheets, alerting you that there was a void of space and lack of warmth from the other side of the bed. Your eyes spring open to see that there was no one laying beside you.

A long yawn escapes your lips as you stretch your limbs, body sprawling all over the bed before selfishly tugging the sheets all to yourself.

Soft hissing from which you assume was coming from his shower was confirmed to be true when your eyes spot the closed bathroom door and the small beam of light that was emitting from it.

A small, folded piece of paper that was taking up the space of where his head was resting was where your eyes shift to next.

y/n <3

You knit your brows together, knowing that it was most likely put there strategically rather than a piece of trash that had slipped out of his pocket.

It was addressed to you after all and so you grab it while making a futile attempt to rub the sleep out of your eyes. Your throbbing headache and churning insides had significantly died down. Regardless of your recovery time you internally make a promise to yourself to never get this wasted ever again. The chances of you sticking to it? Highly debatable considering the current situation you’re in.

Blinking rapidly, you finally are able to decipher whatever is written onto the paper. And it says:

hi y/n, i can already tell by the looks that you’re giving me that you already despise this game and im sorry. all i wanna say is that by the time you read this, i hope that we remain close as ever even though what i plan on saying tonight could obliterate all of that. i wanted to play this game bc i know we’re both hiding stuff from each other and it’s about time we get it out. at least for me. whatever happens, i love you. always will.

- chim :)

EDIT: for fuck’s sake y/n i’m FUCKING IN LOVE WITH YOU TOO I WAS SUPPOSED TO CONFESS TO U FIRST LOSER NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND T-T

“Finally awake?” You hear a familiar voice call out. He walks out of the bathroom, fully clothed (to your dismay) while drying his hair with a towel, eyes immediately softening as they connect with yours.

You swallow down your nerves, “Yeah, I’ve been.”

He walks over to the edge of the bed, eyes shifting to the piece of paper in your hand before reverting his focus back to your face, “What are you reading there?”

“I don’t know,” you huff, feigning ignorance, “why don’t you tell me.”

A soft chortle leaves his lips as he throws the towel to the side, smiling as wide as ever as he jumps onto the vacant spot on his bed right next to you.

Propping himself up, he sits against the headboard, letting out a content sigh before looking down at you once more. “Come here.” He says, reaching his arms out in hopes that you’d fill the idle gap.

And you do, shaking the sheets off of your body as you place yourself in his arms, freshly revelling in the comfort. You wrap your arms snugly around his waist, letting your head rest on his chest while he clutches onto you tightly.

“I’m sorry for pushing the subject so hard onto you last night.” He starts off with, “I guess I just never fathomed the fact that you could return the feeling, and I was too stubborn to even admit it to you in the first place.” He expresses while stroking your back, “I didn’t mean to confront you so harshly, it’s unlike me, and I’m really sorry about it Y/N.”

“Do you think I’m mad about that Jimin?” You inquire, just barely above a whisper.

He pulls back slightly, peering down at you, “Are you?”

“Of course not. I should be the one apologizing anyways for being even more stubborn and resorting to such childish ways.” You disclose whilst mentally beating yourself up.

“Hey, there’s no use in beating ourselves up over it. Look where we are now.”

“Where exactly are we Jimin?” You inquire timidly, head still resting on his chest.

His fingers brush over the base of your chin, gently tilting your head up until your eyes found his.

“Y/N, it’s honestly hard for me to formulate the words but all I know is that I think I’m in love with you. And I think I have been for a long time, no scratch that, I have been for a long time,” he says all in one breath, making you smile at how high-strung he was acting.

The grin remains plastered onto your face, “I’m not drunk still right because did I just hear you say that you’ve been in love with me?”

“Y/N…” he whines, jutting out his bottom lip as he drags out the last syllable of your name.

You can’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Go on please.”

He bites his lip, “I honestly had a whole speech prepared in the shower but I forgot all of it.”

“It’s alright, I barely remember half the stuff I spewed out last night,” you chortle.

He chuckles, “Well, if you were wondering, you’re cute as fuck when you’re piss drunk.”

The compliment makes your breath hitch in your throat—your heart starting to pick up speed dangerously quick.

A few seconds pass, allowing you to slightly gain back some of your composure, “Why did you um– I mean– when do you think you fell in love with me?” You stutter.

“I was actually trying to figure that out too,” he starts, “in the shower. Well, this is going to sound dumb,” he admits, sharply exhaling out of his nose, “But do you remember when we went on a field trip to that amusement park in 8th grade? Around halloween time.”

“I think so… but what about it?”

He nods. “I still remember that night so vividly for some reason,” he pauses, collecting his thoughts, “There were haunted houses all over the park. And they were all different themes. And I think the first one we went into together was—”

“The clown one.” You deadpan.

“Yeah!” He beams, laughing at the way you shudder after your words, “Anyways, you were walking behind me with your hands on my shoulders, but you had a razor grip and I thought my arms were going to fall off, so I made you walk next to me instead. We had our arms interlocked and you were gripping onto me so closely and you had your head buried in my shoulder the whole time.” He explains, the smile never ceasing to leave his lips.

You don’t take his eyes off of him—smiling sweetly as he explains the retrospective moment that you never knew had held so much significance to him.

“All of a sudden, you grabbed my hand, and honestly, I think that was the scariest part of the whole experience,” he admits, chuckling softly.

“But then I intertwined fingers with you. And I liked it. Thinking about it now, I probably loved it. It felt almost borderline euphoric. Like as if I was riding a high, and when we detached hands, it felt like there was just something missing. And I guess I never really put the pieces together because it just became a normal thing after that. And when our skinship kept evolving from there, I just kept dismissing it over and over again. Like as if that feeling was a normal thing to happen between friends, because I genuinely thought it was. Yeah, I think that’s the moment I pretty much fell in love with you.” He finishes, giving you a close-mouthed smile while he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Astounded was an understatement. You couldn’t believe that you both had been suppressing these feelings for so long. Yet somehow, this whole confession didn’t seem out of place or time, it was as if everything that had happened beforehand had led up to this very moment.

“Wow, Jimin I– I don’t know what to say.” You reply.

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to say anything Y/N. I’m sorry for making you wait for so long, after all.”

You interject, “Please don’t say sorry, I think we were definitely both in the wrong here.”

He smiles, except this time his eyes crinkle up all the way, “Alright, but can you at least let me make it up to you?”

“I’m listening.” You jokingly reply.

“Let’s go on a date,” he declares brazenly, “but tonight, after we’ve recovered from our hangovers and what not.”

The corners of your lips upturn so high that your cheekbones sting, “Jimin, I’d love to–”

“Ah, wait! I’m not done.” He cuts you off, head inching forward, leaning in so close that you could feel his breath tickle your ear and the heat rushing up to your cheeks.

“And at the very end of the night, I’ll make certain that you won’t be able to walk normally by tomorrow.” He whispers into your ear— voice low and full of lust.

Shivers run through your body as it feels like all the wind had just gotten knocked out of you. Yeah, this was definitely worth the wait.

MASTERLIST ; SEQUEL

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downtonabbeyrevisited · 3 years

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Season Two Episode Two

Following a typically chaotic opener, Episode Two of Season Two strikes a far more sombre tone. The arrival of Henry Lang as Robert’s valet brings the first of this episode’s three plot points that address the impact of WW1 on the mental health of its soldiers. There is nothing funny to say about either shell-shock or suicidal ideation both of which are vast, complex issues that, for my money, Downton Abbey isn’t the vehicle explore in (because they require more time and depth than the pace of the plot in Season Two affords) and it certainly isn’t my place to make light of them in this rather irreverent corner of the internet. So I’m going to have a go at treading a fine line here. Forgive me if I stumble.

Lang is clearly in the grips of something awful and yet in an attempt to avoid the indignity of having maids in the dining room, he is bumped up to footman duty. He struggles throughout, culminating in him depositing his cargo on Edith’s dress. Mrs O’Brein has firmly taken Lang under her wing, recognising that he is struggling and offers him assurance and comfort that she has never gifted to Thomas.

Across the Village, Lieutenant Edward Courtenay is in the hospital having been blinded by gas. The use of gas (both chlorine and mustard) had a devastating impact on soldiers in WW1 but was also the root of the development of Zyklon B. Frtiz Haber, a German Jewish chemist, enabled chlorine gas to be used a weapon in WW1 and his research was later developed into the Zyklon process which was used by the Nazis to murder millions, including his own family. This is only one of a dizzying number of appalling ironies to be found in the World Wars but as I said last episode, I’m not a military historian so I’m going to leave it there. Edward had plans to return to the country after his graduation from Oxford to pursue the simple life (although one gets the feeling that his idea of the pursuit of a simple life will still be one that is very well upholstered). Thomas has taken it upon himself to read Edward’s letters to him and together with Sybil is helping him to adjust to living life with a different set of parameters. But growing pressure on the hospital’s limited capacity means that he is to be transferred elsewhere. All three voice their dissent at varying volumes to Major Clarkson who falls back on the very real backlog of wounded men. After Edward has died, Major Clarkson, Isobel and Sybil talk about a renewed need for the Abbey to become a convalescent home, an idea that has been bubbling under the surface for a while now. Meanwhile, Thomas has been left on his own to process both Edward’s death and the implications of witnessing a lack of support given by his own physician to those with depression.

The usually reliably jovial Mrs Patmore also has a more somber episode with her pursuit for the truth about the death of her nephew Archie. Robert finds that he has been shot for cowardice. Not only does this mean that her family is in mourning but they will now have to navigate the stigma and undue shame that came with having a relative die in this way. So entrenched in British life was the derision levelled at those who were shot for cowardice or desertion that it was only in 2006 that pardons were offered by Britain for 309 of those that were executed by firing squad during WW1. I know I said I’d leave it there with the military history, but that felt like an important bit of context.

We are now in 1917 and Matthew is still in the same trench that he was in 1916 (a detail I hadn’t actually noticed until I got the screen cap for this) so it looks like his strategy of downing tools mid-fight and continuously popping back to Blighty for important plot developments isn’t really paying dividends. Perhaps the addition of William to the ranks will help him? William certainly seems to think so and if the speed at which he moves through the various stages of his ‘relationship’ with Daisy is any indication of his tactical prowess, the British Front will not only be well within Germany’s borders but will be breathing down Russia’s neck in a fortnight. In any other episode, this would certainly get the award for oddest relationship dynamic but Sir Richard Carlisle exists.

Sir Richard makes his debut at Downton, having been introduced in name only in the previous episode. He and Mary met at Cliveden which is a regular haunt of mine, giving me hope that one day I too will from a strategic alliance with a newspaper magnate. He may know how to talk his way around a boardroom but he is lacking in the sartorial department. Whilst Sir Richard manages to avoid catching fire in his tweed, Lavinia is not free from the heat as he threatens her with his connection to her uncle. He may not know much about navigating the niceties of Downton, but at least he has cottoned on to the fact that any major disagreement should occur under a specific tree. Whilst Mary’s signature move is weeping into her gloves, Sir Richard’s is grabbing women by the forearm. A female friend of mine told me that one of her favourite things about the pandemic and the compulsion to keep 2m away from anyone (and not just emotionally) is that she has not been ’steered’ by a male hand on her lower back since 2019. It turns out that she can enter and exit rooms just fine on her own and I get the impression that Lavinia could get the gist of Sir Richard’s rage without the vice like grip of a man probably about twice her age.

Twinned with the ’tree of emotional conflict’, the ‘platform of romantic uncertainty’ provides the backdrop for Sir Richard’s proposal of marriage to Mary which is a declaration that really feels like it should come with a series of well-formatted charts. Mary’s heart, however, is still very much with Cousin Matthew. After being counselled by Carson in a type of conversation I cannot imagine her ever having with her father, she is on the verge of coming clean with Matthew. But in the second round of Lavinia vs. Mary, Lavinia declares that she ‘could not go on living’ without Matthew and Mary winds her neck in.

Also having a romantic entanglement this episode is Edith. Drake, previously of dropsy fame, has lost his farm hands and Edith turns up to offer her help in a wildly unsuitable trouser and heeled boot combo. But she soon gets down to it by pulling up a tree stump and flirting in a barn whilst a rather lovely border collie looks on (I’m currently trying to talk myself out of getting a border collie and this incident has done nothing to help things). After showing Drake that she can drink from a bottle like literally every single other human on the planet, the two share a kiss and some highly awkward dialogue that only slightly resembles ‘Carry on Downton’.

Whilst Edith is more than happy to crack on in a barn, Mr Molesley is much more backwards about coming forwards. Apparently having predicted the creation of ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’, he figures that a book is the perfect kindling for romance when you exist in a glossy depiction of the past. Sadly neither Elizabeth nor her German garden can lure Anna from Bates who is fast shaping up to be schrodinger’s boyfriend. Anna proceeds to make some odd analogy where she compares Mr Bates to her moon-based child, revealing a rather unhealthy amount of codependency in that particular relationship.

Romantic declaration of the moment

Again, it feels like anyone but Sybil and Branson should get this but I am an agent of chaos and here we are. Branson defends Sybil’s will to work and has ample opportunity to see her shine in her chosen field. The admission that she will not be returning to her old life is a little chink of light that Branson basks in.

Expressive eyebrow of the week

I nominate Carson’s entire face when he realises that he has taken on too much and goes an impressive shade of red. As Carson frets about spoons, sauce, and something I can’t quite fathom, he starts to resemble a man who is re-arranging the deckchairs on the Titanic. Carson’s battle to get a cork out of a bottle and knocking into chairs is a warm up to his rather dramatic collapse which is accompanied by a pretty disturbing groan. Sybil springs to action and he is soon efficiently ensconced in his own quarters.

Wait, what?

“I got a lot done on the train” Clearly Richard was on a train that was unencumbered with the wifi issues that plague the Pendolino.

“It takes a good deal more than that to shock me.” Mary’s shock-o-meter is a pretty odd instrument. It is unresponsive to corpses of diplomats but goes into absolute meltdown at the notion that she might have to live in a cottage.

“Let's hope my reputation will survive it.” I’ve not checked (and I categorically never will) but I would put money on the fact that someone has created a rarepair out of this.

“How can Matthew have chosen that little blonde piece?” Is Lavinia blonde? Women’s hair is not really my forte but I would have thought she was more akin to Tim Minchin than 1998 Justin Timberlake.

“I believe in this war. I believe in what we are fighting for.” William seems to have a better grip on what all of this is about than I ever did in high school history. The ‘A’ that eluded me is heading his way.

“I thought he might've died for love of you.” How I love snipey Thomas. It’s good to have him back. To borrow a quote from Bottas (another man who is currently living a life in which his destiny is his own demise) ‘traditions’.

“Fold it in, don’t slap it” The more season two goes on, the more I think that Moira is just an amalgamation of some choice elements of Julian’s kingdom.

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 23

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 23 - Child Ghost

Twenty minutes later, each of the three hooligans sat on the bench in the hospital corridor in a daze, each clutching a bottle of fresh orange juice. The nurse had just scolded them for disturbing the rest of the patients in the surrounding rooms, and they all looked a little bit ashamed. A-Yan's face had some colour brought back. After drinking a few sips of the drink, he calmly said: "I c-can't exorcise it completely. I can only figure out the source of this thing. Maybe it's a good thing that it's harder to expel."

Lin Yan asked what he meant, and the little Daoist priest explained: “As the saying goes, 'He who never wrongs others does not fear the knock in the night*.' Although this girl is weak from her illness, there must be other reasons why, out of so many other patients, this thing chose her. If we can find the reason, then maybe it will leave by itself."

*(T/N: 不做亏心事，不怕鬼敲门 - means if you've done nothing wrong, you don't have to worry about any retributions.)

"It-It keeps repeating 'Why haven't you come yet?' It may be a wandering spirit who hasn't fulfilled his dying wish. His Yin energy is very weak. He probably died not that long ago."

Lin Yan's heart skipped a beat. He suddenly thought of Xiao Yu, and couldn't help but reveal his recent doubts to the little Daoist priest. After a long while, he turned his head and looked at the ghost next to him, and whispered: "Last time, I was only concerned about getting rid of him. I never asked him anything."

A-Yan sat curled up in the chair and listened to Lin Yan while gnawing on the cap of the orange juice bottle. He looked like a kitten. He jolted up and said: "Ghosts are divided into different categories. Today, the one here can only manifest by attaching itself to a living person and it will disappear once that person dies. However, the one that follows you is very, very strong."

A-Yan continued: "A ghost has no form at first, but if the soul is resentful and the body is buried in a place where the atmosphere has heavy negative energy, it's very likely to turn into a powerful ghost. A ghost will cultivate for a hundred years with a phantom body and, after a long time, it will develop a real body. When they have a real body, they don’t have to resort to 'bump around' like today, and they can even move around in the daytime without fear of Yang energy. They aren't so much ghosts as they are demons or animals." A-Yan clenched his fingers: " The most difficult evil spirit to deal with is known as the true body of the ten thousand clans. It requires special formations, plus needs to be done at the right time and place, so there's not much room for error. Once a part of the process goes wrong, the exorcist is likely to be drowned by the energy, go insane and instead be harmed by the evil spirit."

"L-Last time the formation was set up, Master made a fake one to fool the ghost, and he found the gap in time he needed. Otherwise, if you wanted to eliminate him, I'm afraid that you would have to gather more than fifteen boys in a Mandarin Duck Formation to have any hope." A-Yan suddenly gave Lin Yan a strange smile: "That was because he had just re-entered the world and was still confused when we tricked him. Now, I'm afraid. . . Brother Lin Yan, at this point, he should have already remembered something, right?"

Lin Yan thought back on all the things that happened at the lecture and the ghost's increasingly human-like behaviour. He was secretly surprised; was this ghost really recovering his memory? He nodded and replied, "He told me lots of things the day of the lecture. He can talk, just not very much."

A-Yan smiled nervously: "Y-Your four-pillar pure Yin is the most suitable alignment to feed ghosts. The longer he follows you, the more physical he'll become, and the more he'll remember."

"But. . ." A-Yan looked into the distance with a glaze in his eyes, his fingers tightly squeezed the drink bottle. He turned back and grinned at Lin Yan: "Be very careful."

"All I can say is that every action has a reaction, and I can't help you with anything at that point."

He didn’t know why, but Lin Yan felt that the way the little Daoist priest spoke seemed to imply something. Feeding ghosts. . . Lin Yan harshly inhaled the hospital’s air mixed with the smell of disinfectant and frowned. “Let's not talk about it. We have to save A-Zhou's cousin first and figure out the reason for the possession. Do you have to find out who the deceased is first?"

A-Yan nodded. Yin Zhou held his glasses, a little confused: "We don't have much time left. Dozens of people die in hospitals every month. We don't have time to go through each of them individually."

Lin Yan sighed: "That's no other option. Go and pull up the records of everyone who's died recently in the hospital. Maybe there's a clue somewhere."

After all, there were several people now that were exhausted from the attempted exorcism, paralyzed on the bench and not wanting to move. Lin Yan discreetly adjusted his position. Xiao Yu suddenly walked over to him, squatted down and grabbed his knees with both hands.

Lin Yan turned his face and snorted. "Weren't you ignoring me?"

Xiao Yu didn't answer. He gently lowered his head and put the side of his face on Lin Yan's knees, long hair cascading behind him like a waterfall. Lin Yan instinctively wanted to reach out his hand to touch his head, then he thought that he was probably still angry, so he put on an indifferent air and cold expression, not acknowledging him.

After a while, Xiao Yu raised his head. He pressed his hands firmly against Lin Yan's legs, stood up, turned and walked further down the corridor.

"Where are you going?" Lin Yan asked in a low voice. Seeing that he didn't answer, he had to follow a few steps behind. Xiao Yu quietly returned to the door of Xiao Yang's room and went straight through the door panel. Lin Yan was full of doubts. Peeking carefully through the door glass, he saw that Xiao Yang's mother was tired from crying and was sitting on the side of the bed, dozing off with her arms propping up her forehead. The girl, on the other hand, waited by the window again in the same manner as when Lin Yan had first arrived.

Xiao Yu walked to the girl's back and patted her shoulder lightly. What happened next left Lin Yan dumbfounded. The girl with her rolled-back eyes turned around and quietly "looked" at Xiao Yu, showing a normal human on her face for the first time. The corners of her mouth were pulled downward, a look of aggravation painted clearly on her face. Xiao Yu was tall, so he simply squatted in front of the girl and stroked her hair very softly. They were talking, and Lin Yan's eyes widened. Although he could not hear them, their expressions and slightly moving lips convinced him that they were indeed communicating in a language he didn't understand.

The little Daoist priest and Yin Zhou also followed at this time. They curiously holding the windowpane and looking in. They couldn't help but be shocked by the girl's appearance now.

"She's talking to herself?" Yin Zhou was surprised: "What's she saying?"

"Mortuary language." The little Daoist said in a deep voice. "The language used in ancient rituals to communicate with the dead."

Lin Yan looked at the harmonious picture in the room, unconsciously picking at the crack of the door. He grit his teeth and indignantly thought you're Xiao Yu. At home, you're fierce and want to kill me, yet you go talk to a young girl with such a tender look. You just look at such a pretty young girl that I don’t want to let it go. Zhu Xi's Neo-Confucianist teachings have really gone to the dogs. It’s useless for you to think about it. I decided ages ago. When she's a few years older, I'll take her to watch movies and visit the amusement park. Let's see what you can do. . .

"Hey? Are you going to follow him inside?" Yin Zhou patted Lin Yan on his shoulder. Lin Yan had been distracted internally cursing Xiao Yu, and he was so frightened that the hairs on his neck stood on end.

"Holy shit, when did you get here? Were you trying to scare me to death by keeping quiet?!" Lin Yan grumbled, clutching his heart.

"Did you really not hear me talking so loudly before?!" Yin Zhou said in surprise: ". . . Why are you blushing?"

A-Yan smiled and gave Lin Yan a deep look, not making a sound.

The conversation in the room seemed to be over. Xiao Yu stood up. He leaned over and rubbed the top of the girl's head and walked out. Xiao Yang reluctantly turned and stood by the window again. Lin Yan gritted his teeth and waited outside. He internally decided he wouldn't fall for any more of his tricks considering he seemed to do them with anyone. . .

Xiao Yu had already returned to stand in front of him while he was distracted. Lin Yan turned his face away from him in anger, but Xiao Yu didn't care. He took out the memo and the soft-tip fountain pen Lin Yan had bought from his pocket and began to write.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Yin Zhou looked at the pen and paper hanging in the air and stared in shock.

Xiao Yu shoved the note into Lin Yan's hand, then retreated to stand behind him. Lin Yan looked down. The light green note had two lines written on it. The first line was a series of capitalized numbers: "Three-Five-One-Zero-Zero-Four." The second line was a sentence: "He's waiting for his father."

"Father?" Yin Zhou looked at the words on the note and suddenly clapped his hands: "Hey, I got it, no wonder it came to Xiao Yang. Xiao Yang's mother is a single parent. My uncle passed away last year. I came to the hospital to watch her overnight last week and heard her say she missed her dad and it felt like he was still there with her. . . Then what does that row of numbers mean?"

Lin Yan was also puzzled holding the note. When he asked Xiao Yu, he shook his head and didn't speak. Lin Yan couldn't help muttering, "What the hell? You touched her head and smiled for a long time without asking anything. . . It’s not because the little girl looks good..."

"A g-ghost's memories are incomplete. They can only remember what they want. It would be nice if they can remember the numbers." A-Yan suddenly opened his mouth, his eyes sharply focused towards Lin Yan. Lin Yan's face grew hot, and he hurriedly lowered his head to cover it up. He explained to him that he was searching for people, why did his mind take such a strange turn. . .

That being said, why did he always get distracted by a dead person? This isn't going to work, no. Lin Yan secretly squeezed his fist.

Yin Zhou saw that the two of them were acting strangely. He crossed his hands behind his head and looked around in the corridor. When he saw the computer in front of the nurse on duty at the staircase, his eyes suddenly lit up, and he whistled frivolously: "Look, dude. Time for some fun."

With Lin Yan's girl-pleasing good looks and Yin Zhou's series of honeyed compliments, the three stooges quickly got their hands on the nurse's sister's computer. Yin Zhou stared at the screen intently. His fingers flew across the keyboard and the mouse clicked rapidly. After 15 minutes, the corners of his mouth stretched upward. His whole body suddenly leaned back in the swivel chair. He squinted his eyes and exclaimed: "Done. Turns out the info comes from this hospital. Makes it much more convenient not having to check other systems."

Lin Yan leaned in front of the computer, and the homepage showed: "351004, Zhou Jintian, male, 11 years old, died on May 11. Cause of death: internal organ rupture causing extensive abdominal hemorrhaging." A scanned copy of the body claim form was attached below. In the lower right corner where the family members signed, the family name was written in two large characters: "Zhou Mo" with a small red seal next to it.

"From the deceased's information from the database, this line of numbers is the bed number from the morgue." Yin Zhou touched his head: "This ghost is a child. No wonder he's standing by the window all the time, waiting for his father to pick him up from school."

Lin Yan took a picture of the page with his phone. He smiled and pushed the back of Yin Zhou's head: "Good job."

At the spicy and sour noodle shop across from the hospital.

Lin Yan always disliked eating near hospitals. He always feels that there were grieving patients’ families and infectious bacteria floating everywhere, but these spicy and sour noodles were particularly famous. Lin Yan drove the car for a while, and after a lengthy internal struggle, he turned back. Lin Yan scooped a spoonful of spicy soup and was satisfied that a delicious dinner was definitely worth it.

The little Daoist priest left for a shift in the restaurant where he worked. Yin Zhou stayed in the hospital to see the patient and verify the information. Lin Yan sat alone at the snack bar, a greasy orange plastic table with two bowls of spicy and sour noodles in front of him. One was placed in front of him, and the other was pushed to the opposite side. The "person" only he could see was sitting in the opposite chair with his face turned sideways in a daze. It seems that the ghost really didn't need to eat. Lin Yan sighed and asked in a low voice: "You don't eat or sleep, you follow me every day, aren't you tired?"

Xiao Yu ignored him. His slender fingers propped up his chin, and the outline of his side face looked very beautiful in the dimming daylight. The table was near the window, and the warm yellow halo of the street lamp brushed over the bridge of his nose. His skin looked as fine as porcelain. It felt like porcelain too, icy cold.

Things were still awkward.

"Excuse me, can I borrow the chair? We don't have enough." A childish male voice sounded and Lin Yan raised his head. A boy dressed as a high school student was holding the back of Xiao Yu's chair. He saw Lin Yan looked confused and pointed to the boys and girls chatting at a large table next door. The girls were wearing heavy makeup, the boys wearing ear studs, their school uniforms covered in black and blue pen doodles. There were so many people in the store that they were missing several chairs.

"Someone's using it." Lin Yan replied quietly.

"I know you've been sitting here for a while, no one's there." The boy was unyielding.

"If I say someone's there, someone's there, and if they aren't there now, they will be later." Lin Yan was a little impatient.

"Nutjob, it's just a chair, why so angry?" The boy muttered. Before leaving, he rolled his eyes at Lin Yan.

"Sorry." Lin Yan mumbled to the boy's back. He wasn't sure why. No one could see Xiao Yu, which always made him a little anxious. Lin Yan hesitated and for the first time took the initiative to reach out and touch Xiao Yu's statue-like fingers and whispered, "It's lonely, isn't it? Of all the people in the world, I'm the only one who can see you and I treat you badly."

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei #danmei novel #bl novel

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hollyxqx · 4 years

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playing with fire // yoongi // 01

↪ PARING: Min Yoongi x Reader ↪ GENRE: angst » smut » idol!au » enemies to lovers ↪ SUMMARY: Yoongi hates you. Or at least he thinks he does. (AKA the one where you work for BigHit and Yoongi is bad at feelings). ↪ WORD COUNT: 9k ↪ WARNINGS: angst | sex | oral sex (both m&f) | secret relationships | jealousy | mild possessive behaviour

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE

The instant Min Yoongi laid eyes on you, you annoyed him. You were introduced for the first time in another boring meeting he didn't want to attend, on his day off of all days and he was grumpy, having to be dragged here for your benefit. You annoyed him because you were obnoxiously positive and cheery. You annoyed him because everyone liked you straight away. Most of all, you annoyed him because you were beautiful, and he was willing to bet this fuss wouldn't have been made if you weren't.

He made a point to be polite but cool with you. He wasn't going to flap around you like some desperate teenage boy like the others were doing. Jin had already made not one but three bad jokes in an attempt to make you laugh, making Yoongi roll his eyes. Namjoon had even offered to take you out for lunch as a way of welcoming you to the team, which meant that Yoongi would be dragged along too, forced to spend even more time in your presence.

The restaurant Namjoon selected was one Yoongi hated, but Namjoon loved it for some reason. Yoongi hated the way they put garlic on everything. The group was led to a private room in the rear of the building and seated. You were sat opposite from Yoongi, which made him secretly glad. It meant he probably wouldn't have to talk to you much. You were animatedly talking away to Jin, anyway. Yoongi smirked to himself. Of course you liked Jin's lame jokes.

You excused yourself to go to the bathroom and Yoongi couldn't help but watch you walk away. He knew he was checking you out, your tight black jeans leaving nothing to the imagination and it bothered him. You were not his type of person, yet he was still succumbing to your looks like an animal. "She's really nice, isn't she?" Namjoon's voice tore him away from his thoughts.

"Hm, yeah, wonderful." Yoongi mumbled in reply, shovelling some more pork into his mouth, not even meeting his bandmates gaze.

"Do you like anyone?" Namjoon joked, nudging Yoongi playfully with his elbow. Yoongi rolled his eyes. "I think she's really cool. She seems like she will work really hard for us." The younger man mused.

"That's what she's paid for, Joon." Yoongi muttered. Namjoon just smiled, used to his friends attitude.

"Give her a chance hyung." Namjoon said, going back to his own food now.

Yoongi pretended not to notice when you returned from the bathroom, feeling a stubborn urge not to give you any more attention. He wondered if you secretly enjoyed having all these eyes on you. Probably. You were now talking to Namjoon in English, since it was your native language and Yoongi lost track of the conversation. He wasn't fluent enough to translate at the speed you were talking, plus you had an accent. Your English voice was actually quite pleasant, he thought. Although your Korean was good, you sounded starkly different in another language.

"Yoongi?" You were addressing him directly now, back to Korean. His eyes locked with yours. "Do you want the rest of my pork? I'm too full to finish."

He politely declined your offer. The pork was way too garlicy for his taste and he'd barely managed to finish his own, let alone second helpings. Once more he silently cursed Namjoon for recommending this place.

The group finished up their meal not long after and made to leave. As everyone filed out of the room, much to Yoongi's discomfort he was left to walk out next to you. He felt awkward. He had barely said anything to you since meeting you, and he was worried he was starting to come across as rude. Yoongi let out a deep breath and decided to make some conversation. "Did you like this place?" He asked you.

You quickly scanned around before leaning in closer and lowering your voice. "Don't tell Namjoon but..." You began quietly. "This place puts way too much garlic on everything. I swear it was even in my water."

Yoongi felt a smirk tug at his lips. He'd made almost that exact joke the first time he'd ever been dragged here by Joon. "At least you won't get bitten by a vampire on the way home." He joked. You laughed, giving him a big bright smile. God you really were pretty, he would be blind not to see it. For some reason he felt himself wondering if you had a boyfriend as he followed you out the restaurant.

Yoongi shook his head, as if to shake the thoughts out of his mind. Get a grip, he thought to himself. You were just a pretty girl. Nothing more, nothing less.

***

"Guess what?" Namjoon asked Yoongi, as they sat in the recording studio one night, just the two of them. They'd been working on a song together and had been having a bit of writers block, choosing to just hang out and wait for inspiration to come. Namjoon was lazily swirling in a swivel chair, aimlessly tossing a small ball up and down.

"What?" Yoongi asked, only half paying attention. His mind was focused on the computer screen in front of him, desperately thinking the longer he stared at it something would change.

"Jin kissed Y/N yesterday." Yoongi's mouth fell open in shock, eyes finally tearing away to look at Namjoon who didn't look phased in the least, still throwing and catching the same damn ball.

"Is she trying to get fired or...?" Yoongi said with a frown. An image of you and Jin, mouths locked and hands roaming each other appeared in his mind. It made him feel...weird.

"It's cute. Jin's had a crush on her ever since she started working with us." Namjoon said with a little smirk.

"So? She's staff." Yoongi reminded him. He turned back to the computer screen but he was still picturing you and Jin. Yoongi would be stupid not to pick up on how Jin tried to flirt with you. He noticed how Jin was always finding reasons to be alone with you. He was just surprised it worked. Even worse, a part of him was irritated it had and he wasn't sure why.

"If they wanna fool around and keep it secret, who cares?" Namjoon scoffed.

"Jin will if our fans ever find out about it." Yoongi muttered. "They sleeping together then?" He asked. He didn't mean to, it just kind of slipped out but he wanted to know.

"I think it was just a kiss." Namjoon shrugged. He threw the ball to Yoongi, who surprisingly reacted fast enough and caught it. Namjoon stood up and walked over to him. " Come on, I have an idea for this song."

Namjoon took the mouse from Yoongi and started editing and moving tracks around, but Yoongi was hardly paying attention. He couldn't understand why Joonie was so unbothered by the idea of you and Jin. Not only was it strictly against the rules, it was shocking. Jin never really hooked up a lot with girls. As Namjoon added some finishing touches to their work Yoongi couldn't help but ask himself, why does this bother me so much?

***

The next day at practice you were there. Namjoon's assumption of you at that first meeting had been accurate, you were very hard working. Technically, you were Sejin's assistant but you did anything and everything that was asked of you, often going above and beyond your call of duty. Even if it meant making sure Bangtan were fed and their laundry was done. Yoongi definitely picked up on that, noting how kind he thought you were to do so. Today you were filming their practice as they had a comeback scheduled soon and everyone was going hard.

If Yoongi hadn't known you and Jin kissed he'd never have been to tell, judging by the behaviour you two displayed. It was business as usual, as far as Yoongi could tell. Jin was still lamely flirting and you were still playfully ignoring it.

"This is it, I think you guys have nailed it." You said, as the eight of you watched back the footage you just recorded. Yoongi noticed Jin practising even harder and he wondered if it was because of you. You didn't usually sit in during dance practices. "You look great at this part here Yoongi."

The compliment took him by surprise. "Thanks," He mumbled, feeling himself blush a little.

"What about me?" Jin asked, a little defensively Yoongi noted.

"You look great too Jin." You added, playfully rolling your eyes. "I was just distracted by Yoongi.

Yoongi blushed again, cheeks heating up even more this time. He couldn't help his body react to you. You were distracted by him. What did that mean exactly? Had you been checking him out or just been impressed by his dancing?

"Let's go again." Namjoon announced. Everyone got into formation again while you went to the stereo player. You pressed play and stepped back to watch. Yoongi had his cap pulled down low on his head, the brim shielding his eyes, that way every time he caught you watching him you never noticed. It strangely made him feel a little proud having your gaze on him.

The song ended and Yoongi collapsed on the floor, panting and sweaty, the rest of the boys following suit. You turned off the music, so the song wouldn't play again. "Even better this time." Your voice broke the sound of the heavy breathing in the room. "This comeback is going to be the best one yet."

No one said anything at first, everyone spent from practicing all morning before Jin spoke up. "Can we order food now Y/N?"

"Of course. The usual, boys?" You asked. There were murmurs of agreement amongst everyone. You had fetched lunch for them so many times now you knew pretty much exactly what everyone wanted. "Ok, let's take a break then and I'll run out and pick some stuff up for you."

You walked over to your bag, lifting your handbag and keys. "I'll come with you?" Jin asked taking Yoongi by surprise. He eyed the older male carefully as he stood up. This was new. You always went alone on lunch runs. Yoongi watched you to see your reaction. If it phased you, you didn't show it. Instead you gave Jin a small smile.

"Sure. We won't be long, guys." You said to the room.

Evidently no one else seemed to think it was weird that Jin offered to go with you. No one mentioned it after you left together, although Namjoon gave you a knowing smirk. The idea of you and Jin sneaking off to make out made Yoongi feel uncomfortable. You were at work. Surely you wouldn't be so unprofessional. His stomach rumbled. He hoped you would be back soon.

"Joon?" Yoongi asked, pulling Namjoon to the side, out of earshot. "Who else knows about Y/N and Jin?"

"Just us." Namjoon replied, looking a little confused at the question. "And Jin obviously. Why?"

"I just wanted to know." Yoongi replied. Namjoon still looked confused but he dropped the subject. The two men re-joined the rest of the group, who were fooling around and laughing about something. "What is so funny?" Yoongi asked, reaching over to snatch his water bottle from Jimin.

"I found Y/N's secret instagram." Jimin snickered. Yoongi cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "Here." Jimin held out his phone. On the screen was your instagram feed.

"Why were you even looking for this?" Yoongi muttered as his eyes scanned the images. He froze when his eyes landed on a very scantily clad y/n sitting by a pool. He knew you would a nice body, he was a man who had eyes, but seeing it bare and not wrapped up in oversized clothes made his breath hitch.

"I was curious about her. She's foreign and I wanted to know more." Jimin shrugged.

"You're a creep." Yoongi pushed the phone away. He wanted to see more but didn't want the boys to know that fact. Jimin just grinned like a cat who got the cream.

About 30 minutes later, Y/N returned with Jin, food in tow. "I've got food!" You called, entering the practice room. The boys all rushed around you, Yoongi lagging behind. He was thinking about your half naked picture and he felt a little guilty, like you would be able to tell by looking at him. "Here you go guys." You and Jin set the many bags down on the table.

Yoongi noticed Jin snatch his food and storm off to one side of the practice room. That was unusual. His whole demeanour had changed since he left. You seemed the same, but Yoongi often struggled to read you. You were a lot like him, keeping your emotions very close to your chest. He collected his own lunch and walked over to join Jin.

"Are you ok hyung?" Yoongi asked, letting out a puff of air as he sank down on to the floor next to him.

"Yup." Jin replied coolly.

"You sure?" Yoongi prodded.

"100%" He knew Jin was lying but he also knew him well enough to not push it further. What had happened when you and Jin were alone? Yoongi couldn't help but wonder.

***

Yoongi didn't have much time to think about you and Jin over the next week. Schedules had intensified even further and any spare time Yoongi had he was working on new music. His body ached from the amount of time he had spent dancing and working out the last few days. He decided to go for a swim. The company building had a gym in the basement, equipped with it's own pool. Yoongi decided a late night dip would be perfect. It was after midnight and he'd have the whole pool to himself.

He walked in to the pool area topless, already in his swim shorts. Usually he would wear a t-shirt as well but he had expected to be alone. Which is why when his eyes landed on you, mid lap in the pool he felt suddenly shy.

He watched as you reached the edge of the pool, placing both palms on the tiles and hoisting yourself out of the water. You strode over to your towel that was tossed over at the seating area. Yoongi gulped as he took in your frame. That bikini you had on was the same as the one in the photo he saw, except this time he was seeing it in person. It had bunched up a little at the back and he couldn't help but check out your ass.

"Yoongi!" You gasped, finally noticing him standing there. He hoped you didn't catch him gawking at you.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt..." Yoongi trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"That's ok!" You replied, towelling off the excess water on your face, catching your breath. You must have been swimming hard. "I just didn't expect to see anyone else in here."

Yoongi shrugged. "I just felt like a swim. Body is sore after practicing."

"You've been working so hard. You all have." You replied. An awkward silence hung in the air, neither of you sure what to say next. Yoongi wanted to swim and he wasn't sure if you were done or not. You both sort of just looked at each other. "Do you...mind? I won't be much longer." You asked cautiously.

Yoongi kind of just wanted to look at you for longer. "Sure. Go for it." He sat his towel down and stretched a little. His back was towards you but he heard you dive back into the pool and begin to swim again. He took a deep breath and turned round. You were halfway across the length of the pool already. He noted that you swam really well. Mimicking your actions he dived in to the cool water too.

As he started to swim he held back in a groan, even though he had stretched his muscles were still stiff and sore. He completed one length of the pool and took a moment to rest at the edge. You had already nearly lapped him. A desire to ensure you didn't think he was weak pulsed through him. He kicked off the wall and dived into another lap. By the time he was at the shallow end of the pool his body was screaming at him, forcing him in to another rest break.

"Are you ok?" You panted, joining him at this side of the pool. Yoogni nodded but the way his face was scrunched up gave him away. "What's wrong?"

"My body hurts, I think I just need to take it easy." He finally admitted. Before he could even blink you were by his side, a worried look etched across your face.

"Is it your shoulder?" You asked, taking him a back. His body language certainly wouldn't have told you that information and he never told you he'd injured it previously. It wasn't widely known either.

"How did you know about that?" He asked, surprised.

You shrugged, giving him a tiny smile. "I know everything about you boys. It's my job."

Without meaning to Yoongi frowned a little. "It is my shoulder." He sighed.

"Listen, I had a really similar injury, let me show you something." You said. Yoongi raised his eyebrows at you. He was realising how little he actually knew about you, even though you had worked with Bangtan for months now. His eyes were on you as you gently took his elbow and pulled it in to a stretch. With your free hand you started to massage his shoulder. Yoongi gulped.

It worked, and most of the ache he was feeling was instantly relieved. He made a mental note to remember this stretch. As you worked your hands his eyes raked over you, falling to your breasts that were just above water level. A droplet of water ran from your neck and down your chest, disappearing in the space between your cleavage. Yoongi knew he shouldn't have been staring but he couldn't help it when you were this close to him.

Between the view before him, your hands touching him and your body against his he felt himself start to grow hard. Mentally he cursed himself. This was his punishment for ogling you. "How does that feel now?" Your voice was a welcome distraction, even if the slight huskiness to it sounded sexy.

"Good, thank you." Yoongi managed to get out. You took a little step away from him and smiled. He noticed for the first time how short you were, realising he'd never seen you out of a heel of some sort. He liked it, it was rare that he got to feel tall. He watched as you adjusted your bikini top and the way your breasts bounced made his dick throb, bringing his attention back to his hard length.

"Just make sure you rest it soon ok?" You advised. Yoongi nodded, distracted. He was trying to will the erection away with sheer mental strength. The last thing he wanted was to be caught and embarrass himself. He can't believe that he'd actually got hard in public, it hadn't happened since he was an hormonal teenager. "You're still in pain." You stated, having noticed Yoongi's strained expression.

"No, I'm fine." He said, a little too quickly. You reach out to touch his arm and he leapt away at your touch, feeling guilty at your confused expression.

"Is it just my company then?" You joked, the corner of your mouth lifting up slightly. Your tone was light and playful but Yoongi could sense there was an underlying sense of truth there.

"No," He muttered. "Just trying to stay professional. I'm not Jin." The words spilled out before he could stop himself. He was a man of few words but he was always honest, and sometimes that got him in to a little bit of trouble. Yoongi hated falseness in people, which was part of the reason why you made him so irritated.

"I'm very aware of who you are, Yoongi." You replied with a frown. "I don't see why me helping you isn't professional but whatever. And as for Jin, you don't know what you are talking about."

Clearly Yoongi had struck a nerve, the jab at your work ethic seemed to be a sore spot. "That's your business, I'm just saying I keep work at work, and personal stuff out it."

"So do I." You said coolly.

"So kissing Jin is part of your job now?" He said quietly, rolling his eyes. Your expression remained steely and collected.

"Yoongi," You stated. "He kissed me. I had zero intention of that happening, ever."

"I don't care." He stated. He went to move away again, hoping to end this conversation once and for all. You gripped his arm.

"I'm serious. He took me by complete surprise...and when I told him that it could never, ever happen again he threw a tantrum." You said looking a little sad. "I don't like that you think of me like that."

Yoongi's mind went back to that day at practice, where Jin was extra moody after going out to pick up lunch with you. Was that really the reason for his strop? Maybe Yoongi had underestimated you after all. "Fine, whatever." You were still gripping his arm and he was hyper aware of your touch. "You scared you gonna drown or something?" He muttered, pointing to your arm.

"Sorry." You said sheepishly, withdrawing your hand.

"I'm going to swim now." That was the last thing Yoongi said before moving away from you and beginning another lap. You took that as your cue to leave.

***

Two days later, the boys of Bangtan were in a meeting with you and Sejin, discussing the upcoming comeback and tour schedule. Yoongi wasn't sure if he was secretly pleased or upset that you were coming on tour with them. Tour life was intense, and you'd be spending even more time in close proximity. His eyes flickered over to Jin to gauge the older boy's reaction. He was staring at the itinerary in front of him, with a frown.

You hadn't said much during the meeting, letting Sejin take the lead. Yoongi had tried to avoid looking at you directly since the stint in the pool, but he let his gaze fall on you now and as usual, your expression was neutral.

The schedule was packed, the tour spanning at least 3 months straight overseas. Yoongi noted there was even going to be a tourbus this time. He really wasn't looking forward to the idea of sleeping in a claustrophobic bunk. At least there were plenty of nights booked in hotels along the way.

"And lastly, if there's anything you need before we leave in two weeks, please let Y/N know now." Sejin's voice brought Yoongi's head up and he looked at his manager, racking his brain to think if there was anything he did need.

"My suitcase is broken, can you get me a new one please?" Jungkook asked first.

"Of course." You made a note in your phone. "I know which one you had before, do you want the same again?"

Damn, Yoongi thought. You really did know everything about them. He was starting to think he was wrong about you.

***

Tourbus life was as crappy as Yoongi expected it to be. By day 3 he could barely take it anymore. The only thing getting him through it was knowing day 4 was a hotel night. He was looking forward to sleeping in a bed bigger than the width of a bunk and maybe even having a bath. The tour bus had a shower but again, it was just as claustrophobic as the bunks.

1am rolled by and Yoongi still wasn't able to sleep. It was so hard to get comfortable in the confined space. To add insult to injury his bunk was directly above Taehyung's and he could hear his bandmates snoring so loudly, he may as well have been in bed next to him. He sighed and checked his phone for the 10th time, feeling restless. An idea occurred to him.

There was a huge sofa/lounge area at the back of the bus. It folded out in to a double bed but in the interest of fairness, the whole team agreed no one would have it as their sleeping quarters, instead it would just be a place to hang out. Yoongi thought no one would mind if he just spent one night there. So he grabbed his phone and a blanket and scrambled out the bunk, making his way to the back of the bus.

The dim spotlights in the room gave it a cosy atmosphere and he knew he had made the right decision. He would sleep well here. There was even a T.V which he flicked on, keeping the volume low so as not to wake any one. Yoongi fluffed up the pillows and made himself comfortable. It wasn't long before his eyes started to feel heavy, the low hum of the tourbus engine soothing him to sleep. Just as he was on the cusp of actually being asleep, the door opened.

"Oh god, sorry!" Yoongi's eyes fluttered open at the sound of your voice, instantly awake. "I didn't think anyone would be in here..." You trailed off. He couldn't help but notice you looked a little embarrassed.

"Couldn't sleep." He yawned.

"Me either." You said quietly. "I get so claustrophobic in those bunks. Feels like I'm in a coffin."

"I'm the same." Yoongie mumbled. You had had the same idea he did. Typical that it was on the same night. "In here is better though, I was nearly asleep before you barged in."

"I know, I slept here last night." You were always so unphased by Yoongi's snarkiness. Part of him wanted you to react, push it until he was being borderline rude.

"You did?" He asked, and you nodded. "Well it's my turn tonight then."

"Play fair, Yoongi." You quipped back, a slight frown on your face.

"I am," He retorted. "You had it last night, so tonight's mine."

"That bed is big enough for two people." You pointed out, gesturing to the empty space next to him.

"What?" He said, letting out a puff of air. "You are not suggesting what I think you are."

"Definitely am." You said boldly. "I'm small you won't even notice me."

"No." He stated, bluntly. "Not happening." He settled back in, making himself comfortable and closed his eyes once more.

"Yoongi, although tomorrow is a day off for you, I have 12 hours worth of meetings, press and errands to do. I need to get some sleep." You were almost begging now. Yoongi smirked but you stood your ground.

"Say please."

You huffed and rolled your eyes. "Please," You repeated.

"Now say 'please Yoongi'." He added, smirking harder than ever.

"Yoongi." You said in a warning tone. His expression didn't falter, a gleeful tint in his eyes. "Fine," You sighed. "Please Yoongi."

He laughed, enjoying teasing you. Yoongi patted the space beside him and you carefully, almost reluctantly climbed in to the bed next to him. You both had separate blankets, so it's not like you would be touching but he still felt insanely aware of your body next to him. He rolled over, his back to you and shut his eyes. He could hear you trying to get comfy and it wasn't long until you settled in to sleep, Yoongi following you shortly after.

***

You were gone when Yoongi awoke the next morning. His eyes flickered open, the room bright with sunshine and he rubbed at them sleepily. He looked at the empty spot you had occupied in the bed. It still smelled like your perfume. You must have not been long gone. He sat up in the bed, trying to orientate himself when he noticed something on the small shelf by the window. It was a note and some...food?

'Yoongi Even though you are a DICK I wanted to say thank you for letting me sleep last night. I left you breakfast and ordered you a starbucks, it's downstairs.

- Y/N '

Yoongi let out a little laugh when he notice the word 'dick' was underlined three times to emphasize it. He didn't think he was that bad but he liked that you had a sense of humour about it. You seemed to understand him and in some ways, be quite similar to him. Dare he say it, you were starting to grow on him and Yoongi was not an easy person to win over.

He gathered his things and made his way down stairs to the lower level of the tour bus. The section on the first floor was a lot smaller, but it had a nice kitchenette and dining area. There on the counter was an iced americano. Yoongi wasn't surprised to see you remembered it was his order. You always did. He grabbed it and sat down, unlocking his phone and scrolling through some news.

"Morning Yoongi." Jin said, appearing in the kitchen. Yoongi hadn't even heard him come down the stairs. "Where'd you get that?" Jin asked, pointing to the starbucks cup.

"Y/N." Was all Yoongi replied, going back to his phone. He wasn't really a morning person, unlike Jin.

"She only got for you? No one else?" Jin asked, not letting the subject drop. Yoongi sighed inwardly. He knew Jin was only pressing because you got that for him. If it was Sejin he wouldn't give a fuck.

"Yeah, I guess." Yoongi mumbled, deliberately being vague.

"Why?" Jin pried.

"Why do you care?" Yoongi challenged.

"I don't." Jin said so defensively, he practically contradicted himself. "I'm just curious."

Yoongi smirked. "It was to say thank you." He replied, watching Jin's face carefully to see the reaction.

"For...?" Jin flicked his wrist in a circle, motioning to Yoongi to elaborate.

"I let her sleep with me last night." He said to the elder, deviously phrasing the sentence in a misleading way, making it sound as if the two of you had had sex. Jin's eyes went wide, practically bulging out of his head.

"What?!" He almost shouted. Yoongi laughed. "You slept with her?"

"Yep." Yoongi nodded, sipping his coffee. He knew he should have explained but he wanted to enjoy the outrage from Jin just one more time.

"On the bus? Last night? Next to my bunk?" Jin asked, outraged.

"Nah, in the back room." Yoongi corrected. Jin looked annoyed. "Don't worry hyung, all we did was sleep." Jin's expression relaxed a little but he still didn't look happy. "She's claustrophobic, like me. We both had the same idea and ended up in the back lounge. It was just by chance."

"You let me think something else on purpose!" He yelled, punching Yoongi on the arm playfully and the two men laughed, both knowing it was true.

"I know you like her, don't worry." Yoongi said quietly. Jin's cheeks tinged pink slightly at the revelation. It was kind of an open secret any way but Yoongi wanted to let his friend know he knew.

"She doesn't like me though." Jin admitted. "She told me it can't ever happen."

"That might not be totally true," Yoongi countered. "She takes her job very seriously. Doesn't want to fuck it up."

"Yeah, maybe." Jin said, with a sigh. "Come on, we need to go check in to the hotel now anyway."

***

Yoongi didn't see you again until 9pm that night. He thought you looked tired the moment he laid eyes on you, and then remembered your comment the previous night about a busy day. He had to remind himself that all of your hard work was for his and Bangtan's benefit and he was grateful.

The crew had eaten dinner, celebrating a successful start to the tour. Today's stopover was in Texas for the show tomorrow night, the second one of the whole leg. Yoongi had only ever been here once before and he was looking forward to it. Even more so, he was looking forward to his hotel bed.

Yoongi was unlocking the door to his hotel room when he noticed you walking down the hall, suitcase in tow. You locked eyes. He gave you a small smile. "Thanks for the coffee, Y/N."

"Thanks for the 8 hours of sleep." You replied, grinning as you walked to your own room, which happened to be opposite to his.

"Do you want a hand with that?" Yoongi asked, pointing to your suitcase. It looked heavy and he could already see you struggling a little.

"Oh yeah, thanks." You said. Yoongi let his door swing shut and lock once more as he walked over to help you. He grabbed the case from you, moving it easily and you let him in to your room. His eyes fell on the bed, eyebrow raising.

"You're not sharing a room with anyone?" He asked. Usually everyone had to pair up in a hotel. Yoongi was stuck with Namjoon for this particular stay. He hoisted your suitcase on to the luggage rack.

"No," You said, yawning slightly. "There was an odd number. I'm a loner tonight."

"Lucky you."

"Y'know, I actually hate sleeping alone." You confessed with a laugh. Yoongi raised his brow in surprise. "If I'm alone I always need the tv or a podcast on."

"Is that why you begged to sleep with me last night? Pretended to be claustrophobic so you could get close to me?" Yoongi teased, earning him an eye roll from you. "Don't get any ideas tonight. That was a one time thing."

You threw the nearest pillow at him but Yoongi caught it, laughing at your attempted attack. "Just when I think you're being nice, you act like that." You sighed.

"I am nice." Yoongi defended himself.

"Not to me." You mumbled, but he caught it.

"Why do you think that?" He asked. You shook your head, dismissing both him and the question. Yoongi dropped the pillow and walked over to you, grabbing your arm. "No, go on, have some courage. Be honest with me."

You looked at each other in the eyes for a moment, yours searching his for an explanation for this sudden question.

"You have been cold, borderline rude to me since the day I started at BigHit." You said confidently, accepting his challenge to be courageous. "Every other person in that building has been more welcoming than you." Yoongi stayed silent, but his grip on your arm didn't falter.

"But you're used to that, arent you?" He said lowly, leaning in closely. You held your reserve, not even blinking as his face inched closer towards yours. "Attention." The word drips off his tongue like poison, almost as if it was a curse word.

"Says the Kpop Idol." You replied, coolly.

"I get attention because I work hard, not because I'm a pretty girl batting her eye lashes at every one." He replied, just as coolly as you had. You were going toe for toe here.

"So you're not a hot guy doing the same thing? Pfft." You were the first to break eye contact, rolling your eyes away from him. Yoongi couldn't help his stomach lurching at the fact that you just called him a hot guy. He never would have thought you would think that. He yanked your arm, pulling you closer so that your bodies were touch, your attention forced back to him.

"You're attracted to me, Y/N?" Yoongi said, his tone almost deadly now.

"As much as you are to me, I'd say." You said. His eyes flicked down to your lips, watching you wet them with your tongue. Before the logical side of his brain could intervene he grabbed the side of your face with his free hand, and crashed his lips against yours. It knocked you for a moment and he noticed you didn't kiss back right away but that quickly changed when he ran his tongue against your bottom lip, asking to be let in.

You parted your mouth for him and he dropped the death grip he had on your arm, bringing that hand to the small of your back, pressing your body even further in to his. The kiss started to get sloppy, he was losing control and he could tell you were too, nipping at his bottom lip and running hands through his hair.

Yoongi was vaguely aware of the bed behind him and he stumbled back, sitting on the edge. He guided you to his lap so that you were straddling him and he couldn't help but run his hands up your thighs, cupping your ass. "Yoongi," You moaned, breathless. He looked at you, your pupils blown wide, lips plump from kissing. "Yoongi we need to stop."

He knew you were right. But that didn't stop him from sliding a hand round the back of your neck and pulling you in for more. The hand that was on your ass slid up the back of your shirt and he expertly undid your bra clasp. His mouth went to your neck as he placed wet, desperate kisses there, relishing when it made you moan out loud.

His hands slid to your still clothed front and he moved them up under your bra, groaning in your neck at the feel of your tits. He'd wanted to touch them like this ever since he saw you that day at the pool. He couldn't take his eyes off of them then. And now he was so desperate he hadn't even bothered to remove your shirt. "Yoongi, ah - You moaned when he rolled your nipples between his thumbs. "Stop, stop, stop." Your words were coming out like moans.

Hands still on your breasts, he pulled away, using all of his willpower not to continue. Your chest was heaving. He couldn't help but want to fuck you right then and there. "You really want me to stop?" He asked, searching your eyes with his own. You nodded.

"Yes, this is a bad idea." You said quietly. Yoongi removed his hands from you and you rolled off his lap, sitting down beside him. He watched you reattach your bra and he couldn't help but feel a sting of rejection in his chest. You clearly wanted this too, so why were you denying him?

"At least I got further than Jin." He muttered, sighing. The next thing he felt was a slap on the arm. A rather hard slap on the arm.

"You're a fucking asshole for that, Min Yoongi. Get out of my room now!" You shouted.

"Gladly." He rolled his eyes, stuffing those hurt feelings down again once more and stormed out of your room.

***

Yoongi wasn't surprised when you completely ignored him at the show the next night. You didn't even glance in his direction once, he was almost impressed at your will and determination. When the show was done and everybody was leaving the venue, making their way to the tourbus his attention was on you, eyes on the back of your head as you walked with Jin and Namjoon. Even the screaming fans waiting outside the arena couldn't pull his attention away from you.

Once everyone was on the bus, most of the team settled downstairs for some drinks and to hang out. Yoongi noticed you excuse yourself and disappear upstairs. This was his moment. He seized the opportunity and followed you, slipping away unnoticed.

His eyes landed on you at your bunk, holding some clothes to sleep in. Clearly you were headed straight for bed. "Y/N?" Yoongi spoke quietly and although you didn't look at him he saw you freeze for a second. You ignored him and carried on getting your things ready for bed. "Y/N." Yoongi sighed. "Y/N look at me."

Why was it so easy for you to blank him? He was getting frustrated now. "Y/N I'm sorry!" He said louder.

"Keep your voice down." You said calmly. At least you'd acknowledged him. Still, you refused to look at him.

"I really am sorry, I was such an asshole yesterday." He said, his voice hushed now. You sighed and turned to look at him, hugging the bundle of clothing in your arms to your chest.

"That's ok." You said, almost coldly. You began to walk away but he stepped sideways, blocking your path, no way round him in the narrow space between the bunks.

"I mean it." He said, trying not to sound as frustrated as he was at your lack of emotion. You looked at him, almost bored. He felt that same flare of rejection in him as before. It stung, bitterly. "I'll be sleeping in the back again tonight if you want to talk." He offered.

You said nothing, pushing past him and walking away.

***

To Yoongi's utter and complete surprise you were already in the back lounge by the time he made it to bed. Propped up against the pillows, arms crossed and watching TV you didn't even look at him when he opened the door. "You're here." He said, shutting the door behind him. "Are you....sleeping here?"

"Depends on what you've got to say." You said quietly, eyes still on the screen. It was annoying him that you wouldn't look at him, so snatching the remote he turned it off. He wanted your full attention. Yoongi sat on the bed opposite you, not even asking permission if he could. At this point even if you had said no he wouldn't have listened. The fact that you were here meant you wanted to listen so he'd talk no matter what.

"I'm an asshole." He stated.

"Correct."

"You didn't deserve that." He paused.

"Even more correct." You added before he could speak again.

He sighed. Of course you weren't going to make it easy for him. You reminded him so much of himself in that moment he almost wanted to laugh. Did his friends feel this way too when he was being stubborn? "I really would like it if you would forgive me. Because I am sorry. Because we have to work together....and mostly, because I don't want to hurt anyone, let alone you."

He noticed your face soften a little at the last part of his apology. "I just don't understand why you would even say such a thing. Do you think I'm some kind of slut? Trying to fuck my way through BangTan?"

"No, no of course not..."

"Then why?" You pressed. "Have some courage, Yoongi." You mocked, using his own words from last night against him.

"You rejected me like you rejected Jin, and I was...hurt." He admitted. Yoongi hated feeling vulnerable and you were making him very vulnerable in that moment. He was the kind of person to just store up his negative feelings, letting them manifest themselves in other ways, mainly pouring the sadness into his songwriting.

"That's technically true." You agreed. "But I rejected Jin because I wasn't interested. I told you to stop because it was a bad idea to continue. I was definitely interested."

Yoongi raised a brow at you. That certainly made your shut down of him more bearable. "Is it really such a bad idea though?" He asked before he could stop himself.

"You know the answer to that." You rolled your eyes.

"What if it happened just once? I wouldn't tell anyone..." He tempted.

"It's too risky." You said, almost in a whisper. The way you were looking at him made Yoongi realise you were definitely at least considering it. Eyes studying his face, pupils wide.

"That's a shame, because I think it would be great."

The way you bit your lip in response sent desire shooting through his entire body. He picked up the edge of the blanket that was covering you and moved the entire thing to the side, exposing your body. Yoongi eyed your tiny shorts that barely covered your ass, marvelling at how amazing your legs were. "Yoongi," You whispered. "What are you doing?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he shifted so he was on his knees and crawled over you, using his hands to prop himself up, hovering just above your face. He was waiting for you to tell him to stop again but the words didn't come. He went for it, pressing his lips to yours, hungrily. You responded straight away, kissing him back with just as much need. He dropped down on to his forearms, holding you more comfortably and pressed himself in to you. The way you moaned in to his mouth only spurred him on.

He kissed down your neck to your collarbone, dragging down the material of your pyjama vest top along the way. His breath trapped in his throat when he saw you were braless. He palmed and grabbed at your tits, moving his mouth to the exposed nipple. He couldn't stop himself from grinning when you moaned. "Shhhh," He whispered, kissing back up to your throat. "We have to be quiet." He said against your skin, sucking and nipping the flesh between his teeth.

You were burning hot beneath him, panting with want. Yoongi let you pull his lips back to yours in a heated kiss, and he groaned into your mouth when you rubbed your hand over his clothed erection. "Fuck, Yoongi." You whispered at the contact, feeling the girth of him. He roughly took hold of your hand that was touching him and pinned it next to your head. He didn't want to get too worked up just yet.

With his free hand he pulled your pyjama shorts down your legs. His hand traced the outline of your pussy, teasing you. The way you shivered only turned him on more. "This is ok, right?" He murmured and you nodded. He took the consent and went straight for your clit, enjoying the way you squirmed beneath him. He watched you for a few moments, just taking it in. "Unbelievable." He murmured.

"Yoongi," You panted. He didn't relent, choosing to slip two fingers in to you. "Yoongi, god - ."

He couldn't wait any longer. Yoongi tore his hands away from you, pushing down his shorts and freeing his cock. He silently smirked at the way you eyed him in surprise. He took the hand you had stroked him with before and guided it to his length, encouraging you to move it up and down. It felt so good to him he was reluctant for you to stop, but after a few minutes he teared your hands away. "Can I fuck you, Y/N?" He whispered, kissing your lips, your cheeks, your neck, anywhere he could reach. You nodded.

He positioned himself at your entrance, giving you one last look before pushing in swiftly. You gasped at the sensation. "Shhh," He mumbled, kissing you in to silence. "Do you want everyone to know you're getting fucked?" You blushed at his words and he couldn't help but smile a little.

Yoongi started to move, pistoning himself in and out of you, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. The way you were squeezing around him was making him light headed. He didn't know how long he was going to be able to hold on for, but he really wanted to watch you come undone around him. He guided your hand down to your clit, encouraging you to touch yourself. You looked incredible to him like this.

"Shit," You moaned. His thrusts were unsteady now and he was sloppily sucking on your neck. "Shit, I'm going to come."

Yoongi barely held on feeling you clamp around him. His release followed shortly after, and he groaned louder than he would have liked but it was involuntary. He collapsed on top of you, his shirt clinging to him, damp with sweat. "Fuck." He muttered, out of breath. He rolled off you and watched as you pulled your pj shorts back up. "I hope no one heard that. You're so loud." He gave you a lopsided grin and you flushed with embarrassment.

"Please don't tell anyone about this." You said quietly, once you'd sorted your self out. He laid on his back next to you, watching you curiously.

"I won't."

"I mean it," You stressed. You rolled on your side to face him. "They can't fire you, but I can be replaced in a heartbeat."

He felt a pang of guilt in his chest at your words. He knew you were right, and he knew he had got carried away. "I won't." He repeated. "It'll be our secret, ok?"

"Ok." You said, assured for now. He didn't even realise he was doing it but he leaned in and kissed your forehead, a surprisingly intimate gesture. He just wanted you to know he would keep his promise.

"Lets get some sleep, ok?" He mumbled, closing his eyes and getting comfortable. He felt you relax next to him and it made him feel strangely happy, warm even.

↪ chapter 02 | masterlist

#bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fanfiction #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfiction

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drivingsideways · 4 years

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WIP Wednesday

So @rain-hat said I should post a bit from the latest fic so she can read it (properly formatted and not in a chat window, I think??), so here’s a bit from an as yet untitled fic set post-canon verse TKEM, featuring our favourite cop-who-got-a-different-life and also orphan-who-got-a-different-life thanks to Lee Gon being a total ass.

The White Lily Orphanage isn’t a state organization, instead it’s run by the nuns from the Sisters of the St.Paul of Chartres Convent, one of the earliest established Catholic orders in the Kingdom. It’s not a large home- they have the ability to take in around twenty children at a time, though at the moment they have only half the number. The youngest right now is a three year old ball of sunshine, Jia and the oldest is the lanky fourteen year old Jihun. Hyeon-Min has been attending Mass at the church attached to the convent with eomma since- well, since he was ten.

(God sent Prince Buyeong to us, eomma had said, having found God via the kindness of a stranger, we must be grateful.

Hyeon-min had accepted her explanation then, and now, twenty years later, he doesn’t feel the need to tarnish her faith with his cynicism. He maybe agnostic about God, but he knows that the sisters are kind, that they try to do their best by their young charges, and that’s enough.

He knows enough about the world that he believes that one of its rules should be to pass on the kindness of strangers.)

He parks his bike and grabs his gym bag with the change of clothes, noting a rather beaten up looking sedan in the parking lot. Perhaps there were some potential adopters visiting today, not a very frequent occurrence.

The rates of adoptions in Corea were low, compared to the number of children who needed families. Usually, children who lost their parents were taken in by grandparents, if they were still alive, or the parents’ siblings, if they were not. The ones who ended up in the system- they were truly society’s rejects, the ones who had no one left who cared about them; a patrilineal society obsessed with bloodlines didn’t see them as anything but an inconvenience, or a shameful secret. That their own king was an orphan was not a hypocrisy; Lee Gon was king first, orphan second.

The slack with respect to the less nobly orphaned was picked up by religious or charitable trusts, and only a little by the government. The rules governing adoption were prohibitive- Seo Ryeong had told him about the circles that eomeonim and she had to run to officially take Gyeong-ah into the family. At some point, it had come down to bribery. She’d been tight-lipped and her eyes had glinted in fury, when she’d told him, though it had already been far enough in the past that Gyeong-ah no longer woke up crying from nightmares, and didn’t stuff her food down at each meal as though she didn’t know when she’d next get one, or try to take as little room as possible in their already tiny apartment.

Gyeong-ah usually accompanies him on these visits too, though she couldn’t make it today.

“LET ME SLEEP” she’d texted in all caps, “I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE FOR AT LEAST 24 HRS HYUNGNIM” .

He figured that meant she’d drop by when he wasn’t around.

Jia-ya is the first one to spot him when he enters the common room, which is where the kids are normally, at this hour. She runs toward him, almost tripping on her toes, with her hands already raised high above her head. He drops the bag on the floor and swings her up, twirling her around, while she squeals delightedly. When he lowers her, she throws her arms around his neck, placing a candy-sticky kiss on his cheek.

“Hyungnim, where were you??” she demands. “You’ve gone so long that Chia forgot you”.

Chia is her favourite toy- a rather ratty looking cloth panda.

“Sorry Jia-ya” he says, “I had a lot of work”

She pouts. “Have you got chocolate?”

“Mmmhmm” he replies, nodding, “But let’s share with everyone later, ok?”

He puts her down on the floor, and turns to the others who’ve come up, all grinning, except Jihun, who’s trying to look unconcerned, remaining where he’s seated at one of the two computers, headphones in, fingers flying rapidly over the keyboard.

“Hey everyone” he says, reaching out to ruffle a head, tweak a chin. “Ready for a game?”

They’ve got a small basketball court at the back, not professional, by any means, but enough for the kids to work out some of their energy. For soccer, and other games, Gyeong-ah and he take them to a nearby sports club. Ryeong-ah had been the one who worked out a deal with the local residents association that owned the club when she’d made Assemblywoman; it was her constituency after all, and she had cultivated her relationships at local level, as much as she had in the higher echelons. Thanks to (former) Assemblywoman Koo, the kids now had access on alternate Sundays to the club. Luckily, the Sisters of St.Paul of Chartres weren’t too strict about preserving the holiness of the Sabbath rest; as long as the kids attended Mass in the morning, the rest of the day could be spent as they wished. Today is a Sunday when they don’t have access to the sports club, so Hyeon-Min’s plans are adjusted accordingly- a game, then lunch with everyone, and then piling them all into the small van the orphanage has and taking them for ice cream, before he has to drop back at the station, just to check in on Woo Ji-hyun and Bo-Young who have the day shift today.

“Where’s Sister Lee?” he asks, and twelve-year old Su-bin pipes up “She has a visitor today” and her twin, Yun-seo adds, “He’s a handsome oppa”.

“Is he now?’ Hyeon-min grins down at her.

“Not as cool as you, hyungnim” she assures him earnestly.

“Drop the flattery” he tells her seriously, “You’re not getting an extra scoop later. Everyone go on and get changed.”

The twins and the others- Ming-yu, Jun-ho, Min-su, Seong-min, Min-ji and Eun-ji- dart off.

He picks up his bag again, heading off to the guest room to get changed, calling “Jihun-a, c’mon, let’s go” only to get a shoulder lifted in a shrug, Jihun not even bothering to look at him.

Well, he thought, that was new.

He didn’t press him, confident that Jihun would find his way out later. The problem, perhaps, was that Jihun was a few years older than the others, almost fifteen, ready for high school. The next oldest were the twins, at twelve, and the others fell between nine and eleven, except Jia, who was everybody’s darling at three.

Jihun was preparing to write the same scholarship exam that Hyeon-Min had taken all those years ago, to get into CNA. His grades at the local public school were pretty good, and he excelled especially at art- but it was a tough school to get into, given the sheer number of candidates applying, even more than when Hyeon-Min and Ryeong-ah had given the test.

Hyeon-min thought he could recognize in Jihun the same kind of hunger that he’d seen in Ryeong-ah, all those years ago. And just like all those years ago, one part of him was amazed, and proud; another was just scared for Jihun, for what the world might do to him, outside of the safety of this place. He tried to shrug the fear off- what use could it be to Jihun- and had begun helping him prepare for the test, instead.

Perhaps Jihun was upset because he hadn’t been able to come by for three weeks, although he’d spoken to him a few times on the phone and had checked in with Sister Lee as well.

When he changes into his shorts and t-shirt and comes back to check in, Jihun’s disappeared. Perhaps he’d changed his mind and decided to join the game, after all.

He’s about to duck out of the room, when Sister Lee comes in accompanied by a young man- the “handsome oppa” of Yun-seo’s description, clearly.

“Ah, Inspector Kang” she says, giving him her usual warm smile. “Good morning. You finally have a day off, I see.”

“Good morning, Sister Lee” he greets her, bowing.

She turns to the man with her.

“This is Senior Inspector Kang Hyeon-min from Busan PD” she says, and the man gives him a strangely assessing look, and bows. He’s fair, slightly shorter than Hyeon-Min, a dark eyes and a sharp nose in a square-jawed face. The glasses and the clothes- a light blue button down shirt that’s unbuttoned at the collar over khaki slacks, give him the look of a librarian on vacation. He’s probably a few years younger than Hyeon-Min.

“I’m Kim Jun-Yeong” he says, bowing toward Hyeon-Min.

“Mr.Kim teaches art at the school” she says, meaning the local public school all the kids here attend. “He came by to talk about Jihun.”

“Is something the matter?” Hyeon-min asks, immediately. “Is Jihun in trouble?”

“Nothing like that” Mr.Kim says, with a smile. “In fact, I came by to chat with Sister Lee about Jihun’s future plans. He told me that he was preparing for admission at CNA.”

Hyeon-Min nods. “I’m trying to help out” he says. “When I can.”

“Inspector Kang has been a huge support to the children here for years” Sister Lee says, giving him another warm smile. “And since he’s a CNA alumnus himself, he’s probably the best suited to help Jihun ace the exam.”

“Yes, of course”, Mr.Kim says, adding, “Jihun-a has told me a lot about you already, Senior Inspector Kang.”

“Oh” says Hyeon-Min, politely, “He’s never mentioned you to me.”

Something wry passes over Mr. Kim’s face at that, and it makes Hyeon-min feel a little silly.

“Mr. Kim is of the opinion that Jihun should perhaps try for an art school later” Sister Lee says, “And finish high school at some school less demanding than CNA, Kang-ssi”.

“Did Jihun-a say that’s what he wants to do?” Hyeon-min asks, stunned. Jihun had never mentioned it to him.

There’s an awkward silence.

“He did seem open to the idea” Mr.Kim says, sounding a little apologetic. “He started asking me about art schools and scholarships a while ago. I didn’t know then that you were already preparing him for the CNA entrance.”

‘But” says Hyeon-min, feeling like the rug had been pulled from under his feet.

Sister Lee says, thoughtfully, “Perhaps he was uncomfortable bringing it up with me or you, Kang-ssi.”

“We never forced him”, Hyeon-min feels compelled to protest.

“Jihun-a admires you a lot, Kang-ssi” Mr.Kim murmurs, “It is but natural he would want to follow in your footsteps.”

Hyeon-min looks at him and meets that calmly assessing look again.

“Did he ask you to meet Sister Lee and talk about this?”

“No” says Mr.Kim, “He didn’t. In fact, I think he was a little upset when he saw me today.”

Well, that explained earlier, Hyeon-Min realizes.

“Will you—” starts Sister Lee, nodding toward back, from where they can already here the shouts of the children.

“Yes” Hyeon-Min answers. “I’ll have a chat with him.”

“Good” she says, smiling again at him. “I’ll talk to him later as well.”

She turns to the teacher.

“Mr.Kim, I really appreciate your dropping by. It’s not often we get teachers who are so concerned with the well-being of our students.”

Mr.Kim says, quietly, “I was brought up in a home too- not as good as this one” he adds. “I know what it’s like.”

Oh.

Well, now, Hyeon-Min feels like a total piece of shit.

“Thank you, Kim-ssi” he says, and tries to infuse it with something more than stiff formality.

Mr.Kim gives him a short nod.

“I’d better head over before the fighting starts” Hyeon-min says, giving Sister Lee a smile. “I’ll see you at lunch, Sister Lee.”

They part ways, and when Hyeon-min reaches the court just in time to stop Min-ji from punching Eun-ji in the face, he sees that Jihun is there as well, but sitting on the side-lines, playing with Jia, although he’s changed into game clothes as well.

He darts a glance at Hyeon-min and then quickly looks away, flushing.

Hyeon-min jogs up to him.

“Get in” he says, clapping him on the back, “So I don’t have to keep the peace all by myself”

Jihun looks up at him, uncertain, as though he’d expected Hyeon-min to be- angry- with him.

“Jihun-a” he says, holding out a hand toward him, “ C’mon.”

Jihun takes his hand and lets himself be hauled up, and Hyeon-min even manages to get a one-armed hug in before he scampers off, suddenly cheerful.

It’s a good game, and after, as they’re all chattering at the lunch table, Gyeong-ah comes in and plonks herself down opposite the twins, and they stuff themselves to the gills before piling into the van.

Gyeong-ah’s driving, and as they pull out of the gate, Hyeon-min notices a black Hummer parked in the alley, five cars away, the glasses shaded so dark, he can’t see inside.

He has an idle moment of wondering what a car like that was doing in the neighbourhood but is distracted by Jia-ya climbing into his lap to tell him all about Chia’s adventures in the place she calls “Funderland” (like Wonderland, but fun, she insists).

On the way back, Gyeong-ah drives again, and this time the kids are mostly in a food coma, some of them burping softly, sprawling on the seats, so he gets a chance to talk to Jihun, settling beside him, right at the back.

“So” he says, “art school, huh?”

Jihun glances at him quickly and then away, head bent.

“Do you know which ones you’re interested in?”

Jihun looks up then.

“You’re not angry?” he asks, uncertainty writ large on his young face.

“Just surprised” Hyeon-min admits. “Why didn’t you ever tell me or Sister Lee? You know we wouldn’t have stopped you.”

He shrugs, looking away.

“Everyone’s expecting me to become the first CNA graduate from the home” he says, softly. “All these years”.

“Nobody wants you to be anything other than happy, Jihun-a” Hyeon-min contradicts him, gently. “I’m sorry if I ever gave you any other idea.”

Jihun turns to him.

“I did think I wanted that too” he says, candidly. “But then—I don’t know, hyungnim, frankly, it sounds like an awful place in other ways.”

“Who’ve you been talking to?” Hyeon-min asks, surprised, because he’d never said anything to Jihun about it other than good things about the academics, and the opportunities it would open up for him.

Jihun gives him a pitying look.

“Hyungnim” he says, “You know the internet is a thing right? Or was it not a thing when you were young?”

“Hey” he says, “I’m thirty-one, not a dinosaur.”

Jihun looks unconvinced.

“Student forums” he says, helpfully. “And even Mr.Kim—”

“Mr.Kim went to CNA?” Hyeon-min asks, surprised again.

“No” says Jihun, “But I think he knows people. He’s a teacher, right, he knows this stuff.”

“Hmm” says Hyeon-min, miffed.

Jihun eyes him again. “Are you angry I didn’t tell you, but I told Mr.Kim?”

Wow, Hyeon-min thinks, dissected by a fourteen-year old, wonderful.

“Don’t give me your backchat, Jihun-a” he says, and Jihun grins at him.

Hyeon-min diverts the talk into the art schools he’s interested in, and they spend the rest of the ride like that.

Later, before Gyeong-ah and he head off, they have a talk with Sister Lee.

Sister Lee Jeong-hui- or “Dragon Lady” as Gyeong-ah liked to call her- was a petite woman with delicate wrists, and long fingered hands that poked out of the sleeves of her habit. Unlike most of her contemporaries, she’d joined the Order, not as a young girl, but in her mid-thirties, after making a name for herself as a labour rights lawyer, working up north, in the mining communities. She’d moved to Busan when her health took a downturn- her asthma was something terrible- and she’d been shunted around the diocese until ending up at the orphanage ten years ago. She’d taken one look at the lackadaisical administration of the Orphanage- then run by Sister Pa, who was already in her seventies, taken a deep breath, and got to work. She’d transformed the place, scrounging funding wherever she could- sometimes by just persistently annoying the powers that be- and was currently in a long drawn out battle with the Bishop of the Diocese over her demand that they expand their current home to start a support home for single mothers- the people most likely to abandon their children, for lack of resources and societal stigma.

They talk about her latest efforts in that direction, after Hyeon-min tells her about his conversation with Jihun.

“Thank you Inspector Kang” she says, softly, “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“Of course not” he says, staunchly, though perhaps he was, a little. “Jihun’s going to be great at whatever he does.”

“Yes” she agrees, a fond smile transforming her rather grave face into loveliness. “He’s a blessed child”.

“Anyway” she says, sighing, “Perhaps it’s just as well. Even with a scholarship, funding for other expenses would have always been a tension. This way, we have some time to prepare before he goes to art school.”

Gyeong-ah says, “What did the Welfare Association say?”

When the Diocese had hummed-and-hawed about the home for women, Sister Lee had turned elsewhere.

Sister Lee makes a rather un-saintly face. “That government policy doesn’t include- and you won’t believe this, or perhaps you will- doesn’t include subsidizing and rewarding irresponsible behaviour”.

“I thought Ryeong-ah said they had a specific budget for women’s welfare” Gyeong-ah says, hotly. “They can’t deny it only to some women, can they? Plus it’s a discretionary budget.”

Sister Lee sighs. “Child, I don’t know if I have the energy to fight that battle right now. If we had someone on the Committee there- but it’s all bureaucrats who think of it as a sinecure position really…”

She shrugs, and pats Gyeong-ah’s shoulder, comforting.

“I’m not giving up, Seo-Gyeong” she says, “Not yet.”

They bid her goodbye.

As she puts on her helmet and climbs onto the bike, Gyeong-ah says, abruptly, “Sometimes I’m so angry with unnie for what she did- because she fucked up her chance to help people like Sister Lee, who really need her”.

“ Song & Kim will get her out” he says, “Right?”

“But what about after?” she argues, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Her political career is probably over.”

“It’s never over with Ryeong-ah” he reminds her, belting his own helmet, and adjusting the strap of his gym bag over his jacket.

As they drive out of the gate, he sees that the Hummer isn’t there anymore.

#wip wednesday #tkem #this entire section is full of characters #that i have no idea where they came from #they just wrote themselves in #DO NOT BLAME ME #'WRITE A ROM COM ' SHE SAID #' I WILL '#I SAID #AND THEN I DIDN'T

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patchworkstateofmind · 3 years

Text

Returning a Favor | A Marvel AU Fanfic, Chapter 1

Uhm, Ive never actually posted on tumblr before, and also never written about Marvel, so I hope if anyone even reads this, you will hopefully be nice ^^

So, anyways, this is a scene from an Idea I had, it takes place in the time between Spiderman Homecoming and Avengers Infinity War. If you like the idea or my writing style, make sure to let me know, so I can continue my Idea^^

I actually recommend to listen to some music while reading this, I suggest a dark academia, royal core playlist on youtube. (I think its suits this story the best, but you do you)

Okay I should stop blabbering, Lets go!

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Title of Chapter: Ballroom Talk

Word Count: 2,4k

Other Chapters: Ch.1, Ch.2

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The music hangs heavy in the air, as you leaned against the wooden railing of the staircase. Dozens of couples twirled and turned over the marble floor and the golden chandeliers, lit with real candles set the ballroom in a magnificent golden light. Golden specks of dust whirled through the air and the movement of the puffy skirts only made them twirl even more.

You looked down your crystal glass, hmm, empty. Sighing you placed your glass on the platter of a waiter that walked by you. Your gaze crossed the room, looking at the majestic oil paintings, probably worth thousands of dollars. Decadent.

Your eyes met brown. Great, the eyes you were trying to forget. You adverted your gaze and turned around, the skirt of your dress swaying as you made your way down the side of the ballroom, trying to get away. “Excuse me.”, said a voice behind you. You sighed.

“look, I don’t have time for this right now.” You turned around and he stood in front of you. Towering at least 2 feet over you normally, he now was eye to eye with you. Heels do seem have a good point. “I know, I’m really sorry, but I was told to do this.”, he said, so he knew too, that it was just an annoyance, rather than a mission. Gosh, he sounded so much like a teenager, it was almost embarrassing.

“I know too. But I am not joining your little team of ´Revengers´”, you painted quotation marks in the air and even though the half mask on his face managed to hide his emotion quite well, you were sure you could see him snarl. You chuckled lightly. “Let me guess, your friends are right out there, ready to crash the party any moment”. You nodded your head towards one of the stained-glass windows. “Okay, kiddo.”, you began. Actually, you weren’t quite sure how old he was, he seemed at least your age, if not older, but you liked the way it railed him up.

“I know that normally, we would have a nice fight of words and then your teammates come crashing in, saving you, because you obviously aren’t strong enough to handle me on your own. You and your friends set everything on fire, I get away and yet again you think you’ve won because you’ve killed another ten old bastards, that don’t mean anything to us. But you need the accomplishment, and we don’t want you to feel like you always destroy everything without any results. And yet you do.”

He opened his mouth, trying to defend himself, but you simply talk over him. “Let’s face it. You couldn’t find a point to start your search, so you thought you would show up here, thinking that we are dumb enough to not disguise a hidden meeting better than a ball. And you thought you could crash this meeting but then noticed, that it is a real ball. And now you want information, so they sent you in her, totally blending in with everybody here.” You reach for his neck and fix the collar of his button up.

“But now you noticed that there is no one important here, that actually has information. And I know that your teammates probably realised this, but I’m not quite sure if you are intelligent enough to do too, so I’m throwing you this bone.” You make an eccentric pause. “Peter, have you noticed that not even one important person is here.”, you pointed towards the dancefloor. “And you know why? Because there is a hidden meeting, but we all know that you and your little team aren’t even remotely clever enough to even think about this, so we sat up this ball. Of course, that’s not the only reason, its also to get rich old bastards on our side, feeding them with bacon wrapped dates and hors d´oeuvres and telling them that we are this”, you pinch your fingers together. “Close to curing cancer.”

“Are you serious?”, Peter brushes his hand trough his hair. “So this is all a setup to lead us into the false direction?”. “You look distressed”, you say and reach for the tablet of yet another waiter that walks by. “Here, try some of that, it will calm you down, but yes, this is just a setup”. You take the glass and press it into Peters’ hand. He doesn’t seem to pay attention to you though, his hand lays on his ear and the other, with the glass, he raised up to his mouth. “Did you hear that Mr Stark?”, he asked.

You try to swallow a giggle. “So, I was right”, you say and turn around, making your way down the corridor. “You really couldn’t think one step further and realise that we aren’t dumb enough to hide secret things better, tsk.”

It takes Peter a few seconds to notice you are leaving, but when he does, he is sprinting down the corridor after you. “Wait!”, he yells. “Come on Peter”, you answer annoyed, it comes out as a snarl. “Why are you so relentless? You had the mission to get information, I gave you information. Its not my fault that the information is that you suck”

“Hey! We don’t suck!”, he defends and jumps around, side to side, trying to move in front of you, but your massive skirt is blocking his way, making him dance around you. Though you must admit that even though this tight corset and the puffy skirt annoy you, you can’t seem to help but thank the 18th century fashion for making people stay away from you.

“Why don’t you just go back to your friends outside, because as you can see, there is nothing interesting here, just a bunch of old dudes, dancing with young and impressionable girls on the search for a rich sugar daddy”, You say. You are really done with this shit.

“I don’t think we have that what we want yet”, a voice came from in front of you. To be fair, you didn’t expect anybody else here, which made you stop in your tracks. You needed a Minute to calm your muscles again, trying to keep your masquerade on. “Oh, thank god”, Peter huffs out from behind you. Great, you are stuck.

You raise one side of your mouth to a smirk. “Captain America, didn’t expect to see you here. Thought you would be busy with squeezing yourself into those tight spandexes.”, you say. “Though I must say, tailcoats suit you much better, you should make them into your uniform, rather than that ridiculously patriotic Costume you always wear.” “I could say the same to you, oh, wait, you look like the wallpaper of my grandma exploded on you”, he says and grins. “Ouuh, burn”, You say mockingly. “You know you could just say you like me better without clothes”, You say and glance back over your shoulder. Only to find that Peter is blushing, you look back at Cap, he’s blushing too. Double kill.

“Well, if you would excuse me Gentleman, I’ve got a dinner date to keep”, You try to manoeuvre your skirt around Cap, but he positions himself right in front of you. “I don’t think so.”, he crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s not very nice, to keep a lady from following her plans”, You say and try once again, but he takes a step sideways, blocking your path yet again. “Let’s see it like this”, Cap begins. “You can either talk with me right now, or we will take this outside and you can see if you were right with the assumption that it takes more people than one to fight you.

You sigh. “Nice move, America. Taking advantage of the girl in heels, so it can’t run away.” You turn around and look at Peter. He has taken off his mask and you lock eyes with him. “Well then kiddo”, you say and open your hand. “Give me your glass, if you don’t use it, then don’t mind if I do” He hands you the wine glass and you throw your head back, downing it in one swift motion. You place the glass onto a side table and motion for Captain America to follow you. “You want to dance?”, you ask. He lifts an eyebrow. “So, you really wanna fight”, he asks. “Nah, not now. I mean it literally, if I have to spend more time here, then why don’t use it”

He turns around to look at Peter. “Go outside, I will meet you there, if I don’t come out in ten Minutes send them in” You can’t help but snicker at this and now its your turn to cross the arms over your chest. “Are you so afraid of me? The mighty Captain America- Oh wait, the mighty one was Thor, wasn’t it? Well anyways, I’m gonna spend the rest of my evening on the dance floor”

With those words you make your way back to the ball room. The music is still the same, eerily beautiful, like from an old historian drama. You reach the end of the hallway and look at the Captain. He reaches into the inside of his tailcoat and pulls out a velvet mask. “Glad to see you thought about bringing one yourself, I counted on the fact that I would have to lend you one of mine.” You tap onto your mask. A light beige, velvet half mask, adorned with blue pearls and light blue lace. It matched with your dress.

He holds out his elbow and you interlock your arm into his. You make your way to the dance floor, its not a formation dance, so you don’t stick out when you two join in in a free space. He places his hand on the side of your body and you reach out to place your hand in his. You begin the turn around the floor, not thinking about a choreography.

“Okay, Mr. America”, you say, now quieter, although the music and the chitter chatter all around you should make it hard for anybody else to hear your conversation. “You have this one dance, if you want to talk any longer, we will have to fight. And we both know that a fight will end in at least on person to be hurt. And I don’t know why, but I don’t think it will be me.”

He meets your stern gaze with just as much aversion. “I do think too that one dance is more than enough”. “By then, start your questions”. You turn outwards and twirl yourself back in under his arm. “Why are you doing this ball?”, he asks. “Like I said, its easier to have meetings that shall not be interrupted, if you have something where the people that could interrupt are occupied” “So, I guess that’s why you are here too, because they don’t want you to interrupt either?”, he asks and you can hear his intention right through. “I am really sorry, but I think we both know that you will not be able to question my loyalty”

He leaves your hand to place his on the other side of your waist and you place yours on his shoulders. With a swift motion he lifts you up as the music reaches its climax and with a turn puts you back down on your feet. “Next question”, you say. “You are running out of time”

“Why this masquerade?” You sigh. “I know, it’s very cliché isn’t it; I also don’t know why it has to be in this Victorian style, but I guess it should make the people here feel more at home, old people like old stuff, don’t they? But of course, I shouldn’t tell you about old stuff, I mean, you’re the 100-year-old” He rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant”. “Ugh, I know, you see, this is a disguise for a meeting, but its also a coming together of really rich people, and really rich people tend to do really bad stuff. Its easier to gather blackmail bait when people feel safe because of a mask that isn’t hiding anything.” “So, it’s a trick to steal money from the rich?” “No, its to steal Power from the rich. If you want to really win this game of power, you got to have the rich and powerful on your side, not only the handymen. And based on the facts I do know; you don’t even seem to have the handymen on your side. The Avengers, always there for the people”, you sigh mockingly. “but doing nothing more, than leaving a trail of misery and destruction. Cut to the chase, what is really the reason you and your friends are here?”

“Where is the secret headquarters of Hydra?”, he asks, and you drop your smile. “Oh, straight to the point I guess”, You say and take a step away from him. He grabs your hands and pulls you back in, this time his hand lands on your back, holding you firmly in place. He leans down to your ear. For other people it must look like you are a couple, but the snarl in his voice is more than enough to find out the real affirmation between you two.

“Cut it, we know that you and your little crew have connections to hydra” You lean back, trying to bring space between you two and snarl back. “You should be careful who you make assumptions about, some people are not very happy to be affiliated with those people.” “Those people!?”, he gets louder. “Last time I remembered you blowing up a part of Siberia, destroying everything in a 100-mile radius. You are nothing better than Hydra.”

“I am not in affiliation with Hydra, but remember this for the next time we meet, America.”, you hiss and now you lean into him. “I will rip everything you love apart if you don’t keep your dirty hands of my business. And I think we both know that I won’t hesitate. But maybe I shouldn’t threaten you” You lean back and push against his chest, stepping away. “If you dare once again to interfere with my business, I will destroy everything any of you are fond of. Your little boy, Peter. This naïve and sweet boy. How about we start with him? Or maybe start with something that hurts. I come to know about a certain woman named… What was it? Peggy?”

With these words you turn around and storm of, you don’t hear footsteps behind you, and you are really sure that he won’t be following you.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Thank you for reading!

Have a great day!

#mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel au #marvelfanfic #the avengers #marvels the avengers #marvel captain america #captain america #spiderman #marvels spider man #captain america fanfiction #marvelfanfiction #peter parker #marvel imagine #peter parker fanfiction #iron man

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wkngsnds · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko/Pekoyama Peko Characters: Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko, Pekoyama Peko Additional Tags: With surprise guests at the end, i would tag Natsumi but she isn’t an active character, Angst and Hurt/Comfort Summary:

“I-Is that what you do?”

Peko blinks slowly, facing the ceiling instead of him.

“I don’t feel anything when I do. Not anymore.”

—

Back at it again with my bs; I start class again today, but I haven’t slept so that’s fun. This took me a bit longer to write, so I would enjoy some feedback. This time, I’ve also included a read more so y’all can view it on tumblr if you’d like. I may have left like one or two things unchecked, but it’s the same thing (it’s a format thing, that doesn’t really take away from the story).

Two weeks ago, he never wanted a tool. Tonight, he’s grateful for his hitwoman.

He never blacked out during a fight— savoring every cut and bruise (or as many as she let him get), so he was faster and stronger the next time around. His rage was a fickle thing, and even if it he wasn’t a mafioso, he believed, it would still be consuming, vigorous, and perfervid. Never the petty type, his anger was direct; he only saw point B no matter the obstacles in the way. If he couldn’t move them with words, he thought he could smash through them as he refused to lose sight of his goal. That goal being someone’s else’s tooth, finger, blood, and sometimes all three at once.

Tonight was no different.

She never got hit during a fight— she was fast, strong, and cunning. Most of all, she knew how to hide her wounds from him; one bad day and years of training made her an expert. Her rage was restrained, and even if she wasn’t a tool it would still be kept within bounds, repressed, and leashed. She forced herself to see his point B; points C through Z were closed, because the worst case scenarios could happen if they reached points C through Z. If they didn’t cower before him when they got there, she would make them bow.

Tonight, was no different.

All it took was an oblivious idiot with a weird hairstyle in the class, and they finally put the pieces together. Of course it was that obsessive bitch who clung to his other bitch classmate. Fuyuhiko had half the mind to kill her off as well, just by association (those pictures couldn’t have been anyone else’s work), but, again, that’s what Peko was for: when he didn’t have half the mind to think. Though, to be fair, she did also hesitate in stopping his plan— preventing it if only because a trail of corpses would lead back to them.

So, he would have to make this one count.

And he did.

When the two finally returned to his dorm room (the girls had a louder lock at the entrance), they both collapsed from exhaustion: him at the foot of his bed and her at his closed door. It’s not like they went far to dump the corpse; in fact, it had been one their top priorities for clean up. Peko had suggested a copycat murder, yet Fuyuhiko argued against it. With everyone on high alert, the police (if they even bothered) had 29,998 other people to interview before they would be called in. He didn’t want to hide the body; no, he wanted her to rot— maggots crawling in and out of the holes they made of her. Such morbidity had not been his style, but it would be a lie if he were satisfied with her death alone.

They chose the bank of a nearby river.

Unsurprisingly, she stood before he could; once the adrenaline of his killing passed, his body felt sore and his muscles tensed up again. It felt as though any movement made cracked his joints, while his eyes briefly crossed over. He shook his head— he shouldn’t feel this weak, not when Peko was the one who carried, quite literal, dead weight in her kendo bag when they walked to the river. When they arrived, he waited for her to unwrap the corpse before taking its arms and she took its legs. He can still feel the force it took to swing it back and forth before flinging it down the bank. After that, they walked back to the boys dormitories. Taking public transportation was out of the question, and he couldn’t face his family by asking for a ride even if the deed was done. Perhaps if he had done things the more ‘traditional’ way, he would have been asleep by now, but that didn’t sit right to him. No, Fuyuhiko had to follow through on everything; this whole process was too personal to not get involved (although that in itself is a exact reason why he shouldn’t have been involved). He wouldn’t be able to face Natsumi if he accomplished such a cold hearted, empty revenge.

He forced himself to sit up even if made him want to throw up.

“You need to bathe.”

“It can wait until morning.”

“No, it cannot.” He watched as she reached into a separate duffel bag, “The stenches of blood and death are ones that linger if you do not remove them immediately.”

From the bag, she pulled out an antibacterial liquid body wash and shampoo. She had also brought a roll of black bags, a bottle filled with what he assumed were cleaning chemicals, and a cardboard box.

“Young master, please give me your cap and gloves.” He forgot he even had them on, “Thank you. I will burn these items, so if you have any trash you would like to dispose please place it in this bag.”

Not only were those put in the bag, but her black cap and gloves were tossed in as well; he hears her folding the the aforementioned paper she wrapped Sato in before throwing it away as well.

Sato. Even her name was repugnant and simplistic.

His arm rested on a raised knee, “Do you need to burn my clothes as well?”

Watching her fix the box and line it with another black bag— the way her movements were quick and sharp nearly gave him vertigo, but it’s her calm demeanor (doing everything as if from muscle memory) that gives him chill. This...was truly her speciality, wasn’t it?

“No, that will not be necessary. That is one of your more expensive suits, is it not?” He nodded, “Then I shall send it the manor to have it carefully cleaned.”

“What about your clothes?”

“Please do not worry about that.”

“Do you have anything to change into?”

“Young master.” She looked like she wants to say something, “Please go bathe.”

He grabbed onto the footboard behind him, and stood, albeit struggling, before she could reach to help him. She’s worried about him (always, always worrying about him), that much is obvious by her facial expressions, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue with her. He took both bottles before grabbing his nightwear, and headed towards the shower room.

“There’s a washer-dryer set in this closet. Wash your clothes.”

Normally, it took him 15 minutes to get himself clean, but the falling of hot water on his back kept him in for five minutes longer. For five minutes longer, he mulled over his ambivalent thoughts— remembering how Sato’s face contorted into shock, and then overcame by dread and terror at the sight of him...it elevated him. The way she tried to run from him, but Peko threw her to the ground; kept down by an elbow between the shoulders, yet her head kept up by her hair. He’s never felt that kind of power: having everything and everyone in his control. For once, they feared him and not her. For once, someone begged at the feet for his mercy and not his father.

Did Natsumi beg for her life?

Was she afraid?

Did she call out for him?

Then came the boiling rage once again; the jarring reality that it didn’t matter if he killed one person or left an entire town to die, he still had to bury his little sister. He knew her death wasn’t his fault, he’s not that delusional, but he thinks he could have stopped it. If he stopped running away from being compared to her, would she still be alive? He could have been a better brother if he wasn’t such a fucking child. Would that have developed her talent faster? If he tried to put in a good word for her with the recruiters— persuade them to look into her, would that have kept her safe? If he let Peko go check on her, she would still be here, wouldn’t she?

He watched as the blood from his hand (there’s only a crack on the tiled wall) washed down the drain, and then turned the faucet off altogether. He didn’t need to pass out form all the heat. As he dried himself, he noticed the basket he left in the washroom before the shower had almost been emptied save for his underwear and socks. Well that took care of that.

Exiting the bathroom, he kept a towel draped over his head, and found her meditating on her knees in the same clothes she arrived in. Everything around her had been ‘prepped’, so to speak; the box of his clothes was closed and ready to be shipped out, the ‘burn bag’ kept in her kendo duffel, and her black yukata was folded neatly next to her.

(Strike) That’s what the face of a professional looked like. (Endstrike)

“There’s an extra clean towel in the washroom. ‘Left the soap and shampoo inside the shower for you.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t miss the way her voice sounded weaker than before. Nor does he miss the redness in the whites of her eyes.

Had Peko been crying?

She cleared her throat, and he had her attention; of course, that itself was the problem.

“Young master...please turn around so that I may undress and place my clothes in the wash. It would be inappropriate otherwise.”

Fuyuhiko didn’t verbally respond, but he complied with her wishes— the blond sat arms crossed on his bed opposite to the small hallway. Though, he only now realizes that the body mirror he used each morning aligned with said area, and created a distorted reflection. Within a second, his golden tired eyes closed to prevent the chance of seeing anything beyond the small of her back.

The gangster relaxes, somewhat, after he heard the sound of his shower for the second time that night. Slowly, he picked his feet up onto his bed and laid his head on his pillow; it felt like his head would explode with all the pulsing in his veins.

He blinked.

2:20 AM.

In three and half more hours, he will be awake for twenty four hours— nothing unusual for him, but worth noting in silence.

He breathed.

He heard his bodyguard shuffle, throwing her wet clothes into the dryer no doubt, and then returned into the shower just as quickly.

2:36 AM

When Peko finished showering, it hadn’t been as hot as when he exited— humid, yes, but he knew she liked to take cool showers. He also knew that despite all her yukatas being black, they had subdued patterns on each of them if one looked closely enough. He had gotten two of them for her birthday and Christmas last year, after all, and nearly had an aneurysm over convincing her to keep each one. For this year, Fuyuhiko had his eye on a specific thin, golden chain— one she could hide under her clothes— sold by a nearby jewelry store. Truth be told, this was only half of his choice, but it was the realistic half.

The other half had been a pendant of a crescent moon with a dragon wrapped around it strike (though he’d give her the world in a heartbeat if she asked for it, statuses be damned). endstrike

He sat up, “That’s the birthday one, right? The one you’re wearing.”

“Yes, it is. Thank you once again.” She switched sides and continued to squeeze the water out of her hair, “The material is incredibly comfortable and breathable.”

He looked he had something to say, all of a sudden.

“Peko when was the last time we bathed together?”

He’s just as surprised to ask her that as she is hear the question,

“Um...” But of course she takes the question seriously, “I believe you had requested we stopped doing so a week before your seventh birthday.” Of course her memory was good like that.

Peko told him to put his worries aside, and to sleep for the rest of the night— that it was advisable to take today off as no one would bother him for it. However, he only half listened as he saw her pack everything together. Without warning, it felt like all the gravity in the room decided to center in his chest, threatening to pull him down if he didn’t keep his head up. Fingers not his own wrapping around his heart, and clutched it as if to have it explode in chest. She’s going to go back to her room, she said.

She’s leaving him.

“H-Hey, it’s the middle of the night, there’s some pretty drunk bastard roaming a out, no doubt.”

“I’ve handled worse.”

“You’re hair is still wet.”

“The air is still warm.” Her shinai is propped onto her back, “Please do not worry me. I will be fine.”

Fucking hypocrite.

“The girls dormitories have a loud lock at the entrance, don’t they?”

“As I said, please do not worry about me. I’ll use my sword to climb over the fence and enter through my window.”

She’s leaving him all alone.

“Then, if there is nothing else you need of me, I shall leave you alone now.” But just as she reached for the handle, she paused.

“What?”

“That Sato deserved to die. No, she deserved a fate worse than death. Even Koizumi should...” Her shaking breath hadn’t gone unnoticed by him, “I digress. You did it; with your strength and your wits, you killed Sato. That being said, accepting the fact you’ve murdered another person is not without trouble. Regardless if they deserved to die or not, regardless of how strong or skilled you are, regardless of premeditation or in the heat of the moment. Someone’s blood is now on your hands.”

“And there’s going to be more in the future.” Of all the times and of all people to be such a miserable asshole towards

“Yes...I suppose that is inevitable. My apologies, young master.” How dare she lecture him, “Please sleep well.”

She’s going to walk out that door, and she’s going to die just like Natsumi.

“Stay with me.”

Fuyuhiko hadn’t been sure if the words left his mouth, and, if they did, he didn’t know if she heard him. Not that he had any right to make demands or give her an order after brushing her off. These mood swings of his were, no doubt, confusing for her. She just wanted to help him with something he truly knew nothing about (despite it being his birthright), and he practically told her to fuck off. She always wanted to help him. Make herself useful to him with no damn regards to her own needs.

Was he so incompetent that she couldn’t rely on him?

In the end, it seemed that she did hear him, but it’s his fault for not communicating properly when she kneels before the door placing her shinai on her lap.

“I don’t mean guard my door. I meant that I want you to stay the night with me.”

Fuck.

“Young master...?”

“That definitely came out the wrong way. Look, what I meant was,” He exhales forcibly, “What I mean is...remember when we were really small? How you stayed in bed with me when I had those horrible nightmares?”

Then, suddenly, it clicked.

“Yes, I do.”

Out came another sigh, but he’s still agitated, “L-Like that, but only if you’re okay with doing so. A-And don’t say yes just because I want it, understand? If not, I’ll take the floor and you sleep on the bed.”

“Please don’t sleep on the floor at my expense. I...I want...to.”

Fuyuhiko should know better than anyone how difficult it has been for Peko to express her desires truthfully. He knew that she thought asking him for something had been forbidden. That requesting something outside their ‘professional’ parameters meant she was an ungrateful miscreant. The fact that she agreed did not shock him, but given that it came from her will did. Still, he wanted to rule out any possibility in which she felt obligated to agree with him.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes. I want to sleep with you.” Her confidence would have fooled him if not for the blush on her pale face.

“R-Right then.” With a simple push of his arms, Fuyuhiko placed himself to the left side of the bed. The mattress itself had been full sized (yet another benefit of an upgraded dorm room), so it wasn’t as if they had to force themselves into an inappropriate position to fit. At worst, they may have ended up closer than when they fell asleep, but that did not necessarily violate his own morals. He had to remind himself that, puberty aside, they had done this before and it was no different from those times.

“Young master? You’re trembling.”

Fuck.

“I-It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Sir, please don’t force yourself to do this. I truly don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

“Shut up, I told you it’s fine already. Just turn off the lights and come here.”

Within a few seconds the lights were flicked off, and now the soft glow of his small lamp was the only source of light in the room. The mattress dips when she finally sits down, and hears the faint sound Peko fixing her bamboo sword in the small space between the bed frame and the nightstand. Her glasses were the last to leave her body, and joined the lamp on said stand. However, before she could lay down Fuyuhiko stopped her with a jolt; he reached under the pillow to find the tanto knife he always kept hidden. She had lent it to him long before they arrived at Hope’s Peak Academy— when they went to different middle schools, in fact. It hadn’t been taboo to carry a weapon, but no one bothered to give him one; he even had to use part of his allowance to buy his favorite brass knuckles. The clan members assumed with Peko by his side she was the weapon he could use. Nevertheless, the silver hair girl seemed satisfied that he kept it with him for the past few years. It was one of her own, after all, that she had picked specifically for his own skills and strength.

Once he placed the weapon beneath him, their bodies collapsed on top of the blankets— each letting out an exhaustive sigh.

“Hey Peko? My bad for cutting you off like and saying shit like that.”

He hears her hair rustle as she turned her head to him, taking a moment to choose her words carefully (though, it’s his fault she can’t speak comfortably with him).

“It is no bother. In any case, the young master is right: once you ascend to your role as the oyabun, you will have even more enemies.” Her tone becomes more assertive, “Rest assured, I will be the one to dirty my hands and cut them down if they oppose you.”

“I still should let you speak.” He stared back at the ceiling, “You said something like that before, ‘Someone’s blood is my hand now’. What were you gonna say after that?”

“Simply that it would be wise to detach yourself from what you’ve done. Regret is futile, but to associate this with any kind of pleasure is dangerous as well.” In the darkness of his room he can just barely make out her face, “If you let Sato haunt you it will be as if you never killed her at all.”

“I-Is that what you do?”

Peko blinks slowly, facing the ceiling instead of him.

“I don’t feel anything when I do. Not anymore.”

At least now he knew where she was whenever he found her room empty. Or maybe, he always knew and deluded himself into thinking she was staying up late to practice.

“When was the first time,” Why does he keep pushing her about this, “That you killed someone?”

“When those men kidnapped you and I, and brought us to the mountains. Once I realized that you were unharmed, I went and killed them all. It was the only we could escape safely.”

“...” What does he even say to that sort of thing? They were five years old when that happened. At five years of age, the world (his world, their world) turned her into a murderer.

“Young master, I am sorry for not doing a better job that night.”

“Peko, what the hell are you talking about? I only survived that night because of you.”

The swordswoman sat up, feet swinging onto the floor— he couldn’t see the expression she was making, but he didn’t need to know she was blaming herself.

“But I only made things worse. If I wasn’t so afraid that night,” Her fingers grip onto the sheets, inhaling deeply, “If it wasn’t so weak, the young master wouldn’t have been petrified. If I kept my head clear, like I was supposed to, we would have gotten lost!”

“We were five— even grown adults would have been scared out of their fuckin’ heads.”

He doesn’t expect her to turn around so suddenly, and it caused him to sit up as well. Again, he could barely see her face, but he can damn well hear it in her voice.

“That is not an excuse! I am the young master’s tool, protecting the young master...killing for the young master, that is my only purpose. I should never make you doubt the safety of your life! If I were smarter that night, then the young master would not have been afraid. If I were faster, Lady Natsumi would still be alive and the young master wouldn’t have to have had dirty his hands.”

What?

Fuyuhiko’s silence worried her, and the panic sets within; she messed up. She was always messing up. Why couldn’t she just be competent for him? In a second, Peko regained control of her emotions and thinks she removed her expressions. In another second, she was back on the floor performing Dogeza...

The words flowed in and out of his ears, refusing to stay. He thinks— no, he knows she’s apologizing, but he doesn’t understand why.

...

What?

“...Stop.”

“Please do punishment unto me as you see fit for my loose tongue.”

“Stop it, already. Just stop...”

He’s tired.

“Young master...”

“You were just following my orders. I’m her brother, so it was my responsibility to check on her.” It returned again: the heavy feeling in his chest, the one that drags him to the floor and plops him next to her.

She’s tired.

“Sir, you mustn’t blame yourself. If I were a tool capable of being trusted, then I am sure your orders would have been different! If I were more sensible— young master...?”

They’re both so exhausted.

“Don’t you get it? You’re the only one I can trust.” He was suffocating, “You always put your life on the line for me, with no damn regard to your own. You're not invincible, Peko.”

“That is exactly why I intend to fulfill my purpose as your tool until I am corpse at your feet.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?!” (He’s grateful that the room was sound proof), “I don’t want a tool! Tools can’t die. They become dull, they break, and you replace them, but they definitely cannot die. If some fucking rotten cunt smashed your skull in with gravel in a swimsuit you’d die!”

She sat up, “I-I wouldn’t let that happened, I promise!”

“But you can’t know that, you can’t possibly fucking know that! What the point if you’re dead?!”

She can’t do it again to him, not now. She can’t fall apart on him. Not again. That wasn’t fair to him. She has to be strong, she has to be strong, she has to be...

“Natsumi thought she was untouchable, that’s why she was all starting shit with everyone around her. And now what? Now we have to fucking cremate her.” She sees the way his eyes plead with her, his hands desperately grabbing onto her shoulder, “So stop saying you’ll protect me until the day you die, because if I have to bury you too—”

His throated closed on him, and he nearly chokes on himself— as if his body couldn’t finish a thought he never really wanted to have in the first place.

So. This is what it felt like? Breaking their nine and ten year streak of no crying.

“...Young master?”

“Please don’t leave me! I can’t do this on my own, Peko, I need you!”

“Young master! There’s no way I would ever want to leave your side!” She struggles to steady her breathing, her hands clutching onto his arms, “There are so many things in this world that can hurt you, so many things that I cannot protect you from and I hate it. If something fatal were to happen to you...being expected to live on is just too cruel for me.”

“I wouldn’t be able to do it either, you know?” He stopped crying, but his voice still hadn’t recovered, “My little sister died because I failed to protect her, and if you died because of my actions...I seriously couldn’t...”

He couldn’t remember the last time he allowed someone else to touch him so personally— running away even from his mother’s touch. Her hands were warm on his face, and he lets himself fall into them. He knows once they wake up again, once they went home, this closeness between them would have to be forgotten. He presses his hands against hers, and sighs;

So warm.

So human.

“Peko, from now on it’s just you and me. Not as master and tool...just together, okay? We live together and we die together.”

For once, she lets him help her do something: raising her up and leading her to the bed. When they wake up later on, she’s knows this could never be brought up again. An indescribable dream or a sleep deprived hallucination, that’s all she can remember it as. Though, in raw honesty, that seemed better to her than nothing at all.

When their bodies hit the bed for the second, they do so facing each other— much closer than his morals would have allowed. It just felt natural, like how their hands intertwined wish ease.

“Then let us die of old age and nothing else.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Finally, they fell asleep.

———

A few months later

“Ugh, that’s so totally LAME! Your sister dies and you just move on with your hit-man-squeeze??? Then again, I can totally relate to that. I mean, just being within 100 feet of grosses me the hell out.”

“And you’re high pitched voice gives me a splintering headache,” But it’s said with such a loving tone, “In any case, should we separate them? That might drive one of them over the edge.”

She rolled her eyes so hard that she was afraid her contacts would get stuck behind her eyes.

“Ugh, whatever! That’s too much effort for energy I do not have. Besides, I’m over the ‘murder the lover for the shock value’ trope. It’s done and over with, so out of style!”

Junko continued to watch through her binoculars; their upperclassmen, it seemed, were getting ready to move into the new building. How cute, she thought, after the funeral came a honeymoon.

“Besides, a codependency like theirs has been brewing in the pot for years now. We just need to turn up the heat, upupupupu!”

#kuzupeko #kuzuryuu natsumi #mentioned but not an active character #references to the game

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meaningofmotorsport · 3 years

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Why are the proposed Sprint Races bad for F1?

When it was announced that F1 would be discussing possible sprint races during the next meeting with teams, there was backlash as to the format that they were planning on doing it with, which would effectively be a preview for the race on Sunday. Despite this outcry on social media, the talks seem to have been positive and may be progressing to further talks in the future about this format entering the sport. So, what is so bad about them?

Well the problem is more the direction that Liberty Media seems to be taking F1, when they arrived in the sport a few years ago, there was much hope that it would revitalise the sport, and in the most part it has. We have seen many changes for the better, as they seem to have really strengthened their social media presence, which is key nowadays. However, we are starting to see ideas coming out of the new management, which set a worrying precedent for the future, such as an expanding calendar, which it seems could get as high as 25 races very soon.

Whilst on the face of it, more races means more action, which is better, what it will actually do is make each race less special, because they are that much more common, or even worse people could become sick of the races if it takes up too much of their life. Plus, we have to think about those who are travelling to the races, and more importantly, away from their families. I know that F1 is looking to shorten the F1 weekends to combat this, but that won’t fix the problem.

That brings us to the new idea set out by F1, of these sprint races being basically a mini copy of the Sunday Race, which means it will likely have the same result, which will just give people less reason to watch the race on Sunday. Much like adding races, this is being done to sell more tickets to the track, and make more money through TV contracts, as it is effectively them paying for an extra race. When Ecclestone left the sport a few years ago, we thought it was the end of F1 being simply a money making venture for those in charge, and although this isn’t quite at Bernie’s level yet, we seem to be heading in that direction.

It was a surprise to hear that the teams were onboard with this idea, as it was the expectation that they would see through the idea, just as many of the fans have. However, we have to bear in mind that the teams are here to make money as well, and it may be that they think that they can get more money from their sponsors for doing an extra bit of racing over a weekend, as they think more people will tune in to it. There is also the factor that, the more racing that happens, the more wins the top teams can get, and the more chance of a shock result for the lower down teams.

So what else could F1 do instead, to try and spice up the racing, well I think that if they want to try sprint races at three races this year, they need to do something properly different, so as much as reverse grids are very gimmicky, they should give it a go, just to see what happens. One option is, if teams don’t want the reverse grid race to set the grid for the main race, that the Saturday race is a standalone race, which gives half points, so we get to see what a reverse grid race does, but the teams are happy as the Sunday race is not changed at all.

Doing things like Ballast or Balance of Performance (where you try to make all cars equal), is just not in the DNA of Formula 1. There needs to be someway to differentiate all the cars, and let the best cars win, and hopefully with the new rules, it will allow them to do this without getting too far ahead. I do also think that the budget cap will aid the pack to close up, at the end of the day, F1 has been around for 70 years, in which most of the time it was able to keep fresh with teams always rising and falling. All it needs is a little kick start, and it could all be brilliant again!

Do I think the Sprint Races will happen this year? They may well do, although maybe only once, it will not be the end of the world if they do, as it is always good to try things, I just hope they see that it is not what F1 needs right now. If you are going to change F1, do it properly, don’t half do it and make it worse!

-M

#f1 #motorsport #f12021

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anetherealsoul · 3 years

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Elegance in the Pool: An Artistic Swimming Blog

Rio Olympics 2016: Full Team Event Artistic Swimming

By Dana Esabelle Catingub

A Sports Blog

Russia sealed their gold medal in the final of the Artistic Swimming Team Routine at the Rio 2016 Olympics, where China clinched the silver medal and Japan garnered the bronze. The execution with which Russia performed their performance was “perfection” and received an incredible score of 196.1439.

Although each of the eight finalists impressed in their last display, it was ultimately Russia who ended a cut above the rest, with their execution, flips, and artistic impression trumping all others in the field. Ukraine came within inches of taking their spot on the podium, but Japan did enough in the session's closing performance to snag themselves third.

Russia pulled their routine off without so much as a quiver in form, which is to be expected of a nation that has dominated this field for almost two decades. Japan were understandably proud of their bronze achievement, that they got emotional and cried happy tears. All of the Japanese team welled up after it was announced they'd done enough to take bronze, while the Russians looked positively nonchalant with their gold feat.

In-Depth Details:

Court Dimensions

Maria Lenk Aquatics Center

The pool should measure at least 3m deep, 20m wide and 25m long. (Tokyo 2020, 2020)

Equipment

Nose Clip

In synchronized swimming, the athletes have to perform a lot of underwater movements. There are chances of water entering into the nose of the players. In order to avoid that, the athletes use a small clip of hard plastic or wire. It also has a thin rubber coating.

Goggles

Goggles provide safety to the eyes. Due to underwater movement, water may enter in the eyes. It is important to note that the goggles are not allowed for routine competitions. Athletes can use goggles only for trainings. This is only used for figure test. Like goggles, athletes also cannot use the bathing caps during routine competitions. During figure test, only a white or black bathing cap is worn by athletes.

Underwater Speaker

The most important equipment for synchronized swimming is the underwater speakers. Swimmers cannot perform under water if the music is not audible. Music plays an important role in synchronized swimming because it is a rhythmic sport. We know that impedance of water is 3600 times more than that of air. There is also a 62 dB (decibel) offset between the sound that travels in air and that in water. To overcome this problem, the underwater speakers used in synchronized swimming depend on Piezoelectric Technology.

Swimsuit

One of the most important aspects of the swimsuit is that it must be comfortable for the athletes and it must be non-transparent. During the figure test, a black swimsuit is recommended for the athletes and during routine competition, a routine suit for each athlete that suits the music is recommended.

(Tutorials Point, n.d.)

Basic Skills

The basic skills you will need in artistic swimming is sculling, the “eggbeater", and lifts. You can learn to combine these various positions into a routine. Lifts allow the swimmers to create a structure of sorts with their bodies and lift themselves from the water in the same formation they created underwater.

Sculling

Sculls are hand movements used to propel the body. Some commonly used sculls are support, standard, torpedo, split-arm, barrel and paddle scull. The support scull is most often used and is made up of two repeated movements. You need to hold your upper arms against your body and your forearms at 90-degree angles. Then, you move your forearms back and forth to create enough water pressure to hold your legs above the water.

Eggbeater

This move is much like how a manual eggbeater works, with one leg rotating in a clockwise manner and rotating the other leg in an anti-clockwise manner. Artistic swimmers use this kick because it leaves their hands free to perform strokes. Due to the opposite motion of the kick, it is a stable and efficient way for swimmers to attain the necessary height to perform moves above the water.

Positions

Crane Position - Hold your body in a vertical position with one leg held vertically above the water surface, while the other leg is held parallel under the surface in a 90-degree angle or "L" shape.

Ballet Leg Double Position - From lying flat on the water surface, draw your knees towards your chest with shins parallel to the water surface. Straighten your legs above the water surface to assume a Surface Ballet Leg Double position.

Side Fishtail Position - This is a position similar to the crane. One leg remains vertical, while the other is extended to the side parallel to the water, creating a side "Y" position.

Knight Position -The body is held vertically with your head in line with the hips and pointed to the bottom of the pool. One leg is lowered to create a vertical line perpendicular to the surface.

Flamingo Position - Similar to the ballet leg position where the bottom leg is pulled into the chest so that the shin of the bottom leg is touching the knee of the vertical leg.

Split Position - With the body vertical, one leg is stretched forward along the surface and the other leg is extended back along the surface.

Lifts

Lifts are formations that are formed underwater and as swimmers propel themselves towards the surface, they stay in formation and add more elements like acrobatics.

The Flyer - Flyers are agile and flexible and are usually the smallest member of the team. It is preferable that they have a gymnastics background as they need to perform complicated moves while on the top of the formation.

The Base - Base swimmers tends to be small in size, but should have good leg strength and a solid core as they make up the structure of the formation.

The Pushers - Pushers are the bigger and stronger swimmers because they need the strength to propel the formation to the water surface.

Types of Lifts

The Platform Lift - The base lays out in a back layout position underwater, where they lie on their back to form a platform of interlinked bodies. The Flyer sets in a squatting position and stands once the lift reaches the surface. The remaining teammates use the eggbeater kicks to hold the platform and the flyer out of the water.

The Stack Lift - Considered to be an updated version of the Platform, the Stack Lift begins with the base squatting while underwater, supported by the pushers. The flyer then stands on the shoulders of the base. The pushers and base gradually stretch out their limbs, elevating the flyer. A rotating descent is usually added to this lift.

(Sport Singapore, n.d.)

Technical and Tactical Skills of Egypt

Egypt showed us minimal flips and were usually done at a lower height. I noticed that before the flyer would flip, her head is not completely submerged in the water, which kind of ruins the element of surprise. They ensured having a secure base at the bottom of the pool for the flyer to have a sturdy place to push on because they often take a longer time to build their formation. I also noticed a few synchronization errors at the near end of the performance because normally these performances could be very tiring.

Execution: 23.50; Artistic Impression: 31.4667; Difficulty: 23.6; Penalty: 0; Technical Routine: 76.9838; Free Routine: 78.5667; Total: 155.5505

Technical and Tactical Skills of Australia

One thing that caught my attention about Australia is their theme. They had a theme of Flora and Fauna which was really cute and well thought of. They showcased a really artistic start matching their lifts and flips to the music. Their performance focused on the legs; quick movements and successions were shown in most parts of the performance. They showed us various positions and were very synchronized.

Execution: 22.60; Artistic Impression: 30.1333; Difficulty: 22.70; Penalty: 0; Technical Routine: 74.0667; Free Routine: 75.4333; Total: 149.50

Technical and Tactical Skills of Italy

Italy chose the perfect music for their theme, the four seasons. They truly took their theme seriously as we can evidently tell from the transitions, the music, and the movements the changes of the seasons. They did more flips than the previous performers. They also chose strong and bigger swimmers for the base and the pushers. They were also very particular with the angles of their legs and their flip showed higher risk.

Execution: 27.50; Artistic Impression: 37.0667; Difficulty: 27.70; Penalty: 0; Technical Routine: 91.1142; Free Routine: 92.2667; Total: 183.3809

Technical and Tactical Skills of Brazil

Brazil showed us their balance as they lifted a swimmer up. The movements were very quick and matched very well with their music. Their theme was the Carnivale which made their performance extra fun and energetic. Their facial expressions was the best part of their performance as they got to engage their appeal with the audience.

Execution: 26.10; Artistic Impression: 34.80; Difficulty: 26.30; Penalty: 0; Technical Routine: 84.7985; Free Routine: 87.20; Total: 171.9985

Technical and Tactical Skills of the Russian Federation

The Russians had a theme of Angels. They showed us that there is never a limit to perfection. The precision of the length of the legs were extraordinary. Not to mention their good start with an explosive high flip. The power and energy in their performance was unmatched. They were very flexible and showcased acrobatic moves. Their choreography was original & unique and they executed all their movements with a high degree of difficulty. The element of surprise was their level of expertise.

Execution: 29.70; Artistic Impression: 39.7333; Difficulty: 29.70; Penalty: 0; Technical Routine: 97.0106; Free Routine: 99.1333; Total: 196.1439

Technical and Tactical Skills of Ukraine

Ukraine's theme was illusionism which was already very evident from their costumes. They started off their performance with a very high flip. They made a lot splash throughout the performance which made it visually appealing. From the split camera we can observed that they are very synchronized even underwater where the judges couldn’t see them. They portrayed their theme very well.

Execution: 28.20; Artistic Impression: 38.2667; Difficulty: 28.70; Penalty: 0; Technical Routine: 93.4413; Free Routine: 95.1667; Total: 188.6080

Technical and Tactical Skills of People’s Republic of China

China showed extreme creativity from their performance to their costumes. The headdress was very unique and portrayed their theme very well which was Finding Dragons. The way they interpret the music was great, they showed several powerful flips and movements. Their performance was very dynamic, as well as their facial expressions were amazing.

Execution: 29.10; Artistic Impression: 39.0667; Difficulty: 29.20; Penalty: 0; Technical Routine: 95.6174; Free Routine: 97.3667; Total: 192.9841

Technical and Tactical Skills of Japan

Japan also showed us a great start, with a powerful flip. They were very particular with the lines and their formations. The angle of their legs were always in uniform. Their theme: Dawn Start of a New Glory Towards the Sun was very creative. Their overall performance was very entertaining.

Execution: 28.50; Artistic Impression: 38.1333; Difficulty: 28.80; Penalty: 0; Technical Routine: 93.7723; Free Routine: 95.4333; Total: 189.2056

Rules of the Game

No Touching The Bottom

One of the things which makes the lifts all the more impressive is that artistic swimmers are not allowed to touch the bottom of the pool at any point during their routines.

No Bling

Presentation is a unique and important part of artistic swimming but there are certain restrictions on what swimmers can wear. For example, artistic swimmers are not permitted jewelery, theatrical make-up, or inappropriate costumes.

No Goggles

Another restriction during artistic swimming routines is goggles. However, swimmers in figures competitions are permitted to wear them.

Team Means Team

Teams normally contain eight swimmers, but the minimum number for a team is four. Teams lose marks for every swimmer they have under the full complement because it is easier to synchronize the fewer people there are in a routine.

Stick To The Schedule

Routines can be anything from two and a half minutes to five minutes long, depending on whether they are performed alone or as part of a team. However, swimmers are penalized if they take 15 seconds fewer or longer than the specified time.

Technical Routine & Free Routine

This involves performing predetermined elements that must be executed in a specific order. The free routine has no requirements so the swimmers can be ‘free’ in how creative they get with the movements and their choreography.

The routines are performed in front of sets of judges, who use strict guidelines to score the performances.

As well as technical and free routines, there are competitions called ‘figures’ for junior swimmers where they perform set movements to the judges. There is no music and this is simply a case of how well the individual performs various synchro moves.

(Swim England Artistic Swimming, n.d.)

How to Officiate the Sport

Timekeeper

The role of a timekeeper is to check and record the overall times of the routines and of the deck movements. If the time limit for the deck work is exceeded or there is a deviation from the permitted routine time allowance, the timekeeper advises the referee.

Clerk of the course

The role of a clerk of the course is to organize the competitors so that they are ready for their events at the required time. During figure competitions, they ensure that the swimmers are in the correct order to perform their figures.

Scorer

The role of a synchro scorer is to record marks from the judges and make the necessary computations for each routine. There are two levels of synchro scorer – national scorer and chief recorder.

National scorers write down and manipulate all the scores that come in for figures and routines at competitions. They can officiate at any level of domestic competition including the National Age Group Championships and ASA National Championships.

Chief recorders are in charge of scoring at synchronized swimming events. They are trained to manage related computer results systems at national and regional competitions.

Judge

Synchro judges are essential for running synchronized swimming competitions as they provide scores based on the performance of each routine. They are also responsible for marking grade level assessments. To reduce the level of subjectivity in scoring, all synchro judges must be expertly-trained. They require a full understanding of FINA and the ASA’s rules and regulations for synchronized swimming competitions.

To maintain their qualification or progress, all judges must officiate at a certain number of grade assessments and competitions.

There are three levels of Judge:

Level 1: Candidates must be 16 years old to take the level 1 judge course. They will be qualified to judge at level 1 and 2 competitions. The course includes:

Use of marking scales

Develop understanding of basic movements and positions

Able to identify Figures in current age groups (12U and 13/14/15)

Ethics

Develop knowledge and understanding of Free Routines

Knowledge of Grade 1 and 2 criteria and assessment criteria

Level 2: Candidates must have been a level 1 judge for at least a year. They will be qualified to judge at regional competitions at the National Age Group Championships. The course includes:

In-depth knowledge of Junior Figures (15-18 years)

Develop knowledge of rules and penalties

Develop knowledge of NVT, difficulty values and application to figures. Application of deductions to figures

Exposure to variety of level of figures and scores

Knowledge and awareness of Grade 3/4/5 criteria

Further analysis of Free Routines – range of level of routines, recognition of difficulty

Level 3: Candidates must have been a level 2 judge for at least a year. They will be qualified to judge at the National Championships. The course includes:

Further knowledge about rules, penalties and organisation

In-depth knowledge about judging Figures and component parts

Further develop knowledge and aptitude regarding judging Free Routines

Awareness of Grade 6 criteria

In-depth knowledge of technical elements across solos, duets and team

Referee

The role of a synchro referee is to oversee the control of a synchronized swimming competition. The referee makes sure all aspects of the event are run smoothly and follow FINA rules.

All candidates on a referee training course must be a qualified synchro judge, a current ASA member and over 18. The training consists of a five-hour training course and examination. Following completion of the training, a mentor will be appointed to successful candidates to provide support at their first event. After ratification of the results by the ASA Synchronized Swimming Management Group, the qualification will then be added to the Database of Registered Officials.

The qualification as a referee will be valid for four years, subject to attending any refresher/ updating sessions required due to the introduction of new FINA rules over this period. A referee must re-qualify every four years by attending either a judge training course which includes all the new FINA updates or another referee training course.

(Edinburgh, n.d.)

Bibliography

Edinburgh. (n.d.). Retrieved from Officials in synchro: http://edinburghsynchro.co.uk/officials-in-synchro/

Sport Singapore. (2020). Retrieved from Basic skills and positions in Synchronised Swimming: https://www.myactivesg.com/Sports/Aquatics/How-To-Play/Synchronised-Swimming/Basic-skills-and-positions-in-Synchronised-Swimming#:~:text=The%20basic%20skills%20you%20will,to%20combine%20into%20a%20routine.

Swim England Artistic Swimming. (n.d.). Retrieved from Swimming.org: https://www.swimming.org/artistic-swimming/introduction-to-artistic-swimming/

Tokyo 2020. (2020, February 15). Retrieved from Artistic Swimming: https://tokyo2020.org/en/sports/artistic-swimming/#:~:text=In%20a%20pool%20at%20least,routines%20are%20performed%20to%20music.

Tutorials Point. (n.d.). Retrieved from Synchronized Swimming - Equipment: https://www.tutorialspoint.com/synchronized_swimming/synchronized_swimming_equipment.htm

Photo Credits

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/olympics/2016/07/28/104282891_RIO_DE_JANEIRO_BRAZIL_-_FEBRUARY_24__General_view_of_Maria_Lenk_Aquatics_Centre_during_the_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqgsaO8O78rhmZrDxTlQBjdGtT0gK_6EfZT336f62EI5U.jpg?imwidth=450

https://images.cdn-outlet.com/images/article/isport/image/Synch%20Swim_SupportSc1%23855408(1).jpg

http://egyptianstreets.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/591966420.jpg

Template

Canva

Video Reference

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRGQDubSAqw

#olympics #artistic swimming

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