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woodchipp · 1 month ago

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Regarding your post about Basil being at Sunny and Mari's house at the time of the incident, I think it's more plausible that Basil got into the house and witnessed the incident, rather than him staying over at the house, especially with the flaws you pointed out with that scenario. Most people, especially nowadays, wouldn't leave their doors unlocked, but depending on the safety and nature of the community, doors could be left unlocked for convenience. Even if the door was locked, it's possible that Basil had a spare house key, since he was a close friend of theirs. A bit of a stretch, but it makes more sense than him staying over.

As for why he was there during the argument, it could probably have been to hype Sunny up for the recital, since he noticed how Sunny needed to be begged to practice (in the photo album), or it could have been for any other reason. Maybe even something as trivial as having forgotten some random item of his and going to retrieve it before the recital that would take up most of the evening.

Even if Sunny confided in Basil, there's no guarantee that anything would have changed because Basil can't really do much about it short of calling Mari out directly or trying to cancel the recital. Just venting doesn't remove the source of Sunny's upset. Smashing the violin is a more immediate and straightforward "fix".

Your point that Basil should have intervened/stood up to Mari would make him act kind of out of character, since he's made out to be pretty nonconfrontational (when not having a psychotic breakdown, at least). Mari telling at Sunny may also add shock that would have kept Basil from acting, since while she has issues stemming from perfectionism, she generally hides it from others, making her outburst surprising and overwhelming. He's no dainty crybaby, but he doesn't seem the type to make logical decisions under stress. (The coverup doesn't make Basil logical imo even though I feel like people could come to that conclusion, it makes him out to be a big overthinker that really thought he had to make the situation ten times worse to protect Sunny by staging a suicide instead of just saying Mari tripped.)

Sorry if I'm unclear at all, it just seems to me that some of the plot holes you mentioned have plausible interpreted explanations that don't really make them plot holes anymore, y'know?

It just seems to me that some of the plot holes you mentioned have plausible interpreted explanations that don't really make them plot holes anymore, y'know?

No, they still remain plot holes. You (general) are free to come up with whatever explanations make the story make sense/flow better to you, but that doesn't change the fact OMORI's plot never addresses all the holes I point out. You are explaining them, not the game.

[The cover-up] makes him out to be a big overthinker that really thought he had to make the situation ten times worse to protect Sunny by staging a suicide instead of just saying Mari tripped.

There's no conclusive evidence that'd suggest he's "a big overthinker" or was one before Mari's death.

Also, coming up with an absurdly complicated plan =/= overthinking. If Basil really overthought that entire situation, he wouldn't have went with the plan he ultimately chose to go with - he would've considered everything that could go wrong with it.

Basil's first scene in Faraway Town is him confronting one of Aubrey's gang members and begging her to return his photo album. What, he's willing to approach someone he most likely sees as dangerous for the sake of an inanimate object but isn't willing to defend his best friend?

Besides, considering that a certain photo from the photo album hints Basil feels compelled to "take care of" Sunny, I believe it is reasonable to assume this protectiveness would've kicked in the instant he heard (and saw) Mari yelling at him.

Mari yelling at Sunny may also add shock that would have kept Basil from acting, since while she has issues stemming from perfectionism, she generally hides it from others, making her outburst surprising and overwhelming.

So his shock kept him from trying to intervene but didn't prevent him from desecrating a corpse? lol

My point was that Sunny had the opportunity to express that upset in a less violent manner than destroying the violin.

You're implying that Sunny had the choice to safely vent to his friend, but decided that wouldn't be enough to resolve his issue. Once again, his first choice was violence.

Violence, in Sunny's mind, is what "fixes" problems. Such a sweet kid, eh?

Even if the door was locked, it's possible that Basil had a spare house key, since he was a close friend of theirs. A bit of a stretch, but it makes more sense than him staying over. As for why he was there during the argument, it could probably have been to hype Sunny up for the recital, since he noticed how Sunny needed to be begged to practice (in the photo album), or it could have been for any other reason. Maybe even something as trivial as having forgotten some random item of his and going to retrieve it before the recital that would take up most of the evening.

Had the game taken the time to explain what he was doing at Sunny's house, you wouldn't need to go through "possible" explanations in the first place. You're doing the writer's job for the writer.

Most people, especially nowadays, wouldn't leave their doors unlocked, but depending on the safety and nature of the community, doors could be left unlocked for convenience.

1) Given how rich Sunny's parents are, I doubt they'd feel so secure as to leave the door unlocked.

2) Even if we assume, for the sake of argument, that Faraway Town is such a tranquil place that burglars just don't exist in there, waltzing in unannounced is still quite rude. Basil has no need to have free access to someone's else house in the same way Aubrey would, regardless of how close he is to Sunny as a friend.

#omori #omori game #omori sunny #sunny omori #omori basil #basil omori #omori analysis #omori fandom

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sunnyrealist · 1 year ago

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Chapter 15: There Are Things You Don't Know

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Chapter Background and Summary: Kate and Sebastian met each other about a month ago at the Three Broomsticks. Their instant connection and pull towards each other felt like pure magic, but it all collapsed when Sebastian told her about his past and current use of dark magic. Since then, he and Kate have been hanging out as "friends," though both of them still have strong feelings for each other. In the previous chapter, Sebastian helped Kate in her garden; she promised him a home-cooked meal as a reward. Sebastian takes her up on it in this chapter and finally explains more about his past and what he does for a living.

Pairing: Aged-up, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x female OC (Kate Mayflower)

Trigger warnings: Discussion of domestic abuse and drinking, trauma, brief mention of imprisonment, gang membership, discussion of illness, fast use of the word "love," a basic Italian dinner being considered "exotic" (😂)

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3. Any kind of constructive feedback would be greatly appreciated. A comment, like, or Kudos would make my day.

Chapter 15: There Are Things You Don't Know

Kate is ready when Sebastian knocks on her front door on Wednesday night.

After getting out of work, she went into cooking and cleaning mode immediately. Of course, she had overthought everything. Candles - too romantic or appropriate for any dinner? Dessert - what would Sebastian like most? Or should she make a treat that complimented the meal? How should she dress? Not too fancy - that might give the wrong idea…

Kate had decided after Sebastian’s last meeting that she wanted to show him how she used items from her garden in her cooking. Since nothing was quite in season yet, she had to rely on her canned items, of which she had tomatoes aplenty. She settled on making pasta, a dish that most were not fully accustomed to in Britain, with a homemade sauce, meatballs, and crusty bread, preparing as much as she could the night before. In addition, she had cleaned up her living room and bathroom. She told herself that it was completely unnecessary to do anything special with her bedroom. He would not be going in there.

“Hi,” Kate says shyly.

Sebastian smiles and holds out a bouquet of asters. “Hi. These are for you.”

She blinks, trying to remember what asters symbolize. Patience.

“That was completely unnecessary, but thank you.” She takes the flowers out of his hands, inviting him inside. She gestures for him to sit in the living room. “I’ll just put these in water. I’ll be back.”

Sebastian has a moment alone to survey her home again on his own, and he can’t help but feel as though this cozy, green room felt like home. A home he would love to return to every day after work. Patience. Patience.

“Hey, whatever you’re cooking smells amazing!” he shouts out towards the kitchen in a friendly and excited tone.

Kate steps out, smiling. “I hope you like it! It’s… well, kind of an exotic dish from Italy.”

Sebastian grins widely. “I love any kind of adventure.”

She ducks back into the kitchen to make sure it really is ready to go. Plating the food, she carefully sets a dish down by each seat, arranging a napkin, spoon, and fork next to them.

When Sebastian is finally called in, his eyes widen upon seeing the perfect setting arrangements and candles. It feels romantic.

“Is red wine alright? Or would you prefer something else?” she asks, wiping her hands on her apron. She unties the bow in the back and then removes it entirely.

“That’s perfect,” he replies, his eyes trained on her.

Sebastian attempts to avert his eyes, but he can’t help but glance over when she reaches high up for the bottle, taking in her shapely form. He offers to help her reach the bottle, but she refuses. Carefully bringing it to the counter, she uncorks the bottle with a pop, then pours it generously into two wine stems.

Sebastian’s eyes are sparkling and joyful when he offers a toast. “To the most beautiful, kind, intelligent, and sweet hostess, who deserves the entire world and more.” Kate blushes deeply as she clinks her glass to his, not saying a word in stunned silence.

“So… what exactly are we eating?” he asks.

“Oh! It’s pasta with marinara sauce and meatballs. And this is crusty Italian bread. I have a garlic butter spread to accompany it.” She points out everything.

“I’ve heard of all of this but never tried it. I’m sure it’s delicious, Kate.”

In Sebastian’s head, he wonders if this was set up to be a date. It feels romantic - red wine, candlelight, cooking for a sweetheart.

“I wanted to show you that I’m a good cook,” Kate says, blushing. “The sauce was made from red tomatoes I grew in my garden and canned last year. There are also herbs in it that I harvested from the garden as well.”

Sebastian takes his first bite. “Oh, gods, this is so delicious…”

Kate beams with pride. “Truly? Oh, I’m so glad! Erm, I didn’t make the pasta myself, though - that’s the only thing I cannot take credit for. I happened upon it recently when a traveling vendor came through town. I was so excited that I bought three pounds of it!”

“That was lucky for you - but for me as well! I guess I love pasta,” he replies, his mouth full. A moment later, he bites into the garlic buttered bread.

“Do you… like trying new foods? Like from other countries?” Kate asks eagerly.

“Well, I love food in general. I have a bottomless stomach,” he says with a chuckle. “But, yes, I enjoy trying new things.”

“I love exploring new cuisine. I want to travel the world and gather new ingredients everywhere I go. It’s so difficult to find international items in Britain,” she explains. “Not just for cooking, either - baking, too.”

Sebastian nods appreciatively, his mouth filled to the brim as he chews. When he finally swallows, he takes her hand and sincerely says, “Gods, I’ll do any chores you want if it means getting more of your food. And… your company, too.”

Kate inhales, blushing. “I… I very much enjoy your company as well, Sebastian. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Her mind conjures images of domesticity - Sebastian helping her carry groceries home, opening stubborn jars, doing hard work out in the yard, shirtless and sweating, while she cooks and prepares beautiful, gourmet meals and tasty treats for him. She can see them washing dishes side by side, laughing, then reading together on the couch, falling asleep cuddled in bed… It’s getting so much harder for Kate to deny how much she wants all of it. A true companion. Someone to listen to her, someone to hold her at night, someone to share joy and sorrow with. Someone to end the loneliness that has seeped into her bones like a curse.

And that true companion - her life partner - is not anyone her mother has set her up with. It’s him. It’s Sebastian, and deep down, she knows it.

But how can she compromise her morals? He’s a dark magic user. And she is anything but. She wouldn’t want her - their - children to grow up idolizing dark wizards.

Sebastian isn’t what Kate ever pictured when she thought of a man who practiced the dark arts. That is what baffles her most of all: he isn’t a bad person. He once made mistakes - serious mistakes - as a boy, but who he seems to be now, as a man, doesn’t line up with his past actions. She remembers how wounded he looked when she had turned him away nearly a month ago, how he said dejectedly that he’ll always be punished in every way for what he did at 16 years old - practically a decade prior. When she thinks about his face at that moment, his tone, it makes her want to burst into tears. True sadness that could only be ended with her acceptance - her love and care - she’s sure of it.

Just as she is sure that he could end her loneliness. He would lift her up, challenge her, and encourage her to pursue her dreams until they come true.

Suddenly, Kate realizes she never let go of Sebastian’s hand. He is gently rubbing the back of hers with a finger. His facial expression changes into one that is intent and serious.

“Kate… I…” he begins hesitantly. “I realize you might not want to hear this, but I need you to know… I still love you. Desperately. Gods, I’m desperate for you. I swear, I think of you all day every day. Every moment, I’m counting how much longer it will be until I see you again. You’ve changed my life so much in such a short time. Everything is so much brighter. I have… I have hope again. Kate, I’ll do anything to make you mine. I mean it. Truly, I mean it.”

Kate opens her mouth, knowing she has to tell him that she can’t, but not really wanting to all the same - but he silences her with a finger to her lips.

“Please, don’t say no. Please, Kate,” he begs. “There are things you don’t know about me that I’ve never explained, but I want you to know it all. If you don’t want me after, I… well, I don’t know… but I just need a chance to tell you.”

Kate nods, taking a sip of wine. “Alright.” She sits up, leaning forward with interest but keeping her face neutral. “Go ahead.”

He looks at her for a minute, thinking. “Gods, I don’t even know where to begin… maybe when my parents died…”

“Anne and I had just barely turned ten when it happened. You know, before then, my parents were busy all the time, but we were loved and cared for and wanted for nothing. When Uncle Solomon took us in, that ended. Everything - everything changed. He couldn’t afford to live in my parents’ home in Aranshire, since they still owed money on it. And honestly, it was a huge house with multiple stories - we even had a cellar. Solomon barely had a job. He had gotten fired as an Auror. He didn’t have much choice but to become a simple farmer. We had to move into his tiny cottage at Feldcroft near the fields. My uncle was forced to take us in, as our only living relative. And he took it out on us every day - but mostly on me. He saw my da in me, and the truth is that they had never gotten on well. So, having to take us in was truly a burden - it reminded him every day of their broken relationship. And we never had breaks from each other. There was no privacy in that house.

“Solomon… he was not good to us. He sold all of our parents’ belongings and valuables, save for just a few heirlooms - and portraits, which weren’t worth any money. He said he had to so that he could take care of our needs and eventually our Hogwarts tuition. We were never spoiled again from that point forward. Anne and I only had necessities - nothing more. But what we needed, really, was a guardian who cared for us. I needed someone who wouldn’t hit me and yell at me all the time. I needed a protector. But I had to step up and become Anne’s. I took the beatings when Solomon was drunk. And he was drunk often.”

“Gods, Sebastian, that’s awful…” Kate whispered.

“One night, when I was 13, he and I got into an argument over my parents’ money. Solomon had used almost all of it up. It was supposed to be our inheritance when we graduated. But he spent almost all of it on firewhisky and gambling. It was a bad fight. A really bad one. My uncle told me that that was the final straw, and I couldn’t sleep in his house anymore. Kate, I was 13. 13 years old.

“He built a tiny shed and told me that that was my bedroom now. I had no choice but to sleep there whenever we were home from Hogwarts. And honestly, in some ways it was better than being near him, but I froze every night out there, even with warming charms. I always worried about leaving Anne alone with him, but she was alright. She learned how to handle his outbursts without consequence eventually. Unlike me. He just hated me so much for no reason. I never could do anything right. Never. It didn’t matter to my uncle that I earned top marks, that I was on the Quidditch team, that I was the top duelist at Hogwarts - I was always ‘just like my stubborn father.’ As if it was an insult to be like my da.”

“I’m sure your father was lovely, if you truly are like him, Sebastian,” Kate whispered, stroking his hand soothingly. “I know it.”

Sebastian seemed to tear up a little. This was hard to talk about; he hadn’t let any of this out for nearly a decade, and here was this wonderful woman - the one he loved - comforting him, truly listening to him. “Thank you. He- he really was a great man. I hope I can live up to him someday. I admired him so much.”

Kate squeezed his hand, and he continued.

“My uncle was typically awful to us, but I have to be fair and say he had some nice moments. He took in our friend, Ominis, during the summers so that he wouldn’t have to go back to his abusive family. Ironic, right? But Ominis’ family was worse. Anyway, Solomon never did anything too crazy when he was around. Anne and I were thankful for that. And my uncle did help us practice spells. I think that’s how I became so good at dueling.” Sebastian smirked a little. “I was once the top duelist at school.”

“In the spring during our fourth year, something awful happened. We were at home for the break. In the middle of the night, there was screaming and shouting outside. Anne ran out of the house to see what was going on and if she could help. It was a disaster. Feldcroft was under attack. Before my uncle and I could catch her, she was already fighting goblins and dark wizards in the hamlet. We had to as well. But then we heard Anne. She was screaming and rolling on the ground in pain. From that day forward, she was never the same. She had been cursed. The way that it worked was that whenever she felt any strong emotion, she would fall into a bout of pure suffering.

“Solomon took her to St. Mungo’s. The healers said there was no cure, so he gave up. But I couldn’t bear to see Anne in pain like that. I mean, everything has to have a cure. Everything. I made it my goal to find it so that Anne could come back to school. That led to many incidents in which I had to sneak into the restricted section. Merlin’s beard, Madam Scribner hated me so much. Every time I was caught, she sent an owl straight to my uncle, which always made things at home so much worse. He kept telling me to leave things be, but I couldn’t. Anne was my twin, and I couldn’t let her suffer. It hurt me to see her in such a state. Before the curse, she was always cheerful, funny, even mischievous - and she had become withdrawn and quiet - as though she had resigned herself to agony. I just couldn’t let it be.

“Anyway, nothing I did seemed to work. I finally came to the conclusion that I had to try something new. I decided to fight fire with fire - to try to use dark magic to break a dark curse. But it got out of control quickly. Rather, the truth was that I was out of control, and I wouldn’t listen to Ominis or our good friend, Ruby. The two of them followed me one day deep in the Feldcroft catacombs with a dark relic that, I now believe, had been influencing me for some time. My uncle arrived shortly after, too. He saw what I was doing. I had raised Inferi and was planning to make a dark sacrifice so that Anne could live again. But Solomon attacked me over and over. He even used Fiendfyre, Kate. He was going to kill me. I could see it in his eyes. So, I defended myself - but in the worst way possible. I used the killing curse.

“In an instant, Solomon was dead. Afterward, Anne wouldn’t speak to me and simply disappeared. I never saw her again. In Azkaban, I was told that she died, alone and in terrible pain. In the end, not only could I not save her, but, in fact, I made everything worse. When Anne lost our uncle, she lost her guardian - her caregiver, and I don’t understand how she got by with no money and no help. All I know is that two days after I killed Solomon, aurors showed up at Hogwarts and took me away. I stood before the Wizengamot, with my friends in the audience, as they questioned me and debated my fate. I’ll never forget the expression on Ominis’ face when they gave me a life sentence. He was shocked - absolutely horrified.

Kate had been silently taking it all in. “I understand that what you did was unacceptable, but… a life sentence for a teenage boy is very harsh,” she whispered.

“You have no idea, Kate. No idea how brutal it is in Azkaban. I honestly… I don’t want to talk about it right now. I might tell you someday, but I’m not ready.” Sebastian shakes his head. “It’s far too painful.”

There is a heavy silence. Sebastian still wants to tell Kate more, but he wants to give her a chance to process it and ask questions.

“So… Sebastian, if dark magic basically ruined your life, why do you still use it? I don’t understand…” she asks.

The question is clearly a painful one. “In Azkaban, I… I don’t want to explain it, but I had to use it to defend myself. I promise, Kate… I will tell you someday.” It seems as though he could say more but is choosing specifically not to.

“And what about now?” Kate refuses to give him an inch on the subject. Her tone is firm. “If you really want me like you say you do, don’t you dare dodge the question.”

Sebastian shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “I can’t tell you much. It’s Ministry business. If I share anything with you, you must swear to complete secrecy. It would endanger wizardkind and me if the information got into the wrong hands.”

Kate’s eyes widen at hearing this unexpected answer. “Sebastian, you can trust me. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

He sighs. “As you know, I was supposed to serve a life sentence in Azkaban. I would still be there now if not for the… the Kelpies.”

“The Kelpies?” Kate asks in a panicked whisper. “Do you mean the Kelpies? The dark wizards terrorizing Britain?”

“Yes, the very same. They conducted a successful jail break when I was in Azkaban. I was 21. That’s how they rose to power again - by getting their most important members back. I wasn’t one of them, but they offered their help to get me out … if I would join them,” Sebastian explains. He sees the alarmed look on her face. “Kate, I would have died in Azkaban had I not accepted. I had no choice. No choice. For years, I followed them, doing what they asked of me. It was awful. Gods, absolutely awful. But I couldn’t get away, and to stay in their favor, I had to do terrible things. Unforgivable things.

“Eventually, the Ministry caught up to me about two and a half years later. They were going to take me right back to Azkaban, but then, a plan was concocted. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been working for years to apprehend the Kelpies with little success. I became their spy - a double-agent. To remain safe and complete the job, I have no choice but to continue to practice dark magic. So… I can’t just quit like you want me to. Otherwise, the Kelpies will kill me without a second thought. I’m not officially one of them yet, but they’re about ready to initiate me. It involves becoming an animagus - a black horse - you know, a Kelpie. But I don’t want it. And I have a plan to put them off.”

Kate sucks in a breath, her mind spinning.

“I won’t lie to you, though. I am still fascinated with the dark arts. I find the history of dark wizards fascinating. I enjoy learning about all of it but not using it anymore,” Sebastian admits openly. “Kate, there’s much more to explain. I am willing to tell you everything in the future, if you’ll give me an opportunity to be in yours. I… I would do anything to be part of your future, Kate. Truly.”

A long silence takes hold.

“I… I need time to think more clearly,” Kate answers after a minute. “This is… a lot to process.”

Sebastian nods, smiling slightly. Her answer isn’t no, and that is a win. “That’s fine. That’s fine, Kate.”

Eventually, the topic of conversation lightens. Sebastian helps Kate to clear the table and clean the dishes. At the sink, she handles the soap, and next to her, he dries with a towel.

Five minutes later, just as they are wrapping up, Sebastian starts laughing.

“What?” Kate asks him, confused.

“I, uh, think you might have some soap on your nose,” he replies, still laughing.

Sebastian reaches towards Kate’s face. His fingers brush the bubbles away, but they linger on her cheek. He tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear as she blushes.

When they finish with the cleaning, Kate reveals that she has also made dessert.

“Really?!” he asks, his eyes bulging.

She nods with a chuckle. “Really.”

Kate has Sebastian sit. She warms up some hot chocolate in mugs, then places a tray of biscuits on the table.

“Have you ever tried biscotti?” she asks. “They’re Italian cookies. These have almonds in them. They’re meant to be served with coffee or another hot beverage that they could potentially be dipped into.”

“No, I’ve never tried those…”

“Be my guest, then.” She gestures for him to take some.

Kate is amazed when, five minutes later, Sebastian has eaten half of the cookies on the tray and downed his entire mug. It appears that he has an enormous sweet tooth, which couldn’t be more perfect for someone who loves to bake.

“Shall I send some home with you?” Kate asks, giggling. “I have more. You could take them.”

He nods eagerly, and she is happy to oblige.

When they finally say goodbye that night, Kate hands him a cloth bag filled with the biscotti, but Sebastian lingers at the door.

“Kate… I mean everything I said tonight. I never want to leave you. I don’t even want to leave you now. Not at all,” he whispers, caressing her cheek. “I want to be here for you all the time. I could… I- I could be your protector…”

She turns red and tries to change the tone, laughing awkwardly. “Sebastian, I don’t need a protector. This is Hogsmeade. What on Earth could possibly happen here?” Suddenly, hilarious images fill her head. “What are you going to protect me from? A puffskein that escaped from Brood and Peck? An annoying traveling vendor who just will not give up on selling some junk to me? Buying too many sweets at Honeydukes?” Now she’s really laughing.

He smiles widely. “All of the above, sunshine. And more.”

There’s a period of quiet again.

Kate hesitates, then finally says, “Sebastian, I need some time to think, but… I want to see more of you. I do.”

Sebastian takes her hand, kissing it eagerly. “Kate… could I ask you for something?”

Her head tilts. “What is it?”

“Stop seeing those other men your mum sets you up with,” he pleads. “See only me. Kate, I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else.”

Kate smiles weakly. “I can’t break what I’ve already committed to, but perhaps I can put off more arranged dates in the future. Perhaps.”

Sebastian kisses her cheek sweetly. Then, he whispers in her ear, “I love you, Kate. I love you. I swear, if you choose me, I will dedicate my entire life to you. I would be the happiest wizard in the world.”

They gaze at each other with love in their eyes. She can’t hide it much anymore.

“Saturday. Let’s meet again on Saturday,” Kate suggests.

“Yes. And every day after that, if you’ll allow it.” Sebastian smiles widely. “Sorry, I know I’m pushing too much, but I can’t help it. I’ll go now. Goodbye, my love.”

“Good night, Sebastian,” Kate whispers sweetly, kissing his cheek. “Be safe.”

Sebastian doesn’t sleep at all the rest of the night. It finally seems that the pieces are coming together. He dares to hope.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x oc #post azkaban sebastian #aged up sebastian sallow #hufflepuff x slytherin

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es-kay-zee · 4 years ago

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Lust | Lee Know x Reader

I had plans to make this kinky as all hell, but I somehow ended up going the opposite direction with this. oh well, it was still pretty fun to write. I’m also sorry if there’s parts of it (or all of it?) that don’t make any sense. I didn’t proofread it at all and my head was just empty while writing it.

I was kinda liking it at one point, then I overthought about it and now I think I hate it but I put in all this time so it’s getting posted. I just feel like it kinda went all over the place

Warnings: officemate! au, sexual tension (maybe? Idk, i tried), fem! reader, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), protected sex (yay!) there’s like a split second of softdom! Minho, but other than that moment there’s not really any dynamics.

Requested: Yip

Word count: 4.6k

_______________________

It didn’t take a genius amongst your co-workers to be able to tell what was going on between you and Minho. Everyone could see the way you looked at each other. They could see the way you took extra time at the printer, considering it was right next to his desk. You would stand there for longer than necessary, just watching him work. How his fingers would type away on his keyboard, the sleeves of his button-down rolled up to his elbows. God, what you would do to have his fingers inside you.

No, you can’t think like that. He’s just your co-worker. He may be hot as all hell, but this is a professional environment, right?

It was also painfully obvious to everyone how Minho looked at you the same way. Just as you would spend extra time at the printer, he would spend extra time at your desk whenever he had to hand you some files. He would try to make some idle chit-chat with you, but really, he was just staring at your lips the whole time. While you would admire his hands and arms, he would admire your lips. He often found himself wondering just what your mouth was capable of.

Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t only see you as some pretty thing around the office. He also admired your dedication and work ethic. He loved how much effort you put into your job to ensure you produce the pest quality of work. But he wasn’t stupid, he could see just how hot you are.

But he’s not allowed to think of you in that way. He’s not allowed to spend many a night imagining your hand, your mouth wrapped around his cock instead of his hand. After all, you’re just co-workers. And it’s all professional, right?

That’s what you both keep telling yourselves.

It’s a normal Friday, not long before midday, and you’re zoning out at your desk, trying to figure out what the hell you were going to do over the weekend. You’d originally had plans to meet up with a few friends, but they all cancelled on you, leaving you with nothing to do on the approaching Saturday and Sunday.

You’re dragged out of your thoughts by someone waving a small folder in front of your face.

“Hey, earth to y/n?” You snap your attention onto the figure in front of you, quickly realising that it is, in fact, Lee Minho who’s standing at your desk. You hurriedly fix your posture, sitting up straighter and clearing you throat quietly before responding.

“A-are those some more files that need doing?” The way you stutter over your words has you internally cringing, hoping he can’t tell the effect he has over your body.

“Yeah, they’re the latest invoices that have come in. These ones need to be paid by Tuesday and then these ones need to be paid by Thursday,” he explains to you, holding up the two separate folders in his hands.

Reaching out your hand for the folders, you feel your fingertips brush against his once you grab them. You withdraw your hands as quickly as possible, feeling your heartbeat pick up slightly as the subtle contact. Your gaze lingered on his arms for a moment, his sleeves rolled up just the way you liked. Minho is so effortlessly attractive that it’s unfair.

You pry your eyes away from his forearms, away from the veins you can see running along his arms, instead looking at his face. The moment you look him in the eyes, however, you can’t help but think that maybe staring at his arms would have been the better option. His eyes were just as pretty as the rest of him, but the way he was looking at you right now, the way he was staring so intently at you, had you cowering slightly under his gaze.

“So, you had lunch yet?” he asks, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of you, resting his hands in his pockets.

“Not yet, was just about to head up to the cafeteria shortly,” you reply, your eye focus being caught by his stance. You can picture it, him standing over you just the way he is now, hands in pockets, forearms visible, smirk on his face. Just imagining him standing there like that, looking down at you like you’re some sort of prey while you’re on your knees for him. Slowly undoing his belt and-

“Well, I was gonna head up now. Wanna join me?” you are once again pulled from your wandering thoughts by Minho, but the damage had already been done. You could feel your neediness throbbing in your pussy, your slickness slightly coating your underwear.

“Uh, sure,” you say, quickly locking your computer and grabbing your lunch.

You walk with Minho back towards his own desk so that he can pick up his own food before making your way up stairs to the third floor. Once you both make it to the cafeteria for the shelves. You grab your mug before making yourself a coffee, Minho doing the same next to you.

You both head towards a back corner of the large room, finding two seats at a small coffee table. A small conversation begins between the two of you, somewhat awkward, but not uncomfortably so. The occasional silences weren’t left empty, instead being filled with lingering glances at one another.

You make it through all your food and just over half of your coffee before it happens. Disaster. Minho has looked away from you for just a moment and the sunlight cascading through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows hit him in just the right way. It made him glow in the light, distracting you while you took a drink from your mug. You weren’t focusing on anything but how delicious he looked in front of you, ending up with you tipping your mug up to far and spilling it all down your front and onto your lap.

Your small yelp snaps his attention back to you and you both just stare down at your soiled clothes. Heat rushes to your face when you realise the exact repercussions of what’s just happened, and the heat spreads when you notice that Minho has also realised it. Your white blouse drenched in coffee; the material becoming see through. Minho’s gaze lingers on your chest for a moment too long for between normal co-workers, your bra entirely visible through the now coffee-coloured fabric.

Minho clears his throat before speaking. “Uh- I’ll g-get something to help clean that up,” he stutters out, standing up as quickly as possible before rushing off to grab some napkins. It’s not long before he returns, a whole stack in his grip.

He places them on the table, taking his seat again. Picking a couple napkins back up he turns his whole body towards you. Your breathing stutters when he leans in close to you, your eyes looking deep into his as he freezes in place.

He’s torn. Torn between wanting to help you for your sake, wanting to help you for the sake of being able to touch you, and not wanting to overstep any boundaries. He can hear his heart hammering in his ears, and he wonders if you can hear it too. Especially with how close the proximity currently is between you two.

He takes a deep breath before making a decision about whether or not to help you clean up. He reaches his hand out, carefully beginning to dab at the spilled drink on your lap, fully expecting to be told to stop.

You tense under his touch, but not out of discomfort. It’s the way his hand moves along your thigh that has you frozen. Your thigh. One of the more sensitive parts of your body, and his hand is rubbing back and forth along it. The contact causing your brain to short circuit as you feel the heat begin to pool in your core.

“Um… Make sure to soak these clothes before you wash them. That should help get any stains out,” Minho says, trying to ease the tension.

“Oh, yeah, thanks. I’ll be sure to do that,” you reply, his voice snapping you out of your stupor. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to ignore your growing arousal.

Minho has to fight back his own increasing need at the sight of you nibbling on your lower lip, wanting little more than for it to be his own teeth tugging at the soft flesh. But what really gets him, is you taking a few napkins and beginning to dab at the coffee on your shirt, unintentionally pulling his gaze back down to your chest. Now he was fighting back groans, trying desperately to let the sounds die in his throat before you get the chance to hear them. That would be too embarrassing for him to handle.

It’s not long before you sigh a heavy sigh, giving up the hopes of being able to save your outfit and keep your presentability for the workplace, accepting it as a lost cause. Minho stops his own wiping at the sound, looking at you instead, waiting for you to speak.

“You know what, this is a mess. I might as well just head home for the rest of the day. There’s no point sitting here at my desk all day like this,” you say, looking down at your clothes. “Besides, most of my work is done for the day anyway.”

It’s only when you lift your head up when you finish speaking that you realise just how close Minho’s face is to your own. Close enough for you to feel his breaths against your cheek. Your eyes dart down to his lips, but only for a split second, not wanting to make your arousal so obvious. Minho, however, notices. But luckily for you, he decides not to say anything about it. Yet.

“That sounds like a good idea. Uh… here,” he says, removing his blazer jacket and holding it out to you.

You reach out and grab it, your fingers once again momentarily connecting with his as you take the item he’s passing you. You both rise to your feet and you give him a confused look, wondering why he’s handing you his blazer.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to walk around with a see-through shirt,” he explains in response to your unspoken question.

The heat returns to your cheeks at his statement, quickly pulling the clothing item on and buttoning it up, making an attempt to cover yourself.

“Thanks,” you say. There’s some part of you that doesn’t really want to cover yourself, that wants Minho to see you. But you push that part aside. After all, you’ve got to maintain some sort of professionalism. “We should probably head back down now.”

“Yeah.��

You both gather your belongings, taking your mugs over to the dirty dishes rack and placing them in along with all the other dishes. Yet another silence befalls the two of you as you make your way back down the stairs to your floor, the quietness neither comfortable nor awkward. Something in between.

Finally reaching your floor, you make a beeline for your desk, aiming to grab your bag and get out of here as quickly as possible. But before you grab your things and head into your boss’s office to say that you’re leaving early, you pause, turning back to Minho again, stopping him before he gets too far away.

“I’ll get your jacket back to you on Monday if you want. I’ll even get it cleaned to make sure there’s no coffee on it.”

He takes a moment to think, once again torn between options. One being just saying okay and letting you just bring it to work with you on Monday. And the other option… Well, if the way you were almost whining when he was touching your thigh earlier is anything to go by, then the second option might just work out for him. Fuck it.

“Or you could bring it over to my place? Tonight? I-if you want to,” he says, making sure to keep his voice only loud enough for you to hear, not wanting any nosy co-workers listening in.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire as you think of the possible outcomes of you going over to his house, albeit under the guise of simply returning his blazer. You can already feel yourself growing wetter at the thoughts running through your mind. You blink rapidly, shaking your head slightly to yourself, remembering that you have to answer him instead of just standing there daydreaming all day.

“You’re in luck. I was gonna go out for a few drinks tonight, but my friends all cancelled on me. So, it turns out that I’m available,” you say, fighting hard to keep your voice steady and to not let on just how needy you were.

“Well, you could always have those drinks with me while you’re over,” he offers, stepping closer to your desk.

“I could.”

You both smirk at each other, knowing exactly what the outcome of tonight will be. Minho searches around your desk for a moment, eventually finding and grabbing a sticky note and a pen. He scribbles something down before handing it to you.

“That’s my address. See you at 7?”

“Sure thing, see you then.”

He smirks at you again before finally heading back to his own desk and you finally head off home, being sure to stop in and let your boss know you’re leaving.

______________________

Before long, 7 o’clock rolls around and you’re sitting in your car, parked on the road-side, opposite Minho’s house. Checking yourself in your rear-view mirror quickly, you make sure you look presentable before getting out of your car, his blazer draped over your arm. You’re somewhat nervous as you approach his front door, reaching up and knocking. It only takes a short moment before the door swings open, revealing Minho. He steps backwards, holding the door open as he gestures for you to enter. You step past him and into the house, taking in his appearance while he closes the door behind you.

His outfit is simple, a plain t-shirt and a pair of jeans, but to you he looks damn fine. His jeans are tight enough to show off his thighs while not being too tight that it would create any struggle to remove quickly. That’s handy. And his shirt leaves his delicious arms on display. You look up at his face just to see him staring at you in the same way you were just starting at him. Like you’re the single best thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.

“Hi,” you say, bringing his attention back to the current moment. He blinks a few times, taking a moment to recollect his thoughts.

“Hey, you look really good.” He gestures towards your dress. You chose one that was simple, yet effective at its job. You wanted to wear something that showed off your legs, something that would get his attention. And judging by the way he kept looking you up and down, it was working.

“Here’s you blazer,” you say, holding it out for him.

“Oh yeah, thanks,” he replies, having already forgotten that he’d even let you borrow it in the first place. “I’ll just go put that away. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

He dashes off down the hallway, presumedly towards his bedroom. To take the moment alone to take in your surroundings, noting how Minho’s house had a very homely feel to it.

You take a seat on the couch while you wait for him to return. And it doesn’t take him long to do just that, already walking back up the hallway towards where you are. He heads to the kitchen first, grabbing a couple of glasses.

“I have some wine here. Want some?” he offers.

“Sure,” you say, knowing that soon enough the drinks will be abandoned in favour of other activities.

It’s not long before Minho approaches you, two glasses of wine in his hands. He hands one to you before taking a seat in the spot next to you on the couch. Directly next to you. He’s so close that the side of his leg rests against yours, but you’re not complaining.

“Try not to get too distracted by me again,” he says, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. “We wouldn’t want you to spill another drink.”

You both laugh at his teasing statement, but your mind focuses on the word again and you realise that he did know the causing of today’s earlier mishap. Well, that’s a bit embarrassing.

The next short while is filled with more idle chit-chat, a measly attempt at wasting time before getting down to business. The entire time you’re talking, Minho’s arm is resting along the back of the couch behind your head and he’s very shamelessly eye fucking you. In his defence though, you’re doing the exact same thing to him.

“Do you want another glass?” Minho asks when you finish your wine, placing his hand that’s not currently resting on the back of the couch on your thigh. You let out an audible breath as his hand softly caresses the flesh, the feeling sending pools of arousal directly to your heat. As his fingers slowly trail further up, beginning to disappear under the skirt of your dress, you know that he’s not really offering you another drink. It’s his way of moving the conversation along, of asking you if you’re ready to do what you truly came here for.

And you’d be damned if you weren’t ready.

His fingers continue to travel higher, skimming along your inner thigh, avoiding where you desperately need him. You bite your lip, trying to stifle a whimper. It doesn’t work, and it instead draws Minho’s focus to your mouth. And he’s back to thinking about your mouth, how your lips would feel wrapped around his cock. The idea alone has him growing painfully hard in his jeans. Hell, he’d do anything to have your lips on him, in any way.

“M-Minho, please,” you whisper, wanting him to stop his teasing caresses and finally touch you the way you want. The way you need.

“Please what?”

“Please t-touch me.”

“Touch you? I am touching you,” he says, stopping his hand’s movements and instead just resting it in place.

“No, please touch my p-pussy,” you say, your hands coming up to cover your face, embarrassment coursing through your body, causing your face to heat up.

Normally, Minho smirked at you, getting a kick out of how flustered you are.

“Ah, I see. Well, if you want that to happen then you have to prove to me how much you want it.”

And that has you whining.

You quickly manoeuvre yourself so that you’re straddling Minho’s lap, tired of waiting for him to provide you with some much needed friction. Your hands rest on his shoulders, his own flying to your hips when you slowly, experimentally grind down on him. Your actions get the best reward, in the form on a shaky moan from Minho, and that’s the moment you can tell that this whole thing is affecting him just as much as it’s affecting you.

When he told you to prove it, he was expecting you to just get more flustered. He certainly wasn’t expecting you to make such a bold move. You roll your hips against him again, this time drawing a moan from yourself. One of his hands slides up your back, grabbing the zipper for your dress and slowly sliding it down. Once he has it undone, he pulls the dress up and off your body, revealing your lack of bra underneath. Shit, he hadn’t even noticed earlier that you weren’t wearing one, he was too distracted by your legs. He looks up at you, his own lust-filled eyes meeting yours, watching you lean in closer to him. Closer, and closer.

And then your lips – those oh so pretty lips – were on his own, moving together in a rush of adrenaline and lust. There was no delicacy in the kiss, only pure wanton desire as your hands roamed each other’s bodies. You’d both been waiting for this for so long. Craving it.

His hands slide down to your ass, kneading the flesh. He’s quick to stand up, keeping you held up, your legs wrapping around his torso. He carries you down the hallway, only breaking the kiss for a split second at a time to make sure he didn’t bump into anything, before he would dive back into your lips. Your kisses were intoxicating, addicting. Minho just couldn’t get enough. Even when he finally made it to his bedroom, dropping you down onto the bed, he still doesn’t pull away. It’s only when you pull away for breath that he stops, you both panting deeply from the lack of oxygen for so long.

Your hands glide across his linen-clad chest, the fabric warmed from his hot skin. He groans lowly at your touch, desperately wanting more. One of his own hands finds it’s way to your breast, his thumb rubbing over the hardened nipple.

His touch is soft, gentle. He’s testing the waters, wanting to figure out what you like, what touches really get you going. He knows he’s on the right track when your back arches slightly at the contact, and he grazes his thumbs over the nub again, harder this time.

You can feel how soaked you are, your underwear beginning to stick to you uncomfortably. You buck your hips upwards, trying desperately to get some sort of solid friction going, the aching between your legs bordering on painful. Sensing just how strong your need is, Minho pulls away from you, moving down the bed until he’s laying between your thighs, his fingers already dipping into the waistband of your underwear.

He wastes little time in pulling the fabric down your legs and tossing them off to the side. And now, finally, after so long of wanting it, he’s able to gaze upon your pussy, glistening with your juices.

“Holy shit, you’re so wet you’re dripping,” he exclaims, looking up and making eye contact with you. And it makes you clench around nothing when you look at the man that’s remained on your mind with his head between your thighs.

“Only for you,” you reply, even your voice dripping with need. Minho looks back down at your soaked cunt and, in the split seconds before his touch, every nerve in your body and mind comes alive with electricity. He licks one long stripe along your entrance, and the moan you let out is obscene. And he loves it.

Minho is filled with a new determination, a determination to make you moan over and over again. To have you feeling so good that you’re screaming his name.

He circles his lips around your clit, working the nerve bundle with his mouth while he brings a hand down to work your entrance. He slides a digit it, immediately curling it in search of your special spot. He quickly adds a second finger, continuing his search for your g-spot. He knows he’s finally found it when your hands go flying to his head, threading into his hair, tugging hard. He groans at the sensation, loving the way your hands feel in his hair. God, everything you do just turns him on, and he begins to unconsciously rut his hips into the mattress. He continues working your core while you moan uncontrollably.

“F-fuck, Minho. I’m s-so close,” you manage to whimper out, but he already knows. The way your walls tighten around his fingers over and over tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do it, baby. Cum for me,” he says, and you don’t have to be told twice, your orgasm washing over you with more force than you expected. He finger-fucks you through your high, only stopping when your body stops convulsing in waves of pleasure. He pulls his hand away from your core, a whine escaping you at the empty feeling. If he could make you cum that hard with just his fingers and mouth, how on earth are you going to survive cumming on his cock?

He crawls back up your body, placing his arousal-coated fingers at your lips. You open your mouth with no hesitation, immediately sucking the digits in, swirling your tongue over them as you sucked. The sight alone almost had Minho cumming in his jeans. For so long, all he’s wanted is your lips around some part of him, and while he also wanted to be graces with the visual of you sucking on his cock like your life depended on it, he was more desperate to just fuck you.

He wastes no more time in ridding himself of his clothes until he’s completely bare, reaching into his bedside table draw for a condom. positioning himself above you once again. He’s about to open the condom packet before you stop him, taking it from his hands opening it yourself. He moans when you slide the condom down his length, your hands feeling better on his cock than his own ever could.

The moment you lie back down, he lines himself up with your entrance, not wanting to go another moment without being inside you. He pushes into you, not stopping until his hips rest against yours, the room filling with moans as your bodies finally connect. His cock stretches your walls so perfectly, like two puzzle pieces made for each other.

After a brief pause, he slowly pulls back you, only to thrust back into you. He repeats the motions, gradually settling into a solid pace, not to fast and not too slow, a perfect balance of the two.

He drags his lips up the soft skin of your neck placing sloppy kisses as over, being sure not to leave any marks. As much as he wanted to mark you where it was visible, he couldn’t. He didn’t want you to have to go through the hassle of covering them each day at work while you wait for them do disappear. Instead, he opted for sucking bruises into your collarbones and along your chest.

Your brain felt like static, unable to string together a single coherent thought as Minho continues to thrust into you, pleasure radiating throughout your entire body. The knot in your stomach grows tighter for the second time during the night, and from the way Minho’s thrusts are getting sloppier, you can tell that he’s close to his own end as well.

He slides his free hand in between the two of you, fingers finding your clit. He rubs circles into the bundle of nerves, and you feel yourself unravel, his fingers being the final to push you over the edge. And it’s your fluttering walls that has the same effect on Minho. You both ride out your highs together, him spilling into the condom and you around his cock. Your loud moans are music to his ears, while his are the same to yours.

Once you both come back down from your highs, Minho pulls himself away from you, quickly disposing of the condom before coming back to lay next to you.

Your body feels heavy, your brain foggy and distant, a tiredness falling over your entire being, exhausted from your orgasms. You groggily roll onto your side, curling your body up into Minho’s and almost instantly drifting off into sleep. He wraps an arm around you in return, feeling sleep approach for him as well. He rests his face against the top of your sleeping head, placing a chaste kiss to your hair. And just before he let himself fall asleep, he made sure plan out in his mind what he was gonna cook you for breakfast in the morning; pancakes.

#stray kids smut #lee know smut #skz lee minho smut #skz smut

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coeurdastronaute · 4 years ago

Text

Essays In Existentialism: Nerd 13

Previously on Nerd

“One more time,” Lexa called out, walking backwards to the other end of the lane, her sneakers kicking up some dust as she moved and watched the playback on her phone.

“Your girlfriend is a little intense, eh?” Evan asked as he followed Clarke back to the start of their scene.

Clarke looked up and wiped a little sweat from her brow as she watched Lexa move with Luna, talking about something, watching her phone while Luna juggled a camera and a script that’d seen better days. The messy waves were tamed, tied up and hidden by a baseball hat from her sister’s university, well-tattered and sweat-lined. The sleeves on her shirt were rolled up, exposing a slight bit of bicep, her jeans were caked in dirt and mud.

“She’s hot though, right?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“I’ll allow you to answer it just this once.”

“In a weird way, yeah, I guess,” he shrugged. “Ow! What the fuck?”

“She’s super hot in a normal way,” Clarke informed him after socking his arm.

“I meant like, I never considered it. Like, weird in a way I hadn’t considered. I’d prefer not to think of her like that, but you made me.”

“Good, and you’ll never think of her like that ever again.”

“Let’s give it one more go, and this time, Evan, I want you to pause before you answer Clarke. I want her words to ring for a moment. Play it how you think your character would feel it. Just for fun.”

He nodded and Clarke smiled at how serious Lexa was, how intricately she thought about the scene. They’d been at it for three weeks and were nearly finished, toiling away after school as best they could, and Clarke found that she didn’t think she was the world’s greatest actress, but that she did enjoy seeing her girlfriend doing something she was insanely passionate about. There’s a bit of magic in seeing someone happy about something they enjoy. As silly as it might have seemed, Clarke let her imagination wonder to the idea of Lexa actually achieving her dream, of making things. She jumped twenty years, and Lexa was the exact same person, but different, but better, somehow. It was silly, but it helped.

“Notes for me, sir?” she ventured.

“You’re perfect. Keep being perfect.”

As silly as it was again, Clarke smiled proudly and ignored the eye roll Luna gave before setting up with the camera again.

In reality, it was about six more takes, two more requested by Luna, three requested by Evan, and once by Clarke. It was infectious to care and try to do better. But they were finally done with all else, and the end somehow felt so final. Though she’d been hesitant to try, now that they’d created something, Clarke felt connected to the entire thing.

“So when will I get to see the entire thing?” Clarke asked, carefully dropping a bag of equipment on Lexa’s bedroom floor.

“Oh, uh, maybe at the end of the summer? It’ll go through a ton of work with Luna and myself, and I’m not sure what we’re going to do… I will definitely show you though as soon as it is done.”

“I’d hope so.”

“Thank you for helping me with this,” Lexa offered as she ran her hand over the back of her neck. “I know you are really busy. SAT, work, school, pep squad.”

“And you’re not?”

“Well, yeah, but I chose this, and you were recruited,” she shrugged.

With a sigh, Lexa plopped onto her bed, tired and spent from the busy weekend.

“You can recruit me anytime,” Clarke promised.

In a move that was still somewhat new to Lexa, hips circled her own, and knees gripped her thighs, and that led to a lot of feelings in her body, especially in the below the belt part that she hadn’t particularly figured out in the practical sense. Theoretically she knew exactly what was happening.

Without saying anything else, Clarke removed her girlfriend’s ball cap and tossed it on the bed. Lexa held her hips, ran her hands up her thighs and squeezed there, careful not to move her eyes anywhere but Clarke’s face. But they closed on their own when hands ran along her temples, scratching the sweat and soreness away, melting her instantly.

There’d been a truce ever since the dance. There’d been a few make outs that went slightly past polite. There’d been a few time hands wandered lazily where they might not have been allowed, but didn’t care about no trespassing signs. There hadn’t been Clarke in her lap though, and Lexa knew this was different. She made it different when her hands slid around hips and toward Clarke’s ass. She squeezed and she thought she’d died.

By the time Clarke kissed her, Lexa realized she was on her back in her bed with the head cheerleader on top of her. When hips pushed against her, she realized she was going to stop. Hands went to her chest. Hands slid under her shirt. Hands slid under her bra and she pushed back against being pinned.

It all disappeared in a second, and confused at the loss of lips and contact, Lexa opened her eyes and searched. Clarke sat there, hands braced on her stomach until she lifted her own shirt and tossed it on the floor. Scrambling, Lexa lifted herself, tangling her arms in an attempt at solidarity in taking clothes off only to be aided by an amused girlfriend.

“Wow,” she whispered, taking her time to look over new skin before her. She kept her hands locked on Clarke’s hips despite wanting to move them. She let her eyes roam shamelessly. “You’re like… wow.”

“Is this okay?”

“Very okay.”

“Thank God,” Clarke nodded before leaning back down, cupping Lexa’s face, and kissing her again, fiercer this time, if it were possible.

Hips moved more this time. Breathing picked up more. Hands pulled, tugged, grasped tighter. They clawed at each other and at more, at what their bodies already knew how to do but their brains overthought and tempered. It was a battle of want and need and restraint, and in it, they both knew which was losing.

In a shaky attempt, Lexa somehow unhooked Clarke’s bra. And in an instant her girlfriend was topless on top of her, and now her lower half was absolutely made of lava. It was painfully molten.

“Oh… my…. Goodness,” she hummed.

Clarke pressed her hands harder against Lexa’s ribs and rotated her hips. Lexa slid her hands up Clarke’s chest and squeezed. She watched her hands moved and touch and feel. She was touching someone else’s nipples for the first time ever, which was a weird thing to be cognizant of, but something that she never imagined desiring. But she did. And she wanted to memorize it entirely. She earned a hum and she pushed her hips up, in an off-kilter response to Clarke’s hips.

“Hey Lex, you home, sweetheart?” a voice called out from down the hall.

The spell was broken. The frantic, hot buildup was drenched in freezing cold water. The skin on display was covered with shirts as quickly as possible and the contact of bodies was broken with as much space as humanely possible placed between them.

“Yeah, uh,” Lexa cleared her throat and tucked in her shirt for some reason as she stood, her legs wobbly and her head not much more sturdy. “Just got home.”

“Your mom is bringing home dinner. She got sandwiches from the deli.”

“Sounds good!”

“Want to work on your car?”

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Sounds good, kiddo. I’m just going to go change.”

Her father’s voice faded as he moved toward his room. Lexa leaned against her door and looked back at Clarke in her room. The blonde just pushed her hair out of her face and tried to adjust her shirt, tugging her bra slightly from the quick reassembly of her parts. Her lips were puffy. Her cheeks were bright red. She was perfect, Lexa realized.

Lexa cleared her throat again and redid her pony tail.

“So that was--”

“Really good,” Clarke finished. “Maybe we should… it’s good your dad-- we should talk about this, right?”

“Um, yeah, I think.”

“Not right now though.”

“Of course, yeah,” Lexa nodded, unsure exactly what was going to be discussed and even worse when it would be. She needed more context clues because too much had just occurred, and she was a specifics type of girl.

“I should head home. I have to finish some physics homework and take a cold shower.”

“Right, yeah. It was hot out there today and I kept you out in the sun.”

“Okay, we definitely are going to have to have some conversations.”

“Am I in trouble?” Lexa asked, cocking her head as Clarke picked up her backpack and shouldered it, making her way to the door.

“Not at all. I just want to be able to talk about sex with you before we do it because I imagine you might need it, and to be honest I’m not sure how much longer I can survive how sexy you are.”

Sex. Clarke wanted sex. They had almost, Lexa imagined. And Clarke was talking about sex with her and wanted to talk about sex with her and wanted to have sex with her and talk about the having of sex with her and they were going to have sex. Having sex was an option that they were going to talk because they were going to have sex and they should talk about it. It was going to be a thing that was discussed between the two of them because sex was going to happen and it might have almost happened and they should talk about the sex that almost and might also in the future happen. Sex.

“I’m kidding,” Clarke assured Lexa, pressing her hand to the center of her chest and bringing her back from the place she just died and went to. “I can wait however long we need to, but I think we should talk about it so something like this doesn’t happen and we don’t have a clear line drawn or not drawn. Think about where your line is, I guess and then we can talk about it.”

“Okay.”

Clarke kissed Lexa’s cheek and then her jaw and then her neck and then her lips.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm. Yes. Me okay. I’m okay. Always ok.”

“Did I melt your brain with the mention of sex?” Clarke smiled.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“No rush, I promise. Just like to be prepared.”

“Like a boy scout.”

“Don’t stress. I like you.”

“Mmm,” Lexa nodded and tried to make her eyes not be completely huge, tried to make her heart stop throbbing in her pants and ears, tried to make her brain not explode or melt.

“I’ll talk to you later. Have fun with your dad.”

“Mmm,” she hummed and nodded as Clarke moved past her toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”

In an instant, Clarke was gone, and Lexa looked down at her hands. They’d been on Clarke’s naked boobs. She looked at her hips. They’d been on Clarke’s thighs. She looked at her bed and how surprised she was that her body just did some of the things it did. She wasn’t sure what else it was capable of, but she decided she might need to do research.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I need to talk to you about two things.”

“Hey, I’m good, thanks for asking. Just cramming for some finals, but yeah I definitely have time to help you out.”

“Okay, good,” Lexa nodded to herself as she paced through the garage, twisting a wrench around as she moved, twirling it around her fingers. It all happened quite seriously as she surveyed the car as it was coming to life.

The house was empty, her parents out on a date. Luna was coming over shortly to work on some of their film, but Lexa had a few things she wanted to get done on her car. More than anything though, she needed to speak with her sister desperately regarding many things in her life.

“How have you been, Lex?”

“Pretty good.”

“Anything planned for the summer yet?”

“I have an internship with a film crew that’ll be in town for a few weeks. My history teacher’s old college roommate is first camera. Some movie of the week thing for the holidays.”

“Wow! Lex, that’s huge!”

“I guess. But I need to know about sex. Sex with another girl. You’re in college. Have you had sex with another girl?”

Anya choked on her sip of coffee as she stopped walking down the sidewalk. She nearly dropped part of her armload of books, but managed to get a grip at the last moment.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t.”

“I tried to ask Gus but he said he couldn’t talk to me about it, and I just need someone to tell me what to do because I’ve run out of online resources short of porn and to be honest I looked a few and I didn’t like it.”

“Lots of information to unpack in this…”

“What do I do or who do I talk to?”

“Just give me a second, okay?”

With a sign, Lexa sat the phone down on the edge of the car and went about the tough work of running some wires through the rear panel. If she was doing something with her hand, then she didn’t have to repeat the word sex nine hundred times per minute in her brain.

“You and Clarke are talking about having sex?”

“We’re talking about talking about it.”

“How long have you been dating?”

“Um since beginning of November. Almost six months.”

“Do you love her?”

“I don’t know. I mean…” Lexa paused her movements and furrowed. She hadn’t thought of it like that. It seemed almost insane to quantify her feelings into one word. She was excited to always see Clarke, and when she had a bad day, Clarke was the only person she really wanted to see, and when she did, the bad day just melted away. How was she supposed to figure out if it was love when she couldn’t compare it to anything else? She got butterflies still, when she saw her girlfriend. And Lexa felt this weird need to do things for Clarke, without being asked. She was helpful and attentive because the payoff of Clarke’s smile was worth even a few minutes of forethought. But she hadn’t considered that love, but maybe it was.

“I really don’t know. I like her a lot. I like how we are”

“That’s fair. I guess I should rephrase it. What makes you think you’re ready to have sex?”

“I really want to.”

“Okay, yeah, well everyone really wants to have sex, but what makes you think you’re ready? Can you confidently say where your boundaries are? Are you ready to have a much more intimate relationship with someone?”

“I was kind of just looking for more help in the mechanics of it.”

“That’s the easy part,” Anya smiled to herself as she took another sip of her coffee. The weather was changing, the spring breeze ruffled the trees so they loudly clamoured above as she moved with the crowd along the narrow sidewalk. “There’s a certain level of intimacy in having sex with someone, especially someone you really like. I’m not saying it’s good or bad, but it’s certainly different. Do you think you’re ready to do that?”

“I think so,” Lexa murmured after a moment of contemplation. She tapped a screwdriver against her thigh and stared at a single screw. “I really want to make her feel good and I know that sounds stupid, but I just… Sometimes it’s easier to want to kiss her than tell her exactly what I feel. I want to show her.”

“I can see how that would work. Just so long as you take a good bit of time and really consider it. And remember, even if you agree, you can change your mind at any time.”

“Ugh, not you too! Dad’s already given me a billion consent talks. I just want to go down on Clarke without making a fool of myself.”

Anya couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the outburst, but she somehow managed to hold her phone away from her mouth as she did. It took her a moment to recover.

“Just do what you like and listen to her. Ask her what she enjoys. Be receptive to how she sounds and moves. It’s really not that hard. Just give it your all.”

“This is all fine advice, but I still don’t know how to actually do it.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t like leaving it up to chance.”

“You’ll be fine, I promise. You care for Clarke and I think she’ll be able to show you a thing or two.”

“What does that mean?” Lexa paused her movements and furrowed.

“You’ll see.”

“I really don’t like the sound of that.”

“You will, I promise.”

“Are you coming home this summer?”

“I might. So, sex with your girlfriend, huh?”

“Maybe. Is it weird that I just… I want everything to keep going how it has been? It’s been so easy and nice and I didn’t think dating Clarke would be so … so… easy?”

“That’s not weird at all. It sounds like you are having a good time.”

“I’m going to ask her to go to prom.”

“Wow,” Anya smiled to herself, doing her best to sound surprised by the news, as if it wasn’t customary to take once’s girlfriend to prom. “Are you going to do a big ask?”

“Nah, I don’t think that’s me,” Lexa shrugged, even though no one would see it. “And I don’t think it’s Clarke. She’s not like… she’s not like what I would have thought. She’s better.”

“You’ve got it bad.”

“Nah.”

It was nice to talk to her sister. It was nice to be put at ease, even if she just heard a bunch of stuff she already knew. Lexa wasn’t sure how it came to be that she was someone who talked to her sister every few days and actually filled her in on her life. She wasn’t sure how she enjoyed spending Saturday morning with her parents going on a hike or breakfast. She wasn’t sure how it came to be that the head cheerleader was soft and quiet and warm and made her feel like she was full of helium, but it was all happening, and Lexa felt herself open up to the world again without ever realizing she had been closed.

XXXXXXXXXX

For an entire seventy-two hours, Lexa let it all rattle around in her head, the words and the ideas and the thought of it all. All at once it felt like she didn’t know what came next while also incredibly knowing and that held her stuck. She hadn’t thought to ask for more, and she wasn’t sure how to have it. She knew that it was important, and she knew that was a different step than the ones she’d already taken.

Nothing seemed to change with Clarke though.

Lexa still held her girlfriend’s hand between classes, and they still hung out and texted and kissed and no one said anything despite Lexa taking her sister’s advice to really think about what it all meant.

She didn’t know what it meant. Not truly.

“That’s it. I quit. My brain is melting out of my ears.”

With an exaggerated flourish, the body on the bed flopped over and tossed a notebook onto the floor. Eyes rolled back before a tongue hung out and Lexa smiled from her spot at her desk. The music played softly from the speaker on the bookshelf. It was already dark outside as they worked on studying, but the lights reflected so that outside didn’t exist at all.

“Your brain isn’t melting. It’s just growing and growing and will soon explode.”

“I think I prefer the melting,” Clarke sighed.

Lexa smiled to herself because there was the head cheerleader laying in her bed. And Clarke was wearing her old soccer sweatshirt and she was tired from after work, but still stopped by before heading home just for a few hours of studying.

“Would you like to go to prom with me?”

“Me?”

“Yeah you,” Lexa decided, cocking her head slightly. The corpse in her room rolled over again and lifted her head. “With me.”

“Was it the melting brain thing that really sold you?”

“I just like how you look in my bed.”

“Your bed is very comfortable.”

“I thought about the sex thing and I don’t know if I’m ready right now, or by prom or whatever, but I want to just keep doing things slowly if that’s okay?”

Clarke sat up so she was kneeling on the bed. She’d already rolled the sleeves of the sweatshirt that hung a little long on her. There was a hole over the letter on the left part of her chest. Her hair was falling out of a messy bun, and her cheeks had their dimples in them. Lexa took a moment to remember it.

“That’s fine by me.”

“It is?”

“I like how fluid everything is with you. I just wanted you to be aware of what you were feeling and what your limits were.”

“I don’t know them right now, but I’ll know them as things happen, if that’s okay.”

“Very okay.”

“Do you want to go to prom with me?”

“Didn’t I already say yes?”

“No.”

“Well then, yes.”

“Cool,” Lexa grinned, holding her chin on her palm.

Clarke relaxed slightly and smiled back.

“Cool.”

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thewayshedreamed · 5 years ago

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This Time— Part 4

A Nessian Fan Fic

Fic Masterlist

This update took me longer to get up than I expected! I overthought the shit out of it, but here it is, finally! Hope y’all enjoy a touch of Nessian fluff as much as y’all have appreciated the angst, but also, I’m sorry for the end of the chapter. 🤭

Warnings for strong language, mention of underage drinking, and mentions of grief.

Enjoy!

————————————————————————

After her heart no longer threatened to jump into her throat, Nesta managed to use the restroom and wash her hands, giving herself a silent pep talk in the mirror. She paused at the door, steeled herself, and walked into the bar, as if Cassian hadn’t completely mind-fucked her less than ten minutes ago.

Still determined to keep the night drama-free, she walked over to the bar, ordered herself two shots of whiskey, and walked over to their booth to sit. Amren had returned to the table, joined by Feyre, Mor, and Elain. Nesta slid into the booth next to the birthday girl, greeting her with a bump of her shoulder, and took the first of her shots.

“Oh gods. That looks terrible.” Elain scrunched up her nose as she stared at the next shot.

“It does the job!” Nesta took a deep breath and threw the second shot back with impressive speed. She was usually one to be more conservative on their nights out, so her back-to-back shots were met with cheers from around the table. Elain rested her head on Nesta’s shoulder as she giggled, followed by a slurred, “I’m so happy you’re here, Nessie. I love you.”

They ordered another round of drinks as they changed erratically from one topic of conversation to another. When Nesta heard the ice clinking at the bottom of her empty glass, she suddenly realized the compound effects of her earlier drinks, her shots, and the one she just finished. She noted how her vision was truly starting to blur as the room spun, and she felt her body flush. She leaned over to Elain and let her know she was going to step outside for some fresh air. She assured her repeatedly that she would be okay.— Yes, she had her phone on her.— No, she didn’t need anyone to accompany her. She slid out of the booth and walked briskly toward the front door of the bar.

Once she made it outside, she walked down the side of the building in an attempt to find a quieter spot to lean against the wall. There was a group of men outside; obviously having a celebration of sorts and being as loud and unruly as humanly possible. She aimed to increase her distance from them, walking down the building and closer and closer to the parking lot. She found herself staring down an aisle of parked vehicles, eyes landing on a familiar truck about halfway down the row. Before she realized where her feet were carrying her, she was staring at the tailgate of the truck, hand reaching for the handle. She worked through her faulty, drunken logic.

Surely he wouldn’t mind if I sat on his tailgate instead of the ground.

It’s likely a little safer to sit here than it would be right next to a group of drunk men, alone.

The group would be out for a while yet, so as long as she closed it, he’d never know anyway.

Tired of standing in her wedges and unable to think of a single reason not to do it, she lowered the tailgate. She turned around, braced herself on her hands, and hopped to lift herself enough to sit. She dangled her legs, swinging them back and forth lightly. She took a few steadying breaths, already feeling better than she had inside. There was a soft breeze kissing the back of her neck and cooling her cheeks. She felt incredibly content for the first time in weeks, and she shuddered at how the familiarity of where she sat contributed to the feeling.

After several minutes, she got bored of staring at the few cars across the aisle from her and the ones leaving. She scooted back several feet into the bed of the truck so that her legs were supported and lay back to look at the sky for a little while. She lost herself in trying to identify constellations that her mother had shown her years ago and whispered a quiet hello to the woman she missed so much. It was always surprising to her how many she remembered after all this time, especially considering that the pace of her life didn’t allow for much stargazing anymore.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the footsteps that approached from her left. She had located the five brights stars in a small “v” that told her she was looking at Taurus, and was tracing her gaze up to the two bright stars marking the horns when she was abruptly pulled from her thoughts.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” Cassian asked the question through a soft chuckle, but Nesta still jumped in surprise. Her head popped up, eyes snapping toward him instantly.

“Shit, Cassian. You scared me.” She relaxed into her prior position but angled her chin down to maintain eye contact. It was surprisingly comfortable in the bed of this truck.

He lifted his eyebrows at her words, one lifting slightly higher than the other. They always had when he was truly surprised, not that she noticed. His eyes were still upturned at the corners, and it calmed her to know he wasn’t annoyed with her blatant use of his property.

“I’m sorry?... That wasn’t my intention, but I didn’t really expect to see you in the bed of my truck, either. Kind of seems like you should have expected me to come by at some point, at least.” He was still giving her a mischievous smile, and she realized that she would have to quickly get a leash on her thoughts to get through another interaction.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head quickly. “Oh. Yea. No, I know. I think I just figured that I’d be back inside before you made it out here,” she said, as if it was the most reasonable explanation in the world. “Are you leaving? I’m really sorry, I’ll get out.” She sat up, but before she could start to scoot herself down, a broad hand wrapped gently around her shin.

”Stay. I’m not leaving anytime soon. Kallias left a little while ago, and he called me to tell me he thought he saw my tailgate down. I didn’t remember leaving the bed open, so I came out to check. Relax.” He offered a soft smile, and she felt her heart skip at his sincerity. He removed his hand from her shin to lean forward and brace himself on both hands. Her eyes caught on the little bit of his tattoos that were visible on his chest and traced down his arms. Before she could silently berate herself for her staring, he was speaking again.

“So. What are you doing out here, Archie?” He looked up from the tailgate, amusement crinkling his eyes at the corners. She groaned dramatically at the old nickname that he gave her in high school. She had a love-hate relationship with it; hate because it was awful, love because he coined it. He used it less and less as they got older, but it still made its appearance every now and then when he teased her.

“Gods, can we please let ‘Archie’ go? It’s so terrible.” She couldn’t help the small giggle that erupted out of her as she talked. She took a deep breath before answering his question. “My drinks hit me all at once inside, so I came out to get some fresh air.“ She adjusted her body a little to situate herself and lifted her gaze back to the sky. “I’m doing drunk people things and laying down to look at the stars until I can handle going back in there.” She gave a small smirk as she let her head fall to the side, looking at him again.

“For one, as long as I’m living, ‘Archie’ stays. You might as well lean into it. For two, perfectly reasonable. I’m glad I could offer the proper amenities for your drunk stargazing.” He winked at her then, a friendly gesture rather than suggestive in any way. She could tell he was more relaxed than before, the alcohol likely taking its effect on him, too.

She cleared her throat and asked the question on her tongue before she could think better of it.

“Are you in a hurry to go back inside? Join me?” She patted the space next to her for good measure.

You’re doing a terrible job of ‘leashing’ yourself, Nesta.

“I think I could spare a few minutes for you, Archie.” He turned around and easily sat on the tailgate. He pushed himself backwards to lay on his back next to her, only to be met with her hard glare. He let out a laugh then, shaking his head at her and looking at the sky.

“You know, this is pretty nostalgic.” He brought his arm to rest under his head, settling into a comfortable position as he spoke.

“I have to agree with you on that,” she said through a laugh. It was oddly reminiscent of their late high school and early college days of underage drinking at any and every party. So often, they would find themselves drunk, laying in the bed of his truck or on someone’s porch, sharing drinks and stories from earlier in the night.

“The only thing missing is a pint of cheap liquor that we had no business drinking.”

”Don’t forget the straw.” Nesta was grinning now and resisting the urge to look at him. His proximity, combined with their shared memories, was already a lot to navigate.

”I would never. I’ve received enough verbal lashings in my day to always remember the straw.” They were both laughing now, enjoying the comfortable banter. “I still don’t understand your insistence on that.” Their laughter faded into comfortable silence, and she noticed his head turn toward her lazily once they fell quiet. She looked over at him and watched his Adam’s apple bob before he spoke.

“I’ve really missed my friend,” he said quietly, as he shifted his arm closer to her. He grazed his knuckles over the back of her palm, and his eyes scanned her face.

She continued to look at him, unsure she could break it even if she tried. “Me too. Really.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

He swiftly picked up the heavier atmosphere settling over them and shifted both of his hands toward his body. He laced them over his stomach as he shifted his attention back to the sky. “So, which constellation were you so invested in when I walked up?”

She looked back up at the sky before answering him. “Taurus.”

“That’s a good one. Momma Archie would be proud that you remember.” She was touched by the affection she heard in his voice for her mother. He’d grown close to her in their years as friends and had taken it hard when she passed. His tone shifted into something a little more playful when he said: “Even though you’re feeding every rom com stereotype of the drunk girl, staring wistfully at the stars, and—“

She interrupted him with a laugh and a jab to the ribs. “Shut up! Don’t you dare make fun of me, you shit.”

He feigned a deep groan, as if her jab had truly wounded him, and clutched his side. “Gods, keep your sharp elbows on your side of the truck.” He seemed to recover quickly, his tone dripping with jest, “Is this the part where I point out a really obscure constellation that reminds me of you, and you fall madly in love with me?” There was nothing implied by the question, she realized; his only aim to give her a hard time.

“As if I would expect you to know any of them. Much less the rare ones,” she deadpanned, even though she failed to completely hide her smile. Before she knew what was happening, he was sitting up suddenly and rolling toward her. His hands found each side of her rib cage, and he started to tickle her mercilessly.

“Don’t be a jerk! I’m more than just a pretty face, I’ll have you know.” He was laughing as he spoke, fully delighting in her misery.

“Okay, okay, okay! You win! Cassian, PLEASE.” She was laughing so hard that tears started to pool in the corners of her eyes.

He finally stopped his torture, looking down at her through bright eyes. She was acutely aware of how close his face was to hers, their noses almost touching. She felt the weight of his leg casually thrown over one of hers during the tousle, and she blushed at the heat she felt throughout her body at the contact. His eyes softened slightly and, before she could ask him what was wrong, he spoke softly. “Fuck... I was hoping some time away from you would help a little more.” He lingered for only a couple of seconds, shifted his weight, and rolled away from her to sit up on the tailgate.

It took her mind a minute to realize his meaning, and she immediately felt guilty. This was all her fault to begin with, not only in how she responded to him those weeks ago, but in inviting him to sit with her tonight. She sat up next to him and placed her hands under her thighs to avoid reaching for him.

She furrowed her brows and cleared her throat. “And I’m assuming that it didn’t help as much as you wanted?” It was odd conversation to broach, but it seemed insensitive to say nothing at all.

His hands were braced on the outside of his thighs, his shoulders slumped as he looked out into the parking lot. He turned his head toward her subtly, only looking at her through his side eye.

”Didn’t even touch it.” He gave her a sad smile before he broke eye contact.

One would assume that after ten years of friendship, she would no longer be surprised at how open he could be. She marveled at the genuine man next to her and how he managed to never let the trauma of life change who he was. She envied him, to a certain extent, because she didn’t think herself capable of trying to even fake that level of openness with others.

“Cass, I’m sorry, I—“

”Don’t.” There was no bite in his words, only an insistence that she not blame herself. “It’s ok.” He ran one hand through his long curls before hopping off the tailgate. He extended his hand to her.

“Ready to go back? The ladies will send the troops looking for you if you stay out much longer.”

She accepted his hand long enough to slide off the tailgate and gain solid footing. She smoothed the back of her jeans to make sure they weren’t dusty, straightened her blazer, and offered him a smile.

“You lead the way.”

——————————————————————————

It was only another hour or so that passed before Elain felt she had sufficiently celebrated her birthday. They were sitting in their booth again, joined by Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel. Mor had dragged Cassian and Amren to the dance floor, clearly having gotten her second wind.

Elain yawned and looked over to Nesta. “Nessie... Would you be ready to go?”

”Sure, El. Want me to get you home? I can get us a Lyft.”

”Mmm. I’m thinking slumber party. Your house.” She smiled sweetly, knowing she was going to request birthday breakfast the next morning.

Nesta rolled her eyes knowingly. “Fine. My house it is.” She ordered their car.

“Hey! I wanna come!” Feyre’s blue eyes flared, and her expression was one of a petulant toddler. It was a reaction bred from years as the family baby, always fearing she was being left out. Nesta felt another rush of affection for her; for both of them.

Within minutes, they were piling into a small SUV. Feyre sat behind the driver, Elain in the middle, and Nesta slid in next to her. Their driver was polite and quiet, confirming their destination and falling silent the rest of the drive.

“Nessie, I’m mad at you.” Elain slurred the words as she rested her head on Feyre’s shoulder, eyes closed. Nesta snapped her head in her direction, not even remotely aware of what she could have possibly done to upset her in the last five minutes.

“What the hell for?!” Her voice wasn’t loud, but her surprise was obvious.

”Because you’re friends with Az.”

Nesta was quiet for a moment as she considered. ”You’re going to have to give me more to go off of, El.”

Elain huffed a breath through her nose and said, “You’re so close to Az. And that sucks for me because he’s never going to even look at me. Cause I’m your little sister. And he’s nice and considerate and wouldn’t want to make you mad.”

Ohhh, I see. So she’s confirming what we all knew already. She likes Azriel.

Feyre let out a soft giggle and lay her head on top of Elain’s. She rested her hand affectionately on Elain’s leg, a gesture that aimed to soothe her sister’s drunken anxieties. Nesta couldn’t fight her smile at Elain’s “angry” words and disguised her amusement as best as possible as she spoke.

“Ellie, I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s not like Az is afraid of me in the slightest. Plus, he’s basically the only man that I’d find worthy of you.”

”Okay. Well, nevermind, then.” She yawned and was dozing within seconds.

Nesta’s eyes met Feyre’s identical ones across the car, and they both had to suppress their giggles to avoid waking her. The night had been a roller coaster of emotions, and she wasn’t sure how she could ever survive life’s ups and downs without the two women in the car with her. Sure, there were times where her and Feyre would almost come to blows, and Elain’s gentle spirit would tire of their hotheadedness. But no one else would ever know her like they knew her.

Thinking over the course of the night, she started to feel compelled to reach out to Cassian. She alternated between the compulsion and the rationale part of her brain (likely the sobering part) that was telling her it was a terrible idea.

Are we okay? Does he resent me even more? Is he annoyed that I put us in this position?

Why do you care? This is what you wanted. What you demanded of him.

She suppressed the reason threatening to deter her, opened their text thread, and typed a short message.

N: It was really was good to see you tonight. Sorry I didn’t get to say bye. Just wanted to reach out and tell you to be safe getting home.

She hit send before she could overthink it and locked her phone to avoid staring at the screen. She knew she would only find herself willing the ellipsis to pulse and show he was typing. As luck would have it, they were already pulling up to her apartment complex, and her attention would be monopolized by getting her sisters inside and comfortable. They woke Elain up and prompted her to walk inside to Nesta’s bedroom. She dug through her drawers to get them each some nightclothes, all but forced them to wash their faces, and forced spare toothbrushes into their hands. She padded into her room to change into her own night clothes, plugged in all of their phones, and made sure they each had a pillow across her king bed. She chuckled to herself at the eldest sister caregiving behaviors that would likely never leave her. Elain and Feyre walked briskly into the room, Elain announcing proudly that she called ‘middle’ as the birthday girl. They settled into the sheets and both of her little sisters were asleep within minutes. She was on the brink of unconsciousness herself when her phone vibrated on her bedside table, startling her awake. She blinked against the brightness of the screen to focus on who was calling her.

Shit, it’s Cassian. Shit shit shit.

She hit ‘accept’ and quickly brought the phone to her ear. She whispered her “Hello?” before glancing over at her sisters to make sure they weren’t disturbed. Not in the slightest.

She was met with rustling sounds, much like those of someone’s pocket during an accidental dial, and muffled conversations. She assumed he had, in fact, pocket dialed, but she waited a few more seconds. She told herself she should just in case he was trying to get situated, sabotaged by the alcohol coursing through his system. She repeated her greeting but didn’t want to get any louder for her sisters’ sakes. She was about to hang up when she heard his voice coming clearly through the phone.

“I know! I haven’t seen you in what, almost a year?”

”Yea, almost exactly! I’m surprised we don’t run into each other more often, to be honest.” The second voice was unfamiliar and unmistakably female. She felt her stomach lurch, but she couldn’t hang up.

Cassian laughed casually and said, “No kidding. It’s not like Velaris is so big.”

”Shit. I think my friends are leaving me. I’ll see you next week though, right?” Her tone was clear, insinuating that she knew his answer.

”Absolutely. Is Wednesday after work ok? Around 5:30?”

”Ill be there! Bye, Cassian!” There was more rustling, as if they had come together in a hug, but she acknowledged that her imagination was likely torturing her.

“Sounds like a plan. See you then, Alis!”

Hearing her name is what finally had her ending the call and tossing her phone back onto the table. Her head was swimming. She was suddenly humiliated at her earlier text, wishing she had never sent it.

You should feel better, honestly. He probably doesn’t resent you. He may not have given your actions a second thought at all. He’s moving on.

She turned over before she could be consumed by her thoughts, tucked her face into the side of Elain’s shoulder, and drifted off to sleep.

————————————————————————

A/N: I just want to thank y’all again for the support I’ve gotten for this fic. Y’all really have been the best! My apologies for how this one ended, but we’re getting somewhere, I promise! Please don’t kill me 🙈

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#nessian #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #nesta #cassian #acotar #nessian au #nessian fwb #nessian angst #nessian fanfic #acowar #acomaf #nessian fluff #archeron sisters

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hisheartsmile · 4 years ago

Text

I'm Fine... Save Me - I (mini series)

Characters: Namjoon, Taehyung

Genre: Angst, fluff

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: anxiety attack, depression thoughts

'Come on, Tae, you can do it,' Taehyung thinks to himself. "Well, I don’t know…" He feels his face hotter than normal. He's pretty sure his ears are bright red. "Maybe... we could cuddle?"

"Cuddle? Wha-" Taehyung interrupts Namjoon. "Please?" His eyes are watery now. He tries hard not to break into tears. God, he hates being so sensitive. "I kinda need it right now." He hates to admit it, but it's true, he craves for some warmth, and not just anyone's.

A/N: Since this fic (and all the ones I've written so far) is canon compliant, I should tell you that this would take place after Namjoon and Taehyung stop being roommates. What Taehyung is going through is 'inspired' by Black Swan and the hardships BTS experienced at the beginning of 2018. Pardon my English and my poor writing skills. Please, enjoy!

***

Taehyung's heart races faster and faster as he walks towards Namjoon's room. He can't believe he's finally doing this, but he knows it's worse to keep his thoughts to himself, or at least that's what he tries to convince himself of - he'll feel better once he tells him. Still, he's so nervous his legs are like jelly. Shaking his head, he tries to calm himself.

Once he gets there, he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

He finds Namjoon lying on his bed, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. Besides him, there is a Koya cushion. He looks peaceful and relaxed. In fact, he's immersed in one of his favourite art books so he doesn't even notice Taehyung's presence.

"Hey" says Taehyung finally.

The older rises his head. "Hey, what’s up?" he says smiling, his adorable dimples teasing his cheeks. 'How can he be so cute?' the younger thinks while approaching his hyung.

"Not much, just wanted to hang out with you for a bit, if you don't mind." Taehyung crinkles his eyes, showing off his boxy smile. Mentally thanking his acting skills, he can't believe how much he's shaking.

He can see that Namjoon was not expecting it, because he looks slightly surprised. "Oh, okay." He puts the book in the first drawer, then he moves a bit (dropping Koya on the floor in the process) so that Taehyung can seat beside him. The bed is softer than he'd imagined and, surprisingly, that helps him feel a bit more relaxed.

"You know, since we stopped being roommates I’ve been thinking." There is a pause. "About us." Namjoon knits his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Taehyung is somehow relieved, starting a serious conversation is more difficult than the conversation itself (or at least that's what Taehyung thinks), and he's done it. However, the younger doesn't have enough courage to look at his leader. Fitgeting with his fingers helps him a bit.

"Well, I think we didn't take advantage of it. We only slept and fought. We never watched a movie together or talked about stuff."

The leader remembers that time Taehyung stayed up until 5 am playing games. Even though that night he got angry and had wished he could sleep alone and have some peace for good, the memory warms his heart. "You’re right."

"Do you think we could do it now?" Again, Namjoon is confused. "What? Watch a movie or talk about stuff?"

'Come on, Tae, you can do it,' Taehyung thinks to himself. "Well, I don’t know…" He feels his face hotter than normal. He's pretty sure his ears are bright red. "Maybe... we could cuddle?"

Well, this is unexpected. Namjoon knows the maknae line and Hobi cuddle a lot, but none of them go to him for this. It's not that he doesn't like it, he just doesn't know where to put his hands or what to say... He feels a bit akward. But, in all honesty, saying that he hasn't thought of joining them more than once would be a lie. Taehyung turns to him and, seeing Namjoon's puzzlement in his eyes, he can't help but feel a bit hurt. Well, a lot.

"Cuddle? Wha-" Taehyung interrupts him. "Please?" His eyes are watery now. He tries hard not to break into tears. God, he hates being so sensitive. "I kinda need it right now." He hates to admit it, but it's true, he craves for some warmth, and not just anyone's.

Something in Namjoon's chest breaks. Then, he panics - he doesn't know how to react. What he knows, though, is that he can't stand seeing the younger like this. "Oh, Tae. Of course, cm’ere."

And so they cuddle. Taehyung is now hugging a pillow, staring at the door. He feels Namjoon's breath against his neck, the beating of his heart against his back, the warmth of his long and strong arms holding him tight. He doesn't want this to end, he could stay like this forever. In his arms, it's like nothing wrong can happen. But Tae promised himself he'll talk to Namjoon about everything that's happened.

"Are you cold? You're shaking," the leader asks. "No," he says.

"Well then, what’s wrong?" Taehyung takes a deep breath. "I just... I- I know it sounds stupid but..." 'Oh, God, I can't say it, but- but I have to. Why am I so nervous anyway? It's not that big of a deal... right? Ugh, please, now Joonie must think I'm dumb.'

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Namjoon reassures. Taehyung's heart melts. "No, no. I want to," he says, determined. "It's just that I feel stupid, I don't know why I'm feeling like this."

Namjoon smiles to himself. He knows what Taehyung's going through, he's had the same thoughts more than once.

"There's nothing wrong with feeling things, Tae. We can't control it. Um, would it help if I told you how I'm feeling right now?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Okay. Well, I'm pretty nervous." He takes a deep breath. "Tomorrow I'm going to show Bang PD-nim a new song I'm writing and I'm, I don't know, I'm scared he will reject it."

Namjoon hadn't planned on telling him. He's actually quite surprised at this impulse, because he just said it to reassure Taehyung and soothe his nerves.

"Why? You're so talented, hyung, I love your songs." Namjoon strokes Taehyung's arm with affection, as if trying to tell him that he appreciates it.

"Tae, a lot of my songs have been rejected before, you know that, and every time it happens, I feel a bit more vurnerable. As if they were taking a small part of me. And there is a lot of pressure, considering I'm the leader and so... but I have to work hard either way."

This is something he's never said to anyone before. He's always thought that if the others knew how sensitive their leader is or how hard it is for him to get it right, they would start doubting his writing skills. Would they prefer to write songs with someone else? Would they question Namjoon's decisions? Somehow, he knows Taehyung will understand - not completely, of course, but at least he won't judge him. At the same time, he will keep him down to earth.

"I'm sorry. It must be difficult," Taehyung says simply. But it's all Namjoon needed to hear.

"It is. Well, you know what I'm talking about, right? You've composed quite a lot of wonderful songs as well. The rejections and the difficulty of it all is worth it in the end. Isn't it? Because then it leads to an improved song." Taehyung nods. "Besides, now I'm calm, you're so warm."

Taehyung laughs nervously. His face is definitely red now, he's glad Namjoon can only see the back of his neck.

"I'm very comfy too."

"Do you think you can tell me what's wrong now?" Tae realises Namjoon is being cautious, he really doesn't want to make him feel forced to talk about his feelings. His soft voice brings Tae so much comfort. "I think so."

"Take your time."

Taehyung breathes deeply. It's time. Before saying anything, he closes his eyes and imagines Namjoon's beautiful smile, a smile that sometimes is difficult to look at, for Taehyung wishes it would never fade away.

"I missed you. Well, I miss you." Silence. Oh God, now he wishes he could see Joon's face, has he scared him off? "There, I said it."

But Joon only manages to say, "Taehyung, I- I don't know what to say."

And he's not lying, he really is at a loss of words. It frustrates him, words have always been Namjoon's forte, but now a pain in his chest prevents him from processing what Taehyung just told him. 'He misses me?' He doesn't know what to feel about it.

"It's okay, I just wanted to tell you." says Tae, and without any warning, his eyes start watering again. "Because it's true. I know we still see each other, and a lot. But I actually really liked living with you." Namjoon doesn't want to interrupt him, not only because he wouldn't know what to say, but because he wants Taehyung to tell him everything, now that he's letting it all out. Bottling up feelings is not pretty. "You are very special to me, hyung. I didn't know that before, and then I wasn't sure about what I was feeling."

There is silence. Again. But it's not awkward, not this time - in fact, it feels necessary. Namjoon is giving himself some time and even though Taehyung is dying inside, he notices Namjoon's arms are still holding him, keeping him safe and sound, which makes him feel at ease.

"And now you are?"

"I am." Taehyung hasn't been more sure of anything in his life. What's more, he hasn't overthought about anything more than about what he feels about his hyung.

"Turn around." says Namjoon with a soft voice.

"What?" Taehyung gets cold feet. "No. Don't want you to see me like this."

"Oh come on, Tae. We've seen each other cry too many times."

Tae doubts for several seconds but he deeply trusts Joon, so he faces him. Still, he tries to hide his crying face with his hand. Namjoon gently grabs his wrist.

"Hey, it's okay. Tae, look at me."

"No, I can't," Taehyung refuses, his chin tucked to his chest.

"Tae, I want you to look at me in the eyes when I tell you this." Namjoon's voice is steady.

'Oh no', the younger thinks, 'I screwed up.' He now knows he should have stayed silent. Taehyung shakes his head.

Namjoon holds Taehyung's head high with his hands on his cheeks, and removes some tears with his thumbs. A shiver runs through Taehyung's body, those beautiful brown eyes looking right at him.

"You can count on me." says Namjoon finally. Taehyung's heart skips a beat. "What is wrong?"

'What?' Taehyung is confused. 'Is he kidding? Does he want me to say it again so he can laugh right at my face?' That's what he thinks at first, his anxiety getting the worst of him. But no, Namjoon is not like that.

"What do you mean?"

"There's something else going on, right?"

That hits him hard.

Taehyung's scared, his hair standing on the back of his neck. He's scared because Namjoon can see right through him. Yes, there is something else that keeps him up at night. He'd wanted to ignore it, bury it until it disappeared, until he forgot it had even existed. But Namjoon knows him too well.

"I'm fine." But the leader has to catch another tear that falls on his right cheek, he's weeping now. Namjoon's expression is very serious and he looks worried. Taehyung hates it, that's his fault.

"Please, let me help you. All I want is for you to be alright."

Taehyung refuses to tell him, he can't tell him. "But I am alright," he insists.

"Are you?"

Taehyung's chest starts burning. He tries to stop the tears so that he can look past the window, with the wish of distracting himself with the sight of the snow, the white trees and the Christmas decorations. But somehow Namjoon's words have affected him more than he thought they would, and he finally realises his problem is too big, too heavy for him to endure on his own. Instead of stopping the tears, he starts sobbing.

"No, I'm not. Hyung, I'm not okay," says Taehyung between sobs. "I have all these... these awful thoughts. I can't make them stop. I can't seem to enjoy music anymore. I feel horrible Namjoon, but at the same time I think I'm empty - yes, empty," he clutches his chest. "like there's a void in my chest." He's crying so hard he's basically babbling, the older has to make an effort in order to understand him. "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me?"

Suddenly, he starts breathing fast, incredibly fast, until he can't breath at all. He's having an anxiety attack.

Namjoon is frozen, he didn't expect this to escalate so quickly and for a moment he doesn't know what to do.

"Tae, oh my God, breath. Taehyungie, please."

But he can't, it's as if there's no air to breathe in. Namjoon sits up straight and helps Taehyung do the same. Then he hugs him, Taehyung's arms lying dead on his sides for he doesn't have strength. "I'm here with you, Tae." He strokes his broad back. "Breathe with me, c'mon." He puts his hands under Taehyung's shirt, feeling the contrast of temperature between his and Taehyung's skin. "Oh God, you're burning. Come on, breathe in."

It takes a lot of effort, but after a few seconds and thanks to Namjoon's words, he can finally take a breath of air.

"Good, good. Breathe out." And they breathe at the same time, Namjoon's hands on Taehyung's back, Taehyung's chin on Namjoon's shoulder, tears falling on his sweater. "Breathe in, breathe out," he keeps saying.

After a while, Tae is feeling much better, and he finally hugs him back. "Breathe in, breathe out."

***

Taehyung wakes up. His head is killing him and he's drenched in sweat. At first, it's all confusion, he's alone in bed, but it's not his. He scans the room, now full of curiosity and -he can't deny it- fear. There is nothing that can serve as a clue until he makes out something next to the wooden chair: a bonsai.

That's when he remembers. Namjoon's puzzlement, his soft voice, his warmth against his back. But above all, Taehyung's anxiety attack. He is, once more, overtaken by panic. 'Oh my God, Namjoon must've freaked out.' He must think he's crazy. What if he told the other members that he doesn't enjoy music anymore? Or worse, what if he told Bang PD-nim?'

He sits up, not sure about what happened after he had the attack. Maybe he fell asleep? Namjoon was hugging him... He looks at his left, where the older was sitting last night, and he sees it.

A folded paper.

Masterlist

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astraeagreengrass · 5 years ago

Text

French Press

Sam Wilson has a crush on two things: good coffee and you

Pairing: EMT!Sam Wilson x Nurse!Reader

Word Count:1.981

Warnings: bad words, probably bad descriptions of medical professions and f l u f f

A/N: This is my submission to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan @littledarlinhavefaithinme "Little Darlin's Mystery AU Challenge". Thank you Clea for hosting this challenge! My prompt was EMT/paramedic featuring Sam Wilson. Many thanks to the only person lovelier than Captain America - Dani @xbuchananbarnes who kindly kept up with me rambling on and on about this for weeks. The banner picture was found here. I hope you like it ♡

Sam Wilson was having a really bad day.

He had slept in, having missed his alarm by well over forty minutes, and when his - goddamned, motherfucking, idiotic - roommate Bucky started banging on the door warning that they were going to be late, Sam rose in a flash, tripping on the strewn covers and stubbing his left pinky toe on the foot of the bed. Howling in pain, he half-entered, half-fell in the shower, scrubbing himself as fast as he could while muttering curses under the cold water.

The temperature was just warming up when he got out, only to realize he forgot to get a towel from the clean laundry basket. Trusting that drying himself off with a face towel was less humiliating than asking Bucky for a regular one - even if it meant going over his legs five times - Sam lost even more precious minutes, having to forgo his beloved french-pressed coffee in order to get to the hospital on time. Barnes could be a dick sometimes, but he was the best ambulance driver in the city, and, right now, Sam’s only hope.

Only they were not on the ambulance yet, and New York City's traffic didn't make way for Bucky's old Camaro - "It's vintage!" - the way it did for first responders. So when the tires screeched in front of Brooklyn General and the two friends rushed to the ER, they were greeted by the displeased face of their supervisor, Maria Rambeau.

"Please come in" she said in mock welcome. "I'm sure emergencies can wait for the princesses to get their beauty sleep."

And because anything in life that can go wrong will go wrong, you happened to pass by precisely as Sam was spilling out apology after apology. From the corner of his eye, he saw you stifling a laugh as you ducked behing Maria to get to the women’s rest room.

That was Monday.

Late evening blended into early morning and Sam found himself in the hospital cafeteria, upper body slumped on a chair and legs stretched in another. He always found it funny how healthcare professionals were usually the ones with the most unhealthy habits - like the irregular sleeping habits and the copious amount of bad coffee. Still, over and over again he took refuge on beige walls of the cafeteria, trying to find a modicum of rest between calls.

So far, the night had brought in an amateur archer with a cracked rib and a teenager with a allergic reaction to spiders. All in all, not a bad 24-hour shift.

Sunlight was just beginning to filter through the shutters when you walked in with Carol Danvers, another nurse. Your scrubs were rumpled and there was a dot of smudged mascara under your eyes. A thin line streamed your cheek from where the surgical mask sat and he was sure your hands were dry and scratchy from the latex gloves just like his were. Even so, to Sam, you were as beautiful as you did when you arrived yesterday morning, if only for the twinkled of mischief he could still catch in your gaze.

Next to him, Bucky snickered.

“You’re so whipped.”

That was Tuesday.

The first time you saw each other outside the hospital, it was a coincidence.

Sam turned left at the coffee aisle and there you were - almost unrecognizable in legging pants and a cap, bopping to a song he couldn’t hear on your earphones. You looked worlds away from the capable nurse he knew you were, staring absentmindedly at the rows of grains, weighing different options on each hand.

He couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the familiar white packaging on your right palm or the way the black pants hugged your calves and thighs in a soft curve your scrubs could never achieve. Somehow, finding you in the domestic setting of the local grocery store brought the words out of Sam’s lips, past lungs and vocal cords, toppling the insecurity that lived at the tip of his tongue.

“The Colombian one is great,” he blurted out.

Your removed an earbud, then the other. Your confused frown morphed into the most beautiful stretch of lips when you recognized the tall man at the end of the aisle.

“Hey,” you beamed. “I know you.”

I know you.

“From the hospital,” you quickly explained yourself, not knowing you didn’t have to. “You're Sam, right?”

On the inside, he was hyperventilating.

Oh my God, she knows me.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Sam Wilson.”

Two steps forward and he was close enough to extend his arm. The handshake was brief and polite, but thrilling. Sam sensed the gentle caress of your palm on every nerve ending of his body. He was wrong yesterday: your hands were so soft it felt as though you'd never once wore latex gloves.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you said and damn it sounded so much better coming from your mouth rather than someone else’s. “Since you’re a friend, do you think you can help me understand this coffee?”

Friend. Friend. Cool. Helping a friend at the grocery store. He could do that. Friend. Get it together, Wilson.

Sam cleared his throat again.

“Well, I use a French Press, so if that’s your thing I’d suggest a medium or dark roast. That one is one of my favorites,” he pointed to the small white bag you were still holding in the cradle of your elbow.

“Oh wow, you’re a pro,” you laughed. “I don’t think I can operate anything more complicated than a coffee bag.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.

“A coffee bag? Really? That’s like a crime against coffee!”

You giggled, carefree, melodious and slightly embarrassed, like the first warm breeze after a long winter, still shy and oblivious to her greatness.

“In my defense, I’ve been trying to get better,” you claimed. “I don’t think I can survive much longer with the cafeteria coffee as my standard.”

“You’re right about that,” Sam said. Then, in a push of his good luck, he added. “Hey, if you want you can borrow my book on coffee recipes. When’s your next shift?”

“Tomorrow morning,” you replied. “And thank you! Are you sure you won’t need your book?”

“Not at all!” he shook his head. “Besides, it would a crime to let you keep using those coffee bags.”

And there it was again, the laugh. He could keep hearing it forever.

There was a pause, then. That awkward silence in the middle of a sentence when someone wishes they could say more but they don't know how to. It's child's play all over again, from the itch at the tip of the fingers to the flutter in the stomach. In a few moments of quiet, everything is a lot - emotions are too intense, too noisy and too much, toppling over careful overthought expectations of an infatuated heart.

He saves the memory of your smile, willing it to be good fortune, read from coffee grounds sitting on a an empty cup.

“Ok, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam.”

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

That was Wednesday.

He found you at the nurses’ station.

Standard green scrubs, hair out of your face, glasses on the bridge of your nose. There was a pink stain on your middle finger from the neon pen you used to highlight patient’s prontuary.

He’d never seen you in glasses before and something about them made his heart beat faster.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, fingers drumming the countertop in a nervous tick disguised as smooth greeting.

“Oh. Hey, Sam, ” you offered. Next to you, Carol Danvers looked like the cat that ate the canary. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” he nodded. “What about you? Committing any coffee sins recently?”

“I’ll let you know my coffee bags are safe and healthy, thank you very much,” you grinned and laughter bubbled from him in easy breaths of adoration.

“Here,” Sam slid a small rectangular to you. “The recipe book I promised you.”

You held it to your chest like a precious gift and he crumbled, tiny pieces of man falling apart in earth-shattering joy.

“Thank you so much,” you said. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Please,” Sam whispered, either to you or to himself, he wasn’t sure. “Please do.”

That was Thursday.

It took Bucky a lot of convincing, but he eventually let Sam take the Camaro.

"Never call her old again, ya hear me?" he complained. "Not when she's helping you get your girl."

Sam was going to call it something a lot worse if he didn’t manage to find a place to park soon.

On it’s defense, it was Friday night on Fulton Street. Chances of finding a parking space were little to none, even if you were a man with a crush and a nice car. So when he finally reaches you, looking pretty in a dress under the artificial light of a café, he’s just a little breathless from racing down three blocks.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed and you beamed, brighter than the signboard, or his headlights or the first twinkling star shining through the foggy city sky.

“Hey,” you said. “I thought you’d bailed on me.”

“Never,” he breathed out. “I just… Idrovemybestfriendscartoimpressyoubuttherewasnoparkingspace.”

“What?”

“I wanted to impress you, so I borrowed my friend’s car,” he admitted. “Only there was no parking space, so I had to go around the block a few times.”

Relief flooded from you and your shoulders visibly relaxed - but not enough.

The text came ungodly early, in an hour that most people would consider impolite, but not you and definitely not him. In your line of work, odd hours were just regular hours.

Hey Sam, it’s Y/N. Y/N L/N. I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from an EMT named Steve. He said he’s your friend. Anyway, there’s this café in Bed-Stuy that’s doing a “French Press Festival”. I don’t know what that means but I thought maybe you’d like to come. With me. Like friends, of course. To honor good coffee.

He said yes of course. Perhaps more than once.

“I have something to confess, too,” you said. “I thought you’d found out about it and that’s why you didn’t show.”

Sam froze.

“I’m not a coffee newbie,” you admitted. “I actually know a lot about it. But when we met at the supermarket you seemed so enthusiastic… And honestly, I’d tried to find so many excuses to talk to you at the hospital but I was embarrassed - you make me nervous!”

And nervous you were, fingers twisting each other in a painful, agitated grip.

“I didn’t want to ruin the first good opportunity I got by saying that I knew the Colombian coffee was awesome, and yes, coffee bags should be banned from the face of the planet.”

There are moments that define a boy's heart. Shape it like more than muscle and blood, with something akin to manhood. Sam Wilson was grown - long limbs, tall frame and brave heart - but something in your presence screamed schoolyard crush and teenage fever at him. Like a toddler learning to walk or a boy tasting love for the first time. Like an adult discovering that some things feel better when they speed through older veins.

Sam’s smile was an earthquake - shattering the ground and dismantling structures in its wake. It rattled the five feet keeping you apart, pushing your bodies forward finally.

“I must say I was a little disappointed when you mentioned coffee bags,” he stated. Then he opened the café door and mentioned you forward. “But not as disappointed as I’ll be if say you’ll prefer Chemex over French Presses.”

You grinned and maybe Sam’s fortune was read before the coffee was poured.

“I guess you’re in luck, Mr. Wilson.”

That was Friday.

That was the beginning.

#ldamc #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson fanfic #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x female reader #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson x you #corneliabarnes #my writing

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emotionalgirl101 · 5 years ago

Text

Minho - Unintentionally

Scenario | 1.5k

Summary: You were in the beginning stages of seeing this guy, Jisung. You weren’t really a thing as such, but you were starting to crush on him. You were so involved in spending time with him and his friends that you didn’t notice the other set of eyes looking at you.

So my girl @unloyaljisung inspired this scenario. Isn’t it funny how we are determined to stay loyal to our bias, but we acknowledge the fact we have bias wreckers. Sometimes they work their magic and we swerve into their lane.

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

It was unintentional. An accident. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You hadn’t planned it. It was never something you’d thought about, even in your wildest dreams. But it happened.

You had swung by the boys’ apartment. It wasn’t unusual. You’d rocked up with late notice before. You didn’t really need to make an announcement as you walked through the door. All the boys were in the living room, playing on their Switch. Some sitting on the couch, some on the floor, the others sprinkled throughout the adjoining kitchen.

“Y/n!” Felix called, raising an arm in the air as a brief ‘hello’ before his eyes fixed back onto the screen. The race was starting. A few more greetings were called out to you from the rest of the boys. Jisung didn’t say a word. He was already on his feet, approaching where you were standing by the door. He enveloped you in a big, warm hug. You hoped he couldn’t hear the erratic beating of your heart. He withdrew, staring back at you.

You had unofficially been seeing Jisung. You’d only known each other for a short time, but in the past few weeks, he knew more about you than some of your oldest friends. It was because he asked. He wanted to know all the little things, like how to comfort you if you’re upset, if you get sick easily, your go-to order at cafes. He genuinely cared. That was refreshing to you.

“What earrings are those?” He gestured to your ear with his right hand, shoving his left in his pocket. You smiled, telling him where you bought them, then followed him to the couch. Minho had moved to the kitchen and Hyunjin happily offered you his spot on the couch. You thanked him, even though you felt bad he gave up his spot so you could sit with Jisung.

You hadn’t gotten quite to the level of skinship that he had with the others. You didn’t mind taking it slow. You weren’t even sure if he saw you as more than a friend at this point. He seemed more reserved when it came to you, but you didn’t question it.

The younger boys offered you a few turns on the Switch, playing MarioKart in teams. It was you and Jeongin against Felix and Hyunjin. The other boys from the kitchen, Chan, Woojin and Minho, rejoined you all in the living room. They brought over snacks, a huge bowl of popcorn, some chips and a mix of chocolate and lollies for everyone to share.

Everyone was screaming at the TV on the final lap. Felix was currently first, Jeongin third and you and Hyunjin kept fighting for fifth place. Jisung was so invested, yelling words of encouragement at both you and Jeongin. You smiled even more at the fact that you’d surpassed Hyunjin and one of the bots. You were placing fourth now and Jeongin was racing against Felix to the finish line. “Y/n, watch out! Hyunjinnie is on your tail!” Seungmin gave you the heads up.

In a blink of an eye it was all over. Felix placed first, but since Jeongin had pulled in close behind and you had successfully battled your way into third place, your team had won. Jisung and Jeongin jumped up to celebrate the victory. Hyunjin was still happy, a huge smile on his face watching Jeongin and Jisung dancing around the living room. Seungmin was all smiles, too, clapping Hyunjin on the back to acknowledge his efforts. Felix was already setting up the next round, while Chan and Woojin were laughing with you as Jeongin and Jisung were commentating the win. You still hadn’t noticed the set of eyes on you.

“Alright, who’s next?” Felix turned around to look at the others. “I’ll play.” Seungmin raised his hand lazily, accepting what was previously Hyunjin’s controller. Jeongin handed his to Chan and Woojin took your place. Felix offered his controller to Minho, who was leaning against the wall, but he politely shook his head ’no’. Jisung didn’t decline the offer from Felix. He was way too amped up from your win. You were kind of scared how he’s react to his own. You smiled at him as an expression of concentration took over his face.

You felt a shiver run through you, suddenly realising it was getting a bit chilly. Jisung noticed. “Are you cold?” He broke concentration to tend to you. The others were still choosing their characters. “A little?” You kind of shrugged it off, eyes back to the TV, as Jisung spoke. “You can borrow a hoodie if you want.” The offer made your heart quicken. You’d never worn anything of his before. You knew he didn’t mean much by it from how nonchalant he was about it.

“I don’t know where your room is, though.” You hesitated, not wanting to tear him away from the game. A silly thought, but he was enjoying himself. You didn’t want to get in the way. “Minho hyung, will you take Y/n to our room? She’s borrowing a hoodie.”

Minho pushed himself casually from the wall, “whose?” He questioned, slightly teasing. Jisung was oblivious to it, just like he was to what effect his next words would have on you. “Whoever’s.” You had to hide the fact that it stung a bit. You’d overthought the gesture. It didn’t mean he liked you, but it didn’t mean he didn’t, either. You watched Minho’s reaction. He just nodded, moving past the couch and waited for you in the entryway of the hall.

You followed the older boy. You hadn’t had any proper exchanges with him. You knew he and Jisung were close, but he kept to himself most of the time. Then again, there were a few exceptions, like when he did the weirdest, most random shit that had everyone in the dorm doubling over in laughter.

He didn’t say a word until he opened the door, letting you walk ahead of him. You stepped in, being more cautious than necessary. You were kind of surprised that the room wasn’t a crazy mess, considering it was inhabited by a few boys. You looked at the beds, finding it hard to tell exactly which was Jisung’s. Nothing really stood out to affirm where he slept. Minho drew your attention when he walked past you.

He grabbed two hoodies that had been hanging up. You were curious if they were Jisung’s or someone else’s. You didn’t exactly know the boy’s whole wardrobe. Yet. One was green with white letters printed in a large font, while the other was black, decorated with red roses and some cursive writing. You opted for the black, since it’s easier to pull off. You thanked him as you took it from his grasp.

You carefully removed it from the hanger, which Minho took from you, putting it away with the other jumper. You pulled the hoodie over your head, giving yourself a quick sideward glance in the mirror to your left. Minho moved in front of you, gently whispering ‘here’ as he helped to untuck your hair. You watched him, concentrating. Then his eyes met yours.

That’s when it happened. He leaned in and kissed you. Almost out of know where. He pulled away, obviously surprised by his own actions. You didn’t even notice his hands were placed on your arms. He looked down at them, kind of confused as to how they even got there. You could feel their warmth now. His eyes found their way back to you. He was struggling to choke out an apology when your body took charge. You kissed him back.

You both kind of stood there, in shock. Before you could even talk about anything, he took you by the wrist softly and led you back out to where the others were. You were beyond confused now. He let go and took his place by the wall, walking threw the chaos of the boys. They were all intensely focused on the race, midway through the fourth lap. You sat next to Jisung. He glanced at you, flashing a quick smile before regaining focus. He was third, not too far from Woojin, who was in the lead.

“Couldn’t you guys find any of mine?” The words that left his lips partially surprised you for two reasons. First off, because they implied he had initially meant for you to wear one of his hoodies. Secondly, you weren’t wearing his hoodie? Then-? Who-?

“No, because you put them in the laundry,” Minho’s eyes were on the screen. He looked to you before he continued, “So I gave her one of mine.” He was watching you with every word he spoke. His eyes scanned your body, looking up and down. That’s when it clicked. No wonder you didn’t recognise anything to be Jisung’s. It was Minho’s room. Your eyes didn’t leave his, either. Thankfully, the others were too enwrapped in the game to be aware of it. You were torn now.

It was unintentional. An accident. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You hadn’t planned it. It was never something you’d thought about, even in your wildest dreams. But it happened.

Lee Minho kissed you, and you kissed him back.

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wordsbybrielle · 5 years ago

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Taylor, It’s Good To Have You Back

It’s been a rough couple of years for Taylor Swift fans. After her initial foray into pop music with Red, came the full, head-first dive into it with 1989, and even further into the depths with Reputation, my least favorite album of hers so far. Gone were the heart-wrenching lyrics and perfect vignettes that I loved. When ME! came out, I was worried. Petrified even. I guess the old Taylor really was dead. How else could you explain that the woman who wrote All Too Well and I Almost Do even considered publishing the lyric, “SPELLING IS FUN”? My hopes weren’t high for this record.

And then.

Within the first thirty seconds of this album, I knew. The bitch was back.

I Forgot That You Existed is quintessential Taylor. Tongue and cheek, just a little coy, but what it makes for me is that she so easily does what she does best: put into words what can be so hard to say. This song encapsulates that sigh of relief when you realize you’re over it; whether the “it” is a situation, a person, a job, anything. Not only are you over it, but it’s so far away now that you’ve forgotten, remembered and can laugh about it. Listening to this song felt like settling in with an old friend.

The production on Cruel Summer is everything that I wanted to love on the Reputation album that fell short. Highly-charged and electrifying, this song projects all the feelings that come with a summer fling - meaningful and meaningless all at once.

I’m a sucker for a 3/4 time signature, and even more with a song that’s as sweet as Lover. My favorite part of this song is the call back to one of my favorite TS songs, Style, with the lyric, “take me out, and take me home.” It also nods to Swift’s maturity. She can still write a love song, but this one might be even more poignant because it is so based in reality. It also begs the question, did Taylor Swift get married?

The Man is a song we’ve heard before, from Carly Jepsen and Beyonce to name a few. While the message isn’t novel, it does make me power walk down the streets of New York City, so I can’t complain. I’m also really happy whenever Taylor curses, so overall this song makes me happy, even if it is first level white feminism.

The Archer didn’t help quiet any of my fears prior to the album being dropped. This is the first time in several moments throughout this album that Taylor pumps the breaks, almost jarringly. The comedown from The Man isn’t great, and I feel like it could’ve been one of the later tracks if not removed completely.

If The Man makes me feel like That Bitch strutting down the street, I Think He Knows makes me want to skip down Park Avenue and every avenue. Taylor Swift has such a penchant for detail and the line, “his hands around a cold glass make me wanna know that body like it’s mine,” will get me every time. If anyone were to ask me to pick a song that perfectly describes the beginning of a relationship when you both realize those feelings are reciprocated I would show them this song. It is in a word, giddy.

I bring you back friends, to 2008. The world was on the brink of a global recession but more importantly, You Belong With Me was brought into the world. For me, Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince is a day in life of the antagonist in YBWM. The cheerleader eleven years later is still screaming. GO! FIGHT! WIN!

Paper Rings is so jubilant I can’t stand it, in the best way. It’s so incredibly happy I can't help but be so proud of this woman, who has been put through the ringer with relationships in front of the world, who is obviously so secure in this relationship. Joe Alwyn, you did good.

Cornelia Street is a preemptive fearful reverie. There is a line in New Year’s Day where Swift sings, “Please, don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere.” This is that sentiment on steroids. This is creating a memory with a lover and knowing in the middle of it that you will think back to this moment, should they ever leave. It speaks to how much Swift cares about this relationship; there is an undercurrent of anxiety here, only mostly obscured by the picture Taylor paints.

Death By A Thousand Cuts is a sad song made light. It shows off one of Taylor’s strongest abilities, writing a bridge. Not so much lyrically, but the execution of the “my heart, my hips, my body, my love, trying to find a part of me you didn’t touch,” is perfect. The cherry on top that it was inspired by Something Great on Netflix.

London Boy is cute and silly. Still don't really want to go to London, sorry Taylor.

I could only listen to Soon You’ll Get Better once, the entire time feeling incredibly grateful that my mother is in good health. I thought of my best friend, who has gone through this experience and still is, and I want to hug her a little tighter. The Dixie Chicks being featured on this song reminds us of Taylor’s roots, and how comfortable she still is in the country music world.

False God. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN WE HAVE A SEX SONG! A sex song with religious imagery!!!! A saxophone to open the song?? “The altar is my hips” is a lyric??? If anyone needs me I’ll be taking a cold shower. Dress could never.

You Need To Calm Down (to me, from me). This didn’t initially grab me when she released it as a single, but in the context of the album has grown on me. It puts the listener back on track after the rollercoaster ride from Soon You’ll Get Better and False God, back towards the light. It makes sense that on an album that is all about love, she needed to acknowledge queer love as well.

Afterglow is one of the few songs on this album that the chorus has stuck with me. It’s also one of the few times that I can remember Taylor Swift explicitly apologizing. Again, a reminder how much she has grown with this relationship and in the past few years. You hear the desperation, and how much she worries that she has overthought and now the damage she has caused is irreparable. One of the most underrated songs that I hope gets more recognition.

ME! is The-Song-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Myself to that song is Donald Trump to global warming; I am going to pretend that it is not there and it is not very bad when it so obviously is.

It’s Nice To Have A Friend would be forgettable, if it not were for the random island sounds and the eerie vocalizations in the background. I could have done without it, but I like the horns from verse 1 to 2.

Daylight is a lovely ending to this marathon of an album. The overall mood of it is so opulent, both reflective and looking forward.

Lover may be Taylor’s best album to date, because it is a culmination of everything she has learned and done in her career. There are poignant lyrics, a balancing act of classic and synth pop, and country, and and it is a clear product of hard lessons learned. It’s a reminder that love should be easy and light. The new Taylor is unburdened, and we’re all better for it.

#taylor swift #Lover #Taylor Swift Lover #music #music review #pop music #country music #review #critic #criitique #Speak Now #Fearless #repuatation tour #reputation

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gretagarbosdirtysocks · 7 years ago

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We Met In A Jail Cell: Part 7

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8 Part 9

Character Pairing: DJ and Fem OC Summary: The woman meets DJ at a local pub renowned for it’s prizefighting. She realizes he has much more in mind than a simple outing as she get’s pulled into a hustle that DJ had been planning since the beginning. You don’t have to have read the rest of the fic to enjoy this chapter. The last two chapters are coming soon! minor violence and language

The woman found a strange doodad hidden in the back of the closet while she cleaned. Maybe it was a gun, maybe it was some sort of personal interface. She couldn’t tell. It was triangle shaped, and made odd beeping noises when she tried to open it. Tightly secured and strange, it seemed like something DJ might enjoying investigating. Carrying it with her, she left to find him.

He was lackadaisically sitting with his legs crossed on the office couch. A relaxed expression on his face, his eternally half-closed eyes stared into the cup he held. He looked lost in a daze as he took a sip. His black disheveled hair poked out from under his cap. When she entered the room, his eyes lit up with a lovely shade of hazel.

She walked over and handed him the triangle. “I have another mystery for you.”

He looked over it doubtfully. Mistaking her sincerity for teasing, he sarcastically replied, “You brought me a g-g-gift…so thoughtful.” Putting his drink down, he tilted his head unsure of what it was supposed to be. To be fair, it did look ridiculous.

“I thought you might know what it is, or enjoy trying to figure out what it is,” she explained.

When he looked up at her, he saw she was being serious which made him smile. He threw an arm around her neck, and pulled her down to sit beside him. “What an interesting th-th-thing,” he said to himself.

He held the triangle to the light and under his scrutinizing gaze. After a moment, he removed his arm from around the woman and bent down. It didn’t seem like he could get his face close enough to the mysterious object as it practically touched his nose. His fingers ran over its edges. Then he frowned, as though it had personally caused offense. It had begun to frustrate him, as his focused face turned to one of irritation.

Eventually he sat back and put the triangle on the table in front of him. “It’s hard to f-f-f-focus with you beside me.”

“Oh, should I back away?” she asked earnestly. She had practically been hovering over him to watch his attempt at opening the triangle.

He put his hand on her leg, “No-no. I am just d-d-distracted.” He lowered his gaze to her thighs. She wondered if DJ had finally begun to lose control of himself around her. Perhaps, they were finally on even footing. Feeling the tension quickly build, she straightened her posture in an appearance to look composed. “You should probably remove that hand,” she said, trying to make her voice convey assurance. It hadn’t worked. He could always see through her easily.

He grinned and removed his hand. Grabbing his coat, he stood, “The cant-t-tina has the best fights at night, and the sun is setting.”

She wasn’t sure what he had been trying to tell her until he held out his hand for her to take. “Oh,” she blurted. It was a simple gesture, yet she overthought its significance. She blinked, staring at his hand. She couldn’t get the word fights out of her head, until she looked up at him. DJ had twinkle in his eye that practically blinded her. He seemed most amused when he could make her just a little uncomfortable. She tried to formulate a sentence as he pulled on a few strands of her hair, but she just kept blinking and mouthing wordlessly at him. She was unable to focus clearly with him just touching her hair. She brushed his hand away so she could think. “I’ll have to meet you there. Got some stuff to put away.”

“You’re not going to leave me are you?” he said with a wink.

She gave him a humorless smile, “I would but I don’t know how to pilot a ship.”

He chuckled, holding his heart in his hand, “Then, I have n-n-nothing to worry about.”

He had started to leave, when he suddenly paused. “It’s very cold here at night,” he said. He turned back to her, looking perplexed as though he were second guessing himself. With DJ, it was hard to tell at any minute what he might do. He could kiss her, or he might shrug his shoulders and leave with no explanation. After he stared at the ground for a moment, he hesitantly began to take his coat off.

She scoffed when she realized what he was doing. He must have considered the need to be chivalrous to her by giving her his coat. He glanced up at her a few times as though he was waiting for her to stop him. But this act of false sincerity was amusing her. She smiled and as he pretended to be a gentlemen. When he had almost taken his coat off, she held her hand up and said, “No need.”

He nodded his head and looked relieved to be keeping his coat on. She liked that DJ was selfish, at least he was honest about it. She knew he needed the coat more than she did. She was trained to withstand the winter’s chill. He looked like someone accustomed to sleeping in the cold, and she didn’t want to take his coat of tricks from him…not that he would have given it to her.

“I will be-be the one with the best seat, an empt-t-ty chair beside me, and a bottle of wine… waiting,” he gave her a promising smile. She looked at him rather skeptically, as she wondered if this was DJ’s attempt at being romantic. It was weird when it looked like he cared about something. It made her a little wary for the rest of the night.

After he left, she huffed and crossed her arms. “Fights,” she said to herself, “Of course someone who doesn’t fight loves to watch them.” Were bar fights his idea of a good time? She couldn’t decide if she preferred the cheesy wine bottle-toting version of DJ or the one who wanted to watch her get into fights. Either way, she knew she was up for something strange.

She finished cleaning the room, and put the rest of her new clothes in the closet. Looking at them, she wondered what to wear. On one hand, she could choose something practical in case a fight broke out. Then again, she’d been practical her entire life. DJ said there would be wine, so maybe this was a good opportunity to wear the dress she purchased that day.

When she put the dress on, it cut just above her knees. Her breasts made it an inch shorter than she planned, which irritated her. She looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. The dress fit, but she didn’t look like her. He stout posture didn’t fit the elegance of someone who wore a dress. She worried that her shoulders were too broad, her arms too muscular, her legs too scarred. Her stomach growled, halting her indecision. “Oh, well,” she said to herself. Food was more important.

She’d saved a coat to wear for the chill. When she put it on, she felt weird in that as well. Dresses weren’t something she was ever allowed to wear, neither were fancy black coats like the one she had on. After much deliberation, she left the energy sword behind in her closet, and headed out.

The cantina he had referenced was easy to find. She could hear punching from the streets. It was called Hearth’s Fire, and as she entered she saw a roaring fire at the center of the place. In the back was seated a long bar, and on the sides, large windows where the seaside could be seen. There were side rooms as well, guarded by rope and some typical large ruffians. Hearth’s Fire seemed like an old establishment the city had built itself around. There was a worn-in comfort to the place. She couldn’t even make out much if any technology in the joint. This was odd, considering DJ had picked the place out. Besides the lovely design, Hearth’s Fire was full of drunks, many of whom were in shouting matches. She scanned the place, but couldn’t find DJ.

Focusing on some of the drunken yelling, she had heard his voice faintly in the crowd. DJ was at the bar and surrounded by at least 4 large men, who all had been yelling incoherently at him. She decided not to interfere, and instead decided attempt listening in on conversation. From what she could tell, DJ had stolen something from them and he was playing coy.

“You cheated me out of that card game, you bastard,” a man with an eye patch said to DJ.

DJ rubbed his temples, and then his eyes, “You’re a sore loser, T-T-Til.”

One of the men bent down to DJ’s face, and mocked him by imitating his stutter.

DJ replied by exaggerating his stutter, “Low-low-low blow-blow-blow.” The woman tried to stifle her laughter as she hid behind Til. She hoped this would prove entertaining.

“I was supposed to win that match,” Til yelled at DJ.

“Then, why d-did you lose?” DJ said with a devious look in his eye.

“He lost because you cheated. Til was supposed to win,” another cohort piped in.

“You-you keep saying supposed,” DJ rubbed his eyes again.

“Well yeah because Til’s got a modified deck,” one of the men said gesturing to Til. Til hit the man in the chest.

This was the admission DJ had been looking for. With a smug grin he chided, “It was easy t-t-to override really.”

Til grabbed DJ by the collar and pulled him out of his seat. The woman realized what was happening, and balled her fist as her temper flared. She kicked the back of Til’s legs, causing him to buckle and fall to his knees. Looking up at her with confusion in his eyes, she slapped him hard across the face. The boom rang out in the bar, as the woman felt the eyes of the bar turn to her. DJ casually walked to the bar counter, trying to give her some space.

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” she warned. Til bewilderly looked her up and down and the woman remembered she was in a dress. Something clicked in his head as he screamed and tried to rise to attack her. But she was too quick and too comfortable fighting to allow an attack from him. The woman kicked him under the chin. His body rag dolled as he fell to the floor. He’d been knocked out instantly. That’d probably be the only easy shot she’d have in this fight.

She turned to DJ, and gestured to her outfit. “You know, this is the first time I’ve worn a dress.”

He pursed his lips in approval, seeming mildly impressed. He hadn’t panicked a single second during this conflict. “I d-d-didn’t realize you had a dress,” he looked at her quizzically, then raised his eyebrows, “I g-g-got the bottle of wine!”

He gave her a cheesy grin, proudly holding the wine bottle in the air like it was a gold medal. She rolled her eyes, and took her coat off, throwing it towards him. Failing at catching it in the air, it fell over his face. The rest of Til’s friends attacked her.

He removed the coat from over his eyes. Sitting on the counter of the bar he sighed dreamily, “I love watching her save me-me.” The bartender did not look amused.

She punched one of the men in the gut, then kneed him in the face. “I knew that was why you wanted to come here,” she said pointing to DJ suddenly. He shrugged his shoulders unbothered by her offense.

“It’s nice to feel like the damsel. Do you mind?” he asked her. She kicked a man in DJ’s direction angrily. DJ lifted his legs, allowing the man to fly past him. He turned to look back at her, clearly insulted by her attempt to hit him with another man’s body. “You did that on purpose!” he said accusing her with a finger.

DJ’s aloofness still surprised her. He was shady and strange. Despite the slight annoyance and adrenaline flowing through her, she hoped she would never tire of it. He was also endlessly charming, and she enjoyed every second of it. They locked eyes as he smirked knowingly. It was a revelation which told her he was toying with her. Even amidst a fight, DJ could make her head spin with a single look.

Clearing out her immediate space, she found the room to walk over to him. Grabbing him by the shirt abruptly, she pulled him forward and kissed him. When she backed away, he was beaming. She’d managed to take him by surprise. Then, she poked him on the forehead and got back to the fight. He relaxed, casually snacking on whatever weird snack was sitting on the bar for customers, and cheered her on. With every punch or kick she landed, he threw some of what he’d been eating at the attackers.

The crowd of Hearth’s Fire had turned to her fight, joining with DJ as they cheered or booed her. The woman had never been very smart, or very driven, but she was good at fighting. She could take pride in that at least.

She kicked two more into the crowd, and knocked out another. She was losing track of who had been in Til’s gang, as it seemed random people were joining to try and take her down. A lady lunged at her with a knife.

“Am I allowed to stab her back?” She yelled to DJ as she avoided the slices of the knife.

“No blood in the bar,” the bartender chastised her.

“Fair enough,” she replied, kneeing the lady in the stomach and taking the knife from her.

One of the men she’d kicked away appeared suddenly behind her. He picked her up by the waist and hoisted her in the air so that he could drop her onto a table. She elbowed him in the face, and he dropped her. She landed and grabbed the nearest object. Bringing a half-filled bottle across the man’s face, it broke and cut her finger. “That was dumb,” she said to herself, before then kicking the man away again.

She heard a mixture of groans and cheers as the blood poured from the cut. She put her finger in her mouth, and checked to see what was going on. Somehow, DJ had gotten his hands on a piece of chalk and had started writing on the overhead of the bar. Though he may have initially been cheering, his yells had turned to the growing crowd around him. DJ had started a betting pool and people were placing bets. Lots of them.

A basis of some of the bets had been whether someone would draw her blood. DJ argued with a few of the members of the bar. He insisted that it didn’t count because she had cut herself.

“He definitely planned this,” she muttered, sucking on her bloody finger.

She looked around, still hunkered down watching to see if anyone else wanted to fight her. Finally, she’d run out of people to punch. The bodies of a few knocked out assholes were beneath her feet. She kicked them away so she could find a place at the bar.

DJ had a small interface pulled up. It looked like he was transferring credits, because his eyes practically had dollar signs in them. She put her head down on the bar to rest and calm her nerves. After dealing and arguing with a lot of the patrons, he sat beside her.

When she sat up, DJ had an odd stone and some ointment in front of him. He took her hands in his and applied the ointment to her knuckles. The pain subsided. Then, he placed the cooling stone over them and pain went away immediately.

“May I see th-that knife?” he asked. She stabbed the knife in the bar. It came within a centimeter of one of his fingers, but he didn’t flinch. Instead he smiled, and pulled it from the wood. He cut a piece of his shirt off. Then, he put ointment on her wound and wrapped it with the fabric.

He treated her hands like they were delicate and prone to breaking as he placed them in her lap carefully. It was a silly gesture considering she’d just used them to break a couple of jaws, but the sentiment touched her. DJ had used her to make some money, but he cared about her wellbeing. It was impossible to stay upset with him for long.

He tilted his head looking down at her hands, “When we leave, your wounds will be g-gone.”

She was mildly impressed. “This place takes its fighting seriously.”

“Good show,” said the bartender. He came over, and took the ointment and stone, putting it back behind the counter.

“They were probably all drunk anyway,” she said. DJ had been looking over the blade, when she took the knife from his hand and handed it handle first to the bartender. “You can have this if you want it.”

The bartender put a glass he’d been cleaning down, and took it from her. He eyed DJ with a smirk, and said “I’ll have your table ready soon.”

“I didn’t want the knife anyway,” DJ said pretending like he hadn’t been bothered. She could tell he was a little peeved. He put his chin in his hand, peering over at her. “They have the best fights,” he said with a grin. The woman crossed her arms, not impressed.

He shrugged his shoulders, “They do.”

“You got into that argument on purpose,” she asserted.

He squeezed his fore finger and thumb together and squinted one eye, “A-a little bit. Are you upset?”

“Depends on how richer we are.”

“We can buy another ship…” he pulled out a card from his pocket, “Act-act-actually, we won another ship.” He said tossing the card to her with a chuckle. She held the card in her hand, perplexed.

The card had a picture of a clunker of a ship. When she turned it over it had a bunch of specs on it she didn’t understand.

She glanced at DJ. There was a dark humor in her eye that made him tilt his head worriedly. She turned around on the bar and readied a throw, aiming the card across the bar. “We don’t need another damn ship,” she said and threw it. It hit someone in the back of the head, and she turned back around. DJ made an ‘oh well’ face and picked his teeth with one of his lock picks.

“At least tell me what happened,” she said.

“Well,” he started putting the pick away, “Wanted to get table to look at the s-s-sea...but they were all full. Big g-guy offered his table over a friendly card game. Only, I didn’t trust Til to be so friendly so I balanced his deck.” She put her head in her hands, which made him exclaim, “I w-w-won fairly okay.”

“Oh of course you did,” she patronized.

He chuckled. “They just happen to n-notice I fumbled with the deck. They were the ones cheating, I w-wanted the game to be fair.” He nodded his head emphatically, insisting he’d been telling the truth.

“Did they notice or did you make them notice?” The woman already knew the answer.

“Hehe,” he said scratching his head. Taking this as confirmation of DJ’s predictable deceit, she giggled. Slowly the giggle transformed into a deep, hearty laugh. It was a laugh that had been welling up within her since she and DJ met. It was the kind of laugh that makes someone grab their belly and cry… and it was contagious. The more she laughed, the more DJ laughed with her. Soon, they were two fools causing a ruckus without even understanding why. The woman felt relief. She was relaxed. She was happy, and when she looked at DJ…he looked happy too.

Part 8

#dj star wars #star wars x reader #star wars #star wars the last jedi #dj #dj tlj #the last jedi #dj last jedi #last jedi #the last jedi dj #star wars dj x reader #dj x reader

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matilda-art-blog1 · 5 years ago

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Animation summary

When this project started I was excited to explore something new and stuff outside of my usual comfort zone. I started the project making some short animations I was quite happy with, although they were sort of choppy I displayed the kind of line effect I wanted in my final animation

I had a little trouble to begin with because the original movement I had chosen, fathers for justice, had some views I didn’t agree with, so I decided to switch to LGBTQ+ rights as it’s something I feel strongly about. I was surprised how much I enjoyed researching this, it really gave me a chance to look at the origins of pride marches and impactful people in the movement, something I wouldn’t usually have thought to do.

Even though my animation is all finished and completely put together I’m still not completely happy with it, due to export issues and video editing limitations because of using my iPad. Although I did eventually get this done, and I am still quite proud of my animation, I think if I were to do it again I would do it primarily on a computer or try drawing it traditionally with a light box.

I was really happy with my initial animation sketches And the animations I did at start the project, but they were all drawn with loose lines and they weren’t very neat, which is why I tried to make my final animation a lot cleaner but as a result, in my opinion, the characters look a little stiff. This could also be due to the fact it was taking me longer than I had expected so I had to rush some of the final layers.

There was some personal uncertainty when it came to the details of my animation, such as the eyes, which meant I overthought it too much and ended up removing my characters eyes until I could think of a better way to draw them, but due to time constraints I didn’t get a chance. I don’t necessarily think this is a bad thing though, because watching my animation but now I think that eyelessness draws more attention to the protest and away from the faces.

I also decided to, last minute, add the pride colours of the flag, which ended up being one of my favourite things about this animation.

I appreciated the tutorial I had during this project, because it helped settle some of my concerns and worries about my animation, especially since I was considering starting again from the beginning, a choice that, I know now, wouldn’t have given me the chance to add the older versions of my characters which would have removed the meaning behind it all together.

I had a few difficulties editing because of being unable to export the animation at full quality. I struggled a lot with this, but I think I got it running as smoothly as possible right now.

Although A lot of things have gone wrong during this project, and I’m not as happy with my final animation as I think I could be, I worked hard on producing my work and I’ve definitely learnt a lot during this half of the module. I know I can take some of the skills I’ve learnt into future projects.

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cloakedsparrow · 8 years ago

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And that’s where I like to be. In the character’s head. I like to know what makes him tick. Why he does the things he does. Knowing his fears and motivations helps make him real to me. Helps me to care about him. And that’s what this issue is. There’s no fight scenes. No villains. No conflict. (But there’s definitely drama!) It’s just a story that delves into Batman as a character. Don’t get me wrong, I love action and adventure and seeing Batman crash through skylights, but if I had to choose between character and action, I’d choose character every single time.

Aside from what happens at the very end (and we will get to that in the spoilers), this story is basically just a conversation between Claire Clover and Batman. So, I expect some people to tune out right away. In fact, I’m sure some people would classify this as a filler issue. But to me. This single issue was more poignant than any of King’s long drawn-out overthought epics. If I had to choose a single panel that summed up their conversation, it would probably be this one right here:

Surprise! Batman’s not a very happy person. And while that revelation is nothing earth-shattering or even a secret of any sort, it’s nice to see him lay it all out there for us to take in. In that sense, nothing in the conversation isn’t anything we haven’t heard before or surmised on our own, but it’s nice to have all these ideas gathered into one place and put on display for our consumption.

Another key thing that Batman admits, is that he can never go back to being normal. He can never stop saving people. It’s just who he is now. It’s really the only way he knows to live his life. I have more to say on this, but I’ll save that for the spoiler as well.

As the conversation continues, we delve further into Batman’s psyche. And really, almost everything he says is a gem. I really wish I could post every page and just break each one down in turn. Occasionally when I review an issue, I have to find something to say. But here, I feel like I could write a review on each page. It really got me thinking. And while so much of what Batman said was emotionally moving and thought-provoking, there was one piece of advise I didn’t quite agree with:

As much as I appreciate the sentiment behind this statement. It’s a huge fallacy. There are very few things you actually need to do in life. You need to eat. You need to sleep. You need to breath. I think you get my point. Everything else you do is stuff that you want to do. Reading this article. You don’t need to do that. Reading this comic. You don’t need that either. Sitting down and watching TV for hours on end. You don’t need that. I’d say that a larger percentage of our lives are filled with wants than needs. Some of you might say, “Well, I need to work.” But that’s not true. The only reason you need to work is because you want to live in a house (or buy this or that). But you don’t need to live in a house. You could live in the middle of nowhere and farm your own food. In fact, I think wants supersede needs in many cases. How often have you stayed up late when you needed to go to bed and then been tired the next day? You’re desire to watch reruns of Dr. Who surpassed your necessity for sleep.

Why am I spending so much time contemplating the difference between what a “want” is versus what a “need” is? Well, it ends up being paramount to the finale. But before I get to that, let’s examine one last thing. Batman’s not Batman because he wants to be. Batman needs to be Batman. It’s one of those rare instance where something we would usually choose to do becomes something we have to do. Punching criminals is the addiction that helps Batman cope with the hand that life dealt him. Without “Batman”, he simply wouldn’t be able to go on. It’s like building up a tolerance to alcohol or drugs. At first you don’t need a lot to be happy and it distracts you from your pain. But the more you take, the more you need. And then, eventually, you need it just to make ends meet. Even if it isn’t giving you any joy at all.

Is that Batman? It’s sad to admit. But yeah. I think so.

Ok. So now let’s talk about what you’re all really here for:

Bruce proposes to Selina with the Travers Emerald Necklace!

Wait a minute. That’s not a necklace. I mean, I guess Bruce could have had the stone reset in a ring. That happens. But then he clearly said it was a diamond. Come on King! That’s not right. I know that diamonds are traditionally put in engagement rings, but you could have gone with an emerald engagement ring instead. And it would have matched Selina’s beautiful green eyes too.

In case that wasn’t clear to some of you, Catwoman stole an emerald necklace (not a diamond ring) while on board The Dolphin (Miss Travers’ Yacht/the boat Batman keeps referring to) in Batman #1 (1940).

But now that I’m done nitpicking details, let’s talk about this marriage proposal.

Although, before we get straight to it, can I just say that King is a big dirty tease giving us a cliffhanger like this. And especially right now. According to solicits, Batman #25 is the beginning of “The War of Jokes and Riddles”. That’s an 8 issues story! And unless something was rearranged, that means we will have to wait 4 or 5 months to find out Catwoman’s response. Not cool! But I guess it’s a savvy business decision.

Now, this is where all that stuff I discussed up till now comes into play.

Why is Batman doing this? Because he needs to. Oh….that’s not a good thing. When someone becomes a necessity over a desire, well, that’s just asking for trouble. Just to give you an idea of what I mean, need (to me) is a crazy kind of love. It’s the kind of love where you are obsessed with the other person and cut their name into your flesh with a razor. It’s when you stand outside in the pouring rain in front of their house getting soaked just hoping they open a window so they can catch a glimpse of you and see just how dedicated you are to them. Want is a choice. It’s a much healthier way to pick a partner. Maybe I wouldn’t have latched onto this so strongly, but then he says this:

That’s right girl. That’s your cue to get the hell out of there.

(Notice how little she says after this moment in the comic. Mm-hmm)

If he had said something like, ” I tracked it down years later.” Well then, that’s just romantic. Remembering some minor detail from years ago is definitely something endearing. But to say, I bought this ring the second after I met you because I knew we were destined to be together. Well, that’s just creepy. Yeah. I’m saying it. Batman is acting like a creepy stalker. It’s unnerving.

I see so many people on social media saying how romantic this is. It makes me wonder. Is this just a knee jerk reaction to seeing two long time lovers finally getting together? Have people really even taken the time to analyze this relationship? Or, are the ones shipping this the kind of people that value need over want?

This whole thing got me to thinking about Bruce’s emotional development. Look. I know that we all idolize Batman, so sometimes it’s hard to acknowledge his flaws, but Bruce is a child. Intellectually and physically, he is leaps and bounds ahead of us all. But emotionally. He is an 8 year old. He doesn’t have the mature social skills necessary to maintain a health relationship with another person.

And really. It seems to me that being with her is him merely replacing one need with another. Instead of punching criminals, he’ll be with Selina. Is that what she wants? To become his crutch? And if she does say yes, doesn’t that replace Batman entirely. I mean, if he is happy with her and she gives him the ability to live his life, why would he need Batman.

When you consider that he also said that he could never live a normal life. That he could never stop saving people. It seems to me that even if their relationship worked for a little while and he was able to be happy with her without being Batman, that he would eventually have to choose between the two of them. A normal life with Selina or the life of a hero as Batman. I don’t think he can handle both. Or that he would even need both to live.

Well, we’ve covered my opinion on Bruce. But what about Catwoman’s perspective?

She is a thief. She is a thrill seeker. For her, it’s all about the hunt. Batman is an unattainable treasure. It’s not the only reason she is drawn to him, but it’s definitely one of them. And, with this action, he is throwing himself at her. There’s no challenge in stealing something that is given freely. He is, essentially, eliminating on of the things that Selina finds attractive in him. First, the mystery of who this masked man is was removed. Now, he’s taken away the lure of forbidden fruit. I’d wager that Bruce’s sexy meter is plummeting by the minute in Selina’s eyes. Whether the initial answer is yes or no, I don’t see this going well for their future.

Odds and Ends:

I thought the dig on Superman’s catch phrase, “up, up and away”, was initially humorous. But only if you take it out of context. Superman isn’t flying up and away from the people he needs to help. He is flying up and away to the next problem he needs to solve. So yeah. Cute. But ultimately, nonsensically if you stop to think about it.

Recommended if…

You want a character study, of sorts, on Batman.

Oh yeah, and there’s that ending too, of course.

Overall:

I thought that this was a great issue, and not at all because of the insane ending. The real draw for me was everything else leading up to it. Getting to examine the character of Batman and how he thinks was far more emotionally gratifying for me than the final (maybe controversial) moment from this issue. Even in the parts where Batman’s thought process wasn’t the most sound and I didn’t necessarily agree with him, I was still fascinated to get insight into his ruminations. It’s just a terrible shame that most people are going to fixate on the ending at the detriment of the rest of the issue. Because, the opening and build up is where the true story lies.

#Batman #Bruce Wayne #character motivation #Bat Family #DC #Rebirth #Catwoman #Selina Kyle #review #spoilers #opinions #unhealthy relationships

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unworthy-stars · 8 years ago

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Chapter Five (Two) “Ai Ya Ya”

Chapter Five (Part Two) "Ai Ya Ya"~ Ai

第五章（第二部分）"哎呀呀" 〜爱

So...did she ever return from the bedroom or perhaps she escaped?

Well it depends... she returned a different person than I expected.

Oh...that seems...insondable...

Ya...but it has a really easy explanation!

~*~

Wang waited inside his bedroom for Ori to finish her business. He had finally made the move he waited for so long. But it didn't go as he expected. He didn't care, he had immediately forgotten his previous high expectations. She acted perfectly as she did because it was so Ori. And he loved Ori more than himself.

A simple knock on the door was enough for China to understand Ori was ready. He got up in the speed of light and ran to see Ori. He opened the door without a second thought. He seemed like a lunatic pervert, but he didn't care. Except he frightened her in some way.

In front of himself a shorter pale, yellowish to the point she looked sick, petite figurine. Several black suspicious spots were found all over the naked arm shown. Grey messy hair was falling on the naked shoulders. A round head looking at the opposite position of Wang's eyes. Freckles all over her round nose. Slanted eyes, decorated with matching wrinkled edges. Small lips that were almost invisible, ripped, bitten.

Beautiful for Wang's eyes. Disease and dishonour in the rest.

'This is why Ori must be hidden...It started after you left. The grey hair I mean...depression has many forms. Mine is physical. Father tried to cover it by all means possible, horse hair was the most efficient. And then they came for my face and-' he interrupted her with a kiss.

'Wo ai ni Ori,' he stared at her garnet eyes, which still remained the same as seven years ago 'More and more every second!'

Now the kiss wasn't as sloppy as before. It wasn't only the softer lips of Ori, but the more sentiment they both put. They felt the passion grow more and more non-stop. It wasn't lust, it was love. That's a fact.

Love.

Ya.

Ya, ai.

China pulled the clasp that tied his hair in his usual ponytail. The edges tickled Ori's cheekbones when he kissed her on the forehead. She gave him a not-apparent forced smile and let him catch her hands keeping them warm. His amber eyes were sparkling and he was ready to explode.

'Your hair is so soft, Wang...' he played with his brunet straight hairs 'You look like a woman!'

'But I am your woman...that sounded really perverted.' they giggled and Ori continued caressing his ladylike hair 'Your garnet eyes look like gemstones! To the entire turning world I say "Wo ai ni". Advance by connecting hand by hand! You are my world Ori!' he gives her a little frisky kiss on her pale forehead.

Ori started to lower her hand, it's a trick Ying Yan had taught her to look more seductive to the other gender. She tried to remember everything all her teachers had learnt her, she couldn't just act automatically. She didn't let herself be taken over emotions, but duties.

'That's a bit too low for me. Stop!' China screamed when she had reached his back and took a step back. Ori went red and tried to think what she had done wrong. She overthought of it, trying to find all dos and don'ts she had missed, but nothing seemed to match.

She should be zhishuai.

'Did I do something wrong?' she asked falling on her knees and apologising in Chinese.

China looked at her. If anyone was in front of her, he would immediately describe her as pathetic. But the one that they should blame is China. He was used to be the one who was blamed on all the time, but for once he really felt it. China immediately removed his jifu as fast as he could revealing his upper body. He wasn't as muscular and well-built as other men and countries, and he thought it was disappointing considering he was the strongest of them. He approached the pleading girl and raised her chin up.

'Look.' he ordered and turned around to show his horrifying back.

A long painful scar was scratched across his back. Ori gasped because of the terrifying view. It should have killed him, but Ori remembered he was a country too.

'Behind Wang Yao there is a China, like behind Gurun Princess Hexiao there is a spectacular Ori Sasithorn Wei, I love. It was a fight between Japan and me, a long time ago, that gave me this "souvenir"-,'

Ori wanted to hear Wang's wise words so bad. She loved his gentle slow voice that made sounds with a meaning. She wanted to close her eyes and imagine his moves while she heard him. His stories, his songs, his words always made her happier and happier each time she listened to them. His words were her kind of drug. A drug to reduce pain.

The pain a family and a nation caused to her. But mostly the one she caused to herself.

No pain, no gain. Orders are orders.

If she sat down for a moment with a piece of parchment and a quill with ink in front of her, she could list all the things that made her search her kind of drug. Pathetic appearance, the loss of her love, the laws, her inability to comprehend simple knowledge, strict schedule, royal duties.

Royal duties. Fengsen Yendehe.

'Shut up!' she screamed and China turned around confused and surprised 'I can't do this anymore! You used to fill me with gratitude and love, whenever you talked. You were and still are my kind of medicine, but now I only feel guilts!'

'Fengsen?' he wondered understanding where she would end.

'Gaobie!' she ran away in the dark night crying of her miserable fate.

~*~

You had said she had let you on a Bloody Moon, but...that day there wasn't a lunar eclipse based on my calculations!

How do you know she left me then?

Uh, well...

I didn't tell you that she left me on a Bloody Moon as long as I can recall, and I have an excellent four-thousand-aged memory! The only person I had told that is-

Ivan Braginski?

#the-awesome-sia #fanfiction #ai ya ya #aph china #aph #hetalia #wang yao #hetalia axis powers

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