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aghostwrites · 1 year ago

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She knows my desire

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Warnings: oral (f! reader receiving), Lesbian, mentions of sex, overstimulation, NSFW, she/her pronouns, smut

Paring: Mor x f! reader (OC charatcer)

Work count: 3k

minors do not engage.

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Working at Rita’s restaurant under the rule of Amarantha was a curse. Even though most of Velaris had remained unchanged, the frequency of my favorite customer had dwindled. Morrigan. I miss seeing her alluring eyes, I used to love the way the light would catch them. Her hair was always kept in golden braids.

Until Feyre happened.

The story of Feyre cursebreaker became legendary to those who live in Prythian. Allowing the high lord and his family to once more walk among the people of Velaris, to enjoy the freedom that they were denied under Amarantha.

It is a regular day at Rita’s, High fae gossiping about what happened under the mountain, each story vastly different from the other. I’m serving a particularly loud male his spiced wine, his boasting of watching Feyre is the loudest among the chatter, “- and then she answered Amarantha’s riddle, you should have seen the look on that bitches face as Tamlin ripped her throat”. I slam down the glass in front of him making sure he cuts the conversation short. Other customers are beginning to look uncomfortable at the mention of Amarantha’s name and I don’t want to lose their business due to one drunken fae. Seeing my harsh actions made the male pip down.

I began the usual cleaning for the night before Rita intercepted me “Girl, I need you to quickly serve the high lord and his family, everything is free as a mating present to his new high lady” she said quickly before walking away to calm down a fight between other patrons. I can’t maintain my composure knowing the high family is here. That Morrigan is here. It's been fifty years since I’ve seen her. I quickly walk over to their usual table, noting Cassian, Az, Amern, the woman I assume to be Feyre, the high lord, and Morrigan. She is glowing, her smile contagious. Her hair looks the same, in the golden braid. She’s in a flowing red dress that brings out the glimmer in her eyes. I start to imagine what she's wearing underneath before Amern brings me back to reality. Heat spreads across my cheeks for my shameful thoughts.

“Hello?'' growls Amern, “Are you going to take the drink orders or are you going to oogle Mor all night”.

I’m mortified, I’ve always known Amern to be unpleasant most of the time. I can’t bring myself to look at Morrigan, too afraid to see her reaction to my attraction to her. Cassian lets out a boyish giggle, “Do you hear that Mor? Even females can’t take their eyes off you”. I feel tears start to build in my eyes as I start to walk back towards the kitchen, shoulders slumped. I just want to go home, it's been a long night and now with that embarrassing situation, I don’t think I could last a couple more hours. I hunt down Rita, trying to think of some bullshit excuse to end my night early.

“Hey, Rita?” I sniffle “I think I should go home and call a healer, my nose has been running all day” I finish. Rita gives me a suspicious look

“Fine girl, but be back tomorrow bright and early, give someone else the high families order and go”. I sigh in relief as I pack up my things and head out the door. As I’m about to quietly slip out, I get a light tap on my shoulder and I feel a hand slide something into my pocket. I turn back around to find no one, no one but Morrigan giving me a sly smile at her table before she continues her conversation with Feyre.

⟴

I need to take a walk through the streets of silk and thread. The sight of the shops and all they have to offer always helps me clear my mind during distressing times. I stop by a particular favorite of mine. Aili is the fae who owns this shop and has been a friend of mine for centuries. She is one of the most talented females I know, making dresses for every occasion, she also is a great shoulder to cry on. I hastily grab the handle and yank open the door, thankfully the only fae in the store is Aili. I can’t hold back the choking sobs any longer. My friend quickly rushes over to me, a look of concern on her face. “What’s wrong?”. So I tell her the story of my humiliation. I have a hard time forming sentences between my crying and blowing my nose.

“- I couldn’t even finish my shift, I just left”, I finished. Aili gives me a small smile as she tries to soothe me.

“My dear I know what will make you feel better. A new dress, on the house”.

“No.” I stammer “These dresses are too expensive for me to just take for free.” Aili only gives me a laugh

“Well, it’s a good thing you know the owner”. I spend only thirty minutes or so in the store before I finally find something that catches my eye. A short green dress that has silver stitching that glows like the stars on winter solstice. It has a deep plunge neckline that some would consider provocative and completely sheer on the sides. Aili is right, as usual. I do feel better. I’m admiring myself in the mirror when I remember that I still have a hidden treasure in my pocket. I thank Aili for the dress and head home.

The walk is a short one usually if I take cuts through the streets, but tonight I want to savor the warm summer air. I make it to my small apartment in just a couple of minutes and rummage through my pocket to find my keys. My fingers brush a small note. I hastily open my front door, step inside, drop my shopping bag, and latch the locks before opening the note.

I was oogling you too if you would have looked up you shy girl. Maybe after I’m finished at Rita’s I’ll pay you a visit, only if you want.

-Mor

A pen appeared in my pocket. I don’t know what to write back. I quickly find the nearest hard surface. My hands are too shaky to say anything back. I take a couple of deep breaths and begin my message.

I would love to see you. I'm in the theatre district in the red house with the big oak door.

I’m thinking about changing what I wrote before the note disappeared. I’m nervous that I was too vague about where I live or that maybe I should have shown more excitement to the meeting with the high female fae I’ve had lustful thoughts about for years. A new note appears.

I know that house. I must say, I’m happy Amern said something, I’ve been wanting a private meeting with you for a while.

-Mor

Before I can craft a message back, everything disappears. I can’t help but smile to myself and think of the last line of that message, not believing it to be real. Morrigan didn’t give me a specific time for when she was coming. I began to clean. It's not usual for me to have company over, save for Aili. It’s been centuries since I’ve had a female that I was sexually attracted to in my house. Usually, those females were one-night stands that wanted to come home with me after an extensive night at Rita’s. They never meant anything to me and neither did I to them. This is different, I now have to make sure my house looks fit for the most beautiful woman in the world. I want this meeting to mean something.

After I finish up my cleaning duties, I hurry to my bathing room, showering off the smell of Rita’s restaurant. I struggle with what to do with my hair, usually, when I want to look presentable I put it in a braid. A habit I picked up from Morrigan. I want to impress her. I decide on a half-up in a bun with some strands flowing down my shoulders. I walk back to the door where my shopping bag is and bring out the dress. I had some reservations about getting it at first, I couldn’t think of any place I would ever want to wear it. Now, with Morrigan coming, it was perfect. After putting the dress on, I admire myself in the floor-length mirror. I must admit, I look hot. I do a little twirl in the mirror before I hear a knock on my door that snaps me back to reality. I rush to my door, undo the locks, and yank it open. There she is. Morrigan.

She changed her dress. The female is now wearing a floor-length blue dress that hugs her body, it has slits on the sides exposing her thighs. The silver stitching is similar to mine. The blue dress brings out Morrigan’s beautiful brown eyes. I can’t help but stare at her the way I did at Rita’s hours before. Her hair is still braided, she painted her lips an inviting brown color. Morrigan must have noticed my staring, her cheeks began to flush.

“Hello my dear, you look lovely”, she states as if it's pure fact. Her breath has a subtle hint of liquor. I muster up enough courage before I finally speak.

“Hi, Morrigan”. I hesitantly move away from the door and allow the beautiful fae to walk in. Morrigan gives my home a quick glance before turning back to me.

“Mor, my friends and lovers call me Mor.” I have known this but I don’t want to push boundaries. I smile as I think of saying her name. Mor. Excitement thunders through my heart that I am now allowed to call her that. I don’t know what to do with myself, the awkwardness settles in as Mor and I glance at each other. Finally, she says, “ I was thinking of having some wine if you’re interested? I brought a bottle over from Rhysands collection”. I give a quick nod and head over to the living room. We both sit on the couch, her thighs brushing against mine. I let out a tiny sigh from the contact, low enough to where I don’t think Mor heard. With a wave of Mor’s hand, two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine appear. Mor lets the glasses fall to the table before she begins to pour. First mine, then hers.

“I propose a toast” she purrs as she raises her glass, “to meeting each other at last”. I could only give a nod in response as we both clink our glasses together and drink. The wine is warm going down my throat, with hints of berries and chocolate dancing on my tongue. I drain my glass quickly to cancel out the tension that lies between us, Mor does the same. I guess now would be the best time to talk,

“You know Mor, I’ve always found you to be beautiful”. I wanted to tell her more, how I can’t ever look away from her, how her laugh makes my heart fill with joy. Maybe if I ever get the chance another time, I will. A slight grin spreads across her face.

“I know you have my dear. I’ve always known. I was going to ask you out for drinks before Amarantha decided to play the queen of Prythian”. She lets out a deep sigh before continuing, “I’m sorry I never did, it's been fifty years since my family has come back from under the mountain, I needed a little time before going back to the dating scene. I figured it wouldn’t be fair for either of us.” Happiness soars through my body at her words. She has been wanting this as much as I have. I reach my hand to hers as if to tell her It's ok, I understand. Mor lets out a deep sigh “but I know how I can make it up to you”’ a devilish grin spreads across her face.

She sets down her wine glass and reaches out her hand to my face. Her fingers begin to graze my cheek, working their way to my mouth. A small sigh escapes my breath as she brushes her thumb across my lips. Mor gives me a smirk before pushing her thumb into my mouth “suck”, she demands. I do as she asks, beginning by kissing the tip of her thumb before I part my lips, running my tongue along her slender finger. “Good girl”, moans Mor, I smile at the praise. Mor pulls her thumb out of my mouth and crashes her lips to mine. She tastes divine.

She nips at my lower lip with her teeth, telling me to open my mouth, I obey. A small moan escapes me as our tongues meet. I feel her place her hand on my knee, slowly raking her nails against the soft skin. My head begins to spin as her nails find my thighs, tracing little circles. Mor pulls away from the kiss “So beautiful” she whispers. I involuntarily spread my legs a little more, willing her to go higher. Inviting her to where I want her to be. I arch my back towards her, silently begging her to bring her lips back to mine. Instead, she begins to trail tender kisses on my neck. I let out another sigh. I want this to speed up, I’m impatient. I’ve waited fifty years for Mor and I won’t wait any longer. I push Mor away and unzip my dress, revealing myself to her hungry eyes.

Her gaze seems to drink in every detail of my body. I blush but Mor pulls me back to her, placing me on her lap. My breasts are at eye level. She kisses each nipple before placing one in her mouth, sending shivers through my spine. I let out a faint whimper. I feel her tongue make lazy circles, the warmth of her mouth is enough to drive me crazy. I want her mouth somewhere else. Somewhere lower. Mor pulls away and gives a soft laugh, “You’re making pools of excitement on my dress, shall I take it off?” I can only give her a nod as she lays me down on the couch and stands up. The movement is almost too fast for me to see before she brings herself back. Bare. Mor knows what I want, I can see it in her eyes. She slowly kneels on the floor, before me. “Put your legs over my shoulders, now”. The aggressiveness in Mor’s tone only makes me wetter. I do as she says. She grabs my waist and pulls me closer to her. My pussy inches away from her mouth, where it longed to be.

Mor traces little kisses on my thighs, slowly. I can feel her breath on me, making me want her mouth on me even more. I buck my hips up “Please” I beg.

“Mmmh, my dear” she purrs “I like it when you beg”. I feel a kiss placed on me before her mouth begins its work. I arch my back to give Mor better access as she flicks her tongue across my clit at a steady pace. My breath quickens as she begins to suck on tiny nub sending pleasure coursing through my body. I try to push her away, it feels too good and I’m becoming overstimulated, but she beats me to it. Mor grabs my hands and pins them to my sides, lifting her head from my cunt, “My dear, you will sit here and let me do as I wish. I’ve thought of this moment for too long. Every female I’ve been with for the past fifty years I’ve imagined as you. I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long. Now I have you before me, begging for me, displayed for me. You will be a good girl and allow me to do as I want to you, understand? she says. I give her a hurried nod which seems to satisfy her, she brings her mouth back to her meal, stealing my breath away with every lick.

I can feel my high coming, my thighs tighten around Mor’s head which earns a low groan from her sending vibrations throughout my body. I don’t know how much longer I can last, I take a quick glance at Mor, and it sends me over the edge. The sight is sinful, her eyes watching me, her lips wrapped around my clit, the sound of her sucking, it is too much for me. My back arches.

“Mor” I scream, “ I think I’m going to”, I don't finish my sentence before she lets go of my hand and slips two fingers into me. Rubbing the spot that allows me to reach my climax. I cum hard, bucking my hips against Mor’s mouth while her fingers work their magic, chasing my high. Mor lets out a little giggle as she takes her mouth away from me while pulling her fingers out. She slips those fingers into her own mouth, seeming to savor the taste of me.

“I can’t tell what's better” she purrs, “You, or the wine”. I smile at her, I feel happy that she seems pleased with me. I always want her to be pleased with me. “Now my dear, it's my turn”. She says with a grin.

⟴

The aftermath of sex has us both panting. We managed to move our little party back to my bedroom, bathing room, then to my kitchen table. We now lay in each other's arms back on my couch. Both of us grinning ear to ear. I don’t know what is to come of this particular situation but I know in my heart, I will do whatever Mor says, be whoever she wants me to be. I’m deep in my thoughts about the events of tonight and everything that led up to this moment. I meet her eyes again, looking down at her nestled lovingly against my breasts. I want to be with her until the end of time. I want to be the one she thinks of when she is ruling over her court, and I want to be the one she kisses every morning.

“I love you, Mor,” I whisper. She looks up at me and there it is. Like a warm blanket wrapping around me, that smells of nothing else but Mor. The Mating Bond.

#acotar #morrigan #acotar smut #acotar series #sarah j maas #f!reader #oc character #a court of thorns and roses #the night court #smut #acotar ships #female reader #mor acotar

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the-romantic-lady · 2 years ago

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I don't really like that they want to focus on the causes they are passionate about, it's way too activist for me. It's like the vegan people who go to grocery stores and dump milk on the floor. Or the stop oil lunatics who block the road and people can't get to hospitals. The energy is exactly the same "the cause I am passionate is important everything else doesn't matter".

TBH the causes they are passionate about are very elitist causes. Yes yearly years is important but there's very little some parents can do. People are living in a col crisis, both parents have to work sometimes more than they wish, and have their children in childcare for more time of the day than they wish. They can't spend as many time with their kids as they would like, they have work, sometimes commute, they have housework. Sometimes it's just not feasible even if they wanted to. Then in comes someone who is the privileged of the privileged. Who has 3 homes, none of which she paid for. Who has house staff, a full time nanny and barely works, to lecture people about how much the early years of your kid is important and how you should focus so much energy and time that you just don't have on that. Without actually offering any practical solution might I add.

Then we have the mental health one. Yes mental health is important, but how talking about how important it is help anyone? Like so many people that I know would like to go to therapy but can't afford it. Or if they live in a country that does have a public healthcare it's incredibly hard to get a therapist because the line of people already wanting is too big, there's never enough professionals to meet the demands. People could not heat their homes this winter, the food is more expensive by the day, the cost of property is going up so much that people can't afford to have housing. For anyone this is horrible for mental health, working yourself to the bone and you still can't have your basic needs met, and if you can there's not much left for anything else. You feel like you get stuck and nothing you ever do is going to help. What are they doing to help people have a better life so their mental health improves? Yep, nothing.

Then we have the climate change thing. Yes Earthshot is an amazing idea, I loved how it focused on getting solutions to the problems. But like the first step to help the issue is REDUCE. And I'm not one to say people shouldn't fly, but there are things that are just unnecessary. The Queen went to Sandringham by train, but William is always going by helicopter. If it was safe and good enough for the Queen, why isn't for him as well? It's very hard to take anything he says about how important is for us to care about climate change, when he can't even give up one of his luxuries that serves no purpose. This is not a trip to a vacation once in a while, or a work trip that is necessary.

What it bugs me the most is that even if Earthshot does provide solution for the problem it focuses on, their initiatives in general do absolutely nothing concrete to help anyone in the UK. It's not like the Edinburgh Awards or The Prince's Trust that actually offer things to the community. They help young people, small businesses, what do W&K foundation do besides help themselves learn and talk about things?

On top of that, they feel like they are too good for the boring engagements, it's not enough impact to their taste. Like bitch what impact your lectures have? If it helped anyone you would have stopped talking about mental health, it's been years and you are in the exact same place.

Cutting a ribbon is not below them. And they should do it. This should be their main job. The UK is not paying their security bill so they can follow their passion, it's for them to serve them, they are glorified public servants they should serve the community not just worry about their own interests. How many activists receive public funded security just to follow their passion? Yeah no one, because that's not what the job is about.

I don't agree with this completely. I do think they need to stop thinking of themselves as activists but the public complaining is part of the problem. Their pre-2017 engagements were considered blank and not big projects. So they went this direction which I am not a fan of.

I do see the importance of their causes though. Early Years is important in a time when children will be raised by daycares and technology. Part of her earlier work has been to spend time with them, take them to nature, and socializing with other parents. The unfortunate truth is that many parents don't value this anymore. It's not about how many homes, nannies or money you have. My parents were pretty much always poor and that didn't stop my mother from giving her all to us sisters. It's because she understood the importance of raising children, giving them time and attention among other things. On the other hand, I have family that have children whose children go from school to daycare to a day home. Society is disregarding the family and the upbringing of children and we can't look away. Early years emphasizes this once more to slow down for children and I stand behind the message.

I am less interested in climate change and all but I think the solutions and award system is good. Although you do have a point with the lack of focus on Britain. But William is supposedly launching a homelessness initiative so I hope that is promising and a cause I care more about.

There needs to be a balance. There is nothing wrong with Catherine visiting schools and nurseries but then she should work more to do other things. They need to expand but their current projects are not bad imo.

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timelesstaylorsversion · 6 months ago

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“ my world is just falling apart. it’s like everything is just crumbling around me. i don’t know what to do. i just want it to stop. ” // for @clubglee 🩵 ft. literally the minnesota twins baseball team? finished under the cut bc i can't shut up xoxo gossip girl <3

in many ways, like many twins, brenda and brandon were opposites. brenda, impulsive, never wanting to slow or settle down, the eventual fun aunt to her calm, cool, collected brother's kids. because brandon was just that. their parents' golden child, wise beyond his years, just a genuine good person, someone who could be the best friend you ever have. they balanced each other out. but now, her main priority was to make sure brandon didn't fling himself off the hollywood sign. she had been watching girls throw themselves at him since they were twelve, but his eyes never quite sparked up with anyone else like they did with leyla. the love of his life. an engagement ring tucked away for safe keeping and there it would stay. maybe forever because she no longer knew who he was. or who any of them were. the panic in her twin's voice on the other line, getting off a near eleven hour flight straight to his side, seeing the blood stains on his clothes that he wouldn't change out of, hearing that he beat his future father in law to a pulp (her and dylan were disappointed they missed it), everything was just.... a mess. and all she could do was watch him spiral. then leyla woke up and that sparkle in his eyes returned. yet, it didn't last. amnesia. whether it was temporary or permanent, they just didn't know. but one thing everyone could agree on: do not stress her out. do not overwhelm her. time, she just needs time.

the raven haired woman sighed as she sat down next to him on the couch. god, casa walsh had seen so much crap over the years. she brought her knees up to her chest, peering over to the male with his head in his hands. exhausted. "hey, hey, brand— she already fell in love with you once, who says you can't get her to again? we just need to have a little faith and besides, she still pretty much hates all men besides you, dylan, and david and the last two are spoken for, so i mean," brenda shrugged her shoulders, in attempt to lighten the mood. she definitely wasn't going to mention how leyla thought a med student was cute and how he tried to ask her out, hell no. he wasn't even that cute either, (he was, but she has to be on team brandon.) she could've swore maybe there was a faint smile on his features, just for a moment. "i know you're trying to make me feel better, but we don't know that she will. i just need to give her space, bren. i have to love her enough to do that and i do, even if it's the last thing i want," his head falling onto her shoulder with the last word. something they had been doing since they were kids, when the world got hard. some things never changed. even if they lived about five thousand miles apart now. "then give her space, just don't completely shut her out, okay? she's still her. and you still have that midwestern charm she loved so much," god, minnesota is so fucking cold. is there hot chocolate? yes, i need mini marshmallows in mine. why can't you people just eat cinnamon rolls like normal people? why do we have to dip it in chili? wait, i want to see the largest mall in america. i loved it in jingle all the way. "and personally i want to see her face when you tell her you beat the shit out of her dad, like bam, bitch went down!" brenda exclaimed, quoting the infamous scream, punching the air in reenactment. "my brother, a scrapper, who knew? god, i can't believe i missed that, can you do it again?" there's a grin on her face. she's pretty sure she speaks for everyone when she says rami kaplan needed to get his shit rocked more often. the younger twin receives an eye roll and push in response, a sign of the mood lightening. " hey, you're the one who moved five thousand miles away, so i'm pretty sure that's your own fault, bren," it's her turn to smack his arm. one thing about them? they will hit each other anytime, anywhere. couldn't you just tell they loved each other? "yes, yes, we all know how much you missed me. but lucky you! you're stuck with me for the near future. i stocked up on ice cream, and as always, don't touch my butter pecan, thank you," the woman announced as she got up to get her aforementioned ice cream. brenda walsh: sister of the year? well, obviously.

#ur honor i love them #brotp: winter slushie

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janeeyreheresy · 2 years ago

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The Connections of the Uncle in Madeira

They leave Bertha's room, Rochester staying behind to give further orders to Grace Poole. Mr Briggs tells Jane she is absolved of any blame and that her uncle will be glad--if he should still be alive when Mr Mason returns to Madeira. Jane is surprised that the lawyer knows her uncle. Briggs says it's Mr Mason that knows her uncle. He has been the Funchal correspondent of House Mason for some years.

As you recall, Jane wrote a letter to her uncle, in which she announced her upcoming nuptials To Mr Rochester of Thornfield Hall. Richard Mason happened to be there when Mr Eyre received the letter. He was stopping in Madeira on his way back to Jamaica after he was sent away from Thornfield. So of course Richard informed Mr Eyre that no way, that can't happen as the dude is married already, to his sister. Mr Eyre is, sadly, very ill and will not last much longer. Unable to travel to England himself, he sends Richard in his place to stop the wedding, connecting him with Briggs.

Mr Briggs is Mr Eyre's solicitor. He advises Jane to await further news from or of her uncle. If Mr Eyre's health was in a better state, he'd advise her to travel to Madeira with Mr Mason.

I wish she travelled to Madeira anyway. Imagine she was united with an uncle she never knew about, even if only for his few final days. She might just have made it. Briggs is no medical doctor, and people can last longer than their prognosis. Imagine she and Richard became friends along the way and he'd tell her about his sister and how they grew up in Jamaica and she'd develop sympathy for Bertha, and hatred for Rochester and then, once Mr Eyre passed away, they'd go back to England, rescue Bertha, and burn down Thornfield with Rochester in it.

Richard becoming an unexpected ally would be a good plot twist. In the book I mentioned in a previous post, See Jane Run, there is a character that is at first antagonistic, but ends up helping the protagonist. Thrillers are like that.

Sigh once again... what could have been.

Let's go back to the night of Richard's stabbing. Remember how Rochester warned Richard not to talk to Jane, or else? This now gains new significance. Rochester's intention was to prevent Richard from telling Jane about Bertha. But now we learn that Jane and Richard have a common acquaintance. It would need a five minute conversation for them to figure it out. Heck, Richard only needs to know her name. "Miss Eyre? Spelled E-Y-R-E? You don't happen to be a niece of Mr John Eyre of Madeira? He's been looking for you for three years."

Jane first learned of this uncle from Bessie, a servant of the Reeds (and wife of Robert Leavin, the guy who came to take Jane to Gateshead), on her last day at Lowood school. Bessie came to see her before Jane left for her new job, to say goodbye, as Bessie had always been kind to her. Bessie tells her Mr Eyre came to Gateshead, looking for her, while she was at Lowood, and that bitch Aunt Reed sent him away. According to Bessie, he looked like a gentleman and was a wine merchant. Jane never attempted to look for him--as I said before, she only does so after her engagement to Rochester, because she feels uncomfortable about her future husband's wealth. Not once, in the time she first hears of the uncle, till the shopping trip to Millcote, does she ever contemplate looking him up. Sure, she has very little information, but there are ways. Madeira is not that big an island, and English wine merchant wouldn't be that hard to trace. The world was a lot smaller in the 19th century (if we are to accept that the brother-in-law of her boss/love interest happens to know her uncle, we can accept Jane finding a way to locate the uncle). She never knew any relations on her father's side, the Reeds were her mother's relatives. For someone who has been starved of love all her life, she displays remarkable lack of curiosity about a potentially kind relative.

It could, of course, be the fact that the guy lives in Madeira. You know, a place that is not England. Our little Jane is, unfortunately, a massive xenophobe. (Though the uncle is English, so I don't know...)

Which is also why she distrusts Richard Mason right from the start. But just imagine she did trust him, imagine she managed to get past her prejudice and talked to him, while she changed his bandages (even if just to soothe him after his attack). Not only would she defy Rochester, and properly this time, not just by an empty "no sir", she'd get to discover the true extent of his villainy AND gain a new friend!

Of course, Rochester could not have known about the Madeira connection (unlikely he knows his brother-in-law's friends or business associates), the no-talking ban was only for the sake of keeping his abhorrent secret. But it does make me despair how close Jane was from being spared from this ordeal.

#jane eyre #richard mason #mr briggs #john eyre #remarkable coincidences #rochester is a villain #jane eyre meta

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phoenixyfriend · 4 years ago

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Thoughts on “Auntie Soka and Little Leia” now that I’ve actually got it posted:

Call it a director’s cut! The process of actually writing the thing, and also jokes made along the way. Link to the actual fic.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the energy for image descriptions, even the text screenshots. Might come back that later. Most of this was DMs with @atagotiak.

This was an entire thing before I even started writing:

Before I decided on ages and stuff Ahsoka, to Jango, who has had zero contact with Kaminoans: Okay I know I'm a Jedi kid so you hate me but this toddler is your clone from the future. Jango, tired: What the FUCK are you talking about. Rex, barely able to talk: Don't you dare leave me with him, Commander! Ahsoka: I'm not going to leave you I just--I'm so tired I'm so fucking tired I haven't slept in five days and someone tried to kidnap Leia two days ago I am so fucking tired I need help

Ben: [twenty years of depression followed by a 'now I'm safe' breakdown over the course of weeks] Sokari: [whatever the FUCK this mess is]

When Ahsoka mentions there only being three other Jedi at the time of her death, I was thinking Kanan, Yoda, and Obi-Wan (Leia told her about the latter two living past her). She's not counting anyone that received training after the Temple fell, and she didn’t know about Cal.

When Leia says “I was adopted and raised by one of the founders of the rebellion, a movement built on the desire to instate freedom and democracy in a galaxy that had lost even the pretense.”

Depa: I'm no therapist but I diagnose you with "incredibly fucked up." Ahsoka: yeah, that’s fair

"Why did you pick Depa for--" She's pretty and I'm gay. Also because of the Kanan thing But mostly I'm gay "It's not a visual medi--" GAY

Empty of context beyond general post-fic AU: "Hey Sokari, we need to engage in psychological warfare against this individual and--" "I'm going to break into his office and leave a threatening note on his desk and leave no other sign that I was there. He'll see that his security is nothing and the only reason he isn't dead is because I'm too nice to kill him." "...okay, not what we were planning, but that works. Why is that your first choice?" "I really like breaking and entering, it's soothing." Ben just standing there with a bland smile like This Is Normal.

"We need someone to infiltrate a highly guarded facility in hostile territory." "So we're sending the Torrent kids?" [sigh] "We're sending the Torrent kids."

Rex and Sokari insist on both going by "Torrent" even though Rex could be a Fett. Jango really wants him to be a Fett. Rex has too many grudges to agree to being a Fett for... a while.

I really hope it's blatantly obvious that Ahsoka's not a reliable narrator for some things Ahsoka: Fett could care less if I died Jango: jfc even if you are older than me I can see you're fucked up. Drink your hot chocolate. Hells. She's got good reason to expect him to hate her as a Jedi! BUT. THAT IS NOT REFLECTIVE OF REALITY

We don’t get a lot of actual characterization for Jango, but the way I played him out here is he has never really parsed that Jedi are people before all this. It's a lot harder to treat them as a monolith when the traumatized former child soldier is having regular breakdowns in your shitty little kitchen

Fett: I respect you Ahsoka: No, don't do that

Ahsoka’s vigilantism is something that, in my mind, she's associating heavily with Zygerria and then the clones.

I figured that she never bothered to learn Quinlan’s teacher’s name but in the process of looking up some basic facts (whether he had a surname), I found that Wookiepedia was forced to give us a VERY wide range of possible death in Legends.

Please take a moment to imagine Quinlan's FACE when Ahsoka initially dismisses him. Quinlan has put a lot of effort into being rogueishly charming! It's very useful for his line of work! He knows to expect either irritation or a return flirtation when he acts like this with people his own age! Ahsoka is not flustered OR rolling her eyes and insulting him, she's just ignoring him and it's a bit of a blow to the ego

This just makes me really happy:

This was the initial comment I made, as a joke What if Maul is just. There. On one of the planets they make a pitstop at. What if Maul exists as the walking problem he is, but fifteen, and Ahsoka immediately tries to kick his ass and drag him back to Coruscant. I do not have room for this plot but What If

Despite not having room for this plot, I proceeded to write this plot.

Maul is kidnapped and it’s the best thing that ever happened to him HE'S FIFTEEN HE'S DUMB AS SHIT AND HAS A BAD ATTITUDE AND YEAH HE'S A DARKSIDER BUT HE'S FIFTEEN

Ahsoka: I sense... Maul [takes off sprinting] Rex: [immediately takes Jango's blaster and runs after her] Jango: Wait who Tholme: Who Quinlan: Who Jango: [looks at Leia] Leia: I don't know who that is either! Ahsoka, already wrestling a teenager to the ground: Oh no, you're a child, REX STUN HIM AND GRAB THE CUFFS, I'M SURE FETT OR THOLME HAS SOME

Fighting him isn't even legal, they have NO evidence of criminal wrongdoing, so first she needs to yell until he admits to something she can fight him about

Ahsoka: When I see Maul, it's on SIGHT Maul: WHO ARE YOU

Ahsoka: The Force didn't give me hands just to NOT throw them when I run into That Crafty Son Of A Bitch

Ben, when they arrive, after the tearful reunion: You... you brought Maul. Ahsoka: Well, yeah, he's fifteen and kinda dumb. I figured we could drag him here and force him into therapy, see what happens. Ben: I can't quite tell through the gag, but I think he's threatening to feed you your own spleen. Ahsoka: Lol, yeah.

Ben is absolutely on team "get Maul therapy" and will fight the Council on rehabilitating the baby Sith But also it's like. Here's your daughter! And your niece! And your daughter's QPP! Also your best friend, but baby, and his teacher, and the biological origin of a number of people you cared for deeply! AND ALSO THE GUY WHO SPENT LITERAL DECADES CRAVING YOUR DEATH, FOR SOME REASON

I just really want Ahsoka lovingly bullying Maul She gives him noogies and the horns don't protect him because girl has reinforced gloves

Maul's only allowed a low-power training saber and his fights with Sokari involve Much Taunting by her and Eventual Screaming by him, and everyone pops by to see: 1. Sokari doing the most absurd flips, for fun. 2. The bullshit that is ataru-shien reverse-grip jar'kai in the hands of someone who makes it work 3. What a Sith lightsaber form looks like 4. Just the general nonsense that is the way these two fight

Tia said “Wrt ridiculous flips. I'm remembering that time she beheaded four Kryst'ad at once.” and I just Rex brings up the quadruple beheading at one point to get someone to stop asking questions and the awkward, horrified silence almost makes him regret it. And then Sokari just snorts and makes a joke about how Rex once speared a slaver point-blank and everyone's just like hello??? "are you two okay" "no"

Maul absolutely starts crushing on Sokari after a 'sword under chin' moment and she's just very "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh you're fifteen, bye" GO MAKE PUPPY EYES AT OBI-WAN OR SOMETHING

The crushes are the worst part of everything, really, she's an attractive young woman that can kick a lot of ass, and a lot of people are into that! Unfortunately, most of those people are a decade younger than she is, mentally, because all the people her actual age look at her and see a child on account of the 17yo body.

It’s almost a good thing she’s in no place mentally for a relationship.

I just want Ahsoka to wear beskar.... I think that would be Nice........

This AU is also what caused this post.

I'm deeply enamored by the idea that Ahsoka can win fights against "older" padawans pretty much unilaterally, even when they team up 2v1 And then she offers to fight 5v1 "But only if I have permission to fight dirty." Ben approves it, a horror show full of "I fought many wars and will scream in your face or kick you in the balls if that's what it takes" follows She wins. There are no permanent injuries, but her reputation certainly gets weirder. Nobody under the rank of Knight agrees to let her fight dirty again. She just lets that stand because, well, she's not actually a padawan, she's thirty-three.

I’m not going to write this but my brain was EVIL and suggested it:

IT WOULD BE REALLY SAD IDK maybe 9yo Anakin has nightmares about what's happening to baby Ahsoka because bullshit about time-traveling force bonds IDK ANYWAY he cries to Sokari about the nightmares and she's like "oh shit" and it's time to go rescue herself from motherfucker unlimited

It's either that or she's like, expecting to welcome mini-me aaaany day now, for like, several months, before she realizes Something Went Wrong. Anakin’s dreams could even start right as she’s starting to realize something’s off.

Obi-Wan has never had a padawan that doesn't at some point bite Even Luke will, when pushed

OH also once the twins get Baby's First Lightsaber (training sabers, not real kyber), Sokari begs to borrow them for a dumb joke and tells Rex to get on her shoulders for a "Grievous Greeting" and they do The Thing

Jango and Ahsoka wrt Quinlan is just “Do I need to beat him up for you” “You realize I’ve beaten up sith lords before?”

JANGO'S TRYING He's just. "Can we be friends? Can I--can I be the guy that just noticeably gets in the way of a creep on the subway so you can be more comfortable without someone making a scene? I'm fucking trying here, give me a hint."

We didn’t actually figure out Jango’s age until this point. The only reason Fett's age matters is for Quinlan making a Wild Oats quip after Jango says he didn't know about Rex until a few weeks ago, and Fett going "How old do you think I am? And how old do you think the kid is?" and Quinlan getting Very Awkward as he does the math. Rex overhears and lets Quinlan sweat for a bit before saying "I'm a genetically-modified clone someone grew in a tube, he didn't know or have reason to know until he saw me with Sokari." Which is like. Eight additional layers of WTF, obviously, but at least Jango gets to avoid awkward wild oats jokes

Like, you’d expect the rebuttal to be ‘he’s my brother just with a biiig age gap’ or ‘he’s my nephew’

I find it very unfortunate for Quinlan that I've decided his defining characteristic in this context is going to be repeatedly putting his foot in his mouth

He’s trying so hard but "That sounds like a cool thing, maybe I'll ask ab--and it's another fucking trauma."

I'm doing Ahsoka&Jango t w i c e (there’s another fic where I’m doing it)

It’s just a fun dynamic! So much resentful respect.

Like she's twenty seconds away from calling him a bitch at any given time and he's just there like "I don't like you but I do see you move like you're about to tell an entire building to get on their knees with their hands in the air and I can respect that" Also she's probably much less judgmental about using blasters than Obi-Wan is The Maul subplot actually started with me daydreaming about Ahsoka grabbing a blaster for Reasons

I like the idea of Jango just deciding the most Useful thing he can do is help teach the Smol how to fight. He's AWKWARD around Rex and Soka because he doesn't know if there's anything he CAN teach them.

I didn’t actually plan for Tholme to figure out the age thing, he just SAID it and I had to sit there like Wait.

Ahsoka, Rex & Leia: ahhh, children Tholme: you say that like you aren’t children

I liked getting to write Rex's little "I have worked with all of them, and they're all Terrible" He loves them But They once got stranded on a planet that didn’t exist and Ahsoka died and Anakin killed a god.

There was research and discussion as to whether Ahsoka could win against Tholme but seeing as she held her own against Vader, and fought Grievous at that physical age without dying, etc.... yeah, the only thing holding her back was her body not being what she was used to, and she’s had a few weeks go adjust.

“I miss being able to just jump off skyscrapers” is such a jedi thing

Jango: I'll take the gun back if he tries to leave, they can't get far before--WHAT THE FUCK He knows Jedi are scary but he’s still not really used to just how over the top ridiculous they are He knows how to deal with Jedi in battle, not Whatever The Fuck These People Are Doing

Rex isn't even a Jedi, he's just so used to working with them. “Oh yes time for free-falling without a parachute again, same shit as always.”

Tia: I’m imagining Jango freaking out and Quinlan and Tholme being like. Concerned but mostly exasperated Clearly if they’re jumping off buildings it must be serious? But jfc they could’ve maybe communicated a bit more?

Leia: I want to finish my juice Tholme: Quin, stay with her while we go figure out what those two are doing. Quinlan: Wait what

Jango: Oh now he’s jumping off a building too??? Tholme: Sokari, you are not registered! You can't legally jump out windows yet! Jango: What the hell is going on? Is this normal?

We don’t necessarily know how often Ahsoka and Maul ran into each other after Mandalore. There was the later thing on Malachor, but other than that I'm just going with the idea that they ran into each other every year or two and just went for the eyes like feral cats

Ahsoka: I need to kick ass and you're coming with me. Rex: Yeah, okay. [several minutes later] Rex: Whose ass are we kicking?

Ahsoka and Rex

Neloms aren’t a SW fruit to the best of my knowledge, I just wanted to mess around with lemons/melons

Jango: you didn’t think any of this through, did you? Rex: you were there, you know we didn’t "When the Jedi says to jump out a window, I jump out a window."

Tholme’s real composed about stalking the ancient nigh-mythical enemy of his people, very “Life is already so goddamn weird”

This fic has been so heavy on the trauma but then I introduce Maul and suddenly it's the worst kind of comedy Nobody is competent, everyone's a little dumb, the bad guy is just grocery shopping

My propensity for banter has turned this into a six-person buddy cop comedy about Maul buying grapes They spend a significant amount to time ineffectually stalking Maul before Quin suggests the sensible option Quinlan just "You remember this is my literal job and specialty right"

Ahsoka sees Maul and all her brain cells go out the window except "Fight good" Usually she doesn’t need to worry about doing things legally. Maybe she needs to worry about someone seeing her do illegal things but she spent the past 15 yrs in a place where her existing was illegal

I feel like he’s also maybe kinda wanting to reassert that yes he is competent. Bc like. Ahsoka’s been kinda condescending this whole time and also can beat everyone up so. It's not his fault that he's actually the youngest person there, but.

Jango is finding this whole being friendly to Jedi thing a lot more overwhelming than he thought it would be. And overwhelming in different ways.

Maul usually signifies things getting worse and more horrifyingly tragic but he's just a dumb teen that they needed to arrest for his own good.

Quinlan: Look, I'm useful! Ahsoka: I've been through hell, wanna hear? Quinlan: NO. I DON'T. WHY.

Quinlan: I understand the concept of joking about your traumas, I do it sometimes myself! But sith hells that’s a lot of trauma.

Quinlan just wanted her to treat him as a Competent Individual, and here she is whipping out stories about Dying and Gods and the Force insists it's the truth and he just???? And apparently emo darksider over there is a Sith. And just, sure. Why not

A lot of people’s interactions with the time travelling disaster lineage is just

Tholme and Fett arguing and Ahsoka's just waiting for a moment to pop in with "Hey, when's the last time either of you worked with the other's culture before this mess? Yeah, that's what I thought."

Much like Leia and Ahsoka hurting each other earlier, and Tholme figuring out the de-aging, we ALSO have Fett’s confrontation with Ahsoka being something the characters just did, rather than something I planned.

FTR the only time I managed to trigger myself while writing this fic was the “your behavior isn’t actually acceptable and we’ve all been trying really hard to give you room to recover but you have to at least make an effort to not be a bitch”

Writing about people having PTSD and symptoms of such: Yay! Writing about people having PTSD and engaging in toxic behavior to cope: Shit Ahsoka had... basically my exact reaction. It's "remind yourself that you're in the wrong, that they have a point, and then be overly formal in the apology because fuck if you accidentally make them feel sorry for you when they're the injured party"

Quinlan: Can we be friends? I mean, you're an asshole, but you're really cool. Let's be friends. (He MIGHT be nursing a crush) (Neat mysterious girl who can beat him up.)

Also he realises she's probably nicer when not having a slow-motion breakdown He's like "Huh, you'll probably be less of an asshole once you've gotten therapy."

...also, she pretty and got Nice Biceps

I love writing a good mental breakdown

I was so close to including a "he tried to kill me" just early enough for Jango to wildly misinterpret as her thinking Quinlan tried to kill her. He'd have been very confused, considering Quinlan's the one that called them down in a panic and currently has Ahsoka having her massive breakdown in his lap But

Tia: I could see Jango interpreting it as idk, Quin resembling someone or for a moment acting like someone who tried to kill her and she had a flashback or something like that

There's absolutely room for a couple reasonable interpretations there And "trapped in a flashback about someone who tried to kill her" is absolutely what's happening! Just. You know. For a different reason. Jango probably wouldn’t assume Quin would hurt her, for one thing he seems to like her, for another even if he did he’s smart enough to pick a way that wouldn’t be so likely to get him caught

I had to step back and actually say “Also I'm just. Wow. I'm really just shoveling QPP Rex&Ahsoka at full speed”

Me, a few weeks ago, joking: Two halves of the same idiot black ops specialist Me, now, entirely seriously: Two halves of the same idiot black ops specialist

Me, belatedly: Oh, Ahsoka being joyfully mean to people was a form of mania she was unconsciously using to build a barrier between herself and her impending meltdown

She went from "just died" to "in charge of Rex and Leia" in like. Two minutes.

Confession: I've been delighting in the mental image of this whole Mess leading Jango to try to retake Mandalore, and Ahsoka loans him a saber for a 1v1 to get the darksaber.

“Can’t I just fight him barehanded? That’s how I did it on Galidraan.” "But the drama, Fett!"

Probably Rex has learned how to use a saber as well, because you never know when you have to borrow a weapon

I later changed my mind to Jango asking her to help, rather than her just sneak-teaching him, but it was funny.

Background nonsense to all this is Ahsoka and Rex, despite Rex being as force-sensitive as a lump of coal, having developed a process where she can extend her sensitivity to him mind-to-mind for weird symbiotic battle trance that scares everyone around them. It’s very similar to Battle meditation.

CONTEXT FOR LEIA BEING WORRIED ABOUT THOLME HIDING THINGS: Tholme is hiding the fact that the Council reached out and told him that the people he picked up might be connected to Ben and Luke, who showed up after the Depa thing but a solid week and change before Jango's ship makes it to the Temple. They asked that he not share that information to avoid getting anyone's hopes up in case the two situations aren't related. Ben and Luke haven't shared enough information for anyone to really be sure if the other three are connected Because the info Tholme has isn't quite the info Jango has, etc. And they can't just say Ben is a future Obi-Wan over comms

I just have a lot of feelings about people trying to do something right and just. Nobody's at fault! Not really! It's just complicated!

Tia: I like how when Ahsoka isn’t doing maladaptive trauma response stuff she’s very mature. And of course she’s had to be but it’s a good like, contrast. Where when she slows down to think about things she’s very sensible

Jango just spends most of this story lowkey wanting Ahsoka to Be His Friend but there's too much baggage that he's only metaphysically responsible for

Local aroace(?) has a squish

Ahsoka: He just wants to get on my good side because of Rex. Jango: I'm pretty sure you could kill an entire army without trying but you wouldn't because you have actual morals and stuff... and when I met you it was because you were killing yourself trying to keep (what appeared to be) children safe... you seem cool please be my friend.......

Ahsoka’s #1 weakness: mountains of trauma Ahsoka’s #2 weakness: she just doesn’t get why so many people think she’s cool and want her to be their (girl)friend

Jango, a 27yo massacre survivor who's killed Jedi masters with his bare hands: [gets lectured on various government structures by a tiny girl that's missing several teeth and needs to sit on books to see the table properly]

Ahsoka was raised in a religious meritocracy but developed all her opinions during a galactic war and then became a vigilante spy, Rex comes from a military cult, Leia is from an inherited monarchy that participates in democracy, Quinlan was originally from what appears to be a dynastic dictatorship, and IDK about Tholme other than that he is also from the religious meritocracy. And in legends Quinlan came to the religious meritocracy after his aunt sacrificed his parents to a vampire cult and then forced him to experience the psychometric echoes of that. There's just. A lot going on.

Leia at least has knowledge about structure and admin in theory that isn't based in either the military or populations under 10k

Jango: I want to be your friend. Ahsoka: Sounds fake.

I am unfairly fond of "Rex destroys a conversation by bringing up his own horrifying childhood and calling it a cult"

"Why does Sokari call you 'Rex'ika'?" "Because she's older than me." "...can I--?" "No."

Nickname privileges are extended ONLY to Ahsoka and older clones. There are no more older clones, so it's just Ahsoka.

Me joking about Star Wars AUs: Would you like a crackship? Me writing actual Star Wars fic: My favorite character type is apparently “too traumatized to have a relationship” so this is at least 90% gen.

I had to pull a scene opening at one point because Ahsoka's skill with not getting shot is actually much less useful than Tholme's clearance levels.

Now I really want a team-up of Ahsoka, Rex, and Jango where they do have to get in a dogfight of the "she flies, we shoot" variety and Fett just has to scream because the speeder thing to catch Maul was one thing, but this....

Ahsoka, before TCW: I know all the traffic rules but I'm not that great at flying! Ahsoka, after TCW: I'm great at flying but if you let me behind the wheel we are absolutely getting arrested.

She went from "knows the rules but doesn't have the skills" to "has the skills but primarily in the form of not getting shot" which! Is delightful! "Bet I can get us through that alley--" "DO NOT"

Jango and Ahsoka are both just very "Is this friendship? Is this camaraderie? My heart's been fried on platonic love by so many murders that I'm not sure anymore." "I've lost a lot of friends. I kind of forgot how to make those."

I have no idea if "hasn't been closer than Alderaan except that one trip to Chandrila" is canon-compliant but ehhhhhhhh It feels plausible enough?

Belatedly realized that I could just explain my optimal Rex&Ahsoka dynamic as just... drift compatible. It's vague enough on the specifics while still digging into the meat of what they mean to each other and how they work together. The terminology is already in existence. I can just use it.

Romantic? Platonic? Familial? Doesn't matter! They're drift compatible.

They are important to each other and that is what matters

I really like the Leia&Quinlan thing. He's just like "This small child needs a friend that isn't super depressed," and decided he's going to be her friend. I keep trying to toss in "Quinlan volunteers to 'baby'sit." She's not much older and she has a Baby Brain, it works out

There's a running bet as to whether Leia will leave the Order the second she turns thirteen, or if she'll let Sokari "train" her for a few years first. And... that’s how I came up with Leia Antilles, Senator of Serenno.

They'll be bullshitting Ben as her new master to "finish out the padawanship" since they can't tell everyone she's really in her thirties and he's conveniently there and already knows everything and was half her master anyway. Like Ben was planning on taking on Luke, but Luke is "six" and even he can't swing that as old enough to be a Padawan, and it's not like Sokari will take more than a handful of years to justify knighthood, sooooooooo

#Ahsoka Tano #Captain Rex #Leia Organa #Jango Fett #Obi Wan Kenobi #time travel #de aging #Phoenix Babbles #Uncle Ben and Little Luke #Auntie Soka and Little Leia #I need to excise the bits that are actually funny on their own

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thiserichann · 4 years ago

Text

cookies and cream - lee jeno

reader x jeno

genre: smut, strangers to fuck buddies, humor if you squint hard enough

word count: 4k-ish

warnings: recklessness (she met with a stranger online, don’t do it kids) excessive lying, 18+ scenes that includes: oral (f receiving) face riding, soft dom!jeno?

This is merely a work of fiction and is not meant to hurt the image of Jeno and NCT. Again, don’t be as reckless as OP. This was just a fantasy of mine that I’ve been dying to get out of my system.

Holy fuck.

That's the only word that you've managed to utter when you decided to check your messages that morning.

You got bored in the middle of the class and decided to sneak a peek on your phone to pass the time. The class is recorded anyways so you can always just go back to the parts of the lessons that you've missed.

But holy fuck.

You never expected to see THAT so early in the morning.

"Miss Y/N?"

You snapped back to reality and stopped malfunctioning for a second when somebody called your name. Everyone including your professor remained quiet and all eyes are on you.

"Oh. Sir what’s the question again?"

You answered nervously as you tried to review your notes and backtrack on what he is discussing a few moments ago.

"I see that you're distracted in the middle of my class again. Mind sharing what you're occupied with?"

"Uhm. I was watching KPOP fancams, sir."

"Fancams won't get you into law school, Miss Y/N. Phones off please."

You tucked your phone back to your pocket and never picked it up again since. The professor started blabbering again but no information is being retained on your head. It stayed that way at your other classes.

You wished you were looking at some KPOP fancams earlier. You’ve watched fancams at class before and got away with it unscathed.

Oh no. It was a goddamn dick pic.

A good one, too.

It was from a guy that you met in a kink site a few days ago. You created the account out of boredom and expected nothing to come out from it. It’s all the flirting and sexting without all the unnecessary commitment

It only took you a few minutes to set up an account. For some privacy, you made a random birthdate and a random nickname, because like hell would you share your real information to these people. You also picked a racy picture of a lady that looked a bit like you and passed it off as your own.

Within minutes, your inbox is flooded with messages. Most of them, however, are from men who are old enough to be your father.

Well, you were bored, so you entertained everyone and then went on back to your boring, vanilla life. A few political history and theory books later, you went back to see which ones messaged you on the site.

And that's where you've met him.

The most gorgeous piece of meat alive.

He seems like a nice guy. He introduced himself as LJ and your age aren’t that far off from each other. LJ is the only one who actually engaged in conversation besides "want to fuck?" or "are you horny?"

As soon as you started messaging back and forth, you scrolled on his profile to see what he looks like. The only thing is, his profile looked a whole lot like those high fashion male underwear photoshoots.

It was an array topless pictures (presumably his, you just can’t be bothered to check if it is actually his). It featured his sculpted abs and biceps, cropped up all the way to his full lips. Despite not seeing his whole face, you knew very well that he’s a hunk. To say you were intrigued is an understatement.

Since then, you've been talking back and forth through Snapchat (your secret one because you're not stupid) and sent him actual pictures of yourself, completely omitting the face. You took one from your bed, your bathtub, and probably every part of your house that you felt is sexy enough to be included on the pics.

You can't tell him if it's him or the repressed sexual urges finally manifesting itself after more than a year of not getting laid, but every text to and from him made your heart race. It was something that you looked forward to every hour everyday.

Hours went by that you totally forgot leaving him on read. You climbed up to your bed to rest your back to the headboard and opened your unread messages.

You: Hey svlr. School stuff.

He opened the chat and started typing right away.

LJ: Oh good. I thought I did something wrong to upset you.

You: Not at all. I loved the pic by the way. It literally knocked my socks off.

LJ: Just the socks?

You: You can take the rest of it off yourself ;)

You scoffed. The flirty banter has always been there ever since you started talking but nothing really came out of it.

LJ: If only I could :(

You: I know. Covid’s a bitch.

You set your phone aside for a second to go to the bathroom. On your way, you picked up some snacks at the fridge and sat back down to your bed, only to find your phone blowing up.

LJ: If you're down maybe we could meet

LJ: It's totally fine if you don't want to

LJ: I just made it weird, didn't I?

LJ: I'm so sorry I brought it up in the first place

LJ: I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable

LJ: Hello?

LJ: I'm really sorry

You: Chill. I'm right here

You: I just went to the bathroom

LJ: Oh

You: I'd be lying if I said I don't want to meet you as well

You: Well... I wouldn't write off the idea

You: But with the Covid

LJ: Thoughts?

You: I don't think it's a great idea

The screen says Seen right at the bottom but it took him a couple more minutes before finally replying.

LJ: I understand

LJ: But in case you change your mind, I'll leave the time and place up to you

LJ: I’ll take care of the rest

LJ: Deal?

You: I'll sleep on it.

You: Speaking of sleep, I gotta go. Morning class.

LJ: Okay. I guess this is good night then

You didn't, in fact, talk to him the day after.

You'd be lying if you said that you didn't want to see him and his abs in real life. But as someone who overthinks a lot, you just can't shake off the risk.

You: Good night. Talk to you tomorrow.

What if he's not really the guy in the pics? Or he’s psycho in real life? What if he's infected the virus?

You sighed.

Why must some global pandemic ruin your sex life?

You waited until the end of the day before you finally replied to LJ. The last thing that he texted was a brief good morning from earlier in the day and nothing else. He’s actually a pretty sweet guy, totally not worth ghosting, and you actually liked talking to him as a friend that you can share your sentiments with.

With your guilt finally eating you up, you took a break from your assigned readings and sat back at your bed to rest for the day. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a minute, thinking of something to say to him. It took you a few tries before finally hitting the send button.

You: So, I thought about it

LJ: And?

You: I need to know I can trust you

LJ: Okay. How?

You: I don’t know. Send me a proof that you’re real. Get tested?

You: Is that fine with you?

Within a split second, he sent his reply.

He actually did it.

You couldn’t believe it but he actually did it.

LJ: Consider it done.

He got tested for physical, including the virus test, and passed with flying colors. He even sent you a vid of him inside a medical clinic.

He just sent the uncensored results this morning where you can clearly see his real name.

Lee Jeno.

LJ.

Seems legit.

Well, the uncreative nickname shouldn’t matter now because the results meant only one thing.

You’re gonna have to push through with your promise.

You got ready around noon that day. You can’t remember the last time that you actually got ready to meet someone that’s not a delivery guy or a relative passing on something to your family.

As someone who overthinks a lot, you actually got everything covered. You picked a place near a restaurant to eat. The police station is just a few blocks away just in case something happens, and right in front of a library…

“Where’re are you off to?”

You raised your backpack to show to your mother.

“I’m off to the library. I needed to get these renewed. Maybe pick up a novel or two.”

She looks at you from head to toe, eyeing that incredibly loose hoodie, faded denim jeans, some worn out sneakers that looked like it’s supposed to be thrown away years ago and a medical mask that covers about ¾ of your bare face. It’s just your usual attire whenever you go out for errands.

She just nodded and went back to watching her favorite soap opera.

“It’s nice that you’re out of your room for once. Take some cookies from the kitchen so you’ll have something to eat in case you get hungry.”

… as an alibi to get away from your strict parents.

As soon as you left the door and made sure that you’re out of sight, you found the nearest public toilet and grabbed a whole other outfit from your backpack. The hoodie is replaced by a white, ruffled see-through blouse and you ditched the jeans for a tight skirt that’s at least four inches above your knees. You tousled your hair a little bit and put on some powder and tiny hint of lipstick before putting your facemask back on again.

It’s been a while since you’ve done an elaborate scheme like this. Your skills got a little bit rusty, but they always work.

Sometimes you wonder if you’re really meant to be lawyer or a criminal instead.

You stepped out of the toilet and blended right back into society.

Now all you have to do is find wherever the hell LJ is.

Jeno sat anxiously as he waited for you right inside the café. He’s on his fourth cup of coffee but it didn’t do anything to calm his nerves down (geez I wonder why).

You: I’m almost at the café.

He’s been staring at his phone the whole time. Once he received your message, which is a pic of you in the bathroom after the outfit change, he almost choked on his drink.

This message sent him on a panic as he turned his camera on to see how he looked. He did some minor adjustments to his hair and he wiped off his eyeglasses clean with the sleeves of his hoodie (which did nothing for him by the way) and then casually sat down and played it off cool like he hasn’t been waiting for you for over an hour.

On your perspective, you walked inside the café and looked around for LJ. Fortunately, there was only guy inside the café, twiddling with his phone on his hands and as he kept on peeking through the glass windows as if he’s looking for someone.

From afar, he actually looked really cute. His appearance, a shy, nerdy dude with glasses, looked way off from the fuckboy image that you expected him to have in reference to the messages that you’ve been getting from him.

It’s always the quiet ones that are kinky. You should know, you are one.

You walked over to his table and tapped his shoulders to get his attention.

He froze for a moment before he finally managed to turn around and face you.

“You’re actually here.”

“I know. I’m just as surprised as you are.”

tap tap tap tap

The room is so quiet that the only thing you can hear is the sound of your heels tapping against the tiled floor. You can say that that is one of your observable annoying habits tapping your foot on the floor when you're a nervous wreck.

Sighing in retaliation, you removed your hoodie, fanning yourself as you tried to relax and get comfy on the hotel couch (which should be comfortable enough since you paid a shit ton of money on that room), switching the TV on to get your mind off of things. The lackluster array of shitty sitcoms didn’t distract you at all, but it instead reminded you of the reasons why you’re in that room in the first place.

Having nothing to do to pass the time, you paced back and forth in the room, finally sitting down once you realized that it looks way worse than you just tapping your foot. You folded your arms right across your chest, looking at the watch from time to time but the hands of the clock seem to be moving slower the more you stare at it.

Quarantine started almost a year ago and it's been very hard for you. Sexually. It's been almost a year since you've been touched by a man and you’re more than ready to jump on anyone’s dick at any this point,

Too bad that that dick is taking his sweet time in the bathroom.

tap tap tap tap

Your foot found its rhythm once again, only this time, you’re not nervous anymore. Your patience is wearing thin.

As if summoned by the constant tapping, the guy comes out of the bathroom, just casually drying himself while wearing nothing but the towel dangerously hanging on his waist and a boyish smile on his lips.

No biggie.

"Hey."

Suddenly, you’re not tapping anymore.

Head empty, just thoughts of a hot guy patting down a towel all over his toned body.

“I hope I didn’t make you wait for too long.”

He spoke, tossing aside the towel on his hands on the sofa, finally giving you a full view of him and all his glory.

You must admit, you’re skeptical at first. The guy that’s been sending you faceless thirst traps just days ago, telling you how he’d fuck you senseless looked a lot different from the guy who entered the hotel room just a moment ago.

He came in wearing those black oversized hoodies that did a great job in hiding his best features. His hair was a bit long for your taste, covering half of his face while the face mask hid the other.

But this man right here in front you, he’s Adonis.

You unconsciously bit your lower lip, earning a chuckle from the guy.

“I’m guessing that you’d like to start now?”

You nodded, the tension and awkwardness rendering you unable to speak.

He smiles as he takes the remote from you, turning off the television because the main show is about to start.

You started to tense up again, eyes wide as you realized that he’s now right beside you, wrapping his arms around you as soon as he sat down. He leans over, soft lips coming into contact with your exposed neck and shoulders, landing small pecks all over.

You sat there breathless as he slowly ran his fingers to the side of your thighs, tracing circles at it while giving small, reassuring kisses on your neck and shoulders. It’s as if he’s asking you for your consent, waiting for you to open up to him before he makes a move.

He got his answer when you turned around to face him, running your fingers into his cheeks before cupping his face, your lips finally touching his. He moved in the same pace as earlier, slow and calculating. You got a bit impatient once again, biting his lower lips gently to let him know that he can do more.

He grabbed you by the waist and successfully placed you on top of him. The kiss got even more sloppy as you ran your hands through nape, then into his soft locks. His hands travelled once again, finger running through legs again, stopping as soon as he reached the hem of your skirt, flipping it up to reveal the thin lace material that barely covered your core. You took that as initiative to remove the towel on his waist and grinded against his growing member, the friction and heat enough to earn a groan out of him.

He held your waist once again, firmly this time, halting your movement completely.

You broke away from the kiss, staring him in the eyes to read his face.

“Something wrong?”

“Hold tight.”

You were about to ask about what hold tight mean, but your arms cling unto him involuntarily as he lifts the both of you out of the sofa.

Jeno laid you gently in the bed, making sure not to break eye contact as he does so. He looked like he's about to eat you alive, which is enough to send flush to your cheeks.

“I would’ve loved to bend you over that sofa, but I think it’s just proper that our first time will be on the bed.”

"God. You're beautiful."

He then ran his fingers towards the thin fabric of your blouse, feeling every part of your torso like he's memorizing every detail of it. His hands then travelled in your chest, squeezing the swell of your breasts on each hand, fingers shaking as he does so. It felt like an artist admiring his delicate work of art.

He situated himself between your legs, taking a moment to admire you first before doing anything else.

He started to run his hand on your cleavage and stopped on the uppermost button of your blouse, taking his time to remove all of them and placing a kisses at the exposed skin. After all of the buttons are taken care of, you lifted your body up and slid off the fabric. Your black lacy bra finally made its appearance. You took the liberty of taking that off too, as slow and as you possibly can.

Jeno just stared at your body in awe, breathing heavily as his eyes scanned your naked glory.

"Gorgeous."

He said under this breath before leaning down to claim your lips once again. You're turned on by how much attention he's giving your body now. You're usually loud in bed but his gestures are making you bashful. You've never felt this beautiful before.

You can feel his hands trembling as it travels all over your body, his kisses getting even more needy. There was moans of satisfaction every time he would lick your lips. Jeno was kissing you like you were oxygen and he needed to breath.

His hands travelled south, running across your thigh and your now aching core. You're about to remove your skirt and underwear but he stopped your hands midway.

"Keep it."

He took your hands away from your skirt and placed them just above your head.

"Just sit there and relax baby. Let me treat you."

You did just like he told you and gave him full control of your body.

"Good girl."

His lips brushed your ears, whispering sweet nothings about how beautiful you are under him. His kisses then went down to your neck, using his tongue and teeth, marking everything he can get his mouth on with his saliva. Meanwhile, his hands finally touched you down there, massaging your still clothed wetness.

His middle and index finger felt your slit, moving it in swift motion in search for your clit.

"Oh my god. That's it."

You gasped as his fingers finally hit the right spot, tossing your head back as his fingers made circles at your bundle or nerves.

You opened your legs more, leaning on your arms on your back, head tossed back and eyes closed as you feel your impending orgasm.

He dipped his hand inside your underwear and collected some of your essence with his fingers. The mental picture of him licking his fingers deliciously is enough to get you off for weeks.

It didn't take long before he took your panties off and his ducked his head down. He opened your legs once again and licked one long stripe on your core, making sure to taste all of you. You sat there and watch as he hungrily takes all of you in his mouth, acting like your pussy is a full course meal and he's been starving for years.

Within moments, you've become a moaning, toe curled mess. You ran your fingers to his blonde hair, guiding him on how to move his tongue and fingers on you. At one point, he bit some of your sensitive skin, making you scream a string of curses under your breath.

"Stop stop stop."

You grab a fistful of his hair and he paused from what he was doing. You pushed him gently away from you, leaving him staring at you confusedly. The confusion didn't last long when you flipped your current position, you're now on top.

"Can I ride your face?"

At this point, you're bold and horny enough to use your words and ask him. He just nodded, sliding himself from underneath you and went back to eating you like a champ. You grabbed his hands and placed them across your chest, squeezing your breasts to send him a message. He was quick to pick up and followed suit, pinching your nipples right in between fingers while your ride his face to orgasm.

"Shit. I'm coming..."

You writhed from above him as you come undone. Your body felt cold all over. Your eyes are ringing, feeling dizzy as you almost passed out while you bucked your hips a few more times to milk your release.

You didn’t have time to recover when you heard your phone ringing from outside. Your legs felt a little shaky and you almost tumbled and hit your head in the wall if Jeno didn’t help you get up. You sat down on the floor, butt-ass naked as you frantically searched for your phone from under all of your stuff before you finally pressed the answer button.

“Yes mom?”

“Where have you been? Your father’s been looking for you at the library. He’s picking you up on your way home.”

You buried your head on the couch to shake off the buzzing feeling on your head. You placed a pillow on your body while you searched for your discarded clothes all over the hotel room.

“Oh yeah. I went to the café and got something to eat. Tell Dad I’ll meet him outside the library.”

“Okay sweetie. Can you pick up some groceries on your way back? I’ll text you the list.”

“Yeah mom. Bye.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as you started putting on the outfit that you wore when you left home.

“Where are you going?”

Jeno reluctantly got dressed as well, his shy demeanor came back as soon as he wore his glasses and fixed his hair.

“I got to go, Jeno. I’m sorry that I’m leaving in such a bad time…”

You went over to him and placed a sweet kiss on his lips.

“I promise to make it up to you next time, okay? I’d love to meet you again.”

You grabbed a paper bag from your backpack and handed it to him, waving as you bolted out the door.

After fixing his things, he sat down for a moment and took a quick peek inside the package that you left him.

It was a ziplock bag of full of cookies and a whole other treat.

You left him your two-piece lace lingerie.

To be continued.

#nct #nct dream #nct u #nct x reader #nct smut #nct jeno #nct hard hours #jeno #jeno scenarios #jeno au #jeno smut #lee jeno #jeno imagines #jeno x reader

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wherethehellismysupersuit · 3 years ago

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EP- 16 review

i’m gonna write this review as unbiased as possible. But i honestly don’t think i can squeeze comedy in here.

It seems like my prophetic words from the review in EP-14 came true. TVN has a spectacular record in fucking up the endings on shows.

It’s not even about the fact that Yijin and Heedo didn’t end up together. Their growing apart, while heartbreaking was shown in a mature and beautiful way. Yijin lost sight of who he was in the grief. hearing Heedo’s words of support were more of a burden since she was so far removed from the tragedy. And Heedo realised this, and broke things off.

I won’t lie, it hurts. To see two people stick with each other through thick and thin only to find out that the real world is not the world they’ve seen through their rose tinted glasses. My favourite line was “When things are good, we’re lovers. Else, we’re just a burden to each other.”

The main thing that pissed me off was how the group did’nt really matter in the end. I feel like TVN tried to make this such a memorable, life lesson teaching, kind of drama that they forgot why the drama was as popular as it was. Because of the friends.

Yurim and Jiwoong stay together. They get engaged in a cute fencing match that i wished was Heedo’s and Yijin’s. Yurim opens a fencing school, Jiwoong runs a business. They got the ending we had been hoping Yijin and Heedo would receive.

Even Seungwan’s life disappointed me. Where did that ambitious, righteous girl go? She was stuck working at MBS as a backstage worker (i’m not sure) and also lost someone dear to her (Can someone tell me whose funeral it was? I don’t want to rewatch the episode tbh)

I fully expected her to be in a position of great respect. But then again, life’s a bitch.

Heedo retires at 28, marries some nameless guy, still longingly looks at Yijin and then probably has Minchae.

Some reasonable points that were never mentioned again were;

1) who was minchae’s dad? the drama writers knew that was the main question, and yet they never answered it?

2) what happened to Yijin? You don’t go and make a show just so the ml’s story is the least detailed. We know that he was the head anchor, but did he ever get better? was he still stuck in his destructive ways?

3) Really? A freaking goblin and his reincarnated lover can end up together, doom and a human with terminal illness can be together and live happily, but a fucking reporter and fencer can’t? What bullshit is this?

4) a random soundbite of appa in the studio that we all theorised on for weeks? yep also meaningless. Fuck you.

The main reason this drama disappointed me was that in the end, the premise didn’t really matter. In this covid infested world, we all craved human contact and empathy. Twenty Five Twenty One marketed itself as a drama that was young, fun, filled with friendships that was like a boon to us touch starved people. We loved, laughed and cried along with them , only to find out that they’re not really in contact with each other. It’s depressingly realistic, but not the thought the viewers needed in this time. i’m not sure if there’s a season 2 announced, but i don’t think it could fix this.

All we know is Heedo’s future is that she works at the woodworking shop named 2521. She has a daughter named Minchae, who does ballet. She’s a retired fencer. Are we sure that she even is the fl? and it’s not Yurim?

It sucks that the main leads future is not detailed at all, whereas the side characters get their happy ending.

Once again, i’m thankful to 2521 for making my weekends happy. But this weekend was a bitch, and i’m trying hard to erase my memory. I feel like they tried too hard to be ~not like other dramas~ and it backfired spectacularly. Not because of Heedo and Yijin, because of the really ambiguous ending. All my love to the actors and i hope to see them in more dramas again.

signed,

Your resident analyser.

#twenty five twenty one #na hee do #baek yi jin #ji seung wan #moon ji woong #weekend ramblings #comment if u wanna vent cuz i wanna #had to delete my original post cause it kept glitching and messing up my page

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newbeginningsforever · 5 years ago

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UPDATED: An Extremely Thorough Analysis of Episode 9 - Adrian’s Story

@espanholina asked me to rewatch the show and re-evaluate what really happened between Takka, Sumi, and Adrian. This is about the sex/non-con scenes in Episode 9.

UPDATED: My theory here is confirmed to be correct by the director, Sam Deats. He said this in a Twitter post.

(On a completely unprofessional and inappropriate note, doesn’t Adrian look just positively glorious in orgasm? Wow...)

**TRIGGER WARNING FOR NON-CON/SEX AND SPOILERS**

(Rewatching Season 3)

Let me preface this by saying that I am a bisexual person and I have experienced both consensual sex and non-consensual sexual situations (with men and women) in my life. I’m also the same age as Adrian would be and I have the same personality type. Okay, analysis time…

These are my opinions about what Adrian is thinking and feeling during the controversial sexual scene:

First, let’s look at the meaning of rape in terms of deception (which is the only type of rape that might apply here): “Rape by deception is a situation in which the perpetrator obtains the victim's agreement to engage in sexual intercourse or other sex acts, but gains it by deception or false statements or actions.” To be honest, I had no idea this is technically rape until today. It means tricking someone into sex, basically, even if they want to have sex. So basically, Adrian is giving consent, but because he was deceived in order to give consent, it is a form of rape. That being rape by deception. This is very interesting. A lot of characters in TV shows are rapists then if you really think about it. For some examples: Chandler and Joey from Friends would both be rapists because they assume false identities and use fake names to sleep with women, Saul Goodman from Better Call Saul would also be a rapist because of deceptions in order to get sex, Don from Mad Men, etc. Really, if we think about the story, their deception started long before the sex scene and continued throughout because they came to murder him and just used sex as a ploy to get him in a vulnerable position. They knew Adrian is extremely lonely (and horny, oops sorry) and used that to their advantage. I think they knew Adrian would consent and that’s why they came up with the plan.

Detailed scene analysis: Adrian can’t sleep. When Takka and Sumi enter, he looks a little surprised and concerned. He asks what is wrong. Sumi and Takka conceal their blades and consecrated handcuffs behind their backs and drop them on both sides of the bed out of view of the camera. Alucard doesn’t notice. When they put their hands on his chest and say “You’ve been so alone,” he visibly blushes. I didn’t actually notice that until the second time. I rewatched this part a lot to try and gauge his emotion - in my opinion, it’s pleasant surprise and mild shock. He looks possibly hopeful and unsure about what is happening.

When Sumi says that it’s time for his reward, Adrian’s eyes quiver and he breathes shakily, his mouth agape when they push him down onto the bed. When Sumi kisses him, and he’s shocked at first, but then he reciprocates. He’s still shocked afterward, clear by his expression and wide eyes. When Takka strokes his cheek and leans closer, Adrian actually rises up to kiss Takka. Adrian initiated the kiss with Takka and he pulls him closer right away - there is clearly (uninformed) consent and initiation at this point on Alucard’s side for Takka. I don’t understand why Adrian would actually lift himself up and initiate the kiss with Takka if he didn’t want anything sexual/romantic to happen. If someone has a different opinion about that please let me know what you are thinking.

Is it possible he simply wanted to please? I mean, that’s possible, but Takka and Sumi came into the room by saying that “it’s time for his reward”. If he didn’t want to be doing this, would he really be initiating a kiss with Takka and pulling him in close? I don’t think so. I think Adrian is definitely bisexual and I think this was his first kiss with a man (maybe with anyone). I definitely think he’s a virgin because he’s so young and so socially isolated. Throughout this scene, Alucard’s (uniformed) consent is up to interpretation because he never stops them or protests, and yet we cannot know what he is thinking at all. The expressions of ecstasy and agony/discomfort are almost the same for many people, so it’s hard to say. Also, it’s safe to say that Alucard’s not experienced with sex or with anyone being close to him, so he could be consenting and shocked/nervous at the same time. I think Adrian is so desperate for affection, sex, and love that even though he might not feel entirely comfortable, he still wants it to continue. He wants friends, he wants to be fucked and cared for like most of us do. It seems, in the next scene clip, that Adrian is holding Takka’s waist while Takka does something - not really sure what, probably gives him a handjob. Sumi takes off his nightgown and Takka gives him a kiss. Adrian’s eyes widen in response. Sumi kisses him while topless, and his eyes are still wide with his eyebrows drawn up. This could be shock or possibly discomfort, more likely shock. When Sumi comes closer, his eyes return to normal and we see him grab Sumi’s ass and pull her towards him. Then, Adrian kisses her neck and fondles her naked breast. So, he seemed shocked at first, but then definitely consenting (by manipulation of course). I think the shock here is probably because of three things: he didn’t expect this sudden three-way sex, he’s a virgin, and he didn’t think that two people would want to have sex with him. Most people think he’s a monster, after all. He pulled her closer and initiated this foreplay, so I think he did want to do this (of course, I’m not in his head, so I can’t say for sure - this is just my best guess). I think his loneliness, horniness, and affection for his new friends is trumping any discomfort. That’s my opinion based on his personality and life story.

Adrian, Takka, and Sumi are naked together. Adrian has his arm wrapped around both of them. Adrian kisses Sumi while Takka kisses his neck and gives him a handjob. Takka kisses down Adrian’s stomach down to his cock. The camera pans to Adrian’s face and he’s hard to read. He basically is blushing, but otherwise emotionless, and then he cries suddenly. (The first time I 100% thought that this was because he felt amazing, and he was so grateful and contented to finally be receiving the pleasure and affection he deserves - I still think that might be the case here)

UPDATE: I was right, and his crying is confirmed by the director to be tears of joy.

I watched it a couple of times. It’s certianly possible that he’s uncomfortable/scared/afraid/freaked out, but I still would guess that he’s crying because it’s feeling really amazing and healing for him. Having sex for the first time (if not all the time) is very emotional for us INTJs (Adrian and my personality type) because we rarely let ourselves be vulnerable around others. We’re not used to being close or connected to other people, and we are often lonely, so sex can be totally overwhelming for us. It can also be a weapon used against us (like it is here) because we are usually so lonely and longing for affection. I think Adrian is taking what he can get. I definitely think he wants this here, but that’s up to debate.

Next clip: It looks like Takka and Sumi are taking turns going down on Adrian (giving him head). He is shaking visibly and his expression is strained. Now, I’ll be honest this doesn’t seem out of place in a sex scene, especially for the first time. (TMI= The first time someone went down on me I think I had a similar expression - it’s kinda nervewracking to be so vulnerable. Also, having two people go down on you at once? That’s got to be nervewracking, hence the shaking) Takka kisses down Adrian’s inner thigh and goes down. He seems to be rimming Adrian (licking his asshole) in the next scene, while Sumi gives him a handjob. Their expressions are starting to get progressively creepier. But Adrian is too caught up in pleasure to notice, I think. Adrian seems absolutely overwhelmed with pleasure in the next shot, breathing heavily - I think he’s about to orgasm. Takka lifts Adrian’s leg up, presumably so he can penetrate Adrian. He seems to enter Adrian in the next shot, but it’s off-screen. Sumi gets on top of him and pins down his arms, possibly having intercourse with him at this point. It’s not very clear. Anyway, they’re having sex/raping him.

Final clip: Adrian is gasping, flushed, and coming down off his orgasm. Takka nods to Sumi that it’s time to kill Adrian. Adrian looks to see what they are doing but it’s too late. It takes him a moment to understand that they’re trying to murder him. (I’m going to cry again, oh my sweet Adrian! I’m so sorry baby you didn’t deserve this at all)

They betray him. Adrian closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see them die. He turns away.

Adrian whispers finally, “I never lied to you.”

\\author’s side note\\ YOU ABSOLUTE ASSHOLES I HATE YOU SO MUCH YOU FUCKING BITCHES HE TRUSTED YOU AND YOU ARE RUINING HIS LIFE YOU DICKS HE DIDNT DESERVE THAT GO BURN IN HELL AND TAKE DRACULA AND LISAS PLACE YOU FUCKERS.

So, anyway, my final opinion is that Adrian is giving consent, but it is not informed consent (because Takka and Sumi are deceiving him), and therefore, it is rape. If you want the specific term it’s rape by deception. They lied about being his friends and allies, so they deceived his trust, given that their true intention was to murder him.

{Sam Deats has confirmed this theory on Twitter. Thanks to all of you who supported me on this.}

He deserved better.

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txemrn · 3 years ago

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Why do you write Sam Dalton as such an asshole? :( After all he & MC have been through I just can't see him cheating on her and acting like an ass to his kids. :(

Hey, there! Thank you so much for the ask! You aren't the first to ask me this! I receive hate for my "Dirty Dalton" (mainly from people who think Sam is the best/one of the best LI in Choices).

Before I continue, I would like to share that I am a TNA fan. No, for real. I am. Once upon a time, I was in love with Sam. But, then he broke my heart over and over again because, well, he's an asshole.

I understand why a lot of readers absolutely love him and fantasize about him. It's the whole naughty, thrill of the chase, forbidden love theme--and it's HOT! I totally respect that you disagree with the alternate universe I created about the future of this family.

If you truly want my personal opinion about Dalton, click below the cut. I will be referring to Sam as he/him even though I understand you can choose for Sam to be female. Referring to Sam as a male character is my personal experience with the game. I hope this does not offend anyone.

Let's begin! 😁

So, Sam is deliciously hot, and TNA gave us some of the hottest diamond scenes ever with him (angry make-out sesh; fingering in the car after work; the fucking GALA 🔥🔥🔥). But, if you ignore his billionaire status and good looks, what do you have? A selfish, spineless sex addict with absolutely no personality that strung MC on for 19 chapters.

Tell us how you really feel, Em... 🤣🤣🤣

Homeboy has a problem: he's horny. All. Of. The. Time. (Yes. Realistically, that is a problem). He literally had +🔥Desire in his eyes when we first met him, and in just about every conversation, he is predatory ... and let's not even get into how territorial he is from the get go.

Along with his insatiable desire, he's a selfish asshole. Time and time again, Sam gets his carnal desires met, and then INSTANTLY feels remorse ("I'm sorry," "I'm sorry," "I'm sorry" 🤮), making MC feel like shit about herself. Control your dick, dude! Selfish. So, so selfish.

He's a liar. I jumped the Sam ship at the company picnic. I thought things were going well in their budding relationship; he had made promises of making things work out, and needing to talk to the right people... and what happens? They get alone, she confronts him, and he *nervous laughter* oh, about that... uh... *nervous laughter* ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! THEN, proceeds to tell MC that he dreams about soaping her up in the shower for being a "dirty, dirty girl"... FUCK. OFF. I was so embarrassed for MC. She should've quit.

He is a cheater. Now before someone jumps on me, yes! The premise of TNA is that you're a nanny, and you're going to have an affair with your boss. I get it. But at the end of the day, he is engaged. Regardless of how you feel about Sofia, cheating is still wrong. PB tried super hard to make us hate her (very easy to do because she was such a bitch! BUT is it possible she was a bitch because she knew? Way to promote women hating women, PB, when they should be hating the man!).

PB also tried to convince us that this was simply an arranged marriage for business purposes, that he and Sofia didn't have much of a relationship outside of this deal, making the cheating okay. First of all, WRONG. Taking what is not yours is wrong. If it was okay, Sam and MC wouldn't have to sneak around and lie about it. Also, Sofia is Sam's childhood friend. He excuses most of her elite behavior because he's clearly used to it--maybe because they spend a ton of time together. He also continues to make important, life-changing decisions with her behind MC's back all the while MC thinks she and Sam are going to get together (remember the whole "moving up the wedding date"? WTF?!).

Would Sam cheat on MC? PB won't write it that way, but I personally think if you're willing to toss your morals out the window once, you're willing to do it again. (Hence my fic "Once... Always...") And if he were to get caught by someone, say his sons, I think he would do anything to keep the secret his own.

Addressing what you wrote in your ask: "after all he & MC have been through"... yes. They went through a lot (and in book 2, I predict they're about to go through EVEN MORE) ALL BECAUSE OF HIM. He created the obstacles. It wasn't a "love conquers all" kinda thing; it's a "this was wrong, and we tried making it right" kinda thing. If Sam had manned up when he first started having feelings for MC rather than waiting UNTIL HIS WEDDING DAY TO SOFIA (which don't get me started on how shitty that is to do to a woman when he knew all along his feelings. So spineless!), maybe things would be different and I would feel different about this couple.

Side note: MC's not innocent either. She is a thirsty little thing who justified her actions.

Per canon, Sam is not a very involved father. He works too much in order to solidify his children's legacy, which is why he had to hire MC in the first place. I think Sam loves them dearly, but it took MC calling him out to realize he's not doing a great job (remember when he wanted to leave them while HE went to Italy with Sofia? LOL).

Thank you again for your ask and for giving my fics a chance. I wish I saw Sam the way you and others do, but... sorry not sorry, I can't!

#you asked #sam dalton #the nanny affair

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yuuhta · 4 years ago

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just once

pairing: gojou satoru/reader

genre: smut

you weren't one to engage in one night stands, especially with strangers and well known fuck boys. heck, you don't even think about it, you just know so damn well that you would never want to get involved with them, dreading the thought that you might get feelings, only to be a check mark on their list.

but when gojou satoru came in the room, and his eyes were fixed on you, and only you, you can't help but think that maybe you can make an exception just this one time.

he hasn't even done or said anything yet, but you already feel so down for whatever he has in store. you aren't one to jump in to conclusions and assume that someone is interested in you, but the way his gorgeous blue eyes focused on you and only you as he walked inside the room, you just know it.

he is only proving your theory to be true when he sat on the chair beside you.

gojou satoru doesn’t count as a stranger since he’s a previous classmate and current workmate, but it has been well-established among your group of friends that he's one hell of a fuck boy. he's literally the no-strings-attached kind of guy, and you can say this is a fact because your mutual friend, which is satoru's best friend, ieri shouko, has told you that a one night stand is really just a one night stand for satoru, just a way to relieve his needs, no love, no romance, no feelings. he simply just doesn't really care. oh and also, he has never fucked a girl twice.

honestly, before today, he was someone in your to-avoid list. although you acknowledge that he’s very attractive, you never really paid much attention to guys who gave off arrogant vibes, so you barely interacted with him. you knew to yourself that you'd rather not get involved with someone like him. hearing the stories about satoru just made you feel nauseous, you've always thought of him as an asshole who only thinks with his dick. he's the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, yeah, but you give absolutely zero shit about that.

he's a heartbreaker... but if you were going to be honest, it's not like he's the only one to blame. he didn't really intentionally make the people he slept with fall in love with him.

you also heard from shouko that satoru always makes sure to tell his one night stand partner about the no strings attached rule. however, some still end up falling in love with him, or on some cases, they're already in love with him even before it happened.

fell in love with satoru?

it's their fault. in satoru's defense, he made sure to tell them to not fall.

it's satoru's fault. in their defense, satoru obviously led them on.

now that you think about it, besides stories about his sexual activity and the number of confessions he turned down, you don't really know much about him.

he always gave off a confident and pompous vibe, but whenever you had your little interactions with him, he actually seemed a bit decent. however, that was probably only because he knew how to separate his personal life from work.

but honestly, he is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, and on top of that, he has an ethereal face and an excellent body proportion. he has all reasons to be extremely confident.

"hi." the blue-eyed man started, removing his blindfold to change it with his shades.

your theory? so far, he's only proving it to be true. he definitely had his eyes on you.

you were feeling extremely and unusually conscious, but of course you try to hide it by acting like a bitch.

your eyebrows knit slightly as you take a look at him from the corner of your eye. "what?"

okay, now, you're starting to wonder if he's actually trying to flirt with you, or just become all buddy buddy with you. maybe you’re just being a mean bitch for no reason.

his eyes widened subtly at your response, probably not expecting such a dry and a bit rude answer. "you look cute today." he whispers.

his breath didn’t touch your ear, but it still sent shivers down your spine. you don’t let it physically show, but your paranoid ass is thinking he might’ve been able to sense it through cursed energy.

you wanted to roll your eyes to the point of seeing your brain inside your head, but you don't, and obviously, you can't.

"thanks?" you sneered.

you definitely don't want to deal with any bullshit and unnecessary feelings, so you at least try to ward him off while you still can.

"ah, sorry. are you in a bad mood?"

irked, you decided to ignore him, not knowing how to respond to his question. why is he trying to talk to you, in the first place?

your conversations with him were always brief and professional, mostly just to cooperate on a mission. you barely even looked at each other during those times. so you being cold and rude right now was a bit surprising to him. you're not usually like this, but it's the only thing you can do to try not to give in to his flirting.

well, sorry to him, you absolutely hate guys who try to get in your pants. no past bad experience or whatever, but you really don't like them. their style is just not your cup of tea. you’re someone who needs the emotional and wholesome connection before doing some... stuff.

and maybe that’s why you’re still a virgin. suguru is just a friend, ijichi and kusakabe are simply not your style, and nanami, oh, nanami. he’s the one who comes the closest to your type, but he just ain’t it, as well. you wanted someone who can deal with your jokes and occasional sarcastic remarks. you wanted a bit of playfulness.

"okay, i guess it's already obvious and i shouldn't have asked that."

you've never thought about it, but being the one on the receiving end of gojou satoru's attention actually feels different. now you feel a bit of regret for being mean.

you didn’t reply to him in any way, and he didn’t bother prodding anymore after.

you don’t know if you’re pleased or dismayed about this.

honestly though, you badly wanted to indulge him and flirt back. you just don't do so because how were you supposed to do that now, with all that��s been said and done.

glancing at him discreetly, you noticed that it seems like it doesn’t really matter for him, whether you ignored him or not.

good, you think to yourself, sighing in relief about the fact that gojou doesn’t care much about you. at least you feel chill now.

an hour has passed and the meeting has come to an end. not another word has been exchanged between the two of you.

you couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of that room.

you hurriedly stood up and headed to where the door was, but the superiors and older officials were heading out first, so you were just standing there in the middle of the room, somehow stranded.

you were walking in place because of impatience, when suddenly, you felt a large hand wrap around your wrist.

startled, you flinched at the sudden skin contact. your hyperawareness was at its peak since gojou satoru was just standing right behind you, you were very conscious of what the fuck he’s doing.

“oh. sorry, did i startle you?” he immediately pulled his hand away, raising it slightly.

'yes, insect, go away.'

“no. what is it?” you said in a rushed manner.

“are you in a hurry?” he asked. he wasn’t being sarcastic, but you wanted to punch him, nonetheless. why can’t he just let you be?

“can you stay?”

you felt your heart jump to your throat.

'what the fuck.'

all of a sudden, you can be compared to a statue. you were incredibly flustered, feeling all the blood flowing so fast in your body at his question.

now, the sexual tension, for you, has rose to very high levels, to the point that your tongue refuses to move.

you can’t even think straight right now.

“satoru, y/n, aren’t you two going to head out?” principal yaga indifferently asked, his head peeking on the door.

you didn’t know what to say in response, and gojou didn’t say anything either, so the principal only shrugged and closed the door behind him.

sighing, you internally thanked principal yaga for breaking the heavy atmosphere that was rapidly building up for you.

“i’ll get going, then.” you said, roughly pulling your hand away from satoru.

when you were already near the door, he suddenly appeared next to it and opened it for you.

with a small frown on your face, your mouth fell agape, what the fuck does he want?

it’s not like it’s the first time someone has ever showed you this kind of attention. it’s just simple and basic interaction. you were just getting all worked up because it’s gojou satoru. gorgeous fucking shit.

the heck is he opening the door for?

he's someone who you can't even call a gentleman. he always carefully chose the people he'll be nice to. a pretty woman can trip in front of him, and he won't bother giving two shits, he won't help her if he doesn't feel like it. he's the type to not respect old people just because they're old people.

but the thing is, you do know he’s not a bad person. he’s just... rude and annoying, and has his own way in doing stuff, but he’s actually a good person. his intentions are harmless, you know it.

nonetheless, you still don't want any personal involvement with him.

however, your own body is telling you otherwise.

the warmth that was increasingly becoming unbearable down your core is starting to reach its limits, as well as the rational part in you. so, as if you weren’t trying your very best to avoid him just a few seconds ago, you closed the door with your own hand, “what is it?”

you were thinking, maybe he just wants to talk about something in private. maybe it's nothing bed-related. maybe you were just overthinking.

“do you want me to get straight to the point?” he asked with lidded eyes, looking down on you intensely.

actually, at this point, you were sure. your theory is absolutely correct. he’s definitely giving you the bedroom eyes.

holy shit.

he bends down to your level, his face just a few inches away from yours.

“i want you.”

satoru says this with such intensity that you had to pause for a second to swallow the lump that got caught in your throat.

the longer you look into his eyes, the more you want to succumb to the hints of pleasure that was starting to build up down there.

but first of all, you had to at least clear this up. you needed to be sure. maybe it’s just a misunderstanding on your part.

“want me? uh, what exactly do you want from me?”

gojou noticed that your question was completely innocent, it had no underlying meaning.

he pulls away, removing his shades to examine your face carefully, amusement painted on his features.

at the same time, you also get the chance to scan his face. he sure is handsome. his eyes are so fucking beautiful, you could get lost in it.

the man probably has no idea that you have zero experience in these kind of... activities. though, to him, you seemed like someone carefree and wild. it's probably because sometimes, you sounded like a thirsty hoe when talking about crushes with friends. little does he know that all of your knowledge just came from watching and reading.

you were expecting him to get annoyed, to just walk away, and look for someone else out there to indulge him. but to your surprise, he chuckled.

'is he making fun of me right now?'

gojou finds it amusing... and cute, even, that you can make casual talk in a situation like this. he knew that you were trying to reassure yourself.

the sexual tension between the two of you was just so thick, it has been building up so fast ever since you and gojou made eye contact.

it sounds absurd, but it’s true.

"is it alright if i kiss you?" he simply said, giving you the reassurance that you needed.

eyes widening, your mouth dropped slightly at the question.

maybe your heart jumped a little at the request and the gentleness his tone gave off, who knows.

"if you don't want to--"

mind completely going blank, you rudely cut him off, pulling the neckline of his top to press your lips against his abruptly.

feeling him smirk against your mouth, you quickly pulled away in embarrassment, the realness of your actions suddenly sinking inside your brain.

you were about to head straight for the door as the rational part of you has realized that you actually kissed the fucking douchebag gojou satoru.

neither of you were even drunk, you should have known much better.

the plan was for naught, though, when said man’s long fingers wrapped around your face, gently making you look up at him as he bent down to reconnect his lips with yours.

satoru’s lips were softer than expected, and it moved smoothly against yours. the prick definitely knew what he was doing. so, without hesitating, you kiss him back, letting your lips mold together fervently.

he started kissing down your chin and onto your jaw, pausing just at the base below your ear, biting and sucking at the skin firmly.

you knew deep inside your mind that it was definitely going to leave a mark. but you decided to brush it off and just think about it later.

the rational part of you is screaming that you're going to regret this the next day. not even a drop of alcohol is in your system right now. you have absolutely zero excuses to use as to why you're actually giving in to full-of-shit-fuck-boy gojou satoru right now.

“the door is not locked, you know, we might get caught,” satoru whispers just right in front of your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine as he started to shamelessly grind against you.

right, you both were still at the meeting room.

“yeah. so, get the fuck off of me.” you said in a hushed tone.

despite the words that were coming out of your own mouth, you just stood there, stiff like a statue, feeling his member grow harder. you didn’t know if you wanted to push him away, or pull him closer.

well, at least it means that your self-control is still somehow working.

however, the warmth that was building up down your core was clouding your mind, making your body refuse to move.

you were about to enclose your arms around his neck, when a loud noise was made. you felt your heart drop to your gut, roughly pushing him away as your face started to lose all colors at the thought that there might be someone else at the place, and that you both might get caught.

"don't worry. that was just a rat." he mumbled, looking at you with bedroom eyes.

"h-how can you say for sure?"

with a smirk painted on his annoying face, he bends down once again, but this time, he placed his hands on the backside of your thighs, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. "i'm gojou satoru."

with his smug reassurance, relief washed over you and calmed your panicked state.

this time, you were the one who crashed your mouth against his, successfully circling your arms around his neck this time.

you were incredibly turned on with everything. the position he has put you in is definitely not helping with you trying to resist him. fucking fuck boy.

when you finally noticed the presence of the aching heat that has grown too strong to ignore in between your legs, you grind your hips onto his, sighing at the much needed friction.

gojou groaning at the action has only worsened the situation. again, the rational part of you knows that you will regret this the next day, but at this point, you were already in too deep to even back out. well, maybe you aren't that deep yet, but yeah. you thought that you might as well just finish what you’ve already started, and save the regrets for later.

satoru sat down on the floor with his back on the wall, making it easy for you to move on top of him, with you straddling his hips.

feeling completely lost in how good it felt, your eyes shot open when his tongue went inside your mouth and met yours, sending a powerful wave of electrifying pleasure straight down to your core.

trying to muffle your moans to not stroke his ego was extremely difficult, especially when his hard cock keeps on rubbing your already sensitive clit through your panties and pants.

the friction was driving you mad, making you pull at his hair aggressively, as you grind on him harder and faster to make the most out of the pleasure.

you could say the same for satoru, his hands traveled down your body, landing on your ass to squeeze it firmly. he pushed you down even more, needy, as he thrusts his hips upward to grind his swollen cock on your pussy.

you looked at satoru, his beautiful blue eyes were lidded, and focused only your face—as if he was trying to memorize the face that you were making.

"y/n... shit... more, please..." a deep groan escaped his lips as you roll your hips hard against his. "ngh, please do that again."

"l-let's make this quick, satoru, a-ah... i'm pretty close." you tried to say coherently, genuinely just wanting to reach your own release get this over with.

without hesitation, satoru starts thrusting his hips fast, picking up his pace. "as you wish. i'm close, too." he breathes, letting out a shaky sigh.

taking a close look at satoru, you see that his beautiful eyes were lidded, and focused only your face—as if he was trying to memorize the face that you were making.

the fact that you can make the arrogant and self-centered fuck boy, gojou satoru, beautiful man and strongest jujutsu sorcerer, pleading for pleasure is incredibly satisfying, and he hasn't even entered you yet. you both still have your clothes on, and you were only dry humping him, yet he was so fucking close to coming undone.

you closed your eyes in ecstasy, biting your bottom lip to at least try to muffle an incredibly loud moan, walls squeezing at nothing as you felt yourself come undone, wetness definitely soaking your panties.

satoru rubs himself onto you harder to make sure you ride your high to the fullest, his own thrusts losing rhythm, as he reaches for his own climax.

"you feel s-so good- ahh... fuck..." desperately surging forward rapidly a couple more times, he groans deeply as his seed shot out of his cock, and onto staining his loose white jogging pants.

it takes you a full minute to recover from what just happened. then you untangle your legs from his waist to stand up in front of him. "uh... bye?"

you turn around, heading straight for the door.

satoru follows you with his gaze. "that was great, y/n."

looking back, the two of you only stared at each other. "you didn't even get to put it in yet, satoru." you said, a smug smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

a blush blossomed on his face, embarrassment evident. "shut up, y/n."

"okay. bye."

"wanna do it again?"

"no."

and then you dashed out of the room, sick feeling of regret suddenly starting to bubble over your head.

but at the same time, you also feel sick at the fact that maybe you actually liked it.

#gojou satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #omg what have i done #pls i might rewrite this #like rlly #literal word vomit #just a spur of the moment..... bcs gojou satoru........... !!!!#this rlly escalated fast LOL #might edit

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ljones41 · 4 years ago

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"The Deconstruction of Dr. Jack Shephard"

"THE DECONSTRUCTION OF DR. JACK SHEPHARD" I have a confession to make. I must be one of the few fans of the ABC series "LOST" (2004-2010) who did not dislike the series' lead character, Dr. Jack Shephard. Before anyone makes the assumption that he is a favorite character of mine, let me make one thing clear. He is not. But for some strange reason, I never disliked Jack. I still do not.

Throughout most of the series’ run, many "LOST" fans had consistently ranted against Jack’s faults. Mind you, he was not the only flawed character in the series. In fact, most of the major characters seemed to possess some very serious flaws. Jack Shephard seemed to be one of very few characters that had drawn a considerable amount of ire from the fans. I do not know why he was been specifically targeted by these fans. But I cannot help but wonder if the combination of Jack’s role as the series' lead character and his flawed personality had set fans against him. Now, someone might claim that my last remark sounds ridiculous. As I had earlier pointed out, most of the major characters are also seriously flawed or have committed some serious crimes. Extremely flawed characters like John Locke, Jin Kwon, Michael Dawson, Kate Austen, Miles Strume, Ana-Lucia Cortez, Charlie Pace, Sayid Jarrah, James "Sawyer" Ford, Sun Kwon, Boone Carlyle, Mr. Eko, Juliet Burke and Shannon Rutherford. Hell, the list was practically endless. And yet, the only other character who had received as much criticism or hate as Jack was Ana-Lucia Cortez. Why? Well, I have my theories. Both Jack and Ana-Lucia had assumed leadership among the castaways at one time or the other, due to their personalities, circumstances and professions. Ana-Lucia assumed leadership of the Tail Section passengers that crashed on one side of the island and remained stuck there for forty-eight (48) days. Since Day One of the Oceanic 815 crash, Ana-Lucia had stepped up and utilized her skills as a police officer to save lives and make decisions when no one else would. Jack, a spinal surgeon, did the same with the surviving passengers from the Fuselage Section on the other side of the island. In one early Season One episode, (1.05) "White Rabbit", he seemed willing to back away from the role of leader, until John Locke convinced him to resume it. Jack remained the leader even after Ana-Lucia and the remaining Tail Section passengers joined the Fuselage camp by the end of Season Two’s (2.08) "Collision". And it was not until after his departure from the island in the Season Four finale, (4.13/4.14) "There's No Place Like Home, Part II" with Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, Sun Kwon, Sayid Jurrah, Kate Austen and Aaron Littleton (the Oceanic Six) that he finally relinquished the position. Recalling the above made me realize something. Human beings – for some reason or other – expect leaders to know everything and always do the right thing. Always. And without fail. Humans seemed to have little tolerance toward the imperfections of our leaders. This certainly seemed to be the case for fictional characters who are leaders. And many fans of "LOST" had harbored a deep lack of tolerance toward Jack and Ana-Lucia’s personal failings. In the case of the former L.A.P.D. police officer, many fans had complained of Ana-Lucia's aggressive personality. They also accused her of being a bitch. In other words, being aggressive and hard – traits many have claimed are more suited for a man - is a sure sign that a woman is a bitch. And unlike other female characters on the series, Ana-Lucia lacked the svelte, feminine looks prevalent in productions such as the 2001-2003 "LORD OF THE RINGS" saga. Actually, gender (and racial) politics may have played a role in the fans' opinion of Jack. His main crime seemed to be that he did not fit the image of a heroic leading white male character. Physically, he looked the part. Unfortunately for Jack, he had failed to live up to those looks. He made the wrong choices on several occasions – choices that included his decision to continue Daniel Farraday's plan to set off the nuclear bomb Jughead in the Season Five finale, (5.16/5.17) "The Incident". It is interesting that many fans had dumped most the blame upon Jack’s shoulders regarding that bomb. And he was partially to blame. But those same fans had failed to remember it was Daniel Faraday who had first insisted upon setting off the bomb to reset time back to the day of Flight 815’s crash – September 22, 2004. And they also failed to recall that Dr. Juliet Burke's decision to set off the bomb for her own reasons was the final action that led to her death. Many had accused Jack of failing to be a proper parent figure to his nephew, Aaron Littleton, during his three years off the island. And at the same time, many had praised Kate Austen for pretending to be the boy’s mother. I found this rather perverse and a little disgusting, considering that Kate had set in motion the lie about her being Aaron’s mother. Jack (along with the remaining members of the Oceanic Six) was guilty of supporting Kate’s lie. But instead of criticizing both for lying about Aaron and keeping him from his Australian grandmother Carole Littleton for nearly three years, many fans had criticized Jack for not being an effective father figure to Aaron and praised a kidnapper like Kate for being a good mother. Ah, the ironies of life. Many fans had accused Jack of being emotionally abusive toward Kate. And yes, they would have every reason to criticize his behavior in episodes like (1.11) “All the Best Cowboys Have Daddy Issues”. But Kate’s own behavior in episodes like (1.12) “Whatever the Case May Be”, which featured her constant lies and attempts to manipulate him and others, occasionally triggered his temper. If one character is going to be criticized for the situations I have previously described, the other character involved should be criticized for his or her own questionable behavior. Some of Jack's other mistakes included sanctioning Sayid’s torture of Sawyer, failure to organize a genuine search for the only child passenger from Oceanic 815′s Fuselage Section, the kidnapped Walt Lloyd, instigating that ludicrous search for Walt’s dad Michael Dawson and communicating with Martin Keamy and the other hired mercenaries aboard the S.S. Kahana. Yet, he had received more complaints about his relationship with Kate, along with his tendencies to get emotional and shed tears than for anything else. Once again, many “LOST” fans managed to prove that we still live in a patriarchal society. It was okay for female characters to shed tears in very emotional moments, but not male characters. Especially if that one male character happened to be the series’ leading character. Jack's penchant for tears was not the only sign of how some fans can be hypocritical. I have written articles criticizing some of the series' other characters. Most of my articles have criticized Kate Austen. I will be honest. I used to dislike Kate very much. However, my dislike of her has finally abated - somewhat. Most of my dislike had stemmed from her past flaky behavior and especially from the fans’ tendency to excuse her mistakes and crimes . . . or pretend that she had never done anything wrong. However, Kate was not the only character given this leeway. James “Sawyer” Ford had murdered three people – one in Australia and two on the island - within a space of two to three months. Yet, many fans had made constant excuses for his actions. I never disliked Sawyer. But I have complained about his flaws, mistakes and crimes on numerous occasions. When I did, many fans had pretended that he had done anything wrong. And to this day, I still find this frustrating. Sometime back in Season Two or Season Three, actor Matthew Fox and the show’s producers, Carlton Cuse and Damon Lindelof, made it known to the media and viewers that they were doing something different with the Jack Shephard character. They took a superficially heroic type – a brilliant surgeon that assumed leadership of a group of stranded castaways – and deconstructed him. In other words, they slowly but surely exposed his flaws and took the character to what could be viewed as the nadir of his existence. Jack eventually climbed out of that existence by the series’ last season. But certain fans on many "LOST" message boards and forums made it clear this was not a path they had wanted Jack to take. Instead, these fans had wanted – or demanded that Jack behave like a conventional hero. During most of Season Six, Jack had managed to avoid indulging in self-destructive behavior. He also refrained from displaying any inclination to pursue a romance with Kate. The worst he had done was engage in a temper tantrum over his discovery that the island’s spiritual "man" Jacob had been observing and possibly interfering in the lives of several castaways. Another personality change I noticed was that he had passively allowed others to take the lead without questioning their decisions. I must be honest. I never liked that particular period in Jack's emotional makeup. It made him seem like a mindless moron. Did Jack finally become the hero that so many had demanded, when he saved the island in the series finale? Apparently, those responsible for the Emmy nominations believed he had. Why else did they finally nominate Matthew Fox for a Best Actor in a Drama award, after the series' final season. Mind you, Fox had been giving outstanding performances since the first season. But when Jack finally became a likable and somewhat conventional hero, they deemed Fox worthy of an Emmy nomination. Dear God. Personally, I never did care about Jack Shephard's status as a hero. Nor did I really care for his passive behavior in Season Six. But I did hope that he had finally discovered some inner peace for himself. And I believe that he did during the series’ final moments.

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jeogiyall · 4 years ago

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Pas De Deux; H.HJ

Word Count; 9.7k

Genre; Fluff, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Reader X Hyunjin

Warnings; Swearing, Suggestive, I would advise against reading if you have abandonment issues? It’s brought up a few times,,

Additional; Featured Chan, Felix, Jisung, and Minho; Ballerina Reader, Dance Partner Hyunjin, Reid once again writing about something that she has no idea how to do, (Sort Of) Slow Burn

A/N; when i tell u guys that i literally have no self control,, THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THIS WAS 10.46K ASFDSFS someone save me from myself. i’m sorry if anything’s inaccurate, i haven’t done ballet since i was like five and most of my research is from the unreliable internet,,, so if any ballerinas read this and are repulsed i’m sorry asdfdsa. please leave something nice if you enjoy <3<3<3<3

The last time that you saw Hwang Hyunjin was in fifth grade. You were wrapped up in each other on your front porch, him choking out tears as though it hurt.

“Jinnie!” You cooed while running a hand through his short black hair, “I’m not dying, just going to boarding school!” His cries (along with the ringing guilt in your ears) only grew louder, “You’re really good at dancing, just audition next year!” He shook his head fervently against the crook of your shoulder, wet tears falling onto your skin.

“You know I suck at ballet!” If it weren’t for his palms pulling at his teary cheeks you would’ve giggled, maybe even teased him for the time in class that he almost broke his wrist while warming up at the barre. But he was crying, he was sad, and he was convinced that he’d never see you again. The sight alone was enough to make you pout, which only served to make him cry harder, “You could join my contemporary class for the summer?” He asked with starry, red eyes. It was almost enough to make you say yes.

“You know that I suck at contemporary!” The boy giggled at your counter, a sound that made your heart soar amidst all of the crying.

“Yea, you do...” He brought a hand up to his cheeks, trying desperately to wipe away tears that wouldn’t stop falling, “Just promise that you won’t forget me! I won’t forget you so you can’t forget me!” His pinky finger extended so it was nearly brushing the spot in between your eyebrows, and you were hit by the whispers of your first crush. With the summer days spent riding scooters in your driveway, and the winter ones spent sledding in it. With the long nights spent giggling about nothing underneath a blanket fort, or the endless days spent climbing trees in the bottomless woods behind the boys house. You were hit with the last five years all at once, and you knew instantly that even if he wasn’t standing in front of you with a teary face that you would still promise.

“I promise.” You answered while hooking your pinky in his as if it were a vow.

The school ended up being a perfect fit, your favorite part being the dorm room all to yourself. Even though it was small, and very ugly, it was all yours. Just like the friend group that blossomed out of your first ever co-ed class (which is sadly not a very interesting story. Han Jisung just made you swear to not dislocate his shoulders during partner stretches, and who are you to break a promise? Afterwards you received an invite to sit with him and his friend at lunch, the rest is history. Loud, annoying history.)

Nothing could’ve made it better... Well, nothing except for your sweet friend who had once occupied each thought in your head. Your sweet friend who’s summers were suddenly too full to see you, even for just a day.

Your sweet friend who didn’t keep his promise.

When it was announced that the contemporary and ballet branches of your dance institute would be merging for a year, your mind immediately jumped to Hyunjin. Despite not seeing him for almost six years. He always had such a passion for the style, making you miss out on hours of homework to watch videos of his favorite performers (it’s not like you minded too much, though.)

Han’s, on the other hand, was pure rage. Pure rage which he was letting out from your bed while watching you unpack.

“I just don’t get why they have to take a ballet class too! I have enough trouble getting solos as is.” The boy pouts while resting his head on your orange wood headboard. You’d feel sympathetic if it weren’t for the fact that he was blatantly lying, Han Jisung had gotten nearly every solo since eighth grade. Instead you roll your eyes dramatically and throw him a wadded ball of fabric from your suitcase. Naturally, he screams.

“Shut the fuck up and be helpful.” You scold, earning a childish whine while he sits up to fold the countless leotards.

“Remind me why I missed you?” He grumbles just as your other, much nicer, friend walks into the cramped room.

“Aww, you missed me Sungie?” Felix asks, voice booming deeply through the space. The two of you instantly drop the clothes in your hands and run to the boy, which you should reprimand Jisung for seeing as he just lifted a finger. But you don’t, because Felix is here with more freckles than the last time you saw him and fresh pink hair that’s definitely going to be dyed natural again within the first week.

“Yes.” The energetic boy answers while worming his way into your hug. Felix giggles softly while petting Han’s dark brown hair before pressing noisy kisses all over his cheeks. He pokes Felix’s ribs as retaliation, to which the boy screeches (directly into your ear, might I add,) and it’s back to the normal, loud chaos “I will kill you!”

“Hey! No murder in my room, if you’re gonna do that go in the hallway!” You snap playfully, pushing Jisung away while moving back into the hug, “Help me unpack? Jisung hasn’t done shit.”

“Not fair!” The boy shouts from your bed, which he’s already plopped back down on.

“I’ll help, besides do you even want him folding your clothes?” You look over your shoulder to see Jisung with his hands tangled up in three different leotards, then back to Felix with terrified eyes.

‘No,’ you mouth, eliciting another laugh from your friend. He moves over to the bed as well, then sets Jisungs hands free. The three of you talk mindlessly for hours, rambling on about Felix’s summer home and the month that you and Jisung spent traipsing around the boys hometown.

“How do you feel about the merger?” You ask suddenly, cutting Jisung off in the middle of an embarrassing story about a night spent at his house. Felix sighs deeply while tossing you the rolled leotard (your favorite one, light blue with pearls sewn around the collar,) while Jisung throws a wadded up pair of tights at your face.

“It’s fine I guess, just for a year right?” You shrug while the brunette puts on a grimace, hands suddenly very busy with folding, “They really need that rebuild, building’s falling apart. Ours is way better and we have extra room, so why not share?”

“Tell that to the rat in my mini fridge.” Han grumbles while passing you a pile of black leotards. You laugh and accept, but not before ruffling his stiff hair.

“Okay, I’ll make sure to do that the next time I’m in your room. Are you done bitching now?” The brunette pokes his tongue out at you jokingly, to which you respond with blowing a raspberry, “Felix is right, besides how terrible is it going to be? We’re all dancers right, and stuff like that is meant to be shared. Who are we to say that they can’t come and learn?” The room turns uncomfortably quiet, Jisung gnawing at his lower lip while Felix picks up his phone.

“Damn it!” The Australian exclaims as his screen lights up. You and Han look at him with furrowed eyebrows before he rolls his eyes and brings the phone up in between your faces, “Administration says I have to fix my hair.”

Han doubles over with laughter, knocking the mountain of leotards (followed shortly by himself) onto the floor. You follow his lead, and before you know it the three of you are clutching your sides and wiping away happy tears. Felix’s hands ruffle into your hair with a hum, “Maybe I can try Jisungs color, hmm?” You duck away with a snort.

“No! I draw the line at matching hair!” The brunette defends, hands moving to cover the top of his head. Felix lunges at him, fully ready to engage in a tickle fight. Naturally, Jisung screams as if he’s being murdered. It should be annoying, any other time you would find it annoying. But these are your best friends, one of which you haven’t seen in over a month, and for some odd reason your heart feels so full that it could explode.

“C’mon Lix, I’ll do your hair. What do you think about blonde?”

And even though tomorrow your school is going to be flooded with new people, and your classes full of students who have probably never done more than basic positions, in the moment it feels okay. Because one of your best friends is screaming ‘NO DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR!’ while the other assures him that ‘It’ll probably most likely be okay! Look, she did mine!’ It’s a perfect chaos that you wouldn’t trade for anything.

There have been plenty of strange coincidences in your life. Like how your first dog was named Felix, and it’s now the name of one of your best friends (who’s hair ended up looking perfectly fine, thank you very much.) Or how your usual waiter at the diner in Jisungs hometown ended up being the cousin of your first kiss. Or how your dorm room is the only one on the hall with painted walls, that just so happen to be your favorite color. Plenty of weird things, but none are as weird as this. Because you’re sitting on the floor of your second class of the day, ‘Intro To Pas De Deux,’ and Hwang Hyunjin has just entered through the side door. Two minutes late.

He’s hard to recognize at first, seeing as there’s more than an added foot of height and black hair that’s creeping down the back of his neck, but the more you look the more you recognize. Pillowy lips, full cheeks, a freckle right in the set of his eye bags. You’re not entirely sold until he laughs, a sweet and breathy sound. The laugh that’s always been three seconds away from turning into a wheeze.

“What’s wrong?” Jisung questions while pulling himself up by your hands, eyes following the line that yours draw to Hyunjin, “Do you know him or something?”

You’re about to answer when Hyunjin finally turns around, eyes scanning the room before settling on you. He thinks that you look different, too. Taller and slimmer, everything that used to be squishy replaced with soft muscle. But there’s also the bridge of your nose, your hands that are barely gripping Jisungs, and of course your eyes that are staring at him like it hurts.

“(Y/n?)” He questions, your name falling from his lips as though it’s meant to do so. You nod, mouth falling open dumbly. The boy takes a step forward then freezes.

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on? Or at least help me finish stretching?” Jisungs voice reeks of annoyance, you think that if you weren’t in such a state of shock that you’d flick him on the forehead.

“You go to the contemporary school?” Jisung doesn’t take well to being ignored, puffing loudly while scrambling to finish stretching at the barre. Your brain immediately flashes back to Hyunjins second ballet class in third grade, when you were teaching him your favorite warm up stretches. He ended up tangled in between the barre and the wall, which shouldn’t even be possible, but Hyunjin managed.

“Um... Yea.” Every inch of your body is screaming to stand up and engulf him in a hug, but your legs feel like jello. That, and there’s a small feeling of anger rising in your throat, “L-let me help.” He plops down in front of you before you can say yes. You don’t have to though, Hyunjin still knows that you can’t refuse him. You take his hands in yours, definitely ignoring the pink flush to his cheeks, and pull his torso towards you.

“It’s been six years.” The words come out choked, full of the pain from your first summer without him. When you’d spend hours playing out in the sun, knocking on your friends front door every morning. He was never there.

“Sorry.” You want him to show some type of emotion, let you know that he cares. That he’s actually sorry for breaking his promise, “I tried to come and see you in July but you weren’t home.”

“I was at Jisung’s house, we spend the summers together.” If you were more angry and less hurt you would say ‘now that I don’t spend them with you,’ but he’s still Hyunjin. He’s still Hyunjin, and you don’t think that you could handle the way he would frown at your snide remark.

Jisung flashes you a look from his place at the barre that reads ‘Who is this guy and why do you look so sad?’ You let Hyunjin pull you into the stretch while responding with a gaze that says ‘I’ll tell you later.’ Hyunjins grip tightens on your hands as you exhale deeply into the stretch, the light blue fabric of your leotard brushing against the dance studio floor.

“(Y/n,) I-” Maybe it’s the way that he licks his lips before talking, or the fact that he looks so much and so little like your best friend at the same time, or possibly even how you can feel the way that he hugged you at your last meeting sitting on your shoulders like a winter coat, but his hands suddenly feel like fire.

“I have to go!” You exclaim, popping up out of the stretch and onto your feet in one swift motion. The boy looks up at you with puppy dog eyes that spark a feeling so intense in you that you have to look away, “I have to go, I-I’ll um... I’ll see you around.” You dash off to the spot in front of Jisung, silently thanking every star in the sky that Hyunjin doesn’t have a chance to follow you. Because just as soon as you get up someone else sits down and begins to excitedly ask the boy questions (he’s short, with a petite frame and an unfamiliar face. Probably another transfer student.)

“Did he say something to you?” Jisung asks as you jump into your favorite warm up routine. There’s not really a right way to answer, because did he say anything just now? No, but six years ago he said that he’d never forget you. He promised as much, and then spent every moment doing nothing but that. You exhale while your feet continue to move instinctively, a slight sense of peace washing over you at the comfort of a routine.

“We should focus, class is starting soon.” Jisung whines and argues, but you just ignore him. Similarly to how you ignore Hyunjins gaze on you for the rest of the class.

Ignoring Hyunjin is much easier than you anticipated. In class you can distract yourself with Jisung before the teacher comes in, and lunch is fine enough. While he is there, sitting at a table that’s painfully close to yours, he doesn’t try to talk. Or worse, come and snatch up the free seat across from Felix. But no, he does nothing of the sort. Just laughs with his friends and shoots the occasional glance your way (the one composed of sparkly eyes and lips that are a breath away from pouting.)

But then there’s now, standing in the doorway of your stage chemistry class and Hyunjin is all that you can see. Hyunjin, standing in the center of the room and pressing play on the terribly outdated stereo. Hyunjin, running a hand through his raven black hair and inhaling deeply with closed eyes. All you wanted was to get your jacket, but now you have enough Hyunjin for a lifetime.

Loud, bass heavy music swells in the room as he starts to move. At first the movements are jerky, awkward almost. But then the music decrescendos every so softly and he exhales, then proceeds to move as if the dance is being pulled out of him. As if this choreo is the way that he was programmed to move. When the song peaks you swear that you feel tears prickling the back of your eyes, because this is so Hyunjin. The way he’s dancing with every bone in his body, the way his hair is now dripping in sweat and flying all around him, the way his plump lips suck in air. It’s Hyunjin down to the core, and you’ve missed him so much.

When the music dies you clap slowly, causing the boy to shoot up like a frightened cat. He whips around to where you stand, softening like butter when he sees your frame leaned up against the wooden door frame.

“You scared me!” He shrieks, bringing up a hand to clutch his chest. It reminds you of your last Halloween with him, when the two of you got to trick or treat alone. Hyunjin decided that it would be a great idea to go to a fear farm, in which he screeched and clung to you the entire time. It wasn’t even that scary, he’s just a baby.

“Sorry.” You answer, mouth going as dry as the desert, “You, um... You’re really good.” He laughs flatly while moving over to his dance bag to pull out a towel. You watch as he dabs the sweat away, something stupid and needy churning in your stomach. You write it off as hunger.

“Thanks, I still suck at ballet though.” It’s a joke, you know it’s a joke, but something about laughing feels wrong.

“You don’t.” You take a step into the room, wandering over to where your windbreaker is piled on the floor next to the boy, “I’ve seen you in class, and you’re not bad. Just out of practice.” He lets out another flat laugh while dropping the towel, quickly exchanging it with a water bottle.

“Yea, about nine years out of practice. I barely even remember how to do a pirouette.” He’s trying so hard to make you laugh, just like the old days. The growing tension in your shoulders and lump in your throat is preventing that from happening.

“I can teach you.” You offer while shrugging the jacket on. Within seconds he’s babbling out excuses, which you wave off, “Don’t even worry about it, I need to practice anyways.” You bend down to untie your sneakers before moving to the center of the room, Hyunjin following in quick succession, “So you obviously know the proper foot technique, pointed toes only and all of that. And the retire position is just your foot in the notch above your knee.” You demonstrate it in the mirror, and even though he’s far from being a ballerina he’s done enough classes to know that you want him to copy it, “Yea, good. It looks good.”

“Where are my shoulders supposed to be?” He asks shyly, not used to questioning such simple things.

“Back, always back. Now check that your hips aren’t tilted, I-I’ve always been told to imagine that they’re a fruit bowl.” You steal a quick glance at the boy while he’s adjusting, heart fluttering the same way that it did so many years ago, “Okay, now um... Now put your feet into fourth position, just like that yea, then bend your knees and push off from your back leg.” You do the turn, a motion so natural that it might as well be brushing your teeth, “Like that, easy peasy!” The boy scoffs while bringing up his arms the same way that you had yours just seconds ago.

“Yea, easy peasy for you!” A soft giggle falls from your lips, bouncing off the walls of the empty studio (as well as Hyunjins ears.)

“C’mon!” You tease while moving around to face him, a soft smile playing at your lips, “You see me mess up in class all of the time, just go for it. The worst that could happen is being wrong.” He nods, then exhales shakily. When he does the turn it’s a bit wobbly, but definitely not anything worse than what you’ve seen before.

“Oh my god, (Y/n) that was terrible like genuinely awful-” The words feel harsh, but he’s wearing a bright smile and laughing like there’s not a care in the world. You can’t help but laugh too.

“No, no! It was fine!” You assure through a laugh as he gets back into position. From the corner of your eye you see him mouth ‘liar,’ which earns him a harsh flick between the eyes, “Just bring your hips a little more forward like...” It’s instinctual for your hand to fall onto his hipbone, something you’ve done to Felix hundreds of times. The main difference is that when you adjust Felix he usually tells you to fuck off, then softly knees your stomach. When you do it to Hyunjin he audibly chokes and you feel fire ignite beneath your fingertips, “Like this. Now go into fourth and try again, but keep your hips aligned!” The boy nods before sinking into position and pushing up into a flawless turn.

“I did it!” He exclaims, hands flying up like he’s about to hug you, “You were right, you were right I did it!” Something about his wide, excited eyes makes every wall built around your heart crumble into dust. So you accept the hug, once again allowing yourself to fall victim to the sweetness that is Hwang Hyunjin.

“I was what, I was... Did you say right?!” He rolls his eyes at your teasing, trying desperately to pretend like he didn’t miss it. It’s useless, because the way that Hyunjin’s holding you let’s you know that he’s missed you just as much as you have him, “Alright big guy, let me go. I’ve got studying to do and shoes to break in.” He whines lowly, arms trying to grab you as you snake away.

“Can we get dinner together or something?” He begs, hand briefly tangling itself in yours. You fight down the blush rising to your cheeks while pulling your hand away and stuffing it into your pocket.

“Not tonight, you have to keep practicing those pirouettes! But don’t worry, you’ll be seeing more of me... Partner.” Hyunjin smiles widely at your words, realization settling in as quickly as they leave your mouth.

“Do you mean...?”

“Yes,” You exhale, mentally preparing for another bone crushing hug, “I’ll be your partner for class.”

Hyunjins hug is almost nice enough that you forget about how annoying Jisung’s going to be when you tell him.

It turns out that the friends Hyunjin made are almost as amazing as the ones that you did. Everyone was a little awkward when the two groups first merged, specifically Jisung who was still butt hurt about you switching partners. But then Felix got to talking with Chan (the person who’s been mothering your friend ever since he started at the contemporary institute. From the way they talk, Hyunjin would’ve both starved and failed if it weren’t for the older boy,) and suddenly everyone was meeting in your room on Fridays for a weekly game of uno.

“Absolutely not, you’re fucking cheating!” Minho (the other new face from your stage chemistry class,) shouts while pointing a finger across the card pile and into Jisungs face. The boy moves to jokingly bite at it, causing Chan’s eyes to go as wide as the moon.

“No, no, no! No murder, and no biting what the hell!” You snort at your new friends bewildered expression while passing a canned sparkling water to Hyunjin. He accepts with a smile before mouthing ‘they’re insane!’ Felix sees and proceeds to nail him in the face with your favorite throw pillow.

“Says the guy who sleeps in socks-” Hyunjin throws the pillow back harshly, causing Chan to damn near pass out. It’s all that you can do to not roll over with laughter.

“My feet get cold.” He grumbles with a pout that makes both you and Minho coo from your spots beside the boy.

“Okay, okay, Minho just pick up the cards and let’s keep going? I’m about to finish!” The boy grumbles angrily, all ‘stupid card game’ and ‘I don’t wanna pick up twenty cards!’ You lock eyes with Chan from across the card pile, taking brief solace in the presence of someone else with a functioning brain.

“So we all know that (Y/n’)s about to win, and that she’s my best friend and favorite duet partner,” Everyone answers him with an immediate ‘rude,’ which makes a girlish giggle bubble up in your throat, “which is why it makes me so terribly sad to do this.” You watch closely as he dramatically pulls a card from his hand then places it on top of the deck, a fat draw four staring you straight in the eyes. Everyone goes silent while watching your face fall drastically.

“Hwang Hyunjin, I am going to-” The room bursts into chaos before you even finish the sentence. In the end there are about twelve fresh bruises, six entirely hoarse sets of vocal chords, and one demolished dorm room. Just a normal Friday night.

Except for the way that your heart stutters when Hyunjin mouths a simple ‘love you’ over the bustling group. That’s not normal, but you think that you like it.

“Hyunjin, if you keep your hands there I’m going to fall.” You say to your duet partner, whose hands are wandering aimlessly up your torso. They’re supposed to be on your hips, serving as an anchor for your body while it dips towards the ground.

“Sorry, sorry.” The boy mumbles, not entirely meaning it. It’s impossible to be sorry when he can physically feel your heart speed up beneath his hands.

“Try to sound just a little bit less convincing next time, okay?” You shimmy slightly in a futile attempt to move his hands, which only makes him laugh brightly. If it weren’t for your less than ideal position (halfway bent into a split with every ounce of your weight balanced on the tips of your toes,) you would hit him.

“Do you want me to drop you, because I can drop you if it’s what you want-” The teacher snaps her fingers, pulling everyone’s attention out of the various warm up routines and to the front of the room. Hyunjins hands pull away from your torso so quickly that it burns.

“No dropping dance partners on purpose, that’s the first rule of building stage chemistry.” She chastises, eyes brushing briefly over your friend which causes him to turn thirty shades of pink. You giggle quietly to yourself before sticking your tongue out at him, “But of course, you can’t truly start to build a connection until there’s material. So that’s what we’re doing today, I’ve assigned each group with a pas de deux, or ‘dance for two’. Whoever I think shows the most promise within the next week will be given the opportunity to enter in the regional competition.” She says opportunity, but the stern tone of her voice means that whoever she picks will definitely have to do the competition.

Everyone floods to the front of the class before she even finishes, Hyunjin moving to do so as well before you quickly grip his wrist.

“She didn’t say to go yet, and if we want to qualify for that competition we’re going to have to start kissing up now.” You keep your face forward, chin up and shoulders back, but even then you can feel Hyunjins smile, “What?!”

“You want to do the competition?” He sounds hopeful, nearly childlike.

“Of course! That’s like half the reason I go to school here, the competitive atmosphere.” People are starting to settle back into place, your teacher wearing a look of utter annoyance. Hyunjin doesn’t seem to notice, seeing as his mouth keeps moving.

“I’ve only known how to do a pirouette for a month, and I still can’t really get my double. You’d have a better chance with Han, or-” As soon as the teachers back is turned you whip around to your babbling partner, hands planted firmly on his broad shoulders. It takes a second for his eyes to meet yours, but when they do he nearly melts.

“I don’t want to do it with anyone else, I want to do it with you. And just because your double isn’t perfect doesn’t mean that it’s not good so stop stressing.” He looks down for a second, cheeks growing as pink as your shoes. By force of habit you hook a hand beneath the boys chin and force him to look at you, “I mean it.” He swallows harshly, then nods. With a sigh you let go of the boy and return to your previous (assigned) position. Just in time too, seeing as the teacher turns around right as you settle next to the boy.

“You may check your assignments at the end of class, if you haven’t done so already.” You flash a knowing glance to Hyunjin, almost as if to say ‘I told you so.’ He knows better than to argue.

At the end of class you go up to look with Jisung while Hyunjin gathers your things for you, the short brunette babbling excitedly about the previously mentioned regional’s.

“I thought that you don’t do partner work?” You tease lightly while ducking down to look at the list.

“I don’t, but neither does my partner! So we’ll just be okay at...” He bends next to, head full of brown hair hitting you straight in the eyes, “Romeo and Juliet?” You bite down a laugh while pushing the boy away.

“Don’t try to fight it, you’re such a Romeo. Just like I am such a... Lise!” The boys face contorts with jealousy as he ducks back down, once again knocking your heads together.

“You guys got La Fille mal gardee? And the ribbon dance?!” You giggle back a small yes while pinching the boys frowning cheeks, “No fair! Absolutely no fair, I have to do stupid Romeo and Juliet and you got my favorite ballet, no fair!”

“It’s my favorite too!” You defend, which ends up being pointless because both Hyunjin and Jisung chorus back with ‘not true!’

“Your favorite is swan lake.” Hyunjin states while sliding your dance bag onto your shoulder. Maybe it’s the fondness in his action, or the way that he named off your favorite ballet as though it was a fact ingrained into his brain, but your heart swells so large that you swear it could pop like a balloon.

“Okay,” you exhale, hand moving to the spot where his fingers were ghosting just seconds ago, “one of my favorites.”

At your first rehearsal for regionals you and Hyunjin are given the ribbon to use, seeing as it’s literally the ribbon dance. Practicing without it was honestly getting awkward, which is unfortunate seeing as the boy nearly got it taken away within minutes.

“Look (Y/n,) I’m a present!” He had exclaimed, causing you to whip around to the sight of your partner with a pink silk bow tied around his chin.

“Oh no, Hyunjin!” You whispered through a quiet laugh, moving towards him to untie it, “You are so ridiculous!”

“What? Am I not a gift?” He pouted while trying to pull your hands away, which earned him nothing but a harsh smack on the wrist. You slipped it off his face and behind your back just as the teacher walked in the door to give the ‘your ribbon is not a toy,’ talk.

At the second you describe the plot of La Fille mal Gardee, which proves to be slightly (read: very confusing.)

“Wait wait wait, she doesn’t even like the other guy?!” He asks while shaking his head cutely, black hair bouncing along with the motion. If it gets any longer he’s going to have to start putting it up.

“Nope, not one bit.” His eyebrows furrow as he starts to grumble ‘this is kind of stupid,’ earning a giggle and a push to the shoulder, “No it isn’t! It’s funny, and sweet! I really relate to Lise and her... Character arch I guess.”

“Isn’t she the girl who needed guarding or something like that?” His tilts to the side, teeth catching ever so slightly on his puffy pink lips.

“Yea,” You exhale with a quickening heart rate, “something like that.” There’s silence for a minute, nothing but Hyunjin shaking his head and sighing softly.

“That’s not you. No one needs to guard you.” For some reason your brain flashes back to the third summer alone (that awkward stage where you were too old to make new friends and too young to go see Jisung,) when you spent everyday walking through the woods alone. Sometimes you would just walk until the sun went down and your only company was the stars, but most days you would find a new place to sit down and hum out the motifs of your favorite ballets, “No one.”

For a moment you think that he’s right.

The fourth rehearsal (exactly one week after the first) is when you get to a stage kiss in the choreography, your teacher describing the motions along with a recording that’s projecting on the back wall. It starts with the boy pulling in the girl by the ribbon, then swooping down to meet her lips with a smile. Then she twirls away, leaving your skin hot and crawling.

“We’re um... A-are we gonna do that?” Hyunjin asks through a whisper, leaning close enough that you can feel his breath. It’s warm and smells like spearmint.

“We’ll know when we get there I guess, now pay attention!” You push his face away from yours and back to the projection, watching as the couple wraps each other up in the silky ribbon.

When you do finally get there an hour later he looks so nervous that he could puke. Your teacher shouts out the next move, ‘kiss and then twirl away,’ which only adds to the painful drumming of your heart.

“It’s okay, (Y/n,) you don’t have to.” His voice is low, hushed. Almost like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

“No, no! It’s okay, I’ll just...” You lean forward as much as you can with the ribbon hugging your waist and press a feather light kiss onto the tip of his nose. The teacher coos, maybe even praises the two of you on the developing stage chemistry. You don’t hear it. You don’t hear anything over the erratic beating of your heart, “I’ll just do that, okay?” He swallows dryly, eyes flashing quickly down to your lips then back up to your sweet gaze.

“Y-yea, perfect.” There’s something building up in the space between your bodies, so thick that you could spread it over toast, “You should twirl away, right?” You nod, wanting desperately to stay. To kiss him in an earth shattering way.

A part of you thinks that you shouldn’t. That Hyunjin has the power to ruin every part of you, and that wanting to give that to him after your hearts already been broken is foolish. But you do, you want to. Because loving Hyunjin feels good enough that the pain doesn’t matter.

After the fifth rehearsal the two of you feel as though you’ve torn every muscle in your body. Your teacher decided within the first twelve minutes that the two of you would benefit from some conditioning, which resulted in you and Hyunjin holding side by side planks (as well as other terrible positions) and muttering curses for a solid hour.

“I’m gonna collapse.” Hyunjin whines, plopping down onto the hardwood floor beside his dance bag. Something that’s probably supposed to be a laugh falls out of your mouth before you pull the water bottle from your bag.

“At least you haven’t been wearing pointe shoes all day.” You groan while moving the bottle to your mouth. A mouthful of water slides down your throat right as the boys face twists into one of horror.

“Oh gosh, oh no I’m so sorry!” You try to wave the black haired boy away, which only makes him feel worse, “No, no! I wanna help let me umm... Come back to my room? I can set up a foot bath with...”

“Epsom salts.” You answer after swallowing another swig of water, “But I have all of the stuff in my room, I can take care of it.” Hyunjin whines again while rolling over onto his stomach and pushing himself into a sitting position. There’s a bead of sweat dripping down the bridge of his nose, something that you shouldn’t focus on. It catches on the tip before falling delicately onto his collar bone.

“I wanna take care of it,” It feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room, “just... Here, wear my jacket into the building so no one can see that you’re uh... A girl.” You try to argue again, but then your cheeks are squished in between his hand and his eyebrows are furrowed just enough for it to be cute, “Let me take care of you.”

And really, how could you say no to that?

“Hwang Hyunjin, you are my favorite person in the world.” You sigh, feet dipping into the warm cloudy water. He plops down next to you with a laugh and arms full of snacks.

“Can I get that in writing? You know, just to prove it to Jisung.” Laughter bounces off of his dorm walls, filling the boys brain with childhood memories. Like the time that you two were riding scooters in your driveway and just as the sun started to set you skinned your knee. Hyunjin had thought for a minute that the shaking of your shoulders was sobbing, but quickly discovered by a tilt of your chin and hands wrapped around your sides that you were indeed laughing. Beautiful, clear laughter complete with sunshine dripping from your skin. It was the first time he can remember thinking that someone was beautiful.

“Yes!” You exclaim, effectively pulling the boy from his memory, “But only if you give me food.” He giggles tiredly, a sound so sweet that it might as well be honey, and tosses a bag of pita chips your way.

“You don’t even have to ask.”

You’re supposed to go back to your dorm at eleven, thirty minutes after arrival. But then Hyunjin starts talking about anything and everything, ranging from how he met Minho to the old building of his school. The way he chuckles sleepily while reminiscing on water logged ceilings is enough to make you melt.

Somehow your head ends up pulled against his chest, rising and falling with his breaths. There’s an arm tied around your waist like ribbon, lips softly brushing your hairline as he mumbles endlessly about everything, your leg across his lap as though they’re supposed to be.

“What time’s it?” You slur, clenching onto the fabric of his shirt. It smells like spice and fresh pine and Hyunjin. So much like Hyunjin.

“Midnight.” You think to yourself that it’s time to leave, that if any of the staff found out about this you’d be dead. You also think that Hyunjin smells like fresh pine and that he’s holding you in a way that you’ve never been held.

The sound of his even breathing and the weight of his arms on you lulls you to sleep in a matter of minutes.

When you wake up it’s to the obnoxious blaring of Hyunjins alarm. The boy whines lowly before punching it into snooze. It’s enough to make you laugh, then pull your head away from the cradle of his chin.

“C’mon sleepy, it’s time to get up. What do you have for breakfast?” If it weren’t for your hair tickling his cheek or the way your torso writhes beneath his arm he would be annoyed by your chirping voice. After the hundreds of early mornings school has thrown your way you can’t really help but be a morning person.

“More sleep, that’s what I have.” He grumbles as you crack the curtains open, trying desperately to pull the comforter over his eyes.

“You need food to fuel your body Hyunjin-” Before you can finish lecturing him an arm shoots up from beneath the gray blanket, crashing your body onto his with a sleepy groan.

“M’ just kidding.” He pulls you under the blanket with him, mimicking the first time he spent the night at your house. You two stayed up until the sun was rising, hidden away from the world by the fluffy pink comforter of your childhood bedroom, “Protein bars are in the closet and apples’r on top of the mini fridge.

It’d be so easy to skip classes and stay here all day, not a care in the world besides the sweet boy that you’re currently tangled in. A part of you wants to melt away and give in, but a bigger part knows that doing that is a commitment. Like saying that you’re his to hold and break however he pleases. It’s the scariest thought that you’ve had in months.

“W-we should get going. Yea?” The words sound like you’ve been choking on them. A fact that Hyunjin takes notice of, eyes growing sad and attentive as his arms wiggle away from your waist.

“Yea, yea. Minho will be here in ten minutes, we walk to pas de deux together.” Before you can help it your expression turns panicked, eyebrows shooting up as your jaw drops open, “Sorry! He’s not gonna tell anyone or anything I promise!” Something clenches in your chest at the sight of him sitting up in bed, black hair sticking up every way that it can.

“I know he won’t, it’s just...” You look down at your body, clothed with Hyunjins sweatshirt and a pair of his long socks (turns out that he was onto something with the whole ‘sleeping in socks’ thing,) “I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.” His gaze shoots up to meet yours, so soft and relaxed that you could cry.

“Which would be?” There’s a pounding in your ears that’s quickly recognizable as a heartbeat.

“That we’re together.” It’s barely above a whisper, but Hyunjin hears you loud and clear. From the light tremble to the breathy finish, he hears you.

“We could be, if that’s what you want.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, an action familiar enough that it’s normal yet tender enough that your cheeks are flushing pink, “Is that what you want?”

“I-I, um...” Your heart is screaming yes, that you want to be his and only his. That while you aren’t a girl who needs to be guarded, you are a girl who wants to be guarded. Guarded from everything by Hyunjins thin comforter and strong arms.

But then you think about the promise that Hyunjin broke. The promise that he wouldn’t forget you, and then broke less than twenty-four hours later. You think about how badly you’ve wanted to spend the last day of summer with him every year since. Your mouth opens right as a knock sounds against his door, “Can we talk about this later?” Hyunjin nods lightly while getting up to grab two apples off of the top of the mini fridge.

“I’m so sorry for however he reacts.” The boy groans under his breath, offering you a light green apple along with an apologetic smile. You accept, smiling back before popping out of bed to pull your dance bag over your shoulder.

“It can’t be that bad, Minho’s level headed.” If it weren’t for the fact that Hyunjin still has a question lodged in his throat he would’ve laughed.

You’re the one who finally opens the door, interrupting Minho mid-knock. At first he looks aggravated, ready to launch into a long speech about how ‘timeliness is important’ and ‘you always fucking make us late’ but when his eyes meet you his jaw goes slack.

“What the f-”

If the sound of Minho screeching wasn’t telling enough, you were very very wrong.

The next four days are spent dancing around Hyunjins burning question, constantly talking about anything else or switching the topic when it seems like he might bring it up. At first he barely notices, simply assuming that you need time to mull it over, but then Jisung and Chan sit in on a lunchtime rehearsal.

The dance is coming along perfectly, so much so that the boys don’t even notice your hesitations. Hyunjin sees it though. Sees the way that your hands tremble before planting on his shoulders, the way that your face looks sad after pressing the soft kiss onto his nose. While he hasn’t seen you dance as much as Jisung or Felix probably have, he’s still seen enough to know that you’re never like this. Never uncertain.

“What was that about?” The boy asks after the rehearsal, hands crossed against his chest. You’re going to ignore him, focus on nothing other than getting out of your pointe shoes and off to your next class, but then his dark brown eyes catch on yours, “Seriously!”

“What are you talking about?” You respond, fingers working quickly to undo the ribbons around your ankles. A sigh leaves your mouth as one shoe slips off and into your bag, quickly moving to the other one before Hyunjin can continue the questioning.

Turns out that your friend is terrible at picking up on social cues.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Your head is briefly pulled up from the floor as his voice grows impossibly soft, your heartbeat faltering ever so slightly. There’s a quiet goodbye as Jisung and Chan leave the studio, “Y-you scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, throwing the second shoe into your bag while a lump takes form in your throat. If he wasn’t your best friend then he would think that you’re just tired, or hungry, or anything other than deflecting. But he is your best friend, who knows that being tired or hungry only makes you sad. Your best friend who knows that you’re deflecting harder than you ever have before.

“It’s okay, just tell me. Please.” His last word is so hushed that you can barely hear it, but it’s there. Light, and airy, and perfectly there, “Is this about what I asked?” Before you can help you’re nodding, once again giving this boy every part of you that can break.

“Yea, kind of.” It feels like your mouth is full of cotton, leaving you uncomfortably hot along with speechless. A loud sigh rings through the studio as Hyunjin slides down to meet your height, hands burying into his raven black hair. The sight takes you back to the last day of fifth grade; you and him holding each other on your front porch as if the world was ending, your hands tangled into his hair.

“Is it because you don’t want to?” There’s his eyes on yours, your chest heaving, and nothing else in the entire universe. Just (Y/n,) the girl who wants to be guarded, and Hyunjin, (Y/n’)s beloved.

“No.”

“Then why didn’t you say yes?” Right now feels like when you’re at a competition, in the middle of a variation that’s been giving you hell since you started working on it. It’s seconds before the hardest part, the one that you’re still not sure of. It’s the adrenaline rushing through your veins and the words ‘now or never’ echoing with each timed exhale.

“Because. How do I know that you won’t forget about me when summer comes?” Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, causing his lips to part and then heave for air.

“I-I never forgot about you.”

“Yes you did!” There are tears prickling the back of your eyelids, which you quickly blink away before continuing, “I waited for you outside your house every day! And then, when you wouldn’t show up, I-I’d spend every day alone. Doing what we used to do together, but by myself! I was all by myself and I missed you so much, Jinnie. So, so much.” He’s going to tell you that you’re wrong. That while all of those things happened, he never ever forgot about you.

But then there’s that old nickname, the one reserved specifically for family and you. He hasn’t heard it in months, and when he finally does it’s rolling out of your mouth like a plea soaked in honey. Something that’s going to stick with him for forever.

“(Y/n,) please-” You’re up and out of the door before he can even finish.

It’s a dreary Friday morning, rain trickling down your window and painting your room a gray shade of blue. With a deep inhale you realize that everything is finally smelling like fall, which only solidifies the fact that you never want to get out of bed. Unfortunately you have a class in half an hour that you do kind of need to go to.

But it’s not too terrible. Maybe if you were getting up to go take a math class, or run a marathon, but you aren’t. You’re getting up to go to ballet class, and you can wear your favorite leotard again (the light blue one, with pearls sewn around the collar,) and the rain outside is heavy enough to be calming but light enough that you can fend it off with an umbrella. The only thing that could make this morning any better is your favorite childhood breakfast, honey nut cheerios with strawberry milk.

Which is, oddly enough, sitting outside of your door when you open it to head off to the dining hall. A gallon sized jug of bright pink milk next to a family size box of your favorite cereal, just sitting in the middle of the hallway with a folded piece of paper resting precariously on top. Something about this has Hyunjin written all over it. You lean down to pick up the note, reading it about a thousand times over before rushing back into your room to wolf down the breakfast that you haven’t had in months.

‘(Y/n,)

I never forgot you.

Come to my room tonight after rehearsal. Please.

Sincerely, Hyunjin.’

When you two do the first full run through of the pas de deux that night he holds you extra tight. Maybe because he misses you. Maybe because he thinks that after tonight he’ll never have the chance to do so again.

But when he opens the door to his dorm room you see pink fluffy blankets folded on his bed. On top of them is a basket, filled to the brim with every last one of your favorite things. Strawberries dipped in chocolate like the ones your mother would make on hot summer nights, snickers bars like the ones that you two would share after days spent in your driveway, glass bottled lemonade like you would buy from the stand up the street.

“I may or may not have also bought your favorite movie. Well, if it’s still Barbie And the Twelve Dancing Princesses.” A giggle sounds through the room, bouncing around the walls and then back onto Hyunjins burning cheeks.

“It is, but don’t tell Jisung!” Rain starts to fall again, the soft pitter patter mixing perfectly with the boys soft laugh. His hand grazes briefly against the small of your back as he starts to guide you into the tight room, “I’m serious! Him and Lix will make fun of me!” The pout on your face is enough to melt anyone’s heart, which is why Hyunjin doesn’t even think twice when his knees go weak as jelly.

“My lips are sealed.” He says, walking over the boxy tv (that certainly wasn’t there last week) on his desk and inserting the disc, “Now sit back and enjoy.”

It’s not a hard request to fill, your tired body sinking immediately into the fluffy blankets and mouth watering each time you bite down on a strawberry. Rain continues to patter softly against the window, the sound occasionally being replaced by a loud roll of thunder which makes the boy next to you jump. You had laughed at the action, asking softly if he was scared. It was a rhetorical question, you know fully well that he’s always been scared of thunder.

“No! Yes, shut up.” And if you mind that the boy cuddles softly into your side, one arm wrapped around the curve of your waist while the other holds a chocolate strawberry, you don’t say so.

The two of you stay tangled up in each other like that until the credits roll, Hyunjins breathy sigh hitting your cheek as he shifts to get up. You watch with heartfelt eyes as he crosses the dimly lit room, his black hair briefly sweeping across his eyes. You want to reach up and push it away, but right as you manage to sit up straight he’s done with it and headed back to the bed. With a short laugh you realize that your noses are touching.

“Hi.” The word comes at as a short exhale, leaving a taste on your tongue that’s sweeter than chocolate strawberries.

“Hey.” Your heart flutters at the sound, an exhale laced together with a smile, as his arms return to their previous spot around your waist. There’s probably nothing in the world brighter than the smile he wears for you. Stage lights, the sun, every last star in the sky rolled into one. None of it even comes close to the way that his pink lips stretch perfectly from cheek to cheek, “Do you finally believe me?” He brings up a hand to caress your cheek gently, as though to rub away tears that haven’t fallen.

“Believe wh-”

“Do you believe that I never forgot you? That I never forgot any of you, not even the little things like your favorite color or what you liked to eat for dinner. Maybe I pulled away, but I think it’s because even then I knew how badly losing you would hurt. I-I knew that I never wanted to lose you, which is just what I did...” He swallows harshly, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, “But I’ll never do it again. I’ll never lose you, and I’ll never forget you a-and... And I don’t want to remember you anymore, (Y/n.) I’m so done with remembering, let’s just be.” There’s something stuck in your throat, but it doesn’t hurt the way that tears do. No, this is a release gathering inside of you. One that’s waiting for you to finally give in.

“Hyunjin,” His fingers cradle the curve of your jaw, sending goosebumps down every inch of your body, “kiss me.” And that’s all the confirmation he needs to brush his lips over yours.

At first it’s gentle, almost questioning. Like he’s asking one last time ‘Is this okay?’ But then your hands tangle in his black hair, the way that they’ve been aching to since you first saw him, and he knows that you’re okay. More than okay, you’re in love. With every muscle in your body, you’re in love.

Hyunjin’s hand that was previously holding your face drops back down to your waist and pulls you in softly. They then travel down to your thighs, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips before he picks you up and guides you onto the bed. Every movement is so perfect yet raw, feeling like the stuff of ballets. Until your back hits an unopened glass bottle of lemonade, that is. The sudden cold is enough to make you jump.

“What?!” Hyunjin questions, eyes shooting as wide as saucers, “Did I hurt you?!” A laugh sounds through the room while your hand detaches from his hair, opting instead to reach around your body and remove the glass bottle that’s poking you in the least conventional way possible.

“No.” You answer through soft giggles, bringing up the bottle to lightly tap his forehead, “There’s just a lemonade poking me in the ass.”

He flushes bright pink before answering with a tiny ‘oh’ and burying his face into the crook of your neck. If you were less malleable you would’ve teased him even more, but then there are warm kisses on your skin and nothing in your head.

“I love you.” He whispers, head slowly moving until his lips are against your jaw. You’re going to answer, really, but then there are soft lips on your chin and a smile ripping through your body, “I love you.”

“M-me too.” You stammer dumbly, body going entirely limp as he (finally) presses another kiss onto your lips. The boy pulls away entirely too soon, but it’s okay. There’s something that you need to finish saying, anyways, “I love you too, Jinnie.”

When you fall asleep that night it’s to the sound of pattering rain, with Hyunjins arms guarding you from the world.

The bus back from regionals is quiet, the few sounds that do come about being Chan and Felix whispering softly or Minho giggling at Jisung snoring. You’re about there too, but who can blame you when Hyunjins hands are buried in your hair (which is both stiff and wavy from a combination of hairspray and braided buns.) If you close your eyes and focus really hard you can even feel the rise and fall of his chest where it’s connected with your back.

“Who’s gonna keep our trophy?” The boy questions, lips moving softly against the shell of your ear. It generates a warm feeling in your gut, one that spreads quickly to your cheeks and ears.

“We’ll trade it off on the weekends. Like divorced soccer parents.” He giggles softly, moving forward to kiss your temple.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” If you were a little bit less tired, or a little bit less in love, then maybe you’d joke back. But you’re wrapped up in him like a ribbon on your waist, foot nudging against a plastic first place trophy while his lips move against you in a way that you could get drunk off of.

“Never.” You answer, hand coming up to wrap around his as if it were a vow, “Never.”

#hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #writekpop #admin reid #han jisung #lee felix #bang chan #lee know #stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #this might be one of my favorites yet... i really loved writing all of them #and researching!!

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years ago

Text

Someone, Broom in Hand

Kaz died before he turned sixteen. That’s the story. When he reappears, it’s at the side of the Dark General, wearing the thin fluttering robes of the Sun Summoner. Jesper travels to the Little Palace to punch his fucking teeth out.

Kaz[/&]Jesper | 7.5k | content note: nonlinear narrative, past and offscreen abuse

The purple kefta is too big for Kaz. Jesper doesn’t want to think about why he dumped his coat over Kaz’ head, except that Kaz looks weird and cold in his ugly fancy yellow paper taffeta shirt, his one layer that he’s wearing apart from the underpants that leave his knees bare.

That he looks uncomfortable at all should be nothing but a trick of the violent light: there are two separate lit fireplaces in the bedroom, so awkwardly placed that they were probably retrofitted by a Fabrikator. It might have been David, though then Jesper would surely have heard a treatise on the stones used to erect the Little Palace, or Gaz, or Lizaveta or any of the other Materialki Jesper’s been bunking with but—but anyway, if Kaz felt like wearing more, he could order an attendant to fetch another shirt or two. Unless there’s nothing he owns that isn’t thin and revealing and fucking yellow. Unless he’s not allowed… Unless he can’t even dress himself anymore without a gaggle of attendants. Man moves up in the world and forgets everything he knew: tale as old as time.

“Just like you forgot us,” Jesper mutters, less viciously than he should.

The Kaz-doll makes no comment. No protest. No further manipulation of Jesper’s old affections. No snide mockery for Jesper passing his kefta on to the man that less than an hour ago, he tried to kill.

He just pulls the coat on. With his odd bare fingers—no claws after all, just thin and human—he closes button after button, including the top four that Jesper’s never once used, struggling to pull the material over the bone-tines sticking out of his chest. (And who back home would believe that Dirtyhands has ordinary fingers and a totally fucked up chest?) It would be easier to leave it open, but Kaz, even now he’s a sunny lapdog, doesn’t do easy. When he drops his arms, the too-long sleeves fall down over his hands, and with his thumbs he traps the fabric there. Sad little improvised half-gloves, more than Jesper’s seen him wear in the month since he let himself get conscripted into the Little Palace. He looks back at Jesper.

There’s no Thank you—Kaz Brekker never knew that word, and it seems in the two years they had him, whatever else they forced on him the Ravkans failed to teach him any more manners—but there is something new in his glare. It’s not just the purple washing the colour off his smooth—his way too smooth face. No. It’s something old: defiant, and angry, and scheming, just barely breaking through the placid paint and the rust beneath it.

Bit by bit, as he buttons up Jesper’s kefta Kaz simultaneously pulls on the moth-bitten coat of Dirtyhands he’s kept way back in the wardrobe of his brain, the ruthless killer, Bastard of the Barrel, Dregs lieutenant and future gang boss unless he gets murdered first. And it didn’t stick the first time. Pulls it over whoever it is that he was before. Over the doll beside Kirigan.

Over that person in the corner, that cornered boy, brittle and alone and stripped of armour and weapon and self, and Jesper wants to kill every single fucker in the Little Palace.

“Back home, you had a plan for everything,” he says instead. “I’m not assuming it’s a B or even a Z or a Q squared, but I know you. I know you’ve considered it. What do we do now your beloved long-lost friend’s shown up to help you steal the Sun Summoner?”

☼

Yesterday, Kerch accepted the terms of the Ravkan crown. Ex-crown. Dark fucking empire. Whatever. Test all children and send the Grisha to the Little Palace, conscript some people into the First Army—though what they still need an army for when they have the Fold is anyone’s guess—send food, booze, and, worst of all to the fastidious greedy Kerch, pay tribute without receiving anything at all in return. It was in the mouth of every paperboy on the streets, every mercher, every gang boss. By Ghezen how could we just surrender? they moaned, and Do you want to end like West Ravka? and Didn’t you see him? Kirigan’s going to crown himself king of everything. He’s unstoppable. And that boy next to him, the Sun—

Honestly? Jesper doesn’t give a fuck anymore. He’s paying fifty kruge just to sit on Inej’s bed for an hour and braid her hair. Ketterdam can burn to the sopping wet ground for all he cares. The world can rot. Like the Dregs did. Like everything Jesper cared for.

Inej, though, watched it.

“I had to see,” she’s whispering into Jesper’s ear, barely moving her miserable red-painted lips even though his hair should block out most lines of sight already. Inej’s smart, though, and desperate: if Jesper keeps returning to the Menagerie as nothing but a smitten small-time gangster with an incredibly vanilla hair fetish, he won’t catch attention. Tante Heleen will have fewer reasons to raise Inej’s rates. Jesper can barely pay for a visit a month as it is, and even those he allows himself mostly because he’s given up the hope of ever paying off her indenture unless he wins big.

“I snuck out yesterday. I had to see. Heleen got a new girl from Ravka six months ago, and she believes, too. Had a cheap pamphlet with her, last thing she had, of the new Saint. The illustrations… they looked just like Kaz.”

“Fu—” Inej elbows him. Jesper presses his lips into the braid over her ear. “Forget about Kaz Brekker. You’re the only one who matters now. He died, and you ended up here.”

She’s trapped in the Menagerie now because Kaz disappeared into the harbour like so many orphans before him; because he didn’t tell Jesper jack shit about Inej’s situation that might have helped him keep her safe in the Dregs; because he allowed senile Haskell who knows the names of all his five hundred thousand miniature boats and literally nothing else to stay in charge of the Dregs instead of killing him as soon as possible, which allowed Haskell to let the payments for Inej’s indenture lapse, which meant three months after Kaz just disappeared from his life Jesper got back to the Slat to find that Inej, too, had gone without a trace, and it was only luck and a pervert old Dreg that Jesper soon afterwards ‘accidentally’ shoved off a roof talking about the girls at the Menagerie that meant he found her again. Found her, only to realize he can’t help her at all.

Inej pulls Jesper’s ear back to her mouth. “I saw him, Jesper. I saw Kaz. Kaz is alive. He was there. I saw him.”

“You what?!” A sharp elbow darting out of her red sad nightgown that would have slipped right in-between his ribs if it was one of the knives she still mourns, and he’s not even given anything away. Heleen’s a hell bitch, but what use would she get out of random surprise?

“I saw Kaz. He’s the Sun Summoner. I was far away but—it was Kaz, standing next to General Kirigan, holding his hand, when the Merchant’s Council signed the terms of surrender. It was Kaz. I’m certain. Sankt Kaz.”

“I—” Jesper burrows his face into Inej’s hair. “You didn’t happen to have a knife on you, did you? A really tiny one she couldn’t confiscate. A super lethal one. Might never get as good a chance again.”

“Jes—”

“Fuck him sideways with a rusty shovel. That traitor. Did you forget how you ended up here? He left us. Saw a bigger pile of cash and skedaddled, I bet. He always wanted to be king. Guess becoming the Darkling’s queen was the next-best option.”

Inej doesn’t even defend Kaz. Jesper pulls away from her so he can look at her face. She always looks sad these days, unless she has specific painful orders to perk up, but it’s deeper now. She’s not doing the gesture, not holding her hand against her chest. Faith, now, is just one more thing Kaz Brekker took from her. Jesper can’t blame her, even though he never believed. Not even when Ravka’s new ‘Sun Summoner’ started gaining them the whole continent. Power’s power, though, no matter whether the stories around it are true. If Kaz truly is the Sun Summoner, then it’s not just Kaz Brekker who sent her back to the Menagerie—but one of her Saints. Fucking asshole.

He buries Inej in his arms. It’s all he can do now, to hold her until this month’s hour is up, because it’s not like he can just murder the Ravkans special weapon in retribution, can he? Can…

“This changes nothing,” he whispers. “The only priority is still paying off your indenture. Kaz quit the Dregs. He left us, and that means he’s nothing now. Less than nothing. I have a good feeling about the Makker’s Wheel at the Emerald Palace this weekend. Lots of pigeons there for the ‘Fete of Unity with Mother Ravka’ or whatever, and the minder thinks I’m hot. It’s risky, of course, but if I do this right—”

☼

Jesper’s just about to crawl right back out from under the bed—weapons raised, since hell knows what Kaz was planning back there, and fuck Jesper for apparently still harbouring enough trust in the guy to follow his lead two years after he deserted—but then, a series of clicks and rumbles heralds the opening of the door. Footsteps, and it slides shut again.

Shit, that was close.

And Kaz wasn’t bluffing, after all. Well, well… it certainly means something that Kaz, beloved Saint and Sun Summoner and ally to the Darkling, just told his attempted murderer slash old friend and-or stooge to hide. Kaz never did anything without a motive, be it profit or power or vengeance, and even this degraded, polished version surely isn’t so far gone as to engage in ideas as base as altruism. Ergo, Kaz will want to use Jesper for—something, though what is there he wants when he’s basically a prince of—but he isn’t, is he? He’s in a cell. A cell Jesper can unlock.

Three pairs of footsteps move around the room. One of them might be Kaz, but without his limp, it’s hard to recognize him. None of them says a word, which… it probably means this is a routine visit. Whatever’s going on, they all know their role.

Two pairs stop moving, while the third one—circles around them, it sounds like, and then someone else stumbles a little and catches themselves. Jesper hopes they’ll hurry up. He’s in mortal danger, technically—Kaz can still choose to reveal the intruder inside the Sun Summoner’s private room and-orprison, but, prison. Jesper’s far more useful alive, and so, hiding under the bed is fucking boring.

There’s not even anything interesting in-between the slat frame and the mattress. It’s the only place where you could hide anything—that Jesper can think of, at least, but there’s just nothing there at all, and Kaz used to be a real magpie. It’s a gaping void, just like everything else in this room. Like everything else in this palace, a chasm painted over with gilt and power. Unless—something’s stuck to the underside of a cross brace. Jesper slides a fingernail under the edge, and it comes loose easily enough. Not exactly a cache worthy of Dirtyhands, and anyway, it’s just a… a mangled piece of paper. A paper that looks like it’s been chewed on and spat out—and an entire corner actually torn off, or bitten, maybe—and whatever used to be printed onto it mostly rubbed off except for a couple of letters here and there, RAV. Curved lines and tiny hats. What would Kaz need to hide in his room? Apart from weapons he doesn’t have. Other people’s jewellery, dito. The only thing that Jesper knows about him now is that he’s trying to open the door. Trying to leave. It’s probably a map, then.

Which means an escape is planned, and Jesper’s just providing the desperately sought means. Good. That means he should have even more leverage here.

Somebody stumbles again, this time taking two steps to catch themselves. Almost as if they’ve jerked away.

“You’re falling behind,” slimes the smooth, rich voice of the Darkling. “On second thought, our people would miss you at the celebration. I’ll inform the staff that you wish to dance, all night long.”

☼

“You’re hanging around here because you heard that General Kirigan and the Sun Summoner are due back this hour, aren’t you?” The woman in a tidemaker’s kefta that just sidled up to Jesper speaks unaccented, high class central Ravkan. Even if her dark skin is an indication of Zemeni heritage, she came to the Little Palace long before the Darkling’s recent territorial acquisitions. She’s no ally, just like the rest of the crowd that surrounds them: an old-school Grisha, veteran Second Army, not someone whose loyalties may yet be pliable. Not someone like Jesper, whose skin started crawling the moment he showed his skills to a Ravkan occupation officer so he could sneak into the Little Palace. She’s friendly, though, and looks at Jesper’s face with clear appreciation. “You must be new. Hi. I’m Nadia.”

“Jesper,” he says, throwing a flirtatious grin like a blanket over his nerves and anger. It’s almost fun, playing the suave infiltrator assassin Grisha. Except Inej’s still in the Menagerie. And Kaz is still a piece of shit. “Yeah, I just got here! They didn’t test for Grisha ability in Novyi Zem when I was little, so I barely knew who I was… but once I heard about the Darkling, about this place, I crossed the True Sea as soon as I could!”

“That must have been so hard. So lonely. This place is…” She grimaces. “This place was our sanctuary. You’re lucky you’re Materialnik.”

“Why?” It’s the first time since his arrival that anyone’s had even a neutral opinion of Durasts, let alone good, and granted, it’s not like he cares that much about the ability his Ma died from, and he’s only talked to a dozen people since arriving yesterday, but…

“Listen, I know you want to see the Sun Summoner, and don’t tell anyone I said this but…” Nadia pulls Jesper a few paces away from the crowd on the training grounds, into a corner formed by two enormous bales of hay. Well-chosen: he can barely see the crowd that just surrounded them peek out behind the yellow stalks. “You’re sweet—”

“Listen, you’re gorgeous, but we just met—although, on second—”

“No!” She laughs, but it’s bitter. “You’re cute, but no. It’s my duty, to her, to protect you. The new ones. You’re Materialnik, so you’re not combat, so you’re not going to actually meet the Sun Summoner. Ever, if you’re lucky.”

“He’s that bad?” Kaz was always a dick, if Jesper’s honest—it was part of his charm—he was just a charming magnetic one, and back with the Dregs Jesper hated his ruthlessness just as much as he admired it. He was worst to his fellow Dregs and his enemies, though: he could charm a mark when needed. So it’s a tad unexpected that Kaz earned himself the hatred of a Grisha indoctrinated from childhood to see him as her Saint and saviour. Apparently, he’s just that talented. That obnoxious.

Well, Jesper’s not complaining. That makes his plan much easier.

“He killed my best friend,” Nadia whispers urgently. “The last time I saw her they were taking a walk, and then I found her, blisters and burns all over her body. Who else? There’s a reason he’s not allowed to have weapons. I heard the Darkling doesn’t let him go anywhere alone, or he would murder us all. He killed Baghra too, I’m sure—she was our teacher, but she disappeared two years ago. Just stay away from him, alright? He looks harmless, but he’s a rabid dog. Oh. There he comes.”

Jesper barely manages to whisper, “Thank you,” before she pulls away from him and returns to her previous place. Back to the crowd of Etherealki and Corporalki on the training field, but she finds her place in the last row, standing—hiding—behind two men much taller than her.

Jesper follows into the crowd. No need to alert Kaz that the past is hot on his heels, and then—

Well. There he is.

There someoneis, anyway.

If Jesper trusted Inej just a hair’s breadth less, he’d have cursed her and sneaked back out of the Little Palace the second he sees the person holding General Kirigan’s hand. Sure, the Sun Summoner is male, with dark brown hair and dark eyes and pale skin, and just a little bit taller than Kaz was at fifteen, but that’s where the similarities end. Dirtyhands had his impeccable mercher’s suits in a grim mockery of Ketterdam’s upper class, and gloves to feed the rumours, and a cane to walk and kill. His hair managed to be at once floppy and severe; just like his gaunt face, in the right light, made him look utterly captivating and not just like an annoyed scheming rat. He looked exactly like the Bastard of the Barrel should. Not pleasant or easy, but the person Jesper once would have followed into any lion’s den.

This—this Sun Summoner, on Kirigan’s arm, is beautiful. Healthful. Pristine.

Barely even a fucking person.

It’s the face, mostly.

You could never tell what Kaz was thinking, just looking at him, because he was, after all, thinking in layers upon layers of incomprehensible schemes at all times of the day and then went to bed and dreamt about ploys and deceptions. Jesper could barely follow him the three times total he deigned to explain part of his plans. But you could always tell that Kaz was thinking. Planning, scheming, plotting his greedy bloody vicious way out of and into every possible house on every possible street.

The Sun Summoner looks empty. He’s staring straight ahead, but he’s not even doing thatwith any kind of purpose. He’s like a pet on the Darkling’s arm. He looks more airheaded than all blackout drunk heirs and heiresses in Ketterdam combined.

It’s incredibly eerie, because now he’s searching for it Jesper can sort of read Kaz Brekker back into the Sun Summoner’s face. This face is much smoother, without the marks of past firepox, plumped and rosy-tinted, but that might partially just be a testament to the quality of Ravkan cooks—or, how skint the Dregs always were. He has a normal haircut. It probably suits him better, unless your standard for beauty is Dirtyhands, and unfortunately Jesper—anyway. The Sun Summoner doesn’t have a cane, either, and he doesn’t need one, apparently, because he isn’t limping. Ravkan royal healthcare, but honestly, Kaz could have pressed a Grisha healer into service back in Ketterdam only he always insisted—well, whatever. Fuck his words of wisdom. Fuck him. Fuck Kaz. Jesper shouldn’t even be remembering that snake.

Kaz Brekker betrayed Inej, left her to rot in the Menagerie, so whatever role he’s playing right now in whatever scheme this is—because it has to be a scheme that put Kaz into the yellow robe he’s in right now, so thin it’s translucent, and sleeveless too in the Ravkan winter. The Dregs tattoo on his arm is gone. Two Inferni are flanking him and the Darkling, their hands perpetually on fire just so Kaz can parade about in a robe no Menagerie slave would go outside in, but still, it’s Kaz. It’s definitely Kaz Brekker. Jesper can see it now.

Fuck him. He traded the Dregs for this. He abandoned them to Haskell’s mismanagement and let Inej go back to the Menagerie. He betrayed them all.

(Of course, Jesper abandoned Inej now too, and without a word, but—after that last catastrophic loss in the Emerald Palace, there’s a zero percent chance the Dime Lions wouldn’t have strung him up by his own entrails—or sold him into indenture, trying to make back at least a fraction of the fifty thousand kruge he owes—so really, he had no choice. It’s the next best thing, right? If he can’t help her anymore, at least he can kill the bastard that started all their troubles.)

Kaz just walks off, hand in the Darkling’s grasp, towards the Little Palace. Carelessly following the other man’s lead.

The old Kaz would have noticed Jesper.

☼

Footsteps and then, a series of clicks and pieces of wood and metal rubbing stones. The door. Kaz’s legs, taking steps backwards to the bed in a perfect, healthy gait. The rich soft creaking of the bed as he sinks down again, and in front of Jesper—the same two muscular, pale, bare, identical hairy calves. Like the legs of a statue, or one of those de Kappels he used to like, except the right leg is trembling finely. Barely noticeable if it wasn’t right in front of Jesper’s face. Those Ravkans maybe aren’t so crafty after all.

Then: nothing.

After what feels like an hour in which Jesper doesn’t dare move, even though the Darkling must have left already, a hand drops off the edge off the mattress. Middle and index finger erect, then crooking twice in quick succession. It takes a moment to connect. Jesper hasn’t seen those signals in such a—move, path clear. Yes. That’s what it was.

Jesper wriggles out from under the bed, annoyingly free of dust. Pristine. Empty, just like everything else.

“Didn’t think the Sun Summoner needed to use our secret code, boss,” he drawls up at Kaz from the floor. Kaz, with his barren black eyes and his new porcelain doll face, picking at the wide open collar of his yellow shirt.

“Never drop a tool you can still use,” Kaz says. A beat. “Didn’t think I was your boss anymore.”

“You aren’t.” Jesper turns his head away, looking at the spotless floor and the intricately painted walls from his low vantage point. Exquisite, imposing, empty: a Saint’s cage, as beautiful and terrible as Inej’s room in the Menagerie. The bare wall hiding the inaccessible door. “That guy really fucking hates you.”

Kaz doesn’t reply. Jesper turns his head back to watch him again, even though that won’t give him anything more: Kaz used to be willfully inscrutable even back in the Barrel, but after whatever Grisha surgery they did to him, there are only traces left of the real person trapped inside him. Dollface, Jesper thinks again. Who’d have expected they’d turn fucking Dirtyhands into a dollface?

It’s Kaz who turns away, fingers clawed into his neckline. His voice is rough, even if it’s a shadow of the damaged rasp that used to be him. “I thought about it sometimes, back then. The first time.”

Every fibre of Jesper’s being wants to interrupt with, What are you talking about? I don’t speak cryptic anymore. I’m out of practice. He should get off the floor, raise his guns, resume—but whatever it is, whether it’s some stupid new Grisha power, whether it’s zowa, or his memory of Kaz is just coming back, he doesn’t—

“It was like this. I was on my bed already, usually, when it grew hard—and I thought you would be up for not being on the bed, and there wasn’t much else in my room. I imagined watching you. I didn’t touch it. That was better.”

Uh. What.

“He probably knows I threw up after we—I tried to hide it. I thought I could manipulate him into seeing me as his partner, I thought I’d healed, that I’d practiced enough—but he just saw that I was still weak. He saw he could control me. But if he didn’t do it again because I threw up, I’m—”

He was right. Jesper would have stayed on the cold hard floor back then for him. Even now, Jesper would crawl around like a worm jerking off for the fucking asshole he got himself trapped in the Little Palace to murder, if that meant Kaz never had to—

Kaz pulls the neckline of his flimsy thin single ugly yellow shirt closed. The shirt that doesn’t protect him. The shirt he didn’t choose.

☼

Jesper’s imagined the Sun Summoner’s quarters, of course. Most of the Grisha in the Little Palace are wretched gossips—or Jesper’s been charming as many people into spilling as many secrets as possible to him so he can plan his attack, same difference—and anyway, he needs a backdrop for his imagined kill shots. It’s Kaz Brekker, after all. Dirtyhands. The ex-Bastard. You’d want to rehearse that death. Think of some witty one-liners.

Nadia said it was gorgeous inside, like a dollhouse. Lizaveta, who Jesper’s been told to shadow so he can learn how to become a proper Durast, insisted it’s totally empty. Grzegorz said there were live kittens inside, so the Sun Summoner could sate his lust for innocent blood, Sayyna thought there was a giant swimming pool, and a lovely naïve boy from the edge of the permafrost up at the former border insisted it was just like the quarters of all other Grisha, except with a little more privacy. Since they’re all siblings fighting for a world that will be kind to Grisha.

Jesper, privately, imagined a few stolen paintings and a mishmash of furniture. Because he’s an idiot.

This is just like—

If it is the Sun Summoner’s bedroom at all. It should be. Jesper did his homework: he followed the Darkling and his Sun Summoner creature that wears the skin used to house Kaz, and a variety of Materialniks, to the end of this specific corridor, five times in total. Watched the Materialniks unlock a hidden mechanism, and then the two most powerful men in Ravka—in all charted countries, ruling everything this side of the True Sea but pockets of Shu Han and even that’s a matter of time—they walked inside, hand in hand. The Darkling always left, after a while, alone, and so it only made sense to assume that the hidden room that Jesper just snuck up to and unlocked is, in fact, the Sun Summoner’s room. Kaz’ room. It’s the best time for breaking into it, too. There’s going to be a party in two days, so hopefully everyone’s too busy, and even if the Sun Summoner’s out doing preparations then Jesper can just hide in here and kill him in an ambush. That’s probably easier, actually.

First, though, he locks and hides the door again, because… yeah, he went to Ravka expecting to get caught. At some point. This is a suicide mission for revenge, after all—suicide is in in the title. But it’s no fun if he gets caught before the gory glorious revenge part. Before Kaz admits he was a piece of shit. Both guns cocked and ready, he turns around, and actually inspects the room he broke into.

No. Nothing changes, even when he blinks and blinks again. That wasn’t a faulty first impression.

The room still looks like a fucking prison cell.

A fancy, clean cell, but a cell nonetheless. It’s empty except for the bed, and Jesper owes Lizaveta more money than he has on him (though to be fair, technically, Jesper’s fifty thousand kruge in debt anyway, so does it really make a difference at all if he’s a few Ravkan coins more in the red), and even the windows—Jesper’s had enough training now that he can look at the windows and see the subtly reinforcing mesh inside the glass. No curtains. No curtain rods. Nothing—there’s a subtle mesh inside the bedclothes too and the frame of the bed looks far too sturdy to be torn apart by anyone who isn’t a skilled Materialnik. There are meshes in front of the fireplaces.

Nothing in here that can be used as a weapon.

Not against others, and not against oneself.

No escape.

There’s nothing in this stark white massive room but a person, acting like he never did before and still looking more like himself than when he was walking through the training grounds. It’s probably the distance from other people. He’s got his back to Jesper and he’s in the furthest corner from the door, which should be a tactical misstep because he can’t escape from there but really—it’s as good as any other location, in this room. There’s nothing of use to anyone left, not even to someone as shrewd as Dirtyhands used to be before he lobotomized himself into the Sun Summoner. Or before he was—

Kaz pushes himself up from his kneeling position using the walls he faces. He mutters, “I beg your forgiveness for keeping you waiting, Aleks.” His voice sounds odd.

“Are you crying?”

“Jesper?!”

Kaz turns so quickly he has to brace himself against the wall again lest he fall over. His translucent shirt ripples. His dark eyes in his weird new too-handsome face trace over Jesper, again and again. If they were fingers, Jesper would feel like he’s being caressed. No, that’s the wrong thought. A thought from a book he won’t admit he’s read. Jesper’s got his guns out. He came here for a reason. A bloody, glorious reason.

“Inej wouldn’t want me to do this, but she’s locked up in the fucking Menagerie,” he announces, just to see whether Kaz can feel even a shred of guilt. “Just so you could be a Ravkan prince in ugly yellow lingerie.”

“Just follow my—”

No, then. Or maybe it’s just the new face Jesper can’t read. Not that it matters. “Shut up. Do you remember what you told me when I joined the Dregs? About what you’d do to traitors? Well, I have added a couple of my own ideas.”

“Shut up, Jesper. You can monologue when we’re done, but—”

Jesper aims right between his weird, smooth pebble eyes. “When you left us, you knew it would all go to shit. Inej’s in the Menagerie, and there’s no way to get her out again. Haskell let the Dregs collapse after you disappeared. No Dregs, no kru—”

Kaz flinches. “Quick. Get under the bed. Now.”

Whether it’s surprise, a sex instinct, or—far worse—a lingering sense of loyalty, Jesper obeys instantly.

☼

“We’re lost,” Jesper moans. They’ve been surrounded by trees for four days. He’s not even sure they’re trudging vaguely southwards anymore. Everything looks the same. What wouldn’t Jesper give to be back in Ketterdam already, with its lovely street names and pedestrians and garish landmarks (and gangsters about to string him up), or at least somewhere in Novyi Zem where he sort of understands the landscape. Or what’s left of Shu Han, so Kaz can unclench.

“We’re not lost,” Kaz rasps. “Keep going.”

“How do you—the map.” The half-chewed-up map hidden under Kaz’ bed, the map he snuck into his coat—Jesper’s kefta, whatever—even though he probably already knows it by heart.

“Yes. The map.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me to choose where we’re going if you’re memorized the map?!” What an asshole. Jesper just clean forgot what a piece of shit Kaz is. He forgot it so utterly he’s helping him break out of Ravka, without even extracting anything in return. He’s a fucking idiot. “Is it so you can blame me when we get caught?”

Kaz, the dick, rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t I rather not get caught at all? Think, Jesper—what’s the one advantage you have over me?”

“I’m prettier,” Jesper shoots back. “My winning personality. I have a better tolerance for hard liquor. Fashion sense. I’m funny. No, wait—I’m a much more generous lover.”

“He doesn’t know you,” Kaz hisses, making the pronoun sound even more slimy than the guy it’s referring to, which is honestly quite a feat. “Do you think this is my first attempt? He’ll send people to every single route out of his core territory that poses any advantages. He has enough soldiers for that. What he doesn’t have, though, is enough soldiers to watch every route your bird-brain might pick at random.”

And then, he stalks ahead viciously. No. Limps ahead.

It’s been growing much more pronounced over the days. At first, even without a cane he walked just like any person with two healthy legs, and that’s what Jesper expected. The Ravkans healed their Saint’s leg, didn’t they? That’s what they would do. Only Kaz can think around enough corners to make his bad leg into an advantage. But with every passing day, Kaz’ gait has grown closer to what Jesper remembers from back before the world went to shit. Kaz was touchy about accommodations back then, though, or people being nice in general, so Jesper hasn’t even brought up improvising a new cane. All he’s dared to do is slowing down his own steps to what he remembers would have matched Kaz, back then.

And insisting on taking breaks. Like he does now.

“It’s almost night, you refuse to make light despite being made of sunshine, and I’m hungry,” he complains.

“I’d assume that Ketterdam has made you soft,” Kaz rasps, “o cherished crown jewel of crime and commerce, and what’s the difference.” He limps back to the fallen tree that Jesper has chosen as their camp site, though, so he must be a just few steps short of utter collapse.

Jesper unwraps the two woollen blankets he’s been carrying on his shoulders. They didn’t get a chance to steal much, mostly because Kaz was a prick about it and didn’t even let Jesper go back to his room: apparently there was time for Kaz to fold up a paper bag into a facsimile of an envelope and write an address in Djerholm onto it and have Jesper talk a stable-hand into riding out to deliver it, right now, but no time to search anywhere else for supplies. They took just whatever they found in the stables, which amounted to extra coats, some boots, the blankets, and horse feed. And gloves. Kaz declared it was time to run as soon as he’d found gloves.

Balefully, Jesper chews on his oats. Even wrapped in his blanket, the night is cold, and Kaz—who’s still wearing nothing but underpants besides the robe/gloves/Jesper’s kefta/stolen coat combo and ill-fitting boots without socks—is shivering violently.

“We should steal you some real clothes from the next house we see,” Jesper mutters. “And some decent food.”

“We’re not stealing anything until we’re in Shu.”

They’ve had this argument before. Jesper shouldn’t be as thrilled about that as he is. There’s no way to resolve it, until they find the border—or until Kaz keels over from hypothermia, because then even his rational fear of detection won’t keep Jesper from finding some trousers. For the time being, though—

“I’m going to sit closer and steal your body heat. In exchange, you can wrap my blanket around your legs.”

Kaz glares. He can do it masterfully again: just like the limp snuck back as soon as he left the Little Palace, his face over the days grew thin and pockmarked. Vicious. Jesper’s commited it to memory, in case Oily, Tall and Dark steals it again.

“If you freeze to death tonight, this was all for nothing. I could be sleeping in a palace right now. Well, a dingy side house, with the other Materialniks, but joke’s on them. This whole escape would have been much more complicated if I’d been a Squaller. Or a Sun Summoner, who refuses to even use his power to warm us up.”

“Leave it.” Kaz runs a finger roughly over where his collarbone should be, and he shudders. The temperature, or something worse, some new pain he’s not revealing—but carefully, he leans his blanketed side against Jesper, and allows Jesper to throw his own blanket over him, too.

“I’ll make you a new cane tomorrow. With a head, too, if we can scavenge enough metal from the buttons. Not a crow. You haven’t earned that until we free Inej, but maybe… a worm.”

“That’s just a stick,” Kaz mutters. “Go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say: Kaz is taking the first watch, and so he’s not balancing on a fallen log in the cold without a blanket, trying to fall asleep sitting up while leaning against Kaz’ shoulder with as little contact surface as physically possible. After some hours or minutes, though, Jesper’s suffering is too much for even Kaz to handle. Who knew there was a limit! Who knew Kaz had heard of mercy! Maybe he just doesn’t like Jesper wriggling next to him. He fists a lock of Jesper’s curls and pulls his head down into his lap.

“I didn’t help you because I want to fuck you, just so you’re aware,” Jesper jokes, because this is actually—it’s actually almost comfortable curling up on the fallen tree with his head on the blanket on Kaz’ thighs, even though there’s the remnants of a branch digging into his hip and they’re on the run from all Grisha in the world and also the new, expanded Ravka that covers nearly every country on this continent and Inej’s still imprisoned and if they actually manage to get back to Ketterdam, Jesper’s going to be in so much shit. And still, it’s… “I mourned you, you know, when Haskell told me you’d died. I wasn’t just angry because the Dregs were a shambles without you.”

Kaz is quiet. Jesper sort of wishes he’d touch his hair again, or his shoulder—and he never seemed to have any trouble touching the Darkling, so what, is Jesper not good enough—but he also looked like a void back there, like in order to endure it maybe he had to smother—

“That’s not why I mentioned that fantasy back there,” says Kaz, lyingly. Sure. He just happened to invoke Jesper’s obvious past crush for no reason whatsoever. The awfully convenient infatuation Jesper didn’t have sense nor skill to hide back then. Kaz is exactly the kind of person who’d exploit someone’s first love. The person who’s realize, long before Jesper did, that maybe, he’s not actually completely over—but maybe that wasn’t the important bit then. It went on. And that story about the Darkling—

“You thought I’d help you out of pity?” Jesper would have done, if he hadn’t been so angry—if he hadn’t been already so freaked out by the placid expression, the clothes that looked expressly designed to torture the Kaz he knew, the cell… It wasn’t pity. What is it you feel when a person you knew—maybe not his secrets or his past or his thoughts or what trouble he just dragged you into because he’s a secretive dick, but still, you knew him, it was burned into your heart, his movements and the codes he taught you and just when a heist was about to trigger one of his fears he’d never mentioned and you needed to get him out now… What do you feel, when that person comes back from the dead, and comes back wrong. Like a stag with too many tongues inside its mouths and its hands locked behind its throat. Except the other way round, because Kaz Brekker was terrifying, and what he was made into or what pretended to be was only scary because it wasn’t. Anyway. Kaz is a manipulative commandeering asshole again, so it doesn’t matter. “You despise pity.”

“It’s a tool, just like everything else. One he couldn’t take. And pride just gave me—pity got me out of the Little Palace, didn’t it?”

“Something did.” Jesper tips his non-existent hat, and Kaz slaps the top of his head to make him stop wriggling. He keeps the hand there this time, knotted tight in Jesper’s hair. It stings, but it’s also… Jesper closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep before inevitably, it’ll leave.

“Pride. It was my fault.” Kaz’ voice almost sounds the way it did back home. Harsh, vicious—and damaged. Human. “I thought I could bear it. He was—the Sun Summoner could have no weaknesses, he said, nothing for our enemies to use, and I allowed myself to think… ‘our’ enemies. I practiced. It was easier, after a while, to bear touch. I thought—it seemed like the best option, to stand at his side, and to make him see me as his partner I should… I was tired of being a prisoner. I thought I could use him.”

That’s bad enough, but… “But you’re limping again,” Jesper hisses. “If he’s forming you like a clay doll to make you his perfect Sun Summoner, he should have started with healing you.”

“They did, when I first came to the Palace. I didn’t want—but I learned to accept it. After my first escape, he broke it again, personally. Had it tailored over, afterwards, every few days. Incentive for cooperation.”

There’s nothing Jesper can do to fix this stagnant, lifeless voice. He could hug Inej, at least, but this—

“It’s what I would have done, too. He was just better than me, and he didn’t need another one, so he had to change me.”

“By dressing you up and making you look like a doll. If you tell me it was a sex thing, at least I could—no, still couldn’t relate. His taste’s shit. That beauty was pretty ugly,” Jesper mutters into Kaz’ thighs.

Kaz pulls at his hair again—probably a rebuke, but the sting travels down Jesper’s spine to—well, it’s time to change the subject rather quickly. What’s there to… oh yeah, his head’s on a blanket. That’ll do. “I just had a great idea,” he says, and—yeah, his voice is still completely normal and steady. A little loud, maybe. Kaz hasn’t moved his hand away, though, so it can’t be too obvious.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Fuck off, my bright idea of breaking into the centre of Grishadom to kill you in a murder-suicide attack because what else was I going to do, let the Dime Lions grind me between millstones to press out the fifty thousand kruge I may perhaps still owe them—”

“You what?!”

Jesper powers on, because that’s really a conversation best left for when he’s not lying in a forest with his head in Kaz’ lap and trying to forget, desperately, the way it felt when Kaz pulled his hair. The way it feels when he does it again. “I’m just saying, it saved you. You’re welcome. So anyway. We only have one pair of trousers. I was going to suggest we alternate wearing mine, but we both know I wouldn’t get them back.”

“Your so-called idea is… interesting,” Kaz mutters, voice almost pulled asunder trying for both disturbed and mocking. “But I’m far more interested to hear about the fact you skipped out of Ketterdam without paying your debts. A crime punishable by death in every gang. Every gang in Ketterdam, the city where you want us to go.”

And yeah, that’s occurred to Jesper, but… “That’s a problem for later. You’ll think of something, boss, if we make it that far. You always have a plan. For now… I wouldn’t—well, I would carry you if your legs freeze off, but it wouldn’t be fun for either of us, so… You sewed yourself up constantly back home, and I’d wager sewing is just like swimming. Once you know, you can never forget.”

“Skills are useless if you lack every materia—Jes—”

“Yeah, I definitely can turn a button into a needle now. We just need to tear the second blanket into some vaguely trouser-shaped pieces, and for thread—well, we could just tear up your Sun Summoner robe, it’s useless anyway.”

“Jesper,” Kaz rasps again.

“I’m a genius?”

“No, you’re still an idiot. Why not, though?”

☼

Kaz Brekker disappeared between Sunday and Tuesday night. That’s all Jesper knows, and it’s that precise only because Kaz has been experimenting with the payroll recently. Apparently, handing out wages on late Tuesday maximizes the chances of flushing as much money as possible back into the coffers of Dregs-owned establishments, and he’s also taken to handing out the money personally. Some weird power play that Haskell hasn’t yet forbidden: everyone knows Kaz barely bothers to keep his accomplices informed about the job they’re currently doing, and the big boss tolerates him mostly because Dirtyhands is still more useful insubordinate than dead.

It’s Wednesday now, though. Wednesday afternoon.

And Jesper still hasn’t gotten paid.

Kaz is gone.

Jesper’s in Haskell’s office, inquiring about everyone’s money. Too irritated by the games of Makker’s Wheel he was forced to miss out on last night to perform anything but the most pro forma I remember my boss’ boss is technically my boss and can kill me pleasantries. Instead of promising to kick Kaz’ ass, though, like Jesper hoped, Haskell just tells him Pasko will give him his wages tomorrow.

Haskell won’t say anything else. Just, “That boy got himself mixed up in something he couldn’t handle alone, and it fucked him. You won’t like what you find, when you go looking for the dead.”

#jesper fahey #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kaz x jesper #I'm free! well sort of I have an idea for a coda in which jesper roleplays the darkling so.......#dimtraces makes things #shadow & bone #shadow and bone

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fallingsunflower · 3 years ago

Note

I'm not gonna lie I've been out of the loop for a quite a long while now (Found out about holivia today) and as someone who's been bombarded with it all at once (god give me strength) you truly see how desperate O is. Like I know you were all saying it but in my mind I was fully like but she was meant to be the badass female director. Now? I despise her. I have spent the majority of this year excited for DWD (because of the cast, because of what it means for harry, hell because of the female director) now I'm mostly dreading everything to do with it.

Anyway as I was going through everything some stuff stuck with me and I thought I'd share. First off she does many many many pap walks on her own, I find that incredibly interesting (and annoying obviously) but it more so makes me think about the route her and her team are taking. Which at this point I think I've grasped to be; take what you can get now, worry about the consequences later. They're clearly incredibly desperate for olivia to get more famous while shes attached to harry, which makes it more obvious that this is temporary. They're trying to get her name out there as much as possible so that she can get more fans through harry, and they're seemingly praying that they stick around (they wont).

Her online vogue article was interesting to say the least. I don't follow vogue much so I don't actually know if this is a big deal, but I'm assuming if she's not on the cover it's not. I'm pretty sure her status (as a celebrity) is still quite low acting and directing wise (as in, in the industry) I mean real life too, but she definitely has more fans now than before this whole thing started.

My last comment is that as a queer women of colour, I am deeply offended by some of the things I have discovered she has said and done. I hope people (specifically white straight people) in this fandom realise how truly offensive that stuff is. I've been spat on before for having lighter skin than she did in her photoshot, and the coming out comment hurt like a bitch because when I came out I was beaten. My family still refuses to speak to me 10years later, and I've received back hateful messages from family members about me and my fiancee's recent engagement. So I take personal offence to many of things she has said and done.

I would also like to add that I've been told you're trying to post less olivia related stuff and more harry related stuff (it is harry related your account) and so I just wanted to say that theres no need to post my ask, because it is all olivia related (my apologies for that) so I'd understand. Simply wanted to share my thoughts.

I came here because a friend recommended it catching up wise and seeing what the fandom's been up to and is talking about at the moment etc. etc. and I just wanted to say that it's a very lovely place mod, I have to say you do an amazing job of controlling the environment and making it a safe space so kudos and hats off to you for that. I imagine it must be exhausting and yet you do it so well. I've also gathered you were in some kind of accident?

I'm a doctor so I'll just say to be careful with your neck, drink water and get some rest. Get checked up again soon if you can, if not my fiancee's cousin watches this forum (space? I feel old) like a hawk I'm more than happy to help you examine yourself and see if anything's wrong. Take care.

Oh jeez, I'm sorry you've been bombarded with all of this information. It must be hard to unpack all at once. It's hard enough trying to make sense of it all and most of us have been here for a while now.

I'm so sorry you've been through all of that - that's awful. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. But it only goes to show just how ignorant Olivia is, and offensive. It's disgusting and makes light of horrible situations. And now there's a whole fanbase (mainly gf harries blindly supporting her) who are contributing to racist and homophobic beliefs.

In regards to the ask, I wanted to try limiting Olivia posts because I got complaints. However, part of the blog, as well as discussing Harry, is also discussing holivia so naturally olivia is part of that. But I don't want to turn into a hate account or a stalker account. I have no interest in her so I've been limiting asks that talk about her but have no relation to Harry (this doesn't include the posts outlining her problematic behavior though because those ought to be shared).

I'm glad you like the blog. I enjoy running it :) I try to keep it a safe space for everyone.

Thank you for the advice. Yeah, I was in an accident on Tuesday. I was driving home from work and got hit. My back is killing me today though. I might put some heat on it.

Congratulations on your engagement, btw. I'm happy for you x

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gretavanfanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Thin Line

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x (F) Reader

Word Count: 5600ish

Warnings: Attempted sexual assault, language.

Summary: You and Sam share all the same friends, but he hates you...or so you think.

Note: This was inspired by #5 on this prompt list.

Sam Kiszka hates you. You’re sure of it. You don’t quite know what his reason is for disliking you, but you can feel his disdain for you every time you’re in the same room together. Which is pretty awkward, considering you’ve been in the same friend group since the beginning of college.

When a mutual friend first introduced you to Sam and his brothers during your freshman year, you instantly felt comfortable around Jake and Josh and became fast friends. You even connected with and became close with Sam’s best friend, Danny, in a short period of time. But despite putting in what you felt was a significant effort to get to know Sam as well, he was totally uninterested in getting to know you.

At first you thought maybe he was just slow to come out of his shell, but to this day, Sam has never seemed to warm up to you. There’s just something in the way he treats you that’s different from how he treats your other friends. He’s colder, almost as if he resents you. Where he greets everyone else with smiles and hugs, you receive chilly stares and uninterested waves. Where he makes conversation and engages with everyone else, you receive minimal responses in a flat, bored tone. While you and Sam each hang out individually with all of your other friends, the two of you have never spent time together one on one.

You’ve tried your best not to let his behavior upset you, but truthfully, it does hurt your feelings. Because, in spite of his chilly attitude towards you, you quite like Sam. He’s loud and opinionated; goofy and incredibly intelligent. He’s talented, hard-working, and driven; quirky in an endearing way. Not to mention, he is extremely beautiful, with his long, wavy locks, chiseled features, and brilliant smile. Throughout the time you’ve known each other, you’ve wished for nothing more than for him to give you a chance, but you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that there are just some people in the world who will never like you. And Sam Kiszka was apparently someone who would never like you.

Sam’s contempt for you has seemed to go unnoticed by the rest of your friends, and you feel no need to mention it to any of them. Bringing it up would just make everything even more awkward. You’ve decided that you would much rather continue to feel comfortable around your other friends with some mild unease when Sam is there, than isolate yourself from the group by throwing accusations around haphazardly.

Ever since you came to the conclusion that Sam hates you, you’ve been a bit preoccupied with him. Now, as you sit on a couch in a stranger’s packed living room chatting with Jake over the sound of blaring music, you can’t stop yourself from glancing over at Sam periodically. He’s leaning against a wall across the room, having an animated conversation with Danny, a smile bright on his face, head tipping back with laughter every now and again. Your friend, Erin, joins them and Sam welcomes her into the discussion enthusiastically. You feel an unmistakable spark of jealousy in that moment, wondering what it is that Erin has and you lack that allows her to connect with Sam.

You must have let your stare linger for a little too long, because suddenly, Sam’s eyes flick up to meet yours. You panic and flash him a timid smile, hoping you come off as friendly. However, he just studies you for a brief moment and you see his lips pulling down into a frown. Then, just as quickly as this little moment between the two of you began, it ends as he turns his focus back to his conversation with Danny and Erin. You too return your attention to Jake and try not to read too much into what just occurred.

A little later, you leave your spot on the couch with Jake to find a drink in the kitchen. You drove to the party, so you can’t drink much, but you figure one cocktail can’t hurt. You’re in the middle of mixing a rum and Coke when you’re approached by a guy you don’t know. He’s cute, but he seems sleazy. You know all he wants is to hook up, and you’re not the type of person to sleep with just anyone.

He introduces himself as Drew, and then, as you predicted, immediately asks you if you want to go somewhere more quiet to, “talk.” Uninterested, you mutter a quick, “No, thank you,” pick up your drink, and proceed to leave the kitchen in search of a bathroom.

Much to your dismay, he does not take the hint and follows you into the hallway you’ve just entered. Noticing his presence, you speed up your pace, but are pulled to a halt when he reaches forward and takes hold of your wrist. Your fight or flight response kicks in instantly, heart rate accelerating and the hair at the back of your neck standing on end. Wrenching your wrist free, you spin around and glare at him.

“Can I help you?” you spit, venom in your voice. It’s at this moment that you realize that you’ve ventured into a mostly empty area of the house. Only a few people are around, but they’re too wrapped up in themselves to notice the conflict occurring just a couple of feet away. You cautiously take a few steps back, trying to distance yourself from this man who has suddenly become threatening.

Drew laughs and continues moving toward you. You try to inch even further backward, but your back hits the wall, making it sink in that you’ve been cornered. With his much larger frame, he boxes you in by putting both his palms on the wall on either side of your head.

Bending down, he smirks and says, “Come on, baby, don’t be like that. I just wanted to talk, get to know you a little better.”

Truly panicking now, you try to keep your voice steady when you counter, “And I declined. Now let me go.” You attempt to dip down and slide out from under his arm, but he’s too quick, shoving your shoulder back against the wall. Your drink slips out of your hand at this point, hitting the ground and splashing all over the carpet, walls, and your pants.

Leering at you with the same creepy smile on his face, he runs his fingers down the entire length of your arm, causing you to shiver. Stepping even closer, you feel his hot breath on your face as he taunts, “I’m just being nice, baby. Maybe you should learn to be a little more polite.”

You try to formulate a plan to escape this dilemma, but you’re so scared that your mind is blank. His hand has wandered to your back and settled on your ass, and you feel tears forming in your eyes. You try to look around for someone, anyone that may be able to help you, but the barricade he’s created with his arms has made that impossible. The only thing you can think of to do is scream, and you’re about to do it when you hear someone shout from behind his large body.

“Hey man, what the fuck are you doing? Get off of her!”

The voice sounds familiar, but you don’t register who it belongs to due to the overload of adrenaline coursing through your system. Your brain will not allow you to focus on anything for more than a millisecond, the feeling of terror consuming you. Trying to direct any of your brain power to identifying the person attempting to help you isn’t even an option.

Despite the unknown person’s protest, your assailant does not move an inch, continuing to hold you against your will. You attempt to wiggle out of his hold again, to no avail. Closing your eyes, you try to center yourself and prevent your breathing from increasing to the point of hyperventilation.

And then, he’s gone. The weight leaning up against you disappears and the air around you becomes cooler. It should be easier to breathe, but you still feel like you’re suffocating.

Eyes snapping open, you’re greeted by the sight of someone’s back. Sam Kiszka’s back, you quickly determine, given the long brown hair and slim frame. He has somehow shoved his way between you and your attacker, and is now shielding you with his body. Even though he is much smaller than Drew, you instantly feel safer, and very, very grateful that he intervened.

Drew’s face portrays his anger at Sam for preventing him from getting what he wanted from you. “You should mind your own fucking business, man!” he practically screams, trying to glare a hole through Sam.

“You don’t get to fucking touch her without her permission, you son of a bitch!” Sam growls, not backing down.

You don’t hang around to hear anything else. You desperately need some fresh air and to be out of this dark hallway.

Slipping out from behind Sam’s body, you speed walk away as fast as you can, only turning to look back at the scene once you reach the end of the hall. Drew and Sam, still exchanging anger-laced words, do not notice your exit, and for that, you are grateful. You hastily find your way back to the living room and out the front door, not bothering to even stop and tell your other friends that you’re leaving.

Once you step foot outside, you greedily suck in the cool Autumn air, a stark contrast to the warm stuffiness you felt as Drew was holding you against the wall. The whole encounter lasted maybe two minutes, but it felt like you were being held underwater for an hour and are just now surfacing.

Wiping the tears that you realize are still flowing down your cheeks, you dig your car keys out of the pocket of your jeans and locate your vehicle parked on the street. You feel a little bad for abandoning Erin since you drove her here, but you know she’ll find a ride back to her dorm with one of your other friends.

Speaking of your other friends, your phone vibrates in your pocket right before you put the car in drive, and you pull it out to see a text from Jake.

everything okay? saw you leave…

Apologizing to him for not saying goodbye, you come up with a ridiculous lie about getting your period and carefully pull out onto the street to begin your short journey home. Your phone buzzes again, but you don’t bother to check it.

The car ride passes by in a blur of sniffling and wiping tears, and soon you’re in your bathroom, cleaning off the little bit of make-up left on your face and taking a shower to try to clear your head. You stand under the hot stream of water for longer than usual, processing everything that happened and calming yourself down.

When you finally emerge several minutes later and dress yourself in your comfiest pajamas, you feel a little better, but still not exactly okay. To distract yourself, you pour a bowl of cereal and turn a mindless comedy on the TV in hopes of cheering yourself up.

Instead of paying attention, however, you find yourself staring blankly at the screen, consumed by your thoughts. The encounter has shaken you to your core. And while it ended before Drew could cause you any actual physical harm, you know that it will take some time for you to recover from the emotional and mental damage that he has caused you. He had no right to lay his hands on you, and the fear you felt when he did is not something that is easy to forget. You remind yourself that you are not overreacting, and that your feelings are perfectly valid.

And then there’s Sam. You feel incredibly thankful for him, but also a little surprised that he was the one who stepped in. You’re not sure why you’re surprised though. At his core, Sam is a good person. Even though the two of you have your differences, you know he would never stand by while someone else was being hurt. Including you. You sincerely hope nothing else transpired between him and Drew after you left. You would feel terrible if he ended up in harm’s way for trying to protect you.

Realizing that you will do nothing but obsess over the incident if you continue to stay awake, you make the decision to crawl into bed and try to get some sleep. Even though it takes a bit for your mind to stop racing, exhaustion eventually sets in and you’re able to get a much needed break from your thoughts.

⏭

The following Saturday, your friends send a group text making plans to go to another party that night. Normally, you would be happy to join them, but now, a party is the absolute last place you want to be. You know that if you just tell them that you don’t want to go, they’ll ask questions. You’d managed to avoid any sort of interrogation about your abrupt disappearance last weekend up until now, and you don’t really feel like reliving the experience by having to tell the story.

So, you don’t even think twice before texting them that you’re sick and are planning on staying home all weekend. You get texts back from everyone but Sam telling you to feel better, and then mute the thread when they continue planning their evening.

Over the past week, you’ve felt a little better everyday. Your anxiety has lessened and you’re able to concentrate on things that don’t involve Drew. Still, you’re definitely not ready to be in a house full of crowded people, some of which may have questionable intentions.

Since you don’t have much else to do, you decide to be productive and spend your time catching up on school work. You have quite a bit of reading to do for an exam in one of your classes next week. Surprising yourself, you get into the zone and read without interruption until close to 8 PM, when your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten anything since the peanut butter and jelly sandwich you made yourself around 11:30 AM.

Not in the mood to cook dinner, you pull up Uber Eats on your phone and scroll through the endless options, trying to choose between a local soup and salad place and your favorite pizza joint. You’re just about to place your order when there’s a knock on the front door of your apartment. You have no idea who it could be, since you gathered from your friends messages that they had made dinner plans for before the party and would more than likely be eating right now.

Skeptical, you rise from your seat at your kitchen island and check yourself in the mirror, making sure your hair isn’t too messy before making your way to the door. You really wish the doors in your apartment building had peep holes so you could vet your unexpected visitors before showing yourself, but alas, you’re forced to open it if you wish to know the identity of the person on the other side.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you undo the latch and swing the door open, the sight that greets you making your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Sam Kiszka, clad in a white t-shirt, the tiniest blue shorts you’ve ever seen, and Birkenstocks, stands on your welcome mat, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His hair falls to his shoulders in perfect waves, and he is holding a round Tupperware container in his hands. He startles a bit when your form appears in front of him.

“Hi?” you say, more of a question than a statement. Why is he here? I didn’t even know that he knew where I lived...

Releasing his lower lip from his teeth, he clears his throat and responds, “Hey. Can I come in?” There’s a small, barely there smile on his face, and the only reason you notice it is because you’re so used to the cold stare that he’s usually giving you.

Wordlessly backing up, you open the door wider and allow him entrance. When he steps through the door frame, he kicks off his Birkenstocks and glaces around, getting his first look at the place you call home.

Unsure of what to make of his surprise appearance, you cautiously ask, “What are you doing here? I thought you would be out with everyone else right now.”

Sam contemplates your query for a moment, then thrusts the Tupperware container towards you. You reach out to take it from him, and when it touches the skin of your palms, you discover that the contents inside are still hot.

“I uh- I got your message that you weren’t feeling well, so I made you some soup. Loaded baked potato. Then I realized that you’re probably not like, sick, sick, that you may just not feel comfortable going out after what happened last weekend. And I figured if that was the case, then soup may still help you feel better, so I thought I’d stop by…” he trails off and gives a tiny shrug.

You’re touched by his thoughtfulness, so you give him a small smile of appreciation. “I was literally just about to order some soup. And loaded baked potato is my favorite. Thank you.”

His lips pull up at the corners even more and he sounds almost bashful when he says, “Yeah, no problem.”

The two of you stand in your small entryway, looking each other over for a second before you turn your back and walk into the kitchen, getting a spoon out from the silverware drawer. You feel his eyes watching your movements the whole time. Once you retrieve the utensil, you walk past him to your sofa, then offer, “Do you want to sit down?”

Sam doesn’t respond, just follows you into the living room and sits on the opposite end of the couch as you.

Removing the lid from the container in your hands, your nose is instantly met with the delicious aroma of the soup inside. Sticking your spoon in the bowl, you comment, “I hope you don’t mind if I eat this now, I’m starving.”

Turning to face you, Sam pulls his long, lanky legs onto the couch so his knees are practically to his chin, then wraps his arms around them. The position doesn’t look comfortable at all, and you let out a little giggle before taking your first taste of the soup.

“I don’t mind,” Sam acknowledges.

The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, you eating soup and him watching you. What’s weird about it is that it isn’t uncomfortable at all. You’re not sure you’ve ever been alone with Sam before, but you always imagined if you were, it would be awkward.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Sam breaking the silence. “So…are you okay?” There is concern evident in his tone, and it shouldn’t catch you off guard since you’re sitting here eating soup (delicious soup, by the way) that he cooked to make you feel better, but it does.

You shovel more soup into your mouth as you consider how to answer his question. You swallow, and decide it’s best to just be honest. He’s the only person who really knows what happened, so if you can’t tell him how you’re feeling, who can you tell?

“Well, I’m not like, sick, sick,” you start, “But I wouldn’t say I’m okay. I feel a little better every day, but I’m definitely not ready to go to a party.”

He nods at your answer, then sympathizes, “That’s understandable.”

Pausing for a moment, you decide this is a good time to express your gratitude to him. You’ve been meaning to text or call him all week, but chickened out each time, figuring he wouldn’t want to talk to you.

“Thank you, by the way. For what you did. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there. I just- I really appreciate it.”

At your words, Sam recoils and his face scrunches up in dismay. Voice slightly elevated, he fumes, “You don’t have to thank me! That fucking asshole shouldn’t have put his fucking hands on you! He’s lucky I didn’t beat the shit out of him…”

His face is red in anger by the time he finishes his rant, and you’re shocked at how heated he became by you thanking him. You’re also shocked that he was upset enough by what happened to you that he wanted to cause someone actual physical harm. You never would have thought that Sam Kiszka would go that far to defend you.

Choosing your words carefully, you reply, “I know that you’re not the kind of guy to just stand by and let something like that happen, it’s just- I realize that we haven’t exactly gotten along super well in the past and I just wanted to make sure you know that I’m really grateful that you helped me in spite of that. And it was really nice of you to make me this soup. You didn’t have to do that.”

Sam looks genuinely perplexed by your assertion. He has a habit of clearly displaying his emotions with his facial expressions, you’ve noticed. Eyebrows furrowed, he asks, “What do you mean we haven’t gotten along in the past?”

Now it’s your brows that are furrowing in confusion. Is he kidding? How can he not know what I mean?

Peering at him nervously, you say, “Sam. Come on...we’ve had the same friends for a couple of years now and I don’t think we’ve ever talked this much. Everything between us has always just felt so...uncomfortable. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you even like me...it sure feels like you hate me sometimes.”

Sam balks at your answer and lets out a humorless laugh. He bows his head and shakes it back and forth a few times, then gazes up at you with a pained look on his face. “You think I hate you?” he questions, voice unsteady.

You’re taken aback by how devastated he sounds. For years now, you’ve been living under the assumption that Sam hates you. That you had done or said something or acted in a certain way that made him not want to be your friend. But he’s looking at you like he has no idea what you’re talking about. Did I misinterpret his cold stares and lack of interest in interacting with me? Did I imagine it all?

“Well…” you hesitantly begin explaining your point of view. “It’s just that, you act differently around me than you do around everyone else. You don’t- you don’t talk to me or even acknowledge anything that I say when we’re all together. You’re so nice to everyone else and it seems like you just barely tolerate my presence. And sometimes it feels like you look at me like you actually want to kill me. So I don’t know, I guess it was just hard for me to come up with any other reason for it besides you hating me…”

You wish they hadn’t, but tears have formed in your eyes during the course of your little speech. You didn’t expect to get so emotional airing out your long-held beliefs regarding Sam’s feelings towards you, but here you are, trying to prevent the watery drops from falling down your cheeks. You didn’t realize how strongly your strained relationship with Sam has impacted you until now. Embarrassment makes you avoid looking at him for his reaction.

Though you’re staring at the bowl of soup in your hands instead of him, you know Sam moves closer to you because you feel the cushion next to you dip down with his body weight. “Y/N,” he says, trying to get your attention. When you look up at him, you catch him anxiously running his hand through his hair.

“I- I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you at all. God, I- I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” he stutters, shaking his head again in shame. “It’s just, I uh-“ The tension in the room is palpable as he stops and gazes at you with a conflicted look on his face, obviously having an internal debate with himself on if he wants to continue his sentence.

He must decide that the pros of vocalizing his thoughts outweigh the cons, because he stammers, “It’s just that I- I’ve been in love with you for awhile now and I guess I just didn’t know how to deal with it? You make me nervous…”

Nothing could have prepared you for the bombshell Sam just dropped on you. By the time he finishes speaking, your jaw is nearly touching the floor and your eyes are wide. He could have told you he was a werewolf and you would have been less shocked than you are right now. The thought of Sam having any positive feelings towards you at all seems unlikely, but love? Never in a million years would you have imagined that Sam Kiszka loves you.

Your heart in your throat and your palms sweaty, all you manage to sputter is, “You love me?”

Sam scratches his nose a few times, which you’ve learned is a nervous habit of his, and chuckles tensely. “Yeah...I um- I started liking you when we were in that class together Freshman year and it just kind of spiraled from there.” He blushes as he carries on with his explanation. “I really wasn’t trying to be an asshole to you, I swear. I just, I kind of had this idea in my head that you liked Jake and I didn’t want to make things weird, so I just started avoiding you. I thought maybe if I distanced myself from you, it would go away, but so far, that hasn’t worked…”

As hard as you try, your mind cannot process everything Sam is revealing to you as he says it. You feel like you’re just gaping at him blankly for an hour before it clicks that he’s been putting on a facade to hide his feelings for you. And it worked, because it never once occurred to you that his attitude may have been a mask to prevent himself from being hurt by you, intentionally or unintentionally.

What Sam doesn’t know is that you have no romantic interest in Jake. In fact, you’ve been so hung up on overanalyzing Sam’s behavior, that you haven’t paid attention to any other guys at all. You realize now that the reason for this is because you’ve had your own crush on Sam for as long as you can remember. Before tonight, he was always so unattainable. You always thought that you just craved for him to treat you the same way he treats everyone else, but really, you wanted even more than that. You never wanted to admit to yourself just how much you liked him, because you thought you would just be setting yourself up for heartbreak. But now that he’s bared his soul to you, his closeness is making your face feel hot and causing goosebumps to appear on your arms, both telltale signs of your epiphany.

Sam’s watching you intently, waiting for any sort of reaction whatsoever. He looks more and more dejected with every second that passes by and you have not broken your silence.

Feeling guilty for invoking so much anxiety, you end his misery by simply stating, “I don’t like Jake.”

Sam frowns and croaks, “Oh.”

He again runs his hand through his wavy tresses and his eyes shift around the room.

“To be honest,” you confess, setting your soup on the coffee table in front of you, “You’re the only guy I ever really pay any attention to. I’ve kind of been obsessed with trying to figure out where I stand with you for a long time now. Because even though I thought that you literally couldn’t stand me, I um, I’ve always really liked you. I think I was actually a little jealous of everyone else because you’ve always gotten along so well with literally everyone but me…”

Head hung low, Sam peers up at you and apologizes. “I’m sorry…I feel like such a fucking idiot…”

Hesitantly, you take hold of one of his hands and find that his palms are just as clammy as yours. “No, no I- I get it,” you comfort him. “We all deal with feelings differently.”

He nods and squeezes your hand, appreciating your understanding, but then insists again, “Yeah, but that was no excuse for being such an asshole to you. You were nothing but nice to me all the time and I cared too much about myself to even realize I was hurting your feelings. God I’m such a dick, I’m-”

Having heard enough of him tearing himself down, you cut him off before he can say anything else. “Sam, stop. I forgive you. Maybe...maybe we should try to forget about how things have been in the past and just, like, start over. Things were weird before, but they don’t have to be now.”

Sam thinks over your suggestion for only a second, a shy smile forming on his lips. “I think that’s a good idea,” he agrees, then playfully reaches out to shake your hand, both to seal the deal and to symbolize your reintroduction.

You laugh softly at the gesture, but instead of accepting his outstretched hand, you throw your arms around his neck and pull him into a hug. Almost immediately, his arms wrap around you in return and he gives your body a tight squeeze, pouring all of his emotion into the embrace.

You’ve always had a feeling that Sam is an amazing hugger, and he’s proving you correct right now. His body is warm and he smells faintly like spicy cologne and his hair is silky against your skin. And the soothing motion of his hand rubbing up and down your back has you feeling more relaxed than you have since what happened last weekend. Truth be told, you could cling onto him like this forever and be content.

Unfortunately for you, Sam attempts to break the embrace far more quickly than you would have liked. You feel his hands drop from your back and the heat of his chest dissipating and you know you need to stop him from moving too far away from you.

Clutching onto his shoulders, you pull back until you’re face to face with him, foreheads almost touching. The tension in the room is palpable as you stare at each other, wordlessly daring the other to make a move. You’re not sure what you’re hoping to happen, but you aren’t mad when his palms find the side of your neck and he presses his forehead to yours.

Looking directly into your eyes, you see him gulp before he admits, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Your pulse hammering at what feels like a million beats a minute, you smile shyly at him and whisper, “Me too.”

That’s all that he needs to hear before he touches his lips to yours. Right away, you feel a spark that you haven’t felt with any other boy you’ve kissed before. Even though the kiss is chaste, sweet and quick with no tongue involved, it makes you feel more feelings than you would have ever thought possible. At the forefront is happiness, causing a huge grin to form on your lips and your eyes to sparkle as you both pull away. An identical grin is on Sam’s lips and he leans in to plant another light kiss on your cheek before settling back on the couch next to you.

Your stomach rumbling reminds you that there is still a nearly full container of soup sitting in front of you, so you pick it up and take a bite, then propose, “Do you want to stay and watch a movie?” You’re not ready for him to leave.

Sam readily agrees, so you give him the remote to select a film while you resume eating. He finds one, but before he presses play, he asks, “Hey, would you maybe want to go out to dinner with me sometime?”

Deciding to tease him a little, you respond, “I don’t know, Sam...this is some of the best soup I’ve ever had. I think I’d much rather have you cook for me than go out anywhere.”

Sam’s face lights up and he nods rapidly, clearly overjoyed that you think he’s a good cook. “Yeah, for sure! Are you free tomorrow?”

He looks so excited, and it makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. “Yeah, tomorrow works for me,” you answer, probably looking equally as excited.

Satisfied with your response, Sam presses play on the movie, then leans back into the sofa and gets comfortable. You think to yourself that you could get used to the sight of him in your living room.

Unable to resist, you quickly finish your soup and rid yourself of the bowl so you can scoot closer to Sam and curl up into his side. His arm instantly comes up to rest on your shoulders, and you’re delighted when his fingers start playing with your hair.

At the beginning of this day, you never would have expected to be finishing the night cuddled up to Sam Kiszka. If someone had told you that the guy who you thought hated you was going to bring you homemade soup and confess that he actually loves you, you would have thought they were crazy. But sometimes life works in mysterious ways, and you’re looking forward to seeing where it takes you and Sam next.

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