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sminiac · 10 days

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begging you rn to do riding xikers(hyungline ofc) face

💌 — Bff I’m sorry this took so long, but beg no more I gotchu !!!

— NSFW (MDNI)

⋆ K. Minjae

The most skilled out of the 5, like this is where he excels! It’s a win-win, he gets to watch from this angle while you completely use his mouth any way you want, it’s also probably one of the more tame things the two of you have done, I feel like Minjae really likes experimenting when you’re mutually comfy enough, so face riding is just a piece of cake, a very, very normal reoccurrence, sometimes you’ll just be laying beside each other doom scrolling on your phones and he’s nudging your leg like: “Hey, come up here so I can put my mouth on you.” And you’re like “Okay☺️” and it’s just so.. relationship? Like it’s so cute ?? He could have you sitting on his face for hours, it’s like second nature, facing backwards, forwards, whatever you want. Whenever he’s feeling needy and just wants time with you? You’re sitting on his face, there’s not even a lick of hesitation, he needs it.

Remainder of members under the cut!

⋆ P. Junmin

So shy having you like this, you’re just so exposed and open for him, hides behind his eyelids when you’re looking down, a hand in his hair with that fucked out expression on your face = wants to bury himself further away in your thighs or into the pillows under his head, especially when you’re praising him for how good he’s doing— yet, he can’t fully bring himself to because even though you make him nervous with all the unavoidable attention he simultaneously thinks it’s soooo sexy. The way he’s there only for your pleasure? Yeah, he’s incredibly horny— therefore most likely to cum untouched, no argument here. Although he’s more on the bashful side don’t mistake this as him being sheepish, he’s grown, he absolutely wants you to use him however you see fit, encourages you to just let go and enjoy what his mouth has to offer.

⋆ C. Sumin

LOCK ME UP BC FACE RIDING WITH SUMIN ?!?!!???! This is something he takes very seriously, but the severity of it depends on exactly why you’re sitting on his face. As a punishment he doesn’t want you moving an inch, any little jump or squirm has him slapping at the side of your thigh or your ass, telling you to keep your eyes on him and to “Take it, have to.” He just gets so greedy and indulgent, but if it’s more for the simpler reason of the both of your enjoyment then he isn’t so strict, all he asks is that take advantage of the freedom while you have it. He’s such a thigh grabber, likes it messy and fun. His favourite is when you’re grinding your clit against his tongue and his face is just covered in your slick, he could do it everyday if you needed him to, absolutely no complaints!

⋆ H. Jinsik

He’s on that ‘She could ride my face I don’t want nothing in return’ type of vibe, like heeeaavily. Even before you try it out for yourselves he’s thinking about it, waiting, and he’s so giddy when you finally agree to it, like he’d brag about it if he could. I’d see Jinsik as the type to use his fingers to help him out sometimes too, but if not then he’s literally devouring you, drinking you down for everything you’re worth, he loves it, especially when your thighs start twitching and trembling against his face, holding onto whatever you can to keep you stable above him, but his arms pulling you down as close to him as possible is incredibly counterintuitive to what you’re trying to prevent, but he does not caaare! He could go for multiple rounds, like this man lives by dogtooth lets bfr !!!

⋆ C. Hyunwoo

Deceiving. It’s absurd how sweet and innocent he’ll intentionally come off as when asking you to sit on his face, “Just to try it.” He’ll insist knowing damn well how dedicated and fervent he is when giving head, and having you in this position is like no other, he likes it, maybe a little too much. Even though he’s insatiable he still does his best to make sure you’re able to feel comfortable and enjoy yourself, Hyunu is just so boyfriend, he’ll hold your hand while his eyes are closed, quite literally making out with your pussy, he’s not as messy as Sumin, but he likes that he can easily reach places he normally couldn’t if you were just laid on your back for him. I think he’d have more of a thing for the sounds his lips make with how wet you are compared to visuals, I mean obviously it makes him unbelievably hard seeing you like this, but the sounds too? He’s a goner.

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onceuponastory · 1 year

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this lovely night - sam wilson x reader

“Is it out of line If I was to be bold and say, "Would you be mine?” - whistle for the choir by the fratellis

Plot: After having no luck finding love the usual ways, Y/N decides to try her luck speed dating. At first, it seems her bad luck is continuing... until she meets Captain America himself, Sam Wilson. Pairing: Cap!Sam Wilson x Female!Reader (also the TINIEST hint of Sarah Wilson x Bucky) Warnings: Mentions of sexism/sexist comments, Sam being a little nervous about dating and a few alcohol mentions. No sexism from Sam though! He could never! Other than that, just sickly sweet fluff. Just how I like it! But as usual, if I miss any triggers please let me know! Notes: This was written for @late-to-the-party-81‘s Challenge Yourself Challenge, where you have to write for a character/trope etc that you haven’t written for before. This is my first time writing for Sam! Thank you again to @staticscreenwriting / @astartothemoon for my dividers! Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

“You know.” The man in front of Y/N begins, stopping only to take another big gulp of his beer. Y/N’s stomach twists. God knows what he’s about to say now. “I really think you’d make an excellent housewife.” He leans back, grinning at her. Y/N’s stomach churns, and she wraps her jacket closer around herself, hoping it shields her body from his gaze. “And a great mother to our kids. You’d stay home, of course, and I’ll provide for us all.”

And there it is.

“I have a job. I’m keeping that.” she snaps back. Fucking sexist loser. Thankfully, before the man can say anything else… or before Y/N can throw her drink all over him, the announcer calls out that it’s time to change over, and Y/N gets out of there as quickly as humanly possible. As she collapses into another seat, she can’t ignore the disappointment settling in the pit of her stomach. Sure, he’s a sexist pig, but that marks yet another failure tonight.

After so long of scouring dating apps for someone, yet having no success, Y/N turned to speed dating. After all, even if it all crashes and burns, at least she tried it once, right? And so far, like every of her other attempts to find love, tonight has been just as unsuccessful as the others. That’s not to say most of the men she’s encountered tonight have been awful human beings like the man she just had the displeasure of meeting. But almost every girl, Y/N included, wants to find her Mr Right, and none of the men she’s met have gave her that spark, that feeling in your stomach that tells you this is the one for you. Honestly, she’s already resigned herself to the fact that she isn’t going to meet the love of her life. Or at least, they definitely aren’t here.

Although, if this night is a complete failure, at least she can just get drunk and forget it all.

As the night goes on, Y/N’s prediction seems to becoming true. Well, back to the dating apps it is. Maybe the third time will be lucky?

“Hey, Y/N right? Nice to meet you.” Another male voice speaks. When Y/N looks back up and recognises who’s sitting opposite her, she gasps.

Captain America himself, Sam Wilson, is sitting opposite her. And somehow, he looks even hotter than he does on TV. In that moment, she loses all ability to speak, think… or even breathe. This is not where she expected this night to go, to have a literal Avenger sitting in front of her. She didn’t even notice him come in or move around the room. It’s like he just materialised out of nowhere, right when she needed it. He holds out his hand, and she shakes it. As her fingers brush against his, something twinges in her stomach.

“Are you alright?” He frowns, clearly confused and concerned by her silence. Heat settles on her cheeks then, and she chuckles awkwardly.

“No, I’m okay. I’m just more shocked that Captain America is here more than anything. Forgive me for being so forward, but I thought someone like you would have no issue finding love. I mean… look at you.” Her sudden honesty takes her off guard slightly, and for a moment she’s worried that she’s embarrassed herself even more. Yet, to her relief, he chuckles, smirking slightly. Or maybe the reason she’s so forward around Sam is because of how safe and comfortable she feels around him already. It’s like they’ve known each other for years, rather than only just meeting now. But Sam’s kindness and ability to make anyone feel at ease isn’t surprising. After all, there’s a reason why Steve Rogers' chose him to be his successor.

“Well, dating is tough for everyone. And to be honest, most people I date aren’t as cool with me being gone for such long periods of time, or the whole dating a public figure side of things. Seems like they just want a ‘normal’ life.” He admits. Although he still seems upbeat, Y/N registers the disappointment lacing his tone. And it breaks her heart. The Captain America identity is such a huge part of Sam and his life, and he deserves someone who respects that, and is proud to have him representing it, and to be dating him. She wouldn’t mind that life at all. She’d be proud to be at his side, to know that her boyfriend is a symbol of hope and heroism for so many, and someone who saves the world day in and day out.

He glances over at her again, grinning once more. “But I am glad that I came tonight.” And something deep in Y/N’s stomach flutters, like it never has before. Is this it? Is this the feeling that I’ve met the one? Looking over at Sam, Y/N smiles. If it is, she’s glad it’s come now. “And besides, you don’t need to worry about the formal stuff now. Please call me Sam.”

“When I’m back in Delacroix, I love to go fishing with Bucky, my sister, and my nephews. Spending all that time out on the open water, having an ice cold beer as the sun beats down on you….”

“Stop!” she gasps, moaning happily. “That sounds incredible. I’d love that. Just a shame I’ve never been on a boat before.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll take you. It could be one of our next dates.” He winks, and Y/N giggles.

“Oh, next time huh? I’d love that.” She sighs dreamily. God, this is incredible. Sam really is the full package. He’s caring, charming, hilarious… and, of course, drop dead gorgeous. After all, she noticed the outline of his muscles through his shirt pretty soon into their date. Although, given that he’s a literal superhero, that’s unsurprising. Despite that, though, she and Sam are still having a good time, regardless of his celebrity status.

Thankfully, tonight wasn’t such a failure after all.

Yet, a voice soon interrupts, bursting her perfect bubble of happy thoughts. “Excuse me? We were supposed to change over almost five minutes ago, and you two are still talking.” And that brings her back down to earth. Honestly, she’s been having such a good time with Sam that she forgot all about the speed dating element of this. Everyone else just faded away.

“Oh, sorry, man. I’ll go.” As Sam stands up to leave, Y/N reaches out, placing her hand on his and stopping him without even thinking about it.

“Wait!” she gasps. “I don’t want you to go.”

“You… don’t?” Sam frowns. Almost as if he’s so used to heartbreak and failure that he can’t believe she actually does want him to stay. But Y/N doesn’t even need to think about it. It’s never been as clear to her as it is now.

“No. I don’t. Or at least, if you go, I’m coming with you. Besides… you owe me a fishing date, right?” She just hopes Sam feels the same way about her, and isn't ready to say goodbye just yet. So when he smiles, Y/N breathes a sigh of relief.

“Okay. Let’s get out of here.” He interlocks his fingers with hers then, running his thumb over her knuckles.

“I’m paying.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m an Avenger, remember? I got this.” Before Y/N can argue or even say another word, Sam has shoved his cash into the hand of the teenage burger joint employee. “Keep the change man, alright?”

“Okay, next time I’m paying. Besides, I’m the one who recommended this place.” She orders when they’ve sat down with their food. Sam raises a brow, grinning.

“Next time, huh?”

“Hey, what did I say? You owe me a fishing trip, remember?” Yet she can’t ignore how heat settles on her cheeks once more, and how something in her stomach flutters with the way he gazes over at her. He looks at her like she’s the most important person in the world to him.

The restaurant isn’t too busy this time of night, meaning she and Sam are practically alone. Like they’re the only two people in the world right now. But honestly, Y/N doesn’t care if the restaurant is packed or empty. All she cares about now is being by Sam’s side. Like she said earlier, it feels like they’ve known each other for years now. They’re both just so comfortable and open around each other, nobody could’ve guessed they only met earlier tonight. Y/N just wishes this night could go on forever.

If she could, she’d stay by his side forever.

After their meal, Sam insists on walking her home like the true gentlemanly superhero he is.

“Those burgers were incredible.” He sighs happily, holding his stomach. Y/N giggles.

“Told you so. It’s your turn to pick next time, alright Cap?”

“You know… I kinda love it when you call me Cap.” He admits, chuckling.

“I’ll be sure to do it all the time then… Cap.” She winks, which looks like it almost sends Sam’s heart into overdrive. It’s so strange, seeing such a charming literal superhero reduced to a grinning, love struck mess around her. But then again, she’s sure that she’s the same around him.

Sam walks her all the way home, keeping her hand still clasped in his. In fact, she doesn’t think he’s let go of her hand since they left the speed dating venue, keeping her safe and close to him the entire night. Not that she’s complaining, though. Honestly, she hopes he never lets her go.

Unfortunately for them both, soon their walk comes to an end, and they reach the outside of Y/N’s apartment building.

“Guess this is the end of the line.” Sam sighs.

“Oh please, that’s such a Cap line.” Y/N rolls her eyes. Yet, she can’t help but laugh at his joke. “Seriously though, thank you for tonight, Sam. I had a lot of fun.” Immediately, the mood changes. It’s almost as if the happy moments from earlier tonight are gone as the pair remember that, at least for tonight, the good times are over. All Y/N can think of is one thing:

She doesn’t want this night, or her time with Sam, to ever end.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for taking a chance on me.” Y/N scoffs.

“I wasn’t taking a chance. I really connected with you, Sam, and I want to spend more time with you.” He starts grinning again, one of those huge smiles that takes over your entire face and with a warmth that feels like the sun itself. And it’s all for her.

“You know….” He trails off, chuckling. “I was going to ask if you really did want to go on another date with me, so I’m really glad you said that. Mostly, though, it’s because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen… and I think I’m falling in love with you, Y/N.” She gasps, and her heart begins to pound even faster. Sam comes closer, closing the gap between them both. So close they’re only inches apart now. “May I?” He whispers, tilting his head towards hers. Y/N nods, too speechless to say anything. Slowly, like they’re in a movie, Sam gently leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. When their lips connect, it sends a tingle down her spine and sends her heart into overdrive. Sam wraps his hands around her waist, whilst hers go onto his shoulders. He holds her there for what feels like hours, safe in his embrace. “Can I call you tomorrow?” He asks once they finally, yet reluctantly break apart.

“Of course. Like you even have to ask.” He leans in again, this time kissing her cheek.

“Goodnight Y/N.” He whispers, his breath hot against her cheek.

“Goodnight Sam.”

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#sam wilson #challenge yourself #jen's 1k challenge #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x female reader #sam wilson x fem!reader #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson fluff #sam wilson fic #sam wilson oneshot #marvel oneshot #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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autisticlancemcclain · 11 months

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“We need to restart the level.”

Pidge turns to Lance, furrowing her brow at him. “Um, no we don’t. We’re killing it. We beat the Slayforn boss in like ten minutes, we’re never going to be able to do that again.”

“We have to restart,” Lance insists like the stubborn mule he is, reaching over to reset the console manually. Pidge yelps, lunging forward to smack his hand away. Never one to let her get the last hit, he smacks her right back, and Pidge can’t let that slide so she smacks him again, and the next thing she knows they’re wrestling on the floor, controllers abandoned.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Lance shrieks, as Pidge moves to shove a wet finger in his ear. Pidge laughs evilly, fully intending on doing it anyway, but he shoves his head forward and bites her finger as she approaches.

“Ow! You dickhead! You broke the skin!”

“Come closer and I’ll fucking do it again!”

He bares his teeth at her like the feral, youngest-sibling-backed-into-a-corner weirdo he is (Pidge knows), completely serious on his threat. Pidge is careful to keep her fingers and appendages away from his teeth, and continues wreaking havoc in other ways.

She likes to pinch.

Luckily for her, she’s been training one-on-one with Allura for the past few months, so if she really applies her teachings she could kill God. Also, as much as she and Lance are in the same boat when it comes to sibling dynamics, he has a soft spot a mile wide because of his nieces and nephews and baby cousins, so she can emotionally manipulate him into being more hesitant around her in terms of violence.

(They fight a lot. Pidge knows her stuff.)

Eventually they reach the point where they’re trying so hard to pin each other that they’re wrapped up like twin pretzels, limbs flailing everywhere and various hisses and threats filling the room. Pidge, getting that claustrophobic feeling of being trapped, desperately needs to end it. She goes limp, throwing off Lance’s balance, and then whips herself forward, bucking him off her — and directly into the corner of his bed frame, The thunk is so sharp and loud that it’s almost a crack.

Lance’s “ow” is so quiet that it’s almost silent in comparison.

“What was that?” a voice booms down the hallway, and Pidge heart pounds.

“Lance?” she asks frantically, shaking his shoulder. “Are you dead?”

“I said, what was that!” Shiro yells louder. He sounds closer.

“Nothing!” Pidge shouts through the door. She glances back down at Lance, who has yet to move his hands from where they’re clutched at his head. Fuck! “We were just — uh, I dropped something!”

Lance makes a low whimpering noise, curling further in on himself.

“No no no, stop crying, it’s okay, you can hit me back,” Pidge whispers frantically. She shakes her arm at him. “Okay? And then we’re even. Don’t tell Shiro.”

Lance doesn’t look at her, still making the occasional pained noise. Shiro’s footsteps get louder.

She is going to get in so much trouble, which isn’t even fair because Lance was wrestling too! They’re both not allowed to try to kill each other!

Shiro’s footsteps get even louder, and closer together, like he’s running. Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“I’ll let you hit me twice! And the second time can be unexpected!”

The door handle jiggles. Lance is still not straightening up.

She’s fucked.

Shiro pokes his head in, already frowning, squinting to see through the darkness of the room.

“What’s going on, you two?”

Pidge closes her eyes in defeat. She’s fucked.

“Nothing,” says a pleasant voice from beside her. She whips around, jaw dropped, only to see Lance upright and totally normal, looking as smug as smug can be.

Fucking snake!

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “I heard arguing. And a bang.”

“We were yelling at the TV because we lost a game,” Lance lies.

Pidge imagines all the ways she’s going to kill him.

Shiro doesn’t look totally convinced, but unfortunately for him Lance is an excellent liar when he’s planning to be, and there’s not so much as a crack in his expression.

“Alright,” their leader says hesitantly. “Don’t…kill each other.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lance promises sunnily. Pidge barely resists the urge to smack him right then and there.

She decides not to resist, actually. The second Shiro shuts the door she lunges, snarling, fully ready to get right back where they left off. But Lance doesn’t let her — anticipating her violence, he scrambles to his feet and scales the dresser, taking refuge on a tiny little shelf by the ceiling that only his stick ass could balance on.

“Ah ah ah,” he says, wagging his finger infuriatingly. “You promised two hits if I didn’t tell Shiro. Not the other way around.”

“Bullshit!” she cries, scanning the room to see if she can find a broom to swat at him like a spider. She is unsuccessful. “I traded that because I thought you were hurt!”

Lance touches his chest in mock serenity. “I was hurt. My heart was broken by your violence.”

“Lance, the second you get down from there I am going to fucking kill you.”

May be he reads the rage in her voice, because he hesitates.

“Fine. I get one free hit.”

“No free hits and I only kill you a little.”

“No free hits and we restart the level,” he bargains

Pidge squints at him. He must be serious, because that’s a major deal on his part. Pidge would never give in that quickly.

“No free hits and we restart the level only if you tell me why.”

“Sold.”

He drops down from the ceiling, landing neatly on the floor and then immediately tripping the first step he takes.

Pidge has to fight the smile off her face.

He settles down back where he was before, handing Pidge her controller and grabbing his own.

“Explain yourself,” Pidge orders as he clicks through the menu to restart the level.

Lance hesitates before answering, so Pidge knows the next words out of his mouth are going to be bullshit.

“I read on Space Internet that the rocket power up makes the next level easier, but you have to use it through this level or it didn’t work.”

Yep. She was right.

“Uh huh,” she says, raising her eyebrow at him. “And you didn’t do that before level because…”

“I forgot,” Lance insists.

Pidge sets her controller down, turning to face him. She narrows her eyes, scrutinizing him, and he squirms; shifting nervously and avoiding her eyes.

She already knew he was lying. But if he just wanted to restart the level to beat their time record, then he would just tell her. And she would have noticed if he wanted to restart the level because he was sucking ass, or something, so it wasn’t that. This shadiness from him doesn’t make sense — he only acts like that when he’s guilty, or embarrassed.

It dawns on her then. Embarrassed or guilty — or a mix of the two.

“Are you telling me,” she says gleefully, and knows she’s on the right track when Lance sighs in defeat, “that you want to restart our entire level because you feel bad about the NPC dialogue option you chose?”

Ten minutes into their game, they had encountered an NPC that was supposed to give them advice for the boss they were going to face, only the advice was kind of dogshit. The two of them had complained loudly, because that was half the fun of gaming, and in an impulsive and uncharacteristic move, Lance had chosen the slightly rude dialogue option. The NPC walked away all dejected, as it was programmed to do, but they’d been attacked by the boss right after, so Pidge pretty much forgot it happened.

But Lance’s dork ass?

“There was no need for that level of rudeness,” Lance defends. “It was just trying to help! It’s not it’s fault it was programmed to give bad advice!”

Of course Lance has felt bad about being rude to a literal NPC for the past half hour.

Pidge bursts out laughing, pointing at Lance as obnoxiously as she can so he knows she’s making fun of him. He gets the hint and scowls, brown eyes glaring daggers.

“You’re the worst,” he says.

“You’re a loser,” Pidge wheezes. “Oh my God.”

She turns back to the game, still giggling, ignoring Lance’s continued grumbles.

They do worse this time around. Pidge teases him the entire time.

(But, honestly, she’s a little endeared. Not that Lance needs to know.)

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newtonsheffield · 9 months

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I have to admit, I was one of those that never voted for “Mile High,” but boy, oh, boy, did I miss the mark! This might be my favorite Anthony and that’s saying a lot after “Bruises” and “If the shoe fits…” I just love this compulsive, overthinking with a side of self doubt Anthony. He’s SO endearing💞I can relate to him. And, isn’t this what we’re all after, someone like Kate (whether via friendship, love or both)to come along and love us not in spite of, but because of our quirks & insecurities! The imperfections that make us perfect for those special somebody’s❣️

I’m so glad it’s winning you over!

It wasn’t a super popular idea, I know that, but I think there’s definitely something very human about this Kate and Anthony. Kate’s entire life’s been turned upside down after leaving the RAF and she’s just trying to find her feet and Anthony’s struggling with the fact that after the accident where his father died, he can’t control everything.

They’re both exactly what the other needs. Kate’s like a fucking hurricane, upsetting the delicate balance of Anthony’s entire life. She never puts her things away. She always leaves her coffee mug on the left side of the bed (That he tries not to think of as her side). Her bras are always just thrown off and she never neatly hangs up her pyjamas. It’s infuriating. And yet, it’s the darndest thing. When he pinches the bridge of her nose as he looks at her suitcase, felt open, shoes and stockings and toiletries strewn all over the floor she has the neatest way of getting him not to care about it at all. Or barely.

Anthony felt his teeth clench as he got out of bed, trying to calm himself as he tripped over one of her shoes. It was too early in the defined era of their relationship for this. He was sure.

“Kate, babe?” He swallowed as his girlfriend let out a groan from the bed, still face down under the blanket, her curls strewn over the pillow. He took that as a sign to move forward. “I’m a little curious about something?”

Kate rolled over, sitting up, a slow smile making it’s way onto her face. “Yes, I do have a tiny history of gymnastics. That’s why I’m so flexible.”

Anthony flushed a he tugged his underwear on, unfolding them neatly from his own case with a flourish. “I just wondered if you had any allergies.”

Kate shook her head, wiggling her eyebrows at him. “You’re cute when you blush but My my anthony, what do you want to do to me next?”

Anthony sighed, putting his hands on his hips. “Excellent. So you’re not allergic to picking up your clothes?! I mean, Jesus! You were in the military.”

Kate laughed, the delighted sound of it making his spine shiver as she tugged him back down to the bed. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed his face to her bare skin, holding him there. “Do you accept my apology, Anthony? Or do I need to get down on my knees?”

Anthony breathed deeply against her skin, the stress seeping out of his body. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to the second thing but I do feel a lot better.”

Kate checked the watch she’d left on the bloody floor instead of the bedside table like a reasonable person. “Well lucky for you I have fifteen minutes before I absolutely need to get dressed. Pants off, Ant.”

And on the other hand, Anthony manages to infuse enough order into Kate’s life that it doesn’t completely implode.

“Hold on just a fucking second.” Sophie gasped as Kate walked through the door of the bar exactly when they’d agreed to meet.

Edwina reached out, snatching Kate’s wrist up and staring at the Breitling watch that had once been their father’s. “Kate, Holy fuck, do you know what time it is?!”

Kate rolled her eyes but bowed as she accepted their mocking round of applause. “Anthony keeps our calendar now. And he even scheduled in 25 minutes of oral sex before I left.”

“Gross.”

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Your boos fuel me.” Kate smirked, snatching Edwina’s Margherita up, “He might be tightly wound but I love the fuck out of that man.”

Opposites really do attract.

#mile high #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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bloody-bee-tea · 7 months

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BeeTober 2023 Day 13 - Blooper

“And cut! That’s a wrap on that,” Director Yaga calls out and Suguru lets out a sigh. “Actually, that’s a wrap on everything,” Director Yaga continues and gives Suguru a thumbs up.

Right. This was the last scene they had to record for the movie, Suguru remembers now. They are done and Satoru isn’t even here. Suguru shakes his head at that because where did that thought even come from–he knows, oh how he knows–and smiles at Director Yaga.

“Thank you for your hard work,” Suguru politely says but Yaga waves him off.

“No, thank you. That was excellent work. I hope to work together with you in the future.” There’s a notable pause. “And Gojo, I guess,” he then adds with a sigh and Suguru has to suppress a smile.

Satoru is not the easiest to work with mainly because he has too much energy for his own good, but he’s damn good at what he does.

“That reminds me,” Director Yaga mutters and turns around to look for something.

“Everything okay?” Suguru asks, tilting his head in question and he’s definitely looking forward to getting out of costume, because now that he’s no longer in character he definitely misses his bangs. Something is just missing without them.

“Yeah, yeah, I just have something for you,” Director Yaga says and when he turns back around there is a DVD in his hands. “Some scenes that didn’t make the cut. Thought you’d want to have it.”

Suguru doesn’t quite see how that relates to Satoru but he takes the DVD nonetheless.

“Thank you,” he gives back and wonders if Satoru gets his own version or if he’ll have to invite him over one of these days to watch them together.

He’ll find out, he guesses, his phone already blowing up with stupid memes from Satoru. He can just ask him later. They will all stay on the site for a few more days, just in case some footage got compromised or they need to reshoot something for other reasons so it’s not as if he can’t just invite Satoru over later, anyway.

But for now Suguru is looking forward to a quiet evening, where he can finally relax for once and maybe look through the scrapped scenes Director Yaga gave him.

He barely made it to his home when Shoko barges in, absolutely ignorant of Suguru’s wish for a quiet evening.

“Ah, good, he gave it to you,” she says when she sees the DVD on the table and Suguru narrows his eyes at her.

“This is awfully suspicious,” he slowly says because he knows Shoko better than to think that she would care about some scrapped scenes. “What is this about?”

“Look for yourself,” she calls over her shoulder as she makes her way over to the kitchen, grabbing a drink for herself.

“You’re scaring me,” Suguru mutters because everything that puts Shoko into a slightly good mood is bound to sour his own–she thrives on his pain after all.

Her only response to that is a grin, which only makes Suguru more nervous.

“Are you not going to watch it?” she asks, amusement still so very clear on her face and Suguru wants to burn the DVD right about now, if he’s being honest.

“I’m not sure anymore,” he honestly gives back because this can only spell trouble. But then again–Director Yaga gave this to him, so how much damage can this do, really?

“Aw, come on, I was looking forward to it,” Shoko says and Suguru gets the distinct impression that it’s not the DVD she’s looking forward to but more so his reaction to it.

Cold sweat breaks out on his forehead.

“This is going to be humiliating, right?” he mutters even as he puts the DVD in.

It starts with a black screen before a date is displayed on the screen and Suguru remembers that this was one of the very first days he and Satoru both were on set. He doesn’t think they had any scenes together that day, but he’s sure this mystery will be cleared up soon. And he’s proven right when he and Satoru show up on screen, though it’s not a scene from the movie. They are standing next to the snack table just goofing off and before Suguru can even process that the scene moves on.

“Are these bloopers?” he asks Shoko who sat down next to him by now.

“You could say that,” she cryptically gives back and Suguru fights the urge to turn the screen off.

His instinct is proven right when the next half hour is filled with nothing but him and Satoru talking to each other, laughing with each other and just goofing around in their down time.

“Fuck,” Suguru breathes out and flops down on the couch. “Fuck,” he says again, this time with more vehemence because he cannot believe how obvious he is with his crush. “Does everyone know?”

“That you two are fucking? Yes,” Shoko gives back with a shrug and Suguru shoots up from his position.

“We are not fucking!”

“Huh,” Shoko disinterestedly says. “Could have fooled me.”

“No, Shoko, listen. We are not fucking. Gods, I wish we were but I know he doesn’t want that.”

“Oh dear,” Shoko says and now she sounds much more serious. “What do you mean he doesn’t want that? Did you watch the same scenes as I?”

“I did, that’s the problem,” Suguru groans out. “I didn’t know I’m so goddamn obvious about it, fuck. Do you think he knows?”

“If he did, you’d be boning by now,” Shoko mercilessly gives back and Suguru reaches out to smack her head but of course she moves out of the way before he can make contact.

“Don’t say that. It’s not like that.” Shoko levels him with a look. “For him,” Suguru amends, because it’s clearly more than obvious by now that he’s a lost cause when it comes to Satoru.

Shoko’s look doesn’t let up at all.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she immediately replies and then whips her phone out. “Nothing at all.”

Her tone is happy enough that it immediately puts Suguru on edge.

“What are you doing?” he asks as she types away.

“Nothing,” she repeats and Suguru just knows that it’s going to be bad.

“Please tell me what you’re doing,” he groans out, covering his face with his hands.

“I am doing nothing at all.”

It gets less believable the more often she says it and Suguru realises with despair that there is nothing for him to do but to accept whatever horrible machinations she has put into place.

“Will you kill me before whatever you just did comes to pass?” he asks her, his face still covered in the childish hope that if he can’t see, maybe whatever is going to happen can’t find him.

“Nope. Just so you know, Yaga gave the same DVD to Gojo.” There’s a knock on the door just as Suguru flies up in a panic. “And that’s my que to leave.”

She gets up and deftly moves out of reach of Suguru’s hands who twitch with the urge to strangle her. When she opens the door Suguru’s stomach drops when he spots a way too familiar white mop of hair.

“Hey, Shoko!” Satoru greets her but she moves past him without a look.

“I’m going to meet Utahime, do not contact me for any reason.”

“But–you invited me here?” Satoru’s voice trails off before he turns around to Suguru. “What’s up with her?” he then asks and Suguru returns to his position on the couch.

Surely Satoru will just leave now that Shoko is gone, right?

“No fucking clue,” Suguru lies like the liar he is and his stomach flips when Satoru leans over the back of the couch.

“And what’s up with you?” he wants to know, his eyes sparkling in that way Suguru loves and his fingers twitch with the urge to cover his face again.

Or maybe reach out to Satoru.

“Nothing,” Suguru gives back, channelling his inner Shoko, though he just knows that his voice is not at all believable.

“Mh, sure,” Satoru says and then he freezes when he spots something on the table.

Suguru knows exactly what it is because the only thing currently on the table that is of any relevance is the damned DVD case. Suguru watches how Satoru’s face goes through a quite interesting journey of expressions before it settles on closed off and it immediately puts a frown on Suguru’s face. Satoru is never closed off when he’s with him. Suguru doesn’t like it.

“I see,” Satoru whispers and stands up straight again. “I’ll get out of your hair then.”

He starts to turn away from Suguru and that finally spurs him into action. He shoots up and his hand just barely manages to snatch Satoru’s in his.

“Satoru,” he gets out and it’s at least enough to stop him.

“What?” Satoru asks when Suguru stays silent, nerves stealing his voice away.

“Don’t go,” he eventually says, and even though Satoru still has his back to him, he doesn’t move away and more importantly, he doesn’t take his hand back.

Maybe he even curls his fingers around Suguru’s but that could also just be his imagination.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Satoru asks, his shoulders rising up to his ears and Suguru realises he’s nervous. Maybe just as nervous as Suguru is, but then Shoko’s words ring in his ears again.

She thought they’d been fucking all this time. She said it’s kind of very obvious and she wasn’t just talking about Suguru. So maybe, just maybe–

“Because I don’t want you to,” Suguru says and adjusts his grip on Satoru’s hand so that it’s more like hand-holding instead of simply stopping him from leaving. His heart beats dangerously in his chest when Satoru goes along with it.

“But you’ve seen it,” Satoru whispers out and Suguru wonders where the loud, boisterous, way too full of himself Satoru went.

It seems that even he is not exempt from being nervous every now and then.

“I have,” he agrees. “And according to Shoko this is Directo Yaga’s way of letting us know that everyone knows we’re fucking.”

Satoru flinches.

“But you don’t–” he trails off when Suguru squeezes his hand.

“And I thought you don’t,” he softly gives back and that is finally enough to get Satoru to turn back around to him.

“Why the hell wouldn’t I?” he demands to know and Suguru tries his best to keep a straight face.

“Well, why the hell wouldn’t I?” he shoots back and properly threads their fingers together, growing more confident by the second that it will be welcome.

A smile starts to creep up on Satoru’s face before it turns into one of horror and Suguru’s heart misses a beat.

“Do you mean to tell me that we could have been fucking all this time!” Satoru yells out and it startles a laugh out of Suguru.

Trust him to focus on that, he fondly thinks and then pulls on Satoru’s hand until he gets with the program and climbs over the back of the couch to lay on Suguru. He’s lighter than Suguru expected him to be with all the sweets he usually stuffs into himself and Suguru doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around him.

“Could have been doing this all this time, too,” he whispers into Satoru’s soft hair and Satoru goes boneless on top of him with a sigh.

“True,” he mutters and then digs his bony chin into Suguru’s sternum to look at him.

Suguru wonders if his heart will ever get used to having that gaze directed at him. He hopes not.

“So, feelings,” Satoru says and Suguru groans.

“Do we have to?” he wants to know because it’s not as if Satoru is very forthcoming with his feelings on a normal basis. He’d rather hide all of them behind fake cheer instead of opening up to anyone else.

“We wasted weeks, so I think yes,” Satoru gives back and Suguru wonders if he’s ever seen him look this soft before.

“Fine, feelings then. I have some. For you,” Suguru cheekily says and in retaliation Satoru digs his chin more firmly in. “Ouch, Satoru, what the hell.”

“Be serious,” Satoru whines out and Suguru can feel himself soften at that.

“I am,” he promises and moves his hand so he can scratch Satoru’s scalp. “I have feelings for you. I’m in love with you,” he admits and with Satoru’s gaze on him like that it’s almost not hard at all.

“Like you should be,” Satoru says, but he can’t fool Suguru. He felt how his breath stuttered in his chest at the admission.

“So I take it’s one sided then?” Suguru asks though he knows the answer.

It might be nice to hear it, though.

“Not quite,” Satoru admits and moves his head, putting his ear right over Suguru’s heart. “I’m in love with you, too.”

He must have heard how Suguru’s heart stumbled at that but he doesn’t comment on it. Suguru keeps the scratching motion up and he hopes he’ll get to hold Satoru like this for the rest of their lives.

“Want to watch our best of again?” Satoru asks after a while and Suguru snorts out a laugh.

“Our best of?”

“It’s like a documentation of us falling in love, isn’t it?” he wonders and it takes Suguru’s breath away to think of it like that. He should probably thank Director Yaga and the team for this, later.

“Kinda, yeah,” he agrees and fishes for the control to press play.

Now with Satoru in his arms like that it’s actually quite a fun watch and Suguru finds himself wondering if they’ll play this at their wedding.

But that is a thought for much later, he decides and presses a kiss to Satoru’s forehead before he concentrates back on the screen to see it all unfold.

#bt writes #jjk #beetober23 #stsg #geto suguru #gojo satoru #shoko ieiri #no powers #actor au #pining #fluff #getting together

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purlturtle · 5 months

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Bering and Wells Advent Calendar, Day 9

Never Get Involved With Your Flatmate, a collaborative writing event: everyone writes one chapter of a loosely connected getting together AU!

Here's my contribution for Day 9:

#9: Don't let her convince you to go to the gym with you

again, I ask, what could go wrong?!

(fic is under the readmore, or on AO3 if you want! The whole AO3 collection is here!)

“Myka?”

Myka puts down her book and smiles – anyone else might get a glare for interrupting her reading, but Helena’s voice is so tentative, it’s clear that she’s aware of her sin, and properly repentant. “Yeah?”

“This might be a somewhat odd question, after yoga yesterday,” Helena begins, “but would you perhaps be able to recommend a gym in the vicinity?” She flexes one arm comically and rolls her eyes. “I’m rather used to working out regularly, to combat all the sitting I do all day, and I haven’t yet looked into where to go. And I wondered – you looked so toned, yesterday at yoga. I figured you might be, perhaps, the right person to ask.

Myka blushes furiously. Helena had looked at her?! Helena thought she was toned?! She clears her throat, and tries to ignore the blush. “Uh, yeah, actually. The hotel has a gym, and we’re allowed to use it, provided we’re not blocking it for paying guests of course. But Saturday afternoons are usually pretty slow, because the business customers have already left on Friday and the tourist customers are out to see town.”

Helena beams. “Excellent!” And then she lowers her voice and adds, with a conspiratorial wink, “And of course I went and bought my own gym clothes just earlier today, never you worry. All kitted out now!” She and Myka share a smile, then Helena goes on, sobering a little, “I used to row, back in England. Does the gym have rowing machines?”

“Oh yeah,” Myka replies immediately. “Two, even. I’ve never used them, but I always wanted to; they’re a bit… it’s a complex movement, right? I didn’t want to… you know. Without any kind of instructions, get it wrong and mess up my back or my knees. Usually I just run, do some free weights, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, rowing would suit you marvelously, darling, tall as you are,” Helena says, and Myka doesn’t miss the appreciative once-over Helena gives her. Tall and toned, sings the back of her mind, tall and toned, and she can’t even let herself think about the “darling”. She swallows, and blushes again. And then Helena offers, “I could show you? Later this afternoon? Provided there are no bookings from guests?”

There’s really nothing Myka can say to that, isn’t there? She doesn’t have any other plans, and she has said she wanted to learn. She prays that the rowing machines will be taken when they get there, but no such luck: the whole gym is empty. At least no one will witness her making a fool of herself. In short order, Myka finds herself sitting on a rolling seat and staring down at her feet that are strapped into footrests. Helena is talking, explaining, with gestures even. But since one of her hands is resting on Myka’s shoulder, Myka isn’t getting too much of all that. Any of it, really.

“-important thing is that you keep your back straight and your core engaged, alright?” Helena ends. “Go on, just try it out!”

Myka bites her lips together, grateful for her eidetic memory that allows her to replay what Helena has said. Alright, so, starting position: knees bent and together, arms around them and long. That seems straightforward enough. Then, move your legs-core-arms, reverse alphabetical order, as you pull against the machine’s resistance. Myka nods to herself as she gets ready.

Helena’s hand moves to Myka’s back.

Myka almost loses her grip on the handlebar.

“Not quite that far forward,” Helena tells her and lightly taps her latissimus. “You’re rounding your back; keep it straight. Classic beginner’s mistake, and guaranteed to mess up your back.”

Myka corrects her posture, and Helena pats her shoulder and says “perfect”, and then thankfully, thankfully, withdraws her hand.

Myka attempts one stroke. Helena nods and smiles at her attempt, and Myka blushes and smiles back.

“Yes, like that,” Helena says, and Myka could walk on clouds, “but,” Helena says, and Myka crashes back to earth, “right now you’re doing three separate movements, legs core arms, not one continuous one. But that’ll come with practice, I promise,” she adds, and Myka picks herself up and smiles and nods.

She does practice, for a few strokes more. And then Helena puts her hands on Myka’s wrist and forearm to correct her posture, and on her shoulder to correct her posture, and on her back again to correct her posture – it’s as if Helena’s hands are everywhere, and yeah it’s perfectly normal, of course, she’s just showing Myka how to row properly, but god—

And then Helena sits down on the other machine and demonstrates a few strokes (“watch me,” she says, and Myka has to swallow dryly, because yes she does want to – if only to get even for yoga – but also this was such a bad idea), and Myka can see how Helena’s motion is one where hers isn’t, and how Helena holds her wrists and her shoulders and her back, and she can also see how Helena in her new workout clothes and tight workout ponytail is one million percent more gorgeous than she has any right to be.

Toned.

“Bummer that you can’t detach your seat and put it behind mine,” Helena sighs. “That’s how we did it at my school. Wrap yourself around the older pupil, get a feeling of what their body does, get a better idea of what yours needs to be doing.”

Myka splutters. God, she doesn’t even want to imagine herself wrapped around Helena’s body, but there it is, that mental image, bright and vivid, ready as you please.

“I suppose you could stand next to me to put your hands on me,” Helena muses, and Myka full-on loses the ability to breath. “Come here,” Helena goes on, flapping her hand, not noticing the respiratory emergency, “put your hand here, feel when I start moving not just my legs but my core; it just flows one into the other, you’ll see.”

Myka has no hope, none, zero, of stopping her blush. She sucks in a breath, to protest, but—

“Oh don’t be a big ninny, darling,” Helena laughs at her hesitation. “We’re all grown-ups, right?”

Right. Darling. Right? Of course. Darling.

And yes, of course, Myka can feel—

And she will never forget how it feels. That’s the thing about her memory. She will never, not for the rest of her life, forget what it feels to have Helena’s skin and muscles and tendons move under her fingers. Well, and Helena’s shirt, but that is so tight and thin it might as well not count.

This was such a bad idea.

And—

Oh god, and now Helena insists on putting her own hand—

God.

Of course it is a good idea. Technically. To put her hand on Myka’s body, to let Helena get an idea of Myka’s movements, the better to instruct her when to begin bringing her core into it. Of course it’s a good idea, and of course they’re both adults.

Darling.

Still.

God.

Helena relents, thankfully, after two strokes of Myka’s with her hand on Myka’s side, and tells her to practice some more, giving her encouraging words about how much better she is already, how good of an idea putting their hands on each other was, and there is not a single “darling” in there, and Myka misses being called “darling” and tells herself that that is the height of silliness, really. Then Helena goes back to her own machine, and they row side by side, and while Helena’s pace isn’t faster, her resistance setting is way higher than Myka’s, and because Myka has a competitive streak a mile wide, she raises hers too. She did carry Helena’s books, she works out twice a week; she’s strong enough for this! Helena only lifts her eyebrows and doesn’t say anything.

Myka makes another rule, as she strains. Never, ever, gym with Helena again. She repeats it to herself like a mantra as she wills her body to make one smooth continuous movement rather than three separate ones.

#BeringWellsAdvent23 #day 9 #Rule Number 9:#Don't let her convince you to go to the gym with you #bering and wells #warehouse 13 #helena g wells #helena wells #myka bering #tumblr fic #my fic #mini fic #fic collaboration

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coeurdastronaute · 2 years

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Winter Olympics Ch. 10

Previously on Winter Olympics

There were nerves.

There were tied in the third period, gold on the line nerves. There were shoot out nerves. The once in a lifetime moment, in a full arena that was deathly silent, every pair of eyes on you, television viewers alike holding their breaths, kind of nerves. There was a family legacy of excelling in those moments, kind of nerves. A collection of nine Olympic medals, three Stanley Cups, two world records, and a dash of sibling rivalry, kind of nerves, ever-present in the all-encompassing moment.

There was winning.

There was the moment the puck hit the back of the net, a little up-top three hole kind of goal. Just out of reach of a glove-side save. There were all of the nerves rushing out of her body as she screamed and pumped her fist. There was a final breath as her team swallowed her whole, gloves and helmets flying in the air as the quiet was broken and everyone yelled and screamed.

Lexa was not unfamiliar with nerves. She had plenty. She thrived under nerves.

But as she stood outside of a certain snowboarder’s room, Lexa felt nerves she wasn’t used to. Maybe it was the steady rush she’d had during the game, and the overwhelming relief that came when they stood on the podium, at the very top, and accepted their medals. When she bit her gold and earned a hug from her father, Lexa hadn’t thought about this moment.

But now, she rubbed her sweaty palms against her thigh and stood a bit straighter. She squared her shoulders and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She had to knock twice, the first time her knuckles made contact, they were ineffectual, just tapping weakly. There were parties happening everywhere, but Lexa knew where she had to be after escaping her father and seeing her brother finally win his gold.

“You,” Clarke smiled warmly as she opened the door.

Lexa nodded and returned it a little weaker.

“Me. You,” she returned.

Hair still damp from her shower, wet spots littered her shoulders, while the door opened and betrayed the steam from the shower, and the smell of Clarke’s shampoo wafted around them, clean and perfect and warm. But she leaned against the door, moving only slightly to allow the hockey player inside.

“You did it,” Clarke offered. “Congratulations.”

They stood close, toe-to-toe, Lexa bowing her head to look down as Clarke looked up at her, the perpetual grin on her lips.

“You too,” she whispered, searching the snowboarder’s face, reaching her hand up to softly run her knuckles along her jaw. Clarke’s tongue darted out over her lips quickly. “Anya wasn’t too mad, was she?”

“Absolutely livid. But another one-two punch isn’t the worst for us. She said she’s going to come for my gold next time.”

“Can’t have that, can we?”

“I told her she was the only Woods to not get a gold today. Chapped her a bit,” Clarke smiled and shrugged, finally bringing her hands up to tug on Lexa’s hips, closing whatever meager distance had existed between them. “That and the 1800. She hated that.”

Lexa cocked her head slightly, enjoying Clarke’s mood, and how contagious it was. She was happy, she was glowing, she was alive and warm and open. Lexa played with a strand of wet hair and felt thumbs rubbing against her hip bones.

“It’s time for that conversation,” Lexa started, steeling herself.

She very much wished that she could have held off, that she could have let Clarke slip into her lap and they partied with all of their friends. But how could she sit there, killing herself to know what was going to happen? It was too much. She wanted to rip the bandaid off because for the first time since Costia, she genuinely believed she had a chance with the stranger who wasn’t a stranger. She couldn’t wait any longer-- she had to know.

“Is that why you stood outside for five minutes?”

“It wasn’t five minutes.”

“It was more like seven.”

“Shut up.”

“Not a great way to start this conversation,” Clarke teased.

But she sighed and leaned forward, digging her forehead into Lexa’s chest near her shoulder. Her whole body followed, leaning closer until her arms slipped around the hockey player’s waist. Lexa returned the hug, hanging her head and squeezing Clarke’s shoulders.

“I have words to say, now that I’ve finished work,” Lexa began, pulling away. “And you’ve finished work. And we don’t have any other distractions.”

“Did you practice this speech?”

“Yeah.”

Clarke shook her head and grinned, taking a step back. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against a counter in the kitchen. Lexa felt unsteady suddenly, without a prop keeping her upright. She shoved her hands in her back pockets.

“Go on then,” Clarke ushered.

“I think we’re cursed, me and my family. We fall in love at the Olympics. I’m not--

“Are you-- did you just say--?”

“Let me get it out,” Lexa furrowed, aware that she was already not starting on her script.

This was why she prepared though. Her mouth tended to make sounds that were inappropriate and didn’t help the situation.

“Yeah, but we’re circling back,” Clarke promised, taunting her.

Lexa took a deep breath. She’d had some champagne already. There’d been champagne showers in the locker room. Much of it had gotten in her mouth.

“I live in Boston. I have a whole life there. I have a dog there. And you have a whole life all over. It’s kind of not fair that all of this happened. I mean… I’ve been so focused on this moment, and now it’s over, and you’re still here, and I feel very strongly for you,” Lexa took a breath and finally looked at Clarke who seemed to be waiting for more. “What I mean is, I want you to meet Odie. And I want you to see my apartment. And it’s very selfish of me, to want that. But it’s been a great two weeks. Maybe you won’t like me tomorrow. Maybe the moment we leave Canada, you’ll hate me, because it has only been two weeks. But I don��t want to not see you for four years. And… I don’t know how to have this conversation. I don’t know what to ask for, I don’t know what to offer. I was hoping you might help.”

But Clarke remained quiet, her eyes warm but not giving anything away, her face perfectly plastered and stoic. The only movement that came from her body was the gentle, steady breathing of her chest. Helplessly, Lexa swallowed, afraid she’d misunderstood what conversation they were supposed to be having, and terrified that she’d misrad so many things. It wasn’t that long. Sixteen days, in fact.

“Could you say… anything?”

Lexa wished she’d kissed Clarke when she came in. That would have been the smarter play.

“I didn’t want to interrupt the speech.”

“It wasn’t much-- I hadn’t practiced-- okay, so it obviously didn’t come out right.”

She ran a hand along the back of her neck and hung her hand there anxiously. But Clarke was amused, and Lexa felt perpetually like the girl in the hall who needed told how to flirt. She hated Costia more than anything in the moment, not because she was a terrible person-- they just didn’t work out-- but more because she’d taken up so much time and Lexa really wasn’t good at new languages.

“I don’t know. I thought it came out just fine,” Clarke promised. “You’re the number one scorer in your league. You’re a staple on your team. I looked up your jersey. I could see myself wearing something like that.”

It still wasn’t making sense. Lexa held her breath.

“I can offer you me, and my time, and all of my attention. If that’s something that interests you. I think you should ask me for all of it. I’m going to ask you for everything. If you’re serious about… you know… this,” she motioned between them, the space just a few feet. “I want everything you’re willing to offer.”

“Very,” Lexa nodded. “All of it.”

“Okay. So I can visit Boston. What do you say we start there?”

“Yes please.”

“I heard you don’t share well,” Clarke took a step, closing the self-imposed space between them.

“I’m the youngest. It’s a flaw,” Lexa shrugged. Her hands flexed in her pockets. She wanted to take a step but she couldn’t.

“Let’s not share then.”

“Yeah, I like that.”

“Maybe you won’t like me in Boston.”

“Maybe.”

Another step until they were close again. Hands moved to her neck, ran along her shoulders and anchored there so the entirety of Clarke’s body pressed against Lexa’s.

“Maybe Odie will hate me.”

“Doubtful. Guard dog, he is not. He’s bribeable.”

“Are you?”

“You mentioned wearing my jersey?” Lexa smiled, her body relaxing with the proximity. “Sounds like a good bribe.”

“There are more conversations to be had, but I feel like this is a good start.”

Lips hovered near her own, and Lexa chased them slowly. Clarke’s breath ghosted across her chin. She nodded. Clarke could have asked her for her pancreas and Lexa would have nodded.

“Olympic gold medalist, Lexa Woods, continues her father’s legacy of winning and finding love in the Olympics,” Clarke announced, earning a chuckle.

“Let’s not think about him right now.”

Lexa leaned forward before Clarke could try to be funny. She kissed her and earned a hum of agreement. She leaned forward and cupped Clarke’s ass and picked her up again so that she had to chase the lips that now sat taller than her by a bit.

“I think I would like to find you after this,” Clarke whispered, pushing Lexa’s hair from her face. “And keep you.”

“Can I keep you?”

“That sounds better.”

Clarke kissed her this time, and Lexa maneuvered toward the stupid twin bed in the corner, careful laying her down and joining in her normal spot. They were needed elsewhere, and elsewhere would happen, but for now, Lexa was ready to savor. The conversation she’d wanted to have was marry me, run away with me, adopt more greyhounds or cats or bunnies, if you want, your parents for Thanksgiving, and mine for Christmas, what kind of dresser do you want, and we should never be apart ever again, type conversation.

But Lexa was grateful none of that had come out of her mouth. She was happy with this. One day she’d get to have those talks. They’d make sense after a longer period of time than two weeks.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Lexa lifted herself up to pull off her shirt. “Want to go to the party?”

“We can be a little late.”

XXXXXXXXXX

1 Month

There were things to be done, after the Olympics. Clarke had a full slate of press and tours and branded promotions. Lexa had an entire slate of the same, on top of it being in the middle of her professional season.

But they finally exchanged numbers, and distance was barely bearable, but they were busy enough to try to forget most days.

It started when Clarke posted a picture of the pair from their whale watching excursion a few days after she’d flown home, alone. Missing the whales and this girl, she’d written in a bout of loneliness and ache one night before bed, knowing Lexa would see it she she’d finished her morning gym routine.

Before falling asleep she looked at the picture of them, with Lexa wrapped around her shoulders, kissing her cheek with sea lions lazing in the background on a buoy. And even though they were across the world from each other, Clarke smiled and texted her a brief goodnight text.

By the time she woke up, there’d been hundreds of missed texts and DMs and comments on the photo, their official coming out despite all of the other moments stolen. It was late, but she still called Lexa immediately, asking about her day and if everything was still okay. Her girlfriend just laughed and said it’d been a busy day for some reason, and Clarke let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

When she scrolled through Lexa’s page, she saw their pizza night, the entirety of their two families together near a fire pit, a few pitchers of beer on the table, Lexa holding up a pint, Clarke’s arm around her waist as they sat beside each other. Winning was great, but this was better. Clarke swiped to the next picture, with both of them making very stupid faces, very unflattering, but perfect. And the next a picture of Anya and Lexa, arguing about something. The next, just Clarke winking and making a face. Another of Lexa and her dad and brother.

Clarke had known nerves. She’d known what it felt like to stand at the top of a mountain and fling herself down it, fling herself into the air and spin until she wasn’t sure she’d survive. She knew what pressure felt like, to want to win, and believe that she could, to be happy that someone else topped her, while at the same time desperate to be the best on her own. She knew pressure and nerves.

What she hadn’t considered was what it would feel like to stand near the glass with Anya, in a jersey with Woods on the back, and watch Lexa without her knowing she was even there. That was a lot of nerves. She’d rather be on the top of a mountain. They were great apart. They kept busy, they missed each other, they texted, they sent pics, they did their best and it was tolerable, but barely.

She’d known her for eighteen days in person. There were a ton of fucking nerves to make it real again.

She hadn’t seen her since the end of the games. At least not in person. There’d been quite a bit of facetime and phone calls and selfies. But this was the first step, the first part that they’d first talked about. This was the beginning, and just like Lexa couldn’t wait to have the conversation, Clarke couldn’t wait any longer. She knew what Lexa looked like when she was concentrating. She knew about a birthmark on her wrist. She knew what Lexa tasted like, and frankly, she really missed it. There was this moment, the final night, the final time, where all Clarke could remember was Lexa’s eyes when their foreheads were pressed together. She missed Lexa’s labored breath on her neck. She missed the bruises on her thigh. She missed movies in bed.

Lexa won the game. She put on a show, with one goal and two assists and not a broken nose to be seen. It was only when Lexa skated by that she stopped and put her fist up to the glass near her cousin.

You, she mouthed, her eyes wide with surprise.

Clarke pressed her palm against the glass, her smile so big she was sure that her cheeks were going to break. Once separated by thousands of miles, there was just a few inch thick piece of plexi glass keeping them apart now. It was still too much.

If it were possible, the nerves were worse, waiting after knowing. It was too much time for Lexa to reconsider. It was too much time for Clarke to think about how impulsive it was.

“You,” Lexa greeted her, swallowing her up in a huge hug, swirling her around outside the arena, melting all other worries away. “I can’t believe you’re here. When did you get here? How?”

“Shut up,” Clarke smiled and finally kissed her.

It was deep. She scratched and clawed her hold on Lexa’s neck and shoulders, missing it, forgetting how good it was, or worse yet, refusing to let herself remember. But she knew, instantly. She knew from the moment their lips connected.

Lexa couldn’t stop smiling. She didn’t. And Clarke dug her nose into Lexa’s shoulder as they sat at a small restaurant with Anya and Bellamy. She’d missed, but not forgotten that scent. She inhaled it greedily, the slight hint of sweat, the bit of body wash, fresh and forested.

Clarke knew nerves. She felt the immediately after the elevator opened and Lexa tugged her down the hall toward her condo.

“I can’t believe you’re here. How long are you here for? You’re here. You… do you still like me?”

Lexa dumped her bag on the floor and placed Clarke’s next to it. Two bags remained on top of each other. Two.

“I do,” Clarke promised. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late. I came as soon as I could.”

A dog stretched, yelping slightly as they lights clicked on and Clarke looked around at Lexa’s space. A big TV, some video game console. A comfy looking couch. A dog bed under the window. There were pictures on the wall, frame movie pictures. There were fresh flowers on the dining room table.

Clarke was introduced to Odie. She was given slobbery kisses and let a cold nose nudge her hip and ribs. But Lexa nudged her head and told him it was time for bed, and he listened, slipping into his giant pillow happily.

“I’ll give you the tour tomorrow, if that’s alright,” Lexa smiled quickly.

Clarke stood in the middle of the living room, curious about all of it, curious about making Lexa more real. She wanted to know what it all meant. She wanted to understand what was happening. She wanted to see what was in Lexa’s fridge. But she hadn’t flown across the planet to snoop. She’d flown across the world to see the lanky goofball who looked entirely too good in her leather jacket and black jeans.

And just like that, Lexa was in front of her.

“Do that thing,” Clarke looked up at her and bit her lip.

“What thing is that?”

“You know. The thing.”

She slid her arms up along Lexa’s neck and wrapped them there, tying her hands together and grinning. It dawned on Lexa, and the tips of her ears burned slightly. Clarke watched her blush migrate across her cheeks, never stopping, just burning in the low light.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Lexa whispered, finally leaning forward to kiss Clarke in her apartment. In an instant she was lifted up again, and kissed harder. Her legs wrapped around the hockey player’s waist.

“Still like me?”

“Good luck getting me to let go,” she chuckled, walking them down a dark hallway.

There was a dim light left on by the bed in the nice enough bedroom. Clarke didn’t see much mess, somewhat not surprised that Lexa wasn’t a slob. Old sneakers were on the floor, some dirty clothes were hanging out of a hamper, a glass of water by the bed, a book on the floor, cracked open to where she’d left off last. But she didn’t give too much thought to anything else, just Lexa’s eyes and playing with her hair.

This was real. They were doing it. They existed in real life, now. Clarke hadn’t considered it entirely. She thought she had, but she really couldn’t have fathomed this moment.

When her back met Lexa’s bed, she fanned her arms out side, not feeling an edge in either direction, grateful for the large bed. Standing at the foot of the bed, Lexa just stared at her in her sheets. She tugged off her hoodie and tossed it on her chair. Her belt came next, slid out gracefully from her pant loops.

Fuck, Clarke gulped.

“How long are you here for?” Lexa asked, meeting her eyes.

“I don’t know. We can have that conversation tomorrow, can’t we?”

Lexa smiled a bit wider as she finally knelt down between Clarke’s legs.

“I can make my case as to why it should be a long time.”

XXXXXXXXXX

6 Months

She might have gone overboard.

Lexa realized that as she looked down at her sweatshirt, and the cupcakes, and the banner, and Odie’s new bandana. As if he could read her mind, the dog looked up at her from his spot on the end of the couch before stretching and rolling over and getting more comfortable to laze away the day in his favorite summer sun spot.

She didn’t care.

It was a little warm, but she had the windows open as the evening fell on her condo. She’d spent the summer in Australia though, bouncing back and forth between sun and snow, training with rugby players, discovering Clarke’s home. But she came home for the birth of her first nephew, and it’d been three weeks.

The first time Clarke showed up at her game, three weeks after the Olympics ended, Lexa meant it when she didn’t want to let her go. There’d been conversations. She got better at talking. She got better at not being nervous. But they had separate lives and jobs to do, and there wasn’t much to be done. It helped when Clarke went to train in Idaho though, it was a little easier. When Lexa decided to go with her for the summer, it confirmed everything.

They were a much loved couple, for some reason. Her father said they almost had more medals together than him and her mother, which made Lexa chuckle. Another Olympics and Clarke adding slopestyle would do it. If she won. Which she would, Lexa knew. She had that kind of faith in her girlfriend’s work and passion.

Lounging on the couch, she tucked her beer against her side and started another game, anxiously checking her phone every few minutes to see if Clarke texted that she’d arrived. They really hated airports, choosing not to go with each other and endure it. Instead they just said goodbye at each other’s place. It was the same with pick ups, and she was actually okay with it for just this instance.

She smiled to herself when she heard a key in the lock, Odie’s tail thumping against the blanket he’d stolen for himself. Quickly, she tossed her headphones and controller on the coffee table and stood there, still oddly nervous about the new decorations in the condo.

“Fuck,” Clarke breathed as she tossed open the door, lugging her suitcase in, another giant one in the hallway.

But she didn’t get the second in, just stood in the doorway. Lexa liked how Clarke traveled. One of her old ballcaps she’d ‘lost’ on a trip, well worn and with a band of discolored fabric near the bill from sweat. It was the first one she got when she was drafted by Boston. It’d seen many a run along the river. It now saw many airports and Australian beaches.

“What’s…?” Clarke cocked her head and looked at the gear on display. Her smile started small. “Is this for me?”

“Wanted you to feel welcome,” Lexa shrugged. “You know since you’re a college student and all.”

“Did you leave anything at the BC bookstore for any other freshman to buy?”

“Nope.”

Odie thumped his tail and walked off the couch toward Clarke, nudging her hand for pets, licking her fingers and wagging eagerly. She looked at his bandana and chuckled slightly.

“I also got you this, as a moving in present, well part of one,” Lexa moved to grab the hamper full of gear. “Got you towels, and a toothbrush. The coffee you like. Some snacks. Lots of shirts with my name on the back. You’ll be repping Boston Pride for a while, actually. Oh, can’t forget a key ring,” she held it up and smiled.

“I’m moving in with you. Not a dorm, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, well. I wanted you to feel at home.”

“Because I live here now.”

“Yeah,” Lexa smiled.

Clarke smiled back at her. She didn’t care. She sprinted the few feet that separated them, and Lexa barely had time to react before her girlfriend was giggling into her neck, a koala on her body.

“You,” Clarke whispered, pulling back before kissing the hockey player, her hat bill pushed back as she chased lips.

“Me,” Lexa murmured against her lips. “I’m so proud of you. I hope I didn’t go too overboard.”

“No, it’s nice.”

“I also got you a night stand. With extra chargers. And your favorite shampoo. And the creamer you like. And we can go shopping. Get you whatever you need.”

“I live here now,” Clarke sighed, content and a bit in disbelief.

“Yeah.”

“You do a pretty good job chatting someone up, for the record.”

“Hopefully I never have to do it again.”

“I’ll say.”

“I do have a question fo you, though,” Clarke adjusted, Lexa’s hands holding her up. “It’s my favorite question of all time.”

“What’s that?”

“Your bed or mine?”

“How about our’s?”

“Good idea.”

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hardlyinteresting · 2 years

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Trailmix

Frankie Morales x GN!reader

For @writer-wednesday even though it's now Thursday. (shhh, I won't tell if you don't!) Frankie's weekly hike leads to finding an unexpected friend Warnings: I don't think there are any, but let me know if you want me to add something. Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

It had started as a fun thing to do with his daughter on visitation weekends. Little grabby hands in his hair while she sat on his shoulders rambling about her kindergarten classmates, and almost every leaf, bug, and the woodland creature she could see. Hiking was simply a good way to get outside, to teach her some of the things his dad had taught him, poison ivy-- leaves of three let it be, and all that good stuff. It was well worth the bruises from her tiny kicking feet on his chest, to see his kid learning to see and love the world around her.

After that first hike, it had become his favourite pass time, something for them to do together, and on the weeks he didn’t have her, it became an excellent way to clear his mind, and he won’t complain about it being decent exercise. Hikes became occasional camping trips, and new backpacks and tents were purchased; a welcomed change of pace for his survival skill set.

She isn’t with him today as he makes his day trip along the trail, trekking up the hills towards the lookout point, stopping occasionally to take photos of flowers, butterflies, and snails (his daughter’s new favourite creature) to show her when he sees her next. The buzz of the cicadas in the trees seems louder than usual without any joyful babbling to keep his mind occupied. It’s not all bad having tome to himself, but there’s a loneliness that lingers, he has yet to learn to be good company to himself. The fear of where his mind might wander to much darker times scares him away from venturing into that inner world. Avoidant, his therapist says. He won’t deny it.

It doesn’t take him long to get to the top of the biggest hill looking out at the little valley below. He snaps a quick photo before shifting his backpack off his back to grab some water. He’s not sure how long he spends crouched in the grass under the shade of a tree, sipping from his bottle and snacking on trail mix, but it’s long enough for him to settle into his surroundings relaxing his shoulders and levelling his breathing. And then it hits him. A gigantic wet kiss across his face and then another, and there's a set of paws pressing into his chest and his collarbone. More smooches. He struggles to keep his eyes open, between avoiding slobber and holding back laughter as he tries to settle the big chocolate lab down. Satisfied with the amount of love he’s managed to give Frankie the overgrown puppy plops down on his rump, tail still wagging wildly, tongue out and panting with glee. “Who do you belong to, hmm?” Frankie wonders aloud, trying to get a look a the dog's collar. The dog surges forward to offer more kisses, which Frankie politely declines, gently guiding the dog to lay next to him, head settled in his lap. “Chewy,” Frankie reads the tag, flipping it over he finds a phone number. He takes a picture of Chewy, his new friend, saving it to the camera roll before sending it off with a text; I think this is your dog. It’s not long before his phone dings with the response Omg thank you thank you thank you!!! Where are you? Frankie replies that he’s at the lookout point and happy to hang out with Chewy for a while. Chewy is a good dog, loving, and calm. His head doesn’t move from Frankie’s lap as he starts to dose off and Frankie can’t help but feel himself growing sleepy, a tranquillity he hasn’t felt in a very long time falling over him as he pets the dog. “Chewy!” a voice interrupts the pair's power nap. Chewy’s head pops up at his name, he stands up tail wagging, tongue ready to leave goober kisses once again as his owner approaches. “You scared me half to death!” you speak crouching down to be affectionately tackled by puppy lover “A friendly guy,” Frankie laughs. “Thank you so much for watching him. He never wanders off-- I don’t know why he did today--he was there, and then--” “It’s no problem really,” Frankie interrupts your panicked rambling, “I was glad to have some company”. “Good nap?” you smile, “Chewy loves a good nap” you laugh scratching under chewy’s chin. “So, Chewy? Like Star Wars? Chewbacca?” His question is met with a shy nod, “Yeah. And he really likes chewing on things. Especially, old plastic bottles”. “He’s a good dog,” Frankie says. “He is. A very good friend, a good hiking partner,” you grin as Chewy wanders back to Frankie for more petting, “Do you come here often?” The accidental pick up line has the tips of his ears turning pink, “Yeah. weekends mostly”. “You have a little girl right? I think I’ve seen you guys around”. Frankie nods, not able to hide his proud smile at the mention of his daughter, “Yeah, she’s with her mom this weekend. It’s just me today”. “Well, you have my number now. If you ever want some company, I’m sure Chewy would be happy to join you,” you laugh as Chewy tries to get his nose into Frankie’s bag of trail mix. “And you? Would you like to hike sometime?” his heart pounds as he asks it. “Any time”.

#writer wednesday #writer-wednesday #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character x reader

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reddeadmort · 2 years

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Arthur Morgan x f! Reader | “Silvery Threads” | Part 4

AO3 LINK

Words: 2.4k

The man in black isn't someone you can escape from easily. Especially not now you've pissed him off......

Notes:

Warnings: one brief mention of being groped, no description.

This is turning out a lot longer than expected! Next chapter may take a while, I'm not too sure where this is going.....

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

“I said, run!” Arthur tried to push you off, succeeding only in causing himself more pain.

“No!” You desperately tried to tie the knot in the cloth, hands so wet from the blood the material kept slipping through your fingers.

“Bloody woman” Arthur grunted, reaching down to his holster to grab his pistol. “Get ready to fight then.”

He had barely finished his sentence when a bullet whistled past your head, slamming into the ground a few metres away. Arthur immediately raised his gun, pointing behind you, and tried to lift his head to get a better view.

You stiffened as you felt the cold metal press into the back of your skull, felt the click as the hammer was pulled back.

“Ah reckon ya might want to drop that weapon there Morgan.” The contempt was palpable in the man’s voice. Arthur placed the pistol carefully on the floor as you raised your hands up.

“Ah no missy, nice try” the man sneered as he stepped away slightly, removing your opportunity to attempt to grab the weapon. Gun still trained at your head, he slowly walked around and kicked Arthur’s pistol out of reach.

“Good work there Patrick.” You tried not to react to the cold, deep voice as the man in black stepped into view.

“S’no problem sir. Excellent shooting.”

“Hmm, not quite. He’s still alive.” The barrel of the rifle was less than a foot from Arthur’s head as the man moved his finger to the trigger. “This….oaf interrupted my game. Before I could even get paid.”

“Don’t ya worry sir, someone’ll pay for him.” The tall man turned to face his accomplice, one eyebrow raised in a questioning expression. “That’s Arthur Morgan. One of the Van der Linde gang. And from the way she was gripping his thigh, I’d guess that this is his little bitch.” Patrick spat at you, catching you in the face; you saw Arthur’s arms tense out of the corner of your eye, but he knew better than to move.

“Interesting…..” the man murmured, rifle slowly lowering. “You’ll have to excuse my ignorance, but I don’t tend to involve myself in gangs. They make too much noise, too many loose ends. Exactly who will pay for this brute?”

“Law, pinkertons, probably O’Driscolls. Dutch van der linde maybe.”

“Hmm…. can’t say I’m too interested in the money, but something to make up for today’s inconvenience would be appreciated.” The man cocked his head to one side, weighing up the options. “On second thought, it’ll make things too difficult.”

As his rifle swung upwards, you launched yourself forwards on top of Arthur, blocking his head and chest from the weapon. You wrapped your arms around his head, gripping tightly as the accomplice tried to yank you back by the hair.

“Don’t touch her!” The man in black snarled, pushing the other away. “Her suffering is mine to control.” Beneath you, you felt Arthur’s arm slowly move upwards, the movement blocked from view by your body. You stayed perfectly still as he slipped his sheathed hunting knife under the waistline of your trousers, down the side of your thigh.

“Speaking of suffering, I wonder if she’ll enjoy being watched by her…beloved..as I turn her into my next art piece”. You finally lifted your head as the barrel of the rifle was wedged under your face, pushing you back up off Arthur.

“Tie them both. Before you stick him on the back of that horse however, make sure to dig that bullet out of his leg. We don’t want him dying…. Not yet anyway.” You stared up into the dark eyes, the flecks of gold seeming to flash as the man revelled in the fear you were struggling to hide.

As the horse you were strapped to, hogtied, was led away, you tried to block out Arthur’s muffled scream and groans.

—--

Dutch, Charles and Bill had thundered into Valentine only to discover chaos. The bodies of the sheriff and the deputy had been dragged onto the porch of the office. As they rode through town, they caught snippets of conversations; there had been a gunfight, multiple people on horses had fled the town. Dutch slid off his mount to chat to the locals, while Charles made his way up the street, around the back of the office. It was no good; far too many trails and footprints. He sighed, hoping that you two had sensibly gone to find somewhere to lie low for a time. As he spurred his horse round to return to the others, a scrap of fabric caught his eye. The bloodied bit of cloth on the ground, half trodden into the path, matched your shirt. He called out to the others and started to trot out of town.

—---

The cellar underneath the shack was cold and damp, the only light coming from a small window near the ceiling. Once again, your wrists were bound and strapped above your head to a post. You stayed staring at the floor, refusing to look up at Arthur, bound to a chair in front of you. You hoped he didn’t see the way your face twisted in pain as the bucket of salt water splashed over the fresh wounds.

“Got to make sure you don’t die too fast my dear.” the man cooed at you, face so close to yours you could almost taste the scent of mint and tobacco. “You’ve been a good girl so far.” You held back a shudder as his tongue languidly brushed up your cheek. “Tell her how good she’s being.” This last part was directed towards Arthur, a kick to the leg making him groan.

Arthur stayed silent, staring intently at the man. Even after hours of this, his rage had not quelled; you could see the muscles in his arms flex as he pulled against his bindings. His silence did not please the man, who moved to stand next to him.

“I said, tell her.” He drove the handle of the whip down hard into Arthur’s leg wound, causing him to slam his head back and let out a strained moan. The whip was pulled away and Arthur looked back down, panting. Through gritted teeth, he spoke.

“You’re doin’ good girl”.

The tall man laughed, satisfied with his little victory. “Time for a little rest I think. I’d rather you not bleed all over me for the next part.” He strode away up the stairs, towards the door, silver tipped boots clattering on the stones. You heard the click of a lock and the slide of a bar as the door was shut behind him.

As soon as you were certain he was gone, you let out the half-groan, half-whimper you had desperately been trying to hold in. Arthur was slumped forwards in his seat, not looking at you.

“Darlin’, I’m so sorry” he muttered, repeating the last few words as he sighed. As he spoke, you pulled down on your left wrist, hard, ignoring the pain in your thumb as your hand slipped through the hole you’d managed to spend the last few hours widening.

“I shouldn’t have barrelled on in to rescue you myself. Should've got some help. I’m just too dumb.”

Your left hand now free, you reached down inside your trousers and pulled out the knife, before swiftly slicing the rope that held your other arm above your head. Thank god the idiot accomplice had been more focused on groping you than actually searching for any weapons when removing your gun belt.

“I’ll….I’ll get you out of here, I promise.” There was a slight tremble in his voice, betraying the lack of conviction in what he said. He looked up with a start as he heard you whisper in his ear.

“Sure thing, cowboy”. The knife sliced through the rope with ease and Arthur brought his hands to his lap, rubbing at the wrists, trying to find some relief. They were rubbed raw, cracked and bleeding. As he moved to stand, you quickly took your place at his side, offering support. Resting his arm on your shoulders, he took one step forward before instantly groaning and slamming back into the chair. You both froze, waiting to see if the noise had alerted someone. Upon hearing no movement upstairs, you once again tried to hoist Arthur up out of the chair, but he pushed your hands away.

“Darlin’, you know we ain’t both gettin’ out of here. I can’t walk, and as much as you might like to think you can do everything, you can’t lift me.” Ignoring him, you tugged at his forearm, trying to pull him up.

“Shut up, you know I can’t just leave you like this.” One large hand enveloped yours, pinning it in place against him.

“I have to insist. You’re bein’ stupid.”

“No! You wouldn’t abandon me, and I’m not leaving you here to suffer.”

“Oh, but I did.” With this, he prised your fingers off his arm, forcefully pushing you away once more.

“Arthur, avoiding me around camp is not the same as me leaving you here to die!” You were growing more and more frustrated with the man. Why wouldn’t he help you? You needed to hurry, you had no idea how long it would take your captor to return.

“I ain’t talking about camp. I’m talkin’ about the woods. I’m talkin’ about that girl in tattered clothing, begging a man on a horse to take her. Take her anywhere than the hell she was facing.” Arthur’s voice was unusually flat, none of its usual warmness present.

“Don’t lie Arthur. I know the girls told you the story. No matter what you say, I ain’t leaving you.” You moved to grab at him again, but his hand instead gripped your wrist, uncomfortably tightly.

“That little gold ring weren’t worth much ya know. Barely even got a dollar from the fence.”

You froze. How - how could he know that? You’d left that out of the sanistised tale you told the girls. You barely even let yourself admit it. It made you feel better, persuading yourself that the man on the horse had just been scared, that’s why he didn’t help.

“Did feel a bit bad for snatching it out your hands as you offered it up. And for leavin’ ya standin’ there.” Arthur continued. “Faded when I got next to nothin’ for it though.”

“Arthur no…please stop.” You were in shock, staring down into his blue eyes. They seemed so cold, his expression so hard.

“Pretty sure I heard ya scream, but didn’t even slow. Needed to get me a drink.” You could swear you saw the hint of a sneer cross his face.

“Stop!” You gasped, pulling yourself away, almost falling backwards as Arthur released his grip.

“See, Y/N, I ain’t a good man. I ain’t worth savin’. I deliberately left you to suffer, and you need to do the same to me.”

“No… that’s not you. You’re…you’re different now. You didn’t have a choice….” You went to step forwards, but hesitated, and instead moved backwards.

-----

Arthur could barely get the words out. He couldn't stand talking to you like this, seeing the look of betrayal starting to appear on your gorgeous face. You'd never forgive him. Against all instinct, fighting the urge to pull into his lap and hold you close, he pushed forwards with his plan. Anything to get you safe.....

-----

“Oh I had a choice.” Arthur’s voice dropped to a growl. “Still do. Still choose to beat poor men up in front of their starving families, force them to repay a debt that we tricked them into owing in the first place.”

“But… you’re kind. You help your friends.” You were still struggling to process what he had said, what he was trying to do. It can’t have been him. You’d seen this man bring picture books back to camp for Jack, write down donations in the ledger against other people’s names. He’d blasted into that office with no fear for his own safety, shielding your body from harm. You felt safe with him. Tears started to stream from your eyes as you tried to choke out more of a response. “Arthur….”

“A few moments of kindness don’t make a good person. They just make ‘em harder to leave.”

A loud scraping noise at the door alerted you to the fact that you were very quickly about to have company. Arthur swiftly moved his hands behind his back once again, as you lurched towards the wall nearest the stairs, the cold stone bringing slight relief to your still stinging back as you pressed yourself into it.

“Go, Y/N. Save yourself. Get Dutch, the others, or don’t. It don’t matter as long as you leave.”

As the boots strode down the stairs, Arthur called out, trying to maintain the man’s attention.

“Ahh, Patrick! My favourite parasite. Come to have a closer look at a real man?”

“Shuddup Morgan. I ain’t the one tied up like a prize hog.” He was so enraged by the Arthur’s taunting he didn’t notice the lack of your body hanging from the ceiling, or your quiet footsteps treading up the stairs behind him. You almost stopped at the loud thump, followed by spitting, but pushed forwards up and out of the cellar door.

—----

That punch hurt. Blood filled Arthur’s mouth as he spat out a tooth.

“Still prettier than you boy” he laughed in the furious man’s face. The second punch landed square on his nose, forcing Arthur’s head back and his eyes to shut.

“Yep, that’ll do it.” Arthur half-chuckled as he tried to wriggle his nose. Yep, definitely broken. His fists bunched behind his back, but he refused to move his arms. He had to make sure you were clear of the cellar, keep the man’s attention on him.

The third punch to the gut made him gasp, but allowed him to lean forward enough to see up the stairs. His heart jumped slightly as he saw no sign of you. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to drag himself up those stairs after you; in the dark you hadn’t been able to see that the bloody patch on his leg had grown much larger. He just prayed that he had sufficient energy left to give you enough time to escape.

“Fucking van der linde. Always actin’ like yer so much more righteous than the rest of us. Yer a fool for fallin’ for that …charisma.”

Arthur let the man talk as he fiddled behind the chair, re-positioning his grip on the handle of the knife.

#arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fic #how angsty would it be to kill arthur off in the next part?#jokes #maybe #this was only supposed to be 2 chapters with some rescuing fluff and smut #what have i done

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mavrla · 1 year

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I graduated three years ago from my master’s program. I finished with a straight-A average, got the best grade on the scale from my thesis, and got picked to a research group for a multidisciplinary project from a bunch of qualified candidates. I was told by my supervisor and by the person who graded my thesis that I should continue my studies on PhD level. I wanted to continue my studies on PhD level. So what did I do when I arrived back from Rome?

Started teaching in middle school.

The reasons were (mostly) financial: COVID shut me the opportunity to return to my old place of work, and I got offered a teaching position after sending applications to practically anywhere I could imagine working. The idea of having a job that I had an education for was alluring, too, even though I never really wanted to teach for a long term.

I have now taught in middle school for 2,5 years. I don’t particularly like the job - I like to teach, yes, and both religion and history are lovely subjects with many opportunities - as the everyday demands with cramped classrooms, students who need more individual support that it is possible for one person to offer (while still teaching all the other kids in the classroom), and the angry parents are quite a lot to deal with. They also create the kind of challenges I don’t particularly want to solve, nor have the resources to solve. On a personal level, I don’t feel like I’m moving forward or learning to be a better teacher, and so, with all this cynicism that is just increasing every day, the entire purpose of my job is to survive for a day, a week, a month, until the next vacay. Which I need to use to gather my strength and rest. The sheer noise of school/classroom makes me want to go directly to sleep after each workday.

In short, I’m working in a job that could be interesting, but isn’t that for me. I need to find an out before I get even more burnt out than I already am.

The obvious choice, the dream choice, would be going back to the academia. But, as we all know, it isn’t that easy. PhD applications are a challenging project, where you need to stand out as both an excellent scholar and a person that is agreeable enough to work with. And trying to stand out as a middle school teacher who just *wants* to return to academia because she can’t tolerate the idea of staying in the classroom for any more time is... difficult.

I always feel like I’m not enough to apply anywhere. I might have a curious mind, but my imagination is lacking and it has always been very difficult to me to find a fresh angle to any given topic - which, to me, sounds like an essential skill to a PhD student. My English is better than it has been, but I’m still not anywhere near native speaker level, and I have little other language skills to compensate for that. I read French, Italian, and German all to some degree, but I’m not capable of writing or conversing in them. As a historian, my knowledge of ancient languages is lacking, too. My Latin isn’t as good as it should be. My Greek is barely there, as are my Hebrew and Arabic. I know I can study more, I know I *have to* study more, but still, the feeling of being just too incapable of doing anything with these skills lingers.

I know I can write. The problem is I hate writing. After graduating, I have participated in two different article collections, and it's been an honor, but I still enjoy reading other people’s thoughts far more than I enjoy vocalizing my own. So, this has lead me to think that perhaps I don’t want a PhD, perhaps I just miss the academia - getting to read and converse and enjoy being surrounded by curious people who love the same sticks and stones I do? Maybe academia in itself is my happy place, but taking the next step there isn’t for me?

So maybe I should leave my job and apply for another master’s. I could do history, as I already have a strong background there, or Islamic studies, psychology or philosophy, as I used to minor in those. I could expand my expertise and study something like gender/intersectionality studies. Or I could just try to apply to some prestigious school and see if the grass is greener in there, if that would make me feel like I was able to conduct original research sometime in the future.

At the same time, I feel like doing a new master’s would not only be a financial suicide but also taking a step back - a step I have already taken and completed relatively successfully. I have ideas that I love, I have willingness to pursue these ideas and see where they would take me, but taking the next step and trying to sell these ideas feels so terrifying that it’s debilitating. I have spent so many days lying in my bed reading fanfiction when I could have sent emails to some professors I know could help me (or ignore me, which probably is the more realistic worst case scenario in comparison to the imaginary derision and laughter I’m expecting in my head).

I feel so tired and confused and alone with all these thoughts and dreams and hopes and fears. Some days, they just hurt me more than they usually do, and today is just one of those days.

#phd applications #imposter syndrome #gradbrl #grad student #phd candidate #teacher rant

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kittttycakes · 8 months

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Yes that would be such a trip for Hob to meet Johanna. I can just picture his face and double take when he sees her! I’d love to see Grace trying to get as much info out of Johanna as she can too.

You know, now that you mention it, I reckon Rose would actually be great!

She knows a little bit about the Endless but isn’t super close to any of them, is a writer (maybe she and Grace can talk writing and procrastination, and Rose could get little tidbits of info for her book from Grace), and is an all round excellent human. Do you think they would have a big/little sister/cousins kinda vibe? Or just friends?

Also, what about Gault? Do you think she and Grace would get along?

Or Calliope? (Is that too messy as Morpheus ex though?)

I am so excited about your Promptober plans! Super keen for that an cannot wait!

Also, what you reblogged about the Dreamling monsters to lovers trope. So good. And I love that for Hob and Grace and Morpheus so much!

Grace is just so deeply curious about things! Not pictured in the fic is every time she has absolutely grilled Morpheus about the Dreaming and his function and how he creates dreams and the limits of his power and the list just goes on. He mostly answers, as much as he can, and as much as any one human (even an immortal one) is capable of conceptualizing and understanding. She would definitely do the same to Johanna, especially if this is her first introduction to “Oh, by the way, demons? Also very real!”

I think her and Rose definitely do end up having a nice relationship! Grace would technically eventually be her…double great aunt? She’s not that much older than her (a little over 10 years, I would think?), so I think that complicates the more traditional family dynamic that you’d expect, but what about this family is traditional? They talk books and dreams and writing and Grace doesn’t have to be anything but herself. She can say “No, I’m just annoyed with your uncle. No, the other one.” and have it just be…normal, which is huge for her. Even if she can’t talk relationship things with her, just having their relationship be out in the open and not a secret is so nice, and she would absolutely like Rose (and Jed!) as a person.

Grace would love to meet Gault! I think they’d get on as well, which I know I say for everyone, but Grace is a generally pretty affable person, and she especially loves meeting dreams and nightmares. She’s probably dreamt of Gault before, in her function, so getting to meet her outside of that would be interesting! Grace thinks she’s beautiful, especially her wings.

Someday, I think, Grace will meet Calliope. It’s definitely a little awkward, meeting her partner’s ex-wife, but she’d be absolutely in awe of her. Calliope would get it in a way that other people wouldn’t, though, and that can’t be underestimated, even if they probably don’t talk in too much detail about Morpheus, for both of their sakes. They could definitely have a nice talk about art, though! And if Grace walks away from the conversation feeling inspired just from being in her presence, hey, that’s not so bad at all! And maybe later, they happen upon each other again, and are in a situation where they could have a glass of wine or two, and let loose a bit, and have a nice talk as two people who have loved the same person.

I had so much fun with Promptober last year so I’m very much looking forward to doing it again!! Getting to pick out ideas is my favorite part and I already have a few I for sure want to do, which is exciting.

I love monsters to lovers, it hits every single time. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Grace is not exactly the norm. The speed with which she accepts Morpheus in his more nightmarish aspects? Not the move of someone who is just totally average and normal. She’s many other things too: curious and kind and intelligent, but she’s also just a little weird. And she’s found people who appreciate that about her! She definitely has had the “No, you cannot doom that man to an eternity of nightmares just because he disagreed with me during a panel discussion at the conference. Dr. Ward, though…” conversation at least once, maybe twice, three times on the outside. Hob is just not great at boundaries when it comes to Morpheus because he genuinely doesn’t care, he just wants him and loves him and he’ll take that however he can get it, but he definitely does have to enforce some of the basic ones and Morpheus is just pleased as punch to be getting a good grade at being a partner, something that is normal to want and possible to achieve. They can all be a little monstrous together, in the enormity of their want, as a treat!

#anon <3 #oc: grace talbot #to the surprise of no one monster to lover is one of my very favorite things

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rebelsofshield · 2 years

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Star Wars Andor: “The Axe Forgets” - Review

New alliances must learn to trust one another in an emotional and refreshingly human episode of Andor.

Under the guise of “Clem,” Cassian begins training with the Aldhani rebels for their heist on the Imperial airbase. However, tensions brew as it becomes clear that Vel’s team may not be as prepared as they seem and that she has hidden the true nature of Cassian’s recruitment.

If last week’s episode was about paranoia and the difficulty of trusting one another under the thumb of a fascist empire, “The Axe Forgets” is about how to build those bridges of acceptance. But it is also about the universal hurt that unites everyone taking up arms against the empire. As the tattooed former prisoner, Arvel Skeen puts it, “The Axe forgets. But the Tree remembers.” The Imperial machine keeps on rolling forward in its churn towards galactic control, but the people whose lives they destroy along the way will carry those scars for the rest of their lives.

It’s the best and most consistent part of Dan Gilroy’s script. We understand the core of Cassian’s pain and even if his motivations at this point are still dubiously self serving, we begin to see how connecting with others that have been harmed by galactic cruelty is beginning to tether him to a larger and more organized world. Gilroy also positions Skeen as someone that is both maybe the most accessible in terms of life experience to Cassian, both of them having served time in an Imperial prison, but also as the most distrusting in Vel’s team. Skeen has a deep personal reason for joining the Aldhani resistance, but he can’t find that in Cassian’s cold and sometimes detached demeanor and especially following the revelation that he’s essentially participating in this mission for profit.

Gilroy’s script also adds some welcome depth to other characters like the charming, manifesto writing young revolutionary Karis Nemik and by hinting towards a romantic entanglement between Vel and other team member Cinta. (Holy shit! Canonical on screen lesbians!) But the most interesting ends up being Imperial Lieutenant Gorn, who joined the Aldhani resistance after falling in love with a woman native to the planet. While Gorn’s lover being killed by the Empire isn’t the most inspired move, what makes him such an episode standout, in addition to a great performance by actor Sule Rimi, is how Gilroy uses him to comment on the Empire’s colonialism. It’s darkly fascinating to see Gorn face Imperials disparage the local population while using their sacred relics for artifacts but also genuinely want to witness the astronomical event that is core to the planet’s culture. It’s a great way to communicate how colonial powers disparage indigenous populations while also wanting to enjoy the aesthetics of their natural wonders.

Andor more so than any other piece of Star Wars media has really excelled in exploring what exactly Empire means. We’ve known them for almost half a century now as white armored faceless soldiers and the tyrannical apparatus of evil space wizards, but Dan and Tony Gilroy along with the rest of the creative team have really leaned into the actual day to day horrors of an empire in a way that has never been more artfully communicated. It makes the screaming overhead flyby of a TIE Fighter into something unnerving again.

We see this continued on Coruscant where we catch up with some of the rest of Andor’s sprawling ensemble. Mon Mothma’s domestic struggles are particularly intriguing in how we see the lack of trust or support for her political agenda spread into her own household. Her husband is apolitical at best and her daughter sees her like any other self-obsessed mother. Given the almost regal portrayal we’ve seen of Mothma since Return of the Jedi it’s wrenching to see just how alone she is at this stage in her fight against the Empire and it hints towards just what the personal costs of her defiance might be.

And finally, we have Karn. Oh, Karn. It’s been so long since I’ve been so compelled by a villain whose misfortune and incompetence also brings me such glee. There’s undeniable comedy in seeing Karn scarf down space cereal while his mother rambles on about the many ways that she might be able to salvage his career. But there’s also pathos, communicated wonderfully through Kyle Soller’s performance and Susanna White’s direction. Karn comes from a low, sunless place and in some ways his participation in corporate security was his ticket out of the depressing and bland darkness of his day to day life. And it’s pretty damn clear who he blames for his disgraceful return to home.

And for once, Andor ends on what actually feels like an ending. There are undeniably plot points that must be addressed, but for all the table setting that “The Axe Forgets” does, it feels like a contained story. We see how our central characters grow. We see how they begin to trust or maybe distrust one another. And we see them prep for their big explosive mission. Nicholas Brittel’s stirring score helps carry us there too, bringing a sense of closure but also momentum to this week’s installment as we push forward into what is surely to be a climactic chapter next week.

Score: A-

#Star Wars #Andor #Star Wars Andor #review #reviews

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claudeng80 · 2 years

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Reversal (Theater AU)

Sequel to Subversion (https://archiveofourown.org/works/9339926/chapters/47289931)

Kiki spares no expense for the cast party. Barely have the house lights gone out behind the last of the (admittedly sparse) audience before the smell of roasted meat starts to overtake the paint-and-sweat funk of backstage. Kiki throws open the loading dock doors to present a tent with a full barbeque pit and a very promising number of coolers.

“I’m not so sure anybody liked it,” Zen’s voice says just behind him, by the metallic echo just now passing the door, and Obi hops down into the loading ramp. He’s not waiting for anyone to catch up. First in line for meat is always a good thing.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s had a very good sandwich - it would not have occurred to him to put fancy cheese on top of barbeque like that, but it sure worked out - and is happily topping it off with a bag of chips. He’s surrounded by people he knows far too well, but none of them are trying to talk to him, which is good enough.

Right on cue, the top of Shirayuki’s head pops out of the crowd. She’s standing on her tiptoes, else he wouldn’t be able to see her, and he doesn’t need to know any more than that to understand what she’s about.

His excellent reflexes may not be good for much on a daily basis - not exactly a success skill in college - but they do mean he’s out of sight before her eyes sweep across his location. For once, he isn’t ready to see her, when he knows he’s just kissed her for the last time.

There should never have been a first, but it’s been a couple of weeks now of regular rehearsals where no stage kiss passes muster with the tyrant, where he’s had to press his lips against Shirayuki’s nearly every day and pretend to be someone he’s not. He’s entitled to a few quiet minutes of solitary sulking.

The stage door is heavy, but it’s unlocked.

The empty theater is dark, the pyramids and cubes of the set casting long shadows in the glow of the house lights. Obi scoots one of the shorter cubes off its tape marks until it bumps against a taller one. It made an incomprehensible set, but it’s just the right height for a pretty comfortable chair, so long as Shiira isn’t around to shoo him off.

There are no answers in the dangling ropes and darkened lights overhead. He’s forgotten plenty of things in his life. He forgot his lines often enough, for sure. He’s already forgotten all the vocabulary he’s supposed to have studied for Tuesday’s French quiz. With enough effort, he’ll figure out how to forget how it feels to kiss her.

The stage door rattles, and Obi slouches down behind the cube. Sneakers squeak on concrete, and the house lights shut off with a snap. The timer has been a source of jokes for as long as Kiki’s had the theatre booked- it’s gone off in the middle of Zen’s soliloquy, the moment Shikito drew his sword, and more than once just as Obi’s leaned in to kiss Shirayuki. He should have known it would strand him in the dark again.

But if he doesn’t want to be found, this can work in his favor. His current location is too obvious - even in the light of the exit signs it’s going to be clear enough that he’s moved things - so he drops to a crouch, then soundlessly glides to another box. This one’s tall enough he can stand up straight, pressing himself into the shadows. It’s ridiculous, what he’s doing, hiding like this. Perhaps he’s a coward, he’s certainly a mess, and there’s no way out of this that he’s willing to take. He can’t hear footsteps anymore, so when the sigh tries to escape from his lips, he lets it.

A hand slams into the box beside him, a body trapping him in place- “Found you!” There’s laughter in her voice and she smells of barbeque and her and even so his reflexes have his arm around her and his foot pivoting forward for a throw before he can drag his unwilling body to a stop.

“Miss!” He flings himself backward, tearing his hands free of her and fetching up against the cube with a dull boom. It shifts behind him, but holds him up.

She, illogically, doesn’t pull away. She leans in, her hand settling once more against the cube, and with the way he’s half-crouched, it rests right by his shoulder. He doesn’t know why she’s ignoring the fact he almost just threw her- she must know that sneaking up on people is rude and an all-around bad idea. “Something’s bothering you,” she says, and all these weeks of Kiki’s tutoring have paid off. There’s no room in her tone for questions or evasions.

It’s certainly the truth, but it’s not like he can admit to it. “Just wanted a bit of quiet.”

“Do you need me to go?” He doesn’t want her to. He’s weak when she’s close, so selfish to want her always there. He never used to let people in like this, but perhaps that’s her secret. He never let her in- she just inserted herself into his life, in the friendliest and most polite fashion, and now he can’t imagine it without her. He can’t say yes, not when she’s right there. He shakes his head, hair catching against the cube surface.

“Good,” she says, low and relieved. He thinks he’ll tease her about why she’s hiding too, but every word explodes into static as she captures his lips with her own and presses her body against his.

This is where he kissed her, he thinks wildly. Against this wall, day after day, practice after practice. He knows the way she breathes, the sounds she makes that aren’t for him, the way her lips shift against his, so precise. But this time she’s not passive for the stage, a princess surprised by a villain. He’s never been kissed against a wall like this, never felt wanted this way. He closes his eyes and relaxes, letting her take what she wants. It’s all what he wants as well.

“Oh!” She pulls back. He can still feel the heat of her body, but he’s no longer trapped- slowly he straightens his legs, regaining his distance. If she’s going to declare this a mistake, at least he’ll have that much room to prove how good an actor he can be. “That’s not what I meant to-”

He’s not that good. He swallows down any word he could speak, any sound that could betray his feelings, but his eyes sting and there’s a lead weight on his chest.

And then there’s a hand there, five gentle fingers resting against his skin. “I mean that’s not what I meant to start with. J’aime t’embrasser, Obi,” she murmurs.

Hope and confusion spear his heart , a tug of war that leaves him gasping. “You know that’s not fair, miss.” Her lips curve once more; he’s sure he’s earned it, he should probably know what she’s saying but she knows perfectly well she’s the only reason he’s passing French class.

“Is that so? Sounds like you need another study session.” Her voice is both arch and full of promise, and it’s a good thing he didn’t know all along that she could sound like this. “Maybe Friday? On a date?”

Fifteen minutes ago he would have said he couldn’t possibly be any more into her than he already was. But he leans in once more, watching her eyes light up just before he shuts his own and presses his lips to hers, and he’s never been so pleased to be wrong, on so many counts.

#obiyukibingo22 #fanfic #theater au #take this away I give up

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