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palbabor-writes · 4 years

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Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, student/teacher sex, tw.dubcon, tw.sub/dom dynamics, brat taming, fingering, masturbation, a table is pretty roughed up in this, so pls hold a brief moment of silence for it

Words: 12,857

“So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin.

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Notes: the title was selected because it’s got the word cum in it. ahhh, the things that crack me up. anyhow.

this is part of the BNHA Degeneracy server’s 9 to 5 collaboration! i had a ton of fun participating in this and thank you guys for making this so freaking awesome! special shoutout & thanks to @albinoburrito & @kugutsuu for their beta edits! this was a departure from what i usually write about and i appreciate all of your notes and help!

Practicum prac·ti·cum /ˈpraktəkəm/ noun a practical section of a course of study

It’s your senior year, they said. Live a little, they advised. Stop and take a breather, you’re practically home free! Take some easier classes. Focus on what’s in front of you, it’ll be over before you know it! On and on and on.

Spring semester is almost here. You’ve applied for graduation, the cap and gown ordered, and you have a shiny class ring sitting on your pinky. It’s in the bag. Just breeze through four more classes and you’re out. Well, it would be an easy shot, if you hadn’t put off this one class.

It always popped up, so it’s not like you could plead ignorance. Your advisor warned you, each quarterly meeting, that you needed to get it out of the way. Take it seriously, he cautioned, clacking out his notes, typing down that you’d failed to heed his sage advice, again. If you wait too long, you’re not going to get the professor that you want.

That was the other problem. You’re a procrastination superstar. If there was some kinda award for putting off assignments, you’d have won it ten times over. You liked the heart pounding race to the deadline, the sleepy boasts that you’d tackled the project within hours of its due date.

It’s a stupid habit. Every semester you promise yourself that you’ll do better. You won’t wait, you’ll tackle things one assignment at a time and turn them before the hard cut off at 11:59 pm. Who the fuck did you think you were kidding? Certainly not your friends, or your advisor. He could read you like a book. Hell, he’d even sent warnings.

‘Don’t forget about the deadline for senior registration!’

‘You don’t want to be on a waitlist. You especially don’t want to take one of the harder professors. These are freshman level classes, they’re designed to flunk undergrads. Don’t forget (Y/N), chew them up and spit them out tactics are employed.’

But you had. You’d set an alarm on your phone, then neglected to give it a title, so you’d only chuckled and smacked the chirping into silence that morning, snoozing the all important deadline away.

Fuck.

Most of the classes for biology are wait-listed. No, scratch that, all the classes for Intro to Genetic Biology are wait-listed. You opt into the waitlist for all of them, just in case, and a week later your phone alerts you that one has an open seat. Actually, it has several open seats, too many open seats to be natural. However, you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so for now, you’re enrolled in BIO 1208: Principles of Cell and Organismal Physiology - For Non-Science majors.

Perfect.

Yeah, no. You’d looked up the professor, since the whole open seat thing was still giving you the heebie-jeebies, and your heart dropped. You’ve heard of him, most of the student body has. His classes are notoriously small. Not because the university limited them, or planned for smaller class sizes. No, his classes are tiny because he is infamous for failing students.

Most, when they realize they’re scheduled for his bio classes, frantically drop, taking the withdrawal and praying for better luck next semester. Others, brave souls who think they can come out unscathed, attempt to grit their teeth and push through. But, by midterms, they’re war torn and haggard, shaking their heads and praying for a ‘C’, at best. Fewer still, pass.

This pedagogy isn’t a sign of good teaching; quite the opposite, in fact. You don’t want your student body failing. Yet, year after year, Professor Tomura Shigaraki keeps teaching the same Intro to Bio class. It boggles the mind, but you’ve never had to worry about it. Well, until now.

When you’d received the notification that you’re enrolled in the B section and spied the name Shigaraki under the professor listing, you’d scarfed down your suddenly flavorless lunch and dashed up the steps to the student advising hall, praying there was some way you could wiggle your way out of this growing disaster.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to take it earlier and to take it in the fall when there are more freshman level classes available. I swear I said that to you. And, AND, I even sent you emails, several times if my sent inbox is to be believed, to NOT forget when senior registration ends.”

Your advisor is peeved. You don’t blame him. He’s right, this is your fault, but there’s gotta be some kinda loophole. Something, fuck, anything, that can pull you from this mess.

“I know, I know! I’m so sorry. You’re right. But, I mean, can’t I just hold off for another week? See if the waitlist clears?”

The man that you’ve known for four years, that’s seen you progress from freshman to senior, steeples his long fingers and purses his lips, likely debating on a tactful scolding, or a firm rebuttal. He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but sink into the soft cushioning of the chair, your nose wrinkled and brow furrowed, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

“Do you know how many students we require to take BIO 1208?”

“No,” you gulp, nibbling on your lower lip nervously.

“Over 7,000. Do you want to hear the statistics that would need to shake out in your favor for you to miraculously avoid taking this specific class? Nothing is going to open for you, it is this class, or no class.”

You sigh, and your advisor nods, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Well then, I suggest you brush up on your study skills. Find a classmate that you can compare notes with, join a study group, go to the student union and ask for a tutor. I would hate to see you back here for the summer semester. You’re scheduled to walk the stage this spring and you’ve worked hard for this, so don’t fuck it up, okay?”

You’ve attended this university for four years, but the first day of term always gives you the jitters. It doesn’t matter that you know your way around, or that you know ten professors by name, and bump into several friends on the way to your next building, you’re always buried in your phone, checking and double checking the next class’ room number.

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

In your defense, it’s your first time stepping foot in the Graduate & Research building and the whole concrete block is a fucking maze. There must be a basement because the numbers don’t match up with the floors and they seem to jumble further every time you round a corner. Like what the hell? How can this next room be GR 3.03.05 when this is clearly only the second floor and GR 2.03.11 was right down that other hallway?

Exasperated, you lean against the nearest wall and tug your phone out again. Shit. Class started ten minutes ago.

Part of you wants to call it a day, end the search here and try again on Wednesday. Maybe take a few extra minutes to scout out the building next time and have some idea of where you’re going before the start of class.

Ugh, why is this so stressful?

It’s the first day of classes. Surely Professor Shigaraki won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late; besides, if you’re lost, others must be too.

You tuck your phone back into your pocket and resume the hunt. Two hallway turns later, you find your mark.

Your hand pauses beside the heavy wood, and you take a steadying breath. Again, why are you so nervous? Just go in and take a seat, it’s easy, stop freaking out over nothing.

The door groans open, hinges protesting the sharp push, and you stumble into a darkened room. The low glow of the projector doesn’t help your blurry vision. Ah, shit, it’s one of those older rooms, so it’s built like a bad movie theater. Oh well, better get to a seat before he spots you.

Swiftly, you make your way toward the raised steps of the aisle and the second row of chairs, plopping into the first one you reach that’s empty. You’re too busy fiddling with the zipper of your backpack to notice that the speaker has stopped his rasping preamble, but as you pull your laptop out the ominous weight of that heavy silence hits you and you toss a hooded stare toward the front of the lecture hall.

Immediately, your eyes land on the professor’s and you feel a low shiver shake up your spine.

He’s watching you.

The gleam of the overhead projector makes his red eyes flash, and he openly scowls at your gaping expression, his lips curling into a dark sneer.

“Well, thank you for joining us, Miss…?”

He’s waiting for your response and you squeak out your last name, mindlessly rubbing your moistening palms against your thin skirt.

“Ah, Ms. (L/N). Now that you’ve graced the class with your belated presence, may I continue?”

“Uh,” you gasp out, your mouth dry, tongue sticking to your teeth, “I’m sorry. I got–”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation, or in your case, an excuse. Or are you now attempting to disrupt this class purposefully?”

“Wha– I-I’m–” your words stumble to a halt, voice failing under the intense glare that he’s giving you. “No,” you finish lamely, ducking your head, nails digging into your sweaty palms.

“Thank you. Do me a favor, stay after class.” His voice is gravel, threatening and low. You don’t like the edge in his tone. It makes your skin prickle and your knees knock. He sounds like the kind of guy that you don’t want to run into in a dark alleyway, or a classroom, for that matter. Even so, it’s not your fault, and despite your feelings of unease, you can’t tamp down your need to protest his unreasonableness.

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

“If I need to repeat my insistence for silence, I’ll make things easier on both of us and fail you now.”

Stunned and fuming, you bite your tongue and lean back into your chair, crossing your arms and blinking back mounting tears of frustration. Great, just great. It’s the first fucking day of class and it looks like you’re already on his shit list. And for what? For being late on fucking syllabus day! What an ass.

You look over at him as you defiantly finish setting up your computer, hoping each pull of a zipper or screen reboot will grate under his stuck up skin. He’s not inordinately tall, or old. In fact, he looks like he might only be in early 30s. He has long white hair that’s pulled back into a low ponytail and, from what you can make out in the dim lighting, some kinda skin condition on his forehead. That, or he’s prematurely wrinkled, and let’s be honest, if he’s gone through life with that big of a stick up his ass, he deserves each and every pull on that mottled skin of his.

You linger in your seat when class is over, lips pulled into a thin line and legs crossed. Finally, when the last student has left the room, professor Shigaraki flips a switch beside his elevated podium, filling the lecture hall with a sharp, fluorescent light. He pauses by his raised computer system and clicks off the overhead projector, blanketing the massive room in an uncomfortable silence.

“Since you missed the part of class where I go over the syllabus, I’ll give you a brief rundown. Under no circumstances will I tolerate tardiness. If you do it once more I’ll mark you absent and three absences knock you down a full letter grade.”

Glumly, you cross your arms and peer up at him, finally able to get a good look at his face. Your first observation was correct. His skin is sharper around his forehead, but his wavy white hair does a pretty decent job of covering up the imperfections. He has two scars: one nicks across his right eye and the other splits down his rough lips, parting the skin and granting him an even more foreboding appearance than his already gruff demeanor does. He’s dressed in a dark pair of jeans and he’s wearing a low slung v neck shirt. It’s a brilliant red and it brings out that otherworldly glint of his red eyes. Shit, you think bitterly, while he’s not conventionally handsome, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes either.

You shake your head against these unproductive musings and curtly snap out a clipped, ok.

“What was that?” Shigaraki scoffs, tilting his head at your sullen figure. “Speak up.”

“I said,” you bristle, eyes narrowing and chin lifting, “Okay, I apologize for interrupting your lecture, it won’t happen again. But, in my defense, if I’m allowed to do that in this class, I’ve never been in this building before, and it’s not like–”

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then you’ve had four years to figure out the layout of this university. The excuse of ‘being lost,’ isn’t an option for you. You know the buildings and you’re fully capable of turning up early to sort out the rooms.”

You let out a long sigh and look away, mumbling vague protests. This guy is ridiculous. You’re not a science major and it’s not your job to know the ins and outs of each building. How fucking stupid. Who does he think he–

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

You bite your lip and look back at him but he’s moved in that distracted moment, silently stepping down from his raised platform and is now leaning over the first row of chairs, looming over you. You can’t help your sudden flinch as you sink further into your chair, away from him.

“If you’re gonna complain, Ms. (L/N), I’d much rather hear it. Don’t you think It’s rude for you to mutter under your breath about me? You don’t see me doing that to you.”

“Fine,” you blurt out, turning away from his insistent, and all too close, gaze. “I was saying that I’m not a science major. I get that I’m a senior, but you can’t seriously expect me to know every nook and cranny of this campus.”

“No, but I can ask for you to be a little more thoughtful. I put time and effort into my lessons and I won’t have you undermining them by bouncing in here with those legs and that flouncy little skirt.”

You’re about to counter his little haughty speech on politeness when you finally process that final comment he’d breathed out. Flabbergasted, you raise your head back to his, but he’s already moving away, snatching up his shoulder bag and waving you a curt goodbye as he presses open the squeaky door. “Next class is at 10 am sharp, so be on time Ms. (L/N).”

You’re still slumped in your seat when the door glides shut again, your eyes wide and jaw no doubt comically unhinged.

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

Obviously, for the next class, you’re early. You’re so early that you’re the first one in the lecture hall. You select a seat toward the back and fiddle with your computer, checking your messages, adjusting your brightness, replying to old emails, anything to keep your head down and attention occupied.

The door opens and, despite your best efforts, your head flies up, expectant and tense, ready to meet those red eyes of his head on, to show him you’re here and he better… oh. It’s not him. It’s two chattering freshmen. One of them gives you a quick smile, but they both quickly take their seats, a few rows over, and continue their soft conversation, leaving you to fall back onto your earlier distraction tactics. You twiddle with your phone and shoot off a few texts, change your wallpaper, accidentally close an app you meant to leave open, and then the lecture hall door reopens.

He steps in slowly, completely ignoring you and the other scattered students, opting to sort out a few papers and set up his login on the school computer. The minutes tick by and you can’t seem to jerk your eyes away from him, suddenly fascinated by his languid movements. He looks more relaxed than he did on Monday, looser and fluid, completely in his element. True to his word, at ten am on the dot he begins class.

Professor Shigaraki has an interesting voice. It’s low, calculated, bordering on a rasp. It’s one of those tones that makes you want to lean forward and listen up, even though he’s only discussing cellular biology. Which isn’t exactly the sexiest topic for that shockingly dulcet timbre of his.

Wait. Sexy?

Your pen falters against your notebook, and your eyes drift up to his frame. He’s switched the lights off again and the shine of the overhead projector is the only illumination in the hall. His white hair gleams in the dim lighting and his long hands animatedly illustrate his points, elegant fingers opening and closing, gesticulating about the intricate nature of the human genome. You’re so focused on watching his movements that your elbow partner has to push the slip of paper onto your collapsible desktop. You blink at the sheet, your pen nearly clattering from your hand, and you twist to peer at the unfamiliar student beside you.

“It’s the attendance sheet and, um, I think you’re the last one,” they whisper, careful to lean away after they finish their explanation, not wanting to draw professor Shigaraki’s ire. You maneuver the paper under your pen and scribble down your name, biting your lip and silently berating yourself for your poor selection in seating. Great, now you’ll have to take the paper down to him after class. What if he talks with you again? Shit.

At 11:25, class ends. You collect your things and plod down the steps, the attendance sheet clutched between your fingers. He’s just snapping the projector light off when you reach his podium.

“I, uhh, have the attendance. You want me to just leave it here, or…”

“I’ll take it,” his hand is extended toward you and those red eyes are fixed on you now. It’s not the same disgruntled stare he’d given you on Monday. No, this look is a little more curious. Again, you’re taken aback by your reaction to him. He’s not even saying anything, just patiently waiting for you to deposit the sheet into his open palm, but there’s something about him that’s making your heart race.

Maybe it’s those eyes of his.

They are an unusual color and they have a strange intensity to them. Right as they narrow, the vermillion shining under the sharp lights; you press the paper to him and he pulls it from you, studying the names that are listed.

You want to say something. Maybe toss him a quick, friendly, goodbye. Or apologize for the other day? Ugh. What can you even say? ‘Gosh, so glad I was on time today! All that fascinating information about the genetic code! So glad to be here!’ No, that sounds stupid and a little patronizing. Besides, why do you want to talk with him at all? He’s an ass, remember?

“Did you need something?”

His question snaps you out of your stupor and you numbly shake your head at him, already lowering your gaze, but his exhaled chuckle makes you pause, your fingers curling around your backpack straps.

“I know I upset you the other day, but I appreciate you taking the effort to correct your mistake.”

“Oh,” you breathe, your eyes finding their way back to his. “Yeah, well, like you said, I’m a senior. Gotta take responsibility for myself someday.”

“Ah,” he smirks, that long scar on his lip quirking upward. “Seems like you’ve got some determination after all. You might be more interesting than I gave you credit for.”

“God,” you scoff, popping out a hip and crossing your arms at the bemused leer on his face. “Just come right out and say you think I’m a bad student, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he amends, tucking the attendance sheet into his shoulder bag and snapping the clasps closed. “There’s plenty of time for you to end up right back at square one with me.”

He’s already halfway out the door by the time you right yourself from the shock of his last comment and you follow him, a string of low curses falling from your lips.

The spring semester always flies by, and before you realize it, a full month has bled away. You’ve kept that same seat in Shigaraki’s class and at the end of each session you head down to his little platform, attendance sheet outstretched. Each day of class has a different ebb and flow. Sometimes he chats with you and it’s gotten easier to talk with him, both of your eyes holding and lingering, lips raised into calculating smiles. Sometimes it almost feels like he’s flirting with you. Other days he only spares you a curt nod, his white hair curtaining his expression from your curious gaze. You’re not bothered by these silences, not when you’ve got your secret weapon.

The days that you like best, the ones that you plan, sorting through your closet until you’ve found the perfect choice, are the days when you wear one of your skirts. You’d even gone on some skirt shopping sprees as of late. On those days he doesn’t just make some sort of fleeting eye contact with you, no, on those days he stares.

At first, you’d tested out your theory, staggering your outfits, careful to not screw up your suspicions with a hasty miscalculation, but as they say, the third time’s the charm. How did he expect you not to notice? He never bothers to hide those sharp ogles and recently you’ve made a point of dramatically gathering your things when you wear these cute little ensembles, bopping down the steps so his eyes have to work to follow the line of your hips and the long paths of your bare legs. One rainy afternoon you’d worn over the knee stockings, that came to an abrupt halt over the plush skin of your upper thigh, under your mini skirt and he’d practically leapt over the podium to grab the sheet from you, his eyes hooded and dark, almost wild.

“Test, on Friday,” he warns, eyes finally rising to meet your bemused expression. “Don’t stay out too late tonight.”

“What makes you say that?” you ask, brushing at a rogue fold in your skirt, luring him back to your legs.

He scoffs at you, that jagged scar arching into a smirk. “Humph. You’re dressed up. Most of the students just wear the sweats, or pjs, and call it a day.”

“I like to put a little effort in all that I do,” you retort, grinning up at his vermillion stare.

“Yes, so I’ve noticed. You certainly look the part…and you’re keeping up with the workload of this course.”

“Ahhh,” you crow, clapping your hands excitedly. “Are you saying I might get an ‘A’ in this class? Be the first time someone’s done that in a while, from what I’ve heard around campus.”

Shigaraki sneers and tuts out an inaudible reply, leaning a little closer to you, making you inadvertently fall back a step. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Awe,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m doing ok on all the quizzes and the classwork.”

“So far,” he taunts, his pearlescent hair falling over his broad shoulder.

“Tch. Don’t be like that. I’ve been studying.”

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

“Oh?” you smile, raising your chin. “What else should I be doing, professor?”

“We’ll know that after Friday, won’t we?”

God.

You’d felt so confident when you’d turned in your test and that stupid, horrible, sexy little quirk of his lip scar that he sends you, when you’d handed him your papers, carries you on some strange, half aroused cloud all weekend. Maybe, just maybe, this class won’t be so bad after all.

The tests are handed back the following Friday, passed from row to row so everyone can fish out their papers and marked Scantrons. Yours, since you still occupy that final seat on the back row, is the last. Biting back a grin, you flip it over, so ready to see that A, that grade that you worked so fucking hard for, that… wait.

The gross flash of red across the top of your paper leaves you reeling, your breath catching against the back of your throat. It’s not a terrible grade, well, it wouldn’t be, but there are only three tests in this class, so it’s going to plummet you down to a B. One more fuck up will leave you with a C, or worse, an automatic failing grade.

No. No, no, no, no.

You can’t afford a bad grade, you honestly can’t even let yourself slip to a B. Your fucking cap and gown have just come in and with them that cord that you can wear around your neck at graduation. The one that marks you as honors cum laude. Fuck. You’re already pulling one B, in one of your other classes, because you’ve been focusing so much time and effort on this one. Another B will strip that cord from you, leaving you barren, with a less than ideal GPA.

God fucking damn it.

You glare up at Shigaraki, who’s busy taking the rest of the class through a review of genetic mutations, but you can’t hear him anymore, too incensed, too overwhelmed to even care about what he’s saying. The test crumples under your fingertips, the paper shaking in your hands, and you seethe, your teeth biting your lower lip to pieces.

It’s not fair. You’d paid attention. You’ve taken all the notes. Read all the chapters. Drilled and studied till your eyes had drooped, heavy with exhaustion. You’ve done it all right. Plus, he’d been so fucking flirty, so open with you. You’ve never chatted with a professor this way, never gone out of your way to wear clothes they like, that make them watch you, their eyes hungry pinpricks as you walk to them, mindful of the luscious sway of your hips.

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

Before your elbow classmate can leave, you ask for them to hand in the attendance sheet. You barely hear their response, too busy slamming your laptop into your backpack. As you storm past the podium, you can feel his eyes on you. The distant sensation of his gaze makes your flesh prickle, but you ignore your involuntary reaction and shove your way out the door.

“(Y/N), you can’t switch classes this late. It’s almost midterms. Besides, I don’t think anything has opened up and if you’re going to drop it, you’ve gotta get the signature of the professor,” your advisor tells you, blinking at your stony expression over his thick glasses. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to drop it? Your grades are alright and it’s just one test. You can always try–”

“Gimme the paperwork.”

Shigaraki’s office is on the top floor of the research building, tucked away down another winding and weaving hallway that once again requires your careful inspection to navigate. When you finally hit the right set of doors, you slowly make your way forward, counting the numbers up as you pass. His door is wide open, a yawning cavern that’s filled with the distant light of a lamp. You brush a hand down your skirt, smoothing away any wrinkles and steadying your nerves.

You’d tossed on the skirt this morning, before you’d gotten the grade, and you hadn’t thought to go home and change, too consumed by that simmering rage bubbling within you. And now, like this fucking class, this skirt felt like a mistake, something stupid and vapid that you wished you had time to change out of. He’d told you he liked your attire, liked that you put effort into your outfits. At the time, you’d been so thrilled and excited that he’d complimented you, but now you wish you were confronting him in baggy jeans or lazy sweats, anything that would turn that avid gaze of his away from you.

Lost in thought, you waver beside his open door, nibbling on your lips and tugging at your clothes. It’s now or never. No point in putting it off. What’s the worst that can happen? What can he do now? Or, a darker side of you whispers, what do you want him to do to you? What? That’s a stupid thought, you scold yourself, lifting a hand to the wall and rapping against the beige paint, announcing your presence.

When the sound fades away, swallowed up by the empty and darkened hallway, you poke your head around the corner, searching for him. His head is tilted quizzically, and he blinks twice when he spots you, that all too familiar smirk lifting his lips.

“Ah, Ms. (L/N), what can I do for you?”

His voice is softer than usual and your name sounds like honey, his tone resting on the syllables and consonants for a beat, almost as if he’s savoring their lift, their sound. You can’t help but swallow heavily at his appraisal. Suddenly this may be a terrible idea.

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N).

“I-I need you to sign this withdrawal paperwork,” you finally reply, digging in your bag and tugging out the thin leaflet, holding it out to him. He’s silent after your demand, meditatively threading his fingers and peering up at you, his red eyes bright.

“Step inside and shut the door behind you,” he instructs, his gaze never falling from yours. Despite the simplicity of his request, you can’t help but bristle at his imperious tone. Why does he always have to sound like that? Like he’s seconds away from taking control of the situation, or of you? He’s always one stupid step ahead, and no doubt he’s going to try and talk you down. Or, he’ll sign it and say that he always knew you were a screw up, someone who only did things halfway, who could never match up to his lofty expectations. Humph, the sooner you’re outta here and out of his class, the better. So, you obey, closing the door and petulantly flopping into the unsteady chair that sits in front of his low desk.

He maintains that uneasy quiet, his red eyes whisking over your disgruntled face, waiting, watching. Unable to take this strange standoff, you push the university paperwork toward him, sliding it as close as you dare to his bent elbows. “I would like to withdraw from your class,” you repeat, lips setting into a thin line.

“Why?” he asks, cocking his head so his loose white hair falls a little further down his rough brow.

“Something came up.”

“Hmm, I can try to work with a new schedule, if it’s your job, or home life,” he counters, eyes narrowing as he sharpens his observations of your brittle expression.

“It’s not that,” you smart, crossing your arms. Great, he’s going to make this difficult.

“Then I suggest you tell me what’s on your mind,” Shigaraki replies, mirroring your movements and leaning back in his chair.

“I don’t think this class is working out for me.”

He exhales a soft laugh at your lie, and you watch that tiny mole at the edge of his chin lift in his quiet mirth. “This is a freshman level course and you’re a senior. You’re in my class because it’s likely the last pre-rec that you need to take before you graduate.”

“Um, yeah. But–”

“And now, you’re wanting to drop it because of one poor grade.”

You grind your teeth and fix him with a stark glower. “I–”

“There will be two other tests. If you read your syllabus, you’d know this.”

“I read the syllabus. Your tests are worth a stupid amount of points and it only takes one of them to tank my grade.”

“Frankly, you did better than most of the class. You only need to work on practical application. I said that the written portion would be a major component of the exam. I also provided you with a review and a rubric. So I’m not sure–”

“Your grade drops me to a ‘B’, and that ‘B’ pulls me from the honors list. And… well… I thought that…”

“Oh? What did you think?” he presses, his voice suddenly dropping to that lower octave it had drifted into when he said your last name.

“I thought I’d get a better grade,” you spit out, turning your head and biting at your lip again.

“Why?” he counters simply. His obtuseness is making your blood boil.

“What do you mean, why?” It takes all of your will to not slip a ‘jackass’ into that question.

“It’s not a hard thing to answer. I graded you fairly and according to my rubric. Why exactly do you feel you merit a different grade than the one you earned?”

You fall into a frustrated silence. You can hear your heart pounding against your ribs and you want to scream at him, to leap over his desk and shake him until his teeth fucking rattle. Your shoulders are rising and lowering disjointedly and his vermillion eyes are honed in on your face, shifting over your pinched expression with a distant interest. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes and you hastily rub a fist over them, brushing away any rogue drops of moisture.

“How can you ask me that? You think I didn’t notice you staring at my legs? Or that you always had something to say to me when I was wearing a skirt? What was I supposed to think, huh? I fucking thought shit like that was gonna help, ok? God, I’m so stupid. I can’t… fuck.”

Shigaraki arches forward when you finish, a deep sigh leaching through his parted lips. His teeth snap together when you look up at him, your eyes gaining back some of that earlier defiance, and he gives you a quick grin, clearly pleased by your shift in attitude and pushes your paper aside, fixing you with a dark look. “Here’s a thought, since you feel you’re so different, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a chance to make up the score.”

“I don’t care about the score anymore. I wanna drop your class,” you snap, but it’s a halfhearted barb. Something has changed in his demeanor. He’s dropped the concerned professor act and is leaning so close you can hear his steady intakes of air. He’s only a few inches away; if you want, you could touch him.

“I doubt you want to attend a class in the summer. Besides, they won’t let you walk if you haven’t finished your freshman level courses. And you can’t tell me you don’t want to graduate, to earn that cord that lets you into the honor cum laude. So stop pouting and hear me out. I think you’ll like what I have in mind.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever like anything about you,” your voice is sharper than you mean it to be, but the challenge makes Shigaraki smile. As it crosses his cracked lips, it pulls that scar up and it makes those eyes of his glow. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream and you’re not sure how to respond, so you cross your legs and wait for him to make the next move.

“You sure about that? Well, I’ll have to change your tune then, won’t I? But that can wait, lemme tell you what my requirements are. I’ve got a copy of the textbook in here. I’ll have you review some of the major concepts, you’ll read the passages aloud so I’m sure you’re on the right track, you’ll hand the book back to me, and then I’ll verbally quiz you over the material. If you answer them correctly, I’ll bump you to an ‘A’ on your test.”

You have to actively work to keep your mouth closed. “So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Your eyes boggle and you have to clench your thighs tighter, your stomach churning, you feel light-headed and you can feel your core fluttering with your sudden arousal. “Wh-what did you just say?”

“Stop gaping at me like that, you’ll make me blush. Now come on.”

Your jaw snaps closed and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind from your whirling emotions. He takes this reaction as a surrender and stands, stepping toward a marred table that rests a little ways away from his desk. He licks his thumb pad and flips through a few pages before finally settling on an appealing section. Once he places it on the table, he twists back to you and crooks a finger your way. “Come here,” he orders, his voice deep and languid. Obediently, you rise on unsteady feet, hands tugging at the length of your skirt, careful to keep it pressed down as you walk toward him.

He makes space for you to stand in front of the book and shifts back, one hand resting on the table, propping him close to your bent figure. You look up at him, but he only nods his head toward the table, a wicked smile curling the corners of his lips. Blink a few times but finally, the words clear and you can see the block of text that’s in front of you. It’s passages on DNA encodes and RNA proteins, hefty stuff, things that you had to make flash cards for. This isn’t going to be easy. If anything, he’s picked some of the harder concepts, the ones that take steady knowledge in the foundations. Flustered, you look back to him, but he’s moved. He’s leaning against the wide window beside the table, a dark mark against the glass.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a laugh bubbling in his tone.

“There’s no way…” you stammer, shaking your head at him.

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

“I should ask what kinda curve, but knowing you, it’s likely gonna be something terrible.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he rumbles, stepping away from the window and leaning close to your stiff form. “It just takes an open mind and some enthusiasm on your part.”

“Enthusiasm?” you question, trying your best to withstand his closeness. You can feel the heat radiating off of his broad shoulder and if you tilt a little nearer, you could graze against him, or feel his breath on your skin.

“You’re right,” he amends, his forearm contacting your side. You startle at the touch, a gasp falling from your lips, but you don’t pull away and you can’t stop staring up at him, your eyes wide. “Obedience is a better word. From here on out, whatever I tell you to do, I expect you to obey it, although it’s not exactly, ah, school approved.”

“You want me to suck you off or something?” you sneer, hoping to stumble him off his guard, even if it’s only for an instant. Too bad he’s always one step ahead.

“Don’t be vulgar. Think outside of the box, (Y/N). Do you think I’m going to go for something so short sighted when I could have you bending to my will? Obeying every little demand that I make? I’d much rather see if that skin of yours tastes as good as it looks, then simply have you on your knees. No, I want you to fucking scream for me while I stuff you full of my cock. But first, you need to put in some work. You should know that by now.”

Oxygen is suddenly very hard to come by and you can feel your mind hazing over as you stammer up at him, your mind flitting from word to word disjointedly. Shigaraki grants you a wolfish grin, and he dips his lips beside your ear, whispering over those tiny hairs that rest against your tender skin. “I’ll make this part easy. Nod and I’ll give you the first set of instructions.”

What did he say? Nod? What happens when you nod? Fuck, why are you letting him do this? Is your grade really worth it? Are you that desperate that… that…

Shigaraki is whispering other promises over you as you war with yourself, speaking his words gently, slowly, his breath hot as it fans over your neck. It’s like you’ve fallen under some kinda spell and before you realize it, your traitorous head is bobbing up and down, letting him know you want him to keep going.

“Perfect,” he sighs, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear, jerking a shiver from you. “Now, lean forward and put your hands against the table.”

You do as he says, but he’s not satisfied with your positioning, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and yanking you forward, jutting your ass out and pressing your chest down, maneuvering you until your nose is right above the pages of the textbook. “There we go,” he rasps, pulling away so he can admire your splayed form. “Hmm, your legs are too close together. Spread them.” Knees trembling, you obey, gasping when he runs a palm against the curve of your thighs.

“You’ve got such nice legs (Y/N), so let’s put them on display, shall we?” His fingers search against the top of your skirt and they still when he reaches his prize: the zipper. When he pulls it down, you let out a sharp squeak of protestation but he silences you with a swift pinch to your side.

“Now, now, don’t be like that. You nodded, remember? Besides, you could have left when I told you I’d give you a curve but you couldn’t help yourself could you? You want me to keep going and to do that, I need you to take this skirt off. No, don’t move. I’ll get rid of it for you. Why don’t you focus on the task at hand, hmm? Aren’t you supposed to be reading for me?”

You arch away from his fingers and he chuckles at your impudence, one large hand hooking under your chin and pulling you toward his face. His red eyes blaze as they find yours, the dark pupils threatening to swallow up that deep vermillion. “Let’s start with the second paragraph. If you do well, I might grant you a reprieve.”

Jerking your face from his grip, you twist back to the text, trying, and failing, to ignore his inquisitive fingers, unable to resist sighing as he works one up your inner thigh. He pauses when no words fall from your lips and you grumble out a few low curses before acquiescing to his silent demand.

“The flow of genetic information in cells from DNA to mRNA to protein is described by the Central Dogma, which states that genes specify the sequence of mRNAs, which specify the sequence of proteins. The decoding of one molecule… the… the… molecule… by spec-specific…”

He’s slipped your skirt down over the swell of your ass, but he’s taking his time, flexing out the front of the material and dipping his fingers over the bump of your lower stomach, kneading into the delicate flesh that’s stretched out for him. You can’t help the twitch of your spine and you involuntarily wiggle, palms slipping forward, dragging you further along the tabletop. Shigaraki chuckles above you, running his rough lips over the back of your neck.

“You’re so sensitive. I’ve barely touched you.”

He circles his hands back to your skirt and edges it along, lowering it sharply on one side and then giving the same treatment to the other. You’re doing your best to keep up with your stammering readings, but it’s difficult when he keeps sighing and running his long nails across your newly bared skin. Finally, he works the skirt down and it thumps against your bare ankles; the fabric tickling your skin.

Meanwhile, his other fingers skitter against the elastic band of your rapidly dampening panties. Once he hooks the lace under his hand, he yanks them along your legs, trailing them sinfully slowly, ensuring that they glide down the billow of your thighs. His teeth nip at your ear when you stumble to a halt in your recitation and your hands tense over the grains of wood beneath them, your nails pinching into your palms. “If you stop, I stop,” he warns, his head bumping against yours, his sharp nose pressing against your pulse.

“You’re not exactly making this easy,” you grumble, doing your best to ignore his renewed pets and strokes.

“Stop complaining,” he smirks, leaning away from your head to peer at your newly exposed flesh. “You better pay attention to what you’re reading or you’re not going to pass the questions I’ll be asking you.”

“Yeah, yeah, ow!” you squawk, whipping your head around to glare up at him. He fucking pinched you again! This time, he’d slipped his hand between your spread legs and tweaked your inner thigh, painfully.

“Read,” he repeats, running those guilty fingers upward, lingering beside the heat of your cunt, careful to not get too close. When you start on the next sentence, one of his hands tugs up the fabric of your shirt, snaking upward until he’s thumbing against the wire of your bra. Once again, you falter to a halt and exhale a wavering breath.

Goddamn it. This review is no review. You’ll be lucky if you can even recall what a cell is if he keeps this up. You hear his ominous intake of air and quickly resume your recitation, mumbling something about RNA and mRNA differences.

Wait. Didn’t you just…

“Looks like you’re having trouble listening to me. I told you to read aloud, not to repeat the same passages over and over.”

“Hey, at least I’ll have a firm grasp on those. You should ask me something about that s-section… ah–”

The hand that was resting under the cup of your bra has made its way underneath the lightly padded material, and his thumb and index fingers have trapped your peaked nipple between them. As soon as your snarky comment left your mouth, he’d twisted the bud, squeezing it until it throbbed.

“Pay attention,” he commands, shoving your bra upward, freeing the globes of your breasts and cupping both of his broad hands under them. Your abused nipple stings and the mixture of sharp pain and jarring arousal goes right through you, stoking that coil that pulsed within your core, and sending a tacky flush of your essence down your spread thighs.

The next few words are a struggle. The text keeps blurring and your breaths are coming in fast and heavy. Shigaraki is still feeling you up, keeping his lips close to your ears, rasping sharp commands to you and dealing out lightning fast rounds of pinches and squeezes each time you falter.

“I–I can’t… I don’t even know what I’m reading anymore,” you bemoan, your hips pressing against the edge of the table, legs trembling as you attempt to keep them apart. He’s deliberately ignoring your throbbing clit and a desperate edge is creeping into your voice.

“Are you always this whiny? Fine. I’ll give you a moment to read without any distractions.”

Thank God.

True to his word, he slips away from your back and you’re left shivering against his sudden absence. Despite your quaking, you’re determined to make the most of this chance and you quickly read out the paragraphs that are on the second page. As you ramble down to the last bit of text, you realize you can’t hear him anymore and when you finish the last sentence; you start to really wonder where he’s drifted off to. A tense silence follows your completion of the material and you arch up on the tips of your toes, jutting your ass out and stretching the stiffened muscles of your lower back.

“Didn’t say you could stop reading, and judging from all of your complaints, I don’t think you got some of those earlier concepts, so I’d suggest doing a quick review,” he taunts, the sudden rasp of his voice startling a low gasp from your lips.

He’s close; somewhere behind you and to the left from the sound of it. You try to twist around, your chest lifting from the table, and when he notices, his hands return, creating a rough pressure against your neck as he forces your body back down. His weight plasters you to the surface, scraping your partially exposed stomach and tender breasts over the nicked wood. Shigaraki is merciless in his swift correction, his breath puffing out angrily behind you. “Didn’t say you could move, either.”

Stunned, you freeze. Your arms are arched awkwardly, but he keeps his weight against you, flattening your breasts and forcing your back to arch into an awkward bend. Fuck, you think, how are you supposed to stay like this? Your legs are already aching and if he shifts away again, he’s likely going to expect you to maintain this absurd pose.

“Yes,” he groans, his voice catching against the word, “Good girl. Now, stay just like that.”

Damn it.

“Go on, read the first part again,” he instructs.

“The entire genetic content of a cell is known as its genome and the study of genomes is gen-genomics. In eukaryotic cells, but… but not in p-prokaryotes, DNA forms a complex with histone proteins… with histone proteins… sub-substance… of…”

His teeth have latched onto your neck, and he’s sucking bruises into your tender skin. He’s still pinning you to the table, but his hands are widening their explorations. He’s started dragging a fingernail across the puffy folds of your cunt, teasing against the dripping and swollen flesh, chuckling when you buck against his hold.

“You always seem to lose it when you get to cellular modulations.”

“I–I–It’s not… I can’t help that you keep…” you whimper, your fingers curling under your palms, head shaking back and forth. You can’t think. He’s not being fucking fair, and you can’t even string your goddamn words together. Shit. “Y-you’re not being fair,” you accuse, falling on the only thing that keeps running through your mind, your splayed feet shifting uncomfortably under you.

“Not fair? Not once did I say fairness would come into this arrangement,” he lifts himself off of your back and leans beside you, one arm planted beside your crooked elbow. His fingers trace over the curve of your ass, cupping at the thickest part of you and squeezing.

“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a little satisfaction out of this arrangement. I bet you look good when you cum. And you’ve been working so hard to get my attention these last few months. So careful to do what I tell you. Looking at me with those big eyes of yours, all wide eyed every time I catch you looking at me. And don’t even get me started on your lips. You’re lucky I didn’t fucking bend you over after class, especially when you started wearing all of those cute little skirts for me. Ahhh, don’t moan like that, I won’t be able to help myself if you do. Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?”

Without warning, he slips his longest digit into your cunt, groaning loudly when he’s sucked into your welcoming heat. Your pussy, hungry for any kind of scrap, ripples around his intrusion, clamping and pulling, desperate for more.

“Fuck,” he groans, his weight falling against your shoulder. “You’re soaking.” His elegant digit pushes deeper and you roll your hips under him, urging him closer, sighing when he sinks to the last knuckle. As he pulls his finger back, he adds another, swiftly v-ing the two before curving them together as they slip back out, dragging a steady line of pleasure from your quivering cunt. Shigaraki whispers another round of awed praise against your ear, his voice dark and breathless.

A third digit is added on another trip out, and it creates a ragged sensation within you. It’s close to what you like, but he’s stretching you too far and it’s starting to hurt. He either needs to speed up, or give you a little more pressure. If you can hump your clit against the edge of the table, maybe it’ll give you the friction that you need. When you mindlessly buck your hips, your thighs threatening to lose that spread, he stops, holding his fingers inside you, laughing as you agitatedly try to shift him back into his earlier rhythm.

“So eager. I’d say you’re ready for my questions.”

“W-what?” you gasp, wholly focused on making him restart the push and pull of his fingers inside you.

“I’ll start you off with something easy. What’s the cell membrane?”

“W-what? The cell… ah–”

“Answer me. Now,” he grunts, leaning forward, re-steadying you as his fingers pull outward, dragging against your sensitive folds and schlicking through your arousal lewdly, loudly. You moan and your eyes roll back, completely ignoring his demand as you fall into the haze of pleasure that comes after his movements.

His free hand travels up your neck and he tangles his fingers into the tendrils of your hair, yanking and jerking at the strands, demanding your attention.

“I said, answer me.”

“Shigaraki–I–fuck. I can’t even… ugh… think right now!”

“Do you want the grade, or not?” he questions, his voice tense. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you what you want.”

“I–I don’t think I can,” you whine, pressing your hips back as he thrusts his fingers forward again, curving them upward, searching for the spongy pad of nerves that rest against the front of your pelvis.

“Oh? What happened to wanting that A? What about your graduation? You gonna let me fuck up your entire college career? I can do it, you know. I’ve done it to so many simpering freshmen. I fail kids left and right and you’re no different, (Y/N).

The university lets me ahh–there it is! God, you’re so fucking wet.

Where was I? The university can’t say no to me; they let me do what I want. I bring in too much money, too many tempting grants, and that’s all they really care about. So what’s it gonna be? Let me see that you can answer this basic crap and I’ll pass you. Or would you like for me to tie you down and force it outta you another way?”

He’s picked up the pace of his fingers as he rambles over you and a swift press against that newly discovered spot inside you has you falling to pieces in his hands, popping up onto your tiptoes and rutting yourself against the surface of the table. “O-ok, God, ok! Just–fucking repeat the goddamn question,” you pant, head slumping forward, forcing his fingers to tighten against your hair to hold you upright.

“What is the cell membrane?”

You wince your eyes closed, trying to rack your brain to focus on something other than the heavy pressure of the three fingers that are teasing their way across your dribbling pussy. He’s moving his presses with a lackadaisical, inconsistent rhythm now and it’s hard to fucking think. You can’t tell if his next thrust will be hard, or soft, or so rough that it’s bordering on that bittersweet line of pain.

You shake your head, doing your best to ignore the mounting pressure that he’s building inside you and the ache of your neck and legs. Finally, after another sharp tap against that secret bunch of nerves at the front of your cunt, you latch onto a vague remembrance.

“It… it’s a double layer of–of phospholipids that make a boundary between the cell and t-the surrounding… ugh… it controls the passage of materials.”

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

He’s unrelenting in his domineering treatment, twisting and frigging his fingers each time your breath hitches, and your arousal is leaking down your legs, making your skin stick and pull. It’s too much, you can’t! How can he even ask this? Words are falling from your lips incoherently, and all too soon you’re gasping out his name rather than reciting the answer.

“Cellular–oh, fuck, Shi–Shigaraki–Please, keep–don’t stop! S-Shigaraki, God that… feels… ah–keep going!”

He ignores your request and pulls his fingers away, robbing you of that sweet pressure that he’s so carefully mounted within you.

“I’ll count that one as incorrect. Your ‘A’ is swiftly becoming an ‘A’ minus, (Y/N)” he snarls, his teeth gritted, hands falling to the swell of your hips, wet fingers digging into your soft skin.

“What? No! You didn’t give me enough… e-enough time! How can–can you expect me to answer that qui-quickly!”

“Let’s try another.”

It hurts. That ache that he’s drawn out of you is starting to sting and throb and he’s being such a dick about it! You twist and grind under him, and he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“I don’t–” you protest weakly, your legs trembling and chest heaving under his weight.

“Do you want this? Wouldn’t you like to pass this class? To graduate with honors?” he growls, leaning closer, his hands braced against you, his fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the supple crest of your hips.

“You’re such an ass! Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then answer another question. What’s diffusion?”

“D-diffu-diffusion is the process by which molecules move from an a-area of… of… fuck- of high concentration, to low concentration. Shigaraki!”

“I should count that as another miss, but you got the major concept correct.” He removes his fingers from your waist and yanks your ass toward him, keeping your overeager hips away from the fleeting relief of the sturdy table. “Pop your legs together,” he commands, one hand wrapping around your arched throat, squeezing until you obey. His other hand drops to that thatch of curls that rest between your quivering thighs and he gathers up your gossamer strands, rubbing against your clit for one hazy instant, sending a flash of spots across your vision.

“Mmm, now that’s a pretty sight. Good girl, don’t move,” he reminds you and you want to scream at him. Right before you can spit some frustrated vitriol out, he’s releasing your neck, his hands dropping from your skin and letting you fall back to the uneven surface below. Just before your chin contacts the wood, his hand is back in your hair, tugging you upward, holding you a few inches above the table. The sharp pain makes your scalp tingle and you unconsciously rut against the tempting heat that’s now plastered to your ass. He’s hard. You can feel the stiff bulge of his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, pressing into the cleft of your posterior.

“T-that’ can’t be comfortable,” you pant, twisting your head so you can look up at him from the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh? You worried about my cock?” he asks, his red eyes flashing down at you challengingly. You don’t bother giving him a verbal response, opting instead to grind your ass up, catching against the jut of his length, earning yourself a low groan. His lips curl when you repeat the motion and you realize you love watching that smug face of his drift into a look of tense pleasure. It makes his scar on his lip flush and those red eyes of his fall to a lazy half mast. He spies your arched brow and pleased grin and pushes himself off of you, leaving you alone and open on the table.

“Keep pushing your luck. I’m more than happy to drop you back to a B.”

“What?” you scoff, teeth clinking together as you clench your jaw. “I didn’t move!”

“No, but you’re trying to take control of this and we can’t have that can we?” Shigaraki sneers. “Now, how shall I punish you?”

“P-punish me?” you stammer, a chill racing down your spine.

“Ah, I know. This’ll really piss you off,” he twists from your strained gaze and walks back toward his desk. What? What the fuck does he mean? You can’t see him from this angle, not with the way your legs are stretched and back is lowered, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, your chin lifting upwards as you do your best to keep him in focus.

Ugh. It’s no use. He’s slipped past your field of vision.

Hearing is likely your best bet, so you shift your forehead back to the table and listen, straining your ears to pick up any morsel. Something opens and closes and you catch the sound of the wheels of his chair as they shift, squeaking across the floor, and the groaning of the springs when his weight is applied to the cheap leather.

Okay, so he’s in his chair. Is he just gonna look at you? That’s not… wait…

There’s a faint clicking sound.

It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to your ears, but once the teeth slide over the last pull, you realize. It’s a zipper.

Oh fuck. Is he going to jerk himself off? With a gasp, your head whips back around. He’s still positioned himself away from you, and you can only just make out the sounds that are accompanying the undoubted rise and fall of his fist. All you can see is a tiny sliver of his body, but you catch sight of the coiling muscles on his neck and you notice that his head is dipped forward, pearl white hair settling across the cut of his collarbone. The one red eye that meets yours is blazing and hungry, it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up.

God, he’s staring at you, watching you, getting himself off as you’re half naked and bent over a desk in his office, fully subjugating yourself to his whims and fancies for the sake of your grade.

Damn it, (Y/N). This should not be a fucking turn on. You should be disgusted, but the flush of slick that drips down your thigh says otherwise.

He lets out a choked moan, picking up the pace of his hand, letting you hear the click and slip of his palm as it strokes up and down his cock. A shiver echoes up your spine and your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding your clenched thighs over the dip of the table, easing the clenching pulsations that your cunt is shuddering through you.

“Look at you, so desperate for my touch that you’re humping the fucking table. Such a dirty girl, and so disobedient. You’ve only answered a few of my questions correctly and yet your slutty little mouth and body keep pushing at me. Making me put you in your place. Let me ask you something, why should I go out of my way to fix your grade when you can’t even prove to me you understand the simplest concepts?

Ah, here’s a thought. What if I told you I’ll wave the other requirements; no more readings, no more quizzes, but I won’t let you cum? What if I just get myself off? You’re putting on a such a good show for me! Why should I bother with seeing that you’re satisfied when that table seems to do the job for you? Sound good? Or would you like for me to come back over there and make you cum?”

“I–I don’t… I don’t want…” You can’t get the words out, your tongue feels leaden between your lips and you can’t think of anything but the steady itch that’s spreading from your clit.

“Speak up,” Shigaraki demands, slowing his jerking fingers. The chair he’s sitting in groans as he leans forward, and his eyes wide as they take in the delicious sight that’s propped before him. “You don’t want to cum? Is that it? You’d like for me to get myself off and leave you there?”

“No!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table. “I-I want you to make me cum.”

There’s a sharp clatter and you jump at the abrupt noise. It must be the chair you think, your heart pounding against your chest, waiting for Shigaraki’s next move. He only lets a few seconds drift by before he presses himself back to you. He leans his broad chest over your back, the front of his legs pushing against the back of yours. His exposed length is wedged firmly against the cleft of your ass and its tempting hardness makes you squirm under him, but he’s propelling you forward, pinning you against the rough wood, and you can only flail uselessly under his control. His lips skim over your neck and he bites into your skin, sucking and licking bruises as he inches closer to your pulse.

You say his name pitifully, wantonly, and he lets out a shaky gasp. Something about your tone has shifted something within him and you can feel his cock swelling, dripping a rope of wet pre-cum down your shaking leg.

He leans away, removing his sticky hardness from your ass. “Seems your priorities have shifted. You’re a little preoccupied right now, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice gravel scraping against your overwhelmed senses. You let out a weak moan and he snaps into action, his fingers pushing under your flattened stomach and tugging against the fabric that he finds. He yanks you upward, pulling your shirt up as he goes. His palms dip under your half lifted bra, and he cups at your breasts, massaging the rounded bulbs and plucking at your peaked nipples. Your head lolls back, and he sucks at your earlobe again, his breath warm and rasping as it passes by.

��Hold still,” he commands.

It’s not an easy position, this stretched upward arch that he’s forced you into, but it’s worth it when you feel his cock pushing between your tensed legs. He doesn’t thrust into you, opting to run his weeping tip against your slippery folds, pressing until his bulbous head is twitching against your pulsing clit.

Goddamn it, you think as he stills, his lips smacking open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, it’s not enough. You wiggle your hips back and forth and he abruptly exerts a firm pressure against your windpipe, leaving you sputtering and gasping. “What’s wrong? Not happy with this? Do you think you deserve something more? Do you think you’ve earned that?” He shoves you back against the surface of the table, his broad chest following the plane of your back, trapping you under his heavy form.

You’d replied, you know you must have, but you can’t hear yourself anymore, your attention attuned to the warm length that’s pressed against your shuddering folds. You’d likely thrown in a please for good measure because Shigaraki rewards you with a quick peck to your shivering neck and his thumb, swirling it around your clit, creating a cresting ache that leaves you mumbling incoherently, a thin line of drool slipping from your parted lips. As he keeps that faint osculation up, your fingernails scrape over the wood of the table, your feet lifting you onto your toes, curving your back, and shoving your leaking pussy into his open palm.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki says, a breathy desperation lingering around the edges of his rasping voice. “But it’s just not enough, right?”

You nod, licking up some of the excess saliva that’s built under your heavy tongue and crane your head back at him. His eyes are the first thing you see. They’re wild, ravenous and glinting with a roughness that makes you whisper out a soft whine. Fuck. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to want him this badly. Goddamn it. Now that he’s caught your gaze, he won’t let you look away, and he presses himself closer, his cock twitching and warm, the tip rubbing back and forth, keeping time with his circling thumb.

“You gonna fuck me, or not?” you finally ask, unsticking your lips and smirking up at his hardened face.

“Tch. Don’t rush me,” he grumbles, removing his hand and teasing cock from your cunt, watching as your body convulses under him, your pussy quivering against the excess stimulation that he’s wrought over you. Your thighs burn, aching to break free from his control, to rub against that throb, that tingling that keeps shuddering outward.

“One more question,” he tells you, lifting his dripping thumb to his lips and sucking off the traces of your arousal. The sight of him licking his pink tongue over his gleaming knuckles almost makes you lose your balance, your arms shaking precariously under you.

“A-another? Come on,” you pout, your eyes following the curve of his wicked lips, watching as his scar quirks upward, amused by your useless defiance.

“Make you a deal, answer it correctly and I’ll give you my cock. Sound fair?”

“Ugh, whatever, just hurry up,” you snap, so impatient and turned on that you can hardly think.

The tip of his cock presses against your sopping entrance, pushing forward just enough to part your dripping folds but stopping before he clears that first, tight ring of flesh. The promise of his dribbling tip makes you lose any semblance of self-control. You thrash under him, but he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“No! Don’t stop! Come on Sh-Shigaraki–Don’t be such a fucking–ah–”

“Do you want this? Do you want my cock?” he growls, leaning over you, his fingers squeezing down, no doubt leaving bruises in the supple crest of your hips.

“Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

“They… they’re n-nitrogenous base… fuck… base that pair… that pair with guanine during D-DNA replication… I–please, please, Shigaraki! Fuck me! I want your cock! Fuck me, fuck me!”

Thankfully, he either takes pity on you, or can’t control himself anymore, his hips surging forward, gliding his thick length into your cunt and snarling at the mind numbing heat that waits for him. He keeps driving upward until he bottoms out, sharp hipbones grinding against the plushness of your ass.

He’s not gentle with you, no he’s animalistic and raw, his thrusts papping into you with a terrifying strength. You would have liked something slower, something that lets you enjoy each imperfection and dip that raced along his cock, but this, oh, this is an exception because this is perfect. It’s not what you want, but it is what you need.

The heavy fullness that he’s stuffing you with leaves you breathless, but you somehow manage to gasp out a string of nonsensical praises each time he drives back into you, overwrought by his roughness.

This coupling isn’t kind, isn’t right, and is not healthy, for either of you. No, not with the way he’s using your shivering body, distracted with slacking that euphoric thrum that’s making his cock pulse and swell inside you.

But fuck it feels good and you can’t help but tremble with delight. These intoxicating thrusts of his ram him up against something that’s buried deep inside you, and each time he hits it another star of bright pleasure races through you. The familiar coiling of release is steadily mounting with each rapid fire rut he gives you and if he could just, ah, there’s something that’s… no, fuck, it’s, it’s not going to work. It feels good, but it’s missing one vital ingredient, one thing that he’s neglected to pay attention to, to notice.

Your clit needs to be tweaked and rolled, and right now it’s pulsing away against the table, beating a sad tattoo into the grainy wood. Oh well, you think, head fuzzy, lost in the euphoria of his powerful cants, grinding your ass into his hips as he digs into another teeth chattering thrust. He’ll likely finish soon, and you’ll probably need to get yourself off later. It’s not something new, and it’s not like he’s going to care enough to focus on that, on you. This whole thing has been about control, so there’s likely no room for your own pleasure.

“What’s wrong,” he gasps out, his fingers lifting from your hips to curl beside your turned head.

“What? N-nothing–I–” you pant, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy patch of nerves again.

“Tch. Hold on,” he interrupts, his voice rasping and breathy. He pulls himself out of you with a grunt and yanks you upward, hauling you onto the tabletop and flipping you on your back, bending your stiffened legs and bracing your knees against his lean forearms.

He holds you apart, spreading you open with his powerful hands. You can see him properly now, and the sight makes your breath catch against the back of your throat. Fuck, he looks good.

His long white hair is draped across his bare shoulders and his eyes are blazing pits of hunger, devouring the sight of you with those red irises. His jaw is clenched, and he glares down at you from his imperious height, his nostrils flaring as he drags in a quick intake of air. To your shock, he gives you a little time to acclimate to this new position, opting to languidly step forward, letting his slippery cock head press and tease at the dip of your opening. But right when you think he’ll move again, he stops, his eyes roving over the lines of your face.

His sudden stillness makes you peer quizzically up at him and you scoot closer, your feet lifting from the table. The movement snaps him out of his stupor and he grabs your ankles, roughly pinning you back down.

“Keep still,” he snarls through clenched teeth, that scar of his lifting.

You nod mutely and he rewards your unquestioning obedience with another powerful thrust, sinking his swollen cock back into your waiting cunt. He lets out a sharp groan and grabs at your hips, jerking you forward, already drifting back into that all-consuming rhythm he’d started earlier. His ruts are a little slower from this angle but, in no time at all, that familiar ache pools in your core, stoking and building at an alarming rate. The driving force of his hips soon has you blinking back spots and distant stars, and this time he adds the all important pressure of his thumb, circling the finger pad over your clit and dragging a broken moan from your quivering lips.

“So that’s what you needed. You close?” he grits out, his lips set in a curled scowl. He’s lost some of that early control, his hips stuttering as they connect with yours, his power lessening, cooling, as he looks for your release.

“I–I think–oh fuck, do that again. Yes! Just–ah!”

He angles your hips upward and gives your clit another quick oscillation, pressing down until you’re gasping. “There you go. That felt good. You’re getting tighter,” he laughs, looming over you, shoving your heaving chest downward as he jerks your hips into him, forcing your body to do most of the motion, making your shoulder blades scrape across the uneven wood. “Cum for me. Fucking cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum and I’ll give you your A, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”

Your spine arches as you break around him, your cunt greedily pulling him deeper, slipping him past the barrier of your tender cervix and earning you a weak shout of praise from Shigaraki. Seconds later, he’s pulsing and twitching against your walls, the warm pooling of his cum filling you up and spilling down your spread thighs.

His head drops to your shoulder and the rough skin of his forehead sticks to your sweat dampened flesh. For a long moment you’re both still, each of you struggling to catch your breath, luxuriating in the tingling sensation of release.

“I fucking hate you, you know,” you gasp out, your arms circling his back, fingertips etching vague patterns over his neck and shoulders.

“Ha,” he snorts, “I’ll have to remember that. Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll pay you back for that little remark next time.”

“Oh? Next time?” you chuckle, moaning as he twists out of your hold and pulls his softening length out of you.

“I’ll fail you on every assignment if you try to keep away,” he threatens, his eyes falling to the gaping mess that he’s left behind. You cross your legs, denying him the satisfaction of leering at your dripping pussy.

“Fine. But next time, fuck me on something softer than a damn table.”

tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love, @libiraki <--- i’m coming for you. you’re gonna have to read for this, lady. so, uh, i’m officially noneconing you here.

notes: you made it! this thing is a monster & i’m so sorry i can never stfu

#shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #reader insert #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #bnha smut #9 to 5 collab #bnha degeneracy server #collaboration #tw: unhealthy relationship #tw: teacher/student #tw: dubcon #tw: bribery

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papergirllife · 3 years

Text

First Love

Lucas Wong / Yukhei

"They say first love is a special experience that one would always hold a special place in your heart. Wong Yukhei was your first love in high school, but along the way, you had to say goodbye to him in order for him to achieve his dream of becoming a star in Korea. Yet fate and destiny plays its role in paving the two of you an intersection once more, will the two of you and up together at the very end?"

Warnings : smut, unprotected sex, mild angst, a child (pregnancy not described), tooth rotting fluff (all in that order, kinda)

A/N : this is one of my most heavily devoted works I've ever written, so please, of you're comfortable, drop a feedback to tell me if you guys like this writing style, thank you!

Lucas Wong of NCT and most importantly his own fixed unit, Wayv, the man who garners attention and love wherever he goes, that dazzling smile is sure to be captured by numerous cameras of awaiting fans.

But to you, Lucas was never Lucas, to you he was Yukhei, and more significantly, your ex from high school. Yukhei was your first love, you remember when the two of you had first met in Year 9, Yukhei was known for being a class clown and more of a klutz, girls would always have a soft spot for him even if they didn't like him in that way.

Yukhei was your desk mate for Year 10, the thing got you on your nerves about him was that he never took group assignments seriously, and was never at school on time, his uniform was wrinkly from rushing out of his house to catch the bus and always had a stationary missing, which means he had to borrow yours.

You never hated him, hate is a strong word, things were very neutral with him, most times, he unintentionally annoys you, but he'd always make up to you by bringing you a small bottle of apple juice the next day. The only time the two of you really fought was when he had not spoken up when his friends snatched your book away from yours to copy you off, brushing it off as a small matter.

You were quite an immature person back then, and no one can blame you, you were just a teenager, and being said that, you had refused to lend Yukhei a ruler when the math teacher did a pop quiz, so he had to use the dust pan as no one, other than you that is, brings an extra ruler.

It's not your fault, you thought back then, he shouldn't have depended on you to bring his share of stationaries. The next day, you walked into class to see his group of friends waiting at your desk to apologize to you, and as for Yukhei, he had yet again brought you a bottle of apple juice, with the addition of your favourite bar of Cadbury.

It was only in Year 11 when Yukhei had confessed to you, saying that all those annoying things he did to you were just to catch your attention, of all the girls he could've liked, he chose the one who was the most unattainable, go figure.

The next year, when the two of you were looking to apply to the same college, Yukhei broke the news to you that he'd be packing his bags for Korea, that the audition he had joined just for fun accepted him as a trainee in a large entertainment company in Korea that everyone in Hong Kong knows, SM.

At first you didn't approve of his decision, that his education was important as well, that he had a life here, with you. But Yukhei had given very valid reasons to you, that he wouldn't have passed the college entrance exams if it weren't for your tuitions until late at night in the public library, that he didn't really have an interest in studying. His most valid reason was that he didn't want to take a toll on you when you’re in college, he can't have you sacrifice your sleep and attention for him just to have him attain passing grades.

So you let him go, saying your last farewell to him at the airport as his girlfriend and ex girlfriend.

That was the last time you saw him, choosing to not stay in contact with him as you poured your soul into university life, studying like your life depends on it, you had a few boyfriends here and there, nothing serious, nothing that made you felt like your first love. Maybe you had trouble moving on, or maybe it was just stress, you thought back then, shrugging the thought off casually before diverting your attention else where, this cycle carried on until you came out to work.

Fast forwarding to March of 2019, you had unintentionally came across of a news online that Yukhei had finally been placed in his own fixed unit that would be promoting and performing in Chinese, which isn’t surprising, even the Thai member, Ten, was of Chinese heritage. What made your eyes widen was the fact that they were coming to Hong Kong.

At the day of the fan meet, you had took the day off from your boring low paying job at the law firm, so much for studying your ass off for bar exams, you’re just filing on a daily basis.

Before the day of the fan meet, you had lived off of instant cup noodles for a few weeks just to buy the album and their light stick. When you first listened to the album, you were proud of Yukhei’s rapping skills, you still recall the days when he’d struggle with his mandarin oral tests, the teachers there must be much better than you for him to improve so much, smiling fondly at the old memories.

You waved the light stick and sang along just like the other fans beside you, mesmerised by the performance that the boys are putting up, but your eyes were mostly on Yukhei, you would’ve never thought the once clumsy giant like him would dance as fluidly, executing the moves just as well as the other smaller sized members.

You watch as Yukhei introduces himself and his non Cantonese members in his mother tongue, a feeling of familiarity settling into your mind.

You are quite a confident person, but queuing up to the long table where Yukhei sat at the corner was nerve wrecking to you, what would he say to you? Would he recognise you? It hasn't been that long, but the two of you had done some changes to your looks.

The other members had greeted you with a friendly smile and a few casual questions like have you eaten, but they seem a bit taken aback by the lack of fan girl attitude that most of the fans in front of you had.

When you had got to Yukhei, he had dropped his marker on the floor, his head ducked out of sight to retrieve it, but when he came up to apologise, the words were stuck in his throat, as his eyes opened as wide as saucers. He coughed to mask the surprise on his face.

“Hi, how are you?” He asked as he took your album into his hands, scribbling something down.

“Good, how have you been?” although his hair is coloured, his eyes had contacts, and he wasn't in his messy uniform, the smile on his face never changed.

“Great, it's nice to see you,” to other fans and the staff beside him, they might think it's just one of the standard answers, but you knew Yukhei like the back of your hand, registering the twinkle in his eyes.

Soon, he had placed the album back into your hands, your fingers grazing gently as tiny sparks flew up your tips, eyes never breaking contact until the staff tells you to leave.

When you had sat down at a nearby cafe to get a cup of coffee, you took out your album and flipped to the page where Lucas had written something.

‘Hilton hotel, 9pm,' and his number under it.

At nine sharp, you waited by the hotel’s sitting area, not many people at that time as usually stores in Hong Kong open rather late, patiently you waited for Yukhei. Just as you were scrolling through posts on Instagram, a tall figure approached you.

A call of your name rolled off his tongue naturally, a wave of nostalgia hitting the both of you.

“I bought you a little something before I got here,” you said as you stood up, letting him guide you to the elevators.

“What is it?” Yukhei lets out a flustered laugh, scratching the back of his nape when he realised he didn't get you anything in return.

“Roast goose and Cha Siew, are they still your favourite?” you asked, hoping his taste hasn’t changed over the years.

“Yeah, man, I remember how we'd always get quarter of both after school at Uncle Chan’s,” Yukhei said, remembering how the boss of the restaurant had hung a photo of two of you on the wall, deeming the two of you his most loyal lovebirds.

“This is from Uncle Chan’s,” you told him as you followed him into his room, looking around, expecting him to be rooming with someone.

“Don't worry, I told Yang Yang to sleep with Ten for the night,” Yukhei said when he saw you looking for someone.

“Oh, that's really nice of him,” you said as you set out the food, the smell of Hong Kong's famous delicacies wafting in the air.

“Man, I really missed this,” Yukhei said as he pulls the arm chair that was a few feet away close to the desk, directing you into it and situating himself in the not so comfortable wooden chair.

“I missed this too,” you said mindlessly, eyes avoiding his before you ate a piece of meat.

“I missed you too,” Lucas confessed, yes there are many pretty girls in his industry, and Korea itself, but no one would be able to replace you, you were his rock all his life, other than his family of course, it's hard to build a connection with someone just as strong when things between the two of you never really ended, in a way.

Leaving on too good terms and without much closure for both of you kept one another thinking of each other. The two of you know, that after tonight, things would go back to normal, Yukhei would be Wayv’s Lucas, and you’d remain as his past, there would never be an outcome from whatever happens tonight.

So when the two of you were recalling memories and troubles the two of you got in school on the oh so comfortable bed, you couldn't help it, hooking a leg over Yukhei’s waist, just like how it started at the night of the graduation party, the night where the two of you lost your virginities to each other.

“I’d be gone tomorrow, we shouldn’t, I shouldn't do this to you,” Yukhei said, a firm believer that it's always the girl that is on the losing side, like he's taking an advantage of you, ever the gentleman.

“I want this for myself, Yukhei, it's not like it's our first time,” you said, trying to convince him.

“I still feel guilty about our first time, I left a few months later after that night, and tomorrow would be the same, I'll be leaving you once more,” Yukhei said as his big hands caressed your cheeks, eyes wide like a puppy, pupils reflecting an image of you, a perfect representation of his universe, you.

“I don't care, I’ve moved on from you as your girlfriend all those years ago, moving on from you after tonight won't be a challenge for me,” you said in a firm tone, one that Yukhei knows all too well, he knows you won't give up when you sound like this.

He could possibly break two hearts if he chooses to act on his impulses, but he missed this, he missed you, and so he threw all caution out of the window when he smashed his lips desperately against yours, chewing on your bottom lip with little force, it was something that would easily get you worked up back then, and to his delight, it still worked, letting him dominate the kiss easily, he let his tongue slid in your mouth, tasting the beer the two of you had just now with a mixture of strawberry lip gloss, you were still using the Nivea one you used all those years ago, this only fuelled his desire for you, his hands leaving your cheeks to locate your waist, pulling you closer to him.

When you were out of air, you broke off the kiss, reaching the hem of your shirt to pull it off, then waiting a few seconds for Yukhei to admire the red lace on your skin before unclasping your bra, letting your blossoms free, all the while as Yukhei looks on, like he was in a trance.

“I missed these,” he commented before taking a mound into his mouth, sucking on your nipple diligently while his other hand comes up to roll it in between the pads of his fingers, the pleasure from the action making you throw your head back, a slip of his name in between your whimpers.

You let Yukhei push you back, letting you fall onto his bed, you felt his hands wander up your skirt, his huge hands around your thighs, squeezing the flesh in his palms, feeling you, but stopped when he reached the hem of your panties, detaching himself from your chest, looking at you for confirmation.

You nodded at him, putting your hand over his to guide him higher, stopping at the curve of your cheek, pushing his hand beneath the clothe, dangerously close to your core, heck he could even feel your arousal already, eyes rolling back at the thought of getting you so worked up.

“Take it off, but you can leave the skirt, for old time’s sake,” you said.

Yukhei looked at you, confused at what you’re trying to say, until he realised you were wearing a pleated checkered skirt, just like the ones you wore back in high school, memories of the two of you sneaking around, having a quickie with your skirt flipped up immediately made blood rush southwards at the thought.

“Fuck, you expected this to happen?” Yukhei asked, shaking his head in disbelief, he was always the troublemaker at school, but oh how the tables have turned now.

“Didn't you?” you asked before getting up to put yourself in a doggy position, shaking your butt, taunting him.

Yukhei chuckled to himself before doing as you say, taking off your panties to reveal your slick covered pussy, dripping wet for him on display.

Yukhei spreads you open by pulling your cheeks apart to lick a stripe up your slit, making you shudder at the warm muscle that was intruding but very much welcomed.

Yukhei allowed himself to fully stuff his face there, inserting his tongue into your core, thrusting the wet muscle at a moderate pace before adding a finger to the mix, then two, stretching you open to let his tongue delve deeper inside, he then adds a third finger, the fullness finally hitting you, soon he did a come hither movement once he had located your sweet spot, his tongue and fingers rubbing against the roof of your walls deliciously, you would’ve lost your balance if it weren't for his hand supporting you by your left hip.

The constant pleasure that Yukhei so willingly inflicted upon you would've soon come to an euphoric end if he hadn’t halted all movement, pulling out his tongue and his fingers, which made you whine his name pathetically, something you wouldn't have done if it weren't for the fact that your mind was reduced to a ball full of cotton.

“Chill, I worked you up so I wouldn't hurt you with my dick,” Yukhei said as he positions himself at your entrance, his hand coming up to your face to tilt your head to his direction, zeroing on your lust filled eyes and the plump of your lips, swollen because of him.

“Are you sure you want this?” Yukhei asks you one last time.

“Yes, please,” you said, pushing yourself back to lightly grind on his length, a little bit of your arousal getting onto his cock, his dick getting so hard it's starting to hurt.

“Ever so eager, aren't you?” Lucas said before biting his lip at the sight.

“Just put it in!” you whined, tired of his teasing.

“Okay, okay,” Yukhei said before bracing himself for your tight walls, he's never nervous when it comes to others, but you? You always held a special place in his heart.

Yukhei spreads your cheeks once more before aligning himself to slip in an inch, eyebrows furrowing at how tight you were, he could tell you were clenching up, just like you did the first time when you were nervous.

So he bends down to your back, placing gentle kisses along your right shoulder blade.

“Don’t tense up, there’s nothing to be nervous about, we did this before remember?” Yukhei said in his most gentle tone ever, you nodded your head at his words, adjusting yourself to let yourself lose in the comfort of his touch, reminding yourself that although it's been a long time since you had someone as big as him, you’ll be fine in his hands.

Once Yukhei felt yourself unclench, he pushes in furthermore, you felt yourself arching your back to allow him to fit himself easier, before he comes to a halt, you felt so full, you haven't felt this way in such a long time, it was somewhat overwhelming, but it's the most complete feeling ever, a feeling you've never felt with any other.

The initial stretch was slightly painful of course, but the pain soon turned into pleasure, and being the gentleman Yukhei is, waited for you despite the huge urge to move, waiting for your green light.

When you told him he could move, he felt like the gates of heaven just opened, pulling out slightly to give you a shallow thrust, just to test the waters.

Even with that experimental thrust, you felt like you had a taste of heaven, eager to drown yourself in this new found pleasure that you were once so familiar with.

Yukhei grasped his large hands onto your hips, setting a moderate pace, still restraining himself from snapping his hips, but from how much slick you were dripping, soon you'd be begging for more.

Once you felt yourself familiarise with his big cock, the pace that Yukhei had set wasn’t enough, you wanted him to let loose, you wanted him to rail you, be damned if you can’t walk tomorrow.

So in the midst of all the pleasure, you let out two desperate words breathlessly, “ruin me”.

Yukhei had to do a double take, pausing his movements entirely just to check if that was his mind messing with him or it was really you, but one look at your desperate face, revealed to him that was in fact your words.

Yukhei allowed the animalistic side of him to take over, holding onto your hips that would sure leave bruises the next day, but you didn’t mind, not when you felt a sudden surge of pleasure coursing through your body. He angled your body higher, arching your back for easier access, thrusting harder and faster.

You could only submit yourself to him as your toes curled and your fingers dig into the linen sheets, you’re sure if his members were next door, they'd be able to hear every single sound you make, the sound of your ass cheeks clapping against Yukhei’s hips and your high pitched moans were flowing freely, but you didn't care, not when this could be the last time you'd ever be with Yukhei.

Soon, you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your legs were trying their best not to fail you, and you could tell your arms were getting sore from propping yourself up as the cord in your abdomen threatened to snap, you panted out the word ‘close’, and Yukhei immediately understood, fucking into you at an inhuman pace, you could feel yourself losing your mind as spit drips from your mouth, sanity slowly slipping away from you as you felt your impending orgasm, it started from the tip of your toes, your body convulsing as you screamed his name, succumbing into the pleasure, your core bursting, the strongest orgasm you've ever felt, making your whole body sag in defeat as you let Yukhei help you ride out your orgasm.

Just when you thought it was all over, Yukhei gently flipped you over, and that’s when you realised he hasn’t cum, so you lifted your legs higher to let him enter you once again, he was using you like his personal doll, and you love it a little bit too much to be considered normal, you struggled to keep your eyes open as you fought through the slight pain from the overstimulation, hearing Yukhei’s mumble of appreciation and endearments.

“Can you give me one more, babe? Just one more,” Yukhei said before circling his fingers around your clit, making your eyes snap open when you realise he wants you to cum once more, your hands coming up to push his hand away, but his other hand grasped onto yours.

“Just one more, please,” Yukhei begged with those puppy eyes of his, and how could you say no?

So you stopped struggling, nodding your head at his request before he quickens the pace of his hips and the ministrations on your clit.

Soon, you could feel Yukhei’s cock swelling inside you before he let out a groan of your name, thrusting in one last hard thrust before he painted your walls white, his lips capturing yours to silent you as you came once more, your nails digging into his shoulders, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt Yukhei ride out both your highs.

Once he was done, Yukhei crashed onto the bed beside you, his arms wrapping around yours, kissing your lips to distract you as he pulled out, hopping into the attached bathroom to bring out two towels, taking off your skirt before he gently cleans you up, when he was done he wiped the juices you left on him, your eyes growing big when you knew it was from when you squirted on him.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise I squirted,” you mumbled behind the hands that you had covering your embarrassed face.

Yukhei laughed at the cute sight, throwing the towel aside before climbing into bed again, removing your hands away from your face, kissing you deeply before looking at you in the eye.

“I loved it,” he said before pulling you closer, and almost instantly, you were lulled to sleep by the beating of his heart.

When you woke up, Yukhei was still snoring beside you, sleeping like a baby, you gently removed his hand from your waist, stepping out of the bed before gathering your clothes, putting them on, smoothing out the creases of your skirt.

Walking to the door, you glanced around once more at the sight of him, your heavy heart begging you to stay, to talk, and so you walked over to the night stand, ripping a piece of paper of the note pad and grabbing the pen next to it.

‘Goodbye and thank you for everything.’

You placed the piece of paper beside him on his pillow before kissing his forehead as a parting gift, closing the door as softly as you could when you left.

You knew this was the right thing to do, you made this decision once when he left for Korea the first time, you can't be in his way this time around, not when he's this far into his career, you can’t be selfish, he belongs on this path, he deserves it and you’re not going to take it away from him, you've stood on the side-lines all this time, he shed the limelight on you for one night, and that's all you should have, he's better off without you.

Yukhei felt himself grow cold when he couldn't feel the warmth of your body, jerking up to check if you were in the bathroom, only to find the door wide open, the room empty.

That's when he had spotted the piece of paper with your goodbye message, his heart clenching in pain, crashing onto the bed once more.

He didn't know what to expect, you had sent him off once, and now you left him without saying goodbye. He thought he could at least say goodbye.

Pushing his thoughts away, he gathered his things, packing up to leave for Korea.

His members could tell something was terribly off, they thought he was just in it for a casual hook up, but his expression tells otherwise.

The usual cheerful Yukhei was nowhere to be found, which meant Yang Yang and Hendery had to keep the mood light throughout the journey home, everyone knew to not say anything, only speaking when crucial.

It took Yukhei quite a while for him to get back to his goofy self, but even then, Kun, being the most observant one, saw a tightness in his smile, a faraway look in his eyes, whoever he had seen that night must've meant a lot to him, but he dare not to press, he knows Yukhei would open up when he's ready.

It was a normal Tuesday night when he had received a request to face time from you, without thinking much of it, excited to hear from you, he accepted, your beautiful face coming into view as he got comfortable on his bed.

“Hey, this is unexpected,” Yukhei said, not knowing what else to say.

“Yukhei, there’s something I need to tell you,” you said, eyes avoiding his.

“Yeah, what's up?” he asked, rubbing his nape, a habit he does whenever he's nervous.

“I'm um, I’m pregnant,” you said, choosing to not beat around the bush.

You could see Yukhei's face pale when he processed your words. Is it his? It's definitely his, it's almost a month since the two of you slept together, unless you slept with someone else?

“It's mine?” a dumb question, but he needs to know for sure.

“Yeah,” you said before the two of you come to a piercing silence.

“You could get an abortion, maybe?” Yukhei suggested after contemplating in his head, there’s no way he could be in the child’s life, and that's the best option for your sake, raising a child in Hong Kong is the most expensive thing to do, equivalent to buying a house there.

“I decided to keep it, Yukhei,” you said, glancing up to see the disbelief on his face.

“You can’t, you know I can't be there for you and you’re still so new in your job, you can't risk your life for this!” Yukhei said, not comprehending on why you'd do this to yourself.

“I already decided, Yukhei, and I don't expect you to take responsibility, this is my choice,” you said as tears threatened to flow.

“That isn't fair, it's not fair for the child! A child needs its father! You don't know what you're doing! Being a single mum is next to impossible in Hong Kong! You're putting the child in a horrible situation just for your selfishness!” Yukhei said before pushing his hair back, the feeling of an impending headache forming.

“How dare you say that?! I’ll raise this child perfectly on my own, I was just calling you to inform you of it, but since you don't want anything to do with it or me, I guess this is goodbye and don't call me anymore, I won't change my mind,” you said before your face disappeared from his phone screen.

Yukhei tried calling you immediately after, a day later, several weeks later, but you never picked up. Then he started stressing about his career, what would happen if someone were to find out? But he knows you as a person, and being a tell-tale is not one of your characteristics, yeah, he can just act like nothing happened, like he had never received this call.

He knows he's running away from his problems, but what other choice does he have?

Fast forwarding to July of 2021, Yukhei is home after his filming of the popular Chinese reality show in China, Keep Running, he feels at ease when he sees his family, finally reuniting with them, but only for a short two weeks time, before he has to leave for Korea once more.

It was a Friday night when his friends from home took him out for a drink, he was not so familiar with the clubbing scene in Hong Kong, but with the knowledge he has of this area, he knows many rich and young people often here, just like the girl kissing up his neck now, her soft hands running up the expanse of his thigh, getting dangerously close to where he wants her to be.

Yet Yukhei doesn’t remember her name, was it Candy? Apple? Some sort of name that had to do with food, he just remembered that she told him that she was an up and coming model, or trying to be anyways.

Just as she suggested to go to some hotel, Yukhei suggested for a quickie in the bathroom first, and so here he is now, being pushed to the door of a stall, her hands trying to unbuckle his belt.

Yukhei reached the back of his pocket for his wallet, opening it, looking for the condom he had placed there, but cursed when he realised he must've dropped it when he paid for drinks.

He told her to go back out and wait for him to get some, leaving the club and the musky smoke filled place behind him, the summer breeze blowing his hair all over, he brings the hood of his jacket up as he scans for a nearby convenience store, locating one at the street across.

When he got in, the scent of curry immediately greeted him, it was your favourite food, everyday after school, no doubt you'll drag him into one of these shops, just to share a bowl of curry fish balls, one of the most famous snacks here in Hong Kong.

He pushed the thought away, trudging to the aisle that was on the most right, where the condoms were at, hidden away from children. He took a box and made his way to the counter, opening his wallet to take out a few notes.

The cashier turned her back from stocking the cigarette shelf, scanning the box wordlessly.

“That would be 30,” she said when she looked up, but her hand immediately dropped the box when she saw who it was, and that's when Yukhei truly opened his eyes to see who it was, at first he was just miffed not knowing why the cashier froze, then he sees you, in the worn out 7 Eleven uniform, was you, the last person he’d be expecting.

“Why are you here? What happened to your job at the law firm? Why...” Yukhei didn't know how to ask, he didn't know if he deserved the right to ask, yet there's so many questions he had swarming in his head. Where is his child? Did you abort it in the end? Did you give it up for adoption? Were you fired from your job because of it?

“It's my shift right now, and you seem to be getting lucky tonight,” you said stiffly, holding up the box for him to see, sliding it across the counter

“It's for my friend actually,” Yukhei said, eyes avoiding yours, but immediately looking at you straight in the eyes, remembering how you use to be able to see right through him whenever he didn't do the revision work you've given him.

“Right,” you said, resisting to roll your eyes.

“You haven't answered me, why are you working here instead of the law firm?” Yukhei pressed.

You sigh at his persistence, not knowing what to say to humour him, so you didn't say anything, getting back to rearranging the shelves.

Yukhei bit his lip, not knowing what to say to you, but a million questions in his head, desperate for answers.

“Please leave if you're done with your purchases,” you said, you had a long day, and the thought of entertaining him was not something you want to add on your plate.

Yukhei looked around the store once more, grabbing a bowl of instant noodles from the shelf before making his way once more to the cashier.

“I’d like to have this here,” Yukhei said before pulling out some spare change from just now.

“Yukhei, what are you trying to do?” you asked in an exasperated tone, there's no point making small talk when there's no way the two of you would ever cross in each other’s lives ever again.

“I'm hungry, I want to eat noodles,” which wasn’t really a lie, all the alcohol he drank before gave him an appetite.

You sighed, turning your back to him, soundlessly waited for the water to boil before pouring it into the cup, sealing the top for it to cook. As you worked, Yukhei was having déjà vu, this was an all too familiar sight, nights at the convenience store studying till late at night in groups, you'd always share noodles with him as you taught him some dumb math formula that no one uses in their life after school.

He takes his bowl of noodles, opting to sit at the place closest to the counter, just looking at you, eating as slow as humanly possible.

When it was around three, you received a call.

“Hello?”

“...”

“You think you have a stomach ache? Celine jia is asleep? Okay, mama’s coming home okay?” you said frantically before shutting off the stove of the food at the counter, running to the back for a pack of meds, depositing some money into the register. You looked at Yukhei, frozen at his seat, cursing at yourself for not going into the back room before picking up the call.

“You need to go, I have something to deal with,” you said as you grabbed your bag, turning off all the switches in one go, making the place pitch black other than the lights from the lamp posts outside.

“Is that my child?” Yukhei asked, he can't allow himself to act like it never happened before, he ran away once, it's time to man up and shoulder on his responsibilities.

“No I fucked another guy before you and it's his child,” you deadpanned.

You walked down the street to flag for a taxi that is always parked there to get their club goer customers, Yukhei hot on your heels, you turned back to look at him questioningly.

“This is none of your concern, don’t follow me,” you said in a rather seething tone, you didn't mean to sound like that, but if he's going to be in the way of your child, then he’s not a friend.

“That's my child too, I want to know how they are, I have a right to do so, you studied law, you should know,” Yukhei retorted in the most friendly way possible, he knows he's in the wrong, but he wants to ensure his child’s safety.

“For fuck’s sake,” you cursed aloud before stepping into the taxi, leaving the door open for him.

You told the driver your address, sitting back to think of what's the problem, the kindergarten shouldn't be the culprit, it's a school with a good reputation, which also burns a hole in your wallet, but you don't mind, and it's not like you have much of a choice, education is deadly expensive here.

About 20 minutes later, you've reached home.

“That'll be 150, miss,” the driver said.

“What?!”

“Fares are different after midnight, miss,” the driver reminded you.

Before you could check if you had enough money on you, Yukhei paid for it wordlessly.

You got out of the car, rushing into the building and running up the stairs as quick as you can, unlocking the door, jabbing the keys into the rusty lock.

Taking off your shoes before you made your way to your room, spotting your son crouched in the corner of your bed, hands around his stomach.

“Hey, mama's home, I'll get you a glass of water to take your medicine okay?” you said before hurrying out, Yukhei passing you a glass of water at the kitchen.

“Thanks,” you mumbled before making your way back inside.

You open the package and passed you son a tablet, but looking at the size, you knew he’d panic to swallow something this big, so you broke it in half, telling him to drink a big gulp of water to wash it down and it'll be fine.

All the while, Yukhei was watching with wonder leaning by the door frame, even in the dim lights and the fact that he's still quite young, he could still identify his eyes on his son, the strong genes in his family, his father and brother all had those eyes, this boy is most definitely his.

The boy diligently does as you told him, taking a big gulp of water, so obedient, and from the way the two of you communicate, very mature for his age, nothing like the usual three year old.

When he was done, he noticed Yukhei’s presence, tugging your sleeve to whisper into your ear, eyes trained on him.

“That's a friend of mine, love, be polite, say hi to Yukhei gogo,” you urged.

Yukhei took this as a sign to get closer to his son, squatting down to meet his eye.

“You’re a handsome boy, what's your name? I’m Yukhei and I’m 22 this year, how about you?” Yukhei asked as he reached out his hand for the little boy to shake.

“I’m Wenghei, 3 years old. Why have I never seen you before gogo?” the child asks, looking at him with curious eyes, he's met some of your friends, but he's definitely haven't met him before, most people aren't as tall here, or not in his mother's circle anyways.

“Get some rest, love,” you said, tucking him into bed.

“Okay,” he said, a yawn coming out from his mouth.

You closed the door behind you, directing Yukhei to the small living room area, serving him a glass of water.

You walked to the trash bin, opening the lid to check its contents, a scowl on your face when you saw the root of your son’s stomach ache when you spot the plastic container that contained the two day old pizza from the freezer. Your roommate, Celine, must’ve gave him some as dinner, usually you'd leave some money for Celine to buy him dinner, but she must've been tight on money again, trying to find ways to squeeze in some spare change, you've warned her of her spending habits, always splurging on albums of her favourite stars, which reminds you.

“You have to go, I’m living with a roommate and I'm sure she's going to recognise you,” you said, a hand gesturing at the door.

“Wait, did you find out why he had a stomach ache?” Yukhei asked.

“Yeah, he ate something he shouldn't have for dinner, you have to go, I need some rest for tomorrow,” you said, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“Do you have anything on tomorrow? Can I see you, perhaps?” Yukhei asked, he didn't know what he wanted to talk about, but he just had to see you again.

“I’m tutoring a student at a coffee shop tomorrow, you can come right after,” you said, thinking that he just wants to know more about his son.

“Okay, goodnight then,” Yukhei said awkwardly as he walks towards the door.

“Goodnight,” you said, feeling a weight on your chest, dreading tomorrow’s meeting.

When Yukhei arrived at the café, he could see you sitting at the way back, a teenage girl sitting in front of you, back facing him, he sipped on his latte, observing you silently.

Your hair is much longer than it had been in high school, the bag hung by your chair very much worn out, and your eye bags were heavier than on days where Yukhei would stay up to prepare for promotions.

Soon, the student was packing up, leaving the table, Yukhei took this as a sign to move to your table. You had stood up to greet him, and that's when he saw, you had lost lots of weight, and he's not meaning it in a fitness way, he recognised the jeans you are wearing, you had these even back then, they used to be a perfect fit for you, that's why they were your favourite, but now, you were wearing a belt to hold it together, and still he could see how loose it was.

“Hey, you didn't order anything?” Yukhei asked, noting that the cup of coffee he saw just now belonged to your student.

“I got a coffee in my flask, cheaper that way,” you said as you packed up your stationaries.

“What did you have for breakfast? How about I order you a piece of cake?” Yukhei suggested, looking back to see what they have today.

“It's alright, I'm not hungry, why don't we get straight to the point? What is it you want to ask about Wenghei?” you asked, noting the time on your watch, you have to leave around noon to fetch your son from pre school.

“I, how about you? Why did you leave the firm? And how’s your parents?” Yukhei started off.

“Well, they said I would’ve been an embarrassment to the firm, you know, pregnant and unmarried, so they told me to leave, it's not like filing could be done with a big weight in my stomach, so I did as they said. Now I tutor kids English and work the night shift at the convenience store, and as for my parents, they kicked me out,” you said, laying down the cards, no point avoiding his questions, especially not when you're in a hurry.

Yukhei nodded at your words, registering the fact that he had a fault in ruining your hot shot lawyer dreams and completely destroyed your sensitive relationship with your parents, how is he ever going to forgive himself?

“I’m sorry,” Yukhei said, he didn't know what else to say, how could he make it up to you and your son? Will you let him even if he could?

“Don't be, this is on the both of us, are you going to ask about the share custody stuff? If so, I don't think we should continue this conversation, Wenghei doesn’t know who you are, and maybe that's the best case scenario, what point would be made if he knew you were his father but you're not in our lives? It'll break his heart. You've seen him now, maybe you can reconnect with him when he's older, I think you should just say goodbye before you go, if you want,” you said, saying these harsh words aloud wasn’t easy, you’re not entirely a cold hearted bitch, but it's for the best that your son didn’t know about his father, no one wants to know the fact that their father abandoned them twice, some truths are better to be untold.

“Can I see him one last time, maybe tonight? For dinner? I'm leaving in two days,” Yukhei said in a defeated tone.

“Yeah, sure, I'll take the shift off tonight,” you said, eyes avoiding his, you could just tell he’d have those sad puppy eyes on his face right now, you don't need anymore guilt in your heart.

“Hey man, where were you?” Jackson asked Yukhei, who was waiting for him at the harbour, they were going to Macau for a day trip today, his friend isn't late for the boat, but they did schedule to meet 15 minutes earlier.

“Something came up, and I need to head back around 7, there’s some people I need to see,” Yukhei said as they boarded the boat.

“So that leaves us 5 hours, should be enough,” Jackson said, checking his watch.

“I’m sorry about this, man, it just came up suddenly,” Yukhei said as they took their seats, apologetic because they have been talking about this trip for a long time now.

“It's okay, dude, but what's up? You look really stressed,” Jackson asked, taking in Yukhei's clenched jaw and furrowed brows, a stark contrast from his usually carefree expression.

“It's a long story,” Yukhei said as he mindlessly watches the sea from the little window of his seat.

“Well, if you don't mind, this is a 45 minutes journey, maybe we'll be able to find a solution together, what are friends for am I right?” Jackson offered, he wouldn't press his friend if he didn't want to tell him about it, but the two of them have been close ever since going on knowing brothers, coming from the same home country and everything.

And so Yukhei, for the first time, told his friend his long love story.

“You know, I think I have a solution for you, but let me ask you one thing first, do you still love her?” Jackson asked as he ate his pork chop bun, Macau’s famous local snack.

Yukhei pondered over his friend’s question, yes the two of you agreed to break up, but all the girls he dated after you, all had similar features or personality traits to you, he had dismissed it as just a type, but now that he had seen you again, he realised that the hole in his heart was always emptied for you, you were the missing puzzle piece all along.

“You don't even have to answer me, your face tells all man,” Jackson said, an oily finger wagging at the direction of his face.

“Yeah, I think I do,” Yukhei said with a sigh, “but even if I still love her, that doesn’t mean she loves me back, and what if we do love each other? We're living oceans apart,” Yukhei said in a defeated tone.

“Now here comes my solution, so you said she got fired from her law firm and is now tutoring kids and doing the night shift at 7 E, and got kicked out by her shitty parents, so she really doesn't have anything else here for her other than her son, why don't you suggest get to move with you? To Korea? It'll be way easier for the two of you to raise your son, even if the two of you don't get back together, I mean, at least you'll be able to financially support them, that is what you're willing to do right?” Jackson asked, hoping that his friend would uptake his part of the child support.

“Yeah, of course I want that, I just don't know what she'll say, or if she'd be willing, she doesn't speak the language and it's an entirely different environment,” Yukhei said, thinking back the days where he had a tough time adjusting.

“From what you told me, she sounds like a tough nut, but of course, this is all up to you, but just so you know, I would really like to be his godfather, and as for your doubts of her love towards you, she did name him after you, isn't it the same Hei?” Jackson said with a hearty chuckle, he could just imagine the fun they'll have together, he was always fond of children.

“Yeah, I’ll persuade her on this,” Yukhei said, he could already feel himself getting nervous for tonight’s dinner, it can’t be that much of a coincidence that his son’s last name resembled his right? Or is he and Jackson just being delusional?

“Now that's my buddy, now come on, finish your food so that we’ll make it in time for the next batch of Portuguese egg tarts, I remember they have a fresh batch around 4,” Jackson said, mouth salivating at the thought of more food.

When you arrived at the restaurant, it was fancier than what you had expected, feeling underdressed among the rich elite of Hong Kong in your old dress that you wear for every special occasion.

You asked if there was a reservation under your name, since Yukhei said he had it booked under you, and almost immediately, since not that many people can afford places like these, the waiter led you in.

“Mama, what is this place? We've never ate here before,” your son asked you.

“It's a French cuisine restaurant, we’re meeting gogo here, remember him? Or were you too sick that day?” you said as you placed him on the baby chair you had requested for.

“Yeah, I remember,” your son said as he looks around in awe, registering the pretty chandeliers that look so sparkly.

When the waiter handed you a menu, someone had joined your table, his hoodie pulled up so no one would recognise him, pulling it down when he saw that there wasn't any other customers around.

“Sorry, am I late?” Yukhei asked with a sheepish smile, a hand lifting up to check the time.

“No, we’re just early, say hi to Yukhei gogo, love,” you directed the last part to your son, patting his little hand to get his attention, smiling immediately when he lands on the tall figure.

“Gogo, you're here,” your son said excitedly, making grabby hands at him, letting his father carry him with a large smile on his face.

“Hey, buddy, don't you look excited to see me?” Yukhei said before blowing raspberry at his neck, making the young boy giggle.

What you didn't expect was to see someone coming up behind Yukhei, a little bit shorter and smaller in built, but when he pulled his hoodie down, you instantly recognised who it was.

“Jackson Wang?” you asked, blinking your eyes a few times to see if you were hallucinating.

“Hey, it’s nice to finally meet you, you look lovely tonight, and you must be little Wenghei, aren't you adorable, how about Jackson gogo take you out to buy toys, huh? I saw a big toy store just across the street, but only if your ma says yes of course,” Jackson said, giving you a side eye to Yukhei.

“Yeah, sure,” you said, it's not like the Jackson Wang is going to kidnap your son right?

“Don’t worry, I’ll watch him with my life,” Jackson said as Yukhei passes his son over to him, leaving the restaurant with his hood up once more.

“Is there something you'd like to say?” you asked Yukhei after he had taken the seat across you his hands were shaking slightly as he holds up the menu.

“I... I still love you. And I know I must sound like a jerk to you, hell I’d go back in time just to hit myself for running away, I'm really sorry for that. What I did was inexcusable, my career just stabilised at that time, and I was under immense stress from SM, you have every right to be mad at me, but I want to be apart of your life again, apart of Wenghei’s life as well, if you could let me have this second chance, I'll do anything to make the both of you happy,” Yukhei said in one breath, reciting what he had practised over and over again with Jackson in the car.

“Yukhei, I,” you were lost for words, you thought you were saying goodbye once more, that Yukhei and you would always end up in goodbyes, but now here he is, saying he loves you.

“Yukhei, you can't just say you love me for the sake of our son, and neither would you need to take responsibility for him, I chose to have him, and as for love, we can never be together, you’re an international super star now, and you're living in Korea, I don't think I have the energy to be in a long distance relationship with you, that would take a toll on Wenghei too, how am I going to explain to him that his father is in another country? He’ll always question your love for him and I don't want that,” you said, trying to hold in the tears that had built up in your eyes, your throat closing up, the cold facade you built for yourself crumbling down before his eyes.

“You can move to Korea, both of you, we can be a family,” Yukhei pleaded, his hands reaching forward to hold yours, his eyes searching yours.

“We can’t, what if we break up? What if your so called love for me, is just something you feel as a result of our child? You can't uproot the two of us when there's so many uncertainties, especially our emotions,” you said, you don't want either of you to be stuck in a relationship for the sake of raising a child, no one would be happy in the end.

“Love, you don't understand, I've never had a serious relationship after you, I tried, I really did, but I’d always think of you instead, how badly I wanted you instead of someone who reminds me of you, the thing is, I’ve always loved you, and I think you still love me too, or you wouldn't have named our son after me, am I right?” Yukhei hoped, why else would you come up with that name right?

Damn it, you thought to yourself, he saw right through you, maybe you shouldn't have named your son after him.

You looked at him and looked away, darn those puppy eyes, you’re sure you’re crying now, and Yukhei reaching over to wipe away your tears just confirmed it.

“I love you, it's always been you, only you,” Yukhei confessed.

“I, I love you too, Yukhei, and I was never mad at you for running away from us, I know how tough that industry is, but what if your fans find out about us?” you asked, slightly worried that he might lose it like last time.

“Then so be it, true fans would stay,” he said in an affirmative tone, reassuring you.

“You promise?” you asked, holding out your pinky, it would’ve been a funny sight to see if anyone saw the two of you now, crying and smiling at the same time.

“I promise,” Yukhei said before hooking his own pinky to connect with yours.

“If you leave us, Wong Yukhei, I’ll murder you in your sleep,” you said as threatening as you could sound.

“I plan to see our son grow up, so I'll value my life,” Yukhei said in utmost sincerity before grabbing a napkin to wipe away all your tears, you’re glad that you didn't wear any mascara today.

Just when Yukhei wiped away the tears in his eyes, Jackson was back with your bubbly child, his arm had bags digging into his flesh.

“Oh my god, that's too much, Wenghei why did you get so many, this is Jackson gogo’s hard earned money,” you said, lecturing your son.

“It's okay, he's an angel, this was all on me, and I guess things went well?” Jackson asked, eyes darting to your connected hands.

“Yeah,” you said, the biggest smile you had on your face.

“That's great to hear, I always wanted to be an uncle, now if you’ll excuse me, I don't think I should crash this family reunion any longer,” Jackson said giving his best friend a hug before leaving.

“So... What do you like to eat Wenghei? How about we get crème brulé,” Yukhei asked, pointing at the menu with childlike eyes, reminding you of the days where he’d get ice cream with you, splitting it on half for you to share.

“Sounds delicious.”

You let Yukhei order everything, sharing between the three of you while the three of you talked, Yukhei mostly directed the questions at his child, asking about his interests, his favourites of everything, ranging from colour to ice cream, eager to make up for loss time.

“How about we talk about where you'll be staying?” Yukhei asked after ordering dessert.

“Oh, I don't know what I'll be able to afford, I'll probably get another convenience store job again, so the rent can't be too high,” you said, dreading the thought of needing to learn a new language quickly for a job.

“Hey, you don't need to work anymore, nor pay rent, I already looked it up, there's an empty unit in our condo, the soundproofing might be a bit lacking, but that wouldn't be a problem if you don't sing in the shower like Dejun, we had a few noise complaints because of him,” Yukhei said, laughing at the fond times he had at the dorms.

“Yukhei, I know housing is really expensive there, are you sure you want to do this?” you asked once more, you don't want him to resent the financial burden the two of you would add onto him.

“What did I say to you just now? I said what I meant, I want the two of you to be in my life, forever. And don't worry about money, I saved up plenty and there’s many more jobs coming up for me, and moving out of the dorms would be the next step of adulthood to me, and we’ll get to spend so much more time together, right Wenghei?” Yukhei asked, pinching your son’s chubby cheeks teasingly.

“We’ll be living together, Yukhei gogo?” your son asked, a confused expression on his face, he had his attention trained on some pink fong video, something about dinosaurs.

“Yeah, Wenghei, we’ll be moving out of our little room, are you excited? We're going to a new country. Remember the dramas I watched with you? Korea has that big outdoor theme park you said you always wanted to go, and snow, you'll get to make snowmen during the winter,” you persuaded, hoping he won’t fuss too much about the move.

“Really? There’s snow in Korea?” your son asked, excited about the winter scene he’ll get finally see in real life.

“Yeah, real snow, not the bubbles in Disney land, are you excited?”

“Yeah, is Jackson gogo going to stay with us too?” your son asked, eyes darting to his new goodies before looking at you expectantly.

“Well, Jackson gogo has his own house and we have ours, but we can always visit him,” Yukhei explained.

“Hehe, okay,” your son said before getting distracted by the crème brulé set in front of him, digging in immediately.

“When do you want us to make the move?” you asked, thinking of all the things you have to pack, which isn't a lot, but you might have to courier some of your clothes over first.

“Whenever you want, I'll get our home ready as soon as possible, is there anything you need in the house? Other than the basics of course,” Yukhei asked, uncertain of any needs you have as a woman or maybe for your son.

“Can we have a study room for Wenghei? With a desk and shelves? We love to read, and he'll need a proper desk when he's older,” you asked, hoping it wasn't too much.

“Yeah, sure, I'll be sure to get it done,” Yukhei said, noting it down into his phone.

“But it's no rush on the study room part, he's just three after all, before I go, I have to apply visas for both of us,” you said, dreading the thought of filling up paperwork, you haven't done much of that ever since you left the law firm.

“Call me if you need any help on that, I'm sure my manager knows how to,” Yukhei said.

“You’re going to tell your company about us?” you asked, knowing how strict Korean entertainment companies are.

“They can't let me go just because of having my own family, they didn't let Jongdae, my senior, go, so we’ll be fine, I promise,” Yukhei said, reaching a hand over to hold yours reassuringly, his eyes looking into yours, filled with love and adoration.

“Okay, now how about we walk around the complex until 10? Wenghei doesn't have school tomorrow,” you suggested.

“Yeah, sure, we could even stay out later if you want,” Yukhei said enthusiastically, getting up slightly to call for the bill.

“You have a flight to catch tomorrow,” you reminded him in your motherly voice, which you regretted almost instantly, cursing yourself, reminding yourself to act more like an actual 22 year old, but Yukhei didn't say anything about it, hiding his smile by nodding deeply, almost like a bow.

“Okay, I just wanted to spend more time with the two of you,” Yukhei said, stopping when he saw the waiter coming back with the credit card machine, paying with just a glance at the bill.

The three of you spent your remaining time shopping and at the arcade, playing games with your son, Yukhei had insisted on getting you a new pair of sneakers, but you shot him down when he wanted to buy more stuff, especially toys for Wenghei.

“You can buy him toys when we’re there, it'll cost even more to ship more stuff over, and there's a risk of damaging the toys as well,” you said.

But of course your son threw a fit at the shop, all for some legos.

“Hey, buddy, I'll buy you lots the next time I see you, okay? I'll buy you one that's even bigger than this,” Yukhei said, squatting down next to his son, and even then he wasn't eye level with him, sometimes you forget how tall Yukhei actually is until you see a scene like this, or when you stand really close to him.

When it was 10pm, painful goodbyes were exchanged with a promise of face timing everyday, your son cried, and held onto his father dearly, and you haven't even told him Yukhei was his dad, but their bond is evident.

Yukhei held onto you and your son until his taxi came, and you waved until you couldn't see the taillights.

It's been a month since that fateful reunion, and Yukhei has squeezed in face times, calls, and texts in between schedules, giving you and your son time despite his busy career.

His company wasn’t too happy about it of course, but was somewhat glad that you weren't one to babble your business to gossip outlets.

You're now packing your things, one last time, you've been to the post office multiple times before to courier out your stuff to Korea, and every time a box reached his address, Yukhei would take a photo of it, telling you the stuff arrived safely.

Progress on your new home was quick, since it was already a fully furnished unit, Yukhei only needed to buy some furniture and things that cater to your son’s needs, he even picked out a pre school that teaches mandarin, perfect for your son’s adjustment in such a foreign country.

Tomorrow you'd be flying to Korea, a new country, a new start, but there was something clouding your mind, something you've been dreading, but today is the day you’ll tell him.

“Wenghei, can you come to mama for a second?” you asked, soon hearing your son’s tiny footsteps nearing you.

“Yes, mama?” your son asked, a hand around his precious teddy.

“There's something I need to tell you,” you said holding him close to you, letting him sit onto your lap.

“Remember how you asked me why you didn't have a baba while all your other classmates did?” you asked, trying to word it as nicely as possible.

“You said my baba had a really big responsibility, that he couldn't see us because of it, that he'll come back when he's free,” your son answered you, struggling to remember more details.

“Yes, good job, Wenghei, your memorising skills are getting better. Well, your baba is actually Yukhei gogo, he’s back now, and we can finally be a family again,” you said before holding in a breath, not knowing how he’ll react.

“Baba is Yukhei gogo? That's why we’re going to Korea?” your son asked, confusion written on his face.

“Yeah, do you like that he's your baba?” you asked, this could be the most important question ever.

“Yeah, mama, do you love baba? Does baba love you as much as I do?” your son asked, which very much surprised you, but expecting this sort of maturity from him.

“Yes, we love each other, and both of us love you as much too,” you said with a pinch of his chubby cheeks.

“Do we ever have to be separated from baba again?” your son asked, scared of losing his newfound father.

“No, never again, and can you do me one favour, Wenghei? I think the next time when you see your baba, you should run up to him and say hi baba, he’ll be very happy to hear you call him that,” you suggested, imagining the look on Yukhei’s face.

Your son giggled at the thought of making his father happy, agreeing immediately.

“Okay, now go to sleep, it's going to be your first time flying tomorrow,” you said, ushering him onto the bed.

“Okay, goodnight, mama,” your son said to you, just like he did every other night, he seemed to have accepted it very easily, maybe it was due to his age, but some day he might ask his father about his departure personally when he understands more, but that’s a hardship that’s reserved for another day.

The flight was relatively short, though it was rather hard for Wenghei at the start because of the pressure he had experienced in his ears, the crying and whining got you plenty of dirty looks from passengers around you, but you paid no mind to it, you’ve been through worst so this is nothing that can faze you.

When you got there, you saw a lady holding up a plaque with your name on it, her phone in her hand, checking all the moms who came out of the same lane as you.

She had a friendly smile on her face when she saw you, introducing herself in mandarin, being one of Wayv’s staff, a trusted one, according to Yukhei.

She talked to you about Yukhei in general, even giving your son a bar of mini KitKat, praising him for being brave on the flight after she had asked you how was your flight.

Around half an hour later, you've reached your new home, a nice looking condominium that looked about a few years old.

Unloading took quite some time, even with the help of the staff, but what surprised you was the person who was waiting for you inside the lobby.

“You're here!” you said surprised at the sight of the giant.

“Yeah, I am, wanted to give you a surprise, sorry I couldn't be outside, some crazy fans camp outside, can’t let them bring you and Wenghei any harm,” Yukhei said as he carried Wenghei, spinning in a small circle, looking at him with full of love.

“I understand, don't worry, I'm not a teenager girl anymore,” you said as you checked out the place, the sitting area had a couch set and free WiFi, this is a 180 from the living conditions in Hong Kong.

“Baba, did you miss me?” your son asked when he had stopped giggling from his father’s spins, which instantly ceased to a halt, eyes growing as wide as saucers.

“What did you call me? Say it again,” Yukhei said with the biggest smile on his face, all of his teeth were showing.

“Mama said you were my Baba,” Wenghei said like it was as simple as two plus two.

“Yeah... I am your baba, and you're my son,” Yukhei said before holding his son even closer, you could even see the tears at the corner of his eyes.

“Why don't we go see our new home Wenghei?” you suggested, seeing that some people have came out from the lifts, typical going to work hours.

You walked a feet away from Yukhei, not wanting to draw attention, holding onto the lift for Yukhei to bring all your luggage in.

Once you were at your level, you started loosening up, noticing that no one was around.

“This is my members’ unit,” Yukhei said pointing at a door, “And this is ours,” Yukhei said before opening the door for you, welcoming you into a warmly decorated home, every piece of furniture was placed and chose to accommodate your child, all the corners were covered with this e rubber safety stickers.

He showed you into Wenghei's room where the bed had all his favourite characters in the form of a plushie, his bed was soft when you sat down on it, and the blanket he had picked out was a soft fleece material, perfect for the cold weather.

Your son was going around every corner, awing at everything his father had gotten him, especially the Lego sets that were on his desk.

“Thank you, it's beautiful, his room,” you said when Yukhei wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, god how much you've missed his warmth.

“Go take a look at your room,” Yukhei said before pulling your hand into the direction of the master bedroom, welcoming you into a room with a king size bed and silk linen sheets, an aesthetic looking vanity that you've always wanted as a teenager, now as well of course, and a little reading corner just for you by the window.

“It's all I've ever wanted,” you said in disbelief, not knowing how could Yukhei pull this off in such a short time.

“You like it? I got some help from my members, especially Kun for the kitchen, you should check it out afterwards, you always wanted a big kitchen area,” Yukhei said as you laid on the bed, giving your stiff body a rest from the journey.

“Lay down with me for a while, I’m a bit tired from the flight,” you said, making grabby hands at him.

“Nah, I shouldn’t, this is your bed,” Yukhei said, looking flustered.

“Wong Yukhei, I’ve had your child and now you're acting all innocent?” you asked in an accusing tone, playing with him, which made him lay down next to you immediately, he didn't like getting you angry, thinking back all those days when you had lectured him just like that when he forgot to do his homework.

“You want me to sleep here?” Yukhei asked carefully, observing your expressions.

“This is our bedroom, where else do you want to sleep?” you asked, but was promptly cut off by Yukhei's lips on yours, smiling as he kissed you, gentle but expressing all his love for you, a hand lingering on your back, guiding you closer than him.

Many mistakes that had to be made had guided you here, but you've never regretted, for if it wasn't for the hardships and the crossroads, you wouldn't have found a home with the man you'll cross oceans for.

The end.

#lucas smut #lucas fluff #lucas wong #wong yukhei #wayv smut #wayv fluff #nct #nct smut #nct fluff #wayv #this is rather cliche sorry

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kira-fluff · 3 years

Note

Hey heyy, have you thought about writing another common trope headcanon / oneshot with the MysMe guys?

Because the “only one bed” was extremely good!!

Even if you decide not to do it, just know that your blog and your talent amazes me<3

a/n: Did you even have to ask??? OF COURSE IF YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME LOL thank you gorgeous <3 I decided to try putting it in a fanfic (one shot unless requested) format since it's definitely quite long and making a mini-series featuring those you request for me to include in my next fic or a pt2! :) also this is a slow burn and is quite spicy <3 Also, I did my best not to make it like the whole share the room thingy again!! ***I’m not fluent in French pls don’t @ me

Length: 6k lol

A Series of Unfortunate Events Fake Dating - Jumin Han

A sudden message beep surprised you, causing you to look down at your phone. It was a text message from Jumin: Call me. Immediately suspecting the worst, you quickly pressed his contact, the number dialing in seconds. There was a few seconds that ran by before the other end answered with a curt, "Y/n." "Jumin, hey, is something wrong?", you asked, worriedly. "Everything is perfectly fine. I was calling to ask you a favor -- feel free to decline." Jumin never asked for favors, or your help in general.. you knew whatever it was you were determined to assist him in the best way possible. "Of course, Jumin! Anything." There was silence for a moment as if he was contemplating whether or not it this favor was truly worth asking before he spoke, "Please decline if you are unable to but... I was wondering if you'd be willing to indulge my father. He's insisted that I bring you with me to our business closure." "Jumin", you began, "I'd be honored. I'd love to!" On the other line, there was a sigh of relief (or of worry, you weren't sure). "Mr. Kim will be at your apartment to pick you up tomorrow. The meeting is taking place in Monoco -- pack for a ten-day trip" There was a pause before Jumin breathed out a quiet, "Thank you." You couldn't hold back your smile, thankful that the conversation was over the phone, making it impossible for him to see your dopey expression. He hung up, leaving you to pack. Your mind quickly wandered from what you needed in your suitcase to worrisome waters. You and Jumin had a very deep friendship following the party you’d thrown, spending the time following the ginormous celebration to get to know each other. It warmed your heart that your newfound friend took so much joy in being with you -- even when he tried not to show it. You lost track of the number of times you ended up sleeping over at his penthouse after accidentally staying up until 4am talking with him, swishing expensive wine in your mouths. You didn’t expect falling in love to come so easily. You were someone who was quite choosey with your partners -- you weren’t one to fall easily for anyone. Even in your past relationships that sometimes lasted years, you’d never felt the way your heart felt now that you were with him. And yet, you were best friends. You were sure you meant something to him in so far as friendship, but you had respected him when he’d gotten drunk one of the first nights he met you and spouted out his heart to you..

- “Y/n, to tell you the truth.... I’ve never fallen in love before.” He gazed up at you lackadaisically from his position on the sofa -- head rested over the top of the sofa cushion, his arm lazily resting under his chin. He started at you for a moment, his gray eyes gazing into your own with a hazy, absent feeling in them. You laughed, “I find that hard to believe.” You walked over to him, absent-mindedly running your fingers through his tousled hair. He let out a long, uncharacteristic sigh, his eyes closing gently. You leaned in close to him, looking him in the eye. “Can I tell you something, too?” He nodded. “I haven’t either.” - You grinned at the memory. You firmly believed that conversation was what brought you and him together closer than ever before. He’d always found an excuse to call you over for the silliest of reasons. Either he needed a certain form that he was positive he accidentally slipped into your bag on accident and needed to see it first-hand to check, or he realized he’d bought more wine than was necessary for a night alone. It made you smile for months that he couldn’t get out the words “I miss you” or “I want you to come over”. Even to you, the words sounded intimate.. but that was the way your relationship worked -- you were very close with each other, as two best friends ought to be. Still, as much as you tried, you couldn’t control the way your heart began to constrict when he got especially close to you. You couldn’t help it when you’d shiver when he gently brushed cat fur away from your cheek. You were shocked that despite his perceptive personality, he didn’t seem to notice or acknowledge your deep blush during these interactions... maybe he was uncomfortable with them.... you hoped not. There were times the air was knocked out of you. Literally. Once, you weren’t paying attention to the fact that the sidewalk had ended and you were walking straight into oncoming cars coming off the highway when a muscular arm slid around your waist and pressed your body flush to his own. You stared with eyes wide open at Jumin, who comically seemed equally surprised at his actions. You couldn’t help the way your eyes trickled down to his sultry lips, taking in their beautiful red-wine color, blooming like dark roses. Thankfully, he seemed too preoccupied with your current state of mind and physical wellbeing. When you finally managed to get your mind out of the gutter, you thanked him profusely, grabbing his hands impulsively and begging to reward him in some way. His answer surprised you, “I--uh-- a movie. I’d like to do more research watching one of those movies you enjoy watching.. for business sales and such.” “Sure!! I can recommend anything! I’ll drop the email by your office tomorrow” you answered. A panicked expression took over his face for a moment before returning to its familiar stoicism, “You won’t watch it also?” Your eyes widened in confusion before you answered hurriedly, “Oh! Yeah, I’ll watch it with you. I just wouldn’t want to bother you if you were doing it for work purposes.” You could never bother me you thought you heard him say, but you couldn’t be sure. Yep, you were in love with Jumin. When you at last finished packing, you went to bed, looking forward to the mystery that befell tomorrow. - You rose bright and early to prepare for the exciting trip that was bound to come. You couldn’t help the extra bit of effort you ended up putting into your appearance in anticipation of seeing Jumin again and.. possibly sitting next to him on an aircraft. Right on time, you received a text message from Mr. Kim, indicating that he had arrived at your apartment right on time. As you opened your apartment door to carry your luggage downstairs, you were met with numerous familiar faces of Jumin’s employees who quickly took your heavy luggage items for you. You thanked them, making your way to the elevator with them. You texted Jumin: Thanks for the help with my luggage :) In a matter of seconds, you received a reply, Jumin: You’re welcome. Grinning down at your phone, you didn’t notice your driver's light chuckle, a look of astonishment in his eyes. These blind kids. You continued to chatter along with Jumin on your phone, at last arriving at the rendezvous point where Jumin and the Chairman pulled in identical black limos alongside your own. “Thank you, Mr. Kim. I can take it from here.” Mr. Kim nodded in obedience, ushering you to go to Jumin. Jumin patted the leather seat next to his own in the sleek limousine. You held back a laugh, there were plenty of other seats open for you to sit.. but it warmed your heart that he wanted you right next to him. As friends. The Chairman joined the two of you, sitting across from his son, a mischievous glint in his eyes that only Jumin could recognize. A silent conversation took place between Jumin and his father -- Jumin beginning with a raised eyebrow. The Chairman replied with a sly smirk. Jumin with a scowl, his father with a growing grin. You watched the conversation continue silently before the Chairman at last spoke, “Jumin, my son, I’m overjoyed to see you’ve brought your Y/n with you.” A flash of annoyance crossed Jumin’s face as he said, “My... Y/n?” You blanched.. of course the thought of you being his made him uncomfortable... but you didn’t think he’d be angry. “Y/n, I’m glad you could join us. However, as much as I hate to ask this of you, there is something I desperately need from you.” Before you could speak Jumin interjected, “Absolutely not.” You caressed his hand, looking up at him with kind eyes, “Jumin, hey, it’s okay.” Looking toward Jumin’s father you said, “Whatever it is, I’ll do my very best.” Jumin’s jaw feathered a bit, but he said no more. He grinned, “Aren’t you a kind girl. Well, in this business deal, the contract was originally contingent on Jumin marrying his daughter -- which I was against from the beginning. After all, I know the importance of loving the one you wish to be with.” (Jumin rolled his eyes at that.) “Anyway, I declined the offer.” You were confused, unsure where your part came in. As if reading your mind, he continued saying, “However, I perhaps let it slip that you two were engaged. I figured you both are so close with each other already, that it would be no issue to play a bit of husband and wife for the sake of business, no?” Jumin was furious, his nose flared, jaw clenched with hands gripping his knee. “How dare--” You glanced at him, biting the inside of your cheek, a worried expression painted your face. When he glanced at you, his eyes widened and his shoulders relaxed. This did not go unnoticed by the Chairman. “We’ll do it, won’t we Jumin?” he looked surprised but made no objection. You leaned in close and whispered shyly, “I want to do something as thanks for this amazing trip.. and for you.” - Jumin dared to swallow. For me? What the hell does that mean? You were driving him crazy. Every time he looked at you he had to fight to readjust his attention to something else. Does she know what it does to me when she touches me? Even a little bit? When you’d put your hand on him, Jumin felt his chest and neck grow impossibly hotter, hotter than he’d been feeling when you’d first sat down next to him. Hotter than when you leaned in close and breathily asked him, “Jumin... how long until we’re at the airport?” It was like you’d drawn out every syllable, breathing out every consonant -- your breath tickling his neck. He imagined what it would feel like to have your plump, rosy lips on his neck, on his chest, on his lips, on his-- he was in over his head. He cursed himself for his lack of control. Usually, control was not an issue for Jumin -- in fact, he considered it one of his greatest strengths. From his leadership position in his father’s company, C&R, to his well-controlled temperament and stress management.. Jumin just didn’t do “no control”. At first, it intrigued him. He could remember the exact day it hit him. He’d invited you to an elegant dinner his company hosted to celebrate (in a sort of “humble-brag” sort of way) yet another successful business closing with one of the biggest corporations in America. He’d been finishing off yet another glass of his new Domaine de la Romanee-Conti he’d bought when his eyes at last placed you at the front of the champagne server. His eyes raked up and down the soft, silk gown that clung to your body in all the right places. The gown hung loosely, exposing your back and most of your chest, a sultry slit separating one of your elegant legs from the other hidden in the fabric. It was a breath-taking emerald color... but all Jumin could really think of is how he’d take it off. Your hair was curled and done-up marvelously with little white pearls decorating the crown of your head like you had stars in your hair... but all Jumin could really think of was how he’d mess it up. His cheeks were on fire. Everything in his body had risen in temperature of what felt like a hundred degrees. He twirled his wine glass between his fingers before setting it down at one of the well-decorated tables. I must have a fever, he thought, that must be it. Your eyes found his person just as he was turning around to leave, speed walking to one of the penthouse balconies for fresh air. You raced after him or at least followed him as fast as your obnoxious heels allowed you to go. You breathlessly met him as he was staring out into the night. Jumin realized that his temperature was slowly returning to normal. Perhaps the room was a bit suffocating. I’ll be sure to message Mr. Kim about increasing the air conditioning in the room. But... looking back on it now, Jumin knew he was lying to himself even then. Because, when he turned around he almost let out a shout. And his breath became uneven again, and it felt so burning hot all over again. You slowly crept toward him, donning a concerned expression saying, “Jumin... are you alright?” Jumin backed into the marble railing. He was so eloquent normally but all he could let out then was a choked, “Fine.” He couldn’t take his eyes off you. Every step closer, he wanted to run. The stars were reflecting in your eyes and the moonlight made your supple skin look impossibly softer... You gently cupped his face and whispered, “Jumin, talk to me..? Please?” Jumin was heaving, looking down at you with rosy red cheeks and burning ears. “I--I think I have a... fever. A fever.” You gasped, taking one of your hands and lightly grasping the back of his neck, pulling him down slightly. His eyes widened as you took your other cold hand and placed it on his burning forehead. “Oh my god! Oh my gosh, we -- ambulance! An ambulance.. a doctor? Or.. are you... drunk?” “My room... please,” he begged. You looked him up and down, examining his face for strain or discomfort. When you couldn’t find any, you let out a breath -- perhaps you’d overreacted. Nonetheless, you swung his arm over your shoulder and trudged through the now quiet dining area. Most had filtered out to the ballroom for dancing. You’d been here a million times, so remembering the way was no chore. You fished through his shirt and coat pockets, running your gentle digits across his chest, assuming the moan Jumin gave off was due to pain, still, a blush flushed your cheeks. “Sorry, I’m almost done.” You held him against the wall since at this point he couldn’t stand. Maybe I am a little drunk, he thought. You moved down to his pants pockets, your hands roaming through a business card and other odds and ends, eliciting another soft groan from Jumin. “Almost there...” you breathed, at last pulling out a key card and with a soft beep, opening his penthouse suite. You gently carried him to his bed before going to grab a glass of water and a cold washcloth. When one was placed on the table and the other on his forehead, you at last placed a warm throw blanket you’d found in his closet over him. ...That memory became a source of numerous dreams. Jumin couldn’t forget it, no matter how many times he’d wished he wanted to (or wished it all to happen again). - You gazed at him, looking at the way his expression hardened at times, softening and then suddenly switching to an expression you’d never seen before. What was he thinking about? You bit your lip, nervous that Jumin might change his mind upon meeting this woman his business partner wanted him to marry. She was certainly more beautiful, right? After all, Jumin hadn’t necessarily made any physical contact voluntarily toward you more than an occasional back rub in your asked after a long day at work, or if he got drunk while you two accidentally stayed up late -- then he’d sometimes caress your face with a love-sick expression and saying little things like, “You’re beautiful.” It was cute, for sure, but what drunk doesn’t turn into a soft puddle of goo, complimenting everyone around them? You leaned into him as subtly as you could manage, closing your eyes to concentrate for a few minutes. - You jumped awake when a deep voice rumbled in your ear, “We’re here.” You could hear the slight smirk in his voice, and sure enough, when you looked up, you saw a slight smile on his face. “Did you have a good dream?” You looked toward your left, thankful the Chairman was already out of the limousine and speaking on his phone to someone. “I--I had a dream?” Jumin’s smirk stretched a little wider, “Yes. You said my name a couple times.” Your eyes widened in shock before saying, “Oh! That dream! Yeah, I was dreaming that you were being eaten alive by bears and I was forced to watch!” God, you were such a bad liar. Jumin blinked. He felt sort of stupid. “Oh,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “I see--” Grateful for his gullibleness, you added, “Why, what did you think I was dreaming about?” Jumin avoided eye contact saying, “Not anything in particular.” A call for Jumin interrupted your conversation, making Jumin almost run out of the limo. You smiled a bit, a little flush rising up to your ears. Jumin returned again, grabbing your hand. “This way,” was all he said. You followed him to the private jet that the Chairman was already boarding. You caught yourself staring at Jumin again as you followed him up the stairs to the entranceway of the cabin. Jumin smartly chose a seat far away from his father’s field of vision. He’d had enough of his unnerving looks when you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder, whispering things Jumin was beyond grateful only he could hear... at least he hoped. When you occasionally began to whine a bit louder he’d quiet you down by running his hands through your hair and stealing glances toward his father nervously saying, “A nightmare.” He wondered if he’d fooled his father, because the Chairman lightly chuckled and made his way to the passenger seat of the limo, sliding the privacy door shut. It had only gotten worse from there, you almost shouted his name, but he covered your mouth. Heat had been pooling in his stomach for a while now, but he didn’t know how much more he could take. Still, every time he thought of waking you up, you’d grab at his chest or legs, effectively completely embolizing him. You, of course, were unaware of all of this. You sat down next to him eagerly and wrapped your arm around his, pulling him close to watch a movie on the jet screens. It was almost 9pm by now, the night sky beginning to close in on the quiet aircraft. Neither of you could remember when you fell asleep, only waking up to the soft announcement of arrival from the pilot on the overhead and a soft blanket placed over the two of you. You both groggily made your way to your waiting limousine to take you to the complimentary hotel stay at one of the chains owned by your expectant future business partner. “Of course, I know you two are just friends.” The Chairman looked at you two before continuing, “So I have two hotel rooms, you’re 17 and you, Miss Y/N, are 18. I’m in master suite 3, so feel free to reach out whenever.” His eyes glittered as he said, “Have fun. Remember to act like a loving fiance! Especially you, my son." Jumin pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in contempt. You turned your head toward Jumin, “Um, well, I’m pretty tired as you could probably already tell,” you laughed uncomfortably, “so I think I’ll head off to bed.” Jumin blinked a few times before saying, “I will as well. Goodnight, Y/N.” You whispered a shy goodnight in reply before slinking into your hotel room. - You awoke the next day to a call from a maid outside your door - room service. You thanked her before diving into your waffles, complete with chocolate dressing, whipped cream, strawberries, and powdered sugar. A glass of orange juice was delivered along with various other breakfast options and a bowl of kiwi, dragonfruit, apple, watermelon, honeydew, and almost any other fruit you could think of. Following your delicious breakfast, you padded over to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and running the shower. Going through your morning routine helped calm you despite the role you weren’t at all prepared to play in just a few hours. You jumped at the knock at your door. Looking through the peephole, it was Jumin. Flinging the door open, you looked at him expectantly. You were met with silence other than a few “uh.... uh....”s. You looked at him sarcastically, “What?” He continued to stare, not at your face, however. You laughed but quickly grew silent as you met his gaze. You were an actual moron. What. The. Fuck. You were still in your fucking panties?!?! You slammed the door shut, running to slip on some shorts you found lying on the ground in the bathroom. Taking a deep breath you gently opened the door this time. Jumin was standing still as a statue when he snapped out of his trance at last. He looked away, “Try not to be dressed. I mean STRESSED.” he sputtered, “I-I’m going to leave now--” “Um, Jumin?” He slowly turned around, face as red as a strawberry, “Yes?” “Um, sorry. About before. Um. Do you-- do you want to get some coffee? I’m still waking up, if you couldn’t already tell,” you laughed nervously. He smiled warmly, “I’d love to.” You awkwardly nodded before shutting your door. You ran to your hotel bed and screamed into one of the pillows. You cursed under your breath before making your way to the bathroom once more to finish the makeup look you had begun before being interrupted. After 45 minutes, you looked your outfit up and down. You packed outfits that were elegant -- you bought clothes that looked expensive but in the kind of way that was subtle. Nude tones and deep colors, specifically. You were aiming for a look that said, “I’m not rich, I’m just comfortable. And by that I mean I’m rich.” You were never insecure about the difference in your and Jumin’s paycheck.. but when you’re supposed to play a part. And if you showed up in your comfy joggers and t-shirt like you normally wore when you visited Jumin or were free from work.. you had a feeling their reaction wouldn’t be the most inviting or understanding. At last, you stepped out of your room, turning left to knock on Jumin’s door. He beat you to it, opening his door unexpectedly. This caused you to instead lean forward from your momentum and place your hand on his chest. You hurriedly adjusted his tie, doing your best to act as if that’s what you’d meant to do all along. Jumin appeared to be just as surprised, but grinned, “No leggings and t-shirt today?” You jabbed him with your elbow as you made your way to the coffee bar, “Do you think they’d be all welcoming to your soon-to-be wife if she showed up in lounge clothes?” “I’ve never complained.” You scoffed, “Yeah, well, that’s because you’re nice. And, you apparently understand that not everyone can live in a suit every day.” He paused for a moment before mumbling slightly, “Who cares what they think anyway.” “I do! I don’t want to let your dad down. I told him I’d do this. We’re in Monaco, Jumin! C’est la vie!” “Parles-tu français?”* “Oui..?” Jumin chuckled darkly before leaning in, saying, “Tu es juste trop mignonne.”** You blinked before replying, “...oui...?” Jumin looked at you incredulously with a slight smile on his face as he laughed, lightly ruffling your hair. Jumin ordered for you -- apparently, it was quite clear you only knew a few words in French. Unfortunately, he also paid for you, despite your objections. Before you could yank his platinum card out of his hands, the transaction was already complete. He gazed down at you, an eyebrow raised with a triumphant smirk, “Elle aura aussi beaucoup de crème dans son café.”*** “Hey, what are you saying?! Jumin!! Speak Korean or English or Japanese! Something I can understand!!” You complained. The worker interjected, “C’est tellement agréable de voir un couple sur leur ‘oneymoon.”**** You instinctively interjected, “Oh, that’s not--!” But Jumin just smiled and nodded. Upon sitting down at one of the many open tables, you let out a little giggle, “I wonder what it’ll feel like when I’m on the real thing.” Jumin quickly looked up from his staring contest with his coffee, “Real.. what?” You grinned dreamily, “Honeymoon.” “You.. want to get married?” “Don’t you?” Only to you, he thought. “Maybe. If the right person came along.” If you’d ever say “yes”. You held back the nervous twinge you felt in your throat, “Alright then, don’t be shy. What’s your type?” “My.. type?” “Yeah! Like, your ideal girl.” He paused, looking pensively at you. “Well, then I suppose my ‘type’ is a girl who is beautiful, and smart, and pretty... and always makes me laugh. And is bold but also shy.” His eyes widened as he grew quiet, “...something like that.” You were shocked. He said he’s never fallen in love before.. but it sounds like he already has some girl in mind. “Wow. You’ve... thought a lot about this.” Jumin looked surprised at himself -- he cleared his throat, “Just some ideas.” You were still skeptical but changed the subject, “So, what exactly does this whole ‘wifey’ thing entail?” “Most likely just a ring on your finger and a fake smile.” “Oh come on, there’s more to it than that.” “I’m sure my father has the details.” As if on cue, his phone chimed. “Ready to head out?” “Yep!” You weren’t entirely sure, but you were beside yourself with nervousness and a bit of excitement. If you can’t have the real thing, you shouldn’t complain about a chance to fake it, right? And sure, you knew it was much more complicated than that -- what if he realized your true feelings?! ...You shook the thoughts out of your head and made your way to the waiting vehicle outside of the hotel. - “Monsieur Lorenzi! Good to see you!” The Chairman shook hands with who you assumed was the boss. “Let me introduce to you my son, Jumin, and his beloved fiance, Y/n.” You waved, smiling despite the twang in your heart. You and Jumin shook hands while Mr. Lorenzi introduced you to his daughter. “It is so nice to meet you! This is my daughter, Ginevra.” Immediately, you sized Ginevra up -- and she does not look happy. “So.. you’re the bitch who stole Ju-Ju from me?” “Ginevra! Be polite, please?” Mr. Lorenzi practically begged her, but she wasn’t budging, “Oh, come on. Their ‘engagement’ hasn’t even been released to the press yet!” You looked worriedly between Jumin and Ginevra, but Jumin lovingly put his hand over yours, a soft smile on his face, “I’ll handle this, sweetheart.” He couldn’t help himself and lightly pecked your cheek, smirking into the kiss when he heard you elicit a small “oh!” Facing the irate woman, though, Jumin smiled in a way you’d seen him smile when he wasn’t particularly...happy.. about something. “Miss Ginevra, I can assure you Y/N and I are completely in love. She is my fiance, after all. That being said, we decided not to alert the media because we wanted our own privacy until the wedding.” Ginevra scoffed, “Please. You barely even look like you’re dating. Face it, I know you want me, Jumin.” She bit her lip in a way that was supposed to be seductive, but Jumin couldn’t hold back the slight cringe that crept onto his face. “T-that’s enough Ginev--” “God! Shut up, Dad! Mr. Lorenzi backed down at that, looking apologetic and embarrassed toward the Chairman and Jumin, and especially toward you. You were growing tired of the entire conversation, “Shall we sit down?” All except Ginevra agreed readily, the Chairman coughing in a way that sounded more like a laugh he was trying to conceal. Jumin's jaw clenched when he sat next to you, to your left and Ginevra quickly sat in the seat to his left. The meal went as well as expected. Jumin's father recognized that Jumin had his hands full and spent the majority of the dinner talking business with Mr. Lorenzi without his son. Meanwhile, you were awkwardly playing with your filet mignon, avoiding eye contact with everyone until Jumin leaned his face down to your avoidant eye level. You snapped out of your trance immediately. You looked up at him -- his eyebrow was raised with an inquisitive expression. Okay, that was adorable. You held back your intruisive thoughts, blinking up at him, silently asking, "What is it?" Jumin stared a little longer than necessary, before snapping out of his own trance and leaning in further and whispering in your ear, "...Are you alright?" You nodded in reply, "Just a little uncomfortable." Jumin gazed down at you in concern, "We can leave if you--" "No. No, I'll stay." Who knows what that girl will do if I leave. He didn't look convinced. Suddenly, Ginevra was calling for Jumin. Repeatedly. He turned in annoyance, "Yes?" Her voice got low, clearly to exclude you from the conversation, "Let's go somewhere..." she looked Jumin up and down slowly, "...else.." And with no shame, she lowered a manicured hand to his knee, slowly trailing it up to his thigh. He immediately grabbed her wrist, saying in a low, deadly voice, "I have a fiance." She sighed in frustration, "You're kidding yourself, baby--" Jumin's eyes widened suddenly, and not due to anything Ginevra was saying. Your hand was high on his thigh as you leaned into the conversation you'd heard the entirety of. "Miss... whatever your name is.... Jumin is my husband. Soon. We have something you could never dream of every having because your personality sucks. And honestly, only you can fix that." There was silence at the entire table for a moment before Ginevra turned her head quickly toward her father, "Daddy?!" Her father had already gotten up, ushering the business conversation to continue rather than deal with his trainwreck of a daughter. She huffed, looking red in the face, perhaps in embarrassment as well as anger. "Well, you still can't prove that you're even dating!" You very furious now, your glare cold enough to freeze the desert, "Is proof really the only thing that will shut you up?" Before she could even answer, you geared your pissed off expression toward a semi-intimidated, semi-turned on Jumin and grabbed his face, meeting his lips with your own. Your kiss was meant to only last a few seconds at most, but when you tried to pull away, Jumin only deepened the kiss, pulling your face harshly toward his own. He tugged at your hair, earning a loud moan from you as he forced his flush lips further onto yours, his tongue gaining entrance into your mouth. His eyebrows were deeply knit into a consentrated expression, groaning as he felt you readjust your position onto his lap. You stradled his lap, a leg on either side of him, your tongues battling for dominance as you fished for air between you two. At last, you both parted, heaving in big breaths as a string of spit clung between your mouths -- only to go in for another searing kiss. You began to roll your hips against his own, gently at first but quickly gaining more momentum and roughness as you two continued to make out. You'd noticed his hard-on the moment you'd straddled his lap but it only grew as you two began to explore the other's body. And just like that, you realized you were still in a formal dining setting. With other people. You pushed against Jumin's chest, looking around you in a frenzy. Ginevra was long gone along with the Chairman and Mr. Lorenzi. It was just the two of you, it looked as if it was after hours for the dining here. Soft jazz still played melodically through quiet speakers. Your eyes met back again with Jumin. He was smirking, still breathing heavily, his eyes glowing with mischief and a clear message that said something you probably would blush saying out loud. You laughed a little at the sudden turn of events. Did he like you? You wondered. He made quick work of dragging you (because your legs turned into jelly) out of the dining hall and back to his hotel suite. Jumin hurridely opened his hotel door before slamming you against the wall and continued to kiss you furvently on your neck, chest and of course, lips. He began to grind on you, letting out a soft curse when you mewled in his ear. Both your cheeks were completely red from the heated exchange and the embarrassment that both of you felt at your candid feelings. Yet something still bothered you. You pushed him away with all the strength you had because he was just so addicting. "J-jumin.... wait..." You gasped between breaths, "...I-I don't do this sorta thing... for fun..." Jumin frowned at this, his jaw feathering as he said darkly, "I don't either." You shook your head, "No, Jumin... I mean... I-I......" You took a big breath of air, "I'm in love with you. Have, for long time... pretty sure you don't feel .... the same wa--" Jumin's eyes narrowed as he dove in for another kiss with so much force that the air was nearly knocked out of you. "Y/N," he began, "Do you have any clue how much I've held back? Even now, do you know how hard it is for me not to pick you up and fuck you right here and now? Do you know how long--" He laughed sardonically, "Y/N, I swear you're doing this on purpose." "Doing wha--" "Making me fall deeper and deeper in love with you! I'm already pass the point of no return. Hell, I've never felt a fraction of what you make feel in a moment... in my entire life." You took a moment to really look at him. The expression of complete and udder desperation was now clear as day on his face, his cheeks flushed, breathing heavily, his tie loose around his neck, chest slightly exposed. He began again, "Please. Please... put me out of my misery. Say you're mine, please." Your eyes never leaving his, tears prickling your eyes, you answered, "I always was Jumin.. and I always will be. And, and if the offer still stands--" You blushed, looking down shyly and your feet, ashamed of your own boldness. Jumin's eyes pooled impossibly darker as he picked you up and led you to his bed, laying you down gently and asking, "I know this is probably soon but... Y/N, will you make me the happiest man on earth?" You laughed, pure joy on your face as you shamelessly cried, "Yes!" over and over again. Jumin couldn't hold back the huge grin that took over his face as he kissed you in between laughs.

TRANSLATIONS: * “Do you speak French?” ** “You are just too cute.” *** “She will also have a lot of cream in her coffee.” **** “It is so nice to see a couple on their honeymoon”

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ordinaryschmuck · 2 years

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Walt Disney Animated Pictures Studios from Worst to Best-Part Six: The Top Ten BEST Disney Fillms

Salutations, random people on the internet who certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck! I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

Here it is: The top ten BEST movies from Walt Disney Animated Pictures Studios. These are the films that are masterpieces, being films that you must see if you’re a true Disney fan. If you don’t like them…that’s fine. But trust me when I say that there are FAR worse movies to hate then these ten. They made it this for for a reason, and let’s find out where they fall, shall we?

#10. Moana-And now we have the movie that perfectly represents the modern age of Disney. It leans even more towards comedy, works harder to perfect CGI animation, and often pokes fun at Disney’s tropes while still embracing them. Sometimes it works, but other times…

…Yeah.

I will say, the biggest strength Moana has is its titular character. She’s still the princess–

“She’s not a princess.”

SHUT UP!

Anyways, she’s still the princess who wants more, but there’s a difference between her and other princesses: She actually does most of the work in saving the day. Sure, Maui (who is also a pretty great character) helps her along the way, but only to teach her the basics of wayfinding. When it comes to actually doing the mission, guess who does most of the heavy lifting. And you can argue all the logistics in calling Moana a Disney Princess, she’s at least the first one I can think of who actually governs her people and genuinely leads them. Can’t really say that about a lot of the other Disney Princesses, who just sit around and waiting. So, while some things…

…don’t work in the slightest, I can at least appreciate Moana for giving us a princess who gets s**t done rather than relying on a big, strong, handsome man to do most of the work for her.

#9. Aladdin-...This is one of my favorite Disney movies. I love its animation with how fluid and expressive it can be, "One Jump Ahead," "Friend Like Me," and "Prince Ali" are some of my favorite Disney songs, and the characters are just so wonderful. Jasmine's probably not the best role model to have, but she still bounces well off of Aladdin for me to look past it. Jafar's motivation is basic, but his personality is so over-the-top that it more than makes up for it. Both Iago and Abu are solid sidekicks, with the late and great Gilbert Gottfried giving a few laughs as Iago. And do I even have to say anything about Robin Williams as the Genie?

But, by far, the best thing about Aladdin is, turns out, Aladdin himself. He's not only one of my favorite characters in the movie, nor my favorite character in a Disney property, but Aladdin is one of my favorite fictional characters. He's someone who gets out of a situation not with his might but with his wits. And I love a hero like that. One how outsmarts a villain rather than outfight them. That right there is a genuine role model to look up to, and I'm all for it.

Aladdin will always hold a special place in my heart. It might not be number one, but only because there's a difference between saying something's the best and something being my favorite. Still, it earns its spot.

#8. Mulan-“But you ranked Pocahontas so low because it was so historically inaccurate! Why is this different?”

THE HISTORICAL INACCURACIES WEREN’T THE PROBLEM AND YOU KNOW IT!

While Disney certainly took some creative liberties, they still remembered one important detail: Mulan is a hero.

Did the real Mulan kill dozens of Hun soldiers with an avalanche and single handedly save the emperor? Probably not. I don’t know jack about history. But, hey, at least the movie recognizes that she was an honorable soldier who did indeed earn the emperor’s favor only to deny the job he offered. Plus, Movie Mulan is an entertaining character even despite certain changes for the film. She worked hard to be a good soldier, was smart enough to outthink a general, and kind and respectable among her men. Now, is it weird that they gave Mushu a little too much influence on this version of Mulan’s journey? Yes. But do you want to know what’s a little less weird and a little more awesome? A “Disney Princess” wielding a sword. I mean, she rarely uses a sword, but it’s still awesome. On that note, it’s actually great how much this movie roots for “girl power” without trying too hard. Mulan isn’t this perfect warrior who wowed everyone the second she joined the army. It took time, effort, and a whole lot of training to do what she did, proving that any young girl could be like her. Everything else can be a bit inaccurate, but that little fact will always be true.

Also, if you’re worried about how China feels about this film, just know that they hate the 2020 remake more. So, you know…take that for what it is.

#7. Tangled-I always forget how funny this movie is. Almost every single moment has me cackling from the great comedic timing, slapstick, expressions, and delivery from…basically every single character in the movie. Everyone has their own comedic quirks that make them hilarious and add so much fun to the film…Except for the King and Queen, who have the most heartbreaking scene that is perfectly illustrated without a single word.

This brings me to another part of Tangled that’s great: the drama. Despite the great humor, there are still some tense and emotional scenes that succeed in getting the right reaction out of me. Mother Gothal, specifically, sells it as being a realistic manipulative kidnapper, who gives me goosebumps with how accurately she deals with Rapunzel like many real life kidnappers would. It makes her a decent threat, while still being well-balanced by her cynical humor. And that’s another thing about Tangled: The comedy and drama are both equally balanced, with neither feeling like they take away from the other. If there’s anything to complain about with Tangled, it’s that the animation is starting to show its age despite it being made in–2010?!

This movie came out in 2010?! I remember seeing it in theaters with my parents and sister! Is this what feeling old feels like?! Am I old now?! F**K!

Ok, well, anyways, this movie’s great. It’s funny and emotional in all the right ways even if the animation isn’t as great as it once was.

Also, yes, I’ve seen the show…it’s not my thing. NEXT!

#6. Wreck It Ralph-The comedy in this movie is hit or miss. There are some good jokes every now and again, but there are many more that just gets me rolling my eyes. But that’s fine because the comedy isn’t what makes the movie special. It’s the characters.

Ralph’s motivation is understandable, even if he does make some pretty risky decisions and a handful of mistakes. He still manages to put things right and, eventually, his heart is in the right place when dealing with Vanellope. Speaking of which, Ralph and Vanellope’s relationship is all kinds of wholesome, making it heartwarming seeing them bond and even heartbreaking seeing them…go through some stuff. They’re a great dynamic duo, and are much more entertaining than Felix and Sergeant Calhoun, who…could have had a relationship that was funny but was overall just…meh. But do you want to know what wasn’t ‘meh?’ The villain. I won’t give away who it is, but Wreck It Ralph is the only case where a Disney Twist Villain was done right. You see hints of who they are and what they’re planning scattered through the movie, to the point that if you paid close attention, the big reveal wouldn’t have been that surprising. Plus, the villain’s pretty funny to boot, both in what they say and how they move.

Overall, Wreck It Ralph is solid. The comedy was a little weak, but the foundations that the characters lay make for a great, standalone movie…That never had a sequel. Shut up.

#5. Lilo and Stitch-Yet another childhood favorite of mine. And, dang it, I can’t name a better movie that fills me with greater joy than Lilo and Stitch. Particularly because of, well, Lilo and Stitch. Both are well-written and well-directed characters that make this movie what it is. Lilo is one of the most accurate child characters in fiction, feeling authentic in her behavior and desires. She wants friends and people to like her, it’s just that, unfortunately, no one understands the things that Lilo likes or just how her mind operates. The only person who understands is Nani, who, despite some frustrations, genuinely cares about Lilo, wanting to do anything and everything to keep her around. Their relationship together not only brings forth some heartwarming moments, but even some compelling drama that hits me where it hurts.

And then there’s Stitch. A character that is equal parts adorable and disgusting, crafty and insane, and even hilarious and heartbreaking. Stitch is the whole package, and the slow build of his loyalty to Lilo is as believable as it is endearing. And with Stitch comes Jumba and Pleakley, who add most of the humor through their failures to capture him as well as dealing with Earth. Some say they take away from the drama with Nani and Lilo, but personally I don’t see it. I’m still invested with what Nani and Lilo are going through despite some cartoonish sci-fi nonsense. If anything, they add more humor, which I’m not going to knock. Not with how much both of them get a chuckle out of me.

I might be biased because this is one of those movies I’ve watched a dozen times as a kid…but I don’t care. I felt nothing but happiness when watching every minute of it, and if a movie can still do that to me all these years later, who am I to complain?

#4. The Lion King-This movie is best described as grandiose. The animation is larger than life, there are some epic set-pieces that are both musical and action packed, and the score is a wonder to the ears. It’s incredible to watch…even though there are some problems to be had. For one, there’s the characters. None of them are bad by any means, but there are a few that get to me a bit. The main source of my issues is Scarr. He was an engaging and terrifying villain with a silver tongue that got him everything he ever wanted, but once he actually gets what he wants, he becomes a wuss AND a bully somehow. Then there’s Timone and Pumba, who are funny…to a point. There are times when they get annoying and you can actually see how they influenced some of the more aggravating comedic animal sidekicks in the worst possible way. Finally, there’s the message, which is a well-intentioned one. It’s good to teach kids that they need to learn from the mistakes they’ve made in the past rather than put those mistakes behind them. The problem is that the lesson falls a little short when Simba doesn’t really make that big of a mistake to own up to. Scarr killed Mufasa. Not Simba. So he really has nothing to own up to other than leaving, which wasn’t really his fault either. It feels weird to rank The Lion King higher than others films, as I’ve seen past and even future Disney movies that have better characters and well executed morals. Yet, with how much work that went into making The Lion King the spectacle that it is, I can’t help but rank it higher. Other films did things better than it, but, eh. Hakuna Mattata, is what I say.

#3. Frozen-”NO!”

Hear me out!

“NO!”

Hear! Me! Out!

Once upon a time, we all loved Frozen. And those who didn’t respectfully agreed that it is worth being loved. But then Disney kept shoving Frozen into our faces and our ears to the point where we all got so gosh dang sick of it, where even those who loved the movie started avoiding it like the plague. Suddenly, a movie that was originally flawless started being remembered more for it’s flaws. For one, Elsa is more of a plot device than an actual character. She isn’t bad, but it’s not a good thing that her big song feels a little empty when there was no real build up to her embracing her wild side. And the movie also has the most infamous Disney Twist Villain to date, having a character that comes with a well intentioned message of not trusting a pretty face, but is horribly executed with how the character acts pre and post the big reveal.

These flaws are brought up a lot…but I still wouldn’t call the movie bad. Because, to tell you the truth, there are more pros than cons to Frozen. The other characters, for example, are actually pretty decent. Anna is adorkably endearing, Kristoph gives a lot of laughs as the film’s straight man, and Olaf…is someone you either love or you hate. Yeah, even I’ll admit he’s the perfect balance of annoying and funny.

As for the story, it is also pretty decent. The best way to describe Frozen as a modernized Disney fairytale. There are still the usual tropes and themes, but also some friendly jabs and a few altercations to make the movie feel like an improvement. Like the running joke about how crazy it is to marry someone you just met or actually making Elsa the first Disney queen instead of a princess. Turns out, queens don’t have to be evil. That’s nice.

And the songs. The songs are all pretty great…except for “Fixer Upper.” It’s…below average. But even then, it’s still catchy enough where it isn’t awful. In fact, none of the songs are awful. Yes, even the one that makes you want to shove an ice pick into your ears. “Let It Go” is beautiful in the way that it’s orchestrated, sung, and sometimes even animated, getting a genuine smile on my face when I heard it. And, admit it: Before you heard it everywhere you went, there was a time when you replayed that song over and over again, just because you willingly wanted to hear it. Maybe the song is a little empty due to Elsa’s character, but it’s still wonderful to hear and a spectacle to see.

Which brings me to another reason why Frozen’s great: The spectacle. There was so much effort into making this movie the grand film that it is that I honestly can’t hate it. It’s the same with The Lion King. There are probably better written movies in Disney’s line up…but I can’t help but rank Frozen higher for how much it amazes me. It might be a bit weird, but do you want to know what I say to that? Let it go…

Though, admittingly, there’s one thing better than spectacle. And that’s spectacle with substance.

#2. Encanto-I believe there are three things we all love about Disney: The music, the animation, and the characters. With Encanto, it checks off every one of those boxes and THEN some.

This just might be Disney’s best musical to date. The songs are all incredible, having so much life within them, making each one really stand out as incredible and addicting. Most musicals, especially ones made by Disney, tend to have one, maybe two songs that’s a bit skippable, but that’s not really the case with Encanto. I can listen to and watch every song in the movie and still have a fun time with each one as they’re orchestrated, sung, and choreographed to perfection. It’s also the choreography that should get more attention, as everyone and everything moves to the beat of each song so well that it just makes me smile throughout all of it. The animators even had a whole dance number to use as a reference when animating “We Don’t Talk About Bruno,” making it even more of a sight to see.

Speaking of, the animation is just gorgeous. This is a time when Disney really nailed the CGI animation, having fluid movements and wild expressions that makes Encanto a blast to watch. The character designs are also where the movie shines, as everyone in the main cast looks unique while still looking like a family. There are physical features that show how they’re all related, such as sharp chins and types of hair, but other features and clothing help illustrate who they are. Like Abuela Alma, who’s stiff stature and dark clothing help make her look like a stereotypical Disney villain, which not only works for her character but there’s also a good reason for it, making her seem more sympathetic than apathetic.

As for the characters themselves, they’re all really great. Most of them are mildly entertaining, while others have this vulnerability and tragedy to their characters, with Mirabel being the best example of it. She wants so badly to have this one thing. This one understandable, even relatable, desire that Mirabel so desperately goes about to obtain. And when she got it, I genuinely cried tears of joy. That’s right, Encanto is the first and only movie not to make me cry because I was sad, but because I was happy. And that’s because I felt such a connection to these characters that seeing them get what they want makes me so happy that I cry. That is powerful.

And that’s not even mentioning the great themes of generational trauma, the consequences of being considered gifted, and how you yourself are a miracle, a gift, and…GOSH DANGIT, watch this movie!

Study this movie!

Love this movie, because it really is something special. If I had to complain about anything, it’d be that I wish we had more time to spend with the rest of the family. But if the biggest problem with Encanto is that I want more of it, that’s hardly an issue. I love every aspect of it, and it’s easily Disney’s best film…Film, to be precise.

#1. Fantasia-You see, Fantasia isn’t a movie. It’s a work of art.

Do you want to know what my favorite thing to do on YouTube is? Look up fan-made animatics to songs and see what these many artists can come up with. That's basically Fantasia. Seeing artists listen to songs and offer the perfect visuals that go perfectly with them. And the results are glorious, with only one or two sections going on just a little too long. In the end, it still all comes down to a fantastic movie that shows why Disney is at the top of the animation industry. They do more than make wonderful movies and characters. They make art. Art that can be appreciated at any age, whether you're a child or an adult. There are slip-ups, here and there, don't get me wrong. But when the right people are behind the right film, you'll get what is undoubtedly a masterpiece.

And that’s why it’s so easy to hate Disney as a company. They focus more on making a successful business and less on making art. Why change the game when you can buy the things people love? That’s certainly the mindset nowadays, and it really is damaging the entertainment industry as a whole. But, every now and again, you’ll have someone who fought with every fiber of their being to make a movie that fits with the Disney that they remember. The studio where the goal was to break boundaries on animation and make something everyone can love. Not just a movie people can put on because there’s nothing better to watch. Hopefully, we’ll get more art that proves Disney hasn’t completely lost its magic just yet.

#walt disney animated pictures studios #worst to best disney #moana #aladdin #disney's mulan #tangeled #wreck it ralph #lilo and stitch #the lion king #frozen #encanto #fantasia

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woeisme-iamwoe · 3 years

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an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 4

BokuAka and Daisuga to end it. I can never find good fics of these two ships, especially DaiSuga and it upsets me to no end. Please give me some to read!

BokuAka:

in blackwater woods, by snowlighters (4k. T. canonverse)

at their last match during nationals, akaashi breaks his promise.

your wide eyes are the only light i know, by viverella (9k. T. canonverse)

I know I’ve said this before, BUT WHY DOESN'T THIS HAVE MORE HITS??

Akaashi falls in love, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s with volleyball or Bokuto or a little of both, because somewhere along the line, the two become almost synonymous, inextricably intertwined.

fine line, by starsqwub (19k. G. canonverse)

Wow, wow, wow, so cute. I could never get too deep into Bokuaka just ‘cause Bokuto wears me out (I love him so much still, please don't come for my throat), but this fic was a refreshingly easy read. I, too, love lists, Akaashi. Lots of fluff, friendship, and soft smiles.

“Do you find me pretty intriguing, Akaashi?”

“Not particularly,” Akaashi lies again.

bitter, by silvercistern (13k. G. canonverse)

A very sweet fic. Or, I’m sorry, a rather fluffy fic. No sweets here.

He accepted his classmate's chocolates gracefully, then declared his lack of interest with as much dignity as he could muster. She deserved the courtesy. At least she'd acknowledged that Valentine's Day was all about her, and not about him in the slightest.

Because if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.

And that was that Akaashi hated sweets.

35mm, by tothemoon (20k. T. canonverse)

Love the use of the idea of possibilities (A or B or C) in this work, seriously beautiful writing style as well! Adore it

A ten-year treatise on patience, brought to you by Akaashi Keiji

stating the obvious, by mocaw (13k. G. canonverse)

‘Like friends do’. Sure, mate. Sure.

There's a lot of things Bokuto isn't sure about now that he's in university. His program, his new team, his future. There's only one thing he's absolutely sure of. He is not dating Akaashi Keiji. Not even a little bit.

Year-Round Love, by masi (3k. G. Future-fic)

Innocent boys!

In his first year of university, Bokuto realizes that he really adores Akaashi.

DaiSuga:

winner in the whirlwind, by tothemoon (7k. T. canonverse)

Hey, author. Can I marry you, please?

In which Suga beats Daichi at games and the latter finds someone to cherish.

(Or, snippets of encouragement and care under the guise of foot races, mischievous bets, and late night sessions of Mario Kart.)

the long game, by themorninglark (5k. T. canonverse)

So pure, so good, makes you feel young and in love yourself and I just love it. It's hard to find good daisuga fics, something always just feels...off, but this one does them justice. Short and sweet read. Loved it.

but the want, it's always there, constant like the static playing on every television channel, present even when the station disconnects.

you're good where you are, by Mysecretfanmoments (3k. M. canonverse)

There is no angst in the daisuga readers rec. None. Just pure, unadulterated fluff. That being said, here's some hormones. Granted its soft hormones, but there's never anything less between these two. I love their love (that's way too cheesy, i made myself throw up)

Daichi’s legs look good in shorts.

It’s an unnecessary statement, like "trees are plants" or "the earth orbits the sun", but it keeps on surprising Koushi just how good they look in shorts; he thanks his lucky stars every day for whatever it was that led Daichi to pick up volleyball when he was a kid.

((a day in the life of Sugawara Koushi))

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond, by themorninglark (5k. T. canonverse)

I hate thinking about Karasuno graduation, nevertheless, here's a little almost bittersweet number for ya. Beautiful poem choice, by the way.

Suga has learned to solve his problems, save for one.

It's their graduation day, and he's staring at it.

i do (cherish you), by gabstar (3k. T. canonverse)

Soulmates. Daichi and Suga are soulmates. Adopt me, dads.

The first time Daichi suggests it, it’s a joke.

“Sugawara Koushi,” he says solemnly. He’s bent on one knee, the floor is still sticky with sweat post-practice. He offers up the lost ring, found while mopping off gym floors. “Will you marry me?”

((Five times Daichi asks Suga to marry him, plus once where he finally, finally says yes.))

Extra:

Close to the Chest, by darkmagicalgirl (Kyouhaba. 61k. T. canonverse)

Such a popular one, you’ve probably read it. I love Kyoutani so much.

It takes Yahaba thirteen years to realize he's different from the other kids, one to figure out how to hide it, and two more to learn to be happy just the way he is. Yahaba's journey ft. an extremely annoyed Kyoutani, best friend in the world Watari, and loads and loads of good senpai Oikawa.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fic #haikyuu fic rec #bokuaka #daisuga #kyouhaba

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sabraeal · 3 years

Text

And Spring Became the Summer

[Read on AO3]

The very last of my follower fics for the 700 Followers gifts! This one was the bonus for making it to 750 before December, and I’m so glad I’ve FINALLY gotten this done...so I can do it all over again this year 🤣

The last term paper Mitsuhide writes for his undergraduate career he slips into a glossy plastic portfolio-- double-spaced and double-sided, graphs printed in full color-- and turns in personally.

It’s a wide-eyed TA that takes it, seated behind a desk that’s far too big for her. Or well, she’s not wide-eyed at first; instead she’s bent over her work, only glancing up absently to make sure she has it in hand. But a second one turns absence to alarm, eyes fixing to where he grips the plastic, and suddenly he’s all-too aware how easily how just one of his hands could swallow both of hers.

So is she; her eyes pulse wide, and then she’s tracing the line of his arm up and up doggedly, like as long as she just keeps going, she might hit the end of him. When she finally does, he offers her a sheepish smile, shoulders hunched lessen the blow.

She shrinks back, a mousey brown head peeking above an oversized university sweatshirt. So much for that.

“You could have emailed this,” she squeaks, plucking the plastic sleeve from his grip. “I mean, not that you can’t hand it in. It’s just, er...”

“No one does,” another adds, rolling across the floor with a level of curiosity that he’s pretty sure an in-person paper doesn’t warrant. When she measures him with her gaze, she enjoys every inch. “Pretty old fashioned, if you ask me.”

He recognizes both of them; their names had been on the syllabus at the beginning of the semester. He’d found them both on the department website, Amanda wearing the same Clarines sweatshirt she had on today, and Holly’s clearly from some beach vacation, cropped from the shoulders up.

(“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a stalker,” Obi says, hanging upside down from the armchair.

“I’m-- I’m not!” Mitsuhide sputters, heat creeping up his neck. One day, Obi would slip up and say these things in front of someone who mattered, someone with a much more rigid sense of humor than Professor Gazelt, or didn’t know to take every word of his with an ocean of salt like Dean Haruka, and then it would be him that got seated in front of a disciplinary committee. The last thing he needed to do before even finishing law school applications was explain his brother’s poor taste in jokes on the record. “It’s just...”

“That you’re compelled to look at cute girls on the university website?” he offers, so casual. “I could think of hotter majors, if you wanted. Psych seems like it’s the sort of place real tens might hand out, right? Maybe, uh, Education? Kindergarten teachers always are cute--”

“It’s polite,” Mitsuhide grits out, shoulders hunched up by his ears. “You should know everyone on staff in your department, just the way you should know everyone you work with. It’s the proper way to network.”

Obi watches him with wide eyes, like he’s some kind of zoo animal or-- or one of those really bad cooks on TV, the kind who tries to pan fry a chicken whole. “God, you don’t actually do that, do you?”

“It’s the secret to good business.” At least, that’s what his parents always told him.

“You must be...” Obi savors the moment, looking positively euphoric as he says, “Really fucking creepy at the department Christmas party.”)

“No one did,” says the first-- Amanda, graduate summa cum laude from Columbia-- tone aimed to shush. “I’m, uh, happy to take that, though.”

He gives her his most gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“No,” Holly-- Penn State, no honors-- mutters, casting him a speculative glance from the corner of her eyes. Hers go up and up too, but seem to come to a much more amicable conclusion. “Thank you.”

“Stop.” Amanda’s hands flex on the thin plastic; she has soft hands, a callus only on the knuckle of her middle finger, where a pen might rest. Like Shirayuki, only without the thousand nicks and cuts that dot her fingers, battle wounds from wrangling recalcitrant plants.

Her chin pulls up, set in a determined line as she says, “Congratulations on graduating.”

“Ah...” It’s a kind thought, and meant well, but knowing he’s about to spend the next three years earning the degree that counts softens the blow. “Thank you. I hope you have a nice, um, summer?”

“Definitely will be nicer not to grade papers,” Holly offers, immune to Amanda’s shushing. “Do you have pl--?”

“We should get back to grading,” Amanda says, just to the left of too loud. “Have a nice summer.”

Never repeat yourself, Mama always told him, it weakens your position.

You can never be too polite. That’s what Papa would say, when he thanked the cashier for a third time.

Mitsuhide winces; he’s always hated this, being stuck between his parents. It’s clearly time to leave. “Right. Bon été, Amanda.”

“Was that French,” he hears hissed the moment he’s stepped out the door; the same moment another voice says, “Did I tell him my name?”

He should have just emailed it. Mitsuhide can make any number of excuses about the joys of collating and color printing, about face-time and networking, but at the end of the day, he has to call a spade a spade: this has all been an excuse. A thin one too, to keep him out of the house. To put off what he knows need doing.

Mitsuhide steps into the cool air of the foyer, shivering as it catches the sweat that beaded at his hairline on the walk. His courage peaks as he stands there, right next to the shoe mat, grand stair stretching up before him, still in his oxfords--

And immediately effervesces when he catches sight of smooth, bare legs on the coffee table, fuzzy slippers worth more than his phone perched up on the mahogany. This is it, the moment of truth, fight or flight, and he-- he doesn’t know which way to run.

So he doesn’t. He’s drawn there with inexorable motion, a magnet to a lodestone, the hard soles of his shoes clacking against the wood the only thing keeping him grounded. It takes only a few steps before long, tanned legs lead up to sleep shorts; not the clingy kind that curve and cup, but the ones that hang like boxers around the tops of her thighs, rucking up as she moves. After that it’s a hoodie, worn loose and baggy, like it’s supposed to fit someone twice her size, its hood drawn tight against her face. Nothing...sexy, not the way Obi might say, with far too much eyebrows involved. But still, his mouth runs dry, tongue heavy behind his teeth.

How on earth is he going to do this?

“Kiki.” He speaks before he thinks, sinking down on the table. It creaks beneath him, ominous. “I owe you a date.”

“Oh shit.” Obi flops over on the recliner, wide gold eyes peeking over the arm. “Check out the balls on this kid.”

This is a terrible idea. He should have known not to do this in a-- a common room, one where other brothers might be hiding.

“Sorry,” he creaks, levering himself up. “I didn’t realize-- you’re clearly busy--”

“No.” Kiki’s lays her feet right on his thighs, pushing him down with a thump. “You were saying something important.”

He darts a glance to the shadow squirming obnoxiously on soft leather. “But Obi--”

“Obi,” she informs him, as imperious as any C-suite member, “can leave.”

Obi doesn’t so much bark out a laugh as honks it. “Not unless I got time to make popcorn.”

Her head doesn’t move an inch from where she’s got it, chin tilted up to meet his own gaze. Her eyes though, those slide pointedly away, fixed at their corners, radiating malice. Kiki is slow to speak, deliberate when she does, but her eyes-- well, there’s a wealth of words in every look, and right now they’re reading Obi the riot act.

It would have worked better if Obi wasn’t already so used hearing it.

“Ignore him,” Kiki decides, attention snapping back to him. “He’s furniture.”

“Oh, Ms Kiki,” Obi drawls, barreling towards a mistake, “you could sit on me any--”

“You were saying?” she says, every word iron. Obi takes the hint, for once.

“I, uh...well, you paid for a date,” Mitsuhide manages lamely, darting a worried look to where Obi lounges on the chair. “I mean, you paid a lot for a date. And I understand that you may have just wanted to donate to the frat, but if you wanted to--”

“I told you,” Kiki says, dry, toes flexing firmly on his knee. “I expect you to make it worth my while.”

“Ah, y-yeah.” Her saying that while looking at him like she did-- well, his brain had that queued up every time he blinks his eyes. Sometimes it changed venues, and there were some, uh, costume changes at times, but if he shut his eyes right now it’d spool up with perfect fidelity. “I thought it might, um, d-distract you if we tried before finals, but since you’ve finished-- we’ve finished--”

“As of twenty minutes ago,” Obi adds, so helpful.

“--I thought it might be a fun way to relax.” He’s honestly never felt less relaxed in his life just sitting here, contemplating it. Half of it he can chalk up to Obi, curled over the recliner like a gremlin, waiting to wreak his version of chaos the second he can weasel his fingers in, but the other--

Well, it’s hard to ask someone on a date when you know they’ve already got someone in mind for the position. Even if it’s just-- this. As friends.

His heart’s in his throat. At least, that’s what he thinks until Kiki’s mouth curves; then he knows it’s never been in his possession at all, but always utterly hers. “Sounds like fun.”

Tension rushes out of him on a sigh. “Ah, great. I though we might, er, go to Boston? You know,” he hurries to spit out, before any words can fall from her parted lips, “since there’s not much out here we haven’t seen.”

She hesitates. Of course she does. Boston’s practically her hometown, and he’s sitting here, thinking it’ll impress her. Like she hasn’t seen everything that’s worth seeing there twice over and in private. That she hasn’t just told him no outright is a testament to how well Mr Seiran’s raise her, and--

“Let’s make a day of it.”

Mitsuhide startles, nearly tipping off the table’s edge before he glances up, right into her row of perfectly straight teeth. Her mom’s smile, she always told him, but he’s only ever seen it on her. “I-- yes. That’s..good.”

Her lips curl, hiding her teeth. “Let me handle the accommodations.”

“Ah, no.” His head sweeps through big, nervous back-and-forths. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to--”

“You’re not,” Kiki informs him. “I’m telling you. I’ll handle accommodations. You’re seeing to the rest of the weekend, correct?”

“Y-yes.” He tries to fold his arms across his lap, but with her feet right on his thighs, it ends up with his hands covering her ankles. He expects her to move them, but instead her legs still, tendons relaxing under his palms. “That’s the plan, but, really--”

“It’s the least I can do.” She shifts her macbook off the couch’s arm, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “One night?”

“I...” He should decline. He should tell her that if she can drop a whole K on a date with him, he can shell out for one night at a hotel with a higher rating than a Holiday Inn.

But this is Kiki Seiran, heir to Seiran International. She’s not just used to five stars but the penthouse suite. He could book four star cheap on Hotwire, but imagining her in one of those suites, the sheets starched and thread count insufficient--

“Yeah,” he grunts, “one night’s fine.”

“Perfect.” Her teeth snap around the word. “Leave it to me.”

“So,” Obi starts before Mitsuhide’s even hit the last step. “We have a bet going on.”

He grimaces, shifting the duffel over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

‘Pretty sure’ turns to ‘certain’ once he catches Obi’s grin. “It’s about whether you’ll get your dick wet.”

“Sorry, not interested.” He heaves the bag beside the front door, brushing off his shorts. “Isn’t it too early for you to be up? I thought you didn’t know about the hours before ten.”

“I had motivation,” Obi assures him, slinking up beside him with a grin a mile wide. “You know, Shiira says that you won’t on the grounds that you’re a gentleman.”

More like the lady isn’t interested. “I already said I wasn’t--”

“Kai says you will,” he continues blithely, “and you’ll come back on time. Shuuka agrees, except that he thinks you’ll miss check out with all the boning down and won’t make it back until evening.”

“Isn’t this breaking the bylaws?” Mitsuhide grunts, slipping on his sneakers. “Don’t we have something about betting...?”

“For money,” Obi agrees. “Zen still wouldn’t put a bet down though.”

That’s assuring at least. “Of course n--”

“Shiira already took his.” Obi shakes his head. “And we wouldn’t allow him to say the same thing except that he thinks it’s because you’re and idiot.”

Well, that’s a little rich, coming from Zen. Mitsuhide was loath to remind anyone that besides Obi, he is the most experienced, but-- some people should be taking that into account. Even if nothing is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, Big Guy.” Obi claps him on the shoulder, smile somehow drifting towards kindly. “I gave you until Monday.”

“Obi--”

“And Kiki will walk in with a limp.”

“Obi, you know that’s not...” His breath hisses between his teeth. “That’s not what me and Kiki are like.”

“You keep thinking that, Big Guy, but--” he leans in, cupping a hand around his mouth-- “my original bet was gonna be Tuesday. Too bad Kiki had already taken it.”

Mitsuhide stares at him, slack-jawed. “W-what did you just--?”

“I should have known, you’re already here.”

His head jerks up, right to the top of the grand stair, the beginning of a quick glance-- but it’s no use. There’s no possible way he could make his eyes focus anywhere but on Kiki, not when she’s wearing-- when she’s--

“Ooh.” Obi’s mouth curls, matching Kiki’s knowing smirk. “Is that a skirt?”

It is. And not-- not her field hockey kit, mid-thigh with shorts beneath, but and actual skirt, one that floats just above her knees, gauzy and floral. A single flash of leg tells him there’s nothing else beneath. Ah, well, besides the obvious. Mitsuhide swallows hard, mouth dry.

She raises a brow, hand trailing sinuously down the banister beside her. “It is a date, isn’t it?”

Her heels clack when she takes the last step into the foyer, clack because it’s the cork of her wedges that hits the floor first, because-- nom de Dieu-- she’s wearing shoes that tilt her a few inches close to him. Close enough that he could just bend at the neck and--

“Ah,” he coughs, fingers clenching in his shirt. “You might be a little overdressed. At least for this first part.”

Both her brows raise now. “Am I?”

“God,” Obi mutters at his shoulder, head buried in his hands. “You could at least say she looks nice.”

Well, when he’s right, he’s right.

“You look, ah, great though,” Mitsuhide hurries to add. “Beautiful.”

Kiki, to his surprise, beams. “Well, I brought a few outfits. I’ll change at the hotel.”

“Ah, sure.” He scoops up his duffel, holding out a hand for her bag as she passes. “You’re ready to go?”

Her mouth quirks at a corner. “As I’ll ever be.”

He hums, uncertain, suddenly left-footed with her so close. They should leave, but that involves a number a movements he’s suddenly stymied by.

Thankfully, Obi opens the door, practically shoving him onto the porch. “All right kids, be safe now.”

“Obi...”

“Don’t worry,” Kiki drawls, sashaying over the threshold. “I packed plenty of condoms.”

The door cuts off Obi’s laugh, but Mitsuhide can’t escape the pounding of his heart.

“You know,” he sighs, trailing after her, “you’re only encouraging him when you say things like that.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” she hums, floating past. “I was trying to encourage you.”

#mitsukiki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #ans #THESE ARE FINALLY FINISHED #and this little side jaunt is barely started 🤣#i wanted to do the whole date...then convinced myself half...#and now i just have the lead up #but lbr #it's better this way #since we get more chaos agent Obi #which only makes Obi's sensitive feelings about his OWN date funnier #buddy you bought and paid for the shit you're getting #and NOW you don't want it? no wonder Kiki gives you crap

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unmaskedagain · 5 years

Text

Archenemies to Superfriends

Do you know how hard it is to make Lila likeable? Do you know the struggle I went through to write this fic? I know I said I wanted a challenge, something unique. BUT WHAT THE HELL! This took me longer than my last two fics combined. Class salt but make Lila the good guy? Like seriously, do you hate me? I hope the Anon requester likes this.

"I regret that we meet in this way. You and I are of a kind. In a different reality, I could have called you friend." — Romulan Commander, Star Trek: The Original Series, "Balance of Terror"

It turned out there was a line Lila Rossi wouldn’t even cross. Sure, she wasn’t the nicest person in the world. Far from it. She was a liar, a thief, a cheater, a bully at times, a social climber.

But she wasn’t a monster.

As she looked the sketchbook in Alya’s hand, and the vindictive look on her face; Lila realized what was about to take place would push her over the line into monster status.

The school day had just ended. Most students had already left. Lila had been about to leave when Alya stopped her.

“How? How did you get it?” Lila asked. Surely Marinette wasn’t foolish enough to leave it around.

It was Alix who preened, “I snuck it out of her bag.”

“She’s been so mean to you, girl,” Alya said. “Marinette needs to learn a lesson.”

No, Marinette hadn’t been mean to her. Lila never even implied the bluenette had been mean to her. Lila spun her stories to the class, and whenever Marinette called her out for lying (which she was), the class would gang up on the Bluenette and accuse her of being jealous, of bullying poor Lila.

It was actually rather startling how fast the so call best friends had turned on the girl. Lila didn’t even have to push or instigate it like she usually did. No, a few promises of meeting famous celebrities, and they all rushed to do it on their own.

Rose’s sleepover. Rose didn’t invite Marinette at the other girls’ insistence so Lila wouldn’t feel unease.

Nino’s party. No one mentioned it Marinette. She had been acting crazily lately.

Trip to the movie. Marinette would just ruin it for everybody.

And so on and so forth. Until the class was going out of their way to avoid the bluenette. Some even went as far as verbally bashing the other girl and ending their friendships. It got to the point where no one, not even Adrien, would speak to Marinette; and ostracized her to the back of the class. Only Chloe defended the girl and sought out her friendship. To which Alya snorted, “Of course. Bullies belong with bullies.”

Now the class had moved on to destroying private property. Great.

Lila sighed. How was she going to get herself out of this one?

Lila prided herself on still being able to look at herself in the mirror at the end of the day. Despite all she had done and would be willing to do; Lila was firm on what she wouldn’t do.

Destroying someone’s life work; something they had spent months and months on, something that had nothing to do with Lila, was going too far.

Lila needed to move quickly. She eyed the sketchbook. It was a standard black sketchbook, nothing special. She owned a similar one herself that she used for quick doodles and to write down ideas.

That was when Lila got an idea. She quickly put her school books on the desk and beamed at her moronic classmates. Then all it took were quick sad eyes, and a can I hold it first, please. For Alya to hand it over. Then Lila accidentally spilled all off her books on the ground, and when everyone rushed to help her. Lila switched the two sketchbooks.

Then it took her classmates, not friends (never friends); Alya, Max Alix, Kim, Nino, Mylene, Ivan, all of ten seconds to destroy the book into as little pieces as they could. Never even bothering to look to see if it was actually Marinette’s work.

They left the pieces scattered on Marinette’s desk.

Just as they finished said girl rushed back into class, a frantic searching look on her face. It took her five seconds to notice the torn sketchbook on her desk. Pure devastation overtook her face, tears filled her blue eyes.

Alya snipped a mean retort about Karma and left the class with the other students following behind her. Not realizing Lila wasn’t among them. Not caring that she had just hurt the girl she had sworn was her bestie not too long ago.

Marinette stared quietly at the mess, not letting the tears fall. “Why?” She whispered.

“I didn’t have anything to do with this,” Lila told her. “You don’ have to believe me. But I swear I didn’t. This isn’t my m.o.”

Marinette wanted to lash out at the other girl; scream about it being her fault, and her being a liar. But she couldn’t even find words to speak.

“Here,” Lila said as she handed over the sketchbook. “I switched it with mine before they could… you know.”

Marinette blinked once, then twice, before she slowly reached for the book; hope filling her. And sure enough. Relief rushed through her. She thanked all the kwami. “Why?” She asked Lila. “You hate me.” That had been the basis for their relationship for months.

Lila snorted, “I don’t hate you. I don’t hate anyone,” She shrugged. “Hate clouds judgment. You’re just my competition. No one likes their rival team.”

Marinette stared at the Italian girl. Rival team? Competition? What? “We’re not even competing for anything! If it's about Adrien. He’s yours. I don’t want him.” It turned out, the blond was too cowardly for her taste. Not enough backbone.

“Of course we’re competing!” Lila snapped. “Since I got to this school.”

“Over what?”

It was Lila’s turn to stare. Didn’t the other girl know? Hadn’t they been fighting for the top spot?

“Being the most popular girl in school.”

Marinette just looked confused. “But I’m not popular. Especially not now.”

“Not popular?” Lila could’ve cursed. “Not popular! On my first day, I didn’t go more than a foot before someone mentioned the wonderful Marinette. She’s so smart. She’s so sweet. She’s so EVERYTHING. I knew from day one we were archenemies. You knew it too. Why else would you try to call me out so much!”

“…I just don’t like liars.”

That time Lila did scream.

Because it wasn’t possible. There was no way Marinette Dupain-Cheng hadn’t even realized they had been competing. This wasn’t just some delusional one-side battle on Lila’s side. No way.

“Why me?” Marinette asked, with a tilted head, reminded Lila of a puppy. “There are tons of more popular girls. Aurore; she’s the most beautiful girl in school. Ondine, she’s the best athlete. Ruby in drama was literally voted the most popular kid in school last year.”

“That’s different,” Lila waved it off. “Those girls are popular for one specific thing. Even Ruby was only voted because she throws the best parties. And even then, most only like them for that thing. Everyone likes you.” Or at least all but one class now.

A class that had proven to be worthless. Lila was starting to realize that she had been playing against her most noteworthy opponent, who apparently never realized they were competing, in a less than worthwhile game to be the most popular girl in class to get the approval of the students. Students who, again, weren’t worth it.

“You’re the only one worth a damn in this school,” Lila admitted as she sat down at her desk. “That’s why you. You’re the best. I want to beat the best.”

She never attacked the weak. She attacked the strong. She went after the strongest of the strong. Lila thrived off competition. She just didn’t want to win. She wanted to be The Winner. Lila wanted the number one spot engraved with her name. To do that she had to beat the best.

Her motto: A hero is only as good as his villain. The reverse is also true.

Lila knew since was a little girl that she would never make it the big leagues if she only fought small fries. So in every school, in every class; Lila found what was most important to her fellow students and went after it. Some school was easy. A few classes valued music; Lila started a band, with her as the lead singer, and knocked out her competition. Sports freaks; Lila always had a knack for futbol. Everyone in class fought to have the best grades (It only happened once) but Lila said bring it on.

Even she had to cheat, sabotage, lie, or whatever else to get to the top she’d do it. And she did. And she was always won.

She was the most popular kid in school within the month. Always.

As for her competition. Some fell easily; too easily for her taste. Some took months to fall. One guy took an entire year. His name had been Felix, and he been Lila’s favorite nemesis. He had fought with everything he had; pushed Lila far beyond her limits and made her think outside the box every time they went head to head.

He had been the joker to her Batman. (Afterall, every villain is a hero in their own mind)

But eventually, even Felix fell.

It had been glorious. A high that Lila road all the way to her new school in France.

Looking back, Lila should’ve known better. She should’ve known that Felix had been preparing her for her greatest battle yet. The fight of her lifetime. Against the greatest opponent, she would ever know.

Marinette.

The Superman to her Batman. All good things good and pure Versus the big bad of the night.

It had been a fight Lila had been waiting for her life. And yet it turned out, Marinette never even really noticed.

And to think, Lila had thought she had been winning. The class turned again Marinette. Everyone loved Lila. Except none of it seemed to bother the other girl. In fact, she seemed to get stronger.

For every friend Marinette lost, she found another; a better one. Aurore, Claude, Ondine, Marc, Luka, Bridgette; the list went on and on.

Alya voted to have Marinette removed as class president. Marinette gets on the student council. The class loses its most organized student. Lila declines the role of feigning that she was too busy. To make it worse all the well-planned birthday parties, school trips, free costume designer, and the random sweet day where baked goods were brought to class on particularly stressful school days, (all of which Lila had enjoyed).

Adrien no longer speaking to her. (Honestly, Lila never saw what anyone saw in the blond model besides the potential connection he offered. He was naive and a far too idealistic for her taste). Marinette gets twelve different boys, and three girls, asking her to the sweethearts dance.

Without the class clinging to her and demanding her time, Marinette seemed to thrive. No longer stressed; rarely ever late. Lila, on the other hand, found her days busier and busier as her classmates tried to lean on her more.

No matter the bad thing that happened, Marinette just stronger. And she never lost her positive attitude.

Marinette shook her head. This one turning out to be one strange day. “If you want the class, you can them. They’re my friends anymore.” She glanced at the pieces of the sketchbook on her desk. “I don’t know who they are in anymore.”

“Fame seekers,” Lila answered. “More concerned with what someone can do for than actual friendships. You get used to them.” She paused. “I don’t want them either. They’re…”

“Taxing,” Marinette offered as she sat down next to Lila. “Emotionally draining. Opinionated. Users.”

“Bad friends.”

“That too.”

It went quiet. Neither girl knowing what to say. Lila didn’t know what to do now that all competition was all but officially declared over. Marinette realized that her ex-friends' actions couldn’t be blamed on Lila. Everything they did was on their own. Forgiveness wasn’t going to happen. So what are they fighting for? What could they fight for?

“Truce?” Marinette offered. “I let the morons believe whatever you want. And you just leave me out of it.”

Lila nodded, “You go your way. I go mine.”

This was worse than Superman V Batman movie ending as far as Lila was concerned. At least no one died.

That was it. They left school that day feeling a little shook. Each girl agreed to move on and avoid each other.

Except that wasn’t what happened.

Somehow, slowly, Lila and Marinette became friends.

It started off small. Lila had needed a break from her groupies and hid in the art room. Marinette had been working in there.

“They too much again?” Marinette asked.

Lila winced but nodded.

“I used to hide in the back of the library,” Marinette offered. “On the roof. Any random classroom I could find. Sometimes, I even just left for my parents.”

“Seriously?” Lila asked. “They’ve always been like this.”

Marinette snorted. “Worse. Wait until they start asking you for favors. Which will turn into demands.”

“…They are just the worst.”

Then both girls laughed.

After that whenever Lila needed a break, she sought out the presence of the other girl. Sometimes they hung out in the library, on the roof, wherever. It was nice.

It wasn’t until Lila showed up in Marinette’s room, bitching about her mom canceling their plans together again. Marinette just listens to Lila’s sorrows and offered ice cream. They spent the entire night just bitching and watching reruns of Doctor Who. (It turned out Lila was a bit of nerd.) Lila slept over and slept easily for the first time in months.

That was when the two realized they were friends.

Marinette, Lila’s once declared greatest enemy, became her first real friend.

After that everything just fell together. Lila started showing up at Marinette’s and more.

Eventually, Lila being invited to Marinette’s girls’ night and being introduced to a new friend to Chloe, Kagami, Aurore, and Ondine.

Upon seeing her, Chloe snorted, “She got you too, huh. It’s the eyes. Don’t look her in the eyes.”

“Yes,” Kagami agreed. “I, too, had declared Marinette my rival. Now I wear bunny pajamas and adorn avocado oatmeal face masks.”

Well shit, Lila thought as she eyed Marinette’s former rivals, did I ever stand a chance?

The answer was no.

But Lila didn’t mind.

After that Chloe found herself having more actually friends than ever before. In Chloe, she found a second-best friend. Someone she could always bitch with, and not just to. The blond had the presence Lila had always strived for. Chloe stalked through the hall like a model on the runway. People jumped out of her way. She was a phenomenal force to be reckoned, likened to Wonder Woman.

Marinette and Lila were two peas in a pod. They both strived to the best, thrived under pressure, and loved fashion. But while Lila wanted to model and be in front of the camera, Marinette wanted to design.

Lila loved Marinette’s clothes and decided the girl need a bit of a push. So she reached out to Chloe, and together they teamed up to convince Marinette to start her own website. It took a bit of work but MDC designs were officially online. All designs, of course, were modeled by Lila, Chloe, and Marinette’s other girlfriends. Lila had never felt so glamorous. Marinette never looked so happy.

Lila started being the one Marinette went to whenever she needed someone to cover for babysitting. Or had to have a random excuse as to why she wasn’t present. And Lila did both jobs remarkably well.

Still, despite their friendship, Lila was a bit surprised to get Marinette’s birthday invitation. Marinette made her promise not to tell anyone. Even more so, when Marinette took her and Chloe, Kagami, Luka, Claude, Marc, Aurore, and Ondine to Clara Nightingale concert. They had backstage passed and Lila nearly died when Clara rushed over to hug Marinette after a song. Lila took a lot of pictures, even one of her and the superstar together, but didn’t post them.

Which left Marinette happily surprised. Apart, though small, still expected Lila to boast in class about the additional celebrity she knew. But that never happened. Marinette felt relief and a bit guilty, she supposed some part of her was testing the other girl to see if she could trust her; and was happy to find out Lila had passed.

Despite their Lila and Marinette’s friendship things at school didn’t change. The other students in class still froze Marinette out. Lila, though, did her best to keep them from doing anything mean to the bluenette. Though this only happened when the other students needed something Marinette used to do for them; like free babysitting, custom-designed dresses, stage design, and interview with Ladybug, it wasn’t going to happen. Or when the class trips were lackluster at best.

Lila hadn’t realized just how much she and Marinette had grown to like and trust each other until Ladybug showed up in her room. She was prepared to send a barging remark to the hero who had nearly sabotaged her attempts to win over Adrien, thus the rest of the class, when Ladybug spoke.

“Marinette sent me,” The red hero said. “She said I could trust you; that you’d make a good hero.” And then Ladybug showed her the fox miraculous, a replica of the one Lila used to wear.

Lila’s mouth dropped opened.

“As soon as the fight’s done, you’ll need to return it to me,” Ladybug stated firmly. “Do you understand.”

And just like that Volpina was reborn. Her costume was darker than before, her tail a bit longer and curved. Her mask black.

Ladybug and Volpina fought side by side against a Clown Akuma that turn people into balloon animals. During the fight, Volpina learned that Chat Noir had, once again, abandoned Ladybug after the hero turned down his affections. Lila never felt so much disgust. What kind of hero was that?

After the fight, Volpina and Ladybug met back up in Lila’s room and Lila immediately handed over the miraculous.

“Thanks for the help,” Ladybug smiled as he pocked the necklace.

Lila nodded, “Chat Noir was wrong. What he’s doing is sexual harassment. Like seriously, look it up. No means no. You shouldn’t have to take that.”

“He’s my partner.”

“He’s not acting like it.”

The words seemed to affect Ladybug who visibly wilted. She didn’t say another word as she left.

However, not long after Lila found herself being called forth to fight as Volpina more and more. Chat Noir never showing up once.

When both heroines were confronted by a furious Alya, live streaming, Lila learned something.

“What happened to Rena Rouge?” Alya demanded, hurt and anger in her eyes. “Why replace her with this faux-hero? And what about the rest of the new team Miraculous; Viperion, BrightRoar, and Ryuko. What about the old team?”

Faux-hero? Ladybug had to physically stop Volpina from ripping into the reporter.

“Rena Rouge has been retired,” Ladybug glared. “She proved herself to be untrustworthy. In fact, all former heroes such as Caraprace and Chat Noir have been retired. They have been replaced by permanent heroes like Volpina, here, Queen Bee, Viperion, BrightRoar, and Ryuko. They have proven themselves to loyal and capable heroes.”

No one knew who was more stunned Lila or Alya. She was a permanent hero? Chat Noir had been replaced? What?

“What?” Alya asked. “Rena was amazing. A much better hero than some people,” She gave a dirty look to Volpina. “And You and Chat Noir belonged together. Everyone says so!”

“Rena was a good hero,” Ladybug said. “But outside the mask, she proved herself unworthy. As for me and Chat Noir. I’ve said countless times, I felt nothing but friendship for him. It was Chat Noir and tabloid sites like the Ladyblog that hyped up that nonsense.”

“Tabloid?” Alya shrieked.

“Yes, tabloid.” Ladybug hissed. “Why do think I stopped working with you?”

In retrospect, Lila should’ve realized sooner the fallout that would happen not long after. Alya wasn’t the type of person to own up to her own mistakes. However, Lila had been so busy cheering at being a new permanent hero that she got a little distracted.

After Ladybug called her out, Alya spent all every ounce energy to find out how she went from Ladybug’s goto to Ladybug’s no go. And then answer was in the comments to her videos of Lila. All calling out the Italian to be a liar.

By Monday, everyone in the class knew. As soon as Lila walked into class, Alya tore into accused her of lying and ruining her blog.

TO which Lila gave big crocodile tear-filled eyes, “I just wanted to make friends.” She tried to gain sympathy. It didn’t work.

Soon all the class was screaming at her.

It stopped when Bustier and Marinette walked into class.

Bustier looked like a deer caught in the headlines, unsure of what to do.

Marinette had looked directly at Lila, “You can sit in back with me and Chloe.”

“Girl’s, she a liar,” Alya hissed. “You were right.”

Marinette scoffed, “And yet she’s a better friend than you ever were.” She looked at Lila again, ignoring the protests from her classmates around her. “Come on.

Lila smiled as the two girls made their way to the back of the classroom to join Chloe in the back.

Lila, Marinette, and Chloe sent matching Ice Queen looks to the rest of the students in class; daring them to say something, to approach.

And just like the heroes: Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman, Lila likened them to be; no one would even consider it.

It wasn’t like anyone else in the class was worth a damn anyway.

#ml salt #Marinette deserves better #marinette dupen chang #chloe bourgeois #lila rossi #class salt

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musicallisto · 4 years

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Hello love,

Congratulations for the 800 followers! You absolutely deserve this and so much more! I'm happy to see how your blog grows and that you're still providing all of us with wonderful content. You're one of the first blogs that I've started to follow here on Tumblr and I'm so lucky to have found your blog ♡

As for your celebration event, could I please request a 🍨 vanilla milkshake with a male Peaky Blinders Character?

I'm more on the curvy side (and insecure about it) and I'm ALWAYS wearing black (which I love, no matter what others say or even more if they object). As for my personality, I'm a highly complex, paradox and complicated individium. I'm unbelievable patient, timid, awkward, kind, forgiving, open-minded, compassionate, thruthful, gentle and calm and I've been told that I have a calming effect on others, that I can easily ground anyone and anything, no matter how troubled their mind is. I prefer vintage over modern things. I think rather deep which often leads me to overthinking everything, which in turn leads me to doubting (very much) myself. You would be surprised how timid and reserved I am, I'm sure you wouln't notice me in a room full of people if it wouldn't be for my different appearance (but I like it this way). I'm always well-meaning, yet often misunderstood (maybe because it's hard for me to articulate myself). I can be incredible lazy, clumsy and forgetful. I've always felt like I don't really belong anywhere, so I've started to distance myself from others a while ago. I'm a outsider, weird, a dork, not normal, a loner and I fucking love it, because I like to be different, I would hate to fit into just one box and to be like everyone else. And I like people who are not ashamed to be their 100% true self, no matter how different that is from the mainstream. I'm the most loyal person you'll ever find, once you earn my trust, I'll always be on/by your side, no matter what. That says a lot, because I'm hard to scare away. Sometimes I feel alienated from the people and things surrounding me and I'm sure that I annoy and bore them. I'm very nervous and insecure around others, which is why I try to avoid people and why I'm not talking all that much around them (though, I'm a really good listener). I'm easily overwhelmed by large crowds and much light/noise, that's why I don't like to go outside, I prefer to cozy up at home. I would never intentionally hurt a animal and I'm not eating any meat, which is very important to me. I believe that there isn't a ounce of cruelty inside me. I'm unassuming and understanding, I only believe what I've witnessed on my own and I have endless acceptance for almost everything. Due to my Insomnia, I'm a night owl. I have strong personal values, am very opinionated and I'm really in-touch with myself and even though I'm extremly insecure, I would never reduce or change myself and views/opinions for someone and I neither have a problem to challenge authority and advocating for my beliefs. I'm a perfectionist and sometimes I really hate it. And, as you can see, I'm unable to be brief. My favourite colours are dark green, black, gold and dark purple. My greatest passion is music, even if I can't sing or play an instrument.(I prefer rock/punk/pop/80s/90s) It's the most calming and therapeutic thing when it comes to my anxiety and depression and I could never live a day without it. You will never see me in the street without headphones in my ears and even when I'm at home there's music playing almost all the time. I could talk for hours about music and what it means to me. And otherwise I love to watch films and series (I like fantasy, horror, psychological thriller, science fiction and psychological drama and almost anything from the 70s, 80s and 90s). I love rainy days and to go outside while it's pouring big, fat drops. What I love the most is to drive around without a destination, while talking and listening to music. And I love to spend time with my cat, if I could, I would have endless animals who live peacefully and loved with me. I enjoy to have deep talks and to be challenged to think. I love to take late-night-strolls, while gazing into the sky and watching the stars/moon. I have a fascination for dark and macabre things.

I really hope that's not too much? But thank you anyway ♡

Have a good day!

thank you so much for your kind words, you have no idea how much it means to me to know that I was one of the first blogs you followed ;; here’s your vanilla milkshake - and it’s also my first time writing for peaky blinders, but I hope it’s alright; and I hope finn shelby will find the portrait I paint of him accurate enough...

Birmingham was a drab and disheartening place enough without the war adding to its joylessness; but somehow the streets are even worse to bear deserted than when they’re bustling and fetid. Especially for a ten year old boy who wants nothing but to play with someone, to talk to someone, to see someone.

With his brothers off fighting somewhere in France and his aunt too busy with her businesses (adult stuff that Finn has absolutey no interest in attempting to understand), the youngest Shelby has been fighting off an affliction worse than consumption and measles, because much more insidious for a boy his age; boredom

and he’s so sad, so irrevocably sad, with no one to bruise his knees with and throw mud at, that he just aimlessly wanders the empty streets whenever aunt Polly isn’t looking, to find a semblance of stimulation

(he used to enjoy the solitude, it gave him time to imagine delirious stories in fantastical worlds and read the most enthralling of novels, but not anymore. four years of reclusion is an awfully long time for a little boy.)

and it’s during one of his escapades that he first meets you

you’re a little girl his age, dressed in a pretty dress, wearing pretty booties and holding a pretty little woven basket, but your face is stuck on the most grouchy frown he’s ever seen on a little girl, and you don’t walk, you stomp down the wet pavement like a wrathful titan

And it’s probably the first time in four years that he’s been this close to making a new friend, so he walks up to you, despite how rusty his communication skills have become

“Girls don’t frown. It’s unbecoming.”

(Yes, pretty rusty indeed; but in his defense, he’s ten, he’s bored, he’s lonely, and he’s only ever heard Ada say it, and Ada is the most level-headed of his siblings, so anything she says must be true, right?)

“Shut up.”

(Well, if it was unbecoming of you to frown, it’s even more to rebuff someone so rudely. You don’t even spare a glance and continue walking; he has to hurry to catch up to you.)

“You can’t say that. It’s a bad word.”

“How do you know that?”

“My family says it all the time, but they told me I can’t say it.”

“Well, my family is not your family. And I hate my family!”

You’ve yelled the last words at the sky, so loud that the crows on the neighboring roofs have taken off in a startled flight.

“They want to wear this stupid dress to go to the stupid market to buy stupid meat. I don’t even want to eat meat, that’s cruel! And I don’t even want to wear a frilly dress! I want to wear black!”

And in saying so you tugged at the pink and white ribbons that encircled your waist.

And Finn couldn’t help being extremely intrigued at this little girl who said bad words and refused to eat meet and wanted to wear black. It was the most exciting thing to ever happen in all the duration of the war.

“You want to wear a black dress?”

“Yes, but my mama won’t let me. She says it’s too sad because of the war. But black isn’t sad! Black is beautiful!”

“Maybe I could find you a black dress. I’m sure my sister must have one. Where do you live?”

And, loyal to his promise, the following morning he had run to your doorstep and snuck into your house - a proper Shelby talent, to be able to go unnoticed or make a ruckus depending on the occasion - with an old, crinkled mourning dress of Ada’s, that had probably belonged to his mother and had been mended several times

And it was obviously five sizes too big for you and you looked more like a ghost from one of Finn’s horror novels, your arms floating in the sleeves and the hem of the skirt pooling at your feet, but your smile was the brightest light he’d ever seen in this whole damn town.

“Do you like it?”

(He didn’t really know why he sounds so nervous. Maybe it was having a friend, a real friend, and doing something personal for them... or maybe it had to do with how fast his heart beat, watching you in that gigantic, shapeless dress)

“I love it! Thank you so much, Finn!”

From then on started one of the most wonderful friendships Finn would ever have, and what would bring a ray of light to the grim existence of a little boy in the midst of a global war

Despite the ration cards, despite the loneliness, despite the worry that tugged at his stoic aunt’s eyes for her son and nephews across the Channel... he found an unspeakable solace in your friendship

And one day, without a trace, you were gone

He knocked on your door; gone. He asked all the neighbors what had happened to the family that lived there; gone. He wrote you letters and sent them to the confines of England; gone. He got scolded by Polly for marking numbers at random on Tommy’s state-of-the-art telephone; gone.

Suddenly he was back to the bleak existence he had battled with before meeting you, and the hollow inside his chest only grew wider as the days went on, because he had no explanation as to what had happened to you, and worried every single day

Thankfully, the war ended not long after, and his brothers came back home, all alive and unscathed - well, for the most part

Fast forward more or less ten years, and much has changed in Finn Shelby’s life and in old Birmingham, but the memory of you still stugs at his heartstrings

One evening, he’s tasked by Arthur to run some errands, send a few messages, scout a few places; the most dangerous thing his older brothers will ever let him do

His task leads him to a bar in the center of town, one that pours its joyous light and music into the street outside; he’s there to meet with a client, arrange a meeting; nothing he’s hasn’t done already

But the evening takes a turn for the unexpected when he recognizes the girl sat alone at a table, enjoying the musicians’ jazz with an air of pure bliss on her face

It’s been ten years, of course, but... it’s unmistakable. That face, that silhouette, and the black ensemble from head to toe... and he’s always had a knack for remembering faces, especially those that mark him deeply

Suddenly he’s frozen on the spot, and he has forgotten why he came to the bar in the first place, what his target looks like - all he knows is you, and how beautiful you look in the dim light of the bar, and the undisclosed and unknown feelings he had for you at the time come flooding back.

Except this time, he understands, and he fears them, because he doesn’t have time for any of this, and it’s way too dangerous for you and him

But he can’t just pass you by and not say a word?

He swallows, hard.

And walks up to you.

“Y/N?”

You open your eyes, and your face flashes with recognition, and a little bit of pain as well. Even if you fled without a word, and left him hanging all these years, he’s incapable of rancor

“Finn... wow, you’ve changed so much.”

“You haven’t.”

He gestures at your face, your clothes, how you savor the music like the finest drink in the world, and you laugh and blush, sending his heart into overdrive

“Where were you all this time?”

“I’m so sorry, Finn... my brother died in the war, and... my mom sent me to live with my grandparents in Scotland. We were all destroyed by grief... I needed to get away.”

“Without explanation? Not even a word?”

“I wanted to write to you, so bad, but... I couldn’t remember your address. I couldn’t remember anything about Birmingham at all...”

He nods, slowly, in understanding.

The war opens wounds that never heal, even after all the most beautiful friendships and love stories in the world.

“But I’m really glad I found you.”

His heart is pounding in his throat. Maybe it’s a sign of destiny that he found you here, tonight, alone, and ready to welcome him back. Maybe it’s a word from fate, that you can never truly be apart.

So he takes the seat in front of you, and you smile, that shy but bright smile of yours, and he forgets all about his mission, his client, and his brothers.

They’ll have to understand.

800 follower sleepover

#lunamooney2406 #sleepover800 #ship request #peaky blinders #peaky blinders ship #finn shelby #finn shelby x reader #peaky blinders headcanons #finn shelby headcanons #for some reason the first thing I write for a new fandom is always SUPER LONG but that's because i get rlly in my feelings

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thesolitarystripe · 3 years

Text

Writing Prompt # 8: A 96-year-old woman’s phone number is one digit away from that of the suicide hotline. She could have changed it long ago, but she does not mind.

Here's your TW: Talk of familial loss, mention of suicide.

I found this writing prompt on tumblr from writing-prompts-re and for whatever reason it spoke to me. I just thought, what an endearing prompt for a subject that could potentially be so dark. It is dark, it's sad, and what a rainbow a little old woman painted over it. At least, in my head. I've been slumping back into that habit of losing my motivation. I'm not sure why. I'm giving myself the grace to do what I can and not beat myself up over it. Finding this writing prompt sparked it up all over again for me. It made me really miss my grandma. While I don't think she ever had this problem, I know she would have been just as comforting as Myrtie. In a way, I think I wrote this for her. I love you Nonni! Thank you for always being a soft spot to land. Enjoy.

Another Friday evening, another Jeopardy re-run. Myrtle, or as all her friends used to call her—Myrtie sat within the comfort of her reddish, brown recliner that was much too big for her. Always a petite woman, she looked like a twelve-year-old with the way the cushions swallowed her thin limbs, but she also appeared immeasurably comfortable. Myrtie pulled up the purple knitted blanket over her knees, gently tugged up the arms of her robe over both wrists as her hands lifted, poised with knitting needles and she began to bring yet another blanket into existence. This was how Myrtie spent most of her evenings, swaddled in a plush terry cloth robe, a pair of thick socks pulled up to the calf, and her hair resting beneath a bonnet, wrapped in curlers. Beside her was a cup of decaffeinated tea and a plate of cookies. Myrtie’s hands, while weathered by 96 years of life, worked the needles flawlessly as if they were an extension of a machine designed exactly for the purpose of knitting large lounging blankets. Every so often, she would giggle over something Alex Trebek would say to the participants on the show but save from the singsong chuckle, the room was silent. Myrtie had lost her husband twenty years ago. After marrying at the age of eighteen, it had been a difficult transition into this life alone. A life without his stories, hugs and forgetfulness. Myrtie often smiled sadly, wishing now for a sock to be left out of place or for the trash to be forgotten on the side of the house on garbage day. All those little things that would always make her so furious with her spouse, they were the details she missed most. Myrtie survived much longer than most of her friends, save for one that had gone to live inside a facility. They never spoke much, Myrtie assumed that either her friend had limited access to her phone or was too busy hustling the other residents in Bingo to bother calling. Myrtie was grateful for her loving and supportive family, but they could do nothing during the lonely nights when they went home to their families. She could not blame them. So, when her phone rang every so often late at night, Myrtie would answer. When the calls first began, she thought it odd that telemarketers would call so late but she soon realized her mistake.

This night, when her landline phone rang, she picked up the corded antique beside her and spoke.

“Hello?” Her voice held that raspy quiver that all good grandmothers had.

“I think I’m done.” The voice was new to her.

“Done? Done with what sweetheart?” There was a pause, as if the other voice sensed something was off but the draw of Myrtie’s kind voice urged them on.

“With living. With the world. I’m done here.”

“Oh, surely there’s things to stick around for,” Myrtie said, fluffing out her half-knitted blanket as she tucked the phone against her shoulder and ear to better use both hands.

“I don’t have anyone.”

“You have yourself. Isn’t he worth living for?” Another beat of silence. “You sound like you’re being too hard on yourself, your importance in the world does not hang on teeter-tottering validation of other people, honey. To be loved by others is a wonderful thing but loving yourself is just as important. Why don’t you stick around for yourself?”

“I’m lonely! Why would I want to be alone?”

“That is a good question, baby. Loneliness is so hard.” Myrtie’s hands paused, her heart gave one of those familiar throbs as it related to the young soul on the other end of the phone. Loneliness was something she was well acquainted with. “Before you go, have you got time for a story?”

“Well…yeah, I guess…”

Myrtie straightened up in her recliner, stretched out her back, and sighed. “I was married at eighteen years old to the love of my life. Albert. Goodness was he handsome! Now, we spent the first few years of our marriage apart—he went off to serve our beloved country. I was so desperately lonely without him. It didn’t matter that I had friends who called me up every day, parents to have supper with at night, I even watched the neighbor’s kids next door for a little spending money, and as busy as they kept me, I could never shake that feeling. When he came back, oh, it was the best day of my life! We spent the next fifty-six years together, every day! We had five beautiful children, a handful of pets that came and went, we lived in two different states and bought over four different cars.” Myrtie sat there smiling, her knuckles buried in the thick knots of her craft. “I miss him every day, it’s been twenty years and I still roll over in bed and miss the sight of him lying there, snoring.” Myrtie laughed. “Oh Lord how he snored! It was like someone was chopping down logs all night. I hated him for it,” her laugh tapered off in that pensive way, as her heart remembered fondly the memory then internalized the pain of it. “I would give anything to hear it now.”

There was silence. Sixty seconds of silence.

“Someone’s going to miss you like that, honey.”

A soft sob rustled against the receiver of the phone.

“I don’t know who you all have in your life, but I know you have a mama and a daddy. Even if things aren’t good between you now, they’ll miss you like that. Even if you haven’t spoken in years, they’ll miss the way you laughed, the way you hugged, the way you smelled even when you were nothing but a stinky young thing! Sometimes loneliness clouds our vision of all the people we do have. It is so easy to want for something, to be lonely because what we have doesn’t live up to what we think we should have. A girlfriend, boyfriend, spouse, best friend of forever, doting parents—we all have some sort of expectation. We are human and that is perfectly all right. I’ll tell you what though, there are no shoulds. Don’t let those insidious little shoulds run your life. I should this, I should that—toss that notion away, baby. There is just what is, what you want and what you don’t want. You got someone that loves you? Even one person that you’re not quite thinking of?”

“Yes…” a soft sniffle followed the confession.

“Good, all you really need is you baby but, I’m glad you have someone looking out for you. They’ll be missing you something fierce if you decide to be done. Even if they’re all you got, remember it’s about quality. Albert was my only friend for as long as I can remember. Sure, I met some ladies over the years and we gabbed and baked and knitted together but—the quality of those relationships were different. Don’t cheapen the idea of the one you have just because you think you need a lot! It’s better to have one person at your funeral to speak on what a wonderful person you were than be lying dead in a room full of people with nothing to say. What do you think about calling them right now and telling them what’s on your heart? You think that might help? If not, I’m happy to keep chatting with you, sweetheart. I ain’t got nothing to do but finish up this blanket I’m knitting. My kids already have ten of them in each of their houses so maybe I’ll just give this one to you. You like purple?”

There was a soft laugh that responded. “It’s a good color,” he said with a deep breath, one that sounded like it cleansed years of his life.

“Yeah, it is, baby. I’ll finish it for you and when you come to get it, I’ll make sure to have some cookies on for you. We’ll sit and chat and make sure you’re doing all right, hm?”

“That sounds nice,” he was chuckling again, the remnants of his tears still dripping off his face. “I think—I think I’m going to call my friend Greg.”

“All right, well tell Greg I said hello. He’s welcome to come with you now, sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” Another silence followed. It was only broken by another slow breath. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Thanks for calling honey. You have my number now so don’t be leaving grandma Myrtie without saying goodbye! Promise me.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Good. Go call Greg now, I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I will, bye Myrtie.”

The phone clicked and Myrtie hung up her landline with a soft clack of its plastic body. Myrtie knew there would be no visitation from her new friend. It was what she offered to all of them, a place to escape their loneliness. A reminder that while life’s peaks and valleys were relentless, there was always something to look forward to. Even if it was just a warm plate of cookies and a handmade blanket. Myrtie knew her phone number was one digit away from the suicide hotline. She pieced that together after receiving a dozen calls from hurting hearts. At first, she thought to hang up but, something about the way the broken words of other human beings dipped into her soul—she knew she could not let them go. Myrtie had no idea if anything she ever said actually helped someone, if they stayed. What she did know is that it helped her. In her own loneliness, it was like a salve on her own heart to know that others shared the same feelings but soldiered on despite the pain. Myrtie had lived within the dark recesses of her own mind and found light only in those around her once she willed herself to be open to seeing the love she did have, even if it wasn’t Albert’s. Myrtie reached over and grabbed her teacup, put it to her lips, rocked in her recliner, and looked at the phone. She hoped it would always ring when it needed to.

#creativewriting #writingprompts #writing #me writing #thesolitarystripe #author #tw #tw sui mention #tw loss

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

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OAKTOWN DOING ITS MAGIC

Marcus Álvarez x Filip “Chibs” Telford sister!Reader

Anon asked: Could I maybe ask for an Alvarez x reader were the reader is chibs sister and has a very fiery attitude and her and Alvarez are always at each other throats but theres something strong there and she will no problem wandering into Mayan territory much to her brothers warnings against it until it finally boils over with her and Alvarez and super fluffy and adorable and maybe smut? It's okay if not! Thank you so much for writing so wonderfully 💖

WARNINGS: NSFW, SMUT

Word Count: 2.9k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💖

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @trulysuccubus ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Stopping by a side of the road, you step out of your car placing the map above the hood, having a bite of the red licorice in the other hand. You could use Google to find the dog kennel, but you prefer to explore it by yourself. Oakland it's not that big to get lost, but you want to be sure about the way you have to follow. Pointing it with a pencil, you have to focus your attention in the sound of a motorbikes coming. Rolling your eyes with a heavy sigh, you throw the candy before keep the map in a pocket.

“Do you need help, mija?” Marcus' voice sounds funny, walking towards you and being followed by three Mayans, after parking their bikes.

“Do I look like a damsel in distress you must save?” Cross-armed, you raise an eyebrow.

“Well, you are a little far from home”.

“No kutte, no motorbi—”.

“You are still a member of Samcro. You should have made a courtesy call”.

“Do you think I'm a hot line for your pleasure, Álvarez?”

The man chuckles falsely, turning for a second to his men, before pointing your car with his gun. One shot straight to a wheel. And two bullets right to the trunk and a light. That hurts more than if he had shot you down. Your heart racing too fast. Your blood boiling. And your fist hitting his face without controlling yourself. The man doesn't move a single inch of his body, more than twisting his neck because of the punch. A wild tear running down your eye, while the other Mayans are pointing you.

“You crossed the line… and you're gonna regret it”. You spit every word, full of anger.

And Marcus knows that he already fucked up when he raise his gaze to yours, watching you cry. No one cries for a car, unless it means something important to you. He was having a rough morning and listening about your visit without a call, just make it worse. You two aren't enemies, neither friends. Mayans and Samcro have a good relationship, but the shit between you and the mexican it's kinda strange.

Taking off your phone from a pocket, you key Ratboy' number by heart, squatting next to your car and touring every hole with your fingertips while your cry takes away your breathe.

“Hey… Could you bri—bring the crane to Oakl—Oakland?” You sob, trying to control it.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just… I just…” Your cry get louder, and you can't help but resting your forehead against the trunk with a hand above it. “Don't tell Chibs, please… Just come. I am five miles from the entrance”.

“Ok, ok. Do you wan'me to call Álvarez? You shouldn' be alone there”.

“This… son of a bitch is already here”. You growl, hitting your head softly against the body car.

“Fuck… Give me an hour”.

Hanging up the call, knowing that the Mayans have their eyes on you and keeping the phone back to the pocket, you open the trunk to take a tweezers from the toolbox. Closing it and cursing with a strong scottish accent, you try to take off the bullets from it.

“Am sorre', athair… I'll fix it, I promise”. You mutter between some hard sobs and a knot installed inside your chest.

“Eh, I am so—”.

“Shutta' fuck up!” You shout at him, turning your body for a second. Even if he's trying to be gentle after what he did, you don't care.

When you finish your improvised task, you keep the bullets for Jax as a proof. Sitting inside the car, you decide to wait there instead of staying close to Alvarez, or you're going to end up hitting him again. And even if you asked Ratboy to come alone, you can't help but hit with both palms the steering wheel when you hear the roar of motorbikes riding closer. Stepping out of your almost dead car, you snort rubbing your eyes and cleaning the tears.

When Jax sees what happened, taking off the helmet, he raises both arms in silence looking at Marcus. Your brother runs to you, more worried about the fact of you being okay than because of the car. Chibs cups your face in his hands, leaving a kiss on your forehead before hug you.

“I'm sorry”. You just sob.

“Don' worre', lass”. He says placing an arm on your shoulders, before guiding you to both charters

“Man, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Jax looks furious facing Marcus.

“Bad morning. Knowing that a Sons' is at my territory, with n—”.

“Did you know why is she here? With no kutte, no bike, no protection?” The president interrupts him, pointing his chest once and again. “She works sometimes at the dog kennel, man”.

Marcus gives you a fleeting glance, snorting when he finds you being comforted by the older scottish. And his suspicions are confirmed by Jax's new words.

“Her father bought that car, ten years ago. Man, she loves it more than anything”. It's a whisper between them, making him see the gravity of the matter without relying on the fact that you could have been hurt.

“I'll take it to my workshop. I'm in charge, brother”.

“Don' ya' dare to touche't!” You shout full of anger then, trying to walk close to him, but being stopped by Chibs arms, and a Jax' hand raised to you on air.

“You better leave us take care of it, before I have to give her a gun to shoot your bike”. The Samcro's president shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Send me the bill, alrai'?”

Jax nods, before letting them go passing you away with their motorbikes. The blonde man turns at you bitting is inner lip, as he pulls away his hair to his nape.

“We'll take you to the dog kennel, and then we'll go back to Charming, okay?” He says caressing your cheek softly, while you nod.

It's almost midnight in Charming. The town sleeps peacefully, while you continue trying to fix up the body of your car, after changing the flat tire. Finally, you have to use some putty to fill and cover both holes in it, having the perfect paint mix to finish the work. But when you're about to take the brush, the sound of a motorbike calls your attention, making you stand up on your feet to get out from the workshop. Rolling your eyes when they focus on the Mayans symbol, you turn again to go back to your main task. Yes, you feel some curiosity about what is he doing there, but you know you're not going to need to ask.

The heavy steps by the boots come closer to your ears, stopping a few meters away of your back, ignoring him completely. You've been a lot of hours trying to rebuild the holes, trying to find the perfect color by mixing the paint, and you're not in the mood to deal with Marcus. But this fact doesn't seems important for him, when he squats next to you and both dark eyes on your hands supporting the brush. Your fingers moving slowly almost like they were dancing a ballet. Hypnotizing him.

“I've brought you a truce and an apology”. He says with a low tone, not wanting to make you lose your focus. “Fifty thousands and a ‘sorry for being a pendejo’”.

“I have no price”. You reply back in a whisper, joking on him because it looks like a secret.

“It's not for you, but the dog kennel in Oaktown”. He's almost smiling, taking off from the pocket inside of the kutte a brown and improvised envelope. A bulky one.

You leave your task in the background, turning at him with both eyebrows raised.

“I have no excuse. And I'm so sorry because of what I did to your father's car”.

His words sound sincere, licking his low lip at the same time he moves his hand somewhat up making a clear gesture. Rolling your eyes, you take it standing up and leaving the brush inside the paint pot to grab the money. Your feet guide your body to the office, leaning towards the safe-box, so you can keep it inside. Once the box is closed, turning over your sneakers you find Marcus resting his left shoulder against the door frame, trying to hide that he was looking at you totally spellbound.

You're challenging him, maintaining his eyes with yours, crossing both arms on the chest covered by part of the jumpsuit. You know exactly what he wants to do, because you want it too, but you still mad at him. You two always have had that strange kind of connection like if you don't want to admit the attraction, not being only a physical game. Something stops you to be push into the other, and you don't really know why.

“You're no' a cat, and I'm no' a mouse”.

“I know”. He just replies, walking closer and taking off his kutte, to leave it on a chair. “How much are we gonna play this... stupid game?”

“I don't know, te'me, chicano”.

He chuckles, licking his lower lip and putting his gaze away for some seconds, somewhere on the white wall. You know how much he hates that name, but you love to tease him, even if you're trying not to keep in mind what he did to your car.

“Take off the jumpsuit”.

“'Am almost naked under it”.

“And the problem is...?

Drawing a naughty smile on the corner of your lips, you grab the middle of it, unzipping it so slow that he's starting to get desperate. Looking at you as if you were a piece of art, only available to his whim. When the cloth is already opened, you slide the fabric down by your legs, jumping a little from it. Marcus is enjoying the views, taking the advantage of placing a hand on your lower back, while the other travels to your nape. Your lips almost touching his, tasting that mix of cigars and mexican toast beer on them when the tip of your tongue tours them.

Your back finds the wall faster than you could think, catching you against his body, devouring your mouth hungry and anxious. Your fingers pulling up the black shirt he's wearing to throw it above the desk. His big hands taking off yours, before falling on the waistband of your panties. Uttering a soft growl full of pleasure, he walks away from you some steps, looking you from top to bottom as a hungry wolf admiring his prey.

“You like it, uh?”

“You don't know how much”.

His voice is deep, rough, hoarse, bristling your skin as soon as he catches you again on his arms slapping your ass when he turns you facing the wall. You need more. Marcus too. And the sound of the belt getting undone and his jeans being unzipped make your legs tremble. Without expecting he pushes his middle finger into you, checking how wet you are because of him, making you moan as your fingers get closed in two cuffs supported on the wall.

“You like it, mami?”

He whispers right in your ear fingering you faster and deeper, almost moving up your hips. Feeling every move as if it was the first, touching your soul with his warm breath on your neck, leaving some smooth kisses there and confusing you about the fact of his hand pushing you too angry while his lips are so gently.

“Fuck, yes…” You gasp resting your forehead between your hands, with closed eyes.

“You want me to fuck you, pequeña?”

“Yes, please, please, please, Marcus”. You beg uncontrollably once and again.

“You want my cock hitting your tight pussy ah?”

“Fuck… please…”

“You're gonna have it, mi reina”.

Pulling out the wetted finger and turning you to face him again, the Mayan puts a hand on your throat, sliding the other into your mouth. And you lick it, tasting your own flavor under his attentive black eyes burning in all the desire he has been containing. His lips crash on yours, kissing you filthy, and getting inside your mouth his tongue to find yours while his free hand throws down to the floor every thing is on the desk. You let him do with you whatever he wants, placing your chest on the table and spreading your legs to both sides ready for him. Teasing you with his needed glans rubbing your clit, you snort disappointed, hearing some laughs behind your back.

“You don't know how much I want you”.

“Fuckin' prove it”. You say desperate.

And you got it. Without expecting it, his cock pounds you so hard that your body moves somewhat forward above the desk, making you close your eyes with a heavy moan stuck in your throat and his hands nailed on your hips. Marcus moving fast, thrusting himself to you until his abdomen crashes against your ass. The dirty sound your wetness utters being hitted is like a sweet melody for your brain, feeling the pleasure running through your body, getting mixed between the gasps and the pleadings. Seems like he knows what you like, slapping harder your ass with one of his hands. The slight pain provokes you a wave of heat, asking for more.

It's been almost one year since you two met, containing the desire you were feeling for each other. The necessity for being close, alone, together. Enjoying your more animal instincts. Marcus tangles his fingers on your pony-tail, curving your back until his teeth bite your neck, licking and sucking it, wanting to mark his territory. His free arm surrounding your abdomen, thrusting you deeper reaching your g-spot as you cry out his name once and again, drying your throat, breaking your voice every time he nails his hard dick inside you with no mercy, with no wait. He loves every inch of your body. He loves every single thing he knows about you. He always wanted to show you since he met you, and know he's doing it in the most delicious way possible; fucking you as hard as you beg him.

“Mi amor, estás tan estrechita… You're driving me insane”. (My love, you're so tight).

“Cum inside me, please”. Twisting your neck enough to split it into his lips, he bites yours drowning there a soft moan.

“Of course, mi reina… This pussy is only mine, you hear me, ah?”

“Fuck, Marcus… Only yours”.

By your pulse you know how close your body is to explode because of the ecstasy, and the Mayan knows too.

“Turn, mi amor. I want to see your face”. He demands, pulling out himself, making you sob feeling the emptiness between your legs. “Sit on the desk”.

You don't need more words, doing it without complains. An arm surrounding your body, your legs on his shoulders and his free hand nailed around your throat. Then, you can see for first time his cock. Huge, wetted, needy for being inside you again. And it feels more delighted when he starts to fuck you again, in that position that makes you touch the sky with the fingertips.

His gaze maintaining yours at all times, seeing who you squirm under his grip because of the pleasure and his dick pounding you with the only mission of making you cum. Leaning towards you, Marcus kiss you again, looking for your tongue to fight it out of your mouths and leaving a small trail of saliva on air, before devour your mouth so hungry it makes race your heart.

“I'm… I'm so fuckin' clos', papi”.

Your voice is somewhat hoarse, with your knees almost touching your chest with every deep thrust into you and your legs shaking a little.

“Come on, mi reina… Cum for your papi”. He asks you with his lips on yours.

And it doesn't takes you more seconds after a lash of heat running down your spin. You cry out his name twice before you run out of air, feeling the orgasm wrapping your whole anatomy with the dirty sound of your wetted pussy being hitted without non stop. And Marcus filling you with his seed, exhausting, pounding you until he's satisfied. Your legs hurts a little when he puts them down, surrounding his waist. You push him totally inside you, with your bodies colliding, while he lies on your chest trying to recover himself. His lower abdomen pressing your crotch, finding your lips somewhat tired, but enjoying the warm of your cums getting mixed.

“It feels so good, mi reina”.

He whispers pinching your nipples, stealing you some gasps against his clavicle traveling your mouth by his neck leaving some kisses on it.

“Don' move, papi… I wan' you to fuck me again”.

He chuckles, nodding with his chin.

“Whatever you want, I'll give it to you”.

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #marcus alvarez imagine #marcus alvarez x reader #marcus alvarez

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raendown · 3 years

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Todays follower milestone gift fic is for @sparklemagpie with the prompt word importune. Can you tell I had fun writing this one?

Pairing: ShikamaruTemariTayuya Word count: 1966 Rated: T+ Summary: For the two women in his life Shikamaru will do whatever it takes. As long as they're happy he's happy. When they're not...well, when they're not you get situations like this one.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Just The Right Cherry On Top

Shikamaru would have told anyone who asked that it didn’t start off as begging. No one was really asking, though, and the shreds of pride still buried in the back of his mind somewhere told him that was a problem. If no one was asking questions that usually meant they thought they already had the answers. But they didn’t. They really didn’t. When it came to his two girls Shikamaru was smugly aware that he was usually the only one with answers.

Well, answers to questions like ‘are you sure they’re not trying to kill each other’ or usually ‘how can you stand to live between that’. The questions about what might be going on in either woman’s mind were ones he didn’t even try to guess at. He knew when to back away from a problem he would never figure out.

Right now he didn’t so much have a problem as he did have a disaster. He knew very well that relationships took work, that his work would be doubled when he agreed to marry both of the most important women in his life, and since he had not a day went by when he didn’t consider that work so very worth it. For the most part their days were happy. Blissful, even. Shikamaru was as flawed as any other human being but among his flaws pride wasn’t usually the one that tripped him up. Disaster only really happened when pride snuck up on the other two parts of his soul.

Tayuya, as usual, was the first to start throwing insults. And of course Temari, when faced with a hot temper, flared her own with the kind of heat usually accomplished only with the most deadly katon. Standing on the other side of the kitchen with a frying pan in one hand and his face in the other, Shikamaru briefly wondered if there were any missions available that would take him far away until these two crazy goddesses sorted their own shit out.

There weren’t. He checked. Discreetly, of course.

After the first couple days of cold silence it became obvious that this was one of those fights they needed him to bring them back from, when pride and stubbornness and sheer petty spite held both of their lips shut, eyes refusing to meet, tempers refusing to back down. These were the kind of fights that reminded Shikamaru why the three of them really worked as a full unit, one single whole, any weakness in one covered by another. Knowing that never made it any less annoying trying to be the cover to their weakness. They might need him but in those moments they sure didn’t want to need him.

“What’ll it take this time?” Shikamaru could hear the exhaustion in his own voice but that’s just what happened when he hadn’t gotten more than three consecutive hours of sleep for the past week.

“Nothing,” Temari snapped. “Maybe this is just it!”

Drawing a hand down his face spoke louder than words how little he believed that. If he looked really close he could see the lines of aching tiredness in Temari’s expression that told him she didn’t believe it either.

“Right,” he murmured. “I’ll just go talk to her then.

And so he did, though it would be hard to express just how unsurprised he was to get a very similar reaction from Tayuya.

“Fuck that bitch and her high horse!”

“You could if one of you would say sorry,” Shikamaru couldn’t help pointing out.

“Oh no fucking way! Not with a ten foot god damned pole!”

“What if I said please?”

So that was how it started. Or got to the middle, really. Much to the contrary of what other people seemed to think, Shikamaru was not so whipped as to just fall on his knees and beg any time he encountered the slightest of resistance in their relationship. He had some self respect. In the face of these two boneheads, however, self respect was a concept he was more than willing to throw out the window in favor of a full night’s rest, something he would not be getting until their home saw peace again.

One instance of saying please did nothing. Twice did little more than that. Somewhere around the fifteen ‘please’ he switched tactics and added a cherry on top. Tayuya rather harshly reminded him that she hated cherries and described in very colorful detail where he could stick his polite words. Clearly another tactic was needed.

As a smart man Shikamaru very carefully ignored all of Naruto’s well meaning suggestions like sending his wives flowers pretending they were from each other. Maybe that would have worked on someone like Hinata who was determined to look at the world and see the best in everyone but Shikamaru had married two people determined to look at the world through a cold lens of cynicism. Gods but he loved it. Loved the both of them. He just didn’t love the fights. Naruto meant well but the one and only time any of them had seen Hinata truly mad had been the middle of a battle against the reanimated body of a dead man handing Naruto his own ass. It was great for the two of them to finally find happiness. When he thought of their calm and sweet relationship Shikamaru sometimes just couldn’t help but wonder how they didn’t get bored with no one around to throw a plate or two.

Since being nice about it didn’t do much his next step was to try being firm. This time he went to Tayuya first because if he could crack her then honestly he was pretty sure he could crack the whole world. His efforts in this round were about as successful as the first.

“Go ahead and try to tell me what to do one more time, Nara.” Right up in his face Tayuya was all fire, in her hair and in her eyes and in every move of the arm currently jamming in to his chest. “I’ve had just about enough of being ordered around for one lifetime, you hear me?” Oh he did. He did hear her. He also heard the undertone of heat and it wasn’t until an hour after he left their home in the daze of post orgasmic bliss that he realized he’d been had. Maybe Choji was right and he did think with his dick a little too much.

Going to see Temari hadn’t exactly had better results - although he’d known better from the start than to consider either one of them ‘better’ than the other in certain departments. After making it very clear how much she both enjoyed and scorned his attempts to law down some kind of law Temari rode him against the nearest walls and sent him off afterwards with a few choice words about how she really didn’t mind wearing only his marks on her skin from now on. Since he hadn’t been the one to bring that up Shikamaru saw through it right away. They missed each other, a blind man could see that. Getting them to admit it was the hard part.

So that was a bust on trying to put his foot down but if he were honest Shikamaru hadn’t expected any different. The next thing he tried was bribery. After the harsh years both of his wives had experienced it was entirely understandable that they should enjoy being waited on hand and foot. Usually the offer was an irresistible one to them; hence why he didn’t make it very often, a special treat for special occasions when he needed to remind them just how precious they really were. When not just one but both of them turned him down this time Shikamaru had to take a nice long walk through the woods and feed the deer for a while, wondering if maybe the magic offer had lost its touch at last. Or if maybe he was the one that had lost his touch. It took a good long while and three different deer taking curious nibbles of his ponytail before he shook himself and stood up with a little more steel in his spine.

Clearly this problem was running out of control and that meant bringing in the biggest weapon he had at his disposal. One didn’t spend a lifetime best friends with the Yamanaka heir without picking up some tricks.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please please?”

“I said no, fuck off Shika.”

“Uhhh, please and please and please?”

Tayuya actually stopped walking to round on him with furrowed brows. “You get hit upside the head or something? This is- you’re acting like a damn child!”

“Maybe.” Shikamaru clasped his hands together and lifted his eyes to the clouds above them. “How many times I gotta say please? Cause I will. Give me a number, I’ll do it.”

“For real?”

“Please, please, please, please, plea-”

Ignoring the baffled looks of anyone passing them by was a lot easier than ignoring the sharp voice that spoke from the doorway, rough at the edges under the heavy weight of defeat and sadness.

“He might not look like it, but he’s really just a child in a man’s body.” Temari studiously did not look at her wife when Tayuya whipped around to stare at her, missing the ripple of yearning that went through all those well honed muscles. “You probably shouldn’t test it. He really will just keep going.”

“Sounds annoying as hell,” Tayuya ventured.

Neither of them seemed to notice when Shikamaru fell silent, still, waiting with baited breath.

“It’d probably be less painful if we just give in. He already did that to me for two hours this morning and I don’t know if I can listen to it for much longer without violence that I’m pretty sure I would regret.” The proud set of Temari’s jaw was that of a queen making concessions. The dark warmth of her eyes when they finally canted sideways was that of a wife who missed the touch of her beloved.

“Good fucking god, two hours? Yeah, hell no. I ain’t listening to that. Let’s just get this over with or something then.”

“For the best.”

Despite that agreement it still took about five solid minutes of staring wordlessly in to each others’ eyes before either of them made any more toward the other. In the end they moved at the same time, reaching out with the same hand, laughing in a fondly awkward way as their fingers entwined. The moment would have been utterly beautiful if Shikamaru hadn’t breathed in very deeply just to let it all back out in one great rush.

“Finally,” he muttered. Both of his wives frowned at him.

“Wait.” Temari narrowed her eyes as though only now realizing what she’d done. “How did you do that?” She didn’t seem to appreciate the sheer exasperation filling him up in place of all the soft pleading he’d been wearing for days now.

“You don’t just hang around with Ino for this long without learning how to annoy someone in to giving up.”

Before either of his wives could say anything Shikamaru was spinning on one heel and marching out the door, grumbling under his breath while he rummaged around his flack vest for a pack of smokes. Troublesome women and their troublesome tempers. At times he really did wonder why he put up with it. Two sets of footsteps rushing after him was a good reminder, though he thought he would be well within his rights to make them do a little begging after all the trouble he’d gone through just to bridge the gap between their overinflated prides. Worth it, absolutely worth it, but damn if they weren’t trouble sometimes.

#rae writes #follower milestone #shikatematayu #shikamaru #temari #tayuya

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celosiaa · 4 years

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Submission by @entitynumber5: Hi Connor, I hope you’re having a WONDERFUL birthday and that you get to take a break from studying to do the things you enjoy and just have the lovely day you deserve!!! For this morning’s “write what I like” sprint (trying a new method of getting it all out before I have to put the brain into study mode), I wrote a lil something about 🎃 spooky season birthdays 🎃set in the Emmaverse… which turned out kind of long and a bit sappy. So there is no pressure to read it! I just love these characters :’) the working title is “Martin and Jon get proven wrong by an adorable five year old”.

Content warnings: brief mentions of blood, alcohol and minor injury (in relation to Martin working a Halloween paramedic shift); food.

Emma is obsessed with birthdays. Just not her own.

She turned five in May, and no matter how special they tried to make the day—with rainbow layer cake and carefully-selected presents and a visit to the roller-skating rink with her best friends—she didn’t seem half as excited as when it was someone else’s birthday. She would hardly sleep the night before friends’ parties. She spent hours wrapping the presents she picked for them with ribbons and bows and even confetti stuffed inside the paper. The only time they could encourage her to practice the piano for her weekly lessons was when she played the Happy Birthday song over FaceTime for her friends’ birthdays that were during school holidays.

The only thing Emma seems to have held onto from her own birthday is the notebook given to her Georgie and Melanie. Martin seems to remember there being two: one with little cartoon ghost drawn in the front by Georgie and the other with a scribble of the Admiral by Melanie. But Emma only carries the one around with her everywhere, and Martin is starting to doubt his own memory about there being a duplicate.

She has it with her now, as they sit outside the lecture theatre where Jon is currently teaching. In the too-big chair beside the door, her legs swing as she holds the notebook very close, staring intently at its pages while she wriggles her fluffy purple pen in thought.

“Daddy,” Emma says, in that voice that means she has a Very Serious Question, “When is your birthday?”

Martin is still a little dazed from nearly a week of night shifts. It’s the first time in six days that he hasn’t been working or sleeping at this time in the afternoon, and while walking with Emma to Jon’s work to surprise him at the end of the day seemed like a nice idea in practice, he really wishes he was lying on the sofa. They could be watching Peppa Pig for the thousandth time. Or getting started on dinner, which he isn’t going to let Jon make after a long day of teaching. He’s been mentally calculating how many hours it is until he can go to bed, how many tasks he has to do before then.

This feels like a selfish thought, though, and he pushes it aside quickly in favour of smiling at Emma. “My birthday?”

“Yes,” Emma replies, still very grave, “That’s what I said. At school today, Miss Jones made us all put stickers on the big calendar on the wall for our birthdays. I wrote down all of my friends’ birthdays.”

“That’s nice.”

“And now I want to write down yours.”

“Okay, well, my birthday is next month.”

Emma frowns. “Next month. That’s…” she counts on her fingers until she seems to reach the answer she’s looking for. “October?”

“It is!” Martin grins. “Well done.”

Emma’s little frown doesn’t ease. “What day?”

“Well, do you know how many days are in October?”

Emma thinks. Shakes her head.

“There are thirty-one days in October,” Martin tells Emma, “And my birthday is on the very last day.”

Emma nods and returns to her notebook, slowly enunciating the words as she writes them down: “Oc-to-ber three-one.”

Martin wonders if Emma realises his birthday coincides with Halloween. Besides birthdays, she still doesn’t seem too interested in dates, no matter how many times her teacher makes her write them at the top of every page in her workbook. And during previous years, they celebrated Martin’s birthday the day before or after Halloween itself, so they can separate the two events, although perhaps she doesn’t remember.

Before Martin can ask, the door of the lecture theatre opens and students start filing out. Emma puts away her notebook and pen, her frown of concentration replaced by a glowing smile as she waits, bouncing excitedly in the chair, for her Baba to notice them waiting just outside.

“Jon,” Martin whisper-shouts as he tiptoes into the house after his shift, hoping he doesn’t wake Emma—but that his husband knows it’s urgent. “Jon, Jon, Jon.”

Jon emerges from the kitchen, wearing a pair of yellow washing up gloves dripping soap suds and a look of alarm. “What’s wrong?”

Martin ushers him back into the kitchen and shuts the door as quietly as possible, hoping it won’t wake Emma—or, worse yet, the cats, who will sit outside any closed door and cry to be let inside no matter what activity they were engaged in before.

“Martin,” Jon says, “What’s going on?”

“They just released the shifts for the next few weeks,” Martin replies, “And I’m working.”

“Well, good. I should hope so.”

“On my birthday.”

Jon’s expression merges into one of comprehension: Emma. And her newfound obsession with birthdays. “Ah.”

“Yep.”

“I don’t suppose you could swap shifts with someone?” Jon asks.

Martin sits down at the table, lowering his head into his hands. He wants to shower, change out of his paramedic uniform, but he knows he won’t be able to focus on anything else until they’ve had this conversation. “No one’s going to willingly take a Halloween shift. For a start, Andrew is terrified of clowns. And people are usually drunk, and it’s actually really hard to tell the difference between real and fake blood.”

“We could celebrate the day after,” Jon says, taking off the washing up gloves and sitting opposite Martin. He reaches across the table to take Martin’s hand. “I mean, you were born five minutes before midnight. It wouldn’t be a lie so much as a… slight shifting of the truth.”

“Jonathan Sims.” Martin gapes across the table at him. “Are you suggesting we lie to our daughter?”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“No, Martin,” Jon says again, “I’m simply suggesting we separate your birthday from Halloween, as we have done every year, and not draw attention to the fact because our daughter is currently obsessed with other peoples’ birthdays.”

“And it might upset her if she knew we were actually celebrating on the wrong day.”

“Exactly.”

Martin sighs. “I don’t know. It feels… sort of wrong.”

“Apparently, children under the age of seven have no concept of the passing of time and—”

“Did Tim tell you that?”

“No.”

“Oh, god. It wasn’t Helen, was it? Please tell me you haven’t been having philosophical discussions about parenting with Helen again.”

“Martin,” Jon interrupts, “It was in the parenting book you gave me.”

“Huh. I don’t remember that chapter. Oh, god, maybe I should re-read it. The whole thing. Beginning to end. I—”

“Martin.” Jon squeezes his hand. “You deserve a day of your own. Tim and Sasha already agreed to take Emma trick-or-treating on Halloween. She will be focused on that for most of the day; she’s already talking about how excited she is. Let us spend the day after that treating you to all the wonderful things you deserve on your birthday—and every day.”

Martin manages a small smile, although every instinct inside of him is telling him not to accept Jon’s proposal. Not because he is worried about the ethics of manipulating their daughter’s concept of time—although this is a concern, too—but because he doesn’t want Jon to feel like he has to do any of this. To make a whole day about him, even if he takes great pleasure and care in doing the same for Jon on his birthday.

“Thanks, Jon,” Martin murmurs.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Now, why don’t you go and have a warm shower? I’ve put the hot water on so it shouldn’t run out while you’re in there this time.”

Martin smirks. “Are you saying I smell?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Martin presses, teasing now. “Because I did have to treat a farmer who’d been kicked by one of his cows this evening.”

“Okay, alright, yes. Yes, you smell. Please go and have a shower.”

Martin laughs and gets up from the table. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“That really is disgusting, Martin.”

“It’s actually a pretty funny story. About the farmer, I mean. He’s fine, by the way. I’ll tell you about it when I’m out of the shower.”

Jon shakes his head. “Why today, of all days, have you abandoned the notion of showering before you sit down at the dinner table?”

“I had something important to tell you!”

“Fine. Alright.” Jon shakes his head again. “Now please have a shower. For your sake as much as mine.”

“Love you,” Martin sing-songs as he exits the kitchen. He hears Jon’s gentle laugh chase him into the warmth of the bathroom, where Jon has put on the radiator and left him a fresh towel. He smiles, feeling his love for Jon balloon in his chest, and settles into the sensation being home.

Martin’s Halloween—and birthday—shift is so busy that he barely has time to check his phone. Tim has sent an album of photos of him, Sasha and Emma out trick-or-treating, dressed as Mike, Sulley and Boo from Monsters, Inc. Jon has been updating him on the number of trick-or-treaters who have visited their house (fifty-four, as of ten thirty p.m.), and how Iris and the cats are holding up with the constant ringing of the doorbell.

On his break, Martin quickly texts Tim to watch his glucose levels and not to forget his insulin (to which Tim replies yes, sir with a number of yellow heart emojis). He also texts Sasha to say she can take home any of the Skittles they get on their expedition, since they’re her favourite but Emma hates them. He tells Jon he loves him and to give Iris a pet on his behalf and that there’s some spare sweets under the sink, if they’re running low. Then it’s back to work.

The shift passes quickly, in the end. There is so much to do and no time to think about anything other than their patients. He does get given a toffee apple by someone dressed as a Minion at a student house party, and he narrowly avoids getting his face painted by twins who are the same age as Emma while his team are checking their mother’s twisted ankle after a fall trying to get to the door in time for a last-minute delivery of sweets. It’s not an awful shift, but it is, like always, exhausting and difficult in the same measure as it’s rewarding and hopeful.

By the time he gets home, all he wants to do is sleep. Emma is tucked into bed, fast asleep, while her nightlight projects solar systems onto the ceiling. Jon, too, is sleeping soundly with the cats for company. Iris barely looks up from her bed when he comes inside, but she gives a little wag of her tail each time he passes down the hallway to shower or get a drink of water. There’s a plastic pumpkin full of Emma’s sweets on the table, next to the empty bowl that had once been full of treats to hand out to their visitors.

Martin’s smiles—it looks like a night well-spent for his family—and this thought carries him through an exhausted shower before he crawls into bed next to Jon. Jon must be tired, too, because he doesn’t stir. Martin makes a mental note to check his joints aren’t playing up from all the getting up and down from the sofa during the trick-or-treat visits.

Sometime later, Martin wakes to the soft click of the door as it opens. He squints against the light bursting around the edges of the still-shut curtains, expecting to see Jon tiptoeing to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Instead, Emma is creeping inside, holding a tray of pancakes while Jon follows behind, balancing two cups of tea.

“Happy birthday!” Emma says, as she places the tray down on the bed next to Martin. “We made spooky pancakes!”

Martin rubs the sleep from his eyes and sits up fully. He glances at the alarm clock next to the bed: 11:42 a.m. He’s been asleep for just over six hours, but it somehow feels longer and yet not enough. “It’s not—”

Jon clears his throat.

“Oh. Oh, thank you, Emma! These are wonderful.”

The pancakes are, indeed, spooky. Emma has used a pumpkin cookie cutter to shape them and then drawn on funny faces with fruit and syrup. No longer responsible for balancing the tray, Emma looks at Jon, a little uncertain, and Jon nods in encouragement as he places their cups of tea down on the bedside table.

“I made you a present,” Emma says almost shyly.

Martin smiles gently at her. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you, Emma.”

Emma pulls something off the tray. It’s the second notebook, the one Martin thought he’d imagined, wrapped in a glittery silver ribbon and some confetti streamers. She offers it to Martin, and he takes it carefully, holding it as if it might fall apart in his hands.

“You can open it,” Emma tells him seriously.

Martin unwraps the ribbon. Emma takes it from him, along with the confetti, perhaps to reuse for another present. Slowly, Martin cracks open the notebook to the first page. There is Georgie’s ghoulish sketch, alongside a new inscription in Emma’s handwriting: Sorted Poems By Emma K. Blackwood-Sims. For Daddy’s Birthday. October 31.

Martin feels something tender and soft unfurl in his chest, until he’s certain he is going to cry. He begins to flick through the pages, but Emma says: “Wait!”

Martin stops. “What is it?”

“Look.” Emma climbs on to the bed, elbowing her way into the space next to him, and reaches across Martin to open the notebook on the first page again, where her inscription is. She points at her name.

“It’s meant to say assorted poems,” Jon says, “But neither of us were sure how to spell it.”

Martin laughs, the sound a little wet and shaky with the tears he can feel building. Jon hates spelling. It’s his least favourite type of homework to help Emma with.

“Look,” Emma says again, “I wrote my name like yours!”

Martin smiles. “Blackwood-Sims? But that’s your name, too.”

“No,” Emma insists, “Emma K Blackwood-Sims. Like you! Like a proper poet.”

“Oh,” Martin murmurs, “Oh.”

He’s sure he and Jon will laugh about this later. Martin doesn’t actually have a middle name. Emma does, but it certainly doesn’t begin with K. But right now, he feels tears on his cheeks as he takes in his daughter’s hard work.

Emma reaches for his face, patting away his tears with the palms of her hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I promise,” Martin replies, sniffling in an attempt to draw back the tears, “I’m happy. And I love you so, so much.”

Emma frowns. “Will pancakes make you feel better?”

“I’m alright, Emma. I promise. These are happy tears.”

“Pancakes always make me feel better,” Jon announces, climbing onto the other side of the bed and sliding back underneath the covers. He settles Emma down in the middle of them, handing her a mug full of juice. She doesn’t drink tea yet, but she doesn’t like to be left out when they do, so she has her own mug.

“These look wonderful,” Martin tells them, arranging the tray so they can all reach. Emma takes a plate and hands it to Jon, then does the same for Martin, before grabbing the final one for herself. “You’re getting very good at pancakes.”

“Baba said we can learn French toast next,” Emma says.

“Wow. That’s big.”

Emma nods. “It’s more difficult than normal toast.”

Martin chuckles. “It certainly is.”

They distribute the pumpkin-shaped pancakes between them. While they eat in bed, they tell each other stories about their Halloween night. Jon talks about the costumes of the people who visited their house, how many compliments they got on their pumpkin carving skills. Emma narrates her trick-or-treating adventure with Tim and Sasha. Martin shares the safest tales of his nightshift, the funny costumes he saw and the extravagant decorations at the parties they visited.

Martin is exhausted again by the time they’ve finished the pancakes. Jon insists on taking their empty plates back to the kitchen and making them another cup of tea, while Emma snuggles against Martin’s side. She rests her head on his shoulder.

“I know it’s not your birthday, Daddy,” Emma whispers.

Half-asleep until now, Martin grunts himself awake. “What was that, sweetheart?”

“I know it’s not really your birthday,” Emma tells him, not moving from where she’s clinging to his arm, “Your birthday was yesterday. On Halloween.”

“Oh, Emma, we—”

“It’s okay,” Emma says, “It’s like when we had a party on Saturday even though my birthday was on Wednesday because I had school.”

“Yeah.” Martin stokes his hand through Emma’s hair. “It is a bit like that.”

“I still get to say happy birthday.”

“You do.”

“But can we have a party on the right day next year?” Emma asks.

“For your birthday?”

“No, for your birthday.”

“Oh.” Martin laughs. “Yes. It might not be a party, if I have to work again, but we can do this. This is lovely. Thank you for being so thoughtful. And I’m excited to read your poems.”

“Baba said they were good.”

“Well, that’s high praise indeed.”

“It was fun.”

“That’s good. That’s what matters most when you make things.“

Emma wriggles around until she’s grinning up at him. “Can I read your poems now?”

Martin sighs, barely supressing a laugh. This isn’t the first time she’s asked. “Emma.”

She sticks her bottom lip out, pouting in a way that breaks Martin’s heart to the point where he can never turn her down when she’s looking at him like this. “Please.”

“Alright,” Martin gives in, “I’ll read you one tonight. Before bed.”

“Yay!” Emma’s grin grows even wider. "Thank you, Daddy.”

“Thank you. And I love you very, very much.”

“Love you, too.”

They settle back down. Martin dozes a little again, a smile on his face, as he thinks about telling Jon later that their daughter very much does understand the concept of time. There really are some things parenting books don’t prepare you for—like the way his love seems to grow with each day he gets with Emma and Jon, even when he thinks it’s impossible, that he already loves them more than any person can.

Some things are gifts even when they are not given as such, and Martin is beginning to allow himself to think of his life with his daughter and his husband as one. He didn’t ask for it with words or lists. He doesn’t know, even now, if he deserves it. But it’s his. And he will treasure it always.

Not featured: Martin realising what he’s agreed to and frantically trying to find a non-angsty poem he can read to his five-year-old daughter. Jon thinks the whole thing is hilarious.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonmartin #emma #SDSFLSKFLKJFA AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #HANNAH HANNAH I LOVE THIS SOOOO MUCH #I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WROTE THIS OH MY GOD #this is so incredibly special to me I don't even know how to express it #oh my god this is so sweet and I loved every second of it #oh my friend #thank you so much #i love the way you write martin as ALWAYS #and Emma is so sweet here oh my goodness!!!!!#she takes after her dad by caring about other people's birthdays like that #i loved the way you talked about how exhausted he feels after working night shifts #and the lovely little moment where they're talking quietly in the kitchen #martin's musings about not deserving this #and feeling selfish for being so tired on jon's birthday #oh my god i can'ttttttt #i love this so much i'm gonna read it 8000 times #hannah you are fantastically talented #and such an incredibly kind soul #i truly wish we were not an ocean apart!!!#thank you for all the wonderful joy and kindness you bring to the world #you are so very loved #THANK YOU!!!!!!#<3 <3 <3 #submission

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kissandmxkeup · 3 years

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Royal Guard!Johnny

here for the obligatory annual “yes i’m still around and yes i know where my computer keyboard is” post, may do more but probably not tbh. if you’re still here and reading, i love you and also highly question why you’re so dedicated. not that i mind, i truly appreciate it, but still.

also, this is female!reader because i had so much trouble writing this in a gender-neutral manner. if you want a gender-neutral/male!reader version, let me know and i’ll do my best!

Always cordial and polite, not just with you but anyone he comes across

So many of the guards tend to have this air of superiority, talking down to those that aren’t within their ranks or of a higher status, but Johnny has the same level of manners for the elderly shopkeeper in town as he does for you, the crown princess of the country

Not only that, he’s also extremely attentive to your needs, even the ones that he isn’t necessarily responsible for

He always has a bag with first-aid supplies, snacks, water, and even portable chargers and a Game-Boy somewhere within reach

And he’s always willing to have a conversation with you, listen to your concerns and worries and sorrows

You actually came to know Johnny when he was guarding your brother, a seven year old who was incredibly funny and also insanely gross

After your brother turned ten he was sent off to a private school with their own security teams, so Johnny was moved over to you

You loved being around him; his positivity and kindness could melt even the toughest of moods, something your mother had noticed when she was looking for his new assignment

You remember when she called Johnny to the throne room; he’d still been just barely an adult then, looking young and boyish in armor slightly too big for him He had bowed deeply to her, so much that the weight of the heavy metal chainmail nearly tipped him over, and she smiled back as she informed him that he was being removed from his position with your brother, that he would now be tasked with being in your guard. He had given her a nod and an “as you wish” that was almost too wavering with forced professionalism before turning to you with a nervous little grin, asking what you needed of him in a way that had melted your heart.

Over time, the two of you had grown into a rhythm; you would walk the gardens in the morning, him following like a shadow as you chatted with the gardeners and groundskeepers. After that you would tend to your schoolwork, and then the minor royal duties you were given after you’d finished your education, occasionally letting him distract you with stories of the younger guards’ antics as you tried to pass time until dinner, and then at the end of the day you would always sit and talk together about the country.

Even when you were young, you were always looking to improve the life of the commoners of the land, and given his background, Johnny was much more connected to them than you could ever be. He had influenced policies you’d drafted on education, social welfare programs, and even some of your first quality-of-life recommendations like repairing historical sites and landmarks in the smaller villages of the country, such as the town he had visited often as a child. You were beloved in your country, and had become lauded as the “princess of the people,” always pushing for your constituents to be represented and thought of at every turn, but you always made sure that Johnny knew that you couldn’t do any of it without him by your side.

However, those outside of your borders tended to see you as much less kind and gentle, but rather stubborn and almost bitchy. You wouldn’t let your country’s people be used or walked over, refusing to give in to the demands of others that saw you as small and weak and risk your citizens’ wellbeing in the process. You sat in meeting with lawmakers, voice steady as you refused to even consider letting your constituents have their taxes raised in the name of increasing their own salaries, clashed with conglomerates that wanted you to turn a blind eye to pollution and mistreatment of their workers, even going as far as pressuring officials into dissolving royal contracts with major companies that relied on unfair practices, and you had even notably walked out of a meeting with a royal from another family after they had insinuated that perhaps you had let your public persona blind you to what was truly good for your country (in this case, letting their country use your resources without regard to the needs of the the common folk of yours).

Some other players in larger, wealthier countries had even decided that you were too much of an inconvenience, made too much noise, and wanted to eliminate you from your country’s line of succession by any means necessary. Because of this you had come to be assigned more guards over time, generally keeping a rotating team that you had jokingly nicknamed the 127 Squad because they seemed to have an endless supply of members. Some members like Ten, or Lucas rotated in during special occasions like state visits, and you occasionally had a knight-in-training such as the quiet Renjun or the child-like Jeno in addition to the usual two or three full-time guards.

There were eight other consistent members that you had come to be familiar with, though; Haechan was loud and boisterous in a manner quite similar to your brother, while his best friend Mark was quiet, shy, and a little nervous with a sword despite all of his experience. Taeyong, Taeil, and Doyoung treated you like their child in different ways, and Jungwoo was dreamy and often in his own head (although you weren’t sure if maybe that was just a facade, since he was one of the first to act if you felt in danger). Your favorite story was how poor Jaehyun and Yuta had been banned from attending public events after they went unintentionally viral for their handsome looks during a press conference about a new retirement plan you had orchestrated.

Johnny was always the constant, though; he was at every event, every meeting, always directly to your right in a manner that had started more than one rumor about your professional relationship and how it was more than just professional after all. And as much as you would never admit it, you hated the rumors because of their semi-truth; sure, you weren’t in a relationship, but it’s not like you would be opposed to that at all.

He was just as kind and funny as ever, but more mature and elegant now; he would help you out of your car even if there was a chauffer that was supposed to fill that role, lift children on his shoulders during your usual visits to local schools and smile with pride as they giggled and screamed. He would even sit next to you and run his hand between your shoulder blades when you had panic attacks about whether you were really fit to lead the country, reassuring you that your people loved you for a reason; not to mention that he had become very attractive over time; the boyish smiles were now replaced with kind grins, his armor now fit him like a glove, and every time he sowed the protective nature that he had developed toward you, you would swoon a little on the inside.

But there were strict rules about romance between royals and staff, if anyone found out that you even had a crush on him he would be moved out of your team and possibly out of your family entirely, which you couldn’t stand the idea of. So you kept your mouth shut, never letting your inhibitions take over you when he called your name with a kindness that made your knees weak, or when he would step in front of you in a protective manner at a rare threat made directly to your face. You had done well with it too, up until you had gone on your first state visit to another country without your parents or any other major officials.

You had been sent out to visit a country run by a set of princes almost double your age, with nobody but five members of your guard (Taeyong, Doyoung, Mark, Jaehyun, Ten, and of course Johnny) alongside you. The men were all openly uncomfortable with your presence at times; sometimes this was shown by you being excluded from conversations about “grown-up matters that didn’t concern you,” as you had once overheard the crown prince Leeteuk commenting, to even pressuring you with questions and comments that were bizarre at best and outright offensive at worst. You had tried to brush it off, since the visit was less than a week and very important, but it was hard to do so when you felt like you were having the life sucked out of you.

It wasn’t until the last day when you had finally had enough; Leeteuk had sat across from you, flanked by all of his fellow princes, and pushed a document that looked way too official to be presented in such a way to your side of the table with an expectant glare.

“What is this?”

“It’s the resolution that we’ve all been working on this week, I expect you to sign it for us now.”

“I’m sorry, I won’t sign something unless I know its contents. If you give me some time to look over it, I’d be happy to come back with my concerns and a signature if I feel it’s mutually beneficial.”

“I’m sorry?”

One of the other princes, Shindong, looked down at you with a glance of something resembling anger, and you could almost hear Johnny and Taeyong tensing at your sides, preparing to step in should the princes show signs of being a threat to your well-being.

“I mean, you say that it’s the resolution we’ve been working on, but I’ve been constantly shuttered out of any meaningful conversation about this legislature since I arrived. I don’t know what’s been done in front of me, let alone without me present, and by signing it I could be agreeing to any number of measures I don’t agree with or understand. I will not sign this unless I am given an adequate chance to look over it and bring my own concerns forward as a representative of my country.”

“See, I don’t think you understand how this works. You are in our country, under our roof, and we fully expect you to comply with our expectations while here. So you will sign this document.”

“Or what?”

You straightened yourself out, glaring daggers at the youngest prince (Kyuhyun, you believe) that had been so demanding to you. You could feel Johnny resting a hand on your shoulder, reassuring but warning, as Taeyong stepped out to certainly inform the other guards of the situation and have them start collecting your things to go home.

“If you force me to sign it, I and my guards will both bring the manner forward publicly that it was signed under duress. Any measure that you believe you could take to force me, such as physical punishment or holding me hostage, is an act of war by your government against a foreign diplomat on your soil and will be treated as such. I will not be threatened, forced, or coerced into giving my consent in a matter I do not understand, and the idea that I would do such a thing is actively preposterous at best and offensive at worst. So if you don’t mind, I will be leaving your country at the earliest opportunity, since it’s clear that you have no intent of cooperating with me and I will not stay in a place where I feel unwelcome and endangered. If this is an issue, please feel free to take it up with my guards or any citizen of my country, who will happily inform you of my stance on public policy that would affect them.”

You stood to leave, and Siwon matched your movement, grabbing your wrist with such force that you audibly hissed.

“Little girl, this is no business for you to be fighting against. Sign the papers and then you can go whenever you please.”

“My princess has stated that she intends to leave,” you were surprised by Johnny, stepping forward, forcing Siwon’s hand off of you before carefully pushing you behind him with one arm to shelter you from the men in front of you, “and as far as I am concerned, she gets what she wants when it’s her well-being at risk. Please stand down and allow her to leave, since we mean no harm. I’m sure that if this legislature is as important as you state it to be that she would need to blindly sign onto it, the king and queen would happily do instead, so I implore you to speak to them about the matter.”

Johnny walked you out, a hand around your waist with a stern expression as he kept looking back to the room of bewildered and infuriated princes. It wasn’t until he had accompanied you back to your room, firmly shutting and locking the door behind him, that he let the cold demeanor slip away. He asked how you were, a nervous expression on his face at the situation you had found yourselves in.

“I just...I want to go home. I want to go home and rest, and be with my family and friends again. I don’t feel safe here.”

He nodded solemnly, fingers dancing across your wrist as he lifted it to the level of your chest, scowling at the already-deepening purples and yellows where you’d been held.

“I’m sorry, I should have stepped in sooner.”

“You did everything right. You tried to let me handle it, and protected me when I couldn’t do it anymore.”

You leaned into his touch, and he seemed almost surprised as you let yourself fall completely into his arms, barely catching you. He held you upright for a moment, only pulling back when he noticed that you had started to cry.

“Princess...”

“Please, call me by my name. We’re friends, you deserve that much.”

He did so, gently taking you back into his grasp and reassuring you with a gentle swaying as you awaited the word of Taeyong that you could leave.

“I’m sorry, I can’t keep doing this anymore.”

He pulled back, concern and worry apparent in his expression at your bizarre change in tone.

“Can’t do what?”

“I..look, I love you. Not as my guard, not as my friend, but in a way that’s so much more than that. And I’ve been so scared to tell you because I knew it could get you taken from me, but you deserve to know. You’ve been nothing but kind and wonderful and hell, you’re perfect, but I can’t keep standing here, falling in love a little more every time you so much as look at me without telling you about it.”

He looked confused for a moment, but surprised you with a large, almost goofy smile that reminded you of your younger days with him.

“Don’t act like that, like it’s the end of it. I know it’s not allowed, just as much as you do, but I love you too and I’ve wanted to tell you forever.”

You laughed, almost bitter with the threat of separation between you two.

“How is it not the end of it?”

“I...I’ve been talking with your mother about...us. About how I feel. She’s going to remove me from the guard altogether, and I was going to move into an advising role for you where I’d be able to ask you out. I was planning on telling you after we returned form the visit, since it was only finalized after we arrived, but then...”

It took a moment to register what he had said, but as soon as it had clicked you threw your arms around him with an almost childlike excitement.

“I’ll be here for you until you don’t want me anymore, okay? I promise. Me and you, just like it’s been since you were sixteen.”

The words were gentle, kind, and you couldn’t help but relax at the truthfulness he carried in his tone. You wanted to stay like this forever, but it was all too soon that there was a knock on the door as Taeyong informed you that your car was waiting out front and the princes had finally agreed to stand down and let you leave in peace. You took a moment to collect yourself before heading to the door, and Johnny gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before opening it.

“Would you like me to ride with you today, your highness?”

“Actually, if it’s okay, I’d rather have Johnny with me. I’ve been under a lot of stress during this trip, and I find him rather comforting to have around.”

He stifled a laugh behind his hand, and you couldn’t help but grin at the almost knowing glance Taeyong spared you. You walked past the princes in uncomfortable silence, only sparing a small bow before you stepped into your car, Johnny following and moving to sit next to you as the door closed.

“So, we’ve got six hours until we’re back in our kingdom, do you want to play Super Mario Land or something?”

You burst out laughing, head falling back against his shoulder as you gave him a small nod through the rhythm of your breathing. He smiled as he gave you the old lime Game Boy, shifting to move an arm around you so he could watch you play, and you couldn’t help but notice how this felt just like home.

#johnny seo imagine #johnny seo fluff #nct johnny fluff #nct johnny imagine #not to lowkey villainize suju but i needed a villain for this and google picked them so

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meta-squash · 4 years

Text

Brick Club 1.5.10 “Outcome Of The Success”

It’s long, I’m sorry. There’s just so much in this chapter!

The chapter’s first paragraph is a description of the misery of winter weather, bookended by sentences about Fantine. It’s been nearly a year since she was fired. The bit about winter is a description of Fantine’s descent as well as the weather. Winter brings short days which means less work; Fantine’s position in society means she’s finding less work as well because she is essentially freelancing rather than working for an employer with steady jobs. “No heat, no light, no noon, evening touches morning” is such a good description of the way everything is miserable and just blurs together when you’re trying to just stay alive. All the awful stuff is sharp and dull at the same time. “Winter changes into stone the water of heaven and the heart of man.” Fantine is starting to harden here; we see her become more shameless, tougher.

Fantine wears a cap after cutting her hair “so she was still pretty.” And this disappears so rapidly in this chapter. Her beauty is so important. Fantine is the only character aside from Enjolras who is repeatedly described as beautiful in a way that seems to really matter. (Cosette is also beautiful, but that description is almost entirely through Marius’ POV, rather than from a more general POV with Fantine.) The slow destruction of Fantines beauty--the discarding of her pretty clothes for peasant ones, her frequent tears, the loss of her hair and teeth, the torn and threadbare clothing--mirrors her social destruction. She desperately clings to her beauty by wearing a cap, but she obviously gives up pretty soon.

What fascinates me here is that Hugo mentions that Fantine admired Madeleine, like everyone else, but he also implies that she didn’t hate him straight away for her dismissal. In the previous chapters, her reaction is to accept the dismissal as a “just” decision. She works up her hatred by repeatedly telling herself it was his fault. It seems as though she lands on the right conclusion in the wrong way. She blames herself first, and only through gradually convincing herself does she start to blame Madeleine. He and his crap system are the ones to blame, but she comes to that conclusion in a roundabout way that feels like she still blames herself but is trying not to. Fantine has been a scapegoat for everyone up until now; Madeleine has become her scapegoat to avoid (incorrectly) blaming herself.

“If she passed the factory when the workers were at the door, she would force herself to laugh and sing.” She’s trying so hard to make them think they haven’t gotten to her, but it just makes it so much more obvious. The laughter and singing is the “wrong” reaction, and it makes everyone notice her even more, and judge her even harder. It’s just so sad because I can understand that behavior of trying so hard to act the opposite way of how you think people will expect you to, only it backfires and makes your true feelings all the more apparent, which gives even more fuel to the cruel people.

Fantine takes a lover out of spite, “a man she did not love.” There are a few things here that contrast with the grisettes of 1.3. This lover is someone Fantine does not love, her first relationship since losing Tholomyes, who she was in love with. The man is also a street musician, which reminds me of Favourite’s actor/choir boy. The difference being that Favourite’s boy had at least some connections through his father, and Fantine’s lover is only a street musician. Fantine takes this lover in for the same reason that she sings and laughs outside the factory: to try and show that she’s unaffected, which really only serves to do the opposite. She has this affair “with rage in her heart,” which seems to be the only emotion left for her for anyone besides Cosette (and maybe Marguerite).

“She worshiped Cosette.” My only comment here is that this is something that Valjean will later echo. Both worship and adore Cosette as a point of light, something to cling to and love and care for.

Okay maybe I’m missing something here, but Fantine can read but she can’t write? This is probably my “been good at reading/writing my whole life” privilege talking, but wouldn’t she be able to write if she could read? I suppose maybe it’s like how I can look at numbers and understand the numbers but I can’t do math for shit? I don’t know. That just caught my eye.

Fantine is starting to lose her inhibitions as she begins to lose control of everything in her life. She’s laughing and singing and running and jumping around outside in public, she’s acting loud and brash and odd. Her reactions to her misfortune and the terrible things that keep happening express the “wrong” emotion. It’s an attempt to cope, and a courageous one, but it’s drastically different from the quiet Fantine who barely spoke that we were introduced to.

“Two Napoleons!” grumbled a toothless old hag who stood by. “She’s the lucky one!”

This line really struck me. We’ve been tunnel-visioned on Fantine’s misery this whole time. Suddenly the focus pulls back a little bit and we get a little bit of perspective. Fantine is not at rock bottom yet. She could still go so much lower. To this toothless old woman, she’s lucky because she’s pretty and because her teeth have worth. Fantine is poor, and cold, and worried about her kid, and most of the town laugh at or scorn her, and yet this old woman still thinks she’s the lucky one of the two of them. It’s a much more subtle commentary on the levels of poverty and abjectness that exist. Once you’ve fallen through the cracks in society to the level of homelessness, to the level of selling your teeth and hair and body, to complete aloneness, anyone who has even a scrap more than you seems “lucky.” And Fantine’s not too far from that existence.

The conversation between Marguerite and Fantine about military fever is so weird. Is Marguerite just saying stuff? This dialogue sounds like a conversation between two people who have no idea what they’re talking about. It’s like those scenes in comedies where one person pretends to be super confident about something to impress the other even though both of them are completely wrong. Oh okay wait! I just did some googling and I’ve realized that neither of them know what they’re talking about because Thenardier did his bad spelling thing! “Miliary fever” is an old medical term for an infection that causes fevers and bumpy skin rashes. (Mozart’s death is attributed to it; it seems to have fallen out of use as it became easier to pinpoint certain illnesses.) I think this isn’t just Marguerite not knowing what she’s talking about. This is a misunderstanding due to Thenardier’s misspelling (whether deliberate or not, I don’t know) and neither Marguerite nor Fantine know enough to realize it.

ETA: Okay wow I’m keeping that whole “miliary fever” thought journey in just to record my thought process but I’ve just double-checked against the Hapgood translation and the original French, and the mistake isn’t with the Thenardiers at all! It’s entirely the fault of the translators. The original French says “miliare” and Hapgood has translated it as “miliary”; Fahnestock and MacAfee clearly did not notice that the French was “miliare” and not “militaire,” and neither did their editors.

“During the night Fantine had grown ten years older.” Off the top of my head, I can only think of three instances of not-old people being blatantly described as looking old. This description here, Valjean when he returns from Arras, and Eponine. There are probably more I’m missing, but the connecting factor between these three is severe, prolonged trauma. Trauma and a difficult life can prematurely age people (I always think of that Dorothea Lange photo of the migrant mother who was only 32 but looks 50) and Hugo uses this fact to bolster his descriptions of what they go through. But Fantine and Valjean both age almost suddenly; Eponine is already old-looking the first time we meet her as a character with dialogue. Fantine’s sudden aging is another level of departure from her old life. In Paris, she was the youngest of the group, and now she looks far older than she is.

“Actually, the Thenardiers had lied to get her to get the money. Cosette was not sick at all.” As readers, we know this. We’ve seen the Thenardiers lie over and over and we see Fantine sacrifice with no idea. But this one hits harder than the others. Partly, I think, because Hugo puts it so bluntly in a sentence that has its own paragraph. But also because this is the first sacrifice that is truly unalterable. Fantine’s hair can grow back. There may have eventually been some slim chance of a job opportunity or something coming up somehow, or an influx of things needing mending or something. But she cannot regain her teeth. This is also the first sacrifice that physically disfigures her in a visible way. She can hide her lack of hair under a cap, she can hide her lack of money by using and reusing things. She cannot hide her missing teeth.

It’s interesting that we do not hear about Mme Victurnien here. Rather than the last chapter, this would be the one where Victurnien would be “winning.” The consequences of Victurnien’s actions have now permanently affected Fantine’s life. Except I think the reason we don’t see her here is that she wouldn’t face it. She can look out her window at Fantine walking down the street in distress with her beauty intact and feel satisfaction, but if she saw Fantine walking down the street, toothless and hairless, I don’t think she would feel satisfaction, because she wouldn’t be able to connect her actions to this Fantine. Feeling satisfaction towards this level of misery would require acknowledging her participation in causing it. It’s one thing for the townspeople to laugh at or gawk at her, but I think claiming responsibility for her condition is something else altogether that I’m not sure Mme Victurnien would do.

Fantine throwing her mirror out the window is a strange sort of contrast compared to Eponine’s reaction to a mirror. Fantine cannot face her descent. Eponine is already there, and her excitement at Marius’ mirror is a weird sort of distracted examination of herself. Fantine cannot bear to examine herself because unlike Eponine, she can remember what it was like before this. Tossing away the mirror is tossing away the thoughts of her past life and her past self; she can’t ever go back to that.

“The poor cannot go to the far end of their rooms or to the far end of their lives, except by continually bending more and more.”

God I don’t really even know what to say about this line except ouch. It’s just so poignant and intense. The older you get the harder it is to survive, to get up with each new stumble. And we can also take into account things like the cholera epidemic that will occur a few years later in the book, which mostly affected the poor. There’s so little access to any sort of help or assistance. And clearly Valjean’s few little systems of aid aren’t good enough. He may have set up a worker’s infirmary and a place for children or old workmen, but there doesn’t seem to be assistance for single, unsupported women, or the homeless and unemployed. They’re left to bend more and more under the weight of life.

“Her little rose bush dried up in the corner, forgotten.” I can’t help but read this as a parallel to the Thenardier’s treatment of Cosette. As Fantine falls apart and falls behind on her payments, Cosette is growing up which means the abuse from the Thenardiers has probably increased. It also feels like a weird sort of throwback to the spring/summertime imagery of beauty and chasteness and modesty from back in 1.3, which has now completely disappeared and dried up as Fantine loses her beauty, her modesty, and her coquetry.

I love the little detail about Fantine’s butter bell full of water and the frozen ice marks. It’s such a small detail but so evocative. It also feels like a metaphor for each of Fantine’s new hardships. Every time the butter pot freezes over, it leaves a ring of ice for a long time; each time Fantine encounters a new trauma, she hardens and becomes tougher. She keeps her dried up, long gone modesty and youth in one corner and the suffering that has hardened her in the other. On a side note, I’m wondering if there is actually butter in her butter bell or if she’s now using it only for water? I would imagine water only; butter seems like something that might be expensive. Also, would the building she’s living in have had indoor plumbing, or would she have gotten water from a well or a pump somewhere? My plumbing history knowledge is lacking.

Hugo describes Fantine’s torn and badly mended clothes. At this point she’s working as a seamstress, which means she’s at least proficient in the skills needed to sew and/or mend clothes in such a way that they stay together. This means that the repairs done for herself are likely careless and messy. I think this is partly an indication of how little time she has for herself--if she’s sewing for work for 17 hours a day, she has very little time to mend her own stuff, and definitely can’t afford better quality material--and partly an indication of the ways in which she is falling apart. She doesn’t bother mending her things properly, she goes out in dirty clothes. She doesn’t mend her stockings, she just stuffs them further down in her shoes. It seems she has only one or perhaps no good petticoats, which means she’s probably walking around in just a shift and a dress. Not only is her stuff threadbare and falling apart, she’s also probably freezing due to the lack of layers.

“A constant pain in her shoulder near the top of her left shoulder blade.” This makes me wonder if Fantine’s left-handed. If she’s sewing by hand, by candlelight, in a shitty rush chair, for seventeen hours a day, that is absolute murder on the back/shoulders/neck. Whenever I do hand-sewing I’m usually sat on the floor or my bed, and my back and upper shoulders tend to get sore if I get in the zone and I’m bent over the work for a long time. I don’t know about French dressmakers, but I know around that time the English were really big on very small, neat, almost invisible stitches. Which would hurt to do for seventeen hours a day by candlelight.

“She hated Father Madeleine profoundly, and she never complained.” The Hapgood translation of this line is better, I think. Still, I think it’s important that it’s pointed out that she never voices her opinions or her complaints. It’s only when Madeleine is in front of her that she announces them at all (despite not speaking directly to him then, either). She hates Valjean, she blames him, and yet obviously some part of her still thinks that she deserves it, or that her dismissal was right.

“She sewed seventeen hours a day, but a contractor who was using prison labor suddenly cut the price, and this reduced the day’s wages of free-laborers to nine sous.” Reading this book is always a lot because aside from the still-relevant general overarching commentary about society and poverty and mutual aid and goodness and all that, there are so many smaller details that are so painfully, strangely relevant to the present day. Even today there’s fear that employers will come up with a new policy or a new labor shortcut that means less income. Employers who pay their employees less because the workers get tipped, or outsourcing that causes layoffs. Prison labor, too (and behind that, the fact that prison labor doesn’t guarantee a job in a similar field after release if desired).

In the next two chapters, we jump ahead somewhere between a few weeks to a couple months. What happened to Marguerite in the interim? Hugo describes her as a “pious woman [...] of genuine devotion,” but I have this sad thought that maybe when Fantine made the decision to become a sex worker, Marguerite may have turned her back on her as well. As we’ve seen with Valjean, being poor but modest is Good, and being poor and desperate enough to do something improper and “immoral” is Bad. Despite Marguerite’s canonical generosity towards the poor, I wouldn’t be surprised if Fantine’s decision overstepped some moral boundaries of hers.

“But where is there a way to earn a hundred sous a day?” I’m a little stuck on this. Would she make this much money? I’m basing the following information off of Luc Sante’s The Other Paris, so the monetary info might be slightly different a for non-Parisian area. According to Sante, someone like Fantine, a poor woman working without a pimp or madame and not in a legal brothel, would basically be working for pocket change. 100 sous would equal about 5 francs. If her earnings are basically pocket change, I don’t think she’d make 5 francs a day. Just considering the fact that a loaf of bread might cost about 15 sous, which seems like pocket change, or even slightly more than pocket change. Fantine probably becomes a sex worker and finds herself in the exact same position that she was in before, not making any more money than she would have if she had continued to be a seamstress.

#les miserables #les miserables meta #brickclub #lm 1.5.10 #les mis #les mis meta

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