#9 major assignments ah-ah-ah

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Good luck on any final exams, papers, etc., you have and congrats on your upcoming graduation! <3

Thanks, love. I’ll need the luck. I’m at a weird point where I’ve started working on everything … and finished none of it yet…

[modern-day-bard]

Other Duties As Assigned: A Joel Miller AU Fanfiction

Content Warning: 18+ Minors, do not interact. This story includes mature themes such as drinking, stalking, violence, and explicit smut.

a/n: Hello! Thank you to anyone who has made it this far 💖 I had planned to upload two chapters each time I update the story, but life is getting away from me currently, and I want to make sure I spend enough time editing each chapter before it's posted. Depending on how crazy things get, I might have to start uploading them on separate days. The chapters are always uploaded on ao3 first (it takes less time), and I will get them over here as soon as possible. Thank you again for reading!

Chapter 9: Dodge

Word count: 2.5k

Gwen

I glance at the door to the studio for the third time in under a minute. What possessed me to agree to combat training? Self-defense, Joel had called it. But honestly, unless I’m plucked out of New York and placed on a battlefield, I’m struggling to see when I would need to use the steps Joel is walking me through right now.

“When I said we could do this in the morning, I didn’t think I’d be watching you attack fake opponents at eight a.m.”

Joel stops mid-slowmo punch. “I let you sleep in.”

“Oh, you let me? Thanks, gracious drill sergeant.”

For a moment, I think he smirks, but it vanishes as quickly as it arrived. Dystopian Warzone Training is far too important to waste time on humor.

“Did you absorb everything I just said?”

“Sure.” I don’t even try to make it sound convincing.

I wasn’t lying about what I said last night. The last time I did anything remotely similar to self-defense, I cried until I became such a disturbance to the other students that my mom carried me out. I’m not sure how much of your personality is fully formed at seven-years-old, but this part certainly stuck. Something about the fighting, even if it was rehearsed, really stresses me out. And the majority of what Joel has done so far is just talk while miming a few moves. Talking about what to do if someone approaches me from behind just makes me want to bolt. My mom and I got ice cream when we left, and I keep wanting to leave and do the same thing now, twenty years later. Or maybe I’d start with a croissant instead.

“Miss Russell?” Joel lifts a brow, and I realize that I was off in dream-land.

“What?”

“I was asking what’s one thing you remember from what I’ve told you?”

“Um…trust your instincts…element of surprise…and remember to SING.”

Joel’s brow furrows together. “I never said anything about singing.”

“No, the acronym. Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin.” I put my hands on my hips, hoping he’ll move on.

“You got that from a movie.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. It’s a good movie, but I didn’t say it.”

“Ah, he watches movies. Romcoms, even. Maybe you’re more human than I thought.”

“How am I not—you know what, no. Miss Russell, let’s run through the basics again, okay?”

I give him a non-committal nod. “Fine.”

“Trusting your instincts and using the element of surprise are correct. Just keep in mind your attacker might use those two things on you as well. Someone of your status is likely to be surprised because whoever would be near you would most likely be in an area that you already deem to be safe.”

Geez. Thanks, Joel. Now my palms are sweaty.

“I can teach you how to punch, as I demonstrated before, but maybe we should start with something else. There are maneuvers that catch people a little more off-guard. A punch is effective when administered correctly, but it’s easy to see coming. Plus, someone of your stature–”

“My stature?”

Joel holds up his palms like a white flag. “What I mean is, imagine the person approaching you is my size. It’s a lot for you to defend against. Simply using brute force to take me down won’t be possible. You’ll need to be quick and effective in your attacks.”

Unfortunately, he’s right. I’ve been trying not to look at Joel because I can’t do so without thinking of my friends’ stupid reactions to him the other night. It’s these gym clothes of his. They’re made to mold to men in a way that makes them irritatingly attractive. It’s not the fact that it’s Joel, it can’t be. It’s just a good looking guy being knowledgeable while wearing another dark compression top. It looks…slutty on him. I never understood when people got crushes on their professors, but if they were teaching me something physical…well, anyway, now I get it. Regardless, he’s almost a foot taller than me, and true to bodyguard form, he is built like a method of protection. Sculpted to shield.

Distractingly attractive, and with the combination of how legitimately nervous I am thinking of potential attackers…my system can’t seem to figure out if I’m supposed to be scared or turned on. The thought of that alone sends a pulse of panic down my arms. This man is a nuisance, regardless of how enticing the packaging might be.

“Hitting with an open hand,” Joel flexes his palm, “Reduces the risk of injury. And you can easily attack from a non-confrontational stance, like the one I have now.”

I look at the beast across from me, standing wide-legged, palms up in front of him. “You don’t look non-confrontational.”

“Well, that’s because I’m with you.”

I huff out one, short laugh. “Was that a joke?”

“No,” His tone betrays him. It was totally an attempt at a joke. “Palms up.”

I roll my eyes, mirroring his stance.

“Excellent. From here you can do a heel-palm strike,” Joel slowly brings his hand toward my nose, and I resist pulling away, “An eye strike,” he brings his other hand toward me with his fingers outstretched, “Or a knee strike.” He places his hands on my shoulders, and I jump.

“I’m sorry.” He pulls back immediately.

“It’s fine. I was just expecting your knee. That’s all.”

“I should have warned you that it’s common to use your opponent as leverage to make a strike like that. Why don’t you try those three on me?”

He stands perfectly still.

I toss my braid behind my back, squaring my shoulders, feeling like an idiot. But to give him credit, Joel’s expression is earnest and patient. I feel mean, bringing my heel up to his nose, but I do it anyway.

“Good,” he says, moving out of the way to avoid my mediocre attack. “Now, eye strike.”

I move a little faster this time, and again he moves out of the way, nodding.

Finally, I bring my hands up his shoulders, embarrassed that I have to go on my tippy toes to reach them.

“So, that might not help you with your leverage,” Joel grabs my hands, startling me just a little. He slows his movements, noticing my surprise. “Try putting them here instead,” He places my palms on his chest, and I can feel his steady heart underneath the wall of muscle. “It’s okay to push back a little while you bring your knee up, just keep the majority of the weight on your back leg so you don’t lose your balance.”

He gives me an encouraging nod, and I bring my knee up sharply.

“Hey,” He pulls back, “Close one.” I swear there is a hint of a proud smile on his face now, but it could be from embarrassment. He moves on quickly. “If you’re able, you can also use my arms as leverage,” He moves my hands, much slower this time, to wrap around his forearms. I shift my weight again, trying to ignore how his arms feel against my hands, how strong…

I hike my knee up as fast as I can.

Joel barely gets out of the way in time.

“I’m going to chock that up to you practicing the element of surprise, instead of a very literal attempt to hurt me. Well done.”

“Sorry,” I shake my head, stepping back.

“Let’s move on,” he says, rubbing one set of knuckles with the other hand. “Those are effective if your attacker is coming at you from the front. If they’re trying to surprise you, they may come at you from behind.”

Suddenly I’m thinking of my bed. If I’m facing the windows, my back is toward the door. Some masked figure could creep in at night, and attack before I would even see them. Or if I’m at dinner, and suddenly there’s something threatening pressed against my back, telling me to get up and walk out with them.

A small part of me remembers this from childhood. Some vague memory about the discussion of fighting, or attacking, or opponents, and it makes my heart rate quicken just as it did back then. At least at the time it was acceptable to just sit down on the mat and cry. I can’t remember the last time I cried in front of anyone. And I could never cry in front of Miller. Especially now that I’m irritated with him for…for…I don’t know.

“I’m going to demonstrate coming up behind you, and I’ll show you how to escape. Okay?”

“Okay,” My voice sounds clipped and hollow.

Joel moves to stand behind me and I feel all the muscles in my back tense up. I take a deep breath, trying to loosen up.

It’s just training, Gwen. You’re fine.

“You ready?”

I just nod.

Thankfully, because of the mat, I can hear Joel move the couple of steps it takes to reach me. His warm hands move slowly to cross in front of me, caging me in. This time, it doesn’t startle me. In fact, his warmth is oddly…comforting. Maybe it’s just the fact that I can’t see his distracting face with his too-sincere-eyes. That, and the fact that we’re not currently talking about all these potential threats I’m now facing. Though I suppose the threat has always been here, I just didn’t realize that anyone had taken action toward making good on that threat.

“In this position, you can’t use your arms to defend yourself.” Joel wraps his arms a little tighter around me. His words tickle my ear, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. A sensation I desperately hope goes unnoticed.

“You can headbutt your opponent, though with your height, it might be difficult. I would recommend that you drive your fist into your attacker's groin. But we’ll practice how to hit on a punching bag later.”

I nod again, actually keyed into what he’s saying now.

He releases me, but keeps his hands on my shoulders, indicating not to turn around yet. “The next one I’m going to show you is the chokehold. I won’t apply pressure, I just want to show you how to go through the motions. Is that okay?”

“Mhm,” I wonder if the small circles his thumb is drawing on my right shoulder are on purpose, or just subconscious. I wish I could close my eyes and focus only on how good it feels. In the split second as my eyes flutter shut, I’m overwhelmed by how good he smells. I’m not even sure if he showered this morning. Can a man smell that good naturally?

“Okay so anyone experienced will have one hand on your head,” He places his palm on the top of my hair, “And the other arm will wrap around you here,” He moves his right arm so that my neck rests in the crook of it. As Joel settles in, his wrapped around hand resting on my opposite shoulder, I feel like I should be doing something. Not fighting him off but… turning toward him. Or reaching behind me, grabbing his waist, pulling him closer.

“From here,” his gruff voice sounds even huskier in this stance, “You need to put space between us, so wrap your hands around my arm near your neck and pull. You’ll need less space than you think to get air through.”

I place one hand on his bicep, and one on his forearm, and pull. I don’t want to be noticing the heaviness in my chest, struggling to rise and fall with his arm resting at the top. Or how my breath catches, though he hasn’t applied any pressure, just as he said. All I know is that I’m not thinking of someone breaking into my bedroom anymore. But I’m not picturing myself alone in there, either.

“I’ll tighten just a little so you can use your weight to get away. I promise you’ll still be able to breathe. Alright?”

“Okay,” I sound short-winded, and I’ve barely even moved.

It wasn’t Joel tightening his grip on me that did it, or the feel of his arms, or the gentle way his hand rests on my head despite our position. It was this damn, low, almost inaudible grunt he let out when he pulled me closer. My back being pressed against him by his force alone, the peace it brought me where moments before a spiral had been taking over. I feel myself start to arch my back—

“No,” I say, tapping his arm rapidly with my hand. He releases me instantly, taking several steps back as I whip around to face him, even though I don’t dare look at him directly.

“I’m sorry, Miss Russell. Was it too much?” His voice is apologetic, riddled with concern.

It actually wasn’t enough.

“We don’t have to do the demonstrations if—”

“I’m hungry.” I blurt out.

Joel pauses. “If I made you uncomfortable—”

“Please, I’m not uncomfortable. I forgot to eat.” I laugh a little, hoping he’ll buy it. “I’m gonna go—” I was going to say I’m going to get bagels, but he would be required to come with me. And I need to keep him and his stupid, chiseled chest as far away from me as possible. “I’m gonna go shower.”

“Don’t you need to eat?” He doesn’t look like he’s trying to tease me, even though I know he can tell I’m lying. His big brown eyes are still full of worry.

“Yeah I’ll grab a granola bar or something,” I say as I stride toward the door of the studio, yanking it open. I don’t check to see if he follows me, and even though I assume he will, I make it all the way back on to the elevator and into my foyer without hearing his footsteps. Once inside, I lightly slap my face.

“What are you thinking, Gwen. You can’t stand him.” I whisper, shuddering on my way to the bathroom.

But I know what I was thinking. I was thinking of those concerned eyes, and that natural, musky smell. And how I found myself wishing that Ryan-Brian the other night had hair like Joel’s so I could pull the ends of his waves as we kissed. I was thinking about those broad, broad shoulders. And how, despite other people in my life who claimed to care about my well-being, he had been the only one to tell me the truth about the break-in.

You don’t know his motivations. You don’t know why he’s really here.

The cynic is clawing at the hormonal part of my brain, imploring me to stick to the plan. Get him out of here.

But as that thought floats through my mind, it’s not determination that latches on to it, but fear.

I don’t want him to leave.

Rationally, it must be because of any legitimate threat that could come my way. It’s not because it’s him. I’m just unsatisfied right now. And I know just who to call to remedy that situation and refocus.

So, before I can hear Joel walk through the elevator doors, I turn on the water, and proceed to take the coldest shower I’ve ever had.

Next Chapter

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Masterlist

[joongwooclub]

in our world || j.wy

synopsis: yn is tired of everything, and one person can make her feel okay. 

nextdoorneighbor!wooyoung x student fem reader [third pov]

contains: childhood friends to strangers to friends to lover, mention of ed, depression, health issues, broken home, unrealistic expectations, just really sad, fluff, comfort for reader. 

[See authors note at the end for notice]

The semester was exhausting; exams after exams, labs after labs. Not to mention the stress for academic success for y/n’s parents. “College will be easier” “you’ll have more freedom!” “You won’t have to stress about classes, you choose them.” all the things people say about college, yet never warn what comes with it. Never choose a 9 am class unless you don’t want to sleep, stress will always be there, you have to have a certain gpa to get into certain majors. Not to mention that if your scholarship doesn’t cover everything, book prices will be the death of you, and student debt..don’t get started on those. Those will follow you until you finish whatever you’re majoring in or if you drop out. 

Y/n was part of the medical field major, choosing it as a way to be helpful around the world and be able to take care of her parents, but here she is, in her dorm room, crying over grades and how life is turning out. “Can’t you take a break?” y/n’s best friend friend, Ningning, asked, a pout on her lips. Y/n shook her head and lift up her head from her desk, “Sorry Ning…I have to finish this essay. It’s the final project for Dr. Han’s class.” “You’re always working!” Ningning cried out, but understood what y/n was going through, “just make sure to eat and drink water. Please?” she practically begged her best friend. Y/n nodded, not wanting to promise something she knew she won’t be able to keep. Ningning sighed and left the dormitory with her other friends. Y/n was determined to finish the essay, and since this was her last assignment of the semester, she sat up and cracked her aching back, starting on the eight page essay that was assigned.

Several hours later

Y/n finally finished her essay, although it wasn’t the best she could have done, but she was tired. Tired wasn’t the right word, it was more burn out, she didn’t have any more motivations to try harder in her classes. But now that she was finished, she could finally eat and pack. Students had three days to pack before the campus shuts down for the summer, so there was much to do. Pushing her chair out of the desk, feeling light headed and semi dizzy, she headed towards her shared kitchen with her roomates. The fridge didn’t have much, some apple juice and slices of cheese, leftover salads and some of Ningning’s leftover burgers from her party. Y/n sighed and took one of the leftover burgers and went to heat it up in the microwave, grabbing a glass to drink some water. The day flew by fast as she was busy writing, and by the time she sat down, Ningning walked through the door with a small smile. “Hey Y’n! Glad to see you out of the room, do you want some?” Ningning asked, bringing a bag of store bought snacks. Y/n stomach growled with hunger seeing it, but she refused. “No thanks Ning. I’m eating one of the leftover hamburgers from your party. I’m on that diet before seeing my family remember?” “Ah..right..sorry.” Ning whispered, sitting down next to her best friend. “Would you be alright by yourself?” Ning asked. “I’ll work through it, don’t worry.” Y/n smiled sadly, Ningning has been her best friend for years, so she knew how Y/n’s family was. The expectations they pushed their daughter on was unhealthy, but what can Ningning do when y/n was raised to be a certain way and not be able to speak her own mind? “Well..you know you can always call me and I’ll drive those god forsaken 5 hours back and forth for you.” She smiled at her best friend. Y/n chuckled at her best friend and hugged her, “thank you.” she simple whispered. Ning just hugged her back and gave her a squeeze. “Let’s get packed then.” 

Ningning helped Y/n pack her things and suddenly it was the morning of the next day to where they needed to separate ways to go back to their families or whatever vacation they had planned for summer. “Thanks for the help Ning~ get back home safe, and enjoy your trip to Thailand!” Y/n cheered happily, Ning gave her a smile and hugged y/n again, “thanks y/n! I’ll send you pictures, text me when you get home ok? And don’t forget to drink water and eat on the drive home!”Y/n nodded her head and giggled. Watching Ningning get into her car and drive off, Y/n did the same. The anxiety once again rising inside her as she was by herself again. 

The drive back home wasn’t horrible. It was more of the fact she had to face her family again and stay with them for the couple months that her parents forced her to stay due to activities they “needed” to do together. An hour (more or less)  was left until she reached her destination, her anxiety rising again, feeling the sweat form on her hands gripping the wheels. “Do I look okay?” “Will they talk about my weight again?” “Are they going to ask for my grades?” “Do I have to do things around the house again?” many thoughts and insecurities coming back, it made her afraid, she never really did like going back home, and yet she went back every year. Something was wrong with her. 

Looking away from the road as it was a long stretch of just highways, she looked at her gas meter. It was halfway, but better safe than sorry, she decided to go towards an exit for gas. Luckily where she use to live was a market that had gat on its property, kinda like a costco in some ways. Pulling into a free space, she turned off her car and got out, locking her doors and walking into the market. Browsing for small snacks that won’t make her feel bloat, she ran into a much rather taller build. “Oh I’m so sorry.” she replied, looking up at who she bumped into. “Y/n?” the stranger asked, y/n tilted her head, “yes? Who are you?” she questioned. “Oh my god! I haven’t seen you since I moved, it’s me Wooyoung!” He cheered, happily hugging Y/n. It took her a few seconds to realize why the name sounded so familiar, “Oh my god, Woo..” she said, shocked, but happy. “Are you visiting home?” he questioned, Y/n nodded, not wanting to say much, after all she finally saw one of her childhood friends again after a while. “Same here, just finished my semester at University. What are you majoring?” “Ah..I’m doing medical.” “Smart girl” Wooyoung giggled, making Y/n’s heart skip a beat, “I’m majoring in music, dancing to be specific, but you know my vocals are top notch as well.” This caused y/n to laugh quietly, she forgot how cheery Wooyoung was, it made her feel like a kid again. Oh how she wish she can go back to being a kid, with no worries, a better life.. “Y/n?” Wooyoung asked, waving his hand front of her face, “sorry?” she mumbled. “I was asking if I can visit you later, can I have your number again?” Wooyoung asked, his face turning into a worried look as he never seen his childhood friend space out so much. “Oh..oh yeah of course! Sorry.” Y/n said scrambling to give her number to Wooyoung. Y/n looked at the time and slightly gasped at how late it was getting, her parents were going to kill her. “Sorry Wooyoung, I gotta go. Text me later ok?” She said dropping the snacks she picked up and running to the cashier to ask for gas. Wooyoung didn’t get to say goodbye as she was already out of the store and pulling out of the market parking lot. He looked down at the snacks she had in her basket and frowned. He picked up the basket and took it to the cashier, buying the snacks she didn’t get. 

Y/n was scared, She was late. Her parents always yelled at her when she didn’t do anything correctly. She felt like she was 12 years old again, getting scolded for hurting herself on the pavement instead of being reassured. Y/n eyes getting hazy by the second, tears threatening to come out. When her GPS announced she reached the destination, she wanted to turn around and leave, but she knew she couldn’t. She parked her car and prepared herself for whatever her parents had to say, so as she walked up and shakily knocked on the door, it was quickly opened by her mother. “You’re late.” she simple said, deadpan eyes. “Y-Yes I know, I’m sorry. I was getting gas-” “I don’t want to hear it. Dinner already started, go ahead and put your things away and get whatever is left.” her mother said walking away. Y/n just huffed and carried her suitcase up the stairs, avoiding seeing anyone else until she had to go into the dining room. “Oh you’re here.” Y/n’s brother said, getting up from his seat and leaving the room. “You can clean up my plate, thanks.” Y/n wanted to roll her eyes, “still a brat.” and turned her attention to the table. “Your sister won’t be here, she’s busy.” Her mom said, getting up from her seat. Y/n’s dad grumbled, “there’s a few leftovers. Don’t eat too much, you’re fat as ii is.” he commented before leaving as well. 

Less than 5 minutes and she was already pushed around and degraded, she was so tired of it. Y/n just nodded and cleaned whatever mess they made, having no energy to argue with her own parents. Going to her parents saying she wasn’t hungry anymore (she lied), she told them she’ll be in her room. They gave no attention, just a okay and went back to watching their more important tv shows. As she went into her old room, she collapsed onto her bed, just tired and wished time moved faster. She didn’t want to be here. She sat up, seeing the night sky and stars, the moon was pretty. She decided to get up and open her window, carefully climbing out to walk to the rooftop. As she sat there, she watched the sky and listened to the night life, the moon shining so beautifully. She wondered what it would feel like to become the air, or the stars. To not be on the planet as a human, but as something else. 

A bag being placed next to her startled her, making her jump. She looked and saw Wooyoung holding a goofy grin on his face. “How did you get up here?” She questioned. “We’re neighbors, i know how to climb ladders.’he joked, Y/n gave him a small smile and looked at the bag he brought, “oh you left these.” He smiled, pulling out the snacks she dropped. Her smile faded, “ah you didn’t have to waste your money on me. I’m sorry. How much was it?” Y/n rambled on, “Y/n. It’s okay, I bought it for you, don’t worry.” Wooyoung said, kinda sad as to why his friend was acting like this. She use to love eating the snacks in the bags, he remembers her clearly “begging” him to get her some of the chips she likes. But now as he stares at her, she looked like she was afraid of the food. 

“Is everything okay y/n?” he whispered, sitting closer to her. Y/n bit her lip, on one hand, she wanted to tell someone what she was thinking, feeling, and let it all out, but on the other hand, she didn’t want to be a bother, use someone for her own use. But the look Wooyoung gave her, full of worry, it made her heart ping with hurt. Something about his aura made her feel safe and okay to express what she kept to herself for the past years of her youth. So, she decided to answer truthfully.

“No..” y/n mumbled, before Wooyoung could ask what was wrong, y/n continued what she wanted to say. “Wooyoung, I’m so tired of living. It’s so hard. I keep failing my parents, they make me feel like I’m such a burden all the time, I’m not successful like my sister or brother, university is just so hard. I barely have friends, I mainly have Ningning, but that’s it. Every time I think something positive about myself, I have nothing. I’m ugly, I’m fat. I’m not smart, I can’t even lose weight by dieting, I keep gaining and gaining, even if i eat and throw up, nothing helps, I can’t even make the people around me happy; I just make everyone worry and for what? I just want to be perfect, but I can’t and it’s killing me.” Y/n let out, not everything being mentioned, but enough to make herself feel better. “I’m just so tired of living and not being acknowledge. I mean I’m working so hard, but why can’t anyone else see it?” she cried softly, tears flowing onto her cheeks. She hasn’t vent to someone like this before, not even Ningning, because she didn’t want to be a bother to anyone, and here she is, dumping it onto Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung was silent, and all y/n can think about how bad she messed up everything. What she didn’t expect was Wooyoung to hug her tightly. He didn’t say anything, because he knew sometimes listening was better than saying anything. Y/n cried into his chest, his shirt being sightly damped but he didn’t care. He was worried for his friend, and he felt like he needed to protect her and tell her that she wasn’t ugly, nor fat. That she grew into a beautiful woman and he fell in love with again. “I know what I say won’t stick, but you’re amazing, smart, beautiful and perfect in your own ways. Don’t be someone else because other people demand you to be.” He whispers. The two of them stayed in the moon lit night together until the sun was coming up. 

The cycle repeated each day until it became part of their routine. The two stayed by each others side for the couple months that were there, and now they had one month left. One month left to be with each other, one month left with y/n’s toxic family. Y/n wanted the time to go by, but at the same time, not really. Wooyoung’s company has helped her in so many ways. When her family degraded her and forced her to basically starve, Wooyoung would text and come over in the middle of the night to give her small meals he made, knowing that big amounts still scared her, but she was slowly recovering. She started to find happiness in small things again, like walking around in the park, meeting other dogs and cats on the street and petting them. It was unbelievable to Ningning when she called Y/n to ask her what day and time she would be arriving back to the campus. “You’ve changed so much.” Ningning smiled through the facetime call, “Who do I need to thank for this?” Ning laughed, before y/n could answer, Wooyoung took her phone and smiled, “Me. You need to be thanking me.” he laughed. Ningning laughed and joked around. “Well thank you handsome sir, make sure she gets back to campus safely!” Y/n blushed at Ning’s comment and told her to hand up as a joke. The three talked until Ningning had to go, so it was the two of them again watching the sunset on the rooftop.

“I enjoyed your company. You made it bearable.” Y/n whispered, sad that the time to leave was coming closer. Wooyoung nudged her on the shoulder and smiled at her sadly, “Hey no worries, you’ll still have me by your side.” He grinned. Y/n nodded but she knew the truth, she would be alone again because once she goes back to the campus, she’ll be in a hole of just study , study, study, and work, work, work. Wooyoung pulled Y/n into a hug, his face snuggled into her neck. 

“Spending the last couple months had me thinking..” he whispered. He moved his face in front of Y/n so they had eye-to-eye contact. He used a finger to lift her chin and cupped her cheeks, “Had me thinking about us. About you. My sweet darling, my princess y/n. The last few months with you have been incredible, and I have seen the changes you’ve made on your own. You’re strong and I believe in you. You’re going to succeed in your classes, you’re going to make yourself proud. If your family doesn’t see how intelligent you are, and how much you have been trying, excuse my language, but fuck them. And I know recovering is hard, but keep going, for me, for Ningning, for yourself okay? Your body is perfect the way it is, you’re not fat, and you’re not skinny either, you're you, the perfect weight that you were created for. I love you for who you are, and I’m forever proud of you.” He spoke, his words hitting Y/n’s heart, his words comforting her because no one has spoke to her in some way. 

Y/n teared up and hugged Wooyoung tightly, “Thank you Wooyoung, I truly appreciate it. You mean so much to me, and I know we reconnected for only a few months, but you make me feel so safe. I love you so much.” “And I love you too my princess.” he softly smiled, giving y/n a small kiss on her lips. It was just the two of them in their own world, with the comfort of each other.

authors note - hey everyone, long time no see. it's admin stacy, i haven't written in a long time, and I have not been in a good place mentally, I won't go into details on what I've been going through, but I guess I wrote this for some comfort since I don't receive the words that y/n gets in this story. But I just want to say, thank you for reading, and if you're struggling, just know it's okay. everyone's pace is different, and you're trying your hardest. Me and every idol group you love are so proud of you. Please take care of yourself, I love you

[atvace]

Lady Dior and the Seven Dilfs

Chapter 9: Arrive and Ride

Masterlist

Warning: sex

The sound of the plane landing finally becomes music to everyone's ear. the ass of the plane opens up revealing a few cars and new people you're not familiar with. Let's talk about you, who wouldn't be in shock after getting edged by your lieutenant's knee? yes, that's it. that is the reason why you've been SLIGHTLY quiet for the rest of the ride. But a girl had to be honest, you want more than that.

Soap and Ghost walked towards an athletic man and greeted each other, "Alejandro!" He smiled, "Sergeant Mactavish." The guy looked like in his mid-30s, had a Mexican accent. from afar, You could see he has a wide forehead, a perfectly balanced sharp nose, keen sharp eyes with perfect jawline. his shoulders are broad. he had those compression shirts beneath his vest which made you melt staring at his bicep is well seen. his haircut, God his haircut is perfectly aligned with the shape of his head. you wanna ride-

"Dior!" Soap's calling dragged your senses out of the daydream. You shyly reveal yourself to the sun and walk towards the others. Alejandro has his eyes locked on your figure as you walk by. "This is Dior, a new re-" "Assigned FBI." You smiled at Alejandro and lent out your hand. "Ay, ¹Dios Mio. Nice to meet you, ²cielita." He locks eye contact with you, softly accepting your hand kissing your knuckle like a gentleman. "I am pleasured too, ³señor." You smiled at him.

You deducted him deeper in up close. you could smell his bergamot musky scent, his eyes is brown but turns amber when hit by sunlight. His hair is neatly combed and his hands are veiny. you wonder how they feel when it's playing your cli-

Alejandro chuckles and lets go of your hand slowly before looking over to Ghost. "Lieutenant! Laswell says they call you Ghost."

Soap pointed his thumb to Ghost and laughed, "Actually, I think he prefers to be called-" "That'll do." Ghost cuts Soap off. which made you raised your eyebrow. Huh, you do in fact had any no idea about Ghost's whereabouts except him being british, tea person, ginger biscuit and all.

He gestured the three of you to follow him. "Welcome to City of Souls." He exposes his cheeky smile while walking towards his truck. Soap looked around at the military activity thats going on around them, "I've never been to Mexico." Alejandro raises his eyebrow at his remarks.

"This isn't Mexico, this is Las Almas." He raises his hand showing a few green hills from the distance. "Shepherd's contractors are inbound to reinforce. They're bringing hardware. It'll need a room." Ghost looked over Alejandro. "Relajar Hermano, my base is your base." The Mexican man stops in front of his car.

"Good, now Where can we know anything about the missile?" Ghost asked again. "Cartel safe house. We'll talk about that in my base, hermano." He opened the door and lent his hand to you. "Ladies first, please." He smiles at you softly. "⁴Gracias, el señor." You blow a kiss to him as you enter the car.

Soap got around the car and entered by your left side as Ghost on your right side. there was a driver already inside whilst Alejandro giving orders before entering the shotgun of the car. The air in Las Almas was a little less polluted than in Los Angeles back in your FBI days. you had no trouble settling in the environment hence you're quite used to it.

"This is my second in command, Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra," He looks at the three of you from the rear mirror. "Ola, señor." You cooed and Rodolfo smiled at you. "⁵tengo miedo de los fantasmas" Rodolfo said quickly shifting his gaze to Ale.

You snorted to yourself and felt Soap and Ghost's eyes on you, "Ah, 'm sorry." you rubbed your eye. Alejandro pursed his lips and looked back at Soap, "You know Spanish?"

"Uhh, no." "No." Soap and Ghost answered. "Well, a green bird taught me how to form a word or two." You shrugged. He laughs softly and puts on his seatbelt, "You'll manage." And by that, Rodolfo pulls up to the destination.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You were enjoying watching the scenery that extends in the mirror of the car watching small shops, flower shops, little cafes, and restaurants that you passed by. but eventually, you got a little tired of keeping your head to yourself trying not to lean to either of the men by your side.

Soap notices your little gesture of uncomfiness and slides his rifle to the other side of his legs so it won't bug you, "You can lay your head on my shoulder if your neck is sore, Dior." He softly said to you. Ghost bit the inside of his cheek while side-eyeing the two of you.

"Oh, no no no. the cielita can use this." Alejandro opens and rummages the inside of his car dashboard quickly. You tilt your head in curiosity and perk up when he reveals a pink Hello Kitty neck pillow. Your heart instantly melts and you reach it from his hand.

"Alejandro, this is so cute," you wore it around your neck and closed your eyes. "Fluffy too.. Thank you so much." You squeezed the pillow as Alejandro chuckled. "I got that from gift exchanging. Los Vaqueros does that every time we celebrate an achievement." He leaned back to his seat.

Soap patted your head before looking back at the window. His pupils constricted at the sight of a white carry truck with 4 men holding guns. His palm grasped at his own rifle and looked straight at the 'target'.

"White truck, four armed in the back-" Alejandro quickly tilt to Soap, "Ay, hey- ⁶tranquilo." He held his palm as Soap let go of his rifle again. "Easy... that's normal here." He said leaning back to his seat.

You were looking at Soap's sudden tension and then back to Alejandro. "Guns on the streets are jurisdiction of the police. " He marked, "Where are the police?" Ghost asked.

Alejandro clears his throat, "Well, Las Almas has a very serious problem. There are few here to uphold the law and many of those who resist corruption..." Ghost looks at Alejandro, "... disappear." He ends.

You look at Soap, "What about the military?" He asked. "Well, because we are well-trained, soldiers are recruited by the narcos." Alejandro rested his head watching the streets. "Why not you?"

Ghost's question made you and Soap glared at him. Even Rodolfo sighed in defeat whilst Alejandro tried not to smile, "We grew up here. They call us Los Vaqueros...cowboys." You raised your eyebrow at his answer.

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy." You said in a relaxed tone. now they're glaring at you but Alejandro nervously rubbed his forehead, "I like you, cielita."

A few minutes went by, your group found themselves waiting for a red light. On the other side of the road, there was a mother and a kid buying balloons with someone holding a gun beside them. Ghost and Soap exchanged looks, "Kids, guns, and balloons.."

"That's a new one," You replied at Soap's remark. "⁷Narcos use generosity to win over the people," Alejandro cooed in. "Even the children?" Soap raised one of his eyebrows. "Especially the children." Rodolfo continued.

Another red light made Rodolfo stop the car. You peered over to Ghost's side of the window and gagged after seeing a dead body being covered with written white cloth, smeared red with blood. "Jesus, what the fuck is that." Ghost looks down on you, 'She tortures people with her heels but gags at a covered dead body...' he thought.

"Narcomantas." Alejandro shortly replied, "Cartel Cloths." Rodolfo translates. "Messages from El Sim Nombre, warnings, marking territory." You saw another narcomantas as they passed by, "Our streets are laced with death." Alejandro narrates.

"Whose El Sin Nombre?" Ghost looks at Alejandro from the rear mirror. "El Sin Nombre, The Nameless. leader of Las Almas Cartel." He replied while biting his lips, looking at the huge beautiful graffiti saying 'EL SIN NOMBRE'

"Where can we find him?" Soap tilts his head. "...or her?" You pursed your lips, poking the neck pillow. "You can't. No one knows who they are but they are everywhere." Alejandro said whilst Rodolfo nodded in agreement. "Is this person an individual?" You raised your eyebrow. "Perhaps, we still never know because they're everywhere." He shrugged.

"And that is a challenge. Los Vaqueros loves challenges!" Alejandro snickered and gazed at Ghost from the rear mirror. "With your mask, you'll fit in well here, Ghost." He finishes. but as he said that, you saw Soap doing the 'cut it out' hand gesture. which made you knit your eyebrow at the sudden awkward pause. you tilt your head to Ghost who now has his eyes down to his knee.

'Ghost's mask is a sensitive topic, no good.' you thought to yourself.

Rodolfo slowed the car down watching a road blockage just a few ahead of them. Alejandro seemed frowned at the sight but he gestured to take a turn, "Military checkpoint. Turn right, don't engage them." He ordered. "Yes sir." You watched a few civilians being stopped by the military.

"Why?" Soap looked out of his window, "Some troops are in the pocket of El Sin Nombre. Like I told you, they're everywhere." Alejandro explains again. "My resources is still finding clues and intels regarding of El Sin Nombre. let's hope they found something important."

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Settling into Alejandro's base, he said it was sectioned into multiple buildings to make it slightly more private. You walked towards the light spacious hallway that connects the kitchen and the meeting room. You saw your duffle bag already gently placed on top of your bed. "Finally, inner peace..." You mumbled before falling into the soft mattress. "Dior? This is Rodolfo. Colonel Alejandro wants us to regroup in the meeting room." He knocked on your door softly which made you irritatedly punch the bed. "Ay, coño." You mumbled while getting up again, "Coming!"

You got out of your room with an unpleasant mood, as Soap walked towards you with a small metal box in his hand. You were a bit puzzled about his gesture, "Could you brew this for Ghost? I think he had a car sick." He said in a concerned tone. You held back your laugh, "the lieutenant? Car sick? What is he, five?" You took the metal box and made your way to the kitchen with him.

"Aye, I used to get car sick too in my early 20s." Soap filled the kettle pot with tap water and placed it into the stove, "He's in his early 30s? I thought he joined the military earlier than all of us combined." You furiously tapped your foot to the floor. "Let's not be mean to him, poor guy went through a lot." He turned the stove in.

You scoffed and cackled at his statement because hell if he knew what Ghost did to you whilst he was deep asleep, he would had a stroke on the floor. "Soap, what do you think about him." You watched him lean to the counter next to you. "Ghost? well, he's serious all the time. You know it." He shrugged and playfully tapped his finger to the counter.

"I mean, I've been here for less than a week. people be 'Ghost is scary, Ghost is this, Ghost is that' and I wouldn't find him scary at all" You rub the back of your head. "He's goofy, trust me. Whenever we went to a bar, He would be there just to eat the peanuts." You tilt your head slowly to Soap and scoff in laughter. "What?" "You heard me right. I bought a bag of peanuts as a joke once and he ate them all in the base." He smiled at your reaction.

"You hate Graves, why" Soap looks down on you with a cheeky smile. "Thought I told you already." You fiddled your finger to Ghost's metal box of tea. "That was Shepherd," You parted your mouth into an 'Ooh'.

"He's American." You stated coldly.

"Dior, you're from Los Angeles."

the two of you paused for a few moments before letting out a muffled laughter. "Could you tell me a little about LA?" He leaned closer to you, "Well, It's twice more chaotic than New York. gamblers everywhere, drugs are illegally normalized, and so many kidnapping cases. It's wild crazy but I managed." You shrugged yourself, "I had a...colleague, once." Your voice faded a little lower. "She was detecting...some kind of illegal explosives transaction. It's in Chicago but one of the parties was in LA." Your gaze falls to the floor.

"...She was ambushed." You muttered but still loud enough for Soap to hear. "Could've saved her if only I was tall enough to climb a certain window. I was wearing flat combat boots that time, I haven't worn any heels to work." You weakly looked up at Soap who softened at your story.

"And since then I learned how to run, jump, and even kill people with my heels." Your eyes sharpen. "Was underestimated, but those people are six feet under now." You bit your lip and looked up at Soap, "Am I talking too much? I'm so sorry-" "Dior, it's okay." Soap rested his hand on your head, giving you a gentle pat.

"I'm sorry for your loss, must be...hard for you." He smiled at you softly. "I think doing those.. stuff in heels must be hurt. and you defeating me and the others back in that field showed enough that you are capable of being who you are right now. I think your...colleague would be proud of you, right now." Your eyes moisten a little at his comforting remark. you laughed it off softly at the comfortable moment he built for you.

He's right, no matter how the demotion has taken a chunk of your mental, you're still as perfect as you were back then. you should be proud of how far you've become. Losing or missing a piece along the way might hurt you, but one day you'll find a bigger brick to build yourself even better.

As you two were locking eye contact, out of a sudden you both screamed in terror when the bakelite top bead flung into the air from the overheated kettle pot, hitting the hanging lamp and dropping right in front of your foot. You jumped to the counter as Soap quickly turned the stove off preventing boiling water from splashing all over the stove.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"And with that being said, does anybody have any question?" Alejandro turned his tablet off as Rodolfo turned the projector off and stood behind Alejandro. Soap shrugged whilst Ghost was just sitting in the corner and you were doodling random drawings in your notebook. "I think that's enough. All we had to do was wait for your intel, no?" You raised your eyebrow. "Correct, I think they should be back by tomorrow before sunrise." He sat on his seat, sipping coffee. There was a slight silence before you realized something.

"Soap do you remember when we tried to eavesdrop Price-" "Captain..." Soap sipped on his Gatorade. "...I mean, Captain Price." You bit your lip in regret, "I overheard missiles were from Russians." Alejandro raised his gaze at you. "Your point is?" Soap smiles at you, he likes it when you get into critical thinking. "...Ghobrani was talking with Russians when Ghost marked him off with the missile that Graves drove..?"

You created a staring contest between Rodolfo, Alejandro, Soap, and you. Alejandro re-opened his note and cleared his throat, "Ghost what do you know?" Everyone gazes at him wearing sunglasses and a cup of tea in his hand that you brewed for him earlier. "Is he...asleep?" You held your chest in concerned. "Nah... I'm pretty sure he's dead."

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

The night washes over the sky, your laptop clock shows '22:13'. you rolled over your bed with a slik light green robe to find a working comfort food. the good 'ol American mac n cheese. your mini mission is simple; sneak to the kitchen, use the microwave, leave. then you can continue to watch Scream Queens in your tab. And that's when it hit you. "This is the best idea I've ever had in my entire life!"

That's the worst idea you ever had in your entire life. You spat out the warm mac n cheese out of your mouth to the trash bin, wiping your lips with a tissue. it tastes unpleasantly weird. you figured that it tastes like that because it's been in your bag for nearly 3 days, it probably got soaked or expired. You washed your dishes after throwing away all the remaining mac n cheese.

"Cielita, why are you awake?" Alejandro walked passed you and rested his palms to the top of your head. "I uh, I'm sorry for using your kitchen without your permission. I craved something out of the sudden..." You looked up at him while turning off the sink. "Instead of asking for my permission for the cocina, could've ask me for food instead," He ripped out a napkin and took your hand. gently drying it from the water.

you watched his hand brushing against yours with the dry napkin as a barrier, he then toss it to the trash. "Let me show you a comfort food my mama used to cook." He smiled at you.

God, you're melting to his words. Hes the finest act-of-service man you could ever imagine God has created. You watched him going through his kitchen cupboard taking out a few ingredients.

olive oil, conchas, tomato sauce, parmesran and 2 jars that you're unsure of the content inside. "What's in this?" you pointed at it whilst he was heating up the pan. "The green one is jalapeño, exotic spices and his friends," He tapped the other jar with yellowish liquid inside. "This one is chicken broth with blackpepper, red pepper flakes, and dried oregano." he explains.

"I have my sopita salsas half-ready in the fridge for moments like this." He gave you a cheeky smile. You watched him closely. heating the oil into the pan, adding the shell pasta in, pouring a cup of water and waiting for the pasta to soften. "You wanna watch closer here, cielita?" He patted the empty kitchen counter. You pursed your lips into a thin smile and walked towards him.

You did what he said, sitting in the kitchen counter watching him cook. you could smell the jalapeño doing God's work into the pasta. you felt guilty that he heard your stomach growling.

After a few minutes in, he poured in the chicken broth and let your stir it. "Smells good doesn't it cariño?" He rested his hand to your thigh watching you taking a good sniff of the soup with the wooden spoon. "Yeah, it does." You put down the spoon and stir it gently.

"I think it's ready for the tomato sauce." He effortlessly opened the canned red sauce and began pouring it gently before continuing stir. When the soup formed, You took a smaller spoon and took a small amount of the soup, blowing it gently to cool off before tasting it. "...I think it needs garlic?" He raises his eyebrow before taking your spoon and licking it himself. Your face blushed fifty shades of red as he hummed to himself, "Must agree, I'll get the cloves."

After a few minutes of brewing, he decided to turn off the stove and let you taste it first. "Have a bite." He took smile pieces from the pan with a spoon, aiming it at you. Smiling in excitement, you leaned and blew the hot pasta from the spoon he held for you.

After chewing and shifting the pasta around your mouth for a good moment, you raised your eyebrow in surprise, "It's flavorful but in a good way, wow you're a good cook." He laughs at your compliment, "And a good cowboy." He quickly turned the stove off and shifted away to get the bowls.

You'd be lying if you say you're not flustered. He knew how to scoop your heart once in a while. "Come, have a seat." He dragged the chair for you.

He lit up a scented candle and lit it, "Is this some kind of a candle-lit dinner?" You smiled at him settling down to his seat across from you. "Now that you find it that way, then consider it as a yes." His sharp eyes soften every time he sees you.

You both ate the warm sopita in silence. It was a comfortable atmosphere, you two enjoyed each other's company. A few times whenever you took a bite, he could've sworn he saw a star being born in your orbs. the way you hummed and glinted a smile at his food, softened his heart.

"You like it, cielita?" He looked down at his bowl, "If I don't, I wouldn't be here. Honestly, I never expected someone like you to...cook. I thought you were the take-out kind of guy despite all the military stuff" You scooped up the pasta to your spoon again. "Well, no offense. I went through military too." He raised one eyebrow and chuckled.

"I aspire to be a good son for my mama. That is why I started to learn how to cook for her every time she's too sick to cook." God, something about this man is drawing you in. You should ask him what kind of hex he's using on you because it's damn well working. "Your mom must be proud of herself to have someone like you as her son," You smiled softly and picked up a spoonful of the food you both made.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance before realizing he hadn't prepared a drink. "Is there any preferred drink you'd like to have? Forgive me, I got carried away." He finished his food and got up. "Honestly, I don't mind anything." You ate the last few remains of the sopita in your bowl. "Wine?" He opened a fridge with multiple bottles that worth hundreds. "Red, would probably do..." You took your bowl and stood from the chair.

"Ay, no no no. You don't do this." He stops you while taking your bowl out of your hand. "Sit, princessa. let me serve you."

You are MELTING like an iced slushie under a hot summer in Florida. Watching his athletic figure swaying in the kitchen back and forth, his back muscles and bicep are wrapped nicely in a black collared shirt he is wearing with the sleeve rolled to his elbow. If he's giving you these gentleman treatments again, you're definitely folding.

Popping the bottle and pouring it to the glass, he places it down for you and one for him. You both clink the wine glass. After spinning it slowly and smelling the scent, you look at him with a glinting smile. "Chåteau Camou?" He raised his glass to you and sipped, "You know your drink."

"Well, I must." You laughed and shrugged it. He examined you for a few moments, giving a pause for a few minutes. You looked up at his eyes gazing deeply to you. his eyebrow is intimidating. at this point, it seemed like a staring contest, but you don't really mind. You like the way he looks, he's deadass a hot Mexican.

"Stop looking at me like that," You chuckled and leaned to the seat. "Like what?" He smirked and took another sip of his wine. "Like you want to have sex with me." You hid your smile by biting the tip of your thumb.

His smirk slowly turned into a cheeky smile, flashing you with his teeth. He laughed and rubbed his forehead, "Ride a cowboy to save a horse? how about you come sit here and we'll see where we going." He shifted his knee and tapped his thighs. You're fearless, You've got nothing to worry. It's not like he means his word anyway.

You got up from your seat and walked slowly towards him, watching his veiny hands slithering his knee up to his thigh. You bit your bottom lip and lend out your hand, he held it softly and pull you gently towards him. You sat in his lap as he places your hand to his chest.

"Eager, are we." He whispered as you leaned closer. You brushed your nose close to his cheek, breathing softly to his touch. you rammed your fingertips from his chest up to his neck, he tilts his head to you and stare. He has a brown dimming eye, the way his warm breath surfaced to your chest and neck sent electric down your spine. He grinned and placed his thumb on your chin.

There was a heavy tension between the concerning amount of space you two had. He wanted to lean closer but you kept on teasing him by dodging his lips away from you. He grunted before getting a hold of your jaw, "Stop moving, ⁸niñita."

"Make me, papi." That snapped something inside of him.

He gripped your ass, getting off the chair and carried you whilst you wrapped your legs around his waist. with no waiting, he bit your neck devouring every spot exposed. You whimpered at the pleasure hes giving whilst he still carried you with his other hand in the back of your head, stilling it so he could get a taste of you.

walking towards his presumably his room, he pushed open the door with one leg and locked it. He shifts his mouth and bites to your chest making you whine, gripping his broad shoulder like there's no tomorrow.

"You asked for it, cielita." He whispered to your ear, dropping you to his bed before kissing you passionately. you slithered your hand around his chest, up to his shoulder and bicep, feeling every single one of his body heat against yours.

nibbling your bottom lip furiously, he unbuttoned his shirt and left his chest exposed. Your abdomen and his brushing against one and another, stroking you dry but enough to make your panties damp. "Holy shit-" you pulled away from his kiss. "May I?" He tugged the ribbon that ties your body to the robe. "Only if you can make me cum." You pinched his cheek and he gave you a smug laugh.

"Bet." He pulled it off and witnessed a goddess in her lingerie, "Like what you're seeing?" You smirked at his parted lips. "The 141 has been keeping this treasure all to themself, ⁹no lo hacen?" He chuckled while tugging the vibrant color of your panties.

taking his time, Alejandro snucked his nose to your briefs, taking a deep breath to get ahold of your scent. you yelped when he slid his index into the entrance of your folds. "¹⁰huele tan bien, cielito." You raised your eyebrow and chuckled, "Nah, they don't...touch me. I mean Ghost did but not this far." you admitted. You saw his eyes rising from your thighs in surprise. "Then let me give you what Ghost didn't, no?"

He finally lifted the lace before devouring you down to his bed, flicking your clit and gripping your inner thighs defensively. You gasped softly at his moves and muffled groan. "Dios, ¹¹sabes tan dulce." He muttered beneath you.

Impatiently, he yanked your panties away and gruesomely polished your entrance. he stretched your folds with his finger, sucking you inside out while you tugged his hair holding back your moans.

His hitched breath brushed against your sensitive clit which made you feel a knot building up in your stomach. he pushed himself deeper as your release melted against his face.

"¹²Chica come so easily, hm?" He got up licking your remaining sweet sextillion-dollar fluid. "I bet you come easily too, papi." You smirked under him. His lips slowly pursed into a smug smirk, "¹³Ay coño, you don't know what you signed up for." He quickly unbuckled his belt, pulling it away from his pants before pushing both of your wrists down the mattress.

"What are you-" Your words were cut off when he flipped you over and tied your wrist down with his belt. "Let's see how far ¹⁴puedes ir." He slids his thumb to your entrance as you whined into the mattress. You could feel him taking off his pants but every time you tried to peek, he would grab you by the jaw and make you look front.

"No peeking, princesa. Let me.." 'SLAP' He spanked your entrance followed by your loud moan. arching your back enough, you could feel his tip trying to fit into your trench. "¹⁵Preparar, cielita." He pushed it in which made your ass slightly vibrated. "Fucking hell- It won't fit." you whimpered trying your best to keep your knees up.

"Really?" He smirked and pushed more of his length in, "Jesus- Please tell me tha' all- Oh Lord." You whimpered between your moan, feeling so stretched from the inside. "That was just half, ¹⁶hermosa." He pushed his length in again. "This is full."

You let out the loudest, softest moan you could ever let out. Alejandro was triumphant witnessing that. He kissed your shoulder and placed his hand on your lower stomach, circling it between. "You feel this bulge, ¹⁷cariño? you're tightening around me..." He pulled out half of his length and pushed it back slowly, grunting every few moments.

You rolled your eyes to the back of your head feeling high up in the sky, whilst he filled the void of your insides so slowly and rhythmic. "Faster, papi." His eyes widened. "Say again, ¹⁸belleza?" He stops with his whole length inside. "I said, Fas-"

He pulls out and slams himself into your cervix mercilessly. You had to gawk out a messy moan while feeling him holding back your tied wrist, bullying your insides wildly. The sound of wet skin slapping at each other filled the room, the way you felt ecstasy and a knot building inside you had gone dumbfoundedly filthy.

As he thrusts into you like a little fuck toy, you couldn't see shit. you were buried into the mattress deeply, feeling yourself overstimulated to the point where you couldn't tell if you had came or not. He fucks you so good you turned dumb at this point.

"¹⁹ven aqui, guapa." He flipped you over and pinned your wrist above your head. Now you're seeing the beautiful man above you, fucking you with your legs above his shoulders. His sweat forming around his forehead, the way he grunted and his ears turning red. you loved the way his abs and abdomen moved and smashed against you.

"This is what you longed for, cariño? this is what the ²⁰maravillo Ghost can't give you? let me show que hombres de verdad looked like."

He kissed your mouth while fucking you like a whore, squeezing your blowsy breast that peeked out of your bra. You let go of the sloppy kiss and moaned uncontrollably. "Ah, 'm gonna come."

"Then fucking come for me, mami." He whispered and bit your earlobe which made you feel tingles. He thrusted in you, slamming your insides a few times before you let out another loud lament as your juices came out. He pulled out and dunked his 7-inches to your stomach being proud his sword had weakened you, letting his thick vanilla ooze around your stomach and hips.

You breathed out heavily, feeling so much emotions penting up in your head and sex. He chuckled before leaning down on you to take his belt off your wrist. feeling freed, you closed your eyes and bit your lip. "Wow.", He places his forehead to your knee, planting soft little kisses around you before looking up at your gaze. "Wow?" He smiled.

You tilt your head to his bedside, looking at the digital clock that drew at 2.30 am. he noticed this and layed beside you, not forgetting to give you a peck on the lips and forehead. "Rest?" He spooned you from behind. "Rest." You smiled weakly.

"I'll wake you up in an hour and half so we have enough time to clean up, como suena eso, chica?" He presses his nose to the back of your hair and wraps his hands along your waist. "²¹si si..." Your head was too high in the clouds to translate any words outside English.

As the moonlight shines through his dark curtains, you and Alejandro were sound asleep. enjoying each other's company, one and another. Clearly unaware of someone hearing you moaning a little too loud.

some spanish translation 101໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

(forgive if I got some wrong)

~ Relax - Relajar

~ How does that sound - como suena eso

~ What real men - Que hombres de verdad

1. Oh God - Dios mio

2. Sweetie - Cielita

3. Sir - Señor

4. Thank You - Gracias

5. I'm scared of (him) Ghost - Tengo miedo de los fantasmas

6. Easy (calm down) - tranquilo

7. drug trafficker - Narcos

8. little girl - Niñita

9. dont they - no lo hacen

10. smells so good - huele tan bien

11. taste so sweet - sabes tan dulce

12. (beautiful) girl - chica

13. oh fuck - ay coño

14. (this) can go - puedes ir

15. prepare - preparan

16. beautiful - hermosa

17. dear - cariño

18. beauty - belleza

19. come here beautiful - ven aqui guapa

20. marvelous (masculine) - maravillo

21. yes yes - si si

[kingboohoo37]

Rant of the week: RWBY

Ah yes, I was waiting for this one. If you ever wondered what really grinds my gears and what kind of shape my ideal fictional world would have, well you're in luck. Because RWBY is the one show that probably comes the closest to that.

I remember when my then-best friend showed me this animated show and told me she loved it. Back then only 3 seasons were out and the show looked like it had a budget of around 7 $.

Yet I still fell in love with it. The perfect synergy of building characters, story, comedy, and voice acting made this my all-time favorite.

Season 9 finished a few months ago and I still had the exact same amount of fun watching as I did over 7 years ago.

So put on your seatbelts and let's dive into the world of remnant!

RWBY takes place in a world that is probably the most comparable to My Hero Academia but much darker.

The story revolves mostly around our four main characters: Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, and Yang Xiao Long.

All of them have the same goal: They want to become Huntresses.

On remnant there are creatures to be found that are lured by negative emotions and death. They torture the human race and it seems like they have only one goal: destruction. These are called: the creatures of Grimm.

Hunters and Huntresses are the ones whose primary focus is protecting the human race from these monsters. Usually, they are assigned into teams of four where the letters of their names combined make out their team name.

In the world of remnant, every person also has a special kind of natural ability called a semblance. Naturally, Hunters and Huntresses make good use of them in combat.

The story starts off by introducing us to all these characters in a very unique way and then proceeds to show us their school life.

Along come several hardships.

Ruby struggles to be a team leader because she is the youngest and thinks she doesn't have what it takes.

Weiss comes from a rich family, can't stand Ruby at all and it's abundantly clear that she isn't good at working in a team.

Blake is very quiet and seems to have a dark past that she doesn't want to talk about. On top of that: she is a Faunus. Magical creatures that are basically humans with animal traits. Therefore they are different from humans and of course, that means... they face discrimination.

Yang is Ruby's older sister and tries her best to support her and become friends with the rest of the team. She is the one that mostly contributes to comedy but has a knack for letting her emotions get the better of her. Also: she seems to develop a certain attachment to Blake

I could go on but it would make this post waaay too long if I did and would also spoil stuff for people who might wanna watch it.

Besides team RWBY there is another team that plays a major role in team JNPR which contains my favorite character which is why I mention it xD but saying more about that certain character would probably lead to spoilers. People who know the show can probably guess who it is:

Pyrrha Nikos. The rising star of Beacon Academy. Everyone seems to think she is the best of the best and put her on a pedestal, whereas in reality she just wants to be seen as a normal person... yet almost nobody seems to treat her normally... almost.

I don't think I wanna make the post much longer so let's go to the question we've been waiting for:

What makes RWBY so great?

This is gonna sound a bit anticlimactic but I honestly don't really know what fascinates me so much about this show.

I always watched it and there was never a single thing, a single plot hole, or bad character development that bothered me.

The show is not perfect by any means and there is quite a lot of drama around the producing company Rooster Teeth with them not treating their employees right...

On top of that after 2015 the show took a drastic turn which is very much noticeable because the original creator Monty Oum died.

Despite all of this I love RWBY with all of my heart. The introduction of the characters. The unique world-building. The simple yet effective design of the story. It's just nothing you'd ever see in any anime. There was never a major necessity of explaining lore to the viewer until Volume 6.

The voice acting is sometimes a bit weird in the beginning but usually still very decent which is amazing considering Monty Out just picked up Kara Eberle (voice of Weiss) from a receptionist's position (hilarious trivia xD).

But he knew what he was doing and it really showed.

I can only recommend watching it for yourself. You will find most of it on Rooster Teeths website except for Volume 9 which is only on Crunchyroll.

The first couple of episodes are also very short but effective.

If you love fantasy and shows with characters with special powers... *cough* and girl-bosses *cough* this is the show for you xD

Hm... I always feel like I'm missing a few things in these posts. I don't even know if I describe the series optimally so I'm a bit unsure about these extremely long posts.

Feel free to tell me if there is something you're missing or if there is something else you wanna know about.

Thanks for reading ^^

Sources:

[cellophaine]

You're My Religion (Part II)

Part I

Pairing: Priest!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Word Count: 2884

Warnings: Priest kink, improper acts with a priest, unprotected sex. If you think you will get offended by the content of this fic, please, DO NOT PROCEED.

Author's Note: It's here! The second part of YMR! I don't know why but this part came to me quite easily. I hope you'll enjoy this one! :)

As always, any likes, comments, reblogs, feedbacks and ask submissions are greatly appreciated!

Prompt requested by: my lovely dovey friend @juniebugg <3

------

Fuck him.

Fuck your fucking boss for making you stay so damn late. By the time you got out of the office, it was already 9:30 PM. The sun had long gone, dipping below the city skyline, bringing the temperature down with it. You swung your bag across your body and grumbled as it did little to ward off the cold. The slight drizzle of snow caught on your hair, brushed against your cheeks as you continued your path home.

Leaving work late had been a regular occurrence for you in the past week. Your boss reprimanded you for not putting your best into your assigned project, hence making you handle not only your part of the work but also other little and time-consuming tasks. As much as you hated your boss, you had to admit he was right. A certain priest had always taken up the majority of your thought, and only more so after what happened. It didn't matter how much you determined to forget him, to erase the feel of him on your skin, your lips; he wouldn't leave your mind.

Standing before the crosswalk, you contemplated for a moment before stalking down the quiet street, the one you had been avoiding for the past week.

You walked past many different and exciting places on your way to work, but nowhere could draw a reaction from you like Clinton church - an adrenaline thrill that heated your cheeks, making your heart beat faster. You used to go by the place every day, and sometimes, you would catch the rare, blessed sight of Father Murdock. Then, when there was enough time, you would draw on his attention, and he would always answer your call.

Even though your new route was longer, you took it anyway since you couldn't bear the thought of running into him, much less the mere glimpse of him. And, after the day you had, you didn't want to deal with the holler and whistles from the drunkards that seemed to be at every corner of this city.

Your feet carried you closer to Clinton church as you spoke out loud, assuring yourself.

"What are the chances that you will run into him? None, zero- ah shit."

Fate had a way to toy with your patience and the irony that was your life, as you saw Matt from where you stopped abruptly. He was sitting on the bench, with a soft layer of snow covering him. The white dust had woven into his hair, perching on his shoulders, making his dark silhouette stand out before your eyes. You stopped a reasonable distance away, still close enough to see the redness on his nose and cheeks. A puff of white smoke slithered out between his full lips as they parted slightly. He looked like he was the main subject of a painting - peaceful, with the walking cane resting on his chest, the black tip of it drew the passerby's attention to a face that could only be sculpted by God himself.

As it turned out, God did have favourites.

He must have noticed the subtle change in the surrounding noise, and there was no point in staying in silence anymore. So you spoke.

"You should go inside. It's cold…."

"… as you could probably tell."

You mumbled the last part to yourself, feeling foolish. Matt stood up quickly, and your name burst across his lips in a rush. The snow on him fell to the ground; his cheeks seemed to get reddened even more if that was possible. He cleared his throat, using his cane to feel for the surrounding environment.

"I've been trying to get a hold of you."

"Have you?"

Your casual tone rushed the words out in one go; your gaze fleeted back and forth from his face to the empty street. It was as if you were high on alert, watching out for anyone who might be able to catch on to what happened between the two of you. Your body tensed up at the thought, and your headspace just grew warier.

"Yes. I've been waiting out here for you, every night since that night."

Your heart thumped hard at his confession. It had been snowing every day for the past week. The winter was coming at a rapid pace, and it was hardly ever known for being merciful.

Your voice softened at the edge.

"I meant it when I said I was sorry, for... for committing such an atrocious act with you, for selfishly dragging you into my mess. So I thought it would be best to spare you the guilt and maybe, the memory of what I've done by staying away for good."

"Starting by taking a different route to work."

You chuckled bitterly. Guilt was a basket of rotten fruit, attracting flies and all the dreadfulness that gathered at the centre of your heart, weighing it down. But you couldn't throw it away, for what you had done to Matt wasn't something that you could forgive yourself. For it was not up to you.

"You didn't let me finish my thought when you ran off that night."

You shrugged, more than to yourself than him.

"Was that necessary? I knew what you were about to say."

A moment of quietness followed. Just when you thought Matt agreed with you, his gentle tone indicated otherwise.

"No, you didn't."

He stepped closer to you. Under the flickering streetlight, his face was earnest, open and vulnerable.

"Yes, I did. You would tell me how reckless I was, how I sinned, how I would be damned to Hell..."

"…and how you never wanted to see me again."

That was the worst part.

His gloved hand came up to rest at your chin, tilting your head up to meet his unsighted gaze. And you let him, for his tender touch was irresistible.

"You were wrong. I couldn't stop thinking about you, even before … our kiss."

This week couldn't have been any more confusing. You sucked in a deep breath, couldn't quite believe your ears.

"You feel guilty for dragging me down a sinful path. What if I told you you had nothing to worry about? What if I told you …."

He swallowed hard.

"… that I have been a sinner since the day you walked into my life? And that your kiss only sealed my fate. You didn't ruin me. I was already ruined."

You took a small step back, but his grip on your arm was firm yet, gentle, locking you in place.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Father Murdock."

His head dipped slightly at the formal title spouted from your lips. But his face was absent of shame, only determination and adoration.

"But I do. I've never been more sure. You plague my mind, and I know… I know that it's bad, but I only want more."

"You might be my damnation, but you're also my salvation."

You found yourself speechless, unable to form a sentence since he had already taken your words away. While you might be unable to say anything in return, you knew what would happen next. Matt was aware of that too, and he had absolutely no objection.

---

As soon as the door was locked behind you, you gravitated towards each other like magnets. You devoured his lips with desperate urgency, and he was just as eager to match up with your pace. Matt's cane joined your bag on the floor, and you stepped back, guiding him with you. Matt dipped his head, trying to catch your lips, but you pulled back and whispered into the heady air in between.

"There's no going back if we do this."

He pressed his forehead to yours before angling his head, giving you a soft touch of his lips on yours.

"I don't want to go back."

Your response was swallowed with as Matt slanted his mouth over yours, more firmly this time, taking your breath away. You tugged on each other clothes; the urgent act was pure hunger and desperation.

You pushed his jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground carelessly, revealing him in the dark button-up shirt, with the priest collar in place. You whispered hoarsely at his ear, surprised at your ability to speak a coherent thought at this moment.

"You will be the death of me."

You accentuated the confession with a pull on his earlobe between your lips. Matt groaned loudly, and you swore he had just gone weak at the knees. His reply against your cheek didn't help to tame the burning desire you felt inside.

"I could say the same about you."

You left a scattered trail of clothes as you stumbled your way to the bedroom. It was impossible to keep your hands and lips off him, and it seemed like Matt struggled with the same thing. You stepped back, taking a moment to gaze upon his naked torso. What secret was Matt keeping? Because he was shredded. Your eyes took in the cross necklace dangle from his neck, roaming over the hard planes of his chest, tracing the ridges of his abs, following down to his cock - hard and heavy. You swallowed hard, feeling the tiniest sliver of nervousness at the pit of your stomach.

Matt pulled you flushed to his body as you stepped out of the final item on your body, making you gasp out loud. His erection prodded at your belly, and you felt a wave of excitement wash over your skin. You tugged his head down, trying to connect your lips, but he defied your wish. Before you could question it, Matt whispered hotly against your nose.

"Let me worship you."

He dipped his head, pressing wet kisses along the arc of your neck. His hands on you were slow, torturous. They teased, tortured, played with your sensitive body. He took his time, learning you, finding your buttons that he could push, over and over again, pulling soft sighs from you. He gradually made his way down, kneeling before you. The sight was indeed something to behold, as it was something you thought you would never see.

But the sight soon vanished behind your eyelids as you closed them at the first contact of his lips on your cunt. He started slow, lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. Your hand moved to fist in his hair, pulling on the soft strands. You liked this too much, the feeling of him devouring you, and you couldn't do much else other than move your hip to meet his mouth. Whimpers escaped your lips as the sensation intensified to the point it was almost unbearable, making you throw your head back; your legs shook at his relentless force on your cunt. Matt pulled your folds between his teeth, applying the tiniest amount of pressure, and you hissed out in a mix of pain and pleasure. He stopped immediately, gazing up at you with concern in his eyes.

"Too much?"

His lips glistened with your arousal, his eyes glassy with lust. A shaky breath escaped your lips; your voice shook after what he had done to you.

"No, you're perfect."

You pulled him onto his feet, slamming your lips against his fiercely, feeling a great need of him inside you. Inspired by your new mission at hand, you pushed him onto the bed, guiding Matt to lean on the headboard after you set a pillow behind his back. You caged him in between your legs; your core ached and dripping for him. You draped your arms over his shoulders, one hand caressing his neck, the other bracing on the headboard behind him. You lowered yourself onto his cock, inch by inch. The heady moans that spilled out of your mouth were inevitable as he stretched you. You struggled to take him in, finding it hard to form words in your breathless state.

"You're… you're too big."

You groaned out with great effort. His cock pushed against every part of you, hungry for more, encouraging your core to take him in deeper. Matt groaned into your mouth, his voice husky.

"You can take it."

His hands were holding onto you, helping you go down onto his cock. You gasped out loud as you sunk to the base of his cock; the burn made your head fuzzy with bliss. Your breath caught in your throat as you rode him with his help. It was slow at first since Matt wanted to make sure he didn't hurt you. His breathing was labour, matched with yours. At this moment, you and Matt became attuned to each other's language, and you knew it was time to increase your momentum. Matt dug one hand on your hip; the other came up to knead at your breast. Your hand came up to squeeze at the other one, nudging it at the base, using the movement to let the soft tissue brush against his face as an invitation - one he was eager to accept. Matt opened his mouth, catching your breast between his teeth. The sensation drove you wild, as his tongue toyed with your nipple, his mouth worked wonder, sucking and nibbling hard. You hoped that would leave marks on your skin; then, they could serve as a reminder of who you belonged to when he wasn't in your bed.

His hip came up to meet yours, erratic and uncontrollable. You bounced wildly on his cock, and he bit down harder on your flesh, pulling an obscene moan from your lips. His hip stuttered as he came inside you; the fluid coated your inner wall. His cry was deep as if it was ripped from his chest, encasing in the four walls of your bedroom. You could feel the fluid leaking out of your core, dripping along the seam of your entrance. The intense tightness accompanied by the thought of Matt making a mess inside you triggered your release, making you scream his name with abandon.

Matt held you in his arms, lowering you onto the mattress as you slumped on his shoulders. He pulled his cock out, laying down beside you; his gaze never left you. You turned your head to look at him, still deep in bliss. Your hand reached out to caress his face, staring into his unsighted eyes that you adored.

"Do you regret it? Do you feel guilt? Shame?"

You got your answer when he propped himself on his elbows, dipping his head to kiss you. He felt for your hair on your temple, now damp with sweat, and brushed it back. The kiss was tender, filled to the brim of your heart with affection. And assurance.

"No, not one bit..."

"... and I can show you just how much I mean it."

Here you were, lost in euphoria, in pure bliss as you found yourself to be underneath him this time. Matt pounded hard into you; the force was vigorous. Brutal.

Matt spoke above you through caught breaths and moans, his voice husky, full of heat.

"Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul."

You choked out a breathless chuckle, finding it ironic how he had the nerve to recite a Bible verse to you at this moment while he was fucking you senseless.

"If this is how good my soul can feel with you, then I have no regrets."

The corner of his lips lifted as he nudged your leg to wrap securely around his waist. Matt lowered himself, bracing a hand on the space beside your head; his other hand sought out to hold yours tightly as if he never wanted to let you out of his grasp.

This felt different, more intimate, allowing him to penetrate you deeper. His face was angelic; his gaze focused on a point on your face that he presumed were your eyes. The cross at his neck dangled in front of your face, gleaming before your vision. And it inspired you.

You angled your jaw up to catch the pendant between your teeth. Laying your head onto the pillow, you let him feel the pull you made on his neck that he, undoubtedly, noticed. He flashed you a sinister smile, hooking his hands under your knees. He ran his hand along your legs, nudging them to rest on his shoulders. The change in the angle made you scream out even louder, but the noise from your throat was muffled with your mouth and teeth on the silver cross. He kept on his brutal pace, pulling the air from your lungs. The burn in your legs mixed with the punishing force of his thrusts into your ruined cunt pushed you over the edge. You came, pulling him with you after a few more pumps. He pulsed inside you, and you felt that familiar rush of warmth in your core again. You could feel his guttural groan at your proximity, through the slight trembles of your legs.

Matt pressed his forehead against yours as you caught your breaths. You could feel him, still hard and throbbing inside you. So you kissed him, again and again, begin a long night for the both of you. A long weekend perhaps.

[kiribaku-fics-whatever]

Fake Dating 2

Turning Saints into the Sea by illogicalruse

Through an unspoken agreement, Katsuki has been assigned the role of Kirishima's fake boyfriend.

Kirishima, as always, is a perfect picture of affability, too kind to turn down interested parties and thus indirectly landing himself in unwanted territory. A recipient of one too many coquettish stares and vampish flutters of lashes. Katsuki, for his part, steps up to the plate because he's a fucking hero, salvaging Kirishima's virtue with a hand jammed in Kirishima's back pocket and some choice words suggestive enough to ward off undesired suitors.

Let it not be said that Katsuki has never done shit for Kirishima.

so close (to perfect) by hiuythn

Somehow, Bakugou manages to con Kirishima into dating him. Kirishima's just eager to please.

---

5 times Kirishima and Bakugou fake a relationship while basically being in a relationship, and 1 time they finally get their shit together.

acceptance and denial by Poteto

It all goes okay when Kirishima decides to come out to his friends and it all goes wrong when decides that Bakugou is the best fake boyfriend material.

Not Spring, Love or Cherry Blossoms by mr_todoroki

Baku-bro [9:19pm]: I think fake dating could work, but not if I brought just anyone home. My parents would know it was a fucking lie right away.

Eijirou was starting to piece it together. Oh fuck.

You [9:21pm]: So… you’re saying…?

Baku-bro [9:22pm]: Fake date me.

OR

In order to avoid a Quirk marriage, Bakugou goes to Kirishima for help.

housed by your warmth by theyaremycrocs

Eijirou fiddles nervously with the wedding ring.

His wedding ring, he reminds himself again. The ring of gold metal that sits neatly on the third finger of his right hand.

The one that matches with Katsuki’s, another gold ring that belongs to the hand of his best friend.

It’s fine, whatever. He can do this.

White Lies Always Blow Up by Milligramme

Ever since Endeavor was forced to retire, his new hobby seems to be nagging his son about his hero career and nonexistent love life. Worse, it seems that Todoroki's entire family is dead set on helping him find a girlfriend and give love a chance.

Desperate to make them stop, Todoroki lets his classmates convince him that the best solution is to fake date someone. And no one's better suited for the job than his dear friend Bakugou, right? If even Midoriya says it's a good idea, there's no way it could possibly go wrong!

Follow Todoroki and Bakugou on their journey to find out in how many ways it could possibly go wrong.

Lying, Still by BundleOfBones

Katsuki absolutely hates lying, he really does. But if there’s one thing he hates more, it’s his mother’s insistent urge to set him up on date after date. And sure, the girls are pretty and kind, but Katsuki really couldn’t care less. Anyone his mother picks for him is already out of the picture.

So, when his mother sets him up on a blind date with a weirdly bubbly girl with pink hair and dark eyes, he thinks he’s just about had it – and he’s not too shy to tell the girl just that.

To his surprise, though, she wholeheartedly agrees, and they come up with a plan, which works out pretty well until they are faced with a new problem; Mina’s childhood friend, Kirishima Eijirou.

If Walls Could Talk (They'd Tell You About Love) by KiriBakuHappiness

Eijirou really didn’t understand why his manager seemed to think that all of this was so necessary. He wasn’t anywhere near famous enough to need a bodyguard.

Sure, sometimes fans could get a little overly excited at major events and maybe they might make a few… ah, ‘questionable decisions’ here and there, but it’s not like any of them have ever tried to physically harm him.

He never would have thought that he’d ever need a bodyguard.

That was before he met Bakugou Katsuki.

-- OR --

When Rockstar Kirishima Eijirou signs a fake relationship waiver with Todoroki Shouto, his true feelings for his bodyguard Bakugou start to become harder to ignore.

When You Move, I Move by cherryredriots

When their intel proves to be inaccurate while out on a mission to capture the leader of an infamous gang, Kirishima Eijirou and his partner, Bakugou Katsuki, are forced to improvise to get close to their target.

Their best bet?

Pretend to be a couple.

Or: a spy au with a nice helping of fake dating.

13 Things Best Bros Do Together (+1 Thing They Don't by WhenJoshIsJoseph

Bakugou is Kirishima's best bro. Kirishima is fully aware of and proud of the fact. And the thing about best bros is that you do things together that you don't do with your other bros. It's all perfectly normal, of course...

...So why does everyone else seem to think otherwise?

Yup, y'all, it's one of those fics. Buckle in for a shit ton of fluff and obliviousness!

Blindside by DrowClericOfPelor

“You’re the first guy friend I’ve had that I can just like, be friends with. You’re either the most unthirstiest boy ever...” Camie shrugged and made another wobbly illusion appear between her hands. It looked like a sparkly rainbow with the word ‘friendship’ beneath it, accompanied by what Bakugou assumed was supposed to be a twinkling sound effect, but it had a tinny quality to it and sounded far away. “...or I just ain’t got the kinda straw you like to ssssip.”

Carefully, Bakugou considered the strange turn this conversation had taken.

He had never been asked, point blank, if he was gay before. And he honestly had never thought about how he would respond. Lying about himself didn’t sit right with him. But he’d always wanted to wait until he was the number one hero - when he stood above everyone else - before coming out. Though he’d had times when he’d thought about doing it before then and had almost gone through with it once. But being the number one hero came first. It wouldn’t matter what people would say about it then as long as he’d risen to the top.

Bakugou knew his lack of a response would give Camie all the answers she needed.

even when you're next to me, it's not the way i'm picturing by pixiegold

Kirishima tries to come out to his parents, but they don't believe him.

So he does the sensible thing and brings home a fake boyfriend.

That fake boyfriend is Bakugou.

[palbabor-writes]

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. 

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.”

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

[tomoyajpeg]

White Brim | BATTLEROYAL/4

Time: That night

Location: At the “clamming” grounds, located on the Tenshouin family’s private property

Eichi: Now, then! Let the annual game for naughty little aristocrats with far too much free time on their hands, AKA “clamming,” begin...! ☆

Tori: Yaaay~...

Tsukasa: Clap, clap clap...

Hiyori: Aw, come on! You young kids should follow Eichi-kun’s example! Act like idiots and make some noise!

“Clamming” is an event where you blow off all that gloomy steam that’s been building up all year, after all!

Restricting yourself to acting like a well-behaved goody little two-shoes is the wrong answer, this time! Ahahaha! ☆

Tsukasa: I don’t think I’m able to keep up with your level of Excitement, onii-samas.

Tori: Same here. But, you know, there’s no way Eichi-sama and the rest are doing something wrong. Even if it looks like they’re just acting like idiots right in front of everyone, there’s definitely a deeper meaning to it—

Tsukasa: Yes. I believe that as well. Though, I’ve already thrown a bit of an unreasonable tantrum because I absolutely refuse to crossdress, so I’d say that I’m somewhat hesitant to voice any additional complaints.

Eichi: Well, it doesn’t really matter what clothes you wear. The important part is that, during “clamming,” we’re stripped of any and all “status.”

Everyone dressing like servants doesn’t have an actual purpose outside of making the premise visually understandable.

Wearing clothes you aren’t used to makes it hard to move around, and in this case it might actually be dangerous.

Tori: Wh-what do you mean? Are we going to be doing something risky? What even is “clamming”...?

Eichi: Fufu. As this is the first time the children will be participating, allow me to formally explain the rules of “clamming.”

To put it simply, “clamming” is a somewhat unique survival game.

It’s a game of make-believe. A hunting game, so to speak? No, it might be easier to understand if I present it as a game of tag.

Tori: ..........?

Hiyori: Just like always, Eichi-kun’s “easy to understand” isn’t easy at all!

Eichi: Shut up, you...

Anyway, “clamming” starts off by using a objectively fair lottery to divide the participants into the “hunters” and the “hunted.”

Depending on which side you’re sorted into, the actions you’ll take change.

Incidentally, there’s a difference in the number of “hunters” versus “hunted” - generally, it's a 1:9 ratio. The “hunters,” in the minority, will be chasing after the “hunted,” in the majority.

Inside the fortune cookies that got handed out at the party venue earlier, there were little slips of washi paper with words written on them, right?

If the slip of paper was red, with “fisherman” written on it, then you were assigned to the “hunters” side. If it was blue, with “fish” written on it, then you’re on the “hunted” side.

Tsukasa: Let’s see... ah, I have a red paper with “fisherman” written on it, so I’ll be on the side of the “hunters.”

Eichi: Wow, congratulations! Like I said earlier, the probability of being assigned to the “hunters” side is about 10%, so you’ve got pretty good luck— Tsukasa-kun. ♪

Tori: Snrk. Tsukasa, doesn’t this mean you’ve already used up all the luck you’re getting this year?

By the way, my paper’s blue and says “fish,” so I’m on the “hunted” side, right?

Hiyori: I’m also on the “hunted” side! We’re the same, Tori-kun! ♪

Tori: Ah, yes! I still don’t really get it, but I’m super happy to match with Hiyori-sama~

Eichi: ...When did the two of you get so close?

Well, let’s leave it at that. The “hunted (fish)” can run around this area freely for a certain amount of time.

Basically, the only thing the “fish” can do is run around.

Tori: Wow, it really is like a game of tag... Um, so if I get tagged– er, caught by the fisherman, does that mean I lose?

Eichi: No. You lose if the “hunter (fisherman)” kills you.

Tori: K-kills...?

Hiyori: Wait, what? I don’t know the details either, but is “clamming” like one of those death game things that are popular in movies and stuff?

Eichi: Of course, you won’t actually be killed. It’s just that the “fisherman” is provided with two weapons at the same time the chase begins.

A gun, and a sword.

The gun is handy for long-distance attacks, but it only holds ten bullets. Reloading is also prohibited.

It’s something like a water pistol that fires paint, so it’s not like it’ll hurt if you get hit.

And the swords are like the ones used for mock swordfights. [1] They’re made out of a sponge-like material, so they’re safe.

But, if you’re shot with the gun or hit with the sword, you’re “dead.”

It’s self-moderated, but anyone who’s killed has to obediently resign from the game and return to the mansion.

Unlike a game like Cops and Robbers, there’s no comeback for the losers. That should be obvious - they’re dead, after all.

In the end, when the “fish” have been hunted to extinction, it’s a victory for the “fishermen”.

If even one person on the “fish” side survives, then it’s a draw.

Hiyori: With rules like that, there must have been a lot of draws so far, huh.

If you decide on winners and losers, somebody’s going to end up holding a grudge, so it’s not really fitting for something that’s supposed to be light entertainment like this.

By the way, is there no way for the “fish” to win? It kind of feels like, even if one person’s still alive, they can only hope to force a draw.

Eichi: No, there is. The “fishermen” have to designate one among them as their general— their “king.”

Tsukasa: Their “king?”

Eichi: Yep. Even though the “fish” die easily and have no choice but to run away— they’re able to kill the “king,” and only the “king.”

If a “fish” touches the “king’s” body, the “king” dies.

If the “king” dies, it’s victory for the “fish.”

Tsukasa: I see... So it’s necessary for us, the “fishermen,” to be sure to escort the “king” so that the “fish” cannot get near them?

Eichi: That’s true, but there aren’t that many “fishermen,” so you have to consider how many you can spare to use exclusively for defense.

Keep too many from hunting, and you won’t be able to get all the “fish.” Since you only win when all the “fish” are eliminated, you might not be able to meet the victory condition.

Tsukasa: Hm... As you’ll need to keep in mind how to distribute your limited number of personnel, as well as what moves to make, it’s almost like a strategy used for Chess would be necessary. This is a surprisingly deep game. ♪

Tori: Nn~ In short, isn’t it just a really complicated game of tag?

Eichi: You’re not wrong. For wealthy and high-ranking people like us, this kind of simple game can be novel and interesting entertainment.

Tori: Yeah, I feel like I can kinda get that... Manga and other stuff that commoners use to entertain themselves are all pretty interesting.

But, hm~mm... tag, huh... We high-class nobles got together in the middle of the night just to play tag?

Originally スポーツチャンバラ, or “sports chanbara.” Chanbara basically means “sword fighting,” and is the word used for movies that are usually called something like “samurai cinema” in English - movies with a lot of sword fights, essentially. Sports chanbara is... swordfighting for sport, using airsoft weapons. It has tournaments and everything.

[pearlescent-soda]

🐵//A Sample of My Headcanons on Spyro's Allies (Agent 9 Edition):

Agent 9:

The lights are on and everybody's home, he's one misstep away from committing friendly fire on the innocent that's how unhinged he is. The constant yelling, the literal bouncing off the walls, and the laughing, oooh, that laugh can send chills down to the soul. However, beneath the madness is an unflinchingly loyal primate with a sharper mind than what people give him credit for. Whew, glad to have him on the hero’s side.

Rhynoc exterminator turned battlefield liability, he's been deemed 'psychologically unfit' to join the Peace Keeper Army, so he's joined Handel and Greta. 'Secret Agent Agent 9' doesn't roll off the tongue well, but since the Rhynocs have more or less conformed to a life of peace without the Sorceress, he had to find work elsewhere. 

He's got more war stories than the damn Peace Keepers, though most teeter along the war crime category. Whether it be the time he packed enough fireworks together to blow up a Rhynoc fortress in Seashell Shores or the time 'Mr. Laser Blaster' ran out of ammo and he was forced to introduce 'Ms. Cybernetic Claws' to an army of Rhynocs in Spooky Swamp, listeners will experience the full range of emotions. The stoic and often gruff Cynder likes him the most out of Spyro's colleagues, and for good reason. He makes her do something that she hardly ever does, something that few have ever witnessed her do... He makes her laugh. His scatterbrained heroism reminds her of the folks in the Dream Weaver Realms, his chaos is comforting to her. Agent 9 thinks she's a good listener and an amazing battle buddy, but trust and believe the real icing on the cake is the banter. She can counter his lightspeed dark humor with her own deadpan wit, it’s spectacular.

Out of the friend group, he's the best babysitter for the baby dragons. To start, he's the 'fun uncle' who plays so many games that the kids get tired before he does and he rarely sticks to the schedule given to him by the elders, because they're so bland compared to what he comes up with on the spot. Activities depend on the realm, but he always finds ways to involve excessive amounts of sugar and his laser blaster. In all fairness, he is a rather big kid himself and the only one who could possibly keep thirty children entertained at a time. He bails Hunter out of sticky situations all the time, like when the babies set him on fire or bite his tail… Off. 'Hey, hey, hey kids!!! Uncle Hunter has to reattach his tail right now, hehehe. Wanna go fry some Gnorcs for fun?'

Without the helmet and 'space suit' he's got a lot of incision scars from the numerous surgeries performed on him by his creator. The Professor hooked him up with all sorts of enhancements which he documented for future analysis. Agent 9 has read those documents and is disappointed beyond belief at the Professor for not replacing his actual feet with rocket boosters, he won't lose hope, though. Maybe on his birthday or Christmas he'll get them, this monkey is not known for quitting, he'll install them on his own if he has to. ‘This monkey wants to fly, doc!! Hehehe - Ah, I figured you’d say no, so I made a whole three hundred slide presentation of all the benefits. Number one, I can kick major booty at higher elevations…’.

The Professor has tabs on Agents 1 through 8 and makes sure that every Agent is aware of the other's existence. Their track devi - identification chips are meant to monitor their vitals and statuses, so the Professor is able to deduce their current activities and whereabouts. Agents 1 and 2 fell in love and eloped to Dragonfly Falls, condition(s): stable. Agent 3 lost contact with the Lab after she went on assignment to Dino Mines, condition: unknown. Agents 4, 5, 6 are on a space station ready to receive orders at a moment's notice, condition(s): stable but subject to change in zero gravity environments. Agent 7's body rejected the protective titanium plating around the medulla oblongata, but x-rays show the foreign object unintentionally severed the brainstem, condition: decommissioned. Agent 8 is retired from active service and currently resides in the primate exhibit at the Avalar Zoo, condition: stable.

His brain implants need to be recalibrated twice a year, or else he'll be rendered 'brain dead'. It's not hard to tell when its time either, because he'll be uncharacteristically sluggish and quiet. The only remedy to this situation is to give him a gargantuan boost of energy, sadly, sleep and food won't cut it... But fifty thousand volts will. The nape of his neck has little outlets at the base meant for composite cables to go so his body can directly receive the voltage. After an hour or so hooked up to his Lab's supercomputer, he'll resume his regular activities at his normal supersonic speed.

[writing-dead-clovers]

Saved By A Phantom (Monster AU!Wilbur x abused!child!GN!Reader)

Mentions of mental abuse, toxic parents and panic attacks. Brief mention of cutting and blood. If this triggers or bothers you, please feel free to ignore this story. This was an anon requested story for Wilbur.

The Phantom hummed as he floated through the halls, reading the file he was assigned. Phil said that he should give the file a look over before handing it off to another monster. The male's brow scrunched up as he read it. The child was 9 and had major trust issues, adding in one note made by another monster that was previously assigned to scare them, that the child seemed to have a panic attack before the monster attempted to scare them.

Closing the file, Wilbur floated over to his station. His son made his way over, stretching after finishing his shift. "Hey pops." "Hello Fundy." The fox teen sat on the table, picking up the file his father was assigned. "Another adoption case?" The teen asked. "Not a clue, your Grandfather assigned me this one." The fox nodded as he flipped through the child's file. "Y/n L/n, age 9. Parents are highly successful humans, rich and successful older siblings, two of which are Hollywood child stars. Parents have also forced Y/n into the spotlight as a child star from the age of 3. Y/n shows signs of mental abuse, and frequently has panic attacks." The teen looked up at his father. "I think we should take them in. I wouldn't mind having a sibling, pops." Wilbur chuckled, shaking his head. "It's not as easy as you think, Fundy." "You have a human rescue license, so what's stopping you?" Wilbur sighed. "Not every child is the same, Fundy. They might be too scared to leave." "Just give it a try." "Fundy-" "Dad. Shut up, and bring me my fucking sibling." The phantom shook his head, chuckling at his son's demanding tone and put the information in for the realm jumper. He waved at his son before taking a step into the human realm.

Wilbur looked around the room to see a simple room, with creme colored walls, white and gold furniture. The phantom cringed at the color scheme, knowing that this room was definitely designed by the child's toxic and manipulative parents. He floated over, looking at photos of the child on sets of human movies. Just like in their file, the child didn't smile, the rare few they did smile in were extremely forced. Wilbur shook his head in disappointment in the child's parents before turning around. Big, innocent e/c eyes stared through him. "Oh, hello there." The phantom started. They tilted their head at him. "Are you dead?" Wilbur blinked before chuckling. "In a way, yes. My name is Wilbur, what's yours?" He offered his hand out. They looked at his hand then back to him, clearly not trusting him. "I'm Y/n." Y/n took his hand and shook it, or well attempted to. "Ah, right. Just a sec!" The male's semi transparent form shifted slightly as his sneakers finally came in contact with the wooded floors. "Sorry about that, but it's nice to meet you!" He took the awe shocked kid's hand and shook it. "That's so cool!" Wilbur chuckled at them. "Thank you, most people think it's weird." That statement was true, most phantoms couldn't make a solid form in the human realm, Wilbur was one of the few who could. "So what are you?" Wilbur gestured for them to move over in their bed. Y/n shifted to sit back at the head of the bed as Wilbur sat on the bed. "I'm a phantom." "Like the other monsters?" Wilbur shook his head. "There's all kinds of monsters, I'm just a phantom monster." Liar. Wilbur knew he wasn't just a phantom, phantoms can't cause hallucinations like he could. He could drive people to the brink of insanity, as if it was just a normal day. "So why are you here? Are you gonna kill me?" "Heavens no! I'm just here to get to know you." The child raised a brow, as if challenging him. "Sure you are. So why are you really here?" "You're very smart for a nine year old." "Unlike my parents, I actually have more than one brain cell." Wilbur released a laugh. "Sarcastic, I think we'll get along quite well."

Wilbur spent the night talking to the child, getting to know them. When he glanced at the clock on their wall, he knew it was almost time for him to leave. Glancing back at the child who was talking about the new movie their parents were making them do, the phantom contemplated on what he was about to say.

"Y/n, if you were given the chance to have a new family, would you take it?" The child blinked for a second before looking at him. "If I had the chance? I couldn't, I'm supposed to be helping my family's legacy." "Y/n look at me." The child looked up to him. "What do you want? Do you want to have a better family that treats you like they really love you? Not the money you make for them?" "But-" "If I offered, would you want to join my family?" Y/n thought about it for a minute before shaking their head. Wilbur reached over and gently took the child into his arms, pulling them into his lap. "Y/n, I want you to decide for yourself. No one will tell you want you can or can't have. I want you to be happy." The child's eyes filled with tears before burying their head in his chest, crying. "I don't wanna be here Wilbur! I hate it here! I hate them!" Wilbur felt his heart break at that moment. He pulled them into a hug, trying to calm them down. "I know, it's okay." He cooed. He pulled them back, wiping the tears from their eyes. "Little gem, would you like to be a part of my family? You'll have a big brother named Fundy, two annoyingly stupid uncles named Tommy and Techno, and an old man named Philza for a grandfather." "And you?" "I'll be your father, always there for you no matter what you do. Like a father should be." The child gave him a hopeful look. "I wanna be apart of your family." Wilbur nodded. "Right, well we have to do a blood pact, it'll hurt for a bit, but is just so you can come to the monster realm with me." Y/n nodded, letting Wilbur open their hand to start the pact. "What do you want your room to look like?" He asked, attempting to distract them while he started the process, being quick to make them bleed. "Can I have f/c walls?" The child asked. "Of course." The phantom sliced his hand open before pressing his hand against theirs. "Ooh! And plushies? They never let me have any." "All the plushies you want kiddo." Wilbur said putting a bandage on their hand and his. "Come on, let's get you home. Your brother is so excited to meet you." The male said, pulling the kid out the bed. He was quick to pull the kid through the closet, just as their bedroom door flung open.

Wilbur laughed as he pulled his new child through the door and into their new life. "Welcome home, my little gem."

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 9 - ao3 -

Lan Qiren was groggy with lack of sleep the next morning, but an evening’s contemplation of the Lan sect’s rules had put him back into the right mindset.

As a disciple of the Lan sect, he was entitled under the rules for his elders to remember do not disrespect your juniors just as he was required to respect and obey your elders. Pursuant to the rules, he should have the protection of his sect and their support, and if what he had was imperfect, it was at least something; for every Lan Ganhui that mocked him, there was a Lan Yueheng that encouraged him, and there were plenty of teachers that preferred him over all the others.

As for his brother – Lan Qiren should not hold his anger against him. He had been acting in the best interest of the sect, seeking to obtain benefits for what had been lost; he had thought throughout the trip that Lan Qiren had given up more than just his word of honor, but had refrained from punishing him accordingly. In the end, even his father had assigned him only to kneel, which was a milder punishment by far than he deserved for all his mistakes and insolence.

More than that, his brother was right: Wen Ruohan would be bound by his own word of honor and public reputation to treat Lan Qiren with dignity, and by endorsing the relationship rather than rejecting it, his sect was indicating that they would hold Wen Ruohan to his word. His father had appropriately expressed concern on Lan Qiren’s behalf, his brother had refuted those concerns with well-reasoned logic; it was inappropriate for Lan Qiren to take such an intellectual discussion to heart.

That he had – and that he had forgotten, even temporarily and in the privacy of his own head, the rule do not argue with family for it does not matter who wins – was merely evidence once again that Lan Qiren was inferior to his brother, who through keeping a cool head had enabled their sect to turn what could have been an embarrassment into a victory.

As for his father…Lan Qiren shouldn’t have been surprised, that’s all. Hadn’t years and years taught him that fathers only gave what they chose to give and no more? He had long ago learned that his father was kind and noble and equitable, concerned with all the Lan sect disciples (but for his dearly beloved eldest) in the same way and the same manner; being disappointed to receive that and nothing more was only his own foolishness.

(He only wondered, in passing, why it had been his father’s glacial voice that had scared him so, compared to the familiar warmth of his brother’s anger.)

So fortified and reassured, Lan Qiren returned to the regular flow of daily life at the Cloud Recesses.

It was not easy. As his brother had predicted, rumors about his sworn brotherhood with Wen Ruohan sprang up at once, and many of his fellow disciples were prone to staring at him when they thought he wouldn’t notice. The teachers handed out many punishments for breaking the prohibition about talking behind people’s backs, although with a certain leniency that made Lan Qiren suspect that they themselves toed the line of that particular rule behind closed doors.

The rumors themselves were split between those that theorized that Wen Ruohan had used nefarious means to entrap Lan Qiren and force him to agree to brotherhood – the Fire Palace was mentioned often, as were various theoretical misapplications of cultivation techniques of dark and unsavory natures – and those that skipped over the how of brotherhood and went straight to speculating as to the why, which typically also involved a variety of references to misapplied cultivation techniques, this time of the sort most often found exclusively in certain types of low-brow spring books.

Someone even suggested that Wen Ruohan intended on taking Lan Qiren to bed as a cauldron, which was the stupidest idea out of the whole lot.

“Of course that can’t be true,” Lan Qiren patiently explained to Lan Yueheng, who had come to collect his geometry book. As a gesture of thanks for his support, Lan Qiren had read the whole thing and sent an annotated list of questions and comments; Lan Yueheng had practically turned pink with excitement when he’d seen it and then secluded himself for two days to write a response. Lan Qiren still didn’t see the appeal of geometry, but he’d managed to coax Lan Yueheng into a discussion of the mathematics of music theory, an area in which their particular interests overlapped, and he had hope of a fruitful dialogue continuing into the future. “At least traditionally, cauldrons are individuals with high cultivation potential that has yet to be developed – raw natural talent, in other words, which can then be refined into strength for another. My inborn talent is only moderate, even low, and my progress is primarily due to good resources and hard work. So even if someone put in the work to make me a cauldron, they wouldn’t get much out of me.”

Lan Yueheng nodded, his brow wrinkled thoughtfully. “So your brother would’ve been a better cauldron than you.”

“…that is correct, but please don’t say it.” Lan Qiren quietly pitied Lan Yueheng’s etiquette teachers, and spared a thought to hope that his cousin’s children, should he have them, would take more after whoever he married than him. Even if only because Lan Qiren hoped to become a teacher himself one day, and he was sure that Lan Yueheng’s particularly brash and un-Lan-like bluntness would make for a terrible future student. “Perhaps it would be more helpful for you to think of it in the sense of energy transfers of heat? I’m already cold, so to speak, so he wouldn’t be able to draw out much heat from me.”

“Wait, if you’re cold and Sect Leader Wen is hot, would that make him the cauldron? Assuming you ever did dual cultivate.”

Lan Qiren pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s...not how that works, Yueheng-xiong. At all. I was merely attempting to use a metaphor to clarify the issue. Clearly I failed and only confused things further.”

Lan Yueheng shrugged. “At least you try,” he remarked. “And when you fail, you try again, doing something different. It’s better than the teachers who just do the same thing every time and blame you for being as bemused on the seventh repetition as you were on the first.”

Lan Qiren felt his ears go red at the compliment. “You’ve been here too long,” he reminded his cousin. “Your parents won’t be happy to see you spending too much time with me.”

“My parents don’t care. It’s my aunt and uncle who don’t like it. They say that people might start asking if I cultivate as a cauldron too –”

“Your parents listen to your aunt and uncle, so if they don’t like it, you shouldn’t disobey them. The rules say Be a filial child.”

“They also say Do not form cliques to exclude others, but that isn’t stopping the other disciples from playing favorites, is it?”

That was definitely one of the rules more honored in the breach, Lan Qiren thought with a sigh. But what could be done, when their elders did the same? The sect followed the example of its leader, and his father’s tendency towards favoritism were well known, albeit one that was widely indulged as a quirk rather than condemned as a serious flaw. 

“I will remind the teachers of that one,” he said. “Perhaps a refresher would be suitable, to remind people. But the rule are meant for your own discipline, not others, and – ”

“Just because other people aren’t following the rules doesn’t mean I shouldn’t, I know,” Lan Yueheng said with a sigh of his own. “I’ll go…oh! It’s getting late. Weren’t you supposed to go to the guest’s pavilion by the western watchtower already?”

Lan Qiren blinked. “I don’t have that patrol route in my schedule until the end of the week.”

“No, no! I was supposed to tell you! Lao Nie’s come to visit, and –”

There were rules against running in the Cloud Recesses, so Lan Qiren was slightly late despite his best efforts, but true to form Lao Nie didn’t admonish him: he only turned from where he was sitting in the pavilion and smiled, calling out, “Qiren! There you are!”

“Forgive –”

“Forgiven,” Lao Nie interrupted before Lan Qiren even got the first word out. Lan Qiren was relieved to see that there was neither food nor tea already prepared; he would have been mortified if it had grown cold while Lao Nie was waiting to see him. “And don’t bow, either. How have you been? Tell me people aren’t harassing you over the nonsense with Hanhan.”

Lan Qiren opened his mouth, then hesitated.

“Do not tell lies,” Lao Nie observed, grimacing. “Ah, Qiren! Sometimes your brother’s worse than useless. It’s a pity, really, I hadn’t realized – well. At any rate, I’ve been bothering him for weeks to tell me about you and he wouldn’t say a word.”

“He was angry at me for messing up the conference,” Lan Qiren explained.

Lao Nie’s eyebrows arched. “You mean the conference where the Lan sect got first place in both major events and then extracted serious concessions from the Wen sect in a completely unexpected and nearly inexplicable political coup that got the whole cultivation world talking in awe at your political acumen? That conference?”

“I lost face for him. He thought – well, he’d thought it was worse than it was,” Lan Qiren hesitated. “He’s not the only one.”

Lao Nie huffed. “People are, by and large, stupid,” he declared. “Don’t let them get to you. They’ll change their tune soon enough.”

Lan Qiren wasn’t so sure. “They say a reputation is like a porcelain vase,” he said, unable to conceal his worries in the face of someone actually expressing concern rather than curiosity. His dream was to be a traveling cultivator, and that would be much easier with a good name, which he had always had before – good, or at least boring, which was just fine with him. He preferred to be boring! It had never occurred to him that he might do something that would render him the subject of gossip; it had never happened before. “Once cracked…”

“Right now, there’s only some bored people speculating that there might be a crack,” Lao Nie said. His confidence was contagious; Lan Qiren couldn’t help but relax a little in the face of it. “No one’s actually sure about it, and they’re willing to hear otherwise – things aren’t yet so bad. Don’t worry. I’ve spoken with Hanhan about it already.”

Lan Qiren felt his ears burning in shame. “Lao Nie! You didn’t!”

Especially since that would undoubtedly only make Wen Ruohan even more angry…

Lao Nie laughed and put his hand on his head, rubbing it lightly. “I did. Not in your name, but rather his own – do you think the Wen sect wants to get a reputation for being led by a man with an unhealthy interest in noble-born children? It’s in his interest to get this cleared up as much as you.”

Lan Qiren felt the tension rush out of his shoulders all at once. That hadn’t occurred to him, but now that Lao Nie had pointed it out, it was clear enough.

After all, for all the talk going around about Lan Qiren, it was widely agreed that he was clearly the victim in whatever scenario they’d thought up, whether through having his oath extracted under torture or by force; even among those who theorized that Wen Ruohan intended to use him as a cauldron, the reputation Lan Qiren might get would be, at worst, that of a seductive flirt who couldn’t be resisted. Lan Qiren’s brother had scoffed audibly the first time he’d heard that, saying that such a rumor would naturally be dispelled the moment anyone came in contact with Lan Qiren for more than a moment, and in all honesty Lan Qiren agreed with his assessment. He had the classic Lan sect looks, yes, but so did many others, and he had a demeanor as stern as a schoolmaster, giving off the feel of an old man even though he wasn’t even of age.

Meanwhile, for Wen Ruohan, the consequences were undoubtedly more dire – if he was said to have a taste for boys, especially noble-born ones, the other sects might be afraid to send their sons around him. It was a different reputation by far than his taste for torture, or his supposed use of dark and forbidden cultivation; those would make people fear him, while lusting for children would only make people disdain him.

Still, Lan Qiren wasn’t sure how exactly even someone of Wen Ruohan’s cunning would go about fixing such a mistake – and that was putting aside why he would make such a mistake over Lan Qiren in the first place. He hadn’t had a chance to explain to his brother his theory that Wen Ruohan had acted just to irritate Lao Nie, and in the end he’d decided it wasn’t worth drawing his brother’s attention back to the subject.

Besides, if Lan Qiren could figure it out, with his notorious inability to understand interpersonal affairs, then surely his brother was more than able to do the same. It wasn’t as if Lao Nie were being shy about it…

“Hanhan said he had something in mind,” Lao Nie was saying, shaking his head. “He usually does, I find, and each idea’s more awful than the next.”

Lan Qiren shifted a little from one foot to the other. “If you know he’s awful, why do you…” he hesitated. “I mean, you call him – an endearment.”

“Oh, he’s a little awful, no doubt,” Lao Nie said, sounding rather fond. “But as long as it’s not my sect, what do I care? Anyway, Qiren, you shouldn’t worry. If there’s one thing you can trust with Hanhan, it’s that he takes care of anything associated with himself.”

Lan Qiren didn’t really like the fact that he was now counted among that number.

It didn’t seem all that safe.

“Though of course that doesn’t protect him from you,” Lao Nie added, suddenly smirking, and Lan Qiren blinked owlishly at him. “Apparently, you’re a very talkative drunk.”

Lan Qiren’s face burned red.

“And effusive, too! According to Hanhan, even after you forced him down in his seat to keep listening to you, you kept waving your hands around while you were talking and knocking things over; he had to pin you down to keep you from destroying things by accident.”

That would explain the marks on his arms.

“Apparently, you didn’t appreciate him doing that and kneed him right in the –”

“You really think he can make the rumors go away?” Lan Qiren hastily interrupted, rubbing the back of his neck a little as if it would make the heat of hideous embarrassment go away. That tallied up a little too well with the physical evidence to be anything other than accurate. “There’s – a lot of them. And I’d like to have a clean reputation.”

“You will,” Lao Nie said, thankfully distracted from his mortifyingly plausible story. “Anyone who meets you will know at once that you’re a righteous and upstanding person.”

Lan Qiren liked that better than the way his brother had put it.

“It’s just that you haven’t had a chance to make your name in the cultivation world,” Lao Nie said. He sounded sure of himself. “You’ll do wonderful things one day, Qiren. I’ve no doubt.”

“I don’t want to do wonderful things,” Lan Qiren said, scowling. “I just want to travel around and help people.”

“Yes, I know,” Lao Nie said, and he sounded fond again, just the way he did when he was talking about Wen Ruohan, or even Lan Qiren’s brother. Truly, Lan Qiren thought to himself, the Nie sect had no idea how lucky they were to have him as sect leader. “Really, Qiren, it’s like I said: don’t worry about it. Now come, tell me what you’ve been studying recently.”

Lan Qiren had promised himself that he would reduce the amount of time he spent with Lao Nie on his occasional visits to the Lan sect, not wanting to risk inciting Wen Ruohan’s unreasonable anger and jealousy any further.

He would need to assign himself an appropriate punishment for breaking that promise, he thought, and sat down to start telling Lao Nie all about the work he was doing with one of his teachers on comparing the origin points of the various Lan sect rules, as well as his experiments on arrays to enhance open-air acoustics that would, he hoped, eventually be inscribed on all Lan sect instruments to increase the range and impact of their spell songs.

He even mentioned the possibility of a joint project on the mathematics of musical theory, and for whatever reason he thought Lao Nie looked especially pleased about that.

He didn’t think about Wen Ruohan at all.

[pa-panda-heroes]

Hello! I hope your having a wonderful day! I was wondering if I could get some headcanons for mornings with tomura, dabi and twice? Thank you!

My day has been okay, I hope yours is even better, doll! This is... so soft and i am living for it. :’>

Mornings with Tomura, Dabi, and Twice!

Tomura:

Not quite a morning person himself. By the time other people are getting out of bed, Tomura is going to bed. So it’s up to you initially to get him on a healthier sleep schedule. Or adapt to his...

But once you do... he still hates mornings, whoops. He’s sleepy and groggy, pouty and whiny, but it is downright adorable.

It takes him a while to wake up and become a person again, so early after waking is when he’s at his most vulnerable and gooey. He’s more open and honest without realizing it, and most of the time he doesn’t remember what he said.

Tomura is ridiculously clingy to you, resting his forehead on your shoulder while you make an omelette, leaning against you on the couch, or even bear hugging you in bed to keep you there for morning snuggles. You couldn’t pry him off of you at any point even if you wanted to!

Not big on breakfast himself, but if you make the extra effort to make him something he’ll eat it right up. Don’t expect him to cook, though. Not only is Tomura awful at it, he despises doing it. Something about the heat from the range just sets his skin off like no other. Besides, he really likes watching you cook. It’s just mesmerizing to him.

He will absolutely refuse to go outside or just anywhere other than whatever humble abode you’re in. Sunrise, sunset, it doesn’t matter much to him, and he doesn’t like going places in general, let alone when he’s grumbly and sleepy. He just wants to stay in with you all to himself, no one to interfere or stare or call for heroes.

Will he try going back to bed or sneaking a nap in? Oh, absolutely! Will he try roping you into doing so also? Count on it. He loves sleep even if he has no sleeping schedule to speak of.

Tomura is almost always up to no good in the morning. Whether it’s reaching for utter junk for food when he finally feels like eating, or passing out on the couch even though you told him he should stay awake. He’s a little shit.

Dabi:

If Tomura is a little shit, Dabi is a major shit. 9 out of 10 times he just happens to wake up before you do, and probably half the time he finds some dastardly way to wake you.

He’s not above running cold fingers up your shirt, blowing in your face, or running his fingers up and down your arm so lightly it’s utterly ticklish, all of which is quick to wake you with a fright of some kind. He just loves the rise it gets out of you when you’re conscious enough to know what’s going on.

If he didn’t have a good night’s sleep that night, and if you’re lucky enough, Dabi will wake you with tiny kisses on whatever exposed skin is available, soft and sweet - much unlike the man himself.

None of this is to say Dabi is much of a morning person, either, though. He’s easy to wake, sure, but that’s because he just doesn’t sleep normally anyway. But it’s okay; it just means he gets to hold you and coddle you in the middle of the night while you’re zonked out.

First to fix breakfast, always. He’s not a great cook, but he’s quick to learn enough that what he hands to you isn’t entirely inedible. His guilty pleasure is having you in the kitchen with him, though.

He loves spending time in the kitchen with you; it gives him a sense of normalcy he isn’t used to and it’s refreshing to him. It makes him feel warm and fuzzy and he’d never admit that.

Not clingy per se, but Dabi is massively handsy. It’s not always with unsavory intentions, that���s just how he’s made. Of course, he’s not against getting frisky so early in the morning, but that’s not the norm.

If you’re near him enough in the morning, he has at least one hand on you at any given moment, be it playing with your hair absentmindedly, or grabbing your shoulder to pull you towards him so he give a tiny peck to your cheek. His excuses are endless.

Twice:

Ah, finally, a morning person! Twice may only be up early to go for a smoke, but once he’s awake, he’s awake and he’s fairly perky and giddy. He’s not overly energetic, but he’s quite like himself.

Really enjoys mornings in general. They’re quiet and peaceful, and he adores sunsets, something that is ever changing in appearance yet permanent in existence.

But, mornings with you are best. Be it the fact that you go outside with him (as a smoker yourself or not), or groggily prod away at whatever breakfast he’s made you as he watches, he’s perfectly content. He’s not really much of a breakfast person himself, though.

Loves to go for a walk. Usually, if he’s alone he’ll go for a little jog throughout his neighborhood, but if you’re there, he’ll drag you into going on a quiet walk to wherever suits your fancy. It’s not exactly a short walk, unless you have work or some arrangement to go to.

Doesn’t have much to do himself in the morning, albeit after a walk he does like to clean and tidy up his place a bit. You’re welcome to join, but he’s not going to outright ask. You should relax!

Twice won’t hesitate to put his cleaning on hold if you’re down to cuddle and watch TV. He prefers the news, though, so get ready for that. Villain or no, he likes knowing what’s going on in Japan and especially his area.

He’s fairly talkative in the morning, so if you’re up to it yourself, he’ll chat your leg off. It’s really the only time the two of you get to really talk aside from (essentially) small talk as you pass one another by, being so busy with the League and whatnot.

Speaking of, mornings before some sort of assignment with you never go the same way. The only repeating factor is that he’s anxious you’ll get hurt. Sometimes he’s boisterous and confident, other times he’s quiet and timid. There’s not much rhyme or reason; it just depends on the mission itself.

[let-them-read-fics]

The Finer Things

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4,864

Warnings / Misc. -- Pining, Some Self Doubt, Fluff, Some Angst, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time writing for Blackpink. I hope you enjoy. Happy reading, as always! Let me know what you think. 

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Part 1: Partners

“Alright class, settle in now. Today we’ll be starting our new projects. You know the drill; they’ll be a quarter semester long, and you’ll have a partner to work with. That gives you 9 weeks to complete the assignment and be ready to present your creations. Your topic is “the finer things in life”. Remember: there’s no exact way to do this. Whatever that topic means, however you interpret it, just show us what you envision when you think of that. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

Unsurprisingly, everyone is rather excited for this project. Considering this class is an elective, your classmates signed up for it knowing what they were getting themselves into. Regardless, even the stray few that enrolled for an easy A would rather do this than Calculus and Statistics. 

Your eyes scan the room, and you smile upon seeing everyone light up as they discuss their game plans. Familiar eyes meet yours from across the room, and you feel a blush begin to rise to your cheeks. You mentally curse yourself at how easy it is for her to make you giddy, but you don’t look away. The small smile that she gives you nearly makes you combust from the cuteness; you can’t help the dorky grin that takes over your features. 

Before you can fully melt under her gaze, your teacher speaks up again. You silently thank the universe for that divine intervention. “Now that you’ve had a minute to brainstorm, it’s time for everyone’s favorite part: partner time! I’ve chosen your partners based on your individual strengths and weaknesses as photographers; I want this to be a true learning experience for all of you. Being an artist takes constant growth, and I see this as the perfect opportunity.” 

Since your class is a fairly close-knit group of students, no one’s upset by who their partners are. Mrs. Johnson continues rattling off the pairs, and you take a moment to look out the window. It’s a beautiful day, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. The vivid red hues of their leaves are complimented perfectly by the bright blue sky behind them.

“...Y/N, you’ll be working with Rosé.” The second those words leave her lips, your eyes shoot to your partner’s. It’s an odd feeling, to put it plainly; those were the words that you were dying to hear, but also terrified of. After all, working so closely with your long-time crush would definitely prove to be nerve racking. You didn’t have much time to worry, though, as Rosé sat down at the desk in front of you, turning the chair around to face you. It was clear that she loved to see what she did to you, your reactions to her words, everything. She studied you like her life depended on it, but you never noticed. Your brain was always too busy short-circuiting to take in the ways that she watched you from afar, remembering every detail, curve, and dimple of your face. 

“So, how about we meet up after school today to get some ideas going?” She proposes, and you nod. “How’s the park sound? I’d hate to miss such a gorgeous day.” Her face lights up at your suggestion, and you smile at the sight. In her excited state, she rushes out, “That’s just what I was thinking!” The two of you spend the rest of class chatting and goofing around, and go your separate ways once the bell rings. You send her one last wave, already missing her presence. To say the two of you are eager for your next meeting is a major understatement.

Part 2: The First Few Meetings

The first couple weeks are spent getting to know one another better and spending more time together -- something you definitely weren’t complaining about. Seeing her out of school, able to really be herself, was a magical experience. You often thanked your lucky stars that you decided to sign up for the class in the first place.

Part 3: You Go To One Of Her Practices

Attending school practices and games was never really your speed, but you made an exception for Rosé. Some family issues had gotten in the way of your meet-ups for a bit, so the two of you were a little behind schedule for the project. You weren’t worried (the honor student in you knew that you’d get it done in time), but Rosé asked you to stay after school for one of her cheerleading practices. “We can work on it everytime coach gives us a break, okay?” She had said earlier that day, during class. You were almost too mesmerized by the way her lips moved while she spoke to comprehend what she had said, her accent popping out in the most adorable way possible. 

The memory brought a light smile to your face, and she saw it, stealing a glance at you. You looked up at her and tilted your head to the side, letting her know she’d been caught. Her eyes widened in shock and she quickly cleared her throat, clearly not expecting that. 

~~~

“Ah, ah, ah,” you protested, blocking her from sitting down in the seat beside you. “Stand in front of me, I wanna take a picture.” She put on a horrified face, looking down at you. “Excuse me?? Absolutely not! I look terrible. I’m all sweaty.” You rolled your eyes at her, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I’m sorry to inform you, Rosé, but you’re physically incapable of looking bad. My condolences.” You bowed your head in mock pity, adding to the effect. “Oh shut up, you dork.” She said, pushing you playfully. “Fine. One picture; you better make it a good one.” You smiled your signature grin at her, and she got a little lightheaded at the beautiful sight. “1, 2, 3…”

Part 3.5: Could It Be?

“Rosé, I don’t know….” You begin, a grimace crossing your face. The object of your affection had spent the past 10 minutes trying to convince you to ditch work and accompany her to the local fair that was in town for the weekend. It’s not that you didn’t want to go; in fact, you can’t think of a place you’d rather be tonight than with her, getting away from the stress of everything life had been throwing at you. If you were honest with yourself, though, the work was just an excuse for something bigger; you knew that with each step closer you got to Rosé, you would eventually be taking two steps back. You had long ago assured yourself that she didn’t share your attraction, and you had done okay in accepting that fact. By okay I mean “totally not at all, even in the slightest.” You liked to pretend, though, wanting to have some semblance of control over the situation. 

“Pleeeeease?” She whined into the phone, drawing the word out to torture you a little more. Surely she had to know what she was doing.

That simple question served as your command, and it became very apparent in that moment that you’d do just about anything that Rosé asked you to. You kicked yourself, a genuine feeling of nervousness rushing over you. 

A sigh left your lips as you responded, “Okay, okay! But only for a little while.”

Her high pitched cheering drew a laugh from you, and you shook your head at her antics. What were you getting yourself into?

~~~~~

Rosé looked stunning, as usual. Her long blonde locks fell elegantly over her shoulders, looking just as soft as always. The pink top she donned complimented her light blue jeans perfectly; if you weren’t so enraptured by her, you might’ve gotten jealous. How can someone look so gorgeous without even trying? It’s infuriating, to say the least. 

“Ready?” Her cheery accent met your ears, and you felt yourself pep up at the single utterance. Dear lord, you’re in deep. Pushing the thoughts from your head, you send her a simple smile and nod, pulling her in for a hug. 

Freezing time had never been a thing that you thought about often, but it surely crossed your mind as you stood there with her in your arms, feeling her skin against yours. All too quickly she pulled away, already rambling excitedly about all of the rides she wanted to try out. You were still in a bit of a daze, her strawberry perfume making your head spin. Before you know it, she has a hold of your hand, dragging you towards the largest drop tower that the festival had to offer. Maybe this would be a good time to mention that you’re deathly afraid of heights…

~~~~

Hair disheveled and heart palpitating, you stumbled away from the ride. It was comical really, the state you were in. Rosé must have thought so, because she couldn’t contain her laughter once she looked over at you. The sound was music to your ears, and you quickly decided that you’d be willing to get back on that ride if it meant you could hear her giggle like that again. 

After your laughing fit died down, you suggested getting on the ferris wheel to see all of the city lights. Everything burned a little brighter this time of year, the downtown area bustling with life and activity.

“I was just about to mention that. I like the way you think, Y/N.” The combination of the look she gave you and the way your name rolled off of her tongue made you weak in the knees. Before your mind could even begin to question if she had meant something else -- something deeper -- you stopped yourself. It wouldn’t do any good to read too far into the things she said. It was just innocent teasing, you reasoned. 

You failed to notice the way Rosé had looked at you, her eyes taking in every part of you. She wanted to remember this sight; your head thrown back, eyes welling with tears of laughter. When you didn’t pick up on her flirting, though, she took it as a sign to back off a bit. Surely it had been obvious, right? She told herself she’d give it one more try, by the end of the night. No matter your reaction, she would have an answer. 

With that decision made, she led the way to the ferris wheel, you trailing happily behind her. 

“Two?” The worker looked to be about your age, face marked with acne scars, and attitude already unpleasant. With a simple gesture of confirmation, the two of you made your way to the nearest cart. You held the small gate open, allowing Rosé in first. The metal was cool against your palm as you closed it after yourself.

A chilly breeze rolled in, and you noticed her body shiver in the seat across from you. You could tell she tried to hide it, but you were far too observant to miss that. “Here,” you start, already pulling your leather jacket off of yourself and offering it to her. She shook her head furiously, saying, “No, I can’t. You’ll get cold up there!” Maybe it had been the slushy you had earlier, but you got a sudden surge of confidence. “Come over here, then. We’ll keep each other warm.” Her eyes shined with something you couldn’t quite place; something mischievous, perhaps.  

She quickly repositioned herself next to you, snuggling up against your side. “You’re still putting this on, Rosé.” You say lowly, lips grazing her temple. The way the words left your mouth, so matter-of-factly, made her bite her lip. You rarely told anyone what to do, so this role reversal was a bit unexpected. A welcome surprise, she thought, as she slipped the warm material over her shoulders.

~~~~

If someone offered you a million dollars to be anywhere else in the world right now, you would turn them down. You were sure that you had died and gone to Heaven, with how Rosé’s body fit perfectly up against yours and the distant skyline looked as though it had been stolen from a postcard.

Once the cart reached the top, the ride stopped for a short while, allowing you to get a picturesque view of the surrounding area. You grabbed the camera from your bag and snapped a few pictures, not wanting to forget this moment. A quiet wow left her mouth as she leaned over you, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. Has she never seen the lights like this? The untamed beating of your heart echoed wildly at the feeling of having her so close. You prayed she wouldn’t notice the tremble that ran through you as she placed her hand on your thigh, pushing herself up higher into the air for a better perspective. She must’ve noticed something in the distance, because soon she was pointing across the city and bouncing lightly in the seat. With some help, you located what she was so excited about: it was an inflatable cat. She had been that giddy over an inflatable animal on the porch of someone’s apartment. Such a dork, you muttered. She drew in a breath, feigning disbelief. “I am not!” She started, about to defend her honor, when she turned her head. In the excitement, the two of you had pressed closer together -- much closer than either of you had realized -- and now you were face to face. Your eyes darted down to her lips, and you almost threw caution to the wind and closed the distance. You didn’t, though, still missing the signs she was sending you. Her gaze raked across your features, and she grew bold; her hand came up to your cheek, her thumb soon brushing the soft skin. She was achingly close; you could feel the warmth radiating from her body, calling for you.

This cycle continued; both of you waiting for the other to make the first move, terrified that the other didn’t feel the same. It was a wicked game of cat and mouse, and you were finally getting the courage to end it. Just as you were about to lean in, the rickety ride started back up again with a groan, and she was jostled away from you, back into the seat.  

That had to be some sort of symbolism. 

The rest of your night went well, soon again filled with laughter and jokes, but the two of you couldn’t shake what happened. There was an air of something uncertain now, and only something significant was capable of putting an end to this cruel arrangement. 

Part 4: The Realization

“Shit!” You exclaim with a huff, realizing your mistake. “Rosie, do you have any extra film for the polaroid? I lost the last pack I had.” You mentally slap yourself for that one. When you don’t get a response, which is quite unusual for Rosé, you take that as a sign to go look for her. The two of you had chosen to work on the project at her house this time, and it was definitely more spacious than yours. “Rosie?” You call out to her again, checking the rooms as you pass them. Sniffling sounds perk up your ears, and you follow them to their source: the bathroom. “What happened, Rose?” She just sniffles again, letting out a defeated sigh. “It’s nothing, Y/N. I’m okay.” You shake your head, a pained look taking over your features. Knowing that she was hurting killed you. “I don’t believe you. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but at least let me cheer you up. Please?” You plead through the door, waiting rather impatiently for her response. Wordlessly, she gathers herself and opens it, choosing to lean against the frame and meet your concerned gaze. “It’s Joon. He’s being an ass.” You set your jaw and quickly bite your tongue, not wanting to upset her more. Her sweater is soaked and matted with tears, large stains polka-dotting the fluffy material.

Who’s Joon, you may ask? Rosé’s boyfriend and star of the football team… aka your arch nemesis. The two of you typically avoided talking about him, and dating in general. As far as you were concerned, he wasn’t deserving of the attention. A muffled sob pulls you from your stewing session, and you’re quick to step forward and wipe away her tears. You cup her cheeks, softening at the way she leans into your embrace. It’s not hard to tell that she doesn’t get the love that she deserves. “You’re too good for him, Rose. He’s never deserved you.” You say softly, tired of seeing her being mistreated. One instance of this was more than enough, and knowing that this isn’t the first time that he’s been the reason for her tears makes your blood boil. You pull her in, and she rests her head against your chest. If circumstances were different, you would’ve been terrified to have her so close; however, that’s not at the forefront of your mind right now. You’re determined to be there for her, even if it’ll never be in the way you want. “You should be with someone who values you. You can do so much better.” You whisper against her temple -- just loud enough for her to hear -- lips in the same position as they were that night at the fair. It comes out as a gentle confession, but you say it like the simple fact it is. 

After a few more moments of holding her close, her sweet vanilla perfume in the air, she shifts in your arms. Her eyes find yours, and the moment seems as though it was plucked out of some cheesy, coming of age movie. Something within both of you clicks at that point, and you just know. Her slightly puffy features look especially adorable right now, her eyes sparkling. That always seemed like such a strange, poetic thing to you -- how some people can manage to look so stunning after crying. It’s as though she needed that, in some twisted way. It opened her eyes to the situation she was in, although it hurt. She knew she could get through anything, though, with you by her side. And standing there, wrapped in your warmth, she really couldn’t find it in herself to even think of Joon. 

Your eyes fell to her lips, and she didn’t fail to notice. God, those lips. You thought, remembering all of the times you’ve wanted to kiss her. She somehow managed to be utterly perfect without even trying. Your heart rate sped up at the feeling of her hands working their way down to your waist, gripping your hips tightly. The atmosphere shifted, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. “Y/N…” she says lowly, almost as if she’s trying to keep herself from doing something stupid. “Hmm?” You drag out, causing her to bite her lip in return. Just as the two of you lean in ever closer, the sounds of keys jangling downstairs interrupts your moment. Feeling brave, and not wanting that encounter to pass with nothing to show for it, you give her a sweet kiss on the cheek. You chuckle lightly at the whine that leaves her lips, and take a minute to gather yourself before leading the way downstairs to greet her parents. 

----

Over the next few days, neither of you mention all that’s happened. You want to, but you have no idea how; your nerves would surely get the best of you. And what if she didn’t feel the same? How embarrassing would that be? You wanted nothing more than to have that Hallmark, fairytale ending with her, but you knew that was unrealistic. So, you did what you do best; you continued falling for her from afar, attempting to settle into this routine.  

Little did you know that she hadn’t stopped thinking about it. She often found herself stroking her cheek, where your hand had been that night. If she focused hard enough, she could almost remember the smell of your tropical shampoo, too. Her feelings confused her, but she knew what she wanted. Her fear of rejection outweighed her courage, though, and she never knew how to tell you that she had fallen for you. 

Part 5: An Overheard Conversation

As you made your way through the halls and towards the library, your mind wandered to a place it often frequented: Rosé. You had been so caught up in other things that you hadn’t really registered that the project would be over soon. It saddened you to think about, but maybe it was for the best. Perhaps a little distance between the two of you would make it easier to ignore your feelings. Turning the corner, you collided with someone, sending their books into the floor. “I’m so sorry!” You apologize quickly, making sure they’re alright, before helping them gather their things. They do the same, and continue on their way as you readjust your clothes.

At the sound of that achingly familiar voice, you freeze.

“I broke up with him, Jennie.”

That’s all it took for you to press yourself up against the wall, set on listening in on the conversation without getting caught. Part of you felt bad for doing that, but there was no way you were leaving now.

“Good, he never deserved you anyway.” The other girl, Jennie, said, and you made a mental note to give her a high five later on. 

“He took me for granted. I’m just upset it took me so long to realize it.”

“Hey, don’t do that. You remembered your worth and didn’t let that jackass hurt you anymore. That’s queen status, if you ask me.” Make that a double high five.

The sounds of her locker being closed lead you to believe that the girls are about to walk away and end the conversation, but you soon stop dead in your tracks, yet again.

“There’s another reason that I ended things, though, and I’ve been meaning to tell you about it.” 

“Ooh, do tell.”

Rosé clears her throat, and quickly checks to make sure the coast is clear before speaking again. Thank God she didn’t notice your presence. 

“I’ve liked this person for a really long time, Jennie.” She confesses, before continuing. “They’re always there for me when I need them… and don’t even get me started on how adorable they are.”

Jennie chuckles at Rosé’s words, and you can see her shake her head. “What??” Rosé asks, pushing her shoulder lightly. 

“You’ve got it bad. I’ve never seen you blush like that at just the thought of someone. And that’s saying something.”

Rosé hides her face in her hands, embarrassed but amused. “She’s just so incredible.”

Your heart stops, blood running cold in your veins, and your hand shoots up to cover your mouth. Does Jennie know she likes girls? SHE LIKES GIRLS?? I mean, you had thought so after that night but she’d never admitted it before.

“She?” Jennie asks gently, not even a trace of judgement in her tone. A little surprise, sure, but nothing bad. Rosé simply takes a deep breath and nods her head, waiting for her best friend’s reaction to her slip up. It’s not that she thought she would be unaccepting, just that these kinds of things were a little bit of a shock to hear sometimes.

“Well, who is she? I’ll have to do some snooping on your next potential love interest.”

Rosé lets out a giggle, and you almost blow your cover by laughing with her.

“You won’t be getting that information out of me yet, Jennie. No way.” She says, taking the other girl’s hand and leading her down the hallway, away from you. 

Once alone again, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Could you be that girl?

Part 6: Presentation Day

As you make your way to your seat, you let out a tired yawn; you had stayed up late adding some last minute touches to your presentation. You wanted it to be a surprise for Rosé, so you hadn’t told her about what you had done. Hopefully she would enjoy it.

The other groups each took turns showcasing their projects and explaining what the prompt had meant to them. Some said “money”, “luxury”, “time”, etc. Your answer was a bit different than theirs, and you were excited to share it with everyone.

Once it was your turn to present, you made your way up to the front of the room, selecting the correct files and connecting your device with the projector. Rosé could sense that you were anxious, which wasn’t new for you; school presentations had always made you nervous. Silently, she took your hand within her own and rubbed her thumb across your knuckles. None of the class was paying much attention yet, since you were still technically getting set up, and you were beyond thankful for that intimate moment with her. 

A short time later, you begin. 

Rosé expertly introduces the different topics you chose to cover with the prompt, explaining their meaning with sincerity. Images of old couples smiling, holding one another close, graced the screen when she brought up “growing old together” as a finer thing in life. “Not everyone gets the opportunity to do that with who they love,” she said, and you noticed that her eyes went to you when she said that. Maybe you just imagined that last part, you thought to yourself. Surely so. 

Other slides of animals, pets, and nature appeared as she continued her speech, followed by her suggestion that “the act of loving and preserving Earth and its creatures” is another finer thing in life. 

This process continued, with you jumping in for the slides that you had chosen to take over for. 

Upon hearing Rosé finish her last stretch of rehearsed dialogue, you look to your teacher, who gives you a subtle nod and smile. Rosé shoots you a confused look, but you don’t answer her with words. You move a nearby chair to face the board before bringing her to it. She sits, even more confused now, but trusting you. 

You swallow nervously, and lick your lips. “Over these past couple months, Rosé and I shared new experiences,” with a click of the remote, images of your adventures flood the screen -- your trips to the lake, forest, park, and even the beach, capture the attention of the class. Rosé was right there with them, considering she had never seen some of these pictures, let alone expected you to present them. “We tried new foods, left our comfort zone, and learned more about each other.” More images popped up; some from when you went on a tour of the different restaurants around town, some from bungee jumping, cave exploring, and open water fishing. 

“But as we grew closer, I realized more about myself in the process. I’m totally, utterly, and undeniably in love with you, Rosé.” The next set of candid images shows a new glint in your eyes when you look at each other; this was when you had really gotten in deep. You shyly raise your eyes to hers, your stomach in knots. Tears are quickly forming in her eyes, and she’s covering her mouth to quiet herself. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been, and life feels better with you. You are my finer thing in life.” Despite all of the emotions she’s feeling right now, she smiles at the dorky pictures of the two of you doing random things during your shared escapades. 

Finally, you click to the last slide, revealing a series of pictures of you spelling out, “Be mine?” 

This was the final straw; tears finally make their way down her face, spilling onto her soft cheeks. You nod at Mrs. Johnson the same way she had done before, and she swiftly bends down to grab something beneath her desk. When she returns, she hands you a single red rose. “OMG! A rose for Rosé, how cute!” One of your classmates yells from the back of the room, and you laugh aloud. That broke the tension, and soon all of you were giggling loudly together. “Well, whaddya say?” You ask, holding out the rose to her in offering. Wordlessly, she takes the flower and wraps her arms around your neck, connecting your lips in a long overdue kiss. The class erupts at this and she smiles against you. 

“Mission accomplished.” Mrs. Johnson says to herself, once everyone is settled back in their seats and chatting about what happened. “I was hoping that would work out.” Confused, you decide to inquire. Reluctantly taking your eyes off of Rosé, you look to your teacher and ask, “Did you plan this from the beginning?” She gives you a curious look before scoffing, “I’m practically a matchmaker, Y/N. I saw the way the two of you looked at each other. It would’ve been a crime not to pair you up.”

Your mouth hangs agape as you look back to Rosé, finding her donning a similar expression. “I was tricked into the plan!” You realize, laughing with her. “It was destiny, then.” She says, pulling you in by your collar for yet another kiss, loving the feeling of your blushing cheeks against her own.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for reading!!!

[maybeamultiverse]

Sneak Peek: Chapter 9 of Halovaya

I swear I'm working on it. I'm securing a second part-time job right now in addition to school so shawty is really jam-packed.

TL;DR: Some up and coming Tal Shiar agents are bickering over their newest lil' assassination assignment.

“It really should be a simple matter,” Major Hwiamna began, quickly looking over her slim figure in civilian robes. “It is fortunate this is finally being taken care of, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I think so,” Wraet replied, clumsily adjusting their disruptors’ settings. 

It had been quite some time since she had attempted to blend in, and after becoming an officiated member of the Tal Shiar, she had secretly hoped that she wouldn’t be tasked with arduous little assassinations like this one ever again. But alas, she and her semi-idiotic companion, Wraet, seemed to be unlucky these days. 

“Hey, watch it!” Hwiamna snapped, snatching the weapons from Wraet’s incompetent grubby hands. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“Am not!” Wraet childishly protested.

“You are,” Hwiamna corrected him. “With these settings, we’d have the Vulcans melted into a fuckin’ puddle. We’re being discreet per our orders, moron.”

“All right, all right! Quit nagging me,” he scoffed.

Wraet rolled his eyes, turning away from her to look out the window of the self-driving shuttle General Dilmux had arranged for them to take, made out to look like a modestly priced civilian’s vehicle. 

“Have you ever been south of Vendras before?” Wraet asked. 

Hwiamna scrunched her forehead, irritated that her longtime collaborator was suddenly acting all sentimental. “Actually, Jeko let us try out that simulation of the Valley of Chulla. You remember. He had been working on it for months.”

“So you’ve never been in real life?”

Hwiamna sighed. “No, I haven’t.”

Wraet nodded and leaned towards the window. “I’ve always wanted to go. I nagged my parents about it all the time as a kid, but they told me only the rich went there. Brought their annoying little kids and did bird watching. Stuff like that.”

“Ah, yes. Bird watching,” Hwiamna huffed. “We will not have time to indulge ourselves in that hobby.”

“Well, yeah. I’m not an idiot. I know.”

Hwiamna had collaborated briefly with Jeko, a brilliant, genius programmer whom she admired and did, in fact, bear some romantic unrequited fondness for, and reviewed all the relevant tracking information for the two of them. Svela and Halek, as he was called apparently, had both been diligently tracked and monitored while staying in the home world. Their sense of awareness of the matter proved to be a bit ambiguous— Hwiamna and the others weren’t entirely sure how much they knew. She found Vulcans incredibly troublesome and difficult to understand. 

[lsmu]

14 Days of Winter - Day 1: A Mistake in London

KIM HAJOON'S JOURNAL ENTRY: SUN, DEC 13TH, 2020. 9:15 PM GMT. London Heathrow Airport. International Arrivals. Quarantine Registration Waiting Area.

Journal-nim... Twelve hours and fifteen minutes. My God. I'm still 21, but a flight that long seemed to age me by ten years already. My entire body's aching, from head to toe. One day I should try flying Business Class. When will I have the money, though?

I am writing this while waiting for my name to be called by the quarantine registration officer. Kekeke... They have a quarantine registration officer. We're living in crazy times, aren't we, Journal-nim? Let's hope I'll get called quickly.

In the meantime... Should I recount everything that happened since the plane touched down at precisely 8.30 pm? Ah, it's all the usual, really... I went out of the plane, got tested, returned negative (as expected), and queued at the immigration checkpoint. Now, that's where things get interesting.

As I was queueing on the line, keeping my physical distance from the man in front of me, when I saw a girl queueing in the other lane. She was... Well, let's just say she was the cutest girl I've ever seen in my life. She was so small, so petite, and although I can only see her eyes, I could immediately tell that... That facemask was hiding a really beautiful face.

She was traveling alone, by the looks of it, and she was holding a Korean passport. She's a fellow Korean, and she looks younger than me. Maybe she's a student. She dresses quite sharply too with colourful colours, so maybe a freshman in UAL? Maybe a Fashion Design major? Ah... Will I ever get to know her?

I pity her, though. She was trying her best to stay calm, but she was clearly agitated... Or nervous. It's normal. I was like her too when I first came here. It was really hard to leave Appa, Eomma, and my little sister Ha-na. I remember I cried a lot when I came here the first time, feeling so lonely.

But... That being said, I made friends pretty quickly, and I have been stuck with these three dudes for the past three years: Joseph, Ernest, and Ryan. Filipino, Singaporean, and Indonesian. All amazing designers, all stupidly fun. What a perfect group! I can't wait to meet those crackheads again in 10 days. Here's hoping that the cute girl can soon make friends like I did.

Speak of the devil... The girl has just entered the same waiting area. She's playing with her phone now, sitting a few rows behind me. Maybe she's telling her family back in Korea that she's arrived safely here. Should I approach her? No. Hang on. We're in the middle of a pandemic. We should keep our distance with each other.

Right. My name's being called. I'll write again after I reach the hotel. Gosh. I can't wait for a proper hot bath. Let's hope there's a bathtub in my hotel room. Am I being too much?

***

KIM HAJOON'S JOURNAL ENTRY: SUN, DEC 13TH, 2020. 9:45 PM GMT. Bus from Heathrow to London. One hour drive.

I'm writing this from inside the bus that's taking me from Heathrow to the city, but... Something really strange just happened.

The officer at the airport called my name: "Kim Ha Joon, South Korea", and I presented myself. The officer checked my documents, and assigned me to be quarantined at The Savoy. The–frickin'–Savoy! I couldn't believe my luck and I was stunned. I guess these 10 days won't be as bad as I imagined it will be.

However, that wasn't the strange part. The strange part was when the officer said that I was lucky that I'm going to be quarantined together with my partner. That must be a mistake, right? I travelled here alone, and I'm single. Been single my whole life. Strange, right? Ah... He must be joking, or misspoke. It must have been a tiring day for him.

Maybe I should have clarified his statement, but he promptly directed me to another officer who took me to the bus queuing line. So many queuing lines today. I boarded the bus and texted the boys at our apartment. They updated me on the scores from the Premier League matches today: 0-0 at the Manchester Derby, and 1-1 for my team Tottenham Hotspurs against Crystal Palace. Harry Kane scored. Boring.

It's going to be a long ride to the city. An hour plus. I guess I'll just listen to some music on the way. Everyone's spacing out in this bus. Everyone's tired. Understandable. It was a long ass flight.

At least I know a hot bath is waiting for me at the Savoy. Can't get any better.

Journal-nim, where will that cute girl be staying for her quarantine?

***

KIM HAJOON'S JOURNAL ENTRY: SUN, DEC 13TH, 2020. 11:23 PM GMT. The Savoy. Junior Suite. HOT BATH!

This has to be the strangest day ever.

I arrived a little after 10.30 at The Savoy, and we were ushered in by some NHS workers. We got our temp checked, and we queued (again) at the front desk to get our room's keycard (Hell, The Savoy's interior is something else!). I was expecting a single room (Come on, Journal-nim! A Single Room AT THE SAVOY!!!), but instead... They gave me the keycard to...

Wait for it...

THE JUNIOR SUITE!

Again, I thought it was a mistake, but WHO AM I TO COMPLAIN, RIGHT? Kekekekeke... I'm writing this from inside the bathtub in the Junior Suite, enjoying my HOT BATH. Gosh. This is life. This. Is. Life! Thank you Jesus!

You know, it's strange, though. I asked the hotel staff who brought me here how in the Holy Name of Mother Mary did I get so lucky, but he simply said that the hotel was packed with quarantining people, and I got this Junior Suite because I'm quarantining with my partner.

What's with all this talk about partners? Is this some sick joke about my single-ness?

Ah... Forget about it. I'll just enjoy this HUGE SUITE for myself for the next 10 days! I should tell the boys. They'll flip out for sure. I'll call them first thing in the morning tomorrow.

Hang on. I hear my suite door opening. Someone's shouting angrily. Hang on.

***

KIM HAJOON'S JOURNAL ENTRY: MON, DEC 14TH, 2020. 00:30 AM GMT. The Savoy. Junior Suite. My room.

Gosh... It's a new day already. Is this considered to be my second day? Or still my first day of quarantine?

Journal-nim, you won't believe what happened. I heard people shouting from outside the bathroom, so I dried myself, wore my robe, and went out.

Do you know who I found? That cute girl from the airport.

I am not joking. That cute girl from the airport.

She looked totally angry though. Enraged, even. I asked her what happened, and she told me that there was a mistake: Us, her and I, we were registered as husband and wife, and we were about to be quarantined together in the same suite for the next 10 days.

So that's why everyone kept mentioning about 'my partner' this whole frickin' time. It was a mistake. How is that even possible? Was it just because we were both Koreans? But there were other Koreans on that flight! Frickin' joke, that's what!

I was horrified, you see... So I tried calling the front desk. They answered, but they said that they'll process the matter first thing in the morning. It was almost midnight anyway. The girl's bus was the last batch to come in today, and everyone went home after distributing their rooms.

Like I said, a frickin' joke.

The girl angrily called a few people. A lot of people, really. She spent quite some time shouting frustratedly at three girls on a group video call. If I remember correctly, their names are Karina, Giselle, and Ningning. Must be her school friends. Just like Joseph, Ernest and Ryan, but they're all Korean, because she spewed expletives in Korean... No. Maybe they just can speak Korean?

What kind of a name is Ningning, though?

In the end, she slumped on the sofa and cried. Gosh, my heart... She looked like a sad little girl, helplessly trying to get out of this joke of a situation. Here she was, separated from her friends and family, miles away from Korea, and shit happened. A major shit.

I couldn't take it, seeing her cry like that, so I brewed her a pot of chamomile tea (it's The Savoy, Journal-nim. They have chamomile tea at the ready). I guessed all I could do was to give her a proper, English welcome. I offered her the tea, and she thanked me... Using honorifics.

She apologized for causing a scene and startling me, and she... Well she sobbed. She kept saying that it was all her mistake. I didn't understand her, but I just sat there next to her, waiting for her to calm down.

Eventually, she did calm down, and I suggested that we should just rest for the night and try to process this matter in the morning (like the front desk suggested). There were two bedrooms anyway, both can be locked from the inside, so it's safe.

She agreed and thanked me.

"Kamsahamnida, Son-nim," she said meekly. (Gosh. So cute.)

Right. Off to bed now. Lots to do tomorrow, starting with fixing this mess we're in.

Oh, right. I introduced myself to her before we entered our separate rooms, and she did too.

Her name is Kim Min Jeong.