#and despite selecting a non busy hour after my shift

[nivq87]

I survived work btw. I was tired all day, but facinatingly i seemed to stay at a very consistent low energy the whole time. The lowest dip was in the hour before i had lunch, since by that point all id eaten the preceding 5 hours was one singular apple. After i ate i had a noticeable uptick in energy that really only ran out when it was time to come home.

[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

[blackcherrykiss]

BLOOD BOUNDARIES - Enhypen OT7 Fanfic (ch.5)

[CH.1] [CH.2] [CH.3] [CH.4]  previous chapters

[CH.6] next chapter (now available!)

genre: vampire au, romance, drama, mystery, thriller

note: written inspired by enhypen's storyline, given-taken lyrics & teasers. please keep in mind all members are apart of this fanfic and the main theme is mystery/drama!

P.S Niki and Sunoo's roles become bigger in later chapters :) sorry I took 2 weeks to update. School + new enhypen teasers made me alter the story now jesus their lore is confusingly interesting. Didn't proofread half of this chapter LOL. Happy readings <3

"Well now that everyone is here, I'd like to announce we have a new student who just transferred here." Your eyes were immediately drawn to the student's platinum blonde hair. Despite his sharp and charismatic face, his eyes were delicate and innocent. He had an exceptionally small face and a sunkissed skin tone. The new student snapped himself around so that the entire classroom got a good look at him, "Hello, my name is Park Jongseong or Jay, call me whatever you feel." He bowed slightly, his voice having a cool ring that played over in your head.

"Everybody please welcome Jay to our astronomy class. Lend him any of our previous notes because midterms are coming up and I'd appreciate as a teacher if you guys helped him catch up before our long weekend coming up in two weeks." Your teacher gave a warm smile, nodding in such a way that made the rest of the class nod with her.

Without a student saying a word, everyone's eyes followed him as he took a seat at a desk a couple of rows in front of you.

You stared at him tirelessly, barely listening as your teacher rambled off-topic. You noticed Jay often stared out at the crying sky that occasionally flickered with lightning. His eyes focused intently on the woods. You were sure you weren't the only one who was interested in the new boy as you frequently caught other students glancing over at him every few seconds. Jay carried an attractive and dark aura that clearly contrasted from the crowd. Both girls and boys stared at him not because of his pretty face but because he was far different from the new students who had joined your school mid-semester.

The class flew by for you because of Jay until a simple but intriguing question was purposed by the teacher, "Bonus marks today if anyone can guess when the next full moon is." she lifted her eyes off the projector for a few moments, waiting for answers to come sailing.

"Saturday?" Somebody from the front called out, followed by numerous answers that ranged between the second week to the fourth week of the month.

"Come on now. Don't blurt out, give others chances to guess. Jay why don't you guess?" Your teacher questioned welcomingly, expecting no answer from him.

He leaned back in his chair, scraping the non-writing end of his ballpen on his thumb, "November 30." A gentle sound of thunder playing perfectly when he said the answer; like some sort of scene out of a comic.

"Ding ding ding!" Your teacher switched to a PowerPoint slide with the new unit name bolded, "I know this isn't part of the curriculum but I got it approved by the head of the school." She took a breath, giving students time to comprehend what was presented in front of them. "Our next unit will be looking deeper at the moon. More specifically, we'll be looking at both the sciency and non-sciency sides of this topic. And before anyone asks; no, you don't need to believe in astrology or superstitions to understand the non-sciency material. It's just very fascinating because it connects to many cultures." Your attention was now far away from Jay. You were enthusiastic about a topic for once in the class.

"And looks like we're running out of time." Your teacher's wrist clock blocking her eyes. "That's it for today's class everyone! I'll have your projects marked for next class, I promise! Have a good day." She said while shutting off the projector.

You slid all your handouts into your binder, not bothering to align the three-hole punches of the papers to their designated rings.

"Y/N before you go, do you mind helping out Jay? Today or tomorrow?" Your teacher stopped you on your way out.

"Like lend him my notes?"

"Yep! I just forgot to ask but he just left so you might be able to catch up to him. Maybe ask if he's got the notes yet."

You waved your goodbyes and chased the new boy down, his uniquely blonde hair standing out from the hallway of heads. You picked up the pace to catch up with his swift steps when you caught him chatting with Sunghoon and Jaeyun. Your feet froze straight down in their place.

Were they new friends? Or perhaps they were old friends?

You weren't going to bother talking to Jay as you already knew what kind of funny business would come up if you did. You could only watch them swing and lean their arms against each other in a close and friendly way. The picture was becoming more and more clear to you as to what kind of association Jay had with Sunghoon and Jaeyun perhaps even Heeseung, Sunoo or Jungwon.

...

You throw yourself violently over your thick mattress after finishing a long study and homework session at your dorm. The session wasn't productive but the time you spent surrounded by your schoolwork made it feel that way. Your dorm was awfully quiet that afternoon as your dormmates had music rehearsals for their extracurriculars. Nana had told you to come by the music rooms around a quarter past five when their practice was over to go down to the dining hall and have dinner but you couldn't think of a way to kill your remaining hour alone.

Phones were forbidden in your school and you often felt uncontrollably alone and bored with your thoughts during your free time. You could only lay tangled in your bed with your half progressed work in the corner of your eye. You shift on one side to watch your wide-open binder until you got some burst of motivation to finish studying until an idea hits you.

After eyeing your handouts from your astronomy class, you decide to hit the library and do some reading to get a little advanced in the class. Sure you could study for your other class but the sudden idea was far more worth your time in your mind. You quickly twirl out of your room, clearing your desk while you're at it. Excitedly, you hop into your shoes and head straight for the library. You were put in a good mood as you skipped along the long journey to the bookhouse.

The library was moderately packed as you don't bother to recognize any faces there. You get deja vu as you trail the same path you did when Sunghoon and Kyungeun were around. Sliding between the thin space between the bookshelves once again, you search for the section related to the moon, feeling dizzy at the sight of books your school owned. You could've made your life easier by asking the librarian but you were confident you could find it on your own. You move up and down the aisles as you catch a glimpse of theoretical and astrology related books that sit next to a couple of history books.

Backing up, you awkwardly bend your knees forward to get a better look at the small selection of books under the genre. You peel a random book spine out from its tight spot as if it had never been taken out before. You dust off the book a bit, reading the wordless cover and open it to check if it was really related to any sort of astronomy as you find a much stranger subject being discussed.

"Finding everything alright?" The librarian comes by, pushing a kart from the other end of the shelves. "I-I'm looking for books related to the moon." You say, standing up and forgetting you still had the old book in hand.

"The scientific information is just on the other side of this shelf but the section you were just looking at has some interesting stuff that might be related." The librarian stuffed herself in between the shelves to get toward you.

"Yeah, I noticed... This book I just picked up was talking about vampires." You laugh a little as you hold it up.

"Ah, that book..." She paused, snatching the book out of your hands to examine it, "I read this before... It relates to astrology. I think there are some parts of the book that go into detail about the moon, you should give it a read."

"Is this book just theoretical research about vampires though?" You were unconvinced with the idea.

"Yeah, real or not, our school grounds and the neighbouring town are talked about in the book. Apparently many years ago this place used to be a hotspot for vampires."  She looked you dead in the eyes.

"Do you think the information is true?" You questioned with deep curiosity upon her answer.

"Some information in there is haunting. I think vampires did exist." She said with some sort of distress beginning to seep into her face.

Shivers ran down your spine, if she was just trying to sell you the book, it was working damn well on you.

"I'll leave you be, no need to sign out the book, nobody ever takes it out so I trust you'll return it." And with that said, she left you cold with mystery as the book between your fingers stared at you with big round eyes.

You shake back to reality, checking your wrist just to find out your time has vanished. You shift your priorities to getting to the music department, throwing the book into your bag without much thought.

...

The sun was already going down around the afternoon as the days got shorter with autumn blossoming. You're standing between rooms full of beautiful voices and instruments, peering through every window attached to a door in an attempt to find your roommates. The issue was the widows didn't give much of a view as to who was in the rooms. But your ears were drawn to a gentle piano that played a bittersweet melody beneath the louder sounds of people singing in a harmonious glee. As you move in the forward direction of the hallway, the piano gets clearer to your ears. It became clear that the sound was coming out of a room with its door wide open. Your back attached it to the wall in fear of being seen as slide yourself until you meet the spine of the door where you could see into the shadowy room.

Your eyes lit up when they see a familiar platinum blondie behind the keys. The melody was enchanting and was played in such a personal way as the sounds escaped into the noisy environment where it hoped to go unheard. Jay had reached the final notes of his song as he turned his head in your direction. It was as if he knew of your present from the moment you started watching him from the doorway.

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Moonlight

Draco x Reader One-Shot

Summary: This is based off the song ‘Moonlight’ by Ariana Grande. During the bad times of War, not everything has to be so black-and-white. Both Y/N and Draco know it just too well.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: language 

tags: @drawlfoy @eltanin-malfoy

Composing yourself had been more than a hard thing to ask for lately.

The Death Eater had finally taken Hogwarts under their control; famous Harry Potter, who was allegedly supposed to play a hero, disappeared in the depth of the unknown; the plan of escaping the school turned out to be an utter failure since the Dementors encircled and blocked every passage of absconding, escalating the disappointment over students.

Yet you hadn't thought of the plan B as an alternative solution, but you were sure, even if you managed to find one, it might take a few more months to figure things out. And you had to admit that increasing anxiety about your parents made you cry yourself to sleep at night. Despite your insistent pleads of the letters to contact you, you hadn't received any response or other sign of life ever since over two months of a constant worry.

And yet, it wasn't the worst part.

The Carrows, who unwarrantedly preferred to call themselves professors Carrows from now on, had decided to introduce their new methods of teaching everyone. And punishing for any triviality.

Once, for example, in Charms class -- which was the worst nightmare of a week -- you had been asked to stand up in front of the class and demonstrate a Crucio curse on the First Year who happened to accidentally bump into Alecto in the corridor. Obviously, you hadn't obeyed an imposed task to which Carrows only reacted with unrestrained rage. Instead of punishing the eleven-year-old boy, the lesson had turned out to be your disciplining session of torture for not being submissive enough. Although the feat had brought you more renown later on, which served to make Carrows more flustered, you still couldn't get out of the Hospital Wing for whole three days.

All of that also led your Occulumency to suffer, which was doubling the struggle. There was for sure no doubt it was an important skill to have, not only to create a mental barrier protecting yourself from uninvited intruders; but also preventing others' thoughts from leaking into your head. It was already enough of bearing the non-stopping suspense in the air. So, the idea of accumulating more emotions on your account would probably navigate to an outburst.  

One thing, however, surprised you. You had found out that people who outwardly seemed to have quite a reputation of cruel tossers were actually more decent and human than you could think. In particular, certain Draco Malfoy, who had been selected as a Head Boy in terms of this year.

Wandering around the school and doing the night patrols, he had happened to find you sitting hunched over, face buried in your knees, and sobbing brokenly at the fate the Wizarding World was faced to deal with. He had flumped next to you, without question, silently accompanying and comforting you in moments of solitude.

Two other times of your encounter had been in the library: spotting you among the crowd of students, he would come over and take a nearby place. You didn't know whether it was a matter of pride or disposition, but he had never spoken up, which you, in fact, didn't mind. At first, you had been a little bit dubious about his sudden influx of approachability. However, as to mute your suspicions down, you tried not pondering about it too much.

Funny, how the real nature of the boy who you had known for a nonchalant sneer and teasing remarks, could suddenly become so interesting and mysterious.

It was on a Thursday late that you were strolling up to The Astronomy Tower to see the Thestrals soaring in the air. Normally, it was around the time when you would be putting yourself to the bed, but too many thoughts were buzzing in your mind, and you knew it wouldn't give you much space to sleep anyways. The only optimum, instead of staring aimlessly at the ceiling and flipping from one to the other side of the mattress, was busying yourself with something else. The lack of sleep was due to nothing else than today's lesson with Carrows. They had thought up an idea of having some practice with a Confrigo spell which, rather unfortunately, was presented on a living phantom. As always, a whole hour of torments was disastrous, to say at least, and even after classes, you couldn't shake off the echo of troubled screams and beggings, which carried over the petrified room of students. That's why you were thinking you could swallow your emotions down, quietly and undisturbedly, in the only place you could wish for some private space. Besides, it was the only spot resembling the old Hogwarts you had known from the previous years, showing the calming extent of green grounds.

However to your surprise, when you pushed the door to The Astronomy Tower, noiselessly, you could notice a silhouette of a man already standing at the barrier, which made you momentarily flabbergasted suddenly considering an option of running upon a teacher. To save yourself from much too unwanted detention, you decided to change your track, rushing straight into your dormitory. But almost as you succeeded doing so, in the last moment, a person shifted in their place and spoke up before you had room to move.

"Pretty late for a casual stroll, huh?" At once, a feeling of dread ebbed away, and you exhaled deeply air you didn't know you were holding as you recognized none other than Draco with his back turned towards you. His tone was as usually taunting, but something in a timbre of sadness was hitched to it as well. "Shouldn't be sneaking out of the room on the patroling hours, you know? I'm the least of who you could come upon today."

Your dignity told you to say something in order to defend your harmless saunter to calm down your nerves, which benefited only your mental account. However, he made a point -- you could have been caught not only by some random teacher but Currows themselves who, you were inexorably aware, wouldn't let a chance of dehumanizing others slip away. And besides, you were a little too dumbstruck to speak, realizing it must be the first time Draco fucking prince Malfoy had uttered more than a word to you. What was a coincidence of meeting up with him just on the same day as you had been wondering about your atypical relationship formed within this school year?

Before your contemplation ended, Draco's voice carried on with a conversation, echoing off the walls. "Care to join? Seeing as you're already here."

Frowning to yourself at how surreal the situation can become, you stepped off the stairs with no more hesitation. You truly wouldn't have suspected the things would turn out that way -- embracing his Head Boy position, you thought he would send you off back to the Hufflepuff Tower with his dismissive attitude as it usually was. Inviting you over to company him was a top cherry you hadn't even considered. Truthfully, it made you feel a little thrilled to accept this offer.

As you walked over to him, his facial features became much sharper than from afar. Now, as you looked at him closely, you could define the contours of his face were even more angelic yet still masculine than in daily light. The platonic hair glinted accordingly to the moon above; his blue eyes were focused on a black void in the sky, clearly pondering more than concentrating on a particular object; a mouth pursed into a line, not a mocking expression he was usually carrying himself with. Eyeing him like that and still not being capable of deciphering him suggested he must be someone between a completely unemotional git or an excellent master of Occulumency. You preferred to presume the second one.

Quickly, realizing you were staring, you turned your head to behold a collection of vivid stars hovering above your head. You knew it was only in the Wizarding World that sky flickered so brightly -- your father was a muggle, and a whole family dwelled among a non-magical society, which you didn't mind at all. And that's why you were able to recognize... differences existing between those two worlds.

"Why are you here?" you asked curiously, not quite capable of restraining yourself from doing so. You were standing close enough to him to smell his sandalwood cologne.

He gave you a perfunctory smile, and although it was a three-second gesture, it somehow made you lighter on the chest to know he was convenient with a conversation. "Needed someplace to think," he explained, not darting his eyes away from where he was looking. He took a pause there. "You?"

"The same reason," you answered simply, shrugging. "My roommates can be too loud sometimes, and I needed some silence to sort out...stuff."

Draco nodded in understanding, not interfering any further into the topic. Brushing your hair habitually with fingers, you scolded yourself for coming up here in the first place. How could you act so irresponsibly to think you could smoothly break a regulations' rule and without anyone finding out? Although you were desperate to hide it, the presence of Draco made you inexplicably nervous, and even though you tried to gulp it down, your stomach was churning when he was around. Time proved his intentions weren't bad after all, and you confronted with the truth ever since he first happened to find you at the moment of your meltdown in the corridor, clutching to him as if he was your sanity. But that didn't dispel your doubts about him becoming a fully active Death Eater, who praised with a Dark Mark on the left forearm like with a reward for some kind of acrobatic stunt.

Your gaze swept briefly over the rolled-up sleeves of his snow-white shirt only to assure yourself the mark didn't disappear off his arm with some help of the power of your imagination. Yet it was still there -- as always, tinted coal-black, scary and blood-curdling every time you looked at it.

That evidently didn't escape Draco's notice who, as though reading your mind, started. "You know, I didn't want this." He didn't have to show what he meant by saying so because you instantly figured it out. You looked up at him, and almost invisibly, his skin pale as it already was, changed even to the whiter shade. "He has bait on me. All of this: assassinating Dumbledore; obeying his will -- it's not because I want that."

The sudden shock welled up at these words, and you gawked at him stupidly, not quite able to process what he had just told you. Swallowing with some difficulty, you coerced yourself to a mutter. "Why... why are you telling me this?"

For the first time this night, his steely stare landed at you, scanning your face to detect signs of emotion. You attempted to conceal it, but he could see you were thunderstruck by his unexpected confession. Without preamble, he smiled slightly at you. "I thought you ought to know."

Ignoring the clenching in your chest, you did your best to not break eye contact with Draco when his eyes were intently locked on yours now. You could swear, something on the verge of interest and sympathy flickered in them for a second. "Why?"

"Because you're the only person who doesn't freak out when I'm around," he explained carefully. "Every time I go to the library or appear in any other public place, you're the only one who doesn't glare."

He closed his eyes, clearly relived with the fact he could confide the worries he had been carrying for a long time. Breathing out through the nose and his lips flinching a little, his head spun again to the blank of the sky.

It was a depressing sight to see him in such dejection, and the images of him being cast aside by his former group of friends with who he had been laughing merely a year ago rolled into your head, try as might to suppress it. You could only imagine what it must feel like to be rejected by everyone around; to play the main role in something you never wished to participate in.

For a moment, you thought he was going to continue because he grunted enigmatically, but the silence remained. Unable to restrain the urge to offer physical comfort, you affectionately grabbed his palm, squeezing it in the reassurance that you were there for him. He didn't attempt to break himself out of the grip, which presumably was a good indication.

"I believe you," you stated, for some reason, satisfied with the fact you're the one to comfort him. "You are a good person, Draco."

This time, it was he who clasped your hand, and he glimpsed at you once more, towering over you with his long legs. "No. In the past, things happened, and to say, I'm not proud of them. Jeering, mocking, insulting -- that wasn't fa-."

"Past is a past, Draco," you cut him off, knowing where it all was leading, and you wanted to bring it to an abrupt end. It was the least adequate moment for apologies. "You can't fix it. Good that you understand your mistakes by now."

He hummed in comprehension, smiling, and his grasp tightened around your palm as if you were about to run off from him, which he couldn't be more wrong about. Admitting to yourself, you loved his smile -- though it was seldom, it much differed from a smirk you were accustomed to at that point -- and you secretly hoped he could do it more often. You also loved that even if he didn't talk much, he was very successful in lifting you up.

Therefore, there you were: standing arm-to-arm with your ex-bully who you had happened to run across; observing the moon in its full exposure; holding hands in reassurance. Both of you clearly enjoyed this gratifying moment and were lingering towards it not to end.

"Thank you," Draco finally choked out. "Thank you for...everything."

Ultimately, smashing the wall of uncertainty down, he wrapped his arms around your neck, hunching a little to adjust to your height, and buried his face in the crook of your neck. At first, your body stiffened at the sudden touch and a skip of the boundary, but as not to agitate him, you adapted yourself soon enough by reciprocating the hug. You started to rub the slow, steady circles on his back, and little by little, he began stroking your hair, softly grazing your scalp.

How long you stood clinging to each other like this, you didn't know. Hearing Draco sigh quietly, feel the rise and fall of it against your hands. Your heart sunk when you heard him breathe out, and you prepared yourself for him to mix out of the embrace because of sudden consciousness he was cuddling with a half-blood Hufflepuff he had been mocking for half of a decade ('I should get going'; 'I didn't mean what I said earlier; 'leave me be, Y/S'). But none of this happened, and he was only murmuring into your ear.

"I presume I should escort you to the dormitory. I could tell you were the whole time with me so no one would get any suspicion if we run into...anyone," he offered, yet you felt him almost grimacing at the thought of ending a moment you were two having.

"Mhm..." you agreed with no more opposition. "But let's give it one more minute."

____________

A/N: This is so typical of me to do something other than what's necessary lmao ;) The second chapter of Summer Nights is almost up if anyone interested. As I think of it now, this one-shot gives me such a vibe of Loud Places/Turn. However, I hope you enjoyed it :) Oh, and I'm explaining the sudden change of schedule with posting: 1. I'm very irresposible; 2. I got the super inspo to scribble this one-shot. Hah, sorry...

[heyitsrcoor]

Meet-cute

Genre: Fluff, unrequited love, friends-to-lovers

Pairing: Day 6 Jae x Reader

Length: One-Shot

Meet-cute [noun] /ˈmiːtˌkjuːt/:

(in a movie, etc.) a humorous or interesting situation in which two people meet, that leads to them developing a romantic relationship with each other. (Cambridge Dictionary)

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: Absolutely Smitten (Dodie Clark)

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◄◄⠀▐▐ ⠀►►⠀⠀ ⠀ 1:17 / 3:48 ⠀ ───○ 🔊⠀ ᴴᴰ ⚙ ❐ ⊏⊐

•••

Your 12-hour shift at the hospital just ended. The census hasn’t gone down for days and while you’ve gotten so good at convincing yourself that you’re strong and resilient, you can feel the weariness seep in through your bones.

While walking to your apartment, you noticed that the bookstore on the corner of the street has finally opened its doors. A part of you wanted to walk past it, visit another day when you’re not wearing your nurse’s uniform, tired and sweaty. But the urge to scan the book selection was much stronger and so you find yourself pushing its glass doors. The bell chimes welcome you.

The warm lights and the smell of new books were enough to calm your weary soul. The bookstore was smaller compared to the well-known ones located at the malls, but it had the organic and cozy vibe of a library which you’re very much well pleased with. And the fact that it’s not crowded yet means you’ll be able to roam around freely.

You were feeling giddy when you finally reached the non-fiction section. Your eyes scanned each title, looking for any familiar ones that could be in your TBR list.

Finally, you see a white spine, “When Breath Becomes Air.” You grabbed for it hastily which caused the books beside it to topple down.

You bowed down to reach for the books but a hand beat you to it.

“Oh thank you.” You said as you stood upright. The person was really tall that you had to tilt your head a little bit to be able to see their face. You held your breath as you stood face-to-face with a handsome, bespectacled, human being.

“Was just looking for this.” He smiled as he held the book you accidentally dropped—Being Mortal by Atul Gawande.

You pretended to be cool about it like it’s not at all a big deal to meet your ideal guy (superficially speaking) in one of your most favorite places.

“Yeah? Sorry for accidentally pushing it to its death.” It sounded alright in your mind but having said it in words made you internally cringe.

He held the book and scanned it for dents. He shrugged, “Nah, it survived the fall—despite being mortal, oh God, that was so bad.” He let out a hearty laugh which you swore could melt an iceberg. “Anyway, thanks!” He smiles once more before turning his back.

Your heart deflated a little bit. Sharing a joke with a handsome stranger at the bookstore. Isn’t that the perfect recipe for a meet-cute? Except you’ll probably never meet again. Just another statistic of your “could-have-beens”.

Well, he could have asked for your name or YOU could have offered a book suggestion. Except he probably doesn’t find you attractive enough and you don’t have the guts to make the first move on a stranger.

You shrugged the thought away. Too much Kdramas and romcoms do screw your brain a little bit. You looked at your book once more. Right, maybe you should just fill your mind more with philosophies and thought-provoking stuff. Nonetheless, you can’t contain the smile forming on your face. Butterflies should stay in the gardens and not on your guts.

•••

When you said that book guy is just another statistic of a failed meet-cute, you were pleasantly surprised to find yourself wrong.

Two months later, you’re at a coffee shop waiting in line when you spot him sitting near the window.

He was wearing a white uniform, busy typing on the laptop in front of him. Unlike the scattered papers on his table, he looked serene. He adjusts his eyeglasses and you notice how slender and beautiful his fingers are.

“He’s a student.” You thought. Before you knew it, you started computing for your possible age gap. Given it has only been a year since you’ve graduated, 5 years would be the maximum gap if he’s a freshman. You cringed at the thought of dating someone younger. Moreover, you cringed at the thought that you’d actually date someone out of your league.

“Good morning! What’s your order?” The barista’s voice booms as if calling you out back to reality.

“Oh…yeah, uhh..” You proceeded to recite your order and another 5 orders of your co-nurses at SICU (Surgical Intensive Care Unit).

Waiting for your orders, you purposefully sat on a table that could give you the best vision of him in a very lowkey manner. Whatever that is.

You tried your best to be nonchalant but your eyes would subtly glance at him.

Oh wow, is that a great view from the window? You thought as you glide your eyes to where he was. To your surprise, he was looking at you too.

You dropped your gaze for a few seconds and looked up at him once again. He was smiling and your heart starts to palpitate.

Did he recognize you?

You watch him raise his hand, waving.

Entranced, you almost waved back but a person walks past you, her white skirt blocking your view of him. You watched her sit right in front of the book guy. Your book guy. She was wearing the same uniform as him. A classmate. A really pretty classmate.

You clenched your hand. You felt embarrassed, angry even. Angry at yourself for always expecting that someone would actually look at you. And stupid for thinking that meeting your soulmate would eventually be as exciting and memorable as the Kdramas.

The barista calls your name and you get up. You picked your orders and left without turning back.

•••

The thing about reality and romance is that not every encounter will be explosive. No, it won’t be as fast as love at first sight. Sometimes, love would come in the most mundane and gradual way possible.

A week later, you’d see book guy at your workplace. He’s one of the two med students on their clerkship assigned in your unit. He’d introduce himself as “Jae” and before you could do the same, he’d utter your name and everyone would be curious to know how you knew each other.

You’d dread the fact that he’d recognize your embarrassing moment at the coffee shop but he’d say that he actually recalls meeting you at the book store. And that he just read your name from your name tag.

Days, weeks passed.

Coincidence or not, your schedule would almost be the same and so you’d spend most of your shifts with Jae. You’d almost feel tired answering his seemingly endless questions.

You’d give him a heads up on what to expect on his first observation in the OR and he’d let you borrow a book in return.

You’d still catch yourself sneaking a glance at him but work would eventually drown his presence.

You’d sometimes spend your lunch together and you’d learn that you share the same taste of music and that he plays an instrument too.

You never seemed to run out of things to talk to and sometimes—a lot of times, you’d entertain that idea that he could actually like you.

But you knew that expectations lead to disappointments so you’d eventually settle your heart that whatever you had is just purely platonic friendship and you’d convince yourself that you are totally fine with that.

You thought that once he leaves your unit, whatever connection you had will mellow down. But then he asks for your number and his first text would be “Started benign in the morning, now I just assisted in delivering a baby. Is it normal to feel like crying?”

He’d send you memes about cats and your fave shows and soon you’d develop your inside jokes.

You tried your best to keep cool and ignore the butterflies but then something actually happens.

1 year later, he’d confess to you in the same coffee shop.

"I like you. I really like you." He said.

You’d be left speechless and be teary-eyed.

“How…? When?” You’d ask.

He said he could not forget how he was amused at your facial expression when you were picking your book at the bookstore. He said he would have stricken a longer conversation if not for his dad waiting on his car who was his ride at that time.

At the coffee shop, he noticed you while you recited the lengthy orders of your workmates and he was impressed.

He did smile at you but his classmate and partner in a school activity coincidentally arrived.

And no, he did not read your name tag. He knew about it when he heard the barista called you and he remembered.

When he saw the hospital he was interning at, he wondered if you’d be there. When he saw you at the unit he was first assigned at, his heart felt like it could jump out of his chest. He thought it was “fate” and it felt like fate because your schedules would usually coincide. He said knowing you more each day excites him and gives him joy. You were his kindred spirit and confidant. You just clicked.

And just like that, your unrequited-love streak comes to an end.

"Thank you." You answered and Jae's eyes started to quiver. He opens his mouth but no words came out.

Realizing your mistake you started to say sorry which made everything worse.

Jae forced himself to smile but you can see the pain in his eyes. He thought he was being rejected!

You took his right hand on the table and held it firmly. "I like you too, Jae."

His eyes widened and he started laughing.

"Oh God, I can't believe I'm capable of having 5 different kinds of emotions in less than 10 seconds."

"Cute," you muttered.

"Did you just call me cute!?"

You shook your head and smiled. "I mean... I guess you're my meet-cute after all."

-END-

[jawira707]

Miraculous Ladybug New York Special fanfic - On the Plane

Info: I read yesterday that some people wanted a sweet Adrinette fic, where they fall asleep next to each other on the plane like they did in the Startrain episode. So I hoped someone would write that. Then I thought, maybe I should write that. This is my first fanfic  in nearly one year I think, but why not, why not...I hope you like it! (Spoilers (even though no major spoilers) from the NY special!)

Word Count: 1462

Summary: Adrien had never fallen asleep on a plane, Plagg was on the Titanic and Mari had no earplugs with her...but luckily, they had each other.

Pairing: Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Warning: None

(Disclaimer: this fanfic is not sponsered by Air France, but I want them to know despite my critique they’re still 100 times better than American Airlines. Merci)

Title: On the plane

Adrien had never fallen asleep on a plane. No matter on how many trips he had gone, to the US, to Italy, even to Australia and China - mostly business related traveling in first class because his father insisted on that-, he just couldn’t get used to the dry air and the constant noise of the machine. He vividly remembered being scolded for not trying to rest and being too tired for shootings after they had landed, but luckily Gorilla didn’t care, absorbed in his own little word, listening to his meditation podcast, while Adrien kept moving around in his seat trying to find a more comfortable position. He was tired of scrolling through the entertainment program on his screen and additionally, he started to feel cold.

Looking around in the dark, he tried to find anyone that was not asleep, another classmate to talk to, but all the lights were out and he could hear snoring all around. I should have stayed in Paris, he thought guiltily, I should have convinced my father to let me stay. But how? Another voice in his hand, that suspiciously sounded like Plagg, replied. If Ladybug ever finds out, she would be so mad at him. Putting his head in his hands Adrien felt terribly alone, wishing once again his partner knew his real identity so he could explain to her why everything was so complicated at times.

„You’re here for Marinette and your friends too, remember“ The little whisper in his pocket really came from Plagg this time.

„Sorry, did I wake you up?“

„Sleeping with you is like being on the Titanic. And trust me I would know, because I was there! Do you ever sit still?“

„My leg has fallen asleep“

„I have never heard that human body parts sleep separately…“

„It’s just a saying Plagg“

„Well, then here’s another one. Stop worrying so much! Your friends are happy you came“

„You just want cheese and you know it“

„Sure. I live in France to go for cheese to the United States…“

„But you said-…“

„I want you to have some fun, kid, just relax!“

„I can’t“ Adrien gave back, tiredly. Finally giving up on trying, he stood up and started walking back and forth between the rows. The sun hadn’t risen yet and there were still hours to fly. Yay.

Suddenly he saw someone getting up a few rows in front of him. The person was stretching and didn’t seem to be headed to the bathroom or elsewhere. As he approached, he could already tell who it was. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, already not feeling that abandoned as he had a minute before. Maybe he could talk to her? He just had to be careful not to startle her.

„Hey, Marinette“ he called out quietly.

„Hi? Oh…WOAH…I mean, hi Adrien!“ Marinette nearly stumbled as she turned around quickly, her elbow accidentally making contact with her seat neighbor. Her face had turned the color of deep red, but luckily in the dark, no one noticed. „What are you doing here? I mean, it’s nice that you came, it’s not that I don’t want you here, I just-���

„I couldn’t sleep“ Adrien gently interrupted her nervous rambling. „Why are you up? You’re not feeling air sick, do you?“ He remembered her mentioning this earlier, but Marinette seemed confused.

„Me? Oh…no, it’s a…calm flight“

„I’m glad to hear that“

For a moment there just stood next to each other in silence and Adrien wondered if she wanted to sit down again and didn’t do so out of courtesy. „Well, if you would like to sleep some more…“, he started, but didn’t finish because she shook her head.

„No, at least not here, our principal is snoring like a champion.“

Adrien chuckled at this.

„Oh..Adrien?“ He nodded, wondering why she suddenly sounded concerned. „Sorry, but are you feeling air sick?“ She felt stupid for not asking – he always was so caring, complimenting her and asking how she was doing. Maybe he had walked here not to chat, but to consult one of their teachers which were sitting next to her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Next, she almost flinched away before she realized he had put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.

„Ah non. Thank you for asking. I’m used to flying, I just don’t like it. It’s loud and stuffed…I know, I sound like a spoiled child“ He chuckled again,making her heart flutter. „Normally, I fly in first class. I’m more chatty when I get tired.“

„Do you want me to come with you? I mean …sit next to you?“ Wait, did she really just asked him that?!

„That would be great.“

„Let’s go“ Wow, Marinette congratulated herself, maybe it was because she couldn’t really see Adrien’s face and his beautiful, wonderful green eyes in the dark or because she also was exhausted, but she was sure that these were the first coherent sentences she had spoken to him recently. And now he was holding…her hand!

„I will lead you, be careful, there’s a lot of backpacks and jackets lying around“ he told her and she couldn’t disagree with that logic. Nope, it made perfect sense...

As they reached the seats, Adrien sat down first and this time she joined him without any hesitation. „I still can’t believe you convinced my dad to let me come“ Adien started, making her blush.

„Yeah, me neither. But I guess, he realized how important it was to us“

„Oui“ He sounded happier now. „Do you want to play a game?“

„Huh?“

Adrien turned on his screen again. „There’s not a huge selection but there are some quiz games on here…alone it’s boring, but maybe it’s more fun playing together“

„Yes“

Marinette had no clue what he was talking about, but a few minutes later they both tried to answer questions of different categories as quickly as possible.

„Wow, I’m dumb“ Adrien said after the first round. „I have only 4/10 correct answers in the geography section“

„Geography is hard“ she reassured him.

„But I selected France, Paris as the main category“ And then she laughed and he laughed too.

„Well, Monsieur Agreste“ she teased him, again surprised about her sudden boldness, „I guess you have no clue where you’re living“

„True, I have not seen so much of Paris after all, haven’t I? If there was a category „My room“ I would win for sure!“ He kept on laughing, but Marinette realized she needed to change the subject.

„Let’s play this word game…it’s in English though“ „Fine, we should practice anyway“

It turned out Marinette excelled in this game and nearly found all the hidden words. „Can you find another one…one is still missing?“ As he didn’t answer, she turned towards him, realizing he was about to fall asleep, his eyes closed and him leaning back into his seat. „Okay... good night, Adrien“

She smiled and thought about getting up but just then the boy unconsciously moved his leg in front of hers. It’s not so bad, being small after all, she thought. All the tall boys had to be much more uncomfortable in the small space than she was. If she got up now, there was a chance she would wake him up. „Mari…?“ Speaking of which…

“Adrien?“ He didn’t seem to be fully awake, murmuring something unintelligibly.

"What?“

„Stay“

Oh…my…

“Please“ he whispered and she felt his weight against her side. He wasn’t heavy and apparently longing for contact, instead of actually falling asleep on her. His little „please“ moved something inside her and she placed his hand on his arm.

„Shh…“

She couldn’t think too much about this, she realized.Therefore she closed her eyes as well, leaning into him as if to hide away from all her fear, her awkwardness and no matter how little sense that made, it worked. Adrien rested his chin on her head, her ear close to his chest, so that she now heard his steady and slow breathing. He felt so much better and warmer with Marinette in his arms.

The motor noises were still just as loud and the air just as dry, but there were by themselves in their little world, blocking out everything around them.

The little timer for the game on the screen showed 0:00 seconds and the score was displayed „You found 9/10 hidden words“ it read. The 10th word is „solace“.” Then after a few moments the screen got dark automatically, because no one had restarted the game.

Adrien shifted in his seat, pulling Marinette closer to him, sighing contently as he felt her wrapping her arms around his waist.

At the same moment, in a different time zone, the sun started rising in Paris.

And Adrien Agreste was finally asleep.

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

Thank you for reading! I’m always happy about reviews, here some little things that didn’t make it into the story:

- Marinette sitting on Adrien’s chocolate bar he placed on the seat next to him instead of eating it

- Plagg nearly getting stuck in the ventilation (a drama, really)

- Adrien and Mari sharing headphones to listen to music on the plane (classic to fall asleep or Jagged Stone to have themselves their own little party, your choice)

I hope you like this little story =)

[lu-undy]

Coffee shop AU? Where Lu works as a bartista and Mundy visits that specific shop religiously just to get a glimpse of Lu. They talked a few times before, so one day Mundy decides to try and ask him out, but Lu being so observant already knew and requited his feelings. They have a lil' date right after ^^

Here we go for coffee shop AU :D !

"Ugh… What a mornin'…"

It had been Mundy's first day at his new job and he already felt overwhelmed. It wasn't the job itself that was causing his headache, but the number of people surrounding him. Despite having an office job where the telephone barely rang, his colleagues had turned out to compensate with a lot of chats here and there. 

Mundy much preferred working undisturbed, with a bit of music or radio, but no other human to answer to. Each time he had to raise his head to answer whoever entered his office, he felt annoyed as they cut his pace and task always at an odd time. 

But his shift was done and now, Mundy was after some peace and maybe some paracetamol. 

He walked along the streets when a small shop caught his attention. It was relatively new in town and it had to be the smallest coffee shop he had ever seen. However, it looked fantastically modern and very nicely decorated. Mundy's eyes lingered inside and realised there was no one. He read the name of the shop, written in black cursive letters: Chez Lucien. 

[At Lucien's.]

Mundy passed the shop and went straight back home. 

Time passed and the days flew. Mundy had managed to work only morning shifts which he noticed were usually a bit more calm in terms of the number of people bothering him. It proved to make him all the more efficient. That end of the morning, as he passed in front of the coffee shop, he decided he could do with a well earned cup. 

He pushed the door and a gentle jingle tickled his ears before the faint accordion music did. The shop was as small as it looked from the outside and as Mundy scanned the inside, there was no one else. He sat at the counter and waited when a man appeared. 

He looked older than Mundy as his salt and pepper temples and front lock of hair betrayed his age. He was wearing a white shirt and Burgundy vest and trousers. On top of them was a black apron with the name of the shop in cursive white letters. 

"Good morning."

"Hey there, uh, can I get a black coffee please?" 

"If you were to get it, then I should give you my apron." The coffee shop worker answered with a smile. 

"What?" Mundy raised a confused and surprised eyebrow as the man had spoken with a foreign accent.

"My apologies, it was only a joke. What you mean is 'May I have a coffee please?', not 'Can I get a coffee please?'. What kind?" 

Mundy was still confused but he answered. 

"B-black, no sugar, and large please." 

"But of course. What blend of beans would suit you best? You have the selection of the month on the menu in front of you."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped. It was the first time he was asked about that…

"I will let you choose. Just call for me whenever you are ready." 

"Okay…" 

The waiter disappeared in the back while Mundy studied the menu. There were a dozen or so blends of beans with their origins and a description associated with each one. It took him a couple minutes to go through all of them but in the end, he was still clueless…

"S'cuse me?" 

After a few footsteps, the man with the salt and pepper hair re-appeared. 

"Oui? You have made your mind I suppose?" 

"Uh, not really…"

"May I help?" 

There was something inviting in those very light blue eyes of his that made Mundy yield, where he would have normally just refused and exited the place. 

"Yeah, please."

"What mood are you in right now? Are you looking to get some strength to bite in the day or…?"

"N-no actually I've just come out of work and wanted to relax a bit." 

"Ah, then I know what you just need. Do you trust me?" 

Mundy flicked his eyes from the menu up to the man's eyes. 

"Yeah, go ahead."

The coffee shop waiter got to work as he talked. 

"Thank you."

"No worries."

"And sorry if I come across as a bit… different." He added. 

Mundy smiled to himself. People used to call him different too. 

"You see, the mistakes you made while asking me for a coffee are very common and come from how Americans have spread their mistakes through their cultural influence. If you were to 'get' a coffee, that originally means that you make it, as opposed to receiving it from someone else. As for the second mistake, it is very very common too. People tend to forget the difference between 'can' and 'may'." 

Mundy stared at the busy man. 

"But enough with my grammar lesson when I can barely speak your language." He turned to face Mundy. "Here is your coffee, bon appétit." 

"Uh, 'scuse me?" 

"Oui?" 

[Yes?]

"Can I smoke here? I mean…" Mundy thought again.  "May I smoke here?" 

The man in the apron smiled. 

"I see you learn fast. Oui, you may smoke." He answered before disappearing through the back door.

Mundy was left to enjoy his coffee and cigarette in the small shop, accompanied by the faint radio tune that was broadcasting some accordion, and surrounded by no other living soul than those of the plants around him. He liked it in there. It was peaceful and the right volume of ambient noise. 

He took the first sip of his coffee and nodded to himself. It was good, very good. It almost tasted sweet despite it not having a single gram of sugar. The warmth of it soothed him too and his shoulders sank as he relaxed. Yes, the man was right, it was just what he had needed. 

And it became a habit. Every other day, Mundy would stop on his way back home to have a cup of coffee at that odd, off-brand little coffee shop. There were more clients too but it was mostly to have a take away.

"So, uh, what's your name?" Mundy asked.

"The one written on the front window." 

"Lucien?" 

"Oui." Lucien nodded with a smile. "And your pronunciation is quite good."

"Oh, how d'you say it?"

"Lucien." Lucien said it a bit slower. 

"Lucien?"

"Oui! You have it!"

"Ah, nice."

"What's yours?"

"Mundy." 

"Exotic."

"So is yours." Mundy answered and they exchanged a smile. "So you're Italian or something?" 

"Non, I am French." 

"Oh, explains the music…" Mundy said and Lucien chuckled. "I didn't know the French were big on their coffee." 

"Almost as much as the British are on their tea but we failed to market it as well as the Italians." Lucien answered, wiping the counter clean.

They were alone in the shop for a while. Lucien noticed that Mundy came more frequently and stayed longer. If at first he would leave him to drink his coffee alone, he wanted to have a chat and know more about his first regular client. 

"Do you work only in the mornings?" 

"Yeah, better that way."

"Lucky you."

Mundy raised his eyes. 

"Although to be honest I don't have many people coming into my shop. If I closed the afternoons, it wouldn't make a big difference. It has been a few months that I have started this business but I haven't met the success that I had expected."

The Aussie heard the disappointment in Lucien's voice.

"You thought you'd have a lot more clients?"

"Not a lot. I don't want a lot of people. I don't want people to order coffee from me if they don't know how to savour and appreciate it down to its nuances. But I had hoped that a few connaisseurs would be attracted."

"Ah sorry mate… You should have gone to the posh district. They'd love it." Mundy thought about some of his work colleagues who came from there. And he had an idea. 

"D'you work tomorrow, Lucien?"

"Oui, I do."

"Right, you might have more people coming."

"I hope so." 

Lucien thought it was only words of encouragement but Mundy had meant it otherwise. The next day, a lot more people showed up. Lucien was almost overwhelmed, the number of clients grew to a point where he really felt the weight at rush hour in the morning in particular. 

"Bonjour Mundy, the usual?" 

"Yeah, I wouldn't be against something a bit stronger, y'know, to go with the weather." 

Lucien's eyes went to the front window and indeed the sun was beaming beautifully.

"Fine, give me only an instant." 

"You're the boss!" Mundy answered and he watched as Lucien started the preparation of his coffee. 

They had a routine now. Mundy's usual was whatever Lucien chose for him. He would come in, tell his friend about his state of mind and Lucien never failed to nail the best of coffee blends for him. 

"How come you always know what coffee to make when I tell you how I feel?" He asked. 

"Ah, experience, mon ami." Lucien answered. "Experience and a bit of empathy I suppose. Here, enjoy." 

[My friend]

Mundy took the cup and a sip. 

"Oh, that's a fruity one… It's almost as if you mixed some fruits in there!" 

"Experience, empathy, and your exceptional sense of taste too." Lucien answered. 

Mundy raised his eyes and blushed when his gaze crossed the Frenchman's. 

"I wouldn't be able to give you the coffee you need if you weren't able to appreciate it." 

"I-I guess, yeah." 

Their chat was interrupted when a lady entered. 

"Bonjour Madame, how may I help?"

"Mundy?" She started and the Aussie turned to face her.

"Oh, Emma, hey, finished early today?" He recognised her from work. 

"No, silly, it's already five in the afternoon. You daydream too much!" She joked and his eyes snapped to the size of planets. 

Already five?! He had been there for hours without realising it!

"Uh, can I get your fruity mix, with one sugar please."

"As a take-away?" Lucien guessed at how she seemed in a rush. 

"Yeah, please, and make it large too." 

"Très bien."

[Very well.]

Lucien got busy but his ears were still on Mundy and Emma's conversation. 

"What are you doing here in a coffee shop on your own, M?"

"I, uh…" Mundy did not know what he was doing there and why he had stayed so long… But something came to his mind. "Actually it's wrong."

"What?" Emma asked. 

"What you said, it's wrong. You shouldn't say 'can I get you fruity mix', but 'may I have your fruity mix'."

Lucien, who had his back to them, stopped sharp. 

"What are you on about?" Emma chuckled. 

"Think about it! When you get some coffee, that means you make it, not that you receive it." 

"Pfff, you're a weirdo, M…" She chuckled.

Lucien turned and put the cup on the counter. Emma paid for it and left, leaving Mundy and Lucien alone, at the counter. 

"I…" Lucien started. "You remembered what I had said about the grammar?" 

"It makes sense." Mundy answered. 

"I am sorry that your friend does not see it that way." 

"Bah, none of them do." Mundy answered, lowering his head to his cup. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I… I've never been good with people. I've never had many friends. I'm just awkward and most of the time, they say exactly what she did: I'm a weirdo."

Lucien heard the slight distress.

"You have me. I am your friend." 

Mundy raised his eyes. 

"And I am sure that you thought I was a weirdo when we first met." Lucien added. "I saw it on your face." 

"Nah, you're not-"

"No need to try and lie to me." Lucien chuckled. "I read you like an open book, as we say in French."

"Lucien?" 

"Oui?" 

"Do you have friends here?" 

Surprise flashed quickly across the Frenchman's face but it disappeared as soon as it had first come.

"Non, no one apart from you. I used to work in France and decided to leave and start a new life with what little money I managed to save throughout my life." 

"Oh… What about family and friends? They're still in France then?" 

"Non, I don't have friends per se and I don't have any family left." 

"Oh, wow… I'm sorry to hear that." 

"Don't be, you or I have nothing to do with it. It just is that way." 

"What was your job before? You were selling coffee too?" 

"Non, I had a different position. But I would rather not talk about any of this too much, if you don't mind." 

"Oh, sorry, yeah, o'course." Mundy realised that he might have struck a nerve with his questions.

"What about you? You said you had no friends, but I refuse to think that such a nice man as you are is lonely.

"Well, thanks, but uh, yeah, I have colleagues at best, but no friends. They all grew up and flew different ways, starting their families a good decade ago at least now." 

"And you haven't?" 

Mundy lowered his head. 

"N-no… Mum and Dad would have loved it for me, but no. I haven't found the right person yet." 

"Fair enough." 

"But you," Mundy raised his head to Lucien, "You're French and classy n'all…" 

The Frenchman chuckled as he turned to start tidying up. The sun was gently setting in the distance. 

"Oui, I have had quite a lot of success before." 

"Before what?" 

"A long time ago." He simply answered and took the dirty cups to the other room behind the shop. He appeared again and saw Mundy staring at him. "I apologise. I am not used to talking about myself." 

"Me neither, mate. But I like listening to you." 

Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy and saw a warm smile. 

"What do you say to continuing this conversation over some dinner?" He suggested to his Aussie friend. 

"O-oh, uh, where?" 

Lucien removed his apron and neatly folded it before storing it in one of the cupboards under the counter. 

"Wherever you want. I haven't tried any place here yet. Would you be so kind as to be my guide?" 

Mundy felt warm and fuzzy. His heart woke up and he could feel his cheeks turn pink.

"Sure, yeah." 

They exited the coffee shop together and soon found themselves in an Italian restaurant. 

"Mundy?" 

"Yeah?"

"I must thank you."

"Why?"

"Since the day you hoped for me to get more clients, it is as if God heard you and people started coming. I would see a lot of new faces, some I would see only once. But some would come back from time to time. Your prayer has been more than heard." 

"Ah, well, I just, I just talked about you at work." 

Lucien raised his head off the menu. 

"Really?" Seeing how shy and clumsy had been with Emma, Lucien couldn't imagine how he had talked about his coffee shop to other people. 

"Yeah, I thought it might help."

"And it did, greatly! It is very kind of you, thanks." 

Mundy was delighted to see his friend smile. He even saw a bit of his pearly white teeth. Lucien was handsome… Oh! Mundy shook his head and hid himself behind the menu, one hand clenching on the fork he was fiddling with. 

"Hey…" 

Mundy's head slowly rose from behind the menu. 

"I think you are as shy as I find it endearing, so please…" 

Mundy's eyes were open wide. 

"... Let me be your friend, maybe?" Lucien asked, his right hand hanging over the table for Mundy to shake. 

The Aussie's eyes darted from Lucien's eyes to his hand. He eventually lowered the menu completely and shook Lucien's hand. 

"Oh…?" Mundy's eyes went down to his fingers.

Lucien did not let go of Mundy's hand, not for years.

[chelsfic]

Part 4 - Trustfall - August Walker/Reader - Mission: Impossible Fallout fanfic

A/N: I’m not sure if this is quite the tone I was going for, but almost every time I set out to write something it turns out differently than I originally intended. For better or worse! I really hope you enjoy this little chapter. There’s action and angst to come in the next part!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

You wake the next morning with all the awkwardness and mortification it is possible to feel. Your arms are twined around August’s middle and your bad leg is screaming from being folded underneath you all night. There is an unmistakable drool spot on August’s t-shirt that you are choosing to ignore. 

To you, August seems just as cool and collected as always. He stretches, reaching his arms over his head, deliciously exposing a few inches of his stomach as his shirt hitches up. You don’t notice. His eyes flick to the clock on the wall and he huffs a resigned breath before violently cracking his neck. The blatant masculinity is positively overwhelming.

You clear your throat, “Uh...sorry about that. I didn’t mean to fall asleep here...with you.”

You slowly unfold your leg and hiss against the pins and needles, the painfully cramped muscles. August watches you with an inscrutable expression.

He grunts a noncommittal response, effectively ignoring your poor attempt to address the sudden, confusing intimacy of the previous night. You look back at him, at his unreadable face and realize, with a sinking stomach, that he plans to just pretend it never happened. 

He observes your nervousness with cool calculation. At least that’s how it seems to your eyes. You can’t possibly know that his thoughts are racing. That he’s recalling, relishing the feel of your small body pressed against him, the perfect trust that seemed to exist between you when your eyes drifted shut and you slept without a thought for the locked door that stood between you every night prior to last night. 

“Alright, then,” you chirp, needing to fill the silence. “I’m gonna jump in the shower…”

You trail off. As August shifts forward in his seat to stand up he lets his hand just graze over your shoulder in a comforting caress. It’s there and gone before you have time to process it. But it was definitely there. 

Maybe he wasn’t going to pretend last night didn’t happen.

***

In the days that follow neither of you brings up the strange night you spent holding one another. But the magic of that twilight hour seems to have had a healing effect. The air in the house is lighter. You feel the easing of the tension you’ve been unconsciously carrying around in your shoulders. And there are the touches. It feels natural. Right. That night had unlocked an intimacy between you that wasn’t quite forgiveness. It was more like an acknowledgement of things to come, of the possibility of things. 

Your fingers sliding together as he passes you a soapy plate to dry. The brush of your fingertips along the nape of his neck when you pass him sitting in the living room. And one night when he returns home very late with a blackened eye and a cut over his eyebrow. He walks through the front door and makes a beeline for you, sitting on the couch in the living room. He kneels before you on the floor and winds his strong arms around your waist, pressing his face into your soft stomach. You move your hands in soothing circles over his trembling shoulders. 

Things are...changing. And you want them to. You find yourself looking forward to seeing August at the end of the work day. Driving home with a smile on your face. And you worry when he stays out late...working. You feel the blossoming of possibility between you and you can see in his eyes and feel it in his touch, that he feels it too.

Of course things are bound to go wrong.

***

You’re running late, you don’t even have time to shower properly. You just stick your head under the shower spray to wet it and then throw your hair in a bun. Better than nothing. As you’re rushing out the door you hear August’s quick steps on the stairs. By now you realize he only makes noise when he wants you to know he’s there. Otherwise he’s capable of moving with ghostly silence.

“Y/N,” he calls, “you’ll be home late tonight, right?”

He’s dressed in a crisp button-down shirt and dark grey trousers. He must have business today. When he’s staying in he tends to dress down in denim and t-shirts or sweaters. At first you had found the sight of him in casual wear to be jarring--now it is the other way around. When he’s dressed for business you know there is the possibility of danger. You feel your heart in your throat at the idea of August being hurt and you wonder when that started, feeling protective of him.

“Yeah,” you reply, pushing away the question you have no answer for, “it’s my book club night tonight. I’ll be home around nine-ish.”

“See you then,” he says and takes a step toward you before stopping himself. 

You stand there for an extra beat, feeling like he’s left something hanging in the air between you. Finally you offer him a half-smile and wave goodbye as you walk out the door.

Stupid, he thinks to himself. What is he thinking? That he’s your husband, hugging you before you leave for work? This situation was getting confusing and he didn’t have time today to be distracted by feelings that would be better off ignored.

He needs to think over his plans for the day, the night. He’s arranged for a meeting between two clients, money for information. Simple. The buyer is most certainly a Russian SVR operative although he is representing himself as a businessman in need of insider intel. The seller, whom August will be representing, is some low-level DOD engineer looking to live dangerously. August will be taking a substantial finder’s fee from the deal which he’s arranged for this evening in the house. It isn’t ideal, but the original location he’d selected had spooked the Russian. So, this is his alternative. And it will be fine. It’s a one-time thing and it will all be fine. As long as he is certain that Y/N will arrive home well after his client departs.

***

“So, on a scale of one to dead how much trouble would I be in if I didn’t finish the book for book club tonight?”

You’re perched on the edge of your friend Jen’s desk wearing a sheepish expression. Jen’s classroom is next door to yours. You both started teaching in the same year and had naturally become fast friends. It is a little comical given how different you are. Jen is a garrulous, spiritual star-girl who spends her weekends at psychic fairs and you are a snarky, introvert with a natural skepticism for anything that can’t be verified in a double-blind study. There is just something inherently compatible and complementary between you that makes the friendship work. You suppose it’s a sense of humor and the fact that Jen never really pushes too hard to break into your personal space. Other than constantly bemoaning your lack of a dating life.

Jen laughs at your comically shamed expression and shakes her head in mock disgust, “Y/N...this is like the third month in a row you’ve asked me that question.”

“Hey! At least part of that time I was in the hospital. You know I’m going to milk that excuse for as long as I can,” you reply. You really enjoy being in the book club--it’s just Jen and a couple other teachers and it pretty much comprises the entirety of your social life since well before the shooting. 

As far as Jen and the rest of your coworkers know you were in a bad car accident. The lie has become easier for you to accept with time. Now you can joke about it.

“Mmm...no, sorry that’s not gonna cut it anymore,” Jen scoffs. “But...you’re actually off the hook because it turns out that Maddy and Lisa both had to cancel tonight, anyway.”

You raise your hands in mock victory, “Just as I planned all along!”

Jen rolls her eyes, “You want to go out for dinner at Zorba’s anyway?”

“Nope!” you chirp. “Canceled plans? I fully intend to go home and finish this damn book.”

“Uh huh,” Jen’s voice is laced with skepticism. “Don’t think I don’t know the real reason you haven’t finished it. You have a secret boyfriend, don’t you? It’s the surgeon who fixed your leg! You’ve fallen in love and are going to get married and have little surgeon babies!”

“Good grief! Next book is going to be strictly non-romance! You’re delirious!” 

You walk toward the door that adjoins your two classrooms and force a laugh as you wave goodbye. You can’t help it. The little stutter you feel in your heart at Jen’s words. It’s ridiculous because August is basically a scoundrel despite how nice he’s been acting to you lately. But you can’t lie to yourself. You’re happy to be going straight home after work instead of heading to bookclub. In fact the little bubble of happy anticipation in your chest floats you through your day until you’re once again driving home with a goofy smile on your face looking forward to seeing the man who has somehow, incredibly, managed to carve out a place in your heart.

Tags:

@thorins-queen-of-erebor @viking-raider  @onceuponathreetwoone @angelic-kisses13 @afangirldaydreams @peeyewpeeyew @calwitch @scuzmunkie @amy-choices​

[joy1579]

Retrouvailles (part 2)

Jumin x MC fanfic (1122 words)

Part 1

over all summary: MC is the Singer at her Family’s wine bar called “retrouvailles”. Jumin Han corporate heir has fallen for her voice and decided to pursue a relationship with the Jazz and swing singer despite his usual distaste for romance. they face the challenges of press interference and hearsay, as they explore the waters of new romance.

Chapter summary: Jumin and MC have arranged to meet for a non-date to discuss the possibility of a future date. MC explains her concerns and Jumin see’s a softer and more genuine side of her. one he hopes to see more of. 

Retrouvallies feature song presentation: lady armstong cover of Mr. Brightside

authors note: sorry its short and not much happens >.< i really think its important that MC explain her fears and that Jumin hear her reasons for wanting to keep everything on the DL also like i got really lost in Jumin just experiencing a younger and more lively crowd since its not his normal scene, also i hope y’all are enjoying reading this even a quarter as much as i enjoy writing it. I’m sure i look crazy speaking MC’s lines to myself as i drive in my car alone to work but its fun.  oh also the name of the bar is a french term that refers to the feeling of reuniting with a loved one after a long time and is directly translated to reunion. IDK it just seemed classy and feel good.

Retrouvailles was far busier on Fridays than Jumin was used to. Absent where the familiar faces of the regulars that came to enjoy MC’s singing, replaced instead by a slightly younger crowd eager to celebrate yet another work week passed. For all the class it held it was easy on weekdays to forget that Retrouvailles was still a bar that come weekend, it’s nights would be filled with a slightly more wild clientele focused more on venting the weeks frustrations than winding down quietly. if he were being honest he would say he preferred the more relaxed Thursday crowd of familiar strangers, he had never seen eye to eye with people who worked to live rather than lived to work after all. The raucous chatter aggravated a headache that had started from a difficult business deal only an hour previous. He raised his hand to rub at his temple when a waitress approached him.

“Mr.Han? if you don’t mind MC has actually saved you a booth I could take you there if you like.” Jumin felt the smallest hint of joy bubble with in him at the thought that MC had set aside space for him, he wondered absently if she had made the arrangements to secure them a quiet area so they could talk. He nodded politely as the waitress led him to a booth just to the side of the stage tucked away from the bulk of the crowd. She had thought of everything it seemed as he spied a dark bottle of wine already chilling in an ice bucket ready to be served.  

As he sat, the waitress poured his glass of wine and spoke gently “MC has selected a Douro red port for this evening and she asked me to tell you that she will join you after the show begins if you don’t mind waiting.”

“of course thank you for showing me over” he could see the waitress blush a bit and absently wondered what MC would look like blushing like that. He shook his head slightly to refocus himself and sipped his glass as he watched the crowd from afar. Soon enough the music began and he shifted his focus to the stage. MC was not singing tonight he knew but Retrouvailles was known for its live music every night and apart of him was curious as to who could take MC’s place on such a big night. They called themselves The Lady Armstrongs and they were good, but he missed the smoky velvet that was MC’s signature.

Half way through the second song he heard a familiar voice just behind him. “miss me already? You look a little bored.” She teased her voice cutting through the sound of the bar to ring clear in his ears.

“I’ll admit it’s nice to hear your voice again”

“carful now Jumin or that silver tongue is gonna get you in trouble”

“oh really” he countered in the same teasing cadence “it’s served me well so far” she chuckled and the sound of her laugh rolled over him like gentle waves.

“you certainly are confident” there was no bite in her words he noted, as she sat down.

“I see no reason not to be” he replied, and it was true he knew his worth, his strengths and weaknesses, he had come to terms with them all and found no point in playing at insecurity.

“good point.” She laughed resting her forearms on the table between them leaning forward slightly to begin pouring herself a glass of wine “oh! I see you’ve already tasted the wine do you like it? You seemed to enjoy your port yesterday and I know this is supposed to be one of the best of its vintage”

“it’s exquisite, thank you” he smiles lifting his glass in a casual toast before she took her first sip of wine.

“Good” she sighs, a bit of nervous tension relieved at his words “ah I um I thought about your, offer”

“and your decision?”

“surely you must know that a relationship with you comes with a lot of baggage” she sipped nervously at her wine eye’s locked on the table between him.

“baggage?” he prompted. If this was a rejection he would make her say it clearly, he deserved that much at least. She was watching the wine swirl in her glass as a means to avoid his gaze which was locked on her.

“I’m not a media darling, Jumin. I like the spotlight but only when I sing. I’m worried about what would happen if word got out that you were dating me. What happens to C&R or Retrouvailles? As much as I’d like to pretend that it would all be sunshine and daffodils, I know better.”

“so your saying no?” he asked. He understood her hesitance, she was right about the media complicating things. He had seen it with his father far too many times when his father would fall for women who were using him they would twist the media to suit their purposes. A story leaked here a picture spread there, a scandal rarely affected C&R too much, but Retrouvailles was small and a scandal could put them out of business. Still he had to fight the disappointment in his voice as he tried to make himself the impassive emotionless man so many claimed him to be. He could tell by the look in MC’s eye’s he had failed though.

“that’s just it, I don’t want to say no.” it was then that she finally locked eyes with him and suddenly her cheeks were a ruddy red but her hand was on his trying to keep him from pulling away as he had been about to do. “what I want to say is, can we get to know each other privately? I mean would you mind terribly if we kept our names out of the papers?” something in her tone felt so raw he knew there was no way he could refuse her even if he wanted to.

“I wouldn’t mind at all” he could see her shoulder sag and hear the smile in her voice when she spoke again.

“thank you” he wasn’t sure he had ever heard someone sound so genuine in his life. Later if he was asked when he truly fell for her, he would cite this moment. The genuine smile and gratitude she offered him for something so immaterial and inconsequential wrapped his hear in emotion before he could even decipher its meaning. He could feel her hand still on some part of him registered the smile that crept on his face without his permission. Had he ever struggled not to smile before her? He didn’t think so.

[ill-will-editions]

QUARANTINE LETTER #6: Empty Plazas

Dear Friends,   

I’ve been inspired by letters circulated recently by Ill Will Editions, which have offered a helpful window for thinking through the current global pandemic. Reading them, it struck me that several have circled around something like a disjunction or asymmetry between two distinct yet overlapping lines of thought: on one hand, there is the understandable fear that the forms of social control presently implemented will be sustained beyond the pandemic (not unlike they were after 9-11), a concern that directs our attention to state power; on the other hand, there is the disruptive force of the virus itself, like a  non-human agency conducting itself across us, and operating beneath and beyond the waves of governmental and economic measures by means of which the elites in the political class scramble to maintain an increasingly tenuous veneer control and authority. Orion addressed the latter in his letter when he described the virus as a power that has “constructed its own temporality, which immobilizes everything,” a power “capable of extending beyond what the insurrections proved incapable of doing, and actually shutting down the economy.” Two types of agency, two asymmetrical lines of force—how are we to parse their peculiar overlap in this moment, those of us who have never been friends of their ‘normal time’? 

I write to you now from Chile, a place that has been in a state of unrest since October of last year. As it happens, the pandemic’s arrival within the context of an unfolding insurrection provides a moment to  reflect on the modalities of crisis politics and control in the current moment.

Our situation might appear quite the same as anywhere else these days: the Chilean government followed the example of governments around the globe, declaring a national emergency in response to the COVID-19 pandemic. In point of fact, this most recent state of exception is the third that the government has declared in the past decade, since it follows not only the uprising this past October, but also the catastrophic earthquake of 2010. In each of these cases, the maintenance of public order was handed over to the military, which did not hesitate to implement nightly curfews and military checkpoints  restricting and surveying movement. 

Have we shifted from one form of upheaval to another? If so, the relevant distinction would not be between normal and exceptional states, between the rule of law and emergency measures, but rather, in this shift, who is in control over the territory, and how are we inhabiting it? Under what conditions can this question no longer be answered? If it is possible to assess continuity and divergence in our present moment in Chile, one can do so only by looking at the experience of, and contestation over, collectively inhabited territory.  I’d like to share with you a few examples of such experiences, through several portraits of everyday life that capture the myriad of ways people and institutions have responded to the COVID pandemic amidst contestations over territory. 

Variable Enforcement 

On March 15th, 2019, in a televised, national press conference, the Chilean Board of Medicine (colegio de médicos) criticized the current Ministry of Health for improperly implementing its protocols. Since the government was failing to control the outbreak that started in Santiago, they asked everyone in the city to begin a full 14-day quarantine: no work, no school, no leaving the house. Many in the city followed this quarantine—bars and nightclubs owners closed their businesses in the name of social responsibility, and mall employees staged walk-outs and went on strike until the city closed the shopping malls.

It wasn’t until March 20th that the Chilean government finally implemented quarantine measures in Santiago, including full quarantine in territories with high rates of COVID-19, such as the rich neighborhoods of Santiago and the city’s downtown. Those who live inside the quarantine zone must now fill out a form on the police department’s website and download a “temporary pass” before leaving their house. On the form, we must select an option from the list of permitted reasons to travel from our homes, and declare where we are going. We can request a 4 hour pass 2 times a week for basic necessities, a 12-hour pass to go to a doctor’s appointment, and a 30-minute pass to walk their dog. Essential workers can request a salvoconducto, a permit to travel during military curfew or cross military checkpoint. At the beginning of the quarantine, police stations had lines around the block, with people waiting to apply for a salvoconducto.

Along the border of Santiago’s quarantine zones, only a dozen or so military checkpoints exist. We quickly realized we could walk past the handful of guards stationed there. Furthermore, city buses appear to be affected by these quarantine measures. In effect, those who opt to remain at home in the quarantine zone often do so because they are complying with the medical board’s recommendation, rather than the official quarantine measures.

Meanwhile, the official quarantine measures have not been extended to the combative poblaciónes, home to the greatest number of participants in the October 2019 Chilean uprising.  These neighborhoods at the periphery of the city were formed by massive squatter movements in the 1950s and 60s, when residents collaborated to build houses, defend each other from eviction, and negotiate with the government for city infrastructure, schools, and clinics. If you’ve seen videos of riots during the March 29th Day of Combative Youth (Dia del Joven Combatiente), the footage is more than likely from these neighborhoods. 

Back in October, the rebellious tendencies of the poblaciones were no longer confined to those specific areas but proliferated all over, as people circulated in the downtown, metro, supermarkets, pharmacies, and shopping malls. The attacks weren’t against the police and metro—the two obvious symbols of state power—but also targeted the formal economy itself. 

This year, despite the military curfews and fear of the pandemic, the poblaciónes celebrated the day of combative youth by taking the streets and confronting the police. Unlike in central Santiago, public space continues to be open in the poblaciónes. Although there are fewer protests and social life has diminished, the pandemic has not yet fully interrupted life in these areas. Initially, protestors who congregated in Plaza de la Dignidad feared that the government would use its official quarantine measures as an attempt to regain social control after months of Chile’s social uprising. In the end, no heavy effort was made to enforce quarantine measures in those spaces where they would anyway be contested: the boundaries of the quarantine zones and the rebellious territories of the poblaciónes. 

Control of public space

With the new norms of quarantine and social distance, the pandemic has interrupted the shared experiences of protests in the streets and neighborhood events in the plazas. Since October, upheaval has structured our everyday life where we live, rendering our neighborhood projects both possible and necessary. Neighbors formed assemblies in response to the upheaval of the massive street demonstrations. Through assemblies, we hoped to meet each other, and sustain the forces in the streets and life in the neighborhood. People used assemblies to organize and publicize new neighborhood events such as community kitchens, flea markets, children’s theater, and open-air concerts. Meeting in parks, our assemblies would be constantly interrupted by the life of the neighborhood: street dogs greeting us and playing in the middle of the circle, people asking for cigarettes, sitting with us and ranting, and old insurgents saying we should stop talking and start lighting barricades. 

The pandemic has radically interrupted this everyday life. Now, the neighborhood assembly is online. Assemblies, mutual aid, and online workshops are coordinated and announced in their corresponding Whatsapp groups. Uninvited neighbors can no longer drop in spontaneously. My capacity to write in a café was enabled by the possibility that I would be interrupted by an old friend walking in with someone new to meet, or that protesters would spill into the café from Plaza Dignidad to evade the spray of the guanaco (the police’s water cannon tank), interruptions that conferred sense of structure and situated meaning on my work. Could it be that all activity becomes meaningful only when conducted in the public? In any case, we were wrong to have ever looked upon the possibility of interruption as a nuisance or distraction. In fact, the more entangled they were with the lives of others who inhabit our world, the more meaningful our activities became. The quarantine signifies the interruption of this shared sensibility and with it, made all the other interruptions that followed from it impossible as well. 

Who imposes restriction of movement?

And yet, things are still happening in Chile: in other regions, residents have continued participating in the uprising by blockading the industries that destroy their territories. In Patagonia, for instance, several towns have been engaged in a decades-long conflict with the players in the salmon industry. By dumping antibiotics, feed, and waste, salmon farms have decimated the waterways on which local fishermen rely, while industrial freight trucks ravage the narrow country roads that connect towns to one another. 

When things kicked off back in October, the breadth and depth of the upheaval became apparent to us only after learning that, while Santiago was burning, rural communities were also erecting barricades on country roads and interrupting Chile’s major industries. These same towns blockaded the roads that brought workers and supplies to the Salmon farms. In those days, to get a reading of the situation within one’s city, it sufficed to walk down the street, and yet it was comparatively difficult to gather news of the protests elsewhere in the country. Despite this difficulty, “Free Chiloe” (Chiloe Libre) graffiti proliferated on buildings throughout Santiago. 

When the COVID outbreak began to spread outside Santiago, residents on the Patagonian island of Chiloe blocked ferries carrying salmon industry workers. Eventually, the government restricted transportation to the Island to prevent the spread of Coronavirus; yet, when a ferry arrived bringing additional police forces to enforce the quarantine, Chiloe residents attempted to block that ferry, too. 

A Determinate Ambiguity

In his recent reflection on Agamben and the legacy of the Chilean state of exception, Gerard Munoz offers some insight into why the state’s emergency measures ultimately failed to take any effective hold during the October uprising:

The Chilean debate is in a better position to arrive at a mature understanding of the state of exception, not as an abstract formula, but as something latent within democracies. The dispensation of Western politics into security and exceptionality is not a conceptual horizon of what politics could be; it is what the ontology of the political represents once the internal limits of liberal principles crumble to pieces (and with it, any separation between consumers and citizens, state and market, jurisprudence and real subsumption).

In order to function, the deployment of a state of emergency relies on the liberal distinction between market and state, citizen and delinquent. The Chilean government appealed to the “security of the state”, but the uprising had already disproven the liberal principles of the post dictatorship Chile, and to such an extent that a reversal of course had for a time become strictly unthinkable. 

In the months following the social explosion, we could not have conceived any event that could bring any swift conclusion to the life of the streets. There was no amount of heavy-handed police repression that could have convinced us of a self-evident need for law and order; no over-hyped constitutional assembly or impending financial crisis could convince us that there was a real, external force that would interrupt the social explosion.  

And yet, here we are: the pandemic has brought an abrupt halt to the uprising in ways we had thought to be impossible. From the first week of the COVID outbreak, Plaza de la Dignidad has been quiet. There has been no lootings, even despite the lack of supplies. Conflicts with the police remain confined to the poblaciones. 

To what does it owe this power? The pandemic interrupted the uprising because to many , it appeared as an external force. If it possesses a power that no governmental ordinance can rival, this is because its presence tends to shatter the various separations on which the administration of this world depends because it doesn’t recognize the gap between state and market, consumer and citizen, jurisprudence and subsumption. As a result, we know longer know if we are taking care of ourselves in resistance to the state, despite the state, or in subordination to the state. As the pandemic moves through this world, it interrupts the positive contact with which this world is based.  In the absence of such contact, we are left with scrambled claims of obedience and contestation, resistance and self-assertion. 

This is not the place to recall the extent to which the fictive ideals of liberal democracy depended on the growth of a fracture between interior and exterior realms of experience: public reason and private obedience, faith and confession, moral conscience and political right, etc. Where once there appeared a world, full and filthy with attachments, heresies, and allegiances, only a subject—a self-possessed and autonomous citizen—would be left to remain. Was this not the project of modern economic governance? 

Not only has the experience of space been re-liberalizing, but also the forms of care have followed suit. As the insurrection recedes, and with it, the bustling and rich horizon of shared attention and concern, the forms of care that now replace it already bear the stain within them of that absence to the world that defined the modern liberal subject. While we are moved with everyone with a conscience to care for others, we do not confuse the notions of care we are told to do within social distancing with the practices we developed that were only possible by fully inhabiting a shared territory. We are told this crisis threatens the vulnerable, the infirm, the elderly; that, in taking care of ourselves, we are taking care of others; that our role, as participants in a ‘shared world’, is to reduce the spread through social distancing and isolation. Yet, to be deprived of social life and the use of public space, is to be deprived of those very experiences that confer meaning on concepts such as care, support, and community action. After all, to experience a common world is to participate in the activities that make it not merely possible, but real; only through combination and encounter can our singular capacities reveal to us all that outstrips them, all that can only belong to anyone, to everyone. In quarantine, we risk being denied the conditions that make possible an awareness that we inhabit a shared world.  

-- Emilio, Santiago de Chile. April 20th, 2020

[pagalini]

hi, sorry if this is too personal of a question, but i was wondering how you realized you had adhd? i think i may have adhd but i don’t really want to say anything to my family until i am positive? thank you!

Hey there! No worries at all, I’m a very open person. 

I want to start by stressing that I’m currently on the waiting list for NHS assessment, because the UK process for diagnosis is very drawn-out and underfunded. However, though I don’t yet have the piece of paper that “officially” means I have ADHD, myself and my GP agree that I exhibit a lot of the symptoms, and they’ve managed to affect my life to the degree that I need some help. 

The primary symptoms for me - well, my most significant issue involves problems with working memory - myself and my partner call it my “if it’s not in front of me, it’s gone” problem. If I don’t have a task that needs doing literally in eyesight in some way, I will completely blank on needing to do it. I also blank on verbal instruction, and have to ask people to repeat things a lot. I often walk into rooms and then stop, because I’ve forgotten why I’m there. And it’s not just occasional - everyone will walk into a room now and then and be like, wait, why am I here. I do it on a daily basis. I have to keep extensive and strict checklists for even the simplest of tasks, or I’ll forget about it. To set up for the day, I write a to-do list on Habitica, and then I write one on a physical post-it as well, and then if something’s really urgent I write it on my hand just to really make sure I’ll see it. And even then I miss things!

Task initiation is also a problem for me, but it’s at the core of ADHD itself, so that’s not surprising. I’ve always found this symptom troubling, because when I was initially investigating ADHD I didn’t think I had issues with task initiation, but I’ve come to realise through time and through the example of my partner, who definitely doesn’t have ADHD, that I do have it. Important difficult thing that needs doing? Nope. Too Much. I can’t even explain it, that sensation of Nope, Too Much, but it’s like a physical wall between me and the thing that needs to be done. Examples: I’ve needed to get a dentist for literally seven months, and I still haven’t done it. I also once needed to get a car scrapped and took TWO YEARS to actually get it done, and even then it only got done because my dad organised it for me. Exam prep? Oh man. That one’s a double whammy. If I didn’t put a note out for myself, or if I put my books away out of sight, then I’d just forget, and I’d end up cramming literally either the night before or the morning of. I’m quite fortunate in that I’m naturally intelligent, so I was able to “coast” like that through my GCSEs, but then my A Levels came along, and - well. 

How did I realise I had ADHD, you ask? Well. For a lot of people with ADHD, they don’t realise there’s something going on until they hit a “wall.” In my case, I hit two walls a few years apart. The first wall was my A Levels. In the UK we do GCSEs, which are basic broad-spectrum qualifications, and then we do A Levels, which you select yourself and are more tailored to what you want to do in life. The jump from A Level to university undergraduate degree is very small. The jump from GCSEs to A Level is ENORMOUS, and I fell flat on my face. At GCSE level, without retaking any exams and with quite honestly little to no revision, I got fifteen GCSEs. Nine of them were A*s, and two were Bs. The remaining four were all As. The key thing is: I was a really excellent student. 

Then I went up to A Level, and at the end of the first year I got: D, E, C, and U. For non-UK folk - a U if a grade so bad that it’s not even an F for fail - it’s U for unclassified. 

I got 12% on the exam. I was heartbroken and completely lost. Everyone around me was shocked. My biology teacher was so sure there’d been a clerical mistake that she rang the exam board on my behalf! Except - there was no mistake. I’d just completely beefed it, to the nth degree.

Through unbelievable hard work and sheer terror, I managed to retake everything and come out of my A Levels with A, A, B, B. Not what I or anyone who knew me had expected - I’d always been predicted straight A*s - but good grades. Good enough to take the heat off of what had gone wrong, so on I sailed into university and beyond. 

Retail work, retail work, volunteering - I was a busy bee for a few years. Then I got my first Adult Job, which was in editorial. Here was my second wall, and I left after six months to do an MA in Graphic Design, convinced that I must have picked something entirely wrong for me. I was shattered, confused, and it would take me at least a year to even slightly recover. In that year I kept busy, both with my MA, and with my research into ADHD. And the more I read, the more it dawned on me that this might just be the explanation for what had happened to me. 

-

Here are some of the symptoms that really resonated with me then, and still do now:

Focus - I find it incredibly difficult to focus on something I’m not interested in, to the point that my brain just Nopes it. I describe it to the people around me as being like trying to balance a drop of water on a duck’s back. All the water wants to do is slide right off, and while for most people focusing on something they don’t want to do is something they can do even if they don’t like it, for me it’s that balancing act - something that requires all my attention and then some, and often ends in failure. 

Sensitivity - Repetitive noises and actions both drive me absolutely WILD. I can’t stand either. Many a clock has suffered my wrath and had its batteries removed at 3am. Ironic, considering I have a really bad case of RLS (restless leg syndrome) and constantly have to shift around in my seat until I’m a position where I can Jiggle Good. 

Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria - I overreact to negative feedback, taking it as a personal slight or assuming that the person hates me or no longer loves me. It’s an overwhelming thing, an almost physical sensation, and I’ve had quite a few panic attacks over the years because of it. 

I also experience these:

Acting without thinking

Constantly changing activity or task

Difficulty organising tasks

Irregular sleeping patterns / difficulty sleeping

Anxiety

Mood swings & irritability - (this coupled with acting without thinking has ruined a lot of friendships for me over the years. It’s only recently, and with the patient help of my partner, that I’ve been able to slowly change and get a better handle on this aspect of myself)

Starting new tasks before finishing old ones

And on a more positive note, also these:

Creativity (constant racing thoughts mean a lot of ideas)

Information-lust (just gotta KNOW what that xyz means)

-

Last but not least, hyperfocus. Where would I be without hyperfocus? It’s what makes me who I am. It’s what lets me speed read books in just a couple of hours, or write two books and a DND campaign of my own despite working however many jobs at the time. It’s what lets me watch a two hour documentary about microscope slides because I “just gotta KNOW, man.” I am ever the font of random facts out of the people I know, and I love that about myself. I love how hungry I am for new information, new skills, and new stories. 

I hope this (very long) post has been helpful. I wish you all the best with your ADHD journey - and please remember, if your doctor is at all dismissive of your experiences, get a second opinion! Especially if you’re female or look feminine - doctors often won’t listen to you anyway but especially so with ADHD because it’s still perceived as a “boy’s condition.” I had to get a second opinion, and in my case the second doctor has been fantastic and is totally on my side while the first was not at all. 

[youremypride]

Wires for Veins

☆彡 You always wondered about your purpose in life and the reason to why you’re still breathing. All the knowledge you gathered about humanity and the world came from the towering piles of books your adopted mother had left you while she tends to the strangers that waltz in and out of the house, holding secret meetings in her office. She always made it clear to you that she was doing it for our safety to ensure a better life after the end of times, and I was foolish enough to believe her words, thinking she cared for me, that she even had a heart to love a machine.

Pairing: AHS! Michael Langdon x Reader

Genre: romance, robot! au

Warnings: profanities, insecurities, death of character

Note: Ms. Mead does not exist in this timeline of the story. I changed up some parts of the dialogue to make it fit to the scenario. I hope you enjoy this, I’ve never written anything so long before other than for school reports. So let me know if you want a Part 2 of this!

Word Count: 2270 words.

Even though she was my mother, never once did I call her mother. Even though we were supposed to have a mother and daughter relationship, it felt more like a master and her slave. Mothers were supposed to be loving, kind and gentle. But she treated me like stranger. Only showing her loving side when she felt lonely and needed attention from someone, or something.

I never question why she did what she did but there’s always one that lingers in my mind all day and night. What am I to her?

I only had snippets of my earlier years with her.

I remember alighting from a car, my right hand in the hold of a woman’s. Her name was Ruth, and she was my guardian back at the Cooperative headquarters. She had long black hair, tanned brown skin, and her eyes had mix matched colours, brown on the left, and green on the right. We walk down the pathway that lead to the front door of the big house in front of me. It was a brown Victorian house, there were huge flower beds surrounding the stairs of the main door. Thick black veins wrapped around the house, giving off a creepy demeanour of the house.

When we reached the front porch of the house, the woman kneeled down and turned me so that I was facing her.

“Now, listen here Y/N. Ms. Venable will be your new guardian. I hope you’ll behave yourself and not create any trouble for her, do you understand?” I nod as she smiled, happy with my respond.

“Good. I’m going to miss you so much, my dear. I promise you this won’t be our last time meeting. We will meet again soon, I can assure you.” She reaches to tuck away the stray hairs from my face and smoothen my yellowed sunshine dress so that I looked neat and presentable.

“I’m going to miss you too, Ruth.” She wraps her arms around my small body and tucks her chin in between the crook of my neck and shoulder. Small sniffles were heard beside me. Ruth was probably emotional about the separation. She had been my guardian for years after all. She loosens her hold and places a gentle kiss on my forehead before straightening her body.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” She looks down and holds my gaze, waiting for an answer. “Yes.”

The couple years that followed through were bleak and lifeless. It felt that she was trying to hide me away from other people. I was never allowed to step out of the house. I could only read books she gives me for knowledge or to keep me company. Not once, do I feel any sort of emotions, and I was fine with that. Because without emotions, there is no feelings. That means no pain, no sadness, nothing. All of that was non-existent, at least that’s what I thought I was programmed to.

Ruth didn’t visit me while I was under Ms. Venable’s care. The only time we had visitors were the scientists who work for the Cooperative to make sure I was upgraded every year to make it seem like I was a normal girl, and the strange people who had meetings with Ms. Venable in her office. Other then that, it was just two beings in a lonely quiet house.

Ms. Venable, or as I address her as Madam, started giving me attention by the time I entered my early adulthood stage.

“Y/N, go to your rooms and pack the things you need for The Outpost. We’re leaving in an hour. Make sure you take important things and only that. Now, hurry please.” I hurried to my room reached for my suitcase under the bed.

What do I need? What do I need? I quickly gathered all my necessities and my books, organising them neatly into my suitcase. Once I was done, I carried my suitcase down to the front door.

“Good, you’re all set. Let’s go.” Ms. Venable opens the front door and, on the driveway, we were greeted by a black carriage awaiting to be boarded.

The carriage took us to somewhere far way from home, to a place that was surrounded by tall black fences. As we entered through the main gate, a tall black brick structure was located in the centre of the field.

“This, Y/N dear, will be our new home. Say goodbye to the clear blue skies, and green lavish grass. It’s probably the last time you’ll ever see.” It sure it was, because the weeks that came later, everything was dead and gone.

Being in The Outpost was just the same as being at home with Ms. Venable, except that she was no longer my guardian, but my master. I had to obey every order she gives without question. Killing off those who didn’t obey the rules, scrubbing off the radiation of the bodies of the ones who went out without warning, putting everyone in danger and many more. All I did without any hesitation.

I went wherever she went and followed her like a loyal pet. Because of this, I always hear gossips from the other survivors, especially Coco, the resident bitch and Mr. Gallant, her hairdresser, talking negative things about me. Not that I care anyways.

However, all of that started to change when a certain someone came along.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Y/N? It feels like you’re hiding something. Care to explain why? These past few days, you seemed a little bit off, and it’s beginning to worry me.” She had a leg over the other, her hands on her knees while she waits for a reply from me.

I tried to calm myself down before explaining everything to her. I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts.

“I remember a boy, beautiful blonde hair. He was my friend. I felt comfort and love for him despite my young age. Every time I look at his face, in my memories, he’s just a blur. I love him but I must have lost him in some way, because…. every time I think of him, I cry and feel sadness. Do I even have feelings? Are they just programmed responses? All this time, I thought my experiences made me what I am, but my memories are false. I may have been a child once, maybe even had a family and felt love. But that’s just what I’m program to think right? Like a normal human being?”

“That’s where you wrong, Y/N. You have a family. Here. With me.” I tried to stop a tear from escaping out from the corner of my eye. “I may have not been a great mother to you, but I hope you know your very being brings me joy every day.”

“I’m nothing more than a machine. Following a set of codes. What do I do now? What’s my purpose?” I asked her.

“Same as it’s always been. To protect The Outpost. What do you remember about the people in The Cooperative? Did you ever see Michael Langdon before he got here?” Ms. Venable questions.

“Mm, he’s not in my memories. But even if he did, he would not be there. I was only a child back at The Cooperative. He would have been a child too.”

Ms. Venable shakes her head, “Wrong again, Y/N. It’s only been three years since you arrived at my doorstep. You were programmed to think that you were growing like a normal human being, but you didn’t. I’m sorry for deceiving you, but it was what The Cooperative needed you to think. But right now, we can’t trust him to take the right people to The Sanctuary. I’ve been told I won’t be joining the fortunate few.”

“That’s outrageous. You’re the backbone of this Outpost.” I exclaimed.

There was a shift in her tone, she sounded pissed and her dark orbs started to glisten, as if she was about to cry. “And I’ll be left here until we’re overrun and my bones are broken and picked clean by the monsters.”

Impossible, Ms. Venable is everything The Sanctuary needs in order to thrive. “If you die here, justice dies here. We have to take action and stop it.”

She stares towards the fireplace before directing her eyes, making eye contact with mine. “You have a suggested course?”

I stared right back at her. “Kill them all. Even Langdon. Those relentlessly boring young people said that Langdon has a working computer. We kill everyone, we take possession of the computer, we find out where The Sanctuary is.”

Ms. Venable had an uncertain look on her face before she continues, “And make that journey all that way on our own?”

“Why not? You’re mean and self-involved enough to survive anything. And I’m a goddamn robot.”

A smile was plastered on her face, a genuine smile, one that was last seen the day we first met. “I will never forget your loyalty to me and I’ve never felt so proud to call you my daughter.”

“I’m programmed to be loyal to you. I can feel no doubt in me about that.”

“Good.” For a moment, I felt that we had a connection, between a mother and her daughter.

The scene that took place in front of us brought a smile upon Ms. Venable’s face. While she takes a last look around, she turns around to face me, “We shouldn’t keep Mr. Langdon waiting.

We stride up the stairs and towards the level Mr. Langdon’s room was on. Ms. Venable opens the door and as we entered, the devil himself was on his laptop by the office desk across the room.

“Ladies, I’m a little busy right now formulating my selections.” He says, eyes still on the laptop.

“This won’t take long.” She waits for him to turn his attention on her.

Mr. Langdon closes his laptop and turns to face her, anchoring his elbow on the table as a rest for his chin. “What’s this?”

“We’re making the selections now, Mr. Langdon. And I’m afraid you didn’t make the cut.” It only made the long-haired male chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, “I wanted to let you have your moment but I just couldn’t hold it in.”

“You think this is funny?” Ms. Venable snaps back calmly. “I think I’m impressed, Ms. Venable. I wasn’t sure you had it in you. You’ve passed the test. You’re perfect for The Sanctuary.”

“Y/N.” I take out the gun from my waist.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Mr. Langdon proclaims. I raised up the gun towards him as he shifts his eyes towards me. Our eye contact became heated as he continues to stare into my eyes.

“Y/N.” Ms. Venable turns around to face me.

Slowly, my arm moves towards her direction, pointing the gun at her. With a press of the trigger, a bullet escaped from the muzzle and went straight into her chest. Mr. Langdon only smirks in satisfaction.

I could see the look of betrayal on her face, before she collapsed to the ground. She started gasping for air. “I don’t know why I did that. I was always loyal to her.”

Mr. Langdon bends down beside Ms. Venable’s body. “It’s alright,” he comforts, “You were obeying commands, like you’re programmed to do. My commands.”

“Did you enjoy executing the poison apples plan as much as I enjoyed coming up with it?” His question only made me confused and scared.

“You wanted everyone dead?” I ask, my voice shaky.

“I’ve never been a fan of getting my hands dirty. Learned that from my father. Always more fun to entice men and women to dirty needs. Confirms what I’ve always believed.” I could feel my body quiver from the fear that was coming from him.

“W-what do you believe?” I wanted this to stop. Stop, stop doing this to me.

He steps closer towards me, “That all people, if given the right pressures and stimulus, are real evil motherfuckers.”

I didn’t know how to reply to him, everything was confusing me, “I-I am having trouble with this. I know I’m just a machine.”

“Never say that!” His voice was laced with anger, his expression soured. “You’re not just a machine, not to me.” For a second, it felt like he actually cared and had actual feelings.

“When I tasked The Cooperative’s R&D Department to have you constructed, I gave them a prototype to model.” He…. asked for me to be constructed?

“Prototype?” Of who?

“Of someone from my childhood. Someone very dear to me.” It all made sense now. It was clear to me what those memories were of.

“The beautiful boy.” He smiles, his eyes started getting teary as he nods in agreement. “That was me. But I had to keep the most important part of you hidden from your mind.”

Hidden from me? “Why?”

“To protect you, and the plan. But now it’s time to remember it all. I lost you and I couldn’t bear it. I can’t imagine a new world without you by my side. The only woman apart from my mother who ever really understood me.”

The flower crowns, the shy smiles, the small pecks on the lips. I remember them now. “Who ever really loved you.”

“Who only holds my heart, body and soul.” Without a second to spare, he wraps me up in an embrace, closing the distance between us.

“Never let me go.” He kisses the shell of my ears, leaving a tingly feeling that I find comforting. “I’ll never let go.”

[fieldsofview]

AU Yeah August Day 19: Reverse Crush & Day 20: Coffee shop - “Crushtomer”

You can check out all my fics here on AO3, and the rest of my contribution to AU Yeah August here.  If you’d rather read this on AO3 it’s here.  

Summary: 5 times barista Adrien struggles talking/flirting with the cute customer Marinette, and one time he doesn't. Pure Adrienette fluff.

-1

“Hi! What can I do for you today?”

Whap!

Adrien jumped at the sound of the card hitting the counter with a slap. The girl in front of him hunched over under the weight of her near-exploding book bag. Her loose black hair hung around her shoulders and her sunglasses reflected his own face back at himself.

“Sorry.” She pulled the glasses from her eyes and looked at him with her bright blue eyes. “Can I get a black coffee? Whatever your largest is?”

Adrien chuckled and put on his most reassuring voice. “No problem miss, having a rough day?” He took her card and swiped it through the machine before turning around to fill her coffee from the brewer urn behind him.

She rubbed her hand over her face. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve got an exam tomorrow and I’m so not ready. I don’t mean to be so grumpy.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for. Caffeine is every student’s best friend.” He smiled at her and handed her the coffee. “Good luck!”

“Thanks.” She picked up her card and sunglasses from the counter and walked away.

With no one behind her to help, Adrien watched her go for a moment before turning around to return to his previous task of stocking straw dispensers. He pressed the button on the headset, knowing Nino had probably heard most of that interaction from where he was cleaning one of the espresso machines. “She was so cute.”

Adrien heard Nino laugh over the headset. “Black coffee girl? Yeah, she was. What’s her name?”

“I didn’t ask.” He groaned.

“Ask her next time, she comes in every day. Always gets a black coffee or a soy latte.”

“She does?”

“Nearly. Usually earlier than this though, but I think I heard her yesterday tell Rose that she quit her internship to make room for her coursework.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been one for flirting at work. It can complicate things.”

“Dude, it’s just a name. What’s the harm?”

“I guess you’re right. I’ll think about it.”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

-2

It took two days for Adrien to see this mysterious black coffee girl again, and when he did, she looked to be in a much better mood. She came in with her hair pinned back and held herself higher. Her book bag was significantly less full, too. Again, she managed to arrive during one of the few slower moments when no one else was in line.

He smiled when he saw her. “Black coffee again?

“Oh, you remembered?” She smiled. “Actually today I’d like a soy latte if that’s alright. Just a small.” She fished through her wallet for cash this time.

“Sure thing. How’d that exam go?” He punched her order into the screen.

“Well, it went. I think I passed but it’s hard to tell with these things.”

“I bet you did great!” He saw Nino in the background sweeping the lobby of the shop. Nino stopped and looked at him pointedly. “Can I get your name, by the way?” Adrien looked down at the screen when he asked.

“Marinette.”

He typed it in. “Marinette. That’s a pretty name.” He looked up and smiled at her as they exchanged money.

“Why thank you, Adrien.” She giggled as he jumped at his name. “You have those name tags, but I bet a lot of people don’t pay attention to them, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” he glanced down at the name printed on his apron. “Most people don’t notice.”

“It was the same when I worked for my parents. People never noticed.” She glanced behind herself, where a few people had lined up waiting. “Oh! I’m sorry, I’ll get out of your way.”

It’s no trouble, Marinette. Your drink will be out in a moment.” He gestured towards the counter where they hand out most drinks. “See you soon!”

A few moments later, when Adrien had finished ringing up the last customer in line, Nino spoke to him over their headsets. “So can I be the best man at your wedding?”

“Dude!”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

-3

The next day Marinette came back in, again asking for her soy latte. Adrien wasn’t stationed as the cashier, but rather as the barista making the drinks. She came in when there were quite a few other people, but he tried to talk to her even as he was distracted by making all the orders.

He called over the glass barrier, “Good to see you again, Marinette!”

“You too Adrien,” she called back.

He spun around to the counter behind him and worked on another customer’s iced tea. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “What’re you working on today?” He turned back around to the espresso machine so that he could steam a pitcher of milk for someone’s mocha.

“… so it shouldn’t be too much to do.”

His distraction with the drinks and the noise of the steaming milk made him miss most of her answer. “Sorry, I couldn’t really hear that.”

She leaned forward and increased her voice. “I just was saying that I have a break before midterm exams.” She cringed a little at her volume, especially since the loud steaming stopped halfway through her sentence.

He finished off the mocha and started working on her latte. “That’s great! I don’t think I ever asked, what are you studying?”

“Fashion design and business marketing.”

“Oh wow, doubling up! Good luck to you.”

“Yeah, thanks!”

He handed the drink over to her. “Maybe I’ll, uh, be able to see something you’ve designed.” He felt very sheepish saying that.

She smiled at him, and he only just noticed the beautiful red lipstick she was wearing today. “I could do that. Maybe I-”

“Excuse me, is my nonfat vanilla latte ready? I’ve been waiting here for over 10 minutes.” A middle-aged woman leaned over the counter and looked harshly at Adrien.

He had half a mind to sass her for interrupting his conversation, but that probably wasn’t the best idea. “I’m sorry ma’am. Are you Nancy? I’m working on your drink next.” He glanced at the sticker label for her drink, saying it was only ordered 3 minutes ago, but he didn’t say anything.

The woman, Nancy, didn’t say anything, but she grumbled and hovered by the counter waiting.

“I’ll let you keep working Adrien. Thanks for the latte.” Marinette started walking away before Adrien could say anything.

He huffed and hoped he’d get to see her tomorrow with more success. And if he let Nancy’s espresso shots sit longer than the standard 3 seconds so that they would grow bitter, well, no one would know but him.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

-4

The next day, Marinette was already seated at a table when Adrien arrived to start his shift, and she had a friend with her. The two girls were laughing away over something Adrien couldn’t hear, and they’d already ordered and paid, their drinks half drank.

He'd hoped to see her later for a refill or something, but sometime while he was cleaning the restroom, she and her friend had left. He joined the other baristas behind the counter to start cleaning the floors and grumbled to himself about missing her.

“Bro just ask her out or something, this is getting ridiculous.” Nino handed him an extra headset as he spoke, obviously wanting to continue the conversation while still being able to work.

Adrien put the headset on and flicked the button before carrying one of the non-slip floor mats into the back room for cleaning. “You know I could never do that, Nino. Dating a customer would be weird. What if she turns me down? Then it’ll make working awkward. Or make her not come back, that’s bad for business.”

“You’re overthinking it. It’s just a date, and you like her. She’s a customer, so what? She’s your one crushtomer, these things don’t happen to you often.”

“Crushtomer? Seriously?” He dropped the mat with a slap.

“Hey, you know I’m right. Just ask her. The worst she can say is no.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

-5

The next time Adrien saw Marinette it was over a week later. She came in looking much like she did the first time he saw her, with her hair down and a bit frizzy. She was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and sunglasses. Her book bag was nearly exploding again. Despite all this, Adrien was excited to see her after all this time. There was no one else in line, too, so it was the perfect time for Adrien to talk to her.

With one quick look, Nino switched places with him so that he could ring her up. “Been a while, Marinette. I thought maybe you’d stopped coming.” He said it with a cheerful, teasing voice, but there was a small note of truth to it.

“I was trying to enjoy some time without exams, but it’s come back to bite me. I procrastinated too much and now I’ve got 4 midterms and a project all due in the next week.” She leaned her elbows on the countertop and rubbed her hands over her face, displacing her sunglasses.

“Oh no, I’m sorry. Black coffee today then?”

“Yeah, whatever you can give me that’s the strongest. I’m going to be here for a long time, and I haven’t slept more than 2 hours the past 2 nights.” She dropped her bag onto the counter with a thud and started fishing through it for her wallet. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking to pull my wallet out sooner.”

Without thinking, Adrien said, “It’s on me today. I’ll put a couple extra espresso shots in there for you. It seems like you’ll need it.”

Her head snapped up so she could look at him. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do that!”

“Really, Marinette, it’s fine.” He smiled at her reassuringly as he typed up the beverage and selected the button for sampling and recovery drinks. After thinking a moment, he said, “Although it might not taste too good, it’ll be quite bitter. Did you want me to put some milk or sweetener in there?”

"Whatever you think is best, Adrien. I’m sure it’ll be exactly what I need.”

He nodded and walked over to make her drink personally. When he finished he handed it to her, “Give it a taste. If it’s awful I can make you something else.”

She smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Tasting it, she said, “It’s great! I mean, you’re right, it is a little bitter, but it’s just what I need.”

“Great! Good luck working on all of that!”

She picked up her bag and started walking towards one of the empty tables. “Thank you so much, Adrien. I owe you one!”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

+1

A few days later, Adrien was just clocking out to take his lunch break when Nino called into the back room, “Dude!”

“Yeah?” Adrien walked towards the entrance to the main floor and met Nino halfway.

“Your crushtomer is here,” Nino smirked at him.

“Aw, I just clocked out for lunch,” Adrien pouted.

Nino smiled widely. “That’s perfect! Go sit with her on your lunch!”

Adrien’s eyes grew wide, “There’s no way I could do that. I can’t interrupt.”

“Just ask! The worst she can say is no.” Nino started walking back out onto the main floor, leaving Adrien to think.

He stood there for a moment, thinking. Finally, he smiled wide, set on his plan. He ran back to where he’d left his packed lunch and water and then walked out onto the main café floor. He saw her sitting at one of the small tables at the far side of the café, and with one last deep breath, he walked straight towards her.

“Hey, Marinette.”

She jumped a little and pulled her earbuds out of her ears. “Oh, Adrien, hi.” She smiled at him.

He knew he must be flushed, but he tried not to think about it. Taking another breath, he said, “I’m on my lunch break, and, well – uh, I was wondering if, uh, can I �� could I maybe sit with you?” He forcibly lifted his gaze to look at her instead of his shoes.

“Sure Adrien, I’d like that.”

Adrien’s smile didn’t leave his face for the rest of the day.

[lilaflyy]

Fictober Day 5 - “Take what you need.”

I really like this one because Preciosa, after Maddy, is also one of my favourite characters. I know I’m being unfair to Sunny and Drako here, but they can be my OTP for all I care, the best single characters are still Maddy and Preciosa! <3

character info: Preciosa is Draco's twin sister who lives in Milan (Italy) and is a model. She is utterly wasted in that setting though since she actually is a brilliant strategist.

PS: I was in Meran (Italy) in August for an afternoon and it was very nice there! <3 I went to the same café that I described and I also got a pistachio-hazelnut sundae while my father complained about the dangers of pistacio nuts :’D

Preciosa

Meran was a nice city if you liked small towns in the north of Italy. I personally appreciated the cafés and the view of the river Passer. The elegant designs of the street lamps combined with the white benches in between the trees on the side of the river made for a nice place to stop and sit down for a bit.

While my parents would be furious to find out how far away from Milan I was, this little day trip had still been necessary. Three hours of a car journey later and I was enjoying a well-deserved breath of fresh air and the soothing sound of the water. I did not expect anyone to recognize me, sunglasses or not since there were a lot of models in this world and while famous, I was still just one of many.

“How is it going sorella gemella?” Well, at least one person seemed to recognize me. At least there was no doubt to his identity and his presence was a welcome one. He was the reason I had travelled up here in the first place.

“Stressful but I won’t complain,” I replied without taking my view off the rushing water below. He sat down on the bench next to me, leaning his head on my shoulder.

“Won’t or can’t? Go ahead and vent if you want, I won’t tell anyone,” he offered and I both heard and felt his grin. It drew a smile out of me too.

“Maybe another time il fratellino. You’re here because of something else.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be a good brother.”

I let out a laugh and shook my head.

“You don’t ever change, do you?”

“More than I’d like to, but that’s not what I was getting at. I really hate to ask, you know that, but…I need a favour.”

“You know, when it would be some other rich family and I’d hear that the daughter’s brother only ever comes to see her when he needs a favour, I would say he’s exploiting her,” I said. Had he been anyone else or had I been anyone else, he would have defended himself and denied it, but my brother was my brother, so he just sat there and chuckled.

“Well, yeah. Seems like you got me after all.”

“I have always been the smarter one of us two.”

“Which is unfair, since one would think that twins each get an equal share.”

“You’re smart enough on your own accord. I’m just better.” I had missed the friendly teasing. Sarcastic comments and jabs being thrown back and forth in a loving way only siblings could. It felt like I was complete again after a long while of only existing as a half. What some people said about twins being two parts of a whole seemed true to us, which made the forced separation even worse.

“Anyway, whatever you want can surely also be discussed in a café. I just drove three hours and look forward to a sundae. I saw a nice little café with a view of the fields and mountains just at the other side of the river, so come on,” I said and stood up without another word. When he started walking beside me, I hooked my arm with his and threw him a knowing grin.

“So, I have been hearing rumours and now I’m curious if they are true.”

“If by ‘rumours’ you mean things Rylon told you, then don’t believe a word of it.”

“It is still the first time I have ever heard even remotely something along the lines of ‘Draco found a girlfriend’.” When he blushed, I knew that there had to be at least some fragment of truth at it.

“I…uh…she’s not my girlfriend,” Draco stammered and I could only hardly hold back a mischievous snicker. Teasing my brother was way more fun than strategically predicting the outcomes of social events.

“Let’s say that’s true, then what is it that makes her different from the other girls you never even glanced at?”

He sighed. “First off, she knows things she should not know and she also meddles in things that are not her business.”

“Interesting,” I said as I got the meaning behind what he was saying. So, this girl, whoever she was, knew about faeries and interfered with strictly non-human things. Daring. I had to commend her on it; to do what I could not do.

“She sounds like quite the catch. What’s the holdup?” I asked further as we crossed the bridge, which curiously seemed to be half in construction.

“First off, she hates me,” Draco said and I could not hold back the snort.

“Fair point. I like her already.”

Draco just rolled his eyes. “Secondly, she thinks of me as two separate people and can’t even remember half of our interactions most of the time.”

Well, my brother was still a hopeless idiot. Despite what he might say, he really had not changed much over the years. What he had said translated itself to me as: “I keep talking to her as ‘Phoenix’ and of course she can’t remember that, but she hates ‘Draco’.”

“Well, no offence, but that sounds reckless.”

“I never said it was an easy situation to be in. On the one hand I have to do what I have to do, but on the other hand I have to keep her out of harm’s way because she’s about to get herself killed one of these days.”

“So, you have a thing for the stubborn yet brave ones. Gotta remember that for the next time I plan to play matchmaker.”

Draco groaned. “Please not you too! Rylon is already on the case and he has even gotten himself some enthusiastic help. It would be nice to have someone who is on my side for a change.”

“It’s my meaning of life to tease you, you know that,” I said with a shrug as we neared an empty table at the café and I sat down. Draco followed suit and pushed the menu over to me.

“You don’t want anything?” I asked, knowing that his journey here had been much longer and much more stressful than mine. If anyone deserved some sweet treat, then it was him.

“I’ll order you a Latte Macchiato if you don’t choose for yourself,” I warned him while I went through the selection of sundaes.

“Sure, do that,” he said as he glanced into the distance. His mood had shifted suddenly and I knew better than to disturb him while he was like this.

We spent some time in a comfortable silence until a waitress came over to us, asking in German for our order. I replied in Italian, ordering a pistachio hazelnut sundae and, as threatened, a Latte Macchiato for my brother.

“You do know that you can get cancer from pistachio nuts, right?” Draco asked and I just rolled my eyes.

“Eating them once a year or so won’t kill me,” I replied, being used him worrying about my frail mortal body. There had been a time where we have been the same, but that was almost ten years ago when we had still been kids. Ever since he had found out about the curse and knew that the same would happen to me if my life would meet a sudden end, he had become frantic about preventing it. Under no circumstances would he let me go through the suffering he had endured. It would have been sweet if it had not become repetitive and even a little annoying over the years. It had ranged from things like ‘please don’t go skydiving or freeclimbing’ to now ‘don’t eat pistachio nuts’.

“Anyway, we are seated and I guess we both have to go back to Milan and the UK respectively soon, so better say what you came here for now before we run out of time.”

“This might sound stupid, but…I need a car.”

I had not expected that.

“You’re right, it does sound stupid. With how often you move it would really be a hassle, wouldn’t it? Except you’re now telling me that you intend to stay in England for longer than a year.”

“You know I can’t promise anything like that, but I’m planning to, yes.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay? Just like that?” Draco asked. He apparently had thought that it would have taken some more convincing to get me to agree.

“I said it to you years ago and I’m saying it again: Take what you need.” It had been something we had agreed on when he had first needed to move away. Moving was expensive and so was living in general. I had been more than willing to help him out with a little money. What he needed to live and function was honestly not more in the drop in the fortune of our family. It would not even be missed. Draco could just take whatever he needed and I would make sure that it would not be noticed. This was our deal and it had worked very well so far.

“It has to be a black and inconspicuous car though. I don’t want to draw a lot of attention,” Draco said, knowing better than to further question my motives.

“Consider it done,” I said just as the waitress with his coffee and my sundae arrived.

“Alright, so you have grilled me about Sunny, so it’s only fair that I return the favour,” Draco said as a poured a small package of sugar into his beverage.

“Her name is Sunny, huh?” I just replied with a smug grin while spooning some pistachio ice cream. Seeing Draco freeze for a moment when he realised what he had let slip was amusing to watch. He quickly regained his composure and threw me a grin back.

“So, tell me, when Rylon is so generous about giving you information about me, I wonder what else you two are talking about.” I let no emotion slip over my face but internally I panicked just a little.

“That is none of your business,” I, therefore, said, buying time to collect myself and think of something appropriate to say. Draco chuckled and I did not like the grin on his face. It was what I had dubbed his faerie-grin since it gave me an eerie and uneasy feeling.

“Really? Because just last week he said something about his girlfriend being an Italian model.”

I almost spit out my ice cream. The shock must have been written on my face for a moment though because my brother’s grin just grew. My uncaring façade slipped on a second later though and I cleared my throat.

“Tell him that I am very capable of committing a murder where one would ever find his body.”

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

The Price of Privilege - Part 3 (A Kyungsoo Series)

Genre: Romance Fluff/Angst/ Future Smut - Arranged Marriage / Royalty AU

Characters: Kyungsoo X You

Description: Your time has come to marry the man your family has selected to take your hand. As royalty these important matters are arranged for you, but when you meet your soon to be husband, he is nothing like you expected.

The Price of Privilege [M]: - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11, part 12 , part 13 , part 14, part 15

You knew about the formal dinner with Queen Hong before the day came. Such events required days of preparation. There was the dress, the makeup, the hair, the hours in the shower to get your skin clean and nice smelling enough to be fit for a meal with the queen. Not to mention the mental preparation it took to get your game face on and rid yourself of any and all emotion that might be misconstrued as weakness or ignorance.

You weren’t sure about the details of the dinner, except for the fact that Queen Hong was not going to be alone. Your mind wandered to the possibility and the King himself might make an appearance. Such things weren’t unheard of, although you didn’t want to think about it too much, should your nerves decide to act up tonight.

May had been scrolling through her phone with a tense look on her face all afternoon but every time you asked her what was wrong she just shook her head and avoided your eyes. You did hear her mumble something under her breath that sounded like

’stupid viral kiss’

and you were sure you heard a string of profanities that she never meant for you to hear after that.

Viral? Did someone catch a cold?

A knock on your door told you that the cue you had been awaiting for the last hour had finally come and you rose from the bench you had been seated stiffly on, careful of the pricy dress that seemed to be made of the kind of fabric that instantly wrinkled if you even looked at it the wrong way. It was expensive and beautiful and you hated the way it pinched at your ribs. Or maybe that was the fucking corset. Seriously? Was this thing even necessary? You inhaled as best as you could against the confines of your undergarments and ignored the lightheadedness that tickled your senses.

The butler at the door bowed his head deeply and you walked out of your room with May on your heels. You had not yet been to the formal dining hall of this place but it did not disappoint.

The table was larger than back at home, and seated around the table were the faces of the men you had met the first night you arrived, save one. One significant face was missing and you were led to a spot where you sat, hands in your lap, eyes at your fancy place setting and your ears listening for the door.

The next sound you heard from behind you pulled at your attention, but you forced your eyes down on your plate in front of you.

It was a low voice…well a throat clearing sound and it moved just behind where you sat like a statue of self control.

From your peripheral vision you saw the hand that grabbed the chair back and pulled, swatting away the server who tried to do it for him.

“Sir?” The quiet voice of the waiter called out and you saw a tray with a single shot of alcohol presented next to Kyungsoo.

He was quick to throw the shot back and wave the empty glass on the tray away. With a quick, curious glance around the room you saw a few of the other princes doing the same and you wondered what kind of demons they had to chase away if they couldn’t even stand a single formal dinner without first medicating like this.

“Your Highness,” a low voice was speaking to you from across the large dining table and you looked up, recognizing Chanyeol from the first day. His booming voice was so familiar to you after that first night that you couldn’t help but recognize him immediately. His smile was wide and genuine and you smiled in return. The tension you felt in your shoulders seemed to be worsening on the side where Kyungsoo sat.

Whose idea was it for you to be seated next to him?

The ice water flowing into your glass looked inviting and you reached for it as soon as it was topped off, hoping to wash away the sudden taste that you had recalled.

A sudden taste that you were certain was a phantom…a memory really. Brought on by the person who sat next to you who was now sitting there, breathing, being alive and being real and pulling at your eyes, begging for your to look at him.

The begging didn’t quit and when you finally gave in to it and turned your head enough to see his pretty profile, he had just licked his lips. You caught the tip of his tongue as it disappeared inside of his mouth and his eyes were focused on the wall opposite of his seat. Only there was no focus in them. He looked blank. Present merely in the physical form, Kyungsoo was not yet in any position to look at you, let alone greet you.

“Been busy have you?” You heard that low voice across from you again and you turned forward to meet Chanyeol’s eyes. And Chanyeol’s smirk that felt strangely uninvited.

You ticked your head, not quite sure what he meant, but unwilling to begin a conversation that would never finish once the queen arrived.

Below the table, you felt a knocking against your chair. You shifted in your seat, giving a bit of distance between yourself and the man at your side and the knocking stopped once you moved. His knee that had been bouncing up and down stilled once you shifted, as if you had somehow called attention to it and you heard him clear his throat once as he moved both of his hands below his table into his lap.

You hadn’t known him long, and you definitely didn’t know him well, but you felt a sudden calmness overflow your body with the realization that Do Kyungsoo seemed to be more nervous than you were right now.

The fidgeting didn’t quite stop, but it definitely grew less obvious. You knew by the flexing of the muscles in his wrist that he was doing something with his hands below the table. When you heard the booming voice behind you, announcing the queen’s arrival you were quick to rise with the rest of the attendees for her entrance.

She entered, greetings were made to her two sons who barely held eye contact with her and time and your awareness of reality seemed to enter an alternate state.

You were on autopilot. Nodding and smiling when required and you kept a watch out of the corner of your eye on the man who moved his fidgeting fingers above his lap now as he picked with non-existent fingernails at his cuticles.

Dinner courses were served. Fancy expensive food that was meant to be picked at and tasted, but never finished. Soups that you were to have four spoons of, at the most, as not to scrape the bottom of the bowl. A few swipes of a knife against a filet mignon to cut a tiny piece that would not come close to messing up your makeup as you ate it.

You watched the untouched courses leave Kyungsoo’s place and you figured he didn’t have the nerve to attempt to eat right now.

Your curiosity burned. And your annoyance burned even hotter for having so much weakness when it came to him.

Queen Hong had been discussing something with Jongin, her oldest son and his answers were short and polite. As if one might respond to a well respected elder of the family instead of to their mother. But May had said she hadn’t even seen him in the last five years while he had been away at school. The second her attention left her eldest and moved on to the youngest you saw the physical manifestation of relief take over Jongin’s face. His eyes dropped to his plate and he stabbed at his food, eating a few bites before he turned to the wine and drank nearly half of the glass.

“Now, Prince Kyungsoo,” Queen Hong’s voice spoke up, having moved on from Sehun to the next in line at the table and you heard the shift as he sat up straighter in his seat, his eyes glancing up briefly as she addressed him, “I trust the preparations for the wedding are going well?”

It wasn’t a question at all. And although you were definitely a vital part of said wedding, you weren’t taking any part of this conversation.

“Your Majesty, if I may,” Kyungsoo suddenly spoke up and the queen lowered the fork she had lifted to her lips. The silence that settled over the room was as pervasive as a drug coursing through your veins and you held your breath along with nearly every other person in that room except for the two who were doing the actual talking.

“Go ahead,” she said with a tense smile on her lips. Your mouth was dry and your ice water sat just out of your reach. You could feel the stem of it with your fingertips but you didn’t dare move enough to grab it. Such movement like that might call attention to you right now and that was the last thing you wanted.

“I have had my card returned to me,” he said quietly and your ears burned with the memory of the kiss.

Queen Hong tilted her head and her tense smile widened a bit as her eyes burned holes into his face.

“I have heard. Clearly the public is expecting the wedding to happen soon,” she said as she took the steak on the end of her fork into her mouth and continued to eat despite the stifling stillness around the room.

“The stocks are up because of what I did,” he said and she stopped chewing and narrowed her eyes.

“It’s a bit distasteful to discuss money over dinner.” She waved off a refill on her wine and something shifted in the posture of the man next to you. He turned to face her in his seat and you saw a deep inhale into his chest that perhaps was an involuntary reaction to the courage he was pulling from.

“About what we discussed last year, Your Majesty, France…I’ve been–” His voice was louder now, bolder and more direct as he spoke and you were having trouble following, being new to this family you weren’t sure they had any holdings in France, but anything was possible really.

“My answer was no a year ago, and it is still no.”

“You said if I could get the stocks up by half, you might reconsider. Your Majesty, if you just check the numbers you will see–” His voice was louder now and you felt it coming, as did everyone in the room. To your benefit you didn’t even jump when you heard the fork drop to her plate.

“I think I’ve been more than accommodating of your little hobbies. But abandoning your country for one of them is where I draw the line. Leave the cooking to the servants and do not bring this up again.”

Hobbies? Cooking? Maybe May could find out what this was about because you couldn’t deny any longer how little you knew about what you had just heard. Nor could you deny how much you wanted to know.

“Yes Your Majesty.” His response was quiet, his shoulders slumped and his eyes and ego well deflated.

Below the table the shaking in his knee had stopped and the picked skin around his thumb nail was red with dried blood.

The queen dismissed herself, citing a sudden and very pointed lack of appetite.

Once she was gone the oxygen seemed to return to the room and quiet conversations resumed around the room as the brothers talked and laughed with each other.

All except Kyungsoo who ignored everyone at the table, including you as he finished his food and drinks in silence.

“So when can we expect the next episode of this whirlwind romance?” Chanyeol was speaking to you over his mousse and you caught the quick glance in Kyungsoo’s direction as he spoke to you.

“I’m sorry?” You said, remembering his crypticism before the dinner started and slowly coming to the conclusion that he knew something you didn’t.

“Shut up Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo muttered in a low voice next to you and you noticed the way he stared down at his coffee instead of up into the now laughing eyes of his brother.

“Oh haven’t you seen it yet? Your video has gone viral.” Sehun was speaking now, and he held up his cell phone up for you to see. You had to squint to see across the table but you recognized the dress you were wearing that day.

The day he kissed you outside of the ice cream shop and the screaming voice of the young woman recording the video made it impossible to actually hear anything that was said.

“It went viral because you reposted it on your Instagram, Sehun,” Chanyeol laughed as he pushed the dessert away from him and reached for his wine.

“It was funny…and I can’t t help that I’m popular,” the youngest prince whined and you felt your pulse pushing blood up to the surface of your skin.

Your kiss replayed again and again on the screen and your eyes narrowed on the video as it played.

You saw his body lean in before his lips connected with yours and you saw the stupid way you closed your eyes the second he touched you.

You also saw the stiffness that overcame you with his kiss and that screamed out at you, broadcasting your inexperience in such things. Telling the whole world what they probably already suspected.

It was your first kiss. It was the first time another human being had touched you in such a way as to cause nervous butterflies in your stomach and a burning desire inside that you didn’t quite understand.

And they had all seen it. Not just the present company of assholes, but the whole country.

All so he could get his card back and get a chance to beg a favor of the queen.

Stocks he said. The stocks had risen after the kiss and you knew that this country and your country would see incredible economic gains from this union, from this wedding…you still felt more than just a little bitter about having your first kiss used in such a manner.

The bite of chocolate mousse that sat on the back of your tongue tasted bitter too and you reached for your water glass.

Halfway to the glass your hand took on a route of it’s own and you reached just to the side of where your ice water sat, grabbing the glass of wine instead.

You’d half drained it before you remembered that you had waved away the waiter who poured the wine for this dinner.

“Aww, they’re already sharing drinks. I can feel the love, can’t you Sehun?”

You had gone this far already. Might as well commit to it, right? You drained the rest of Kyungsoo’s wine glass and swallowed hard. Resisting the sour face you wanted to make at the taste of the strong alcohol.

The stares from around the room as you replaced his, now empty glass in front of his cup of coffee burned against your already burning face and you risked a look at his profile.

His jaw was set in a tense knot just below his ear and you knew he was biting down hard. His eyes focused ahead of himself, at that same spot on the wall he had been staring at before the dinner started and you noticed the red tint to the tips of his ears.

“M-Maybe if you release a sex tape next time…s-she’ll let you go to culinary school Kyungsoo.” Chanyeol was almost laughing too much for the words to be audible but the people around the room heard enough to laugh along with the noisy prince and you felt your annoyance flare up strong.

Aside from the blush on Kyungsoo’s neck that was creeping up his cheeks, you felt your own humiliation flooding through your body.

What the fuck was he blushing for? He had done this himself. He was the one who kissed you in public, making sure that he had the attention of the huge crowd of onlookers and not even pretending to want privacy for it.

You were the one who had your first kiss stolen and used in a plot for a stupid favor from the queen and for what? For culinary school? He wanted to go to school to be a fucking cook?

Why he couldn’t just hire his own private teacher in that fancy ass kitchen he spent hours and hours tinkering around in? What kind of permission would he need for that? He was already in there all day long, surely he could satisfy whatever need for knowledge without involving you in his schemes.

Maybe it was the wine in your belly mingling with the scraps of the fancy dinner you choked down, but you suddenly felt a fire burning inside you that didn’t at all calm down with the water you swallowed.

Perhaps the bitterness at the back of your throat had nothing to do with the chocolate, or the wine. Perhaps your real problem was this stubborn, megalomaniac who had not only humiliated you in front of all of his brothers, but who had now made it that the rest of the country saw just how powerless, weak, and ignorant you really were with that public stunt.

Images of your stiffened, innocent, inexperienced reaction to his lips on yours flashed through your memory again and again as the princes laughed and laughed at whatever add-on jokes they threw out at your expense and there was only so much being laughed at you could take. You needed to leave. You needed the quiet of your room and the maybe even the anger of your best friend to sooth your soul a little bit.

You needed to leave but you also itched for the final word. It must have been the wine that made you turn to him. The rolling eyes and the sarcastic smirk on his face as he tried not to laugh along with the others didn’t fool you. You knew he wasn’t making fun of you only because he was too embarrassed at being pulled into the jokes.

It must have been the wine that made you move closer to where he sat, the motion of your hands caught his attention from the corner of his eye and he looked at you with his smirk still well on his face.

When you lifted both hands and reached them out, vacillating in your mind between choking the life out of him and longing to feel the smooth warmth of the skin along his cheeks your hands moved to his face and his eyes darted around in mild panic, widening to full blown panic as you leaned in.

It was the wine he must have tasted on your lips as they reached his and the small grunt of surprise was the only sound you focused on. It was the only sound in the room because a heavy silence enveloped every single living breathing being at that table save for one. When you pushed your lips into his you felt him cave. Perhaps his lips were just that soft. Or maybe he was too surprised, either way when he caved, and his lips parted, you reached for him with your teeth, pulling his bottom lip well into your mouth you bit down and the first sound from his throat after the surprise was quiet. It was almost too quiet for your ears to hear but your hand had moved to the back of his neck now and the small vibration below your palm told you he had made it.

Was it a moan?

Whatever it was, it changed something inside of your chest and that fire that you failed to extinguish with ice water, stolen wine and a plethora of fine eats surged up hotter.

Your hand at the back of his neck pulled harder against him and you registered a new sound in the room. Something that sounded like a gasp..shock…surprise..scandal.

His lips were soft and his mouth was wet and a warm hand on your knee flexed soft fingers against your skin but that gasp…was an audience.

You pulled away suddenly, instantly missing the taste of his mouth and the warmth of his skin below your fingers.

Your retreat afforded you a new view of his face. Lips wet and open. Pink from your teeth and stunned into stillness and his eyes.

Those dark, hard, judging eyes that followed you whenever he graced you with a second of his attention, those eyes…were hidden below closed eyelids with dark lashes splayed over his pink cheeks.

You saw movement below his eyelids and you pushed yourself away from the table, lifted onto your wobbly legs and tried your best not to pass out from the deep breath you couldn’t quite inhale, yet futilely tried to take in.

“Thanks for the wine,” your own voice sounded a touch too affected, but the message had been well received with your kiss. It was only polite to thank him for his hospitality after all.

His eyes were open now and the hardness was back, though softened just a touch at first you saw his brows furrow as he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth.

“Ohh shit! You–” Chanyeol’s boisterous voice erupted like a party popper and you physically jumped from the sudden noise, but you were standing already and you used the distraction as your chance for an exit, “–you…and her….DAMN I can’t wait for the next video!”

You were out the door in a flash and you heard the echo of Kyungsoo’s response to the man who didn’t know when to quit.

“Shut the fuck up, Chanyeol,” his low rumble felt achingly familiar as it faded into the background noises behind you.

You walked in silence and solitude for a few minutes before you heard the surprised greeting of May, who had been mingling near the dining hall during the meal.

She had been chit-chatting with some other staff members as she waited and she had a look on her face that told you she knew a few things about what had taken place during dinner.

“What happened in there?!” Her hushed whisper was thoroughly scandalized sounding and you shook your head looking back at the various staff members within earshot.

“My room,” you said through gritted teeth and once you were both through the door the floodgates were opened.

You were met with ’oh my gods’ and ’no ways’ once you relayed the events from the moment you sat down at that table.

“So he wants to go to school in France?” Her face had all of the ‘WTF’ emotion you had kept off of yours during the dinner. “And that’s why he kissed you? So the queen would agree?”

You shrugged and nodded your head, wondering how long it would be until May found out about the revenge kiss you had just given to Kyungsoo moments earlier.

The next day May greeted you with a tense, disapproving expression on her face and you knew she found out.

But May being May…kept her much deserved scolding rights to herself.

You had mostly recovered from the stress from the dinner the evening prior when she returned to your room with a new sort of concern on her face.

“Umm…there’s a police officer here to see you.” Her whisper was tense and you frowned in confusion and disbelief that kept your legs stubbornly glued to the floor for a moment.

When you finally moved, she followed you close by, reaching for your hand as you made your way to the front of your home where you caught the sight of a uniformed police-woman standing at the front door talking to the butler.

The officer, you noticed, wore quite a bit of makeup and you felt a little taken aback at first glance. Her face was pretty and strangely familiar and as you approached she reached out a hand with a polite smile on her face.

“Hello, your Highness, I’m sorry we have to meet this way, but I’m afraid I will need you to come with me.” You shook the police woman’s hand quickly and the smile on her face was rueful. The sound of her voice was lower than you expected by the look of her, but you shook that away. Perhaps you were just being too judgemental, seeing such a pretty woman in full police uniform and all.

“W-Where are you taking her?” May’s voice broke through, loud and abrasive and you seriously doubted such an aggressive response was necessary.

“We just need to head over to the security office. There’s a bit of a problem involving a…stolen Maserati? The owner has decided to press charges.” The police officer frowned an exaggerated sad frown that looked just like an adult patronizing a young child about to throw a fit.

“C-Charges? He…That rat! I’ll ki–” May was too emotional again and you laid your hand over her shoulder to stop her before the death threat to a member of the royal family of this country could leave her lips in front of a police officer.

“May, it’s fine. I’ll go with officer…” the pause made the woman turn back around to face you with a small grimace on her lips for a moment before she opened her mouth to fill in the information you sought out.

“Officer Baekhee,” she said in that voice that was just a touch too low and she flipped her ponytail off her shoulder to her back with her hand.

You felt like a jerk for glancing down at her neck to search for an Adam’s apple, and even more of a jerk for finding none. Even her hands looked feminine enough, but you couldn’t shake the suspicions you had.

Not that it even mattered. It was none of your damn business. You nodded your head and followed the woman down the walkway, through the beautiful gardens. Once at the door of a separate building without any windows she lifted her hand and knocked twice.

“I’m coming too.” May said confidently.

“Oh, are you the accomplice?” Officer Baekhee said with a cheerful, nearly manic look in her eyes that made May take a small step back and away from you.

Her face that was so full of confidence and bravado fell and you saw genuine fear flash across her pretty features.

“A-Accomplice?” Her voice was smaller now and you shook your head in disagreement with the direction this conversation was quickly headed.

Officer Baekhee looked down at the palm of her hand and you could see something hastily scribbled across her flesh. She was squinting as she tried to make out the letters that had obviously begun to smudge now.

“May…Kim? I have here that a May Kim is listed as an accomplice in the crime.”

May let go of her tight grip she had been holding around your hand and you released her hand as you looked at her nervous expression.

“Umm…I’m…too young for prison,” May whispered into your ear as she tried her best to keep the message concealed from the officer, who was now scraping at her hand with her fingernail as she mouthed something she was trying to read. You noticed the note pad of paper sticking out of her shirt pocket and you wondered why she didn’t just use that for her notes instead of trying to fit everything on the palm of her hand. There was definitely something very very different about this woman.

“May had nothing to do with this. She is an employee of mine and was merely following orders,” you spoke up and the police woman looked up with wide eyes from her palm.

“She’s been…conditioned at a very early age to do exactly as I say,” you continued and you saw May glance at you out of the side of her eye, “I can make her do anything I say. She never ever disobeys.”

May scoffed and quickly covered her mouth with her open hand, turning the sound into a little cough and Officer Baekhee looked between the two of you with a single eyebrow raised in great doubt of your tails of May’s obedience.

“May,” you said, with your eyes still on the police officer and your voice loud and authoritative, “stand on one foot.”

You felt May shift her balance and when you looked down you saw one foot raised a few inches into the air. She was cooperating well but her expression was annoyed now. Didn’t the idiot know you were just trying to save her here? Why did she always have to bring her stupid pride into things.

“Make her quack like a duck,” Officer Baekhee said in a low whisper as she leaned in to you and of course it wasn’t very discrete. May heard and she groaned in irritation.

“May…You heard her. Let’s hear it.” Your voice was in control but your eyes were wide and begging.

She stood silently for what felt like days and you reached out and grabbed ahold of her forearm, pinching hard against the flesh. She yelped and jumped and closed her eyes tight. From her lips you heard the quietest little two quacking sounds and you smiled wide and triumphantly as you looked back into the amused face of the police officer.

You heard a slight commotion behind the door of the security room that you had been waiting in front of and the three of you turned when the door was pulled open. An older man wearing a security uniform looked into the face of the three of you, lingering a little too long on the police woman’s face before he pulled the door open.

“C-Can I help you?” The old man asked.

Officer Baekhee sprung into action, patting dramatically along her uniform as she sounded out a long ‘uhhhhh’ to buy some time. Eventually from her pocket she pulled out a small black leather bound badge that she held up to the man at the door.

“I’m here to speak with a Mr.,” abother pause and she was squinting down at her hand again, “Do Kyungsoo. He filed a complaint.”

The old man rolled his eyes, a wholly unprofessional reaction you thought, and he turned silently to walk back into the security office, leaving the door open behind him.

You heard him mumbling something under his breath about how this was interrupting his lunch and you were sure you heard the phrase ‘damn kids’. You wondered how this old man dared to disrespect an officer of the law so brazenly.

You saw the old man lift a big wrinkled hand and point down a hallway off to the left.

“He is there,” he said and he sat down to a half eaten sandwich and an open newspaper.

Through the door you saw him. Kyungsoo stood with his focus on one of the computer screens that lined the wall in front of him and his hands secured behind his back. When he heard the door open he turned to the noise and stopped mid turn to look into the face of Officer Baekhee who smiled wide and friendly. Kyungsoo seemed frozen as he looked from the woman’s face down the length of her and back up again.

What was wrong with everybody today? Couldn’t they just accept this woman as an officer of the law and leave it at that? I mean…sure she looked…interesting from certain angles, and you were pretty sure the lump you saw at the bottom of her shirt, right below where the fabric tucked into her slacks, was one fallen breast that had been shifted out from her bra. Perhaps a sock?

“What the hell–” Kyungsoo muttered under his breath and you saw the slow rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled deeply.

“Is there something wrong with Officer Baekhee?” You raised your voice, suddenly very annoyed at his reaction to this woman. He was being a rude ass and you weren’t about to stand for this kind of behavior.

Kyungsoo pulled his eyes from the woman in front of him and turned to face you.

“Nothing’s wrong…I just called a Police Man, I didn’t expect…”

Oh no he didn’t.

You rested your hand over Officer Baekhee’s shoulder and you saw her tick her head in your direction. The blush on her cheeks looked even more garish in the harsh lighting of the surveillance room.

“Officer Baekhee can I have just one word with you outside please?”

The look of surprise on her face was clear but she nodded as she quickly followed you out the door, away from where May and Kyungsoo waited and watched you make a quick exit with the police woman.

“W-What is it?” She sounded unsure and you reached for the wig you saw on her head. It was crooked and you could see bits of straight black hair peeking out below the waves of brown hair.

“I just wanted to say that you are doing an amazing job. I know how challenging this profession can be and clearly there are some who will never understand the struggles you face.” You tucked her black hair below the wig and straightened her bangs over her forehead as she watched your face with a look of shock that seemed to be changing the longer she looked at you.

Were her eyes wet? Shit, you didn’t mean to make her too emotional to do her job.

You lightly tapped against the ball of fabric you saw in the bottom of her top and she looked down with an embarrassed smile.

“No matter what happens in there…just remember that he and all of the other people like him are assholes and you are already a better human being than they are. You’re doing great and you look absolutely beautiful…okay?”

She reached inside her shirt through the collar and grabbed for the bundle of socks which you saw her stuff back inside of her bra. Suddenly she seemed to be having trouble meeting your eyes. She merely smiled and blinked a little too rapidly every time you tried to make eye contact. The sweet smile you had seen on her face so often in this short meeting had faded some and you could sense a very real change in her demeanor.

She was probably just embarrassed.

When you returned to the surveillance room May was staring daggers into the back of Kyungsoo’s head as he leafed through documents he had laid out on the desk in front of him.

Once everyone was back inside Officer Baekhee was back in charge of the conversation with what felt like a new flood of confidence that had taken over her body.

She was asking pointed questions directed at Kyungsoo and you honestly felt pretty good about the direction of her ‘investigation’ until Kyungsoo decided to press the spacebar on the computer keyboard in front of him.

The screens that lined the wall came to life suddenly and the image that had been stagnant, showing a closed garage door that looked so familiar to you, showed a small bit of movement at the side of the structure.

“As you can plainly see, I have a video of the crime.” Kyungsoo’s voice was flat and calm as Officer Baekhee squinted her eyes again, trying to make out the movement just off the screen of what you were sure was you as you danced in front of the garage, trying to get it open.

“I don’t see it. You can’t even see who that is.” She said with her arms over her chest. The socks shifted again, popping up unnaturally high and you noticed Kyungsoo glanced down at the woman’s chest when they moved.

His hand hit another key on the keyboard and the camera angle switched.

Clearly he was prepared. Directly in the middle of the screen you danced, in complete silence without a hint of music, you saw your limbs flailing wildly before you spun three times, got dizzy, took a stumble and finished with widely spread fingers on your shaking jazz hands.

May snorted loudly from the back of the room and you saw a smile on Officer Baekhee’s face that she bit down hard on to try and suppress quickly.

Kyungsoo’s face was immobile. He was a stone with wide blinking eyes and lips that never smiled, ever, unless he was pulling the wings off of a fly, or burning ants with a magnifying glass. He was probably one of those people who only laughed when others got hurt, instead of offering a helping hand. How in the world did you end up with this psychopath as your future husband?

May got her laughter from the back of the room under control with enough time for the video to change. From the angle of the shot you saw yourself run out of the frame and a long while later, much longer than it should take, you thought as you stared at the video and waited, the black sedan came bursting through the frame, over the cement driveway straight off the edge of the driveway, running over a row of bushes and flowers.

You saw the brake lights illuminate and the car stopped just in front of a tree in the middle of the yard.

You heard a deep sigh from Kyungsoo’s chest as he watched the video and he bit down on the inside of his cheek.

On the video, the car was moving again. As it reversed you saw the rows of bushes pulled up by the roots and several, not just the one as you originally thought, were left in your wake.

“Okay, this part takes…a very long time.” Kyungsoo was speaking again and you saw his hand press on another key.

The shot changed and you saw a long empty driveway seen from the vantage point of the front gate. At the end of the driveway, if you focused hard and squinted, you could see a black dot.

After about two solid minutes the dot grew larger and became car-shaped.

“How long does this go on for? Did you slow the video down?” Officer Baekhee was getting restless and Kyungsoo just looked back at your face with bored eyes before he answered the woman.

“No…this is real time. She just drove very, very slowly.” He pulled his top lip down in between his teeth and bit down. You noticed a tiny twitch at the corner of his lips and you wondered if he was trying not to laugh at you again.

“Can’t you just tell me how much you want for the damages?” You had had enough. He was very obviously doing this to torture you and once you saw the twitch in his lips you knew, you KNEW he was just going to make fun of you again.

“Wait, let me fast forward. This next part is great.” His lips were pulled wide now and you saw the first chuckle in his chest as he advanced the video. In this speed it actually looked like you knew how to drive quite well if you were being honest with yourself.

“How much could that car be to fix? I saw just a few scratches in the front.” You were whining now and Officer Baekhee was giggling now as Kyungsoo came into the frame and the frantic screaming began.

The video had no sound of course, but the screaming was practically audible just by the movement of your mouth and May’s purse flying at him again and again inside the vehicle.

“That was self defense.” You said as you pointed inside the vehicle on the screen.

He had paused the video now and your mouth was open in terror. His body was halfway hanging out the car and his legs stuck straight out through the window.

Behind you, May laughed under her breath and you shot her a glare that did not at all stop her giggles.

Kyungsoo was the most under control of any of the people in this room and he lifted his closed fist into the air in front of him.

“Grand theft auto.” A finger popped up. “Criminal trespassing.” He said as he lifted a second finger.

“You said she had a key to the car and had been living on the grounds.” Officer Baekhee spoke up and you turned to face her with a wide hopeful smile on your face.

She winked the smallest wink that you felt lift your mood up high into the room like a helium filled balloon.

Kyungsoo cleared his throat and glared across the desk at the police woman.

“Oh, sorry,” Officer Baekhee said. Giving Kyungsoo a wave of her hand for the floor to speak.

“Destruction of private property. The car is mine and she did not have permission to take it,” He lifted his chin into the air clearly very proud of himself in this moment. “And the bushes are imported.” He added with a smug eyebrow lift.

“Imported from where?” Officer Baekhee asked with a touch of disbelief in her voice that you couldn’t quite place.

“They are russian purple sage bushes….from Russia,” he said.

“Oh please,” she was clearly done with his nonsense now and crossed her arms over her chest in defiance, knocking the small note pad up and out of her pocket in the process, “that’s the species of the plant, not the origin. You really are grasping at straws here Mr. Do.”

“Baek–” Kyungsoo said in a low warning tone, stopping himself with an annoyed squint of his eyes before he placed his hand up to his forehead and pressed down against his temples. “I mean, Officer Baekhee.”

From the corner of your eye you caught May as she moved across the room and reached for the small notepad that had fallen from the police woman’s pocket.

You watched as she looked down at the notepad, looking up at you once, you shook your head no. But May being May shrugged and opened it. You watched her expression carefully as the bickering between Kyungsoo and the Officer droned on in the background.

May’s eyes were wide as she flipped page after page in the small book and with a swift motion she closed the thing all together, gripped the edges of the pages and flipped through them with her thumb. Her eyes went wider, her mouth fell open and she looked up into your face before those wide eyes shot to the pair who argued over the price of an imported bush.

May moved her arm up quickly, pulling at the hair that sat atop of Officer Baekhee’s head. She removed the wig in a swift motion and you gasped out loud when you saw it happen.

Baekhee’s hands flew up to her head and she let out a blood curdling scream and you tried to reach for May to stop her.

You had grabbed her hands and pulled the wig away from her grasp, but the thing was wrecked. The damage had already been done. The neat poly tail was destroyed and bits of hair fell out onto the floor below and now, Officer Baekhee would surely be humiliated.

“Look at the book. This isn’t Officer Baekhee,” May growled as she glared at the two people in the room.

You reached for the book in her hand and you opened it to see a single drawing on the top page. A drawing that looked exactly like Kyungsoo, with his hand over his lips and a very obvious blush on his face. The page below looked nearly identical but the further you turned into the page the more you saw slight changes. You remembered the way May had quickly flipped through the book before she freaked the fuck out and you closed it to do the same.

As you flipped you saw it for what it was.

It was an animation. A cartoon drawing animation that showed the view across a fancy dinner table as you sat in a seat next to Kyungsoo. Then turned, grabbed him, kissed him square on his lips and left the room. Leaving behind a shy blushing Kyungsoo.

It was the kiss from dinner as seen by one of the princes across the table.

“Prince Baekhyun,” May said with an exaggerated bow of her head and absolutely none of the respect she had been trained to show to a member of the royal family.

“He made me do it.” Baekhyun lifted one of his long fingers and pointed accusatorily at Kyungsoo who stood with a very definite frown on his face.

“I didn’t tell you to dress as a woman,” Kyungsoo said matter of factly and Baekhyun lifted his hand to his chest as he took a step back.

“I will have you know that I was doing great and I looked absolutely beautiful,” Baekhyun looked back at you with a wide smile and you bit down on your lip to control your laughter.

Something seemed to snap in Kyungsoo’s calm demeanor and he reached for the phone on the desk, quickly dialing numbers with his index finger. Your heart sank. Was he calling the real police now?

“What are you doing?” The panicked tone, surprisingly, didn’t come from you, but from Baekhyun who lunged forward to grab for the phone from Kyungsoo’s grip.

“What do you think I’m doing. I’m calling her.”

“W-Which one are you calling? Mel or Sel?” Baekhyun’s voice had risen two octaves and the two grunted as both tried to gain an upper hand on the handset of the phone.

“Does it matter which one? You didn’t possibly think you would get away with fucking twin sisters behind their backs did you?”

“Kyungsoo they are identical! How the hell was I supposed to know that it was a different one from the night before? I don’t think you understand what the word identical means.”

May had your hand again and she was pulling you out of the room. Your attention ping-ponged back and forth between the two brothers who didn’t seem to notice as you both quietly exited that surveillance room, even after the loud click of the door cut off their discussion just when someone seemed to have picked up on the other end of the phone call Kyungsoo had been making.

“Remind me again why you thought that kissing that terrible man was a good idea? And in front of all of them too…” May must have been feeling particularly relieved that Officer Baekhee wasn’t a real cop here to drag her away to the state penitentiary because she was nagging now as she dragged you through the estate gardens toward one of the side doors that was close to where your living quarters were.

“It was… for revenge?” Saying it out loud made it sound even dumber than when you had the thought in your head.

“Revenge? How is kissing him a good revenge move? Did you plan on giving him revenge blue balls too?” She had actually stopped walking to squint at the bright sunlight and berate you for the way you chose to deal with your prince problems.

“I hardly think he was that affected May.”

Your mind leapt in embarrassing directions with her colorful choice of metaphors and you shook your head as you tried to shake the thoughts away. No way. You hadn’t even looked there once. The thought never crossed your mind.

You also didn’t know exactly how fine he looked in sweatpants. You definitely didn’t watch him from your bedroom window as he left for his morning jog.

“Well the next time you want revenge, please reconsider doing something stupid like a revenge make-out session in his private kitchen, or a revenge blow job.” May was grinning now and you covered your loud gasp with your open hand.

“May!” You whispered over her stifled laughter, “I’ve never done any of that stuff!”

“Hey, I don’t know what other kinds of YouTube videos you’ve been watching.” You smacked her on her arm to get her to shut up and pushed into your room with an exhausted sigh.

Stupid Do Kyungsoo. Stupid May. Stupid Officer Baekhee.

A warm shower and the softness of your bed called to you, begging you to give up on the awake world and sink below it’s covers a bit early tonight.

When you woke up someone was shaking your shoulders and the darkness of your room was startling. You recognized May’s voice as she whispered your name but instead of sleeping next to you in your bed she was wrapped in a robe and standing over you next to the bed.

“Hmm?” Your drowsiness was persistent and her face looked different.

Her lips seemed flushed as if she had been biting them in worry and her cheeks were pink. Was this look just from sleep?

“You have to wake up, something is wrong.” She was whispering even though the room was empty except for the both of you and you sat up quickly at her words. The clock on the dresser read a little after 3am.

“What happened?” You asked in a groggy voice very thick with sleep.

“It’s…the prince. It’s Kyungsoo, something happened…I don’t. We don’t know what to do but S-Sehun thinks that maybe…if you go.”

Kyungsoo? Did something bad happen to Kyungsoo?

“Wait, Sehun?” May’s wide eyes blinked a few times and she bit down on her lip before she nodded her head and you couldn’t quite piece together the bits of information she had given you.

“Is he okay?” The sleep was gone, leaving behind a nauseousness that surged inside your belly.

“I don’t know.” She answered your question.

Was this concern? Worry? You knew it was yet your mind had trouble giving it such a caring sounding word.

It had to just be your body reacting to being startled awake.

“Where?” You had your sleep shorts and tank on and you quickly reached for a longer sweatshirt to pull over yourself.

“Kitchen,” she whispered and your slippers were on your feet as you rushed out the door.

May didn’t follow and you hardly paid any attention as you moved quickly through the long hallways toward his side of the house. The place where you knew he had his own private sanctuary.

You turned down the familiar hallway and you saw the door on the far end. It was the only door in this entire empty hallway and the lights on the other side of the door were off, yet as you moved closer and your rapid steps slowed and quieted down you could definitely hear something on the other side of the door.

Something that had you craning your neck and turning your ear to the rest against the door so you could make sense of the sounds.

He was singing. You heard his singing voice again only this time was miles apart from the singing you heard from this kitchen the first time you came.

This song was…broken. Staggered and peppered with soft cries that panged against your insides as you heard the words in his soft voice.

’Help me, I’m holding on for dear life Won’t look down, won’t open my eyes’

He sang the words to the song slowly, agonizing between each new line and you could hear what sounded like glass scraping across the floor as he did it.

’Keep my glass full until morning light Cause I’m just holding on for tonight’

Your hand pushed against the door and it gave.

The darkness beyond was oppressive.

’1-2-3, 1-2-3 Drink, Throw ‘em back, ‘til I lose count.’

The final word wasn’t sung, but shouted out with a loud grunt as the sounds of shattering glass screamed out into your senses.

“Kyungsoo,” you called out into the darkness and the sound of the glass fell to the floor and settled into an eerie quiet.

His singing had stopped when you spoke and you imagined that the light from the hallway shone through enough for him to be able to see you from where he was in the dark room.

“Who sent you?” His voice was hoarse and soft and from where he spoke you knew he was somewhere near the big industrial ovens that lined the back wall.

“Are you hurt?” You took a step into the room and felt the distinct crunch of glass under your slippers. They had hard soles. You would be fine as long as you moved slowly.

“Hurt?” You heard him say in a whisper, processing your question slowly. You heard another crunch below your feet and your leg bumped against something metal on the floor.

“Is there a light here?” You ran your hands along the wall as you moved, trying to find the switch and when you found it you flipped it expecting to flood the room in blinding light but when it was flipped nothing happened.

Another switch next to it had the same result and you heard a small laugh from the back of the room.

“Its all…broken.” He laughed again and you heard a clank and a noisy swallow.

The only light in the room was from the small window in the door and your eyes began to adjust to see shadows of shapes around the room.

Where flat oven doors should have been, you saw jagged holes and where cupboards were once clean and white they looked crooked and broken.

“What happened here?” You were heading toward the stoves in the back now, the more you could see the destruction around you in his kitchen. In his sanctuary.

“Did you come to finish?” He said in a broken voice and your fingertips ran along the hood of the stove just above where he sat. You found a switch and it clicked, filling the room with a soft yellow light that illuminated just how surprising it was that this worked. The exhaust hood was smashed in and hanging on by only wires.

His head hung down at his chest and from your view you could see the cuts and blood along the skin of his bare feet. One slipper was halfway across the room and another you couldn’t locate, but the room was beyond trashed.

It looked as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to the cupboards and appliances and the amount of glass that you saw covering the floor was shocking.

“I didn’t do this Kyungsoo. I didn’t come to do anything else either.”

“S-She,” you looked down at your feet and grabbed the nearly empty bottle of tequila that sat on its side next to him and his fingers that had their grip on the neck let go when you pulled it, “she found out I was applying anyway.”

“To your cooking school?” You crouched down on your heels so you could hear him clearer through the slurred speech and you saw him nod his head.

“Le Cordon Bleu Paris…it was just a preliminary acceptance until they received my full application. I had been working for weeks, but now–” he sighed a deep sigh and wiped at his face with blood stained fingertips.

You were moving around as he spoke and you lifted a sheet pan and found his other slipper. With both in your hands you knelt in front of him and slipped them onto his feet before you reached for him, running your hands slowly down his arms to reach for both of his hands.

“Will you come with me so I can help you?” You felt the grip of his hands go slack inside of your own hands and he shook his head.

“Please Kyungsoo?” You squeezed against his hands and you saw his head shake no again despite the fact that his grip tightened once more on your hands.

“No…you,” his eyes opened and he looked up into your face. The blackness of his irises ticked around your face before settled hard into your eyes again, “you’re too soft for this place. They’re going to destroy you. You have to leave. You have to go, why are you so stubborn? Why won’t you just go?”

“I made a promise to you…long before I ever knew you. I made the same promise to myself. And I never go back on my promises. Will you let me help you?” His eyes closed slowly with your words and you felt his hands grip against yours again, pulling now. You stood and backed up, trying to get him to stand on his feet, against whatever wounds he had sustained and the alcohol he had consumed he somehow managed to stand and when he steadied his swaying there was a different look in his eyes.

“I’m no better than the rest of them. You’ll be ruined by me.” He was walking now, slowly and he limped on one foot. You wrapped arms around his waist and he backed up at the contact. When you pulled at him again, forcing him to let you help him, he finally caved and you felt him rest his weight against your shoulders.

“I’m stronger than you think I am Kyungsoo,” you answered, hoping and praying that you were right.

A/N: the song Kyungsoo is singing is Puddle’s Pity Party Cover of Sia’s Chandelier. (Clown warning)

The Price of Privilege [M]: - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11, part 12 , part 13 , part 14, part 15

[sirandking]

i love the hs au u wrote and if u feel like following up on it can i just say that i would Appreciate it?

I’m so glad you enjoyed it!! bless xx

I’m pretty sure “following up on it” was supposed to mean “hey write a cute date/kiss scene”, not “hey, write a 4000-word backstory where Andrew has selective mutism and a crush on Neil and Neil has an intense hatred of Andrew and they’re both forced to work together on a school project,” so I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to learn that I went with the latter. Enjoy!!

(If you still want the cute date/kiss scene, feel free to ask! From this au)

Andrew hadn’t spoken a wordall day. When Cass had said goodbye to him on her way to work, he’d managed ashrug in her direction, but his usual goodbyegot stuck in his throat. He’d ignored Richard and Drake completely. Hisclasses, which were occasionally interesting enough to bother paying attentionto, were background noise as he stared at the cracks in his desk and the waterdroplets running down the window.

It wasn’t that the wordsweren’t there – despite him being a naturally non-talkative person – but thatthey couldn’t seem to make it out of his mouth. There was a dam at the pointwhere his lips met, or maybe at the back of his throat, and when it was shutthere was no way for the words to flow out.

It was frustrating. He hatedfeeling so out of control in his own body. He hated that he didn’t care.

He hated that it got himpartnered up with Neil Josten for his history summative.

“I can work just fine on myown,” Neil told the teacher, shifting his backpack over to a chair besideAndrew’s nonetheless. “Andrew can work with the demon possessing him.”

Andrew decided it was inaccurateto blame all of his problems on his uncooperative vocal cords. He was partneredup with Neil Josten because the two of them both had a habit of pissing off theirclassmates, and because Andrew was too intimidating for the teacher to feelcomfortable partnering him with anyone else.

It didn’t matter; the end resultwas the same. For the first time in two years, Andrew was forced to interactwith Neil Josten. In any other circumstance, if he were any other person, hemight see it as an opportunity. For Andrew, it would only be a curse. NeilJosten was a good thing, and Andrew rarely got to have good things without somesort of consequence.

The last words Neil hadspoken to him still rattled around his head from time to time, mocking himabout what happened when he stepped too far out of his lane.

Don’t ever come near me again.

It’s not my fault, Andrew thought, like thosewords had ever saved him before.

“…get this over with,” Neilwas saying. Andrew tuned back in out of instinct, because his body had neverlistened when his brain said something was a bad idea. It didn’t help thatNeil’s voice was the exact right mix of soft and rough to set Andrew’s bones onfire. “I know you’re a fucked-up asshole, but the least you could do is try topull your weight.”

What happened to working just fine on your own,Andrew almost said, but the words stayed trapped.

“What? You’re not even goingto bother with a ‘fuck off’?” Neil said. “I’m offended.”

Don’t think you’re special, Andrew thought. MaybeNeil would be telepathic. It would be typical of something like Neil, to beable to see into Andrew’s head and pick out all his secrets. He almost hatedNeil for it already.

Almost.

“Whatever. I’m not going topull your weight. As long as I can scrape by with a 50, I’m happy.” Neil kickedthe leg of his desk and slumped down in his chair, fiddling with a strap on hisbackpack. It was the same worn-out backpack he’d been using when Andrew hadseen him for the first time two years ago.

They passed the rest of theperiod in silence. Neil was gone the second the bell rang.

He felt prepared, the nextday, as he walked from his third-floor psychology classroom to history, to facethe maelstrom of Neil Josten. He had gone to visit Bee after school the daybefore and she’d given him a cup of hot chocolate and a collection of businesscards that he had systematically burned as soon as he’d gotten home. The fog inhis head had thinned – possibly from Bee, possibly from the extra two hours ofsleep he’d gotten, possibly for an entirely different reason, but thinnednonetheless.

He sat down at his desk,dropped his backpack on the floor without taking anything out, and traced thecrack in his desk, ready to ignore everything that Neil did.

Neil walked into history andAndrew’s stomach turned itself inside out.

Andrew did his best to forcethe feeling down as Neil slumped down in the chair beside him. It was a gutresponse to a pretty face – nothing that meant anything. He wasn’t let downthat Neil was resolutely ignoring him; he had never expected anything from Neilin the first place.

He busied himself with kickingthe metal leg of his desk. Neil was tugging at the fraying hem of his hoodiesleeve.

The teacher walked by andtold them that if they didn’t at least try to work together, they would bothget zeros.

“It’s good to know you atleast care about not failing,” Neil said, watching Andrew heave a textbook outof his backpack.

“I don’t care,” Andrew said,shivering against the word. He didn’t, but he also didn’t care to stay in highschool any longer than he had to. It was all cost and benefit.

Neil frowned at him and he wonderedif it was the first time Neil had heard him speak in two years.

He cracked open his textbookbefore he could delve any deeper into that thought and picked up where he’dleft off, at the advantages of the American air force in the First World War.

Neil scowled and moved toopen his book to the same page, but Andrew shook his head.

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I’mtelling Rutherford at the end of the period that we’ll be working on our own.”

Neil froze halfway throughflipping a page. “You – why?” he asked.

“You told me in explicitterms that I was not welcome anywhere near you. I assume that applies to groupprojects as well.”

“It – it does,” Neil said,frustration and disbelief written in every line of his face. “I didn’t thinkyou’d bother.”

Andrew felt a dark wave crashover him, and reminded himself Neil had no reason to believe any different. “Idon’t break my word,” he said.

“Right,” Neil said, notsounding right at all, and pulled his own textbook out of his bag.

Andrew turned back to his owntextbook, flipping the page at regular intervals and trying to avoid the feelingof Neil’s eyes on him. He didn’t take in any of the words – history was aboutas interesting to him right then as sandpaper. He could feel Neil start to saysomething, heard the intake of breath, but Neil only closed his mouth andshifted away.

Ten minutes later, he turnedabruptly towards Andrew. “You didn’t promise anything, though.”

Andrew took a second tobreathe before he looked up at Neil.

“I told you to leave mealone. You never promised you’d actually do it.”

Andrew blinked at Neil. “Doyou want to stop working together or not?”

“Of course,” Neil saidimmediately. “You’re a creep.”

“Clearly,” Andrew said, andthat was the last that either of them spoke.

In the end, it only took fiveminutes to convince the teacher to let Andrew and Neil work separately. Andrewhad a reputation that Neil didn’t, for all his sharp words and piercing glares,and it seemed that even teachers didn’t want to get on his bad side.

Despite that, he didn’t evenget a day of peace and quiet. Neil marched up to Andrew Friday morning beforeclass and slammed his hand against the wall.

“I don’t get you.”

Andrew shoved his coat intohis locker before turning to meet Neil’s frustrated glare.

“At first I thought you were hereto spy on me, but you’re not,” Neil continued. He was still holding onto thestrap of his backpack with one hand. Andrew wondered whether he ever let go ofit; in over two years, he’d never seen Neil without it.

“Have you never consideredboring old curiosity about the new kid?”

“Curiosity about the new kiddoesn’t have you breaking into the office and stealing files,” Neil retorted.“You haven’t done that for anyone else.”

Deep breaths, Andrew thought. “Maybe Iwanted to see what kind of new kid would jump to a conclusion like spying whenhe heard someone was looking into him.”

Neil clenched his jaw. Hiseyes darted over Andrew’s face; Andrew had the impression of being interrogatedby a colony of ants.

“They say you’ve gotten inover a hundred fights,” Neil said. His face was unreadable. “I don’t buy it.”

“You don’t think I’ve pissedoff that many people?”

“You don’t seem like the typeto beat people up for no reason. You don’t care, right?”

Andrew couldn’t stopsomething from flickering across his face; he could only hope it was too fastfor Neil to catch it. “I hate you,” he said, coming out just shy of the truth.

“But you haven’t beaten meup.”

“Do you want me to?” He wasalready imagining a thousand different ways he could put Neil on the ground.Disconcertingly few of them involved punching.

Neil ran a hand through hishair in frustration. “I want you to make sense,” he said. “I can’t figure youout. I hate it.”

“Now you know how I feel,”Andrew said, shutting his locker. He moved to leave for class, but Neil grabbedhim arm. Andrew couldn’t hide his flinch, and Neil let go like he was on fire.

For a minute they just stood,Andrew staring at Neil and Neil staring at Andrew’s arm. Andrew had no ideawhat Neil was thinking, except that it was something Andrew wanted nothing todo with. He did not have the time or the energy to play mind games with Neil.Not when he knew how it would end.

Because Neil was a goodthing, and Andrew was not the kind of person who got to keep good things.

“I’ll figure you out,” Neilfinally said. “Myself, if you won’t help me. And I’ll let you know when I do.”

“I look forward to it,”Andrew said, and wondered how self-destructive he would have to be to betelling the truth.

Neil didn’t speak to Andrewat all the next week. He was silent during history, he avoided all the placesAndrew usually frequented, and he pointedly turned away every time Andrewlooked in his direction.

It would be perfect, exceptthat Neil still wouldn’t leave him alone.

When Andrew caught his eyesin history on Monday, Neil turned away, but Andrew felt his eyes at the side ofhis head the second he looked back out the window. He didn’t see Neil at all ashe ate lunch in the library on Tuesday, but he could feel the shivers down hisspine that meant someone was watching him. He thought he caught Neil hidingbehind a tree as he walked home on Wednesday, but by the time he’d crossed thestreet to investigate, no one was there.

It was frustrating, it wasinfuriating, and Andrew wanted it to stop.

Drake had left on Tuesday forbasic training in Oklahoma, and would be gone for at least four months. Andrewhad spent Monday night camped out beside a public library, and snuck back intothe house at 4 am so that he would be ready in the morning to say goodbye. Withone furious look behind Cass’s back, Drake had driven away.

Where euphoria might havebeen, Andrew only felt apathy. He had too many doubts circling his head to feelany kind of freedom. Andrew had never been the kind of person who could be freeof people like Drake; it was only a matter of time. He could feel the knowledgecreeping through his skin, digging at his heart, draining his energy.

He spoke four words onWednesday: good morning and good night. The fog in his headthickened, coating everything in dull grey. On Thursday, he could barely lifthis arms to get out of bed.

On Friday, he got up in themiddle of English and walked out the door.

Bee was standing at her deskwhen Andrew walked in, shuffling through some papers. She looked up when heapproached and smiled. Andrew didn’t know how something so genuine could lookso out-of-place.

“Andrew!” she said. “Iseverything okay?”

Andrew stared at her for amoment and then shook his head.

Bee scrunched her eyebrows inconcern. “Would you like to join me for a cup of hot chocolate?”

Andrew’s gaze dropped to theempty chairs. He’d come to Bee on instinct, knowing that if he thought about itat all he would talk himself out of it. Imagining a formal session with Beeturned his stomach.

He must have been silent fortoo long, because Bee added, “I was just about to deliver some posters aroundto some of the other teachers. Would you care to join me?”

Andrew shrugged at the chairs.

“Thank you. Would you like meto make you some hot chocolate before we go?”

Andrew nodded, so Bee pulledout a tin of hot chocolate mix and the good milk and handed them to Andrew. Shepicked up the pile of posters and they walked out of the office, past a doorreading guidance, and into theteacher’s lounge, where there was a scattering of mismatched mugs and a dirtymicrowave.

Bee pulled out one of thecleaner mugs and spooned some hot chocolate mix into it, and then poured themilk in and stirred it all together. She stuck it in the microwave for twominutes and then picked up the milk and held it up.

“I’ll just return this to myoffice,” she said. “I’ll be back in one minute.”

When Bee returned andAndrew’s hot chocolate was done, they set off in the direction of the scienceclassrooms.

“This first posters are goingto Mr. Rodriguez,” Bee explained. “He’ll distribute them to the rest of thescience department. Would you like to look at one?”

Andrew moved his hotchocolate to his right hand and held out his left. Bee deposited one of theposters into his palm.

STOP CYBER BULLYING, theposter read, over a list of suggestions for what to do if you were beingcyber-bullied. Andrew handed it back to Bee, and she took it without comment andtucked it neatly back into her pile.

Bee continued to chatter onwhile they walked, about her new poster initiative and a new cookbook she hadgotten from her sister and a chocolate bar she thought Andrew should try.Andrew didn’t respond to any of it, just let the gentle lilt of her voice washover him and focused on breathing in and out in time with their footsteps.

As they left the math officeand headed down the hallway, the hurried sound of footsteps caught up to them.Andrew recognized their pattern and tensed.

“Andrew!” a voice called.

Andrew moved to keep walking,but Bee’s voice prevented him.

“Andrew, aren’t you going tostop?” she asked. Andrew hated the concern in her voice.

He clenched his jaw andturned around.

Neil stood a few yards downthe hallway, his face twisted in indecision. He was panting slightly, stillclutching the strap of his backpack, apparently having run from his calculusclass. Andrew scowled at him, but it had the opposite effect as what he wanted;Neil straightened up under his glare and held his chin up defiantly.

“Can I talk to you?” heasked.

Andrew didn’t respond, so Beeturned towards him.

“Andrew?” she asked. “Wouldyou like me to leave so you can talk to your friend?”

Andrew tried to findsomething in Neil’s expression to suggest why he was choosing now to confrontAndrew, but there was nothing. If anything, Neil was as unsure about what hewas doing here as Andrew was.

Andrew handed his half-fullmug over to Bee, but she waved him off.

“Bring it to me afterschool,” she said. “You should finish it. We used the good milk, after all.”

She gave a parting wave and leftfor the arts office. Andrew watched her go so he wouldn’t have to look at Neil.

“So,” Neil said, aiming forconversational. “You’ve been in thirteen foster homes?”

Somehow the knowledge thatNeil had read his file surprised him less than he had expected. Andrew’s lifewas full of hypocrites; what was one more?

But Neil seemed to be waitingfor an answer, so Andrew did his best to translate what do you want now into a facial expression.

Neil had the decency to look away.“I don’t know why I did it,” he said, as if Andrew cared about excuses. As ifAndrew cared about him. “It’s not like I learned anything important. You get alot of suspensions, you moved here from two towns over, you make appointmentswith the guidance counselor nearly every week. It wasn’t anything I hadn’talready guessed.”

He paused, and Andrew watcheddoubt and revulsion and exhaustion war across his face. Whatever Neil wanted tosay, it was going to cost him a lot. Andrew wondered what it meant that Neil wasgoing to trust this with him, of all people.

“I just got frustrated with knowingnothing,” he said. The tortured look in his eyes was one Andrew was toofamiliar with. “I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being—”

There was something in theway he cut himself off that dug straight through Andrew’s chest. He smoothedout his face as much as possible, but the way Neil’s expression went dark toldhim he hadn’t succeeded.

Don’t project your own problems onto me, healmost said, or don’t you dare startthinking we have something in common, or maybe just don’t.

He grabbed Neil’s chin andforced it to the side so that he wouldn’t have to think about it anymore, sothat he wouldn’t have to hear the word hanging unspoken in the air between them.Neil accepted it, but it didn’t deter him from talking.

“I’m not making excuses,” hesaid, and Andrew nearly laughed, because ofcourse. “I don’t regret it. And I’m not going to stop figuring you out. Ijust want to know if we’re even.”

It was such an unexpectedrequest that Andrew instinctively moved to deny it. His pettiness agreed,arguing that there was a lot more to it than just going through each other’sfiles. Neil had hated Andrew for two years even after Andrew had bothered toexplain himself; that shouldn’t be swept under the rug.

But Andrew had done worse toNeil than Neil had to Andrew. Neil shouldn’t have needed to ask Andrew if theywere even: Neil was the one who decided. Andrew hated that Neil had evenbothered to consider Andrew’s side of the equation.

He nodded.

He nodded and Neil relaxed,as if he’d been afraid of Andrew’s answer.

Andrew couldn’t stand him.

“Are we partners again,then?” Neil asked. At Andrew’s frown, he explained, “For history. That was theonly reason we weren’t working together, right?”

It felt like anoversimplification, like a test, but Andrew had no room to argue. Something wasbugging at him, something he knew was still wrong, but he was so out-of-sortsfrom the whole conversation that he couldn’t figure out what it was.

He shrugged.

“Okay,” Neil said. “Then I’llsee you tomorrow.”

As Neil left, the naggingsensation in Andrew’s stomach intensified. He examined his mug of hotchocolate, now cold, as if that would help, and reviewed the conversation fromevery angle he could think of.

It took him a few minutes,but then he froze, glaring at his mug as if it was the one that had screwed up.He looked down the hallway where Neil had disappeared and then at the open doorto the math office. He made a choice.

Neil was just past the edgeof school property when Andrew caught up with him. He whirled at Andrew’sapproach and then relaxed, tensed, and forcibly relaxed again.

“Did you forget something?”he asked, aiming for nonchalant, but Andrew could hear the defensiveness.

Andrew placed Bee’s mug onthe ground and held out a piece of paper, folded messily in half. Neil glancedat it and then at Andrew in confusion. When he reached out a hand to take it,Andrew grabbed his hand and shoved the paper into his palm. He forced Neil’sfingers closed and pushed his hand away.

Neil dropped his gaze to unfurlthe paper and read the words that Andrew had written, and his frown deepened. Hesearched Andrew’s face like he could pry Andrew’s secrets out of the cracks inhis skin, but Andrew had plastered over them long before Neil had gotten there.

Neil slung his backpack tothe ground and dropped to his knees, rifling through it. He pulled out a redmarker and scribbled something on the paper.

While Neil was writing, Andrew’sattention caught on something in his backpack. It wasn’t much, just a bulge inthe seam, but it reminded Andrew of the same shape in Drake’s bag where foryears he had hidden a handgun. Andrew slotted that information next to all therest of the tidbits about Neil Josten – his worn-out clothes, his dyed hair,his constant flightiness – and wondered if he was wrong in classifying Neil asa good thing. Wondered if the universe counted Neil on the same level asAndrew: broken, forgotten, left at the mercy of the shadows and the dark.

He refused to think about it.He took the paper back from Neil, barely took the time to read it, and thencrumpled it into a ball and shoved it into his pocket to shred when he gothome.

Neil accepted that at facevalue and left with a two-finger salute. Andrew forced himself to turn aroundand head back towards Bee’s office.

As he walked, he set hiswhole mind on fire trying to burn away the memory of the words on the page,trying to burn away the twisted, strangled emotion that came with it. Not hope,never hope, but maybe its neglected, malnourished cousin.

His hand clenched around the crumplededges on the note. He didn’t realize he had even reached into his pocket.

Truth for a truth, the note read, in spikeyblack ink. People like us will always benothing.

The first part was circled.Underneath, in dark red marker, was a single word:

Deal