#i want to do more next time like maybe some preamble that like sets the scene raises the tension leads into the smut more

[trixy812]

002 - ONE SHOT ♪ I knew it!

♪ Content: Nanami x fem!Reader, a little bit angst, unrequited love, with happy ending, Reader!Sorcerer, fluff, with a friend like Gojo, who needs enemies?, Reader and Nanami are both red flags

♪ Synopsis: About how you tried to confess your feelings twice to Kento Nanami, and... it didn’t work?

♪ An: So, the notes on my first fanfic motivated me to write this one! Thank you very much! I have some more ideas that I am going to write right away. Please let me know what you think; this one is definitely longer and maybe a little bit rushed at the end.

🅼🅰🆂🆃🅴🆁🅻🅸🆂🆃

You were walking through the halls of the headquarters, lost in thought. Your mind kept returning to the same point: Kento Nanami. You knew that, no matter how much you tried to hide it, he meant something special to you. Since you met him, when you both were merely novices in the world of exorcisms, you felt an immediate physical attraction, and your affection for him began when you noticed his indifferent kindness.

You walked together toward the 7-Eleven, with Haibara talking excitedly about how amazing Gojo was, especially when he was next to Geto. You listened attentively, while Nanami, lost in thought, seemed absorbed as he gazed up at the sky. It was then that, almost imperceptibly, Nanami noticed a young man had dropped his bag of groceries. Without hesitation, he stopped and helped him pick everything up, showing a generosity you admired in silence. The young man thanked Nanami, but without acknowledging him, he continued walking beside you, leaving you with a feeling of warmth beyond words.

Your affection for him had grown over the years, but so had the pain of his quiet rejection. Why did he insist on keeping his distance? You were convinced that Nanami felt something for you, even though he kept reinforcing the wall he had built and didn’t seem eager to bring it down anytime soon.

Nanami was reserved, impenetrable, but there was something familiar in his presence, something you couldn’t ignore. Each time you tried to confess your feelings, Nanami found an excuse, a way to postpone the conversation with a simple, “Another day.” Yet, you were persistent. Even when he distanced himself, you kept trying.

That day, you found him in the common room, reviewing reports. You approached him with a smile, noticing how, as always, he looked at you with that mix of seriousness and restrained affection.

“Are you perfecting your reports again, Nanami?” you said in a playful tone as you sat across from him. Nanami looked up, his expression unchanging.

“There’s always something to do,” he replied, not very interested. You leaned forward a little, watching him closely.

“You know, I was thinking… Why do you always reject me?” you asked suddenly, without any preamble, though your voice was slightly shaky. You knew the question would make him uncomfortable, but you couldn’t hold back anymore. You wanted answers.

Nanami looked at you intently, setting the papers aside. You held his gaze bravely, even though you felt the familiar knot forming in your chest.

“Let’s talk about this another day, y/n,” he said with his calm, yet firm voice. That response you had heard before – in that moment, a mix of frustration and anger washed over you. It took all your willpower not to slap him and yell at him for being so foolish.

“Why not today?” you insisted, your voice breaking slightly. You took a breath and continued, “I know you feel something for me. I can see it; I can feel it. Why won’t you let me in?”

Nanami remained silent for a few seconds, and you felt tears wanting to spill, but you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He knew he was making you cry, and though that made you vulnerable, it also reminded him that, deep down, he wasn’t as immune to your feelings as he wanted you to believe.

“I’m afraid,” he finally said, with an honesty that surprised you both.

You blinked, surprised. Nanami, afraid? You never would have imagined it. Despite everything, you smiled – a small smile, full of understanding.

“Afraid of what?” you asked in a low voice. “Afraid of caring for someone else?”

Nanami averted his gaze. The common room was completely silent, and you felt the urge to move closer to him, to touch his hand, but you held back. You knew that would make him withdraw, and you didn’t want to lose this moment. He said nothing, but something in his expression changed. You saw it, you recognized it. He knew you were right, but he wasn’t ready to admit it.

Feeling the familiar sting in your eyes, you stood up before the tears could fall. You didn’t want Nanami to see you cry. You said goodbye with a calm smile, as you always did.

“See you tomorrow, Nanami,” you said in your usual cheerful tone. And before he could say anything, you turned and left the room.

Walking toward the garden, you sighed deeply. You stopped for a moment to think about what Nanami had said. Was he really afraid of caring too much? As much as his cautious rejections hurt, you weren’t going to give up. You knew Nanami better than he thought, and you were sure that, in time, he would understand, too.

You walked aimlessly, letting yourself be carried away by your thoughts as you remembered the two times you had gathered the courage to confess your feelings to Nanami (and how both times didn’t go as planned). You knew it wasn’t easy for him, but it hadn’t been easy for you either. Every time your confessions were interrupted, it hurt, but you couldn’t stop trying. It was as if your heart was begging you to keep fighting, even if reason told you to stop.

The first time you tried to confess was during a simple mission in a small town, far from the pressures and bustle of the city. Under a starry sky, without the barrier of your companions or the responsibilities of the headquarters, you thought it was the perfect moment.

“Kento,” you began softly as you both rested by the campfire, “I… there’s something I want to tell you.”

He looked at you, blinking with a serene expression. Just as you were about to confess, Nanami raised a hand.

“Tomorrow, when we’re not in the middle of a mission, alright?” he said with an unshakable calm, as if he hadn’t grasped the significance of what you were trying to say.

That night, you lay in your makeshift bed, frustration simmering in your chest. You kept telling yourself you’d try again.

The second attempt came months later, during a social gathering at the headquarters. This time, you were determined there would be no excuses. The celebratory atmosphere and a few glasses of wine encouraged you to be more direct. You found Nanami off to the side, watching the crowd with his typical serene expression. With courage, you approached him.

“Kento, I need to tell you something,” you began, your heart pounding. “This time, I don’t want you to interrupt me.”

He raised an eyebrow, letting a barely-there smile that could almost seem as teasing. But just as you were about to continue, Gojo appeared, draping his arm over your shoulders with exaggerated familiarity.

“Oh, Nanami! Looks like you’ve got an admirer!” Gojo said with a playful laugh. “Come on, y/n, why not get straight to the point? Everyone in the headquarters knows you’re crazy about him.”

You felt your cheeks burn as you shrugged off Gojo’s arm, while Nanami looked at him with his usual air of exasperation.

“Gojo, this conversation doesn’t concern you,” Nanami replied in a serious tone, though a slight tension in his gaze suggested he knew more than he was willing to admit.

Gojo shrugged and shot you both a last cheeky grin before walking away. But the moment had passed, and you sighed, pretending to laugh and deciding to postpone it again, even though you felt something inside of you twist.

Alone, in the comfort of your small apartment, you couldn’t get these memories out of your mind. You knew you loved him, and no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t extinguish those feelings.

Nanami was in the headquarters library, studying some ancient texts on curses. Despite his apparent concentration, his mind was restless. Your words, your broken voice, echoed in his head repeatedly. “Why do you always reject me?” … The echo of your feelings, of your pain, tormented him more than he was willing to admit. He knew you had suffered those two times, and although he never intended to hurt you, it seemed he did.

The library door swung open, interrupting his thoughts. Gojo entered, as always, without a care for discretion, carrying his typical carefree air and a mischievous smile. Nanami sighed, knowing that whatever was coming, he wouldn’t like it.

“Nanami, old friend,” Gojo said as he plopped down in the chair in front of him. “I think we need to have a little chat.”

Nanami looked at him for a moment, waiting for Gojo to get straight to the point. He knew that when Gojo had that tone, it wasn’t to talk about missions.

“About what?” he asked dryly.

Gojo leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms behind his head as he smiled in that infuriating way Nanami always found exasperating.

“About y/n, of course,” Gojo replied naturally. “Are you really going to keep ignoring what’s happening?”

Nanami closed his eyes briefly, frustrated. He knew Gojo wouldn’t stop, but that didn’t mean he was ready for this conversation.

“It’s none of your business, Gojo,” he replied, trying to refocus on the book in front of him—or at least pretending to.

“That’s not entirely true,” Gojo continued, in a more serious tone, which wasn’t typical of him. “It’s no secret that y/n has feelings for you. And by ignoring those feelings, you’re affecting both of you. You can’t keep pretending that nothing’s happening.”

Nanami snapped the book shut, knowing he wouldn’t be able to avoid this conversation. He looked at Gojo, his expression hard but also tired.

“Gojo, it’s not that simple,” he said, not bothering to hide his frustration. “y/n is… incredible. I know that. She’s empathetic, strong, and her passion for everything she does is admirable. But I… I’m not what she needs.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, clearly interested in the direction the conversation was taking.

“And how do you know what she needs?” he asked. “Because, from what I’ve seen, what she wants is you.”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Nanami said in a low voice, almost to himself. “But I also can’t give her what she’s looking for. I’m not like her. I’m not an easy person to love.”

Gojo looked at him with curiosity, leaning forward slightly.

“Why do you think you’re not easy to love, Nanami?” he asked with surprising seriousness. “Because, frankly, y/n has shown you the opposite.”

Nanami remained silent, contemplating Gojo’s words. He knew you loved him, and that your feelings were real. But he also knew that his own fear of opening up, of letting go, held him back. You were everything he wasn’t: warm, emotional, able to see beauty in chaos, to love without reservations. He, on the other hand, had built a barrier around himself. He lived a rigid, calculated life, where emotions were controlled, and vulnerabilities couldn’t be afforded—or so he had always believed.

“What you’re doing now is just an excuse,” Gojo added, breaking into his thoughts. “Maybe the idea of someone loving you scares you, but what you’re doing now is cowardly, Nanami. y/n doesn’t deserve you playing with her feelings. You need to be honest, with yourself and with her.”

Nanami looked at him closely. Cowardly. That word struck him deeply. He had always been firm, confident in his decisions. But in this matter, perhaps Gojo was right. Perhaps he had been avoiding his own feelings, thinking he was protecting you, when in reality, he was just hurting you more.

“And what do you suggest I do, Gojo?” he finally asked, his voice filled with exhaustion.

Gojo shrugged, his usual nonchalant tone returning.

“Tell her the truth, Nanami. If you really don’t love her, then be clear and let her go. But if you feel something for her, even a little, stop hiding behind excuses. Talk to her. Because if you keep this up, you’ll lose her—even as a friend.”

Nanami remained silent as Gojo stood up, heading to the door with his usual carefree gait. Before leaving, he gave Nanami one last look.

“Not everyone finds someone who loves them like y/n loves you, Nanami. Don’t waste that chance.”

And with that, Gojo left, leaving Nanami alone with his thoughts and the heavy truth of his words.

Nanami had convinced himself you would try to confess again. He knew you felt something for him; you had shown it many times. And though he denied it to others—and often to himself—he felt the same. Each time you looked at him, with that mix of affection and hope, something within Nanami wavered. So, he decided to wait, believing that your third attempt at confessing would come soon. And when it did, he would finally tell you the truth: he wanted to give it a try with you.

Of course, Gojo didn’t miss the opportunity to notice what he was doing.

“You’re an idiot, Nanami,” he said bluntly, with his usual casual tone. “Are you seriously waiting for her to try confessing again? What kind of plan is that?”

At first, Nanami ignored him, as he usually did with Gojo’s provocations. But this time, his friend’s words lingered in his mind. Gojo was right; it was foolish to wait. If he felt something, why not tell you now? Why prolong the suffering for both of you?

The answer, however, wasn’t simple. Nanami couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as he recalled that night, years ago, when you were 19, and he was 23. A karaoke night and far too much alcohol. He remembered it vividly, though he tried to push it to the darkest corner of his memory. That night, he couldn’t resist. He spent most of it telling you how beautiful you were, how much he envied your personality, your humor, your warmth. You had both gotten too close, too drunk, and full of unresolved emotions.

That night, you kissed. And not only that—you spent the night together, wrapped in laughter, caresses, and a connection that neither of you had ever discussed since then. Nanami had tried to forget, to convince himself it was just the alcohol, the atmosphere. But he knew it wasn’t. You knew it, too. It was because of that night that you kept trying, because you knew he felt something.

However, you never tried to confess your love again. The days passed, and that declaration never came. Instead, you started seeing someone else. Mako, a civilian man, wealthy, who had impressed you with his charisma and lifestyle. Nanami tried not to think much about him, but every time he heard Mako’s name, a pang of jealousy ran through him. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he couldn’t help it.

Gojo, of course, didn’t let him live it down.

“Jealous, Nanami?” he teased every time Mako came up in conversation. “I told you; waiting wasn’t a good idea. Now you have competition, and he’s quite a catch. Rich, kind, civilian… nothing like a grumpy exorcist.”

Nanami would only look at him with a mixture of irritation and resignation. He was jealous, of course. But he wasn’t about to admit it. Instead of facing the situation directly, things between you and him began to change. You saw each other less in person, but you started talking a lot more over text messages. Something curious happened in those conversations: you began to flirt. Not in an obvious or blatant way, at least not at first, but there was a constant tension, a spark that ignited every time you talked.

Nanami, true to his stoic personality, kept his tone dry and direct, but you knew how to read between the lines. His flirting was subtle but loaded with intent, making it all the more impactful.

The flirting went on for weeks. Both of you knew what you were doing, but neither of you took the next step. Nanami was still tormented by his fears, and despite being with Mako, you couldn’t help but be drawn to your conversations with Nanami.

Until one night, everything changed.

You, Mako, Gojo, and Nanami went out with other friends for a karaoke night, just like when you were younger. The atmosphere was almost a replica of that time when you and Nanami had crossed that line you’d never talked about since. With a few drinks in you, you felt more relaxed and natural. You were singing, laughing, and having a great time, although Nanami couldn’t help but notice Mako constantly by your side, attentive, as if trying to claim his territory.

Nanami couldn’t stop thinking about that night years ago, about how he had been the one by your side, telling you how beautiful you were. His eyes followed you whenever you moved, and the weight of his jealousy and regrets was overwhelming.

Gojo, naturally, didn’t miss a chance to tease him.

“Bringing back memories, Nanami?” he asked in a low voice, nudging him. “Seems like history’s repeating itself.”

Nanami gritted his teeth. This time, though, he wasn’t going to sit idly by. He knew that if he didn’t do something soon, he’d lose you forever.

Nanami lingered in the corner of the karaoke room, watching you and Mako enjoy the night. The dim lighting, the laughter of friends, and the festive atmosphere surrounded him, but he couldn’t shake the growing feeling of discomfort. The memory of that karaoke night from years ago haunted him. You looked radiant, just as you had back then, but now your attention was on someone else.

Gojo, reveling in the opportunity to tease him, looked at him with a smug grin.

“What’s wrong, Nanami?” he asked, smiling in satisfaction. “Don’t like seeing her with someone else? You know it’s your fault, right?” he added, taking a sip of his drink. “Are you going to keep waiting, or are you finally going to do something?”

Nanami didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on you, laughing as Mako attempted to sing a romantic ballad. Despite the smile on your face, Nanami noticed something—a small distance between you two, an invisible barrier that only he seemed to see. Even though you were with Mako, your gaze briefly drifted to him, and that fleeting moment filled him with both hope and despair.

He couldn’t take it any longer. The silence between you, the growing distance, and the unresolved tension were consuming him. Nanami had waited too long. Gojo was right—it was foolish to think everything would resolve on its own.

“I’m going outside,” he muttered to Gojo as he set his drink down and stood up.

Gojo raised an eyebrow, surprised by his friend’s sudden move.

“Going outside? Just like that?”

“I need some air,” Nanami replied, not stopping to explain further. He didn’t have a clear plan, but he knew he couldn’t stay there watching you slip away.

He left the venue, feeling the cool night air hit his face. He walked a few steps, trying to clear his mind. However, the memories kept flooding back. That time after karaoke, how everything had changed between the two of you. He remembered how you had laughed on the way to his apartment, how you had rested your head on his shoulder in the taxi, and how, in that moment, everything seemed to fall perfectly into place. The way he had looked at you and told you, without hesitation, how beautiful you were.

Nanami ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He couldn’t stop thinking about you that night. Because that time, when you reached his apartment, there had been no doubts, no questions. It was just the two of you, wrapped in a connection that, though unspoken, had always been there.

Suddenly, the karaoke door opened behind him. He turned to see you. You were watching him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Are you okay?” you asked, walking toward him as the wind played with your loose hair. “You seem… distant.”

Nanami stayed silent for a moment, taking in the way the streetlight illuminated your face, making you look so soft, so vulnerable.

“I’m fine,” he said at last, but his tone betrayed him. He wasn’t fine, and you knew it.

You took a step closer, crossing your arms as you looked him straight in the eye.

“I don’t believe you,” you replied, your smile soft but full of concern. “What’s going on, Kento? You’ve been acting strange all night.”

He sighed. He couldn’t keep running from this conversation. He had waited too long, and that third attempt at a confession would never come. You had moved on. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t finally tell you how he felt.

“Do you remember that night, five years ago, after karaoke?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked, surprised by the shift in topic, but you nodded quickly.

“Of course I remember.” Your tone was careful, not sure where Nanami was going with this. He looked down, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and nostalgia.

“That night…” he began, his voice lower than usual. “I said things I maybe shouldn’t have said, and I did things I… hadn’t planned on doing. But I can’t stop thinking about that night, y/n. It was the only time I was completely honest with you. And since then, I’ve been lying to myself.”

You looked at him, narrowing your eyes slightly, as if trying to decipher his words. He didn’t dare meet your gaze directly.

“I’ve been a coward,” he admitted, with a bitterness that burned his throat. “I ignored you, y/n. I kept acting like I didn’t care. And I did it because I was afraid. Afraid of what it would mean to feel something so… deep for someone like you.”

You didn’t speak for a moment, clearly taken aback by his confession. The silence between you lingered, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence filled with everything left unsaid over the years.

“And now what?” you finally asked, your voice softer than usual. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Nanami took a deep breath. It was now or never.

“Because I don’t want to keep waiting for something to happen,” he said, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. “I don’t want to see you with Mako or anyone else, because I know I still feel the same way about you. I’ve felt it since that night, and I can’t keep denying it.”

You looked back at him, your eyes searching his for some sign that this was real.

“You took too long, Kento,” you said, shaking your head. “But… I think I was waiting for you to tell me, too.”

Nanami couldn’t help but feel a weight lift from his shoulders. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was doing the right thing. He couldn't believe it—a sense of relief mixed with excitement welled up inside him. But before he could say anything more, your expression shifted, and you looked away, almost hesitant.

"I'm sorry, Kento," you said, your voice trembling but resolute. "My commitment is with Mako now. I can't keep living in the past."

Your words hit Nanami like a punch to the gut. You looked at him with a mixture of sadness and firmness, and he struggled to process what you were saying. Nanami felt frustration and anger start to rise. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You—the same person who had tried to confess your love twice—were now walking away from him as if those feelings had never existed. And the coldness of your rejection only intensified the anger he felt.

“You can’t be serious!” he shouted, unable to hold it back. “What the hell, y/n? Twice! Twice you tried to tell me how you feel about me, and now you’re saying it all means nothing?”

You looked at him, stunned by his outburst. You crossed your arms and took a deep breath, staying calm, but he could see the hurt in your eyes.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Kento,” you warned, your tone more serious than he’d ever heard. “You have no right. I gave you so many chances, and you chose to ignore them. You can’t just come to me now, after I’ve moved on, and demand that I come back to you. It doesn’t work like that.”

Nanami clenched his fists, unable to grasp how things had spiraled so out of control. But you didn’t give him more time to respond. You turned on your heel and walked back toward the bar. He watched as you went, his heart pounding, and just before you stepped back inside, he saw it: the kiss.

You went over to Mako, who welcomed you with a warm smile. Without a word, you took his face in your hands and kissed him with an intensity Nanami knew wasn’t genuine. That kiss wasn’t for Mako—it was for him. It was a direct blow to his ego, to his feelings. And it hurt more than he ever imagined. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. But the image of that kiss was seared into his mind, a painful reminder of what he had lost. Of what he had let slip through his fingers.

The days that followed were a silent agony. Nanami was not speaking to you, and although he saw you sometimes at the exorcists’ headquarters, your interactions were tense and filled with awkward silences. Even Gojo, who usually couldn’t resist teasing, had stopped with his jokes. Everyone could feel the tension between you.

A few days after the incident, you sought him out. Your demeanor was calmer, but he could see the discomfort in your eyes.

“Nanami, I’m sorry about what happened,” you said softly, avoiding his gaze. “I shouldn’t have kissed him like that in front of you. It was cruel, and I did it just to hurt you. It wasn’t right.”

Nanami looked at you in silence, his anger still palpable, but his tone was calmer than before.

“Why did you do it, then?” he asked, unable to hide the pain in his voice.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“Because… I felt trapped. You ignored me so many times… and now that I’m with Mako, I don’t know. I wanted you to feel what I felt because of your indifference.” You spoke without much thought, saying whatever came to mind.

Nanami nodded, accepting your apology with a feeling of resignation. He knew things between you wouldn’t heal overnight, but at least he now understood a bit more of your pain.

Weeks later, you ended things with Mako. The news didn’t surprise Nanami, though he couldn’t deny feeling an unexpected sense of relief. Things between you two were still tense, but gradually, you began talking again. What started as casual exchanges soon turned into something more playful. The flirtation that had once only existed through messages resurfaced in public, more intense than ever.

You were bold, direct, and your comments often made others in the group blush. Even Gojo, usually so laid-back, seemed affected by the way you and Nanami exchanged subtle remarks.

One afternoon, when Nanami was finishing up some reports, he found a note on his desk. The paper was simple, unadorned, but he recognized your handwriting immediately. He opened it with curiosity and couldn’t help but smile at the words:

“I tried to confess twice. You tried once, so it’s still your turn. If you really want to be with me, I want to hear it. I don’t need some big romantic declaration. Just be you.”

Nanami stared at the note for several minutes, pondering what it meant. He knew this was important to you. The time had come for him to be honest, too. And although he wasn’t the type for grand romantic gestures, he would do this in his own way. Just like you’d written—he just had to be himself.

The confession came the following day, during a mission. You were fighting side by side, as you had so many times before, but this time there was something different in the air. When the battle ended, both of you panting from the effort, and as the cursed spirits dissolved, Nanami turned to you.

“y/n…” he said, without hesitation, “I love you. I always have.”

You froze for a second, your eyes widening with surprise. Then, a small smile formed on your lips. Nanami took your hand, pulling you close to him, and whispered in your ear, “It’s amazing how, since our first kiss, you’ve only grown more beautiful each day.” You couldn’t say anything more because Nanami, with his other hand, held your waist, pulling your body against his, and kissed you intensely as no one had ever kissed you before. He kissed you with so much passion, as if he were trying to apologize for all the pain his indifference had caused you. Tears of happiness began to stream down your face. As you parted from him, you felt nervous and excited at the same time, and you could only muster a weak joke.

“So, after all this time, it only took you five years to kiss me again?” you joked, and Nanami’s soft laughter filled the air.

“I’m sorry,” he said, with a mix of shyness and determination. “How about we don’t wait that long for the next one?”

🅼🅰🆂🆃🅴🆁🅻🅸🆂🆃

[gothicprep]

so, apparently marvel is in disarray. ahead of the marvels coming out this weekend, variety dropped a bomb on the studio's somewhat dire state of affairs, as the franchise has hit its first real rough patch since the release of iron man 15 years ago. among the issues: jonathan majors, whose domestic violence arrest continues to hang over marvel's plans to make his character the thanos-like heavy for the next sequence of movies, the weak box office projections for the marvels (which some have said is tracking lower than recent bombs like the flash), the unending flood of hashtag content on disney plus which is overwhelming audiences who are finding it harder to keep up with the interlocking stories that have served marvel so well over the years, shoddy visual effects, spiraling budgets such as the reported $25mil an episode for she-hulk, a show that looked terrible because of the shoddy effects work aforementioned, behind the scenes chaos as kevin feige works to slash budgets and kill projects that aren't coming together. one movie at risk is the forthcoming blade reboot with mahershala ali, which has gone through rewrite after rewrite including reportedly one draft in which blade was the fourth lead in, quote, "a narrative led by women and filled with life lessons".

that last line has provided a lot of laughs for people like jay gothicprep, and critics who insist that marvel's efforts to diversify the lineup have led to much of this disaster, indicative of disney's overall failure with things like indiana jones and the dial of destiny or animated projects like strange world or lightyear. while this is potentially true (i guess, it's possible) it doesn't seem true because this certainly wasn't the case when black panther and captain marvel were both cracking the billion dollar mark a few years ago. rather it just seems, more simply, that marvel has run its course. marvel was hit by a double-whammy of endings. the thanos storyline that'd dominated the first ten or so years of the project came to an end. at the same time, the pandemic began and disney plus started flooding the zone with content, creating a natural break point for audiences that had no desire to watch hours of tv to understand 1.5 plot points in whatever the next movie that's coming out is.

this preamble is getting kind of long, and i have a lot more to say, so i'm going to continue to thought dump about this under a cut.

first of all, i'm still laughing like a week later at the women led life lessons description. no one has disputed that it happened. that description is the funniest thing i've ever read in a trade industry report possibly ever. what in the hell, my friends. did a writer even talk to a producer about what blade was? it's a movie about a guy with a sword who kills vampires! it's pretty straighforward! that sounds like something i want to see! there were three of them already, and two of them were pretty good!

anyway, i think you can take that incredibly ridiculous description of a draft that maybe wasn't the main draft – this movie has been through tons of writers and directors – and see some of the real problems with marvel's creative direction, which is that they've stopped making movies that highlight the core concepts of their characters. there are other problems as well, but when's the last time they put out a movie that was like, "iron man. he's a guy in a metal suit and he fights a bad guy." or "spider man. it's a guy in a spider suit with spider powers. he's got girlfriend problems and he fights crime around manhattan and maybe there's dr octopus." they don't do that. their recent stretch of movies have all been these impenetrable multiverse stuff with ties to tv series that you haven't seen and maybe won't ever see. there was a whole 25 minute section in black panther 2 that was setting up armor wars and ironheart. and like. who needs that sequence, which was boring and looked like total garbage? and now armor wars is being redeveloped lol. they've just departed from a lot of the core concepts that powered their earlier films.

they have some other problems. they've leaned into a slate of characters that is not all that well-known or inherently super popular, even for marvel being able to deliver on making billion dollar films out of guardians of the galaxy and such. maybe with the exception of spider man, which they don't get a full cut from because sony owns the actual movie rights. then there's the fact that the streaming series, by all accounts, aren't great but you *feel* like you need to have seen them. they're all real big problems. marvel needs to go back to making movies that are named after a character who's a superhero with a clear concept. guy with spider powers fights crime in his neighborhood. even though those movies got kind of repetitive, they did well enough because they didn't stray too far from the character concept.

i think, too, as a viewer, when you have a studio churning out so much stuff that's not good, you get the impression that the superhero industry feels entitled to your time and entitled to your money while not delivering.

this summer also represents an interesting counterpoint to what's happened with marvel and dc. the sheer amount of stuff that you devote every waking minute to keeping track of the damn things got exhausting and made movies stop feeling like events. this summer we've had barbenheimer and the eras tour, and those have been both big events and felt exciting. barbie was a chance to be campy, oppenheimer was a chance to see something serious and cinematic, the eras tour was exciting for fans of taylor swift who couldn't afford to spend $3k on taylor swift. and they felt this way because they were all unlike anything you'd seen at the movies in recent years. they had a high standard of quality, and going, it genuinely felt like people were there because they wanted to be, not because they were being force marched by a cultural behemoth to be there. you can't summon that same kind of energy for a marvel movie when it both feels obligatory and you expect it to be bad.

it also feels like there's a certain contempt for the audience where it concerns quality problems. i mean, i don't think that this is the intention. marvel isn't saying "we can deliver this stuff that's garbage and people will see it anyway". but one of the things i thought was the most damning about that variety story was the fact that, on some of the marvel tv shows, the final effects were inserted after the shows were released. so if you watched the show on opening night, you probably didn't see the final effects work. the arrogance involved in that is insane. it speaks to a total vanished pride in putting out a good product.

even some of marvel's better regarded films were heavily edited and heavily worked on right until the end, in part because kevin feige would come in and fix things, so stuff would have to get reworked. that's why effects deadlines were super tight and people were always crunching at the very end of this. there was that incredible quote from sam raimi from a couple months before the second doctor strange came out where he was like, "i think it's done but i'm not sure. marvel, they work on their movies until the very end." the director didn't even know if his own movie was locked or not because he clearly wasn't the one making the decisions about what the final print would look like.

that can work if you're making two movies a year and have a supervisor that comes in during the process and says, "i need you to redo this, in this way". but when you stretch that out to three movies a year, plus god knows how many episodes of television, there's no way to do that and make it a high quality product.

an instructive lesson comes from the book "disneywar", which chronicles michael eisner's time at disney. and one of the things in this book was the development and deployment of "who wants to be a millionaire" in america. bob iger is head of abc at this time. the guys making this show do it for a week. audiences love it. it's putting up huge numbers. everybody is excited. it's crushing it in the ratings. and the people who made it wanted to keep doing special week or two week long engagements that people would show up for. and iger was like, "no. i want this every week, three times a week, forever." and audiences got burnt out on it quickly, because it was something that only really worked as a special that ran for a week and disappeared for a few months. that's what the disney plus strategy feels like with marvel.

[midnightsun-if]

Hi! Can you please tell us more about Scarlett’s siblings, and maybe Lexa and Zephyr too? What are their relationships with Scarlett like?

Hello ❤️, I’d be more than happy to talk about them!

Anastasia Voltaire: The eldest among the Voltaire Children, the next in line to be the High Queen of the Vampiric Race. Where Scarlett is winter encapsulated, Anastasia is spring. A gentle warmth, a soft presence, that can quickly shift to a raging storm if prompted. She cares a great deal for a younger sister, even if she isn’t fully aware of what happened with her, few actually do, but she’s stayed resolutely by her side when she’s able to do so.

Caspian Voltaire: The youngest among the Voltaire Children, someone that feels distant from his half-siblings. Being the only child from the current queen, it leaves him feeling bereft of the connection that Scarlett and Anastasia seem to share— even though he doesn’t make any form of effort to fix that (after they already stopped trying decades before do to his attitude). Caspian is an asshole the majority of the time, haughty in a sense, probably suffering from an inferiority complex, but both Scarlett and Anastasia remember when he was just a sweet boy that wanted nothing more than a hug. He’s not that close with Scarlett at all.

Lexa Prince: She’s the younger one of the two twins by a minute. Her and her brother were the only two eggs that survived the hatching— an old practice that some Dragon Shifters have; the belief that stronger shifters are actually derived from hatching out of an egg, in dragon form, rather than through the human one— but you wouldn’t be able to tell. She’s a bit more of a closed book than her brother, keeping her cards close to her chest, but she cares a great deal for Scarlett.

Zephyr Prince: The more flamboyant one between the two. Much more laidback than his sister, slightly reminiscent of Blake in a sense, but the moment you threaten either Lexa or Scarlett he’ll beat the shit out of you. While he may not take his duty all that seriously, Zephyr would never let Lexa carry it alone— he may be a jackass at times, but he’d never be a burden to his sister. Not after all the shit she’s pulled him out of and helped him through.

Both Lexa and Zephyr met Scarlett over a century ago. Zephyr meeting her first and almost getting eaten by Balerion because of it— he thought it’d be a smart idea to just walk up to them without any sort of preamble. Fortunately, Scarlett stopped Balerion from making Zephyr a snack, which somehow endeared the shifter to her even more. He sort of became a leech in the way that’d he stick by her side and protect her when the time came for it. When Lexa came into the mix? It just made Scarlett not want to bash Zephyr over the head as much, due to the fact that Lexa took over most of that for her. Despite that, they’ve been close ever since. Wherever Scarlett goes, you’d be remiss to think the twins don’t follow.

I don’t have set appearances for them yet, still working on them, but I do have a few things! I’ll make more detailed descriptions at a later date, promise.

Anastasia: Sea green eyes, raven black hair that falls to the middle of her back, fair skin, with a lean body type.

Caspian: Platinum blonde hair styled neatly, ice blue eyes, and fair skin, with a lithe physique.

Lexa: Gold eyes, silvery-gold hair, lightly tanned skin, with a chiseled physique.

Zephyr: Crimson eyes, slightly curly black hair, lightly tanned skin, with a athletic physique.

[marmorafarms]

The Hazards of Love Ch 5

Hey guys! Next chapter, the timelines will merge!

Pairing: Labru

Word Count: 2152

You can find it on ao3 or under the cut!

NOW

As he pulled into the apartment complex, Laios realized he really should’ve called Izutsumi before hand. Bursting in uninvited probably wasn’t the best course of action. At the very least he could’ve called either his sister or Marcille to ask if any of them were home. He could be coming to a completely empty apartment. Well whatever. If nobody answered, he would call the three women and see if they were there, or if they’d be there soon.

He took the steps up to the apartment two at a time, thoughts of saving Kabru filling his mind. He had already heard Falin’s perspective, and Marcille would probably agree with her. But Izutsumi would be completely honest with him about the situation. She didn’t care if what she said bothered anyone or not. And that’s just what Laios needed right now. Everyone else spoke in ways he didn’t understand. He needed someone to be blunt with him. “Izutsumi!” he practically shouted, banging on the door. “Are you there? It’s me, Laios! I need to talk with you! Izutsumi!”

A few moments later the door was wrenched open, a woman with shaggy dark hair and black cat ear headphones glaring at him.

“Christ,” she growled, “You could’ve just knocked like a normal person. But if you did that, it wouldn’t be you. What do you want?”

“I need your opinion on Kabru,” Laios said without preamble. “I want to know what you think I should do.”

“What the fuck? Why me?” Izutsumi said, staring at Laios as though he had grown a third head. “I don’t know shit about Hanahaki. I mean, does anyone really?”

“You know how to be honest though! I have some thoughts and I need you to tell me what you think! Please,” Laios begged. Izutsumi stared at him for a moment before sighing dramatically.

“Fine, come in. Marcille is here, she might be more helpful.” “She’s not as blunt as you are,” Laios said, following Izutsumi into the apartment.

“Yeah but she’s dating your sister. She knows more about that shit than me. I don’t like anyone, ever. And I never will.”

“You might,” Laios said.

“Don’t threaten me,” Izutsumi snapped. “I never will, and I like that.”

They entered the living room where Marcille sat, nose in a book. It seemed like she was reading one of her romance novels. It looked like the title was “Sorry, bro” so maybe not. But some of her books had misleading titles. Marcille looked up as they entered, a very surprised look on her face.

“Laios?” she said. “Falin’s not here if you’re looking for her. She’ll be back soon though!”

“I was looking for Izutsumi,” Laios said.

“Why?” Marcille asked.

“Oh well that’s nice,” Izutsumi snorted. “Sometimes people want to see me, Marcille.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Marcille said, flustered. “I just…you and Laios don’t usually hang out on your own. I was just curious!”

“I had a question about Kabru,” Laios said.

"I understand even less than I did before,” Marcille said, putting a book mark in her novel and setting it to the side.

“You and me both,” Izutsumi said, curling up on an armchair. Laios took a seat on the couch by Marcille, and breathed out loudly.

“I don’t understand why Kabru is sick,” Laios said. “Because I do love him. But…I need you to tell me what’s wrong with me!” he said, looking at Izutsumi. “Why is my love not enough? Why is he sick?”

“Why the hell would I know?” Izutsumi said with a stricken look. “I don’t know shit about that! I already told you, I don’t know or care about love and dating.”

“But you always have something to say about how weird I am,” Laios said. “You’re good at pointing stuff like that out. Maybe you noticed something strange about how I am with Kabru.”

“Uh…I don’t think I have,” Izutsumi said with a frown. “You’re always looking at him with a stupid look on your face. I don’t get it either. Maybe you’re onto something though. Something might be fucked with how you really feel about him.”

“Wait that’s it!” Marcille suddenly burst out, startling the other two.

“What do you mean?” Laios asked, eyes wide. “Do you know what’s going on?”’

“Izutsumi said something might be wrong with your true feelings,” Marcille said, turning to face Laios. “Have you and Kabru ever kissed? Or had sex?”

“Marcille!” Laios said, blushing violently.

“Well have you?” She insisted. “You have to be honest!”

“We…umm…” Laios said, trailing off. “Do I really have to say it?” he asked in a tiny voice.

“That’s proof enough for me that they did,” Izutsumi said. “I don’t want to hear any gross details.”

“I need a yes or no,” Marcille said, a firey look in her eyes. “This is important!”

“Yes!” Laios finally burst out. “But we only did that stuff one time! And he came down with Hanahaki right after I left the dorm.”

“Oh my gosh,” Marcille said with a gasp. “I think I get it! How did you feel after you two did it? Because with me and Falin--”

“Um, I don’t really want to hear about your guys’ sex life,” Laios said, clearly uncomfortable.

“I’m not going to go into details, so shut up and listen!” Marcille snapped. “The morning after our first time I felt so happy! So content. I had wanted it for so long. I was truly happy. Is that how you felt? Were you happy?”

“I felt…worried,” Laios said slowly. “I was worried he’d regret it. He said he didn’t but…”

“You didn’t believe him,” Izutsumi supplied, and Laios nodded.

“That’s exactly it then,” Marcille said, clapping her hands together.

“He has this because you’re not letting yourself love him! You were so sure he didn’t actually love you that you refused to let your feelings blossom, and he got sick! And for some reason, you STILL aren’t letting yourself love him on a deeper level! It’s all surface level, but you have the potential!”

“He obviously loves you,” Izutsumi said. “He wouldn’t be like this if he didn’t. So what’s the deal?”

Laios was silent. He knew exactly the reason. But how the hell could he fix it?

“Because he’ll get tired of me one day,” he said softly. “Or…or at least that’s what I’m scared of. Everyone I’ve ever been with gets tired of me and leaves. I feel like it’s only a matter of time.”

“I guess you just gotta get rid of that thought and you’ll both be good to go,” Izutsumi said. Laios looked up at her, a look of anguish on his face.

“It’s not that easy!” he wailed. “I can’t just rewire my brain! I can’t just make my worries go away, that’s impossible.”

“Falin told me you were going to try and fall in love with him,” Marcille said. “Well, here’s your way to do it. You have to try, right?”

“You’re right,” Laios said sadly. “I have to at least try.” But even so,

Laios had no clue how to even go about this.

THEN:

Kabru couldn’t even remember the last time he had weed. Probably back when dispensaries weren’t a thing, and he had to just take what he was given. Laios, on the other hand, knew his stuff.

“Falin smokes a lot,” Laios had said with a shrug, “I learned all this from her.”

Finals were finally over, and Kabru wanted to celebrate. He, Rin, and Daya went bar hopping, and it was weird as always. Kabru had agreed to be the designated driver that night, and his friends got trashed. The worst part was that Rin had flirted with him all night. He thought of her as a big sister, not as someone he’d want to date! The whole situation had been awkward, and Kabru wanted to do something fun this time.

Laios had suggested they have a movie night, and Kabru had fought hard to not think of this as a date. So what if it was just them? So what if they were watching a movie together on Kabru’s twin bed? The dorm wasn’t big enough for a couch, so they’d be pretty cramped. Dammit he should’ve asked if he could’ve gone to Laios’ apartment! Laios had his own place, somehow not needing a roommate. Why had he been okay with this?

So here Kabru was, staring at the bag of candies Laios was offering him, unsure of what to do. Laios had brought over some edibles, and Kabru wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea or not to be under the influence around him. What if he wasn’t able to keep his feelings concealed? What if Laios viewed him the way Kabru viewed Rin?

“You don’t have to have one,” Laios said. “If you don’t want any, just say so. But I think I’ll have one.”

“Sure I’ll have some,” Kabru said, and Laios snatched the bag away.

“ONE,” he said firmly. “If you have some, you’ll go backwards in time and meet the devil himself.”

“What?!” Kabru said with a small laugh. Laios smiled, and handed him the bag again.

“The first time I had edibles with Falin…well let’s just say it went badly.”

“Okay,” Kabru said, “Just one.”

They began flicking through some streaming service, looking for something to watch. They were sitting side by side, thighs almost touching. If Kabru wasn’t feeling so floaty and peaceful, he would probably be freaking out. Suddenly, Laios gasped.

“What?” Kabru asked, amused at how excited Laios looked.

“The Princess Bride!” he burst out. Kabru blinked.

“The Princess Bride?” he asked, and Laios nodded excitedly.

“Yes!” Laios said. “You’ve seen it, right?”

“No,” Kabru said, and Laios’ mouth dropped open, looking at him as though he’d just grown a third head.

“No way!” he said, and Kabru shrugged.

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never got around to it,” he said, and Laios clicked on the movie.

“We’re watching it right now,” he said, and Kabru raised his eyebrows.

“Well…okay,” he said.

“It’s good, you won’t regret it!”

Kabru wasn’t convinced, but soon found himself laughing hard as the movie played out. It was truly hilarious, and he loved the fact that Laios was quoting it, saying the lines perfectly along with the characters.

“Have fun storming the castle!” Laios said along with Miracle Max.

“Think it’ll work? It would take a miracle!”

Kabru watched Laios, heart swelling with happiness. He just looked so joyful, so relaxed. He had never seen Laios so purely content before. He looked radiant, beautiful. Kabru found a smile crossing his lips, and it grew even more when Laios looked over at him.

“What?” Laios asked, tilting his head.

“You just look so cute,” Kabru said without thinking, eyes hooded. Part of him was screaming at him to stop, that he would completely lose his friendship with Laios if he continued.

“Cute?” Laios asked, looking confused.

“Yeah,” Kabru said in a husky tone, putting his hand over Laios’. He leaned in close, eyes beginning to close.

“What’re you…?” Laios breathed, but didn’t have time to finish his sentence. Kabru had closed the distance and pressed his lips against Laios’. All he could think was how soft his friend’s lips felt. Laios tensed up, but soon began to melt into the kiss, letting out a soft moan.

Kabru slowly pulled away, and Laios looked at him, eyes glazed over.

“Kabru?” Laios asked, sounding dazed. “Can you do that again? But like, a lot?”

Kabru laughed and Laios began to giggle as well.

“Yeah, hell yeah,” Kabru said. This time they both leaned in, lips meeting and going from soft and uncertain to deep and passionate. Time seemed to slow as the two began to explore each other. Laios’ hands were shaky as he pulled of Kabru’s shirt, fumbling a bit as he reached the button on his jeans.

“Wait,” Kabru said, and moved back. Taking a deep breath in, he settled in between Laios’ legs.

“You first.”

Their night was full of ecstasy, fireworks bursting in their hearts as the two became one. It was perfection for them but good things never could last, could they? Kabru repeated those words over and over as he sat on the edge of the bed. It was morning, and Laios had left in a rush.

“I had fun Kabru but…I need to think about things.”

Think about things. Probably code for “I wish this had never happened.” There was a tickle in the back of his throat, and Kabru coughed. And weirdly, something came out. Not phlegm, not spit but…

Oh no.

A daffodil petal sat in his hand along with a bit of blood.

So that was it then. Laios didn’t love him, and he was going to die.

[kitkatsudon]

KitKat reads the TKEM Novel: Introduction & Prologue & Chapter 1

Hello all! Those that have seen my account over the past couple of days will know that I have recently come into possession of copies of both volumes of the TKEM novel. I always had the vague idea in my mind that these would contain information that we don’t see in the show, characters’ inner monologues and such like, so as someone seemingly on a quest to find out everything there is to know about this show (how did it end up like this? I’m not going to dwell on that before I start regretting all my life choices), I have taken it upon myself to read these books and share this knowledge with the rest of what’s left of this fandom.

These books, of course, are in Korean, which is a language I do not speak and don’t have any intention of learning in the near future. I definitely couldn’t learn Korean in a quick enough time frame to be able to read these books in a satisfyingly short amount of time, so instead I’m utilising the power of the internet and using two online translation services, and then sort of combining the two with my preexisting knowledge of the show to create a usable translation that feels mostly right. So here’s my disclaimer: some of this stuff could very easily be mistranslated, because I’m embarking on this journey with just the powers of the internet, homosexual audacity, and autism to help me along.

So! Here’s how this is going to work. For every chapter of the book I manage to translate, I’m going to make a new post where I summarise the events of the chapter, share my thoughts on it, and then share any specific new details that we’ve learnt. All of them will be tagged with ‘kitkat reads the tkem novel’ so if you want any of the information in this series for whatever reason, hopefully these posts will be easy to find. In this post I’ll cover the prologue and chapter 1 because the prologue is barely anything at all, but from here on out it’ll be one chapter per post… whenever I finish the next chapter.

Ok then. Shall we begin?

Prologue

The novel starts with a bit of preamble about the show’s lore, not much that anyone who had already seen the show wouldn’t know, but I suppose it makes sense to open like this if they were trying to appeal to people who hadn’t already seen the show? It’s an interesting choice, though, because some of this stuff is information we don’t find out until a little later in the show, for example how the two worlds split thanks to the life/death of Crown Prince Sohyeon. However, without the visual nature of the show to keep it appealing, having a little bit of backstory about the Kingdom of Corea would be nice to have so new readers aren’t totally confused about the setting of the novel when it begins.

The only semi-new thing we really learn from the prologue is that the palace (which I will call Haeungung Palace from here on out as part of my personal mission to spread this information) is located specifically on Dongbaekseom island in Busan. This is something I had pretty much figured out already by being a big nerd and looking at screenshots of the show and comparing those to maps of Busan, but it’s nice to have this for real confirmed by a canon source. Another thing to maybe mention is that the flower symbol of the royal Jeonju Lee family is a plum blossom, but this is also something that you could probably work out beforehand.

In conclusion, this is a good introduction… but a little useless to established fans of the show, who I think would make up most of the demographic of this book. Still, it’s best for them to cover their bases.

Chapter 1: Find the clock rabbit

The first thing to mention here is that “clock rabbit” refers to the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, which the English subs on Netflix call “the white rabbit with the clock” but I’m going to say “clock rabbit” because that seems to be the direct translation, and it makes all Yeong’s lines about “Is it a rabbit or a clock?” make a lot more sense in my mind. This chapter covers four scenes from episode 1 of the show: the scene where Gon is being dressed by his new attendant Park Gyubong and he catches the talismans that Lady Noh put in his room, the scene where Gon and Koo Seoryeong have their meeting after Gon goes riding, pretty much all of the rowing scene sequence from the race to Gon going to chase after the “clock rabbit,” and then Gon very briefly in his study alone, looking at his Alice in Wonderland book.

What stood out to me the most while reading, getting over the fact that they’ve changed the order of the scenes from the show (Cheonjongo in 1994 is happening next chapter), is how much extra dialogue they’ve cut out. Again… I guess it makes sense, if they’re trying to condense a sixteen episode drama into two volumes of a book then of course they’re going to want to get straight to the point, but this is disappointing for me personally because a lot of what they cut out are the fun, familiar conversations that Gon had with Yeong throughout episode 1. For example, Gon and Yeong never have their conversation after Gon finishes his ride where Yeong reveals that there are more talismans than Gon thought, and they also cut out the conversation between Gon and Yeong in his study after the race day, which means we don’t get “are you having fun, Captain Jo?” and we don’t get their following conversation about Gon wanting to find his saviour, and Yeong assuring him that he’s grown up well and he doesn’t need anyone to save him anymore. Which is… fine. It’s fine, but it’s still disappointing. Even without coming at this from a Gonjo angle, their friendship is still very important to me, and it’s disheartening to find out that where the show abandoned it very quickly, the book doesn’t seem to be developing it at all. That’s not to say that there aren’t moments, but it’s not as much as I would have liked.

The other big thing that stood out to me is… well… how do I put this? The book really wants you to know that Gon is perfect and amazing and handsome and the best man in all of Corea and no one else could ever compare and he’s just so incredible and wonderful and everybody loves him so much and every woman is in love with him because he’s just that good. Which is hilarious to me, as a loser (affectionate) Gon truther, because this man exists in my head as an adorable mess of mathematical equations, overthinking, and pretending to be fine, and it’s just… no matter how many times they tell me how perfect and shiny he is, I’m just not going to believe it. Let me give you an excerpt, so you can see the tone of this and know what I’m talking about.

Gon’s body, which he trained to protect himself against any danger, was perfect because his safety was the security of the kingdom. Gyubong was impressed anew by a glimpse of his hard and wide shoulders.

Gyubong glanced at the pride of the Kingdom of Corea before he could meet his indifferent eyes. His sharp nose, smooth lips, and sharp jawline stood out under his straight eyebrows. The third king of the Kingdom of Corea boasted an appearance that deserved the love of the kingdom’s people.

Like— it’s so unserious! They’re really trying so hard to ram it down your throat how utterly perfect Lee Gon is - and in this scene it reads like Gon’s eyebrows may be straight but Park Gyubong sure isn’t. They also mention Gon’s “long legs” when he’s running after his clock rabbit and… wow, does this answer that age old question? Is this what Yeong knows that Gon uses his long legs for - running away and giving Yeong a headache?

So, after all this, what have we learnt so far?

Park Gyubong is either very confident in his heterosexuality or he has a huge crush on King Lee Gon

“The royal courtiers often found the principled Captain of the Guard more difficult than the easy-going king” which… hurts me, a little, to imagine the palace staff bitching about Yeong behind his back. Does it make sense? …yes, to be fair yes, yes it does, it makes a lot of sense for Yeong to rule Haeungung palace with an iron fist as he tries desperately to take care of Gon’s safety, so I just hope that none of the other members of staff are being too mean about our beloved Yeongie :(

Yeong’s naval rank is confirmed to be a Soryeong/Lieutenant Commander! If you’ve seen my post about military ranks in TKEM then you’ll see that this is something that you can see in the show by looking at his epaulettes, but it’s nice to have it confirmed in writing here

Yeong was described as being “born and bred to serve the king.” This is something we knew already, but having it said explicitly here… it’s doing something to me, so it’s getting its own point.

Yeong specifically says to Park Gyubong that “His Majesty doesn’t like other people’s hands touching his body.” It’s not just any touch, he specifically mentions hands. Fanfic nation, do with this information what you will.

Mentioning the moment where little Yeong joined little Gon in crying after Lee Ho’s funeral is something that hurts Yeong’s pride. We can only assume that Gon knows this because he has brought it up in the past and Yeong has got very flustered about it.

On that topic, Gon thinks about that moment after his dad’s funeral after Yeong is like !!!!! when Park Gyubong mentions covering Gon’s scar.

Lady Noh has been noticeably anxious about finding Gon a partner ever since he turned thirty (Korean age). Gon isn’t sure if it was before that, but thirty is the age that he mentions. The Korean word for partner used is 짝, which Wordreference tells me means “pair, mate, buddy.” Interestingly, not necessarily wife, very gender neutral. This is in Gon’s internal monologue so again, fanfic nation, this one’s for you.

It’s also said that Lady Noh is more like a mother to Gon than his own mother was, which again is something we already knew but it’s very nice to have it written.

It’s crossed Lady Noh’s mind that Gon might have a secret mistress and that’s why he has never been interested in getting married, but she figured that this was illogical because Gon is always being watched while he’s in the palace. Thank you for your hard work, Jo Yeong!

The issue of marriage is apparently the only duty of Gon’s that he ever abandons, which… idk, there’s something there.

Gon feels like he’s free of all his worries when he goes riding, especially with Maximus, so riding is basically like Gon’s therapy :D

Maximus is his “favourite horse” which is something else that’s just nice to have in writing

It is mentioned several times in this chapter that Gon “is the favourite of every woman in the kingdom.” It’s giving… heteronormative, but that doesn’t surprise me. However, Koo Seoryeong doesn’t count herself as being one of these women because she can see up close how Gon is putting on as much of an act as she is.

Koo Seoryeong’s ex-husband was not only from a chaebol family but also a conglomerate leader. This is interesting to me because it’s mentioned in the show that he’s the second son so… what happened to the first son? Is he the leader of his own separate corporation? Was he just not as good as his younger brother?

Gon finds the way Koo Seoryeong is clear about expressing her desires uncomfortable because, as the king, he’s never been able to have his own desires or express his own desires freely

“Yeong’s nerves were on edge” while Gon was rowing in the competition, because it was an outdoor event. He finds these things stressful because Gon already came close to death once, and you never know if it’ll happen again

As soon as he hears a gunshot, Gon is immediately transported back to the night of the treason. Even if he doesn’t show it outwardly, it’s crossing his mind at the slightest trigger.

That time at the rowing competition is the first time that Gon has run away during an outdoor event. He runs away often and he knows he causes trouble for the Royal Guard, but this is the first time he’s done it at an event like that.

Gon can recognise Yeong just by his footsteps

Gon leaves his duties in the palace once or twice a year - either because he wants some personal time, or he’s in desperate need of it because he feels too overwhelmed by his regular life. I already assumed it was because of that, but to have it confirmed… fanfic nation, this is for you again

Gon was still thinking about the night of the treason when he got his Alice in Wonderland book out at the end of episode 1, and he could still vividly feel the sticky blood on the soles of his feet, and the feeling of something constricting around his neck. He felt like it could still happen again at any moment. Clearly, Lee Gon needs some better therapy than just going riding with Maximus.

Final thoughts: I’m very much enjoying seeing into the characters’ minds like this, especially Gon, since we’ve had a lot of him this chapter. I like how the book is able to show how often Gon is thinking about the night of the treason, making it and therefore his PTSD a much more present thing than in the show. It remains to be seen whether the currently hilarious Gon-worshipping is going to become annoying after a while, or whether or not seeing the characters’ inner thoughts is going to start annoying me when the main romance plot gets going. If it’s in the same tone as the Gon-worshipping… yeesh. That’ll be an experience.

My main thought so far? Not enough Yeong. There’s not as much Yeong as there was in the show, and there isn’t even much Yeong there. This book could be greatly improved with more Yeong. I suppose we’ll have to stick to fanfiction for that.

[jazzpostsrandomthings]

Journey Retold: The Three Grand Companies

<< Previous Entry

Woops! A full month has passed since I last wrote for this series, my bad. Was busy with exams (aced the last one yesterday) and witnessing my friend go through Shadowbringers for the first time. I have a lot more free time now so I can finally continue Journey Retold!

There will be a preamble of sorts next, feel free to skip around until you see a text written in purple.

One of my friends told me that I should shorten the names of the players when I am inserting their messages into these posts. His suggestion was to shorten "The player of the self-proclaimed Emo Catboy" to "Emo Catboy" for example and he has a point, but I am not going to. I wanted to switch to a format of "The player of [WoL Full Name]" actually, but I had to make a choice against it out of my respect for the privacy of my dear first friend I've made through the game upon their own request so I am not going to do the switch because otherwise they would stand out like a sore thumb.

Another reason why I don't want to shorten the names like this is that... I feel like it's important to point out that there is a real person behind each of these characters. I find it one of the coolest and most magical things about FFXIV and MMO genre as a whole, and for an extravert like me who only goes outside for studies it just holds a lot of weight. Not all interactions with these player characters and people behind them themselves might be pleasant, it's a double-edged sword all multiplayer games and social medias even have to deal with, but an overwhelming majority of these interactions have brought me joy and laughs and it all just feels more real than just interacting with someone over Discord DMs and such.

The issue of the player names being too long in these posts during the messaging segments is real so from now on I will shorten it to "TPo [simple character description]", like "TPo Emo Catboy" or "TPo stern Auri man". That should do it.

...

OK, where did we stop last time? Ah, right, Ifrit.

Pi had slayed a monstrocity from the deep depths of hell yaaaaaaay.

I picked the msq back up the next day, judging from the screenshots' date. The word of Pi's conquest over the Lord of Inferno had spread quickly, like a wildfire, and the officers of the three Grand Companies had arrived to the Waking Sands, wanting to have Ifrit's bane to themselves. I was hit with a choice between these three Grand Companies, i.e. Limsa Lominsa's Maelstrom, Gridania's Order of Twin Adders and Ul'dah's Immortal Flames. And I wanted to join Maelstrom right away because I like Merl-- I mean, I like Limsa and I am the most familiar with it, but I was open to seeing what can other two city-states offer and thus I had set for Ul'dah first.

Raubahn entered the scene, as well as a cute lalafell woman wearing a weird dress that honestly makes her look like a bowling pin when she stands, I am sorry. That lalafell, Nanamo Ul Namo, is the sultana of Ul'dah by the way and it was my first time seeing her.

Their combined speech was very strong, talking about their glory and wealth (both in monetary fortune as well as the spiritual) and how they laid low the VIIth Imperial Legion five years ago.

For Victory and Fortune, stride fearless into the inferno, for we are by fire reborn!

Some young and kinda familiar gentleman had something to say about that last line:

So that's how it happened. How soon history forgets.

The speech was met with a round of applause and cheering, and like I've said before, the speech itself was very strong, I actually started to think that maybe Flames can win me over. Then the twins (or rather one of them) decide to speak to me to explain some things that were kinda glossed over in the grand speech, mentioning the refugee problem and their relationship with Amalj'aa that keep summoning Ifrit and costing many soldiers' their lives.

Next up was Gridania. The speech was mainly presented by Kan-E but her brother and sister (and also another seedseer) were also present, even if they didn't say anything.

The Elder Seedseer's speech was about peace and harmony. She talked about uniting Eorzea to fight the Empire and to protect the place that have been their home for almost five centuries.

And together, let us heal the forest's wounds, that our progeny might live in harmony beneath these ancient boughs. For serenity, purity, and sanctity!

I liked the speech as well, but it wasn't as memorable and strong as Raubahn's and I felt like this would be the Grand Company Pi would most likely side with canonically since he is mostly pacifistic and he wishes for the fighting to stop so there could be peace. Alphinaud chimed in again, mentioning how Gridania has to deal with two beast tribes, Ixal and sylphs, and how all the fighting they do is in self-defense. He also mentioned that their lands have been hurt the most by the Calamity which only complicated things for them and soon their bickering with the beast tribes can turn into an all-out war which is why they might need more people to deal with it when the time comes.

Now, all that remained was Limsa Lominsa.

Merlwyb's speech was about freedom, how their nation was fighting for it for seven centuries since they came to La Noscea and how they would like to keep their freedom until their very last breath.

And with the guidance of the Navigator, this great vessel of ours shall ride the waves till sea swallows all!

Alphinaud spoke to Pi once more, mentioning that Lominsans have a lot of blood feuds betweens the factions that comprise the city-state, not to mention the two beast tribes, kobold and Sahagin that both want to take the place for themselves and are planning on summoning their respective Primals to help them with that. All that made them quite an easy target for Garleans which is why they would be needing more men soon, "drenching the Maelstrom standard a deeper shade of crimson ere long".

Freedom is also something that Pi as a character have been craving for because of his passion for travel and exploring, but he wasn't the person to kill somebody for it... but I didn't want to disappoint Merlwyb so I ended up choosing Maelstrom in the end. Sorry Kan-E and Raubahn ;w;

Next up we see Alphinaud and his twin sister Alisaie talk about the speeches between themselves. The sister says how those remembrance ceremonies (because yes, these speeches were dedicated for those celebrations) didn't talk much about the Calamity and were mostly about "standart-waving rallies" while the brother remarks how they didn't even mention the Warriors of Light, as if they chose to omit their deeds in saving their realm in order to move on from the Calamity. Alisaie did not agree that was a right choice.

She couldn't stand it all and chose to find a different way "to cute ails of this world", the twins going their own separate ways. For now, at least.

And then it was the time to get my chocobo.

Say hello to Eorzean Axl by the name of Gingerhead. I made him into Pi's horsebird lol.

Then I did the next msq quest which was Sylph Management which allowed me to unlock Summoner and Scholar. I went on to do... Summoner one before continuing the main story.

"Huh? But didn't you choose Arcanist to then unlock a Healer job?" Yes, I did, but I realized that I actually have a Healer anxiety and that I probably won't play as a Healer much anyway, plus beating MSQ as a Healer will be pain so YUP, I chose violence.

First chain of SMN quests was OK. Kinda cool, but not memorable. Even thought our quest companion was Y'shtola's sister.

And to conclude this entry, have this hilarious screenshot.

We will be dealing with sylphs next.

[johndpg]

KNITTING PATTERNS c/w RULERED THIGHS!

Before I start posting some patterns, here’s a bit of preamble for those interested. If not, feel free to go straight to the next post for the first set of photos.

I collect vintage knitting patterns from the 1950s to the 1970s. It’s probably no great surprise that boys are commonly pictured wearing grey (typically) short trousers and knee-length socks, but even in the casual situations used to illustrate the patterns, they are often wearing a formal shirt and tie.

Were boys specially dressed in smart clothes when their photos were taken? After all, their parents wouldn’t have wanted them looking like scruffy urchins on the front of a pattern that was going to be sold all over the country! And it’s something nice to keep/send to grandparents, I suppose. But isn't it also reflective of the time? People did dress more smartly back then, even in everyday situations, so maybe the boys were always turned out this way.

Things definitely changed in the 70s. My experience was of mainly having casual/play clothes, so I had to wear my school uniform to my cousin’s wedding aged about 9 in 1973 (I can hear you doing the maths) as my parents felt it was the smartest outfit I had. They certainly weren’t about to buy me a suit for a one-day event! I didn’t wear a blazer at junior school, so they got me a plain black one from BHS plus some new black shoes. On arrival I was given a buttonhole to wear, and I remember feeling very grown up and smart. I was the only boy in shorts but I can’t remember being bothered about it, although one of my uncles kept on at me to pull my socks up, which was annoying.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the patterns and I’ll post more if people are interested in seeing them.

PS: I’m pretty sure I was wearing the same pair of shorts when one of my teachers (Miss S) smacked the back of my thighs with a ruler, along with two other boys in my class. We all got two whacks, one on each leg. My age and the year fits, but I can’t remember if it was before or after the wedding. Anyway, that’s a story for another day.

PPS: I did warn you there would be reminiscing!

[cinemacentral666]

Breaking the Waves (1996)

Movie #1,158 • Ranking Lars von Trier #2

[Ed. Note: This was the first film I watched for this Ranking series. Sorry that the tone of this review is so different than the others.]

And so I begin a crisscross through the career of Lars Von Trier. Hey that rhymes! Neat. And fun. You know what's not so fun, it seems? Watching a dang Lars Von Trier film! I am beginning with Trier's Golden Heart Trilogy (1996-2000) of which this is the first installment. I am starting here for no real reason, but maybe the real reason is because I remember when Bjork wore that swan dress to the Oscars. (I don't want to explain that sentence further. I'm sorry.)

Before dipping my toes into the Trieriverse, the only thing I knew about his work is that it was BLEAK. And, guess what? We are 1 for 1 on that count, man. Hoo boy… NOT a feel-good movie here, folks. There are around 15 features and some TV, documentaries and shorts I will be ingesting over the next five to fifty-five weeks (give or take). Whether my precious heart can take it… that's another question.

I like to mix up how I ingest a filmmaker's catalog. Sometimes I'll go chronolog, sometimes rev-chronolog, sometimes alphabetty and then sometimes I'll just throw out a dang wildcard and jump around like I'm in the Irish hip-hop group House of Pain. That Trier (or is it Von Trier–I mean, I assume Von isn't his middle name?) often works in loose trilogical way, I thought it would be nice to start somewhere in the middle and the hop frontwards and backwards, making sure I took in each trilogy in chronological order, of course. It's a joy: being able to experience an auteur's work in full, for the first time (unscathed as it were… something about it feels more pure).

But that's enough preamble, let's talk about 1996's Breaking the Waves starring the great Emily Watson and Stellan Skarsgård. This film is a classic, me thinks. Like many great works of the cinema, it plays a trick. This movie's trick is that it makes you think it's about sex, but it's really about faith and religion. It's about what an absolute farce the latter is. (And I believe this is a common theme for him. Wwe pick things up in life by happenstance, without really trying — I do, at least.)

This film is long, but it's broken down by Chapters which make it easily digestible in multiple viewings (umm, ever heard of PRESTIGE TV??) . All the Chapters begin with a classic rock song, by David Bowie and others, played over these extremely cool looking. kind of moving portraits (done by Per Kirkeby). I did a supercut of these title cards…

My favorite part(s) of this movie are when Emily Watson does the voice of God. It's a reoccurring bit and it's so so good…

I found an interesting secondary theme to be the role of women in modern society. Yes, the pretense of the setting (a cloistered village in bumfuck Scotland with doomed religious politics) is a cheat, andLVT being, well, a man, perhaps complicates or undermines the point, but I think he did a really amazing job, both facts considered. This is a highly feminist film, and not in a 'beat you over the head' trying too hard kind of way.

That said, there are no happy endings here. The evil men do in their mind is not equal to the evil they can do with their bodies. The final act is spectacularly rough and hard to watch at times (spoiler alert: Udo Kier's character is simply billed as "Sadistic Sailor"). But it's never a morality lesson. If anything, it's a lesson against the entire concept of morality. And it's a notion he would completely break wide open with his next project, The Idiots.

SCORE: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I’ll be counting down all of Lars Von Trier’s movies right here at @cinemacentral666 every Thursday through September 2023

[187days]

Day One Hundred Forty-Two

Today was an early release day. We all had work to do in our departments: curriculum redesign stuff for next year, looking at learning progressions, etc, etc... 

My World students spent the shortened class time working on their book papers. The goal was to finish a draft by the end of the block, and I was really impressed with how some students gave themselves little deadlines each day in order to meet that goal (doing for themselves what we’d done together when they wrote religion/philosophy essays a couple weeks ago). There are some students who still struggle with time management- and, of course, some who didn’t read their books and are still trying to find ways around that- so I have work to do in the future to help them. I did ask that they turn in their drafts, so I could at least see what they’ve done so far and give them advice on how to continue. I was able to do that today, and I’m going to leave feedback on the finished drafts during my prep time tomorrow so that students can revise in class. 

My APGOV class was smaller than usual- students, especially seniors, sometimes opt to skip the early release days- but large enough for me to put students in two groups to compare and contrast the preambles of the Democratic and Republican party platforms. That was me segue into discussing the role of political parties as a linkage institution. I lectured on that for about fifteen minutes, assigned an article on party realignment and dealignment for homework, and then the bell rang as if it was on cue. 

I was able to eat lunch with folks I don’t normally get to eat with: Mrs. T, Mrs. R, basically all of the foreign language teachers. I caused a stir, though, because the conversation turned to the fact that we haven’t done any active shooter drills since Alice training last fall, mainly because the police started revising their safety plans after Uvalde, and then another shooting happened that made them revise more, and then another, and... you get it. But my colleagues want The Principal to put out whatever plans they do have, they want us to have discussions with our students and maybe even drills. I’m fine with discussions, I’m not fine with Alice-style drills, because they’re ineffective at best and traumatic at worst. I said something to the effect of, “They just exist to make us all feel like we’re actually doing something,” and that did not go over well. 

Should’ve just kept my mouth shut. 

Anyways, after lunch we all went to our meetings. I walked into mine and told Mrs. Z I’d broken up a fight on Monday and gotten observed teaching on Tuesday, so I’m having an epic week. She insisted on hearing all the details, and that led to a tangent about yesterday’s school board elections (side note: our school budget and teaching contract both passed, woohoo!) because several candidates named school safety as an issue they wanted to focus on if elected. And then we got down to business. 

We had about an hour to work on our own afterwards. I wrote a new vocab practice assignment to give in World tomorrow after students finish revising their papers, set everything up for my next APGOV lesson (on campaigns and elections), responded to some emails, and called it a day. 

[sunshinespear]

paradise found

oneshot (might become a part of a series??)

pairing: established reader x ellaria sand

rating: explicit

word count: 2,177

summary: you and ellaria sand find yourselves in a sept. however, rather than worshipping the gods somehow you find yourself on your knees worshipping something much better

warnings: uhhhh god okay so public sex sort of, public nudity, religion kink? it’s in a sept, slight overstimulation, an*l play (it’s mild), fingering, oral (fem receiving, fem giving), softness, fluff, teasing, begging, you’re topping in this one, shamelessly loud sex, woo yall aint even trying to hide it, let me know if i missed anything

a/n: this really does just jump straight into the action lmao. i might do a sequel to this. i really want to write a larger story that’s reader x oberyn x ellaria with a very equal poly dynamic between the three (my bi heart cant pick a favorite). if this is like... good/popular-ish maybe i’ll look deeper into doing that lol this is me dipping my toe in the water. that fic would obviously be explicit throughout. like. c’mon. but so yeah let me know if that’s something anyone would be interested in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Seven marble statues stared down upon the center of a magnificent open room. They stood exalted atop stone platforms laced with lapis lazuli and mother of pearl, unlit candles scattered at the feet of six of the tall figures. Vaulted ceilings were covered in clear glass panes, bleeding brilliant sunshine into the sept. Covering almost every inch of the walls were colorfully painted glass windows in gold-plated lead panes, depicting scenes of the Seven in their glory. A peaceful stillness was contained within the empty sept. You were sprawled on the floor behind the statue of the Father, out of his watchful eye but barely hidden from the massive double doors at the entrance of the empty sept.

           It was not unusual for the septs in Dorne to be empty at most times of day. The Faith was present here, but not many were strongly devout in their following. A long time ago, if anyone had asked if you were the religious sort you might have laughed at them. Sure, you knew what you were taught about the Seven Gods, the Seven-pointed Star, the Seven whatevers. You’ve prayed a few times. Seven Heavens, Seven Hells. But over time it was all drowned away. Do you think you’re going to a heaven? Any of them? You don’t think anyone could ever be certain of where they were going. What you do know is this: heaven can also be a person. It could even be two. And to be alone with them, that can be like salvation. Right now, it’s only two of you alone in this holy place. You’re sprawled on the marble floor, still mostly clothed, fervently worshipping a naked goddess laying under you.

          There is a special paradise to be found with your head between her thighs

           You lick one long stripe over the entirety of Ellaria’s cunt, parting her wet folds with your tongue. She tastes like kiwis and cherries; fruit that’s sweet with zest, just like she is. You flick your tongue over the top of her clit. She shivers at your touch, makes a sharp gasp, and you’re exactly where she wants you. Now you burn to hear her plead for it.

           You circle around her clit with your tongue. Teasing against her edges, you barely brush against her – almost at that spot, so close – over and over. She struggles faintly, trying to push her hips down against your evasive mouth. She wants you to touch her there so much. You grip her waist to hold her still. You move downwards instead and lap up more of her along the way. When you reach the center of her cunt you find her so incredibly wet. Even her thighs are smeared with her slickness. Her folds are slippery under your tongue as you take long drinks of the sweetness she’s pouring out for you. You revel in the taste, moaning into her cunt as you drown in it.

           Ellaria groans then, mumbling something softly under the gravel that you can’t quite hear.

           “Hm?” You hum, intentionally obtuse. You give her another long stroke with your tongue.

           “Please,” she exhales, shaking in a lust-drunk daze. You smirk like you’ve won. She always told you that you and Oberyn were too similar in that way.

           You know what she’s begging for, but where’s the fun in giving it to her so immediately? She wants your tongue flicking her clit, so you push two fingers inside of her soaked cunt instead.

           Ellaria cries out and bucks her hips, trying to take in all you have to give her. You watch as she shuts her eyes, mouth agape in pleasure, and she is like all seven of the heavens. She is dripped in gold, brown skin glittering in the sunlight like the goddess she is. Her dark, coiled hair is splayed out all around her, a halo for her most heavenly body. You ease your fingers in and out of her slowly at first, watching her face the entire time. Gods, that face. What a beautiful face to have underneath you as it climbs to the height of pleasure. You could see those same perfectly plush lips part and gasp a thousand times and it will always strike you straight to the core. You fuck her faster and she moans louder, echoing throughout the sept. Her eyes are tightly shut but if she would ever open them, you would be met with the most beautiful charcoal gaze you’d ever seen. Each and every time Ellaria looked at you was a spell being cast and it plucked the strings of your heart like a harp, playing exactly to her tune. It was as musical as the salacious moans she was making now with each curl of your fingers against that good spot inside her.

           You suck on the thumb of your other hand, coating it thickly with saliva, and sink it inside Ellaria’s other entrance.

           Her eyes pop open as she groans. She takes gasping breaths as you work on her, eyes wide open now. Ellaria looks at you and she can’t help but let out a breathy laugh at the mischief in your glittering eyes.

           “Ugh, you-mmm… I-” She grasped for words like her hands grasping her hair. “You know exact-t-ah… exactly what you’re doing- hmph. Fuck.”

           It’s you laughing now, reveling in how difficult you’re making this for her. Her gaze catches yours and in her eyes you find the sweetest, most frustrated adoration. You stay with your eyes locked with Ellaria’s while you fuck her from both places. Your fingers and thumb drag in and out, curling them exactly where she needs it, going at just the pace she likes it. Ellaria’s eyelids are heavy now, opening slower with each moan you drag out of her until she’s so swept away by pleasure that they close entirely. Beads of sweat dot her concentrated brow, dripping down her temple into those curly dark locks. You thrust your fingers into her once, twice, three more times before she makes a sound like a sob. Ellaria reaches out for you, hands aimlessly searching for something to grip. She settles on her own thighs, holding them more open for you. Her chest rises laboriously with each breath. There is a burning desire in your chest to see her come undone. You wonder how much more teasing she could take, or you for matter, when her eyes flutter open and find yours once more.

           There it was. That pinning stare she had mastered on you. Ellaria held you captive with every bat of her eyelash. To see that look in her eyes, weighed down by ecstasy and foggy in lust, was the most divine feeling you’d ever known. It was entirely enthralling.

           “Love, please.” Her voice cracks as she begs, barely above a whisper, her body writhing against you. “Please, please, please, my love.”

           Of course you’ll do as she commands.

           You keep thrusting your two fingers into her with your one hand. In your other, her ass sits in your palm with your thumb still circling inside of her. You lean your head down and give her exactly what she needs, and exactly where she needs it.

           First, you lick her clit softly. The kind of noise she lets out at that contact.... It is the most intoxicating sound. Her hands knot themselves into your hair in an instant, her nails desperately scraping your scalp. She pulls you closer, as close as she can possibly have you.

           You press your tongue against her sweetest spot, circling her over and over. She was so close, you could tell. Just a little bit more. You close your lips around her clit, enveloping it in the warm wetness of your mouth. With your lips you suckle on her, kiss her, poke your tongue out and use it to caress. You use your entire mouth to fuck her good. You take your tongue out and flick it against her, fast and feather-light. One thrust of your fingers deep inside of her again, working in tandem with the rapid movement from your tongue, and you feel her orgasm tightening around your fingers.

           Ellaria’s body spasms as she comes hard. Her entire body shakes with the weight of it. Her legs wrap around your back, her walls – from every place your in – squeeze your fingers tightly, her hands pull you by your hair to drag you closer, her hips grind against your mouth.

           “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

           Of course you obey. Your tongue continues fervently flicking against her clit, all the way through her high, until the violent tremors dissipate into soft shivers and her fingers are a little less tight in your hair. She tries to catch her breath desperately as if she’d just been drowning. You pull back your head slightly. She’s so sensitive now, squirming under you even though you’re barely touching her.

           You can’t ever leave well enough alone. Not when she looks so damn good like this. You pull your hands out of her body. She lets you, weakly melting into the floor without your support. You clutch her thighs and push her legs open a little further. You put your head back down there again, sore tongue aching to give her more. She catches on to your antics far too late. You’re already sliding your tongue around her when she starts pulling your hair back and squirming her hips away. You clutch her thighs tighter, holding her steady as the overstimulation transitions back to ecstasy. She can’t stop shaking, but the way she presses deeper into your tongue tells you she’s ready for it now. You work her back up again with your hot tongue. You give her this one quickly, not fucking around this time.

           As the second wave of pleasure sweeps through Ellaria, her mouth hangs open with a mute cry, unable to summon the strength to croak out even a single moan. She comes with eyes closed tight, mouth wide open, her shaky breathing the only noise she can make as tremors overtake her. You lick and roll your tongue all over her cunt as she melts into you. She gets so damn wet when she comes, and you are determined to drink all of her. You don’t want to waste a single drop, tasting everything she has to give.

           She lets out a moan, soft as lamb’s wool. It fades into a breathy laugh as she pushes your head and desperate tongue away from her numb body. She cups your jaw and tries to pull you up to kiss her, but you find detours along the way. First you must stop to kiss along her hip bone. You leave wet kisses on the sharp contours of her body here. Then you move up her stomach. You gently press your lips to the beautiful stretch marks earned from the daughters she’s born. Continuing up, you graze your teeth over her ribs. At her nipple, you dart out your tongue and lick. She shivers at that and makes a soft grunt, so you stay there and lick some more. Now you have to give the same treatment to the other. When you move past her breasts, you kiss up to her collarbone and leave a mark there.

           The kisses continue softly up her neck until finally, your face meets Ellaria’s. It is the most beautiful face and you’ve just made it come entirely undone for you. You take your hands to cup her cheeks before you kiss her on her sweat-dampened hairline and along the smoothness of her forehead. Ellaria shuts her eyes in bliss. You take the opportunity to kiss each of her delicate eyelids softly. The ghost of your lips trail down the bridge of her nose, to the tip, and over her cheeks that cradle a perfectly contented grin.

           You pull back, staring down at her most peaceful state. A powerful ache strikes you right where your soul rests. You love her. You know you do. As she opens her eyes and meets your gaze, you know you would die for her. You know that there was no life to live without her.

           Ellaria smiles softly at you lost in your reverence. She wraps her hand around your neck and pulls you down to kiss her. You meet her lips and kiss her like how a man lost in the desert drinks water. Fervently, longingly, never getting enough. You could kiss her for an eternity and it would never be enough. She giggles against your mouth and you take her smile in with the same enthusiasm, kissing wherever your lips land with devotion, even if you end up kissing her teeth.

         She pulls you back by your hair at the same time she moves her thigh between yours, pushing against your core. You let out a tiny noise of surprise, mouth popping open and she takes the opportunity to put two fingers in there. You close your lips around them immediately, tracing your tongue over her fingertips. It’s impossible to resist grinding against her thigh, rubbing your wet core against her warm skin. Ellaria’s eyes are low and sparkling, her smile turned devious.

        “Hmm. Your turn.”

[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

[fific7]

Ticket to Ride - Part 1

Billy Russo x Reader

A/N: Inspired by The Beatles song of the same name. This takes place in my S1 Punisher AU with Arrogant!Billy in attendance. Billy gets a taste of his own medicine.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral, between consenting adults* in some chapters. Drinking and swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit)

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

𝕀 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕀'𝕞 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕕, 𝕀 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕥𝕠𝕕𝕒𝕪, 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕙

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥'𝕤 𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕖 𝕞𝕒𝕕 𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪

𝕊𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖

𝕊𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖

𝕊𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You were grabbing armfuls of clothes out of the wardrobe and dumping them into the three massive suitcases you’d laid open on the floor. If any of your friends had seen you at that point, they’d have said you looked like a woman possessed.

Finally, the wardrobe was empty of your clothes, and you moved on to the chest of drawers and then the bathroom. The contents were shovelled into a couple of large backpacks, as were various other bits and bobs from bedside table drawers and shelving units. In a surprisingly short space of time, you’d packed up everything that belonged to you in this damned apartment.

That left you just two very quick things to do, and you could then somehow get all this luggage downstairs into the lobby and get the hell out of Dodge.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The receptionist at the airport hotel you were booking into looked at the amount of luggage you had with you, and studied your face again carefully. No doubt she was wondering if you were a celebrity. Obviously deciding that there was an outside chance that you were but she just hadn’t recognised you, you were given an upgrade on the room without even asking for one.

Plopping down onto the bed once you’d got into your room, you rummaged around in one of the backpacks until you found your laptop, connecting it to the hotel WiFi. Opening one of the major airlines’ websites, you began scrolling through the destinations offered from JFK.

So many to choose from!

Now to plan your getaway.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy Russo got back home really late. He was going to be in trouble, no doubt about it... he hadn’t even texted because he hadn’t wanted to face any questions about what he was doing and when he’d be home.

Opening the apartment door, he was surprised to find it in darkness. Oh... had she gone to bed already? That wasn’t a good sign. He switched on the lights and immediately noticed a sheet of paper and a photo frame lying prominently on the kitchen island.

Walking over, he didn’t even have to pick up the note to read it. There was only one word, printed large.

“Goodbye.”

His stomach knotted and then he looked at the photo frame lying next to it. The photo was the one which was usually on the bedside table, a favourite of his.... she was sitting on a bar stool and he was behind her, his arms right around her. Both laughing into the lens as the photo was taken.

The photo was still in the frame, but it was torn in two.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Finally, by the next morning you’d decided on London. You’d never been, and quite honestly wanted to lose yourself in another big city. Flight booked, an AirBnB apartment booked for two weeks and you didn’t need a visa, so you were all set.

Now just one more thing to do. You opened up the box containing your new mobile phone and fitted the SIM card into it. After about twenty minutes of entering contact details and various apps onto it, you took your original phone and called Karen.

Her bored voice answered so you knew she was already at work, but she perked up when she heard your voice.

“Hi honey! How’re things? Wanna meet up for lunch today? I’m bored and I need a good gossip.”

You were a freelance copy writer and so you were your own boss. There were one or two assignments you were currently working on, but you could work from anywhere you could get a WiFi connection, so that wasn’t a problem.

“Uhhh, sadly not darling, I’m flying to London this afternoon.” You could hear her intake of breath, then she squealed, “Oh you lucky woman, how’d you manage to land an assignment like that?”

You gave a bitter little laugh, “I’ve left Billy.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy had sat on his sofa for a long time after he’d seen the note and photo. At first he’d just had to sit down, overwhelmed, as he had the most horrible feeling that his world was crashing down around his ears.

She was the one person who made him feel safe and loved. But he knew only too well that he’d been walking the line recently what with the situation at Anvil and having to keep Madani sweet. He hadn’t actually crossed the line, but he’d had to make sure she thought that he would, and soon at that. Would he have crossed it? He’d need to get back to himself on that question.

Of course he’d mentioned none of this to his girl. But obviously - somehow - he mustn’t have done a very good job at being discreet because she’d guessed something was up. And left him.

He’d poured himself a large whisky and downed it in one, before going over to the window and looking out forlornly at the city lights. Then he called Frank.

When he heard the gruff growl on the other end of the line, he said, “She’s left me, Frankie,” and realised how hoarse his voice sounded.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“What?!” screeched Karen. You hadn’t divulged your recent secret fears to her, hoping against hope that you were wrong when you’d started noticing little things over the past few weeks. But now you gave her a full rundown of it all.

More and more claims of ‘working late’ and ‘being very busy at work’.

Alcohol on his breath after he’d been on these ‘working late’ evenings.

A distinct smell of CK’s Eternity from a jumper he’d left crumpled up in a corner on the bedroom floor when he’d been out extra late one evening.

The final straw? You almost laughed when you thought about it, as it was such a cliché. A smear of dark red lipstick on the inside collar on one of his otherwise pristine white shirts. And another unmistakable whiff of Eternity.

You’d never be able to wear that damn perfume again.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Frankie had been suitably sympathetic to start with, but had then begun to berate Billy for being ‘a stupid asshole’ once he’d explained what he’d been up to with Madani. “I didn’t sleep with her!” Billy grumbled, “....just messin’ around. You know we need to know what she knows.”

“Yeah, but women ain’t stupid, Russo! Were you goin’ home reeking of booze and another woman’s perfume?” Billy said nothing at first, just grunted but then said, “Maybe. Yeah.. probably.” “See!” said Frank, “...you’re a stupid asshole!” “I mean, she didn’t even challenge me on it!” Frank started laughing, “So that makes it her fault, huh!? You’re a piece of work, Russo.” “No, no.... I just meant, aren’t you supposed to have arguments about that kinda stuff first? She just up and left me!”

“I don’t blame her,” said Frank, “...and you know she’s not the type to take any BS from you, Bill. She probably thought it wasn’t worth her time listenin’ to you tryna give excuses for the inexcusable.”

Billy was reminded by this that one of Frank’s pet peeves was infidelity. “But I didn’t cheat!” said Billy forcefully. “Whaddya do, kiss her?” “Yeah.” “Feel her up a bit?” “Mmhuh.” “That’s cheatin’ in my book, Russo.” Billy realised he was hanging his head in shame, and quickly looked up and out of the window again.

“I dunno what to do, Frankie.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d given Karen your new number and told her on pain of death not to pass it on to anyone, even Frank and especially not to Billy. She’d assured you she wouldn’t, and neither would she tell them where you were headed.

She’d been fuming at Billy, and you wouldn’t like to be in his shoes the next time she happened to meet up with him. Her rage had been quite spectacular and she was really, really pissed that Billy hadn’t even tried to contact you. You didn’t say anything to her, but secretly you wondered if he’d actually spent the night with his side piece on this occasion and hadn’t even seen your note yet. Jealousy and anger began to take over and you stood up abruptly, determined that thoughts of that douchebag weren’t going to invade your brain.

You took the SIM card out of the phone, shut it down and tucked it away in one of your bags. Gathering all your stuff together, you began to get ready to leave the room..

Can’t wait to get on that plane, you thought.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Frankie rang Billy back a couple of hours later. “Micro tracked her phone,” he said without preamble. “Where is she? At Karen’s?” Billy asked anxiously. There was a pause, then, “Nah, Bill. She’s at JFK. And her phone’s switched off now.”

Billy, standing next to the window again, yelled, “Fuck!” before leaning his head against the cold glass. “Can Micro find out which flight’s she’s booked on, Frankie?” “He can try, but it’ll involve some hacking so it might take a little longer.” He paused again, before continuing, “And avoid Karen. She’s out for your blood.”

Billy sighed, “She’s spoken to her?” “Yeah, course she has, Bill. She knows more than she’s tellin’ me of course, but I’m not even gonna try askin’ her. Waste of time.” “It’s okay, I get it, Frankie. I wouldn’t ask you to. But if she does say anythin’.....” “I’ll let you know,” Frank finished the sentence for him and hung up.

Billy looked out of the window and then up into the sky. She wanted to get away from him so badly, she’d got a plane ticket and was about to fly.

He just prayed he’d be able to find her before she took off.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry @odetostep

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

London

[jamespotterthefirst]

Cariño (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, Book 3 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2K Premise: After their confessing their feelings to one another, everyone can see something has changed. Set in book3, Chapter 11.

Author’s Note: More outsider POVs. This girl loved them and will probably never stop writing them. 

* “cariño” just means “dear” or “love” in Spanish

Grace

The placid, teal waters of the lagoon glimmer like a cluster of diamonds, blending into a breath-taking gradient with the pink swirls of sunrise. Grace attempts to take a picture, but a measly phone camera will never be enough to capture the splendor.

Instead, she takes in a deep breath, convinced such a view is worth getting up early for after a late night of drinking and dancing.

“Nothing… is… worth this, Ethan,” a breathless voice says from nearby, interrupting the silence on the otherwise deserted beach.

“Doctor Allende, I am shocked at you,” a male voice responds. “You know the benefits of regular exercise as well as any other physician.”

It's a young and rather attractive couple jogging down the shore. At least, the taller of the two figures seems to be jogging. The shorter, curvier one is slouching over, dragging their feet against the sand.

“Try to keep up, Lilac.”

As they approach, Grace immediately recognizes them from the previous night at Ines and Angie's reception. Their attractive features would have been enough to make them memorable, but what Grace remembers the most is the long, lingering looks they would cast one another from across the venue.

Now, they move side by side, the tall, handsome man clad in only swimming trunks, his broad shoulders and toned muscles glistening in the first glimmers of sunlight. The pretty brunette at his side wears a bright one-piece that has no right looking so flattering, her dark hair swaying in a high ponytail.

“Jogging isn't exercise. It's a form of medieval torture,” the young woman returns, panting after every other word.

“And you say I'm the dramatic one,” he returns with a chuckle.

Lilac, not listening, slows her steps until she stops entirely, hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. Ethan rolls his eyes but laughs nonetheless, retracting his steps to return to her side.

“Fine,” he concedes. “You win. No more jogging for today.”

At the words, the brunette recovers miraculously, straightening and shooting him a flirtatious smile. Her companion watches her, as though her unbridled delight is the most precious rarity in the world. When he seems unable to fight the urge any longer, he pulls her to him with a roguish half smile that has even Grace's knees trembling.

Without much preamble or regard for who might be watching, he kisses her, his hands moving to cradle her face.

Grace tries to glance away, giving them as much privacy as possible, but the stark difference from last night captures her attention entirely. At the wedding, there was something quiet and restrained about the way they longed for each other. Today, there is freedom and unabashed happiness in every movement, in every smile, in every small gesture of affection.

“Now will you take pictures?” Lilac asks him, adding a flutter of her lashes to plead her case.

“Was that your only motive for accepting my invitation to exercise? Pictagram worthy shots?”

“You're a Pictagram worthy shot,” she returns without missing a beat, pulling their bodies close again and sealing the coy statement with a kiss.

Ethan does not need much more persuading after that. Despite the groan he lets out, he agrees far too quickly for a man who spends the following two minutes criticizing social media.

At last, he willingly becomes the subject of many of his girlfriend's photographs, even following her directions of different poses. He visibly enjoys the role of photographer when it's finally his turn to take pictures of her. Grace doesn't blame him in the least since Lilac works that camera with captivating poses.

“Now us together,” Lilac says after a while. The words are rushed, as though knowing what the answer will be.

“Absolutely not. No more selfies.”

He takes many selfies with her.

“Excuse me,” Grace says after watching her struggle to capture the beautiful lagoon behind them. “Sorry to interrupt but would you like me to take your picture?”

Lilac appears delighted by the offer, accepting and smiling at Grace so brightly that she too would agree to arduous photoshoots if she asked.

“Alright, say 'cheese.'” Grace lifts the phone Lilac gives her, careful to include the beautiful scenery in the shot.

Ethan looks as though he'd rather be dragged off by a shark than to say the word.

A millisecond before Grace takes the picture, however, Lilac cranes her neck to kiss his cheek, murmuring something in his ear. Whatever it is makes Ethan's smile rival the rising sun on the horizon.

Tobias

Ethan peers down at the coral drink in his companion’s hand, his brow furrowed as though the mere existence of so much color in an alcoholic drink offends him. Tobias watches from the end of the poolside bar with interest, keeping his urge to laugh at bay. Such a visceral reaction to a fun drink is so characteristic of his ex friend that Tobias can hardly help his amusement.

“What the hell is that?” Ethan is asking her.

Lilac Allende is not as successful in biting back her own amusement. She laughs at once, as though she expected such a reaction from him.

“Sex on the beach,” she answers, her voice a husky little pronouncement that is meant to weaken the will of even the strongest of beings. Paired with a lazy, deliberate nail up his arm and the world renowned Ethan Ramsey doesn't stand a chance.

Tobias, still unnoticed by the couple, gives an impressed nod, respecting her game.

“I—” Ethan stammers.

He puts on a brave attempt at impassiveness after this but even Tobias can see the doctor’s ears brighten with color.

“You want to—” His voice drops an octave. “Again?”

“It's the name of the drink, Ramsey,” she informs him in a would-be innocent voice. It's promptly spoiled by her laughter at Ethan's utterly stunned expression.

“You're an unabashed tease, Allende.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

Tobias pauses at the word, uttered so confidently. He almost expects a grimace from his old friend, maybe a hasty change in the conversation. But Ethan surprises him thoroughly by smirking down at the brunette, an expression of pure adoration on his face.

“You're right,” Ethan whispers close to her ear. His voice drops so low that Tobias doesn't catch what he tells her next.

Much to Tobias's continued surprise, the usually confident and vivacious young doctor blushes.

The couple spends the following moments murmuring words that are too low for anyone nearby to hear. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the content of their quiet conversation ranges from nauseatingly romantic to explicit.

They are interrupted by the arrival of one of Dr. Allende's friends, a short and exuberant resident whose name Tobias hadn't learned yet. After Ethan's reassurances that he will catch up in a few, they depart toward the beach where a group of grinning young doctors awaits.

“Never thought I'd see the serious and private Ethan Ramsey engage in PDA.”

If Ethan is surprised to see Tobias occupying a seat nearby, he does a masterful job at masking it. Unfazed, he simply stares at Tobias, willing him to get to the point.

“I knew you two were together thanks to the rumor mill, but I didn't realize it was this serious.”

Ethan narrows his eyes, the only hint of a reaction from him. For all of Tobias's suave swagger, the mistrust he sees in the other doctor's expression stings more than he'd ever admit out loud. He shouldn't have expected any less after all the years laden with dishonesty between both men.

Still, Tobias raises his hands in defeat, letting out a laugh that is not entirely genuine.

“Just trying to make some friendly conversation,” he tells him.

Ethan turns away to face the glass of scotch before him, as though it serves as a more superior conversation partner than Tobias. Knowing when to throw in the towel, Tobias takes his drink and prepares to move away.

“Things are… different,” Ethan finally says before Tobias can move.

It's not much but for Ethan Ramsey, that is as good an olive branch as he'll ever get.

“Lilac is…”

“Different?” Tobias finishes for him.

Even as friends, they were never poetic or sentimental. But Tobias understands the depth behind the single word without further explanation.

“I can see that,” Tobias continues with a small chuckle. “It's obvious to anyone that knows you that she's special.”

Ethan looks at him then, a flicker of surprise on his otherwise impenetrable expression.

“It's nice to see you happy.”

The words leave Tobias before he has any consciousness of forming them. He is shocked—far more than Ethan in that moment—to find he means them.

Naveen

The spell cast by a vacation in a beautiful, faraway place comes to a close as their departure time trickles near. Lamenting this fact, Naveen rounds the corner of the unfamiliar hotel hallway.

He knows better than anyone of the challenges that lay ahead for them as they return to Bloom Edenbrook. He also knows that most of those challenges will be endured by his protégé. What worries him the most is how Ethan will face the strife that is still to come.

Naveen’s steps soon come to a halt a few rooms down when the door to Ethan's room opens.

“...that we got everything, babe.”

Lilac Allende emerges, unaware of Naveen and speaking over her shoulder as she hauls her luggage into the hall. She pauses in the hallway, rummaging through her purse.

“So you decided on 'babe' then?” Ethan asks dryly, appearing at her side with his own suitcase in tow.

“You decided,” Lilac returns cheerfully turning to face him.

“How do you figure I did that exactly?”

“Last night, before we fell asleep. I informed you we had a very important decision to make,” Lilac recounts quite seriously. “I asked you what you wanted me to call you.”

Ethan nods, playfully feigning interest as though they're discussing the specifics of a particularly difficult case.

“I laid out all the possible pet names and you chose 'babe'.”

“I have no recollection of doing that.”

“I told you it was down to 'bear', 'lamb chop', or 'babe'.”

Much to Naveen's amusement, Ethan grimaces at the list of pet names, his expression growing more horrified with each one.

“Just call me your usual ones in Spanish.”

“Oh, I will, cariño. I have a whole list of those ready. Lucky for you, I’m bilingual so you’re getting both. Babe was the one that got the quietest grunt from you, so I assumed that's the one you decided on. But if you'd rather I call you 'bear', then I have no—”

Ethan, who had been watching her with such a lovestruck expression since the word “cariño”,  calls her bluff in the form of a kiss. All pretense vanishes as Lilac melts into the kiss, smiling blissfully against his lips.

“We should leave now if we want to make our flight,” Ethan says, breaking apart with a sigh. “Here. I'll take these.”

He grips the handle of her suitcase, ready to pull it along with his own.

“Thanks, babe,” she says with a wink, emphasizing the last word.

Ethan rolls his eyes but smiles—a rare, genuine smile Naveen only sees when he's around Lilac.

“It's growing on you, isn't it?”

“Perhaps,” Ethan concedes. “Or maybe I'd let you call me whatever you want.”

Lilac laughs, delighted.

“I'd be careful in awarding Dr. Allende that much power,” Naveen says to make his presence known.

The couple turns to look at him, Lilac with an amicable smile and Ethan with a resigned sigh.

“Too late for that,” Lilac responds brightly.

At that, Naveen laughs in agreement much to Ethan's chagrin.

“Is there something you needed or were you just prying?” Ethan asks though not unkindly.

It is a rare sight, though a pleasant one, to see them simply be with one another, all guards down. By Naveen's observations, they are always the picture of professionalism at Edenbrook—at least to the public eye. But now, as they stand side by side, fearless and unapologetic in their affection, Naveen realizes his concern for Ethan was in vain.

“The reason for my visit seems pointless now,” he admits with a small chuckle.

Ethan raises his brows, unconvinced.

“Forgive the interruption,” Naveen goes on. Before he turns to leave, he offers them a barely restrained grin. “And for the record, Ethan, I would have chosen 'lamb chop.'”

Author’s Note: I finally wrote in my hc that MC calls Ethan babe ironically (and to annoy him) at first but they end up liking it as time goes on lol. 

Thank you so much for reading this! 

Thank you @aestheticartsx​​ for pre-reading!

[riotwritesthings]

I'll cave in (whenever you see fit)

A BIG BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! to @warmachinesocks​

thanks for being you that’s big sexie of you. Here’s a thing.

Winteriron, M, 5k - Vampire!Bucky, human!Tony, an abduction, a rescue, and some dry humping

Bucky knows better than to get involved with a mortal, and he pays the price when Hydra kidnaps his boyfriend. Tony is human, he's questionably in distress, and he is Handling It. (minor violence, surprisingly soft all things considered.)

~~~

Bucky should have known this would happen. Fuck, he should have known.

An immortal should never get involved with a human, that’s rule fucking one because it never ends well for anyone.

Especially not for the human.

But he’s selfish, so fucking selfish, and the first time Tony smiled up at him, open and happy, Bucky knew he was doomed.

He knows something is wrong the second pushes the door open to find the basement apartment completely dark. The only light is the weak streetlight pouring in through the one tiny window, near the ceiling in the kitchen.

Even in the dark, Bucky can easily tell that the place has been trashed, though it is only a subtle difference from the organized chaos Tony usually keeps his workspace in.

The apartment is too quiet, too still, and he knows instantly.

Bucky fucked up. Badly.

Because it had been entirely too easy to get used to the warmth of Tony’s smile, of his skin, the way he so easily made a space for Bucky in his life.

It had been so easy to let himself get comfortable in Tony’s weird basement apartment that’s half home and half machine shop, perfectly Tony. The way the apartment is brightly lit with industrial lights at all hours of the day and night so Tony can see whatever brilliant new invention he’s working on next.

Bucky never had a chance at not getting attached, because in all his years he’s never met anyone like Tony.

Tony is perfect, and brilliant, left with nothing after his father's company was stolen out from under him and Tony just built himself a new life, tries to help wherever he can. He keeps erratic hours and never minds that Bucky comes and goes at all hours of the night, that Bucky can't go out in the daylight.

Bucky hasn’t been in the sun in nearly a thousand years, but with Tony in his arms, so warm and bright and alive, he could almost remember what it felt like.

And now Tony has been taken.

Bucky knew who was responsible even before he found the symbol burned into the wall. It’s Hydra. Of course it is, and those bastards won’t care that he’s human, that he never should have been involved in any of this, all they’ll care about is hurting Bucky as much as they can.

And they picked exactly the right target.

Hydra has been after him for nearly as long as Bucky has been not-alive, determined to wipe out all vampires at any cost. Even once the war was over, even after all the other hunter’s guilds signed the peace treaty, Hydra refused to give up their mission and for some reason they’ve taken a personal vendetta against Bucky. Probably because he’s evaded them so many times.

And now they have Tony.

The thing is that Bucky hasn't really known Tony that long, not even by human standards, but he is completely, irretrievably in love. He’s ready to burn the whole world down to get Tony back, even if Tony never forgives him for it.

But he’s not going to be able to find where Tony is being held, not on his own. Not in time.

The downside to immortal friends though, is that Bucky hasn’t actually seen any of them in years, because what’s a couple decades between centuries old beings? Steve is back in Europe for a while, working on his painting, and Bucky hasn’t seen Natalia in nearly fifty years now, which means she probably won’t turn back up for another fifty.

There is one more option, Bucky is just less than thrilled about it.

It’s no secret that the other hunter’s guilds don’t approve of Hydra’s methods, the amount of collateral damage they leave in their wake. The lengths they’re willing to go to.

Like kidnapping innocent humans.

It’s definitely still a stretch to hope they’ll be willing to help someone like Bucky find Hydra, but he has to try.

And he does have one idea of where to start.

Bucky and Sam don’t like each other very much, and that’s been the standing opinion for the last decade. Which for a hunter and vampire, is basically a lifelong friendship.

It’s at least enough that Bucky can show up at Sam’s door without immediately getting himself staked.

The door flies open and Bucky blinks, because it never fails to surprise him how old Sam has gotten. Every time, Bucky is a little bit expecting Sam-as-he-met-him, still a kid, on his first hunt and clearly terrified but so determined to save the world, so idealistic. And now he’s so jaded, older and tired and it’s just one more reminder of just how badly Bucky has fucked up.

Tony is going to go cold and tired and it will be all Bucky’s fault.

“You’re here about Hydra,” Sam says flatly, no preamble, and at least that answers Bucky’s question about whether or not Sam even knows that Hydra is setting up camp in his territory.

"Tell me where they are," Bucky demands, resisting the urge to flash his fangs just yet because he's not here to threaten answers out of anyone. Not unless he has to.

Although he doesn't find it encouraging that Sam doesn't answer, just clenches his jaw and swings the door open a little wider, letting Bucky see that the extra heartbeat he hears belongs to Clint. Standing in the hallway with a crossbow in hand.

Bucky lets his lip curl up a little, because apparently this is going to be that kind of conversation.

“What do they have against you, anyways?" Clint asks conversationally, like he's not holding a loaded weapon with an expression that says he'd really like to use it. "Seems very personal at this point."

“What, you want the entire list?” Bucky snaps and finds that he is more than willing to give the whole sordid story if that's what it takes.

But he doesn't have the time for that, Tony doesn't have the time.

Instead he grits his teeth and demands “Tell me where they would take a human hostage."

It has the desired effect, both of the hunters tense and Clint’s eyes go wide, and maybe now they’ll realize that this isn’t about him.

The only thing that matters is Tony, and Bucky doesn’t even care that he’s not just admitting to that weakness, he’s basically screaming it from the rooftops by telling them. Doesn’t care that Sam’s eyes narrow in painful understanding.

“We can’t tell you that,” Sam says and he really does sound regretful, but Bucky snarls because that is not what he wants to hear. “Even if we don’t agree with what they’ve done, they’re still—“

“If you don’t tell me, I will kill you,” Bucky interrupts, his voice low and harsh and it’s gratifying to hear the spike in heart rates, it means he still has a chance of convincing them, whether by threat or force.

“Barnes—“ Sam tries to interrupt, but Bucky doesn’t have time for this.

“And then I’ll find out where he is anyways,” Bucky promises, “the only thing you’ll accomplish is slowing me down.”

“You wouldn’t,” Clint says, but he doesn’t sound sure and his grip on the crossbow is white-knuckled, “you’ll start a war you can never come back from.”

“Try me,” Bucky hisses, flashes his teeth and lets his eyes flare. He wants them to know how deadly serious he is.

Clint raises his crossbow, but Sam sighs.

“In the old warehouse district,” Sam says, shoulders tight with anger and fear, “on the far west edge of the city.”

“You’ll regret this,” Clint calls after him as he stalks away, but Bucky knows that he won’t.

Not if he can just get to Tony in time. Nothing matters beyond making sure his selfishness doesn’t get Tony killed. He doesn’t care what it costs, Bucky is more than willing to leave everything and go on the run again, all he cares about is making sure Tony is alive to hate him.

Sam’s information is good, so at least Bucky won’t have to go back when he’s done here.

He’s been dealing with Hydra for centuries now, and Bucky can easily identify the abandoned factory as a Hydra base. It’s the new bars over the windows, the reinforced doors, the impression of movement just below the surface of the dilapidated building.

He only has a couple hours before the sun comes up, and then he’ll be trapped in the building with who knows how many Hydra hunters. He has to find Tony and get out as quickly as possible.

He has to make sure that at least gets Tony out.

Hydra are still setting up their bases more or less the same way they always have, the same holes in security, and getting into the building is easy. Finding the makeshift holding cells is even easier, on the south-most side of the building, but the problem is that all of the cells are empty.

The entire wing of the factory seems to be empty and there’s fresh blood splattered across the walls and the floor, still wet and shining in the fluorescent lights.

The building is too filled with the smell of mold and decay for him to tell whose blood it is, for him to have a hope of picking out the familiar sweet tang that means Tony.

He can hear the sounds of commotion in the distance, what sounds like screams and gunshots further into the factory. It’s the same direction the trail of spilled blood is leading, and Bucky grits his teeth as he follows it.

The base is nearly deserted. Bucky only sees a couple hunters as he follows the sounds of the fight. Everyone he runs into is scrambling for weapons or the exits, and they don’t seem to be expecting him at all. They seem like they’re afraid of something else entirely, like they’re trying to escape.

Bucky doesn’t let them.

They took Tony, and he doesn’t even want to let himself imagine what they’ve done to him. On the slim chance he manages to get Tony out of here, Bucky can’t have any of them going after him again.

He has to make sure they never even think about going after Tony again.

The sounds of screams get louder as he moves into the heart of the warehouse, up the stairs to the offices. The blood is thicker here, splattered across the walls and the floors with evidence of a struggle. Smeared like someone has been dragged down the long hallway kicking and fighting.

With every empty room and bloody handprint he passes his rage grows, and by the time Bucky reaches the last door all he can see is red.

He slams in the door so hard that it splinters apart, chunks of cheap plywood flying everywhere. There’s a smell in the air like acrid smoke, like melting electronics and fire and blood, nearly overwhelming.

Bodies litter the room, dead and dying, but all he sees is Tony.

Bucky has spent the last four hours trying not to let himself imagine all sorts of horrible things. Tony hurt, Tony dead, bleeding, tortured, screaming. Rightfully cursing Bucky for getting him into this mess, rightfully wishing they'd never met.

He’s not prepared for what he actually finds.

Tony is alive, bloodied and bruised but so vibrantly alive, a knife in his hand and a vicious smile on his face as he plunges it into the chest of a Hydra hunter.

Bucky freezes uselessly in the doorway, watching in awe as Tony rips the knife free again, paying no mind to the spray of blood as he spins on his heel. Buries his blade in the gut of someone trying to creep up behind him.

And all at once it’s over.

The room goes still as the last hunter falls with Tony’s knife in his neck, Tony’s knees against his chest baring him down to the ground.

Bucky doesn’t even need to breathe, but still he finds himself choking on air as he watches Tony slowly right himself again, looking over all the destruction he’s caused.

Then Tony looks up, catches sight of him, and the expression on his face shifts from cold and vicious to warm and happy in an instant. Bucky’s cold dead heart lurches in his chest.

“Hey sweetheart, about time you got here,” Tony says, tossing him a jaunty wave with the knife still in hand.

Bucky crosses the room almost in a daze, headless of the blood that slicks the floor and the bodies he has to step over. All he can see is Tony and as soon as he’s close enough he traces his fingers reverently along the line of Tony’s jaw, ghosting over the dark bruise starting to form.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, nonsensically, leaning into Bucky’s hands on him like Bucky isn’t the most dangerous thing in the room.

And hell maybe he’s not, Bucky certainly doesn’t feel dangerous. Not faced with Tony’s bright eyes and warm skin.

He feels weak, feels completely undone.

Bucky laughs, soft and strangled, and he hasn’t been cold in centuries but his hands are shaking as he cups Tony’s face in his palms.

“No,” he chokes out around another laugh, because he’s not okay, not anywhere close. “I thought- I didn’t know if you were- Tony--”

“Hey, hey,” Tony cuts him off, pulling him in closer and tucking Bucky’s face down into the curve of his neck. Where Bucky can hear the rapid thump of his heart, smell the adrenaline and the sweat that clings to his skin beneath all the blood.

And oh god there’s so much blood, covering Tony’s skin and his clothes and the room around them. Bucky can barely smell Tony through it and he tucks his face a little harder into the hollow of Tony’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Tony promises, fingers of one hand pressing into Bucky’s hair, his other hand resting on Bucky’s side and still wrapped tightly around the knife. Still prepared, and Bucky has never loved him more.

He drags his tongue up the line of Tony’s neck, through smears and splatters of blood. It’s almost a disappointment, definitely a thrill, that none of it is Tony’s.

“What did you- how did you even-“ Bucky keeps interrupting himself, can’t get a full thought out. He’s too concerned with lifting his head and pressing his lips to every inch of Tony’s perfect, unharmed face.

“I keep telling you, I’m a bad bitch,” Tony says, that beautiful smug grin on his face and Bucky just has to taste it.

Tony melts into it so easily when Bucky kisses him, his hands demanding but so gentle, like the room around them isn’t full of carnage. Like Tony isn’t the one who put it there, like he doesn’t have a care in the world except letting Bucky lick into his mouth, taste the adrenaline and determination and life straight from his lips.

Bucky has never tasted anything like it, has never met anyone like Tony, and he could have lost this.

He has to get closer, closer. He doesn’t even realize he’s backing Tony across the room until the back of Tony’s thighs hit a metal table, and Bucky just keeps pushing. Until the table clangs against the wall, until Tony is bent backwards over the surface.

Bucky follows him down, breathing him in, pressing between Tony’s thighs and still trying to get closer.

The table clatters, covered in knives and crossbows and stakes and Bucky doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. It doesn’t matter how much noise he makes now, Tony is the only living person in the warehouse, the only heartbeat on this rundown block. The only thing Bucky needs to worry about.

He certainly doesn’t give a fuck about the bodies that still litter the floor except that none of them are Tony, thatTony put them there.

Bucky doesn’t care about the bridges he’s burned, has never cared less about the impending sunrise. All that matters is Tony.

And Tony isn’t pushing him away, isn’t complaining. He just hooks one leg over Bucky’s hip and arches up against him, finally dropping his knife to drag both palms up Bucky’s back, pulling him in closer.

Tony is so warm beneath him, wrapped around him, always pulling Bucky in when he should be pushing him away.

“Fuck,” Tony sighs against his lips, one hand in Bucky’s hair again. Tony’s legs tighten around his waist, entire body rolling against Bucky’s, his voice shaking slightly as he says “I was so worried about you.”

Bucky wants to laugh again, because that’s soTony, worrying about Bucky while abducted and fighting for his life. Caring about Bucky in the first place when he should have run, should still be running, should leave Bucky far behind and never think about him again.

Nevermind that the idea has pain lancing through Bucky’s chest like he didn’t even think was possible anymore. He’d take the pain of losing Tony happily if he knew it meant Tony would be safe.

He will walk away, once they get out of here, that’s what Bucky tells himself. He just has to breathe Tony in this one last time and then he’ll walk away.

If Tony will let him. Which doesn’t seem likely, so far Tony has seemed determined to stay by Bucky’s side no matter what, and Bucky can never deny him anything.

The warehouse might be empty now but there’s no telling how long it’ll be before more hunters show up, and they should be getting out of here, Bucky knows that. But he can’t tear himself away from Tony’s warmth, from Tony’s hands moving over him.

Bucky can’t stop thinking that he could have lost this. That if he hadn’t found Tony alive and well Bucky would have made an even bigger mess. There would be no end to the carnage.

When he pulls away from the kiss Tony is panting raggedly and if Bucky had the spare brain power he’d feel bad about that but oh, he really doesn’t right now. Doesn’t care about anything but pressing his lips to Tony’s blood-splattered cheek swearing “I never would have stopped looking for you, never.”

“I know,” Tony promises, still trying to pull Bucky back into another kiss despite the way his words come out weak and breathy, his chest heaving against Bucky’s and his heart thundering.

So alive, alive, alive.

“I’d have done anything to get you back,” Bucky growls, dragging one hand down Tony’s side to his hip, digging his fingers in and shifting them until he can feel the hot brand of Tony’s cock against his hip.

“Fuck!” Tony gasps and the scent of his adrenaline spikes higher, turns sweet and warm as his fingers tighten in Bucky’s hair. “I know, I know, c’mon honey--”

And Bucky can’t say no to that, can never deny Tony anything.

Still, even as he lets Tony haul his face up again Bucky can’t stop the words from spilling out, his voice an awful snarl as he says “and if they’d hurt you--”

It’s probably for the best that Tony slams their lips together again and cuts him off, he doesn’t need to know all the monstrous things Bucky would do in his name. Much better to just let Tony kiss him, let Tony flick his warm tongue over Bucky’s blood smeared lips and the tips of his fangs, like he doesn’t have a fear in the world.

Tony’s heart rate kicks up harder, his next inhale weak and ragged against Bucky’s lips and Bucky forces himself to pull away. He lets Tony catch his breath and moves on to biting his way along Tony’s jaw, not enough to break the skin, just enough to get the taste of his skin on Bucky’s lips.

He tastes like sweat and arousal and need, so much love pouring off of him that Bucky can practically taste it. He’ll never get enough of it, doesn’t ever think he’ll stop being caught off guard by it.

“I told you,” Tony pants out when he finally gets his breath back and for a second Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, too distracted with the wet drag of Tony’s lips over his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Tony says, one of his hands landing on Bucky’s ass to pull him in closer, harder, arching up into the demanding roll of Bucky’s hips as he moans out “‘m not gonna let anything happen to you either.”

Bucky laughs raggedly, grits his teeth, presses his face into the curve of Tony’s throat and the craziest part is that Bucky believes him. As crazy as it is he has no problem believing that Tony is equally ready to burn the world down. That the bloodbath around them is only the start of what Tony would have done.

The heat building between them is so intense that even Bucky feels warm, feels like he’s burning. Like he’s absorbing all that wonderful warmth and still Tony has so much to give, never runs out of it, never pushes him away.

Bucky growls, lifts his head to make it easier to resist the urge to sink his teeth in and instead rolls his hips against Tony’s, swallows Tony’s shaking moan with another fierce kiss. “You’re so- fuck, gorgeous, the way you looked tearing thorugh them--” Bucky can’t even find the words to describe it but Tony’s scent spikes, proud and smug and fond.

So damn addictive.

He can feel the needy throb of Tony’s cock against his hip, against his own when Bucky shifts a little more, and he grinds himself down against Tony. Chasing the shocks of heat and pleasure that shoot through his system everytime Tony jerks beneath him, everytime Tony cires out and drags in a ragged breath and then clings to Bucky harder, pulling him in and rocking up against him, so alive. Tony’s heels digging into the back of his thighs, hands moving restlessly over Bucky’s skin, sliding up under the back of Bucky’s shirt and leaving burning trails in his wake.

Tony feels so amazing wrapped around him, so alive, warm and demanding as his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin, his breath escaping in gasps and moans. The impossible heat between them continues to grow, until Bucky is sure it’s going to burn him away entirely, he can’t possibly survive something like this.

He can’t possibly keep it, not something like him.

“Bucky,” Tony whines and he’s shaking now, blood roaring through his veins. So close to Bucky’s fangs as he drags his lips up Tony’s throat.

“C’mon baby,” Bucky growls, clenching his teeth against the urge to bite, “lemme feel you sweet thing, wanna hear you.”

“I’m-” Tony gasps and then cuts off with a keening moan as Bucky pins him down more firmly, grinds against him harder. Tony tries to wiggle a hand between their bodies but Bucky grabs his wrist, presses Tony’s hand to the table beside his head.

“Just like this,” Bucky pleads, his own cock throbbing as he slows the rock of his hips, dragging his cock firmly along Tony’s until he shakes. “Just like this baby, wanna watch you make an even bigger mess of yourself, wanna fuckin’ lick you clean when we get home.”

It’s a nice thought, even if Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll actually get a chance, has no idea what’s going to happen next. At least the idea of it has Tony moaning louder, arching up against Bucky’s grip on his hip and on his wrist, always trying to get closer.

“Bucky, Bucky-” Tony wails beneath him, nails digging into Bucky’s skin, thighs tightening around Bucky’s hips, and Bucky can feel the way Tony’s breath catches in his chest. The way his heart pounds as he drags in one more breath and then breaks.

And this, this is Bucky’s favorite sound, the way Tony’s voice cracks on a loud moan as he falls apart, the stuttering jump-skip of his heartbeat. Hundreds of years wandering the earth and he’s never heard anything like it, could happily listen to all the sounds Tony makes for the rest of his endless life.

“Bucky,” Tony sighs, dazed and slurred, fingers still tight in Bucky’s hair even as his entire body shakes. “Fuck, c’mon honey, I’m right here, let me have it, let me feel you.”

He can hear Tony’s thundering heartbeat like it’s his own, can practically taste it on his tongue, and a feral sound rumbles out of Bucky’s chest as he tips over the edge, snarling against the all too delicate skin of Tony’s throat and clutching at him tighter, tighter.

“I love you,” Bucky confesses in a voice that’s so broken it’s practically a whisper, like his greatest secret. The worst thing he’s ever done.

They need to leave, need to get the hell out of here. Bucky should probably leave the city entirely, go back on the move, leave Tony far behind where he won’t get hurt.

That’s the plan.

He knows all that, but Bucky can’t seem to bring himself to let go, can’t stop kissing Tony over and over and over, feeling the warmth of Tony’s skin beneath his hands. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever feel it.

“Come on,” Tony breathes against his lips, “we gotta get out of here before the sun comes up.”

Bucky groans, but he knows Tony is right. He can feel the approaching dawn in his bones and the last thing he wants is to be trapped in a Hydra base full of corpses all day. Or to still be here when more hunters show up, to have to leave through the sewers.

So he reluctantly pushes himself upright, mourning the way Tony’s lingering warmth starts to fade as soon as they’re not pressed together anymore. Tony’s hand is so much steadier than his own as Bucky helps him to his feet, so warm and alive and unafraid.

Bucky wants to pull him into another kiss. Wants to drop to his knees and press his face to the wet patch slowly spreading across the front of Tony’s jeans, taste him, lick him clean just like Bucky had promised. Doesn’t want to face the real world just yet because that means facing the fact that he has to leave.

That he doesn’t get to keep this.

Tony’s hand is still steady in his, his smile small and fond and he leads Bucky out of the warehouse, through the room of bodies and the bloodsplattered halls. Bucky pulls them to a stop just outside the heavy door he’d ripped his way through, paying no mind to the lightening color of the sky.

Burning to dust would hurt less than this.

“I need to leave,” Bucky says, the words tearing their way out of his throat, “I may have... made some threats. In order to find you. And Hydra isn’t going to stop as long as I’m here.”

He hasn’t even told Tony why Hydra is so determined to ruin his afterlife, not entirely, and now he doesn’t have time. Tony has been dragged into Bucky’s mess and he’ll never know why, and the only upside is Hydra will blame the bloody mess inside on Bucky. They’ll hunt for him more furiously than ever, and the best thing Bucky can do is lead them far, far away.

This is why not getting involved with humans is rule fucking one but Bucky doesn’t regret it, knows he never will. And as much as it kills him he can’t ask Tony to come with him.

Tony nods, like he expected it, and then asks “where are we going, and how long do I have to pack whatever’s left of my apartment?”

Bucky gapes at him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t need to ask, and Bucky knows he should be relieved but all he feels is guilt. He loves Tony, but at what cost? He would do anything for Tony, and Bucky is ruining his life.

“You- your home,” Bucky tries to protest, his entire body going cold, colder than anything he’s ever felt before. “Your workshop--”

“You saying I can’t rebuild?” Tony interrupts, “I’m insulted, honestly. How dare you doubt me.” His smile is wide, and cajoling, like he’s trying to cheer Bucky up. Like he’s trying to convince Bucky.

“You’ll have to leave everything,” Bucky insists and maybe he does need convincing. It feels a little like he’s lost his mind, like he’s dreaming. He had a plan. “Your entire life, to hide with me, I can’t- I can’t promise the next time you’ll even see the sun.”

Bucky doesn’t need to breathe but he’s wheezing for breath now, his empty chest aching it’s so full of confusion and guilt and hope. He can’t let Tony do this, he can’t ask for this, he can’t--

Tony grabs Bucky’s face in his warm hands, palms calloused and still tacky with blood, as steady as they are when he’s building the future. As steady as they were around the knife, as when he was leading Bucky out of the bloodbath.

“Bucky,” Tony says simply, dark eyes so impossibly bright even in the sickly fluorescent light that spills out of the warehouse. “Bucky,” he repeats, low and sweet and amused, his voice wavering slightly as says “You are my sunshine.”

Bucky laughs again, can’t believe how much he’s laughed on a night that started out with his absolute worst nightmare. Even if it is a little hysterical.

He had a plan, but he also knew better than to get involved with a human, knew better than to stay in one place this long in the first place. Tony has been wrecking all of his plans without even knowing it for months now anyways.

What’s one more.

“You’re stealin’ all my lines,” Bucky accuses but he doesn’t mind, oh he doesn’t mind at all. He gets to keep this, keep Tony, the brightest thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you,” Tony says, so matter-of-fact, and it almost knocks Bucky’s legs out from under him. Every single time.

“That’s my line,” Bucky says, and he smiles, and his hand is steady as he wraps it around Tony’s wrist. “I love you,” he says anyways and tangles their fingers together, doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. “Let’s go.”

[writethelifeyouwant]

Come On

Pairing: Cordell x Reader 

Rating: 18+

Tags: Daddy kink, dom/sub, punishment scene, age difference, secret relationship 

Word Count: 3.2k 

Created for: @walker-bingo - Spanking | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Lingerie

Dividers: @firefly-graphics 

Your phone vibrates on your desk, the sudden noise nearly making you stab yourself in the eye with your mascara wand. You glance down and see Cordell’s face flashing on the screen, and you smile, accepting the call and hitting ‘speaker’. 

“Hey there,” you chirp as you return to doing your makeup. 

“Hi,” the smile in Cordell’s voice is audible. “So, I just heard from Stella that you’re coming over soon? Why didn’t you tell me I’d get to see you today?” 

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you giggle. Of course, you hadn’t told Stella that you were trying to surprise her dad by showing up unannounced, so it’s not her fault that she ruined your plan. You felt bad sometimes, keeping your relationship with Cordell secret from your best friend, but how are you supposed to tell someone that you slept with their dad – and that you plan to keep doing it? Plus, Cordell had been very insistent that no one could know about your relationship, so you couldn’t betray his trust by telling his daughter what you two had been up to for the past few months. The secrecy just made it hotter most of the time anyways, so you didn’t mind the sneaking around. 

“Well, I’m glad I get to see you tonight, baby girl.” The register of Cordell’s voice drops when he says your nickname, and you shiver pleasantly. 

“I can’t wait to see you either, Daddy,” you smile, smacking your lips together as you put the finishing touches on your lipstick and smile at your reflection in the mirror. 

“Do I get a sneak peek at your dress?” Cordell asks. You’d sent him an excited text from the store when you’d finally found the perfect outfit for your graduation dance at school, but you hadn’t let him see it yet. You pick your phone up and carry it to the closet where your dress is hanging on the back of the door, and you snap a quick photo of the corner of the bodice, so he can get a look at the deep, jewel tone colour of the lace. 

“Sent you a pic,” you call down the receiver of the phone as you set it down to pull on your stockings. You fasten the stockings to your suspender belt as you wait for Cordell’s reaction, and you tug the bustier you’re wearing back into place once you have everything on and clipped together. 

“You know how much I like lace on you, baby girl.” You smirk in satisfaction-- that’s precisely why you’d chosen this dress. “I bet it will look beautiful on you.” 

“Do you want to see what else I’m wearing tonight, Daddy?” You keep your voice innocent and coy, knowing he’ll take the bait. 

“Of course I do, darlin’. You know the rules, I always get a picture if you wear one of the things I picked out for you.” You smile wickedly as you arrange yourself in the mirror to show off the new lingerie that you’d bought especially for this night. Cordell is going to love it, but he isn’t going to be pleased with you when he sees it. The two of you have rules. He gets to pick out all of the lingerie you buy, and any time you wear it you have to send him a photo of you in it. Cordell didn’t pick out the set you’re wearing now, so you know you’re going to be in trouble with him later when you get to Stella’s house – and you can’t wait. 

You pose yourself in the mirror to highlight your curves, which are wrapped in glittering lace and ribbon details, and push your hand into your hair to muss it up for the picture. You take a few and pick one you’re happy with, sending it to Cordell with the caption ‘can’t wait until you get your hands on me in this 😉’. Then you sit back on your bed and wait for Cordell to receive the text. 

“Did you get it, Daddy?” You ask when he’s silent for a few moments. 

“Is that some new underwear, baby girl?” Cordell asks measuredly. 

“Uh-huh,” you giggle. 

“I don’t remember picking that out for you, angel,” Cordell’s voice drops in pitch, growing threatening, and you smile widely. 

“It was another surprise for you, Daddy,” you answer innocently, acting like you didn’t notice the change in Cordell’s tone just then. 

“I hope you were about ready to leave, baby girl, because I expect you here in 20 minutes. If you’re late, there will be an extra punishment, do you understand?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” your voice has climbed higher in excitement. 

“Good.” Cordell ends the call without a goodbye, and you know you’re in for it now. 

You ring the old iron bell on the porch by their front door when you arrive, with just a minute and a half to spare. Cordell opens the door with a friendly smile and ushers you into the kitchen with a call behind his back of – “Stella! Y/N is here!” – before turning back to you and giving you a quick hug. 

“Hey Mr. Walker,” you smirk, knowing it drives him crazy when you call him that. He rolls his eyes at you but smiles – from how he’s acting now you’d never know that he’s about to punish you for breaking his rules. 

“Come on, do a little twirl for me darlin’,” Cordell spins his finger through the air and you whirl around on your toes, demonstrating the movement of your dress. The hem flips up as you spin, showing off the slightest hint of lace and the tops of the stockings that you’d teased him with earlier in your photos. “You look beautiful, Y/N,” his eyes soften as he looks you up and down, admiring the dress, and you in it. 

“Thanks,” you blush, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. It astonishes you that he can still make you feel butterflies like this, just by saying something so simple. The sound of a door from the hall draws your attention and you look up to see Stella running into the kitchen, still in her bathrobe. 

“Y/N, you look so awesome!” Stella squeals and gives you a big hug. “You’re early, I wasn’t expecting you for another hour,” she laughs exasperatedly. 

“Well you know me,” you shrug, “I got impatient,” you giggle, your eyes flashing to Cordell, who smirks at you behind Stella’s back. He knows just how impatient you can be sometimes.  

“I’m still doing my hair, come hang out in my room,” Stella pulls you along behind her. 

“Yeah of course, but can I use your bathroom first?” 

“August is taking a shower, but he should be done soon,” Stella says. 

“You can use the one in my room,” Cordell offers, like you knew he would. “Here, I’ll show ya.” He moves in front of you and Stella, and beckons you down the hall after him. 

“Thanks, Mr. Walker,” you smile, and follow him to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Once inside, he shuts the door quietly behind you and his demeanor instantly changes. 

“So,” Cordell gives you a tight lipped smile, his eyes darkening as they once again rake up and down your body, but this time he lets the hunger seep through. 

“Sooo,” you draw out the word, moving closer to him and swirling your skirt around your legs as you go. 

“Someone decided to break one of our rules, hmm?” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at you stonily. 

“I just thought you’d like it Daddy,” you pout up at him. “I know how much you like me in lace, and I wanted to look pretty for you.” You press your hands against his chest and flutter your lashes, but you know this innocent act isn’t going to get you any mercy. 

“You look very pretty in it, but that’s not the point baby girl. We have rules for a reason.” Cordell smiles at you sympathetically and reaches out to rub his hands up and down your arms in a comforting gesture. The heat of his skin against yours makes you shudder, and you let him draw you closer to him. “So you know I’m gonna have to punish you now, yeah?” 

“I know, Daddy,” you nod meekly. 

“But you’re gonna have to stay real quiet, so Stels and August don’t hear us. Can you do that for me?” he checks. 

“I can be quiet, Daddy.”

“Okay, good girl,” Cordell smiles and lets you go, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. “Come on,” he twirls his finger in the air and pats his knee, and you go willingly, acting penitent but secretly loving this inside. You drape yourself over his lap, your ass in the air right over his groin, and you can feel the stirrings of his arousal beneath you. He flips the hem of your dress up, revealing the offending lace panties that had gotten you into trouble in the first place. His hands run over your thighs, pinging the suspenders against your skin and making you jump a little against him. “Easy, baby,” he soothes, chuckling. “So, how many do you think you deserve for breaking the rules this time?” 

“I don’t know, Daddy,” you squirm. As much as you love to provoke Cordell, and get him to punish you, you’re never good at this part. You hate how he essentially makes you ask for what you want done to you, which is exactly why he does it. 

“Well, it is your graduation dance tonight, so maybe I can go a little easy on you. Should we say ten, baby girl?” 

“Okay, Daddy,” you nod into your arms, which are holding you up on the mattress. 

“Alright then, count them off for me baby.” And without any more preamble Cordell brings his palm down firmly against your right asscheek. You gasp at the sting, wriggling on his lap. 

“One,” you say quietly, pressing your head against your arms and bracing for the next hit. It comes swiftly, his hand smacking your left side. “Two.” You can feel yourself getting wet now, and you know Cordell must be able to see the moisture seeping through the lace between your legs. The embarrassment at that thought makes you squirm even more, turned on by the humiliation that you like your punishments this much. 

Hits three and four come hard and fast, not even giving you time to count between them. Cordell’s big hand rubs across your skin to soothe you, and he gives you a moment to breathe before he doles out hits five and six – each harder than the last. Now you can feel the slick starting to drip down the crease of your thigh, and Cordell notices too, because he reaches out and draws a finger through the trail that’s winding its way across your skin. 

“What’s this, baby girl?” he coos from above you. 

“N-nothing, Daddy,” you stutter. 

“What a little slut, getting all wet for Daddy while he’s spanking you. You really are a bad girl, aren’t you baby?”

“No,” you protest quickly. “No, Daddy, I’m good, I promise.” You have to be good during your punishments, or else you won’t get your reward after. 

“Yeah? You’re a good girl?” Cordell teases his finger below the lace between your legs, brushing his fingertip through your folds, and pushing lightly against your entrance. 

“Yes, I’m a good girl, Daddy,” you whine, pushing your hips back against his finger. “Your good girl Daddy, please.” 

“Please what, baby?” 

“Please keep punishing me, Daddy,” you push your ass towards his hand, moaning when he digs his fingers into your flesh. 

“Alright baby, just four more for me, you’re doing really good.” You smile to yourself as you count seven and eight, pushing your hips back into the harsh contact each time, relishing in the heat that blooms in the wake of each slap. 

“Spread your legs a little for me baby girl,” Cordell pushes at your thighs, moving them apart himself. You let him position you how he wants, following the pressure he puts on your lower back and sticking your hips farther back, exposing the visible wet spot between your legs to the open air. A harsh strike lands directly over your pussy and you cry out briefly before you remember to muffle your voice against your skin. 

“N-nine,” you gasp, your pussy throbbing beneath Cordell’s hand, which is rubbing between your legs to soothe the burn it had just caused. 

“Keep quiet f’me, baby,” Cordell breathes, and you can hear how worked up he’s getting just from punishing you. You’re glad that at least you’re not the only one. 

He lands one more cruel spank over your pussy and you bite on your forearm to keep from crying out, whimpering a quiet “ten” into your skin as you squirm in is his lap, trying to press your hips into his fingers, which are brushing lightly over the sopping lace covering your core. He lets you press into him, rewarding you by dragging his fingers up to your clit and running a few teasing circles over the little bundle of nerves. 

“Did so good for me, baby girl,” Cordell whispers gruffly, stroking more earnestly as he teases you through your underwear. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” you whimper softly, thrusting needily against his fingers, trying to get more friction against your aching core. “Please Daddy, please,” you beg, not even able to conjure the words for what you need, you’re too desperate. All your brain can think is please, need something, need more. 

“Okay baby, c’mere,” Cordell manoeuvres you off of his lap and you stand on shaky legs before you lean against the nearby dresser for support. Cordell stands and follows you, undoing his belt and zipper, and pulling his hard cock out of his boxers. Your mouth always waters when you see it, and right now is no different. If you had more time you’d drop to your knees and suck him down – you love the ache you get in your jaw every time he fucks your mouth – but right now you both have a different goal in mind. 

Cordell lifts you and sets you on top of his dresser, so he can reach your mouth easier, and kisses you deeply. You moan against his lips, letting your tongues tangle together and reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, tugging on it gently and giggling when he lets out a groan and bites at your lip. He runs his hands down your back and scooches you to the edge of the dresser, grabbing his dick to rub the tip against your centre, pushing your panties to the side as he does, so he can press into your entrance. 

When he pushes in, oh so slowly, you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from moaning too loudly. He fills you so completely, it feels like every nerve between your legs is on fire, and you would happily burn in the flames. Cordell gives a few shallow thrusts, probably not wanting to move too quickly and accidentally hurt you, but the dresser thumps against the wall with each movement, and he stills again, needing to keep quiet. In a flash, he’s hooked his arms around your back and lifted you up in the air. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking him inside you as he moves the pair of you to the wall, pressing you against it for support and shifting his hands to grip your ass and hold you up. 

Slowly, he pulls out and pistons back in, testing how quiet your new position is. Satisfied that you can be sufficiently sneaky this way, he starts to pick up the pace of his thrusting, and this position has his hips dragging across your clit with every press forward. You bury your head against his shoulder and bunch your hands in his shirt. You’re just along for the ride at this point, letting him use your body to chase his own release, and you can tell he’s close when his thrusts get quicker, messier. He bends his knees a little to change angles and get a better grip on you, and on the next thrust in his cock drags right over that sweet spot inside you and you can’t hold in the whimper of “Daddy” against his neck. 

“Yeah, that’s it baby girl,” Cordell breathes against your ear, bucking his hips into you faster and faster, and you can feel your pussy start to twitch around his length, desperate to reach your peak. “I can feel how close you are baby, your little pussy feels so good squeezing around Daddy’s cock like that. C’mon and come for me baby girl, come for Daddy.” He ducks in to swallow your whines in a bruising kiss, and you let yourself come undone around him as he kisses you through it, drinking in your moans and letting them spur him on.

 As you come down, and feel yourself start to loosen around him, losing the strength in your limbs to keep yourself locked in place, you feel Cordell’s movements quicken, becoming jerky and erratic, and then they still as he holds himself inside you, grunting through his own release as he buries his head into the crook of your neck. When he’s finished, he slowly drags his head away from your shoulder and pulls out of you. Immediately, you feel his release start to drip from your entrance but Cordell pulls your panties back into place to catch the cum that’s leaking out of you now. The thought of going to this dance with his cum pooling in your new panties is deliciously wrong, and you love how dirty it makes you feel. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” you smile up at him, and pull him down for another kiss. “I promise I’ll be good from now on.” Cordell scoffs, good naturedly but completely disbelieving. 

“Now, we both know that’s not true, don’t we?” he smirks down at you. 

“Well…” you muse with a teasing smile. 

“Yeah,” Cordell laughs derisively and places a short kiss against your forehead. “That’s what I thought.” He swats at your ass and pushes you towards the door to the bathroom in the corner of his bedroom. “Now, go clean yourself up and get out of here. Have a good time at your dance tonight.” You smile and nod, heading for the bathroom. “And, Y/N?” You turn and look back at Cordell, leaning against the dresser and watching you with a smirk. “You know the rules – I better get a few more pictures of you in those panties while you’re out later. I wanna see what a mess I made of my baby girl.” 

You grin, squeezing your legs together and feeling his slick pressing against your core. “Of course Daddy,” you smile. “You know me, I always follow the rules.”

Tag List: @vulgar-library @tintentrinkerin @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @whoreforackles @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @sonofslaanesh69 @lovealways-j @delightfullykrispypeach @stoneyggirl @walkersbabygirl @austin-winchester67 @sams-sass​

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 15: Silk and Salt

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

A real date.

Mulder hasn’t been on a blatant, show-up-with-roses, ‘I’m into you and would like to get laid maybe’ date in a good five years. Possibly longer; he really doesn’t remember at this point. His life before Scully seems strangely two-dimensional in memory these days.

Part of him thinks that fancy dinners or elegant nights out don’t really seem like their style, but he figures they can decide together after the fact. They have to try it at least once, right? God knows she deserves it.

They’re busy with Mulder’s Gettysburg ghost case for the next few days (he was right, which Scully would not accept), but by Wednesday things have settled down, and he’s able to plan.

“Saturday, May sixteenth, at five,” he announces without preamble on Thursday morning. “I’ll pick you up. And don’t be alarmed, but I’ll be wearing a tuxedo.”

“Okay,” she says, surprised. “I take it this is the date I requested?”

“Yes it is,” he replies. “But that’s all I’m going to reveal. The details are a surprise, and if I recall correctly, somebody wanted to keep personal discussions outside of working hours, so by that metric I’ve already said too much.”

Scully presses her lips together, nodding. “Say no more,” she says. “Now where’s your report?”

He’s not nervous. He’s a grown man; a federal agent, for fuck’s sake. This is nothing compared to some of the tense situations he’s been in throughout his career. Knocking on his partner’s door with a bouquet of red roses under his arm doesn’t even make the list.

Regardless… he’s a little nervous.

Scully opens the door in a flurry of dark blue silk and delicate perfume. “Wow, hi,” she breathes, stepping back and opening the door wider. “Nice tux.”

“Thanks,” he says faintly, drinking in the sight of her.

She’s wearing a silky floor length slip dress with teeny little straps, and he has the fleeting image of snapping them with his teeth, leaving bite marks on her smooth shoulders. She sees him staring and smiles.

“Navy blue; exciting, isn’t it,” she says, gesturing sheepishly to the dress. “I can only handle one fashion adventure at a time.”

His eyes travel her body, appreciating the way the fabric skims her hips. “You look incredible, Scully,” he says, voice oddly hoarse. He clears his throat. “These are for you,” he adds unnecessarily, holding out the bouquet.

“Thank you,” she says, taking the roses. “These are gorgeous, Mulder. Let me put them in water.” She steps into the kitchen and sets the bouquet on the counter. “You know, the last time somebody gave me flowers, I was dying of cancer,” she says conversationally, bending to retrieve a vase from the cupboard under the sink. “Needless to say, this is a preferable occasion.”

“Mark didn’t…?”

“No,” Scully replies, filling the vase under the tap. “I think flowers happen less in real life than they do in movies, at least in my experience. I can count on one hand the number of times a date brought me a bouquet.”

“Nobody’s ever gotten me flowers, so I think I have you beat,” Mulder says.

“I’ll get you some sometime,” Scully says, and it doesn’t seem like she’s joking. She unwraps the stems and places them in the vase. “I’ll give them food and a fresh cut later,” she says, and Mulder nods as though he understands flower care. So water’s not enough…?

“So where are we going?” Scully asks, taking her wrap off the back of the couch and draping it over her shoulders. “I’m assuming - actually, hoping - there’s food involved.”

“I would never neglect to feed a lady,” Mulder assures her. “We have reservations somewhere, but that’s after this.” He withdraws an envelope from his jacket and hands it to her.

Scully peeks into the envelope and pulls out two tickets, scanning the tiny print. “The Kennedy Center?” she says in surprise.

He nods. “The National Symphony Orchestra is playing a selection of Vaughan Williams,” he replies. “Thought you might like it.”

“Mulder, this is amazing,” she says. “I haven’t heard live music in ages. It’s one of those things that’s hard to prioritize.” She slips the tickets back into the envelope and hands it back to him. “So, are you ready to go?” she asks, picking up her little evening bag, gathering the long chain in one hand. She loops the other around his elbow.

He tucks the tickets back into his jacket pocket. “Let’s go paint the town.”

In Mulder’s estimation, one of the best things about going to the symphony is that there’s not much to watch aside from the waving arms of the conductor. Therefore he feels free to close his eyes, absorb the music, daydream a little without risking missing anything important.

The most important thing, after all, is sitting right next to him.

He glances at Scully often, taking in her beautiful face, the rapturous look in her eyes, the elegant curve of her nose, her tender mouth. He loves the way she wore her hair tonight; it’s shiny and wavy, pulled back on one side with a little comb. He fantasizes about slipping the comb out of her hair, sifting his fingers through crimson strands as he draws her in for a kiss. Feeling tendrils brush his face as his lips travel to her earlobe, her neck…

She’s looking at him now, an eyebrow arched. He shrugs, heat in his cheeks as he faces forward again.

He feels something brushing his finger and glances down to see her small, manicured hand creep on top of his, their little fingers intertwining.

The music soars, and he floats away with it.

“That was wonderful,” she says as they walk out of the theatre. “The last piece especially, The Lark Ascending,” she notes, glancing at the program. “It was magical. I’m so glad we did this.”

“Not bad for our first real date?” Mulder asks, hand on the small of her back. He secretly relishes the slip the fabric beneath his palm.

“Not bad at all,” she replies, smiling up at him. God, what did he ever do to deserve that smile? He’s grossly inadequate.

Mulder glances at his watch when they reach his car. “I expected the concert to be longer,” he admits, wincing. “Our reservation isn’t until eight, at that French place on northwest M Street.”

At that exact moment, Mulder hears Scully’s stomach growl.

She looks up at him apologetically. “You can ignore that, can’t you?”

“How hungry are you, Scully?” he asks, leaning against the car. She grabs his elbow and pulls him forward. “Mulder, you’re going to get dusty,” she warns. “And I’ll admit I haven’t eaten much today… I’ll admit I was a little nervous.”

“You were nervous? Why?” he asks, concerned.

“Well, nervous and excited. Because this… this is new. It’s a good thing,” she explains, “But it’s going to take some time to get used to.”

He nods. “Adjusting.”

“Exactly.”

Her stomach lets out another rumble.

“Scully, we should eat now. We can save the restaurant for another time,” he says. “I can’t have you passing out on me; you’re the doctor in this partnership. What’re you in the mood for?”

She licks her lips. “Don’t laugh,” she warns. “Actually, let’s just start walking,” she says, looping an arm with his. “There’s a spot not far from here that I really like. It’ll be a surprise.”

This is incredible.

Mulder wasn’t aware that it was possible to fall this hard for a person, but Scully never ceases to amaze him. Of all the places she could have picked, she chose an ancient, cramped little fish and chips shop down by the Potomac. So here they are, dressed to the nines at a tiny table with two heaping baskets of fish and chips between them. Their ten minute walk had made them both a little warm; his jacket is off, shirt sleeves rolled up, bow-tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. Scully’s shawl is draped over the back of her chair, her arms enticingly bare as she cuts tender sections off of a slab of crispy battered cod.

“People are staring at us,” she says in a low tone, dipping a bite of fish into the saggy paper cup of tartar sauce. “You think maybe we’re overdressed?”

He grins at her. “Might be. They’re all looking at you,” he insists. “A gorgeous redhead in a silk gown, chowing down on greasy seafood? It’s like spotting Halley’s Comet,”

She locks eyes with him as she chews, a smile quirking her lips. “You think I’m gorgeous?” she teases.

“Of course,” he replies easily, pouring ketchup over his chips. “And brilliant, and compassionate, and adorable, and-”

“Stop,” she implores, holding up a hand. “I can only handle one compliment at a time.”

“Then we gotta increase your stamina, Scully, because I could easily go on.”

“Oh could you?” she says, raising a brow. “I’d like to see that sometime.”

“I’m ready when you are,” he replies.

“Mm,” she hums, busying herself with her fork. “I’ll keep you posted.”

He leans forward, knees bumping hers beneath the postage stamp-sized table. “Can I confess something?”

“Sure,” she replies, popping a chip into her mouth and brushing salt off her fingertips.

“I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again. I would have earlier but your lipstick looked really nice and I didn’t want to smudge it.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Wow,” she says softly. She drops her hand to the table, runs a fingertip over his knuckles. “Well, when we get out of here…” she trails off suggestively.

He hopes she doesn’t notice him start to chew faster.