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chojuuro · 2 years

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character/s: Karatachi Kagura, Shimizu Hiroki (oc), Chojuuro rating: T (language? mentions of almost-death) content: kagura deals with survivor's guilt, post-stabbing from boruto e246 (im still not taking it well), takes place in my canon-divergent oc canonverse a bit after this fic. oh and father/son bonding <3 words: 1456

Hiroki’s awoken to the sudden sounds of something that his sleep-hazed brain can’t quite place and a gentle illumination coming from the other side of the hospital room. He runs through his mental checklist, making sure everything else in the room is secure, and of course it is – Kiri’s hospital is one of the more secure buildings in the village. Even still, he’d made sure to place an extra seal on the windows for the extra security as soon as his arm felt good enough to weave chakra without putting up a fuss. And it did still put up a fuss; he’d exacerbated his old injury for sure during the fight with the Funato’s roach, that much is certain. Even now, a few days later, his nerves ache and burn dully under his skin and the stiffness makes even regular movement tough.

Maybe Misuno’s right. Maybe he’s getting old after all.

Hiroki checks his phone but stops just as he’s unlocking it at the sounds, again, and he feels the hair at the back of his neck prick and raise and mentally, he makes a list of everything in the room that could be used as a weapon both by and against him as his arm flexes–

And then he realizes what he’s hearing is crying. Ah.

“Kagura?”

“Oh, uh–” Kagura shakes his head, wipes at his eyes with the back of his arm. He offers Hiroki a weak smile; the same one that Hiroki’s been seeing since Kagura was little, the one that tells him that his boy just needs a little reassurance, a little care and love. “I…thought you were asleep. Sorry. I’m fine.”

Slowly, Hiroki shrugs off his hospital bed and perches at the edge of Kagura’s, reaches over and ruffles the boy’s hair when he sits up. Kagura tries to protest, he really does, but Hiroki knows half-assed when he hears it. The smile he throws Kagura’s way is softer than normal, gentle in the wake of his eldest’s distress. His bad arm hangs limply at his side, closer to Kagura, so he’s twisted awkwardly in a way that, really, right now, he doesn’t mind.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Kagura looks at him, finally, and in the weak lighting from his phone plus the puffiness from crying, the dark circles under his eyes are that much more pronounced. He hesitates a moment and Hiroki’s ready to tell him that he doesn’t have to, that really, if Kagura isn’t feeling ready to talk about it then he’s not obligated, but Kagura beats him to the punch. He reaches up and moves Hiroki’s hand off his head – Kagura warns him of the inevitable stiffness in his back if he stays twisted like that, and Hiroki can’t really argue.

Kagura sighs gently through his nose, frowning down at the bed sheet over his legs; Hiroki watches quietly as Kagura finds the words, searches his mind for exactly how he wants to go at this.

“Do you…” Kagura’s brows furrow and his frown deepens, and Hiroki swears he can see tears collecting at the corners of his eyes again. “Do you ever feel like, maybe, the first time they attacked…”

Hiroki waits patiently as Kagura tries so, so hard to get the words out, but he can see how desperately Kagura’s trying to force the words out and how badly it hurts.

“...Do you ever wonder if maybe you shouldn’t have made it?”

It feels like somebody reaches into Hiroki's stomach, grabs hold of his guts, twists and yanks. He feels his heart shatter; Hiroki knows how fucking badly it hurts and now empty Kagura must feel and he wishes so, so badly he could take the hurt, take the pain, take the grief.

"Sure," Hiroki says, finally, voice quiet. "Sometimes."

"Really?"

Hiroki laughs once, humorlessly. There's a far away look in his eyes as if he's focusing on something in the distance that isn't quite there. "It gets better the more time passes. Easier. A lot of people died during that first incident and I very nearly was one of them. But y’know what?”

“What?”

“I wasn’t.”

Kagura’s mouth drops open for a brief moment in some cocktail of surprise and uncertainty of whether this is a joke. But Hiroki’s face is steeled, for once; the comforting little smile of a father leveling with the son that he very nearly lost.

“And neither were you,” Hiroki continues. “I know it hurts now, and it probably will for a long time, and you don’t have to talk about it till you’re ready to. But your dad and I are so fucking proud of you.”

Kagura looks down at his hands, brows furrowed deeply as he mindlessly rubs a finger along his knuckles, over an old callus. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he takes in a shuddery breath, and Hiroki doesn’t dare to say anything, to move; he watches Kagura carefully, trying not to let his heart break.

“It just kinda feels like, why me? You know?”

It’s at that moment that Hiroki caves.

He reaches over and carefully – so, so carefully – wraps his useful arm around Kagura’s shoulders, pulls him in for a hug with half the normal amount of arms but just as much love and affection as he always has. Kagura curls into him, fists a hand into the front of his shirt; he leaves tear and snot stains in the fabric, and knows that Hiroki welcomes them the same way he’s welcomed everything else. With an open mind and an open heart, a big grin and a bigger hug.

"You just gotta remember," Hiroki says, and Kagura thinks it may be the most gentle sound he's heard from his papa in a long time, "you survived for a reason. You're still here for a reason. You're a strong kid, Kagura; you've got a huge heart and a bright future ahead of you. You're gonna be okay, kiddo. Promise."

Kagura nods slowly, but the look on his face is grim. And, Hiroki supposes, he can understand why; Kagura is barely 16 years old. Barely 16 and has already stared death in the face, turned his back on it and said not today. Many lives were lost, both shinobi and civilian alike, in the war with the Funato, and among all of them, Kagura was not one of them. Kagura is a survivor, and that’s not easy for anybody.

Kagura is just a boy, and it’s hard to remember that sometimes.

They’re quiet for a long time and that’s when Hiroki notices the room getting lighter; the sun’s rising slowly outside, Hiroki realizes with a sigh. He goes to move off the edge of Kagura’s bed so they can both try and get some sleep, but he’s cut off at the pass before he can make a real move.

“I… Thanks, for this,” Kagura tells him, gratitude written all over his face. Hiroki gives him a big grin, the signature Hiroki grin that shows off his teeth – and he stands, reaches over to ruffle his hair and revels in the soft, half-hearted protests.

“You know you can always talk to us. None of that Kiri pride bull here, right?”

Kagura sighs softly, but he nods, looks up at Hiroki with a tired little smile of his own. “I know,” he says. “Thanks, mama.”

“–What did you just say?”

It takes Kagura a long moment before the realization sets in and he flushes to his ears, rolls over onto his side with his back to his father’s side of the shared hospital room and yanks his covers up almost over his face. “Nothing, goodnight!”

Hiroki laughs from deep inside himself and finally climbs back into his hospital bed, and though he doesn’t fall asleep right away – though he’s a little too busy unexpectedly playing back some old childhood memories of his eldest – he finally dozes off, feeling warm and full.

He and Chojuuro really did raise a great kid.

—

(“You’re mama!” a young Kagura declares with all the confidence of a five year old. His finger is inches from Hiroki’s nose as he changes the victim of his point from Chojuuro to Hiroki, and it takes everything in the new fathers to keep their laughter inside.

“Why am I mama?” Hiroki asks, and he’s not even sure if it’s genuine curiosity or if it’s just to see what he says. Probably both.

Kagura puts his hands on his little hips and nods, so incredibly sure of himself. “‘Cause! He’s daddy. And you can’t have a daddy without a mama.”

Chojuuro looks at Hiroki with a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “You hear that, mama?”

Hiroki can’t explain the way his heart swells.)

#im normal about this family #ANYWAY #i know its not obvious so allow me to explain #during the First funato incident hiroki suffered a stab wound to his neck/shoulder that severed his brachial plexus #bc of ninja magic he made a mostly full recovery but bc he healed it himself on the battlefield #it was a little wonky at best bc uhhhh adrenaline #brachial plexus injuries can often lead to intense nerve pain and - in severe cases - paralysis of the arm #in hiroki's case; bc of ninja magic it USUALLY is fine unless he uses it a lot. which he did in this case #see the Last hiroki fic where he uh ripped funamushi's head off DJFHB and also did a lot of other varied rampaging #so he exacerbated his injury A Lot and he's stuck in the hospital AGAIN #(meaning: he could totally go home but he wants to be there for his kid so kagura isn't stuck in the hospital alone)#so when its exacerbated badly like this it kinda is temporarily paralyzed #i hope this makes sense #im taking medical liberties on the basis of ninja magic #ocposting #oc canonverse #extended mist fam #emfcu #shimizu hiroki #chojuro #chojuuro #kagura karatachi #desfic

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mischas · 1 year

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You can listen to it on Spotify! I was hoping they'd post the video of the podcast so but they only posted a clip of it on youtube.

I find it crazy because I was just a Ryissa shipper at first when I just got into the OC (which was just earlier this year! lol) and I didn't want to search on the real life relationships at first bc it would have tainted my perception of the show. But ofc I inevitably came across articles that said the cast hated each other or something like that and then the infamous Mischa E interview where she said she was bullied by the guys on set. I immediately thought she was referring to B and I felt like it kinda ruined the show for me a bit (I was like halfway thru S2). I also saw S3 spoilers in the middle of that and it really got me down and I had to pause from watching the show! At that point I was just sad bc I couldn't believe B would be so mean to M on set?? I never expected them to date (bc that would have been predictable), I just wanted them to be on good terms with each other. But then after a while I dug deeper and that's when I realized that they could have been more than just castmates at one point! I totally didn't expect that like I was just fine with them being good friends or whatever but I just evolved into a B/M shipper lol. (although im still side-eyeing that age gap)

I will! I just added it to my library.

I honestly didn't think anything had ever happened between them until last year, and I've been a fan of this show ever since 2009/10. I'm sure my high school newly-obsessed self was desperate to find evidence they dated but I was never convinced (co-stars dating irl is a stan's dream!). I really get trying to keep real life separate from the fictional; it just makes things more confusing as a viewer because now you're thinking about why chemistry no longer exists between actors and story structure all that. I don't know what I think re: who bullied Mischa beyond Josh. I'm 100% convinced he was one of them. But as for others, I don't know. I'm 100% sure it wasn't Peter and probably not Adam. It really could've been an unnamed crew member. But bullying and ignoring bullying aren't mutually exclusive. What I think re: RB and MC, the treatment of Mischa on set was so commonplace and their personal memories too rosy that they can't think critically about what Mischa endured because they saw it differently. And are defensive now because it makes them look bad to tolerate abuse. So denying it happened at all was their (mostly RB's) MO.

Yeah, the age gap is hard for me to forget. Like I said, it's a stan's dream. But the context of it is bad.

#ask #anonymous #there were supposedly reports in s3 that ben was annoyed mischa was late to set #but idk how substantial those were #and from the pod we know that every core four member was late a lot #ask tate donovan lol

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sardonicallys · 3 years

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𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸, 𝗻𝗼 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆 | 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗲

mobile masterlist | web masterlist

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Jaebeom + Female!Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Corporate AU, Mature, Smut, Angst, Enemies to Lovers

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Cursing, sexual content, mentions of trauma

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: You don't like to think of the word "workaholic" as an insult, but rather as a title of prestige. Everything you have accomplished in your career has been reflected as a glimmering treasure in your trophy case that doted on your work ethic and undying tenacity to put your best effort in everything you have involved yourself in. When you're transferred to what feels just a step away from a demotion, rewritten as an opportunity to "help" the new CEO, you find yourself in a predicament when you realize he's an unbearable nuisance.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7,946

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: I haven't written anything and posted for many moons, I feel so out of place. Enjoy.

In most scientific experiments — particularly chemical ones — the expression "precision over accuracy" reigned over the conducted research, for the purpose of retaining the proper prestige that came only with the robotic and recycled theories of a mechanical process. Taking into account the possible inaccuracies that only human variables could create, focusing on precision would eliminate most — if not all — of the blank shots that could warp results. With deft, calculated movements, you humbly thought of yourself similarly, someone who acted as a piston amongst a well oiled machine. Your process was methodical and it made sure your results embodied the effort you took to keep every step precise.

In other words, you did your job, and you did it well.

Maybe, too well.

The sudden sensation of the dulled nail of his thumb digging deeper into the slope of your bare hip, sinking a bruise into your skin, caused you to jolt. You weren't entirely sure whether you impulsively gripped his wrist to indicate and warn him of the the sudden force he applied, or because you instinctively wanted to touch him again and weren't coherent enough to know exactly where you wanted to place your touch.

It would be a lie to say he's not drunk, but he's not quite sure on what exactly. Maybe the overflowing alcohol that spilled over his fingers as he caught each pour for himself, and inevitably, you. But he could have sworn that the bergamot and jasmine he drank from the valley of your collarbone was intoxicating him in an entirely different manner, his uneven panting annoying him as his throat grew dry and sprung its ricochetting echo into the dampened pounding that formed at the back of his skull that matched the rhythm of his hips meeting yours. So he sunk his teeth into your skin to exchange his ragged breathing for your own.

Regardless of every overthought prose that he's versed out in the compounded hazy pink matter that sloshed in between his slurred, desiring words, he was drunk. And he kept asking himself what he was doing, why he was doing this. And the answer came to him, over and over, in the form of the vertices of your fingertips, luring him back as he felt your nails carve into his skin.

Ah fuck it.

And his tongue splayed over your neck, licking a stripe right up along your pulse and towards the juncture of your jaw. Giving your hip a squeeze, he managed to articulate himself the best he could amongst the various obstacles that kept him from clearly expressing the eloquence he would much rather have, "...You feel so good."

What could you say? You did your job, and you did it well.

“It’s a good deal, sure you’re losing that title, but you’ll be working directly for the main CEO,” clearing his throat, Mr. Lee — your soft spoken supervisor of two and a half years — gently pushed a bleached packet towards you from across his desk. The scrape of the envelope skidding along the vinyl finished mat gripped at your chest, your eyes wandering desperately along the uncreased plane in search of something you weren't quite sure existed. At least not in a tangible sense. It felt as sterile as your hostility, simply allowing the careful steps of your career to crumble and sift through your fingers in a hasty effort to replace it with this makeshift offer of opportunity.

Your silence was all too telling to your superior who guided and observed your pristine work ethic, “This is just a branch, even being a janitor at the main office has more prestige than any of us here!”

Silence.

Mr. Lee spoke your name gently as you pressed your lips into a tight line, teeth sinking deeply into the flesh to encase the expression as you scoured to find the words to say, “…May I ask why I’m being transferred?”

Finally lifting your gaze to meet your superior’s, riddled with absolute hesitation and your own increasing impatience from the lack of response. Clearing his throat when your sharp expression finally seared through his last defense, he began stuttering, “I need you to keep this between us because we have taken every precaution to protect this information from any unnecessary…Talk.”

You simply nodded, a gesture to have the disclaimer sped up rather than with promise and understanding. Mr. Lee continued, his tone shifting an octave down as his volume diminished, “As you recall, last month, CEO Im suffered a sudden and unfortunate passing. However, he had specific directions for his stepson to take over his position. Whether that was meant for the future, as we did not expect his untimely death, or if this situation was accounted for, there is no way to interpret it other than properly following his wishes.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” Interrupting through a breath but without cutting him off, you gently reached for the envelope while carefully pressing the prongs together and releasing the flap to inspect the documentation. Your well manicured fingernails slipped into the gap, retrieving the glossy sheets as your eyes analyzed the words and each contingency they passed.

Clearing his throat once more, he shifted in his chair before straightening his jacket — a fidgeting habit he had whenever he was in a situation where he struggled to find the proper verbiage to express himself, “…They saw you as the perfect fit to—”

Before he could finish, your eyes landed on the bolded new title that you would receive once you decided — accepted? Did you have a choice? — the position, which garnered frustration and anxiety to crawl up your throat and before you realized it, the words flew out your mouth like daggers against a board, “Secretary?!”

The disbelief strewn across your features had your superior speechless, apologetic, and absolutely mortified by the intimidation that dripped and radiated from you. Though it was mid-afternoon, sun perched high against the periwinkle canvas and melting through the windows to paint the inner walls of Mr. Lee's office, he could have sworn he felt you drink every last drop of light in the room.

“I know this isn't— I know it’s not necessarily a lateral transfer, but since you’re an operations manager—” “I’m giving up the successes and accomplishments of digging this godforsaken branch out of the hole it was in to deliver coffee and schedule meetings to some incompetent imbecile?” Mr. Lee flinched at the calm demeanor you held, your tone barely bubbling over as your words started to fire out quicker than before.

“…They,” he cleared his throat once more, “The board, wants you to train him because—” You ignored every word Mr. Lee attempted to comfort you with, “Someone who wasn’t even born to Mr. Im living a privileged life. I wish I was as fortunate.”

Honestly, you could barely register the words leaving your mouth. But who could blame you? You took pride in the streamlined efficiencies you carried through your innovation as an entry level sales operations analyst, and you quickly proved that your processes were better matched at a higher position. Two years later and without any difficulty, you climbed your ranks with precision and were just a step shy away from directing the entire department at your branch. Sure, it was simply an extension of the main company, but you took pride in everyone below and above you at your office, something you couldn't necessarily assure elsewhere.

“Well, he comes from the late CEO Im’s wife, and he had adopted him…” the mumbling didn’t cease as you continued on, “Imagine thinking I would want to leave all of this behind to follow behind and pick up after some silver spoon orphan. Ha!"

Mr. Lee and you were engaging in two entirely different conversations, mostly as you spoke to yourself and your supervisor — soon to be ex supervisor — attempted with his best speech to damage control all your troubles about the transfer.

“Well," he changed into formalities as he uttered your last name with clarity, in hopes it would hold your attention, "They want you to train him with his duties."

It did, “The board wants me to what?”

"They want you to—"

"Then have the operations manager at the main branch teach him," the apathy that leaked and wove between your words as your back met the support of your chair finalized your attitude about the situation, your shoulders shrugging before your tipped your head to the side.

"...Like I said, you're losing the title, but I promise it's a good deal," in an even quieter voice, one just faint of a whisper, Mr. Lee spoke with desperation, "The pay is higher, it's the main branch. I recommended you myself. I know you're perfect for the job."

You weren't sure if you were supposed to feel pity for your supervisor, attempting to provide you with reason to this whole situation or if you were insulted by the fact that it seemed he really did not know you at all. Tongue over teeth, you swallowed the maniacal laughter that threatened to seep through your lips as you placed the envelope onto the desk, "...When am I supposed to start?"

"Next week," Mr. Lee knows by your tone that you aren't the least bit convinced, so he clears his throat again before going for his last attempt, "...There's room to grow, and if you are at the main office, you will definitely be in favor if there is a position open. I assure you. First in line."

They're not magic words, they're barely comforting to you, but you take them because you know your alternative is to leave and start over entirely from scratch. Was this quite that different? You weren't sure. Biting back every last ounce of pride, you simply nodded — this time with understanding — as you soundlessly scoot your chair back, bowed, and departed.

That was the last time you were in that office.

Tracing his hand down your inner thigh, his rough fingers left imprints of hazy memories ablaze as the sensation bloomed over your skin. Thumb meeting the bundle of nerves that held your arousal, he applied just enough pressure for you to tilt your head back and let a moan escape, contorting as he moved in a clockwise pattern. He's drowning in sensations, from the elongated welted crescents all across his skin, to the scent of your muddled perfume mixing between the perspiration in the forgotten scenery of some unnamed room, mesmerized as the circumference of his cock that pushed into you stretches perfectly around him with each thrust. You have him drenched, and the unintentional squeezes of your indicative pleasure had his eyes rolling back.

"Don't do that," he exhaled hard through gritted teeth as your half lidded eyes managed to find his, a cheshire grin tracing over your mouth, "Why? Don't you wanna cum?"

With that, he realized almost instantly that he had sobered up once you both excused yourselves from dinner, even long before the walk towards the station and now, with complete confidence, he definitely had been drunk off you. Gripping your jaw just beneath your chin, he squeezed the plush material of your cheeks as you pursed your lips in a joking manner. Pushing his thumb into your mouth, you swirled your tongue over to tease him.

The winding in your core dwindled near it's last rotation as your erratic breathing became more evident, hips squirming against him, thighs shaking as one of his hands held your legs apart. You refused to give in first, however, so you simply grit your teeth as you refocused your attention to how he rowed his hips with careful precision. Somehow he managed to sheathed his entire length inside of you without missing an inch, and pulling out almost entirely only to return and leave you breathless. You clench hard around him, threatening silently that you were the one in control.

Removing his wet thumb from your mouth, he pressed it right back up against your clit as his ministrations were now more pressured and intense as to combat your attitude from refusing to listen to his request. Almost immediately, you felt the snap and all you could do was gasp, sucking in every ounce of oxygen your lungs had allowed before feeling your climax crash right into you, "Fuck! Jaebeom!"

"Hey," two gentle slaps on your cheek, and he suddenly grabbed your jaw again as you writhed beneath him, a feeling of vertigo practically encapsulating your vision, "Thought you said you were gonna be professional? Stick with "Mr. Im"."

Tongue in cheek, you quickly felt the high of your orgasm diminish with his arrogance, and he must have been good at reading your actions by now because before you even had the chance to retort his hand was wrapped around your neck. Pressing against the outer columns, he held your breathing all with one hand as his pace intensified, fucking into you as you were reminded of your climax just seconds ago. The overstimulation had your knees attempting to snap shut, a gurgled and agonized moan attempting to crawl out of your throat.

"Nuh uh, it's my turn," he hushed you in a crooning manner as his grip on your waist assured you that there would be a mark later. Chanting curses that seemed like a spell, he lasted no longer than another breath before he pulled out and released both your neck and himself, spilling over your abdomen.

"And here is your desk," the representative from human resources gestured towards the desolate furniture paired with a lonely matching chair as you gave your best customer service smile before being dismissed. Orientation was an absolute blur, formalities at best, to describe what your role had implied — at least on paper — and the administrative process was more or less the same in all departments. Not that you belittled this work, secretarial staff was indeed necessary and a core component to the corporate hierarchy however, being that you felt your skills could have been honed much better elsewhere, you couldn't help but feel deflated even after your first day. It didn't help the amount of socialization you had been invited to engage in, much to your distaste. Smoothing your navy chiffon dress, you adjusted the hem length to give weight against the way it rode up from when you toured the building before investigating the lone mouse, keyboard, and dual monitor screens that sat untouched at your new desk. Glancing down at your watch, you noted that Mr. Im should be back from his lunch break, signaling the meeting that was scheduled for you two to become acquainted. As if on cue, the bellowing steps of the CEO's stepson beckoned from the elevator down the hall, as a well suited and broad figure strode out of the compartment with his pockets tucked into his slacks.

Punctual, at least.

Accessorized with a rather young face, pomade slicked back dark hair, you were surprised that he was appointed to take over such a large scale conglomerate — he looked like he had barely graduated from whatever flashy international university's business program he must have attended on daddy's money. But rather than chastise him further — you would have more than enough time to do so that night over a bottle of wine and your own company — you let your saccharine grin drip from your lips before bowing towards him as he neared your desk and towards the glass french doors at the opposite end of the hall.

"Hello Mr. Im, starting today I will be your new secretary. I hope we can become well acquainted," as you straightened back out, you flinched as you saw the deadpan expression in the CEO's stepson's eyes, his expression stoic and rather blank. Mildly surprised at this response, you continued with your speech you memorized and prepared to present, "I was given your schedule but wanted to go over a few nuances with you to confirm—"

"Just e-mail them to me," and without a single look back, he strode into his office as the dulled sound of the frame clasped the door into place. You had never received this amount of disrespect in your career, not from the retail jobs you juggled through college, not from your superiors through the unpaid internships you haphazardly took up, not even from the individuals that loathed you from the branch office that purposely threw you under during sales calls. You weren't expecting a formal tone, but at the very least, you expected to be looked at when spoken to. And especially not to be looked at like some small, feeble, insect by someone who only gained their position through privilege and water of a womb. Inhaling deeply, you held your breath in as you counted quietly, eyes closed to calm yourself before you trailed towards the double doors, clutching a three ring binder filled with the notes you intended to sort. Knocking your knuckles gently, though you could see he was on the phone and turned towards the floor to ceiling windows on the opposing side of the entrance, you allowed yourself in before catching a bout of words that were being spoken into the receiver, "...I thought I asked for a male secretary?"

Balling your fingers into a fist, your nails burrowing into your palm, it took everything in you not to completely dissect the misogynistic bigot that languidly rotated his chair around to lazily look up at you — in half surprise and half disgust — and turn him into a med school anatomy demonstration.

"Let me call you back," placing the phone in its cradle, he wafted out an exasperated sigh, "Didn't I say to e-mail—"

"You can say anything you like, that doesn't mean that's how things work, Mr. Im," laced with rigid toxicity, you strode closer towards his desk before dropping down the binder with a hard thud. The sound doesn't seem to disturb him, but it was one of the only gestures you could demonstrate that did not include violence. With a deep, unsaturated, breath you flipped it open, "I was unwilling sent here to train an incompetent CEO, and I certainly will not be taking any disrespect from him so long as his father is in the ground."

The silence grew thick as he narrowed his eyes at you, wetting his lips before grimacing at the hostile way you spoke back to him. It seemed as though he was contemplating his options — even if you weren't sure what they were or what they entailed, the way his onyx orbs seemed to dilate indicated he was deep in thought. Leaning back in his chair, he lifted a hand and gestured for you to sit, "...We have a meeting to attend in an hour, say what you have to and fast because you won't be here tomorrow to say it."

Not a single sound escaped your lips as you took a seat, internally feeling your temperature rise with rage and frustration against someone who was absolutely nothing compared to you. Instead, you reminded yourself to keep it professional until the very end.

You did your job, and you always, did it well.

Propping open the binder resolutely, you turned to the first flag that was indicative of your notes. If he really did manage to get rid of you by tomorrow, at the very least, you would prove that there was nothing on your end that could have possibly caused the termination. Before you had a chance to speak, he stole away the silence, "...And you're still trying to figure out my schedule."

"Yes, so for Thursday—"

"You'll be gone by tomorrow."

"Fantastic. You have two overlapping meetings—"

"There really is no point in us going over—"

"Can you shut the fuck up for one second, Mr. Im, and let me get through my notes so we can stop wasting time with this binder and can arrive at the meeting with the director of the potential merging company on time," eye contact locked in place, you recited every word robotically before ending your sentence with a smile. The question was rhetoric as he folded his arms over his chest, a brow perked up curiously.

"You can terminate me tomorrow, but right now, we have a lot of work to do. You'll regret not having this done now, I assure you," leaning into his desk, you felt your thoughts wander to wanting to curse every hair on his head, every surface area of his skin, his parents should have been cursed, his grandparents, his ancestors that lingered within his genetics should be cursed and taint his kin for generations to come.

"...The representative call will only take a few minutes, he's a curt conversationalist, so I wouldn't worry about rescheduling either of those meetings. Leave it."

"Thank you."

The process continued with mechanic efficiency as you arrived at each flag, receiving clarification for the nuanced citations that you were looking to collect. You were unsure of why he was so difficult and rigid to start, but you managed to get the information you needed without missing the time of departure that you two needed to adhere to as so not to be late for the merger meeting. Standing at the front of the building in search of the company car you had instructed the reception to call for, you directed yourself and Mr. Im towards the sleek foreign automobile, door held open by the driver. You insisted for the passenger seat but was denied due to "company policy", much to your distaste, as you sat as far away from the CEO as you possibly could.

Rather than clean up his mess, he unceremoniously gripped your hip before swiftly flipping you over — the buoyant material capturing you with Newton's force as you settled — the residue of his climax melting into the sheets as you hissed and shot him a look over your shoulder, "You're disgusting—"

To your surprise — and horror? — you could tell he was still semi-hard and the way he grasped your thighs to drag you closer to him confirmed that he was continuing without question, "Are you still hard?"

It's really just an observation, and he knows that too, but he nods, "Uh huh."

The shock that traveled warp and weft up the nerves that intwined your spine earned him the symphonic moan he was starting to be pleased with, your back arching as you felt the dulled stretch of his cock reenter you. You couldn't figure out how to breathe without feeling like you were going to cum again, shallowly attempting not to fidget as he agonizingly pressed every inch into you. As his fingers ghosted up your torso and onto your breast, you were tempted to lift yourself up and away as his thumb and index went to twist at your already sore nipples — erect for the entirety of when he first fucked you. Squirming your hips against him, the right side of your face pressed into the mattress, you could barely utter a noise as he suddenly began creating a pace once more. The amount of overstimulation had you listening to your heavy breathing in an almost anxious pattern, Jaebeom spreading you from behind as you heard — and felt — his warm saliva drip down your ass and over his cock as it entered you.

"Slow down," you moaned, shivering as he managed to find the exact location that caused you to even unravel the first time. As the arrogant imp he was, he responded with the same words you had used on him earlier that day, "You can say anything you like, that doesn't mean that's how things work."

With that, he bit down on his lip before slamming his hips right into yours, causing you to choke up as your vision further blurred into a galaxy of exposed peppered lights. You whined in pleasure as he repeated this same technique over and over and over, the sudden impacts were so gratifying you didn't even realize how quickly your next orgasm crept up on you until all you could do was gasp, feeling the sudden release as your ears went mute — the lack of oxygen cutting into your passageway even without his hand on your throat.

Growling at the feeling of how hard you clenched around him, he managed his composure as he groaned out in exasperation, "Already?"

Yes already, your chest heaved as you felt your body wash over with soreness and delight while Jaebeom kept thrusting into you. Shivering, you felt his fingers find their way back to your swollen clit as he rotated his middle finger against your overstimulated bundle of nerves, "S-Stop!"

Of course, he ignored you. Burying your face into the feather stuffed pillows, you cursed as you felt your eyes well up from the immense pleasure, a descent down to a labyrinth you had never explored even on your own. You swore you were going to black out if Jaebeom didn't hurry and finish, your hips quivering and threatening to fall flat without the iron grip his fingers had. Leaning forward, he pressed his chin into your shoulder before nudging his nose into your neck, "I'd think you were falling asleep if you weren't so fucking noisy."

The way he spoke into the bowl of your ear, dousing his warm breath against your hair matted skin, forced you to melt closer into him to your disdain. Reclining back without warning, he hoisted you up with your back against his broad chest, "Fuck you." It was honestly all you could manage as you hiccuped through his sharp thrusts, moaning and hooking your free arm around his neck to balance yourself against him.

"You are, don't get too ahead of yourself."

Much to your surprise, you realized internally that both you and Mr. Im had assumed the worst with the new work colleague situation and were pleasantly met with competence and preparation on both ends. Despite his horrible attitude towards you, his temperament towards other business partners and clients surfaced as mild mannered with a tasteful personality; it honestly felt like you were observing an entirely different species — as if the moment you exited the car together and entered the new building it had garnered some sort of genetic mutation at that very moment which rendered his origins slack. Suddenly he was the new overseeing CEO, Mr. Im, and he created such grace in a room you hardly believed he wasn’t body swapped when you had been looking down at the business card you received or pressing a button for your floor in the elevator. It didn’t, however, fool you into thinking otherwise of his prior behavior — he was still a menace — but you hoped that the well showered compliments and kindness from the opposing party’s head of the hierarchy that were poured over you as an administrative lead proposed at least some doubt if he were still pondering to terminate you.

“And to think she’s here on her first day,” the conversation was rerouted to you suddenly as everyone wrapped up their finalized closing comments. Clicking your pen to return its nib, you gave a humble smile before bowing your head forward, “It’s been a pleasure and a very special opportunity granted to me.”

These were business lies, but what was new in the superficial world created by massive empty headed moguls who were puppeteers amongst their greatest talent? Prepared to give your final exit and head home to wash away this nightmare, you were held steady by Mr. Shin — the director who was initiating the merger — as his expression seemed to have some sort of excitement zip past it, an impression of exuberance you weren’t quite sure how to place. Vocalizing your last name, he continued, “You and Mr. Im have nothing else after this, right?”

No, but I want to head home and drown in my bath tub and maybe a glass of pinot noir.

“No sir, we do not.”

“Please join me for a drink! We should celebrate your first day.”

What a pitiful and pathetic excuse to create faux harmonious feelings with Mr. Im — though you respected his decision as not to completely accept the terms that were laid in front of you today — this was a redundant way of creating an even longer appeal that could possibly only infuse tension. Parting your lips to politely reject the offer, you felt Mr. Im suddenly cut into your response, “Honestly we’re both rather busy.”

Though a paraphrased version of these words were on your tongue, you couldn’t help but be annoyed because for the past three or so hours, all you did was watch someone who had the highest level of social awareness and emotional intelligence communicate flawlessly amongst a room of stiff business men and yet he could not spare you? You simply nodded in agreement as Mr. Shin frowned, “Nonsense! There is always time for a drink.”

Stealing a peek at Mr. Im, your lungs almost burst as you suppressed them from your laughter — his jaw clenched in frustration. Instead, to appeal to the devil’s advocate, you decided to fuck with him, “We’d love to attend, did you have a place in mind, Mr. Shin?”

You may have been socially exhausted but if you were going to be executed, you weren’t going alone. Again with the saccharine grin, you beamed at your CEO as you watched a flurry of rage shutter through his eyes — only for a moment — before his polite demeanor resurfaced, “…Yes of course.”

Silent through dinner, as you had expected, the conversations furthered to delve into the hearty relation of the two conglomerate leaders. You were a good listener, most of the time, and especially now since you wanted nothing more but to be home. You learned that Mr. Im was named Jaebeom, that he was likely going to die alone with his cats — he had five — in his vague description of the neighborhood he resided it, which only made you assume he was private. You also learned he held concurrent degrees in international business and economics, both furthered in graduate school from — against your better beliefs — full scholarships. You also learned his stepfather seemed a saint, taking in his single mother and him, no questions asked and full of love.

“What year were you born?”

“1994,” the polite reply had you suddenly choking on your sip of soju. Mr. Im turned to you with fake concern as you held a hand up, “My apologies.”

“Not great at handling your liquor huh?” Mr. Shin commented, another misogynist’s proverbial response, as you smiled and shook your head, “Oh no, I just assumed our CEO was younger.”

It sounded like an insult and you intend it to be in some ways, but you weren’t lying, you did think he was younger than yourself. Jaebeom narrowed his eyes at you but the feigned smile seemed to hide his sinister expression, “Now why would you think that?”

“No reason in particular.”

You also learned that, even though you were not anywhere near on good terms with Mr. Im, he did hold some mercy for you. After the director’s comment about your alcohol consumption, which was wrong but regardless, he began catching your pours — despite the fact you were watching him grow exhausted, dehydrated, and inevitably drunk. You assume it was for appearances but were thankful nonetheless since your haze was finally starting to let up, and the sobering process had started. After several hours of banter, you finally bid your goodbyes with one another before starting towards the station. You were hoping to catch the last train before the rails shut down for the night. Not without a shadow, however, Mr. Im quietly following behind you as he shot off unsolicited comments, “Not sure why he had to make an excuse to give you a welcoming party.”

You simply rolled your eyes as you scanned your card against the sensor to a nearly empty station. Hearing the dim “beep” behind you, you wondered why he couldn’t have just taken a taxi. Shuffling down the steps, you wanted to get as far away from the tower figure stalking you. Too bad he was a giant lump of matter that traveled at twice your pace, “Maybe this was more of a goodbye party.”

Oh so he was still on the termination thing, right*. Rolling your eyes again, you sat down on one of the empty seat slots as he plopped down beside you, “The station is empty and there’s so many other chairs can’t you sit somewhere else?” Hissing at him, he turned to you as his eyes seemed to search for something that wasn’t there and simply laughed before looking towards the empty rails in silence.

“…You sure don’t act like you were born in ‘94,” scoffing you stood up and attempted to find another seat a row down before his reflexes seemed to show they were completely in tact, fingers shackled your wrist with contempt, “And what’s that supposed to mean.”

“That you act like a brat,” retorting at him you shook your arm in an attempt to get free as he yanked you over. Yelping, you tripped towards him with a frown, “I’m surprised you say that.”

The feigned expression of hurt wanted to make you dry heave as you stood in front of him, arm limp in his hold. Another sudden unsolicited comment fell through his lips as his eyes dilated in a different way than they had when you had entered his office unannounced earlier that day, “…You smell nice.”

Disgusted, your expression contorted when you felt his thumb gently glide over your wrist. However, you were afraid to snatch your hand away in fear his reflexes would yank you back even harder. You stood, instead, stoic as you stared at him incredulously and praying for the chugging wheels of a train to appear and allow you to depart. There wasn’t more you could possibly endure, you think, but you were met with yet another surprise as your looked down, horrified, to find your CEO’s stepson really had to have been born some years more recent as he had his hormones on full display.

“…Mr. Im, please let me go.”

“Mm…” his voice rattled quietly, but you could tell he had sobered up already — entirely annoying for his own benefit — as his fingers continued to clasp your wrist in his hold.

This was the most vile man you had ever encountered — which said a lot when you were nearly always in male dominated environments — and he seemed to know and fully understand that. There was something so infuriating and rage filling as the spaces even in the depths of your being could not fathom, encasing a frustration that knocked through your caged silence that finally caused your outburst, “Why the fuck is your dick hard you pervert, let me go!” As you wailed in the empty station, there’s a moment of confusion that winded over Jaebeom’s face. It’s as if he was missing some pieces to your claim, and when he realized and really understood what you were concerned about — and you can tell — he flushed with embarrassment. Suddenly, for the first time today, he was bowing and profusely apologizing.

It was a nice sight but didn’t change the fact that you were absolutely petrified that this towering man, after everything he put you through, was visibly hard in a public space with you. Exhaling as a sense of release however, that he acknowledged his crimes, you began to step away before hearing some mumbled reasonings that were beyond you. Even Jaebeom wasn’t quite sure why he began spouting them, “I have trouble around women, so it wasn’t you in particular. I’m so sorry I gave you a hard time, but I thought it may have been different because I spent most of the day in your company—”

“…You have trouble around women?” Hard to believe when the entirety of the female population at main branch’s office was ready to sit up on his desk and spread for their new CEO — not that you were eavesdropping, but you heard a lot of chatter before and after you were transferred. When you repeat his claim, you realize immediately that he wasn’t bluffing and that his shame grows apparent. It is the first time you see the expression of guilt and defeat as his features revert to an even more childlike demeanor.

The train finally arrived, the little chime playing in the speakers and echoing through the surfaces as you stand silently awaiting his explanation, ignoring the last departure. The contemplation that riddled his face seemed to go between completely discarding everything he mentioned to simply being honest, “…Yes.”

“In what way?”

Knitting his brows together, he seemed to be unable to tongue out the words he wanted to use to properly articulate himself without seeming more like a pervert, “In a traumatic way.”

You practically snorted at the excuse before rolling your eyes, it seemed like some pathetic way to weasel out of the fact that he was some sick fuck but by the way he was speaking, perhaps it wasn’t? This wasn’t some glorified explanation but rather a sacred and honest confession held in a booth, between two strangers. You wanted to trust him, truly, but he made sure you shouldn't have after his performative gestures today. Hesitation filled his dreaded voice as he surrendered, “…I really struggle interacting with women in general—”

“And you really expect me to believe that when there are women in our office?”

“I try to avoid them, and it’s why I requested a male secretary in particular.”

For some strange reason, this suddenly made sense and somewhere deep in a crevice that was lost in the galaxy of your being, you felt a sense of pity, “…I see.” But it was somewhere really, really, deep.

“I spent most of the day sitting beside you, entirely focusing on keeping you as more of a fragment of my imagination rather than an actual person,” this seemed insulting out of context, but you continued to listen, “so I assumed it would have been fine to interact with you since we were talking normally at the meeting and dinner.”

The tone in his voice turned shy, but not because he was finding a scape goat to protect his actions rather, because he was disappointed in the resulting outcome from the lack of experience and unstable accuracy brought him. Gently dragging your eyes down his figure, seeing the still apparent source of your horror which made chills infect you, you snapped out of your pity filled daze when security requested that the two of you leave the station as they were closing up for the night. Shoving your portfolio case at him, you gesture for him to shield his eyesore of an erection as you exited the station with him silently. The awkward steps onto the empty sidewalk had you searching for a solution in the cracks on the concrete, as you often found yourself attempting. The curse of being an instrumental communicator. An unlikely scenario came to mind but you decided to wait on that particular weighing before offering Mr. Im to share a cab.

“It’s late shouldn’t we head home?”

The erratic pace hinted to you that he was getting close, sloppy and lacking purpose or precision, even his skilled finger against your clit began apply just a bit too much pleasure as you doubled over and realized the blinding release that seeped down your thighs in a snapping constriction, "Jaebeom please." You had never heard yourself beg so wantonly as you squirmed to get your hips away from him.

Twenty minutes pass and not a single car — let alone a cab — passed the road in sight. It was a normally, busy, street filled with commuters and yet not a single soul graced your line of vision. A few feet away stood your very uncomfortable CEO, marked with shame as he awkwardly held your portfolio in front of him while he messaged several drivers to see if any of them were free and awake to give both of you a ride back to your homes. You wanted to commend yourself for the amount of pity you were able to have for such a vile human being, but you remind yourself exhaustion and the lingering taste of alcohol were rendering you soft.

"Any luck?"

"None," turning the screen of his mobile towards you, your eyes skimmed the little "1" besides all the unread, repeated messages.

"...Fifteen minute grace period, right?" You were referring to the time frame of most appointments before finding a bench and dropping your weight onto it. Jaebeom sat beside you quietly, staring at the screen of his phone, as if he could control the actions of the message receivers with his mind through sheer concentration.

For the first time all day, the silence felt less like viscous tar strung between you but as if you were swimming in honey besides someone you may have been misunderstanding due to misconstrued circumstances, "...You said you had some trauma?"

"That's really not something I think I want to share right now," the mumbling filled his mouth through a sigh as he stared off at the brightly outlined skyline in the distance, creating a fake horizon amongst the navy light polluted sky. Pursing your lips, you nodded quietly before following with a sigh of your own, "...I appreciate your honesty, at least."

"Yours too."

If you weren't exhausted, you might have been able to offer a better laugh, "So are you still going to fire me?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Are you going to blackmail me?" Jaebeom tipped his head back to capture more of the sky before lazily dropping his head to look over at you. Returning his gaze, you furrowed your brows in confusion, "For what?"

"Sexual harassment." It took a moment for you to connect what he was referring to before you burst into laughter, still hoarse and not quite as strong as you could have emitted, "...You know, I don't think you're lying for some reason."

"I wasn't."

"Yeah, so I'll let it slide," you pause before snorting.

The silence consumed the night as you checked your watch, before Jaebeom's voice broke through once more, "You did good today."

"Thank y—"

"For a secretary," you rolled your eyes as he ruined the compliment, frustrating you, "You know I was an operations manager."

"You sure are proud to tell me you got demoted." Absolutely awestruck, you felt the relaxation that had entered your body moments ago turn back into frustration. On a whim, one you probably would have never dared to attempt had the situation been different and you weren't so exasperated and absolutely annihilated from the day's events, you took your fist and slammed it into the portfolio that was sitting on Jaebeom's lap. Absolutely breathless, he choked out violently before glaring at you with seething anger.

"I didn't, I was forced to transfer to teach you how to do your job, to help you."

"You're not doing a very good job at it," rolling his eyes, voice still strained from the pressure and soreness you offered his condition you smiled triumphantly, "Says who?"

"From my experience, good employees don't go around punching superiors in the groin."

"We're even now."

"This wasn't sexual harassment, it was battery," deadpanning, he checked his phone again. Rather than ask if he got a response, you hear another echoed sigh that signaled you both probably weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

"...So do you just get erect whenever you're around women?"

"Why do you keep bringing this up?"

"It's kind of funny, it's like the opposite of erectile dysfunction right?" It's the first time he looks mortified, pale, when he looked at you and the way you phrased his condition. The stiffness in his body hints that you're probably right on the money, "Let me guess, you probably went to dozens of doctors and medical professionals and they say it's probably a psychological thing that has manifested into your physiological response."

Silence.

"So, because you think you're a big strong man," cooing at him, you pouted your lips to sear into him deeper with your taunts, "you've been warding off confronting your trauma of women and through sheer willpower, avoid them. But every once and while, there's something like this, and you decide to act like an unbearable prick so you can pretend women don't exist."

The way you've read into him has him absolutely speechless, vulnerable, and frustrated that you were able to peel back his layers so easily and swiftly from just a few focused interactions alone. There is nothing he can offer back to rebuttal and salvage the very little of what his pride had left. Instead, he sat quietly and gripped his phone, the glazed over expression on his face indicating he was no longer listening but he wasn't thinking of anything in particular either. You were still human so in some ways, this caused an induced amount of guilt to wash over you, "...Have you ever tried to fix it."

"Of course."

"How?"

"I tried to interact normally with women, naturally," nodding slow, you mirrored his gesture in understanding before fidgeting with the chiffon material of your dress, "And that didn't work out?"

"Not really," he laughed bitterly.

"...Do you think I can help you?" You convince yourself it's an instrumental solution, it's something you want to think is part of your job. The thing you were good at, you know, and the thing he took the severest blow in belittling you about. Maybe part of it even involved spite.

"I don't know, can you?" Rolling his eyes, he stared at you in disbelief before you nudged yourself closer on the bench beside him, risking a lot more than you could have imagined, "I'll only tell you once, Mr. Im, but I'm very good at my job."

Peering down at your watch, you point it towards him, "Fifteen minutes are up."

"Why? Don't you wanna cum?" He used a taunting tone, again repeating something you had uttered earlier. Almost regretful, your ears became even more dull as he roughly pulled out while you winced, being forced onto your back as he hooked his hands beneath your knees. What was the result of this man's stamina and why was he able to fuck this long? Rolling your head back in surrender, you no longer attempted to swallow your noises as he reentered — hopefully for the last time — slowly rowing his hips back and forth as your toes curled, feeling the sensation of your circulation lapsing through your extremities. It takes only a few gently pushes, and he pulls out before finishing on your chest for the last time.

He's lost all his focus, and in a shitty attempt to regain it, he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours — lips ghosting near and swallowing your curses. As you feel his weight pull closer, you placed your palm over his mouth, "...Don't."

This was only work, and like every precise decision you ever made, every experiment you were — you made sure to do everything well.

[ chapter two ]

all work, no play series masterlist

#got7 #got7 scenario #got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 jayb #got7 jaebeom #jaebeom scenario #jaebeom scenarios #jaebeom imagines #jayb scenario #jayb scenarios #jayb imagines #jayb smut #jaebeom smut #smut #got7 smut #got7 fanfic #got7 fanfics

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bookshop · 2 years

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i recently came across defining draco malfoy (in case you dont remember, its a piece from 2004 on livejournal written for idol-reflection i believe). and can i just say, this is probably my favorite hp essay? i read a lot of hp essays, and love a lot of them (some more now as im desperately searching the internet for the ‘fandom resources’ linked at the bottom, because some of the links are broken).

anyway, you might not see this because it doesnt seem like youve been active in a bit, or maybe youre just not at all interested in harry potter and don’t really care (or maybe youre the wrong person, and are currently Very Confused). but, do you agree with everything you said in your essay, in retrospect? is there anything you would change, given the chance to re-do it? thx <3

Haha, this is actually pretty wild because a) i am the right person and b) i've just in the last 3 weeks kinda fallen into one of those periodic H/D fanfic rereading binges I go into once every 6 or 7 years, so your timing is great.

Back in my HP fandom heyday I also read a lot of HP essays, so i'm really very flattered to get this comment. My essay (which is also on AO3, currently locked to users) was written before book 6, and while for obvious painful reasons i haven't reread it lately and won't be rereading it, i still remember the feeling of reading it for the first time, almost breathless at how much of the fandom's ideas on Draco were being validated through that book. Rereading the essay now, I was spot-on pointing out that "Draco’s biggest moments in the books are all defined by a lack of action," considering his climactic moment is his inability to kill Dumbledore.

It's clear, too, that I gave JKR far more credit for wanting to deconstruct her own established ideas about Slytherin than she deserved; I like many fans was hugely let down by her lack of real engagement in book 7 with the portrayal of Slytherin as the blanket catch-all house for Evil Children, and of course the way she treated Draco in the end was part of that. I still think it's utterly laughable, if not contemptible, that she began the story stating that all four houses needed to unite, and then ended up with every single Slytherin walking out to join Voldemort, lolol fuck her. 😂 I think, for me, that was the single biggest cop-out (among many) in the final book, because she did so much in book 6 to complicate Draco's identity and give him the possibility of redemption only to half-assedly throw it away in book 7, forget about him and every other Slytherin Harry's age, and revert to using him for plot expediencies. Just hugely disappointing.

i'm sure i probably wrote some gushing triumphant meta about draco on my LJ after book 6 came out. In retrospect, i'm not really fond of my general reaction to book 7 — it was posted very soon after i'd finished reading it, and i was running on the fumes of fannish enthusiasm. but i had been yelling for years at that point about JKR's maltreatment of Slytherin, so it occupied a lot of my attention in that review. It still does, honestly; i see Rowling's complete disinterest in deconstructing Slytherin's ideology and place within the rest of the wizarding world — her continuing to frame the entire house as a bunch of racist, power-hungry supremacists, while also still allowing all of the racists to resume their place in society after the war is over as though nothing much had changed — as a huge rosetta stone for what we now know is her larger pernicious position of centrist ambivalence. She was ultimately fine with Draco and his entire house being bigots, because in her ultimate worldview, a little bit of bigotry in the world is inevitable and ineradicable. Why bother trying? Why bother freeing the house elves? Why bother finding one non-racist Slytherin, much less, idk, opening Slytherin to Muggleborns who aren't shamefully hiding their identities? Why bother tearing down and rebuilding when you can just sloppily pave over and call it reformation and change?

Ugh, idk why I'm even bothering trying to explicate the mind of a disgusting bigot. Go read lettered's By the Grace instead of Harry Potter:

“Of course,” Bickford went on, “we will replant.”

“No,” said Kavika, “we won’t. If that tree was a symbol of this institution, does not the fact that a person was trapped inside of it for a millennia suggest that something is deeply troubled within the institution itself? The tree should not be replanted; the rot of it should be remembered and honoured.”

“Reveal will happen soon, and everything will change anyway.” Bickford’s voice was plaintive. “Can we not have just one thing remain the same?”

“No,” said Harry. “Kavika is right. And you’re right as well, Mister Bickford. Everything is changing.”

#hp for life #o hai tumblr #draco malfoy what's your issue #nostalgia #remember when my tumblr tag was like HP forever #LOLOL

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themusicplayedherlife · 3 years

Text

Missy’s Lesson Plan

Lesson #1 Listen to Her Worries

pairing: marcus moreno x f!teacher!reader characters: f!reader, marcus word count: 3.6k+ warnings: fluff, awkwardness, bonding, summary: dating is hard; dating after losing a significant other is even harder, but Missy is sure she has a foolproof plan that will help her dad and her teacher finally confess their feelings and get the happily ever after that they deserve! a/n: sorry for the wait! since so many people liked it i wanted to make sure everything about this chapter was decent to post, so ya’ll have @forevans to thank or else this would’ve been stuck in limbo for a long time lol--also, im about to dub reader and marcus the thank-you-couple lmfao--you’ll see why

There are three things you are absolutely sure about in your life.

1. Your name. 2. You love your family. And 3. Missy Moreno is your favorite student.

“Turns out she was just testing us!” She moves around your classroom, picking up scraps of paper and throwing them into the black, durable trash bag she’s hauling around with her, recounting her heroic tale of saving her dad and the other Heroics with her new super powered friends. “A transfer of power or something. Can you believe it?”

Yes and no.

Your heart had literally jumped out of your throat and blood turned cold when Missy was plucked from school during recess—“taken somewhere safer,” the principal had informed you after you stormed into her office wanting to know where your student was and why you weren’t informed.

School was released an hour after that, a way to prepare citizens for the inevitable destruction the Heroics tend to cause in the heavily, populated metropolitan areas, and after making sure every single one of your students had been picked up by a family member, you hurriedly headed home.

You had sat yourself down in front of the television with your mom, worried for Mr. Moreno and the rest of the Heroics (more so for Missy’s dad), feeling completely and utterly helpless.

It only got worse when agents suited in black and white showed up at your doorstep, demanding to know where Missy Moreno and the other super powered children were hiding.

“You lost them?” You had balked—your worry rising to new heights—first Mr. Moreno and now Missy? You didn’t know what to do other than demand how a bunch of agents could have lost a group of untrained children during an alien invasion!

None of them answered you, remaining stoic, and if it weren’t for your mom, you would’ve pounced and clawed the closest agent out of desperation.

The agents only left after turning your house upside down in their search for the children.

And then, after hours of waiting, the news showed the Heroics, Anita Moreno, and the children landing in front of the White House, safe and sound. You almost cried from relief in your mother’s arms.

So, no, you can’t believe it; but seeing her here, this special girl, that has somehow worked her way into your heart from the moment she walked into your life, safe and sound in your classroom, you do believe it.

But you can’t tell Missy all of that when she’s practically bouncing on the heels of her feet, beaming up at you every few seconds to watch your reactions to her story. Instead, you widen your eyes for good measure and your mouth hangs open. It’s a little exaggerated, but you really are impressed with Missy—very much worried, but impressed. “Woah! I’m so proud of you!”

Her grin is so bright and proud, it makes you chuckle under your breath, your shoulders finally relaxing at the rare, childlike mirth dancing in her eyes.

“Are you going to write about it for your report?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

Now that stops you from sorting through the craft supplies, eyebrow raising in surprise. “Maybe?”

“It’s stupid,” she murmurs, focusing a little too much on one area.

“Missy,” you start, patient, “why do you think it’s stupid?”

“It’s just—” she shuffles on her feet and then sighs heavily, looking up at you with dark eyes full of doubt—“what if no one believes me?”

It takes you no time to close the distance between you. You coax the bag out of her hands and set it down on the floor, motioning for her to sit at the desk she had just been pretending to clean. “Why do you think no one would believe you?”

“Because I don’t have super powers.” Her nose wrinkles, looking away from you and to the whiteboard.

“Missy…”

“I know, I know!” she exasperates, having heard this spiel from you many times before. “It doesn’t matter, it’s never mattered, I get it!” You stare at her incredulously, and she is quick to assure you, leaning forward on the edge of the chair. “I do, really! But I—it would be useful, you know?” She slumps back, finger rubbing at a spot on the table. “Proof, I guess.”

“Powers could always be useful,” you agree with a soft laugh. “But not always necessary.” She still doesn’t look at you, and you sigh softly, a small amused smile forming on your lips. “I know you know some of the most amazing, most brave people are the ones without powers.”

She looks up at you, head tilting and waiting for you to elaborate.

“You once told me that aside from your dad, your mom was your absolute favorite hero, remember that?”

She nods, a smile finally appearing on her cherubic face.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Missy.” You crouch down to her level. “You not having powers doesn’t mean the rest of the class won’t believe you. They know you’re a leader, they look to you not just because you’re Marcus Moreno’s kid but because they believe in you.”

“I knew it was stupid,” she murmurs bashfully, tanned skin brightening as she huffs and folds her arms over her chest.

“Hey, no, none of that. Having doubts or being scared or even jealous is never stupid. It’s perfectly human,” you assure her, her brown eyes searching yours. “In fact, I sometimes feel that way too!”

“Really?” She drops her arms and her pout softens. “You?”

“Of course! Just because I’m an adult doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes doubt myself or feel a little insecure.”

“Like what?” she asks, dark eyes curious and wide.

“Oof, a lot!” Your eyes roll to the ceiling as you think. “I think… one of my biggest doubts and fears is not being a good enough teacher.”

“What?” She gasps, jumping in her seat and eyes narrowing with scary determination to get you to believe that: “You’re an amazing teacher!”

Warmth fills your chest at the sincerity in her voice and eyes. “See!” You cross your arms over your knees, but Missy takes your hand in hers, and you let her, squeezing her smaller hand in yours. “Sometimes, we don’t see ourselves in the same light as others do, and that’s okay. We just need a little reminder every once in a while.”

“Yeah,” she drawls, playing with one of your fingers, “I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.” You nudge her nose gently with a hooked finger and she wrinkles her nose in response. “And this is my reminder for you today: I truly believe you’re capable of doing extraordinary things, Missy. Powers or no powers.”

She grins, nudging your nose just as you had. “And I truly believe you’re the most amazing teacher ever.”

Yeah. Missy Moreno is definitely your favorite student.

“I know.” You ruffle her hair and she grabs your wrist to push you away, laughing.

A loud thud by the entrance of the class brings you to your feet, spinning in place and firmly placing yourself in front of Missy and the sudden intruder—only to find a sheepish Marcus Moreno mid trip and hand raised sheepishly.

“I—ah—sorry, I was going to knock, but the door was opened—” he says, quickly crouching down to pick up the empty rack you set up for the kids to place their backpacks and lunch on. “Sorry.”

Missy lets out an exasperated, “Dad!” while your form relaxes (replaced by a new tension squeezing your chest).

Clearing his throat, he straightens up, raising a hand in greeting and an apology. “Sorry,” he murmurs again.

“It’s fine, Mr. Moreno.” You offer him a warm smile, ignoring the little butterflies in your tummy. Turning to Missy, you catch a very much exasperated eye roll that only makes you stifle your laughter behind your hand. “Come on, Missy, get your things.”

She eyes her dad for a moment longer before nodding and hurrying to her table shared with Karina at the front of the classroom, a table away from your desk.

“Thanks for letting Missy stay.” He scratches the back of his head, his other hand resting on his hip as he shifts his weight. “Paperwork took me longer than I would have liked.”

“A hero’s work is never done, huh?” you joke, keeping your voice light.

He cracks a charming smile, the one that always seems to melt your insides into a pile of goo. “Unfortunately.”

Your eyes move to Missy, who is slowly putting her things away, organizing them and reorganizing. Her head tilts slightly when the conversation between you and Marcus pauses, dark eyes trying to inconspicuously look over her shoulder to get a glimpse of you and her father. Her eyes catch yours and widen in surprise before she snaps her head forward, pretending to be busy but not hurrying her movements, either—much to your amusement. What is she doing?

Shaking your head and returning your gaze to Marcus, you’re met by brown eyes full of exasperated fondness, an apologetic smile on his handsome features.

“I heard about what happened,” he suddenly says. “About some of our agents raiding your home.”

“Oh!” You blink owlishly, embarrassment crawling under your skin—what else did he know? “You heard about that?”

“Read about it in the report, actually.” He tilts his head, scratching the stubble on his cheek, and you press your lips together to keep from questioning what else he read in case they didn’t add the part about you losing your cool. “I have agents on their way to help clean up any mess they might’ve made and to replace anything they might’ve broken.”

This man is truly a god sent, isn’t he? “Mr. Moreno, I appreciate it, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he assures you, firm and kind. “It’s our fault you got caught in the cross hairs.” His eyes fall away from yours, and again, he shifts his weight on his feet as he pushes his glasses back up over the bridge of his nose.

You wait for a moment, but when he doesn’t look back up at you, you let out a little defeated sigh, disappointed that the conversation is over. Not that you want to keep talking about agents ruining your home, but you like listening to Mr. Moreno speak. He has the softest, most reassuring voice that makes you feel safe in his presence; like he trusts you.

“Well, again, thank you,” you start as you make your way over to the plastic bin full of craft supplies on your desk and are about to take them to the closet you store them in when warm fingers brush against yours, taking the box from your hands. “Oh!”

“Let me help you with that,” he says, soft and rich, warm eyes full of kindness staring into yours.

“Thank you,” you murmur—and he’s close, not like when he was sitting across from you as you introduced yourself to him and showed him the first progress report of the year, but close enough that you can see the glints of black and umber in his eyes, tips of his shoes barely touching yours, and a small box keeping your chests from brushing against each other.

“It’s no trouble. Least I could do.” He flashes another smile, and again, your heart melts and you have to physically keep yourself from biting your lips by swiping your twitching fingers over your mouth, eyes darting away from him.

Clearing your throat, you say, “Let me show you where I need them.”

He nods and follows after you, keeping a fair distance even after you point at the empty space the bin was in earlier that day.

“Thank you,” you say—again! all you do is thank the man!—as he puts away the bin and closes the closet doors for you.

“Of course.”

“Okay, I’m finally ready!” Missy announces, a little too loud for it to not to be intentional.

“We should start heading out, then.” His hand settles on Missy’s head, steering her towards the door. “Again, thank you for letting Missy stay—really saved me.”

“It was no trouble at all.” You wave him away, following after them to walk them out.

“That was painful to watch,” you swear you hear her whisper to her dad, and he shushes her.

Did you imagine it?

“Ah, actually, Mr. Moreno, may I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course!” He pats Missy’s shoulder. “Go on ahead, I’ll meet you down the hall.”

She narrows her eyes at him, as if trying to communicate something to him before nodding and walking off. “See you Monday, teach!”

“Bye, Missy! Have a good weekend!” You wait until she’s completely out of ear shot, or at least on the other side of the hall to address your worries to Mr. Moreno. “Missy told me about what happened on that spaceship and I—I’m worried. I know what Missy is capable of, trust me, I know. She’s—extraordinary. A good kid.” You bite your lip, wrapping your cardigan tighter around your frame, the cold wind brushing against your exposed skin. “But I—I can’t help but worry either way. I know it’s not my place—”

“No, no!” He steps forward and a little to the side, blocking the wind from hitting you. “Thank you for caring so much about Missy. I—I always feel grateful knowing you care about her and that she’s in capable hands at school.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, a huge weight off your shoulder now that you know you’re not stepping on his toes.

“I’m worried too, if I’m being honest.” His eyes slide to Missy waiting for him at the end of the hall where she’s rocking on her feet, and you follow his gaze, both of you smiling when she glances up and waves. “She’s headstrong. Once her mind is made up, you can’t stop her.” He chuckles, the sound low and a little self-deprecating.

“I would never ask you to change her mind,” you affirm gently. “All I ask, is that you look after her—not that you don’t already do, because I know you do, but it’s… different out there.”

He nods resolutely. “I promise.”

“You need to stay safe out there, too, Mr. Moreno. I can’t keep having two heart attacks in one day,” you tease, leaning against the metal doorframe.

“I promise you, we’ll stay safe,” he says it so seriously, eyes locked on yours that it practically steals your breath away. “Missy and I—we’ll protect each other.”

“Like you always do,” you hum into the space between you.

“Like we always do,” he reaffirms, just as soft.

“Good.” You stare at one another for a beat longer than necessary, but you look away first, straightening up. “Have a good evening, Mr. Moreno. Drive safe.”

“You too.”

You watch him walk away, waving each time he looks back until he reaches Missy. They wrap an arm around each other and with one final wave, they disappear into the stairwell.

Smiling, you head back inside to get your things.

“So,” Missy starts as they climb down the stairs, “did you ask?”

“No.” He sighs, bracing himself for the ten year old judgement (he can’t wait to see what her pre-teen and teenage judgement looks like, probably even more brutal).

“What?” She pulls away from him as they reach the final step. “No? What do you mean ‘no’? That was the perfect timing!”

He knows it was perfect timing! There were many perfect moments that he could’ve asked if you were doing anything this Saturday, but no! He just had to get distracted by the curves of your lashes and the way your eyes glinted under the setting sun and how your nose wrinkled when the cold air kissed your nose and—“Next time.”

“A deal is a deal, dad!” She reminds him, staring up at him with those eyes that used to remind him so much of her mother, but now they’re becoming less and less like hers and more her own. “You said you would!”

“I know, I know,” he whines in mock defeat. “I just… what if she doesn’t like me?” It’s a legitimate worry, one that has only grown since Missy started encouraging him to ask you out.

“Seriously, dad?” Her hand connects with her forehead. “It’s so obvious! And besides, how will you ever know if you don’t ask?”

“I guess you’re right. Any ideas?”

She cups her chin, thinking. Her eyes brighten. “I do have a plan!”

“And what exactly is this plan?” he asks, a little wary of what his precocious ten year old could possibly come up with.

“Just trust me!” She grins up at him and wraps her arm around his waist, tugging him along with her towards the car. “With my plan we’ll win her over completely!”

#Marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x y/n #marcus moreno #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal character #reader #reader insert

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ladybugsfanfics · 4 years

Text

Shut Up And Kiss Me [14/?] | Tom Hiddleston

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: pining, angst, implications of sex,

Summary: You and Professor Hiddleston have been colleagues for many years now, and through those years the hatred for each other has only grown. Now, as a new school year starts, you’re being told that you have to share a classroom or a class. Neither are happy about the outcome, but knowing you’ll never come to an agreement, you let the class choose for you. Team-teaching is rare in 2019, but it is a lot harder to do when you can’t stand the person you’re doing it with.

A/N: so this is late, and i havent posted anything in like two weeks, but school’s crazy and im kinda tired but this is finally here and i’ve reached 1k followers. I don’t know if i’ll make something out of it but thank you to every one who is following me and i hope you enjoy this part ^_^

Little goes through Tom’s mind when he wakes. Surprise catches him at the feel of someone lying in his arms, and more surprise at the unfamiliar room he’s in. Tom looks down to see who’s cuddling into him, whose fanning breath spreads across his chest.

His breath gets punched out of him at the sight of Y/N. Her hair tangled, arm draped over his bare torso, and heavy breathing mixing with the hammering of his heart.

Oh, God. He didn’t…?

But Tom knows he did. He didn’t drink. The events of the previous night flashes through his mind. How she’d asked if he could drive her home, how she’d needed help to get inside, how he’d watched her fiddle with her keys before getting open the door. He remembers the way his chest beat so rapidly, waiting for that inevitable goodbye that was doomed to come.

Everything stopped working inside of him when she pulled him into her doorway, when she tugged at his tie and made the motion to look up. Adrenaline had coursed through his body when his lips met hers. The five years of pining and trying to get over the painful breaking of his heart had been swept to the side. When she’d deepened the kiss with her arms wrapped around his neck and a jump before her legs were wrapped around his waist and his hand had come to cup her ass and they’d moved to the bedroom, lips still locked together, had been the most intense moment he’d ever experienced.

The picture he saved in his mind of her naked body in bed pops up and Tom has to shake away the thought.

This isn’t happening. Y/N had been drunk. She is with Chris. It was a mistake, clearly. A drunken one.

And he’d made the mistake of indulging.

It takes him only a second to make up his mind. He does his best to peel himself away from her, gaze flickering to her every moment just to make sure she doesn’t wake up. Boxers on, trousers on, shirt wrongly buttoned, a quick grasp of socks and jacket, and he double checks his wallet and phone are still there, and knowing he has his belongings, he soundlessly slips out the door.

Only a week left before Christmas break. Only a week where things might be slightly awkward between the two of them. Only a week to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to do now.

This isn’t the way it was supposed to happen.

---

Awkwardness is the least of Tom’s worries, apparently.

When he makes it to the classroom before class on Tuesday (and mind you, he hasn’t seen Y/N since before they fell asleep Saturday evening), he’s met with the pleasurable yet very frightening bright smile Y/N sends him.

“Hey,” she says, eyes lighting up with a passion Tom hasn’t ever seen before. “We haven’t talked that much lately, but I thought we had some time now.” She hands him a paper. “I wanted to talk about the upcoming exam, and how to best prepare them to get the best possible grades.”

Tom takes the paper she hands, and sees a list of suggestions. The title reads Tips To Get The Best Exam Results. He nods slightly. “Sure, sounds good.” His voice sounds weird to his ears, lighter than normal. He coughs slightly, and tries again. “Did you have anything specific in mind that we should focus on?”

Nope, still no good.

But if Y/N noticed, she doesn’t say anything, the smile still brightly lighting up her face. “Just thought we could go off the list, really. Something I threw together on Sunday. Already had a rough draft, but you know, can’t stop working.” She tips her head a little, almost a shrug but not really one.

He’s tempted to ask her; if he did something wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t have left her apartment? Maybe they should talk about it?

Tom looks down to check his watch. Still fifteen minutes until any students are supposed to make an appearance. That’s more than enough time to talk about the incident, more than enough, only how does he start―

“Tom?” Y/N waves a hand in front of his face, her own searching for a response.

He shakes his head. “Sorry, what?”

“Just asked if there was anything you thought I’d missed. I want your input.”

There’s something so completely foreign to that sentence that Tom freezes. Even if they were making progress with how well they got along, he’d never actually thought she’d willingly ask for his input. Especially not after he left her apartment after a (great) round of sex and hasn’t actually talked to her since―as far as he knows, most people don’t like that.

However, he has to pull himself out of his head. So he shakes his head (no, he has not read the list) and just gives her a weak smile. “I’m sorry, I’m not really present today.”

“That’s okay,” she says, smile back on her face, though more sweet and less bright. Almost bordering on saccharine. “Can’t always be present, can we? I bet you had a pretty rough Sunday, too. Might not have had that good a Monday either?”

Tom raises a brow. “Rough Sunday? Were you very hungover?” Yes, he avoids the questions. He needs to know if there’s a possibility she doesn’t remember. Of course, that would only make matters worse because he would feel compelled to tell her.

Y/N scrunches her nose a little. “Not that much. I didn’t drink a lot, with the exceptions of the shots I took, but honestly, without them I’d never dared to kiss you either, so… kinda thankful.” And as she talks, her demeanor changes. Tom starts to wonder if she wasn’t being passive aggressive all this time with her sweet voice and big smile.

“You… uhm.” Tom’s words don’t work. Or maybe they don’t exist.

“Yeah, great night, actually. You know, other than you walking out on me, but I can’t blame you.” She shrugs. There’s nothing close to hurt in her voice, nothing close to anger either, really.

Tom has to swallow, because he feels like there’s something more she wants to say and he’s not sure the tug at his heart can take it if she does. Whether that’s a bold reveal that she does, in fact, not like him, in any way, or if it is that she likes him. But what if she likes him only sexually? Will he indulge?

“You know?” she says and takes a step closer to him. “We got about ten minutes. Or more, if we lock the door.” A finger comes up to drag down a little of the shirt he wears, exposing some of his chest. She doesn’t say the last words, but Tom can hear them.

His heart beats rapidly in his chest. Her fingers dance with flames as they graze across and trace their way to his chin. A firm hand takes hold of it, steadying his gaze into hers and he’s not sure he can say no when she licks her lips in that way.

God, his pants are tight.

When he lets her tug him down to ghost her lips over his, he knows he’s screwed. He’s breaking his own heart, breaking the pieces he thought were mending slowly but surely, breaking the trust he put into himself to be strong enough to resist the temptation.

But when Y/N’s lips graze past and connect with his neck, he can’t control the impulse that makes his hands fly to her hips to pull her flush against him. His hands graze the lining of her shirt, and he knows they don’t have time for teasing or foreplay or anything Tom really enjoys.

He doesn’t care. He gives in, succumbing to the desire that resides deep within him. If the only way Tom can be close to Y/N is by being a fuck buddy, he couldn’t care less. At least he gets to be with her.

---

By now, Tom would be home. He’d be with Bobby, cradling the dog into him to gain the cuddles he so desperately needed but didn’t get from the person he most wanted.

Yet, Tom isn’t home. He’s still at the office, slumped down in his too small couch with its too lumpy cushions and too hard armrests. It was the first thing he’d done when he got back after the Creative Writing class. Mostly because he needed time to think, but he can’t think because all that’s on it is how good those ten minutes before class started had been.

God knows he loves foreplay, but God knows they hadn’t needed it.

It’s not like that isn’t what he wanted to think about, it’s just that he can’t stop thinking about how it felt, instead of thinking about what this means for him. For them. For Y/N: His mind should be travelling through all the consequences of such a relationship. Or his mind shouldn’t only be focusing on the positive consequences.

He should focus on how this might rupture the steady going of an actual friendship (with the hopeful something more), but instead he can’t stop thinking about the feelings that rushed through him when Y/N’s lips had press to that spot on his neck. He can’t stop thinking about the throbbing in his abdomen, the swirl of hurt and guilt and arousal deep within his gut, the adrenaline that rushed through his body knowing she wanted him.

However, the one thought (that’s a mixture of positive and negative) he can’t let go, is that she avoided kissing him. She avoided pressing her lips to his, despite the obvious passion that had come from it on Saturday. She almost avoided his face entirely (the slight hint of a red mark on his neck―that one of their students had pointed out over the course of the class―isn’t necessarily unwanted).

But that feeling, that deep, deep longing that had accompanied the kiss on Saturday (no matter if it was prompted by alcohol), he missed that. He wanted it. He still wants it. He wants all of it. More than just friends with benefits, more than a casual relationship, more than… He isn’t even sure exactly what it is they do have.

Maybe they have something that can lead somewhere? Maybe they have something that won’t continue? Maybe they have something―

Tom’s train of thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. He scrambles to sit upright on the couch (though he nearly falls off). And, with some sense of dignity still left, he says, “come in.”

The door opens agonizingly slowly. Tom has a silent wish of it being Y/N wanting something more, but he also has a huge wish it’s Benedict and that he can talk to his best friend about the problem that is eating away at him.

And thank God, his prayers are answered. Benedict fully steps into the room and gives Tom a quick once up. He raises a brow and smirks slightly. “And what did I walk in on?” he asks.

“Nothing.” Tom shakes his head. “No, there is something. You have time to talk or did you just come here for a favor?”

Benedict closes the door and sits down in the chair at his side of the desk. He turns it to face Tom and leans back, arms crossed over his chest. “I was coming in here for something else, but you look like you need to talk more. What’s going on?”

“It’s Y/N.”

“Of course it is. Did something happen Saturday?” Benedict raises a brow.

Tom nods, slowly. “We… uhh, I don’t know how to put this, but… we, uhmm…” He takes a deep breath, unsure of how to say the words, unsure of Benedict’s reaction. “We slept together.”

The man’s eyes go wide, and a frown comes through on his face. “Like in the same bed, or the… you know?”

“We had sex, and then fell asleep afterward. Why would we just sleep in the same bed?” Tom shakes his head at his best friends.

“I don’t know. Maybe there was something else.” He shrugs. “But that can’t be everything.”

Tom presses his lips together. He drapes a hand across his face, a sigh accompanying the gesture. “We did it again. I guess you could call it a ‘quicky’. In the classroom. Before our students came in.”

“Is that the reason for the red mark on your neck?”

“Yes.”

When Tom looks up to meet Benedict’s gaze, it feels almost like the older man is mocking him. The teasing, and halfway disappointed, look on Benedict's face is tantalizing.

“She or you initiate?”

“Her. Both times.”

“But the first she was drunk?”

Tom nods. “She had a mistletoe in her doorway. I guess it helped when I followed her up to her flat, seeing as she couldn’t really walk.”

Benedict chuckles. “Are you going to keep it up?”

A sigh falls from Tom’s lips. “I don’t know. Should I?”

“Is it worth it?”

Is it worth it? Is it worth the ache in his heart when she looks at him as if he holds everything she desires but not the part he wants her to desire? Is it worth the stab in his gut when her lips don’t connect with his? Is it worth the scorching heat that comes off of her fingers grazing his skin, of her hands studying his chest? Is it worth his heart leaping into his throat because she feels so close yet so far away? Is it worth it, if his heart will only break past redemption in an effort to be close to her even if it’s not in the way he wants?

“I don’t know.” Tom shakes his head. “What if it’s the only way? What if that’s my only option to be close to her? What if I lose everything if I stop it?”

Benedict smiles, but whatever is really on his mind, he doesn’t say. “Tom, be real. Is it worth it?”

He takes a deep breath, unsure of his answer. Unsure until his lips part and the words carry around the room.

“Yes.”

permanent tags: @devilbat @adefectivedetective @gamillian @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @heartislubbingdubbing @wiczer @chillcan @geeksareunique @fandom-imagines1

Tom tags: @inlovewith3 @bookgirlunicorn @mindlesschicca @justawriterinprogress @wolfsmom1 @loser-alert @satanskatze @timetravelingsociopathicwalker

suakm tags: @plooffairy @just-the-hiddles @jennytwoshoes @lokissidehoe @fruitfly123 @princetale @scorpionchild81 @noplacelikehome77 @winterisakiller @lostsoldieronahill @nonsensicalobsessions @cherrygeek86 @louhpstuff @olyamoriarty @sunshinein17 @kthemarsian @kumikowi @secretcupcakekitty @buckygrantbarnes @josis-teacup @runawaygiirl @januarycalendargirl @funny-fangirl @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpiomindfuck @dr-kayleigh-dh @inmyworstlies @twhgirl @maah-chan @florencia93c @i-am-a-mes @o-deya @eyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @cantaloupewatch @carpediem-spero @createdbyanintensenerd @beananacake @lysawayne @nightrose64 @bradfordbantams @feyre-thehighlady @thundermaximoff @lys-syl @beenthroughalot @xrainydazeteax @mautand @coldbookworm @cursed-moonstone @justanobodyinthisbigworld @holyodepius

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anakinthetrashking · 4 years

Note

Ok, so you reblogged my post about bnha fic recs and I also looked through the ones you linked and I LOVED THEM. If its alright to ask, would you happen to have more Protective Aizawa or possibly Dadmic or Protective Present Mic? Also Protective Midnight or Momnight? Only if you have! Thanks! -bnhastanning

I somehow stupidly lost my reply to this ask, not once, but TWICE. at the end, when i was almost done. im so sorry but this will be the crappiest version yet... (also! hello, fellow batfam fan... *spiderman pointing meme*)

I read a lot of fic and i loooooove sharing them with people, so thanks for giving me an excuse to do this!! :D

lots of fics, so im putting them under the read more! One of these days I’ll get around to making more organized fic rec posts...

Dadmic: only a couple, and tbh i think they have more dadzawa in them?? Secondary Colors by NaoNazo

"You got pushed down the stairs... and you're apologizing for it," he stated blandly. "That seems counterintuitive." "Um... sorry?" Izuku whispered. He was starting to shake a little, adrenaline flooding his veins and leaving him cold. He had no idea what Purple was going for with his blunt statements and the hand reaching toward his shoulder as if to steady him, but apologizing was generally safe. "You don't have to apologize, dude. I don't know your name, but I doubt it's actually Deku." "Um. Midoriya." Izuku peered sideways at Purple as they rounded the corner. "Izuku Midoriya. Deku is just, um, just what my... friends call me." He winced. "Sounds real friendly."

and Cat Days by Griffinrose

Izuku has a shapeshifting quirk. He's not the best at controlling it, especially under stress. So when tragedy strikes and he gets lost in the city, he's stuck as a cat. At least he found a nice underground hero to take him in?

Pied Piper by Blackholeca has some really great concerned Dadmic in recent chapters!!

If they wouldn’t give him a chance then the solution seemed simple, he’d give himself one. He’d force the world to see him, force them to recognize his hard work. He wasn’t missing a quirk, it was simply that everyone else had been given an advantage. He wasn’t broken, or useless, or incapable, and he’d prove it by outrunning all of them, he who was quirkless, he who had started in last.

As for momnight, there are also only a couple, and im also not caught up with these either. i have a little bit more of an excuse with these, as Indefinite by OwlF45 is really REALLY long, as well as intense. Worth the read though! I just gotta catch up! So much mindblowing stuff in that, and the Momnight is really sweet.

It comes with the package deal of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Midoriya gets another chance at life, but he must throw it away when that dreaded day comes. After all, a life for nineteen is more than a fair trade.

Or: the world will rise or fall, and it depends on one boy protecting Class 1-A to prevent the inevitable.

The other Momnight one I have is A Single Reason by TheDeepSeaWitch. Also really good, but really intense and I’ve had to take a break because I was getting a bit depressed, whoops. But I liked it!

Training begins the next day, and doesn’t stop for any reason. They wait for heroes, then for police, then for anyone to save them, but nobody comes.

It’s only a month before Izuku forgets their names. It’s a year before he forgets his own.

It’s only a chance meeting with an impassioned soul eight long, painful years later that saves them.

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

They thought they were lost forever, that there was no future out there for them with their scars so visible and the blood on their hands still pungent and red. But if they have the strength to try, then perhaps, one day, they may yet find their forgiveness, and rediscover themselves along the way.

The Reforming Villains AU nobody asked for.

For Dadzawa:

Flare Signal by achievingelsium, of course! Annie writes some of my absolute fav dadzawa content, so definitely check it out!!

AU. Midoriya Izuku shouldn't be surprised he ended up like this: hiding the secret of One for All from his own father, the notorious villain Dragon. The path to being a hero is a hard one.

Or; Izuku is an aspiring hero forced to work for his father’s villain organization. Then he runs into All Might.

Izuku Ya’broker by Dreamillusions, is a fic i loved a LOT.

Perhaps you should actually listen to the news every once in a while, so you wouldn't end up in these kinds of situations. What kinds of situations? Glad you asked. Look at Izuku, for example. You would think Izuku would be at home after school, safe and sound from anyone attempting to, you know, kill him. But no, Izuku decided to roam around. Because of a bet. This is the kind of a situation you shouldn't end up in. Don't be Izuku.

Butterfly by aconstantstateofbladerunner, is rightfully popular! It has some horror/suspense themes though, so if thats not your style, try one of Blade’s other fics!! She’s a seriously good writer.

The first over-night trip off campus since the training camp was supposed to be a fun break from more intense work back home. But between a bleak introduction to chaos theory, a chilly reception from the locals, and the looming threat of a villain attack, Izuku has too much on his mind to properly enjoy the fresh air. But those worries are a light breeze compared to the hurricane that accompanies what he finds on the outskirts of town.

Or rather, what finds him.

A House Divided Against Itself by BeyondTheClouds777, another one of my fav fics by a great writer!

"Become a villain," they said.

“I’ll be a villain,” he said.

He lied. He’s only there so he can tear apart the League of Villains from the inside out.

The scars we carry by Banana_Ink is a great AU with plenty of Dadzawa

Aizawa rescued Izuku from the league of villains and takes care of the child for now. Izuku has two quirks in this AU, one natural - Forced Quirk Activation - and one that AFO 'gifted' him with - Self-Heal. He has a pretty big handprint-scar on his face and started as a problem child, scared and wary of people. But Aizawa managed to help him slowly heal.

This AU is just some silly little thing I came up in my freetime and like to add to it as I go, so I don't have a plan at all. Mostly I write for fun so I hope you might enjoy this as well :D

Ticked Off by Xenolis is a fic that I just want to rec all the time,,, for some reason...

~ ON HIATUS/OCCASIONAL UPDATES ~ Midoriya Izuku attracted trouble. It was just a fact of life – the sky was blue, the grass was green, and Izuku constantly found himself in an absurd number of deadly situations. He was okay with that. Mortal peril was an average Tuesday afternoon for a Pro Hero like him. Being kidnapped was practically a holiday. Saving civilians as a building collapsed around him was easier than facing his worried mum afterwards. He had dealt with All Might's disappointed dad stare and only cried for two hours afterwards. A serial killing villain with an unknown Quirk would be no problem! ..but even Izuku had to admit that being sent back in time to his first day at UA wasn't on the agenda. Still, there was no-one more spitefully determined than him – he was going to make the most of it. Yeah, good luck, heroes and villains alike! Deku was here to cause mischief and love his friends!

Toward A Bright Future by LazyRainDancer holds a special, soft place in my heart. I always want to go reread it after watching the show and I always want to rewatch the show after reading it. it never ends

You wake up at UA, the highest ranked hero school in the country, with no recollection of how you got there. Unfortunately, those aren't the only memories you're missing. Still, you can't let a little amnesia get in the way of you warning the school about the attack you know will happen during Class 1-A's field trip to the USJ. After you deliver your warning, you're beyond shocked when the principal offers you a position as a TA for Class 1-A. You accept the position in hopes that you'll be able to use your Quirk to help protect the students. It'll be far from easy, but you're determined to do whatever it takes to change the students' future for the better.

The rest don’t really have Dadzawa? But theyre really good so I had to rec them anyway

once forgotten, twice removed by blueh, good writer for multiple fandoms

“Yes,” All for One agreed. “This will be the final resting place of All Might.” “You,” Midoriya Izuku said and paused, thinking over the words. He sounded taken aback. “You want me to help fight All Might.” “Of course,” All for One nodded along. “I can offer you double of whatever my counterpart is paying you currently, along with anything your little heart could desire. Of course, you would get to help out drastically—" “Did you happen to check what world you were pulling me out of when you did this?” Midoriya Izuku interrupted and it was said in such an incredulous tone that had the situation not been as critical as it was, All Might would have laughed. Also known as: number one hero Deku has been through a lot of things, but being thrust into an alternate reality where he’s All for One’s Successor is a first. He has to navigate this world when his alternate self is a villain dead-set on killing him and all of this version of class 1-A. All the while, his friends search desperately for a way to get him back.

Office Space by Caelismylife quirkless izuku gets a job at UA analyzing quirks, HECK YES

It took a little time, but he eventually found himself with a job at UA. The revolving door of heroes was not in the contract.

To Repair with Gold by TitleUnwanted FEEEEELS

AU. Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me, biggest lie in the world. Tattoos, which appeared when quirks did, are when a person feels an impact on something they are told and it becomes inked on their body, the closer they show to your heart the deeper the impact it has on the person.

For Izuku this is a blessing and a curse.

An Accident at Workstudy by Galactic_Jax been enjoying this one!

Izuku is working hard to prove himself at his work study, but it's hard when Sir Nighteye has made it clear he's not wanted. But what happens when Izuku is caught in a villain attack on his way to the agency? Will a few revelations about his most recent intern's past be enough for Sir Nighteye to change his mind about All Might's successor?

Nice to Meet You? by Allwalkfree didn’t know i needed this until i read it

Kirishima introduces Bakugou to his favorite senpai. In which over several encounters Bakugou and Amajiki learn to become tentative friends.

A Study in Firsts by Oceanbreeze7 dorm shenanigans AND feels

There’s a first time for everything. The first time everyone crammed in Momo’s room to study, a mess of limbs and books on her bed. The first time Mina burned crepes so badly the smoke alarm went off. The first time a jumpscare got Sero so badly, he flipped off the back of the couch. The first time Uraraka fell asleep at the table and accidentally sent it floating. The first time someone realized Todoroki walked far too quietly, and far too cautiously around the dorms to be normal. The first time Midoriya broke his toe on a door frame and kept walking through it. The first time Kirishima woke up screaming through the walls. The first time Tsuyu blanched at the sight of a needle. The first time Bakugo dropped, clutching the back of his neck with eyes scarily vacant and detonating everything around him until Aizawa had to intervene. It wasn’t always pretty, but the dorms were filled with firsts.

Hero Class Civil Warfare by Roguedruid extremely satisfying to read

Heroes lead by Bakugo. Villains lead by Midoriya. Seven days prep time. Three days for Izuku Midoriya to show why they should be glad he's not a real villain.

A Fleeting Smile by AnonymousTwit good bakugou content

Or a collection of fifteen Bakusquad one shots where someone outside of the Bakusquad catches a rare glimpse of a friendlier side of Bakugou Katsuki, and one time that is specifically reserved for the four people that he hates the least.

Hope this gives you something to work with!!! I have more(and am always adding) in my bookmarks on AO3, but this should be a good start! Hopefully you’ll find at least one that you love! have a great day!!!! -Ani <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

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hiirunakaarchive · 4 years

Text

– to act in haste (2)

↳ in an alternate universe where mc landed the fellowship, but not in the way she wanted. (pt 1), (pt 3), (pt 4)

◇ pairing: ethan ramsey x mc (haruna sakurai)

◇ genre: angst, like totally angst. through and through. not a single sentence of redeeming fluff here im so sorry

◇ song rec: comme au premier jour – andré gagnon

◇ word count: 3.2k+

◇ tags: @aworldoffandoms, @perriewinklenerdie (thank u so much for waiting)

◇ author’s note: hi all! it’s been a minute! the release of OH2 finally inspired me to continue the piece that i posted last april so after a week of writing and rewriting im finally satisfied enough to post the second part! (this series is literally my baby please dont let it flop). i decided that this story will be split into three parts so i strongly suggest reading pt1 linked above if you want to make any sense of this second part LOL. pls keep in mind that i wrote part one before OH1 finished so it’s not totally faithful to the original story and has my own little spin of drama and flair so like always, feedback is always appreciated!! ill shut up now, ENJOY!

prologue

Dr. Sakurai was his epitome of a dream. Temporary, fleeting bliss that left just as soon as it came.

The two months following their confrontation were painfully, excruciatingly silent. She avoided him like the plague and the circumstances failed to change during the nine weeks he spent in the Amazon. He departed with the intent of banishing her and whatever feelings that still lingered from his heart and mind, yet one look at her was all it took for his resolve to crack.

He still loved her.

arrival

The first night marking Dr. Ramsey’s arrival back in Boston, the view of the bustling city from his airplane window evoked a flurry of fond memories. He had missed the city more than he cared to admit, yet, he had come to hate it just the same.

As the plane landed and rolled against the tarmac, Ethan stared vacantly at the distant lights of the city and let his thoughts wander.

Has she been taking care of herself?

Is she still angry with me?

Does she look any different from when I last saw her?

He let out a huff of frustration and accepted the bitter truth. Two months of cowardice and deliberately running from the thought of her did nothing to ease the sting of reality amidst his return to America.

Leaning back against the headrest, he muttered. “I need a drink.”

The next two hours passed in a blur. The doctor disembarked the aircraft in a hurry and retrieved his luggage from the carousel just as quick. Amongst that and hopping into the first cab he could hail, Ethan was unsure whether his haste was just in desperation to get home and rest or to quench his thirst for the god damn drink that airplane liquor couldn’t satisfy.

He stumbled into his apartment and let Jenner out of the carrier, the pet becoming nothing but an obscure whiz of fur as he zipped out of the cage to celebrate the comfort and familiarity of their home.

The kitchen was still pristine, though not without a bit of dust. Looming over the marble counters and to the dining table across the room, Ethan found himself reminiscing over the last meal he had here.

“The fellowship. Why did I win?”

“Did you think it would make me happy?”

“Is that it, Ethan? Do you pity me?”

“Christ.” He cursed to himself, ripping open the cupboards.

A single bottle of red wine greeted him, still three quarters full and untouched since the last disastrous dinner he had with Dr. Sakurai. It seemed to splash delightfully against its bottle as the man rolled his eyes and filled the glass to the brim. Inhaling the aroma and swirling the liquid with a delicate motion of his wrist, he took a sip.

This tastes like shit.

Ethan poured the wine down the sink along with the remaining contents of the bottle, bidding goodbye to the last physical remnant of that tear-ridden night two months ago.

He still needed a damn drink though.

The first step he took into Donahue’s was a hopeful one, and he cursed to himself in disappointment for knowing exactly what, or more specifically, who he was hoping to see.

He quickly scanned the booths and bar, failing in the search for that recognizable head of vibrant red and black. The only vibrance he was getting was from the familiar disco ball that loomed overhead, which made him squint in distaste. Taking a seat at the bar, a voice he could only recognize as Reggie’s called to him from behind the counter, his back to him.

“Welcome, I’ll be right with you.” He said, not bothering to turn around.

“I thought I told you to get rid of that god awful toy on the ceiling.”

Reggie’s head snapped up.

“Two months of disappearing off the face of the earth did nothing to fix that attitude of yours, Ramsey.” He smiled at his regular warmly before grabbing a bottle of scotch and pouring a glass.

Reggie slid it to him across the table.

“On me. Welcome back.”

Taking it gratefully, Ethan rose it to the bartender in a toast for his generosity.

“Thank you, Reg.” He said, stepping off the stool and making his way towards his favourite spot on the patio.

Midway through the exit, the doctor’s annoyance was already stirred by the booming voices and clinking of glass from an unknown group. They were counting down, and to what, exactly? He could not, for the life of him, be bothered.

And then he heard it.

“Midnight!”

Her voice.

“To kicking ass and running Edenbrook-“

Oh God, no.

“— as second-year residents!”

Ethan stopped fully in his tracks, and the eyes that solely wandered the deck in search of a free table landed on a picnic bench where five very familiar faces smiled and laughed.

Dr. Trinh, Dr. Greene, Dr. Lahela—

He exhaled in relief as he spotted Dr. Varma.

So they’ve gone back to being friends.

And smack in the middle, Dr. Sakurai.

Haruna Sakurai.

Fairy lights that illuminated the patio in protest to the evening were strung between poles and trees erected around the terrace. Yet amongst it all, Dr. Ramsey still found her to be shining the brightest. She still had that proper and dignified air about her, and the man was relieved to see that she had begun to smile again, albeit not as merrily as she used too. He could tell that in the several months they haven’t spoken to each other that she was no longer the same wide-eyed, inquisitive doctor she once was.

I solved the case!

I figured out a way to help some people who really deserve it. It’s a good feeling.

What it means to be a doctor? It means fighting the inevitable.

During Dr. Sakurai’s first year at Edenbrook, she had admitted to Dr. Ramsey that she regarded him as her reckoning. Perhaps that was what pushed her to try harder.

“Yeah, you were definitely an asshole, but it was less you that I was scared of, and more ‘This asshole is my greatest inspiration and I can’t disappoint him’.” She rambled on their stroll back to the hospital from Derry Roasters.

He chuckled fondly as he continued to look straight ahead, the corners of his mouth curving up in a ghost of a smile.

“You could never disappoint me.”

She had learned and grown, and Dr. Ramsey was there to witness every budding moment of it. It was then that he realized that she was the one to be reckoned with.

A few tables from Edenbrook’s newest residents, he spotted the bar where he could enjoy his drink alone and in peace. He looked away from the joyous bunch and started towards the empty stools, but not without inevitably passing by the group first. Dr. Greene spotted him, his eyes lighting up in recognition and Ethan sighed in abandonment of any hope of getting to the other side of the beer garden unbothered.

“Speaking of the diagnostics team...” Elijah whispered audibly.

As the others in the group indulged in their gossip about Ethan’s heroic medical mission across the continent, Sakurai tensed visibly. He stopped in front of their table and for the first time in a very long time, she willed herself to look up and make her eyes meet his.

“Rookie...” Ethan greeted her coolly as he broke the silence.

Haruna’s jaw clenched and he questioned his audacity at still daring to call her by her nickname. Perhaps they were both thinking the same thing. How could they address each other– no, even look at each other, knowing that they were going to work together again? Above it all, how could Dr. Sakurai come to the hospital everyday; constantly, ceaselessly interacting with the living reminder that her position on the diagnostics team wasn’t even rightfully hers?

They left things on a horrifically bitter and awkward note, and Haruna’s eyes darted between her friends across the table, begging to be bailed out.

Dr. Trinh shifted uncomfortably, Dr. Lahela took a flippant sip of his beer as he eyed Haruna protectively, and Dr. Varma glared at the attending with eyes ablaze. Dr. Greene seemed to be the only one unbothered by Ethan’s presence.

Haruna breathed in once before plastering on a fake smile.

“It’s good to have you back, Dr. Ramsey.”

The fake sentiment wrenched at his chest, the gaze that once beamed at him with stars and everything bright now replaced with something hollow and resentful. He was careless enough to let the turmoil show on his face momentarily before collecting himself.

“Yeah... good to be back,” Was all he could muster.

Sensing the tension between himself and the five young doctors, Ethan nodded his head once before continuing to the main bar.

“Doctors. Enjoy your night.”

Sakurai’s eyes lingered on him as he walked away, and the holes he felt being burned into his back vanished once he took his very distant seat at the bar. Her friends continued on with their idle chitchat, and Ethan found himself listening intuitively. No amount of distance he placed between himself and that rambunctious group could keep him from overhearing bits and pieces of their conversation.

They cackled and toasted some more, and the strangers around them, be it alone or with company, indulged in their own private celebrations as well. Yet despite the boisterous nature of his surroundings, all he could hear was her.

“I’m a colossal pain in the ass! I don’t want to be responsible for another me!”

And he couldn’t help but laugh.

present

Since that fateful evening two weeks ago, Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Sakurai assumed their normal routine, save for the scowl she tried to hide every time she saw him. Despite the circumstances, he kept a close eye on her as she eased into her place on the diagnostics team, having succeeded in charming Baz with her amiable personality, and June as they made small talk in regards to their common cultural heritage. Sakurai remained quiet and unassuming during her first few days, but she had proven herself to be a quick learner.

“Female, thirty seven, Caucasian.” Ethan began as everyone took their seats.

He uncapped a black marker, scribbling across the board and throwing out answers before the other three had a chance to ask. This was their regular pace, which by now, Dr. Sakurai had grown accustomed to. She certainly looked less bewildered than she did her first day there.

“Reason for admission was pain and numbness in the extremities. Former doctors thought it was...a stroke.” Ethan grimaced and Dr. Mirani snorted.

“What turned up in her bloodwork?” Dr. Hirata asked as she shook her head ruefully. “Did she have a urinalysis done?”

The three experienced doctors proceeded with their swift exchange of ideas, their discussion riddled with numerous ifs, buts, and whys. Dr. Sakurai listened intently and remained silent with her eyes glued to her notebook, almost so silent that Ethan almost questioned if she was even wholly present.

“Negative for multiple sclerosis, but just before she was discharged presented with irritable bowel syndrome.” He continued.

“Could it be fibromyalgia then?” Dr. Sakurai finally suggested, looking up from paper ridden with chicken scratch notes scrawled in red pen.

Baz and June raised their eyebrows in delighted surprise. “Seconded,” and Ethan regarded his protege collectedly.

“I thought so as well. Excellent work, Dr. Sakurai.” To which she merely nodded in response.

Later that day, Ethan found himself strolling down the halls of Edenbrook in Dr. Baz Mirani’s company. He chatted endlessly, recalling the meeting from earlier that morning and shifted the topic of conversation to Dr. Sakurai. Ethan was never one to entertain idle gossip, but when it came to her, he couldn’t bring himself to not listen.

“Did you know that her red hair was a mistake?” Baz cackled.

“She told me that she accidentally booked her hair appointment two hours after her board and came in sleep deprived. Knocked out as she soon as she sat in that chair and woke up with Flaming Cheetos for a head!” The doctor brought a hand up to his chest to ease himself as he laughed.

Ethan stayed silent as his colleague relayed her story. Of course he knew. He knew that she hated her red hair with every fibre of her being, but still complimented the stylist’s work and tipped her generously. He knew that as soon as she got home, she locked herself in her room and cried while trying to convince herself that her new look was symbolic of her “badass-ness.” He knew that she spent the next year using aloe vera in a desperate attempt to grow it out before applying for residency. How could he forget?

“You know, I wasn’t sure what to think of her at first, knowing the whole deal about how she got into the team and all.” Baz conceded and the guilt resurfaced, threatening to swallow Ethan whole.

“Baz, if you’re going to-”

“But she’s really good. Shows a lot of promise. I understand why you did what you did, but I’d be lying if I said I completely agreed with your poor execution.” He finished, shrugging indifferently.

“Ahem.”

A woman’s voice behind them cleared her throat and Baz’s eyes widened in horror as he shot Ethan a quick glance, both men knowing just who exactly had requested their attention. They turned around, and Mirani greeted her with an almost suspicious grade of enthusiasm.

"Dr. Sakurai! You see, this- what I was saying to Eth- no, Dr. Ramsey is that-”

She smiled at him, unbothered.

“You forgot your pager again,” She teased, handing it to him gently before heading the other direction with not another word.

Ethan’s gaze followed her retreating form, pain stricken. He was almost jealous of Baz, even just for a moment. When was the last time Haruna had caught him in a moment of blundering and regarded him lovingly nonetheless? He failed to recall the last time that she flashed him the smile that no one else could bring to her face but him. The kind where the corners of her eyes crinkled and she had to bury her face in her hands because she was too embarrassed to show that face out in the open. It was one of the many things that made him fall in love with her, and continue to love her all the same.

He missed her. More than he could have ever imagined possible.

Dr. Mirani exhaled in relief as she left. “Well! That could have gone a lot worse than I- Dr. Ramsey?”

And, before he realized where his feet had begun to take him, he went after her. He couldn’t let things continue like this. He couldn’t stand it.

“Wait, Rookie-”

The large strides that Ethan took to catch up to Dr. Sakurai in the empty hall were not many. Her steps were small but filled with purpose, and her heels that clacked mercilessly against the slate floor stopped abruptly. She turned to face him, and the second Haruna’s eyes met his, he was only reminded of the newfound hatred ulcerating at her very core.

She raised an eyebrow. “Not a rookie anymore, Doctor.”

The lack of emotion in Dr. Sakurai’s voice as she addressed the man stung. He should be used to this. He should have foreseen this. But one year of knowing and loving her could never have prepared Ethan for her villainously petty demeanor finally directed at him. Two weeks since she said his name in a voice dripping with venom, and she hasn’t dared to utter it since.

Always, “Yes, Doctor,” or, “Noted, Doctor.” It was driving him insane.

“Dr. Ramsey.” He attempted, his tone dribbling with an impatience he didn’t realize had been brewing.

“Doctor.” She challenged.

He looked at her, a muscle in his jaw twitching in annoyance. She looked at him, arms crossed and adamant on winning whatever contest it was that they had engaged in. And they stayed like that, for several seconds until a group of interns passing by and regarding them with curiosity forced them to look away. Dr. Sakurai closed her eyes and exhaled once, gathering herself before maneuvering her way around the older doctor.

“Excuse me.”

He watched her as she side-stepped him, about to continue her journey to her destination if he didn’t gently take her by the wrist and pull her into the medicine supply room. The very same one they hid in when they still kept Naveen a secret.

“W-What are you– Don’t fucking touch me.” Dr. Sakurai hissed once they had entered, jerking her hand from his grip.

“Are you going to be like this every time you see me?” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up to the ceiling.

“If we’re being honest? Yeah, yeah I am.”

“I meant it when I said I was sorry.”

“And I meant it when I said sorry wasn’t good enough.”

“Look at yourself, Sakurai.” Ethan scoffed.

“Petty like a child. Did you think your official status as a resident would suffice in masking this juvenile drivel or should I just throw you back in with this year’s batch of interns?”

Haruna stared at him blankly, and just for a moment he felt his chest tighten. Her resentful gaze made him miss the way they once were, and he ached for her to look at him the way she used to, but Ethan’s lamenting was cut short as Sakurai’s mouth twitched. A failed attempt to contain herself before she burst into bitter laughter.

“You can do that, can’t you?” She asked disdainfully.

“Give one of them my position while you’re at it. The same way you gave it to me.”

He took a step toward her and she stayed put, refusing to be intimidated by the man that stood just over six inches taller. Then they were achingly close, the distance between them so small that her shoes were flush against his own. So small that Haruna couldn’t help but inhale the scent of musk and Italian cypress from his cologne. Ethan looked down at her angrily and the younger woman looked back up at him with a fire just as intense.

“You might hate the means of how you got here, Dr. Sakurai, but the deed is done. There’s nothing you can do to change it so I strongly suggest getting over your vendetta against me and doing what you’re supposed to do.”

“Yeah? And what might that be?”

“Your damn job, for one!”

She finally stepped back, struck, and looked at him as if she was seeking clarification.

“My job? My job?!” She asked angrily, her voice raised in a crescendo.

Her jaw hung open as she stared at the floor in disbelief, scoffing as she processed Ethan’s last statement. The second seemed to last far too long before Haruna finally met his gaze. Her lip quivered as she shot him a look of pure, utter disgust.

“I took you for many things, but a hypocrite was never one of them.” She spat and Ethan felt his glare soften in realization.

You came here to fix things, and now look at what you’ve done.

“Rookie-” He began, his tone considerably weaker.

“Don’t. You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore. I’ll see you on the floor, Dr. Ramsey.”

She left, and any hidden meanings to whatever relationship they had departed with her. He was no longer an Ethan Ramsey to her, and she was no longer a Haruna Sakurai to him.

She was just a resident. He was just her boss. And this unpalatable truth broke him.

#choices #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey fanfiction #open heart fanfiction

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jadeowl19 · 5 years

Note

i'm so overwhelmed with many questions right now, what the heck... what would the coreloius siblings see if they look into the mirror of erised? what is jacob's patronus? what strong happy memory/thought do they think when casting a corporeal patronus? do you see them living to old age, or dying young? what will happen to the coreloius parents once their house burns down and their kids have hauled tail? what do they work as, ministry of magic workers? what place did they have during the war?

Alright, So there is a lot of drama.

I know that you have a lot of questions zksksk and I LOVE YOU but I’ll focus on one point and one point only today. What happens after the cursed vaults with their parents.

Okay, so lets start from the beginning. The Coreloius Family aka the pure-blood ravenclaw family had three kids. The oldest was Edward, the second oldest was Bridgette and there was Stephan.

(its gonna be a long post so, if you are up for it… please read on!!!)

The Corel family was actually very kind and nice and they helped muggles and other people with their knowledge. They were Ravenpuffs basically. However, the three children’s mother had fallen apart with the father because he has become a death eater and she refused to take part in it and she took the three children and raised them on her own. Guess who missed dad the most. 🤡🤡🤡 Yes it was Stephan who was the black sheep of the family. He didn’t understand how his family could share magic with non pure-bloods. One day, the dad came back to them feigning to be homesick and wanting to see the children. Long story short, Stephan had really missed him so much and that day, He made a decision to follow his dad and Stephan left with him, leaving his mother and his siblings behind. He came back later. But he was different. A LOT different.

Anyway, Stephan married and had two kids called Jacob and Salatirwell. Big surprise there huh. He wanted to raise a family of his own. A pure-blood family who were destined to be great and did not use their powers and knowledge to unworthy people. That did not go well.

Coming back to now, after the vaults, Sal and J corel makes a pact. No going back home, no stabbing each other in the backs, we are siblings and we’ll help each other get out of this shit and then finally we’ll go our separate ways.

So first of all, they look for places to stay. They had none. Everyplace was too dangerous and the parents were going to find them in mere seconds. After racking their brains they got the idea of relatives? I know, the thought about having relatives were very foreign to them BUT J corel did remember very faintly that his dad had told him once that he hated his family? So with that little piece of hope, they began to search and they found out that they actually had a aunt and a uncle. But the Uncle, Edward Coreloius had already passed away at a early age with his wife and kids in a fire accident. So that was a no.However Aunt Bridgette was still alive? and apparently she was hiding somewhere. Turns out that she was scared of her younger brother. And long story short, they found her (Corel tingle) and they talked to her with desperation and she lets them stay.

So the drama starts when Aunt Bridgette breaks the news to them that the Coreloius Household had been burned to the ground. They have been staying there for almost a year and it was peaceful and they were a family.

after hearing the news Jacob was like, No way we’re nOT going to check it out. Sal however, wants to go and check it out immediately. J corel looses the argument and they go check it out. And, what do you know. It was still standing there. J corel was very very skeptical , however Sal wanted to actually GO IN the place. Sal was…. drawn to the house. It both beheld memories that they both didn’t want to think again, but it was calling them inside.

Long story short, they go in. It was a trap. They were too late

they meet their parents again with a couple of death eaters. The whole point of this trap was, according to the mother, she wanted to see the children once again and persuade them to turn to the dark side. The father just wanted to punish them for betraying him. After all he had done for them, they run away? it was unforgiving and he was furious. However he had just waited for the right timing to real them in. This part is very painful for me to say but Sal is very shook at that moment and all her past memories of this horrid house is coming back to her like a freight train and she doesn’t have time to brace for it? she looses her cool, but Jacob is still intact with his sane mind thankfully. However after Jacob answers for himself and sal that they are so not interested in participating, the father turns them over to the death eaters.

The mother is too scared but she just thinks they would change their mind after some intense “persuasion” (yes she is out of her mind). Basically, they get tortured. The death eaters were just cruel people who just thought that this whole family drama was so funny. I wont say no more, but both the siblings experience the most pain they ever had in their lives.

But ofcourse, with some team effort, they manage to get out by a portkey that J corel made before they got caught. Yes im still working on the details but they DO get out, causing some damage. However before they escape Jacob gets hit by a spell cast by the father and this is where he looses his eye.

Painful, I know, but this was a sort of a redemption i gave to him.

So, yes,,,, where does the burning house take place?

They manage to drag themselves back to the house where they have stayed with Aunt Bridgette. And…. its burning. Hence the first panel of the two staring at the house. Sal goes in, leaving Jacob in the field. Jacob is having a hard time seeing through the pain so he was helpless at the moment. As she goes in , she meets Aunt Bridgette trapped in there. However it turns out Aunt Bridgette had sold the two over to save her own skin but was betrayed at the last moment. She begged to Sal to save her, but sal was so done with all of this and she just leaves her.

this whole story, was what i had in mind the miniute i made the corelious siblings. It was my plan? my story planned out for them all along and im very glad to share this with you!! of course, the struggle between them and their parents is not over yet, but maybe later. This was hell of a ride and i really hope you enjoy this!!!!!!

dont worry, after this they inherit the family fortune (ofcourse they should)) and they buy themselves a nice house and they learn to trust each other. After all they have been through? it was inevitable. THANK YOU FOR READING ALL THIS!!!!!!!!

#it this even hphm...?#salatirwell coreloius #Jacob Coreloius #hogwarts mystery

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rdwyns · 4 years

Text

hey y’all, it’s kit again ! swapping jeyne out for anya, my muse from the last iteration of warofcrowns but with some obvious edits ! if you remember her from the old version, fair warning, she’s gotten significantly worse. her intro is still absurdly, ridiculously long, i am well aware and will not apologize. but if you do manage to read the whole thing you have my eternal gratitude & admiration ! i’d also really, really love plenty of plots and connections for her so if you want to plot, here’s how: like this post if you don’t mind me messaging you, or get a head start and shoot me a message either on IMs or on discord !

⤷ ( kit. cet. 22. she / her. violence against children. ) the courts offer bread and salt to anya caron née redwyne of house caron. many say the twenty-five year old ruling lady of nightsong is known to be poised and insightful, though ill tongues whisper that she is insecure and volatile. when her name is uttered, one is reminded of a faint light in a sea of fog, sweet fruit souring into wine, & a dark stain spreading over silk. may she be blessed and protected in this war of crowns.

tw - discussions or mentions of alcoholism, childbirth & pregnancy, domestic abuse & neglect, suicide by drowning, food & disordered eating, forced marriage, mental & physical illness, misogyny. ( yeah it’s a lot, don’t mind me. )

basics.

name. anya caron née redwyne. nicknames. age. twenty-five. traits. + educated, reverent, insightful, poised, curious, resourceful, sentimental. - guarded, resentful, volatile, insecure, transgressive, dependent. titles. ruling lady of nightsong. loyalty. house targaryen.

family.

desmond redwyne, ruling lord of the arbor. ( father ) viola redwyne née ???, ruling lady of the arbor. ( mother , deceased ) ??? redwyne, heir to the arbor. ( half-brother ) ??? ??? née redwyne, lady of the arbor. ( half-sister )

??? caron, ruling lord of nightsong. ( husband ) amerei caron, lady of nightsong ( sister-in-law )

pre - history ; house & parents .

the redwynes were always military men. had to be, really, being island people, more isolated and often more endangered than their mainland counterparts. really, there was nothing quite so loved as war, except perhaps wine.

an old, proud house, the redwynes and their fleet have fought for targaryen kings for centuries — they stood by aegon in the dance of the dragons, stood by jon & daenerys against cersei lannister, and even stood by maegos against the dornish and northern rebellions.

lord desmond redwyne took his father’s seat in the reign of king aeron. in a prosperous and peaceful time, men drunk on dreams of a glorious war grow restless — so he hunted, and whored, and drank, and none of it so much as touched his reputation. no, lord redwyne was an honorable man, a true servant of the realm, an example to many.

lady viola redwyne might have said otherwise, had anyone asked her. prone to bouts of melancholy, often disagreeable, and with a reputation for refusing suitors, she might have even succeeded had she not been so beautiful. lord redwyne must have her, and her father could not refuse.

his second wife, fifteen years his junior, and unhappy with the match, she could not love him, nor his other children, nor the arbor. a lack of love in such close quarters sours into hate over time, like bad wine. one of her few reliefs was that he already had an heir and a spare. poor health and misery would not have made her a brood-mare of any longevity.

family history & early childhood .

as it stood, anya was more an unexpected result than a desired outcome, and ultimately even a bone of contention. she bound her mother by love, to the arbor and the man that she hated.

they were left well enough alone, for a time, viola and her daughter, the septa, and the maidservants. even the wet nurse sent away. anya’s infancy brought a modicum of respite, but it would not last more than a handful of years.

by that time it aroused suspicion. lady redwyne would hardly leave her chambers, refuse to let the child out of her sight, would not see her husband and even refused food for periods at a time. it was unhealthy, unnatural, they soon started saying. in inns and winesinks at ryamsport men would murmur ‘poor lord redwyne, imagine a wife that beautiful going mad on you,’ into their cups, laughing at their great fortune to have avoided his.

and perhaps there was something real to it, perhaps there really was something unsettling about the arrangement. perhaps not. but in the end it was only the talk that mattered. once it reached lord redwyne’s ears, red with shame at being laughed at by traders and fishermen, he put his foot down. viola’s whims were not to be indulged or tolerated any longer, and besides, ‘the child’—by this he meant anya—‘must grow to be a fool or a half-wit if left in her care.’

and so anya was removed to the care of a cousin, mostly sheltered from her mother’s influence. there were fights about it for months. the withdrawn lady redwyne who would not speak but to her daughter and her maidservant and looked to the window whenever anyone looked at her had disappeared. she raged, schemed to steal her daughter away, wept, wandered the halls at night, and made trouble.

lord redwyne even tried being gentle, for a time, speaking in soft pleading words for her to be reasonable, but gentle or harsh it made no difference. if she saw anya twice, even three times a day, it was not enough — to her mind, he had stolen her daughter, stolen her life, stolen her freedom and anything else he might think of taking, and she wasn’t wrong. but when she threatened to throw herself from the eastern tower, she sealed her own fate.

on horseshoe rock, one of the smaller islands in the waters surrounding the arbor, a small stout keep was furnished and staffed, and lady redwyne was sent out of sight, out of mind, and certainly out of the way, where she couldn’t cause another such a stir — and most importantly, after a while, the talk died down.

personal history .

with all the difficulties tended to, and all the loose ends and loose canons carefully tied down, anya’s upbringing was left to a succession of septas, servants, and after a time, an aunt, newly widowed and returned to the arbor.

out of her father’s favor for as long as she could remember, with a rocky relationship with her siblings ( i won’t go into detail in case my wc is picked up ! ), anya found little relief within the castle walls. she attended her lessons dutifully, could sew and sing and smile, recite the houses, their sigils and heroes, and it all meant little and less to her.

she wanted to set sail, she had always insisted — since before she knew what it really meant, just uttering phrases picked up along the way the way one does around seafarers — but desmond redwyne would not suffer any of his daughters to venture so far beyond his control. he knew better than to trust sailors, and certainly never trusted women.

so instead anya spent years at her window, watching sails shrink and disappear over the horizon ; by the sea, swimming in a cove under the watchful eye of the septa ; sneaking in the fields during harvest, stealing grapes ripe to bursting. searching desperately, maybe shiftlessly, for a little bit of sweetness. all the while she visited her mother only rarely, on namedays and holy days and days when, for whatever mysterious reason, her father’s pity won out over his good sense.

she studied too, though silently, mostly unnoticed. the kitchen girls, the household guard, the way people talked when they didn’t think anyone was paying attention. watched her father most of all, and had no illusions about him. even if she still aspired to please him, somehow, to gain his approval, she knew: he was a cruel man, harsh, childish, selfish, drunk on wine and himself, and yet still too clever to let all of that be his ruin.

her betrothal, like any lady’s, was inevitable — on the horizon of her future, marriage appeared to her like a fog, uncertain in all aspects but its impending approach. in the end it was a transaction, as these things almost always are. a dowry of ships, wine, and gold ( but really, mostly ships ) was enough to make anya a desirable bride despite the whispers of madness that clung to her mother, and she was promised to the heir of nightsong without even the illusion of being well-matched.

demure, docile, even shy, few suspected that, days before she was to leave for her wedding, anya would disappear in the night. would sneak from the castle in the dark, with a torch and one gold dragon, paid to the wife of a fisherman who, in her husband’s small boat, rowed anya to the shores of horseshoe rock to say goodbye to her mother one last time.

it was a mistake, but she couldn’t have known that. she came at night, the only time she could, but to viola, startled from her sleep, she was a ghost in the moonlight. after the truth came, ‘i’m leaving. father says i must,’ her mother, in tears, threw herself in front of the door, on the ground, wept in fits and refused to let her leave. it was the first and last time anya ever truly believed her mad. with promises that she would refuse her marriage and sail home as soon as she could, she left.

she was guilty, of course — so guilty it ate her up, and very nearly killed her, but not so guilty that she turned back. her mother could not bear for her to go, but anya felt she would die — truly die — if she were forced to stay.

the preparations were already well underway by the time word reached them from the arbor. lady redwyne had disappeared. alseep in bed at night, swore the servant, but gone in the morning. the island was searched for weeks, coasts scoured, sailors and captains interrogated, but to no avail. some say she escaped, others that she was kidnapped, and yet others know with conviction that she simply walked into the sea and drowned

though she wore the her house colors instead of black, anya was married in mourning. the wedding was a ridiculous affair, lavish and splendid and festive, and it only made her all the more self-conscious. she was polite, sweet, but in the momentary lull of conversation she looked lost. doe-eyed — not innocent, but wary, reproachful.

( note --- everything that follows may be changed at a later date if / when her husband is applied for ; i’m trying to keep it as vague as possible for that reason, sorry. )

it was a relief to be gone from the arbor, that she could not deny, but things at nightsong were not better. she was withdrawn, in mourning, clumsy in her attempts to draw affection from her husband and all the while mistrusting him ; even at the arbor she knew the household, was familiar with the scullery maids and the maester. here she was a stranger in her own home, and resentment blossomed as easily and intractably as wildflowers.

in the end she found she had traded a familiar prison for one completely alien to her. in the end it was probably worse. she did not sour quickly, no --- it took time, but sour she did.

tl ; dr , personality .

a traumatic, tense, and lonely childhood, ghost-like and disconnected. mommy and daddy issues, because why not. that and a poor marriage leaves her bitter, withdrawn ; there is a deep, foul darkness in her that she does not have the strength to keep at bay.

haunted by rumors of madness passed down from her mother, hard to disprove when she seems to be turning into her more and more every day. more recently questions of her fidelity have been raised ; she ignores them publicly but remains wary. honestly she’s not ‘mad’ it’s just what they call women with big emotions and opinions, y’know.

despite all that she still seeks sweetness, tenderness --- she is seriously traumatized and seriously sentimental, but not necessarily a good person. she might try to be or think she is, but in the end she’s also very shady and good at lying to herself, or aspiring to goodness. wants intensity above all else, whether good or bad.

basically what happens when you put a sweet, sensitive girl into the rough, careless hands of men ; even when they do not mean to misuse her some damage is inevitably done. that’s not to say she’s only a victim ; she can be as cruel as she is tender, and hurting only makes her want to hurt more.

very insecure, which manifests itself in a lot of different ways ; does she try to make herself big and powerful ? does she try to turn herself into whatever it is she thinks someone wants ? does she overthink things and say too little end up seeming like an absolute whacko ? does she get overexcited and yes.

poised and image-aware but resents it. she should have been the daughter of a miller or a fisherman or even a knight, but not of a lord ; harbors secret dreams of simple domesticity but she’s been told at every turn that makes her weak or small-minded so she dreams of nothing instead.

plot ideas !

cousins. i haven’t yet decided what house anya’s mother is from, so there are plenty of options for familial attachments there, though probably a house from the reach / southern kingdom ! her father also probably had sisters, although they’d probably be another generation older and have adult grandchildren at this point, so. second cousins ? i think ?

failed or cancelled betrothal. this is also super open ! again, would probably be someone from the southern kingdom, all things considered. what their relationship would be or whether they had even ever met is all very much up in the air.

former flings. again i like to keep my plot ideas open to customization and further plotting ! but i also think that she may, probably, arguably, definitely have sought comfort elsewhere after realizing her marriage was not going the places she was hoping. idk man she just wants to be touched. how intense it was or how long it went on or what it meant are all very very open to discussion, i love a little drama but i definitely don’t need this to turn into a ship or anything ! and again this would be open to any gender because all my muses are bi !

enemies. i cannot stress this enough, i love enemy connections. maybe anya’s jealous and petty which she is perfectly capable of being ; she loves herself a backhanded compliment and has a bad habit of lashing out when she’s feeling upset or otherwise justified in her shittiness. could also be enemies due to bad blood between their families, since her dad is fairly shitty also.

family ward. could go two ways ; either someone who spent some time in their childhood at the arbor or somewhere anya might have been sent for some time in her childhood ? she was fairly isolated at the arbor for most of her childhood but i would love for her to still have some childhood connections or something.

#badreputation friends. anya adores her sister-in-law amerei more than she can express ; both of them have a dark cloud of a bad reputation hanging over their heads. anya’s a madwoman and a whore, and amerei’s killed all three of her husbands, if the rumors are to be believed. which means that anya absolutely adores any lady with a bad reputation, especially if that reputation is only bad because of misogyny. they also don’t necessarily need to be friends, but anya definitely finds them more interesting than most others.

little sibling-ey relationship. yea i’m braindead and not thinking of cool names for these things anymore. anyway, gimme a muse who’s still all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and brings out the very best in anya ; she’s always been the youngest sibling but with an intense need to protecc ( catch her rehabilitating birds with broken wings and defending the baker’s boy from bullies ). also has loads of mostly half-bad advice to pass on !

literally anything else ! please ! i just love intense, extensive, or lore-heavy plots but also anything casual and fun i am not picky ! i just ! want plots and connections and muse to write !

#crowns.intro #i clearly have ... problems !! hnstly #also i did not proof or doublecheck my edits so its Mess idk #i. other kept silences ⦙ dev .

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hypmicscenarios · 5 years

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Disneyland Date

DisneyLand Date + First Kiss

A/N: Again, using they/them pronouns to make it universal

You were nervous, very nervous. One of your first official dates and it as a trip to Disneyland??? Wasn’t typical first dates like the movie theaters,a restaurant, anything that wasn’t as extravagant and out there as Disneyland? Not that you minded. You loved amusement parks and you were sure the day would be fun but….you were more worried about you kissing him. Maybe you were a bit too “old” to not have had your first kiss but...it just really never happened. And sure you always fell for the bad boy character in movies but….you never thought it would happen in real life. Or….that he would like you back? You didn’t think you were anything special. However, even with all these thoughts, there were still ways that he made you feel very special, like the luckiest person in the world. Very very lucky.

As you two agreed upon, you waited at the train station, dressed in, what you would say, one of your best outfits. Soon, you heard a deep voice behind you. A voice that was impossible to mistake. You turned around with a smile,”Samatoki, hey,”you said, being brought into a small and quick hug, enjoying the feeling of his chest for a moment before you pulled away, his arms still loosely around your waist. “Are you ready y/n?”,he asked. You nodded,”of course I am.”

Samatoki moved his hands away,placing one hand behind his neck and speaking,”you look cute today...not that you dont always look cute though,”he said, blushing a bit. You smiled at him,”thank you, you look very handsome, like always.” There was also that. He may have had a bad boy look but when he acted like this, it seemed like he had never even hurt a fly. It was cute. He was very cute. Especially what he was wearing. It was hot that day, so he was wearing shorts and red, blue, and orange floral colored button up.

Soon, the train came, and seeing the amount of people boarding, Samatoki instinctively pulled you close by your shoulders, walking into the train. Since it was the weekend, it was understandable that there were no seats...and crowded. Samatoki grabbed onto a handle, keeping you close to his chest, which made your heart beat….and his as well. You smiled into his chest as you could feel it with your hands and looked up,”thank you,”you said. “Just stay close.”

“Phew, who knew the whole train was basically going to this side of town,”you said, finally getting off. Samatoki grabbed your hand and led you to a bench,”lets sit down for a couple minutes,”he said, you thanking him for how considerate he was. You took a deep breath and looked at Samatoki,”were you able to get any sleep? I tried to, but I was too excited. Ah, dont worry though, I have way more than enough energy today.” Samatoki spoke,”the same...happened to me to. I was excited to go with you.” Your heart beat a little out of its chest and you spoke,”so were both still up even though we told each other goodnight,”you said, letting out a chuckle.

A couple minutes later, you and Samatoki stood up and headed towards Disneyland, your heart and body fueling with more energy the closer you got to the amusement park. Once the two of you got in, you were quickly stopped by a person with the camera, asking if the two of you wanted a picture. Might as well.

You stood next to Samatoki as he wrapped one hand around your waist.

“You two are lovers right? Closer closer! And you,”the photographer said, pointing to you,”maybe like, wrap your hands around his waist. And loosen up a bit, this is Disneyland, the happiest place in the world, show use those cute smiles!”

You did as she told, blushing at all the words. Lovers….such a big word! Wrapping your hands around Samatoki as he moved his hand around you shoulder.

“Make a heart with your free hands!”

You made half a heart, couldnt help but smiling at this point, the person’s energy hit you even though they all the way over there. Smiling up at Samatoki, he blushed, making the other half of the heart, the person taking a couple of pictures, then handing them a ticket.

“You can go pick your photos up as you leave over there, the place with a giant camera in front of it! Cant miss it!”

Bowing, you thanked them and looked at Samatoki,”you doing good there?” Samatoki nodded,”of course I am, I was just looking at the shop.”

“You want to go there and get some things to wear around? Like mickey mouse hats!”

Towards the middle of the day, the two of you had gone on a couple rides. The pair of you were wearing Mickey Mouse hats, yours pink and his blue, even getting your names engraved in the front. You were walking around and took a small break in a arcade. Your eyes went towards the claw machine and you gasped as you saw a [fav disney character] plush in the middle of it.

Samatoki noticed,”you want it?,”he said, smirking,”people always struggle but this a piece of pie to me,”he said, very confidently, so when he didn’t get it on the first try, you giggled. “Piece of pie huh?”,you said, only slightly teasing him. He blushed,”I was just warming up” You watched him as he tried five times. But he finally got it. He looked so determined to get it for you, when he got it out, his eyes were sparkling and he gave it to you proudly,”here, for you,”he said….it almost looked like he was a puppy waiting to be praised.

You smiled and hugged him,”thank you Samatoki,”you said, taking the plush,”and he says thank you too,”you said, holding the plush up in front of your face. You joked around and moved it towards his cheek,”mwah”, you said,making a sound, giggling as Samatoki waved it way,”really…”,he said, looking away and blushing. But...he was happy that he could make you smile.He had been a bit worried that he’d make it boring for you...but the two of you just always found thing to talk about.

“Are you hungry y/n?”,he asked.

“Yes,I am!”

The two of you went to grab a bite to eat and sat down for a bit to let the food rest before you went on anymore rides. So, you sat down in a resting area outside, the two of you at a table. You were on your phone and went to snapchat, opening the dog filter, placing the camera on Samatoki who was currently looking down at his phone. As if he felt your gaze, he looked up, and you took the shot. “Hey wait, what type of photo was that?”,he asked. You smiled to yourself,”just a photo.”

“Youre lying, you know you’re a bad liar y/n,”he said, leaning over the table. You moved back, phone to your chest,”but its cute!”,you said, and you had already saved it. “Thats exactly why it needs to be deleted, you put a filter on me again, didn’t you?”,he said, standing. Oh no. Hes standing. “S-Samatoki wait..”, you said, getting up yourself,”I cant delete it.” Samatoki’s eyes was filled with determination,”oh, you cant? I’ll gladly do it for you.” Your heart raced as he got closer and you went back,”I mean I can, but I wont!” Quickly, you turned around, running towards a bench, then behind a statue, going in circles as he chased you, and sending the photo to your email, because you knew capture was inevitable, until you hit into a broad chest,”Oof.”

Large hands wrapped around your body,”I got you.” You playfully screamed as you struggled in his arms and he pulled your phone away. He looked at the snap, stopping as he read the caption,”my cute boyfriend,”his face going red. Samatoki held it up, despite your desperate attempts to reach up at it. Tch. He pressed post then handed it back to you, then exiting the app.

“There,”he said with a smirk.

You hit his chest with your fist,”meanie!” Lucky you sent it to yourself.

Samatoki chuckled,”youre cute when your angry.”

“Sadist!”,another soft punch to the chest.

“Does that make you the masochist?”

Your face heated up,”n-no!”,you said. Even at times like these….you still loved him. Despite how nervous he seemed sometimes, he would sure contradict when he said bold things like that. You walked over to your table as Samatoki followed behind.

The two of you passed the day away until it came time for fireworks. He held your hand, fingers intertwined, as the two of you searched for a good spot, an hour early, even going on the internet to locate the best spots to see them, since the two of you didn’t know. You found your self sitting down in a a patch of grass. Samatoki had purchased a mickey mouse blanket for the two of you to sit on.

As you waited for the fireworks, you reminisce on the whole day, and thanked Samatoki for purchasing the tickets and….absolutely everything that day. You tried to get him to budge but once the words “this is our first date, so I want to do everything, so you can be happy without any worries.” You knew he was just being a gentleman, but that caught you off guard. You caved easily after that.

Your legs were spread out in front of you, a content smile on your face,”Samatoki...thank you for everything today. Being with you made me really happy. Definitely one of the best days of my life. And not cause its Disneyland but...cause you were here.” You were too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

Suddenly, a hand around your shoulder pulled you towards him, your head now on his chest.

“You make me happy too. Today was nice….and seeing your beautiful smile all day was the best part of it all,”he said, despite his slight blush. “Im lucky to have you.” You smiled,”isnt that my line?”

“No its not,”he said, pushing you away so he could look at you. Both hands went on your cheeks as he continued,”Im so very lucky to have you. I always push people away. I even tried to do that with you. But, this time, I couldnt bear the thought of you being away. You managed to weave your way into my heart, you’re special to me, dont ever think that you arent. Or else I’ll tickle you until you say the words from your mouth.”

Your heart was moved by his words and you were getting a bit emotional till he said his last words,”thats unfair,”you said, pouting. Samatoki pulled at your cheeks,”its very fair. I know all your weakness.” You chuckled,”is that a threat?”

“Hm? I dont know…”,he said and before you knew it, hands were at your side. You fell back on the blanket as you tried to move his hands away,”t-t-toki, unfaiR-ahahaha,s-stOP-” he stopped, laughing along with you, now hovering above you. Samatoki looked lovingly into your eyes and placed a hand on your cheek,”y/n, I love you.” Your heart rate instantly increased but you looked back at him, with the same intensity of love, smiling fondly,”I love you too, Samatoki.”

You could this was it. The moment.

When he started closing in, you closed your eyes, indicating that you were ready. You felt your lips connect and….it felt absolutely magical. As if on cue, the fireworks started, but you and Samatoki were you in your own fantastical world at the moment to care at the moment. As the kiss went on, and you slowly started to get the hang of kissing in general,your hands wrapped around his neck. It was definitely more than what you imagined, but you were glad it was Samatoki.

When you pulled, your face was very hot, and Samatoki pressed your foreheads together,smiling,”fireworks?” You nodded with a smile,”Yea, fireworks.” He pecked you on the lips again before you pulled aaway and the two of you enjoyed the fireworks.

#hypnosis mic #hypmic scenarios #hypmic x reader #samatoki aohitsugi x reader #samatoki x reader #samatoki aohitsugi #samatoki scenarios

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ve1vetyoongi · 5 years

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remember me | kth - 03

chapters: I, II, III, IV, V

pairing: taehyung x reader

rated: mature - contains smut.

genre: idol!au, baker!tae, french!reader, angst, romance, fluff, smut.

summary: Taehyung wants to be forgotten. Overwhelmed by his life as idol persona V, he longs to just be Kim Taehyung for once. Even if that means forgetting everything he ever knew.

word count: 7.1k

warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), penetrative sex, mentions of blood, strong language, memory loss.

a/n: so. it’s finally here..its chapter three. I’m going to be honest with you - this has been finished and sitting in my drafts since January but for some reason I just couldn’t post it. I got so many lovely messages about the last chapter and truthfully I was scared - just in case this one doesn’t live up to expectations! But it’s like 11pm rn and im making the decision to FINALLY put this out...so let me know what you think, I promise I can handle it! hehe.

The nightmares started suddenly. And once they did, Taehyung couldn’t make them stop.

It was becoming increasingly normal for Taehyung to find himself awake in a pile of shivering limbs at ungodly hours of the morning.

For some reason his mind just wouldn't quit it.

Almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, brazen images plagued his peaceful slumber. They crept into every corner of his brain with a vigour so overwhelming, Taehyung was sure they were reality - until his beating heart went into overdrive and woke him with a jolt.

The nightmares were nothing like Taehyung had experienced before. This wasn’t your run of the mill blood and gore - in fact he was blind; or more accurately, his eyes were covered - by what he couldn't tell, perhaps a mask - only allowing a dull and dampened light to penetrate its cover.

It wasn't what he could see that filled him with dread - no, the thing that had him paralyzed, vulnerable and cold was what he could feel.

His body, washed in a fiery heat that numbed his entire being. The air, hot and heavy as he gasped around it, lungs ablaze.

He could hear too - a haunting cacophony of broken strings and his own screams, barely noticeable if it were not for the way his throat burned fiercely.

In the dreams everything felt a little too bright, a little too loud and so vivid yet when he woke they were jumbled and faded and somehow out of reach. An untouchable movie reel that played on repeat until dawn pressed pause.

That being said, they were becoming more intense, more clear. Slowly, at least. Sometimes, his fingers were able to loosen the knot and part of the blindfold would fall away, revealing cracks of the picture before him - parts of the thing that was haunting him - like another piece of a puzzle falling into its place.

And that was what Taehyung feared more than anything. For now, the blindfold was his protection, a form of sanctuary from whatever pursuit he was running from.

If the blindfold was gone, Taehyung would have to confront his persecutor face to face. And he was terrified of what - or whom - he may find when his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness he knew waited for him.

Taehyung had tried to hide the dreams from you at first. Back when they were just that - dreams. Back when Taehyung could turn over and fall back asleep, replacing the fear with the cushion of peace and comfort slumber once brought him.

Until they were so intense, so powerful, he found himself shaken awake by his own frantic shouts, legs and arms thrashing around in the satin bed sheets that suffocated his dampened skin.

Suddenly, they were a lot harder to conceal.

Naturally, you were concerned. It was driving you crazy, seeing Taehyung in pain yet being helpless to relieve it.

This wasn't the type of wound inflicted by a knife or a fever and you were out of your depth.

You wanted to know why; or more accurately what - what was turning the man who smiled so easily and lived life with a love so passionate into a child, stricken with fear. What caused him to become so utterly inconsolable?

"I have a book on dreams somewhere," You had encouraged one morning, after a particularly bad night. Nibbling your lip anxiously, you searched through a pile of novels on the floor next to the bed. Perhaps providing the why for Taehyung would help him come to terms with the what, you figured. "It might help you sleep better if you knew what the dreams meant."

And Taehyung wanted to tell you the what. Except he couldn't. Because truthfully, he didn't know himself. And he was more than sure that there was no textbook that could provide him with an adequate explanation.

"Yeah. Maybe." He had responded with levels of enthusiasm lower than he intended to be evident, flashing you a curt smile in an attempt to save your feelings. You were trying to help, he knew that. "I'll give it a read."

Truthfully, besides the knowledge of morning, the only comfort Taehyung could rely on was not something that could be found in a book.

It was you.

When the world was dark and his body trembled, your arms were a tender sunrise as you cradled him in your embrace.

Your fingers stroked his hair with a soothing touch gentler than moonlight and the tears that streaked his cheeks shimmered like a thousand stars.

Your hot breath was sweet as honeycomb while it whispered gentle hushes into his ear, bringing his heart to a steadier pace with your slow lullaby.

And it was then that even though the nightmare still clung to Taehyung, the world didn't seem so dark anymore. You were the sun, bathing him with a warmth and radiance that didn't burn like the fear did.

And for a moment, everything was okay again.

After a while, you found yourself lying awake even before Taehyung inevitably woke you with his strangled cries and sweaty palms. Simply watching as his chest rose and fell gently, exhausted features relaxing as you traced the contours of his face with your thumb. Anticipating the pivotal moment where they would harden and contort with a pain unimaginable to you.

Until another nightmare would take Taehyung away and you would hold him desperately, scared to let go incase he never came back.

Until the sun rose and morning filtered through the curtains and you were sure Taehyung wouldn't slip through your fingers like broken glass.

Until Taehyung was Taehyung again.

Taehyung would be lying if he said that night was like any other; it was worse.

He had already woken up twice that night, plagued by the same demons he had grown to anticipate. Both times you had been by his side, pulling him towards you carefully as you always did, pressing soft kisses to his forehead despite the layer of salty sweat which coated it.

Not long had he fallen asleep again before they were back, except something seemed different - striking a bout of fear in him more intense than ever before if that were even possible.

His body was alight again, hot to his own touch when he grappled with the blindfold which obscured his vision to no success. A voice sounded somewhere behind him - or was it in front of him? - he couldn't tell, but he tried to follow it anyway, stumbling to his feet and outstretching his arms as he blindly navigated the darkness. The voice was bright, almost friendly if his gut instinct wasn't screaming NO! as he approached it.

"Taehyung."

Well, that was new. It knew his name now, huh?

And then, again: "Taehyung."

But this time the voice was different, deeper. Recognisable perhaps, if he just thought hard enough...

His foot hit something and his balance was lost, sending him flying forward. Taehyung's hands came out before him, barely breaking his fall and colliding with the coolness of metal - no, it was glass, he could feel the broken shards cutting his palms, blood surprisingly cold against his boiling skin - and then the voice was back, taunting him this time.

"Taehyung! Taehyung! Taehyung!"

The strings began to play and he must have started to scream because the air was knocked out of his lungs with a colossal force that left him heaving on his hands and knees.

A fragrance so sweet it was sickening filled the air, choking him as a brush of velvet fabric raised the hair on his arms.

The voice was next to his ear this time, lips brushing his lobe.

"Taehyung. I miss you."

Before he knew it, he was running, boots clunking against stone as he tried to outrun the voice that seemed to be everywhere now. Until the ground disappeared, his stance faltering; and he was falling, falling...

Until then, he was awake again.

Taehyung's form shot up, elbows propping his weight as he clutched his chest, face contorting with fierce anxiety.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

His breath came out in short, sharp rasps and his throat was tight and raw. He drew his bare legs to his chest, arms curling around them and cradling his own chin between his knees, waiting for your familiar gentle touch to send shivers across his skin.

Except, it didn't. And for what felt like the first time, he opened his eyes.

Morning slipped between the cracks in the blinds, bathing the room in a yellowish glow. The clock on the wall told Taehyung it was already past 10.

A quick glance to his side revealed you, perfect and still as you slept facing where he sat, arms outstretched as though you were reaching for him.

Guilt washed over him. You had barely slept for weeks - and it was all his fault. You were so worried about Taehyung's sleeping habits that you completely forgot to take care of your own; no wonder you were exhausted, he tutted.

And through it all, Taehyung had been too focused on himself to even realise it. He had been too caught up in his own nightmares to notice the blueish bags beneath your eyes or the yawns you hid behind your hair at the bakery.

He couldn't blame you for not being there when he woke up, not really. But that didn't stop him from wishing you were awake to hold him, relieve the anxiety that bubbled hotly under his skin.

Even though thoughts of waking you nagged in the back of his mind, he resisted. Taehyung's thumping heart felt like it suddenly stilled when he looked at you, utterly tranquil. His hands ached to trace the pink rosé of your cheeks, the soft lips which parted for quiet breaths to flutter between them.

He decided he could not bare to disturb you.

"I'm a grown adult. I can do this." he said to nobody but himself, hearing the uncertainty that was evident in his own voice. "It was just a dream."

With trembling fingers he pulled the sheets tighter around your shoulders, placing a long kiss to your temple before climbing out of bed, feet scuffling against the carpet as he crept carefully out of the room.

The apartment was the same size as it always was however while it usually felt cosily small, now it was suffocating. Every breath felt like the air was thinner than the last and Taehyung wanted - no needed - out.

Quietly, he pulled on a shirt and slipped his feet into his shoes before scribbling a note in his messy scrawl: GONE TO MARKET. BACK SOON.

A walk. That is what he needed. The fresh air would do him good, help him clear his head.

The cane he was used to grabbing out of habit now balanced against the dresser. Gingerly, he applied pressure to his thigh, wincing when an ache captured his leg. Not nearly as painful as before, though.

His fingertips brushed the cane's handle, before retreating to the fleece lining of his coat pocket.

"She'll be happy," he reminded himself of your face, imagining the way it would beam when you saw him walking without assistance. "You can do it."

Hand caught on the door handle, Taehyung turned and took one last look at your sleeping form, lashes pressed tightly to the tops of your cheeks.

And with that, he slid out of the door, pressing it shut with a quiet click before making his way into town.

The morning air was cooler than usual against Taehyung's face, and the light chills that crept up his arms were a welcome relief from the heat that still lingered somewhere beneath his skin.

Preparations for the annual September Fate filled the market with an excited buzz as Taehyung walked beneath the blue and yellow bunting someone had strung between opposing balconies in celebration.

If there was one thing Taehyung could rely on it was that the town was full of life. The infectious warmth was enchanting, drawing Taehyung in with its loud and bustling charms and thawing a sense of normality from beneath the vice like grip of unnerving fear that still clouded his mind.

Herds of people crowded around tattered wagons decorated with collages of fresh produce. Taehyung felt his shoulders relax from their hunched state as his eyes glazed across their familiar faces, anxiety eased by the contagious giggles of playing children.

"Bonjour, Taehyung." An older man behind a vibrant fruit stall called as he passed by, whom he recognized as a regular from the bakery.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," He drawled back in French, his pronunciation not yet perfect but improving. The people here didn't seem to mind though, accepting him as one of their own. The quizzical stares he had received upon arriving were long gone, replaced with knowing grins and tenderness. It felt like family. It felt like Taehyung belonged.

The fragrance of sweet jasmine and white lilies drew Taehyung's attention towards a flower stall which sat nearby. The blooms were as vibrant as the town itself, flamboyant and almost too beautiful not to stare at and before he knew it his feet were shuffling towards the biggest bouquet of sunflowers on display, their dreamy scent lulling him with a sense of familiarity.

Sunflowers were never his favourite but somehow they intrigued him now; they were majestic power and strength, surviving every storm and begging for the sunlight they received so graciously. They were joy on a cloudy day, giving their beauty to the world without regret.

Absentmindedly, Taehyung handed a crisp bill to the stall owner and told her to wrap the entire bunch.

While the age calloused fingers of an old lady began to carefully twist the stems in brown paper, a bell chimed as a door was opened nearby, followed by the click of heels and harmonious, sugary laughter. Taehyung's eyes couldn't help but wander.

A couple stepped out of the store which sat on the street corner, a spring in the step of the young woman whose eyes were filled with stars - almost brighter than the ring her partner placed on her forth finger.

The man's own expression softened as he watched her hold out her slender fingers, admiring the rock that symbolized infinity; eternal love. His palms cupped her chin and he tilted his own so that their lips crashed together perfectly. And Taehyung found a small smile growing on his own face as he watched them disappear hand in hand, filled with a sudden sense of longing.

His heart was laced with a desperation to touch you, to feel you. To tell you that he was hopelessly yours and he wanted nothing more than to make you his, if you would allow him.

He didn't need the wedding - though he had to admit the idea of seeing you in a dress was mouthwatering, the image too beautiful for him to comprehend - just you and him and the security of forever and always.

It was almost laughable. How he had turned up in a new town, an amnesiac and an outsider. Yet somehow the things he had forgotten didn't matter anymore when what he knew was so precious; the love he felt for life here was real and something told him he should hold onto it until death did he part.

But if losing it meant having you, he would agree in a heartbeat. And that's how he knew you were special.

Taehyung's palm cupped his forehead, shielding his eyes from the morning sun as he read the handmade sign balanced above the window of the store the couple emerged from. Someone had scrawled Pawn Shop in French, the red paint a little smudged at the edges but still legible.

It was like some sort of rope was tightening around Taehyung's waist, drawing him closer and closer, all earlier thoughts forgotten as he pushed his way through the small crowd, ignoring the grunts of irritation from those around him.

A glass window separated him from the display of silver and gold jewelry encased in glass, each labeled with prices and carats and styles. His eyes scanned the shelves of rings - each pretty enough to make his heart flutter slightly at the thought of watching it catch the light on your finger but none quite what he envisioned.

Until he saw it. In a box, black and perfectly simple, with an interior of pink satin - elegant yet tasteful. It was luxury and splendor and everything that this town was not.

Except, all of this become a blur when Taehyung's eyes fell on the main prize - something that made every other stone in the world seem like mere rhinestones and crystals in comparison.

Something he had...seen before.

A diamond ring.

And just like that, it hit him. Everything hit him.

Memories flooded back to Taehyung in a flash, his breath catching in his throat as images crossed his mind in an agonizing rush.

Bangtan. The fans. The house. The car.

Remembering felt like a searing heat that ripped through his chest, causing him to buckle as he gripped his throat in a desperate attempt at taking a heaving breath.

The pain was unlike anything he had felt before, worse than any wound a knife could inflict or dream could conjure and it sent his heart into a torturous irregular thump that rattled his rib cage and deafened his ears.

This was no longer a nightmare. It was reality. And for the first time, Taehyung no longer stung with heat but fell numb with the bitter cold of truth.

"Monsieur?"

Taehyung couldn't hear, his vision cloudy yet somehow clearer now that his mind was no longer obscured by the blindfold that he had so desperately tried to remove. The mask that prevented him from remembering who he was and where he came from. The blindness that led him to you.

A gasp left Taehyung's throat, barely aware of his fists against the glass, the sound reverberating through his head over and over until it all became static.

His eyes were wide and panicked, unaware of the commotion he was causing as he stepped back into the street, narrowly avoiding a motorcyclist as it swerved around his stumbling form. His legs were weak and he was sure the world was spinning as he placed his sweaty palms on his knees to steady himself.

Minutes ago, if you'd asked, Taehyung would have said he wanted to remember. But now that he did, he wanted nothing more than to forget.

He wanted to forget the practice room and the choreography and the hardships. The arguments and the paparazzi and the headlines. The photo shoots and the interviews and that fucking ring that his company wanted him to give to a girl who wasn't you.

"Holy shit," Taehyung stuttered, extending his arms in an attempt to steady himself as he made his way through the throngs of people, desperate to escape the sticky humidity that burned his lungs with every inhale. "I need to get out of here."

The market seemed to roar with rage now, the street narrowing around him as he swallowed a scream. The deafening chaos made Taehyung's ears split as he fought to escape the flaming breathlessness.

His feet began to move, finally cooperating with his brain which was telling them to go, go, go, before a slender hand tightly pinned him in place by the forearm, eliciting another breathy gasp to leave his lips as he tried to break free from its grip.

"Your flowers, Monsieur?" A far away voice rang out, pressing a package into his sweaty palms."Extras, free of charge, for your mi amor."

The flowers.

Their scent was utterly nauseating now, no longer providing a sense of hope for the future but rather a reminder of the fragility of his life here. With one paparazzi shot or tourist encounter, his identity could be revealed; and everything he loved, ripped away.

You. You could be ripped away.

You didn't fit into his life as idol Kim Taehyung. And he knew that.

But then again, neither did he. Not really. He had never felt more truly Kim Taehyung than when he was here with you or behind the bakery counter or at the harbor. He wasn't ready to leave it behind. Not yet.

Before his trembling lips could form any sort of response, however coherent, his legs were carrying him back along the path he had grown to know well, past the bar and the bakery, through the alley and up the steps until his fingers were fumbling with the handle of the door he knew led to you.

The same word ran around his mind in dizzying circles, louder than the cries of IDOL PERSONALITY V and YOU NEED TO TELL HER.

Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.

Your name. The only thing that felt familiar and right among the memories of what came before.

His shaky fingers managed to shake the screen door open, no longer able to hold his own weight and landing on his knees against the carpet, flowers discarded somewhere behind him. He didn't care when the rough surface burned his calves, resting his head against the floor as he finally took deep, heaving breaths for what felt like the first time in his life.

A few moments passed and he finally gained some form of control over his limbs again, unsteadily raising so his weight rested on the hinds of his legs. He took in the space around him. Everything was as he left it - the bed messy from where you lay with him the night before, open books pushed aside on the night stand next to chamomile tea, cold now.

Everything was eerily familiar.

How could anything be the same when everything was different now?

Except, things weren't entirely the same - the room was devoid of your presence, leaving the apartment cold as ice even though it was still warm outside. Was it because you weren't in it or because he had arrived?

He couldn't be sure.

Taehyung wobbled to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.

"Y/N?" He called meekly, surprised by the hoarseness of his voice. He sounded as wrecked as he felt. He received no answer, just the echo of his own pathetic state, bouncing from the walls of the empty room until his head throbbed angrily.

Taehyung stumbled feebly over to the kitchen sink, taking a glass between his shaky fingers and attempting to fill it with water from the faucet. Most of the liquid splashed over the edge, the glass chinking against his teeth as he swallowed what he could.

A few moments passed with Taehyung bent over the sink, partly because he didn't think his legs would work if he tried to walk and also as a precaution due to the bile that was steadily rising in his throat as an image slowly worked its way to the forefront of his mind.

Joy.

Her face - one he naively coaxed himself into believing he loved - was enough to wrack his entire body with wave after wave of guilt and self condemnation.

As far as she was aware he had just...disappeared.

Sure, he didn't want to marry her but he also didn't want to make her suffer, unknowingly or not. It pained him to know that there were people probably looking for him right now - he knew that there were people who cared about his whereabouts enough to hunt him down. The fans would be distraught, he was sure of it.

But what hurt the most was that a part of him wished that they didn't care. He wished he could have slipped away without worry or repercussion, without people nationwide caring about whether his hair was pink or blue or if he was coming home. Without his company caring about how much money they could exploit him for.

Idol personality V didn't exist. At least not anymore, not now that Kim Taehyung had taken his place. And he would be damned if he let him slip away just yet.

Taehyung scrunched his eyes shut tight, focusing on replacing memories of Joy's dark curls and pouty red lips with your warmth and your touch. And for a moment, the waves faded to sea foam.

A brush of velvet fabric against his arm. Perfume, sickeningly sweet.

Words played over and over in his head.

To: joy ❤

i will be back in a couple of days. don't wait up.

The last text Taehyung sent before he boarded a plane and landed bang in the middle of a new beginning.

The words rang out in his mind. She never replied.

Or did she?

Before he could think better of it, Taehyung was across the room in a flash. Hot adrenaline rushed through his veins as he ripped the closet door open, heart thumping at a pace he was sure was unhealthy when he located the black bag he arrived with.

He pulled the bandanna from around his neck over his head to prevent his hair from falling in his eyes. Trembling fingers gripped the zipper and he took a deep breath before ripping it open all the way, shoving his fist inside the dark interior and rummaging around until he found the cold metal of his phone.

Waiting for the device to start up was torturous; the loading bar seemed to move slower the more he willed it to hurry. His back was to the door and Taehyung's eyes were trained to the white dot as it gradually crept upwards...

Until the phone in his palm started to buzz uncontrollably, bathing his face in a blue glow and alerting him of an influx of incoming messages to his inbox.

300+ Unread Messages

His heart sank as the pad of his thumb swiped across the screen, revealing the password display. And it twisted in his chest when he carefully inputted the four numbers that separated him from the point of no return.

0309. Her birthday.

Just like that, the barrier was broken. He was in.

The wallpaper of his slightly blurry Pomeranian puppy stared at him as his trembling fingers lingered over the green message app. Taking a shaky inhale, he opened it, scanning the abundance of names that sent pulses of pain with each remembrance.

FROM: JOY

a few days?? what do you mean?? tae?? please reply. im getting worried. im calling the police tae.

Taehyung exited the chat before he could read any more, the messages enhancing the ache in his chest ten fold. Instead he scrolled to the top of the list until he landed on the latest, yesterday:

FROM: MIN YOONGI

please man, if you've seen the news...just come home. we're all out searching for you. please.

News? Before he could stop himself, he was typing his name into the internet search bar and biting his lip as hundreds of pages with his face as the headline loaded in front of him.

Barely glancing at the titles, he opened the first link, scrolling past numerous articles.

"K-pop singer of BTS Kim Taehyung, also known as V, is still missing since his initial disappearance on the 24th of May. His company, Big Hit Entertainment, is still pleading for any information regarding his whereabouts and his safe return."

Sliding his finger down from the top of his phone screen revealed the current date. 4th of September.

He had been gone for almost four months?

"Alongside his family, other members of BTS have finally broken the silence regarding his sudden disappearance. Kim Namjoon, the leaders group told news outlets on Saturday: 'We just want him to come home safely. He is family to us and we miss him terribly. We remain hopeful that he is still out there and we are doing everything we can to facilitate his return.'"

Taehyung scanned a few more paragraphs containing the last witness reports of sightings of him at Incheon Airport before his departure and then -

"Album sales of the bands latest repackaged release, Love Yourself: Answer have soared since the news of Taehyung's disappearance broke, hitting record highs and breaking previous records."

"Of course." Taehyung sneered bitterly, teeth clenched, pinching the bridge of his nose to dull the throb that had settled in his forehead. "That's what they care about. Fucking album sales."

The old Taehyung was consumed by numbers, constantly checking sale rates and celebrating new records and watching the numbers in his bank account climb to a string of figures long enough to require a scroll bar.

The new Taehyung, excuse his French, did not give a shit.

Just as he was about to open another article and bask in his own furious condemnation of society, soft footsteps pattered against the carpet nearby.

"Taehyung?" A voice drew him from his ministrations - your voice - and he twisted so fast he was convinced he pulled a muscle, throwing the phone filled with hatred and toxicity somewhere behind him and wincing at the audible thud that followed.

Then, you appeared - hair still wet and wrapped in a white towel. In his haste he had not noticed the gentle hum of the shower.

"What are you doing in there?" You questioned with an eyeing smile, nodding towards where he stood nervously inside the closet staring past you with empty eyes. "Are you looking for something?"

Just reading about my nationwide search party. How about you?

Taehyung simply blinked at you a few times before he realised your question warranted an answer. "O-oh no, I was just - "

Before he could finish, you were already occupied by something else, face suddenly lighting up with the glow of a smile that still managed to make his stomach somersault despite the circumstances.

"Are these for me?" You asked quietly, letting out a breathy sigh of admiration while picking up the bouquet which lay limply on the carpet. You fixed the petals which had been crushed in Taehyung's earlier haste. "They're beautiful."

They were beautiful. A shade of vibrant yellow which stood out against the muted background of your apartment.

"N-not..as beautiful a-as you." Taehyung managed to stutter, finishing his broken sentence with a smile as if that would do anything to conceal his anxiety.

"Oh, shush." You grinned, spinning on your heels to place the bouquet on the countertop. "I should get a vase - wait, are you okay?"

Worry was suddenly evident in your voice as you locked eyes with Taehyung. His face was paled and his eyes vacant, fingers fidgeting with each other and he shook his head lightly from side to side.

"What? Oh, yeah." Taehyung mumbled, finally shuffling out of the closet and into the apartment. "Just a little tired."

Your heart hurt at the sight of him - he seemed so off. "I'm not surprised, Tae, you were awake all night."

Running your hands through your dripping hair as a makeshift comb, you carefully treaded closer to him. It was strange; you were almost nervous to touch him for the first time. As if he would turn to dust with the lightest pressure.

"I was?" He scratched the back of his neck nervously, eyes slotting around every edge of the room except for where your eyes sat. "I don't...I guess -"

"Hey, hey," You couldn't stand it any longer, reaching forward to pull his large frame down next to you on the bed, legs crossed as you cupped his face in your palm. "What's up? You can tell me?"

Taehyung knew he should tell you. But he also knew that if he did, nothing would be the same. This wouldn't be the same. Just you and him.

Privacy doesn't exist when you live in a house with 3 walls, the nation always watching through the window. He couldn't subject you to that. Or himself, quite frankly.

And that was the moment Taehyung decided. He could never tell you.

"Nothing, baby. I promise." Forcing what he hoped appeared to be a natural smile to grace his lips, pressing his thumb and forefinger to your chin in gentle reassurance. "Don't worry about me, yeah?"

Still not convinced, you narrowed your eyes, pout forming on your lips. "But you seem so tense."

Your hands rubbed circles into his neck and shoulders, highlighting the tight pressure that he hadn't noticed resided there. Your eyes shone with interrogation and he tried to relax his muscles in an attempt at putting you at ease.

"I just need to lay down and rest for a little - "

"You know, I know a way to get you to relax." A small smile played innocently on your lips.

Taehyung's breath caught in his throat as he felt you tracing featherlight circles against his inner thigh, voice electric as you hooked your leg over his lap.

His hot palms came to rub your bare shoulders. "I don't know if we should right now -"

"It was just a suggestion," you snap, instantly jumping from his lap like he was a live wire. Taehyung's stomach sank. "I just - I don't know what to do anymore Tae."

"What do you-"

"I feel so helpless," you explain, drawing your knees to your chest as heat threatened to prick your eyes. "I'm trying to help but however hard I try I can't stop it."

"Stop what?" Taehyung couldn't resist lacing his fingers with yours, relieved when you made no attempt to pull away.

"I don't know - whatever is hurting you...whatever you can't tell me."

"Y/N..."

"It's okay, Tae." Bare feet against the carpet, you turned away from his piercing gaze. "I understand. You don't want me around anymore."

Is that what you really thought? He wanted to tell you just how much he needed you - he practically relied on you to get through each minute of the day lately - but the words just wouldn't come.

"Y/N, I'm serious okay. It's just these nightmares..."

"Then tell me? What are they?"

You can't. Don't tell her.

"Okay." Taehyung pulled your body back towards him, gripping your waist until you slid onto his thigh.

"Okay wha- oh."

"I'll let you help."

"Really?" You bit your lip, searching his eyes anxiously. They were empty. "Let me just help you relax. Please?"

"Oh yeah? Relax?" He let out a breath shakily, hands coming to grip the rough towel that covered your hips as confidently as he could. He felt far away as you teased his neck with light kisses that trailed from the base of his jaw to his earlobe. "And how would you do that?"

You can't do this now, the voice of reason in his head screamed, not after you lied.

Your nimble fingers came to the buttons of his shirt, twisting each one carefully until the fabric slowly fell from his shoulders. Taking your time, you drew light circles against his chest, avoiding eye contact by focusing on tracing a dot to dot with the freckles on his collar bone.

"Just like this." You whisper, finally tilting your chin so that your calm breaths mingled with his own anxious ones. To your surprise, it was him who closed the space between you, his lips cushioning your own with a gentle tenderness that almost erased the uncertainty that had settled into your stomach.

He was still Taehyung. Your Taehyung.

Bringing a hand to his jaw, you deepen the kiss. His lashes fluttered closed against your cheeks and you could almost feel the desperation which coursed through his veins.

Taehyung was overwhelmed by the scent of your shampoo and the softness of your skin as it brushed his bare top half. It clouded his judgement and silenced the voice in his head that screamed STOP!

Your hips dropped slowly, dragging agonising circles over his groin. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, a string of soft whimpers leaving your lips as the heat between your legs grew stronger, a towel and his sweats the only fabric separating you from what you wanted most.

Taehyung watched you with lidded eyes, enjoying each twist of your hips against his length.

Really? You are hard right now?

"See," You whispered, dragging your hands down his back and enjoying the way he shivered under your touch. "You're relaxing already."

Taehyung nodded, silently agreeing to your words. His hands shakily came to the place where your towel crossed, glancing at your face for permission. A quick nod of your head was all he needed before he was pulling away the fabric, leaving you completely bare on his lap.

You sat back a little, allowing his eyes to rake in your form. Taehyung watched the way you shamelessly dragged your heat over his clothed hardness, leaving a noticeable wet spot. He lingered on your breasts for a moment before he dipped his head, sucking hot kisses into the exposed skin of your chest.

The pace was slowly picking up, a small moan leaving your lips as you raked your hands through his hair gently, pulling the locks to draw his face to yours. Taehyung's forehead crashed against your own and for a few seconds, he just stared at you, as if debating something.

Don't do it. Don't do it.

His nose rubbed yours sweetly and his tongue snaked out to coat his chapped lips. And then his mouth was on yours, hot and hungry as his hands seemed to leave a scorching heat wherever they touched.

Never leaving his lips, you reached between your legs to fumble with his zipper, desperate to feel him. After a few failed attempts, he smirked into the kiss before reaching between your bodies to undo it himself, knuckles brushing against your dripping folds and drawing a whine from your lips.

Taehyung let out a gasp as the cool air hit his length and choked back a grunt when your small hand wrapped around it. He was hot and heavy in your palm, hand gliding against the ridges on the underside of his cock as you stroked him slowly.

Your gaze never left his as you climbed down from his lap, pulling his pants a little further down his legs and pushing his thighs open with your hands to make space for you for fit between them. Taehyung couldn't help but hiss when he felt your breath fanning his cock, nails scratching his hips while you stared at him alluringly.

"Y/N you don't have to - oh my god." His words caught in his throat when you pressed the first kiss to the underside of his length, lips warm and plump against the hot pulse between his legs. Your tongue dragged sinful stripes up the shaft, blowing cool air across the trails before swirling around his engorged head at a pace that had his eyes rolling into his skull.

Taehyung rested his weight on his elbows you watch as you gently slipped his tip between your lips, hollowing your cheeks and savouring the saltiness of the precum which leaked from his head. His length was already a stretch as you tried to fit as much as you could into your hot mouth.

You pressed your tongue to the underside of his cock as you began to bob slowly up and down his length, wrapping your lips tightly around his shaft as Taehyung resisted the urge to buck into your mouth.

After a few long strokes of your mouth, you drew back with a pop, using your hand to stroke the base of his now glistening dick before attaching your mouth to the head once again.

"H-holy shit, Y/N." Taehyung had given up hiding his pleasure, openly moaning lowly as your eyes bore into his own. He wanted to watch the way his cock slid in and out of your wet mouth but he couldn't bare to look away from your enchanting stare for even a moment.

Your free hand searched for his wrist, pulling his fingers towards your hair and encouraging him to lock them around the strands. He obliged, taking a loose hold and using his other hand to stroke your cheek encouragingly.

You let your jaw fall slack, blinking at him for a moment until he got the message. His hand tightened in your hair, pulling you back and off his cock before thrusting you back down. He was gentle though, scared to push you too far and you placed your hand on top of his own to assure him you could take it.

You are selfish. How can you take from her when you're lying?

The pleasure was becoming too much and Taehyung could feel his climax building, white hot in the pit of his stomach. "Y/N, I'm gonna -"

And with that, you popped off his dick abruptly, snapping Taehyung out of his daze. "I - what?"

With a sly smirk, you climbed back onto his lap again, palms pushing his chest so his back rested against the bed.

The throb between your own legs was almost painful, your clit begging to be touched and even the lightest of brushes against Taehyung's cock had you moaning loudly. Taehyung caught on quickly, dipping his hand between your wet folds and rubbing fast, hard circles into your sweet spot.

"No, no - " You stuttered, pushing his hand away. "I want to cum around...around you."

Taehyung smiled at your nervous admission, large palms gripping your waist firmly.

"I'm all yours." He said, voice husky with arousal and desperation. But he meant it. He was yours.

And before he could fathom it, you were sinking down onto his cock, walls hot and velvety around his sensitive length.

The ridges of his dick rubbed your walls perfectly and you clenched around him, drawing desperate groans from the both of you as you began to bounce up and down, setting a pace that still wasn't quite fast enough.

Taking the hint, Taehyung began thrusting his own hips up into yours and this time it was perfect. Each upward push left you writhing above him, hands fisting your hair as the head of his cock rubbed against the spot you wanted it most.

His pubic bone brushed against your clit with every thrust and you knew you wouldn't last much longer. Taehyung was near too, desperately trying to focus on the feeling of you around him to distract from the deafening voice which plagued his mind.

TELL HER! TELL HER! TELL HER!

But then, you were coming around him, head falling forward to fit between his shoulder and walls clenching so perfectly around his length that he fell over the edge too, white hot pleasure consuming him as he came inside you.

Your breath was hot against his neck and Taehyung’s strong grip brought you closer to him.

And for a moment, the voice was gone.

#thebtstown #kwordsmiths #bts smut #bts fanfiction #taehyung smut #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung fluff #bts fluff #bts scenario #taehyung scenario #i hope you guys like this and im sorry it took me so long to pull up my big girl pants and post it #pls be nice :(#ily #ve1vetyoongi #my work

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fittytittycity · 6 years

Text

Second Time (but not the last)

Hey all! Im on mobile so I can't attach the first one but I've only ever posted like five things on this account so just look back on my posts

I'm so glad ppl liked my last one! Message me if you like this and want more or if you have any suggestions (or if there are any grammatical errors)

Warnings: mild swearing, crying, panic attack sort of

Edward Nygma had never considered himself especially nosey.

Sure, he more often than not found himself on the outside of a conversation than in one, but he didn't consider himself nosey. Antisocially perceptive, an incredibly apt listener, but never nosey. He didn't mind though, sticking his nose into your business.

"So....you and Ed."

She proposed, leaning coyly on the side of your desk- carefully encroaching onto your workload.

"Hm. Wai- what?"

You asked, torn from your diligent trance, your pen still hovering above the paper. Ms.Ham peered at you knowingly, her bright lipstick folding into a perfectly symmetrical smile. Your expression didn't change, and she sighed in impatience.

"Cmon! Arnt you two like....screwing?" She quizzed, lowering her voice in invasive delight as she wiggled her sharp eyebrows. You resisted the urge to laugh, humor overcome with the bizarre nature of that question. Why on earth would she think that? Sure you lingered anxiously behind him, trailed his movements with doe eyes and subdued admiration- but there was nothing beyond your quiet attention that would elude to anything more than that.

"No- we're not screwing. Why would you think that?" You answered, chuckling dismissively as you turned back to your paper, thoughtlessly checking boxes.

"Oh come on! I see you in the restroom after your 'meetings'- fixing your makeup

/catching your breath/ ." She countered, squeezing out her allegations quietly, giddy with the raunchiness of her accusation. You paused, pen halted above the paper. The familiar prick of humiliation kneaded your stomach, a wave of discomfort overcoming you. You usually were able to make certain no one was in the restroom, but when much of the bureaucratic staff had left the precinct you assumed the back restrooms were clear. Collectively you must have spent hours bent over those sinks, sobbing into your elbow, rubbing snot and tears from your face, pressing cold pieces of wet paper towel under your eyes to stop the swelling. How lucky you were that she had only seen the aftermath of a cry in your office, wiping your wet red face, mascara smeared above and below your foggy eyes, shaking with labored breath. You felt your knee jerk beneath your desk, begging to bounce anxiously on the floor. You felt your face become very hot, you didn't want to think about it.

"Ha! No, I uh, I just have terrible allergies in winter. Chills, tears, the whole nine yards!" You answered, crossing your legs hoping to quell your shaking limbs. You looked up from your paper, dropping the pen carefully- feeling your palms sweat with embarrassment. You smiled gingery, searching her face for any sign your facade was working.

"Oh- huh. Yeah Eds kind of a weirdo, I was just gonna say if the two of you were messing around that you should be careful." She cautioned, chuckling dryly to herself. "Odd one like that- there's no telling what he's in to. I bet he likes kicking around his girlfriend befo-"

"Trish- I really have to finish up this work." You interrupted, the need to escape this conversation becoming radically urgent. She smiled, rolling her eyes and nudging your shoulder lovingly. She mumbled something patronizing about work ethic and waltzed out of the room.

Shame coiled in your gut, drowned in the unshakable embarrassment of nearly being caught. For having to almost explain that you were such an incompetent worker that you needed constant reprimand, reprimand that left you in hot ugly fits of sobbing humiliation in the staff bathroom.

For how confusing it was, how tender and persuasive his fingers felt on the small of your back as he passed you in a narrow hall. For his hungry lingering, the predatory silence of his presence behind you when you worked- the fear only a hunter could inflict upon its prey.

You inhaled deeply, aware now that you had been holding your breath. You blinked, a hot tear landing on the back of your hand. You wiped your face quickly, god what a fucking idiot. You really deserved everything he said, you weren't fit to work here. You rolled your eyes, feeling the familiar sting of oncoming tears tickle your eyes. Damn.

Edward was on a deadly power trip. An ego wave he would inevitably crumble beneath, soon to drown in his own festering God complex. James Gordon was in jail, and the heavy paranoia that strained his anxious mind had blossomed into manic euphoria. He could do anything, he could get away with anything. He wasn't worried about Ms.Hams speculation, if anything it exacerbated his obsession.

She must be so embarrassed, and knowing Ham the whole precinct must think she's sleeping around. Can you imagine the rancid things those policemen will say about her?

Goosebumps rose on his scalp, mouth curving into a perfect grin. He could definitely imagine. He nudged his glasses up the bridge of his narrow nose, pushing the handle down to enter your office.

Your knees buckled, sending you upright in a matter of seconds, the familiar sound of the brass handle slamming against a cabinet ripping you from your pitiful slouch.

"Mr.Nygma! Hello- can I help you with something?" You blinked quickly, taking a deep breath through your nose before turning around, smile docile and calm. Your lip twitched, teeth aching to chatter against your clenched jaw- you smiled tighter. He grinned back, taking three careful strides towards you- your legs tensing in the desire to flee.

"Yes actually, two things." He mused, pulling from behind his back a stack of papers, littered with red ink and flagged bits of paper. He looked down at it, shaking his head slowly.

"I can't understand how you thought this was an appropriate final draft for Commissioner Barnes to send out for the Christmas letter, it's littered with grammatical errors and poor phrasing." He scolded, disbelieving amusement soaking his flat tone. His flicked the paper, not seeing you flinch behind the white pages. You held your breath, pleading with your body not to give way to your embarrassment- blinking only when you were absolutely sure you wouldn't cry.

"Thank god I picked it up out of his inbox before he got his hands on it. Barnes may posses even less of a linguistic gene than you...I can imagine without my intervention the entire staff would share my misfortune of reading such a massacre of a Christmas letter." He scoffed, stifling the urge to smile, the hot feeling of sadistic delight boiling in his stomach.

"Secondly-" He began, flipping the papers down to deliver the most anticipated part of his ridicule. He looked over your face, anticipating the coming expressions. Your eyelashes clung together with moisture, exaggerating their dark sheen- pushing forward the vibrant colors of your reddening eyes. He was without speech for a moment- confused as to how he had already elicited such a response. Unless-

"Ms.L/N have you been crying?" He quizzed, the careless monotone he had struggled to sustain lost in his confusion. You felt the hot tentacles of shame wrap around your stomach, pushing out the anxious breath you had held so tightly. You shook your head quickly, hands loosening from fists into frantic shapes in front of your chest- pulling on your fingers in a nervous panic.

"No- No I just-"

"Who made you cry?" He barked, discarding the papers onto the desk behind you, the adrenaline of his expecting pleasure twisting into rage. Who on earth had made you cry? It couldn't have been Ms.Ham..or perhaps what she had said to you about how you worked too much? Maybe one of the policemen? He was infuriated, some strange deformation of jealousy straining his mind to decipher who had stolen from him the joy of being the only person to cause you such damage. You struggled to breathe, afraid any allowance of air would turn into a sob the moment it left your lips.

"No one, no one made me cry. I just-" you began, fingers twisting and grabbing at the front of your shirt thoughtlessly. You felt your stomach heave in protest, body aching to curl up and die. You wanted more than anything to run out of the room and under your covers to never return to the outside world.

"I'm just concerned that I'm not- not doing a very good job. I like this job v-very- I like this job very much and I would really like to get a good reference. And I feel like you're very dis-dissatisfied with my work. I want to be a good employee and I feel I'm not living up to your standards." You spat, vision twisting and blurring in wet heavy embarrassment. This was a nightmare. You couldn't keep yourself together, words tripping over the next, chest rising and falling so rapidly you thought for sure your heart was stopping and restarting. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, your teeth began to chatter and your palms began to sweat.

"I'm sorry it just all got the best of me- I promise not to let it-" But Edward was no longer listening. It would be a disservice to himself to distract from the display- eyes darting anxiously away from him, the muscles in your arms and legs tensing and releasing in tantalizing tremors. He was engulfed in the sight- how had he survived so long without witnessing it? Your hand shot up, shaking terribly as it wiped a tear from your red cheek- bringing his gaze back to your face. Instinctually, like a lunging animal, his hand was around your wrist. He reached out, desperate to feel the sticky heat of your tear laden cheek as he leaned in further. The narrow end of his nose brushed yours, your lamenting words seeming immediately less important than the feeling of his slow breath on your Cupid's bow. It was silent as your lips met, your weeping hiccups quelling into a blissful lack of. Your stammering heart stopped, and the desire to curl up and fall away turned to the irresistible urge to curl up into the shallows of his welcoming chest and fall away there. Your reciprocation was timid, lips trembling against his strong guiding mouth as you placed a fearful hand on his chest. His thumb lay gently on your jaw, the tips of his fingers lost in the fine hairs of your neck, the pressure just strong enough to communicate a strange urgency. He parted slowly, leaving room for you to realize you had not yet caught your breath.

"Edward-" you began, voice hoarse and ginger as his hand loosened from your wrist and returned to his side. He could feel your pulse in his fingertips against your neck, feeling his own slow rhythm in contrast to your erratic pulsation.

"Mr. Nygma." He corrected. "Ms.L/N-" He began, his voice rolling up from his chest in a low growl.

"Who made you cry?" He repeated, eyes dark and empty, fingers pressing tighter into the side of your face.

"You did, Mr. Nygma." You whispered, eyes drawn down towards his chest in returning embarrassment.

"Good answer."

#edward nygma imagines #edward nygma #ed nygma #edward nygma x reader #riddler x reader #gotham #cory micheal smith #idk #gotham imagines

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