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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Limitless- Chapter 4

F/M Main Pairing: Y/N x Johnny Seo (Side Pairing: Y/N x Jaehyun)

Genre: Fantasy AU; Harry Potter AU

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: explicit language, unsolicited love potion drinking, and some Johnny angst at the end (is that a warning?)

Summary: It might sound cruel, but Y/N was willing to do anything if it meant getting Johnny Seo off her back...

Tag List: @do-you-like-riddles @ki-aechan @the-usernames-i-like-are-taken @rissaxworld @dru-shadow @completenctrash @haechans-sunflower @neocultech-baby @jaectizen @yutamist @lunavbm @seriousballoon @nekojohndo @n0teanoshade @lerissa @kickin--it

A/N: Some stuff goes down in this part, so prepare accordingly...

Chapter Four

“It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love...” (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince)

It was morning when I found Mark, Jisung, and Chenle sitting together in the library while they worked on a class project. I smiled in their direction as I approached them, returning Jisung’s greeting when I paused next to their table. “Mark,” I said, startling the younger boy who wasn’t expecting to be addressed. “Do you have a moment?”

Mark glanced at Jisung, and my step-brother merely shrugged in response. “Okay,” Mark said, and I wordlessly led him to a quieter corner of the library.

“Don’t say anything to your brother,” I started, and Mark was immediately suspicious.

“What’s this about, Y/N?”

“I was talking to Jaemin the other night in the Hufflepuff common room,” I said. “He told me that you were really good at making potions.”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed sheepishly. “It’s my best subject.”

“He told me the same thing,” I said, leaning in closer. “I have something to ask you, but you can’t tell your brother.”

“Why?”

“Because Taeyong might actually kick my ass if he found out,” I said, and perhaps it would’ve been humorous under any other circumstances to see the expression of shock petrifying Mark’s features.

“Really?” Mark questioned with wide eyes.

I grinned at his innocent expression. “What do you know about love potions?”

“Love potions?”

I nodded, leaning back against one of the bookshelves. “Well?”

“Uh...I know that Amortentia is the most powerful love potion...or that’s what my textbook says.”

“What about something with less of an impact?”

“Oh! Like a prank or something?”

“Exactly!” I beamed, reaching over to squeeze Mark’s shoulder reassuringly. “Do you think you can make something like that for me?”

“What for?”

I shrugged. “It’s nothing that’ll get you in trouble.”

But Mark still hesitated, searching the area around us as if expecting a Professor to jump out of nowhere and deduct house points from Ravenclaw. “I don’t know, Y/N. You seem pretty cool, but the whole thing sounds risky...”

“I’ll owe you a huge favor,” I pleaded with him. “Anything that you want.”

“Anything?” Mark gasped with eyes full of possibilities that I dare not surmise.

“Within reason,” I added, unsure of how to process the unfamiliar gleam in his his golden-colored eyes.

“Okay,” Mark finally agreed. “But it won’t be very strong.”

“That’s fine,” I reassured him, and I watched Mark carefully as he started to return to his table.

“Oh, and Mark, I have one more thing to ask you...”

He turned back around, hesitantly interlocking his hands in front of him. “Yeah?”

I smirked at his timid nature. “Let’s keep this a secret from Johnny.”

One Week Later

It wasn’t very long thereafter that I learned of Mark’s inability to maintain any semblance of discretion concerning our plan. But I was still annoyed when Jisung brought up the subject while we were busy attending to our individual homework assignments. “I heard about what you’re planning with Mark.”

I rolled my eyes, turning my head to the side to look at Jisung. “He told you?”

Chenle snorted from next to us, relaxing on the wide couch nestled in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. “Mark is the worst person you could ask to keep a secret.”

I groaned at the revelation. “Just as long as Johnny doesn’t find out-”

“Why?” Jisung interrupted.

“We’re not exactly on good terms,” I lied, hoping to assuage Jisung’s natural curiosity. But it was true, though, and that much had become apparent ever since the stunt Johnny had pulled with the Gryffindors during their tryout session.

“Johnny’s really not so bad, Y/N,” Jisung said. “He always helps me and Haechan with our projects.”

“Maybe he’s more tolerable when it comes to first-years,” I grumbled.

“So, what are you doing with a love potion?” Chenle asked, leaning across Jisung to look at me. “Does it have something to do with Johnny?”

“Maybe it’s a surprise,” I said in response.

Chenle pouted when he realized that I wouldn’t tell him anything else, returning his gaze to the empty sheet of parchment in front of him. In the meantime, I tried to focus on my project, but I couldn’t help but wonder who else might’ve found out about my plans with Mark. It was true that he agreed to keep the secret from Johnny, but if ran his mouth to the wrong person, then Johnny could find out irregardless. And I shivered at the thought of Ten or Yuta discovering the truth.

“Jaehyun!” Chenle interrupted my concerning thoughts, and I sighed in relief at the mention of the name that had managed to provide me with good memories of Hogwarts thus far.

Jaehyun greeted his cousin warmly before turning his attention to me. “Y/N, I hope you’re not planning to skip out on dinner again.”

I grinned at his tone. “Is this an invitation?”

Jaehyun laughed, holding out a hand for me which I graciously accepted. He helped me into a standing position, wrapping a friendly arm around my shoulders as he led me closer to the door. “I missed you last night,” he said, and my heart fluttered inside my chest at his profound declaration.

I glanced back at Chenle and Jisung, watching them rush to put their things away before they could join us. “I hope it wasn’t too boring without me,” I commented, easily sliding into a comfortable conversation with Jaehyun as we walked to the Great Hall.

It was never anything special, but I liked the idea of spending time with my younger brother and his friends in the Great Hall. Yeah, the food was fine, but it sometimes made me feel a little nostalgic for Durmstrang when I encountered familiar meals. Nevertheless, I always tried to make the most of these nightly occurrences, and I guess the other Gryffindor students had grown used to me sitting with them instead of my Hufflepuff house mates.

Sometimes, we were joined by Taeyong, Jungwoo, and Jaehyun’s other friends who were aligned with different houses. For the most part, they were pleasant to be around, and they didn’t seem to care about my past or the stigma attached to my last name. In fact, more often than not, they made a great effort to include me in their conversations, even if that meant trying to seem knowledgeable about Quidditch.

But tonight was different, and I couldn’t quite figure out why I felt like something monumental was about to happen. It didn’t help that I continued to meet Johnny’s curious gaze from across the room, and he was looking in the direction of our table more often than not. I narrowed my eyes when I caught him staring again, glancing away when Haechan decided to sit down next to my brother.

“Guess what!” he whispered, looking around at the others with a familiar dark smirk.

“Another one of your pranks?” Chenle asked, laughing when Haechan shot him a glare.

“No,” he huffed, reaching into his robes to retrieve a dark bottle. “Look what I have.”

Jisung’s eyes flew open in recognition. “How did you get that?”

I spotted the dark bottle from over Jisung’s shoulder, recognizing it as a familiar wine brand that my father enjoyed. “That’s classified information,” Haechan said.

However, even I knew better than to let the younger boys mess around with alcohol. “Give me that,” I groaned, trying to snatch the bottle away from his hands.

“If you wanted some, you should’ve just asked!” Haechan grinned, popping the cork before filling a goblet with the remainder of the contents. “I’m not really in the mood for pumpkin juice again.”

“Yeah? But you don’t have to break the rules,” I grumbled.

“You should try this, Y/N,” Haechan said, sliding a goblet closer to me from across the table.

“Where did you get it?” I asked, holding the glass to sniff at the rim.

“I had someone sneak it in from Hogsmeade,” Haechan explained with a proud smile.

“You can’t do that.” Winwin suddenly intervened after catching wind of our conversation, and he appeared like he was ready to initiate another one of his infamous lectures.

I smiled at his evident disbelief before trying a sip of the drink. The smell was strangely alluring, and the taste reminded me of something sweet. “Woah,” I remarked, quickly downing the remainder of the beverage.

“Hey!” Jisung protested, frowning when I returned the goblet to the table. “I wanted to try it!”

“You're too young!” I said, but I still felt my face warm when I realized how thoughtless I had been to consume the entirety of the goblet, especially when there was alcohol involved. But there was no rational explanation for the sudden, and all-consuming desire that had overtaken me when my tongue first tasted the liquid. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t even realize...”

I broke off when I detected something warm prickling at the back of my neck. I lifted my head to survey the room, and I found my eyes drawn to the Slytherin table where a familiar pair of dark eyes met mine like a magnet. I held my breath, feeling the unfamiliar coils of desire lick hot inside the pit of my stomach.

Johnny smirked, and the arrogance would normally incite the most volatile parts of my anger, but I felt strangely attracted to the way he was looking at me. And I continued watching him as he rose from his table, making his way out of the Great Hall without giving me another glance. “Y/N?” Jisung questioned, but I couldn’t look away from the spot where Johnny had disappeared. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, waving him off as I collected myself. “I’ll be right back.”

Jisung was still concerned, but he didn’t voice his oppositions, and I was already overtaken by a peculiar insistence as I quietly followed Johnny’s footsteps into the empty hallways.

It wasn’t difficult to find Johnny - almost like he was expecting to see me around the corner, and I discovered him sitting on one of the benches against the walls. His smile was bright as he nodded towards the empty spot next to him. “Were you looking for me, Y/N?”

I paused for a second as the room swam into focus, but I couldn’t resist the pull directing me towards him, stumbling over my feet as I sat next to Johnny on the bench. “Why did you leave?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he explained, pulling me closer with a chuckle. “This is nice, don’t you think? We can act civil around one another, Y/N.”

“I'm always civil,” I told him, and it felt like my words no longer belonged to my consciousness, but to an outside force that has suddenly infiltrated my thoughts and taken command.

“I was wondering how Mark’s love potion would work,” Johnny continued, sighing when I leaned my head against his shoulder. “Word of advice: you shouldn’t ask Mark to keep secrets. But it was actually Haechan who suggested that we turn this around against you.”

“I don’t care,” I whined, fighting to get even closer to him. Because it felt like the space between us, however minimal, was still eclipsing. And Johnny hardly opposed my advances, stretching out one of his arms to wrap around my shoulders in a rather weak attempt to discourage my advances.

“This is how you should always treat me, Y/N,” Johnny remarked, and he was more than receptive to my touches. He didn’t seem to mind that I had practically wrapped myself around him like an octopus, inhaling the heavy scent of his cologne.

“Of course I should,” I replied, giggling when Johnny reached out to curl his fingers around my waist before dragging me into his lap. “This is nice,” I remarked, securing my arms around his neck.

“Oh?” Johnny questioned. “Do you like being close to me?”

I nodded, tracing my fingertips delicately against the well-defined line of his mandible. “You smell good.”

Johnny laughed, and I didn’t quite understand why the compliment was funny, but it was also nice to hear him sound so happy. “I guess the potion was stronger than what Mark told my cousin.” Johnny smirked, leaning in closer. “Do you want to know what the best part is? You won’t remember any of this.”

I frowned, wondering why he was talking like this when I was being so forthcoming with my feelings. “I really like you, Johnny,” I tried again.

“I wish you did,” Johnny said, and there was strange sadness to his tone that I didn’t appreciate. But maybe it was because he was still talking, and I could think of a million better things that we could do with our time. Which is why, when he attempted to open his mouth again, I didn’t allow Johnny to say anything else before I was kissing him, bunching the front of his robes between my hands as I held him closer to me like an anchor.

It was like time had come to a stand-still, and, at first, Johnny was frozen in place, like he was too shocked to return my feverish kisses. “Johnny,” I whispered again, trying to slide my tongue between the tight purse of his lips.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Johnny gasped, pulling back just enough to look at me. “What the hell was that?”

“I’m trying to show you,” I said, lunging for him again. “You won’t believe what I’m saying, so I have to prove it to you.”

Johnny shook his head, but he was much less opposed the second time I tried to kiss him. And even though he made an effort to force me away from him, his hesitant pushes against my shoulders eventually exchanged themselves for an impossible hold, wrapping one arm around my waist to pull me tight to his front.

“Fuck, this is good,” Johnny groaned, and we exchanged heavy breaths as he returned my affection with aggressive touches that managed to steal every last reserve of oxygen that remained inside my lungs.

“Let’s go back to your dorm,” I suggested, deciding that Johnny was finally right where I wanted him.

However, I was completely unprepared for him to abruptly jerk his head back, shoving me off his lap until I was sprawled out across the bench on my back. “That was too far,” Johnny said, drawing a trembling hand through his hair while I pouted back at him.

“Don’t you want this?” I asked, reaching for him again, but Johnny sternly returned my hand before rising from the bench.

“Yeah, but I can’t do this to you,” he said, and there was something defeatist about his expression. “This was a stupid idea.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, desperate to regain his attention.

“Come on,” Johnny said. “I’ll take you back to your room.”

“Johnny!” I protested, but he rolled his eyes and grabbed my hand, pulling me along behind him as we started for the moving staircases.

“I’m a total idiot for this,” Johnny said, and he appeared nothing short of conflicted. “You were the one who tried to give me the potion!”

“I would never do that!” I gasped, and Johnny shook his head.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Johnny remarked. “You’re not in control of your actions, and as much as I’d love to get back at you for this whole thing, I’m actually a much bigger gentleman than you give me credit for.”

“I know that, silly,” I said, holding tighter to Johnny’s hand as I swung our arms together. “That’s part of the reason why I like you.”

“You don’t really mean that, Y/N,” Johnny said bitterly, and there was a long silence between us until I realized that we were close to the Hufflepuff dorm.

“Johnny?” I eventually questioned when we paused outside of the entrance.

“I know you don’t like me,” he repeated with a much firmer tone, like he was trying to convince himself, and he quickly pressed one finger to my lips before I could try to counter him. “When Haechan told me about your plan to give me the potion, I wanted to embarrass you. Because I know that’s what you planned to do to me! But I guess there was another part of me that maybe wanted to take advantage of the situation...”

Johnny trailed off, clearing his throat anxiously as he knocked on door, summoning the portrait of Helga Hufflepuff who scrutinzed the two of us with narrowed eyes. “Password?” the painting requested, and Johnny looked back at me.

“Winter Blizzard,” I replied, and Johnny wordlessly led us both inside, walking up the stairs leading to the girl’s portion of the dormitory.

“This isn’t what I had planned,” Johnny said. “Which room is yours?”

I pointed to the door, and Johnny cautiously opened it just enough to look inside before letting out a sigh of relief. “My roommates are probably still at dinner,” I said.

Johnny nodded, swinging the door open even wider, drawing me closer inside. “I’d say that you owe me, but you won’t remember this, and I’m pretty sure that you’d kick my ass if you were in your right mind.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, squealing when I jumped on top of my bed, looking back at Johnny with a bright grin. “Tonight was really fun.”

Johnny scoffed at my comment, but there was a strange glimmer of affection in his dark gaze. “As long as someone enjoyed it.”

“You didn’t?” I asked, giving him my best pout while reaching out for his hand which Johnny reluctantly allowed.

He was quiet for a moment, studying the way I gently ran my thumbs across the smooth skin of his palm. “Yeah,” he conceded. “I liked it.”

“Good,” I said, falling back against my pillows after releasing his hand. “Are we going to meet again like this? When should we tell the others?”

Johnny smiled, shaking his head as he looked down at the floor before addressing my questions. "You’re lucky that I like you, Y/N,” Johnny said. “But let’s keep this a secret between us, okay?”

I nodded obediently, and Johnny chuckled before leaving me alone in the solitude of the dormitory.

The next morning, I woke-up early with one of the worst headaches that I had experienced in a long time. It was practically splitting my skull, and I groaned as my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Everything was hurting, and I carefully made my way to the bathroom before any of my roommates noticed my unexpected dilemma.

What happened last night? I wondered, looking at my pale reflection in the mirror, cupping my hands below the water and splashing it against my face.

“Hey, Y/N,” Lisa said, joining me next to the sink. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head and sending tiny droplets of water onto the counter-top.

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but I also had very few intentions of telling my roommate that I couldn’t remember anything that had happened to me the night before. And I studied her from the corner of my eye, watching as she messed with her hair while wearing a look of complete concentration. I resisted the urge to groan, and I left the bathroom in a rush to finish getting ready in time for breakfast.

Of course, despite my repeated reassurances that the headache would eventually pass, it haunted me for most of the morning, following me all the way to the Great Hall. Graciously, the sight of Jisung managed to bring some solace to the chaos, and I sat down next to my step-brother with my best attempt at a smile. “Guess what?” he asked, leaning in closer so that I could hear him over everyone else.

“Hmmm?” I asked, sighing in relief after taking a drink of the pumpkin juice that I usually barely tolerated.

“Jaehyun said that he was gonna let Chenle and I help with the Quidditch team this year!”

“Oh?” I grimaced because Jisung’s high-pitched squeal did no favors for my suffering head.

“I guess we’re, like, assistants or something,” Jisung continued, taking a bite of food before widening his eyes as if remembering something. “Where were you last night?” Jisung asked.

It was a simple question, but he didn’t need to know how frustrated I felt because I couldn’t remember anything past dinner. “I don’t know,” I told him truthfully. “I can’t remember anything after I left the Great Hall.”

Jisung frowned. “Maybe you drank too much of the wine.”

“What?”

“Haechan let you drink that stuff he stole from Hogsmeade,” Jisung elaborated. “Maybe it was too strong.”

I turned my head to the side to locate Haechan at the Slytherin table, laughing next to Johnny and his friends without a single care in the world. It would be easy to accept Jisung’s explanation - to write off my condition as nothing more than a careless hangover. “But I didn’t even drink that much,” I murmured.

It was all I could think about, and I tracked Haechan’s movements once he left the Great Hall. Because I was determined to get to the bottom of things, and it would start with the second-year student who seemed all too pleased with himself after sitting next to his cousin. But first, I had to deal with my classes while struggling with my pounding headache.

Unfortunately, no matter what I did, the condition persisted through the day, and I dreaded having to endure Johnny Seo during potions even more than usual. “You seem different,” Jungwoo said, politely walking with me to my potions class.

“Really?” I asked, surprised hat Jungwoo had mentioned anything. “I’ve just had a headache all morning.”

“You know,” Jungwoo said, pausing outside of my classroom. “I don’t think anyone would fault you for missing classes.”

“They’re too important,” I said. “And I don’t feel that bad.”

Jungwoo nodded, even though I could tell that he didn’t believe me. “If you’re sure...”

“I’ll be okay,” I said, offering him a smile. “But thank you, Jungwoo.”

“Well, Jaehyun would be pissed if I didn’t ask,” Jungwoo said, laughing like it wasn’t completely unexpected.

But he was gone before I could question him, and I decided that I didn’t have the mental capacity to think about the implications of his statement. Instead, I hesitantly walked into the potions classroom, groaning when I realized that Johnny was already waiting for me at our usual table. His smile was especially wide, patting the chair next to him.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Johnny said, and there was an upbeat signature to his tone that made me feel immediately on edge.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” I grunted, crossing my arms over my chest as I glared at him.

“No reason,” Johnny chirped, looking at me with curious eyes. “You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered.

“Seriously,” Johnny said, and his smile was gone as he studied me. “Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick,” I said, reaching for my notebook. “I just have a headache.”

“Really?” Johnny asked, and I found myself hesitating when his gaze lingered on my lips.

“It’s not a big deal,” I said, forcing my attention back to the front of the room. “Why are you so interested? It’s not like you care.”

Professor Zhang entered the room at that moment with a sharp command for everyone to prepare their cauldrons. I sighed as I reached for mine, dragging it closer while I noticed that Johnny had yet to react to the simple directive. In fact, Johnny was wearing a fierce scowl, and I’m sure that the rest of our classmates were just as shocked to see Johnny stand up in the middle of class before walking out the door without another word.

#nct #nct fanfic #nct hogwarts au #nct johnny fanfic #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct angst #nct fluff #johnny seo #johnny fanfic

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warmau · 5 years

Text

kofi request: lovestruck!yukhei

yukhei strolls into the first eight am class of the semester with a huge grin plastered on his face

but that’s to be expected

he’s wong yukhei

when is he not smiling?

despite the rainy september weather, the gloom on every other students face, and the blaring white lights of the stuffy college classroom

yukhei looks like he’s just won a beach getaway as he slings an arm around a grumpy looking haechan and starry-eyed mark

“well - didn’t yall miss me?”

“hell yeah dude!”

mark grins and haechan buries his head into his hands - muttering something about how this is his freshman year and yukhei is already making his head hurt

yukhei takes it as a compliment as he teasingly leans over with puckered lips and haechan swats at him like an angry cat

the noise from their corner drowns out the awkward silence of the room as everyone waits for the professor to trudge in

they do, ten minutes late, a broken umbrella and all

yukhei cracks a joke about it and gets reminded that: “mr. wong this is college not high school. we don’t need a class clown.”

as usual, there’s a reading of the syllabus and mark takes notes excitedly as haechan doses off and yukhei surveys the room

he basically knows everyone aside from incoming freshmen, but he’s sure they’ll all be best friends by tomorrow

and then the door opens with a slam

all eyes turn to look upon you

you’re d r e n c h e d

still holding your backpack over your head like an impromptu and horrible alternative to an umbrella

your expression is far past disgruntled and the professor doesn’t even get a word in before you march past them and to the only empty seat

directly in front of yukhei

the professor recovers and continues to drone on as you start shuffling in your bag and groaning to yourself because the only notebook you brought got absolutely damaged by the weather

you have nothing to write on, you look like a mess, and you’re sure the overall vibe you’re giving off is far from friendly

but then, to your surprise, a piece of torn out paper dangels in front of your nose

you look over your shoulder and yukhei’s grin grows wider

“thought you might like to take some notes”

he coos and haechan opens on eye to watch you sort of laugh a little quietly as you take it

yukhei watches you turn back, almost in slow motion, the remaining drops of rain are disappearing on your skin and you might have looked offputting to everyone else

half pissed, half exhausted trudging to the seat

but to yukhei you looked - you looked -

he rests his cheek against his palm, the back of someone’s head has never enticed him so much until finally, the class is over

mark is bouncing up and down eager to see if yukhei’s schedule falls in line with his and haechan is making up some excuse as to why skipping on the first day can’t be that bad

but yukhei can’t hear or see anything else

as you turn, slipping your backpack over your shoulder as you catch eye contact with him for a mere five seconds

you smile

yukhei feels white noise fill his head

“thanks for this!”

you wave around the paper with your half-hearted notes and scribbles, walking out toward the door

and yukhei isn’t used to all these conflicting thoughts hitting him at once

what’s going on with me? am i sick? why’s my hea-

“dude, i totally forgot - that senior yuta is having a party and-”

mark’s voice snaps yukhei back into reality and he gets back in his groove

no worries, just positivity, no meddling worries or problems

except its a lie

from that day on,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,yukhei is never the same

you only have one class together and it’s this horrible eight am

you’re late half the time, but yukhei is getting yelled at half the time

so really - you make a great pair

the thing is, no matter how easily yukhei has been able to connect with others

you’re different

everyone around yukhei is simple. haechan is hard to read, but loyal to a fault. mark can’t lie. xiaojun and hendery are funny just like him, but they’re also probably smarter. kun is dependable and the person to go to for anything. ten is one of yukhei’s favorites.

but you - what the hell are you?

you make yukhei’s throat clog up - his low pitch voice suddenly coming out in weird, mousy noises

you lean back and let your arms stretch up over your head during a boring lecture and

it’s like an earthquake shakes through yukhei’s long body - his neck feels hot whenever you tilt your head sideways and his eyes can’t peel off the skin of your neck

yukhei panics - and he never panics - when you ask simple things like ‘does anyone have a pen?’ or ‘did we have homework?’

yukhei can never answer - mark always does

and when mark starts joking with you after class one day, this i supposed to be prime yukhei territory - he’s supposed to join in with his own humor and have everyone laughing

but he jsut hangs back

because the thought of embarrassing himself in front of you is too much to bare

which is insane - yukhei is gracelessly shameless

haechan notices - like he always does - and asks yukhei finally as the midterms are coming up

“so like are you broken?”

“what?”

yukhei raises an eyebrow and mark bites back his lip, “haechan don’t tea-”

“nah like has no one else noticed?”

haechan looks between yukhei and mark and then sighs with a roll of his eyes

“yukhei you’re literally always smiling and talking and this is the one class where you haven’t said more than ten words since all the way back in septemeber.”

yukhei opens his mouth - not sure what kind of excuse he can even put forth on the table because haechan is right he’s ,,,,,,,,,, he’s a little broken and it’s because

“the midterms next week - right?”

your voice fills up yukhei’s head and sets his whole body back into overdrive

you sit in your seat, turning all the way around and yukhei thinks he’s going to stop breathing at some point

why is your sweater all baggy and cute, why are you pouting as mark explains that the study guide isn’t getting posted till a day before the actual damn test, and why oh why why why are you so -

haechan clicks his tongue

“yukhei will help you prepare for it if you want.”

yukhei whips his head around so fast it nearly swirls right off

mark is about to say he can help too - but haechan slaps a hand right over his mouth and gives you a grin

you agree, saying you’ll meet yukhei in the library after then

and yukhei doesn’t do anything but let his wide eyes watch you turn away

the library feels like it’s going to swallow yukhei hold

at least thirty people greet him as he walks in, but all he can offer is a small nod which leaves everyone confused

you get up from the table and wave your hand for him to come over and yukhei thinks

if i book it right now, will that be bad?

he might be nervous but he’s not rude, so he makes his way over

you already have some notes and the textbook out

yukhei manages to say some words - but he forgets them right after they slip out

and the whole hour you “study” together - yukhei is just sure he’s seeing pink spots in his eyes

cherubs in the bookshelves

cupid trying to aim the perfect shot from the wall clock above the librarian's desk

he keeps bouncing his leg as you talk and when the hour is up he shots out of his seat

“i - uh - soccer -”

soccer practice, say you have soccer practice!

“gotta- so-”

“yukhei”

his name sounds so sweet when you say it

“yukhei, hey - are you ok?”

yeah im ok, and you’re beautiful

“yukhei?!?”

he doesn’t realize he’s swaying dangerously close to toppling over and you grab his arm and get him out of the stuffy library and into the empty halls

he feels that embarrassment he dreads getting around you and wants to apologize or do something

until suddenly you’re saying something and yukhei is pretty sure he’s dreaming

“do you wanna go on a date after the midterms?”

“a date?”

yukhei straightens up

“wait - a date?!”

you nod

“yeah, im asking you out.”

“wait - wait - wh-what?”

“do you?”

“do i?”

“do you - yukhei - want to go on a date with me?”

“wasn’t this about the midterms-”

“yeah but do you -”

he shakes, half from excitement and half from anxiety

“is this a joke?”

“no - do you wanna go?”

“yes, fuck yes- i mean yes of course-”

you smile and yukhei remembers the smile you gave him back on that first day you walked in

covered in rain, a scowl on your face, arms crossed as you threw yourself into the chair

and then - how soft you’d become when he’d handed you a flimsy piece of paper

and how you looked - you looked so - you looked like the soulmate of his dreams

“wh-why did you decide to ask me out -?”

he asks as the high of the moment doesn’t leave his mushy brain completely unfunctioning

you take his hand and yukhei short circuits but keeps it together

“haechan told me you were broken and he told me it was kinda my fault.”

you giggle and yukhei short circuits again, this time letting it show with the goofy way his smile turns up

even though he finds haechan later, giving him a noggie and telling him to never pull a stunt like that again

in the moment yukhei can only thank haechan over and over

as you swing your hands a little and you make a joke about how maybe a date will make him un-broken

but yukhei doesn’t think so - he thinks rather than broken,,,,,,,, he’s more like lovestruck

and the more you keep smiling at him like that, the more lovestruck he’s gonna keep getting

#nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #nct imagines #wayv imagines #nct au #wayv au #member: lucas #lucas scenarios #lucas imaignes #yukhei scenarios #yukhei imagines #lovestruck au #sfw #yukhei #lucas #wayv #nct

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sol1056 · 4 years

Text

whiplash stakes

watching Dance of the Sky Empire (because hey I was bored and sadly Song of Glory looks like it’s going to be an incoherent plot wreck, sadly, and Love a Lifetime is devolving into barely better) -- and once again marveling at how a cdrama will go from utter ridiculous for the sake of humor to srs-drama levels of implied angst, and why I find it unsatisfying.

maybe it was because the ‘multiple races included winged’ keeps making me think of the various novoland stories, but I kept comparing DotSE to Eagle Flag. Both have their ruffian troublemakers, because that’s where some of the nose-thumbing humor comes from.

In DotSE, the ruffian not only gets away with it, he buries a prince up to his neck in the ground. In N:EF, there’s a distinct sense that if/when the princess-in-disguise gets caught by the noble asshats she’s scamming, there’ll be hell to pay -- and the asshat is just rich, not royal. Going so far as to trap and humiliate a member of the royal family... in N:EF, I would’ve expected banishment, imprisonment, if not simple torture and public execution.

Which means that when we get the threat of war in N:EF, or even the staged fights as part of joining the guards, we don’t expect it to go easy. It felt like a very real possibility of severe injury, possibly death, for the sake of an action.

In DotSE, the complete lack of any consequences for what are pretty extreme actions -- for the purposes of comedy -- set expectations such that when there are extreme actions where the consequences are severe... it feels like you don’t know whether to be in suspense (will they get out of this okay) or amused (of course they’ll get out okay, the question is how much humor they’ll find in it).

this is one thing I think Joy of Life really nails, that makes its comedy work -- because the stakes are always high. the fun isn’t solely in the protag's stunts, but also in how he evades the consequences of those stunts, carefully weaseling his way out through a combination of fast talking, some misdirection, and a few last-minute saves by more powerful people.

so even when there’s humor in whatever shenanigan he’s trying to pull off, the result is often an oh god he pulled it off sense of relief -- and that’s very much a reaction not to comedy but to suspense. iow, there’s tonal consistency even if the humor is situational.

for the first (flashback sections) third of Untamed, tonally it’s closer to DotSE than JoL or N:EF -- yet unlike DotSE, CQL has consequences. from a writer’s perspective, tU/CQL goes a lot of stories one better by not only having the consequences ramp up alongside the stakes, but having the consequences push the story forward.

in DotSE, the protag sleeps through classes, talks back to the teacher, and the closest he gets to suffering a consequence is that he’s kicked out of class (once) -- which in turn frees him to pull off his next antic. in tU/CQL, breaking the rules first gets a lecture, then the assignment of copying the rules a hundred times, and then finally gets the protag a significant corporeal punishment. and it’s the recovery from that punishment that put him in the right place at the right time to trigger (or experience) the breakthrough that shoves the story into a higher gear.

from there on, the consequences get steeper and steeper, as the story escalates into darker territory. we go from ‘getting caught’ means a stern lecture, to a whipping, to serious harm and/or psychological torture, to the complete destruction of one’s home and the death of the protag’s adopted parents. there’s no tonal whiplash because the shift is always incremental. the lights never go off suddenly, they dim slowly, until what started so light-hearted has become very, very, dark.

in JoL and N:EF, the first part of the story, the protags are kids, and their age seems to shield them from the worst of the possible consequences. entering some resemblance of adulthood means all the withheld consequences now crash down on their heads, as the stakes shoot sky-high. but that’s not a tonal shift in the same way, I think, because the rest of the story (as usually typified by adults around the protags) indicates there are consequences, it’s just the children are temporarily protected from them.

in tU/CQL, the stakes grow with the protag, because he’s in a world that’s changing (from relative peace to brink of war to all-out war to the aftermath). War is always foregrounded in N:EF, while it’s a constant background note in JoL -- and it’s little more than a dire warning in DotSE. That means while consequences are consistently high in N:EF and JoL, they can flex and grow with the protag in tU/CQL, as the scope of his interaction/influence expands to a larger and larger scale.

and that’s why, I think, that while i do find some of the antics amusing in DotSE, going from ‘who will win this dance tournament’ to ‘a powerful kirin on a murder spree’ is too much whiplash. it’s going from zero consequences to the implication of severe consequences, and that’s too big of a jump.

#joy of life #dance of the sky empire #novoland: eagle flag #the untamed #meta #sol thinks about stuff

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quickeningheart · 5 years

Text

Nineteen

Charley was waist-deep in the posterior of Alley's bus when the sound of an approaching car caught her attention. Pulling out and wiping her filthy hands on a well-used towel, she watched as a taxi pulled up to the garage. And both eyebrows shot into her hairline when, after a moment, the door opened and Alley struggled out into the street, dragging her pack after her. She looked as if the entire world had just collapsed around her ears.

“Jiminy Christmas, Alley Cat! Who died?” Alarmed, Charley hurried forward to usher her drooping cousin out of the heat. The guys also stopped what they were doing, watching the exchange with concern etched on their fuzzy faces.

“My entire academic career, apparently,” Alley mumbled with a tired sigh.

Charley paused mid-step, exchanging confused glances with the mice. “…Huh?”

The blonde dropped into the desk chair and ran her hands through her hair; taking a deep breath, she began to explain the situation, and by the time she’d finished, Charley was livid.

“They can’t—This isn’t—You didn’t—We can’t just let this go!” she sputtered, pacing angrily around the garage, shrugging off Vinnie’s comforting hand. “You never would have cheated! Never! And it’s just too suspicious that this all came up now.”

“Yeah,” Modo agreed, tail twitching with agitation. “Somebody’s definitely settin’ you up, and it’s got ol’ Lard Butt's stench all over it.”

“But why? What would Limburger possibly gain from ruining my chances at a scholarship and my academic reputation?”

Throttle huffed. “She’s got a point. The stinkfish’s pulled some pretty crazy stunts, but it’s always been for some sorta profitable gain. This just ain’t his style.”

They fell silent, considering. Alley finally sighed and forced herself to her feet. “My best guess is, it’s just a prank some bored jerk played, and I got unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of it. I’ve gotta go do some damage control. This has gotta get sorted out as soon as possible or I can kiss that scholarship goodbye for real.” She groaned and hid her face in her hands. “And I’ve gotta call my mother.”

“Ouch.” Charley offered a sympathetic smile. “Want some moral support?”

She huffed a short laugh. “Give me a few hours. If I’m not down by sunset, better come search for my body. She probably managed to find a way to strangle me through the phone.”

~*~*~*~*~

Throttle knocked at Alley’s door, his concern growing at her continuing silence from the other side. He increased the pressure of his fist against the wood until he finally heard her stirring, then a mumbled “Come in”. He poked his head through the doorway, watching as she sat up and scrubbed at her eyes, which looked red and blotchy even in the dim light. He gulped, the urge to turn tail and bolt settling over him, but he ignored the desire to flee and instead stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He stood there, shifting uncomfortably as he struggled to find the right thing to say. He really hated dealing with crying women.

Alley noticed his fidgeting and gave him a weak smile. She’d changed into a tank top and a pair of lounge pants. Her hair hung in two long braids over her shoulders, and she’d washed the makeup off her face, leaving it strangely pale and bare, the dark circles under her eyes standing in stark contrast. Throttle thought she looked young and very vulnerable without her usual armor to fortify her. His protective finally instincts rose. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

She offered a one-shouldered shrug. “Been better,” she admitted, running a hand through her hair, dislodging part of a braid. “I’ve been on the phone for hours, making calls. Never talked so much in my life. I’m tired.”

He hummed, stepping further into the room. “You talk to your folks?”

“I called my dad first and explained. He told my mom for me. Who then proceeded to call me back and rip me a new one.”

Throttle straightened, frowning. “Why? This isn’t your fault.”

She sighed heavily. “I dunno. Maybe it is. When I was younger, I really slacked off in school. Hardly studied, barely passed my tests, handed in homework when I felt like it. I didn’t put in any real effort and my grades suffered as a result. I just … didn’t care.” She smiled faintly. “I guess I was more interested in fitting in with my friends, who all would've rather been sneaking out to late-night movies or parties down on the beach. Drove my parents nuts.” At his dubious expression, she hastened to add, “I was never into anything illegal! Well … okay, I did drink a bit, and I snuck into R-rated movies without paying a few times. But I didn’t shoplift or use drugs or sleep around with guys or stuff like that. My girlfriends, though. Most of them were pretty hardcore.”

He tsked. “Sounds like you needed to get some new friends.”

She huffed. “You sound like my parents,” she shot back, wrinkling her nose. She sat back with a sigh. “Thing is, in Montana, all that never really interested me. I might not look it now, but I used to be a lot like Charley. I rode horses and climbed trees and went camping in the woods. I tinkered around in the garage on bicycles for my friends and helped my dad and uncle fix engines. I did my homework and studied for my tests and got good grades.” She smiled faintly at the memories.

“When Dad packed up and moved us to Florida, it was like … like moving to an alien planet.” She smirked when he snorted. “Everything was so different. The first few years weren’t so bad, but then I hit puberty and started … growing parts, and the only things my friends ever talked about were boyfriends and fashion and celebrities… I didn't really care about that stuff, but I felt like I either had to make myself fit in, or lose the friends I had. And after awhile, it all sorta became second nature.”

Throttle moved to sit on the edge of the bed, curious despite himself. At last, he was discovering the mystery of why Alley was so different from her cousin, despite being raised in the same sort of household. He tried to picture her as a younger version of Charley, scrappy and tomboyish. He gave it up after a few moments. It was just impossible; she’d adapted herself too well. “So, something changed along the way,” he hinted, wanting to know more.

“I flunked out of tenth grade,” she admitted with a huff. “Well, almost. I had to take summer classes to make up all the work I missed. A lot of them. And my dad finally sat me down and gave me a long lecture.” She shook her head with a whimsical smile. “Let me tell you, I thought my mother could guilt trip, but she’s got nothin’ on Daddy. He’s pretty laid back and easygoing, but when he decides to lay into you, look out.”

Throttle grinned, earning another small smile in response. “After that,” she continued, “I realized I didn’t want to disappoint him anymore. I don’t want to be a daughter who embarrasses him, makes him ashamed to talk about me. So, for those summer classes, I managed to pull my grades up enough to pass tenth grade, and when my junior year started, I made myself work. Skipped all those parties and stayed home to study and do all my homework, and my grades shot up. It wasn’t easy. I had to break a lot of bad habits. But I did it.”

“I can see why this whole situation is so upsetting for you,” Throttle said thoughtfully, “but I still don’t see how it makes it your fault.”

“My parents always told me my behavior would come back someday and bite me in the ass. Karmic justice and all that. Mom spent most of our conversation saying ‘I told you so’.” Alley rolled her eyes. “I kinda feel like she’s right.”

“She's too hard on you,” Throttle protested, tail twitching against the floor. “We all do stupid shit as kids, right?”

“Sure, but she’s always been hard on me. She's very overprotective. She’s not a bad mother, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that her life, growing up … it wasn’t easy. She went through a lot, had a lot of struggles before meeting Dad. She doesn’t want me to end up like she nearly did.” Alley smiled faintly. “To be fair, after she got through yelling at me, she started threatening to march straight to the heads of the school board and rip them a new one, too. And she says she’ll FedEx some of my old reports and any other paperwork she can dig up to prove my grades had been changed. Hell, knowing her, she’ll have half of Florida rallying in my defense by the end of the week. Nobody messes with her baby.”

“So your parents will help you get all this sorted.”

“Yeah.” She sighed heavily, her good humor vanishing. “Dad told me to accept that I might not be getting back to school this year, though. He also suggested I retake the SATs. Said it might help to prove I didn’t cheat the first time.” Her shoulders slumped. “I guess he’s probably right, but the thought of going through all that again is just exhausting.”

“Well, it’s something, at least. It ain’t the end of the world, Alley-girl,” Throttle tried to encourage. “How come you look like your best friend just died?”

She flinched, looking startled. Then she dropped her face into her hands as a low, derisive laugh slipped free. He frowned, wondering what he’d said to incite such a reaction.

“D’you ever get the feeling,” she mumbled into her hands, “that the entire universe is out to turn your life into one great, big cosmic joke?”

He hesitated, confused … until she gestured vaguely at Mercedes’s cage. He glanced down, noted the door was half-open. His eyes widened as his gaze darted around the room, noting any place that a little rat could squeeze into and escape. Until he realized she was still in the cage, half-curled in her pile of shredded paper, still and unmoving.

Far too still.

His heart gave a sick sort of lurch as he knelt on the floor for a better look. “Aw, Cheese,” he breathed. “Alley-girl, I’m—I didn’t mean—”

She waved off his fumbled attempts to apologize. “Mercy was almost four years old. That’s like … ancient in rat years,” she explained, her voice small and tight. “I probably shouldn’t have brought her with me, but my mom didn’t really like her and my dad is too busy with his business, you know? My friends, well, I wouldn’t trust most of them to care for a houseplant, much less a living creature.” Her face crumpled a bit. “I went to feed her and … she just wouldn’t wake up. I wonder how long she’s been like this. This morning I—” She choked slightly. “If she was dead then, I didn’t even notice. I feel awful. I don’t even remember if she ate when I gave her pellets this morning.”

“It ain’t your fault,” he told her, feeling lame for even saying something so trite.

“I knew she was going to die eventually. She was really starting to show her age. She even hissed at me a few times, like she didn't know me.” She offered a weak smile. “Just … she had to go today of all days? Cosmic joke, see?” She heaved a long sigh, tucking her knees under her chin as she perched on the edge of the bed. “I guess now I have to find a place to bury her, too. I don’t even know where to look. I can’t just … toss her into the garbage.”

Throttle considered. “You got a box for her or something?”

She slid off the bed and knelt beside him on the floor, sliding a shoebox filled with folded paper towels forward. She reached into the cage, hesitated. Throttle noted a fine tremor in her hand as it hovered over Mercedes’s body. “I … I can’t make myself touch her again,” she finally admitted, blinking rapidly. “She’s so … cold. It gives me the creeps. I’m terrible, aren’t I?”

Throttle patiently pulled her hand away, reached in to ever-so-gently scoop the stiff little body into his palm, depositing it and a handful of shavings into the box. He didn’t much like rats, but for the first time he was sorry to see one die. Alley covered her pet with clean wood shavings before closing the box and taping the lid shut.

“Come on.” He stood, tucking the makeshift coffin under his arm, offered a hand to pull her to her feet. “Put on your shoes and a jacket. Might get cold,” he instructed.

Mystified, she nevertheless obeyed, slipping on a pair of Vans and a long blue hoodie sweater as she followed him down to the garage. “Where is everyone?” she asked, noting the complete absence of people. The clock on the wall read six-thirty, well before closing time.

“Out doin’ a little recon,” he replied with a chuckle. “Charley-girl decided to take it on herself to get a look at that computer an’ see what’s up.”

Alley gaped. “They’re breaking into the school files?”

“Not all of ‘em. Just yours. If it’s been hacked, it can probably be traced. Charley'll figure it out.”

“Unless she gets caught and arrested, first. It isn’t exactly legal, you know.”

“Neither is goin’ into a student’s files an’ changin’ all their grades, right? Don’t worry, she does this sorta stuff all the time.”

“Oh, that makes me feel better.” She pursed her lips and eyeballed him. “And poor you got stuck babysitting me. Again.”

“I was actually plannin’ to invite you along. But this is a bit more important right now. They can do without us.” He carefully stashed the box in a compartment on the bike and held out a second helmet. “Hop on.”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure, why not,” she sighed. “The day I’ve been having, what else could possibly go wrong?” She seated herself gingerly behind him and jammed the helmet over her head, jumped a little when his long tail coiled tightly around her waist.

“Better hang on,” he warned, and she caught his devilish grin right before the engine roared to life. The heavy door rattled open, and they shot out of the garage with a screech of rubber, Alley’s squeal of fright lingering in the air behind them.

~*~*~*~*~

Throttle navigated Chicago’s busy streets with practiced ease as Alley clung to him for dear life, afraid she'd be thrown from the cycle despite the firm grip he maintained around her waist, and her even firmer grip around his chest. She wasn’t sure whether or not to be glad they were racing at such a breakneck speed. On one hand, riding with one of the biker mice was pretty much as terrifying as she’d imagined. On the other, at this speed, it was a lot harder for people to notice that she was out gallivanting around the city in nothing but her pajamas. She hadn’t even bothered to put her bra back on, a mistake she was kicking herself over. She really hoped her chauffeur wouldn’t notice, as tightly as she was clinging to him.

It wasn’t long before they passed the city limits, and soon after that they reached open highway and the heavy traffic began to lighten. That’s when he really let loose; the bike shot forward in the same manner as a racing horse being given its head. Alley squeaked and tightened her hold, and Throttle’s husky chuckle piped through the intercom in her helmet.

Despite the increased speed, the ride was a lot smoother without the constant sharp dodging and weaving he’d been doing inside the city. She found herself slowly relaxing, arms loosening. The wind cut around them, tearing at her hair and clothes, but being pressed so close to his large, furry body provided more than adequate heat. She rested her head against his back and breathed deeply, closing her eyes and starting to enjoy the ride.

Eventually, she noticed a change in speed; he slowed, took a seemingly random exit off the highway. He drove a little further before turning off the main road onto what seemed to be an unpaved back road. The ride was rougher here as the bike kicked up dust and loose stones, bouncing over uneven ruts. She tucked her legs further up to protect them from flying debris. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see in a second.”

True to word, he shortly turned off the road and coasted to a stop. She slid off the bike, trying to stomp some feeling back into her shaky legs as she steadied herself against the seat. She gave the crankshaft a little pat. “Thanks for the ride,” she said awkwardly. “You're, um, a good driver. Hope that road wasn't too hard on your suspension.”

The bike gave a short, sharp beep in reply, making her jump, then laugh. “I'm never gonna get used to that,” she said, mirroring Throttle's grin. Her smile faded when she got her first view of their destination, eyes widening as she took in a large, sparkling lake surrounded by trees. “Wow, where are we?”

“Me ‘n the bros found this place a few years back. Well, Limburger found it, actually. We had to save it from bein’ ripped up and shipped off to Plutark. We come out here from time t’ time when we need to relax and unwind. There’s usually nobody else here.”

“Kinda like a secret hideout?” she teased.

“Heh. Something like that.” He removed the box from its compartment. “Figured it’d be a good place to bury your friend, here. Nobody’ll disturb her this way.”

“Unless Limburger tries to tear it up again,” she pointed out.

He scratched his head. “Funny thing about the stinkfish. When his plans get ruined once, he usually doesn’t go back an’ try again. Just moves on to the next scheme.”

Alley considered. “Plutarkians aren’t a very intelligent race, are they?”

Throttle chuckled. “Well, there’s plenty of space. Anywhere particular you’d like to bury her?”

She wandered toward the lakeshore, stopping in front of a towering willow. After a moment’s thought, she ducked under its drooping boughs. The light was dimmer here, the air cooler and a bit damp. The earth around the trunk was loose. “This’ll be a good place. It’ll be easy to dig up,” she decided. “How about here, between the roots?”

He dropped to his knees beside her, pulled a utility knife from his belt and dug it into the loose soil. Alley helped, using her hands to pull dirt from the growing hole.

Throttle paused, reached in and pulled out a six-inch worm, dangling it in front of Alley’s face with a smirk. She just rolled her eyes and kept digging. “Not afraid of bugs?” he asked, surprised.

“Why? They’re just bugs.” She glanced up, a smile curling her lips. “Although, that huge spider crawling over your shoulder is sorta—” She broke off with a snicker when he immediately started to beat at himself, trying to knock it away. Until he realized there was nothing there to begin with. He shot her a dirty look as she openly laughed. “I don’t like spiders,” he grumbled.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” she promised with a sly grin.

When the hole was about a foot deep, Throttle stopped digging and picked up the box. “Wait.” Alley stopped him with her hand on his. “Let’s … leave the box,” she said. “This way, Mercy can feed the tree. Circle of life, you know?”

Unquestioning, he slit the tape on the lid. When he would have picked up the rat, Alley stopped him again. “Let me.” Eyebrows raising, he offered the box. She took a deep breath, reached in to scoop up the body, unable to hide her shudder as she quickly deposited it into the hole and pushed the dirt back in. She paused to wipe straggling hair out of her face, leaving a muddy streak behind. Throttle patted the soil back down until it was firm. Then, to her surprise, he used the knife to carve Mercedes’s name into the base of the tree, followed with “beloved pet”. Finally, he held his hand over the grave, murmuring words in a strange language.

She stared at him, eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

He looked a little sheepish as he pulled off his specs and tucked them into his belt; the light had dimmed even further by then and he was finding it harder to see with them on. “It was a Martian blessing, to wish safe passage into the other world,” he explained. “A bit corny, I guess.”

“No! That was incredibly thoughtful of you. Thank you, Throttle.” She took his hand into both of hers, giving it a grateful squeeze. Then, on impulse, pulled him down a bit and reached to press a soft kiss to his fuzzy cheek. He blinked and reared back, caught by surprise.

Alley ducked her head, face flaming as she immediately released his hand and stepped away with an embarrassed laugh. “Ah. S-sorry. I just … um…” She glanced at her muddy palms. “Oh. I should wash my hands.”

Grateful for the distraction, she hurried from the cover of the tree, kneeling by the lake to swirl her hands through the water. What had possessed her to do that? Sure, she was grateful for everything he’d done, but to kiss him? She could still feel the warm fur against her lips, and it didn’t disgust her nearly as much as she thought it ought to. After all, she reasoned, she’d kissed Mercedes on the head plenty of times, hadn’t she? Was it really so different?

She glanced over her shoulder, finding that Throttle had made himself comfortable on the grass behind her, gazing at the sky, where the first stars were just making themselves known. His legs were crossed as he leaned on his hands. A gentle breeze ruffled the fur on his arms and chest, played through his golden mane. His expression was peaceful, eyes lidded sleepily. Her heart skipped strangely at the picture as she hastily turned away again. Yes, she decided. It was different. It was a lot different.

Her hands were more than clean by then. She rose from her place and shyly sat beside him, not quite able to meet his eyes when he glanced down at her. “Feel better?” he asked after a moment.

“Yeah.” She managed a small smile. “Thanks.” They sat in silence for a moment, before she squirmed. “Soooo … shouldn’t we head back to the city now?” she hinted.

“Nah. We came all the way out here. Might as well stay a bit. You said you wanted to stargaze awhile back, remember?” He glanced down at her with a small grin as she blinked, then flushed.

“I’d rather you didn’t remember,” she groaned, hiding her face in her arms. “That was not my finest moment.” She heard him chuckle, jumped a bit when his hand came to rest on her head, ruffling her hair with a playful gesture. Apparently, he wasn’t gonna hold that kiss against her. She relaxed a bit, looking up at the sky where more stars had made their appearance. So had the moon, slowly coming into view over the line of trees. “Wow,” she sighed. “They really are clearer without all the lights in the way.”

“You stargaze a lot at home?”

“From the beach, mostly. But even then, there are always too many lights to really see them. The best stargazing I ever did was when me and Charley took our vacations on Pop-pop’s ranch. We’d take his big telescope and go into the middle of a field and watch meteor showers. We always made a zillion wishes on them. Most of which never did come true, come to think of it.” She huffed a laugh. “Did you stargaze a lot back home? I mean, before you joined the Freedom Fighters and all?”

“Not really. Never really took the time to appreciate ‘em. Least not until I was up there traveling through ‘em,” he replied.

“Have you been on a lot of deep space missions?” Alley turned to face him, face lighting up. “That must be amazing, getting to visit other planets and other galaxies and stuff. I mean, that sort of thing is nothing but science fiction here. We’ve never been past the moon.”

“I have seen some pretty incredible places,” he admitted, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. “Haven’t taken a lot of the deep space missions—Those’re usually reserved for Army, which we ain’t—but there were a few where they enlisted the Fighters’ help. Needed our … special touch to get the job done right.” His smile was feral, making her shiver.

“What was your favorite trip?” she asked.

He thought for a moment. “They weren't exactly pleasure cruises, ya know. But there was one planet with a suspected Plutarkian outpost they needed us to infiltrate. It was an ice planet, completely frozen. Planet itself was boring as hell, and the outpost turned out to be a false lead so it was a wasted trip. But that sky…” He whistled softly. “The atmosphere was poisonous, but the entire sky was a display of crystallized gas and reflected light. It looked a lot like Earth’s Northern Lights. Only even more incredible.” He shook his head, shrugging. “I can’t even put it into words what it was like. But that's one place I'll never forget visiting.”

She sat back, gazing at the rising moon thoughtfully. After a moment, she suggested, “You could … just show me, couldn’t you?”

“Huh?” His head snapped around, eyes widening.

She blushed. “Well, I mean, like you did when we met and you were explaining everything. All your memories in my head, like pictures.”

He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Ah, that was—I mean, the situation was bit—”

Her courage fled and she glanced away as she belatedly recalled what the guys had said about their ability’s other use. “No, you’re right. Sorry. It’s not exactly need-to-know information. I’ll just take your word for it.” She huffed a bemused laugh, scratching her head. “Boy, I seem to be stepping all over the boundaries today. Way to stick my foot in it.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, “I guess … a look wouldn’t hurt.” He offered a lopsided grin when she blinked up at him. “Nothin’ wrong with a quick peek. It really was an amazing sight. I think you’d appreciate it more’n the guys did.”

“You mean you’ll let me see?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Just don’t tell the fellas, huh? I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“My lips are sealed!” She shifted around to face him, sitting cross-legged in the grass as he mimicked the move. She closed her eyes as he leaned in, mentally bracing herself for the intrusion of a foreign mind into hers. His fingers touched her face, tracing softly down her cheek, making her twitch at the ticklish sensation. His thumb nudged her chin, tilting it up.

A moment passed. And another. And just when she was starting to believe he’d changed his mind, she startled as an unexpected warmth ghosted across her lips.

A breath of air. Velvety fur. A soft, warm pressure nuzzling carefully at her mouth; it took her a stunned moment to realize that he was kissing her. His touch was light, questioning … just a bit uncertain. He withdrew, returned a heartbeat later to settle more firmly, and she couldn’t stop a different kind of shiver from trembling over her body.

It was … different. The shape was all wrong, and the pronounced incisors pressing against her upper lip was a bit distracting. But he kissed her as though she was something fragile, and precious, and she found herself kissing back, learning the shape of his mouth, of how it fit to hers. It felt good, kissing Throttle, and when they parted, she forced her heavy lids open to gaze into his face with breathless wonder.

His eyes were wide. He was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before, and she felt herself blushing all over again. She licked her lips; his eyes immediately snapped to them, focused and intense. Her breath stuttered in her throat as she swallowed. “Th-that’s not quite how I remember it happening, last time around,” she joked weakly, trying to break the odd, building tension between them.

Her voice seemed to snap him back to reality. He blinked; the hands gripping her shoulders almost painfully were suddenly gone as he snatched them away, holding them up. “S-sorry! I wasn’t—I shouldn’t ‘ve—”

He made a move as if to rise, but her hand shot out to snag his vest, holding him there. He blinked down at it, looking as startled as she felt by her bold move. She ducked her head to hide her burning face. “D-do you hear me complaining?” she mumbled, releasing his clothes to pull her hand back … only to find it trapped under his, pressed to his chest. His skin through the fur was hot against her fingers; his heart thrummed hard and fast against her palm.

She slowly raised her eyes again, her own heart kicking into a hard gallop when their gazes clashed. He was giving her that look again. As if he was seeing her for the first time, and didn’t know quite what to make of her. His free hand slid into her tangled hair, cupping her head. He was so close that she could feel his breath stirring the wispy tendrils at her temple. And when he lowered his head, her breath hitched with anticipation as his mouth settled softly against hers.

He was bolder this time, more confident. He tilted her chin, adjusted the angle just so, traced the seam of her lips until they parted. His long tongue dipped in, tasted her deeply; she pulled back after a few moments, panting for air. Undeterred, he nuzzled under her chin, suckling at her throat as her fingers curled into the soft fur of his chest. He pushed forward, and she suddenly found herself on her back, head cradled in his hand. He settled between her legs, a delicious weight against her body; his fur was warm and silky against the bared skin of her stomach where her thin shirt had ridden up, sending an unexpected flush of arousal straight through her thighs. He kissed her again, and she slipped her arms around him, under his vest. Her fingers buried into his thick fur, nails dragging lightly along his hot skin as she stroked the long length of his back.

His reaction was a massive shudder, bucking his hips against her, and a different sort of heat thrust between her thighs, an exciting hardness prodding insistently at her core. She gasped, instinctively pushing back. He finally broke the kiss to nip at her ear, murmuring, his voice husky and deep. Foreign words that she couldn’t understand, but were no less compelling for that.

It was all happening so fast. She thought she ought to be protesting mightily by this point, but as he nuzzled down her throat and peppered soft kisses across her skin, she couldn’t seem to find her voice around the shaking breaths see-sawing between her lips. She trembled as his hand slipped gently up her stomach, under her shirt, over bare flesh. He’d definitely noticed her missing bra and made no secret that he appreciated the fact as he caressed gently, the worn leather of his glove causing delicious friction against her skin.

Unfortunately, the ensuing pleasure was offset by the not-so-pleasant experience of something hard and sharp digging insistently into her lower back. She squirmed, trying to avoid the aggravating little rock poking holes into her spine. He took it the wrong way, mistaking her arching back as silent pleas for more. He moved down her chest, pressing soft kisses and playful lovebites along the way, slipping the strap of her shirt over her shoulder to expose her further to his seeking mouth, nuzzling at the swell of her breast. “W-wait a moment,” she panted, trying to push him back.

He responded with a nip to her breast, through her shirt. She yipped in shock; he’d bitten just a little too hard, tearing cloth and sharply catching skin. The resulting pain was enough to snap her out of her lust-filled stupor. “Stop,” she hissed, and he immediately froze. She softened at his expression, a mixture of worry and guilt. “I-I’ve got … something—There’s a rock or something,” she mumbled, trying to explain as she reached under herself and patted around. She yanked out the offending stone, and he leaned back as she sat up to hurl it away in a flash of irritation. A soft plop sounded from the lake.

They sat in awkward silence for a moment, before he reached out to trace a gentle hand down her face, studying her carefully. She offered a hesitant smile. He started to lean in again, but her question stopped him. “Sh-should we be doing this?”

His soft expression shuttered. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that.” She flushed, glancing away. She’d been liking it quite a lot, actually, and wanted nothing more than to let him continue, but…

“It’s just—I thought you—Don’t you have—?” She broke off, flustered. “What about your Carbine?” she finally blurted, and was rewarded with a slow widening of his eyes, realization dawning in his expression.

He hissed softly, turning away. She thought she caught a muttered “What am I doing?” before he presented his back to her, fisting his hands into his mane. She regretted even bringing it up. She shifted beside him, not knowing what to say. She felt unaccountably ashamed of herself, making out like that with a taken guy. A very taken guy, if what his friends had told her was true. She wasn’t the type to go around stealing other girls’ boyfriends right out from under their noses. Especially when they weren’t even there to fight for him!

Still, taken or not, she couldn’t deny the definite attraction she’d developed toward the golden mouse. How strange, for her feelings on the matter to have changed so quickly. Now she just felt embarrassed for criticizing Charley’s choice so harshly. She was definitely starting to see the appeal of Martian mice. It no longer mattered that Throttle was of an alien race. It didn’t matter that he was covered in fur and looked like a rodent. Somewhere in the last few weeks, she’d come to think of all of the mice as being kind of beautiful. Tails, fuzzy ears, bionic parts and all.

To her, though, Throttle was the most beautiful. She’d been taken completely by his personality. He was like a prince; charming, charismatic, protective. He had the most compassionate heart she’d ever seen. She’d never known a human man who would go so far as to take her to a special place just to bury a dead rat. She thought she might love that about him.

She glanced at his still profile, shifting uncomfortably as she tried to reconcile with her strange attraction and the fact that, like it or not, he was just not available to pursue it.

But maybe they broke up, she thought, a small, niggling hope growing. He’d gotten a letter the other week, and hadn’t said a word about it since. Maybe it had been a Dear John note. Or maybe he was having relationship issues and was considering breaking it off. Or maybe—

Or maybe he’d gotten caught up in the moment, just like you, and had lost his head, she scolded herself, trying to squash down the hateful thoughts. The way she’d been throwing herself at him, it was no wonder he’d made a move! He’d only been responding to her advances, unintentional or not. Looking at it that way, the entire situation was her fault, and now she felt horrible about that, too. She’d never meant to take advantage of his kindness in such a way.

He finally shifted, catching her attention as he glanced over his shoulder. “Gettin’ kinda late,” he said quietly. “Probably better get back to the garage, before they go out looking.”

“Oh.” She dropped her gaze, disappointed. “Yeah. You’re right. We should get back.”

He stood and strode to the bike, leaving her to blink for a moment before she scrambled up to follow him, tightening her sweater around her. She silently put on the helmet, noting that his tail did not hold her as tightly as before when it coiled around her waist. She leaned in to slip her arms around him, thought the better of it. He was so tense now. She leaned back again, settling for resting her hands on his shoulders.

It was a long, silent ride back to the city. Night had fallen, and the temperature had dropped. Alley was shivering with cold by the time they pulled up to the garage. She got off the bike, handed him the helmet, but held on when he tried to take it. “Throttle?” Her voice was very small. “Thank you for what you did today. With Mercy and everything…” She dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry about—I didn’t mean to let—”

He looked startled. “What’re you talkin’ about? I’m the one who—” He shook his head. “I let it go too far. I should’ve kept my hands off. I just—You were sittin’ there, all soft and tempting. I couldn’t—” He chuffed a sharp breath, a husky laugh. “Really sad thing is, I wish we were still back there,” he muttered under his breath. Her eyes widened, and he pulled the helmet from her lifeless fingers. “Go on in. You’re shivering.”

She was. But not just from the cold anymore. “You’re not coming?”

“Nah. Gotta go clear my head. I’ve got some serious thinkin’ to do. Tell the guys I’ll see ‘em later, yeah?”

“Okay. Sure. I’ll tell them.”

He offered a small smile before handing her the empty shoebox. He revved the engine and shot off, tail lights leaving a bright streak behind him.

She sighed heavily, clutching the box to her chest before turning to trudge into the garage.

#Biker Mice from Mars #bmfm fanfiction #BMFM #Throttle #OC #Wow! Some actual romance!

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egoiistas · 6 years

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may i feel, said he (14)

first | tag | ao3 | ffn

[co-written with @tsaritsa]

a/n 10k views on ao3 and nearing 20k on FFN. we're absolutely gobsmacked.as always, ty for all ur comments!!! we hope this update will satify u - ana has been waiting a very long time to write one particular scene and we've had to push it back so many times...I finally let her have it.

Warnings: Sexual Content ™, cursing Words: ~7.5k || Rated: M - Royai

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

salt-laced and arched / dorianne laux, this close

The days, then weeks go on without Olivier.

Easier than it should be, Riza adjusts to another walking out the door. Every once in a while, a sad wave of nostalgia washes over her when she sees the significantly vacant living room or looking at the bare wall that once held frames and chic paintings. Even if some called her icy and dull, she had impeccable taste and Riza misses the colors on the wall. These small moments creep up on Riza when she least expects them, during the most inane moments of the day, and it's hard not to feel the loss and how it still stings like an accidental pinch to sensitive skin.

Perhaps she judged Olivier incorrectly, a voice in her head tells her snidely. Perhaps you chose wrongly, a darker, but smaller voice said. Riza can’t fault her former flatmate’s inability to understand her affair, no matter how much or how little it stings. It burns in the hollow parts where their friendship used to be, knowing that this man has a better and more intimate understanding of her as a person than Olivier would ever be capable of or want to be capable of. The sentiment is selfish and she knows this. In other situations, she respected Olivier’s ability to remain steadfast in her convictions.

All this comes to mind on a Friday evening, a quiet one when they are rarely so for Riza. Earlier she relished at the fact that she could take advantage of the quietude to get lost in her annotated-to-death anthology of Pablo Neruda’s works; to be comfortably situated in her own bed and just take in the evoking prose, and catch up on her laundry she was woefully behind on. The space would do her some good, she reasoned. A lot had happened in the last few weeks and a bit of alone time with her favourite poets and a Greed pizza from Hell’s would do her some good. It’s been a while since she’s had a moment with just her and a book and four walls.

Riza looks at the time, the walls, the fading pages, and realizes … why did she ever come to miss this. When did she grow to enjoy company?

Rebecca had come and gone after her classes, commenting on how rare it was to see her there on a Friday. Riza tried to explain but her friend looked like she was short for time, making a racket with her closet and in the bathroom. Riza could hardly catch where she was going, she’d hardly made mention of it as she was hurrying out of the apartment and then those words were cut off by the slamming on the door. Not that she expected it, but the lack of invitation probably meant that it was a date or something of the sort. That was hours ago and Riza finds herself a little disappointed, but mostly strange, that her phone isn’t blowing up with a play-by-play of the date’s shortcomings or successes. The commentary is a specialty of Rebecca’s humor.

Her friend was right: ordinarily, she wouldn’t be here. Over the course of a few months, Riza has slipped into a routine that she is loathe to have issue with. A bus would take her on a route that went past his neighbourhood, following her afternoon biochem class. Sometimes, she’d make a detour to the supermarket nearby to pick up a few things if a mood struck for something in particular, but more often than not she was content with takeout. It was a nicer environment than the library - she could spread out all the work she needed to do on the coffee table in his lounge and sprawl herself along his couch. The hot chocolate powder that had mysteriously arrived in the pantry one day wasn’t amiss either.

This time, however, her excuse was moot and she couldn’t expect a phone call or exchange of texts to change that either, because tonight he was travelling to Central for a conference where chemistry nerds were converging to relay to each other the latest findings. Roy was not as excited as she expected. In fact, he looked particularly disgruntled by the way he told her about it two weeks ago. He whined how not even professors were spared from homework, or ‘paperwork’ as he referred to it.

Eventually, she pushes away the distractions and enthralled for the millionth by The Heights of Macchu Picchu when her phone lights up and pings on her desk. Mindful of the book in her hands that is practically falling apart, she sets it down carefully, before stretching out to pull on the charging cable. The phone falls into her hand with practiced ease, and Riza can’t help the smile that grows on her face as she sees the name - nickname - emblazoned on her lockscreen.

Spanish Inquisition, 7:02pm I had a very interesting visitor today Spanish Inquisition, 7:02pm You didn’t think to warn me?

A chill runs down her spine. She’s trying her best not to jump to conclusions but a familiar sanctimonious smirk appears in her mind’s eye. She wouldn’t...would she? Calmly, she responds:

Avecilla, 7:02pm I would if I knew who to warn you about.

Spanish Inquisition, 7:03pm So you didn’t know. Hmm. Spanish Inquisition, 7:03pm Your other flatmate. Not blonde. Bushy black hair. Very opinionated. Spanish Inquisition, 7:03pm And loud

Spanish Inquisition, 7:04pm Came into my office hours in middle of a meeting with another student.

Her relief is short-lived as the reality settles in. Palm meets skin and she smacks her forehead. She loves Rebecca - honestly, truly - but the girl lived in the moment and rarely considered the consequences of her actions in the aftermath. She can’t discern his reaction though, not through text alone. Her thumb hovers over the icon at the top of the app. Surely he would’ve called her if he felt the conversation warranted it.

Avecilla, 7:04pm becca? Avecilla, 7:04pm oh fuck

Spanish Inquisition, 7:07pm ah so, becca’s her name! I wish she would have told me that

Spanish Inquisition, 7:07pm She said a lot about a lot of things, but not her name Spanish Inquisition, 7:08pm tbh I wasn’t really given a chance to say anything Spanish Inquisition, 7:08pm Do you know how weird it is to be lectured in my own office

Riza mutters a string of curses under her breath.

She switches messaging windows to Rebecca’s and stares at the blank chat box wondering which side to approach this from. Her fingers rest on the bridge of her nose imagining the scene of a riled up Rebecca busting in through that office door, telling the unsuspecting student to scram and then potentially ripping Roy a new one about who-knows-what with the signature hands-on-hips stance. It’s frustrating, it should be incredibly frustrating. What she had said, the manner in which she barged in, how it’s interpreted - all of it could be her demise but a chuckle bubbles up because... Classic Rebecca.

Unaware that the screen had dimmed, she sees it light up again with a call this time. “Hello?”

“You left me on read?” The other voice on the line greets her with hints of playful tones under that indignant choice of words. He continues smoothly, “Are you starting to think you’re the exception in all of this, avecilla?”

She snorts, smiling as she sat up. As far as she can tell he’s not irritated. “No exception to the embarrassment knowing Rebecca did that. If I had known that was even remotely crossing her mind - well, I would have stopped her.”

“Something tells me even if you did know, there’s no much that you could have done from stopping a force of nature like that.” Despite the noise of what she assumes is Central all around him, she can hear the tired smile on him. “I think you’re very lucky to have such a loyal friend who has terrifyingly specific medical knowledge on how to best remove a penis.”

“She didn’t...” Riza groans and leans back against her pillows, sliding the dog-eared anthology back from the edge of the bed before she covers her face.

“She did. I was perplexed for most of it, blinking at her as she paced in front of my desk.” Riza let the words sink down with her mortification and then she’s frozen when he says, “Does she do this with all your boyfriends?”

She isn’t sure why it tenses her; maybe its because it's finally given a name, even if it’s only a label, and an unsure, timid smile crosses her face. “Consider yourself special for getting the Rebecca treatment.”

“I consider myself lucky for other reasons, Riza.”

Her demeanor changes with the teasing lilt in his words. A half-smile begins to spring up over her lips, thankful he’s understanding - in whatever capacity - of this. “Care to share with the class?” She says coyly.

“Yes, that no one else heard. Or made any comment about it.” He says sternly and she sinks back into her pillows.

“I don’t know why she thought storming into your office would be a good idea.”

“Well it certainly worked out well enough for you, didn’t it?” Even though he’s making fun of her, she bites her lip at the memory, and the way his voice has dipped now, sultry and inflected with the accent that he was well aware that made her weak in the knees. He’s blatantly flirting with her.

Riza scoffs. “I believe our aims were a little different if we are going to be making comparisons.”

“Ah, so you did come with a goal in mind then.”

“Yes, sir. I-”

There are stifled chuckles on the other end. He is one of the few people clever enough to really get under her skin, get her riled up.

“If I recall correct, you admitted that I was baited into your office because of your stunt.”

“Mmm, did I now?” he asks, low and throaty.

At least the whiplash from the back and forth keeps her on her toes; she looks at them wiggling even now as she talks to him. “Mhm, I was there.”

He chuckles lightly and she hears someone greet him faintly in the background. “Let me call you back so I can get into this hotel room.”

“Oh, of course.”

They don’t share many phone calls but even from the first day, she’s known his voice was pleasant. Especially when he wants it to be. His laugh was warm down the line, and inexplicably she finds herself missing him, despite talking to him this morning however briefly.

The phone rings and she greets him with a standard “hello.” When no sound comes from the other end, she checks the screen to make sure the line is connected.

“So…” he starts and it sounds like he plops on a bed. “What are you wearing?”

She blinks. “What?”

He enunciates each word. “What - are - you - wearing?”

She sinks down the length of her headboard. “You’re not serious.”

He tuts. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Clothing.”

“You’re no fun, Miss Hawkeye.”

“Maybe it’s because I’d rather have you here to show me what you want.”

“So would I.” There’s a wistful edge to his voice. “Do you have other plans? I was under the impression that you had a date with some laundry and pizza.”

“I had a date,” she emphasises. “Besides... I don’t think I’d be too good at it.”

“Trial and error, right? There’s no pressure to do anything you’re not comfortable with and we can always stop whenever you’d like.”

Likewise, she gets up and locks the door to her bedroom even though she knows Rebecca won’t be home for a while yet - certainly not after that stunt. “What a gentleman.”

“I like to think so.” She can hear his smile. “So...what are you wearing?”

Riza smiles in turn, feeling foolish. It’s such a ridiculous question on top of a ridiculous act. Tightening her grip on her phone, she figures telling him the truth of her rather vanilla pyjamas would probably detract from the mood of… whatever this was. She knows enough about “phone sex” - even in her mind it leaves a weird, tingly feeling - to at least humor him. She sighs into the phone, “It’s warm tonight, so I decided to wear something comfy to bed. Something so I can wiggle under the covers without feeling ...constricted.”

“Shorts?” The voice at the other end sounds surprised and she clearly sees him, in her mind’s eye, leaning in closer with interest and probably a smirk.

Riza bites her lower lip. “Less.”

“Oh.” He sounds delighted. “Well, if you’re going to have me guess what Riza Hawkeye wears on her days off… the top to her pajamas and her small clothes.”

He knows her too well. With little movement, she slides her underwear down her legs, letting them fall to the floor. She laughs, a little nervously. “Less.”

“Aren’t you naughty tonight?”

“I’ve been asked to,” Riza teases and shifts against her pillows. “Now, tell me something.”

“Yes?”

She’s unfamiliar with this certain kind of ...adventure. Nonetheless, she’s still willing to try. “How... excited are you?”

“Mhm. Let’s see.” She faintly hears fabric shifting, zippers unzipping, and if she wasn’t listening so intently, she would have missed the light groan. “Very.”

She licks her lips, imagining him sitting on the edge of her bed. Her legs cross; as a pleasant surprise, her arousal settles hotly in between them. “Tell me why.”

“You. Your legs. Spread and losing myself between them. Your body on mine.”

“You’re worse than me, sir.” There is a throbbing pulse right at her core in rhythm with the hard thrumming in her chest. It feels warm and slick without having to touch herself, though the temptation to is becoming harder to ignore. “What would you do?” she asks, cradling the phone between her shoulder and her ear. “If you had me there.”

His laugh is delicious - she closes her eyes as a shiver runs over her bare skin. “Enough about me, avecilla. How eager would you be if you were here?”

“I’m hardly-”

“Try.”

Leaning back, Riza tries to imagine her own fantasies. “If I was there-” she hears a throaty chuckle, “- I’d get on my knees, relieve you of those pesky trousers...” A daring hand slips in between her legs and her fingers are glistening when she lifts them back up to the light.

“And?” His voice has become husky, rumbling through his throat.

“I’d take you into my mouth.” She answers automatically, distracted from her slow stroke, playing with herself. It’s true - previously, with other fumblings, she had done her part to make her partner feel good - but with him she is surprised to find herself enjoying the act so thoroughly. Maybe it’s a power thing. The image of him watching her take him into her mouth with hooded eyes and a slack jaw is something she holds close to her heart. She does that to him.

Nobody else.

It takes him a moment to respond and when he does, his words are marked with a smidgen of strain. “Fast or slow?”

She doesn’t realize until this moment that her eyes have fallen shut, her head thrown back. “Slow at first, tasting you, feeling how hard you are in my mouth and growing harder with my tongue.”

“At first?” Roy asks curiously. “You’d want me to make you go faster, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I do-” she admits, gasping with the building pleasure of using two fingers to stimulate her clit.

“Grabbing you by your hair to so you can feel me go deeper.”

“Yes…” His fingers coiled in her hair, his cock around her lips getting wetter each time she retook him in her mouth, the aching between her thighs increasing with every second -

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.” Riza thought a laugh would leave her, instead she moans into the phone, feeling a warmth flush her skin pink. She’s wet enough to hear it, rubbing herself. She settles on the bed properly now, lying flat with the phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. Gasping lightly, Riza slides a finger, then two inside herself as her other hand grabs her own breast, ghosting over the tip of her sensitive nipple.

“And where would you like me to fuck you?”

“Take me however you’d like me.” The truth is she can’t really think. She’s lost in her own fantasies. Against the wall with her legs over his hip; from behind where he could dig his nails into her as they picked up the pace; on top of him where she could feel him reaching depths that had her voice filling the room - it didn’t matter. There is an aching in her that her fingers cannot fulfill. He was too far away. She wants him here, with her and her shitty second-hand bed and the evidence is soaking her digits to her knuckles.

His groan reverberates through the phone lines and into her ear and she can almost feel the hot breath in her ear and his familiar scent.

She breathes in as hoping his phantom scent would materialize just for her. She begins, “I’m y-”

Her bedroom door opens.

“Rebecca!” she screeches. Mortified, she drops her phone, urging her roommate to get out. She can only imagine his confused expression as she swears black and blue and Rebecca is cackling madly in the background. She covers herself with her blanket, chasing her out and slams the door behind her. There’s a chuckle wedged in between the “I’m sorry!” Rebecca shouts from the other side of the door.

Her phone is still lit up, the call remaining in progress as she approaches her bed. “Roy..?” she breathes after the entire debacle. Paper crinkles beneath her feet. She quickly pulls them back and hisses under her breath.

“I’m here,” he responds after a moment and he sounds a little spent. “Did we have unfortunate timing again?”

She sighs as she kneels down, her blanket pooling around her feet. “What’s the matter?” he presses.

Riza groans as she sees the scattered pages across her room. The hardcover of her anthology lies face down, open. The spine of it must’ve hit the floor first. She crouches though her legs shake and picks up the annotated papers. “It’s nothing.”

Other than the shifting of someone on a bed, there’s silence on the other end until he speaks again. “It doesn’t sound like nothing, avecilla.”

She nestles the phone in between her ear and shoulder as she collects the remnants of the book in earnest. “A book I was reading before you called fell off the bed and the pages came apart.”

“You certainly haven’t shown me that kind of vigor to make a book fall apart.”

She huffs into the phone, hoping her flattened brow expression would be received telepathically. “It was old.”

“I’m not that old.”

“The book.”

She can hear him stifle a chuckle, but he fails by snickering anyway. It makes her smile too. “Now I see. In any case, I’m sorry to hear that. Which book was it?”

Riza flips the cover as if she didn’t already know. “An old poetry book I bought when I was younger. Neruda.”

“Ah, that’s unfortunate.”

“What’s unfortunate is that I was… almost getting into it,” she admits, slipping on a different pair of underwear.

She can just imagine the disappointed expression on his face. “That’s even more unfortunate. But there’ll be other times if the moment is ruined.”

Again, she smiles because of his understanding, despite her embarrassment and she’ll admit to herself that she’s little forlorn over missing the opportunity to hear him reach an orgasm right in her ear. “I think for right now it is. I need to clean up this mess and then there’s my other date that needs tending to.”

“Laundry isn’t that necessary, is it? By all means, walk around naked if you’d like. I certainly won’t protest.”

Riza grins, holding back the laughter. She manages to sternly volley back, “One of us has to remain civilized.”

He scoffs. “I’m hurt.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Call me back once you’re done?”

Genuinely and warmly this time, she smiles. “If you behave.”

“So no dick pics?”

It takes a lot of willpower not to snort audibly. “Surprise me, sir.”

With his return, she realizes only a few weeks remain before classes end officially. Riza’s always taken initiative for her assignments with diligence, but there’s always the influx of assignments at the end of the term, projects to wrap up, or reports to finalize. Still aiding him when she can in the evenings, her free time becomes increasingly limited.

There’s a new, long list of journals and books that Roy requires for his research that they read and eventually determine the value of this information. On top of this already tedious work, she offers to help grade the essays from the two 100-level courses he teaches in addition to her Chemical Literature class.

It’s boring, menial and uninspiring work: the amount of grammatical, spelling and formatting errors has Riza throwing her pencil away from her in frustration on more than one occasion. The content of said work is of an even lesser quality. It aggravates Riza when it’s obvious to her that some these students don’t give a flying fuck about their education. Or they do, but they have a shit way of showing it.

Some dark part of her forms from this trial and she takes joy tearing into the worst of the essays via text messages to him. In turn, he responds with the excuses and the pleas for extensions or redacted frantic emails that come in once students factor in the weight of the participation grade.

Spanish Inquisition, 11:53 pm 3 years Spanish Inquisition, 11:53 pm 3 years and they still ignore the bolded text Spanish Inquisition, 11:53 pm It’s in caps you know. Spanish Inquisition, 11:53 pm PARTICIPATION GRADE: 35% Spanish Inquisition, 11:54 pm It’s almost like they forget that in order to participate they have to attend class.

Avecilla, 11:57 pm Strike them down Spanish Inquisition, 11:58 pm HA Avecilla, 11:58 pm I mean Avecilla, 11:58 pm How cruel are you going to be?

Spanish Inquisition, 11:59 pm Most will get a B or similar Spanish Inquisition, 11:59 pm Not enough for them to storm to the dean and complain i’m unfair, but maybe enough to encourage them to maybe try next time

The weeks fly by because of this and she can only think of one time in the last few weeks where they’ve actually managed to do more than just kiss. Riza isn’t one to keep tallies, but it was after a late night of simultaneously grading, reading and working on her final assignments. She was tired. She knew he was too, and while she could only blame herself for suggesting it, it didn’t make her any less frustrated when he drifts to sleep with his dick in her mouth. Rebecca harbored no sympathy for her either. She merely texts ‘HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA’ and then sends far too many tongue-in-cheek gifs implying Riza was “thirsty.”

Even if she was, Riza muted her best friend and finished herself off, but not before almost succumbing to sleep once or twice.

Every time after that, when they managed to have more coffee or sleep in, they were rudely interrupted in some other way. As if it were sacrilege he had taken that one time for granted, he jested once, and it soon became laughable what the universe kept throwing at them.

The workload was understandable, forgivable, and inevitably out of their control. Then, it was constant miscalculations of how little time they had: either she had a class or he had one to teach or office hours, or I’m about to crash and we both know how the last time worked out. It was driving her up the walls - and not in the ways she’d preferred.

They reach a point of recklessness. They take advantage of his empty office with a locked door on the final days after class. He cancels his office hours that morning after her assurances that her assignments were up to par and she could afford the distraction. Riza finds herself pleasantly nestled between euphoria and giddiness from the frantic way they paw at each other’s clothes. Or it’s the way she sat on the edge of his desk and the cool air tickled in the moist heat in between her legs. Or the little tinge of pride from cancelling his office hours just for her. Or perhaps a combination of it all. Irresponsible, to be sure, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t flattered how much he desired her, as if it were anything to question. She thinks, in foolish desperation, that the odds are in their favour this time.

She’s wet and ready from his fingers playing with her as they kiss, bringing him closer with her legs as her soft moans are muffled by his lips. Her hands reach for the buckle of his belt and she chuckles lightly when she detours further south to palm the erection under the cloth of his pants. Let’s free it, she thought then and refocused on the buckle, because she is fed up with all this teasing and none of the fingering. He’s given her a light orgasm already - the kind that leaves her wanting, that she only needed to bite down on her lip for - but it’s made her insatiable now. There’s just something so good about having him in her, and as much as she loves his fingers and dexterity, they cannot mimic the stretch and feeling of fullness he alone provides. “I want you,” she murmurs under his lips, drunk from her lust, as she unbuckled the belt with practiced fingers.

Loud and obnoxious, an alarm suddenly blares. Sound fills the room and it’s like a bucket of cold water over her; it takes them both a moment to recenter themselves back to earth. Her fingers uncurl from his pants and inwardly she mourns the loss of contact. The urge to keep going is strong; after all, when are fire alarms set off for a legitimate reasons anyway? It’s an irrational thought and Riza can hardly hear anything else. They fix themselves up hastily and exit the building; everybody they pass seemingly none the wiser. She lets herself drift away from him - a few metres and several people between them when they reach the evacuation point, reminding herself that there are other people here and this close to the end of classes is no excuse to relax her standards. She’s just...frustrated. A voice that sounds a lot like Rebecca’s teases that she’s actually just horny.

If she’s honest, she hates the shame that trickles down her spine at this unadulterated want. In a different time, with a less conservative upbringing to influence her choices, she wouldn’t find this shame and guilt currently she’s currently wrestling with. She would be more like Rebecca or even Olivier where it’s not on her radar, coming and going as she pleases. But if her circumstances were different, she probably wouldn’t even be here, studying for a Bachelor of Science as a means to connect with her absentee father.

Riza miraculously catches his eyes as the crowd slowly shuffles further back on the field as more people spill out of the Joseph Hunter Science Building. He mouths something to her, but her lipreading is terrible and she shrugs her shoulders, lifting up her phone to their field of vision.

Spanish Inquisition, 10:23am 10 minutes leaves enough time to return the favor of the other night.

The fire alarm had killed most of their time before her next class, but she forgoes punctuality in favor of four minutes of feeling his hair in between her fingers while his lips kiss in between her legs. In the end, her tardiness was excused.

Finally - finally, she thinks they’ve managed a miracle. Her final assignments are as ready as they’ll ever be, waiting for one final read-over before submission, and his last block of essays have been graded and handed back to their respective classes. Draped over him in the same chair in his apartment study where they first fucked, she’s allowing herself to celebrate as she cups his jaw with her hands, her tongue sliding against his pleasantly.

He hardens underneath her and she’s none too shy about unbuttoning his shirt as he has done for her. Pushed down to her elbows, the shirt is rid of her and it’s a painful few seconds when she pulls away to be free of it properly. He looks sinfully decadent beneath her, a lazy smirk growing on his face as one hand deliberately hooks a finger under her bra strap, tugging it down. Her lingerie choices have been adventurous in recent weeks - the pastel blue lacy number she’s currently wearing is definitely not designed for any exercise more taxing than walking, and judging by the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, Riza knows with certainty that she’s found a keeper.

His fingers brush over her nipples, and she briefly shuts her eyes as he pinches before pulling the fabric down and draws her close, tongue soothing the puckered skin. Her hands curl into his hair, scratching at his scalp and Riza’s uncaring of the breathy moans leaving her - this is divine, and the wait has certainly been worth it.

Roy’s hands drift down and slide under her skirt, fingers gliding over the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs, leaving tingling sensations in its wake. He is only mere inches from her arousal and a great deal of willpower goes into preventing herself from pushing his hand forward.

He takes off his glasses and she sets them behind her on the large desk. Her hands go through his hair as he cups her breast and brings her other nipple into his mouth, using his tongue to tease the tip and even nip at it gently with his teeth. His other hand clutches at her ass to bring her closer as if the distance they have was remotely unbearable. Riza gasps into his hair, grinding her hips over his lap, and his scent is mixed with sweat. It’s a dangerous, addicting blend, and she shudders in his lap as his fingers stroke across her bare skin. He releases her nipple slowly from between his teeth before shifting back to her other one and she remembers a joke he said about her breasts deserving equal treatment.

And then, in the middle of this achingly wonderful treatment - his ringtone goes off.

Roy groans for all the wrong reasons, throwing his head back. He keeps them steady as he awkwardly reaches his back pocket for his phone. “Pfft, it’s just Hughes,” he mutters after a concerted effort and sets the cell down on the chair of the arm. Softer and locked on her other unattended breast, he mumbles with a mouth full of her, “He can leave a message.”

Riza doesn’t remember which one is Hughes and she’s not given much time to think about it when his mouth returns to her breast and his hand squeezes, massages, tweaks at the other. She’s at the point of moaning out if you say so when the vibrations and standard tune rings out again.

He stops altogether and after a few seconds, it dies to a stop only to start up again. His attention is needed again, and she’s never felt quite as pissed off at an inanimate object as she does right now. Roy growls and sits back, picking up the phone. “Let me just see what he wants.”

She nods wordlessly and he starts the conversation, going beyond standard small talk after a few moments. She can hear the other man talking; an excitable person who gets even more excited when he talks about certain topics. She can’t discern what they’re talking about exactly, but Roy gives the occasional mhm and yeah when it’s warranted.

Riza figures she can go wait for him in the bedroom. Perhaps sprawled out with a bright, blinking sign that says ‘insert here’ in between her legs should he fail to see how much she wanted him that afternoon; she blames Rebecca’s influence for that kind of ridiculous humor. Riza starts to climb off him and stops when she’s kept in place from his hand gripping the fabric of her skirt. He wants her to stay there? She frowns and points at the phone. His brows furrow and he shakes his head, putting a finger over his mouth, telling her to be quiet.

Well, she can go be quiet in the other room. She can respect his privacy. It’s not a big deal; they had the entire evening to themselves. Well, nearly - but she’d be damned if she’d let any other distractions interrupt them after this call. She deserves to be fucked thoroughly.

Roy is apparently impatient, however. The hand holding the finger over his mouth flattens over her thigh and coasts up to the edge of her skirt. He thumbs the skin there, teasing the idea that he could touch her in the middle of this conversation. She looks at him knowingly when he crosses underneath the folds of her skirt, yet he continues on talking as though nothing has happened. He caresses the skin inside her thighs as he talks about something or the other: Riza isn’t concentrating on that, instead absorbed with the sensation of his fingers drifting higher and higher. She waits patiently, but his touch somehow makes her hotter, wetter. A devious finger lightly ghosts over the linen of her damp underwear and he says a perfectly timed “Oh?” towards the caller and to her. Riza blushes and grabs at his wrist.

She can sit up, she can leave the room, she knows that he’d respect that, but she doesn’t want to. She realizes there’s a morbid curiosity as to how and why he does things and she always wants to know. This is moment is one of them. It’s why she doesn’t stop him when he tugs aside the cloth of her underwear and wets his fingers with what’s in between her lips. Her frown dissipates and she gasps as if she’s been starved from his touch, like it’s an electrifying drug she’s been having withdrawals from. The sensations of his fingers rubbing against her clit is familiar and unknown, and she lets her head fall back, relishing in the feeling and clawing lightly at the armchair.

His fingers leave her and he cleans them off with his mouth before gesturing her to be quiet with a finger over his mouth again. She thinks she can hear his friend say “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he responds, looking directly at her with a devious glint in his eyes. “Just eating. Go on.”

A warm tingle shoots down her spine and spreads across her abdomen down to her groin. She’s been enraptured by a lunatic and she’s allowed it to happen, even now when he aims to touch her again. With a bite to her knuckle, she grasps at his loosened shirt when his fingers return to remind her how obnoxiously needy she has become. Giving into this notion, she moves to hover over his lap for shameless access. He bites a bottom lip at this, staring her from the wrinkled mess of her skirt to her flushed, knuckle-biting face. She’s wet enough that an easy orgasm is on the horizon from the slow, rubbing stimulation on her clit. Riza makes the mistake of thinking he’ll stop there, because then one finger enters her and then another. Her reaction is unexpected, even to her. She falls back to his lap and bites the fleshy side of her palm to quell the noises. Her spread legs allow him to finger her, so he does. Slowly. In and out, and the noises would make her die of mortification if she weren’t enjoying every satisfyingly building moment of this pleasure. His palm is hitting her stimulated clit with each stroke and she’s grasping at his shirt once more, trying to salvage what solid ground she can keep as the pleasure rises within her..

He slows down when she’s at the precipice of a delicious orgasm that she even licks her lips, and decides to become an active participant in his phone call. But it’s not in English. He shifts to Spanish while his hand moves against her more patiently. She tries to catch her breath from holding it but it’s impossible not to listen to the way he’s talking. It’s fascinating how melodic a different language sounds and how much of a turn on it is for her. He speaks this language faster. His R’s roll off his tongue and somehow there’s more sensuality in his voice. It’s mesmerizing.

His attention turns back to her when moments ago he was staring at some place off to the side. He looks to her hips and she doesn’t even realize - until he does - how subtly she was moving them. Roy pauses, eyebrows furrowed before a downright hungry grin forms on his face, and his fingers begin to move once more.

“Estoy eschuchando,” he answers the person on the other line, his diction shifting into a huskier tone, each syllable pronounced lower and slower. She thought it was bad enough when he spoke it casually, but when he did it deliberately? She can only handle so much stimuli, and by this point she’s uncaring of how shameless she’s acting, how she’s become putty in his hands. She’s drunk on this orgasm she can feel barrelling towards her, on the lust and desire she feels for him. She’s never felt it quite like this before - this want that feels more like a need with every passing second. She wants to take the phone and hang it up for him, but she opts for pulling at the collar of his partially unbuttoned shirt and biting the taut muscle at the meeting of his neck and shoulder. He maintains that paced fingering in and out of her. She knows she’s tightening around his fingers because of the paced movement.

With his deliberate words at her ear, his fingers inside her, and the smell of his bare skin, she climaxes against him, taking deep breaths and every measure to stifle the moans and groans. Her head rests over his shoulder, hot breath hitting his neck. She can see him swallowing and doesn’t know why she didn’t think to give him the same torturing she just endured.

He’s hard. She can feel it and see it in this light. She palms it, clutches it, strokes it, and he swallows thickly again. He sounds strained when he cuts off the caller and abruptly says, “I’ll have to call you back.” Roy ends the call and the phone is tossed to the wayside as his fingers slide out of her.

She grabs his cock harder and he surprises her by standing up, supporting her by her underside until she’s laid on his desk directly behind her, over the papers she had spent last week meticulously highlighting. She lifts her hips to help with the removal of her own underwear. As he works with his own pants she tries to salvage what’s underneath her to little success. Distracted by her menial task, she gasps, surprised, when her wrists are manacled and set at either side of her head. Her breathing is heavy, his too. The tip of him nudges at her entrance and she moves against it, towards it just for the stretch a little bit more of him inside her.

“A little bird tells me you have a secret.”

Riza smiles coyly after a futile attempt to use her legs to bring him forward. “Hardly a secret if you know about it,” she manages, half-heartedly trying to move her arms. He doesn’t budge an inch, his smile dark and promising. She supposes at this point nothing should really surprise her when it comes to her newfound appreciation for less-than-vanilla sex, but there’s just something so inherently sexy about being pinned down by him, even as simply as she is right now. The temporary loss of control is so easy to lose herself in.

Roy observes her hungrily. “A kink then.”

The initial thrust makes her gasp sharply and he groans pleasantly. Her limbs dangle off the side as he fucks her over his desk. Where he was well-paced before, he is erratic now, but he won’t find complaint from her in that regard. She has no means of quieting herself with her hands where they are, and biting down at her teeth proves inefficient when each of his thrusts touch places she’s been yearning for weeks, when the stretch she’s been hungry for is finally given to her. Her eyes are shut, mouth open, body subject to this carnal movement. She doesn’t think to see beyond her eyes for the time being, what expressions his face is making or anything that will take her away from the here and now of the feelings of the sex. She feels selfish for relishing in this, but fuck, it’s been a long time coming and this sex proves it.

He lets go of her wrists and brings her toward him to hang just a little more over the desk by way of her legs. She reaches over her head at the other end of the desk, moaning into the inside of her arm, clutching the edge as if it were her salvation from plunging into the deep.

Her eyes open suddenly when he thumbs her clit. She looks at him and there’s a wolfish grin on his face, enjoying her reactions in the ways she squirms, moans, mewls, and tightens. Her fingernails scratch at the desk for purchase, for breath, but he continues with sweat beading his brow until he grunts a little louder and his final thrusts hit deeper as he cums inside her.

Her own orgasm follows shortly after, and she’s left quivering on the desk, well aware of the sight she is before him. She can feel his seed leaking out of her as her pulls out, and automatically her fingers move to catch it - like hell was she going to completely debase the paperwork that was crumpled underneath her. He utters a strange, strained grunt, running a hand through his hair roughly.

“I’ve told you, you can’t just do that with no warning.”

“Oh?” Her hand rises back up to her mouth and she wets her lower lip in anticipation. “Do this?” Her tongue darts out to lap at the milky, viscous fluid and while the taste is not delightful, the reaction that he has most certainly is. She barely has time to repeat her actions before his hand closes firmly over her own, and pulling her up to a sitting position at the edge of his desk.

“No,” he tells her firmly, though the matching smile on his lips belies any real annoyance. “If you’re going to be the death of me I’d at least like to get my money’s worth.” The kiss he drops on her forehead is soft. “I’ll get you a washcloth,” he says, fixing up his trousers loosely. The faint trail of hair sticks out against his lower abdomen like a beacon and Riza swallows the urge to coax him back for another round.

She adjusts the straps of her bra back up on her shoulders and nicks his discarded shirt from the ground. Her skirt is a crumpled, lost cause, and Riza makes a mental note to pick up an iron at some point this weekend - she hadn’t noticed it immediately, but of the many appliances Olivier had taken with her, the iron was the one she had relied on the most. Rebecca had bitched endlessly about the mini espresso machine that had also disappeared, though it had quickly been replaced.

She rolls up the sleeves of his shirt as she walks down the hallway towards the kitchen, humming under her breath. Roy would probably appreciate a cup of coffee, she thinks, focusing on doing the buttons up correctly as she passes by the island countertop and the man sitting there.

She stills, before turning to make sure she’s seeing right. The man looks up from the plate in front of him and raises his mug in greeting, the lowlights from the kitchen reflecting strangely on his glasses.

“You kids had fun?” he asks, before taking a sip. His tone is light, breezy, and he gestures to the plate in front of him when she doesn’t respond. “You’re probably hungry after that, uh-” he breaks off laughing, ducking his head “-after that workout. My wife made a quiche - you should have some, it is the best in the world, and I’m not biased.”

#royai #roy mustang #fullmetal alchemist #royai fanfiction #riza hawkeye #*may i feel #*shine #fma #A LONG ONE #and hey look two weeks within the last one #AYYYYYYYYYY #hope you enjoy because.....i know i did

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ohnominamino · 6 years

Text

Expectations

This fic was created in response to the Rare Fanfiction Challenge hosted by @yyhfanfiction, for the category "Canon female-centric expansion." I might've failed, since this story is still all about Kurama, but I tried.

Summary: Spending the day with her first grandchild leads Shiori to reflect on her son's childhood. He never did act the way she'd anticipated-- until now.

Kurama was not the type to be frazzled. He’d had thousands of years to perfect his patience and was certain little in the world could upset or surprise him. When he’d announced he and his significant other were expecting their first child, his human family and work colleagues had been thrilled. Much of their congratulations had come with words of advice, playful warnings and comments like, “Oh, I can’t wait to see what Shuuichi looks like on 3 hours of sleep.” Kurama had taken it all in good humor, dismissing the words that doubted his ability to keep his head.

Truthfully, he had been somewhat worried -- not so much about sleep, considering his acting skills were above par and he could survive 3 solid days without rest -- but being a parent was a new and frightening concept.

His wife’s rounded stomach, sonograms, and other pieces of evidence aside, Kurama hadn’t accepted the reality of being a father until the wrapped bundle of Kouichi Minamino was placed in his arms; the "kou" from light, paired with the "ichi" from Shuuichi. The baby had been small, bald, eyes screwed up tight in his wrinkly face. A perfectly healthy boy, fragile and precious in the way human infants were. His feelings of gratitude and joy were interrupted by the arrival of his best friend.

“He’s not cute at all. What gives?”

Yusuke had not been allowed to hold Kouichi that day, 11 months ago.

Babies grow fast. Kurama hadn’t been prepared for that. Unable to roll over one day, crawling on four legs then wobbling around on two the next. Kouichi’s development made Kurama painfully aware of all the overthinking he’d done as Shiori’s child and he feared she would notice the differences too. Kouichi was normal.

Shiori loved to spend time with her grandson, but Kurama often kept their visits brief. Each time he cut their bonding short or took Kouichi home early with excuses, the guilt ate away at him. Shiori offered mutiple times to babysit him, insisting they take him out of that expensive daycare and let him stay at grandma’s, but Kurama refused. He knew he was being selfish.

It was with great reluctance that he called his mother one morning in March. The daycare was closed. His wife was away attending a professional development workshop and he had a huge deal to close at work, so bringing Kouichi along wasn’t an option. He had no choice. He apologized into the receiver, “Mother, I’m sorry to ask last minute, but could you watch Kouichi today?”

When Shiori opened the front door, she knew Shuuichi was having a difficult morning. His hair was out of place, diaper bag slung across one shoulder, half open, Kouichi strapped to his front with his right sock missing. The baby switched from playing with his free toes to pulling at his father’s necktie. Shiori leaned forward to kiss Shuuichi's cheek and say, "Good morning," simultaneously plucking the tie out of the baby’s fingers as he went to put it in his mouth. She distracted him with the next kiss, square on the top of his soft red hair.

"Good morning, mother." Shuuichi stepped into the genkan gratefully, unloading his belongings and his child. "Thank you for having Kouichi over today. I can't believe they closed his daycare."

"The flu is serious for little ones. I'd rather they take the precaution." She took her grandchild with a smile. He grabbed onto her braid. "Besides, it's my pleasure to watch him. I'd watch him every day if you let me."

"I couldn't ask that of you." He looked pained at the thought. She never could figure out why.

Shuuichi checked for drool on his blouse, smoothed down his clothes and hair, then let out a long groan.

“What?”

“I forgot my laptop.”

“Do you need it?”

“Yes, I forgot to upload my presentation to the shared drive last night.” He heaved a sigh. “I need to run. I’ll be back around 6.”

“Good luck, dear.”

Shuuichi was out the door without a proper goodbye to either her or his son, which she would’ve scolded him for under any other circumstances. Single parenting did not become him. Shiori propped Kouichi higher onto her hip and looked down to meet his large green eyes. He smiled up at her. “You are too cute.” She kissed him again on the forehead. “What shall we do today?” His gigged answer was music to her ears.

Kouichi was so easy to make happy, the opposite of his father when he was little.

Shiori remembered being a young mother, the uncertainty of everything she did, the never-ending lectures on childraising she’d received from well-meaning aunts and neighbors. Do this, do that, don’t do what so-and-so did, you want your son to turn out right, right?

She and Kenjiro had done exactly as everyone told them, but Shuuichi did not develop like they said he would. As a baby he rarely cried, but he also rarely smiled, and while he leap over some developmental milestones, he fell terribly behind on others. Shiori and Kenjiro could see in his eyes how clever he was, knew he had a high level of comprehension, but at two and a half years old, he did not speak many words.

The pediatrician told them not to worry. Gifted children often saved their words until they knew exactly what they wanted to say. He might suddenly start speaking in full sentences one day soon.

Soon, the doctor had said, and as if he understood those words to be permission, Shuuichi woke her up the next morning with, “Mama, I’m hungry. Can we make pancakes?”

She’d pulled him into a tight hug, kissed his face, and marched them right into the kitchen.

Shiori did not know how long it would take Kouichi to find his words, but he seemed fine sharing the ones he knew before they were correct. He babbled nonsensically at her as she sorted through his diaper bag to see what Shuuichi had remembered to pack. He was already calling her, “Baabaa!”

Shiori found a second pair of socks and put them on the baby. He waddled through the living room, occasionally balancing himself on furniture. She watched him affectionately. It took him about two minutes to start knocking things off the coffee table. She followed him, picking up the mess, and scooped him up just before he started pulling books off the bookshelf. The photo albums were at his eye level. She pulled one out at random, and sat with Kouichi on the couch. “These are pictures from when your dad was small.” She explained.

She couldn’t tell if Kouichi understood, but it was easy for him to turn the thick pages, and he pointed enthusiastically at each person. “Da?”

“That’s Grandpa Kenjiro.”

“Da?”

“That’s your daddy.”

“Da?”

“That’s me, Baabaa.” She pointed to herself.

The last photo in the album was of Shuuichi’s first undoukai. He was dressed in his sports uniform, looking into the camera’s lens with a bored expression. He’d changed so much since then! It was strange to think that Shuuichi had once been that way, introverted and too-serious for his age.

Shiori closed the album and put it back with the others. It had been ages since she’d gone through them. Looking at the faces of loved ones she’d lost, and seeing her son look like he’d rather be anywhere else, had broken her heart many times over when she was grieving Kenjiro’s death. Now, it felt less raw. She could actually smile at the memories.

She retrieved a proper baby book from the diaper bag and gave that to Kouichi, her mind wandering to the past and the hurdle that was Shuuichi entering school. He’d been a good boy, had listened wonderfully to his teachers’ directions and done the work they’d asked of him, but he’d refused to interact with other children. His kindergarten teachers said he was shy, his first grade teacher said he was quiet, and his second grade teacher said he was brilliant, but emotionally stunted. Kenjiro hated hearing anything negative about his son. It wasn’t Shuuichi’s fault the other kids in his class weren’t on his level, he’d ranted.

Her mother-in-law, who lived in another prefecture and rarely came to visit, had said Shuuichi’s lack of social skills were concerning. His cousins had lots of friends, how could he not make a single one? She blamed Shiori for not pushing him and scolded Kenjiro for his lack of discipline. She suggested he might do better in a mixed age extracurricular, so they put him into martial arts classes, and as expected, he performed perfectly, but did not make friends.

Shiori did not have her own mother to seek advice from; she’d died of breast cancer when Shiori was 14, and her father, while he’d done his best raising her, was a quiet man who kept his opinions to himself. He died when Shuuichi was 7. A few short years later, Kenjiro was in a fatal accident. The life insurance wasn’t much, and she'd had to start working to pay the mortgage, their living expenses, Shuuichi’s school fees…

It felt like drowning.

Just as she thought she’d grabbed ahold of a rescue line in the form of Kazuya, she got sick.

“Baabaa!” Kouichi’s voice returned her to the present moment. He was waving the book at her. She accepted it, and he crawled into her lap, leaning back against her chest and warming her heart as she read to him. She’d drown a thousand times if it meant having her life now, her second family and this grandchild.

They read the book, ate snack, and dressed for the outdoors. On the wall alongside the coat closet was a framed photo from Shuuichi’s wedding day. He was smiling, happiness in his eyes, surrounded by their family and his closest friends.

She’d gotten sick, then a miracle happened. Shuuichi made friends. They hadn’t been the sort she’d imagine he’d associate with, but she didn’t care what the other mothers in town said, those boys were angels, and they grew up to be fine young men. She’d heard Yusuke and Keiko were expecting a child. She hoped their baby would be as good a friend to Kouichi as Yusuke was to Shuuichi.

“Baabaa!” Kouichi called her again. He couldn't reach the door handle by himself.

He was a miracle too.

Shiori enjoyed the rest of the day with her grandson. The weather was unseasonably beautiful. They went to the park and played in the sand. On the way home, Kouichi fell asleep in his sling, and Shiori kept him close while she prepped lunch. Shuuichi hadn’t packed any food in the diaper bag, so she made her own choices: cut up apple, edamame, and soft spiral pasta. Kouichi ate half of it when he woke up, threw the other half on the floor. They walked around the backyard and the old garden Shuuichi had planted. Kouichi had a second nap. Throughout the day, Shiori took too many pictures on her smartphone.

It was evening and they were playing stacking blocks when the front door opened, keys jingling loudly in the genkan. She sang out, “Okaerinasai!”

Kouichi tried, but only managed, “Oooosai!”

Two voices returned tired, “Tadaima.”

Kazuya shuffled into the living room first, and she forgave him for going straight to Kouichi, “Kou-kun, grandpa’s home!” Kouichi immediately abandoned his blocks for hugs, lifting his arms to be picked up. It was amazing how the little boy’s presence restored Kazuya’s depleted energy.

“How’d the meeting go today?” Shiori asked when her son joined them.

“Good.” He answered. “Signed the contract. How was Kouichi?”

“Wonderful.” She said as Kazuya passed Shuuichi the baby with a high pitched, “Yay, daddy!”

Shuuichi accepted his child, but he was clearly at a loss for what to do next. Shiori laughed.

He looked at her incredulously, “What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing, it’s just,” She tried biting back her grin, “You’re finally acting like I anticipated.”

His brow furrowed.

She hurried to explain, “Don’t take it the wrong way, it’s only that, since the day you were born, I had all these ideas about how you’d grow and you always surprised me, did things your own way. Now that you’re a father, you’ve surprised me by being, well, exactly as I expected.”

Shuuichi looked down at Kouichi, who immediately went to grab his father’s nose. He pulled his head back, lowering the baby in his arms to save his face. Shiori laughed again.

“You’re just as clueless as I was.” She closed the space between them, wrapping her arms around her son and grandson. “I love you, Shuuichi.”

“I love you too, mother.” He seemed to soften. “By the way, the daycare called and said they will be closed the rest of the week. I could take Kouichi to work tomorrow—”

“Nonsense. An office is no place for a baby. He belongs at grandma’s house.”

“Thank you.”

She suspected he’d be on his way soon, but she tried to keep them longer. “Will you stay for dinner?”

He surprised her again with his answer. “We’d love to.”

On the train home that night, Kurama made peace with relinquishing control. In the past it’d been a triumph of sorts, keeping secrets from his mother. He’d managed to hide an entire other life from her. It was foolish to think she hadn’t noticed. It’d been obvious from the start her son was different than the other neighborhood boys, but she had loved and cared for him just the same. Patient and kind, a mother who’d given him everything. If he had taken the chance of raising a normal child from her, the very least he could do was give her Kouichi in return.

The baby was asleep, eyelashes long and dark against his rosy cheeks. His head was cradled in the sling, face half pressed to Kurama’s chest. He could feel the drool seeping through his collared shirt. Kouichi was cute, and while Kurama couldn’t judge brains yet-- the kid put shoes in his mouth-- he thought his son had a good disposition. He’d be a good grandchild, someone who could make Shiori proud. She sorely deserved that kind of happiness.

It wasn’t right to keep this child away from her. As she’d said, he had no idea what he was doing. No new parent really did. It was okay to rely on her. He wasn’t burdening her.

He was finally doing something right.

The daycare had been his idea. He was sure his wife wouldn’t mind withdrawing.

#yyh #yu yu hakusho #kurama #shuuichi minamino #my fics #oneshot

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