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givemethatgold · 3 years

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Fix’er Upper - Pt 15

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Talk of past abusive relationship, swearing

Length: 1.2k

Notes: Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’, keep the story rollin’. More plot, lack of smut, surprise guests, it’s all coming together now I promise. Since tags don’t work for me, like AT ALL, I’m going to attempt a posting schedule! Which is laughable if you know how I story-board. Every Tuesday night at 7pm MDT

Series Masterlist

You needed to get laid.

No, not just laid. You needed to get fucking dicked down.

You needed it so hard and rough that you couldn't walk the next day.

It had been seven weeks. Seven weeks without an orgasm.

Sure, you'd tried to get off on your own fingers but after the delicious stretch from manual-labour-thickened digits how could yours ever compare? You had gone so far as to order a vibrator, something you’d never even consider for fear of getting caught, but your body always stalled out just on the cusp of an orgasm.

You needed Frankie and you were going to get him,

Date night was back on the table, and hopefully, you'd be getting railed on said table before the end of the night. Frankie had been very reserved when you'd brought up the idea of a sleepover for Annie, but once Jacquie had assured him for the fifth time that she knew how to take care of children, seeing as she had four of them herself, he had agreed.

The scheduled day had arrived, legs were shaved, an amazing meal was cooked, and a sweet little babydoll dress was purchased that you knew would drive him crazy. You even went the extra mile and set up your old record player and had Johnny Cash crooning at you from the living room.

Finishing the final touches, you surveyed the table setting, trying to decide between using your nice plates to complete the aesthetic or just putting down plastic so you could sweep the table clear and mount your boyfriend on it without fear of broken ceramic.

Finally deciding on the first option, presentation is everything after all, you were digging through your china cabinet when the doorbell rang. How formal of him, you thought to yourself, glad he was playing along with the unspoken mood you'd set for the night.

Opening the door, your gaze widened a comical amount and your jaw went slack. There was nothing in the world that could have prepared you for this.

"Close your mouth dear, before the flies get in."

"MOM?!"

It really shouldn't have shocked you, knowing the woman as well as you did, that she would show up unannounced like this. Ever since you'd let it slip that you and Frankie were in a relationship she'd been dropping hints that a visit was due, and you, not wanting to deal with her, had been blatantly changing the subject every time.

Then, Frankie had to go and tell her that an adorable little girl was now involved? That's not something she could ever resist, even if it wasn't exactly being offered to her.

Finally coming to terms with the fact that you weren't going to get railed tonight, and instead would be spending your week fending off your mother's well-meaning but entirely outdated advice, you opened the door wider and welcomed her into your home.

"Where's Dad?" You ask, glancing behind her onto the porch, noting a distinct lack of other vehicles. "Did you get a cab here?!"

"Sweetie, honestly, you know I don't like to drive and he doesn’t like to leave home," came her answer from your dining room where she was already adjusting your place settings to her standards. "Besides I wasn't sure how long you'd need me here for so I decided to fly and will just borrow your truck if need be."

So matter-of-fact, as if it was the simplest notion in the world, and said with such nonchalance, your mouth was back to hanging open again from the sheer audacity of the woman.

"Mom, no, wait, what?" You were floundering, completely at a loss for words. "Why would I need you here right now? I needed you when I was young, dumb, and blindly in love with Brad. I needed your guidance and concern when I was being manipulated-"

"Oh come on-" she tried to interrupt you with a wave of her hand.

"No! You keep trying to tell me he wasn't that bad but you weren't there. You didn't hear how he talked to me, how he treated me." You were over your shock, residual hurt and betrayal were now rearing their ugly heads. "Don't you shake your head at me! How dare you chose his side over mine! I was your daughter, your little girl," the words were getting stuck in your throat now, burning so hot with emotion you could almost see the pain they were inflicting as they landed on her ears. "and you chose to ignore the signs, the cries for help. You were only there for me when he died, but even then it was just to send your regards!"

"We really didn't know..." she answered in a small voice, so quiet it barely registered through the roaring in your ears.

"Denial, maybe? I don't think we could bear the thought of anything but a fairytale being true, so we willfully ignored the signs." She waited for a beat, probably giving you time to yell back at her but when you stayed silent she continued, "I don't think it truly sank in just how badly you'd been treated until you moved away. We thought quitting college was you just deciding you wanted to start a family. Then when you stopped calling friends and family, we hoped it was because you were making new ones. Then your weight loss and depression we blamed on infertility, and then again from the grief of his death." Lifting your head up and wiping away the tears that had streaked your cheeks, she smiled sadly at you while tears fell from her own eyes. "I'll never forgive myself."

"How could you not?" You sobbed, letting yourself sink onto a dining room chair.

Your mom tentatively made her way over to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and hugging your head to her stomach.

"Oh, Mom," you couldn't finish the sentiment, but you didn't need to. Springing up, you enveloped each other in a tight hug and rocked back and forth until the tears dried and your breathing was almost back to normal, save for the occasional hitch and sniffle.

Breaking apart, you were just about to ask if she wanted some tea when the front door flew open.

"Where's my pretty pus- oh! Oh."

"Frankie," you said calmly while your eyes screamed ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME at him, "this is my mother."

"So this is the handsome face behind that gruff voice!" God bless Margot and her ability to ignore the obvious, sometimes it actually came in handy. "And I suppose he's the second place setting for a lovely night I seem to have interrupted."

"Oh, no, Mom it's okay-"

"Nonsense! I'll check myself into the sweet little bed and breakfast I've booked for the week and see you both tomorrow!"

"It is nice to see you, Mom," you admitted, finding yourself meaning the words more than you expected to. "I'll meet you in town tomorrow and show you around?" Maybe having her here for a while would be nice, if the week went as well as tonight had, your relationship with her would be salvaged.

"You really don't need to do that, you just got here!" Frankie tried to reassure her, having noticed the red, swollen, tear-streaked faces and assuming there was unfinished conversation to be had.

You knew your mom was immovable once she had made up her mind, however, so you just followed her to the door and handed her her coat and your truck keys.

"Marvelous!" She pats your hand in thanks before a sly smile quirks her mouth up to the side and she winks, "Have a good night, Pretty Pussy!"

Part Sixteen

#frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #fankie catfish morales x f!reader #frankie catfish morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfic #fix'er upper

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lacharcutiere · 3 years

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still [sawamura daichi]

1,6k words

previous | masterlist | next ➪

part eight of i’m gone i’m gone i’m gone miniseries. you can only put these things off for so long.

JST: japanese standard time (GMT +9). EST: eastern standard time (GMT -5). EDT: eastern daylight time (GMT -4).

tings // fluff, a little bit of angst, kinda suggestive at the end ?? // i swear this søng is abøut eating øut my best friend's pussy - cøzybøy // dm, ask or comment to be added to taglist ! minors dni.

☾𓆙𓂻

— JAPAN, SUMMER 2024.

the summer passes like this: you and daichi laughing too loudly in busy restaurants and train cars; having arms around each other in the back of taxis on the way home from clubs; making instant udon at three a.m.; walking up and down the neighborhood a hundred times; laying silently side by side and not needing to say anything. it's a routine, it's familiar—it's home.

a couple weeks before you're set to head back to new york, daichi asks you a question as you lay next to him on a blanket in your driveway, staring up at the stars.

"have you decided what your plans are after college?"

"i'm gonna come back here."

"i thought you wanted to go to grad school? you can do way better in the states, especially with a degree from columbia."

you roll onto your side so you can look at him better. "i know. but i've been away too long already. i miss you."

he gives you a little smile. "but i'm right here."

"right here is pretty fucking far from america."

"hm."

that's the end of the conversation.

— 2 AUGUST 2024. 23:09 JST.

everything happens the exact same way it has for the past three years: he takes you to the airport. you try hard not to cry; you say your goodbyes. check-in, security, buy some candy to eat at the gate. board the plane. sixteen hours later, you're in america.

one thing was different, though.

when he said goodbye, his lips touched yours.

you don't stop thinking about it for weeks.

☾𓆙𓂻

— AUGUST TO NOVEMBER 2024.

slightly relieving is the fact that amid thesis writing and too many classes and working an internship under one of your professors (that one's nice, it even earns you enough to get a small apartment a few blocks from campus), there proves to be little time to be spent missing daichi.

you finesse your schedule to fit weekly facetimes on friday evenings (new york time) and shoot random texts back and forth about your day between classes and during meals, and without much space for anything else, it's enough. good things are worth waiting for, anyway.

— DECEMBER 2024.

but then winter sem break rolls around and there's no school so it's back to having too much lonely alone time with your thoughts. you write daichi a christmas card and drop it off at the post office. it's early this year, but oh, well.

☾𓆙𓂻

a week before christmas you receive a call from an unknown number. the phone speaker crackles when you accept the call.

“hello?”

“hey.” the voice on the other end is bright, smiley, accented. it’s tōru.

“tōru? what’s up?”

“i’m outside,” he says, “come down and meet me?”

you’re a little confused, but you decide to humor him. “uh, okay, give me a minute… do i need anything?”

“bring a coat, it’s cold out. i’ll be waiting down here.” the call ends.

a few minutes later you push through the doors of the building to be met with a brisk wind and tōru standing by a payphone, grinning.

“do you have your subway pass?”

you feel inside your pocket for it and nod.

“good,” he says. “come on, we’re in a hurry.”

“where are we going?”

“downtown.”

“ohhkay?”

he laughs. “‘s not anything you won’t like, promise.”

you follow him into the nearest subway entrance, lost in thought as you push through the barrier and step onto the train. it's only when he nudges you and says, "this is our stop," that you realize you've been looking at the ground the whole time.

tōru notices how absent you seem to be and asks, "are you okay?"

"i would be if i knew what was going on," you respond.

"yeah," he says, leading you up the stairs and into the terminal, "yeah, i think you will be."

you're in grand central. tōru asks if he can borrow your phone for a second. when he hands it back to you, he doesn't say anything, just takes you by the arm smiling widely and leads you into the fray of commuters that fill the station.

"tōru!" you groan, "can't you just tell me where we're going?"

"magnolia," he replies simply.

"we came all the way here just for coffee?"

"mhm."

"tōru!" he stops walking and turns back to you, trying and failing miserably to stop grinning for a second. "what the fuck?"

"come on," he says, "you'll like it."

"we've been here before! what's so special about—"

"you'll see."

☾𓆙𓂻

coffee in grand central is surprisingly good. it's also surprisingly expensive. ah, well, it's new york. new york has much more to offer than just overpriced cafés.

such as... this. such as a laughing man that leads a remarkably pissed-off looking girl by the arm, towards this stupidly good, stupidly overpriced café.

the pair are weaving through a stream of people, almost there, and then they're there, and the girl is looking much less agitated now. she looks somewhere between crying and wanting to run in the opposite direction. thank god, she chooses the former.

he loves you. so much.

☾𓆙𓂻

"daichi?" you mean it to be a scream but your voice cracks a little and it comes out airy.

he has the exact same look on his face that tōru's had this whole time. "hi."

"oh my god, what the fuck?"

"you said it was lonely, tōru told me maybe it would be nice for you to have a date for new year's, i had some extra money saved up. so i came."

"you— what?" you look back at tōru. "you planned this? just? last minute?"

"nah," daichi laughs, "no, i meant to come visit you for christmas a while ago. i already had tickets and everything, i was gonna tell you but then i got your card and figured it might be more fun if it were a surprise."

"oh my god." that's all you can think to say.

— CHRISTMAS 2024.

you can't even explain how good it feels to wake up and walk into the living room to find daichi asleep on your couch on christmas morning, how good it feels for it to not just be you. the whole time he's been here, though, you've forced yourself not to think about the fact that he's going back home in a week and a half, forced yourself not to do anything just yet. soon, though. just a few more months.

☾𓆙𓂻

when he wakes up, you're making coffee for the two of you.

"merry christmas," he says, wrapping one arm around your shoulders. he places a card on the counter in front of you. "open it."

its message is simple.

you do as it says.

"i, uh, haven't gotten you anything yet, but—"

"daichi," you laugh, "it's okay. and um, i may have also not been able to get you anything. also because i didn't know you'd be here."

"wait, wait, i'm not finished."

"okay?"

"what do you want to do after you're done this year of school?"

"i already told you," you say, "i'll move back home."

"no, what do you want to do? you want to go to grad school, right? continue studying here?"

"no, i just want to stop waiting." you sigh, a little frustrated. "i don't wanna have to keep putting this off, it's been—"

he cuts you off. "i'll be here."

"huh?"

"i'll be here. or wherever."

"i don't get it?"

you've always loved the way daichi's nose scrunches up when he smiles. "you're the one planning on studying more, not me. not immediately, anyway. i'll go with you."

"daichi."

"what?"

"you're fucking joking."

he laughs; you look so confused right now. "i'm not. promise."

"i don't even—"

"hey."

"hm?"

"think you can handle long-distance for five months?"

"uh—" you inhale sharply. "yeah."

"good," he says, "then we don't have to keep putting this off."

it's been five months since you last let your lips touch his. it still feels just like the first time it happened.

— 31 DECEMBER, 2023. 19:36 EST.

he tries not to let you pay for dinner, but in the end, you slip the waiter your card while daichi's in the bathroom. it's his birthday; it's your treat.

and after dinner, there's that new year's eve party that tōru's been going on about. it feels good, so good, not to be there alone. it feels good to watch the broadcast from downtown and count the seconds to midnight as daichi's arms are wrapped around you from behind. the clock reaches zero; daichi kisses you hard. you're both drunk on champagne.

you watch him smile across the room at tōru, who's got his girl on his arm. the two of them look happy, too. everything is warm.

— DEPARTURE: 3 JANUARY 2025. 08:15 EST.

daichi's asleep next to you when the alarm on his phone goes off. you'll miss not waking up next to him for the next five months, but at least that's all it will be.

he makes faces at you in the mirror as you both brush your teeth; keeps trying to tug your sweater off when you get dressed. you spend these thirty minutes laughing with him until it hurts. the two of you take the subway back to grand central; make out in a corner of the terminal while he waits for his train to jfk international to arrive.

"see you in may."

— 21 JANUARY 2025.

taglist: @sakruisin-thru @softetsurou @oligbia

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unmaskedagain · 4 years

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Marinette’s Week Off

This is a one-shot. Sorry, I kind of forgot Adrien.

One week. Just one week. Marinette took one week off a year. One week where she didn’t work herself to death as Marinette. Or nearly get herself killed as Ladybug. One week where she didn’t do any favors, any designs, didn’t work in the bakery, didn’t save anyone. A week to relax. A week to meditate. A week to destress and just take care of herself. Just one week every year. To prepare for it she sent reminders to all her friends and family. She posted a flyer on the class bulletin board. Marinette finished all her commission and school work in advance.

She made Fu aware that Ladybug wouldn’t be active, told Chat Noir that Queen Bee would be his partner while she was gone. Marinette always made sure everyone was prepared for her absence. And made it clear that she would be unavailable. No matter what. She didn’t care if the world was ending.

However, this year was different than the ones that came before. For starters, Marinette now only had two or three good friends in class, and one or two mediocre ones. She only warned those three people. While she still posted her usual flyer, she had done it knowing it would be disregarded.

Marinette was no longer class president either; she no longer had to plan class trips, parties, or dances. Or anything of the sort. When she was class president, Marinette always made sure to plan her week off around the class’s busiest time of the year. That year, she didn’t have to so she didn’t. In fact, she planned her week off during the biggest dance of year, the class musical, the class’s big fundraiser. It was usually her most stressful week of the year.

Not this time.

On the Friday before her week off, Marinette reminded Bustier of her absence for the next week, and then walked out of class with a relieved smile on her face. She was almost there. Just two more days. She used her weekend to finish up any last minutes details of her vacations; confirm her reservation; spend most of the time with her parents.

And on the stroke of midnight that turned Sunday to Monday, Marinette got her bags, kissed her parents goodbye and was gone in her Uber. She knew how this week worked. By six am, the ‘emergency’ calls would start; everyone screaming fire. However, she wouldn’t be there to put them out, metaphorical fires or real ones.

Not today, Satan, Marinette thought.

Marinette got to the airport, slept on the plane ride, arrived at her luxury beach resort, a little after sunrise. She had saved up her money and did extra commissions all year to pay for it. It was beautiful. However, there was just one problem…

“Marinette, love!” Jagged called, somehow looking more awake in the wee hours of the morning than he did at 3 in the afternoon. Penny, however, looked half-asleep. Even Fangs slept on the luggage being moved by a rather fearful looking bellhop.

Marinette’s parents couldn’t get time off the bakery; it was their busiest time too. Her grandma was in Peru. Mariette needed an adult with her at the resort. Jagged happened to overhear her mother asking if she found a chaperone yet. It wasn’t like Marinette had any other options.

“I have so many Rockin’ plans!” Jagged said. “Scuba diving! Sky diving. Swimming with sharks. Parasailing! Bungee jumping!”

Marinette narrowed her eyes at her favorite rockstar and honorary Uncle, “Sleep.” She said.

Jagged waved her off, “We’ll sleep when we’re dead.”

“Sleep,” Marinette hissed darkly.

As amazing as that all sounded it could wait. Marinette was there to relax, not fight a shark. “Not today, Satan,” She whispered when she checked into her room. Leaving Penny to drag away a protesting Jagger to get some sleep as well. She called her parents to let her she had gotten there safely, called to re-confirm her spa reservation for that afternoon and then check her texts.

She had gotten quite a few as expected. Chloe wishing her a good vacation and promising to keep an eye on Chat. Luka sent her funny vacation memes. Nathaniel sent pics or didn’t happen texts; he found the possibility of Marinette all people actually taking a vacation hilarious and improbable. She’d show him though.

Then there were a few texts from her ex-friends. And it seemed like the fires had started…

When class started on Monday, most didn’t realize that Marinette wasn’t there until Bustier reminded Chloe to remind Chloe about the test next week. They all shrugged it off. Glad not to have to deal with the drama Marinette brought to class.

When Alya, the new class president, brought up the dance that Friday, things got a little tense.

“We need volunteers,” The glasses-wearing girl said. “People to decorate and to clean up and all that. We also need to get decorations.”

She received confused looks.

“Isn’t that your job?” Alix asked. “The class president does all that.”

Alya crossed her arms, “No it’s not my job. I organize and plan but I can’t do everything by myself.”

“Marinette did,” Kim shrugged. “It can’t be that hard.”

“Do you wanna do it?” Alya asked him but he quickly shook his head. “Thought so. We don’t have a big budget. So can anyone chip in for decorations and food?”

Mylene frowned, “Marinette made all the decorations and food.” They never had to chip in before. “Maybe she’d do it again.”

There were nods. They may not be friends with the girl anymore but she was still very helpful.

“OH! I need a dress,” Rose brightened up the room with her smile. “Marinette made mine last year. It was so beautiful. I’ll ask her to make another.”

A few of the girls said the same.

“Not gonna happen,” Chloe smirked. “You guys are on your own.”

Alya shot her a glare. “And we’ll be just fine.” She wasn’t happy about asking her ex-bestie for anything, anyway.

They were not fine.

Monday they had all talked a big game about not needing Marinette but by Tuesday, they realized that was a lie.

Because everything was falling apart.

Mylene’s musical was Friday, the day before the dance. More than half the class were either in it or helping with it. That meant Alya had barely any volunteers for the Dance committee. And had been reminded by Bustier about the annual fundraiser they did every year to pay for the class trip. Alya had been class president since the beginning of the year, and had been responsible for planning it. She had forgot all about it.

Alya was confident she managed though. They’d pull in enough money to pay for the entire trip and she’d get to rub it in Marinette’s face that no one needed. Alya hoped Lila was back in time from her trip with Prince Ali to see it.

In addition, neither she nor Bustier seem to remember that the fundraiser was always biggest because it was the last one of the year. Marinette usually had done several different ones by then.

Mylene was struggling. None of the sets were done. The costumes were terrible. The entire play seemed to be falling apart. They had forgot to only put up flyers promoting the play but they never even made them. She didn’t understand, normally everything would be going as smooth as silk by then. Silk…

“Marinette,” She gasped. Yes, she remembered, Marinette always helped out with the school plays. The Bluenette would fix the costumes. She’d even help out with the flyers and the set. Mylene pulled out her phone and quickly called her ex-friend. It went to voice mail. She frantically sent a dozen texts, all screaming emergency. But she never got a reply.

Marinette laid on the beach, drinking virgin Pina Colada, while talking with a boy she met while surfing and subtly eyeing him. He was a seventeen-year-old, tanned, dark haired Adonis, literally named Adonis. He was ripped in a way Marinette had only every previously seen on guys in magazines or on TV. Marinette was fifteen, (Sixteen in just a few months) had grown remarkably into her looks, and smirked a bit every time she caught Adonis eyeing her back.

“I got to go,” Adonis said. “Work.” He leaned a bit closer to Marinette. “If you wanna drop by, I wouldn’t mind. Maybe we can go for a swim together.”

Marinette flushed with excitement and blushed a lovely pink by the offer, “That sounds amazing! What do you do?”

He grinned a sparkling white smile that lit up his gray eyes, and caused Marinette to let out a dreamy sigh. “I work with my dad. We do underwater scuba tours and explore sea wildlife and dormant underwater volcanos. We just got be careful to avoid sharks.”

Marinette’s fell open, and she just stared at the older boy for a moment, “I’m a little busy today. But can we meet up later,” She squeaked.

They said they goodbyes. And once Adonis was out sight, Marinette’s eyes narrowed, “Not today, Satan.”

An image of the first time saw Adonis suddenly floated to the front of her mind. Adonis coming out of the water, with his surfer board and red swim trucks, running towards dry land.

Marinette took a deep breath to stead herself; fight the urge to go running after Adonis. Because there was no way in hell she was going to deal with a “Dormant” volcano. And she didn’t mess with sharks. Neither did Jagged anymore and he had to learn his lessons the hard way. He was lucky to come back with all his limbs.

By Wednesday, everyone was panicking. Alya refused to give in and attempted to rally her troops; with a divide and conquer plan. Lila had even come back early and graciously offered to take time away from her busy schedule to help. Alya decided they’d work on the play first. Then prepare for the dance, it shouldn’t take that long to decorate anyway, Alya had guess. Then finally they work on the fundraiser. Everything would go perfectly.

…Everything went wrong.

They worked the entire morning on the Mylene’s musical. They tried to work on the costumes. But they had no one who could fix the costumes. Any tailor they went to cost an arm and a leg. Lila’s personal tailor was away helping the Duchess of Manchester with her wedding dress. Max could print flyer but only generic ones. Not the creative ones Marinette had always made. And it wasn’t like they could ask Nathaniel for help without him spitting acid at them. The sets had to be rushed; and ended up poorly painted. Not even close to as good as the ones Marinette had help do the year before and even worse than the ones other classes had done. To make matters worse, the light fixtures they had installed started a small fire.

Mylene had a full blown panic attacked that caused one of the strongest Akuma Queen Bee and Chat Noir had ever faced.

The musical had taken up most of the day. So Alya and the class spent the rest of it and most of the night trying to prepare for the dance. The problem was their budget was small. Apparently it had always been that small which had shocked Alya and the others as they remembered the amazing dances Marinette had always thrown. The only decorations came from the local party story and were as cheap as possible. But they hadn’t gotten nearly enough when they got to gym and fully realize the size of it. But most of their budget was already shot on what they did get.

While for the last few years, Marinette’s had supplied most of the food for the dances from the bakery. It was clear to Alya that, it wouldn’t be happening. Most of the class had been banned from the shop. Alya ended up having to buy dollar store chips and drinks; and ended up with a cliché fruit punch bowl.

Everyone got in trouble with their parents for being out so late. Even if they had been at school. All the kids were exhausted and overly stressed. When Alya got home that night, she got a text from Nino that caused her to burst into tears. His DJ gear had fried. They had no music for the dance.

Not to mention Alya hadn’t even thought about the fundraiser. What was she going to do? What could she do?

Alya cried herself to sleep. Knowing that in the morning she’d have to swallow her pride and call in the big guns. She needed Marinette. They all did.

Marinette was having the time of her life. She laughed as let Heinrich and Mila twirl her around the dance floor. She was at a local teen club, out late, and truly partying for the first time in her life. He was a sixteen-year-old, six foot tall, blond, gorgeous fut-baller, with cheekbones that could cut glass. He had come to the city with his team for a charity match all the way from Germany. Mila was a beautiful redhead from Ireland, with startling blue eyes and a face dusted with freckles. She was a futballer too and was the most competitive person Marinette had ever met.

Marinette had met the futball players, the girls’ team and the boys’ team at the beach. When the girls realized they only had five plays to the boys’ six and needed another girl. They saw Marinette alone and invited her to play. They all had a blast. Afterwards, they invited her to the club that night.

Marinette had danced with everyone. However, somehow she had found herself smashed between Heinrich and Mila, more often than anyone else.

The three laughed their way off the dance floor when Tonya, a local girl with green hair, and a futballer herself, had waved them over.

“We’re going to Fairy Ridge,” Tonya shouted over the music.

Marinette’s interest was piqued. “Fairy Ridge?”

Tonya answered happily, “It’s beautiful at night. An underground cave, near the ocean. It has this opening at the top and you can see all stars. It has a bunch of colorful crystals that glow in the moonlight, and fill up the cave.”

“Sweet,” Mila said, her arm still around Marinette. “Sounds like a party, mate.”

Everyone agreed quickly. But Marinette wasn’t too sure. It was really late to the point where Jagged would be proud when she got back. Penny had made Marinette promise to avoid doing anything that would make Jagged proud; apart from the Bluenette’s usual awesomeness of course.

“You are coming, yes, Marinette?” Heinrich gave her his most charming smile that made Marinette go weak in the knees.

“Marinette, the ridge is so cool,” Tonya exclaimed, a bright smile on her face. “It’s supposed to be magic. They say fairies used to really live there. It’s cursed. They say all who enter are given a test of worth. Those who pass are stolen away to live under fae rule forever more as a fairy.”

Marinette just looked at her. She thought of Tikki, the small magical god of creation, who was enjoying her vacation in the luxury sweet as well. When Marinette left her, she had been in a bowl of cookies finally getting caught up on Game of Thrones. A god who’s power turned Marinette into a magical superhero. Magical was real. And if A kwami was real, fairies could be too.

The bluenette pursed her lips, and feigned a look of disappoint, “Sorry, guys. It’s so late. I’m already super passed my curfew. You guys go. We’ll hang tomorrow, okay?”

The other teens expressed their disappointment, though Mila and Heinrich tried to convince her a bit more as they left the club. Jagger’s personal driver already waited for her.

Once they had parted ways, Marinette got into the car and drove off. She waved brightly to the backs of the beautiful teens, “Not today, Satan.”

Thursday, the entire class was freaking out. They had all gotten there early, desperate to try to fix the mess they were in. Even Alya could admit she needed some serious help. They all waited for Marinette to show up. Surely, it had to be back by now, right? They needed her!

When the school bell rang starting class, and once again, Marinette didn’t appear. Alya nearly screamed. “Where is she?” She asked. “Marinette can’t miss this much school!”

“She’s not replying to my texts,” Mylene said, her eyes frantic with worry. Her boyfriend Ivan tried to calm her down.

“She never got back to me either,” Rose frowned. “Normally I’d get a bunch of questions asking about the style of wanted for my dress by now.”

Alya stomped her foot. “Marinette hasn’t answered a single of calls. What part of S.O.S doesn’t she understand? The dance is falling apart. I have no idea what to do about the fundraiser on Sunday. We need her. I swear if that girl lost her phone again…”

“You’ll do what?” Surprising it was Nathanial who asked this. There was silence at his questions. “That’s what I thought. You’ll do nothing. One, because you have no right to text the girl you disowned as a friend and ridiculed for the last year for help. Two, you couldn’t take Marinette in a fight with everyone in this class helping you. And three, you’re the one who turned down her offers to help all year; citing that you didn’t need her. You don’t get to beg for help at the last minute, and be surprised that she can’t do it.” The speech had turned into an angry rant by the end as the once quiet redhead glared at them with poorly concealed disgust.

Chloe knew bringing Nathanial into their fold had been a smart idea. She sent a vicious smile to the class, “Marinette’s on vacation. She won’t be back until Monday.” Chloe relaxed in her seat. “For her ex-friends; it’s her one week. You should know what that means”

There were gasps. Alya’s face drained of color. They all knew what that meant. Marinette was gone in the wind, and she wouldn’t come back or answer her phone even if fire rained from the sky as furbys finally revealed the truth of their evilness and declared themselves the new rules of earth.

They were on their own.

Lila watched with a frown as her classmates fell apart. She didn’t think this would happened when she got Alya to replace Marinette as class president. Who knew the idiots could survive without the girl?

“No dresses,” Rose realized. All the girls in class looked ready to cry. Marinette always made their dresses, always. What were they going to do? They never saved up any money for a dress because they never had to before.

Mylene started crying, “The play is ruined.” She sobbed. “I worked so hard on it.”

“What about the fundraiser?” Alix asked. “So much for going to New York or anywhere! Our class trip is ruined!”

Bustier looked at a loss of what to do as her student began to panic. “Now everyone calm down. Breath.” She said calmly. “It. Will. Be. Fine.”

Alya paced around the class, her hair wild, her eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep. “Ok, we can do this! I can do this!” She hissed. “I don’t need Marinette. I’ve never needed Marinette!” She looked around at the class. “None of us do. Anything she can do, we can do better, right?” Some looked unsure but Alya manage to rally everyone. “We can get our own dresses!” She yelled. “We can decorate our own dance. We fix the school play. And we will do the fund raiser. Without her, who need that bully anyway?”

Nathaniel and Chloe shared a look and rolled their eyes. This would be good.

The next few days would go down in Bustier’s class history as the worst three days of the students’ lives. And the most embarrassing.

Barely anyone showed up for Mylene’s musical. None of the costumes were finished. The sets were a disaster. The actors were so frazzled, they couldn’t remember their lines. Three people walked out. One of them was Kim’s grandmother. Kim who had been one of the lead actors.

On the day of Mylene’s play, Marinette woke up from her second nap of day to Penny banging on her door. When the bluenette opened it, the woman screamed, “Get ready!”

“What?” Marinette yawned, still half-asleep.

“Get. Ready. Now,” Excitement shown in the older woman eyes. She bounced around the room, opened Marinette’s closet and started throwing out clothes. “Hurry!”

“Why?” It was her vacation. Marinette didn’t want to rush. Or move.

“Zac Efron,” Penny squealed. That got Marinette’s attention and it was all Marinette need to shoot to attention and start scrambling to get ready. “Tom Holland, and Zendaya are filming a movie on an island close by. Jagged got us passed to go set.”

As Marinette got dressed she asked, “What’s the movie about?”

Penny gave a dreamy sigh, “Pirates and adventures. It’s a musical. Zendaya plays a kickass pirate who takes control of her father’s ship after he dies to rescue her genius half-brother, played by Tom Holland, who managed to figure out the location of the greatest treasure in all of history, from the evil Pirate King, played by Zac Efron.”

“Now that’s a musical I’d watch,” Marinette finished her make up in the mirror.

“And get this!” Penny paused for dramatic effect. “Harry Styles is the love interest. He supposed to be on set sometime this week.”

Marinette screamed.

They took a helicopter to the island. It was the best day of her life. She got to meet the goddess that was Zendaya, Her real life prince charming Tom Holland, and the man of her dreams Zac Efron. They were nice. They were sweet. They took so many pictures and videos with her.

When Jagged mentioned Marinette designed most of his wardrobe. Marinette even got to show off her sketch book she had brought when the cast was too busy and it got boring. Zendaya commissioned a dress. She nearly right there.

Then the director got a call, “Okay Harry’s arrived. He’s waiting at the cave. Time to shoot the act 5, scene 1.”

They all moved to leave.

“Cave?” Marinette found herself asking.

Penny nodded, “Its historically accurate. The real life Captain Wolfblood, the guy who’s treasure everyone wants, supposedly buried his there. Pirates fought and died there all the time trying to find it. Supposed to be cursed. So whoever died was bound there for eternity; their ghosts protect the treasure. Killing all who enter their domain.”

Marinette found herself stopping in her tracks, “Pirate Ghosts.” She stated. “Cursed treasure.”

“Harry Styles…” Penny sang, causing Jagged to give her a sour look.

Harry Styles… For the first time that vacation Marinette was tempted to go. Tempted to risk pirates’ curses and murderous ghosts just to see the man who had caused ten-year-old Marinette to write Mrs. Harry Styles in her diary for a month.

“I actually have to facetime my parents,” Marinette frowned. “Reception terrible out here.”

After promising to meet them for dinner, Marinette booked it off the island. As it faded from sight, and all her wishes of being the future Mrs. Harry Styles burned, she whispered, “You stepped of your game. I’m impressed.” She glared at the window. “But Not today, Satan.”

The dance was a catastrophe. Everyone in class could admit to that. All the girls wore their dresses from the year before. For the first time, there was no live performance. Just Nino’s play music from his phone. Until it died midsong. They forgot to get helium for the balloons, so they had to blow them up themselves. The chips were stale. The punch tasted like rotten bananas. No one alerted the proper staff regarding the dance so no one warned the janitor not to wax the gym floor the night before. Five kids hurt themselves. Alya forgot to get chaperones. And found Damocles and Mendeleiev shut down the entire dance before it even got passed its first hour.

The night of the dance would go down as the best night of Marinette’s life. The director from the day before had liked Marinette so much that gave her the role of Lunaris, mermaid princess, originally played by an actress who had backed out of the role at the last second. Like literally right before they were supposed to shoot her scenes. It was a small role; Marinette didn’t have many lines and only two songs to herself (and fillers song lines throughout the movie). Plus she died. (The entire part took five days to film, and Marinette ended up staying on her vacation an additional two days. Her parents instantly approved; wanting their daughter away from the drama of her ex-friends. However, Marinette would be called in for additional reshoots and scenes, a month later. Then more after that as they would expand her role) She spent the entire time in a mermaid costume. Up until the last act of the movie.

However, her character was in love with Harry Styles’ character, a mermaid prince who became human for chance to win the love of Zendaya’s character. Her character more or less had been the prince’s childhood best friend who never admitted to being in love with him until it was too late. She had spent the entire movie supporting him to win the main character’s heart. Her first song was sang as she helped him escape the underwater kingdom to go to his true love while she hid her own; choosing to put him before herself. The next day it was revealed that they were supposed to have been betrothed and united their kingdoms. Her second song happened after she chose to fight on land to save her friend and taking a killing blow for him; she died singing to the prince about not waiting to tell someone you love until its’ too late; especially if the love’s worth dying for. Or walking on land for.

After shooting her scenes for the day; she was invited by the cast to go meet Chris Heimsworth who was vacationing at a nearby island resort. They were going to go budging jumping of the highest mountain on the Island, near shark infested waters. Again Marinette only had one thing to say to that, “Not today, Satan.” She was not going to fight a shark. Not that week. No matter how much she loved Thor. (She’d later find out Tom Hiddleston was there and cry.)

The fundraiser had cost more than it raised. That was all anyone was willing to say on the subject. Particularly Alya who was missing her eyebrows.

The day of the fundraiser, the Day Marinette was supposed to return home, was bliss. At the end of it, Marinette found herself watching the sunset with Jagged and Penny.

“We should visit mermaid isle,” Penny suggested. “I heard it’s magical. There’s a spot that grants wishes… At a price.”

Marinette didn’t bother to ask for anymore. She just smiled, “Not today, Satan.”

The next morning, the Monday Marinette should have already been back home, instead she was getting ready to shoot some more scene for the movie. Then she got a call.

“Hey Marinette!” Kimi, the director, said. “We were hoping you could come in early today. We have to shoot your death scene.”

“Oh! Sweet! Where?”

“Shark cove. It will be perfect,” Kimi said cheerfully. “This time before your last breath, Harry’s going to kiss you goodbye. So eat a mint.”

Marinette mind froze. Kiss… Harry? “Shark cove?”

“Yeah, we’ll have to be careful not to attract any, you know?” Kimi sighed. “It’ll be a bit dangerous. You okay with that?”

The bluenette wanted to scream no way. But it was a new week. “I’m there,” She said firmly. For a kiss from Harry Styles, she’d do anything.

Vacation time was over. Marinette was going to fight a shark.

When Marinette returned to school on Wednesday, it was to the frustrated faces of her classmates. None of them talked to her. Just glared coldly. Though Alya did give her a sarcastic, welcome back.

Marinette just shrugged and went to sit at her desk next to Chloe and Nathaniel, who were both grinning.

“How was it?” Marinette asked them.

Nathaniel smirked, “Epic! Three fires. Two poisonings. A kid broke his leg. Four more ended up in the emergency room.”

“The play was a disaster,” Chloe added. “The dance was shut down after an hour. The fire department came to the so called fund raiser. You were gone for little more than a week and these morons nearly got themselves killed like four times.”

“We got in on video!” Nathaniel laughed.

Marinette laughed.

She looked at the stressed and embarrassed students of Bustier’s class, even the teacher looked worse for wear.

Marinette smirked.

Somebody obviously needed a vacation. Or rather… Everybody.

#ml salt #ml fic #marinette dupen chang #Marinette deserves better

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myelocin · 4 years

Text

REQ #1 & #2

Synopsis:

req #1 @xavestory | Catching the last train home and seeing your muse seated across you while the pages on your sketchbook calls for you to mirror the reflections in his irises.

req #2 @mrs-kuroojinguji | Sixteen hour flights to a new city with a photographer who has an eye for sunsets and people may have its perks.

Characters: Sakusa Kiyoomi, Kuroo Tetsurou, You

a/n: This is the first two requests of Stories in Passing! Three more in a separate post will be posted sometime tonight!

[ Sakusa Kiyoomi | For Xave, ] | Platform 2 of JR Line, Miyagi Station

The perks of taking a train to the lesser populated side of town had as much perks as taking the last train scheduled for that day. For one, rush hour both in the mornings and evenings meant that you wouldn’t have to compete for seats or give up yours for a senior citizen. Second, or perhaps, your more favorable reason was that you were able the extra hour of commute both to and from work to catch some much needed down time and sketch.

Your sketchbook had taken permanent residence in your work bag at this point. There was something about the constant flip between the train’s motion stopping and starting that feels like it’s still constantly on the go despite the stops. And people were in a sense, the most beautiful when they were relaxed. Or at least you think so.

If someone were to flip through the pages of your sketch book, they’d see the faces of strangers staring back at them. The little girl who dozed off on her mom’s arm last week, the profile of a man standing by the door, and now—the stranger who’s occupying the seat across yours.

Even as you were standing on the platform you were automatically drawn to him. Despite the mask, he was irrefutably gorgeous. Sharp eyes, perfectly curled hair that fell on his eyes just right, and two moles that looked perfectly in place right above his eyebrow. As soon as he took a seat and nodded in your direction when your eyes crossed, your hands itched to sketch the living art in front of you.

The hour passed by a lot faster than you had anticipated with your stop being the next. You’re standing in front of the door waiting for the train to slow in to a stop when you notice him stand up and follow you out.

You’ve made it about twenty steps away from the train and the platform and into the elevator before the really good looking stranger looks at your sketchbook and then up at you.

“Artist?” he asks, and you can already feel your face warming up at the baritone of his voice. You nod, then grip your sketchbook closer to you.

“Can I see how you drew me?” he asks again, after some silence and instantly you pale as you turn to gawk at him.

“Excuse me?” you manage to sputter out.

And again, despite half of his face covered his mask—the intensity of his eyes as it bares down on you has you scrambling to look at anywhere but him. You hear him chuckle when you sprint out of the elevator as soon as the doors open.

Cursing yourself, you take a few deep breaths thinking of what to say before turning back to face him. Though, to be frank you didn’t expect him to still be standing in front of you, one arm in his pocket and the other holding the strap of his backpack.

“So,” he begins, beating you to starting the explanation you know you don’t have, “if I buy you dinner will you finally show me?”

Your mouth drops and you stare at him. “Sorry,” you begin, “what?”

He sighs in a way that has you even more confused, then reaches up to pull his mask down. “I said if I buy you dinner will you finally show me? I know you draw people when you’re in the train, just surprised that you finally picked me this time.”

You’re still staring, or rather, gawking, at his face up until he smirks in your direction and turns, saying, “I’ll take that as a yes since you’re not exactly saying no either. See you tomorrow, Xave.”

If possible, your mouth drops even further as your cheeks turn even redder when you realize he must have read the signature you sign near the edge of your sketches. Has he noticed you that long?

Your cheeks continue to stay red even as you turn and walk home. It’s when you’re some blocks away that you finally let yourself think about how beautiful that man really looked. The contours of his nose as sharp as the edges of his eyes, lips stretched to the most perfect grin and his eyes—dark and analytic as he stared straight at yours.

You smile; your hands itch to sketch his face again.

xave’s sketch is the reference to this!

[ Kuroo Tetsurou | For Ana, ] | Jakarta - London, 7:18 PM

When people stare, there’s sort of a social etiquette one usually adheres to and that is at least trying to not make it obvious.

Not in this case, though.

Waiting for your flight was usually enjoyable for you. People watching, for one was interesting; by the time you’ve checked in you could already gouge out at least ten stories of people either parting or reuniting. Then, it was the constant feeling of just being in motion; a solid destination in mind too.

Plus, the smell of coffee just constantly around the air easily became one of your favorite comforts you associated with airports. There was truly nothing better to perk you up for a long flight ahead than the smell of caramel on coffee and swirls of whip cream kissing your lips.

But this—or rather, the guy just blatantly staring at you felt odd.

He didn’t look like he was necessarily out to get you, but he just stared straight at you in a way that seemed too analytic for “just” people watching. At this point, you’ve probably shifted your body with a complete 90 degree angle just to face away from him, but you could still feel his gaze burn on the back of your head so you sigh. A quick glance at your watch told you that there’s only twenty minutes away until boarding.

And of course, it’s just your luck when the grandmother who was supposedly seated next to you switches seats with the man across the aisle.

“Hey,” he greets and you offer a tight smile at best. Great, you think, almost a sixteen hour flight next to the dude who can’t stop staring.

He’s quiet for a majority of the time. A majority. The minority was the conversations he slips in between meals and lulls in the atmosphere. Kuroo Tetsurou, twenty six years old and works for the Japan Volleyball Association as his career, but has a habit of people watching and photography from time to time.

“Does this mean you take photos of random people?” you joke, and he lets out a laugh that you catch is quite endearing as a response.

“No, no—“ Tetsurou explains, laughing again. “Not in the creepy way I swear.”

You’re look at him in between bites of your dinner and nod for him to continue. He smiles at your cue and continues, “People are interesting.”

“Maybe it’s because I was a captain back then or that observing people now is my job, but keeping that observation in candid photographs is pretty cool,” Tetsurou finishes and you take note he has a glazed look over his eyes; like he’s far away.

He’s quick to snap out when he notices you still staring so he smiles, laughing, and looks down at his dinner. “At least, I think so.”

“You have a point,” you tell him. He nods, looking out at the window beside your seat and directs his smile there.

“Wanna switch seats? Sun’s about to go down and I think you might wanna take a photo of the view.” you ask and he’s quick to shake his head. “It’s okay, the view here is nice too.”

You smile and nod your head not realizing he meant that he was looking at you.

It’s about thirteen hours later when you’re finally stretching and standing by the arrival area with your suitcase in tow in line at a starbucks. Tetsurou, the stranger in passing peeked his head in the entrance and shot you a smile as he spotted you.

“Morning,” you wave, smiling.

He returns your smile and that’s when you notice him fidgeting with the strap of his backpack.

“I, uh—“ he starts avoiding to look straight at you. “I was taking photos of the sunset earlier and you happened to be in one of the shots by accident, I swear. I can dele—“

You cut him off with a nudge to his shoulder and a laugh. “Let me see.”

He stands next to you while you scroll through the images. You have to admit, though, he definitely had an eye for color. The skies over Jakarta looked like a different kind of beautiful especially in the photos you happened to turn and shoot him a smile.

“Not to be creepy,” Tetsurou starts and you snicker. “—that’s exactly what a creepy guy would say,” you cut him off as a retort.

“On a scale of one to ten, this photo of you would be a hundred.”

You laugh at his comment and tug your suitcase, walking forward to the counter. “Guess I have to buy you coffee as payment?”

Tetsurou’s eyes gleam when you shoot him another smile, then his hands itch to click the shutter of his camera.

“As long as I get your number too, Ana.”

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gerec · 4 years

Text

AU-gust 2020 Prompts

AUs 1-5 on Ao3 6. Hospital AU - Cherik 7. Childhood Friends AU - Cherik 8. Superheroes/Superpowers AU - Starles, past Cherik

9. Royalty AU - Cherik

There’s something almost soothing about airports at night, the lounge mostly quiet and empty, with only a few passengers waiting to board the last of the day’s scheduled flights. Charles takes a seat by the window and sets his carryon on the floor, pulling his cell out of his jacket pocket to check the departure time – yes still ten thirty to London, no expected delay. He can’t believe he’s made it this far, without breaking down or changing his mind; only another twenty minutes before he’s in the air and on his way home, and far away from the madness he’s been living since his arrival in Genosha.

He checks his cell as soon as it beeps, reading, and then immediately deleting the text with a frown.

Do not get on that plane.

He can see it so clearly; Erik returning to his rooms after the banquet, expecting to see Charles already asleep, or perhaps reading a book in his bed. How frantic he would be, once he realized that Charles and his things had both disappeared, shouting at Kitty and the guards for answers to where he might be. His face when he reads Charles’ note, left on the bed; a raw and fleeting moment of anger and heartbreak, before he schools his expression and starts barking orders to the staff, and making his way to the airport.

But he knows that Erik won’t make it in time to stop him, no matter how fast he moves or how many speed limits he breaks on the way…

Charles doesn’t want to be stopped; doesn’t want Erik’s goodness and loyalty and his bloody convictions to sway Charles from doing the right thing. They had both been so naïve, believing their love would be enough, and that getting the blessing of Erik’s family would be the biggest hurdle they would have to face. But the Lehnsherrs had welcomed Charles with open arms, pleased that their son finally found someone special enough to bring to the palace, the warmth of their approval enough to make Charles believe in a way he hasn’t since he lost his father at the age of twelve.

It was all just a fairy tale, he thinks, his inner voice mocking and full of disdain, you should have known that things wouldn’t work out. Did you really think that you deserved to be happy? That you deserved a life with someone like Erik?

“I’m sorry Charles,” Moira said to him, three days ago after a museum opening in Hammer Bay. “I like you. And I know the Crown Prince loves you and you both deserve to be happy. But this isn’t going to get any better for you, because the scrutiny will never end. The media will dig up every last speck of dirt they can find on you and what they can’t find they’ll make up. And with what they’ve already found..”

“They’ll never stop searching, will they?” he’d answered. “Because I’m not good enough; will never be good enough for their beloved Prince. And they’ll never ever let me forget that I’ve ruined Erik’s life; that a man like me doesn’t deserve a man like him.”

“Are you sure about this?” Raven had asked, three months ago, when he’d told his sister he was moving with Erik to Genosha. “I know how much you love him, Charles, and that he makes you happy. But dating a prince, marrying a prince…your life will never really be yours again.”

He’s never been ashamed of the things that happened to him or the life he’s lived, choosing instead to the bear his scars proudly and without regret. But it’s one thing to share your secrets with a partner and another to tell the whole world; to have your pain, and your mistakes (your shame) splashed all over the web and across the front page of every newspaper and magazine—

Abuse by his stepfather and stepbrother until he left home at sixteen.

A mother dead from too much drink.

The freedom of his twenties, when he wore his promiscuity like a badge of honor.

The tape of him, leaked by a vindictive ex eager to make money off his newfound fame.

He knows deep down that he’s not just leaving for Erik’s sake, so that Charles’ scandals don’t inadvertently bring down the Genoshan monarchy (because Erik would fight for him, and never stop fighting for him, no matter what, even to his own detriment); he’s doing this for himself too, and the life he wants to live. He won’t be bullied, or embarrassed for being exactly who he is, and not some made up perfect Consort that doesn’t – and could never - exist. Yes, he’d rather let Erik go, and live forever with a miserable, broken heart than turn his hard won confidence into a source of unending shame.

He checks his messages again, deleting them once he’s finished.

Please don’t go.

Charles, you can’t just leave!

I love you. I’ll fix this I promise.

Don’t leave me.

The call comes over the speaker, just as he finishes the last of the texts.

‘Flight 1130 to London boarding now at Gate 3.’

Charles switches his cell off and grabs his carryon bag, and heads over to the line to board his plane.

#gerec writes #cherik #royalty au #au-gust 2020 #august writing challenge #day 9

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sunflowerseedsandscience · 4 years

Text

Something different.

Most of you know I’ve been devoting all my free time over the past three years to writing original novels. Here’s the opening chapter of one of them.

Sundays at the local skating rink are my secret pleasure. Most of the week, the ice is devoted to hockey practices and private lessons, but on Sunday afternoons, the rink is available for a three-hour public skating session, and it's always crowded. I like to buy myself a latte from the cafe across the street, climb into the stands, and camouflage myself amongst the crowd of parents dividing their attention between their children, making slow, laborious laps around the rink, and their phones. I don't doubt most of them are hoping their kids will tire themselves out, thus making the last few hours of the weekend quieter. The faces change from week to week, but the categories the skaters fall into are the same. The youngest glide along between the feet of a parent (who looks with envy at the adults relaxing in the stands), while their older counterparts grip the boards, moving forward inches at a time. There are rambunctious teenagers, chasing each other on unskilled feet, occasionally crashing into unsuspecting skaters. Couples hold hands as they totter along, gazing at one another, like they can't imagine anything more romantic than spending a few hours in uncomfortable rented skates, on a badly-groomed sheet of ice, surrounded by screaming kids slamming into their legs every few minutes. There's always, of course, the requisite show-off, the young figure skater in their first year of lessons, dreams of Olympic glory filling their heads, earning the slack-jawed admiration of every child present with scratch spins and sloppy jumps. Most of them will quit within a year or so, driven off by the increasing difficulty, by the endless (and painful) falls that come before mastering each new skill. One or two will persevere, at least until high school, when they'll be faced with the choice between adhering to the demanding practice schedule, or getting to have a social life. But they're not who I come to the rink to see. The precise skater I'm here for isn't immediately obvious. She typically begins her session on the ice clinging to the boards, like the other first-timers, but she won't stay there long. Before she's gotten halfway around the rink, she'll discover she doesn't need as much help balancing as she'd thought, and she'll tentatively release her hold on the boards. Instead of choppy, uncertain steps, she'll start to glide, managing to hold her balance on one foot long enough to push off with the other... and then for a bit longer... and longer... until she's moving faster and more smoothly than most of the skaters around her. Her face will light up with one realization- Hey, this is easy!- followed quickly by another- Hey, this is fun! Emboldened, she'll see how long she can balance on one foot, or she'll try skating backwards, or she'll possibly even manage a shaky two-footed spin and emerge from it as excited as if she's landed a triple axel. This skater will be disappointed to the point of tears when her time on the ice is over, in sharp contrast to the rest of the children, most of whom abandon the ice in exhaustion long before the session is up. She'll rush up to her parents, not stopping to remove her skates, and she'll beg them to please, please, please let her take lessons, because this is so much more fun than ballet or piano or softball or whatever other activities currently take up her afternoons. Within a year, she'll have graduated to being one of the Sunday afternoon show-offs, and not long after that, she'll most likely have quit... but that doesn't matter, because where the skater goes from here isn't what interests me. What I come here to see is that all-important moment, that instant when the little girl or boy falls in love with skating. I come here to see the beginning of an obsession, the realization dawning on a child's face that they could do this all day, every day, and never get bored. I think, sometimes, if I witness it often enough, I might start to remember the time when I felt that way myself.

But inevitably, the public skating session ends, the rink empties, and I'm left to climb down from the stands, toss my empty coffee cup in the trash, trudge out to my car, and drive home, feeling more lost than I had when I'd arrived. Even though my father's farm is less than three miles outside of Kasson, Minnesota, I drive into town twice a week, at most- on Sundays, to visit the rink, and on Mondays for my weekly grocery run, which I make in the middle of the day when most people are in school or at work. These past three years, ever since the Sochi Olympics, I prefer to avoid conversation as much as possible... a difficult feat in a small town where everyone seems to know who Emma Lautner is, and how irredeemably I've humiliated myself. There's no sign of life at the farm. Dad's probably at his office in Rochester, trying to squeeze as much productivity out of the weekend as he can, juggling a caseload that would break most people. And even if he is home, he's probably out walking the fences, checking whether any are in need of repair. It's not like we can afford to pay someone to do that for us these days. We might not keep livestock anymore-- the last horse was sold when I was sixteen-- but Dad's a creature of habit through and through, and he likes to keep things in the best shape he can. I drive past the garage and the imposing seven-bedroom house-- noting that a few more shingles seem to be missing after the most recent storm-- and pull up alongside the one-bedroom guest cottage I call home. I park, cut the engine, and make my way along the path I shoveled for myself earlier this morning, when a February snowstorm finally blew itself out after three days. The cottage isn't locked; there's no need for security out here. I'm more likely to lock the door for privacy when I'm home than I am for safety when I'm out. Once the door is shut behind me, I sag against it, taking a deep breath, enjoying the warmth and solitude of my little home. Well... for about thirty seconds, that is, which is how long it takes for my cell phone to start ringing. I yank the phone out of my coat pocket, glance at the name, and groan. I silence the phone and stuff it back into my pocket, shrug off my coat, and hang it on the wall by the door. I slouch into the living room, where I flop down on the threadbare couch, closing my eyes. Five minutes later, someone pounds on the door, which, I remember with another groan, I haven't locked. It's thrown unceremoniously open, and my coach, Barbara Parker, a reed-thin former ballroom dancing champion, strides in on a gust of frigid February air. She slams the door behind her, and her brisk, determined footsteps announce her approach. "I need you out at the rink," she says, skipping right over her unanswered phone calls. "There's a surprise waiting for you." I roll onto my back and glare up at her. Barbara's "surprises" tend to be things like new, ridiculously hard exercises she's devised solely to torture me, and I'm not up for it today. "Barbara, I literally just walked in the door." "I know, I saw you from the house. That's why I called." I throw my arm over my eyes. "Look, if you didn't want me to know whether or not you're home whenever I need to talk to you, you shouldn't have invited me to move here." "I didn't invite you to move here," I point out, sitting up. "That was my father's idea." "And what an excellent idea it was." Barbara is infuriatingly unflappable as always. "Speaking of which, he asked me to tell you he had to drive up to Minneapolis for a couple days. He'll be back Wednesday." She nudges me with her knee. "Let's go, Emma. Time's wasting." Barbara isn't likely to leave me alone until she's revealed whatever the surprise is... so with a heavy sigh, I relent. I climb off the couch, shrug back into my coat, and follow her outside. About fifty yards from my cottage is a mammoth structure that once housed stables for the horses my father's family bred for generations... at least until, at the relentless urging of my mother, the entire operation was shut down, the horses were sold, and the stables were remodeled into a regulation-sized ice rink. The change did not endear Carolyn Lautner (already dubbed "that California bimbo" by my extended family, though they tried not to say it around me) to the Lautner clan. Even though my mom's been back in Los Angeles for three years, and even though I've been without a skating partner for most of that time, Dad's made no move to return the skating rink to its original use. And when it comes down to it, I'm just as much a creature of habit as my father, and I still come out here to train five days a week, partner or no. Inside, the rink has a slight air of neglect, though it remains serviceable. There's an ancient ice resurfacer, which I operate and which my dad's friend repairs when needed, parked at one end. Near the center of the rink's sidelines, where the judging panel would sit during a competition, is a raised plywood platform, where Barbara likes to perch and bark out instructions. I've got no idea what sort of "surprise" Barbara has planned, so I don't know what to expect as I follow her into the building and up to the edge of the ice... but whatever I'd expected, it hadn't involved a young man, whose face I can't make out at this distance, skating around on the ice I groomed myself this morning. I squint at him, trying to see if I recognize him from town, but he's at the far end of the rink and all I can tell is that he's tall, lean, and has dark hair. I turn to Barbara. "This is my surprise? Barbara, you shouldn't have." Across the ice, the skater catches sight of us and glides down the rink in our direction. He's graceful, at home on the ice, and watching the way he moves, I start to understand. "I thought you said you'd given up trying to find me a partner this close to the Olympics." "I did." "You said any senior male ice dancer would either already be paired up, or would have decided to wait until Beijing in 2022." "I thought I'd try branching out." Frowning, trying to puzzle out what Barbara means by that, I turn back to the ice. The young man skates to a graceful stop in front of us... and all the breath leaves my body. He's handsome, with large, green eyes in a narrow face, and his smile is cheerful, open, friendly. It's a smile, however, that I have no interest in ever seeing again in my life, no matter how gorgeous the face housing it might've grown to be. My chest grows tight, constricted, and I'm terrified I'm about to have my first panic attack in almost six months, right here, in front of both of them. "Emma," says Barbara, feigning total indifference to my sudden distress, "I'd like you to meet your new partner, Adam Murrow." For a moment, I can't bring myself to say anything. All I can do is stand here, hoping desperately this isn't happening, that he's not here, not standing in my ice rink as though he belongs here, as though he hadn't- "What the hell are you doing here?" I demand, my breath returning in one furious rush. I want to punch Adam Murrow right on his narrow chin, to wipe the infuriating cheerfulness out of his bright green eyes. But I've got a good idea of how Barbara would react to that, so I content myself with clenching my fists, confining the punch I'd like to throw to my imagination. "He's here at my invitation." Barbara's tone is a warning. "I contacted him after New Year's and asked if he'd be interested in coming out for a trial period." "And you didn't bother to mention this to me?" Barbara shrugs. "I didn't see the need to tell you until I knew for sure he was coming. I told him to take a few weeks to think it over, and here he is." I open my mouth, intending to demand she explain how, knowing the history between me and Adam, she could possibly have thought it would be a good idea to bring my former partner out here. Barbara's face, though, tells me exactly how that would play out, so I whirl on Adam, instead. "You're a freestyle skater now. And not even a pairs skater. What, you found out getting onto the Olympic team as a solo skater wasn't as easy as you thought, so you decided maybe you'd come running back to ice dancing?" "Um... not exactly," says Adam. "I mean... yes, I have decided to try ice dancing again, but it's not because I didn't think I could get named to the men's team on my own." He looks down, shuffling his feet. "What, then? Did you lose a bet?" I ask scathingly. "Or maybe you couldn't hack it in the big leagues? Couldn't manage the quads?" Barbara shoots me a warning look. "Adam has made the decision to give up solo freestyle skating and come back to ice dance because of some minor knee issues." She gestures for him to exit the ice. He steps out onto the rubber flooring and stands before me, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a way that, years ago, would have told me he was nervous. "Nothing serious, not yet, but his doctor has told him if he wants to be able to get around without a wheelchair by the time he's forty, he needs to cut back on physical stress." "By which he meant, no more jumps. No more triples, and definitely no more quads," says Adam. "And since I'm not likely to qualify for anything at all, much less the Olympic team, with a program full of waltz jumps and single loops...." He shrugs. "There wasn't much point." "So, what, you thought you'd make the switch back?" "No, actually, I called him," says Barbara. I stare at her, aghast. "You contacted him and invited him to skate with me?" "I did," says Barbara, still completely calm, which infuriates me further. "And it never occurred to you to... I don't know, ask me what I thought about your brilliant idea first?" "It occurred to me, sure. But I knew you wouldn't go for it, so I decided to just do it. Adam very graciously flew all the way out here from New York on short notice, so I think you should at least give him a shot, don't you?" "Here's something else that probably should've occurred to you by the time he got here, since I've had enough time to think of it and I've only been clued into this insane idea for five minutes," I retort. "If his knees are too shot for jumping, what makes you think he'll be strong enough to do any lifts? Or are you going to suggest I be the one to lift him, instead?" "It's a completely different kind of stress on the body and you know it," says Barbara. "Lifting a one-hundred-thirty pound woman isn't exactly the same as putting six hundred pounds of pressure onto one knee for a quad jump." "And my knees aren't shot," interjects Adam. "They will be, sure, if I'm not careful, but she's right. Lifts aren't gonna be a problem, unless you've put on a hell of a lot of weight since I last saw you." He looks me up and down. "Which it doesn't look like you have." I glare at him as ferociously as I can. "You left this sport," I remind him. I want to remind him he left me, as well, but I bite that bit back. With difficulty. "I know I did." "And don't think I haven't seen the interviews you've given since then. For instance, the one where you said ice dancing is just freestyle skating with all the hard parts taken out?" "Jesus, Em." I bristle at his familiarity, the way he talks to me as though it hasn't been seven years since we've last spoken, as though he hadn't disappeared from my life and left a mess behind him. He doesn't notice. "I said that at least five years ago! I was being flip, going for an easy laugh!" "But you do think it's less difficult, don't you?" Adam rolls his eyes. "Of course not, Em." "Don't call me that." "Fine, Miss Lautner, then," he says. I keep glaring at him. "Your royal highness?" I actually take a threatening step towards him before Barbara puts a warning hand on my shoulder. "Emma. I don't think it's less difficult. I promise. It's not like I forgot everything about ice dancing the moment I switched to freestyle." You certainly forgot about me, I think, but I content myself with crossing my arms tightly and looking away. I can't stand looking at his stupidly handsome face for another second. "Adam, you can feel free to stay on the ice if you want," Barbara says. "Or if you'd rather go finish unpacking, that's fine, too. I'll have dinner on the table around six o'clock." Adam's eyebrows shoot up. "You're the coach and the cook?" "Yes, I'm the cook," says Barbara agreeably. "At least for tonight. Our budget doesn't exactly allow for a professional chef." She doesn't, thankfully, mention the other reason we take turns cooking and always eat dinner together: when she first got here, my relationship with food had been tempestuous, to say the least. "Tomorrow night, it's Emma's turn. And on Tuesday, it'll be your turn." Adam's cheerful expression falters. "I'm, uh... I'm not much of a cook." Remembering his difficulties with the simplest of recipes when we'd been younger, I can't help taking pleasure in his nervousness. "It doesn't have to be anything fancy," Barbara assures him. "It can be spaghetti with sauce from a jar, if that's all you know how to make. So once you've decided what you'll be cooking, check in the kitchen and see if we've got what you need, and if not, write it on the shopping list on the fridge." She takes my arm. "We'll see you at dinner. For now, I need to speak with Emma in private." And without waiting for a response from Adam, Barbara pulls me firmly away from the ice by the elbow. I glance over my shoulder before we leave the building. Adam's back out on the ice, gliding gracefully in slow circles, his arms held out, encircling an imaginary partner... and briefly, lost in memory, I can almost feel his hands on me, holding me firmly, but tenderly. Exactly the way his hands always had. Before. Back inside my cottage, I fall onto my couch without taking my coat off, leaning my head back, staring at the ceiling. "Why didn't you ask me what I thought before you contacted him?" I don't look at Barbara. "Because I had a pretty good idea of what your response would be." She lowers herself into my beat-up armchair. "So why go ahead with it, then? If you knew I'd be against it?" "Because, Emma, there are no viable options left at this point. There aren't many male ice dancers looking for partners only a year from the next Olympics, and any who are, well...." Her voice trails off, and the silence following her words is awkward. At the unspoken reproach in my coach's voice, a sudden stab of resentment makes me borderline nauseous. "What happened with Grant wasn't completely my fault." I lift my head, glaring at her. "Most of it wasn't your fault, kid. And as for how it ended...." She sighs. "The person who storms off the ice is always going to look like the one at fault to everyone watching. And if I'd been your coach when all of that got going, well...." She shrugs. "Let's just say, after a few days of coaching Grant, I would've known enough to advise against letting it begin in the first place." "I don't see how that's any different from blaming me for all of it, since what happened in Sochi never would've had the chance to happen if Grant and I hadn't--" "It's always a risk you take, getting involved with your partner. Even if the ending isn't as... volatile... as yours and Grant's, there's still the chance it will end. And an amicable breakup doesn't guarantee you'll still be able to skate together. If I'd been your coach, I would've told you that as soon as I suspected things were heading in that direction." "Instead of encouraging it, like Edgar did," I mumble, pulling my legs up to my chest and pressing my face into my knees. Barbara sets her mouth in a thin line, probably biting back the things she'd like to say about Edgar Fellig, her predecessor... but, as always, she holds her tongue. "No point living in the past" is one of Barbara's favorite personal affirmations. Except now, thanks to Barbara, my past will be living with me. "How do you know he won't bail the second something goes wrong?" I demand. "Last time, I'd been injured barely a week, and that was long enough for him to start auditioning new partners. Jesus, Barbara, he was skating with someone else the day after I left the hospital!" "You might want to remember you weren't completely innocent in what happened," Barbara cautions, and I bristle. "I can't think of anything I could have said that would justify abandoning your partner of eight years just because she got hurt." I'd like to say something much more cutting, but I can't risk driving Barbara away. Plus... it's not like she's completely wrong. "In any case," Barbara sighs, "you've got two choices. You can give Adam a chance, and have a shot at being ready in time for Nationals and getting selected for the Olympic team... or you can wait five more years for the Beijing games, and hope the gossip dies down enough by then for you to find someone else to skate with." "Wait for the gossip to die down? In this community?" I shake my head. "Fifteen years wouldn't be enough time for that, let alone five." "Then I guess you can either give my idea a try... or give up." I glare at her. "I am not giving up. If I never skate again, then Grant wins. Edgar wins. My mother wins." I shake my head. "Giving up isn't an option." I drop my feet heavily to the floor, leaning my elbows on my knees. Barbara's right: as much as I would've preferred never to set eyes on my former partner again, giving Adam a second chance is my only viable option. But being around him, day after day, spending hours on end together, in near-constant physical contact.... I promised myself, years ago, that if I ever got the chance to confront Adam over the way he'd walked away from me, I wouldn't do it. It would be an acknowledgement of how much his desertion had hurt me. Hurt me? Hell, it had destroyed me. But letting Grant win? That would destroy me even further. I look up at Barbara, resigned. "Fine. But I don't want him given any slack, okay? I'm sure he's got it in his head this is gonna be easy, and I have no interest in holding his hand and comforting him when he finds out how wrong he is." Barbara nods, satisfied. "Good." She stands. "I'll see you at the house for dinner, all right?" I wince. The idea of sitting across from- or worse, next to- Adam is the least appetizing thing I can think of. What the hell are we supposed to talk about? "I think I'll skip eating with everyone else tonight," I say, even though I know exactly how well that's going to go over. "Not an option and you know it." "I've got food in my fridge." "And you can eat it later, if you need a snack. But dinner is at the house at six, every night. That was one of my conditions when I agreed to be your coach, and I'm not letting up on it because you're in a bad mood." Sullenly, I nod, and Barbara, zipping her coat back up, lets herself out. I lean back and close my eyes. Somehow, even though I haven't done much today, I'm exhausted. The thought of going to my room, collapsing into bed, and napping until dinner is tempting, but if I do that, I'll probably end up lying awake for hours later tonight when it's actually time for bed. There's nothing to be gained by putting off the inevitable. I trudge outside and return to the rink. Adam's still on the ice, skating slowly, only now, instead of practicing partner holds on his own, he's frowning down at his feet as he moves. When he glances up, catching sight of me, he looks nervous, but he skates over all the same. "You don't look too sure of yourself out there," I tell him bluntly. "Moving pretty slowly. I thought you said your knees weren't that bad?" "They're not. I'm getting used to the different blades again, that's all." I follow his gaze down to the smaller toe pick and shorter blades of his ice dancing boots. "I've already fallen over backwards once. I keep expecting there to be more blade back there to catch me." "That's not encouraging." For the first time, Adam looks irritated. His mouth turns down and his eyes narrow. It's an expression I remember well from our teenage years, though he rarely aimed it at me. "Look, I know you don't have any reason to be excited I'm here," he says. "I get it. I'm obviously not your first choice of partner, and I don't blame you, but I do think you have to get over yourself at some point. Especially if we're gonna be skating together." I'm so furious, I can't speak. I close my eyes, breathing deeply, trying to master my temper, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he's gotten to me. "I have to get over myself?" "I'd say you do, yeah." "No, Adam, I don't think I do. What I need is a partner who actually wants to be here, not someone who sees this as a last resort if they can't get to the Olympics any other way. I need a partner who knows how much hard work is in front of him and isn't afraid to put in the time." "And what makes you think I see this as a last resort? What makes you think I'm not ready to work as hard as I need to? You think I spent all my time as a freestyle skater slacking off and joking around for TV reporters? I worked my ass off trying to get onto the men's team." "Why haven't you yet, then?" I'm verging on being truly unkind, but I don't care. "Why's this going to be your first Olympics? You were old enough to go to Sochi in 2014, so why didn't you qualify then?" Adam glares at me. "Why didn't you?" he retorts. For a second, I see red. How dare he? "You know damn well that I did go." "That's right, I do," says Adam coldly. "I know you qualified, I know you went to Sochi, I know why your short dance was a disaster, and I know why you didn't finish the competition. Everyone knows. So I'd appreciate it if you could knock it off with your holier-than-thou attitude. We don't have to like each other, but we do have to work together, and that's gonna be hard to do if you're spending every minute acting like I've somehow insulted you and everything you stand for by trying to have a skating career of my own." He turns away, skating back towards the center of the ice. "See you at dinner," he calls over his shoulder. I contemplate shouting some scathing retort at him. I debate storming out there after him and giving him a good, hard shove, knocking him on his ass on the ice. I think about maybe climbing on the Zamboni and running him over... but in the end, I do none of those things. I whirl on my heel, stalk out of the rink, and stand outside in the darkening Minnesota afternoon, allowing the frigid wind to cool my cheeks, reddened with fury... and with shame.

#Opening chapter #I wrote the first draft of this novel in three months #Then rewrote it six times #Got as far as a revise & resubmit offer with my dream agency #Shelved it when that didn't work out #Moved on to other projects #Contemplating self-publishing it now #Would anyone buy it?

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hecohansen31 · 4 years

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Reaching Ecstasy:

Art Teacher! Michael Langdon+Student! Reader.

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I know that it has been quite some time since i last wrote these things, but I have been rather busy with life and other things and writing is kind of a rather busy thing for me, so I hope to be writing more once some things go off my schedule.

So, please forgive me, and I hope to be writing more during the holidays!

(Alongside trying to do a masterlist!).

This was an idea that I worked up after a few history of art lessons, about the sculptures of Bernini, which are absolutely beautiful, so do check them out!

With this being said, I hope you’ll enjoy this, andy! as always: if you want to be tagged in it, you just have to like the picture and it’ll be out on Sunday!

SUMMARY: When the times come for your interview with Mr. Langdon, your art teacher, you can’t help but be rather confused by his requests.

WORDS: 4,7 K

WARNINGS: Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Compromising Situation and Slight Dub-Con (Michael using his position of power over Reader, although she is consensual to the entire thing) (also Reader is absolutely legal, since she is 20, in this fic!), Blasphemous talk abotu Ecstasy.

The arrival of Mr. Langdon had brought some kind of change in the life of the students of Saint Therese, a private catholic boarding school, where troubled young ladies were sent so that they could be taught to be wives, able to properly satisfy their husbands.

The peculiar teacher wasn’t only a male, and attractive as sin, but he had rather interesting methods of teaching, constantly pushing boundaries and trying out new teaching techniques, which resulted in a major interest in his subject history of art from his students.

But what was the strangest thing about him was his way to examine student’s knowledge of his subject since he didn’t ask questions about it in class, in front of many people, but he asked the students to meet him in his office for a private interview.

At first it had seemed dauntingly terrifying and everyone thought he hid more, than just a simple interview about Picasso, Rubens or Giotto.

But once Coco had tried to “seduce” him, which resulted in her getting a complain on her behavior and failing the class, something for which she still complained with her ‘Marie Antoinette attitude’, meanwhile you just rolled your eyes at her stupidity.

Although Mr. Langdon asked each interview to remain private between him and the student for the student’s privacy, some of your fellow students had revealed you some details, mostly because you were extremely anxious about the exam.

History of art was one of your favorite subjects at the boarding school and you were fascinated by Mr. Langdon’s ingenious lessons (although all the girls would joke about him being a male version of “Mona Lisa Smile”), so you didn’t want to fail it.

And from what you had gathered from your friends, Mr. Langdon wasn’t only interested in your knowledge of his subject, but he was also questioning you about your most inner soul.

But deep down nobody had wanted to reveal you some of the questions.

“They are private, (Y/N)” had mumbled Mallory, looking at you as if she had been burned by fire “… I am sorry but I think that it isn’t something that I can tell you, but believe me, nothing will ever make you feel ready enough for what it is to come”.

So, you weren’t truly calm when you walked in Mr. Langdon’s office, escorted by than governess Mrs. Venable, who liked Mr. Langdon less than anybody else did, since according to her, and from what Madison had referred to you, after an accurate mission of spying on the strict governess, ‘he was the portrait of any debauchery and sin’.

She was probably bitter, because he didn’t believe in her mindless rules, alongside acting like he owned the place, stealing everything she had built with her steady and merciless hand.

“Mrs. (L/N), remember to answer Mr. Langdon truthfully” she mumbled as she left you on the threshold of the closed studio, where the art story teacher interviewed his subjects “… good luck”.

You just bowed your head in submission, before you approached to knock onto the door, being immediately welcomed by Mr. Langon’s dark and hoarse voice, as he adjusted himself behind his desk, where various drawing stood, alongside many more books, which laid open.

The scarce light gave the office some kind of gloomy atmosphere and this didn’t ease the anxiety you felt churning in your stomach, desperately wanting to call for Mrs. Venable, but as you set your feet over the threshold Mr. Langdon’s eyes were onto you, staring at you predatorily.

“Mrs. (Y/N) such an honor to finally meet you” he mumbled, inviting you with an elegant gesture of his hand, ordering you to come forward and sit, in front of him, to which you obeyed quickly.

Unlike many of your fellow students, you didn’t have any behavioral trauma or problem, you were more a shy child your parents had no use of in their travels.

‘Why can’t you just smile more?’.

‘Why can’t you have friends?’.

‘Why can’t you just be more like us?’.

You had no clue why you were so closed off, sensitive and gentle, anything your parents didn’t approve of, since they were socialite of the highest steps of the celebrity ladder: you were an ashamed dot on their immaculate records.

Hence, they had thought that the private boarding school could hide you well enough and maybe had they remembered about you they would have some day come to take you back.

You didn’t hate the boarding school, as many of your fellow students did: it gave you a chance to appreciate your usual calm style of life, which you loved with all your shy heart, but still…

… in some moments you wondered whether you were losing something of the outside world.

Maybe it was men like Michael Langdon that made you blush just as they looked at you.

You took a seat, in front of him, focusing your attention on the conjoined hands in your lap, although Mr. Langdon’s gaze stayed on you, in an heavy velvety caress that got you to tremble lightly, meanwhile a thrill of an unknown emotion moved down your spine.

“… you are rather interested in my subject” a quick nod was all you were able to reply “…although you don’t intervene often, I see that you listed in your future work options of wanting to to take a job in the art sector”.

Although it wasn’t an inquiry you knew he was expecting an answer.

“… I would love to work in a gallery or with children, teaching, although it can be difficult sometimes”.

“I can absolutely agree with that” his tone was almost heartfelt and it eased you on a more comfortable note, with you straightening your stance onto the chair, although your eyes were still linked to your hands “… have you ever visited any art gallery or museum?”.

“Oh, I have been in Italy for a whole month, meanwhile my parents were on a tour” you replied immediately, excited that now you knew somebody who would appreciate the same delicacies as you.

“Are they musicians?” you were sure that the answer could be found not only in the latest tabloids but also in your file so the fact that Mr. Langdon was ignorant on the matter surprised you.

Positively.

“Actors, they are mostly performing in theater, lately” you explained, thinking about the Italian tour you had gone on, barely sixteen and meanwhile your parents slept off their hangover you visited many beautiful cities, recognizing some of them in Langdon’s drawing.

“Acting: when life imitates art” he mumbled, his tone lightly sarcastic and you couldn’t stop a little giggle to leave your lips “… but I am glad to know that I am not talking only with lost causes: people like you make teaching worth it”.

Although they were compliments, there was some darker tone in Mr. Langdon’s words, seducing and hypnotizing, which got you to finally raise your head and meet his cerulean eyes, a mix of beautiful blue was tinted with the shades of grey, mostly for the influence of the dark room.

His blonde curls were elegantly styled as a veil of gold, soft at the sole sight and you wondered whether he had simply woken up like this or took care of it, and you thought what it would feel to card an hand through it and pull it, meanwhile you straightened it, entwining it through your fingers.

All these thoughts made you unfocused and when you realized that Michael Langdon had caught you in your fantasy you blushed immediately softly retiring again your gaze onto your hands.

And you felt Mr. Langdon’s smug look on you, as if his plan was working.

“Then I hope you visited Rome, and Galleria Borghese” you nodded immediately, remembering walking the beautiful mansion in the middle of the chaotic Rome, just to be welcomed with your own retire from the chaotic city life, in a peace of the senses that had brought you to lose yourself.

Mr. Langdon fidgeted with some drawings, before he moved to you a polaroid with the beautiful “Apollo and Dafne” statue by Gian Lorenzo Bernini.

The two statues entwined in a fatal embrace that had doomed Dafne in becoming Apollo’s favorite plant.

“Then you won’t mind telling me what this is” and you immediately replied with the most classical of answers, explaining the dates and the commission behind the sculpture, before moving onto an explanation of what this statue stood for.

You gaze was linked to the photo, but you felt Mr. Langdon’s heavy eyes on you.

“… can you also tell me the reason behind the inscription on the base of the statue” he stopped you halfway your mumblings to point to the basement, where a Latin phrase was written.

“It’s a warning against the temptations of lust” you immediately replied, moving your eyes onto Mr. Langdon’s face, since it wasn’t something you had talked in class: you could barely mumble something about ‘lust’ or ‘temptation’ without having to explain the meaning of it to Mrs. Venable.

“… oh, truly delightful” praised you Mr. Langdon, making you blush, but you withheld his stare, proud of your answer “… do you think that lust is bad, Mrs. (L/N)?”.

You couldn’t help but blush, because since you had isolated yourself from your fellow peers, you had never experienced lust to the point that you had thought it wasn’t in your destiny.

But there was something downright sinful, that made you feel lust, indeed, towards Mr. Langdon.

You weren’t the first one to fall to his charms, hence the reason why you tried desperately to be so in control with him.

“…I do think that it depends” you mumbled, meanwhile Mr. Langdon shifted his head onto an hand, looking at you closer, making you feel even more intimidated, although his eyes showed a true light of interest, as if he valued your opinion “Measure is something important in each thing: Lucretius would condemn lust, alongside Virgil… the impossibility to fulfill desire is something that damns Dido, but…”.

“But?” he was literally pending onto your lips, wondering what would be coming next and you couldn’t help but be beyond proud of that effect, straightening your position on the chair.

“… but is life worth without pleasure? Passion can be devastating, but Lord Tennison doesn’t say 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’, doesn’t Ovid find damnation and his greatest glory in love?”.

“A true classicist, Mrs. (L/N)” commented Michael, softly, his eyes caressing you and his interest sparking up “… but we are making all this pagan talk … when Bernini was a loyal collaborator of the Catholic Church, such as in this work of his”.

And then “Saint Theresa” was shown to you, the beauty of the form intensified by the marble chosen and the décor around the entire chapel, where the Cornaro family watched the miracle happening in the center of it.

After a brief description of the chapel, you moved onto explaining Saint Theresa’s legend: she had been documenting this in her diaries, talking about how she had been transfixed in the chest by an arrow, shot by an angel, like drawn and sculpted in the complex statue.

And this brought the saint to prove what was described in the Sant Scriptures as “ecstasy”.

“Ecstasy could be described in a more earthly way as…” and you tried to calm down, smothering the blush that was fighting to show up on your face “… an orgasm, since Bernini used the depiction of sexual ecstasy, which gained quite a few times some rather problematic critics and accuseo f being blasphemous, mostly because we are in the Counterreformation era…”.

You tried to shove off your uneasiness trying to cover the embarrassment with overtalking, which was something you always did and would function most of the time…

… but not with Mr. Langdon.

“… Mrs. (L/N) there is no need to be shy, I am not Mrs. Venable” he laughed, sending you a very pointed look, before he smirked “… Bernini does indeed have an… ambiguity to his sculptures, which I honestly find like it’s one of the most interesting about his style, don’t you think?”.

You were all red in the face, you could totally feel it, immediately reaching out to gently pull up your sleeves and pushing the collar of your modest uniform, a simple plain shirt under a black overalls, with a skirt instead of pants, which covered both your chest and your legs, since the skirt was over the knee.

The only tempting exception to the rules was the stockings, rigorously black but slightly sheer.

“… I found it…” you tried to take some time ignoring the question and looking around Mr. Langdon’s desk, more to fake some kind of delirious confusion than to actually hide your gaze “… interesting”.

“Certainly, a girl who can speak about Bernini and Tennyson and Lucretius can surely use some better term than simply ‘interesting’ “ the arrogant way with which he spoke got something to act up in you and suddenly you lost any pretense of embarrassment.

“… of course, I can! And I find Bernini extremely interesting because of his beautiful depiction of ethereal beauty, mixed and stained with some human pleasures, hence the depiction of such pleasures in his statues”.

You hadn’t looked even in the slightest at Michael for the entire time of the discourse as you met his gaze knowing perfectly that you had gone over your role as a student, probably disrespecting him in some way.

But Mr. Langdon was simply looking at you as if he had the “Saint Theresa” of Bernini shown in front of him, and you just took a deep breath trying to recompose yourself, and as your hands retreated from Mr. Langdon’s desk, but he quickly reached out for them, holding them in an extremely tight grip as you reached out to look in his eyes.

“Truly wonderful, Mrs. (L/N)” he mumbled, looking at you completely absorbed in your eyes, before he left your hands and your gaze, making you almost stumble on the desk lowering yourself on it and almost falling ungracefully on your elbows, as he moved to retrieve something.

What he tried to find, meanwhile you wondered whether what had just happened was just your imagination acting up or had truly happened, was the little block of paper where he teachers wrote their grade of the students, which would be given to Mrs. Venable and added to the other grade for the final exam.

He then moved it to you, offering it to your eyes and although the grade was definitely impressive you couldn’t help but gawk at it.

“Something is wrong, Mrs. (L/N)?” he asked, meanwhile you scrunched your nose, and although anything screamed in your body to just shut up, you were unable to obey it and muttered, without even thinking.

“I think that I deserve more than the grade you have me, sir”.

He smirked, meanwhile realization slowly came over to you about what you had just said.

“Well, well” he commented, slowly pushing himself in a more relaxed position in his chair, his legs crossing over and his ankle touching perfectly his knee “… I gotta admit that I love a girl who is ambitious”.

Again, your mouth spoke again, and you were unable to withhold your words.

“I am not ambitious. I know what I deserve and won’t settle for anything else”.

After your little discourse Mr. Langdon was definitely intrigued, amusement and something darker shining in his eyes.

“And to think that you appear like such a shy and meek girl” he mumbled, his lips following perfectly each word in a sensual dance, that ignited your cheeks, but you didn’t back down, standing to your phrase “… the little mouse has the personality of a fierce lioness, I gotta admit that I like that about you, Mrs. (L/N), almost as much as I love that pretense of innocence you hid behind…”.

“I don’t know what you mean” you muttered, finally your embarrassment setting up, in your guts, although nothing in you wanted to stay and be lost in those provocative eyes.

“Exactly, you act like this pure sweet girl, shy and scared by anything, when in reality you don’t want nothing more than a proper competition, somebody who understand what you think and will challenge… you want to roar and somebody who will answer”.

You couldn’t help but agree with the entire thing, although you were too ashamed to admit it.

For all your life people had tried to change you to shape you in their prospective, but nobody had ever tried to lower themselves to your level and understand you.

Give you a proper challenge that would burn out the rest.

Except Mr. Langdon.

“It is true, you, Mrs. (L/N), deserve definitely something more, more than this boarding school, more than feeling like you mean nothing and that you count less than that” his hand again shot out and this time it caressed your arms, naked due to the fabric that had ridden up, meanwhile you attempted to relax and cool your body temperature “… but you are the one who stuck yourself in this position, hence you are the only one who can help yourself out”.

“But I don’t know how” the entire discourse spoke to you in a soulful way that you couldn’t help but answer with your deepest soul exposed.

“… ecstasy is the freest of the expressions of glory” you didn’t follow Mr. Langdon’s discourse, what “ecstasy” had to do with you, but still with the way he was gently caressing you and the way his tone had become so serious “… in ecstasy saints and martyrs discover the deepest of secrets, and you, my dear, little mouse, should do the same”.

Breath was taken from your lungs and your answer took a few minutes.

“How can I experience ecstasy?! I am not even a believer!” desperation shone in your tone, since as you had been put in front of your sadness, your existence explained and reduced to nothing more than a cliché, you felt nothing more than an emptiness that threated to consume you.

“What is truly ecstasy, if we cut off the entire religious part?” his hand moved in elegant gesture, completely hypnotizing your face “… it isn’t nothing more than when you feel the freest, Mrs. (L/N): sex shows us the most vulnerable side of us”.

Your cheeks were definitely on fire and you immediately raised from the chair, some part of you indignant to his indecent proposal, and some other…

… desperately wanted to follow on.

“This is abuse of your power!” you screamed and grabbed the first drawings that you found on his desk and threw them in his face, but he didn’t have any reactions, instead remaining perfectly icy and glacial, and before you knew it, the part of you that was aroused by his suggestion made wet heat recoil in your nest, the one between your legs.

“Then run away, Mrs. (L/N)” he was extremely serious “… you can tell it to Mrs. Venable, give her a reason to throw me away, please…”.

But you didn’t move, you didn’t run away and you didn’t say anything to Mrs. Venable instead shooting a quick look at the door to find that it was closed perfectly.

“… or stay here, be my guest and found out how much better life can be” his voice was an erotic whisper and you were sure it was meant simply for your ears “… it can be strangely freeing to let our darkest desire finally get the best of us, after we oppressed them for so long”.

You didn’t know if it was the fact that Mr. Langdon had chosen you, beside your schoolmates, prettier and more interesting than you or his discourse, but something had started being ignited in your chest and suddenly you were just unable to stop the fire from spreading.

And soon you were onto the desk, leaning down to kiss Mr. Langdon, you, who was barely able to have a normal talk with people, doing the first move, which was gently welcomed with a sweet answer of Mr. Langdon’s lips, pressing against yours with an emphasis that brought down any resistance you had.

You broke apart just for air, and when you did, although Michael was hiding everything in his gaze you caught a bit of surprise as if he hadn’t expected you to act up on your desire.

And soon his mouth, barely away from yours, was turned in a smirk.

“… you are a delight, Mrs. (L/N)”.

“(Y/N)” you mumbled shyly, before hiding your gaze “… you might as well as call me by my first name since you seem to know everything about me”.

“Then I insist you call me Michael” he grabbed your chin to push you to meet his tantalizing beautiful eyes “… you taste so much sweeter, than I thought”.

“You have thought about this?” you asked, surprised, enough for Michael to push you back in your chair, with a light push, meanwhile he raised from the chair, effectively towering over you.

“Oh you have no idea how much the thought of you crosses my mind” you blushed, immediately at his meaningful words, pushing yourself further in your seat, meanwhile he came around the desk to effectively tower over you, making you shiver in your sit “… the only girl with a mind that is capable to attract me”.

You blushed, feeling yourself unable to stop a giggle from coming to life in your stomach, meanwhile Mr. Langdon… Michael was in front of you.

“Twice as beautiful as a Raphael’s painting…” he continued, meanwhile he gently lowered till he was between your legs and you couldn’t help but blush, knowing what would come next.

Had your stack of erotica spoken the truth.

“… and if you taste sweet from your mouth, I wonder what you’ll taste like down there” and before you knew it, your stockings were pushed down on your legs and discarded without minding them any interest, he then raise dlightly your long skirt, making you blush and attempt to close them “… don’t deny my little piece of heaven, little Theresa”.

The words made a thrill go down your spine and suddenly your legs, slowly opened revealing your simple green panties, nothing too much, simple cotton since it did the job pretty well, and didn’t irritate you, but also didn’t hide your arousal very well.

And you were suddenly conscious that Michael knew about it all too well, as his eyes reflected lust and satisfaction.

“I could smell you perfectly as you walked in here, you were scared, but wanted more…” his hands come up slowly to your thighs, effectively caressing the tender skin of the inner part, just a few millimeters from your nest, perfectly hidden by soaked panties, shining in the dim light of office “… and then you started talking about ecstasy and passion flowed in you, you are a fucking masterpiece”.

And his hands finally came up to your panties and pressed down onto your puffy folds, excitation having pushed them to swollen lightly and you were unable to stop a moan from leaving your mouth, but luckily you caught yourself, biting your lips to suppress the sound.

And Michael smirked at that, before his fingers traced a little line between your fold, teasing you further, before they came to a halt right on your clit, and there his touch becoming even more featherlight.

He looked at you in the eyes, after that, and your cheeks were again moderately red, this time due to arousal and not embarrassment.

This was definitely freeing.

He smirked knowing exactly how you were feeling, meanwhile his hand moved down your thighs pushing lightly in them and you were sure that marks would be in there, although the pressure helped you focus on an earthlier level..

“… doesn’t it feel good?” he muttered, meanwhile you breathed down, heavily “… doesn’t it feel right?”.

You were just able to nod, begging for more and Michael didn’t hesitate to give you more, again caressing you with the back of his hand, before he pushed your panties to the side, with such ferocity that you couldn’t help but blush, and hide your face in your hands.

You were vulnerable and open for him, your arousal evident and you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious for a single moment, before Michael’s tongue came down between your folds tracing the same line he had touched with his hands, and if you had been left breathless by his hands-

His tongue caught all your breath and you held it in your lungs.

Surprise coursed through you and a tremble went through your body.

“So responsive” he mumbled, truly amazed by your reactions and suddenly shyness started disappearing in your soul, solely focusing on your pleasure “… my little girl”.

And he pushed himself further in you, his tongue finding your clit and his lips attaching on it, sucking it, till he got enough and moved to collect the wetness you held between your thighs, your juices glowing on his face.

And then his tongue parted your folds, penetrating you in the deepest and most secret part.

You were past the point of no return.

You didn’t know what was going on through your body, only pleasure coursed through you and before you knew it, you were lost in your own personal ecstasy, with Michael’s expert mouth, pushing his tongue in you, teasing your little pearl with slow strokes and then fucking you with his tongue, in fast thrusts, knowing exactly what to do to make you crazy.

“… I am close” you mumbled, not knowing why you felt the need to make Michael’s attention fall on you, as he raised his head to finally meet your eyes and the sight was so intensely erotic, that you felt even more arousal flood in your center “… fuck, this is just… I don’t know if I can…”.

Michael looked like an angel, with his long blonde hair, perfectly styled and before he even knew it you tangled your hands in them, pulling them till his mouth came to the point where you wanted and he smirked, against your pearl, gently biting it, a little pain that brought you back to reality.

But then the real fun began because Michael intensified his moves till he brought you over the edge again, helping himself with his fingers, after he eased one in you, a sudden penetration which had been strange for a few minutes before Michael crooked his finger gently in you, hitting that perfect spot and making you almost fall from your chair.

From that moment on Michael held a hand against your waist, to restrain you from buckling up against his face and his fingers, gently easing pleasure in you.

And this was enough for you.

Your ecstasy came onto you not like some kind of stabbing or poking made by an angel (although you had to admit that you heard some kind of angelic choir) but in waves of pleasure, and with Michael’s teasing smile, suckling lightly on your clit.

Your breath became shallow and your fingers dug in the chair, meanwhile you tried to push yourself through it, feeling the pleasure take over and never wanting to leave this kind of sensation.

When you came down, after Michael let you ride the waves of your orgasm with the gentle help of his finger since his tongue was too rough for your oversensitive folds, gently ushering you in your afterglow and when you were able to breath down without feeling like each breath lasted for ever…

… you saw the expression on Michael’s face.

Shame came to your mind first, at the knowledge that you had just done ‘that’ with your teacher, but he looked at you as if he had the true “Saint Theresa”, sculpted by Bernini in front of him.

“… I am…” you tried to apologize, quickly closing your legs, ashamed by how free you had let yourself be.

It was true you had left yourself be too free with him, and you weren’t sure if you could go back to how you had been before.

“… you are beautiful, little girl” he smirked, and laid a soft kiss on your inner thigh “… my own little private Saint Theresa in ecstasy”.

---

So as always: any kind of feedback is welcomed, as long as it is nice and well-behaved!

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soybeantree · 4 years

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pairing: do kyungsoo x (reader) genre/warning: kinda fluff...if you squint real hard. description: you’ve convinced yourself of these truths. standing firm on them every day. time goes on and with it comes the promise of his return. a/n: april installment of our ‘trying to write a kyungsoo story for every month that he is in the service’ series. check out the other’s here.

Marrying Kyungsoo came with three certainties.

The first certainty was that Kyungsoo had secrets.

Kyungsoo moved to your town when he was twelve to live with his “uncle”. His “uncle” lived in the old mansion at the edge of town. Lights never shone from the window of the mansion, smoke never rose from the chimney, and if anyone went in and out, no one in the town had ever seen them.

Kyungsoo moved into the house with his “uncle”, and a light shone in the third window from the right corner every night at sunset. Smoke rose from the chimney every day after school during winter. Kyungsoo would leave the mansion at seven on school days returning by six, at ten on Saturdays returning by noon, and never on Sundays.

The whole town gossiped about him and his “uncle” who never made an appearance. Your mother would comment about his home life at the dinner table, and your father would grumble telling you to stay away from him.

You sat behind him in school. Everyone did. He sat at the front of the class. His attention fixed on the teacher or his workbooks. When the rest of the class chatted with each other or went out for breaks, he sat at his desk continuing his work. You also sat at your desk, but your attention always drifted to him. You watched him mouth the words of the questions which stumped him and hold his pencil poised above the paper as he worked the problems out in his head before committing them to paper.

One day, you gathered your courage and placed a drink on his desk. You walked into the classroom, the drink shoved up your sleeves, and as you passed his desk, you slid the drink from your sleeve onto his desk. The exchanged occurred in silence, and you never broke stride as you headed for your desk. Heart thudding, you settled in your chair and watched. For three agonizing minutes, you watched until he reached forward and popped the top off. The next day you found a drink on your desk.

Gift giving led to word exchanges which led to conversations and eventually friendship, but friendship never included access to the mansion. Kyungsoo made only one change to his schedule with the advent of your friendship. He would leave the mansion on Sundays. You two biked through the woods and traversed waterfalls and cliffs in your exploration of the world surrounding your town. You would sit under the shade of ancient oaks and talk until the crickets started chirping.

When you were sixteen, Kyungsoo left. His “uncle” wanted to move to the city. The gossip spread through the town. You asked him if that was the truth, and he nodded. You nodded too. Even though, he cleared his throat after he said it like he always did whenever he bluffed during poker.

The second certainty was that Kyungsoo would leave.

He left that first time, and six years passed before you heard of him again. He moved back to town while you were still attending college. Coming home that winter, everyone mentioned it to you. They asked if you had heard about it, seen him, talked to him. Yes, no, and no. The answers rolled off your tongue by the third day. The question no one asked but which you asked yourself every night when you saw the light in the third window from the right was “did you want to see him?”.

After he left, he disappeared. The letters you sent to his supposed address returned to you undeliverable. The phone number you had saved told you the recipient could not be reached. When frustration brought you to tears, you climbed on a bus and travelled to the city. The address he gave you was a house with boarded up windows, graffiti covering two thirds of the exterior, and a missing roof. The only way Kyungsoo could have been clearer was if he told you to your face that he never wanted to see you again. And yet, he had come back.

You spent that holiday with your family. You visited friends. You walked every inch of your hometown, except for the section at the edge of town. Kyungsoo left the mansion every Saturday at ten returning at noon, and you made certain you were always busy during those two hours of the week.

That summer you returned home a fresh graduate ready to begin the next chapter of your life or almost ready. As a kindergarten teacher, the next chapter would begin with the fall term, but the summer brought time for preparation.

You rented a house near the school and spent your time repainting and decorating the interior. You righted the chaos which had overtaken the yard. Your efforts led you to the local hardware store at 11:34 am on a Sunday, and that’s when you saw Kyungsoo for the first time since he left.

The next year, you tend to skip over in your memory because it was awkward and uncomfortable, and you would much rather focus on the end when Kyungsoo asked you to marry him. The middle bit between him abandoning you and proposing to you was a constant source of gossip for your town. They lapped up every interaction like a new episode of their favorite drama while you suffered through a tumult of emotions.

Kyungsoo never explained why he left the way he did. You asked several times, and each time garnered the same response which was no response. When you eventually broke down and asked him with a face swollen from tears, he told you that he had secrets he could not share. No matter how your relationship progressed, no matter how much he loved you, the secrets would remain secrets. You could leave and return to a life absent him. The option sat there waiting for you, but you ignored it and continue to ignore it.

After you married, Kyungsoo left again. However, before he left, he gave you a book and promised to be back before you finished. The book thudded onto your coffee table, threatening to break the legs. A phone book would have provided more entertainment, but every free minute you had, you spent reading. True to his word before you reached the last page, Kyungsoo returned.

The next time he left, he gave you a tomato plant and promised to return before you plucked the last one. The plant bloomed all that summer. You made marinara for your pasta and homemade pizzas. Slices topped your salads and filled your sandwiches. True to his word before you plucked the last one from the stem, Kyungsoo returned.

This last time Kyungsoo left, he gave you a kitty. The baby mewled when you picked him up. His paper-thin claws clung to your shirt as his bright yellow eyes pleaded with you for safety. As you petted his long black coat, you waited for Kyungsoo’s promise, but this time, he kissed you, scratched the kitten’s head, and left.

Since then, the little fur ball who curled up in your hair has grown into a hat which covers you from ear to ear. His sweet mewl has become a yowl which you hear once in the morning when you wake up and once in the evening when you return from work. You named him Goose, and he is a great listener. No matter how much you complain about work, about the town gossips, about his missing father. He listens patiently and pipes in with his own opinions.

Sitting in your favorite chair by the study window, you layout your lesson plan for the coming week. Spring is around the corner, the buds on the trees and the chirp of birds in the morning attest to its return. You are hoping for an approval to take your class to the community garden, so they can each plant a seed and watch it grow through the season. In the meantime, you will stoke their curiosity with their daily lessons.

As you finish typing up the lesson plan, you hear Goose’s familiar yowl. He ate when you came home, and despite being a fat chunk, he has grown out of the habit of asking for snacks. “Goose?” You call. Hearing no responding yowl and without the arrival of the fluff ball, you stand up and head towards where you heard the sound.

Walking into your kitchen, you stumble over your feet and nearly fall to your knees. The chance is still high as your legs have turned to jelly. Crouched beside Goose and scratching behind his ears is your husband. “Soo?” You choke out as tears threaten to smother you.

He glances up at you, and your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes sit sunken in his face framed by dark circles. An angry red scar runs down his chin disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. Despite the havoc wreaked upon his face, he smiles. The expression transforms his face, and you can see the young boy with whom you fell in love.

“What happened?”

“It’s a secret.” His deep voice washes over you, cementing his presence and confirming he is no illusion.

You accepted his secrets before you married him and knew they would continue, but seeing him like this after being gone for so long, you want to rage and scream and threaten whoever caused all of this. Swallowing your anger, you crouch beside him. Goose rubs himself against your knee, but you ignore him as you trace your fingers across your husband’s face and commit each new scar to memory.

Kyungsoo watches you as you continue your scan of his person. His hands twitch at his side, and when you meet his eyes with your assessment complete, he reaches out and pulls you to his chest. You can feel his ribs through his shirt, and your arms fit too easily around him. That can be corrected though. With time, your Kyungsoo will return. But even as you make plans, the thought creeps in.

“How long before he leaves again?”

No matter though, because your third certainty is that Kyungsoo will always return.

#do kyungsoo #kyungsoo #exo #kyungsoo drabbles #hmw #exo drabble #exo fanfiction #kyungsoo fanfiction #kyungsoo collection #d.o.#g: angst #g: fluff #kyungsoo drabble

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kamerontwph034 · 4 years

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Basics of the Dividend

Dividend is a token reward paid out to your shareholders for his or her funding in a business's fairness, and it usually originates with the employer's World wide web profits. While the foremost portion of the earnings is saved inside the company business as retained earnings, which constitute the money to be used with the employer's ongoing and Future industrial business sports, the remainder could possibly be allotted on the shareholders as a dividend. Having said that, at instances, firms could Moreover However make dividend payments even though they do not make appropriate profits. They could Also achieve this to maintain their set up tune report of creating regular dividend bills.

The board of directors can select to dilemma dividends more than numerous time frames and with special payout fees. Dividends might be paid in a scheduled frequency, like month-to-thirty day period, quarterly or yearly. One example is, Walmart Inc. (WMT) and Unilever PLC ADR (UL) make everyday quarterly dividend payments. On top of that, organizations may also difficulties non-common Exclusive dividends both In my opinion or As well as a scheduled dividend. Backed by utilizing robust industrial business performance and a complicated financial outlook, Microsoft Corp. (MSFT) declared a singular dividend of $three.00 in line with share in 2004, which became manner over the same old quarterly dividends in The range of 8 to sixteen cents in keeping with proportion.

Important Takeaways

Dividend Paying Corporations

Greater, connected organizations with far more predictable money are regularly the pleasant dividend payers. These teams have a bent to problems standard dividends as These are seeking for To optimize shareholder prosperity in strategies other than normal increase. Corporations in the subsequent organization sectors are identified to get holding a standard file of dividend payments: basic substances, oil and gasoline, banks and financial, healthcare and prescribed drugs, and utilities. Businesses dependent as grasp restrained partnerships (MLP) and authentic property financial commitment trusts (REIT) may also be major dividend payers in view that their designations have to have precise distributions to shareholders. Resources might additionally situation normal dividend expenses as reported of their investment targets.

Get started-united states of americaand distinctive higher-increase groups, which include Individuals in the engineering or biotech sectors, may not supply day-to-day dividends. Considering the fact that these types of organizations could be inside the early levels walmart pickup coupon of progress and could possibly incur excessive prices (Together with losses) attributed to exploration and enhancement, small business enlargement and operational things to do, they're going to not have sufficient funds to concern dividends. Even earnings-making early- to mid-stage companies hold clear of building dividend payments whenever they're aiming for improved-than-average improve and enlargement, and could intend to make investments the earnings decrease back in business rather than paying dividends.

Vital Dates Joined with Dividends

Dividend price approach follows a chronological order of situations as well as related dates are important to determine the shareholders who qualify for obtaining the dividend payment.

Impact of Dividends on Share Value

Since dividends are irreversible, their expenses cause hard cash heading out from the employer's publications and accounts of your business without end. Therefore, dividend costs outcome share charge - it rises in the declaration about by means of the amount of dividend declared and declines by utilizing a similar amount at the outlet session from the ex-day.

Say a corporation is trading at $sixty for each proportion and it proclaims a $2 dividend within the assertion day. As immediately for the reason that the knowledge turns into public, the proportion price will shoot up by the use of all around $two and strike $sixty two. Say the stock trades at $63 1 organization working day prior to the ex-date. About the ex-date, it will arrive down by a comparable $two and will commence shopping for and advertising at $sixty one within the get started of your acquiring and selling consultation at the ex-day, as a result of simple fact all persons getting with the ex-date will now not get the dividend.

Just about every and each nearby region With this country has special details over it that make it distinct or perhaps Specific. Whether is certainly be a composition, memorial, lake, Or maybe a little heritage, you are Fortunate to obtain this type of among a kind destination to Stay.

That staying mentioned, You will find there's area from the Keystone State, and that is about 250 years old, has an exceptionally wealthy bit of historical past affiliated with it, & being really stunning. Consider modest mountain ranges encompassing rolling hills, image fantastic farms & agricultural production parts, & then insert the Amish factor to the the equation regarding why Pennsylvania Dutch State is this kind of vacationer attraction.

No put else in North The us are you able to encounter this density of plain men and women, of which the Amish are just a single Component of. Basic men and women are individuals who costume modestly & Dwell in selected Local community & spiritual pointers. You can actually see a plainly dressed individual driving an car, perhaps even an SUV. I was not too long ago in the Wal-Mart in the region, & witnessed a plainly dressed Girl conversing on a cellphone though she was waiting in line, & then when she was prepared to pay, she took out her debit card & swiped it although nonetheless talking to the cell phone. This simple man or woman naturally wasn't Amish, but most certainly both Mennonite or Dunkard. I only wished I have captured this occasion on my phone.

An additional distinctive issue about this place, is the newest present of technological innovation, a short while ago donated by an area organization. It really is identified as Lancaster County Totally free Classifieds. It's a classified advertisement web-site that's just for companies and residents of Lancaster County PA. It characteristics types the same as most other advertisement internet sites, on the other hand it truly is monitored closely, to make sure that Other individuals who Never Stay or get the job done in the region can publish to it. Certainly, any person can examine and take pleasure in the adverts on the website, however the special persons within the Lancaster spot are the only benefactors of the great introduction into the world wide web age. Heinz Hochstetter, the creator of this informative article, has around 15 yrs of practical experience in studying, locating and crafting about Lancaster County PA, the Amish and almost everything to do using this type of special region of Pennsylvania. He has posted around two hundred posts on how and where by to locate the greatest of the greatest while checking out this famed tourist place.

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