#i am so so close to getting my professional degree i can almost taste it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maneskinrollercoaster · 3 years

Text

~ And All That For a Lighter ~

Pairing: Damiano David x Naomi (fictional character)

Word count: 3035

Warnings: none

Summary: Naomi meets Damiano in a café for the first time.

Naomi entered the café all soaked, her cheeks red from running and her hair messy and wet from the rain. It was pouring outside which was the thing she despised the most. Surprisingly tho she felt good. Fresh. She loved walking around Rome in the morning and for the first time in her life she admired this rainy weather. Little drops of water flowed over her cheek. Her life was a big mess and you could say she needed something new.

When a month ago she found her boyfriend cheating with her best friend she felt like her whole life collapsed. That’s when she decided to change something. Start a new life. She started admiring things she’s never liked before, she started dressing differently, she became more confident in her own body. She even started working out which was the most unexpected thing since physical education was her least favorite subject in high school.

Naomi always thought love was the most essential part of everyone’s life, but a sight of Alessandro having fun in their bed with Sofia made her hate love more than anything. She decided to move on and live life completely and only for herself.

- Buongiorno Joey - she said reaching the bartender standing behind the counter.

- Buongiorno piccola, what can I get for you?

- One espresso please, and one brownie - the bartender nodded and started preparing her order.

She decided to sit down since she would probably spend a lot of time working on her laptop and enjoying this rainy morning. The inside of café was warm and welcoming, comfortable couches, puffy pillows and a lot of plants. She visited this café every day for the past two weeks and she found herself enjoying this place maybe even more than her new flat.

Naomi went to sit in the corner on a cozy red couch. She took off her soaked jacket and pulled out her laptop with a couple of notebooks. She was a student of economy and since she had to find herself some more things to do she decided to actually try harder to have a better degree at her college. She wasn’t so fond of the direction she chose but she knew it’s gonna bring her a prosperous life. In fact her favorite thing in the world was art. She started painting when she was 8 years old. Since then she really enjoyed staying all day alone in her room painting everything she could, from beautiful portraits to mesmerizing landscapes. She had a huge talent but she was too afraid to chase her dreams.

When she met Alessandro he quickly bashed her ideas of becoming a professional painter, saying that it’s not something she will build her life on and that she will be only wasting her time. She was mad at him for a couple of days but then she quit her painting dream and chose economy for her main subject.

- Ecco a te, one coffee and one brownie - said Joey bringing her order to the table and putting it right in front of her.

- Grazie mille - Naomi answered and smiled to him.

She took a sip of coffee and smiled. It was delicious. That was another reason why she kept coming back here every day. They made the best coffee she’s ever drunk.

Two hours passed and Naomi was still working on her assignment she was supposed to give in till next Monday. It was about lunch time so she decided she will pack her things in an hour and she will go find a place to eat something. She took the last sip of the coffee and finished her first task when someone pulled her out of her little trans.

- Ah shit! I’m all wet! - she heard someone saying and moment later she saw a guy reaching the bartender.

He was tall and had slightly longer, dark brown hair. She could only see his profile but only that was enough for her to admit that he was really handsome. He was wearing black trousers, black Dr. Martens, white tank top and an oversized black jacket. He looked good and Naomi couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

- Damiano! It’s so good to see you man! - Joey said and shook hands with the new guy.

Damiano. The name really suit him. Naomi didn’t take her eyes off him even once.

- Ciao, ciao, Joey! - his voice was attractive as well. Raspy and deep but really calm.

Naomi didn’t know what was happening. Usually she didn’t pay attention to any guys after Alessandro but he was different. He looked edgy and bold but he seemed nice too. She was staring at him. And not in a polite way. She was literally eyeing him from up and down and she didn’t even realize.

- Give me an espresso man, I’m so tired, I just woke up. Yesterday we had so much fun. Victoria came up with this new idea of the song and we all stayed up late till 4 am trying to figure out how to pull it up together. - Damiano said.

So he’s into music. Nice. Naomi was still staring at him so rudely but she didn’t care at this point. Music is also art - she thought and smiled slightly not letting go of his person.

- Typical you, Dam, you’ve never slept a full night, did you? - Joey said and they both laughed.

- Do you have a lighter maybe? I forgot mine. - Damiano said and started searching his pockets.

- I don’t man, sorry. Let me make your order. Anything else for you?

- No, no that’s all. I’m gonna go search for a lighter and I’ll be back.

He turned around searching for people but at this time the café was empty. Only Naomi sitting in the corner. He started walking towards her. Oh shit, he’s coming here, stop staring, stop staring, stop staring - Naomi thought and looked at her laptop trying to pretend that’s she didn’t just checked him out for 10 minutes straight.

- Scusi, I’m.. - he reached her table and started speaking but stopped when she looked at him. - I’m sorry to interrupt but do you have a lighter maybe? - he said after a second.

- No, I’m sorry. I don’t smoke. - Naomi blushed and smiled lightly.

- Okey, grazie. - he smiled and started walking away.

- But there’s a store at the corner, I think they might have some. - Naomi said

- Grazie, grazie. - he laughed slightly and waved at her.

Naomi went back to her tasks still blushing not knowing why. 15 minutes passed and Damiano entered the café again carrying two bags. He came up to Naomi smiling.

- I uh.. Sorry to interrupt again but.. Do you want to maybe eat lunch with me? I just thought that it’s lunch time and you’re sitting here alone and since you helped me with the lighter.. - he couldn’t stop speaking and Naomi blushed again laughing. He looked a bit nervous.

- Of course, I would love to eat lunch with you. - she said interrupting him.

- I’m Damiano - he said pulling out his hand.

- Naomi - she said and grabbed his hand to shake it but he turned it and kissed the top of her palm.

She felt something weird in her stomach, like butterflies but she pushed them aside and only smiled to him. Damiano sat on the couch opposite Naomi and put two bags on the table.

- I didn’t know what you like, obviously because I don’t know you, yeah very clever Dam, whatever.. - he started speaking and Naomi couldn’t stop but laugh at him loudly

- Don’t worry, I’m not a peaky eater - she said sending him a reassuring smile.

- Alright, well, I ordered pasta with shrimps and some pesto and cherry tomatoes. - he said taking out the box with food from the bag. - I also got you a cherry smoothie but we can switch if you’d like.

- Wow, and that all for a lighter? You really didn’t have to. But thank you so much, I was about to go for lunch anyways. - she said grabbing the box that he handed her.

- Yes well, you’re really beautiful.. I mean, no.. I mean you are beautiful but I just wanted to say that you’re really nice and yeah I don’t know I just thought you might like to eat something.. Not that you look like you’re starving but yeah..

- Heyyy, thank you, really, that’s so nice of you. - she said smiling widely.

Naomi took the first bite of her pasta and it was delicious. She remembered her grandmother cooking shrimps every Saturday and all her family gathering together for a family dinner in the garden. It tasted just the same.

They ate everything and after two hours of talking and laughing and getting to know each other it was time for Joey to close the café. Naomi stood up and packed her things, said goodbye to Joey and together with Damiano they stepped out of the café. It stopped raining and instead there was a full sun and a fresh breeze.

- So what are you gonna do now? - he asked standing in front of her.

- Umm.. I think I’m just gonna go back to my flat, make myself some snacks and watch Netflix till I fall asleep - Naomi laughed.

- Alright well, do you mind if I walk you home? - Damiano asked steeping a bit closer to her.

- Sure, why not, we can take a walk.

That day Damiano walked Naomi to her house and they exchanged numbers, planning to meet again. He kissed her cheek for goodbye and squeezed her hand and Naomi has never felt like that in a long time. She was happy and Damiano, even tho she met him today, made her feel really good. Naomi couldn’t sleep that night still thinking of him and wondering why she felt so different around him.

*3 months later*

- What do you mean you don’t like Star Wars! - Damiano shouted to Naomi while they both walked towards the beach where they were supposed to watch sunset and have a little picnic.

Since the day they met they spent almost every day together. Damiano surprised her with multiple occasions to go out together, either for lunch or dinner or even breakfast when he woke up earlier than usual. He found himself falling for her. In fact he realized he fell for her the day he first laid his eyes on her. He found her funny, spontaneous and really kind and caring. When she told him about her painting dream he was so shocked she gave up, that he argued with her till he convinced her to chase the dream even if she thought it was too late. Naomi really enjoyed his company, he made her feel really happy and safe and most importantly - loved. She knew she developed some feelings and she didn’t want to admit it but at the back of her head she knew she fell in love. He made her laugh and supported her when she was having bad moments. He became her best friend at some point. Both of them were taking things a bit slower tho, they were both afraid, broken-hearted after rough ended relationships.

- I just don’t, I don’t understand how they made so many movies out of such a lame plot. - she said defending herself.

- How can you even say that! The plot is amazing! The space action scenes, come on! - he said offended but smiling.

- Yeah I just don’t see the point of filming it, that’s all.

- I don’t know how Victoria can still be friends with you, we’re both huge fans of Star Wars! You’re lucky I like you - Damiano started laughing and put his arm around Naomi’s shoulders.

She got to meet Victoria, Ethan and Thomas. Bassist, drummer and guitarist of their band Måneskin. Naomi wasn’t really into music so she didn’t really know them and didn’t know they’re pretty known here in Italy. Victoria was the kindest person Naomi could ever see. When her and Damiano stepped into the studio where they were recording, Vic was the first to reach out to her. She hugged her tightly and was clearly really happy to meet her. She then introduced Thomas and Ethan to her. Thomas started joking around that Damiano finally found himself a girlfriend and Ethan was really polite, he kissed Naomi’s hand and hugged her too, smiling really kindly. They were all so nice. They started inviting her over for dinners or just to hang out by the pool. She also listened to them playing and recording their new songs. Damiano told them that she wanted to be a painter and they all started reassuring her even more, that chasing her dream is the best thing for her and that she should never give up. Naomi really felt like she finally found her place.

Naomi and Damiano reached the beach, they put the blanket on the sand, put out all the food from the basket and they sat opposite each other. They were both smiling widely and chatting about everything. They drank some wine, ate some pasta and then they sat next to each other admiring the sunset.

- I really like you, you know? - Damiano said glancing at Naomi. - And I mean, I like you a lot. You’re really an amazing person with so much talent and you’re just so caring and loving. You really make me happy. - he said not taking his eyes off of her.

- Dami.. - Naomi started but she was interrupted.

- What I want to say is.. - he took her hands - I fell in love with you Naomi. I fell for you hard and I’m pretty sure since the day I saw you at that café. I care about you so much and any time with you is my favorite time in the world. So if you want to.. We could try, you know.. Being together, like, in a relationship. - he said in one breathe.

Naomi was speechless, her stomach was squeezing and she felt her cheeks turning red. She never would have though that someone will make her feel like this again. She knew that he cares for her but she didn’t know that he would feel the same way she felt about him.

- Dami.. Of course I do want to try, you make me the happiest, and honestly I didn’t know you feel the same way, that’s why I didn’t say anything. And also because.. - Naomi wanted to tell him about Alessandro but she was scared that Damiano will back off, saying that he will give her time.

- What’s wrong, bella? - he said gently squeezing her hand.

- I was in a relationship before. His name was Alessandro and we met before I started college. We were together for 3 years and everything was going just fine. But then.. One day when I came back home earlier than usual I found him cheating with my best friend, Sofia. Since then I just decided to not get into any relationship and live only for myself because I was too afraid to get hurt again - Naomi said looking down at their intertwined hands.

- Oh bella.. - Damiano pulled her into a tight hug.

He stroked her back and her hair and he was whispering to her ear. A single tear fell down her cheek but not because she was hurt but because of how gentle and caring Damiano was. He hugged her and made her feel better and she couldn’t find herself with anyone else right now than with him. He pulled away, looked into her eyes and smiled slightly.

- I was in a relationship too a while ago. It turned out we didn’t match and our life goals and perspectives were so different that we decided to end things. Maybe it wasn’t as harsh as your breakup but I felt awful for at least a month. I didn’t go out of my room and I lost all will to write music. Victoria brought me food every day but I just didn’t want to eat. But it all passed.. Listen, if you need more time it’s all good, I’ll give you space and I’ll wait till you’re ready.

Naomi was silent for a couple of seconds. In her head there was a battle. She wanted to let go of bad memories and trust Damiano completely, start a relationship with him, but on the other hand she was scared to get hurt again.

- No Dami. I don’t need time, I know what I want and I know how you make me feel and that’s why I want to try. - Naomi said hugging him tightly.

She knew she just overcame her fear and she felt free. Like a huge stone fell off of her heart. She felt amazing and she wanted to live this moment as long as she could. Damiano pulled away and cupped her cheek with his hand. He pulled her closer and she could feel his breath on her face. Slowly, but slightly Damiano leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Naomi touched his cheek and pulled him even closer. And then they both intertwined their lips in a gentle, yet passionate kiss.

Naomi felt her stomach squeezing when Damiano put his hand on her back. It was their first kiss and the sunset was almost turning into the night. They pulled away after seconds and smiled widely at each other.

- I promise, I’ll always take care of you. - Damiano said leaning his forehead against hers.

- Always. - Naomi said grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers together.

That’s when they both knew that they found soulmates in each other.

#damiano david #ethan torchio #i wanna be your slave #italy #maneskin #måneskin #thomas raggi #victoria de angelis #zitti e buoni #torna a casa #vent'anni #vocalist #guitarist #bassist #drummer #fanfic #damiano david fanfiction #one shot #damiano david one shot

33 notes · View notes

renjunfromthestars · 4 years

Text

work too much

Pairing: Mark + reader, Established relationship, Med School/Doctor!Mark (I can’t stop thinking about this omg)

Genre: Fluff, angst if you squint, and it’s me so a little bit of crack LOL

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: It’s the middle of Pandemic; there’s been a lot of changes to your life, but Mark is one of the only things that have always been constant, and you’re thankful for that. But Mark in typical Mark fashion is stressed and tends to over work himself, so you always try your best to support him in your own way

Can be read as an extension to more than or as a stand alone

Notes: proof read? ofc not. but I’ll say it once and I’ll say it again...Mark is a little awk and always works so hard (poor bby), so imagining him as a super stressed pre-med major (now Doctor!!) still absolutely wrecks me thank you goodbye

---

When the pandemic hit, it was simultaneously a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because online school definitely saved your grades (chegg also played a supporting role in this). And a curse because you and 7 million people suddenly found yourselves in a pandemic, and a pretty serious one at that.

When the news first came out about a small viral breakout in China, you didn’t think much of it. You were scared shitless when news of a recurring Ebola epidemic came to your attention, WebMd-ing every symptom and prevention technique so obsessively to the point that Mark had to confiscate your laptop for a second.

“Objectively it’s a really serious viral disease, but your chances of getting it are astronomically low. A vaccine was already developed since the first serious breakout in 2014. Plus, most of the cases are in Africa, and it’s very contained-” Mark stops. “Are you even listening?”

“I am,” you protest. “But I’m still going to be scared no matter what you say.”

Mark sighs, sitting back down on the couch after gently placing your laptop on the coffee table.

He ruffles your hair playfully, and your frown only gets deeper. “You silly, silly girl. Take my word for it, you’re fine.”

To be honest, you really should, but anxiety doesn’t discriminate, not even when you have a very knowledgeable boyfriend in medical school.

When you snuggle into his side and wail jokingly (or are you?) about being afraid of dying for the 4th time that week, you can almost see the defeat flash in Mark’s eyes. Yet, he doesn’t complain, and tells you things are going to be okay while wrapping his arms around you comfortingly.

For Mark, you’re eternally thankful.

When the pandemic hit, you didn’t really mind quarantining. You had the necessities: toilet paper, a Netflix subscription, and Mark, not necessarily in order of importance of course. The early months of the pandemic gave you a perfect time to recharge from all the grad school craziness. What really drove you insane were the lack of people taking social distancing and quarantine orders with a grain of salt. Mark scolds you when you say it’s just another form of natural selection, that you like to think that those kinds of people peaked in high school.

Mark on the other hand, is having the opposite experience, Because of the severity of the virus, he graduated from Med school a whole two months early to join other health care workers in the fight against covid. Mark is a smart guy; he’s cautious and plans accordingly-but you’re not going to lie- Mark being in the hospital scares you.

Although he doesn’t like to talk about it, you can tell things are stressful for him from the way his shoulders droop when he thinks you aren’t looking. Dark circles around his normally twinkling eyes, and you’re not even exaggerating when you think you see a white hair or two.

Mark doesn't like to talk about it and you understand, instead showing your support through your actions; you time dinner so that it’s ready right when he comes home, and are sure to give him time to recharge on his own. Mark also has trouble sleeping at night because of his work schedule, so you ordered a white noise machine in an attempt to soothe him. It works, but the poor boy still looks stressed in his sleep, with his eyebrows slightly furrowed and tense. You consider asking him to take some time off from the hospital, but Mark has a big heart and you believe in him. It’s a big part of why you and Mark get along so well, you think,--you have an uncanny ability to know what the other needs, even if they aren’t necessarily aware of it.

“Are you mad at me?”

You’ve just switched off the light. At 8:30, it’s a little early for most people to go to bed but you don’t mind it- you know he’s exhausted, and you don’t want to pressure him to stay up. If it were up to you, you’d be watching Netflix all night.

When you turn to look at him in the moonlight, he looks so worried that you feel your heart tighten a little.

“Of course not,” you frown. “What makes you say that?”

Mark scratches the back of his head. “It’s just that you haven’t really been talking as much to me lately. Because of the extra shifts I’ve been taking at the hospital lately, I know I haven’t been spending as much time with you, and I feel bad about it, I really do, so I understand why you’d be mad-”

As he rambles on, you deadpan a little. He seems so tightly strung it’s almost comical. When he notices you sighing, he almost combusts.

“I’m really, really sorry (y/n). I promise I’ll make it up to you at a later time. You’re so important to me, I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking you for granted-” He stops when you reach across the covers to cradle his face.

You lean in to kiss him, and he’s so confused that it takes him a moment to close his eyes.

His lips are a little chapped, but you don’t mind, instead making a metal note to buy him a little watermelon lip smackers later, and yes-lip smackers because imagining professional Doctor Mark using lip smackers is hilarious to you.

When you pull away, you’re nose to nose, foreheads touching. You’re both silent for a moment, a quiet understanding passing between you two.

“I love you so much,” he whispers.

A smile begins to spread across your face. You know you shouldn’t tease him, but you do anyway.

“I know you do.”

“Tell me you love me too,” he almost whines, and you can’t help but stifle a laugh.

“Don’t laugh, this is a serious matter,” he grumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You give in, pecking him on the lips once more.

“You silly, silly boy. Of course I love you too. You don’t even need to ask.”

Mark closes his eyes, and when he mumbles something about not knowing what he’d do without you, your heart nearly melts.

You close your eyes too, and as you both slowly drift to sleep, you think about how life's going good despite it’s new changes—pandemic and all. You have Mark, and that is something that will never change.

Bonus

Mark scratches the back of his head, glances at you, the little neon green tube in his hand, and then back at you. All you do is just beam at him.

“And?”

“Of course I love it, but uh, isn’t it a little girly?” he says sheepishly.

You pinch his ear playfully and he turns the slightest shade of pink.

“Don’t disrespect the lip smackers, it comes highly recommended not to mention coveted among almost every teenage girl.”

“But I’m not a teenage girl,” he mumbles, and you spring into action, mustering the most disappointed face you can.

They should honestly give you a honorary degree in acting, because when Mark looks at you, he might as well act like you just told him your dog just died.

He uncaps the little stick and quickly applies it all over his lips, rather intensely. When he looks back up at you, he flashes you the most awkward smile and thumbs up you’ve ever seen in your life. With his lips unusually pink and waxy from the over application, he looks like a clown, so what other choice do you have, but laugh.

Mark catches on pretty quickly, and kisses you in retaliation; he tastes like watermelon.

“You’re an evil, evil girl,” he murmurs, “But I love you anyway.”

“All jokes aside, you’re going to actually use it right?” (you used your own hard earned money to get this for him, a whole two dollars and twenty five not including tax )

“Of course I will. I love everything you give me.” (You know this is a lie, he doesn’t like it when you give him a smack on his butt.)

220 notes · View notes

morgana-ren · 4 years

Note

my kink is shiggy going absolutely feral and wrecking the pussy

I am soooo sorry this took so long to respond to. I’ve been working nutty hours and it’s been busier than usual. I’m also sososo sorry the quality sucks. I wrote half of it tonight and I am crazy sick. I’ve got some sort of awful flu and I’m like coughing to the point where I can’t breathe and my mouth tastes like blood and my body feels like I was hit by a train. I hope you like it though :/ (BTW this ended up way longer and weirdly… sweeter than I originally intended? I hope it’s still okay though)

He’s sitting at the bar, and admittedly, he’s had a few more drinks than he usually has. Originally, he just wanted to take the edge off, but now he’s feeling a little bit loose. His inhibitions are definitely lower than they should be, so he’s maintaining his composure by trying to keep to himself. He very rarely allows himself to relax like this, but it’s been one hell of a week, and his pent-up rage and anger is threatening to boil over unless he lets himself decompress. It’s for his sake, and more importantly, for the sake of everyone around him, so he allows himself this one.

There’s only one little problem.

That problem is you.

Even at his most attentive, the absolute height of his prowess, he was starting to realize that there was something a little different about you. Don’t get me wrong, he cared about all of his team. They were his family now and he was content with that. But occasionally he found his eyes lingering on you a little too long, getting a little too lulled by the sound of your voice. He would even go as far as to say he felt something akin to giddiness when you would plop down on the stool next to him at the bar.

Tomura was no fool. He knew what it was. He understood in some capacity that he was attracted to you. He had been since you joined. He figured it was inevitable to some degree. After all, he wasn’t exactly a people person, and the ones he did surround himself with weren’t exactly suited to his sexual tastes. He felt for Toga like a big brother would (not to mention the fact that she was underage and that was definitely not his cup of tea.) And the rest of the team? He’d rather shove a nail in his foot.

But you? You seemed a little too perfect.

He tried to play it off as his loneliness. A young female around his age with a powerful quirk and similar views? Of course nature would take its course and veer his attention toward you. That didn’t mean it had to be genuine, right? Surely it would die with time, fading into the background until it was nothing but a dull echo and eventually nonexistent. He was just touch starved, feeling particularly lonesome and isolated recently. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that you had been running circles around his mind lately. Nope. Not at all.

He didn’t spare you any extra attention, gave you no favors. He didn’t let his libido steer his judgement, letting his rational mind keep control instead. He was the leader after all, and it was his job to refrain from bias toward any member of his team. Favoring one or the other, especially because one had a face and personality partial to his own personal tastes, was not a good look. He was a professional. He needed to act like one.

He thought he was doing a pretty good job.

At least until now.

His grip on the glass is a little too tight, just a bit too strained. He can hear you laughing behind him, at what he doesn’t know, but he knows it was ashtray that made you do it. It had been like this the last half hour. You and Dabi had been playing some sort of drinking game and clearly having one hell of a time. Exchanging stories, bantering, and joking back and forth.

Tomura might as well have been a fly on the wall.

Neither one of you seemed to pay him any mind, letting him drink alone in peace. At least as much peace as he could have while you two were practically rioting behind him. With his back turned, you couldn’t see how unbelievably irritated he was either. He told himself it was the noise. He had a headache and you two really should keep it the fuck down. That’s what he told himself.

“Hey dollface, you ever played ‘never have I ever?”

Dabi’s slurring slightly, clearly already deep in his cups. Whatever bullshit game you had been playing before, you had obviously been winning. You seem essentially sober, and yet you were still humoring this asshole. Shigaraki closes his eyes and rolls them. You two were utterly juvenile.

“Not since I was a kid.”

“You wanna play?” The suggestiveness in burn-unit’s voice is just a little too palpable. Shigaraki forces down another coming wave of irritation. He didn’t need to be subjected to this. Two of his subordinates acting like fucking baboons.

“Sure. I hate playing quarters with you anyway. You suck at it, but the quarters you use get too warm and they keep burning my fingers.”

“Can’t help it. I’m hot.” He raises his arms in a joking prostration, nearly falling off of his chair in the process. You chortle, snorting under your breath at his pathetic display. Shigaraki notes that you don’t disagree, however.

“Tell you what, if you can keep your ass in that chair, I’ll play it with you.”

“Ladies first.” Dabi resituates himself on the seat, loudly pulling himself forward several times until he’s level with the table once more.

“Okay, let me think… Never have I ever…” You pause for a moment, thinking. “Stolen a car.”

“Fuckin’ seriously? I had you pegged all wrong, doll! You’re definitely more boring than I thought.”

“Well? Have you?” You seem to already know the answer, but that’s the point.

Tomura knows the answer too. In fact, Dabi has stolen cars under his orders. Looks like ashtray loses this round. With any luck, he’ll eventually black out soon and maybe things would calm down.

“Yeah, yeah, give me the cup.” There’s the sound of a shot glass being passed across the table, and then a very loud crash that nearly makes Tomura jump.

“Bottle’s empty.” Dabi says nonchalantly, as if he didn’t just knock it to the floor, shattering it on accident. “Go get another one.”

“Yes master.”

It’s blatantly sarcastic and Shigaraki knows it is, but it still makes him flush slightly. Those words from your lips are not what he needs to hear right now.

You scoot away from the table, walking over behind the bar where Shigaraki is seated. There’s a pair of cabinets hanging overhead above him that you’ve got your eye on. However, as you stand in front of him and reach up to scrounge through the inside of them, he does his best to shake his shaggy hair in front of his eyes, trying to cover his ruddy face. You don’t quite realize it, but as you’re digging around up there, you’re giving him an exceedingly generous view of your cleavage.

He tries to tear his eyes away, trying to look anywhere else butat your overexposed chest. It’s unprofessional. It’s crude. It makes him feellike a dirty pervert, leering at you when you’re so oblivious. He doesn’t want to look. He’s not going to look. He’s going to pick up his drink and go in the next room and…

He’s looking.

Look, you can’t just do that, okay? I mean, you don’t know what you’re doing but still! He might be the leader, but he’s also a man and he has needs. Wants. Desires. And right now, there’s a pair of tits almost directly in his face, so achingly close that he could touch them if he wanted. His fingers are digging into the skin of his palm, trying to quell all the desperate urges he’s feeling right now, chastising himself in his head for even thinking that way. He holds out, thinking of strategies or games or something, anything to beat off those thoughts. Beat off. Fuck.

Finally, you slam the cupboard shut, apparently not having found what you were looking for. He could have technically told you that there was no liquor up there, but far be it from him to make your life any easier. You opt instead to look behind you in some cupboards lining the wall. He takes another sip of his drink, watching you as you fall to your knees, rifling around in the dusty, cobwebbed enclosure.

“What the fuck is taking so long?” Dabi pipes up from the back, kicking at the glass shards on the floor.

“I can’t find any!” You call back, before sparing a glance towards Shigaraki himself. “Hey boss, can we-”

“No.” He curls his hand protectively around his own bottle. Like hell he’s giving his liquor to that drunken moron behind him.

You sigh, returning to your efforts. He watches in slight amusement as you toss shit around on the inside, very clearly growing frustrated with your lack of success. At least until you bend down, practically crawling inside. Your upper half is encased on the inside of the cheap wooden hutch, but your bottom half…

Your backside is perked out directly toward him. You’re wiggling and worming, smacking things out of your way in your quest for more booze, and it’s definitely not helping. He can see the lines and contours of your ass through your pants, moving and shimmying around so much that he’s subconsciously brought his hand up to his face, biting deeply on a knuckle as he watches.

He doesn’t want to watch. He wants to close his eyes, to look away, to roll his eyes into his head, anything but ogle you like this. His pants are becoming increasingly tight, straining against his crotch. He’s acutely aware of this, shifting in his chair uncomfortably.

Fucking alcohol. It really has been a while.

“Got it!” You maneuver your way out of the alcove, clutching a bottle of musty liquor in your hands, holding it up triumphantly. Shigaraki snaps out of his haze, face blossoming into a deep shade of crimson. Maybe he’s had enough for tonight…

“Yeah, yeah, hurry it up half-pint. I’m losing my buzz.” Dabi is very blatantly more than ‘buzzed’, and he seems hellbent on getting black out. It’s no skin off Shigaraki’s ass, at least that way he’ll probably fall over and pass out and you two will finally leave him alone and give him time to compose himself and chase away these intrusive thoughts.

“Here you go, you big lug.”

He reaches for the bottle in your hands but you pull it away, shaking your head at him and pouring the shot for him. He shoots you a glare, but takes it none the less. His head lulls over as the liquor burns down his throat and Tomura is betting two more and he’ll be on the floor.

He just has to hold out until then. It’s probably a good thing that Dabi is on the brink of black out, because Shigaraki is rapidly running out of patience, dropping levels lower every time he has to hear Dabi’s goddamn voice. He’s almost always baseline annoyed with patchwork, but something was making him exceedingly irritating tonight. Every time he spoke you to you, Tomura found his lip twitching at the poorly concealed inflection in his voice. He doubted you even noticed it, but he sure as fuck could.

“My turn.” Dabi manages to garble out, leaning forward toward you on the table, smiling deviously. “Never have I ever… Fucked a member of the team.”

Tomura can barely hear your shock above his own. Heat prickles painfully below his eyes, mouth slightly agape and both his hands curling into fists. He doesn’t understand why he’s so mad, so angry at it, but he doesn’t exactly care enough to analyze it right now. It’s the typical sort of bullshit shenanigan that drunk people get up to, but it sends his rage meter through the roof. He’s at the end of his rope.

“What?” You laugh anxiously, a barely concealed look of discomfort on your face. “I mean like, yeah, neither have I.”

Dabi leans even more forward, pushing up from his chair and stabilizing himself on the table as he enters your personal space. His eyelids are lowered, either from the drink or his drunken attempt to be seductive, but either way, it’s a bit laughable. “Do you want to?”

“That’s enough!”

Tomura has shoved himself off his stool, kicking it aside as he faces you both. You look utterly started, but Dabi seems unsurprised by his outburst, cocking his head over with a bored expression. “Whattaya want, creep? We’re busy over here.”

Shigaraki opts to ignore Dabi, instead narrowing his eyes on you. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you looked frightened, eyes popped like a deer in headlights, no doubt wondering why it was you getting the brunt of the scolding when it was very clearly Dabi who was crossing boundaries in front of the boss. Right now, he doesn’t care.

He stalks over to you, harshly wrapping four fingers around your wrist and dragging you off into the nearby hallway. “I need to speak with you. Now.”

You gulp almost audibly as he yanks you across the room and into the darkened corridor while Dabi rolls his eyes and scoffs, reaching for the bottle again. Tomura can feel your anxious eyes on the back of his head, no doubt wondering what you were in for, and honestly, even he didn’t know. He had acted on impulse, being led entirely by some instinct that had taken over his brain.

He brings you down deep into the bowels of the building before he finally stops. It’s where you’re certain no one can hear you scream, no matter how many times you tell yourself that this is your leader and he wouldn’t do that to you. He’s got you against a wall as he stares down at you, crimson irises burning into yours. He looks pissed, but he’s just glaring down at you silently, letting the tension build to unbearable levels.

“Boss?” You squeak, unable to handle not knowing.

“Quiet. I’m thinking.” He hisses, snarling at you.

“B-but boss, I didn’t-”

“I said shut up!” He slams his hands on either side of your head, narrowly avoiding decaying the wall behind you. He’s leaning down, face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath against your cheek, moist and chilling you to the bone. You’re unsure of what exactly is about to happen, and for a moment, he is too. He’s frustrated and flustered and he has no fucking idea what the hell he’s even doing here.

That doesn’t last long.

Fuck it.

He crushes his mouth to yours so hard he knows it probably hurts you, but you don’t seem to register it. Your eyes are snapped open, mouth slack and unmoving against his own in your stunned state. To hell with it, he needs to get this out of his system. If you want to hate him later, fine, but he needs to do this. He can’t handle it anymore.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is that after your initial shock wears off, you rake your hands through his hair, pulling him tighter against you, returning his fevered kiss with equally intense fervor. You’re practically devouring him, trying to slip your tongue between his closed lips. While his motions are automatic, his brain practically short circuits.

You’re… kissing him back?

It hits him like a kick in the ass. You’re kissing him back. You are reciprocating. Hell, you’re practically directing at this point. Your hands are clawing at his silver locks, yanking him closer and closer until he can barely breathe. He doesn’t care, he couldn’t care less if he never breathes again as long as you keep yourself pressed against him.

He can feel your body flush against his own, bathing in the warmth of your heat. This is all happening so fast, almost too fast. He never in his wildest dreams would have imagined that you could want him back, and it’s spurring his mind into overdrive. He knows what little self-control he has slipping, and the urge to shove you back further against the wall and take you is becoming a little too overwhelming. He needs to slow down while he still has the ability.

He pulls away if only slightly, just enough that he can croak your name, nails digging into your shoulder in warning. You can see his flushed cheeks, eyes glassy and low. His adam’s apple bobs, swallowing hard against your throat and you can tell he’s doing is best to not envelop you completely in his haze. It’s physically paining him in more ways than one, and you can feel a certain thick hardness worrying between your thighs. Gauging by his facial expression, he’s trying so desperately to communicate to you what’s going through his head without needing to say it.

You get the message. You know he’s trying so hard to keep in check, and no matter how badly he wants it, he’s going to resist. It’s his last defense.

Unfortunately for him, your only desire is to throw gasoline on that fire. You want it, and you want it bad. So, you pull a very unfair move.

You purse your lips in a pout, a simpering little whine emitting from your throat. Your hands make their way down to his narrow hips, gripping him closer between your parted thighs as you roll your body against his overly excitable nether region. Biting your lip, you bring your face close to his ear, whispering.

“Tomura…”

You feel him tense up, seizing as if frozen. His breath is caught in his chest, unable to move or think or breathe. There’s no mistaking the tone in your voice. Your head is in the same space as his. Is he asleep? Dreaming? Alive, even? There’s no way someone like him made it into heaven, so what the fuck was happening?

For the first time since you met him, he looks confused. His thin brows are furrowed, mouth open as if he wants to say something but can’t even find the words. Speechless, for once. He’s not even looking at you anymore, usually thin pupils dilated and switching rapidly between alternate sides of his eyes as if he’s expecting some sort of ambush. He’s utterly lost, and for a moment, you almost feel sorry for him. He’s clearly not used to this. He just needs a tiny little push.

“Fuck me.”

His eyes snap back to yours, a small gasp leaving him. All he needed was your permission, and you just gave it to him. Once you opened that door, there was no closing it. He knows it. You know it. And you’re more than okay with that.

“Please?”

He gives you exactly one second to inhale before he’s on you again. Hands clawing down your back as you struggle to undo your pants which seem exponentially more complicated than they did hours ago. As you kick them down your legs, he catches the hint that your clothing is optional, opting to rip and tear at your shirt rather than take the time to undo it properly. You want to scold him for ruining it, but that’s a bit difficult to do when his tongue is so far down your throat that it might as well be your own. You have a feeling he wouldn’t care even if you could.

You try to do him the favor of unbuttoning his pants, tugging them slightly down his hips, but before you can finish, he grabs your wrists, guiding them up to find anchor behind his neck. You can tell he’s trying to be as gentle and careful as he can, but his hands are shaking and stuttering against you, prying his pinkie fingers back so far that you’re sure it’s cramping him. He doesn’t want to risk harming you, but every bone in his body is screaming at him to tear into you like a predator.

You cling to him as he jerks his jeans down just enough and awkwardly frees himself with one hand, eyes never leaving yours. He’s waiting for you to shove him away, push him off, tell him you were kidding and laugh at him, reject him somehow. But you never do. Even as you can feel him against your legs, he pauses, needing some sort of final confirmation before he goes any further.

You let one hand unhinge from behind him, tracing his jawline and then grabbing his face gently in your hands. He looks vulnerable, almost confused, barely holding back whatever overwhelming need he has and it’s for your sake. You do the only thing you can do, the best reassurance you can think of.

You give him a gentle kiss on the lips, and then nod.

The switch flips.

You barely have time to clasp your hands back around his neck before he’s hiking you around up around his waist by your legs. You manage to lock your ankes together before he’s on you like a feral beast, burrowing his head in the crook of your neck, growling and gnashing his teeth on the tender skin of your throat. He’s grinding his erection between your thighs, rubbing against you and teasing your clit until you’re working against him with equal ferocity, practically ripping his hair by the roots.

He’s got you pinned between his lithe body and the wall, his nails digging into the thick skin of your thighs as he groans against your collar bone. He can feel how wet you are and it’s driving him into a frenzy, your little whimpers only serving to harden his already aching cock. The barely controlled undulation of his hips against yours but a taste of what he’s going to give you, and if he makes you wait much longer, you’re going to lose it.

He lets go of one of your legs, letting you steady yourself with your fastened ankles as his hand creeps between your waiting thighs, stroking and rubbing your nub until you’re bucking your body up into his touch. You’re breathing heavy, gyrating your body to try and increase the friction he’s providing you but it’s not enough. Your pleading looks and half formulated sentences coax a small, cruel giggle from him, reveling in the fact that you’re practically as needy as he is.

“You want it?”

His words are deceptively calm, but the truth of the matter is reflected in his eyes. Wide and bulging, blown out in lust. He’s barely even blinking, memorizing every detail of your wanton body on display for him. His fingers are twitching on his cock as he lines himself with your entrance, every single muscle longing to slam into you full force, but he wants to draw this out. Wants you to beg, needs it.

You nod your head vigorously, a pathetic whine all you can vocalize. You’re squirming in his arms, trying to impale yourself on him and failing. A frustrated groan and a pleading look later, and he decides that it’ll suffice.

”Take it.”

He plunges in, bottoming out inside you with one swift motion. The pressure is intense, stinging even with as wet as you are, but the moan that escapes him is unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him before. He’s always so calculated, so meticulous, but the sheer unadulterated carnality of the sigh that leaves him makes you clench tighter around him. You didn’t think something as simple as a sound could arouse you so much, but something about seeing him so uninhibited makes you hotter than you thought possible.

It takes him a second to adjust to your tightness, but he quickly gets his bearings. Hissing under his breath, he begins thrusting, canting his hips in rhythm as he fucks up into your pliable body. He’s pulling no punches, battering you into the wall until you’re certain there will be bruises. Tenderness is a distant memory but you don’t seem to mind as your cunt is squeezing him so tightly that it’s almost as if you don’t ever want to let go. Your hands untangle themselves from his hair, grabbing onto his shoulders and shredding into his hoodie as you desperately try to stable yourself as he bounces you recklessly on his cock.

Your lecherous moans echo off the walls alongside his huffing and cussing in a cacophony of sin, but neither one of you can muster concern about anyone else hearing you. All you can think about is taking him deeper, rolling your hips in time with his as he pounds into you. He couldn’t give a fuck less if anyone else walks in on it either, even All for One couldn’t command his attention anywhere else but you. The only thing he knows is that he needs to be inside you, needs to feel you and he’ll kill anything that tries to get in the way of that.

Briefly, in the heat of the moment, your eyes meet. Both of you are glossed over, running purely on the fumes of the lustful haze, but there’s something underneath it all that softens you, going beyond pure greed and lasciviousness. He must sense it too, because his free hand comes up to cup your face, puckering your lips with his fingers before he slams his lips to yours once more. There’s a passion to it, an urgency that says something that neither of your words can, and even as you lose yourself moaning into his open mouth, he never lets you go.

Between the frantic pumping and the heated neediness of the kiss, breath is few and far between. You’re both panting in time with each other, desperate for air and each other. You can feel the sweat building on his brow as he rests his forehead against yours, muttering something deep and incomprehensible between consuming you. You’re building up, both reaching your peak and soon his pistoning becomes erratic and broken. You breathe in his ragged, shuddering exhales, swallowing every ounce of himself that he gives you. You never want to let go. You never want to let go.

His cock throbs deep inside you and your orgasm proceeds his. You feel hot ropes of cum coat your insides and your walls milk him even further into completion, clinging fiercely to each other for purchase. Your head is thrown back, practically sobbing as he ushers you into a pleasure so intense that you’re not entirely sure your body can handle it. You’re left drowning and breathless, legs wrapped around him so tightly that it’s cutting off blood flow, arms coiled around his shoulders for dear life.

His mouth is open in a wordless cry, fractured wheezes ripping themselves from his throat as he tries to pull his soul back down to his body. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, can’t feel his extremities, all he can feel is you and your embrace and he decides he never wants to lose it as his lips find yours again, swallowing your cries of pleasure.

Even as you both float back down from your bliss, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to. He knows what’s coming and he’s desperately trying to keep it at bay. He knows he has to let you go eventually, no matter how much he fights it. It’s inevitable, but he’ll draw it out as long as he can.

You don’t stop him.

He kisses you until one of you has no choice but to break it to breathe and he curses the function. With the break, he knows the moment is over.

Gently, he puts you down and does his best to keep you steady on weak, wobbly legs. Your thighs are twitching, already beginning to bruise where his hipbones repeatedly beat into them. He wants to say he feels bad about it, but he doesn’t. It’s a reminder of what you shared. You don’t seem to mind either, even as you nearly fall on your ass trying to gather your pants back up around your legs. Instinctively, you go to button your blouse, but you are quickly reminded that it’s no longer wearable as you realize there’s a gigantic rip through it, and several buttons scattered around on the floor beneath you. You quirk your brow at him, giving him a look of faux annoyance as you take it off and throw it at him.

“Oh.”

He catches the hint but seems lost for a minute. He’s looking around at the walls and the floor as if there’d be a convenient dresser that would pop out of thin air, and you have to resist the urge to laugh. He’s clearly still post-orgasmic delirium, and there’s something just so adorable about seeing such a serious, brooding figure so utterly clueless.

Eventually, he sighs, placing four of his fingers underneath the bottom hem of his hoodie and carelessly yanking it up over his head before chucking it at you in the same manner. He says nothing, but you understand. You look at it for a moment before raising it up over your head, awkwardly trying to maneuver your head and arms into the proper holes in the dark hallway. It takes you a good minute, but you manage.

“I’ll get you a new one.” He’s bashfully scratching the back of your head as he holds your shirt in his hand. He seems embarrassed now, which makes it very hard to resist the urge to giggle at him.

“Don’t even worry about it. I didn’t care about it that much.”

You tuck your hands into the pocket of the hoodie, and you realize just how comfy it is. No wonder he always wears it. You’re probably going to steal it. It definitely, absolutely has nothing to do with the fact that his scent is bombarding you now. Nothing to do at all with the fact that you can still feel the warmth of his body while you wear it. Nope. No chance. No way.

“You should bring that back to me when you change.”

You’ve been foiled.

“I’ll be up. You know where my room is, right?”

Oh.

OH.

You grin cheekily at him, shaking your head. “Yeah, I know where your room is. Give me a few minutes and I’ll drop it by.”

You could swear you see him smile a little when you agree.

“Good. That one’s my favorite.”

You want to make a joke about whether he’s talking about you or the hoodie, but he’s already stalking off. You’re not worried, you’ll see him soon enough.

You have to cross through the kitchen to get back to your room, and you are very surprised to see Dabi still sitting in the same chair where you left him. Well, not surprised to see him, but surprised that he’s not on the floor and is still very much awake. He looks over at you, frowning as he slides a shot glass across the table towards your direction.

“I think you have to take that last shot now.”

#Tomura Shigaraki #Shigaraki x Reader #Lemon #I'm so sorry if this sucks #I feel like someone hit me with 40 sick sticks #tw alcohol #Anonymous #just a warning this is straight up unedited

745 notes · View notes

elexica · 3 years

Text

Give & Toke

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069568

Happy 4/20 Yugihoes,

Please accept a humble posting of my puppyshipping/violetshipping weedfic.

Joey showed up at Kaiba's shiny new dispensary for the sole purpose of kicking Kaiba's ass.

It does not go as planned.

A gift for @sky-kaijou / @sky-kaijou-writes in honor of the 2020 New Zealand Cannabis Reefer-endum. TW: Marijuana use and sale.

Title by @auroraXborealis <3 For the Professional Rivals prompt of AU-Gust. . . . (context for this fic) Marijuana is decriminalized currently in Domino City, and stores can be licensed through a regulatory scheme similar to that of California.

Full story under the cut

Joey stomped into the new cannabis shop in the neighborhood. It looked like an Apple store: white walls, smooth white tables, iPads and clerks in matching polos. Gentrification had taken his neighborhood by storm, spinning the older apartment complexes into glamorous condos, replacing the older styled homes with sleek modern imitations, and leaving everyone who couldn’t keep up forced to either move away or to the streets.

Joey’s own rent was soaring, and so was his bitterness towards the invaders to his territory. And especially this cursed-ass pot shop. The shiny new dispensary hadn’t made a terrible dent in his sales, but he couldn’t keep up with the variety, the quality, or the convenience.

It was a travesty to his profession, is what it was. Joey had been dealing for years—he’d never gotten an allowance from his father and passing a little pot along had made up the difference. Once he graduated high school, it morphed into something of a full-time gig. That hadn’t been his intention. It wasn’t like he was trying to move up the distribution ladder or become the next gang lord. But he’d built a good network, and in an industry that ran on relationships and reputation, it was really going pretty well for him.

And this bastard had the gall to move into his territory! Sell his soulless, corporate product to his loyal customers. With this robotic, inhuman, unfeeling mockery of everything that weed is.

Joey spotted a mustachioed blue-polo wearing corporate shill and waved him over. “I’m here ta talk ta yer manager. Give him ‘a piece of my mind.”

“If you intend to make threats against Mr. Kaiba in some sort of gang turf nonsense, you have no idea the true power that you are—” the goon responded, placid energy souring. Joey’s fists clenched tighter, body preparing for a fight.

“I’m not sure a piece of your mind would get you very far.” While Joey was attempting to intimidate the soulless bud-tender, a tall brunet in a white suit with a light blue oxford shirt had stalked up behind him and interrupted.

Joey spun on the toe of his well-worn red Nike’s. “An’ who do ya think you are?”

The brunet crossed his arms over his chest. “Seto Kaiba, the license-holder for this establishment.”

Joey nervously ran a hand through his messy blond hair. He hadn’t expected the shop owner to be so young. Or attractive. All of his fight drained from him. In Joey’s decade of experience, rival dealers were rarely so… professional and polished. Joey felt instantly underdressed in his varsity jacket and jeans.

“Uh… well, yer in territory that doesn’t belong ta ya!” Joey stammered.

“Is that so? I assure you, I have all required state and local permits,” Kaiba answered, blue eyes narrowing. The taller man let a stray glance to Joey’s old, green Jansport backpack. “Perhaps if you had a better view of my inventory, we could have a more amiable business relationship. I’m not trying to alienate everyone in my industry.”

It was insane, the way the taller man could knock the fight out of him without even trying. Joey had never considered that his enemy would possibly seek to de-escalate the situation. Joey nodded and followed the taller man to the back, hypnotized. He maybe shouldn’t have smoked a bowl before raiding the enemy facility.

Inside an equally pristine office, Kaiba lit a pre-rolled joint and took a long inhale. He passed it across the desk, the rolling papers poised delicately between his forefinger and middle finger.

Joey accepted the joint and took a hit. After an impressive pause, Kaiba released smoke rings from his lips slowly, in that perfect practiced way. The smoke dissipated softly, fading from tight circles and clouding the air. With no windows in the room, it seemed that his intent was to hot box it. Joey wondered idly how the white marble of the desk was so free from dust or ash if Kaiba took to smoking here.

Joey passed back the joint before releasing his breath in a round of hacking coughs.

While Joey was gasping for air and trying to gather his bearings, Kaiba produced a glass of water and a plain white ashtray. He gently rested the joint on the edge.

“That was a proprietary strain—Blue Eyes White Dragon. It’s Sativa. I’m working on a hybrid model that has a significantly greater THC content. But the current Blue Eyes plant has the highest percentage of CBD for Sativa plants currently on the market in Domino. Thoughts?” Kaiba unbuttoned his white blazer.

Joey’s eyes watered, and he managed to take a few sips from the glass. “It tastes… unique. Kinda minty?”

Kaiba nodded, raising the joint to take another hit.

“So, y’know, I came here to talk about ya encroaching on my business. I’ve built up a book ‘a business in this part ‘a Domino, and I’m not gonna give up that easy!” Joey said, straightening his shoulders. He couldn’t tell if he was sitting up properly. The world was already starting to feel a little warmer, fuzzier. His forehead sort of tingled like he had a third eye.

Once again, Kaiba blew out a series of flawless rings, staring into space. The blue irises of his eyes were framed by smoke-induced redness. “Yes, well, I have no intention of cowing to any threats. I took this corrupt pharmaceutical company from my dead father, and I am turning it into something that can actually improve people’s lives. And no puny street punk will stand in my way.”

“Oof. Sorry for ya loss.” Joey elected to ignore the last comment, as a gentleman. And because, for the first time, he spotted a white holster tucked under the newly opened sport jacket.

“Don’t be, he was a bastard,” Kaiba said with a satisfied smirk.

Joey laughed at the insinuation. He might’ve had more to say, under other circumstances, but Kaiba had shared the good shit. Instead, the room felt a few degrees warmer than when he had entered and he removed his letterman jacket, revealing his toned biceps.

Kaiba was constructing another round of rings when his eyes met Joey’s sculpted arms. His focus was completely dashed, and he ended up exhaling the rest of the smoke from his nose, like a dragon.

“Ha, ya see something ya like, rich boy?” Joey said with a signature grin, picking up the joint again. It was already almost half-way spent.

Kaiba looked away dismissively. “Irrelevant. Mr. Wheeler, it was a matter of time before you paid my enterprise a visit. As you have most likely noticed, there are certain elements of the trade in which I excel. I am a gifted scientist, an expert businessman, and—”

“A robot? You’ve had double the hits I have and ya won’t even crack a smile! I dunno what yer tolerance has ta be, but ya ain’t human anymore.”

Kaiba rolled his eyes, tapping the joint against the ash tray to release some of the built-up cinders. “There is a certain social element to this business that I have no interest in participating in.”

Joey leaned over a little in his chair. “Is that so?” He meant to have an interrogator’s pose and expression, but he was worried he just looked high as balls.

Kaiba passed the still burning joint across the table, little red ember barely emanating light in the bright white office.

“I would like to absorb your book of business and employ you as a bud-tender.”

Joey rejected the joint and cracked his knuckles, knowing that the action flexed his arm muscles. An almost-imperceptible blush flashed across Kaiba’s cheeks. “I’ve been my own boss, mostly, for a little while now. Why should I be a glorified store clerk for ya?”

“You can’t possibly see this career continuing to serve you indefinitely. You’ll need to go legit or go to jail.” Kaiba lazily released one more puff of smoke before butting the joint. “But, I am amenable to other arrangements. What do you propose?”

Joey smiled at the suggestion. “Partner. It doesn’t haveta be fifty-fifty or anything, but I’ve built somethin’ up, and I know what I’m worth. I gotta be making at least five g’s a month.”

Kaiba finally broke. He laughed almost hysterically at the suggestion, doubling over and taking a full minute to get his breathing to settle. “Yeah, ok. That would be, maybe, a five percent share of the retail business.”

Joey stretched, resting his arms behind his head, giving Kaiba an eyeful of his tight white t-shirt and strong pectorals underneath. “Ten percent of the retail company.”

Kaiba nodded, picked up his phone and typed away. “The contract will be prepared presently.”

“Neato,” Joey said with a lecherous smile. Everything felt soft, warm, comfortable—even if the room looked so sterile it could be used for a surgery. “Now, what should we do with this time?”

Kaiba shifted in his seat and adjusted his light blue tie.

Joey leaned forward, planting an elbow on the desk. “I got some ideas I think you’ll like, partner…”

Kaiba leaned over the desk as well, a small smile budding on his lips. “Oh, already?”

“Yeah. In this business, yer supposed to seal a contract with a kiss.”

“I do not think that’s custom—”

Joey closed the remaining distance and captured his lips in a searing kiss. Kaiba relaxed into the kiss almost instantly. It was softer than Joey had expected. Sweet and hot, with the flavors of mint, smoke, and cannabis on his partner’s lips.

Joey only broke it to walk over and climb into the brunet’s lap.

The contract was respectfully slid under the door.

FIN

#seto kaiba #Kaiba Seto #Jounouchi Katsuya #Joey Wheeler #puppyshipping #Violetshipping #my fic #crossposted on ao3 #tw: drug use #tw: marijuana use

12 notes · View notes

the-darklings · 4 years

Note

can i request for march blurb night in advance?? like a santi/v au where they meet after a few years of v being manager and santi being married (and expecting a kid)? im really curious about how the conversation would go down👀👀

—IN MY PLACE;

⤫ pairing: santino x reader!V

⤫ wc: 2.9k+

⤫ notes: BRO. For context, please read this first. Also, blast “In My Place” by Coldplay for extra feels.

“I’m afraid that I cannot—”

Your head snaps up, the pen in your hand stilling as you raise your head towards the door of your office. Charon’s voice is familiar to you but you rarely hear it anything other than soothing monotonous. The unease, the reluctance—those are not things that you hear often, if at all.

Has that dreadful individual arrived already?

No—no, Charon would have rang to inform you first. The Adjudicator is distant in their ruthless professionalism, but they won’t force their way into your office. They better not.

The door slams open and your fingers rest against the comforting weight of a sharpened blade, tensing. Your role now may be to keep order but very few do it as efficiently as you do. There is a reason why you have become such a renowned manager and it has little to do with kindness.

But—

Something clenches around your heart, your spine, dragging you years back at the sight of the face in front of you.

You haven’t seen him since—

Since Santino came to you personally after the news about his engagement broke—not since you told him face-to-face that the only way to keep his power was to follow through with it. Camorra council was getting antsy for heirs, for the security that comes with a continuous line of succession. He could not delay any further without risking an outright rebellion or attempts to take his power.

The power that’s been in his family since Camorra was founded centuries ago.

He hasn’t changed. Same hair, same irritated expression, same arrogant posture, same fancy suit.

Same intense eyes that latch onto you like he’s been starved for the sight of you.

You try to ignore the stab right into your heart at the glimpse of a golden wedding band around his finger.

You try to ignore the way he exhales slowly, like some invisible weight has dropped away from his shoulders now that he’s in front of you.

“My apologies, Miss,” Charon begins and you drag your eyes to your right hand, rising to your feet. “But I’m afraid Mr D’Antonio was rather…insistent on seeing you. I told him you were busy and unavailable—”

Santino’s lips part, his expression dark, but you speak before he can. “Don’t worry,” you reassure Charon, giving him a measured look. “This will not take long. Please continue with the preparations.”

A polite dismissal.

Charon hesitates. Behind his glasses, his dark eyes slide towards the Italian—one of the most powerful men in the world, now—and if you didn’t know any better you would say that Charon gives Santino D’Antonio a warning look before he nods at you.

He obeys without another word, closing the office door softly behind himself and all is silent.

You have no idea what to say to him. You told him that he should never see you again. That it would be for the best; a clean break. His presence here, now, is like a knife—a slow, dull, searing knife you could spend days twisting inside your heart. Always just a bit more, just a tiny bit longer; you would hold onto him till you can almost pretend that you’re both happy and free.

“(Name).”

He seems to choke on your name; exhale it from deep inside his chest, soft and loving and hungry. His eyes journey over your features and you see, feel, taste his longing for you in that simple gesture alone. In turn, you chain your own longing tighter. Chain that part of you that wants to do nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and—

I’ve missed your stupid, sleepy face.

“Congratulations,” you whisper gently instead, trying to keep the pain from your expression and voice by injecting coolness into your words. “It’s wonderful news. I hope it’s an easy pregnancy—”

“Don’t,” he snarls, his expression twisting with rage as he cuts the distance between you but you step back before he can touch you. “I am not here because of that. I’m—”

“Then why are you here, Santino?”

He exhales loudly, the frame of his body restless as it is tense. Upon closer inspection, you realise that you were wrong. He looks miserable. The bags under his eyes are so deep and dark, he looks at least ten years older. Like the cocky ease with which he’s always held himself has crumbled away into nothing.

“Why?” he breathes unsteadily, and tries to reach for you again but you pull back again, the back of your thighs almost brushing against your work desk. “Why won’t you let me touch you, amore? Let me. Let me.”

His voice is a wrecked whisper as he steps closer, leaning his face closer while his fingers come to cup your cheeks. He’s as frantic as he is hollowed out, unsteady, and you both exhale when your skin meets his. A shudder rolls across your limbs and you have to swallow down your own relief. You know him intimately; the heat of his palms, the tickle of his breath, the scent of his cologne and the security of his presence by your side.

For a moment you simply stand together, your foreheads almost touching, your breaths mingling. You breathe. Deep, haggard breaths. A part of you wonders if this is the first time in a year since either of you has been able to breathe properly.

“Mi manchi,” he exhales in the space between you, his voice thick, warped. His fingers trace over the curve of your jaw, breathless, and your palm settles against his chest and the thundering beat of his heart alone betrays him. “So much I can’t sleep at night. Every minute, hm, every minute of every day, you haunt me. Tell me—tell me I am not alone in this sickness. This longing. Please, amore.”

Your fingertips hover over the round curve of his cheek, his chin, and you only offer him a pained, “You’re not.”

You’ve been just as sick with longing for him as he’s been for you but—

He slams into you. The back of your legs crash against the desk but you don’t care because he’s kissing you and god—

It tears through you like a bolt of lightning, just like the first time you’ve kissed and all the times that followed. All those secret, stolen moments between you. The overwhelming heat that explodes through you every time.

His hands are cupping your face, his tongue eager and desperate as it refamiliarise itself with the taste of you and you lean into him too. Your nails scratch against his neck and he groans—that deep, rumbling sound—his hips pressing against yours and you can feel every inch of him. Every exhale and the heat and the taste of him—

You’re burning. You’re not drowning. You’re burning and you want to burn till there is nothing left of you at all. Till you’re both ash and can blow into the wind together, never to be controlled or dependant on the wills of others ever again.

Your fingers slip into his hair, and he caresses your cheek, jaw, neck. His other hand trails down your neck and the curve of your breast before settling against your waist, greedy and selfish. His movements are barely controlled—like he wants to rush but knows that he needs to savour this—and you grind yourself into him, making him hiss out a breath when you break apart for a second.

His self-control has snapped long ago, and his fingers snake around your thighs, coaxing and sensual, and your body knows his, so you obey. With his help, it takes only a tiny boost for you to settle on top of your desk. His slender fingers trace up your skin and your legs part for him, making all the room he might want or need. He slips between them easily, without hesitation; a dance and a play you have done a thousand times before. An effortless shifting and coiling of your limbs and—

And his lips are on your neck, the hollow of your throat, the cut of your collarbone. His burning fingers rest against the back of your neck and you sigh at the hotness of his mouth on your skin. Ravenous. His lips and tongue turn the blood in your veins into liquid flame as he explores. Your own fingers are in his hair again and that welcoming, warming heat in your lower stomach blooms—

“Ti amo così tanto.”

You crash back into reality.

And with it, you push him back so hard, he stumbles.

You get off the desk at once, smoothing your clothes as you gasp for breath, trying to not look at him.

“We can’t—” it sounds like you’re talking through a mouthful of crushed glass but ignore the weakness of your own heart. “We can’t do this anymore, Santino.”

“Why not?”

He barely sounds coherent, but you still don’t look in his direction. Because he has such a way of ripping those walls down. Ever since he’s found a way to do it, he can do it with a blink and you hate him for it. You have to be strong now, more than ever, and you resent the fact that it’s you that has to be strong for the two of you.

You douse the heat in your veins, the inferno in your heart that only he has ever managed to ignite to such a degree, and lift your head.

Santino is breathing so heavily, his shoulders are moving with his inhales and you ignore the wild look in those green eyes of his.

“Because you’re married,” you spit out, pained, forcing the words out even as they shred your heart into ribbons, leaving a gushing, bleeding mess behind. “Because you’re expecting a child. Because there are lines we can’t cross anymore. I’m not that kind of person. We—we can’t be together. It’s time to accept that. Let me go. For your own sake just—”

But he’s shaking his head, his fingers flexing, and he approaches you purposely. Fury deepens the line of his face, sets his jaw into a rigid line. “Never.”

“Please, Santino. You have a wife—”

“I don’t love her,” he snarls lowly, and stalks even closer, his eyes flashing. His gaze is merciless, almost cruel, as he murmurs his next words to you like a confession. “I will never love her. I can’t stand the sight of her, do you understand that, hm? She repels me in every way. On our wedding night, I imagined it was you.”

God, you don’t want to hear this. You can’t—

“Stop.”

Your plea goes unanswered as his digits settle on your forearms, and he stares at you imploringly, still effortlessly cruel.

“When I kissed her, I imagined that I was kissing you, tasting you,” he continues softly, and you shake your head, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block his words out if you don’t see the despondent look on his face. “When I fucked her, I imagined that it was you underneath me, amore mio. I imagined that it was love when I forced myself to touch her and make her feel good. And when I came it was with your name on my lips, not hers. How lucky for me that it only took once, no?”

“Stop,” you growl harshly, and shove him away from you again, your blood roaring in your ears. “Stop it. I don’t want to hear this. I—”

Your eyes burn as you turn your head away, trying to control the tsunami of emotion battering against your heart.

You don’t want to know about a woman—his wife—who exists in your place now.

Santino is silent, his expression drawn, empty.

It’s so unfair. It’s so fucking unfair.

“Do you still love me?”

Your heart stops in your chest for a second, your throat closing up as your head jerks back towards him.

“You know that I do.”

But it doesn’t make a difference. How you feel never makes a goddamn difference. Life never allows you happiness—not really. It throws you scraps of something good before its torn away from you again and again.

Alone. Always so terribly, awfully alone.

“I don’t want to see you again,” you tell him quietly, and you feel your heart tear itself into tiny pieces. But it needs to be done. It needs to be. “And I forbid you from ever touching me again.”

He’s so still, he doesn’t look like he’s breathing. His expression frozen, his eyes wide, and lips parted in disbelief.

You place your hand against the back of your desk, gripping it so tightly your fingers ache. Something to anchor you to reality, something to help you ignore the lost look on his face, the bob of his throat as he forces himself to swallow.

“You have your new life, and I have mine,” you tell him, your words devoid of emotion. “We finally got what we both wanted. Power. Don’t you think we should stop ruining each other’s lives? We should both move on and be happy.”

His gaze is frantic.

“Don’t do this—”

A sharp knock interrupts him. Santino’s mouth snaps shut and you turn towards the door.

“Come in.”

The door swings open before you’re even done speaking and Charon’s guarded stare goes straight to Santino as he enters. The tall man regards the Italian coolly for a moment before his head tilts in your direction respectfully.

“Miss, the Adjudicator has arrived and wishes to see you at once.”

Santino is still staring at you, and every second of silence that stretches between you just leaves you colder and colder.

You both have power now. But there is a price to pay for everything as he’s always been so fond of reminding you.

Santino straightens, his chin tilting in that painfully familiar, proud manner and you almost crumble then. He empties his features of that longing and desire. Empties himself of everything till you’re left staring at the shell he projects.

“This is not happiness, amore,” he says, his voice tinted with resentment, and his hands slip into his pockets. “This is not—”

His eyes go to Charon and he looks up the silent man up and down before his eyes cut back to you.

“Lo sceglierò sempre te,” he states coldly, and you suck in a breath, gripping the table tighter. “Keep that mind, cara mia.”

With that, he turns around and stalks out of the office, taking your heart with him.

His footsteps disappear down the corridor and the silence left behind is so dreadful, you can’t bear to look at Charon.

Minutes drag, but you can’t seem to get rid of the burn in your eyes. You hiss an angry breath from behind your tightly clenched teeth, and press your palm over your eyes.

“Am I—”

The lump in your throat won’t let you speak, and you work to get rid of it for another few moments before you finally articulate your thoughts.

“Am I really that undeserving of happiness, Charon?” you wonder in a fragile, wet whisper. “First John, now Santino. Am I really that awful that I can never be h-happy?”

Crisp steps draw nearer and you lower your hand, staring at the floor. Charon pulls out a serviette from his pocket, offering it to you but you only shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“You more than deserve happiness, Miss,” he says quietly, almost kindly, and your watery stare raises to his face. “After all you have been through, it is not selfish to desire for such a thing.”

He puts the serviette back into his pocket and seems to hesitate. “Permission to speak freely, Miss?”

Your eyebrows knit. “Always.”

Charon sighs faintly, his head tilting slightly as he gives you a piercing look. “I do believe that if Sir were here, he would tell you to the hell with the rules. Go with your heart as they say.”

You chuckle weakly, glancing towards the floor before your eyes lift back to the man before you again. “Winston cared about rules above all else.”

Charon’s eyebrow arch into a pointed line. “I do believe, Miss, that it would not be presumptuous for me to say that he cared about you even more. This hotel has always been more than a job, more than a duty to him—it was Sir’s legacy and he entrusted it to you because he believed you could lead better than anyone. But not at the expense of your own happiness.”

Inhaling deeply, you clear your throat, pressing your fingertips against the corners of your eyes.

“Would you like me to contact Mr D’Antonio—”

“No.”

Charon’s expression slackens with surprise, and you give him a firm look.

“We have business to attend to,” you tell him resolutely, wiping your face of emotion, of vulnerability you showed him because you trust him just as Winston once did. “Like you said, we have a legacy to uphold. Let’s go and show that terrible, annoying Adjudicator what we’re made of.”

Charon stands taller, his posture ramrod straight, and he inclines his head with that cool professionalism. “Of course, Miss,” he says, but you see the sadness buried deep in that dark stare. “As you wish.”

Santino has his new family.

And you have yours.

It’s time to wake up and live in reality.

…

an: AS IF I WAS GONNA WAIT FOR A MONTH FOR THIS PAIN FEST. I would have written this sooner but this ask came through in the middle of my 48 hour COA 11 lockdown and then I had work. But maaaaaan. The pain of this AU………it hit differently. We are here to suffer and suffer only. Hope you “enjoyed” it!!!

#santino d'antonio x reader #santino d'antonio #john wick fic #john wick imagine #john wick #riccardo scamarcio #fanfiction #fic: children of ares #s: i can wait

310 notes · View notes

softyoongiionly · 5 years

Text

Business Casual 🥼

Your boyfriend Jungkook has become the worldest youngest billionaire after inventing the most sought after wine on the planet. After meeting you and falling in love, he decides to ditch the bustling streets of Seoul for a picturesque villa on the Greek island of Mykonos. Today, after a long few days of work, Jungkook wants to go to the beach...

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Genre: Smut, fluff, Boyfriend! Jungkook, Billionaire! Jungkook

Warnings: SMUT (18+ only please), there’s a lot of fluff, also Jungkook speaks Korean again and, this deserves a warning, language

A/N: This is part of the Mama Mia! series, I hope you guys enjoy!

***All italicized/bolded words indicate when characters are speaking Korean***

Jungkook’s been in the wine cellar all day.

He, along with a few members of his team worked tirelessly over the last month to get it set up. Many sleepless nights were spent on tossing and turning to the sound of drilling and scrapping of wood but, it had all been worth it when you saw that gorgeous bunny smile on your boyfriends face signaling that it had been completed. The end result was incredible: professional grad wine making equipment, state of the art storage systems and, a complete mini bar where Jungkook could experiment to his hearts content.

The thing is, Jungkook trusted very few people.

His jovial nature has been slowly chipped at over the years as more and more people tried to use him. His old co-workers, his accountant, his third cousin and, worst of all, his half-brother were amongst the most difficult betrayals that caused Jungkook to retreat further and further into his introverted nature. The prototype for Azucar De Luna had been stolen many times during Jungkook’s initial success but, after a difficult year, he had refined it for the last time completely on his own. The only people he shared the recipe with were his parents and, instead of continuing mass production, Jungkook started making the bottles himself. A tireless endeavor, especially given that after the scandals of the stolen recipes broke, the original product only increased in demand.

A massive waiting list formed and, the price for a single bottle leapt from just under $850 a bottle to $7,700 a bottle. This price increase sent Azucar De Luna to the top of the world’s most expensive wines.

Jungkook didn’t start making wine for the money though, he started it because he was passionate about it and, grew rather uncomfortable with people treating him like he was some sort of business tycoon. Given that your boyfriend makes all the wine himself, he reduced his output of the product significantly and only releases 200 bottles a year. This of course, only allures the rich and famous more and more.

“Jagiyaaaa…” You hear his whine coming from the cellar and, the sound causes a smile to break across your lips.

He wants you to try something…

“Mr. Jeon???” You call back in response and you hear him snicker at the name.

“Come here, I added something new!”

The sound of his voice warms you from the inside out and, you quickly oblige his request, setting aside the book you were reading to meet your boyfriend in the cellar.

You pass the thermostat on the way down and, curse yourself for not remembering your sweater. Jungkook keeps his cellar at exactly 55 degrees (12.8 degrees Celsius) which isn’t freezing but, its certainly much cooler than the warm summer breeze currently wafting through your living room.

“Yah, baby…” Jungkook admonishes from behind the bar, the nickname sends a jolt through your stomach as its not one he uses often, “…you’re going to catch a cold.

You wave him off, thankful you’re wearing socks as you step onto the stone floor, “I’ll be fine. You’re timing is perfect by the way, just in time for happy hour…”

Jungkook chuckles, grabbing a wine glass from the overhead rack, “Is that why you keep me around? No need to go to the bar when you’ve got a vintner for a boyfriend huh?”

“You weren’t supposed to figure that out until after I convinced you to ditch the pre-nup babe, don’t mess with my plans…” You retort, hoisting yourself onto the barstool, admiring the way Jungkook looks dressed in his corduroy apron.

“All I got from that statement is that you want to marry me…” He smiles, throwing a wink your way as he pours a half a glass for each of you.

“Shut up…”

The characteristic bloody red of Jungkook’s wine is slightly darkened and, you ignore the fluttering in your chest and, change the subject.

“What did you add? It smells amazing in here…” The cellar’s scent contained all of the usual subjects: cork, wood, wine, etc. but, there was a strong scent of something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Dark chocolate. I imported some from Africa and asked the chocolatier if I could experiment with it. She said I could as long as I sent her a bottle if it works out.” He smiles fondly, pushing the glass towards you.

“Fair warning, if you do get this right, which I’m quite sure you did, I will be begging you for more…” You warn him playfully, bring the glass to your nose, inhaling the sweet and savory notes of Jungkook’s creation.

“Wouldn’t be the first time…” He quips, smirking, eyes flitting over you and, he throws his head back in laughter as you flip him off, moving the glass to your lips.

The taste is exquisite, earthy and sweet, (just like Jungkook). The chocolate notes linger on your tongue long after you’ve swallowed your first sip and close your eyes in disbelief.

“How is it?” Jungkook’s nervous, he always is. Your approval means a lot to him and, despite his international success, he still doesn’t understand his own greatness.

“Okay, all jokes aside, this is one of your best bottles yet. It’s so amazing, the flavor, the aftertaste, its chocolatey but, not too strong. You’re a genius Kookie, like seriously you have a gift…” You’re rambling and, Jungkook’s bunny smile quickly makes an appearance, relishing in your praise.

“Really? It’s only been fermenting for 10 days, I was worried it wouldn’t be long enough…” He is slowly making his way around the counter, feeling a desire to be closer to you.

“I wouldn’t have been able to tell, it tastes like it’s been aged for half a century…” You smile as he smiles, taking another sip, closing your eyes once more at the taste.However, before you have a chance to open them, you feel warm lips tucking themselves between yours, catching the bit of wine still left on your lips.

“Tastes even better on your lips jagiya…” Jungkook whips out his Korean and his satoori because, he has absolutely no regard for your life.

You hum against his mouth, pushing a hand against his chest, “You’re insatiable…”

The two of you had gone at it this morning: unhurried and unrestrained in your brand new bed. The move has finally allowed for you and Jungkook to indulge in each other without interruptions and, it’s safe to say you’ve been taking advantage of it.

“I’m a sommelier jagi, it’s my job to always improve the quality of my wine…”

He’s kissing down into your neck now, slotting himself between your legs whilst his strong arms wrap around your waist.

You don’t stop him, melting at the feeling of his lips, your hands brushing back his thick, raven locks.

He’s hair is growing longer everyday…

“Are you gonna send me to the chocolatier too then?” You tease, tugging on his hair playfully and, he chuckles, biting your neck in retaliation.

“No,” He’s back to English now, bestowing some semblance of mercy upon you, pulling out of your neck to meet your eyes, “she’s getting the lower quality version, I don’t share…”

Virgos never do….

“The wine on its own is more than enough.” You assure him, fingernails brushing over his back gently, smirking at the light shiver that runs through his body.

“Why do you always do that?” He whines, his hair falling in his eyes as he pushes against you.

“Do what?”

“Use your nails…” He’s boyish as ever, hugging you and, sporting pink cheeks, his lids heavy with an onslaught of exhaustion.

A fond giggle fills the small amount of space between you, “ I thought you liked my nails…”

He grumbles, tucking his face right back into you, nuzzling his face there.

He’s tired…

“I do but,” You haven’t stopped gently running your nails over your boyfriends back, hoping to encourage him to get some rest. “…they feel too good. I have to keep working.”

You shake your head, pressing a kiss against his hair, “You’ve been working for the past 10 hours babe, its almost midnight…”

“Are you trying to get me into bed jagiya?” He hums and, you can feel him smirk against you as his fingertips slide underneath your t shirt.

“I am, you’re going to burn yourself out and, I don’t like going to sleep without you…” You respond shamelessly, trying to ignore the errors in your pronunciation.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice as he continues to nose at your neck, “Are you going to put me to sleep?”

You pinch his side gently causing him to chuckle, pulling away from you once more, his chocolate eyes lit up in mischief.

“I’ll come to bed in a little bit, I promise.” Jungkook rubs your hips, his tone sincere enough that you , don’t question it, even though you want him to yourself right now, you know he has to finish up. “You like the wine though right? You think it’s good enough for a soft release, just to the locals’ maybe?”

His onslaught of questions explains why he isn’t ready for bed yet. As much as he wants to snuggle into bed with you, the perfectionist living in his brain is clearly not done with him yet.

A soft smile on your mouth and a thumb over his cheek soothes him slightly, along with your words of encouragement:

“It’s one of the best wines I’ve ever had Jungkook, second only to Luna. Whoever you decide to share it with is going to be in awe…”

His bunny smile is back paired with bunny teeth nibbling his bottom lip, “I love you…”

A pert kiss is pressed to his lips, “I love you too.” You throw a stern look his way as you pull back, “In bed by one ok? I don’t want you overworking yourself…”

He’s docile under your orders, he prefers it that way.

“Yes mam. I’ll be up soon…”

He makes good on his promise and, although you had drifted off not long after your time with him in the cellar, you vaguely remember him cuddling up behind you and, passing out soon after.

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

The curtains danced around the right side of your bedroom along with the summer wind, the song was the sound of the ocean and, you feel awfully lucky that you’re witnessing such a simple yet beautiful sight.

It’s so strange to think that a fairy-tale can feel so much like home…

Jungkook had been up before you, needing to be on a conference call with his parents and, a few remaining trusted investors. From what you could gather, things went well as you didn’t catch anything too alarming coming from Jungkook’s office.

You woke up not long after him, having an appointment of your own with an art gallery in France that you had been managing for the past year. Nothing too eventful came from your meeting either, a new curator had joined your team so, you spent most of the call going over the ins and outs of their position. You’re still in your office when your boyfriend meanders in, wearing only his black boxers and a navy blue dress shirt. You laugh at the sight,

“What are you wearing?”

“What does it look like? Business…” He pauses, gesturing to the dress shirt before turning around and, flashing his ass to you, “…casual…”

Your head is thrown back as full belly laughter leaves your lips, the ridiculousness of your boyfriend really knows no bounds.

“Are your boxer’s designer at least? Or are those the ones you bought at the convenience store?”

He chuckles, feeling warm at the sound of your laughter, making his way over to you, “Those pesky investors don’t deserve my good underwear jagi, those are only for you…”

Jungkook’s arrived at your desk now, his fingers working at the buttons of his top, wanting desperately to rid himself of it.

“Good point.” You giggle before nodding to him, “Are you done for the day?”

You try not to notice as more and more of Jungkook’s tanned skin is revealed to you and, continue typing away on your computer.

“Yeah,” He finishes unbuttoning and grips the lapels of the shirt before pulling it off, leaving his body on full display, “I don’t feel like doing much else, especially sense I was in the cellar all day yesterday.”

A glimpse of his abs, that he annoyingly still has despite you feeding him constantly, causes you to feel weak in the knees.

Damn him for being so beautiful…

“Yeah, I don’t blame you, you worked really hard yesterday.” You attempt to keep it cool, not wanting to jump his bones two days in a row.

“I wanted to go down to the beach today, the weather is beautiful.”

His statement makes you whimsical, he sounds so happy and, peaceful: something you didn’t hear much of until you moved to Greece.

“Yeah? Let’s do it…I’m almost done here, I just gotta send this out to my new hire and, I’ll be done.”

He smiles at your response, his eagerness coming in full throttle as he kisses your head, “Ok, I’ll get everything ready for us. Take your time jagi…”

Jungkook says take your time but, the way he rushes excitedly out of the room, causes you to finish up as quickly as possible.

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

Several hours, a plate of delicious food and a third of a bottle of wine later, you and Jungkook find yourself waist deep in the waters of your private portion of Kalafati Beach. The wine and food had settled quite nicely in your system and, you feel pleasantly floaty as your wrap your legs around your boyfriends narrow hips.

“You look like a mermaid jagiya….so beautiful.” He muses, smiling gently against your lips as he nudges your nose, he’s been speaking Korean for the past hour or so, explaining that speaking in his native language relaxes him.

Words sound beautiful out of Jungkook’s mouth, no matter the language…

“I wouldn’t mind living in the ocean…being a merman would suit you too, especially since your hair is so long…” Your response is a little rocky but, you pair it with gentle comb of your fingers through his locks so, any mistakes are forgiven.

“ You like long hair right?”

You kiss his temple, “ I love it.”

Jungkook smiles as he leans into you, kissing slowly and tenderly into your neck.

The thing is, you both had been at this for quite awhile, he was hard, you were wet but, neither of you had made a further move and, instead choose to kiss and tease one another.

Your nails make an appearance on Jungkook’s back, tracing slow and gentle shapes in his damp skin. His dick twitches again, for the hundredth time and, although there is no need for theatrics, you would be lying if you said you weren’t desperate to have him inside of you.

“Baby…” He whispers into your ear, nudging it with his nose, “Baby baby baby…my baby…”

Jungkook is back to English for the pet name only and, you smile fondly as you hear a hint of his submission.

He gets like this sometimes, he’d never let the world know.

Its only for you…

“What jagiya? What is it?” You coo tenderly into his skin, kissing and nibbling against his shoulder.

He shivers at the sensation of your teeth but, his response comes quickly, “can I go inside now?”

“Inside? Inside where?”

Jungkook groans at your teasing, pressing his hips against you desperately, “Inside of you….”

A smirk is on your mouth, you love riling him up, “Inside of me how? How will you get inside?”

Jungkook loves it too, he loves when you tease but, his dick is so hard he can feel it throb painfully in the water. He slides his hand down between you to cup against your bathing suit bottoms, smacking lightly underwater, “You know exactly how I get inside but, if Noona wants to hear me say it, I will…”

His satoori is back and thicker than ever as he tucks a finger underneath the seam of your bathing suit, “I want inside her pussy. It’s where I belong right Noona? Right here huh? In this spot?”

His sinful questions are punctuated with the entrance of his finger that angles right up against your g spot.

“Fuck…” You whisper and, this causes Jungkook to chuckle darkly.

“What’s wrong Noona? Did I touch you somewhere too nice? Is your voice all fucked up now?”

God, he could really be dirty if he wanted to be…

His finger is pumping in and out of you now, his free hand untying one side of your suit, exposing more of you to him. He catches your gaze thing, wet stringy hair in his wild eyes, lips swollen from all of your kissing, smugness on his lips.

“Noona…what happened? Is your pussy too tingly? Is it too hard to speak now?”

You nod, not bothering to admonish his smugness, the sensation only increasing as he rubs his thumb over your swollen clit.

“Noona, will you cum on my hand please? Please Noona? I wanna feel you squeeze my finger, I want to lick it off, please Noona will you? If I go faster like this,” He increases his pace, tucking his finger harder up against your g-spot, “will you cum now Noona? Is it good enough?”

It is. It always is.

You feel your cunt tightening around his finger and, frantically you slide your hand down to rub over Jungkooks thumb, aiding him in rubbing your clit.

“Fuck there you go, that’s my baby yeah? That’s my fucking beautiful Noona, she cums so good for me every time, I’m so lucky…”

“Jungkook…” You whimper, which is uncommon for you and, he notices it, hugging you tightly to him as you slowly ride out your orgasm.

“My name should only ever come from your lips, no one else says it right, not like you Noona…”

He’s worshipping now, another layer of Jungkook’s love for you, perhaps one of the final layers…

“Can I come inside now Noona? Have I earned it?”

He’s whimpering now and, nosing at your cheek, placing eager kisses all over you, his hands following his lips.

“Inside babyboy, you’ve earned it, you always do…”

Jungkook melts at your words, wasting no time as he slides into you, having only pulled his trunks off half way under water.

“Oh god Noona…its not gonna be long, I’m so fucked up for you…” His whimpering is weaker as the two of you fuck eachother in the beautiful Grecian ocean.

You’re drunk off the emotion, the setting, your lovers body, Jungkook’s words only adding to the high

“Say you love me…please jagiya, I need to hear it, I need it so bad…”

You do, you always do, you’ll say it till you’re blue in the face.

Cause this shit is that strong…

Through a few frantic I love you’s Jungkook cums, using your body for support but, continuing his pace to ensure that you finish for a second time.

It’s been like this a lot lately, unfiltered, raw, passionate…

You think it’s because he’s finally happy, he’s finally at peace with himself after so many years of heartbreak.

The tide is calmer than it was when you first entered the water, the seagulls and, the waves echoing like a heavenly music box around the two of you.

Nothing is said for quite a while, not with words anyway, the two of you merely sit in the world, kissing and touching at one another before Jungkook finally speaks,

“I know what to call the new wine…when it’s ready…” He beams, still sticking to Korean, his voice still small.

“What will you call it?”

He smiles, kissing your neck once more,

“Y/N.”

1K notes · View notes

voltagesmutter · 4 years

Text

Loves Force [Chapter 1]

Wanted to try something new of doing a short series rather than just one shots and pure smut.

Pairing: Victor x OC [Bella Holland] (Read about her here)

Description: University lovers broken apart, the two adventure of life’s journey with separate paths only to encounter each other years later.

Warnings: SFW, None for this chapter, expect visits from our favourite Bidders from KBTBB, flickers from 3rd person to 1st.

Victor stood proud in his oxford uniform, blazer crisp and tie sharp, freshly polished rounded flats laced up tightly. His arm tightly around the blonde girls waist, curving in on the tailored blazer and holding her close to him. The white ruffled skirt came just above her knees just skimming above the knee length socks that ran down her legs. The rolled parchment of their degrees, both of business, both wrapped in a red ribbon and held proud in front of them. A perfect photo of the head boy and girl, a perfect relationship, smiles to be captured forever in a moment in time. Teachers and students alike cooed over them, how they admired to be like them, to be them. If only they knew the pain that was hidden behind their smiles, the excruciating torment of the freshly broken up couple trying to hold back the tears in order to not ruin the day.

A firm handshake was all he left her with, two years of romance and love now ending with a meer friendly gesture. “Goodbye Victor,” was all she could manage, unable to bring her eyes to meet the purple ones she fell in love with, knowing if she looked her heart would shatter like it had done so the night before. They parted ways, she left, him right. She never turned back, missing the longing gaze from Victor as he let the love of his life walk away from him.

That day meant to be filled with happiness shared between two lovers, a reality of nothing but pain was now a distant memory to her. Or so she thought.

Clutching the letter a little tighter with her left hand, her right index finger massaging her temple as she let out a heavy sigh.

“Dear Miss. Holland,

Your grant for a loan from LFG has been approved, a meeting with Bernard Burnett has been scheduled for August 21st 2020 at 10 am.

Please bring all the relevant documents as stated below.

Please arrive at LFG approximately 10 minutes before your scheduled appointment.

Thank you for choosing Loveland’s most approved funding. - LFG”.

Every bank she had turned to had refused her business loan, even with a high stake reputation and successful business none of them was ready to take a gamble on her. In the end her last hope was to try with LFG and luck would have it that they would be interested. Whilst she didn’t want to go to her ex-boyfriends company she had little choice and there was no way that Victor could possibly know “Holland Designs'' was her company. Thousands of people applied for loans and funding there everyday, regardless if it was Victor's company or not, he wouldn’t know that it was his ex-girlfriends own business he would soon be investing into.

It had been six years since she’d last seen Victor, she never doubted for a second the sheer power and domination that man had once he set his mind to something which is why it came as no surprise to see him conquering the business world before the age of 26. They’d both gone separate ways and it was clear enough to see that Victor had made his dreams come true.

Whilst heavily pleased and relieved at the loan acceptance, she never thought she would have to actually step foot into the LFG building. It felt almost daunting, potentially being in the same building as Victor though the chances of actually seeing him would be slim to none.

“Boss is everything okay?” Luna, her assistant, poking her head through the open door after hearing a sigh of frustration.

“Huh? Oh yes, yes sorry, got lost in thought, no everything’s fine thank you,” Bella smiled, waving the hand up that had held the letter, “LFG replied, we're getting the funding,”.

“Oh that’s excellent news! I told you they wouldn’t turn us down,” The young girl relied, full on enthusiasm as always.

“Yes, I have a meeting in two days with them, will you clear my schedule for me for then please,”.

“Yes of course, shall I send out an email to inform the others?” The sound of tapping flooding through the open space.

“No that’s fine, I’ll let Terri and the others know later,” Bella replied, now turning her attention to the computer screen before her, “Luna, will you shut the door please,”.

“Of course!” The sound of the oak door shutting, leaving Bella alone in her office. She took a deep breath before sinking lower into her leather arm chair. Why was she so worked up and anxious over this? She knew what she was doing the minute she looked at the LFG application form, that this was Victor's Li’s company. Victor had probably forgotten about her, their relationship had ended six years ago and it wasn’t as if her applying for a loan would change anything. She’d probably never even see Victor in person again, only online in the rare interviews he did. The latest being on a show called “Miracle Finder”, a show that lately had a range of celebrity guests and professionals appearing on it.

In all honesty she’d slightly forgotten about Victor, he was in the past, but that was difficult when Loveland’s most upcoming desirable bachelor appeared everywhere. Like a ghostly presence, whether it was a fake news article in some trashy magazine, a stock profit margin LFG on the news, a flashed photo of his face as he left from a restaurant. He was everywhere even though he was no longer in her life. It was only until the day she applied for the LFG funding did he truly cross her mind. If she ever did run into Victor she doubted he’d even recognise her, whilst she hasn’t changed since the last time they met, she’d slowly blossomed from a fresh university student of age of 22 into an independent woman with her own company. Nothing much physical had changed about her, she was still the petite blonde with a curvaceous figure, truly blessed and rewarded as she took great pride in maintaining her looks. Beautiful and brainy is what she was often referred to by her employees, a statement that still made her blush regardless of how many times they said it.

“To Holland Designs!” The clink of the shot glasses meeting with a round of roaring laughter, silence followed closely by the sound of hissing from individuals as the tequila burned their throats.

“To LFG approving the loan!” A similar movement followed after the bar-tender refilled their glasses.

“To you, boss,” Terri guesting her glass in the motion of you, the others following with the same enthusiasm, a heavy blush creeping over your cheeks with a giggled laughter. The third tequila made your eyes water, the sour taste making your jaw clench as you shook your head, turning the shot glass upside down on the wooden bar.

“To-“ But your hand signalled them to stop, three shots was well enough, anymore and you’d be on the floor, telling the world your life story.

Taking a seat at the bar, guesting to the barman for some water, slightly disappointed you were unable to hold your liquor like you used to. Envy taking over to watch some of your younger employees throwing shot and shot back, something you could have done just as easily at their age, but now at the ripe age of 28 alcohol proved to hit you a little harder.

“So, pretty great news right about the funding right?” Terri sliding to the seat next to you, clutching her latest designer bag to her. Seriously she had a new one every other month, you dread to think how much money she spent on them.

“It’s brilliant, we can finally look at expanding the workforce and hiring new talents, we’ll be able to branch out to bigger clients,” You smiled, taking a sip of the water the barman placed in front of you.

“And how are you feeling about a certain Mr.Li?” The words make you choke slightly, spitting water out over the bar.

“What are you on about? The funding has nothing to do with Victor!” You hissed, grabbing a napkin and wiping up the spilt mess.

“Oh Bells, you're my best friend don’t play coy, you can see something’s bothering you just from the expression on your face,” You rolled your eyes at her comments, “You also pinching your wrist, you only do that when you feel anxious,”.

“I just- it’s not weird is it? Applying to his company for a loan, letting him be our investor is it?” You questioned, turning your gaze to focus on the lipstick stain on your glass, a snorting chuckle coming from your best friend.

“It’s business hun, and who cares? You're not dealing directly with him are you?” You shake your head, “Well then, I doubt Mr.Li takes time to read over every company investment, he has people who do that for him, beside you and him are old news how long ago even was the breakup again”.

“Six years this year… But true, I just expected to be accepted with our form and that be that, I have to go on Thursday to meet with Mr.Burnett, take all our profits and margins, expectations and such with me,”.

“Well that’s easy enough, just show them the fab work we’ve been doing,” Terri patting her bag as if to say ‘look at all the profit we’ve been making’, “Oh and that Ichinomiya man! Don’t forget to mention him!”.

Oh yes Eisuke Ichinomiya, one of the wealthiest men across the pond who was a billionaire tycoon, the owner of a luxurious hotel called “The Tres Spades”. He was also a dear friend, a former pupil in your year who you’d grown close with alongside Soryu Oh and Luke Foster. The four of you and Victor were the best of friends during your university days often referring yourself as: the brains, the beauty, the playboy, the vitamin addict and the silencer. An odd bunch to say the least but somehow it just clicked.

Eisuke had shamelessly flirted with you for the first year of university, it wasn’t until he learned you and Victor were dating that he backed off. Instead the flirts blossomed into friendship and before you knew it you were swept up in the ways of luxury with the four boys.

Luke and Soryu were the two you were least closest with, Soryu just didn’t like women but for you he made an exception and Luke was far too busy investing in his time into the bone structure of your cheekbones to actually have a conversation with you. Mornings spent together were some of your fondest memories of university, Victor sitting with his black coffee, Eisuke throwing in half a pitcher of milk and five sugars into his coffee, Luke chewing on some vitamin gummies and Soryu devouring an omelette.

You were relieved in a way that Victor and you split up the day before graduation, meaning neither of you would have to sacrifice your friendships with the others. After graduating you and Eisuke kept in touch, when you traveled the world he gracefully extended an offer for you to stay at “The Tres Spades” in his penthouse whilst you were in Japan. You’d have been a fool to say no. Getting to spend an almost month in sheer luxury, witnessing how the other half lived as you resided there, a pleasant surprise to find Soryu was also there. He was still as awkward as ever, only maturing into a more handsome man, with looks that could kill. Although it turned out he literally could kill, the silent man now being the second head of a mafia gang. Luke also made an appearance, a fully fledged doctor but still with the obsession of bones, constantly trying to get a touch of your cheekbones, jawline and collarbones.

“Don’t be creeped out pretty lady, he’s been obsessed with Eisukes collarbones ever since he saw him shirtless,” A overly friendly man named Mitsunari, ‘please call me Baba’, told you one night.

It was nice to be back in the company of your old companions, the only thing missing to complete it was Victor but since graduating the tight knitted friendship between him and the others fell apart. You didn’t pry into it, Victor was no longer a part of your life or clearly there’s and the four of them had their own reasoning for falling out.

So when you finally returned home and kick started your own business, Eisuke was more than willing to lend you a hand, being one of your first clients. “Holland Designs'' was all in one company, it did brand recognition, website building, graphic design and soon to be event organisation. Eisuke was expanding overseas to Dubai with his chain of hotels, he wants your company to be the ones who created its new brand ‘luxury for the wealthiest’ which you and your small team worked tirelessly on. Needless to say it was a huge success and thanks to Eisuke it skyrocketed your company, within eight months of starting you was now a growing company with some big clientele’s. You were the director of it all managing with clients over their needs and demands creating bespoke contracts, Terri was the website creator with a team of two to manage the content, Ron was the logo and graphic designer who had an assistant and then there was Luna who was your assistant/receptionist. Small but mighty with the sheer determination and drive to succeed.

“Yes I’ll be sure to showcase our work for Eisuke, without him I fear we wouldn’t have had such a successful launch,” You made a mental note to do a bigger portfolio for your meeting on the work you produced for him.

“And don’t get worried and worked up about Victor, the reality is you won’t ever see him,” Terri taking your hand and giving it a squeeze.

You’d met Terri whilst travelling, ‘a budding coder on a journey to find herself’ as she put it. The likeness in personality and views on life quickly grew into a strong friendship, she was the brownie to your blondie, the Thelma to your Louise. Even though she’d only been in your life for two years, she was the best friend anyone would wish for and she knew you inside out. The experience of heartbreak brought you closer together, sobbing over too many cocktails as you both spoke about your first loves, telling her everything about your university love with Victor.

You weren't hung up on Victor, god no, you’d been in a causal relationship or two since then. But it was always difficult forgetting your first, he was your first everything, first kiss, first boyfriend, first love, first sexual partner. He had been such a big part of your life especially being the “role model couple” in university, you head girl and him head boy, a staring couple destined to make it together forever as everyone said. So when the thought of him potentially inching a way back into your life, it triggered a lot of past feelings, feelings you thought you’d forgotten.

You spent the next day preparing for your meeting, stacks of documents lying on your desk as you printed out more to add to the pile. Even though your company was still fresh, just under a year old, your profits had exceeded almost five times the prediction with a long list of clients wanting to be your next project. You and the team had worked tirelessly to churn out projects, some wanted new logos, some wanted a brand re-boost and makeover, some wanted websites, some wanted the whole package for a new start up company. The workload was a consistent flow and the reputation was even better, the name “Holland Design” soon becoming a hot topic in the business world.

You left the office earlier than normal, a goodnight sleep was well deserved so that you would be fresh and ready in the morning. Even though the loan had been approved, tomorrow was vital to ensure and secure the funding. You had to prove and sell the company, yourself, to the leading investors of all of Loveland.

You dressed up slightly more than normal, hair slicked back straight. Makeup applied more of the natural side, a striking bold cat flick eyeliner settled behind your thick lashes, a pink tint of blush gracing your cheeks paired with a nude lip. A white shirt with long sleeved tucked into the leather pencil skirt, the top button undone just to give a slight peak of your “secret assets” and a pair of black heels. The rose gold watch encrusted with small fragments of diamond, a gift for your degree from your parents, sat snuggly on your wrist. A quick spritz of perfume, the same perfume you’d worn ever since you turned 20, leather folder in one hand, the designer Chanel bag Terri insisted you borrow in the other and you were ready.

The sound of your heels clicked along the marble floor as you took a seat on the leather sofas of the reception of LFG, the receptionist smiling sweetly and telling you “Mr. Burnman will be with you shortly”.

Undoing the bound of the folder, skimming over once more of the portfolio you brought to represent your work, nerves ablaze inside you as one of the most important meetings of your career was about to happen. It would deem unprofessional to sit and play candy crush on your phone whilst waiting, instead reviewing everything you had brought hoping time would pass quicker.

Crossing your legs, left over your right, the busyness of the lobby seemed to stop in silence. Peering up from the documents you watched as the employees came to a still, each of them bowing respectfully their heads turned towards the revolving doors. Curiosity peaked inside you, a sudden dropping feeling in your stomach as your eyes wander up to see him, Victor. He waltzed through the floor, oxfords hitting the pavement in striking steps, the black suit tailored perfectly to his body. He still looked like the same young man you had been in love with, now only more mature, shoulders broad with a jawline so sharp it could cut paper. The photos of him never did justice for the sheer handsomeness of him, unable to obtain the small gasp that fell from your lips. And that was when his purple eyes fell upon you, the look of slight confusion at you without faltering his pace, a young man with round glasses running after him to match his pace. There was no doubt he saw you, he looked directly at you but almost as if he didn’t recognise you, looking straight through you. With a blink of the eye he was gone and the lobby picked up from it’s stilled place in time.

Your heart stammered with speed, the pair of you shared a glance but Victor looked at you as if he had no recollection of who you were. The long scarf perfectly balanced atop his suit jacket, the way his hair was perfectly in place just like it was when you were in university, the deep pooling of purple in his eyes, dominance and power radiating with each step. The ability to capture a room without saying a word.

“Miss. Holland, Mr. Burnman will see you now,” The receptionist called out, bringing you back from the longing gaze of the spot where Victor had stepped out from. With slightly trembling legs you stood, taking a few deep breaths to try calm the nerves from the meeting about what happened and seeing your first love, you followed her down the corridor.

“Thank you miss,” You smiled at the receptionist , being ushered into a small office, a young man greeting you with an eager smile.

“Ah Miss. Holland, do please take a seat,” He gestured to the empty seat sitting across from his desk.

—

Victor knew the minute he saw “Holland Design'' on the proposal scheme that it was her. He knew from the name alone, the name she always declared would be the one for her business, “I want my company to have a strong reputation, and what's better fitting than a friendly name?” she would so often recall. He’d first come across it when he saw the press release of Ichinomiya’s new chain hotel in Dubai, where she was standing proud beside him, of course he’d been invited to the opening but it was a bleak affair he didn’t want to attend. He almost choked on air to see her beside him ‘Bella Holland, leading entrepreneur of Holland Designs’ captioned below. She still bore the same smile she always had, like the one in their graduation photo, a smile that would light up the room. Ever since then he’d kept tabs on the name, watching in eight months it start to dominate in the business world, more and more company’s reaching out to be part of their work.

What he never expected was to see the name on the document before him, a loan application for the business to help them expand their work force and new ventures. What he equally never expected to see her sitting in the lobby of LFG when he entered that morning, he’d approved the loan personally there was no need for her to be here.

“Goldman, the blonde in reception,” He questioned the minute the doors of the elevator closed.

“You mean…” He hummed, flicking on the screen on his tablet and scrolling down, “Ah Miss. Holland, Bella Holland,”.

“Why is she here,”.

“Let me look,” A moment of silence filled the elevator as it travelled upwards, “She’s here for a loan consultant with Mr. Burnman from accounting, his personal request”. The doors opened and the two men took a few steps forward towards Victor's office doors, in one swift movement he removed his scarf and handed it over to Goldman.

“Clear my schedule, send Miss.Holland up to my office after she’s done,” He nodded, pushing open the doors and shutting them behind him as he walked in, no time for questions from Goldman.

Whilst he kept his cool on the outside Victor nervously paced through his office, running a hand through his hair. The way their eyes had met across the lobby, the glossy pool of blue hadn’t changed a bit as they locked eyes for only a mere moment. He had felt his heart tremble slightly to see her, six years of nothing for her to be sat in the reception of his company. She was the one Eisuke so often referenced to her as “the one that got away” but she hadn’t got away, Victor had pushed her away. He threw himself into his work the moment after graduation, building up an empire, trying to forget about her and yet maybe it was some cruel trick of fate that she would be brought back to him?

“Mr.Li, Miss.Holland is on her way up,” Goldman’s voice coming through the speaker of his office phone pulling him from his pacing movements. Clearing his throat he took a seat behind the mahogany desk, dropping all emotions on his face to return to that unbreakable poker face. But the soft rasp on the door, the meek, “Mr.Li?” and watching as she slowly entered his office, the cracks of it began to slip.

[Chapter 2]

Victor and Bella, university photo.

#idk i did a thing #something new for me idk #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mr love victor #mr love queens choice victor #mlqc victor #mr love li zeyan #mlqc li zeyan #mr love mobile #mr love fanfic #loves force #sfw #kbtbb #eisuke ichinomiya

20 notes · View notes

ekhap · 3 years

Text

The Beginning

And, with the first post on this account minutes ago, I am proud to present my first story for this tumblr - the Beginning. Bandit/Montagne, Rated T

Read it here! or below!

“I need you to look at me, okay? Look at me – everything is going to be okay. I swear.”

It wasn’t. He’s lying through his teeth and Dom knows it.

—*—

When Dominic Brunsmeier joined Rainbow, it was the break of a lifetime. He could start new – create a whole new persona that only Elias would see through. A persona that he could feel comfortable in.

Harry calls it a coping mechanism. Dom, though? It’s an asset of the highest degree.

Only when he joined and was faced with 18 new faces – he had never even heard of a Monika Weiss or Marius Streicher in the GSG9 – that he realized his mistake. These weren’t his buddies in Hell’s Angels, or even the normal workaholics in the GSG9, but battle-hardened professionals. Quite frankly, they could care less about how he presented himself. So he made them care.

Luckily, this didn’t make him too many enemies. In fact, he buddied up with the SAS bum who insists everyone call him Smoke. He says it’s to add to his mystique, but Dom just so happens to know that it’s reallybecause if another colleague calls him Jamie he will go feral.

A former alcoholic and a father to an adopted daughter. Yet again, someone who simply does not care who or what he is, but how much he can drink, prank the others, and win bets. They sabotage the coffee machine justright to make Thatcher infuriated when his tea taste like metal, and they giggle like schoolkids getting away with something.

Then, Dom’s eyes wander. Aurelia “Six” Arnot takes regular trips to other countries to scout out other counter-terrorism unit. American, Canadian, Brazilian, and Japanese men and women join the already-crowded halls of Hereford, and Dom thinks.

Thinks about how close the Spetznaz are, yes, but specifically how Kapkan and Glaz always drift towards each other before Fuze and Tachanka. How Rook looks when he gets off the phone after talking in excited French. How Thermite gravitates towards Pulse, who could really care less. How that traitor Smoke smacks Mute’s behind before demanding he make out with him. And then how Mute does. In the middle of the workshop.

Dom thinks, and he doesn’t like the thoughts his brain is spitting out.

—*—

“Please, put a little bit of effort in, Dom, we got to get you out in one piece.” A shot rings out in the distance.

The mission was supposed to be quick. The hostage was in a small holding cell, awaiting execution. Six had told them that they most likely had twelve hours to raid the Spanish cell of terrorists before they executed the hostage. A woman named Miriam, a scientist at the peak of her career, but the other operators could care less.

Dom cares. He remembers. Doesn’t do anything with the information, but she deserves a name. He missed his when he was undercover.

Bad Intel, he can imagine Six’s voice saying. He’ll be in the hospital when Ash gives the debrief, and he can imagine the casualty report - soclose to being pristine. Too bad he got shot, but at least it wasn’t dear Miriam.

Who the fuck is carrying him, anyways?

—*—

When he first approaches Marius, it didn’t go as successfully as he had hoped. Though, he should have expected that, as asking him directly, “Want to come back to my place,” with no preamble at the local bar would have made anyone confused. If Dom was being honest, though, the way he spit out his drink was hilarious.

When Marius awkwardly tries to explain that sorry, I’m not interested you in that way, Dom’s eyes are already drifting. There’s a brunette in the corner showing off her cleavage, but she’s giggling with her friends and raiding a party isn’t Dom’s style. Right now, anyways. A guy with a strong face sitting three bar stools away from Marius, exactly Dom’s type, except for the fact that he’s drinking tea. At a pub not a mile away from a military base. That strong face is already only surface level, in Dom’s eyes.

When Marius asks if he’s paying attention, he looks back down at the poor engineer blushing, as if he was putting himself out there.

“No, I wasn’t.” Dom says, kisses Marius on the cheek, and before Marius can retaliate, confidently strides off. Monika comes out of the bathroom and looks at Marius quizzically before he shakes his head.

So, no, Dom’s first journey into Rainbow’s pants didn’t go specifically as planned, but he still tried, didn’t he? And so what if it stung a bit to see Marius blushing at Doc the next day, Dom’s mind had already moved past any thought of the awkward engineer. Surely. And so what if Doc was confused when Marius thanked him profusely for the chocolates, and asked him out. Finally. It was all a part of Dom’s plan.

If he couldn’t do the job, someone else can do it better.

—*—

It’s an agonizing turn of the head to see his savior’s face. Previously, he had just lolled his head back and was happy that someone decided to check if he was alive or not.

Strong jawline. Hard-set eyes. Balaclava obscuring everything else about his face.

“I’m going to adjust you, alright? Tell me if you’re in pain.” It’s a French accent, and oh if luck would have it that Doc was carrying him out of the building. After Chimera and Truth or Consequences, there was the off-chance that it was Lion carrying him out, but Dom doubts that he would make any effort after Dom told him he deserved to get punched by Thatcher. And after he told him that he could fuck his sky daddy if he loved him so much.

Finally, the man stops walking, adjusts his hold on Dom, and digs his fingers directly into the wound site. It’s all Dom can do to groan to try to make his savior aware.

He gets the hint, and moves his hand so it’s gripping a bit further up on his thigh.

—*—

Then something happens a year into Rainbow. August 13th, exactly. A day of mourning for Dom, but for those that don’t get the hint, a day to throw presents at him and act like they care.

Some of them do, actually. Smoke gets him an explicit t-shirt he found online with a woman sitting on a man’s face. Elias throws him a gift card and tells him to go buck wild. Marius, surprisingly, gives him an intricate machine made of inter-locking gears that all turn simultaneously. It’s an invitation, though not the same one Dom extended at the bar. It sits on his desk that he never uses, now, and reminds him why he still talks to the engineer endlessly infatuated with the doctor.

First, Rook is comforted by Elias. This sets the springboard for the two men to snap together like magnets, almost worse than the disaster couple in the SAS. They’re awkward, cute, and fawn over each other and it makes Dom want to hurl every time he sees them interact.

Second, Blitz introduces Montagne to him. A man that matches his namesake in how he towers over Bandit, but shocks him with how nice he is. He stands in stark contrast to the bubbly Rook, excruciatingly serious Doc, and analytical Twitch with his niceties.

Gilles, he says his name is. But everyone calls him Monty.

Third, Dom goes drinking. This, in of itself, would be hardly worth mentioning, but drowning in the reminders of his brother, how Cedric could have been here instead of him and Dom would have been just as happy for him, he looses sense of time at some point. His last memory of that night is sizing up a short woman with cropped black hair, and he wakes up in a bed with Monty, clinging to his arm.

So, technically, the something happens one day after, but it’s all the same to Dom.

After staring at the mountain of a man for entirely too long, he begins to wake up. Stretches the arm that’s free, shakes himself out a bit, all before he opens his eyes.

They’re a beautiful icy blue.

“Good morning,” Gilles mumbles.

Dom simply moans. Quietly. Staring at his neck.

Then, it all hits him. His head starts pounding, and he feels like throwing up violently into the nearest receptacle. He turns onto his back and groans openly.

“Here, take this,” Dom glances over and sees two pills extended out. He gingerly picks them up, and is offered a glass of water. He takes it and takes greedy gulps. Gilles chuckles lightly next to him.

“So, uh,” Dom starts, forcing himself to look back at the man, still holding the glass of water and no longer clinging to the other man’s arm. “How was the sex? Because, really, I cannot remember any of it.”

“Dom, we didn’t- I would never-” Gilles begins tripping over himself to explain himself. It’s endearing. Almost. Gilles stops and clears his throat. “I, uh, Elias called me, and asked me to check for you at the bars in the area. He said he checked the three closest to Hereford but had to get back to base. He said that he would’ve called Marius but he wanted to make sure that you came back in one piece. I found you slumped in a bar stool, and I brought you back to base, but you-uh, didn’t have your key readily accessible. So, here we are.”

“So here we are.” It’s a story that makes sense. He hasn’t been able to pick anyone up since his days in Hell’s Angels, when he shaved his head and looked more intimidating than attractive. But, there is one question.

“So why the hell am I wrapped around your arm?”

“You wouldn’t let go of me last night, I was going to sleep in the living room but you’ve got a surprisingly strong grip when drunk, you know?”

“So I’ve been told.”

—*—

The blinding light of the sun forces Dom to close his eyes, and when he’s roughly laid down onto a stretcher that he realizes, yes, he survived that ordeal, and no, he didn’t lay on the floor for a period of time after getting shot in nearly the same spot.

It’s hard, but he turns his head towards the man who saved him and sees the massive riot shield that could only belong to one man.

—*—

Nothing changes. Monty is the highest form of the good – the perfect person to fall in love with.

So Dom doesn’t. It’s easy, he was in denial about who he really was for seven years, what’s a flight of fancy.

Except he keeps happening.

The two go out drinking. Dom, for the first time, goes a month without blacking out. Then two. Then he stops keeping count. As Elias becomes more and more infatuated with Rook, surprising even himself with how much he could dote on another man, Monty becomes a permanent figure in Dom’s life.

It’s disorienting. And almost unwelcome if he wasn’t so… Monty. Stable, kind, awkwardly funny Monty.

Then he mentions an ex-wife, and everything is almostperfect. Why get your hopes up when they have no chance of being interested in you? After all, Monty has never expressed interest in anyone, no man nor woman, so the most logical solution is that he’s straight and retired from dating.

Then, of course, Dom ends up in Monty’s lap desperately making out with him. Or bouncing on his cock. Or mouth filled with that same, succulent-

And he always wakes up in a slightly cold sweat, slightly panicked, feeling just slightly off. He can’t even look at any of the other people at the bar without thinking but what if? And, really, it’s too hopeful for Dom’s liking.

When he brings it up to Smoke, the other man’s cheeks are flushed from an interaction with Mute. It’s the only time that he seems to have for Dom anymore, but he doesn’t mind, not with a mountain of a man slowly wedging his way into his life as a permanent figure. Just ask him, mate he said. Worst he can say is no, but he’s wrong. It could be somuch worse.

—*—

What happens in the next few minutes is a solid blur for Dom. He sees Doc’s face, eyes full of judgement as if it was his fault he got shot through a wall. Stares at Monty’s back as he debriefs Ash on the situation, who writes it down diligently. Feels a piercing pain in his thigh as the bullet is taken out, and he finally, finally, slips into the unconscious world.

—*—

He doesn’t ask Monty for anything. It’d be too rude, to ask the man who graces him with his presence for more than that. He basks in the man like a cat in the sun, and when they get drunk enough to crave physical contact, Dom files those memories away for lonely nights. Never reaching what Dom would deem perfect, but who can claim to have that, anyways?

Time passes. He finds out that before everything, Monty was considering going to a music school for the cello, and Dom can’t help but chortle imagining the trained killer sitting on a stage, brow furrowed in concentration as he plays. Monty delves deep enough into Bandit’s past to find the trauma, and they spend a night in Dom’s room, the owner crying into the other’s arms.

File, file, file.

It’s years later, with their relationship built on respect and genuinely enjoying each other’s friendship that Flores is recommended to the new Six, Harry, that Bandit takes a good look at his life. Desperately clinging onto a crush that could have otherwise been easy enough to push underneath a pillow and suffocate, should he have chosen to cut off all contact.

He thinks about Goyo and Blackbeard, whispering with smiles on their faces, then fighting five minutes later. Kapkan and Glaz always carpooling. Elias and Rook considering getting a bigger apartment.

It’s so fucking unfair. But fair isn’t what Dom asked for, did he?

Flores waltzes into Rainbow, and smiles when he talks about his husband. How if Rainbow proved stable enough, he’d fly him out to live in Hereford. Picture perfect, the essence of stability.

So Dom makes a move. Sees his surroundings, and refuses to remain, what he sees, as an outlier.

—*—

When Dom wakes up, he’s in the nearest hospital. The clinical white lighting blinds him for a second, but when he comes to his senses, he takes a look around his room.

It’s perfectly clean, no flowers, personal items, or anything, really. The clothes he wore on the mission sit in a neat pile in one of the two chairs, and in the other sits the mountain of a man who Dom has come to rely upon. Sleeping peacefully, his head lolled forward. He’s too perfect to disturb.

Luckily, staring at Monty seems to have done enough to disturb him, and he begins his long process of waking up that, so far, Dom has only seen once. The scrunch of the shoulders, raising of the elbows, big sigh, all before he opens crystal blue eyes.

What beauty, wasted on Dom.

“Hey,” Dom says, voice gravelly. He would cough but he worries Monty would see him as sick or weakand he worries about Monty worrying.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” And there it is, the slight smile, just a bit slighter since last time he saw it.

“Should I ask about the sex or is that too far?” And, yes, there it is, the killer smile that could make Dom faint again.

“It was alright, would’ve been better if you weren’t bleeding out, but,” he reaches a hand out to Dom’s face and strokes his thumb over the cheekbone. It’s so comforting that Dom has trouble breathing for a second. “I was thinking, though.”

“That’s never good.”

“No, you’re right, it’s not.” He takes the comforting warmth away and grabs a hold of Dom’s hand. “But I think, once you get out, we should talk. Does Augusta’s sound good?”

And Dom flashes back.

Do you think we could go somewhere different? He asked.

Somewhere different how?

Augusta’s has great food, even Maestro approves of her cooking.

Are you asking me out?

And Dom shuts the fuck up and shakes his head.

“Augusta’s sounds perfect.” And Dom can’t stop smiling.

Maybe, just maybe, Monty wasn’t lying on the battlefield. It could, just maybe, be alright.

1 note · View note

yuraimi-lee-bunny · 4 years

Text

Let's get to the point first and then I'll give the important details:

Because of rude and intolerant comments of directly and indirectly way from LiS fandom here in Tumblr (only intolerant and abusive fans of Pricefield and Chloe) I fell into depression for a year and a half

I met the game on February 6, 2015. I immediately loved the game. I could only watch Gameplays. At the same time I was about to finish my Visual Arts career. I was specializing in Illustration and creation, development and character analysis (theory and practice)

At the beginning (between Ep.1 and Ep.3) Pricefield was causing me some pleasure but I also liked Warren, although I defended Warren from the unjustified hate that dome gave him, but I never saw the Grahamfield as an option. But days before Ep.4 some personal things happened to me, and I began to see the Grahamfield with an option, I started to like it more. Ep.4 arrives and besides being my favorite episode, I was happy and surprised that the Grahamfield was a possible option.

Finish the game and although I don't like at all the choice "Sacrifice Arcadia Bay" I had no problem, in the end: everyone their choices. I started showing my Grahamfield works. Sometimes comments came directly and indirectly offending my work. No problem, I could deal with it. But in 2016 began the problem: The attacks on Grahamfield, Warren and those who liked it increased even worse: they attacked those who chose to Sacrifice Chloe. The offenses were of a lot of variety but here are some of the ones I remember:

"You have no heart" "You're a monster", "You're a horrible person" "Surely you're homophobic" "You're a lesphobic" "You didn't understand the game" "You didn't understand Max" "That disgusts your tastes" "If you like such a ship, then fuck you"

In early 2016 I was dealing with many personal, family, professional problems, go to see things about LiS and other things that I liked helped me to reassure me. But that intolerant posts in LiS tags were so massive and consecutive that ended up making me believe them and thus, fall into depression.

I was weak? Maybe. But I hope you understand that everywhere I was going through difficult times, that when I went to see things about LiS it was my way of being able to entertain myself and I hope you also understand, that these people were not entitled to attack people. In 2015 I could deal with it but that 2016 I couldn't because of my own affairs and because the attacks, seriously, were massive. I was no longer happy with my decisions, nor tastes, with anything. I tried everything: to listen to my favorite music, to watch series that motivated me and remembered me my goals and my own being. Met my friendships, my boyfriend. Nothing worked. Everything was getting worse: although I no longer paid attention and stopped going to tags for a while, the damage was already done to me, the doubts grew more and more in me:

"Why do I like grahamfield?" "Why couldn't you like the Pricefield?" "Why do you like Warren?" "Why can't Chloe be your favorite?"

And worse:

"Why do you always like the weirdest thing?" "Why can't you be like the others?" "Why don't you normal?" "Why do I think as I think?" "Why am I this way?" What was I born for? "Why do I exist?" "Why?" "Why?" "Why?"

My self-esteem went down a lot, I no longer wanted to draw and I didn't want to get out of bed. Everything looked gray and had attacks of crying. Although my problems had turned out. The depression was already in me. I had to go to the psychologist. I was diagnosed with Social Depression. It wasn't serious, but it had to be treated. I kept going to sessions. My psychologist is a love, I could tell her absolutely everything even if it sounded very absurd but she understood and helped me. My mom, my boyfriend, some friends help me too. Some things I discovered also help: Lukas Graham, Keane, Oxenfree, and more.

Throughout 2016 sometimes I suffered attacks of anxiety, doubts, of crying. It was difficult to deal for me, my mom and my boyfriend. But we don't give up. I didn't give up. I almost broke up with my boyfriend for believing it was a nuisance and weak, but I never did. Unfortunately sometimes looking Pricefield made me nervous and feeling of guilt for not liking Pricefield invaded me very hard. I swear that I tried by many means to like it and become my ship. I never could and currently I can't. I only see them as best friends.

So I drew Grahamfield. In fact, in this long road of recovery, Max and Warren accompanied me a lot, they were the characthers and a ship that helped me a lot in accepting myself as I am and with my tastes and choices. Little by little I was recovering. 2016 wasn't a very pleasant year for me, but still there some good memories of that year. 2017 was a better year. At the beginning of that year I could feel improvements, but sometimes the doubts continued and sometimes I woke up with stomachaches. Monstar Calls, Persona 5, Jughead's Comic, new friendships, and improved more. LiS's fandom was quieter and I drew more Grahanfield. But April was where I found that serie that made me try harder to get up.

Orange is the New Black and Bojack Horseman were those series that I watched in 2016 and helped me a lot to accept my depression, to accept myself, to defend myself and to love myself as I am. But that April 12 2017 I started watching 13 Reasons Why and everything was clearer to me. I know, 13RW is a very controversial series, but it helped me realize many, many things: how lucky I'm to have people around me who love and love me. That I want and I must be strong to protect those I want, to defend myself and demonstrate what I'm capable of achieving. Not giving up. It's worth moving forward. I want to live.

And so, with more strength and enthusiasm I began to overcome my low self-esteem, I began to draw more, to work for a while as a waitress and resume my studies to get my degree. There was only one problem: now I saw Pricefield and I got angry. It reminded me of all the pain I went through in 2016 for those rude people who liked Pricefield and kept attacking you just for liking another ship. But my anger is left just in that: Angry. I swear never, but NEVER come to attack or offend someone because they like Pricefield. I never did and never will.

2017 was a good year, although BTS isn't a game that I like very much, I enjoyed it somehow. My psychologist tells me that I'm much better. For me it meant that I had already overcome my depression. The earthquake of September 19 in 2017 was an event that greatly impacted me. I helped as much as I could, and there I realized that in 2018 I wanted to improve myself more as person. And I did it.

2018 was my best year: I participated in a film with rotoscopie technique called "Olimpia" and it's one of my greatest achievements and I'm proud to have participated in making animation. I did many activities that helped me grow as a person. I kept drawing Grahanfield and now I defended Warren and Grahamfield as I had never done, but this time with evidence. My love for the characters had come back and I had studied the subject more. American Vandal, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Shape of Water also arrived in 2018 and they helped me a lot.

2019 arrives: Carmen Sandiego and The Umbrella Academy get to inspire me professionally. I started a diploma in February of Graphic Novel to get my Bachelor's degree. I did it. I finished in August and this November they gave it to me. I'm already licensed. I've been calmly reading the LiS comic. Seeing things about Pricefield no longer fill me with anxiety. I absolutely feel good and happy with my tastes within the fandom of LiS.

In these days I have thought about my whole process. OITNB ended this year, next year ends Bojack Horseman and 13 Reasons Why. Those 3 series with their recent seasons have made me see that I must close a cycle. And that's why I count all this.

I tell my story as proof of how much the toxic side of the LiS fandom damaged me. That although everything remains calm sometimes, there are still people like that I managed to get ahead, and I hope that someone inside the fandom hasn't suffered something similar or worse. And still, to those people who damaged me only one thing I can say:

Thank you.

Thank you for your fatal acts, because even they have damaged me and brought me into depression, it caused me to get the best out of myself and show myself that I can be stronger.

I love Grahamfield, Max and Warren separately. These characters and ship aren't only that, they're my recovery symbol and reminder of loving me as I am. They mean to me a lot. They grew and healed with me. I appreciate these two separately and together. I never hated Chloe. She isn't my favorite but I appreciate her a lot, I recognize her flaws, and I still appreciate her. Chloe and me have things in common. But in truth: you don't know how much I identify with Max and Warren, that's how it was since I met the game.

I'm glad to notice my years of progress. But I also want to apologize if at some point I became rude for defending Warren and/or Grahamfield. Now I hope you understand where my courage and my insistence to defend it came from.

I also want to make it clear that I don't blame Pricefield or anyone who likes this ship or Chloe. But I want to prove that attacking someone just because doesn't like your ship isn't fine. You don't know what is happening to that person. Judging someone just for a taste is neither good nor kind. You don't know how much a characther/ship can mean for that person. Notice to what degree can damage their fanaticism that reaches the degree of intolerance. I also want to clarify that it isn't bad that someone doesn't like Warren and Grahamfield. What is wrong is that some don't understand that everyone likes. That understand that not everyone will like the same thing and they will not see it in the same way.

Everyone is a world. Everyone has their own worldview. Not because someone is different from you and doesn't like the same as you, it gives you the right to judge it as trahs and treat it as trahs.

Treat people as you would like to be treated.

I'm glad that in these 4 years that I like LiS I have found people who are still kind to me and others, and who respect each other's tastes and decisions. Both on Twitter, IG and here I have found friendly and fun people and I really appreciate them. They were a great help of my recovery. Really, thank you very much guys. Believe me that sharing the same taste for LiS but each one having different taste, still treating each other well and in a friendly way, helped me a lot and I'm very grateful. I will continue to like everything about LiS and LiS2. I will continue to draw about it and I will love to find friendships that also like LiS. Count on me when you need anything. LiS is still something important in my life, it helped me a lot to grow in several aspects. But I also won't let anyone keep offending/attacking someone else in the fandom if that person isn't hurting anyone. Respect and Tolerance among all please.

If you have read all this, you don't know how much I appreciate it. I hope this helps someone to reflect on our way of living, communicating, understanding and tolerating each other. I'm already very well, more than good.

I love myself.

Please love yourself.

You can do it!

#life is strange #lis #max caulfield #warren graham #grahamfield #pricefield #bae over bay #chloe price #rachel amber #amberprice #kate marsh #nathan prescott #victoria chase

177 notes · View notes

michaeljacksoncaptaineo · 3 years

Text

Today in History

On January 26, 1984, Michael Jackson's hair caught on fire while filming a Pepsi commercial.

UPI:

JAN. 28, 1984

Michael Jackson hospitalized after fireworks mishap on set of Pepsi commercial

ByJEFF HASEN

LOS ANGELES -- Superstar Michael Jackson, hospitalized with burns from fireworks that ignited his hair during filming of a commercial, was quietly discharged from a hospital Saturday against his doctor's recommendation.

Dr. Steve Hoefflin said he believed it was best for Jackson to stay at Brotman Memorial Hospital, but reluctantly agreed to his release at 12:30 p.m. PST (3:30 p.m. EST). Hours earlier, he had told reporters Jackson would be hospitalized 'for several days.'

'We recommended that Michael stay, but we determined this could be done as well out of the hospital as in the hospital,' Hoefflin said. 'Despite our recommendation, he felt he did want to be treated as an outpatient.

'He was quite happy. He felt better after a good night's sleep. He's in excellent health and was showing very rapid signs of recovery. He's very pleased it was not more of a severe burn.'

Hoefflin said he did not know where Jackson planned to go.

Jackson, 25, was dancing down a stairway at the Shrine Auditorium Friday night in a scene for a multi-million dollar Pepsi commercial when a special effects smoke bomb apparently misfired and set his pomade-slicked hair ablaze.

Nurse Pat Lavalas, the burn unit supervisor, said Jackson was in good spirits Saturday morning and he received many telephone calls, including get-well wishes from singers Teddy Pendergrass and Stephanie Mills.

'He left in good spirits and his condition is good,' she said. 'He didn't speak about the accident to us. He watched 'American Bandstand' this morning and people were getting his autograph.

He sang a Stephanie Mills song in the bathroom. He stayed in bed and opened telegrams, and he got a big kick out of one from a fan that said, 'I know you're hot, but this is ridiculous,'' the nurse said.

Just hours before Jackson's secretive departure, Hoefflin told reporters the singer was in satisfactory condition with second-degree burns and a small third-degree burn on the back of his head.

'He's in moderate pain, he's much more tired than we anticipated. He needs sleep at this time,' Hoefflin told reporters at a hospital news conference.

He said Jackson may require reconstructive surgery.

Jackson, the country's top singer, won seven American Music Awards earlier this month and picked up a record 12 Grammy nominations. Hoefflin said Jackson will be able to attend the Feb. 28 Grammy presentations at the Shrine 'if he feels up to it.'

A spokesman for Jackson said the singer requested that a tape of the accident be made public as soon as the film can be processed.

'Michael wants to make certain that his fans know exactly what happened,' Larry Larson told reporters at the hospital.

Asked if Jackson was contemplating a lawsuit, he said, 'There's no indication at this point.'

Hospital officials said the medical center had been inundated with thousands of phone calls since Jackson arrived and a spokesman pleaded with the public to stop calling, saying emergency calls could not get through.

The singer's 'Thriller' album topped the music charts last year, placing an unprecedented six singles -- including 'Billie Jean' and 'Beat It' -- in the top 10 and spawning several popular videos.

The accident Friday night occurred before a horrified audience of about 3,000 people who won tickets to the taping from a local radio station.

One witness told United Press International that Jackson removed his jacket without breaking stride and tried to put out the fire.

'There was supposed to be an explosion for his big entrance,' Daryoush Maze, 25, an extra in the cast, said. 'As he went off, an explosion went off and there was blue smoke all around his head and neck. There were no flames, just blue smoke from the stuff he had in his hair.

'It seemed like it was part of the show. He was doing it very professionally, still dancing. He's a good trouper.'

About a block from Jackson's boyhood home, nearly 1,000 people clad in their Sunday best jammed into a small, stuffy basketball gym to hear the candidate speak.

After a church choir sang a few hymns, Jackson's mother, wearing a deep blue dress and a 'Jackson in '84' button, triumphantly introduced her son to the throng.

Jackson took the stage and led the audience in his familiar 'I am somebody' chant.

'Our mission is justice at home and peace abroad,' he told the townspeople. 'I've watched the growth of this city and this state and I see the need for more growth.

'We have the need this day to have a spirit of redemption and reconciliation -- to rise above historic divisions that have stunted our growth. This is a period for us to beat our swords into plowshares.'

Jackson spoke of Greenville as once being the textile capital of the world, and noted the slump in the industry today that has put thousands out of work.

He called for an end to the 'dislocation of the textile industry.'

'This generation must realize when a plant closes, it closes without notice. Men cannot feed their families; mothers cannot nourish their children. That kind of reckless economic conduct must challenge us to open a new economic order.'

Jackson also visited a small bar that sponsors a softball team Jackson played on during the 1960s.

The presidential hopeful was the team's starting first baseman.

'He's a long-ball hitter,' said Charles Chiles, a patron of the establishment who remembers Jackson's days on the softball field.

Jackson also climbed onto the fender of a brown Cadillac parked near the bar during the afternoon and urged about 200 onlookers to register to vote.

'You can help me and you can help yourself,' he said. 'If we register to vote our children will not have to grow up as we did. They can get jobs. They can develop and grow.

'We can not only hang around on the corner, we can own the corner.'

Moonwalk book page 235-238:

Later one of the doctors told me that it was a miracle I was alive. One of the firemen had mentioned that in most cases your clothes catch on fire in which case the whole face can be disfigured or you can die. That’s it. I third-degree burns On the back of my head that’s Almost went through to my skull, so we had a lot of the problems with it, But I was very lucky.

What we now know is that the incident created a lot of publicity for the commercial. They sold more Pepsi than ever before. And they came back to me later and offered me the biggest commercial endorsement Fee in history. It was so unprecedented But it went into The Guinness Book of World Records. Pepsi and I worked together on another Commercial called” The Kid”, And I gave them problems by limiting the shots of me because I felt the shots they were asking for didn’t work well. Later, when the commercial was a success, he told me I had been right.

I still remember how scared those Pepsi excuses looked the night of the fire. They thought that my getting burned would leave a bad taste in the mouth every kid in America who drank Pepsi. They knew I could have sued him and I could have. But I was real nice about it. Real nice. They gave me $1,500,000 Which I immediately donated to the Michael Jackson Burn Center. I wanted to do something because I was so moved By the other burn patient I met while I was in the hospital.

“ I have a plan to spend most of 1984 working on some movie ideas we had, But those plans got sidetracked. First, in January, I Was burned On the set of a Pepsi commercial I was shooting with my brothers.

The reason for the fire stupidity, pure and simple. We were shooting tonight and I Wassupposed To come down a staircase yes magnesium flash bombs Going off on either side of me and just behind me. It seemed so simple. I wanted to walk down the stairs and these bombs Would blow up. We did several takes that were wonderfully timed. The lighting effects from the bombs were great. Only later did I find out that these bombs Were only two feet away from either side of my head, which was a total Disregard of the safety regulations. I was supposed to stand in the middle of a magnesium explosion, two feet on either side.

Then Bob Giraldi, the director, Came to me and said, “ Michael, you are going down too early. We want To see you up there, up on the stairs. When the lights come on, we want to reveal that you’re there, so wait”

So I waited, the bombs went off on either side of my head, and the sparks set My hair on fire. I was dancing down the ramp and turning around, spinning not knowing I was on fire. Suddenly I filled my hands reflexively going to my head In an attempt to smother the flames. Are you feeling down and just tried to shake the Flames out. Jermaine Turned around and saw me on the ground, Just after the explosions had gone off, and he thought I was shot be someone In the crowd — ‏because we were shooting In front of a big audience. That what I looked like to him.

Miko Brando , Who works for me, was the first person to reach me. After that, it was clhaos. It was crazy. No for me could probably capture The drama of what went on That night. The crowd was screaming. Someone shouted, “ Get some ice! “ There were fantic running sounds. People were yelling,” Oh no!”. The emergency truck came up And before they Put me in Isow the Pepsi excutives huddled together in a corner, looking terrified. I remember the medical people putting me on a cot And the guys from Pepsi were so scared They couldn’t

even bring themselves to check on me.

Meanwhile, I was kind of detached, despite the terrible pain, I was watching all the drama unfold. Later they told me, I was in shock, but I remember enjoying the ride to the hospital because I never thought I’d ride in an ambulance with the sirens wailing. It was one of those things I had always wanted to do when I was growing up. We got there, They told me there news crews Outside, so I asked for my glove. There’s a famous shot one waving from the stretcher with my glove on. hooting tonight and I Wassupposed To come down a staircase yes magnesium flash bombs Going off on either side of me and just behind me. It seemed so simple. I wanted to walk down the stairs and these bombs Would blow up. We did several takes that were wonderfully timed. The lighting effects from the bombs were great. Only later did I find out that these bombs Were only two feet away from either side of my head, which was a total Disregard of the safety regulations. I was supposed to stand in the middle of a magnesium explosion, two feet on either side.

even bring themselves to check on me.

https://youtu.be/DkMNn7TA0pg

youtube

#mj mjj mjlegacy mjisthebestofthebest michaeljackson bahamas #moonwalker #mjfanandproudofit #neverland #pepsico #pepsiad #commercial #hair #realking #royalty #kingofpop #mjthehusband #applehead #mjisinnocent #Youtube

3 notes · View notes

arteesticwriter · 4 years

Text

My Perfect Wife by Blake Pierce ( A book rant / review )

( Major spoiler warning, cuz a girl can’t control herself )

I decided to download a book from iBook recently, and try reading an ‘e-book’. I never really liked it before, but there are many free options available, and I wanted to get a taste of it. And let’s just start with I was not disappointed.

The story begins with Jessica Hunt moving into a new neighborhood with Kyle, her husband. Now at first glance, she seems happy to be moving. She seems to like the house, and the ‘beach air’ which she could not experience because she was a city girl. But as we read on, we realized that she is not really into this. She liked living in the city and she moved for two reasons only; one being her practicum at NRD and Kyle getting a job in the area due to the financial consultancy firm expanding. She is trying to get her Master’s or Phd ( I don’t remember ) in Forensic Psychology and so she enrolls into the local university, where she will finish her degree along with her practicum.

Now, as we read on, we can tell that something is off about the neighborhood, which Jessie also realizes. She feels uncomfortable and out of place, which honestly was a red flag. She should have yeeted out of there the minute they met Teddy, who happens to be Kyle’s best friend from high school, as mentioned by Kyle. Teddy has a son, Daughton, and a wife, Melissa. Throughout the book, we can tell that Melissa and Jessie get pretty close. Mostly because Melissa seems to be the only one who is helping Jessie at least somewhat understand and fit into this new life.

I want to take a pause here and talk about the characters. Let’s start with Kyle. Now Kyle seemed like the ideal husband, until he and Teddy happened to treat a woman like an object behind her back. That too a random ass woman they were just passing by. Kyle seemed almost offended when Jessie called him out, and I automatically knew that he was not what he was pretending to be. At first glance, Kyle seems like a nice, loving husband, who is a bit on the naive side. Innocent almost. At second glance…. think again. He seems like a pretty normal and okay character, but something about him just felt off. And obviously I found out why in the end. Which also makes me question whether this book was somewhat obvious, or am I just too weird about solving the mystery before the end of the book.

Moving onto Teddy. Now Teddy feels like your regular asshole of a husband, who is present in the wife and kid’s life, but is just a very shitty dude. He cheats on his wife on a regular basis, with protection from a club he is a member of. At the end of the day, I must say, he really does care about his son and wife. He is incredibly disrespectful, but you know he is just an idiot.

As I mentioned before, Teddy has a wife, Melissa. Now, she is the basic best friend that supports our main gal through thick and thin, aka Jessie’s non-official best friend. Their friendship formed during a really tough time, but you know that it was strong. Mel was their for Jessie when she lost her baby, and she was also the first person to tell her the reality, at the time alleged by Mel, of Club Deseo. Melissa is your typical housewife. She really loves Teddy, she takes care of Daughton, and she hangs out with local housewives, who also happen to be members of Club Deseo. She has a pretty good idea about what Club Deseo is all about, however, she sticks around because she is used to the life they have created for themselves. She is almost stuck. She does not want leave the comfort and little bubble she has created for herself, and so she deals with Club Deseo’s bullshit, along with Teddy’s.

The one person I have not mentioned yet is Kimberly. Kimberly lives in the house across from Jessie’s and she was also one of the first person she met in this new neighborhood. Okay, now Kimberly is….. quite interesting. I don’t know how to say it, she kind of seems all over the place. There was this one scene where Jessie saw Kimberly’s husband and their nanny running naked up the stairs, and came to the most normal conclusion, he is cheating on her. When Jessie told Kimberly about this, she was mad at Jessie. It almost felt more like she was mad at Jessie for saying something about it, rather than being pissed at her husband about it.

Now, let’s talk about Bolton Crutchfield. He is a serial killer who has been caught and is now residing at the NRD, the same place where Jessie is doing her practicum. If you think about it, we are following two story lines. One of Jessie’s home life, and the other being her professional life, which is also mixed with her childhood. NRD is seemingly a very private, secretive government organization I guess, which homes criminals who can not be rehabilitated. This Bolton guy is a serial killer there, who apparently learnt his techniques from a serial killer who had kidnapped Jessie years ago. Which is why Jessie wants to work in the NRD.

This Bolton guy also knows everything about her life, even though he barely comes into contact with the outside world. It is very creepy. He knew she was pregnant, he knew she didn't kill anyone, etc. It just all feels eerie.

Now, one mystery was solved in this book, but I did not ruin it. It was a pretty good one, but, like I said, it was painfully obvious. It was really entertaining and quick to read, but it was not the most well thought out thriller.

I am too cheap to pay for the series, so I am not going to read the rest of them. However, if you do check this book out, keep in mind, it is a part of a series. I know it is kinda unfair of me to judge a book that is a part of a series by itself, but I think every book should be able to hold its own.

In short; fun, easy and quick, but obvious and not the most gripping.

But I can’t complain, because it was free!

#books and libraries #book review #book recommendations #bookblr #spilled thoughts #spilled feelings #novels #writers on tumblr #bookaholic #book rant #bookish #bookworm #reader #readerblr #thrillers #psychological #my escape #long reads #bookaddict

6 notes · View notes

arsalamsyah · 4 years

Text

MIT and Me

Long before, I never thought about studying at Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). Never heard about the school reputation until I entered undergrad. Never considered to apply to their programs. Never sure that my capability to ever reaches its standards. Let alone I’ve almost dropped out of school two times (or more) – luckily it was “almost”. MIT is too far beyond. A melting pot – of the smartest and brightest scholars, the most active and productive individuals – which crafts its talents to be innovative leaders and prize winners. So what was I thinking to put MIT on my grad school bucket list?

Back in 2017, my friend Philipe and his friend, who studied in Sweden, visited DC for a day. I haven’t contacted him for years, he reached out, so I showed him what DC has to offer. He would continue to Boston the next day. He said, “You have nothing to do for the rest of the week, right? Wanna join us to Boston?” “Road tripping? That’s like 10 hours of driving” “Yeah we’ll visit MIT and Harvard. I also have a friend who works for GE Boston, Marsha.” “Hmm interesting” I was a bit hesitant. At night, I told Philipe to pick me up so that I joined their trip. That was my first time visiting MIT.

Boston, 2017. Me, Philipe, and Marsha jokingly talked about applying to MIT.

MIT is beautiful, inspiring, energetic, an awe in the jaw. All that erudite vibes radiated us. It has a more entrepreneurial and sociable sense of culture compared to its glamorous neighbor Harvard. It’s always been that way and each time I went to MIT – either for events or networking – it nurtured hopes. Hope that I can be as credible and beneficial as those folks. Hope that I can, as well, taste higher education from the best institution and the best teachers.

Grad school is an optional check box, a luxury. One said “you can be successful without having master’s degree. Does it worth an exchange with years of professional experience?” Yet to me, pursuing master’s degree is a must since I have not obtained the wisdom I need. So to make it worth of investment, I noted myself that my next endeavor has to be from the Top 10 schools in the world. It seemed possible when I helped Nyoman on her applications and finally knew she got accepted into MIT in 2018. Doesn’t matter how long I would get there, I am not in a rush anyway.

Two and a half years after I earned my bachelor’s degree, I have settled with my work and sometimes felt unchallenged. Realizing that all of my close friends had completed their grad studies, I sensed the urgency of getting back to school a bit more nagging. End of 2019, was I ready to apply? I kinda doubt if I had met the average admitted students’ traits, but I had nothing to lose to try – literally nothing.

Jan 20, 2020 – I submitted my application to MIT Sloan MBA program and Supply Chain Management program a day before the deadline. To my surprise, the portal didn’t allow me to pay the application fees. I was thinking maybe they have offered all seats to selected students, so that they just wanna get to know the rest of applicants and say “please try again next year.” Or maybe I got fee waivers since I went to handful MIT info sessions previous months prior. No indication, don’t assume, don’t expect, chill, take it easy.

Feb 27, 2020 – the result: I didn’t get into MBA this year. Not disappointed at all but somehow cried when I called my mom and dad. I thought I have been getting closer but “close enough” means nothing compared to actually get in. Fast recovery on the next day, understood that it’s very competitive, I’m still a “work in progress”, and moved on with alternative activities for the rest of the year.

May 19, 2020 – an email popped up on my screen while I was laughing so hard with my roommates watching YouTube at night. It’s MIT. 3 months after the last email received. My mood changed suddenly. They offered me to study Supply Chain Management for my master’s degree. I was S-H-O-O-K-E-T-H.

I read it multiple times and I asked my roommates if it’s real from MIT – the MIT at MIT Cambridge, the MIT #1 institution in the world for many years according to many websites. The email said that I have been admitted to five other universities within the MIT Global Supply Chain and Logistics Excellence Network, so there was a room for misinterpretation. I called the program administrator and May 29, 2020 the fellowship was also confirmed. I have forgotten about this opportunity and I have buried my dream to get back to school this year. All of the sudden – how on God’s beautiful earth winning a lottery feels like – here I am with scattered pieces of mind blown, still experiencing impostor syndrome, still couldn’t believe my dream just came true, still don’t know how to pay the tuition, and still wondering if I will join the class as soon as this August.

Hello MIT, I hope to meet you again soon :)

From a dreamy kid who grew up academically, financially, socially challenged but occasionally dare to challenge herself every now and then. Bismillah.

#masters #journey #personal #laifuu

7 notes · View notes

starswornoaths · 4 years

Text

A Shard of Eternity

This is my Secret Santa gift for my Secret Santa partner: @anpan-chan! @aetherstitch was kind enough to host a secret santa this year, and I’m delighted to be able to participate! I hope this is to your liking!!! \o/

nondescript WoL/Exarch, spoilers for all of 5.0 and the 2.0 tower raids under the cut!!! (I kept it nondescript mostly out of fear of getting your WoL wrong, but I am also more than happy to change anything you want!)

The first time the Warrior of Light is mentioned by name, it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. Another high and mighty adventurer who got a little lucky here and there, from what you had gleaned from the whispers around Saint Coinach’s Find. It had bearing on neither your research nor your work, and so you paid it little mind and went back to your books.

Rammbroes interupts your reading, as he often does, asking you to scout ahead of this supposed Warrior of Light that is coming to gather what is needed to venture further into Syrcus Tower. You resist the urge to snort— scout ahead of a vaunted hero to ensure their safety? If they truly were just like the heroes in the fairy tales, it would stand to reason that this Warrior of Light would be more than able to handle themselves.

Still, the request does present an opportunity to test their heroism and cunning for yourself, and so you leave for the Shroud with a swish of your tail, a bow at your back, and a book tucked in the crook of your arm.

This Warrior of Light fancies themself a hero, do they? You aim to make them prove it.

They follow along with your little game of cat and mouse, despite how tired they look of it all from the first moment you call to them through the treetops. Halfway through the chase, you aren’t entirely certain who is the hunter and who is the hunted. It was...fascinating, seeing them follow your clues and give in to your goading with a dogged, foolhardy curiosity tempered by the sort of cunning that kept you on your toes, kept you scrambling to stay the more clever of the two of you.

You hate to admit it, but it thrills you.

Still, the thrill does not outweigh the promise of getting closer than you’ve ever got to unlocking the secrets of Allag, and so you reveal yourself with a flourish at the game’s end. The Warrior of Light is sardonic with their traded quips, barbless but all the same sharp as they are. There’s a cleverness to them, you note on your way back to the Sons of Saint Coinach, and the glimmer in their eyes makes you wonder how often they’re allowed to be clever.

When you return to Rammbroes with your newfound companion you watch, a little dismayed, as that wit is hidden behind the mask of professional indifference, behind stoic nods and two word answers, because the hero is rarely allowed to be clever outside of their use. Seeing it happen before you reminds you of younger years best forgotten, where others would mock you for your red eye while manipulating you for your intellect in school.

It’s almost frightening how readily you become the perfect picture of the hero’s merry companion, ready to catch some of the glory for yourself. Luck permitting, more than just some.

For you are G’raha Tia, after all, and aught less than being remembered in the annals of history for all time would just not do.

“Do you think yourself clever?” The Warrior of Light asks you one night at Saint Coinach’s Find.

A glib answer dances on your tongue, ready to be used as a shield like you’ve done for years now against those who mocked your romanticism for fairytales and legends. Ordinarily, it is bittersweet, sharp cunning and bitter loneliness make for a poor taste on the palatte. But tonight, with the stars hanging heavy overhead and their eyes looking at you in that quietly ponderous way, you feel...safe. Safe enough to be honest, if only a little.

“I am all but certain of it.” You reply with a grin. “It’s kept me alive for this long.”

“Good.” They seem satisfied, nodding. “I think you’re brilliant, you know? For someone with the bravado you’ve got, though, you keep that brilliance quiet. Why?”

You are prepared for neither the compliment nor the question that follows, and it takes longer than you’d like to answer.

“I like seeing others be brilliant, too.” You finally admit in a soft voice.

Because you do— and you’ve especially liked seeing their brilliance as they pushed through Syrcus Tower, through the mysteries writ in the pages of the ancients and scrawled on the walls of their tombs.

Their hand on yours sends a shockwave through you— you had not expected touch, much less one so gentle from a hero so used to exerting great strength. Yet to look up at their bright eyes, you see a different sort of strength that you aren’t sure you can even name.

“I like seeing you be brilliant, too, G’raha Tia.” They reply quietly.

You tell yourself that squeezing their hand is just to calm your heart, and that looking up at the stars is because they are soothing, and not at all because you’re terrified of the warmth that suffuses through you. You pretend you’re not terrified of missing that warmth when the time comes to part.

You couldn’t resist sealing yourself away in the tower when the opportunity presented itself. Part of it was a want to be a hero yourself— after all the feats of great power, integrity, and heroism that not only the Warrior of Light, but those around them, exuded, you feel it only fitting that you be given an eternity to try and reach for the same heights.

“My destiny lies in the future.” You say with clear conviction, the doors closing in behind you.

Cid promises to work to build a future that you would be proud of, and it humbles you. The Warrior of Light’s eyes are so bright as they look at you, too bright for you to truly read. You feel as though even with eternity all but gift wrapped for you, you will never truly understand what they’re thinking. You’re all but certain that even given eternity, you couldn’t even find the words to ask.

“Goodnight, G’raha Tia.” They say in a soft voice, but the look on their face is one of pain.

You let their words carry you to slumber, and try not to think on how you might have hurt them. Better to forget. They will be gone by the time you awake, besides, you remind yourself somberly.

And you dream of tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes too soon, and with the smell of ashes, smoke, and ceruleum.

The people who managed to crack into Syrcus Tower had scarcely even known to look for you, had thought mentions of you waiting like a sleeping prince high in his castle has been the stuff of fairytales. They look at you with soot covered faces and wide, haunted eyes, and you understand before they’ve explained anything that everything has gone wrong.

You just aren’t prepared for how thoroughly it’s all gone up in flames.

Even though you had accepted that you’d wake up long after your friends from the Sons of Saint Coinach and the Warrior of Light were dead, you’re still woefully unprepared to see their graves. Less so because of how they all died.

You’re told the Warrior of Light fell first, that the Black Rose had claimed them in the midst of battle because the Empire hadn’t been able to handle losing for once. It boils your blood, knowing they— and everyone they had inspired to fight alongside them— were slaughtered by a weapon with no counter. By a coward’s invisible guillotine.

It’s almost frightening how quickly you are incandescent with rage for them. For Cid, for everyone who had fought to keep Cid’s promise to you, robbed of the chance to do so.

The anger only grows in your breast as you read the recorded tales of the Warrior of Light, of one Lord Edmont de Fortemps’ account of how they ended the Dragonsong War, of Lord Hien’s illustrated tales of how the Warrior of Light liberated two nations from the tyranny of an Imperial Regime.

The Warrior of Light, inspiration to all who met them and beyond, had become the sort of person you read about in texts of historical legends, in fairytales. A hero, in every sense of the word.

They deserved better than this.

So you focus on the fact that, in some twisted way, Cid had kept his promise to you: the prospects of this timeline were bleak, but the collaborative efforts of everyone rallying for the sake of saving the Warrior of Light— a fable to these people for how many centuries had passed— showed you that perhaps there was still light within the shadow.

All the same, you would see this shadow banished before it was ever cast at all.

You try to commit to memory the names and faces of everyone who you left behind, being sent to the First. For a time, you manage most of them, though you are made to endure a century of waiting and planning, and by the end of it you have to remind yourself of your own name.

The Crystal Exarch? G’raha Tia? Was there even room for the both of you that now coincided in that half shimmering, half shivering body that was only yet half yours?

For all the knowledge of the Tower, you find no answer. So you ask different questions as you go: what will help the people in this world, in this moment? What sort of world did you want to present to the Warrior of Light when you see them again?

The Crystarium takes the shape, takes the light, takes the land around the Tower, and becomes a home to all those drawn to its hopeful, glimmering beacon. A monument to hope, in memoriam to hope’s greatest chamion.

You certainly hope that it is enough.

You had thought the years had tempered your arrogance, though with the five failed attempts at drawing the Warrior of Light to the First staring up at you in varying degrees of bewildered and enraged you realize, perhaps, that you were mistaken. Your research— ever meticulous, even a century on —had told you their names and what roles they had played alongside the Warrior of Light, before the Eighth Umbral Calamity.

You knew which one you could trust with the truth.

Uriangier seemed reluctant to agree to your plan of secrecy, but you recalled the tales of his false duplicity during the time during and after the Dragonsong War. You knew he would ultimately capitulate.

The others were more reluctant to trust— most ultimately didn’t at all. You couldn’t fault them, even if that had complicated the plan a bit.

They were like you: side characters to the hero. They would fall into place when the time was right, you were certain.

So you reached out a sixth time with a foci and an implanted dream in the Warrior’s mind, and pulled.

It doesn’t surprise you how reluctant they are to trust you, the moment you meet them at the gates of the Crystarium. It’s to be expected; even without five other instances to serve as warning, they were never ones to trust strangers with stranger powers than they had seen before. You suspect you are the strangest that have come across yet. It’s a little flattering.

Even as you welcome them, you note that their eyes rarely stray from the Crystal Tower looming overhead. It’s hard to tamp down on the ancient, buried hope that you were remembered, that you were missed. Surely you were but a blip on their radar, a passing ship in the eye of a storm they sailed straight into.

You are scarcely through explaining that you came from the tower when you are cut off.

“You came from the tower?” The Warrior of Light’s wide, startled eyes snap to you. There’s something akin to a recluctant hope there, one you are reluctant to define. “There was— there was someone dear to me. His name was G’raha Tia. He sealed himself away in there. Know anything about that?”

There is a moment, only one, where you have to reconcile what you presumed and what was true. You don’t know what to make of the knowledge that, perhaps, you meant more to them than you had thought.

“I found no one by that name in the tower.” You dance around the truth with something that is technically not a lie.

“And you’re certain there was no one named G’raha Tia in that tower?” The Warrior presses with eyes sharper than you remembered.

“No one that I found.” You reply, and remind yourself of your convictions as you move on.

G’raha Tia was not in that tower, after all, and had not been in some time.

“Do you think yourself clever?” The Warrior of Light asks you on the first night Norvrandt has had in a century.

There is a moment where you are a century younger and have no other title than a name you were given at birth, no power but a bow at your back and an eye that you ache to see the secrets of, and you have to remind yourself of the years in your bones and the weight of the parts of you the tower claimed before you can answer.

“Just clever enough to get by.” You settle on, biting back words from a younger you that looked out on a starry sky like this one a world and a lifetime away.

You sit in silence that is both companionable and weighty. You can feel how many questions your old friend has for you, and you are glad they do not ask. You would not answer them, much as you want to.

You can’t. You mustn’t.

So when they heave a sigh and rise to their feet with a soft, “Goodnight,” you pretend it doesn’t hurt that you can’t just be honest with them, knowing your heart so much better than you did when you were so much younger.

All the power in the universe at your fingertips, and still you can’t reach out to close the distance. You tell yourself that it’s all worth it, just to save them.

You tell yourself that’s enough.

The more Lightwardens they defeat, the more it’s easy to see them disappearing behind the blinding light they absorb. It frightens you, even as you try to put it out of your mind. They’re a hero, you remind yourself— and Uriangier, who comes to you in his own moment of doubt. They will be fine.

You will see to it yourself, even knowing what it will cost you.

When there is so little of the Warrior of Light left that they are scarcely able to stay conscious, when the skies are filled with light across all of Norvrandt as they are poised to become one of the very horrors they had been fighting against and all seems lost, you come to them.

Your posturing as a villain is a poor showing, but you try anyway. It’s the least you can do, ease their guilt, help them not miss you or feel as though they could have saved you. They couldn’t. And you did not want them to.

This plan was too carefully crafted, too many years of waiting and scheming and lying have led to this moment. You will not falter. You will save them. It doesn’t matter that they see your face now and know your lies, know your secrets. You will not be around for the aftermath anyway, and they will all be free.

“G’raha Tia!” They cry out as you begin to cast the spell that will take the light from them.

You hesitate. Blinking away the tears in your eyes you offer them the first real, genuine smile free of the cowl and cowardice. You tell them that it’s going to be alright. That they will be alright.

The sharp crack of lightning that broke the sky was not lightning at all, you realize when you felt your abdomen grow cold, felt the air leave your lungs. Your concentration shatters as you look down to see the blood blossoming on your robes like a lily.

You’ve been shot.

Attempts to regain your focus are fleeting and weak, weak like your legs giving out under you. No...no! You’ve gone so long planning, done so much and lost so much and hurt so much, it can’t end here! It can’t end like this!

You close your eyes and dream of tomorrow again.

When you are more aware of yourself and your surroundings, the Warrior of Light is healed, resplendent, more than you had ever seen of them before, and challenging the bringer of Darkness himself, Hades.

You will not leave them to fight alone. You refuse. Not again.

And so eons become instant, and the expanse contracts in the palm of your hands, and you bring forth other heroes from other stars, people who might uplift the Warrior of Light in their time of need, that might lend their light to piercing the veil of black that shrouded them all.

And you watch them rise with a new dawn, triumphant and tired, taking in their greatness like the merry member of their band you had always wanted to be.

“Good morning, G’raha.” They tell you, and you can’t see them for the tears that come.

You didn’t even know you were waiting a century to hear them say that, after all.

The bedlam and joyous shivaree of the celebration that night in the Crystarium is a distant roar as you stand on the balcony beneath the stars but above the din of festivities. Close enough to the merriment that its energy vibrates beneath your skin but not so close as to overwhelm you. About as close as you’ve let anyone in, save your granddaughter.

When the door behind you opens, you are not surprised to see the Warrior of Light slip out to join you and shut the door behind them. Much as the sight of them fills you with a sort of deeply instinctual fear and need to run and hide, you tighten your grip on the balcony railing and rally your courage. They deserve your honesty, they always have, but especially after everything that’s led to this moment.

“I’d wondered where you went.” They say as they draw near. “Lyna was helpful.”

You want to laugh; of course your granddaughter would ensure you are properly taken to task for your behavior. Doubtless she’ll flog you herself when she has the time.

“You have me at a disadvantage.” You say, unsure of what other words you could even offer.

“A welcome change of pace, then.” They reply with a wry twist of that clever mouth of theirs.

That overwhelming need to hide takes you again, and you can’t help but reach up for your hood to pull it over your eyes. It shocks you to your crystalized core when they reach out a hand and wrap it around your wrist to stop you.

“G’raha.” They say, and something ancient and aching and lonely quivers at that. “Don’t hide from me anymore.”

When they pull you toward them and press their lips to yours, you find you have no ilm of yourself left to keep from them, and you sink sweetly, softly into their arms with clutching hands and a century of desperation. Ever the hero, they keep you from falling anywhere but for them, exactly where you’ve always wanted to be.

#ffxiv #5.0 spoilers #Shadowbringers spoilers #crystal exarch #warrior of light #I hope this is okay!#this is such a good ship but I worry I got the exarch wrong hhhhhh #happy holidays friend!!! I hope you enjoy it and you have a great holiday!!!#\o/

32 notes · View notes