#i was thinking about this during my lecture earlier oops | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cupcakeinat0r · 1 month

Text

A Nerdy Middle-aged loser Miguel with a dad bod who teaches your genetics class

Head Canons!

Professor O’Hara was an intimidating man, to say the least. Despite his menacing exterior, he came highly recommended and sought after as a professor due to his ability to clearly get the material across. At times, it felt cutthroat, but he only meant well. He was just very passionate about his job and wanted everyone to learn.

You didn’t think he was scary at all. In fact, that first day of lecture, you new you were doomed. All you saw was a poor, misunderstood, teddy bear of a man. You thought it was so endearing how his glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, or how he filled out his button ups and vests: equal parts of muscle and squish <3

n you totally stared at his huge butt and dick print oops what I didn’t say that what-

Professor O’Hara who’s scowl would melt away when you’d hurry into class, completely dismissing that fact that you were late. People who had him previously would be so confused that the Miguel O’Hara is stumbling on his own words during a lecture. Little did they know that it was because you, his very pretty and very eager student, was sitting front row and center. You’d fix your hair or apply lip gloss hoping you’d get his attention, and you succeeded.

Professor O’Hara thought you were so cute. He loved the way you dressed, the way you’d raise your hand and ask such good questions, the way you took notes, making them look equally as adorable as you. It didn’t help that you were a total ace in his class. Your brains n beauty were going straight to both of his heads……..

Professor O’Hara who although was naturally pretty distant and quiet with students, was trying very hard to be vocal with you, making sure to let you know when you were doing good. “Good job today, Mama.” “Thank you for being so involved in class today, mama, I appreciate it.” “Aye, Mama, make sure you get some sleep before the quiz tomorrow, mkay?” “Have a safe weekend, mama, and please, if you need anything, you have my email. It doesn’t matter what time it is.” and if he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, he’d definitely leave notes for you when handing back your work <3

Professor O’Hara who now wakes up earlier and takes longer to get ready in the morning. For you. He would put on his most expensive cologne knowing you liked to ask for help. You’d smell it every time he bent over your desk behind you, enough so that the timbre of his low voice tickled your ear and his belly just barely grazing your back.

Professor O’Hara who was developing his own crush on you, even though it was definitely wrong. Besides, you were a model. He was convinced that even if he were a student, he wouldn’t have a chance with you.

Professor O’Hara who always felt his eyes gravitating toward you in the mass of seats when lecturing, as if he forgot what you looked like and needed to see your face again. You’d tilt your head n give him a smile each time he did, as if telling him you’re following along, and this rattled him. He’d smile back right before shying away from your gaze, clearing his throat and starting wherever he left off on in his lesson. You thought that was cute.

Professor O’Hara who was always there for you when you were troubled, his office becoming a place you frequented for comfort. He was a great ear, elbows on his knees and brows furrowed as he listened to your trials and tribulations. Pobrecita preciosa. He hated seeing you this way. His bear hugs always seemed to make the troubles go away.

Professor O’Hara who would praise you after seeing all the work you put into his class. Anytime you were stressed, he’d take you some place other than his office to relax, maybe buy you some tea or your favorite pastry. He’d take those opportunities to learn more about you, asking you in a gentle, sweet tone about your other studies, your goals, your life etc. he’d hopelessly fall for you even more when watching you speak about things you were passionate about, seeing how your eyes sparkled. He’d try to keep his composure by maintaining a stoic expression, but a small smile would crack every time. He was a melting mess.

Professor O’Hara who would keep all your assignments and reread them at home since you liked to leave him little notes like, “ So lucky to have you as a professor” “Amazing class today!” “Looking forward to our tutoring sesh tmw<3”, the curvy letters of your pretty hand writing feeding into his desires for you, those same desires going from wholesome to more lustful.

Professor O’Hara, who’s walls you break down with your kindness, intelligence, humility, and beauty. He’d play with your hair during tutoring sessions, buy you things that reminded him of you, call you ‘mama’ when no one else was around. He loved the way you knit your brows together telling him he shouldn’t be spending money on you as he’s already doing so much for you already, to which he replies, “You deserve it, and more, mama”.

Professor O’Hara who, when you stay after class to help him clean (because you volunteered to, otherwise, Miguel would never let you lift even a finger because you’re a princess), instead of picking up stray mechanical pencils, he would imagine you picking up stranded toys in the living room. He’d imagine what it’s like living life with you, having a life with you, then immediately shoo those absurd thoughts away after realizing he’s falling for you after only months of knowing you.

Professor O’Hara who genuinely cares about your well-being, wants to see you succeed and get everything you want and deserve. Who wants the absolute best for you.

A/n: Just some hcs before I continue the story…. I won’t edge y’all for long so just bear w meeeeee <3333

Tags <3

@safixiovi @mukeovernetflix @mochikisses @miguels-cock-piercings @miranexx @bunnibitez @deepdiveintothedeephive @faretheeoscar @sillygardeneggperson @librababe99 @sariespi @little-lovelace @monstersimp @oharasfilipinawife @obi-mom-kenobi @maomaimao @pomakori @rxckstarss @mochimoqa @princesatracionera @queerponcho @froggygal @yaysposts @koko-1025 @kikaaauu @lauraolar14 @anotherprettyprincess @ce3stvu @m4dyy @kaidxra

Want more DadBod!Miguel? Here’s my master list, bae!!!

#miguel o'hara #professor!miguel #dadbod!miguel #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara fanfiction #atsv #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara headcanon #miguel o’hara atsv #spider man 2099 #miguel fic #miguel fanfic #miguel o’hara x y/n

618 notes · View notes

mephone-3gs · 1 year

Text

My 3GS rant copy pasted from the iid

So to start with 3gs. What we know. 3gs is the oldest MePhone we see active in ii. He is currently dead (?) due running out of battery. We first see him in one of MePhone 4’s gemory flashbacks. He is in the back of what appears to be a storage closet for broken/deactivated meeple products. It is also assumed that cobs threw him in there with force due to the cracks in the wall behind him. When MePhone 4 activates him he starts playing an audio recording of the shimmer invasions. (We learn more about that in episode 14) after that’s over he repeats “please cobs don’t” over and over and faster and faster until he runs out of battery and powers down. The next time we see him is in episode 14. During the prime shimmer flashbacks we see 3gs invading the shimmer planet with two other unnamed mephones (presumed to be 2g and 3g). They wanted to harness the shimmer life and after the shimmers refused 3gs got upset and exploded a bit of the shimmer planet. He and the two other mephones proceeded to take 6 shimmer eggs. The two other mephones were both killed while 3gs was spared.

Now let me side track here. Both were hit with two spears while 3gs only one. The two had the spears go completely through them (also they exploded too ig), while 3gs just had his bounce off. This is probably the only reason he managed to survive. Maybe he had a screen protector while the others didn’t?

3gs was the only survivor and managed to escape with two shimmer eggs. We know one ended up on mars but the whereabouts of the other are still unknown. 3gs managed to get back to meeple where he told cobs he failed the mission and then was thrown into the closet to slowly loose battery and die.

OK. NOW I GET TO TALK ABOUT THEORIES AND SILLY LITTLE DETAILS 😁😁

So I want to talk about the other recordings 3gs shows during episode 13. First his lecture on “charge” that lasts 2 hours 39 minutes and 17 seconds.

There’s three ways I can see this lecture going. (Hit the word limit cont in 2)

The first way I can see it going is cobs teaching 3gs how to charge and how the charging process works.

The second is 3gs recording the charge on the shimmers. Having recorded the whole invasions (I’ll get into this more later)

The third is 3gs telling the two mephones the game plan for how they’ll do the invasions. Telling them the strategy for how they’ll get into the shimmer planet and steal the shimmers and get back out (spoilers it didn’t work oops)

We already know what the second log is so Umm

Third log. Study 8 am - 12 pm. Makes me think maybe it was a daily thing? Perhaps one of 3gs tasks was to study. What did he study? Mayhaps electronics? Mechanics? Space? Maybe he didn’t have the ability to generate items like 4 did so he had to learn how to do it by hand. So he spend weeks-months studying how. Learned how to build and pilot a space ship. Also studied about space too.

Extra memory recordings! Here’s where i get to the recording stuff I mentioned earlier. I believe that cobs heavily monitored his mephones. And I mean heavily. So heavily that he had them record most events that they experienced. This is so he can make sure that they’re doing their tasks with top performance. Also he can use the recordings to see the mistakes from past MePhone models so he can correct those in newer models.

Noveau recording. Noveau (according to a Google search) means modern or up to date. Perhaps this is 3gs recording himself updating? Noveau is short for noveau riche meaning “people who have recently acquired wealth, typically those perceived as ostentatious or lacking in good taste.” I then looked up ostentatious, which means “: attracting or seeking to attract attention, admiration, or envy often by gaudiness or obviousness : overly elaborate or conspicuous : characterized by, fond of, or evincing ostentation” this is actually very fitting of the mephones in general. Each new generation is new and up to date. New and flashy. (Continued in part 3)

Ok so. We get some voice clips from 3gs va (got during the 2022 ii x bfb meetup) 3gs seems pretty confident and cocky. When asked “how good are your terms with MePhone 2 and 3g” he responds with “they’re fine people but they weren’t as efficient at their jobs as I am” due to this voice clip words like Noveau riche and ostentatious certainly fit him.

Now that I think about it. Maybe the recording is 3gs recording himself advertising the mephone 3gs? Trying to show off how it’s the newest and latest MePhone model, how advanced and sleek it is, how much better he is, how much more efficient he is.

Ok take out the trash recording. Uh tying this back to cobs making the mephones record everything they do, just 3gs taking out the trash. Or could be 3gs recording a message reminding himself to take out the trash later. Taking out the trash could also mean like. Getting rid of the shimmers??? Shimmers = trash. Take out the shimmers…

Ok now toooo. Random theories!!

First off. The ship we see X on. I personally believe that is not the ship MePhone 4 and mepad were on. I know X is looking specifically for 4 but perhaps they just stumbled on 3GS old ship buried in the sand and falling apart after years of neglect and they just thought it was 4’s. MePhone 4’s ship landed by the cave so I don’t know how he would have gotten it by the beach. Besides maybe X was told to look for the ship first? They knew that 4 is on the island just not specifically where.

Ok and now to the “why did 3gs steal the shimmers just to hide them?”

I believe that on the way back to meeple 3gs realized that what he had done was terrible, that he was the bad guy in the situation. He didn’t want cobs to get either of the eggs. So he took one of the shimmer eggs to mars and hid it there. And took the other to a different planet (or hid it somewhere else on mars) doing so caused him to run out of fuel and caused him to crash his ship on the ii island (continued in part 4)

(This ties back to the ship in the sand being 3gs) 3gs then calls cobs to come get him. Afterwards 3gs explains to cobs what happened, but says he didn’t manage to get the shimmers and then gets sent to the closet.

Okokok so. How would cobs know what the shimmers looked like if he never went. Cobs saw fans egg and seemed to know what it was. So I think 3gs sent cobs updates with images of the shimmers as he was doing the invasions, or he recorded the invasions, and cobs looked back on those recordings before putting him in the closet. So he would know what they looked like.

And I’m starting to get to the point where this is draining so I’m gonna stop for now, I’ve pretty much said everything I’ve wanted too atm. May make a part 5. May not. Idk but I’m done for the moment

#inanimate insanity #ii mephone3gs #inanimate insanity 2 #osc #inanimate insanity invitational #inanimate insanity mephone 3gs #mephone 3gs #mephone3gs ii

36 notes · View notes

ak8shi · 4 years

Text

FWB HQ Boys: In which you beat the player at his own game!

warnings: Time skip spoilers, mentions of sex(all characters are 18+), alcohol, stupid people in love

a/n: ahh I’m sorry I’ve been a little MIA!!! But I’m back with this pls enjoy ! I think the fandom really make germaphobia his only personality trait sometimes which makes me sad because I think he’s actually a quirky/classy dude and very functional in social situations,, I hate to say it but ya’ll would get played by him… sorry.

━Sakusa Kiyoomi

Some of you may be like ???? Omi fucks around ?? how ?? BUT he definitely does in his own way

He probably doesn’t do much in high school to be honest, he’s mostly focused on improving as a volleyball player and achieving his goals

Once he reaches pro level though,,, it’s a different story lmfao

I can see him being picky as hell about his hookups, but just because he’s a bit of a germaphobe doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel attraction or doesn’t have needs…

….He’s so hot too… girl

His hook-ups are always taken seriously though… like he’s the type that feels like he has a professional image to upkeep, so he always arranges things beforehand; he’s definitely not messy about it and sets clear boundaries

I think what makes him kind of a player is how standoffish he can be…and he doesn’t really give anyone a chance because he doesn’t think they what it takes to deal with his lifestyle lmao

He’s just like, its easier to call the uber right after, get into the shower, and wait until he can hear the front door of his apartment shut I’m screamingg

Sakusa also isn’t one to kiss and tell, even with the boys… he doesn’t think its tasteful and would rather not have Atsumu up his ass about his flings

ANYWAYS,, let’s get into this, so you know Atsumu through mutual friends and met during college, and the two of you just instantly clicked since you also were a part of the same sports medicine program as him

Atsumu signed with MSBY and you were so happy for him, but you were bummed because you were busy with PT graduate school and couldn’t really attend any of his games

A year passed and you found yourself texting Tsumu to see if he could meet up and grab coffee since you were on winter break!!

You: hey I’m back in town wanna grab coffee sometime?

Him: who is this

You: I see you haven’t changed ❤️

LMFAO, so you catch up with Atsumu and he talks about his new career and his teammates, he seems so happy :(( we love to see that!!

He invites you to MSBY’s game the following weekend, and you’re pumped to go!! Tsumu got you great seats, and he meets you before warmups to make sure you’re okay finding your way around

Atsumu: don’t take yer eyes off me <3

You:

He’s so…

You’re enjoying the match and you even go to grab Onigiri from Osamu’s stand, but you can’t seem to look away from number 15 on Atsumu’s team

He’s .., scrumptious to say the least 🥴

Like he’s so composed and calculated on the court, and you find it so funny how he rolls his eyes whenever Tsumu says something to him and how Tsumu gets so heated about it 💀

The match ends and you go down to meet Atsumu near the lockers, showing the security your family/friend pass 😌

You walk through the halls trying to locate the setter, but you can’t seem to figure out where he is

The only person in the hall is the tall, dark haired man that caught your eye earlier; he is already walking towards the exit with a mask covering his face, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, sweats embroidered with “Sakusa” adorning his body we’re all looking..... respectfully

He’s truly so intimidating but you’re like….highkey lost… so you don’t really have another option

You catch up with him, poking his shoulder gently; he turns around and his attention on you is almost STARTLING.. like his eyes are SO dark

Him: can I help you

You: sir… if you don’t rail me, I’m gonna have to intervene‼️😈😹

After getting over your initial shock, you hear multiple footsteps rumbling down the hallway towards the both of you

Sakusa lets out an annoyed sigh, muttering about how he has to go, but before he can escape you hear Atsumu’s loud voice LMFAO

“OMIIII, where are you goin’? Its team karaoke night remember?”

Tsumu sees you and slings an arm around your shoulders, “Oh-? So I see you’ve met our outside hitter Omi?”

You glance over at Sakusa, his expressionless eyes glued to your face, then slowly trailing down to analyze the way Atsumu casually has you tucked under his arm

Atsumu nudges him, and he grumbles that he’ll meet them after changing at home before walking off in the direction of the private parking garage

You meet the rest of the MSBY boys in the uber, and find them super friendly and welcoming; Bokuto and Hinata buy the first round of drinks at the karaoke bar, but you only have one because you have work to finish the next day WE STAN

Atsumu already has a pink glow setting into his cheeks when you see the boys turn their attention to Sakusa walking through the front door, looking as handsome as ever in his dress pants and fitted white t shirt

They all shout out incoherent hello’s, and he takes the only open seat next to you with a glass of gin and tonic in his hand he smells so good god

You’re unsure what comes over you, but you find yourself turning towards him, and you just start asking him about himself and his career, and surprisingly he’s very polite and much more animated than you previously thought

His voice is like…so alluring and he never looks away from you when you talk, its like he’s absorbing every word

Meanwhile, Atsumu is stumbling over the stage with Bokuto belting Love by Keisha Cole LMFAOO😭

Tsumu kind of ‘warned’ you in the car ride over that Sakusa was a germaphobe, but you know that Atsumu tends to invade people’s personal space sometimes and it probably wasn’t as dramatic as he made it out to be

However, you weren’t expecting the outside hitter to lean over from his seat after checking the time on his phone, whispering in your ear, asking you if you wanted to meet him at his place later than night WHEW

Girl I would be sweating… and you say yes ofc because who’s going to pass up this type of opportunity-

He gives you a charming smile and is like,, okay cool, I’ll see you later then 😊 I’m dead

Ya’ll exchange phone numbers and he’s like if you need any help with my idiot teammates let me know before he takes off

You don’t tell Tsumu about your little… entanglement plans dsnjaknda but honestly he wouldn’t even remember based on the way he’s slumped against you in the uber he owes you big time

You get home after dropping off Tsumu at Osamu’s, and operation dick appointment with the professional volleyball player is put into action 😈

He sends an uber over to get you ladies do not settle for less please, and you’re BIG nervous but in a good way as in you know this dick is about to be bomb af

SO you’re standing in front of his apartment door, and when he opens it, he’s still in the clothes he wore to the bar and its like 1 am he’s so powerful

Um I feel like he would get straight to it honestly, probably starts with a little convo on the couch and then…

YOU WEREN’T AWARE HE WAS SO DIRTY,,, it was SO good too like after getting home that night you’re going through a crisis… like you had so much chemistry together for having just met, and you wonder if he feels the same way🥺

You caught yourself in sleepless states some nights, kept awake by the thoughts of the way his hands felt against your skin, the way his five o’clock shadow gently rubbed against your face when you kissed, and how he would hold you(only after a thorough shower together of course)

As it happens more and more, he lets you into his life little by little, and you notice and remember small facts about him and he often remembers a lot of the things you tell him about you, its really enjoyable for both of you

Its weirdly domestic to a point but that’s why its so good for both of you???it adds a bit of spice ??

Sakusa: can you come over tonight

You: sorry the retainer is in already <3 no dick sucking for me tonight <3

Him: I bought pastries from that cafe you like

You: say less✈️ I’m coming💃

AND he HAS jokes okay, like he’s funny as hell and very witty when his true self comes out; but he’s also a HUGE tease and he’ll say something completely straight-faced that someone else might take offense to like “you look ugly,” but you just know he’s kidding from being around him long enough and from seeing the little glint in his dark eyes

It becomes a routine thing while you’re home honestly, and you try your best to hide it from Atsumu because you just KNOW you would never hear the end of it; for all he knows, you met him that one time at the bar and that was that

Everything is going smoothly until you slip up at one of their games

You were sitting in the waiting area with the team (mostly talking to Atsumu), when he just says something that makes your short circuit

Atsumu: what kind of animal do ya think omi would be? An octopus maybe?

You: yeah I mean with those flexible wrists it makes sense

Atsumu: what the fawk🤠

He’s like… how do you even know about his flexible wrists IT TOOK ME 6 MONTHS TO GET TO THAT STAGE WITH HIM-

Oops, lmfao so you kind of tell him about everything and he’s literally shocked for you, mostly because he doesn’t want you to get hurt :(

Atsumu: So I see he’s just sleeping with ANYONE anyone

LMAO noo he definitely thinks you’re too good for him and he kind of lectures you, telling you that he had a hunch that he messes around with girls like that, but also you’re an adult and you can take care of yourself, and it isn’t like it’s a serious thing!!

Meanwhile, Omi is like going through a bit of a crisis all alone because everything around him reminds him of you or something you said when you were together

He got with people who were compatible sexually often, but he never had the urge to have them stay over after the deed; he usually immediately called them an uber and wouldn’t speak to them again

He found himself thinking about seeing you in the stands at his games, wishing you were there to cheer for him only, and he adored the way you respected his boundaries unlike many of his hookups

Atsumu probably notices something is off with him at practice

Atsumu: hey…if ya ever want to talk about somethin’-

Sakusa: no

Girl… he doesn’t disclose any of this to anyone

Its nearing the end of your break, and you head over to sakusa’s for probably the last time before you go back to school

You’re kind of at the point where you don’t think anything will happen and you know you shouldn’t get your hopes up, and it goes how it usually goes? Except he kind of hugs you goodbye and your heart goes: 🦋🦋🦋

You go back to school, occasionally texting Tsumu about your graduate program, and before you know it, like 5 months pass by and you’re back for summer!

Tsumu texts you and is like… sorry but I’m forcing you to be my plus-one tonight for this dinner thing I have to go to

So you dress up and he comes to pick you up, and you’re really not sure why you were surprised to see Kiyoomi sitting at the table when you arrive you give Atsumu a nice smack on the back of the head for not warning you

You sit down at the table after greeting everyone, trying your best to not act awkward when you shoot sakusa a small smile that he returns politely (but you don’t see it because of his mask)

Atsumu sits weirdly close to you the entire dinner with his arm around the back of your chair, and he’s just acting strange in general??? Like he’s bragging about your degree program and about your accomplishments, you just know he’s trying something funny; but you don’t really say anything because you don’t want to disrespect him in front of the team’s staff as a guest

You almost choke on your wine and you catch on when Bokuto starts making comments after Atsumu says something,

Atsumu: …so yeah, pretty much she should be our next president in my humble opinion

Bokuto: 🙈WOAH. WHAT?😍 HOW COULD SHE GET ANY BETTER⁉️🙄 OR HOTTER⁉️💪🏼💋

You, sitting there: 🧍‍♀️

He’s so bad at acting I’m crying..,, it becomes so obvious that they’re trying to make Kiyoomi jealous

(the boys plotted beforehand, trying to get Omi to ask you out officially; after you left, he literally would never shut up about you whenever Atsumu mentioned you, and it was just obvious he was in his feels when it came to you)

Atsumu: she’s studying at a café tonight for finals

Sakusa: Yeah so I’m glad you brought it up, because I’ve been thinking about it for days. Fine I guess I’ll say it. Her favorite coffee blend is French roast and she only likes a dash of sugar with a lot of cream, but it has to be hazelnut creamer or else she doesn’t like any-

Everyone in the gym: 🗿

LMAO ANYWAYS ITS LOWKEY WORKING you look over at him and his face is like stone.. girl..

The dinner is almost over and Atsumu gets up to go to the restroom with a wink I hate him, and you get up to catch a breath of fresh air outside

You sit on a bench for a minute, calming yourself down after the eventful dinner, but then you see the door to the restaurant swing open, Sakusa looking around the corner before spotting you

Your heart pounds in your chest as he walks over and asks if he can join you, inspecting the bench before sitting down, pulling his mask down as well

He eases into a conversation by just asking you how you’re doing, basic stuff, but then in the middle of you going off on a tangent about your stupid professor, he stops you

“I missed you.”

He crosses his legs, not looking at you as he takes your hand, intertwines it with his, and places it in his lap

You gaze at him, taken back at his confession, noticing the slight pinkness tinging his pale cheeks

You say you missed him too, and then he’s asking you if you would like to go on an actual date with him

You: wait are you asking me out officially?

Him: Yes. No I’m not. Yes I am❤️

SKSLD Please he’s awkward help him a little, you agree and then you hear a tap on the window behind you, you turn around to see Tsumu, Bokuto and Adriah behind you with big grins on their faces LMFAO 🤡

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, but you don’t miss the small upturn of the corners of his lips as he hears Bokuto happily scream through the glass

#dont even get me started w this i dont want to look at it anymore ❤️#JUST TAKE IT LMFAOOOO #sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyu headcanons #hq #sakusa kiyoomi x you #haikyuu x reader

2K notes · View notes

yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( VELVETEEN RABBIT. )

What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi? Answer: Jeon Jungkook.

pairing. french lop bunny!jjk x ragdoll cat f!reader.

genre + rating. hybrid!au set in college. super fluffy, a little angsty, with a dash of smut to balance it all out. explicit towards the end because i just can’t help myself. oops.

tags / warnings. honestly, this jungkook should just come with his own warning. but more realistically, mentions of kook using a scrunchie, kook being cute, kook railing his date after using the world’s worst puns... the usual.

wc. 4.4k

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif as always become, c’mon. i’m me. she’s her.

author note. this was written as part of @thebtswritersclub‘s a hybrid fest and is gloriously late (i’m so sorry @ditttiii). i’ve never written anything hybrid-related before so hopefully you enjoy. feedback goes a long way! xoxo

He orders the same thing every time he’s in. Iced Americano, no room for cream, and a single almond croissant. (Every once in a while, he switches it up for matcha but that’s exceedingly rare.) He always pays with a tap of his wrist - a sleek black AppleWatch with rubber band - and flashes his trademark slightly too-big smile. All the girls swoon. So do the guys. Everyone except for you.

He’s unnervingly handsome, with long dark ears that sometimes hang in front of his eyes. You’ve caught him with them pulled back Lola Bunny-style, knotted with a loose silk scrunchie that looks nearly as soft as his fur. His hair’s usually unkempt, tossed into a little sprout of a bun, overly long fringe falling all over his big round eyes. He wears butterfly clips sometimes, though that’s usually on days where he isn’t freshly sweaty and carrying his gym bag. They appear in his hair when it’s damp from a shower, the smell of papaya and honey clinging to every inch of him. You know, because you have a great nose - one that’s sensitive to every smell under the sun but especially his. (You try not to think about it much.)

It’s a Wednesday morning when you notice the change. It doesn’t register at first, acknowledgement coming in a curious sniff at the air. Weird.

“Thanks,” he says like clockwork, a well-oiled polite machine, deceptively slender hands receiving the exceedingly hot cup without a care in the world. He’s got his usual bag over his shoulder - overly big, black, almost tactical - and a pair of comfortable looking pants on that seem more like they belong on your beloved grandmother. Somehow, he rocks it (but he always does). “Have a nice day.”

Because of course he says that. Of course he steals the words right out of your mouth, turns them back on you as easy as he makes your heart rattle around in your chest like it’s a Friday night bingo ball.

He moves toward the bar - he only ever grabs three napkins, tucks them into the slot on the left side of his bag - but pauses halfway there. Rooted to the same spot as always, sleek ears following the imposing line of his shoulders.

One, two—

The thumping starts, so quiet it’s almost negligible. But you catch it, because you always do and because you’re the reason for it.

He turns then, levels you with a look from the corner of those pretty, pretty eyes and you can’t help but laugh, openly, unashamedly, with the back of your hand plastered to your mouth. A true ojou-sama.

His mouth quirks - does that funny thing where he sucks in his cheek then rolls it back out with his tongue - and you think he might finally say something. Call you out for writing his name wrong for the past five weeks, finding more and more creative ways to do so every time. Even occasionally using nicknames - silly things you’d come up with while on the walk home, or during lunch, or in bed.

“Good one,” he states, laugh lines threading over his face, prominent around his eyes. His nose wiggles with the sound - another of his traits that comes out to play often. Your favourite of them all, if you’re being honest.

“Anytime.”

You don’t realise it’s him until it’s too late, until you’re practically running into him, bouncing off the broad expanse of his back with a startled squeak. Lucky for you, you’re quick on your feet, catching yourself before your skull can become too well-acquainted with the red brick wall to your right.

“You okay?” Though he asks, you have a sneaking suspicion he knows you’re not and an even stronger suspicion that he’d been waiting for you, hovering past the entrance of the cafe with his big university hoodie on.

“Barely,” you manage around a laugh, straightening the backpack slung over your shoulders, packed to the brim with goodies you got to bring home at the end of the night and two of your textbooks.

“Should watch where you’re going.”

This is the most conversation you’ve had - ever. But it’s fun, easy, organic and natural. You wonder why that is.

“You should watch where you’re standing, actually.”

He’s so much bigger than you, imposingly tall (especially being part of the Leporidae family) and wide in the chest. Not bulky by any means, but big. Strong. Threaded with a strength you don’t normally see in hybrids of his kind. It probably has to do with how often you see him covered in sweat and panting, basketball hooked under his arm, soccer cleats tied to his bag.

When he speaks again, it’s full of mirth, squeezing his round eyes near shut. “Got a problem with me standing here?”

You nod, solemn as ever (which is really never, but that’s besides the point). “It’s dangerous to block entryways, didn’t you know?” You’re gesturing to the awning, the dark interior just past the window of the shop. “You’re loitering, Jungkook.”

“So you do know my name.” You can tell he’s not surprised - that he’s hamming it up for dramatics, softly pink lips rounded in a little ‘O’. He’s cute like this, you think. Playful in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I do?”

There’s that cheek thing again. It’s even more attractive up close, the shape of his jaw thrown into prominent relief when he sucks in a breath.

“You just said it.”

You nod, thoughtful, finger tapping upon your chin. “I guess I did.”

“Say it again,” he states, expression inscrutable, eyes bright. They’re so glossy even under the dimmed streetlights, impossibly big and undeniable. So easy to get lost in - if your attention weren’t caught by something else.

“What is that?”

You’d noticed it earlier in the day, caught the scent in passing sometime during the early hours. You’d been unable to place it then, too distracted by freshly ground coffee, a girl’s three too many spritzes of Daisy by Marc Jacobs, and baking banana loaves.

It’s heady, masculine. A strong musk that sinks into your nose and makes it twitch, ears rotating as if that’ll help pin the smell down.

“What’s what?” You hadn’t realised how close you’d become, your face five seconds from planting directly into his chest. (It’d probably be nice - you know how soft your school’s merchandise is.) “Are you okay?” He asks because you’re now, actually, planting your face right against the worn navy cotton. It’s terribly nice, silk upon your cheek.

You answer more to his clothes than to him, nosing into the fabric. “You smell different.”

You feel more than hear his laughter, the sound barreling past his teeth seconds later. The vibrations running along his spine jostle you from your position face first upon him but you don’t mind. It doesn’t send you far, dark eyes peering up into the face of the bunny hybrid. True to his kind, his nose is twitching, puffs of laughter expanding his cheeks when he meets your stare.

“No I don’t.”

“You do.” Tone firm, a finger lands upon the neatly embroidered N on his hoodie. The white stitching stands in stark contrast to your baby blue nails. “You smell… off.”

Whether Jungkook’s offended or not, you can’t tell. He’s got that same strange expression on his face - the one from this morning when he’d received his coffee. It’s made up of too many moving parts: the flutter of his lashes, the coil of his jaw, the minute tick of the corner of his mouth. You can’t read him for shit, somehow more confused now than in your 300-level art history class. (You’d taken it as one of your optional electives assuming it’d be an easy A. You were wrong.)

“Sorry you think so,” he hums, looking down at you. You’ve seemed to fully forget the meaning of personal space, edged up beside him as if you’re best friends and not just two ships passing in the night.

“It’s not bad.” Really, it isn’t. It’s strong and sensual, vegetal in a way, calming in another. But it isn’t unwelcome.

In fact, you think you might like this scent a little more - less sweet than what normally clings to his skin, natural honeycomb rather than processed sugar. It zings across your teeth, pieces broken up and scattered behind your molars. You can practically taste it. Him.

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

You share a look - one that says more than all the words you’ve ever spoken, that threads together all the silly laughter, narrowed stares, (written) flirtations. It settles between the two of you, filling the spaces with something akin to cotton, light and airy and soft.

The desire to speak lingers, hidden just beyond the cotton candy dusting. Should you? Shouldn’t you? You still have no idea what he’s doing here, a street urchin making his rounds on the campus village.

He beats you to it. “Can I walk you back to your dorm?”

You don’t think you could want anything more. “Sure.”

Silence falls again but it’s comfortable, a caress rather than a crutch. The grounds are surprisingly quiet - wayward students on their way to the library or heading home from lectures. There are no picnic blankets spread across the grass, no gaggles of girls dressed in school colours. It feels like the first day of fall, change sitting heavy in the air.

“So—” You start.

He finishes, “do you wanna go on a date with me?”

That’s surprising. (Or is it? You’re not really sure.) You nearly trip over your own two feet in your haste to look at him, entire body swivelling on the spot because apparently you can’t just turn your head like a normal person. Something something all or nothing.

“What?”

“Do. You. Want. To—” He’s being insufferable for the hell of it. You can see it in his eyes, glossy things shining down at you like he’s got the entire fucking nightsky hung in them.

“Not if you keep that up,” you retort, though you both know you’re lying. You’ve been waiting - wishing, wanting - for this moment since the day you laid eyes on him. Since Yuri had elbowed you so hard in the ribs you’d thought you’d be bruised for days, since Jae had rambled on and on for his entire shift about the cute new bunny who’d come in that morning. Since that very first wrongly spelt name on his plastic cup and every visit since.

“Is that a challenge?”

“You won’t get it in.”

He scoffs, loud and drawn out, cheek rounding with disbelief at your disbelief. How can you possibly doubt him - school basketball star and all-around athletic freak of nature?

“What do I get if I do?” The ball rests in his palm, poised to be shot through the hoop, sunk without making contact with the rim. He’s confident - he’s done it a million times.

“A pat on the back?” As much as you tease him - loop mockery around nearly every syllable you speak, you’re endlessly supportive, already carrying the fruits of his labour under your arms. A Pikachu shoved haphazardly into the purse slung across your body, a Snorlax tucked under your arm at an awkward angle that crushes his poor head, a Sylveon tucked into the side pocket of his joggers. (The arcade was really into Pokemon, apparently.) “Me saying thank you?”

“Not good enough.” He leans in close - those big galaxy eyes practically swallowing you whole - and taps a single finger upon your nose. It makes your nostrils flare, an itch blooming under his touch. “Gotta sweeten the deal.”

You must look hilarious because Jungkook’s biting back a smile, smirking down at you. Then, all at once, without breaking eye contact, he’s extending his arm, flicking his wrist, and— swish!

In goes the ball, leaving him with a perfect score.

“I want you to stay the night.”

You think he’s joking. He must be joking. This is your third date.

But he’s staring at you like he’s completely serious, gaze expectant, lips pursed around something that reads like a smile but has your heart doing a strange little one-two step in your chest. It soars for a moment, high above the clouds like the string orchestra of a choral work - Beethoven’s Ninth in D minor.

“Are you propositioning me, Jeon Jungkook?” It’s the same reaction he always has when you say his name: a twitch of his ear, the corner of his bottom lip quirking and then resetting, eyes so sparkly it’s almost absurd.

“No. I’m just telling you what I want.”

“Huh.” You should say no. Guys like him - with charm that oozes out of every pore, whose offhanded smiles break more hearts than you ever have - are almost always bad news. Too sweet, too funny, simply too much for your feeble heart to take.

“Is that a yes?” He’s got you in his clutches - a viper rather than a hare, with a smile so dangerous you’re paralysed by just the sight of it. (Who needs venom?)

Your words catch in your throat, stick to one another like the deformed gummies at the bottom of the movie theatre bag. What comes out isn’t what you expect. “Okay.”

Damn you. Damn him. Damn how good he smells and the big dumb grin that spreads over his lips, sunshine in human form, undeniable and warm and cute enough to start a war over. (That’s probably what’s happening - a vicious battle between your head and your heart.)

Damn his stupid thumping foot that you can make out over the sound of the video games, the boisterous din. It’s so cute you can’t help yourself from smiling, mouth pulling and pursing around the delight that begs to be freed.

“Cool,” he says, and you almost think that’s not very cool. He’s so nonchalant, cavalier about it as if it means nothing. You’d be bothered if you felt like you didn’t know him so well - hadn’t learnt his idiosyncrasies over the last two months.

How he looks when he laughs really hard, his slightly too-big front teeth taking up all the real estate in his mouth. How he sounds when he’s tired (groggy, with a lisp that rarely sees the light of day otherwise) or when he’s told he’s wrong (pouty, with his bottom lip jutted out so cutely you want to scream). How he runs every morning, hits the gym every night, and eats double your protein because fitness, bro! How his cheat meal of choice is soy garlic fried chicken from the place off-campus and he hates tangy, tart desserts (your lemonade lip gloss not included, he insists). How he can’t sleep if he’s too hot - which he often is - and he spends way too long combing through his ears with a specialty brush he doesn’t let anyone touch. How he’s secretly raindrops and gummy bears and hand holding in the car, so much more than his high school superlative of most likely to grace the cover of GQ.

You wonder, because you know those things, does that make you special? Does it make you immune to the heartbreak that you swear you imagine whenever your mood drops (not often, but often enough)?

You hope so.

“Let’s go shoot guns?” He’s tearing you from your reverie, planting an open-mouthed kiss to your temple. It’s sloppy and not very refined, much less suave than what you’d expect from your school’s soccer captain (and basketball small forward and swim team stand-in). You suppose that’s why you like him so much - because he’s always surprising you, keeping you on your toes.

“Let’s.” You agree, letting your date drag you toward the Time Crisis machine. It’s blissfully unoccupied, allowing the two of you to slide into place. He takes the blue gun, you the red.

He squeezes your hip when you take up position, one eye squeezed shut as you look down the barrel of the plastic weapon. “Better not let me die.”

“Better not get shot,” you return.

He doesn’t listen - failing halfway through the helicopter scene, his shot missing and resulting in some sad miserable death in the form of Continue? blinking across the screen. Neither of you mind that much though. He occupies himself on his phone, free hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. You play better when he’s not shouting terrible call-outs, nearly crashing into you because he gets so into it.

(How he’s never got a concussion on the basketball/soccer/etc. field before, you’re not sure.)

By the time you’re done - a good five minutes later, you think - Jungkook’s growing restless, tugging at your belt loops enough that you stumble with every shot, nearly knocking yourself out when you have to steady yourself on the centre console.

“Kook!” Your glare is barely that, too affectionate to dissuade him from his childish antics.

He pulls you forward, traps you between his thick thighs, tattooed hands settling comfortably on your hips. “Let’s go home.”

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

Of course, he doesn’t deny that.

It’s not the first time you’ve been over. Not even your second or third. You’ve met up with him before his games, thrown his jersey overtop and helped him wrap his fingers before hitting the court. You’d even had to grab his cleats for him once, running across campus as he did drills in his socks as punishment.

This time feels different. You know why but it doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow. It lodges somewhere in your throat, makes it hard to breathe when you kick off your shoes and tuck them neatly beside Jungkook’s.

“Are you hungry?” He’s already in the small kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at you as you linger in the adjoining hallway, bag halfway over your head.

“I’m good.” You are, really. You’d eaten one donut too many at the arcade, indulged in a little too much disgusting nacho cheese goodness. You don’t really understand how your date’s still hungry, a cucumber crunching between his teeth when he turns back to you.

Standing there, vegetable devoured in quick, decisive bites, he looks every inch the French lop bunny he is.

You reach him in the same instant he finishes his midnight snack. Arms fold around you like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, head dropping to rest comfortably upon yours. Like this, his ears tickle your cheek - velveteen fur lost to the silk of your hair. “Are you tired?”

Another no comes - spoken into the fuzzy fabric of his sweater - and he hums above you, whole frame rattling with the noise.

“No bed then?”

At least he’s transparent, you think.

“One track mind much?” You’re only teasing. A part of you looks forward to… whatever it is that sits over the horizon, lost past the creaky bedroom door and somewhere beneath his surprisingly soft sheets. (You’d asked about them once - he’d told you his mother liked to send him housewares to remind him of home. He was a real mama’s boy that way.)

The monster only laughs, snuggles into your hair like it’s home. “Can you blame me?”

You can’t do much of anything when he’s like this - so utterly adorable and enticing and good for your heart that it feels as if you’ve taken a straight dose of morphine.

“Let’s go to bed, Wookie.” Another nickname, recently coined after you’d spent an evening watching Star Wars for the first time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You whack him on the way to his bedroom, smack a hand over the arm curled around your shoulders. He pretends like it hurts, howls in a way he he thinks resembles a wounded animal but really just sounds stupid. “Not a ma’am.”

“Sir?” He asks, just to make you laugh.

“If you don’t shut up—”

He pushes you through the door of his bedroom while giggling to himself, sound puffing out of his cheeks. “Don’t be mad, kitten.” The two of you drop to the bed, a tangle of limbs and silken fur and squeaking laughter. “You’re so purr-ty when you’re annoyed.”

He’s doing it again. Dropping those stupid cat puns that make your nose wrinkle, ink-tipped ears folding back against your head.

“I think I’m hiss-terical, don’t you?”

Face adamantly buried into his sheets, you don’t give him the time of day. You don’t even care that your mascara is probably rubbing off against the charcoal fabric, lipstick tint doing potentially irreversible damage. He knows how unfunny you find these jokes, how you’ve heard them your whole life and roll your eyes so hard your optic nerve might sever every time you face another.

What’s the point of sharing your pet peeves with him when all he does is lean into them? Use them against you like it’s the cool thing to do. Make you wonder what you’d seen in him when he was just another customer, another boy in Seoul National indigo and bedhead so dishevelled it begged to be managed.

(You’re not sure why you’re so irritated suddenly, caught in the clutches of a moodswing as you curl into your side and ignore his bad jokes.)

Stupid Jeon Jungkook. Annoying, silly, too-cool-for-his-own-good Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook who makes you second guess your choices, leaves you breathless and confused with just one dumb look. Who has convinced you into his bed and teases you mercilessly, snickering to himself as his foot bounces against the floorboards because he finds himself that funny.

“Baby?” The pet name comes, presses itself past your curtain of hair and invades your thoughts.

You say nothing, adamantly faced away.

He doesn’t like that, sneaking his hands around you and cradling you into his chest as if that’ll lighten the mood. (It does, a little bit, but you don’t tell him that.) “Don’t ignore me,” he mumbles, warmth breath tickling your ears, fingers dancing over the rungs of your ribs as if they’re ivory and not bone, playing a tune only he can hear.

“Stop with the shitty jokes,” you retort. You’re being difficult - can feel the vinegar turning your blood even as he tries to will it all away.

You feel the intake, the rise and fall of his broad chest. You can only imagine how hard he’s biting his tongue, careful to keep his next errant pun at bay. People don’t tell him no - only you. Maybe that’s why you do it, to remind him you’re not just like everyone else.

“Sorry.”

You don’t tell him to show you how sorry— but he does anyway.

You’re astounded by him, utterly entranced by the way he moves. How power runs the length of his frame, manoeuvres each of his limbs and turns your own to jelly.

He’s got you face down, ass up, hands cradling your hips like they’re his home and he can’t bear to let go. Every upward stroke feels like heaven - feels like a million lifetimes of pleasure you can barely wrap your thoughts around. He’s impossibly big, thick and long. The first thought you’d had when he’d stripped his black Calvin Kleins was pretty.

You realise now there’s nothing pretty about him. He’s filthy - the devil come to collect as he fucks you across his bed, nearly loses you to the pillows at the head with each snap of his hips. (What they said about rabbits was true, you think.)

“B-Bunny,” you sob, scratch over cotton that’s worn soft and smells exactly like your favourite sweater of his. The linens are defenseless, tangled up and wrinkled with each flex of your fingers, bunched up within your palms every time he buries himself like he’s looking for the answer to life, thinks he might find it within the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“Not my name.” When he sounds like this, he’s more predator than prey, a thousand volts of electricity shooting up your spine. He’s demanding and unrelenting. It makes your head spin.

“Wook—”

“Not.” Bunny teeth are just as painful as a feline’s, doing their job as they dig into the flushed skin over your back, marking his territory with two prominent indents right between your neck and shoulder. “A.” He ruts into you as if he’s got something to prove, snaps his hips to a beat you can’t keep up with. “Wookie.” Grips you so tight you might snap, red blooming beneath his hands.

You sob under him, drool against the pillows because you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut. (You feel like Jungkook post-win, spewing nonsense as he prattles on about game winning plays with his teammates.)

“K-Kookie.” It’s what he wants to hear - hits him right in the chest, a bull’s eye to the thing that beats wildly and in tandem with your own.

His rhythm stutters. The bed is shaking and not because he’s practically breaking the weak wooden frame. No, his foot’s thumping, bouncing across the sheets even as he tries to regulate the roll of his hips, return it to the assured, teeth-numbingly good tempo it’d been at.

It doesn’t work. You love it anyway. Like it more, because it means he’s just as affected by you as you are him. Your heart sings, leaps out of your chest on hummingbird wings, and dances around your head. You’re a goddamn cartoon - Pepé Le Pew in ragdoll form - animated pink shapes circling like a crown.

You don’t care. You can’t. Not when he plasters himself to your back and asks you to say it again, begs you to tell him how good he is, tells you how he wants to make you his.

Who cares if it’s three dates in, if your meeting was cliched and silly and he’s the campus heartthrob?

You don’t - because he’s yours and when he flips you onto your back and you curl your fingers into his hair, it’s your name he stutters out. It’s you who has him coming apart beneath your hands, the feel of his ears like velvet, the little whines he huffs growing louder each time you tug at the base. It’s you who knows what he sounds like as he falls to pieces, throws himself against you as if gravity demands it. It’s you who holds him to sleep, whose skin acts as a canvas for the doodles he traces as he drifts off.

It’s you and it’s him and that’s enough.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

1K notes · View notes

ibijau · 3 years

Note

Can there be grovelling in the next chapter of the concubine au? That's one of my favorite tropes in royalty au's -- where the one with power gets mad and the other person goes right down on their knees (or flat on the ground as appropriate) to talk to them (or not talk to them), and they're terrified because the power differential is so big... Favorite trope ever

oops, I'm... not sure that really counts as grovelling? But nhs is suitably terrified

concubine nhs pt9 / on AO3

If it had been up to him, Lan Xichen might never have returned to that little house. The humiliation of having been lied to for several years, and in so intimate a manner, the realisation that everything had happened for the sake of political scheming, had broken his heart too thoroughly. Nie Huaisang must have been laughing at how stupid he’d been to believe so wholeheartedly that he was loved.

An idiot, like his father before him.

But unlike his father, Lan Xichen wouldn't hide in shame, nor wash his hands of the whole matter.

Because some people had nothing to do with their time but to watch the life of others and comment on it, it was quickly noticed that Lan Xichen had suddenly stopped visiting his beloved concubine. It had already raised some eyebrows while Nie Mingjue was in the capital, but might have been mistaken as an attempt to save that general some face by not sleeping with his brother while he was there. But Nie Mingjue was only briefly around before returning to his troops, and it became a topic for discussion when Lan Xichen still did not go to the little house.

Much as Lan Xichen had enjoyed pretending otherwise when spending the night with Nie Huaisang, he was not an ordinary man, and even his private life did not fully belong to him. He refused to give any importance to the whispers he heard around him, but knew he could not ignore them forever. When Lan Wangji, who disdained gossip of any sort, felt the need to comment on the situation after his weekly visit to Nie Huaisang, while Lan Qiren started looking as if he too wanted to have a word with his nephew on that matter, Lan Xichen gave in.

Unwilling to deal with a lecture, and mortified at the thought of what his uncle might say if he learned how much Lan Xichen resembled his father after all, the emperor had no choice.

A week after learning the truth, Lan Xichen knocked on the door of that little house.

Because he'd come earlier in the day than he normally did, Nie Huaisang had not yet adorned himself with all the delicate silks and golden jewellery he usually wore. Dressed in a simpler manner, he looked again like the young man who had made him laugh in Qinghe, unaware of his identity.

Lan Xichen had been so sure back then that there had been a spark between them. He would never have asked for Nie Huaisang to be sent to the capital, nor dared to flirt so boldly, if he hadn’t been sure.

There was no spark that day. Nie Huaisang wasn't laughing, nor even smiling. Instead he stared at Lan Xichen the way most people did, with a mix of awe and fear. Not a lover in front of his beloved, but a subject in front of his emperor. Something broke inside Lan Xichen’s chest at that realisation.

"We must talk," he announced, using the tone of voice his uncle had trained him to favour during councils and official business, hoping that would hide his pain.

Without a word, Nie Huaisang stepped aside, lowering his gaze in a manner befitting an emperor's subject. Whatever comedy they'd played before had been abandoned. Lan Xichen came in, letting his concubine close the door while he went to sit at their table. There he found a book open, and some paper on which notes had been taken. The subject appeared to be military discipline, something his little bird would never have bothered with, but which Nie Huaisang appeared to understand quite well.

"Sit," Lan Xichen ordered. Then, fearing that Nie Huaisang might attempt to play his old role again and try to climb on his lap, he pointed at the other side of the table. "Over there."

Nie Huaisang meekly nodded, and obeyed without a word. Lan Xichen should have been glad perhaps, but could only think that he'd have preferred for Nie Huaisang to protest at being addressed so harshly, or to complain about being abandoned for so long. His little bird always grumbled if he went too long without a visit, demanding even more affection than usual to make up for the absence, never satisfied until he had been kissed a long while and heard everything that Lan Xichen had done while away. That was how things usually went between them, and if Nie Huaisang had done that, then perhaps Lan Xichen could have hoped that he'd just misunderstood the other day, that something between them had been real…

His father too must have hoped the same, as had many others upon discovering their love was never returned.

"Did your father order you to seduce me?" Lan Xichen asked.

Nie Huaisang startled but didn’t answer, still avoiding his eyes. Of course he’d avoid his eyes. It was not right for a subject to look at their emperor’s face, was it?

“Answer the question.”

“He encouraged it,” Nie Huaisang confessed in a low voice, pulling in the hem of his sleeve, his gaze refusing to meet Lan Xichen’s.

“You’ve lied to me.”

That was met again with silence, when Lan Xichen would have preferred a vehement denial, or perhaps a tearful plea for mercy, or just about anything but that quiet resignation. He hated to see Nie Huaisang afraid of him. He didn’t enjoy inspiring fear in anyone to begin with, but to do so in the person he had loved, whom he still loved in spite of the betrayal, was unbearable.

He wanted to leave right then, to never see so much fear in his little bird. But that, of course, was impossible.

“If I could, I’d send you back to your father,” Lan Xichen said, and that at last got him a reaction. Nie Huaisang shivered and hunched his shoulders, daring a quick glance at him.

Lord Nie could be a very pleasant man. He was well liked by many, including Lan Xichen’s own uncle who had little talent for making friends. But pleasant as he was, Lord Nie was also well known for his peculiar sense of justice, and the way it made him strike hard on those who failed to accomplish their duty. Even his own family was held to those standards, or so Nie Mingjue used to say when they were young.

Nie Mingjue who had been ordered to become friends with Lan Xichen when sent away from home to become the child emperor’s companion, though he’d had the honesty of just saying so, and made it clear at first he didn’t much care for Lan Xichen, not until he’d proven he was worth befriending. Perhaps it should not have come as such a surprise to Lan Xichen that Nie Huaisang too would have had orders, and unlike Nie Mingjue, he wouldn’t have had the security of being a legitimate first born to help him stand his ground.

“I won’t do that,” Lan Xichen announced. “The political ramifications would be more than I wish to deal with at the moment. If I do anything to imply that your family has fallen out of favour, their enemies will try to take advantage, which would complicate our war against the Wens. I don’t want to see that war drag any longer than necessary, so I must continue showing support to you and your father.”

He could only imagine what Jin Guangshan would do if he thought the Nie were no longer under imperial protection. There was an old feud of sorts between the two families, going back a few generations, and Jin Guangshan was the sort of man who would care more about improving his own position than about winning a war. Not only that, but Jin Guangshan had already offered to give some of his illegal children as imperial concubines, and he would try it again, selling his own children for favours. It had disgusted Lan Xichen the first time the offer had been made.

It still disgusted him, and Lord Nie had fallen in his esteem for having done the same.

But hearing this reassurance, some tension appeared to bleed out of Nie Huaisang’s body at last, though he still remained hunched up. He looked small, and frailer than Lan Xichen had ever realised before. He’d always been aware that his little bird was not a very big man, but he noticed for the first how thin he was, how pale… Much paler than he was when they'd met, and more delicate as well. Nie Huaisang looked almost sickly, though his usually animated nature hid. It was almost painful to see him so miserable. Lan Xichen wanted to pull him into his arms and comfort him, the way he’d done so many times before.

He would have done it, if not for the suspicions that his touch would only make Nie Huaisang more miserable.

“I will have to continue coming here regularly,” Lan Xichen said, and again Nie Huaisang’s eyes darted toward his face, wide and terrified. “I will come less. I will say that you’ve encouraged me to start thinking of taking a wife.” It wouldn’t be a lie. The reason he’d been so reluctant to enter a proper marriage had been because he’d wanted to dedicate all his free time to his lover. With that consideration removed, Lan Xichen could more easily do what duty demanded of him. “But I cannot simply stop coming. It would cause too much gossip if we ended things too abruptly.”

Nie Huaisang weakly nodded, and still wouldn’t react.

“Won’t you say something?” Lan Xichen hissed, hoping he sounded angry rather than desperate. “Won’t you defend yourself?”

“You have… I mean, his highness has made his decision. How could this humble one contest it? Whatever his highness decides, this humble one will comply.”

“I see,” Lan Xichen said.

What he saw, what he understood, was that even with his father’s anger to fear, Nie Huaisang was entirely unwilling to continue his comedy, now that he had a chance of escaping it. Lan Xichen could only imagine how much his little bird must have hated him, if he was so eager to be rid of him. It had all been a lie then. Every moment of joy, every kiss, every night spent together…

How pathetic that he'd never suspected anything.

It would take a while to fully accept that none of it had been true. That they hadn’t been in love, no matter how sure of that Lan Xichen had been.

It would take a while to stop loving a little bird who had never really existed.

And still, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t look at him, his eyes cast down, submissive and resigned. Had he looked like that when his father had ordered him to seduce Lan Xichen? He could imagine it too well, Lord Nie tall and domineering, demanding that his second-born sacrifice his pride, while Nie Huaisang, dutiful son that he was, accepted without protest to spend his youth in the bed of another man whom he disliked.

It would have been decided only between the two of them, Lan Xichen thought. He could not imagine Nie Mingjue approving of this, not with how angry he’d sounded the other day when Lan Xichen overheard everything, not when Nie Mingjue had spent so much of their youth complaining that he wanted his half-brother to be given the same respect he got. He’d always said he wanted to see his brother live to his full potential, harassing his father to recognise him, pushing for Nie Huaisang to be more than a mere servant, to be given a chance to study and enter the administration where he was sure to shine.

Nie Mingjue had to hate Lan Xichen, for robbing Nie Huaisang of that.

Lan Xichen, then, realised that he hadn’t lost just his lover. He had also lost his oldest, dearest friend. How could he ever have faced Nie Mingjue after this, how could he have confided in him, now that he knew the truth?

Shaken by that realisation, Lan Xichen stood up. He needed to leave that house. To stay there even one moment more, in front of that man who had lied to him for the entirety of their acquaintance, was more than he could do.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” Lan Xichen said, struggling to keep his composure as he opened the door of that little house where he once was so happy.

He left, and still Nie Huaisang didn’t run after him, didn’t beg for another chance, didn’t so much as shed a tear. Lan Xichen, to his shame, wished that he had, just so he could have broken down and tried to salvage something that had never been real in the first place. Even with Nie Huaisang so cold, it was tempting to run back inside and ask what he could have done to earn his love, or if that were impossible, what he might offer to continue this comedy they’d been playing. He would have done just anything, like his father before him.

But unlike his father, Lan Xichen valued his dignity, and would not delude himself into thinking love was possible once it had been proven to be absent.

He walked away from the little house, whipped away the few tears that had escaped him, and returned to his duty.

#xisang #lan xichen #nie huaisang #concubine au #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #I fear lxc is maybe not super sympathetic here but well he's angry and hurt

32 notes · View notes

madswritingvoid · 3 years

Text

Say You’re Sorry

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Words: 3k (oops haha)

Warnings: SMUT. 18+ only. Oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, fingering, swearing, slight choking, first time writing smut should probably be a warning itself, sexism, Max Phillips is a warning probably.

You knew it was a bad idea. Well, actually, no you didn’t. Not fully. The voice in your head was just screaming at you to stop - there were other ways to get his attention. Other ways to make Max feel bad for what he did during the Synersavers presentation that didn’t require you stooping this low. Fuck it, you figured, if he can go around and do whatever he wants to get his way then so can I.

Fixing your hair and outfit in the mirror one last time, you went back into the office looking for the desk you usually avoid like the plague. Max Phillips, fuck you.

Earlier That Day

“So you see, Mr. Jacobson, our third quarter projections have us coming in on top by two million dollars and the fourth quarter is looking even better. I mean really champ, if these numbers were anymore amazing they’d be as hot as your associate there in that fetching skirt,” Max winks at the woman taking meeting minutes for your potential new client, causing her skin to blotch, “fucking unreal. Pardon my French,” he finishes, earning a big laugh from the CEO of Synersavers, the new bullshit placebo pill that was supposed to alter the brain’s natural neural pathways to promote synergy. You weren’t sure what dreams synergy was helping pathetic humans to achieve, but it meant a bonus if they signed on so you made sure that PowerPoint presentation was the best slides of your career.

You scoff, worried that if you roll your eyes they’ll get stuck. You know Max Phillips was quite the charmer, you knew better than anyone in the office. This past year saw him go from being just your hot vampire boss you had a crush on, to your hot vampire boss that was now your boyfriend.

While you never made an official statement to your coworkers, you quietly signed the papers Amanda in HR needed signed and let the sound of you screaming Max’s name in his office while he was balls deep inside you let the rest of your coworkers know of your relationship. Overall, Max was a great boyfriend. Better than expected even - attentive, caring, protective to a fault, all while still being that loveable (?) piece of shit frat boy extraordinaire he had been at the beginning.

You knew he still had to lay on the charm to close sales from time to time, never actually violating your relationship in any way, but after the fight you had this morning you didn’t think flirting with the only person in the meeting who did not actually control whether or not this partnership was going to happen right in front of you was the best move.

“Mr. Phillips,” Jacobson says, once again only acknowledging Max and completely ignoring you as he had been for the entire presentation, “you got quite the silver tongue. But I like that about ya, I think you get what our product is all about and I wanna make this partnership work. I’m surprised your presentation is as good as it was, because if you’ll pardon my French, if my secretary looked as delicious as yours does I’d be too busy fucking her left, right, and centre to even think about the fourth quarter anything!” He laughs and claps Max on the shoulder and you tense up, sure that Max is going to say something. Not even because he’s your boyfriend, but because he landed the sale and doesn’t have to be as sleazy as this dickhead is.

“See that’s where you’re wrong Jacobson, it’s almost like I’m working double to avoid her. Just doesn’t get the mojo flowing, y’know? Maybe we should switch, what do you think sweetheart?” He looks over at the still flustered secretary, “Come on and work for me and we’ll work on some new ways of making synergy happen,” he wags his eyebrows and you’re surprised this poor woman hasn’t slid right off her seat. You’re stunned. Even as Mr. Jacobson laughs and brings a laughing Max into some sort of capitalist bro hug, you can’t bring yourself to move. It isn’t until you hear the squeak of the wheels from the chair Mr. Jacobson’s secretary was sitting against the shitty meeting room carpet that you snap back to the present and shut everything down. By the time you finish everyone is long gone, leaving you to stew in your rage.

A hesitant knock on the meeting room door makes you jump as you’re met with a sheepish looking Evan in the doorway. You were never a big fan of Evan when you started, kind of thought he was a wimp but he was nice enough. After getting with Max and learning their shared history, you couldn’t stand Evan, but were able to be far more professional when needed until Max.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was still in here after Max and the Synersavers people left,” he shrugged. “What the fuck do you mean Max left with them?” You asked through clenched teeth. Scratching the back of his neck nervously, Evan took a deep breath before telling you, “yeah, um. They left for a late liquid lunch from what it sounded like, Max said you would be too busy learning how to make a paper clip bracelet to join them… Sorry, he’s such an asshole. You don’t deserve that, especially not from that bastard,” He couldn’t meet your eyes. Even though he still tried to tell you to leave Max every single day, you appreciate him being there this time.

There were many things you could be mean to Evan for, but deep down you knew he didn’t deserve the wrath of your anger this time.

Later That Afternoon

After taking the elevator up to the office to mentally cleanse his mind from that mindless lunch with that absolute creep Jacobson, Max was trying to come up with the best apology for you. He knew he didn’t have to be so forward flirting with that secretary, what the fuck was her name anyways, in order to win the sexist CEO over. But he was feeling petty after your fight while you were getting ready for work he figured it wouldn’t hurt to remind you that many other women find him quite the catch.

“You’re lying! You have to be lying!! There’s no way that happened oh my god,” Max stops dead in his tracks as he hears your giggles from inside the office. “It is! I totally saw Tim practising the dance moves the day after that Kelly Clarkson concert in the men’s washroom. I didn’t even know she had dancers, but from what I saw it really must have been a hell of a show,” Evan says as you throw your head back and let out another over-the-top cackle. You’re sitting on top of Evan’s desk, resting your hand on his shoulder as he sits in between your open legs, clearly enjoying the attention.

You’re hamming it up, he knows that, he knows that’s not what your real laugh sounds like - the laugh he gets to hear when he really does something that you like. He knows you don’t mean it but he’s immediately flooded with anger and guilt. He obviously didn’t realize how much the day had taken a toll on you and now you must be really mad if you’re going to Evan to get back at him.

“Oh my god Evan that’s too funny,” you giggle and place a hand on his shoulder, “you just made my day! I won’t tell Tim anything, it’ll be our little secret,” you wink. Evan’s blush deepens at the touch, maybe you weren’t so bad after all and if Max (and Amanda at this point) didn’t look out he would maybe ask you out for a drink sometime soon. Bring you back to the land of the living.

Deciding he’s absolutely had enough, Max quietly comes up behind Evan and slaps both hands on his shoulders after seeing you move yours back to your lap, causing him to freeze and let out a little squeak. “Slugger, I’m sure whatever’s going on here is just too funny, but didn’t I ask you to finish up that presentation for tomorrow’s meeting with NuevaWeight?” he pouts, “I really thought you were taking this job seriously buddy, but maybe I should just get Andrew to take over…”

“N-no Max, sorry. Yeah the presentation is almost done, it’ll be ready before the end of the day,” Evan stammers. Max finally meets your eyes and smirks, “and you can meet me in my office. Apparently you think you can stop doing your job and distracting my employees.”

You can’t even speak, your jaw set and eyes burning from the absolute rage you feel right now. Yeah you’ll meet him in his office, but it won’t be so he can lecture you about whatever bullshit he’s already thought of. “Of course Mr. Phillips, meet you there,” you manage to snap back, calmly making your way to his office. Anyone walking by you immediately gets out of your way, your anger coming off in waves making your undead coworkers shiver.

Clapping Evan on the shoulder one more time, Max saunters over to his office, ready to make you beg for his forgiveness after that little stunt. As soon as he opens his office door he realizes that won’t be happening.

You’re sitting in his chair, legs propped up on his desk in a way that makes your skirt ride up and expose more thigh than what HR might deem office appropriate. “Ah, Mr. Phillips, so nice of you to make it,” you smirk. “Sweets, I think there must be some sort of misunderstandi-'' you cut him off with a dark look and stand up. Walking up to him you close his office door and push him against it, “No champ,” you sneer, “I think you’re confused here. I’m not the one who decided to be a very, very bad boy by flirting with someone else and insulting me in front of new clients.” Chest to chest, your hand slithers up to grab Max’s throat. Even though he is a vampire who could toss you around like a ragdoll, you know he’s letting you be in control. He likes it.

“While you were out entertaining I’ve been thinking about what I could do to make you really sorry, baby. You were already on thin ice from this morning, but now you’re drowning,” you squeeze a little harder on his throat making his eyes roll back. “What are you gonna do? I’m so sorry,” he whispers. You take a moment, just looking into those eyes you love so much, before answering.

“Maybe I’ll sit on your cock. Let you fill my pussy up but not let you cum, because only good boys get to come, you know that Maxie. Maybe I’ll just use you like my own walking, talking dildo. If I’m so replaceable you won’t mind not getting to fill me up? Right?” You smirk again as he whines, his hands clenching because all he wants to do is make you feel good now.

“You wanna run that mouth, Phillips? You wanna make everything think you’re so fucking special when I know you’re really just a scared little vamp, huh?” You say with a pout. Grabbing his hair, you force his head up so you can look right into his eyes that are now almost completely black from lust. “Come on big shot, if you wanna be a big boy then you gotta show me that mouth can do something other than just spew bullshit, slugger.”

That’s all the permission he needs. He hoists you up in his arms and thanks to vampire speed you’re now sat on his leather couch, skirt up around your waist, underwear ripped clean off, fully exposed to his hungry eyes. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he pouts, “let me make you feel good. I just want you-” You’ve heard enough, pushing him down so his mouth finally reaches your core. Moaning at finally tasting you, Max wastes no time taking your clit and sucking hard, already teasing your entrance with one of his long fingers.

“Y-Yes Max, fuck! Be a good boy and make me cum just like this,” you moan and clench around the finger inside of you, knowing you’re absolutely dripping onto the couch underneath you. He adds a second, then a third, making you arch your back until you’re almost sitting up from how good he’s fucking you with his hands. His mouth doesn’t stop, sucking and licking, spelling out his apologies against your body. Knowing you’re close, he starts focusing on that spot inside of you that drives you wild.

“Oh! Oh, Maxie yes. Such a g-good boy,” you pant, meeting his hand thrust for thrust trying to reach your high, “make me feel so good please please please baby I’m right there, I-” you can’t finish that sentence as your vision goes white and all you can do is let out a strangled moan that sounds like his name.

Once your legs start shaking you pull both of you up, undoing his belt and pushing him onto the couch so you can straddle his waist. You wrap a hand around his neck and start nipping at the area, rocking your soaked pussy along his aching cock that was now free from the confines of his dress pants a few times before sinking down on him. A wicked grin stretches across your face as his moans get louder. He chokes when he feels you gush around him, not expecting you to come again so soon but you were still sensitive from his mouth, the hair above his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit, but you wanted more still.

Picking up the pace, you squeeze around his throat again and start taunting him, “You gonna replace me baby? Yeah? You gonna find a pussy that takes you this good? Be my guest. Go right now and find something better, or show me how goddamn sorry you are.”

Granting him permission to take over, Max flips you on your back, making sure your head is supported by one of the couch cushions. He immediately wraps your legs around his waist, angling one leg to let him sink even deep inside of you, your moans mixing together as you both revel in the feeling of him finally being inside of you. Wanting to prove himself he wastes no time pulling out just to start slamming back into you.

You moan and clench around him, making him hiss and he doesn’t let up. Watching him disappear inside of you over and over again, he starts babbling his apologies. “N-Never baby. Could never replace you. Never gonna find a pu-pussy this fucking good. Look at you, so perfect, so so perfect taking my cock like that. I’m sorry. You’re so good. I don’t deserve it, it’s- fuck it’s so fucking good. Best pussy of all time,” he moans as you clamp down on him, your third orgasm ripping through you.

“Yes - yes Max, that’s fucking r-right. I’m the best pussy you’ll ever have,” you moan again from being so full. You know he’s sorry so you decide to let him finish after all. Taking your hands off his shoulders, you start tangling your fingers in his hair and bring his face close to your so your lips are almost touching, “you did so good Maxie,” you coo, “you cock made me feel so fucking good I know you’re sorry now.” He shudders at your words but keeps his steady pace, trying to make you cum again, still holding back his own impending orgasm. “Thank you baby, ‘m so so sorry, I love you and I just wanna be good for you-” “shhh shhh Maxie, I know I know. You did good baby, now show me how good you are and cum inside of me.”

That’s all he needs.

Something between a groan and growl comes deep from within Max as he finally lets go, pushing himself as far as he can inside of you as he starts painting your walls. Coming down from his high, he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck as you start peppering him with kisses wherever you can reach, carding your fingers through his hair.

“I’m really sorry baby,” you hear him mumble into your neck, “I love you.” He kisses along your throat and you hum, moving your head to give him more access. “I know Max, I love you too. I forgive you. But try that again and I’ll cut your dick off in front of the whole office,” you laugh.

He chuckles too, continuing to shower you with love. “As much as I want to stay right here forever baby, let’s go home and I can keep showing you how sorry I am,” he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows to earn a giggle from you, “sounds good Maxie, you’re lucky I’m just sooooo forgiving.”

Untangling from each other and making yourselves as presentable as you care to be, you leave the office hand-in-hand, ready to see what the rest of the night has in store.

#max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x y/n #max phillips x you #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal imagines #bloodsucking bastards

104 notes · View notes

densi-mber · 3 years

Text

Crush

A/N: This takes places in the semi-near future. For today’s prompt: Kensi or Deeks as a teacher. This fic represents what happens when my mind runs wild with an idea.

***

“Hey, can I call you back in about an hour and a half?” Deeks asked as he jogged down a flight of stairs to the third floor. “I have office hours starting in a few minutes.”

“Sure. Good luck with the gremlins,” Kensi answered. He rolled his eyes, nodding to a passing professor.

“Kens, they’re in they’re 20’s. You have to stop calling my students things like gremlins and children.”

He walked into the small office where he spent his time when he wasn’t teaching Contract Law to thirty or so L1 students. He dropped his bag by the desk, and slipped his jacket off, rolling his sleeves up a few times so he wouldn’t end up getting ink or chalk on the fabric. His dry cleaning bills had definitely increased since he started wearing dress shirts and ties again.

A little less than a year before, when he’d be aimlessly looking for a job, one of his former classmates had suggested teaching until he found something more permanent. Deeks had balked at the idea initially, but eventually given when it became clear that he needed to work and his other options were unavailable.

He’d never anticipated how much he would enjoy it. Now he taught three classes throughout the week at Loyola Law school as an adjunct professor. It was strangely satisfying to have a hand in teaching the next batch of lawyers.

“All I’m saying is that they look a lot younger that I did at that age.” Deeks snorted at Kensi’s completely inaccurate observation as he wrote a few notes on the blackboard that took up most of the back wall.

“You were just a baby when I met you,” he teased.

“Yet you still married me,” Kensi pointed out.

“Ooh, touché.” He heard a noise behind him and glanced over his shoulder. “Oops, gotta go. See you at dinner.” Deeks hung up, turning around completely to face one of his students, Mallory Baten.

She was lingering in the doorway and if Deeks didn’t know better, he would have thought she was hesitating. But that didn’t align with the young woman he knew. Mallory was one of the most outspoken and confident students in the class. She also had a biting sense of humor that Deeks found hilarious.

“Hey Mallory, what can I do for you?” he asked, gesturing for her to take a seat. Again she hesitated a little before pulling up one of the metal chairs situated opposite his desk.

“I had a few questions about Monday’s lecture, Mr. Deeks,” she said, pulling out a thick, color coded binder. The sight of it always reminded him of his own college experience and made him slightly nauseous. He did not miss the stress of studying and exams.

Deeks dragged his chair over with his foot and sat down with his forearms braced against the back, waiting for her to continue.

Brushing her light blond hair back from her neck, Mallory flipped to a page from the last class notes. Deeks instantly recognized her small, neat handwriting covering the majority of the paper.

“So, I was rereading the section on unjust enrichment and I wondered if you could clarify the concept. The text book had some examples, but I thought it was a little lacking,” she said, pointing to her notes.

Deeks tilted his head, quickly scanned her notes and nodded. It was a fairly simple concept, but Mallory tended to be exceedingly thorough. She was one of five or six students who regularly attended his office hours.

“Ok, so unjust enrichment essentially says that if I provide you with a service or product, I deserve compensation. Even if you end a contract early or have an issue with how I provided the service, you still need to provide compensation for those services or produces you received,” he explained.

“Even if the services or products weren’t satisfactory?” she asked, writing something in the corner of the page.

“Well, that would fall under a different part of contract law and would be considered a breach of contract. Assuming there was a legitimate contract to begin with. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, it does, Mr. Deeks.”

“Awesome, I’ll see you on Wednesday,” Deeks said, grabbing a stack of homework assignments that needed grading from the end of his desk while Mallory packed up her binder.

“Actually, I have one more question,” Mallory said. He glanced up, mildly surprised to find her standing over her desk. “Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?”

Deeks froze, sure he’d heard her wrong.

“Do I-what are you asking me?”

“I’m asking you to go out to dinner. On a date.” Her cheeks were a little flushed, but her gaze didn’t waver.

“You know, I’m married, right?” he asked a little desperately. He saw Mallory’s eyes flick to his ring and then back to his face, and she nodded.

“I know.”

“And I’m your teacher.”

“You’re also really hot,” she said bluntly and he felt his cheeks fill with heat. “Plus you’re funny, caring, and my god, your muscles are incredible. Sometimes I come to office hours just to watch the you move.”

Mallory seemed past the point of embarrassment, but he wished a hole would open up in the floor. Or he could throw himself out a window. Unfortunately, his office didn’t have one so he’d have to actually face this. It didn’t help that Mallory was now openly checking him out.

Suppressing a groan, he turned in a half circle, pinching the bridge of his nose as tried to figure out what to say. The continuing ed classes he’d taken hadn’t prepared him for this possibility at all.

“Mart-Mr. Deeks, are you ok?” He almost laughed at the question.

He turned back around to face Mallory again, balancing a on hand on his hip. She looked a little more uncertain again and was watching him avidly.

“Well, this is, uh, wow.” He cleared his throat noisily and tried again. “While this is incredibly, um, flattering, I think we both know that nothing is going to happen between us. For a multitude of reasons,” he said as gently as he could.

“We could still just go out for dinner,” she suggested hopefully. “As friends.”

“No, we can’t,” Deeks said firmly. “Now we should go talk to the dean about getting you transferred to another class section for the remainder of the semester.”

***

“Hey baby,” Kensi greeted him at home later that day, punctuating it with a kiss. “How was work?”

“An unmitigated disaster,” he sighed. He dropped his bag by the door, and flopped onto the couch. Kensi sat next to him and grabbed his hand with a look of concern.

“What happened? Everything seemed fine when I talked to you earlier today.” Deeks groaned, silently reliving the last few hours.

“One of my students hit on me today.” If he’d expected Kensi to react with outrage, he was about to be disappointed. She visibly relaxed beside him, smacking his arm with the back of her hand.

“Why didn’t you lead with that? You had me really worried,” she said, shaking her head at his apparent lack of consideration.

“The fact that a 23 year old asked me out to dinner doesn’t bother you at all?” Deeks asked. Kensi shrugged.

“I figured it was only a matter of time.” Deeks gave her a look and she rolled her eyes at him. “For someone who claims to be a reformed lady’s man, you are ridiculously oblivious when someone is flirting with you. Half the women in your class have a crush on you.”

“No they don’t.” Kensi actually laughed at his protest, patting his arm with false sympathy.

“Uh, yeah they do, babe. Every time I’ve visited you at work, there are no less than three students staring at you at any time. Sometimes even a couple teachers,” she said, clearly enjoying this more than she had any right to.

“Ugh, now I’m going to be thinking about these kids checking me out during class,” he groaned. “This sucks.”

“You’re not even a little bit flattered?” she asked with mild surprised. He shrugged. Maybe he would have been at one time, but now it just seemed weird and a little creepy.

“I might be if I wasn’t old enough to be their father.” Kensi squinted at him and he clarified, “If I had them really young.”

“I’m sure they don’t think of you in a fatherly way.” Deeks made a face at that and gave a full-body shudder.

“Well, thanks for that horrible thought,” he said dryly. “And here I just thought they all loved my teaching.”

“Well, I’m sure they appreciate that too.” Kensi smirked at him as he pouted, running her fingers through his hair. “It’s all your own fault, you know.”

“How is this my fault? I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“You can’t walk around all day in tight shirts and pants with your sleeves rolled up and not expect to get noticed,” she said, leaning in and gliding her nose across his jaw. She inhaled deeply. “You look good enough to eat.” As she spoke, her hand drifted up his bare forearm to cup his bicep. It was a fairly innocent touch, but he still felt a shiver work its way up his spine.

“Is that an offer?” he asked, thoughts of Mallory quickly leaving his mind. Kensi walked her fingers up his arm and across his chest, pausing at his collar. She fiddled with the button on his collar and then slowly tugged his tie free.

“It’s a promise,” she said, the husky note in her voice incredibly sexy. Deeks settled his hands on her hips as she rose up on her knees and straddled his thighs. Smiling down at him, she brushed her hair back, the glossy strands dancing around her shoulder, and slipped the top button free on his shirt. Then she looked up, her expression playful, and added, “For later.”

“That’s cruel,” he complained. “Especially when I’ve had such a terrible day. It was mortifying.”

“So how much did you freak out when she asked you out?” she asked slyly.

“I handled it with all the finesse and professionalism that you would expect from a former criminal defendant, detective, and federal liaison,” Deeks said with mock solemnity and Kensi raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really?” Her voice was filled with disbelief.

“Yeah, no, I kept hoping a freak tornado or earthquake would come along and put me out of my misery.”

“So, I don’t have to worry about you running off with any promising young law students?” Deeks rolled his eyes at Kensi’s question. He thought she was mostly joking, but just in case, he cupped her jaw between his palms, cradling the back of her head and firmly kissed her. She made a noise of surprise in the back of her throat that quickly turned to satisfaction.

“Never. They’ll just have to find another incredibly attractive, middle aged teacher to chase after.” He kissed her again. When they pulled back, Kensi was smirking at him as she fiddled with his collar.

“You’re an idiot, but I love you anyway,” she said, pulling him back down to her.

***

A/N: I know nothing about law, other than what I googled.

#densimber 2020 #ncis la #densi #densimber day 5 #marty deeks #kensi blye #ncis la fanfiction #by ejzah #any excuse to talk about Deeks’ muscles

31 notes · View notes

heycallmeladytypewriter · 3 years

Text

A Call of a Siren - Chapter 2

A/N: As you guys have noticed, I tweaked a few things to fit Delia into the story but please let me know if I missed or messed up something on the storyline. Again, looking for a beta reader if anyone is interested. Chapter three should be up soon along with everyone's favorite angry boy. I don't own My Hero Academia. I only own my own characters and the story I create within Horikoshi's masterpiece of a world I'd love to live in.

Chapter One

_____________________________________________________________

“I expect you to all to still work hard on exams even though the end of the school year is in sight!” Her teacher was lecturing them on the importance of tests or something but Cordelia had other things on her mind.

Nine months ago, she saw the world's greatest hero and a scrawny boy her age on the beach. A day she wouldn’t forget as it was a major part of why she was trying her damndest to get into UA in a month.

She went to the beach mostly everyday on a run and also practiced in her room after her family went out or was asleep. She also tried to incorporate some strength training exercises she got off the internet as she was sure you needed more than cardio to make it in.

One thing she found herself doing, albeit shamefully, was sort of spying on All Might and Izuku Midoriya train on the beach and park. She didn’t necessarily go out of her way but it was on her training grounds too. No matter how she reasoned it, she still kept her distance and would hide at first sign of being found. It also didn’t help that she felt she had stumbled on a major invasion of privacy as she witnessed the strong and well, mighty, All Might transform to a tall but skinny weaker man. The first time she saw it she thought her eyeballs were for sure going to pop out her skull and fall to the floor with her jaw. She would never tell out of respect for the hero but still...every time he did it was like a mini heart attack especially when he would cough up blood afterwards. Like Jesus man please go see a doctor!

“Miss Bell I hope that dazed look on your face means you are thinking of your study schedule this weekend?”

Her head turned from the window and faced the teacher, “ Oh, yes of course!”

“Hmm..so anyways class -” Cordelia went right back to gazing out the window.

_______________________________________________________

“ FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO DO YOUR STUPID STRETCHES BRAT!” Angry boy yelled at her for the 400th time.

Delia rolled her eyes again but continued her stretches where she was. She was here first anyway. Not that it mattered as she always stretched here because after Angry boy decided it was his workout spot she decided it was hers too.

“Oi, don’t ignore me! Move your fat ass out of here!”

“No thanks I’m good. And who are you calling fat ass, big tits?” She laughed as he bristled immediately at her response. He reminded her of a cat, all puffy and angry, when he got like that which only made her giggle more. She wished to know his name but last time she asked he flipped her off.

Looking at her watch, she realized she was going to be late for dinner. “Oh crap. Gotta go! Bye Big tits!”

His water bottle flew right past her head as she ran off while he screamed expletives at her. “Hey!” She scolded. She slowed down enough to pick it up and chucked it with maximum force back at him, “don’t fucking litter!”

She ran a little quicker when she heard the little pops of his quirk which is when she realized a few months ago that he was getting more pissed. “Goddamn brat!”

________________________________________________________

“Cordelia, you are late! Go wash up.” Her mother scolded her from the kitchen as she walked in the house.

“Lost track of time! Sorry I’ll be quick!” She hopped up the stairs and nearly ran into her father, wearing his uniform, on the way. “Oops sorry Daddy!”

Yes, she still called her father ‘Daddy.’

Her ‘Daddy’ was a 6’4 man with piercing blue eyes that could intimidate anybody which probably helped with his job. Her mother always liked to point out that of course all her children had to inherit his blue eyes and not her brown ones.

“Hey,” His hand shot out to gently grab her wrist before she could keep going, “What is all this training you doing for?”

“Nothing in particular. Can’t I have a hobby?” She lied through her teeth before continuing on upstairs.

“Cordelia…”

“Dad. Teenage girl who wants to be fit - not rocket science!”

Hopping in the hot shower, Delia relaxed finally. She was soooo lying to her family but felt it necessary as they stood on opposite ground concerning her dream of becoming a hero.

She had a dream. She wasn’t going to give up without a fight just because she was alone in it. Deep down she was hoping if she became a good enough hero she could change their minds about the matter.

She even took many preemptive precautions such as designating herself as the mail person of the house. She got it every day without fail and they would get used to just depending on her to get it. She managed to get a third cordless phone for the house she’d hide in her room to check the number in case of any specific calls coming through. She even created a fake parent email and perfected their signatures if needed. She was good at lying but it never felt easier on her to lie regardless of her reasons.

“CORDELIA!”

With a sigh, she shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. At least I dry off quickly, she thought amused as she wicked the water off her body and out of her hair.

__________________________________________________________

It was exam day.

Delia’s nerves were all over the place as she sat in the auditorium filled with the other hopefuls. They grouped them by class it seemed though she didn’t recognize those sitting near her. Her fault, she was sure, as she didn’t reach out to others during this past year as she just assumed or more like hoped she’d be transferring after the year was up.

She wondered where Midoriya was as he was the reason she got her butt here in the first place.

The Pro, Present Mic, continued to shout out to the crowd of potential students but Delia figured everyone was too wound up to join in or even focus enough. He was in the process of explaining their physical test when a loud voice rang out. A boy with cut blue hair and glasses stood suddenly and practically demanded answers of a possible inconsistency regarding the robots before the Pro could probably get to it (impatient much?) and then turned behind him to yell at the very boy she was wondering about for muttering too loudly.

She wanted to laugh but her nerves were already fraying. As they were announcing the order of tests and people were slowly being shuffled out of the auditorium, Delia took a long breath before marching outside with the others.

____________________________________________________________

This was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

She went on auto pilot as soon as the doors opened. Everyone rushed forward only to be immediately greeted by a bunch of green robots with glowing red eyes. Without thinking, she looked for the nearest water source...yes, a fire hydrant!...and reached her hand outwards to pull the water. A burst of water came rushing out that she quickly sharpened into her normal water whip and sliced out at the first two robots she saw ahead of her, breaking their heads off.

“Wow that was amazing!” A girl with short brown hair to her left shouted at her before running further down the street. Delia blinked. Holy shit, that was amazing! For a moment, Delia felt she could really do this...until about 10 minutes later.

The robots didn’t give her a minute to think anymore, which considering her extreme anxiety over today was probably a good thing, and she used her whip to maim any robot who came within range. As soon as she was finally racking up a few points, a giant shadow loomed over the street.

It was the zero points robot.

Holy shitballs it was huge, Delia thought, shielding her face, as it stomped its way over causing surrounding small buildings and the street itself to explode with force everywhere.

She was about to run but she heard someone cry out. It was the really nice girl from earlier who was caught under the debris from the zero pointer.

Everyone was running.

Then she ran.

Towards the girl.

There was water running from a broken pipe so she willed it near her as she skidded to the girl and put her hand up and the water formed a water dome around her the girl as they braced themselves for the next step from the robot but it never came.

“SMASH!” Midoriya yelled from above them. Through the water she saw him go flying at the face of the robot and hit it so hard the zero pointer was thrown back with a broken face.

“Oh my god” she whispered. The water fell on them in a whoosh and she snapped back to the girl and pushed the rock up far enough to wiggle her leg out. Looking up, she saw Midoriya start to fall and her heart continued to race as she tried to figure out how to catch him but the girl who was stuck ran, now with a limp, touch a rock and float upwards towards him. She meets him halfway then taps him midair and slowly brings them back to earth. Then promptly throws up off the side of the rock.

The buzzer goes off.

Times up.

Delia felt her shoulder drop in disappointment. She only had 20 points from the smaller robots and barely. That was it. She was stuck at a regular school and wouldn’t be a pro hero.

The finality of things started to weigh on her and followed her as she shuffled her way home, trying not to cry.

____________________________________________________________

The wait was killing her.

It’s been days and she’s checked the mail repeatedly. Damn near scared the mailman a few times when she ran up to him a few houses before hers.

By the time it came, she had all but figured she failed so badly that they weren’t gonna waste time with a letter. Yeah, she was being dramatic but still.

Finally, a small package addressed to her arrived. Delia had to wait until her parents went out to the store with Henry before she could run to her room and play it. After triple checking they left, she set it up on her small desk and internally started to scream.

“Young Bell, it is me All Might! I am here! To give you your results on your exam to UA!”

There goes her ability to breathe.

She started to bite her lip nervously.

“It says here that you scored 24 points on your practical and did well enough in your written test. BUT”

She was now on the verge of gnawing her lip off.

“While your scores were alright enough, what really wowed us was your last few minutes of the practical!”

He started a small screen next to him of the girl who was stuck under a rock talking to someone behind the camera.

“Is it possible to share my points?!” The girl exclaimed to someone behind the camera.

Delia’s hand went to her chest as the girl, who didn’t know her nor should’ve bothered to do this, wanted to make sure her and Midoryia earned enough points and if not, to give them some of hers. Her lip had to have been bruised by now.

“Did you really think a Hero academy judged solely on the ability to hit a robot? We look at everything! And you, Young Bell, embody just the right person we strive to teach! You went ahead without thinking or caring about anything but the girl and acted- acted heroically! We awarded you 30 more points bringing your total to a whopping 54! So, Young Bell, I want to congratulate you on your acceptance to UA! Welcome, future hero!”

Delia’s lip was bleeding now but she didn’t care. Tears were rushing down her face before she could stop them.

She thought it was done.

But really- it was just beginning.

She sent a silent thank you to the boy on the beach and the hero they both looked up to

#The Call of a Siren #bakugou x oc #bakugo fanfic #bakugou katsuki #mha #mha fanfiction #Class 1A #All Might #midoriya izuku #bakugou smut #my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #bnha #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha fanfiction

18 notes · View notes

tenacityreturns · 3 years

Note

“ i know i’m a monster, but you look at me like i’m a man. ” / aomine

prompted // @peachmuses

kagami can’t catch his breath. sweat drops from every pore on his goddamn body despite the chill in the air, he’s run out of water, he’s not sure he’ll make it past the gate if they try to leave now. he’d thought playing a one-on-one with aomine after a shit day just kept getting worse would cheer him up. playing basketball against impossible opponents usually did -- hanging out with aomine usually did. but he noticed a shift in the way he’s staring at touou’s ace. it’s as if the butterflies in his stomach are reliant on a good mood, and if anything disturbs that setting, they die.

no, not die. they rest. he still stared in awe as, in mid-air, aomine unleashed one of those formless shots against one of his high jumps. it goes straight over his fingertips in a high arc. impossible. it’s hard not to smile sheepishly if aomine ever compliments his moves. compliments his outfit ( then kagami will realise he’s wearing aomine’s gifted shoes and will fight him on it - a welcome distraction from a bad saturday morning ).

kagami still wants to be around aomine, but he also wishes he was alone to process his thoughts. instead, he’ll have to put them on the shelf and focus on the game. for a while it works. the formless shots, the steals, the dunks, it’s all just what he’d needed to feel better. he’s even smiling during the height of it. but the pressure he’d put on himself earlier with the mood drop results in frustration that he still can’t keep up. he’s taken on more training than ever lately, determined to get faster and stronger to beat him in these one-on-ones, but it’s no good. as kagami trains, aomine trains, and kagami had only won with seirin when aomine hadn’t been training much. had been out of sorts, not fully expecting to have to try. it sucks to lose.

it really sucks to lose.

still. kagami doesn’t know the meaning of discouragement. he’ll just have to pour even more of himself into his favourite sport. maybe go on runs before school if he can get up early enough?

all this time, kagami has been hunched over with his hands on his knees. not the best posture to recover, but he’s so fucking tired that he can’t stand up properly right now. his empty water bottle is discarded on the floor. he’s come to glare at the floor, dwelling on the problems he’d been so eager to shelf earlier.

a blue water bottle pops into view nearby. it’s aomine offering his. kagami doesn’t think anything of it as he takes it and has some.

“thanks,” he nods. after he’s had some, he returns it. no use finishing aomine’s drink - what about him! “i think i’m dying right now,” almost a smile, “good game.”

“yeah, you’re improving.”

is that a jab? his smirk is teamed with a roll of his eyes. kagami doesn’t have the energy reserves to fight right now. “shut the fuck up, i’ll win next time.”

“i don’t get it,”

another jab? he pushes himself to stand, and expects to see a shit-talking rival sneering at him. but he doesn’t. aomine is standing half turned, a few paces away, absently knocking his water bottle lid against his lips. ( the butterflies return - kagami’s mouth had been there moments ago! ) aomine looks thoughtful, kagami feels a lecture coming on and sighs.

“i’ll bite,” he says, “what are you talking about?”

“don’t take it the wrong way,” their eyes meet, “why do you always insist on playing me if you lose so much? how do you not let that get to you?”

“i’ll win next time,” kagami repeats with gritted teeth. “are you rubbing your victory in my face or asking me a serious question right now?”

“what’s the point of doing that?” it’s almost offensive that kagami should ask! but it isn’t clear which answer this is about.

“which one!”

“the first one, idiot! winning is enough, i wouldn’t do that.”

“oh,” he takes a deep, stabilising breath, and sits on the floor. part collapses, part sits, but this gives him more space to think. he’s quiet. aomine tosses his water bottle over and sits, too.

“finish it, i don’t want anymore.”

“ ‘kay,” kagami unscrews the bottle, holding the lid. thinking of aomine. looking at him, watching him stare expectantly, waiting for an answer to his question. oops. right. he drinks first, trying to word it. “why do you think i play you?”

“to improve your skill, i guess,” he shrugs.

“you’ve kind of got a big, fat head, don’t you?” kagami is annoyed again! aomine’s surprise is unexpected. so that’s just what he thinks? kagami meets up so much to practise? “i don’t do it for that.”

silence.

“you like basketball, and you’re strong, big headed about it or not.” kagami blushes, frowning as he looks away. “jeez, you’re embarrassing. it’s fun playing against difficult opponents, right? that’s what it is. and i know i’m gonna be stronger next time, and i’ll win then.”

“why are you sulking about it?!” aomine exclaims, “you’ve said just as much before, in games!”

“so what! if it’s so lame meeting me knowing you’re gonna win, then how come you do it?”

“huh?”

“what do you mean huh!”

“well-- i don’t know! sure not ‘cuz you’re fun to be around, or anything, dumbass!”

that poorly masked compliment went over kagami’s head. he launches to his knees, ready to make his way over and attack the victor, but it tires him out and, groaning, kagami will instead fall backwards onto the cold floor.

“ugh, i’ll fight you when i’m less dead.”

aomine chuckles to himself about something. kagami does his best to even out his breathing. the sky is grey, almost a blanket of white above him. will it snow soon? when will spring come around again? he can’t wait for the warmer weather. he misses the beach. misses the l.a. heat a lot today.

“i guess i play you because... i know i’m a monster, but you look at me like i’m a man.”

that catches kagami off guard. the sincerity is scary, almost. it feels a little too close to his feelings being discovered to be comfortable. moments pass and the only thing he can hear is his own breathing.

“forget it,” aomine says after the wait becomes too long. he won’t. kagami will not forget that under any circumstances. ever.

“oh, i think you’re a monster alright,” he’ll say it lightly, because he’s been called that too, and it’s a sore point. “but i’m never gonna give up on beating you.” that’s not embarrassing to say, it’s true! kagami rolls up again, hunching over against the cold. “you’re not untouchable, you know.”

it looks as though his rival takes that to heart. his smile is contagious. damn, where had that bad mood gone? kagami can’t find it in himself to get worked up about his dad’s stupid phone call anymore. and those butterflies that come and go, maybe it’s not so bad that he can enjoy the other basketball player’s company as a friend might, too. maybe loving someone isn’t just about the romantic side. their eyes meet again, and for a second, nothing needs to be said. the way aomine’s looking at him makes it obvious that he likes hanging out with kagami, despite what he says, and the same goes for the redhead in return. it’s a short-lived moment of transparency before they’re both frowning and looking away.

“you say some embarrassing shit, bakagami,” is said in unison with kagami’s less eloquent grunt.

maybe he’s right. kagami stands, offering a hand to help aomine up with. he doesn’t think about doing it, but is somehow surprised when aomine accepts. if he’s ever done this before, it hadn’t felt as magnetic as this. their hands part ways quickly, he has to pretend that it hadn’t been a big deal, but he can suddenly think of hundreds other embarrassing things he could say.

#answered.#aonon.#drabbles.#peachmuses #my cheeky aokaga drabble is DONE now it's time for bed

7 notes · View notes

ladyideal · 4 years

Text

Unlucky Star

Pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader

Word Cont: 2064 (oops?)

Warnings: Nudity but not in a smutty way, needles, injections, and lots of fluff, couple ol’ cursing

Summary: While everyone was sick, you weren’t. This time, while everyone was sick free, you caught the cold. Jim tries to intervene on behalf of your health. Leonard takes it upon himself to pull you away from work, and takes care of you.

A/n: This is for @cuddlememerrick and everyone feeling sick during this cold and flu season. Take care of yourselves, everyone. Go see a doctor if it worsens. Better safe than sorry. To those are sick, get well soon!

PS: It’s also Valentine’s weekend, so I’ll be taking up drabble requests over the weekend (as I’ve no plans) and finishing up a couple more fics. Expect a couple more posts from me.

(credit to owner for gif)

You were lucky for the most part. Away missions that you went didn’t end in a disaster, you had a job aboard the infamous USS Enterprise, you had friends, and most importantly, you had a wonderful love life. Nothing much you could complain about really.

Above all, you were one of the lucky stars amongst the crew that hardly ever got sick. So while the entire ship had tears watering in their eyes, noses that flowed never ending with snot, and coughs that could be heard from one side of the ship to the other.

A harmless rhinovirus really, but in just a matter of weeks, the entire crew was infected, sending Leonard into overdrive down at the medbay. Even the Captain was confined to his quarters, in fear of transmitting the cold. However, it was no use. Chekov took the day off, and you were one of the very few dwindling officers left, that could keep their eyes open long enough to see what was in front of them.

You volunteered to take his shifts, seeing how the ship was in quite a disarray at the amount of people sniffling and sneezing around you. If the Romulans knew that just a single bacteria managed to cripple the entire crew, hell it’d spell really bad news for everyone.

It was only a week later did you really start to notice that something was feeling rather off.

At first, you’d chalk it up to stress and pulling extra shifts. Less sleep, less food and water, and more hours awake deciphering Chekov’s notes was to blame, you’d thought. However, what really brought your attention, was your soaring uncomfortable fever and wracking cough that shook your body every time you had a coughing fit.

You were doomed for sure.

Pressing a tissue to your nose as you attempted to steep coffee grounds, you glanced at the chrom.

“So much for a break,” You mumbled, grabbing the mug of coffee on your out the door and towards the Bridge.

“Afternoon, Captain,” You greeted Jim as you strode past him, giving Chekov a thumbs up on his way out.

“Afternoon, Lieutenant,” Jim paused, noticing your usual lack of excitement. “Are you alright? It doesn’t sound-.”

“I’m fine, Jimbo,” You took the seat that the Russian whiz kid vacated earlier. “Little tired.” Settling yourself in a better position, you could still feel Jim’s worried eyes on your back.

“If you say so,” Jim reluctantly dropped the topic, although from his tone, he was still worried for you.

Squinting your eyes to better understand what the hell Chekov left for you on his notes, you started your long, arduous work day on the Bridge. On a normal day, you’d banter back and forth with the Captain to fill the silence as you both worked. Given that you were Leonard’s girlfriend, you were best friends with him too, and enjoyed a couple similar things. For example, hating medbay, disliking authority, getting under the doctor’s skin whenever possible, and taking risks.

Hours ticked by, as you squirmed around in your seat for the umpteenth time. Sweat gathered on your brow, and behind your neck as you focused on your task at hand. With Chekov’s sloppy handwriting, it was a nightmare to sort through his notes each day, something that you’d lectured him whenever you got the chance to do so.

It was getting ridiculously warm. Fuck. Did Jim mess with the temperature again?

“Lieutenant!” Jim sharply spoke, interrupting your thoughts. He sounded much more worried now, as if he had been trying to gain your attention for quite some time now.

“Yes, Captain?” You spoke, looking back at him.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you wiggling around in your seat like that,” He spoke, observing your hunched up position. “I think you’re sick. I’ll have Bones come up and have a quick look at you.”

“Captain, I assure you that I’m fine. Leonard’s finally able to relax after that disaster month of a cold,” You protested, but quickly faltered as he commed your boyfriend up from the medbay.

“Y/N, you need rest and time off to take care of yourself. We can’t have another fiasco like last month again,” Jim continued. “I’ll have someone take the rest of your shift.”

You grumbled wordlessly, appreciating the warmth and concern from your friendship with him, but irritated as he was one that never took his own advice. “You’re an ass.”

“What’s this about being an ass?” A familiar baritone voice drew out from the doors.

Leonard.

“Bones, there you are,” Jim brightened up, throwing his best friend his usual shit eating grin. “We were just talking about how Y/N over there looked a little pale, and agreed that it’d be better if you took a glance.”

You silently fumed at Jim’s words, glaring down at the numbers in front of you. Trust Jim to roll you into this mess.

“You telling me, Jim, that there was no emergency?” Leonard grumbled loudly.

“Yeah Jimbo, there’s nothing wrong,” You added your words into the growing fire.

“You wound me,” Jim feigned horror, clutching his hands together in front of his heart.

“You’ll live.”

Rolling his eyes at his best friend, Leonard strode to your station with his emergency medkit in hand, and squatted down till he was eye level with you.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” He softly ordered. While you stubbornly sat there, he gently placed his fingers around your chin, quietly encouraging you to do so.

He regarded your red eyes, stuffy nose, and very dry, chapped lips. “You’re sick, sugar.”

“‘M not sick, Len.‘m fine,” You hoarsely managed out. “Just a couple more minutes.”

He raised his signature eyebrow look, already exasperated that you were trying to fight him on this already. “Even the strong eventually falls ill.”

Hearing the evidence of your sickness, Leonard brought the back of his hand to your forehead, feeling the uncomfortable warmth radiating behind your skin. “And a fever too.”

He sighed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “C’mon sweetheart, let’s get you outta here first.”

“Len, honey, I’m-,” You tried again, but stopped as he threw a pointed look at you. “Okay, alright, alright, you win. I’ll go”

“Take care of her, Bones,” Jim added cheekily before you and Leonard headed towards the turbolift.

You threw him a glare before the doors closed.

“Unbelievable, darlin’. Why didn’t you comm me that you were sick?” The doctor pulled out his handy dandy tricorder, giving you a whirl as it no doubt scanned you.

“You were tired, I was tired,” You shrugged.

“My god, darlin’. How long have you let this continue?” He scowled down at his tricorder, taking in the numbers displayed.

“A day or three,” You squeaked out. Now that you weren’t forced to compensate for your work, your sickness rapidly took over again.

“A day or - Jesus, that is ridiculously bullheaded of you,” He put away his tricorder, gently tucking away an errant hair. “In your state, you would benefit from an IV saline overnight, but I assume that’s a no go.”

You pulled out your best puppy dog eyes at him.

“Alright sweetheart, I can make sure you’re comfortable down in our quarters too,” He relented. “You know I would do anything with those eyes.”

“What are you gonna do, hypo me into next week so I don’t have to suffer?” You lifted your eyes hopefully at him.

“Even better,” He breathed, crowding into your space. “I’ll draw you a bath, even drop in your favorite bath bomb, make some food for you, and then wrap you up so we can snuggle up together on the couch with ice cream to soothe your throat while we watch some holos.”

You leaned on him, already closing your eyes to imagine it all. “Mmm,” you hummed. “I like that.”

Before long, while you were stripping your clothes off into a mess on the floor of your shared quarters, Leonard turned the taps on to fill the tub.

You rubbed your eyes tiredly as you examined yourself in the mirror. “God damn,” you muttered.

“Don’t think much of it,” Your boyfriend spoke, turning around to watch you. “You’re sick. Water’s ready.”

You stuck a finger in to test the water, but recoiled instantly at the touch of the icy cold water, and reproachfully glanced back at him.

“You don’t want the saline, this is the next best way to lower that fever,” was all the explanation you received.

With an unhappy scowl, you slowly lowered yourself in while Leonard came back with a chair and a washcloth.

As you laid back back, you let your eyes flutter close, dropping your tense shoulders.

“That’s it,” The doctor encouraged, gently dabbing away at your forehead with the cold washcloth. “Computer, bathroom light to 30%”

You groaned in earnest, satisfied with the amount of attention you were receiving and the dim lighting you were in.

“Here, let me wash your hair real fast,” he spoke quietly, reaching over to grab your bottle of shampoo and a jug of warm water he’d placed to the side earlier..

After pouring some water on your head, he squirted a dollop into his hands and slowly massaged it into your hair. Humming an unfamiliar tune, you let yourself drift off in bliss as Leonard worked his way out from the scalp. His long, talented fingers did not miss a place, gently smoothing out each strand out.

It was pure heaven.

Before you knew it, he was pouring the rest of the water to get the suds out. “Let’s get you outta there before you start shivering.”

Letting the water drain and helping you up to your feet, he grabbed a nearby definitely-not-standard-Starfleet extremely fluffy towel from the rack and ever so gently dried you off.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you yawned, feeling so much better than just a mere few hours ago.

“Incoming,” he warned, throwing you your pair of pajamas, and lastly, your panties to your face.

You did your best to scowl at him, but failed as you ended up chuckling at his antics.

“Why don’t you go get yourself comfortable on the couch, and I’ll bring you something to eat?” He suggested, placing another hand on your forehead.

You nodded. When he was satisfied that the heat behind your skin had lessened, he left for the kitchen to get you your dinner.

Stretching yourself out on the couch, you reached out for the plaid blanket draped over the cushions, while scrolling through the tv guide for something to watch.

The scent of chicken noodle soup filled the air, turning your gaze towards the hallway as Leonard emerged with two bowls of soup and a hypo all balanced on a tray.

“Found anything eye catching yet?” He asked, carefully handling over your bowl.

“Not yet,” You replied, thanking him with a nod. “How’s your day been?”

You scooped up spoonful after spoonful of soup as you listen to him talk about those unfortunate to be stuck down in the medbay. Idiots, he had called them.

When you and Leonard both had your fill, you watched as Leonard picked up the hypo. Knowing the routine, you tilted your head to the side, so he had better access to your neck.You felt his warm fingers splayed around your throat, seeking out a landmark for the injection.

“Quick pinch,” He warned. You closed your eyes before the slight sting, which was made instantly better by his gentle massage.

You must have made a noise of happiness as he stopped, softly kissing your forehead. Sickness be damned. He was a doctor, he didn’t get sick.

“Stay right where you are, darlin, and let me go get those ice cream,” He grinned at you, before moving off the couch.

It took a few minutes before you finally decided on the cheesy, yet classic movie: The Titanic. Leonard returned with two ice creams and spoons, placing them within arms distance on the coffee table in front.

At last, he snuggled up closer to you, pulling you tighter to him. “What are we watching, sweetheart?”

“The Titanic,” You grinned at him, enjoying the relaxed smile he had beaming on his face.

“Of course,” He rolled his eyes good naturedly, but settled in.

“Leonard?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“My pleasure, sugar.”

(My masterlist is also up for those interested)

#cold season #flu season #need a doctor?#leonard mccoy #leonard bones mccoy #bones mccoy #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #star trek #star trek aos

64 notes · View notes

primatechnosynthpop · 3 years

Text

Ok so the idea is in my mind now thanks to what my classmates were posting about on the myinfo discussion boards earlier, and I know that nobody here cares about this, but I need to gather my thoughts here. So here's an outline for what I think would happen in a Da Vinci Code/ Black Echo crossover

It starts with Langdon being involved in a high-profile documentary about the grail and the priory that's being filmed in Hollywood. Then a bunch of people involved in the documentary start being murdered, and Bosch is assigned to the case

They meet at the crime scene for one of the murders; Langdon is shaken up because the people working on the documentary with him were people he'd worked with before and gotten along with, and he's trying not to show how shaken he is and play himself off as cool, but Bosch sees right through him and recognizes his distraught emotional state. He's sympathetic, but he does have a job to do here... it's time to ask this guy some questions

HB: Professor Langdon, right? I'm officer Bosch. I have a few questions for you.

RL: Bosch... that's an interesting name

HB: Like the painter, yes. You wouldn't be the first to point it out, believe me.

RL: I've done many lectures on the religious symbolism in that man's paintings. Tell me, officer, how familiar with his work are you?

HB: Not very. Now, Mr. Langdon--

RL: You can call me Robert if you want.

HB: ...Mr. Langdon, what kind of relationship did you have with the victim?

...You get the picture; they don't get along very well at first. Bosch thinks Langdon is too self-obsessed and show-offy, while Langdon thinks Bosch is too grim and doesn't approve of his smoking habit

But since Bosch is a devoted and hardworking detective, he puts aside his mild annoyance with Langdon and does his best to solve the case. Problem is, Langdon clearly knows something about the case that he's refusing to tell anyone. *sonic voice* That's no good!

Bosch confronts Langdon about this in private, very angry... maybe cue a wall slam except that Bosch is shorter than Langdon so it does maybe look just a little bit silly. But more importantly a little bit homoerotic in an angry and repressed kinda way

After a bit of arguing and a very thorough check of the room they're in to make sure nobody is watching or listening in, Langdon confides to Bosch about the Grail and his experiences with it

Bosch is skeptical, but he's no stranger to tangled webs of dark secrets, so his reaction to all this is less "wow!!" and more "shit. Really? Fuck. Okay... huh. I need a drink." So Langdon pours him a drink, they agree to team up to collaborate on solving the case, and this is bonding moment #1 in which their barriers start to crack just a little bit

But of course Bosch, a decent guy at heart who cares about people's lives, isn't gonna let some random symbologist get too wrapped up in what's clearly a dangerous case. So after he and Langdon figure out together where the killer might be hiding out, Bosch goes to the location alone--armed and ready, but alone nonetheless

It goes bad!

Meanwhile, Langdon figures out by talking to some of the other cops where Bosch has taken off to. He gets there just in time to see the cloud of dust as the killer gets away, leaving a badly injured Bosch lying on the ground. Probably in some dark alleyway or dingy apartment or something idk. Very dark and very dramatic

Shifting in and out of consciousness in the backseat as Langdon drives him to a hospital, Bosch starts having a PTSD flashback nightmare. There's nothing Langdon can really do to help him out there, and he feels bad about it

Flash forward a couple days. We get bonding moment #2 as Langdon scolds a recovering Bosch for being so reckless

RL: I mean, you could have been killed!

HB: That's part of my job. Always has been.

RL: But still--

HB: I'm not like you, remember? You may have gotten involved in some dangerous situations before, but at the end of the day, you're still a civilian. It's my job to protect you.

RL: How would you dying help us get to the bottom of this case? If you want to help me, then stay alive and work with me.

HB: Fine. So, did you just come here to yell at me?

RL: Actually, that's not the only reason. I figured something out about the case... something that I think can help us

(This probably wouldn't be the exact dialogue but you get the gist)

Also Langdon sees Bosch's tattoo and if he asks about it then Bosch definitely does not answer. But when he gets home Langdon researches rat imagery and symbolism and eventually figures out, if not the connection to the war, at least that this dude has probably been through some tough times

They also each individually make the realization that Bosch having a rat tattoo + Langdon having a mickey mouse wristwatch is kind of an interesting coincidence... but when Langdon brings it up Bosch gets kinda snappy with him because, believe me, it's really not even remotely close to the same thing

So they get back to work on the case, but as soon as Bosch is back on his feet he retreats back into his shell, which disheartens Langdon somewhat for reasons that he can't pinpoint. (Hint: it's that Langdon was beginning to recognize the soft heart buried beneath Bosch's rough exterior, and guess that he must have had a pretty rough life, and on some subconscious level he was beginning to drift toward the "I can fix him!" mentality)

Still, they've got a job to do. They spend a few days, maybe a week tracking down the killer, during which we get a couple more small bonding moments during which Bosch demonstrates his kind and caring side, and Langdon starts spending maybe a little longer than necessary staring at him when he's not looking. Bosch wonders when he stopped finding Langdon's tendency for sharing information annoying and started to like the sound of his voice. But neither of them are at a stage where they're gonna be like "so basically I have ptsd and claustrophobia because of my traumatic backstory" or anything

At some point, though (maybe when he's slightly drunk) Bosch makes a gruff remark in passing about having been betrayed before, and Langdon replies that he's been betrayed too, by a close friend. They kind of raise their eyebrows at each other, an unspoken realization that they're connected by more bonds than expected, and they clink their glasses together

So the killer's hideout involves crawling through a small enclosed space and they both know this in advance and the plan they come up with is "one of us goes in while the other waits outside and stands guard" (the way the killer's lair is set up would make this a good plan. I'm not gonna come up with all the details right now, because if I could do that, then I'd become a mystery novelist) but they haven't laid out who'll be going in the small enclosed space and they're both secretly counting on the other doing it

Then they get there and it's like. Hmm. Oops! Neither of them want to go in because they both have the same psychological issues

An argument ensues, but they're less trying to convince each other to go in the small enclosed space and more frustrated at the other for keeping secrets. Eventually Langdon agrees to be the one to go in because by now he's pieced together that Bosch is a vet and that his trauma is therefore probably a lot "worse" (not that those things are really quantifiable)

Bosch is super grateful but also feels terrible, like it's his fault for being too weak, and promises Langdon to make it up for him later--"So be sure to stay alive for me, okay, Robert?"

RL: Wait, did you just call me by my first name? I think that's the first time I've heard you say it.

HB: Hey, what can I say? You've grown on me.

RL: Heh. You... you've grown on me, too, Harry.

HB: Robert..... good luck in there.

They sort of smile and nod at each other, solemn and melancholy (and repressed). And then Langdon goes in and does the thing but of course it's some kind of a trap and he gets stuck in the small enclosed space and Bosch hears him getting attacked in there and hey, Bosch can't magically overcome his severe war trauma but in that moment his brain just kinda turns off and he's able to power through it long enough to go in and get Langdon out safely

They're both very shaken from all this but now they've got the killer out in the open so it's time for the final showdown. Working together, they elaborately lure the killer into confessing to the murders of the people working on the Grail documentary... those people knew too much, they couldn't be allowed to keep living. Naturally, Bosch is wearing a wire that's picking all this up and recording it

But then the killer finishes with "and you, the symbologist who knows the true location of the Grail... you can't be allowed to live either!" and before either of them can react he shoots Langdon! This makes Bosch extremely angry and he immediately shoots the killer like five consecutive times in the chest

Turns out Langdon's alive, the bullet just missed his heart or lungs or whatever, and he's lying on the ground in shock from getting shot staring up at Bosch and is like "...you killed him...?"

HB: Oh, right, I almost forgot... you've never killed someone before, have you?

RL: No, although I've been acquainted with more murders than I would like...

HB: Well, here's one more murderer you're acquainted with, then. Come on, let's go

Hospital time redux ft. congratulating each other on solving the case and a whole lot going unsaid between them. They both agree that they ended up making a decent team in the end...

In a quiet moment when he thinks Langdon is asleep, Bosch starts reminiscing out loud about his childhood, his time in the war, all the blood he's seen spilled and spilled himself both as a veteran and a detective. Of course Langdon was actually awake to hear all that, and after a long moment of silence he starts talking quietly about falling down a well as a child, as well as some of the scarier moments in his past adventures and how those have messed him up a little

RL: Of course, what I've been through is nothing compared to you... I mean, you, you're amazing. I can't believe I ever judged you for having a cold exterior.

HB: I wouldn't call myself amazing. More like, a poor bastard doing his best to keep his head afloat.

RL: No, no, that's... that's why you're amazing. The fact that you are where you are now.

HB: What, in a hospital at the bedside of a symbology professor who's lucky to be alive after solving an elaborate murder case?

RL: Hey, it's not my first rodeo.

HB: Mine neither. (Heh...) maybe we should start a club.

At the end they say goodbye to each other and they like shake hands or something but they're still repressed so they just go their separate ways and don't see each other again

But MAYBE a few months or years down the line Bosch eventually leaves the police force (either because he wisens up and realizes that acab, or because he acts up too much and gets fired) and can no longer afford to live in LA so he moves to a different part of the country and by pure coincidence it ends up being where Langdon lives. And he finds out when he sees an ad for one of Langdon's lectures, and he attends and Langdon spots him in the crowd and he sort of visibly stiffens and then softens. You can figure out where things go from there

(I actually don't know where exactly things would go from there but maybe, someday, eventually they kiss?)

#this is silly and about a topic nobody cares about i know but the idea is FIRMLY IN my head #and i will go more crazy if i don't post about it than if i do #also confession time i haven't read very far into the black echo yet and ive already forgotten several details of the da vinci code #after reading it like last month so idk if this is even very in character but i did my best.#point is i think this idea is fun and i might use it for my creative project if i can manage to adapt it into something 5-10 pages in lengt

2 notes · View notes

xbaepsae · 5 years

Text

private tutor | part three (m)

“’We can take a break, if you want.’ ‘Are you sure?’ he asks, double meaning in his words and heat begins to pool in your body. ‘Yeah, I think I need time to process the information, you know?’ you say. ‘Besides, I think I’ll learn better with more of a…hands on kind of approach.’”

[tutor!namjoon x reader]

genre: college!au, smut, humor, fluff-ish

word count: 5.1k

a/n: and here it is! the final, thrilling part to this series. thank you to everyone who has been super patient with me. i love and appreciate all of you <3 xoxo

part one / part two / part three

You don’t see Namjoon again for a few days.

It’s not that you’re avoiding the guy, he did give you one of the best orgasms of your life after all, but you just haven’t had the opportunity to meet with him again. After the last study session, both of your schedules haven’t matched up. When you’re in class, he’s free. When you’re free, he’s too busy reading those damn philosophy books.

The two of you exchanged phone numbers—or rather, you coerced Yoongi into giving you Namjoon’s phone number with the promise of free Starbucks for the rest of the semester because the poor boy was out of money in his school account—but every text about possible study sessions has been in vain.

So, the little pink bullet vibrator in your bedside table has been relieving much of your end-of-semester stress instead. It also doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking about your tutor either. You can’t get the image of when he was staring at you while giving you head out of your mind, and it’s been driving you absolutely crazy.

You told Ara about what happened in his bedroom after the game, and your roommate was shocked at how fast it all happened. “So, it’s that kind of payment.”

Were you some kind of prostitute now? You voiced this mild concern to Ara before she assured you that you weren’t a hoe now just because your tutor gave you oral in return for a study session. If anything, you should’ve given him head as payment. “I know—and I would have if not for your interfering phone call.”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t show up on time,” Ara said. “But on the real, is he really hot?”

Hot doesn’t do Kim Namjoon justice. There are no right or perfect words to describe him. You don’t know what it is about him, but everything concerning him just oozes sexuality. He knows all of the right words to make you bend to his will, as well as fiery looks that make you melt underneath his ministrations. And his mouth—that amazing, fantastic mouth—is magical. Your body becomes excited at just the thought of it.

It’s about a few days later when you get a text from him asking if you'll be free Friday afternoon. Lucky for him, the only class you have that day is chemistry, ironically enough, and you let him know this fact. Namjoon replies instantly, telling you that he’ll see you after that class.

Since meeting with Namjoon, you’ve been paying more attention in chemistry class. Things were starting to make sense—kind of, sort of—and you have an inkling feeling that you might pass. Also, in all honesty, you just really want to impress him with the new concepts you're learning. But trying to impress someone like him seems impossible.

When Friday rolls around, you cannot contain the excitement you feel. You sit in chemistry and take the most detailed notes you’ve ever taken, feeling determined to show how much you’ve improved since the first study session. Once your professor finishes her lecture, you leave class with a skip in your step and pull out your phone to send a quick text asking what time you should meet. As your typing away on your phone, not really paying attention to where you’re walking, you end up running into someone.

“Oops—I’m—” you look up, only to be met with the amused expression of your tutor. “Oh my god, Namjoon—I’m so sorry—”

Goodness, you are such a klutz. You were so focused on sending him a text, so excited to see him again, that you completely disregarded everything else. You realize that he has his arms on your shoulders, steadying you. Suddenly, embarrassment floods your body at the fact that you literally ran into him.

Shaking your head to collect yourself, you can’t help but notice that once again, Namjoon is dressed like he is some runway model—not a college student. Today, he’s wearing a plain black dress shirt tucked into lighter wash jeans. You don’t know how long you stare at him, but he coughs once, and you meet his eyes. That’s when you realize that he decided to forgo the glasses today. “You should watch where you’re going.”

“I was just about to send you a text,” you point to your phone. “I didn’t expect to run into you.”

“I actually sent you one too.”

Looking back at your phone, your message still in the text box, you scroll down and realize that Namjoon did send you a text just seconds ago.

12:49 PM | Namjoon: Hey. I’ll meet you outside your class today.

You look back at him, “Well, why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“My one o’clock got canceled, and I got out of my noon class a little early,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, I haven’t been in the science building since freshman year.”

“Okay, mister philosophy major.”

“Are you free to study?”

Nodding, you swallow the lump in your throat as you remember what happened during the last study session. “Definitely. I even took good notes today in class.”

He smirks. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Give me credit for trying,” you pout, walking away from him. Namjoon catches up to you in no time, arms slightly brushing against yours as he walks beside you down the hall. You become overly aware of how fast your heart starts beating and mentally curse yourself for reacting like a total noob.

“Isn’t that something you should’ve been doing all semester?”

You give him a look, but he merely laughs as you both walk out into the sun. You lead Namjoon to your dorm, walking past stares from the student body. As the two of you walk, you make small talk with him—clearly more interaction than what you guys did last time. He talks to you about his philosophy classes, which you don’t really get, but you appreciate his passion for it. “Honestly, I don’t really like philosophy.”

“Not many people do,” he says. “But I think people like Plato and Socrates were fascinating.”

“Is philosophy on the list of graduation requirements?”

Namjoon looks down at you. “I believe at least one class is.”

You groan at the thought of sitting through an entire semester of lectures about the mind and theories. “Great.”

“I could always tutor you, again,” he says, eyes still on you.

Your body hums at the thought of spending more time with Namjoon. Immediately, you want to jump and say that you want nothing more than to continue future tutoring sessions; but you decide to tease him a little. “Hmm…we’ll see. If I pass chemistry, then maybe. Like, I don’t want to waste my time if my grade doesn’t change you know?”

“Is this a challenge?” he asks with a smirk. “I already told you that I’m confident you’ll get at least a C. Why? Doubting my skills? Did I not make you cum hard enough last time?”

He says the last bit so quietly you almost don’t catch it. The two of you are still in public, which means anyone can hear the conversation you both are having, so you’re shocked that he’s being quite bold right now. Even though you don’t want to, you redden at the mention of last time because he’s right—he did make you cum really hard—so you definitely are not doubting the sexual prowess that is Kim Namjoon.

Before you can answer him, you’ve already reached your building. Rummaging through your backpack for your ID card, you swipe the metal lock on the door and open it up. You walk inside first and tell Namjoon that your room is on the second floor.

“Also, there’s no elevator in this building,” you sigh. “At least, no working elevator—the one we did have has been broken since labor day weekend.”

“Oh?” he laughs a little, following you up the stairs.

“Yeah, I think there were too many people on the elevator at one time, so it got stuck and maintenance hasn’t bothered to fix it. But at least I only have to climb one flight of stairs—I feel bad for the people on the floors above me. I don’t even want to think about the chaos that will be having to pack for winter break.”

Making it to your room, the first door on the left, you notice that Namjoon is awfully close to you and it sends little jolts of electricity up your spine.

“Cute,” he suddenly says, and you turn to ask him what. “The decorative names are a nice touch.”

You smile, looking at yours and Ara’s name that are creatively pieced on the door of the room. “Thanks—it was actually Ara’s idea though. She’s very into this kind of stuff. You know, doing the whole college experience.”

Slipping your key into the lock, you open the room and sigh in relief when you remember that you cleaned the night before. Ara was shocked that you were cleaning, not that you’re extremely messy or anything but you do have a tendency to leave empty water bottles around the room. However, when you mentioned that Namjoon was coming over to help you study, Ara would not stop shut up about it.

“Make sure to use protection, okay?” she said to you and you almost tackled her on the spot. “Also, make sure he discards the condom—I don’t want that shit to get on the carpet. I’ve heard that it’s hard to take cum off the carpet.”

Thankfully, Ara has a packed schedule on Friday afternoons, so she will not be here to disturb your study session. You invite Namjoon to walk inside first as you lock the door.

“Well,” you start, “welcome to my humble abode.”

“Your room is bigger than I thought it would be,” he comments.

“Why? Did you think it was going to be the size of a closet?” you snort. “This room accommodates two people, so it has to be decently sized.”

When you and Ara first moved in, you two tried to set up the room as practical as possible. You both decided to forgo the whole bunk bed situation because neither of you wanted to fight for the bottom bunk, so your beds sit parallel to each other with both bedside tables in-between. At the foot of your beds are desks, and by the door stands a sink and your closets.

You put your bag down on your bed and pull Ara’s desk chair from her side of the room. Setting it next to your chair, you sit down and beckon Namjoon to follow. You pull out your notes and textbook, handing them over to your tutor to look over.

“Are those the notes you took earlier?”

You nod once. “Yeah.”

Namjoon examines your notes, flipping back and forth over the pages you wrote today. “Did you understand everything the professor said?”

“Surprisingly, I did,” you say. “I’ve been able to soak up more information this past week than I have almost all semester.”

“That’s good,” he says with a nod and opens your textbook up. “Did you want to start from what you learned today, or where we left off last time?”

You tell him that you want the latter and Namjoon picks up seamlessly. With pen and paper in hand, you jot down everything that he says and ask questions when you don’t understand what he’s explaining. When he gets to the chapter about stoichiometry, you admit that you never understood what the heck this was. You even make Namjoon balance a simple hydrogen and oxygen equation five times because you really don’t get it. But, to your relief, you learn that Namjoon is surprisingly patient with you.

“Can you explain that again?” you ask with a sheepish smile, watching Namjoon write the current example you two are working on again.

“Okay, so the problem asks how many grams of nitrogen are needed to produce the 38.5 g of NH2 produced in the equation: 1 N2(g) + 3 H2(g) = 2 NH2(g)?”

You watch as he writes down the goal mass and then solves the problem using mass-mass stoichiometry. Through each step, he explains slowly what he is doing and why he is doing what he is doing. By the time he comes out with the answer, you feel a little lightbulb flicker in your head. He then asks if you feel comfortable solving the problem yourself, which you honestly don’t but what’s new, and you reply with an I guess so.

Without letting you see his work, Namjoon helps you start solving the problem before forcing you to do it all by yourself. After a few painstaking minutes, you show your answer and the smile he has lets you know that you’re not a complete failure. “So, I got it correct?”

“Yeah—just make sure you put the unit of measurement in your answer, as well as the atomic letters of the chemical,” he says, and you immediately add them to your answer.

“Thank you for being so patient,” you tell him. “I’m sorry that I’m so fucking slow.”

He only shakes his head, “I’ve tutored worse—trust me.”

Namjoon continues through different lessons and before you both realize it, nearly all of the afternoon has passed by and you’re starting to get hungry. Not hungry-hungry, but hungry enough that you know your stomach will probably start making noise. You will your stomach to not growl, but your body betrays you and the sounds coming from your stomach fill the room. Almost instantly, you wrap your arms around your abdomen and you feel your face flush. “Sorry.”

Glancing down at the watch on his wrist, Namjoon checks the time. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how long we’ve been studying. I also didn’t even think about whether or not you’ve even had lunch.”

“I’m okay,” you brush him away, knowing you can hold out until dinner. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, but not for food.”

Your lips part in silent surprise. Oh. Slowly, your eyes meet his and you see that same dark look; this sends your body into a frenzy. Without even touching you, Namjoon has you under his spell and you honestly never want to be released from it. “We can take a break, if you want.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, double meaning in his words and heat begins to pool in your body.

“Yeah, I think I need time to process the information, you know?” you say. “Besides, I think I’ll learn better with more of a…hands on kind of approach.”

Humor laces Namjoon’s dark eyes and you swear that you’ve never seen anything sexier. “The next part of your payment?”

You’re so ready for this—anything and everything. You’ve been ready for a while now. “Of course.”

“Okay,” his voice is gentle. Namjoon brings a hand to cup your face, thumb running over your jawline before settling on your lips. He parts your mouth and you begin to suck on his finger. “Get down on your knees for me, baby girl.”

Your arousal skyrockets as you stand up and push your chair back. Falling to your knees, Namjoon’s hand never leaves your face. Looking up at him, you feel his hand moving to tangle in your hair. Suddenly, he pulls you in for a kiss, his tongue dancing with your own. You’re already getting drunk of a kiss, so imagining what's to come has your core aching.

As his lips move against your own, your fingers slide up his thighs and you can feel his muscle flexing underneath. He feels so strong underneath your hands and you can’t wait to see if he crumbles beneath you. Fingers find the belt holding his jeans together, and you begin to loosen the buckle. After, you begin to unbutton his jeans. Namjoon’s lips release yours when you lower his zipper. Shoving his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion, your eyes take in his already half-hard member.

Namjoon surprises you when he brings a hand to his cock, holding it erect. “Suck my cock, baby girl.”

Your hand goes to replace his when he stops you. “What?”

“No hands,” he says, voice deep with lust, “put them behind you.”

A jolt of electricity goes up your spine and you almost let out a moan. Oh my god. You do as he says, fingers lacing together behind your back, and lower your head towards his groin. The first thing you do is extend your tongue out to lick the tip. A small smile stretches across your lips when Namjoon visibly shudders.

Then, your mouth envelops the entire head—sucking gently and tongue swirling around it. As you suck, you take more of him into your mouth. You have never been one to particularly enjoy giving head; you’ll do it without question, but it usually doesn’t do anything for you. However, you’re enjoying yourself; you want to please Namjoon and make him feel good.

Through your focused attention to his member, you can make out the few choked praises and curses that leave Namjoon’s lips. You moan appreciatively as you take him deeper into your throat. You release him for a moment to catch your breath before giving some attention to his shaft and balls. By this point, his cock as grown increasingly hard and you wonder for a brief moment if he’s going to fit inside of you.

Size has never been an issue for you; then again, you’re pretty sure he’s got the biggest package you’ve seen in real life.

“Fuck, y/n,” Namjoon moans, beginning to thrust his hips once you’ve taken all of him back into your mouth. You can feel your eyes begin to sting from the force of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and your gag reflex kicks in.

Even though you’re beginning to choke, he doesn’t stop slamming his cock down your throat. In fact, he tightens the grip on your hair and speeds up his thrusting. After a few hard thrusts, he releases you. Gasping for air, you can feel saliva dribble down your chin.

Wiping your face, you glance up at Namjoon. “Was that…?”

“Wow,” he breathes, “your mouth is fucking amazing.”

Pride beams inside of you and Namjoon takes this opportunity to crash his lips onto yours. He lifts you off the floor and helps you take your clothes off. As you strip, you also help him shed whatever clothes he is wearing as well. After the two of you are completely naked, you take in Namjoon’s bare body and just groan. How could one man be so damn perfect?

“Like what you see?”

You roll your eyes playfully, “No.”

He kisses you again and you become putty in his hands. Namjoon’s lips leave yours for a moment before reaching back down towards his jeans. Pulling out his wallet, you watch as he takes out a little foil packet. He tears the edge and rolls the condom onto his cock before sitting back down. “Sit on my cock.”

Usually, you’d bite back if someone ordered you around; but with Namjoon, you’ll do anything he says. But before you can straddle his lap, he brings his hand up to cup your mound. “Namjoon—”

He begins to rub your clit and you fall over, bracing yourself onto his shoulders. You moan into his neck as he slips a finger inside of you. And then another. With nails digging into his back, you grind your hips into his thrusting. Just as you’ve started building up momentum, he pulls his fingers out.

You curse, which only causes him to laugh. Unable to help yourself, you kiss him again—you really like kissing him, you realize. Wasting no more time, you hover over his lap and position yourself over him. Slowly, you sink lower. Just as your about to slip him inside of you, Namjoon stops you for a minute. Looking into his eyes, you find yourself getting lost in them. He kisses you again and begins to rub his head along your clit and down toward your slit.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against your jaw.

“Namjoon,” you choke on a cry. “I—”

“Do you want my cock inside of you?” he asks, continuing to tease you.

Your hands tighten around his neck, “Yes.”

“What was that?”

“Yes,” you repeat, another moan releasing from your lips.

His tip swirls around your clit again. “What?”

“Oh my god, Namjoon. Yes! Put your cock inside of me—oh.”

Your head tilts back and eyes roll as you feel him push inside of you. Unadulterated moans leave your lips as he slowly stretches you. Quickly, you realize that you were right—he is big, and you feel so full you can hardly handle it. You sink lower until you’re buried to the hilt, and it feels so good you might just explode. “I just…I just need a minute.”

Breathing into the crook of Namjoon’s neck, you allow your body to get adjusted before you begin to move your hips. As you ride him, you can feel your high approaching quickly and it doesn’t help that Namjoon has decided to tease you by pinching your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You feel so good on my cock, baby girl,” he practically coos into your ears and your hips slam faster; harder. “Fuck yourself onto me—just like that.”

Who knew you’d be such a praise kink hoe? You’re living for the sweet nothings coming from his lips.

He continues to pinch and pull at your nipples and just when you think you can’t take anymore, you feel his fingers right at your clit and that’s all it takes to push you over the edge. You scream his name, entire body convulsing in orgasm. Throughout this, Namjoon fucks himself into you still—helping you ride the high out.

“Oh my god,” you say once you catch your breath. “That was—”

“Who said we were done?” His voice causes you to raise your eyes towards him. “We’ve only just begun.”

Your mouth parts, core tightening with desire as he lifts you up and over to your bed. Still inside you, he lays your body down and begins peppering kisses all over your skin. Suddenly, you feel him pull out; you’re about to protest until you feel his hot breath caressing your thighs. Pushing your legs apart, he presses more kisses along the inside before his mouth begins to suck on your lips.

“Namjoon,” you moan his name, legs shaking at his ministrations.

There’s just something so erotic about him eating you out post-penetration—the thought sends your head spinning. Without much, you feel your insides tightening again; you’re going to cum again and your body is so ready for the toe-curling sensation. But it stops when Namjoon releases his hold on you. “You think you deserve to cum again?”

You lift yourself up on your forearms, breathing heavily as you stare at the man before you. Is he being serious right now? “What?”

“I don’t know if you’ve earned another orgasm yet,” he says, a smirk growing along his lips. “I mean, I haven’t cum yet…so why do you deserve more than one?”

“I…I…” you struggle to speak. Hell, you can’t even think right now.

But Namjoon doesn’t stop tormenting you. You watch as his hand returns to your cunt, fingers moving slowly along your wetness. A moan leaves your lips, and it only seems to make his smirk wider. “Tell me why, y/n?”

Your head falls back a bit when you feel that tightness building again. As his fingers continue to move, your hips match their rhythm. “I’m so…close.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod feverishly. “Oh god…yeah.”

“You want to cum again?” he asks.

As Namjoon’s fingers move along your slit, rubbing delicious circles around your swollen clit, your hips move feverishly to match his pace. Clutching the bedsheets in-between your hands, you cry as your high comes. But as your body shakes, you feel him enter you again.

He fucks you hard—cock buried deep inside of you—and it feels so fucking good you swear you might actually pass out. Namjoon thrusts relentlessly, and another wave of pleasure crash over you as he hits your g-spot repeatedly. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you feel completely spent. How many times have you come undone today?

You’re pretty sure that you can’t manage another orgasm, you’re already feeling sensitivity-overload; so instead, you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your heels into his back. “I want you to cum.”

“Yeah?” he asks, hair in a sweaty mess on top of you. God, he looks so good.

You nod. “Yeah…where do you want to cum? I’ll let you choose.”

Namjoon grunts at your words, hips picking up their pace. “Can I cum on your tits?”

Your body shakes at his request, and all you can do is nod. He continues to thrust a few more times, hips moving a little sloppier each with each thrust, before he pulls out and removes his condom. Strings of milky white hit your chest as he mutters fuck over and over again, painting your breast; however, the real sight to behold is Namjoon and the way his eyes are shut in pure ecstasy.

Sitting up, you pull him closer and mold your lips against his. As you both kiss in post-coital bliss, you realize that you can get used to this.

***

a few weeks later...

Namjoon paces up and down the empty hallway.

His loafers echo in the closed space, while outside there is a totally different picture. Mother nature has decided to be lovely as usual and snow—the first of the season. Although the snow is nice and all, he can’t but feel nervous as his eyes continuously return to the same wooden door; the door that leads to you. Well, to your chemistry class specifically. You’re in there taking your chemistry final right now, and it’s nearing the end of the three-hour exam session.

Shouldn’t you be done already? For the last hour, Namjoon has watched as other students have filed out of the room with their exams in hand. As each individual walked out, he searched for your face in vain. And as the minutes continue to tick by, Namjoon grows more worried.

He doesn’t doubt your preparedness—you two have done more than enough studying. Namjoon licks his lower lip at the memory of every study session you’ve both had, since they’ve all ended with the both of you in each other’s beds. Although the sex has gotten better and better every time, that isn't the only good thing that's happened. In the last few weeks, he has actually taught you a lot about chemistry too.

“What if I forget everything?” you asked yesterday, the both of you tucked in his bed.

Namjoon laughed, “You won’t forget.”

“I can’t even remember what mass is, and that is supposed to be the basic of all basic information.”

“It’s property of a physical body and a measure of its resistance to acceleration when a net force is applied, y/n.”

When he first met you, he said something about guaranteeing that you’d make a C on the final, but he was quite positive that you’d actually do better than that. You were able to soak up a semester’s worth of chemistry in a few weeks; if that isn’t impressive, Namjoon doesn’t know what is. And this is coming from someone who aces all of their finals.

From what he can remember about the chemistry final is that it’s about one hundred questions, and it's all multiple choice. There are different versions of the final, but all of the questions are the same—just in a different order to prevent cheating. And since the test is multiple choice, students get their scores immediately after. You both practiced more than enough old final questions, and you did well on all of them, so he was confident in your skills.

Now, he doesn't know what to think.

Just as Namjoon is about to worry himself sick, the door creaks open and you walk out. Immediately, you make eye contact with him and offer a small smile. He quickly scans your face and assumes the worst. “Oh god, did you not pass?”

“Sorry I took so long,” you avoid his question as you walk closer to him, “those one hundred questions took everything out of me.”

“Y/n, what did you get on the final?” Namjoon takes your face in his hands, searching your eyes for an answer. “Baby, I swear I really thought I prepared you well. I’m so s—”

Suddenly, you laugh. You laugh so hard your entire body shakes. Namjoon looks at you like you’ve grown another head. He asks you what’s wrong, but you can’t even answer. “You’re so funny, Joon.”

“Why are you laughing?”

You smile. “I’m laughing because you’re getting so worked up over nothing.”

“Nothing?” he asks, incredulously. “I’m worried that you didn’t pass. That’s not nothing.”

“You don’t have to worry.”

Namjoon frowns for a moment and you unfold your exam and reveal the front page to him. He blinks a few times to make sure the red letter is actually there. Slowly, a smile builds on his face and he lifts you off the ground. You laugh into his shoulder as he spins you around in circles.

As your feet meet the ground again, the smile can’t be wiped off your face. “I can’t believe I actually got a one hundred!”

“Did the professor think you cheated or something?” Namjoon jokes and you almost punch his shoulder.

“No, I just explained that you tutored me. That was all she needed to know.”

“I guess we both win, huh?”

“Win?” you ask, confused as to what he’s talking about.

Namjoon nods. “Yeah—you got the grade, and got my payments.”

You mock laugh, “Ha. Ha. I think you've gotten one too many payments from me, don’t you think?”

He takes that chance to pull your body close, so that you have to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. Namjoon looks down at you with a smirk, enjoying the way you squirm in his hold. Over the last few weeks, you’ve gotten a lot more confident in his presence and he loved it. However, he still enjoys messing with your anyway. “I think you enjoyed giving me all those payments.”

“Who said?”

“Your body,” he smiles.

“My body tends to betray my mind,” you say, fighting your own smile.

Namjoon’s hands move from your waist to cup your ass. Your eyebrows raise at his action, but you don’t object and that’s all the confirmation he needs to lean down for a kiss.

#armiesnet #networkbangtan #bangtan bookclub #bts smut #namjoon smut #bts fic #namjoon fic #rm fic #bts humor #smut #humor #fluff #rm #namjoon #private tutor #xbaepsae

245 notes · View notes

hhunjins · 5 years

Text

Pairing: Seungmin x gender neutral reader (past Minho x reader/Felix x reader)

Genre: college!au, mostly fluff with slight angst (or the other way around, aslkjafd I’m bad at this)

Word Count: ~3,500

Warnings: None

Note: Using the American school system because it’s the only one I understand oops

Summary: With all of the everchanging things surrounding your life, you need at least one thing to be stagnant.

Seungmin comes like a rainbow at the end of a storm and, maybe, he can become that one thing.

Honestly, you don’t even know why you’re mad.

Maybe it’s the unfairness of it all and how wronged you feel. Or maybe it’s an accumulation of a lot of things and he tipped you over the edge. Whatever it was, you are upset, and you aren’t going to back down this time.

In some ways, Minho is right. It’s been nearly two years. There should be more than there is now. Your friends always tease you about how you two look like you’ve been only dating for a few months. Hand holding, hugs, the occasional peck on the cheek. Never more. So he’s right to want more.

But is that all there is in a relationship? Physical contact? PDA? For you, it wasn’t, and Minho knows that too.

There have been so many arguments about this very topic, but even if he says, “fine,” you know that he doesn’t really mean it. Every time he looks at you with guilt written all over his features and apologizes for pushing too far, it feels real until it isn’t.

You’re sick of the apologies. You’re sick of trying to accommodate when you really aren’t ready.

Minho texts you again, your phone screen lighting up with his name. No matter how much you stare at it, you can’t find it within you to reply.

It feels weird to walk into the campus coffee shop without Minho by your side. He always went with you for your daily coffee fix. But now he isn’t, and you can’t help but think that there’s yet one more thing gone wrong. You order your vanilla latte and scroll through Instagram on your phone while you wait.

Minho’s deleted all the pictures of you on his account. You’re surprised he hasn’t unfollowed and blocked you, but maybe this is better than nothing. He was a good friend before he was your boyfriend, and this might mean there’s a chance you could mend any loose ends.

Your name is called and you quickly exit the app before you start to overthink. You have a lecture to go to and any lingering thoughts about your ex-boyfriend isn’t going to fare well.

The coffee tastes bitterer than usual, even with the ample amount of sugar inside.

There is a boy who sits next to you in your psychology lecture. He’s your seatmate, has been since the beginning of the semester. He’s a sweet thing, always smiles and makes small talk before your professor walks into the hall and drones on for the next hour and a half. You’ve even exchanged numbers so you can help each other on assignments. It’s nice to have someone to send you notes when you’re too drained to make it to class, and you’re glad that he’s dependable. Seungmin saves you a seat whenever he comes earlier than you. He’s waiting for you today, earbuds plugged in and playing some game on his phone. He looks up when you arrive and takes his backpack off the seat so you can sit.

“Morning,” he greets.

You give him a smile. “Hi, Seungmin.”

“Are you okay? You look down.”

Your face scrunches up as you balance the cup of coffee in one hand and try to unzip your backpack with the other. He ends up taking the cup from your hands so you don’t spill. “Kind of TMI, but I just broke up with my boyfriend yesterday. It’s not really a good time.”

“Oh…Sorry for asking.” Seungmin looks so upset that you rush to reassure him.

“It’s really fine. It was coming anyway.”

He doesn’t look comforted at all.

“Let’s talk about something else.” You take your coffee back and hold it in both hands. “Did you start your paper?”

Seungmin groans, arms stretching out above him. “I have one sentence for my introduction and it’s not even that good.”

You let out a small laugh. “Want to work on it together?”

He checks through his schedule and then says, “After class on Thursday?”

You nod. “Sounds good. Campus coffee shop?”

He grins. “Okay.”

“Mom, I’m not coming back.”

“Why not? We all miss you here. You haven’t even talked to your brother or step-father in months.”

“I’m not coming back, and that’s that. I like it here, and so I’m staying,” you argue. You can hear her huff indignantly over the phone and mutter something about you being an ungrateful brat. “I have things to do, so I’m hanging up now.”

“Y/n, at least come back for Christmas.”

“I’ll think about it, but no promises.”

“That’s what you said last–”

“Bye,” you cut her off and end the call. She immediately tries to call you back, but you reject the call and turn your ringer off. From across the table, you see Seungmin glance over the top of his laptop, but he pretends like he didn’t hear anything. You’re sure he could though, even with his earbuds. You have a habit of getting heated when you talk to your family.

“Everything okay?” he asks, eyes not straying from his screen.

“My mom wants me back home for the holidays, but I’m really not feeling it.”

Seungmin nods in understanding. “Ah. They’re overbearing?”

You shrug. “I don’t have a good relationship with my mom, and ever since she got remarried, it’s been rough.” You pause. “Sorry, that was a lot. I didn’t mean to dump it on you.”

“It’s fine.” Seungmin gives you a reassuring smile, eyes curving into half moons, and you feel your stomach do a flip. He turns his computer around. “Hey, can you read this and tell me what you think?”

You skim through his introduction. “You could probably do without this sentence, but otherwise, it’s good. Your thesis is perfect.”

“Wow, the perks of having an English major as a seatmate.” He’s looking at you in awe, and you can’t help but laugh a little. “You’re amazing.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to be doing with it, but thanks.” You push his laptop back to him, eyes lingering a bit too long on the way his hair falls over his eyes.

It’s 2:13 a.m. and you’re working on your psychology paper out of pure boredom, when your phone lights up with a text. You glance over to see who it is and are surprised to see that it’s Seungmin.

“I hope you’re awake, or at least that your phone is on silent if you’re not since I didn’t mean to wake you up. But could you read my psych paper and give me feedback? Also is there another day we can meet up? I’ll pay for coffee since you’re the one doing me the favor even this is supposed to be a mutual thing.” He sends a sad face with the text.

You bite your lower lip to stifle the smile that’s starting to bloom on your lips. When you open the message, he immediately sends, “Please tell me you were awake.”

“I was awake,” you send back. “And yes, send it to my email. Does Tuesday after class sound okay? Also, it’s nothing!!”

Seungmin takes a while to respond, but he sends you a smiley face and a simple, “yes.”

You aren’t sure when it started. Maybe it was after your parents had their divorce and your father walked out of your life without even sparing a glance at the six-year-old child clinging onto his pant leg. Maybe it was seeing your mother fall completely in love with another man like she was never married in the first place. Maybe it was watching them get married because she had a little one on the way. Maybe it was the way your half-brother got all the love from both parents that you never did.

At one point, you found yourself disgusted by the displays of affection in movies and television. It was worse at school, because everyone had a crush, and everyone was dating someone, and you were just…there.

You had tried it out once in middle school. Felix was nice and funny, and it was okay until the annual school dance rolled around. His hand on your waist felt out of place, but it was bearable. It was when everyone starting chanting for you two to kiss and he leaned in that you felt yourself freezing up. You had broken up with him a few weeks later, because you felt too uncomfortable with him afterwards. It wasn’t his fault, and you made sure he knew. You’re still friends with him, but you only ever interact on social media. Sometimes, he comes to you for relationship advice, though you’re not sure why. It’s probably because you were his first girlfriend and that holds some sort of sentiment.

Minho came around during college, after you moved across the country because home never felt like home. You were more mature, more understanding of what you wanted and what you didn’t. He was the older boyfriend every girl dreamed of: sweet, patient, caring, and not to mention very easy on the eyes. Minho was the first person you befriended, and he eventually turned into something more. He was perfect, but it was his experience and your lack of that made you fall apart. He was ready for more while you just wanted something steady to hold onto.

Maybe it’s just you.

Tuesday comes fast. You don’t have a coffee in your hands since you’re going after class with Seungmin anyway, but that means you’re grumpier than usual.

Seungmin’s smile makes you feel a little better, but you’ve been thinking so much over the weekend that you’re tired of looking at the male population.

“Are you okay? The week barely started, y/n,” he laughs.

“It’s been a rough weekend,” you mumble. “And I didn’t get coffee.”

“Are you sure you can sit through ninety minutes of lecture without caffeine?” He’s teasing you, you can tell by the lilting tone in his voice. Suddenly, he gets serious. “But if you’re not feeling it, we don’t have to meet up today.”

You shake your head. “I think I just need coffee. Please wake me up if I fall asleep though.”

Seungmin doesn’t. You only realize you fell asleep after lecture when he taps your shoulder and offers, once again, to cancel working together. “You didn’t wake me up!”

“I already sent you the notes. Besides, you look like you needed the sleep.”

Huffing, you pack up your unopened notebook. “We should work on the essay though. If you could read mine over, that would be great.”

“Of course.”

All of the thinking over the weekend has made you realize that you’re thankful for the space Seungmin puts between the two of you when you walk. When you walked on this same path with Minho, he always had his arm slung around your shoulder or his fingers were intertwined with yours. Seungmin holds the door open for you and gives you a cheeky grin that makes you suddenly jolt with the realization that this is Seungmin, not Minho. Minho isn’t with you anymore. However, when you enter, the smell of freshly ground coffee beans fills you up and the thoughts disappear.

“Grab a table, I’ll order for you. Medium vanilla latte?”

“Yeah.” You fish through your pocket for money and pull out a five-dollar bill that he refuses to take. “I’m not letting you pay!”

“This is an apology for not waking you up during lecture.” Seungmin sticks his tongue out at you and dashes off before you can say another word.

Your stomach does a weird turn.

“How is it that our papers are literally about the same thing but yours sounds so much better than mine?” Seungmin groans.

You hide a smile behind your drink and shrug. “Writing comes naturally. It doesn’t really matter the subject, I just like it.”

“I’m jealous.” Seungmin runs his hands through his hair but doesn’t let go of the strands when he reaches the ends. “I can do everything but write.”

“I’m really bad at math, if that makes you feel any better.” Your eyes drift across the coffee shop, surveying the décor and layout of the place. You’ve been here so many times, but never took the time to really appreciate the ambiance. Seungmin is refocused on his paper, so you begin to day dream. You look outside, looking into the main quad area and the clumps of people sitting in the grass. Your eyes travel a bit further and stop on a group of familiar guys as they walk past the window.

It’s too late to break eye contact. You’ve stared for too long. Your fingers tighten around the cup of coffee and you let out a soft gasp that has Seungmin glancing up.

“Y/n?”

Minho looks at you, then at Seungmin, and then back to you. His expression doesn’t give away what he’s thinking, but you’re sure there’s hurt written somewhere in his eyes. Then, he clenches his jaw and looks away, lips curling up into a smile directed at his friends.

Seungmin follows your gaze and finds who you are staring at. Connecting the dots, he lightly kicks your leg under the table to grab your attention. You’re still staring, even though Minho is long gone. “Hey. Do you want to talk to me about it?”

You sigh and shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something. But if you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to. But know that I’m here if you need me to be.” Seungmin nods earnestly and smiles.

The sparkles in his eyes are beautiful.

Love was never an easy thing. You didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t something that you welcomed so easily. It was easy to walk out and that uncertainty made you uneasy. But when in love, it was harder to keep the balance. What did you want that your partner didn’t? Where was the line drawn? How much did you have to give up to keep the peace, to continue being happy?

You weren’t sure. You didn’t have good enough experiences with it to ever figure it out.

But with the way Seungmin never probes too far and gives you the space you need, you may or may not be falling in love with him.

“I can’t believe I got 90% on this. A whole month of work has paid off.” Seungmin kisses his paper and holds it up to the sky. “I owe you my grade.”

You laugh at his silliness. “There’s still the final, Seungmin.”

“But this solidified my grade.” He has a big grin on his face that makes you smile too. “I’ll buy you coffee?”

“I already had one before class. It’s okay.”

Seungmin hesitates for a moment. “Then what about lunch?”

Of course you run into Minho. It’s even more awkward this time because you’re both in the middle of a conversation when you make eye contact and somehow you both seem to stop talking at the same time. You’re trying to overlook the fact that the girl he’s with is playing with his fingers on the tabletop. The chances of you running into him like this are one in a million, but you’ve been awfully lucky with awkward encounters recently.

The smile on Minho’s face slips off faster than you can blink. He looks over at Seungmin again, gaze lingering longer than before, and then back to you with an unreadable expression. The girl turns to look to see what caught his attention and she gives you a questioning look.

You feel a nudge on your shoulder. “Let’s go somewhere else, this place is really crowded today.” Seungmin forces a laugh. There are plenty of empty tables right in your field of vision, but you’re thankful he’s trying. “Come on.”

Once you’re outside, you let out a breath you didn’t think you were holding, and you pause to close your eyes for a moment. “I’m not sure I’m in the mood to eat anymore, Seungmin.”

Seungmin contemplates for a moment, looking back at the restaurant and then at you. “Let’s talk about it instead. You have a lot pent up, don’t you? You can tell me.”

Seungmin’s eyes are warm like the coffee you love so much, and his smile is like the sun that lights up your day.

You hate yourself for thinking how Seungmin fills in all the empty spots that Minho left.

“People show love differently. For you, it’s with emotions rather than with physical touch, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” Seungmin chews on his fry thoughtfully. “My mom showed me she loved me by cutting up fruits for me when I was studying. My dad showed me love by telling me he was proud of me. People seem to think that kissing and sex is the only way you show someone you love them, but it really isn’t.”

You spin your straw in your soda. “I guess it’s the pressure of society telling me that it is.”

Seungmin dips his fry into his little ketchup cup. “Well, you don’t always have to listen to it.” When he sees that you’re still unsure about yourself, he scoots closer to the table. “Hey. There’s nothing wrong with you being hesitant to do all those things. You have your boundaries and your partner should respect that. They should understand. If they don’t, they aren’t worth it.”

“I don’t know, Seungmin. I just feel like I owe it to him for being with me so long. We spent two years together. That’s a long time.”

“Y/n.” Seungmin’s voice sounds so firm you look up in surprise. “You don’t owe anyone anything.”

Your heart skips a beat.

Finals creeps up on you and hits you in the face. You’re normally on top of it all, but with all the emotional turmoil you’ve been experiencing and another awkward encounter with Minho and his new girlfriend that you had to get over, you’re not ready. Seungmin, the ever-reliable seat mate, sends you his annotated study guide and the link to his online flash cards.

“Good luck. Hopefully I’ll see you in another class,” Seungmin whispers as the test is passed out.

You give him a small smile. “Good luck.”

With all the help he gave you, the test is relatively easy, but you spend extra time going over your answers to make sure. Seungmin finishes before you and gives you a wink when he walks past you and out of the hall. You hand in the final a few minutes after he does and leave, feeling lighter. What you’re not expecting is him waiting at the door.

“Woah, I thought you left,” you say.

“I was going to, but I came back.”

“Did you forget something?”

Seungmin hesitates, face contorting into a weird expression for a moment and then into a thin smile. “Would you like to go on a date with me, y/n?”

Your housemates have left to go home during the semester break. You’re determined not to fly thousands of miles and be stuck in a house where you feel like you don’t belong.

Last year, Minho stayed over and was glued to your side every moment of the day. He slept on the couch because you didn’t want him sleeping on your bed and he complained about it the entire time. You went through the entire break with guilt pooling in your stomach and annoyance pulsing through your veins. The argument that followed that almost separated you two.

This year, Seungmin shows up around noon after you’ve woken up and leaves after dinner. There’s a pillow between your legs whenever you curl up on the couch together to watch a movie. He texts you and asks if you want to call and sends you pictures of cats instead of hearts, though you know they mean the same thing.

Seungmin holds you steady, keeps you grounded and secure in the world that’s constantly changing. He’s up until the ungodly hours of the night, and ready to reply to whatever random thought you have on your mind. You’re not so sure what makes him different from the other two, but when he raises his hand for a high-five after something good happens instead of his arms for a hug, you feel your insides twist in a good way.

It’s the subtle things that made you fall for him. Like the way he smiles and offers to listen without forcing you into anything. And the way he never invades your personal bubble until you nod when he cocks his head to the side as his way of asking. And the way he makes you feel comfortable in your own skin, like you’re not being pressured into holding his hand, or hugging him, or kissing him.

Seungmin has made you feel like you belong, like you’re not some weird freak that doesn’t like being touched by their significant other. He has made you feel accepted and has made you accept yourself – that’s the biggest thing.

Maybe that’s why you’ve been going steady for the past year.

#seungmin #kim seungmin #stray kids seungmin #stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagine #seungmin scenario #seungmin imagine #fluff #some angst

122 notes · View notes

chiseler · 5 years

Text

Israel and the Far-Right American Left

Presidential elections are, for the most part, psychic events. Chimeras. Deceptions. Or, as Noam Chomsky calls them, “personalized quadrennial extravaganzas.” But Chomskyites are often puzzled to hear their anarchist role model, one election cycle after another, touting the mainstream Democrat.

So why does Chomsky, with a saddened, syllable-dragging and demoralized voice, encourage voters to participate in their own exclusion – i.e., the electoral process? His under-read Goals and Visions holds some answers. The essay, dating back to Dr. Chomsky’s heyday, makes a beautiful (and deeply counter-intuitive) case for anarchists supporting strong centralized government in the near term.

Voting is a provisional bulwark against absolute corporate tyranny, which must, so the argument goes, be defeated first – I’m not persuaded that Chomsky’s theory illuminates his latest White House hopeful, Bernie Sanders. If, as Chomsky argues, our American Democracy is some terrifying variety show, beamed into politically atomized brains, then certainly he's able to see the emperor has no clothes here. That is, Bernie (pardon the image): a butt naked cipher. I recently asked the MIT linguist a simple question.

"What has Bernie Sanders ever done to help Palestine?"

For years, international activists have been putting Palestinian dignity at the center of their program. And Chomsky's laconic response — "Not much" — won't surprise them. No stranger to equivocation where BDS (Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions) is concerned, I hoped to tease out whatever nuances might have created this strange contradiction on the American Left, in essence to answer my own query: "How can otherwise principled boycott supporters drop the ball and say 'oops' as historical Palestine experiences a genocide?"

If that word frightens you, you're in good company: Bernie Sanders, Noam Chomsky, and even Norman Finkelstein refuse it — despite a growing chorus that includes Israeli historian Ilan Pappé, who coined “incremental genocide” to define The Holy Land's occupation/annexation/extermination agenda. I'm sitting here in Brooklyn firing off emails in a chair designed by Ray and Charles Eames (so, please, don't call me an "armchair activist") — criticizing figures in my own personal pantheon.

Forgive me for what I do.

Stoop shouldered, he gazes out over his audience like a tortoise, half as old as time, in vain and reflexive search of the shell he left behind somewhere. Now, wouldn’t it be wonderful if this self-styled socialist were running for President? Sure, but Senator Bernie Sanders’ deportment and general appearance constitute a sadly instructive, big old honkin’ “tell” – only chumps and chuckleheads could possibly miss it. Outward displays of Hard Leftism fall away whenever Bernie aids and abets the Democratic Party in strange, stentorian Brooklynese.

Remember that solemn promise he made at the outset of his 2016 campaign not to run as an independent? And another obvious tip-off: pledging support for the Party’s foreknown nominee — i.e., the Monsanto shillaber with whom Sanders was so nauseatingly flirtatious. I keep these facts firmly in mind as I await honest responses to my pestering missives. Critical of the Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions movement, Noam Chomsky also fails to advance any feasible alternatives.

Nor, by his own admission, has Bernie lifted a finger: "He’s moved towards support for Palestinian rights, more so than any other candidate, but he’s focusing on domestic policy." To wit, Bernie "knows very well that any word on the topic will let loose the familiar and cynical litany of ‘anti-Semitism’." But isn't it even more "cynical" to suggest, as Chomsky does, that ordinary citizens be held to a higher standard than his pick for US President? Some of us risk opprobrium, and worse, every day because party politics are obtuse to suffering in Gaza, the West Bank and East Jerusalem. Meanwhile, Bernie Sanders exploits disaffected voters by herding them back into the Democratic Party fold, under a primary assumption about their malleability, laziness and glib call for “revolution.” Though he claims to be a serious socialist, he actively supports a murderous wingnut Zionism. Take his resounding stamp of approval on “Operation Protective Edge,” which killed over 550 Palestinian children in 2014, serving Israel’s long-term agenda of land grabs, water theft, indefinite detention... a nigh endless atrocities list which includes the systematic torture of little kids (see UNICEF's Children in Israeli Military Detention, available as a PDF online).

I next decided to bother Chomsky’s old friend and political ally Dr. Norman Finkelstein, son of two Holocaust survivors and decades-long champion of the Palestinian cause. In recent years, Finkelstein has become something of a pariah on the Left thanks to his anti-BDS stance: "I think Bernie should be let alone in the primary to focus on his domestic agenda." This was getting monotonous.

Finkelstein unintentionally loops back to his mentor's essay, Goals and Visions, torpedoing its thesis as our half-assed interview progresses — acknowledging, for instance, that if Bernie couldn’t tax Jeff Bezos, and instead funded New Deal economics with attempted military cuts: “It could literally trigger a coup plot.” Responding to that same question, Chomsky answers with a devastating blow to his own theory: "Even if he were elected — a long shot — he would not be able to do much without a supportive Congress — an even longer shot.”

In plain language, Sanders and the rest of Congress are tied to the defense industry. So what about Uncle Noam’s (imagined) boundary line — the one supposedly separating captains of industry from democratically elected representatives? It’s a sham, though possibly a well-meaning one, like some avuncular bedtime story offered in lieu of reality-based hope.

Genocide kind of rubs me the wrong way.

I’m not sure there’s anything particularly “revolutionary” about pulling a bloodstained lever for state-sponsored carnage in slow motion. But, hell, that’s just my opinion. So let’s listen to Bernie himself — the old Bernie, who spoke a modicum of truth about our so-called electoral options. "Essentially, it's my view that the leadership of the Democratic Party and the Republican Party are tied to big-money interests and that neither of these parties will ever represent the people in this country that are demanding the real changes that have to take place."

It’s axiomatic that we don’t launch revolutions in the ballot box. And yet, here we have Sanders fans, crowding around a Smurf with dyspepsia as if he were Big Bill Haywood. To his followers, I’d say: If you’re counting on some latter-day Dem to save you from capitalism’s war-mongering and general rapaciousness, then listen to Bernie’s earlier, slightly less dishonest incarnation. “You don’t change the system from within the Democratic Party.” Now there’s a sentiment I can agree with.

Bernie’s sheep-dogging dovetails with his oft-stated support for pugnacious Israel, since both positions coincidentally strengthen Monsanto. The agribusiness colossus, known mainly for genetically modified crops, produced Agent Orange during America’s illegal assault on Vietnam, and now makes white phosphorous doted on by the Holy Land and that (surprise!) melts human flesh. Israel routinely and, yes, illegally drops the stuff on civilians in Gaza, since... well, a bunch of Arabs live there... Go ahead and Google the images – if you can stomach them – of civilian “collateral damage” roasted by Bernie and his newfound Democrat pals.

Who needs an American Left that parses us into a hopeless corner of complicity with the ghouls over at Monsanto; or into an equally occult alliance with Bernie Sanders’ favorite arms manufacturers at Lockheed Martin: death-peddlers spanning generations which, to the surprise of no one, have their own rollicking relationship to The Holy Land’s psychopathic ethno-nationalism. The same corporations profiting on Israel’s crimes are destroying the biosphere. So what's an impressionable, idealistic soul to do? It's either make common cause with an artlessly compromised left, or enter a nihilistic hellscape populated by the likes of Ben Shapiro, or Dr. Jordan Peterson. Some choice.

Israeli talking points, a species of American PR industry-calibrated blather and Labor Day Telethon sanctimony, relentlessly fuse democracy and religious statehood – two distinct conditions which will never mesh -- into grotesque synonyms. But as of this writing, 97% of the water in Gaza is contaminated; electricity has been cut to 4 hours per day; Israeli courts convict 99.74% of Palestinian defendants (not that many people are guilty); 85% of Israel’s “security fence” (The Apartheid Wall) is on land rightfully and legally belonging to the people of Palestine.

Standing opposed to it all -- and indeed ridiculed by America's preeminent professional anti-Zionist, Dr. Norman Finkelstein, whose sole income these days derives from working the college lecture circuit where he finds himself harangued night after night by 20 year old corn-fed Methodist William Henry Harrison High School Irgun-wannabes, for daring to suggest that the state of Israel might possibly have its own problem with mass-murder -- the amateurs in BDS, wielding the kind of principled Internationalist vision which helped bring down Apartheid in South Africa, chase one last hope.

It is a movement which has become beautifully amorphous, internalized by artists who refuse to perform in Tel Aviv, or inspiring students to tell the truth. Again. Finally. Without fear. Meanwhile, courageous young people within Israel are choosing prison and the death of their social lives over a collusion so easily embraced, and even sought, throughout the rest of the industrialized world. In a Land of Soldiers and unceasing bloodshed, this requires the kind of backbone and resolve that once inspired folk tales.

Ahed Tamimi, to whom this editorial is dedicated

by Daniel Riccuito

Special thanks to R.J. Lambert

2 notes · View notes

douxreviews · 5 years

Text

Quantum Leap - Season One Review

"Oh, boy."

Quantum Leap began as a mid-season replacement in early 1989, ran for five seasons (1989-1993), and made a television star out of Scott Bakula. While it was running, it was one of my two favorite shows (the other was Star Trek: The Next Generation). There wasn't much good science fiction on television back then. Actually, there wasn't much sci-fi on television at all, unlike today's sci-fi-rich television environment.

What happens

A brilliant scientist named Sam Beckett (Scott Bakula) invents time travel. Pressured to produce results or lose funding, he tries it on himself — and wakes up in 1956 in someone else's body. With the help of his Quantum Leap Project partner Al (Dean Stockwell) who visits Sam in the form of a neurological hologram, Sam discovers that he must correct whatever it was that "went wrong" in the original timeline before he can leap out again. It is theorized by Ziggy, the artificial intelligence back at the Project, that if Sam can't make the appropriate correction in each leap, he'll be stuck in that person's body forever.

What works

There is so much to love about Quantum Leap. Fortunately, the two best things about the show are the main characters, Sam and Al, and the actors who played them. I've always thought that Sam Beckett is a dream role for an actor, and Scott Bakula was more than up to the challenge of playing a new character in a new situation every week. Okay, not exactly a new character, but he still had to play Sam's interpretation of that character, which added some acting layers while still preserving the integrity of Sam himself as a character.

Yes, Sam Beckett is just too perfect. A genius with six doctorates, his massive intellect made him capable of stepping into nearly anyone's life. What helped make Sam less perfect was that the Quantum Leap process made "swiss cheese" out of his memory. His partial amnesia also helped disconnect him from his old life, making it easier to immerse himself in the lives of the people he leaped into, an excellent plot device.

And then there is Al, who is also brilliant and multi-talented, and whatever Sam can't do while living someone else's life, like fly a plane or speak Italian, Al can step in and help. Al is also the king of double entendres and references to scoring with women, and under other circumstances, I would have found such a character repulsive. But Dean Stockwell is just so lovable in this part. He made it easy to see the humanity and goodness inside Al, right from the start. And Bakula and Stockwell played so well off each other. Even though Sam and Al were totally different people, they were believable as close friends.

The basic premise of the series is great, too; it's a fascinating framework for a time travel series. The only real limitation is that Sam couldn't travel to the future or to a time earlier than 1953. Setting episodes in the fifties, sixties or seventies made Quantum Leap all about the nostalgia, though. Gender roles, period music, historical events woven into the story like the east coast blackout and the streaking fad in the early seventies, you name it.

And then there were the clothes. I have little interest in fashion, but I love the costumes on this show. Scott Bakula looked so comfortable and natural, so right in those period outfits. Sometimes they were yummy; occasionally they were hilarious. What I enjoyed just as much was Al showing up in bizarre futuristic outfits in outrageous colors, which fortunately never became fashionable in real life. Like Bakula with the period clothes, Dean Stockwell simply made that wardrobe work. Al is a colorful character, and his wardrobe matches his personality.

What doesn't work

There isn't much I don't like about Quantum Leap. Maybe it would have been interesting if they hadn't been limited to Sam's lifespan, and the United States (and yes, brief spoiler, they do get around that occasionally in future episodes). And yes, it tends toward the procedural, since most of the episodes are Leaps of the Week, but hey, it was the nineties.

One thing did leap :) out at me during this rewatch — the show's tendency to lecture. In this abbreviated first season, we got "The Color of Truth," the first time that Sam leaped into the body of someone who wasn't a white guy like himself. Instead of just being a person of color with an important life experience that Sam had to figure out and change, "The Color of Truth" is a sixty-minute lecture on the evils of racial segregation in 1955 Alabama. Not that there's anything wrong with the topic: it was a huge and important part of the recent past, and the episode was both well-intentioned and well done. But preachiness can be a turnoff, and this wasn't the only time it happened.

Another thing I didn't like was that every episode ended in a cliffhanger as Sam leaped into his next challenge, in what always appeared to be dire circumstances. Yes, I get it, cliffhangers help bring the audience back. But I would have been a lot happier if they had simply ended each episode with Sam leaping out, who knows where.

The music replacement controversy

When Quantum Leap was initially released on DVD way back when, Universal decided not to buy the rights to a number of the songs featured on the series simply because it was prohibitively expensive. Changing the music changed the series, though, and many fans were livid about it. The worst offenders were the season two episodes "M.I.A." and "Good Morning, Peoria." (I'll talk more about why fans were upset in my review of season two.)

After some research, I can report that Amazon and Netflix fixed this serious problem; the original music is intact. (I'm writing this review in December 2016, and I live in the U.S.) Unfortunately, Netflix decided to stop carrying Quantum Leap as of January 1, 2017, when I hadn't quite finished my rewatch, so I had to move to Hulu. And unfortunately, Hulu does not feature the original music. I have no idea what is going on with the music in the DVD sets. If you plan to buy Quantum Leap on DVD, you might want to find out about the music replacement situation before purchasing, if it matters to you.

Important episodes

1.1/1.2 "Genesis (September 13, 1956)": This is a decent two-part pilot. The brave test pilots and their long suffering wives waiting at home kept reminding me of the 1983 movie The Right Stuff, which might have been their intention. (In fact, many Quantum Leap episodes remind me of specific movies.) Maybe it shouldn't have been a two-parter, though, because honestly, while Sam's "wife" was doing the laundry, I got a little bored.

This pilot does mention the possibility that Sam's leaping is being directed by God. You'd think God would have the power to fix things Herself without having to use Sam, but okay. Maybe God employs other people like Sam, too.

1.6 "Double Identity (November 8, 1965)": Best episode of the season, and an obvious tribute to The Godfather. The wedding scene where Sam had to sing and Al gave Sam the Italian lyrics to "Volare" was funny, and kept getting funnier as Sam channeled his inner lounge lizard and really got into it. In fact, it went on so long that you'd think it would stop being funny, but it didn't.

(This might be a good time to mention that Scott Bakula has a beautiful, professional singing voice that they often featured in the series.)

Later, during a life and death situation and wearing hair clips and shaving cream, Sam had to converse in Al-prompted Italian. Bakula spoke the lines Sam didn't understand as if he were reciting poetry. And the ending with the thousand watt hair dryer in Buffalo causing the east coast blackout of 1965 was practically perfect.

1.9 "Play It Again, Seymour (April 14, 1953)": A very Sam Spade sort of episode with bits of Casablanca, with Sam in the body of a private eye who looked like Bogart investigating the murder of his partner. Of course, there was a dame — his partner's slinky wife, Alison (Claudia Christian, one of my favorites from Babylon 5). There was also a poorly written novel called Dead Men Don't Die, a dropper named Klapper, and every hardboiled detective cliche you can imagine.

Much of "Play It Again, Seymour" was filmed in the Bradbury Building, a Los Angeles landmark that was also used as a major location in my favorite science fiction movie, Blade Runner. When I was living in L.A., I went to see the building in person. It's gorgeous.

Sam was born in August 1953, and this final leap of the season was set in April 1953. I can only assume the leap range was defined by Sam's conception, not his birth?

Bits and pieces:

-- In season one, Sam leaps into and must become: a test pilot, a professor of literature, a boxer, a veterinarian, a chauffeur, a drag-racing teenager, and a private eye.

-- There are many references to three characters we don't get to meet in this first season: Ziggy, the artificial intelligence that gives Al projections on what Sam is supposed to change; Gooshie, a little guy with bad breath who also works on the Project; and Al's current girlfriend Tina. (Okay, oops, I'm wrong. According to IMDb, Tina is the woman with the flashing earrings that Al picked up in his car.)

-- The person that Sam replaces turns up in the imaging chamber, and Sam only knows how others see him by looking in a mirror. The synchronized mirror scenes are okay, although the motions were never choreographed well enough for me to suspend belief. Maybe those scenes should have been done more simply.

-- In the pilot, Sam wanted desperately to contact his late father but couldn't remember his own last name. Later in the season, in a lovely scene, Sam did speak with his father on the phone but of course, didn't tell him who he was.

-- It is established in season one that animals can see Al, that Al had been raised in an orphanage, had participated in protests during the civil rights movement, and has been married five times.

-- Famous people: Sam gives teen Buddy Holly the lyrics to "Peggy Sue," and shows a tiny Michael Jackson how to moon walk.

-- Notable actors: Teri Hatcher as Sam's first love in "Star-Crossed," Mark Margolis from Breaking Bad in "Double Identity," and Claudia Christian in "Play it Again, Seymour."

-- The saga sell is fun and so are the opening credits and theme music. But come on. A little "caca"? That's childish. I'm glad they didn't retain that.

-- Scott Bakula has a streak of white in his hair. It's not artificial; he has said during interviews that he's had it since childhood.

-- We're told that you cannot fix your own life. Why?

Season one is all "leap of the week" episodes, but it's a short first season and there's nothing wrong with that. By the end, we still don't know much about Sam, Al, or the Quantum Leap Project, so there's a lot of story left to tell.

On to season two!

Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.

#Quantum Leap #Sam Beckett #Al Calavicci #Scott Bakula #Dean Stockwell #Quantum Leap Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews #something from the archive

9 notes · View notes