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kitten4sannie · 1 year

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11 - ɪᴍᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ - ꜱᴀɴ

ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇꜱ

part 1

pairing: lead singer! san x groupie! reader (fem) feat. guitarist! seonghwa (seonghwa is just kinda there in this i’m sorry ;;)

genre: band au, smut

summary: after being rejected by your favorite guitarist, you give the lead singer a visit instead.

w.c: 2.6k

warnings: some mxm in the intro, san’s a menaceeee but so is the reader, dom leaning! san, sub leaning! reader, dirty talk, nipple play (m/f receiving), degradation, marking, brief spit mention (it wouldn’t be my fic if there wasn’t spit somewhere 🫶🏼), unprotected sex, impregnation kink (duh), there’s a big focus on cum bc i’m filthy, tiny mention of cum inflation, multiple creampies

a/n: i think this might be my favorite fff fic so far <3 i just really like the idea of alt metal ateez okayyy and plus san's my bias so i went completely off the rails 🥵 also no one asked but the lyrics of the song in the intro were taken from the ending of “kingslayer” by bring me the horizon and the bridge of “the death of peace and mind” by bad omens <3

FFF Masterlist

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“I can feel youuuuu!” San sang with every ounce of his being, bending himself backwards, his head hanging upside down, a few beads of sweat dripping from his temples. He stood back up and held onto his mic with a death grip, bringing one leg up onto the speaker that continued to blast out the loud, angsty instrumental. “Is this what you want?” The crowded chanted his name, fueling his ego and his wish to leave everything he possibly had to give on the stage.

“Then, this is what you fucking get,” he growled out, a few veins visibly straining against his freckled neck, his dark eyes filled with pure rage. “Augh!” Consumed with the energy of their performance, he tore his loose black tank top off in a downwards motion. The remaining fabric hung off of his frame, his perfectly toned upper body now on display for everyone and their mom to gawk at. When the music came to an intensely loud peak, he suddenly reached his arm out to point to someone who probably blew their load right then and there.“You motherfuckin’ shit!”

You were squished against the barricade, hardly paying attention to the rowdy people routinely bumping into you from all sides, too distracted by how mesmerizing San was onstage. And how incredibly wet you were. If Seonghwa was so fond of sharing himself with others, what was stopping you from doing the same thing?

San and the rest of the band, including Seonghwa, began banging their heads to the heavier-sounding combination of guitars, drums, and bass. “Put your hands up, motherfuckers,” San exhaled into the mic, scanning the crowd with his blown out pupils, looking certifiably insane. He always stayed in character onstage, but how much of it was an over exaggeration and much of it melded with his true persona? Not knowing turned you on to a degree you were almost ashamed of.

Most of the crowd followed his lead, reaching a hand out into the air to put up the rock symbol, though a few girls were too busy ripping off their bras to toss in his direction. You simply stood there with your bottom lip trapped in between your teeth, waiting patiently for him to find you in the crowd. Once the lead singer’s hooded eyes were on you, you lifted your band hoodie up and allowed your tits to drop out of the thick material, bouncing a bit on your heels from your excitement.

San groaned at the sight of you, not having the self-control to keep himself from grabbing his half-hard cock through his tight pants. “Are you ready for this? I said, put your fucking hands up,” he shouted to the sea of people below him, not able to take another look at your bouncing tits when Seonghwa grabbed San by his small waist, his fingers hooking into the material of the lead singer's torn jeans, yanking him in his direction.

Licking his lips, San lifted his mic in between them, allowing Seonghwa to let out his own raspy yell, his voice starting low and guttural and eventually growing louder and raw, showing off his impressive pipes. San watched him with a fondness that bordered arousal, his hands sinking into the other’s damp raven locks, gripping it tightly. Seonghwa’s eyes rolled back, his fingers still expertly hitting note after note without much concentration, as though it were second nature.

“Are you satisfied?” San yelled out, expelling the air from his diaphragm in order to produce the perfect metal scream, almost being drowned out by the overwhelmingly heavy sound of guitar and drums. He tugged Seonghwa in his direction, pressing a rough kiss onto the guitarist’s open mouth, his tongue slipping inside. Once San got his fill, he shoved Seonghwa backwards, a small string of saliva dripping from their mouths. He bent over near the edge of the stage, squeezing the mic inside his calloused hands, his once slicked-back hair now falling into his eyes. Waiting for his cue, he took in a deep breath, his neck veins making a return, shouting with raw intensity, “Are you fucking satisfied?!”

The crowd lost their goddamn minds, cheering and shouting, some still holding their rock symbols up, and others too busy shedding a tear. Personally, you didn’t understand how you survived witnessing set after set for so long, or how anybody else did, for that matter. Their performances were always so viscerally stimulating, it physically hurt that you couldn’t simply jump onto the stage and let each of them use you to their heart’s content.

You found yourself standing at the door of Seonghwa’s hotel room, despite your plans to talk to San after the show ended. “Goddamn it,” you mumbled to yourself, wondering why you weren’t capable of playing hard to get around him for even a microsecond. Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t be the one waiting around for him.

Hearing your eventual knocks, Seonghwa answered the door, his raven hair wet and clinging to his bare face, remnants of mascara present underneath his eyes. Naked for only a moment, he wrapped a small towel loosely around his slender hips. “Baby, hey. What’d you think of the show?”

Your pensiveness melted in an instant, instead being replaced by your clear adoration for him. “God, I can’t even describe how it made me feel, Hwa. I just know how fucking wet it made me.”

He chuckled to himself, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “You’re always wet for me, Y/N.”

You took a step closer, your hand moving past his towel to lightly stroke his length, lifting yourself up onto your heels to whisper near his face, “Always.”

Seonghwa took in a deep inhale and let it out, leaning his head back, growing hard inside your grip. "Baby..." After a few moments, he brought himself back to reality, suddenly grabbing you by the chin and pressing a harsh kiss against your lips, only to push you away, a sad smile on his flushed face.

“Hwa…?” you mumbled, slowly retracting your hand, your eyes wide with surprise.

Two separate feminine voices came from the bed that was out of view, the both of them whining about how he was taking too long. Seonghwa sighed, rubbing his neck. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve told you I was busy tonight. Why don’t you visit San?”

“Maybe I will.” No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep your lips from forming a small pout, though you were able to furrow your brows in annoyance. “You know what?”

Seonghwa frowned, feeling bad, but knowing you wouldn’t want to join him as a third. You simply required too much attention from him in a group setting, unable to handle when he took care of others in front of you. “What?”

Your pout was replaced by a subtle, but distinctively smug smirk. “I’m gonna let him put a baby in me.”

Okay, take two. You knocked on San's hotel room door, unconsciously pulling on your hoodie strings, leaning back on your heels. You almost felt like you should back out, not wanting to get rejected by your idols one after another. Before you could take a step back, San opened the door halfway, giving you a lewd, almost cheshire-like smile, his eyes surveying your chest as though he were reminiscing about what had occurred an hour earlier. "What brings you here, doll?"

Wrapping one of the hoodie strings around your index finger, you looked up at him past your fluttering eyelashes, your tongue wetting the corner of your glossy lips. "Is that offer still good?"

San’s brown eyes dilated in real time, his face and body almost frozen like he was malfunctioning, before immediately turning around to yell at the half-dressed groupies lazing around on his bed. "Time for you guys to go! Something just came up, so go find another band member to fuck, alright?”

The group of girls and guys, some older and some younger, groaned and cursed amongst themselves, eventually filing out of the door, some of them giving you dirty looks. “You better fuck him good for us,” one of them grumbled near you, prompting you to emit a small ‘yep’, before he disappeared down the hallway with the rest of the groupies.

You turned your attention back to San who had already grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the room and shutting the door behind you, pressing you against it with his heated body. "You were about to fuck all those people?" you asked casually, reaching down to slip your hands underneath his sleep tee, your fingers exploring the soft curves of his hips and stiffness of his abdominal muscles, not able to decide which felt better underneath your touch.

"Yeah..." he sighed, arching his back slightly when you began to play with his pierced nipples. “I like performing for a crowd…” He eventually leaned his head into your shoulder, emitting small breaths of air, your fingers expertly tweaking and twisting the small metal bands to give him maximum pleasure.

“Of course you do.” You lifted San's shirt off of him, your fingers going back to his pebbled buds to play with them some more, pulling at his piercings, making him groan. "Do you fill all of them up with your cum, Sannie?"

“Uh-huhhh…” San exhaled into your neck, bringing one of his hands up to slip underneath your hoodie, grabbing onto one of your tits, squeezing it roughly inside the palm of his hand. “Every last one.”

You moaned, your fingers going lax for a moment, caught up with how San pushed both hands under your hoodie to knead your tits around, his fingers flicking your nipples. "Ahh, how do you not run out?"

He grinned after hearing the small squeaks you made when he pinched and pulled at them instead, mumbling in a deep voice near your ear, "I just have a lot of love to give, doll."

Boldly slipping your hand past his briefs and gripping his hardened cock, you asked in a sweet tone, "Does that mean you have a lot of love to give me?"

San had you folded up on the mattress, holding your ankles down near your head, slamming his hips into you so quickly and forcefully, neither of you could take a proper breath. He leaned his head down, his wet bangs tickling your forehead from being so close, chuckling softly at the sight of your starstruck expression. "You look like you want to say something, Y/N."

"You were—aaah—so amazing onstage earlier, Sannie..." you breathed out, your cunt clenching tightly around his throbbing cock, familiar with the warmth and thickness of his cum, knowing he was shooting more inside you. "You made me so fucking wet..."

Almost shuddering from how hard he was cumming, San buried his face into your hickey-covered neck, sucking on the skin of your collarbone, groaning out, “I already know how goddamn wet I made you. I bet those panties of yours were drenched by the end of the show, huh?" San moved down from your neck to your chest, slurping up each of your tits into his mouth, one at a time, giving them both the attention they deserved.

"I had to play with myself on the tour bus on the way back here..." you admitted, wanting to say more, but being unable to, emitting a sharp gasp instead. Your tits were a lot more sensitive now, especially from how San alternated between having them inside his mouth and using his tongue on them. “No one saw me though, I swear. I did it in the bathroom.”

He spit onto one of your already shiny tits, wanting to make more of a mess, before he dove in to suck and lick at them like he was racing against an invisible timer. "Mm, looks like babydoll can't get enough of me onstage...so much so that she resorts to being a needy little whore all by herself," he mumbled on your bruising skin, eagerly flicking his tongue at a nipple, making you squirm underneath him. "Bet you wanted me to pull you onstage and pump a baby into you in front of all those people, huh, naughty girl?”

"Yeah, I did...and it's your fault," you whined softly, emitting a set of soft, airy moans, San's cock brushing against your g-spot over and over. "Take responsibility, Sannie." Your fingers clenched into the muscles on his broad back, feeling them tense up underneath your touch.

"My fault? My fault you needed me so badly that you resorted to showing these pretty tits off in front of everyone?" Finding your dick-drunkenness to be amusing, he wanted to push the topic, pressing kisses to your neck up to your jaw, still thrusting into you at a fast pace. "It's my fault for turning you into a shameless little slut? Hm?"

"Yes!" you cried out, your voice broken and hoarse from how hard you were cumming, your trembling thighs squeezing around his tiny waist.

"Hm, I guess I should take responsibility, huh?" Blowing a few strands of hair out of his hooded eyes, he pulled out slightly, holding the tip of his cock against your pulsing hole. "I should take responsibility for all these fucking loads I'm filling you with too," he groaned, stroking himself for a few more seconds, his seed eventually spurting out onto your mound, the liquid dripping down along your puffy folds.

“Mm, fuck, that’s it,” you reacted, reaching down with one hand to rub his cum around your cunt, pushing two fingers inside your gaping hole to fuck the liquid into yourself. However, your fingers weren’t enough to satisfy you. You needed his cock inside. You needed to be filled with his hot, milky love one last time. “It’s not enough, Sannie. I need more.”

Your shameless desperation and insatiable lust was like chicken soup for his black soul, making him hard again almost instantaneously. “Yeah? You want to milk me completely dry, doll?”

“Yes, please.” You suddenly lunged up from the bed and pushed San down, his back hitting the mattress with a bounce, sinking down onto his length without a second thought, his cum being pushing out of you.

“God, yes, fucking ride me, you whore,” San growled, gritting his teeth, one hand gripping your hip tightly, the other on your lower stomach, allowing you to fuck yourself to hell and back using his cock. “You’re so full for me…so full of my seed…yet, it’s not enough…” He pressed on your abdomen, feeling some resistance, convinced that his cum was making your tummy swell slightly. “God, I fuckin’ love you…”

Bouncing on San’s dick with feverish speed, you started to pant heavily and drool a bit, not even caring that he was seeing you in such a fucked-out state. You were simply too desperate to make him cum again, to the point that you didn’t even care about reaching your own high. “Fill me up, Sannie. Please, please, please fill me up with your cum…Fuck it into me, into my womb…make me yours…”

Your whiny-sounding words and tight, cum-slicked cunt brought San to his end, making him shudder and thrust wildly up into you. “God, here it comes, baby…take my fucking load…” He let out a series of throaty, almost guttural groans, ramming himself into you until he held you completely still, slowly pumping his seed as deep as he possibly could.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…” you echoed weakly, pretty sure you were unraveling in that instant from how insanely amazing it felt to be stuffed completely full of your favorite lead singer’s seed. If you were having a baby for anyone, it was definitely him.

Once you came back down to reality, your body felt heavy and almost numb, causing you to slowly drop down onto San’s chest, your sweaty, sticky bodies melding together. “That was…Fuck, I can’t even form the words…”

San stroked your wet hair, gazing up at the ceiling, the post-nut clarity incredibly kind to him this time around. “I might have to write a song about it.” You giggled softly, moving your fingers upwards to slip into his hair as well, gently massaging the shaved area of his hair near his pierced ear.

After some comfortable silence, San eventually inquired, "So, am I your favorite band member now?"

You lifted your head up, your skin still flushed beyond measure, bringing your hand to your mouth to wipe some drool away from your lips. "I don't pick favorites."

San burst out into laughter, patting the top of your head and giving you a pleased smile, his dimples making your heart race. "Now, that's a fucking lie."

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FFF: @hwalysm @scuzmunkie @creativechaoticloner @dilucpegg3r @yeosxxx @gemjimin @wonwowzers @sanjoongie @manipulatedstars @k-drizzle

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yourlocalshittywriter · 3 years

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The Duty of a Hero

Author’s Note: Howdy folks! I’m here with my first proper fic and I really hope that y’all like it! This will be exploring what could’ve happened if the Dabi that Aizawa fought wasn’t one of Twice’s clones. Since this is a fight, I advise the folks that are sensitive to things like that to click off and read another fic. Also, since this story does change scenery and moods a bit, I included some songs that change along with the the stories mood! This is mainly just because I like showing off my music taste and shit. Here’s Part 2!

Songs to Go Along: The Fighter by In This Moment, Acid Bubble by Alice In Chains, The Great Gig In The Sky by Pink Floyd

I felt extremely at peace for once in life. I felt the normal crackling of my joints silence into a warm nothingness. My aching muscles that had been torn to shreds time and time again, the ones that had been strained and stretched beyond the limits of the human body seemed to reform perfectly as they melted into the rest of my numb form. My skin, a forest of calluses, scars, stitches, and open wounds felt as if it was no longer there. I was no longer confined to the space of my body, and instead moved around as freely as water or air. I was a sort of goo, unmoving, stationary, simple, yet free.

With a quirk as self-destructive as mine, becoming a hero was a sort of death wish. My quirk was known as “pain transfer.” Anytime I made eye contact with a person, I could activate my quirk and subject myself to pain only to have them suffer the pain of the injury for as long as I was looking at them. I could also transfer existing pain to my target. Although I may have had a wicked high pain tolerance and quick recovery period, my humanity was bound to catch up to me eventually. Quirks like mine, “villainous quirks” according to most people, should be kept hidden and the people born with them should go on to live normal lives as ordinary civilians. My parents were among these people. When I told them that I was enrolling in the hero course at UA, I was given the choice to either become a hero and be disowned, or ditch my pipe dream and stay their beloved child. I packed my things that night.

It was a miracle that I passed the entrance exam the next day. I was running on little sleep, the loss of my financial support, and the trauma that came with the realization that your parents didn’t love you anymore because you didn’t live in a way that they approved of. I had trained since my will to become a hero first arrived, a sort of passionate drive that crashed into my life so unexpectedly that the impact nearly gave me whiplash.

I supposed that that inferno of, what? Spite? No, not spite, something deeper, hotter, and more righteous than spite. Let’s say ardor. This ardor was what drove me to take out as many robots as I could, despite the fact that my quirk was utterly useless in this situation. I took out a decent amount of robots, at least, decent enough to get into the hero course. A lady by the name of Recovery Girl healed me before I went on my way. I thought that I just had a few scrapes and bruises, but apparently I had a broken wrist. Surprisingly, I wasn’t the worst-off there, some poor kid broke both of his arms and one of his legs.

The time between this moment and when I got into UA seems to have flown by. I came into UA, a semi-blank canvas, and now here I was, bleeding out on the campsite that I planned to spend my summer at with my classmates. Dying feels far less painful than one would assume; you really don’t even realize that you’re dying at first. It’s sort of like that feeling you get after eating a warm meal after starving for so long, sickening at first, but comforting after you grow used to it. It’s like taking a hot bath after spending a day in the snow; it burns at first, but the burning subsides into a comforting numbness. Your senses slowly dull into nothingness but your brain is left to conjure whatever image it pleases. I could have seen dead relatives, met idols, or even pictured an alternate life where my parents still loved me, but I didn’t.

I didn’t want it. Fame, fortune, admiration, acceptance, rebirth, none of it. I wanted none of it. I wanted to live. I wanted to do what I swore to do as soon as I got into UA. I wanted what I signed up for when I packed my bags and left my parents’ house at age fourteen. I wanted what I fought tooth and nail for. I wanted my ambitions and goals fulfilled.

Of course I wanted what I had worked for, that was beyond obvious, however, I also wanted the small things in life. I wanted my afternoon tea with Yaoyorozu, Sato, and Todoroki. I wanted my fashion shows with Aoyama, Ashido, and Hagakure. I wanted my midnight conversations with Shinsou and Tokoyami. I wanted my video game sessions with Kaminari and Sero. I wanted my morning meditation meetings with Shoji, Ojiro, and Koda. I wanted to watch pro-wrestling with Bakugou and Kirishima. I wanted to train with Iida, Uraraka, and Midoriya. I wanted to swim with Asui. I wanted to listen to music with Jiro and Mr. Present Mic. I wanted inappropriate jokes with Ms. Midnight. I wanted to make Mr. Aizawa proud; I wanted to make myself proud. So, with so many incredible things to live for, I opened my eyes, and attempted to move.

Much to my distaste, it turns out that my relief from pain, as well as the disassociation from my body was nothing more than a thin veil that was easily permeated as I rose from near death. The forest was nothing more than a verdant blur, one that was far from easy to navigate. However, all things end eventually, so I decided to run from death and wherever I ended up would be the least of my worries. I sprinted through the disorder and dysfunction, and wound up walking in on my teacher fighting the son of a bitch who had left me to die a lonely death with only the company of insects and whatever plants were to take over my wilting corpse.

As Mr. Aizawa tackled the cremation villain, I rose from the forest, stared at the man in restraints, and activated my quirk. As the pain transferred from me to him, I felt the veil of insensibility slip over me once more. The villain howled out in agony, the very agony that he had inflicted on me only minutes before.

“Whatever you do, don’t break your gaze Eraserhead!” I chimed as I finally straightened my form, not wanting the hero to see me in such a state, “You’ll just have to trust me on this one!” Mr. Aizawa nodded, keeping a steady gaze on his target.

“Tried to kill me off?” I snarled as I made my way towards the sadistic bastard and beloved teacher holding him in place.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” the captive growled through gritted teeth, still under an amount of pain that would knock-out any average human. He looked beyond pissed that I survived, as if he took offense to the fact that I didn’t appreciate his work. I waltzed over to him, just far enough from Mr. Aizawa, but just close enough to the charred villain.

“Surprise, I remain,” I cooed, low enough for only the villain to hear. He bared his teeth at me, looking at me as if he were some sort of rabid animal. I wanted to taunt him. I wanted to make fun of the fact that he had been taken down by a high schooler and their teacher, but I knew that it was never good to brag, because Karma would usually come to bite you in the ass for it.

I stared at the man covered in staples, every blink I took releasing him from the effects of my quirk. Every blink motivated me to continue staring at him, to immobilize him so Mr. Aizawa could use his eye drops or blink, to buy him some time. However, I knew that this game of “pass the villain” could only go on for so long. Something had to be done. Eventually, the patchwork villain would catch both of us off guard and use his quirk, or one of his buddies would come and back him up. Mr. Aizawa and I were miles away from my peers or the rest of the pro-heroes. It was just the two of us up against this villain, and we were growing tired.

Only minutes after the realization had struck me, the villain escaped from Mr. Aizawa’s scarf when the two of us accidentally blinked at the same time. The human crematorium stood before us, and before I could use my quirk to disable him, he shot out a flurry of blue flames my way.

I dodged this attack as Mr. Aizawa ran towards the villain, yelling out the name “Dabi.” Before Mr. Aizawa was able to restrain him, Dabi grabbed the erasure hero and threw him headfirst into a brick wall, effectively knocking him out. I desperately wanted to check on my partner in battle, but I knew that I couldn’t let my guard down, because now Dabi was staring me directly in the eye.

I could attempt to charge at him, but I would be charred to bits, and even if I somehow managed to avoid his flames, I would meet the same fate as Eraserhead, knocked out and at Dabi’s mercy. I was screwed, I had no back up, my teacher was unconscious, and I was face to face with one of Japan’s most notorious criminals. I was dead meat.

That was until I devised a plan, one that would take out the cremation villain for good. One that would end his reign of terror once and for all. However, there was only one downside to this plan, and that was the fact that this plan would result in two casualties, Dabi and me. However, if I went with any other plan, Mr. Aizawa and I were to become the victims while Dabi walked off scot free.

I was destined to become a martyr.

With that realization, I turned to my teacher who was slowly coming to his senses and gave him a gentle smile,

“Eraserhead, it has truly been a pleasure,” I announced as Dabi’s arrogant gaze turned to one of confusion. As Mr. Aizawa slowly faded back into his previously comatose state before he had time to be confused, I focused my gaze back on the blue-flamed bastard. It was time to end it, to end his rule once and for all.

I reached into my pocket, grabbed a tiny weapon that fit perfectly in my hand, locked eyes with the villain, smirked, and painlessly slit my neck. As Dabi grasped his neck and choked on his unseen blood, which was truly my blood, he fell to his knees.

As I took what I knew were my last steps, I came face to face with the first half to my murder-suicide. He glared at me, an amalgam of agony that felt nothing at all, and snarled.

“I’ll see you in hell, you cunt.”

I laughed, of all the things he could’ve chosen to be his final words, he chose to give into the childish desire to have the last word with me. As his oddly-familiar eyes drained of life, I felt the pain I had so carelessly inflicted upon myself finally hit me like a freight train.

I began to choke as I fell to my knees, similarly to how Dabi had fallen only seconds before. I knew that my time was up soon, I would succumb to my injuries and lose the thing I had fought tooth and nail for only moments before. I looked to the horizon to find the sun casting his loving gaze upon my battered body. It was as if Apollo himself was granting me a warrior’s death, like he knew I had made some kind of a righteous sacrifice that warranted a soothing transition from death to afterlife.

The sunrise was something like I had never seen before. The blues burned brighter than the flames I had defeated minutes before, the yellow pooled around my weary being like an evening gown to a death dance, and the red painted a comforting scene in the clouds, as if to distract me from my own red that painted my body and the ground around me. I smiled my final smile as I walked into the loving embrace of the sun.

My duty as a hero had been fulfilled.

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wolfstarlibrarian · 3 years

Note

hello librarian!! first of all, thank you for your lovely blog, and thank you for the helpfulness and thorough-ness of your blog! i always check your blog daily to make sure that i didn't miss new recommendations from you! but then i was wondering if you could recommend me something where either (or both) of them is a writer/author AU? also some good strangers-to-lovers AU? thank you!! keep up the good work! love this blog so much!

Hello friend! Your words and support have given this Librarian tons of happy feelings, so thank you, and thank you for your patience on this list! Sending you tons of love back. 😘

Since you listed two topics, the Librarian chose to focus on the writer/author theme since most of those include the strangres-to-lovers trope. If you need more though, feel free to send a second ask!

Wolfstar Writers + Authors

Problems with Narrative Structure and the Rules of Manly Engagement [+Podfic] by @xinasvoice "There were easily six hundred people living in the Paramount building in downtown San Francisco. That was a lot of neighbors to get to know, but it only took a single day of living there for Sirius to notice Remus." Welcome To Seattle by @halictus-writer When Remus's boyfriend of six years broke up with him an hour before his 26th birthday party, he knew it was time to make a change. Or, the story of how Remus moved and eventually got back into the dating scene, including comfort food and the antics from a really great friend group.

A Brief History of Dragons by @eyra

It's lovely up here; all meadows dotted with wildflowers, wind-beaten tracks criss-crossing this way and that through the fields, weaving inland to the pinewoods. The sun's hot on his back as he passes ramshackle stone walls, long since crumbled to piles of ancient rubble and scree, and then the path winds downwards, still following the line of the coast until Sirius finds himself outside an old white cottage, tucked away behind the hill with a rose garden that faces out to the sea. Sirius moves to Cornwall for the summer and meets a rude, beautiful boy who is writing a book that may or may not be about dragons.

Finest in Fairford by @bluepeon-y Remus Lupin's job in a Fairford coffee shop is always uneventful, until an exotic new customer begins leaving messages with his tips.

Killing Me Softly by @weird-fangirling-persona Remus, feeling stuck in a rut and uninspired by his life finds his muse in a mysterious musician at open mic night. (And learns he was a muse himself.)

Synergy by @remuslives23 Synergy: the whole is greater than the sum of the parts.

Lonely Heart and Broken Shower by @toyhto A story in which Remus can't sleep, Sirius doesn't get his shower fixed, and there's steam in the air.

Someone New by wannnabesuper Remus is a barista tired of hearing his favorite customer (and secret crush) constantly wax lyrical about his never-ending stream of new loves.

Folding Chair by @iboughtaplant A meet-cute on the beach, but before they meet. Or Sirius and Remus mutually admiring each other on a beach.

And a Hedgehog in a Pine Tree by @eyra The door swings shut behind them, blocking out the howling wind and the bitter chill and instead there's a gently crackling fire and a patchwork sofa and layers and layers of tapestry rugs spread out over an old oak floor. The air is so toasty Sirius could weep, and he can smell chocolate and woodsmoke and something that might be peppermint, and then someone is taking his coat and grinning at him and he thinks, maybe, he did die out there on the icy roads. Maybe this is his own personal Elysium, and as he blinks stupidly at the man in front of him and takes in his freckles and his hat-flattened curls and the way his jumper has little knitted reindeer.

Stalking Sirius by @remuslives23 Reluctant paparazzo, Remus Lupin, manipulates his way into rock star, Sirius Black’s, life, hoping for a scoop that will kick start his flagging career. Instead, he finds himself torn between his growing feelings for Sirius, and the article of a lifetime.

#wolfstar #remus x sirius #remus lupin #sirius black #writers #authors

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beatriceeagle · 2 years

Note

HI NOT TO BE THE CHICK WHO ONLY MESSAGES YOU ABOUT LOLILO BUT FUCK IM DOING A REWATCH AND A META REREAD BECAUSE YOU FUCKING HAVE TO IF YOU'RE GOING THE REWATCH AND I'M ALSO REREADING ALL OF YOUR FICS AND I WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE BALTHAZAR PEDRO WEDDING LOOKS LIKE. YOU SAID THERE WOULD BE A SEQUEL TO 202 AND THERE IS NO SEQUEL AND I'M HAVING FEELINGS I LOVE YOU

It seems unlikely that we'll ever get around to writing the sequel to 2020, but the gist of the idea was:

Peter and Balth's wedding party includes all the people you'd assume—Ben, Bea, Kit, and Jaquie, with Rosa and John as the maid of honor/best man/this-is-a-gay-wedding-we-don't-see-any need-to-pile-on-the-gender-stereotypes. The wedding itself is bigger than Balth would've preferred, partly to appease Peter's family but also partly because Peter himself is secretly super into the theatrics and ceremony of a big wedding.

The ceremony itself goes great, and Peter and Balth are now really officially husbands, and they're deliriously happy, but then.

Then.

It's time for the speeches.

Peter's dad makes a fully normal speech. Balth's parents probably like recite a spoken word performance piece or something, but it's normal for them. Rosa gets a speech, and it's extremely dry and full of sarcasm and kind of wanders off the point a lot, but still full of heart. John's speech is awkward and short, but also full of heart.

Great! Speeches done! On with dinner!

Except...

Ben has seized the microphone.

Ben's speech is unexpected, but actually kind of great! Funny, full of personal anecdotes, extremely supportive. Honestly probably the best speech of the night. Right up until the end, when he claims that he's the one who got Peter and Balth together.

Bea, of course, loves her boyfriend, but she can't let that stand. So she grabs the mic and explains that actually, she is the one who got Peter and Balth together, by baiting Peter into sorting his shit out and leading the charge to Vegan Fred's.

And now Freddie—wait, Freddie, what are you doing up here? You're not even in the wedding party!—Freddie doesn't care that she's not a bridesmaid, she's got the mic and she's explaining that actually, who knows if Peter and Balth would've gotten together if they didn't have the Rules to flout. (In the years since LoLiLo, Freddie has begun to take the position that she was responsible for the Rules, but really, since things worked out in the end, isn't that a good thing?) So actually, if you think about it...

Peter is downing the champagne he was supposed to toast with. Balth is patting him calmingly on the shoulder while looking around desperately for a distraction, any distraction. Meg looks like she's torn between going up there to explain who actually got Peter and Balth together and pretending she's never met these people. (What? Is this a wedding? I didn't even realize, I just always look this fabulous.)

Jaquie is recording the whole thing on her phone. Sure, there's a videographer there, but Peter will probably try to cut this out of the wedding video, and Jaquie never wants to forget.

Finally, Paige encourages Chelsey to go up and perform her interpretive dance on the theme of love, which puts an end to the speeches.

#you can tell that this is like 90% marydebenham's plot because it's so full of shenanigans #if it were my plot it would be full of angst #i believe the version of this fic that we basically wrote aloud in our kitchen at 2 am involved #the mic being passed down the line of like every major character #with all of them taking credit for getting peter and balth together #but let's be real #meg and paige have too much sense for that #and jaquie would be far more interested in watching the drama #lovely little losers #nothing much to do

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)

He's never met you but you know how he sounds when he wakes up from a nap and his greatest fears. You know the way he sings after a shower and that he could be mistaken for a dying seal when he's laughing too hard. The best part? You don't judge him for any of it - including the fact he's a filthy Widow main. He might just love you.

alt summary. Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

pairing. jeon jungkook

genre + rating. fluffy crack. general, for now.

warning / tags. long-distance relationship, crushes, canon compliant (ish), eventual happy ending, gaming, gamer!jungkook, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, overwatch. tags are hard. :(

reading. n/a. a three part one-shot.

word count. ~3400

part i.

JUNGKOOK’S ROOM Sunday, 10 November, 2019. 2:13 AM.

It’s 2:13 AM when Jeon Jungkook finally finds a match, the familiar in-game sound dragging his attention away from the illuminated screen of his iPhone to the monitor before him. He studies the SR - 3779 and 3761, respectively - and skims burning eyes across the members on each team. Four rocks, including himself, and two Masters.

One of them has a strange name - BIGMELON - that he stares at until he's zoning out, trying to make sense of it. Was his teammate a pervert or just hilarious?

"Good luck and have fun, everyone!"

Your cheer filters through his headphones crystal clear but he's somehow still surprised, head tilting curiously to the side. He hadn't expected a girl to be playing Overwatch at quarter past two in the morning.

When there's no response - he notices no one else is in the voice chat, an oddity for such a high ranking game - he takes it upon himself to keep you company. His username lights up as his finger glides across the ALT key, sleep-worn words breaking the silence.

"Thanks, you too."

Nothing follows until BIGMELON appears once again in the upper left-hand corner of his screen. You have a nice voice, he thinks. "Are you sticking with Widow?"

Jungkook takes in the team comp: Sigma, Hog, Genji, and Lucio. A little unconventional but not wholly un-doable. They're on King's Row, too, which is one of his favourite maps. Balanced enough that people aren't too salty when they get headshot but with enough coverage that he can get clear picks.

"Should I?"

"If you want." A pause and your hero slot is filled with Mercy's portrait. "I can damage boost."

He thinks he can hear the teasing. It's soft and sweet and a little rough - like you'd just woken up.

"Who says I need it?" Comes his immediate response, question chased out of his mouth by a laugh he can't help. It echoes, filling the quiet of his bedroom. He hopes you don't take it the wrong way.

"O—kay, Widow main. We'll see if you get anything from me."

It's an empty threat because you're giggling along with him. It's distracting in the strangest way. The sound bounces around in his ears and he can't help but focus on it, realizing belatedly that he's still sitting in spawn as the timer runs down for setting up defence.

"Are you going to join us?" You quip, emoting right beside his stationary sniper. "I didn't queue just to have someone go AFK."

Mischief colours your words and he laughs again, snorting as he finally presses W. Two sets of footsteps echo in game and he presses SHIFT once he's hit point - and with just a few seconds left to spare - launching Widowmaker's body onto the balcony overwatching it. Mercy follows, Guardian Angel carrying her into the air to alight behind the blue-skinned hero.

As the timer hits 0:01, Jungkook right-clicks, scoping in on the second-floor spawn door.

BOOM.

The kill feed reads DDEOKKOOKI x STRIKER007.

"I guess you didn't need the damage boost."

He can't help the sound he makes - a marriage between a witch's shriek and a pig's snort. It leaps out of his mouth, louder than he intends, and he feels equally bad for you and his hyungs. He's definitely going to get an earful in the morning - or any minute now, when one of them bursts into his room to berate him for being so loud. "I told you."

"Yeah, yeah." The way you speak has him grinning from ear to ear, nose scrunching in amusement. Mercy is flying across the map, healing stream trained on Genji as the cyborg ninja just narrowly misses an errant Hanzo arrow and dashes back to point. "I'm gonna take care of the rest of our team. Let me know if you need anything, O' Headshot God."

You're clowning him hard but he knows it's all in good fun. Still, he likes the nickname and decides to keep it, effectively picking off the attacking team's stealthily half-hidden Junkrat and Ana right after.

"Show-off!"

Then he's dinked in the head - health dropping to 30 from the partially-charged shot. He needs heals like yesterday.

Unfortunately, Lucio is up at choke with the tanks, skating circles around the base of the statue as they hold point. Jungkook doesn't see you immediately - he’s scanning his screen for your witch skin (of course) - only realizing you've appeared at his side when his health bar begins to climb. "Try to stay alive, yeah?"

"My bad," he drawls, scoping in the same instant the kill feed announces two more enemy deaths.

There are only a critical Reinhardt and protected Zarya left. The former falls the moment he drops shield and her bubble doesn't reset in time; the Russian tank dies in the next instant, his charged shot firing the moment it hits 100%.

"Thanks for the damage boost."

"Any time."

Then you're gone, off to support the rest of your team again while he grapples onto a different ledge and continues his oppressive gameplay. He feels a little bad when the opposing team goes double shield tank and swaps their Junkrat for a Pharah. He feels less so when he's slept out of nowhere. Four seconds feels like an eternity when he’s out in the open - vulnerable as a baby lamb in a den of lions.

"Looks like you're really making them mad." You'd been relatively quiet when not tending to him - likely because it was only the two of you in voice chat - and he startles when your comment breaks the quiet lofi he has going in the background.

"I don't know why. I'm just having fun." He's lying. You're laughing.

"Too much fun, I think."

"Maybe they should be better." Jungkook says this like he's commenting on the weather or the colour of the sky - offhand and nonchalant. It makes your giggles come harder. He can hear the scratch of your mic as if you've doubled over and it's now pressed into cotton clothing. He can't help but pat himself on the back.

"Please don't tell me you're going to 'gg ez' them when we're done."

Now he's feigned offense, gasping at the mere thought. "Of course not. I'm not that rude!"

"Well, you never know." You're right. People could be the worst when it came to online gaming, spewing vitriol and hurling insults the moment their egos were bruised (or inflated).

"I promise I'm not an asshole." He's not really sure why he feels the need to make this abundantly clear. After all, he'd probably never play with you again. Korea's density of players was just too great - you were just one in hundreds, thousands, millions.

Still, he smiles when you reassure him you don't think he is. "I'm just teasing. You seem nice."

"I am nice." Spoken in the same instance he lands two consecutive headshots - one on the bouncing, wall-riding enemy Lucio and the other on the momentarily grounded Pharah. You must see that, because you're mocking him in that dulcet tone of yours, caramel coating words and turning them soft like toffee.

"Not according to them." And not that you mind, it seems, because you're damage boosting him as he catches their out-of-position Rein in his sight. He whoops in triumph, eliciting another bemused sound from you.

"You know they're going to do everything to counter you when we go on attack." Which was in sub-one minute, the timer counting down the last thirty seconds of your team's defense.

"Who says I'm going Widow again?"

You're scandalized. "You mean you're not just a filthy Widow main?"

For a moment, Jungkook wonders if this is how his older members feel when he (and Jimin and Taehyung) mercilessly rib them. He thinks it must be and oh, how the tables have turned. He decides he doesn't really mind, though. It's all innocent fun and it's keeping him awake, aided by the cold brew he'd chugged at midnight.

"Woah - says the Mercy player?"

"Mercy is a respectable support, okay!"

"Sure, e-girl."

"Take that back!" How the words explode out of his headphones makes him momentarily worry he might've overstepped but by the way your laughter chases it forward, he knows he hasn't. You can take it just as well as you can dish it.

"Okay, okay. You're a not bad healer." Because he hasn't died yet and last he checked, neither had your tanks. Genji had once or twice - to be expected, given his playstyle - and you had, but that was still pretty respectable.

He can practically hear you rolling your eyes. "Oh, thanks."

"Any time, BigMelon."

"That's ‘daebak’ to you, pal." Had he heard you wrong?

"What'd you say?"

There's a long pause - he's not sure whether it's for comedic purpose or something else. You sound muffled on the other end, as if you're repressing sound. "Because watermelon? Su-bak? So big melon is dae-bak?" Whatever you had stifled earlier disappears, torn away by the pride that shines bright yellow and boisterous in your peals of laughter.

It's such a bad joke that Jungkook feels like he's about to have an aneurysm. Were you Jin moonlighting as a Master support player?

"You're kidding me." He wonders if you hear him above your own glee, giggles making it hard for him to hear himself think. "What're you - a dad?"

You scoff now, parroting his words back to him. "What're you - the pun police?"

Another one?

He briefly considers ALT + F4-ing his way out of this match and away from your corniness. Considers it but ultimately decides against it, instead remaining stoically silent and choosing McCree when the hero selection screen slides into place. His silence will surely speak volumes.

"You know that was funny!" By the way he can practically hear your pout - it's endearing, much to his chagrin - he thinks you know where he stands.

"Not the word I'd use."

"You just have bad taste, McCree." You say it scathingly yet full of mirth, a sniff punctuating the end of your rebuttal.

"Do not!" He returns, just as quickly.

"Prove it. Laugh at my joke!" You're shameless, confident, reassured - it makes him chuckle.

You take it as his surrender though, your own laughter blending seamlessly with his. It goes on for longer than is strictly speaking necessary, crowding like cotton balls in his ears as you leave sprays of your hero - Ana this time - across the spawn walls. He wrecks every one of yours with his own, BAMF displayed in 1440p.

"Hey - stop that!" It doesn't matter that the round is about to start - you're spamming your melee button into him. He immediately does it back, toggling between that and his voice line.

The rest of your team is probably wondering what the hell you're both doing.

"Stop distracting me!" He barks into his mic, deep dimples on full display, nose scrunched adorably. He doesn't really mind - it's clear by his hyena cackles that follow - and he likes when your chorus of shut up's pitch and leap with your giggling.

As he navigates McCree out behind your tanks, he can't help but wish - maybe a little selfishly - that they'll lose this round and go into a best of three. When the opposing team's healers both die - one to Ashe's dynamite and the other to Zarya's high-charged beam - he knows that's not going to happen. Your team's going to cap point and then you're going to be gone - off to the next game and never to be matched with again.

"We did it, McCree." You sound deeply pleased as the last of the defenders fall, leaving point uncontested. The Lucio on your team lingers by the choke, ready to boop any last minute hoodlums; Echo hovers just above the enemy’s spawn, dealing damage the moment any hero comes in view. One of your tanks is already emoting.

VICTORY flashes across his screen.

"We sure did, BigMelon."

The cards come next - they're all for your team, though he isn't surprised. You'd gotten 37 defensive assists whereas he had 27% Infra-Sight uptime. He's sure you both vote for each other, the remaining four going to your other support's Sound Barrier casts.

"Thanks for the carry." He doesn't mean it facetiously. This is some of the most fun he's had in-game in ages.

"You're welcome," you chirp. He thinks you'll leave right after.

Instead, you both sit in voice chat in silence, watching the timer in the upper right-hand corner.

"Do you want to duo?" You ask in the same instance he does, breaking the both of you into a fit of laughter. It's more distracting than he realizes, the FINDING MATCH countdown replacing the end game statistics while you’re both still cackling.

Luckily, you invite him to a group right as he removes himself from queue.

JUNGKOOK’S ROOM Tuesday, 24 December, 2019. 11 PM.

It’s six weeks and a good three dozen games later - a feat for him, considering how much of his time is eaten up by literally every other obligation he has - when he asks for your name, not realizing the consequences of his action.

“Most people call me Jinny.” He thinks it fits you, bright and pretty and punchy. “What’s your name?”

Jungkook's unprepared for the question, though he shouldn’t be. Of course you’d want to know. Anyone would, if they’d already given their own answer.

He's silent for the longest time, quiet stretching on and on over group voice chat. He applauds you for your patience, how you don't press him on it when the hesitation has descended from appropriate to downright awkward.

"Uh." The word drops like a weight, crashing through the tentative friendship you've built over the past weeks.

"You don't have to tell me," you supply as softly as he's ever heard you. It's the first time you've seemed uncertain - and it bothers him that he's the reason. "I get that we haven't known each other that long."

As if that's actually the issue. He would've told you the night you spent four hours together, taking wins left and right, filling the time in between matches with silly banter that had his jaw aching from laughter. He would’ve told you on that random Thursday, when you’d listened to him talk about his busy day, effortlessly keeping him occupied - and amused - while your SR nearly descended below 3500. He would’ve even told you yesterday, when you’d said you were going to bed, only to be roped into another six games by Jungkook’s eagerness.

It has absolutely nothing to do with time - or the lack thereof.

But he can't say that - can't tell you who he really is - so he improvises as best he can. "My friends call me Jay."

"Jay, huh?" You turn the sound over on your tongue, like you're tasting it for the first time, trying to decide whether you love it or hate it. He hopes you don’t hate it. "Then I guess we're the best J-duo to ever exist."

"Woah, we?" He's only doing it to rile you up, finding it cute when you huff and puff and threaten to let him die in-game. You never make good on the threat anyway; you just like to see him sweat, watching as his health bar drops to measly single digits. "I don't think I agreed to that."

It's your turn to mock him, that same edge turning your words into sour candy. "Fine. You can find yourself a new healer. We'll see how your SR likes that, Bronzie boy!"

Neither of you really take the game that seriously but he gasps like he's been shot.

"No! Don't leave me with them!" The way he howls the plea is enough to return you both to your rightful place - one filled with boisterous laughter and things he never thought would see the light of day.

Because somehow, he's found somewhere he feels safe - a place he feels like himself, with no pretenses or expectations. It’s where he can rant and rave, bouncing from topic to topic like an energizer bunny with no end in sight. It’s, oddly enough, with you.

Connected through voice chat and built by an endless stream of communication - sometimes productive, other times not - the space you’ve carved out together has come to feel like a third home. It isn’t quite what he has with his family or his members but it’s just as nice.

Different, but nice.

"Fine. You're forgiven." You sniff in that peculiar way of yours and he snickers loudly. "How was your day?"

And this is why it is - because it's ordinary. It’s where Jungkook can rest his head and drift for a while without worry of what’s over the horizon, ready to swallow him whole the moment he takes his eyes off the calm blue sea. He's not raised on a pedestal with you, all the weight of his choices resting on his shoulders. He's just a normal guy playing games.

It might not make up for all the years of normalcy he's missed out on - the movies after school, the street markets on weekends, the holiday parties with classmates - but it's enough.

He eats it up like he's been starved of it.

"Busy. Really busy. I had dance practice all afternoon and forgot to eat so I'm dying now." There'd been a time - about three weeks in - when he'd chosen his words more carefully. He'd been worried he might let something slip but he's found what feels like the sweet spot now, where he can tell you about his day without thinking he’ll suddenly shatter the image you have of him.

It's not always easy - he has to remember to never mention names or intimate details - but it's better than nothing. He can finally tell someone about his day like he wants - all of the good and the bad, too.

"You should make something to eat!"

He's used to your reprimands but he still laughs, crossing his long legs beneath him as he readjusts in his computer chair. "But we're in queue."

"Jay!" It comes out devoid of static, clear as the waning sunshine that filters through his blinds and reflects particles of dust that drift lazily through his bedroom.

"I'll make something after we win." He knows what you're thinking - that he's gone and jinxed your whole night. You’re weirdly superstitious, something he's learned only recently.

As if right on cue: "Shut up!"

Your words sweep his expression up with glee and giddiness, like a kid on Christmas morning; lines dig themselves into the bridge of his nose and the delicate skin beneath his eyes. Jungkook tells himself it’s the usual pre-game jitters but he knows it’s more than that.

It’s you and that infectious giggle that careens through his headphones, making him see everything in a pretty haze of warmth.

He’s not sure when you’d started having this particular effect on him - maybe since the beginning? - but he feels it now, clearer than ever. Every tinkling laugh makes his heart speed up, thump around his chest like a baseball missing its mark. The sight of you logging in elicits the biggest, possibly dorkiest smile, all slightly too-big front teeth and deep dimples. You have him rushing through his post-practice showers and devouring dinner in half the time he usually would just to get online a minute more quickly.

There's just something about you.

And sure - a part of him wonders whether it's all in his head (as if it could be anywhere else). Wonders if he's seeing you through rose-tinted glasses, doing to you what so many do to him. Was he in over his head, praying to a deity that didn't even know he existed?

Sometimes it felt that way - a little out of reach, like childhood crushes and summer love and wishing upon a star. Certainly far too much for a blossoming friendship of just a month and a half.

But then you laugh and it's Pop Rocks fizzling in his stomach and he knows that no - it's there and it's real.

Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

notes. i love overwatch and i love jeon jeongguk. what more can i say? :)

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k-s-morgan · 3 years

Note

Hi! In this fandom we tend to analyse things from Will’s perspective mostly, very rarely we tend to try to understand the plot from Hannibal’s.

That being said, do you think Hannibal knows Will loves him/is in love with him/aches for him as well? To me, personally, he doesn’t know or is very insecure about it. Up until the cliff moment when they hug and almost kiss, it seems to me Hannibal is always trying to “win Will over”, to make Will his own and that he’s smitten with Will but unsure if his feelings are reciprocated.

I personally think that Hannibal is very insecure in regards to Will’s romantic feelings towards him and that’s why he acts out so much on S3 especially. What are your thoughts?

Cheers!

Hello! True - I think most metas are focused on Will. He’s such a strange and complex character, understanding him is extremely difficult at times. In comparison, Hannibal seems so simple :D

I think there are definitely several perspectives possible here. In my eyes, I believe Hannibal *is* certain that Will loves him for the most part, and this certainty helps him keep his faith and overcome even seemingly impossible barriers. Throughout the show, it is portrayed like Hannibal knows Will better than anyone else, including Will himself. He sees right through him during their very first meeting and afterward, and he’s certain of Will’s darkness and true desires before Will accepts and understands them himself.

Hannibal seems like a huge optimist to me. He’s so confident that WIll is going to want to be a father to Abigail with him, that Will is going to Become, that he’s not going to freak out at Hannibal’s direct approach of “Murder must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in His image?” So I think Hannibal knows that Will loves him way before Will understands it himself - that would be consistent with his other knowledge.

That’s why Hannibal is so certain that Will is going to forgive him for framing and Abigail. He’s waiting for him to accept it, and to his delight, Will seems to be doing that sooner than expected. But then Mizumono happens and Hannibal is heartbroken. His knowledge of what is and what isn’t became a mix of confused feelings and thoughts, so he could no longer be objective.

In Europe, after he had time to calm down, I think he started to understand what motivated Will again, but he wasn’t sure. He continued to be torn up, alternating between hope and despair, until Dolce. They reunited, and in that moment, Hannibal got a read on Will again. He sensed love, closeness, and unity. But the moment ended quickly, the knife followed, and Hannibal lashed out again.

It all ended in Digestivo, where the risks of losing Will for real became too high. Hannibal watched Will attack Cordell, likely realized he manipulated Alana, faced him almost dying, and his resolution hardened again. In their break-up talk, Hannibal tries to reason with Will.

Will: The teacup is broken. It'll never gather itself back together again.

Hannibal: Not even in your mind? Your memory palace is building. It's full of new things. It shares some rooms with my own.

It’s as if he’s encouraging Will to look deeper into himself, to see and recognize what’s there. Darkness is closely connected with love in this show, so I think they two go together in all regards.

Will rejects him, and Hannibal gives himself up. I think it’s the biggest evidence of his blind optimism and frantic faith in Will. He’s certain that one day, Will will return to him. That he’s going to understand he loves Hannibal and wants the life only he can offer. Hannibal is prepared to lose years of his life for this fragile chance rather than live without Will, so he’s waiting, quietly hopeful.

Hannibal’s confidence takes some hits after Will plays his cruel games on him. He’s completely devastated after the mic drop, and he sounds so bitter when Will refuses to accept even the fact that he set up Chilton.

Hannibal: Does the enemy inside you agree with the accusation? Even a little bit?

He’s almost hopeless now, both about Will accepting his darkness and his love for Hannibal. This sounds so desperate:

Hannibal: Will... was it good to see me?

Hannibal is feeling so down, but we can see that this changes when he learns that Will didn’t leave, that Will is planning to fake his escape. Hannibal agrees to this plan, even though he knows that chances are, Will is setting him up again to kill him. He still shows blind faith: he’s firmly convinced that Will loves him enough to choose him. That’s why he looks at him questionanigly in the van - he’s waiting to see what he’s going to do, he’s certain that there must be something. Equally, he’s looking at Will when Francis is about to kill him, hoping, waiting for his intervention.

So I think Hannibal almost always knew that a part of Will loves him, but he came close to giving up on the fact that one day, WIll is going to acknowledge this. It’s not that he was trying to win him over - he was trying to convince him to accept the truth. In S4, I’d love to see Will being more open about his feelings, and Hannibal’s vulnerable delight and happiness at being proven right.

That’s how I see it.

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #meta #will graham

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thepancakedetective · 4 years

Text

Pinning Hell

Synopsis: Akira Kurusu has been pinning hard for his hot rival/friend Goro Akechi. He doesn't know how to deal with his feelings. And his friends are sick of hearing about it. So Futaba devises a devious plan involving blackmail. Rated M for Spicy.

Akira had no idea how he ended up in front of Goro’s apartment. Okay. He was blackmailed. Threatened over text by his mischievous ginger-haired friend. For a socially anxious shut-in, she was surprisingly vocal over text exchanges.

Oracle (5:22 pm) I hate to break this to you Akira.

Oracle (5:22 pm) But if you don’t get your ass straight out of Le Blanc this instant, I am going to leak your browsing history to Goro. This includes the following:

Oracle (5:23 pm) “how to confess your feelings to your hot friend and not be rejected”, “how to know if your friend is gay”, “is quoting Hegel gay?”, “hot kinky gay bdsm” and so on.

Oracle (5:23 pm) If you would like this to NOT happen head to this location and fucking confess your feelings pronto. Or ELSE!!! ((╬◣﹏◢))

Akira knew this was coming. Over the last few weeks Akira had barely seen Goro. Due to their conflicting schedules and Goro’s predisposition to overworking himself, Akira was currently suffering from Goro withdrawal. Goro plagued his every thought during work, school, and hangouts with his friends. And said friends were sick of his pinning. Now he was paying the price.

Akira’s hand hovered over the apartment door, torn between knocking or death because hey, he would rather be shot in the head than have his browsing history exposed to the one person he had been crushing on forever. The door handle turned before he had the chance to decide. A thoroughly surprised and alarmed Goro blinks back at him mouth agape. His work clothes peak out over a haphazardly worn hoodie.

Goro: W-what are you doing here?

Akira thinks to himself, okay be cool.

Akira: I was just taking a walk.

Goro squints suspiciously at Akira.

Goro: A walk that ended up right in front of my apartment door. A location, which mind you, I did not share with you prior.

Akira curses at himself. Now he looks like some crazy fangirl.

Akira: I have a good explanation for that.

Goro crosses his arms and pins Akira with a raised eyebrow.

Goro: Do come in.

Akira: W-what? Weren’t you just about to leave?

Goro sighs and opens his apartment door wider.

Goro: My business can wait. It looks like you have a more pressing matter to divulge.

Akira involuntary swallows hard. Was it too late to back out? As if sensing Akira’s hesitation, Goro pulls Akira inside and closes the door behind them. Akira glances back at Goro. Did he deadbolt the door?

Goro: Let’s take a seat.

Goro leads them to his living room couch. His apartment is well furnished just as Akira had suspected. What he did not expect was the ridiculous amount of Phoenix Ranger Featherman merch lining his bookshelf with figurines. They looked like they cost a fortune. Goro followed Akira’s line of sight. He coughs with a light blush.

Goro: A gift from fans. So Akira, to whom do I owe the pleasure for being graced by your unsolicited presence?

Akira’s mouth suddenly feels dry and he blurts out

Akira: Blackmail.

Goro studies him thoughtfully before giving Akira one of his signature Detective Prince smiles which nearly sends Akira into cardiac arrhythmia.

Goro: Oh? Well I do specialize in crime. How may I assist?

Marry me. Slay me. Step on me. Akira curses internally. Focus mind. Focus. Damn his lips look so soft and his lashes are so long. His traitorous mind was making speech a very difficult task. Goro smirks before ironing it out into a slight frown.

Goro: Your silence leads me to think that this blackmail is far more serious than I had first suspected. Perhaps we should notify the police.

Akira nearly jumps out of his seat in protest.

Akira: No, no. It’s really not THAT serious.

Akira tries to shrug nonchalantly, but instead looks like he’s doing a bad impression of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Goro taps his chin, seemingly intrigued by Akira’s skittishness. Goro leans forward and the gap between two closes significantly. He looks up at Akira with a half-lidded expression. It was getting very hard for Akira to think.

Goro: Then, do tell what it is on your mind.

Akira’s lips waver only half a second before responding.

Akira: You.

And he dives in to press his lips against the brunet’s. Goro’s breath hitches and his eyes widen, but there is no protest. No. Instead, he closes his eyes and kisses back hungrily. His fingers lace through Akira’s unruly raven hair and pull him closer to deepen the kiss. It was Akira’s turn to be surprised as he found Goro’s tongue pressed against his lips. Akira accepts the invite with an involuntary groan. This seems to rouse something in Goro who pushes Akira down and pins him against the coach. Goro’s eyes are glazed and heavy with deep wanting. Akira knew exactly where this would lead and just that thought sent shivers down his spine in anticipation. But, this was progressing way to fast. And Akira had to get a handle on the situation.

Akira: W-wait.

Goro pants, his breathing uneven.

Goro: D-did I do something wrong?

Akira shakes his head.

Akira: No, no! You did nothing wrong. I just need to figure something out.

Goro gazes down at him with mild confusion. Perspiration lightly lining the top of his brows.

Goro: What is it?

Akira bites his bottom lip.

Akira: Do you like me?

Goro rolls his eyes.

Goro: Do you think I’d be tongue deep in you if that weren’t the case?

Akira: W-well you never know!

Goro scoffs.

Goro: Any other questions to interrupt our make out session?

Akira: How are you so good at kissing? Did you have prior experience?

To this Goro’s blush deepens.

Goro: No…I didn’t. This was my first time. I’ve just been reading up on it.

Akira laughs as he imagines Goro pouring over literature and scouring the internet for techniques and tips for kissing. There must have also been videos.

Goro: S-stop laughing!

Akira: Sorry that was too good to resist. But yeah, for your first time that was amazing.

Goro smiles satisfyingly.

Goro: Does that mean we can continue where we left off?

Akira: One more question.

Goro sighs in exasperation, but there is no malice. He gives Akira a look to elaborate.

Akira: Are we dating now?

Goro kisses the corner of Akira’s lips.

Goro: Only if you want to.

Akira: Hell yeah I want to.

Goro: So there are no more objections.

Goro snakes a few more kisses down Akira’s jawline towards his neck. His hands travel underneath Akira’s shirt tracing his well-defined torso. Akira is on cloud nine. And to think he was suffering for all these weeks and all it took was blackmail to get together with his crush. As Goro places a wet kiss over his clavicular prominence, Akira gets a thought.

Akira: Wait.

Goro groans against Akira’s shoulder.

Goro: I’m starting to think you get a rise in continually denying me of your body.

Akira: Why were you in such a rush to leave your apartment? I’ve never seen you wear that hoodie before.

Goro chuckles.

Goro: You wouldn’t believe it.

Akira: Try me.

Goro: I was blackmailed.

And it all suddenly clicks in place for Akira.

Akira: Oracle.

Goro: Oracle.

Akira: Browsing history?

Goro: Yup.

Akira: Wow. I don’t suppose yours included “hot kinky gay bdsm.”

Goro just stared wordlessly with a raised eyebrow.

Goro: I haven’t gotten to that part of my research yet. But…

Goro’s eyes shine with a mischievous glint.

Goro: I do legally carry handcuffs on my person for work.

Akira: I love you.

Goro laughs.

Goro: Let me show you the depths of my love.

The evening grew older as the two explored and deepened their bond together. It wasn’t until a few hours later, Akira noticed a few new messages on his phone.

Oracle (7:36 pm) Did you do the deed peasant? Or shall I leak all your filth for the world to see?

Oracle (7:36 pm) Answer me peasant!

Oracle (7:36 pm) I can see your GPS location. Don’t make me tap into your mic fool.

Oracle (7:37 pm) JGU@*(%#(FKKK

Oracle (7:37 pm) I’m just going to imagine you two are having a very deep conversation.

Joker (11:21 pm) The deed has been done and I am thoroughly satisfied. Goro says hi btw.

Oracle (11:21 pm) EWWW. Freakin TMI DUDE. Tho I’m happy for you two. Too stupid and gay to realize how much you two were pinning over each other for like forever.

Joker (11:24 pm) Thank you Futaba, what would we have done without you?

Oracle (11:24 pm) Likely be suffering in pinning hell.

#shuake #akeshu #goro akechi #spicyfic #wingwoman futaba #pinning hell #vandyfics

54 notes · View notes

random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Chains (Shinsou X Reader)

Pairing: Shinsou x Reader, side!Kirishima

For anon

Genre: Angst to fluff

Word count: 2,576

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog

a/n: Who am I to resist a request? Or even a little angst ;) Take care of your mental health kids, don’t end up like me Thanks for being the first request anon! I hope I did a good job fulfilling your wishes!

When I started writing, I was scrolling through TikToks (bc I’m a loser) and I found one that helped me tweak the climax scene and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. It’s almost twice as long as my previous posts because I wanted to stuff as much into it. Enjoy!

(Also ICYMI I wrote a Todoroki Birthday Special!)

"Are you excited for the Sports Festival?" I swings my legs on the bench, sipping my carton of juice.

Shinsou crosses his leg over the other, leaning his arms on the back of the bench. "Yeah, can't wait to face off with that loud-mouth idiot." He scoffs. "Who does he think he is? His head's stuck far up his ass. I can't believe you're friends with him."

I roll my eyes. "We're not really friends, Kirishima's attached to him at the hip, they're a package deal."

His dark purple eyes glance over me for a moment. "I see."

The expression on his face is unreadable. Not that it's out of the ordinary since he's the quiet type, but it makes me uneasy. Lately, our relationship has become distant ever since both of us made it to UA. I was accepted into 1-A and Shinsou didn't. Though he tells me he supports me wholeheartedly and assures me otherwise, I know he's hurt about it. And it doesn't help that I've had to split my time between him and my classmates after school.

I scoot closer to him, grip his large hands, and lean my head on his shoulder. "You're stressed, aren't you? I really want you to do well so you can transfer into my class. You deserve it."

Shinsou's head rests on mine in response. "I hope I can make it in."

"Hey," I call softly, a faint nagging creeping into my mind. "We're keeping competition between us friendly, right?"

"Afraid you're gonna lose, sweetheart?" he chuckles. I can't hear the smirk on his face.

I shove his shoulder with mine. "Shut up."

Red flag, my mind immediately thinks as I stand there dumbfounded by what he's just said. "You want to what?"

Shinsou crosses his arms over his chest. "I need full control over everyone on my team, that includes you."

My body grows cold and my knees start shaking. He's not joking. There's not a hint of lighthearted joking or teasing in his cold eyes. He's never even joked about it before because he was afraid of what I would think of him if he ever used his quirk on me; he would never forgive himself if he did.

I look down at my shoes. I trust his strategic mind to lead us, but it hurts to think he doesn't trust me enough to help him without control. He just wants to win like you do, I rationalize. But is that enough to relinquish total control to him?

A hand on my shoulder scatters my thoughts and I stare up into Shinsou's concerned gaze. "I know I promised before, but these are different circumstances, I'm sorry. I promise you, we can make it to the next round if you trust me."

Though I still feel torn, I sigh in surrender. "Okay."

He removes his hand, eyes blank. "Are you ready?"

A hint of hesitation persuades me to reconsider, but the thought of letting him down and pushing him away overtakes me. "Yes."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, my breath hitches and my mind goes blank. All stiffness leaves my limbs but I can't move, a numbing cold sensation takes over.

It feels strange, having no control over your body; it moves though you don't will it to, and all you can do is watch. It's almost like you're playing a 4D game, but you're the character and you can still feel everything, but you can't react. Your quirk almost feels fake for a moment until you realize it's your body. As Shinsou maneuvers our entire team to stealthily steal the other teams' headbands with the help of my chain-creation quirk, I feel out of place in my own body.

But I made this choice to trust him, and I will. I just hope I don't have to feel this again.

When I saw our names lined up for the first match, I thought it was some cruel joke my eyes were playing on me. But it wasn't. Shinsou stands across from me in the ring, hands casually stuffed in his pockets like this is the most normal thing, like I'm his enemy.

"So much for keeping competition friendly," he smirks, looking down his nose at me.

I try to match his attitude to mask my uneasy nerves. "Yeah, like you can hurt me more than I can hurt you."

I breathe, thinking of a strategy to beat him. Fortunately, my quirk is pretty offensive while his isn't. I just have to close the distance between us, grab him with my chains, and throw him out of the ring without responding to anything he says. Simple.

"AND START!!!!" Present Mic's voice booms throughout the stadium.

I run to start closing the distance between us. Admittedly, I can't make very long chains that reach all the way to him very quickly, so I have to get closer to my target.

Shinsou knows this, retreating the other way. "I guess you haven't trained enough to extend your quirk." When I don't answer, he continues, "It seems they don't teach you much in that Hero class."

The urge for me to yell at him to shut up is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. If he catches me, it's game over.

"I guess the only thing that class is good for is nurturing hot-heads and stealing your time from people who're supposed to matter."

I slow down a little, my breath heaving. His words have a dark undertone to them. I understand taunting me with petty, good-natured quips, but is he digging deep?

The smirk on his face wavers a bit. "If I knew being a hero means abandoning the people you care about, then maybe some of us good guys aren't cut out for such a job."

Are you implying I'm a bad guy then? I want to taunt back, but I know I can't.

"But I guess you got into the hero course because you have a heroic quirk," he goes on. "Too bad you can't use it to its full potential yet."

He knows how frustrated I get about my quirk. Which is why he's using it as canon fire against you, I remind myself, picking up the pace again. Damnit! Just slow down already! When did you get so athletic?

"But it's fine, as long as you have fun with your new friends, right?" He suddenly comes to a stop, his back to me.

Though I'm confused and my first instinct is to stop, I rush forward, chains growing out of my palms in preparation.

"Well, I guess you always had the more heroic and useful quirk."

The pain in his voice stops me dead. What-

He turns around, hurt, pain, and anger mixed into his expression. "You must've realized the difference between our quirks, right? That I'm more suited to being a villain?" His eyebrows furrow into more anger. "I knew this day would come, I knew you never really cared about my feelings and you would eventually leave me alone like everyone else!"

Shinsou shouldn’t be like this. The way he’s trained with his quirk naturally made him more blunt and willing to share his opinion, but he's not like this usually. Getting the brunt of that bluntness doesn’t make me feel that great. My silence became less about me staying quiet to avoid his quirk and more me being appalled and dumbstruck by the accusations he’s throwing at me. I know he's only saying things to get me to respond, but when did he cross that line between playful chiding just to win and an actual fight between us? I don't even know how to feel about his words.

"You know, I never fully trusted you," he points a finger at me. "Especially when you were chosen for the Hero class and not me. I knew you would eventually shut me out of your life and avoid me because I don't fit in with your 'hero' friends. You're just like everyone else!"

My mouth gapes open, the words not coming. His apparent pain and frustration urges me to comfort him somehow, but how do I respond? Where do I even start?

Shinsou bites his lip, his features softening up into melancholy. "If you're sick of me, just leave me for Shark Teeth already, okay? Don't string me on like this!"

My chest feels heavy with guilt and I want nothing more than to run to him and throw my arms around him. "Hitoshi-"

The numbness grips me before I can register Shinsou's face relax from agony into a smirk of victory. No...

"OH MY GOD!! SHINSOU WAS FAKING A LOVER'S QUARREL TO TRAP HIS OPPONENT WITH HIS BRAINWASHING!! HOW WILL THIS END?!" Present Mic screams through the speakers.

He was faking. My heart sinks, overcome with varying degrees of fury and self-loathing.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this." Funnily enough, he doesn't sound very apologetic. "But now that I've got you, we can end this. Go walk out of bounds and lose for me."

At this point, I don't even care about losing, or that I'm walking against my will out of this stupid ring. Shinsou said all those things to hurt me intentionally, and when he realized I can ignore his taunts, he took advantage of my feelings. And everything he said, he had to have meant them somehow. I know he's bottled up all those complaints and used them against me now.

Midnight declares Shinsou the winner of the match after I take my final step out of the ring and the feeling returns to my body. When I turn around, he's grinning for his triumphant win, but it falters when he sees me. I'm not in the mood to be a good sport or even offer a smile, I just walk off and let him have his moment.

I walk up to where the rest of Class 1-A is sitting, fists still clenched into white knuckles.

"Nice job, Extra," Bakugou scowls at me, leaning back in his seat. "You got beat by that General Studies loser."

"Shut the hell up, Pomeranian asshat, I'm not in the mood." I slump down a few rows up. I just want to be alone to think. There's the fear in my mind that I didn't show off my quirk enough and I might get replaced because I was eliminated so early and that I'm still weak at my quirk, but those are the least of my worries. How am I supposed to confront Shinsou? A part of me wants to be angry and beat him into next week, but I can't bring myself to.

Kirishima slides into the seat next to me. "Hey, don't be so upset. You tried your best."

I sigh. "Thanks, Kiri. I don't care about losing though."

He puts a hand on my shoulder sympathetically. "That was a pretty nasty fight out there. Is everything okay between you guys?"

"I thought it was!" I burst out, almost laughing at my misfortune. "Apparently I was wrong and oblivious to everything!" I bury my face in my hands. "I just... How did it get to this, Kiri? I thought I knew him enough to know when something's wrong. Instead I let him deal with all those pent up emotions alone. God, I'm so stupid!"

Kirishima takes in my clearly disgruntled state and rubs the back of his neck, appearing uncomfortable. "If I'll be honest, Shinsou would be an idiot to do that to you intentionally, and he's probably kicking himself for what he did. I know he really cares about you, he was just caught in the moment."

I turn my body to face my best friend. "Kiri, I know you're resisting the urge to beat his ass, you don't have to defend him."

"Of course I wanna beat him up! He made you sit here all upset, that's not manly!" He punches his fists together, suddenly fired up before he relaxes. "And at the same time, it wouldn't be manly of me to come between you guys."

I offer him a sad smile. I already know about Kiri's crush on me, he told me a few weeks ago after class when he didn't know I was already taken. Thankfully, he never made anything awkward after that and we've stayed best friends.

"Which is why I should help you guys patch thing up instead!" He flashes a shark-tooth grin. "You guys should really talk it over, clear the air once and for all! I think he would really appreciate it if you gave him a chance to explain his feelings."

I nod to myself. "Yeah, it wouldn't do us any good to let this blow up." Swinging an arm over his shoulder, I ruffle his gelled hair. "You would make a great boyfriend, Kiri, giving great advice like this."

"Hey hey! Don't mess up my hair!" The red-head struggles in my grip. "Don't you have any idea how long it took me to do this morning?!"

I stretch out my sore muscles as I walk out of the changing room, ready to go home after a long day. In the distance, Shinsou's waiting near a bench, hands in his pockets as usual.

"Hey," I greet him with a neutral tone.

He's surprised to see me approach him first. "Hey..."

To avoid too long of an awkward pause, I say, "I'm sorry you didn't win. I guess Midoriya found a way to overcome your quirk."

"Yeah, that was shocking to me." He avoids my gaze, rubbing the back his neck awkwardly.

I swallow, gathering my wits. I've rehearsed what I wanted to say while I was sitting around idle during the day and I'm ready to let it all out. "I-"

"I'm really sorry for everything I said." Shinsou beats me to the punch. "I want to take it back and say none of it was true, but my feelings are still there." He shuffles his feet together. "I know you were still trying to make time for me, I was just selfish that you were spending time with Ashido and Kirishima and...their friends. My own insecurities got in the way." His hand lands on my head, a sign of his affection. "You made it into the Hero class by your own merit. And I do trust that you wouldn't leave me. You're the best thing that's happened to me and I almost screwed this up. And if you're still mad, I understand-"

I cut him off by enveloping him in a hug, squeezing him with my arms around him as I bury my face in his chest. "It's my fault too. I should've been more aware of your feelings and addressed them."

His arms timidly wrap around my frame. "So, you're not mad?"

"I mean, I still want to slap you for using your quirk on me twice when you promised you'd never do it."

His body rumbles as he laughs at me, petting my head. "I'm sorry for that too. I won't do it again."

"You better not," I threaten, though I know it's empty. "It really didn't feel good. If you do it again, as soon as I'm out, I'm whipping you with my chains."

He's silent for a moment. "Should I be excited or scared?" A girlish scream escapes his lips when metal collides with his back.

I had to I’m sorry :)

So the full anon ask (in case you were wondering) was: i absolutely love your writing! the shinso one is amazing! Idk if you write angst (to fluff) but if you do can you write: shinso and reader dating but the sports festival came up and they are against each other. shinso ends up saying negative things about the reader / relationship to try to get her to talk back. Reader ends up upset and wonders if he went too far. asks her best friend Kiri (who has a crush on her) for advice. And the rest is up to you :)

Thanks again anon for being my first request :)

#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #kirishima #mha angst #shinsou angst #angst to fluff #request #ask #anon #shinsou imagine #shinsou scenario #gender neutral reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #hitoshi shinsou #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

323 notes · View notes

yamadadzawa · 4 years

Note

Oooh thank you for taking prompts, that’s so cool of you! Can we get an Aizawa accidentally finding out his resident problem student Midoriya is an orphan and/or homeless and adopting him with Mic? All the specifics of the hows is up to your own creative liberty! Bonus if they find out about his past trauma and quirklessness but idk if that would fit given it’s a short one shot hehe

Thank you so much for this prompt!! Yours was the first I received, and I finally got some inspiration and time to write a piece. I’ll share it below, and will post a link to the fic on ao3 separately!

---

A Fragile Promise

General Audiences | No Warnings | M/M

Aizawa Shouta & Midoriya Izuku, Yamada Hizashi & Midoriya Izuku, Aizawa Shouta/Yamada Hizashi, Yagi Toshinori & Midoriya Izuku (mentioned)

Aizawa Shouta, Yamada Hizashi, Midoriya Izuku, Yagi Toshinori (briefly)

Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence, Homeless Midoriya Izuku, Not Dead Midoriya Inko, Disappeared Midoriya Inko, Protective Midoriya Inko, Parental Aizawa Shouta, Parental Yamada Hizashi, Aizawa Shouta & Yamada Hizashi Adopt Midoriya Izuku, Dadzawa, Dadmic, Sensei | All for One is Midoriya Izuku’s Parent, Dad for One

Shouta notices the shift shortly after the students return from their internships. He doesn’t see it right away. It seems the Problem Child’s internship was good at giving him a boost in confidence—something that has suddenly dropped in the last few days. Midoriya’s usual bubbling energy is subdued. He still greets his friends each morning with a bright smile and brighter words. His performance in class hasn’t wavered, and he’s still giving hero exercises that plus ultra effort.

But something is missing. His smiles don’t stretch quite as wide, his voice is a fraction lower, his hand is slower as he takes notes. Instructions for practical exercises are followed by silence, where once Shouta could count on the thrum of mumbling words from Midoriya. It’s like something is just wrong enough for Shouta to notice, but when he tries to pinpoint what it is, he gets turned around and lost.

Fortunately, Shouta is a stubborn man, and he listens when his gut tells him that he shouldn’t let this go. He keeps a mental list of things that don’t make sense with his Problem Child. Day in and day out, it grows. Deeper, darker bags under his eyes. A gaze that darts around corners, lingers on his belongings, narrows when others get too close to them. A growing lag in his energy, shaky hands. Lips bitten raw, cuticles torn red. His uniform, once mostly meticulous, now consistently wrinkled, and occasionally stained. There are a few possible answers that linger in Shouta’s mind, poking and prodding at him every time he sees Midoriya. But nothing concrete. And then Yagi comes to him near the end of the day that week, and that nagging feeling that something is wrong grows.

“I think something may be wrong with Young Midoriya,” Yagi confides in him. “But when I tried to ask, he quite cleverly avoided the question, and now I fear he’s avoiding me.”

“You think I’ll have better luck?” Shouta raises a brow at the man. It’s no secret to anyone that Midoriya is Yagi’s favorite, and vice versa.

“Perhaps,” Yagi nods, sounding somewhat reluctant to admit it. If the topic of their conversation wasn’t the wellbeing of one of his students, Shouta would be tempted to smirk. “His respect for you is...different. Than it is for me.”

Shouta snorts. “His fear, you mean,” Shouta huffs, rolling his eyes when Yagi blanches and coughs quietly. “I know my reputation among the student body, Yagi.”

“I assure you, that is not what I meant,” Yagi insists. “I only meant...well. Young Midoriya’s respect for me is closer to hero worship, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Shouta inclines his head.

“His respect for you is for his teacher,” Yagi continues. “My hope is, that will be the difference.”

Shouta passes a hand through his hair and considers that. “Alright, you’ve got a point,” he admits. “And I’ve noticed something has been off for about a week or so now. It started a few days after the kids got back from their internships. It could be what happened in Hosu with Stain-” Shouta scoffs when Yagi tries to hold back a shocked cough. “I’m no fool, Yagi. I can piece together what actually happened. But I don’t think that’s it. Or at least, that’s not just it.”

“Keep me posted, please,” Yagi frowns, and Shouta will never admit out loud that he hates seeing that expression on the man’s face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shouta waves a hand, dismissing himself from the conversation and tucking his face into his capture weapon as he walks away. He needs to find Midoriya.

Of course, when he reaches the classroom, his Problem Child is nowhere to be seen. A few of the students linger around, including Iida and Uraraka, and they look as confused as him when their eyes catch on Midoriya’s empty seat. So he snuck out without them realizing it, Shouta thinks, mildly impressed. He sees no reason to stick around if Midoriya isn’t here, so he turns on his heel and walks to the teacher’s lounge.

Hizashi is waiting for him when he gets there, sprawled across one of the couches, already changed out of his Present Mic apparel and dressed down, hair in a loose bun. “Midoriya gone already?” He asks.

Shouta sighs and nods. “Looks like he slipped out without his friends noticing,” Shouta answers, dropping down onto the couch across from him with his head draped over the arm. “Part of me wants to make a home visit, but at the same time, that could make things worse if I’m not careful.”

Hizashi is silent for an uncharacteristically long time, so Shouta lifts his head to look at his husband. Hizashi’s eyes are narrowed, fingertips pressed together, teeth pressed down on his bottom lip. Shouta sits up and leans forward. He knows that look. “‘Zashi? What are you thinking?”

“Come with me,” Hizashi says, in lieu of an answer. Shouta nods, though, and does as Hizashi asks. If showing him is easier, if Hizashi can’t quite find the words, that’s fine. Shouta will trust him.

-----

Shouta begins to piece together what Hizashi was thinking as he follows him out of the car, and into the unsuspecting building across the street. It’s packed full, which isn’t a surprise given the population of the city. Shouta isn’t as familiar with this food bank as Hizashi is, so he lets Hizashi keep the lead once they’re inside. It takes them a few passes around the space before Shouta’s eyes catch a hint of green that looks familiar. Midoriya is alone, tucked in at a table in the corner, with a tray of food.

“You were right,” Shouta murmurs to Hizashi, nudging him and directing his attention towards their student.

Hizashi sighs sadly. “I was hoping I wasn’t.”

Shouta hums and reaches down to squeeze Hizashi’s hand, lacing their fingers together as he walks over to Midoriya’s table. He’s careful to approach from the side, where Problem Child will be less likely to see them until they’re close. He’s impressed when those green eyes snap their way sooner than he expected, and in any other situation, that wide eyed look on his face might be funny.

Shouta doesn’t say anything as he slides into the seat across from his student, but Hizashi does murmur a gentle “Hey there, little listener.”

“Yamada-sensei?” Midoriya asks, curiosity overriding his panic, eyes flitting over his teacher, then to their joined hands.

“Yeah,” Hizashi smiles. “This is my incognito look. Works surprisingly well.”

Midoriya gives them a wobbly smile, then looks down at his food, pushing it around on his tray instead of eating. “How, um,” he stops and swallows. “How much trouble am I in?”

“None,” Shouta says simply, as if the question doesn’t surround his heart with ice. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“O-Oh,” Midoriya’s brows do something funny there, clearly not expecting that. “But, um. But I’m…”

“You’re what?” Hizashi asks kindly, leaning forward to rest his chin on his palm, squeezing Shouta’s hand. When Midoriya doesn’t really answer, Hizashi hums. “Maybe this will be easier. Midoriya, do you have somewhere to stay?”

Problem Child shrugs, eyes still locked on his food. Shouta sees the way his hand shakes, knuckles white as he squeezes his chopsticks.

“Hmm,” Hizashi hums. “Maybe not the right way to ask. Midoriya, do you have a house or apartment to go home to?”

This time, Midoriya doesn’t answer, but the color on his cheeks and the tears that adorn them are enough.

“Oh, kid,” Hizashi voices their heartbreak, and releases Shouta’s hand to stand and slide into the seat next to Midoriya instead. His movements are carefully telegraphed, as he wraps an arm around their student and pulls him in close.

Shouta frowns and looks around the room, trying to spot anyone who looks like Midoriya. “Kid, where’s your mom?” When he turns back around to face Midoriya and Hizashi, the kid has gone pale and rigid in Hizashi’s embrace. Shouta meets Hizashi’s eyes, a silent conversation between them, and Hizashi takes back over.

Hizashi shifts to try and catch Midoriya’s eye, though the boy is doing a good job of avoiding that. “Midoriya, did your mother...kick you out?”

A firm head shake, those green eyes flashing indignantly. And that’s certainly something. “Kid, why isn’t she with you?” Shouta presses. More head shaking, slower this time, eyes guarded.

Shouta has two options here—he can continue to push, and risk the kid closing off completely, or he can let it go, and salvage what he can of this. He opts for the latter, albeit reluctantly. “Alright,” he sighs. “I won’t ask you about your mom anymore. If,” Shouta pauses, waiting for Midoriya to lift his head and meet Shouta’s eyes. “If you’ll agree to come stay with Hizashi and I. At least for now.”

Shouta is used to his Problem Child being extremely easy to read. He doesn’t know what to do with this Midoriya, who looks back at him with a wall behind his eyes that Shouta can’t see over. The only reason Shouta knows his anxious student is still behind that wall is because Midoriya’s nervous habit of twisting and pulling at his fingers prevails.

“You won’t be a burden,” Hizashi murmurs. “We’ve got a guest room, and plenty of food to feed three people.”

Shouta can tell they’re close. “And cats,” he adds on, mouth twitching when Midoriya’s fingers still and some light peeks through in his eyes. “Three of them.”

Midoriya ducks his head down, biting at his lip and pressing his hands against the table. Shouta knows they have to be patient here, and wait him out. Thankfully, it pays off.

“Okay,” Midoriya whispers.

-----

Midoriya is predictably skittish when they get him home. He keeps his bag hugged tight to his chest, and looks like he isn’t sure whether he’s allowed to put on the slippers Shouta nudges his way. The cats, of course, are good at breaking that tension.

“This one,” Shouta stoops down to lift up the biggest, a deep gray Maine Coon. “Is Umbra.”

“Just a warning,” Hizashi grins. “He doesn’t really seem to understand that he’s big and heavy. He’ll lay on your back or your chest and crush you.” Hizashi’s grin widens when he earns a small giggle from Midoriya.

Umbra hangs limp in Shouta’s grasp, though he watches Midoriya, and is quick to thump himself against the boy’s legs after Shouta sets him down. Unsurprisingly, the smallest of the other two cats is quick to try and steal Midoriya’s attention. Midoriya gasps when he sees her, crouching down to get a closer look.

“Ah, yeah,” Shouta says. “That’s Iris.”

“So small,” Midoriya whispers, trailing gentle fingers over her back.

“She’s a Singapura,” Hizashi crouches down to pet her too. “Or at least, that’s what we’ve been told. She was a stray, so we took her in. This is apparently as big as she gets.”

Midoriya looks between Umbra and Iris, and he doesn’t even need to say anything. Shouta snorts. “Yeah, it’s sure something.” Midoriya looks past Shouta and spies the last cat, a grouchy, gangly, and orange bastard. “That’s Bean. He’s not exactly the friendliest, so it might be best if you…” Shouta trails off, staring as Bean prowls over to Midoriya, and bonks his head against the boy’s cheek.

“Huh,” Hizashi says, grinning widely.

“Huh,” Shouta echoes.

Midoriya beams at Bean, and holds his hand out, letting Bean rub against his knuckles until he’s satisfied and walks away. Midoriya turns that smile towards Shouta and Hizashi, and Shouta knows they’re done for.

-----

Having been in Midoriya’s position once, Shouta knows to camp out on the couch. He’s not at all surprised when, around three in the morning, his Problem Child creeps through the living room with his bag on his back.

“Midoriya,” Shouta calls gently.

Midoriya yelps and jerks back, frantic eyes searching for Shouta in the dark, guilt flooding them when they lock eyes. Shouta sighs softly and pats the couch next to him. Midoriya’s shoulders droop, and he shuffles over, dropping down onto the spot.

“Was it something we did?” Shouta asks, being sure to keep his voice kind.

Midoriya sniffles quietly and shakes his head. Shouta hums and leans back. He has a thought, and wonders...

“Is it...your mom?”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath, and then no sound at all as Midoriya holds it and goes perfectly still.

“Izuku,” Shouta murmurs. “Please.” He doesn’t say anything else, and for once, it’s a feat. He doesn’t usually have to bite his tongue to stop the flow of words from passing his lips. But right now...he needs to wait.

Minutes pass with no sound between them except quiet breathing, and the occasional sniffle and hum from Midoriya. Until, finally, nearly ten minutes later, Shouta’s patience pays off. Midoriya pulls his bag into his lap, and unzips a compartment on the front. There’s a faint rustle, and then a hint of white in the darkness.

“Here,” Midoriya whispers, holding out a piece of paper.

Shouta takes it between careful fingers. He can just make out the writing from the glow of the window.

I have to draw him away. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t look for me. I will come back.

“Him?” Shouta barely breathes the question, unsure whether he’s scared that the boy or the paper will fall apart.

“I don’t know,” Midoriya replies, matching his tone. “I don’t know.”

Shouta sighs shakily, curling a hand across his mouth, fingers clenching against his jaw.

“S-Sensei,” Midoriya whispers. “Promise me, please. Promise me you won’t look for her. She said, said not to. She’ll come back. But I, we can’t, can’t look for her.”

Shouta closes his eyes and exhales shakily. “Alright, kid. Alright.”

It’s the worst kind of promise Shouta can give a child—one he’ll have to break.

#bnha #mha #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #midoriya izuku #dadzawa #dadmic #dad for one #my writing #my fic #crossposted to ao3 #Anonymous

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404fmdminjung · 3 years

Text

creative claims verification — gone

summary: a song about one stage of heartbreak — full on sadness. dated sometime in february 2021 warnings: none wc: 1920 (not including lyrics)

off days become more and more frequent. days turn into weeks of silence, no new news of fuse. at first, it’s like a call of freedom, liberation from the day to day monotony of standing on stage, gearing up with the lyrics already written for her and each movement dictated weeks before presentation. however, that all fades quickly — soon after, she finds herself lost in the days of monotony. nothing to do, no new friends. just the same old tricks and finds across seoul to keep her days busy when the time’s filled with individual schedules and sparse photoshoots here and there.

maybe, that’s how she landed in the mecca of tourist attractions and promoted instrument heavens. north of insadong, and she’s found her fix of caffeine in the nooks of an old-fashioned hanok cafe — a day filled with solace and silence, ignorance to the buzz of her phone inside her backpack when she hides behind a oversized hat and a mask sneaking into a small corner store in nagwon-dong.

she bows her head, says her greetings to the staff working. nobody notices her, at least — she doesn’t think they do. covert and curious, she marches straight to the lined wall of electric guitars. far from a professional, an enthusiast at best, her hands motion for staff for help when she finds herself at a standstill with one beautiful ivory piece.

“can i test it?” her eyes look at the worker, his eyes widen when recognition becomes clear.

professionalism still reigns, and she sits on a stool, one knee bent. she starts off shaky with one chord she fishes out from her memories. starts fiddling out the rest when her fingers shift from one take of muscle memory to the next.

they say money doesn’t buy happiness, but it can fill some void — fill in the gaps, provide inspiration at best.

“can i buy this one?” she asks.

when she’s home, her mind hones in on the chord progression played at a store. a near hour of a makeshift solo jam session — but there’s no jamming nor is there the head-banging thrill of loud clamor. instead, it becomes a soft lull to getting lost into a mindless melody when her heart doesn’t know where it beats anymore, and her time strung to nothing.

being at home doesn’t lessen any of the unresolved wounds, nor does it stitch together the edges of a torn heart. superficial happiness from a new bought item dissolves, so — she decides to bask in it. bask in the comfort of her home studio, where the lights dimmed low and the guitar that rests in her lap play the eulogy to what she’s wanted to avoid for so long.

it starts slow and steady, the same easy chord brought back in her mind. she strums, continues to strum. lets her fingers dig deep, the strings pressing lesions into her skin by the time the first chord becomes ingrained in her head (she makes note of that, doesn’t want to forget the first one).

and what she wants out of this track is something casual, something real. because the flashback memory of it all being gone, and happy smiles become a harrowing question of whether it was ever real at all — she doesn’t know, doesn’t want an answer. maybe, she just wants to wallow in it and swallow self-misery as if it’s a blip of a pill rendering her useless.

from the chords come the plucks of the notes, and repetition. it clings on her mind like a reckoning for asinine mind, gone and lost. senseless till she figures — she doesn’t want no frills, no thrills in a song where she wants it to be a visceral, yet tangible embodiment of walking through with a bleak expression and empty head. she wants a seamless track of a vacuum mind — empty and numb.

when she presses record, she strums up the first two chords into the pluck. leaves it at just that before she repeats again, humming incomprehensible mumbles to whatever words will fill the void soon.

but inspiration strikes once more, and she sets the guitar down, halts the recording when her hands pull out the piece of paper and the other scrambles for a pen sitting on her desk.

because in the end, the mindless nothings going inside her head all spawn from a vision, an image. a recollection of memories lost and gone, where he juxtaposes himself onto someone else — someone else that’s not her.

the first words she comes up with is how her story becomes another cliche — but cliches are there for reason as she’s been reminded time and time again. repetition as life moves in patterns of repeating circles, and what’s become the constant variable in all of this is just the pain that hits from heartbreak. pathetic, and true. she’s only been a cesspool of blue.

Another story that's sad and true I can feel the pain, can you? You had to be the one to let me down To colour me blue

pathetic at best is how she envisions herself — when her mind renders clear, it’s the words in english that come forth. a twist of tongues becomes a near mockery of her life back and forth shuttling countries — funny, how the one thing of permanency to tether her back to this life now was the one who left her in the ruins of the aftermath.

yet, when she envisions in her mind, she only thinks of herself as a fool.

the one who let him render her speechless with his sly gazes and cheeky smiles, broken promises and empty whispers only to set her up for the greatest travesty — broken love. she writes down each piece of her broken facade and shattered guard. each piece of herself she severed off when she gave to him. as much as she’d hate to admit, without him, she feels numb.

genuine laughter that breeds itself in her heart, she sows those only to reap nothing but faux leaves and frail stems. because what it feels like is getting hit over and over, run over. each piece of herself lost and stolen only to be left to fend the foreign feeling of being alone again.

hatred, it’s a strong word — but if she uses it anywhere, it’s here.

I just wanna be the one But to you we're already done Tell me, why'd you have to hit and run me? Now I'm all alone, crying ugly You broke my heart just for fun Took my love and just left me numb Now it's eight in the morning Hate in the morning (All because of you)

she thinks to each time of each day where her fingers hover over the screen of his call. one press spurred by impulse, and she reads the radio silence of a dead-beat line. no reception as she calls out to an empty void speaking the overgrown woes to a dead-end. he’ll play it like that, take his actor grin and sprawl it across the world to flash on tv with the pretty girl linked in his arms.

funny, how it looks from the outside looking in.

there’s something lost, no longer the sharp-edged tongue she prides herself in wielding together in moments alone. an individualist — yeah, the highlight of her past-time. however, that only dissipates to whatever’s left to make of the ugly sobs that cry out to nothing in the middle of the night declaration of accepting what’s already run its final course.

she’s no longer what she used to be, at least — she doesn’t see herself like that anymore.

I see you changed your number, that's why you don’t get my calls

I gave you all of me, now you don't wanna be involved

her eyes rove over what she’s written, a pathetic remedy for a poorer cause. how many love songs she’s written about some skeleton in her back closet — but that skeleton isn’t one she can bury past six feet. because by fate of her own hands, she pulls it out each time. stares at it head-on only to drown back at the replay of memories that flood her whole.

nobody teaches you how to survive heartbreak, not when you’ve fought so hard to hold onto something you’ve rejected your whole life.

it’s a question of what it means to let go, or whether she wants to at all.

(for the sake of tonight, she wants to hold on. wants to breathe in each moment till it chokes her whole, and her tears get lodged deep in her throat).

she sing-songs the words to the track looping in the background, and maybe at first she doesn’t know what it feels like to mouth off an empty string of words when she feels so hollow. what she is, is only a hollow shell trying to salvage anything to make her feel remotely full again.

what she pulls off is a simple melody when she sings, finds herself crying again as she muffles her mouth with the force of her own palm. save for another day, she’ll try again when she’s less on the verge of cracking whole.

inevitably, she finds herself drawn back to it like a moth at a flame. nearly sadistic how humans become attuned to the feeling of pain and emotional agony when she fixes up the mic to the computer and places it in front of her.

eyes swollen and puffy, tainted with a tinge of red — she’s been up nights still crying over another sight, another news article. another sign of him in shining lights.

perhaps, this is just bad karma she’s pocketed over the years, now coming into full fruition. but she dismisses those thoughts because tonight, she wants to be selfish and take in whatever she’s feeling and weave it into the words she keeps in her mind tonight — even if that rakes in the barrage of tears and inaudible breaths she takes in between.

there’s awareness that her voice is high pitched, breaching the hearts of ‘happy-go-lucky’, but for the sake of wanting to centralize herself in how she feels, she pulls her voice down low where there’s a melt of grit and a vacant mold that just holds the words still. the first verse goes, and she tries again — it still sounds too upbeat, so she pulls it lower to an almost-mumble where it fits the bill of what she’s envisioned.

it transfers over to the second, where it repeats. figures this is just one big picture of repetition when all her mind circles around is one thing.

but when she turns to the chorus, she cuts her voice into pieces. shifts the gones into pure staccatos with the roughness of each sharp turn. jagged and pieced apart, she doesn’t care for smoothness. because in hindsight, heartbreak is everything but smooth — it becomes a dissonance, too washed out by the cloud of media and over-romanticized dramas. she wants something real, vulnerable and honest by the time she overlays her voice to the croons of where the chorus hits.

there’s a lack of harmonies in the entirety of the song — simple and direct, it’s all she wants out a song where lyrics speaks volumes for the pains of heartbreak. no special effects nor special additions of blaring instruments, minjung keeps steady to the sounds of the electric guitar and her voice that falls up then down, twists itself into the full revelation of basing herself in the heartbreak of it all.

it’s no longer a puzzle piece to mix and match each fine-tuned element to a full song. instead, it becomes almost a story written from one to the next — smooth sailing, she finds herself rolling with the tides. the force of whatever drives this process, she masters. renders with all the little flaws sprawled in and all. a song that breeds a certain rawness to her heart, she keeps because for what it holds the gravity she feels in this moment.

#fmdverification #(이해불가서민정 → 직업)#(큐뀨↻queue)

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404fmdhaon · 3 years

Text

creative claims verifications — downtown baby

summary: a song written for some random npc he meets in berlin. warnings: none (written semi-drunk, don’t read). wc: 1825 (not including lyrics or dates)

(sometime in 2014).

bc’s buildings never feel as hallowed out as it does on early morning sunrises.

no windows, the studio’s only a place for show when passing bodies become the cleaning ladies peeking through the window in raps on the door (he shakes his head, two fingers in the air that screams: not today, another day). his body hovers over a guitar, fixed inside the pocket of his arms — a guitar he’s touched for the first time in months. and in hindsight, he really doesn’t know how to play.

yet, he tries when the first strings pluck something melancholic. no chords, it’s a string of repetition that sing the odes to a lonely night inside a studio. when he gets home? he has no recollection — home becomes this safe space with the couch already engrained ready to swallow him whole when exhaustion takes its toll.

first, it comes in steadiness where the guitars free-fall into a gentle lull. he imagines sundays to be like this — the poise of something standard, just constant. deserted places inside a studio, he thinks it’s near habitual when his body stumbles into the room he’s deemed his.

second, comes when the pace quickens and the sting on his fingertips give rise to the heat and layer of rouge. call him a sadist, he presses harder — the force of visceral pain giving into the emptiness he’s filled himself with. there’s nothing more that gives into the loneliness he doesn’t feel anymore. the numbness of an aching phantom pain, music that no longer yanks out the fervor it once did, and what he craves most is the overarching freedom of music in full revolt. the blaring sounds of speakers and not so much the meager tones that barely encase the hums of the strings.

yet, he plays on. presses record when the strings become nothing but a broken record of the same three notes. it’s repetition when a mind’s at a halt, already encased and engrained in another thought — the thought of another song trapped inside the walls of his hard drive. still, he just continues.

and when his mind rids the instrument at play, the second coming of something bland ensues. he pulls out his keyboard, a few clicks into logic. (he’s a creature of habit, and he’s the first to admit). so, when the settings already surmise a standardization of kickdrums in base, he fidgets. lets his fingers assemble the baselines of something old — a kickdrum that plays off-beat in the hums of the guitar.

looming. eerie — call it an effect of the time of day or an effect of laziness, his mind already wanders into the restlessness of his feet tapping along and a head already in sync eating, feeding into the music that lies in his bones. (here, he wonders — selling out, was it worth it at all? now, is this just a time for broken hopes and wasted hours?).

talentless is how he sees himself. pitiful in the way he doesn’t try out creativity for the punches of something new that rides with the harmonies of the chart — pavlov’s dog, and he’s only been trained with the act of self-criticism wrapped up in false bravado for sake of others. shitty beat, a shit simplicity. nobody buys it, not when he’s sitting inside a company that slaughters him for food.

sell out for the masses, he’s accepted the notion many times before. but he still presses on.

presses on when the third cue comes in the safe haven of keys — the keyboard, and he realizes, he’s been a fucking fraud all along. classically trained in each and every term of hours invested into hakwons, and all he manages is a bare four key press tampering with a simple flit of keys. there’s a progression that ensues near the end, and he knows this is a dead beat only hinders the effects of too many hours torn and dry. his fingers scratch his head, a distaste in perfection leaving him to leave the blue screen then and there with a steady force pulling him back onto the sofa.

palms on his head — he closes his eyes. sleep is for the weak, and in this case — he’s so fucking weak.

—

(sometime in 2016).

he meets her on a sunday.

some rusty pub in downtown berlin — berlin the scene of nightlife and non-stop parade of underground pubs. (gyujeong gives in when he’s guised inside the anonymity of a foreign country).

he steps outside for an air, free from the clouds of smoke that engulf his lung inside. yet, when he’s out away from a manager and the incessant patterns of clubs gone haywire, he manages to balance a cigarette between his lips. hands dug deep into the pockets, patting and salvaging a lighter no longer there — he groans, lets his eyes flicker to a girl in a pink wig, curved lips that speak: i’ve been watching you.

she’s pretty. almond shaped eyes and a killer smile between the smoldering cigarette, dressed inside nothing more than the rags of yesterday. he shoots her a look, narrowed eyes. her footsteps follow off-beat with the booming speakers of the club, and her hands raise a light.

“you’re welcome.” she says, the coyness in her voice unavoidable. she wears bravado like he’s never seen, and he arches a brow in question.

“i didn’t say thank you.”

“you should.”

“no.”

“i’m celine.”

“that’s not your real name.”

his own cigarette burns on, ash collecting in the ends. his fingers curve across the thin stick, tapping it away as his eyes stare deadly into hers. she’s intoxicating, her aura is. no alcohol, only the thrumming steadiness of nicotine running in his veins, yet he’s brought to a halt of words when curiosity takes over.

the night ends early morning monday when he stumbles in past too many glasses of wine and the taste of sin resting upon his tongue. his hands reach for a pen, the hotel notepad shuffled in the side. he realizes, is this love? or is this a dazed dream into a figment he’s lost into the night.

yet, he writes of her.

you’re my downtown baby your eyes are the stars of the night you’re the dream i wanna dream of every night baby without you i can’t do this anymore.

he writes for the confidence she walks in when it becomes intoxicating into his lungs — each shared conversation of make believe and maybes, the future uncertain. (he asked for her number, she said : room 628).

he writes for each lapse of laughter caught up in the weariness of alcohol sitting on his tongue, his hands wrapped in hers engulfed in the scent of smoke-tainted clementines and vanilla. she tells him he’s delirious underneath french wine and berlin stars, and he tells her she doesn’t know him.

she never knew him, he never knew her.

but what he thinks of is tomorrow, and the time that ticks against their fleeting memories.

“don’t think this is forever.”

“i don’t.”

“good. today and tomorrow.”

“number 628, 6 pm.”

he envisions her slender arms and some german movie indecipherable to his cause — what he craves most is the skin on skin contact that comes when his lips inch closer to hers, only to barely graze the surface of silent mutters. (he drowns in her, he has. he will).

but physical magnetism dies when she parts her mouth.

elbow to floor, palm to head, he stares — collects each trace of her into his memories to splurge out now. from the faux mole drawn underneath her eyebrows and the dimple that dips in when gutentag gets exchanged for bonjour. he loses himself in her, gives her a piece of his soul when she purses her lips alluring her in each step of the way.

let’s watch a movie then drink all night long let’s light a cigarette and talk all night long.

gyujeong knows, time is uncertain. not when the pen writes more permanencies than the fleeting words she gives. and what she’s given him becomes a timepiece of tonight and the hope for tomorrow. half-dazed, he lights another cigarette — the lighter that becomes the image of her. smoke in the air, she’s her downtown berlin. the taste of a new city he’ll never stretch anew.

a one time piece into escapism, he gives into her. gives into every touch and every word, breathing in the pieces till he dries his mind empty and blank — it’s lost, he’s lost. they’re lost, and she’s still floating high above while he remains stationed into the anonymity he loses the second berlin becomes a wasted touch of nostalgia.

—

(sometimes in 2016).

insomnia hits him like a train wreck.

not when he’s in the dorms lounging inside the room he canvases as his makeshift studio, but when he’s inside the same walls of a studio. the cacophony of marred notes and juxtaposed instruments no longer providing the safe haven they once were.

creative stump.

he calls it when his head tilts, and the straw balances between his mouth. one sip, americano doesn’t jolt him awake, no. it steadies the curse for mouth clicks into a dead hard drive he hasn’t touched in years.

one dated: 2014, he opens. finds the beat once satiated with sell-out written all over it and a mind that breathes in the beats he once deemed helpless. it’s the same noise of the simple guitar rift and steady baseline. the punch comes from the piano inside the ghostly repetitions.

but he opens it up, and it’s the jostle of berlin sitting underneath his skin, unable to forget. he remembers it all with the notes sprawled out in front of him.

downtown baby.

the mic’s already in place and he realizes — those are the only words he has left to give to the woman who’s given him it all.

he sings the first few chorus in the beginning. the first take’s too gritty, and he realizes her touch is far from that — it ripples at the surface, lingers. when it stays too long of fragile fingers carding through his hair, and the softer laughter that comes from the cheap shots of “your hair feels like my golden retriever back home.”

so, he goes with take eight when it becomes a mirage of roughness laced with the drag of his voice — uncertainty comes in tone, the apprehension that embeds inside the chorus when he sings. never polished, imperfect inside each polished frame of smiles and whispers wrapped up in a pink wig.

verses continue, and he doesn’t find satisfaction — not with the first, tenth or twentieth take. it’s too fine tuned to his status quo. and he’s never been ruthless nor a crippling force when it comes to her, no. he’s been the one that disarms, falls back into the trap of tongue-tied merciless confusions.

so, he gives that to her.

gives it in when his voice perches back to drag of singing rap, the lyrics conspicuous in a punch of early-morning mania. perhaps, he doesn’t know what incoherencies come from mind at bay, just the after effects of jaded yesterdays.

#fmdverification

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all-might-blog · 4 years

Text

Back in kindergarten

Summary:

Things don't go as planned and soon the students of Class 1A are back in kindergarden... and guess who are the people who have to take care of them...?!

Notes:

This is gonna be fun to write! Technically, this fanfic was inspired by a funny fanart I came across today. Technically, all the students are (drumroll please!) kindergardeners! The teachers (in the fanart, it's only All Might and Eraserhead, but here I am also gonna add in Present Mic) are wearing pink aprons. Oh, and it's made in the form of a comic strip. In the first panel, Eraserhead is holding an apple and saying: "You have five apples and your friend asks for three apples. How many do you have left?" In the second panel, it shows All Might, Todoroki and Izuku in the background (All Might is holding a tray of baked goods and the other two are looking up at them) and Bakugou is sitting at a table. He says "Five.". Guess why? XD In the next panel, we see Eraserhead looking very annoyed. He sighs and says "... You have five apples and your friend asks BY FORCE for three apples. How many do you have left now?" The next panel is by far the funniest. Why? "Fives apple and a corpse." Bakugou says. In the background, the other three are looking very surprised and shocked to hear this. So... I am gonna write something including this scene, but I am also gonna add in other bits with the rest of the students :D Enjoyyyyy!

This is the picture:

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

“This is bad.” Eraserhead said, looking at his class. Or what had been his class. The group of laughing, screaming kindergarteners he had had to tie up with his scarf were not his students. Or at least, they had been…? It was all confusing.

“The effects should wear off in an hour or so, according to the villain…” All Might said next to him, looking down at the kids with a thoughtful expression.

“According to the villain.” Eraserhead repeated. “We don’t actually know if what he told us was true. At least none of us were affected.”

“What should we do?” Mic asked.

“Well… until the effects wear off…” All Might said.

“Wait… are we gonna be nannies for them or something?”

“I am afraid that that’s what’s going to happen.” Eraserhead said, already dreading what was to come.

“Aw, come on, you guys! I am sure it won’t be that hard.” All Might said, looking down at the kids. Mic and Eraserhead exchanged doubtful glances.

“Whatever you say. What should we do? We have to find a way to entertain the lot of them.” Mic said.

10:09 pm

"You have five apples and your friend asks for three apples. How many do you have left?" Eraserhead held up the red apple for Bakugou to see. He was dressed in his usual clothes- with a pink apron over it, since they had just been doing a short baking session. He, Bakugou, Iida, Kouda, Jirou and Ashido were seated at a small table that the teachers had set up. All Might was holding a pan lined with freshly baked muffins and a smile on his face, with Kaminari, Izuku, Todoroki, Satou, Kirishima, Hagakure, Asui and Ojiro crowded at his feet, asking for muffins in their squeaky voices. Mic was entertaining the rest of the class in the other room by tuning his voice and singing.

“Five.” Bakugou said. Eraserhead sighed.

“You have five apples and your friend asks by force for three apples. How many apples do you have left now?”

“Five apples and a corpse.” Bakugou said with a grin on his face. There was a long silence in which the kids at the table stared at their classmate with horrified faces. The others had also fallen quiet, staring at Bakugou with similar expressions.

“What?” Bakugou said, crossing his arms. “Everyone knows that no one should take stuff from me.”

10:18 pm

“Carry me too!” Sero said, jumping up and down excitedly. All Might stood in his flesh form, more than half of the kids sitting on his shoulders, head and arms.

“Sero, my boy, I don’t think I will be able to,” All Might said. Not because they were too heavy, but because it was hard not to accidentally drop them with how much they were squirming.

“Pleaseeeeeee?” Uraraka begged, pulling at his pant’s legs.

“I can’t-”

“ PLEASEEEEEEEEEE?! ” the two children begged as one. All Might sighed.

“All Right. Denki, Kirishima, would you be kind and let your class-”

“NO!” the two boys shouted in his ears. All Might let out a long suffering sigh.

“I shouldn’t have fed you guys muffins…”

10:26 pm

“Aizawa?!” Mic shouted.

“I am teaching the kids the difference between villains and superheroes right now, Mic. I’m busy.”

“Yeah, but Mineta might get torn apart by the girls.”

“WHAT?!”

“He tried to look under Momo’s skirt. I told him not to- NO! MOMO, I TOLD YOU NOT TO THROW KNIVES! PUT. THEM. DOWN !!!”

10:37 pm

“I take back what I said about this being easy,” All Might said, collapsing down on a chair.

“See?”

“Since when could little children get so… hyper after feeding them a tiny muffin?”

“That is a mystery unknown to us adults.” Mic patted his shoulders before going back to tying Momo, Denki and Mina with a piece of Eraserhead’s scarf.

“What…?”

“Mineta did it again. I had to do something , right?”

10:38 pm

“No, Bakugou, just because they have cool quirks, it does not mean they are heroes.” Eraserhead said.

“So are you a villain?” Shouji asked.

“Wha- what makes you think that?”

“See, you are dressed in black.” Shouji said.

“And you are grumpy.”

“And boring. Boring too!”

“And not a little bit of shine!” Aoyama added, flicking a strand of hair from his head.

Eraserhead exhaled a shaky breath, trying very hard not to slap them into tomorrow.

Patience, he thought, they are just kids.

“And this class is boring. Can we play or do something else?” Fumikage said.

“All right then.” Eraserhead towered over them.

“Yep, he definitely reminds me of a villain,” Hagakure said as they all shrunk back.

“Mr. Eraserhead?” Midoriya squeaked.

“Let’s play a game. Let’s see who can stay quiet for the longest time. Winner gets a muffin. Got it?”

“YES!” they all shouted.

10:46 pm

“How the hell did you manage to keep them all quiet?” All Might whispered with awe, looking around at the peaceful kids that had been absolutely hyper not long ago.

“I bribed them. And we have ten minutes to go before the hour finishes.” Eraserhead replied.

“Did any of you get any pictures of them?” Mic asked.

“I might have snapped just a few…” All Might admitted.

“Same.” Mic held up his phone and showed them a pretty cute picture of Todoroki, Tsuyu, Mezou, Momo, Midoriya and Bakugou all sitting on All Might’s lap when the ex-hero had been in his flesh form. He then showed them a picture of Jirou plucking at the strings of a guitar she had found.

“Yeah, you have to admit they are kinda cute when they are not… is it right to call them little monsters?” All Might asked with a nervous smile (this got him furious glares from Kirishima and Bakugou, the latter giving him a kick in the shins).

The door opened and Eri came in, followed by Mirio.

“Well, what happened here?” Mirio asked, looking around at the quiet kids. They all looked up at him with curiosity, but not one of them opened their mouths to say a thing.

“It’s… a long story.” Mic said.

“Yeah… I can see that.” Mirio said.

“Wait, is that Mister Deku?” Eri pointed at Midoriya, who was drawing a scribbly All Might on a paper with a few crayons, lying on his stomach and tongue sticking out with concentration.

“Like Mic said, long story.” All Might said, looking at the picture and considering asking Midoriya if he could keep it or to just take it with the account that his successor wouldn’t get mad.

“Then… I won’t ask.” Eri said.

10:53 pm

“Wow, none of them have said a word.” Mic mused. “Looks like we will have to bake a new batch of muffins.” All Might said.

“That depends on if any of them will actually make a sound.” Eraserhead said, crossing his arms.

“But… what if one of them does and he or she is the one getting left out?” Mic asked.

“Logical rouse.” was Eraserhead’s only reply.

“Ah…”

10:57 pm

“Okay, the lot of you were really quiet.” Eraserhead said, standing up. They all looked at him, the question in their big eyes. “Yeah, you can speak now.”

A billion questions related to the promised muffins were suddenly shot at him. He silenced them with a single look.

“You will all get your promised prizes, but first we are gonna have to bake them.” he said.

“Wha-?” Ojiro suddenly clamped his hands over his mouth, tail curling around his legs. He was growing green.

“He’s gonna pu-”

Ojiro suddenly let out all his lunch on the carpeted ground.

“-ke.” Mic finished. Ojiro coughed.

“I don’t feel so good.” he mumbled. Then he suddenly began to change, growing larger and different until he was back to being his old self.

“Wait- they are all gonna go through the same!” All Might cried, jumping to his feet. “Kids, follow me! And be quick about it!” he ran to the toilets, the rest of the class trotting after him. Many of them already looked sick as they clamped their small hands over their mouths. One by one, their students returned from the toilets, looking tired, sick and worn out.

“I feel like I could sleep for days on end,” Ashido said, collapsing on the couch with a groan. “What the hell…?”

“I feel you, sempai.” Sero said, collapsing next to her with a sigh. Soon their class was back to normal. All Might returned with a mop and a bucket and Midoriya and Ojiro (who felt guilty about it) helped him scrub Ojiro’s lunch from the floor, noses scrunched at the smell.

“That was a nightmare. I was stuck as a five year old…” Kirishima said.

“The nightmare was for us ,” Mic said, arms crossed, “you kids must have worn your parents out as children.”

“Do we still get the muffins you promised?” Satou asked.

Eraserhead sighed. “A promise is a promise, isn’t it?"

#inspired by fanart #All Students in Class 1A #Present Mic #All Might #Eraserhead #Eri and Mirio make a brief appearance #Kids are kindergartners #Kids are sort of scary (specially Bakugou...!)#this will be EPICO #parental All Might #Parental Eraserhead #Parental Present Mic #Not like they are actually parents #Just like #They have to take care of the entire class #This is not going to go the way you think it will...#LOL #Enjoy!

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a-singleboat · 5 years

Text

Jealousy

Word Count: 1244

REQUEST: Can you do a Shayne x reader where they are filming you posted that and bring in the readers favorite actor (Tom Holland) and she is like fangirling and can't talk right and blushing and stuff and Shayne gets jealous but like it's really fluffy and cut in the end - anon

“You Posted That. Embarrassing things from your past. Instagram, Twitter, or Snapchat, you posted that!”

You watched from backstage as your boyfriend, Shayne Topp, introduced the show. You knew that it would be you and Joven on the show today, but the third person was being kept from you.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your jeans, nervous to play the game and to find out who they managed to get onto the show. Joven came up next to you and slung his arm around your shoulders. You managed to give him half a smile that turned into more of a grimace.

“You nervous, Y/n?” Joven asked like the father he was. He was your work dad since the first day you started here and he had also quickly become one of your best friends.

“Yeah,” you rubbed your hands together and then on your jeans again. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself to whoever they bring on.”

Ian walked up next to the both of you, taking a sip of water before dropping it at the table by his things. “You guys ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you muttered, unzipping your hoodie and taking it off to drape it over a chair.

Shayne introduced Ian to the stage, prompting him to smile wide and step out from behind the set-piece they stood behind. “Hello, everybody!” Ian greeted the audience. Joven had left you by then, leaving to go get his mic checked after he had pulled a little too hard at the wire.

You wished you had gone with him even if it was only a minute that he was gone. Your nerves were starting to take over and many of the nervous ticks you had begun to show. Not only were you picking at the bottom of your shirt, but you were also biting down harder than you needed to on your lip. You had to remind yourself to breathe so you didn’t go on stage with a busted lip and a half torn shirt.

“Now, let’s meet our lovely contestants,” Ian spoke, causing you to straighten out your back. “First, we have one of our esteemed cameramen, or should I say, camerawomen. She’s filmed many of our videos for us and, according to her, was an extra for a Spider-Man movie, Y/n Y/l/n!”

You plastered a smile on your face as you stepped out from behind the setpiece, waving at the audience. You stopped at the first podium you came upon and blew a kiss towards the audience before winking at them.

You heard their screams and giggled slightly, hands coming to rest on either side of the podium. You listened as Ian introduced Joven, clapping politely for the man that almost couldn’t see the fine print. He stood at the podium at the other end, causing you to question what was happening. Usually, Joven would stand next to you as the second contestant but the new format had you gripping the sides of the podium tighter.

“And finally, we have a man of many talents including acting, dancing, and causing Y/n to have some sort of fit every time she sees him, Tom Holland!”

When Tom Holland stepped out from behind the set-piece, you looked Ian dead in the eye with a look that read, You better start running.

It wasn’t that you hated Tom Holland, you loved him. In fact, you would probably have fainted if it weren’t for the fact that you were currently filming. Instead, you stared at him with your mouth slightly gaped during the time that Ian was explaining the rules.

“Y/n, you okay?” Ian had a shit-eating grin on his face and you wanted to slap it off him.

You shook your head and cleared your throat, “Yeah, fine. I’m totally fine.”

You focused upfront, ready to play the game, “Let’s do this. I’m ready.”

“Alright, let’s jump into round one,” Ian turned to Shayne.

“You posted that?” They both shouted in high pitched voices.

As the game flew by, you couldn’t help but be constantly starstruck by the man standing next to you. You were tripping over your own words and hiding in embarrassment that he had to see the one thirst tweet that they had found. It read:

“Tom Holland could punch me straight across the face and I’d thank him.”

To that, he responded: “I’d never punch you, darling.”

You wanted to either cry in a corner or hide away forever.

When you had approached the end of the show, you in the lead, you knew what they had planned couldn’t have been good. You glanced over at Shayne, who had been staring in the direction of you and Tom.

“Much like when we had Chris Pratt on the show, the winner will be slow dancing with our one and only Tom Holland!”

You wished the ground would open up and swallow you. Not only have your worst tweets and Instagrams been put out to the world, but they were also out there in front of your celebrity crush and your boyfriend who no doubt was feeling a lot of things at the moment.

“Ian,” you started, pointing at the man. “You better sleep with one eye open tonight.”

He immediately pulled Shayne to stand in front of him, an ongoing joke between the two of you and declared war.

When you were announced the winner, it was no surprise. Tom and yourself walked to the middle of the room and a slow song was put on. He held out a hand to you and you accepted it awkwardly.

In an attempt to break the ice, you shared that you had been in Homecoming.

“You were?”

“Yeah, I was an extra during the scene where Peter is looking at Liz hanging up the banner for Homecoming. I walked right past her and then sat at a table towards the back.”

“So we’ve been in a movie together,” he cocked an eyebrow.

“We have,” you giggled nervously. The music stopped and you both separated. Shayne had moved during the duration of the dance so that he would be right next to you when the music stopped. He slung an arm over your shoulder and you pinched him lightly, a signal to stop acting the way he was.

Ian said the outro, everyone celebrating on the stage as the cameras cut and you were pulled into a corner by Shayne.

He kissed the side of your head, hugging you close. You poked his side, a cheeky grin creeping onto your face. “Were you jealous, babe?”

He brushed it off, hugging you close. “No,” he insisted. “I would never be jealous of Spider-Man.”

“It’s okay to be jealous, Shayne,” you kissed his cheek. “As long as it doesn’t go past here.”

He kissed you, arms sliding from around your shoulders to come to rest on your hips. Your hands went up to cup his face, bring him in closer. When you separated, he was looking out at Tom who had been socializing with your friends the entire time.

“Okay, maybe I was a little bit jealous,” he admitted as the two of you started to walk back over to rejoin your friends.

“There’s no need to be,” you squeezed his hand before bringing it up to your lips to leave a kiss there. “You’re all I want, and all I need.”

TAGLISTS

PERMANENT

@gretavanyeth @toms-order @starlightfound @rumoured-whispers @lemirabitur @grandmascottlang @lovelyh0lland @positiveparker

SMOSH

@andreasworlsboring101

346 notes · View notes

burntpastel · 4 years

Text

late

(On AO3)

Summary: Midoriya loses track of time and accidentally stays out past curfew. Mic decides he deserves a reward for having to go out and retrieve him.

Notes: a fic commissioned by Ivyblush and theDavynator on AO3! thanks again!!

italicized dialogue usually indicates usage of english.

raping people is evil. adults who date and/or fuck minors are evil. dont do it, and and don't base any real life relationships or choices off the content of fanfics.

cw rape, underage, impregnation, vomiting, trans deku

Midoriya is still, eyes locked on his target. He tries to focus on his body, his quirk, without tuning out visual information, then makes a quick, practiced movement, kicking out his leg. The force from his quirk carries across the gym, clipping two of the targets hanging from the ceiling instead of moving between them like he'd wanted, taking a decent sized chunk out of one.

Sighing, he moves a couple of feet down the line, to the last of the targets he’d prepared beforehand. He waits for them to settle back into place, then concentrates, hoping this time he can do it without breaking anything—including himself. He then kicks—

“HEY!”

The jolt of adrenaline sends his kick off course, shattering many of the remaining targets to the left of where he was originally aiming. (He’ll need to work on that too.)

“Mic-sensei!” Midoriya turns to him, and boy, does he look annoyed. He’s not even sure what he did this time. “What are you doing here?”

Mic strolls up to him with his hands in his pockets, glowering at him. It’s his turn to watch the dorms this week, and he’s wearing casual clothes. Sometimes it takes Midoriya a second to recognize him with his hair down.

“Looking for my missing student!” he provides with false cheer. Midoriya blinks. Is someone else gone, or has he been labeled missing himself?

He notices Mic’s eyes fixed on his chest and becomes painfully aware that he’s in a thin t-shirt and sports bra. He tugs his shirt away from his chest to hide his form, averting his gaze in embarrassment—not because he thinks Mic's staring is questionable, Midoriya knows he's usually covered up or has his binder on so he doesn't really blame him for being drawn to the unexpected shapes—more in a "sorry for being visibly trans" kind of way.

“It’s passed curfew, you know.”

Midoriya sucks in a breath, looking back up at him. Was he really training that long?

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know it was so late…”

Midoriya scrambles to collect his things. As he rushes past Mic to return to the dorms, he’s stopped by his outstretched hand, palm splaying against his torso and fingers brushing Midoriya’s chest in the process.

“Hold on a minute!”

Midoriya quickly scrambles back, looking up at his teacher, feeling his face burn at the accidental touch.

Something in Mic’s expression has changed. Instead of the drained irritation he’d shown before, his eyes are now intense as he stares down at Midoriya, though still calm, and he almost looks… pleased…?

Mic gestures to the locker room behind him. ”Go take a shower before we head back—you’re a mess!”

The words just sound like gibberish until his mind shifts to thinking in English. Feeling a little embarrassed that it had slipped his mind, Midoriya quickly nods. “Okay.”

He starts to turn when Mic interrupts him.

”Try again.”

Midoriya gives him an exasperated smile. That’s the fun thing about Mic-sensei—he never really stops teaching. Every moment is another chance for a little pop quiz.

”Yes, sir.”

Mic nods to him, and he sets off across the gym for the locker room. As he’s pushing the door open, Mic calls out.

“One last thing, Midoriya."

Midoriya looks back at him over his shoulder, and Mic almost looks like his usual self with the grin he’s wearing—except, it’s a little more unnerving with the way he’s peering at him over the rim of his glasses.

“Do you know what ‘I’m gonna rail your cunt’ means?”

Midoriya hesitates. He knows some of the words, but not the important ones that make the sentence meaningful. He shakes his head.

“No, sir.”

Mic’s smile grows wider, before he shakes his head, gesturing for Midoriya to go ahead with his shower.

Now that his body has realized how late it is and how long he was training for, he feels exhausted all at once. The water seems to be trying its best to lure him into sleep, and it is quite tempting.

After his shower he wraps a towel around himself and walks back to the lockers to get dressed. He’s in the middle of setting the towel down to slip on his underwear when he hears a soft sound—too subtle for his drowsy mind to parse immediately, but pointed enough to catch his attention. He glances around for the source of the noise, and in the same millisecond he realizes it was a laugh he spots Mic watching him from the shadows.

“Way to be alert, hero.”

Midoriya jerks his towel back up to his chest, fumbling to fasten it around himself with one hand while Mic approaches faster than he can figure out what the fuck is happening.

“You don’t like my class as much as All Might's,” Mic says matter-of-factly. “I put a lot of effort into my lessons, y’know.”

His face doesn’t reflect what he’s saying; there’s no trace of hurt, or anger or disappointment, just that same intense stare and grin. Yet, there’s no teasing quality to his voice, either.

“I do!” Midoriya spits, unsure if it’s out of politeness or fear. He takes a half step backwards for every two of Mic’s forward. “I’m just bad at English.”

“Ah, yeah,” Mic agrees. “Your last test came back pretty bad!”

...It did? He thought he’d actually done well on that one.

The amount of adrenaline pumping through his veins has his blood rushing painfully hard against every part of his body—yet, he doesn’t want to assume the worst of his teacher. His mind half convinces him that 'oh, this is about grades. That's important enough to interrupt someone getting dressed for. Yeah.'

He doesn’t run, but he does keep backing away and adopts very defensive body language, hoping that at some point Mic will get the idea that he’s uncomfortable if he curls up enough, tilts his head down, and averts his gaze.

“I know you guys hate all my quizzing, but I think you could use the extra credit!”

Mic finally stops about arm’s length away. Midoriya’s leaning so far back against the bench that he loses his balance and has to just sit down on it. He keeps his chin tucked, but stares up at Mic with wide eyes, subconsciously squeezing his legs together.

“So, I’ll make my last phrase a little easier for you…”

Mic leans down towards him, and it finally clicks in Midoriya’s head that no, he’s not just being paranoid or sensitive—this is wrong.

”I’m going to fuck you."

His stomach drops into ice.

Midoriya lurches to his feet but Mic grabs him by the arm and shoves him back into a sitting position. Midoriya squirms against his grasp, but as he’s trying to twist away and raises a hand to pry Mic off him, Mic lowers his lips to his ear and growls through his teeth, “I could end your hero career right here. Don’t even think about using your quirk.”

Midoriya freezes. Mic licks the shell of his ear before pulling back, looking quite satisfied at this. Midoriya’s eyes dart around the room as his breathing becomes frantic and uneven, lungs torn between hyperventilating and bursting into tears.

He can’t run, Mic’s quirk works from a distance, his feet are wet, and he’s naked. He can’t fight, even if he wanted to; Mic could accidentally kill him just with a cry of pain.

Can’t run... Can’t fight...

“No!” Midoriya squeals in between heaving gasps. His head feels so light he thinks he’ll topple over at any second. “Please, I d—”

“Is that any way to talk to your English teacher?” Mic chides as he reaches for the button of his pants.

“Wh—" He then switches to English, "No!"

“Good!” Mic praises, and for a second Midoriya’s blood pressure drops a fraction. “But nah. I’m pretty ticked I had to come all the way out here to get you, and you have a nice ass, so…”

Mic pulls his dick out of his pants. It’s riddled with piercings, and somehow that scares Midoriya even further. Maybe it just makes him think how this was always lurking under his teacher’s heroic facade, just like a bunch of scary metal studs beneath his clothes. Midoriya’s not even old enough to get piercings like that himself...

Mic's stroking himself and stepping closer. Midoriya wants to wake up. Wants this to be a nightmare that ends before the worst of it comes. He wants to fall out of his body. He wants to melt into the floor.

If he was trembling any harder, he’s pretty sure it would qualify as convulsions.

"I don't have to tell you how bad an idea it would be to bite me, right?" Mic puts his foot up on the bench, standing over Midoriya's lap as he holds his dick in front of his face.

His mind is blank. This isn't like an encounter with a villain—there's no one to protect, no backup coming, he's naked for fuck's sake—he doesn't know what to do. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away, but doesn't get very far as Mic grabs a fistful of his hair so tight he can't move.

"Open up!" Mic chirps, yet seems perfectly content to rub the head of his cock all over his face instead. Midoriya shudders as he nudges it against the fat of his cheek, rubbing up and down and in circles—flooded with the urge to scream, to thrash, to cry and bite and kick.

But he stays still, so rigid every part of him aches. His jaw is shut tight, lips pressed into a firm line as a Mic runs his cock over them. He goes over each multiple times, back and forth leisurely.

"Come on, you never shut your mouth this long…"

He prods at the corners of his mouth, rubs against them in intense small circles. It's much more effective than Midoriya would like; he's never able to press though his lips entirely, but he manages to part them enough to draw out some saliva, especially when the ring at his tip nudges between them.

Midoriya is clutching his towel to his chest so tightly he can't even feel that arm anymore. His stomach is so tight he feels like he's going to die. Part of him welcomes it; he doesn't want to be here.

Mic then thrusts forward, his cock bumping his nose and smearing precome on the ridge of his brow as it slips up against his face. Mic grinds it between his pelvis and Midoriya's cheek as he humps his face. Midoriya can feel the way Mic's skin drags against his own, the gliding metal studs, his balls tapping against his chin with each upward thrust, a mound of wiry hair whenever his cock slips out of place. His mind is in searing, white hot pain. He can feel these sensations carving their way into his brain, never to be forgotten.

The way it feels, the way it smells, the sounds Mic is making as he does it, the fingers knotted in his hair… He already knows that, if his heart doesn't stop in the middle of this (and it might, based on how hard it's beating and how much it hurts,) that one day he's going to be trying to live his life only to be haunted by the sensation of a cock shoved against his face, of all things.

His extremities are freezing, even the tips of his ears feel like ice, but his torso is burning hot as he trembles, legs straining in unnatural ways that would give him a cramp in any other situation. He feels a headache beginning to form where Mic is tugging his hair to keep him in place.

Apparently his dick slips out from between them one too many times, because Mic draws back just enough to grasp the base between his forefinger and thumb and deliver a series of quick slaps against Midoriya's face with it. Humiliation and anger tingle painfully across every inch of Midoriya's skin, beginning from his stomach. He grits his teeth hard, trying to focus on the creaking sound of his jaw.

The contact only dully hurts when concentrated in one area too long, but occasionally one of the metal studs catches his cheekbone, making Midoriya flinch quite uselessly in Mic's grip. The sharper pain brings reflexive tears, which break the dam—his lungs spasm with barely restrained sobs, tears pushing their way through his clenched eyelids.

He hadn't wanted to cry. His lips quiver, making it quite hard to keep them pinched together, while his jaw occasionally cracks open a fraction with a wail it desperately wants to vocalize. His shoulders bounce and chest heaves with silent, choked down sobs. As if his body needed more tension.

"This would be over a lot quicker if you'd just open your mouth..."

Mic seems perfectly content to ignore his tears, carrying on battering Midoriya's face with his cock. If anything, he seems enthused, picking up the speed so that he's practically beating off against him. He moves away from his cheek closer to the center of his face, so that his slaps land partially against his mouth.

In his head, Midoriya toys with the idea of just opening his mouth, just to end whatever torment this is.

Mic groans impatiently, but it just comes out needy. Suddenly, the member assaulting his face is gone.

"Hey, Midoriya, how do you say 'beg' in English?"

Midoriya stays quiet, knowing his cock is hovering just in front of his face, waiting.

"Come on." His cock hits his face again. His nose stings so much from the blow that he doesn't even feel the scratch that the circular ring at the tip leaves on his brow. His cries ramp up another level, a whine emanating from his throat.

"You're gonna get fucked either way. Might as well pass your test too."

Midoriya's mind is eager to latch onto a silver lining.

And he really, really wants Mic's cock to stop touching his face.

"...Be—ghk!"

He's promptly rewarded with a cock inside his mouth.

He doesn't shove it down his throat, at least; still guiding it with his fingers he rubs it around; down against his tongue, or up along his inner cheek, stretching it outward.

"There we go," Mic draws out, sounding quite pleased in multiple ways.

Midoriya almost gags anyway, just out of sheer disgust. He tries to withdraw with tongue as much as he can, but that just seems to give Mic an ample platform to rub his tip against. He then tries flattening it instead, but it allows him to grind a greater length of his cock along it.

He settles for withdrawn.

Midoriya's not sure this is better than just letting him hump his face (or rather the outside of his face, because that's very much still happening.) It doesn't hurt as much, but letting him use his mouth for pleasure is just as humiliating, he thinks, just in a different kind of way.

His jaw aches from how wide he has to hold it open to avoid scraping his teeth against his dick. He's surprised the way his piercings click and catch against his teeth doesn't put Mic off more; it seems like it would hurt. Each time Midoriya feels that circular ring touch his back teeth he has the impulse to bite down on it.

Drool runs down his chin, trailing to his chest. He weeps around Mic's cock as he thrusts it against his inner cheek, his whimpers occasionally interrupted as Mic shoves it a little too far in what might be an attempt to silence him. The tears on his cheeks are starting to itch in places but he's too afraid to open his eyes and doesn't want to chance touching Mic to wipe at them.

"How do you say…” Mic trails off to think, “...'pulse' in English?"

"...Pul-thh." he answers as well as he can while crying with a dick in his mouth, careful as he forms the 'p' to not bite him.

"Mm. What do you do to cool something off?"

"...Blow."

"If a building has electricity, you could also say it has…?"

"Power."

Midoriya isn't oblivious to what he's doing; the answers all force him to seal his lips fully around him or flick his tongue against his shaft—but it's easy to pretend that it's unrelated to the way Mic thrusts into his mouth with each answer.

Just extra credit. Not pleasure.

"Good!" Mic eventually praises, entirely condescending. "Now, wrap your lips around it and suck."

Midoriya's stomach drops, wincing at the thought. He shakes his head as well as he can in Mic's grip.

"Aw, kid, you were practically already doing it before!" Mic insists. "Just like when you made a 'b'."

He tugs on his hair and wiggles his length around in his mouth, tapping it against his tongue as he continues his coaxing.

"Come on, just suck it. Suck it. Suck my dick."

"Just once. Just suck my dick. Just the head?"

"It's not that hard. Just suck me off. Do it."

Midoriya sobs around him, keeping his jaw stretched wide open. Tension ripples through his body, feeling a strong, reckless urge to bring his teeth down—and an awful, aching helplessness because he knows he can't.

"Hey, if you make me come now, maybe I won't fill up your pussy instead!"

He's going to—?

The wave of nausea that floods him accompanied by Mic thrusting just a little too far into his mouth makes him gag, and bile flows over his lips before he even knows what's happening. Mic withdraws as Midoriya hunches over in a coughing fit, idly wiping away the vomit on his cock with his thumb. Midoriya's head swims as he finally opens his eyes again, feeling disorientation like he just got slammed back into reality.

He really doesn't have the energy to spare for coughing. He forces himself to stop, allowing the remainder of the bile to just burn at his throat. He finally moves his numb arm to scrub at his chin, neck and chest with the towel, staining the white fabric with a sickly yellow.

"Alright, if you can't handle your oral exam, fine. You've got other holes."

Mic steps forward again as Midoriya takes heaving breaths, looming over him. He presses on Midoriya's shoulder, urging him back while his other hand tugs the towel away from his lap.

"How about you lay back and spread your legs for me..."

Midoriya freezes for just a moment, staring up at him in horror, before abandoning the towel and jumping to his feet to slip out from between Mic and the bench.

"No you don't!"

Mic catches his arm, twisting it behind his back as he shoves him towards the bench, exposing his back to him. Midoriya is forced to bend to accommodate Mic wrenching his arm.

"No!" Midoriya sobs as he feels something hard brush against his thighs. Mic tries to push his upper half downwards so that he's face down and ass up, but Midoriya braces his palm on the bench and locks his elbow in time to prevent it.

"Oh," Mic chuckles so darkly it's practically a growl. "You're gonna regret not making this easy for me, kid."

Midoriya clamps his legs shut as tight as he can, but it doesn't help much when he's bent so far forward, pussy poking out from between them with the incline of his pelvis. Mic's free hand slides to the back of Midoriya's thigh, thumb tugging his skin to spread his lips for him. Midoriya squirms and thrashes, but his arm is pushed further in response, a clear threat straining its way through his muscles.

Midoriya screams as Mic pushes inside, a pure, animalistic vocalization of distress, pain and protest; a contrast to Mic's soft groan. His piercings catch on his hymen, ripping through as he presses on anyway. Midoriya flinches hard, legs parting reflexively in an effort to reduce the pain, feeling much like he's being split open. He can't believe his teacher is sinking his cock inside of him. Midoriya wants to lurch away, instincts telling him to vault over the bench and run, but he only moves so far before Mic starts pulling on his twisted arm, threatening to rip it out of the socket—and before he knows it, Mic is fully hilted inside him, cock ring jabbing his cervix unpleasantly.

He freezes, trying to catch his breath with too-small lungs. He can feel his walls throbbing sharply in complaint at the intrusion. It's too big. Too dry. His thighs tremble, so hard that his knees nearly give out at times. It's unlike the fearful tremors from before; he's quite unused to having something shoved between his legs like this.

Mic's free hand grips his hip with a bruising force. "F-uck you're tight!"

If he thought pushing in hurt, pulling out is five times worse. Midoriya yelps as Mic withdraws, cock dragging against his tender insides and torn entrance, until only the head remains. Then he thrusts back in just as harshly, and Midoriya's cry takes on a slightly… different tone, much to his displeasure. Softer, more surprised. It still hurts, especially because his piercings catch on that same ring of skin again, but this time it also sends a different feeling reeling through his abdomen.

He's too breathless to even protest as Mic thrusts into him, caught between gasps, hisses, and sobs as the exact amount of pain and pleasure vary with each one. His cunt is doing its best to provide lubrication to ease the process, but it can only do so much unaroused.

Midoriya feels a sense of defeat; emptiness and humiliation stirring inside him. He's actually getting fucked, in a locker room on campus, by his teacher. He can feel his ass jiggle with each slap of Mic's hips against his skin, the sound echoing off the tiles and bouncing around the room. Midoriya's experienced a lot of unpleasant things, including public, relentless bullying over things he couldn't control, and he's pretty sure none of it was as deeply degrading as having his most intimate body parts used against his will for someone else's pleasure, while being dragged along for the ride, forced to stifle moans as he's violated by someone he thought he could trust.

He wants time to whirl by in a blur, for it to be over before he even knows it, but instead he's hyperaware of every second, every thrust, every painful jolt of forced pleasure that goes through his stomach. Every pant and gasp and groan Mic makes that fills him with a little more nausea, or fear, or anger. Sometimes it feels like it's all about to overflow, but all he does in the end is sit there and take it.

And Mic seems inclined to drag things out even more. His thrusts slow as he runs his hand up over the curve of his ass, humming a content noise behind him.

Without him pounding away, Midoriya is finally able to regain control over his lungs.

"Stop!" he gasps. "Please!"

He hates how soft and whiney his voice is, how he's moaning the words instead of commanding them.

"What was that?"

He pauses, frantically searching his overwhelmed mind. "Please!"

"Please what?"

"Stop!"

"Hmm… No, that's not right. Try 'harder' or 'keep going'."

Midoriya whimpers and hangs his head as Mic chuckles darkly, running his hand up his side. He's fucking him as if he's trying to get familiar with his cunt, like he's mapping out every crease and curve with the tip of his dick. Midoriya is overcome with the urge to crawl over the bench again, but the second he starts forward Mic yanks his arm back. It gives out a loud, threatening pop in response, and a slight pain starts to creep in a few seconds later. Mic huffs out a laugh, and fucks him just that little bit harder, like his efforts aroused him further.

Mic slides his hand underneath him to grope at his breasts, squeezing calloused fingers around them. Midoriya flinches, twisting his body to pin Mic's arm against his torso with his elbow, pressing harder when Mic pinches and tugs his nipple in response.

It's a mistake. With his arm bent Mic easily shoves him down against the bench, where he fucks him much, much harder. Midoriya's back arches, eyes rolling back as Mic pounds brutally into him now that he’s securely braced against something. He releases his arm, but Midoriya's not of a mind to make use of it, clutching at the wood underneath him until his knuckles turn white.

Mic's hands are right next to his. He's keeping him pinned down with his body, panting and grunting just behind his head as he snaps his hips fervently. Midoriya hates how well their bodies conform to each other.

Each of Midoriya's moans has an edge of protest. His cunt is throbbing, slick running down his thighs. He feels nauseous as he realizes he might actually come from this, from Present Mic—his teacher—cornering and fucking him like an animal.

He's so nauseated. The sensations overwhelm his body. Mic's thrusts jostle his insides. The stress of everything is—

He heaves, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the bench. His cunt tightens so hard around Mic’s cock that his piercings dig painfully into the walls of his cunt.

And Mic comes. Mic comes inside him, moaning against his neck and wrapping his arms around his waist, bucking into him as he releases his seed. At this, Midoriya retches again, his vomit flowing over the edge of the bench and splattering onto the floor and Mic whimpers pleasantly, forehead pressed against Midoriya's back as his body inadvertently milks his cock dry.

They stay like that for a while, Midoriya laying across the bench with Mic curled around him, both panting hard. He trembles, head pressed into his arm so that he's not laying in his own puke. Any trace of that building orgasm is gone, and he's not even sure whether he came or not. He’s too exhausted to cry like he wants to.

Mic pulls out, releasing a hot flood that runs down his thighs. Midoriya slowly sinks to the floor until he's sitting, head still buried in his arms upon the bench. His cunt feels quite different; irritated and sore, and... stretched out. An awful reminder.

"Fuck," Mic hisses, "that was good."

Midoriya doesn't even flinch.

He hears shifting fabric, then a zip. "Get cleaned up and let's head back to the dorms."

The idea is almost laughable. Midoriya doesn't see himself moving for a very, very long time, if ever again. The image of a very tender space, flooded with a sticky white that has a very good chance of ruining his life forever, is burned into his mind.

He hears Mic's boots clacking against the tile, getting further, then the creak of the locker room door.

"Hurry up, or I might decide to come back and ruin your asshole, too."

The door shuts.

That gets him moving.

Late, late, late.

Late for curfew. Late for school. Late for his period.

He doesn't want to buy a pregnancy test. He can't be pregnant—he's 15! The universe can't be that cruel. It wouldn't make him deal with that after making him quirkless, after the bullying, after all the villain attacks, after… Mic. Nothing is that cruel. It's too much.

But time drags on. He waits on pins and needles for three more days and it keeps being late and eventually his panic outweighs his mortification at having to walk into a store and buy a pregnancy test.

He stares at the box for hours. He doesn't use it. He's not pregnant—he can't be. So he sets it aside, shoved in the back of a drawer that’s promptly slammed shut.

He gets out of bed and takes it at 3AM.

And he cries.

#my writing #dekumic #grapefruit #age difference #lemon #long post #bnha #trans izuku midoriya #rape

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whereisten · 5 years

Photo

Traces

Summary: Violet is a blossoming filmmaker with her own demons. When man of the night Taeyong comes into her life, she realizes that demons are very much real. She will have to endure the consequences of trusting the one person she should’ve steered clear from.

Genres: Romance, A Pinch of Smut, Fluff for Days, Comedy, Drama, Angst, Thriller, Horror, Fantasy

Cast: Taeyong, Yuta, OC (the bad bitch that you’ll get to know as Vi)

WARNING: Mentions of Death, Language, Alcohol, Addiction, Violence (this writing in no way represents the members mentioned, all events are fake).

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CD 1: Intro - Track 1 - Track 2

Word Count: 7.7k

It was a busy Friday night at BOSS Karaoke Bar, my dad’s place. He was out for the night and entrusted his official manager Hani and assistant manager me for the weekend while he was out of town for a bar owners’ convention in Newark.

BOSS Karaoke Bar was located smack dab in the middle of Sunset, Florida. Sunset was a coastal, metropolitan town with high rises and trains running for hours on end. Celebrities and other prominent figures resided and visited all the time so it was always a pleasant surprise to see a popular basketball player or an international music artist come to BOSS. It definitely helped business boom and thankfully, BOSS was stronger than it had ever been.

Dad built the business from the ground up from the time he immigrated to the States. He worked as a dishwasher, a waiter, and a bartender among other odd jobs until he was able to attain citizenship and attend the Sunset University for Business Administration at the age of 28. He met my mom around that time and after his graduation, mom had me and a year after that, she had Janine. My dad worked his way up in management at bars and restaurants all over Sunset. Then, he discovered karaoke when mom suggested it for one of their date nights. And well, the rest was history.

“Hey, Vi. Do you think you can take over for a bit while I make a few phone calls?” Hani asked me. No doubt Hani was going to juggle her several gentlemen callers for the weekend and she had to iron out some details.

“Sure!” It wasn’t even that crazy at the moment. I checked the upcoming reservations for karaoke for the next hour and saw that there were only two parties I needed to check in. It was 10:30 PM and sometimes there were walk-ins.

A few minutes passed when Hani returned to her post. “What do you think? Should I give Joshua or Hansol a shot?” She asked as she adjusted her sky high boots, earning an admiring look from two girls who were headed to the restroom.

I’d been through this with her several times and while it was humorous, I wanted the best for her. “You know I can’t answer that.”

Hani laughed, music to everyone’s ears. “Sure you can! I’ve been wracking my brain over it for weeks now and they’re both starting to get...on edge.”

“What…”

“Let’s just say the three of us aren’t welcome to Whole Foods for the next month.”

“Really?” I shot her an incredulous look.

“How was I supposed to know that they both liked to buy their orange juice from the same place I do?”

One of the karaoke rooms, although muddled, became significantly louder as the group all sang along to “Sorry Not Sorry” by Demi Lovato.

I thought about Hani’s dilemma. I never understood love triangles. They were fun on TV shows but in real life, I couldn’t imagine being torn between two people. Torn between two snacks at a vending machine? Yes. Torn between two movies? Absolutely. But two different people? No. I think I would just know when I got to meet that certain someone.

“Hani, if you can’t decide between the two of them, then maybe...you don’t like either of them enough to really decide?” I asked.

A group of men and women came into BOSS and approached the front desk. At the forefront was an attractive dark brown haired man with piercing brown eyes and a jawline that could probably slice me up into delicate slices if I rubbed him the wrong way. Something about him had me on edge.

Maybe it was just the jawline.

He smiled at me and my thighs pressed harder against each other. Well, that was new. It had to be a record to turn someone on with just a look.

His smile made me feel like he just ripped off my black top and slacks and he liked what he saw.

Uh oh.

“Hi,” he said. Jesus, his voice was like velvet.

“Welcome to BOSS,” I croaked. Get it together, I told myself.

From the corner of my eye, Hani chimed in, “I think you can handle this, Vi. Toodles!” She sauntered off to the employees’ lounge.

I turned swiftly to Hani. “Think about what I said!” I doubted she heard me.

The man laughed, almost like he was in on what Hani and I were talking about.

“Sorry,” I said as I reluctantly turned back to him. He was so pretty it hurt to stare at him for too long. Not like I had the nerve to do so. I felt like I would turn to stone from maintaining eye contact for too long. Once I let myself meet his eyes...he had a hold on me. I couldn’t explain it. “Do you have a reservation?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” He said as he proceeded to eye me up and down. Shamelessly.

My cheeks, typically flushed because of genetics, were blazing now. Hopefully, my foundation concealed that fact but by the trace of humor in his expression, I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Do you guys have any EXO songs?!” One of the man’s friends, a bombshell in a wine red skin-tight sleeveless number, asked me. She was buzzed but friendly enough.

I answered. “Yes, we do. Would you guys like to make a walk-in reservation? We have rooms available.”

The man nodded. “Yes, please. We would like the VIP lounge experience if that’s possible.” The VIP lounge experience included unlimited drinks and food platters of their choice. It also included up to 3 hours of the karaoke room.

Of course, they were rich. Or maybe they were just really treating themselves. Dad reminded me that there were people who were willing to pay a lot for the VIP experience and we more than embraced it for the business. “Okay, awesome. How would you like to pay?” Anxiety had me a little less than thrilled that there were 10 people that may want to split checks but the man interrupted my inner reverie.

“Under Taeyong Lee.” He pointed at himself and grinned, possessing a boyish charm in that instant.

I was thankful I had my computer as a distraction because I was about to melt under his stare. He was paying for the whole group? “All right. That will be $1,480. How will you be paying?”

Taeyong handed me his American Express black card. I took it from his hands and incidentally, his fingertips touched mine.

His conspiratorial smile never left his face as he watched me charge his card.

I printed out his receipt so he could sign the merchant copy of it. I handed him his card, the receipt, and pen for him to sign and feared he would touch me again when he handed them back. I was about to get a nosebleed, I could feel it.

He swiped the receipt and pen back across the counter to me. “Thank you.” He smiled more softly.

Well, that was a little better. I was still turned on but I wasn’t about to come in my pants. He was probably a huge flirt at whatever conglomerate he worked at because, getting a better look at him, he wore a well-fitted black suit and tie. He was a little too formal for a karaoke bar. Maybe he was coming from somewhere else? I wondered where-

“Um...Violet?” He read my name tag.

I blinked a few times in succession. “Y-yes?”

“Are we good to go?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah! Let me take you guys to your room.” I got the key to VIP Room 3 out of the secured drawer and stepped out from behind the front desk.

“Follow me, please,” I said, quickly so I wouldn’t keep questioning if Taeyong was eye fucking me.

I could feel him right behind me as we walked through the dark hall, illuminated by a subtle starlight effect and some strobe lights shining from the karaoke rooms’ windows.

We reached the VIP lounge. I unlocked the door for them and motioned for the group to enter. Once Taeyong headed in, I let out a breath of relief as the rest of his friends walked in. They were all attractive, with luminous skin and elegant clothes. They were all from high society and my guess was that they came from some charity function.

“Okay, so you guys are set. There are thirteen mics and there are three song selection tablets on the table by the TV screen. The menus are also available to you. I’ll have ViVi come and take your orders in the next few minutes. So make yourselves comfortable and enjoy!” I went through my awkward spiel, only to realize Taeyong was the only one paying attention.

Some of Taeyong’s friends yelled out “thank you” and “gamsahamnida”. I nodded as I left and shut the door. I sighed as I pressed my back against the wall adjacent to the door. I could finally process what happened. I knew that wasn’t all in my head. Taeyong was flirting.

And it probably meant nothing to him.

I walked back to the front desk where Hani was speaking to a few regulars. They left shortly after.

“He was interested.” Hani said conspiratorially.

“In the drink selections, maybe.” I checked my phone for notifications. I had a countdown app installed in my phone. I was two months away from attending the Thorne Gala. That sent a ping of excitement down my spine.

“Come on, Vi. I could sense the electricity.” Hani placed her hand on my shoulder.

“Some would say my awkwardness is palpable,” I shot back.

Hani rolled her eyes. “I bet he’ll come visit us before his reservation ends.”

“Oh, well that’s not fair. He’ll probably have a question about the-”

“Excuse me,” a third voice interrupted.

Like clockwork. Taeyong was back. I wondered if he meant to look at us like he wanted to hook up or if that was just a default setting for his features.

And then he smiled. I felt a sense of warmth radiating from him that I didn’t expect. I gulped.

“How can I help you?” I asked.

Hani muttered. “Eager to ask, aren’t you?”

I elbowed Hani’s side while Taeyong spoke, “I think this is yours.”

He brought his hand out to show my mood ring. The left half of the ring’s center was shaped like a crescent moon and the right half was shaped like the sun. In between the sun and moon was the gem that changed colors. My maternal grandmother gave it to me before she fell ill and shortly after passed. I rarely took it off.

Then I recalled I was fiddling with the ring in my hands and must have slipped it into my pants pocket. It must have fallen out while I was taking Taeyong and his friends to their room. That was odd. It was second nature for me to always put it back on my right ring finger.

“Oh, wow thank you.” I reached my hand out to take the ring back. He dropped the ring in my hand. I was so relieved to have it back in my grasp, putting it right back on. I glanced up at Taeyong. He blatantly stared. “I have to be more careful.”

He nodded. “You should.”

Hani lifted her eyebrows. “How did you know it was hers?”

Taeyong widened his eyes as I came to that realization.

“Lucky guess.” He shrugged immediately after but there was a trace of mischief in his eyes, if my suspicions were correct. And with that, he returned to his room.

A few hours went by and Taeyong’s group was the loudest of the bunch. It was to be expected. They just wrapped up an awe-inspiring performance of Ring Ding Dong by SHINee.

Hani yawned as she organized some files at the desk. I was tapping my recently done nails against the marble.

I was surprised that Hani didn’t press me about my nerves and how I wanted to see Taeyong again. The look he gave me when we asked him about my ring was an indicator of something. I just couldn’t figure out what that was.

Hani exclaimed. “Holy!”

I yelped. “What is it?!”

“Your little boy toy just showed up on my timeline.”

“My little…” I began skeptically as Hani shoved her phone to my face to show me a picture of Taeyong attached to a Korean news article she found on Tweetness.

“Lee Taeyong is the heir of Seoulmate Entertainment,” Hani explained to me. The article highlighted on Taeyong’s US adventures. Before Sunset, he was in Los Angeles. Before LA, it was Nashville. Before Nashville, it was New York City. He was a busy bee.

I gasped. “Wait, Seoulmate Entertainment? As in South Korea’s number 1 entertainment company? That Seoulmate Entertainment?”

Hani nodded. “I knew he looked familiar. I just didn’t think he would ever come to this part of the States. He and his inner circle usually go to Los Angeles. That’s the American hub for K-pop.”

“Then what brings them to Sunset?” I wondered.

“Sunset is a growing town with a lot to offer. And there was probably some shindig downtown. Did you see that Oscar de la Renta tux?” Hani’s eyes had a glimmer in them. Fashion was everything to her. She knew all of the brands and kept up with all of the latest lines. I knew the difference between a skirt and a skort and that was enough for me.

I had no idea how Hani knew Taeyong’s tux was Oscar de la Renta. I was still processing that he was a prince of the K-Pop kingdom. If not, the prince.

Fantastic. Another intimidation factor.

Just as we were digging deeper into the Taeyong topic, we heard a crash from one of the rooms. I jumped.

Hani huffed. “It better not be one of the champagne glasses.”

We were used to hearing glass break every now and then. I never enjoyed it. In this business, though, we had to be prepared for some drunk and rowdy customers.

I left my post to see what all the fuss was about when I heard glass break again and discovered that it was coming from Taeyong’s group. A wave of dread came over me.

I opened the door carefully, hoping no one else would throw anything.

I got a good look at the room. There were two broken champagne glasses on the floor, alcohol splattered all over. One couple was making out in the corner. One group was arguing while another was singing an OST. And in the left corner of the room, Taeyong was comforting a girl seated beside him. She was completely wasted, slumped over but still breathing. Taeyong looked tense as he ran his hand up and down her back. Once he saw me, his expression darkened. Like he was caught doing something I shouldn’t have seen.

I asked, “Everything okay? I’ll have someone come and clean up the mess. I have to charge the broken glasses to your account. Please step away from the-”

“No, that’s alright. We’re okay for now...We’re leaving soon. I’ll pay before we leave. I’m sorry about this.” He tried to sound casual, shrugging, like it was just one of those days that happened every now and then. How it couldn’t be helped.

And I could tell he wanted me to leave. I could see the pleading in his eyes.

I eyed the group warily. “Alright then…”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you.”

I returned to the front desk. “Well, Final Fantasy and his friends are having quite the night,” I said.

“Oh? Do tell,” Hani prodded.

“It’s a party in there all right. One girl, especially, is drunk out of her wits. And there’s some drama. I wouldn’t know what it’s about but if you have the balls to go and check again after Taeyong told me to skedaddle, be my guest.”

“Sounds like Master of the Universe is hiding something,” Hani said.

“If something breaks again, I’m gonna have to do something. I don’t want to charge him for more broken property or call the cops.” I could feel the tension in my jaw from clenching my teeth.

“Trust me, he’s not worried about paying for a couple of champagne glasses. And he can make bail, too,” Hani pointed out.

That didn’t impress me one bit.

After another hour, now 1:30 AM, nothing else had escalated. When I was about to ease up, the group exited the VIP lounge. I could hear some of them arguing in Korean. Taeyong was directing his frustrations at another nicely dressed man who had the supremely drunk woman on his back. The man yelled back at him and nearly lost his balance.

Why would any of them trust a drunk man to carry a drunk woman? It was ridiculous.

Taeyong made an attempt to pull the woman off of the man’s back but the man went ballistic, exclaiming what I would guess were profanities.

The man finally dropped the girl and I was close enough to catch her. Hani was right beside me to help her up. The man was squaring up for a fight with Taeyong as he started throwing punches in the air and finally landed one neatly in Taeyong’s perfect face.

Hani exclaimed in Korean. What she said must have been along the lines of “get the fuck out”.

The man was about to throw another punch when Taeyong grabbed his fist and twisted his arm. Taeyong pulled the man to him and muttered a few things into his ear. The man slouched as Taeyong released him. The man was now silent and oddly enough, compliant. I frowned, more confused and frightened by Taeyong.

Taeyong’s disturbed demeanor shifted as he apologized to us. “I am so sorry about my friend. He had too much to drink tonight so he lost his cool for a moment. He should be fine now. We’re leaving. May I?” He nodded towards the drunk girl.

I eyed him and his friends warily. “Is she safe with you?”

Taeyong nodded. “She was a little in over her head tonight.”

“No kidding,” I replied. I winced when the girl shifted in my grasp. I needed to lift weights more often.

“I’ll drive her home,” Taeyong insisted.

“How do I know you will?” I demanded.

“What do you mean?” His eyes got a little bigger and I was even more confused about his true nature. All I saw was contradiction upon contradiction.

“I don’t know if she’s going home with someone she can trust.” As enticing as Taeyong was, I knew better than to blindly trust a pretty face.

“I’m a man of my word, Violet.” There was no trace of the humor and charm he carried when he walked into the bar.

I didn’t relent. “Why should I believe you?”

He sighed and deliberated for a few seconds. “If it puts your heart at ease, come with me.”

“What?” I asked.

“You can drive with us. Make sure Miri gets back to her apartment and I don’t take her to my sex dungeon.”

I wouldn’t put it past him to have one.

“Taeyong.” I gave him a pointed look.

“Will you?” His eyes were doe-like.

“I-“ I started.

Hani warned, “Vi, you just met the guy.”

My shift doesn’t end for another 15 minutes. And to go with two strangers? Granted, one was drunk. But as for Taeyong...

If I looked up “lethal” in the dictionary, I’d be sure to find his picture.

I wanted to make sure this girl made it home safe, though. And beneath my hostility and nerves, I hoped to get a further glimpse at the enigma before me.

I asked Hani. “Will you guys be okay to close without me?”

Hani was about to protest again but stopped. “Text me, please. Your dad would kill me if anything happened to you.”

I nodded. Hani let Taeyong and me carry Miri. Taeyong was on Miri’s right and I was on her left. She was a little off-balance considering the height difference between Taeyong and me. It was a good thing I wore my wedges today or else we would’ve looked even more ridiculous.

I looked up at Taeyong. “All right, here’s how it’s going to go. We go in my car. You give me the directions to Miri’s place.”

Taeyong raised a slit eyebrow but he accepted. “You got it.”

Hani warned, “Be careful.”

I smiled at her reassuringly, “Nothing is going to happen, except...Taeyong?”

He adjusted Miri on his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“That will be $150 for the broken glasses.”

“It’s bold of you to go out with a stranger, isn’t it?” Taeyong asked from the backseat. I pulled out of my parking spot in the parking garage adjacent to BOSS. He provided me with Miri’s address that I put on Good Maps.

I rolled my eyes. “This is well past my comfort zone, sure.”

“Can I go home now?” Miri asked.

Miri sat in the passenger seat. She was now more tipsy than far gone. She had long thick brown hair that fell way past her shoulders, down to her hips. Her gorgeous bronze skin was adorned by the reflection of the street lights and neon signs.

“Don’t worry. Taeyong and I are taking you home,” I said.

She grinned. “Aren’t I lucky? What happened to Baekhyun?”

I assumed Baekhyun was the drunk guy who punched Taeyong.

Taeyong replied, “Shownu took him home. Baekhyun will text you in the morning.”

Miri nodded. “Sounds good.”

I raised my eyebrows at this exchange.

I could feel Miri stare at me. “I don’t know you but...I like you.”

Taeyong chuckled at that.

My eyes never strayed from the road but I replied. “I’m Violet. I’m just making sure you get home safe.”

“Thanks Violet...Taeyong’s a nice guy...Stuck up but nice…”

Taeyong scoffed at that.

“Well, that’s what you get for wearing that suit,” I muttered after we reached a stoplight and met his stare in the rearview mirror. His eyes were sharp and alert. Like he wouldn’t dare look away from me. It sent pleasant shivers down my spine, I admitted.

Taeyong asked, “What was that?”

I blushed. “Nothing..”

Miri giggled. “Keep your eyes on the road, Violet. Or else Taeyong is gonna land you a ticket.”

I faced the road again. Taeyong cleared his throat. The light turned green again.

“So Violet...how do you know Taeyong? Are you maybe one of his…” She started giggling.

“His…?” I wondered. Was I one of his playthings?

Taeyong cut right in. “No, Miri. She’s not. We met tonight at BOSS. She works there.”

“Oh yeah! You were so nice! And you’re really pretty.” Miri said as she laid her head against the window. She fell asleep not too long after.

One long agonizing minute passed. All the while, I had music quietly playing in the car from my recently played playlist. The song was “Amigos con Derechos” by Reik and Maluma.

Taeyong exhaled like he was just as tense as I was. “So Violet, what’s your story?”

“My story?”

“I’d like to know more about the pretty stranger in the driver’s seat.”

I nearly sputtered. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, I do. You caused quite the scene back there. So...I’m intrigued.”

Did he really just say that?

“Oh, I caused a scene?” I asked a little too quietly.

“Yes?” He sounded unsure now that he heard how annoyed I was. It was refreshing to hear him like that. Contrary to how he seemed: confident and owning any space he existed in.

“It was you and your friends that made a mess,” I said pointedly.

“What? I paid for it.” What a response.

“Are you kidding me?” I laughed.

“What?” He was even more confused.

“Why make a mess if you don’t have to? Do you know how much of an inconvenience it is for the staff to clean what you left behind and recover the losses from those champagne glasses?”

“I paid for those and I apologized. I’m so sorry again.” He meant it.

“Your friend was a real jerk. Being so irresponsible. Not looking out for her.” I nodded towards Miri. If I could get that jerk alone, I’d give him a piece of my mind. Even if he didn’t speak a lick of English.

“Violet, calm down.” I dared to think Taeyong was nervous.

“I hate what alcohol does to people who don’t know how to control their intake.”

“Violet.”

“And your other friends? None of them seemed to care. Someone should’ve told her to slow down.”

“Violet, stop. I get it.”

“You guys should be more careful next time.”

“Violet,” he said, emphasizing every syllable, snapping me out of my reverie.

“What?”

“Calm down.”

“I’ll calm down when you wake up!” When those words left my mouth, I remembered something I wanted to shove back into the recesses of my mind.

“I’ll calm down when you wake up!”

“If I’m asleep, Violet, then I never want to wake up!”

I didn’t realize I gripped the steering wheel so hard then.

Miri whined. “Can you keep it down?”

I winced at my outburst and pulled over to breathe.

Taeyong gave me a few moments before he carefully whispered, “Violet?”

In. Out. Dr. Mendes told me to breathe.

“Violet, are you okay?” He asked.

In. Out. I felt the pressure on my chest leaving.

I rubbed my hand over my face. “Yeah. I...got carried away.”

Silence followed. “Someone to Spend Time With” by Los Retros was playing quietly on the stereo now.

Taeyong started, “You’re right, you know...About my friends and me.”

I laughed weakly. “That’s music to my ears.”

“I’m an ass.”

I played with my hands, avoiding his gaze. Embarrassed. Even if Taeyong was an ass, I didn’t think it was right of me to snap at him like that. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry.” His tone was somber. Repentant.

He sounded much closer than he did so I turned around. He leaned on the driver’s seat. My arm bumping into his hand, which he’d placed on the shoulder of my seat. Like he wanted to touch my shoulder but was smart enough not to.

Taeyong’s face was very close to mine. The frustration I felt quickly transformed into a different kind.

“Thank you,” I said, my cheeks aflame.

He smiled warmly. His sharp features softened to show a cuter and more innocent side of him. He didn’t feel the tension I felt, it seemed. And that disappointed me.

I didn’t know what was up with me. Maybe my hormones were just out of control. It was just a few days before my period. Maybe it was because I haven't been with anyone in five years.

I put the car in drive. We were back en route to Miri’s house.

“So...Do you still want to know my story?” I asked, aiming to lighten the mood.

“Absolutely,” his voice was dripping with honey.

“Okay. But in return, you have to tell me about yourself. And what happened with your pal. Baekhyun, was it?”

He went silent when I said “Baekhyun” but then he relented. “Fine.”

I began, “Well, I was born and raised in Sunset. I went away for college in Atlanta before deciding to move back.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I wanted to work on my filmmaking career and earn money on the side.”

“Filmmaking?”

I nodded. “I’ve been into filming and editing since I was thirteen. I put those dreams on the backburner when I went to college. It was my junior year when it hit me. I wanted to film. I wanted to make something I could be proud to call my own. To see my own movies on the silver screen? That’s my dream.”

“That’s great. What are your movies about?”

I answered quickly, “Love.” I was a little too eager on that delivery.

Taeyong hesitated. “Love?”

“As flawed as people are, they deserve love. And there’s just so many kinds of love. Between friends. Family. Lovers. I want to focus on the ups and downs of all kinds of relationships. I want my audience to connect with what I create. If a thirty five year old man wants a love story about him and his podiatrist, I would make it.”

“A foot doctor?” Taeyong laughed.

“Everyone has a story, Taeyong.”

He pondered. “You’re right.”

I realized that I really poured my heart out to him then and proceeded to turn bright red. “Sorry, that was a little much...”

“Nah, it wasn’t. You really lit up when you were talking just now. I like seeing you that way.”

I wanted to turn around and lock lips with him.

He continued, “I’m happy for you. It’s beautiful...Your dream. You know what you want.” He sounded almost melancholic. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say his case was different.

I coughed as Miri tossed and turned in her corner. “Thank you.”

He grinned at me through the rearview mirror. “Now you can ask me some personal questions.”

I laughed at that. “Oh, I will. So...Where did you study? And what’s your biggest dream? It’s only fair you answer these since I exposed myself to you.”

We were both stunned to silence when I realized my choice of words.

I added, “You know what I mean.” My blush was just going to be my best friend tonight. Might as well own it.

“I attended Seoul University, majoring in business administration and music composition.”

I remembered the article Hani showed me. It was no wonder he was studying both if he was going to inherit his father’s company. “That’s awesome. You’re versatile. There’s so much you can do with both majors.”

“Yeah...Honestly, I prefer music composition. My father required I major in Business Administration.”

“I see...So are you expected to take over your father’s business?”

He asked, “How did you know about my father’s business?”

I choked. “Well...Hani and I looked you up...On GoodSearch.”

“Oh?” Why did it sound like he was smiling?

“Hani thought you looked familiar so we looked you up. But don’t worry we didn’t go too deep into it. Who knows what we could uncover?”

“What are you implying?” He asked, suspicious.

“Oh, nothing at all,” I teased.

He laughed. His laugh was rich and warm. Not like the teasing laughter I’ve heard.

He continued, “But yeah, since my parents found out I was a boy in my mother’s womb, my fate was sealed.”

“That’s...intense.”

“You don’t know the half of it…”

And with that, there was another silence. What could I say to that? It wasn’t like I could relate. Plus, he didn’t seem like the type to enjoy pity.

I said, “Alright, next topic…What is your biggest dream?” I cringed. Maybe that question was too cheesy. But what other way was there to say it?

“I don’t have a damn clue.”

I gaped. “Nothing?”

“It feels like I’m on autopilot. Like I’m living by a schedule and I’m just expected to show up wherever the schedule tells me to.”

I hesitated but gave into what I really wanted to know. “You don’t want to inherit your dad’s company...do you?”

He thought about it for a moment. “I’m not sure, Violet.”

We pulled up to a high rise in North Bay Village and parked in the guest area.

Taeyong said, “Alright, Miri, you’re home! Wakey wakey.”

I tapped Miri on the shoulder and she groaned, “Five minutes, Baekhyun.”

Thanks Miri for reminding me of why exactly I couldn’t trust Taeyong in the first place.

Taeyong got out of the backseat and opened the passenger door.

I got out of the driver’s seat and stood beside Taeyong.

I asked. “How are we going to do this?”

Taeyong replied, “Let’s grab her arms and go from there.”

So we did. Miri laughed. “Guys! That tickles!” She finally stood up.

“Can you stand on your own?” I asked.

She attempted to walk and wobbled so Taeyong and I caught her before she face planted against the concrete. “If I lean on something, yeah…”

Taeyong and I gave each other a look.

“You take one side and I’ll take the other,” he said.

“Sounds good.”

We got Miri to put one arm over my shoulders and the other over Taeyong’s. “You guys are amazing. Thank you sooooo much for bringing me home. I promise to invite you guys over soon and make you some lasagna,” Miri said as she nuzzled Taeyong and then me.

I laughed and asked, “Where are we going?”

“Miri, what floor are you on?” Taeyong asked.

“Sixteenth!” She exclaimed.

“And...you have your keys, right?” Taeyong eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah, they’re in my purse. Can you check for me?” Miri asked me.

I checked her neon pink handbag. Thankfully, the keys were there. “Yup.”

Miri yelled, elated. “To the sixteenth floor, gentlemen!”

We stopped at Miri’s doorstep as she fumbled with her keys. She handed them to me. “Will you be a doll and open my door?”

I unlocked her door and we brought her in.

“Jesus Christ, Miri. I thought you weren’t going to be home for another two hours!” A female voice piped up from one of the rooms.

“Sorry to interrupt your ME time, Barbara! Your solo stage. Your me, myself, and I!” She erupted in laughter. “Do you want to meet my friends?!”

“Fuck, Miriam. You have people over?!” Barbara didn’t sound thrilled.

We helped Miri to her bedroom and she plopped onto her bed.

Miri said, “Thank you guys. I’m sorry for all of the trouble…”

Taeyong shook his head. “As long as you’re okay.”

“Do you need some water or anything?” I asked her.

“Nah, it’s fine. Babs will take care of me. She owes me.”

Taeyong and I walked out of the high rise. As we walked back over to my car, I remembered his interrogation wasn’t over.

“So what happened tonight? Broken glasses. Yelling. A fight that almost made me call the cops on your asses.”

Taeyong met my eyes for a moment before staring off in the distance again. “Baekhyun had too much to drink and lost control. We’re not the best of friends but we run in the same circles.”

“Is he Miri’s boyfriend?”

“I wouldn’t say that. They’re pretty casual. I got pissed because he wasn’t really looking out for her like he should’ve.”

“I see…Well, you did a good thing.” I felt like an ass for thinking he didn’t care about her. He wasn’t perfect but I shouldn’t have written him off the way I did.

He put his hands in his extravagant pockets. “Yeah?”

“You were quite the gentlemen,” I admitted.

He chuckled. “You went out of your way to help a stranger. It was very noble of you.”

“You think so?”

“Now don’t act modest, Violet. You know you did a good but stupid thing tonight.”

I was floored. He was right about that.

Up until this point, Taeyong didn’t show any signs of snapping my neck and leaving me for dead. But I wouldn’t confirm that until he got out of my car when we headed back.

Taeyong continued, “You let two complete strangers into your car. A personal place...” He moved himself closer to me. “And you don’t even know me.”

“That was stupid. But...you don’t seem that dangerous to me. Foolish? Yeah. But dangerous? I don’t think so.” Oh, if my parents could hear me at that moment.

We reached my car. He paused and got a good look at me. “It’s sweet of you to think that.”

Taeyong sat in the passenger seat this time. He gave me his phone. “Play anything you want. Do you like K-Pop?”

“Do I? Oh ho ho let’s see what you’ve got.”

I scrolled through his Berry Music streaming app and was shocked to find SHINee’s upcoming album.

“No fucking way. You have access to SHINee’s new album? It doesn’t come out for another two weeks!”

Taeyong beamed. “Being my father’s son has its perks.”

“God, would it be okay if we listened to it?”

“My library is yours, Violet.”

We drove, heads bobbing to another SHINee triumph. We talked about what SHINee songs were our favorites and talked more about music. We liked a lot of the same artists. And somehow ice cream came up in the conversation and he admitted he had the biggest sweet tooth. It was so contradictory to his persona but I liked it. The ride back was faster, I was disappointed to realize. The traffic, unfortunately, died down real quick.

But when the last song played, the atmosphere shifted. It was a sensual song. I didn’t need to know Korean to know that. It was in Taemin’s voice. And the infamous bedspring sound effects SM was known for. And the English phrase: stay with me tonight.

The head bobbing stopped and I felt like the oxygen was quickly escaping from my car.

We reached a stop light that I knew ran pretty long so I took the chance to look at Taeyong.

I regretted it.

Because he was staring. Hard. His eyes were lustful and he gave me a half smile. He bit his lip and I wondered if we could pull over into the Target parking lot and just be wild animals.

A car beeped me out of the temptation. The stop light was green now. Eyes back on the road.

We arrived back at the parking garage. It was almost empty. BOSS was closed and everyone had gone home. I parked beside Taeyong’s Maserati and shut the engine off.

“So…” I began.

“So…” He mirrored.

“I guess this is...goodbye.”

“Yeah.” He looked sad, defeated even.

I forced a smile because even I was supremely bummed at not seeing this gorgeous specimen again. I felt like tonight was the beginning of something. What that was...I didn’t know. But I wanted to.

“Thanks for the ride back, Violet.” And he just stared at me. Kind of expectantly.

I avoided his stare. “Good night.”

“Good night, Violet.” He opened the passenger door gently. Was I crazy or was he slowly getting out of the car?

He got out of the car and shut the door.

Oh, fuck it.

I pulled my keys out of the ignition, shoved them and my phone in my front jeans pockets, and got out of my car.

“Taeyong!” I yelled. My voice echoed in the garage but I didn’t care. He was about to open his car door but I ran up to him before he could.

“What’s up?” He asked.

I got up on my tiptoes, pulled his face closer, and kissed him.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I just had to know what his lips would feel like. If there was a connection there.

Instantly, he took my face into his hands and deepened the kiss. I allowed his tongue into my mouth and our tongues were fighting it out over who could die from arousal. I ran my hands through his hair and he was caressing my upper body. He cupped my ass and picked me up off the ground. He moaned and so help me, it was the hottest thing I’d ever heard. I could feel his member rising against my pelvis. And I knew he could feel how soaked I was.

I needed air so I relinquished myself and Taeyong groaned.

Traces of my lipstick were on his lips. I giggled as I wiped them off.

Taeyong looked impatient. “Can we-“

My phone vibrated in my pocket. Taeyong, his hands very fond of my ass, glared at my phone as I grabbed it from my pocket.

It was Hani. Crap, I never texted her.

I answered, “Hey.”

Hani almost destroyed my right ear drum. “Hey? HEY?! Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve been worried! Are you okay? Where are you?”

Taeyong watched me, the lust very palpable. Radiating off of his luminous skin. The typically unflattering parking garage lights couldn’t do anything to this man.

I gulped. “Hani, I’m so sorry! I’m okay. I was dropping Taeyong off at his car. We’re in the garage.”

Hani let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God! I could kill you!”

Taeyong adjusted himself and he was getting very needy. Everything about him was.

“I’m going home now, don’t worry.” I said, lying. Half feeling bad and half wanting to hang up.

“Is he still with you?” Hani asked, not hiding her disgust and annoyance.

I froze before I let out, “Y-yes.”

“I’m just gonna take a wild guess. You’re gonna hook up with him. If not, you’re in the process...And I’m interrupting.”

I hesitated.

“So which one is it?”

“It’s the second,” I admitted.

“Oh...Oh!!!!!” Hani laughed. “So...I’m guessing he checks out then?”

I blushed. “Yeah.”

Taeyong gave me a playful annoyed look. He could hear everything Hani was saying.

Hani sighed. “Text me when you get home. Don’t stay out too late.”

“All right. Good night, Hani. And I’m sorry again.”

Hani tsked. “Just don’t leave me hanging. As long as you’re okay, I’m happy.”

“Thanks Hani.”

“Good night, purple moon.” She said suggestively, using one of my nicknames. She hung up.

Taeyong grabbed my phone out of my hands. He stuffed it in my pocket. He pulled me closer and initiated a kiss.

He was so strong and commanding with every movement. He held me tightly and securely. I knew he wouldn’t let me fall. It was like I didn’t weigh much to him. He was stronger than I imagined.

He moved his lips down to my neck, peppering it with kisses and looking up into my eyes with so much affection. And then he sucked at my neck. I moaned so loudly that I could hear the echoes. I took off his jacket and he chucked it back to the hood of his car. I ran my hands all over his abdomen. Rock solid to no one’s shock. I began unbuttoning his dress shirt and could see tufts of his chest hair peek out. I wished my hands could work faster.

And then, once again, we were interrupted. Taeyong’s phone rang. He grabbed it out his pocket while handling me with one hand.

Taeyong spat out something in Korean before he answered.

Answering, he bit out, “What?”

Whatever the other person said on the other line, it annoyed Taeyong.

He responded in Korean, leaving me confused and impatient. Now I knew how he felt when Hani called. Only I felt worse because I didn’t know what he was saying and I didn’t know what was going on.

Taeyong ended the call and he looked bothered.

“You okay?” I asked him.

His features relaxed when he looked at me. “I could kill Shownu.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I have to go,” he said. “Baekhyun’s being a lousy drunk.”

“Oh.” I looked down, not wanting him to see my disappointment.

He tenderly took my chin and lifted my face up to look at him. He kissed my nose. “I’m sorry.”

I sighed. “Me, too.”

He put me down and he walked me back to the driver’s seat of my car. I got in, fastened my seat belt, and turned on the engine. Taeyong hung out right outside the door, lingering.

“I guess it wasn’t meant to be,” I said, “But...it was nice while it lasted.”

“I don’t think nice is the right word,” he said as he gave you the same look he did during that SHINee song.

My throat dried up. “You should go.”

“Not until you give me your number,” he said.

I did a double take. “Really?”

“Yeah.” His sexy smile graced his well-sculpted face.

“O-okay.”

We exchanged numbers. I gave him my phone so he could add my number. He even took a picture of himself for his contact photo, making a goofy face.

I laughed and did the same when he gave me his phone. I looked at my selfie. I cringed. I should’ve just tried doing a cute pose.

Taeyong was very close to me as I carefully analyzed my photo. “Cute.”

I yelped and he laughed.

“Relax. I don’t bite...Unless you want me to,” he said.

“Ooookay! Well, here’s your phone back!” I avoided his glance. “I gotta get going.”

“Okay.” His smile softened. He gently took my hand and kissed it.

“Sweet dreams, Violet.”

;;

Intro: Epilogue

(A/N: the following conversation is in Korean so think of this as a translation)

Taeyong was cursing himself for leaving Violet to go tend to his idiot friends. And Baekhyun wasn’t even a friend and acquaintance was too nice of a title to bestow on such an unworthy person. He parked in the driveway of his beach house in Sunset Shores and entered. He went up the stairs to Baekhyun’s room.

Taeyong knocked. Shownu answered, noticing how Taeyong’s hair looked disheveled and how flushed he looked. He didn’t want to pry. He motioned for Taeyong to come in.

Baekhyun was inside, his arms handcuffed to the headboard of the bed. The handcuffs were made to keep people like Baekhyun from moving too much. “Taeyong, you little shit. Get me out of these.”

Taeyong sneered. “After what you did tonight? Nearly blowing our cover? What were you thinking?”

Baekhyun stammered. “Miri said I could so I went for it! There’s no issue.”

“I had to have someone break into the surveillance room and manipulate the footage, you moron.”

“Taeyong-“ Baekhyun started.

“You need to get it through your thick skull that we can’t afford to let anyone know the truth about us. Not if we hope to claim what we want.”

Baekhyun laughed. “What we want? This isn’t about any of us. This is about your vendetta against your ex.”

Taeyong moved closer to Baekhyun and pressed the cuffs harder against Baekhyun’s skin, causing him to cry out in pain.

“You want my protection? A piece of my wealth? Then do as I say, Hyung.” He spat the last word, knowing it humiliated Baekhyun to be subject to his junior.

Taeyong turned to Shownu, who waited for his instruction.

“Shownu, he’ll be fasting for the next week,” Taeyong said.

Shownu, not really one to display intense emotion, blinked in surprise. Baekhyun yelled, “Do you want to die, Taeyong?”

Taeyong smiled. “You should be asking yourself that.”

Track 1 (Coming Soon)

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