#anyway here's a sub-par at best joke

[mitsies]

proposal ; satoru gojo

gojo satoru proposes quite often. each time, it all goes terribly wrong.

satoru gojo x gn reader, proposal, established relationship, parenthood (later!!), dad!gojo, 5+1 trope, so much fluff!!!

the first time gojo satoru asks you to marry him, he ends up nearly choking to death. he recalls it with a faux bitterness, and you with indignance and a tinge of amusement.

it was a fancy dinner restaurant, with low-hanging chandeliers and the aroma of obnoxious perfumes. people clothed in dressy designer gowns and suits flocked the bar and tables. you watched them as you sipped your drink, wondering what they were doing here tonight.

"that man with the red spotted tie? i bet the younger lady he's with is his mistress."

gojo's words made you choke back a laugh. his voice was low, to avoid anyone overhearing. he smiled at how your lips pursed to hide your smile.

this was your favorite game- you would find a person to observe, eyeing them, and gojo would follow your gaze. he'd then create a backstory for them- a game of fill-in-the-blank based on their actions and appearance.

the both of you would often go on fancy dinner dates (with gojo being vain and rich and enjoying dressing up, and with you benefitting from him being happy,) but today was a more momentous occasion. it was the two of you's 6th anniversary of dating.

you weren't expecting much, nor did you want a lot. just the regular flowers, sub-par wine, and overpriced food would do. you were content with his presence and no greater plans.

gojo, however, had other ideas for today. without your knowledge, he'd coordinated with the kitchen staff to create a secret proposal scheme- and he did a damn good job if he said so himself.

a large, gaudy, and expensive ring was stowed away inside a cupcake of your favorite flavor. there'd be two to share, and when you bit into it, you'd discover his proposal and say yes. that was gojo's plan, anyways.

when the plate of sweet treats were brought out, they just looked too good. gojo couldn't help but have his right away too- after all, it was best to avoid suspicion, right? so he popped the whole thing into his mouth like a pill.

and gagged. loudly.

a piece of fine silver, an immaculately cut and expensive diamond, and the tiny lapis lazuli studs in the form of a gaudy engagement ring was lodged in his throat.

at this point in the story, gojo typically pretends to forget what happened afterward. you would laugh and explain to the audience that he did, in fact, have to get heimlich-maneuvered by an elderly man. he ended up spitting out the ring and you never even knew it was there, assuming he was choking on his overly-chewy steak.

that date ended with an unpaid bill, apologetic staff, and an embarrassed couple. 'an ultimate success', gojo would chime into your story, since he 'got you in the end'.

you'd snort a laugh and push his shoulder playfully. 'more like an ultimate fuck-up', you'd smile. he would grin right back at you, brighter than a diamond.

the second time gojo satoru proposes, you get hit by a car.

it's a warm, sleepy day in thailand. gojo opted to take you with him as his plus one to some stuffy clan event being held there. instead of attending the event fully, though, the two of you decide to leave 10 minutes in to roam the unfamiliar streets.

the sun is about to set and it's held in the sky by the clouds, cradling it like a child. the world is alight with oranges and the streets are quiet. it's an abandoned little town, the one you end up in.

the buildings are dilapidated and birds nest in the rafters of old structures. graffiti decorates the walls and empty boxes line the streets. vines and flowers and grasses bloom and blossom through the cracks and creases of the decaying village, like nature was reaching back into the world to take what was hers.

your formal wear was itchy on your skin but you really didn't mind, as you laughed like a fool as satoru made stupid joke after stupid joke. his smile was enough to rival the setting sun as he beamed at you as if he'd never seen anything more beautiful.

gojo, who'd been a few paces ahead of you, falls into step next to you before grabbing your hand to get you to stop walking.

he says your name and it's more gently than usual. "look at the sky," he whispers, like it's a secret.

you look up to the expanse of tumbling clouds and the streaks of dusk and you're left breathless by the unusual serenity of it.

"it's not half as pretty as you." gojo is so quiet you almost can't hear him, but you smile a little. you turn, about to make fun of him for being cheesy and cliche, and then it's all a blur- you see satoru, on the floor for some reason? and you hear jingling and satoru shouts something and- 'bam!' gojo would pantomime, gesturing an explosion with his hands.

you'd roll your eyes before continuing the story. an elderly driver with a done-up and ancient, creaky, rickshaw had slammed you into the pavement and kept on driving.

you lay, dazed, back on the ground. gojo appeared in your vision, blurry and doubled. panic is prominent on his face, and you feel his hands on you.

for a few minutes, as gojo tries to manage both his own anger at the old driver and the fact that his partner just got hit by a rickshaw going at 100 miles per hour.

he helps you sit up, and you do so slowly. you're still seeing doubles of everything and the word is spinning and your head hurts like hell, but you don't think your bleeding, and gojo is slowly coming back into focus so you're probably, maybe okay.

'it was traumatizing,' gojo would narrate, 'blood everywhere, guts on the floor, everything.'

you'd smack gojo's shoulder and he'd cackle like a fool.

'it wasn't bad,' you would state, 'he's making it seem like i was on the verge of death. i was not.'

'i was not,' gojo mimicked. you'd shove your shoulder into him and he laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist.

this story ends with you in the hospital with a minor concussion and gojo stashing the engagement ring in his suit pocket and tucking it into the depths of his overly-stuffed suitcase.

'god, you getting hit by a car-'

'rickshaw,' you corrected, 'not a car.'

gojo side-eyed you. 'like i said, a car, was so inconvenient.'

you glare at him, and you hear your audience laugh. 'next time, the car is going to be hitting you. and it won't be just a concussion.'

attempt number 3 is less painful for you, but incredibly embarrassing for gojo.

it's snowing on the school campus. you and satoru observed as maki beat the shit out of yuta, as per usual. you wince as a particularly brutal blow strikes him.

"jesus, she's not holding back."

gojo smiles. "i wouldn't want her to. how else is he meant to learn?"

you raise an eyebrow. "i'm surprised you're allowed to be a teacher."

"me too!"

the silence pursuing your words is comfortable, the only thing breaking being the loud smacks coming from the field until gojo says:

"i'm sure they'll be fine. want to go for a walk?"

you tsk as he stands from the bench you are both sitting on. "now, what kind of teacher would that make you, satoru?"

"one with priorities."

you smile and take his extended hand. "damn right."

your walk is quiet. neither of you speaks much, and you're both happy that way. sometimes, silence is lovely.

gojo is not quiet around many. he is, by nature, loud, and that is something he hadn't grown out of. you feel a little blessed that he can find it in himself to be peaceful when you're around, though.

he's holding your gloved hand but you can still feel the cold emanating from his palm as he leads you through a grove of leafless trees, just behind the school campus.

"i love the snow," he says at some point.

you hum in agreement and steal a glance at him. satoru looks angelic in this scene, under a snow-filled tree, like a heavenly deity that you had the honor of encountering.

you turn your face so he doesn't see you staring. you've been together for years at this point, but you don't feel like embarrassing yourself at this moment.

when satoru lets go of your hand, though, you turn back around from your faux-examination of the winter scenery- just in time to see a big cloud of snow from the tree drop onto gojo's head.

he collapses from his place on the ground (why was he on the ground?), and he looks like a surprised deer. only his head peeks through the pile of white around him.

you stare for a beat before breaking out into laughter, so hard it makes your ribs hurt- and in the distance, you hear even more people laughing. you glance around to see the current 1st-years, yuta, maki, inumaki, and panda doubled over in laughter. panda had a phone out, presumably recording the whole scene.

'i should've killed him,' gojo grumbled, and you snort.

'too bad. he'd already sent the video to everyone, so that wouldn't really help your case.'

'maybe it's not too late.'

'i think it is. it's all okay though, right? because it all worked out in the end?'

you batted your lashes and gojo huffed at your blatant mockery of his previous words.

'well, i suppose you were worth it all. just barely, though.'

the final failed proposal was gojo's last ditch attempt at making it romantic.

it's your average day, about 6 months after the last mishap. spring flowers blossom all around your little picnic blanket as you smooth it over the grass. satoru places the basket over in the corner and began to unpack it.

it was one of the rare days when you both had a little time off, so in honor of the good weather, you and satoru opted to spend a while outside.

what you don't know is that satoru has a skywriter scheduled to come out in 5 minutes, to pull across a banner asking you to marry him.

and what satoru doesn't know is that the company he'd booked had a 2-star yelp rating.

so, when the skywriter dances across the blue canvas with a grey trail of letters following it, your name is spelled wrong. very wrong. to the point where it's unrecognizable.

"gertrude, will you marry me?"

you read out the words the skywriter spelled out, and smile dumbly. gojo wants to gouge his eyes out. "good for gertrude. strange name, though."

and then it starts raining. like, really raining. torrents of water rush down from the sky out of nowhere, soaking the both of you in a matter of moments.

"okay, well," gojo tries to conceal his disappointment, "i guess this was kind of a bust."

but you smile at him and he's not too upset anymore, because how could he be?

"there's always next time, satoru. could you help me with the stuff?"

the both of you rush to clean up your picnic. and then, you hear a rumble of thunder in the distance.

the hairs on the back of your neck rise and you think satoru feels it too because he grabs your hand and tugs you away. "i think we should go-"

a loud, crackling noise followed by an astonishingly bright light strikes the place where your picnic blanket used to lay. a small stream of smoke billows, before its vanquished by the water.

gojo looks at you. you look at him. and wordlessly, the both of you leave the park as quickly as you can.

(what neither of you realizes is that a little box with an over-the-top engagement ring was left abandoned at the park that day, never to be seen again.)

without the engagement ring, gojo isn't quite sure what he's meant to do.

he could try again. he could buy another one. but honestly, the demotivation he's feeling wouldn't do anything for his proposal skills. he is feeling very much slumped.

it's a week after the picnic fiasco, and life has been as normal for you. but for gojo, he's been stressing over everything for what feels like an eternity.

it's the last friday of springtime when he comes home from teaching to you laying on the couch. you're reading a book with a red cover in your flannel pajama pants and his oversized t-shirt. you look so good, and gojo doesn't know what to do with himself so he just stares at you from the doorway like some creep before entering your shared apartment.

he calls out a greeting to you and you reply in kind, asking how his day was. he keeps the conversation going as he showers, calling out his replies. he returns in his own overpriced loungewear and slides next to you on the couch.

he lays his head on your lap, looking up at you. you diligently and wordlessly rearrange to make this more comfortable for both of you.

the last rains of spring are pounding against the windows of your home, and the sky outside is dark blue. the yellow lighting of the lamp casts a warm glow on the two of you, and gojo thinks it brings out your eyes, and he doesn't know what he's saying when he says it but it's spoken nonetheless:

"i want to marry you."

you don't react in the slightest, flipping the page of the book you're reading and working your free hand through gojo's hair. but he doesn't miss how your movements falter for a moment, just a second.

"haha. funny."

gojo sits up. you're looking at him now, and he sees a flicker of confusion flit across your face.

"i'm serious. i mean it."

you blink. "you want to marry me."

he nods.

"oh."

"so..." gojo scoots back from you on the couch, so he's not in your face. "this is me proposing."

and then he waits. he waits for the burglar to come in and shoot both of you in the face. he waits for the microwave oven to explode in the kitchen and set the apartment on fire. he waits for the ceiling to collapse and bury you both in the rubble. he waits for you to say no.

"then i guess this is me saying yes."

but he is waiting for nothing. he smiles at you, so brightly that he could illuminate the stormy nighttime sky. and you kiss him, this boy made of diamond, as if he's going to disappear.

'i was so smooth, you can't lie,' gojo said with a stupid smirk.

'you're right, i can't lie. and you weren't smooth. at all.'

two little voices giggle and your heart was infinitely warmed.

you and satoru were sat telling your story to your young kids, aged 6 and 7. it was late on a wednesday, and you'd run out of stories to tell, so you resorted to the undoubtedly entertaining tale behind your engagement.

'you're so silly, dad!' said your 6-year-old daughter shigure. she had recently learned what the word 'silly' meant, so obviously it had to be used in every sentence ever. 'so so silly!

satoru ruffled her hair and you were taken for a moment at how similar the two were.

your 7-year-old son, fuyuki, interjected. 'i'm too old for bedtime stories now but i like this one i guess.'

you raised an eyebrow. 'oh, really? i guess we won't read you them anymore. y'know, since you're too old and cool for them-'

'no! i was just kidding!'

you snort. 'okay. i see.'

satoru stood and you followed suit, wishing the children goodnight before shutting off the lights in their room.

your husband sighed before stretching and cracking his back. he winced at the sound.

'you really are getting old,' you said lightly. he glared at you playfully.

'says the one whose hearing is giving out already.'

you waved a finger at him. 'that is a direct result of getting hit by a car-'

'rickshaw,' satoru corrected.

'a car,' you repeated, 'which, by the way, is technically all your fault.'

satoru groaned as you both made your way to your own bedroom. 'that was forever ago.'

'still feels like yesterday.'

'sure it does, grandpa.'

you were, at this point, by your bedside. so you threw a pillow at him.

he (almost) caught it and threw it back onto your bed. 'get in, spouse #1.'

you exhaled a breath of laughter. 'you first, #2.'

the night was cold as you slid in after satoru, and in all honesty, he was even colder, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

your head laid close to his chest and you could feel the rising and falling of his breathing. you tried to match it.

'i'm glad i asked you.'

his voice was out of nowhere. you raised your head to look at him inquisitively.

'i mean,' he amended, 'i'm glad this is how things ended up. really glad.'

you thought about your life. you thought about how you met, about the restaurant anniversary, about the crazed rickshaw driver, about the video of gojo losing to the snow, about the lightning and your failed picnic, about the rain against the windows and the color of the book you were reading, about everything from then til now.

there were so many words you could have said to tell him about how much you agreed. but you opt to return your head to his chest and listen to his heartbeat.

'i'm glad too,' is all you said. he already knew.

the name shigure means rainshower in late summer, winter, or autumn.

the name fuyuki means wintery tree.

#gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojou x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen gojou #jujutsu gojo #satoru gojo #gojou satoru #gojou satoru x you #satoru gojou #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #imagine #gojo imagine #gojou #gojo #girl what do i tag

[the-geeky-fangirl]

Poe: did a stormtrooper just pull me over and call me a queer? Yes. And I know we're about this Fuck Stormtroopers lifestyle but like after looking at him.....

Poe: .....

Poe: I did wanna fuck stormtrooper I-

#I'm sorry I know I haven't shut up about finnpoe in weeks #but that's just because I'm physically incapable of that #anyway here's a sub-par at best joke #stormpilot #finnpoe #finn star wars #finn sw #poe dameron #finn dameron #i will take that tag to me grave thank you #gay poe dameron #bi finn sw #star wars sequel trilogy #star wars #fuck disney #for not making them canon honestly #stormtrooper #star wars the rise of skywalker #star wars the force awakens #star wars the last jedi #john boyega #oscar isaac

[petitepandabear]

The Empty Office | Chapter 14 | Erwin’s Ending

Words: 1835

The next morning was full of administrative formalities. You met the new employee, Jean Kirstein, and you couldn’t help but feel a little wary of him. He was polite enough, attentive, helpful, but some cocky gleam in his eyes rubbed you the wrong way. You weren’t interested in becoming particularly close with him. Not that you’d have the option to do that anyway, with the end of your time at the company drawing near. Opting to ignore the nervous energy you had about leaving, you tried your best to focus on helping Jean get settled in.

“And this is your office. It’s a little bare, and you might find some of Eren’s old sketches bunched up and tossed into some corner. But I promise it’s a nice space.”

“I’ll make it mine soon enough,” he commented. “Quick question though, why did Eren leave?”

You took a deep breath. “He has dreams he wants to pursue. You know, art and stuff. I’m glad he’s starting on that.”

“He’s serious about art?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “He’s really good.”

“I didn’t know that,” he paused for a moment. “The two of us have known each other for a long time you know.”

“Oh really?”

“He actually recommended the job to me. Said it was because he owed something to some girl. I’m assuming that’s you?”

You stared at him with a blank expression. Had Eren felt guilty for leaving you with all his work? That was oddly sweet of him, finding someone to be his replacement even though he should have been focusing on his own pursuits. You smiled at the thought.

“I guess it is,” Jean commented, noticing your softening countenance. “I’m surprised you managed to be friends with him.”

“He’s actually pretty sweet,” you shrugged, leading Jean to the next step of your tour. “I don’t see how the two of you wouldn’t get along.”

“We have a tough history,” he mumbled. “In any case, what about you? Erwin told me that you’re leaving.”

“I am, I think it’s about time I do something else with my life,” you passed him a binder full of company policies and procedures as you spoke. “I’m trying to publish a book, so my time is absolutely consumed by that.”

“That’s cool. What’s it about?”

“It’s a sub-par romance,” you laughed. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Jean chuckled. “If it hits the shelves one day I might pick it up.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” you mumbled. “In any case, if you just read through those pages, you should get a pretty good grasp of our operations here. I can send the PDFs to you if that’s helpful. As for the specifics of your responsibilities, Erwin’s assistant will email a comprehensive guide.”

“I’ve worked in business before, don’t worry. I know how to handle myself.”

You smiled and gave him a nod. He seemed to be the proud type. It didn’t bother you completely, but you wondered how he would fit in with the rest of the team. Maybe he’d turn out differently than your first impression indicated, you hoped that was the case, but for now you were struggling to give him the benefit of the doubt

“Well I’ll leave you to look those over,” you mumbled, walking past him. “If you need anything, just ask the girl in Erwin’s office. She can guide you to whatever it is you need.”

He responded with a quick thanks, and you took your chance to turn on your heel and head to the elevator. It was about time for your mid-morning check-in with Hange. They needed to hear the latest on your situation.

As you were about to step out of the lift and stride to Hange’s office, you found yourself almost running into a figure who seemed to seethe with negative energy. Knowing exactly who it was, your throat closed. You had to confront him now.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, stepping out of his way. He was not in a good mood, but then again, when was he ever. “Hey, could we talk really quickly?”

His gaze softened and you felt even worse.

“Sure,” he mumbled. “Want to come to my office?”

“Yeah that’d probably be the best place to figure this out.”

You followed him into his sterile space, resting your back against the wall by the door, too nervous to sit. You had almost forgotten about the tension between him, the attraction and desire. But there was a stronger force guiding your motivation now. One you had finally decided, it was all you could think about.

“I know we haven’t said anything to each other in a while,” you admitted. “But I wanted to address the…my answer.”

He said nothing.

“I think…While I’ve enjoyed our time together, I don’t see us working out long term, and that’s ultimately something that I’d like to have. So I guess what I have to say is, thank you for everything, but this is where it ends.”

He mulled over your words, feelings unknown to you, but you weren’t strongly influenced by his opinion anymore. After another moment of silence, he nodded curtly.

“I understand,” he said. “If you ever change your mind, though…you know how to contact me.”

You couldn’t keep a smile from your face. You doubted you would ever reach out to him, but even the subtle, open possibility of being friends was comforting. You were already fairly familiar with his social circle, and after such a long time to reflect on your emotions, you were sure it wouldn’t be awkward.

“Thanks, Levi,” you said. “I’ll see you around.”

He turned back to the work on his desk as you left, perhaps with a sullen look on his face, but you elected to ignore his shift in demeanor. There was nothing unusual about his negative expressions. Suddenly feeling incredibly light, as if nothing bad could happen to you ever again, you waltzed to Hange’s office and entered, leaning over their desk with a smug look on your face.

“I finally did it,” you declared. “I’ve made up my mind.”

“Are you screwing Jaeger,” they asked without looking up.

You nearly choked on your tongue. “What? No! I’m…well…Erwin and I…”

As soon as you muttered your boss’s name, Hange’s face whipped up, absolutely dumbfounded.

“You did not,” they breathed.

You nodded, an obvious burn on your cheeks. “I honestly can’t even begin to tell you how amazing it was,” you managed to say, already growing breathless at the memory of the previous day’s events.

“So you and Erwin,” they mused. “I support it.”

“You do?”

“I think you’re good for each other. You aren’t like the women he’s dated in the past. You’ve got a little more…I don’t know. Ambition? Maybe independence. He doesn’t have to worry about the guilt of neglect because you’ll be occupied with your own projects. Even so, I think you’re both pretty good about making time for meaningful relationships, romantic or otherwise.”

You were a little speechless, beaming at the compliment to your character that they had provided. It was comforting, and essentially affirmed your decision.

“I’m going to talk to him now,” you claimed.

“Just talk?”

“Oh shut up,” you laughed. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Don’t be surprised if he gets on one knee,” they called out behind you.

Ignoring the embarrassing insinuation, you continued to Erwin’s office, a new thrill bubbling in your throat.

His door was ajar, inviting you to step in and awkwardly hover by the door until he looked up from his work. His features softened at the sight of you.

“What can I do for you,” he asked, leaning back from his computer.

You swallowed the nervous lump in your throat. “Could we talk for a second?”

He gave you an inviting gesture, and you followed it, pulling a chair to the other side of his desk, remembering when he had you laying there, begging for him. You felt an uneasy tightness in your lower abdomen. Now was not the time to be thinking about this.

Before you could launch into your confession, he spoke first, his words erupting into a string of ideas you barely comprehended.

“I don’t want to presume that something will come of…yesterday’s encounter,” he said with his eyes looking everywhere but at you. “But I did enjoy it and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want more.”

You only stared at him, butterflies in your throat as he unwound what he wanted to say. This nervousness on his part was unusual. He was usually so confident and sure of himself and his actions, so seeing him with a blush across his face, nervous hands in his coat pockets, was unfamiliar and strange. You were the one who was supposed to be unsure of your words and hesitant.

He finally continued. “But I’d also like something more meaningful. So I suppose what I’m trying to say…or ask…would you come to dinner with me?”

He finally looked at you, his stern blue eyes now soft and shy, unblinking. You felt a blush heat on your cheeks as you stared at each other, him expectantly and you threatening to break your composure.

After a deep breath, you found yourself calm enough to answer. Reaching out over the desk, you took his hand and held its warmth between your cold fingers.

“I’d like that,” you said, rubbing circles on his palm.

He shifted his grip and held one of your hands, fingers folding with yours. His other hand found its way to your face, gently resting against your jaw. You felt yourself leaning into his gesture, a content smile lining your lips. He undoubtedly could feel your flush, but you didn’t mind.

“Can I pick you up at six?”

“Six works great.”

He delicately kissed the back of your hand, an action you found exceptionally tender. He said your name gently, causing you to look up to meet his blithe eyes.

“I want this.”

He rose to his feet and walked to the other side of the desk, inviting you to stand with him. As soon as you were straight up, he pulled you into his chest, the warm breath from his nose fluttering through your hair. Feeling embarrassed, you pressed yourself closer to him, listening to his heart as you stood together. You ignored the quiet thoughts about the logistics of dating, or the future you’d have to consider for your writing career. None of that seemed to matter at the moment. You knew what you wanted now, and you knew what you wanted to say.

“You never really let me talk about what I wanted,” you joked.

He chuckled, drawing you away from him and leaning down to meet your eyes.

“Tell me now then,” he prompted.

You shivered beneath his touch, loving the way his hands were firmly placed on your shoulders. The overwhelming sense of relief was a distinct motivation, calling you to action.

“Why don’t I show you instead?”

#attack on titan x reader #erwin x reader

[joheun-saram]

To Make A Power Couple (knj) | 8

Chapter 8: Housewarming

previous | masterlist | next

Summary- Finally moved in together, Namjoon and Y/N relish their time together despite their schedules and stupid misunderstandings

word count- 8.8k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- R

genre- series, fluff, smut, slight angst

warnings- extreme domestic fluff, mention of parental death, alcohol consumption, kink shaming (kinda? idk man), dom!joon, sub!reader, smut (unprotected sex, fingering, rough sex, marking, somewhat daddy kink, orgasm denial), safeword use (yellow), Namjoon being whipped but also being a dumbass, Y/N just trying to chill, Namjoon’s obsessed with her ass ig

a.n- apologies for this chapter taking literally forever! but i give you fluff for your patience. so much fluff omg. can i move in with joon already? but also we cant have this much fluff without a sprinkle of angst. 

special s/o to @himbojk​,  @pars-ley​, and @s0seo​ for beta reading parts for me  and easing my worries 💕

As always feedback appreciated. Send me an ask! 💌

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach, @sscheherazadee, @rjsmochii , @jinjccns​ , @joyful-jimin @sideblogger @agustdpeach @diamonddia-mond, @asdfghjklqwertyv, @cheesecakes-randomshitz​, @goldenjongho

-

“Are you sure about this? It’s only been six months honey.” Your mother looked at you through the screen and you felt your heart tighten. She had that worried look on her face, the one that tells you that she will respect your decision but isn’t too happy about it. She looked different too, the wrinkles around her eyes more pronounced as she frowned and you wish you could convince her of your decision.

“Seven, actually. I love him, mom. I thought you liked him?” She had been nothing but supportive of your relationship, trusting you to make the right decisions. It had been the two of you for so long when you were younger that it always felt weird that you were on your own now. When your father had passed away when you were starting high school, she had done everything in her power to ensure you never felt like you were down a parent. As a senior partner at a management consultancy, she had long hours and business trips but she always picked you up from school and often took you with her on her business trips. Her trips are the reason that by the time you finished high school, you had been to pretty much every major city in North America. Not to mention that watching her working is the reason you were so good at what you did now. 

You remember when the first year after your father’s death you had to go to a father-daughter school dance and she donned one of his old suits to take you. You danced with her that night, surrounded by your peers and their fathers, but smiling at her as you nuzzled into her neck, her scent mingling with your dad’s on the clothes. You felt safe and you decided you never wanted to disappoint her. Maybe that’s where your drive to succeed came from - from ensuring that your mom, who worked long hours but still had a homemade dinner on the table when you came back from school, was proud of you.

“I do like him, honey. Namjoon is probably the best boyfriend you’ve had. I’m just worried you both are moving too fast.” She sighed as she sipped her tea. “He’s a rockstar, I just want you to be happy but what if things changed?”

“A rockstar?” You giggled. Sometimes you forgot that your mom was kind of old school, not beyond judging a book by its cover. “He’d probably die of embarrassment to hear you say that.”

“Y/N I’m just saying. Be careful with your heart.” Her voice was stern as she looked at you through the screen, her eyes narrowed with her warning.

“I know mom. I’m sorry. I trust him, you know. I don’t think I knew what love was till I met him. Having him around makes me feel safe, less lonely.”

“He’s still responsible for my daughter being in a cast.” After the incident, your mother had grown a bit wary of your relationship. She knew he was famous but she never realised just how many sacrifices the two of you had made to be together. You knew she was aware that Namjoon would never hurt you but you still felt bad that she was worrying over what was an anomaly. Speaking to Namjoon, you knew that something of the sort had never happened to him and his members, even to his other idol friends. The thought of it being such a rare occurrence had given you assurance and you hoped it would translate to your worried mother an ocean away.

“Mom! It’s not his fault. We’ve been over this!”

“I know, I know. I’m your mom. I’m just worried.” She sighed as she resigned from the conversation. You knew your mom had your best interests at heart but she didn’t know Namjoon like you did. She had met him twice over the screen and then had spent countless hours googling him and sending you clips of him breaking things with texts calling him out (“he better not be this clumsy with your heart”). You love her but you never know how to convince her that she had nothing to worry about. “Anyways, how’s my favourite son Harry?”

And so the conversation moved on from her qualms about your soon-to-be live-in boyfriend to your business as you told her about the plans you had for your company and talked about your friends. As you went to bed after hanging up, you looked at the empty side. It was the first time in weeks you were sleeping without your boyfriend but you were giddy as you thought about the morning when he would finally move in and you would never see that empty side again.

------------

“Baby why are all your shelves empty? Why have I never noticed this before?” Namjoon stood frowning in the kitchen with a box of his dishes and cutlery, something you made fun of him about since he notoriously lives on take out, as he placed his plates in the shelves above your kitchen counters.  

“Really Joon? Do you know who you’re dating?” You giggled as you hopped off the counter you were sitting at and stood next to him. Reaching up to extend your uninjured hand as far as it could, you looked at him as you just about reached the bottom shelf. You were not that short but whoever designed this apartment thought the shelves looked extra elegant if they were extra high. 

“Aw! You’re so cute!” He cooed as he patted your head condescendingly, causing you to scowl and narrow your eyes at him. Before you could retort, he put his arms around your waist lifting you so you were eye level with the shelves. “See? Now you can reach! Teamwork!”

You laughed as he put you down, turning around to wrap your arm around him. “Can’t believe we live together now,” you whispered into his chest as you felt him kiss the top of your head. Placing your chin against him you looked up, speaking in a hushed tone. “Promise me you won’t start hating me and my little quirks.”

“I could never hate you, as long as you promise not to get annoyed by me practicing in our living room.” Namjoon looked at you with a wide smile, as he cupped your face, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. You hugged him as you looked across the kitchen island towards your large living room. The large shelf in the corner that once only housed only your books and vinyls was now filled with pieces of your boyfriend. The top shelves had his books with his own organization system (apparently organizing books based on colours was too chaotic for him) as his little collectible figurines stood at random places. Not to mention the tiny baby shoes he had added on one of the shelves (“They’re just cute! I’m totally not picturing a cute fat baby with your doe eyes!”). 

You both had added another shelf near the balcony that now housed his extensive plant collection, in fact you had never seen this apartment more green, little plants scattered in the corners. In addition to your framed posters, there were now paintings from his collection, eclectic pieces that lit the blank white walls in color. You both had even moved the couch to the corner and added a mirror on the nearby wall that not only made the room look larger but would help Namjoon if he ever needed to practice his dances. 

You sighed contentedly as what was once your home now became the both of yours, your hobbies and tastes intermingling in a perfect union. The den was now a studio, soundproofed and full of midi boards and amps - it seemed like a piece of Namjoon had a place in your home. The two of you had gone back and forth over where to live, whether to move into his house or buy a new place completely, but in the end you had decided your apartment would be best since it was close to both of your work places and because it housed the most memories you shared.

“Oh! Or we can buy a new place?” You looked up at Namjoon’s profile from where you laid next to him, you head in the crook of his arm, his fingers tracing circles on your skin, right above where your cast ended. You were both in bed, a few days after he asked you to move in together, eager to figure out where you would embark on your latest relationship milestone.

“What about here? I like it here. This is our spot.”

“Really you wanna move in here?”

“Yeah this is where we had our first official date. This is where we found out that Ken Burns documentaries make you fall asleep-” He grunted as you smacked his chest at his comment, laughing before continuing. “This is where I first found out how much I love your food. Heck, that living room was where I knew I was in love with you!”

“Oh? You haven’t told me that before.” The two of you turn on your sides to look at each other as you grinned at him in anticipation.

“Yeah it was like a few weeks after we became official. I came over and you were at the gym and when you came back we ordered like a massive pizza and you were so giddy while eating it, I don’t know if you noticed but I’m sure I had literal heart eyes.”

“You know you really like me and pizza together,” you joked as you played with the necklace he had given you, his hand coming to fiddle with the chain as well.

“What can I say? I like you covered in sauce.” He laughed as he held your chin and brought you in for a kiss, humming gently when you separate.

“Be honest though, you totally fell in love with me when I agreed to recreate that porn you like, didn’t you?”

“Ah fuck! You’re right, that’s like the number one reason we should move in here. This is where we found out calling me daddy makes you gag.”

“Yes I’m sure it was just calling you that and not your stupidly big dick.” You both broke into fits of laughter holding on to each other, falling back into the comforting silence, before Namjoon broke it looking at you with a smirk.

“So how about we break out that riding crop again? Hmm? Get you in some of that sexy lingerie?” He moved his arm lower from where it sat on your waist to your hips, his fingers playing with the waistband of your pajamas.

“But baby you said you loved my batman underwear,” you whined jokingly, giggling with your arm around his neck as you looked at him coyly.

“Honestly? I love you in anything.” He said earnestly as he captured your lips in a searing kiss, moving his body to lay on top of yours carefully avoiding your injured arm. “Or nothing…”

------------

The first week of living together was odd. The two of you had spent the month after deciding to move in together planning so much, even buying new furniture, but now that you were living together it was weird. It wasn’t a bad weird, in fact it was a very, very good weird. You and Namjoon had never lived with a partner before and much like when you first got together, it felt easy. Maybe it was practice from when Namjoon was over all the time, but it just felt so effortless being with each other.

You would be lying if you said your mother’s words hadn’t opened up an insecurity within you. You were messy, sure it was an organized mess, but you were messy. You tend to forget where you put things, and when you’re stressed even the smallest of inconveniences make you snap. However, somehow Namjoon just slotted himself into your life so seamlessly, you were finding it hard to believe how lucky you were. 

On Monday, you came home and as usual threw whatever jacket you were wearing on the floor, he followed, silently picking it up and hanging it. Namjoon was organized and that made you remember where you left your keys on Tuesday, because now they were always in the cute little crab shaped plate near the foyer. On Wednesday you were infuriated with work and when you went to pee when you reached home, the toilet seat was up causing you to nearly topple in. But unlike usual when you would’ve torn whoever did that to pieces, you broke into a laugh, dialing Namjoon at practice and telling him you missed him. On Thursday, you had your doctor’s appointment to finally get the cast off, and when you returned home to excitedly show off your new arm, Namjoon frowned at the large scar before kissing it repeatedly and spending the night worshipping you. On Friday, the two of you saw the smog warning and donned some masks going to Yeouido Hangang Park, melding in with the mask-wearing strangers enjoying convenience store kimbap and beers as you read your book aloud to him, lounging on the sloping greens. That was also when he learned you didn’t know how to ride a bike, making it his responsibility to teach you.

“I still can’t believe you don’t know how to ride a bike!” Namjoon laughed as he held onto the handlebars. You struggled to keep the balance, your feet resting lightly on the pedals of the rented bike as he slowly pushed you. 

“I skateboarded instead! You tell me that once you land an ollie!” you huffed, now pushing on the pedals, albeit gently. Namjoon found your hesitation adorable. He loved discovering these different sides of you. The fact that his always confident girlfriend seemed scared of something as simple as a bike when she was apparently doing tricks on a skateboard, made his heart swell. It was like you kept all your embarrassing secrets for him, you told him things that no one knew about you, and he couldn’t wait to discover more. 

For Namjoon, moving in had been as easy as breathing, even though it had barely been a week. On Monday, he took a homemade lunch to work for the first time in a year. When he opened the box, the smell of your stew lingered in his studio and every time he returned from a meeting that day, the scent made him smile. On Tuesday, you came by his building to pick him up, waving excitedly as he wrapped up a livestream and tried not to giggle like a fool in love, which he very much was. Wednesday, he was having a tough time getting the new dance routine down, but then you called him out of the blue and it made his heart flutter, reenergizing him to finally nail the steps. When your cast came off on Thursday, he was again filled with guilt about his part in your attack, but your assurances helped him ease his mind. However, not as much as you screaming his name when he made you cum for the third time on his tongue. Namjoon had never felt so connected to someone before. Usually he would be scared to share so much of his life with another person, but with you he couldn’t wait. He felt extremely lucky just to be in your presence, soaking in the determined look on your face as he taught you how to ride a bike.

“Okay shit. Nevermind that’s really hot. Let’s go skateboarding next time,” he smiled at you mischievously, knowing that he was going to let go of the bike any second.

“I haven’t done that in ten - Oh my god! Don’t let go! Why are you letting go?” You looked behind you to see Namjoon put a thumb in the air in encouragement.

“You’re a big girl, you can do it. I believe in you!”

“I hate you! I’m gonna fall! How do I stop?!” You could feel the wind blowing through your hair as you steadily picked up speed, and you were terrified. How did you let your tree of a boyfriend talk you into this? There was a reason you had legs, why did you need these stupid wheels?!

“Just push the brakes and put your leg out.”

“Joon! Namjoon! I’m gonna fall!” You watched your life flash before your eyes as you cursed, falling on to the grass, your bike between your legs. Namjoon jogged up the few meters to stand above you, almost doubling over in laughter, causing you to cross your arms where you laid pouting at him. “Stop laughing at me!”

“Sorry! I just - you were going so slow! You literally fell in slow motion!” He continued laughing, even having the audacity to wipe a tear off his eye as you glared at him, before moving the bike and helping you up. “Come on up. There we go!” He beamed at you making it much harder to be mad at him when his eyes squinted in that adorable way they do when he’s extra pleased.

“If I break my arm again it’s your fault.” You leaned into him as he put an arm around you, the other walking the bike back to its station. 

“Sorry, sorry! Okay I think that was enough practice. Let’s go home.” He pulled you closer, the bike now firmly locked and no longer charging him through the app. With your arms around his waist, you kind of felt bad giving up on learning so easily. He had seemed so excited when he suggested biking around the river.

“Sorry I can’t bike with you. I wanna share your hobbies!” You pouted, making Namjoon swoon.

“Baby we literally share like seven million hobbies. It’s okay if you don’t like biking. I hate all the Shark Tank episodes you make me sit through.” He laughed as you looked up at him, even with the mask covering half his face you could tell how his dimples would be poking through his cheeks at your comment.

“You said you liked them!”

“It was a month into dating you. I lied.” You rolled your eyes at his nonchalance as he smiled smugly. You knew he hated that show, he would always be getting up to go to the bathroom or get snacks during the pivotal moments. Well at least he was committed enough to not be on his phone when you watched together. Now that you think about it, he must really love you to sit through the marathon you had of it last month.

“So what else do you hate?”

“Arthur C Clarke. I don’t get why you love 2001 so much. It’s so pseudo philosophical and the sequels suck.”

“But the monolith Joon! The spark of curiosity and ambition! And like the combined consciousness! Come on!”

“Eh. Pretentious. Douglas Adams did it better.” He shrugged.

“I can’t believe you! Those are like two different concepts!” You laughed as he dissed one of your favourite books, enjoying his warmth against you as the two of you waited for the car to pick you up in the parking lot.

------------

Saturday would mark the first weekend of you both living together, and so it was time to celebrate. The two of you had taken the day off in preparation for the first party you would host together, in the apartment you lived together. Just the thought made you giddy. You walked around the grocery store, stocking up on snacks and alcohol as Hayoon, Namjoon’s favourite security personnel, helped you carry the basket that kept getting heavier. You still found it weird walking around with the 195cm, extremely buff older man, but with the attack still fresh in your head, it was comforting having the looming presence. You had noticed that people didn’t even look twice at you, when in the past your foreigner status would have had at least a few staring at you.

Thanking Hayoon for carrying your supplies and bidding him a goodbye, you walked into your living room to find your boyfriend dancing to music playing from his earphones. Somehow in the midst of cleaning and moving furniture to make room for the twenty something people you both had invited, he had started working. You couldn’t blame him when you yourself had taken the time in the car to answer a few emails. It gave you the perfect opportunity to share your present with him.

“I’ve got a surprise for you!” You walked over to block his view of himself in the mirror as he rolled his body to some unknown tune. It was quite funny watching his concentrated scowl turn into confusion, barely hearing you.

“Hmm?”

“Stop dancing! I’ve got a surprise!”

“Can’t stop babe I have to get this down before Monday.” Namjoon looked over your head into the mirror as he continued practicing his choreography, making you roll his eyes.

“Hmm maybe Kook would wanna go instead,” you said nonchalantly as you turned around and started to slowly back away, before Namjoon’s arm came around your waist, stopping you.

“Ah baby don’t do that. See, airpod out, I’m listening!” You grinned as Namjoon pulled his earphone out, stopping the music but continuing to dance.

“You know you look like one of the sims just dancing there without music,” you joked, giggling.

“Babbbbbe! Where are we going?” he whined.

“So you know how your favourite rapper is Nas?”

“Yes I’m aware.”

“I got backstage passes!”

“What? For me?” Namjoon stilled, a dopey grin on his face as you walked closer to him to show him the tickets on your phone. It wasn’t a huge present but when one of your clients had asked if you wanted to attend, you couldn’t refuse the tickets. It helped that your client owned the stadium the performance was at and had accommodated your special requests for privacy.

“And you get to watch from this barricade so you don’t have to worry about paparazzi or fans and you can just enjoy the show!” Namjoon’s heart swelled as he heard your words. You never failed to surprise him with how much you went out of your way to make him comfortable. Lately, you’d been making him want to declare your relationship to the world. It was a dumb fantasy and the two of you had talked (argued) about going public, but between the two of you it seemed that you were more against it.

“You’re coming with me right?” He put his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him.

“I don’t know, I know I just said you’ll have privacy but what if someone sees us together? Maybe you can take Yoongi.” You look up at him with a frown, your hands on his chest, as you assessed the different ways the concert could affect your privacy. He hated how you had to overthink such a simple outing, mirroring your frown as he reached to relax the crease between your brows before placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Shut up. I’m only taking you. The whole world can watch!” He grinned making you roll your eyes. 

“You scare me with how easily you just said that.” You swatted at his chest. It really did scare you with how easily he’d been saying that lately. He wasn’t really an impulsive person, he usually thought everything through to the utmost detail and so his recent exclamations were worrying you. It’s not that you wouldn’t like to post one of the thousands of couple photos on your social media, it’s just you were worried about how toxic some netizens could be.

“Would it be so bad if everyone knew?” He pulled you closer, arms circling your waist as he pressed his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes with a little smile, wanting to play out his fantasy.

“Joon I’m not risking your career so we can go on a few dates.” You sighed, picking at his shirt at his chest where your hands laid.

“My fans will be happy to see me happy, baby.”

“Ugh let’s not argue about this right now. Do you like your surprise?” You put your arms around his neck as you peck his lips.

“Only if I get to enjoy it with you.”

“Yes yes I guess I’ll go see one of my favourite rappers with you.”

“I love you,” he whispered, bringing his lips to yours to kiss you gently. You returned it equally gently, getting lost in the warmth as he molded his lips to yours, tilting his head to get a better angle and squeezing your ass as he brought you even closer in his embrace. Before things could get heated, you pulled away, smiling as he followed your lips, eyes still closed. You pecked his lips a few times before moving away completely.

“Hey don’t let me distract you. Practice!” 

“You’re such a tease. Meanie.” He pouted as you walked away with a wave in his direction, smirking at his petulance. 

“Love you too Joonie!”

------------

Namjoon was drunk. He promised himself at the beginning of the party that he would stay sober to ensure his first party with you went seamlessly, but then the Ilsan boys showed up. The Ilsan boys were his high school friends, dubbed so by you. To say you liked them would be a stretch, since he always got too drunk when they were around, but he couldn’t help it. They made him forget all about being an idol and let loose. They were some of the few people beside you and his family that had that effect. Sitting on the couch that was pulled up to the window, he felt the alcohol race through his veins, and he was in his feelings. Beside him, Harry talked to Sehun, one third of the Ilsan boys as they talked about some tv show. He was happy, so happy he was smiling to himself as he rocked his feet on the ground, a beer in hand. He was happy and as he watched you across the room, he was also a little annoyed.

You were talking to Kang, another one of the Ilsan boys, as Jungkook stood with his arms on top of your head for support and Hoseok laughed at some joke you made. Before the party the two of you had decided not to be the couple that only hung out with each other, and since this party was literally just your closest friends, it was not that hard to do. But right now all Namjoon wanted to do was be petty and shove Jungkook off of you, wrap his arms around you instead and tell you how horny your skinny jeans were making him. Alright, correction. Namjoon was drunk, happy, and horny. 

He bit his lip as he followed your curves with his eyes, watching the way your chest rose as you laughed, and the way your throat moved with each sip of your whiskey. Okay, that’s it. Screw the decision, he was walking over. Plus, he had stayed away for the past three hours, even had to watch you belt out his favourite My Chemical Romance song as you wiggled your butt, that had to count for something. He made his way to your little group, swaying a little as he shoved Jungkook a little too aggressively off you, making him protest over his spilled beer, before putting an arm possessively over your shoulder. He grinned as you leaned in, continuing your conversation.

“As I was saying there is no way Y/N is a sub. No fucking way!” Kang bellowed from where he stood. Namjoon’s brows furrowed at his comment. Why was he talking about his girlfriend this way? He felt an irrational surge of anger through him. He knew Kang was crass, his talks often devolving to his sex capades a few shots in, but did he really not respect Namjoon enough to be talking this shit in his own home about his girlfriend during their housewarming party?

Namjoon’s grip tightened around you protectively as Kang kept talking about your sex life. You only hummed, seemingly bored as you drank. Turns out you were playing a game, instigated by Kang of course, where you had to guess the other person’s kink, and if someone guesses correctly, you drink if not then the guesser drinks. Apparently you were in the spotlight for the moment.

Namjoon tilted his head, eyes narrowed at his childhood friend and raised an eyebrow. Kang, luckily for him, got the hint, shutting up with an apologetic glance at Namjoon. However, everyone else in the little group seemed to have missed this little interaction.

“I don’t know… I’ve seen hyung’s porn collection. He definitely has a daddy kink.” Jungkook scratched his chin as he slurred out the words, like he was trying to decipher a difficult math problem. 

“Dude Y/N would rather puke than call Namjoonie daddy.” Hoseok laughed, wiggling his eyebrows at you with a knowing smirk. You laughed, a little too hard in your tipsy state, and Namjoon felt his blood run cold. You had definitely said those words to him, even pretended to jokingly gag when he brought it up the first, and only, time. He stood straighter at Hoseok’s comment. Had you told him about this? Why would you tell Hoseok of all people? You weren’t even close! 

His jaw ticked as the group laughed, oblivious to the sudden hurt he felt. He felt exposed, naked and vulnerable, all because of you. He didn’t know if his feelings were elevated with the alcohol in his body, but he suddenly felt like he was losing all trust in you. You didn’t even seem phased, not noticing that his arm was no longer around you as you giggled at their antics.

“Okay. Time to reveal the winner!” You started, your arms wide and voice low as Jungkook used Hoseok’s chest as a makeshift drum, tapping at it lightly in a drumroll.

“Nope.” Namjoon couldn’t help but cut you off. There was no way you were sharing intimate details of your sex life with these idiots. He didn’t know how things worked in Canada, but here in his house he sure as hell was not hearing his friends talk about your kinks. He grabbed your wrist, taking the glass from your hand and placing it on the table before dragging you into the guest bathroom by the kitchen.

“Aww Joonie! Now I have to do three shots!” You pouted at him, oblivious to the storm brewing in his head.

“No.”

It was all he said before he crashed his lips to yours, taking your surprised yelp as an opportunity to roughly press his tongue to yours. He didn’t know what overcame him, he initially wanted to talk to you but something about the utter lack of remorse on your face snapped something in him. Oh those guys didn’t think you were a sub? He was going to prove them all wrong and make you beg for him while no one outside had a clue. It was his biggest turn on after all, to see you confidently striding through every room demanding respect and attention, only to turn into an obedient little girl for him.

He had been horny all night, rocking a semi every time he looked at you, and your little moans as you wrapped your arms around him now only made him harder. He kissed you with more force, removing your hands from around him and pinning them to the door behind you as his lips ventured down your neck to where your blouse started.

He let go of your hands, pleased to see them remain immobile against the door, and reached for your jeans, the same jeans that had been taunting him all evening. Kissing down your body, he pulled the jeans off your legs, turning you around roughly once you stepped out of them. With your ass in front of his face, he couldn’t help himself, biting at the flesh, smirking at your surprised yelp.

He stood up behind you, bending you over the sink. Pulling your shirt up and gripping your jaw, he placed the hem in your mouth. He kissed your neck, keeping his eyes on yours through the mirror as his hands pulled the cups of your bra down to grope you firmly. You didn’t know what had gotten into him suddenly, but you were not complaining, your shirt getting wet as did your panties. Wordlessly, he continued, his hands roaming your body to reach your heat where he didn’t hesitate to slide your panties to the side and thrust two fingers in, making you moan loudly at the sudden stretch. 

At your moan, his lustful eyes met yours as he increased his speed, the sound of your squelching pussy filling the air. Namjoon couldn’t help himself anymore, he needed to be inside you, teach you a lesson for being so oblivious to him. Unbuttoning his jeans, he released his dick, already dripping with precum at how turned on he was at the prospect of one of your friends knowing what was happening behind doors. Without a second thought, he lined himself up at your entrance to plunge himself right to the hilt. 

You moaned at the sudden aggressive move, your skin tingling with excitement to see your boyfriend this needy for you. Namjoon didn’t usually get this aggressive right off the bat, and his rare sexual desire made you heat up, mewling at the stretch. You braced yourself against the counter as you watched Namjoon’s face contorted in pleasure, his jaw tight as he rammed himself into you again and again, leaving your breathless and with your legs shaking.

“Fuck… I can’t believe we’re fucking in the bathroom… at our own party!” you moaned at a particularly hard thrust.

“That’s what you get for being such a fucking tease all night.” Namjoon leaned closer to speak in your ear, his chest molded to your back as one of his hands pulled your nipple while the other turned your head towards him, leaving sloppy wet kisses on your neck. You need more, needed to kiss him, needed his fingers on your clit, anything.

“Joonie…” you mewled, looking at him pleadingly.

“Ah don’t try to get all soft on me now baby.” He smacked your ass, aiming right where his bite mark was visible, making you preen. “Did you think you were funny telling Hobi how you gagged on my cock when I called myself daddy, hmm?” His hips moved hard, pushing you further into the sink, your walls clenching around him and you were sure your hips were going to bruise from where they slammed against the counter. Your skin was pebbling with goosebumps and you felt like you could feel every vein on his cock as he continued to move in you. With his hand on your jaw, he moved your face towards the mirror, enjoying the way your mouth was held open and eyes wide with want.

“Answer me baby. Did you like embarrassing me in front of our friends?” Namjoon knew he really shouldn’t bring his issues into the bedroom, especially when you allowed and trusted him with how you gave up control, but the concoction of hurt, anger and beer in his veins overrode his rationality. 

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you at his words, finally realizing what had gotten him so riled up. Making eye contact in the mirror, you couldn’t tell if this was all part of a scene he’d come up with or if he was serious. Before you could say anything, he spanked you again, his thrusts slowing, but somehow getting harder. Although you were concerned, you couldn’t deny how you could feel your orgasm rising, your walls tightening around him.

“Do you like seeing me get hurt in front of my friends?” He gritted out, his gaze darkened.

“H-hurt?” you stuttered, alarmed.

“Yeah baby, hurt. You think I like you sharing our secrets?” He was back at your neck, nipping the flesh and soothing it with his tongue. “You think I liked you and Hobi laughing at me, pretty girl?” he sneered, but you could see past it. Behind the lust in his eyes, he was actually hurt, his eyes glistening, and although you were enjoying this sudden, surprise sex, your needs could wait.

“Joon… fuck… yellow. Yellow.” You grunted, despite your body begging you to let him continue so you could cum. Suddenly Namjoon froze, pulling out. His eyes softened immediately with concern as he ran his hands up and down your arms to comfort you.

“Shitshitshit sorry! Was that too much? Too rough? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He spoke fast, trying to gauge your expression in the mirror.

“Are you okay? Are you actually mad about Hobi?” You turned around, cupping his face as you looked up at him. He sighed, biting his lip a couple of times and contemplating if he should talk about it now.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I just - it kinda fucked me up.” He averted your gaze, opting to look at the wall next to the two of you, and you felt your heart ache at his words. “Like I was pretty vulnerable when I shared that kink with you and I get it - it’s cliched and basic and you weren’t into it but I feel like you guys were laughing at me. I don’t like getting laughed at by my girlfriend behind my back with one of my best friends.” He looked at you towards the end of his statement, the fiery look back in his eyes. You knew he was mad, but truly he had no reason to be. In fact, thinking more about it made you sad that he would think that you would purposely kink shame him or laugh at him for any reason.

“I’m so sorry Joonie. It’s not even like that. I’m so sorry baby. Do you wanna talk about -” But before you could finish your sentence, he spun you around again.

“No.” He spoke firmly, lining himself once again, fully back into his dominant persona. “Much. Rather. Fuck. My. Frustrations. Out. Colour?” He punctuated each word with a snap of his hips, making you mewl, your earlier lost orgasm revving back up slowly.

“Green. Fuck Joon!” He bent you over further at your words, holding tightly to your hips as he fucked you.

“Tell me when you’re close, baby. You don’t get to cum tonight.” He spoke, his voice strained from his harsh movements. Oh, he must be really mad. Namjoon took pride in making you cum, often overstimulating you, but this was new. He’d never flat out denied you an orgasm before, and the thought made you want to cum even more.

“Joonie. I’m sorry. Please... fuck! You feel so good.” You mewled, looking at him with puppy eyes. You didn’t know how long you could hold your orgasm if he continued, the coil in your stomach tightening at his every move.

“No can do pretty girl you gotta learn your lesson.” He smirked, spanking your ass for good measure, the slap ricocheting through the walls of the small bathroom. You really hoped nobody needed to pee, glad that the music was pretty loud, you could almost sing along to the SHINEE track in the background.

“Please daddy?” You knew he was mad at you for this, but in your lust-addled, desperate mind you just wanted to do anything to please him.

“Fuck off! Don’t make me ban you from cumming all week.” He gritted out, almost panting with how fast he was going, chasing his own release as he spanked your ass twice. 

“God. Oh my god, Joon!” You felt him get sloppy, almost on the brink of your orgasm. Namjoon could feel you tighten impossibly hard, and with one last thrust he pulled out, stroking himself before cumming on your ass with a loud groan. You whined, your head on your arms as you felt your orgasm ebb away, your clit throbbing in need.

Namjoon leaned next to you, catching his breath, as he looked at your wrecked state, legs shaking, hair a mess, your tits hanging out of your bra.

“Did you cum?” he asked, stroking your hair as you looked up at him.

“No…” He kissed you at that, gently and quickly.

“Good girl. Now let’s clean you up, we have a party to host.” He buckled his pants, as he handed you some toilet paper, fixing your shirt, and once you cleaned up, helping you put your pants back on. He was still hurt, but weirdly sated. He knew it would take time for him to get over this, but he still felt lucky knowing that you’d understand as he watched you fix your makeup in the mirror.

“Joon, are you still mad?” You spoke after a few minutes, voice uncharacteristically meek, making Namjoon wish he waited till after the party was over, so he could tend to you properly after being so rough.

“A little. It’s just kind of stings right now.” He spoke after a few beats of contemplation leaning against the sink. When in other relationships, he got used to just saying he was fine, with you he felt that he could be honest even if it hurt, and although he still felt somewhat betrayed, he couldn’t help himself.

“I’m sorry, truly. I swear it’s not what you think. We weren’t laughing at you, promise! I love you.” You looked at him with such sorrow that he almost felt stupid for having such feelings, wanting to pacify you, but he knew you’d hate it if he did so.

“Ah don’t make that face.” He pouted at you slightly, cupping your face in his hands.

“What face?” You ask, eyes wide, cheeks a little squished by his hands and he felt his heartbeat accelerate.

“That face! Makes me want to kiss you.” He whispered, before capturing your lips in a tender kiss, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

“Joonie… baby, talk to me.” You pleaded, you hands on his, but he just leaned down to peck your forehead instead.

“Shh, yellow on this convo for now. Let’s just go back to the party. I love you too, pretty girl.” He smoothed your hair once again, before moving to the door. He paused at your lack of movement, turning around to see you frowning as you looked at him. He knew you wanted to talk it out, it was in your nature to solve problems immediately, but Namjoon needed time. If he talked about it now, he would probably get angry, or worse start crying. He needed to think things through. 

“Even when you’re mad?” you said quietly.

“Even when I’m mad. Now let’s go before anyone figures we’re missing.” He took your hand and walked you out, the party none the wiser of your little indiscretion. However, if anyone was paying attention, they would have noticed how off the mood was between the two of you, your smiles not reaching your eyes, and your cups always empty.

---------- 

You stared at the screen, the cursor blinking as you tried to put your thoughts together. This expansion into Japan was going to be the death of you. You had been working on the strategy for months now but nothing appealed to the board who never lost the opportunity to remind you of your age or lack thereof. With your combined shares Harry and you could technically override any of their decisions, but antagonizing the board further would only lead to more problems in the future so you just grinned and bore it. 

You had spent all day at the office trying to figure out the new strategy to beat out the competing company that already existed in Tokyo to get sufficient market share to make the expansion viable. Siwon had been kind enough to be your scribe while you word vomited at him but as you looked at the page now it made little sense. You were kind of embarrassed that he had to type out this bullshit.

Frustrated at your lack of progress, you looked at the clock, and reading the 11:34 pm displayed there with a grimace as you stood up to walk to the kitchenette on your floor. Starting a pot of coffee you talked to yourself as you fidgeted with the cups, stacking them this way and that. You kind of wished Harry would’ve stayed late tonight to talk through the strategy with you but apparently Jen had been pretty annoyed with all his late nights so you had no choice but to do it alone. You didn’t mind it as much usually, you enjoyed the silence of the empty building, enjoyed filling it with your favourite songs as you worked through your thoughts.

Tonight however you were pretty annoyed to be working late. After the party, Namjoon had spent Sunday sulking about, still refusing to talk out what you thought was a minor issue of miscommunication. If you were being honest, part of your frustrations tonight might be due to the fact that a part of your brain kept pestering you with the same thoughts. Mom was right, you moved in and look, already not talking to each other. If you can’t resolve this tiny fight, how will you have a future? He’s probably sick of you already.

Trying to practice your coping mechanisms, you let the thoughts pass through your head. They were just negative thoughts, they did not define you as a person, do not react to them. You took a deep breath, focusing instead on the task ahead.

As you walked to your desk with your third cup of coffee of the evening and thought about your business plans, you started resenting your board more and more. It was one thing to want a flawless strategy but they failed to understand that there was literally no strategy in the world that would be as risk averse as they wanted. They thought you too impulsive, too bull-headed to do something that was low risk. They had the audacity to think that you were building all the riskiest strategies on purpose when in reality to get the outcome you wanted there had to be an equal amount of risk to go with it. Sighing, you started typing your thoughts, bulleted, on the doc as your phone rang.

“Namjoon?” you asked as soon as you picked up the phone, a bit surprised that this is how he was choosing to break his pseudo silent treatment.

“Just called so you’re not startled.” You heard Namjoon twice, once in your speaker and once from right in front of you. Regardless of his efforts, you jumped in your seat to see him standing in front of you. Holding your hand on your heart, you looked up at your boyfriend standing over your desk in a matching pair of grey sweats and sweater, a black mask under his chin as he looked at you with amusement at your reaction. It never failed to endear him how you were easily startled at the smallest things. 

“Did you eat yet?” He asked as he leaned over the desk, his lips puckered. Sighing a yes, you kissed him, feeling your stress reduce at the touch, relieved that he seemed to be more open to communicating now.

“What brings you here?” You asked, reclining back in your seat as Namjoon pulled up a chair next to you.

“I just got done. Thought I’d pick you up.”

“How did you even know I was still here?”

“Boyfriend senses.” He winked, his arm resting on the back of his chair. You raised an eyebrow, skeptical, and really wishing he didn’t go all the way home to come back. “Fine. Siwon texted me. You know it’s bad form to worry your assistant so much he has to call your boyfriend for back up.”

“I’m sorry he texted you.” You leaned forward in your chair with a sheepish smile. Inside however, you were glad Siwon had given Namjoon a push to talk to you. Knowing Siwon you were sure it wasn’t a random concern but probably born out of your talk with him this morning.

He made a noise stating his displeasure at your apology and shaking his head, before reaching out to hold your hand where it lay on your lap. “So when’s this due?”

“Can we talk about Saturday night?” You answered his question with your own, dreading a mood swing, but impatient to explain your side and ease his worries. You really wanted things to go back to normal. Even though it had only been one day, you missed him. He had barely cuddled you in his sleep the last two nights, and you missed the intimacy, and as needy as it sounded in your head, you just wanted him to hold you.

He sighed deeply, leaving your hand to run his hands over his face. With his elbows on his knees, he hunched down, covering his face. He really should let you explain, but he was tired from practice and he didn’t know if he had the mental capacity to deal with an argument. “It’s okay. I’ll get over it.” 

“Please. Let me explain.” You stood from your chair squatting in front of him and pulling his hands away to make him look at you. With another sigh of resignation, Namjoon nodded for you to continue.

“Hoseok doesn’t know anything. He said that as a joke randomly.” You spoke carefully, watching Namjoon’s eyes widen as he frowned. “Honestly he’s been your friend for so long I just assumed you told him that’s why he was looking at me like that. You know I didn’t agree or disagree. I just laughed because of the memory.”

Namjoon felt like an idiot. It was such a simple explanation. He was kicking himself for not thinking about this earlier, for spending a whole day avoiding you. As he looked at the earnesty in your eyes, he wanted to go back in time and smack himself on the head for making you feel guilty over this non-issue.

“I’m a fucking asshole,” he groaned, covering his face as he rolled his chair away from you in shame. You stood, walking over to him before pulling his hands away yet again, sitting in his lap sideways. His hands instinctively went around your waist, making sure you didn’t slip off. 

“No I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed,” you whispered, frowning as you put your arms around his neck, playing with the hair on his nape.

“I’m such an idiot,” he sighed, rubbing his hand on your thigh, his touch sending a comforting warmth through you. “Also, I’m sorry for earlier.”

“For what?”

“Not letting you cum.” He looked so devastated, his lips pulled down by his guilt as he stared at you, that all you could do was giggle. It was silly that he thought some of the best sex you’d had was bad just because you didn’t cum.

“It’s fine you were in your dom persona.” You smoothed his hair as you kissed his cheek, making him shyly turn away from you, before he looked at you with a determination in his eyes.

“No it’s not fine. In all the research I’ve done one thing they always warned against was domming angry or like using it to resolve issues or punish your partner in a way they didn’t know what started the punishment, and I don’t know what came over me. I was mad and it was unfair of me to use our kinks against you.” He ranted, his frown getting deeper as his grip around you got tighter. With all his goofy antics around you usually, you forgot how serious Namjoon could get, and although the two of you had promised each other to be honest, it was still jarring to hear his rant. It meant he had been thinking about his actions and it bothered you that he was feeling guilty. When he stopped to take a breath, you brought his lips to yours, kissing him with all the affection you could muster. It wasn’t hard - showing him you loved him. In fact, it was the easiest thing to do, as you let your lips assure him and ease the storm in his head.

“I’m perfectly okay Joonie. It was hot.” You chuckled as you broke away and met his gaze filled with adoration. You felt lucky to have him in your life, and although this fight didn’t seem to have lasted that long, you missed him. Kissing him at midnight in your office, you felt content, your stress from the day melting away at his touch.

“Still. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you?” He said as he kissed you again. “Let’s go home, baby.” 

You stood and as you packed your stuff, he clung on to you, nuzzling your neck, equally missing your touch. Although you were headed home, you felt it in his arms already.

-

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#thebtswritersclub #houseofddaeng #btsnoonanet #bangtanhq #thetruthuntoldnet #namjooon fluff #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #rm fluff #rm smut #rm angst #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon fic #rm x reader #rm x you #rm fic #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts series #namjoon series #rm series #pwrcpl

[cheeriecherry]

Space Between [Aizawa Shouta x F!Reader x Yamada Hizashi] [2/9]

EraserMic x Reader

Part 2/8

Warnings: depictions of PTSD, one (1) mention of vomiting (nothing graphic), very brief mention of violence (also nothing graphic), your friends being concerned about you, hugs

You wake up the next morning with a very sore, very stiff neck. You appreciate your friends putting you up for a while, but between the two of them they had terrible taste in furniture. In fact, you’re pretty certain their couch is the same couch you three shared when you first got your own place together…

You sit up on the lumpy cushions, wincing when your spine crackles. When you move to stand you find that you can’t, held in place by previously unnoticed twin weights on your blanketed legs. Your heart rate speeds up for a moment, before you realize it’s just a pair of cats sleeping on you.

You carefully finagle your way out from under them, taking extra care not to rouse or wake them. One of them chirps and stretches, and you pause, but she quickly falls back to sleep, tucked up against her companion.

Once you’re free, you wander towards the kitchen to find something to eat. Hizashi had offered to order takeout last night, but you were nearly dead on your feet by the time you walked into the house. You’d gone straight to bed, and now you had to deal with the stomach cramps.

You search around in the pantry and fridge for a while, finding few things more than rice, bread, condiments, and a couple canned goods. It made sense, considering how busy your friends were, but it was also a little ridiculous.

“You’d think two grown men could handle some grocery shopping,” you mumble, and settle on some rice, eggs, and toast. Not your ideal breakfast, but it was better than nothing.

You prepare the rice and set a pan on the stove in a haze, still muddled with sleep. Once both are sufficiently rinsed and warming, you set the rice off to cook and plop down at the kitchen table, where you notice a folded paper sitting. With your name on it.

Curious, you flip it open, instantly recognizing Hizashi’s messy writing.

‘Sho and I had to head out early, but we didn’t want to wake you. You were tossing a lot in your sleep.’

You think briefly back to the dreams you’d had, if you’d even had any. You usually had nightmares, but oftentimes you didn’t remember them, only waking with a hollow and sinking feeling in your chest.

‘You’ve got free run of the place, so use and eat what you want. Be warned, there’s not a lot in the fridge…we don’t really eat at home much. If you need the internet, Sho’s laptop is in the office across from the bedroom. See you tonight around ten!

-H’

You smile at the note, the signature consisting of a single letter, with a poor rendition of a cockatiel and a cat beside it.

You’re glad they have each other, you decide, and glad they’ve gotten together. It shouldn’t have been so much of a surprise to you, Hizashi was always more interested in Shouta than he was you. Sure, he doted on you when you were kids, but when Shouta came into the picture his attention shifted. You admit you had been a little jealous in the beginning, but now…

Maybe you’d just supposed it would always be the three of you together. You’d never bothered with dating or relationships, aside from the feelings you harboured for your best friends. You never saw the point, always content and happy to be with the two of them, even if it wasn’t romantic. They had been your rocks, your safe place, in years past.

You hadn’t comprehended that your interests could be so drastically different.

“C’mon, shake it off, stupid. They’re happy together, don’t ruin it with your feelings.” You run your hands down your face, sighing deeply. The rice would be ready soon, so you might as well get started on the eggs.

You butter a piece of bread and cut a hole out of the center, dropping it in the frying pan and cracking an egg into it. 

Egg In A Hole, one of the first things you’d ever learned to cook. You were seven when you’d first tried it, and Hizashi had been there as well. You’d been at your house after school and he’d claimed to be hungry, and you -ever wanting to impress him- had set a stool in front of the stove and made him the fanciest meal you could think of.

Looking back, you’re amazed you didn’t burn or undercook anything. He had claimed it was the most amazing thing he’d ever tasted, and for years it was a staple whenever you hung out… he’d hopped off that train by the time you were twelve, but every so often you’d still made him Eggs In A Hole.

Now it’s more of a comfort, more of you holding on to a time long passed. Things were different now, you were different, your friends were different-

“Shit!” you hiss, as the toast starts to burn in one corner, smoking up the kitchen. You turn the fan on and flip it over to cook the other side, sighing in relief when the egg doesn’t splatter everywhere.

You’re glad you weren’t sent undercover as a cook on your mission. Your skills in the kitchen are sub par at best, and where you’d been, nothing less than perfection was accepted. Anything burnt or under-seasoned would have been air for punishment; fingernails ripped off, palms cut up, thumbs broken. Anything that would further hinder work…and result in more punishment.

That was just the kind of person your target was. A rich american woman with a taste for torture, and a quirk that allowed her to feast on and destroy the hope in others. She had ‘hired’ you as a silent killer, despite the fact that she could easily kill people herself…or make them kill themselves.

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, willing the thoughts away. You weren’t there anymore. You were here, with Hizashi, with Shouta. Safe. Safe.

You scoop the eggs and toast onto a plate, but your stomach has already turned. Memories didn’t pair well with breakfast, it seemed.

Once the rice is finished cooking, you wrap everything up and set it in the fridge for later, and continue going about your day.

—-

Ten PM rolls around before you know it, and your friends walk through the front door. You’ve stolen Shouta’s laptop from the office and moved it to the couch, where you now sit staring intensely at the screen.

The two of them watch you for a moment. If your stillness, posture, and bloodshot eyes are anything to go by, you’ve been like that for a while.

“You’re gonna hurt your back sitting like that,” Shouta says, kicking his boots off and wandering further into the house.

“In a second,” you reply, waving him off.

Hizashi sighs dramatically, crossing his arms. “She’s not even paying attention, Sho. We could be making out right now, and she wouldn’t even notice. Hey, watch this-”

“Hizashi,” you threaten, not looking away from the screen, “if you pull your pants down, I’ll shave your head while you sleep.”

“No fun.” But he removes his hands from his jeans anyways.

Shouta meanders up behind you, leaning over the back of the couch to see what you’re so intent on. “What’s got you so focused?” he asks, scanning the page you’re reading, “You were never like this in school.”

You remain stoic, missing the joke completely. “Conviction trials,” you explain, “I want to make sure every single one of those rich pricks I outed gets put behind bars. I’ve been scrounging news outlets since five.”

“And?”

“Nothing.” You sit up straighter, stretching your back and rubbing at your eyes. “I gave the commission enough information to put these people in prison for life! Why haven’t they been brought in yet!”

“You’ve only been out for a little while. These things take time.” His tone is gentle and concerned, but to your addled brain it feels more patronizing.

You fist your hair in your hands and tug. “I gave them hideouts, names, faces, addresses, bank numbers, concrete evidence against these people! A few days should be enough time to find them! They’re top priority criminals! They should be caught by now!”

A warm hand rests on your shoulder, jarring you violently out of your thoughts. You tense beneath the touch, electricity prickling down your arm, and you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Breathe,” he says.

You breathe.

He squeezes your shoulder slightly, comfortingly. “It’ll happen. Give the media time to catch up.”

You look away from him, finding a spot on the floor to stare at, and slump forward in defeat. “If it gets out that I was the snitch, too…”

The room is quiet for a couple beats as your words register, and the hand on your shoulder rubs soft circles into your skin. “Your partner…they were killed, weren’t they.” It’s not a question, merely an observation.

You nod.

“I can’t let them find me, Shouta. The way these people kill their targets-”

“You’re safe here, Y/N. Always. The chances of these criminals getting into the country undetected is between slim and none. Their faces will be plastered on every single no-fly list, every district wanted list.”

“They can do whatever they want, as long as they have the money.” You turn back to the laptop, continuing to scroll around various news outlets. “Even once they’re in prison, they’ll have outside connections. If they find out it was me who outed their whole operation, I’ll have a target on my back for the rest of my life.”

Shouta lets go of your shoulder, and walks around the couch to take a seat beside you, knees bumping against yours.

“There are…resources,” he begins, choosing his words carefully, “for heroes who’ve been undercover. To help them readjust to everyday life-”

“I don’t need a therapist,” you hiss, scowling. “I need…I need-”

A pair of hands scoops the laptop out of your grip, flipping it closed and setting it aside. But before you can complain, your now-warmed-up plate of food from that morning is set in your lap, and Hizashi takes a seat on your other side.

“If you don’t want a therapist, then at least take care of yourself, okay? Eat.”

Your scowl persists as you chew.

—-

You jolt awake on the couch at an unbeknownst hour of the morning, covered head to toe in a thin sheen of sweat. Your head is spinning and your ears are ringing, and you barely make it to the bathroom before you’re dry heaving into the sink. Nothing comes up, save for bitter bile, but you’re exhausted once the short wave of nausea passes.

You rinse your mouth and the sink out, and splash some water on your face. With any luck, you won’t have woken anyone, but when you exit the bathroom you nearly walk face first into Shouta, who’s leaning beside the door.

“It sounded like you were getting sick.” His tone isn’t accusing, but his posture puts your guard up.

“Nothing came out, so it’s fine.”

You wander back to the living room, hoping to leave the conversation, but he only follows.

“Why were you getting sick in the first place?”

“I dunno,” you grumble tensely, “adrenaline reaction maybe? Who’s to say why people puke.”

He’s quiet for several moments, observing you, your fidgeting, your agitation. You feel like you’re under a microscope, with the way he’s looking at you.

“What happened to you out there?” he asks.

“Stuff,” you mutter.

I got people killed.

“Stuff that gives you nightmares every time you sleep?”

“I don’t need a therapist.”

I don’t deserve to come back from this.

“Your sleep-yelling woke me up. You’re lucky Hizashi wears earplugs.”

You turn away from him and grab your water bottle off the coffee table, plopping grumpily onto the couch. Shouta hesitates for a moment before finding a seat beside you again. Warmth radiates off his body, which is pressed comfortingly against your side. You can feel the tension easing out of your shoulders in his presence.

“What’s so bad about therapists, anyways?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Lots of people need them. Hizashi and I have both seen a couple over the years.”

“I don’t need someone to tell me there’s something wrong with me.”

Shouta sighs. “That’s not what they do, and you know it. What’s the real reason?”

You silently curse his ability to read you like a book, to always somehow know when you’re lying. But…you’re not sure you could tell him the truth.

“I just…don’t like the idea, okay? Leave it at that.”

He watches you silently, searching in your averted gaze for any willingness to open up, but he finds only sadness…and shame. “I should head back to bed, then. Early morning, and whatnot. Try and get some more sleep.”

He rises off the couch, and without thinking you follow suit, and quickly envelope him in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, burying your face in his chest. He’s surprised for a moment, but is quick to wrap his arms around you, holding you tight while you tremble against him. 

He pats small circles into you back, keeping you close until your breathing begins to even out. “Just…don’t let this go on for too long, okay?” It’s the closest you’ve ever heard him to begging, “I don’t know what happened to you out there, but you’re obviously suffering.”

You pull away slightly, tired and defeated, and nod. “I’ll look into it. Those resources you mentioned. Okay?”

You release each other fully, and he gives you one last pat to the head.

“Okay. Now, really, try and get some more sleep.”

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #yamada hizashi x reader #yamada x reader #erasermic x reader #reader insert #bnha x reader #mha x reader #Space Between #it will get happy soon i promise #eraserhead x reader #present mic x reader

[fallinnflower]

all along

s.coups x reader (university!au, fake dating!au, friends-to-lovers)

a/n: the lovely @god1ess​ requested s.coups and “what did you expect,” and i, as per usual, went overboard. pls enjoy.

You like to think you know Choi Seungcheol better than most people. Although you’ve only been friends since starting university, you’ve spent enough time in each other’s presence to pick up on all the little idiosyncrasies in the other’s behavior — you can read his moods, you know when he’s lying, and his habits are practically yours at some points.

So when he asks if you can do him a favor on a Wednesday afternoon, you’re expecting that he forgot to do some paper assignment due Sunday and needs you to kick his ass into gear, not be his fake date to his cousin’s wedding that weekend.

“What?!” You’re so glad you aren’t in the library. Nobody in the quad gives a shit that you’ve just yelled that at Seungcheol, nor that you almost spit a mouthful of iced coffee on him. 

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” Your doe-eyed friend asks innocently, passing you a napkin as you try to collect yourself. “What did you expect?”

“Not that,” you hiss in response. “Also — this weekend? Choi Seungcheol, do you have any idea how hard it’s gonna be to find something to wear in that amount of time?” While you’re running through the contents of your closet in your mind, a smile finds its way across your friend’s face. You hardly notice the mischievous glimmer in his eyes until he takes hold of your hand to get your attention.

“Does that mean we have a deal?” He asks. You slip your hand out of his grasp and (lightly) hit him on the back of the head; despite the lack of force you use, he still rubs it and pouts at you as though he’s in pain.

“On one condition,” you say, sternly. “Nobody ever hears about this. If I have to hear even one joke from Jeonghan or Joshua about this, I swear to god I will leak those photos of you from freshman orientation week, you hear me?” At the prospect of his embarrassing drunken antics being leaked to his ruthless group of friends, he nods solemnly, even going so far as to cross his heart.

“Good,” you say, leaning back in your seat. “Also, you’re paying for my coffees for the next week and a half.” With a sigh of defeat, Cheol nods.

And suddenly, you have yourself a wedding to attend.

You find out over lunch the following day that the reason he even needs a date is that the perpetual thorn in his side that is Yoon Jeonghan decided to tell Mama Choi that Seungcheol has a campus crush. This is news even to you — as is the fact that Jeonghan is on such friendly terms with Cheol’s mom — and considering Seungcheol’s relatively sparse track record in the dating scene you can’t say you’re surprised that news spread fast around his family. His cousin had actually called him earlier and demanded he ask his crush to be his plus one, and despite knowing nothing about this mysterious crush or if they even exist at all, you understand why Seungcheol had been sent into a panic over it all. It makes you feel almost honored he asked you, but then you think about all the work you’ll have to push aside for the wedding festivities and you find yourself irritated once again. 

Not to mention you’re nervous. The immediate Choi family know exactly who you are — you’ve spent a handful of weekends at their house, so Cheol rolling up to the venue with you on his arm is going to be a very different sort of surprise. 

Over the course of lunch, the conversation drifts into what you’ll be wearing, eventually ending with him reluctantly agreeing to accompany you shopping so you can match a tie to whatever dress you manage to pick out. You can’t understand why he expected you to have wedding-worthy attire on a college campus, but it’s his mistake anyways.

You manage to almost forget about the wedding until Friday afternoon rolls around and you’re walking down to Seungcheol’s car to head to the mall.

“You’re paying for bubble tea,” is all you say as you buckle yourself in, and he sighs in mock exasperation.

“I was going to anyway,” he replies. You can’t help but smile cheekily at him as he pulls away from the curb. 

“I know. Just reminding you of your end of the deal.” 

“Like I could forget.”

The rest of the car ride passes with your usual playful banter and loud singing, but you can’t help but feel nervous the closer you get to your destination. Seungcheol hasn’t really seen you dressed up ever, and there’s a distinct possibility he’s going to see you for the first time in a sub-par dress simply because the pickings might be slim. You’re on a budget, after all.

True to his word, Cheol pays for the bubble tea near the mall entrance before the two of you begin your journey to the department store — specifically, the clearance rack.

“It’s an evening reception, right?” You ask, rifling through the racks as Seungcheol holds onto both your drinks. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Does that matter?” You merely nod in response, inspecting a dark blue maxi dress and trying to decide if it can qualify as wedding appropriate. Considering you aren’t in the wedding party, you don’t have to try too hard, but you also aren’t about to go down in the family’s books as Seungcheol’s frumpy wedding date. Ultimately, you take it off the rack and drape it carefully over your arm, continuing your way along the back wall.

After a solid half hour of searching (during which you take many breaks to sip on your drink and analyze certain dresses), you manage to find a half-dozen to try on. As you start heading into the dressing room, you halt at the door, holding the number the attendant gave you.

“Um, do you want me to come out and show them to you?” You ask. Seungcheol’s eyes widen momentarily, but he breaks into a huge grin.

“Of course I do! I’ll wait right out here.” Biting nervously onto your lower lip, you nod at him before making your way into the nearest available stall.

As expected from dresses that have been moved to the discount rack, there seems to be something wrong with the first few you try on. The blue one you had picked is too small, a red one chosen by Seungcheol is far too long to be worn even with heels — the first one you can manage to actually walk out of the room in is a purple halter-style dress that falls just to the tops of your feet. When you exit the room to show Seungcheol, he excitedly implores you to spin, practically beaming when he watches the gently flowing skirt settle around your legs. 

“That’s it,” he says. “That’s the one.” You laugh, although you can’t help but blush at the bright gleam in his eyes as he gazes at you. 

“It’s the only one you’ve seen,” you retort, but he doesn’t look dissuaded in the slightest.

“I don’t need to see any others, this one is perfect.” You catch the attendant smiling at your interaction out of the corner of your eye, and quickly find yourself agreeing with Seungcheol. With the dress decided on, you change back into your regular clothing, keeping hold of the dress and holding one hand out expectantly for your bubble tea as you leave.

“That was easy,” Seungcheol says, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Not so fast, you still need a tie to match this.” Your best friend groans good-naturedly, giving you an exaggerated pout.

“Do we have to? I’m sure I have one that matches, or Josh does—”

“I’m not about to take that risk,” you interrupt. “We are not about to show up to this wedding looking any less than perfect. I want everyone to have a good impression of me.” Cheol snorts as you begin leading him into the tie section.

“As if they’d think otherwise,” he says, standing so close behind you that you can feel his words rumbling through his chest. “They’re all going to love you.” Your heart skips a beat at his words, but you force yourself to shake it off. Grabbing two ties that look to be about the right shade of purple, you hold them up to the dress.

“Which of these do you like more?” You ask, feigning nonchalance. By the time Seungcheol is dropping you back off at your dorm, telling you he’ll pick you up at 2 the following afternoon, you feel as though you’ve run a marathon with the way your heart keeps racing.

Less than twenty-four hours from now, Seungcheol will be introducing you to family and friends as his ‘secret crush’ at his cousin’s wedding. 

In less than thirty-six hours, you’ll both be single again. And you aren’t sure how you feel about it all.

Surprisingly, when Seungcheol comes to pick you up you feel oddly calm. Maybe it’s because you expelled all your nervous energy earlier today, but you even manage to find yourself feeling pretty excited about the whole event. You like weddings — there’s usually cute vows and good food and at least one dance you know how to participate in, and with those thoughts in mind you’re feeling pretty good.

“Wow,” Seungcheol breathes as you exit the dorm building. You find yourself giggling, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear like a nervous schoolgirl. “You look fantastic.”

“Thanks. You don’t look half bad yourself.” Your best friend playfully rolls his eyes at that and opens the car door for you, waiting until you’re settled in the passenger’s seat to shut it and come around to his side.

He also holds the door open for you once the two of you get to the venue, and you gladly take the arm he offers you as you approach the chapel. All the nerves suddenly come back in full-force as you realize that you’re going to actually be introduced to people in a matter of moments. 

The two of you have barely stepped through the doors when Seungcheol’s parents begin calling out to their son. It’s his mother that recognizes you first, immediately opening her arms to you as you approach.

“Y/N!” She exclaims. “You look lovely! Have you gotten taller since I saw you last?” You chuckle, lingering in her reassuring, motherly embrace for a moment before pulling away.

“Just the heels, I’m afraid.” She laughs and moves to hug her son while Papa Choi gives you a quick hug before ushering you into the pew. Seungcheol takes his seat beside you, and, noticing your gaze nervously flitting around the room as many other pairs of eyes began to become trained on you, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. You shoot him a grateful smile, and just then everyone is told to rise for the entrance of the bride. Even so, Seungcheol keeps hold of your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours.

The ceremony itself is lovely. You know that Cheol caught you crying during the vows (a bit embarrassing considering you’ve never met the bride nor the groom, but when they started crying you couldn’t help it!), but he didn’t mention it later, which you were grateful for.

“You didn’t tell me your cousin was so pretty!” Is the first thing you say as the two of you get in his car to head to the reception. Seungcheol laughs, eyes scrunching up delightfully as he buckles himself in.

“Would that have mattered?” You pout,

“No, but it would have been nice to know she looks like a model, considering I’m gonna meet her later.” You pull down the sun visor and flick open the mirror, nervously inspecting your makeup for signs of tears. Seungcheol laughs and pulls your closest hand away from your hair, intertwining your fingers over the center console. 

“You look great, Y/N, just relax.” You let out an exaggerated huff but shut the sun visor, focusing on the greenery you two pass as you make your way to the reception. Seungcheol gives your hand a squeeze,

“Just think of all the free food you’re about to have.”

That finally gets a smile out of you.

It turns out Seungcheol’s cousin is as sweet as she is pretty, and you feel starry-eyed watching her dance with her new husband. If you ever get to be that graceful and effortlessly wonderful after college, you’ll really have made it in life after all. Seungcheol sits beside you, shoulders brushing as the both of you are turned towards the dance floor. As the dance comes to a close and everyone begins clapping for the new couple, you lean in towards your date,

“I think I have a new favorite member of the Choi family.” Seungcheol pouts, turning to you.

“She isn’t even a Choi anymore!” You only giggle in response, taking a sip of your champagne. 

With the first dance out of the way, the waiters begin serving the first course of the meal, and you fall into easy conversation with your table. Conveniently, nobody asks too many questions about the specifics of yours and Seungcheol’s ‘relationship,’ since his parents and the aunt and uncle sitting with you have seen you on his social media. You spend the dinner course drinking champagne and eating to your heart’s content, bonding almost too easily with Seungcheol’s aunt. Eventually, though, your conversation is interrupted by the cutting of the cake — which, really, is pretty welcome considering how long you’ve all had to sit looking at it on its big table.

Once the cake has started to get properly cut, the three men offer to bring back cake for their respective dates, and you feel your heart flip slightly at the term being directed towards you. Seungcheol’s aunt excuses herself to go speak with the bride and her mother, leaving just you and Mama Choi at the table.

“I knew it,” Seungcheol’s mom says, watching as Seungcheol and his dad laugh their way through the dessert line to bring cake back for the table. 

“Knew what?” You ask, turning your fond gaze from the pair. Seungcheol’s mom smiles warmly at you, gently nudging you with her elbow.

“That you two would end up together. He was smitten from the start, I could tell from the way he talked about you. I didn’t think it would take this long for him to make a move, but, as soon as Jeonghan told me Cheollie had a crush, I knew it was you.” She chuckles good-naturedly, gaze drifting back to her husband and son. You find yourself following her gaze, hoping that the dim lighting does enough to cover your red cheeks as Seungcheol turns and flashes you a grin, sending your heart into a frenzy.

The moment he turns away, you cast your gaze downward and take a sip of your water, examining the tablecloth as you try to calm your racing heart. How naive were you — the both of you — to think that this was just a silly game? When all was said and done, you realized, things couldn’t be the same. There would be no way to explain to his family how you so quickly slipped in and out of a romantic relationship without any residual awkwardness. All these people would think differently of you from now on — no matter how amicable the fabricated breakup was, you would always be the girl that broke their Seungcheol’s heart.

Even though you can see Cheol and his dad beginning their trek back to the table, you excuse yourself and slip away to the back, ignoring your fake boyfriend’s worried gaze on the back of your head. 

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Seungcheol is waiting for you outside the bathroom when you emerge, brows furrowed in concern and a pout tugging at his lips. Although you had known to expect it, you still don’t feel prepared to face him, feeling your chest tighten the moment his eyes meet yours.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks, gently brushing strands of hair away from your eyes. You watch as his gaze carefully traces your features, the backs of his fingers pressed to your forehead. “You look really pale.” If he wasn’t frowning before, he certainly is now, and you nervously clench your hands into fists, feeling your nails biting into your palms. 

“No,” you whisper, voice shaky. “No, I’m not okay. Cheol, what were we thinking?” Although you’d just spent minutes in the bathroom talking yourself down from the verge of tears and schooling your breathing, you can already feel the stinging in your eyes begin again. You sniff loudly and blink up at the ceiling, only looking back down when Seungcheol’s hands gently grasp your face and force you to meet his gaze.

“What do you mean?” He asks. “Did somebody say something? If someone was rude—” You shake your head, closing your eyes as you feel the first tears welling up to your lashes. Cheol’s thumbs gently swipe under your eyes, catching the teardrops before they can fall. 

“Everyone has been so nice to me,” you say, softly, afraid if you speak louder your voice will crack, “They’re going to hate me when this is over, Cheol, we didn’t think this through.” Your best friend doesn’t say a word, just gently pulls you into his arms as you struggle to keep yourself from sobbing. 

“You should’ve listened to your cousin,” you whisper. “You should’ve asked your crush and then at least you wouldn’t have been lying about who you brought. Even if she’d said no, you would’ve been able to tell them the truth—”

“Y/N,” he interrupts, his hold on you tightening for a brief moment. He runs a reassuring hand up and down the length of your spine, the other cradling the back of your head, engulfing you in his familiar warmth. Eventually, you manage to get your breathing under control, but as you begin to pull away your surprised to find that Seungcheol simply moves so both his arms are around your waist, keeping you close to him.

Before you can manage to form a coherent question, Seungcheol lets out a nervous sigh and glances up at you through his lashes.

“I know this is probably the worst time to tell you this but, um, I actually did ask my crush to come with me.” You cock your head to one side slightly, wondering why his cheeks are turning so pink at this confession.

“And they said no? Who was it?” You immediately feel guilty for asking, but Seungcheol doesn’t look sad when his gaze lifts to meet yours — in fact, his eyes seem to be sparkling, his face even redder than before.

“No,” he says. “They said yes, technically.” 

“What?” You ask, scrunching your face up in confusion. “If they said yes, then why am I here?”

“That’s the thing,” he starts, grinning sheepishly at you. He lifts one hand from your back to cradle your cheek, and you feel your heart skip a beat. “It is you. To be honest, I thought I was pretty obvious.” 

For a moment, all you can do is blink up at Seungcheol, looking for any hint of dishonesty in his face even though you know this isn’t the sort of thing he would joke about. You aren’t really sure what to do, to be honest. It would be a lie to say you’d never considered Seungcheol in a more than friendly light, but after being friends for so long you had assumed it was a hopeless endeavor. You can feel your heart start racing again, the tips of your ears and your cheeks warming up with an impending blush — so, like the child you are, you let out a whine and hide your face in the crook of his shoulder. 

“You jerk,” you complain, voice half muffled by Cheol’s embrace. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I got worried for no reason!” The laughter that serves as his reply feels as though it rumbles through your own chest as he hugs you tighter, his hand continuing to rub up and down your back. You feel a soft, warm touch on the crown of your head and look up in surprise, finding Seungcheol positively beaming down at you. 

“So, does that mean you’re okay with being my girlfriend officially?” He asks, the cheeky grin on his face telling you he already knows the answer. You sigh and loop your arms around his neck, though you aren’t quite able to keep yourself from smiling as you gaze into his eyes.

“Fine,” you reply, gently reaching up with one hand to fix his hair. He turns his head and presses a quick kiss to your wrist, before leaning in to capture your lips with his own. The moment is perfect as you both pull away, foreheads pressed together, yet you can’t help but tease him like always, a devilish smile curling at your lips,

“But your cousin is still my new favorite Choi.” Seungcheol lets out a whine and pouts, but he brightens up a bit when you press a kiss to his cheek and remind him,

“Come on, we still have cake to eat.”

Maybe Seungcheol’s mom was right all along.

#scoups scenario #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #seventeen texts #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #kpop fanfiction #kpop reactions #kpop writing #kpop scenarios #kpop texts #My writing

[popculturebuffet]

Mickey and the Roadster Racers: “Mickey’s Perfecto Day” and “Daisy’s Grande Goal” review or “I think i’m going out of my headcold”

Saludos Amigos!  I”ve been sick, and as such have had no energy or state of mind to continue my look at every apperance of the CABs in the us, concluding with a look at every episode of legend of the three caballeros. 

And today’s stop is one i’m only passingly familiar with: Mickey and the Roadster Racers. MATRR.. wait really that’s what it spells?

No Larry the Cable guy on this blog thank you.  Anyways, Roadster Racers is surprisingly complicated for such a simple show. For starters it’s the successor to “Mickey Mouse’s Club House” another CGI Disney Junior show, Disney’s equivalent to Nick Jr because their clever like that. And to continue the theme of ripping off other properties, the show was Disney’s stab at following the big fake interactivity craze started by Dora the Explorer. And it’s annoying as that sounds with a lot of pasues and an annoying recurring hot dog song that’s obnoxiously catchy. It was mostly just slice of life shenanigans with the mickey mouse crew and when retoolling it they decided to drop the now dated fake interactivity, turn up the slice of life and add some of those nitro burning funny cars vroom vroom. IN a sense genral g rated soft boiled mickey shenanigans with a racing theme. 

Not a terrible series but not terribly intresting hence why i’ve never covered it. It’s a bland inoffesnsive cartoon for toddlers. Enough effort is put in for me not to hate it, as even a toddler show can have effort, but not enoguh so that I really care. I’ve seen better, i’ve seen worse. The only intresting things are the racing gimmick and the fact that as said gimmick diminished they switched names to “Mickey’s mixed up adventures” in season 3. Hence the complicated part as it’s not counted as it’s own series but unlike other disney title changes they aren’t just slapping another label under the logo like the marvel shows. This is  a full on retool. But it still has the same cast and prodcution crew and is counted as part of mickey mouse. Point is it’s weird and not relevant since our boys didn’t show up in that season. Oh and as a final note I learned while writing this/ there’s a THIRD Mickey Mouse Disney Junior Series, Mickey Mouse Funhouse, coming next year. 

But with so little to cover I ended up throwing in a freebie. See normally I charge the same for 11 minute and 20+ minute shows. It’s fair as most 11 minute shows these days pack in as much character as the ones that use the full half hour. It’s just a diffrence in tactics is all. But here I felt obligated to do at LEAST two diffrent, but cabs related, 11 minutes here, so if I had nothing to talk about I could pad it out and If I had everyhting to talk about.. eh I still tried to do the right thing. I regret nothing. But yeah i’m sick, this series is eh, let’s gooooo. 

Mickey’s Perfecto Day So Mickey and Friends are preparing to drive to spain.

No i’m not making a joke. Wish I was would be one of my best but no, Mickey and Friends are just.. casually going to drive to Spain. To explain why this hurts my head a map, on which i’ve drawn the route they’d have to take to get to spain from, let’s say Calisota, the fictional state where Mouseton, Duckburg, New Quackmore, and thus probably Hot Dog Hills, the show’s setting, reside. 

This is a crue map, they oculd’ve gone down through mexico or central america.. but the point is THEY DROVE ACROSS THE OCEAN. And I genuinely do not know if their cars can do that but apparently they can. So either the writer didn’t know where Spain was or didn’t care and either way it’s bad. LIke at least give their cars a plane or boat mode. Go full DKR up in this bitch, give em diffrent racing vehicles. But it wouldn’t be as aggrivvating or bizzare if they MENTIONED how they were driving to spain, like maybe Donald’s car that’s also an old boat and goofy’s that’s a tub have aquamodes and can tow the rest. I get 5 year olds don’t care about this.. but still? I guess? Also MIckey is either the sorcerer supreme or jesus at this point. He can cross oceans by car, astral project, cross into other dimensions.. the only thing missing is raising the dead and  he already did that in the 30′s. 

So as for why the sorcerer supreme and his buddies are going all the way to Spain, Donald has a concert with the three caballeros and this time they all remember him as a memmber and Daisy’s a huge fan. Which is sweet. Then we hear donald duck talk and...

Yeah, Daniel Ross is not the best Donald. Now I will cut the guy some slack here: He’s a voice actor more known for doing bit parts who just got the role in 2016, since racers aired in 2017 and animation lead time and all that. He’s not going to be nearly as good as Tony or Clarence out of the gate. Even Tony wasn’t. He also had a valid reason for picking up the role as Tony likely had two series in production at that time, Rise of the Three Cablleros and Ducktales, and thus had to split his time between both. And having Chris Diamaptolus do mickey in the new shorts instead of his usual voice actor Bret Iwane despite Iwane not being in any serious danger of dying soon has worked out super. So having multiple actors isn’t the problem. Hell after the tragic loss of Russi taylor and with how bad the world is, having an understudy in mind for such an important role is a grim but understandable necicisty. While I belivie tony can go on for decades, he’s only human. 

So my issue is not on Donald’s voice being diffrent or new.. it’s that it’s not very good and the second episode featuerd here shows Daniel Ross really hasn’t improved despite now having worked as the character for a while.I can forgive taking some time to grow in but being this sloppy after a full season is just unacceptable. He’s BETTER but he’s still just not very good and doing the bear minimum. I don’t doubt he’s a good va in other rolls, I don’t want to hate on the guy, but I can hate on aperfomance when it’s bad and it’s not good here. It’s just not. Not in either episode not in any way shape or form. It just feels like a lazy donald duck impression. Disney can do better and Ross can hopefully find better work in the future. But for now this just hangs like a wet fart on his resume. 

Moving on, thankfully, we have our three stories split pretty evenly and all stock plots. “Horay”.  Mickey and Minnie: Mickey tries to have a “perfecto” day, hence the title with Minnie, but instead gives her a rose a baby bull likes.. or maybe it’s SUPPOSED to be full grown but while Mickey and Minnie treat him like a grown bull and react to him like one.. the boy dosen’t look at all, even in the series style, like an adult bull. he looks like a calf. Mickey.. is initimdated by a small child whose horns aren’t sharp enough to hurt him. 

It’s just REALLY distracting and takes me out of the plot which itself is as bland as plain toast and twice as dry. They flee him till the end where Minnie figures out the rose thing at the concert and they make an ew friend. NOt TERRIBLE but not great.  Goofy and Cuckoo Loca: Okay first off who and what is a cuckoo loca? Well she’s a wind up bird that lives in Daisy’s Cuckoo Clock and makes sarcastic comments in a brooklyn accent because nikka futtterman voices her. Still makes more sense than driving to spain. She’s not a bad addition to the cast.. not even that weird as most kids based franchises have an adorable animal sidekick to market. Goofy wants to try some “flamingo dancing” while in spain, with Loca going along to make sure he dosen’t die somehow.. which would be unjustifable for anyone but goofy. Also.. Flamingo Dancing...

But yeah Goofy goes up against ... world famous flamingo dancer horace horsecollar?!

Now apparently this is a common thing for him in this series, apparently, but still it feels like if one of those weird variant ninja turtle figures from the 80′s was a plot point in an episode. Like if we actually had an episode based around birthday magician raph. 

It feels just as odd and out of place for down to earth if showy horace to suddenly be the best flaminco dancer in spain, despite being very much white coded, as it does for the angriest ninja turtle to be pulling a rabbit out of kids hats. Now Rise of the TMNT raph I could totally see as a party magician but any other? He’d probably break his wand over some kids head. 

Goofy ends up winning anyway because he’s stupid, though Flamingo dancing should be a real thing even if this joke is bad and it shoudl feel bad. What an ODD subplot Okay one more then i’m free of this prison. 

The Three Cablleros Plus Daisy:  Okay finally we get to what I came here for. The Three Caballeros! And..they look a tad off. Not terrible but clearly the animators weren’t as skilled with non duck beaks as both of them look ready to do this to donald. 

While Panchito’s color varies. Sometime’s it’s a deep brownish crimson, sometimes it’s poop brown and there’s no classy way to put it. When he’s in this cheap cgi, he looks like a shit chicken. This gets to a larger issue though... the animation here is not great. It’s not TERRIBLE.. but it’s pretty freaking sub par for disney. And i’ve SEEN their other cgi shows around the same time due to having a young niece and nephew. Sherieff Callie, Doc McStuffins, MIles from Tommorowland, and after this T.O.T.S. and Rocketeer. I’m not saying these are masterpieces of the genre, but they have more effort in botht he animation and writing put in. Here it just feels like they do the bear minimum which feels really fucking wrong. These chracters deserve better and have thankfully gotten better. YOu can make a show for preschoolers that’s cutsey and harmless and still have it at least be creative god dammit. It’s why I don’t like covering this show. It just feels so.. lifeless. They try a bit here and there but outside of cuckoo, there’s nothing really new or intresting to really make kids love these characters and it bothers me. it bothers me a lot. 

Moving on thank god, the plot is bare bones as is the boys characterization. So far at least their character has been pretty consitent across all mediums. i’ts something I haven’t really touched on but their seen as world traveler’, Panchito being a Gaucho and Jose being such a ladies man this will probably happen to him eventually. 

I swear to god that was the only part of this movie I can remember. I’m  better off that way. But yeah without Panchito’s pep or Jose’s smooth talking ways, there’s just nothing for disney junior to work with so their just.. friends to donald who are nice to daisy. Which is very nice to see, but isn’t very intresting or gives me a lot to talk about. Donald eats a food that’s too hot, continues to talk poorly, and Daisy has to fill in. He gets back in at time and they sing probably the most forgetable cabs song yet. It’s.. not much honestly.  This was worth covering for completions sake but it dosen’t really add much. If nothing else it at least made me realize so far each mile of the ride has added something fresh to the characters: The original was the foundation, rosa gave them depth and made them feel like real people, and house of mouse made them feel like a big deal to other characters and made donald’s history as a cabllero part of his legacy as it should be. Each one so far has felt like it added.. this one just made me realize that and that is all. It builds on nothing adds nothing and there’s really nothing here other than MAYBE the brown/crimson design for panchito that carries over from the looks of it. The next two versions build on what rosa, the movie and to a lesser extent the house of mouse built. This one adds nothing. This plot is just.. inconqueintal. not bad for kids to know about them but even then it feels like a disapointing introduction. I fondly remember hte cabs episodes of house of mouse and even on rewatch they mostly held up despite some weak parts. This .. this will just be forgotten and I only hope legend and ducktales have done a better job keeping my boys alive in kids minds. God i’m depressed. Well at least this is over right.. right? 

Daisy’s Grande Goal

Okay as I said I was doing two, and rather than do this episode’s paired episode I decided on Season 2′s “Supercharged: Daisy’s Grande Goal”.. and cut the supercharged out of the title for the most part because why would you put the sutitle in your actual title. And only in some episodes. But yeah this season had a new gimmick, SUPERCHARGING... which basically means our heroes roadsters can go into super sayian tron super sayian mode and go real fast. They look real nice though and it has it’s own neat theme tune so there’s that. Otherwise the only other change is the animation which improves greatly. Seriously look at that shot above. That’s quality lin line with the ohter disney juinor shows. It’s still not as CREATIVE, but it’s not as slipshod as it started and I have to give them credit on that. 

So our heroes are in Brazil.. and as far as I can tell they drove there again.. but the diffrence is 1) you can actually DRIVE to brazil and 2) they have super fast super cars now, meaning even if the super charge mode has a timer, it can help with the commute. It’s also one of the boys actual home countries this time. I mean the episode isn’t built around the cabs.. but neither was the last one. Seriously I almost missed that: it’s three unrleated plots and really you could’ve just lenethed the bull and goofy plots a bit and left donald and daisy out. If your not going to use the cabs right hten don’t use them at all. Here though their used BETTER.. still not in the lead unforunately but at least them being on the brazilian soccer team makes sense as jose is from brazil and while panchito is it he’s his best friend, sometimes lover and always there when he needs him. So spending some time in brazil to play soccer/football isn’t a stretch. But that’s about it for their involvment: they say a few lines, are part of the brazilian team our heroes face, and we get Not-Donald saying “No Way Jose”.,,,

Sadly I can’t leave but the main plot is about Daisy’s Cousnt Almonda. She was in the previous episode which I did not watch but I do like both there being a valid reason why our heroes are here, and connection between episodes. While this season isn’t MUCH better.. it’s still better by some metric.  The plot is very basic: Almonda always wins at soccer ever since she and Daisy were kids, and it’s your basic “hero gets overcompetitive to finally win plot and learns to just have fun and to use teamwork heart of the cards and all that” It goes how you’d expect with Daisy hogging the ball and causing disasters and then a ten car pileup before cucoo yells at her, she realizes she was bad and also realizes Almonda had to practice hard to beat her, and ends up beating her through teamwork and you get it. IT’s not much But yeah ten car pile up.. that’s where it is intresting and rediculous as their playing soccer with cars. Which given i’ve always been an advocate for card games on motor cycles, seriously it’s not more rediculous than Yugioh was before that: in the anime and manga before 5ds we had table hockey but the puck is ice with nitrocylcrine in it, a battle with an escaped convict involving vodka and only using one finger, a chinese puzzel box that devoured souls, a dueling monkey, a whole hogwarts style school for dueling, duel spirits, our heroes childhood creations coming to life to help him, our hero merging with his androgynous childhood friend to fight the light of all evils, and on top of all of that, kaiba building a giant murder theme park soley to kill yugi and, even with how rich is he is, not even going to prison for the two months he’d get for that. My point is Yugioh is fricking weird and I love it so and card games on mortocyles is awesome.  Soccer with cars is alright. The teams are mickey, minnie, daisy and donald, for the US and Almonda, Jose, Panchito and.. Pancho Pete for the Brazilian team. Pete’s cousin. He apparenlty has a lot of em. Eh as long as we don’t get petkeem the african dream we’re fine. 

Why why did I make this. Why. But yeah it’s fine, not the best action ever adn the supercharge segments as I said look nice but as I also said ther’es just not a lot here. Daisy’s cousin is intresting, but likely more in the other segment. Here she’s more of a plot device to make daisy into an asshole for the episode so the plot can happen. There’s just not a lot to talk about> Hence me doing two of these. I will say it’s a better episode than the other one: it felt like more actually happened, it was more cohesive, had way more enerjgy and it had billy beagle... the series resident overexcited and loveable announcer voiced by the far from loveable jay leno of stealing conan’s job he gave him and last man standing, for some reason, fame. 

Overall these episodes are.. eh. The first one is kind of a mess, the second one is slightly better but these clearly werne’t meant for adults, let alone older kids and it shows. But I found some material here and made a horrifying combination of a terrible racist wwe gimmick and pete so.. I win/ I guess. I dunno, until next time, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. 

#mickey and the roadster racers #mickey's mixed up adventures #disney #disney junior #mickey mouse #donald duck #goofy goof #daisy duck #minnie mouse #cuco loca #Jose Carioca #panchito romero miguel junipero francisco quintero gonzalez #panchito pistoles #pete pete

[lloydskywalkers]

So on the incredibly rare occasion that I do write romance, I have the ability to write one (1) single romance and that is all, and that’s Dumb Fools in Love. Which hopefully fits here, because it’s Glass Girl’s namesake day, so i gotta at least try for @speedythecat, it’s what she desERVES.

(happy valentines this is disgusting fluff anyways i love u speedy)

Lloyd likes the way construction paper sounds. It’s kind of therapeutic, the sound it makes as he drags the scissors through the middle. It’s even more satisfying when he uses them to start stabbing gaping holes through the paper, because he went and ruined the stupid heart shape again, and now he’s running out of pink and red construction paper that doesn’t look like he took a vicious katana to it and went crazy.

“Stupid scissors—”

He doesn’t know if Rain even likes pink or red that much, Lloyd reminds himself dismally, as he untangles his fingers from the scissors. Just that they’re thematically appropriate to the essence of the holiday, or whatever, and they apparently must’ve been the only two colors that existed when whoever came up with Valentine’s Day was around. He hasn’t even found actual purple in any of the little cards he’s seen, just some floral lavender.

Lloyd glances down to the pile of pink and red paper strewn across the table in front of him, then back to the instructions he’s printed out for himself. Then back to the paper.

Maybe he can just like, die instead.

Lloyd is about ninety percent sure that he can’t be the only person to ever look up “how to make Valentine’s Day cards” on the internet before, but it still feels like a crushing blow to his pride and an overall dumb move in general as he does.

But he’s only slightly desperate right now, and he really doesn’t want to reach fully desperate, so he’s willing to suck up his pride if it means not totally ruining his girlfriend’s hopes and dreams by giving her a sub-par and ultimately disappointing Valentine’s Day card that looks like he doesn’t even understand the holiday in the first place.

To be fair, though, he kinda doesn’t.

Like, Lloyd knows what Valentine’s Day is, obviously. He’s not an idiot. He’s just…never really participated in it…as a person. It seems like all the others have cute little stories of getting paper cut-outs and candy hearts in grade school (which he can get behind, if there’s candy), but Lloyd’s experience in grade school was general scorn toward anything love-related at all. Valentine’s Day was well out of the question. Lloyd didn’t even know it existed until he walked straight into a street stand that looked like red and pink had thrown up all over it, before being drowned in like, twenty-dozen bouquets of roses.

He’d been an awful brat of a child then, so at the time, he’d dealt with it by kicking the stand over and being totally grossed out. Now, however, he’s left wondering if those bouquets are worth the money, or if he should invest in the slightly bigger ones they sell over on the east side stands.

How the tables have turned, Lloyd sighs miserably to himself, struggling to peel another stubborn strip of glitter glue from his hand where it’s dried there, sparkling mockingly at him.  Finally digging the glue free, Lloyd brushes his hands off and glances down at his paper.

Go for handmade.

Well, that one’s easy, ‘cause there’s no way Lloyd’s physically bringing himself to walk into a store and buy Rain some cheesy card with a bunch of generic hearts on it. This, of course, leaves the problem that Lloyd now has to come up with the card, and the only thing that’s coming to mind are generic, cheesy hearts.

Hmm. Lloyd taps the edge of the table, humming beneath his breath. He can draw pretty well, but he’s not like, an artist. Not like Cole is, or anything. Lloyd is a lot better at cartoon characters and funny little caricatures of the others than he is, say, detailed roses or something.

Rain likes cats, right? he muses. He could draw a cat, and then maybe have it holding a heart, or something. That’d be kinda cute, maybe. And then he’d get to make some awful pun like “you’re paw-sitively purr-fect”—

Lloyd slams his head down on the table. Nope. This is why he’s not allowed to come up with the idea himself. He’s worse than all the awful grocery store cards put together.

Something in his nose tickles, and he sneezes, sending up sparkly dust all around him. Lloyd blinks, then bites back a moan. Belatedly, he realizes he’s just dunked his head in glitter dust.

It could’ve been the glue, he tries to comfort himself.

Figuring he’s already doomed, Lloyd makes peace with the fact that he’s just going to live the rest of his day resembling a blond disco ball, and lifts his head to return to task, squinting at what’s next on the list.

Make it personal.

Again, that one should be easy too, because it’s Rain. But what’s supposed to count as personal? Is it like, I-love-you personal, or here’s-a-reference-to-inside-joke-number-fifty-eight kind of personal? Should he do both? He and Rain have too many inside jokes, though, it’ll take him half the day to pick one, and he’s already running out of time. Rain’s supposed to be back at noon, and Lloyd does not have that kind of time to kill.

He drums his fingers against the table-top, staring at the outlined drawing of Rain his fingers have absently started sketching out, right next to his doodles of little cats and a mini-Overlord raging terror on the glitter glue scattered across the paper.

Lloyd frowns at the last one. Oops. Well, he can’t give her this now.

“Is that supposed to be the Overlord? You can’t give Rain that for Valentine’s Day.”

Lloyd jumps half a foot out of his chair and slams his knee into the table just so that his entire leg goes dead, his shriek of surprise strangling off as he chokes on the erupting cloud of glitter dust.

By the time he winds down coughing, wiping the reflexive tears from his eyes and glaring, Kai is just staring at him, mildly concerned and whole lot unimpressed.

“A little warning, please.”

“I’ve been standing here for five minutes, bud, it’s not my fault you’re in dreamland.” Kai glances down at the table-top of scattered construction paper and glitter dust, and his mouth trembles, like he’s holding back laughter. “Are you…trying to make a card, or mass-murdering our construction paper supply?”

Lloyd feels his cheeks go scarlet, and he sputters. “I’m not — no, I’m just—” He waves his hands in the air, wishing he could disappear. “Valentine’s Day,” he finally says, haplessly. “Rain. Card.”

“Ah,” Kai says, nodding. He eyes the butchered pile of paper. “It’s going…good, then?”

Lloyd buries his face in his hands, groaning. “I keep ruining it. I’ve never done Valentine’s Day before, Kai, this is a disaster. Rain’s gonna hate it.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” Kai says, sliding into the chair next to him, patting him on the shoulder. “Rain’ll be fine with…whatever…you end up making. It’s not that big a deal.” He laughs, rolling his eyes. “I mean, it’s not like she’s going to get horribly upset because you butchered her favorite holiday and dump you for some chump with better taste.”

Lloyd freezes dead, his eyes widening. He has not yet considered this option. What if he does ruin Rain’s entire holiday with his awful gift? What if, by completely disrespecting her last name’s namesake — thing — she does get horribly upset and runs off with like, Ariya to the desert or something, and—

Kai blinks, then his eyes go wide. “Lloyd, wait — no, it was a joke, Lloyd, don’t get that look on your face — Nya!”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

And that’s how Lloyd ends up cornered by his entire team at the kitchen table, covered in glitter dust and currently living out his worst life as they try to decide the best way for him not to totally sabotage his love life in one go.

“Honestly, I never really got Valentine’s Day,” Kai remarks. “I didn’t get the whole grade school experience as much, since we homeschooled for the most part. It’s just a lot of hearts and chocolate and flowers and stuff, right?”

“Um, it’s a lot more than that,” Jay rolls his eyes. “It was classroom warfare. Your like, entire life status was measured by how many Valentines you’d get. It was totally lame,” he scowls.

“I dunno, I always got a whole lot,” Cole muses. “I could never figure out why, though. I wasn’t super popular, or anything...”

They all stare at Cole for a beat, where he stands haloed beneath the kitchen lights in all his wavy-haired glory.

“Hopeless,” Jay sighs.

“This isn’t grade school, though,” Nya says. “This is Lloyd’s actual relationship, which we are helping him with, so let’s hear actual helpful stuff, please.”

“Again,” Kai shrugs. “Flowers. Chocolate. Hearts. Bam, you’re good.”

“For crying out loud,” Jay groans. “How do magazines keep labeling you the smooth one.”

“Hold on, he’s got a point with the chocolate part,” Cole points out.

“Of course, you would choose that part to focus on,” Zane sighs.

“Guys, enough,” Nya cuts over them. “I said helpful stuff, not the most generic ideas ever. I mean, chocolate’s nice, but Lloyd’ll probably eat it all before it gets to Rain anyways—”

“I would not!” Lloyd protests.

“—and the card’s gonna be the focal point, so hearts are covered.” Nya glances down the pile of butchered construction paper in front of Lloyd, and winces. “We’ll, uh, help you with that part. But first, let’s plan.” She tugs a half-torn piece of construction paper toward her, uncapping a marker. “What all does Rain like, for starters?”

“Well,” Lloyd pauses, thinking. “She does like flowers, and — no, no I am not going to ask Lief for help, no way, not a chance.”

“Just a suggestion!” Jay throws his hands up in defense. “He’s her friend, though, so he’d probably have some ideas, y’know?”

“So. Not. Worth it.”

“Okay, okay, geez.”

Nya rolls her eyes, but scribbles ‘flowers — not from Lief’ on the paper anyways. “Good, but that’s still pretty standard stuff. Anything else a little more creative? Something that really says Rain to you.”

“She likes rocks,” Lloyd nods.

The marker squeaks violently on the paper, and Nya makes a dying sound in the back of her throat. Kai breaks into snickering, and Jay whacks him on the shoulder, giggling.

“There you go, bud, perfect Valentine’s gift. Give her a rock.”

“No,” Nya says firmly, glaring at Jay. She then turns the glare on Lloyd, who immediately shrinks lower in his seat. “Rocks, Lloyd, really — okay. Okay, do you know anything else she likes? That’s not rocks?”

“Uh, she likes…glass?” Lloyd says, weakly. “And um, seashells. And tea, and — she really does like rocks, I’m serious! Like, cool ones—“

“You are not giving Rain a rock for Valentine’s Day!”

“A cool rock!”

“That doesn’t make it any more acceptable!”

“Ughhh.” Lloyd slides down in his chair with a dying moan, throwing his arms over his face. “You ruin everything. She likes those little paper cranes, I guess. And, uh…”

“You,” Zane reminds him. “She likes you. Therefore, she will most likely love anything you give her, since it’s from you.”

Normally, Lloyd would just scoff at that, but Zane’s voice is so sincere it actually helps, a little. Lloyd sits up in his seat a bit, his crossed arms loosening. “Well…”

“Yeah! So why don’t you just draw her a cat that says like, ‘you’re purr-fect’, or something?” Jay suggests. “That sounds like you.”

Lloyd slams his head against the table, once again accidentally dunking himself in glitter dust. He can’t bring himself to care this time, because the whole world apparently just knows him for terrible puns.

“Stop being so melodramatic, you’re going to remind her of her brother,” Nya clips. Lloyd chokes on his tongue, and dissolves into a fit of manic sputtering as Kai claps him on the back, encouraging him to breathe.

“—was just a joke, Lloyd, don’t take her seriously.”

“—time and place, Nya, time and place—!”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

It takes several disastrous attempts and more than a few marker wars — Kai in particular is sporting some spectacular pink sharpie marks along the side of his face, and Lloyd’s got streaking red marks across his forearms as the price for protecting his own face — but Lloyd end up with one brightly-colored, cursive-lettered Valentine’s card for Rain.

He’s feeling pretty confident in it, actually. It says everything he wants it to say, while looking pretty but dignified, and it’s only got one cat on it, so he’s — he’s pretty sure Rain will like it. A lot more than any of his other disastrous attempts, he assures himself. Now all he’s gotta do is grab the flowers Nya made him promise to get, and according to both Wikihow and his family, he’ll have the perfect Valentine. Armed with that knowledge, Lloyd strides confidently for the kitchen table to grab an envelope.

Only to freeze dead when he comes face-to-face with Rain, who’s bent over studying said disastrous attempts from earlier, that he’s left out in full view on the kitchen table like a complete moron.

Rain’s currently got one of his first attempts in her hands, her finger tracing the little design he’d drawn. Her hair’s down right now, all silvery and smooth and falling over her face, so he can’t see her expression.

Lloyd is highly considering running for the hills by like, hurling himself out the kitchen window, when Rain turns around, the end her nose still red from the outside cold, freckles standing out more than usual on her cheeks. Lloyd freezes in place.

She holds up one of the ruined cards. “Are all these...for me?”

Lloyd’s soul makes the executively wise decision to exit his body right then.

“They’re — I — no, they’re for, uh—”

Lloyd’s mind backfires. Shoot, he can’t say they’re for someone else, they’ve got ‘I love you’ and other sappy stuff all over them, what’s he supposed to do—

“They’re, uh, for my grandmother.”

Rain raises an eyebrow. “Your grandmother…named Rain,” she says slowly, reading the name that’s brightly plastered everywhere.

“Her name’s Rain too,” Lloyd tries, weakly.

Rain raises her other eyebrow. She wordlessly holds up one of the cards, pointing to where “Rain Allira Valentine” is highlighted. Lloyd mentally makes a note to murder Kai later as her finger slides down to the “Mr. Rain Valentine” right below, her lips trembling as she tries to hold back a snicker.

“Um.” At least she’s laughing, Lloyd tells himself. She hasn't run off to the desert yet. “I have a better one for you, I swear. Those are just — really, really bad first attempts, which you were never supposed to see, ever.”

Please forget they ever existed, is on the tip of his tongue, but Rain’s expressions softens, her eyes fond as she looks from the cards to him.

“I don’t know, these are…kinda sweet,” she admits, her cheeks going a bit pink.

“Oh,” Lloyd says, his own face heating. “That’s! That’s good, I guess. I mean, this new one’s — it’s a whole lot better, though, and uh…” He frantically rubs the back of his head, trying to get his brain back online and working properly again. Unfortunately, the action sends a tiny shower of sparkles raining from his hand, and Lloyd remembers in horror that he never got that glitter dust out.

Rain smirks, biting back a laugh. “Hold on,” she says, stepping in close. “You’ve got some — here.”

She pushes a hand through his hair, her fingers gently tangling through the thick blond strands before pulling away, leaving her fingers stained in glitter dust. She gives a tiny snicker, then brushes at his hair with her other hand, neatly sweeping a shower of glitter dust from it before carefully tousling his hair back in place.

“There,” she says. “Now you don’t look as much like a disco ball.”

“Maybe I wanted to look like a disco ball,” Lloyd says, petulantly. “Lloyd Disco Ball Garmadon, that’s me.”

“Then I’d have to make you another Valentine’s card,” Rain says, and Lloyd finally spots the envelope she’s been keeping behind her back. “Because I definitely messed up your middle name, if that’s the case.”

Lloyd blinks rapidly. “Wait, you got me one?”

Rain freezes, looking unsure. “Um…yes? That’s kind of…the point, right? You give Valentine’s to people you lo—like—um, love.”

Lloyd’s definitely red now. “I-I probably wouldn’t know,” he finally stammers. “Darkley’s wasn’t too big on Valentine’s.”

Lloyd immediately wants to hit himself, because Rain’s here being sweet and talking about love, and he’s bringing up Darkley’s like a motor-mouthed moron. And now Rain looks sad, and is it too late for Lloyd to pitch himself out the window—?

“Well, lucky for you, I know all about it,” Rain suddenly says, firmly. “You’ll just have to spend the day with me, so I can give you the run-down.”

“That I can do,” Lloyd grins brightly in relief.

“It’s a date, then,” Rain beams, before her smile hitches in laughter. “And you, um, you have more glitter. On your cheek.”

Lloyd wipes quickly at his face. “Oh, come on — did I get it?”

“No, now you’re just — okay, stop, I’ll get it, hold on.”

Rain steps nearer again, brushing her thumb across his cheek once, then again. “There,” she nods satisfied. She doesn’t move back, though, standing close enough that Lloyd can count her freckles, and see every shade of teal in her eyes. There’s a hint of a smile left on her face, and Lloyd swallows. This would probably be like, the perfect time to—

“For FSM’s sake, kiss her, you moron, she’s totally set you up for it—”

Kai’s voice cuts off in a strangled choking sound as Nya throttles him while both Rain and Lloyd go scarlet, and Lloyd makes another mental note to murder Kai a second time later.

“Wanna go out?” Lloyd suggests hastily, his face flaming. “The candy’s probably not gonna be on sale yet, but I bet we can get someone to cut us a deal.”

“Yes,” Rain nods fervently. “Let’s — out. Go out. Of here, sounds good.”

“Great,” Lloyd says, then snatches both their jackets from the hook before fleeing, Rain trailing behind him as they sprint past the others, stifling laughter as Lloyd desperately avoids making eye contact with anyone. Rain’s muffling giggles too, though, and Lloyd can’t help breathing out a laugh as he flings open the doors tumbling out into the chilly February weather.

“So, I have a question,” he says, as their footsteps fall into pace down the street. “What do you think of like, rocks as a present?”

“Hm, I don’t know. Is it like, a cool rock?”

“I mean, hypothetically? Yeah, a super cool rock.”

“Well, if it’s super cool. Then that’d be a good one, I guess.”

“I knew it—!”

#ninjago #lloyd garmadon #rain #oc #this is the Worst of Sap #the rest of the team is here being...sort of...helpful too #anyways stan rain

[yespolkadotkitty]

Tinderbox, Part 10

Part 9 here

Marshall glanced back over his notes as Rosie sat quietly opposite him. She’d seen enough cop shows - most everyone had, these days - to know that the mirror behind his chair was two way, that someone would be observing. She kept herself almost perfectly still, and if he hadn’t experienced their night together himself, he’d have had trouble reconciling her with the woman he’d shared such passion with.

Well, save her sense of humour. Only the crime of being a sub-par husband.

Marshall drew the picture away. “Please, contact me if he tries to reach you in any way. If you see him, or think you see him.”

She pursed her lips, and Marshall could tell that she doubted very much that her former husband would do so, but she nodded anyway. “Of course.”

“Or…. if your sister says anything to indicate that he’s boarded a plane.”

She nodded again.

Marshall swallowed and forced himself to stay calm. What frustrated him was that he wanted to see the real Rosie. The one who’d tugged her fingers through his hair. The one who’d cornered him just now and asked if he’d betrayed someone. She had all that fire inside. He yearned for it.

“Okay. Thanks for your time, Ms Dawes. I’ll…. Have an officer see you out.”

She touched his hand, just a ghost of her fingertips over his knuckles. “Would you? Walk me out, I mean?”

The promise of spending just a few more moments in her company was impossible to resist, especially when he thought of the alternative - the pile of unappealing paperwork on his desk. “Sure.”

He opened the interview room door and gestured for her to precede him, then he led her through the noisy bullpen and reception area with its row of uncomfortable seating. She shrugged her coat on.

“Well, it was…. Nice to see you again,” she began politely.

Marshall folded his arms over his chest, holding back a deep sigh. He didn’t want this veneer of politeness, but what choice did he have?

“How old is your daughter?” she asked.

“Thirteen.”

Rosie winced, and Marshall chuckled.

“Difficult age?” she asked sympathetically.

“I think she’s been thirteen since she was about nine,” he groused, but smiled. Thinking of Faye always lightened him, burst his chest with love and pride.

A smile curved Rosie’s lips. “It’s easy to see how much you love her.”

“I-”

“Marshall?-”

The sound of his name being called by an officer made him glance up. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”

A fleeting sadness reflected in Rosie’s eyes, but she nodded, smiling. “Of course. I hope I was helpful in some way.”

“You were.” What the fuck did he do now? Kissing her cheek wasn’t appropriate. Kissing her mouth was really not appropriate. A handshake was…. What? The mark of strangers. Which they weren’t, not any more.

Not many strangers he wanted the way he wanted Rosie. Just one more kiss. Just one more glide of their bodies against one another.

Fuck.

Rosie made the decision for him, offering her hand. When he offered his back, she clasped it with both of hers, her palms warm and soft. “Goodbye, Detective Marshall.”

“Walter,” he corrected, wanting to hear his name in her voice, not in the stinging, sarcastic way she’d said it earlier, but as if she might say it to a lover. A friend.

“Walter, then.” She released his hand. “I hope you catch him, and I really hope he’s not my ex-husband.”

“Thanks. We’ll do our best.”

“Of course you will. You’re New York’s finest, after all.”

He buzzed the door release for her, and watched her walk out of his life. When the door closed behind her, he let go of the breath he’d been holding, and crossed the reception area to see what he was needed for in the bullpen.

Will I see her again?

He knew where she worked. Maybe he’d need to get lunch for himself and Rachael tomorrow. He owed her, after all, she usually stepped out for it.

For the first time since things had started to go south with Angie, he felt the smallest fluttering of hope in his chest. Hope that he might enjoy the company of a woman in his life again.

******

Rosie painted for the remainder of her day off. Before she started, she sent her sister, Dahlia, a text.

Not heard from Dylan lately, have you?

She set a canvas up, made a big mug of sweet, peppermint tea, and exhaled deeply. The apartment was cosy and warm. Salami curled up in his bed by the kitchen nook, and all was well. She deliberately put the handsome, scowly Detective Marshall out of her mind, and picked up her brushes, determined to paint her mood away. Some people baked. Some people went running; Rosie had always found her salvation in oil paints, brushes and canvas. In the sweep of the brush strokes on the white, white canvas, in the gift that art gave her, the gift to block out anything else happening in the world and just be with the paint.

Salami snored softly, and rain started to patter on the window as she built a world on the canvas. The spiral, stick arms of trees in Winter. The rush of a river. The threatening sky, all moody, grey clouds, heavy with nature’s unshed tears.

Her phone chirped as she took a break to drink her now lukewarm tea. It was a text from her sister.

Not seen him in town lately. Why’d you ask?

Rosie read the message a few times. It didn’t mean anything. Maybe he’d got a job a few miles out. Maybe he had a new woman who lived one town over. Maybe he had the flu. Her fingers itched to type a reply, but a new message flew in before she could.

Missing him?

Rosie huffed out a breath and replied with an eye-roll emoji.

No. Not missing him.

What, then? Her sister replied, quickly.

It’s nothing to worry about, sis. How’s everything down on the Prairie?

She smiled to herself, knowing Dahlia would get the joke and snort. She used to always mutter to herself meanwhile, back at the ranch when things got tedious in her small Midwestern town where she lived her small, Midwestern life.

Great. Just like always - but you know me, I love nothing to report.x

Rosie hesitated, with her fingers on the keypad. Should she ask Dahlia to text if she saw Dylan? No. That would only make her sister think Rosie missed married bliss, such as it had been. As if. Even the sex hadn’t been that great at the end.

The memory of Marshall’s wide, talented hands on her body had Rosie sighing. There was a man she’d love the chance to make love to, properly, and at leisure.

Shame she probably wouldn’t see him again. One night stand? Okay. A relationship? She wasn’t ready. And maybe he wasn’t either, if the storm brewing in those baby blues this morning had been any indication. So she’d keep the memory of his hands, that sweet mouth, his soft British accent, close, protect it like she’d protect a photo from daylight, and recall it from time to time. And it’d maybe, maybe be enough.

But she did wish he’d been inside her, just once. It would have been glorious.

Thanks to lovely @ly--canthrope​ for the beta! 

Tagging @mary-ann84​ @dr-kayleigh-dh​ @leapingoveroblivion​ @peakygroupie​ @pinkzsugar​ @brokenthelovely​ @boiled-onionrings​

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 12.5

*Shawn’s point of view*

There’s no snow on the ground in Georgia is the first thing he notices. The second thing he notices is that y/n and him have polar opposite upbringings. She takes him to a house that he has to bend down for his head to clear the doorway. The length from the driveway to the front door is a shorter distance than it took for him to get to his room growing up, and the neighborhood of houses looks nothing like the acres of land his father owned. But the second they enter the house there’s music playing. Al Green seems to blast from every corner in the kitchen. Despite the fact that there’s no snow on the ground, the house couldn’t be filled with more warmth. There are voices that carry from the kitchen with laughter and joy and snarkiness. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced in his life.

She holds his hand and pulls him deeper into the house towards the sound of the music and the laughter. In the kitchen there’s a group of women all sitting around a table cooking various foods. One’s got a potato peeler and sweet potatoes. One is busy mixing butter into flour with her hands. Another seems to be chopping vegetables. There’s an older lady who sits at the table simply overlooking everyone else. But none of them are y/n’s mom, and he knows that immediately because they look just alike. Her mother was at the stove with a big spoon and an even bigger pot mixing what smelled awfully similar to y/n’s famous greens. They had the same cheek bones and the same smile and the same hips, though her mom’s were fuller. If the similarities in likeness didn’t do it, the way each of them screeched upon eye contact surely would’ve connected the dots.

“MY BABY!” She cried dropping her spoon into the pot and making a b-line straight for y/n.

“MOMMY!”

They embraced and squeezed and jumped and cheered just to each other. It was the happiest he’d ever seen her. And he loved every second of it. All of the nerves from the car completely faded away as he watched his girlfriend get this special moment with her mother. And he knew immediately that they’d done the right thing in coming. This is exactly what she needed.

“You look beautiful.” Her mom giggled squeezing her cheeks and moving down to prod at the rest of her body. “And...thin. What they feeding you in that city girl?”

y/n rolled her eyes. “Momma I can take care of myself. I been telling you that for years.”

“Mhm and I been telling you for years that there’s no pain in letting others help your stubborn big head out.”

He chuckled at the joke, alerting the room to his presence. And that’s when everything shifted.

The entire room turned to look at him. The lady with the sweet potato stopped peeling. Her mom’s eyes widened. The older lady at the table stares at him in a way that makes him feel small, smaller than he ever has in his life. Suddenly he’s sweating. Has he always been sweating? Oh God. Thankfully y/n comes to the rescue.

She steps back over to him and wraps her arms around one of his.

“Everyone this is Shawn. He’s my boyfriend. If you break him, you deal with me. Shawn this my auntie Debrah, my auntie Janet, my auntie Carolin, and my grandma Gina. And that’s my mommy Audre.”

He cleared his throat and threw on his best smile holding up the peace offering he brought in the form of alcohol.

“Hello. Thank you so much for having me in your home for the holidays. I think if I tried to cook for the two of us I might have burnt the place down, and y/n surely would’ve killed me before the fire did.”

Grandma Gina laughs. It’s a big belly laugh for such a tiny woman. She was the same complexion as Audre except with silver hair that went all the way down her back in a neat braid. Even if she was small, she was far from frail, her hands resting on a cane that she knocked into the floor as she laughed. Everyone else turned to her, and it was as if once he received her approval the rest of the room dissolved into laughter as well. He released a big breath and leaned into y/n’s side. They might not hate him after all.

Audre walks over to the two of them and gives him a look over from head to toe. He feels small again. He never needed to be liked so much in his life. He peered over at y/n who was smiling hesitantly at her mother like she was just begging her to like him. He wanted to ask if he should get on his knees or something.

“This one hmm?” She asked.

Y/n looked up at him and smiled warmly before nodding at her mother like a child picking out their pet at the pet shop. He smiled at Audre and nodded too.

Audre snorted. “Oh lord. Okay. I’m Audre. You can call me Audre.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you Audre.”

He moved away from y/n just long enough to hug her and was surprised at the warmth that she could bring to a touch. Like mother like daughter apparently.

“Oh y/n, this boy is just as bony as can be too!” Audre complained poking at his stomach. “Even more so!”

He chuckled. “Ma’am I have forty-two percent muscle mass.”

“Good for you. We’ll make sure to change that today. Pull him up a seat y/n before he wastes away.”

“Oh lord.”

“Yea, y/n pull me up a seat before I waste away.” He grinned.

She unabashedly punched him in the arm and went to take off her coat.

“Boy yo legs ain’t broken. Get your own chair.”

Ah yes. He’d forgotten completely who he was dating. Woops.

He finds that “home y/n” is one of his favorites. She pulls up her sleeves and joins her mom at the stove and it’s like she’s completely in her element. He learns that in her family the women all come together to cook. It’s always at Audre’s house every year, and no one is allowed into the house until all the food has been cooked and is ready to eat. By the time the night was over, the house would be full of every family member in town and all those who could make it from out. They assured him there would barely be space to sit, but they all found a way. For them Christmas day was spent with immediate family and then everyone would come together for a meal. It wasn’t about presents, but just being able to be together.

They all love her so much. Auntie Carolin and Auntie Debrah just ask her questions about work and the city and all the incredible things that she gets to do. And y/n couldn’t be more humble. She stays away from the after parties and the jets and focuses on what matters. She told them the story of Normani crying in her dressing room after the VMAs, how she was the first black woman to win her award in nearly a decade. She told them about being in the studio and watching people create, getting to be apart of something bigger than herself. And he can see it in their faces. There’s no jealousy, or ill will in anyway. They’re so incredibly happy and proud of everything that she does. It makes his stomach and his heart feel full to watch people who know just how amazing she is. And she is.  It’s overwhelming even more so than usual.

“Here, taste this.” She hummed plopping down on his lap with a big wooden spoon.

It was the sweet potatoes from earlier in this wonderful concoction of brown sugar and cinnamon and butter. He groaned around the spoon.

“That’s amazing.” He sighed. “When can I eat it?”

“How your forty-two percent muscle mass ass eats so much I will never understand. Let me see if I can sneak you some.”

“K. Love you, sweetheart.”

“Yea, I love you too bighead.”

“I heard you got a big head too.” He argued.

“Yea and if you ever wanna see anything besides my big head I suggest you forget what you heard. And swiftly.” She smiled.

“Sounds like a plan!”

“That’s what I thought!”

God he loved her.

***

*Y/n’s point of view*

Fifteen minutes. You left for fifteen minutes to go to the bathroom and scrub the pie crust from underneath your fingernails. Only to come back to your boyfriend Disney prince-ing your whole entire family! Tina Turner’s greatest hits had matriculated into the line up of music and Shawn was taking turns twirling every woman in the kitchen around the room. You watched as he somehow managed to get your grandmother out of her chair and into his arms so that he could waltz her slowly around the kitchen table. Every single one of those women had turned into gushing teenaged girls. It was absolutely pathetic. And incredibly on par with your reaction to him as well. Where had they made him at?!

You stepped gently up to your grandmother, fingers easing softly onto her shoulders as she leaned back to smile at you.

“Can I steal him for a second grandma?”

She nodded warmly. “Girl go on ahead. My hip was starting to hurt.”

He helped her back to her seat and accepted the kiss on the cheek that she gave him before coming back to you. His arms, long and warm, tugged you into his hold as he twirled the two of you gently back and forth. Neither of you would notice the way your nosy ass family watched every second, but that’s okay. You ran your fingers through his hair and played with the curls until they were big and fluffy the way you liked.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” You asked him.

He grinned. “I told you I’d win them over. I’m charming, honey; what can I say?”

“The ego on you.” You snorted. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Me neither. I question how I managed to get you just about every day.”

Okay that one was smooth.

“I think it was when you let me sleep over for the first time.” You hummed.

His eyes widened at the revelation of you actually having an answer to his question.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you remember?” You paused to lower your voice. “When we did the ropes for the first time? You let me stay. We did something totally new that  neither of us had ever done before. And it was amazing and we took care of each other, but it was still a little overwhelming. I didn’t even have to say anything, but you let me stay. And you pretended to cook too many eggs the next morning so I would have breakfast. I think that’s the first time you really got me.”

He smiled warmly and pushed his head deeper against your fingers.

“I was terrified of hurting you. I just wanted everything to go right, and I wanted you to feel good and only for it hurt if that meant it still felt good. And also you looked so cute when you were sleeping I couldn’t just let you leave without breakfast.”

“See? You cared about me.” You grinned.

“I always cared about you, y/n. Always.”

“Yea. Now that I think I about it, I think I did too.”

“Good.”

He presses your lips together like it’s nothing. Like your whole matriarch isn’t there. But when his lips are soft and warm and moving against yours, it’s hard to care about much else.

***

It should have come as no surprise that the rest of your family would love Shawn just the same. He happily jumped into the rough housing of all the younger kids, carrying two of your cousins on either of his arms through the living room while another one held onto his leg. Everything about him was perfect. And it’s not that you didn’t know that, didn’t know that you loved him and loved all of the things about him besides the parts that you didn’t. It’s just that he fell into your life so easily. He made himself at home and he picked up right where everything else left off. And you didn’t know how but it made you feel good.

You were standing at the entraway way of the living room by the kitchen watching him with your arms crossed when your mom came up to lean against you.

“Hmm...He’s a nice one isn’t he?” She hummed against your shoulder.

You nodded. “He really is.”

“Is he...the one?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh momma!”

“I’m just asking. Girl, I want some grandbabies. And the last person you brought home to meet me was in high school. I might not get another chance.”

You let your face fall into your hands in mortification. Dating in your thirties was tough. No matter how progressive the country might--or might not--be, family always complicated things. Your mom was of an era where marriage was a thing that you did no matter if you were in love or not. Cue the fact that you hadn’t seen your father since you were eight. You in all of your confidence and all of your womanhood, didn’t see marriage nor children as requirements. They didn’t even exactly scream appealing to you. You’d be happy with your apartment and maybe, at some point, a cat. That was really your goal, your happy place. It just so happened that maybe Shawn complicated that a bit for you.

“He’s young.” You murmured watching him get tackled down to the ground by children. “He’s not even twenty-five yet. He’s got no idea what he wants.”

“Is that so? So y’all are really just playing around huh?”

You paused and looked over your shoulder at your mother. You shook your head hesitantly.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

She tilted her head in question. “Then what would you say, y/n?”

“I...I don’t know. I’d say we’re really enjoying each other’s company. I’d say we’re very serious about actively making each other happy and working to co-exist together because we enjoy each other so much. But it’s not like he wants to move in with me, or start a life with me. I don’t want to ask that of him.”

“Now which is it? Is it he’s not ready, or you don’t want to ask him if he’s ready?”

“It’s...It’s...dammit momma, why you always gotta ask questions?” You whined.

“Because I am pushing sixty child and I want some grandbabies! Before I die.” She huffed.

You rolled your eyes again and turned back over your shoulder only to catch Shawn staring at you with a similar level of fondness that you had for him. He tilted his head in ask that things were going okay. All you could do was nod and smile. He didn’t need to stress about your mother being crazy. That was your job.

***

Aretha Franklin plays in the background. You’re sat on the floor together with the tree in the background. It’s quiet with all of your extended family long gone. Your mother fast asleep, it was time for you and Shawn to finally share presents with one another. You, in one of his sweatshirts and leggings after the long day. Him in another and those plaid sweats of his that you really liked. His hair is pulled back with a headband and it makes you smile. He hums Natural Woman to you as he sets a box in your palm.

“This one, I just thought was pretty. It’s not a big deal, okay?” He murmured.

“Okay, okay. Gimme!” You whined.

They were hoops. Big ass hoops. Big ass, rose gold diamond encrusted hoops. It was like he knew the way to your heart and had every intention of nestling himself there.

“Wow. They’re beautiful! Jesus, Shawn.”

“You like ‘em?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Of course I do, are you kidding me?”

“Good. That makes me happy”

You kissed him in thanks, his arms wrapped tight around your waist.

“I love you.” You murmured handing him a gift of his own. “I hope you like this. I thought it was pretty too.”

Shawn’s watches were one of his most important accessories among many.  You’d grown incredibly fond of the sound of his watch hitting the dresser when he undressed for the night. It always meant he was there to stay with you. And it always meant he was yours for the night. So, getting him a watch felt like the obvious choice. But, this wasn’t just any watch. Shawn’s watches were usually bulky and flashy, an ode to his father no doubt. This watch on the other hand came with a fine, black leather band that was more classic and refined. The face was large in a similar fashion to more contemporary brands. It was rose gold and this beautiful rich navy blue color. It was so gorgeous you’d thought about keeping it for yourself. Instead, you figured you’d rather look at it on his wrist instead.

“Shit, babe this is beautiful. This must’ve cost you a fortune.” He gasped. “This is for me?”

“‘Course it is. What other bighead is sitting in this room?”

He whined. “Damn, you bought it for yourself? That’s tough.”

“Rude!”

“What, you can call me bighead, but I can’t call you bighead?” He smiled placing his watch to the side so that he could stalk closer to you.

You pouted at him. “Exactly.”

“That doesn’t seem very fair, my love.” He chuckled before sobering. “Thank you. It’s amazing. I love you.”

He kissed you again. You decided to not be mad at him anymore. For now.

Amongst the other things you’d gotten for each other was an envelope. He pulls you into his lap and wraps his legs around yours in warmth and protection. His body seems to touch yours at all points, and when you lean into him it feels like home. More so than being home. How could that be?

“Promise me you won’t freak.” He murmured when you went to reach for the envelope.

You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Promise.”

“No! What are you trying to get me to promise? What’s in there?”

He smiled. “Nothing bad.”

“I told you no islands, Shawn.” You whined.

“It’s not an island, sweetheart.”

“Or a country. Or any ridiculously large piece of land. Or anything more than my rent.”

He rolled his eyes and nuzzled his head into yours until his curls covered your face and you couldn’t speak.

“I actually didn’t spend anything at all. Now will you hush and open the damn envelope?”

“Hmm. Give it here.”

You reached for the envelope, your finger sliding under the paper to rip it open.  Inside was just a piece of paper. No island. No car. No country. You frowned down at the sheet in confusion. It was a listing. And at first you thought he’d bought you a new place to live, which truly would have been quite ridiculous. But, no. He was right; he hadn't bought anything. He actually sold something instead.

“You--you sold your place.” You mumbled in shock.

“I did.” He nodded. “Part of our trip wasn’t just about us getting away and having fun. I also needed the movers to be able to have access to my apartment.”

“Oh Shawn. You really, really didn’t need to do that for me.”

“No, I--I very much did. And I didn’t need you to ask, okay? What happened there, what that guy did...I could never ask you to go back there. And I don’t want to. It was easy to leave. Trust me. I couldn’t stomach living there anymore either way. It was really for the both of us.”

You turned in his arms so that you could better view him. He immediately reached for your cheeks just as you reached for his. You each seemed to sigh in relief at the touch of the other.

“I can’t believe you’d do that for me.” You whispered eyes dampening against your will.

He smiled, eyes big and clear and so warm. His oversized thumb wipe at a tear that trailed down your cheek before he kissed any traces left behind.

“I’d do anything for you. I thought I’d made that clear by now.”

“You have. Come here.”

His arms around you tug until your more in his lap then on the ground. His lips find yours and your arms tangle the two of you further together. He kisses you so sweet that you’d be weak in the knees if you even attempted to stand. His tongue is soft, and it feels like a dream when his hands trace your body as well. It’s not the usual charge of lust and trying to crawl inside one another. This one is just sweet, just feels like holding each other close and nurturing each other. It feels so perfect. It’s a very merry christmas.

“Thank you.” You told him when it was all set and done. “I think this is the best christmas I’ve had in years.”

“Good. Just wanna make my baby happy is all. Seems like you make me happy every day, least I can do is repay the favor, right?”

“Yea well you do that and then some.”

When all the paper has been torn and your gifts have been open, all that’s left to do is drink hot chocolate at your mother’s kitchen table and sneak pieces of pie and left over ham. It’s without a doubt the best christmas you’ve ever had. And it’s entirely because of him.

“Hey...Where are you gonna live now?” You asked around your mug.

“Oh, you know that high rise over by the coffee shop you like to go to in the morning?”

Your eyes widened.

“You didn’t.”

He shrugged. “I did. It’s like ten grand cheaper than what I was spending, and I heard really hot women hangout at the coffee shop. There’s a gym there too. So you know, I was really being selfish.”

“Shawn I could...I could walk to your place.”

He nodded and reached for your hand.

“Is that...okay? I don’t want you to think I’m encroaching on your space. I know how much that means to you. I just want you to know that my space can be your space too ya know? If you want. I’ll be around.”

“Uggggggggh! You gotta stop that!” You whined quickly butting your head into his shoulder.

“What?! What’d I do?”

“You can’t be so sweet that you make me feel things like I’m thirteen again! It’s gross. It makes me feel all fluttery and bubbly. I am a woman dammit.”

He only laughed at you like the jackass that you were and tugged you deeper into his arms across your chair.

“You’ve made me feel fluttery since I met you, and I’m not ashamed of it. I like that I can make you feel good. That’s all I wanna do.”

There was simply nothing else you could say to a man that looked the way that your boyfriend did saying the things that your boyfriend said. All that one could do was to pick up the leftover pie from the table and shove it in his face. And run of course. That you could do too.

“Oh you are in so much trouble!” He huffed from across the table where you now stood, poised and ready to leap. “And not the kind you like!”

You leaned on the chair laughing at the whip cream that covered Shawn’s face and eyes.

“You look pastier than normal!”

He shook his head and wiped the remaining pie off of his face before reaching his hands out towards you.

“Come here, y/n.”

“No.”

“Come on. You know what’s coming.”

“If you touch me, I will tell my momma.”

“You better call her then!” He grunted lunging after you.

You quickly turned and ran through the house like the child only he could make you feel like.

“MOMMA!”

***

The morning you had to leave for the airport, you woke up without a boyfriend. Your fingers had programmed a tendency of their own to go searching for him upon wake up, but when they came up empty all you could do was frown at the space on the pillow where his head had once been. Before you could get too annoyed though you felt  the warmth of breath between your thighs that with ease made your legs part. Turns out he wasn’t far after all.

“Babe.” You smiled back arching as you stretched. “What are you doin’?”

You felt his tongue trace your thighs before he popped out, curls first from beneath the covers.

“Just wanted to start the day right. With my favorite thing to have for breakfast.” He grinned pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “You.”

You rolled your eyes and definitely shifted your hips to be closer to him.

“You know if my mom caught us, we’d both be dead right? And you first?”

“Guess you’ll have to be a good girl and be quiet for me. Or do I need to give you something to focus on instead?”

You bit your lip. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Yea? How bout you put my fingers in your mouth and think about how you plan to stay quiet when I make you squirt in a few minutes?”

“God I love you. Yes, please.”

You felt more than heard him hum as he kissed at the outer lips of your labia. You held his hand in both of yours, fingers wettening the digits. He started with long, gentle pressings of his tongue, and bumped your clit every now and again with his nose. Shawn had grown much accustomed to how to get you off. It was his favorite past time it sometimes seemed. He was a wizard at making you squirm, at getting your hips to roll, and your toes to curl. His lips and tongue were so incredibly soft between your folds and he licked and nibbled at your clit like a dream. Your fingers turns to fists in the sheets and your thighs melded to his head as he took you there so quickly.

“Baby,” You gasped. “Baby, please. R--Right there.”

Your favorite was when he placed his oversized hand against your pubic bone and tummy, locking you into place. He used his thumb to focus on your clit, tongue and lips focusing on the rest of you. It drove you absolutely mad. You bucked against his chin, fingers reaching desperately for his head beneath the covers. The covers began to move as Shawn shuffled onto his knees to follow you with his mouth. His tongue was like a dream. A skilled, pointy, softy little dream. And you were like a rocket, just waited to be rubbed until you exploded apparently.

“Oh my fucking god.” You gasped, collapsing back against the sheets.

Shawn did not resurface, because apparently singers don’t need any air once so ever, and instead continued to lick away your release from between your thighs like the little devil he was. Your mom burst into the room just as you were getting your breathing under control.

“Time to get up, y/n! I expect y’all to come eat before you go to the airport.” She explained before closing the door once again.

Jesus.

“Well I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Shawn grinned as he ascended from beneath the covers and crawled on top of you. “I already ate.”

“I hate you.”

***

Tag List

@simpledomain @liliane106 @thecurlsofgod @xeuphorically-moonstruck @euphoric05 @daijanicole @bruhh-whateven@learning-howto-be-myselfx3@decewill@goldiean@bitchacho25 @bruhh-whateven@justbeingoceana@loveylangdon @iloveshawnieboi@september-lace@valedictorian65 @dimestorebieber22@MixerMani @lifeoftheparty74 @sinplisticshawn @kamahriii@disaster-rose@justbeingoceana @thecurlsofgod

Arrangement Taglist:

@moonlightmendes22  @cottoncandyshawn @iloveshawnieboi@shawnsblue

@claredolphinbear24@peterbrokenparker@blackharry@shawnwyr @speakingofmari@moniehp@softmendesss@ydolansss  @MixerMani @kitykatnumber@chonmnds @cottoncandyshawn @shawnase

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fandom #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes x black woman #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn mendes x black oc #dom!shawn #sub!reader #Arrangement fic

[lgcsol]

hello lgc, glad to be back! if some of you are familiar with this pikachu enthusiast, he’s been here before under the name of byun iseul, but since real life swooped in, and i lost my login details, he’s now back under a new name and background. so, tl;dr this is jeon hansol, signed since july 2016.

he comes from an affluent family, with his father grooming him to become the successor of their business, but he ended up choosing his own path. now twenty, he dropped his education for the time being after graduating from a private high school to focus on becoming an idol. an avid gamer, skateboarder, and a bit too obsessed over pikachu. his voice is that high to reach pika’s octave, and that’s one of his main aspiration: to become a pikachu voice actor. besides pikachu, he also tends to relate to slowpoke and slakoth for obvious reasons. he plays pokémon go, for sure, in his free time, besides the current obsession over sword / shield.

overall, as a person, he believes in good and bad karma, pretty easygoing in spite of falling into the introvert spectrum. a fiercely loyal friend to those he pledges his friendships to. a little trivia besides beatboxing is that he also does aikido, hapkido, and kumdo. he’s striving to become a balanced singer dancer for the time being, and his rapping skill is extremely sub par, but he’ll rap anyway in noraebang. he’d sing tears’ high note perfectly on good days. the weakest when it comes to relay games, but he’ll make fun of himself at that anytime. pretty okay at variety. his voice has colors similar to real life’s byun baekhyun from exo, and also dance claim similar to that of his face claim’s. he’s currently also working on his modelling.

plots sought include long-time best friends who grew up in seoul together, whether it’s from the same circles or not. fellow pokémon enthusiasts are also welcome. those trainees that can be rivals even when they joke around a lot outside practices. slightly antagonistic roles can also do. fellow beatboxing buddies. someone who tries teaching him how to rap to no avail, thinking he had potentials because he keeps rhythms in his beatboxing. childhood friends, neighbors. also, someone who has a crush on him if you want that angst? this boi doesn’t find feelings easy to come by, and also oblivious so there’s that. anything other than these, hit me up with any dynamics and we’ll see if they can work out! if you’d like to plot, please like or come to my im. looking forward to threading with the lots of you!

#ooc. #lgc:intro

[amazildoessomethingstupid]

Chapter 95: Love Again

Hello folks, we’re back! I know I said I wouldn’t touch this series again, until I needed some motivation for working on False Idol but I’ve decided to kind of add an addendum to the rule.  Now whenever I miss an update, I must read one chapter of BCB and make a rant in order to make up for the lack of content as well as being punishment for myself.  As some of you know, if you read the author’s notes in the most recent page of False Idol; I had my wisdom teeth removed a week or so ago.  Which kept me out of it and ended up making me miss an update.  And as such we must pick up where we left off, here!  And boy is this chapter going to be interesting!

See?  This guy gets it!

We start the chapter off wi-

Oh my god, what’s wrong with your face?

Anyway, Daisy’s talking about her upcoming birthday party an-

OH MY GOD!  What’s wrong with your face?

But anyway, Paulo’s doing his usual shtick now of giving Daisy that sub-zero cold shoulder.  This time, by diverting his attention away to some random girl next to him and flirting with her.  While at the same time treating us to a classic meme.

Oh Paulo, you silly fool.  In either case, this part drags on a bit too long with Paulo remarking things a bit brash but par for the course for his new passive aggressive nature towards Daisy. It wouldn’t be too bad actually, if it was just this page but…

Oh…

Hello, Madison.

Your input and presence is always welcome.  

It sure is interesting seeing her interact with new bitchy Paulo...

So basically, Madison is upset about Paulo flirting with the random girl.  And she’s acting as a sledgehammer to drive the point home that we’re supposed to be upset about Paulo flirting with this random girl, even though we’ve clearly seen the context of the situation and know he was doing it primarily to be a passive aggressive douche and ignore Daisy.  But oh I guess, this is still a bad thing. It just seems forced, I mean if you wanted to make this more serious why not have this sort of thing as its own chapter? Spend time showing us more of this to help strengthen this motivation, the only other time I can think of where Paulo was leering at someone else was with Sandy, before that was Boy Toy where it was more about Paulo trying to reaffirm his sexuality than anything.  And you can’t really blame the guy for not wanting to tie the knot.  Given his track record for romance, every time things start to get serious, or he tries to put his all into a relationship, it just crumbles apart and he ends up losing that friend and the bridge is never repaired.  Of course he’d be scared the same would happen to Rachel if he was to try and do the same with her and he doesn’t want that.  But why bring this up now?  This whole drama should be its own chapter, why is it forced in here in this chapte-

Oh…I see…

I’m at the bottom of that bottle.  Numb my senses, drown my sorrows, and I’m like “oh damn I’d done it again, oh damn I’d done it again.”

But back to the comic, we see Taeshi experimenting with some advanced paneling techniques.  Specifically, out of box paneling with Daisy.  

And as a fellow “artiste” I see that this is clearly meant to be a visual connection for how Daisy’s mood and the tone of the comic shifts from this scene to the last time she did this in the start of the chapter.  As well as serving as a scene transition smoothly ushering us to this part of the story. It’s very well done, and quite brave.

Or perhaps, this is just Daisy finally achieving critical mass, and the comic can no longer contain her girth!  She’s breaking out of the comic!  She can not be contained!  EVERYONE RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!  SHE’S GOING TO KILL US ALL!

Okay, but all jokes aside, I actually like this scene.  We see Daisy talk about her frustrations and guilt with Paulo, and Mike gives some helpful advice as we see them actually trying to work through this problem!  

Oh shut the fuck up, Abbey!  Mike for once is giving some good advice!  Yes!  Remember kids, talk things out and try to work through it!  And this scene really helps us to empathize with Daisy, I can especially relate to her for this.

Don’t look at me like that Mike.  You don’t know me.  

In either case, I do appreciate this talk.  It seems like Taeshi is finally having the characters take a proactive approach to their drama an-

It her!  The moment we’ve all been waiting for! LOOK!

LOOK SAM!  IT’S LUCY!  LUCY’S BACK!  ALL THE SUFFERING, ALL THE YEARS OF BULLSHIT HAS FINALLY BROUGHT US TO THIS!  WE CAN FINALLY GET ANSWERS!  WE WILL KNOW THE TRUTH!  WHAT HAPPENED TO HER! WHERE SHE’S BEEN!  THE CHARACTERS CAN GET CLOSURE!  IT’S HERE!  WE’VE MADE IT!  ALL THESE YEARS, WE’VE FINALLY MADE IT!

And look!  All the friends are gathering round and are just as excited!  That’s right Mike!  Cower in the corner there, this isn’t about you! (wait, how the fuck did he get back off to there when she was apparently inches from his face?) But…something doesn’t seem right.

And I’m not just talking about fucking creepy ass Abbey over here, looming over everyone with that ominously dead smile.  Wait, what’s that?

Oh my god, what’s wrong with her face?

OH MY GOD!  WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOUR FACE?!

That literally looks like she doesn’t have a mouth, but rather she just took lipstick and smeared it on her face to look like a smile.  Alright time for the big rant, here it comes!  Because it was at this moment, that I realized this chapter was the birth of what is my personal biggest artistic pet peeve for BCB. FUCKING TRIANGLE MOUTHS!  LOOK AT THIS SHIT!  WHY?!  WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?  You know how much I hate this face?  I HATE IT MORE THAN I HATE THE GIGANTIC HEADS!  THAT’S HOW MUCH I HATE THESE MOUTHS!  Because it’s not just lazy as fuck, but even more than that, it’s not just distracting, but it ruins what should be a very heartfelt and emotional scene! How the hell am I supposed to take any of these faces seriously?!  

These triangle mouths are so fucking bad, that I can’t appreciate this scene and what’s happening. I can’t fully empathize or read how this character is feeling because of these mouths!  It’s not just ugly, but it feels forced!  It takes me out of the scene, because that’s not a normal expression! It’s the same problem I had with the XD face, Paulo made here.

Well okay, I had a much bigger problem going on with this panel than the expression.  But I can accept this here, or at least overlook it, because this is meant to be a joke.  It’s a stupid and unfunny joke, but it is a joke, and thus not meant to be taken seriously. THIS FUCKING SCENE WITH LUCY SHOULD BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY!   BUT IT CAN’T BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY WHEN ALL I CAN THINK OF IS

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOUR FACE?!

But whatever, y’know? We’re not here for that, we’re here for Lucy.  At least she’s here, at least we can get some answers, and the characters care and are as hungry as we are for information what do we know?

Okay, she was in a private school?  Uhh, okay. I figured she’d be in asylum or something, for some mental rehabilitation.  But okay, I guess she went to a private school for the rest of her sophomore year.  Cool, I guess?

Ahhh yes!  Sue!  Asking how she’s been doing, and of course not that well.  Which, is a given.  Not much info there.  But come on! We as readers have been waiting with baited breath to know more about Lucy!  This is a 50 page chapter I’m sure we’ll learn a bit about her recovery, and her experience, how she feels an-

Oh…Okay…that’s fine too. Uhh alright then, but-

Oh!  Hello, Paulo!

And hello Abbey, where the fuck did you come from?  Did your Paulo Senses start tingling, and you had to make sure we all were aware that you do not like him?  That’s cool.  Actually, I like this part of the scene.  It brings things back to a more lighthearted flavor, and it’s very refreshing after everything else.  

I especially like this joke.  It’s a nice bit of fan service for those of us who remember and appreciate the lighthearted slapstick that Lucy and the comic used to bring.  This scene really shows us more than anything else so far that this is Lucy.  She’s back, and she’s still got that take-no-shit attitude.  I love it.

Oh wait, no I mean

OH MY GOD, LUCY YOU FUCKING BITCH!  HOW CAN YOU ASSAULT PAULO LIKE THAT?!  HE WAS YOUR CLOSE FRIEND, AND HE CARES ABOUT YOU!  WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HURT EVERYONE?!  MY GOD, HOW THE FUCK DOES ANYONE LIKE THIS CHARACTER?  ABUSE IS NEVER A JOKE!  LUCY IS A BAD!

But Blessed Lucy just smiles and gives Daisy a nice little present and says “Shut up bitch cow.  Go eat some bitch grass.”  And the rest of the scene is centered around Mike cowering away from Lucy, until lunchtime where

Paulo tries to get her attention and bring her to the table.  Lucy though, doesn’t want to join them.  Seemingly due to not wanting to make things more awkward with Mike.  But Paulo persists, wanting to catch up with Lucy and hopefully get more answers from her especially given how the last time he saw her she asked him to make out with her. But…

Holy shit, Sue are you…Are you pulling a…Gillete?

Is this the best a fan can get?

Sue says this, which I can understand.  Lucy is still recovering from her traumatic experience, and of course doesn’t want to talk about it right now.  Understandable, and Lucy of course is distraught by this.  She doesn’t like her friends fighting like this, and is pretty overwhelmed and probably guilty for the fact her reappearance has only sparked more drama and in-fighting.  

But then Sue and Paulo are so focused on getting what they want, Sue being too focused on being supportive and protective of Lucy, and Paulo being too focused on trying to get answers that neither of them realize that Lucy has already gone.  Not being able to bear to watch her friends fight over her, and not siding with either side…

Oh wait, sorry.  No that’s just what I would’ve liked to happen, since that would’ve made sense and line up with her behavior so far.  No, instead Lucy smugly walks away and thanks Susan for fighting her battles for her like an asshole.   And this is the moment where a big red flag went off, and sirens were ringing in my head. That this thing is not Lucy, or rather not the Lucy I know.  Not the Lucy I love.  But what you probably already know.  Not the Lucy I write.  

I know, it’s not fair to bring up my own stuff and compare it to the canon, but I feel compelled to given that Sue’s behavior here is very in line with how she acted in January.

Sue was VERY defensive of Lucy, (as well as very angry at Paulo) but the part where January actually deviates from the canon (unintentionally) is how Lucy feels about that sort of thing.

What that chicken scratch writing is supposed to say is, “I don’t want to be that person.  I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.”  Sue was very protective of Paulo, but Lucy made it clear that she didn’t want that.  She didn’t want her friends fighting and near the end she says this:

Lucy would not like seeing this sort of thing happen to her friends.  She’d feel guilty as anyone else would to see the people they loved or at least cared for start fighting over them.   Now, I know, this is my own interpretation of the canon and of course I’m fuckin’ wrong because I’m not Taeshi.  But I bring up the comparison, because if you remember my previous rants you’d know that January was meant to be a faithful story to BCB.  These points aren’t just because it’s how I want Lucy to be, or because that’s how I made Lucy be…It’s because this was honestly what I thought Lucy would be. When she’s broken, the reoccurring message from Lucy is:

Did you get the message? It’s that the last thing Lucy wanted was to make things worse for her friends (in the case of the January examples: Mike).  But I guess this is just what I wanted to see, and I’m sure someone is going to be happy and wanted to see Lucy feed the fire, and see her friends act like this. And I’m sure all that they will get out of this part of the rant is me saying to the canon:

But anyway what’s happening in the canon?  I kinda forgo-

OH MY GOD!  Holy shit, things are getting heated!  While everyone scratches their heads, wondering what’s going on with Lucy, Paulo goes straight to the source an-  

OH MY GAWD WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOUR FAAAAAAAAAAAAACE!?  Seriously, that face is really undercutting the tension and severity of this scene.  And this is a very tense scene, let me appreciate it. 

Paulo is taking no shit right now!  He is at his breaking point!  He is fed up and wants some god damn answers!  He’s going a bit too far, but it helps to show how fed up and frustrated he is. Finally snapping at Daisy, but of course now Abbey steps in to defend his lady’s honor.  But it’s a bad move!  Paulo is in his no-fucks mode!  He’s finally gonna reveal what happened!  And-

Oh what the fuck is that face?

Oh come on, not like this…

THAT’S HOW YOU’RE GOING TO TALK ABOUT AND REVEAL THAT YOU WERE ASSAULTED?  LIKE A SMUG ASSHOLE?  WHY IS EVERYONE TURNING INTO SMUG ASSHOLES?!  How am I supposed to take this seriously?  THE CHARACTER HIMSELF ISN’T TAKING THIS VERY SERIOUSLY!

At least Daisy’s taking this seriously, but again!

WHAT IS THAT FACE?!  I KNOW PEOPLE KEEP TELLING ME THAT I’M ALWAYS VICTIM BLAMING, BUT THIS SHIT IS WHY I LOSE SYMPATHY!  

THE MAN JUST FLIPPED FROM BEING FUMING MAD, TO BEING SMUG AND SMARMY, TO NOW TRYING TO ACT SARCASTIC!

But fuck you, I’m not gonna let these shitty expressions clearly meant to paint Paulo as a bad person even when he’s completely justified and is actually the fucking victim here; ruin my catharsis, luckily Daisy is here to take this seriously.

That’s right, Daisy!  Put his feet to the fire!  Don’t let him get away with this!  And Abbey, what kind of bullshit excuse is that? What do you mean by “the way he’s been acting lately”  You mean being passive aggressive, ignoring Daisy, or as one might say…

Staying away from her? Wanna know why I hate Abbey?  This is why.  

Thankfully, Daisy is standing her ground and acting like Daisy and caring about her friend being hurt.

BUT OF COURSE ABBEY HAS TO MAKE IT ABOUT HIMSELF DOESN’T HE?  OH YOU POOR THING, I’M SORRY I DON’T HAVE SYMPATHY FOR THE ABUSE VICTIM WHO ASSAULTS A MOTHERFUCKER WITH COWARDICE, WHILE STILL HAVING THE GALL TO ACT LIKE HE DID NOTHING WRONG! It’s like we’re supposed to feel sorry for Abbey, that Daisy’s turned on him and taking Paulo’s side.  But how the fuck is she supposed to react to that?  “Oh I don’t care that you got chokeslammed, Paulo!  You’re still an asshole and deserved it, and Abbey was just protecting himself!” 

And to make all this better,

MAH NIGGA!

I take back every bad thing I ever said or thought about you, David!  You are a 100% certified Good Boy!  You took the words right out of my mouth!  You’re getting a treat tonight boy!  You ain’t getting no kibble and bits tonight, you’re getting the fancy feast! I bet you didn’t know Fancy Feast had food for dogs!  That’s how fancy it is!  Good boy!

But anyway, the chapter then goes on to show Lucy wandering the grounds. Perhaps ruminating on memories there, or perhaps looking for something…or someone~

Or at least that’s how this chapter should’ve gone, instead we’re treated to watching a bit more Abbey.  And we’re supposed to feel sorry for him.  Oh boo hoo, I ruined my own relationship.  Why does nobody agree with me.  Actually hold on, I have something for this.

“They called it assault, but it really wasn’t my fault!  Everyone else is an asshole.”

But for real, why are we focusing on Abbey?  Lucy’s here, shouldn’t we be focusing on her?  What the hell could be happening to Abbey now that would warrant our attentio-

OH YOU LITTLE WHORE!  WHY THE TRIANGLE FACE, JASMINE?

THEY LITERALLY JUST SANK HIS SHIP, AND YOU’RE ALREADY MOVING IN!  MY GOD!  IS TAESHI EVEN TRYING TO MAKE THIS SHIT SEEM NATURAL ANYMORE?!

Y’know, I thought I was a bit harsh back in the day when I referred to Jasmin as a cockwarmer.  I thought it was just a funny, yet apt title for her character pretty much being created solely to be shipped with Paulo after Tess, and later to be thrown away when his true ship reveals itself.  

BUT OH MY GOD, JASMINE LITERALLY IS JUST A NARRATIVE COCK WARMER!  Cause this whole fandom and drama is centered around shipping, just can’t let one character go unshipped!  Nuh uh, gotta force Jasmine in there to keep it warm! I hope you’re happy together in background hell!

But okay, NOW we can talk about Lucy.  She wanders around until…

A wild edgy boy appears! And oh man…

I ain’t gonna lie.

I fucking love this scene. I feel like this is how this chapter and reunion should’ve been.  

See this is why I get so mad about those scenes, because I know even with my cynical, jaded, hardened, and worn out heart.  Taeshi knows exactly how and what to do to tug at my heartstrings no matter what.  And this scene is an excellent example.  It’s not just seeing these characters we love reunite, but the feeling and dialogue mirrors the feeling that we as readers felt reuniting with Lucy.  And the good stuff doesn’t stop there!

Not gonna lie, this got a chuckle out of me.  Seeing Lucy acting like herself again, talking like she used to.  It’s the first time we see her open up and act like the Lucy we know and love.

Oh wait, sorry I mean.

OH MY GOD LUCY WHAT THE FUCK?!  YOU’RE SERIOUSLY DOING IT AGAIN!  HITTING THOSE WHO CARE ABOUT YOU!  YOU FUCKING BITCH!  HOW CAN YOU DO THAT, HE’S THE ONE PERSON WHO FUCKING CARES ABOUT YOU AND YOU DO THAT! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO ABUSE EVERYONE AROUND YOU!  ABBEY DINDU NUFFIN WRONG!

Shut up bitch cow, go eat some bitch grass.

But as I was saying, this scene is really the highlight of this chapter.  Even when it turns our attention away from Lucy, it’s done with purpose.  

It’s a well done scene that reminds us about Alejandro, and that he’s still out there, and that he is still a big threat to these characters.          It’s a well done scene, showing the close relationship between Lucy and Augustus contrasted by her treatment towards her original friends.  Not only that but we also are reminded of Augustus’ predicament and with it we get a good example of the amount of power Alejandro has over him.  But even better, we see a bit of that fire inside Lucy that made us love her, that determined headstrong mentality that made Lucy, Lucy.  

And I know I already did my obligatory January comparisons for the rant, but I just have to bring this back because I said it first.

And the scene ends with Lucy hinting at a dark missing piece of the past, before telling Augustus to meet her after class.  

But enough of that good stuff, we need to spend some time with our-

Favorite character in the world.  Even when she’s not being a mad bitch, she’s still not likable. Especially not with…

That…

Face…

Why must you be like this? I just gave you praise.  

But aww isn’t this nice too?

Look at how sweet this is, Sam!

Aren’t you happy to see all this love for Rachel?

Isn’t this nice, Sam? You love Rachel!  She’s the best character, right?  Don’t you love Rachel?

Sam?  Sam, why are you crying?  What’s wrong?  This is a happy scene!  Aren’t you happy that Rachel has such close loving friends, Sam?  How could you be sad about this?

Okay, but for real this scene can fuck off.  I know what you’re doing Taeshi, and it’s MEAN!  THAT’S JUST MEAN! On top of that, this whole section has nothing to do with anything else in this chapter.  I would’ve glossed over all of this part if not for

What. The. Fuck. Is. This. Character.

But luckily we’re back to Lucy!  Look Sam!

It’s Lucy!  You love Lucy, don’t you?  We’ve waited three long years, seen characters get destroyed, characters rebuilt, we’ve gone through all the pain, but it’s all worth it.  We can finally spend time with Lucy, and Augustus! We’re gonna get those answers!  We’re gonna see how she’s been!  She’s going to turn this train around! She’s gonna-

WHELP! FUCK YOU TOO, I GUESS!

Well at least Augustus calls her out on that melodramatic bullshit, but for real.  What is this?

At least we can spend some time with Lucy’s family, and it’s nice to see how much they care.  I just wish Lucy would reciprocate that a little. To quote my friend from the discord, paraphrasing Lucy, “As you can see I am largely unscathed.  Unlike when I attempted to kill myself recently.”  And people thought that Lucy having Mike feel her scar to show the truth was her being rude and manipulating.

Still, I can appreciate the chemistry, and it is pretty fun.  If not a bit hollow, but that might just be this giant hole in my chest cavity that Taeshi created.  

But Lucy drops the bomb, and

OH HO HO! OH NO! OH I KNOW WHAT’S COMIN’ YOU LITTLE SHIT!  

Oh ho, you motherfucker I know what’s comin’.  You all know what’s comin’ and I am gonna be ready to lay on the hurt.  I only saw two pages of this scene, but I already have more than enough to say.   I’m about to get surgical on your ass.  This rant is already hella long, and I don’t want this scene getting shuffled in with all this other crap.  Oh no.

This scene… It deserves my full and undivided attention.

#Bittersweet Candy Bowl #rant

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 51

Nothing will ever prepare you for the birth of your first child. Nothing. Trust me on this. Go ahead and do your research, attend Lamaze classes, dot the i’s and cross the t’s of the fifty line-items that make up what you believe to be a thoroughly comprehensive birth plan…you’ll be informed, and aware. But on that day, when you’re in the midst of it, and immediately after…that is some seriously next-level shit. It’s an other-worldly, out-of-body experience, one in which you’ll feel like you’ve gone straight to the ninth circle of hell and then, with nothing more than the sound of a gasp and a cry, achieved the penultimate goal of spirituality…nirvana.

 We’d chosen the Portland Hospital mainly because Dr. Phillips practiced there as a consultant, but also due to the fact that it was a private establishment with state-of-the art technology and a neonatal intensive care unit on-site. Having a midwife was an option, but since I was an ‘older mom’ it felt best to err on the side of caution and deliver with a caregiver in the room who could authorize and perform medical procedures immediately. During our initial tour the guide had mentioned that the likes of Victoria Beckham and the Duchess of York had chosen to give birth in the VIP Deluxe Suites, along with a host of other rich and famous folks. The cost? Approximately $2700 per night, not including medical fees. The perks? A private entrance and exit, catered meals, an extra bed for partners wishing to remain overnight, a lounge area and an en-suite bathroom in addition to the delivery area, which provided for all possible birthing options, including a tub for those who desired an aquatic scenario. With typical medical costs added in we’d be looking at around $30,000, double if I wound up needing a C-section. I balked until we actually saw the VIP rooms…there was no disguising that this was, indeed, a hospital, but the space was bright and airy with light wood floors and furniture, all hints of color varying shades of grey and purple. The lounge was decorated similarly, and the couch and set of chairs would comfortably seat at least six. The bathroom was large, with a purple and white diamond-tiled floor, light-wood cabinets, white marble countertops, a white marble a walk-in shower with a bench, a soaking tub, a higher-than-normal toilet, and a bidet. I’d never seen anything like this associated with a hospital setting, and had been expecting something utilitarian and claustrophobic. This just felt…peaceful, and very much like home. It made me momentarily forget that hey-o, a watermelon sized human will be coming out of your vagina in this very place before you know it, and that’s what sold me on the place, in the end. The tour guide asked us if we’d like the suite redecorated to our tastes, which would add another $40,000 or more to our total, dependent upon said tastes. I said no thank you as politely as possible, deciding right then and there to make a matching donation for whatever our bill total was to a local maternity support organization.

 I was wheeled into our suite at 10:32 PM, contractions timing at eight minutes apart. Despite my desire to wait to change into the purple and green tie-dyed delivery gown I’d found online and carefully packed in the go-bag, I was cajoled into donning the Portland’s version so Dr. Phillips could examine me immediately and determine what stage of labor I’d reached. It was cream-colored and patterned with tiny red rosebuds, which did not please me in any way, shape or form. I’d begun to express my displeasure, but as I placed my feet into the bed’s stirrups another contraction began, the pressure starting at my lower back and working its way around to my stomach, fading after forty-five seconds or so. After he’d completed poking and prodding my internal nether region the verdict was rendered – my cervix was approximately fifty percent effaced, dilation at six centimeters. All my vitals were as they should be, so Tom and I were left to our own devices, instructed to let the nurse stationed at the door of our suite know when the strength and duration of my contractions intensified significantly and/or began occurring less than five minutes apart.

 At 11:18 PM the nurse, a lovely dark-haired young woman with sky blue eyes named Bridget, knocked twice and entered, our go-bag in hand. As she placed it on the chair nearest the door I noticed that her hair, styled in two long braids, was decorated with both a bright pink and an electric blue bow tied at the bottom of each one…which was, in all honesty, adorable. I sensed that my resistance to the rosebud monstrosity that had been thrust upon me might have given her the impression that I was going to be one of ‘those’ patients, so I quickly dug around in the duffel for my trusty bag of truffles and told her to help herself after saying thank you. She grinned from ear to ear, stating that Lindor truffles were her very favorite. I said me too, showed her my sterile-wrapped gown, and our encounter ended with a gentle high-five. The healing power of chocolate…so grossly underrated.

 As soon as the room door closed behind her I untied Rosebud, wriggled out of it, then walked into the bathroom to deposit it in the laundry bin. Tom followed me, still-wrapped tie-dye gown in hand. When I turned around to face him, he gasped, and I paused, head tilted to the right in confusion.

 “What? Is there something hanging out of me? I’d like to think I’d feel it if that was the case, and I sure as shit can’t see…”

 He shook his head slowly. “No. It’s just…you’re so…so…”

 “Enormous?”

 “You are not enormous. Do you remember New York? The night we went to DANIEL? You in that red dress, so beautiful, the embodiment of Aphrodite, and I said…”

 I nodded, my voice hushed as I recalled his words. “You said the only way you could imagine that I’d ever be more beautiful than I was in that moment is if I was heavily pregnant with our child.”

 He smiled softly, expression quickly turning to one of reverent contemplation. “And there you are, standing before me, naked as the day you yourself were born, about to bring our son into this world and I…I…Maude, the love I have for you…my heart is so full I fear it may burst, and my soul, it’s…it’s…free. Soaring. Light surrounds you…it always does…but right now, it’s so radiant, so luminous…it’s almost too intense to gaze upon, but I find myself unable to look away.”

 I took a single step toward him, and as I lifted my right foot to take a second my uterus decided it was once again contraction time, but my discomfort level jumped up two notches on Allie Brosh’s Better Pain Scale from the last one, which had been a four, ‘My pain is not fucking around.’ This one was a six, ‘Ow. Okay, my pain is super legit now.’ I couldn’t speak, and it just kept going and going and going. Tom tossed the package onto the sink counter as he strode to my side, offering himself for me to lean on, arms wrapping around me as he whispered in my ear.

 “Breathe, my love. Breathe. I’m here. I’ve got you. Breathe. In, then out. In, then out. I’ve got you.”

 In, then out. In, then out. He breathed with me, and as instantly as it had begun, it ceased. He released me slowly, kissing me on the forehead as he pulled away. I reached out and took hold of his forearm.

 “How long was that? Do you know?”

 He nodded. “Around sixty-five seconds by my count. I’m thinking we should get your gown on and have Dr. Phillips come back in. You?”

 “Probably not a bad idea. That’s right on the edge between active labor and transition.” I let go of his forearm and he walked back to the counter to retrieve the gown, carefully pulling the plastic apart and removing the bright fabric, then shaking it out to unfold it. He grinned, holding it up in front of himself.

 “I don’t know…I’m quite fond of this. Perhaps I should wear it instead?”

 “Go for it. I’m fine with staying just the way I am. Everyone’s going to get a good look at my hoo-ha anyway…why bother to get dressed at all?” I was only half kidding…the thought of wearing clothing at this juncture seemed not only unnecessary, but unnatural. He stared at me blankly, and I lifted my arms out to the side. “Come on. Do the deed before I change my mind.”

 His brow furrowed. “Maude, if you feel that you’d be more comfortable…”

 “I was joking. Mostly. I’m going to wear it for now, and if I want it gone somewhere down the line I’ll just…take it off. Does that sound reasonable? Also, I really, really want an ice-cold Coke. Which is totally unrelated to our current topic of discussion but fuck, I am thirsty.” The gown was a wrap-style with snaps at the shoulders, and as he was leaning in to fasten them my eyes met his. “Thank you. What you said before…I’m so blessed to have you as my partner in this, and in my life.”

 He kissed me soundly on the lips, then guided me over to the bed and pushed the call button. Bridget was inside the room before Tom’s finger fully lifted off the button, and he relayed the details of what I’d just experienced. She agreed that Dr. Phillips needed to check me right away, then rushed out the door to track him down. The bed had been lowered so I could heft myself in and out of it without looking like a seal flopping around in the sand, and once I was appropriately situated I turned to Tom, smirking as I attempted what was likely an incredibly sub-par imitation of Loki.

 “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll have that drink now.”

 There was an apartment-sized refrigerator in the lounge area, complete with an ice maker, and an adjacent beverage cart contained glassware. I’d peeked inside the fridge earlier and found it stocked with all the things we’d requested…Coke, water, mocha flavored coffee creamer, half-and-half, orange juice, and small containers of chocolate milk. Tom chuckled as he jogged out of my sight, and I could hear ice clinking and the sound of a soda can hissing as the top was popped. He reappeared, beverage in hand, just as Dr. Phillips knocked once and entered the room with Bridget.

 “So, Maude, Bridget tells me you’ve had in increase in intensity and duration?”

 I nodded, holding out my hands and making a ‘gimmie’ motion to Tom as he walked around to the left side of my bed and handed me the tumbler of Coke. I counted five ice cubes as I brought it to my lips and took a long, enormously satisfying sip. “Mmm, oh, that is SO good. Thank you. Sorry, Dr. Phillips. Super thirsty. Yes to the increase in intensity and duration. Significant, intensity-wise.”

 “Well, let’s have a look, then. And remember, if you change your mind about pain management, all you need do is ask, all right?”

 Pain management medications were off the table for me, the only exception being an epidural if the need for a C-section arose. Tom had even begrudgingly pinky-sworn that if I wavered, he’d remind me that I wanted to experience holding Henry for the first time stone-cold sober. Repeatedly, if warranted.

 “Thanks, Dr. Phillips. I’m still a ‘no’ for that option, though.” Bridget raised the bed, slid the stirrups out from their hiding place and guided my feet into place as I handed my glass back to Tom. Just as Dr. Phillips finished donning his gloves and sat down on the wheelie stool there I was, back at Contraction Central and he got his first glimpse of Trucker Mouth Maude before the pain paralyzed me completely. “Holy shit, what the actual fucking fuck, mother fucker?!”

 Tom, who I assumed had set my drink down on the side table, reached out to take my hands in his. “Remember, in, then out. In, then out. In…then out.”

 As soon as the pain subsided enough for me to speak, I couldn’t resist squeezing in a witty retort between breaths. “That’s what…got us…into this…in the first place.”

 Tom and Dr. Phillips roared with laughter while Bridget blushed several shades darker than the pink of her braid bows, and I leaned back on the bed, not even having realized I’d shifted forward. Dr. Phillips gave me another minute to relax, then resumed his evaluation. As he finished he glanced up at Bridget and nodded, and she nodded in return, then left the room. He stood, walked across the room to remove his gloves and deposit them in the proper receptacle, then returned to stand on the right side of the bed, opposite Tom. His expression was stoic, and just as I’d begun to panic the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile that quickly grew into a giant grin.

 “Maude, you’re fully effaced and eight centimeters dilated…which, as I’m sure you’re aware, means that you’re in the transition stage. You may feel the urge to push, and let me know of you do, but it’s best if you’d hold off until you’re at ten centimeters. In the meantime, let’s get you properly set up with some monitoring equipment. Bridget’s gathering the team, and Tom, you’ll need to put on a gown…”

 Tom nodded. “Yes sir. I do need to change my clothes first, though.” He squeezed my hands gently. “Will you be all right if I leave you alone?”

 I pulled my hands from his, releasing him. “Yep. I’ll be fine. Go. Hustle that bustle.”

 He grabbed the go-bag and walked quickly toward the bathroom, managing to be back at my side just in time for another contraction. This one lasted for almost two minutes according to Dr. Phillips, and it was downright beastly, leaving me panting. And thirsty. I turned to Tom to ask for another sip of soda and when I noticed what he was wearing I was completely and totally blown away. Biting my lip, I reached out to touch the ratty old used-to-be-black V-neck, and when I looked up at his face he was smiling, a sweet, bashful smile that evoked within me a whirlwind of emotions. My voice cracked when I finally found the correct words to formulate my question, even though I was relatively certain that I already knew the answer.

 “Tom, is that…is that your lucky shirt?”

 He placed his hand over mine, and after so many months of bump-stroking the feel of a flat stomach against my palm was oddly foreign. His voice was little more than a whisper. “You remembered.”

 “I remember. You were wearing it the day you got the call from Ken, and you were wearing it the first time you saw me when you were jogging on the beach in Hawaii, and now…”

 He interrupted, reaching out with his free hand to cup my chin. “I’m wearing it because today is the first time I’m going to see our son.”

 Bridget’s arrival with two other staff members in tow cut our moment short, and Tom put his gown on over his lucky shirt and running shorts while I was fitted with sensors to monitor my blood oxygen level, heart rate, contraction strength, as well as Henry’s heart rate. A blood pressure cuff that would automatically inflate in order to take a reading every few minutes was added to the mix as well, and I realized that this was it, I was in the proverbial birthing bed and would remain as such until said birth occurred. As if on cue, my innards clenched and tightened like a vise grip. An alarm sounded on one of the monitors and Dr. Phillips, who’d been engrossed in conversation with the staffers as they were on their way out the door, spun around to investigate. His eyes widened, which of course freaked me right the fuck out. Said freak-out must have been obvious as he immediately held up both hands, palms toward me.

 “Nothing to worry about, that one’s to let me know that it’s time to get my ducks in a row. I’ll scrub up straight way, Maude. It would appear that you might be seeing your little one a good bit sooner than I anticipated.”  

 While Dr. Phillips prepped, Tom jogged back to the bathroom to retrieve the go-bag, then jogged back to me. His voice was measured and calm when he spoke, but despite his best efforts to keep his shit together, his hands were shaking like crazy as he set the bag down and began rifling through its contents.

 “Okay, we need music. The Beats pill is in here somewhere, isn’t it? I don’t see it…oh fucking hell, did I forget to put it back after I used it last week? Fuck.”

 Dr. Phillips once again took his place on the wheelie stool and I pointed a thumb in Tom’s direction. “Allow me to apologize for his foul mouth as well…mainly because I think it’s partly my fault…”

 Tom snorted. “Partly?” He turned toward us, holding the Beats pill in his right hand and raising it up over his head. “Music shall be had, as victory is mine. I just need my…” His face fell. “Shit. Shit shit shit… where’d I put my fucking phone? This is unbelievable. Can’t things go as planned just one fucking time?”

 I could feel a tingling sensation, one that I now recognized as an indicator of an impending contraction. This wasn’t something I’d expected, him losing his cool, and I had no idea how to handle it or calm him down. And, it frightened me because though, as always, I hated to admit it…I needed him. Nothing else mattered…not the birth plan itinerary, the lighting, the music…all of that was extraneous bullshit. My words came out considerably harsher than I’d wanted them to, but the pain had begun to creep in and I knew there wasn’t much time to say what had to be said.

 “Tom. I don’t need the music. What I do need is…YOU. Oh fuck me, here we go…” I squeezed my eyes shut in order to attempt to fully focus on breathing as I navigated through and away from the pain, barely hearing Dr. Phillips commenting that I was doing an excellent job and to keep with it. I exhaled with a groan, feeling someone first touching, then rubbing my back. The pain was so much more intense…so much worse than I’d expected…that the phrase ‘drawn and quartered’ crossed my mind, and as it waned I flopped back onto the raised head of the bed. The rubbing had ceased, and I wanted it to resume, so I opened my eyes to determine who the appropriate party to screech my demand at happened to be. And there he was, one hand on the left rail, the other holding the bed’s controller. My partner, my love…my Tom. He didn’t notice that I’d opened my eyes at first, so I watched him quietly evaluating the lift and lower options until he looked up and saw me staring back at him. His head tilted slightly to the right, lips pressed together tightly, corners of his mouth turned upward just a fraction. He let go of the rail and reached out to stroke my left cheek, then ran the back of his hand down the side of my neck, voice hushed with repentance.

 “Very sorry about that.” I shook my head back and forth slowly, smiling ever-so-softly. “No, that behavior warrants an apology. It was incredibly selfish, and…”

 I shook my head again, firmer and faster. “While I appreciate that, allow me to remind you that we’ve never done this before and thus have no fucking idea as to what we’re doing and neither of us like to roll that way, so…” I cringed as the tingling began anew, and he held up the controller.

 “May I try something?” I nodded, and as he pushed a button the head of the bed reclined away from me. I frowned until he put the controller back in its place, bent to remove his sneakers and socks, then carefully climbed into the bed behind me, long legs coming to rest to the outside of mine. The stirrups prevented contact from my hips downward, but everywhere else we were touching, and the warmth of his body against me immediately reduced my stress levels by at least half. One arm wrapped around my belly, the other across my upper chest, his chin coming to rest on my left shoulder. “How’s this?”

 I leaned my head against his, placing one hand atop the arm cradling my belly. “Exactly right. Thank you.”

 Neither of us bothered to inquire of Dr. Phillips whether or not this was a permissible arrangement, me because even if he deemed it not allowed I would have told him to fuck right off. But nicer. Probably. Tom’s reason for not asking, I imagined, was related to his consideration of my anticipated reaction. But there wasn’t an opportunity to debate either way, in the end, because it was contraction time again and I found myself singing those words in my head to the tune of Ace Frehley’s ‘Cold Gin’, featured on his solo album way back in 1974. Strange to be thinking of things you’d absorbed during your stint with a former lover while giving birth to your husband’s child, but we’re just puny humans who have little to no control over how our hard drives are structured. While we were together I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around Norman’s devotion and dedication to his son, but now…hmm, maybe that’s why those wires crossed. Problem resolved, trouble ticket closed. Onward with the pain train, destination push it, push it real good…because despite Tom being right there with me, literally and figuratively holding me up while whispering constant encouragement into my ear, I was relatively certain that if this wasn’t over soon I was going to die. And shortly thereafter, as the pain reached its pinnacle and the contractions seemed infinite in their duration, I found myself pretty close to wishing I would.

 Thirty-seven minutes into transition, Dr. Phillips said the magic words…three sentences worth of them, actually, and if I could have reached him, I would have kissed him.

 “All right, Maude. Ten centimeters, fully dilated…and with that last one, baby’s officially crowning. Go ahead and start pushing with the next. Would you like us to set up a mirror so you can view the progression?”

 I didn’t find that last sentence at all magical, however, and I shook my head back and forth in lieu of screaming ‘no oh my god no do not want’. Tom, however, nodded in the affirmative. Not only did I have no desire to witness my body doing the birth thing, the thought of him seeing it was disconcerting for a variety of reasons. I turned my head toward him.

 “If you want to it’s fine, I’ll just, you know, not look… but…you…are you sure about watching this? I mean…it’s…and…” I paused for a second as it dawned on me that the main reason why I didn’t want him to see what was going on down there was because somewhere, deep down in my psyche, I was afraid he’d never be able to look at me the same way again from a sexual standpoint. How could he possibly be okay with eating me out after watching our kid slide out of the same place? I grimaced, preparing to explain myself in front of people who were essentially strangers. “…what’s been seen cannot be unseen, if you catch my drift.”

 In lieu of an immediate response he kissed me, running his tongue over my lips, then nudging it into my mouth. He pulled away, smiling and squeezing me gently as he spoke quietly.

 “There’s nothing in this world or any other that could ever change what I feel for you.”

 I turned my head to face forward again, lifting my right hand and waving at Dr. Phillips and Bridget. “Well, let’s give the man a show, then. I’ll just kick back and, oh, I don’t know…give birth, I guess?”   

 We all chuckled, and Bridget pulled the mirror out from the right side of the bed’s wooden base, where I assumed it was stored in a hidden slot much like the stirrups had been. It was on a pivot stand at the end of a long, foldable arm, and as she was trying to find an angle wherein Tom could see clearly but was out of my direct line of sight, I felt another contraction ramping up. This one seemed less intense, but the urge to bear down and push was overwhelmingly powerful. Instinctual, truthfully, because everything I’d planned and learned went right out the motherfucking window as my body began calling all the shots. Push. Hold. Short, intermittent breaths. Fingers wrapped around the rails, grasping with the strength of someone dangling over a cliff. And then, a reprieve, as well as kudos from Dr. Phillips.

 “Well done, Maude. Well done indeed. Two or three more and baby’s head should be out.”

 Between panting breaths, I managed to squeak out an ‘m’kay’. Tom was silent on the matter, and just as I was about to turn my head in his direction the pain was back and I became acutely aware of the pressure on my premium as I strained to expel what was causing it. Push, push, push…hold. Two breaths, then push and hold again. My muscled relaxed, but the pressure remained, flesh stretched to the limit and threatening to give way. Tom’s voice sounded as if he was in another room, even though I could see his arms still wrapped around me.

 “It’s the top of his head. I can see him. There he is. My god.”

 There were more words, but all I heard was gibberish as the contractions initiated a rapid-fire assault on my pelvic floor. One after another, with barely thirty seconds between them, which wasn’t enough time for me to even consider resting. The stretching eased briefly for one contraction, but with the next it was back and twice as strong, which made me lose my focus and cut my pushing short. When I didn’t push with the one that followed, Dr. Phillips took notice.

 “Maude, baby needs you to keep pushing. We’re at the shoulders, and once they’re through, the remainder is much smoother. Rest through one more, then back at it, all right?”

 It wasn’t all right…I was exhausted, I was hurting, and I was just…done. So very fucking done. But as I rested as he’d suggested, the phrase ‘baby needs you to keep pushing’ repeated in my head, so I snatched it up and made it my mantra because it was the only thing that mattered…Henry. Birth was the start of my parenting journey, the first step, the first test…and I wasn’t going to let him down. Failure. Is. Not. An. Option, Maude. Unfortunately, though my mind was willing, my body was less so. Three pushes later very little progress had been made, and realized the problem was that I felt like I just couldn’t apply enough force in my current position. I pulled myself forward on the bed rails, Tom moving with me to support my weight, and while that helped, midway through the next contraction my left foot slipped out of the stirrup and a rage tantrum born of frustration ensued.

 “FUCK. Fuck me, fuck this, fuck EVERYTHING. Especially those shitty fucking stirrups. I need to have my knees, like…like…closer. To me. FUCKING CLOSER.”

 As Bridget quickly began to fidget with the stirrup settings, Tom’s arms unwound from around me. I was just about to yell at him and ask where the fuck he thought he was going when I felt his hands slide up the back of my thighs and come to rest behind my knees. He pulled upward and back, his forearms now in the crooks of my knees to serve as a brace, and his hips shifted so he could lean forward and use his torso in the same fashion. When I glanced at him the expression he wore nearly made me burst into tears…it was a mixture of fear, strength, determination, encouragement and love. So much love. He craned his neck to touch his forehead to mine.

 “Is that better?” I nodded, moving both our heads like bobble dolls. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Good. All you need to do is push. I’ll hold you in place, shift you around, whatever you need, all right?” Another nod from me, followed by him moving his head back to a more comfortable position. With the next contraction I bore down, leaning into him as he pulled my knees up and back, the stretching sensation so extreme I felt as if I was ripping in two. And so I squeezed my eyes shut and screamed, a raw, primal sound that I’d had no idea I was capable of making. I screamed again with the one that followed, and the seven after that as well, at which point the pressure dissipated and the pain was reduced to a stinging sensation which caused me to assume that this was it, I’d gone numb because I was finally on my way out and lo and behold, I truly wasn’t even mad at it. I felt Tom shaking and experienced a tinge of sorrow at the fact I was leaving him until he shouted and I realized he was laugh-crying.

 “You did it! Maude! You did it! He’s out! He’s here! Open your eyes! Open your eyes!”

 Instead of following his directive I froze in disbelief, thinking that this couldn’t possibly be real, that it was actually over, until I heard first a gasp, then a mewling whimper that quickly turned into a hearty cry of displeasure. My eyes flew open and there he was, lying on the soaked padding in the space between my body and the edge of the bed, Bridget’s left arm serving as a safety barrier while her right hand rested on his chest in order to keep him in securely in place. Dr. Phillips first snipped the cord that had tethered us, then gently wiped blood and mucous from his face. His skin was a deep pink, head covered with a thin layer of black hair, eyes still shut, fists balled and shaking as if to protest his introduction to a bright, chilly space away from everything he’d ever known. I reached between my legs for him, feeling Tom’s arms slowly lowering them so my feet were touching the mattress. Just as I was about to make contact I hesitated, unsure of how to position my hands in order to pick him up safely from this angle. Dr. Phillips smiled, patting my right hand with his left.

 “You’ll do fine, Maude. One hand behind his head, the other under his bottom from the other side. I’m right here, just in case.”

 I could feel Tom unsnapping my gown at the shoulders and adjusting it to bare the upper area of my chest, and as my fingers connected with Henry’s skin I felt…honestly, there’s no way to describe how I felt. It’s a moment outside of time. A life that had sparked inside me, then grown inside me was now right in front of me, breathing, moving…I could hear the sound of his voice and he was warm and alive and real and I, Maude formerly-Gallagher-now-Hiddleston, was somebody’s mother. And thus I formally introduced myself as such to my son as I slipped my left hand beneath his head and he opened his eyes and stared straight into mine.

 “Henry. It’s okay, baby. Your Mamma’s right here. Still me, just a different view.” I wiggled my right hand under his bottom and lifted ever so slowly and carefully, bringing him upward and finally holding him to my chest, skin to skin. He’d stopped crying and his blue eyes were wide as I placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and watched him blink in what I interpreted as surprise. “Welcome to the world. Mamma loves you with her whole heart, her whole soul and then some.”

 I turned to look at Tom, who was unabashedly weeping, and grinned with wonder. “Hello, Daddy. Your son has your eyes, I think.” He leaned forward, his arms wrapping around my mid-section as he peered over my left shoulder. I turned my gaze back to Henry, shifting so his head rested in the crook of my elbow and watched as Tom raised his right hand, fingertips first gently stroking Henry’s left cheek, then slowly tracing down and around his body all the way to his feet. I’ll never forget the tone of his voice when he managed to speak…full of reverence, love, awe, and pure, unadulterated joy.

 “Hello, my Henry. My boy. My son. Welcome. I can’t quite believe you’re finally here, that I’m able to see you and touch you. Daddy loves you with his whole heart, his whole soul and then some, too.” As he resumed his stroking he reversed course, and both of us gasped when Henry opened his fist and grabbed onto Tom’s pinky finger. Tom’s eyes met mine, and the look on his face was so similar to Henry’s when I’d kissed his forehead that I totally lost it and started laugh-crying myself.  

 “Tom oh my god…Henry gave me that same look when I kissed him and I can’t…I can’t…” Tom began to chuckle as well, then nuzzled my neck as we both stared down at the small human we’d created until I experienced a minor contraction and remembered that there was uterine clean up to be done. Dr. Phillips saw it on the monitor and cleared his throat before speaking.

 “Terribly sorry for having to interrupt, but we do need to move forward with the placenta delivery and I’d like to take a closer look to see if you need any stitches, Maude. While we’re busy with that Bridget will get Henry fully cleaned up, diapered, dressed, and wrapped.”

 I frowned as she walked around the bed to my right side, and found myself suppressing a growl when she reached for Henry. My body had stiffened, and Tom must have sensed my admittedly semi-bonkers territorial reaction at the idea of someone else holding my newborn son because he extended his right hand in Bridget’s direction, palm out, causing her to pause. His voice was friendly when he spoke, but firm.

 “Bridget, I’d like to be the one to clean and dress Henry for the first time…with your guidance, of course.”

 She withdrew, nodding. “Certainly. I’ll bring the bassinet closer to the bed so Maude can see you both. We’ll need to weigh and measure him first, but the scale and ruler are built right in so that’s easy-peasy.”

 Tom kissed my cheek and began the process of disentangling himself from me. One hand remained on my back the entire time, supporting me until he could raise the head of the bed back up to take his place. I looked up at him, biting my lip, unsure of what to say. I shook my head, frowning.

 “I’m so sorry…I don’t…I just…’

 He leaned in to kiss me again, this time the top of my head, despite the fact that I was literally drenched with sweat. “Please, love, don’t be sorry. I’m so proud of you right now, for that, and for everything. And in awe of your strength…” He choked back a sob. “Thank you, my warrior goddess, for taking me as your own and giving so much of yourself to provide this most precious gift…our son. Our…family.”

 Though I tried to hold back my own tears, they fell anyway and began a rapid descent down my cheeks, then dripped off my chin and onto Henry. I lifted him slowly as I turned toward Tom. “Dude, here. Please take him before I start dripping snot on him too.”

 The sight of Tom cradling Henry in his hands, then holding him to his chest while waiting for Bridget to lock the bassinet wheels in place was surreal…and profoundly, indescribably beautiful. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him holding an infant, and when I had previously it had nudged something inside me that I was unfamiliar with, perhaps even resistant to. And now, on February 11th, 2017, at 12:59 AM according to the clock on the wall to my left, I finally fully understood what that something was. The eternal maternal…the innate desire to create, nurture, and love another human being. Long buried, suppressed in sorrow, imprisoned by fear…shackled by the possibility of loss, and the terror of failure. As I watched my husband lower our son into the bassinet and begin to tenderly cleanse his skin of the remnants of the cocoon my body had crafted for him I felt the power of ‘mother’ rise up within me, and for the first time in my life it was a power representative of good, not evil, and it released me from my chains and banished my fears and though I wouldn’t have thought it possible, I felt more whole, more complete, than even having Tom become a part of my life had made me.

 It was nearly impossible to look away, even as Dr. Phillips applied significant pressure to my belly while I bore down and pushed some more. After the placenta delivery I heard him mutter something about two stiches, and when he asked me if I wanted a numbing agent applied I shook my head, still staring fixedly at Tom as he first diapered than dressed Henry in the simple white cotton onesie with a green-tinted shadow bust of Shakespeare printed on the front that we’d chosen for him. Then came the tiny purple socks, followed by a white knit hat with his initials, HTH, embroidered on it in purple and green thread. Last came the purple and green tie-dyed baby blanket that matched my gown almost exactly, and I grinned when Tom managed to swaddle him with such perfection that Bridget patted him on the back and told him she’d never before seen such a lovely job done by a first-time parent. He lifted Henry out of the bassinet, then began to rock him slowly back and forth in his arms, humming quietly. It wasn’t anything I recognized, so I assumed it was in audible expression of what his heart was feeling. I nearly wept again, but Dr. Phillips tapped my knee in order to divert my attention. Which was warranted, because I was pretty sure he’d been talking but I hadn’t heard a single word. I turned to him, clearing my throat prior to speaking.

 “Sorry, I think you said stuff but I have no clue what. Would you mind repeating, please?”

 He smiled. “I don’t mind a bit, Maude. All of the placenta was accounted for, and the tear to your perineum was around half a centimeter, which is very minor, especially considering the fact that you delivered a nine pounder…”

 I blinked rapidly, jaw dropping open slightly. “Wait, what? Nine? Nine pounds?”

 “Nine pounds, four ounces to be exact. 22 inches long. Heart rate, respiration and coloring are all excellent and Bridget watched while Tom dressed him to make sure muscle tone and reaction were up to snuff. You’ve got a very healthy fellow there. Might have something to do with the source material.” I laughed, and Dr. Phillips shook his head. “No, I mean that, Maude. You worked hard to take care of your body throughout your pregnancy, you stayed physically active, you ate well…”

 Snorting, I pointed both index fingers at him. “If ‘ate well’ equals too much sugar, caffeine, salt and a bunch of really weird shit then you’re spot on.”

 He chuckled. “I might just start recommending that diet to patients if this is the end result. In all seriousness, though…you approached giving birth with incredible focus and determination, but when you faltered I began going over the C-section prep in my head because I wasn’t certain if you’d be able to continue. But before I could get to step three you were back at it, and stronger than ever. I admire your tenacity, Maude. Well done. Very, very well done.”

 What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? I decided the keep it simple, stupid strategy would serve me best. “Thank you, Dr. Phillips.”

 “You’re welcome. Allow me to take a moment to advise you that while you don’t feel any of it now since the oxytocin is flowing freely, tomorrow will be an entirely different story. You’ll be sore all over, especially your stomach muscles and the entirety of your pelvic floor. Since you have stitches, you’ll need to use a perineal irrigation bottle instead of paper when you use the bathroom…a bidet might sound better, but that’s off limits until the stitches dissolve. You’ll have post-partum bleeding for ten days or so, and after that light spotting for up to a few weeks. We’ll go over everything again and provide you with written instructions during the discharge procedure. Right now, Bridget will clean you up a bit and help you into a disposable undergarment designed for a heavy flow, and then you’ll be ready to give feeding Henry a go. Would you like me to send in the lactation consultant or would you prefer to attempt it on your own first?”

 “On my own, please.” I winced as whatever liquid Bridget was using made contact with my skin. She apologized as she continued, then patted me dry with a soft cloth. Hefting my ass up in the air was far easier than I thought it would be, and the gauzy undies felt weird but weren’t technically uncomfortable. I looked down at myself, and though it was still puffy, my stomach no longer looked like a giant egg was lurking inside and ready to burst through my skin a la Alien-style. I’d read several articles in which women described feeling empty in an emotional sense after giving birth as a reaction to not being pregnant anymore. Me? Not so much. I was over the fucking moon at the prospect of wearing pants again. Real, actual, people pants that had buttons and zippers and pockets. I tilted my head to the left and raised my brows as I returned my gaze to Dr. Phillips, who was currently standing to my right as he waited for Bridget to finish washing up. “So…when can I, like, get up and walk around?”

 “Whenever you feel ready. Move slowly, and if you feel light-headed, sit back down and rest. Let Tom do the lifting when Henry requires transporting for the next few hours, though, just to be safe. Would you like me to have the concierge bring something up for you both to snack on?”

 I leaned back, resting my head on the mattress. “Oh my god YES please. Anything from our preference sheet is fine. Thank you for thinking of it. And for everything, Dr. Phillips.”

 Tom echoed my sentiment, and Dr. Phillips and Bridget exited the suite so we’d have some privacy, Bridget reminding us to use the call button at any time if we needed anything at all. I reached out with both arms toward Tom, my hands making ‘gimmie’ motions.

 “Hand him over, Hiddleston. Let’s see if these boobs are good for more than just looking at.”

 He snorted. “They’ve always been good for more than just looking at. And while I truly never want to let him go, he’s starting to root at me a bit and I’m afraid I’m of little use to him in that particular department.”

 Henry whimpered as Tom pulled him away from his chest in order to return him to me and Tom talked him through it, voice barely above a whisper.

 “It’s all right, Henry. All is well. It’s time to pay Mamma a visit and have some breakfast. You’ll be warm and cozy again in no time.” And with that, my son was back in my arms again, staring up at me. I opened his blanket burrito enough to free his upper body, then removed his hat and rested him against my chest as I shifted the gown so my breasts were fully exposed. Tom was correct, there was rooting going on for sure. I took a deep breath, then used my right hand to lift my left breast and hold it up, nipple positioned directly in front of Henry’s mouth. I felt the mattress dip a smidge and moved my legs to the right so Tom could sit closer to me. Then, I waited…for a grand total of, like, thirty seconds and then…liftoff. Or latching, if you want to get all technical about it and shit. I looked up at Tom, who was staring down at Henry. When he finally met my gaze I grinned, as did he.

 “My body has made food for another human being and said human being is partaking in consuming the food and is also the sweetest, cutest, most adorable human being I’ve ever laid eyes upon aside from his father. Also, it feels really fucking strange. Not bad, just…strange.”

 We both stared at Henry as he continued to dine, lost in the glow, until the concierge knocked. Tom went to answer, and as the spell was broken I remembered that babies need burping and that not rotating between boobs would lead to unpleasantness. I positioned Henry carefully so his head was resting just below my left clavicle and began to pat his back rhythmically until he let loose a braaap that made me giggle-snort. While right boob got its turn, Tom fed me bagel pizzas while he wolfed down a turkey club sandwich. The suction on my nipple waned, and when Henry’s eyelids began to droop I burped him once more, then watched as he drifted off to dreamland for the first time in the outside world. Tom stood and took him from me, then returned him to the bassinet. I watched as he carefully re-burritoed Henry, put his hat back on, then covered him with a Winnie the Pooh cotton blankie. It was yellow, with all the characters printed in group in the center, and when Tom leaned down to kiss Henry’s forehead I began to weep. Tom came back to sit with me, pulling me into his arms and to his chest, weeping right along with me, neither of us speaking even when the tears were done and gone. I wouldn’t have thought that bond between us could possibly become stronger, nor the connection deeper, but that was indeed the case, though it remained unspoken because there were no words to convey how it felt or what it meant to both of us. All I could come up with in my head was that this love had been two and now it was three, and that was everything.

 I showered while Henry was sleeping, Tom having rolled the bassinet to just outside the bathroom, where he kept watch on both Henry and I while texting our friends and family to advise them that our bundle of joy had arrived and that they were welcome to come to the hospital Saturday afternoon at one PM for a meet-and-greet luncheon before we went home to hole up with our kid and figure out how all this worked. We’d let Bridget know that I was up and about so housekeeping could come in and change the bedding, and once I was cleaned up and dressed in my post-birth ensemble of disposable panties, a white nursing bra and a purple silk robe, an all-encompassing sense of exhaustion overwhelmed me, and as soon as I was in a horizontal position it was lights out for Mamma. Tom rested with me, fetching Henry from the bassinet at our bedside whenever he woke and began to fuss, changing his diaper or passing him to me for nursing, depending upon what seemed to be required at the time. Sometimes it was both, sometimes neither…and I’d decided going in that I wasn’t going to be a ‘cry it out’ parent. If my kid needed cuddling, he’d get cuddling no matter the hour or situation. Overcompensation for my own mother’s shitty parenting style? Probably…but as far as I knew this might be our one and only, and I was bound and determined to offer him everything I had to give.

 Part of our hospital package included a session with a professional photographer, which we decided to use during the luncheon. Tom and I had eaten breakfast at just after eleven AM, a full English for both of us, and he’d showered while I donned my outfit of the day…the addition of a pair of black cotton sweatpants and a fresh pair of disposable panties to the same nursing bra and purple silk robe I’d slept in. We worked together to change Henry’s diaper and outfit, opting for a rainbow-striped footed one-piece with a cartoon speech bubble on the front that read ‘Hello, World!’ in multi-colored script. Tom had barely finished pulling his own navy-blue sweater over his head when Simon and Luke turned up, a whole fifteen minutes early, which was, like, unheard of. And Simon, Mr. Extra Loud Especially At The Most Inconvenient Times, tip-toed into the room while whispering his greeting.

 “Maude, oh my god, look at you, you’re not pregnant anymore and Tom those jeans look like you haven’t washed them in weeks is that like, a style, and where is my nephew? WHERE?” He spotted the bassinet next to the bed and bolted over to it, Luke in tow. “Oh my HEART he’s gorgeous and he’s sleeping how do you get him to sleep the girls are still forever awake and making SOUNDS also sorry not sorry I’m going to wake him up now because I want to hold him and I need to see what color his eyes are.”

 I walked to join them, and even though I didn’t want to admit it, Dr. Phillips had been spot-on…my pelvic area hurt like a motherfucker. It was a constant throbbing, like a toothache, but, you know, in my uterus and vagina. Which didn’t, as far as I was aware, did not, in fact have teeth. Simon had already begun to pick Henry up but thought better of it, eyes meeting mine to ask for permission first. I nodded, and I couldn’t help but tear up at the sight of him holding my child. He’d always been so supportive and positive when I doubted this would ever happen, and both he and Luke had been by my side throughout the most horrific experience of my life…now here we all were, alive, healthy, happy and…parents. What a fucking thing. As Luke and Simon cooed over Henry everyone else began to filter in, including the concierge and photographer. In attendance were Diana and James, Emma, Sarah, Trudy, and, much to my pleasant surprise, Anne. When I asked how she’d gotten to London so quickly, she shrugged and said two days ago she’d just had a feeling and her plane had landed last night at seven PM. It was bittersweet, her being there…I loved her and had already designated her adopted Grandmamma, but her presence always had and always would remind me of the past. Even after you’ve come to terms with it all, the empty spaces where those you’ve lost once stood still remained. The brief bit of darkness faded as I participated in the game of pass the baby and pose for pictures, and I took advantage of having my hands free to shovel enough food into my face to feed three sizable adults. We all gathered for a final group shot, Tom and I front and center, with me holding Henry will sitting on Tom’s lap. Goodbyes were said, and as soon as everyone had departed we called in Dr. Phillips and Bridget for our discharge discussion. An hour and a half later we were walking out the side door of the hospital, hoping that our posting a photo of ourselves and Henry across all our social media accounts would reduce the paparazzi presence. It worked, in part at least, as there were only five of them outside…and they were all very polite and unusually subdued, so much so that when they asked for permission to photograph us we said it was fine as long as no flashes were used. We’d hired a car to pick us up and the driver had placed Henry’s seat inside for us, which made for a relatively quick getaway. Then, suddenly, we were at our destination…taking the elevator up to our place, walking inside…the Hiddlestons, ready to continue the adventure of a lifetime. As a family.

#your light in the mist #chapter 51

[musekicker]

So a lot of people are putting out their Ducktales secret santa’s early so I thought I will too. It honestly makes sense with the stuff going on with tumblr anyways.

So I got @tinybunbunn who I really hope likes their gift. (Fun fact, I actually wrote two fic because I felt the first didn’t really fit as well into what they like to see. I’m sure it would had been liked, but hey, want to do my best.)

Happy holidays to just everyone in the ducktales secret santa and thank you to the people who put it together.

Shopping brick and mortar was a complete nightmare in Gyro Gearloose's opinion. Why anyone would want to subject themselves to such a thing was something Gyro himself could never figure out.

Masses of people. Loud voices often right next to Gyro. Kids crying.

Just a complete and utter nightmare.

Before Gyro would not had bothered much with the holidays and stayed out of major shopping areas for the season. This year was very different. Yet here he was, out shopping at the most busy shopping time of the year.

And all this with sub par coffee he made at the lab earlier from the elderly coffee maker there that was on it's last legs. Should had stopped at Starducks.

Of course now already in the middle of the mall he knew that was too late now. Yes, the mall had a Starducks too. But he would not brave that crowd even for coffee.

The things Gyro did for love.

Love was the only thing that would ever push Gyro to do this. Fenton of course had politely given him an out to not join him in finishing off some Christmas shopping. Old Gyro would had taken that out.

Actually, old Gyro would had given a death glare at the suggestion in the first place. But time and getting close to Fenton had softened him.

Not too soft when it came to dealing with the crowds. Gyro's height was helpful when in the middle of crowds. Fenton would not lose sight of him and it made him more of an somewhat intimidating form.

No one pushed Fenton around on his watch. One wrong move from a fellow shopper and Gyro would give them a glare that promised that Gyro would be a force to be reckoned with if anyone so much as dared to even to shove Fenton.

So with that boon his height gave him, shopping was going smoother then he thought it would.

The two had just stepped out of a store with their purchases from that particular store. The place was still filled with many other shoppers. Gyro was glad to be done with that store.

"That store was pretty tough to get through." Fenton said almost apologetically. "I think someone threatened to bite someone in there."

"That was me. This guy kept elbowing me." Gyro said.

"Ah. I thought that voice sounded familiar." Fenton said. "I'm glad you didn't have to actually bite anyone."

"As far as you know." Gyro replied.

Only the hint of a smile on his beak told Fenton that Gyro was joking. It was nice to see Gyro getting better at making the occasional joke. He found that Gyro's general sense of humor was getting better since they first started dating.

Gyro looked back to Fenton.

"Who else do you need to get gifts for?" Gyro asked.

Fenton glanced at his list. Gyro did notice that a good percent of the names on the list were crossed out, obviously already have been bought for at the moment.

"Just a few more. I need to get a gift for some other family members. I already got M'ma's present so I don't need to worry about that.  In fact, I think I only need to get one more gift." Fenton said.

"Oh thank goodness." Gyro groaned.

Fenton thought that reaction was fair.

"I need to get something for you too." Fenton said. "If you don't mind, I should probably search for that gift on my own. Meet up back at the fountain?"

"Okay. I have to do some on my own shopping too." Gyro admitted.

They had gone in opposite directions. So Gyro didn't even see what store Fenton went into. Which was more then fine with him. It also meant Fenton wouldn't see what store he was going into.

Not that would really ruin the surprise of Gyro's gift.

He knew what he was getting him.  In fact, he had ordered the last part of the gift a week ago and was going to pick it up in store now.

Pick up was easy enough despite the smaller but still a crowd in the store. And getting out of this store was faster then it took both he and Fenton to get out of the other stores.

He finally had the last piece to his gift to Fenton. He would just have to make sure he finished setting up the gift soon and keep it hidden from Fenton in the meantime.

Fenton would love this.

He hoped.

Christmas eve had come. And gifts were being passed around in the lab. Though Fenton knew he be seeing Gyro at the Christmas dinner with his family, Gyro has insisted on exchanging gifts here too.

Not a bad idea though. Manny and Lil' Bulb needed their gifts too after all.

Both the creatures in question were giving gifts too.  Or rather cards. It was not as if the two had money after all.

Manny was giving out home made cards. A feat considering that it was really hard to write with hooves. Manny made do, and signed the cards with a hoof print.

Lil' Bulb had given Gyro and Fenton his own cards, with scribble drawings and writing on them. Gyro thought to himself that his robot creation needed drawing lessons. But he kept that thought to himself and thanked lil' Bulb.

Fenton and Gyro did not give cards for their part. They had both worked together to come up with gifts for the two other members of team science.

Lil' Bulb was happy with with his new  brand new light blinks to text translator. Something to make communicating with others besides those in the lab easier.

Fenton and Gyro had wanted to get a similar translator ready for Manny in time, but that had a few other issues he needed to work out. So for now Manny had gotten a hoof pick tool to clean his hooves when he needed it.

Manny tapped his hoof in appreciation.

Now was the moment where Gyro and Fenton would exchange their presents.

"I hope you like it." Fenton said bringing over his gift.

Gyro opened the gift.

Inside the box was a new coffee maker. More complex and sure to work better then the old model of coffee maker the lab had up until now.

The old coffee maker was also what Gyro was coming to think of as evil (not his fault this time, he hadn't made it.) . It had caused many a burn and gross coffee batch.

So the gift of a new coffee maker was greatly appreciated.

"I knew you needed a new one. And you always need your coffee in the morning." Fenton said.

"I love it, thank you." Gyro said. "Manny, go throw the old coffee maker in the trash., would you?"

The old coffee maker did not go out entirely without a fight as it exhaled a small jet of steam towards Manny. Manny swept it off the table and into a trash can, coffee and all.

Now was Gyro's turn to give his gift to Fenton. Gyro stood up.

"Your gift I couldn't wrap. Come with me." Gyro said.

Fenton was curious, tilting his head slightly. He let Gyro lead him out back towards where his "office" was. They stopped a door right before that room.

"Close your eyes." Gyro said.

Fenton did so. The sound of the door being opened was heard and the click of a light switch.

"Okay, you can open them."

Eyes open, Fenton looked ahead. It looked very much like a smaller version of the main lab. And at first Fenton was confused. Then he realized that the gift was the room itself.

It was a lot more spacious then his old so called office. A lot cleaner and stocked with more tools too.

Looking closer Fenton saw some of the items already in the room were items he knew already. Everything from the bathroom "office" was set up in here. Minus the stuff that was suppose to be in a bathroom of course.

There were also some personalized items. Such as a mug with his name on it , on one of his tables.

Fenton was shocked into silence for a short while.

"Gyro... I don't know what to say." Fenton said finally.

Given Fenton's tone and the fond expression Gyro could tell that the gift was a success.

"I also had a sign made for your own lab area. I couldn't put it up because that would had ruined the surprise. Want to help me put it up?" Gyro asked.

Fenton nodded. Then before they got to work on installing the sign, he gave Gyro a quick kiss.

They spent longer on the sign installation then they should of perhaps after that.

#ducktales secret santa 2018 #TinyBunbunn #ducktales #fenro

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

hey quick question: why the fuck is the topic of needing a date for a school prom/formal pushed so heavily on kids at the ages of 15/16 or 17/18? when it’s only one night of lousy top 40s music (for example my year 10 formal was filled with Rihanna’s songs “S&M” and “rude boy”, a barrage of David guetta and Flo Rida/LMFAO songs and then Adele’s “someone like you”. hell, the biggest mood killer of the night was a “pumped up kicks” - foster the people cover by a band of boys from my year)? and then sub par food? and the night of the formal, they’ll only remember snippets of, only a few years after it happened? like fuck off.

prom/formal should be a night to be enjoyed with your friends, not some random guy or girl in your year group that you’ve barely uttered a fucking word to (in nearly all cases, besides the ones who’ve started dating or y’know they’re just friends going as friends, like I did with one of my guy friends in year 12) in the whole either 4 (for year 10 or junior proms/formals) or 6 years (for year 12/senior ones) you’ve been going to school together. like I remember my crush in year 10 tried to set me up with his best friend (a petty thing to do, to dangle himself in front of me, really, bc he was already taking someone) that I’d been super sassy to at the athletics carnival the previous year, and generally never spoke to.... except when we were forced to be partners for our ballroom dancing PE lessons and assessment that I barely ever participated in. then I was made to look like a cruel bitch bc I said no to him, and he didn’t end up going bc he didn’t have a date.... or at least that’s what it made me feel like on formal night when he didn’t turn up and his friends looked kinda slightly sullen about it, which was also coupled with rude comments from teachers. but I think he was cool with it though. his actual excuse was that “formal is overrated and expensive... and I come back next year???? like what’s the point?? I’ll just go to our year 12 one!” which he did, because I saw the photos.

like why the fuck was i shamed for a whole two straight years by my teachers at catholic school in years 9 & 10, who made it their business to tell me that “no real man from this school, in your year (bc we could only take people from our year group to formals) will ever take you to the formal, unless you learn to be a real woman in the eyes of jesus” or that my “goal for the year should be to gain 10 kilos bc the real men here at this school only like women with meat on their bones and not a girl who looks like she starves herself!” (which if they bothered to ask any of my friends for evidence, they’d find out that I ate A LOT and I’m legitimately naturally skinny)...

like why the fuck is this your business as my idk english/maths/art/sport/religion/science teacher or year coordinator etc??? stay the fuck out of it ms shackleback, I swear to fuck. and also why did this always have to be done out of the way of my friends, “in private” so that I never had anyone to back up my claims??? also why the fuck are you so condescending? they’re real men? while I’m a feral child? THEY’RE LITERALLY 15, MR RHONSON! THEY MAKE WANKING/FLESH LIGHT JOKES AND ALSO RAPE JOKES ON THEIR OWN OR EACH OTHER’S FACEBOOK PAGES EVERY FUCKING NIGHT!!!! THEY’RE NO FUCKING ANGELS AND SAINTS OR GENTLEMEN! THEY’RE JUST AS GROSS AS 15yo ME MAKING JOKES ABOUT ACCIDENTALLY BECOMING A SEX WORKER WHEN SHE MOVES TO PUBLIC SCHOOL! FOR CHRIST’S ALMIGHTY GODDAMN FUCKING SAKE! (not that sex workers are actually gross, you keep doing you ladies! I was just fresh out of my eminem and rap phases is all. and also that defs DID NOT happen anyway 😂)

like fuck, I was even shamed on fucking formal night. the one night where after making all the jokes about turning up in no makeup, ripped black skinny jeans, an ADTR or amity affliction shirt and converses bc I apparently “wasn’t like the other girls bc I was SoOoOoO oRiGiNaL AND pUnK!” or pulling a lady Gaga by turning up in a garbage bag... but making it fashion; or whatever other dumb fucking shit I said.... I turned up looking super nice (for 16yo me that is)... like nice enough to impress my crush at the time so much that he dropped his jaw y’all! in fact, everyone did! 😂

yet I was met with almost nonstop backhand compliments by like nearly all of my teachers. comments like “you look so wonderful *my friends walk off* but what a shame your lack of lady-like behaviour doesn’t compensate for the effort you put in!” or “you brushed up nicely! but what a shame you don’t have a boy with you! you’d look lovely with one on your arm! but you didn’t clean yourself up enough to have one of the real men in your year! how embarrassing!” *pointed, jeering look* and snide comments about me being in a dress when I turned up to school in one every day???? like what the fuck did I turn up to school in? up to $1000 worth of agent provocateur luxury lingerie ensembles, a school blazer and heels? with an apple, a book, my glasses and a riding crop to discipline the rowdy boys? with a coy smile to match Megan Fox’s on any merch associated with Jennifer’s body? fucking honestly let girls joke a little?

then a random guy (obvs one of the popular guys) in my year turns up with a fucking literal BLOW UP SEX DOLL. YES YOU READ THAT RIGHT! A BLOW UP SEX DOLL as a prank. and you know the types of comments he gets? “oh that Benson is a real laugh isn’t he!? a lark!” and “WHAT A GREAT PRANK BEN!” and the like. like fuck off. (but then again I never found out if he got cautioned about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did) literally the only good non backhanded comment I remember receiving on the night of my year 10 formal was my (male) drama teacher saying: “Ilona, holy shit! you look so nice tonight! whose idea was your hippy/gypsy vibe! I dig it! so many of the guys here would kill (not obviously of course, shit) to have you on their arm! why so down? why so glum? have a good night, yeah?”

finally to finish off, honestly how the fuck the teachers couldn’t understand that the constant degrading and negative remarks and treatment they were persistently giving me, made me feel like that I never deserved a date in the first place, I’ll never fucking know. 🤔

but when I changed to public school, why didn’t any of my teachers intervene with this? it was so much more enjoyable (but still annoying) to only have the boys in the year below me try to jockey for spots to take me to my year 12 formal (bc public school let you take anyone within a reasonable age range). but still. why is it pushed? in neither of these scenarios did I ever need a male friend to take me. I was more than happy going on my own to be with my friends 🤷🏻‍♀️. i had only one negative comment on the night of my year 12 formal. and that was my year coordinator saying that I was very awkward in high heels. but altoghter I brushed up nicely. but then again, I either misplaced my phone or it got stolen. bc by the end of the night, I didn’t have my phone. the highlight of the night was my teachers getting fucking smashed and constantly requesting that the soundtrack of grease be played along with a load of 70s/80s music 😂 it was great. 😅

the only reasons why I remember both of my formals so clearly are because one was so awfully negative and unbearable (year 10/junior) that I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there, and the other one was passable and tolerable, even if I did get my phone stolen (year 12/senior) 😂

so, this is a message to anyone who wants to be a teacher or has just become a new teacher in a high school: if you harass kids like this, over something so fucking goddamn trivial as a formal/prom date; I will literally come to fucking haunt you when I die. leave kids the fuck alone to have some fun with their friends.

#life #about me #shut up ilona #ilona whines about her shitty life to her followers lol #ilona whines about her shitty luck with men #but anyway #this was YEARS AGO #but im just saying that theyre such pointless nighta #*nights #and they shouldnt be ruined by the fake need to have a date with them #we should stop pressuring school kids with this #they already have more than enough going on

[therebelwrites]

Re: Election 2020: Who’s Afraid of the Big, Bad Trump??

Surely not Native Black Americans!

Black people, do not be lured into the collective fear of Trump pervasive throughout so-called “liberal” white society. While THEY stand to lose power, I assure you that your ancestors have not only survived through, but have triumphed over much WORSE circumstances.

While I presented my point about Native Black Americans currently lacking a solid presidential candidate to support in a comical manner, the underlying statement was anything but a joke: unless a sound, independent candidate with a Black agenda materializes, a protest vote for the 2020 presidential election will absolutely be in order.

It makes no sense whatsoever for Native Black Americans to continue to support Politicians Formerly Known As Democrats (PFKAD) when they have proven to us time and time and time again that they do not and will not represent--or even address--the Black agenda. (Maya Angelou said when a person shows you who they are, believe them. Obama let us know from the jump that he was NOT a “Black president.” Why in the hell didn’t we believe him??? Wishful thinking, that’s why! SMH.) They continue to usher Native Blacks to the BACKS of buses, the BOTTOMS of barrels and the BENEATHS of shoes, yet Blacks barely bother to battle for BETTER. 

DEAD THAT BEHAVIOR. Actions based on fear never work for your benefit in the long-term, remember that!

I repeat: “Liberal” whites who whisper about the fall of society at the reins of dear Mr. President are only fearful of the PERSONAL loses (in power, capital, equity, social standing, etc.) that they will be subjected to as a collective. They use these scare tactics in order to persuade Blacks into partaking in what is not actually a Black battle at all! (According to the U.S. Census--which I don’t believe at all--we only 13% of the population. Yet WE are expected to incessantly shoulder the moral responsibility of sacrificing OUR OWN NEEDS for the sake of the greater good while the other 87% of the population idles in ignorance and hatred and elects candidates who are set on destroying the very “democracy” that the 87% seeks to protect?? No deal!)

We BEEN caught in the socio-political crosshairs of the incessant conflict between white economic wills! Said another way, we BEEN suffering since we got here! At this point, NO president has represented the Native Black American voice--none. White people want YOU to be scared of a two-term Trump not because they have a sincere interest in Black interests, but because THEY, THEMSELVES ARE terrified of him. Have Blacks NOT been subjected to an infinite struggle since our arrival to this continent via Europeans?? (Yes, there were Africans in the Americans before Europeans; visit museums in Mexico.) Why should we suddenly doubt our own survival now?? We’ve endured WORSE!

2020 = 20/20. Blacks are expected to have a CLEAR collective VISION by next year, yet many of us are still terrified of taking the actions necessary to truly incite LASTING change.

The “good” news is that Trump is not necessary “targeting” the Black populace in particular; he’s targeting EVERYBODY who’s not like him (so poor people, gays, immigrants, etc.). Yes, Blacks are a part of those groups, but there’s a distinct difference between being the BULLSEYE and being on the PERIPHERY. While no place on the target is safe, we gotta do what we’ve always done: make the best of the shit-u-ate-ion.

THINK ABOUT THE LONG-TERM. A blow to the face of the democratic party delivered by the collective Black FIST by rescinding our decades-long loyalty will teach them to never again take the Black vote for granted, nor to DOUBT our commitment to attaining true LIBERATION.

The democratic party as a whole has gotten TOO comfortable, and this is the ONLY way to get our message across. WE have the power. Do not fear loss; at least we KNOW that Trump is not attempting to govern in our favor, unlike the politicians who dance to our music and then go back to ignoring our issues after election day has passed. Black folks have ALWAYS fared better when dealing with KNOWN enemies. While the immediate implications of engaging in a protest vote may sting, we must understand that the temporary pain is a small sacrifice for a far greater, long-term gain.

When you’ve always been on the bottom, you become accustomed to not having anything, thus you don’t FEAR losing anything. Let the people with the most to lose stand up and fight for a change. The fact that the Democratic party continues to churn out sub-par candidates from which Blacks to choose shows how poorly they regard Black people anyway. As a result, Blacks should be poised to divorce the democratic party altogether.

Knowing the consequences as outlined above, I stand behind my original statement: Native Black Americans should be fully prepared to vote for Doc McStuffins. Even if Trump wins the 2020 BATTLE, Black people will win the WAR, and democrats will never again take our loyalty for granted. Best of all, they--as well as their republican counterparts-- will learn to put some RESPECT on our LINEAGE!

Bet on it!

#Wolves: do you prefer them big and bad--or cloaked in sheep's clothing??? #Presidential election 2020 #The Great Divorce from the Democratic Party #Black Liberation #ADOS agenda #U.S. government #politics #Can't worry about battle WOUNDS while at WAR #Tangibles 2020 #We aint neva scared