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bigilante · 3 years

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— 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 ❣ 𝕙.𝕠

⌜mature content • minors do not interact⌟

「 contents: mature language + handjob ━━━━━ word count: 2.4k 」

: a.n : hiya! it's been long since i last posted something but here i am! this is my entry for @worldoftom's lolbrosgetsicktoo writing challenge. be gentle with me please, i'm really awkward writing in second person but i really wanted to make this gender-neutral.

: prompt : Harrison injures his right hand. He’s sexually frustrated, and his left hand just isn’t doing the job. Reader notices something is up with her poor roommate, and asks if there’s anything she can do to help. Even though they haven’t been anything more than friends up to this point, reader offers to “give him a hand,” or whatever of her other body parts he likes.

For two weeks Harrison had had his right hand clasped in a splint from taking a rather nasty fall from his skateboard. The night he had come home from the park with his jeans ripped on the knees and his hand clutched to his chest you hadn’t wasted a second to start taking the piss out of him at the clear picture of him eating shit at the skatepark but when he let out a pained groan after trying to take his jacket off your laughter died down and worry settled on the pit of your stomach.

His hand turned out to be badly sprained and well, the next couple of weeks had been spent in him trying to navigate his days with his non-dominant hand and with the initial panic of your roommate hurting himself gone you resumed the lighthearted piss-taking. Although he laughed with you at the jokes you made you could see how it really bugged him that he wasn’t as useful and agile with his right hand being in mandatory rest. “Told you, H. Whatever you have trouble with I can give you a hand.” You reminded him waving both your hands in front of you in a somewhat mocking manner.

“Yeah, heard you the first time.” He grumbled while struggling to button up his dress shirt. “Damn it.” The blonde cursed under his breath when his fingers seemed to not be working properly. That was enough for you to put your cup of tea down on the breakfast bar to walk up to him taking over the task he was growing frustrated with. He sighed defeated, letting his hands drop to his sides allowing you to close his shirt for him.

“Really, Harrison. I don’t mind helping you out.” The reassurance prompted Harrison to nod in understanding, running his fingers through his hair clearly irked by his situation. As if after you repeating it ninety-nine times before hadn’t sunk into his brain until the hundredth. “There you go, all done.” You patted his chest a couple of times then stepped back away from him to grab your mug again watching him leave the flat in a hurry after thanking you. You had been joking about what happened to him but you really felt bad for him, Harrison was a very active and independent guy who rarely asked for help and now that he was close to useless at doing simple tasks you could see how much it troubled him.

In the evening when he returned home he headed directly to the bathroom barely uttering a greeting back when you welcomed him, the sound of the running water splashing around let you know he was running a bath, you sighed at the fact that he had beaten you to run one for yourself though you were still busy making dinner for the both of you you didn’t duel much on it. About thirty minutes had passed since he went in for his bath and you figured it’ll be enough time for him to be about done with it to come out and eat, hence you walking up to the end of the hallway to knock on the door to make him aware that the food was ready.

However, the noise of water splashing a bit too aggressively accompanied by Harrison’s angry cursing made you believe something was wrong. With not much time to think you tried for the door and found it unlocked, swinging it open swiftly. “Are you okay!?” You asked in a panic, eyes wide when you saw the walls dripping and the floor flooded with soapy water. “Are you hurt?” You insisted, daring to step inside the room, bare feet coming in contact with the wet ground making comical splashing sounds.

“Yeah-no. I just…” He frantically tried to gather the few bubbles that floated on the scarcely-filled tub, bringing them closer to his body to cover himself a little.

“You just what, H?” Your voice still held concern and he noticed, finally looking up at you with seemingly pleading eyes. “You need help with your back or what is it?”

“No, y/n.” He huffed, brushing his wet hair back with his splinted hand wincing a little with the action. “This time you really can’t help me, alright? Just, let me get dressed.”

“Harrison, I told you I don’t mind help—” You started but was soon cut by the blonde’s voice rising above his usual level.

“I need a wank! That’s what I need. And my fucking left hand ain’t cutting it anymore.” Harrison blurted out a bit worked up, breathing heavily with cheeks burning hot showing in a bright crimson colour that stood out against his milky skin. Your mouth closed immediately after he acknowledged his problem, a warmth crept up your neck settling comfortably on the apples of your cheeks as your fingers toyed aimlessly with the hem of your oversized bed t-shirt. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, he had thrown his head back on the edge of the tub and covered his eyes with his injured hand while the other was under the water.

The way the muscles of his arm were flexed made the heat of your cheeks travelled to new places that could be labelled as inappropriate. Boldly, you stepped further into the room your steps marked by the sloppy meeting of them with the soaked tiles, not knowing exactly how you conjured the confidence to do so. “I-I don’t mind... helping,” You stuttered out, stopping right by his side. Wide eyes hanging on the young man’s hidden face that was instantly revealed as soon as those words left your lips.

“What!? Don’t be silly, y/n. I could never ask you to do that.” He sat up, making starts to get up but you stopped him by placing a hand on his bare shoulder keeping him inside the tub.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” You gave him a sincere smile, irises dancing between his crystal clear ones as you waited for him to accept or decline your proposal. Harrison’s teeth clenched as he swallowed thickly making his jawline look even sharper. When he delayed in giving you an answer you felt as if you had overstepped his boundaries and panic began to invade you fast.

“Okay.” He agreed with a nearly imperceptible wobble in his voice. “But don’t look at it. It’ll make me feel less guilty if you don’t know what it looks like.” The chuckle he let out was nervous and awkward, causing you to match it with one of your own as you nodded your head.

“Okay, I won’t look.” You declared, pressing your lips together before sinking to your knees right beside the bathtub sitting comfortably on your folded legs. Taking in a deep breath you reached for his left forearm with your right hand, eyes focused on the edge of the porcelain trying your best not to look down as you let your hand trail down his arm ultimately meeting his own hand under the lukewarm water. “Let go.” In a soft voice, you requested. Harrison exhaled through his nose prompting you to shift your gaze from the tub to his face, sending him a reassuring nod and a faint smile, those sufficient for him let you hold him inhaling a tad sharply when you did.

With your hand now wrapped around his girth, you started to give him slow and long rubs with a fairly firm grip. Since your eyes were still on him you saw him sigh, momentarily closing his eyes with the first few strokes, his lips pressed together as he breathed through each caress you provided. It was hypnotising seeing him in that way: head thrown back, eyes closed, flushed face, brows pinched together; adding to all of that he was completely naked and splattered with water droplets. Your tongue darted out to wet your suddenly dry lips, swallowing thickly at the scene in front of you, subconsciously your grasp on the man’s erection tightened enough to make him let out an involuntary moan that echoed throughout the tiled room, travelling through your ears and finding a new home deep inside your brain.

Again, —you thought— do it again. You now craved his pleasure noises, with a new goal you lifted yourself from your sitting position back into your knees so you could move your arm at a faster pace, wrist twisting every now and again succeeding at drawing more moans out of your roommate. A whimper left your throat when your arm started to grow tired from the motion and the pressure of the ceramic edge underneath it prompting Harrison’s eyes to shoot open and you swore you felt him twitch against your palm. “S-sorry, my arm got sore.” You let out an embarrassed laugh when your eyes met his, your whole face burning hot.

The aching of your arm combined itself with the soreness of your knees forcing you to stand up and let go of Harrison in the process, with little time to think twice you swung your leg over the edge of the bathtub soon followed by the other before you found a comfortable new position straddling the blonde’s bare thighs. The weight of you coming into the water raised the level of it, permitting it to soak the bottom half of your top, Harrison’s eyes never left your figure as you moved that much closer to him, his stomach was a little sucked in as if he was holding in his breath. “Is this okay?” You quizzed, noting that you sitting on him might be too much.

“Ye-yeah.” He breathed out in a hurry. You proceeded to resume your ministrations now with a better angle and an additional hand to give your right one a minute of rest. The movement of the water around you both and Harrison’s heavy breathing was the only things that could be heard in the bathroom of your quiet flat. The view was intoxicating; chiselled chest heaving, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, jaw slacked, pink lips parted and eyes screw shut. You found it next to impossible to reap your gaze from the guy in front of you, the way he was reacting to your touch was rapidly becoming your favourite thing and you wanted more of him, your thighs tightened over his when he let out a particularly loud moan and you had to blink a few times to try and restore your morality without much success.

“Are you close?” Your voice filled the air around you, it surprised both of you for you didn’t know you had it in you to ask such a question when you were trying to keep your composure in front of the man. Harrison’s eyes were half-opened and on you the second you asked, the intensity of them draw you in closer and closer to his face until your forehead was pressed against his tentatively. Soon his healthy hand was back under the water only this time it landed on your bare thigh gripping it tightly, the simple touch causing your breath to match his ragged one, mixing together from the close proximity of your faces.

“Fuck, don’t stop.” Harrison ordered with a deep groan as his body began to tense up underneath you. You took the cue and doubled your efforts with both your hands subconsciously whispering encouragements eliciting louder moans from him. His poorly hand came up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place —as if you really had the intention to move away— while his high very evidently approached. “Fuck, y/n.” The blue-eyed boy moaned in your face luring a whine out of your throat at the sound of your name being called in such a way.

“Cum for me,” You encouraged him, nudging his nose with yours silently prompting him to look at you, and he did. Hooded eyes fixed on yours mere centimetres away that you could feel his lips ghosting over your own teasingly, warm breath fanning over them. “Harri, c’mon.” A whisper was all you could manage at that moment. Your own throat had grown dry and you had to suppress the mewls that threatened to leave your chest when you started to feel his cock twitching in your hands. A loud grunt got stuck in the man’s throat the moment he toppled over the edge, his length spasming in your grip as you so clearly sensed it unload under the now cool water, the temperature of the liquids contrasting against your skin when his seed landed on your hands as it sank.

Harrison’s body shuddered with each slow stroke you gave him to help him ride his orgasm, moans continued to fall from his parted lips. He swallowed, finally releasing your neck from the clasp to be able to relax back in the tub letting out a long and deep sigh of content. You couldn’t help but feel disappointed the moment he pulled away but it was for the best, you couldn’t be wishing for him to do something for you when you were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.

That was when it hit you, the position you were in wasn’t appropriate at all, it didn’t matter how willing you were to be his second self surely giving him manual relief was a step too far. So with overwhelming shame, you let go of him, leaning to the side to take hold of the edge of the tub, pulling yourself up to your feet in a daze. The water that dripped down from your soaked t-shirt far too noisy in your ears as they buzzed with the adrenaline that still coursed through your body, the wet fabric sticking to your skin making you self-aware that it was now see-through so you hurried to the railing stuck to the wall and grabbed one of the towels, quickly wrapping it around your waist.

Embarrassed, you started for the door, holding the doorknob ready to leave the room, “Di-dinner’s ready.” You acknowledged shyly, the tremble in your voice giving your remorse away. You frantically shuffled on your feet stepping out of the room and closing the door behind you. There was a weird feeling in the pits of your stomach, you knew you felt embarrassed of what had just happened yet, that wasn’t it, it was almost like a craving. A craving for his touch and that made the shame feel ten times worse. You marched to your room locking yourself in, forgetting about your dinner plate that was sitting on the kitchen counter, your hunger long gone. Though, despite the mortification, there was a new much problematic sort of appetite tingling deep inside you and the throbbing between your legs made it much too hard to ignore.

【 thank you so much for reading! ♡ please, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought of this piece ♡ 】

: permanent taglist : @hazardosterfield @missnxthingg @marshall1199 @katexrichardson @heyafellows @alrightythenbabe @softholand @yeeyeeitsme12589 @etheralholland @aidinniram @hollandosterfieldfangirl @justasmisunderstoodasloki @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @hazofmyheart @holyfrickfracks @cherryxholland @angeliquekalampoka @theliterarymess @blowing-mikey @annathesillyfriend

#lolbrosgetsicktoo #writing challenge entry #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield fanfic #haz osterfield #haz osterfield x reader #haz osterfield fanfic #smut #mdni #softfics

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castiel-left-his-mark-on-me · 3 years

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Hi, Ary, very inactive ex-mutual(i think???) here. Good to see you thriving! ♥ It's been a while since I've dipped my head into cockles stuff. Could I perchance maybe ask uuuuum tf is going on??? lol I see Mish apparently confirmed he used to stay over at Jensen's in Van, and heard newbs were apparently freaking out about it and getting a bit messy, which I get that, business as usual. But I'm also seeing shit about spin-offs? And Jared getting in a twitter fight with Jensen, causing/resulting in stans to going feral and sending hate?? I know you're not as big a fan of Jar, but that's part of why I figured I'd ask you, you usually have a really level head about this kinda stuff. If you don't wanna answer publically, or at all, that's totally chill!

Hey, Rhi! We're still mutuals! Of course we're still mutuals! When I saw the notification of your ask, I was like "Hey! I haven't seen you in a while!" and my husband was like "???" and I said "Tumblr" and he said "Oh."

It was a wild time haha.

In any case, welcome back to the dumpster fire! We are obviously still a mess. So to catch you up, I guess I will start by summarizing both before and after the finale (not sure where you left off so this might be redundant for you) ... basically, it became obvious as the end of the show neared that Jensen was not on board with the plan for the finale; although Jared never stopped singing its praises.

We got confirmation of this during a zoom interview where Jensen said that he actually went into the writers room as well as called Kripke to basically voice how he didn't agree with the direction the final season was going, but he was shot down on all fronts. In another interview, he was asked "What would you tell your younger self going into this career?" And Jensen responded with: "I would tell myself to just keep your head down and do the work" meaning, "Don't try to change things because you can't." I also think that this whole situation is what he wrote "Let Me Be" about for his first Radio Company album, but that is just my own speculation. All of his reluctance, even though he always followed it up with "But I eventually saw the value in the script" or "I came around in the end" (which never sounded sincere, and I don't think he was really trying to sound sincere) made us all very nervous about what was to come for 15x20; and of course, when the last two episodes aired, we saw just how badly they fucked it up.

After the awful finale, the entire fandom became aware of the CW's heavy handed role in the thing, basically squeezing all the life out of SPN to shape it into a ramp from which Walker could launch itself. They not only erased all the love and joy and representation that Cas's love confession gave us, they also tore apart the things that made sense about the bond between Sam and Dean, making it really just about Sam-- and therefore Jared, which of course, Jared seemed to be fine with ... even though no one else was. Misha barely said anything during the finale, and a few of the other actors talked about the show ending in various posts, but Jared tweeted up a storm ... and Jensen? Jensen just sat in sexy-silent resentment of the whole thing. He didn't tweet, he didn't post, he didn't say a word once he no longer had to, and I think that's because he was already going full-steam-ahead on his plans for redemption.

Which brings us to Chaos Machine-- Jensen and Danneel's new production company that is being run by a queer creative director and has a mantra of inclusivity and representation woven throughout it's fabric; and apparently, the first story that Jensen wanted to tell through this new platform is the origin story of Sam and Dean's parents; so last week (?) he announced the upcoming production of "The Winchesters" -- the untold love story of John and Mary. Obviously, John is not the most likable character from the show, so the idea was met with a lot of resentment when it was first announced, but Jensen has gone on to say that he is excited to take on the task of telling the "true" story behind these characters-- the one that makes sense with the pre-established canon and doesn't reject it. So, given that, the idea is being mulled over with a bit more optimism from the fandom.

Who isn't being optimistic though?

Jared Padalecki.

When Jensen made this announcement on Twitter, many of his friends and coworkers congratulated him, but not Jared. Jared responded with a passive aggressive: "I'm happy for you, man, but I wish I didn't hear about it through Twitter." This of course, sent all the die-hard Jared fans into a tizzy and they immediately began asking him if he was serious (hoping it was just a joke-- we all hoped it was because there would be fallout no matter what one's opinion on Jared is). Instead of leaving it there though or just deleting that tweet, Jared went on to tweet some more, saying that he was being serious that he didn't know about the plans for the prequel, and that he was "gutted" that Sam apparenlty wouldn't be included (mind you, this a prequel to SPN... meaning BEFORE Sam and Dean were even born, so how could Sam be included? But Dean is apparently narrating this story so maybe Jared thought Sam should be helping to narrate it? I don't know). But Jared being Jared couldn't just leave that there, he then went on to tweet at Robbie Thompson who was announced as a writer for "The Winchesters" so then Jared went off on him too, calling him "Brutus" and a "coward" acting like Robbie betrayed him (speculation is-- Robbie refused to write for Walker, so Jared is pissed that he essentially chose Jensen over him). He did fairly quickly, remove that tweet attacking Robbie, but of course the damage was done at that point. And it truly only took his first tweet calling out Jensen for some people to be like "Jared-- that sucks if you didn't know but why are you saying any of this publicly?"

As you might know, Jared has had issues in the past with posting hurtful things on social media, and has even used it as a tool for attack before-- calling out customer service agents and public workers that he felt have wronged him, which is bad enough ... but for him to then do the same thing to his best friend of well over a decade? Many people who had once liked him or at least gave him the benefit of the doubt (I used to ...) stopped after this latest twitter tantrum.

However, some people have suspected for some time that J2 had a falling out either shortly before the finale or just after. Their public/social media interactions have seemed awkward, stilted or even non-existent in moments that they normally wouldn't be. In the past year, when Walker premiered, Jensen didn't say much about his friend's new venture other than a "Congrats. buddy" here and there. Later, we learned that Jensen refused to work on the show ... Jared said he make him do it, drag Jensen to the set "kicking and screaming" which made many fans quirk up an eyebrow because, why would Jensen put up a fight unless the two weren't as close as they used to be? And then Jensen moved his family to Colorado (either permanently or for an extended period at least) which is notable considering how he moved to Texas seemingly to be closer to Jared, even buying a house that was near his. All this was just speculation though; but it wasn't until Jared's tweet complaining about not knowing about the prequel that the theories behind them falling out, became less theory and more fact.

The day after his twitter tantrum, Jared tweeted again-- not retracting his statements or apologizing, but instead saying that he and Jensen "talked" and were "all good". Jensen then tweeted too, parroting this statement to some degree, which only made the whole thing even more sour in the mouths of the fans. The fact that Jared didn't apologize for his outburst and throwing his friend under the bus, and also the fact that Jensen-- Mr. Sexy Silence, Mr. Never Tweets, Mr. Tech-Ignorant-and-Proud, actually had to POST SOMETHING saying that he and Jared made up, it just screamed OPTICS. It was obviously the work of agents and PR firms and lots of people going "Look, if you two keep beefing, that will mean the death of both of your projects. Even more people will stop watching Walker, and this SPN prequel will never get picked up due to the scandal." So, the two "made nice" publicly to quell the chaos, but in my opinion, it's all too little too late. Jared started a storm that he can't contain now with a little tweet, and it seems like he knows that too because before he talked about him and Jensen making up, he asked that people "not send threats". He could have just as easily said that he shouldn't have made this a public issue and that he's sorry, but instead, he continued to play the victim and stoke the flames by alerting us all to the damage he's done.

Now, like I said before-- I used to give him the benefit of the doubt. I don't think he's an awful human or that he deserves to be attacked or anything, but he is an adult man with very poor judgment and an obvious selfish-streak a mile wide. He should know better, and he should have more respect for his so-called "friends" and "brothers" than to make them targets to public ridicule. I have a hard time believing that Jensen still sees Jared the way he used to, and I wouldn't blame him a bit for wanting to pull away-- especially when he's moving on to so many new and exciting things. Jared certainly deserves happiness just as much as anyone else, but he went on twitter and basically asked for a scandal, and he got one.

The question is now-- was there a motive behind it? Was just looking for a reason to bring his and Jensen's falling out to light-- while making himself looking like the victim in the process? Or did he genuinely not know about the prequel and just decided to go about "not knowing" in the most toxic and hurtful way he could manage?

In any case, that is the drama ... that is the J2 insanity in a rather lengthy nutshell ... that is the tea ... and I hope it all makes sense.

But the good news out of all of this is, Cockles is thriving-- they are happy and in love and Jensen calls Misha "Babe" and Misha misses waking up to see Jensen in the morning, and they are just as cute and wonderful as can be.

So, I will end that there. I am so glad to see you back, and I hope I answered all your questions in a way that made sense ... I tried anyway!

💖💖💖

#omg #I don't even know if this makes sense #this took way too long to write #j2 #cockles #long post #spn family #so glad you see you back again my dear #welcome to hell #it's hotter now

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queenshelby · 3 years

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The Last Semester – Part Two

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 1,331

Warning: Flirting, Fluff

***

After having traded spots with Emma, over the next two weeks, you worked on your new drama project with the other group. But this didn’t mean that you didn’t see Cillian. To the contrary. You saw him more often than you were comfortable with and your attraction towards him intensified every time you interacted with him.

Every morning, Cillian would get his coffee at the local coffee shop where you worked as many as four days per week. In addition, just like you, he would spend a lot of time at the nearby second-hand bookshop looking for random and interesting novels.

The small bookstore had a reading area upstairs which no one really knew about and, on a rainy Tuesday evening, you sat there for three hours, researching for one of your other literature units.

That day, Cillian had the same idea as you, evidentially bored on his own since temporarily moving to London for the drama project.

‘Interesting choice’ Cillian said as he saw you sitting in the reading area with a stack of books by Charles Dickens.

‘Oh yes, Dickens. He is making some good points which I can use for my literature project’ you explained.

‘And some random ones too’ Cillian chuckled, causing you to raise your eyebrows as if you were asking a question.

‘For example, he states that there is no greater gift than the love of a cat. I would question this statement’ Cillian laughed.

‘I am fairly sure it was a contextual question’ you chuckled.

‘Nah…I think he just likes cats’ Cillian then went on to say before sitting down next to you and asking you whether you wanted some help with your research.

You nodded in agreement and probably spent the next hour or so with Cillian in the small book store looking through Dicken’s many novels.

***

Then, the following day, when you came walking out of your bedroom, you couldn’t believe your eyes when Cillian stood in the kitchen with Emma.

That was two days in a row that you saw each other by chance. Clearly, he didn’t live far from campus either.

‘Oh…uhm…hi’ you said when you realised that he saw you, although deep down inside, you hoped that he didn’t as you were wearing nothing but an old grey t-shirt, cotton panties and a pair of bed socks. Your hair was messy and tied up in a bun and you wore your black framed reading glasses.

‘Hi Y/N’ Cillian said with a warm smile, unable to take his eyes of you, causing your cheeks to flush.

‘Cillian was nice enough to help me carry these upstairs as I ran into him on the street and one of the shopping bags broke’ Emma explained and Cillian was quick to advise her that he needed to leave as he had a call scheduled for 3pm.

‘See you’ you quickly said just as you stumbled back into your room and Cillian nodded, having a slight chuckle as you appeared rather clumsy.

‘Did you instigate this?’ Thomas then laughed and you couldn’t help but poke your head back out of your room, waiting for Emma’s response.

‘Maybe’ Emma then went on to giggle and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her. She clearly had a crush on Cillian and you certainly couldn’t have told her about why you wanted to change to the other group.

The truth was that you liked Cillian a lot and every day you saw him, you could feel butterflies in your stomach. But it wasn’t like a silly crush. Instead, it was an attraction not only on a physical but also intellectual level. He was funny, smart and you loved talking to him. There was something that distinguished him from guys your age and from other men you’ve met and this is what attracted you.

Every time he came into the coffee shop at which you worked and ordered his latte, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement, something you had never really felt around a man before. But then again, you knew this was pointless and inappropriate and you quickly realised that you shouldn’t waste your time and energy in pursuing anything with man who you barely knew and who was 20 years older than you. You knew you needed to steer clear from him, avoid him wherever you could.

***

Unfortunately for you, it was the Monday on the fourth week of the drama project that Aiden had called in sick for the week after having contracted food poisoning and it was Cillian who took over his project until Aiden’s return.

Instantly, when Cillian walked into the theatre room, your butterflies returned. But, at the same time, you were incredibly nervous. You really didn’t want to work with him again. It was the whole reason you changed groups, so you didn’t have to be around Cillian.

Luckily for you, in this group, you only played a minor part in the play and Cillian was focused on the other students who needed more help than you with the script.

However, following the three-hour program for the day, Cillian asked whether you could see him after class. There was something he wanted to give you for your research program.

You nodded shyly and, after everyone had left, followed him to the office he was assigned temporarily by the university.

‘This is for you’ Cillian grinned as he handed you a print out entitled ‘Dicken’s fascination with Cats’ and you couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Geez, are you still on about that?’ you asked as you realised that Cillian didn’t like to be wrong.

‘What can I say Y/N? It kept me up. I had to research it further’ Cillian laughed before handing you a second print out.

‘Oh common’ you laughed as he handed you a thirteen-page research paper on Dicken’s different cats.

‘Perhaps it is you who likes cats’ you then went on to say and Cillian confirmed that he does, in fact, have a ginger cat named Garfield back in Dublin.

‘Garfield? Now that is a creative name for a ginger cat’ you giggled just as Cillian pulled out his phone and showed you a picture.

‘Cute’ you giggled as you looked at the picture while leaning in closer, your arm brushing against Cillian’s arm gently.

Just as your skin lightly touched his, you could feel goose bumps raise all over your body and it was almost as if Cillian had noticed.

He cleared his throat and you startled, collecting your thoughts before telling him that you should probably get back home.

Cillian nodded but, just as you were about to walk out of the door of his office, he called after you.

‘Y/N?’ he asked and you turned around and looked at him while a short ‘yes’ escaped you.

‘Nothing, sorry’ he then went on to say, realising that, what he was about to ask you was highly inappropriate.

‘Alright, uhm, see you later’ you said just as your cheeks turned red instantly.

***

Later that evening, when you arrived at home, Emma had told you that she had a surprise planned for you.

‘I’ve organised a date for you. Tomorrow night. His name is Patrick, he is Irish and a little older than you. He works at the university hospital and he is taking you to see the game tomorrow, Ireland vs France’ Emma said with some excitement.

‘Emma, I am not going on a date with someone I don’t know’ you fussed but Emma was insistent.

‘You haven’t been with anyone for two years Y/N. Common. Despite we are having a party at the apartment and I know you hate frat parties. Just give him a chance’ Emma said and you immediately rolled your eyes.

‘Fine’ you huffed. ‘But I will meet him at the sports bar at 7 o’clock. He isn’t coming here’ you demanded and Emma nodded excitedly.

Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine

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taechaos · 3 years

Text

A Night of Discovery

pairing: hybrid!Taehyung x fem!Reader

genre: oneshot, yandere au, smut

synopsis: For a learning trip, a seemingly innocent fox has taught you to never trust a predator in one day.

warnings: noncon, mention of murder, sadism

word count: 3.3k

a/n: ok so i may have made a moodboard to make up for how bad this is, SUE ME 😭 the request (spoiler warning)

The road is bumpy as the bus navigates through the looming forest, endless pine trees passing by your eyes in a blur. Chatters swirl in the fresh cold air, windows slightly cracked open as you try to sleep for the nth time with your head leaning against the smudged glass. You jolt awake each time, and it’s been two hours since your first attempt because of the reckless driver in the front. You’re clutching your backpack in your lap as you fantasize about the summer, your upcoming graduation.

Being in your final year of high school, the stress has been eating at you, but your biology teacher had the sheer niceness to give her students a break by taking you on a field trip to a marine zoo. It’s related to your syllabus, studying about marine ecology and all, and you were given the freedom to choose an aquatic animal of your choice to make a project on. You aren’t the least bit excited, because the zoo is so huge that your parents had to pay for the night you have to spend in a motel. Walking for hours and searching for one interesting fish is not at all thrilling.

Your body lurches forward when the driver abruptly hits the brakes. You take out your earphones as everyone stands up. The bus doors open with a hiss from the rush of air as students step outside one by one. You are sluggish when you hop on the cement, and the zoo is huge in front of you. The glass panels complement the surrounding greens, and you can catch the crashes of the waves from the shore behind. You can’t see it, and the environment is rather lonely except for the building close by: the motel next to the zoo.

Ms. Kang is directing your classmates to the motel first, and you’re about to follow before you stumble on your shoelaces. You crouch down to tie them, and when your teacher looks back, you say, “I’ll be there in a second!” When they’re inside, you decide to stretch your limbs after sitting in a stiff chair for so long. You walk to the woods by the parking lot, curious about the sights under the grey clouds. The weather is rather gloomy, and it doesn’t exactly help you feel better until you step on the grass ahead of the road. You sling your backpack over your shoulders and start touching the tree trunks out of boredom. It isn't entertaining, but it's relaxing.

A distant growl snaps you out of your sightseeing and you search around with your eyes for the source. The sound is very peculiar, and it has you feeling slightly nervous but undoubtedly curious.

You aim to take a step forward until your name is hollered, and you yell, “I’m here!” You hear hasty footsteps until Jimin appears next to you.

“Ms. Kang is asking for you. It’s your turn to check in,” he informs and you’re about to reply until you hear another growl. It’s louder compared to the previous one, and the both of you look into the forest in fright. It’s drawn out, but it gradually grows quiet. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” you furrow your brows a little anxiously and eventually enter the building with Jimin.

After everyone settled into their rooms, ate in the café provided by the zoo, the real trip began. You have to admit, the aquarium is gorgeous. The blue light reflecting from the water is easy on the eyes, and you’re fawning over all the swimming fish in admiration. There is a guide with you, and you listen to any information that is related to your favorite animals so far. You note down the names as a requirement from the teacher, and research some on your phone throughout your exploration. It’s actually interesting in the beginning, but you do get somewhat bored when a few hours pass. It’s 7PM when the tour ends for the day, and the rest of your time is leisure.

You’re allowed back in your rooms for the evening, and you rest on the comfortable bed to gain back some of your energy. You’re more interested in the forest just outside, and you take out a box of fruits from your bag before leaving the motel. It’s dark when you munch on a sliced green apple while eyeing the forest. The lights from the motel sign help with your vision and you’re just standing on the empty lot while twirling around absentmindedly. It’s not like you’re close enough with anyone to hang out with them at this time, but it allows you to appreciate the breeze more. You’re wearing a cardigan to keep you warm, and you’re enjoying your time until you hear a whimper.

You stop in your tracks before inching closer to the sound. It’s pained, or at least you think it is, and you take out your phone to shine a flashlight at the eerie forest. More whimpers resound in your ears, and you timidly trudge into the darkness. You yelp when you feel something soft lightly graze your calves, and jump away before seeing it: it’s the tail of a red fox. You gasp in slight fear because you don’t know if you trespassed or are in danger. The fox stares at you, and you stare back until it quietly whines again. “Awww,” you unintentionally coo. You’re scared when it wraps its fluffy tail around you, but you’re not so intimidated when it starts snuggling into your legs. You crouch to level with it and hesitantly bring your fingers to its head. Its fur is so soft that you wonder if it has been tamed.

“You’re so cute,” you gush in a whisper when it leans into your hand. You retract your hand and take out a blueberry from your container and feed it to the fox. Your heart warms just by watching it chew, and you give it some more. This encounter might be the best part about this trip, because the animal is just so adorable. You want to cry from how overwhelmingly precious and pure it seems with its adoring gaze. You’re grinning brightly as you eat with it, sharing your only snack for this whole expedition.

You entertain yourself with it for a little while before deciding to go back. You ignore its protests guiltily and bid farewell, “I’ll see you again, cutie.” It’s already been an hour and your legs ache from bending for so long. You know you shouldn’t be out too late, and as you retrace your steps back to the motel, you hear it run off deep into the woods.

The night is spent tossing and turning in bed because you wanted to sleep early in order to function at 8AM the next morning, but you can’t force it. Surfing through the media or keeping your eyes closed for 15 minutes straight didn’t help in the slightest, and somehow your energy has been increasing instead. The window adjacent to the mattress glares at you with its beauty of the crowd of unsaturated trees. You didn’t bother pulling the curtains because it’s a pleasant view, and the stars that you rarely see in the city shine brightly in the countryside. You think back to your interaction with the fox, and a smile creeps up on your tired face. You want to see it again.

Putting your shirt back on, you’re adjusting your cardigan when you crack open the door of your room. No one’s roaming in the halls, as expected since it’s midnight, but you try to be mindful of your temporary neighbours as you sneakily exit the building. You turn to your left instantly to scurry towards the mysterious forest. You don’t know if the fox is still around, but you whistle lowly anyway. Twigs snap beyond your vision, and you warily wait for something to happen.

An extremely loud growl rips a tiny scream out of you and you immediately flinch backwards. You’re frozen in your spot, almost paralyzed as the growls continue. It’s confusing because the noise is more like an aggressive hiss, and it’s unlike anything you’ve heard before. It suddenly switches to a whimper, a plea. You don’t know if you have to break a fight between two animals, but it doesn’t matter when your curiosity takes over and makes you confidently (albeit feigned) stride into the jungle.

As if your actions are being encouraged, the whimpers grow more desperate and you take slow steps while watching out for any predators waiting to attack. You’re trembling in fear, but then your fox also might need help…

The motion is way too quick for you to process and you let out a blood curdling scream when you’re tackled to the ground. You don’t stop screaming even when your mouth is covered, muffling your cry for help.

“Calm down,” a honeyed rich voice tells you, soothing with its calm tone, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You quiet down and peek at the assailant through heavy lids. A confused hum catches in your throat upon seeing batlike ears that poke through dark hair. They easily blend in together, and you scrutinize his features and notice a swishing bushy tail behind the man on top of you. Terror dawns in your eyes, though the man looks fairly tranquilent by the ordeal.

“You fed me earlier,” he recounts and slowly removes his hand from your face. You’re gawking up at him as he clarifies, “Fox hybrid.” You squeak when his tongue darts out to lick your cheek and chuckles at your expression.

“What a-are you doing?” you snivel shakily.

He gently tucks a stray strand behind your ear before answering nonchalantly, “Scenting my precious doll. You’re so pretty, and kind… and naive.”

Your breaths quicken when he leans into you, but he conveniently misses your lips to bury his face into your neck. The fur on his pointy ear tickles your jawline, and you’re startled when he starts to sniff you. You feel him lick your sensitive skin and clench your fists with a mewl. You’re utterly terrified by the discovery of a new species, who also seems to be very strong and stealthy. He’s handsome, gifted with a heart shaped face and a set of charming black eyes with full lips, but it’s not important when he’s crushing you with his weight to keep you in place. His mouth and nose are all over you as they explore your taste and smell, and his satisfaction is evident with his sighs of bliss.

“I couldn’t get enough of you earlier,” he reveals with a subtle moan, “I've never had the experience of smelling something so delicious. It's fortunate that you're so easy to fool.” The only thing that you do know about foxes is how cunning they are, but you didn’t think one would land you in this situation. You’re heaving to breathe with a struggle, but he pays no mind to it. “I can’t wait to claim you.”

Despite rendering you immobile, he sounds more desperate and needy than you do; as if he’s the weaker one, like the roles are switched. You might be able to use that to your advantage… “I would love that,” you choke out, though you have no idea what he means by his words, “but I can’t move. I-I want to kiss you.” You want to smack your forehead for coming up with such a terrible lie; you don't even know if his intention is to kiss you.

“Yeah?” he drawls seductively and withdraws his knees from your thighs, most likely leaving a bruise from how hard he dug them in. He holds himself up by his palms that previously clung onto your shoulders and limits your peripheral vision. Your eyes trail to his defined collarbone for a short moment, the moonlight casting a shadow over his fine features. “Kiss me then.”

You inhale sharply before raising your leg to kick him, but his reflexes are faster than yours as he prevents it with one knee. He tuts, “I’m offended; I thought you found me cute.” A knowing smile graces his pink lips, and it doesn’t falter even when you open your mouth to scream again. His calloused hand immediately silences you before you can make any noise, and his other hand reaches down to your lower region. “I even wore a pretty outfit for you today. Such an ungrateful doll...”

He tugs on your pajama shorts, dragging them down to your knees along with your underwear. You shake your hand and beg unintelligibly, “Please don’t.” You clench your thighs together, but he forces them open and leans back to take your bottoms off completely. The weather feels like it’s dropped to negative degrees as you shiver and he gently hushes you when you begin to sob.

“Oh doll, there’s no reason to cry yet,” he sighs in fake empathy, “I just really, really want to fuck you.” He heaves his shirt over his head, and that’s when you get a glimpse of his so-called “pretty outfit”. The black garment is familiar because it's the merchandise of an indie band with its flamboyant logo; you know you’ve seen someone else wear it today. He has to use both hands to take it off completely, and once it’s off, your wails echo in the deserted land as he ties it around your mouth. It’s Jimin’s outfit. “Don’t take your eyes off of me. I love having your attention.” His voice is a mere breath, filled with anticipation to touch you.

He slides down to your knees as he continues to undress himself. He’s throbbing under the uncomfortable fabric of the tight jeans, and instead of attacking him with your now free hands, you cover your face stained with tears as you cry. You feel like you’re having a heart attack as your gut churns in defeat; there’s no point in fighting a man who might’ve killed your classmate, a fox no less.

The moment his pants are down his thighs, his stiff length grazes his stomach before he palms it and rubs himself up and down your folds. Your heat is damp with your natural discharge, but it’s so warm and he feels so aroused as a moan slips past his luscious lips. “You must think I’m so rude,” he whispers and hovers over your face, “I haven’t even introduced myself and yet I’m already marking you.”

He whines cutely at a particular tingle before saying, “My name’s Taehyung. I’d love to hear you moan it, but you’re just so naughty.” His emphasis is airy, and you’re terrified by the contrast of his soft tone and rough actions. He’s calculated, but also very reckless; almost amateur as he begins to position himself by your entrance.

Your words are gibberish as you repeat: “No, no, please no!” He clicks his tongue in response and locks eyes with you just before he shoves his cock inside, no adjustment whatsoever as his pitch grows higher in wonderment. He’s down to the hilt, and the fabric in your mouth isn’t enough to drown out your scream of pain. The stretch is excruciating. His eyes screw back as he loses himself in you, and it’s as if he’s lost all control when he starts slamming into you at an unforgiving pace.

As opposed to your protests, he starts chanting, “Yes, yes, fuck yes, my perfect little doll.” He’s never had intercourse with a human before, but it’s not up for comparison when he’s feeling so heavenly because of your tightness. You’re pulsating around him, walls clenching in discomfort because you’re in so much agony. You push his shoulders, but it’s futile as he doesn’t budge in the slightest; he almost appears possessed, but his loud moans disprove the theory.

He can’t form coherent words, and neither can you. If you weren’t in such a shock, you’d be encouraging him to be louder in case anyone is nearby to help you. You thrash under him, but your movements are limited because of his firm build. You beg and beg, but he is animalistic with his chase for his high. The sound of slapping skin have no pauses in between because of his pace, and dare he admit that the predator in him enjoys your attempts at getting away. It makes it so much more fun for him, but he’s unable to savour it from how your pussy sucks him in so deliciously. "You feel so fucking good, I'm going crazy."

Once he’s gained some of his sensibility back, he latches onto your neck to lick and bite you. You pull at his hair to yank him away, his canine teeth sinking into your flesh for a second before he moves onto another spot. His torture is endless, and his growls scare you enough to remove your hand and shake like a leaf under him. He wants to taste all of you, and you can't serve as an obstacle.

“Pet my ears,” he grunts, “touch me, touch me, dolly.”

The initial pain is starting to subside, and your thoughts are coming together although they’re hazed. You’re still aching, but you know he just dropped you a hint; the sooner he’s satisfied, the earlier this nightmare ends. Your fingertips stroke the back of his twitching ear. His fur is so velvety, and petting him is the least bad part about this experience. You must be doing something right, because he’s getting so noisy that there’s no way someone would miss you now. You suck your teeth with a hiss as he sets an impossibly rapid rate, rearranging your guts with every snap of his hips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cries breathlessly. His release washes over him as spurts of cum paint your throbbing walls in white, and you’re relieved that this is the end.

His intakes of air are hot on your skin as his breath fans the crook of your neck. Your stomach drops the moment he murmurs his next words, “I want to do it again.”

“Hey!” a gruff voice interrupts his huffs, and your whole world lights up when you see a man in a uniform with a flashlight over your heaving nude bodies. Taehyung is surprised that he didn’t catch the man’s footsteps when he walked over. “This is indecent exposure, you know–” the security officer goes quiet in shock when he notices the perk of Taehyung’s ears, and then the stiff, unmoving tail behind. “What the fuck?”

Taehyung rolls off of you before disappearing from your sight in a single second. He is stealthy and quick, and his footsteps are light when he leaves; presumably shifting as he goes. The guard attempts to chase after him before stopping in front of you. His eyes trail down your figure before he looks away in disgust. “Goddammit, kid, put your clothes back on.”

“Thank you so much,” you choke on your tears of joy as you ignore the ache in your thighs, the swelling in your heart and your suffocating turmoil. You stand up on wobbly knees and slowly dress yourself. The officer has his back facing you while you change, and you’re grateful he doesn’t witness how fragile you are.

“What are you thanking me for?” he asks after a moment of prolonged silence.

“H-He was raping me,” you speak in a hushed tone, “and I think h-he killed my classmate.”

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. “I’ll go notify the police. Are you staying in the motel?”

When you return back to your room with the company of your savior, you’re hurting everywhere and sleep comes to you easily from all the crying you’ve done. You wake up from a knock on your door, and it’s early in the morning as your teacher says, “Pack up dear, we’re leaving in half an hour.”

They found the clothes, you note when you limp outside with your bag dragging you down. There are dried tear stains on your cheeks when you step on the open bus, and you see a bunch of cops surrounding the forest through the window. Jimin isn’t inside, and you shake your head with pursed lips as sobs bubble up in your throat. This feels nothing short of a nightmare.

The class is informed of Jimin’s disappearance after taking off, and you lean your head against the window as the driver recklessly drives. Your vision is blurred with tears as you watch the forest, but it doesn’t distort it enough for you to miss the flash of a blood red tail skip between the trees, following the path of your transport.

After all, foxes are known for being fast. There’s no way this one wouldn’t be able to track you down sooner or later, your scent bringing you back to him.

#bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts x reader #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts fic #taehyung fic #taehyung smut #bts smut #taehyung imagines #bts taehyung #bts yandere #yandere taehyung

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ailuronymy · 3 years

Note

Thoughts on the new discourse? Warrior cats naming conventions and rank names being straight up stolen from native American people? So many people seem to be... Straight up leaving the Fandom or changing all of their fan content and it feels very performative and, people not actually thinking critically and just being scared of getting "cancelled"? I feel like your opinions on these matters are very informed and well written so I wanted to ask given that this blog main theme is, well, warrior cat naming system and that seems to be the main issue of the new discourse.

This is probably going to get long, since there's sort of a lot to say about it in order to talk about this whole thing fairly and constructively, because from what I’ve seen there’s a lot of hyperbole happening, and panicking, and disavowing this series and fandom, and so on, like you say, and also some people genuinely trying to have complex meaningful conversations about racism in xenofiction, and also probably some bad faith actors in the mix--as well as some just... stupid actors. Kind of inevitably what happens when two equally bad platforms for having nuanced discussions--i.e., twitter and tumblr--run headlong into each other, in a fandom space with a majority demographic of basically kids and highly anxious, pretty online teens. I don’t mean that as a criticism of fans or their desire to be liked by peers and “correct” about opinions, it’s just the social landscape of Warriors and I think it’s worth pointing out from the start.

If I’m totally honest with you, if not for this ask, I wouldn’t actually be commenting on it at all, because none of this is going to impact this blog or change how I run it in any way. But since you’ve asked and frankly I do feel some responsibility to try to disentangle things a little for everyone stressed and confused at the moment, because I know a lot of people look to this blog for guidance of all sorts, I’m going to talk about what I think has happened here, and how to navigate the situation in a reasonable way.

Quick recap for anyone blissfully unaware: from what I understand, this post (migrated over from a presumably bigger twitter thread) has got a lot of people very worried about Warriors being a racist and appropriative series, and now are trying to figure out what ethically to do about this revelation. The thing I found most interesting about this screenshotted conversation is that it makes a lot of bold claims, but misses some pretty surprising details (in my opinion). If you do look critically at what is being said, here’s a few things to notice--crucially, there are two people talking.

Person 1 says that a lot of animal fantasy fiction + xenofiction (fiction about non-human/”other” beings, such as animals) is frequently built upon stereotypes of First Nations and Indigenous people, and/or appropriates elements of Indigenous culture and tradition as basically set dressing for “strange” and “alien” races/species etc., and this is a racist, deeply othering, and inappropriate practice. This person is right.

I’ve spent years researching in this field specifically, so I feel pretty confident in vouching (for whatever that’s worth) that this person is absolutely right in making this point. Not only is it frequently in animal fiction/xenofiction, but it’s insidious, which means often it’s hard to notice when it’s happening--unless you know what you’re looking for, or you are personally familiar with the details or tropes that are being appropriated. Because of the nature of racism, white and other non-First Nations people don’t always recognise this trend within texts--even texts they’re creating--but it’s important for us all, and especially white people, to be more aware, because it’s not actually First Nations’ people’s responsibility to be the sole critics of this tradition of theft and misuse. Appropriation by non-Indigenous people is in fact the problem, which means non-Indigenous people learning and changing is the solution.

Person 1 offers Warriors as a popular example of a work that has this problem. Notably, this person hasn’t given an example of how Warriors is culpable (at least in this screenshot and I haven’t found the thread itself, because the screenshot is what’s causing this conversation), only that it’s an example of a work that has these problems. And once again, this person is correct. We’ll look at that more in a moment.

Person 2 (three tweets below the first) offers, by comparison, several more specious insights. Firstly, it’s really, really not the only time anyone’s ever talked about this, academically + creatively or in the Warriors fandom specifically, and so that reveals somewhat this person’s previous engagement in the space they’re talking into re: this topic. In other words, this person doesn’t know what has already been said or what is being talked about. Secondly, this person explicitly states that they “[don’t know] much about warrior cats specifically but from what I see it just screams appropriation,” which as a statement I think says something crucial re: the critical lens this person has applied + the amount of forethought and depth of analysis of their criticism of this particular series.

I’m not saying that using twitter to talk about your personal feelings requires you to research everything you talk about before you shoot your mouth off. However, I personally don’t go into a conversation about a topic I don’t know anything about except a cursory glance to offer bold and scathing criticisms based on what it “just screams” to me. By their own admission, this person isn’t really offering good faith, thoughtful criticism of the series, in line with Person 1′s tweet. Instead, Person 2 is talking pretty condescendingly and emphatically about--as the kids say--the vibes they get from the series, and I’m afraid that just doesn’t hold up well in this court.

So now that there’s Person 1 (i.e., very reasonable, important, interesting criticism) and Person 2 (i.e., impassioned but completely vibes-based opinion from someone who hasn’t read the books) separated, we can see there’s actually several things happening in this brief snapshot, and some of them aren’t super congruent with each other.

Person 1 didn’t say “don’t read bad books,” or that you’re a bad person for being a fan of stories that are guilty of this. They suggested people should recognise the ways xenofiction uses Indigenous people and their culture inappropriately and often for profit. My understanding of this tweet is someone offering an insight that might not have occurred to many people, but that is valuable and important to consider going forward in how they view, engage with, and create xenofiction media.

Person 2 uses high modality, evocative language that appeals to the emotions. That’s not a criticism of this person: they’re allowed to talk in whatever tone they want, and to express their personal feelings and opinions. However, rhetorically, this person is using this specific language--consciously or subconsciously--to incense their audience--i.e., you. Are you feeling called to action? What action do you feel called to when you rea their words, despite the fact their claims are not based in their own actual analysis of or engagement with the text? It’s, by their own admission, not analysis at all. Everything they evoke is purely in the name of “not good” vibes.

Earlier I mentioned that Person 1 is correct that Warriors is absolutely guilty of appropriation of First Nations and Indigenous people and culture. I also mentioned that they didn’t specify how. That’s because I think the most egregious example is in fact the tribe, which in many ways plays into the exact kind of stereotyping and appropriation of First Nations Americans that Person 1 mentions, and not the clans, contrary to Person 2′s suggestion. For instance, in addition to the very loaded name of “tribe”, there’s a lot of racist tropes present in how that group of cats is introduced and how the clan cats interact with them, as well as the more North American-inspired scenery of their home. It’s very blatant as far as racism in this series.

When it comes to the clans themselves, though, I think it’s muddier and harder to draw clear distinctions of what is directly appropriative, what is coincidentally and superficially reminiscent, and what is not related at all. Part of this difficulty in drawing hard lines comes from the fact that, on a personal level, it actually doesn’t matter: if a First Nations person reads a story and feel it is appropriative or inappropriate, it’s not actually anyone’s place to “correct” them on their reading of the text. Our experiences are unique and informed by our perspectives and values, and no group of people are a monolith, which means within community, there will always be disagreement and differenting points of view. There is no one single truth or opinion, which means that First Nations people even in the same family might have very different feelings about the same text and very different perspectives on how respectful, or not, it might be.

I’m saying this because something that gets said very often when conversations of racism and similar oppressive systems present/perpetuated in texts comes up, people frequently say: “listen to x voices.” It is excellent advice. However, the less pithy but equally valuable follow-up advice is: “listen to the voices of many people of x group, gather information and perspective, and then ultimately use your own judgement to make an informed opinion for yourself.” It means that you are responsible for you. The insight you can gain by listening to people who know topics and experiences far better than you do is truly invaluable, but if your approach to the world is simply to parrot the first voice, or loudest voice, or angriest voice you come across, you will not really learn anything or be able to develop your own understanding and you certainly won’t be making well-informed judgements.

In other words, one incomplete tweet thread from two people who are each bringing quite different topics and modes of conversation (or perhaps gripes, in Person 2′s case) to the table is not really enough to go off re: making a decision to leave a fandom, in my opinion. In fact, I think in responding to anything difficult, complex, or problematic (which doesn’t mean what popular adage bandies it about to mean) by trying to distance yourself, or cleanse of it, will ultimately harm you and will not do you any good as a person. It is better, in my opinion, to enter into complex relationships with the world and media and other people in an informed, aware way and with a willingness to learn and sometimes to make mistakes and be wrong, rather than shy away from potential conflict or fear that interacting with a text will somehow taint you or define your morality in absolutes.

So. Does Warriors have racist and appropriative elements, tropes, and issues in the series? Yes, of course it does, it’s a book-packaged series produced by corporation HarperCollins and written by a handful of white British women and their myriad ghostwriters. Racism is just one part of the picture. The books are frequently also ableist, sexist, and homophobic (or heteronormative, depending how you want to slice it, I guess), just to name some of the most evident problems.

But does the presence of these issues mean it’s contaminated and shouldn’t be touched? Personally, I don’t think so. Given the nature of existing the world, it’s not possible to find perfect media that is free of any kind of bias, prejudice, or even just ideas or topics or concepts that are challenging or uncomfortable. I think it’s more meaningful to choose to engage with these elements, discuss them, criticise them, learn from them, and acknowledge also that imperfection is the ultimate destiny of all of us, especially creators.

I’m not saying that as a pass, like, “oh enjoy your media willy-nilly, nothing matters, do what you want, think about no-one else ever because we’re all flawed beings,” but rather that it’s important not to look away from the problems in the things we enjoy, rather than cut off all contact and enjoyment when we realise the problems. That doesn’t mean you have to only criticise and always be talking about how bad a thing you like is either, publicly admonishing yourself or the text, because that’s also not a constructive way to engage with media.

As I said, there’s a lot to say here, and believe it or not, this is honestly the shortest version I could manage. There’s always more to say and plenty I haven’t talked about, but pretty much tl;dr:

I don’t find Person 2′s commentary particularly compelling, personally, because I think it’s a little broad and a little specious in its conclusions and evidence, and I also suspect that this person is speaking more from their feelings than from a genuine desire to educate or meaningfully criticise, unlike Person 1. That’s not to say Warriors isn’t frequently racist and guilty of the issues Person 1 is discussing, because it is, but I don’t think this tweet thread is a great source of insight into the ongoing history of this problem in xenofiction, or Warriors specifically, on its own. I would recommend exploring further afield to learn more from a variety of sources and form your own opinions. I hope this helps.

#just in case anyone sees this post and gets the wrong idea: i'm not inviting debate on this.#i am saying that first nations people are allowed to have ANY relationship with texts because that's how subjectivity works.#they are allowed to have negative neutral or positive experiences of texts--even 'bad' ones that have a lot of problems.#the people in this tweet are just talking about their thoughts and it's their bad luck the world's a public forum and it's spiralled.#the other thing i am saying is that if your approach to media is exclusively to cut out any problematic text like it's a cancer #that's not a great strategy. just straight up. you're better off developing critical insight and your own opinions and confidence.#by most parameters i can think of warriors as a series pretty much sucks really bad and i've been saying that for nearly ten years.#despite being so phenomenally flawed it can still have value--and much of its value in my opinion is IN these conversations about it.#so yeah tl;dr 2: i'm not here to slap-fight with teens which is what much discourse devolves to after 5 mins on tumblr so don't try it.

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boldlyanxious · 3 years

Text

A Year of Glitter

Part 6- teen rated

Glitter series

Masterlist

Marinette had not been expecting a knock at her window. It was late and she should already be in bed but she had kept herself up playing the newest version of Ultimate Mecha Strike. Luckily she didn’t have to work tomorrow. She did have some errands to run and at this rate if she didn’t finish up soon she would have to struggle to get them done during the open hours if she were to get any sleep. She shuffled over to the window with a bit of a smile. She had a very good idea who was there. She only wished she was wearing something cuter than her ratty old tee and leggings. Her hair was probably a disaster too.

When she opened the window it was very clear that Red Hood would not care about her appearance but she was very worried about his. He struggled to get through the window being careful not to bump what she suspected were many injuries. Last time he climbed through the window she had been impressed with the ease with which he slid his large frame through. Now he struggled to get through the opening and he seemed to be in pain no matter which way he moved. She looked over at her couch. It was perfect for her. It fit in the space and had been a good price. She could fit on it laying down if she curled her legs up. He would not fit on it; she instead made the quick decision to get him into her bed.

She was very happy she had not gone for the twin bed. It would have been fine for her, she was not very big but that size frame would have broken under the weight of his larger frame. He was barely helping her remove his armor. She was worried about how injured he might be if he couldn’t even remove it. She found one spot on his arm that had been slashed through the armor and would possibly need stitches. She finished removing the armor from his chest and moved down to removing the armor from his legs when he finally moved to remove his helmet. He smirked at her as she looked up at him.

“If I had known a little cut was all it took to have you push me into your bedroom and undress me, I would have done it sooner,” he said.

Marinette’s face burned. She shoved him into the bed harder than was necessary or was probably wise, considering his injuries. But he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her down with him. He groaned loudly when she landed right on top of his chest. She tried to move off him but his other arm went to her hip and held her there. She had definitely imagined herself straddling him on her bed as she was now, but in her scenario he hadn’t been injured and bleeding in her bed.

“I’m hurting you worse. You are going to have to let me go so I can help you,” she said.

“I think a kiss will make it all better.”

“You are bleeding and probably need stitches. Kissing won’t help with that and you clearly have other injuries that will need to be treated.”

“Trying to get me out of the rest of my clothes, I see. I’ll let you look at them if you try my way too. Kiss it all better.”

She could tell it was still hurting him when he pulled her arms so she was against his chest but she moved closer and kissed him anyway. He used one hand to wrap around the back of her thigh and hold her close and with his other arm he lifted himself up on his elbow to meet her. She pushed herself to him but she tried to keep her weight off since she didn’t know where he was hurt under his clothes. He pushed her closer with the hand on her thigh so she slid up, pulling herself to him by his shoulders. She held his face in her hands and returned his kiss. After a moment he shifted to get off his elbow so he could wrap his other arm around her. She could feel his lips make a wince as he went flat on his back and she shifted on top of him again.

She tried to move off him again but he turned to the side so he was on his arm that wasn’t still bleeding. She couldn’t get herself to care enough about his injuries while he was so focused on kissing so she moved into a better position and returned her focus to his kisses. She loved the feel of being against his side without the armor. She gasped as he slid his hand up her back and rested his thumb just under her breast. She forgot all about the possibility of hurting him when his thumb moved back and forth. She jumped a little at the touch and that was the final movement to get him to groan and suck in a breath.

“Oh, I hurt you,” she said, jumping up. “You were already hurt and I made it worse.”

“It was my idea to test if kissing would make everything better. I did forget about how much I was hurting for most of the time.”

“I never should have gone along with it. I’ll go get my first aid kit.”

She returned quickly and nearly dropped the kit when she saw him. He was still wearing his very flattering jeans, but he had removed his shirt. She would like to pretend the shock was from the bruising down his back and across his chest to the hip on one side but it was definitely not what had rendered her speechless. He seemed to know that as he smirked at her and walked right up to her.

“To get a proper test of my suggested healing method you will have to apply the kisses directly to the affected area. Are you up for it?”

“I think your arm needs stitches. I’ve only done them once. Do you have someone who can do it for you if I bandage it?”

“I probably do, if it isn’t something you are comfortable with. Are you going to help me with the bruises?”

“What if you have broken ribs? You just want me to kiss you all over.”

“I’m almost certain I have at least one cracked rib but it isn’t so bad.” He stepped right up to her again and whispered huskily. “I absolutely want you to kiss me all over. I think it would help me feel better.”

“Let’s take care of that cut first. Do you want anything for the pain? I have ibuprofen.”

“That is probably for the best. I have a feeling you are about to hurt me.”

“I will have to clean it pretty good, but I will kiss it and make it all better.”

“With a promise like that I can handle anything.”

He leaned over to kiss her one more time before turning so she could clean and bandage his cut. Marinette knew it was probably hurting him but he didn’t make a sound. He just watched her carefully cleaning it. He held still except for his hand that he reached over to place on her leg. He just left it sitting there but would move his hand across her knee periodically. She didn’t know if he was just enjoying touching her or if he would do that when the pain was sharp. She closed it with butterfly clips and then covered it with a bandage. When it was covered she leaned down to his arm and kissed it carefully.

He moved his hand to her hair and pushed it away from her face. After the third time she kissed along the laceration he pulled her to him and gave her a heated kiss. She returned the kiss enthusiastically but pulled away quickly. She had him hold her makeshift cold packs made from various frozen foods that wouldn't be too harmed from melting a bit, to his bruising on the side as she turned him around to reach his back. She cleaned the skin first to make sure there were no abrasions but then she started at the top by his shoulders and kissed her way down his back. Almost the entire thing was bruised. It was very dark in some places and she hated to think about what had happened to cause it. When she got to the bottom she slowly folded the top of his pants down slowly so she could kiss the very bottom of the bruise. She was delighted at how he sucked in his breath when she did it. She was fairly certain that she was the cause and not the pain.

They adjusted the ice packs to his back and he laid on them and a pillow so she could get started on the front. Red Hood held her still this time for several minutes to kiss her before letting her get along with her healing kisses. He groaned when he released her and Marinette had to catch her breath before she continued. She took a moment to run her hands down his bare chest. The man had to have been forced into a life of crime because every bit of him she could see was absolutely criminal.

She did the same with his chest, cleaning and checking for any broken skin. There were a couple small cuts on his neck that she didn’t bother with bandages but she kissed very thoroughly moving across to his shoulder and his chest. She moved with her hands and mouth down his whole chest and to his side. He was getting restless. She didn’t think he was acting like he was ticklish, more like he was trying to stop himself from stopping her and taking charge. She didn’t know which way she preferred but she was enjoying taking her time. Being still was what he needed to heal so it was for the best.

He looked as disappointed as she felt when she finished. She collected the bags of frozen foods and moved them to the fridge. She would have to find a way to use them pretty quickly. She turned back and he was right behind her. He pushed her against the fridge and had his turn to take charge. Marinette clung to him trying to only hold the places she knew weren't bruised. They were both breathless when he pulled away. They spent a moment just standing there against each other before he shifted.

She knew that signaled he would be leaving now. She wanted to ask him to stay but it was probably a bad idea. Even if he just slept here it opened a whole new level to their interactions that she was not ready for. The kisses were nice. But at the end of the day even amazing, passionate kisses were just kisses. She wasn’t ready for more and he wasn’t pushing. They didn’t even know each other’s names. The one thing she knew about him for sure was that he was a crime lord. She wasn’t one to judge, but she wasn’t really sure if she could see a future there. Even any sort of relationship without a future could be complicated.

She helped him get his armor back on and he kissed her soundly before he put his helmet back on. She could no longer see his eyes when he looked back at her through the window but she knew he was looking in hers. She also knew she was fooling herself by even thinking that they didn’t have a relationship. Even with no names and no strings there was every possibility of this being complicated.

Taglist

#jasonette #maribat #now kiss #red hood x marinette #boldlyanxious

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gins-potter · 3 years

Text

Casting Thoughts

Yes, I did a long post when the rumours first dropped but hey now it’s confirmed plus we have characters descriptions, and I’m bored so let’s do this all over again people. Under the cut because it got long

Sisi Stringer as Rose Hathaway

I said this in my other post but I’m pretty happy with Sisi as Rose.

Visually I think she’s a great fit, I love that they casted a WoC in the main role, and I think if she can bring Rose’s humour and sarcasm to the role, she’s going to do great.

The character description mentions Rose being “fiery and outspoken”, happy to jump into the action, and the strongest fighter in her class but struggling to toe the line, which is all very Rose-esque, especially in the first book. It sounds to me like they have a good grasp on her character.

I’m a little disappointed we didn’t hear more about Rose as a character since she is the lead - it felt like the descriptions for Lissa and Dimitri both gave us a little more to go on - but it is only a very preliminary description so I’m happy to wait for more.

Daniela Nieves as Lissa Dragomir

Daniele is another one who I was happy with straight away.

She’s probably not what I imagined for Lissa visually but that’s not a bad thing either; I will be interested to see if they dye her hair a lighter colour (like a caramel-blonde) but personally that’s not something I need to see for her to be a great fit for Lissa.

I think she has a very sweet face which works well for a character like Lissa but I think she’s also going to be able to stand up in Lissa’s more fiercer moments which is nice to see as well.

The character descriptions mentions her as being “carefree and kind-hearted” who “coasts” through life until a death in the family thrusts her into a new role. That sounds a lot like pre-series Lissa so I wonder if we’re going to see a bit of that in the show before Andre (and her parents??) die and see that change.

It’s curious though that she’s described as the younger sister of the heir apparent - which would be Andre - so it sounds like they’ve changed it so Andre was supposed to be King. Obviously a deviation from the books but I don’t hate it? I don’t think it would change Lissa’s arc all that much because obviously she was always going to grow up to be an influential royal figure, this just slightly changes the dynamics of it.

The description also specifically mentions that she’s uninterested in “political machinations” and the “hypocrisy of the moroi royal society” which sounds very accurate to book!lissa as well.

All in all I’m very happy with what they’re doing with Lissa.

Keiron Moore as Dimitri Belikov

This is one who’s really grown on me since the rumoured cast list started circulating. At first I was kind of eh about him but I can really see him as Dimitri now.

I will be curious to see if he grows out his hair or not though.

As far as I know Keiron is not Russian, there’s not a lot about him online, but there’s some instagram activity on his account linking him to UK based companies so that would be my guess as to where he’s from. They’ve kept Dimitri’s incredibly Russian name so I guess we’re to assume Keiron might be doing an accent and they’re keeping Dimitri’s backstory relatively the same? I’m not gonna be super mad if they change it just because I think it’s doable for him not to be Russian (I know, I know a whole book is set in Russia but lbr here they could make him from anywhere and just send Rose there in that book).

The biggest thing for me will be his chemistry with Sisi, Danila and Zoey had great chemistry (imo anyway) which saved the move a little for me, so it’ll be important that Sisi and Keiron do as well. They’ve interacted a few times online which is cute so I’m hoping they were able to do some chemistry reads and that will translate on screen.

The character description mentions Dimitri as being “lethal, disciplined, discreet, and totally committed” as well as living by “a deep moral code” but with more going on “beneath his stoic, watchful surface” which sounds exactly like book!Dimitri to me.

They don’t really specify what his role at St Vlad’s is going to be but they do mention that he is a guardian so I’m assuming they’re keeping some sort of age gap between him and Rose. They also don’t mention anything about their relationship in the description, be it student/teacher, platonic, romantic, whatever, but they do say he has “an expansive spirit that could threaten to expose the underlying tension between his sense of what’s right and his formal duty to the Moroi.” which seems like a nod to their relationship.

Andre Dae-Kim as Christian Ozera

This was one of my favourite casting choices from the original rumoured cast list and I still love it.

The idea of a non-white Christian makes a lot of sense to me and I think Andre could do a great job of Christian’s aloofness (in the first book) as well as his sarcasm and growing confidence across the other books.

His character description confuses me a bit though: “Intelligent and thoughtful, Christian is the pariah of the school and royal court, due to his parents’ unforgivable societal sins.” sounds accurate enough to the book (although idk if thoughtful is quite the word I’d use for Christian - maybe they mean it in the sense that he’s quiet and keeps to himself?).

Even “Well-read and hungry for knowledge” doesn’t sound that far off, idk if he was *that* particularly studious in the books, but it doesn’t necessarily not make sense either you know?

But “he searches for faith-based answers and discovers a kindred spirit who is also looking for the truth” ??? My cynical, irreverent asshole Christian is now a man of faith? I’m assuming Lissa is the “kindred spirit” (again weird word choice but maybe they mean she’s feeling lost because of the death of her family?) but I just cannot see Christian as being particularly religious.

I’m trying to keep an open mind about these changes because you never know they might play out totally different on screen, but I really hope they didn’t make these changes, particularly that Christian is studious and religious, just because they cast an Asian actor as him (because they feel a little like Asian stereotypes).

J August Richards as Victor Dashkov

This is one that didn’t appear on the original rumoured cast list (as far as I saw) and it’s so different to his description in the books that I kind of don’t have an opinion about it as a casting choice.

I’ve never seen him in anything before so purely on a visual level I think he could be a great fit for Victor, I just think it’ll really come down to how he plays it.

As for this character description: “Victor is a Moroi noble vampire with a heart of gold who’s highly regarded for his role as advisor and political strategist to Moroi dignitaries.” as well as mentioning that he has intelligence and influence, sounds pretty accurate to the book. Obviously if Andre was the heir to the throne, Victor had to be shifted out of that role, but I think his book 1 arc could still work if they wanted it to.

The “heart of gold” bit obviously made me chuckle and I really hope they threw it in there as a kind of decoy to throw non-book-readers off the fact that he’s actually the villain in book 1/s1.

As for giving him a husband and two daughters, my thoughts are: why the fuck not? He didn’t have a love interest in the original books and I’m always down for more lgbtq+ rep. My only concern is it maybe playing into the trope of evil/villain characters being queer-coded. And as for having two daughters, well as long as one of them is Natalie I don’t mind.

Anita-Joy Uwajeh as Tatiana Vogel

Okay this is the most bizarre one imo, not because of the casting, but just the character description.

I mean “Tatiana is a Moroi vampire and political underdog who slowly takes the royal court by storm. Motivated by love and a sense of justice, Tatiana has a unique skill of making herself seem of no consequence until we realize much too late that she was always the one to watch.” sounds extremely Tasha Ozera to me, so like why not just make this character Tasha? Nothing about this sounds like Tatiana, and Tatiana wasn’t even a Vogel anyway (well Vogel wasn’t even one of the 12 royal families), she was an Ivashkov.

In terms of Anita-Joy herself, well I mean we don’t really have a character to compare her to, is she supposed to be more like Tasha or Tatiana? She looks fairly young, so my guess is actually on Tasha, but we’ll have to wait to see I guess.

Mia McKenna-Bruce as Mia Karp

This is another one that I was instantly a fan of.

I was so not a fan of Mia’s casting in the movie (I can’t even remember who played her tbh but I really didn’t like it) so this Mia is a lot closer to how I imagine her.

I think she’ll be able to carry Mia’s transformation from bratty social-climber to badass fighter really well.

The character description is interesting though. “Witty, cutting, and just the right kind of ruthless when necessary, non-Royal Mia has a long-term plan to social climb her way into the ranks of royalty, with all the privilege and freedom that entails.” sound pretty bang on to Mia in the first book.

“A plan complicated by her instant chemistry with Meredith, a Guardian-in-training, as Mia struggles to reconcile her attraction to Meredith with her lowly status.” is an obvious deviation though, and one I kind of love??? Give me all the queer rep, and if we get to see Mia confront the issue of comp-het I’m so here for it.

It’s kind of funny though because I’ve seen theories that Meredith is a replacement for Eddie and Mia/Eddie has always been my sort of rarepair ship.

The last name Karp is weird af though. Is she supposed to be Sonya’s daughter? And if that’s the case I wonder if we’re going to actually see Sonya turn Strigoi in the show’s first season or something and that triggers the change in Mia? Interesting concept but I’m not sure how the timeline will work.

Rhian Blundell as Meredith

So this is another new one, and tbh I hadn’t given Meredith *that* much though in the past but she’s probably close to how I would have pictured her which is cool.

The elephant in the room with this casting is that Meredith’s role in the books was relatively minor - she was just kind of that character that got brought up whenever R.M needed a dhampir who wasn’t Rose/Dimitri/Mason/Eddie. So clearly she’s going to have a bigger role in the tv show which I don’t mind but I do wonder if we’re going to lose a character - probably Eddie lbr - in order to have her. They haven’t casted an Eddie yet as far as we know, but I have seen it pointed out that Eddie’s role in book 1 was pretty small so maybe they just aren’t announcing it. But there’s also the possibility that maybe Meredith will sort of replace Eddie and be the third part of Rose and Mason’s friendship.

I’m very interested by this part of her character description though, “She has little patience for Rose’s volatility or Mia’s elitism, and regularly calls both of them out.”

Jonetta Kaiser as Sonya Karp

I don’t necessarily dislike Jonetta as Sonya but I am confused by this choice. She looks fairly young, which tbf Sonya was young-ish I guess, but if Mia is supposed to be her daughter she doesn’t look old enough to have a teenaged daughter. So maybe Sonya and Mia are sisters? Cousins? Just have each other’s last names for no reason? I really don’t know. They also look nothing alike.

Other than that, I don’t really have an opinion about Jonetta as Sonya. Obviously looks nothing like how Sonya was described but that’s not new nor a massive concern for me.

I can’t really tell just from looking at her, and I haven’t seen her in anything, if she would play a good Sonya. I think with a lot of the characters it’s going to come down to the personality they bring to the part and the writing.

I looooooove her character description though: “Quiet, careful and decidedly odd, Sonya is not of royal bloodline and sits out on the fringe of Moroi society, preferring to spend her time in the library or her gardens. Not a person who likes a scene, nonetheless she has a quiet but profound power of her own. She is taken by surprise when a Dhampir Guardian named Mikhail shows interest in her, a relationship that will expose both the brightest and darkest parts of her heart.” It’s everything I would probably want from a description of Sonya and I’m more and more convinced that we’re going to see Sonya’s descent into madness and transformation into a Strigoi play out in maybe the first season which I am so curious how they’re going to work into the timeline.

Andrew Liner as Mason Ashford

Our last one and another one who doesn’t look remotely like his description but again? Not a surprise and not a problem for me. He looks like he could play Mason’s goofiness really well as well as be a solid contender for a love interest for Rose.

“Charming, loyal and popular, Mason is Rose’s main competition in the quest to become the No. 1 Guardian-in-training. Though their relationship is casual on her side, he is hopeful she will finally look at him and see him as something more.” His character description makes a lot of sense, maybe him being Rose’s main competition is a bit of a deviation? But I think that’s more an indication that he’s supposed to be a strong fighter which isn’t inaccurate to the books. The rest sounds great.

Other Thoughts

Descriptions of the show specifically mention friendship and classism as major themes which I am very happy to hear about because those are the two parts of VA that I love the most.

Am a little more worried about it being described as “sexy” though, if they shove a whole bunch of meaningless sex scenes in it just because it’s a YA show I’m not gonna be happy.

Seen the show compared to “Game of Thrones” and “Bridgerton” which at first had me like oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck not good not good not good. But thinking about it more and trying to understand where Plec’s coming from with that description I wonder if means similar to GoT as in the cut-throat nature of the Moroi/Dhampir society cause I can kind of see that. And as for Bridgerton I wonder if she’s referring to the kind of social-climbing aspects of it, because again that makes sense and it seems like a theme she really wants to concentrate on. I hope that’s what she means by those comparisons, or that she just wants to compare it to popular shows to get people to watch it. The worst would be if she tries to throw in a lot of unnecessary sex scenes to make it like those shows, because I hate when they do that, especially when the characters are teenagers.

Interesting to hear that Plec has known about the series since before Twilight or TVD - not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Seems like it’s actually mostly (or all??) written by Marguerite MacIntyre which is interesting because I know people were worried about Julie Plec - I’ve never watched anything by either of them so I’m neutral at this point.

#wow this took me most of the day to write so i got absolutely no uni work done #oh well #worth it #vampire academy #va #va tv show #rose hathaway #dimitri belikov #lissa dragomir #mason ashford #meredith (va)#mia rinaldi #sonya karp #christian ozera #respond to this and tell me your thoughts cause i want to hear what everyone things #*thinks #keep things respectful tho guys

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palbabor-writes · 3 years

Note

OK so please consider typical Shig/reader where theres unspoken mutual attraction and they're not quite together but it's Post-kamino Shig, like IMMEDIATE post-kamino where he's still processing and incredibly vulnerable from just losing his sensei. I've had this in my head for a while but IDK how it would go and I think you'd do it justice (just ignore this if u don't wanna i just needed to put it out there 😌)

ugh, i loved this idea. where do you find them lydia? they just live in your mind rent free and i want to go to there. gosh, thank you for the ask.

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, SMUT, NSFW/18+ only, mild angst, pivotal life moments, TW: drinking/drug use, masturbation, blow jobs, face fucking, spanking/mild pain play, vaginal fingering, cunniliginus, overstimulation, switching, dirty talk, loss of virginity (if you squint), dominance, vaginal sex

Word Count: 11,800

Notes: oh man. so, if the word count didn’t give it away, this is plot, with a hefty dose of porn. in my mind, this is all part of the grieving process for shigaraki and he’s having a rough time coming to terms with what he’s needing to do. yeah, AFO supported him and enabled him to build a following, but he also hid all of the major pieces from him (i.e. the doctor & gigantomachia) so i can see him mourning for AFO as a teacher & as a psudo loved one, after all, at the end of that chapter he’s clutching those hands to him like he’ll fall apart without them.

Edited by the lovely Lydia: @kugutsuu. she is the best and if you’re not reading her works, all I have to say is: YOU SHOULD BE.

Mise en Place

/mē-ˌzäⁿ-ˈpläs/ noun or verb a French culinary phrase which means "putting in place" or "everything in its place.”

This has got to be the strangest, hole in the wall, bar you’ve ever worked at.

The patrons are touchy and most seem downright dangerous. The whole lot of them are more like mid level criminals than the usual haggard, overworked, regular, citizens you find in local watering holes. Meanwhile, the gentleman who runs the day to day operations shares more similarities with a will o’ the wisp than a man, and the bar itself is smack dab in one of the seediest parts of town.

The liquor selection, however, is top of the line. Some of the labels you haven’t seen outside of posh hotels or high class country clubs, and many of the older bottles are rarities. Honestly, there are so many of the high brow bottles that you’re not sure who to ask about the rail selection. There’s no real order to the place and it’s the most free reign you’ve ever been given with your mixology experiments. There’s not even a listing of drinks to go off of. But, if the disgruntled evening crowd is happy, then so is the upper management. All they ask is that you lock up before you leave.

No, nothing about this place makes sense. But, it does pay well and, right now, that’s the only thing you need to worry about.

There’s one other barkeep, a stogy man named Akio. He usually works the day shift, but late yesterday afternoon, he’d given you a call and asked if the two of you could swap for the duration of next week. At first, you’d balked, worried you’d need to schmooze with an unfamiliar bunch of regulars, who’d then decline to tip simply because you were new. But, Akio had sweetened the pot with the promise of $20,000 yen, so, you’d agreed.

“It’s fairly quiet in the afternoon,” Akio reassured you. “It’s really just putting away shipment and serving the odd customer who happens to pass by. The only thing...well, I’m sure you’ve met him. You’ve been working there for over a month, no way you could miss him.”

“Who?” you ask, twirling your spoon in your mid-morning coffee, curious, but not wanting to seem overly eager in your questioning. You like your night shift and you’re not wanting this to become a regular swap. You detest having to lug heavy boxes to and fro, pulling liquor and checking lot numbers, ick. Plus, if it really is that slow in the afternoons, it would only be a matter of time before Kurogiri would come after you with a duster and ask you to clean the upper shelves. Yeah, no, thanks. This would be a one week deal, ONLY.

“His name is Shigaraki. He’s, er, different. I suppose you’ll meet him soon, if you haven’t already.”

“Shigaraki? No, that name doesn’t ring a bell. Is he--”

“I have to go, my son is here. Thanks again for the swap and talk soon, (Y/N).”

The line clicks and you let your phone fall from your ear, clattering the metal and plastic along your kitchen table. Shigaraki, you think, taking a scalding sip of your coffee, no, that’s not a name you’ve heard before. Wonder what it is about him that has Akio so on edge. It’s not like him to give you, er, whatever that strange heads-up had been. Either way, it would take more than a vague descriptor like different, to spook you off.

******

Akio was right, on all counts, about the haze of monotony that permeated the afternoon shift at the bar.

Well, right on everything except a sighting of that elusive Shigaraki guy. No, the whole afternoon it’s just been you, Kurogiri, and one, rather sloshed old man, who you’ve long since cut off, and propped at the far end of the bartop. It’s been a dull, slow, day. Thank God you’d taken that extra cash from Akio, or this might not even turn out to be worth your while.

You’re slipping another bottle of whiskey on the lower shelf when you hear a barstool scrape back. You turn at the sound, your head already lifted and a small, friendly, smile lingering on your lips. There’s a lanky guy, dressed all in black with a mop of wavy white hair, working himself onto the small seat. His head is lowered and he hasn’t bothered to look up at you, not yet, anyway. He looks, not really young, but you can’t tell and you’re not about to let some underaged kid worm his way in here. You’ve had enough of those punks sneaking in in the evening, thank you.

“Gimme a shot of scotch,” the man says, his voice low, with a quiet rasp racing along the tone. It’s a strange timbre and it makes you pause, your eyes scanning those pearlescent strands of hair that are hiding his face from view.

“Hmph,” you snort, arching a brow at his attempts at concealment. He must be underage, who comes up to a barkeep with a ducked head and demands a scotch?

“Let me give you a piece of advice, don’t come into a bar and immediately refuse to make eye contact with the bartender. We’re like animals at the zoo, we startle easily and don’t like surprises. And, with your face tucked like that, I can’t gauge your age. So, before I get you that unnamed and unbranded scotch, I’m gonna to need to see some ID.”

The man lifts his head at your preamble and you feel your breath catch at the raw annoyance that’s etched across his scarred and cracked face. His eyes are a rich red, closer to ruby and they latch onto yours, insistent and sharp. It’s a deeply intense stare and you can’t seem to pull yourself away, your brow furrowing at his sudden shift in demeanor.

“I don’t have an ID,” he snaps, his lips lifting into a snarl, showing you the vivid whiteness of his teeth.

You lick your lips and his gaze follows the motion, eyes lowering, freeing you from that uneasy imprisonment he’d abruptly ensnared you in.

Your heart is beating rapidly against your throat and you shake your head, refocusing your bewildering reaction to this guy's presence. “I-I haven’t heard that one before,” you say, taking a few steadying breaths and tossing a dirty glass in the dishwasher, looking for any task that will let you step away from this strange interaction.

“You must be new,” he says, leaning back and hunching those dark shoulders. You watch him out of the corner of your eye and shut the dishwasher door, hitting the button to run a cycle.

“Nope,” you correct him, pulling out two fresh glasses and lining them up on the bartop, reaching for the rail scotch. “I’ve worked here for over a month.”

“Never seen you before.”

“That makes two of us,” you reply, flipping the bottle up and filling both glasses with four counts of the dark liquor. You press one to him and lift the other for yourself. The man narrows his eyes at you and looks pointedly at the glass in your hands.

“You supposed to drink on the clock?”

You laugh and he shifts back at the sound, his head bowing forward, another scowl lifting his lips. Realizing you must have made him uncomfortable, you step toward him and clumsily clink your glass against his, tilting your head at the surrealness of this whole conversation. “They don’t really care what I do. Come on, stranger who has no ID, bottoms up.”

He looks from you to the shot a few times before finally relenting and taking the vessel in a strange four fingered grip, his middle finger arched carefully away. Once you’re sure he’s actually going to toast with you, you sling your shot back, enjoying the sharp burn of the rich liquor.

You’re about to ask your new drinking companion another question when you hear his chair scrape back. By the time you’re stepping toward him, he’s already pacing down a back hallway, blending into the darkness and disappearing from your sight.

“Um! You can’t...I don’t think you can go back there. And you gotta pay, dude! Hey--”

“He doesn’t need to pay.”

You always hear Kurogiri before you see him and today is no exception. He’s standing at the entrance to the back of the bartop and he’s watching the path the strange young man took, his shifting face turned from you. You cock your head at his assertion and swiftly place your empty glass into the soapy water of the filled sink. He likely saw you take the shot, but you’re not about to leave evidence behind.

“What do you mean?” You ask, watching as the wisp like man turns and steps toward you, his amber slits watchful. It’s like he’s sizing you up and you shift on your feet, uncomfortable at the frank, open, assessment.

“He’s Tomura Shigaraki, and he owns this bar.”

******

You’re off for the next two days and the wait, the silence, is abjectly harrowing. You can’t sit down, can’t relax, can’t focus. The one time you decide to get overly familiar, of fucking course, it would be with the owner. But no one has called, and no one has sent you any messages. The empty static of your job's reticence doesn’t alleviate your nerves.

Who knows, they might want to act out the sick power play of having you show up for your shift, only be fired as soon as you darken the doorway.

The next afternoon, you take a familiar route to the bar, your feet tapping hollowly along the steps and alleyways that wind to the rusty entrance. You come in the front, blinking against the darkness, and lock the door behind you. Everything is quiet. But, in forty minutes, the open sign will switch on and you need to get your bar set up, plus slap on a little bit of makeup. You’re so lost in thought that you’re almost to the long bartop when you spot him.

It’s Tomura Shigaraki. He’s sitting at the same bar stool and his head turns as you approach, those unearthly red eyes lingering over you. It’s a different look, very, very removed from that harsh glare he’d given you the other day. He looks less hostile and more, well, curious.

You give him a cursory nod and pad behind the high counter, taking the final glasses out of the dishwasher and removing the stoppers from all the open liquor bottles. He’s still watching you and you can feel his gaze as it bores into your back, your side, your front. You attempt to ignore him, but the constant threat of those insistent red eyes is beginning to frustrate you. Finally, once you’ve replaced the cash drawer, you lift your gaze to his.

“What is it?” Your voice sounds waspish, but you don’t care.

“Nothing,” he replies, leaning forward and propping his chin on his palm, not breaking that unsettling leer.

“So stop staring at me,” you bristle, unsure why your heart is starting to beat a rapid tattoo against your ribs. You don’t know this guy. Sure, he’s mysterious and almost handsome, in a dark horse kinda way, but there’s no reason for him to give you this odd staredown. You’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant this attention, well, besides drinking on the job, but he could just fire you for that, if it was so troublesome. Either way, he should either speak up, or knock it off.

He smirks at your impudence and murmurs a raspy, “No,” back, his head tilting, waiting for your next move.

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” You scoff, crossing your arms and jutting your chin defiantly.

“Whatever you say,” he breathes, that smile of his deepening, making his vermillion eyes shine. And, just like that, the two of you wander into a stilted game of give and take.

For the first few days, he makes sure he’s there before you arrive for the last of your afternoon shifts, his dark back already perched over the bartop as you shut the door behind you. Then, when you transition back to the evening shifts, he’s there too, sitting at that familiar perch, his eyes always, always watching, observing. You continue to ignore him and he seems to relish your agitated silence, flashing you dark smirks and quiet laughs.

Finally, two weeks into this stagnated stalemate, you make a point to strike up a real conversation with him. He’s obviously taken aback by your first few questions, his eyes wide and jaw tense, but he plays along.

Over time, the two of you carefully erect a haphazard friendship. And that chair of his? That center barstool? He used to not mind if another person was sitting in it when he arrived late, but recently that’s all changed. Now he guards it ferociously. Snapping and glaring at anyone who is stupid enough to drift into it.

Along with the lingering looks and burgeoning, almost flirty, dialogue you’ve pushed him into, he’s also gotten very demanding of your attention. If you spend too much time talking with another customer, or with Kurogiri, he pouts and darkens until you return, his tense form losing that sharpness. It's almost like he’s got a crush on you, but he’s not sure what to do with the newfound sensation, lost and confounded by your teases and grins.

Most people, you notice, give him a wide berth, but not you. No, you like his keen wit and heated musings. He’s fascinating and you want to see more. And in his flustered confusion, he lets you lean in, blinking and wide eyed at your open, flagrant interest in him.

******

As the weeks drift into summer, things start to change at the bar.

There’s some atypical deposit of power that’s been bestowed upon the place. People you’ve never seen before, begin to frequent the premises, sharing videos and whispered conversations about that man, Chizome Akaguro, better known to the general public as the Hero Killer.

Tomura flits between several, dark moods, clutching his newly injured shoulder and murmuring complaints about hero society, All Might and the Hero Killer. Apparently, there had been an altercation between the two of them and Tomura didn’t hide his ire, his agitation from you. No, he would vent to you, his voice gravel and ash as he snarled his rage.

Then, as if things couldn’t get any stranger, one evening a young girl begins to hang around, pestering you for a soda and prattling on and on about blood. Another new guy slips in a few hours later, his skin marred by thick, ragged burns and staples. He’s quiet, rudely demanding a shot and nursing it in a corner, his bright blue eyes flashing as he stares vacantly out at the crowd by the well.

A quiet man, called Spinner, asks you for a water, and you acquiesce, watching as his green hands wrap around the glass, downing the liquid in a quick gulp. Later, there’s a robust, loud, clearly confused guy, wearing a skin tight black bodysuit loitering by your bartop. He keeps entreating you for a drink, then tells you to buzz off seconds later. Exasperated, you plunk a whole bottle down beside his glass and continue on with your work, ignoring his chatter.

Finally, a man in a white mask and a top hat rounds out the strange posse and the group gathers together, hovering around Tomura, asking questions and listening to his rasping answers.

Thankfully, the rag-tag group leaves soon after closing, all of them shouldering their way back out into the night. You shake your head as the door closes behind them, gathering the collection of dirty glasses they left in their wake. Only Tomura remains, sipping meditatively on his drink, his red eyes foggy and unfocused. You know from experience that it’s not a good time to ask him questions, so you continue with your closing duties, keeping your eyes down.

Something is going on, that much is clear. But, unless you could worm the information out of Tomura, you’d likely never fully know all of the details. Part of you warns that it’s likely dangerous. Many of the people who haunt the bar are low level villains or brokers, not a winning combination if you’re wanting to stay out of the fray, and on the right side of the law.

You finish wiping everything down and return to Tomura, asking him softly if you can wash his empty glass. His eyes lift to yours and the expression that greets you almost makes you want to reach out and cup his cheek. He looks tired, worn thin and so, so needy. You’ve never seen him like this. It almost feels like he’s showing you something he’s never revealed to anyone else, a vulnerability that only you can see. He’s giving you access to a quiet secret that can hang between the two of you, safe in the knowledge that he can trust you with it. That urge to stroke a finger down his roughed brow rises again, but you shove the impulse away, rattled by your sudden, visceral, reaction to him.

To distract yourself, you snatch up his glass, and turn from the intensity of his stare, a slow prickle of gooseflesh trembling along your skin. As you run hot water and soap over the vessel, you feel your heart begin to pound and you chance another peek at Tomura’s quiet form. As usual, he’s watching you, but he looks unfocused again, that broken vulnerability tucked away. You want to ask him if he’s ok, but before you can croak the words out, he pushes his stool back and paces down the dark hallway, leaving you alone and bewildered.

******

A few days later, you ask Kurogiri if you can sneak away for a minute, you need a break. The bar has been packed since nine and you could use a quick breather. It’s the first night Tomura hasn’t stopped by and his absence has bothered you. You missed his grumpy quips and his persistent glances. All this time, you’d thought it was just him that was catching any kind of feelings, but it looks like he’s somehow managed to nag his way into your psyche, too.

You take the back stairs quietly and let yourself out onto the alleyway balcony, climbing the rickety fire escape to the rooftop. You’d found the access to the roof your second week and it’s still your favorite place in the whole bar. On a clear night, you can see all the way to downtown Tokyo. It’s always quiet this high up, tranquil and serene. You brace yourself against the concrete wall and watch the lights of the city glimmer, like distant jewels, in the darkness.

You pull a small joint from your pant pocket and flick your lighter on, setting the edge of the rolling paper alight and taking a slow drag. The inhale fills your lungs with a light pressure and you savor the feeling before blowing a thin line of smoke into the night. You get a few more hits in before you hear the fire escape stairs rattle, signaling that someone is coming your way. You debate dampening your roach, but you don’t want to waste it, so you tuck the smoldering paper in your other hand, maneuvering it out of sight.

The white shine of his hair always gives him away.

Tomura hops over the ledge and his eyes are already lifting, searching for yours as he stands. You arch an eyebrow at his tense stance and you can’t help your giddy smile. “Everything ok?”

“Kurogiri said you were taking a break,” he replies, dipping his long fingers into his pockets and sauntering over to the patch of concrete you’re braced against.

“Yeah,” you confirm, waiting until he’s closer to lift the joint back to your lips, taking a steadying pull and scooting over, so he can fit beside you on the wall. “It’s busy, and I’ve been slinging drinks all night. Just wanted to decompress for a bit.”

Tomura doesn’t reply, but he does slot himself close, the warmth of his broad shoulder radiating against yours. The two of you drift into a companionable silence, and the only sounds that greet you is the quiet hush of traffic below and your inhales and exhales of smoke.

“You got another meeting?” you ask, crossing your arms and pressing minutely closer, enjoying the distant shiver Tomura gifts you.

“No,” he murmurs, his voice low. You think that might be the end of the conversation but he continues a few seconds later, his head tilting toward yours, those red eyes scanning your upturned face. “They’re on a mission. I’m not able to participate. It will need to be like a SIM game. They are the pieces that I’ll move over the board, they’ll act to my battle plan.”

You turn to him, your eyes wide. “So, they’re just...pawns? Little NPC’s that don’t matter?”

Tomura laughs and his teeth gleam in the moonlight and distant shine of the neon lights. “Of course not. Do I look that heartless? No, they’re valuable players and if this goes right, we’ll be able to take on the next level with a decided edge.”

You let that last comment hover, pausing to take another huff, your eyes lowered, brooding over his words. “So, you’re their vanguard leader?”

“Sure,” Tomura nods, “We can’t keep grinding each mission, hoping to pick up any XP these heroes happen to drop. We need to make waves of our own.”

“Oh? Like the Hero Killer?”

“No,” Tomura snarls, his arm tensing beside yours, a hand rising to scritch at his scarred neck agitatedly. “Nothing like him. We’re looking past him. He was too short sighted, so busy following his own code of justice that he didn’t notice he was breeding more heroes, not putting them down.”

“Hmm,” you sigh, thumping your head lightly against the concrete behind you. “That is true. But, you can’t deny he’s brought up some serious divisions. It’s funny, really. It makes me think of this little hero toy I had when I was younger.

It was of an older hero, he prolly died long ago, but I loved that toy when I was a kid. Then, as I got older, it stopped mattering and one day, without me even realizing it, it lost its importance entirely. I wonder if hero society will ever shift to that. With the fractures that have been seen at UA and all over Japan, it could be a matter of time before real change starts to happen. Anyway, I wasn’t meaning to grill you on your, uh, projects. I was--”

“What toy?”

His question nonpluses you and you cock your head, blinking up at his peripheral stare. “Um, I think it was of that fast hero, O’clock. It was my older brothers originally, but he passed it down to me. No idea where it is now. It likely got lost in a move or accidentally left behind.”

Tomura lifts his eyes from yours, his jaw clenching and a slow gulp echoing down his lean throat. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, fascinated by the movement. That urge to touch him is back and you have to clench your fingers into your palms to quiet it.

You’re so distracted by your primal reaction to him, that you miss his question and he has to repeat it, his eyes slipping back to yours, the red dark.

“What?” you ask, blinking against the acuteness of his gaze.

“Can I take a hit of that?”

“Of what...oh.” You lift the half smoked joint and chuckle at yourself, pressing the smoldering paper toward him. “Sure. You had one before?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, carefully taking the white roach from you and raising it to his chapped lips.

“Go slow,” you warn as he begins to inhale, his eyes drifting to a half mast, concentrating.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he grumbles, pulling a tentative, but heavy, drag into his lungs.

“Fine,” you scoff playfully, “do what you want. But don’t blame me when you’re coughing up a lung.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t heed your advice and, seconds later, he’s clutching at his throat, dropping the joint onto the broken gravel and concrete as he heaves. Instinctively, you thump him on his back and run your palm soothingly over his lean shoulder blades, surprised by the corded muscle that greets you. For a relatively thin guy, he’s certainly packing some strength under that unassuming form of his.

Tomura startles at your touch and he yanks himself away from you, his head ducked, eyes fastening onto yours, the irises accusatory and bright, burning with some underlying emotion that you’re too nervous to name right now.

“Uh,” you begin, aghast that you’ve upset him, “m-my bad…”

But, he’s already leaving, his head firmly turned from you, clambering over the edge and back onto the fire escape, leaving you alone in the darkness.

******

After that night, you can’t slip him out of your mind. Even when you sleep, you can see those red eyes of his, gleaming and hungry. One evening, you’d even woken with your fingers firmly pressed to your throbbing clit, stumbling and gasping, shaking free of a dream of him. He’d felt so real, so in focus and you can’t catch your breath, fingers still rubbing a tight circle over your quivering bundle of nerves. You pant as you break yourself, sukling in the whites and reds that haze over your vision. Yeah, that crush of his definitely isn’t a one sided thing.

The next shift you work, he’s waiting for you, perched in his familiar seat, his shoulders curved and tight. You give him a glance, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. His hands are lowered, fiddling with something under the bartop. You begin to open your bar, trying to quiet your wandering thoughts, not wanting to perturb him again. You’re uncorking a red wine when he presses something across the mahogany wood of the bar, toward you.

It’s small, with dark colors and a tiny, familiar, upper half mask. You let the bottle of wine thud against the counter, abandoning the half opened bottle to move closer. It’s...it’s your-- No. It can’t be yours, but it is the same toy, the one you’d mentioned on the roof the other night. How did he?

You gulp and look up at him, your heart pulsing wildly against your ribs. For the first time, he looks away from you first, his white hair pillowing across his brow. His lips start to rise in an all too habitual scowl and his raspy voice lifts to your ears. “If you don’t want it,” he grouses, one hand pulling away from the offered toy, clearly flustered by your wondering gaze. Without thinking, you slip your fingertips over the top of his hand, prolonging the touch, sulking in the warmth of him.

His fingers curl, some unconscious tremor racing along his digits. He almost yanks himself away, but then he stops, sighing as his eyes lift to yours. For a long moment, the two of you watch the other. You can hear his breathing speed up and you can almost smell the shift in the air. All it would take is one, tiny push to break that delicious tension.

Tomura’s nostrils flare as you start to lean closer, your body curving toward his, fingers still pressing into his skin. Your tongue dips out, wetting your lower lip and pulling it into your mouth, sucking on the plush flesh. His eyelids have lowered and he’s mirroring your motions, his elbows assisting his lift, his face upturning, seeking, reaching.

With a bang, the front door is flung open and it breaks the spell that’s fallen over the two of you. Tomura leans away first, his eyes narrowed in agitation, sliding from your open face to the darkness of the entryway. You exhale a shaking breath and follow Tomura’s gaze. It’s that masked man, the one with the top hat and he’s already striding confidently forward, peppering Tomura with a series of questions.

Snagging up his gift to you, you walk back to your bottle of wine.

******

You don’t have a chance to see Tomura again until he tells you, one evening, that the bar is going to be closed for the next few days. Then, over his shoulder, you spot the blonde boy, strapped and bound into a stiff chair and you blanch, stunned, too overwrought to give him more than a one word acknowledgement before stumbling back outside. In all of your talks, he’d never mentioned anything like this. That boy looked like a kid, barely past middle school, his eyes wild and defiant, but also so, so frightened.

No, you think, pacing your apartment, it’s impossible to come to terms with this. You can’t stay there, can’t work there. It’s too dangerous, too close to a real criminal den for comfort. You have to look out for yourself, no matter your feelings for the man who’s wandering down some long, lost pathway, toward a future you can’t even comprehend, let alone see.

So, you hand in your written resignation.

Kurogiri is behind the bar when you bring it in, and you’re hoping that the early morning conversation will spare you from having to see him. The wispy, purple hand of Kurogiri is just about to take your letter when Tomura barges down the hallway. His eyes immediately land on you and he steps forward, a dark look passing over his palled features.

“Why?” he growls, fingers snatching the paper from Kurogiri and crumbling the parchment to bits, his quirk rendering your typed words to nothingness.

“I don’t want to be a part of any kidnapping. It…” you pause, looking toward Kurogiri and, to your surprise, he nods to Tomura and moves away, leaving the two of you alone in the vacant bar. Tomura is still glaring at you, but he’s waiting for you to finish your thought, his jaw grinding quietly.

“This doesn’t feel like you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tomura scoffs, his chin jutting at the assertion.

“This doesn’t change society. This is just some petty attempt to get back at the UA staff. It’s like...It’s like you’re asking for trouble to seek you out. You’re smarter than this. Besides, what are you going to do with him?” you smart, crossing your arms and balling your fingers into your fists.

“What do you know about anything? That kid’s been oppressed by hero society, literally muzzled and bound--”

“As if you’re doing any better! He’s still muzzled and bound, Tomura! He’s just in a different location. This is insanity. Who put you up to doing--”

“That doesn’t matter. This conversation has nothing to do with that. You can’t leave,” Tomura snaps, his head lowering, soft white hair falling over his face. “Give it a few more days.”

“What? I can’t stay if the bar is raided and it’s prolly gonna be if you keep that kid. Besides, that’s not--”

“Just...just give me a few more days. I don’t want to beg you, I shouldn’t fucking need to beg you. It’s not an impossible request (Y/N). Just--”

“Fine,” you sigh, uncrossing your arms and watching him. He looks on edge, haggard and angry. Those emotions aren’t projected at you, you know that. Nevertheless, it doesn’t lessen the danger he’s asking you to stand with him in. But, you can give him a few days and you tell him so, trying to ignore the pattering of your heart when he looks at you and smiles.

******

Then, Kamino happens.

You weren’t there, thank God. But he was, and now, no matter what he’d asked of you, no matter what he’d hoped for, everything shifts apart. Days linger into weeks and you’re trying your best to reason that he’d made it out in one piece. Surely, you would have heard something. The capture of the leader of the League of Villains would have been a morsel that the media would have wanted to crow about, especially after the loss of All Might.

Late one evening, your phone rings.

It’s an unknown, blacked out number, but something tells you to answer, so you pick it up. You almost gasp when you hear that familiar rasp and you listen to what he tells you. You can’t get over how brittle and cracked his voice sounds but you write down the address he gives you. He cloaks his true motivations with a lie. Apparently, he has your last paycheck. Like that even matters to you. Honestly, you’re just glad he’s safe and whole. But, he’s gone to all this effort to build a bridge back to him, so of course you’re going to go.

You check and double check the directions, carefully maneuvering and weaving through bus stops and back streets. Somehow, you make it and find yourself pressing open a dilapidated door and stepping into a small room. Only darkness greets you, even though the bright midday sun is shining outside. The place he’s brought you to is on a dock, on the outskirts of town, close to the salty edge of a bay. You can hear the mournful cries of a seagull as you close the door behind you, sealing yourself inside and blinking into the gloom.

It takes you a minute to catch sight of him.

He’s lingering along the edges but you can make out the glow of his eyes, red and fierce. He looks different. It’s only been a few weeks, but it looks like the weight of years has crushed him under its unfeeling grind in that short amount of time. No, Kamino has changed him, rendering him unhinged and dangerous, drifting along the peripheral of your vision. Still, you haven’t come here to witness him falling to bits at your feet. No, you’d come here with another, darker motive.

Now, to work.

“What happened?” you ask, keeping your back firmly against the door. Watching him move closer, those red shoes of his glinting over the dark wooden floors.

“Sensei is...gone,” he replies, his voice hollow and faint. He’s mentioned his Sensei before and you’d heard the man’s strange voice echoing from that back television, like some distant, terrifying specter. But, you knew he was important to Tomura, more like a father than a teacher. However, you’d seen the news. You knew he was beaten to a pulp and captured, locked away and out of Tomura’s reach. Now, he can’t ask his Sensei for advice or support, not anymore. Even knowing what little you’ve gleaned about the strange man, Tomura must be devastated by his loss.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, genuine in your sympathy.

Tomura nods and fishes for something in the pocket of his trench coat, lifting a thin slip of paper out and showing it to you. “Here,” he sighs, still not meeting your eyes directly.

“Oh,” you say, moving away from the door and taking a few steps toward him. “You really did ask me here for the check, huh?”

“What else did you want?” he grumbles, his voice regaining a small slice of that familiar rasping. The question lingers and you feel your pulse speed up, your palms itching at your sides. “Or, did you want to scold me again?” Tomura continues disgruntled, and you can see a grimace pass over his face.

“You deserved it,” you confirm, taking another step, only wavering when you’re a few feet from him. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn't kidnapped that UA student. Now, the kid, and your Sensei are gone and you’re stuck here. Wherever here is”

“Look at you, quite the oracle aren’t you? So, you did come here to berate me.” Tomura snaps, dropping your pay stub to the dusty floor.

“No,” you shake your head, not wanting this to spiral out of your control, not wanting him to simply shut you out, alone on that pier, left with all of your what ifs. “No, I didn’t come here to do that. I-I...it’s just that...well...that wasn’t you. That whole plan...it still doesn’t make sense”

“How the fuck would you know what is, or isn’t, me? You said that that morning, too. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now,” Tomura bristles, closing the distance and bowing up to you. You can feel the sheer heat of him radiating against your shirt and you shiver at the sensation. If you lift your hand you could touch him, you think distantly. He’s so close...He’s so...

You gulp, trying to quell your rising emotions. “I guess, I don’t know then.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” you say, biting your lip.

“Fine,” he repeats, no doubt thinking that will be the end of it, but you’re not finished.

“You’re better than this you know,” you tell him, eyes searching for his, not relenting your glare until he finally meets you halfway, his red eyes flashing.

“Better than what? Better than you? A half baked woman, slumming her way from mid range bar, to mid range bar. Hoping you’ll catch the eye of the right person, someone who can pluck you from all the muck and grime that you lift that pretty little nose of yours at.”

“What?” you breathe, a snarl of your own etching across your face.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing. Fucking leading me on like that--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You thought I’d be your ticket out, or you could wager me later for a better piece, something stronger, someone that could do something for you.” Tomura is seething, his chest bumping against yours, the red of his eyes burning as he glowers at you.

“Tomura- I don’t know what you’re talk--”

“Stop saying that. You stupid, or something? And stop saying my name like that. Like it fucking matters. You could have had anything, you know? But...but you took it all for granted. You had the world...and then it...it’s...it’s just gone.”

He’s not talking about you anymore. Even though he’s growling and spitting rage at you, he’s not talking about you. “Shigaraki,” you begin, trying to see some way to reason with him. To bring him back to you.

“Don’t call me that,” he groans, his head dipping, almost resting against your shoulder. “I haven’t earned...that’s not me.”

“Alright. What am I supposed to call you?” you whisper, overwhelmed and trying to resist that urge to pull him into your arms. You’ve never seen him like this, and you don’t know, you don’t…

“There you go again, acting like you care.” Tomura scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“I do care, you ass,” you bite, turning your head toward him and letting your voice fall beside his ear. He snarls at the assertion and presses impossibly closer, trying his best to put on a show of wavering strength, knowing you might still be bullied into backing down, into denying him. But it’s not working, no you’ve come this far and you don’t want to leave him, not like this.

“I care,” you repeat, still murmuring next to his cheek, so near you can hear, and feel, his ragged breaths, hot against your skin.

“About what?” he grunts, moving his head from you, determined to not let you win.

“About, well, you.”

“Liar,” he spits, but his voice wavers, showing you a tiny, tiny sliver of hope.

“Am not,” you counter and watch as he leans back, those vermillion eyes searching for yours. One of his hands lifts and he ghosts the digits over the top of your shoulder, watching as you shift toward the distant touch, pulled to him, like a magnet.

“Such a liar,” he posits, fingers hovering beside your neck, twitching with want.

“No, I’m not,” you gasp, your voice so faint, you’re worried he might not hear it. But he does and he dips his head toward you, inches from your face, lips already parted and waiting.

“Prove it,” he challenges, his voice deepening, losing that sharpened edge at long last.

So, you shove him.

You’re not sure why that’s your first, instinctive reaction, but it’s too late to question your motives and it sparks a crazed response from the man in front of you, snapping him out of his head and refocusing him.

He fumbles backwards, caught off guard, his red shoes catching as he lumbers, trying to not fall. His eyes flash at you and he instantly rights himself, moving back to you. Through it all, you can hear yourself saying something. It sounds like it might have been another taunt, but you can’t focus, not when he’s pressing himself against you, his fingers finally, finally touching you.

Tomura can’t seem to settle now that he’s gotten ahold of you, his fingers tracing over your neck, your shoulders, your face, your sides. He’s panting and gasping, his fevered exhales fanning over your prickling skin.

“Get off me,” you moan, batting at his wandering hands.

“No,” he sighs, cupping your jaw and dragging you to his shaking lips. His kiss is clumsy, almost childlike. He lifts and leans, pressing halting smacks against you, grunting when you twist from him, fighting his hold.

“You don’t deserve it,” you tell him, wanting to lance that boil that’s festering in his mind, knowing he needs the pain before he can handle the sweetness of the pleasure. The last thing he needs is love. No, not right now. Hopefully, there will be time for that later. But for now, he needs something raw and shattered, something that will let him see that it’s not impossible to pick up the pieces, that he can be whole again, he just needs to try.

He drags his rough lips over yours and you lower your fingers into his snowy hair, pulling him closer, demanding that he give you more. He gasps at the sudden shift and you slip your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his and yanking stammering moans from him. Your lips are slick now and you use the extra lubrication to slip down his neck, leaving him trembling above you.

You dip into each and every scar, laving over all those old hurts until he’s snarling. You leave a bruising bite against his pulse and he snatches your face between his palms, dragging you back to his lips.

“Stop squirming,” he complains, his forehead bumping against yours, trying to keep up with your rapid fire laps and sucks.

“No,” you laugh, fingers lacing into the lapels of his trench coat and using the leverage to drag your breasts over his hardened pectorals. He grunts at the sensation, one arm wrapping around your lower back, pinning you to him. When he finally manages to work his way free of your frantic presses, he lowers his lips to your neck, mimicking the same path you’d taken with him, his teeth nipping and pulling until your humming, giving him a thin cry of encouragement that spurs him on.

Tomura drags a canine over your pulse and you shiver, folding into his crumpled embrace. He’s almost having to hold you upright and he growls when you slip from his arms, annoyed you’re making this so fucking difficult.

“I said, keep still,” he reminds you, heaving you back up, lean forearms bracing you to him. You smile and lace your arms around his neck, wanting his lips again. He allows the pull, loving the contrast of your plush skin against his. He’s a fast learner and this time, it’s his tongue taps and maneuvers for entrance, swallowing down your needy pants. His nose presses into your cheek and you cup at his jaw, stroking the warm skin until he slows his frantic pace, meeting you halfway, and lingering in your wet softness.

Then, just as he’s getting comfortable, you dig your teeth into his lower lip, pulling until you bleed out a little taste of copper. He snarls and shoves you away, lifting the side of his hand to his injured mouth.

“What was that for?” He snaps, tapping his fingers against the wound, watching as they come back red. “The fuck is wrong with…” His ire stutters to a halt when he catches sight of you.

You’ve already slipped your shirt over your head and now your fingers are twisting until you unclasp your bra, sliding the lace down your arms. The cool air makes your nipples tighten but you don’t attempt to cover yourself from him. Instead, you arch an eyebrow at his abashed expression and begin to unbutton your pants, your fingers teasingly lingering over the button and zipper, before lowering the denim down the curve of your hips.

You don’t even hear him approach. No, you’re too distracted by your little show to notice him until you feel those warm fingers tracing over the newly bared swells of your skin. You lift your head and your eyes catch his, smiling at the hazy hunger that’s blazing out at you. His touch is tentative and you roll your eyes openly at him, lifting your own hands over his, pressing him until he’s digging those four digits into your sumptuous flesh.

His thumb rubs over your pebbled nipple and you reward him with a low moan, your eyes slipping behind your heavy eyelids. He cups at your other breast and lifts the weight of you into his palm, openly marveling at the feel of you. Still, it’s not enough and if you’re going to get your point across, you need him to give you more than these lazy strokes.

“Take off your jacket,” you tell him, stepping away from him, quaking minutely in the loss of his warmth.

“What?” he asks, clearly too overwrought to hear you. So, you help him along. Your fingers snatch the shoulders of his trench and you yank it off him, tossing the fabric down to the gritty floors. Then, you shove at him again. He isn’t as taken aback this time and he rallies immediately, snatching at you and dragging you against him, making you gasp at the harsh sensation of his dark clothes against your bare front.

“What do you want?” you ask him, licking your tongue along the underside of his jaw, listening to his shuddering breaths. “What do you want to do to me, Tomura? Come on, I know you’ve got some idea. Fucking show me. Don’t let me boss you around, unless that’s what you’re wanting today to be about. I can take those reigns from you. I’m better at this after all. Less...flustered,” you pause, sucking and nipping at his neck, enjoying the indecisive flex of his fingers on your upper arms.

He allows you one more bite and then he’s tossing you down, not caring where you land. Thankfully, you sprawl over his discarded jacket, the fabric sparing you from the neglected wooden floor. You’re trying to regain your bearings when you hear his belt clatter to the floor. You look up at him, watching as he flings that dark shirt away, showing you the lean muscles that you’ve wondered about for so long. God, for someone so lanky, he looks fucking good.

Tomura smirks at your expression and swiftly yanks his pants and boxers away too, revealing something even more mouthwatering. Fuck, fuck, you think, an involuntary gasp leaving your lips. His cock is thick, pulsing and absolutely dripping with his precum. The tip is a lovely pink, curving toward that chiseled stomach of his and damn, you want to suck on it until he’s putty in your hands.

As if he can read your mind, Tomura steps closer, giving himself a few tugs as he peers down on you, imperious and almost perfectly in control. “You want it?” He asks, trying to hide that sudden shift in his voice, wanting to show you that he understands what you’re expecting from him. You nod and bite your lip, looking up at him from feathery eyelashes.

“Come here,” he requests, slowing those pulls and letting his precum slip from his fist to the floor, tempting you with those tiny droplets of arousal. Obediently, you rise to your knees, fingers tracing up his thighs, smiling at the light buckling he gives you, his calves twitching and shaking.

You tease your way to the apex of his hips and pause, lingering along that dip of his stomach. “Can I taste you?” you question coquettishly and you adore the moan that falls from his lips.

Taking that as a yes, you slowly lower your mouth to him, ghosting the tip of him over you. Rubbing him back and forth, painting that thick precum over your lips until they’re glistening. Tiring of this little game, his fingers dip into your hair and he grips you, hard. With one pull, he’s burying that velvet heat of his length past the ring of your lips and into the sweet cavern of your mouth. His cock swells and throbs as you lap ravenous at the hefty weight of him.

He’s salty and earthy and you let your tongue swirl over his slit, lapping into that leaking gap until he’s murmuring nonsense over you. He’s almost too big for you to take, so one of your hands lifts and wraps around his base, easing your sucks and ensuring that none of him is left out of this gift of mind numbing ecstasy you’re bestowing upon him.

There are several veins, racing along the side of his cock and you tickle along each of them, pressing until you can feel the beat of his heart, frantic and fluttering. Soon, he begins to silently ask you for more, rutting his hips against your face, scraping himself along the back of your throat. When you heave around him he lets out a loud, elongated moan and digs in again, lingering until you’re nearly choking.

You chance a peek up at him and are surprised to see him gazing right back, those red eyes of his clouded and muddled. His hand keeps an insistent pressure against the back of your head, demanding that you keep going. So, you pick up the pace, lapping and sucking, hollowing your cheeks until a thin line of your drool begins to trickle along your chin, dripping onto your knees.

“Can...can I…” he begins, fingers starting to tremble, his knees buckling. No, that’s not what you want from him. You shake free of his hand, letting him slip from your mouth, and he stammers and sputters at the loss, his eyes narrowed and dark, glaring at you with a raw frustration.

“No,” you tell him, keeping one hand on him, stroking him, maintaining that steady pressure until he’s grunting, his hips instinctively canting into the tantalizing motion. “No, you don’t ask me for anything. Yeah, I can finish you off, if you need me to take control, but it’s not going to be on your terms. If you’re wanting something Tomura, you better fucking take it. Stop asking me for permission. I’m not-- mmph--”

He rips your hand off of his dick and his fingers curl beside your ears, forcing your mouth back, and impaling you on his length, immediately gagging you on his heady thrusts. You inhale sharply, your breath catching, failing as he keeps railing into you. More saliva slides out of your lips and you falter, a weak whimper echoing around him.

“Mmm,” he growls, holding your face as he presses against the back of your throat loving the clenching and mewls you give him. “That feels fucking good, (Y/N). Taking all of my cock, ah- fucking choking on it. You’re so fucking greedy. Don’t worry, I’ll give you more. Let’s see, what would make this even better, oh, I know. Saw it in a porn once. Put your hands behind your back and don’t move them unless I tell you to.”

Immediately, you clasp your fingers together, letting them rest against your lower back. The suspension knocks you off kilter, but Tomura braces your head with his other hand, pinning you between his palms. His dick is still lancing in and out of your mouth, scraping against your tonsils, making you swallow and open, trying to push yourself past that oppressive gagging sensation.

“Ahhh, such a good girl, now spread your legs and lift up, just a little bit, yes- right there. Better keep those hands still,” he taunts, pulling his cock out until it hangs against your lower lip, glimmering with the sheen of your ministrations. Then, he dives back in, thrusting and grinding until his balls are papping against your soaking chin. Your legs tremble as you hold yourself up and you can feel your own arousal, slipping down your inner thighs, splattering onto that dark trench coat of his.

You’re heaving under him, grunting and slobbering trying to not fucking choke on the girth that’s being pistoned into you. He’s gasping praise at you, his white head thrown back, and his lower abdomen is rippling, letting you know he’s so, so close to spilling down your abused throat. He bows over you as he cums, spewing thick ropes of his release into you. You gulp at him, determined to let every last drop slither down your waiting throat, longing to savor everything that he’s giving you.

True to your promise, you keep your hands clasped and you nearly topple over when he tugs free of your lips. Tomura takes pity on your wilted form and lowers himself to his knees, wrapping one hand around you and tapping twice on your shaking digits, letting you know you can relax your grip. You fall forward, and he waits above you, watching you with a mounting fascination. Once you catch your breath, you look up at him, not caring that you’re still covered in a mix of tears, spit and his cum. He smirks at your dishevelment, pleased by your open display of your wanton lust for him.

“See? It’s not hard to take what you want, to do what you want,” you pant, still trying to gulp down a few more rough intakes of air.

Tomura sucks his teeth at your bravado, but you notice he’s having a little bit of trouble steading his own breathing and his hands are twitching as they reach for you. You hum when he cups at your dips and curves, lingering over spots that make you moan for him. As he plucks at one of your puckered nipples his eyes lift to yours and he leans close, pressing a wet line of kisses against your collarbone.

“Lay back,” he rumbles, still sucking at the hollow of your throat. You do as he says, propping yourself on your elbows, curious and waiting. He’s slowed down now that he’s slaked that first brush of pent up aggression, but he’s still got a little more to burn. You can see it, lingering behind his vermillion eyes, gleaming under the carnal intrigue.

His fingers, so dangerous and deadly, race down your sides, falling to the juncture of your legs and dipping into the slick that he finds. He parts your folds, bracing himself over you, his lips sucking bruises into your skin. The gossamer threads of your leaking cunt run down his fingers and onto his open palm and he groans into your neck, nuzzling his nose to your skin and inhaling, deeply.

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice scraping, like sandpaper, hoarse and undone along your heated cheek. Ok, you think, arching as he dips one digit into you, you can let him have that one question, especially when your mind is fogging over like this, unable to think of anything but that ache that’s pounding through your core. You roll your hips again, urging that finger to slip further and he hisses as you pull him in, your walls trembling at the intrusion.

“Fuck,” he grunts, lifting himself to look down at you, his eyes wide with an awed marvel. “You’re so…”

“Mmm, so what?” you ask, wanting him to keep talking to you, loving rasp of his tone as it tells you such sinful things.

“So soft and warm and...God...so wet,” he replies, adding another finger, watching as you whine for him, your lower lips parting and welcoming him. He pumps the digits, in and out, at a steady rate, waiting for each quiver and ripple, trying to feel his way along, wanting to please you.

“Can--” he stops himself, flushing as your eyes open and snap to his, a rough displeasure written over your face. He tears his gaze from yours and scowls, letting his fingers press a rougher rhythm into you, sucking his teeth at his unspoken inexperience.

“This feels good,” you reassure him, not wanting to completely leave him adrift, knowing that he does need a little piece of guidance, for this part, at least. “Why don’t you get a closer look?”

Tomura looks back to you and nods before sliding down your body, lowering himself until he’s face to face with his prize. His mouth drops and he licks at his chapped lips, painting a few, warm, exhales against your sensitive folds. You squirm at the sensation and he grins, leaning closer, his free hand spreading you for his inspection.

“Is this…” his voice trails off and you can feel him wandering his way to just the right spot. When he lifts the fleshy hood of your clit and thumbs the distended pearl you gasp and shiver, your head falling back against his jacket, thumping against the floor.

He laughs and you can feel him getting ready to swipe at you again, his thumb already slippery and near, the heat of it radiating against that sensitive bundle. “You like that,” he crows, repeating the motion until you’re writhing. “But—” he ponders, moving so his lips are pressed against you, resting on those sopping folds, waiting for you to look up at him. Once your head lifts and your eyes meet his, he lowers his mouth, sliding his tongue over you.

“Oh,” you whisper, your hands automatically lifting and curling into his hair, threading the white tendrils along your palms. His tongue is rough and bumpy as it glides along, pausing to lap at some of your arousal. He smacks his lips at the taste, savoring the flavor before voraciously pressing back into you for more. When he pauses his explorations to give your clit a soft suck, you can’t help but flail, your back bowing and thighs tightening around his head.

Tomura grunts at the rough treatment, prying your legs apart but not letting up on that suction, pleased he’s found something that makes you tremble to pieces in his hands. He’s always liked working you up, so it makes sense that, in this instance, he’s no different.

His long digits are scraping into you, dragging along your quivering walls and spreading your cunt apart, leaking your arousal all over his jacket and onto his chin. He’s not satisfied yet, you’re not satisfied yet, so he keeps going, listening and watching, catching on to what makes you cry out his name, learning and adapting at an alarming speed.

“T-Tomura,” you keen, your hips lifting, grinding yourself against his face, begging him to not stop. You feel a smirk lift his lips and his tongue begins to circle and lick over your clit, maintaining a steady pressure. Meanwhile, his fingers have latched onto something delicate and spongy within your pussy, repeating an arched gesture, curling and uncurling as they stroke your budding flames higher.

“So good…” you murmur, hardly able to form the words as you feel that all encompassing tingle race along your bloodstream. “You’re doing so f-fucking good.”

In response, he begins to suckle on your clit, lightly tracing a canine over the pulsing bundle and that’s all that it takes. Your head dips back, pressing into the floor so hard that your neck arches with your back and your legs wrap around him, holding him to you as you quiver and shake under him. You can feel your heartbeat as you return to yourself, thumping a rapid beat over your breastbone and radiating out to your fingers and toes.

Tomura, for his part, hadn’t stopped lapping at you, his tongue replacing his fingers as he pushes the wet appendage into you, soaking up each wave of your release. Even when you’d dropped your death grip, your legs and arms flopping away from him, boneless and shaking, he’d kept on. After a few minutes of this, his lips suddenly feel a little too ragged, the chapped skin scratching against your sensitive, overstimulated, flushed lower lips. You do your best to wriggle away, but he stills your movements, not quite finished.

“Ah- that...it’s starting to hurt,” you grouse, pushing a hand against his bowed head. That declaration seems to get through and, finally placated, he gives you one last lick and lifts his head, his eyes glinting down on you, dark and mischievous.

“I want to fuck you,” he tells you, wiping a hand across his mouth, dragging the last of your essence away. You tilt your head and grin up at him. “So fuck me,” you reply, spreading your legs again, making room for his trim hips.

“Not like this,” he qualifies, his eyes hooded as he runs a hand along your leg, enjoying your skin, warm and pliant under his palm.

“Then how?” you ask, a little bewildered by this shift in attitude. Tomura leans up, resting on his haunches, leering at your nakedness, another smirk lifting his lips, arching that scar.

“Stand up,” he instructs.

You pull your legs away and slowly rise to your feet, waiting for him to do the same. Once the two of you are eye level again, he tugs you to him, his lips pulling and nipping at yours. You can’t help but melt into his persistent touch and when he feels you slacken against him, he starts to push you backwards. He walks you slowly, carefully, but once your back touches the cold wall, his caresses become rougher, more insistent.

He’s lifting your chin and his teeth are doing more biting than nipping, pulling at your lips until you’re gasping and swollen. He begins to lift away and you protest the movement, but his hand presses into your chest, shoving you back to the wall. You freeze at the forceful treatment, your eyes opening and fastening onto his. Waiting for his next move.

Tomura’s regained that wild look, his eyes hardening, sharpening like ruby slips of flint as they linger over you. “Turn around and brace your hands against the wall,” he commands and, for an instant, you debate pushing back, challenging his order, but that’s not what you’re here for. No, you’d come here with one thought in mind.

To see if you could show him what choices, what strong inner drive, wholly independent of his Sensei, he did have.

You’d watched that kidnapping debacle and all you could think about was how much better, how much stronger he’d be if he could just get out from under the thumb of that man, that voice on the tv. Even with this informal exercise of your own, Tomura had taken to your carnal lessons like a fish to water. He had always been a natural born leader, someone who cultivated and demanded change, he just needs a chance to try. A chance to prove that he didn’t need to ask permission, to ask questions. No, he only needed to act and he could make his aspirations a reality.

So, you turn, splaying your fingers against the wall and waiting for his next move, tilting your head, wanting to see him. He runs a calloused hand over the plush swell of your ass, kneading the skin and stepping closer. Once his hips are flush with your posterior, he ruts his newly re-hardened cock against you, his ever copious precum aiding his motion, letting him glide between your cheeks, easing into that cleft. You groan and press back, wordlessly asking for him to keep going.

Suddenly, his palm smacks against your ass, stinging the flesh and sending a sharp crack around the barren room. “I said, push out more. How am I supposed to fuck you when you’re plastered to the wall like that?” Tomura questions, his voice deep and guttural. You brace your hands against the peeling wallpaper and jut your ass out, presenting yourself to him, quietly hoping he’ll reward you with another spank. Pleased, Tomura does just that, his other hand lifting and smarting against your other, neglected cheek, imprinting his mark on you, even if it’s only for a brief moment, and his fingers linger on the warmth he’s raised from your skin.

“Good girl,” he groans, taking his cock in his hand and searching for that weeping entrance to your waiting pussy. You aid him as best as you can, arching your hips until he finally, finally slips into you. Tomura lets out a deep sigh as your cunt devours his cock, slicking him into the heat of your rippling channel. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, pressing until his hips are flush with your ass, grinding his bony hipbone into your supple softness.

He gives you a brief second to adjust before he bows his head over your shoulder, panting and grunting. “Hold on,” he gasps, slowly pulling his hips back and then ramming his straining cock back into you. You mewl at the sudden ferocity of his thrusts, your head dipping against the steady weight of the wall.

He offers you no reprieve as he pounds into you, his teeth latching onto your skin, sucking and drooling, losing himself in you. His balls tap against your swelled ass and you moan when he traces one hand around you, his fingers seeking your clit and pinching at the nub.

Your teeth begin to chatter, but he doesn’t let up, maintaining that mind numbing pace, pressing and grinding until you can’t fucking think straight. He’s completely untethered and he slakes out all of those pent up questions, feelings, hurts and wants against you. After a time, he begins to murmur things to you, finally sucking up his loose tongue and resting his chin on the mess he’s left on your skin.

He’s worried he can’t do it.

He’s never been alone, not like this.

Sure, he has the others, he has Kurogiri, but it’s not the fucking same.

He needs to see this through.

He wants to, he has to.

Where do you go, when there’s no one else to turn to?

It’s like a confessional, this rutting he’s doing and it’s bleeding all of those thoughts away, letting them pool against the front of his mind and then, pop, they shift away.

Oh this helps, he thinks, loving how you’re fucking taking him, how much you fucking need him. He can’t let you go. He can’t, he won’t. You’re all he has left. After all this, he can’t lose anything else. No, you were right, he’s gotta start taking things, snatching up pieces until he becomes this unstoppable force, greater than his Sensei, greater than All Might, greater than all of them. Yes, yes, yes, when he has you like this, everything else feels so fucking simple.

He’s slowing, his hips beginning to stutter and press erratically against you. There’s no need to worry about you cumming for him, not when you’ve already broken around him so many times in the last few minutes. No, the second he started panting all of those thoughts against you, you were lost, your cunt gripping him so tightly you were worried it might never let go.

Finally, with one last thrust, Tomura grinds his hips against you, his cock swelling and pulsing as he spills himself into you. The sensation of his cum splashing against your walls hurtles you over that edge one last time and you almost collapse, your legs shaking so badly you can't support your own weight. The only thing that prevents you from falling is Tomura. His arms snake around your waist and he holds you to him, his forehead resting heavily against your shoulder, sticking to your skin.

After a long beat, Tomura pulls himself out of you, grunting at the loss of your warmth and sinks to the floor, dragging you with him. Naked and gasping, the two of you cling to the other, waiting for the world to stop spinning as you come back to yourselves. Tomura recovers first, tugging you to his chest and wrapping himself around you, his chin perched on the familiar slope of your shoulder.

“You didn’t...you didn’t need to do this, but...” Tomura halts, his voice soft as his lips press rough kisses to your skin, silently saying what he really means, what you mean to him.

“That’s not true,” you counter, turning your head toward him. “You deserve to make a choice for yourself. You’re your own boss now. Now all you have to do is act like it. Don’t make those mistakes again. You call the shots, not your Sensei, not anyone else in the League, just you. You’ll have other choices soon, so don’t doubt yourself, it’s not like you.”

He huffs out a laugh and buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent as he licks at a rising bruise. “I don’t think you’ll like my next choice,” he rumbles, one hand drifting over your side and cupping the soft mound of your breast.

“That depends on what it is,” you smile, your eyes closing at the tempting touch.

“Mmm, do me a favor,” he begins, nipping at your earlobe. “Get on your knees and open your mouth. You looked so fucking pretty when you were sucking on my cock, I wanna see it, one more time.”

“What?” you question, absolutely incredulous, “again?”

“Do as I say (Y/N),” he replies, rubbing his rising length along your ass.

“God,” you gasp, bucking at the sensation, “what have I done? At this rate, I won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“You’ll like it,” Tomura promises, his voice dark, “I’ll make sure that you do.”

Notes: never have i ever liked that kidnapping bullshit. i guess it lets AFO face off with All Might, but for Tomura’s development? it makes no sense and he’s never done anything like that again, in canon. so, uh, yeah. booo kidnapping scheme.

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

#asks #answered asks #pal muses #on Tomura’s dick #and his trauma #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #tomura x y/n #tomura x you #tenko shimura #shimura tenko #reader insert

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bffhreprise · 3 years

Text

Best Friend For Hire Reprise, Entry 381

“Not tired are you?” questioned Ariadne, who had been testing my abilities and helping me understand how to use them for hours. There were differences between how to accomplish tasks, since Ariadne’s magic needed control of her emotions just as much as clear mental pictures, but her explanations really did help.

“P-Processing.” I told her, wondering if she actually thought I ever grew tired. I felt she should know better, considering she knew what I am. At the moment, I was still revising her first lesson, current lesson, and all of the ones in-between as well as considering some other possibilities for my magic. I was thankful to know that my weird ability to see other places wasn’t monstrous, since Ariadne could do it too, just not as well. Part of my mind was still coming to terms with the idea that I had been subconsciously using magic my entire life. Thankfully, Ariadne didn’t think I had inadvertently hurt anyone.

“No, Dani, I don’t think you should make requests of Raine quite yet. Let her keep practicing.” stated James in reply to something Dani had asked in her native tongue. The musical language of her people was still beyond me without lessons, but a few words seemed to make sense to me.

“But Daddy! This would be practice!” she insisted in English.

James switched to Dani’s native tongue, and Dani’s smile turned impish, a sure sign she had been caught being mischievous again.

Alma took a few steps over to hug Dani from behind before saying, “Dani, behave. Birthday girls get to make the requests here.”

“I… d-don’t mind.” I told them, moving back and forth between where they were talking and where Ariadne was, not wanting Ariadne to think I was ignoring her. I was aware of the vampire brothers watching me, probably unaccustomed to seeing someone in two different places, but playing with Papak had shown me that they were practically frozen in place compared with me, just like everyone else.

Meanwhile, Ariadne was telling me about tricks she had discovered over the years to quickly diagnose health problems in different types of creatures. I doubted some of the tricks would work quite as well for me, not having a couple thousand years of experience in recognizing different types of cellular damage, but she seemed confident that I’d get the hang of it.

James was staring at Dani, whose smile only grew.

“A playmate for Alberich!” she suggested, finally letting us know what she wanted.

Alma sighed before saying, “She probably shouldn’t attempt life yet.”

“Is that really possible?” questioned Maple.

“Of course, though creating life takes far more energy than you’d probably expect.” replied Ariadne, having finally reached them. “I certainly can’t recommend doing it until Raine is very confident in her abilities. Getting something slightly off is very easy and potentially lethal for the new creature.”

“What about creating an enhancement suit for Pufflewink?” suggested James, obviously thinking that Pufflewink could keep up that way.

For several seconds, I considered different modifications to the suits, considering how cute they could look. While considering cuteness, I also considered whether or not Pufflewink would feel comfortable. Like all kitties, Pufflewink liked warmth, and the suits were designed to ensure a certain level of warmth. Everyone else had adapted to the feel fairly quickly, so I imagined Pufflewink might as well. After letting myself enjoy numerous scenarios of my kitty playing around in her new suit, I double-checked a rather important part of this idea, asking “I c-can?”

James nodded, saying, “As long as Jarod doesn’t mind.”

“That’s an awesome idea, man-slave!” insisted Emma, grinning broadly.

“I’ll admit that I’m intrigued to see what spells go into these things.” commented Vito eagerly.

“Suit design is a trade secret, so no giving it away to anyone.” stated Jarod loudly to be heard over everyone. “Mila, would you mind adjusting the design for felines?”

“Already optimizing the fiber configuration.” she replied, sounding amused. “Master, mind if we borrow your office briefly?”

“Feel free. Raine, I think she wants you upstairs.” encouraged James, smiling as well.

I nodded to him, and then went into the office. Quest gladly accepted! At the speed of Mila, the entire room transformed into screens for me to inspect with additional screens forming up from the tiny ball things that came out of the floor. Everything from molecular composition of the substances involved to the details on how James’ spells interacted with the physical form were on display.

Downstairs, James was commenting to Jarod “I hope you know that she’ll never forget the designs.”

Jarod grinned broadly. “And I hope you realize that I have many, many plans that could use her aid.” He was doing his villain act again. On one hand, he really was good at looking like an evil mastermind. On the other hand, he was a good person and wouldn’t actually attempt anything evil.

In the free time I had between taking in the different screens, I considered if I was really capable of meeting Jarod’s expectations. Yes, I was learning to use my magic, but I didn’t have anywhere near Ariadne’s level of mastery. Sure, the best way to get there was practicing, but what if I oopsed again? Energy research could be dangerous. Would I be able to contain things? Maybe Jarod wanted safer experiments first… He’d listen if I told him I wasn’t ready for anything dangerous, right? More scenarios erupted in my mind, but I didn’t have faith in them. Jarod was very nice, but he could also be a little… obsessive.

“If she comes back with a finished suit, I’ll be most disappointed.” stated Vito with a frown.

“No need to be disappointed. I’ll gladly show you the spell.” James told him. “I just ask that you don’t utilize it for your kind yet.” When Vito nodded his agreement, James created his spell.

For once, I really studied what went into the spell, committing the entire arrangement of energy to memory. Though I didn’t have confidence in duplicating such effects with my own magic yet, I could arrange residual energy, just like the others. Mila was already showing me modifications to the spell on some of the screens, having shown me a 3D model of it already.

Emma sighed and said, “You guys really know how to bring down a party.”

“We’re partying?” questioned Noelle, seeming to have forgotten the conical hat on her head. She was so adorable, and I wondered what she was showing the others. Sadly, her magic couldn’t affect me through my own magic, so I couldn’t see.

“Yes. Today’s Raine’s birthday.” replied Dejon with a patient smile. He had been working with her lately.

I mentally danced through the room I had already prepared for them as a couple, in hopes of them dating. He liked her, paying far more attention to her than he had paid attention to anyone else, and she certainly seemed interested whenever she looked at him. I put the new memory of them together in goofy party hats up on a shelf, admiring it.

Noelle’s eyes brightened, happy as ever. “I should tell her Happy Birthday!”

I mentally thanked her again, adding another tally in my mind’s personal room for her under the times she wished me a happy birthday today as I continued studying and connecting all of the pieces Mila was feeding me.

“She’s off making something for her cat at the moment.” explained Dejon.

“She has a cat!? I love cats!” she exclaimed excitedly.

There was a whole section of Noelle’s private room in my mind dedicated to her playing with Pufflewink. The adorableness delighted me.

“Me too!” exclaimed Kayla, lifting up Alberich, who had been leaning against Alma’s leg for the past minute.

Alberich was a very proud, very small lion, but he didn’t swipe at Kayla this time. Through our chats, I had learned that Alma spoiled him far too much when he was young, which was probably why he could be a bit snooty. Luckily, even Alberich found Noelle cute, affected by her magic just like most everyone else—poor James didn’t know what he was missing. When Noelle pet him, I could imagine how easily Alberich recognized her delight.

Not long after Noelle and Kayla started playing with Alberich, Mila informed everyone that I would be indisposed for several more minutes—she could only show me things so fast. I would also need some time to practice before I would be satisfied. Everyone but me went to the ballroom to dance instead of gaming for once. There were more cat-themed party decorations in there, and I was determined to join them soon.

After I finished the material that Mila had for me, I started asking her questions and was surprised to find she liked my ideas for a few modifications in the suit. She had originally assumed that I would simply remove the suit whenever Pufflewink wanted to go potty, but agreed with me when I pointed out that my little kitty would probably get disoriented by the sudden loss of enhancements more than our friends did. With a bit of work, we came up with some alterations that should work, and Mila found some additional cleaning spells she felt would be better suited for cats. Four-hundred-and-seventy-two variations later, Mila and I were satisfied that we had a suit Pufflewink would like, so I fetched her and created the suit around her.

The difference was notable as soon as I saw my little kitty move. She was confused, but I talked to her and warned her she’d need to be a little more careful. Mila insisted the difference in strength and speed was considerable, so I took her word for it. Satisfied that Pufflewink was happy, I took her down to join the others, dancing along with her in my arms.

Mila felt the need to stick a spotlight on me the moment I arrived, but I didn’t mind. James and Alma came over to examine the suit.

“Were you successful?” he asked.

“M-Maybe.” I replied, not as confident as Mila.

He grinned as he said, “We should test it later before Alberich and Pufflewink play too much together.”

I nodded in agreement. Pufflewink would need more time to adjust to her new abilities. “I-I should… visit… with… Ariadne.” I told him after considering a number of scenarios where Ariadne examined my kitty to make sure the enhancement suit was agreeing with her.

When James and Alma moved to hug me, I was surprised, but I only considered dodging for a very brief moment. I did like hugs, and neither of them would accidentally squeeze Pufflewink too hard.

“I hope you’re having a wonderful birthday, Raine.” stated James as he hugged me.

I nodded and smiled at my friends, telling them “B-Best ever.”

“No.” stated James, making me consider what was wrong. He then clarified “We plan to make each one better.”

I probably stared at him too long when he said that and nearly let myself cry. James was such a kind, wonderful person, and I would be grateful to him forever. I was certain he underestimated how much he had done for me—modest as he was—but giving me a home where I am accepted, despite what I am, was already the best present I could receive in a lifetime.

#Best Friend For Hire Reprise #Best #Friend #For #Hire #Reprise #Jovial Times #Jovial #Times #Fantasy #Fiction #Story

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jaeminzie · 3 years

Text

ignorance is bliss | h.rj

↳ huang renjun x gender neutral!reader

synopsis: staying true to the courageous gryffindor persona, you secretly admire renjun using unusual tactics, forgetting that the fellow ravenclaw is fairly quick witted.

genre: fluff

word count: 2,339

part of ‘the dreamies in hogwarts’ series

huang renjun, the ravenclaw wallflower who you’ve been stalking according to your best friends. indeed, it is odd to stay in the library until ungodly hours solely for the breathtaking view from a few tables in front of the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. though every view and every angle of huang renjun is breathtaking, it doesn’t take much work when you look like that. being as stubborn as ever, you would never admit to stalking the poor boy. you believed that that was an exaggeration, that your friends don’t understand how it feels to be so blinded by him and you are utterly confused on how they aren’t blinded by him. instead, you claim it as a way to get an understanding of the boy’s, who you do plan to interact with sometime in the future, mannerism — which you mentally admit sounds just as creepy as stalking, not helping your case at all.

so there you are, sitting alone in a table a bit further than usual from renjun using a book to cover your lower face to avoid any suspicion. not only are you stubborn, you are also unbelievably oblivious. so oblivious, in fact, that you aren’t aware that the boy who you’ve been “observing” has already noticed you staring at him the second week of your trips to the library. in your defense, you visit the library no more than four times a week as you loathed the smell of rotting book paper and dusty wooden furniture. unknowing of the boy’s acknowledgment of you, you continued to admire from a far. loving the way his plump lips pouted naturally while reading, his circular silver glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his god-shaped nose, how careful his eyes scanned through the pages and the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped on the table as a way to keep himself sane from the amount of studying he chooses to do willingly which appalled you. but once in a while, he’d give himself a break by sketching on his notebook causing all the lines on his forehead and the pout on his lips to disappear. this is your favorite part. seeing him find his peace in drawing made you feel the same sense of warmth and tranquility that you suppose he feels when creating art, completely unaware of a gryffindor staring him down — or so you thought. ignorance really is bliss, or else, you wouldn’t be so shameless right now.

renjun means to speak to you one day as his confusion progresses each time he sees you walk through the ginormous library doors and choose a spot where you both have clear views of one another. when you look away, pretending to read the book in your hands, renjun looks your way with furrowed eyebrows trying to figure out what exactly do you want from him. why you still manage to fail your classes despite spending many hours “studying.” yes, you can say that he observes you as well since your houses share a couple classes with each other. from his observations, he’s learned that you’re quite the helper. renjun wonders how you weren’t sorted in hufflepuff. perhaps, a hufflepuff isn’t bold enough to stare at a stranger in a nearly empty library for many consecutive weeks. though, a gryffindor should have the courage to at least speak a single word to that person, a simple ‘hello’ would be a nice place to start.

it took him some time to admit it, but he found pleasure in staring at you as well. his slytherin friends practically had to force it out of him once they kept noticing that his gaze was almost always set on you since his group sat in the back of your classes, it was easy to admire without being caught unlike your questionable tactics. renjun admires how you keep trying and trying to answer a question correctly even when your raised hand is being blatantly ignored by the professor after getting a handful of questions incorrect. and don’t even get him started when he catches a glimpse of you laughing with your peers, then he can’t keep his eyes of off you. there’s been countless nights of him unintentionally going on about you and your character to his peers relaxing in their ravenclaw common room. at this point, the whole house of ravenclaw has heard your name come out of his mouth at least once.

from your clear view, you notice how focused renjun is with his hands seeming to move themselves while his mind continued to run on you. renjun straightened his back after finishing the last few strokes on his sketch. a sketch of you sitting on top of a table identical to the one you seated at right now with your legs swinging and your red robe nearly hitting the floor, eyes crinkled as your smile that he loves to look at reached up to your ears. his first drawing of you, he was proud of it and was sure it wouldn’t be the last drawing of you he’ll make.

you were taken back when you had noticed renjun was already gathering his belongings. he usually goes back to reading after finishing a drawing, you recalled back to the mental schedule you created in your mind. wow you really are a creep. you thought. too caught up with being offended by your inner self insulting your actions, you were completely unaware of the boy dressed in blue standing next to you.

renjun gaped as he thought you were ignoring him. having enough, he finally spoke, “can i help you?”

freezing in your seat when you heard his smooth voice laced with confusion, refusing to face the boy since you are definitely not prepared for this moment. fixing your posture and clearing your throat, you mustered your left over confidence as you chose to not further embarrass yourself in front huang renjun.

completely changing your body language to a more laid back manner and facing the boy, trying not to evidently show your breath being taken away from seeing him up close. his left eyebrow raised with his lips pursed slightly, fingers fiddling with the books by his side. he looked even better close in front of you, you had previously thought that was impossible. but you were so wrong, making you slightly mad at how perfect he seemed to be.

“nope” popping your ‘p.’ “do you?”

renjun’s facial expressions relaxed slightly. “no, i don’t.”

“why’d you come here then?” you mentally cursed and slapped and pinched and kicked yourself for accidentally not sounding the friendliest, your nervousness acting for you. “you sure you don’t need my help?”

renjun was taken back from your tone, oblivious to your feelings. there’s the gryffindor. they always have to be boasting. renjun huffed at his thoughts. he had not expected your first talk to be like this. your tone lightly hit his pride, so he automatically had to retaliate, “you’re the one to talk. you have an explanation for not being able to keep your eyes off me?” renjun laughed mockingly but not at you, at himself for being such a hypocrite.

defeated, you couldn’t keep up your relaxed attitude, “i. . . i just. . .” the eye contact you both shared was so intense you couldn’t even think straight, and neither could he. “s-sorry for bothering you. i’ll. . . leave you alone.”

before you could stand up from the chair, renjun pulled out the one beside you and sat facing your body. he sighed, “i’m sorry too. that didn’t come out as intended. but i need to know if i’m being too hopeful or not?”

hopeful? you remind yourself to pinch yourself later in case this a dream or some sort of spell. you hoped that your friends didn’t do anything without telling you since they’ve been suggesting that you use a love potion to “make everything easier,” but you profusely refused their incredibly stupid proposition each time they had brought it up to discuss.

“do you need tutoring, is that why?” he continued. his arms sat on his knees.

each and every one of his words entered one ear and went out the other as you wondered on what he was feeling hopeful for. “hopeful?”

his lifted his elbows off his knees and placed them on the table slowly, looking as if he was thinking. “i just thought that maybe you had reasons other than academic ones for coming here when i do.” he spoke very, very slowly that it was torturing. “am i right?”

you hated every second of this for the awful awkward tension, but this is the moment that you’ve been daydreaming of for weeks. though, you were shocked at how renjun noticed you despite trying to be as sneaky as possible — but your friends and renjun would say otherwise. “if i say yes. . .” your eyes wondered around his figure seated in front of you.

“i would be correct then.” he finished the sentence for you, not baring to wait longer. he moved his head towards your gaze on the floor behind him to try and get your eyes to focus on him.

and when you did, you saw the sparkle and hint of joy in his eyes making you feel truly confident. “then yes.”

—

it’s been nearly a month since your first interaction with one another, and renjun never misses a day of making fun of your past actions that you now admit were creepy. though after his friend, lee donghyuck, informed you in his own sneaky actions that you weren’t able to notice before, you have not let him live peacefully. renjun’s friend group was ecstatic when he told them about finally speaking to you and being with you. but renjun’s fully aware that they were more excited over the fact he can finally stop moping over not knowing how to approach you, achieving their peace since he can finally stop talking. though, he has a new topic to gush over — your relationship.

being together side by side and actually conversing with one another allowed renjun to see you in a deeper level, giving him more reasons to appreciate the special being that you are. he loved every second he spent with you. hearing you laugh at something that he had said or done makes renjun feel like he had reached the top of the highest mountain. holding your delicate hands while walking through the hallways made him feel like the most successful man on earth, and he proudly bragged over it. renjun loved how he felt so at ease and encouraged whenever he felt your presence around him. you don’t even need to be right by him to make him feel reassured. your presence alone was enough.

and you especially loved how he still chooses to love all those things despite your questionable actions in the past.

you loved being with him so much that you tolerate being in the library and actually reading beside him, or at least try to read. though, he has to hold your hand in order for you to fully commit yourself into studying with him. but both of you don’t complain.

you sat in a vacant table in the library, but this time, you sat next to the boy who you used to admire from a far. bouncing your leg out of boredom, “can we take a break?” you whispered in his ear.

renjun let out a small breathy laugh. “we just got here.” he whispered back, his gaze not leaving the thick book in front of you both.

your mouth slightly hanged open and you tightened your grip on his hand, “lies.” renjun squeezed your hand back playfully, still not looking at you. “please, jun, we’ve been here for an hour and you need to give yourself a break.”

silence.

you let go of his hand and puffed when he still didn’t spare a glance at you. defeated once again, you slid his notebook toward you and flipped through the pages, trying to entertain yourself by reading his notes. how fun.

widening your eyes in awe when you came across a page that showed a sketch of a person who looked exactly like you, with small hearts and tiny sparkles surrounding the figure sat on a table. your fingers lightly brushed the page, admiring how talented your boyfriend is.

“i drew that the day i came up to you.”

still strucked, you faced him and you were finally met with his beautiful eyes. “i think you need to update it. i look a bit different now.” you suggested with a smile that he cannot let down.

he hummed, “yeah, a tad bit huh?” you nodded eagerly which he laughed at. “i suppose i should work on it right now.” he reached for his notebook and flipped to an empty page, fixing his position so he can get a proper view of your face.

renjun did not hesitate to start drawing. he knew every detail of yours by heart, he honestly could draw a portrait of you relying solely on his memory. renjun has got every line, dot, and scar on your divine profile engraved in his mind since he thinks about you every second, literally. though, he still chooses to look up from his notebook to get a view of your face. not because he had forgotten a detail, but because he can’t refuse an opportunity to admire that face of yours. returning back to sketching with the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen on a person, with his pupils dilated. you definitely didn’t mind going to the library more often if you get to see renjun like this each time. you speak for both of you as renjun seems to be enjoying this moment just as much as you are. renjun’s hand that isn’t occupied reached for yours, with a grip that made it seemed like he’d never let go.

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ethereal-bang · 3 years

Text

Strawberries and Red Wine

Characters: Minho x fem reader

Words: 4.8k

Type: SMUT, dilf!minho, some fluff

Warnings: slight hard dom themes, unprotected sex (always wear a condom!), oral (male receiving)

THE FIRST OF THE DILF!SKZ SERIES IS FINALLY HERE!!

This contains mature content and is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18.

“No, Mina what did I tell you we do NOT pull people’s hai- wait, BENJAMIN, where did you get that frog from?!? Let it go!!” You scramble around the classroom as you try and control the chaos that is your 4s classroom. Being the lead teacher in a room full of toddlers is nowhere near easy, but you’ve always had an affinity for kids. It started out with babysitting your cousins on the weekends, then volunteering as a counselor at summer camp. Eventually it led to you, taking early education classes in college and graduating with a degree in Early Childhood Education. Now, you find yourself here, making sure these kids keep the sand IN the sand box, for the third time this week.

No matter how frustrated you got, though, you could never get genuinely angry. They’re just babies, after all. They have no real concept of right and wrong (or object permanence for that matter), therefore their decision making skills are ~slightly~ off. Plus, they look so cute with their innocent, bright smiles and big eyes. How could you not love them?

The day is just about over, and you’re trying to get everything as clean as possible before the kids leave, that way you don’t have to stay too late to finish it all. It’s Friday, and the thought of going home to your quiet apartment for some much needed me time is all you’re thinking about as you wipe down the snack table. You survey the other children to make sure no one is causing trouble, and you smile as you take in the sight of everyone (finally) sitting in their assigned seats, various hobbies distracting them as they wait for their parents to arrive.

You hear a slight crash, and a teeny tiny voice accompany it.

“Shit!”

That single word, coming from such a small mouth catches you off guard. You want to laugh-- but you know better than to encourage it. Shocked expression on your face, you walk over to the table where the two girls are playing Jenga. The tower has been knocked down, and you can only assume that the expletive was said by the loser of the game. A sweet little girl, brown hair almost nearing her waist and big eyes that still held stars in them, was looking up at you in confusion. “Now sweetie, where did you learn that word from?” You ask incredulously.

The way she was looking at you screamed innocence, her smile never faltering. “From my daddy! He said it when he dropped the casserole on the ground the other night. But it’s okay! He ordered us a pizza instead!” She says and you can’t help but giggle, while simultaneously making a note to speak to the girl’s father. Kids tend to overshare way too much, and it reminds you of all the crazy things you’ve heard over the years-- those poor parents.

Before you know it, the day has ended and it’s time to walk the children outside. Calling your students to form a line at the door, you double check for backpacks and blankies and stuffed animals. Once everyone (and everything) is settled, you lead the children outside to their parents who are standing with open arms, ready to have their babies back with them for the night. The sight is always so endearing, the little ones getting overly excited and jumping into their parents’ arms. As you watch everyone begin to leave, you notice a certain brunette toddler waddling up to her father, who scoops her up into his arms and immediately puts her on his shoulders.

She looks like him, the way that his eyes seem to shine reminiscent of the sparkle you get to see in hers every morning. He’s rocking her back and forth as she’s sat atop him, her giggles ringing out through the daycare’s playground and bringing a sense of calm and happiness to the air. Making your way over to the two of them, your breath catches in your throat when you realize the height difference between the two of you. He’s at least a head taller than you, making you feel small as you get his attention. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lee? Would it be okay if I had a word with you for just a moment?” You ask him quietly.

He looks at you, and you can feel your heartbeat skip when a small smile graces his lips. Taking his daughter off of his shoulders, he ushers her over toward another parent, and the child runs off with Kim Seungmin and his daughter, with promises of ice cream from the truck down the road. “Absolutely, is everything okay Ms….?” He says, realizing (embarrassingly) that he’s never gotten your name. “Y/N! My name is Y/N.” You say with a smile, and he nods, wanting to commit your name to memory.

Minho has seen you day in and day out, greeting the kids in the morning at drop off, and bringing them outside to release to their parents. He’s spoken to you maybe once? Maybe twice? He really wasn’t sure, but something about your soft smile and the way you take care of the children is hitting him differently today. He has a mix of curiosity and slight panic running through his system, afraid his daughter had gotten into big trouble. She’s his whole world, and although raising her on his own definitely isn’t easy, it’s just as equally rewarding. She’s just like him, her personality so big and so funny for someone so little.

“Everything is okay! I just wanted to tell you, your daughter did something today...” you started, and you can see the look in his eyes shift from panic to humor as you explain the situation from earlier today. He chuckles a little once you finish speaking, and you’re laughing too. “Ah, oh my goodness I am so sorry…” he trails off. “It’s alright, Mr. Lee, dont wo-” “Minho,” he cuts you off. “You can call me Minho,” he says, and you nod your head in agreement. “It’s okay, Minho. It actually was pretty funny..just be a little more careful around her, okay?” You giggle, and you could’ve sworn you saw his cheeks blush pink.

After that, talking to Minho when he came to pick up his daughter became a daily occurrence. It was never for long, maybe two or three minutes of conversation at a time, but it was something you looked forward to. He seemed so carefree, always coming in with a smile on his face. Each day his little girl runs to him and demands to be put on his shoulders, and he always obliges.

It would be a lie to say you didn’t form some type of crush on the man in question. You would find yourself hiding your smile after every little interaction, and you weren’t sure how to feel about the fact that you fell for him so easily. It had been a long time since you had decided to focus on your love life, so every time you get those butterflies in your chest you’re unsure of how to react.

Minho, on the other hand, is absolutely smitten. He never took this kind of interest in his daughter’s teachers before. He couldn’t explain it, but the feeling he gets when he witnesses his little girl run up to hug you in the mornings as you head to class fills him with a lighthearted emotion. Plus, the more he spoke to you, the more he came to find out that the two of you are fairly similar. He knew that he needed to take you out on a date. It was the only thing he could think about.

Would it be inappropriate? Absolutely. For as long as you were her teacher, there was no way he’d be able to openly express his feelings. So, he waits. He keeps his feelings at bay for the remainder of the year, waiting for summer to come so he can ask you out on an actual date. And when he does, it’s in the most unexpected way possible.

You see, Minho had a plan. Your birthday was coming up soon, and he was going to get you a small gift and a card with some cheesy pick up line, asking you to do him the honor of going to dinner with him. His daughter, however, has a (very unfiltered) mind of her own.

The summer months were in full swing, the heat and humidity taking over the town as people rode their bikes through the streets, and everyone who drove a car with their windows down, music playing at full volume. It was one of your favorite things about summer, you loved seeing everyone enjoying themselves, alongside the nostalgic feeling of freedom that comes with the warmer weather. This is why you decide one Saturday morning to get up early and head to the Farmer’s Market. The big, open air market held fond memories from your childhood, and going there to shop for your groceries became a stress reliever for you ever since you started college. The older women selling produce were the sweetest, always giving you free samples when you came round.

Today was one of those days, the smells of spices and different street foods filling your noose as you looked at some apples at a produce stand. You pick up what seems like the perfect apple. Round, shiny, no bruises anywhere. That is, until you feel a little someone bump into your legs.

The apple falls to the ground when you’re knocked over, and you hear a small, familiar voice give you an apology. It’s almost a shock when you hear Minho’s voice, too, as you turn around. “Oh my god, miss, I am so...Y/N?” He apologizes, stopping in his tracks when he realizes that it’s you who is standing in front of the two of them. “Oh! Minho, hello! And hi there sweetheart! It’s alright, you didn’t hurt me,” you say in a small voice, dropping down to her level so you can meet her eyes. “But I made you drop your apple! I’m really sorry,” she pouts, and your heart absolutely melts at the sweetness. “It’s okay, I can just get another one! Why don’t you help me pick it out, yeah?” You ask, and her eyes light up with their familiar brightness.

She nods her head furiously and you laugh, picking her up when she raises her arms. You hold her on your hip and lean down just enough for her to grab a new apple to put in your bag. On the sidelines, Minho is trying so hard not to die at the sight in front of him. His daughter looks so happy, and so do you, bonding over the differences between the fruits. He just smiles as he watches in the interaction.

“This one looks perfect! Don’t you agree, sweetie?” You ask the little girl, and she giggles and takes it from your hands. “Yeah! Daddy, look at the apple~~” she says, and Minho’s attention is brought back to the girl in your arms. “Y-yes pumpkin, it looks really perfect! Red apples are a lot sweeter than green apples, they’re your favorite right? Why don’t we get some too?” Minho rambles rather quickly, and it makes you laugh as you watch him clumsily put some apples into a produce bag and hand money to the lady working at the register.

Once you also pay for your apples, Minho invites you to come have lunch with the two of them in the picnic area. You can’t bring yourself to tell them no, so you follow them to an area of grass that is filled with families eating, playing and just enjoying the summer weather. You and Minho help his daughter with her lunch, all the while enjoying the time together, as well. It had been a while since you’d seen each other, because the little girl was no longer in your 4’s class. You spent a few hours with the two of them, and when it was time to go, his little girl scrambles into your lap before you can even make a move to get up.

“I figured something out!” She says, proudly. “Yes, dear, what is it?” Minho asks her, and you crane your head to look over at her. “I think daddy likes you, Miss Y/N,” she blurts out. Your cheeks turn pink, and Minho starts stuttering. “W-what makes you think that, love?” You ask her, and she shrugs her head, completely unbothered by the fact that the two of you look like you’ve been caught, even though nothing has happened.

“Well,” she says, determined. “Daddy talks reaaaallyyyy fast when he talks about me, or soonie doongie and dori, because he likes us a lot. And he does the same thing when he talks to you, or talks about you. I just figured that because he talks fast like that, it must mean he really likes you. Because daddy talks reeeaaally fast about you.” She says, and then goes back to eating a strawberry out of the container that Minho brought with him. The blush on your cheeks turns even darker, and Minho’s face isn’t too far behind, either.

“Aaah, I see. You must be really smart to have figured that out, huh?” You ask her as you laugh, trying to make your nervousness go away. Minho has since taken interest in his hands, not being able to look you in the eye. “Well,” you start, getting the girl’s attention. You lean in close, but still far enough away that Minho can hear, too. “I think that I like your daddy just as much,” You “whisper” in her ear. Her eyes go wide, and Minho’s face shoots up from looking at his hands. “Really?!” The girl squeals, and you just smile and pat her head.

“Really.”

The three of you wander the market for a little while longer, before you notice Minho’s daughter getting sleepy. Once she asks Minho to pick her up, he carries her on his back and she’s out cold within two minutes. He laughs at the snoring toddler, and looks down at the ground before he looks at you. “Did you mean it?” he asks, and you feel your heart explode when you look into his eyes. “About liking me, did you really mean it?” He repeats, and you can’t bring yourself to hide the truth anymore. “Mhm, I did mean it.” You say quietly. His smile brightens ten fold, and if he wasn’t hauling a sleeping child on his back, he would’ve taken your hand. “Well in that case, would it be out of pocket to ask you over for dinner this weekend? She’s going to a slumber party at Seungmin’s house, so we can have an actual conversation,” he asks sheepishly.

“I would love that.”

__________

The rest of the week flies by, and you can feel the nerves gathering in your stomach as you arrive at Minho’s house. Walking inside, it’s exactly how you could imagine it to be. It’s cozy, and you can definitely tell that a toddler lives there. Toys are in the living room corner, stacked neatly next to a two story dollhouse. Sippy cups align the kitchen sink, and you see cat shaped sandwich cutters sitting in the dish drainer. The sight makes you smile, as you remember cooing over the cute shapes at lunch time.

Minho looks absolutely stunning, you think to yourself. He’s dressed casually, but his button down shirt makes his shoulders look broad and the way his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows makes your knees feel weak. He greets you with a warm smile and a small hug, leading you into the kitchen. He really pulled out all the stops for this-- candles at the center of the dining table, two glasses with red wine sitting next to empty plates as he brings the food to the table. “Wow, this looks amazing,” you tell him as you take a seat across from him, sipping your wine. “Thank you, I really hope you like it,” he laughs.

Dinner goes well, just as you expected it to. The two of you never run out of things to talk about, and the wine is definitely helping the two of you loosen up a little bit. Once dinner is over, you insist that you help with the dishes. Minho tries to decline, but you bump him out of the way with your hip, picking up a towel to dry the clean dishes with. He laughs and mimics the action, except his arm wraps around your waist in an attempt to catch you if you fall over. You feel electricity shoot through you at the action, and you turn to face him as you laugh.

He doesn’t let go, and the look in his eyes has you dropping your towel onto the kitchen counter. The air in the room feels charged, and you can’t help but reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. Everything just felt natural, with him. Like you were supposed to be this way all along. His other hand drops the dish he was holding into the sink, and he decides to wrap it around your waist instead. The feeling of finally being encapsulated in his arms makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

The two of you stay like that, for just a moment longer. It's Minho who breaks the silence first, tightening his hold on you. “Is it..is it okay if I kiss you?” he asks softly. The action is so sweet, you smile as you pull him closer to you. “Please,” you ask, right before his lips crash onto yours. The kiss is soft, slow, everything you could have wanted. His lips still taste like the wine you’ve been drinking, and it makes you want to deepen the kiss. So you do.

Minho feels your tongue at his lips, and he immediately grants you entrance but quickly gains dominance over you. A hand of his moves from your waist up into your hair as he pushes you into the kitchen counter. Your hands roam his body, his broad shoulders and toned arms feeling like heaven under your fingertips. When your hands find his hair, you tug on it slightly and that’s enough to prompt Minho to lift you onto the counter. He’s standing between your legs, his hands falling to your hips once again. He traces light circles into the skin under your sweater as you start trailing kisses down his neck.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” you say breathily, and it makes Minho chuckle. “You really want this?” He asks, confirming that it’s okay for him to take it further. “I want all of it.” You say while looking him in the eyes. They darken, and you can tell that you’ve just awoken something inside the man. His hands bunch under your shirt, slowly lifting it up to reveal the royal purple bra that you were wearing. Thanking god that you chose a matching set, you take the initiative to take your sweater off the rest of the way, throwing it on a chair near the table.

Minho wastes no time attacking your neck, biting marks near your collarbone and trailing them down towards your breast. He takes one in his hands, feeling the fabric underneath his hands and relishing in the quiet noises you’re making. His fingers ghost over your nipples, the texture of the fabric bringing you an added sensation. You subconsciously move your hips against his, feeling how hard he is through his jeans. Minho sighs, and the sound is music to your ears. You continue to move your hips against his, and Minho quickly grabs the back of your legs. “Someone’s eager, aren’t they?” he teases, telling you to hold on as he picks you up and takes you in the direction of his bedroom. His lips never leave your neck, at least not until he has you lying comfortably on top of the pillows on his bead. The look in his eyes is almost primal, and it mirrors every feeling that is running through your body in the moment.

You sit up quickly, unbuttoning his shirt slowly as you kiss each inch of exposed skin. Minho helps you as he shrugs his shirt off his shoulders, and you take in the sight of the gorgeous man sitting in front of you. You look down to his jeans and then back into his eyes, as if asking for permission. He grabs your hand and guides it to his belt, and that’s a sure fire sign that you can continue.

You expertly undo his jeans, pulling the zipper down with your teeth in a teasing way. “Fuck, baby,” he says at the sight, and his little praise just spurs you on. You move him to sit on the edge of the bed, and you sink to your knees in front of him as you pull down his jeans. His cock is something to behold-- the perfect size, pink and standing at attention. Tempting. You grab the base in your hand, and bring your tongue out to lick at the head. Minho melts into your touch, his fingers going to your hair instantly. You begin slowly, sucking on the head and using your hand to stroke the rest of his cock. It’s taking every ounce of self control from Minho to not fuck into your mouth, wanting to savor the first of hopefully many encounters with you.

You look so gorgeous on your knees for him, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you begin to sink lower onto his cock. He can feel your tongue on the underside of his dick, tracing the vein and making sure to swirl your tongue at his head with each pass you make. If you keep this up, he’s going to cum fast.

“As much as I enjoy the feeling of your pretty little mouth, baby, I don’t want to cum inside it this time.” He says, pulling you back up onto the bed. You feel excitement rise in your chest at the idea of a “next time”. You giggle as he hovers over you, pulling you into another kiss. He can taste you on his tongue, and there’s something so inherently dirty about it that makes him impatient.

He starts working on your jeans, undoing the buttons with ease and sliding them down your legs. He stares at the matching purple underwear that you’re in, and he chuckles darkly. “Seems like someone had something certain on their mind when getting dressed today, huh love?” He teases, tracing slow circles over your clit in a teasing way. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” you say as you try to keep your noises to a minimum. He’s going at a pace that is way too slow for your liking, but you’re not ready to beg for it. At least not yet.

“Hm? Feigning innocence now are we? That’s not very nice of you, baby. Tell me, what were you thinking when you put this on today, hm? Were you thinking that I’d take you like a good girl tonight?” He asks. His eyes never leave yours, and you try your hardest to keep your voice level. “Maybe,” you tease, and his pace quickens for just a moment, just enough to have you keening, but then he returns to the torturously slow pace. “Trying to be a brat, are we? Don’t worry, I can have that attitude fixed in no time,” he warns. You want to test him, see how far he’ll go. “Really? I don’t see you doing anything about it,” you fight back.

Bad idea.

Before you can even blink, your underwear are ripped off and thrown across the room, and Minho’s hand is now around your throat. The sweet feeling of the air leaving your lungs has you dizzy, not able to form coherent words. “Oh? Where’s that mouth of yours now huh?” He says, his tone condescending. His fingers return to your core, but this time his pace is rough and fast. You try to move, but the grip on your neck is tight. “Tell me what you want, love. Use your words,” he says. He decides to loosen his grip to let you speak.

“Please, Minho God just-just fuck me,” you finally speak out, voice shaky as your high is quickly approaching you. “That’s all the permission I need, baby doll.” He laughs as he pulls you closer to him. Reaching down, Minho grabs his cock in his hands and runs the head up and down your labia, teasing you before giving you the real thing. “You’re so wet, this is all for me right? I’m the only one who makes you feel like this?” He asks, knowing that you’re slowly losing your cool.

“Yes! Yes it’s only fo- only for you, Minho please” you beg, and it quickly turns into a moan as he enters you. Your back arches, and a low groan comes from Minho’s throat as he feels how tight you are around him. He stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust, but once you rock your hips into him even a little, he sets off at a steady pace. The feeling is euphoric, he’s stretching you in just the right places and somehow knows exactly how to make you see stars.

He’s panting, and when you whine a quiet “Harder, please,” he loses all control. Slamming into you quickly, he brings his hand back to your throat. “You’re so perfect for me, baby. Jesus. Only for me,” he says over and over again. He’s leaned close to you now, mouth against your ear and you can hear every ounce of praise that comes from his mouth. Your high is approaching, and you clench around Minho when he starts drawing fast circles on your clit once again.

“Minho I- I’m so close, please make me cum,” you moan, and with a certain swivel of his hips he’s hitting a spot that’s making you see stars. “Cum for me then, baby. Let me feel you,” he says, quickening his pace once again, so fast you didn’t think it was possible.

The only sounds in the room are skin slapping and your labored breathing, moans loud as you finally feel the knot in your core tighten and then burst. His name leaves your lips in a long, drawn out whine, and you feel him fill you up not long after your orgasm starts wearing off. He’s panting in your ear, grip tightening around your throat once again as you feel him spill into you.

Riding out both of your highs, Minho’s thrusts slowly come to a stop. The two of you lay there, basking in the glow of the events that just unfolded. You stay like that for a few minutes, and then Minho gets up to run the shower, placing a kiss on your forehead as he leaves the bedroom.

You end up going for another round in the shower, and then straight to bed as the two of you are too worn out to do anything else.

You wake up the next morning in one of his tshirts, and you can smell pancakes being made in the kitchen. You look over and realize that Minho is no longer next to you, and you smile as you hear the radio playing and a sweet voice singing along.

Aware that his daughter could be coming home at any minute, you throw your own jeans on as you walk into the kitchen, Minho’s shirt still falling off your shoulder. Quietly padding behind him, he jumps as you wrap your arms around his waist. “Good morning,” you giggle, and he quickly turns to place a kiss on your cheek. “Good morning to you too, doll.” He says. The name brings back memories of last night and you feel a blush on your cheeks.

You help him finish making pancakes, and when the front door opens, you hear little feet making their way to the kitchen, followed by the sound of Seungmin’s voice. “Hey, Minho I figured I’d stop in and say hi since I’m dropping off your- oh. Hello.” Seungmin says as he sees you at the counter with said man. “Hi,” you say quietly, giggling at his expression. “Y/N!!!!!!!!!!” you hear from behind him. You lean over and see Minho’s daughter coming at you full force. You quickly scoop her up into your arms, spinning her around as her bright laugh fills the room. It makes Minho’s heart explode, and he immediately feels embarrassed as he looks over at Seungmin. “I’m not judging, good for you bro.” The younger man says, sticking out his fist for Minho to bump. He laughs, but does it anyway, his attention turning back to your and his daughter.

“Are you here to have breakfast with us?!?! Daddy makes the best pancakes!!” The girl exclaims, and you laugh as you look over to Minho, sharing a secret glance.

“I sure am, sweetheart.”

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Masterlist

#this took FOREVER #but ITS FINALLY HERE #Minho smut #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #ryn's work: stray kids #ryn's work: minho

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