#AND EXTRA: MY CRAMPS ARE GONNA FUCKING KILL ME

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ᴜꜱᴇ ᴍᴇ

…𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥

smut, period sex, dry humping, mutual masturbation, friends with benefits, consent, needy reader, cum in boxers, messy, vulnerability

word count - 1.7k

It’s past midnight when the credits roll.

You’re curled up against Matt’s side, cheek pressed to his shoulder, legs tangled under the covers. The heating pad is long cold, cramps dull but still lingering, your body heavy with that warm, needy ache that always sneaks up on day two. You’re sore, yes, but also so, so needy. Everything feels extra sensitive. Your thighs rub together every time you shift, and the soft drag of your pad is just enough to make you clench.

You’ve been subtly rocking your hips, chasing that perfect pressure, but Matt notices. 

His hand shifts on your back. “You alright?”

“Mmhm.” You nuzzle closer, embarrassed. “Just… can’t get comfortable.”

He pauses. You can feel him thinking. Then, quietly, he asks, “Is it cramps or…?”

His voice trails off, cautious.

You open your mouth to respond, but then stop. Swallow the rest. You don’t want to say needy. Don’t want to admit the way you’ve been rocking down into every little flicker of pressure, how warm and swollen everything feels, how your brain’s fuzzy with it, full of this low, rolling kind of want. But he already knows. Of course he does.

“God. Is it that obvious?”

His hand stays where it is. “A little.”

You sigh, frustrated and turned on and breathless as you shake your head.

“It just… feels good,” you mumble. “The pressure. I don’t know. I get weirdly horny on my period.”

He clears his throat, fingers curling lightly against your hip as he speaks softly. “I don’t wanna make it weird, but… if it helps to, like, move a little… you can. I don’t mind.”

You blink up at him. “Like… how?”

He shrugs one shoulder, careful not to jostle you. “I don’t know. You could use my leg? Or, like, if you wanted to be on top of me, I wouldn’t, like, not in a weird way, but I’d let you.”

Your stomach flips. You stare at him for a long beat, your heart fluttering in your throat.

“Really?”

He nods, eyes soft. “Whatever you need. I mean it.”

And god, you need it. The ache between your legs is unbearable now. You shift, moving to straddle him carefully, your thighs snug on either side of his hips. The pad presses right against your core, right against him.

“You’re sure?” you ask, breath catching.

He looks up at you like you hung the stars. “Yeah.”

So you move. Slowly at first, grinding your hips in tiny circles, letting the pad catch against the soft fabric of his sweats, and fuck, it’s instant relief. The friction, the heat, the weight of him under you. You moan without meaning to, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

He exhales sharply when your hips stutter, when the soft, wet sound slips between you. Matt’s hands hover before settling on your hips, not pushing, just there. Steady. Supportive.

“You okay?” he asks, voice tight.

You nod quickly. “It just… feels good.”

You rock against him, a little faster now, and you feel it. Him. His cock thickening beneath you, twitching in his boxers with every pass of your hips. You’re grinding on him now, properly, your body pulsing with each drag of fabric on fabric.

“Is that—?”

“Yeah,” he says, quiet, almost guilty. “Sorry.”

You glance down. His cock hard against you, thick under the soft fabric of his sweats.

You press your forehead into his shoulder. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

He groans, like it physically pains him to hear you say that. “You’re on your period.”

You nod. “Still want to feel good.”

Your hips roll again, higher, this time. You’re not on his thigh anymore. You’re grinding against him now. Right against the thick line of him, clothed and leaking and tense.

He lets out a low, wrecked sound. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m just… really sensitive. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. All day.”

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes, eyes squeezed shut. But he doesn’t stop you. If anything, his hands grip your hips tighter, guiding you as you grind against his cock.

It’s messy and hot and desperate. You’re both still clothed, but the slick sound of your soaked underwear is unmistakable. You can feel how wet you are, feel the way his cock twitches beneath you every time you whimper.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Really didn’t mean to get you…”

“I already told you. Don’t apologise,” he breathes, hands tightening slightly. “Feels good. You feel…”

He groans when you roll your hips harder.

“Fuck, baby. You feel amazing.”

The nickname slips out, and it sends a thrill straight through you. You whine, soft and high, picking up pace until you’re panting, chasing the friction like it’s oxygen. His cock’s pressed right against your core now, and you swear you could come just from this, just from the pressure, the stretch, the way the pad drags slick and wet between you. 

“Matt,” you gasp, “I think. Fuck, I think I’m close.”

His hands hold you tighter, rocking his hips up just slightly, helping you ride him. “That’s it. Just like that. Come for me.”

His hands are steady on you now, grounding you, letting you move exactly how you need. His cock is thick and hard beneath the layers of fabric, and the pad only adds to the pressure, the extra tension. The way it presses perfectly into your clit each time you roll down. And everything’s so sensitive. So warm. The ache that’s been sitting low in your belly all day finally finding its outlet.

You grind down one more time, sharper, and your whole body locks up, toes curling, legs trembling, a gasp torn from your throat as the orgasm washes over you. It’s sharp and pulsing, like your nerves are fluttering right under your skin. Your stomach tightens, hips stuttering as you ride it out, and you swear you can feel it through your entire core, heat and wet relief and the bittersweet release all tangled together.

Your clit throbs, oversensitive already, but you don’t want to stop. You don’t think you can. You keep moving in little desperate pulses, chasing the last waves, whimpering into Matt’s neck as your thighs twitch uncontrollably.

After a beat, you murmur, “That was…”

“A lot,” Matt finishes, brushing your hair back. “But… in a good way?”

You nod, cheek pressed to his heartbeat. “In a really good way.”

You sit for a moment, breathing against him, as a comfortable silence settles between you.

Your head’s still buried against his shoulder, breaths shallow, skin flushed and buzzing, but you realise he’s hard beneath you. Still. You can feel the weight of him, thick and hot against the damp press of your pad, and something about that makes you throb all over again.

You shift your hips slightly. His breath catches.

“Sorry,” you murmur, but your voice sounds more curious than apologetic. “You didn’t…”

Matt shakes his head, quick, breathless. “No. I mean, yeah, I’m fine. You don’t have to…”

“I want to.”

You lift your head, look down at him, and he’s already looking up at you like you’re the sun.

Your thighs are sticky with sweat and heat and the faint mess of it all, but the weight of your body over his, the way you’re still straddling him, it feels natural. Like something you’ve done a hundred times and somehow never done at all.

“I just…” you bite your lip, rocking gently against him, slow and shy. “You’re so hard, Matt. You let me, fuck, you let me use you like that. I wanna make you feel good, too.”

His hands flex at your hips, and you feel the twitch of his cock beneath you.

“You already do,” he says softly. “You, Jesus, you have no idea.”

You smile, dazed and drunk on the way he’s looking at you. Then you roll your hips again, slow and deliberate, and this time it’s for him. Your pad is soaked now, warm and slick, and it makes the friction that much heavier, deeper. Your clit still tingles from before, and each grind sends tiny electric sparks back through your body, but you focus on him.

The way his jaw clenches. The way his eyes flutter shut. The stutter in his breath when you drag your hips forward, pressing your heat right against his cock.

“You like that?” you ask, voice low, velvety with afterglow.

He nods, brows knit, eyes squeezed shut. “Too much.”

You keep moving, your rhythm messy now, more instinct than control. Every time your core drags over him, you feel the thick line of his cock push against you, just right, and it makes your stomach flutter. Your pad squelches faintly, soaked through, but Matt doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it makes him groan deeper.

“Can’t stop thinking about it now,” you whisper, almost to yourself. “How you’d feel inside me. When I’m like this. Full and sore and warm and so, so…”

“Fuck, baby,” he chokes out, fingers digging into your hips. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You lean down, kiss the hinge of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. You’re both damp with sweat and heat and something heavier that neither of you can name.

But it doesn’t need to go further. Not yet.

You slow your hips, still pressing close, drawing little circles against the hard ridge of him. You can feel he’s close. His whole body’s gone tense underneath you.

“You can come like this,” you murmur, lips brushing his ear. “Just like I did. I want you to.”

And he does.

It happens fast, his hips bucking once, then twice, and then he’s gasping into your neck, breath ragged as he spills into his boxers, the warmth of it blooming between you. He clutches you tight like he might float away otherwise.

You both go still. Just breathing. Your heart racing where it rests against his chest.

After a minute, he laughs, soft and stunned. “Holy shit.”

You giggle, pressing a lazy kiss to his cheek. “Yeah.”

He hums, thumb brushing your back. “Did you mean it, when you said…” He trails off.

“Yeah,” you say again, smiling against his skin.

“Next time, then.” He says quietly, and you nod, neither of you moving to get up. You just stay there. Wrapped in each other, warm and messy and underwear soaked.

credits to rose for the dividers!! @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: i need to dry hump matt on my period it's state mandated

main taglist: @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturns-mermaid @shortnsweetsturnz  @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz @strnilolover @vanteguccir @chrislova @riasturns @sturnsblogs @darksturnz @httpssturns @mi-co-uk @ribbonlovergirl @lovesturni0l0s @grace-sturnz @auttysturnz @kier-with-a-k @malsmind @edu4rd0ss

till next time!!

[webslingingslasher]

this is frat!peter i’m crying

https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cvm-mBPp8Jd/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

NO STOPPP WHY DO I WANNA WRITE THIS:::

ok so u see this trend right, and yeah, you’re gonna test the fuck out of peter so for the first time ever (since that one scare) you’re excited for your period. the second you get it- ITS TIME TO FUCK W HIM

you played it up all afternoon saying how you feel yucky because of cramps and your head hurts and he’s all ‘my baby :( come cuddle’ after a few hours you roll away for the bathroom and wait a few minutes and very timidly open the door.

‘petey?’

‘trouble?’

you stay silent- he looks up and sees you staring at your socks. you look ashamed.

‘what’s wrong?’

you nibble on your lip, ‘im on my period’

‘i’m aware, feeling extra crampy? wanna shower sex it up?’

-you almost toss the plan to the side. almost-

you shake your head, ‘something bad happened’

peter’s first thought was a leak, he throws his blankets back and looks over the sheets.

‘no, you’re all clear.’

‘um, i was trying to change my tampon.’

‘gross.’

‘and…. i can’t.’

peter catches on, he slowly rises from bed and throws a shirt on.

‘no biggie, text me what kind you use. i’ll go grab em.’

he’s too kind. you stop him.

‘no!’

your ‘panic’ stops him.

‘why, you want pads?’

‘no, i …’ you mumble the words, it makes him step closer, he pulls at your hand.

‘what’s that, mumbles?’

you look up to see his reaction, ‘it’s… stuck in me.’

his eyes flash down to your pajama shorts.

‘what’s stuck in you?’

‘my tampon.’

peter’s eyes shoot back down.

‘how… how does that happen? i don’t… what do you mean stuck?’

‘like- i can’t reach it. it’s up there.’

peter acts like he’s pulling a rope above him.

‘isn’t there like… one of these.’

you shake your head, ‘i mean it, peter. way up there.’ you look away when you ask, ‘will you help?’

peter stares at your crotch. ‘like… you want me to go fishing in there?’

‘i can’t reach it!’

‘i…’ he wants to say how gross it is, but he’d be joking and you seem embarrassed to even ask. plus, it’s not like you have anyone else to ask. he knows that area in and out, if anyone could do it quickly it’d be him.

your face falls when he walks away, you thought he’d be down for it. it’s just a joke but now you know he wouldn’t actually do it, it makes you feel hurt.

it’s like he can sense your upset.

‘i’m not leaving you, im getting the towel.’

the towel.

may got him a set of dark red towels to match with his frat, and one night when peter seemed a little desperate, you shut him down with a sorry pout.

‘shark week. trust me, with these cramps, it kills me to say no.’

it insulted peter you think that’d stop him. he hadn’t had period sex before that but he can imagine it’s the same just a little wetter, and he assumes you’d be extremely sensitive so…

he brings a red towel out and raises his eyebrows.

‘i’m down if you’re down.’

and since then, it’s the towel. it stays in the closet until it’s needed, then you wash it and return in.

a smile breaks over your face, he’s jumping into action.

‘no! you don’t have to! i was just testing you.’

peter’s closet door slowly shuts, ‘so, no stuck tampon?’

‘no, i just wanted to see if you would do it.’

‘oh. well, should i put the towel away?’

you step out from the bathroom doorway to look at him, you share a glance that says the same thing. peter tosses the towel to the bed while you answer.

‘no.’

[berrypass-de-murdler]

97. Bungalow Moral Character

This is the last episode I have pre-written, the last three are gonna have to be brand-new yippee!

I have given the blog an aesthetic makeover for extra murdlecore vibes, along with a brand new episode directory which like the design list will be updated constantly. Convenient list so you (or more likely I) can access all the episodes easily without scrolling through the archive

DON'T READ THE EPISODES UNTIL YOU'VE FINISHED THE FIRST BOOK!!

So Logi and Tino head to the bungalows - residency for the Hollywood stars. Logico trips over a body in the middle of the path, and four heads peek out from their hidey-houses. Blaxton, Silverton, Abalone, and Uncle Midnight.

ABALONE: A-LIST ABALONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY! LOGICO: Um, YOU were arrested, and YOU don’t even work! U.MIDNIGHT: Haiiiiiii. Hehehehe [snort] LOGICO: Who is this body? ABALONE: Ohhh… looks like an extra. BLAXTON: If this keeps up, someone’s going to end up murdering Background Marengo! SILVERTON: Who the fuck is Background Marengo? LOGICO: OKAY, EVERYONE SPOKE, IT’S INVESTIGATION TIME. IRRATINO: What about me? LOGICO: FUUUUUU

The good news is, the bungalows are conveniently labeled 1, 2, 3, and 7, so the investigation can go ‘in order’.

(Kidding. The last one’s 4, idiot./silly)

The first bungalow is called 1, and is housing Silverton the Legend. It’s cramped, miserable, and full of stains. How did the A-List Actor end up here?

SILVERTON: Oh, Logico… it’s been horrible! People don’t respect my status anymore, even though I’m playing you in the film! My money is dying so rapidly! LOGICO: Sounds like a good reason to murder. I’ll put you on the list.

Up next, the second one looks more like an actual apartment. Uncle Midnight is hugging onto a refrigerator.

IRRATINO: [gaaaaaspppppppppp!!!!!] [sparkling eyes] LOGICO: What the fuck in the fuckingham are you gawking at? U.MIDNIGHT: T-BAGS!!!

He and Irratino reunite like old buds.

LOGICO: EWWWWWWW! YOU KNOW HIM?? “T-BAGS”?!? IRRATINO: Yeah, man! I’m allowed to know other people!  U.MIDNIGHT: Man, I’ve been preaching to the goddesses to find that face again. How you been my goat lord. IRRATINO: Kickin’! LOGICO: YOU DON’T TALK LIKE THAT!!

While Unkie can’t give MUCH information due to his mental state, he does admit that aside from spending time with his ‘IRL fam’, he has also wanted to get an award of his own. Logico checks that down and shudders.

In the LUXURIOUS Champion’s Room, also known as 3, Abalone is actively taking a shower. There’s a curtain at least, but no door to the bathroom whatsoever, so the boys have to barge in for the interrogation.

ABALONE: Abalo-NEYY, abalo-nEYYY, abalo-NEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYY!!!! LOGICO: SHUT UP!!! ABALONE: Oh my god, don’t you ever sing in the shower??

There are notably two showerheads, one on each end of the shower, gushing water into both her front and rear. She also gargles musically.

ABALONE: I think Silverton’s cabin is so ancient, he has a TYPEWRITER in there instead of a laptop!

Finally, the mysterious Bungalow 4, in which no one has ever been. It’s apparently so expensive, literally no one can afford it. 

It’s empty, and Hack Blaxton’s in there.

BLAXTON: I just want REVENGE!! LOGICO: On your brother? BLAXTON: What? No. On Argyle! He took my money! LOGICO: Your brother literally tried to kill you, but, okay.

He eliminates Blaxton as a suspect, because why would he kill this extra if he’s mad at Argyle? But that’s not much info. 

IRRATINO: I’ll do everyone’s horoscope. 

He does. And he realizes an important detail.

IRRATINO: Uncle Midnight was by a fridge.

Logico stands silently. LOGICO: …Irratino. IRRATINO: What? :D  LOGICO: I FUCKING SAW THAT WITH MY OWN EYE. IRRATINO: …Oh.

It’s up to Logi-Power to save the day instead. Who was the killer? (Here’s a hint: she’s done with her shower.)

ABALONE: Nobody here READS!

The three other boys shuffle around sheepishly.

ABALONE: So nobody should mind that I’ve stolen a book from the dead person! LOGICO: Well, it isn’t the theft we mind, so much as the MURDER? ABALONE: Oh please! He was an EXTRA! Nobody will miss him! It’s IN THE NAME!

Short King is not paying attention, because he sees a familiar silhouette in the distance.

IRRATINO: What? Who is it? What’s going on? LOGICO: The one that got away. IRRATINO: Oh. OH. Oh god. Well, this is… uh… (ahem) LOGICO: Got away with MURDER, Irratino, it’s DAME OBSIDIAN! IRRATINO: Oh. Oh! That’s great! [waves with a massive grin]

Obsidian struts over.

LOGICO: Oh no. Oh no no. What are you doing.

Sid holds up a key.

LOGICO: What is it. OBSIDIAN: [sly smile] A key.

She leaves, and the men follow. At least, that’s how she would write it.

The end!

Catgico

So normal about smushy potatoes labeled as detectives

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[karofsky]

PJ got his appetite back! I have to change his diet going forward to be pancreatitis-preventative and making sure he's extra hydrated, but what a fucking week. Last night was the first night I'd slept in my bed for a week rather than being cramped on a cot in my office. Both Finn and PJ were happy to snuggle, and I finally slept more than 2.5 hours. I have to clean my office at some point today because it just became a Cat Medical Quarantine warzone which might kill me, but I'm happy things are good for now.

Still gonna be off so I can catch up on work and messaging people back over the weekend, but woof. Hoping March is kind to me, because the last few months have Certainly Not Been

[bluemoonshadow561]

On the Way, Part 1

"My stomach hurts," August whined, curling in on himself and pressing his forehead against the window of his brother’s Mercury Milan.

"I think I know what you might have," Roman said, speaking for the first time since throwing a tantrum over having to sit in the back, exaggerating how little leg room he had — that he needs to stretch because he’s an athlete, he gets cramped, he’s taller than August, waaahhhhh.

"What?" August asked.

"Being a little bitch disease." The way Roman delivered his idiotic go-to insult with such genuine satisfaction and contempt made my lips twitch into a smirk. I turned away so he wouldn’t see.

"Fuck you," August spat, flashing his middle finger as he shifted again in the passenger seat. I glanced over at him, catching a glimpse of his face before he let it droop down, curling in on himself. His usual sun kissed skin was pale tinged with green. I had the air on full blast, but beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead. I was preparing myself for when he’d inevitably puke, trying to make plans for how to handle the situation.

"You’ve got the bag I gave you?"

"Yeah. I’m not gonna throw up on Shelly."

"When are we stop-"

BANG! A bomb went off. That was my first thought. Then I thought we were in a wreck but we were still moving, erratically, swerving. A car laid on their horn. My instincts kicked in, and I hit the breaks, moving the wheel until we stopped on the shoulder.

"What the fuck?" Roman screamed.

"A tire blew out," I breathed, my heart pounding in my throat, my mind racing with the horror of almost killing myself and my brothers.

"Jesus," August whispered.

"Everyone okay?" I asked, but Roman was already getting out of the car. I opened my door and followed him out.

"Holy shit…" Roman remarked.

"God damn it," I sighed, trying to breathe through the anger boiling within me.

August opened the door and fell out onto the ground on his knees, groaning and clutching his stomach.

"What are we gonna do now?" Roman asked. "Can you fix it?"

"No," I sighed, rubbing my temples. "I have to call Triple A."

When I got off the phone, August was lying on the ground in fetal position, breathing rapidly and whimpering softly. I crouched next to him and laid my hand on his shoulder.

"You good?"

"I-"

He suddenly retched and lunged forward, vomiting onto the ground. I grimaced as I watched him heave and gag for the next ten or so minutes before finally wiping his mouth on his sleeve and standing up unsteadily to kick dirt and gravel over the puddle.

He stumbled, hunched over, back to the car and leaned heavily on the door, one arm wrapped around his middle, the other gripping the roof for support. He was swaying and his legs were trembling.

"Are you alright?" I asked. "Roman, get him a water."

"I don’t feel good."

I placed the back of my hand against his forehead, like Mom had done for me, like I had done for August and Roman on days when we came home from school and it was just the three of us until the dark hours of the morning. I cooked chicken noodle soup, coaxed thermometers under their tongues, grabbed extra blankets, wiped their noses, and read them stories until they fell asleep.

August’s skin was burning hot. I opened the door and sat him back down in the seat.

"Here." Roman handed him a bottle of water from the cooler. August struggled to twist the cap off with shaking and sweaty fingers. After Roman did it for him, he took one sip. He really did not look well.

"How long until the Triple A people get here ?" Roman asked.

"I don’t know."

"Should we call Mom?"

"She’s just gonna scream," August said through gritted teeth. "And she’ll scream when we’re late."

"Yeah…"

"Ow!" August cried out suddenly.

"What?" I asked.

"My stomach…" He doubled over, gasping. "…hurts...so fucking much."

"Where does it hurt?" I asked, crouching down to meet him at eye level. I wasn’t a doctor. There was nothing I could determine from knowing where the pain was. I knew vaguely that appendicitis caused a pain on your right side. That was about the extent of my knowledge.

"I don’t know," he said. "All over?"

——End of Part 1——

[chryblossomjjk]

midnight mistakes | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x inexperienced reader

⇢ RATING: m/18+

⇢ WC: 2.5k

⇢ WARNINGS: v brief sm*t, v slight angst, oc is sick rip, pregnancy scare putting their relationship to the test eep!!!, brief mentions of abortion (reader considers it)

⇢ SUMMARY: a midnight romp with jungkook leads to tears on your cheeks and a pregnancy test in your hand

⇢ NOTES: i miss writing sm so here's a lil drabble of our otp :') school has been v overwhelming lately and it makes me so sad that i don't have as much time to write on here anymore. hopefully, things will calm down soon. for now, enjoy this crumb!! i love you all, let me know what you think!! if you haven't read the series yet, pls read that before this if u want to!! this wasn't beta'd so i apologize for any grammar issues or typos rip

⇢ SERIES MASTERLIST

The sequence of events that landed you in this situation; having a teary, heaving breakdown in front of your bathroom mirror, was absolutely ridiculous, to say the least.

“I’m gonna kill someone,” you squeak, breathless from the endless stream of sneezes ripping through you. The glow of the alarm clock on your nightstand reads 1 a.m. as you reach for a tissue. Violently blowing your nose does little to ease its congestion. With a shaky sigh, you crumple the sodden napkin and toss it into the bin beside your bed; overthrown by contents alike. The wet ball hits the paper mountain before rolling onto your pretty pink area rug.

You shiver, how fucking disgusting. 

A stressful week of labs and quizzes has tanked your immune system, making you susceptible to all the little germs and illnesses that strike when the brisk winter air transitions into the pollen-laced breeze of spring. The antibiotics you were prescribed did little to help your runny nose and sore throat. Pausing the anime playing on your phone, you open your messages. 

dumbo love you, get some rest please xx

So much for getting rest. You weren’t expecting a text back. Jungkook had offered to spend the night, but you encouraged him to go. It was his last semester after all. Still, you were pouty and needy, wanting nothing more than to snuggle into his arms and let the swirls of his delicate fingers on your back lull you to sleep. Instead, here you were, confined to your bed, watching Naruto solo as Jungkook, Tae, and Mina lived it up; taking shots until they were belligerent. 

A distinguishable knock rattles the door before you can press play again.

“What are you doing here?” 

Jungkook stands in your doorway, oversized black tee hanging over his equally oversized green cargo pants. His cute little mullet falls in sweaty loops around his face. “Still feelin’ like shit?” He coos, cringing at your disheveled appearance and the croak in your voice. Ignoring your question, he holds up the various items in his big hands. “I picked up a few things; cough drops—not the cherry kind ‘cause those are fucking nasty,” you laugh at the side note, “—extra spicy ramen and hot sauce to clear out your sinuses.”

Your peer at the array of remedies with wide eyes. Their ability to cure your flu symptoms is questionable. You don’t even have a way of boiling water to make said ramen in your cramped dorm, but the sentiment has your chest swelling with something other than a violent cough for the first time in days. Abruptly, you pull him into a tight embrace. 

“Ah, I see,” he laughs, wrapping an arm around the small of your back and walking you back into the room, kicking the door closed behind him. “My Bambi missed me.”

“I did,” you nuzzle into him further, “but you shouldn’t be here… you should be having fun with your friends.”

“Nah, fuck ‘em,” he retorts playfully, putting the quote-unquote medicine down and then plopping onto the bed, taking you with him. “Besides, what kind of shit boyfriend ditches their sick girlfriend to go to a party anyways?”

“The kind that should be enjoying his last semester,” you frown. 

“I am, though. I enjoy spending time with you more than anything else.”

As he lays under you, black tresses splayed against your white comforter like a misshapen halo, you feel so incredibly lucky. Gently, you run your fingers through his choppy bangs, pushing them out of his doe eyes. “Have you been drinking?” 

“Not really, just a couple shots of Fireball and a few beers.” That much alcohol would have knocked you on your lightweight ass, but after years of beer pong and keg stands, Jungkook’s tolerance was damn near Kage level. It took a lot more than that to get him drunk. “I kinda…” he averts your gaze, something he does when he’s sad or guilty. “I felt really bad so I left.”

“Jungkook, I told you it was okay.”

“I know,” he nods, sliding a warm palm under your shirt, rubbing his thumb against your skin in soothing lines. “But I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Using your fingertip, you brush an eyelash off the apple of his cheek. “Thank you… for coming back for me.”

“Of course, Bambi.” He leans up and presses a deep kiss to your dehydrated lips.

“Kook, stop,” you mumble, craning your neck back. “You’re gonna get sick.”

“I don’t care.”

It doesn’t take much convincing. If Jungkook doesn’t care, why should you? 

What follows is a battle of warm tongues and the needy clash of his bunny teeth against yours. Tender touches coax your Sailor Moon pajama set to the floor with the promise of Jungkook’s delicious love. Before you know it, you’re sinking down onto his hard length, fingers digging into his shoulders as he slouches against your headboard.

“Take it all,” he whispers, jaw slacking as he tilts his head down, getting a clear view of your wet cunt swallowing the remaining few inches. A slick film coats the two fingers he used to hold himself up for you as your lip pillow around the base. “Yeah, just like that.” His face contorts in pleasure, overcome by your warm, slippery walls after a week of illness-induced celibacy. “Feels good, huh baby? Tell me how good my dick makes you feel.”

He wants praise and dirty talk, but the tickle in your nose makes you pause, bracing yourself as a slew of sneezes pours out of you. Eight sneezes to be exact. Jungkook’s high-pitched cackle is drowned out by a shriek as you cup your hand over your leaking nostrils. “EW!”

“Shut up, it’s fine!” He grabs a tissue from the nearly empty box. “Lemme see,” he mumbles, pulling your hand down and wiping it clean, then doing the same to your face afterward and tossing the kleenex in your glittery pink trash bin. 

“I’m sorry,” you peep, completely mortified.

“Don’t worry.” The crooked bunny grin eases your nerves. “That was fire, actually. You clenched around me so tight.”

You squint at him and then bury your head into the crook of his neck. You make love to each other; slow and gentle. At one point, Jungkook locks his tattooed fingers in between yours, pecking your bare shoulder as lazy drags of your hips bring you both to writhing climaxes. And he looks so beautiful when he climaxes, gnawing at his lip piercing, skin dewy from sweat and the moonlight shining through the blinds. 

At that moment, you felt nothing but love and pure ecstasy. 

Isn’t it funny how pleasures of the past can create complete devastation in the present?

Clutching the edge of the porcelain sink, you stare down at the pink box of pregnancy tests. There’s tear stains on your cheeks. A pain in your lungs from all the sobbing. You wish Jungkook had been a shit boyfriend that night. You’d give anything to take it all back. 

Like a sixth sense, there’s a distinguishable knock at the door. 

“Hey, I-” he stops short, brows furrowing as his dark pupils scan your face. “Have you been crying?”

“What do you think?” You shouldn’t snap at him, but the waves of anxiety washing over you make you highly sensitive. Truthfully, you weren’t going to tell Jungkook any of this. His showing up had put an awful wrench in your plans. Well, unless the test came back positive. Then, you’d be forced to tell him. You clamp your hand over your mouth, the thought making you sick to your stomach. 

“__, take a deep breath. Sit down.” You do and he follows suit. “What's going on?”  

“I-” you gulp, swallowing back a whine, struggling to form a coherent sentence. There’s no escape, you have to confess. “I think I might be pregnant.”

There’s an eerie silence once the words hit the air, lingering over you both like a dark, dreary cloud. It takes Jungkook a moment to internalize the weight of the situation, but you can tell when the thunder strikes. The pink tinge in his cheeks fades to a stark, sickly white as he inhales shakily. “Fuck-” Leaning his elbows against his knees, he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, shielding them. “I thought you were on the pill.” 

“I am, but I was taking antibiotics last week and I read that they can make birth control less effective- and I’ve been having symptoms lately.” It all comes out in a jumbled mess like word vomit. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move. And it scares you. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” Despite his posture, his tone is still and calm. “I just… don’t know what to say. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as the floodgates finally burst. You were still in the swell of your STEM program. Jungkook is just about to graduate with a Bachelor’s in photography. Both of your lives would come to a screeching halt if the worst were true. You weren’t ready for a baby, not in the slightest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey, don’t-.” Finally, Jungkook sits up, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side. The other arm repeats as he rests his chin on top of your head, rocking your shaking frame back and forth for comfort. “Don’t apologize, don’t cry. Why don’t you take a test before we start freaking the fuck out?”

You suppose he’s right. 

The walk to the bathroom is a blur. Suddenly, you’re on the toilet with that evil stick in hand. Jungkook is sitting on the floor with his eyes closed, knees bent and head leaned back against the wood of the cabinet. Normally, you’re extremely pee-shy. It literally will not come out. Under these circumstances, you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“You pee so softly,” Jungkook says through an airy laugh. “I pee really hard- and fast. Like-” he makes a little whooshing noise with his mouth, “like a hose.” 

“Baby, please,” you huff, setting the test aside and pulling your sweats up. You know he’s trying to ease your nerves, but this is one situation where his lighthearted jokes and comments ceased to make you smile. “This is serious.”

“Trust me, I know.” Spreading his legs, he pats the carpet between them. “C’mere.” As soon as you hit the ground he’s embracing you, trailing kisses all over your exposed skin. “What now?”

“Now,” you sigh, setting a timer on your phone for three minutes, “we wait.”

“You know… it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it’s positive.”

“It would be absolutely awful, Jungkook.” It’s a sweet sentiment but you know he’s lying, right through his bunny teeth. Late-night conversations in bed about the future ring in your head. ‘Honestly, I don’t think I want kids,’ Jungkook had hummed in the middle of My Neighbor Totoro, ‘ever.’ Generally, you felt the same way, but the memory is terrifying in this context; sitting on the bathroom floor with him, waiting for an answer that could contradict all of your plans and possibly crumble the entire foundation of your relationship.

“Who am I kidding?” He chuckles humorlessly. “You’re right, it would be fucking awful.”

Nervously, you toy with the silver rings on his inked fingers. “What if it’s positive, Jungkook?”

“Let’s just wait until we get the results.”

“But what if it’s positive?” You twist in his arms, showing him your glassy eyes and deep frown. Showing him that his answer, regardless of what the test says, was very important to you. 

He blinks at you, lips opening and then closing promptly as he mulls over his words. “If it is… then we’ll take care of it.”

There’s a dual meaning to the sentiment that makes you chew on your bottom lip, eyes flickering up to the white ceiling to stop yourself from crying. Take care of it as in going through with it? Or take care of it as in… the other option? Honestly, the latter would be your first choice, and you’re sure it’s his as well. But for whatever reason, the fact that he assumed it makes your heart ache. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means whatever you want it to mean.” Gently, he smooths a hand over your trembling thighs before they frantically search for yours. “Just… whatever you want to do… whatever you want, I’ll support it… I’m here.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in releases in relief. You feel stupid for even questioning him. After all these months of unconditional love, you should know better. Bringing your locked hands up, you kiss his fingertips. The smile it brings out of him is just as soft as your touch. “I love you so much.”

“I love y-.”

He’s cut off by the blaring ring of your timer.

“Please, can you look?” You mumble, shaking your head and covering your eyes. “I can’t do it.”

You feel his torso twist against your back as he reaches for the test on your countertop. The time between him grabbing it and the dreaded answer feels like an eternity.

“Negative.” 

“Thank fuck!” You groan, doing a complete 180 and wrapping your arms around his neck in celebration. You haven’t felt this type of excitement since you were a child, waking up on Christmas morning and seeing colorful presents under the tree.

“What made you think you were pregnant in the first place?”

You hesitate to respond. In retrospect, it’s not as valid of a reason as you originally thought. “I’ve been feeling sick in the morning.”

Pulling back, Jungkook deadpans you. “Bambi, no shit. You’ve been sick all week.”

“I know but,” you pout, twirling a ringlet at the nape of his neck, “google said I could be pregnant…”

“You’re so fucking lucky you’re cute,” he laughs, holding you flush to him and nipping your cheek playfully. “You’ve got to be the most dramatic person I’ve ever met in my life.” You know he’s joking, but the comment makes your expression drop a bit. “But that’s part of the reason I love you so much. I’m never bored with you.”

Once again, you truly don’t know how you got so lucky. 

“Alright,” he huffs, using all of his strength to haul you up into the air and walk you back to your bedroom. Instinctually and habitually, you wrap your legs around his cinched waist. “We finished Avatar last time, so what’re we watching tonight?”

You click your tongue in contemplation. “Naruto.”

“Naruto? Bambi, isn’t Naruto like- a billion episodes long?”

When he tosses you down onto the mattress, you pout and bat your long lashes at him, pulling out all the provenly successful manipulation tactics. “Please?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, plopping down beside you. “But don’t be mad if I knock out.”

And like clockwork, Jungkook dozes off in the middle of the second episode, but that’s okay, because despite how horrible the pregnancy scare was, it truly solidified Jungkook’s presence in your life. You have all the time in the world to watch hours and hours of subpar filler episodes, and you’ll do it happily as long as you’re with him.

© chryblossomjjk 2023 [do not copy, translate or repost]

[frozenprincessshay]

Kirishima Period Comfort

Summary: Your uterus is attacking you and your loving boyfriend, Kirishima, just wants to help.

Tags: Fluff, Period Comfort, Cuddles.

Training finally ended. You clutch your stomach as the cramps in your stomach attempt to kill you. Bakugou had not for a second taken it easy on you. You usually appreciate the equality Bakugou was born and raised with, but today you really wished he was an anti-feminist. You stumble into the dorms, passing a forming group of random 1A students in the common room. “Hey, Pebble.”, you heard your cheerful boyfriend call from the sofa. You swallow, you loved Kirishima but today, you really just wanted to be on your own. “Come sit with us.” He continued. You muscle up a smile, “No, thanks. I’m just kinda tired from training, so I’m gonna go to my room.” “O-okay.” Kirishima replied, looking a little worried. You didn’t like that; you didn’t want him to worry about you. You stand as straight as you could and smile widely. As Bakugou walks by, you elbow him, “I’m gonna beat your ass next time though.” Bakugou balled his fists and waved them at you, “You wanna fucking go, Extra.” “Oh, I’ll definitely beat you up. Tomorrow.” You wink at Kirishima, noticing his worried expression dissipate into a friendly smile to his best friend and girlfriend. Satisfied, you walk to the elevator, ready to curl up in a ball of blankets and discomfort.

As soon as you leave, Ejiro’s smile drops and he looks longingly after you. Mina, who was next to him noticed, “Hey, what’s up with you?” Ejiro looks at her, forcing an unconvincing smile, “It’s nothing.” To which Mina replies with a deadpan expression and an unheard, “Really?” Ejiro sighed, defeated, “It’s just that- she’s been different since yesterday. Kinda distant. Do you think I did something wrong?” “What? No. She adores you.” Mina says with the surety that Ejiro just didn’t have right now. He asked in a small voice, “Then why is she acting like that?” Jiro, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation asked, “What’s today’s date?” Ochaco replied with the date. “Oh,” she smiles knowingly, “The red demon as arrived.” Asui inquired, “How do you know, kirro?” “Cause she gets hers before I get mine.” Mina laughed, “Aw, poor her.” Ejiro looked between the girl confused, “Sorry, what?” Everyone looked a little surprised. “You don’t know?” Yao-momo asked. Ejiro shook his head in puzzlement. Mina replied with a horrified expression, “She’s your girlfriend, Kiri. You have to know these things.” Ejiro was slowly losing his patience, “Know what, Mina?” Jiro not a fan of this drawn-out useless conversation, “She’s on her period, Kirishima.” “Oh,” Ejiro vaguely remembered the mention of periods in sex ed. He knew that meant a woman would be bleeding for a certain amount of time, but that still didn’t understand why you were avoiding him. “But why is she being distant with me? I don’t care that she’d on her period.” Mina sighed, “Kiri. The poor thing’s probably in pain.” “In pain?!” Ejiro asked, fully alert now, “Why is she in pain?” “The cramps, Kirishima, pure torture.” Jiro replied. Ochaco piped in, “Yeah, and if I know your girlfriend, she hates taking pain medication.” Yao-momo confirmed, “Yes, that’s true. I did offer her once but she declined.” Ejiro knew that well enough. Whenever you got injured, you’d never admit to being any degree of serious. You’d always attempt to deal with it without seeing Recovery Girl. You and Ejiro hadn’t been dating very long, probably a little over a month, but he wished you had told him that you were suffering. Ejiro pouted, feeling helpless in this situation where he really wanted to help, “Then what should I do?” The girls pitied the well-meaning boyfriend. Mina said, “Okay, Kiri, this is what you have to do.”

You’d been trying to sleep for what felt like hours. But the cramps in your stomach refused to let you find any semblance of peace. You’d alternated between kicking the blanket of you, to pulling it to you neck, only to kick it back down again. You’d tossed and turned in an attempt to find a comfortable position but every one seemed to back your pain worse. You were on the verge of tears. You one hand on your lower stomach to try and bring some warmth to sooth your cramps, but it was next to useless. In the midst of changing position again, you hear a knock on the door. You ignore it in the hope that whoever it was would think you’re sleeping. However, the handle rattled and inside walked your boyfriend, Kirishima. You groaned internally, but externally you said as nicely as you could in your state, “Eji, I really can’t talk right now can you please-” “The girls told me you’re on your period.” Ejiro cut in. You groan externally now, “Is it that obvious?” “Apparently, Jiro’s period is right after yours…?” You exhale, “Right.” His expression saddened, “You could have told me you were in pain.” You look away from him, “It’s not really a big deal. I can handle it.” “I’m your boyfriend, I’m supposed to know this stuff.” He parrots Mina’s words. Your eyes flick to his and you feel guilty. The worry he’d been feeling was obvious in his scrunched eyebrows and worry etched into his facial features. “I’m sorry.” You say. He smiled. Kirishima Ejiro everyone, always so quick to forgive. “Well, I got you some stuff.” Ejiro held up a plastic packet enthusiastically before placing it on the bed to reveal its contents. “The girl’s told me you don’t like taking medication for it so I didn’t get that,” he sounded dubious about not getting the medication but nevertheless continued, “I got you the chocolate cake that you love. And burgers from McDonalds along with that iced coffee you like and-” You chuckle, so much thought must have gone into what he was buying and not everyone would go out of their way to buy their girlfriend’s favorites, “How did I get so lucky with the best boyfriend ever?” Ejiro’s face almost blended in with his hair, “I wouldn’t go that far.” “I would,” you say, then looking at all the stuff he bought, “Eji, I’m sorry but I can’t possible eat all this right now. I really just want to sleep, please.” Ejiro nods, understandingly, putting the packet down. “That’s okay. We can eat it when you wake up.” He notices your hand on your stomach and frowns, “Does it hurt a lot?” You shake your head, and lie, “Nah, I’m good.” “Then why do you have your hand on your stomach?” You huff a laugh, “You got me there. I don’t have a heating pad, so I’m trying to sooth the cramps with the warmth of my hand.” “Is it working?” “Um…” “What if I put my hand?” before you say anything Ejiro places his hand just a little down of yours so half of his hand lay on yours and the other on your stomach. You were about to protest but his hand was just so much warmer than yours. You pull your hand away from his. The warmth of his palm slowly calmed the worst of your cramps. Your eyes close from the little bit of peace and you place your hand over his pushing down gently. “Ejiro, would it be okay if we stayed like this? Just so I can sleep. You can leave after that; it just feels so nice.” Ejiro didn’t even hesitate. He says, with a toothy grin, “Of course, anything to help my Baby Shark.” You scoot a little to the edge of the bed to make room for Ejiro to shift onto it. You relax for the first time that day when Ejiro and you were comfortable situated next to each other. With your eyes already closing you say, “Thank you, Ejiro.” He kisses the side of your head, being careful not to move his hand at all, “Goodnight, Pebble.” You fall into blissful sleep, so grateful for a caring boyfriend like Ejiro.

When morning came, you shift in your bed and were a little surprised to bump into something heavy. You looked up to find Ejiro still here. You wondered distantly if he had stayed deliberately or had just fallen asleep here. Either way, you were happy to wake up surrounded by his warmth and comfort.

[astaroth1357]

I don’t know if this’ll make the cut, but brothers with an MC wearing their (the brothers) clothes, and I’m talking full ensemble not just a random jacket or accessory (you can delete if you’re not comfortable of course)

So when left with the question of whether this was a full on clothing theft or a cosplay of some kind, I'm going with theft because that's just funnier to me. Just a little MC marching around in Beel's tent of an outfit… Hilarious. 🤭

MC Steals the Brothers’ Outfits

Lucifer 

It started out like any other morning, Lucifer woke up early in bed - as he always does - but when he rolled onto his side to stir the MC, he found their side of the bed empty… 

Normally, he’d have thrown up the alarm in an instant, but his mind was still groggy as he tried to recall what happened the night before… He could have sworn the MC slept over… unless…

MC: “Good morning, love.”

Their voice was enough to get him sitting up again and he uh… well he was not prepared for what he saw. The MC was sitting with their legs crossed at his desk, attempting to imitate his “I’m-in-Complete-Control-Here” energy as much as they possibly could, but with an added detail…

They were wearing his clothes. His favorite suit to be specific which was tailored to his much bigger frame, resulting in a frankly ridiculously ill-fitting look on their smaller human body...

MC: *picks up a poisoned apple off the desk, continuing their very best Lucifer-impression*  “You should get up, love. We have an early meeting today and we can’t keep Lord Diavolo waiting.”

The MC appeared to polish the apple with his sleeve for a moment before taking a bite, looking pleased with themselves before their eyes widened in complete horror. It only took a split second for them to spit the unchewed hunk of apple into a nearby waste basket and toss the apple away in panic.

MC: “Ah FUCK!! I forgot I can’t eat these!!! SHIT!!”

Their panic only grew as Lucifer could no longer hold in his laughter, the booming volume of which is enough to wake up all his brothers throughout the House.

MC: “Lucifer, don’t just sit there laughing!! Bring me some water or something!!! LUCIFER!!!”

Mammon

Look, Mammon always gets up late so not being able to find, like, any of his normal clothes was a serious problem! He’d already dug through half his closest and still couldn’t find anything!!

He had a photoshoot that he had to get to in less than hour and he still needed to take a shower, get dressed, get his stuff together, then bolt halfway across town before-

MC: *literally kicks open his door Kuzco-style* “Yo, yo, yo!! What’s up, Mammon??”

First off, the sudden loud bang of his door hitting the wall nearly scared him out of his skin, but before he could even yell at the MC for their weird entrance his brain had to process what they were wearing….

Good news! He found his missing clothes, the MC had thrown them on while he was sleeping - sunglasses and all - and now stood before him with a toothy grin on their face.

MC: “What's the problem, Mams? Lucifer got your tongu-EEEK!”

Apparently, they weren't expecting Mammon to literally lunge at them and capture them in a tight hug, practically lifting them off their feet with a laugh.

Mammon: “What'cha think your doin', MC?? I'm gonna need those back ya know?”

MC: *laughs loud and bright, throwing their arms around his neck* “I know, I know... But I wanted to surprise you!” *stops laughing suddenly and blinks* “Huh…”

Mammon watched the MC experimentally lift his glasses off their nose then put them back down, repeating the action several times before snickering.

Mammon: *frowns* “What's so funny?”

MC: “Nothing really but… Mammon, do you wear these just to make everything look like gold?”

Mammon actually had to pause before responding, pulling the MC closer with a devilish grin.

Mammon: “Nah… I ‘cause got all the gold I need right here~”

MC: *chuckles and nuzzles his cheek* “Nice save...”

Mammon: *his cheeks flush and he frowns* “I dunno what your talkin’ about... But could ya go put on a t-shirt or somethin’? They’re paying me big for this shoot and I really gotta go!”

Leviathan 

Another convention, another cosplay far too complex to ever hope to peel out of… Though Levi would never regret wearing his five piece Lord of Shadow cosplay, it’s a heavy thing and certainly not something he can change out of in a bathroom stall…

When he finally got back to the House, he wasn’t looking to do anything but drag his tired body back to his room and change into some more manageable clothes… but… well…

When Levi opened his door, he saw the MC sitting alone at his computer desk playing a game by themselves. That was all well and good but… WHY IN DIAVOLO’S BLACK HELL ARE THEY WEARING HIS CLOTHES???

When they heard the door, the MC whipped their head back and they both stared at each other in an awkward silence… His clothes didn’t even fit them right!-or maybe they did?? His mind was panicking because they had the collar of his shirt covering their mouth and it looked so moe it was actually ridiculous!

Levi: ……….

MC: ………….

MC: …. “I can explain.”

Levi: ……. “Y-yea?”

MC: “I was having trouble on this one level and you wouldn’t pick up the phone… so I thought ‘What would Levi do?’... and it escalated…”

Levi: “You think??”

Levi felt like he could die right there, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was from embarrassment or happiness… On the one hand, the MC was  literally trying to be him in order to get better at video games - which was flatteringly adorable… And on the other, the MC is pretty much cosplaying as him, right in front of him… and looked so damn cute doing it too… 

MC: “Is this weird…? This is weird. I’m sorry, I’ll go change-”

Levi: NO-agh! *he throws a hand over his own mouth, surprised by how loud he just shouted* … “U-uh… no it’s fine…”

MC: “Okay...?”

MC: “But could you put your phone down? I think you’ve been taking pictures for the past two minutes…”

Levi looked down at his hand and sure enough he unconsciously pulled out his phone in camera mode and has been spamming the “Capture” button long enough to have his thumb cramping...

Levi: “Oh.” *stops for a moment, then seems to second guess himself*

Levi: “Uh… just one more?”

Satan

When you share a house with Mammon, you grow accustomed to not being able to find things from time to time, but an entire outfit?? 

When he woke up one morning to find that he couldn't find any of his normal clothes, he blamed Mammon right off the bat… 

I guess in hindsight, what would Mammon want with his jacket? But anger doesn't always jump to the most rational conclusion, you know?

After searching for "long enough," Satan stormed out of his bedroom on a warpath. He didn't stop his march until he was banging on Mammon’s door with a closed fist!

Satan: “Mammon!! What did you do with my clothes you useless, money-grubbing asshole!?”

When he didn’t get a reply, likely because Mammon was hiding in his closet or something, he was about to kick the door in when he felt a tap on his shoulder...

When he turned his head, much to his surprise, he found his missing clothes!... They were on the MC - right down to the single sleeve - and the MC met his eyes with a mischievous grin…

They had a book in their hands he recalled seeing once at the library: "101 Ways to Prank Your Partner," open like they'd been reading down the hallway.

MC: … Page 47.

They winked at him before bolting back down the hallway in a fit of giggles and oooh, it was on now.

Satan spent the morning chasing the MC through the House, both laughing and dashing around in reckless abandon. He really needed his clothes back and he wouldn’t mind an extra hour or two with the MC when he got them… 😏

Asmodeus 

Asmo isn’t exactly a morning person… Though he forces himself awake so he can perform his wake-up routine, by the time he comes to the table it’s a hit-or-miss on how irritable he’s going to be...

Of course, his favorite outfit suddenly disappearing from his massive closet did not help his mood in the slightest!

Who would take his clothes?? Well, that’s not even a question - surely plenty of his devoted, adoring stans would kill to even have his scarf, so maybe the better question was, “How??” Lucifer keeps all the doors and windows magically sealed at night! (He would know, having been locked out on numerous occasions)

Asmo was tearing through his closet, wracking his brain for any place he might have left his beloved outfit, before he heard someone clear their throat by his bedroom door.

What greeted him was a lovely look at the MC wearing the missing clothing in question, even with all the grace and style he would himself!

Asmo: *jaw-drops* “MC???”

MC: *smirks at his delight and winks at him* “Looking for something?”

They strutted into the room with the confidence of a mock fashion model and took a silly vogue pose in front of the closet, barely holding in a fit of laughter from their actions.

MC: “… Or just at me?”

Asmo, of course, snatched them right up in his arms with a delighted squeal.

Asmo: “Oh. My. Diavolo!! MC, you look just gorgeous!!!- Because you look like me, of course.” 🤭

MC: *laughs and cups his cheeks to pull him closer* “Who wouldn't want to be you, Asmo?”

Asmo: “So true… But you’re already perfect, my love~” 😘

And he went on to prove that to them all morning long...

Beelzebub 

Beel didn't even get the chance to notice his clothes were missing. He had a tournament the night before and was sleeping even harder than Belphie that morning...

What woke him up was the smell of food: scrambled shadowhawk eggs, hellboar bacon, pancakes with nightshade syrup…. 

Beel's stomach had him sitting up long before his eyes ever opened, drawn in by his nose alone.

MC: “Beeeeel. Wake up!”

Beel's eyes dragged open at their request and what he found had his mouth watering... The MC had brought him a dining cart with a complete breakfast spread, brimming with portions only Beel could ever finish, but for once he wasn’t looking at the food.

The MC, for whatever reason, had decided to put on his clothes… And keep in mind that Beel's built like an ox compared to almost anybody. They were absolutely swimming under all that fabric (thank the Devil for his suspenders…) 

MC: “Congratulations!!!”

They throw their arms up excitedly, making the unzipped jacket balloon out like a parachute behind them… It's a remarkably cute image.

Beel: *blinks* “Oh.” *he gets a little pink, still very confused* “What did I do exactly…?”

MC: “You won the championship last night, remember? Or did you forget already??”

The MC takes a step to the side and begins pointing at the plates on the cart.

MC: “I thought we'd celebrate with some breakfast! I brought you eggs, bacon, pancakes, toast, cereal-”

As they continued their list, Beel's hand naturally reached out towards the cart eagerly, before something finally clicked in his head. WHY were they wearing his clothes??

Beel: “Wait. MC, why are you wearing-...?”

MC *holds their hand up* “Hold on!”

MC: “-oatmeal, muffins, banana bread, annnd…” *they get onto the bed and plop down onto his lap with a grin*

MC: “Me! Congratulations, Beel!!”

They lean up to peck his cheek while his arms automatically wind around their waist. The combination of their scents already bringing out a different sort of hunger in him…

Let’s say if this is his reward, he'll never lose a game again. 😏

Belphegor 

Belphie was in the middle of his afterschool nap in the library. The day was exhausting, so he didn’t even bother changing uniforms… The couches there were comfortable and the space was quiet, really nothing should have woken him up...

But somehow, for whatever reason, something did. A tug… Something was chasing away his dreams by tugging on the cow pillow in his arms.

MC: “Beeelllppphie….”

The tugging did not cease and he half growled in response, still keeping his eyes firmly closed.

Belphie: “What now...?”

MC: “I need this…” *they tug on the corner of the pillow a little harder* “Can you let go please…?”

What kind of question is that?? No one takes away his favorite pillow!

Belphie: *hugs the pillow tighter* “Go away, I'm trying to nap…”

MC: “Noooo please…! I need it for something right now…!!”

They started really pulling on his pillow now and he only held on tighter in annoyance. Since they wouldn’t leave him alone, he finally opened his eyes.

Belphie: “MC! Why are… you..?”

His voice trailed off as he finally saw the MC standing there in his usual outfit. His cardigan was so long over their arms that they had to grasp his pillow through its sleeves...

While his drowsy mind tried to catch up, the MC snatched the pillow from his grasp with one swift yank.

MC: *grins* “Mine now!”

They turned to bolt out of the library, but Belphie snatched them by the waist and dragged them back to the couch with him.

Belphie: “Fine, but then I get a new pillow.” 😏

The MC yelped as he flopped on top of them, pulling them close like a body pillow and resting his head into the crook of their neck to enjoy the soothing smell of their scent mixed with his.

MC: “W-wait Belphie…!” *tries to wiggle out from under his surprisingly heavy deadweight* “I was just playing around…! Please don't fall asleep on me!!”

Belphie: *yawns and settles in, already drifting off* “Too late… G'night, MC…”

MC: “Belphie!!!” 😫

They could complain all they liked, he wasn’t going to let them go for a few hours. Cute or not, MC, nobody takes his pillow!

[mypoisonedvine]

the martyrdom of st. valentine (and other romantic stories) || dark!Bucky & dark!(stepbrother?)Steve x reader

summary: you wanted to surprise your boyfriend on valentine's day, but he and your foster brother have a surprise of their own.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut (heavy dubcon to the point of pretty much noncon), kinda stepcest (as per summary, steve is the reader's foster brother), bondage, a lil touch of degradation

2/14 to-do list

get waxed

get Steve out of the apartment

pick up chocolate-covered strawberries from bakery on 6th

blindfold and handcuff myself to the bed

be waiting for Bucky naked when he gets here

You sighed as you looked down at the paper, crossing the first and third items off the list. The second was going to be a bit harder, unfortunately; your foster brother had a habit of hanging around and cramping your style as much as he could manage. He felt like a real brother in that way… okay, maybe he felt like a real brother in most ways, a consequence of knowing him for most of your life, but he was definitely not your real brother. You remembered that each time you caught yourself staring too long when he was shirtless, or returning from the gym all veiny and glistening with sweat.

But you also remembered that he was still the closest thing to a real brother you'd ever had, and you scolded yourself internally for ever acting differently.

It didn’t matter now— you had Bucky, and he was the most amazing guy you’d ever met.  No, Steve was definitely not happy that introducing his best friend to his sister led to a relationship forming, but he couldn’t stop either of you in spite of his efforts to keep you apart.

Bucky had once expressed his suspicions that it was at least in part due to jealousy, if subliminal.  But you denied it unilaterally— he’s basically my brother, you told him, though it was more of a reminder to yourself than anything.

Perverted concerns about Steve’s motivations aside, Bucky was a great guy.  A bit of a sweet-talker for sure, and not exactly known for his ability to keep a long-term, serious relationship, but he was adamant that you had changed that and for once you were beginning to believe him.  You’d said from the beginning that you didn’t need this to be the proverbial ‘it’ for either of you but that you didn’t do hook-ups— especially with your brother’s friends, and extra especially with your brother’s closest and longest friend.  It only took a brief speech and two shots to convince you, now six months later and you were still going strong.

Days like this made you so happy you’d given in to his advances.  But they also made you regret giving in to Steve’s idea to be roommates in college.

“Stevie!” you yelped as he walked in, stuffing the to-do list into your backpocket.  “Just the man I wanted to see.”

“I doubt that,” he scoffed.  “It’s Valentine’s Day, I bet you want to see Bucky.  He’s coming over, right?  And you want me to fuck off so my best friend can go to town on my sister?”

You frowned, crossing your arms.  “I wanted to see you because I have a gift for you.”

“... you do?”  His eyebrow raised and you hoped your smirk looked just as smug as it felt.

“So do you want your gift or do you want to be an asshole?”

“Do I have to pick just one?” he joked.

“Just come over here,” you instructed, waving him closer.  He seemed hesitant, but eventually did as you’d asked.  From your other back pocket you pulled out two tickets.

“Rangers, center ice,” you beamed.  “For you and a date.”

“And this isn’t just an excuse to get me out of the house?”

“No, it’s a thank you for being such a great brother.”

“So, if I wanted to take Bucky…” he trailed off, already calling your bluff as you rolled your eyes.

“Okay, that’s just sad.  There’s no reason you can’t find a girl to take— god knows Bucky hasn’t spent a Valentine’s Day alone since the fucking eighth grade.  And you’re just as cute as he is!”

“Well, if you could alert the rest of the female population to that, that would be great,” he scoffed, “but until then I’ll take the tickets,” he decided as he took them from your hand.  “A Rangers game might be the only thing distracting enough to keep me from thinking about what you and Buck are gonna do while I’m gone.”

You were hoping for a little more enthusiasm considering how much the tickets had cost you, but at least he was going to go and give you the apartment to yourself for the evening.  “You’re welcome, by the way.”

After stripping and sprinkling rose petals on the comforter, you'd actually found a YouTube tutorial on how to blindfold and handcuff oneself, and it was a little odd that enough people had this problem to merit its existence but it was still very helpful: turns out the secret is to blindfold yourself first but keep it folded up with one eye able to see until you do the handcuffs, then use your arm to slide the blindfold down into place.

It was tricky, and a little bit extra awkward while naked, but you figured it out and smiled proudly to yourself as you completed your last task on your to-do list.

Now, for likely the most difficult task of all: waiting in darkness and silence for Bucky to arrive.

Apparently it is, in fact, possible to be slightly bored yet titillated.  The thought of what Bucky would do to you when he got here was exciting, but it only made you crave his presence more which enhanced your quiet loneliness.  It wasn't like you could read a book or listen to music to kill the time, so you settled for humming to yourself as you waited.

Don't go changing, to try and please me, something something before, hmmm

I just want someone that I can talk to, I want you just the way you are...

But that grew tiresome quickly and you resorted instead to planning exacty how angry you would be if Bucky was late when you were waiting for him in such a compromising and inconvenient state.  For a moment you imagined he'd really gone to the Rangers game with Steve and became briefly livid over a hypothetical situation.

The crackling roar of Bucky's motorcycle outside was distant but undeniable, making you smile in anticipation.  You worried for a moment that you might have locked the top lock of the front door by instinct, but thankfully Bucky and to make it inside alright since next thing you knew, your bedroom door was opening.

The rattle of the doorknob made your breath catch; you opened your legs slowly in time with the quiet creak of the hinges.  “I’ve been waiting for you…” you purred.

“Hi there, babydoll,” Bucky’s voice answered back huskily.

The heavy steps of his boots made it clear he hadn't taken his shoes off at the door, a habit that had driven you crazy since he was your annoying brother's also-annoying best friend.  Was this the real reason he'd chained you up, so he could freely irritate you?  What next, was he gonna put a cold drink on your nightstand without a coaster?

"You really went all out for me, sweetheart," he noticed, his voice closer than you'd expected; it was fun to not know exactly where he would be, it made you squirm under the gaze you couldn't see but could somehow feel.

How weight joining yours on the bed was a good sign to his location though, along with his hands sliding up your legs.

“Look at this pretty pussy,” he cooed pridefully as he dove in suddenly and licked a thick stripe through your folds.

“Fuck,” you shivered, tugging on your handcuffs unintentionally.

“Feel good, babygirl?” he pressed, chuckling when you nodded.  “You want more?”

“Please,” you whimpered.

He didn’t get back to it right away, the weight on the bed shifting slightly, and it made you fear that he planned to make you beg more before eating you out— but finally his lips returned to you as his tongue explored your sex.

“Oh god,” you moaned, your back arching of its own volition.  It was a little different than he normally did this— less confident and measured, more cautious yet hungry.  Typically he teased you a lot more, knowing exactly the spots that drove you wild and intentionally leaving them understimulated until you begged him to let you come, but now as soon as he found them he was targeting them— perhaps a rare show of mercy from the guy who was normally happy to leave you on edge for hours.

You could feel his moans vibrating into you when he slid his tongue inside and against your channel; it instantly made your back arch as the handcuffs quietly clinked above your head.

He stopped just a little too soon, pulling your hips up until the back of your legs were resting on the front of his.  Being manhandled by him turned you on enough to make you bite your lip.

"Fuck, put your cock in me, wanna feel you," you moaned your plea as you heard the rustling of clothes; your mouth watered when you imagined Bucky stripping, with that insane body of his.

His thick head glided over your entrance and you were preparing to beg some more when he suddenly pushed in, giving you what you wanted so much faster than normal.  Not that you were complaining!

He was also much quieter than normal, which you were actually willing to complain about but didn't.

"Oh god," you groaned at the feeling of him stretching you open, gasping when his cock brushed right over your spot— it made your body jolt each time he pulled back and hit it again.

"Feels good, huh?" Bucky asked and you nodded happily.

"So good," you whimpered.

"I wasn't asking you."

Before you could question it, Bucky’s calloused fingers pulled up your blindfold— but it was Steve’s face above you, Steve’s body on top of yours… and, much to your horror, Steve’s cock inside you.

“What the fuck?!” you yelped, trying to squirm away as you tugged at the cuffs but failing completely.

“Fuck,” Steve winced, “you get really tight when you struggle like that.”

“Don’t act so surprised, babygirl,” Bucky cooed playfully as you turned to stare at his devilish grin.  “You wanted this… you just didn’t want to admit it to yourself.  And Stevie here always wanted this, too, and aren’t you so glad he told me?”

You shuddered as Steve continued thrusting, pushing his cock so deep it made you feel a little nauseous.  "Steve, you've gotta stop," you begged.   "If you love me, you'll stop."

"That's the thing: I love you too much to stop."

He moved faster, paying no mind to your confused whimpers, holding your hips tight as his head fell back slightly which brandished his thick neck and bobbing Adam's apple.

"There's no point in pretending," Bucky reminded you coldly, watching the whole thing with crossed arms and an expression that almost looked… bemused?  "You already showed us how much you love it, so don't waste your time acting so disgusted now."

You regretted more than anything saying that it felt good, literally asking him to fuck you before you really understood what you were asking for: you thought it was Bucky, yes, but that didn't mean it was an act.  It did feel good, and that must've been obvious to everyone since you were so wet already.  You could hear it each time he pushed all the way in, that telltale squelching noise that was somehow disgusting and hot all at once.

Steve wasn't so quiet now that he didn't have to be.  "God, you feel so good," he whispered, grabbing the backs of your knees and pushing your legs up.  It forced his cock even deeper and you choked on your own suppressed moan.

You heard Bucky opening his belt, and turned your head to see him pull out and stroke his cock while he watched Steve fuck you.  It was hard to imagine what he was getting out of this; he never seemed like the sharing type, if anything he sometimes became too possessive.  But clearly there was a lot about him and Steve that you didn't understand.

"Play with her tits," Bucky instructed, voice a bit deeper as he pleasured himself, "makes her come so fast."

Steve dropped your legs to rest on his shoulders so his hands were free to grope your chest, thick fingers twisting and tugging your nipples.  Annoyingly, Bucky knew his way around your body well by now, and so it was difficult to pretend that Steve's touches weren't sending shocks of pleasure right down your spine and to your core.

You had been biting on your lip so hard to stay quiet that you feared you would break the skin, until Bucky leaned down and gave you a little slap on the cheek— not very hard, but enough to make you gasp which in turn released the moan you'd been holding back.

"There it is, honey, don't be quiet for my benefit," Bucky encouraged.  "It's okay to like it, I'm not gonna be jealous."

As if that was your concern; angering your boyfriend by enjoying being fucked by your foster brother.  

"You really overestimate my interest in your— fuck— in your feelings," you panted as you glared up at Bucky where he was grinning down at you with a look that almost indicated pride.

"You're gonna come, aren't you?" he asked, ignoring your resistance entirely.  Whatever chance you had at pretending he was wrong was lost when, just for a moment, your eyes widened at his question.  "Yeah, thought so.  I can tell by that dumb look on your face.  I'm close too, babydoll, betcha wanna taste it…"

His free hand roughly held your jaw open as he stroked himself desperately, his weak groan coinciding with the moment you felt his hot seed spray into your open mouth, his taste familiar despite the entirely surreal circumstances.

It was purely coincidence that you came in that moment, your walls bearing down on Steve while you tried to stay silent so you wouldn't choke on Bucky's spend.

"Fuck, that's it, gonna fill this pretty mouth— god yes, you'd better swallow it all," he sighed as come painted your tongue and the inside of your cheek.  Maybe it was more than normal or maybe it was just that he was tightening his hand around the head of his cock to get every drop in your mouth, but either way it was enough to give you quite a mouthful to swallow, which you did without much question due to force of habit.

"M’close too," Steve warned as Bucky stepped back, "I'm gonna come."

“No, Steve, not inside,” you whimpered, hearing the way your voice had weakened after your orgasm, “you can’t…”

“I can,” he disagreed, “Bucky said so.”

Once again, Bucky's will was more important than your own, and your desperate pulling at the handcuffs was only another reminder of the way you'd guided yourself into his trap.

"Don't," you stammered one more time, but it was hard to focus when he was filling you exactly how you needed, when his thick hands gripping your waist felt just as perfect as you'd secretly imagined so many times… 

Denial is a powerful drug, but so is two orgasms in a row.

"Fuck!" you yelped as you felt a gush of warmth drip from your entrance, even further wetness spurring on Steve's fast and brutal thrusts into you.

"Knew you'd love it," Steve mumbled, growling slightly as he slammed into you.  "Knew you'd take it so well, make a pretty mess all over my cock— fuck I can't wait anymore, gotta fill you up, oh my god... gotta give you my load, honey, you want it?"

"Yes," you sobbed, "Steve, yes, come in me…"

He didn't need much more encouragement than that, groaning loudly as you felt his cock flex and pulse against your walls, his release overwhelmingly hot inside you.

You sighed in time with Steve as he finally stilled, and it was hard to know where to look when Steve and Bucky were both staring down at you.  “What happens now?” you found yourself asking, not so much a literal question about the next task but more about what the three of you were going to do with all the unfortunate truths that had come to light in less than half an hour.

“What happens now is I take my turn,” Bucky informed you sternly, pushing Steve aside.  “Did you really think I wasn’t gonna fuck my girlfriend on Valentine’s Day?”

[mintmatcha]

I want giggly cuddly sex with tadashi 🥺 where there’s no power dynamic just us two having a good time and wanting to make the other feel good :((

I combined these two little ditties into a fic!!! I hope you don’t mind!!!

CW: established relationship, praise, sex, fluff/smut. 

yamaguchi x reader 

(reader has a vagina- no pronouns or gendered language used)

first time

It's one of the pitfalls of a new relationship; everything the other person does is endearing. 

"I'm just saying, it's weird that the fourth movie is so good!" Yamaguchi digs his hand into the bowl on your lap, picking through the entire bowl to scrape at the popcorn kernels. He tosses the bits into his mouth and chews thoughtfully, cracking through each kernel loudly, before pausing to suck the excess salt off of his fingers. 

God, if anyone else did that, you'd probably be disgusted, or at the very least annoyed, but there's something about Yamaguchi that makes it unbearably endearing. Maybe it's the little shoulder dance he does every time he takes a bite. Maybe it's the way your heart skips a beat when his tongue swipes over his knuckle, catching a bit butter. "Name another series that has a good fourth movie. You can't. Scream 4 is one of a kind." 

He does it again, crunching through the kernels happily, tongue peeking out once again to wipe across his fingertips.

God, you wished he would lick you like that. 

"Tadashi, you're gonna break a tooth." you chide, even as you sink further into his lap. There was plenty of space on the couch, but you had somehow migrated to his lap sometime during the previous movie. The arm around your shoulder tightens, pulling you into a kiss on the cheek. It's greasy with butter residue, but somehow it still makes your heart flutter. 

Fuck. Only 3 months into the relationship and you were wrapped around his finger, watching movies that you didn’t have any interest in. Any little annoyance was forgotten as soon as he flashed you that freckled smile. Every little nuance you discovered made you fall deeper into .... like.

Not love. Like. You weren't ready to admit to the 'love' word quite yet, but it was getting closer. You had been 'in like' with Yamaguchi since shortly after he moved into the cubicle next to yours.  Maybe it had been the way he always remembered to grab you an extra sugar packet for your coffee, or the way he laughed at whatever podcast he was listening to that day, or the way he silently procrastinated at the end of the day so you could walk to bus together: whatever it was that won you over didn’t matter, what did matter was that Yamaguchi made you feel happier than anyone else.  It felt natural to be with him, to be held by him, to be ‘liked’ by him.

...Your only complaint was the pacing. One of the best and worst things about the two of you was that you were both polite, constantly dancing around unsaid boundaries, trying overly hard to respect each other, avoiding any situation that could possibly make the other one uncomfortable. Which meant your physical relationship was nothing more than the occasional kiss.

Honestly, you were beginning to think he didn't want to. His hands never wandered, his texts never turned dirty, and you certainly never initiated anything. It felt like there was never an opportunity to start anything; even now, sitting on his lap while wearing a sweatshirt he had left at your apartment weeks ago, it felt wrong to interrupt a wholesome moment.

Not that you didn't want to. God. You wanted to.

"You know,  I don't think anyone's ever worn my hoodie before." he comments, eyes never leaving the television. He’s enthralled with this stupid movie, even though he had seen it 'dozens of times.'

"Really? I’ve been wearing it as a shirt. " you grab at the fabric, "Do you want me to take it off? "

"Yeah, sure." he responds blankly, attention still glued to the movie. Then, he seemingly realizes what he said, face immediately erupting into a furious blush. He's quick to separate for you, almost spilling the entire bowl on the ground. You mirror him, unsure if you should laugh at his panic or cringe. "No! Do not take your shirt off! I do not want that!" 

"Tadashi. Calm down." You laugh, even as disappointment settles in the back of your throat. Does... does he really not want to see you undressed? Is this why you guys having had sex yet? Did he just see you as a friend? For his comfort and not your own, you inch farther away, back against the opposite arm as him. "It's fine, I get it."

"No, I-" he takes a moment to settle himself, "You look phenomenal with my hoodie on, I just, I don't want you to take your shirt off unless you want to, because it’s totally something I want. I think about it-" he pauses mid sentence, ears burning so red that his freckles seem to disappear, " I mean, if- I'm not like that- if you're not ready- that's not why I invited you over. I'm not expecting anything." 

He gives a nervous chuckle, widening the distance between the two of you more. You let his words sit, only the sound of the movie in the air. 

"So." you begin slowly. "You think about me without a shirt on?"

“I mean, of course.” He is acutely aware of the edge of the couch, his body teetering at the brink, but he bares it. "Can I tell you something? You can't laugh at me. Or think I'm a pervert." 

"I can't promise that. Are you, like.... sniffing my underwear or something?" you joke, a grin sneaking across your face.

He snorts and shakes his head almost violently. 

"Okay, no! Now the real thing doesn't sound as pervy." he adjusts only slightly, his shoulders unbunching themselves. Most of the tension in the air has melted away. That's what was so great about Yamaguchi; even when things turned awkward, they quickly returned to normal. "Do you remember that time Yakki split that water all over you?"

You roll your eyes at the memory. "Of course."

"And you had that little white blouse on?" he swallows, "My productivity at work dropped about 50% that day. It was so bad that the boss scolded me." 

"Yeah, because you were too busy worrying about me catching a cold!" you say, "You even gave me your jacket!" 

"No, I gave you my jacket because your shirt was see-through.” he admits, “My productivity dropped because all I could think about was how I wanted to take you and that little see-through shirt into the storage closet."  

Oh God. This is it. This is the opportunity. 

You lean forward with a tilt of your head, the gapping neck of the shirt falling forward past your collarbone. His eyes are glued to the neckline, tracing over the hint of skin, silently begging for more. You tuck your knees up under you and begin to crawl, only half convinced that this is sexy.  The closer you get, the more he can see down your shirt. His breath hitches slightly at the sight, but he doesn't dare to look away.

"Oh? What were you thinking about doing to me in that storage closet?" Yamaguchi lets his legs fall apart and, hesitantly, you place a hand between his knees, fingertips grazing the grey cotton of his sweatpants. The band of his bright red underwear peeks out from under his shirt and, without thinking, you trace over it with a pad of your finger. At the touch, he leans forward, lips tickling the shell of your ear as he speaks. Your heart is thrumming in your eardrum, so hard you can barely hear what he's saying. 

"First, I would have ripped that wet little shirt off, button by button." he chuckles, reaching to tuck a tendril of hair behind your ear. Your pussy clenches at the low rumble of his voice, so hard you feel like your stomach is cramping. "Then, I-"

A scream cuts through the room. The both of you jump forward into each other, knocking your skull against his jaw. Almost in unison, you both reel back: you clutching your ear, him clutching his lip.  The bowl spills across your laps, scattering popcorn all over the couch and floor as you both frantically search for the source of the noise. The dramatic music of the movie drums through you as some damsel in distress is running across the screen, screaming for help.

One beat. Two beats. 

Then, you laugh. It's one from the belly, that makes your gut ache from effort. You're trying to reach for Yamaguchi, make sure he's okay, but your eyes are watering, and your whole body shaking.  He's giggling too, still covering his lip. 

"The movie scared me!" you explain through tears. He nods in agreement, gesturing to the mess across his lap, including a huge butter stain across his crotch. It's not a funny moment, not when both of you are aching, but an intangible something has you both snorting and sobbing through giggles. The moment is way too long, way past the point of any humor, but Yamaguchi's snickering feeds into yours. 

Finally,  Yamaguchi manages to collect himself, scrunching his lips into a straight line. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards and you dissolve into giggles once again.

"I want to fuck you so bad right now." he breathes. His directness surprises you. "But not on top of the popcorn." 

You pull a deep breath, trying to center yourself. "We could move?"

"My roommate is going to kill me when he comes home to this mess." he says, but he stands anyway. You follow and his hand finds the small of your back, pulling you into him softly. He presses a kiss against your lips, warm and gentle, and then pulls back with a grimace. 

"I think you bruised me.” he touches his lower lip gingerly, as if testing it. 

“I’m sorry, we don’t-” he silences you with another kiss and now you can feel the swollen corner of his mouth, gritted slightly with salt. He clutches on to your top as he steps backwards, dragging you along with him so the kiss doesn’t break. Each step is rocky and unsure (you barely miss colliding into the wall) but you stay embraced, your hands clutching into his dark locks, partially to keep your balance as blindly follow. His hands trace up under your shirt, thumbs digging into the soft of your hips, pulling you flush against him, forcing you deeper and deeper into him until-

“Oh, shit.” he breaks away suddenly, pushing you back slightly. “I- my room- I need you to stay here.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“My room’s a mess, I really didn’t expect that you would- that we-” he shakes his head. “Gimme 30 seconds- please. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

You don’t object as he scuttles away, clicking the door firmly closed behind him. You can hear the muffled sounds of drawers slamming and objects being tossed about as you wait. It feels like you have been standing there, starting at the generic art hanging in the hall, for ages. It’s much longer than 30 seconds, but not quite the eternity it feels like.

The door creaks open and your favorite freckled face peeks out.  “Hi.” 

“Hi.” you repeat. Somehow, every amount of tension had returned in the scant amount of time you had been apart. Both of you knew what you wanted to do, but, the knowledge seemed heavy. It was an explored territory, sleeping with someone new. No matter what your past relationships were, each new experience with a new person (especially a new person you CARE about) brought its own pitfalls and challenges. It seems so serious, so scary, until you tear your eyes away from the floor and actually look your boyfriend in the eyes.

"Did you just brush your teeth?" you reach out and brush a little bit of white foam from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. He leans into your palm with a smile.

"I didn't want to taste like popcorn." he says and you can't help but laugh as he leads you into the room. It’s his brand of organized chaos; there’s clothes peeking out from the closet, miscellaneous knick knacks on the nightstand (including a still foamy toothbrush) and half hung posters across the walls. . You break away to sit on the bed, tracing over the pattern of the bedspread. 

“I like this.” you comment, “Very nice.” 

He nods, frozen in the doorway. Slowly, he reaches up to the lightswitch and flicks the light off. The darkness feels heavy with anticipation and worry as he pads around to the other side of the bed. He feels it too, you decide, as you watch his adam’s apple bob in the low light, this insane mixture of pressure and excitement.

For Yamaguchi, it’s the thoughts that usually plague his mind at night that grate away his confidence. The dreams of your skin between his fingers, your taste on his lips, are so close to reality, but he can't bring himself to make the first move. Even in the low light, he can see the curve of your waist, slowly contracting with every exhale. His own breathing matches your pace and, for some odd reason, that realization makes his chest burn with longing.

"I'm not expecting anything. If you don't want to." he reiterates as he lies down. How pathetic, he thinks. He really wasn't expecting anything, but, god, was he thinking about it. He'd been thinking about it since the first time he had seen you from across the If he could just reach out, just grab your collar and pull you to him, he could finally-

"Tadashi." his skin jumps at the sound of your voice and the sound of you shuffling, laying across the mattress. It's enough to knock him out of his thoughts and back into reality. He swallows back the tightness in his throat as he inches closer to you, his knees brushing against yours. He feels the gravity of the mattress shift as you shuffle closer and closer, until you're within inches of him.  You're almost face to face now, close enough that he can feel the way your breathing picks up as his hand finds your shoulder. You hum at the contact; he's warm. Even through the thick cotton, his skin is unusually hot against you. 

"You're like a little space heater." you whisper. Yamaguchi blinks, thinking, before his lips peel into a smile.

"Is that a good thing?" He doesn't wait for an answer.  He squeezes gently and you let him pull you forward, nose pressed against nose, hip against hip. His own shoulders shake with a silent laugh and you can't help but join him. It's something about the novelty of the situation, the joy in doing something new, breaking an unspoken boundary, that makes you laugh. You both dissolve into giggles, shifting closer and closer until you're laughing in each other's arms, fully pressed against each other. Even through your sweatpants you can feel the suggestion of his cock pressed against you, heavy against his thigh.

" ’Dashi." you whisper into the thin space between you. 

"I- Yeah?" he lets out a shaking breath. You take his hand and guide it to your chest, his fingers immediately cupping the flesh, massaging the flesh with a surprisingly steady touch. The way he sucks in air, fast, surprised, and hungry, sends heat pooling to your core.

"There's no popcorn here." you joke, "If you wanna fuck me." 

It's enough to break through his anxiety and he's against you again, this time with no laughter to keep your lips apart. His mouth finds yours, hungrily catching your lower lip between his teeth, tugging it ever so slowly. The sharpness makes you gasp and he uses the opportunity to kiss you deeper, tongue against yours. He tastes like his brand of toothpaste- soft and sweet mint. It's unexpectedly hungry, unexpectedly rough. 

The kiss doesn't break as he rolls over on to you, pressing your back into the down of his bed. His heart is already racing, battering against his ribs, as he continues tugging and teasing your breast, but he can't find it in himself to slow down. His free hand pushes up the hem of your shirt (his hoodie) to expose your chest. The kiss ends as he pulls away, forcing the short in-between your teeth, holding it up to give him free reign of your body. His head dips to join his hand, breath hot against your nipple. The cloth muffles your moan, but not enough to hide it from your lover.

He pauses, mouth open and tongue lulled out of his mouth, gazing up at you through his eyelashes. "Is this okay?" he's not touching you, but you can feel the low vibrations of his whisper against your skin.

"Yes, please." you whine through the sweatshirt, wrapping your hands into his hair. "Please, Please."

His tongue traces over your nipple delicately before he pulls back,  just far enough to watch it pebble under his touch.  He returns to work, clamping down and sucking, leaving the dull pain of a blossoming bruise behind. Your hips rut up into nothing, looking for any sort of friction.

He continues like this, leaving scattered marks across your skin as he worships you. Yamaguchi seems so content, just learning the scape of your body, but the building tension in your core is wearing thin.

Trailing touches down his body, you slipped your hands under the band of his sweatpants, gripping him through his boxers. Yamaguchi breaks, resting his forehead against your collar bone with a swallowed groan, as your fingers trace around the crown of his cock. Unwilling, he bucks into your light touch, dragging his length through your grasp. You tighten your fingers as he continues fucking himself against your palm, his own hands drifting to grasp your hips, pushing down your shorts just a fingers-length. Finger pads traced against the newly exposed skin, dipping lower and lower until tracing over the lace of your underwear.

"Wow." he breathes, lifting his head up to press a kiss against your chin. "Lift your hips for me, beautiful." 

You comply, letting him peel off your shorts and underwear in one pull. The cool night air made you shiver, but his warm hands soon returned to explore the newly exposed skin. 

"Oh, you're so..." his hand dips in between your legs, dragging a digit through your folds. The sound of your slick against his fingers makes his cock pulse in your grasp. He leaves his thought unfinished as he starts circling your clit with a steady touch. The pressure sends you keening, hips rolling into his touch eagerly, but he remains steady, patient.

He's building you up embarrassingly fast, leaving you sweaty and panting under his touch. Just as your legs start shaking, your body right on the brink, he withdraws. His tongue darts out to wipe away your fluids from his hand and he groans at the taste, eyes fluttering. 

"I'm sorry, beautiful. You can't  cum until I'm inside you." he whispers, sitting up to peel off his shirt. Clusters of freckles dapple his shoulders and it's all you can watch as he scrambles away to the nightstand drawer.  He returns a moment later, eager tearing through the tin foil packet with his teeth.

"Tadashi! Be careful!" you scold as you throw the blankets aside.

"It's not ripped!" he says, grabbing the bunched up shorts from the crook of your knee and tugging it completely off, dragging you a couple inches down the mattress with them. He tosses them aside as he pulls off his own; even though you just had your hand around it, the sight of his cock makes you anxious. It's thick, much thicker than you anticipated, and around leaking, a bead of precum catching at little light in the room.

As he begins rolling the condom on, you peel off your top and Yamaguchi's mouth falls open, eyes darting around the entirety of your body.

"Holy. You-" he sighs happily. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen." He surges forward, pressing you down into the mattress once again. His mouth is against yours, swallowing your whines. His hands are at the small of you back again. but now it's about but pure. He's forcefully angling your hips back and forth against his cock, dragging your clit against his spongy head and spreading your wetness against the plastic film. 

"I can't believe I get to fuck you." he says in between kisses. Yamaguchi continues to fuck your folds, his calm pace finally losing it's rhythm. "I can't believe I get to play with this perfect pussy. Can't wait to see you cum around my cock." With a trembling hand, he reaches down and presses his tip against your entrance, hesitating before sinking just the head inside you. The pop of his cockhead entering your cunt makes both of you gasp in unison- and another wave of giggles over takes the both of you.  As he dips down onto his elbows, eyes screwed shut, he doesn't make a move for a long moment, the only sound in the room is his steady breathing.

"I'm sorry, I'm just-." he presses a kiss against your neck, another laugh bubbling up, "You just- ah, you're so pretty. I can't believe this is real." 

Your hand catches his jaw, pulling his face up into yours. Your thumb traces over his cheek, tracing over the subtle dimpling of his pock marks. The freckles scattered across his cheeks, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes as he smiles- he's the beautiful one here. At your touch, he pushes further into you, steadily feeding your tight whole inch by inch, watching the way your mouth gapes and twists at the pressure. Once he's fully seated in you, he pauses, watching your chest move with each breath. 

"Dashi," you whine, hooking your ankles together around his waist, "You're so thick." 

"I know, you're doing such a good job." he presses a kiss against your forehead as he begins rolling his hips against you. Each thrust is rough, your hips angled up for him to sink his full length into you. "Keep being good for me, baby." 

With an unexpected strength, he tugs you closer, lifting your hips off the bed. Each stroke is steady, pumping his entire length in and out of you at a tantalizingly slow pace. His name falls out of your mouth like a prayer, begging for more, but he doesn’t oblige. It stays sinfully slow, building you up in a controlled burn. Each kiss, highlighted by the mingling of your hot breaths, is further raking the coals. 

“Is my pretty baby gonna cum for me? Look how great you’re taking me.” he groans.  He’s praising you blindly now, neither of you sure of exactly what he’s saying, all of his attention focused on grinding into you.

Your back arches further, and you’re seeing stars as he fucks you just right. You can barely keep your vision focused on him, those grey eyes clouded with concentration Your orgasm knocks the breath out of your lungs and you come undone with a strangled laugh, fisting the sheets desperately. The way you clench down around him makes his hips finally stutter, a hiss escaping his gritted teeth. Your chest is filled with a flurry of emotions as you sling your arms around his shoulders, unable to wipe away the goofy grin in your face. 

A few more snaps of his hips has him melting into you as he cums. He tucks his head under your jaw with a hum, dropping you on to the mattress. His hands find their way back to your chest, giving you a final squeeze.

"Fuck." he whispers into the soft of your neck as he withdraws. He's quick to peel off the condom and tie to off, discarding it off the side of the bed. Yamaguchi rolls onto his back, holding his arms open expectantly. "You're so hot when you laugh, you know that?" 

Curling into his arms, finding some sort of gross comfort in his sweaty warmth, you can't help but suppress another giggle.

"Hey, be careful. Keep laughing and we'll have to do that again." he grips your jaw, tilting your face towards him to capture you in a kiss. "Don't test me; I'll fuck you so hard you'll need a standing desk on Monday."

"Oh yeah?" you tease, your hand tracing down his chest, connecting his freckles. "Prove it."

"Oh, I will, come here-"

The distant sound of a door slamming catches your attention. "Yamaguchi, what the fuck?" a familiar voice echoes through the apartment. 

Yamaguchi shoots up, frantically searching for his pants in the sheets. "Fuck, I forgot about the popcorn!"

[one-sad-human]

•Savior• Axl Rose

Pairing: Axl Rose x Reader

Requested: Yes! By an anon

Theme: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Language, stalking

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: —

You stretch your back and put you arms over your head, groaning at the satisfying crack. It's been a long day at the diner, you had picked up extra time to afford rent. Your shift had just ended, thankfully.

It's midnight, so the place had been pretty quiet and boring aside from the occasional drunk wanting a coffee to sober up before heading home.

"See you tomorrow," you say, smiling and waving at your coworker.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive you home? My shift ends in an hour, you can just chill in the back," she asks, not wanting you to walk home alone. She had a car, and usually drove you home when you both left at the same time.

"No, thanks, I just want to get home as soon as possible. I really don't want to have to wait another hour," you say. The soft cozy bed in your apartment is calling your name, waiting another hour to get to it seems foolish. You walk out the front door, glancing around.

You didn't like walking home at night. Every shadow spooked you and you're a paranoid mess— but that's all, just paranoid. So when the hairs on the back of your neck stood up and you felt like someone was following you, you brushed it off.

It's late, there's just a chill in the air. And if there was someone behind you, it's probably just someone walking the same direction as you. You took a quick glance behind you anyway, catching a look at what appears to be a tall man in a dark coat with a hood.

You pick up your steps, round corners quickly to try to lose him. He persists, but stays pretty far away. When you spot a phone booth, you don't hesitate to step into it and close the door. You fish out a quarter and stick it into the slot with trembling hands.

You clutch the phone like a lifeline, pressing the numbers to Axl Rose, your best friend and fiercest protector. You know he won't hesitate to jump in his car and come and get you.

"Hello?" He asks, his normally deep voice sounded even deeper, maybe from sleep, but you didn't think too much of it.

"Axl! It's me, can you please pick me up? I'm outside of that 7-11 we always go to and there's this guy following me home and—"

"I'll be right there, stay in the phone booth, alright? Five minutes I'll be there," he says quickly. He picks up on how scared and desperate you are, and he knows you would've kept taking. You quickly hang up and watch as the man approaches.

He has a stagger to his step, but nonetheless, he quickly gains up on you. You do as Axl says and stay in the cramped phone booth.

"Hey, sweetheart, what're you doin' out so late? Huh?" He asks, his voice is slurred. "Not gonna answer?"

"Could you just leave me alone? I just called my boyfriend and he'll kick your ass when he gets here. So just leave me alone," your say, voice wavering unsteadily. He laughs, a hiccup interrupting.

"You don't sound too confident about that, honey. Why don't you come out before I make you." A sleek black car pulls up before he can continue, the fiery redhead jumping out and making his way to you.

"Step the fuck away before I kill you, you hear me?" Axl threatens, his voice dark and intimidating. You quickly run out of the phone booth, hiding behind Axl. He puts him arm out, holding you close to him. "I said 'do you hear me?'"

"I hear ya, I hear ya," the man says, putting his arms up in surrender. He smiles bitterly, like Axl is an inconvenience before slinking away to hide in the shadows of a nearby alleyway. Axl pulls you against him, your head resting against his chest.

"Are you ok? He didn't hurt you, right?" He asks, all malice previously lacing his words completely gone. You shake your head, too shook up to say words. "Come on."

Axl leads you to his car, shutting the door behind you before getting in the drivers seat. He watching your with inspecting eyes, making sure you're alright.

"I told you to call me when you work late, you know I don't mind driving you home." You sigh.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to be a bother."

"You're never a bother," he says sincerely and takes your hand in his. He squeezes it and rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

"Would you mind staying over tonight? I really don't want to be alone," you ask him. “He freaked me out.”

"I wasn't planning on leaving you alone."

The rest of the car ride is quiet, except from the quiet hum of the radio. Axl keeps your hand in his, acting as an anchor to keep you from spiraling into the thoughts of what could have been if Axl hadn't shown up.

Once he pulls into your driveway, he leads you inside your apartment. He walks to the closet where you keep your spare blankets, ready to spend the night on your couch like he always does when he stays over.

     "Can you stay in my bed tonight?" You ask, your face hot from embarrassment. He smiles.

     "Of course." You let out a sigh of relief and smile back. Truth be told, you always had a crush on your best friend. Honesty, you'd say it was farther from a crush— you're completely in love with him. Your heart skips a beat at the thought of sharing the bed with him.

     A couple minutes later and you find yourself cuddled up to him in your bed. Axl slept over countless times, once or twice ending up in your bed when you and him were too drunk to fix up the couch, but it was never as intimate as this.

     "Thank you for staying over, and saving me. I don't know what I would've done without you." You shudder, Axl must've felt it because he pulls you closer.

     "Don't think about it, and you don't have to thank me, either. I'd do anything for you, Y/N, really."

     "I really appreciate it," you say, biting your lip to conceal the huge grin from Axl being so open with you. He usually played the part of the cool— yet hotheaded— rockstar. He didn't often let himself be so soft and honest about his feelings.

     "I don't think you get what I'm trying to say," he says. You lace your brows together in confusion, lifting your head from his chest to look him in the eyes.

     "What do you mean?" He runs a hand over his face.

     "Fuck— I mean I love you! I love you, Y/N. Always have, ever since I met you and you almost decked me in the face for touching your ass," Axl says with a laugh thinking back to the first time you met at the same diner you worked at today. You smile at the memory.

     He had gotten handsy and flirty while you were taking his order and you were done with it. You had reeled back and almost got him, luckily he ducked last second. It's weird to think how two years later and you were laying in bed with him while he's pouring his heart out.

     "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" You ask, breathlessly.

     "I didn't want to lose you, I didn't know if you felt the same," he answers truthfully, vulnerability making his voice shake. "Do you feel the same?"

     You kiss him, your hand resting on his chest while his hand instinctively flys to your hair. You pull away a while later, your lips red and face flushed and hot to the touch.

     "Yeah, I love you, too." He doesn't hesitate to kiss you again, and again, and well into the night.

[artemisia--hq]

This prompt is from @kittensocute ‘kageyama and hinata are stuck on a ferris wheel ride’

(*ﾟ▽ﾟ)ﾉ

—————————————

When one thinks of amusement parks, games and rides, and generally a fun, happy time instantly comes into mind. This, however is decidedly not fun. This is a nightmare, a weaving of pure fear and terror, and Tobio swears if he ever manages to get out of here alive, he is so going to—

“Aaahh! Ahh! We’re gonna die! We’re gonna die!”

“Stop yelling, dumbass!” Tobio yells. He rubs his face with both of his palms when Hinata still wouldn’t stop screaming like a banshee. “Death is gonna be the least of your concern because I’m gonna kill you first if you don’t! Stop! Yelling!”

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” Hinata cries, “and you’re yelling, too!” He serves Tobio a stink eye, or as stinky as he can possibly muster with his ashen face and trembling lips. Tobio just returns the glare a hundred-fold, and that seems to do the job of shutting the idiot up as he looks away with an obnoxious huff.

But the sudden silence only gives way for Tobio to marinate in regret, recounting every action that had led to the disaster they’re currently in.

It was supposed to be a fun day in the amusement park, and it did start out that way. The first and last time Tobio had been to one was years ago, with Kazuyo-san and Miwa for his tenth birthday. It is one of his most treasured memories that is completely unrelated to volleyball, the only time he had fun without it.

But spending it with his friends (and yes, that includes that bastard Tsukishima, however mortifying that concept is), had been admittedly fun, too. They were all together during the first hour, playing games and getting into every ride they could. But he and Hinata had been pre-occupied with one-upping each other with a shooting game and before they knew it, their friends were out of sight.

It was Hinata’s idea to ride the ferris wheel to look for them. Now they’re stuck in a cramped, glass-covered carriage for fifteen minutes.

“This is why you don’t get to have any dumbass ideas, you dumbass,” Tobio grumbles out loud.

Hinata bristles. “Wh-what?!”

“This is all your fault in the first place.”

The other boy lets out a disbelieving gasp. “You’re the one who said, ‘oh yeah. Good idea,’” he says in mock imitation of Tobio, flattening his hair as he does so.

He’s not wrong, but Tobio can’t give Hinata the satisfaction of being right, either, so he clicks his tongue and looks away.

Silence once again engulfs them.

Tobio gazes through the glass of the carriage to take his mind off of certain things that’s been circling his consciousness like incessant, annoying flies, things that shouldn’t be given permission to reside in his thoughts.

Getting stuck a hundred feet above the ground is bad enough as it is—getting stuck with the worst possible person just makes it a hundred times worse.

Tobio risks a sideway glance out on the corner of his eyes. Hinata has his arms around himself, as if he’s purposely trying to take up as little space as possible. Which is a weird concept to wrap around—as small as Hinata is, his larger than life presence could more than fill up a room, with that beaming smile and loud, cheery voice.

But Hinata is none of that presently. He looks quite pale, wide eyes darting around for every creak and squeak of the ferris wheel carriage, small hands clenching and unclenching the sleeves of his sweater. The most frustrating thing of all: he wouldn’t stop chewing his lower lip, now looking red and swollen and just so ki—

Tobio has to give himself a few mental punches in the head to wrench his attention away from it and to clear his thoughts.

See, this is why he absolutely shouldn’t be alone with this orange-haired gremlin. He gives Tobio horrendous ideas.

“K-Kageyama?”

Tobio’s body temperature drops to subzero. Fuck, was he caught staring? Was he too obvious? He should run—wait, no, fuck, he’s trap, he’s done for—

“Wh-what?” He snaps, anger immediately acting as a reflex.

Hinata flinches, then he sighs, looking down on his feet. “Never mind.”

Something twinges in Tobio’s chest. God, why is he so…taken with this stupid idiot. “What is it?” he asks, cutting down his tone, just a little.

The other boy still has his eyes cast down, squirming. “Uhm…”

“Out with it, dumbass.”

Those round brown eyes squeezes tight as Hinata blurts out, “Canyouholdmyhands?”

Tobio sputters, “Wh-what?”

“Can you hold my hands, please!” Hinata yells, extending both of his hands like an offering.

Okay, either he has completely lost his mind, or Hinata has.

He goes for the more convenient option.

“Are you crazy? No!” He whips his hands behind him, for good measure. “Why would I?”

“Because I’m scared and my hands are cold!” Hinata grouches, and for a second, he has every intent to fight and demand for it, like he always does, but then he deflates and slumps on his side of the carriage. “I-It’s fine. That was weird, anyway. Sorry.” He then proceeds to hug himself again, shrinking within his sweater.

Hinata has never looked so tiny and vulnerable.

Tobio’s mouth starts to open when the carriage suddenly sways and groans on his hinges. Hinata screams and Tobio is already lunging forward even before his mind could even process things, and his hands grabs onto cold, clammy ones, fingers intertwining tightly.

“We’re gonna die! We’re gonna die, Kageyama!”

“Sh-shut up! That was just the wind!”

“I-I don’t want to die, Kageyama!” Hinata wails, tears pricking on the corners of his blown, shaky eyes. “I-I still have to be good in volleyball! I still have to beat you!”

Tobio has never seen Hinata this distressed before, or even this legitimately terrified. He’s always been a scaredy-cat, but never like this. Tobio shuffles closer, gripping their joined hands. “No one’s going to die, so stop screaming.” He gives another reassuring squeeze, and it might be instinct or reflex, but Hinata squeezes back. “I won’t let that happen.”

Hinata sniffs. He blinks his glossy, golden eyes at Tobio “R-really?”

Tobio nods. “Yeah.” He hears some commotion from below and he presses his face on the glass. “Look, they’re doing something about it now.” He turns to face Hinata again. He could go in for a smile, but he figures that would only scare Hinata more than comfort him. “We’ll be out of here in no time, so just…think about something else.”

Hinata shakes his head frantically. “I-I can’t. There’s nothing in here that can distract me!” Then his gaze lands on their entwined hands. “Except, maybe…this.”

“Yeah, well…if that helps,” Tobio murmurs as he stares at their hands, too, before stalwartly looking away. If Hinata finds comfort in that, Tobio, on the contrary, needs a distraction of his own away from it. He settles at looking over the glistening lake dotted with tiny boats shaped like swans and turtles at the distance, but all of his nerve endings seem to concentrate on the point of contact between the, feeling each ridge and bumps of those rough, calloused hands wrapping around his own. Yet, they’re also unbelievably soft, if that makes any sense. Hinata just seems to defy all rules of the universe, from his jumps to the feel of his hands.

They are a bit sweaty, though, which is kind of gross. But Hinata being gross is not an entirely alien concept to Tobio, so whatever.

“Your hands are really warm,” Hinata says suddenly in genuine awe, as if he doesn’t mean to say them out loud.

Tobio’s hands are not the only ones getting warm—he can feel the back of his neck and his ears prickle with heat. “And really big. And your fingers are super long.” Hinata adds.

Tobio is half a mind to withdraw his hand and pocket them into safety, if only to keep them away from scrutinizing large eyes and to save himself from spontaneously combusting. But it does seem to calm Hinata, so it’s a risk he just has to endure.

He faces the other boy—the whole distract himself thing isn’t really working, anyway. “Obviously, dumbass,” he jibes, “I’m bigger than you everywhere.”

Hinata just nods, then he’s silent for a moment, before whispering, “Is this weird for you?”

“What, that I’m bigger?”

“No, stupid,” Hinata says with a roll of his eyes. “I meant, this.” He gestures at their hand, lifting them and letting it drop in the space between their knees.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Tobio says, although he’s not really sure if he’s saying that to Hinata or himself. “You’re the one who asked for it.”

Hinata shrugs. “That’s different. I didn’t think you’d be up for it.” When Tobio doesn’t answer, Hinata sighs. “I-I mean, you normally do this kind of thing with…you know…” he trails, his pale cheeks quickly rising in color, eyes looking anywhere but at Tobio’s face.

“No, I don’t know,” Tobio says.

Amber eyes finally locking with blue ones, Hinata says in the softest voice, “You do this kind of thing with the person you like.”

“I do like you.”

It must be the work of altitude and oxygen and all the science-y stuff Tobio never paid any attention to in class because it’s the only logical explanation why his mouth decides to run off without his brain. He resists the urge to face palm himself hard enough to propel himself into the next dimension.

Hinata, understandably, stares at Tobio like he’s grown an extra head plus a tail. “You—like—what?!” he screeches, face and neck dousing in crimson red, and Tobio figures, he’s faring no better. “Y-you like me?!”

“I-I meant as a-a friend!” Tobio stammers, shouts, whatever. “As a friend and—and teammate! Dumbass!”

“I-I know that! I-It just surprised me!” Hinata shouts back, even as his face burns even deeper, redder than the sun settling behind the mountains.

Then he snickers, quickly turning into a full-on laugh.

“W-what? What’s funny?” Trying to sound demanding is hard when Tobio’s heart is lodged in his throat and with his entire body on fire.

Hinata snorts out a giggle, then he’s smiling at Tobio, radiant and flushed and—

Beautiful.

Here, trapped in a cramped, musty enclosed glass a hundred feet up in the air, Hinata—his rival, his partner, and if it isn’t obvious enough, the guy he’s been crushing on for months, looks achingly beautiful.

“Well, that makes me happy, because I like you, too!” Hinata exclaims.

Tobio has never really understood the expression ‘on cloud nine high,’ but he’s pretty sure this bursting feeling within his chest must be pretty damn close.

Then the beaming smile turns into a teasing smirk. “Even though you’re sometimes mean and violent and calls me dumbass more than my own name.”

And Tobio can’t help it, he smirks right back. “Dumbass.”

Their nonsensical argument of who likes who continues until the ferris wheel starts to turn and move again, continuing even after their feet touch the ground, as they zigzag their way among the crowd in search of their friends.

With Hinata’s hand still clutched over his.

—————————————

Thank you for indulging my request (begging) for a prompt! I have to apologize, though, this is not as good as I’d like to be, but it does help me ease out of my writing slump. I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless! ^o^

You can also read it on ao3 (with minor edits)

[teddy06writes]

To Talk To A Crush

Requested by this anon: “Dream x fem reader but make it school AU Pog? And Idk why but at least somewhere in there, can I please get sapnap with his backpack on his chest instead of his back just plowing into someone and knocking them over. Thanks!” 

{Oh my god my brain went haywire, I love this idea- the visual of of Sapnap fucking sprinting down a hallway and just jumping into a crowd of people- holy shit my guy you are on to something}

Dream x fem!reader

trigger warnings: some swearing, slight spoilers for the Great Gatsby?? other than that nothing

Premise: high school AU, a retelling of various events from meeting your friend group freshman year to now, the last time you saw your best friend before graduation

{Also the project scene was an excuse for me to relive that one time I taught myself the Charleston without realizing it}

“blep” speaking

‘blep’ singing/music

Italics = Dream’s memories/flashbacks/whatever you call that

bold = your memories/flashbacks/whatever you call that

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

“YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” 

Dream watched in horror as Sapnap went running down the hallway packed with people, his backpack still strapped across his chest and not his back, running straight toward a specific target.

George slapped his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh as Sapnap slammed into you, knocking the books from yours arms and sending you clattering to the ground. 

Wilbur laughed openly as Eret and Bad shoved him forward, “Go help her you idiot!” 

Oh, this that could not have been worse. 

He’d mentioned wanting to talk to his crush once and then along came Sapnap, ready to do just about anything to force his best friend into talking to you. 

Taking a deep breath he made his way forward, shoving Sapnap out of the way, “Are you okay? I’m sorry, my friends an idiot.”

You smiled, letting out a giggle, and his heart melted a bit as you took his hand.

~~

“YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” 

You barley had time to look up to see someone running at you from the juncture of hallways, a backpack on his chest as he slammed into you. 

Your things spilled everywhere, and you hit the ground, Niki’s gasp sounding loudly from somewhere behind you. 

Great, this was just great. 

All you wanted was to not be bothered in the hallways, to just blend in and not be asked if your brother really was really the greatest football player the school had seen, and yeah that wasn’t how you were being bothered now, but still this was not what you meant.

You looked up to see a group of people practically pushing a cute blonde boy down the hallway, “Are you okay? I’m sorry, my friend is an idiot.” 

You glanced over at the kid who had run into you, who was beaming proudly, allowing yourself to giggle as you took his hand. 

~~

You chuckled, taking a sip of your water, “Man that day was weird.” 

The causal reminiscing hadn’t been planned, nor were either of you providing full details, but Dream made good company, even on what seemed like it could be one of the last times you ever saw your bestfriend. 

“Yeah, I think Sapnap did a good job though,” Dream glanced over at you, “If there's any random person he could knock down and then drag into our friend group I’m glad it was you- you and Niki.” 

You looked at him for a minute, “Well I think Niki got dragged in first. I was just brought along to that one party.” 

Dream groaned, “Oh god that party was so cringe. Sapnap and George kept trying to shove me and my crush into talking. And the worst part is they were actually subtle about it!” 

“I didn’t realize that was possible.” You murmured, trying not to continue on looking at him. 

~~ “If you don’t go over there and talk to her I will literally lock you two in a closet.”

The party had been strange, cramped and awkward. 

The first high school party Dream had been too; it was some party that one of Wilbur’s older friends was hosting, and they were the only group of Freshmen there. 

That what he had thought at least, until Niki arrived, with you in tow. 

George had imideaitly tried to get Dream to talk to you, but he was still hesitant. 

It wasn’t until that threat that he finally made a move, quietly moving across the crowded room, to where you were standing with Eret, Niki and Wilbur, “Hey guys.” 

He barley noticed the way Niki shot you a glance, too drown out by Eret laughing, “Did George and Sapnap kick you out of there little group over there?” 

“Something like that.” He’d chuckled nervously, heart swelling when you smiled at him reassuringly. 

~~ “It looks like he wants to talk to you- he might like you! (y/n) if you don’t go talk to him I’ll get Eret to lock you two in a closet.” 

This party wasn’t somewhere you had originally wanted to be, but Niki had insisted that you go with her. 

It was your first high school party, one that Niki had only been invited too because Wilbur had been invited by one of his older friends, Phil. 

You were wary about talking to anyone, but Eret and Niki, the only people you really knew, but then Dream had wandered over. 

You elbowed Niki at her comment, glancing over at Dream, George and Sapnap just as Dream had turned to look at you. 

The next thing you knew he was sidling up to your group, “Hey guys.” 

Niki looked at you, eyebrows raised a little and a small grin on her face.

Eret had laughed, though more about your misfortuane than the comment he made, “Did George And Sapnap kick you out of there little group over there?” 

“Something like that.” He chuckled, and you couldn’t help but smile, already feeling a bit better about the party.

~~

“Wait- did they end up getting you to talk to her?” You asked, looking over at him. 

Dream groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face, “Uh- yeah. They- they did.”

“Who was it?” You asked, starting to laugh when he shook his head, “Come on dude your my bestfriend! You legally have to tell me!” 

“No!” He protested. 

“Why not?” 

He glared at you, “I am not telling you about some girl that I had a crush on freshman year!” 

You huffed, crossing your arms and faking a pout, “Well did you ask her to a dance or something?” 

“Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, sort of? I didn’t ask her, but we hung out some. It was that dance right before we got closer.” 

~~

‘oh oh! we’re halfway there! Oh living on a prayerr!’ 

Music blared through the gym, and Dream barley stifled a laugh as Sapnap kept trying to get George to dance with him, even as he screamed along to the lyrics. 

The entire friend group was clumped around the center of the gym, halfway mixed with the other people at the dance, though you were all certainly the most obnoxious people there. 

He looked over at you, dancing next to Niki near the edge of the group, looking amazing in the soft green dress you’d picked for the night. 

You looked over catching his eye and smiling. 

He grinned, and paused dancing long enough to point at his tie and then your dress, mouthing “We match”

You smiled, starting to look behind as the song change and both Sapnap and Quackity screamed, “It’s the cha cha fucking slide!!!”

~~

‘oh oh! we’re halfway there! oh living on a prayerr!’ 

The music throbbed through crowds of kids that filled the gym, seeming to make your head spin as Sapnap screamed to the lyrics, harrassing George while he was at it.

The kids you were now beginning to feel comfortable with enough to call them friends were all clumped in the center of the gym, dancing and singing along to the music loudly. 

You laughed, dancing along next to Niki, reveling in the way that your dress swished around your knees.

Niki bumped you, motioning to the side, and you turned, still smiling, to see Dream looking at you. 

He smiled back pointing to his green tie, and mouthing “we match”

Your smile grew, but your attention didn’t stay on him for long as the song changed and behind him someone, who you suspected with Quackity, screamed, “It’s the cha cha fucking slide!” 

~~

“oh- that was right before the group project right?” You asked, looking over at him. 

Dream chuckled, thankful you had dropped the crush thing, “Yeah, the group project from hell.” 

“It wasn’t hell! We killed that thing.” 

“You made me learn a dance to do when we presented it.” He said, looking at you critically. 

“And?” You grinned, “That was the literal only reason we got an A.” 

“And Karl recorded it and sent it to the group chat!” 

~~

“And the last set of partners will be Clay and (y/n)!” The teacher announced, “Everyone find your partners and get situated, I’ll be around with your topics shortly.” 

Dream sighed, grabbing his binder and pencil case before starting across the room toward you, sure he was glad to be spending extra time with you, but also the thought of having to be near you for so long scared him. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey yourself,” You smiled as he sat at the desk next to yours, “I’m glad I’m working with you and not someone I don’t know at all.” 

He nodded, “Me too.” 

Your teacher approached your desks, “And you’re decade is the 1920s, have fun!” 

Dream sighed, “I still don’t understand the point of a decade project.” 

“Well we’ve been reading books that are set in like, every decade from the 1860s to the 1970s, so it sort of makes sense,” You shrugged, opening your laptop, “Besides, the roaring 20s was epic.” 

“Gatsby dying wasn’t epic.” He grumbled. 

You chuckled, “Well I have an idea for extra stuff besides a bunch of slides of major events that we could do, and none of them involving being shot. You wanna come to mine on Saturday to work on it?”

He shrugged, and that's how a few days later he found himself in your basement after finishing most of the slides as you tried to convince him to learn some dance. 

“I’m not doing that!” 

“Yes you are! Our project is bland! This is how we get the grade!” 

He stared at you for a moment, “You seriously think we’re gonna fail if we don’t?” 

“Miss Mcall looked over the slides the other day. She didn’t seem impressed,” You nodded. 

Dream sighed, slowly getting up off the couch, setting his laptop aside, “Fine.” 

You grinned, “Yes!” 

~~

“And the last set of partners will be Clay and (y/n), find your partners and get situated, I’ll be around with your topics shortly.” Miss Mcall announced. 

You breathed a sigh of relief as Dream came over, sitting down, “Hey.” 

“Hey yourself. I’m glad I’m working with you and not someone I don’t know at all.” You smiled. 

He nodded, “Me too.” 

“And your decade is the 1920s!” You took the paper the teacher offered you, “Have fun!” 

“I still don’t understand the decade project.” 

You pulled out your laptop, looking to Dream, “Well we’ve been reading books that are set in like, every decade from the 1860s to the 1970s. Besides, the roaring 20s were epic.” 

His face seemed to squish, and you tried not to think of how cute he looked as he grumbled, “Well Gatsby dying wasn’t epic.” 

“Well I have an idea for some extra stuff besides a bunch of slides about major events, and none of them involve getting shot,” You chuckled, “You wanna come to mine on Saturday to work on it?” 

Dream shrugged, and that was how you found yourself in your basement a few days later, beginning him to learn the Charleston.

“I’m not doing that!” He insisted. 

“Yes you are!” You yelled, “Our project if bland! This is how we get the grade!” 

“You really think we’re gonna fail?” His stare bore into you for a moment. 

You sighed, “Miss Mcall looked over the slides the other day. She didn’t seem impressed.” 

Slowly Dream pushed the laptop to the side, standing up, “Fine.” 

You beamed, jumping up and down, “Yes!” 

~~

Dream still flushed at the thought of you trying to show him how to do the dance. 

“We did get an A.” He conceded. 

You spent the rest of the night reminiscing, until near 11 when the sudden weight of the fact that Dream would be leaving only a few days after graduation. 

“Dude- I just realized- your like leaving.” 

“Yeah, I know.” He chuckled. 

“But collage doesn’t start till the fall. And I know your not taking summer classes.” 

He smiled, “I’m just gonna drive, see where I end up. Have a summer of freedom before for more years of school and a shit ton of student debt.” 

“Man.” You mumbled, trying to comprehend what it would be like without him, “Why didn’t I think of that?” 

Dream sighed, the thought of leaving you for who knows how long eating away at him, “I dunno man.” 

~~ The next day was graduation, and you found yourself taking your place in the student section next to Niki, both of you laughing at how silly you looked in your caps and gowns before the ceremony began. 

Your graduating class wasn’t huge, maybe a hundred people or so, so it didn’t take you long to have your name called, and you headed up to the stage to collect your diploma. 

You looked out over the crowd, meeting Dream’s eyes with a smile, he was grinning, clapping loudly as both Sapnap and George seemed to make fun of him.

Dream didn’t care that his bestfriends were berating him from either side, he still looked up at you, looking as beautiful as ever, trying to commit the moment to memory as you smiled back. 

And then the moment was over and you were heading off the stage to sit back down. 

Sometime later you found yourself moving around out on the school’s lawn, taking pictures with various friends and your parents, when you heard someone call your name. 

“(y/n)!” 

You turned, grinning, “Clay!” 

He practically tackled you in a hug, “We made it baby!” 

You could hear your mom taking a picture, as you laughed, “That we did!” 

~~ It was later, that night, you were sitting in your room, trying to take in the events of the day, and the fact that your bestfriend and crush was leaving the next day when your mom called up to your room, “(y/n)! Clay’s here!” 

You rushed down the stairs, not wanting to waste any of the time that you would have to say goodbye. 

Dream was standing in the doorway, his face full of anxiety as he saw you, but he swallowed the feeling, quickly wrapping his arms around you and pressing his lips to yours. 

You froze, hesitating barley a moment before kissing back, looking at him in confusion as he pulled away, you quickly blurted, “I don’t want you to leave.” 

“I don’t want to go where your not.” He said quickly. 

He pulled you into another hug, “Come with me. I- It’s you. Your the girl I like.” 

You chuckled into his neck, “Your the boy I like.” 

He pulled back, looking you in the eyes, repeating, “Come with me?” 

You grinned, “Of course.” 

[andypantsx3]

war paint | 6 | blade

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

length: 27,765 words / 10 chapters

summary: Desperate times force you to disguise yourself and join the kingsguard. When a suspicious string of crimes strike the palace, however, Captain Katsuki Bakugou starts paying extra close attention. (spin off of in cinders)

tags: mulan AU, secret identity, romance, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, some violence, eventual smut

The bath house might have been the strangest moment of your life, but it proved only the beginning of Bakugou’s unusual behavior.

The captain seemed to be everywhere you turned in the days after. In the mess hall, you’d catch him staring at you from his table of officers, an unreadable look on his face. On the training pitch, he seemed to almost ignore your mistakes -- or at least, he didn’t appear as eager to rap you across the knuckles with the flat of his sword any time you were full seconds off a strike. He never reprimanded you, or revealed in any way that he’d caught you out after hours.

He was so confusing.

You’d thought more on his comments in the bath, about the prince and his valet. He had at least answered one of your long standing questions about why he - a marquis - would have joined the kingsguard instead of lounging around in Musutafu, slowly filling his manor full of heirs like the rest of the nobility. It was clear he was so viciously protective of the prince, and of Midoriya, though he seemed loath to admit it. You guessed that he couldn’t well knife anyone who “fucked with them” as he’d put it, from the comfort of a country estate.

This humanizing connection had you more confused than ever, and in combination with his weird behavior over the past few days, you were beginning to think he was waging some kind of psychological campaign on you. His lingering, thoughtful gazes were reaching off-putting levels of obviousness, and the way he corrected you in drills -- while still colorful with swears and insults -- was almost downright friendly for him.

You wondered what was wrong with him.

“He’s gonna murder you,” Kaminari offered unhelpfully, when you asked his opinion. “It’s like a final act of kindness. The prisoner’s last meal.”

Sero poked him with the stem of the herbs you’d been trying to grind into a staunching salve. “It’s not that. When have you ever known Bakugou to be kind?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Kaminari defended himself. “Why else would he be less mean to L/N than if he was gonna kill him?”

Sero rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I guess you have a point.”

You looked at him in alarm. “I don’t want to die,” you hissed. “I was just taking a bath.”

Kaminari smirked, piling up his own herbs in a towering heap, spilling out of the bowl of his mortar. “Not so great now, are they?”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your pestle and stabbing it into the mortar with feeling. “You can’t hate being clean that much.”

He didn’t respond.

You looked back up at him only to find him frozen, eyes fixated on something behind your back. He looked white as a sheet, and sat stiff and unblinking, as though locked in rigor mortis. A tall shadow fell over your workstation.

“Lotta yapping over here,” a rough voice said, and you looked up, up into a pair of red eyes. Your body locked up.

“Uh,” you said stupidly, feeling as blank as Kaminari, “The pestle leaves my mouth free.”

Sero let out an inhuman noise next to you, and the corner of Bakugou’s mouth twitched.

“Thought you did all your talking outta your ass,” he said, eyeing you closely.

Your face reddened. “Captain! I--That’s not--!”

“Calm down, shrimp,” he smirked. “You’re excused from medical training today. You’re coming with me.”

You stared up at him in shock. Was he taking you somewhere to kill you? Why not do it in front of the entire garrison? That seemed more his style, leaving your body to send a message to anyone else who dared commit the unforgivable sin of bathing after hours. What was he trying to do?

“Captain?” you asked nervously, fingers tightening on your pestle. Kaminari and Sero just stared, slack-jawed and open-mouthed like neanderthals.

“Now, soldier,” Bakugou said, insensitive to your plight. “Ten pushups for every second you make me wait.”

You shot to your feet. “Yes, sir.”

He turned on his heel, stomping back across the training field. The sun winked across his broad shoulders, falling in streaks over the blood red of his captain’s uniform.

“We’ll honor your memory,” Kaminari said sadly as you made to follow. Sero elbowed him, but it didn’t change your nervousness.

You thought quickly as you followed Bakugou across the field. If you weren’t being murdered, were you being discharged for your actions? Why now, why not days ago when it had happened?

Bakugou led you across the castle grounds, to a small building set in the shadow of the palace.

“In,” he grunted, opening the door. You eyed him apprehensively but ducked under his arm, stepping into a dim room. Racks of weapons lined the walls - heavy looking crossbows were pinned to the rafters, quivers of arrows lay in piles on the floor, and all manner of swords and maces lay racked in every corner. A tall man with a hawkish nose and dark eyes sat at a worktable in a cramped corner of the room, fletching a pile of arrows.

“Tokoyami,” Bakugou greeted him, following you into the room. You halted, but he prodded you forward with an impatient hand. “This is the little runt I was talking about. Think I got the size right?”

Tokoyami considered you, rising from his worktable. He took your wrist gently, placing his other hand under your elbow to pull your arm out, holding it perpendicular to your body. “He looks as described. I think it will work.”

Your heart picked up in your chest. What would work? What was he doing with your arm? Why was he holding it out? Was he going to cut it off?

You took a step back, running up against a hard chest. Bakugou let out a breath behind you, putting a steadying hand on your shoulder. It was almost unnaturally warm, burning through the layers of your uniform like the sun on a summer afternoon.

“Relax, princess,” he rumbled quietly in your ear as Tokoyami dropped your wrist, turning back to his worktable. He rummaged around in a pile of weapons behind it, the metal of swords clanking lightly as he shifted them.

You fidgeted uncomfortably under Bakugou’s hand, trying not to focus on the heat of him just behind you, the scent of smoke and something sugary that clung to him like dew on morning grass.

Tokoyami eventually emerged with a thin scabbard, holding it out to you. “Here.”

You looked at him curiously, but Bakugou gave you another impatient push. “Take the damn sword, shrimp. We don’t have all day.”

You took it from Tokoyami carefully, holding it out gingerly. “Captain, what is this?”

Bakugou scoffed from behind you, and you turned around to look at him.

“The standard issue blade’s too big for you. It’s why you’re so shitty at drills,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms over his chest. His uniform groaned in protest over his biceps, and you forced your eyes back up to his face.

“What?” you asked stupidly.

Bakugou smirked. “You’re not putting on the same muscle as those other fucks. I saw it in the baths. You needed a different blade - a little smaller and much lighter.”

You stared at him in shock. Is that why he had come into the water to harass you? He’d been looking you over? What else had he noticed about your appearance? Surely not much more or you wouldn’t be here…

“Please open it,” Tokoyami said quietly from your side. “Make sure it is to your liking.”

You followed his direction, pulling the hard leather from the blade. The crisp metal caught the glint of the afternoon sun, falling through the room’s single window. You noted immediately that it was perhaps an inch shorter than your own current blade, and about a fingertip less wide, with a smaller grip much closer to the size of your own hand.

The most dramatic difference, however, was its weight. It felt barely half as heavy, lightweight and almost airy in your hand after the weight of your own blade.

Tokoyami reached out and tapped the sword where a large groove ran through its center. “I had it fullered, much deeper than the standard issue blade to relieve some of the weight. I took enough length and width off to lighten the load but not give you a disadvantage in a fight, and reduced the grip size to keep the balance,” he paused, lip curling, “and because the captain said you had hands like a child.”

You whirled around to glare at Bakugou. He leaned against a sword rack, smirking, a thin blonde eyebrow raised as if daring you to disagree.

“You’ll need to practice with it,” Tokoyami continued, unaffected, “it will take some getting used to after the standard blade.”

You turned back to him. “Thank you. This is - wonderful.”

He seemed to smile, pleased. “It was the captain’s order. I only made it.”

You looked back at Bakugou. “Captain, I--”

“Save it,” he waved a hand, leaning back out of his slouch. “Tokoyami, thanks. We’ve got training to get to.”

He pushed the door open and stepped back out into the afternoon sun. “Move it, shrimp.”

You bowed to Tokoyami and scrambled after him. Bakugou led you back through the palace grounds to a small, out of the way training field you had never seen before. In the late afternoon sun, his hair shone like pale golden wheat, ruffling lightly in the breeze.

He stopped in the center of the field, unsheathing his own sword. “C’mon, princess. Let’s break in that new blade of yours.”

Your gut churned with nerves, but you nodded. You unclipped the sword belt containing the standard issue blade and kicked it to the side, drawing your new sword. Again, its lightweight build shocked you and your arm overshot the draw slightly, whipping the sword out a little farther than you intended.

“You’re going to have to put more force into your swings to accommodate for the missing weight,” he said. “It’s easier to move but you won’t be striking as hard when you do.”

You nodded, fingers tightening on the sword’s grip.

Bakugou smirked, eyes darting down to your hand. And then, before you could blink, he was on you.

You got your sword up just in time, barely saved by the fact that it was lighter than you were used to. The force of his strike rang up your whole arm and you gritted your teeth as he followed through, pushing you off balance.

You took a step back, ducking under his wide swing and darting your sword at his side. With almost inhuman grace, he twisted, leaning to the side and bringing his blade down to knock yours aside.

You followed the movement of your sword, letting it carry you outside his immediate reach.

“Good, princess,” he bit out, the corner of his mouth curling. “You’re faster.”

You stared at him. You felt faster, but you still couldn’t touch him.

“Again,” he commanded imperiously.

You thrust another strike at his chest. Again he caught it, knocking your blade aside. As he did, you noted that the force of it was easier to control than usual, and you were much faster in regaining command and bringing it back up to cut at him again.

“So you have been learning something,” he said, letting a savage grin touch his mouth. “You’re less useless than I’d have guessed, shrimp.”

It was hardly a compliment at all, but from him it felt like high praise. Something warm like satisfaction curled in your chest.

“Focus on bringing it down harder,” he said, stepping back into your space. The dirt of the field crunched under his boot. “You’re still not accommodating for less weight behind your blows. It’s easy for anyone to throw you off.”

You threw another blow at him, putting all your own weight behind it. He caught it, but was a fraction of a second slower in pushing you back off.

“Good,” he murmured again, red eyes tracking you as you stepped back out of his reach.

He threw another strike at you and met it with a heavy swing. He stepped through the recoil, and thrust again. Again you caught him in time and used his own momentum to swipe his strike aside. He grinned savagely.

After that, your focus narrowed entirely to strikes and thrusts, parries and blows. Your whole world became the swing of your arm, the glint of sun on bright metal, the soft dirt under your feet as you wove and ducked and swiped. Only gradually did you become aware of your heavy breathing and a slight fatigue in your arms. When you next noted your surroundings, the sun was no longer in its place in the sky, leaning close to the earth to kiss the horizon.

Bakugou used your distraction to kick your legs out from under you.

“That’s enough for today, shrimp,” he finally said, and you noted with some pride that he was breathing a little heavily as well. “I went easy on you, but you’re good. Better than I would have expected.”

You got to your feet, sheathing your sword. “This whole time,” you panted out between breaths, “I didn’t think - I, I’ve just been terrible.”

Bakugou tucked away his own blade. “You were. Now you’re not.”

You realized with a start that not only had he commissioned you a blade, but he’d set aside an entire afternoon to train you with it. Something like embarrassment, and gratefulness, washed over you in a hot wave.

“Thank you,” you blurted, grabbing the hem of your uniform for something to do with your hands. The tips of your ears felt hot.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, then scoffed. “Shoulda caught it sooner,” he said, dismissively. “Knew you weren’t stupid with the way you picked up the medical shit.”

You looked at him in question.

“I thought you’d build up enough muscle,” he said, looking you over. “I didn’t take into account...other factors.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. “My...age?”

His crimson gaze caught yours, holding for a moment before he looked away. “Something like that.”

You stared at him but he didn’t elaborate, padding over to pick up your sword belt and previous blade from the ground. He held them out in a large, calloused hand. “Bring this back to Tokoyami. Then you’re dismissed.”

You took them from him, nodding. “Thank you again, Captain. I....appreciate it.”

A smirk overtook his handsome face. “Don’t embarrass me again at drills.”

A flush overtook your face so quickly it felt like you were scalded by your own skin. “I won’t, sir.”

He considered you a moment, then turned on his heel and set off across the field, waving a hand dismissively. “Get to the armory, princess,” he called over a broad shoulder, “I want you back in your bunk by sundown. No more late night escapades.”

You watched him go, something like a smile touching your mouth. A foreign feeling washed over you and you stopped to think on it for a moment.

For the first time in months, you felt like you were in the right place.

[honey-dewey]

Dye Day Disasters

Pairing: Shane ‘Dio’ Morrissey/Reader

Word Count: 2,377

Warnings: None!

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Dio dyes his hair black every three weeks, and he does so in his bathroom. He has it all down to a science, so he should have no problem helping you dye your hair a fun color, right? Let’s just hope this afternoon project doesn’t turn into a colorful hair fail. 

“I’m going out!”

You looked up, seeing Dio by the door, stepping into his boots. “Where to?”

Dio shrugged. “Drug store. It’s dye day.”

Almost immediately, you were up and by his side. “I’m coming.”

“You aren’t dressed,” Dio pointed out. “And why?”

“I wanna dye my hair too,” you said. “Wait here, I’ll be ready in ten.”

True to your word, you were ready in ten minutes. Dio rolled his eyes, but put his arm over your shoulders as you two walked down the street to the drug store on the corner. The summer sun was warm on your skin as you walked, and you had no idea how the hell Dio wasn’t dying in his leather coat.

“Alright,” Dio said once you were in front of the dyes in the drug store. “What color do you want?” As he spoke, he reached over you and grabbed a bottle of black dye for himself.

You shrugged, looking over the dyes. “I dunno. Will I need bleach?”

“Probably. I’ve got some at home, but grab another one just in case.”

You grabbed a bottle of bleach and continued to consider your colors. “What about this?” You pointed to a bottle of hair dye that was the color of maraschino cherries called ‘Poison’. “Danger Days red!”

Dio snorted. “Mhm. Okay Gerard. If you want our bathroom to look like a crime scene, go right ahead.”

You laughed, continuing down the line. “Beetlejuice green?”

“Yeah,” Dio said. “It’d look good on you.”

Humming, you kept looking. “I’ve made up my mind,” you announced, grabbing the ‘Iris green’ and the ‘Virgin pink’ dyes. “We can half-and-half it!”

Dio smiled. “You’ll look like a watermelon.”

“And you’ll look like a bottle of ink again when we’re done,” you pointed out, walking happily to the counter.

When you got back to the apartment, Dio popped over your windows while you dragged your office chair into the kitchen. Spinning it eagerly, you lined up the various dyes on the kitchen counter and called Dio in.

“What the fuck is this?” He asked, seeing you emptying the sink.

“Bathroom gets cramped when it’s the both of us,” you reminded him. “Plus, this chair is infinitely better than bending over the sink.” To demonstrate, you sat in the chair and tipped all the way back, fumbling with the lever on the bottom that would lock it in place. “See?”

Dio sighed, looking over the dyes. “Fine. Drag the chair back over here. I’m bleaching your hair first.”

Rolling back towards Dio, you smiled watching him take his jacket off. “Comfy?” He asked, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“Yep!”

Dio popped open the bleach and expertly mixed it in a dye bowl. He set the bowl on the counter and looked at you. “Do you like that shirt?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’ll ruin it,” Dio said. “Put this on.” He handed you an oversized Panic! at the Disco shirt with bleach and dye stains around the collar. You stripped out of your shirt and put Dio’s on, sitting back down and letting Dio put a towel across your shoulders.

“Ready?” Dio asked.

You nodded. “Do it.”

Dio smiled at your enthusiasm and slowly began to section your hair, using a surprising amount of hair clips. You relaxed into the chair, knowing you’d probably be here for a while. Scrolling aimlessly through your phone, you eventually found a playlist you’d made for Dio some time back. It was entirely the small sliver where his taste in music overlapped with yours. As soon as you hit play, Twenty One Pilots began to play, and Dio chuckled from behind you.

“Why don’t you bleach your hair?” You asked as Dio began to brush the bleach onto your hair.

“I’m going from brown to black. I don’t need to bleach it,” Dio said. “If you were going to black, we wouldn’t be bleaching your hair either.”

You had to stop yourself from nodding. “Okay. Why do you dye your hair?”

Dio paused. “You’re just full of questions today, aren’t you?”

“I’m curious, you emo fuck.”

That drew a laugh out of Dio. “Yeah yeah. I dye my hair because I like having black hair,” he said. “I tried vibrant colors years ago, but I liked having black hair the most.”

You thought about it for a minute. “Wait. If today is dye day, does that mean if we shaved your head, it would be completely brown?”

Dio stopped what he was doing and turned the chair around so you were face to face with him, his hands on the armrests trapping you in place. “Do not,” he said slowly. “We are not shaving my head.”

You nodded, eyes wide. “Okay mr. I’m in charge here. Not shaving your head. Got it.”

Satisfied, Dio turned you back around and continued to mess with your hair. You, still somewhat scared, sat very still as he worked, until he was wrapping your head in plastic wrap and pulling the towel from your shoulders. “Alright. Half an hour, but we’ll check it at twenty minutes.” And then he was gone, headed into the bathroom. You followed, regaining some of the confidence Dio had intimidated out of you.

“What are you doing?” You asked, seeing Dio take his shirt off. “I thought we were doing this in the kitchen.”

“We are,” Dio said, opening the bathroom cabinet and rummaging through it. “I’d just rather not get hair everywhere in the kitchen.” He resurfaced with a pair of scissors. “Have you never seen me do this before?”

You shook your head. “You cut your own hair?”

Dio nodded, ruffling his hair and examining himself in the mirror. “Yeah. I could do yours too, if you want.”

“Yeah no, I’ll leave that to the professionals,” you said, sitting on the edge of the bathroom counter and kicking your legs.

“I am a professional.”

You snorted. “Box dyeing and trimming your own hair doesn’t make you a professional, Dio.”

Dio shrugged one shoulder. “My sister, the oldest one, went to cosmetology school. I was her guinea pig. Eventually, I managed to graduate to the rank of her student. She taught me everything I know about all of this.”

“Huh.” You hadn’t even considered that. “Is she the one who visited last month and told you that you look like an oil spill?”

“Yeah, she is.”

You nodded. “I liked her.”

Dio finished his hair quickly, put a shirt back on, and herded you back into the kitchen to check the bleach. “Eh. We’ll wait the extra ten,” he said. “This stuff is powerful, so you’ll only need one round of bleach.”

The extra ten minutes were wasted with food. Dio sat on the counter while you spun lazily in the chair, humming to yourself and eating. When the timer went off, Dio hopped up and turned the sink on while you readjusted the chair.

“The water won’t be warm,” Dio warned you, but you just shrugged, rolling towards the sink.

Despite the warning, you flinched when the cool water hit your head, and Dio sighed. “Told you.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he returned the favor, giving you a flash of his tongue piercing in the process.

Somehow, you managed to relax into the water after a minute. It probably helped that Dio was slowly massaging your head, turning your body into jelly as he worked shampoo through your hair. When he was done, he wrapped your head in a towel and helped you sit up, looking you over for bleach burns. You had none, so he kissed the back of your neck and grabbed your hair dryer.

“Aren’t we gonna dye your hair?” You asked as he unwrapped the towel on your head.

“Yeah. When I finish yours,” he said, turning the hair dryer on and killing any protests you had.

Dio nearly put you to sleep with the hair dryer. It was warm, and he was running his free hand through your hair, and you were just about to fall asleep when he turned the dryer off and poked your shoulders. “Time to dye,” he said in a sinister voice, and you laughed.

“Dork.”

“Sap,” he said in return, mixing the dyes in two separate bowls. “Now’s the time to say something if you want me to cut your hair.”

You shook your head. “Just the color this time.”

Dio nodded, picking up his hair clips and putting them on the edge of his sleeve. He slowly and methodically sectioned your hair in half, clipping down the left side and leaving the right side loose. He turned away, and you heard the harsh snap of rubber gloves. The towel was around your shoulders once more, and then Dio was painting electric pink dye into your hair. He started near the back, so you couldn’t see a single thing he was doing. But you trusted him, so you let him continue, occasionally turning the chair when he asked so he could have better access to your head.

When the pink was done, the green was next. Dio unclipped the left section of hair, humming along to the unbearably adorable Train song you were playing. “Still sure about the watermelon colors?”

“Still sure,” you confirmed, holding up your phone. “Smile!”

Dio looked up and smiled, knowing this photo wouldn’t ever see the light of day. While he started to work the green into your hair, you made the photo your phone background. It was cute, and while Dio wasn’t known for being cute, you knew him differently than everyone else did.

“Green’s done,” Dio announced after a bit. “Let me just wrap it up and then you can do my hair.”

You were plenty eager to dye Dio’s hair, so you sat still as he wrapped your head up again. When he was done, you and him traded places.

“Just read the instructions carefully,” Dio said as you opened the dye. “It’s not as hard as it sounds.”

Dio was right. The instructions where simple, and you were soon pulling on a pair of gloves and putting a towel over Dio’s shoulders. You poured the black dye into the bowl and picked up the brush. “So what?” You asked, standing behind Dio. “I just paint it on?”

“You’re doing my roots, it’ll be easiest if you brush it on and then go back through with your hands,” Dio explained. “Just do what I did on your head. It’ll be hard to fuck this up.”

Nodding, you picked up the brush and began to apply the dye. It was a lot like painting, which you didn’t suck at. You, at Dio’s recommendation, did his hair in sections, the same way you had seen people straighten their hair. It was easy to gain a rhythm like this, and before you knew it, you were done. Dio took over, wrapping his head in plastic wrap and falling onto the couch. “Alright. Half an hour at the least.”

You two cuddled and watched some conspiracy theory show Dio liked, having to pause the episode about Mothman because your timer went off.

“Alright watermelon head,” Dio said, tipping the chair back and gesturing for you to sit. “Let’s get this done.”

Again, you went boneless as Dio used cold water to rinse your hair. Despite the chill that raced down your spine, his hands were experienced and helped relax you as he worked.

“Y’know,” you said softly while Dio was still working. “You could totally do this for a living. You’re good at it.”

“What, dye hair?” Dio asked.

You shrugged as best you could. “No. You could do what your sister does. For a living instead of just for you and me.”

Dio sighed. “Not my thing,” he said. “I’ll stick to doing your head and my own head, thank you very much.”

That was promptly the end of that conversation, mostly because Dio was helping you upright and turning on the hair dryer again. This time, you didn’t fall asleep, focused instead on Dio standing in front of you. His sternum was at your eye level, and you were half tempted to lift his shirt and kiss his belly. But you didn’t, mostly out of fear he’d fuck your hair up.

When he finished, you stood and he sat, tipping the chair back so you could wash his hair.

“No soap?”

“Nope.”

“Cold water?”

“Yep.”

You nodded, turning the sink on and beginning to rinse Dio’s hair. The water ran black for a while while you used your hands to massage Dio’s head, and when it finally ran clear, you turned the water off and squeezed the excess from Dio’s hair. He sat up while you messed with the dryer, turning it on and slowly beginning to dry Dio’s hair.

It took him some time to realize you’d put an attachment on the hair dryer. “Are you diffusing my hair?”

“Maybe,” you said happily, already seeing the curls Dio did his best to hide. “C’mon!” You said upon seeing the displeasure on his face. “Your curls are so pretty!”

Dio continued to pout while you dried his hair, and when you were done, he stood and stretched, shaking his head. “You did good. Wanna see?”

You nodded, pulling Dio into the bathroom and eagerly looked at yourself in the mirror. Dio looked almost no different, the black a bit more prominent and less faded than usual. But you, you looked like a whole different person. The vibrant green and pink gave you life and made you look unforgettable.

“I love it!” You said, ruffling your hair. “Oh it’s so cool!”

Dio smiled. “I’m glad you like it,” he said.

You sent photos to your friends and family while Dio cleaned up, eventually joining you back on the couch so you could finish your conspiracy theory show.

“Thank you,” you said out of the blue, watching someone who claimed to have definitely seen Mothman.

“Hm?” Dio looked down at you, the hand that was running through your hair stopping. “What?”

“Thank you,” you repeated. “For my hair.”

Dio shrugged. “Just doing my job,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Love you.”

“I love you too, you dork.”

[jeogiyall]

Pas De Deux; H.HJ

Word Count; 9.7k

Genre; Fluff, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Reader X Hyunjin

Warnings; Swearing, Suggestive, I would advise against reading if you have abandonment issues? It’s brought up a few times,,

Additional; Featured Chan, Felix, Jisung, and Minho; Ballerina Reader, Dance Partner Hyunjin, Reid once again writing about something that she has no idea how to do, (Sort Of) Slow Burn

A/N; when i tell u guys that i literally have no self control,, THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THIS WAS 10.46K ASFDSFS someone save me from myself. i’m sorry if anything’s inaccurate, i haven’t done ballet since i was like five and most of my research is from the unreliable internet,,, so if any ballerinas read this and are repulsed i’m sorry asdfdsa. please leave something nice if you enjoy <3<3<3<3

The last time that you saw Hwang Hyunjin was in fifth grade. You were wrapped up in each other on your front porch, him choking out tears as though it hurt. 

“Jinnie!” You cooed while running a hand through his short black hair, “I’m not dying, just going to boarding school!” His cries (along with the ringing guilt in your ears) only grew louder, “You’re really good at dancing, just audition next year!” He shook his head fervently against the crook of your shoulder, wet tears falling onto your skin.

“You know I suck at ballet!” If it weren’t for his palms pulling at his teary cheeks you would’ve giggled, maybe even teased him for the time in class that he almost broke his wrist while warming up at the barre. But he was crying, he was sad, and he was convinced that he’d never see you again. The sight alone was enough to make you pout, which only served to make him cry harder, “You could join my contemporary class for the summer?” He asked with starry, red eyes. It was almost enough to make you say yes.

“You know that I suck at contemporary!” The boy giggled at your counter, a sound that made your heart soar amidst all of the crying.

“Yea, you do...” He brought a hand up to his cheeks, trying desperately to wipe away tears that wouldn’t stop falling, “Just promise that you won’t forget me! I won’t forget you so you can’t forget me!” His pinky finger extended so it was nearly brushing the spot in between your eyebrows, and you were hit by the whispers of your first crush. With the summer days spent riding scooters in your driveway, and the winter ones spent sledding in it. With the long nights spent giggling about nothing underneath a blanket fort, or the endless days spent climbing trees in the bottomless woods behind the boys house. You were hit with the last five years all at once, and you knew instantly that even if he wasn’t standing in front of you with a teary face that you would still promise.

“I promise.” You answered while hooking your pinky in his as if it were a vow.

The school ended up being a perfect fit, your favorite part being the dorm room all to yourself. Even though it was small, and very ugly, it was all yours. Just like the friend group that blossomed out of your first ever co-ed class (which is sadly not a very interesting story. Han Jisung just made you swear to not dislocate his shoulders during partner stretches, and who are you to break a promise? Afterwards you received an invite to sit with him and his friend at lunch, the rest is history. Loud, annoying history.)

Nothing could’ve made it better... Well, nothing except for your sweet friend who had once occupied each thought in your head. Your sweet friend who’s summers were suddenly too full to see you, even for just a day. 

Your sweet friend who didn’t keep his promise.

* 

When it was announced that the contemporary and ballet branches of your dance institute would be merging for a year, your mind immediately jumped to Hyunjin. Despite not seeing him for almost six years. He always had such a passion for the style, making you miss out on hours of homework to watch videos of his favorite performers (it’s not like you minded too much, though.)

Han’s, on the other hand, was pure rage. Pure rage which he was letting out from your bed while watching you unpack.

“I just don’t get why they have to take a ballet class too! I have enough trouble getting solos as is.” The boy pouts while resting his head on your orange wood headboard. You’d feel sympathetic if it weren’t for the fact that he was blatantly lying, Han Jisung had gotten nearly every solo since eighth grade. Instead you roll your eyes dramatically and throw him a wadded ball of fabric from your suitcase. Naturally, he screams.

“Shut the fuck up and be helpful.” You scold, earning a childish whine while he sits up to fold the countless leotards. 

“Remind me why I missed you?” He grumbles just as your other, much nicer, friend walks into the cramped room.

“Aww, you missed me Sungie?” Felix asks, voice booming deeply through the space. The two of you instantly drop the clothes in your hands and run to the boy, which you should reprimand Jisung for seeing as he just lifted a finger. But you don’t, because Felix is here with more freckles than the last time you saw him and fresh pink hair that’s definitely going to be dyed natural again within the first week.

“Yes.” The energetic boy answers while worming his way into your hug. Felix giggles softly while petting Han’s dark brown hair before pressing noisy kisses all over his cheeks. He pokes Felix’s ribs as retaliation, to which the boy screeches (directly into your ear, might I add,) and it’s back to the normal, loud chaos “I will kill you!”

“Hey! No murder in my room, if you’re gonna do that go in the hallway!” You snap playfully, pushing Jisung away while moving back into the hug, “Help me unpack? Jisung hasn’t done shit.”

“Not fair!” The boy shouts from your bed, which he’s already plopped back down on.

“I’ll help, besides do you even want him folding your clothes?” You look over your shoulder to see Jisung with his hands tangled up in three different leotards, then back to Felix with terrified eyes. 

‘No,’ you mouth, eliciting another laugh from your friend. He moves over to the bed as well, then sets Jisungs hands free. The three of you talk mindlessly for hours, rambling on about Felix’s summer home and the month that you and Jisung spent traipsing around the boys hometown.

“How do you feel about the merger?” You ask suddenly, cutting Jisung off in the middle of an embarrassing story about a night spent at his house. Felix sighs deeply while tossing you the rolled leotard (your favorite one, light blue with pearls sewn around the collar,) while Jisung throws a wadded up pair of tights at your face.

“It’s fine I guess, just for a year right?” You shrug while the brunette puts on a grimace, hands suddenly very busy with folding, “They really need that rebuild, building’s falling apart. Ours is way better and we have extra room, so why not share?” 

“Tell that to the rat in my mini fridge.” Han grumbles while passing you a pile of black leotards. You laugh and accept, but not before ruffling his stiff hair. 

“Okay, I’ll make sure to do that the next time I’m in your room. Are you done bitching now?” The brunette pokes his tongue out at you jokingly, to which you respond with blowing a raspberry, “Felix is right, besides how terrible is it going to be? We’re all dancers right, and stuff like that is meant to be shared. Who are we to say that they can’t come and learn?” The room turns uncomfortably quiet, Jisung gnawing at his lower lip while Felix picks up his phone.

“Damn it!” The Australian exclaims as his screen lights up. You and Han look at him with furrowed eyebrows before he rolls his eyes and brings the phone up in between your faces, “Administration says I have to fix my hair.” 

Han doubles over with laughter, knocking the mountain of leotards (followed shortly by himself) onto the floor. You follow his lead, and before you know it the three of you are clutching your sides and wiping away happy tears. Felix’s hands ruffle into your hair with a hum, “Maybe I can try Jisungs color, hmm?” You duck away with a snort.

“No! I draw the line at matching hair!” The brunette defends, hands moving to cover the top of his head. Felix lunges at him, fully ready to engage in a tickle fight. Naturally, Jisung screams as if he’s being murdered. It should be annoying, any other time you would find it annoying. But these are your best friends, one of which you haven’t seen in over a month, and for some odd reason your heart feels so full that it could explode. 

“C’mon Lix, I’ll do your hair. What do you think about blonde?” 

And even though tomorrow your school is going to be flooded with new people, and your classes full of students who have probably never done more than basic positions, in the moment it feels okay. Because one of your best friends is screaming ‘NO DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR!’ while the other assures him that ‘It’ll probably most likely be okay! Look, she did mine!’ It’s a perfect chaos that you wouldn’t trade for anything.

*    

There have been plenty of strange coincidences in your life. Like how your first dog was named Felix, and it’s now the name of one of your best friends (who’s hair ended up looking perfectly fine, thank you very much.) Or how your usual waiter at the diner in Jisungs hometown ended up being the cousin of your first kiss. Or how your dorm room is the only one on the hall with painted walls, that just so happen to be your favorite color. Plenty of weird things, but none are as weird as this. Because you’re sitting on the floor of your second class of the day, ‘Intro To Pas De Deux,’ and Hwang Hyunjin has just entered through the side door. Two minutes late.

He’s hard to recognize at first, seeing as there’s more than an added foot of height and black hair that’s creeping down the back of his neck, but the more you look the more you recognize. Pillowy lips, full cheeks, a freckle right in the set of his eye bags. You’re not entirely sold until he laughs, a sweet and breathy sound. The laugh that’s always been three seconds away from turning into a wheeze.

“What’s wrong?” Jisung questions while pulling himself up by your hands, eyes following the line that yours draw to Hyunjin, “Do you know him or something?” 

You’re about to answer when Hyunjin finally turns around, eyes scanning the room before settling on you. He thinks that you look different, too. Taller and slimmer, everything that used to be squishy replaced with soft muscle. But there’s also the bridge of your nose, your hands that are barely gripping Jisungs, and of course your eyes that are staring at him like it hurts. 

“(Y/n?)” He questions, your name falling from his lips as though it’s meant to do so. You nod, mouth falling open dumbly. The boy takes a step forward then freezes.

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on? Or at least help me finish stretching?” Jisungs voice reeks of annoyance, you think that if you weren’t in such a state of shock that you’d flick him on the forehead.

“You go to the contemporary school?” Jisung doesn’t take well to being ignored, puffing loudly while scrambling to finish stretching at the barre. Your brain immediately flashes back to Hyunjins second ballet class in third grade, when you were teaching him your favorite warm up stretches. He ended up tangled in between the barre and the wall, which shouldn’t even be possible, but Hyunjin managed. 

“Um... Yea.” Every inch of your body is screaming to stand up and engulf him in a hug, but your legs feel like jello. That, and there’s a small feeling of anger rising in your throat, “L-let me help.” He plops down in front of you before you can say yes. You don’t have to though, Hyunjin still knows that you can’t refuse him. You take his hands in yours, definitely ignoring the pink flush to his cheeks, and pull his torso towards you. 

“It’s been six years.” The words come out choked, full of the pain from your first summer without him. When you’d spend hours playing out in the sun, knocking on your friends front door every morning. He was never there. 

“Sorry.” You want him to show some type of emotion, let you know that he cares. That he’s actually sorry for breaking his promise, “I tried to come and see you in July but you weren’t home.” 

“I was at Jisung’s house, we spend the summers together.” If you were more angry and less hurt you would say ‘now that I don’t spend them with you,’  but he’s still Hyunjin. He’s still Hyunjin, and you don’t think that you could handle the way he would frown at your snide remark. 

Jisung flashes you a look from his place at the barre that reads ‘Who is this guy and why do you look so sad?’ You let Hyunjin pull you into the stretch while responding with a gaze that says ‘I’ll tell you later.’  Hyunjins grip tightens on your hands as you exhale deeply into the stretch, the light blue fabric of your leotard brushing against the dance studio floor.

“(Y/n,) I-” Maybe it’s the way that he licks his lips before talking, or the fact that he looks so much and so little like your best friend at the same time, or possibly even how you can feel the way that he hugged you at your last meeting sitting on your shoulders like a winter coat, but his hands suddenly feel like fire.

“I have to go!” You exclaim, popping up out of the stretch and onto your feet in one swift motion. The boy looks up at you with puppy dog eyes that spark a feeling so intense in you that you have to look away, “I have to go, I-I’ll um... I’ll see you around.” You dash off to the spot in front of Jisung, silently thanking every star in the sky that Hyunjin doesn’t have a chance to follow you. Because just as soon as you get up someone else sits down and begins to excitedly ask the boy questions (he’s short, with a petite frame and an unfamiliar face. Probably another transfer student.)

“Did he say something to you?” Jisung asks as you jump into your favorite warm up routine. There’s not really a right way to answer, because did he say anything just now? No, but six years ago he said that he’d never forget you. He promised as much, and then spent every moment doing nothing but that. You exhale while your feet continue to move instinctively, a slight sense of peace washing over you at the comfort of a routine. 

“We should focus, class is starting soon.” Jisung whines and argues, but you just ignore him. Similarly to how you ignore Hyunjins gaze on you for the rest of the class. 

*

Ignoring Hyunjin is much easier than you anticipated. In class you can distract yourself with Jisung before the teacher comes in, and lunch is fine enough. While he is there, sitting at a table that’s painfully close to yours, he doesn’t try to talk. Or worse, come and snatch up the free seat across from Felix. But no, he does nothing of the sort. Just laughs with his friends and shoots the occasional glance your way (the one composed of sparkly eyes and lips that are a breath away from pouting.)

But then there’s now, standing in the doorway of your stage chemistry class and Hyunjin is all that you can see. Hyunjin, standing in the center of the room and pressing play on the terribly outdated stereo. Hyunjin, running a hand through his raven black hair and inhaling deeply with closed eyes. All you wanted was to get your jacket, but now you have enough Hyunjin for a lifetime.

Loud, bass heavy music swells in the room as he starts to move. At first the movements are jerky, awkward almost. But then the music decrescendos every so softly and he exhales, then proceeds to move as if the dance is being pulled out of him. As if this choreo is the way that he was programmed to move. When the song peaks you swear that you feel tears prickling the back of your eyes, because this is so Hyunjin. The way he’s dancing with every bone in his body, the way his hair is now dripping in sweat and flying all around him, the way his plump lips suck in air. It’s Hyunjin down to the core, and you’ve missed him so much.

When the music dies you clap slowly, causing the boy to shoot up like a frightened cat. He whips around to where you stand, softening like butter when he sees your frame leaned up against the wooden door frame.

“You scared me!” He shrieks, bringing up a hand to clutch his chest. It reminds you of your last Halloween with him, when the two of you got to trick or treat alone. Hyunjin decided that it would be a great idea to go to a fear farm, in which he screeched and clung to you the entire time. It wasn’t even that scary, he’s just a baby.

“Sorry.” You answer, mouth going as dry as the desert, “You, um... You’re really good.” He laughs flatly while moving over to his dance bag to pull out a towel. You watch as he dabs the sweat away, something stupid and needy churning in your stomach. You write it off as hunger.

“Thanks, I still suck at ballet though.” It’s a joke, you know it’s a joke, but something about laughing feels wrong.

“You don’t.” You take a step into the room, wandering over to where your windbreaker is piled on the floor next to the boy, “I’ve seen you in class, and you’re not bad. Just out of practice.” He lets out another flat laugh while dropping the towel, quickly exchanging it with a water bottle.

“Yea, about nine years out of practice. I barely even remember how to do a pirouette.” He’s trying so hard to make you laugh, just like the old days. The growing tension in your shoulders and lump in your throat is preventing that from happening.

“I can teach you.” You offer while shrugging the jacket on. Within seconds he’s babbling out excuses, which you wave off, “Don’t even worry about it, I need to practice anyways.” You bend down to untie your sneakers before moving to the center of the room, Hyunjin following in quick succession, “So you obviously know the proper foot technique, pointed toes only and all of that. And the retire position is just your foot in the notch above your knee.” You demonstrate it in the mirror, and even though he’s far from being a ballerina he’s done enough classes to know that you want him to copy it, “Yea, good. It looks good.”

“Where are my shoulders supposed to be?” He asks shyly, not used to questioning such simple things.

“Back, always back. Now check that your hips aren’t tilted, I-I’ve always been told to imagine that they’re a fruit bowl.” You steal a quick glance at the boy while he’s adjusting, heart fluttering the same way that it did so many years ago, “Okay, now um... Now put your feet into fourth position, just like that yea, then bend your knees and push off from your back leg.” You do the turn, a motion so natural that it might as well be brushing your teeth, “Like that, easy peasy!” The boy scoffs while bringing up his arms the same way that you had yours just seconds ago.

“Yea, easy peasy for you!”  A soft giggle falls from your lips, bouncing off the walls of the empty studio (as well as Hyunjins ears.)

“C’mon!” You tease while moving around to face him, a soft smile playing at your lips, “You see me mess up in class all of the time, just go for it. The worst that could happen is being wrong.” He nods, then exhales shakily. When he does the turn it’s a bit wobbly, but definitely not anything worse than what you’ve seen before.

“Oh my god, (Y/n) that was terrible like genuinely awful-” The words feel harsh, but he’s wearing a bright smile and laughing like there’s not a care in the world. You can’t help but laugh too.

“No, no! It was fine!” You assure through a laugh as he gets back into position. From the corner of your eye you see him mouth ‘liar,’ which earns him a harsh flick between the eyes, “Just bring your hips a little more forward like...” It’s instinctual for your hand to fall onto his hipbone, something you’ve done to Felix hundreds of times. The main difference is that when you adjust Felix he usually tells you to fuck off, then softly knees your stomach. When you do it to Hyunjin he audibly chokes and you feel fire ignite beneath your fingertips, “Like this. Now go into fourth and try again, but keep your hips aligned!” The boy nods before sinking into position and pushing up into a flawless turn.

“I did it!” He exclaims, hands flying up like he’s about to hug you, “You were right, you were right I did it!” Something about his wide, excited eyes makes every wall built around your heart crumble into dust. So you accept the hug, once again allowing yourself to fall victim to the sweetness that is Hwang Hyunjin.

“I was what, I was... Did you say right?!” He rolls his eyes at your teasing, trying desperately to pretend like he didn’t miss it. It’s useless, because the way that Hyunjin’s holding you let’s you know that he’s missed you just as much as you have him, “Alright big guy, let me go. I’ve got studying to do and shoes to break in.” He whines lowly, arms trying to grab you as you snake away. 

“Can we get dinner together or something?” He begs, hand briefly tangling itself in yours. You fight down the blush rising to your cheeks while pulling your hand away and stuffing it into your pocket.

“Not tonight, you have to keep practicing those pirouettes! But don’t worry, you’ll be seeing more of me... Partner.” Hyunjin smiles widely at your words, realization settling in as quickly as they leave your mouth.

“Do you mean...?”

“Yes,” You exhale, mentally preparing for another bone crushing hug, “I’ll be your partner for class.” 

Hyunjins hug is almost nice enough that you forget about how annoying Jisung’s going to be when you tell him.

*

It turns out that the friends Hyunjin made are almost as amazing as the ones that you did. Everyone was a little awkward when the two groups first merged, specifically Jisung who was still butt hurt about you switching partners. But then Felix got to talking with Chan (the person who’s been mothering your friend ever since he started at the contemporary institute. From the way they talk, Hyunjin would’ve both starved and failed if it weren’t for the older boy,) and suddenly everyone was meeting in your room on Fridays for a weekly game of uno. 

“Absolutely not, you’re fucking cheating!” Minho (the other new face from your stage chemistry class,) shouts while pointing a finger across the card pile and into Jisungs face. The boy moves to jokingly bite at it, causing Chan’s eyes to go as wide as the moon.

“No, no, no! No murder, and no biting what the hell!” You snort at your new friends bewildered expression while passing a canned sparkling water to Hyunjin. He accepts with a smile before mouthing ‘they’re insane!’ Felix sees and proceeds to nail him in the face with your favorite throw pillow.

“Says the guy who sleeps in socks-” Hyunjin throws the pillow back harshly, causing Chan to damn near pass out. It’s all that you can do to not roll over with laughter.

“My feet get cold.” He grumbles with a pout that makes both you and Minho coo from your spots beside the boy.

“Okay, okay, Minho just pick up the cards and let’s keep going? I’m about to finish!” The boy grumbles angrily, all ‘stupid card game’ and ‘I don’t wanna pick up twenty cards!’ You lock eyes with Chan from across the card pile, taking brief solace in the presence of someone else with a functioning brain.

“So we all know that (Y/n’)s about to win, and that she’s my best friend and favorite duet partner,” Everyone answers him with an immediate ‘rude,’ which makes a girlish giggle bubble up in your throat, “which is why it makes me so terribly sad to do this.” You watch closely as he dramatically pulls a card from his hand then places it on top of the deck, a fat draw four staring you straight in the eyes. Everyone goes silent while watching your face fall drastically.

“Hwang Hyunjin, I am going to-” The room bursts into chaos before you even finish the sentence. In the end there are about twelve fresh bruises, six entirely hoarse sets of vocal chords, and one demolished dorm room. Just a normal Friday night.

Except for the way that your heart stutters when Hyunjin mouths a simple ‘love you’ over the bustling group. That’s not normal, but you think that you like it.

*

“Hyunjin, if you keep your hands there I’m going to fall.” You say to your duet partner, whose hands are wandering aimlessly up your torso. They’re supposed to be on your hips, serving as an anchor for your body while it dips towards the ground. 

“Sorry, sorry.” The boy mumbles, not entirely meaning it. It’s impossible to be sorry when he can physically feel your heart speed up beneath his hands.

“Try to sound just a little bit less convincing next time, okay?” You shimmy slightly in a futile attempt to move his hands, which only makes him laugh brightly. If it weren’t for your less than ideal position (halfway bent into a split with every ounce of your weight balanced on the tips of your toes,) you would hit him.

“Do you want me to drop you, because I can drop you if it’s what you want-” The teacher snaps her fingers, pulling everyone’s attention out of the various warm up routines and to the front of the room. Hyunjins hands pull away from your torso so quickly that it burns.

“No dropping dance partners on purpose, that’s the first rule of building stage chemistry.” She chastises, eyes brushing briefly over your friend which causes him to turn thirty shades of pink. You giggle quietly to yourself before sticking your tongue out at him, “But of course, you can’t truly start to build a connection until there’s material. So that’s what we’re doing today, I’ve assigned each group with a pas de deux, or ‘dance for two’. Whoever I think shows the most promise within the next week will be given the opportunity to enter in the regional competition.” She says opportunity, but the stern tone of her voice means that whoever she picks will definitely have to do the competition.

Everyone floods to the front of the class before she even finishes, Hyunjin moving to do so as well before you quickly grip his wrist.

“She didn’t say to go yet, and if we want to qualify for that competition we’re going to have to start kissing up now.” You keep your face forward, chin up and shoulders back, but even then you can feel Hyunjins smile, “What?!”

“You want to do the competition?” He sounds hopeful, nearly childlike.

“Of course! That’s like half the reason I go to school here, the competitive atmosphere.” People are starting to settle back into place, your teacher wearing a look of utter annoyance. Hyunjin doesn’t seem to notice, seeing as his mouth keeps moving.

“I’ve only known how to do a pirouette for a month, and I still can’t really get my double. You’d have a better chance with Han, or-” As soon as the teachers back is turned you whip around to your babbling partner, hands planted firmly on his broad shoulders. It takes a second for his eyes to meet yours, but when they do he nearly melts.

“I don’t want to do it with anyone else, I want to do it with you. And just because your double isn’t perfect doesn’t mean that it’s not good so stop stressing.” He looks down for a second, cheeks growing as pink as your shoes. By force of habit you hook a hand beneath the boys chin and force him to look at you, “I mean it.” He swallows harshly, then nods. With a sigh you let go of the boy and return to your previous (assigned) position. Just in time too, seeing as the teacher turns around right as you settle next to the boy.

“You may check your assignments at the end of class, if you haven’t done so already.” You flash a knowing glance to Hyunjin, almost as if to say ‘I told you so.’ He knows better than to argue.

At the end of class you go up to look with Jisung while Hyunjin gathers your things for you, the short brunette babbling excitedly about the previously mentioned regional’s. 

“I thought that you don’t do partner work?” You tease lightly while ducking down to look at the list.

“I don’t, but neither does my partner! So we’ll just be okay at...” He bends next to, head full of brown hair hitting you straight in the eyes, “Romeo and Juliet?” You bite down a laugh while pushing the boy away.

“Don’t try to fight it, you’re such a Romeo. Just like I am such a... Lise!” The boys face contorts with jealousy as he ducks back down, once again knocking your heads together.

“You guys got La Fille mal gardee? And the ribbon dance?!” You giggle back a small yes while pinching the boys frowning cheeks, “No fair! Absolutely no fair, I have to do stupid Romeo and Juliet and you got my favorite ballet, no fair!”

“It’s my favorite too!” You defend, which ends up being pointless because both Hyunjin and Jisung chorus back with ‘not true!’ 

“Your favorite is swan lake.” Hyunjin states while sliding your dance bag onto your shoulder. Maybe it’s the fondness in his action, or the way that he named off your favorite ballet as though it was a fact ingrained into his brain, but your heart swells so large that you swear it could pop like a balloon. 

“Okay,” you exhale, hand moving to the spot where his fingers were ghosting just seconds ago, “one of my favorites.”

*

At your first rehearsal for regionals you and Hyunjin are given the ribbon to use, seeing as it’s literally the ribbon dance. Practicing without it was honestly getting awkward, which is unfortunate seeing as the boy nearly got it taken away within minutes. 

“Look (Y/n,) I’m a present!” He had exclaimed, causing you to whip around to the sight of your partner with a pink silk bow tied around his chin.

“Oh no, Hyunjin!” You whispered through a quiet laugh, moving towards him to untie it, “You are so ridiculous!”

“What? Am I not a gift?” He pouted while trying to pull your hands away, which earned him nothing but a harsh smack on the wrist. You slipped it off his face and behind your back just as the teacher walked in the door to give the ‘your ribbon is not a toy,’ talk.

At the second you describe the plot of La Fille mal Gardee, which proves to be slightly (read: very confusing.)

“Wait wait wait, she doesn’t even like the other guy?!” He asks while shaking his head cutely, black hair bouncing along with the motion. If it gets any longer he’s going to have to start putting it up.

“Nope, not one bit.” His eyebrows furrow as he starts to grumble ‘this is kind of stupid,’ earning a giggle and a push to the shoulder, “No it isn’t! It’s funny, and sweet! I really relate to Lise and her... Character arch I guess.”

“Isn’t she the girl who needed guarding or something like that?” His tilts to the side, teeth catching ever so slightly on his puffy pink lips.

“Yea,” You exhale with a quickening heart rate, “something like that.” There’s silence for a minute, nothing but Hyunjin shaking his head and sighing softly.

“That’s not you. No one needs to guard you.” For some reason your brain flashes back to the third summer alone (that awkward stage where you were too old to make new friends and too young to go see Jisung,) when you spent everyday walking through the woods alone. Sometimes you would just walk until the sun went down and your only company was the stars, but most days you would find a new place to sit down and hum out the motifs of your favorite ballets, “No one.”

For a moment you think that he’s right.

The fourth rehearsal (exactly one week after the first) is when you get to a stage kiss in the choreography, your teacher describing the motions along with a recording that’s projecting on the back wall. It starts with the boy pulling in the girl by the ribbon, then swooping down to meet her lips with a smile. Then she twirls away, leaving your skin hot and crawling. 

“We’re um... A-are we gonna do that?” Hyunjin asks through a whisper, leaning close enough that you can feel his breath. It’s warm and smells like spearmint.

“We’ll know when we get there I guess, now pay attention!” You push his face away from yours and back to the projection, watching as the couple wraps each other up in the silky ribbon.

When you do finally get there an hour later he looks so nervous that he could puke. Your teacher shouts out the next move, ‘kiss and then twirl away,’ which only adds to the painful drumming of your heart.

“It’s okay, (Y/n,) you don’t have to.” His voice is low, hushed. Almost like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

“No, no! It’s okay, I’ll just...” You lean forward as much as you can with the ribbon hugging your waist and press a feather light kiss onto the tip of his nose. The teacher coos, maybe even praises the two of you on the developing stage chemistry. You don’t hear it. You don’t hear anything over the erratic beating of your heart, “I’ll just do that, okay?” He swallows dryly, eyes flashing quickly down to your lips then back up to your sweet gaze.

“Y-yea, perfect.” There’s something building up in the space between your bodies, so thick that you could spread it over toast, “You should twirl away, right?” You nod, wanting desperately to stay. To kiss him in an earth shattering way.

A part of you thinks that you shouldn’t. That Hyunjin has the power to ruin every part of you, and that wanting to give that to him after your hearts already been broken is foolish. But you do, you want to. Because loving Hyunjin feels good enough that the pain doesn’t matter.

After the fifth rehearsal the two of you feel as though you’ve torn every muscle in your body. Your teacher decided within the first twelve minutes that the two of you would benefit from some conditioning, which resulted in you and Hyunjin holding side by side planks (as well as other terrible positions) and muttering curses for a solid hour.

“I’m gonna collapse.” Hyunjin whines, plopping down onto the hardwood floor beside his dance bag. Something that’s probably supposed to be a laugh falls out of your mouth before you pull the water bottle from your bag.

“At least you haven’t been wearing pointe shoes all day.” You groan while moving the bottle to your mouth. A mouthful of water slides down your throat right as the boys face twists into one of horror.

“Oh gosh, oh no I’m so sorry!” You try to wave the black haired boy away, which only makes him feel worse, “No, no! I wanna help let me umm... Come back to my room? I can set up a foot bath with...”

“Epsom salts.” You answer after swallowing another swig of water, “But I have all of the stuff in my room, I can take care of it.” Hyunjin whines again while rolling over onto his stomach and pushing himself into a sitting position. There’s a bead of sweat dripping down the bridge of his nose, something that you shouldn’t focus on. It catches on the tip before falling delicately onto his collar bone.

“I wanna take care of it,” It feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room, “just... Here, wear my jacket into the building so no one can see that you’re uh... A girl.” You try to argue again, but then your cheeks are squished in between his hand and his eyebrows are furrowed just enough for it to be cute, “Let me take care of you.”

And really, how could you say no to that?

*

“Hwang Hyunjin, you are my favorite person in the world.” You sigh, feet dipping into the warm cloudy water. He plops down next to you with a laugh and arms full of snacks.

“Can I get that in writing? You know, just to prove it to Jisung.” Laughter bounces off of his dorm walls, filling the boys brain with childhood memories. Like the time that you two were riding scooters in your driveway and just as the sun started to set you skinned your knee. Hyunjin had thought for a minute that the shaking of your shoulders was sobbing, but quickly discovered by a tilt of your chin and hands wrapped around your sides that you were indeed laughing. Beautiful, clear laughter complete with sunshine dripping from your skin. It was the first time he can remember thinking that someone was beautiful.

“Yes!” You exclaim, effectively pulling the boy from his memory, “But only if you give me food.” He giggles tiredly, a sound so sweet that it might as well be honey, and tosses a bag of pita chips your way.

“You don’t even have to ask.” 

You’re supposed to go back to your dorm at eleven, thirty minutes after arrival. But then Hyunjin starts talking about anything and everything, ranging from how he met Minho to the old building of his school. The way he chuckles sleepily while reminiscing on water logged ceilings is enough to make you melt.  

Somehow your head ends up pulled against his chest, rising and falling with his breaths. There’s an arm tied around your waist like ribbon, lips softly brushing your hairline as he mumbles endlessly about everything, your leg across his lap as though they’re supposed to be. 

“What time’s it?” You slur, clenching onto the fabric of his shirt. It smells like spice and fresh pine and Hyunjin. So much like Hyunjin.

“Midnight.” You think to yourself that it’s time to leave, that if any of the staff found out about this you’d be dead. You also think that Hyunjin smells like fresh pine and that he’s holding you in a way that you’ve never been held.

The sound of his even breathing and the weight of his arms on you lulls you to sleep in a matter of minutes.

*

When you wake up it’s to the obnoxious blaring of Hyunjins alarm. The boy whines lowly before punching it into snooze. It’s enough to make you laugh, then pull your head away from the cradle of his chin.

“C’mon sleepy, it’s time to get up. What do you have for breakfast?” If it weren’t for your hair tickling his cheek or the way your torso writhes beneath his arm he would be annoyed by your chirping voice. After the hundreds of early mornings school has thrown your way you can’t really help but be a morning person. 

“More sleep, that’s what I have.” He grumbles as you crack the curtains open, trying desperately to pull the comforter over his eyes.

“You need food to fuel your body Hyunjin-” Before you can finish lecturing him an arm shoots up from beneath the gray blanket, crashing your body onto his with a sleepy groan.

“M’ just kidding.” He pulls you under the blanket with him, mimicking the first time he spent the night at your house. You two stayed up until the sun was rising, hidden away from the world by the fluffy pink comforter of your childhood bedroom, “Protein bars are in the closet and apples’r on top of the mini fridge.

It’d be so easy to skip classes and stay here all day, not a care in the world besides the sweet boy that you’re currently tangled in. A part of you wants to melt away and give in, but a bigger part knows that doing that is a commitment. Like saying that you’re his to hold and break however he pleases. It’s the scariest thought that you’ve had in months.

“W-we should get going. Yea?” The words sound like you’ve been choking on them. A fact that Hyunjin takes notice of, eyes growing sad and attentive as his arms wiggle away from your waist.

“Yea, yea. Minho will be here in ten minutes, we walk to pas de deux together.” Before you can help it your expression turns panicked, eyebrows shooting up as your jaw drops open, “Sorry! He’s not gonna tell anyone or anything I promise!” Something clenches in your chest at the sight of him sitting up in bed, black hair sticking up every way that it can.

“I know he won’t, it’s just...” You look down at your body, clothed with Hyunjins sweatshirt and a pair of his long socks (turns out that he was onto something with the whole ‘sleeping in socks’ thing,) “I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.” His gaze shoots up to meet yours, so soft and relaxed that you could cry.

“Which would be?” There’s a pounding in your ears that’s quickly recognizable as a heartbeat. 

“That we’re together.” It’s barely above a whisper, but Hyunjin hears you loud and clear. From the light tremble to the breathy finish, he hears you.

“We could be, if that’s what you want.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, an action familiar enough that it’s normal yet tender enough that your cheeks are flushing pink, “Is that what you want?” 

“I-I, um...” Your heart is screaming yes, that you want to be his and only his. That while you aren’t a girl who needs to be guarded, you are a girl who wants to be guarded. Guarded from everything by Hyunjins thin comforter and strong arms.

But then you think about the promise that Hyunjin broke. The promise that he wouldn’t forget you, and then broke less than twenty-four hours later. You think about how badly you’ve wanted to spend the last day of summer with him every year since. Your mouth opens right as a knock sounds against his door, “Can we talk about this later?” Hyunjin nods lightly while getting up to grab two apples off of the top of the mini fridge. 

“I’m so sorry for however he reacts.” The boy groans under his breath, offering you a light green apple along with an apologetic smile. You accept, smiling back before popping out of bed to pull your dance bag over your shoulder.

“It can’t be that bad, Minho’s level headed.” If it weren’t for the fact that Hyunjin still has a question lodged in his throat he would’ve laughed.

You’re the one who finally opens the door, interrupting Minho mid-knock. At first he looks aggravated, ready to launch into a long speech about how ‘timeliness is important’ and ‘you always fucking make us late’ but when his eyes meet you his jaw goes slack. 

“What the f-”

If the sound of Minho screeching wasn’t telling enough, you were very very wrong.

*

The next four days are spent dancing around Hyunjins burning question, constantly talking about anything else or switching the topic when it seems like he might bring it up. At first he barely notices, simply assuming that you need time to mull it over, but then Jisung and Chan sit in on a lunchtime rehearsal.

The dance is coming along perfectly, so much so that the boys don’t even notice your hesitations. Hyunjin sees it though. Sees the way that your hands tremble before planting on his shoulders, the way that your face looks sad after pressing the soft kiss onto his nose. While he hasn’t seen you dance as much as Jisung or Felix probably have, he’s still seen enough to know that you’re never like this. Never uncertain.

“What was that about?” The boy asks after the rehearsal, hands crossed against his chest. You’re going to ignore him, focus on nothing other than getting out of your pointe shoes and off to your next class, but then his dark brown eyes catch on yours, “Seriously!”

“What are you talking about?” You respond, fingers working quickly to undo the ribbons around your ankles. A sigh leaves your mouth as one shoe slips off and into your bag, quickly moving to the other one before Hyunjin can continue the questioning.

Turns out that your friend is terrible at picking up on social cues.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Your head is briefly pulled up from the floor as his voice grows impossibly soft, your heartbeat faltering ever so slightly. There’s a quiet goodbye as Jisung and Chan leave the studio, “Y-you scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, throwing the second shoe into your bag while a lump takes form in your throat. If he wasn’t your best friend then he would think that you’re just tired, or hungry, or anything other than deflecting. But he is your best friend, who knows that being tired or hungry only makes you sad. Your best friend who knows that you’re deflecting harder than you ever have before.

“It’s okay, just tell me. Please.” His last word is so hushed that you can barely hear it, but it’s there. Light, and airy, and perfectly there, “Is this about what I asked?” Before you can help you’re nodding, once again giving this boy every part of you that can break.

“Yea, kind of.” It feels like your mouth is full of cotton, leaving you uncomfortably hot along with speechless. A loud sigh rings through the studio as Hyunjin slides down to meet your height, hands burying into his raven black hair. The sight takes you back to the last day of fifth grade; you and him holding each other on your front porch as if the world was ending, your hands tangled into his hair.

“Is it because you don’t want to?” There’s his eyes on yours, your chest heaving, and nothing else in the entire universe. Just (Y/n,) the girl who wants to be guarded, and Hyunjin, (Y/n’)s beloved.

“No.” 

“Then why didn’t you say yes?” Right now feels like when you’re at a competition, in the middle of a variation that’s been giving you hell since you started working on it. It’s seconds before the hardest part, the one that you’re still not sure of. It’s the adrenaline rushing through your veins and the words ‘now or never’ echoing with each timed exhale.

“Because. How do I know that you won’t forget about me when summer comes?” Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, causing his lips to part and then heave for air. 

“I-I never forgot about you.”

“Yes you did!” There are tears prickling the back of your eyelids, which you quickly blink away before continuing, “I waited for you outside your house every day! And then, when you wouldn’t show up, I-I’d spend every day alone. Doing what we used to do together, but by myself! I was all by myself and I missed you so much, Jinnie. So, so much.” He’s going to tell you that you’re wrong. That while all of those things happened, he never ever forgot about you.

But then there’s that old nickname, the one reserved specifically for family and you. He hasn’t heard it in months, and when he finally does it’s rolling out of your mouth like a plea soaked in honey. Something that’s going to stick with him for forever.

“(Y/n,) please-” You’re up and out of the door before he can even finish.

*

It’s a dreary Friday morning, rain trickling down your window and painting your room a gray shade of blue. With a deep inhale you realize that everything is finally smelling like fall, which only solidifies the fact that you never want to get out of bed. Unfortunately you have a class in half an hour that you do kind of need to go to. 

But it’s not too terrible. Maybe if you were getting up to go take a math class, or run a marathon, but you aren’t. You’re getting up to go to ballet class, and you can wear your favorite leotard again (the light blue one, with pearls sewn around the collar,) and the rain outside is heavy enough to be calming but light enough that you can fend it off with an umbrella. The only thing that could make this morning any better is your favorite childhood breakfast, honey nut cheerios with strawberry milk.

Which is, oddly enough, sitting outside of your door when you open it to head off to the dining hall. A gallon sized jug of bright pink milk next to a family size box of your favorite cereal, just sitting in the middle of the hallway with a folded piece of paper resting precariously on top. Something about this has Hyunjin written all over it. You lean down to pick up the note, reading it about a thousand times over before rushing back into your room to wolf down the breakfast that you haven’t had in months.

‘(Y/n,)

I never forgot you.

Come to my room tonight after rehearsal. Please.

Sincerely, Hyunjin.’ 

When you two do the first full run through of the pas de deux that night he holds you extra tight. Maybe because he misses you. Maybe because he thinks that after tonight he’ll never have the chance to do so again.

But when he opens the door to his dorm room you see pink fluffy blankets folded on his bed. On top of them is a basket, filled to the brim with every last one of your favorite things. Strawberries dipped in chocolate like the ones your mother would make on hot summer nights, snickers bars like the ones that you two would share after days spent in your driveway, glass bottled lemonade like you would buy from the stand up the street.

“I may or may not have also bought your favorite movie. Well, if it’s still Barbie And the Twelve Dancing Princesses.” A giggle sounds through the room, bouncing around the walls and then back onto Hyunjins burning cheeks.

“It is, but don’t tell Jisung!” Rain starts to fall again, the soft pitter patter mixing perfectly with the boys soft laugh. His hand grazes briefly against the small of your back as he starts to guide you into the tight room, “I’m serious! Him and Lix will make fun of me!” The pout on your face is enough to melt anyone’s heart, which is why Hyunjin doesn’t even think twice when his knees go weak as jelly.

“My lips are sealed.” He says, walking over the boxy tv (that certainly wasn’t there last week) on his desk and inserting the disc, “Now sit back and enjoy.”

It’s not a hard request to fill, your tired body sinking immediately into the fluffy blankets and mouth watering each time you bite down on a strawberry. Rain continues to patter softly against the window, the sound occasionally being replaced by a loud roll of thunder which makes the boy next to you jump. You had laughed at the action, asking softly if he was scared. It was a rhetorical question, you know fully well that he’s always been scared of thunder.

“No! Yes, shut up.” And if you mind that the boy cuddles softly into your side, one arm wrapped around the curve of your waist while the other holds a chocolate strawberry, you don’t say so. 

The two of you stay tangled up in each other like that until the credits roll, Hyunjins breathy sigh hitting your cheek as he shifts to get up. You watch with heartfelt eyes as he crosses the dimly lit room, his black hair briefly sweeping across his eyes. You want to reach up and push it away, but right as you manage to sit up straight he’s done with it and headed back to the bed. With a short laugh you realize that your noses are touching.

“Hi.” The word comes at as a short exhale, leaving a taste on your tongue that’s sweeter than chocolate strawberries.

“Hey.” Your heart flutters at the sound, an exhale laced together with a smile, as his arms return to their previous spot around your waist. There’s probably nothing in the world brighter than the smile he wears for you. Stage lights, the sun, every last star in the sky rolled into one. None of it even comes close to the way that his pink lips stretch perfectly from cheek to cheek, “Do you finally believe me?” He brings up a hand to caress your cheek gently, as though to rub away tears that haven’t fallen.

“Believe wh-”

“Do you believe that I never forgot you? That I never forgot any of you, not even the little things like your favorite color or what you liked to eat for dinner. Maybe I pulled away, but I think it’s because even then I knew how badly losing you would hurt. I-I knew that I never wanted to lose you, which is just what I did...” He swallows harshly, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, “But I’ll never do it again. I’ll never lose you, and I’ll never forget you a-and... And I don’t want to remember you anymore, (Y/n.) I’m so done with remembering, let’s just be.” There’s something stuck in your throat, but it doesn’t hurt the way that tears do. No, this is a release gathering inside of you. One that’s waiting for you to finally give in.

“Hyunjin,” His fingers cradle the curve of your jaw, sending goosebumps down every inch of your body, “kiss me.” And that’s all the confirmation he needs to brush his lips over yours.

At first it’s gentle, almost questioning. Like he’s asking one last time ‘Is this okay?’ But then your hands tangle in his black hair, the way that they’ve been aching to since you first saw him, and he knows that you’re okay. More than okay, you’re in love. With every muscle in your body, you’re in love.

Hyunjin’s hand that was previously holding your face drops back down to your waist and pulls you in softly. They then travel down to your thighs, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips before he picks you up and guides you onto the bed. Every movement is so perfect yet raw, feeling like the stuff of ballets. Until your back hits an unopened glass bottle of lemonade, that is. The sudden cold is enough to make you jump.

“What?!” Hyunjin questions, eyes shooting as wide as saucers, “Did I hurt you?!” A laugh sounds through the room while your hand detaches from his hair, opting instead to reach around your body and remove the glass bottle that’s poking you in the least conventional way possible.

“No.” You answer through soft giggles, bringing up the bottle to lightly tap his forehead, “There’s just a lemonade poking me in the ass.”

He flushes bright pink before answering with a tiny ‘oh’ and burying his face into the crook of your neck. If you were less malleable you would’ve teased him even more, but then there are warm kisses on your skin and nothing in your head.

“I love you.” He whispers, head slowly moving until his lips are against your jaw. You’re going to answer, really, but then there are soft lips on your chin and a smile ripping through your body, “I love you.” 

“M-me too.” You stammer dumbly, body going entirely limp as he (finally) presses another kiss onto your lips. The boy pulls away entirely too soon, but it’s okay. There’s something that you need to finish saying, anyways, “I love you too, Jinnie.”

When you fall asleep that night it’s to the sound of pattering rain, with Hyunjins arms guarding you from the world. 

*

The bus back from regionals is quiet, the few sounds that do come about being Chan and Felix whispering softly or Minho giggling at Jisung snoring. You’re about there too, but who can blame you when Hyunjins hands are buried in your hair (which is both stiff and wavy from a combination of hairspray and braided buns.) If you close your eyes and focus really hard you can even feel the rise and fall of his chest where it’s connected with your back. 

“Who’s gonna keep our trophy?” The boy questions, lips moving softly against the shell of your ear. It generates a warm feeling in your gut, one that spreads quickly to your cheeks and ears.

“We’ll trade it off on the weekends. Like divorced soccer parents.” He giggles softly, moving forward to kiss your temple.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” If you were a little bit less tired, or a little bit less in love, then maybe you’d joke back. But you’re wrapped up in him like a ribbon on your waist, foot nudging against a plastic first place trophy while his lips move against you in a way that you could get drunk off of.

“Never.” You answer, hand coming up to wrap around his as if it were a vow, “Never.”