#I am this close to crawling under my desk and just dying there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phantomrose96 · 4 years

Text

King

cw: heavy angst, non-canon character death, violent imagery, emetophobia

It’s pretty long, so heed the Read More.

...

Bakugou is sitting in the police station.

Time isn’t moving forward with him. It has a hand over his mouth holding him back, holding him down, beneath the surface of the unreal waters which suspend him. All sounds reach his ears muffled. The phone ringing, and the station hand answering. Chatter, officers exchanging details, Bakugou winces at the utterance of the word “explosion”. None of it is real. None of it can be happening to him.

He jangles the handcuffs on his wrist, and this attracts the weary attention of the station hands. The cuffs aren’t necessary. He is not going anywhere. He sits, and he stares forward, and his ears ring.

Bakugou has fucked up. Bakugou understands for the first time in his life the sensation of fucking up beyond repair. He is watching dreams evaporate in front of his eyes, staring forward unseeingly at the pallid white floor tiles around him. His eyes trace their lines. He does not see them. They are not real. He is not real. He has fucked up. He has fucked up.

Behind his eyelids, a single image burns. It is branded into his eyes. The scorched wick of a torso lingers there, shifting to a negative impression of itself with each blink. A torched wick, balanced on disembodied legs, falling forward. Falling forward. Falling forward. Falling forward again with each blink. It’s a sight he has no way to unsee.

His heart rate picks up. His breathing comes faster and shallower. He says nothing. He has fucked up. He has fucked up, and he can never fix this.

Because he is still, and because he is silent, no one pays him any mind.

…

A man walks into the precinct. He is just a bit portly, immaculately dressed in a suit and tie. He shrugs off the tweed overcoat, leaving just vest and undershirt and tie, and hangs it with familiarity on the coat rack by the entrance. He lifts his bowler’s hat in greeting, and overlapping responses greet him from the precinct office. “Fujimori” is uttered, affably. He extends a hand, and several workers shake it with a smile. A joke is cracked. A chorus of deep belly laughs follow. The man with the bowler’s hat – Fujimori – calms his mirth and asks one of the officers about his kids, and when the idle chatter ends, he asks where his client is.

Fingers point toward Bakugou. Fujimori lumbers over, with a confidence that reminds Bakugou of lions, his face at ease. Fujimori lowers himself to a squat so he is eye level with Bakugou.

“I’m Hiroji Fujimori. I’m a lawyer with U.A. You’ve had a hell of a day, huh, Katsuki Bakugou? Why don’t I help get those handcuffs off and get you home for some rest?”

Bakugou looks up. He hears the words, but his ears are still ringing, so he clearly has not heard them correctly. It sounded like the man said he was going home.

“Home?” Bakugou asks.

“Well, the U.A. dorms. Under protective custody but, I promise, you won’t even notice.”

“I’m not going home,” Bakugou responds. He isn’t sure it’s his own voice speaking, or his own lips moving.

“Oh? Got somewhere else you’re headed?”

“Jail.”

Fujimori lets out a deep laugh, the kind that rumbles his whole body. He fans himself briefly with the casefile in hand. “Right. Right right right, no one’s given you the run-down. Ease back those shoulders, son, you’re not headed to jail. Chin up! Try for a smile. This isn’t my first rodeo.” He offers a nod back to the officers. “Ain’t that right?”

There’s a chorus of agreement. Bakugou is looking, but not processing. His mind hangs on “not headed to jail.”

“…When am I going to jail, then?”

“Hopefully never! Not very becoming of a U.A. Hero to be doing time, hmm? Come on. There’s a car waiting out front for you. Let’s gather up your stuff and get you home. Bet you’re dying for something more comfortable than this chair, and these cuffs. Hell, I bet you want nothing more than a night in your own bed right now. Poor boy,” and Fujimori angles his head over his shoulder, “just how many hours have you lot kept him all tied up here, hmm? A touch reprehensible.”

Fujimori is wrong. Bakugou is not thinking about his bed or rest or sleep. Nor is he concerned with how many hours he’s been sitting at the precinct – though it’s been several. He has not thought about those things because time has not restarted. Because there is no future of his to consider with a bed and rest and sleep, not with the unfixable thing he’s done.

Bakugou says none of what he’s thinking. He’s uncharacteristically uncapable of trying. So he silently stands when Fujimori motions him to, and follows as Fujimori takes him back to the precinct desk, where Fujimori strikes up another amicable conversation with the officer in possession of the keys.

…

Back at the dorms, Bakugou showers off the smell of flesh that isn’t his own. He crawls into his U.A. bed for what he is sure is the last time. Hours pass staring at the ceiling, until Bakugou slips into dreams which play back his own last calamitous explosion to him a few dozen more times.

…

Fujimori is waiting for him the next morning, parked alongside the grass outside with the dew brushing along the footboard of his Mercedes. He is wearing a different suit today, a darker one, and he is holding two steaming cups of coffee, one which he offers to Bakugou. Bakugou takes it, though he isn’t sure why. The feeling of heat soaking into his palm is abhorrent.

“How’d you sleep?” Fujimori asks. His attendant opens the back-left passenger door for Bakugou. Bakugou stares. He does not answer, and he does not get in. Fujimori continues. “We’ll just be headed into the office for a few hours this morning. Some of my colleagues would like to meet you and hash over some details from yesterday. Might ask you to sign a few papers, if you’re comfortable with that.”

Fujimori gets in the back-right passenger door. The attendant takes the wheel. Once settled, Fujimori cranks up the AC and fans himself with the documents in his hand. He motions for Bakugou to get in as well. This time, Bakugou complies. Fujimori leans over and shuts the car door for him.

“You said you’re a U.A. lawyer?” Bakugou finally asks. He grips the coffee too tightly in his lap. He’s wearing his U.A. uniform, with the pants hitched up correctly. It’s what he was ordered to wear.

“Sure am. Going on 20 years this September. Y’know, I’ve got a son a little bit younger than you. HUGE fan of the U.A. Sports Festival. I get tickets and bring him every year. You were his top-ringer, favorite by a mile. Your victory over that Todoroki kid—

“Stop.”

“Hmm?”

“Stop.”

“Ah, sports festival a sour subject with you, son? As I recall you did end up restrai—”

“No. Stop being so casual. And friendly. Like this. Sports festival. Sports festival?! Like that’s ever going to matter again!” Bakugou’s voice builds toa crescendo, pent up horror spilling from his mouth like a faucet. “It’s cruel, don’t you think, to make me talk about U.A. like I’m ever coming back.”

“Hey now, the way I see it you’ve still got another two full years at that school before they’re done with you.”

“If you think that then you don’t know what happened yesterday. What kind of lawyer are you who doesn’t even know—”

“I know your case file forward and back, son. I’m no amateur. In fact, I’m very very skilled at what I do.”

“Then you know that I k—”

“—Calculated an unwinnable risk, and acted under extreme duress, and fear for you own life, in the face of a paralyzingly dangerous situation. And I know that your actions were necessary to ensure the safety of yourself and all others in the area.” Fujimori raises his own coffee to his lips and drinks from it, leaving the both of them to ruminate in the whir of the A.C. “An admirable and heroic act, with a tragic but unavoidable outcome.”

Bakugou feels colder, in a part of himself untouched by the A.C.

“…It wasn’t like that,” he whispers.

“I assure you it was, boy.”

The car blinker clicks on. They hang a left. Bakugou fixes his eyes out the window, watching the world spin by him. There’s an anger like solid ice encasing his heart, the kind he cannot act on, the kind that paralyzes him in his seat, the kind he’d only felt once before – when All Might lost his power for him – that Bakugou had vowed to never feel again.

Self-hatred. Ice instead of fire. That is what makes it so paralyzing.

“…Why are you representing me?”

“Because U.A. requested that I do.”

“And why would U.A. care? This wasn’t a U.A. mission. This didn’t have anything to do with them.”

Fujimori turns and offers him a warm smile. His face is disarming, and gentle, and grandfatherly, and he extends a hand to pat Bakugou on the shoulder.

“Come now, I think you’re a sharp enough boy to figure out the answer to that question.”

…

Bakugou leaves the office numb again. His memories of the incident feel hazier now. They feel less his own. He’s been asked to hold on to someone else’s construction, to coddle it in his mind until he believes it is his own. He needs to sew it back into himself. And forget his own memories. And move on.

Six hours have passed since he walked into the conference room with Fujimori, met with a half-dozen other lawyers whose names and faces all escape him now. He’s been asked too many times to describe the villain’s face, to describe man’s dress and his expression and his body language. Bakugou no longer trusts any memory he has of face, and body, and dress, and name.

Bakugou does not remember what, precisely, the villain said to him. He does not remember how he said it or why. Or how the villain had used his quirk, or how many times, or how close to Bakugou. Bakugou knows with certainty the villain had smashed him into the pavement, because it is that white-hot rage he felt in response that is seared into the memory behind his eyelids, like an after-image in the wake of an atom bomb.

The missing details, the absent paint strokes in his memory, have been helpfully filled in for him. Bakugou has been informed by the half-dozen lawyers that the villain had attacked him first, and with such bloodlust and such aggression that Bakugou had acted purely, and only, in defense of himself. Bakugou has been informed that the contusions to the back of his skull, documented at the police station, and the abrasions along his arms and legs and back all constitute intense physical trauma, from the villain who struck first, against Bakugou who had every reason to fear for his life.

Bakugou has been informed that the villain was a scoundrel, a lowlife, a man with a record and no family and no ties to the community.

Bakugou ruminates on all these new elements he’s been told to graft into his memory, as the car vibrates beneath him and Fujimori makes idle one-sided chatter on their ride back to U.A. All these memories meld together, such that Bakugou cannot pick apart what is his own, and what is not. He stares into the blood-red setting sun over the horizon, and he realizes he never will be able to.

There were no witnesses. There were no cameras. The only other man, who might otherwise have had the chance to defend himself, is dead.

…

Bakugou showers again. He already showered this morning. Bakugou tells himself it is because he’s been out all day. He doesn’t let himself consider what about the outing has made him feel so unclean.

So he doesn’t think about it, and he scrubs off the phantom lingering smells of burnt flesh from his body, and towels off, and changes into sweats. Alone in his room, with the blood red of the setting sun eking through his window, Bakugou considers going right to bed. His eyes shift to the clock beside his bed. It’s 5pm, and he hasn’t eaten yet today.

Bakugou stands, indecisive, and moves to the door.

When he opens it, he sucks in a sharp breath. Todoroki is standing at his doorway, leaning ever so slightly against the wall, his appraising eyes roving once over Bakugou before he straightens up entirely.

“Move,” Bakugou says.

“Where did you go with Fujimori this morning?”

Bakugou balks, only for an instant. He shoves past Todoroki, and sets his focus on navigating to the dorm kitchen. “Who?”

“The lawyer. I saw from the window. You were talking to him. You got in his car. And you’ve been gone the whole day until now.”

“What do you care?” Bakugou picks up his pace. Todoroki matches it.

“Because it’s Fujimori.”

“I don’t know what that means. Fuck off and leave me alone.”

“What did he want with you? What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

“Fuck off.”

“Tell me.”

Bakugou stops cold and whirls on Todoroki. He feels his hand twitch, but he thinks better of it.

“It’s from my work study. It’s confidential. I can’t tell you, and I wouldn’t tell you anyway. We’re not friends. You don’t demand things from me. Fuck. Off.”

Bakugou takes off again.

“Fujimori…” Todoroki trails off. He hustles to keep himself in lock step with Bakugou, flanking him, refusing to be shaken off. “Just tell me why it’s Fujimori then.”

“Again, I do not fucking know what that question means. Why the fuck do you expect me to know anything? Do I look like a lawyer? Go bug Deku, you clingy piece of shit.”

“Did I hear my name?”

Bakugou rounds the corner, Todoroki in tow, and he finds himself face to face with Midoriya. Midoriya has one eyebrow quirked, hair wet from his own shower, grasping a glass of water in his hands. Midoriya’s eyes flicker between Bakugou and Todoroki.

“What… are you two up to? Uh, something fun?”

“Good.” Bakugou grabs Midoriya by the shoulders, lifts him, and spins halfway around in place. He plants Midoriya back down as a human divide between himself and Todoroki. “Deku’s here. Go bug each other.”

Midoriya looks back and forth between Bakugou and Todoroki. Worry creases his brow. “Um, okay? Is there something you wanted to talk to me about, Todoroki?”

Bakugou glances for a fraction of a second at the kitchen, and curses under his breath, and turns in place, and shoves past Todoroki and Midoriya. He stalks back to his room, where he slams the door shut and locks it. He throws himself onto his bed and buries his face in his pillow, not bothering with the lights.

There’s muffled chatter in the hall. There are footsteps pattering overhead. There is a world outside his room that has spun on without him.

The question ‘why Fujimori?’ sits like a rock in Bakugou’s chest, and he rips the pillow out from beneath himself, pressing it over his head completely.

It’s fully dark now. Bakugou has no intention of moving from bed.

It is 5:07 pm.

…

Bakugou remembers very few details from the incident, anymore.

His memories are more like wispy embers, and they burn, and they flash-ignite without warning. He remembers heat, humidity, sapping sweat dripping down his hairline and curving along his nose. Heaving breath like a swelling knife wound in his bruised chest cavity. The viscous wetness of blood mingling and running in spider veins down his cheek, to the corner of his mouth, where it painted his teeth and tasted coppery on his tongue.

He remembers rage, white hot, swamping his mind. He remembers uproarious indignation that anyone could fell him like that, crack his head open on the concrete like that, knock the air from his lungs like that, make him taste his own blood like that. He remembers his every breath being a wheezing effort. He remembers the sun searing him, blisteringly bright, when he could manage to pry his eyes open to the spinning sky above. He remembers a ringing that stole all sound from his ears.

Bakugou no longer knows anything past that. His memories aren’t his own. The ones that were are overwritten, or buried, deformed beneath the crushing weight of denial. But he hadn’t meant to. He knows he hadn’t meant to. It has to be that he hadn’t meant to.

A slamming at his door tears him from his hazy half sleep. Bakugou sits bolt-upright, and his heart is slamming in his throat.

“Yo, dude, you get dinner yet? I haven’t seen you like all day. What’s up?”

Bakugou blinks, bleary-eyed, and the clock at his bedside swims into view. It’s 8:47 pm.

Bakugou lays back down. His every nerve remains on fire.

“Go away, I’m sleeping.”

Bakugou can sense the hesitation at the door.

“Alright,” Kirishima answers, and his voice is careful. “Catch you tomorrow then.”

…

In the common area, Kirishima walks in with his fingers threaded through his loose hair, his motions agitated, and he falls onto the couch beside Midoriya.

“Yo, hey, Midoriya, you know Bakugou pretty well, yeah? Do you think something’s like, up with him?”

Midoriya looks up from his phone. Iida, sitting on the adjacent couch, slams his book shut with entirely too much force. “Bakugou had an excused absence from class today! I can confirm this, if you are worried he is shirking from his student duties.”

“Nah nah – I mean – maybe that’s part of it, I dunno. But it’s not just that he wasn’t in class but like, I haven’t seen him at all today. And I tried to go bug him just now but he shut me out.”

“Bakugou goes to bed early,” Iida continues.

“I know he does but like. I dunno. It’s different. It’s kinda reminding me of how he acted after Kamino.”

“I saw him earlier today, but just for a little bit,” Midoriya answers. “Todoroki was talking to him, then he told me to talk to Todoroki.”

“Why?”

“Um, I don’t actually know. Do you know, Todoroki?”

“I don’t know,” Todoroki answers from the floor, where he sits leaning against the couch Kirishima and Midoriya occupy. After a moment of silence, he adds in, “But it’s something bad.”

Kirishima straightens, couch springs straining beneath him. “What do you mean bad? What do you know?”

“He was with Fujimori.”

“Who’s Fujimori?” Kirishima asks. All eyes remain pinned on Todoroki, not a flash of recognition in anyone else’s face, not even Iida’s.

“He’s a U.A. lawyer.” Todoroki fidgets. “He’s… a specific kind of U.A. lawyer. I saw a lot of him, when I was very young. After Mom went away, I saw a lot of him, pretty much every day.” Subconsciously, Todoroki raises a hand to skim along the uneven skin of his left eye. “Dad was his client.”

“Oh, um, I met a couple U.A. lawyers after we rescued Eri.” Midoriya shoots a quick glance to Kirishima. “Me and Kirishima both. Bakugou’s doing a work study right now. Maybe it’s like… maybe something like Eri happened.”

Todoroki shakes his head. “You and Kirishima have not met Fujimori. Whatever U.A. lawyers you talked to, they weren’t Fujimori.”

“What makes you sure?”

Todoroki lingers in the silence. His lips part, but he says nothing immediately. He thinks long and hard on the words hanging behind his tongue. There’s a twitch along his mouth, some repressed fidget of hostility that comes slowly burning into his eyes.

“I’ve been told not to talk about Fujimori. My father has told me not to. But… I think I don’t care what my father told me.” Todoroki pushes off from the couch he is leaning on, settling toward the center of the carpet and turning in place, so that he completes a circle made of himself, Kirishima, Midoriya, and Iida. “I might still get in trouble with U.A.… But maybe I don’t care about that either.” Todoroki pauses. “Fujimori… Fujimori is a monster. Scum, the lowest and most disgusting sort of person humanity has to offer—no, not humanity. Calling human would be too generous. He’s a weapon, not a human.”

Midoriya scoots a fraction forward. His body leaks with uneasy tension. “And he’s… you said he’s someone who works for U.A.? U.A. hired him?”

“U.A. would be sunk without him,” Todoroki declares coldly. “And Fujimori… does not get involved lightly. And he would never be involved in the Eri mission, because U.A. wasn’t at fault for anything bad that happened there.”

“I…” Midoriya fidgets again, waxing uncomfortable. “I mean, um, not all the details of that mission were made public, you know. It um… that mission didn’t go as planned. I mean, I don’t… I’m not blameless, I think, for the things that went wrong.”

“Me neither,” Kirishima cuts in.

“Sir Night Eye—”

“I know Sir Night Eye died,” Todoroki responds, chillingly flat. His eyes appraise Midoriya once-over. “Did you kill Sir Night Eye?”

“No,” Midoriya answers. “Why would you even—”

“Then Fujimori was not your lawyer.”

Silence fills the room. A palpable dread sets in over them, like a blanket of fog, clammy and cold to the touch.

“What… do you think Bakugou did?” Iida asks.

“Something as bad as my father did to me and my mother,” Todoroki answers, and he does not hide the personal condemnation from his voice. “Or worse.”

…

Bakugou wakes at 6:15 am to another message from Fujimori. It requests Bakugou meet him outside once more. No dress code is specified.

Bakugou appears wearing the sweats he fell asleep in, leery eyes meeting Fujimori who stands along the same dew-swept section of street beside the U.A. dorms. Bakugou shifts furtive glances up and to the dorm windows, face racked with tension.

“People can see us from the windows,” Bakugou comments, curt.

“Does that worry you?”

“Yes. Todoroki knows you. Why the fuck does Todoroki know you?”

Fujimori lets out a good-humored chuckle. “Ah, Todoroki’s boy. Figures he may not be too fond of me.” Fujimori adjusts the suspenders digging into his shoulders. He is more casually dressed today. “Well then – here’s some excellent news for you: this will be very, very brief, so brief you don’t have to worry about being spotted with me.” Fujimori curls a smile, wide and self-satisfied on his flushed red face. “Would you like to hear another lick of good news?”

“What?”

Fujimori extends a hand, low and firm, an invite to be grasped and shaken. “All charges against you have been dropped. You’re a free man with a clean record, Katsuki Bakugou.”

Bakugou does not take Fujimori’s hand. He doesn’t so much as move. He feels as if the ringing in his ears is back. He feels again as if he’s misheard.

“…There hasn’t been a trial yet.”

“You’re right about that. We nipped it in the bud before it even reached that stage. That’s a fantastic development, because trials have their way of dragging their feet. For years, sometimes. You’re a fortunate young man.”

“How?”

“Hmm?”

“How did the charges get dropped?”

“Well I just compiled your case is all. Argued it before the district judge and the chief of police over a nice batch of chamomile tea I brewed early this morning, and they’re both exceptional, bright, reasonable men of conscience. Not one person in that room wanted to see a U.A. star’s future snuffed out before it could even begin.”

“I killed—”

“—And there’s a few weeks off, being offered to you too, courtesy of the U.A. President Nedzu himself. He wants you to take the time you need to heal from this trauma. There’s a therapist too, under U.A.’s direction, that we’d like you to meet with daily. Sorry, that part’s non-negotiable. But she’ll be good for you. You’ve been through a lot for a boy so young. Everyone just wants to see you succeed.” Fujimori steps closer, and he rests a heavy hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. “And most importantly, the events from that day are under gag order. No word of this will ever reach anyone outside that precinct or outside U.A.”

“The villain…”

“Pardon?”

“What happens to him now? With his—with the—with what’s left of him. …What happens?”

“That’s not for people like you or me to worry about. You, especially, my boy. Just focus on the happy news.” Fujimori retracts his hand, and he lumbers back toward his car. There is no attendant this time. He opens the driver’s side door and glances back to Bakugou from overtop the car. “There will be a few more meetings in the coming weeks that you’ll have to attend with my colleagues, and a few more things for you to sign, and just a few attestations. But no one will ask anything difficult of you from here-on out. The hard part’s over. Quite luckily, this may be the last you see of me.”

Fujimori tips his hat once more, and disappears into his car with the tinted windows. It’s nice—the car. It’s exceptionally too nice, and too proper, and too clean for a man like Fujimori.

The engine revs. Fujimori vanishes along with the car at the next left turn.

Bakugou is left alone in the cold clammy morning air, with the sun wicking at the grass-top dew drops mingling with the cuffs of his pants.

Time restarts for Bakugou.

Now, and only now, Bakugou feels the passing wind against his cheek, and the wetness at his ankles, and the cadence of songbirds characterized by their punctuation through time. Time is moving fast again, with him in the stream, spinning dizzyingly forward.

Fujimori is right, this news is good news, Bakugou understands that. There’s a future in front of him again. A hero path ahead of him. He can carry on. He can graduate from U.A. He can become the #1 Hero. He can surpass All Might.

Bakugou’s memory stirs.

He is stricken with the image of two eyes looking back at him, gray and befuddled, panicked and unsure. They are eyes which belong to a head, a head with belongs to a body, all atop legs too scattered to know where to run. The image is a quivering bit of prey in front of him, cowed into a quaking revolting shell. It is a thing filled with regret at the sight of the rage it spurred from Bakugou by daring to slam Bakugou into the pavement first.

Bakugou remembers pulling the pin from his gauntlet. He remembers doing it with revelry. He remembers the sweet, nigh-intoxicating high, the euphoria that came with the sense of complete command, absolute control, unchecked power, the drive to win, to win, to win.

He remembers the lock and jolt to his shoulder, now. The eruption of searing heat. The explosion ringing in his ears. And the quaking, shivering thing of prey, in a moment of panic, darting directly into the blast, when all common sense dictated that it should have darted away.

Bakugou now remembers the blast erupting into black smoke, with a smell so wretched on its wind that Bakugou had buckled on spot. Bakugou now remembers the feeling -- suddenly greasy, suddenly unclean with the blowback of the blast, suddenly sticky dripping sapping wet with—

Bakugou remembers the torched wick of a torso – with full context now, he sees it. Suspended in time. Atop legs that should not stand.

Alone now in the cold morning air, alone outside the U.A. dorms, Bakugou buckles at the waist. He doubles over, falls forward like the image so seared into his mind. He moves forward in time with the dismembered legs, both his knees and its knees hitting the ground. Bakugou’s palms strike the dew-strewn lawn, his legs sink into the wetness. He holds himself up a moment, on arms too trembling to command, with a heartbeat too slammingly loud in his ears, and he loses his stomach contents into the grass below.

…

Bakugou is in class that same day. He does not take any of the offered leave, even when Nedzu appears at his dormitory door that morning at 7:30, even when Aizawa pulls him aside at the classroom entrance to ask, in as few specifics as possible, if Bakugou really intends to be here.

Bakugou confirms both times that he’s fine, and that he’s going to class, and that he doesn’t want them to mention anything to do with this ever again.

In class, he pretends to not see when Kirishima tries to catch his attention. He pretends not to feel the cold lick of malice from Todoroki’s eyes probing his back. Hardest of all, he pretends not to notice Midoriya’s pleading look, that detestable, abhorrent disarmed expression of weakness and worry so characteristic of him.

…

The partners are presumably random, but Bakugou stares on with disgusted certainty that Midoriya’s been intentionally assigned to him for sparring practice. Each pair of students has been spread about in sparring rings around Ground Beta, ample room given between each location, such that no quirks, and no voice, could carry between any two. Only the loudspeaker affixed to the Ground Beta building issues commands to each group.

The round starts.

Bakugou squares his feet, crouched slightly, hatred burning cold in his eyes. Midoriya meets his gaze, and squares his own feet, and raises his own hands. A silent few seconds of tense nothing passes between them. Bakugou��s gauntlet-less hands itch.

“Dodge!” Bakugou barks across the makeshift arena.

Midoriya loosens his footing a fraction, confusion crawling back into his face. “You haven’t attacked me yet.”

“Well get out of the way before I do!”

“If you attack me, then I’ll dodge.”

“Well you better! Because I’m telling you to dodge!”

Midoriya blinks. Bakugou remains rooted in place. In a split second, Midoriya has bounced from his spot. He winds back a kick, the shimmer of green iridescent veins spawning like stream rivulets down his thigh, down his leg. He closes the distance between them, and Bakugou only stares back wide-eyed as Midoriya’s shin connects with his jaw.

Bakugou stumbles, face smarting, a white-hot lick of rage exploding like a cannon from within his chest. The anger swamps his mind and drowns all thought and leaves him only with the livid, licking, untamable desire to fire back.

He thrusts a palm out, arm locked in tight at the elbow, immaculately drawing Midoriya into his line of attack. Midoriya’s eyes go wide, but he is still in the air, still falling, and won’t get the chance to course correct until he hits the ground. Bakugou has the shot.

Bakugou does not take it.

Time slips around him again. Leaving him behind, knocking him at the ankles, as if he is standing knee-deep in a stream to which he does not belong. The force threatens to make him stumble. He simply stands, hand extended, the promise of an explosion sputtering behind his palm.

Midoriya lands, and Bakugou has left himself wide open.

Midoriya doesn’t take his shot either.

“Do you want to… maybe call off the fight, Kacchan?”

“No! Attack me again!” Bakugou yells, hand thrown out harder, though nothing bursts on his palms.

“I…” Midoriya hesitates. He looks around, and he lets the rivulets of power bleed away from his arms and legs. He loosens his footing, stands taller, lets the tension ease out of his body. “You know, um… After we rescued Eri, I couldn’t really do much of anything for a few days. I couldn’t even use my quirk without having to focus way too hard on it.”

“I don’t care about your stupid mission. Attack me! Attack, you damn nerd!”

“Is it… something like that for you too, Kacchan? …Is it something worse?”

“Mind your own damn business! And get out of the way before I fire at you!”

“Todoroki isn’t being too kind with his guesses. …Kirishima refuses to believe what Todoroki has to say, if that makes you feel better. But I think I know you a bit better than Kirishima, actually, and I’m not sure what to believe.”

“What makes you think I give a single shit about what Icy-Hot thinks? Or what you think?”

“Are you allowed to tell me what happened?”

“No.”

“…How bad is it? The thing that happened?”

“’How bad?’” Bakugou mocks. “Not at all! Zero! Nothing! Everything got resolved this morning. Nothing’s happening. There’s nothing more to it. You can tell that to Todoroki, and tell him he can keep his prying eyes the fuck off me cuz there’s nothing more for him to see. And you can fuck off for good measure too.”

“Everything got resolved… because of Fujimori?”

“We’re still fighting. Shut up and dodge! Attack! Do something!”

“Because – what Todoroki said – is that’s what Fujimori does. He makes problems go away. No matter what. By whatever means necessary. That he’s U.A.’s ace in the hole. That U.A.’s spotless track record – its perfect reputation – for decades…” Midoriya trails off. Bakugou falters at the sight of Midoriya wiping at his own cheek with the heel of his palm. “Stupid of me, huh, Kacchan?” Midoriya says with a bitter laugh. “I just assumed U.A. put out perfect heroes, all perfect heroes. That every pro from U.A. was like All Might. That every pro from U.A. just… could never do anything wrong. I idolized all of them. Every single one of them, for being perfect heroes. I thought Endeavor was a fluke… I wonder how many Endeavors U.A. has made?”

Bakugou lets out a strangled noise. He thrusts his right palm out with force, and he fires off a blast that lights and catches, erupting outward, hurdling toward Midoriya. Midoriya dodges it with hardly any effort, a simple step to the right and the blast does not so much as lick him. Midoriya doesn’t bother striking back just yet.

“What about you, Kacchan? …It wasn’t as bad as Endeavor, was it?”

“No—it—aggh! I told Icy-Hot it wasn’t even about me. My work-study—it’s just because my work study—”

“With Moonshot, yeah?” Deku curls a hand. He lets a wick of electric green static burst in his palm, which whips his hair with its ebb and flow. “Your work study is with Moonshot right now. Moonshot’s office is small. She only has herself and three sidekicks, and none of them are U.A. graduates. You’re the only person from U.A. working there.”

Deku strikes. His attack clips Bakugou’s left side. Bakugou bears it, not so much as a noise escaping his lips. He side-steps, ducks, and slams Midoriya beneath the ribcage with enough force to knock the wind from Midoriya’s lungs.

“You always think you’re helping, you damn fucking nerd. You’re not helping! You’re just prying into shit that doesn’t concern you. It’s over. It’s done with. And I can’t talk about it anyway! So shut up, before I make you shut up.”

Midoriya pulls in a few wheezing breathes. He coughs, and straightens, and speaks along a rasp.

“Actually… I don’t even think I’m trying to help, Kacchan. I want to help you. I always do. You know that. …But I’m afraid this might be something I can’t help with, or can’t bring myself to help you with, if Todoroki is right.”

“Icy-Hot knows nothing. He’s full of hot air and conspiracy theories, and it’s none of his business. Whatever he thinks happened is wrong, and he should shut the fuck up about it.”

“Are you sure he’s wrong… King Explosion Murder?”

“Shut up.” Bakugou’s palms crackle, and he squares his feet again. “Shut up and di--… Shut up and fight me.”

Bakugou doesn’t wait for a response. He throws himself right into the fray, with the one and only goal of firing his explosions off in quick enough succession to prevent Midoriya from getting another word in.

…

“Sensei! Sensei Sensei!”

Aizawa pauses at the sound of pounding mechanical feet hitting pavement, the rumble of vibrations shaking the ground, and fence, and rubble near Ground Beta. A wetness has stirred in the air, the threat of an impending thunderstorm.

“Iida, I was just coming to collect eve—”

“There’s a fight! Uh—well of course there are fights as this is a sparing match exercise but there is a fight which is not part of the designated sparing activity I mean! I’ve come to report an incident of student violence which I witnessed! I saw it happen and promptly came to find an authority figure and luckily you’re right here but I request you accompany me back to the meeting grounds where—”

“Who?”

“Bakugou, and—”

“Midoriya,” Aizawa concludes.

Iida shakes his head, frantic, spinning on spot and motioning Aizawa to follow as his suited legs take off once more. “Not Midoriya! Todoroki…”

Aizawa falters, and then he picks up his pace to match Iida. He steels himself, and it takes no longer than 20 seconds of threading through rubble for the two of them to round the corner, and enter the scene which had already announced itself with the rising cacophony of voices from 30 feet out.

With a split-second glance, Aizawa gleans three immediate pieces of information from the gaggle of 19 assembled students standing at the center of the training ground.

One, that Bakugou has been knocked down to the pavement, soles of his shoes, seat of his pants, and palms of his hands flat to the ground, left cheek split and leaking blood, with a creeping redness threatening to swell many times over in size across the breadth of the wound.

Two, that Midoriya has grasped Todoroki from behind, his arms looped up beneath Todoroki’s armpits and locked in place in a forceful attempt to restrain Todoroki, who’s lashing against the hold.

Three, that Todoroki’s right fist is split and bleeding, and he is staring down at Bakugou with the spark of murderous intent in his eyes.

“Tell me what you mean by ‘It’s been resolved’. It’s over? Meaning Fujimori already— What did you get away with? I think I know. I think I know what you did. So tell me I’m wrong. Tell me what that scumbag let you get away with.”

Bakugou says nothing. He raises his left hand to his cheek, pressing lightly. A heavy raindrop falls from above, landing with a patter on his cheek.

Todoroki pulls against Midoriya. “Answer me!”

“Todoroki!” Aizawa shouts. He marches forward, eyes alight with his quirk activation, though there is no need for it. Neither boy has used his quirk.

“This bastard’s been meeting with Fujimori.” Todoroki thrusts a hand out, index finger extended, sharp in its accusation as he turns bodily to Aizawa. “And whatever he did, he got off scot-free this morning! He’s bragging about it!”

“Todoroki. That’s enough.”

“He needs to tell us!” Todoroki challenges. A rumble of thunder affixes itself along the end of his words, as if chorusing agreement. “How can we be comfortable calling Bakugou a classmate until we know?”

“Midoriya, you can let him go. I’ve got this under control.” Aizawa’s eye flicker to Midoriya, who blinks, and hesitantly releases his arms from Todoroki.

Todoroki looks between Aizawa and Midoriya, his confidence wavering. “Sensei, you know who Fujimori is. You have to know who he is. You’ve been at U.A. long enough.”

“Yes, I know who Fujimori is. He’s a U.A. employee. Not a villain.”

“Then you don’t know who Fujimori is.” Todoroki counters. He thrusts both hands out. “He’s the reason my mom—he’s the reason my dad—he’s the reason I—” Todoroki catches himself all three times, unable to, or perhaps forbidden from saying more.

He backtracks, calms himself, a glint of desperation lighting in his eyes. Todoroki turns in place, bodily facing Bakugou once more. “Just defend yourself. Just tell me what happened. If you’re innocent then clear your name, and just tell us what Fujimori wanted with you! Why can’t you do that? Why?”

“Todoroki that is enough. This is not like you, and it is not acceptable,” Aizawa growls this time. He stalks forward, using himself as a means of separation between the boys, and he grips Todoroki by the shoulder. “I think you’re letting your personal feelings get in the way of common rationality. My office. With me. Now.”

Todoroki appraises Aizawa, and then his eyes go wide. A few more heavy drops leak from the blackened clouds above. They plick across Todoroki’s face, riding his expression, loosening with shock.

Todoroki opens his mouth, and the energy has been sapped from his words.

“…You know. You know what it is, don’t know? You’re part of this. You really are okay with this.”

“Not another word until we reach my office, Todoroki. If you defy me, I’ll consider it grounds for suspension.” Aizawa turns in place, and he surveys the rest of the class with deathly cold eyes. “Midoriya, Iida, take Bakugou to Recovery Girl’s office. Everyone else, get back to the dorm. I don’t want to hear a word about this by tomorrow morning, understood? The threat of suspension extends to all of you.”

There is a palpable unease in the air that rides along the rumble of the clouds. The rest of the students nod, Uraraka and Asui with a prick of tears at the corner of their eyes. Wordlessly, Iida extends a hand for Bakugou to grab, and lifts him from the ground.

Kirishima throws one last worried look in Bakugou’s direction as the skies fully open. The class is caught in the downpour, the scenery effaced by a thick sheet of heavy rain. The three boys vanish from view, and Kirishima raises an arm overtop his head for cover, and he joins the others headed back to the dorm.

…

Class begins wordlessly the next day. No one dares to mention it, but everyone has noticed Todoroki’s empty desk. The threat of suspension, of following in Todoroki’s footsteps, cows everyone into compliance. Bakugou sits stiff in his own seat, his insides too mangled, his dreams too riddled with his haunting memories playing on repeat to afford him more than a few moments of uninterrupted sleep the previous night. He feels full of cotton, his stomach in knots, his brain too much a hazy mess to make sense of what’s unfolded. His jaw has swollen, hot to the touch.

Aizawa enters, his face blank and tired. He shuffles a few papers and greets the class with a monotone Good morning. Most voices echo the greeting back, but quieter, mumbled. Only Iida seems to muster the energy for a proper greeting. The downpour from the previous day has lightened, but not vanished. It plicks against the muted gray windows, sealing in the atmosphere.

“The bin for your English essays is now on the front table. Present Mic says you may turn them in any time between now and Friday. Late submissions will not be accepted.” Aizawa shuffles the papers in his hands. “Also, we have another announcement.” Aizawa nods to the doorway. Faces turn.

Shinsou stands at the entrance, face drawn into a bit of a grimace. He rubs at his neck and looks away. “Um… Hi. I’m Hitoshi Shinsou. Some of you already know me.”

No one answers him, because the class already knows Shinsou, and they’re all weary of what answering him may lead to. On a different day, friendliness might have won out over fear. Today, no one can muster the optimism.

“He’s transferring into 1-A starting today. Please extend a warm welcome.”

Silence beats around them. Iida manages a clipped greeting. A few more students nod. Bakugou watches it all unfold from his hazy fog.

Shinsou is no more lively in his acknowledgement of his introduction. He looks away, hoisting his bag on his shoulder, and shuffles down the aisle. He reaches Todoroki’s seat, and places his bag atop it, and sits down.

Midoriya’s chair screeches backward. He is standing, his face a mask of concern. “Uh, Sensei, Shinsou, um, that’s Todoroki’s desk. Todoroki sits there.”

“Todoroki has decided to transfer to Shiketsu High School, effective today,” Aizawa states simply. “Sit down, Midoriya, and raise your hand in the future if you wish to speak.”

Bakugou feels the ripple through the air. The potent unease. The prickle of disbelief that comes in just the form of a few slipped gasps, a few wide eyes swinging to Todoroki’s seat, and then swinging over to him, as if staring at him may reveal the answers they’re never allowed to know.

The haze in Bakugou’s brain won’t let him think. It’s made worse by his own shock, and his own disbelief, and his own gnawing discomfort in his gut when he looks over, and finds Todoroki absent from his seat.

It’s Kirishima’s pained eyes that he accidentally meets in the process.

“Bro… what’s happening?” Kirishima leans across the aisle. He speaks as quietly as he can for someone suppressing shock. “Please man, please just tell me it isn’t anything bad. Tell me Todoroki was wrong. Please dude. Please, I just gotta know you didn’t—”

“Kirishima!” Aizawa barks from the front of the room. Kirishima goes stock-still, spine stiff, head snapping forward to face the teacher. Aizawa turns to face the board, and he grabs a piece of chalk, snapped at the midpoint, and begins to write textbook page numbers on the board. “Not another word on the topic. I thought I made myself clear yesterday, or would you like to be an example?” Aizawa turns, and lifts an eyebrow in Kirishima’s direction. Kirishima, white in the face, shakes his head. “Good. I didn’t think so. Now be quiet. Class is starting.”

#boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia #mha #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #violence //#non-canon character death //#angst //#hello welcome to a bad idea that got worse.

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years

Text

Not Safe | Professor Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Professor Hiddleston x Reader

Summary: You and your former professor, Tom Hiddleston, are carrying on a clandestine relationship under the guise of you as his TA. You are aware of Tom’s dark fantasy and today is the day you fulfill it.

Warnings: Smut, Breeding, Desk Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship, Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Sex

You snuck into the back of the lecture hall and took one of the few empty seats at the back. If the lecturer up front saw you, he gave no indication. Professor Thomas Hiddleston continued on with his lecture on John Bunyan.

“Pilgrim’s Progress.” He clicked over his PowerPoint. There was a collective groan from the students. Tom smiled before adjusting his glasses, pulling his hands from his pockets.

“I’m not going to sugarcoat it, Pilgrim’s Progress is probably one of the more boring parts of English literature.” A smattering of chuckles. You smiled, that joke never fails to hit. “But if we can get through the material with no more groaning or anyone falling asleep.” His eye caught you in his peripheral vision. “I’ll let the class out an hour earlier.”

He winked, and you squirmed in your seat. That man knew what to do to soak your panties. Not that you were wearing any that day. Tom’s voice drifted into the background, a constant hum, as your mind wandered to other things, such as how nicely the Professor’s ass looked in those pants or how his three-day stubble tickled and scratched the inside of thighs when he ate you out this morning. It wasn’t like you needed to pay attention anyway, having taken the class last year and graduated with your Bachelors in English Literature. You now attended the college as a graduate student, giving perfect cover as Professor Hiddleston’s teaching assistant for why you linger in his office at unusual hours.

You snapped out of your daydream as Tom announced, “Please bring your essays on Milton’s Paradise Lost to the front and place them on the table. And for the next time, please read pages 123-157 in your textbook.” You tugged down your skirt, short enough to show off your legs but not so short to get you into any more trouble than you wanted.

“Anything I can do for you, sir?” You sidled up to the professor, brushing against his arm.

Tom’s lips twitched at the word “sir”. It happened so fast, only you caught it. “Why don’t you take these papers back to my office?” He pushed the stack of essays into your hands. “and prepare the handouts for my ENG 104 lecture at 4:15 p.m.?”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.” His lips twitched again, and you spun on the heel of your flat and exited the lecture hall.

Tom resisted the urge to leer at your backside in your almost too tight skirt. Which was made even more difficult by the crush of students asking questions, most of them female undergrads, desperate to catch his eyes. It didn’t take a PhD, although he possessed two, to figure out these girls were attempting to fulfill some fantasy of fucking their professor. He smiled. If they only knew the truth.

Fortunately, no one did. Or else you would be expelled and Professor Hiddleston fired. Graduate student or not. “Everyone!” He held up his hands. “Any questions you have can be answered during my regular office hours tomorrow.” A few of the students groaned. “Now if you excuse me…” He gathered his leather briefcase and glasses from the table and headed out the door. “… I need to prepare for my next lesson.” His pace brisk towards his office, where you should still be.

You were hunched over Tom’s desk, collating papers. You didn’t hear the door open and closed or the lock flip shut.

“How dare you?!” Tom called out, causing you to throw the papers into the air in fright.

You clutched your chest as copies flutter to your feet. “What the hell? You scared the shit out of me!” You screeched back. “Ever heard of knocking?” You bent down to pick up the papers. Tom ran his hand up your back. You jumped again.

“It’s my office. Why would I knock?”

“I could have been naked or something.” you muttered, straightening the papers.

He sat down on the couch against one wall, legs splayed. “That’s an option?”

You smirked as you spun to face him. “It is, if you ask nicely.”

He patted his lap, and you straddled his legs. Tom squeezed your ass, pulling you into a rough kiss. Your hands combed through his curls, tugging. He bit your lower lip.

“You know what I want.” He stared into your eyes. No matter how many times you gazed into them, you always got lost in those eyes. His mind wandered as he stared at your chest to the thought of your breasts, engorged with milk. Your belly swollen, whether with child or his cum. It didn’t matter.

You leaned close to his ear. “What if I told you today was your lucky day?”

His eyes widened, and nails dug into the fabric of your skirt. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I want you to breed me, Professor. I want to fill me.” Tom panted as you purred against him. “I am fertile today. If you were to cum inside me, it would not be safe.”

Tom’s hips bucked into you. “On the desk, now.”

You rose to walk to the desk. “Yes, sir.” You swayed your hips and then leaned over the edge of the table, hands flat against the surface. You wiggled your ass as his pants leg swished along your thighs.

CRACK! Tom smacked your ass hard, you jumped forward, your hips hitting hard against the solid wood desk.

“As much as I love your ass. On your back.” He pushed the papers and books away as you spun and hopped onto the desk. Your legs fell open and Tom smirked.

“Good girl.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The tips of his fingers grazed the skin of your inner thighs, crawling up your legs toward your core, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

His eyebrow raised when his fingers teased along your folds. “No panties?”

“As you requested. Sir.” you added as Tom’s brow furrowed.

His fingers collected your arousal, swirling his thumb over your clit, earning a whimper from your lips.

“Class is still in session, my pet. I suggest unless you want someone coming to see me fucking you like the cumslut you are, you keep it down.” Tom clenched his jaw and his eyes flashed.

You bit your lip and nodded. Tom pushed into between your legs, pushing them even further apart. He plunged two fingers inside of you. You let loose a soft gasp.

“But I thought…” you questioned as Tom’s fingers scissored and curled inside of you.

Tom shushed you with pursed lips. “You need to be prepared for my seed, love. Give it the best chance to impregnate you.”

His thumb pressed onto your clit and her head hit back against the desk. Within moments, you came around Tom’s fingers, gushing and gripping.

“That’s it.” Tom urged as he continued to thrust inside of you. “Squeeze on my fingers like you will when you milk my cock.”

When you slumped against the desk, Tom removed his fingers. They dripped with your juices. Tom pressed his fingers into your mouth, while he fumbled with the fly of his pants.

“Clean up your mess, love.” You greedily sucked on his fingers. Your tongue dragged along his knuckles. Tom removed his fingers with a pop. “Now to fuck you…” The tip of his cock dragged along your slit before Tom buried himself in you. “… like the breeding slut you are.”

You moaned softly. Tom snapped his hips against you. Your mouth fell open in silent moans as Tom rutted into you. Each snap and thrust of his hips and cock deliberate. Tom’s hand slipped under your ass and lifted it up. He placed your feet on his shoulders.

“You mold around me, pet. Your body sucks up my cock. You are dying to be bred.” Tom growled. He reached down and squeezed your tits. You moaned. “Your tits will swell with milk for our child.”

Your walls fluttered around him, already sensitive from your orgasm, earlier. “I’m cumming!” you hissed. Your nails dug into the wood of the desk.

Tom’s hips snapped hard against you. He pulled your legs tight against him, giving him more leverage to plunge deeper into you. “So am I.” With a last thrust, Tom’s cock pushed deep inside you, his cum painting your walls.

Tom’s mouth fell open as you clenched around him. “That’s it, love, milk me for every drop. Let us not waste anything.”

Tom slumped forward, your bodies covered with sweat, both of your chests heaving. Your legs pressed against your body. Tom’s cock stayed inside of you.

You tried to sit up, blocked by Tom’s hips holding you fast against the desk. “Well I have class to—”

Tom pushed you back onto the desk. “You are not going anywhere. We are not done here.” His cock twitched inside of you.

“But, Tom, I was just—”

His hips rocked into you. You moaned. “You are mine and you will leave when I have filled you to my satisfaction. Until I am leaking out of you.”

Tom’s cock hardened and twitched inside of you. Your eyes shut and you gripped the sides of the desk and Tom pounded into you for Round Two.

“Whatever you say, Professor.” you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston smut #professor hiddleston #professor!hiddles

187 notes · View notes

otherthingsinhead · 4 years

Text

Time To Relax

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, language, oral (male receiving), verbal references to penetrative sex and oral (female receiving), office sex (boss/employee)

Words: 1.4k

A/N: It is what it is. What could I say? I am a slut for Maxwell Lord.

Summary: Who would have thought this morning that laughter is not the only thing you are going to choke on in your boss’s office today.

“M—Mr. Lord?”

You are hesitant to step into the office. It's oddly dark inside, the curtains are all closed, only a small desk lamp illuminates the room poorly, making the atmosphere feel more grim and heavy.

Maxwell Lord is sitting on his sofa, hovering over a big pile of paper. His dark form is tense, almost motionless if you don’t count his lips, moving silently with whatever he is currently reading from the mess in front of him.

“The conference room is ready,” you tell him, getting just as much attention as you did when you came in: zero. “Is there…,” you clear your throat and try again. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

“No—what?” Mr. Lord turns and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as if he just notices you for the first time, then immediately, he goes back to his work. “No, thank you, I... I’m afraid you can’t.”

He is probably right. The future of the Black Gold Cooperative depends on how much money gets invested into it and that depends on the success of this meeting itself which depends on… Mr. Lord alone. It's too much responsibility for only one man you think and feel a strong urge to stay and ease a little on that pressure. Nonetheless, you are useless and since your presence is no more required, you turn to leave. Just as you finally find the will to take the first step, you hear him growl. “Damn migrain!”

Encouraged by the sudden opportunity to stay, you close the door behind you and walk to the medicine cabinet to get some pills and a glass of water. Mr. Lord is now sitting leaned back on the sofa, one arm draped over his eyes, looking all hot and rugged.

He is wearing a simple white shirt with a dark, silk tie. The top first button is undone and the tie is loosened around his neck. He is not particularly handsome—you have to admit—but there is something about him that ignites your body with an uncontrollable want and curiosity ever since the first day you met. He is charismatic, he is charming, he is popular yet, seemingly unaffected by any attention that is not focused on his career.

You can’t tell what exactly awakened this mysterious and powerful attraction to him inside you, but it is there and it is real and it makes your imagination go wild. You often catch yourself fantasizing about him, what it would be like to bend over his office desk and let him rail you against it, or sit on his freshly shaven face and drown him in your pussy.

“Mr. Lord, you should take a break from this mess sometimes,” you say, placing the water onto the table along with the pills and kneel to his feet to start picking up the crumpled papers that have been scattered all over the floor.

“I can’t. I have to—” His attention shifts the moment he opens his eyes. You are on all fours with your ass hiked up, crawling towards a piece of garbage under the small but very expensive coffee table. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Ouch, shit!” You jump and bump your head into the table top as you try to get yourself out from underneath it. “I’m sorry, I just tried to help,” you say, massaging your skull with a painful grimace on your face.

“By getting a headache to yourself too?”

Fuck.

It’s not even that funny.

You try not to give the impression of being a complete lunatic and stifle your bubbling laughter to a more suitable level. Which is hard because one, Mr. Lord has a more sarcastic sense of humor than you have thought and two, now he also has a barely visible but disturbingly cute smile on his lips. “I’ve told you, you can’t.”

His tone is dismissive but his gaze is hot and persistent on you as he leans forward to pick up the pills and suddenly you feel your body stiffen and your heart quicken. He is close enough for you to catch a whiff of his cologne—a warm blend of earthy, fruity and spicy scents—and turn your insides to jelly. “You don’t…” you start, feeling a rush of courage at the casual but not too subtle gaze that lingers on the cleavage of your blouse. “You don’t even give me a chance.”

It’s ridiculous how fucking turned on you are, sitting on your heels in between your boss’s legs, watching his throat work with the gulps as he takes the medicine. He seems unfazed by your words but it is possible that he just doesn’t know what kind of help you are offering. He runs a hand through his dyed hair and checks the time on his wrist watch. Shit, you have to make this clear.

Taking a deep breath you bite down on your lip and place your hands on his knees. You feel the muscles contract at your touch but he stays still, looking down at you with a thrilled but slightly confused expression on his face.

“I can help you relax... if you let me,” you say, almost whispering, simultaneously sliding your hands further up his thighs when a sudden grip halts you.

Okay this… this is embarrassing.

Your stomach drops and your body starts to tremble as you raise your gaze, terrified that somehow you misread the signs and crossed a line you shouldn’t have. But when your eyes lock with his, you don’t feel embarrassment. Instead, you feel powerful and in control so you decide to ignore the insecure grip around your wrists and move again to undone his pants.

Mr. Lord feels the tension slip from his body and dissolve into a warm, tingling and exciting feeling in his spine. He knows this shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t be on your knees, in his office, with his cock in your hands but he likes the way his body reacts to your touch.

His cock is gorgeous. It’s dark and heavy and hard and feels insanely good against your tongue. You barely taste the tip of it and your panties are already soaked with your own arousal. Your pussy throbs painfully with every groan he can’t hold back and you try your best not to seem too desperate as you keep stuffing him deeper and harder down your throat.

You wish it never ends. You swear you could suck his dick for hours, make him throb and moan for you like this but soon the conference room fills up with various businessmen, waiting for your boss to finish fucking your mouth.

It doesn’t take long until he pulls away.

“You—you’re going to make me come,” he warns you, his grip is gentle but firm on your jaw and you know how fucked up you must look with your lips glistening in saliva and eyes glazed with hunger but you don’t give a single fuck how whiney you sound when you beg for him to cum into your mouth. “Yes, please… Mr. Lord. I want that.”

Like a small earthquake, his deep groan shudders through you and your mouth is full of his fat cock again. His big, sweaty hands pressing gently on the back of your head, urging you to suck him deeper as he pounds his cum down your throat.

You lick him clean like a kitten then wipe your mouth, feeling satisfied but equally wanting more. Mr. Lord glances at his wrist watch again and tucks his softened cock back into his pants with a visible disappointment on his face. He is running out of time.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him and get on your feet to smooth your hair and adjust your skirt. “We have work to do.”

“Right,” he says, still sounding out of breath and looking more flustered than you would have expected.

He follows you to the door, reaches for the knob then pauses. “That was… you were very helpful,” he says, his smile is wide and genuine and sends a little flutter to your belly.

You place your hand on top of his and give it a light squeeze before turning the knob with it. “It was my pleasure,” you blink up at him through your lashes and walk away with a wide grin on your face and a pleasant, pulsing ache that still thrums between your legs.

All taglist: @maryan028 @pedrothirst @pascalisthepunkest @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8

#pedro pascal #maxwell lord #fanfiction #wonder woman 1984 #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord x you #female reader insert #ww84 #maxwell lord smut

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nancywheelxr · 3 years

Text

based on yet another genius conversation @ptadadwenkexing and i had that basically started with: “what if Ye Baiyi adopted Wen Kexing after his parents died?” and then spiraled from there

in a city sorrow built

[before]

The world is a foggy forest.

Or, perhaps, a murky swamp, but Zhen Yan has never seen a swamp before, he doesn’t think. All he knows is that his head feels stuffy and it hurts so much. Like he’s on fire. Like when he tripped and skinned his knee except it’s burning everywhere.

When did he skin his–

He can’t think, it’s so hot in here, and it hurts, and–

There are voices around him. Is the Ghost King back? Anger sparks somewhere beneath the hurt, but fear does too, so much of it, and Zhen Yan wants his mom, wants to go home, wants–

The arms holding him shift and even through the haze, he curls up further, fingers grasping uselessly at robes. “Luo-yi,” he tries to say, feeling tears gathering up in his eyes– she can’t leave too, she can’t, please, don’t leave him alone, please–

“Shhhh,” her voice comes from above, a finger sweeping over his brow even as he’s passed to another set of arms, “it’ll be okay, you won’t remember this.”

“And you think he’ll thank you for that?” This voice, Zhen Yan doesn’t recognize, it sounds cold and harsh, and he wants to push away, but his body feels heavy and so far away, and thinking too hard hurts, so he can’t do anything, except–

The next time he surfaces, he no longer feels like he’s burning: instead, he’s terribly cold.

“ – no place for a child,” that same voice from before is saying, and Zhen Yan still hates it, still wants his mom, his dad, even Luo-yi, but he’s so cold– he’ll, he’ll– something, he’ll do something, later, he will, but now, he can only burrow further into this person’s arms, seeking any warmth. The hold on him tightens, something is draped over his shoulders. “Hey, are you awake, kid?”

Yes, and I’ll kill you, you’ll see– the pain spikes again, and he’s dragged back into the darkness.

“ – you think you can just replace him?!”

“What did you want me to do? Leave the child in that place?”

“How is bringing him to this damned place any better? The great Sword Immortal could not think of anywhere else?”

“Please, you two, you’ll wake the boy–”

“The child is– his parents died for him, it’s my responsibility–”

“Is it? Or is it your guilt?”

A hand presses to his forehead.

“The fever has gone down,” a new voice says quietly, kinder and softer than the first two from before, and Zhen Yan leans into the touch.

Mom, is it you? Did you come back for me?

It’s not. She didn’t. When he wakes up again, the fog in his mind is nearly gone.

The winter of his memories is nearly gone, snow melted into a spring river. It’s still there.

He did it.

It’s still there.

In the morning, he wakes up with the sun filtering in through the window, brighter than he’s ever seen it. It lights up the room he’s in, allowing him to see how sparsely furnished it is– just the bed he’s in, a desk by the window with a chair, and a large sword resting in a shadowed corner. Over the chair, a white over robe is draped and on the desk, he notices with staggering relief his jade hairpin.

The key is safe.

How long has he been here? He doesn’t remember much after drinking the water Luo-yi gave him. Had he thrown it all up? He tried later that night, but then– what? Oh, he thinks he might have thrown up blood too, that’s probably not very good--

The door slides open.

He means to pretend to be asleep, but the movement startles him, and the man by the door freezes, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. The man doesn’t look threatening, with a water basin in his hand, but the little time he’s spent in the Ghost Valley has already taught him not to trust appearances.

The man sighs, unsticking from the doorway to set the basin at the table. His movements are slow and precise, clearly telegraphed before moving, and when he finally turns to face the bed, his face is tired, weary like Luo-yi’s only ever was that first night when she was cleaning up blood from his face.

“Alright, what’s your name, then?”

Something terrible caves in his chest, breaking off jagged edges, sharp and cutting, and the words all turn to ash in his mouth. What is his name? His mom told him to never use the Zhen surname again, didn’t she? And she– now, he’s–

Besides, it feels very far away, that life. Maybe Zhen Yan should stay with that boy in his memories who had a mother and a father that were all alive and well. Maybe–

“Aiya, why are you crying,” the man says, taking a step towards the bed but stopping when that only seems to make things worse, “if I was going to hurt you, do you think I’d waste my time taking care of you first? Little Idiot, did you forget your own name? That’s a real concern, so you have to tell me the truth.”

“I’m not an idiot!” It rushes out of his mouth before he can stop himself, but surprisingly, along with the man’s awkward blundering, it makes him feel a bit better. “And of course I know my name! It’s– it’s– Wen Kexing!”

There. Mom, is that okay? I’m sorry, I’m listening to you now, see?

The man does not look like he believes him. “Wen Kexing, sure. How much do you remember, then?”

Wen Kexing. It sounds foreign. Unfamiliar. But not– not bad? He could– it sounds like someone he could be. Wen Kexing. Still the same characters, still him, just– just pieced together a little different. Yes, just different. “Who are you? Where am I? Why did you bring me here? What do you want?”

Another sigh. “You’re going to be a pest, I can tell,” the man scowls, shaking a finger in his direction, “so disrespectful! I’m letting it go this time, but see if I won’t have you kneeling outside to learn some manners in the future.”

He– Wen Kexing scowls right back. “I’ll bite you!”

While he had been prepared to take a hit for that, the only thing the man does is snort. “Silly boy, do you think you are a little ghoul? Now, now, come on, what do you remember?”

Too much. Not enough. Wen Kexing doesn’t know how to answer that. He remembers his dad killing himself and he remembers his mom lying on the ground. He remembers screaming until his throat gave out and he remembers the Ghost King laughing. He remembers– another boy? He doesn’t know what his mother looked like smiling or how his father called him, but he remembers how blood tastes on his tongue.

What do you remember?

Tears are welling up again and Luo-yi told him once not to cry in front of other people, but everything is so terrible, he just wants to curl up under the blankets and not wake up again, and, and–

“Oi, little ghost, don't start crying again,” the man sounds a little panicked even if his face doesn't really show it, but now that he has started, Wen Kexing can't stop crying, choking out sobs so much, he can barely breathe. A hand falls on his shoulder over the blankets, and he looks up to find the man is kneeling by the bed now, looking very uncomfortable, “alright, if I tell you my name, will you stop crying? My name is Ye Baiyi.”

Wen Kexing hiccups. “Where's Luo-yi?”

“At the Ghost Valley with the other ghosts,” Ye Baiyi says, voice kinder than before, “she gave you to me to get you out of that damned place.”

“Why?”

“Because that place is no place for children, not even rude little ghosts.”

“Why?”

“Because– ai, is that the only word you know? Come on, if you're well enough to be a pest, you're well enough to get out of bed to eat.”

“I could be dying,” Wen Kexing sniffs, slowly crawling out from his nest of blankets. There is a lot he wants to ask, but this man doesn't seem to be bad, even if he's rude. Besides, food would be nice. He pokes his head out, glaring. “No funny business, or I'll really bite you.”

Ye Baiyi laughs. "Such a fierce little ghost,” he allows Wen Kexing to get to his feet on his own and doesn’t try to get any closer, only gesturing for him to follow, “put on that robe too, it’s cold up here and there’s people you need to meet after you eat. Well, one person, but she’ll come around later too.”

If they’re going outside later, maybe Wen Kexing could try sneaking out. If this really isn’t the Ghost Valley, then– then, maybe he could run away. To somewhere. He doesn’t know yet, he’ll figure out the details later.

But food first, he really is hungry.

***

[now]

The inn is bustling with people, the happy chatter reaching even the top of the stairs, and the sun is shining brightly outside– they should go out again today, Wen Kexing decides, just for the fun of it, to hell with the Scorpion! Maybe the market?

“A-Xu, how about it, let’s go to the market again today,” he’s saying, half-formed plans to laze around in the sun bringing a genuine smile to his face– when he spots him. “Oh, shit.”

Zhou Zishu immediately starts scanning their surroundings, which is so sweet, Wen Kexing will definitely swoon later when he’s not in a crisis. “What? What did you see?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he tries to backtrack, tugging at Zhou Zishu’s arm to drag him back to their rooms. Maybe, if he’s very luck, Ye Baiyi has not seen them yet. Could they escape through the window? It’s not very high, he doesn’t think. “A-Xu, A-Xu, I’ve just remembered, let’s go back upstairs, I don’t feel so well–”

“Lao Wen, what–”

“Wen Kexing, you lunatic, stop right there!”

“Wait, who’s that–”

“No one, A-Xu, no one,” he closes the door behind them, whirling around to grin his most innocent grin, the one that had Rong-furen patting his head and slipping him an extra mooncake, “A-Xu, what would you do if I told you to jump out that window with me?”

“What,” Zhou Zishu says, eyebrows going up, up, up, as he smirks, “are you telling me there’s someone Sword Immortal Wen is afraid of?”

On one hand, they don’t have time to waste squabbling about unimportant things like this when Ye Baiyi has alread caught sight of him. On the other hand, that is just not something he can let stand– “as if! That old man wishes– !”

Their time runs out: the door is thrown open with no ceremony and Wen Kexing sighs. Honestly, the drama. “Wen Kexing!” Ye Baiyi points a finger at him, not even sparing Zhou Zishu a look, narrowing his eyes, “how many times have I told you to stop calling yourself the Sword Immortal?!”

He scowls. “Old man,” he starts, thinks better of it, amends with a winning smile, “shifu, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Unfortunately, he is betrayed by his own soulmate: “are you telling me,” Zhou Zishu drawls, “you are not the Sword Immortal, Lao Wen?”

“A-Xu! Don’t laugh at me, your skepticism is very hurtful!”

“So you have some brains, unlike the people downstairs who bought into his bullshit,” Ye Baiyi seems to take stock of Zhou Zishu, and Wen Kexing feels irrationally nervous for no good reason– first of all, his A-Xu is literally perfect, so there’s nothing for Ye Baiyi to bitch about, and second of all, who cares what the Old Man thinks? “Who are you, anyway? Why are you running around with that pest in your state?”

“Excuse me, who are you calling– wait, what state? A-Xu?”

“Maybe we should all sit down,” Zhou Zishu gestures to the small table, looking uncharacteristically surprised.

When he came down the mountain earlier that month, Wen Kexing had only meant to look into why people were suddenly trying to blame Luo-yi for their mess and maybe, if he were lucky, watch the Five Lakes Alliance burn themselves to the ground, get his revenge without even lifting a finger– how fortunate is that? But now things are a lot messier, he still hasn’t figured out how much of his recent dreams are real or not, how truly entwined his life is with Zhou Zishu’s. Had they truly met as children?

It’ll have to wait. Maybe Ye Baiyi will know something, he’ll annoy it out of him later. His head is beginning to ache again, but it’s fine, let them just have tea first– now that he thinks about it, who knows, maybe the Old Man can heal Zhou Zishu’s old injury?

Just in case, Wen Kexing pours the tea for him, beaming away any suspicion.

#woh #word of honor fic #word of honor #shl #tyk #shan he ling #tian ya ke #faraway wanderers #wenzhou #wen kexing #ye baiyi #wenzhou fanfic #mine #woh tag #wenzhou tag

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j-runes-stele · 2 years

Text

Expect the Unexpected Part 3 (George Weasely)

TW: E.D., sibling bickering, cuss words, and flipping someone the middle finger. Sorry if I missed any!!

Word Count: 1148

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL JUST THE WAY YOU ARE AND NEVER LET ANYONE TELL YOU OTHERWISE. IF THEY DO TELL YOU OTHERWISE, SEND THEM MY WAY.

He stepped into your dorm to not see you anywhere. He noticed the light from the bathroom was shining under the locked door. He stepped closer to hear the shower running and once again forced the dorm open, not caring if you were decent or not at this point.

He stepped into the bathroom to see you in the fetal position, fully clothed, and with your clothing clinging to your skin, he could see that you had lost weight. Too much weight if you asked him. He quickly turned the water off and sat down beside you. There was this silence in the air until you both heard running footsteps. George looked up to see Fred and Lee standing in the bathroom doorway.

Lee leaves quickly, giving Fred a knowing look. Fred gently picks you up and notices that you are now shivering; George is following close. There is a gentle knock on the door; Ginny is standing there. She walks in as you are set on the bed with George and Fred stepping out into the hallway to give you privacy. You let her help you change into dry clothes.

"I heard what happened. I am so sorry. I just hope you will consider trusting me. Just so you know, you deserved so much better." Ginny finally says after you are in dry clothes. You look her in the eyes, give her a small smile, and slightly nod your head. She pulls you into a hug, and you hug her back.

"Thank you," You shakily whisper. You both turn to the doorframe to see Lee has returned with a plate of food.

"I had a few house-elves help put a plate of food together since they knew what you prefer to eat." He explains, setting the plate on your desk. George held his hand out, and you cautiously took it; as you stood up, he wrapped his arm around your waist, so you did not fall.

When you sat down in your desk chair, George sat on the floor. For the next hour, George coaxed you to eat small bites. When you said you were full, he saw that you ate half of the food on the plate and smiled up at you.

"I know you don't trust me, but I am proud of you," George says, gently holding your hand and giving it a slight squeeze.

"Thank you, Georgie." You murmur, only audible to him, with a small smile on your face. Once again, he wraps his arm around your waist and guides you to your bed. You crawl underneath the covers and watch as Ginny and George fight since they both want you to sit with them. Fred sees you looking amused and knows you will be a great addition to the group.

"How about we eat up here with Y/N tomorrow, so she is not uncomfortable or feels pressured in the Great Hall?" Lee suggests, and everyone agrees after you say it was okay. Everyone leaves with George being the last one in your room, and you smile at him as he closes your dorm door.

When you turn over to your side, you suddenly wish you were cuddled up to George. As you drift off, you question why you two were enemies. To begin with, today, in particular, has proved himself. Could you really trust him? You have this want to.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

For the past few weeks, where ever you went, George was following close behind. You both enjoyed each other’s company. You knew how to comfort each other when the other was sad or just needed a laugh. George hated how he never tried to get to know you sooner; he now couldn’t imagine his life without you in it.

One evening, the pranksters and you pulled a prank on Snape (dying his robe and hair hot pink), and everyone was running. Fred and Lee ran in one direction to hide, and George grabbed your hand, pulling you into a broom closet. You both heard Snape pass you, and after a few seconds, you both burst out laughing.

You collapsed on the floor from laughing so much, and George just looked at you in admiration. After the coast was clear, George exited the closet, followed by you. You both meet Fred and Lee in your dorm, and everyone collapses due to laughing. As you try to catch your breath, you ask a question.

"So, so, so who is going to ask Snape ask Snape if he got his hair done or if it is just a bad hair day?" You ask between fits of laughter, and it causes laughter to erupt from the others.

After everyone had calmed down, Fred and Lee left exhausted. However, George wasn’t tired, and neither were you. You both started talking about random shit when George finally plucked up the courage to ask.

"So, uhh, I know you hated my guts a few weeks ago; however, I have a question for you. Would you do me the privilege of being my friend?" George asks and watches ass your eyes go wide.

“Yes, Georgie, I would LOVE to be your friend.” You exclaim as you wrap your arms around his neck. After a moment, you yawned. Even though you tried to hide it so Georgie wouldn’t leave, he noticed.

"Tired Y/N?" George asks.

"Nope." You say through another yawn.

"What do you mean no? I just saw you yawn. Why are you lying to me?" George asks.

“Cause I maybe don’t want you to go just yet.” You murmur, burying your head into his neck.

"Where would I even sleep here? Do you want to have me sleep on the floor?" George asks and feels you shake your head into his neck, "then where?"

"My bed." You say, and he pulls away, searching your face to see if you are being serious.

"Are- are you serious?" George asks with a little smile. You do not verbally answer him; a nod conveys your response.

"Well, I'll be right back," George says, bolting out of your room to quickly change pj's; while he is gone, you change into pj's.

[you are not in the room]

George bolts into the room, grabs PJs, and runs to the bathroom to change.

"Where is the fire, bud?" Lee asks, confused. However, when Fred meets George's eyes, he knows.

"It seems as if he is not sleeping in the dorm tonight," Fred exclaims as George blushes.

"What do you mean?" Lee asks before realizing what is going on. George is about to open the door to leave when a comment from Fred causes George to blush a deeper red.

"Remember to use protection." Fred jokes. The only response that George gives is giving Fred the middle finger before leaving to return to your dorm room.

#george weasley #george weasley x y/n #hogwarts #y/n #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #gryffindor #weasley twins #enemies to lovers #alternate universe

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stargazing-enby · 4 years

Note

Omg I just realized I forgot to send u a Christmas prompt! How abt 1 and in case that one got taken 20 and just in case that one got taken too 23 😂 or maybe you want to do all three I’d love to read anything!! 🎄✨

This is my walk of shame... I got this ask in December of 2019 for this ask game and then never filled it 😅 but hey, better late than never, right? 😂 Thank you so much for the ask! I wrote prompt 20. “That’s my scarf”.

Thanks @april-thelightfury115 for betaing!

Drarry | 1.4k | Teen and Up | Auror Partners, Getting Together, Winter Fluff, They’re both idiots but they’re very into each other so that’s okay, Harry Potter tries to be romantic (and kinda succeeds) | Read on AO3

“That’s my scarf.”

Draco—eyes barely visible under the giant scarf that enveloped him—looked up at him, held his gaze for a whole two seconds, and then very pointedly looked back down at the case file sitting before him.

“Heating charms are a thing, you know,” Harry added, setting the coffee he’d brought Draco on the git’s side of the table and sitting heavily in his chair, squinting at the stack of paperwork that awaited him. “If you’re really that cold we can strengthen them a bit.”

Draco nuzzled the scarf and turned the page without a word. Harry huffed with a shake of his head. The git was still mad at him, he knew, but this was certainly a peculiar way to be mad at someone; especially since Draco was playing with the fringe of the scarf, his long fingers twining and twirling the soft strands of dark red wool. It seemed like a mindless gesture, but Harry wouldn’t put it past him to be doing it on purpose: after all, he knew very well what Harry thought of his fingers.

Harry didn’t even attempt to concentrate on the paperwork. He took a sip of his coffee and said, “Look, I’m an idiot, okay? Just give me a piece of your mind and be done with it, please?”

Draco turned another page. Glanced up at Harry for but a second.

“I’m certain I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, voice low. “Your scarf is merely the softest garment I’ve ever come across. I can never find scarves that don’t irritate the skin of my throat, you know.”

His fingers turned and twisted around the fringe. Harry sighed.

“I asked you to date me and you’re mad at me.”

“Wrong. You asked me to date you while we were buying Christmas-themed socks for Weasley and I’m rightfully mad at you.”

“It seemed like a good idea in the moment,” Harry said, sheepish.

Draco looked up at the ceiling, incredulity and exasperation painted all over his face.

“Of course it did, you heathen,” he murmured, talking to himself more than to Harry. “For the love of Merlin, Potter. I would’ve assumed you’d know by now I am a man of romance. One doesn’t simply bring up the possibility of a serious, long-term relationship with me while buying pieces of clothing that are going to warm Weasley’s smelly feet for years to come.”

Harry couldn’t help it—he snorted, burying his face in his hands. Draco was right: Ron’s feet reeked.

“And how, potentially,” Harry said after a moment, “would one interest you in a serious, long-term relationship to ensure you’d say yes?”

Draco pretended—rather dramatically, at that—to consider the question for a few seconds: humming aloud, scratching his chin under the scarf, staring vacantly.

“Homemade dinner with candles would be the bare minimum, I’d say. But if one wanted to be certain I’d say yes, some other details would have to be involved…”

“Like…?”

“Like nice robes,” Draco said, squinting at Harry’s old jumper and jeans. “Cologne would be appreciated too. Low, background music to compliment the low crackling of the hearth... I’d have to be notified in advance, of course, so I could dress accordingly, and a bottle of wine would certainly seal the deal.”

Harry just gaped at him.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said. “That has to be the poshest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“I did tell you I was a romantic, didn’t I?”

“You’re impossible, is what you are,” Harry declared. “Can I have my scarf back now, please?”

Draco smirked.

“Heating charms are a thing, you know?”

***

Draco didn’t look up from his paperwork when Harry walked into their office and closed the door behind him. The idiot was still wearing the scarf—he’d taken it home the previous evening and had walked into the department that morning with it draped around his neck for everyone to see—and was, once again, playing with it absent-mindedly while he worked.

Harry halted at the other side of the table, rummaging in his pocket. He pulled out the hearth-scented candle he’d bought that very morning a few streets away from the Ministry, set it down on the table, and lit it up with the tip of his wand.

Draco did look up, then.

“What’s this?”

Instead of answering, Harry rested a plastic bag on the desk and took out a glass container, opening it and placing it where Draco would see—and most importantly, smell—its contents.

“Potter, what…?” Draco inhaled—deeply, slowly—eyes falling closed for an instant before looking up incredulously at him. “Why?”

“Homemade samosas,” he said, gesturing at the pastries, still warm despite having been cooked the previous night. “Candle.” He pointed at the small flame. “And, lest I forget…” He removed his cardigan; he wasn’t wearing his fanciest robes—that would’ve been too out of place at work—but he’d put on the tight jeans he’d been wearing the first time he’d caught Draco staring at his thighs while out for a walk, as well as the jacket Draco had declared, a few months back, to be the most decent item in Harry’s wardrobe—his assessment having allegedly nothing to do with the excessive amount of buttons the thing had, even if it was the world’s worst kept secret that Draco had a passion for buttons.

He let Draco stare back and forth between him and the samosas for a few moments before saying—with a rise and fall of his shoulders, with a small shake to his voice despite his efforts— “I want to date you. A-And I know you want it too because you wouldn’t have worn my scarf in front of the entire Ministry staff if you didn’t want everyone to assume we were an item. So…there you go. Homemade samosas. Cheese, chicken, and spiced potatoes. I have no idea if you even like spiced potatoes, but you don’t have to eat them if you don’t—”

Draco stood, and Harry gulped, his voice dying.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Draco walked around the table and stood before him. He looked down at Harry’s clothes; raised a hand as if to touch the buttons of his jacket, then changed his mind and let it fall to his side again. He looked up at Harry’s face, then, and Harry held his breath, gaze drawn to a faint freckle underneath Draco’s right eye.

“I said candles, you know,” Draco breathed. “Plural.”

Harry blinked, not understanding.

“Does—does that mean...”

Draco’s thumb found his cheek, fingers tangling in the hair at Harry’s nape. Harry’s breath hitched. When had they gotten so close?

“It means,” Draco murmured, “that I must be very into you, because I’m not even slightly mad you’re asking me out at work, of all places.”

“Better than a clothes shop, isn’t it?”

“The bar was certainly low,” Draco agreed. “Plus, you cooked for me. I can’t overlook that.”

“Right.” The lower half of Draco’s face had poked out from under the scarf when he’d pointed with his head to the table, and Harry’s eyes fell to Draco’s lips.

Draco noticed, and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. Said, voice rough, “I wouldn’t have chosen this jacket, though.”

Harry looked up, worry crawling through him. But all he found in Draco’s eyes was want so intense it made him shiver for an entirely different reason.

“The things I want to do to you when you’re wearing this…” His hand fell to the buttons: traced the shape of one of them almost reverently. “They shouldn’t even cross my mind while I’m at work.”

“Come to my place after work, then,” Harry said, feeling bold. Feeling breathless, and exhilarated, and way too hot inside his clothes all of a sudden. “I’ll put more candles up and light the fire. You can even go by your house to change into fancy clothes. Grab a bottle of wine, if you have it.”

“I always have wine.” Hands falling to Harry’s waist, Draco licked his lips again.

“Okay,” Harry breathed.

“And I want there to only be embers in the hearth by the end of the night.”

“You’ll have to stay a few hours for that to happen.”

“Good,” Draco said, eyes on Harry’s mouth, and Harry almost kissed him then and there, Draco’s standards about romance be damned—but then Draco took a step back, and another until his hip was resting by the table. He grabbed a samosa and bit into it: hummed, eyes falling closed. Crumbs falling onto Harry’s scarf as he savoured the pastry.

After swallowing, Draco grinned.

“I love spiced potatoes.”

#otpshipper98 #drarry #drarry squad #drarry fic #christmas drarry #drarry fluff #tsauergrass

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shydreamerwitch · 4 years

Text

Comeback (M)

A/N: Hey guys! I am back with my second smut! I hope you enjoy this one!!

Warnings: Smut! Oral (M and F receiving)

This weekend was supposed to just be for you and Namjoon. But now that comeback was coming he had become busier than ever. Phone calls and emails are occupying this lovely Saturday afternoon. You didn't have much planned, but now you couldn't even do anything with how busy he had become. You knew you shouldn’t have let him put an office in the home you shared. You sit impatiently on the couch hoping he would come out of that stupid office of his. After about a half hour of trying to keep yourself occupied you get up in a huff and walk to his office. You could hear him talking to the rest of the boys. Rolling your eyes you knock and walk into his office. “Hold on guys, Y/N walked in.” He was on a video call. You assumed he muted the call. “What's wrong babe? You okay?” He reached his hands out to you. You walked over to him with a pout plastered on your face. “No, I am not okay actually. You said we would spend time together. I know you’re busy because of your comeback, but you promised me this weekend. I haven't seen you all week, and today you’ve been locked away in this room. I just want to spend some time with you.” you sat on his lap and placed your face into his neck. “Ok, first, we are going to spend time together today, I just need one more hour. And second, stop whining, you know that's not going to get you anywhere.” You could feel him rub your back and felt his hand trail down to your ass. You looked up at him, “I am not whining. I am simply stating a fact. Plus you said to give you another hour 3 hours ago. I don't know if I have it in me to give you one more.” You placed a kiss to his lips, and trailed down to his neck. Namjoon takes a deep breath in. “Has it really been three hours? You are so lucky that I turned the camera off.” His grip on your ass tightened. “Oh, lucky? Is that what I am?” You slipped off of his lap and walked to the couch in his office. Namjoon watched as you walked away from him. The shirt of his being the only thing on your body, giving him a full view of you as you plopped on his couch. “Go back to the boys Joon. I’ll be here. Waiting.”

Namjoon cleared his throat and looked away from you. He resumed the video chat with them, eyes glancing over to you ever so often. Namjoon was explaining comeback shoots and videos when your impatience had gotten the best of you. You decided to have a little fun while you waited for him to be finished. You got off of the couch and slowly crawled over to Namjoon. He was still speaking when you finally made it under his desk. He hadn't realized you left your position on the couch until he felt your hands on his thighs. Jumping slightly, he grabbed your wrist before you could make any other movements. “Uh, hold on guys, I have to grab my charger, my laptops dying.” He bent down to eye level with you. “What the fuck are you doing Y/N?” You simply bit your lip. “I got bored. Let me play, you can keep talking. I promise I’ll be quiet, although I can't say the same for you.” He scoffed. “Not a chance. I am almost done babe. Please go wait for me.” He lifted his upper body back up and waved you off. You rolled your eyes. Not moving from your spot you grabbed at the hem of namjoons pajama bottoms. He gently smacked your hand, but that wasn’t going to stop you. You tug slightly at the pants, hoping he would just go along with what you wanted. You missed him, and this would be the best way to show him just how much, and from the way Namjoon was starting to stiffen, he also missed you. He lifted his hips up slightly allowing you to pull the restricting bottoms and his underwear down. Once you had his clothes pulled down enough, his cock sprung free. Being face to face with it made your mouth water and caused your cunt to start leaking. You tested Namjoons will to be silent by pumping his already fully hard erection a few times. You looked up at him from under the desk. He wasn't even looking at you, instead his eyes were focused on his video call. You stopped in frustration, huffing in annoyance. That caught his attention. “I guess I’ll just go wait somewhere else then?” You whispered. You made a move to shift away from him, until you felt his hand in your hair. He yanks you back to him, bringing your face close to his cock. The grip on your hair only makes you wetter. “You look upset Namjoon, you okay?” You hear Jin ask. You decide that now is the perfect time to place half of his cock in your mouth. “Y-yeah Hyung. I’m great.” He manages to choke out. His grip tightens on your hair. You begin to move your head up and down swallowing as much of his length as you can, whatever doesn't fit you begin to stroke, your free hand lowering to play with his balls. He sucks in a deep breath. “You sure you’re okay Namjoon-ah?” Yoongi asks, voiced laced with concern. You suck and pump faster. “Yes! I am. AH! I just banged my knee against my desk.” The boys began to laugh at him. “Everyone's acting so weird today.” Yoongi mutters. If only they knew what was really happening. He was close, you could tell by the way his thighs tensed. After a few more sucks and strokes you could feel him twitch in your mouth, finally releasing into your mouth. Spurt after spurt of his cum sliding down your throat. You make sure to swallow it all, and open your mouth to show him. “Ok, I think that's all for now!” Jin yells excitedly. Everyone all says their goodbyes and you hear Namjoon slam his laptop shut. “What the fuck was that?” He says grabbing you by the jaw lifting you up to your full height. You looked up at him, “I told you I wanted to play, you chose to ignore me.” He scoffs. “Babe what if they would have figured out what you were doing? Then what?” You simply shrugged your shoulders at him. He shakes his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” He says kissing you. “Now, it’s your turn.” He says scooping you into his arms and walking with you to the bedroom. He drops you on to the bed pulling your shirt off. He leans over you kissing you one more time before he begins to trail kisses down your body. His attention is diverted to your right breast. He sucks the nub into his mouth, tongue swirling around your nipple. You let out a moan, your hands sliding into his hair. He moves to the other breast repeating his actions. He starts to kiss down your stomach until he finally reaches your soaking core. “I see sucking me off while my members could have heard has made you very wet.” You moan in response. You could feel his breath fan over your slit. You needed him to do something, anything. You were about to say something when you felt him lick from your hole to your clit. You groaned out placing your hands back into his hair. Namjoon began his attack on your clit, circling it with his tongue then sucking it into his mouth. He inserted two fingers into you as he continued his assault on your clit. The stimulation from both his mouth and fingers was too much for you, and you felt yourself barreling towards your orgasm quickly. With a few more thrusts and licks you were tumbling over the edge with a scream of his name and a tug of his hair. He allowed you to ride out your release on his face licking up every last drop. Once you began to come back down he lifted his head up. “You okay?” You smiled down at him and nodded your head, words evading you currently. Namjoon made his way back up to your face laying next to you. You placed a hand on his cheek. “I love you Joon.” He smiled softly, his dimples making an appearance. “I love you too baby.” While laying together in the comfortable silence you heard Namjoon’s phone vibrate. He reaches over and looks at it, turning red and tossing it to the side. He lets out a groan and covers his face. “What’s wrong?” He passes you his phone. I know why you were acting that way, hyung. Don't worry, your secrets safe with me ;). You laughed, sometimes JK was too smart for his own good.

#namjoon smut #bts smut #namjoon x reader

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ghostofstudentspast · 3 years

Text

OBLIGATORY part 4

Draco x Pureblood!Reader (Series) MASTERLIST

Back again with another part to the series!! Since I’ve been on hiatus for so long I’m taking this story in a completely new direction which I am SO excited about. I really hope you all enjoy it! I know chapters have been a bit short but I’m building to some bigger events soon ;)

PART 5 Word count: 1400

A hangover after a five-day bender. That’s the only way you could describe the way your body was feeling. Your stomach cramped up and a whimper escaped your lips as you curled in on yourself, soft sheets beneath you. Soft sheets. Not the cold hard floor of a dungeon classroom. Cracking open your eyes and sitting up slowly you peeked around the room before you.

Not the hospital wing either. The room itself was spacious, with a big window on one side, golden light streaming in through light curtains. There was a small desk in the corner, a cushy arm chair next to a small bookshelf and a fireplace. The bed you found yourself on was impossibly soft, with the fluffiest duvet you’d ever felt in the world. But still you had no idea where you were.

The soft click of a door drew your attention to the other side of the room. A familiar face slipped through the door before spotting you sitting up, awake.

“Ah, so you’re not dead after all.” You watched Draco walk towards you carefully, almost as if he was approaching a feral cat.

“No-I….where are we?” Your throat felt dry and your voice was barely above a whisper.

“I know why you did it,” He ignored your question and stopped next to your bed, handing you a glass of water you hadn’t noticed. You gratefully accepted the drink but never took your eyes off Draco. “It’s this isn’t it?” he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves and turned his arm towards you to expose the harsh black lines of the skull snaking down his porcelain skin.

You shook your head silently, too tired to stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. You tried to come up with the words. How could you tell him it terrified you to spend your whole life under the dark lord’s thumb when Draco was so loyal to him. You could feel your breath hitch and the panic bubble in your chest.

“Hey, look at me,” his tone was surprisingly soft, almost gentle. He perched on the edge of the bed, closer than you were prepared for. His hand carefully gripped your elbow and you couldn’t stop your body from flinching slightly under his touch. You looked up at him as a tear rolled down your cheek and your chin trembled. His eyes held no malice anymore, no anger and none of the disgust she was expecting.

“I’m just as scared as you are.” He spoke as if saying it out loud for the first time. Maybe it was.

Of course, you knew he’d taken the mark, but you’d been so caught up in your own anger and fear that you hadn’t considered the toll it would have taken on him. The bags under his eyes spoke of restless nights. He looked frazzled, nothing close to the usual perfectionist persona you grew up with. For the first time you looked at his dark mark voluntarily. It made your skin crawl but now you could see the raised skin under the tattoo. The edges were red and looked as uncomfortable as you felt.

“Why did you take it?” you whispered and looked back at his face.

“He would have killed my family Y/N,” he didn’t look back up at you, instead focussing on the tattoo, disgust clear in his eyes. He dropped his arms into his lap and picked at the material of his trousers. “My father angered him, and he offered me up like a scapegoat for his actions.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I just thought…” you took a deep breath, “I’m sorry.” You grabbed his hand to stop him from fiddling and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Me too.” He finally met your eyes again and offered you a tiny smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Truce?” you wiped your face from tears and a small laugh cut through your sob. He squeezed your hand back this time and nodded. “So, how do we know if me almost dying actually worked?” you pushed your hair back and took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts.

Draco pushed himself off the bed and walked over to the little desk in the corner of the room. He picked up the contract and brought it back for you to take a look at. At first glance you could only see blood splattered across the page and it looked like a crime scene. But when you took a second, closer look at the paper, the words had started to fade. Certain sentences had already disappeared off the page and others were hidden behind dark spots of your blood.

“It’s disappearing?” You looked up at Draco questioningly.

“It’s been fading for as long as you’ve been out.” He nodded, “but it hasn’t changed since you’ve woken up.” You kept flipping through the contract.

“So, we’re still bound to this,” you muttered, “but there’s enough missing that there must be a loophole here somewhere.” A spark of hope flared up in your chest and a small smile graced your lips.

“I think so,” he agreed and allowed himself to drop into the chair next to the bookshelf, inspecting at you from a safe distance.

“I’ve cast a charm on the copy of the document so anyone who looks at it will be fooled into thinking it’s the real one, so we have time before our families find out about this,” your brain was in idea mode, words tumbling out of your mouth before you could completely process them.

“You’re an idiot,” Draco spoke up, but it didn’t hold any malice this time, “but you’re a clever idiot.”

“I can get us out of this.” You grinned at him.

___________________

“Y/N!, where the hell have you been!?” Daphne screeched as soon as soon as you set foot in your shared dorm room. You’d come out of the room on the third floor dazed and a bit baffled but hope still sat in the back of your mind. As soon as you’d turned to ask Draco a question, the room was gone and so was he.

“Literally to hell and back.” You flopped onto your bed, body still sore. You launched into a full explanation as you showed your best friend the bloodied contract.

“This is insane!” She gasped as she read through some of the clauses, “and Draco, he’s…he didn’t want…?” she whispered even though you were alone. You nodded silently, he was in the same boat as the two of you. A scared kid.

“Look,” you pointed to the top of the contract, ‘The two parties will enter into a magic bound partnership’, “Before, all of the clauses pointed towards marriage, but now,” You flipped to another page with some vague outlines of the magical bond, “it only has to be a partnership. If we stick to the remaining demands, we can live the rest of our lives separately as long as we don’t break any of the rules.”

You were already planning on how to avoid some of the written demands. If you just made a list of the things the two of you had to stick to, you wouldn’t even have to live near each other. You just had to interpret a new meaning of the word partnership.

“This is insane, you almost died,” Daphne was still in shock, “I would have murdered you for that you know,” she smacked your arm with very little force behind it.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you to fend for yourself without me,” you teased her and pulled your friend into a hug, relief spreading through you. One problem was dealt with. Now you had room to imagine a way out of danger for you and your friends. If you could keep your head down, play pretend for a little longer, you might make it out of here alive.

“We’re out of here as soon as we turn seventeen,” you promised Daph quietly, still holding her tightly.

“We have to be,” she squeezed you gently.

If you were going to survive your families, the Dark Lord and the stirring trouble that was brewing among the entire wizarding community, you’d have to keep up the loyal daughter façade for one more summer. Seventeen was when you’d be ‘marrying’ Malfoy. Seventeen was when you were considered your own person in the wizarding world. Seventeen was when you would find your freedom.

Obligatory Tag list:

@xkonpinkx @detroitobsessed @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @pointlesscoconut @irlkell @thehumanistsdiary @mo-onstarrs @summer-writes-words @aplaintart @jjjmaybank @rainstorm22 @weird-pale-blonde-person

#draco malfoy fic #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy series #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter series #obligatory #Obligatory series #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #HP Fandom #HP

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stankyleg89 · 4 years

Text

Open Window

Peter Parker x Reader (pretty gender neutral)

Warnings: a bit of language

Summary: A 3 am call from a certain web-slinging hero leads to new revelations

a/n: I stayed up until 2 am on a writing spree lol hope you enjoy. I think the reader is p gender neutral unless I missed something

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Ding ding! Ding ding!

I groggily got up and rubbed my eyes. The disoriented feeling in my head cleared as I stretched my arms. I flipped my phone to see Peters contact lighting up my phone. I looked to the corner of my screen.

3:17 am.

Damn it Peter. Why does he have to call me this late?

I swiped my finger across the screen and held it up to my ear. “Mmmm-Yello?” I said, trying to sound coherent.

Peter's voice rang through my head “Hey Y/N, how's it going?”

This is what he called me at 3 in the morning for? To see how it's going?

“Well, Peter, I was about to head out for a vigorous night of drinking and partying, but I was so rudely interrupted by a call from my favorite superhero,” I responded sarcastically.

He took a minute to respond “Really?”

“No, dummy, I was sleeping. What could you possibly need at this hour!”

There was a long silence. I even checked my phone to see if he had accidentally hung up, but no, he was still on.

“Peter?”

“Right, yeah, can I come over? I can’t sleep and I don’t know what to do. I tried everything--I even went for a swing around the city, nothing!” He paused again. I could hear the gears in his head turning. It was almost like… he was hiding something. Nonetheless, I couldn’t say no to Peter, he was my best friend (besides Ned of course).

“Yeah, absolutely.” I began to sit up in my bed, trying extra hard to rub the sleep out of my eyes, “So, I’ll see you in 10?” I got up headed to open my window. The cold February wind wafted through, mixing with the warm air in my room, leaving goosebumps that crawled on my skin. It was nights like these that made sleeping under all of your covers so amazingly comfortable.

“Actually, funny thing. I may have swung all the way to your apartment. I’m outside now.” I heard a clunk from outside the window and a familiar mask popped down from above my window. I jumped back, not expecting the web-slinger so soon. I regained my composure and hung up the phone, throwing it on the bed, along with myself as Peter let himself in.

I turned and watched as Peter crawled into my window, hitting one of the pots with his foot. Just as quickly as he kicked it, his spider senses had kicked in and he had caught it, managing to only spill a little soil on my rug. He looked up at me, and I could tell through the mask that he had a small, almost embarrassed smile on his face. He made it through the rest of the window and set the small plant back on the sill, promptly closing the window with it. He took off his mask and turned to me, throwing it onto my desk. I looked closer at him and noticed the tired in his eyes. He looked downright miserable.

I pulled the numerous blankets back and patted the spot next to me, “hop on in, partner,” a small, sincere smile drew itself on my face. He tapped the spider on his chest and the suit immediately deflated itself, pooling at Peter's feet. He stepped out and draped it over the back of my desk chair. He was wearing nothing but his boxers as he stood in front of me. I guess he didn't realize until we had met eyes, but no sooner we had both begun to blush. I looked away out of a mixture of embarrassment and curtesy, and cleared my throat. “Um, I think I have a spare set of mens sweatpants if you want some,” I tried my hardest to sound cool, and calm. I heard a small “yes please” from Peter and immediately hopped up from the bed and went to my dresser.

I was rummaging through my dresser for a good minute, and for every second I could feel Peter behind me, trying his hardest to act casual. Swaying back and forth and looking around my room, trying to distract himself with it all. I found my sweats and turned back to Peter, who immediately met my eyes again. I looked away quickly and walked over to him, handing the pants over. Our eyes once again met, but this time it felt less awkward, like we were both two people who were fully clothed. I soon came to realize that neither of us were. He was holding a pair of my sweatpants, standing in his boxers. I was in an oversized Green Day t-shirt and underwear. Once again we were both blushing.

It's not my fault though. The way he was basically naked in front of me. His chiseled body was like looking at a fucking god, I mean… God Damn. Let me just say I would not hesitate to let that man DESTROY me, but I could never tell him. No matter how lovestruck I was, Peter was a friend first, eye candy second. Plus, I knew he probably didn’t feel the same way, I heard him talking to Ned one day about how he was thinking about asking Liz to Homecoming. But just because he was off the market, doesn’t mean I can’t admire the product.

I gave him a smile as he slipped the sweats on, and walked back over to the bed. Giving him a once over I broke the silence, “Damn, Parker, my sweats are doing wonders for your ass,” I let out a laugh as he turned to me, a coy smile and a blush plastered on his face. This made me laugh even harder, which made Peter let out some quiet laughter. He climbed into bed next to me and we both lied down, the laughter now dying down.

“So Parker,” I started, turning over so that I was looking at him. “What brings you around at this hour?” He let out a sigh, but didn’t respond. This didn’t sit right with me, so I sat up to look at him in the face. He was staring at the ceiling, unbothered by my staring. “Hey, whats up?” This time I was more serious, hoping that that would pry an answer out of him.

He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face “I- don't want to say, its…” He trailed off for a moment, as if trying to stall his next words. “Embarrassing,”

I rolled my eyes and now sat fully up, “Peter it’s ok, you can tell me. I wont judge, I promise.” He opened his eyes slightly to look at me. I was smiling, hoping that that might help ease the embarrassment. He looked back up at the ceiling, “I… had a nightmare,” he breathed out and was now covering his face to hide his embarrassment. I didn’t understand. Everyone gets nightmares sometimes. It was completely normal.

“Well Peter, everyone gets nightmares sometimes--I don’t really think you should be embarrassed about that. But, if it would help, you can tell me what happened.” I felt like however silly his reasons were, I wanted to to be supportive of my friend.

“That's the thing” he started. This time he sat up and turned so that we were eye to eye. “I had a nightmare about you.” The face I was making must have scared him, because he hastily continued, “I-I mean like you are ok now so it's fine, but it was pretty horrific. I remember I was umm- running, because I heard you yelling for me. It was like running through a maze, but when I finally found you, you were…” He stopped. His eyes were turning red and you could tell it was becoming harder for him to finish, But he carried on. “You were lying on the ground, and like, half your face and your arm were all burnt up like him like Mr.-” He couldn’t finish as he wiped away some tears that were falling from his face. I didn't need him to finish however, and ended up wrapping ghim in a hug. I felt him sniffle as he leaned his head down into my shoulder, wrapping his arms around me. It felt nice knowing that I could be there for him. I heard his breath steady as he continued. “It j-just felt so real and now I feel like I can never close my eyes again without seeing your body-” He couldn’t finish.

I thought for a moment, trying to figure out a way to calm Peter down. I pulled back from the hug and told Peter to lie down. “Come on Peter, lets get some sleep,” I moved to turn the lights out, then found my way next to a sniffling Peter. “You know that will never happen, I can promise you that,” I whispered. “I know you are still upset about Mr. Stark, and I know you have been through a lot. I need you to know that you still have so many people here to help you stick out the pain. You’ve got May, Ned, MJ…” I trailed off, getting lost in my thoughts.

I heard Peter speak up quietly, “You?”

I smiled at the thought of Peter thinking about me “Yes Peter, obviously me. Anytime you have another nightmare, my window is open.” I looked at him through the darkness, and I could tell he was looking down at me. “Looks like you're stuck with me”

I could tell the gap between us was thin. I could feel his breath on me. I wanted so badly to move up and kiss him, but he did that for me. Our lips met and all of my thoughts went out the window as I kissed him back. May I just say. Holy Fuck. I had only dreamed of kissing Peter and now… Jesus Christ. His lips were chapped slightly, but soft nonetheless. You couldn’t even tell it was one of the first kisses Peter had ever had, but boy ‘o’ boy was it his favorite.

It ended seconds after. As we both pulled back, the looks of surprise and bliss were written all over our faces. Anyone who had walked into the room at that moment could clearly tell what had happened. Peter leaned back and stared at the ceiling in awe “Holy shit. That was...” It was almost as if he was at a loss for words.

“Overdue.” I finished his thought for him and let out a small laugh, “guess you really are stuck with me now huh?”

If you had told me at the beginning of the night that I would be locking lips with Peter Parker, aka my longtime crush, aka Spiderman, I would have laughed in your face, but now…

He turned and wrapped me in his arms. “I don’t think I’ll have trouble getting to sleep tonight, now that I’m here, with you.” I felt his chin rest on the top of my head, and I took this chance to snake my arms around him, resetting my head on his chest. We sat in silence, listening to each other breathe for quite some time. I felt his chest vibrate as he hummed quietly “This is great.” his voice was low, like he was on the verge of falling asleep. This was the understatement of the year. If heaven were a feeling, this would be it. I felt my eyelids getting heavier and heavier, and soon enough Peter's heartbeat had lulled me to sleep. He had fallen asleep soon after. The thoughts of him coming through my window more regularly, not to mention the smell of me floating through the room put his mind at ease. I felt like I was the luckiest person in the world.

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a/n: I hope yall liked the read! lmk what you thought about it ;0

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #Spiderman #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #spiderman x reader #spiderman homecoming #spiderman far from home #marvel #avengers #fanfiction #mcu #gender neutral reader #peter parker oneshot #spiderman oneshot #avengers fanfiction

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finalgirlbuffysummers · 3 years

Text

okay here it is. The rest is below the cut.

You would think that living on a Hellmouth made the nightmares worse. That every night would be screaming torment, but really, the hollow earth below never really prowled the dreams of its lesser citizens. Sure, the vampires and their teeth made appearances, dead classmates, the prickling curent of the wind, but waking up and knowing your neighbor heard the same bump in the night, knowing you survived to see the sun: that’s your bitter reward. Your comfort. It’s normal here, perched on the lip above the sharpest tooth.

No, the nightmares get worse ten years down the line. You’re out of highschool. You wake up alone. You wake up in a city that doesn't understand you, strangers who want to prescribe you medicine or tell you to mediate. So you end up alone, and you know alone is how they like you. You’re not sure if demons lurk in your new city. You thought once that a man standing on the corner lit his cigarette with massive purple claws, and you ran, your feet echoing like gunshots through the streets.

You never did learn to shoot a gun. You keep it in your nightstand drawer, but you know it wouldn't stop anything that's followed you out of California, out of Sunnydale. Once, you had a girlfriend. Rummaging around for a hair tie she discovered your small handgun, your safety blanket. She picked it up with her forefinger and her thumb, like it was filthy, like she didn't understand. “Why do you keep one of these awful things?” You couldn't answer her.

There's no girlfriend now. No one to make you coffee in the morning, no one to rub your back when you wake up with the feeling of teeth in your throat, tight grips on your ankles. She got tired of you, you poor, novel thing from the west.

So it's been weeks. So it's been grocery shopping at 3am, staring at the wilting vegetables, trying to stay out of your apartment. It's been staying longer at the museum you work at. No, you don’t work there just to read the old books for some kind of answer, you lie. At your highschool, there was a librarian who kept swords. You think about sending him an email: Hey, Mr. Giles, do you sleep at night? Does it get easier? Where might I acquire a sword such as yours? You draft hundreds before you realize you have no idea where to send them.

Your classmates don't keep in touch. there is no Facebook group, there is no reunion. There can’t be: Sunnydale is no more. It collapsed in itself. This should be comforting: but all you can think of is the beasts who crawled out of the pit, who remember the stink of your fear. Some folks stayed local, moving just a town over, the low thrum from the throat of hell enough the lull them into a stupid haze of breakfast, lunch, and getting eaten for dinner. The rest left. There are two hundred, give or take, Sunnydale immigrants scattered around the country, waking up alone. Waking up with a gun in their hands. Waking up dead. Your school newspaper had an obituary page. The boy who ran it wrote well, you thought, if cynical. Who the hell can blame him? Mr. Giles, you write. How come it didn't get us? Why are we still left? Mr. Giles, can you tell me if it's following us?

Last week a friend of a friend called you to say Dennis had died. Dennis… you remember now. He was the lead singer in that band, what was it? Something about Dingoes. You ask how he died. Sunnydale habits: You keep an ear out for the signs. The friend says, puncture wounds, on the neck. Police suspect it was inflicted by a barbeque fork. You drop the phone. You sharpen stakes, get splinters in your palms. Buy crucifixes by the dozen. More than once, you’ve slept in a church pew, under the painted ceiling. At work, your boss asks with some concern about the dark circles under your eyes. Long night, you say. You are starting to hate this city. In this city, there’s no hero.

Yes, you remember her. You know everyone else does, too. Buffy. One time, you saw her sparring with the librarian. No swords, just fists. Another time, she crawled out of your biology classroom window at the arrival of a dark haired girl who blew her kisses. One time, she slammed the computer science teacher against her own desk. Wacky shit. You knew, though. That Sunnydale High had to be the safest place in town because of her. She killed things, probably. Definitely. Then she left. Sometimes, there are whispers: “I heard Buffy’s in Rome.” “I heard she lives in a castle.” “I heard she’s dead.” God, please, no. After every long night, you pray she still lives. That she hasn't let her guard down. It's midnight. You draft another email. Mr. Giles. Buffy’s still alive, right? Please tell me she’s okay. People keep dying, Mr. Giles, and we’re not even in Sunnydale anymore. Can you tell me what happened there? Why can't I stop dreaming about the destroyed graves of everyone who died? Can you tell me anything at all? Mr. Giles, Dennis is dead. Oz’s friend. I hope Oz is alive, too. I hope you’re alive. I hope you’re well. Take care. This time, you call a colleague in London. You track down Gile’s email through a stroke of luck, and you hit send. You don’t hear back at all.

Three months later, you receive a response. You’d almost forgotten about the message you sent. Your museum opened a new and successful gallery You received a promotion. You’ve been successful. (Yes, you’re even sleeping more. Shh, don’t say it too loud). You open the email.

Greetings and glad to hear from you- it’s wonderful to hear from old students. I do hope you’re well.

There is no easy way to answer these emails. Yes, you're not the only one who’s managed to reach me. I won’t disclose my location, or hers, but I can tell you that Buffy is safe, and alive, and I think she’s happy. She’s been happy for a while. I’ll tell her you asked, she likes to know that old classmates are doing well. Yes, Oz is alive. He’s been in Tibet for some time, though we do hear from him on occasion. He heard about Denis’s passing. Truly a tragedy.

I’m quite pleased to hear you’ve entered museum studies: a deeply satisfying and enriching work. I hope that you are finding enough answers with it. I know that living on- Well, where we lived is disorienting, confusing. I’ll try to answer you as best I can.

The swords I kept in the library (do never tell anyone I did that) I received as a present form a collector friend, who is long dead and whose collection is long scattered. The rest of the blade I received from my employers. I do not recommend keeping swords in your home as a safety measure. Invest in a good lock. Invest in protection charms found in books of the dark arts. I checked: your museum has some in collection. (Since you are emailing me, I can only guess that you’ve accepted explanations beyond those from the metaphysical realm).

I do sleep at night, thank you for asking. It gets easier. I don’t say this just because I’ve put an ocean between myself and Sunnydale, no: time does heal. It helps that I’m with people who understand. It helps to name the thing in the dark. I’ll put you in contact with a colleague of mine- he’s in your museum network- and you can begin to build yourself a circle, if you wish.

There is no reason that we live, my friend. There's no reason why any of our friends died. Your life is not a curse, I can promise you that. This isn’t borrowed time.

If you were being followed it would have gotten you by now. I apologize for my bluntness.

Oh, the ageless question of what happened. All the time in the world and I couldn’t give you a satisfactory answer. What would I say? That vampires haunt the sunniest part of California? That hell is real, and it can speak? I believe you already know the outline. What I can comfort you on is that yes. There are people who find evil, and they stop it. They haven't gone away. But that's not the point: don’t worry about them. Sunnydale is gone, dear student. It’s up to you to name the thing in the dark, keep it at bay. Be watchful, be wise. The world is bigger than most people know.

Sincerely,

Rupert Giles

You close your laptop. You stretch your legs. You go into the bedroom to retrieve the handgun, then place it on the kitchen counter. You stare at it. It doesn't move. You stare. The apartment is still, like the city is holding it in its throat. The clock strikes 4 am. It’s just a clock. It's just a gun. In your apartment, you’re just you, waiting for the sun to rise.

END

#well. here it is #reviews appreciated :)#btvs #buffy summers #btvs fanfic #btvs fanfiction #buffy #rupert giles #giles #vampires #daniel osbourne #sunnydale

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danielleslegacy · 4 years

Text

Committed to Memory || Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: yes / no

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Summary: Its the morning after Spencer stays the night, and your emotions are running high. Also its got sleepy spencer so what else could you want in a fic?

Word Count: 1,880

Warnings: it is just fluff that is all, its tooth-rotting, you've been warned.

Pairing: Reader insert x Spencer Reid

All writing is my own, so please don’t steal this. Also, I would appreciate any feedback/comments/requests! xx

*GIF IS NOT MINE SO CREDIT GOES TO THE OWNER*

I feel the hot frustrated tears gather in my eyes, my hands reaching up in an attempt to soothe the throbbing headache in my temples, before raking my hands down my face. The laptop screen, that should hold my assessment, in front of me practically mocking my incompetence. A guttural noise forces its way out of my mouth as my frustration builds. I press my hands to my closed eyes in an attempt to relax for a moment.

I take a deep breath in holding it and exhale after a couple of seconds, trying to ground myself from my panic. I throw a glance over my shoulder, looking at the sleeping form laid in my bed. My panic begins to decrease, by merely knowing that he was there. I watch Spencer for a few moments, the soft light of my laptop casting the faintest of lights across his features, his chest rising and falling slowly. I knew that soon his alarm would go off and he would not be as peaceful as he was in that moment, curled under the blankets, cuddling the pillow beneath his head, and arm splayed out searching for my warmth. I turn back around to my work as a rush of inspiration overcomes me. My fingers tapping across the keys. I flick my eyes up to check the time, after what I assume is a few moments that turn out to be more than that, and see that Spencer’s alarm is due to go off at any moment.

I shut the lid of my laptop down and decide to crawl back into the bed so that he doesn’t wake up alone. I pull the covers up over my waist and rake my fingers down his cheek slowly. Tracing down his jaw and up into his hair. His brow furrows in his sleep, telling me that his body is slowly waking up. I close my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to be completely present at the moment, as my fingers toy through his hair, detangling any knots that had formed from the man’s tossing and turning. Spencer’s other arm flips over and comes to rest on my waist as he pulls me to his chest tightly, and a soft giggle falls out of my lips.

“Alarm hasn’t gone off you can’t make me get up,” He mumbles out, his voice thick with sleep. I hum in agreement, tangling my legs with his, looping my arms around his neck.

In an almost comical way, his alarm pierces throughout cozy bubble and forces a groan out of Spencer’s lips. The alarm is switched off almost as quickly as it was turned on and Spence turns back to me pressing his lips to my cheek and before leaning back to look at my face. He blinks his eyes open slowly, adjusting to the light that’s snuck in since I got back into the bed.

“Morning pretty eyes,” I whisper letting out the softest of laughs. Picking up a hand and placing it onto the side of his face.

“How did you sleep?” He says voice thick with sleep. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, his voice melts me every time.

“Bold of you to assume I slept,” I laugh gesturing over to my desk, laptop sat on top of it. I look back to the boy knowing the look of disapproval I was about to get.

“Y/N,” Spencer says, unwrapping from me, stretching his muscles out and then picking himself up and out of the bed, “You really should be sleeping.”

I reach my hands out towards him, and he pulls me up and out of the bed, “I will sleep once this assessment is over, I promise it’s almost done.” He rolls his eyes and presses his lips to mine quickly before slipping out of the bedroom. “Can you put the kettle on? I need coffee.”

I hear the water run as I finish my sentence, and a smile breaks across my face, knowing that he was already doing it before I asked and that he was so comfortable in my apartment. I pull on one of Spencer’s hoodies, it falls just above my knees and I lose my hands in the sleeves. I inhale his scent and make my way into the kitchen and stand just behind him.

“Boo!” I shout wrapping my arms around his waist. His slight jump causes us both to lets out a laugh.

“I knew you were there too,” He says, turning in my arms so that we are face to face, “Hi.”

“Hi,” I say back, stepping onto my tiptoes to press my lips to his once more. His eyes rake down to his hoodie and he cocks his head to the side. “Isn’t that mine?”

I quickly pull away from him running around to the opposite end of the kitchen, “Nope. It’s mine now.”

A wide smile rests against his face, his eyes raking down to my exposed legs, his tongue darting out across his lips showing his concentration on my body. Every time I stand in front of the man it is almost as if he’s trying to commit me to memory, all of his attention is on my and about me.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I say softly, a blush rising to my cheeks.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to memorise me, I know you have an eidetic memory.”

“Can’t help it,” He says sheepishly, obviously embarrassed that he was caught, “I just cannot get enough of you.”

Butterflies swarm in my stomach and I’m just overcome with adoration for the man in front of me. Our eyes meet after a moment and we just stand to look at each other, but we are both startled as the kettle hisses, indicating that the water is finished boiling. Spencer turns away from me and begins making both of our coffees and I jump up so that I’m sitting on the counter. He turns slowly to face me handing me one of the two coffees and stand in between my legs. And at that moment I knew that it was love. We hadn’t said those words to each other but this is what it feels like. Like I can’t be close enough to him like I can’t breathe without him around and like there is no one else in the whole world that I want to be with. He is my forever person. If he was the only person I could see for the rest of my life, I would be content with that.

“Do you want to watch the news before I have to leave for work?” He says pulling me out of my thoughts, running his free hand up and down my leg to catch my attention, as he probably noticed I had drifted away.

“I love you, Spence,” I say a smile gracing my features, “And it is totally okay if you don’t want to say it back to me, I just want you to know it.”

My eyes rake over his face, trying to gauge his reaction, but I’m no profiler, so I see nothing change on his face as he processes the information I had just shared with him. But surprisingly, waiting for him to say something doesn’t leave me nervous, because even if he can’t say it, I know that he feels it. I understand the complicated situation that his job puts him in, the fear and anxiety that love can do to him. But I also know that the man before me needs to hear it as much as anyone can say it. He steps back from me slightly, and he pulls a face as if he is trying to figure something out.

“Spence? You okay?” I ask softly trying to bring him back to reality, reaching my arm out to meet his shoulder.

His eyes spring up to meet mine, “We met 204 days ago, in the back of a coffee shop, you had ordered an iced latte, and you were reading The Hunger Games. Your hair was half up and you were wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans. You were wearing this necklace that had a moon on it. When I sat across from you and you looked at me your eyes pulled all the words out of my throat and I stuttered out the faintest of hello’s.” A smile forms on my face and tears gather in my eyes. “I wanted so badly to ask you out, so I just did it. Without even knowing you, you gave me confidence. Then you smiled and I swear I could have died. I may not have known it then but that day was the beginning of something so incredible that I would carry it with me forever. It was 181 days ago that you agreed to be my girlfriend.13 days ago you were sitting on my bed, waiting for me to get home from a case and you had cleaned my apartment for me. It was that day that I knew I loved you. You could have run me over with a car that day and I would still have been in that state of total euphoria. You are everything for me, Y/n. You make me be a better more confident version of the man I was before. Every part of you is committed to my memory, and even if I didn't have the brain that I do, I'm positive everything you would still have it memorised. I am so completely and utterly in love with you.”

I reach my hands forward as quickly as I can, grabbing his face to pull it to mine, out lips meet somewhere in the middle and tears cascade from my eyes. I feel one of his hands reach up and grasp my chin, tilting my face softly, the other resting itself on my hip. My hips raise attempting to get as close to him as possible.

A sudden chime rings out through the apartment, causing us to jump apart. Spencer pulls his phone out of his pocket, mumbling something along the lines of ‘someone better be dying’ before saying, “Doctor Spencer Reid speaking.”

A slight giggle falls from my lips, as Spencer takes his phone call. I jump off the counter, pick up my coffee and sit on the sofa waiting for the man to either join me or tell me that he has to leave for work. I flick on the Tv allowing the news to play as background noise while I drink my coffee.

“Okay, Garcia thank you,” Spencer says walking into the room and he sits down next to you, laying down so that his head is in my lap, one of my hands immediately comes to play with his hair. He lets out a relaxed and content sigh.

“When do you leave?” I whisper, not really wanting to know the answer.

His hand slowly reaches up and takes mine in his, before pressing it to his mouth softly. “Not today.” My heart rate picks up and a smile stretches across my face. “You want to come with me to see the team today?” A smile crosses my face, and I practically run to get ready.

#criminal #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #fanfiction #fluff #Matthew Gray Gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid #reid x read #criminal minds au

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luvknow · 5 years

Text

parasitic | bang chan

genre: bang chan x fem!reader | college au ; roommates au ; enemies-to-lovers ; alcohol mention summary: your roommate is going abroad for the semester and now you’re forced to share your apartment with bang chan, who you basically lived with for the past semester except he didn’t pay rent, he ate all of your food, and crashed on your couch after a long night out. you were going to do everything in your power to avoid him until your roommate comes back. that doesn’t work out so well. wc: 11.8k a/n: omg a month late, but merry christmas to @channiechanchan!! did you know it was me?? LMAO I’M SO SORRY LKJDSLKFJ IT’S ALSO NOT EVEN XMAS RELATED BUT....... I HOPE IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT, ILY SLKJDSL

The sun rays peeked through the gaps of the curtains letting you know that a beautiful Sunday was upon you. You would spend the morning making breakfast for you and your roommate, clean your room of all the bad vibes, knock out some homework, and light an overpriced candle to conclude a stress-free day.

A long morning stretch in bed was the start to your day, and you had the widest smile on your lips upon exiting your room as if there was nothing that could ruin your energy. That dropped quickly once you were greeted with a loud, snoring, almost-naked man face down and passed out on your couch.

“Sorry about him,” roomie Yeri said out of habit while practically crawling out of her room. “Again.”

She looked like a hot mess, with her hair frazzled in all directions and last night’s make-up still smeared around her eyes. Her timing was impeccable - it was like she could sense your annoyance through her walls.

“Why?” you whined childishly. This had to be the tenth weekend by now!

“You know why! Lucas had his birthday party last night, remember? Which you were invited to but totally flaked last minute.”

“I have an exam this week.”

“We have an exam this week and it’s not until Thursday!”

“So? I like to be prepared!”

“Can you two shut up?” the bane of your existence interrupted. The newly brunette (who had dyed his hair in your living room, thanks to Yeri) ran a hand through his wild hair, hoping it’d alleviate some of the pain from his hangover. “I have a pounding headache.”

“And whose fault is that?” you scolded bitterly before yanking your blanket off of him. The poor man below you shriveled up and buried his musty legs under your beautiful couch pillows for some sense of warmth. “Not like you pay rent here for you to have the right to complain, or anything.”

“Lighten up, buttercup. You’re so uptight.”

“Gotta do my job around here and exterminate the parasites.”

“Suck my dick.”

“Too many STDs.”

Yeri chucked a pillow each at the both of you so you’d shut up and avoid waking up any grumpy neighbors. “Please, for the love of God, can you guys chill out for once so we can have a relaxing Sunday together?”

“Together?” you and Chan groaned simultaneously.

Yeri was not having it and shot a glare like an angry mother, to which you and Chan mumbled some sort of noise of confirmation and went about your separate ways. You inhabited the kitchen and Chan dragged himself to wash away the sticky shame and Hennessey in the shower. Yeri hopped over to help you make pancakes as if her two best friends weren’t just itching to pull each other’s hair out. She liked to think of herself as the glue of the group, like the quirky friend in the middle who was delusion to the tension in between. Neither of you had the heart to ruin her sitcom fantasy.

“Morning ~” she sang cutely.

“I hate him.”

“He’s not that bad!”

“You’ve been saying that the entire fall semester, but almost every weekend of mine has been ruined by his presence!”

Yeri winced and took a step back as she watched you vigorously mix the pancake batter faster than an electronic stand mixer. Another step back was taken while you violently dumped in the blueberries. Cooking and baking was one of your favorite hobbies and she knew you could be quite passionate about it, but she never saw you angry-cook before. It was a scary site to see, as if you being angry wasn’t scary enough.

“He’s only the way he is because you never gave him a chance.”

“What does that even mean?”

“He’s the type of person who likes to be liked, you know?”

“So? Don’t we all?”

“Of course, but it’s different with people like him. When those types of people meet someone who doesn’t like them, they can get a little… How do I say this? Defense mechanism-y?”

“Wouldn’t you think that would motivate him to, I don’t know, be nice to me and not inhabit my space and eat my food every weekend? Perhaps he’d kiss my ass a little?”

“Like I said, defense mechanism-y…”

“More like melodramatic.”

No matter how Yeri tried to explain to you how Chan was ‘different’, you weren’t buying it nor did you care to argue any longer. Why should you have to like him just because he was your best friend’s other best friend? This wasn’t some algebra problem that could be easily solved by the transitive property - this was a matter of respecting each others’ personal spaces and each other in general, and Chan had been the one to cross both of those lines first, that dick. While Yeri lectured like your math professor, you mindlessly hummed here and there pretending to understand, just as you would in actual math class.

The bathroom door opening prompted you and Yeri to shut up immediately. Then, a moist Chan walked out of the steam with nothing but a familiar lavender towel wrapped around his disgustingly chiseled waist.

“Is that my towel!?” you shrieked in fear.

“Yeah. Hope that’s ok with you!” The fake honey sweetness in his tone made your skin crawl like there were bees under the dermis. “By the way, you’re out of shampoo. I love this scent! What is it, tea tree and mint?”

Yeri had to hold you back from hitting him with a hot spatula and Chan managed to escape back into the bathroom with a change of clothes that he kept here ‘for emergencies’, of course. They hung on the open clothes rack in the living room that was meant to show off yours and Yeri’s tasteful jackets, but the aesthetic was ruined early fall and even your jackets began to smell of Chan’s sophisticated cologne.

“I’m gonna kill him in his sleep,” you seethed.

Yeri patted your head like you were an angry kitten. “Killing the captain of the basketball team isn’t exactly kosher, love.”

“I’ll show you kosher.”

“Can’t keep on threatening me, babe,” Chan tisked while throwing on a t-shirt upon entering the A and B conversation.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m just trying to make our friendship better. You know, since we’ll be roommates soon.”

Excuse me, what? “What are you talking about…”

“Oh, you don’t know?” a sly Chan smirked.

When you turned to interrogate Yeri, she quickly stopped the sign language that clearly meant ‘shut your GODDAMN MOUTH, Christopher’ and gave you that sweet, innocent smile that let her get away with practically anything because who could say no to her rosy cheeks and rainbow-shaped eyes?

“Yeri, what is he talking about…?” you asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, about that… I got accepted into the study abroad program!”

“That’s amazing and I am very proud of you and I love you, but what does this cockroach mean when he says we’ll be roommates soon!?”

“Hey!” he pouted.

“Oh, shut it!”

“Ah, well, I figured to lessen the burden of paying double the rent, I thought it’d, you know, take it upon myself to save you the stress of finding a subletter and Chan was the only one available…”

“Really? Of the entire cheerleading team, the pottery club, the damn pilates and cycling club, hell even the other players on the basketball team, Chan was the only one free to sublet? The only one?”

“Um... yes?”

“You know, I don’t really consent to this -”

“Please, _____, it will only be for the semester, I promise! I leave next week and I can’t take much with me, and Chan is the only person I trust to stay in my room and not ruin anything and steal my underwear!”

“How can you say that when he’s probably going to bring girls home and do them on your bed!?”

“I would never do that!” Chan interjected.

“Yeah, ok.”

“No, really! Why would I ruin her bed when I can just ruin yours while you’re gone?”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Christopher -!”

“See!” Yeri brought the two of you into a esophagus-crushing headlock so you two would shut up. “You two are already getting along so well!!”

Chan managed to slip away and steal you from Yeri, giving you a rough knuckle sandwich. “We’ll get along swimmingly, Yer-bear, I promise. Isn’t that right, _____?”

Yeri couldn’t help but look at you both with sparkly eyes, thinking that yes, maybe there’s a chance that a beautiful friendship could blossom from this! Jabbing an elbow to his ribs with a fake smile of your own, you wordless agree with a nod.

As long as Chan stayed in his room and you stayed in yours, maybe there wouldn’t be much to worry about, right?

The first week with Chan was exactly how you expected it - seeing his bare ass because he never closed the bathroom door, stealing your snacks, taking up the living room space, and blasting his loud soundcloud music that you could hear through your paper-thin walls. Still, even through all the frustration and the annoyance, you thought it would be best if you two just lived your lives separately and didn’t bother making nice with each other. Rather than fighting and yelling, ignoring each other for the sake of everyone’s sanity was for the best.

What pushed you to the edge was when he took the last pack of fruit snacks you were really looking forward to after a long week of classes.

“Oh, come on!” you groaned into the cupboard. “Chan!”

“Yes, darling?” he called from his - Yeri’s - bedroom, to which you stomped over to confront him. Seeing a grown man on Yeri’s white desk on a pink gaming chair playing some PC game was truly a sight to see.

“Did you eat the last of my fruit snacks!?”

The sly boy swiveled the desk chair to face you. “Ooh, was that the last one? I swear there was one left…”

“Come on, dude!”

“I’m sorry, ok, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal! That’s not cool!”

“No, what’s not cool is that you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

You were taken aback by his bold, although correct, assumption. You really didn’t expect him to call you out on this so early. “I… have not…!”

“You’re such a liar!” He pointed accusingly. Although you seemed heated in the argument, Chan was grinning because of course he was right, that dick.

“You don’t think I have anything better to do, like do my homework or-or hang out with friends outside of this apartment?”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean every time you come home and see me in the living room, you go straight to your room.”

“That’s normal!”

“Ah yes, but then you wait until I go into my room -”

“Yeri’s room.”

“- to cook dinner or grab a snack.”

“That’s just a coincidence -”

“How about the opposite, when I come home and you’re chilling in the living room and then you go to your room and shut the door? No ‘hi, how was your day’, or anything.”

“Well -”

“Or how about the mornings, when you’re sitting at the kitchen table relaxing and drinking something warm and sweet-smelling with a tired smile on your face because this is the only time in your day where you get to truly relax, but the second I leave my room to go to the bathroom or grab some water, you chug whatever’s barely boiling in your cup, dump it in the sink, and head out.”

“... I’m that obvious, huh?”

“Wow, look at that smug look on your face,” he pointed again. You didn’t even feel that proud smile on your lips. But Chan didn’t think it was amusing. His lips formed a frown, like he was insulted or even hurt at how cold you could be towards him. “What have I done to make you hate me this much?”

Your eyes bulged incredulously. “Let’s go down memory lane, shall we? Almost every weekend of the fall semester you; crashed on our couch, ate all of our ramen and eggs and sriraicha the morning after to recover from your massive hangover, used our laundry detergent, and used our bath products just to name a few! All without a simple thank you or even asking beforehand!”

Chan couldn’t deny that yes, maybe he’d been a little, um, unceremonious with his intrusion on your life, but come on, everyone deserves a second chance! The very prideful man in front of you rolled Yeri’s pink chair to the threshold only to clasp your hands together in his and now you were sweating.

“Ok, I’ll admit that I was a terrible guest this past semester.” Does an apology count if the guilty party rolls his eyes? “So, out of the goodness of my heart, I am very, very sorry.”

“My ass.”

“What!? Does this not look sincere to you?” he asked, pointing to his fake pouty face.

“Ok, I’m leaving.”

“No no no, c’mon!” Chan whined as he chased you into the living room. He grabbed your trailing hand to stop you. “Look, I’m truly sorry that I sometimes use your things -”

“Always use my things.”

“Most of the time use your things. I am sorry, really. Please believe me, ok? Aren’t you tired of avoiding me all the time?”

A tired sigh escaped you because you were absolutely exhausted from it. “I accept your semi-sincere apology. But why, for the love of God, why don’t you ever use Yeri’s things!? Why mine? She’s the one that’s your friend!”

“Honestly? I wanted to get your attention.”

“Oh, my God, what are you, five?”

“Hey, you’re the one who ignored me like a rude hostess from the get-go! You never gave me a chance!”

“My first impression of you was all I needed to not give you one.”

“I couldn’t have been that bad.”

“You puked in my backpack with some of my textbooks in it and poor Yeri had to clean up your mess!”

“Oh yeah, I remember that… That was on Sunwoo’s birthday.” You tried walking away again, but Chan’s grip was too strong. “Ok, fine, I’ll admit my first impression was horrendous, but you never let me redeem myself after that, so I kept annoying you so you’d confront me about it! That’s not fair that you judged me so quickly!”

“Yeah, and look how annoying me turned out! It went from my first impression to my thousandth impression.”

“I mean, it eventually worked, right?”

Another tired sigh. “Chan, is there a purpose to this?”

“Yes. I want to start over.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Start over? Like, erase all the shit that happened between us?”

“Exactly. A clean slate. Clean plates, I’ll even do your dishes tonight.”

You did hate doing the dishes… And you were so tired of stressing out over avoiding him, even if it had only been a week. After a long, painful pause, you held out your hand for him to shake. “Fine, a clean slate it is.”

A prideful and grinning roommate gladly shook your hand. “I pledge to not be an asshole anymore.”

“And I promise not to have a stick up my ass.”

“Wow, look how far we’ve come, huh? Cheers to a new friendship?”

“After you do my dishes.”

“... Fair enough.”

To commemorate this new and fresh friendship, you joined Chan in the kitchen. You didn’t do anything as he hand-washed your handmade dishes made in pottery class, but in return for eating your last fruit snack pack, he offered you some cookies he’d been hiding to which you gladly obliged. It was a peaceful silence in the kitchen other than the clinking of dishes and running water that offered some white noise while you read one of your books (after Chan called you a nerd). This had to be the most stress-free thirty minutes of your life.

“So,” your new ‘friend’, if you’d generously call him, began after finishing the dishes. He took a seat next to you and grabbed a cookie of his own. “Now that we’re cool and all, I would like to formally invite you to our basketball game tomorrow.”

"First of all, we're not totally cool just yet. Think of this as like a trial. Gotta pay your premium subscription fees before getting the premium benefits.”

“Yeah, yeah, so do you wanna go or not?"

"Hm, a basketball game? Like you're playing in it?"

"As the captain, I sure hope so."

You thought about it for a second - what terrible things could possibly come about if you went to one of Chan's basketball games? Well, it's set in a crowded and sweaty arena, whose crowd and players are also sweaty, it was loud, the food and drinks were expensive, and you literally could not care less about basketball. But, out of the goodness of your heart, which was now willing to give people a second chance for some reason, maybe you could tolerate sitting through a quarter or two.

"Sure, I'll go."

"Really? I wasn't expecting that."

"Then why'd you bother asking?"

"I'm tryna be homies, and that's what homies do! Invite homies to their basketball games."

"Please don't call me homie."

"Ok, home skillet."

"I'm gonna be honest, I don't know anything about basketball."

"Like, at all?"

"I know the cool far shots are worth like three points, right?"

"Oh, darling, you have a lot to learn. Here, lemme do a spark notes run down."

Professor Chan, PhD in sports and partying, took however many hours to explain. You lost track after two. At the end of the night, all of the cookies and milk were gone and you both went to bed at two in the morning.

"You, at a basketball game!?" Yeri snorted from the other side of the world. "And you and Chan being civilized!? Lord, how long have I been gone?"

"I have many regrets…"

"Don't say that! I think it's cute that you guys are finally getting along. Who would've thought that locking you two in the same apartment for one week was all that it took?"

"It might have been sooner if he'd just apologized right away instead of stealing all of my stuff to get my attention."

"Yup, sounds like Christopher."

"So you're coming back soon, right…?"

"If soon means a couple of months, yes."

"Yeri ~!" you whined, hopelessly missing your Sunday night partner watching crime documentaries.

"Chill, you big baby, just hang out with Chan if you're so lonely."

"Ugh, gross." Ironically enough, you stepped on a freshly-spat wad of gum upon entering the half-filled gymnasium.

"But not too often cuz, you know, you might fall in love ~"

You hoped no one saw the way your face twisted in disgust. "Are you delusional!?"

"Or even worse, you two might get drunk and make out and then fu -"

"OH-KAY, bye, Yer-bear love you!" You hung up immediately, traumatized at the thought she planted in your head. You hated how your face heated up so brightly. Don’t sweat it, _____! There’s no way that something like that could blossom from something that was nothing!

"Hey, you actually made it -" Chan had burst into your bubble without a warning, causing you to jump and drop your phone. After wiping off another fresh glob of gum from your phone screen this time, you bucked up the courage to stand face-to-face with a confused Chan wearing his basketball uniform. "Jeez, you good? You're all blushy. Ah, you saw Jaehyun's nudes, didn't you?"

"No, idiot! You just startled me, although I should be used to you invading my space by now."

“Ha ha. Stop being weird and take a seat. We’re still warming up, but hopefully we’ll start soon.”

“Uh, is there like, designated seating, or?”

Chan’s dimply smile accompanied a rough hair ruffle. “How cute, you’ve never been to a game before, huh?”

“I would rather die than willingly pay to go here on my leisure.”

A strong, sweaty arm wrapped around your shoulders. “Sit right over there,” he said, pointing to a single spot in the middle of the one hundred level that allowed for the best view of the entire court. “You’ll see me in action the whole time.”

“Next to the dude eating a chili dog and the chick with a cut-out of Woojin’s face?”

“The superfan section truly is not of this world.”

“If I came all the way here just to watch you lose, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“Don’t worry, baby, we never lose!”

The coach called Chan back to warm up some more which left you no choice but to enter the germ-infested purgatory and sit in between the superfans. Glancing at the other team, it was clear that they had the intimidation factor of being the taller and bigger players, so you weren’t sure how this was going to turn out. But your team, although smaller, had an enormous amount of unwavering energy. Perhaps it was because they were playing at home and had the entire half of this court filled to the brim cheering their names.

Chan was busy next to the couch, watching the form of his teammates as they were shooting three pointers. There was no doubt to anyone, even if no one had ever seen him before, that he was the captain. Who knew the barf-filled, void for a stomach, almost always naked asshole had the mindset of a lion? Every now and again, he’d pull one of his teammates to the side, probably a newbie to the varsity team, and help him with his form or give pointers or remind him of what play they were going to execute once the buzzer rang.

At some point, you realized you were watching him for far too long because he caught you right where he placed you. By the smirk on his lips, you’ll never hear the end of it if you see each other back at the apartment, and you would have looked away almost immediately if he hadn’t grabbed a ball not a second later. What was he doing?

Chan dribbled the ball to the free throw line (at least you think that’s what it’s called). He looked at you again, but this time he was pointing, like he was challenging you. Every pair of eyes in the gymnasium managed to pinpoint his target to you and if he thought you were blushy before, he should really see you up close now. After the very dramatic scene, Chan focused on dribbling the ball a few times which brought everyone’s attention back to him, thankfully. He dribbled a bit more, stopped to set up his shot, followed through and swoosh, there it went, right into the basket like a mathematician's perfect parabola.

“That was for you,” he mouthed silently with a sense of tease dripping from every word.

Normally, you might have flicked him off, but who were you to ruin the vibe just before the game started? Out of the goodness of your heart, you lightly clapped at his performance like this was the opera.

And so the game began! Mingyu, since he was the tallest member, did that thing where they toss the ball up in the air and they try to get it on their side, and since he was like 6’5”, it was easy for Chan’s team to start with the ball. There was a lot of back and forth head movements and eye scanning and you felt like your brain was being shaken up. To be honest, before you stepped into the stadium, you thought that none of this was going to excite you in the least. The idea of sweaty boys running around with a ball was completely barbaric, didn’t you think? But when someone, especially Chan, shot the ball or blocked it or did some weird dancey footwork, you gasped and cheered with the rest of the gym, the spirit of the game blooming in your soul much to your resistance.

The game ended almost too quickly and thankfully your team won. All of the superfans and the cheerleaders ran towards the team, congratulating them with cheers and hugs and mounting their beloved captain on their shoulders. Chan had his bright and dimply smile you’ve been seeing too often this week. You considered waiting until the crowd died down so you could congratulate him right then, but being the captain meant he was the center of everyone’s attention, not just yours. You shrugged off the impatience and headed for home. You could always congratulate him tomorrow, so long as he hasn’t puked anywhere.

Just before exiting the gym, you heard your name being called.

“_____, wait!” Chan yelled, sprinting to you as soon as his people made a walkway.

“I guess a congratulations is in order,” you said. “Congrats on winning. You looked super cool out there.”

“Hold on, can you say that one more time?” he teased, whipping out his phone to record you.

“Congrats, asshole!” you greeted the camera with double birdies.

“Thank you, m’lady. Where are you going now -”

“Channie!” a cute voice cried. Channie?

“Miyeonie!” he parroted back at the pretty cheerleader.

“Are you coming with us to Mingyu’s or what?”

You almost forgot it was the weekend already. It was time for drunk Chan shenanigans to ensue and that meant locking yourself up in your room and hiding the newly-bought fruit snacks.

“Oh, uh…”

Chan looked back at you like he was about to ditch his little sibling who had asked to play with him. Before any embarrassing pity invites were thrown out, you quickly bid your farewell.

“I’ll see you later, Channie ~” you waved off playfully.

“_____, hold on,” he said in urgency. Oh no, please don’t do what you think he’s doing… “Uh, I think I’m going to skip out on tonight, Miyeon.”

Both of you looked at him like he had three heads and two tails. Miyeon’s the only one brave enough to speak up on it. “Party Boy Channie is ditching us tonight? Why?”

“I’m super tired.” You’re full of shit, Chan! Why are you ruining my quiet night in!? “I’ll catch you guys next week, though.”

“Fine. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Ok ~” She then quickly kissed him on his lips and he welcomed it fully like they’ve been doing that for some time now. Could it be that Party Boy Channie has finally settled down, despite all of his sloppy stories he used to slur about every weekend? How was it that he, of all scumbags, was able to have a significant other and you couldn’t even get a tinder date! “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t get too wild tonight.”

“No promises!”

Chan sighed helplessly and turned to face a disgusted? Shocked? No, a very uncomfortable you who had watched a corny teen drama movie unfold right in your face.

“Sorry about that,” he said sincerely for once.

“Oh please, I absolutely love watching true love express itself right in front of me, Channie.”

He rolled his eyes. “First of all, it’s not love.”

“Really? You’re telling me kissing pretty cheerleaders isn’t your love language?”

“Not when they cling to me like mothballs.”

“You’re so cruel, Channie.”

“Stop calling me that,” he warned. “Secondly, what are we doing tonight?”

“We? I don’t know who this we is, but I’m going home.”

“Aw, c’mon, really? I just ditched a Kim Mingyu party and perhaps some ass for some quality roommate bonding time!”

“I did not ask you to do that.”

“Don’t you wanna go out to eat or something? I’ll even pay for you.”

“No, because there’s food at home.”

“There isn’t food at home, you liar!”

“Well ok, not yet, I still have to go to the market first and then I’ll cook.”

“Oh?” You can cook? He certainly didn’t know that. “You’re cooking us dinner?”

“I’m cooking me dinner.” Chan folded his hands and gave you a poor excuse for puppy eyes. But he did just win the game, and you bet doing all that sporty stuff made him starving. “But I guess I can make you a plate... I guess you and I can… eat together…”

“Don’t sound too excited.”

“I’m clearly holding back my excitement.”

Usually in movies or tv, they have the head chefs of famous local restaurants come to the markets between four and five in the morning. The amateur chefs like yourself prefer to pick off what was left for much cheaper at night time. It’s not that the stuff left over was any bad, it was just the important people managed to pick out all the perfect prawns and symmetrical vegetables and what have you. It was much less stressful in the evenings anyways, when everyone was already home cooking and you were left to wander as you pleased before the vendors packed up for the day.

“Do you come here all the time to grocery shop?” a freshly-washed Chan asked beside you. When he went grocery shopping, as long as the produce didn’t have any bruises and the meat was red, that’s all he needed. He never inspected the peaches for its plumpness or asked what time the fish was caught today, unlike you, though now and again he’ll slap a watermelon to test its juiciness.

“Goodness, no, am I made of money?”

“How expensive can this place be, they’re not even in a store.”

“Oh, Chan the naivete. Think of the most expensive piece of produce you’ve ever bought. It’s probably organic, right? Free of pesticides and the like?”

“I think it was an avocado.”

“Right, completely ridiculous that you’re paying $2.50 per avocado. The avocadoes here? Double that.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I really wish I was. Those are the morning price avocadoes though. Nighttime shoppers like us are lucky to snag them for $3.50.”

“Why bother paying so much when you can go to the local store across the street from your house?”

“Even though I can get much more for the price I’m paying here,” you paused and handed Chan the brightest and quite possibly the smallest strawberry he’d ever seen. “You can taste the difference.”

Snipping off the green stem and leaves, the clueless boy popped the berry in his mouth and you watch the flavor brighten his eyes.

“Quality over quantity,” you bragged.

The rest of your time there, you had to stop Chan from eating a single grape from every little basket at every single vendor.

“You are a child.”

“Baby me, baby.”

Coming back to the apartment with your’s and Chan’s arms full of groceries, anxiousness rushed in the second you stepped beyond the threshold. It occurred to you that you’ve never actually cooked for anyone before besides Yeri. This will be the second time you’ll see someone’s first reaction to your cooking, and it’ll be from your worst enemy.

“Need me to sous chef, head chef?” he asked while unpacking.

“Actually, that would help me a lot. Could you wash the vegetables?”

“Sure. While we’re at it, can I get your opinion on something?”

You raised your brow in confusion. “Do I have the knowledge for it?”

“You have ears, so yes.”

From that point moving forward, you decided not to question Chan because he was going to do whatever he wanted anyways. As you prepped the kitchen, you ignored the loud rustling in the living room with the occasional ‘ow, fuck’ following a stubbed toe. Out of curiosity and right before yelling at him to hurry up, Chan had finally pressed the play button and an unfamiliar song played through his massive speakers that he brought outside.

“Is this your new song?” you asked.

He did the ‘hand-sexily-but-also-shyly-running-through-my-hair’ thing before answering. “Yeah, and I’m not sure if I like it that much. The guys say it sounds good, but they’re my homies so they have to say that, y’know?”

“At least you know I won’t bullshit you.”

“Be gentle at least, please.”

“I will once you help me with dinner finally.”

“Right, right.”

Of course one song didn’t cover the entirety of the dinner preparation. After the one, which you honest to God liked a lot (“Stop lying.” “I’m not! You asked me to be honest, dick!”), Chan shyly but happily showed you more of his work. Some of it was already posted to his Soundcloud and some weren’t uploaded because he either hated them or he was stuck and left unfinished.

“Like, how is it possible that I can’t finish a project whose finished product is less than three minutes long!?” By now, Chan gave up trying to help after he cut his finger several times and sat at the table munching on his expensive basket of berries as he explained his creative block to you as if you were his therapist. “It makes me seem lazy, doesn’t it?”

“People hit creative walls all the time,” you reassured. “Don’t get yourself down about it.”

“Have you ever even hit a wall before?” he challenged.

“I do in the kitchen all the time, you ass.”

“How is that even possible? What walls can you even hit in the kitchen?”

“The difference between baking and cooking is that baking has less room for error, but tons of room for visual creativity, which is why I think baking is much harder. Cooking measurements for a meal, on the other hand, are meant to be adjusted with freedom which is nice, but how many times can someone change the presentation of a bowl of rice, meat, and vegetables?”

A bowl of said food was placed in front of a drooling Chan who had to sit through the tortuous cooking process smelling the aromatics and satiate his rumbling tummy with sour fruit. He hadn’t even taken a bite yet and his eyes were already sparkling with anticipation. It was reactions like his that made you the most embarrassed because what if he tasted it and hated it!?

“Whoa, this looks delicious!” he beamed.

“You didn’t think I could cook, did you.”

“No, I thought you were joking and when you weren’t I was like, ‘I HAVE to taste her cooking’. I'm a little disappointed that it doesn’t look inedible.”

“Ha ha, just eat your food, parasite.”

With anticipation, you watched Chan take a huge bite with all the fixins on the spoon. You could sense the awkwardness when he turned away.

“Stop staring at me,” he mumbled with cheeks full of rice.

“Not until you tell me what you think.”

“Well, of course it tastes good.”

“Really?”

“Yes, now stop looking at me, I’m not your zoo animal.”

A huge sigh of relief escaped you and a heavy weight off your chest was relieved. Something about cooking for new people always made you want to pass out, but if both your best friend and your best enemy admit to how good it is, maybe you’ll become more open to the idea of cooking for others more often. You DID like that huge sense of pride that rushed in.

Chan finished the bowl in two minutes. He held it up for you to take. “More, please.”

“Wow, ok.”

You were lucky enough to get a bowl yourself with Chan practically inhaling everything, and even then he still had room for dessert. It was atrocious how much a college man could eat.

“They say someone’s cooking says a lot about them,” Chan proposed while washing down his food with soda.

“They who?”

“I don’t know, the internet?” he shrugged.

“Oh, yeah? What does the internet say about a bowl of rice for dinner?”

“That you’re uptight and don’t like to have fun.”

“Hey!”

“And probably a virgin.”

Your cheeks burned an embarrassingly bright red at the proclamation. “Wh-What makes you say that!?”

“It’s a safe meal to make. You know, hard to mess up and a little simple so it’ll always taste good?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Where’s the excitement, _____? The improvisation!?”

“There’s not much room to improv in cooking, Christopher.”

“Don’t you want to live a little? Have some spontaneity?”

“Are we still talking about my cooking or…?”

“No, dumbass, I mean your life, too!” Chan hopped up from his chair and took your hand to twirl you around the kitchen like the scene in Beauty and the Beast. Oh God, you hoped you didn’t accidentally poison him or that he was having a weird allergic reaction to sesame, or something. “Have some fun for once!”

You somehow broke away from the hypnotic dance and stood as far away from that crazy man as possible. “Don’t act like you know me all of a sudden because you read some corny Buzzfeed article about a fucking bowl of rice and meat, Bang Chan!”

“What do you mean, I’ve come to know you for a whole semester.”

“A whole semester of being blacked out.”

“Hey, that means nothing!”

“Ok. Tell me one thing you know about me from a whole semester of being unconscious on my couch.”

“You have an in-depth skin care routine.”

“Anyone can guess that.”

“From the books you have lying around and a few paintings on the wall, you dabble in that horoscope bull shit.”

“So do a lot of girls, next.”

“You like heart and star-shaped marshmallows in your hot cocoa.”

You’ll admit that one had you silent for a moment. Only Yeri knew about that, but that was because those were the only marshmallows you bought specifically for hot cocoa. They add a little pizazz to your drink, especially with the edible glitter. “That doesn’t count, there’s no other marshmallow in the apartment.”

“True,” he began, pointing an accusing finger at you. “But you like a whole handful of marshmallows in your mug.”

“... S-So -”

“Ah ha, got one!”

“So what, a ton of people like marshmallows!”

“Yeah, but not pink hearts and purple stars ones!”

“How do you even know that?”

“Hm. I think it was the night of Hongjoong’s birthday. Yeah, I passed out, woke up, whined to Yeri, and she made me hot cocoa and said, ‘Do you care if the marshmallows are shaped like hearts and stars?’ And I said, ‘I ONLY want hearts and stars’.”

A shy smile spread across your lips. It’s moments like these when you weren’t chewing his ear off that he finds you a little cute. Just a little.

“Is there a reason for those specific marshmallows?” he asked.

“They’re cute,” you pouted.

“Well, do I get a prize for knowing one thing about you?”

“Yeah, doing the dishes.”

“What!?”

“I cooked now you clean!” you said before running off to your room.

A tired, but willing Chan dragged his feet to the sink. He could just throw all of the dishes in the dishwasher, but somehow hand-washing while reminiscing about all the Fridays he’s crashed here with you barking like a chihuahua the next morning was much more fun.

His cheeks hurt from smiling too much by the end of that night.

A virgin… How the hell does cooking a bowl of rice for your roommate somehow make you a virgin!?

Ok, so maybe it wasn’t the most outstanding meal you’ve ever made or could have cooked for him, but that ungrateful man who couldn’t even fry an egg shouldn’t be so picky!

But why, of all the insults and swears he’s ever thrown at you, was virgin the one that hit you the most?

Who cares if you were or weren’t one! What difference did that make you as a person, right!? At first glance, of course no one would be able to tell whether you were or weren’t one, but what did that say about people who did know you, like Chan and Yeri? Was that the kind of vibe you gave off? Were you too goody-goody, too play-by-the-rules? Was Chan right when he said your life lacked that spark, that spontaneity he seemed to so-crave?

Now that you thought about it, you haven’t gone out on a date or even found someone remotely interesting in a very long time… Since your first year of college at the very least.

Maybe you should show him how spontaneous you could get.

“That’s another thing I noticed last semester,” Chan’s charming accent shook you from your thoughts. You looked to the boy intruding in your room who leaned against the door frame, once again in only his pajama pants and a wet towel slung over his neck to barely cover his torso. He was built like he was carved from the finest slab of marble - how was his skin so white and smooth? “You tend to space out a lot, especially when you’re working on something.”

“How can you tell?”

“You get that dumb look on your face.”

“You mean the same one you have on all the time?”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“Thank you. What are you getting all dressed up for on a Tuesday night?”

“Miyeon said she was coming over like, ten minutes ago and I felt musty, so here I am, half naked in front of your door like this is the greatest dream you’ve ever had.”

“Is that the cheerleader from your game last weekend?” Chan hummed as a response, drying his hair with the towel around his neck and a toothbrush in his mouth. “Is she your girlfriend?”

You heard him choke on the toothpaste. “God, no, why do you think that?”

“I mean she kissed you… ?”

“Eh, it’s kind of an on-again-off-again thing, but nothing was ever official between us.” A sudden realization hit Chan and then that sly smirk that loved to tease you came back to haunt you. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“Jealous of some cheerleader who’s clearly in love with a man who has no interest in her while he lives with another woman?” you scoffed. “Green with envy.”

“At least I have someone in my life!” he called from the bathroom.

That, too, hit a little too close to your heart. He was right - at least he had someone who kept him company, who adored him, who he could go out on dates with… And what did you have? A lousy roommate who uses your body wash.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked after coming back fully clothed. Your bed was much softer than Yeri’s, who had a rock hard firm mattress. Perhaps Chan should take his naps here instead.

“Nothing. What is there to do on a Tuesday night?”

“Lots of things! It’s Taco Tuesday at that food truck on campus, it’s Tteokbokki Tuesday at that Auntie’s restaurant by the bookstore, ooh and the record store down the street gives out free seltzer water for the hipsters.”

“Is that what you and Miyeon are doing tonight?”

“No, she just wanted to make-out I think.”

“How romantic…”

Chan laid on your bed and kept his thoughts to himself for a while. Somehow after only a few weeks of living together did you tolerate his presence enough to not nag him to get out of your room, let alone off your bed. While you studied the infinite pages of words in your textbook, Chan was able to steal a few glances. The way your brows furrowed in frustration, the messiness of your hair, the slight pout in your lips, it was all quite cute for someone as grouchy as yourself. Although he supposed he’d be an asshole, too, if he was studying seven days a week. You must be tired and frustrated.

Without you paying attention, he whipped out his phone and texted his date.

“Darn,” he sighed convincingly. “Miyeon just cancelled on me.”

“Good for her.”

“Well, now that I’m free, it looks like it’s just you and me tonight.”

“Sike, I have some homework to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Chan hopped off the bed and peaked over your shoulder at your homework. He was so close that you could smell his woodsy cologne. You kind of liked it. Kind of. “Homework that’s due on Friday? God, _____, at least try to be cool, you nerd.”

“Hey!”

“Get dressed, those tacos and tteokbokki won’t be piping hot forever ~”

“I’m not going!” you tried to argue, but that annoying boy was already out of your room and putting his shoes on. Evil chuckling could be heard from the living room - what a weirdo. As your stomach violently growled, it was really hard to resist such a tempting offer of food, even if it meant going with Chan.

An impatient roommate danced his way to exit. “I’m walking out the door ~”

“Chill, will you?” you mumbled while throwing on your coat. “How are you going to invite me and then abandon me?”

“Then move faster.”

“You move faster…”

“Ah ~” Chan pinched your cheek lightly. “You’re kinda cute like this.”

“Shut up.”

“You know, with trying to kick up the spontaneity in your life and what-not.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It’s a cold Tuesday night and you almost heavily regret wanting to be spontaneous and cute and uncaring, all because a soundcloud rapper called you a virgin. But the thought of a hot cup of spicy rice cakes was enough for you to travel through the polar vortex. It helped that you weren’t the only one suffering.

“All those nights I crashed on your couch, I’d always buy a cup of this gold before heading over,” Chan admitted. “It was a shame for the days I threw it up.”

“Ah, no wonder your puke is red! I thought you were always almost dying.”

“Sometimes I wished I was.”

Of course the auntie knew Chan by the amount of times he’s stumbled upon the place drunk off his ass (“Wow, you’re walking straight and talking in sentences today!” “Ha ha, auntie…”). The fiery cup of rice cake was the perfect hand-warmer.

“Do I not give off the virgin vibe yet?” you half-joked.

A charming burst of laughter came from your annoying roommate. How could he forget that he called you that! “You’re not hung up on that, are you?”

“I just… I mean, do you think that’s the reason why…” you struggled to speak your insecurities into existence because once you did, that meant they were real and totally holding you back.

“Why what?”

“Tell me something - am I really that uptight? Does it make me seem… I don’t know, unapproachable? Unlikable, even?”

“Please, you are totally uptight.” A loud, unladylike groan echoed throughout the crowded streets of campus. “Unapproachable, yes. Unlikable? I mean, not necessarily? Some guys think that’s hot.”

“So what you’re saying is I’ll be single forever or marry some pushover.”

“Hey, don’t put words into my mouth! Look, if you really want to change how your aura appears to people, you already have! You’re out on a Tuesday night eating rice cakes with the sexiest guy you know. That’s progress in my book, all thanks to me.”

“Somehow you’ve turned my insecurities into praising yourself.” It was impressive, honestly. “You’re something else, Christopher.”

“Thank you!”

“What’s next on our impromptu tour of the town?”

“Ya like vinyl?”

“Huh?”

Chan said nothing else as he cut you off and walked right into the record shop and low and behold, potential buyers were holding skinny cans of flavored seltzer.

“C’mon, princess, there’s not enough seltzer for everyone!” Chan urged.

The vastness and number of collections of the record shop rivaled the local book shop down the street. Although much noisier and haphazard, the concept was still the same and the neon signs and signed posters gave the shop quite the personality. Actually, it was almost as if it was Chan personified.

In front of you was a basketball-loving ear-pierced punk-ass roommate who wore leather jackets in sub-freezing temperatures and didn’t know how to fold his laundry flipping through the Wu-Tang Clan basket. And there was you, the personified small local bookstore, watching him longingly and wishing you could be like him, who was cool enough to attract other cool people and be someone so approachable and likable. He was the complete opposite of you, and yet somehow you’re both here together, acting like you never had to kick his ass for using your toothbrush four too many times.

How was it possible to think that one day, someone could be in love with a plain and boring bookstore like yourself? Could someone like Chan love someone like you one day?

You hoped so.

Chan wondered where you were and found you looking at him with tired eyes. Of all the things to look at, you somehow could only look at him. With his dimply smile, he said, “Falling in love with me?”

Something made you want to say yes. “Did you find something you like?”

He silently gestured to you to come over with a lazy hand. As expected, he pulled out one of the Wu-Tang Clan records and played it on one of the modern record players that had one set of headphones at the station.

“Here, put these on,” he instructed while putting the over-ear headphones on. A smooth and unique rap style voiced over the equally-smooth instrumentals. It was unlike anything you’ve heard before. Perhaps Chan’s intellectual layers lied within his knowledge in music.

A slight pressure pressed against your right ear. You couldn’t see from your peripherals, but you could smell Chan’s rustic cologne again, and that itself already made you blush deeper shades of red than you could ever imagine. Since there was only one set of headphones, Chan obviously had no other choice but to listen to this track with you like this - invading your space bubble and making you weak in the knees.

“Do you like it?” you could barely hear.

“I do,” you replied. The song wouldn’t be over for another two minutes and Chan refused to move. “Is this what you like?”

“It’s inspirational to me.” The vibrations of his voice almost sent you into shock because wow, was he close to you or what.

He knew you were nervous. He could tell simply by how your shoulders squared the moment his ear pressed on the outside of the headphones. That’s yet another detail he’s come to notice while crashing on your couch and living with you. Whether you were nervous because he was shirtless after coming out of the shower or you were annoyed because he’d eaten all of the ice cream you were saving in the back corner of the freezer, you always straightened your posture upon seeing him because God forgive you ever show any emotion. Why were you like those stuck-up librarians at the hipster bookstores down the street who turned a blind eye to anyone who didn’t look like they read books?

Or maybe, just maybe, you were liking this. You liked being in close proximity to the sexiest guy you’ve ever laid eyes on. You liked the almost-but-not-really skinship you almost-but-not-really shared. You were nervous, not annoyed, weren’t you? Or were you annoyed that you’re nervous around your most hated enemy?

Either way, Chan wins, and that’s all that mattered to him.

You spent most of the spontaneous night in the record store listening to soul, trot, pop punk, underground hip-hop, and everything in between. Quite literally in-between, as Chan would not stop pressing his face to yours because he refused to find a second pair of headphones for him to borrow.

“Stop doing that!” you whined for the fifth time.

“I wanna listen, too ~”

“Then go steal another set of headphones!”

“But I like this. It’s way more fun. And your cheeks are so hot that the radiated heat is warming my face up.”

You’re silent at that point forward because your cheeks thought their purpose in life was to burn as hot as the sun and serve as a radiator to intrusive boys who wanted nothing more than to listen to good music with you.

Honestly, what’s there to complain about?

The record store didn’t close until midnight and you practically stayed until then. At that point, Chan with his black hole for a stomach was hungry again and led you to the taco truck he talked about earlier.

“Is it Taco Tuesday still if it’s past midnight?” you wondered.

“It’s still Tuesday until the sun comes up in my books.”

Tacos weren’t exactly an easy-to-eat street food, so you used the tin foiled rolls as hand warmers until you were back in the comfort of your kitchen where you could happily eat greasy tacos with your sworn enemy.

“What do midnight tacos say about me now?” you questioned the food and vibe expert across the table.

“They say you like cliches and you care a little too much about what people think of you.”

“How the hell did you come up with that?”

“Please, Taco Tuesday is so cliche! And you conformed to it because you want to seem more playful and less of a stick-up-your-ass, am I right?”

The pout on your lips was enough of an answer. “Now I feel like a virgin in sheep’s clothing.”

“Hey, we all have to start somewhere.”

“Do you think I’m more likable this way?”

Perhaps Chan was a little harsh with his words the one night you cooked for him. He thought he would be able to know you front and back after nearly a month of living together, but it seemed that he was farther away from that than he thought. After all this time, he thought you didn’t care one bit about how people perceived your feisty self. Maybe instead you cared too much and you had built a wall to prevent others like Chan from knowing.

“You were always likable,” he admitted honestly.

“Please stop lying,” you groaned.

“I mean it! Even when you were yelling at me or trying to kick me off the couch or stealing back the food I was trying to eat, I never hated you. It was so much fun messing with you because you were not afraid to cuss me out.”

“And that makes me likable how?”

Chan shrugged. “I have fun when I’m around you. Do you think I would have kept coming back to crash here if I hated you?”

“Yeah, to torture me.”

“Well, to clear things up, I don’t hate you. And I bet my bottom dollar that you don’t hate me, either.”

“Sike.”

“You’re telling me you still hate me after the fun we had tonight? Or the night you watched me play and cooked for me? Or even the one night after Lucas’s Halloween party when I passed out here even though your heater was broken and you wrapped me up in your fuzzy blanket?”

Another blush spread across your cheeks. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget the first night you showed me any compassion?”

“Fine, you’re right, I don’t hate you… You’re, in fact, quite tolerable.”

Who knew Chan’s eyes could light up so brightly at such a mediocre compliment, if you’d even call it one. “You like me ~”

“Stop.”

“You’re gonna fall in love with me ~”

“Chan -”

“I bet you already have ~”

“Ok, I’m going to bed.”

“No, you aren’t!”

You tried to run out of the kitchen and into your room to lock the door, but Chan got to you just as you reached the living room. He entrapped you with his big, strong arms and held you in a suffocating hug, drowning out his giggles with your screaming. Your resistance was strong, but you were smiling brighter than he’d ever seen before. Today was a long day for both of you and the moment Chan rested his chin on your shoulder was when you stopped struggling to break free. His tufts of chestnut hair and slow breathing tickled your cheeks.

“Oi, wake up,” you demanded, hitting his forearms.

That only made him hold you tighter. “No.”

You stopped fighting him and let the poor boy rest on your shoulder. “You don’t think this is weird?”

“No. We’re just two roommates fighting, right?” he teased, shaking you in his arms.

“Yeah, fighting.”

“Do you think it’s weird?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Please.”

His giggle rang in your ear and made goosebumps travel throughout your skin. Then Chan did what spontaneous Chan does and surprised you by kissing your cheek with a loud, moist, audible smooch.

“A-Ah, Chan!!” you gasped.

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

Before you could scold him further, he had already let go and went to his room. How long was he holding you? Because now you’re left stunned in the living room feeling the cold from the draft of your windows. Your cheek felt like it had been branded by his soft rose petal lips. It burned so much that you ended your night lying in bed staring at the ceiling cupping the tainted cheek.

“I hate him,” you mumbled to no one. Your words hold zero weight the moment you screamed into your pillow.

The first couple of days after the incident were a little weird, to put it simply. You circled back to your old habits of avoiding him and keeping conversations short and that didn’t slip past Chan for even a couple of hours. At first, he thought he might have ruined whatever weird friendship you had together, but the way you avoided him was not how it used to be.

You were embarrassed - dare he say even shy. Your avoidance held no malice and didn’t feel icy as it did last semester. Rather, you fled because you felt vulnerable. Your words were no longer full of insults, but instead were soft and sprinkled with stutters. It was like a scene from a drama set in high school where the cute shy nerd has a massive crush on the super sexy jock and won’t admit her feelings because she doesn’t think she has a chance. And knowing you, you would never admit to having feelings, so how was Chan supposed to get a confession out of you?

Cornering you was the only option he thought could work, but sadly that didn’t.

“Chan, c’mon, I have to use the bathroom,” you whined on the other side of the door.

He didn’t say a word when the door opened and steam spilled out into the halls. Yet again was he dressed only in his pajama bottoms and a towel around his neck, hair still damp and hanging loosely over his eyes. He took a step forward and you’re given no choice but to back up.

“What are you -”

You cut yourself off when your back hit the wall and Chan had you in the palm of his hands. Proximity was close to nothing as your toes touched and you could smell your body wash from his freshly-washed chest. Seriously, he still used your body wash!?

“C-Can I use the bathroom or what…” you stuttered.

He stared right in your eyes, then admired your cute nose, and finally down to your lips. He was teasing you! Like, actually teasing! He’s making you think that he wanted to kiss you! All of the possibilities of him making a move on you were just as equal as him not going through with it and your mind was racing like crazy and it was really starting to stress you out! Why, why was it stressing you out!?

Then he took a huge step back to let you through.

“All yours,” he whispered.

Well, that sort of worked… You didn’t say a verbal confession, but your face sure showed it. But no, that wasn’t enough. He needed to hear you say it. He had to do more, and he knew exactly what to do to push your limits.

For the whole week, whenever you did something for him whether it was answering a simple question or giving him a plate of whatever you cooked for dinner, Chan would kiss your cheek. That’s right, those soft rose petal lips would every-so slightly graze your cheeks almost everyday and even when you tried to scold him or fight back, you didn’t, as if you were stunned frozen every single time. This of course scared Chan - no emotion meant uncertainty on his end. Well, did you like it, or not!?

At some point, after a whole week of cheek kisses, you kind of… got used to it. Got used to the damn kisses, his flirtatious winks, the invasion of your space bubble, eating all of your food, using all of your bath products, taking unsolicited naps on your bed while you studied, all of it! You’ve gotten used to being around the man that is Bang Chan and you would almost admit that you liked being around him… almost.

And neither of you spoke up about it.

So… what were you two…? That’s right, you’re asking yourself the infamous ‘so what are we’ question - it’s really reached that point. No longer were you enemies or just plain roommates living separate lives, and of course you two weren’t dating, either. So did you consider him a friend? Sure, I mean you wouldn’t cook dinner for just anyone, right? But everything Chan did was not what normal friends do. At least in your experience - who knows if he’s doing this type of stuff to his other ‘friends’, like Miyeon.

Speaking of which, you hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you were almost convinced whatever relationship they had was over when she called off their date that one Tuesday - until Friday night.

The night was still young when you arrived home to your roommate mixing and playing with some beats over those impossibly loud speakers. It’s been a long week dealing with school work on top of figuring out your conflicting feelings of the boy in the next room and a quiet night without any games from Chan would be ideal, but life never worked out for you in that way, did it?

“Welcome home, darling ~!” he greeted playfully over the blasting bass before turning it down. “Cookin’ anything for dinner?”

The tiredness in your sigh didn’t go unnoticed. “Nah, I don’t feel like cooking tonight. I might do delivery if you’re up for that?”

The charming man came out of the room all dressed up like he was planning on going out and not coming back for the night. “That’s ok, I actually have plans tonight.”

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“Miyeon’s taking me out to one of her friend’s birthday bash, or whatever rich girls like to do, before we all go out tonight.”

Miyeon, the gorgeous cheerleader. Somehow, you’ve completely forgotten her existence. Of course they were still talking, idiot! How could you even think that you could compete with someone like her?

“Are you her date?” you asked hesitantly, not wanting to know the answer.

“If that’s what she’s callin’ it, I guess so.” Chan adjusted his shirt collar and unbuttoned the top. “Do I look good?”

“Do you not consider her your date?”

“Not really. All I have to do is sit and look pretty.”

“You don’t think she’s asking you because she likes you?”

“Please, she probably only asked me because Mingyu said no.”

“Chan, you don’t know that for sure.”

You began to feel his frustration when he threw his hands in the air in disbelief. The truth hurts, doesn’t it? “Why are you so hung up about this? Why does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t!” you said a little too defensively. “I just don’t think you’re being fair.”

“How?”

“What if she really likes you? What if she’s asking you out to this thing because she wants you to know that? If she does like you, can you even say that you like her back?”

“Tch, no.”

“Then why even bother going and leading her on!?”

“Who said I’m leading her on? I’m just keeping her company!”

“What, so you’re going to have your arm around her waist, look into each others’ eyes and kiss and it’s going to mean nothing!?” At this point, you were screaming before you knew it. “Because that’s what you two normally do, right? Kiss each other like it means nothing?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means, nothing! I -” Chan sighed heavily. “Ok, it does sound a little ridiculous when I say it out loud, but I promise it doesn’t mean anything! Wait a minute, why am I even explaining myself to you? Are you jealous, or something?”

No, you’re not jealous. You’re angry that Chan was that kind of guy who played with women like they were toys or little pawns on a cheap chess set. You’re angry that you were one of them.

“Have fun tonight,” you said flatly, retrieving to your room.

“_____, wait.” You didn’t wait and instead locked your bedroom door. “Fuck.”

Well, Chan’s End Game plan to get you to confess out of jealousy backfired badly. The party wasn’t even real! Dammit, now where was he supposed to go looking like this!?

A small lightbulb went off in his head. Off to the grocery store!

Maybe going to your room was a terrible idea because now you were left to reflect on how you poorly reacted. You had your strong points about how Chan didn’t know how Miyeon truly felt about him, but the flipside was that she could have felt the same - that she was just using Chan as some accessory and he was totally ok with that. Who were you to judge the weird mutualistic relationship that they had as head cheerleader and captain of the basketball team? The concept seemed corny and straight out of a teen movie, but perhaps those movies weren’t too far off base as you thought.

You’re also left to reflect on what he said before you stormed off into your room - were you jealous? At first, your anger could easily be mistaken for jealousy, but what was the truth? Of course you’re furious that Chan played these stupid fucking games with you! But you’d be less mad if you were the only one he cared to fool around with.

You finally left the room around an hour after your sulking to bump into Chan’s rock-hard chest.

“Jesus Christ!” you screamed. “Chan, what the hell!”

“Sorry, I was about to knock!”

“What are you doing right in front of my room, you werido!?”

The cheeky, dimply boy held up a paper bag. “Buzzfeed said people who like desserts are emotionally-driven and a little cold-hearted, but sweet as sugar once they get their fix.”

“Buzzfeed said that or YOU said that?”

“Both.”

You shook your head tiredly. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I lied. I don’t have some extravagant party to go to tonight. I haven’t texted Miyeon in weeks.”

“What? Then why did you…?”

“I had this dumb idea that you would confess your undying love for me if I somehow made you jealous. Clearly that didn’t work.”

“You’re right, you’re dumb ideas never work.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that! Fine, let me try Plan B. Let me know it it’s also dumb.”

“Gladly.”

“_____, I like you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Y-You what?”

“I like you. A lot. Since you threw that blanket over me that one night last semester and I knew you didn’t truly hate my guts after all. And then I got to live with you - to witness your multi-faceted personality, to talk with you, and to get you to laugh at my dumb jokes and cheek kisses. Tell me, _____, am I dumb for falling for you like this?”

“Well… I’d say yes, but that would admit I’m stupid, too.”

“Oh?” He smirked playfully, taking a step forward. “And that’s because…?”

You mumbled something incoherent. Then, Chan dropped the bag of desserts and scooped you in his arms again, nuzzling his nose in all the ticklish places on your neck.

“Chan, stop!” you giggled.

“Hm? What was that?” he asked. “I can’t hear you ~”

“I like you!”

Finally, he stopped, lifting his head to look at you but keeping you safe in his arms. “Do you? I mean, really, do you?”

“I like you. Surprisingly a lot. And I hate it.”

“Music to my ears, baby,” he grinned. He buried his face once more to flower you with cheek kisses. “Say it again.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“Please ~” his kisses trickled down to your neck.

“It tickles!” you giggled some more. “If I say it, you gotta stop.”

“As much as that burdens me, fine.”

“I like you, Bang Chan.”

“See? Doesn’t that confession feel great? Like a huge weight lifted off your chest?” He pulled you in closer, to which you oblige and it only made his ego bigger and his heart beat faster. “I could get used to this.”

“Me too,” you sighed dreamily.

“Would you like dessert to commemorate this beautiful union, my love?”

“Sounds delightful.”

“Will you kiss me first?”

You pulled on his shirt collar to bring him down for a long, deep kiss that Chan thought he could only ever dream about. It left him dizzy and a little light headed and the way you break the kiss to let your sweet lips linger so closely was torturous and almost had him begging for more. Almost. Bang Chan did not beg.

“Whoa,” he sighed breathily.

“That’s what you get for the past couple of weeks.”

“Ah yeah, I suppose I deserve that…”

You left the stunned Chan to go ahead into the kitchen. “Let’s go, lover boy. I want some ice cream, please.”

“Anything for you, princess.”

EPILOGUE

“You two are what!?”

You and Chan looked at each other with fear written on both of your faces. Yeri was on the other end on speakerphone screaming curse words and ‘are you kidding me’s and ‘I fucking knew this would happen’s.

“Yeah, we’re uh, kind of dating now,” Chan repeated bravly.

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing! This is disgusting!! _____, what do you have to say for yourself, you hypocritical piece of poo!”

“I have nothing to say, I am just as ashamed as you are.”

Chan nudged you playfully. “Hey, we’re in this together, you know!”

“Ugh, I hate how I have to support this!” Yeri whined and cried and sobbed. “Just… Just don’t do it on my bed!”

“Don’t worry, apparently to Chan I’m a huge virgin because I know how to cook.”

“I was kidding!! And that’s gonna change now that I’m here -”

“Oh, gross! Stop! Please stop!” Yeri groaned. “I hate you both, I’m gonna kick your asses when I come back!”

“Love you too, Yer-bear,” you and Chan said in unison.

#bang chan #chan #skz #stray kids #skz chan #stray kids chan #college au #roommates au #chan scenarios #bang chan scenarios #chan imagines #bang chan imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #omg no more chan for a very long time im tired of him LOL

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danipixel · 4 years

Text

Drowning While Burning

Let’s just say, this came to me in a dream. My gain, is also your gain.

Warning: Explicit. This is utter filth and I am not sorry. Not one bit.

Maul x Reader

tags: @maulieber, @zabrak-show, @botherbother-blog, @mother-0f-monsters, @lestrange2703, @alicedoestheinternet

Drowning While Burning

The Mandalorian sun had already begun to set beyond the walls of Sundari's biodome as you finished your duties for the day. Your position as Maul's business liaison for the Shadow Collective meant you spent most of your day arguing with the Pykes, Black Sun, and the Hutts on his behalf. Liaison wasn't your only position, however. At some point in your stay at the palace your relationship had grown beyond professional into something much more precious. As his confidante and lover, you shared his substantial living quarters. Your path through the palace finally brought you to the door of your shared room while you dreamed about a luxurious shower and falling asleep in his arms. That is, if he hadn't planned on working into the early hours of the morning again.

You push open the door to the room and to your complete surprise, Maul is sitting on the bed instead of his desk. Just waiting. Waiting and staring as you entered. "Is everything alright, love?" you say as you shut the door behind you. Maul quickly leaves his position on the bed and closes the distance between you. His hands immediately find their way around your waist to pull you in close. "I have been thinking of you for hours, my star." You bury your face in his chest and lose yourself in his warmth. His body is always warmer than your own, a side effect of his twin hearts. Just one aspect of him out of many that you adore.

He quite literally pulls you out of your reverie when his hand grabs your hair at the base of your skull and gently pulls until you're looking up at him. You smile at him, "What exactly have you been thinking about?" As if the way lust has seeped into every part of him wasn't obvious enough. His answer is to claim your mouth in a kiss that could turn a star into a supernova. It lights a fire in your body so strong it threatens to consume you both. Dear gods, you love to burn with him. The intensity makes you let out a small involuntary moan and he takes the opening to slide his tongue against yours. Somehow he always tastes like the most delicious spice and sweetness when you kiss him. Another part of him you adore.

His hands start pulling open your wrapped shirt before he breaks the kiss to trail small bites and kisses along your collarbone. "I need to have all of you tonight." His voice slightly muffled against your skin. "To touch." He finishes pulling your shirt off so his hands can run over the newly exposed skin. It makes you shiver in excitement. You can't help but take your nails down his chest in response. "To claim." He digs his fingers into your hips as he bites down near the juncture of your neck and shoulder. "To taste." He soothes the reddening bite mark with his tongue before running it up your neck. "I want to drown in you." Maul growls into your ear. His words punctuated by his teeth and lips working their way down your neck. Those words send a shiver down your spine and a rush of intense desire straight between your legs.

Your mind completely loses all higher function as you push him towards the bed and begin tearing his tunic from his belt before throwing it across the room. The two of you can find it tomorrow. He laughs at your newfound eagerness until you leave your own mark on the dark skin of his neck. That pulls a soft wanton groan from him. Your hands run across his strong tattooed chest and leave small scratches wherever they go. You begin to follow your fingers with your lips, tracing the black patterns across his red flesh. When your teeth find one of his nipples and gently nip at it, he lets out an animalistic growl before picking you up and practically tossing you on the bed.

His mouth is back on yours in an instant, tongue demanding entry that you gladly give to him. His hands roam over every part of you, desperate for contact. Where his hands can't be, he touches you with the Force. You're sure that somehow he now has a dozen hands touching you everywhere. Being loved by Maul is intense and all-encompassing.

His lips leave yours to start on a path down the rest of your body. You let out a small whine the moment he stops kissing you. You need his lips on you again. Anywhere on you. It doesn't matter where. His hands trail down your sides to finally pull off your boots and tear your pants from your legs. He takes a moment to admire you in just your soaked panties before he rips them apart and throws the tattered fabric somewhere else. You distantly hear yourself say, "I liked that pair." Maul leaves sucks a fresh bruise above your hip "I'll get you ten more."

You hear the sound of more fabric hitting the ground and realize he must have removed his own belt and pants before crawling up your body. Before you get the chance to see all of him, he lowers his mouth to your chest to run his tongue around one of your achingly pointed nipples. At the same time his hand finds its way between your legs and into your slick folds, his fingers slowly circling your clit. Any thoughts you were about to have rapidly leave your mind with the soft moan you release and dissipate into the air. One of your hands grabs a fistful of the dark silken sheets below you while the other rests at the back of his neck. You'd guide him to where you want him but he already knows. He's taking as much time with you as he pleases. He bites down gently on the nipple now in his mouth before flattening his tongue to soothe the light pain he causes you. You gasp before you let out unintelligible praises into the air.

His fingers play against your clit as if it's their only reason for existing. Fuck, you're sure that right now being touched by him is your only reason to exist. Maul drags his tongue at a painfully slow pace across your chest where your other breast waits for him, but not before he leaves a perfectly positioned mark directly in the center of your chest. You snake your fingers around the horns at the back of his head and scratch at the base of them, earning yourself a low growl from the back of his throat. He's not the only one that can make the other dumb with pleasure.

He repays your touch by sinking one finger, then another deep into you. They curl wickedly against you as he slowly pumps them into you. How does just a finger feel so good? You can hear how wet you are from the sounds of his fingers inside you and it just makes you rush to orgasm all that much faster. Maul smiles against your chest. "So wet already. Whatever shall I do with you?" You could practically cum just from the way his voice sounds right now. Low and full of desire as his words vibrate through your entire body. "Just..ah..just what you s..said. Touch. Claim. Oh fuck. Taste."

The sound that tears out of his throat as he pulls his fingers from you is absolutely feral. A whimper falls from your lips at the loss of his touch. You were so close. Stopping now is beyond cruel. Before you can beg, no demand, that he continue, his arms wrap around you and flip the two of you over so you wind up straddled across his abdomen. This could work too.

You run one hand slowly over every one of his perfectly defined muscles across his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen. The red and black flesh lightly twitches and jumps under your fingertips. Your other hand reaches beyond you to run over the cool metal of his pelvis before finding the soft synthetic skin of his now very erect cock. Taking him in hand, you lightly run your fingers up and down the length of him, mimicking his earlier teasing. Soft gasps fall from his mouth with every lazy pattern you draw on his cock. When you lightly squeeze him he takes a tight hold of your thighs and digs his fingers into your skin. "Not yet, my star. I haven't had my fill of you yet."

Your mind is swimming at his words. What does that mean? He hasn't had his fill? Then the firm grip on your thighs begins to pull you up and forward. Oh. Oh. Now you get it, and you're positively dying for it. You follow his hands up, up past his chest, over his shoulders and to his handsome face. "I said," he leaves matching bites on each of your inner thighs before nipping his way higher to where you crave, no, absolutely need him. "I want to drown in you." His tongue runs feather light up your soaked lips before plunging in between. His impossibly warm tongue flattens and runs over your clit before slowly circling around. Maul takes one last look up at you and you can just barely see the wicked smile on his lips before his eyes shut and he dives into you fully.

You hear yourself call out his name as his tongue and lips do things you didn't know were possible. He doesn't simply lick into your cunt or suck on your clit. No, what Maul does is completely devour you like a man starved. It's as if he'd been granted his final meal in this life and he chose to consume you. He savors every taste you give him. Fuck. You'll give him as much as he wants.

You nearly fall over from the sheer pleasure his tongue starts to pull from you. One of your hands is gripping the headboard so tightly, you fear the wood and metal may shatter if your own fingers don't first. The other holds onto his horns for dear life. Your fingers scraping along his scalp, pulling small grunts and groans from him beneath you. His hands move from holding your thighs to taking hold of your ass as he leaves small scratches with his fingers. Maul pulls you down slightly further as his tongue pushes inside of you, determined to taste and consume every part of you.

When he brings his mouth back up to your clit and ever so softly nips at the sensitive flesh, you swear you feel his fingers slide into you. But how? His hands are both on your...oh maker. He begins pulling a copy of his fingers from the Force to push into you and curls them inside you. Right in the absolute perfect spot to make you momentarily lose the ability to see straight. You may just die, right here, on Maul's lips.

You can't help how you start grinding into his face, chasing the orgasm he so cruelly denied you earlier. Heat begins to push and pull tightly in your belly as you feel your whole body begin to tense. "Maul I'm...oh maker how are you…" He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard while he slides the facsimile of his fingers into that perfect spot inside you and your body shatters. Every sense you have falls through reality before slamming back into your body. Somewhere you hear yourself cry out a sound as close to his name as your voice can create at the moment. Whatever the definition of the word bliss happens to be, you're certain you found a better one on Maul's tongue.

You finally come back to yourself as he presses soft kisses to the inside of your thighs and helps guide you off of his face and onto your back. His swollen lips still shine with your release when his tongue slides from his mouth to lick them clean. That tongue. It's a gift from an angel used to commit the most beautiful of sins. His eyes still burn with lust and adoration before he kisses you softly, slipping his tongue into your mouth to let you taste yourself on him. Maul trails his lips tenderly down your neck, chest, and stomach before following the same path back up the other side. The light touches of his lips help you come down slowly from the high of orgasm. You wrap your shaky arms around his shoulders to pull him back to you. What starts as a slow tender kiss quickly gains momentum. Maul grazes your lower lip with his teeth before he pulls back to press his lips to your jaw. He runs his fingers gently from your neck and down across your body again before stopping just above your cunt.

Oh wait, there's more. There's always more. He must have felt your thoughts because you feel a small laugh against your neck. "Did you think I was done with you?" One of his knees moves to push your legs further apart for him to take his rightful place between them.

With him in his current position you can finally take a look at all of him. From the way his tattoos accentuate every dip and ridge of muscle down to where organic meets synthetic and lower still. The first time he'd let you see all of him, he assumed that you would be repulsed by his mechanical half. That didn't matter to you. It was as much a part of Maul as his horns, his eyes, or his hands. Regardless of what's natural or artificial, he works magic with every bit of it.

The slide of his cock against the inside of your thighs snaps you back to the present. Deliciously ridged as a zabrak's should be and covered in soft synthetic skin to give him just as much pleasure as he gives you. And warm, as nature would have intended. You silently thank whoever put this previously shattered man back together so completely. Almost as if of their own accord, you lift your hips as he slowly slides into you. You keen at the feeling of being filled by him while you hear a soft Paecian curse devolve into a growl deep in his throat. Your legs come up and wrap around his waist to hold him where he belongs.

Maul brings his hands back up to reach behind you to grab a fistful of hair and pulls your lips to his as he grinds himself fully into you. Pressed tightly together like this, you swear he reaches something inside you that makes you see the stars beyond the roof above you. Then he starts a powerful, rapid pace and those stars explode into dust. The last remnants of your mind leave you as pure instinct takes over. You lift your pelvis up to meet each of his thrusts. Every collision of your hips sending sparks flying up your spine and back down again, lighting every nerve on fire as they go. You're just barely surviving the flames before Maul lifts one of your ankles over her arm and picks up his pace to something more feral. Those flaming nerves, now build into a wildfire. His lips and teeth following the line of your collarbone leave a blazing trail of small bruises that you are guaranteed to be wearing for a week. He's panting into your neck now, "You look so-" a growl catches in his throat before he can finish. "so perfect when I claim you. Wearing my marks so well." Before he finishes that thought his hand moves down to circle your clit while his increasingly powerful thrusts continue to drive you into oblivion.

Oh fuck, if moments before was a wildfire, every single nerve in your body is now an inferno. You feel hotter than you should be able to even survive and all your muscles below your waist starts to tighten as your orgasm flies at you. Your last moment of coherence before the inferno swallows you, you lift yourself up and bite down on the muscle of Maul's neck. Hard. You claim him as he'd just done to you.

He wanted to drown in you, but you, you're burning from him. Everything goes white and your cries are muffled into his neck. Your cunt spasms and contracts around his cock pulling him into madness with you. He starts to slam into you in earnest while he chases you over the edge. You hear a broken moan pull out of him before he spills into you, growling your name and half uttered praises with each stuttering thrust of his hips.

Reality finally seeps back into your mind. You still feel unbelievably warm but completely and utterly spent. Maul half collapsed on top of you after his own release. That explains the warmth. He'd also managed to slip himself out of you and now your combined fluids slowly make their way out of you. The sheets are definitely ruined.

The two of you lie there for a few minutes just remembering how to breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale...exhale? Why is this so hard to remember? Your heart slowly stops pounding in your ears and you can feel one of his slow to a less frantic pace where his chest is pressed into your shoulder. You start planting soft kisses along the side of his face until he comes up to return your affection. His kisses are soft and loving now. He presses them across your shoulder and up the side of your neck before catching your lips with his. Everything slows down again as you lose yourselves in each other. Eventually you need to pull away and breathe again. Inhale, exhale.

You manage to find your voice floating somewhere in the air, "I could get used to ending the day like this." Maul laughs again before pushing himself up with a groan you can't help but feel pride at hearing. "I think I can arrange that." One of his hands runs over the dark marks he'd left on you and a proud smile paints his face. You grin as you lean up to plant a soft kiss on the growing bruise you'd left on him. He finally falls back over next to you and pulls you into his chest. You'd normally protest and try to clean yourself up but honestly, you can't move much of anything right now. He places a kiss to the top of your head, "We'll deal with it tomorrow. Sleep now." He pulls the blankets to his hand with the Force and wraps it around the two of you before tangling your legs together. The cool metal feels amazing on your overheated skin. "I'm not that tired." You try to stifle a yawn, "Alright, maybe I am." He's right. Staying right here sounds like a perfect idea.

#darth maul #maul #maul x reader #darth maul x reader #thirst #absolute thirst #star wars thirst

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