#ONE. SINGLE. STUDENT. WILL BE ECHOING IN MY BRAIN FOR THE NEXT WEEK

[coconut530]

ONE (1)

[moonyeyedstar]

Teacher's Pet- Professor Tom Riddle x Reader Smut

*18+*

“You are telling me that not a single one of you knows the answer to the question on the board?!” your professor shouts turning to face the class, his grip on the chalk in his hand was so tight it should’ve snapped it.  Every single one of your classmates bowed their heads.  You knew the answer to the question but everyone had been talking about how you are the teacher’s pet so you did not want to raise your hand.  Professor Riddle was always quite harsh with how he handled his students and unforgiving but for some reason, there was something about you that softened him up.  He had never raised his voice toward you and when he gave the class detention he never wrote you up.  You’d be lying if you said you haven’t grown to fancy him.  He was so devilishly handsome, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he was focused, a body so toned you could tell even under his suit, he was always dressed so properly, and his hands, oh my god his hands, his fingers were so long and slender and pale and his veins stuck out.  He wore silver rings that would’ve been gaudy on any other man but not on him, he looked so sophisticated.  You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, but you should have, you should have bowed your head like every other one of your classmates, it probably could have prevented him calling on you.

“Miss. Y/l/n?” Professor Riddle’s voice echoed throughout the classroom.  “You surely know the answer don’t you?” he asks, walking over to your desk.  Your stomach did flips whenever he said your name.  Your brain felt fuzzy as he approached you, and you caught yourself practically drooling over him. 

“Ye-” you stop yourself, “N-No Sir,” you stutter, letting your eyes linger a bit too long

before dropping your eyesight to your textbook in front of you. 

“No?” he cocks an eyebrow whilst staring you down causing goosebumps to erupt all over your skin.  All you could do was shake your head no, keeping your eyes glued to your textbook, and try your best to distract yourself from the growing wetness between your legs.  He looked back up at the class but a small smirk was playing on the corner of his lips, “You are all excused early, do not forget your essays are due at the end of the week, mediocrity will not be tolerated, meet the guidelines or fail, it is up to you,” he said roughly to the class.  Everyone nodded and you all began to gather your things.  As you went to close your textbook Professor Riddle slammed his hand down forcing it open, “Not you, Y/n.  I’d like to have a little chat with you after everyone leaves,” he said lowly.  There was a devilish glimmer in his eye, that made your heart skip a beat.

“Y-Yes Sir,” you nodded keeping your textbook open and squeezing your thighs together to help appease the throbbing need between your legs.  The class quickly emptied and your professor looked down on you.  “Why didn’t you answer the question?” he asked firmly.  

“I am so sorry Sir,” you said shakily, “I will do better next time, I promise,” you looked up at him, your eyes were a bit watery from your nerves.  

“You and I both know you knew the answer, you are at the top of your class and it was a simple question, the issue is you are surrounded by idiots.  There is no need for you to lower yourself to their level.”

“No Sir,” you sigh because he does not understand, “They all say things about me, that I am a teacher’s pet, a suck-up,” you mumble, “I just did not want to make it worse, so I lied,” you nervously played with your hands.  Much to your surprise, he let out a low chuckle, shifting your attention to look up at him.  He had a small grin on his face, god he was so sexy.

“They say those things because they are jealous that you are so incredibly brilliant,” he said genuinely.  The heat between your legs grew to be almost unbearable and

 your cheeks flushed.                                    

“Professor-” you start but he cuts you off.

“-And if I say you’re brilliant it means something,”

“Thank you, Sir,” your skin was hot and your panties were soaked.  You tense up as he unexpectedly brings the back of his hand to caress your cheek.  His hand was cold but his rings were colder, they almost stung against your burning skin.

“Why so flushed, darling?” he asks quietly, a sense of cockiness in his tone.  He knew the effect he had on you and was relishing in the fact he got you so worked up.  

“It is because of you Sir,” you admit, blushing.  You did not know where this newfound confidence came from, maybe it was the built-up need for him, the way you yearned to be touched by him, whatever it was you were going to chase it.  He chuckled again, his chuckles were almost a growl, they made your cunt drip.

“Because of me?” he teases. 

“Yes Sir, because of you, I need you, I can hardly focus in class, the whole time I am thinking of the most utterly sinful things we could be doing to each other.”  Your words seemed to have an effect on him as you watched his pants grow tight around his bulge.  You could not help but smirk to yourself a bit. 

“God,” he growls lowly, “You have no idea how badly I yearn to do those utterly sinful things you think of to you, I cannot keep my eyes off of you in class, not only are you the most beautiful girl I have ever laid my eyes upon, you also have a mind so extraordinary that it turns me on even more, I cannot even imagine all the brilliant things you will do but right now I think we both owe each other this moment, I have never met someone who made me almost intimidated by their intellect, I need you, Y/n, so will you let me have you?”  

“God yes,” you practically moaned. 

 A smirk grew on his face, “Have you done this before?” he asked as he ran a hand through his hair.      

“Yes Sir, I have done things before,” you said quietly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“What things?  Have you ever had sex or just sucked cock?” he stares at you intently, his eyes full of lust.

“Just sex,” you blush hard under his stare.  Your confession only seemed to intrigue him more.

“Oh my darling so you’ve never sucked a cock before?” he teases and you shake your head no.  “Well, it seems to me that I have so much to teach you,” his smirk consumed his face.  You nodded in agreement.

“Yes Sir, please, teach me.”  You were practically begging.  By this point, your clit was throbbing and you were so nervous but so excited to suck off your professor.  He walked over to his desk and sat in his chair before waving you over.  You rushed over quickly, your heart pounding in your chest, and stood before him.

“On your knees darling,” he chuckled condescendingly.  You dropped to your knees in an instant before looking up at him awaiting your next instruction.  “You listen so well, you’re already being such a good girl for me,” he teases as he undoes his belt, the button, and the zipper on his trousers and pulls himself out of his boxers.  His cock was huge and you could not fathom fitting all of him in your mouth.  His member bobbed in front of your face, his tip was red and swollen and slick with precum.  You were so caught up in staring that it wasn’t even until you heard a small chuckle escape his lips that you realized you had been staring.  You shook your head and looked back up at his eyes to find him grinning, so obviously amused.  “Like what you see, sweetheart?” he taunts. 

“Yes Sir,” you nodded, your nerves on fire.

“Good,” he smirks, “Touch me, darling, don’t be scared,” he waves his hand, gesturing for you to grab him.  You reach out, your hand is shakey and clammy from your nerves, and you notice a sweat begin to come on, just waiting to break across your forehead.  You grab him before looking up at him.  “Now stroke me, darling,” he nods at you to begin and you start to stroke him, moving slowly because there is nothing to lube him with.  “Spit on it, love, it’ll help,” he instructs.  Your clit begins to burn from the arousal of the moment and the way he speaks to you.  You lean over and spit on his cock.  You rub it over his already slick tip and watch as his cock twitches from your touch.  You begin pumping him and look up at him as you do.

“How is this, Sir?” 

“Good but now give me a few more pumps before taking my tip, just my tip into your mouth.”

“Yes Sir,” you nod, your heart racing as you pump him a few more times before leaning over as instructed and taking just his tip in your mouth.  You let your tongue flick over the slit on his tip taking in the bitter, salty taste of his precum as you continue to pump his shaft, you loved having his taste coat your tongue.  You feel his hips shudder under you as his tip throbs against your tongue.  The way his body reacts makes you eager to take more of him into your mouth.  You slowly slide your head down fitting about half of his length in your mouth but stop before you let him hit the back of your throat so you do not gag on him.  Your greediness earns you a couple of low moans and groans from your professor.  His moans only made your desire for him grow.  Your cunt was dripping for him.  

“Fuck,” he growls, “Good girl, just like that, relax your jaw and breathe and take me down your throat,” he instructs, his hand going to grab a fistful of your hair as he lets his head fall back and his mouth stayed cracked open.  You whimpered around him and took a deep breath in through your nose as you relaxed your jaw and took your professor down your throat.  You tense up but quickly remind yourself to keep breathing and swallow around him as you bob your head on his length.  His grip on your hair tightens as you continue to bob your head.  You drool all over him as you move on him sloppily as he jerks his hips up towards you, his cock twitching more and more often inside your mouth.  You hollowed out your cheeks around him loving the feeling of having him inside your mouth.  You were almost getting yourself off just by thinking about him cumming inside your mouth.  “Look at you, taking me so well already, such a quick learner,” he grunts looking down at you, loosening his grip on the back of your head to brush hair out of your face.  “Why don’t you get on my desk and let me fuck you as a reward for being such a good girl for me?”  You whimpered around him and pulled off with a pop.  Your lips were slick and swollen and you had saliva running down your chin.  He could not take his eyes off of you, “God,” he growled, “You look so perfect.”  You felt almost intoxicated but his words made your skin hot.

“Thank you, Sir,” you whispered as you wiped your drool off your chin, licking your lips one more time as you propped yourself on his desk to take in every last bit of his taste.  He watched as you sat on his desk, he was practically undressing you with his eyes.  He got up from his desk chair and gripped your thighs, pushing them open swiftly making your skirt roll up before leaning down to kiss under your ear.  He nipped at your earlobe as he pressed himself against your soaked panties before letting his hot breath hit the inside of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.  He was so dark yet gentle.    

“Now Y/n, let me show you how a real man fucks,” he growled into your ear as he slide his hand up your inner thigh and hooked his finger through your panties holding them to the side as he splits you open with his tip and buries himself deep inside you in an instant.  

“Oh fuck, Professor,” you couldn’t help but cry out.  Your hips bucked and shifted to adjust yourself to his length.  You had never had a cock so big inside you before.  Your walls were fluttering around his throbbing cock, you were already basking in the feeling of pleasure and pain from having him stretch you out.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” he groaned into the crook of your neck, sending goosebumps all over your skin as he began to pick up his pace.  You took in a sharp breath and let your muscles relax allowing him to fix more of him inside you.  “God you take me so well,” he moaned out and began leaving kisses on your neck, gentle at first but they quickly became rough.  You made him feral, you had him aching with an animalistic desire for you.  He began to suck on the skin of your neck taking it into your mouth as his tongue rolled over it, leaving a throbbing hickey.  You whimper under his touch and choke back moans.  He continued to leave hickeys all over your neck and collarbones as his thrusts became frantic and desperate.  His cock massaged your walls and your hips writhed with his to meet him every time he buried his cock as deep inside.  

“Oh fuck Professor, you feel so good,” you moaned.  You felt him smirk against the skin of your neck before bringing himself to look deep into your eyes as he gripped your neck, his cold hands made you shudder.  You locked eyes with him and found yourself becoming a moaning mess right in front of him, you felt so vulnerable, so exposed but you were loving every second of it.  You feel your pussy clench around him and you could feel yourself approaching your climax.  

“Jesus fuck,” he howled, “I swear to fucking god your pussy will be the death of me.”  He let his grip on your neck loosen before sliding his hands under your ass, lifting you a bit, pulling your hips to be as flush against his as possible.  He was loving every second of being buried in your tight, hot, dripping cunt.  You let your legs spread wider as he began to pound himself into you.  You felt a familiar knot grow in the pit of your stomach and moved your hands to grip his shoulder as you felt yourself become weak under him.  

“Oh, Professor!  Please I am so close,” you moaned through a shattered breath.

“Already my love?” he teases, “I was just getting started,” he smirks before pulling himself out of you.  You whined at the emptiness in your cunt, the knot in your stomach was slowly fading away.  You were on the verge of tears.  He noticed the way your eyes glossed over with tears and chuckled, “Now now,” he teased, “Do not worry my darling, I’m going to have you cumming all over my cock soon enough,” he smirked and pulled you off his desk before turning your around and bending you over his desk.  There was no time for you to process what was going on before you knew it he was driving his cock in and out of you again.  

“Oh fuck yes!” you gripped the edge of the desk in front of you, your knuckles turning white.  You were in complete and utter bliss to have him fill you up again.  His thrusts were rough, his hips were slamming against your ass.  Tears of pleasure began to roll down your cheeks as your gut began to tighten.  You were so fucking close.  “Fuck! Right there, do not stop!” you moan out and are on the verge of coming undone.  

“Oh darling, keep moaning for me like that and I might just cum in this pretty little cunt of yours,” he moaned.

“God yes!” you cried out, your walls clenching around him, “Please cum inside me Professor I want you to fill me up,” you were so needy.  

“Fuck,” he growled, your words were sending him over the edge.  His grip on your hips was so tight he was digging into you.  He gave you his last powerful thrust before spilling himself into you.  You felt his cum fill you up sending you over the edge.  You became limp on his desk as you let the most sinful of sounds slip your lips.  Your walls were throbbing around him and you were seeing stars.  You were left panting as he pulled out of you and leaned over to push the hair off the back of your neck before pressing a gentle kiss on it.  “You did so well for me darling,” he said breaking the silence.

“T-Thank you, Sir,” you pant, still in a haze.  You listened as his footsteps walked away from where you two were and heard a drawer open.  After he gathered whatever it was he needed he came back.  You felt a towel on your inner thigh.  He was cleaning the both of you up.  Your heart did a flip as you did not expect this from him.  “Thank you, Sir,” you begin as you stand up, “but there is really no need,” you continued.

“Don’t be that way, I said I was going to take care of and I am, I am a man of my word,” he finished cleaning you both up.  You both fixed your clothing quickly.  You looked up at him nervously not knowing what to do next.  “I think you will find yourself truly pleased if you stay after class again tomorrow, Miss Y/l/n,” he smirked playfully, already ready to go again.

“Yes Sir, I’d love to,” your cheeks flushed as you turned to head to the door.         

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Four (Part 2)

The next day I’m late for life drawing class as usual, and everyone is already laying their sketchbooks out on the floor as I burst into the studio, already halfway out of my raincoat and gloves. Ida doesn’t say anything, she just glances around at me, pauses, and then keeps talking to the rest of the class, which is obviously a thousand times worse than a scolding. I hastily unzip my bag and wrench my sketchbook out of it, only slightly wet around the edges from the torrential rain soaking through the flimsy canvas of my bag. I race over to lay it on the floor amongst the others. 

Marnie shoves a sharp elbow into my ribs as I take my place beside her, and I glance at the side of her face to see her smirking. Yes. I want to hiss. I know I keep doing this, apparently I’m just completely unable to get my life together and be a functioning person, Okay?

“Like I was saying,” Says Ida, as it dawns on me that I have interrupted her, and instantly wish I was dead. “I wanted to see improvements from all of you in the anatomy of your figures last week, so I’m very interested to see what you’ve done for today.” She bends down and begins to slowly flip through the pages of one sketchbook. “What do we think about this work?” 

“Nice sense of movement.” Says one student. 

“Yeah, the sketches of the man with the glasses are very nice.” Says another, while I desperately rack my brains for something to say. What do I think? Do I have a single opinion in my head about anything? 

Ida moves from one sketchbook to the next, and everyone discusses their work. I watch who’s speaking, and slowly, one by one, everybody eventually speaks up. Except for me. I have nothing to say. I am blank. I bring my thumbnail to my mouth and chew on it anxiously, feeling tension and shame growing inside me like a lump in my gut. 

She reaches for a sketchbook full of dark, confident lines, and I know immediately who it belongs to. I watch as she flips through the pages, all moody sketches of silhouettes in windows, backlit by street lamps, a whole page filled with a scratchy portrait of a man in a jacket, hard lines and planes on his face. 

“They’re good.” I force myself to say, at last. My voice seems to echo extra loudly in the studio and I have never been more aware of myself but I push through the fear. “But I think they’re messy. The anatomy is lost among all the smudges. I wish they were done much neater.” I glance up to meet Dean Cullen’s eyes, and quirk my eyebrow at him. How do you like it? I want to tell him. Doesn’t feel that good, does it? 

Ida says my opinion is fair, and we spend some time discussing it, but I’m not really listening. I’m focussed on the way my body feels, the way the blood is coursing through me, the slight weakness in my legs from the adrenaline of speaking out for the first time in front of the class and taking Dean’s work down all in one fell-swoop. 

I never prepared for what would happen when we got to my sketchbook however, and as soon as Ida starts leafing through its soggy pages I find myself stricken with anxiety. I keep my eyes on Dean the whole time as the class discusses my work, waiting for him to come up with something, watching the gears in his head turn, formulating whatever unhelpful, unconstructive comment he’s about to spew. 

He finally opens his annoying little mouth. “Nice, as usual, but needs more refinement in the hands. Would have liked to have seen more detail.”

Doesn’t he know how hard hands are? I make a scoffing sound, out loud, and then immediately burn up with embarrassment as a few faces turn to stare at me. Dean is looking too, a questioning look on his face as though he doesn’t quite get my indignation. If Ida hears, however, she ignores it and starts telling me about how to draw hands in a more considered way, which I only half listen to, because I can’t keep my eyes from flitting back and forth between the sketchbook and Dean. I loathe him. I decide. He must be the most irritating man alive. 

During the afternoon in the computer lab I listen intently to our lecturer guiding us through the steps of creating an image from scratch in Photoshop, when I hear the sound of computer chair wheels glide towards me across the floor. I assume it’s Marnie, coming to start some conversation that’s not even loosely connected to the classwork, so I prepare to shrug her off immediately. All these menus have me confused enough, I don’t need to add some post she read on Tumblr to my mental load. 

“Can it wait until after?” I whisper tightly with eyes glued to the screen. Where the hell is the Modify menu? 

“Eh, not really.” Comes the response, and I’m immediately thrown by the male voice. My hand practically spasms off the mouse and I whirl around to face Dean, altogether too much into my personal space, slumped back in his chair and idly spinning himself from side to side. 

“Oh.” I say, then pause, unsure what to say. “Did you want something?”

“I’m lost.” He admits. “I’m not that great with, like, the tech stuff. I saw that you kind of looked like you knew what you were doing so I was hoping I could take the computer beside you and look in on your screen.”

“Well I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

“It seems like you know more than I do.” He wheels into the empty desk beside me and boots up the computer. I stare at him the whole time in bewilderment. Doesn’t he realise that we hate each other? Or is he just messing with me? 

I turn back to my screen and try to ignore him, but the lecturer is already talking about something else. Now I have to find the expand button. God damn it, where’s the expand button? What the hell does that do? The way that Dean clicks and clacks on his keyboard is about ten times louder than the way any normal person does it. And he sniffs really loudly. And his giant stretched out jumper smells like cigarettes and the inside of a charity shop. 

He leans over to me. “Where’s modify?”

“I don’t know.” I hiss. “I was trying to find it when you interrupted me.” 

He goes back to clicking for a few minutes, and when he nudges me gently with his elbow, I’m forced to look at him. He looks like a TV villain. No good hearted men have faces like that, or hair bleached that horrendous shade of Slim Shady blonde. He looks like he should be riding around town with his car windows down and his middle fingers up. “It’s in the select menu.” He advises. “You go Select > Modify > Expand.” 

“Thanks” I say, begrudgingly following his directions, which are tragically correct, and go back to following the lecturers demonstration, but it isn’t long before Dean starts talking again. 

“I like your drawing.” He whispers, nodding towards my digital line work of a girl floating in space with Saturn for a head, and his compliment makes my heckles rise. “Oh, do you actually?” I whisper back accusingly, which seems to take him aback. 

“Eh… Yes?” 

“Hm. Alright.”

“Why? Do you think it’s shit or something?”

“No, I’m just surprised you don’t have anything smart to say about it.” 

“I can say it’s shit if you want.”

“You might as well, sure you always say that about my other work.”

There is a long pause, where I can see from the corner of my eye that he’s turned to stare at me, but can’t bear to meet his gaze. I go on clicking around through all the menus so that I can look unbothered, and it seems like an age before he decides to speak again. “I think you must be talking about the life drawing critique sessions.” He leaves that statement hanging in the air as if he expects me to respond to it, but I just ignore him and drag my mouse through the colour wheel, trying to decide what shade of navy blue I should make the sky. I shouldn’t have to say anything. It’s obvious. 

He sighs. “You know it’s just critique, it’s not as if it’s a personal attack on you.”

“It’s more than a critique.” I bite back. “It’s rude. The way you talk about my work is rude, that’s just what I think and how it comes across to me.”

“Would you prefer if I said it was perfect?”

I turn to him to launch into a response, but the lecturer beats me to it. “Dean and Evelyn at the back there, please, if you want to continue your conversation can you please do it outside the classroom?” 

I snap my mouth shut and spin back around to my monitor. If I still had long hair, I would have flipped it over my shoulder right about now. He can rot. 

Prev // Next

[therealvalkyrie]

exactly the spring

Pairing/setting: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader, college!AU

Summary: Reserved biology student Ushijima finds himself falling in love when you, an adorably disorganized art student, wander into the greenhouse.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: fluff, kissing

AN: Hi!! So, the inspiration for this one sprang from the beautiful, sexi brain of Emme ( @doinmybesthere ) way back in MARCH ahem anyway, it's done! I hope it's just as soft and intimate as you envisioned<33 Also, big shoutout to my beautiful friends Arobi ( @daqueenobooty ) and Cee ( @spacelabrathor ) for being wonderful betas and giving me such kind comments:) I hope you enjoy, and as always don't be shy about leaving comments or coming to chat! Be kind to yourselves and others.  ~valkyrie

p.s. check out this amazing art that @/54prowl made of plant boy ushi!! :D

Plants don’t talk back, Ushijima learned as a toddler. He’d babble to them in nonsensical phrases as his mother worked in the garden, and they’d only sway in the wind and listen, waxy under his chubby fingers.

A volleyball doesn’t talk back, either, not even through its bounces and echoes on hands and hard surfaces. It doesn’t listen as easily as plants, but can be herded and shaped like putty into a winning thing if you touch it right. This, Ushijima learned at his father’s hand and carried with him through childhood and adolescence.

The joy and puzzlement of you is that you do both. You listen so intently and openly with your steady eyes and soft body as the words pour out of him. And then, you reply. With your clear voice and new perspective, you offer something new. You offer companionship.

It was the second week of spring semester that you wandered into the greenhouse, eyes lit by the sun and sketchbook under one arm. Ushijima was repotting a large fern, dirt up to his elbows as he kneeled on the floor. He barely gave you a second glance, preoccupied with nestling the plant’s root system comfortably.

You settled a short distance away, crossing your legs to sit on the tile floor in front of an orange tree to sketch its still-closed flower buds with charcoal pencils. He kept working as you did, the sun sliding across glass, shadows shifting into the early evening of winter. When the sun was threatening to set over the city skyline — even with the greenhouse where it sits on the roof of the biology building — he turned to tell you he was closing up, only to find you gone. In your place, sitting on the wooden table that held newly planted basil and sage, was a drawing.

It was a single branch, detailed in shades of charcoal down to the last dewdrop. At the bottom, looping handwriting scrawled, “thank you for the peace.”

That night, he tacked it up above his desk in his dorm next to the postcard from Tendō and hoped you’d come back.

And you do, a couple of days later, on a Saturday. He looks up from where he’s filling in the logbook, this time, catching your gaze and holding it for a moment before you break away to survey the room. Today, he thinks you looked breathtaking. You’re wearing a long, flowing skirt and a sweater that makes him want to feel how soft it is, and how soft you are in it, and by the time his brain catches up with his thoughts, he’s been staring too long and your eyes have wandered back to him. It’s raining, today — it never really snows in this city, he’s learned — and shadowy droplets play across your face as they drip down the greenhouse’s arched glass ceiling, highlighting the curve of your cheekbone and making your eyes glow softly.

He clears his throat and looks back to the thick spiral-bound book on the table before him. Sometimes, when he meets people for the first time, he knows he can come across as intimidating. That worked out for him in high school and on the volleyball court, but in his adulthood, it’s been more of a hindrance than a help. It makes it… difficult to make friends here, where he doesn’t already know anyone.

And the last thing he wants is to scare you away. The last thing he wants is to break the peace you’ve apparently found here.

Which is why he barely dares to breathe when he looks up to find you approaching him where he’s perched on a sturdy wooden stool.

“Hi,” you smile and lilt, and god if it isn’t the most beautiful word Ushijima’s ever heard, if it isn’t the prettiest smile he’s seen.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t want to scare you away.

“Uhm,” you start again, when the silence makes it clear he’s waiting for you to speak, “I have an art assignment,” you start digging around in your shoulder bag as you speak, “to draw a, um, what’s it called?”

“I don’t know.”

You pause in your rifling and pin him with such a sunny smile it makes his knee start bouncing. And you laugh, too, which officially replaces your “hi” as the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Ha, you’re funny,” you resume digging, “it was um, pretty leafy and... tropical, I think? Oh! Here.” Triumphantly, you produce a wrinkled paper from your bag. It’s the first imperfect thing Ushijima’s found out about you, that you’re shit at keeping your belongings organized, and he files it away for later reference. You hold the paper in front of your face and squint slightly to read in the shifting light. “Canna indica.”

Canna indica, native to tropical climates, notable as a minor food crop for South American Native populations for thousands of years.

“And I was told that you have it, here, in the greenhouse.”

Ushijima nods and finds himself relieved that this is what you’re asking him. Plants, he can do.

“We do. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, please,” you also sound relieved, like he’s provided the solution to every problem you’ve ever had.

He unfolds himself from the stool, setting down his pen as he goes. You take a step back and look up at him mildly, as though you hadn’t realized quite how huge he is.

“This way,” he indicates, leading you deeper into the maze that is the biology department’s greenhouse. The winding path back to the tropical room gives him a moment to sink back into the earthy peace of being here, even if now there’s someone sharing that peace.

The temperature change from the warm main greenhouse to the balmy tropical room prompts Ushijima to shed his flannel outer layer, hanging it on the nail hammered by the door while you step in behind him.

“Whew,” you exhale, shrugging off your soft cardigan as well, “it’s hot in here.”

Ushijima hums in agreement and tries not to look too hard at the patch of skin revealed by your cropped tank top. Canna indica isn’t too far into the room, so he just gently moves past draping leaves and ceramic pots.

“Here,” he stops, holding back leaves for you. He stops breathing again when you duck under his arm and end up so close in the narrow aisle that he can smell your shampoo. The moment passes, and he can breathe again when you breeze past him and squat down to peer at the bright, waxy red leaves of your subject.

“Beautiful,” you murmur, and he silently agrees.

You’re leaning so close to the plant he’s afraid you might topple over when you make a noise of realization and sit back on your butt to rifle through your bag once again. Ushijima knows he should probably leave you to it, but he’s glad he waited just an extra minute when you pull out a pair of glasses and pop them on your face. Adorably.

“That’s better.” You’re looking back at canna indica, now, at a normal distance.

He’s figured you’ve forgotten he’s there when you start to pull out pastels from your seemingly bottomless bag, so he turns to leave you.

A soft, “hey,” calls him back to you, however, and he’s met by your face glowing eerily in the shifting rain-light. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

When he locks up that afternoon, he finds another charcoal drawing waiting for him on the table near the door, this time of his favorite agapanthus africanus. No note, this time, but he attaches all the sounds he heard from you today in its place. He also finds your cardigan forgotten next to where you were sitting and carefully folds it for when you come back.

The drawing joins the orange branch on his wall-- an odd starter garden, he thinks, but all the more precious because it came from you.

The next time he sees you isn’t in the greenhouse, but instead at a cafe a couple of blocks away, two weeks later. He’s walking past, gym bag slung over his shoulder, when he hears your laugh ring out across the outdoor seating area. His eyes find you, head tipped back in sending peals of mirth into the lively spring air. It’s the first truly warm day of the season, though you and your companion are the only patrons sitting outside, and the sun catches on your glasses sat atop your head.

Your friend says something apparently hilarious, because your giggles redouble, and an honest-to-god snort pushes out of your nose. Ushijima catalogues it in his ever-growing list of sounds you make, and pauses at the crosswalk, halfway turned back to keep one eye on you and one on the light. If you were alone, he might’ve approached you and told you that he still has your sweater in the greenhouse, waiting on a shelf between succulents, but he doesn’t want to interrupt your— date?

He isn’t sure, but the person sat there with you seems like someone you might date. Clearly also an art student, judging by the carefully disheveled blue hair and combat boots. Are you the type to date someone with blue hair? Unlikely, he decides. You seem too… bright. Too floaty to be so concerned with looking like you don’t care how you look.

Ushijima’s still debating whether you find blue hair attractive when the crosswalk light begins its countdown and he starts across the street. And he almost makes it all the way across, too, when a voice calls—

“Wait! Hey!”

He turns partially because it sounds urgent enough that it might be an emergency, and his grandmother would roll in her grave if he remained a bystander to some horrific accident. But it’s you, standing up from your seat and waving him back over. He glances at the crosswalk countdown, which lights up red as it ticks from four to three, then turns and jogs back towards you, waving a hand apologetically to the cars waiting at the light. You meet him at the metal fence around the cafe seating area, and now that you’re standing, he can see you’re wearing a yellow sundress that cuts off at your calves and drapes over your hips like the fabric was spun from pure light.

“Hello.” Ushijima talks first this time because if he doesn’t refocus his brain on something else he knows he won’t be able to stop staring.

“Hi! Sorry about that, uh, and I’m sure you have places to be, but, um, did I leave my cardigan at the greenhouse? I can’t find it, and I know I have a tendency to forget things, so,” you finish with a laugh, one hand fiddling with the rings on the other.

“Yes, you did. I put it on a shelf in case you came back.”

“Oh! That’s great!” You sound relieved, and Ushijima’s suddenly very grateful he didn’t take it down to the bio department’s lost and found like they’re technically supposed to. “Is there maybe a time I can come pick it up? When you’ll be there?”

“I’ll be there all day tomorrow, opening at nine.” 

He can’t tell if he sounds a little too eager, and he’s about to soften his meaning by telling you that they’re open today, too, and anyone can hand you a sweater, but you’re already smiling big and sunny and telling him,

“I’ll see you at nine, then. Do you drink coffee?”

He doesn’t; his coaches have always told him that caffeine can only harm his athletic performance.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then I’ll see you at nine, with coffee.”

Ushijima says goodbye and turns to wait at the crosswalk again while you swirl your way back to your seat and pick up your conversation with your friend. He can feel two pairs of eyes on him as he crosses the street, red numbers blinking down from ten, and can’t help but turn to look back as he steps onto the opposite sidewalk. Where your friend tactfully looks down into their cup of tea, you catch his eye with yours and wave. He lifts his hand halfway in a goodbye before an eighteen-wheeler stops at the intersection and blocks you from him.

Ushijima’s normal work attire is typical of an average agricultural biology student accustomed to being up to their elbows in dirt every day: practical cargo shorts, dirt-stained but sturdy sneakers, a “plant dad” t-shirt (a gift from Tendō when they’d said their goodbyes and gone away to college), and a soft cotton flannel. He’s usually satisfied with this for his shift at the greenhouse, expecting to be mud-covered at least up to his wrists by the end of the day.

But today… Today, he pauses in the dorm bathroom to scrub his face raw, and he clips and shapes his nails like his mother used to do for him every Saturday. He normally only does it before tournaments, now, and it calms his nerves to feel prepared for a Big Event, even if that event is only handing you your gently pilled cashmere cardigan and receiving a coffee he won’t drink in return.

The air that morning is heady with spring, earthy and alive, reminding Ushijima of lying beneath the hedge along his mother’s garden to pass notes to the girl next door. He was seven and she was nine, so naturally she knew everything he didn’t. She knew about the planets and why worms live in dirt and how to spell the word “catastrophe,” and Ushijima would’ve bet his whole weekly allowance that she was the coolest person in the world, if he knew what betting was. (She did, and once bet him half an ice cream sandwich that he couldn’t climb the oak tree in his backyard all the way to the top. He did, and then twisted his ankle on the way down, and she brought him an ice cream sandwich every day for a week as an apology.) She was all shiny, long black hair and dark eyes and fast words, nothing like the spring blooming around him.

You, on the other hand, are exactly the spring.

He stops at his favorite pastry place on the way to work to pick up two fresh cream donuts. The line is just dwindling from the height of the morning rush, so he manages to make it to the biology building just five minutes before he normally does.

Morning sun sends rainbows through the automatic misting spray as Ushijima unlocks the greenhouse door, letting a burst of humidity out into the rest of the building. The spiral-bound log book is there on the desk, a thick parchment bookmark sticking out from where whoever closed last night marked the page. 

Ushijima places his backpack and pastry bag on the desk and reaches to hang his key on its hook just when there’s a knock on the door.

“I know I’m early,” you start, edging your way into the room with a paper coffee cup in each hand. “But I saw it was already open, so...”

Ushijima smiles despite himself. In their second year Oikawa Tooru had told him that his smiles can be unnerving, but he can’t help it right now. You look so lovely today, in jeans and a silky tank top, with a certain morning tenderness in the way you hold yourself.

“It’s okay, come in. I just need to check the temperature controls and I’ll be done opening.”

“Sounds good,” you reply, smiling back.

As he makes his way to the temp controls on the Southern wall, you perch on the wooden stool and set down the coffee.

With his back turned to you for a moment, you allow yourself to slouch, planting two hands on the table and stretching your shoulders with a sigh. It’s earlier than you normally get out of bed, let alone actually leave your apartment, and you can already feel a quiet exhaustion setting into your bones.

But this is worth it, you remind yourself. Worth it to talk to the beautiful boy with broad shoulders and gentle hands.

He’d been unexpected. That first day in the greenhouse, you’d sat down with the intention to calm down from a tedious school day and nothing more. Your hands had moved of their own volition on that second drawing of the orange branch, scribbling out a hasty message that made your cheeks burn. But he was so present that day, in the corner of your eye but staying respectfully out of your space. And you’re not blind -- you saw the muscles under his shirt as he lifted an entire small tree in its pot. You saw the startling shade of green his eyes took on in the sun. You saw it all, and it drew you back, and now you’re here.

When he joins you back at the table, leaning back against it to face you, you stick out your hand and offer your name.

He looks at it for a moment, then back at you.

“I just, uh, realized we never properly introduced ourselves,” you explain, with a hesitant smile.

He smiles again and your heart thuds, then his big hand engulfs yours and he shakes it firmly.

“Wakatoshi. It’s nice to meet you.”

You learn in the following weeks of coming to the greenhouse that Wakatoshi doesn’t like coffee. But he does like tea and donuts, so that’s what you bring him on the mornings you can find it in you to wake up before nine. You sit with him in the greenhouse, talking and listening as he records data and waters plants and sits next to you on the quilt you’ve fallen into the habit of bringing. The occasional professor or student comes through, and you get to watch Wakatoshi show off his brains when he leaves you to help them.

There are several things you learn about him over those weeks. Number one: he never minces words. Two: he prefers grapefruit chapstick over anything else. And three: he kisses like it’s his last day on Earth.

You discover number three late one night when you decide to drop by after class, shooting him a text to make sure he’s still there. Today he’s closing instead of opening, and you missed spending your morning with him.

The city lights cast a different kind of glow at this time of night. They add a distance to everything that’s palpable as you drop your bag by the door.

“Toshi, are you here-- oh, hi.” You turn the corner to find him closing the door to the supply closet.

His cheekbones are highlighted briefly by a billboard outside flashing red.

“You should get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired. And I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?”

He takes a step towards you and you have to tilt your head back slightly to keep your eyes on his. They’re leaf green and unreadable.

“Yeah, uh,” you wet your lips with your tongue, “is that okay?”

“Yes.” He pauses for a long time, then, watching you carefully in the neon glow of the exit sign. His hand shakes as it reaches up to push your glasses from your face onto your head.

Without them, he looks fuzzy and soft around the edges.

He says, “Can I kiss you?” and it feels like there’s a bird trapped in your ribcage.

“Yes. Kiss me.”

Wakatoshi kisses nothing like you expected, all tongues and teeth and heavy fingers in the dip of your waist. He growls when you gasp and mewl against him, sucking on your lower lip as your hands find purchase in his shirt. He kisses you so absolutely breathless that you think you might pass out. Your knees buckle and you pull away, gasping with your eyes closed for a moment until you come back to yourself.

“Are you alright, little one?”

The endearment makes your cheeks flush with heat and your eyes snap open.

“Yes, I’m alright. Please do it again.”

And so he does it again, and again, and again until you find yourself bringing him home with you on the last bus that goes towards your neighborhood. He’s standing in the aisle, one hand wrapped around a pole and the other wound around you, who’s standing in front of him. He keeps you steady as the bus rounds a corner.

That night, you bring the peace of the greenhouse into your home, and the only thing you find yourself wishing for is that it never leaves.

[strawberry-nugget]

𝙈𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙈𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙘 | E.Kirishima x Reader

Pairing: Kirishima/ reader, Bakugo/ reader (mentioned)

Summary: You shouldn't want him and he shouldn't want you, it's sinful and forbidden. But he can't help coming back to you, and you can't do anything but take him in every single time. Until today that is.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Aged up characters (twenties), NSFW 18+, plot with some p//rn but it's not very detailed, unprotected sex (please use condoms everyone), cheating, casual penetrative sex, jealousy, the seggz is pretty vanilla though

↪A/N: tennis player Kirishima, tennis player Kirishima, idk how I came up with it but I can't get it out of my head, written for @doinmybesthere 's 3k event collab and based on The Hills by the Weeknd, don't be shy to tell me if you liked it, I almost wrote 4k in a day which is unusual for me

5.30pm [Missed Call: Red]

5.31pm [Missed Calls(2): Red]

The bubbling notifications are spamming your phone, each call, succeeding the other in persistence and length, making your phone crawl onto your coffee table in restless buzzing. To your salvation the device is on silent; you're just unable to bear the overwhelming sound of your ringtone echo through the empty walls of your apartment, to let it bounce between concrete like a slimy ball, only for it to hit you on the face with tremendous force.

It's one of those days that you can't answer Kirishima. Too perplexed in the wields of your mind, blaming yourself for this horrendous situation, delivering raw swears at him for simply existing.

You don't know how it came to this nor when was the exact moment things switched. Was it at the party that you met him? Or the thousandth time you took him in and let him ruin relationship after relationship. Either way it was horrible for not only you, but also him, and all the people that have been caught up in the sidelines of this rotten affair.

You shouldn't want this anymore and truly, you don't. You're tired of being the second choice, of hiding behind your little finger, crying yourself to sleep at night, only to put on a sultry face for every time he comes. Once, twice a month.

[New Messages: Red]

Babe, you there?

Read 5.38pm

[New Messages: Red]

Babe I got practice at 8.

I know you're reading those.

Read 5.39pm

[Red is typing…]

[New Messages: Red]

I'm outside btw

A fresh, tremendously sharp wave of anxiety rushes through you at the little notification -it can't be like this again, not today. The thudder in your chest is unbearable, heart too weak to stomach the weight of your decision, fingers too reluctant to type out your response.

He's probably smirking while staring at his phone, not a single care in his head. It's loathing to your mind as you confirm your speculation, shooting a glance out of your window, landing your eyes on his car.

He shouldn't be here.

His thousands dollar car doesn't belong in your urban street, not in your side of the town. And it's so dangerous that he's doing this to see you. You've played the worst scenarios in your head a thousand times, millions of headlines on sites and the news about this; Eijirou Kirishima, on his way to claiming a fifth Grand Slam, caught in affair with university student.

Atrocious, degrading, exposing. A hit to his career that would bother the media for a couple of weeks and paint your name in mud along the way.

Why can't he just be content with the model that he's with? You're nothing like her, not as pretty and you don't have her body, you don't have her face, but he still says he finds you better, says he knows you better, but he just can't be with you.

[You]

Can't do it today

Sorry

You're good to yourself, only when you deny him and only when you feel the satisfaction of being the one to do so. It's pointless to sulk over saying no. He can go fuck other girls, play with their hearts and leave you to your otherwise peaceful life. Even if it is just for today.

You don't have the chance to let a smile creep to your face when your doorbell rings. The jiggling sound bursts into your eardrums once and twice, three dreaded times and they're enough to make your stomach churn, your neck tight and your skin ache.

You contemplate on opening the door for him, subconsciously letting yourself feel like a vulnerable prey, who, after running away to save yourself, is choosing to walk into the wolf's den, so willingly that you can feel yourself drifting away with each step you're taking towards the door.

"Babe,"

The swing of your door handle, the crack of your wrist, the creaking of your door as it opens to reveal him; they're all embarrassing. You can't tell if they fall short on his ears, too caught up in the way he looks -all swollen muscles and tall legs. You're running out of courage to say no and he knows this.

He's not as innocent as this cheeky smile frames him out to be, he's not the sweetheart everyone wants him to be either.

He's Eijirou, who's selfishly standing on your door, who's barging his way in your apartment, who's grabbing your cheeks and slamming your face in his, biting your lips until he draws blood, just to punish you for standing up against him.

Your door is slammed behind him, one bend of his knee and it's falling into its rightful place. To shield the sins of your affair, to bring you comfort and privacy as he attacks parts of your neck, your chest. Places that only squeeze perfectly under his touch.

"Babe," He calls again, in between soft kisses. "What's gotten into you?"

You frown and try to look away, past his cocoa colored orbs, past the swelling that's taking over his lips -and yours- with a numbing, tingling sensation.

"Eijirou—"

"I don't have much time in between training, I got a game the day after tomorrow."

It's always like this, you know. He doesn't have to tell you twice or try to excuse his own self for what he does or how he acts. You're pushed between schedules, or slammed into his timetable like a truck when he feels like indulging with you again, hidden between the lines of his free time.

You're sure at this point that it's the thrill he's after. The sinful taste of your lips on his, how he feels in control while chasing after you, when you can't keep up with him.

His lips don't taste like sour cherry anymore, but you let them wiggle against yours with triumph, you let him want to catch his breath as he pulls back and you put the minimum effort in returning the passion you receive.

You pull back, ignoring the words he's whispering against your face, only to take in his features once again.

Soft black hair pulled into a low ponytail, spiky bangs that fly all over his face and his tips drowned in a fiery, foxy red. The only reminder for who he was before his tennis career blew up. For who he was before he turned into this cocky womanizer whom you're desperately after with a longing heart.

"I'm just not in the mood today."

"Well let's get you in the mood then huh?"

He smiles, nose scrunching and chapped lips hiding behind his gums as his hand moves to your thigh, tagging your shorts with furry. As if he's desperate to have you, right here and now. As if bending you over the couch will help put out a fire in him. That's how he always convinces you to keep this going.

He's making you feel like not having you this way is insufferable.

You're buried in the crook of his neck while being pushed onto the couch, nibbling a soft spot that you've found, rubbing his skin on the top of your tongue. You know how to do this without leaving a mark, you can hold back from wanting to take all you can get from him.

But today it's different. It's going to be the last time.

It's not like any other time you've told yourself that you are going to end this. Today you're going to leave a mark, you're going to bite your way into his skin and drink from his poison -the intimate attention he's only ever willing to give- and you'll get drunk in it.

"Fuck," He grunts against your lips. "Fuck, don't stop that feels good."

You don't stop, eager to listen to him, to breathe into his neck before you wrap your lips a little lower and closer to his collarbone. You should be asking if this will cause him problems, but gone is the guilt that veils your coinsense otherwise. You suckle on a spot and then another, stealing his groaning moans one by one as they fall from his lips, plushing them softly in a spongy part of your brain, where they can rest forever, until you've forgotten them.

"Get your shirt off Eijirou," You plea, ogling eyes watering from the pressure that's applied in the apex of your thighs and he's quick to follow your command, lips curling upwards in a sweetheart smirk.

You're going to miss the way the apples of his cheeks cover his eyes when he smiles like this. But there's no going back for you and him.

With legs that feel like burning rubber you hug around his horse, watching the way his muscles flex and fold with his snappy movements. His shirt, tousled and wrinkly, tossed in an unknown corner of your living room, only for him to guess where it is after he's gotten his fix of you.

Thick fingers probe at your sides, pulling your shirt downwards in a silent plea, take off your shirt, give him the satisfaction that he wants, indulge into this as much as he wants you to.

But today, you're not in the mood for this. So instead of pulling your shirt off, you unbuckle your pants, pulling them down at the most dreadful speed, making him bite his lip impatiently.

You won't miss this, the way he's expecting so many things of you.

And if he notices something's wrong, he doesn't say a word, presumably content with getting what he wants; the rear view of the gap between your legs, where he can bury himself and get lost for the next thirty minutes.

"Fuck baby," he moans. "Why do you smell so good?"

You grunt, averting your gaze from his as he pushes your bangs away from your face with the back of his hand. You want to miss his puppy eyes. Ghosting him won't be easier for you if you don't.

But damn if he couldn't read you this well, things would be easier.

"Not in the mood to talk?" You look even further away to avoid the question, "babe, you can tell me if you're not well, you'll feel better if you let it out"

You don't need someone to tell you how to feel. You've decided when the two of you are going to be through. It's set and done, even if he feels at the top of the world right now, you won't inflate his ego anymore.

"M fine Eijirou, put it in," You bite his lip, putting huge effort in making him forget about what he thinks it's bothering you. "Want you to put it in m'kay?"

Sultry, fake voice, he's heard it all before and he doesn't have the right to call you out for it. Whatever he does next, you're his for the moment and for the last time.

Repeating is your rightful way of convincing yourself of not giving up on your decision. If only he could have broken up before deciding to wet himself in you, if only you hadn't taken him so eagerly, if only you hadn't become just like him. Welcoming him despite availability status, afraid to lose him, saying that a little sex wouldn't hurt. If you could do this on repeat, then you could get rid of him quite as easily.

You're not better than him and he's taken your vulnerability to him for granted. He's loved the attention you've paid him from time to time, whenever he's given you so much as a mere call.

You should pretend to moan, to hurt his ego, but as he's delving into you, slowly, mellowy, his kisses feel like burning sunshine, August breeze against your skin, kissing your shoulders lightly. It hurts that this salvation is coming from his mouth, as it moves rhythmically against every inch of you.

"Fuck, fuck, ah, you feel so good, you know that?"

You don't answer, nor do you wrap your lips around him. You don't move them against his when he goes to kiss you, but you coo into his warm embrace once his hands come to cradle you in a tight embrace.

"I love you," He slips up and you contemplate on whether you have to start hating him from this very moment. "I just wanna be with you, I—" He grunts. “—this is why you don't believe him, but nonetheless you hold a moan in as well. "Fuck, I'll break up just for you.”

Now that's a new one. A new addition to the long list of red flags you have with his name on top. You can't fall for it. You absolutely can't. If you do, he'll treat you just like this, he'll fuck behind your back and kiss you goodnight before going off to sleep with someone else. Like he's slept with you, once, twice, thrice.

And you're going to hate being the one who's fooled, despite deserving it more than anyone else. And another girl, or guy, is going to be his subject of desire.

You shouldn't want him to be yours, but you're lewding your 'I love yous' out of your mouth like they're nothing, poisoning your heart until there's nothing left but dust and sucked up blood, all devoured by the greed he's made you feel.

"You love me too?"

"I do," You cry, rocked between him and the couch, neck hurting by the way he's digging his teeth in yours.

"I'll fucking leave everything for you babe,"

He shouldn't. He won't. You tell yourself he's only saying this because he wants to come, to make you feel dirty with his actions and fish out words that make him ecstatic or send him over the edge from your mouth.

Rhythms are peaking, his hips burning from his movements, foreheads are dripping in sweat, lips taste salty against each other. The perfect picture, the most tingling sensation, and you're too fucked to go back, or keep yourself content with him. It feels the same as the last time, a numbing knot in your stomach, commanding you to rip your heart out and throw it away, spooning mewls out of your mouth.

If you could, you'd mute him, not wanting to listen to how beautiful he sounds as he's coming down from his high. If you could, you'd look away, and wouldn't try to burn the image of his body as he's falling apart in your mind.

"That was—" The sigh that leaves his chest through his mouth is liberating, you can tell—"amazing. I still love you, so much babe."

His hand soothing the pain of his thrusts, does nothing to make you feel better. You want to shove it away, but you don't, unhappy with the way you're turning out to be.

"It's time for you to go, Eijirou, isn't it?" You remind him. A hand pushing him off of you and quickly smoothing your T-shirt over your legs to deprive him of the view that'd make him wear a smug of triumph.

"So quick to get me to go. Did you find someone else again sweetheart?"

You don't reply as you're putting on your underwear and pants, shoving his shirt into him with a heavy hand.

"You did, didn't you?"

"None of your business, go off to your practice, your girl, don't patronize me anymore."

He gruffs, beautiful features scowling in that stormy gaze that reeks of his authority, "Here I am pouring my heart on you and you found someone else"

"Eijirou, it's seven thirty, if I were you, I wouldn't be late for practice. You got a game the day after tomorrow."

No more dealing with his pouting, you're going to bawl your eyes out if you have to do it. The sooner he's out of your house, the sooner you'll get this over with; the tight lamp in your throat, the image of him smiling at you like this, him admitting feelings that he shouldn't have.

Hurting him isn't the role that suits you. Because you can't do it. You can't hurt that warm sunshine he has on his face. He has to be the one to hurt you like he's been the one to drive you away. It's too late for him to change or reverse your roles.

You don't want to fight and he knows it.

He knows you, so well, well enough to use you as he wishes to, letting you believe you're using him too. You're going to make him watch you slip away, and he won't do anything about this.

So he's eager to leave as you're pushing him out of the door, he doesn't cup your cheek with his hand, and doesn't kiss your forehead tenderly like he always does.

"You should come to this party Mina is throwing, let me meet your new guy."

Like hell you'd ever do this, he knows, but teasing won't hurt a bit. Eijirou can deal with you dating other men, he's claimed you well before, he'll do it again if he has to, especially now that he's decided to have you.

"Yeah yeah, and if I do, don't ever call me again, 'kay?"

You're too good to not do as he says, or not to fall back to him, and he's too good to not come back to you. To him, you're a match made in heaven, to you, you're a lost cause, burning in the fiery pits of hell as atonement for your sins.

He doesn't know that you'll fall apart before dressing up, how you'll tell yourself you're not doing this for him, but as a statement against him.

You're no better than him, in fact, you're worse.

…

The only problem is, that when Eijirou pulls up at Mina's party after practice, you're already there. Drink in your hand, flared jeans hugging your legs, layered tank tops that cover the bruising truth of this evening, laughing at whatever your friends are saying.

When he puts out his phone, calloused fingers furiously typing a text addressed to you, you're too far gone into another glass, dancing a little dance before grabbing everyone's cups to go for a refill, greeting them in that silent way of yours, drunken smile.

And then you'll pass him by and blink at him, you'll mutter a small greeting and he'll grab you by the hand and whisper in your ear just how hard he'll take you driving the night. You'll swoon, moan, forget about the drinks and follow him anywhere he leads you.

That's how everybody knows about the two of you.

This time, though, you don't cast a single eye on him. In fact, you're tainting him, walking past him while ignoring him, leaving him awestruck and hurt, like his confessions earlier in the day meant nothing to you.

It's a hit to his heart, how your jaw drops as you bump into Bakugo over the kitchen counter, eyes too wide at the sight of him. How your finger dances playfully on his chest and as you smile at him when he whispers something in your ear.

It's infuriating how you drop the cups near the sink and follow Bakugo outside, or how the blond waves at him with a pressed smile against his lips, signaling that he'll be busy for a while.

His insides churn, tummy aching in a feeling of guilt, one unlike anything he's felt before. Losing you doesn't taste in the way he thought he would, it's worse; sour and poisoning. It makes him flee the party, furious and bitter.

When he's back, his body is heavy, feet dragging him across his apartment, mind blank as he follows his basic routine before bed time, fixated on how easy it seemed for you to just ignore him and flee with one of his friends as soon as he came over to the party he invited you to, wondering how you could be so ruthless with him all of a sudden.

Sweet talking Kirishima with a smile of gold, the sweetheart of the professional Tennis scene and you're over him in the split of a second, pushing him away from you without an explanation or heart wrenching speech. Not giving him the satisfaction of some closure, just forcing the cold tempo of your sudden departure in the depths of his heart.

He pays no mind to the girl that sleeps beside him, back turned to him like she's oceans apart, despite the unspoken bound that's keeping them together. He'll leave her, make up for all the damage that he's done, in any way that he can manage to.

It all comes down to the fact that no one can love you like he does, no one can want you like he does. Someone can do it better, but you have to want him.

5.30am [Missed Call: Red]

5.31am [Missed Calls(2): Red]

[New Message: Red]

Fuck, with Bakugo out of everyone?

Delivered: 5.31am

[New Message: Red]

Did you have sex with him?

Babe answer me.

Delivered: 5.32am

[New Message: Red]

I'm breaking up with her tomorrow morning.

And I'll come over.

Babe.

Babe please.

Delivered: 5.33am

[New Message: Red]

I'll take you on a date and we can talk about us okay babe?

Let me know when you wake up.

I love you.

So much.

Delivered: 5.38am

Read: 10.23pm

[You]

(Attached Image)

Sorry 'Red' even if you sound like a total douche, cheeks forgot her phone at my place.

I bet on her answering your late night drama when she takes her phone back.

[Red is typing...]

Super thanks to @celestidarling for proofreading this and giving me the biggest pump of confidence to post

↪Up Next: Dragon King Bakugo

[letarasstuff]

Making the Voice quieter

(A/N): This was requested by an anon. I hope you like it!

Summary: Spencer finds out about his daughter's eating disorder, he will he react?

Warnings: Angst, discription of an eating disorder (bulemia to be more specific), discription of (binge) eating, bad body image, self hatred, abuse of pills (diet pills)

Wordcount: 2.2k

✨Masterlist✨

______________________________

Prison. Cat. Diana. All those things happened close to each other. Luckily a few months have passed since then and slowly everything settles down. Spencer is able to get his feelings sorted through, processing the events.

Ever since his imprisonment he follows a more or less strict routine, given the uncertainty coming with his job. Spencer still tries to keep it up. So is every Friday dedicated to buying the majority of groceries and needed non food articles.

Sometimes (Y/N) tags along, other days she already has plans with her friends. Her father doesn’t mind it much, he is happy to see her socializing with people her age. The two of them have one father-daughter-night in the week anyways.

“Sweetheart, I’m heading out! Did you put everything you need on the list?” He shouts into the apartment. A faint “Yes! Love you!” echoes back to him. A smile forms on the doctor’s face. Oh how he longed to hear those words from her every night while he laid in his bed, locked up for a crime he didn’t commit. “Alright, love you, too!”

Meanwhile her father has to deal with Karens being their ignorant selfs, (Y/N) is under the biggest stress she has ever been. The end of her sophomore year and suddenly every teacher thinks it’s alright to give the students a load of work in every single class.

It’s beginning to get to her head. Four essays, three projects and studying for two tests and everything is due next week. She can see herself sitting at that very desk for the whole weekend, trying to contain control of her current situation.

As (Y/N) begins to read the page in front of her again to pull any information from it, it feels like her brain shuts down. Only one thought possesses her. One thing that can assure her, make her happy again.

Her body moves automatically, into the kitchen to the fridge. Her hands grab what they can. Puddings, yogurts, bananas, apples, last night’s dinner, everything that she can carry. Then the teenager sits down at the floor and devours everything she just got out. (Y/N) doesn’t stop until she gets to this intense feeling of being full.

It seems like she snaps out of a trance. Upon seeing what she ate in the shortest time, the girl feels even worse. Quickly she tries to destroy any kind of evidence, getting the trash out, making the fridge appear more full than it is, anything.

In her panicked state she remembers the small container of pills in her room. Relief washes over (Y/N), thinking everything will be better. She takes two of them for good measurement.

With the relief also guilt takes over. What just happened wasn’t normal. But (Y/N) tells herself that she can stop any time she wants. It’s not like she is sick or something, everything is fine. It’s just her way to copy stress. A way she discovered while her father was in prison. The diet pills help her to undo her mistakes. Someone from her friend group, who is already 18, got her them from the doctor for a fair price.

Feeling calmer now, the teenager sits back at her desk. A new perception of control helps her to continue her school work. She has to get done as much as possible, because in not even half an hour (Y/N)’s best friend will be the toilet.

Spencer is completely obvious to it. Sure, he is a profiler and he noticed his daughter’s new view on eating healthy food and working out. He just assumes that (Y/N) and her friends are on a healthy trip and he doesn’t see a problem in this. On the contrary, he is happy that she wants to be good to herself and her body.

But as the weeks go on, a suspicious feeling captures him. “(Y/N)? Why is the fridge nearly empty? We got groceries last Friday and it’s only Tuesday. Did you have a party over here while I was away on the case?” Spencer enters his daughter’s room, trying to joke about it.

(Y/N) freezes. Of course she isn’t able to say that the food went bad and she threw them away, her father is meticulous regarding this subject, always checking the best before day date. “Uhm, please don’t be mad. But Alex, you know her, the short one with red hair, uhm her parents are on a business trip and she is not the best cook. So I brought her lunch and dinner over. I’m sorry for not telling you.” She looks down at the floor, not only to feign sadness but also to avoid his eyes.

The second the teenager talks Spencer knows there is something fishy. Her voice is higher and she fidget with her hands. But he writes it off as being nervous for not telling him. Ever since he is out of prison, it feels like his daughter is withholding something.

“It’s fine, Sweetheart. Just give me a heads-up beforehand, so I know to buy more groceries. What do you think about ordering something tonight? I heard from Luke that a small Chinese restaurant opened a few streets down. We can celebrate the end of the stressful phase in Sophomore year.”

It seems like (Y/N) is calculating something in her head. Spencer knows exactly what she thinks about. “You can forget about your calorie intake for one night. I see how much time you invest in living healthy, but we can let loose for a night together. Just some noodles with chicken or spring rolls and us trying to use chopsticks and giving up after two minutes and resorting to forks. How does that sound?”

The teenager would love to sigh, but it would only alarm her father further. “Yeah, you are right. Let us let loose. But only if I can choose the movie we watch after dinner!” (Y/N) feels bad for eating unhealthy food again. Her last binge was only yesterday and usually she tries to consume lighter things. But she has to bite into the sour apple, else her father will be more suspicious. After all, she can just stop. (Y/N) promises herself to not think about her weight, her shape or the calories she will eat.

Well yeah, no. Just after the first noodle hits her tongue, intrusive thoughts take a seat in her mind, getting settled.

‘You already look like a potato.’

‘Are you sure this is the right thing to eat?’

‘Can you really stop?’

‘Dad is going to hate you when he finds out.’

All of them and more enter her head. (Y/N) is unable to shake them off. She is fine. She doesn’t have a problem. She just doesn’t feel like eating now, that’s fine, right?

“Uhm Dad. I’m full and really tired from the day. Is it ok if I go to bed? Maybe we can rain check on that movie?” The girl asks, feeling even worse for ditching her father. Usually it’s the other way around.

“Are you feeling ok? You look a little pale. Are you sick?” Spencer fires his question canone being the borderline helicopter father he always is. “Yes, just really exhausted from all the assignment and school work. A good night's rest and I will be good as new.” (Y/N) attempts a small smile, but fails miserably at it.

“Ok, sleep tight baby. I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge for you tomorrow.” Quickly she goes into her room. The thoughts in her head scream louder and louder with each step she takes. Can she really stop? Maybe she should come clean to her father.

‘And risking him hating you? Look at you, thinking you are sane is the only thing keeping him from abandoning you. How would you explain him keeping you otherwise? It’s definitely not for your looks.’

Later that night, (Y/N) hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep because of the voices, she makes her way back to the kitchen. In an attempt to distract herself, the teenager scrolled through her social media sites. There she was met by pictures of perfect people.

Perfect bodies. Perfect lives. Perfect smiles. Perfect family. Perfect friends. Everything about them is perfect.

And then there is her. Her body is unperfect. Her life is a mess. Her smile is not that of a model. Her family is just her, her father and the people he works with. Her friends aren’t always the best associates.

The stress of not feeling enough is getting to (Y/N)’s head. Like several times before that her body goes into auto. She doesn’t control her movements, though she tells herself all of this is willently.

Like so many times before the girl goes through the fridge and eats everything up she can get her fingers on. But this time one thing is different. Her father is at home. And he isn’t a heavy sleeper.

The movement in the kitchen wakes him up. Immediately his brain jumps to a burglar or even worse, an UnSub they once arrested coming after him. Quickly he gets his revolver and sneaks through the hallway to the source of the noises. As Spencer only sees his daughter sitting there, he instantly relaxes.

“Hey Sweetheart, what are you doing up? It’s a school night”, he softly asks in order to not scare her. Still, (Y/N) gets startled at the sudden voice.

“Uhm, nothing much. Just hungry. Probably because I didn’t eat dinner”, she explains, looking at her father like he caught her with her hand stuck in the cookie jar. Spencer watches her closely. “This is it? Because from what it looks like you not only ate your dinner but also tomorrow’s breakfast and right now lunch.”

(Y/N) swallows her bite, feeling that sinking reality in her stomach. The pills. She needs the pills fast before her body begins to digest the food. “Uhm, yeah. I probably should go to bed. I need my sleep. Just let me tidy up. Good night, Dad.” But he is quick to stop her.

“(Y/N), I want you to sit down. There is something we have to talk about.” Hesitantly (Y/N) takes a seat. “What is it Dad? Are you reprimanding me for eating? I thought you wanted me to let loose for a night.”

Spencer sits, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Baby, I want you to be alright. But I think you are not.” His eyes get a sad look. “I’m alright. I am fine, Dad. What do you think is wrong with me?”

“Look, (Y/N), I don’t need to be a profiler to see that you are struggling with something. Do you want to tell me about it?” Her answer is a tight lipped smile and a “I’m fine. There is nothing to talk about.”

The father sighs. She is not leaving him much of a choice. “And what about them?” Spencer asks after getting something from the highest shelf in the kitchen, the one (Y/N) barely reaches by stepping on a stool. He sets a little container down on the table.

“Dad I-” “No (Y/N). You don’t need to explain anything. It’s my turn to talk. I found those in your room yesterday while I was looking for a book. At first I thought nothing of it, I mean you are trying to live healthy, so I thought this is part of the process. But then I saw that they have to be prescribed and I know that these aren’t yours.

“I wanted to talk about it with you anyway. But now I know that I caught you binge eating and I see all the signs. I see them and I’m sorry for not acting sooner. (Y/N), you need help and I’m here for you. I know the last few months were especially hard on you. I can’t change what was and what happened, but I will be here for you now." Tears stream down on boths their faces.

(Y/N) is stammering for words. “I-I am fine. I can stop anytime I want. Th-this was a conscious d-decision.” Her father envelops her in a hug, cradling her head to his chest. She begins to sob.

“I know, Sweetheart. It’s hard and it won’t get easier from here on, but I’m here. You know you can’t stop, it’s only an illusion your eating disorder wants you to believe. But we get through it together. You, I and the team if you want to. We take it at your pace.” By now the two are crying loudly.

“I want it to stop, Dad. Please make the voice go away.”

He can’t make it go away. No one can. But Spencer helps to quiet it. Together they tackle the disorder, through the good and the bad times. He takes off from work for a time and (Y/N) out of school for a few weeks to be able to work on it together, to make the voice quieter and her life better.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962

[rehkkuma]

she's all yours | okuyasu x reader

summary: unlike his partner in crime, Okuyasu lacked experience in the dating field. Once he believes that he may have a chance with his crush, his best friend begins to get in the way.

words: 1.8k

disclaimers/tags: fem pronouns, modern AU (basically just phones being involved), tiny bit of angst, fluff, and cursing.

He was staring again. The poor 16-year-old boy couldn't help but notice every single detail about her: the slight tilt in her walk whenever she went up the stairs, how she would tie her shoes, and the unfortunate glint of light in her eyes whenever she spoke with his best friend.

Y/n L/n was someone extremely special to him (whether she knew it or not). She could read his expressions so clearly, sometimes knowing more about Okuyasu than Okuyasu did himself. The emotions he couldn't quite put his finger on, she always had an answer to. At times, he felt undeserving of the friendship he had with her. After coming to terms with his developing feelings for the girl, of course she began to get closer with his best friend.

He was painfully aware of the difference in treatment he received compared to Josuke. While Josuke could be referenced as Morioh's pretty-boy delinquent, Okuyasu was more like the intimidating ruffian that stood by his side. Obviously, Y/n did not think of Okuyasu in that way, but her perception of him didn't matter if he was considered nothing more than a friend.

"Hey," Josuke called out, concerned for his friend.

"Y-Yeah?" Okuyasu stuttered, trying to regain his thoughts.

"Whatcha lookin' at?"

Okuyasu silently thanked Y/n for standing in a crowd with other students. If she stood any further from the school's front entrance, it would've been easy for Josuke to pinpoint who he was eyeing.

"Nothing, really. Just thought I saw a cute girl."

Josuke shrugged his shoulders, repositioning himself so his back laid more comfortably against the tree. "Well, if you do see one, ask 'em out or somethin'. I wanna see you have your first kiss before we graduate," he chuckled.

"Mhm, yup," Okuyasu responded, eyes now glued to the grass he was sitting on. He was about to spew out a self-deprecating joke but stopped himself once he noticed Y/n approaching the two of them. Immediately, he recognized Josuke's energy shift from disinterest to eagerness.

"Y/n!" Josuke cheerfully said, waving at the girl.

"Hi, you two!" she waved back. Once coming close enough, she sat down along with the boys, her knees lacing together in a criss-cross position. Because of the short distance between her and Okuyasu, the boy could smell the flowery essence emitting off of her body. He wasn't too fond of fragrances, but the one Y/n had was light and sweet-- perfectly suiting her personality.

Before he knew it, Okuyasu was staring again. The only thing that got him to snap back into reality was the cry of laughter Y/n let out after Josuke made a funny remark.

"Did you hear that Okuyasu?" Y/n choked out, leaning back with both hands on her stomach.

"Y-Yeah." Okuyasu fake laughed, really having no clue what the hell was going on.

"God," Y/n sighed as she wiped off the faint tears forming in her eyes. "I wish I could hang out with you guys a bit longer, but I just wanted to drop by and say hi. I gotta help out with some chores tonight."

"It's all good," Josuke smiled. "But only if you promise to call me tonight."

The girl rolled her eyes while getting up from the ground. "We'll have to see about that, Jojo!" She then stuck her tongue out before scurrying off to her house.

Josuke chuckled, slowly placing his chin on the palm of his hand. "She's pretty cute, isn't she?" he said, eyes glued to the girl's figure in the distance.

"Yeah, she sure is."

* * *

Okuyasu could remember the first time he met her as clear as day: his hands were tucked deep into his pockets, feet dragging along the sidewalk while he was on his way to school. Unlike his regular routine, Josuke was unable to walk with him due to an argument breaking out between him and his mother. It seemed like a bummer at the moment, but maybe it was actually a blessing in disguise.

"Fuck!"

In front of Okuyasu's feet laid a girl. Her uniform was stained with a bright red juice and its can rolled next to her. He didn't recall exactly what happened, but he did feel someone's face hit his chest before hearing a thud.

"I didn't get any on you, did I?" the girl asked with panic.

Okuyasu, hands still in his pockets, shook his head. "Mnn. Don't think you did."

"Okay, thank God. These stains are so hard to get rid of."

That was one of the first things that Okuyasu remembered from Y/n. Her casual way of talking was enough to make any stranger feel like a good friend. Something about this girl piqued his interest.

"Guess it's not your first time, huh?" he hummed.

"You'd think I'd learn my lesson after the third time."

After the small accident, Okuyasu took the girl to the laundromat. Classes would begin in any minute, but neither one of the pair minded skipping it.

"Oi, what're you gonna be wearin' in the meantime? Don'tcha think the teacher's gonna kick your ass for showing up like that?" Okuyasu pointed at the revealing tank top she wore.

"Yeah, definitely. That's why you should totally let me borrow your top," she winked.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself. I don't even have a clue on what your name is."

"L/n." she replied crassly. "It's Y/n L/n."

That was several months ago. Since then, their relationship started to significantly grow. From sending short texts to sharing a few inside jokes, to hanging out every other day after school. In Okuyasu's eyes, it was inevitable for him to fall for a girl like her.

Right before he could spill about his crush to his best friend, Josuke had already introduced himself to her. It crushed Okuyasu to see the girl he loves slowly start to move on from him-- to his own best friend nevertheless.

All of his frustrations were best to be kept to himself. No way could he express his jealousy to Josuke or Y/n. Out of all the girls that fawned over Josuke, why did she have to be one of them?

**Brring**

Okuyasu rolled his body to the other side of his bed. On a nightstand was his phone that rang. The alarm was just loud enough to break through the pessimistic thoughts roaring through his brain.

"Who's this?" he asked, too lazy to check the contact number.

"It's me, Okuyasu! Why, is it that hard to use a second of your time to check the contact name?"

He recognized that voice anywhere. It was her.

"Aw, look. I was in bed, alright?" he smiled, feeling his mood change immediately after speaking with her.

A small giggle echoed from the other end of the phone. "Alright! I wasn't here to nag you all night anyways." The girl then cleared her throat with a cough before soon speaking again. "I was thinking we should hang out tomorrow. For ice cream, maybe. Just us."

Small butterflies began to form in his stomach from hearing the last sentence. "Just us" had never sounded better.

"Sounds good to me."

"Great!" she nearly interrupted. "A-Ah, sorry! I just got excited. It feels like we've been parting ways the past couple of weeks, but I promise tomorrow's gonna make up for it!"

"It's alright," Okuyasu sighed. "See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow!" she repeated.

* * *

Was it just Okuyasu or did she look way cuter today? The makeup she wore differed from the one she usually had on, her accessories managed to compliment her eyes even more, and she even put an effort into customizing her uniform like Josuke and Okuyasu despite expressing her laziness multiple times. She looked like an absolute doll.

"Hmph." She huffed. "You've been doing that a lot lately," she said flatly.

"Doing what?"

"Staring at me like I'm some crazy person."

Okuyasu internally panicked for a few seconds but composed himself. "You just look pretty lately, that's all."

He expected a cheeky comeback in return but was left with a bashful smile from her instead.

"Let's just hurry up and get ice cream..." she said, eyes faced to the ground.

Okuyasu nodded at her suggestion and began to walk, making sure his pace wasn't too fast for Y/n. He'd occasionally give a glance at her direction to know if he was walking at a comfortable speed for her.

Several minutes of walking and a few casual conversations later, the duo made it to the ice cream shop. Y/n ordered a mix of her two favourite flavours while Okuyasu ordered two scoops of mocha almond fudge. Feeling a bit more gentleman-like today, Okuyasu insisted on paying for the both of them.

"Thanks for the ice cream!" the girl said, taking a small lick of the cone. "I feel like the more I hang out with you, the more things I owe you back," she chuckled as the two left the shop.

"Don't sweat it. Hangin' out with you's enough for me." Okuyasu smiled.

"Ah, really?" she blushed. "That's... really sweet of you."

There she did it again. No witty comeback. Just a flustered reply.

"Somethin' up with you? Eat something bad today?" he asked.

"Hm?"

"You're just actin' a bit different, that's all. Not sayin' it's bad though. I kinda like it." Okuyasu continued to walk on the sidewalk but stopped once he realized Y/n was frozen still. "Hey, you comin'?"

Y/n began to slowly jog her way to Okuyasu. When she caught up with him, she paused once more, now looking into the young boy's eyes. "I feel like you don't hear yourself talk sometimes," she said. "I can't tell if you're flirting or you're just naturally this oblivious."

He didn't know how to respond. He was starting to get nervous from how close their faces were. If he wanted to, he could practically count each beauty mark on her face.

"Well?" she said.

"Well..." Okuyasu tried to come up with something but found himself paying more attention to the girl's lips. They looked plush and soft with a slight glossy coat from the ice cream.

Eventually, the girl noticed where he was looking at. Slowly, she closed the already small gap between the two.

"Okuyasu," she breathed out with a gentle tone. "I really like you."

"I-" he stuttered. "Not Josuke?"

"Josuke?" She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and chuckled. "I don't know what you think is going on between us, but it's not that. He's not exactly my type either."

Okuyasu couldn't believe what he was hearing. Before he could say anything back, he felt her lips against his right cheek. It was a delicate kiss. Maybe a bit sticky, but it made his heart do several backflips nevertheless.

Once her lips left his skin, she stood awkwardly in front of him. The way she looked up at his eyes with that lovestruck gaze made Okuyasu realize something he didn't before: he wouldn't need to jealous of other guys. It was clear that Y/n L/n was all his.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

calculated iii, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You wanted to say that you were able to control yourself around him and not to have wild sex at school. But this is Jeon Jungkook we’re talking about. And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets. You wore that pencil skirt for a reason, after all.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, semi-public sex, dirty talk, nipple play, choking, m-receiving oral, gagging, pussy spanking, fingering, penetrative sex); fluff; non-idol!AU - university!AU; dom!Jungkook x sub!noona!reader, ft Jimin once again, lol

–

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

-

Career Week was somewhat of a nightmare.

So much running around, prepping tables, setting up presentations, helping the guests with their computers before their seminars, and you had to be dressed professionally too. Not just ‘nice’ clothes, but white dress shirt, slim black tie, tailored black vest, and matching fitted black slacks. It had to be monotone, it had to be hyper professional, and you had to wear heels.

Why had you agreed to this again?

Oh, yes, Kim Namjoon on his knees begging for help because he was overworked and they needed volunteers. And you, being far too responsible, accepted.

Not only were you also overworked, but Jeon Jungkook was staring at you across the auditorium.

In all-black – leather jacket, high-necked shirt, slim-fit jeans. Sharp jawline, tanned high cheekbones, piercing dark brown eyes, his black hair pushed back with a few strands on his forehead, revealing his clean undercut.

And he was smirking at you.

You highly doubted he was here to investigate prospective career paths. Actually, you were a hundred-and-ten percent positive that that was not the reason he was here and the soreness between your inner thighs proved it. You were willing to bet Park Jimin’s right nutsack.

Yeah, sorry Jimin, but you needed all your body parts.

For one reason, really, and that reason was staring you right now.

Who was going to hire him when he was dressed like that anyway? You certainly wouldn’t. Mostly because it was distracting. No one could work with Jeon Jungkook looking like that. You couldn’t, anyway. Well, maybe if his work was wrecking your–

Get back to your damn task, you scolded yourself.

You were setting up chairs for the cardiologist that was arriving soon. All the doctors always had tons of students listening, so the administration instructed you to pack as many seats that could be crammed into the space without causing a fire hazard. You unfolded the metal chairs, arranging them neatly, already knowing they would be an incomprehensible mess when the students left and that you would be the one cleaning up after them.

Sigh.

Come to think of it, it was all Park Jimin’s fault that you were being violently undressed by Jungkook’s eyes right now. If he had kept his trap shut and let you live in blissful ignorance, maybe you wouldn’t be trying to hide your wincing every time you bent over. You snuck a glance at Jungkook.

He cocked an eyebrow, highly amused.

Never mind, you probably still would have been accosted at Calculus I office hours, except instead of the door being closed and locked and having Jimin’s warning texts, you two probably would have been caught and expelled.

You grumbled and slid a chair into place, taking back your former thoughts and thanking Jimin in your mind. He wasn’t even here to witness your inner struggle.

Jimin probably would have found it funny.

You went back to your chairs, not addressing Jeon Jungkook’s presence anymore because if you looked at him again, you probably would have abandoned your post. And he knew it.

-

The next day, you already knew Jungkook would show up again. Mostly because he texted you a winking face of a semicolon and parenthesis, to which you didn’t respond, because you would probably get roped into phone sex in under twenty seconds, and you had to help this extremely riveting lawyer set up his laptop for the projector.

As in, you were ready to tape his mouth shut as he blabbed on and on about his work and how important it was to society, which it was, because defense attorneys were very important, but this guy’s laptop was a fucking hot mess of icons all over his desktop. This was a personal pet peeve of yours, as you liked to be neat and organized, with everything clearly labeled with dates. You didn’t care about most people’s personal habits, but it was annoying when you were trying to assist and the owner of said laptop was not shutting up and demanding noises of affirmation that you were listening.

If it wasn’t Jungkook demanding you to swallow his cock, you honestly couldn’t give a single shit–

You finally got his PowerPoint working and had him scroll through the slides to make sure it was the correct one. He thanked you and you realized the older man was looking at you up and down, the same way Jungkook usually did, except in this case you were not even remotely interested.

Guess everyone had the right to get a good look before they die.

You were wearing a white chiffon blouse with a black silk neck scarf, with a tight knee-length black pencil skirt, sheer tights and sleek black heels. You knew how good your ass looked in this skirt and you had worn it for a specific purpose.

“We will be letting the students in five minutes early to get settled,” you stated briskly, cutting the older man from his daydreams. “You will have forty-five minutes for your presentation, and then we’ll have a fifteen-minute question session, led by my associate, Kim Namjoon here.”

As if on cue, Namjoon appeared, cheerful smile with cute dimples, handing the lawyer a mic.

“Let’s test the microphone and the backup to make sure you don’t have any hiccups,” Namjoon instructed merrily, instantly captivating the man’s attention and diverting it from you.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ behind the man’s back and Namjoon gave you the tiniest of nods as you excused yourself. Hmph. You knew people would notice – you were wearing makeup for once and would be around students and professionals all day, after all – but to be so shameless and gawk like that was annoying. Plus, the guy probably had a wife and kids.

You made your way to the bathroom to check your appearance. Maybe your makeup was a bit off or something. You had Jimin check you over this morning. Surprisingly, he knew a lot about cosmetics and how to look good in all lighting. Must be a dance major thing.

Ah, the door to the women’s bathroom. You hiked your skirt up a bit do you could use your damn knees to walk, because they had been suffocating for the past two hours–

Long fingers suddenly gripped your upper arm and yanked you around the corner, slamming you into a muscular body and black biker jacket. You nearly stumbled in your heels, but a second hand came to practically lift you off the floor and shove you into the wall.

“Good afternoon, noona.”

A clear, silvery voice.

You couldn’t possibly guess who it was.

“Why, fancy seeing you here, Jung–”

You were abruptly cut off by his lips crashing into yours, one hand grabbing the back of your head and disturbing your perfect bun. You whimpered, feeling him shove you into the wall again, your shoulder blades hitting the painted brick. His tongue slid into your mouth, exhaling into your throat and forcing you swallow his breath. Your hands clutched your skirt, moaning as his hard body pressed yours against the wall.

Jungkook drew back, panting a little. Looking so handsome with his slightly slicked-back hair, black strands around his right eye, chiseled jawline, silver hoops glinting in the hall light. He arched a sculpted eyebrow at you, smirking. His pink lips had a little red on them from kissing you.

“Now, you know you can’t be looking so delicious and not expect me to want to eat you up,” he purred, licking your lips. Your breathing hitched at the touch, unlocking your death grip on your skirt.

“What are you talking about?” you answered evenly despite your panties literally turning into Niagara Falls with the way he was looking at you like a carnivore at an all-meat buffet. “I have to dress like this for Career Week. Everyone has to dress professionally.”

Jungkook nodded, not believing a single word coming out of your mouth. His right hand came up, ink black tattoos against tan skin, and reached around to your bun, slowly pulling the hairpins out. Your skin tingled at the sensation of your hair gradually unravelling.

“A professional that I would hire to sit on my dick,” he mused.

You raised an eyebrow at him, your hair tumbling around your shoulders. “Subtle.”

Jungkook showed you the removed hairpins, opened his jacket, and tucked them in his inner pocket.

“I wouldn’t work for you anyway,” you added haughtily.

With each passing moment, Jungkook was becoming increasingly amused and aroused. You could tell by the way he was shoving his crotch into your thigh and by how wide his smirk was getting. The slacks he was wearing did nothing to hide his erection and you had a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t care.

“Oh? Why not?”

“I don’t know if I could trust someone younger than me to do a good job.”

He was unbuttoning your chiffon blouse now, humming. “I’m good at many things.” His dark eyes flickered to yours. “I think you would know.”

Your hands grabbed his despite him already having all the visible buttons completely open. Cold air drifted onto your heaving chest and white lace bra.

“Jungkook, we’re in a public place, again,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I don’t recall that being a problem,” he drawled, removing his hands from yours and squeezing your ass. “I’m beginning to think you like it.”

You sucked in a breath as his strong hands kneaded you through your skirt. Your hormones would absolutely let Jungkook rip off your clothes right here and let him fuck you, but the sliver of your brain that had any sense at all reminded you that you had to find a closed space. Jungkook slapped your ass, loudly, the sound echoing across the empty hallway. You nearly moaned, but bit your tongue, glaring at him.

“I have to get back,” you snapped. “And look presentable.”

Jungkook licked his teeth. “Hm. You have an hour before you have to appear to the public eye.”

Who the heck told him that? He smirked slyly at you as he saw your reaction.

“I could drag you to the bathroom–”

“At least give me more class than the woman’s bathroom,” you interrupted.

Jungkook looked annoyed that you had cut him off and also looked like he was going to remind you later. His fingers dug into your hips sharply and you gasped, back pressed flat against the wall. He inhaled a deep breath and began again, voice dangerously low.

“As I was saying,” he continued. “I’m going to take you into this classroom that I stole the key for.”

You frowned as Jungkook hoisted you up swiftly, princess-style, shirt still wide open. Fuck, what was he so strong for? He carried you down the hallway to the classrooms. You tried to close your shirt, but he growled at you, so you rolled your eyes and pushed the sides open, letting your bra-covered tits hang out. He seemed satisfied about this.

“Why would you steal a key?” you muttered as he deftly kicked the door open.

Jungkook slid through the door sideways. “So I could fuck you, of course.”

He dropped you and you had to catch yourself on your heels before you broke an ankle and ate shit. Half the lights turned on. You could hear him locking the door as you smoothed your skirt.

You turned to face him, saying, “You shouldn’t be a thief just because you’re horny, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turned around slowly from the now locked door. You were about to say something else, but your words died in your throat as you witnessed the overwhelming lust in his dark piercing eyes.

“I would be a thief, a murderer, and evade taxes for your body,” he snarled, advancing on you.

You pulled your blouse out of your skirt so he wouldn’t rip it, backing up into the desks. “You’ll get caught with the last one,” you said quietly, already removing your blouse and letting it fall onto a spare seat. “First two are acceptable.”

Jungkook grinned devilishly, licking his pink lips.

“Come here.”

You chewed on your lower lip, staring at his beautiful eyes, finding yourself already walking to him, heels clicking loudly in the empty room, but it didn’t matter, because he was the master now and you were the willing servant. Or slave. 

Take your pick.

He smirked at your obedience, placing his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. His dark orbs lingered down your body, focusing on all his favorite spots, pressing his fingertips into your skin.

“One day,” you said quietly. “We’re going to get in trouble.”

Jungkook’s powerful dark orbs shifted upwards, capturing yours. Time slowed down. You stared into his dark brown eyes, unable to look away, your heart beating in time with his words.

“You’re already in trouble.”

Voice haunting you, teasing smirk on his lips, and perfectly in command.

“From the second you let me have my hands on you.”

You gasped as his nails dug into your skin, scratching down your collarbones, leaving red marks. He snapped the straps of your bra, hard, and you whined, eyes pleading for him to take it off. His palms pressed into the lace cups, squeezing them roughly. Tongue dancing in between his lips as he felt your nipples harden, barely covered by the lace.

“You’re so dirty, noona,” he purred, lowering his palms and pinching your nipples through the thin fabric, smirking at your wanton moan. “Wearing such slutty underwear under these professional clothes.”

You whimpered as he tugged on them. “No one’s going to see them but you, Jungkook.”

He clamped your nipples between his thumbs and knuckles, dragging you to him. You sank your teeth into your lower lip, pussy throbbing as you collided with his firm chest. His breath was scorching hot against your skin, making you shiver.

“What if someone finds out? Some idiot like a perverted old man staring at your ass in this skirt?”

You snorted. “I’ll rip his head off.”

Jungkook snickered, flicking your nipples with your answer. “You wouldn’t let me do it for you?”

Your hips rolled into his, hands on his waist to keep yourself up as he played with you. “I’ll reattach it for you so you can do the same.”

He laughed, almost a little too jovially for the part he was playing, but then he was back, tipping his head close to yours, blowing soft air onto your lips. You frowned, glaring at him for the lack of kiss.

“If possible, you’re even hotter dressed like this,” Jungkook murmured, his forehead against yours. “So prim and proper, even with a cute gag tied around your neck,” he added, playing with the ends of your neck scarf. “You could be a CEO, and I could be the janitor fucking you on your penthouse-floor desk.” He was undoing your scarf now, teasing it apart, making you breathless. “Maybe fuck you against the window so everyone can see how good I make you feel, noona.”

“Give yourself a little more credit than a janitor,” you muttered, stiffening as Jungkook ran his fingertips over your throat, nails grazing your skin.

“True, I would rather be your secretary so I can follow you around and stare at your ass in this skirt,” he chuckled, lacing his fingers around your neck. Thumb under your ear, the other four fingers under your other ear. You made eye contact with him. He looked almost bored, one of his eyebrows raised, but he was watching you, predatory and attentive.

“I know what I’m doing.”

His whisper was so soft that you barely heard it, but the words were there.

His grip tightened around your throat.

You gasped, feeling the blood flow thinning, hazing your mind. Jungkook watched your expression, reaching around with the hand that was holding your scarf, unclasping your lace bra. You could feel it fall down your arms, but your thoughts were rapidly being clouded by lightheadedness and lust, Jungkook smirking at you as he lifted the silk scarf into your vision.

“J… Jungkook…” you choked out.

The mole underneath his lower lip winked at you as he grinned, brushing the silk against your hard, abused nipples, touch so light, and yet it made your whine, wanting more stimulation but unable to ask because you knew he was toying with you.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook taunted. “Not intense enough for my naughty noona?”

He choked you harder and you couldn’t respond, eyes rolling back into your head as black spots danced in your vision, the sensation intensifying but still not enough, not enough, and you shoved your hips into his repeatedly, whimpering, hands clutching his black shirt, nails digging into his abs.

“So needy for me,” he breathed, feathery touches of silk against your nipples. “Are you only mine?”

He leaned forward, loosening his grip a little. The blood violently rushed back into your head and all you could hear Jungkook’s cruel whisper of your name, tearing a moan from your lips, a raspy yes, yes, fuck, Jungkook, I’m only yours.

He chuckled darkly.

Then he forced you to your knees, tits bouncing uncomfortably as you slid on your heels, knees hitting the tile floor. You clutched his clothed legs, panting, brain only half-functioning due to the lack of blood and the relentless teasing. You lifted your head back up to look at him, panting hard.

Jungkook cracked his neck sharply, a harsh pop. “I want to believe you, noona, but you’re dressed so fucking sexy that I can’t.” His dark eyes bore into you, tearing you up, and you were dripping onto your inner thighs. He emphasized his words with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Letting other people fantasize about this body that belongs to me isn’t acceptable.”

His hands reached down, fingers of his right hand playing with the button of his pants, tattoos dancing with his movement. He smirked as you watched him, eyes darting from his face to his hands. Shit, you were nearly drooling with anticipation. You swallowed as he teased the button free.

“You gonna show me that you remember who you belong to?”

You nodded quickly, maybe too quickly, but it was doomed now anyway because Jungkook was lowering the zipper, pushing down his pants and underwear, past his muscular thighs. It was obvious this was getting him off as much as it was getting you off, because he was rock-hard, leaking, tip already a dark red. Jungkook grabbed the back of your head and shoved his hips into your cheek, smearing his pre-cum onto your skin, all the way up to your cheekbone. He hissed, using his hand to press the head against your temple, nearly into your hair.

Fuck, he was so fucking close to your mouth, but he wasn’t letting you have it.

Damnnit.

Your tongue snaked out and softly licked his balls, eyes on his face, watching him tip his head back and moan. You licked more, creeping your head closer, pressing your lips against his hot skin. He was letting you do it, holding his cock out of the way as you wrapped your lips around his balls and sucked, pushing them around with your tongue, pleading noises in your throat, begging him for his cock as you bobbed your head up and down under his hips.

Jungkook’s dark eyes shifted down to you, triumphant grin on his lips.

“You want to swallow my cock, noona?” he teased, smacking it against your face, leaving a string of pre-cum connecting your cheek to his cock. You narrowed your eyes at him, as if to say, no fucking shit, you punk ass bitch, and he chuckled deep in his chest. He looked past your head, down your back.

“Such a nice ass.”

You smacked his leg, aware that he was doing it on purpose to piss you off. He smirked knowingly, placing his palm on your forehead and pushing you off his balls.

“Swallow it all and don’t choke,” Jungkook snarled, shoving his cock into your open mouth.

Your eyes widened at the sudden intrusion, relaxing your throat muscles as Jungkook forcefully pushed into your lips, sighing with satisfaction as he buried himself to the hilt, his strong fingers tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, so good,” he moaned, making his cock throb into the roof of your mouth. You whined, hands on his hips, waiting for him to let you move. “Your throat feels so fucking good, noona. If only they knew how good you are, how perfectly slutty you are for me.” He snickered, releasing his hand, glaring down into your eyes.

“But they’re never going to know, because you’ll never service another cock ever again.”

You whimpered, nails digging into his thighs.

He ticked his chin at you. “Go on, noona. Show me how much you love my cock.”

You began to move, pressing your tongue against the bottom as you slid up and down his length, moaning at his taste. So good. You generated more saliva and ran it all over the head, sucking hard. He inhaled sharply as you teased the sensitive underside, tongue against the opening.

“That’s it,” Jungkook breathed. “Give it to me like you mean it.”

You gripped his thighs and began to bob your head back and forth, ramming the head into the back of your throat and squeezing it before arching your neck so it ran across the roof of your mouth and then back down so it hit your throat again. Was this going to make you hoarse? Probably, but you didn’t a single shit, because Jungkook moaning for you and telling you how good you were was much more important. The pace was slow at first, but you went faster and faster, tighter, your breasts bouncing with every movement, eyes closed to savor his taste and steel your concentration of not gagging because Jungkook was so big, so thick, so perfectly rough, and your tongue could feel him throbbing inside your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled above you, nearly feral with desire. “Fuck, I’m going to cum down that perfect throat of yours, noona.”

His thighs tensed under your hands and you knew he was close. You increased the intensity, neck straining, already aching with how fast you were going.

“Drink it all and don’t fucking waste it.”

Jungkook grabbed you by your hair and thrusted his hips into your face, moaning lustfully as he shot into your mouth, hot creamy strings into your throat. You swallowed fast to avoid choking, gulping loudly as he gave you more, more, fuck it was so delicious that you gasped, swirling your tongue around his jerking cock and lapping it all up. Whimpering, you wrapped your lips around the head and milked it dry, rubbing your lips against the skin where the head and length connected.

“You’re so fucking good,” Jungkook sighed, running his fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face. “So messy and dirty. I love it, noona.” He pressed your mouth down his entire length and held you there.

Your name drifted out of his lips, a sweet exhale.

He kept you there. You felt some of your spit drip down your chin and hit your breasts. You flinched at the coldness, still holding onto his hips. Jungkook finally looked down at you, chest heaving, panting. He looked like he wanted to say something. You shot him a questioning look, unable to respond, mouth still full of his cock.

He released your head, untangling his fingers from your hair. You drew your mouth back, rubbing your jaw and throat a little. Jungkook had a strange expression, lips parted, brows furrowed, the muscles in his neck tensed. He seemed a bit spaced out. You tilted your head.

Something felt off.

You stood up with as much grace as you could, knees aching, heels snapping to the tile floor. He still wasn’t looking at you. You backed up, to the desks, finding a study one.

“Jungkook.”

You smacked the wood loudly with your flat palm.

He whipped his head towards you, dark eyes flashing. Perfect. You smirked, placing your hands on your pencil skirt. Sank your fingers in, gripping the fabric. Jungkook’s voracious eyes watched your movement, each hike revealing more and more of your legs. A slow smirk formed on his lips. You yanked your skirt all the way up to your waist, revealing your white lace panties and sheer pantyhose, black fabric bunched around your waist.

Jungkook reached down and pulled his pants up, raising his eyebrows as he walked over, lower lip in between his teeth as he grinned at you.

“That’s a dangerous position to be in, noona,” he purred. “You know I love fucking you on a desk.”

You bounced your ass up onto the table, closing your legs, knees together. Placed your hands on your lap, pushing your tits together. Jungkook licked his lips, the predatory glint back in his eye. You kept your tone stern, with a hint if disapproval.

“Really? Because for a second there, I was beginning to think you lost your nerve.”

The menace in his eyes made your shiver with anticipation. You could tell Jungkook liked it too, your word selection, your tone, your defiance. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, and it fell to the floor with an oppressive thump. You sucked in a tight breath. The shirt was short sleeved, exposing his tattooed right forearm and his equally beautiful tanned left one. Some of his long black hair was falling down, brushing against his right cheekbone.

His eyes were so dark that you felt like they were devouring you.

Jungkook placed his large hands on your knees and vehemently shoved them apart, spreading your legs wide. He gave you a cold, expressionless stare as he placed a hand on your stomach, putting you onto your elbows, hips tipped up towards him. You were embarrassingly wet, juices soaked into your inner thighs, lace panties already molded to your soaked folds, the sheer pantyhose doing nothing to protect you from him and his hungry eyes. His voice was icy, making your pussy throb with need.

“Noona, if you close your legs, I’m going to punish you,” Jungkook warned.

Part of you wanted to know what the punishment was, but the other part of you really wanted to orgasm, so kept your snide remark to yourself and simply nodded.

Jungkook removed his hands from your knees and placed them on your shuddering breasts. Fuck. You hadn’t realized you were so horny until Jungkook touched you. A pained whimper strained in your throat.

The side of his lips curved upwards.

“Does my dirty, slutty noona want to be fucked?” His nails sank down, digging into your skin. “Do you want to be used by me, your tight little pussy stretched out and pleading for more?” Jungkook leaned forward, breathing into your face, growling whisper against your lips. He pinched your nipples and you moaned, wanting to kiss him, but knowing he wasn’t going to let you. He chuckled darkly, seeing your desperation.

“Do you want to be a slave for Jungkookie’s cock, noona?”

Fuuuuuuuck.

Your heart was beating so fast that your breathing was coming out in little gasps as he twisted your nipples harshly, rubbing the tips with his thumb. Your legs shook, threatening to close because the lack of friction was killing you.

“Y-yes, Jungkook, fuck yes.”

He yanked on your nipples and slapped them, making you hiss with pain, flinching as the sting shot up your chest. Jungkook reached into his back pocket and produced the silk neck scarf.

“Keep quiet for me noona or everyone will know how much of a slut you are for me.”

And then he shoved your own scarf into your parted lips, gagging you. Not a second too soon, because, without warning, Jungkook immediately spanked your barely clothed clit. You yelped around the silk, thighs quivering. He gripped one of your thighs, digging his nails into it, tearing the sheer pantyhose a little.

“Don’t move and take it,” he snarled.

Your back arched as Jungkook began to slap your pussy, hard, unforgiving, loud, and making you wetter and wetter, so much so his hand was slipping a little with each smack. You screamed around the scarf, hips trembling as they rose to meet each hit, flaring pain in between your thighs but so, so good. He clenched his jaw, dark eyes on your quickly reddening pussy lips that were sucking your panties deeper and deeper into your slit.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Fuck, you’re so hot and so fucking perfect for me.”

He removed his hand from your thigh and ripped the center seam of your pantyhose apart.

You started, eyes widening as you watched him tear through it, yelling at him through the scarf. You still needed to wear those! The small tears were one thing, but a full-on giant rip at the crotch was not going to be comfortable to wear for the rest of the day.

Jungkook smirked, raising a hand to his ear. “What’s that? Can’t hear you.”

You glared at him and was about to remove the scarf from your mouth to scold him, but his smirk turned into a roguish grin.

“Hm? Slap you harder and abuse your clit?”

You paled.

“My pleasure.”

You threw you head back as Jungkook mercilessly spanked your now only lace-covered clit, impossibly fast, towering over you and hooking his arm under your back, dragging you to him, arching your spine more, more, so your tits were straight up, bouncing right in his face as he changed from smacking your clit to rubbing it just as fast, rougher, so intense you were hoarsely wailing into the gag.

All of a sudden, your orgasm violently rammed into you, pleasure racking your entire body, amplified by stinging pain. Your pussy clenched around nothing, wetly squelching as Jungkook breathed hotly down on your nipples, still rubbing you through your orgasm, not letting up. You shook your head furiously, trying to tell him it was too much, that you were too sensitive, but you didn’t lift your hands to stop him, only spreading your fingers against the table, palms flat as your hips raised to his fingers.

You felt his hair brush against your nipples as he licked your cleavage, smirking up at your face.

“One more and then I’ll fuck you the way I want to, noona.”

Your legs were losing feeling from how hard you were locking them in place as you felt Jungkook pry your lace panties out of your pussy, shoving them to one side. Oh shit. You moaned as you felt him shove two fingers into you, eyes squeezing shut as he added a third, scissoring them as he smiled cruelly at you, eagerly watching your reaction.

“Such a greedy pussy, sucking in my fingers like this,” Jungkook drawled, your walls clenching around them, feeling every callus and every joint, all the way to his knuckles. “All mine, my beautiful, slutty noona.”

You would have asked Jungkook what the time was if your brain could still function, but your brain timed itself out, because Jungkook was thrusting his fingers into you now, filling you up, and feeding your need and desperation, assaulting your pussy with pleasure. The pain of your stinging, puffy lips rubbing against his hand added to the ecstasy, heightening it, your moaning now unintelligible behind the silk scarf that was saturated with your saliva. The sound was obscene, sloppy smacking sounds of your drenched hole getting pounded into the desk.

You threw your head back and choked out his name around the makeshift gag, throbbing pussy clamping down on his fingers. Thick, viscous liquid gushed out onto his palm, the back of his hand, dripping down to his wrist. It was so intense that your entire body jerked up into Jungkook’s face, hitting him with your tits.

If Jungkook was mad about it, he didn’t show it. He wrenched his slick fingers out and you whined, watching him with glazed eyes as licked them off, ferally growling at your taste. He released your back from his arm and you slid down, laying against the desk, panting.

“You taste extra delicious today, noona,” he chuckled. “Candy always tastes better in cute packaging.”

You barely had time to register that Jungkook had just compared you to a fucking convenience store snack before he yanked down his pants again, whipping out a foil packet and ripping it open. Less than a second and the condom was on, and then Jungkook shoved his cock into you, a startled gasp dying in your very over-used throat.

Jungkook moaned your name above you, softly and lustfully, pulling your hips closer to him so he was all the way inside you. You clenched around his length and he sighed, small smirk on his pink lips, eyelids fluttering.

“You’re going to kill me one day with how perfectly tight you are for me,” he mumbled.

Your eyes found his and he grinned, looking down at you through his lashes, his hair obscuring half his face.

Fuck, you could stare at him all day.

Jungkook placed your legs around his waist, finally letting them rest from the forced spreading. He roughly jerked his hips into yours and you whimpered, nails clawing into the desk. His fingers dug into your hips and he set his jaw, beginning a hard, fast pace, slapping your hips together, fucking you into the desk. It scraped noisily into the floor, but neither of you cared, you abused pussy lips rubbing against his crotch every time his hips met yours, carried to new heights of pain and pleasure, loving every second, every moment of Jungkook using you to chase his own orgasm, his cock swelling and dragging against your tight walls. So much. So full.

You could never be satisfied with another cock.

“Fuck.”

Jungkook hissed, grip on your hips tightening, bruising you with his fingertips.

“Fuck, noona, I love you.”

Your heart stopped.

And then your orgasm crashed down, overtaking you completely, your head smacking the desk and seeing stars, clenching around Jungkook’s cock and pulsating violently around his length, soaking his thighs with your juices, scent so strong you were sure whatever class that was going to use this lecture hall next was going to smell your cum splattering to the floor.

Jungkook gritted his teeth and rammed his hips into you, dragging you down to meet every thrust, intensifying your orgasm, ripping your pantyhose even more. Once, twice, three times, and he groaned, shuddering as he spilled into the condom, cock shivering inside you as he came. You could feel how much it was, pressing against your walls.

His long hair was all over his face, black strands clinging to his tan skin, sweat dripping off his chin, pink lips quivering, dark eyes roaming over your fucked-out form. Panting hard, matching your heavy, grating breaths behind your now saliva-drenched neck scarf. After a long moment, Jungkook reached down and held onto the condom, slowly pulling out of you.

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck.

You reached up with a shaking hand, pulling the silk out of your mouth. It came out in a long strip of fabric, smacking against your cheek as your removed it from your lips.

Holy.

Fuck.

You sat up, your body screaming at you, seeing Jungkook breathing hard, tying up the condom.

“Did you just tell me you love me?”

Jungkook’s ears turned bright red. He chewed on his lip, biting it hard before facing you. Dark brown eyes suddenly vulnerable, scared. It was the most uncharacteristic expression you had ever witnessed on Jeon Jungkook’s chiseled, handsome face.

“Uh… yeah.”

There was a moment where you realized both you two were mostly naked in a random classroom, clothes thrown everywhere, having made a mess once again.

“Sorry,” Jungkook added quickly. “It slipped out.”

You blinked at him. “Why are you apologizing?”

He rubbed his nose, looking away.

“Well… aren’t you just fucking me because you like to be dominated?”

You frowned. “No, I’m fucking you because I’m in love with you.”

You saw Jungkook freeze. He turned his head robotically, eyes wide and doe-like. “R-really?”

You looked down to notice that your heels were on the tile floor. When had you lost those? You grumbled, trying to straighten out your panties and the remains of your pantyhose. It was doomed. You shrugged, dangling your legs over the edge of the desk as you looked back at Jungkook and his surprised expression. You raised an eyebrow.

“Are you really that much of an idiot?” you muttered, your own cheeks burning, letting out a puff of annoyed air. “Yes, I love you. Why else would I tolerate you staring at me like I’m some kind of zoo animal? Why else would I risk getting in trouble by running around like this? Why else would I let you fuck me at school, in the middle of the damn day, again?”

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck. “Erm… because I’m hot?”

You rubbed your forehead and sighed exasperatedly, standing up, instantly wincing. Jungkook took a step forward to catch you, but he almost tripped on his pants down his ankles. You caught yourself against the desk and raised a hand, shaking your head.

“Pack your damn dick,” you muttered. You yanked your tights down your legs, removing them and balling them up. They were useless now anyway. You found your bra and put it back on as you eyed your chiffon blouse. Good thing it wasn’t ripped. It only took you a moment to slip it back on, rebuttoning it and tucking it into your skirt. You pulled your pencil skirt back down, straightening it, thighs immediately sticking together from your own fluids.

Yup, still no more comfortable than yanking your pants back on after a session with Jungkook.

You noticed him putting his leather jacket back on and picking up the condom wrapper. He took the silk scarf from the table and shoved it in his back pocket. You went back to him to gather your shoes, but he knelt down, holding out your black heels as if you were Cinderella.

“I can just–”

“Step.”

His tone was sharp and you immediately obeyed, raising your foot and stepping into your shoe. First one, then the other. Jungkook stood back up, exhaling a little. You looked up at him. His chocolate eyes flitted about tensely. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Do you… uh…”

You cut him off. “Jungkook, if you cheat on me, I will personally castrate you with a spoon.”

He cringed. “Ouch.”

You took the used condom and the wrapper bits from him, shoving them into your balled-up pantyhose. You marched towards the door confidently, pain shooting throughout your body with every step. Jungkook called after you.

“Your hairpins.”

You turned your head back a little.

“You can drop them off at my apartment later.”

And then you unlocked the door and stepped out of the classroom.

Park Jimin waved at you, grinning. Plump lips curved into a mischievous smile, wearing a denim jacket and jeans. You almost jumped seeing him standing there. What the fuck is with this guy’s timing? He eyed your hand holding your ruined pantyhose and you put it behind your back, glaring at him.

“I told Namjoon you had a lady emergency.” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows at you before holding up your phone and black purse, the belongings you had left in the back room. “You took longer than you should have.”

You felt your ears burn. “Shit. I need to get back.”

“To Jungkook, yeah,” Jimin chimed teasingly, making you glower at him.

Of course. Jungkook had turned Jimin into his scout for your escapades. Fantastic. You suddenly felt a strong presence behind you. The door had opened and Jungkook’s arm snaked around your waist, yanking you possessively to his side. He placed his chin on top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair.

“You wanna go on a date, noona?” Jungkook purred, his free hand playing with the ends of your disheveled hair.

You pursed your lips. “I have to get back and help Namjoon.”

Jimin waved a hand. “He’ll be fine for one day. Plus, you’re being kidnapped.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Jungkook slapped his hand over your lips, marching you in the opposite direction of Career Week, Jimin skipping behind you two, cheerfully humming.

-

part iv

--

masterpost

[gamergirl929]

Expecto Patronum (Hermione Granger x Reader)

After following a number of Gryffindor students sneaking out of the Common Room one night, you inevitably stumble upon the DA and are quick to join their cause. 

However, you soon find a spell you can’t quiet master, a spell that requires something that you don’t have, something that, with the help of Hermione Granger, you’re able to acquire. 

“Bloody hell.” You mumble, sighing in exasperation as you flop to the Room of Requirement’s floor, your eyes narrowed.  

You stumbled upon Dumbledore’s Army by chance one night when you saw a number of Gryffindor's sneaking out one night and decided to follow. 

Following them was the best decision you’d ever made, because it brought you purpose, something you felt you lacked in your daily life.  

You were rather quiet, though you’d caught one member of the DA’s attention, and that member was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived himself.  

You hadn’t had the best upbringing, something the two of you shared, and something that brought the two of you closer together.  

Soon you and the boy were good friends, and being good friends with Harry meant you were friends with his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.  

Ron was goofy, a bit dense at time, but he was fun to be around, and that was enough for you.  

Hermione Granger on the other hand, was one of the brightest women you’d ever met, she adept at magic, excelling well above you and the others in the DA. 

She was all too happy to aid you in casting certain spells when she saw you were struggling.  

The specific spell you were currently having trouble casting, was Expecto Patronum, your Patronus refusing to take form no matter how hard you tried. 

You huff, dropping your wand to the stone floor.  

“This is hopeless.”  

                                                          ***

The following morning you’re barely able to keep your eyes, rubbing the heels of your palms into your bloodshot Y/E/C eyes.  

“You look right knackered.”  

You pick your head up, smiling when Ron takes a seat across from you at The Great Hall.  

“You alright?” Harry asks, worried and you nod.  

“Just didn’t sleep much.”  

“Or at all.” Hermione says as she takes a seat beside you and you shake your head, your cheeks flushing.  

“N-N-No, just didn’t get enough.”  

Hermione stares at you inquisitively, her brown orbs narrowed.  

You knew she knew you were lying, but you’d decided to keep up the ruse anyway.  

“So, r-ready for Potions today?” You ask, taking a swig of your Pumpkin Juice and Ron scoffs.  

“Who’s ever ready for Potions with Snape?” He snickers, his eyes widening when the aforementioned professor walks by, using a piece of parchment in his hand to smack Ron in the head.  

You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, as Ron pouts, rubbing the back of his head.  

“Stop laughing you git.”  

Hermione meanwhile is still looking at you inquisitively, wondering what it was that kept you up so late, and why you were so adamant about changing the subject.  

She hums, taking a sip of her juice.  

If you weren’t going to tell her what was going on, she’d find out on her own.  

                                                          ***

Hermione frowns when the light from your wand flickers out, the spell yet again failing.  

“It’s alright Y/N, you just have to find a happy memory to focus on.” She runs a gentle hand down your back.  

You swallow hard, nodding.  

“I-I know...” You murmur softly, head hanging in defeat.  

Hermione gives you an apologetic smile.  

“We’ll get it Y/N, together.”  

You turn to Hermione, a warmth spreading throughout your chest as you look at the Gryffindor who’s sending you the sweetest smile you’d ever seen.

“Together?” You ask and she nods, slipping an arm around you, before giving you a squeeze.  

“Together.”  

                                                          ***

It was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were exhausted, and incredibly agitated.  

You had, again, forgone sleep to practice on conjuring your Patronus, but you again, had failed.  

The DA weren’t meeting that night, which gave you the opportunity to head into the Room of Requirement on your own to practice the spell.  

You WOULD master it, no matter what it took, you WOULD find a memory to focus on, no matter what.  

                                                          ***

Hermione eventually finds you later that day, your head buried in a book in the library, though it’s not because you’re reading, it’s because you’re fast asleep.  

She tiptoes over to you, the girl silently taking a seat beside you, smiling when she realizes you’re snoring softly.  

She shakes her head, opening up the book she’d brought with her, ready for the world around her to melt away.  

You mumble in your sleep, pulling Hermione’s attention away from the world currently resting in her hands and back to reality.  

If she were being honest, you had a habit of drawing her attention, you were an enigma, and Hermione was never the type to leave a mystery unsolved.  

                                                          ***

The snarl that leaves you is absolutely feral as you throw your wand across the room.  

“WHY CAN’T I FORM A PATRONOUS.” You say angrily.  

You’re so angry in fact that you completely miss the Room of Requirement’s door creaking open, and Hermione Granger slipping inside.  

You run your hands down your face as you stomp towards your wand.

Hermione crosses her arms across her chest as she watches you flick your wand.  

“EXPECTO PATRONOUM!” You yell, growling when your wand’s tip doesn’t even light.  

Hermione frowns as you flick your wand over and over again, growling the spell each and every time growing angrier and angrier.  

It’s only after that, that you spot Hermione, your eyes widening in shock.  

“He-Hermione.” You stutter, clearing your throat, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“How long have you been standing there?” You ask, unable to look at the girl who moves closer to you.  

“Long enough... This is why you’ve been so tired lately?”  She asks and you sigh flopping to the floor, your back resting against the wall next to the fireplace.  

“I can’t do it.” You sigh, your chin resting on your knee caps.  

Hermione takes a seat in front of you, as you attempt to swallow the lump in your throat.  

“What’s holding you back?”  

Your eyes flutter shut, your chest tightening.  

“I don’t have any.”  

Hermione’s brows furrow, the girl scooting closer.  

“Any what?” She whispers and you sigh.  

“Happy memories.”  

Hermione frowns sadly.  

“Harry and I had a...” 

You pause. 

“A similar upbringing.”  

Hermione scoots towards you until she’s sitting beside you.  

“What happened?”  

You swallow hard.  

“Didn’t know my folks, I got my letter in a group home.”  

You fall silent after that, your head moving to rest on Hermione’s shoulder, the action making her cheeks flush bright pink.

Nonetheless, she rests her head on top of yours.  

“Sometimes, we have to make our own memories.” Hermione whispers and you smile, warmth yet again spreading throughout your chest.  

“Yeah, yeah we do.”  

                                                          ***

That night you actually get some sleep, mostly because Hermione basically drags you to the Gryffindor Common Room and forces you to get some ACTUAL sleep.  

The following morning you feel lighter than you ever had before, maybe because you finally got an adequate amount of sleep, or maybe it was because of the moment you spent with Hermione in the Room of Requirement.  

Your cheeks flush, your eyes doubling in size.  

“That’s it.” You whisper to yourself with a massive grin.  

You make your way into The Great Hall, smiling when your eyes catch sight of a familiar head of bushy brown hair, its owner turning to you with a beaming smile. 

“You look rested.” Hermione winks and you shake your head, cheeks dusted pink.  

"Yeah, well you made sure of that.”  

“Yeah, Hermione has a way of forcing people to do things they’re putting off.” Ron mumbles and Hermione scoffs.  

“Is this about the Potion’s homework? You needed to get it done Ronald.”  

Ron scoffs.  

“Yeah, but you didn’t need to come into the Boy’s Dormitory and wake me up using Aquamanti!”  

You slap a hand over your mouth, but are unable to bite back your laughter.  

“Yeah! Laugh it up! Thought Fred and George had threw me out in the marsh around The Burrow again!”  

Hermione giggles.  

“He did scream rather loud.”  

Hermione leans against you as she giggles harder than you’d ever seen, Ron unable to bite back his laughter at the girl’s case of the giggles.  

You fall silent, instead choosing to stare at the girl beside you, the girl whose giggles are finally beginning to taper off.  

You smile, Hermione’s words from the night before echoing in your head.  

“Sometimes we have to make our own memories.”  

Hermione falls silent, her brown orbs widening when she realizes you’re staring. 

“Y/N? Are you alright?” She asks and you nod, your smile splitting into a grin.  

“I am.” You shrug, taking a sip of your Pumpkin Juice.  

“Just making my own memories.”  

Hermione grins, cheeks tinged pink as she gives you a nudge, the girl leaning against you through the remainder of breakfast.  

                                                          ***

“You can do this Y/N, remember, happy memory.” Harry pats your back and you nod, taking a deep breath.  

Weeks of trying to search for a single happy memory you had hidden deep within your brain had resulted in failure, but now, with thoughts of the Gryffindor girl standing beside you running through your mind, you knew, you knew this was it.  

You glance at Hermione, earning a nod.  

“I believe in you.” She whispers, your heart skipping a beat in your chest.  

You grin, twirling your wand in between your fingers.  

The remainder of the DA watches as you hold out your wand, the words that had been leaving your mouth for weeks now, yet again passing through your lips, though with a bit more confidence than usual.  

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”  

Light bursts from the tip of your wand, the blue bright light swirling through the air as it takes form.  

Your smile splits in a grin as a bright blue massive wolf forms before you, head held high in confidence, the epitome of strength.  

It runs around the room before it stops in front of you.

The beast nuzzles against your palm until your stroke it’s fur, Hermione grinning, as she watches you interact with your Patronus, after trying so hard to get it to form.  

“You’ve done it.” She whispers and you smile.  

The massive wolf leaves you and prances to Hermione, nudging her hand with its nose until she strokes its head, the wolf licking her palm.

You huff.  

“You like her more than me?” You ask, the wolf yipping as it vanishes in thin air.

“Blimey, what’s a wolf mean?!” Ron whispers to Harry, the two boys smiling when you launch yourself at Hermione, the two of you grinning, arms wrapped tightly around one another.  

“Strength. Loyalty.” Luna whispers.  

Meanwhile, Hermione squeezes you tightly.  

“I knew you could do it.”  

You grin.  

“I just had to make my own happy memories, memories I made with you.”  

The two of you reluctantly part, your eyes widening when you realize the two of you are rather close to one another, your noses inches apart.  

You blink slowly, your cheeks flushed bright red.  

“Uh...”  

Hermione’s cheeks mirror your own, the two of you abruptly turning away from one another, both nervously fidgeting.  

“Th-Thanks Mione, I couldn’t have done it without you, li-literally.” You stutter, shuffling nervously from foot to foot.  

Harry claps his hands suddenly, the boy grinning.  

“I think that’s a perfect way to end practice, see you all Friday night.”  

The DA’s members slowly make their way out of the room, stopping to congratulate you until it’s just you, Ron, Harry and Hermione.  

“That was absolutely brilliant mate.” Ron says as he claps your shoulder,  

“Fantastic.”  

Harry glances at Hermione out of the corner of his eye, his blue orbs narrowing when he sees the look of nervousness on Hermione’s face.  

Harry gives his best friend a pat on the back.  

“We should get back to the common room, mate.”

Ron nods, turning to you and Hermione.  

“You coming?” He asks, though before you can answer, Hermione does.  

“Actually, I’d like a moment alone with Y/N.”  

The boy’s wave, taking their leave moments later, but not before Harry can send his old friend a wink, the girl sending him a glare.  

The Room of Requirement’s door bangs shut, leaving you and Hermione alone for the first time all day.  

“I can’t thank you enough Mione, I-” You stop midsentence when you see her nervously fidgeting.

Hermione’s gaze drops to the floor as you move closer, the girl’s eyes fluttering shut.  

You weren’t used to seeing her so nervous around you, she’d typically been much like the books she was so fond of reading, and that was entirely open.  

“Hermione... Whatever it is, we can-

You again fall silent, though this time it’s because Hermione’s brown orbs have finally locked with yours.  

“Li-Listen...” She swallows hard, wringing her fingers nervously.  

“I’ve never been good when it comes to relationships, I’ve never really BEEN in a relationship, I mean I talked to Victor Krum, but that doesn’t matter, we never dated, we-

Hermione rambles on, her hands flailing wildly.  

“I’ve... I’ve never felt this way about, about a girl and I just-

You tune out, your eyes widening and cheeks flushing.  

Hermione meanwhile is still rambling on, jumping from topic to topic.  

“I just- I really like you and I- I'm not used to things like this, like I said I’ve never-

Hermione stills, brown orbs wide and hands frozen in mid-air as your lips brush hers, the touch delicate, as well as hesitant.  

You pull back, your eyes flying open in fear.  

Hermione meanwhile, is standing stock still, mouth agape and brown orbs wide. 

She'd never expected a kiss to feel like yours had, yes, she’d been kissed before, but the tender caress of your lips was far more than a kiss from a boy could EVER be.  

“Have I rendered Hermione Granger speechless?” You ask nervously, pulling Hermione out of her trance.  

She opens and closes her mouth a few times, attempting to find her voice, though the thing that leaves her mouth when she finally DOES find her voice makes you laugh.  

“Bloody hell.”  

You bark out a laugh, your lips splitting into a grin.  

Hermione’s cheeks flush.  

“Forgive me for not knowing how to reply after a rather significant kiss.” She shakes her head and your brows arch.  

You hum, eye glinting with hope.  

“Significant?” You ask, the girl’s cheek flushing even a darker shade of red.  

“Co-Consequential, I-I've never felt like th-that after  a kiss.” She stutters and you swallow, your tongue swiping at your lips.  

“Wo-Would you be interested in...”

You shuffle from foot to foot. 

“Another significant, consequential kiss?” You ask, nonchalantly.  

Hermione bites her bottom lip to stave off a smile, the woman swallowing hard.  

“I-I would be rather interested.” She giggles, the Gryffindor's gaze falling to your lips.  

This time, Hermione meets you halfway, the girl cupping your cheeks as your lips meet, your hands finding purchase on her waist.  

A bright light causes the two of you to pull apart, your eyes widening when you see your Patronus happily bounding around the two of you.  

Hermione grins as the wolf slips between the two of you.  

“Another happy memory?” She asks and you smile.  

“Any memory I make with you is a happy one.”  

Your lips meet again, with no sense of hesitation from either of you, your lips melding together.  

Your wolf disappears as the two of you part, Hermione’s forehead resting against yours.  

“What do you think about making more together?”  

[idesofrevolution]

Okay: Bad Boy Musky Transformation it is. Enjoy!

I knew, of course, that Marco sold whatever the degenerates in the neighborhood needed. Weed, Acid, Ecstasy, Shrooms, Coke... take out the hard ones and you have his menu. He always seemed to afford the good things in life with his dark money. Two weeks ago he’d bought a Ducati; a week prior it was a 60 inch TV! God knows it wasn’t from dutiful employment, but I knew damn well just what it was that afforded him these luxuries: whatever could be inhaled, snorted, or smoked. And yet, here I was, working two jobs at McDonalds & Popeyes just trying to afford my garbage studio apartment. 

He’d only ever been kind to me, I’ll admit. He’d bring by a pizza he said he couldn’t finish, or his old speakers he’d upgraded. Nice guy, if a bit dim. Always out in the courtyard, laying by the pool with his shirt off. Always surrounded by other guys who’d slip him a hundred. It’s not fair! Four years of college and what did I have to show for it? Student loans and no job prospects. Yet there he was: no trade, no job, no future really; but living like a king. So it was one day where I’ll fully admit that my jealousy overwhelmed me. 

I was short that month, for the first time mind you. Short only by a hundred dollars for rent, but I had already gotten a notice on my door. Pay tomorrow or get lost. It was this desperation that made me remember every deal that thug made, every 8-ball, every eighth, every pill... Would he really notice a hundred missing from his pile? I knew for a fact that every Wednesday night, precisely at 10, Marco would leave for the hookah club and not return until 4 or 5 at the earliest. I knew he locked his door, a few locks actually, but I also knew that the moron left his window cracked nearly every night. It just so happened that on that particular evening, he did just that. 

In that fleeting moment of curiosity, a plan built up in my head. I watched him loudly slam his door, lock his several locks, and saunter out down the stairs. I waited about five minutes before creeping out of my apartment, careful to watch for other prying eyes. I had to be quick. I made a run for it, bolting to his open window on the balcony. It slid open quite easily, and I heaved myself over the ledge and into Marco’s dark apartment. I landed on the ratty old carpet and quickly shut the window. Looking around the apartment, it was a three bedroom for sure. In the same state of disrepair as mine, but furnished with some of the most expensive, gaudy things I’ve ever seen. Brand new leather couches, a coffee table made completely of glass, a massive stereo system next to his 60 inch TV... An absolute manchild lived here.

However, I wasn’t there for the TV or the oversized sectional. I had a sneaking suspicion that he, like many of us, kept his extra money somewhere in the bedroom. Ensuring that no noise would come from my steps, I snuck quietly down the hall, covered in paintings of scantily clad men toward the bedroom. Interesting, he swung that way, huh? Opening the door, a wafting stink hit me in the face. The room was covered in dirty laundry, used condoms, half rolled  blunts, and lines of coke on nearly every surface. This is what I was expecting, and I was surely right. Holding my nose shut, I crept toward his dresser, and began to ruffle through his belongings. Damp socks, damp underwear, damp lycra, everything in there was damp and reeking. I slammed each of the drawers shut, and opened the closet. There, on the tile floor behind rows of pristine sneakers were a pair of destroyed old Vans; and inside each were rolls of hundred dollar bills. Jackpot. I knelt down and grabbed one of the rolls, momentarily unclamping my nose to remove the rubber band. The smell was unbelievable. It took me aback, just how strong it was. I’m sure each of the pairs of Huaraches, AF1′s, and the like had strong scents of their own, but from this single pair of beat up old Vans was the most salty, sweet, almost cheesy footmusk that I’d ever encountered.

For a mere second, I contemplated bringing one of the shoes to my face, letting the dirty, wet insole touch the tip of my nose. However, it was in that second that I should have just left well enough alone. The lightswitch flipped on, and looming over me was the hulking, shirtless Marco. In my right hand was his wad of cash, in the left was his grody sneaker. My face flushed, and my stomach dropped to my toes. He crossed his arms and smiled.

“If you wanted a loan you could have just asked...” Words were caught in the back of my throat. I wanted so terribly to make up some fantastic excuse as to my presence in his closet, but the frog in my throat had other ideas. The growing grin of Marco, paired with him beginning to kneel down to my level made my heart nearly stop beating. “And if you wanted a sniff I’d have given it to you.” He smirked and slowly pulled the shoe from my hand, taking a quick whiff of it’s stench. He turned quickly and laughed, waving the wafting scent away from his face before grabbing the back of my head and plunging it right into the shoe. “Okay, deep breath now.”

I tried to struggle, to fight back, but the man was nearly twice my size and pure muscle. There was no chance of me weaseling my way out of this. I had to just play along with this weird fetish that he seemed to have. I inhaled a quick breath, barely getting any stink. 

“No, no. I said deep breath.” I felt a strong hand shoot to my crotch, grabbing my junk within my jeans. The shock of this invasive gesture broke my concentration, and a gasp of breath escaped from my mouth. Into my nose, my mouth, my sinuses, my brain did the musk penetrate. I moaned loudly, the confusion of a powerful grope and a powerful scent submerged me into a strange state of consciousness. Or rather, a lack thereof. I was inhaling the footsmell like air, and I couldn’t get enough. My cock began to tent in my pants, and I felt my right hand drop the roll of cash I thought I so desperately needed. “Ahh, haha. That’s right, let it in. Let me in.” 

His voice seemed distorted, as if we were in a deep cavern, it echoed in my skull. He removed the shoe from my face, pulling me to my feet by my bulging groin. Guiding me toward his bed, I sat down on the smelly sheets, no longer in complete control of my faculties.

“Take your clothes off.” His words entered my ears like soft velvet, it felt wrong to disobey. In fact, I wanted to obey. For the first time, I wanted to listen to whatever this man told me to do. His bulging muscles, his plump lips, the way his crooked smile felt so dangerously mischievous, the way his smell took my breath away like a vacuum. For the first time, this man was everything I wanted. I ripped my clothes off and lay there on his bed wearing nothing but my bare, cold skin. Smiling, he took hold of my throbbing, upright cock in his rough hand. Ripples of goosebumps ran up and down my body as he slowly ran his calloused hand up and down my shaft. Each stroke allowed a groan or a moan to sneak out of my lips, before he leaned down atop me and planted a soft kiss onto my lips. He tasted like an ashtray and as his tongue slipped into my mouth, rolling atop my own, I could feel some of his taste transfer to me. I can’t explain it, as we kissed I could feel that taste of cigarettes and blunts seep into my tongue. I pulled his pants down, his thick, uncut cock tumbling out of his compression shorts onto my stomach. He smiled as he pulled away from the kiss. I stuck my finger under his foreskin, swiping it around, and brought it to my lips. It tasted like ripe, sweaty cock, and I began to crave it. “Oh yeah, babe you’re a keeper.”

He jumped up, and pulled me toward the edge of the bed. I got a perfect frontal view of his gorgeous cock and saggy balls, his virile and manly smell kept pouring into my nose and into the depths of my mind. He grabbed me by the back of my hair and pulled my eager mouth forward, engulfing his slick, smelly cock. I suckled, my loud slurping seeming making him even hornier. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him fiddling with something just out of view. As he thrust down my throat, I realized just what it was that he had. His used condom, I presume from whatever sexy fuck occurred the night prior, was in his hands. I closed my eyes as I felt its rubbery walls close tightly around the tip of my cock, slickly sliding down my shaft until his cold, creamy load touched my slit. With a loud snap, I looked down and saw his thick white cum completely enveloping my cockhead. I only got a quick glance before he’d pulled out of my mouth, replacing his succulent cock with my now favorite smelly shoe. I licked the sole, letting the thick toejam season my ashy tongue as the musk thrust into my nose once more. 

I knew what was coming, and I was prepared when I felt that slippery cock slip like butter into my tight hole. He’d grabbed my cock, covered in his seed, and jerked in tandem with his thrusts into my ass. Sensory overload. His smell, his seed, his cock, his taste, the very sight of him... It was all him. He was marking me. I was his property, and I was glad to oblige. Every single hard smack against my ass cheeks, every stinking waft into my brain, every breath of his smoky breath coming out of my mouth... It was too much! He fucked like a madman, stroking my cock into his slime until I felt a strange tingling in my cockhead. It was a slick, penetrating sensation of his seed... slurping into my slit! I was nearly screaming as I felt it sink deep down my shaft, into my engorging balls. It was stewing, brewing inside my growing sack! I heard him howl as he unloaded his fresher load into me. 

I felt his cock within me shooting spurt after spurt... going from ounces to gallons very quickly. His cum spread throughout my body like water into a balloon. I could feel the silky liquid beneath my skin, creeping, inflating every part of my body. It seeped up my throat, into my mouth, behind my very eyes into my brain. The pressure grew as I felt growth, I felt strength, I felt different. My body was gelatinous beneath my skin, before slowly firming into a much larger form. An improved form. I pulled Marco’s shoe from my face, and looked at my changing body. The cum kept flowing as I saw my muscled arms, my bulging abs, a grotesquely inflated ballsack... He leaned down and kissed me again, giving me another much needed taste of his addictive taste. My brain was melting, reforming, changing... Things were fuzzy and blurred before it was my turn to blow my load. In it, was who I used to be, my failures, my strife, my worries and obligations... Flowed like a jet out of my cock into his condom. Cum flowed out of the top of the condom, before Marco ripped it from me, letting the hot juices pool between us. 

“Lookin’ good, babe.” He smiled at me, and I looked at the man I loved with a smirk. Yeah, I sure fuckin’ do look good. We laid there all night long, fucking and kissing and sniffing and tasting... By the time the sun came up, I was in his clothes, I reeked of his sweaty manly musk, I was wearing my favorite pair of red Vans, and I was readying an 8-ball for pickup later that morning (after a few lines for me and the boyfriend). I kicked back and lit a cigarette, enjoying the laid back life I’d come to love with my man.

It’s a love story. How touching. So let me know what you think. Give me some anons on your opinions! Also, toss a few quid into the tip jar and I’d be eternally grateful <3 <3

[fluffywings13]

Fulfilling Needs

Midoriya doesn’t take well to Hawks having to leave for an undetermined amount of time, he mopes, the entire time, which is considerably understandable, the hero and their classmate are basically attached at the hip, where their friend was, the number three hero wasn’t far behind. They were equally attached to each other. No one was sure if it was a healthy attachment or not, but it made them both happy, and everyone wanted them to be happy.

So, that being said, no one bats an eye when the door’s slammed open and Hawks is just suddenly there, grinning like a madman, and they turn to watch Midoriya, half way down the stairs, pause, eyes wide, like a deer in headlights. “Eyas,” their friend backs up a step. “I have needs!”

The teen’s eyes widen ever so slightly, a bit more, and he turns on his heel. “Oh shit!”

They turn to watch the hero, who laughs maniacally, as he chases after their classmate.

Then they turn back to what they’d been doing.

…

Izuku shrieks when he’s snagged up around the waist, Keigo laughs at his vain attempt at escape, and steps into his dorm room, kicking the door closed behind them. He kicks his boots off and carries him over to his bed before tossing him down and flopping down on top of him, making the teen groan dramatically, and the hero huff in indignation.

“I’ve been thinking about this all week long!” The greenette squeaks when arms curl around his head and his face is smooshed into the man’s chest. “I missed you!”

His voice is muffled by the man’s chest. “I missed you too, Kei.”

He can feel the man’s grin. “You know what I’m gonna do to you now?”

“Umm,” please god let the man be in a merciful mood. “Get off me?”

“Nope!” Sometimes Izuku wonders who’s the adult and who’s the kid in this relationship and smiles when the man leans in close to his ear, whispering softly. “I’m gonna work my way from top to bottom.”

“Kehehei!” Okay, he’s giggling now, he knows what’s about to happen. “Plehehease Nohoho!”

The hero rises to his elbows, grinning down at him a grin that’s an indication of nothing good, and shrieks with giggles when something sharp, pointed, scratches lightly behind his ears, shaking his head frantically. “I’m gonna start with these ears and slowly but surely make my way down.”

Izuku shrieks, not having the time to spare to feel embarrassed about the high pitched shrieky giggles he’s producing, not that he’d need to, Keigo’s heard them frequently in the past. “Eehehehehheehe nohohohoho! Kehehehehei nohohoho! Pleheheheheease!” He presses his chin to his chest, shrieking softly, when the man moves down to scratch his talons under his chin.

“Look at this adorable giggly hatchling, just look at’em! Ain’t he a cutie! Just listen to those adorable giggles!” The teen raises his shoulders and shrieks when the man scratches all five talons over the sides of his neck lightly. “Let me hear’em, give me those adorable giggles, give’em to me!”

“Kehehehehheei Kehehehehheei stohohohop! Ihihihi cahahahaan’t tahahahahake ihihihiit! Ihihihit’s sohohoho bahahhahahad!”

He knows he made a mistake when the hero grins down at him. “You know what’s so much worse?”

The teenager shrieks and shakes his head frantically. “Nohoho! Keheehehhei nohohohoo! Plehehehehehease nohhohohoho! Nohohohot thahahahahat!” The hero slowly leans over and he curls up his shoulder, shrieking when Keigo pulls it down, shaking his head frantically when the man hovers just over the side of his neck and blows lightly. “Kehehehehei pleheheheheease! Nohhohohoho! Pleehehehehheheease! Kehehehehheheei nohhohohoho!”

Keigo chuckles softly. “Kei, yes.” And buries his face in the side of the teen’s neck.

Izuku squeals brightly, trying to scrunch up even with the man burrowing in the side of his neck, not taking into consideration the fact that he’s only trapping him there. He inhales when the man inhales and shakes his head as best as he can. “Kei! No! Nononono!” Screaming when he blows a long hard raspberry and shrieks when he takes another deep breath. “Kehehehei nohhohohoho!” And squeals when he blows another long hard raspberry. “Eeeieiaeiaaiahahahahahahhahahaa Kehehehehhehei nohohohot thohohohose!” He screams, finally reaching up to push at the man’s chest, his brain somewhat starting to work, when he takes another deep breath. “Keheheheheei nohohohoo! Hohohohold iihihihihit! Dohohohon’t!” The teen squeals loudly when he blows a third long hard raspberry into the side of his neck, scrunching up, he hisses and laughs when he starts pressing in kisses.

Had he known the man was this torturous, he probably wouldn’t have sought him out, but on the other hand, Keigo did provide amazing cuddles, he was strong and warm and his wings were so soft when he wrapped them around you, okay, he would have, he digresses. He’d put up with his sadistic torturous side for the cuddles, even trade off, even so, it was kind of fun too.

He breaths a giggly sigh of relief when the hero finally pulls away from his neck, but knew it was too premature, when he leaned over to the other side. “We can’t forget this side, can we?”

Izuku shakes his head and scrunches his shoulder up tightly, blocking the access to his neck, he’ll fight back as much as he can in this precarious position, even if the hero is bigger and stronger, that doesn’t mean he won’t go out fighting. A soft fond chuckle reverberates next to his ear. “Open up, nestling, it’s gonna happen.” The teen shakes his head again, giggling breathy giggles, he’s not moving his shoulder for the life of him. “Open up, I’m coming in one way or another, make this easier on yourself.” He shakes his head again, looking to the side with bright emerald eyes, staring at the torturous hero silently, save for his giggling, of course. He shrieks when a finger worms it’s way up under his arm and wiggles in, throwing his arm back down to protect that spot, he opens his neck up, by the time he realizes his mistake, there’s a face burrowing inside. The light stubble on the hero’s face rubs in agonizingly against his neck, he shrieks when teeth nibble at the side of his neck, shaking his head, tilting his head over to the side as much as he can, shrieking again when Keigo growls playfully and shakes his head, nibbling at his neck again. “Pfff baaahahhahahahahahahhahahaaa! Kehehehehehei stohohohop! STOP! Stohohhohohop ihihihihit! Ihihihihit tihihihickles! Ihihihit tihihihihickles!”

“I know it does, little hatchling, that’s why I’m doing it.”

He shrieks and squeals when he nibbles on his neck playfully, rubbing the stubble on his chin into his ticklish neck, and then he takes a deep breath and blows the first raspberry. Izuku screams, it echoes in the man’s ear slightly, scrunching his shoulder up as much as he can with someone buried in his neck. “EIEIEIAAIAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAA!” He tilts his head away from him as much as he can, leaning to the side, and jumps back when fingers reach down to wiggle in his side. “Come back here you, I’m not done with you yet.” The teen jumps back into place, the hero blows another raspberry into the side of his neck, and he squeals.

Keigo pulls away and he immediately raises his shoulder, scrunching back up, protecting his neck, just in case, the man is a wild card, you never know what he’s going to do, and giggles wildly at the remaining tingles running over the side of his neck. “I think you blew my eardrum out, hatchling.”

“You were being an asshole! You deserved it!”

“Oh really,” he wiggles a single finger in both of the nestling’s sides, and the boy giggles brightly, squirming slightly from side to side, but the fingers follow, he’s not managing to get away. “I deserved to have my eardrum blown out by a hatchlings, admittedly, adorable squeal?” Izuku nods, swiping at his fingers, he goes undeterred and drills his thumbs into the slight chub on his lower sides, the hero student shrieks and arches his back. “I was gonna let you go, because I was kind of an asshole on your neck there, but then you said I deserved having my eardrum blown out, so now you’re reallyin for it, no more Mr. Nice Guy for you. You want me to be an asshole, oh, fledgling, I’ll be an asshole.” He reaches over to spider ten fingers up the greenette’s right side, and he shrieks, arching to the left, and the fingers jump over to the left side, and they repeat the process time and time again, until he’s laughing brightly and bouncing from side to side, it’s amusing the hero immensely.

Keigo’s a sadist like that.

He will never say that out loud to his face. Ever.

The hero holds his one side stead as he spiders his fingers up and down the other side, it drives the teen crazy, his laughter picking up, shrieking at the steady torture. “How’s this for you, how’d you like that, that’s right, laugh it up baby bird, let me hear it.” He switches sides and laughs softly when the teen tries to jump away and finds himself trapped by the arm on his other side. Izuku shakes his head as he arches his back. “Noohohohohoo! Ihihihihihi tahahahahahake ihihihiit baahahahahahahack! Yohohohou’re nohohohot ahahahahan ahahahahhaasshole! Ihihihit tihihihickles! Keehehehehehei ihihihit tihihihickles!”

“It tickles, huh, if you think this is bad, just wait until I get to that tummy, I got lots in store for it.” Izuku shrieks at the promise, and when the hero slowly slides down to hover over his aforementioned tummy, tapping his fingers over it lightly. “Speaking of which, I think it’s time, don’t you?”

“Nohoho! Nohhohohot thehehehehere! Nohohohot thehehehehehe beheheheheelly! Plehehehehease!”

“Ohohoho.” Keigo shakes his head lightly. “You know I can’t not get the tummy, that’s like, the worst sin of all sins.” Izuku shakes his head when the hero slowly pushes his shirt up. “I need access to the tummy to enact my revenge for you blowing my eardrum out.” He stares when the man holds up a finger. “All I need is a finger to break you, just one, you’re stuck at my mercy, have I ever been truly merciful?” The teen shakes his head, because no, the hero is not merciful, he knows from first hand experience. “Watch what I can do with just a single finger.” He pokes his finger in the greenette’s belly button, and the young teen squeals, brighter and louder then before, twisting from side to side, squealing with laughter at the finger wiggling in his belly button. “That’s right, I could stay here for as long as I want, and there’s absolutely nothing you could do to stop me, is there, no there’s not. You take your punishment, nestling, and hope I have mercy on you eventually.”

Izuku’s eyes widen when the man grins, and he knows, he just knows what he’s gonna say. “Let’s play a game.” The hero pulls his finger out of his belly button. “You wanna play a game?”

He shakes his head frantically. “N—Nohoho! I dohoho not!”

“Well, it’s a good thing it was a metaphorical question, because we’re gonna play a game.” Keigo reaches back for a feather. “As a pro, it’s my job to help teach and guide the young little baby heroes in training, and as your honorary best big brother slash daddy figure, it’s my job to help teach you personally, so we’re gonna work on your endurance training.” Izuku’s not phased, he calls it endurance training, but it’s really just an excuse to tickle torture his belly because it’s his worst spot and the man knows that it is. “I’m gonna do everything and anything I want to this tummy, bar raspberries, and if you suck in your tummy, I’m gonna blow two raspberries over your belly button.”

The teen giggles at the thought of it, they’ve done this before, he knows how cruel the hero can be. “What do I get if I win?”

“Hmm,” Keigo hums thoughtfully. “So, I have a new limited edition converse line coming out, hasn’t been released yet, not intended to until the end of next month, if you succeed in not sucking your tummy in until I’m done with it, I’ll let you pick which ones you want before they’re released.”

Izuku thinks it over, he usually gets Keigo’s merch before it’s released in stores, they’re close like that, and he’ll undoubtedly get the hightops either way, again, Keigo loves him just that much and strives to make him happy.

In turn he provides the man unlimited cuddles, win-win, in his book.

The cuddles are an added bonus too, he’s not gonna lie.

He’s also seen the designs for the converse sneakers he’s talking about and knows which ones he’d like to get his hands on, despite also knowing he’s going to get them either way, for free, Keigo gives him merch when he wants it, especially if it’s his own, and hasn’t been released yet, so in all reality he doesn’t have to agree to this game.

But, on the same hand, Keigo’s been busy with new sidekicks and missions and they haven’t really gotten to be together in a little over a month and a half, and, despite how brutal the man was to his belly when it came to this game, it was fun to play.

So, he grins and nods. “Deal.”

“Awesome.” The man smiles down at his belly. “I’ve been waiting to get my fingers on this tummy for the longest time.” He giggles as the hero hovers his wiggling fingers over his bare belly. “Is this tummy ready?” The hero asks playfully, smiling at the wild giggles that echo around the room, the young teenager watching his fingers with apt attention. “I’ve got lost time to make up for, so I hope this belly is prepared, it’s really in for it.”

“Keehehehehehei!” Izuku feels a tad bit regretful now, the teasing makes it so much worse, Keigo knows this, he knows this, and he knows the man knows he knows this. “Nohohohoho!”

Sometimes he says no, but he doesn’t really mean it, he’d never admit it out loud to a single living soul, but sometimes he likes playing these games, especially with his hero, he knows Keigo knows it too, he doesn’t have to say it, the signs are easily picked up on, so they have a word, when he’s really had enough, he says the word, and the hero stops, the winged man is torturous, but he’s not cruel, he knows the boundaries and he respect’s them.

Izuku giggles harder when the wiggling fingers dip down towards his belly, resisting the urge to throw his hands down with great difficulty, kicking his feet as best as he can. “I’m gonna give this tummy all the love it missed out on during my time away.”

His fingers pause in their wiggling, and the heroling’s bright green eyes flit up to meet his, and he smiles playfully. “Let’s get started.” Izuku squeals when those fingers suddenly dig into his belly, wiggling circles of tickles around and around, painting a path of playful destruction in their wake. He shrieks with laughter, throwing his hands down, and the hero laughs. “Remember, you suck in your tummy, you get two raspberries over that little button.” He shakes his head, Keigo knows how to play this game, and he knows how to play it well. “Do you remember the raspberries?” He leans over him slightly, resting his fingers along his sides. “Do you need me to remind you about them?”

“No! Nohohoo! I reheheheemember!”

Keigo grins. “I think I should show you.”

“Youhuhu dohohon’t neheheheed tohohoho!”

“Well,” he smiles lightly. “Let’s just as this tummy what it thinks.” The hero leans over him, looking down at his belly, hovering just above his belly button. “Tummy, do you need a demonstration on the matter that is raspberries?” He turns his head slightly, pressing his ear over the kid’s belly, humming as though words were being exchanged. “I see, I do, I would be delighted to.” He pulls away slightly, turning to look him in the eyes, that playful light gleams in the hero's eyes, he missed that light. "Your belly seems to think it needs reminded."

"It's lyhyhying!"

"Tummies never lie."

"It ihihis! It is!"

"Now, nestling, I think I would know if tummies lie." He looms back out over his belly. "Let me oblige this tummy’s wishes."

"No! No, Kei! Stay away! Not those! Not berries! Don't do it! Dohohon't dohohoho ihihihit!"

The hero takes a deep breath, bending over him, and lowers his head down, pressing his lips over his belly button, and rests there. The boy squeals softly, kicking his legs again, sucking in his belly as much as he can. Keigo chuckles, releasing his big breath, and rubs his nose over the small belly button. "You just really want those berries, don't you?"

"Nohoho! Nohohot beheheherries! Hahahahhahahaahahahaha! Plehehehhehease!"

He takes another deep breath and presses in deeper than before, this time he knows it's coming, and Izuku tries to prepare himself for it.

He can't.

"EEIEIAIAHAAHHAHAHAHAHHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHAHA! NO! NOHOHOHO EEIEIIAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA AHAHAHHAHAHAHAAHA! KEI KEHEHEHEEI EEAIAIAIAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA NOT THOSE EEIEIAIAAHAAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA! NO MORE AHAHAHAHAHEEIEEIEIAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAA NOHOHO MOOHHOHOHOORE! EEIIEIEAHAHAHHAHHAHA AHAHHAHAAHAHHA HOLD IT HOHOHOHOLD IIIEIEIEIIEEHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHA HAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAA!"

"Do you remember what berries are now, little tummy?" He laughs freely as the hero presses his ear back over his belly, nodding along mockingly, and gives a soft hum. "Of course, I can show you one more time."

"No! NO! Kei! Get away! Not those! Not berries! Please!"

"I'm sorry, Zu, I'm only doing what this tummy wants."

"Nohhohoho!" Izuku tenses when he feels the hero press his lips back over his belly button, holding onto a massive breath. "EIEIEIAAIAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA KEI NO EEIEIEIIEAIAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! IT KNOWS IT KNOWS EEEIEIEIIEAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA HAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA EIEIIEAIHAAHAHHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHA IT KNOWS!"

"Are you sure?"

"I'M SURE! I'M REALLY SURE!"

"Alright, if you're sure." Keigo sits back up again and smiles down at him. "I just wanted to be sure, I mean, your tummy did ask me to show it again." He holds two fingers out over his belly. "Now, remember, you suck in that tummy, you get two raspberries."

The young hero in training nods quickly, vowing not to suck in his belly, no matter what sort of torture may be laid upon him.

"Good boy." He pokes his two fingers all over his belly, in random places, there is no way for him to map out any sort of pattern. "You're doing better than I thought you would." He does giggle too, shimmying from side to side, as much as his binds will allow, watching those two fingers closely with his bright violet eyes. "Now, for the true test." He raises a single finger for him to see, and he stares at it intently, watching as that finger turns, pointing down at him, and slowly begins to lower. He falls still when the finger pokes into his belly button, standing there, the hero staring up at him as though waiting for his reaction.

He shrieks when the finger starts to wiggle, and he can't help it, he tells himself not to, he orders himself to hold it back, but it happens, and he sucks in his belly.

"Oh, ho, ho, I knew that would work!" Keigo leans over him, resting his hand on his other side, curling his fingers around his side to keep him from squirming away. "Time for your berries."

"No!"

"Yes!" He takes a deep breath and rushes down, pressing his face into his belly, and blows a massive raspberry over his belly button.

Izuku throws his head back with a bright squeal of laughter. "EEIIEIAIAAAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAA I'M SORRY EEEIEIIEAIIAAHIAHAHAHHAHAHHAHHAHAHA IT WAS A MISTAKE EEIEIAIAHAHAHAHAHHAHAA HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAA! WAIT WAIT EEIEIIEAIAIHAAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAA YOU ONLY SAID TWO EEIIEIEAIAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA! KEIII EEIEIEIAIAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHHA YOU SAID TWO EEIEIEIAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!"

"I know," Keigo straightens, poking him playfully in the side, smiling as he giggles breathlessly. "But, you're just so darn cute, I can't help myself."

"I'm cuhuhute?"

He nods, smiling when the teen giggles, as he wiggles his index fingers on either side of his belly button. "Adorable."

[jetsam-kisa]

Michiko vs Jetsam

Whew! This is done! I got carried away so I am very sorry for the length :’D

Michiko’s mod and I had some fun talking about our characters and especially the gear Michi is developing!

Unfortunately they were very busy this week, but I was more than happy to write the fight results :D 

CW: emetophobia // there is a brief scene describing vomit semi-graphically

The roar of the crowd echoed through the stadium as Jetsam Kisa and Michiko Watanabe entered the battle arena. Both of the students walked to their side of the arena with a sense of purpose, even if they were nervous wrecks on the inside. Once they took their proper starting positions, the two contestants smiled weakly at each other as the announcer called out their names and the people in the crowd cheered for the next fight. 

‘I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out,’ Jetsam thought as he gnawed on his lips in anticipation, ‘That or throw up. Oh god I hope I don’t throw up in the middle of the match. Everyone here is watching. God, my parents are watching,’ Thick, heavy plums of smoke rolled out of his mouth the more frantic his thoughts became, until they nearly completely cloaked his figure, ‘I think I saw Best Jeanist in the stands too! He’s not going to want to associate with the kid who threw up during his first match. What am I doing here? What am I even going to do-?” 

Jetsam was snapped out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts by movement in his periphery; Michiko gently waved her hands at him and gave him a broader smile, despite clearly being nervous herself (if the crease in her brow was any clue to her emotional state).

“Let’s both do our best during this fight, Kisa-kun!” Michiko called out from her side of the arena, before her gaze hardened with a resolve she often reserved for studying the most complex of quirks, “Although, I hope you know that I will not be taking it easy on you. I need to see how far I can go, and to learn about the extent of my current abilities.”

Seeing Michiko’s determination and hearing her will to succeed was like a salve to Jetsam’s shot nerves. He took a deep breath, then released the pent up smog. The smoke surrounding his body partially dissipated too. It was almost a shame how well Michiko’s words calmed him down; he would be better off easily producing the pollutants that came with high stress. Jetsam briefly wondered if her kindness was double-edged in a way; was it a strategic way to prevent him from building up his quirk before the match? He shook the thought out of his head before yelling back to her:

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Miss Michi!”

He could only hope that his grin masked the nerves that were still rolling in his stomach. He knew Michiko; knew her quirk. It could only be activated by physical contact, so as long as he kept his distance he should be okay. 

‘Although,’ Jetsam thought as he gazed at the chain-like device at Michiko’s hip, ‘that capture chain she’s been developing could be difficult to beat. I’ve never seen what it actually does before.’

All too quickly, the announcer began their countdown: “3...2...1...BEGIN!”

---------

As soon as the bell rang, Michiko shot forward, arm extended, with a single-minded determination to do one thing and one thing only: get to Jetsam before he could gain control of the battlefield with his quirk. If she could grab a hold onto him before his smogs and tars and other (frankly, gross) expellents became too overwhelming, then she could nullify his quirk with her own, and use her capture device to prevent him from continuing the fight.

Jetsam must have realized her plans, and had just enough time to dodge out of her range, smog spewing out of his mouth now that his adrenaline was no doubt pumping again. Not to be deterred, Michiko quickly shifted her balance and dove after him again, careful not to let him hide behind the pillars of smoke he was creating. 

‘He’s not going to make this easy for me, but I have been preparing for this occasion for too long to let this game of tag keep me from winning!’ She thought to herself, resolve growing with every inch closer she got to Jetsam, ‘He can’t avoid me forever, and I have a secret weapon I’ve been dying to beta test!’

After a few more moments of chasing after Jetsam, Michiko took a gamble and let him escape to the sanctuary of smog he created across the arena. She knew she had to be quick, but some risks had to be taken to assure victory! She knew that she had the power within her to win.

He wouldn’t be able to outrun her prototype, after all!

--------

‘Phew, I think I finally managed to shake her,’ Jetsam sighed with relief, dark smog still escaping his mouth and obscuring his figure to the crowd (and hopefully Michiko as well). ‘Now I have a moment to breathe. Hah, figuratively, at least.’

He made sure to keep his eye on the clear silhouette of Michiko he could make out through his smog, never before more grateful for his mom’s sight-related quirk partially making its way to him. She seemed to be standing still, perhaps strategizing her own plan to catch him and throw him out of the arena? He hoped the smoke wasn’t making her feel too sick. He had to be quick.  

‘I can probably end the battle if I cover her in tar and stop her movement. It might be unpleasant but it’d be safer than trying to beat her in hand-to-hand or some other physical contest. I haven’t been training with Tsumi for too long, after all. Yeah okay, that’s the plan!’

Just as he was about to produce the sticky tars necessary to carry out his plan, a thin silhouette darted out from Michi’s figure, slithering across the arena at a speed too quick for Jetsam to react to.

As a cold, thin figure coiled itself tightly around him, the only thought sparking across Jetsam’s brain was:

“Michiko brought a snake?”

-----

‘Bingo!’ Michiko exclaimed to herself as Jetsam’s no-doubt unconscious shout revealed not only his location, but the fact that her capture device had worked perfectly as intended.

While it still had quite a few bugs to sort out, one of the most recently added features was a heat-seeking tracker that would allow the machine to chase after targets even under adverse visible conditions. 

She cocked her head towards the direction of Jetsam’s quick yell of distress; she couldn’t get complacent. The capture device was only half the battle! She had to guarantee that Jetsam couldn’t continue the fight in order to assure her victory! 

She couldn’t just blindly run through the smokescreen either; who knows what kinds of traps he could have placed while she set up her capture device. No. She had to be methodical, and safely make her way to Jetsam’s location while he was encumbered. 

The smog was thick, but now she had her goal within sight: grapple Jetsam and nullify his quirk, thus ending the match.

-----

Okay, so it wasn’t a snake, but it was still bad news! Jetsam’s arms were completely pinned by the robotic device wrapped around his torso. So this was the work of the capture device that Michiko had worked so hard on? Jetsam had to admit that it was effective. He couldn’t fight with his limbs restrained like this, and that shout he gave out completely alerted Michiko to his location.

‘So this is it. The fight’s over, and I spent the whole time running away and cowering in the corner. Everyone is watching. Everyone saw. Everyone will know I’m just a big failure who doesn’t deserve to be here. Oh god what if Sato-sensei kicks me out of the hero course? What if they kick me out of the school?? What if everyone laughs and ignores me and hates me OH GOD-’ 

As the panicked thoughts swirled in Jetsam’s mind a pit formed in his stomach. A pit that rapidly expanded into a big, black ball of anxiety and nerves. He could almost picture it in his mind’s eye: an ugly, bloated orb dripping with heat and stress and bile. The more he envisioned it the more it grew until he could almost feel it spilling out of his mouth like a slick oil spill across his lips and---oh wait.

It wasn’t in his mind’s eye.

Jetsam groaned to himself as gushing rivets of slippery, rubbery oil spewed from his mouth all down the front of his body. 

“Well this is perfect!” Jetsam exclaimed to himself, although it was muffled by the sheer volume of oil that expelled out of him as he spoke. He really did throw up. God, could this fight be any more of a disaster?

First he gets captured by Michi’s device, then he literally vomits gross oil from the stress. Fantastic. He shifted uncomfortably, as the oils soaked into his jersey under the capture device and--wait a moment. Oil. Disgusting, smelly, beautifully SLIPPERY oil! That was slicking up his torso and arms even now!

Jetsam pulled his arms upwards experimentally and YES! They were sliding out, he wasn’t restrained anymore! Maybe he could hide again and strategize-

The victorious thought was cut off by a hand shooting out from the pillars of smog, reaching for his newly freed arms.

-----

“I finally found you, Kisa-kun!” Michiko called out, jumping from out of the smokescreen with a triumphant smile. 

Her eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Jetsam freed from his restraints, but she simply chalked it up to a prototyping failure; she could ask him about the specifics of how he escaped once the match was over, anyways.

This time Jetsam couldn’t dodge her oncoming attack, and Michiko grappled him to the ground, pinning his arms above his head. Now was her chance to nullify his quirk! She had been practicing in hand-to-hand combat, she could still push herself to her limits and come out on top!

Michiko began to focus her energy on her quirk, as Jetsam struggled underneath her. As soon as her quirk began its nullification, she saw the startled look in his dark eyes, and winced slightly in sympathy. She had been told that her quirk was a bit unpleasant to the target; with the process feeling not unlike having your blood drawn through your whole body.

As her quirk took effect, the copious amount of smoke around them began to disappear, once again fully revealing them to the crowd of spectators around the stadium. As her own vision began to clear she was startled to find them lying at the edge of the arena; if they had tussled a bit further out they would have been out of bounds.

Jetsam followed her gaze to the boundary line, and his jaw tightened as his face flushed a dull purple. Was it anger at his predicament? 

“I’m very sorry about this, Miss Michi,” he gurgled apologetically, as the last of his quirk bubbled from his mouth into a viscous oil that was spat out onto Michiko’s face.

With a shout of surprise, Michiko’s grip loosened enough for the slick oils still coating Jetsam’s arms to allow him to escape her grasp. Vision impared by the pollution covering her forehead and dripping into her eyes and nose, Michiko was unable to dodge the hefty push against her chest as Jetsam scrambled away from her touch, getting onto his feet. It was only for a moment, but it was enough for his quirk to return in full force.

“Again, words cannot express how sorry I am for doing that.” Jetsam called out to her, although his speech was hard to make out with the thick pollutants leaking from his mouth.

Michiko shot up from the floor, furiously wiping at her face to clear it of the oil. Once her vision returned, she turned to face Jetsam. The two ran at each other, trading blows and each trying to grapple the other into submission. The build-up of tar and oils worked as a double edged sword; Jetsam easily slipped from Michi’s grasp, but she also used that to her advantage to slide out of the way of his attacks. 

Then, there it was: that single, gleaming moment where Michiko could see the exhaustion, see Jetsam’s attention waning as the fight dragged on for just a bit too long. Right there! He was right by the boundary line, and had miscalculated a move that left him off-balance and vulnerable.

‘Sorry Jetsam,’ Michiko thought as she built momentum for her final blow, ‘but I am grateful for this amazing fight!’

Just as her victorious punch was about to make contact with Jetsam’s awaiting back, she felt herself freeze, involuntarily. Her arm was stuck in position, unable to move. She tried shifting her feet, but to no avail. Her whole body was frozen in place, like some sort of statue!

After a brief moment of panic, Michiko quickly realized what was happening. The tar. The tar Jetsam had been producing. He had mixed it with all the other pollutants as they fought, and as she was coated throughout the battle, the tar was turning thicker and thicker, until it encased her whole body into a stiff, immovable statue. 

She struggled, trying to thrash her way out of the viscous black coffin, but to no avail. She could no longer continue fighting. She had lost. 

The crowd burst into cheers and jeers as they realized that the match had been settled, the announcer calling out “AND THE WINNER IS, JETSAM KISA!”

As soon as the decision was announced, Michiko felt the tar slide off her body, like showering off a thick coating of muck, until only black stains remained on her body and clothing.

Jetsam sheepishly looked over at her, hand anxiously scratching at the back of his neck.

“So… that was really, really gross. I’m so sorry. But you were incredible! You almost had me so many times!!” Jetsam babbled out, getting more and more flustered as he continued. “I understand if you’re upset, but we promised we wouldn’t hold back and-”

“That was a great match! I had such a good time, and you really tested out my limits!” Michiko interrupted, smiled brightly at him as she held out her hand for him to shake. “But I’m warning you, next time I’ll be the one to come out on top!”

Jetsam smiled softly as he took her hand and reciprocated the shake.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[letarasstuff]

When everybody turns into an oracle

Summary: Nothing puts more pressure on you than other people teling you your grade will be perfect, because behind that stands so much more than a number on a sheet of paper. Same goes for Spencer's daughter.

Warnings: School, grades, angst (there is fluff and a badass moment), fear of failure/disappointing someone

Wordcount: 1.5k

✨Masterlist✨ __________________________________

“I really pooped this quiz. What about you, (Y/N)?” Before the teenager is able to answer, another classmate comes up from behind the two. “She’ll get a 100, like always.”

“I-I don’t know. Question two and three really got me there, I’m just happy to pass it.” The little group of people around her groans.

“You always say that.” “And get a perfect score”, the first one adds, “Just stop to make us look bad, because we really do have to worry about passing this class. What do you have to worry about? Getting straight A’s like that. I really want your problems.”

(Y/N) just keeps it quiet. She stopped a long time ago trying to defend herself. ‘I am on my way to the BAU’, she shoots a text to her father and exits the school building. Today she doesn’t take the train. There are too many noises and all she wants is some peace.

The words of her classmates echoes through her head. Yes, she always has a good score and she intends to keep it up. She is just doing her best, right? Her problems have to be still valid, don’t they?

“Ahh, Wonder Baby. I thought you forgot about us and decided you are too cool to hang out with us”, Derek calls out after her as soon as he spots his godchild. “Nah, Uncle Derek. Nobody can be too cool to hang out with you. I just hadn’t had much time because of school work. But there are only two weeks left before spring break starts and the only thing I have to do now is waiting for my results.”

“Right, Spencer told us you are stressing yourself out about those. Your last quiz was today, wasn’t it? The one you dread the most apparently?” Emily joins the conversation. “Uh, I did. But don’t get your hopes up too high, I really don’t have a clue what I did there. The grade can range between passed to 100.”

“Naw, Smartypants, you say that every time. What are you afraid of? Telling us you are real smart? Don’t be humble, we work with your father. We know how to handle geniuses.” Derek isn’t exactly helping her with that. (Y/N) just turns red and tries to change the subject. “Uh, no. Another thing: Where is Dad?”

“Spencer went to pick some reports from the M.E. in D.C. who helped us on the last case. He should be back in half an hour. But Penelope wants to see you, something about trying new vegan cookies she baked last night”, JJ informs (Y/N) as she passes the group to drop some files off.

For the remainder of the day the teenager hides out in the lair, blocking any human reaction out with her earphones. She just can’t handle any more insensitive stuff like earlier. Later her father picks her up to go home together.

“So, Emily told me you didn’t do well on your test today? Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks, choosing his words carefully as he prepares dinner with his daughter sitting at the kitchen table and watching him. The doctor knows the pressure created by asking his daughter about school related topics.

“I don’t know. Everyone keeps telling me I’ll get a perfect score and I think it’s admirable that all of them turn out to be able to look into the future. How do they know better than me what I get?”

It’s months of pent up stress and anxiety finally making its way up to the surface. (Y/N) tries to fight the tears down. “I really don’t understand this. I get asked how I did, I tell them I don’t feel good about the test and then they talk over me every single time. And when I say I don’t know it, I say it to not get anybody’s hope up high. I don’t want to disappoint anybody.” Finally tears stream down the teenager’s cheeks.

“Oh Sweetheart”, Spencer makes his way over to her and engulfs his daughter in a hug. “Shhh, don’t cry. I know it’s incredibly difficult to live up to their expectations, but you don’t need to. You don’t need to impress them, because their opinion doesn’t matter. Neither your classmate’s, your teacher’s nor the team’s. Not even mine should be important to you. Also, it doesn’t matter what you do, I’ll always be so proud of you, words can’t even describe it. There is literally nothing you can disappoint me with. You pushed and still push through so much crap and still you don’t fail to amaze me. You can never fail to amaze me. You can fail any class and become a professional card counter, I’ll still be proud to be your father. Please don’t cry over something you shouldn’t care about.”

They remain like this for several minutes, grasping each other until (Y/N)’s tears eventually die down. “I just want to be something more than just the smart girl with the good grades. I don’t want to feel like a two dimensional side character in a show, only there to provide the main characters with knowledge. I don’t want to be Velma, River Song, Frozone or Domino from Deadpool 2. I don’t want to be overlooked like this anymore.”Finally talking about her deepest insecurities lets her feel like a weight is lifted off her shoulders.

“And you are so much more”, Spencer encounters, “Some people just choose to ignore it, because you are so much more than their small brain with a low capacity is able to comprehend. They just pick the trait they understand the easiest. But never stop being you. Stay loud, stay complicated and, if you want to stay, uncomfortable for them. The right people will take the time and effort to get to know the real you, not just a copy others think you are. I know, it takes a great amount of patience to wait for them, but it’s worth it in the end. You hear me?”

(Y/N) looks up at her father, a small smile forming on her face. He would walk to the end of the world if it means to see it. “I hear you, Dad. Thank you so much.”

This night the teenager doesn’t get a lot of sleep. There are many thoughts that want to be, well, thought through. Still she wakes up and goes to school with a new amount of confidence.

This sadly only lasts until her first period. The teacher, one who is typically known for grading student’s work pretty fast, gives back yesterday’s quizzes. A small tumoult ensues as everyone compares their scores with each other.

(Y/N)’s anxiety rises into the unmeasurable until her teacher puts down her worksheet without a word. Confused she looks at the B- sitting at the dotted line, where the grade is supposed to be.

Now, a B- isn’t bad or anything, but she spots several answers her teacher didn’t tick as right or wrong. He must have oversaw them. Deciding to ask him about it after class, she puts it away and focuses on the material he is teaching.

So there she is, waiting for other classmates asking their questions regarding the quiz until it’s her turn. Meanwhile her lab partner Masey comes up to the teenager. “And, how did you do?”

“Uh, I got a B- bu-” “Oh my god, I’m better than the class nerd. I’m better than The Brain. Casey, I got a higher score than (Y/N)! I think you, too! Wow, I didn’t know I’m that smart. But no worries, (Y/N). I can explain this unit to you later, so you can do better next time.” This is the final straw for her.

“Hold on a sec, Masey. I’ll get that A, because Mr Harries didn’t see some of my answers. And just for your information: I didn’t ask you about your grade last time, because I knew you would poop that one after trying to explain it to you for four times while I got another A. Like every single time until now. Stop trying to appear cleverer than you are, it doesn’t suit you as much as these pants don't, because they are at least two sizes too small.”

The line finally moves up and (Y/N) is able to show Mr Harries his mistakes. He apologizes profusely, admitting that he maybe was too tired to grade these last quizzes and rewrite the B- to an A.

With her head held high she walks past her classmates, a content smile on her face.

It may be a long road to accept that you can’t be perfect and your grades don’t have to be, but forget this for a second and appreciate the feeling you get proving someone wrong like this.

Taglist:

All works:

@agentshortstacc

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl

[quicksilversquared]

The (Not-So) Truther

When a corrupted butterfly flutters by, Lila doesn't hesitate to grab it and hijack the intended akuma form for her own use. Now called the Truther, she forces people to tell lies.

...it's really unfortunate that neither she nor Hawkmoth managed to think her powers all the way through.

*Note: Written pre-season 4 release; as such, it is not S4 compliant.

links in the reblog

"I wanted to help out with the project, but there was a family emergency," Susanna insisted, widening her eyes. "My cousin got hit by a car, and we all needed to help support my aunt. I didn't even have the time to text you guys or email Mendeleev and ask for an extension."

Debbie narrowed her eyes. "And let me guess, you want us to just ignore that we did all of your work for you and not tell Mendeleev that you were completely useless as a group member?"

Susanna gasped, throwing in a sniffle at the last moment. "But I didn't mean to be, there was a family emergency!"

"Just like the last time we had a group project, and the time before that, too?"

"I have a large family!"

"And that large family needs the help and support of a random thirteen-year-old cousin whenever things happen? So much help that you don't even have the time to text?"

"Guys, guys, calm down," Jean-Paul told them, stepping between the two girls. He looked over at Debbie imploringly. "Debs, it's not that big of a deal. It wasn't a large project."

Debbie scowled at him, already feeling her blood pressure starting to rise. All he ever did was make excuses for Susanna, even when she deserved neither excuses nor any sort of help at all. "So it shouldn't have been hard for her to do her part! And it got assigned last Wednesday. You could have started working on it then!"

"I had other stuff to do during the week and I thought that my weekend would be free!"

"Debbie, it's a family emergency, just drop it," Jean-Paul insisted. "Wouldn't you want us to be understanding if you were the one with the emergency and you couldn't get the work done?"

Debbie was pretty sure that she was seeing red. "If I had a family emergency, I would have taken the two seconds that it takes to send a text and let people know ahead of time! And I wouldn't make up a family emergency just because I'm too spoiled to help!"

Susanna reeled back. "You think that I'm lying? That's so- so-"

"It's out of line," Jean-Paul finished. He was frowning at Debbie now. "You can't just go around accusing people of lying without evidence! That's just mean." He turned to Susanna. "C'mon, let's go. I'll tell Mendeleev that you helped, then it'll be two against one."

With that, Debbie's two team members turned and left, leaving Debbie standing in the hallway and staring after them, absolutely incensed. How dumb could Jean-Paul be? It was obvious to anyone with a brain that Susanna was lying and just taking advantage of his crush on her to get out of the consequences of not helping with their group project. And now he was going to tell Mendeleev that Susanna had helped, he was going to lie for her!

Debbie. Was. Mad.

For several minutes, she stewed to herself in the hallway. How was she supposed to prove that she was right and Susanna was a liar who deserved a big fat zero on the project? Jessie was right, two against one saying that Susanna had helped would make Madam Mendeleev believe them over her. There wasn't any way to prove that she was telling the truth.

...or was there? After all, she still had the texts from the entire weekend, their group chat where she and Jean-Paul had essentially planned the whole project by themselves. And the site that they had used to put together their presentation recorded edits and how much time people had spent working on it. Both would prove that Susanna hadn't done any work, and then Madam Mendeleev could reach out to Susanna's family herself to ask about the family emergency and see if it really existed. Their teacher wasn't unreasonable, unlike Ms. Bustier. She would listen if Debbie had the evidence.

Already feeling better, Debbie headed towards her classroom, a bit of a spring in her step. She wouldn't be able to approach her teacher right away- class had already started while she was busy stewing about Susanna and Jessie- but she would no doubt be held for a few minutes after class because of her tardy and she could talk to her teacher then. Their presentation wasn't going to be for a few periods yet, so she still had time.

Across the courtyard, there was a cackle of distinctly akuma-like laughter before the locker room door was casually tossed off of its hinges. Debbie took one look and dove for her class's door.

She didn't know who had been akumatized or why, but she was not going to get caught up in that mess if she could help it.

  Lila Rossi was the last person in the locker room. The bell had rung, the other students had gone to class, and she had been conveniently hidden away in a bathroom stall. She needed to be alone in the room to steal something- anything- from Chloe's locker and plant it in Marinette's.

She couldn't do the same thing that she had done before and plant one of her own possessions in Marinette's locker. No, doing the same thing twice in a row would be suspicious. But if she took something of Chloe's, the chances that the bratty blonde would notice and throw a fuss about it the next time she set foot in the locker room were high. And then, once she threw a fuss, everyone's lockers would be searched, and Marinette's reputation would be- well, not trashed right away, maybe, but it would be questioned.

And Lila wouldn't even have to lift a finger. Well, not once the initial stealing and placing of one of Chloe's things was done, that was.

Lila smirked, glancing around one more time before approaching the locker that she knew was Chloe's. She pulled it open, glanced around, and snagged a sparkly bracelet from the top shelf. It only took a minute to move it to Marinette's locker, and then Lila could move on and collect her own things. Before she could finish and leave the locker room, a purple butterfly caught her eye as it fluttered serenely across the room. Lila paused for a moment, wondering who might have attracted the akuma in the first place for half a second before she decided that it didn't matter. The original recipient didn't deserve whatever powers Hawkmoth was giving out today. Without even a second's hesitation, she pounced on the akuma. "Hawkmoth!"

"Hello, Truther," Hawkmoth's voice echoed in her head. "I am Hawkmoth. You're tired of people telling li-" He paused. "Ms. Rossi. Again?" There was a sigh. "Very well. You can take be the new Truther."

Lila screwed up her nose immediately, disgusted at the very idea. "Truther? Why would I want to make them tell the truth? Then my reputation-"

"You didn't let me finish," Hawkmoth cut across smoothly. "Your name will be the Truther, and your powers will force people to answer any question they're asked... untruthfully."

A grin appeared on Lila's face as she realized just what Hawkmoth was suggesting. How it was supposed to help him, she had no idea, but it would certainly help her. "So if I hit Ladybug with my powers and ask her if she's besties with Lila Rossi, for example, her answer will be..."

"Yes, of course, absolute best friends."

"And if I get that brat Marinette and ask why she thinks that I'm lying- if I ask her if she can prove any of my stories false-"

"She'll say that she is jealous or something similar, and that she can't prove that a single thing is fake."

"Fantastic." Lila's smirk turned vicious, and a cloud of purple enveloped her for a moment. When it cleared, the Truther stepped forward. "Time for me to go tear some people down and cement my reputation for good."

  Class had just started and Ms. Bustier was in the middle of taking attendance when the door burst open and an akuma stomped through. Marinette took one look at the akuma and her sausage-roll hair and promptly dove under the desk and out of sight before the akuma had the chance to see her.

She didn't know what had caused Lila's latest akumatization, but it was better to play it safe rather than sorry when it came to Lila-kumas. The chances that Lila was going to target her for absolutely no good reason were just too high.

Next to Marinette, Alya gasped and whipped out her phone right away. "Ladybloggers, sound the akuma alert! We have a new akuma at Collège Francois-Dupont! We don't know a name or powers yet, but-"

"I am the Truther, and I am tired of being called a liar by jealous people!" the akuma announced, and Marinette raised an eyebrow. Seriously? The Truther? That was just bizarre, considering Lila's everything. "And I make people tell the truth!"

"Marinette, what did you do?" Alya hissed. "Did you two-"

"I hadn't even seen her this morning," Marinette hissed back, already ticked off. Something about this whole situation wasn't right. The sooner she could get out of here- without getting hit- the better. She didn't trust the Truter or her powers at all. "Someone else must have called her out on her ridiculous stories."

Alya sighed. "Marinette..."

"Why would you get truth powers?" Adrien asked dubiously, standing up at his desk. Marinette very nearly screeched what are you doing?, but stopped herself just in time. She was Ladybug, she had to get out of the classroom without getting hit. "Out of everyone in this classroom, it makes the least sense for you to get powers to make people tell the truth!"

The Truther pressed a hand to her chest, looking offended. "Really, that's so hurtful! You doubt my integrity? Why else would I have gotten powers like this?"

Adrien frowned. "Uh..."

"And for doubting me, you'll be my first subject!" The Truther announced, pointing her baton at Adrien. There was a flash of light before Adrien could dodge, and then the akuma smirked at him. "And for our first demonstration- what do you think of Lila Rossi?"

"She's kind, honest, pretty, and fun to work with," Adrien said at once. His features screwed up as soon as he finished talking. "Uh..."

He glanced back at the class, his gaze catching on Marinette as confusion flashed across his face. The Truther preened.

"You see? I force people to tell the actual truth. People lie to other people, they lie to themselves." The Truther bared her teeth, triumphant. "And the truth tells me that you don't actually think that I'm a liar!"

Marinette frowned from her hiding spot. She knew full well that Adrien did think that Lila was a liar- he knew that she was a liar. He hated working with her, because she was clingy and didn't respect his space and didn't listen to directions during photoshoots. He always said that she was borderline cruel when they were alone and she wasn't playing a part for other people. So what...

Did the Truther's powers make people give answers that she liked? Or was it simpler- maybe it just made people tell lies? The opposite of what they were thinking?

Either way, this could easily turn into a disaster. Unless other people caught on to what Lila's powers actually were, Lila could have her reputation cemented by the end of the day.

(She could not let Ladybug get hit. That- that could be a disaster, depending on what questions the Truther asked.)

But how could she figure out what the Truther's powers actually were? She had to do that in order to figure out how to expose it to everyone else in the class. And to do that...

Unfortunately, she was going to have to give away the fact that she was in the classroom after all. It would be better if she didn't have to do that- it would make it easier for her to get away-

"Wait, dude, I thought that you didn't like working with Lila," Nino objected. "I asked you about it before and you said that she was a pain to work with. But you actually did like working with her? Why would you say that you didn't, then?"

"I was worried about making other people upset," Adrien said at once. "If I admitted that I was actually having fun, I might offend- might offend others."

Marinette forced herself to block out both that and Alya's whispered "see?". It was the Truther's anti-truth powers that were making Adrien say that, which meant that it wasn't anywhere close to the truth. She couldn't get distracted by any of that. She had to focus on the important stuff, like the fact that Nino's comment-slash-question meant that the Truther's powers applied to questions that other people asked, not just what the akuma asked. Which meant that if Marinette asked any questions, the powers would still come into play. But she still didn't want to give away her position. With Adrien under the Truther's powers, Marinette was the next obvious target.

Maybe Alya could ask for her? Yes, that was a great idea!

"Alya," Marinette hissed. keeping her voice low. "Ask Adrien what color the sky is."

Alya shot her a baffled look. "What color- why?"

"Please!"

Alya shot her another look, then turned back to the front. "Adrien, what color is the sky right now?"

Adrien turned to Alya, clearly confused. "It's bright orange."

There was a pause, and then his confusion turned into a grin as Alya frowned, clearly thrown off. Marinette grinned from her hiding spot, absolutely thrilled.

The Truther's powers made people give an opposite answer to the truth, and not just about Lila-related questions. That made things a whole lot easier.

"Ask him what the name of your blog is!" Marinette hissed from her spot. Alya hesitated, then nodded.

"What's the name of my Ladybug blog?"

"The Cat Chat."

"What does Mr. Agreste do for his job?" Marinette prompted. This time, there was no hesitation from Alya.

"What does your father do for a living?"

"He cleans toilets."

"Wait, what the heck is going on?" Nino demanded, standing up. "Literally none of those answers are right!"

"I think," Alya said slowly, realization clearly dawning, "that Little Miss Truther is actually Little Miss Anti-Truther. Answers are the opposite of reality with her." She scowled, turning her phone towards the akuma. "Which, if that is what her powers actually are...that makes me wonder if she was actually lying when she told us all of her stories. She's trying to suppress the truth!"

The Truther snarled and stomped. "That's a lie! I expose the truth!"

"Then explain Adrien's answers!" Nino demanded, straightening up and glaring at the akuma. "When Alya asked him questions, all of his answers were obviously lies. And don't try to claim that he was doing it on purpose to discredit you!" Nino added, jabbing a finger at the Truther. "Adrien clearly had no idea what she was trying to do when she asked her first question!"

The Truther let out a scream of frustration. "He's an actor! Clearly he was acting-"

"You said that your powers make people tell the truth in response to questions, though," Alya chimed in. "No amount of acting is going to be able to override akuma powers!"

"He is, though! And-" The Truther paused, clearly trying to come up with an excuse. "My powers only work when I'm the one asking the question. He's just exploiting a loophole."

"Really." Alya crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Then you ask Adrien what his father does for a living, then!"

"No!"

"If what you said is true, it shouldn't be a problem!" Alix chimed in, surging to her feet as well. "The fact that you're refusing proves that it's a lie!"

"Yeah!"

"Exactly!"

"What a loser, I can't believe that we believed her!"

The Truther shook her head, panic flashing across her face briefly. Clearly she hadn't expected this to happen. "No, you aren't giving me the chance to explain-"

"The chance to come up with more lies, you mean!" Kim yelled. "We aren't fooled anymore, Truther! And because Alya's streaming live, the rest of Paris isn't going to be fooled either!"

The Truther screamed, then dove for Alya. In the split-second before she was tackled, Alya flashed a look at Marinette.

"Run! You're going to be her target next!"

Marinette ran, bolting out of her hiding spot.

"That was really quick thinking, Marinette!" Tikki piped up as Marinette raced down the hallway. If she could get to the library, she could transform, go out the windows there, and then burst through the window of Ms. Bustier's classroom. "Now no one will believe anything that the Truther or Lila says! I was really worried for a minute there that she would force you and Adrien to discredit yourselves!"

"I was worried, too," Marinette admitted. "With those powers, and that name... but at least it backfired!"

If it hadn't, if Alya had given Marinette's location away and she had gotten hit... unless the Truther's powers came to light in some other way, that could have destroyed any chance of ever getting the rest of the class to believe her about Lila's lies. Even if she tried to explain things later on, she would have already been forced to discredit herself and no one would believe a single thing that she was saying.

Not that they had before, either, but there wouldn't even be a glimmer of doubt in their eyes if the Truther had been successful. And that would be super frustrating.

With a gulp, Marinette wondered if that would have been the thing to drive her to akumatization. She probably would have felt absolutely helpless to change anything and furious at Lila, trapped like a caged animal.

It was a scary picture, but at least that possibility was gone.

"We're safe," Marinette told Tikki when she got to a secluded corner of the library. She gave a determined nod to her kwami, already in Superhero Mode. "Now let's go catch ourselves a liar!"

  With the entire basis of her powers already debunked and an entire class ticked off at Lila, it didn't take long at all to bring the Truther down. The remainder of Ms. Bustier's class had already half-contained the akuma by the time Ladybug burst through the windows, and with them holding the Truther down, she couldn't throw any blasts at Ladybug. It only took a minute to find the possessed item- a bracelet- and then Ladybug was smashing it and releasing the corrupted butterfly. One purification and a Cure later, and Lila was left sulking in the middle of the classroom floor.

Ladybug frowned at that, slightly puzzled. Usually akuma victims were left somewhat disoriented after they were akumatized. None of them ever remembered what they had done during the akumatization. Everything from when the darkness bubbled over them to the purification was left a blank.

And yet Lila clearly knew that that her lies had been outed while she was akumatized. There was no reason for her to be so sulky already otherwise.

So what did that mean? She would have to talk to Tikki later and see if her kwami might have any ideas. Normally she might suspect that Lila's apparent lack of memory loss had to do with the number of times that she had been akumatized, but Mr. Ramier had been akumatized a ton of times and always seemed to have a moment of "huh?" whenever he came out of it.

...did Lila's response maybe indicate that the akumatization had been a choice?

There wouldn't be any way to prove that if it was true, Ladybug knew. It wasn't like Lila would actually tell her the truth if she asked about it. But it was something that she might have to keep an eye on in the future.

"I would ask if you and Lila were actually friends or not, but I think I might know the answer already," Alya told Ladybug dryly, rubbing at her elbow absently. The Miraculous Cure might have fixed all of the assorted injuries that people had gotten for fighting an akuma without superpowers, but sometimes phantom pains from the injuries that people had gotten lingered for a few minutes. "Wow, that akumatization sure backfired on her. I bet she's ticked off at Hawkmoth right now."

Ladybug had to grin at that. "Yeah, we definitely aren't friends of any sort. And, uh." She paused, unsure about if she wanted to continue. On one hand, it would really help if she could get more evidence either confirming or denying Lila's willing participation in her akumatization, and now that Alya had caught on to the lies, she would definitely be all over that. On the other hand, if she was wrong and Lila hadn't gotten akumatized on purpose, then she might just be stirring things up in the classroom even more. She warred with herself for a moment, then decided to go for it. If it made things worse for Lila, well, Lila deserved it. "I kind of found the akumatization really weird. Like, had anyone even talked to Lila today?"

Alya frowned at that. "Huh. I- I don't know for sure, but I don't think so. The only people who have ever obviously not liked Lila were Adrien and Marinette, and they had gone up to the classroom before Lila even got to school. Then I think Lila went to the bathroom, and- actually, I didn't see her again before I came up, and I was down there practically until the bell rang." She looked at Ladybug and gasped. "Do- do you think that she got akumatized on purpose?"

Well, yes, but Ladybug wasn't about to say that. "I don't know, but I am curious. Do you think that you could maybe do a little investigative work for me and see if anyone talked to Lila this morning before she got akumatized? Talked and implied that she was lying, that is. Or if there was anyone else in the school today who was upset about someone lying, because maybe they would have been Hawkmoth's initial target."

Alya was already nodding. "Yeah, I'll do that! And I'll tell you next time I see you- if it's safe, I know, I know!" she added before Ladybug could say anything. "I'm not going to take any risks or get in your way during a fight!"

Ladybug doubted that a little bit- Alya could sometimes be really single-minded when recording for the Ladyblog and often put herself in dangerous situations without fully realized it- but she appreciated the thought. "Right. And it's not, like, urgent information," she told Alya. "It's not like we could really do anything about it, since akuma victims are off-limits prosecution-wise and we can't prove anything. But it would just be interesting information for the future. So seriously, there's no rush to tell me as soon as you find out, whenever's fine."

(She would almost definitely be getting updates from Alya as Marinette as well, so really, it didn't matter when Ladybug was told.)

Alya nodded, clearly still determined to gather her data as quickly and thoroughly as possible. "Of course! And- and thank you for trusting me with the job after I, uh, didn't fact-check Lila at all before," she added, a little quieter. "I'll do better in the future."

"I'm glad to hear that! But for now- bug out!" Ladybug flashed the class- well, besides Lila, who was still scowling, and Adrien, who had vanished- a smile, then cast out her yo-yo and zipped off before she could start laughing at Lila's misfortune.

Really, if Lila had willingly been akumatized, that was possibly the funniest thing to happen in a while. It had backfired on her spectacularly, destroying all of her credibility in one go. No one was going to believe her now, and unless Ladybug's ears had been deceiving her, Ms. Bustier had already been on the phone with Lila's mom by the time she took off. Lila's kingdom was falling down around her ears, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it now.

And really, it was all thanks to Hawkmoth.

[hollyharper]

At first, I was going to post this fic as one peice. But for the last month, I’ve had the worst case of writers block. I do intend to fhish this, but for now here’s part one of my dickbabs fanfic: Time Bomb.

Part 1

Barbara shook her head again. It couldn’t be true.

She wiped away tears with the back of her hand. She clutched her knees to her chest and suffocated a sob.

It wasn’t true. It was impossible.

Street lights slowly flickered to life under her. It was. Deep down she knew it. Her heart felt it.

But her brain?

It fought to find every fault in the information. Barbara couldn’t find any. Barry wouldn’t lie, especially about something like this.

Would he? Of course, she questioned.

She wanted any reason to believe it wasn’t true. Was she really going to die? Everyone did. But by the end of the year? It was only November. The leaves had dropped, and winter’s wind was already bringing the foretaste of snow.

That’s what Barry had said. During a trip to the future, he had seen her gravestone and the year of her death.

This year.

No. Again she fought the reality. There was no escape. The end was coming. All she could do was prepare. She heard a small thump.

“Babs?” She didn’t have to look up to recognize Dick. “Are you okay?” His voice was flooded with worry. “Bruce is looking for you. He said it was important.”

“I don’t care,” she growled.

“What’s wrong?” Now he was even more concerned. Concerned enough to cross that unspoken barrier. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m fine.” She brushed his hand away and stalked off. “I’m going home.”

“Barbara!” He called after her, but she had already disappeared.

Swing through her bedroom window, Barbara collapsed on the floor. Thoughts ran through her mind at hyper speed. Everything blurred tighter into an intangible mess.

She sighed, trying to reorganize her thoughts. What was the most important thing? Her family. She would need to talk to her father eventually. When she- died, Stephanie and Cass would be without her guidance. She would have to teach them as much as possible before-

The Birds would need a new Oracle, as would Batman. Her gear would have to be moved and- her mind flicked back to Nightwing.

They had been each other’s lifeline since childhood. Without her, he… she didn’t really know.

Maybe he’d be fine, or he would be like she had been after he was shot. Every memory of him came flooding back. The way he held her the night Ainsley died. His tears soaking her blood-stained shirt as she drifted in and out of consciousness.

How he held her hands every time she was put under for surgery. His encouragement and patience as she learned to navigate life from a wheelchair. His gentle presence in a night that was haunted with nightmares. He had always been there.

All of her life, he had been caring for her. And this, this would drive him to insanity. This would push him off the edge. And after everything he had done for her, she couldn’t cause him more pain.

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

If there was anything Barbara did that drove Dick crazy, it was this.

When she went into a workaholic mode to distract herself. It had been three days since he last saw her. Within twenty minutes, she had gone for extreme break down to 24/7 vigilante.

He doubted she had even refilled her Batarang stock. Her anxiety was unlike anything he had ever seen from her.

Worse, she refused to respond to him, and from what he could find no one else. He knew better than to allow her actions to affect him, but they did anyway.

The only way Dick could find to calm down was far different. He resorted to curling up in bed watching chick flicks and eating junk food. It was only after he ran out of potato chips, that he ventured out of his apartment. Even then it was only to the closest convenience store.

He could tell something was off the moment he stepped through the door. An unusual floral scent wafted through the apartment. He quietly closed the door and tip-toed to the kitchenette. A redhead was seated on his couch.

“Babs?” He whispered inching over.

She was in full costume and shaking. Her head lifted enough for him to see her dilated pupils. Cautiously, he reached a hand out.

“N-n-no.” She pulled farther away.

“What’s wrong?” Dick dropped to his knees.

“Ivy.” Barbara’s voice wavered. “Out of…”

“...Antidote,” he finished.

That wasn’t good but explained her reaction.

He crossed to the bathroom. The cabinet creaked open. After a moment of confusion, he found the right basket and rifled through the bottles.

At the bottom was the dark blue vile. He tried to hook it into a shot. The bottle refused to screw in. Babs scrambled to the other side of the couch as he sat down. By the time he got the vial in place, she had crawled back to him. Her head nuzzled against his back. Dick stilled while she settled. Her entire body shook. He swept her hair to the side and eased the needle into her neck. Barbara winced. When the last drop had been injected, he removed the needle. She gave a shaky sigh.

“You need to take a break,” Dick whispered.

“Mph,” was her only reply.

She shifted, scooting closer to him.

“What happened out there?”

“Ivy sprayed me with her love pheromone. I was out of-“ a yawn cut through the middle of her explanation. “-Antidote.”

It would take a while for the cure to take effect. He could tell simply by how affectionate she was. Barbara wasn’t a very cuddly person, except at the moment. Not that he was complaining.

Even if he wasn’t sure where they stood, he knew how he felt about her. Neither believed in soulmates, at least he didn’t use to. She was making him rethink that.

It took some coaxing for her to move on enough for him to settle. The moment he had comfortably sat down, she was back in his lap. The tv remote sat on the coffee table. With one hand, Dick reached for it, all while holding her steady. When offered the remote, Babs simply batted his hand away. He rolled his eyes and started to scroll through options.

“No chick flicks,” she mumbled.

At least the poison had worn off enough for her pickiness to show. Every suggestion he made, she shot down. All of hers were rejected. Even through the bickering, the two remained cuddled. Eventually, Dick gave way. With a pleased expression, Barbara flicked the movie on. He closed his eyes and focused on her breathing.

Barbara continued to keep her distance from Dick. The ache was strong, but her will was stronger. Cassandra and Stephanie knew something was wrong but never spoke a word. Tim and Jason whispered behind closed doors. Damian had attempted to confront her but was brushed off. Bruce was the only one who knew. She avoided him too. Barbara rehearsed responses until it was impossible to tell she was lying when she said she was alright. It was a lie so deep and dark, that she had to lie to herself to keep it. And eventually, she tricked herself into believing the same lie she kept telling the others.

“You have to tell them.” Bruce was never one to beat around the bush.

“I will,” she fibbed, not turning her eyes from the computer.

“Tonight.”

That caused her to jerk her head up.

“No.”

“I called everyone together. You’re going to tell them.”

Her face still showed resistance.

“And if you don’t, I will.”

“It’s my life. My decision.” Her voice held a fit of contained anger, only a breath away from breaking free of her control.

“Bruce?” Dick’s voice echoed through the cave.

Barbara ducked her head. Footfalls approached.

“Hey, Babs.” He didn’t know what else to say.

With her face hidden there was no way to tell what she was feeling. To his surprise, she didn’t even jerk away when he causally laid a hand on her shoulder.

She stayed slumped over as all the others filed in. Tim stood as if in an army lineup. Next to him, Steph chattered nervously, her hands fidgeting. Cass stood solemnly. Her saddened gaze was focused on Barbara, even as Jason fought for her attention. Damian, as always, simply looked grumpy.

Bruce cleared his throat. Everyone stilled, except Steph, whose nervous fingertips were now playing with Tim’s cape. Instinct told Dick to stay by Barbara’s side, as she stood in front of the group. Bruce nodded to her and stepped to the side. A knot formed in Dick’s throat. Whatever this was, it caused his stomach to feel empty. Barbara seemed to panic. One look from Bruce though, and she cleared her throat.

“Barry has brought news from the future.” Dick’s hands closed into fists. Her face remained emotionless. “During his last visit, around three weeks ago, he saw my gravestone.”

Murmurs spread like wildfire. Stephine’s nervousness had escalated. Tim wrapped an arm around her in an attempt to calm her. Jason stared, barely breathing. Damian appeared concerned, and Cass seemed to know exactly what Barbara was about to say.

“The date of death was, is…” Her breath caught in her throat. “This year.”

The room erupted. The monstrous claws of fear gripped Dick’s racing heart. Jason’s face was empty and paler than death. Damian was gripping his father like a lifeline. Tim stood motionless, except instinctually comforting a sobbing Stephanie. Cass was still for a moment. She threw herself into Barbara. Babs hugged her back. The young girl had always looked up to Barbara. Their bond was far deeper than teacher and student.

A single tear trailed down Barbara’s cheek. Without letting go of Cass, she lifted her head. Her eyes welled with emotion. A deep dark fear. He didn’t know what to do. Her eyes begged. Her entire face was red, even though only a few tears had escaped. Dick took a cautious step forward. With no negative reaction, he dared to pull both girls into an embrace. Cass remained with her head pressed into Barbara. Babs rested hers on his shoulder. Stephanie squashed into Barbara’s other side. Tim trailed after her. Comfortingly, he placed one hand on Steph, the other on Barbara’s back. Jason copied, one hand on Babs, the other on Cassandra. Damian squeezed in next to Dick, who hugged his younger brother. Bruce made no move to join the sibling hug.

Barbara broke. She started to sob, bottled up emotion coming out in a tidal wave. Her knees gave way. Everything blurred tighter behind a curtain of tears. She was pulled into a tighter embrace as she fell. Six pairs of hands rested against her back. Large ones, familiar ones, hugged her. The other fives simply rested on her. One more, larger and stronger, rested on her shoulder. The comfort of family slowly started to calm her. She dried her eyes on the closest she could find, which turned out to be Dick’s shirt. The others, including Bruce, knelt beside her. Jason wiped away her last tear, and Damian crawled into her lap. He had never been very attached to her, but when death is looming things change.

Big thanks to @snapdragon76 for helping with the editing and formatting.

[pluto-art]

Softly - PatB Fan Fiction

Type: Hurt/Comfort Rating: PG Summary: Baby Brain has known little but pain and misery in an unloving world, but when he gets paired up with a new lab student things change in a way he didn’t expect.

This started out as a mini story in a Discord server and got... a little out of hand. What you see here is how much I typed out in the server.

He hadn't been there long. Two... maybe three weeks? The cold metal had finally become familiar beneath his feet, and the strange blocks, though generally tasteless, kept him alive. There wasn't much that made his new living quarters interesting; there was only so much one could do in a pile of aspen shavings day after day. Occasionally, they would hook up to his cage some sort of liquid that wasn't his usual watery fair. He could never decipher or make heads or tails of the words on the sides of the bottles, saying things like D-D-T or S-N-I-P-P-L-E. The only distinguishing feature to him was that sometimes they tasted terrible, sometimes quite flavorful, and sometimes they tasted like nothing at all. Almost all of them turned his stomach. Driven to thirst, however, he'd play their cruel game. Choice was not something that existed in this crisp, sterile world; at least, not from a personal standpoint. When it did exist it meant the difference between a shock and a treat; a yellow light or a red light; a warm room or a cold one. Choice was manufactured.

He still cried almost every night. He tried to quiet the tears, but they didn't always listen. The others heard him. One or two laughed cynically. Most said nothing; they'd shed their own fair share and would again sooner than later. A single kind soul, a mother rat some doors down from him, occasionally whispered to him a lullaby or two when everyone else but them were asleep. They were songs she sang to her own children to quiet their tears, and she had no less compassion for this unfortunate soul, who was even worse off than her own brood -- he didn't even have any parents to nuzzle up to. Had she her way, she would have mutilated every last living human being in the facility. It was bad enough that they were tested on mercilessly as adults. To do so to children was simply insidious. Alas, she was simply a rat, and so could only dream of days when she wasn't.

Not that BR-41N (that's what they called him; no one had real names here) hadn't tried to be friendly with his captures. Aside from a particularly nasty poke from some long, thin, prickly object inserted into his thigh the first day (it had stung; oh, it had stung...) the proceeding couple of days had consisted of simple maze runs and treadmill exercises. Nothing too elaborate. As a child, he'd been used to running around a lot in the field, and sifting through the labyrinths reminded him of the long grass he'd play hide-and-seek in back home, except at the end of them was a tasty prize: a piece of cheese. He liked cheese. In the wild, it was hard to come by, but here they gave it to him generously, provided he finished the courses, which he always did. The fourth day followed in much the same way, but the fifth day brought something different: a sudden shock and a broken tail. That had changed his view of things. Perhaps the harsh awakening wouldn't have been so terrible had it not been followed by other unspeakable things -- poisoned food; friends made that, the next day, would never be seen again; more shocks given as punishment for choosing an incorrect panel; injections that made him see things he'd never seen, monsters and strange colors and other scary things that kept him awake at night; loud noises that came out of nowhere; and often, quite often, the terrifying echo of squeaks, barks, and meows that made up the daily music of Acme Laboratories. He hated it. He hated all of it. More than anything, he wanted to go home. He missed the warmth; the love; the soft whisper of the wind that traveled through his ivory fur. He wanted all of it back. But life? She was a harsh mistress. And no amount of crying, screaming, or pleading, seemed to ever make her turn an ear.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks... months, more than just a tail was broken. Trust was broken. Hope was broken. Spirit... was broken. If there was any love, if there was any future, it wasn't here. Kindness had proved unfruitful, and patience had run its course. He didn't find reason to be willing, nor show charity, towards those who made his life a living hell. What reason was there? What profit was in it? Time had told him, quite bluntly, there wasn't. It had taken him a full month to admit defeat, but admit it he did, and cynical he became, 'til every hand that reached in to grab him was ripe to be bitten, every shot that punctured his stomach was the unwelcome norm, and every newcomer that tried to strike up a friendship was easily ignored. The latter-most was simply wasting their time. He could read the colors on the cages now. He knew that a red mark meant "death". He only wondered why he, as of yet, had never been given one himself. It was as if life itself was laughing at him -- keeping him as witness to the horrors that went on inside the dragon's cave, yet never giving him the satisfaction of death.

And so the third month dawned, chilly and barren, or so the scientists said. Autumn had come. Not that any of the residents within the thick, cemented walls could see it. But the laboratory personnel spoke of it -- gold and crimson leaves, hot chocolate, dried wheat fields. He could almost smell the corn; could almost feel the breeze.... Days passed. For the first time, they gave him a cage mate. E8-WN, they called him. He was kind, but BR-41N had little love left to give. Besides, he had the red tag. It seemed they had only placed him here temporarily due to a lack of space. The next day he was taken to the back. The tiniest shred of pity nipped at BR-41N as he watched the little peach-furred mouse be carried into the surgical room, a curious look on his face. Another emotion was also present within him: jealousy. On the 17th day of September, a new thing happened -- a thing that, for the first time in a while, made the little mouse turn his head.

The school year had started, and, as such, fresh meat was welcomed into the laboratory in the form of fourteen college students looking to continue pursuits in medical science. They were all very quiet during the tour, one or two of them occasionally lifting a hand to ask a question about course materials or contact information. They were each, it seemed, to be given a subject: an animal from the laboratory to study, train, and conduct experiments on. Rats, mice, and hamsters had already been picked out for them, and each was given a black-coated subject or a brown-furred captive to take charge of. Each student's rodent was to be kept in the lab at all times, and specific instructions were given them as to the proper handling of the creatures. At least two experiments were to be conducted on them daily, three if possible. They could spend as much time with their charge as they wished, so long as they got their homework done. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents. Four months to finish their work. Simple.

As it stood, however, there had been a miscalculation. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents.... No. Not fourteen. Only thirteen. There'd been an error. They'd forgotten to set aside an extra subject. The unfortunate student without a charge was a college girl named Rachel. All other rodents were going through tests conducted by various personnel in the lab, set aside specifically for said conductions that couldn't currently be tampered with. All except one....

"So, um, Rachel," their teacher said, checking his student list. "You may have to share with... Peterson.... You know what? We might... actually have an extra for you. Hold on. Let me ask...."

And he departed into another room, calling for a "Jackson".

"Jackson! Can she use BR-41N? I don't think he's going through any rigorous testing.... Yeah? Okay. Yeah, that would work out perfectly. Thanks."

He turned back to his brood, many of whom looked quite eager to jump in to these intriguing studies, others looking downright bored.

"Okay. We have one for you. His code name is BR-41N. He's not going through any major testing, and he's generally given the usual works -- labyrinths, shock treatment, all that. But, um... he bites. Really bad. So... you'll have to watch it, all right?"

"Okay," Rachel nodded, looking a little nervous.

"All right. Umm.... Good. Yes. So, let's head back to the main campus, and... we'll start your work tomorrow."

And they left.

BR-41N had only heard part of all this, and had understood none of it. He shivered in his cage, taking a moment to drink some water out of the bottle that hung there. While the arrival of such a large group intrigued him, especially since it consisted of a much younger set than normal, it also made him nervous. Was it a sign of good things to come... or bad? Or just more of the usual fair? One could only wonder. For now, he was simply grateful that the cheese they'd given him today was, for once, not laced with drugs.

She came by on a Tuesday.

It was an hour after a cosmetics test that he heard a knock on the table. His skin still burned. He was cowering in a far corner, and looked back over his shoulder hesitantly.

Rachel stood there, smiling at him.

"Hello, little one." He stared at her, nonplussed. "I guess you're my charge. You gonna say hello?"

And she opened up the door of his cage.

He shuffled back further. He knew all too well by this point that the opening of a door meant one of two things: food or torture. Considering the fact that she didn't smell of food, he had to assume it was the latter.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. Well, hopefully not...."

Although he didn't understand a word of what she said, her tone was calm; soothing. No one in the lab ever talked to him like this. He couldn't help but stare curiously.

She held her hand up to the entrance and made a soft, squeak-like sound with her mouth. He frowned at her. As if that was going to convince him. He turned away.

"No? I don't blame you," she replied, taking a look at his clipboard. "BR-41N. What kind of a freak name is that? Mind if I call you Brain? Or Brian?"

No response.

"We'll go with Brian. Brain sounds kinda weird."

Brian it was.

She kept the door open, and he braced himself. Any moment now, gloved hands would be protruding into his enclosure to wrap themselves firmly about him, not tight enough to choke him, but secure enough that he couldn't escape. But the hand didn't come. If anything, she pulled up a chair, sat down, and rested her arms upon the table on which his cage sat. She was... giving him a choice? He stared at her, unsure how to react.

"Come on, sweet heart," she cooed, rubbing her fingers together encouragingly.

But he wouldn't budge. If this was some new trick, it wasn't going to work. He wished she'd just grab him and get it over with. Sooner or later, she'd have to. It was only a matter of time. And so he waited....

She sat there for a full twenty minutes, trying her best to get him to come over, but he refused to budge, and so she gave up. As expected, she still ran him through a maze, but instead of reaching in to grab him, she found a clear tube and scooped him up in it, covering both ends before depositing him into the run as such. It was... odd, but less invasive than what he was used to. He rather wished the others would do it that way.

Via the same method she returned him to his cage at the end of the test. As usual, he took to the corner, assuming his usual cowardly pose, but he turned to look at her as she spoke.

"Sorry about that. Nice job, though. See you tomorrow."

And so went the next day... and the next, always with the same introduction: She'd open his door, pull up a chair, and offer her hand to him. After twenty minutes of nothing, she'd scoop him up in the tube, deposit him in the maze or whatever other test he was to perform that day, and return him in the same manner. This went on for four whole weeks, always with a kind word, never coupled with a harsh prod or poking of his skin. He came to somewhat look forward to her almost daily visits, not because he trusted her (the one time she had tried touching him [with gloves on, of course], he'd given her a fair warning in the form of a bite), but because it was the only two hours during the day in which he knew he wouldn't be fed poison, given a shot, or made to inhale cigarette smoke. The other students joked with her. By far, she had the unfriendliest mouse out of all of them, and they found her kind advances a waste of time.

"Just pick him up!" a tall boy said.

Most of them had no problem with handling their subjects by the tail; at least, the boys generally didn't. The girls were kinder, but even they didn't take the time to get to know their animals intimately. They also were given the harder tests to conduct on their critters and so tried not to get attached.

Whereas most of the rats, mice, and hamsters given to the students would eventually be killed in some way or other at the end of the semester, via through vivisection, gassing, cancer, or some other method, BR-41N, or... Brian, as Rachel now called him, was not scheduled to be offed anytime soon and so could not undergo such rigorous experiments. As such, she got both the easy job of conducting very simple tests on him, and also the hard job of trying to work with the most hostile mouse in the entire facility.

"He's never gonna warm up to you," one of the other students said.

Rachel took it as a challenge.

"Watch me," she said.

But Brian was proving to be a much tougher can than expected. By the sixth week, he still hadn't even bothered to venture near the cage entrance when she sat near it, even with tasty treats in hand. He simply didn't trust anyone. Not anymore....

October came and went, to be replaced with a frosty November. Whenever Brian saw Rachel now she had a cup of tea in hand, the better to ward off the coming winter chill. Still she tried; still he refused to relent. Until the 9th....

It was late. She hadn't been able to get to the lab until 8:00 PM due to unfortunate series of events that involved a fender bender, two appointments, and a last minute essay. When she got to the lab she was tired... and not at all in the mood to deal with Brian's B.S., and he knew it.

"'Sup?" she asked him wearily, setting down her things in a huff. Only a handful of other people were still in the facility at this hour, none of them students. Fine by her. She preferred the quiet anyway. "We're gonna do something a little different today, bud."

Indeed.... He perked his ears up at her exhausted tone and the fact that, for once, she didn't open the cage door. But she did still slide the chair up to his table.

On the opposite side of the room was a television on a rolling stand. Normally, this was used for surgeries and other experiments. Once in a blue moon, however, someone would use it for recreational purposes -- to watch the local news when there was time to kill. Most fortunately for Rachel, it also came with a VHS player. Into it she popped a tape, before sitting down in the chair and grabbing her hot cup of peppermint tea. Despite himself, Brian took a whiff of the tea, whose scent had wafted into his cage and tickled his nose. It smelled good.

The film began to play. Brian didn't know the name of it, but whatever it was it was made up of very pretty pictures and featured a lot of dogs... and snow (at least at the beginning). It was rather soothing. Still, he didn't move from his spot, save to grab a lab block at one point to munch on, more to pass the time than anything. His stomach was still a little unsettled from earlier. Privately, he was a bit ticked off at the girl. Had she been a bit earlier he might have avoided the shock treatments. Not that they would have withheld them regardless.

It wasn't until the second song that his attention was at last caught.

"La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...."

Sweetly did the animated woman sing her little song, and Brian, captivated, perked his ears. He looked up at the television. She was still singing. He stepped forward, bit by bit, until he was right up to the closed door, two little paws coming up to grasp at the bars of his cage as he stared, entranced, at the screen.

"La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper, La la lu, La la lu, La la luuuuu."

And so it ended, all within the span of a minute, if that, but something had stirred with him -- a remembrance of home, and warmth, and what it was like to be loved.

He was still clutching at the bars when he noticed that Rachel was smiling at him, and he promptly sped back to his corner, embarrassed.

"Atta boy," she whispered, still grinning softly at him.

He refused to look at her. He wasn't touched by it or anything. He wasn't....

"It's okay. Don't be embarrassed," said the girl. "I like that song, too."

Brian stayed in his corner the rest of the movie, but the song never left his mind. 

---

The next day proceeded as normal. Once again, Rachel sat by his cage. Once again, she had brought a treat, albeit one he'd never seen before, nor smelled, for that matter. It was small... and white... and fluffy, and it smelled sugary and sweet. He wanted it. Oh, he wanted it so very badly. But nothing that ever came from the fingers of a scientist, even a soft-spoken one, was innocent. And so he refused, his back turned to her.

"Stubborn butt," said Rachel, and by her tone alone Brian could tell that it was a snide comment. He ignored her.

"Here."

As had occurred many times before, she left the treat in his cage near the entrance, closed the door, and sat to watch him. His eyes shifted towards the treat. It sat there, staring at him, mocking him. Eat me, it said. No, he thought. Oh, but it smelled so good....

Rachel sighed. So did Brian. She rested her head in her arms, exasperated. Maybe it really wasn't worth it....

Brian licked his lips. Perhaps....

He took a step forward. Rachel remained where she was, head in her arms, not looking at him. He moved another step. She was still as a stone. Patter patter patter patter patter... GRAB. He swooped back to his corner as fast as possible, marshmallow in his mouth. Rachel looked up... and chuckled. Brian dug into the treat, enjoying every second of it as teeth sunk into the savory delight. He'd never tasted anything this good before. It was better than mother's milk; much better than lab pellets; better than cheese....

"Silly little thing," Rachel giggled, smiling as he filled his cheeks with pleasantness. "Wait 'til you see what I bring you tomorrow."

Tomorrow, he was to find out, brought a piece of a doughnut, and the day after that a waffle. He'd never been this darn spoiled before. On the fourth occasion, he was, for once, already at the door, waiting to see what she'd bring. Lady and the Tramp and sugar, it turned out, were the keys to his heart, although he still wouldn't let her touch him. If her hand so much as brushed his fur he was back to his corner in a rush, although, this time, he didn't try to bite her first.

Rachel laughed when she saw the two little paws clutching at the gated entrance.

"You like 'em that much, huh? Here ya' go."

He stepped back to allow her access to the gate, and watched carefully as she placed something savory and smelling of salt inside. He sniffed, investigating as she closed the door. He took a tentative bite. Mmmmm. Yes, this was acceptable. Grabbing it, he rushed back to his usual corner and chowed down.

"Good. A fellow bacon appreciator," Rachel nodded, satisfied.

He ate the entire piece, licking his lips and proceeding to clean himself afterwards. That had been a bit messy. Good, but messy. If there was something he still valued, it was cleanliness. He could at least retain some form of dignity. The state of his fur was one of the few things he still had control over. Unlike some of the other unfortunate chaps, he'd never had to endure surgery or a shaved stomach.

Two little pink ears perked up as his cage door was opened yet again. More treats? No. Just Rachel, hand offered to him once more. Brian sighed. She just wouldn't give up, would she?

A second glance made him aware that she did, in fact, have something in her hand -- another marshmallow. Hmph. Sneaky. And yet, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want it....

"It's okay, little one," Rachel cooed, hand still outstretched, that plump marshmallow beckoning ever so tantalizingly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise."

Brian sighed. He looked down at the floor, then over at her hand.

Rachel's eyes widened a touch, but she otherwise didn't reveal her surprise as Brian moved forward, inch by inch, step by step, towards her hand....

He stopped at the entrance, debating. Dare he...? It was a risk. He'd never willing done this, not since he'd been captured. It was a stupid decision. Stupid. And yet....

Her hand shifted a touch, and Brian shifted nervously with it. Rachel waited with bated breath.

He stepped forward....

In a flash, he'd grabbed the 'mallow from her hand and retreated to the back of his cage, not daring to even think about what he'd just done. It was foolish. It was dangerous. And yet, she hadn't tried to grab him, or even pet him. She'd just... given him a choice. And he'd taken it. Somehow, for some reason, he'd taken it.

Rachel smiled.

"Atta boy."

---

Perhaps it was the mere fact, the tantalizing realization, that he had a choice in the first place, that drew him back, but over the course of the next few weeks, things changed.

It had started slow at first. A light brush of the whiskers here; a sniff of the hand there. But, eventually, Brian, of his own accord, stepped into her hand. And she didn't close her fingers about him harshly, or strangle him, or pick him up by the tail. She simply... let him be. It was kind. It was unobtrusive. It was respectful. And he appreciated it.

No longer did the other students make fun, or joke that she'd never gain his trust. If anything, they questioned her.

"How the heck did you do it?" they'd ask, curious.

Even more confused were the scientists themselves. Not that anyone had tried very hard to gain the little mouse's trust. He was, in their opinion, not worth the time.

But he was to Rachel.

December came, and with it a complete turn-around in Brian's behavior, albeit towards one particular individual.

He eagerly rushed into her hand now. No need for the transportation tube. She could carry him on her shoulder to the maze area and pick him up with her bare hands as she placed him in the labyrinth, although she still made sure to let him take the first step and would, more often than not, simply offer a hand instead of plucking him from her shoulder. He still appreciated this.

Every weekday was now a day to look forward to. Sure, he was still tormented by the main personnel, but for two or three hours, two or three sweet hours, he didn't have to worry about anything. On the days he suffered from a stomach-ache, she'd hold him close to her chest and do her best to rub the pain away, offering him tea to ease his suffering, and if he fell asleep on her shoulder and woke up, shaking, from a bad dream, she'd rock him back and forth, singing "La La Lu" to him until the nightmares went away. On those rare nights, when she could only work late and no one was around, she'd bottle feed him. He'd been hesitant (and a little embarrassed) at first, but any reminder of home was difficult to ignore, and so he ended up embracing each form of love and affection with open paws, clutching tightly to her chest some days, as if this hug would be his last. For all he knew, it could be. He'd gotten used to her visits, but what if she left and never came back? He didn't want that love to leave....

December 14th.

The end of the semester was approaching. Rachel had told him, time and again, that she was leaving soon; that she would miss him; that she'd try to come back for the next semester. Brian understood none of this. He was a mouse, after all. Human language was foreign to him. The most he could understand was the occasional word -- his name, Brian, and various names of foods and tests -- and basic inflections that he knew signified concern, happiness, or contentment. But he didn't understand "leave", or "semester", or "miss". He could tell something was wrong, that she was sad, but as to why, he did not know.

A week from the last day of the semester, she brought a surprise: a movie. It had something to do with a rat, and food. He liked it for those things. He wished he could understand the words. It seemed interesting. He sat on Rachel's shoulder the entire time, at least until the end of the film, during which Rachel offered her hand to him. He accepted. She brought him up to her chest, nuzzling him close.

"I'm going away for a while, but... I'll try to be back next semester."

She petted him gently. He stared up at her, curious and concerned. Why was she so sad?

"I'm going to miss you...," she whispered. And, for the first time, she kissed him on his fuzzy white head. "I love you...."

He didn't understand the words, but he understood what they meant; how they felt.

Slowly, gently, he nuzzled close to her... and licked her fingers. It was the first time he'd shown genuine affection outside of nuzzling since he'd been captured. I love you, too....

He didn't understand it, but... there was something in the air that told him something big was coming. Something new. Something was going to be different....

December 18th came just like any other day. The semester was coming to a close. Many students had already finished their courses and gone home for the holidays. The occasional class still lingered on, including the medical science class. Most all had completed training and experimentation on their subjects for the season and were simply spending the next few days filing reports and filling out last minute essays. Some of the rodents wouldn't live to see the new year. Others had already been subjected to vivisection by their handlers and were far from the lab by this point. Subject BR-41N was one of the few who'd been given the same sheet on their clipboard day after day, week after week: a run of the mill of the usual, simple, non-invasive tests, along with an injection or two. But today was different.

As Rachel stepped up to Brian's cage, sipping at a hot cup of tea and smiling as her charge ran up to the bars to greet her, she frowned as she pulled up the clip board. His tag was yellow. Not the usual blue, but... yellow. She set down her cup, ignoring Brian's squeaky pleas to be let out as she looked over the sheet carefully.

Subject Reserved for Project B.R.A.I.N. // Invasive Study -- Cognitive Psychology, Neuroscience Psychology // 4:00 PM - Dec. 20

There was a pause, in which the dip in Rachel's brow furrowed ever deeper, her eyes roaming about the page scrutinizingly, before she slipped the paper out of its holder and headed back out the way she'd came, Brian looking curiously after her.

She marched all the way to a back office, in which sat one of the laboratory heads: Jackson. He looked up over his square-rimmed glasses as she knocked upon the exposed inner door frame.

"Yes?" he asked, sounding bored.

"Hey. Um.... I think you gave my subject the wrong paper."

"BR-41N?"

"Yeah. He got a yellow."

She stretched out her arm, offering the paper as proof, but he didn't take it. Instead, he looked up at her, fingers meeting at their tips, and said:

"No, I gave you the right paper. That's for BR-41N. His procedure is in two days."

His tone was flat and laced with a thin layer of poison, as if her daring to question him was a challenge.

"But... I thought he was just doing mainly labyrinth tests."

"Ms. Field, I thought you were told...?"

"Told what...?"

"He's been scheduled for this procedure for months. We wanted him fresh and so have eschewed more invasive tests until now. Frankly, you've been spending a little too much time with that mouse. He's gotten too friendly. We're not in the business of developing attachment here."

He said all this with a straight face, completely emotionless. Rachel swallowed thickly.

"Sir, I've... been going over this test. It's... very dangerous."

"Yes."

"It could kill him...."

"Yes?"

Rachel simply stared at him, uncertain of what to say next. He wasn't working with her here....

"Look.... What did you expect? You're studying medical science, correct?"

She nodded.

"Okay, well," he continued, a small chuckle of sarcasm escaping his lips as he said it. "Y-You have to realize that... this is a laboratory. We can't keep every subject. And these tests come with a lot of risks."

"Could you possibly do the test on another subject...?" Rachel asked, choosing her words carefully. "Brian is still kind of young, and..."

"Brian?"

Shoot.

"Sorry, I mean... BR-41N."

"You can't start... naming them, Miss Field. That's when you start getting attached. Understand?"

"I know...," Rachel mumbled, cheeks reddening as she looked down at her shoes.

"And the whole point of using him at this age is because his mind is younger. He's fresh."

"But he's just a baby..."

"Yes? And? A lot of the other students are working with infants."

"This one is...," Rachel began, than stopped. Already she'd said too much.

"Miss Field, if you don't prepare him for the procedure, someone else will. Now, you can either do your assignment or lose your credits. It's your choice."

Rachel sighed. Still holding the paper, she let her arm fall dramatically to her side.

"Fine...."

And she turned to walk off. But...

"Miss Field?"

She looked at him.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Yes, Sir," Rachel replied, after a hefty pause, and headed back to her charge.

---

Brian didn't understand why Rachel was so quiet that day, nor why she cuddled him so much. She whispered to him something about "breaking out" and "night", but he didn't understand what those things meant, although he heard the urgency in her voice. As a result, he was a little more uptight the rest of the afternoon.

Before leaving, Rachel kissed the top of his head again, before setting him back down in the cage and hooking the door. Her good-byes were all but gibberish to him, although he recognized the word "tomorrow". So he'd be seeing her tomorrow. That was good. At least he had a time frame. He was naive to the rest....

---

December 19th 9:15 PM

BR-41N cleaned his whiskers, pondering.

She hadn't shown up today. Strange. "Tomorrow". She's said "tomorrow". Today was tomorrow. Why hadn't she come?

To his left, in a far corner of the room, someone sneezed in their cage. Brian frowned sadly. It was that hamster again. Whatever they'd given him had put him into a sneezing fit for an hour. Now and then he relapsed.

He yawned, stretched, and made for the food dispenser, when he suddenly heard a sharp click of a door being opened and abruptly snapped shut. He turned in the direction of the door. A light flicked on. Brian smiled.

Rachel's feet slid across the floor in haste. Instead of her usual student lab coat, she was decked out in her normal clothes, complete with backpack. Her hoodie was up, obscuring her hair, save for a few strands that stuck out here and there, as well as part of her face. She moved with purpose, albeit a little covertly, looking over her shoulder every now and then, as if expecting someone to grab her at any minute.

Set in a wall above the entrance to the room, a camera followed her. Rachel's eyes shifted at the sound as she moved towards Brian's cage. She knew she only had five, maybe ten, minutes at best.

Opening the cage door, she held her hand out for Brian to step onto. He hesitated. Something didn't smell right....

"Come on. We're busting you out of here, dude," Rachel whispered.

Brian cocked his head at her questioningly.

"Listen, they're going to put your through that splicer if we don't get you out of here, so come on."

There was an urgency in her voice that, despite his misgivings, compelled him to move forward. He trusted her too much by this point.

"Atta boy," she praised him, tucking him in her shirt pocket.

He peeked out, paws clutching at the edges of the pocket interestedly.

"Let's go," Rachel whispered, turning back to the door and stopping as she realized that someone was already standing there....

Framed in the metal doorway was a woman, thirty-five... maybe forty-something in age. Her arms were crossed, and the expression on her face seemed as taught and firm as the scrunchie tightening her poofy auburn hair. Her long lab coat was still settling; she must have only just gotten there. Rachel recognized this woman. Lana, her name was -- she was one of the head managers at the facility. Jackson had obviously tipped her off.

"Fancied a night stroll?" she asked, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Rachel remained frozen in place, a hand subconsciously cupping her shirt pocket. The gesture didn't go unnoticed.

"You know you're risking a lot for this. That's all your credits down the drain."

"He's worth it," Rachel answered, resolute.

"He's not. You take him and they'll just get another subject."

"At least I'll have saved this one."

"We'd still rather you not take an asset that's been reserved for months for this procedure," Lana nipped, taking a step forward.

Rachel took a step back. Her eyes shifted to a door to her left. It led to several other testing rooms and then back out into the main hallway. Some of the doors had security locks. It was the long way around, but if she was fast enough....

"Rachel...," Lana spoke, tone threatening as she advanced. "Put him down."

With each step Lana took towards her, Rachel moved two back. She could feel herself starting to perspire. Gosh, this was a stupid idea....

"Rachel...."

With a hand cupped over her shirt pocket, Rachel darted in the direction of the door, opening it up in a flash and slamming it shut behind her. Already she was racing for the opposite end of the room, where another door stood.

Brian jumped as an alarm went off, followed by red lights that flashed all throughout the facility. Rachel was already in the next room, her heart racing. She could hear the panicked footsteps behind her, mimicking her own, and hoped upon hope that she was faster than her pursuer.

Rachel picked up her pace as she entered the next room. This one, she knew, required an employee badge to open. All of the students had been given security badges, of course, primarily for general access to the entrance and main rooms. They worked on some doors in the facility. Some, but not all. She'd never been in these rooms. Privately, she prayed that they'd open for her.

Slamming her badge up against a wall panel, she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet nervously.

"Come on. Come oooon! Take it!!"

It did. The door unlocked, and she swung it open in haste to make for the next locked door, which also granted her entrance.

She was faster than Lana, but it didn't mean the woman wasn't hot on her heels. Brian shut his eyes tightly, huddling against Rachel's chest on the inside of her pocket as she darted about, her hand still cupping him securely. He knew, somehow, that this was about him. His ears rotated this way and that at the duo of clicking feet racing down the linoleum flooring. Who would win? Who was he most valuable to?

It wasn't until the fourth room that Rachel started to panic. Yet again, she'd reached a door asking for proof of access, except this time... her badge was not accepted. She shook the door handle feebly, knowing it wouldn't open; knowing this was the end of the line. Despite himself, Brian peeked out of the shirt pocket, just in time to see Lana as Rachel swiftly turned around to face the woman, who stood at the opposite end of the room, hair askew and chest heaving as she glared at Rachel and her tiny charge.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Lana huffed.

"Why do you need him?! Just let me take him and get another subject!" Rachel bit.

"We let you get away with it and you'll set a precedent! You know that!" Lana snapped right back. "And we don't want to waste any more time. We've spent too much money on this project."

"He's just a baby!"

"All of them are meant to be expendable! Hand him over!"

"No!"

Brian's ears flicked. Rachel held her breath. Was it just them, or did they hear... more footsteps?

"You won't have a choice," Lana said flatly, expressionless as she was joined by not one, not two, but five other lab hands, one of the them Jackson, all of them full-time personnel.

"Rachel.... Hand him over," Jackson said, holding out his hand expectantly.

Rachel glared daggers at him, even though she was fully aware of the impossibility of the situation. Like the mouse she was trying so hard to protect, she was trapped, her back against the wall, literally. They were going to take him. They were going to take him and there was nothing she could do about it....

"I told you not to do anything stupid," Jackson continued.

"Please...," Rachel pleaded, breathing heavily. "Please, let me take care of him. I'll train another in his place as compensation, I swear. Just... don't hurt him."

"And then you'll grow attached to that one and try and kidnap it. We've seen it before. You're not the first," Jackson reprimanded.

"Good," said Rachel. "I'm glad I'm not."

Privately, she wondered why she'd ever signed up for this in the first place. She wanted the degree. She wanted it badly. She also loved animals, and knew that following her passion came with sacrifices. What she hadn't counted on was how difficult it would be to accept that. It wasn't feasible, she realized. In fact, it was darn near impossible.

She looked down at the infant trembling in her pocket -- at this little creature that had captured her heart and locked it away, far away from any hopes and dreams of graduating in the medical field of her choosing. "He's not worth it," Lana had said. Was he not? Brian looked up at her, those glossy little eyes staring at her expectantly, trustingly. She smiled sadly at him and, for the last time, cuddled him close, before looking up at the troop across from her.

"If you want him, come and get him," she challenged. They weren't getting him without a fight.

And they rushed at her.

She tried to escape. Oh, she tried... and failed. They grabbed her by the arms as she wrestled against them, cheering Brian on as he somehow managed to escape from her pocket and slip underneath one of the shelving units in the room. But Lana caught him, Brian squeaking as his tail snagged between the beaker and the small metal panel she'd captured him with. He stared at Rachel, his desperate, panicked expression the last thing she saw before being knocked out.

-------

- Two Years Later -

The plan had failed. Rather spectacularly, he might add....

It was the first time in Brain's memory he could ever recall being caught red-handed by any of the personnel at Acme Labs. It was a miracle he and Pinky had managed to escape, but, despite his best attempts, they'd been separated in the process.

He made for a facility some yards away from the main laboratory, sweating as he squeezed under its front door and immediately hid under a cabinet to his right. Lights flashed now and again beyond the windows, desperate voices accompanying them as the scientists searched here and their for the escapees. Brain silently prayed that Pinky had somehow found a suitable hiding spot.

In his position under the cabinet, he backed up against the wall and slid down it, a paw clutching at his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. After a few seconds, he gulped, sniffed, and buried his face in his knees. Stupid. Stupid.... He'd jeopardized their whole mission. What if they'd captured Pinky? What would they do to him? And even if they did escape, where would they go? He'd ruined everything. Everything....

In his haste to remain undetected, he'd neglected to realize that this room... was not entirely devoid of life. It was a small area -- a security office, to be exact. Numerous monitors took up space on a desk, at which someone sat. They slid out of their chair and stepped over to Brain's hiding place. He noticed... and shivered.

Whatever, whomever, it was got down on their knees to peer at him from just outside the dresser.

"Hello...," they said.

It was a woman. Her voice was soft, and kind, but Brain turned his head away from her prying eyes. Typical. In an effort to not get caught he'd inevitably been ratted out. He immediately considered making a run for it, but, for some reason he couldn't explain, he didn't.

"Hey.... Shh. Shh. It's okay, little one. It's okay," cooed the woman. "You wanna come on out...?"

And she held out a hand to him. She didn't try to grab him, or scare him out. She simply... gave him a choice.

But it had been too long. He didn't recognize her, neither she him... until she noticed the tail. Then she knew.

"Brian...?" she breathed, eyes growing wide.

He stared at her, nonplussed, still shivering.

"Brian, it's me. Rachel," she beckoned, her hand still in place. But he didn't move. If anything, he frowned at her. "Brian"?

And she tried everything -- talking to him soothingly; offering him a treat from her pocket. Nothing worked. Brain simply hid his face once more, willing her to go away; to leave him be; to, hopefully, not report him to the authorities if they came to call.

Rachel sighed. She sat up for a moment, thinking, and blinked. Struck with a sudden idea, she rested her hands on her lap... and began to sing....

“La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...“

Brain blinked... and lifted his head, ever so slowly....

“La la lu, La la lu, Little soft fluffy sleeper, Here comes a pink cloud for you...“

He stood up... and walked forward, right to the edge of the cabinet. She was still singing.

“La la lu, La la lu, Little wandering angel, Fold up your wings, Close your eyes...”

His mouth was fully open now, his round eyes glossy and getting ever shinier. He couldn't pull his gaze away from her face.

“La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper...

La la lu, La la lu, La la lu....”

Rachel stared at him, smiling. He had completely stepped out from under the cabinet by now, his little body trembling slightly.

"Hello, little star sweeper," Rachel whispered to him.

Breath hitching, Brain ran onto her lap, up her shirt, and clutched tightly to her chest, only a second or two going by before he felt those familiar hands hold him gently, securely.

"Oh, Brian...," she choked, kissing his head. He didn't even flinch.

"Why didn't you come back?" he asked, unable to hold back his tears.

"I couldn't," she answered honestly. "But I was able to keep an eye on you from here."

He sniffed and pulled back a little to look around the room. It was, indeed, a security office, and a fairly high end one at that, decked out with all the works.

"I'm an artist now, but in my part time I take the night shift. They at least let me come back for that, probably 'cause Jackson and Lana are gone now," she chuckled softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you this time...."

Brain looked up at her, suddenly understanding. All that time they'd never been caught; never been reported. All those months and years that the camera had simply turned a blind eye to their antics. He thought it was simply negligence. Now he knew why.

"Thank you...," Brain whispered. "And it's... Brain now."

"I know," she smiled. “I still watch tv, ya' know. I just still remember you as my 'Brian'. I'm sorry, Brain."

He couldn't help but smile. All this time....

"Come with me?" Rachel asked him.

"Where?"

"Back to my place. I'll hide you. You can have the guest room, if you'd like."

A sharp knock at the door startled them both, and she quickly ran to her desk, Brain in her hands. She lifted him up and under the desk.

"There's a hidden panel in the roof! Get in it!" she whispered to him urgently.

He found it, albeit with a little difficulty. He pushed at a little area that looked as if it had been cut into... and down shifted a small cubby in which she kept an assortment of odd bits and bobs that were probably not supposed to be in her possession -- special looking keys and badges, among other things. He slipped into it, and Rachel pushed it closed before walking over to answer the door....

Another barrage of bangs thundered at the entrance as Rachel opened it, a hand on her hip as she held the door ajar, doing her best to look as ticked off as possible.

"Sheesh! Gimme a minute to finish pouring my tea! Gosh...."

Outside stood two gentlemen, both in lab coats, looking frantic.

"Have you seen a mouse?" one of them said. He was taller and appeared to be the leader. "White. Large cranium. He was with a companion."

Rachel shrugged.

"Is that what you guys have been looking for?"

"You haven't seen them on your cameras?" the second man asked, panting a little.

Rachel shook her head.

"No, I haven't seen anything."

The men exchanged glances.

"We'd better search the place, just to make sure," the leader said, and without further ado they barged in and began searching every nook, cranny, drawer, and trash can they could. They failed to find the hidden cubby, however. "Can we ask you to roll back the footage?"

"Sure, but you're not gonna find anything," Rachel shrugged again.

They did as permitted, scrutinizing every bit of film captured within the last ten minutes. Although they managed to catch one or two glimpses of the mice leaving the lab, as expected, they couldn't find hair no hide of them on any other roll. Behind their backs, Rachel smirked. Smart little guy. Even on the run, he'd purposely made sure not to walk in the path of the cameras.

After several more minutes of scrutiny, they finally gave up, heading for the door in a huff.

"Sorry for your time. Report to us if you find anything," said the leader.

"No problem," Rachel said, shutting the door with a snap behind them and sighing deeply. Yeah, right..., she thought.

Going back to her desk, she pushed open the hidden cubby. It lowered down and Brain immediately jumped into her hand, breathing rather heavily.

"Sorry, little one," Rachel apologized. I can imagine it's pretty stuffy in there...."

He gave her a look, albeit not a very harsh one. He had no reason to complain.

She raised her hand, allowing him to jump up onto her shoulder.

"They'll be back later to go over more footage," Rachel warned, sitting down at her desk and leaning back in her chair.

"I know," Brain said, licking at his paws and smoothing out his frazzled fur.

Rachel jumped a little and stared at him.

"Heh. I forgot you guys talk now...."

"Is that a problem...?" Brain asked, a little nervously.

Rachel smiled.

"Not at all."

She reached out a hand to scratch at a spot behind his ears.

"What are you...? Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho...," Brain melted, reeling a little at first before giving way to a goofy smile and a thumping foot as he pressed into the touch.

"Still got that little sensitive spot, huh?" Rachel chuckled, her scratches evolving into a head massage.

Brain practically fell off her shoulder, Rachel catching him in her hands and raising him up to eye level, the better to get a good look at him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. How demoralizing.... But Rachel simply beamed at him.

"You know... I really missed you."

"I... wish I could say the same...," Brain confessed, shuffling a foot. He imagined he had thought of her often, as an infant, but over time the memories simply... faded.

Rachel didn't look upset, though.

"I understand. It's okay. I still love you."

"I...," Brain began, then stopped. No. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Even with Pinky he couldn't ever admit such a thing, and he loved Pinky most of all.

"You don't have to say it. I know you do in your heart," Rachel said, and she kissed him tenderly on the top of his head.

His ears flattened as she did it, and he almost immediately smoothed out the area where she'd kissed him, but he couldn't hide the blush tickling his cheeks and ears. Her behavior was cheesy as all get out, but privately he knew she was right. He did care, even if he'd never admit it.

Just then, something, or... someone, slipped underneath the door. A white-furred, lanky somebody.

"Pinky!!" Brain yelped.

Brain leapt off of Rachel in a flash, landing hard on the floor and limping a little as he ran into Pinky's outstretched arms.

"Brain!!" Pinky shouted right back. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again!!"

He twirled him around in a circle or two before Brain became aware of what he was doing and promptly pushed himself out of Pinky's grasp, clearing his throat, once again embarrassed.

"Y-Yes, well.... I'm... glad you're safe, Pinky," Brain replied awkwardly, patting his companion on the head.

"Ohhh! Who's this, Brain?" Pinky asked, pointing up at Rachel, who still sat in her computer chair, smiling down at them both.

"Umm.... Pinky, this is Rachel. She's... an old friend."

"Nice to meet you, Pinky! I've heard a lot about you. Well, maybe not heard, but... I've seen you guys on the tv a lot!" Rachel said, beaming.

"You have?!" Pinky gasped, clasping two paws to his face in surprise. "Did you hear that, Brain? We're famous!!"

"Pinky, we've been famous many times, all of them never lasting as long as I'd like...," Brain recollected.

"Well, yes, Brain, but never to a friend!"

Rachel smiled and leaned forward a little.

"I have a proposition for you guys."

"For both of us? Is that legal, Brain?" Pinky whispered to his cage mate, looking concerned, to which Brain facepalmed.

"Proposition, Pinky, not proposal."

"Ohhhhhhhhh. Well, that's different then, isn't it?" Pinky said, nodding eagerly to Rachel.

"How would you guys like to come room at my place? Just for as long as you need until you can get off your feet."

Once again, Pinky gasped excitedly.

"Can we, Brain?!"

"Well...," Brain pondered, hesitating. The offer, though generous, made him feel rather... helpless and awkward, as if he was intruding.

"You're welcome to any of the food and stuff. I've got havarti," she smirked.

Pinky gasped again.

"Oh, please, please, please, please, pleeeeaaaaase, Brain?!?" Pinky pleaded again.

"You're... sure you wouldn't mind?" Brain asked. "I'd hate to intrude...."

"My house is yours," Rachel said genuinely. "And it comes with a pool table," she added, winking at Pinky.

Pinky was doing his utmost to contain a squeal, biting his lip and practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Brain rolled his eyes.

"Oh, all right...," he relented.

"YAAAAAY!!" exclaimed Pinky, jumping into Rachel's outstretched hand, followed by Brain, as she lifted them up onto her shoulder.

"You'll have to hide in my backpack on the way to the car," she said. "The next guy is about to swap out with me."

And she pulled her backpack up from off the floor and plopped it onto the desk, opening it up. Pinky sprung off her shoulder as if it was a diving board, plunging into the depths of the backpack, which, by all accounts, wasn't very deep. Pinky didn't seem to mind, though. He had fun "swimming" around amongst the snacks, car keys, pencils, wallet, and little sketchpad all the same. Brain simply shook his head, unable to keep a smile off his face. What an idiot.

Rachel was as good as her word. They were given the guest bedroom, along with access to the rest of the house, food included. Provided they didn't draw too much attention to themselves, they were allowed to tinker and plan all they liked within the safety of the back room, and lie low they did, for Acme Labs was on the hunt for a good number of weeks before they gave up on finding them entirely.

Pinky was quite fond of the seemingly unlimited amount of cheese available in the fridge, along with the plethora of movies Rachel had at her disposal. He was often to be found in front of the television, and if he wasn't there he was by Brain's side almost constantly. Brain was most grateful for the space in which to concoct experiments and conjure up plans for world domination, although he had to improvise more often than not, seeing as he didn't have all of the lab's equipment at his beck and call anymore. It was something he sorely missed, but he couldn't say he minded the warm bed and good food that came with their new living quarters either. It was... nice.

Once in a blue moon (which ended up being once a month), Pinky would request Lady and the Tramp for movie night, not just because he liked it, but because of Brain's unusual reaction to it. He liked to watch him subconsciously lean up against Rachel as they sat next to her, eventually breaking down into a fit of silent tears as "La La Lu" danced around the room. Sometimes Rachel would pick him up, holding him close and massaging his head as he calmed against her chest. Oftentimes, Pinky would join them, cuddling up next to Brain as they nuzzled together in Rachel's warm hands.

"I love you, Brain," Pinky would mumble sweetly, giving him an extra squeeze.

"I love you, little one," whispered Rachel, petting him softly.

I love you, too, said Brain in his own little way, holding them both just a tiny bit tighter, a smile creeping its way up onto his face. It was nice, being loved....

~ I love you, too. ~

The End

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

The ending of this is meant to be sort of an alternate to Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain. What if they'd ended up there after running away from Acme instead of at Elmyra's?

I didn’t realize until after writing this that it makes no sense for Rachel to be cool with Brain talking one minute, only to be surprised by it the next. It’s a glaring error on my part, but I left it in as a reminder to myself that I need to be more careful. Lol.

Technically, this whole thing is a self-insert, although the name of the girl is not my real name. It’s actually the cognomen of my very first rat. Ha-ha. But the personality of the character is me -- how I talk; act around animals; and most likely what I’d do if put into this situation. The exception is the chase scene. I don’t think I’d act that... panicked? Who knows, though....

This is kind of a way I show compassion for Brain, seeing as I cannot, of course, give him an actual hug. I love Brain more than any other fictional character I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching on screen. It’s not a romantic love or anything. Certainly not. It’s more... maternal. The desire to love and protect is strong. That combination of: individual with a tragic backstory + laboratory setting + main character who happens to be a mouse = the perfect concoction to turn my heart to mush. I owned rats for many years and have a great love for animals, and tend to get attached to certain fictional characters, so here you have the result. He’d be as averse as ever to physical affection, but if I could hold Brain in my hands, plant a kiss on his head, and tell him he’s loved. I would. Thank God for Pinky.