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jarofstyles · 3 years ago

Note

hey besties, pls do a football player Harry (soccer in case ur american lol) and physical therapist y/n !!

I know absolute shit all about football (soccer bc we are American) but we can give it a go!!! Plz don’t be mad I don’t know anything about it cause it’s ✨make believe ✨

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—-

He was a little shit.

A beautiful, charming, irritating, little shit.

When Y/N has signed on for this team, being the medic was something she had been passionate about for years. Having her own accident and making it so she couldn’t properly play anymore, it was her mission to still be involved in the game so how. Y/N’s own injury and healing process had her become more and more interested in the profession, and here she was.

It wasn’t everything she had dreamed of, as nothing ever was, but it was good. She got to sit field-side every game, close to the action. And every injury she got first look at. She helped the guys with their stretches, their previous injuries and keeping them from Re-injuring themselves, taking care of them and making sure their physical shape was the best it could be.

In general? She was happy. But there was one man who was a thorn in her side and a pain in her crotch.

Harry Styles.

The man who decided it was his personal mission to follow her around like a puppy dog. Popping up in her singular moments of peace during game day. Texting her and asking about very, very small twists of ankles and giving her the ‘🥺 maybe you should come and look at it…’ whenever he did so.

Not to mention his complete and utter want to get into her pants.

Now it wasn’t as if she couldn’t handle a few sexual jokes. Y/N was a big girl and knew 99% of the time, the guys on the team knew their limit. And Harry? Harry, in reality, was a gentleman. Never touched her inappropriately, ever. But the problem was… she kind of wanted him to.

There was no actual clause against staff members and players being together or hooking up. Nope, just frowned upon. Maybe a slap on the wrist. However Y/N knew, she knew that the moment anyone caught wind of her potential affections for any team member or acting on it? It would end with everyone thinking she slept with them to get the job.

Y/N worked long and hard. Tireless hours for make sure these men were healthy, fit, and at their best. She wouldn’t sleep with anyone for any job, and she was actually respected by this team which was something a lot of women weren’t in this field. She could not and would not throw it away for a good dicking.

Fuck, did she want to sometimes.

—-

Harry had these hands. The perfect hands, in her opinion. Big, strong with thinner fingers. Long fingers. A good sized palm, not overly veiny, just perfection in male hand scales. Luckily (or unluckily, whatever way you’d put it) she got to handle them often.

“S’sore today, doc.” He winced, sitting on the table in front of her. Harry’s wrist throbbed. It was rainy, and it was usually a wreck when it was the perfect condition. The ache was annoying, and he knew she had a solution.

Her lips pouted softly as she gently took the hand in place, thumbing over the part of the wrist where rhe injury had occurred. She had learned a while ago where to press, how to rub and get it to lessen before she wrapped it up. “Yeah… old injuries tend to never let you forget.” She sighed, pushing her glasses up into her hair.

Harry never could get over how fucking gorgeous Y/N was. From her nose to her lips, the pretty sparkle in her eye, the curve of her hip… he was obsessed. Not to mention the fact that she was so gentle with him. So kind and sweet, though he knew he got on her nerves with his teasing sometime. She could handle it and he always tried to watch to make sure he wasn’t going too far, but he couldn’t help it.

He was a silly boy with a bit fat crush.

Y/N didn’t bite for any of them. Everyone had attempted when she first came on, testing the waters. Her pretty face was welcome to all the blokes in the team, and there was something incredibly attractive about a woman who could heal. Nonetheless, she never gave in to anything.

In Harry’s case, he knew it was different. He could see her smile at some jokes, see her get the bumps on her skin when he brushed her a certain way. But she avoided the eye contact. Avoided the touches. And it drove him mad.

Of course she wouldn’t know he had actual feelings for him because he was a giant coward most of the time. He hid his affection in the dirty jokes and the teasing squeezes of her waist and teasing. He was a thick skinned man but a full rejection form her would hurt.

Her soft fingers gently massaged over the wrist, making him groan. His head tilted back and he let it out, hissing slightly when she pressed too hard. “Oooh, don’t worry sweetheart. Y’know I like it to hurt a little.” His wide smirk made her roll her eyes huffing under her breath.

Y/N was not having a great day. She had been harassed by an Ex all fucking night over her new job. Making all the damn assumptions that she was getting ‘trained by the team’ in a much more vulgar way, and she had cried half the night. To say she wasn’t in the mood was an understatement, but she was trying.

Harry was not what she needed today, because it made her feel worse. Her blatant attraction to him made her feel guilty. She should be professional and leave it with. The way she had squeeze her legs tighter while he groaned didn’t help her case. The ugly words of how they’ only kept her around for a potential fuck’ was ringing in her head.

Harry though, he was a little oblivious. Her hands were so talented, and he didn’t watch her face for once as she hit a good spot again and he let out another remark.

“Jesus, that’s good. Do those magic hands work everywhere?”

That was the straw that broke her. It wasn’t his fault necessarily, he was just playing. But her eyes watered, hand yanking away as she turned from him, walking over to the bench. Trying to compose herself was hard as the tears burned so hard in her eyes, hands shaking slightly.

Harry startled, not used to that. She never flinched away like that, never ignored his remark and walked away. Usually told him to fuck off, rolled her eyes, something. But the energy in the room immediately shifted and he was uncomfortable. What had happened?

Cautiously, he cleared his throat and stood up from the bench, licking over his dry lips as he spoke again. “Uh… Y/N?”

“S’all I’m good for, right?” She muttered under her breath. Frantically wiping under her eyes she tried to focus on the paper in front of her but she could feel Harry approaching.

He furrowed his brow, not sure if he heard correctly. “Wha-“

Y/N whipped around fast, eyes teary and wet. “I said, that’s all I’m good for right? Only good for my hands and sex and all that pleasure you can get from me?” She hissed. “Only good for a romp in the sheets and a pretty face to heal your wounds and put on band aids. Only good to make you get off and feel good and then what? I’m left here with nothing.”

The tears left her, her hands shaking as she grabbed her bag. Harry felt his stomach drop. Never, ever had he wanted to make her feel like that. Her crying? That wasn’t something he ever wanted to see again. He felt like he had taken a ball to the gut, hard. Those eyes he adored being full of pain, full of tears was his own personal hell.

“Y/N… wait, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“ he tried to follow her to the door, stopping abruptly when she lifted a hand up to him. Her stomping had made him nervous. Now she was leaving without talking to him and he felt like a complete dick. It was their normal teasing, but he had crossed a line.

“Don’t. Just…. Just leave me alone. I’m going home.”

—-

As much as Harry had wanted to chase after her, he had already made her cry once. He wasn’t risking it again.

The icky, gross feeling in his stomach followed him all day. He was gutted. Not only has he apparently crossed a line with someone he respected, he had a fucking crush on her. The man was convinced no other feeling was worse than a crush being angry at him. Even if it sounded juvenile to place it like that.

Harry liked Y/N. He never ever wanted to make her upset in any capacity, let alone feeling like a sex object or violated. He prided himself on respecting women. And he had fucking failed. He needed to make it right, and fast.

He had found her address. In her employee file, and he knew that was bad but he needed to check on her. Regardless of what happened beforehand, she was upset by him enough to leave and go home and he wanted to make sure she was genuinely okay.

It was an overstep and Harry knew it. He had to try, though.

He arrived at her door step with a box of cupcakes and some flowers. Gently kicking the floor, he heard the door open and his heart broke a little more.

Y/N standing in front of him with swollen eyes. She had been crying, seemingly a lot. And she looked upset still. Though he expected her to close the door in his face and tell him to fuck off. But she didn’t.

Instead, she broke into tears again, throwing herself into his chest. Her arms wrapping around his waist, he nearly tumbled over but righted himself as he startled. Quickly he found himself recovering, wrapping his free arm around her and holding her. He was able to maneuver slightly and drop the cupcakes on her entry table, flowers as well before having his arms free.

“Hey…. Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” He whispered softly, gently placing a hand on her back. Rubbing it up and down, letting her cry into his tee shirt. It was worrying. Whatever happened was beyond him, but he wasn’t going to let that take away from the fact he had added and made it worse.

“I’m sorry.” Her muffled response was sobbed into his shirt. “I’m sorry for yelling… and saying you thought those things, you were playing and I…” she pulled back worth tear streaked cheeks and Harry’s look of pure concern making her lip wobble. “You didn’t do it. It was… he kept sayin’ that all the team wants is in my pants, and you make me feel guilty because you’re so…. Beautiful, and I never slept with anyone to get this job! Never. And then he wouldn’t leave me alone-“ she hiccuped, looking up at Harry as he caressed the back of her head.

“Who, lovely? Who wouldn’t leave you alone?” He asked with a calm tone. Of course he wasn’t. Someone was harassing her. And Harry would fucking take care of it. It boiled his blood to think of someone making her feel less than.

“My ex.” She sniffled again, slowly calming. Harry had that quality, she thinks. “He-He broke up with me for taking the job. Said… said that I was going to be a personal whore for all of you. And not do my job.” She took a shuddery breath. It was embarrassing admitting this to him, but he had been on the receiving end for a meltdown that wasn’t his to fix.

“Well, can I tell you something?” He brought his thumb up to wipe away some of the sticky tears from her cheeks. “You arent. You’re no one’s whore. You’re a respected, talented and intelligent member of our staff. You so happen to be incredibly beautiful, which obviously makes people find you more bewitching… but I know that we all look at you as a professional talent. They may have tried their luck at the beginning but you laid down the law quickly and they all understood.” He whispered.

“Me? I was trying my luck, because you’re incredible. And I think you’re lovely. But that isn’t a conversation for now. Let’s make some tea, hm? Relax. I brought you some cupcakes. I need to properly apologize for being inappropriate to you. Regardless if it was a joke…”

—

He sat next to her on her couch. The poor girl was better now, washing her face and a mug of tea in hand while Harry had helped himself to a vase and put the flowers inside. Carnations. He thought they were pretty, didn’t know the name until Y/N had fawned over them.

“I’m sorry for freaking out on you.” She said softly, her big sweatshirt swallowing her up. Before Harry could interrupt, she put a finger up. “I know that you were just playing, Harry. I let you flirt with me like that. And I enjoy it.” She could feel herself get warm in the face. “If you’ve noticed, I let you get away with it. I enjoy it. And you didn’t do anything out of line. I was sensitive… I was still raw and I hadn’t had much sleep because he had blown up my phone and regardless he was telling me things he said in person over and over again. So…” Y/N shifted in her seat and used her sweater paws to bring the drink to her lips. “When you came in… I felt guilty for finding you attractive. For liking what you said to me.”

Harry sat for a moment, quiet. So she had liked it…. And felt guilty. Now knowing the context? It made sense. For the life of him he was trying not to hold in to the fact that she enjoyed it, but he couldn’t. It made him excited.

“Okay. That makes sense. Usually.. I do a better job at reading your physical cues. Sometimes I can see something isn’t the right thing to say because you’re tense already. But I was in my own world cause you were making the pain go away and I felt good. It isn’t an excuse, though.” He gently grabbed her hand once she set down her warm tee, thumbing over the knuckles.

“I felt like such a dick. I still do. You know that? And it isn’t because I’m attracted to you. But it’s because I didn’t think about the position I’m putting you in by flirting.” He moved a little closer. “I would never try and jeopardize your job. I’ve been blinded by my own feelings for a while and I was trying to feel it out but I didn’t think to think it was because someone else or a group of people would look down at you for it.” He frowned.

It was so unfair. They wouldn’t care if he slept with her. But they’d ridicule her for sleeping with him.

“I just want to let you know now as well… I wasn’t trying to come on to you to have a hookup.” He hummed. “The feelings I’ve got are genuine. Alright? They aren’t just too get into your pants. And I never want you to feel as though that’s your only purpose. Ever. You have so much worth, and while I’m positive you don’t need me to tell you that, I want tok anyways.”

He was unreal. She really thinks so. How did a man just… be like him. He was a fan favorite and had charm but behind the scenes he was even better than anything they said.

“Yeah. I think I was afraid. Because… I’m the same, you know?” She shyly admitted. “You’re charming and I didn’t want to admit I let your charm get to me, but it has. It has very much. And I like you. I don’t know what to do about it, but I think it’s only fair I admit it myself as well when you’ve put yourself out on the line.”

Harry’s grin grew, dimples pocketing in his cheeks. She liked him back. His heart was ringing in his ears, the shy little look into her eyes making him want to explode. Fucking adorable girl making him feel such intense emotions…. It was incredible.

Thank god. He thought he was going insane.

“We don’t have to do anything in the sense of our job right now. But since we both know… would you want to explore it? I would say privately. Just get to know each other better. Talk. Hang out. Cook food together… maybe kiss.” He smirked slightly at the end, making her let out a laugh. Her laugh soothed his Damn soul.

“I think I’d like that.”

——

Part II maybe? Who knows

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thrndlngs · 3 years ago

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three times shinsou misses the opportunity to kiss you + the one time he seized the moment.

── pairing, shinsou x fem!prohero!reader ── request: x times shinsou wants to kiss fem reader??? pLZ I NEED IT ── author’s note: this was super dope & cute to write. tysm for sending this in. i hope i did this justice and it wasn’t to out of character. also reader has a water quirk & the two of you are in your early twenties. ♡

"'toshi,” you whispered, chest against his as the two of you currently hid from the group of villains. your two agencies had partnered up in attempt to take down a new gang of villains who were transporting drugs from the city to the waters, the two of you were partnered because of how the two of you excelled in your respective agencies, shinsou was sent to aid in your patrols of the waters ── which is why the two of you are currently hiding in a storage closet on a ship.

“shut up.” you don’t take it to heart, you’re sure he means it as nicely as possible - he just lacks a few pages in the ‘vocabulary’ department.

“we need to do something.” you tell him, trying your best to meet his gaze in the tight space (which was nearly impossible because he’s towering over you at the moment). he doesn’t reply, not at first at least, if you looked hard enough you would probably see the gears in his head turning.

“──stop talking, it’s distracting me.”

your mouth quickly shuts, fidgety hands are now at your side, you were starting to get antsy and there was practically little to no room to move around without being heard - or seen for that matter.

“they switch the guards every ten minutes, in the middle of the switch, we run.” the purple haired male explained, taking a peak at the time on his cellphone. the two of you had to endure this for three more minutes. just three more minutes and you would be free.

“three minutes,” you repeated, more to confirm this for yourself. you’re sure you wouldn’t last that long, after all, this was shinsou, the male you’ve had a crush on for quite some time now. how were you expected to last that long?

“──think of it like seven minutes of heaven.”

“we haven’t played that since── “

“yeah, yeah i know, but just think of it like that. don’t think about the closet, just the game.”

you nodded quickly, meeting his gaze as the two of you stood there in silence. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t thinking about kissing him. it seemed like the perfect moment - it was just the two of you. if it were the last day on earth, you at least wanted to go out with a bang. you know?

“let me get comfortable, you can do the same after.” you watched as he places either hands besides your head, slouching a bit against the wall so his back could have some sort of support. he nods to you, signaling for you to do the same.

it takes you a moment, the position shinsou is currently in causes your heart to skip just a few beats. were you disappointed in yourself for letting your mind drift.. elsewhere during a mission? for sure. did you care right now? absolutely not.

you cleared your throat, widening your stance and trying to balance the weight in between your legs to help ease some of the weight ── but there wasn’t really much you could do.

“two minutes.”

this had to be the longest three minutes of your life.

“i think i just tasted my own sweat.” he complained. it feels like he’s sweating in places he shouldn’t produce sweat in.

“i feel like a fish out of water,” you added.

“──gonna start passing out if i don’t throw you in the water soon?”

“says the one whose sweating to death.”

“and you’re dehydrated. guess we’re both shit out of luck aren’t we?”

“yeah, but, i think this isn’t the worst way to die.”

he takes another peak at his cellphone, noting that there’s a minute left before the two of you could finally get out of this damn storage closet. “you’ve got a minute to tell me anything worse than dying like this.”

in hindsight ── there’s a lot that could happen in a minute, that’s the only reason you said something to begin with. “alone, i could die in this closet, alone and then you know, it would be lonely.”

“are you serious?”

“oh come on! that’s pretty serious!”

“it ── it really isn’t,” he’s trying to laugh as quietly as possible and you playfully slapped him in his shoulder.

“okay, well, i wouldn’t want to die alone.”

“mhm, scaredy cat.” his smile is infectious and for a moment, he forgets that the two of you are stuck in a storage closet. maybe now would be the perfect time to kiss you, when it’s just the two of you, waiting to make your grand escape, when the two of your are just centimeters apart.

“now’s our chance,” he whispered, straightening himself to get out first just in case. he doesn’t want to act off of impulses. if he kisses you, he wants to make sure it’s because you want him too.

ii.

“good to see you when you’re not acting like a goldfish who just hopped out of it’s bowl.” the familiar voice teased from behind you, hands folded behind his head. if it were anyone else, you might have tripped them.

“──don’t you have to go buy hair dye now or something?”

“no that was after i made sure a fisherman didn’t take you on the way home.”

“is this what do you do on your spare time? think of jokes that revolve around my quirk?”

he rolls his shoulder lazily, leaning against the apartment railing across from your front door. “they come naturally, no extra thinking required.”

“and here i thought all the hair dye went to your brain.”

this wasn’t out of the norm for the two of you, he would make the first jab and then you would follow suit. sometimes, the bickering could go on for hours ── regardless of task at hand (like the time the two of you were trying to detain a villain and shinsou had told the woman you were a water sprite), it’s an old nickname of yours, he had given it to you back at the sports festival when you were kids. you had earned it when you had almost drown mineta because he wouldn’t stop making inappropriate jokes and you had brought the entire water fountain down on him.

as the two of you stood there in silence, you, had your back against your door, hands folded behind you while he stood parallel, arms against his chest he wonders: is this the time he kisses you goodnight?

“d’ya want to come inside? i have leftovers? we could pull an all nighter like we used to do back in the dorms?” there’s a hint of hopefulness in your eyes and he would feel like absolute shit if he declined the offer.

“only because you have food.”

he doesn’t kiss you goodnight then. and he doesn’t kiss you goodnight when you fall asleep on his shoulder after the second horror movie either. if you were anyone else, he would’ve left without a care in the world, but it’s you and you are different.

so he stays and tells himself that tomorrow will be a new day and tomorrow, he can try again.

iii.

“i don’t dance,” shinsou tells you as you so desperately tried to bring him onto the dance floor. it’s a hero’s gala, everyone from your respective classes at U.A. were here, pro heroes from all around the world and some of your old instructors as well ── these aren’t his thing, you know that. you remember his attitude during the first two hours of the third year’s ‘goodbye party’ - not much had changed. he’s taller, a bit more handsomer and smiles more often.

“you do tonight, come on.” while you had dragged him by one hand, the other desperately tried to loosen his tie because it feels like he’s suffocating.

“──you’ll be the death of me woman.” he’s mumbling under his breath, one hand resting in yours as the other found its place at your waist.

“because i asked you to dance? might i say this is on your list of horrible ways to die?” you teased, offering him that infectious smile that makes him go weak in his knees. he hates to admit the pull you have on him ── he might even go as far as saying you might have him wrapped around that finger of yours and you don’t even know it yet.

“if it’s by your hands i would say it’s a merciful death.”

“a merciful death? i’ll keep that in mind.”

“don’t test your luck,” you know he’s only messing with you ──

you’re to busy enjoying the moment to think of some witty comeback. it’s something about the way your hand seems to fit perfectly in his. or how the two of you are able to move in sync without any words spoken in between the two of you that’s driving you insane.

if you would’ve told your past self that you would be slow dancing with the hitoshi shinsou at a hero’s gala while the world around you disappeared you would’ve laughed at the idea. it would’ve seem silly to you ── stupid even. shinsou and you weren’t rivals like you and bakugou were, but, you had always found yourself trying to one up him.

yet here you were, swaying to the slow tune as you managed to snake your arms around his midsection and rest a head against his chest. maybe this was his chance: with the little distance in between the two of you, dim lighting and dressed to the nines. surely, this would be a good memory to relive later down the road wouldn’t it?

but he wanted to savor the moment. so he decides it against it ── despite the ache in his chest.

iv.

"we did it.” shinsou muses, an awkward hand offered in your direction for you to shake. it’s been six months but your agencies had finally shut down the smuggling operation and you could finally take the break you had so desperately needed. you weren’t sure what to do with the outstretched hand, but, you give in anyways, resting your hand in his as he gave it a firm shake.

“pleasure doing business with you.” you tell him, lips curving into a bittersweet smile. teasing, bickering and ‘playful’ sparring aside, you were going to miss him. you were used to patrolling and doing missions on your own but this was different.

“try not to end up on the other side of fishing hook, yeah?” it’s his way of telling you to be careful in shinsou’s teasing nature.

“make sure i’m the one to grant you the merciful death.” please be careful, is what you want to say. though you couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud - if you did, it would only confirm that you care about the purple haired pro hero more than you should.

he shakes his head with a laugh, “you’re the only one who gets the satisfaction.”

“it better stay that way ‘toshi.”

he doesn’t know for certain if your agencies would cross paths again. your agency was closer to the waters and he was closer in the city, the chance that you would run into one another again would be slim to none.

he clears his throat for a moment, retreating his hand from yours and placing them at your waist instead. he’s pictured this a thousand times but now that he’s in the moment he couldn’t manage to find the right words. it’s frustrating, really.

“──hi.” you’re holding your breath in anticipation, was this another one of his games? was he going to kiss you? tell you a secret? use his capture weapon and tell you that he’s not letting you go until you admit something embarrassing?

he doesn’t care anymore. doesn’t care if it makes him look like a love sick idiot when he kisses you like it’s the last thing he’s about to do before he dies, he doesn’t care if anyone’s watching or for the wrinkles you’ll cause since you’ve got a fistful of his shirt in a desperate attempt to close whatever little distance the two of you had between you.

you pull away first causing him to pout (which was actually cute but you’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing that) but you do laugh.

“you know,” he muses, a hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly, a habit you hadn’t seen in years. “──i didn’t want to let you walk away without something to remember, my little water sprite.”

you rolled your eyes at the choice of nickname but were flattered nonetheless, your own arms finding their way around his neck, “who said i was walking away?”

#shinsou fluff #shinsou x reader #shinsou x you #shinsou x y/n #bnha imagine #bnha drabble #mha drabble #mha imagine #shinsou tbt.#( this is so lame bc i wrote this at 1:43 am while at work JHADKJHDA )#╰ ♡ ✧ ˖ 𝐉𝐀𝐘𝐄 ┊ WRITINGS .

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drawlfoy · 3 years ago

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detention retention finale p.1

masterlist (read parts 1-2 here!) request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no this series is from my original idea however i did take inspo from quite a few people (credited at the bottom of this)

summary: gryffindor y/n is put to the test when she tries to use her detentions with draco malfoy to get close enough for him to share his secret. unfortunately, things are never as simple as they seem. (set in 6th year)

warnings (plz pay attention to these this time): blood, violence, mild gore, mentions of wanting to throw up, you’re just kinda not having a great time during this chapter. also, kinda dark!harry trope here. it is a little ooc, i know, but it was what worked and so i ran with it. also, i play around with the timeline of events that occur in hbp so just expect that

a/n: the long awaited p1 of the finale is here! the second half is almost entirely written save for a few scenes, and i expect to get that out in the next few days (so much less than a week). i really appreciate you all being patient--i wrote and rewrote the potion scene about 3-4 times because it just wasn’t the vibes that i wanted, but i’m semi happy with how it turned out and at this point i’m just gonna go crazy if i keep trying to restructure it so here we go. all the loose ends will b tied up in the last part and y/n is finally gonna catch a break ;) so as always lmk what you think!

word count: 8.7k

here’s a spotify playlist inspired by this fic!

tags: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell @yiamalfoy @crystalox @dracoismybabey @dreamcxtcherr @decaffeinated-turtle @marrymetheonott @felicityofbakerstreet @daedreamss

enjoy >:)

Snape’s stores were much more difficult to crack than she’d expected. She’d managed to steal one ingredient from there once, but back then all she had to do was disengage the multiple jinxes that guarded the door. Since, unfortunately, her slimy old Potions professor appeared to have felt a compulsion to fluff his nest and redecorate. A new painting was hung on the door--one of a large raven with beady, intelligent eyes that followed her as she walked past as inconspicuous as she could, no doubt preparing to fly off into the painting’s grey sky to alert his master. Her father had something similar to this in front of his Gringotts vault. She resolved to speak with him over the break to try and find a way in.

Not like she’d had any chance to execute her plan, anyways. It had been two weeks since Y/N had so much as had a simple interaction with Draco. Every time she tried to talk to him, he turned his attention away from her, offering her a disinterested sniff in response or just outright pretending like he didn’t notice her. Pansy Parkinson seemed to take joy in this development, though she was hardly getting anything on her end save for a few dry looking conversations as Draco’s body angled away from her.

Without the “distraction” of friendship and genuine human connection, Y/N had plenty of time to emotionally free-fall into an internal moral crisis. She supposed that Draco wasn’t expecting her to keep up her end of the deal now, just as her Gryffindor friends had given up on trying to make her useful. Physically, nothing was stopping her from walking right up to McGonagall during one of her detentions and telling her that Draco Malfoy was making an attempt on the headmaster’s life. But was it really worth it? Every time the thought crossed her mind, all she could think about was the way Draco looked when he talked about his mother, the way a shiny film glazed over his eyes and his eyebrows knit together.

She’d made a promise. Too much was at stake. While she had failed her friends, she was at least not going to fail Draco...not when the rest of the world had betrayed him.

Y/N was slowly sifting through thoughts like those when Katie Bell stepped foot into the Great Hall for the first time in a month. Her legs, slightly wobbly from being on bedrest for the better half of November, carried her down the aisle towards the trio of Y/N’s now ex-friends. Her soliloquy was interrupted by the familiar sound of Harry’s voice as he spoke, hushed and rather quickly, to Katie, his hands animated and his frame bent slightly lower so he could speak quietly. It didn’t take much imagination to discern what the topic of their discussion was as their eyes flickered over to the Slytherin table. She managed to hear a few snippets as the wind from the owls blew in and carried it towards her:

“Malfoy--”

“Was it?”

“...remember?”

Katie, lips pressed into a thin line, shook her head. Harry bit his own lip and swung around to look at a blond figure further down the aisle. Draco. He was staring at the meeting, his body entirely frozen while he took it in.

Oh, Draco.

Before either party could say anything, he was already turned around and speeding off outside of the hall. She swallowed; Harry and the rest of her Gryffindor peers were conversing and not casting a single look her way. Taking a deep breath, she got up from her seat, leaving her half eaten toast behind.

It didn’t take long to locate Draco--Myrtle’s bathroom was hardly a minute’s walk away from the Great Hall. He was in the same position she saw him there last, his head hanging over the sink basin while his body heaved.

“Draco,” she called out.

He snapped around, his eyes wild and his hair slightly wet at the tips. It occurred to her that he’d splashed his face with water. “Come around again for a formal Katie Bell confession?”

“No!” she exclaimed. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t get herself past the doorway. Not when his wand was raised at her like that. “I wouldn’t do that. I would never do that.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he snarled. “Do you really expect me to believe anything you say?”

“Please,” said Y/N. “Please let me explain.” Despite the sting of his words, she couldn’t help but feel some degree of relief when she realized that he was finally speaking to her again, finally acknowledging her again.

He let out a huff of disbelief. “This isn’t about you. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter whether or not you explain. You lied to me. You put my family in danger, me in danger. And for what? A date with Potter?”

“What?” All the air left her lungs as she stared at him. “It was never like that!”

“Save it.” His tone, a bitter blend of vileness and defeat, echoed off the stone of the bathroom floor. Y/N was overwhelmed with the urge to run up to him and just beg him to forgive her, but the fire in his eyes and the angry twist of his mouth told her that that wasn’t an option. Instead, she slowly crept towards him. His eyes blazed as she neared him holding her hands up. “Please, Draco. I’m begging you.”

His composure slipped, his wand shaking slightly in the air while he caught his bottom lip on his teeth and stared at her with a look she couldn’t quite place. She was just about to ask him about it when a pair of footsteps stopped right outside the bathroom.

“I know what you did, Malfoy!” Harry appeared, brandishing his wand and pointing it at him with conviction. “You hexed her, didn’t you? Katie?”

Draco sucked in a wheezy breath, struggling to stand up entirely straight as he held his wand at the ready.

“You’re not even gonna deny it?”

“Let me guess, Y/L/N couldn’t get a confession out of me so you’re here to pick up the slack?” Draco finally snarled. “How cute.”

“Shut up!” roared Harry. She’d never seen him look so furious before. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think I do,” he said menacingly, the usual cool confidence she associated with him slowly reappearing in his demeanor as he twirled his wand around his fingers. Y/N finally let out the breath she was holding as Harry zeroed his focus on her.

“And just what are you doing here?” he hissed. “Hermione was right, huh? You were with him the entire time. I can’t believe I expected anything different from you.”

Despite the fighting nature of the words coming from one of her best friends, she couldn’t help but glance at Draco as confusion briefly rippled through his features.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she was being shunned by her friends for not telling them anything.

“I was just checking on him!” she wailed.

Visibly unsatisfied with the answer, Harry just scoffed and aimed his wand at Draco. “You’re going to confess what you did or I’m going to make you regret it.”

Harry wasted no time with firing off the first spell--a weakly cast Stupefy that hardly missed her head as Draco’s Protego ricocheted it in her direction. She yelped as she dodged it, smacking into the side of the stall door and falling on the ground unceremoniously hard. Frantically, she dug through the pockets of her cloak to locate her wand, but she was too late. A flash of light was headed her way.

Instead of it smacking into her chest with the force of a curse, the green light spread around her, creating a shield-like sphere. She met Draco’s eye’s briefly in shock.

He’d cast a protection spell on her. In the middle of a duel that she was hardly formally a part of, he cast a protection spell on her.

“Diffindo!” The puddles from the eternal broken faucet glowed red as Harry parried Draco’s attack. It again went flying in her direction, breaking through the shell of the Fion Duris charm. In a stroke of luck, she rolled out of the way. A light blue flash followed from Draco--a nonverbal.

Finally. Y/N managed to close her hands around her wand, mind racing with thoughts of who she’d disarm first. Her wand had just begun to point towards Harry as the aftershocks of a Levicorpus charm slammed her to the ground once again, her wand bouncing on the cobbled stone once before rolling under the stall door. Y/N swore. “Harry, stop it!”

Harry was clearly losing composure. Despite his magical talent, the speed at which he was rattling off curses compromised his control...and his aim. Draco sent a few Fion Duris and Protego Maxima charms her way, but it still didn’t help when Harry had completely lost it.

Things turned for the worst when his Tergeo actually sliced Y/N--just barely, but enough to draw a significant amount of blood in her wand arm. Even if she wanted to try and find her wand behind the toilets, she wasn’t even sure if she had the strength to fire off anything.

Her cry of pain prompted Draco to immediately turn his attention from Harry, angling his body towards her instead, an indistinguishable expression etched into his face as he took in the bloodstained white sleeve of her arm.

Under normal circumstances, Y/N would’ve swooned at the fact that he willingly forfeited the duel just to check on her. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and Harry’s rage-filled expression and clenched jaw reminded her of this as he reeled his arm back and shouted out, “SECTUMSEMPRA!”

She didn’t think about it. To her credit, there really was no time to think. The cracking crimson light flashing towards Draco’s distracted figure was enough for her to launch herself at him with the intent of knocking them both to the ground--but she was too late, far too late. Glowing red light encased her entire body for a few tense milliseconds before she crumpled to the ground.

The Sectumsempra curse felt like every single nerve ending in her chest was being massaged with a sharp knife. Hot, sticky blood filled her mouth as she blinked, glassy-eyed and dazed, up at the ceiling. Distantly she could hear familiar voices over her body. There was a wet warmth that bloomed on her chest. She managed to glance down at her midsection to see an array of deep, short slashes scattered across her torso.

“Am I okay?” Her voice sounded tinny and funny to her. A pair of light gray eyes came into her vision as she managed another breath. “Draco? Is that you?”

If he leaned closer, she couldn’t tell. His face was beginning to swim in her vision, blending in with the glass ceiling. Finally, a familiar voice, albeit strained and cracking: “You’re okay.”

She felt something shaky brush past her cheek and the coolness of metal rings dance over her skin.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. You’re going to be okay.” He sounded so far away for someone who was leaning right over her. She could see out of the corner of her eye a figure, cloaked in dark robes, raise its wand and recite an unfamiliar incantation. The metallic taste in her mouth began to subside as she felt the warm stickiness of her own blood seep back into her skin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not entirely sure what she was apologizing for but doing it anyway. She thought she could feel the warmth of someone’s fingers softly cupping her face, but it could’ve been the heat of the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. In that moment, she was overwhelmed with the desire to just be held, to not be lonely. “Please don’t go,” she begged.

The last thing she heard was a tense, “...Okay.” Then everything went black.

Y/N spent the majority of her break obsessing over the last memory she had of Draco--the startled way in which he gazed down at her as she bled out in Myrtle’s bathroom and felt his soft hands brush the hair away from her face. It was almost as if there had never been a problem between the two of them, like he’d forgiven her at that moment, but she knew that wasn’t true. Their last Potions class together had made that very clear. While he, thank Merlin, wasn’t letting Pansy hang off him like he did in 4th year, he still pointedly ignored her even though she had to nearly hobble into class. So why had he looked so worried if he didn’t care? And why, whilst surfing the high of a cocktail of pain potions, did she feel like she remembered someone with light blond hair at her side in the hospital wing?

“And you’re sure your bandages are comfortable?” Her mother interrupted her train of thought,, the plate of ethically-sourced willowbird lying completely untouched in front of her.

“Yes, Mum,” groaned Y/N for what had to be the hundredth time of her Christmas break. “I told you. Professor Snape and Madame Pomfrey made me their top priority over the last week of school. They say that I won’t even need them come January.”

Mrs. Y/L/N hummed as she delicately picked through her salad.

“I can’t believe that Potter boy’s nerve,” said Mr. Y/L/N from the foot of the table. “Hexing his own friend like that?”

“Dad, he didn’t even know what it did!”

“Exactly! What kind of person does that?”

“He’s just stressed,” Y/N mused, though she was personally a tad miffed at the fact that she’d been brutalized by someone she once considered her best friend. “And he was a little angry at me. He thinks I’m in cahoots with Death Eaters.”

“Ridiculous.” Mrs. Y/L/N vigorously shook her head. “Anyways, dear, no relation to the previous topic: I ran into Minerva at Wurgie’s the other day while I was shopping for gifts. She told me something very peculiar. Is it true you’ve become friends with the Malfoy boy?”

Y/N paled. Dealing with the backlash of Hermione, Harry, and Ron had been bad enough, but her own parents? Over the winter holidays? “Draco?”

“Yes, unless the Malfoys have another son I’m not aware of.”

“Well…” Y/N searched her mother’s face for any sign of animosity but found nothing but genuine curiosity. “Yes. We both had det--I mean, we were partnered for a class project together in Potions. He seems to have grown up a little.”

Oblivious to the slip up, her mother nodded. “Interesting. I was actually quite close with Narcissa myself back in the day. The Malfoys certainly don’t have a great track record of picking the right side, but we were two quaffles in a case throughout our schooling.”

“You knew Mrs. Malfoy?” asked Y/N, her eyes wide. “I had no idea!”

“Of course, we disagreed on the pureblood values and traditions that should be followed with children,” continued Mrs. Y/L/N, “But despite that, she was always kind. I hope she’s faring well.”

Y/N gulped as an idea slowly began to form in her mind. “Er, Mum, actually...Draco told me some things about...well, his mother.”

Both of her parents perked up.

“So you know how you guys always talk about how the Order owes you a favor for the time you went undercover in the first Wizarding War?” asked Y/N. They both nodded. “Do you think...we could cash that in right about now?”

A month later, Y/N stood in front of the painting that hung on Snape’s door, frowning at the raven that stared right back at her, daring her to try and open the door. In all the excitement of Christmas and explaining to her relatives that she’d nearly been murdered by her ex-best friend in a haunted bathroom, she had completely forgotten to ask her father how to distract a charmed guardian painting, and it’d hardly be beneficial to owl him during a busy work month. It was still completely up to her.

The dungeons sent a certain chill through her bones as she ran through possible plans, prompting her to tuck her hands into her pockets and shiver so hard that she didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching.

“What are you doing down here?” came the snotty, posh voice that she knew belonged to Pansy Parkinson.

“Parkinson,” Y/N greeted, snapping her head up to see that she didn’t come alone. Draco strode next to her, though he wouldn’t look at her directly. “Come for a rematch?”

Parkinson pulled out her wand and scoffed. “Wasn’t planning on it, but if you’re offering…”

“Pansy!” Draco hissed, yanking her away and forward. “We have places to be. Don’t waste your time.”

“But--”

“She almost got killed by Potter, like, yesterday,” he continued in a hushed voice. “Do you really want to make that worse?”

Parkinson sent her one last sour look before she was dragged off by Draco (who still refused to make eye contact with her). Y/N slumped against the wall, wincing as one of her injured spots bumped against a protruding stone. Why was he ignoring her? He’d protected her during the duel. He was even the one who stood over her as she lay crumpled on the floor.

A lump began growing in her throat again as she realized just how lonely she was. With her friends gone, all she had now was...her owl, Edison? Yes, that was it. Edison and Hannah Abbott, who clearly was just letting her sit next to her for meals out of pity. Y/N wished that she had the strength to sit alone and just say fuck it so she wouldn’t have to be the kickstart to a bleeding-heart Hufflepuff’s philanthropy career, but she was already beat down enough as she was. Sitting alone would just seal the deal in her new life as a social reject who dreaded classes where the professors let you choose partners. It was like she was a shy first year again, too nervous to talk to anyone and instead sitting alone at the breakfast table, praying that she’d make friends with someone, anyone, even though she was too afraid to figure out how.

And then came Ron, the sweet ginger boy who she’d met once when she went to a wizarding play with her dad. He’d plopped into the space next to her one day, eyeing the untouched plate of toast in front of her.

“You gonna eat that?” he’d asked. Y/N had just stared, mouth agape that someone was actually talking to her. “Hey, you’re the Y/L/N girl, right? My dad works with yours.”

Without waiting for her reply, he’d just popped the piece of toast in his mouth and continued talking at her as if they were old friends. Before she knew it, she was getting swept up into the social swirl of Harry Potter and his friends, helping them as they made their way through Hogwarts and took on the challenges brought upon them by Voldemort and his cronies. For once in her life, Y/N felt like she actually belonged.

And she’d thrown all of that away.

“Y/N?”

An unfamiliar, dreamy voice sounded from a little further down the dark hall, snapping Y/N out of it. She hadn’t even noticed, but she’d slid down to the ground and tucked herself into a ball. When she touched her face, she felt wetness on her cheeks. The raven in the painting made some kind of weird cackling sound.

“Who’s there?”

A girl in Ravenclaw robes, strange eyeglasses, and shockingly white-blond hair that rivaled Draco’s stepped into sight. Luna Lovegood. She’d seen her a few times--mostly during the Dumbledore’s Army meetings they’d both attended last year--but had never had a private, one-on-one conversation with her beyond the time that Y/N threw a protection charm to protect her from Bellatrix’s Avada Kedavra at the Ministry and she’d thanked her.

“I thought I heard you talking to someone,” said Luna as she settled in next to her, crossing her legs. “Isn’t Snape’s raven lovely?”

“I suppose so,” mused Y/N.

“His name is Marvin,” continued Luna, “and he always listens.”

“Huh?” Y/N balked, giving Luna a funny look. No wonder they call her Loony Lovegood she thought. “It--he can...talk?”

“Oh, yes,” said Luna, apparently not noticing her confusion. “Marvin is quite the conversationalist, to be honest. Snape is a very fortunate wizard to have him in his possession.”

As if to accent her point, Marvin crowed a few times.

“I was actually coming here to have a chat with him about you,” said Luna. “I think it’s terribly unfair how your friends are treating you. I thought that Marvin might know what to do. He always seems to.”

“Luna,” Y/N murmured, not expecting the way that her eyes began to swim with tears. “You...you really think so? I’ve been feeling so awful about what I’ve done…”

If she seemed taken aback by Y/N’s emotional outburst, she didn’t show it in the slightest. “Y/N, you just care about other people. And you know what it’s like to be lonely, so I understand why you didn’t want to leave someone alone when they felt that way, even if it was Malfoy.”

Y/N bit her lip to keep the tears from spilling over.

“My mother had this saying about kindness,” said Luna softly. “She told me that it’s easy to be kind to people you already love. But you can really tell how caring someone is by how they treat those who are different.”

Marvin made a sound that was eerily similar to a jackhammer in the background.

“Thank you,” managed Y/N, letting the girl pull her into a hug. “I...I can’t say that enough. I really needed to hear that.”

“I know,” Luna replied wistfully. “I’m sure your friends will come around, too.”

“I sure hope so.” She swallowed, giving her a small smile as Luna squeezed her hand.

“Marvin is such a funny bird.” Luna shifted onto her feet, creeping towards the painting. “He loves shiny things. Now that I know the spell that weakens the barrier between the natural and painted world, I like to give him things sometimes. If he likes it enough, he’ll fly off to his flock to gloat to his murder for the rest of the day. He’s so proud.”

Something clicked in Y/N’s head. Was this her answer as to how to distract Marvin?

“It’s Transcendere, if you were wondering,” continued Luna, making to walk away. “Just in case you wanted to know. I can’t imagine why you’d need to, though. Anyways, I’m off to meet with Snape over a few questions on the exam. I don’t imagine he’ll be around here for the next hour!”

Before she could even thank her, Luna was already gone and down the hall. Y/N felt her pockets frantically, trying to find one thing that might appeal to the raven. He looked at her expectantly.

Her only piece of jewelry was her family ring, and apart from her obvious personal ties to the object, something told her that giving Snape’s guard bird a concrete identifier as to who broke into his stores would not be wise. So that left….She reached into her pocket, taking out the glittery quill that Draco had gifted her last fall. Giving it one last look and closing her fist around the feather one last time, she thought about how much she wished to go back to the simpler time.

Marvin made a little chirp, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Transcendere.”

The quill poked through the canvas and into the scene, slowly changing so it fit the art style that the painter used to bring the raven to life. He wasted no time snatching it out of her grip, giving an appreciative gargle before he took off, flying away into the grey sky.

She was in. A quick Alohomora charm opened the door, and Y/N made quick work of deactivating the jinxes that guarded the entrance and was happy to see that he hadn’t changed anything else with his security measures. Finding the potion was easy, and before she knew it, she had reset all the security charms, shut the door, and made her way all the way up to the Gryffindor tower with the vial tucked firmly in her pocket.

Getting Draco alone was the hardest part of her plan. Every time she saw him, he was either surrounded by a gaggle of Slytherins or darting off down side corridors that she could never quite locate. Carrying around the vial of stolen potion was getting increasingly stressful, too, especially now that their DADA class with Snape was coming up. He had to have noticed that his stores were broken into at that point, but given that he hadn’t stopped a meal yet to berate the student body on the importance of integrity and “keeping one’s grabby hands to themselves”, Y/N assumed she was somewhat in the clear. On the bright side, Y/N was enjoying mealtime much more now that she was eating with Luna. Her new friend even convinced her to go to the library with her one night to study--something that Y/N was not too familiar with.

They’d left right before the library closed, going their separate ways. Something crossed Y/N’s mind as she realized what day it was--Saturday. Draco always worked on the cabinet on Saturdays, and of course he wasn’t going to bring his friends along with him.

Quietly, she sank down next to the stone wall at the entrance, waiting for Draco to exit. She waited, and waited, and waited. Y/N was just beginning to wonder if Draco had switched his schedule around when the telltale sound of stone bricks scraping against each other snapped her to attention.

Draco looked more frazzled than usual as he stepped out of the newly-constructed entrance, his hands shakily running through his hair and his tie out of place. Y/N felt a sudden pang of guilt at the thought that she was going to add even more stress to his night.

“Draco,” she said, standing up and teetering at the sudden motion.

He started at the sight of her before setting his jaw and turning to continue a walk down in the opposite direction.

“Please,” breathed Y/N, jumping forward to latch onto his wrist. “I need to talk to you.”

He immediately snatched his hand away, his scowl deeping in his features. “I don’t have time for this,” he said, though sheer exhaustion seemed to replace the usual venom in his voice. “If you’re here to apologize, I don’t want to hear it.”

“But--”

“I don’t have time,” he repeated once again, desperation seeping into the edges of his tone. “I don’t have the time to figure out whether or not I can trust you again.”

“Then let me make it easier.” Y/N reached into her pocket, producing the potion vial that had miraculously not been shattered after she’d carried it for so long. Draco arched an eyebrow. “Run a diagnostic spell on it. I want you to know that I’m being completely honest.”

“Y/L/N, I told you, I don’t want--”

“Please, Draco,” she pleaded, holding it out to him. “Just do it for me. If you do it, we’ll be even for what happened in Myrtle’s bathroom. I’ll leave you alone if you tell me to.”

He sucked in a breath, begrudgingly casting the spell. The vial glowed and cast a bright emerald light on his surprised features. “How did you get that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” rushed Y/N. “Just ask me anything. I’ll take it if you want.”

He looked like he was about to leave her in the corridor alone, so she did the only thing she could think of--uncorking the vial and downing it all in one go. It went down like water, hardly feeling like anything. She was surprised. Wasn’t it supposed to feel more compelling?

“Y/N, you are such an idiot sometimes,” he growled, but he turned back to her anyway. “Okay. Fine. Did Granger put you up to talking to me?”

“No. Harry did,” answered Y/N, the words coming spilling out of her mouth without her even thinking. Draco’s briefly softened expression immediately hardened.

“I suppose that answers it then,” he snapped. “I’m not sure what that was supposed to accomplish.”

“Ask me something else!” cried Y/N. “Something you don’t already know the answer to.”

His silence was evidence enough that she was maybe, potentially, possibly getting to him. Something twanged in the pits of her stomach, reminding her of the time that she’d eaten bad fish in Greece and was sick for days, but she cast the thought aside for just a moment as he finally responded.

“This is ridiculous,” he clipped. She waited, turning the empty vial over in her hands. Finally, after a few agonizing moments of silence, his voice sounded again. “Why are your friends mad at you?”

Just as she was about to tell him, the tell-tale sound of footsteps and a cat’s meow echoed down the corridor. Filch. Panic-stricked, Y/N launched herself in the direction of the Room before a hand closed over her forearm and pulled her back.

“That’ll take too long,” Draco whispered, so close to her that she could feel his breath on her neck and had to try not to shudder. Without waiting for her response, he yanked her into the broom closet across the corridor and softly shut the door.

It became fairly apparent that the broom closet was perhaps not the best hiding space for two adults, a fact that Y/N quickly noticed as she realized that the only place she could comfortably place her hands was lightly on top of Draco’s chest. His own hands pressed into the wall on either side of her head as he used it to push himself as far away from her as possible. When her eyes flickered up, she could see in the dim light that he’d shut his eyes. She couldn’t blame him--when she ran the plan through in her head, it rarely ever included getting stuck in a tiny broom closet together, and it never crossed her mind that it could happen before he’d even forgiven her.

“I heard something too, my pretty.” Filch’s voice floated down the corridor as he neared them. She sucked in her breath, intent to hold it. She wished that she could cast a Silencio on the broom closet, but there was no way to be able to do that in such close range. Plus, she was quite preoccupied with the churning in her stomach that was getting significantly worse.

Filch’s steps were getting louder as he called out, “Anyone there?”

“Yes,” Y/N let as a tortured, strangled whine. Realization flickered across Draco’s face as his hand shot out to clamp over her lips. She tried not to focus on how warm and nice his skin felt touching her and instead on the fact that Filch was still walking.

The footsteps finally paused outside of the broom closet. Y/N could feel Draco’s heart racing under her palm. She vaguely registered that her hands had long since curled into fists, clinging onto his shirt.

“Anyone in here?”

“Mmph,” responded Y/N, hardly able to enunciate anything over the death grip Draco had on her face. This only made the lurching in her middle worse, so bad that she felt like she had bile rising in her throat.

“My lovely? What’s that?” A cat’s meow rang out from across the corridor. “Over by the Charms classroom?” Another meow. The sound of quick shuffling would’ve come to Y/N as a relief if she didn’t feel like she was about to puke the entire contents of her stomach up on Draco Malfoy’s hand.

“Thank Merlin.” Draco exhaled. Y/N could feel his shoulders relax under the grip she had on his shirt and took note of the fact that he smelled very strongly of that stupid rich scent in her Amortentia, something that was somewhat difficult when the cramping in her stomach had gotten so bad that she could hardly stand up straight.

Then he let his hand drop.

“They’re mad at me because I didn’t tell them about you.” The words came spilling out so fast and without prompt that Y/N felt like she was out of body, watching someone else speak for her. “I couldn’t ever bring myself to hurt you like that because even though you’ve been mean to me and my friends and I technically have no reason to want to protect you, I still do and it’s just so complicated because I thought I was just being a good person or whatever but honestly now that I think about it f it came down to it I would choose you over anyone else here and that’s scary and ohmygodIcan’tstop--” Y/N managed to suck in a small breath as the magic in her system propelled her forward, barely catching the widened eyes of Draco, “--It’s been so hard being away from you and I understand why you’re angry at me and I’m such a hypocrite for being upset that you were a Death Eater when I didn’t tell you why I started talking to you in the first place but I couldn’t just confess to you when I finally had a reason to spend time with you and I didn’t want to fuck it all up but I did and Draco please help I can’t stop I want to so badly you were never supposed to know all of this I thought that it would just make me tell the truth not everything--”

“I know,” His hand came up one more time, covering her mouth and muffling her voice. Without being able to move her lips, the words died down once again while the waves of nausea and agony hit in their place. Draco’s face had once again adopted that unreadable, somewhat sad expression as he moved his free hand so he could thumb away the tears that were collecting on her cheeks. Her fingers twisted into the soft fabric of his button down as she choked back a sob against his hand. “I know. That was really fucking stupid, even for you. You do know you’re not supposed to take more than an ounce of Veritaserum, right? This is going to take forever to get through your system. You just have to let it run its course. I’m sorry.” The potion was closing in around her throat as she blinked up at him through tear-ridden lashes. “I hear Filch escorting a student to McGonagall. This is our chance to get out.”

Y/N nodded as best as she could without loosening his hold on her, and they were creeping out of the broom closet and slowly making their way down the hall as silently as possible. He was to her right, his left arm slung around her shoulder so he could keep her quiet without sacrificing too much of his balance. He pulled her away from the direction of the Gryffindor dorms.

“Not happening,” he whispered, his lips almost brushing past her ear. He was so close. She shivered. “Filch went that way. Plus, I need to keep an eye on you until you’re back to normal.”

She nodded again. By some miracle, they made it to the Slytherin dorms without much of a hiccup beyond the awkward shuffle down the stairs. “Purity,” muttered Draco, prompting the cobblestones to rearrange themselves into a door. “Oh, don’t roll your eyes at me.”

Y/N scoffed behind his hand. The Slytherin common room was, thankfully, entirely empty, but very eerie and cold. She tried to open her mouth to tell him that he’d obviously drawn the short straw when it came to lodging, but when she felt his palm tighten over her lips, she was reminded that that wasn’t an option.

“Here we are,” murmured Draco, his voice still low and careful as he led her to the end of the hall of the boys’ dormitories. Something other than the effects of the Veritaserum she consumed set off the butterflies inside of her once again when she thought about the fact that she was really going to see Draco’s dorm room. His door, black and heavy, was completely unblemished apart from the silver numbers of his room.

Before she could think any further, he turned the knob and spun her so he was looking right down at her. “The less you talk, the longer it’s going to take for you to be normal again. Try not to be too loud, though. I wanted to sleep tonight.” With that, he released her once again.

“You have really nice hands,” she blurted out, immediately clapping her own palm over her mouth again.

“Oh.” An uncharacteristic blush rose in his cheeks.

Squeezing her eyes shut and steeling herself for whatever was about to come out of her mouth next, she let her hand fall. “I--I actually think I can control some of what I say now.” She took one more breath in to check. “Yeah. Thank god. It’s not just...coming out of me anymore.”

“I’m not too surprised,” he said. “You were on quite a roll back there in the broom closet.”

“So, um…” She shuffled her feet. “Are we good now, do you think?”

Draco sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone willingly down two state terrorist interrogation sessions worth of Veritaserum just to apologize to me. So, yeah, I guess. I think you should probably try and get some sleep. Chances are it’ll wear off some by tomorrow morning.” With that, he rested his hands on her shoulders and steered her towards his bed.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, sinking down onto his black silk bedding and meeting his eyes.

He shrugged. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything before you sleep?”

“I’d really like it if you held me until I fell asleep,” Y/N said so quickly that she didn’t even have a chance to look away from him. He blanched, his eyebrows raising but his lip quirking up.

“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought you were going to ask for water or something.”

“Draco, please don’t be mean,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to say it. It just came out. I would like some water, though.”

“Your wish is my command,” he drawled, disappearing into his bathroom before coming out with an empty glass that he cast a quick Aquamenti into. “Go slow. I really don’t want you coughing up water on my sheets.”

“Me neither,” she said between sips. “Merlin knows I’ve embarrassed myself enough already.”

When she finished, she handed it out to him. “Thank you. I really appreciate you doing this. I mean it.”

He snorted on his way to put the glass away. “Of course you do. That’s the beauty of Veritaserum.”

“You’re actually funny sometimes, you know,” she said.

Draco smirked at her again. “Veritaserum. You’re doing wonders for my ego tonight.”

While he was doing whatever he was before getting into bed, Y/N went ahead and slipped under the sheets, rolling over onto her back so she was closest to the wall. She felt the bed slightly dip to her left and a throat clear.

“What is it now?” muttered Y/N.

“You know, it’s really hard for me to do what you asked when you’re on your back like that,” he said.

“What?”

“Like, do you want me to be on top of you or something?”

“What are you even talking about?”

Draco huffed and reached his hands out to grab her shoulders once again, turning her to face him. Before she could register what was happening, she felt his own hands come around under her arms to rest on her back. Her head lay on the swath of skin between his shoulder and his collarbone, and she could feel the quickening of his pulse. “There. Honestly.”

“This is really nice,” Y/N blurted out, physically cringing when she realized that in her position she couldn’t easily cover her mouth.

“Yeah?” She could feel the laugh rattle through his diaphragm.

“Yes.” Y/N huffed. “Stop asking me questions. This isn’t very kind of you.”

He let out another light laugh, his fingers moving to thread through her hair. “Is this okay?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve wanted--” Y/N buried her face into his shoulder, silencing the words that were about to come out of her mouth. “Oh, my god,” she said after she resurfaced. “I think I want to take a vow of silence after this is over.”

Y/N could hear his smile as he offered her a, “What a load of good that thought is doing you now.”

“Please, just knock me unconscious until it all goes away,” she groaned.

“Stop demeaning my work,” he said, mock offense creeping into his tone as he continued to card his fingers through her hair in soothing motions. “What do you think I’m trying to do? If you want me to give you blunt force head trauma, then just say so. Sheesh.”

She sighed dramatically. “At this point, maybe.”

“Seriously, though, are you feeling okay? That was a lot of Veritaserum,” he murmured.

“I’m just feeling mortified right now,” she answered.

“You still need to tell me where you got it.”

“Oh. I stole it. From Snape.”

All at once, Draco dropped his hands and pulled slightly away so he could gape down at her. “You did what now?”

“Yeah,” she said, confusion creeping into her tone. “It really wasn’t that hard, you know. I’ve done it before.”

“When?”

She felt another lurching sensation. All of the questioning was starting to make her stomach turn again. “I was a second-year. Harry had to brew Polyjuice Potion and he needed an ingredient we couldn’t find anywhere else.”

Draco let out a low whistle. “At twelve?”

“Eleven. My birthday hadn’t come around yet.”

“That’s…” He’d shifted so she wasn’t pressed up to him, catching his lip between his teeth as he thought. Y/N hadn’t made much notice of this development as the growing pain in her midsection grew. “That’s quite a lot for a kid.” The way his hair glowed in the soft moonlight made her heart twinge. It looked so soft. Y/N noticed that she’d been staring at him for far too long without saying something when he blinked, planning on opening her mouth to apologize or crack a joke when instead:

“I have the biggest crush on you.” The words left her lips without any prior consent, the consonants and vowels forming before she could even think.

He was completely frozen in place, his expression entirely unreadable.

“Oh, god, and now I’ve ruined it all because I know you said that I didn’t have a chance that one time in detention and you don’t see me like that and I’m pretty sure you’re with Pansy and even if you weren’t I’m not enough for you and I wish I hadn’t taken this stupid potion but I know that I’d do it a hundred times over if it meant that you would trust me--”

Her words stopped abruptly as Draco silenced her--not with his hand, but by placing his lips on hers. The kiss was brief and shy, more of a question in nature than a statement. Her fingers curled around the collar of his shirt as he pulled away, a rather frazzled and deer-in-the-headlights look etched into his features.

She was speechless. Absolutely, completely, irrevocably speechless. Despite the insistent gnawing of the Veritaserum at the lining of her stomach, she could only manage to blink owlishly up at him, mouth agape.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low.

“Ehm…” Her lips refused to move. Draco frowned, dropping his hands from her sides and sitting up straighter. Something impartial washed over his features, turning his expression from hurt to uninterested, like he’d woken up from a pleasant nap and was snapped back to reality. His legs pulled away so no part of her body was touching him.

“I--er, didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I just wanted to make you quiet again, y’know, before you said anything else you regretted. And I thought that...kissing you would shock your system enough to make you stop talking.”

Her cheeks turned a violent red as she realized the depth of his statement. “So you...don’t see me like that?”

“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair once, took in a deep breath, and dropped his gaze to the comforter. “You should go to sleep. Hopefully you’ll feel better in the morning.”

At the very least the potion was beginning to settle in her stomach as Draco’s breathing turned slow over the next hour or so. She didn’t know all too much about the mechanics of Veritaserum, but at this point, she had almost nothing left to confess anyways.

Y/N tore her eyes away from his sleeping form, turning around to face the wall. His bed was soft. And it smelled like him, like the perfect blend of black tea and sage and snobbery that was in her Amortentia. She squeezed her eyes shut and wished to be anywhere but there. When he kissed her, it felt like he wanted her. Yes, of course he was timid, but she’d thought he was just nervous. But what was there for him to be nervous about? She’d already confessed under literal truth serum. He knew how she felt, and he didn’t even say sorry for kissing her and telling her he didn’t mean it like that. He still didn’t want her. Of course he didn’t when Pansy Parkinson in all her obnoxious Slytherin perfection was right fucking there.

She was just beginning to feel sleep tug on the strings of her consciousness as she felt her hair get tucked behind her ear by a warm hand coming around from behind.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’s better this way, you’ll see. It wouldn’t be fair if I...if it was different.” Despite his words, he let his fingers brush over his jaw as he moved closer, his shoulder lightly pressing into her back.

At that moment, there were so many things that Y/N wanted to say, ranging from “I am never going to live this moment down because I’m positively lovesick over you” to “I am going to beat you up for kissing me and then telling me it didn’t mean anything after I confessed.” Two schools of thought, neither of them perfectly encapsulating the true essence of her feelings. Her most traitorous thoughts told her to stay still and enjoy the final moments of affection she’d get from Draco, but she’d given into impulse a little too much that night.

He must’ve noticed that her breathing had changed because he suddenly shifted his weight onto his free arm, keeping his hand poised by her neck.

“Please stop touching me.” The words that came out of her mouth sounded much more pathetic than they did in her head, a voice crack finding its way into the final syllables. He jolted away.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“I thought…” He swallowed. “I thought you liked it when I touched you.”

“Yeah, before you told me you didn’t feel the same way,” she mumbled. “I really would appreciate it if you didn’t make me rehash that again. Today has been humiliating enough. I’m not looking to set a record or something here.”

She’d thought that her quip was pretty good, but Draco remained completely humorless. “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. It was stupid of me to act on impulse like that. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Never meant to--” She stopped in her tracks, instead letting out a sharp huff. “Nevermind. I don’t want a fight right now. I just want to sleep.”

Much to Y/N’s horror, her throat began to tighten up again with the tell-tale coming of tears. The next breath she exhaled was embarrassingly shaky and loud, and the movement that it sparked in Draco was even more mortifying. He made a small sound of sympathy. “C’mere, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I know that must’ve hurt you.”

Undecided between feeling pissed and just wanting to forgive him, she slowly sat up and faced him. His arms were out in a motion of invitation, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.” The Veritaserum in her system didn’t care much about her emotional turmoil, much to her horror. Y/N began to turn away, a watery scowl fixed firmly on her face, but Draco’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“If I...wanted to be with you,” he began, his tone careful and clipped, “It would never work. Okay? Trust me when I say it has nothing to do with you. You did nothing wrong.”

“I kind of did.”

“Yeah, well, we both did. But I don’t want you to think that I, er, never thought about it.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t quite sure what the underlying meaning of that was.

“So... “ He motioned again with open arms. “Do you...want to? I’ll play with your hair again until you fall asleep.”

Y/N stared at him, completely astonished. “Why? If you don’t see me like that, then why?”

“I’m not going to sleep tonight anyways,” he said softly. “And I want to help you feel better.”

She opened her mouth with the hopes of a biting retort coming out, but instead she was met with silence. Against her better judgement, she set her clenched her jaw and gave in.

His arms were wrapped around her in an instant as she tentatively settled back into his chest, her hands lightly rested on his shoulders. Despite the humiliating previous events, it didn’t feel awkward, especially when Draco’s long fingers slowly threaded through her locks and brushed past her neck. A small, forbidden sigh of contentment left her lips when he let his touch linger over the back of her neck. His deep, slow breathing and the steady beat of his heart began to lull her to sleep.

The next morning, she was able to lie convincingly enough to Draco, telling him her name wasn’t Y/N Y/L/N and that she was 80 years old. Confident that she wasn’t about to spill all of his secrets to the student body, he told her she was free to go.

“Draco?” she asked poised by his door.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I’ll see you much after this? You know, now that we aren’t Potions partners and don’t have detention together anymore?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe when this is all over, I’ll see you around at pureblood functions or whatever.”

“Yeah.” Y/N tried not to think about the implications of pureblood functions still existing in the future after this. What kind of world did Draco think this would turn into? “But this is probably it, right? The last time I’ll see you like this?”

She didn’t even need to see his nod. She knew. That’s why he offered to play with her hair despite not even liking her--it was his way of apologizing for roping her into this, for tricking her, for shutting her out, for the Sectumsempra curse...for everything. His way of apologizing before they parted ways.

final a/n: ty for reading! first off, congrats to the anons that guessed veritaserum. that shit took me forever to write bc i had such high expectations but it turned out to be quite the challenging scene since i still had to juggle draco’s conflicting emotions/distrust and the fact that i really wanted him to make her feel better fjdkas; i thought i’d mention someone who helped me write this (even tho i don’t think they realized how much they helped lmao)L i’d like to thank my 🌟 anon for giving me some inspiration. i was struggling with the first half of this story in terms of pacing for quite some time but found some help in an ask they sent me mentioning how they related to y/n feeling lonely/would like to see luna and neville mentioned. unfortunately, i haven’t quite been able to fit neville in yet (and i’m not sure if i can without it seeming just like a random extra bit of story that isn’t helpful to the plot), but hearing some affirmation that y/n’s loneliness was something that actually resonated w them really helped. it made me realize that the isolation from her friends/draco didn’t have to just be a logical turn of events for the plot to proceed in a sensical way and instead could be used to explore y/n’s character. i hope you all enjoyed! i promise the stuff w her dad and the order will be cleared up next chapter

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x oc #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you

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binniesthighs · 3 years ago

Text

he lives in my lap | reader x changbin

➛ Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x seo changbin

➛ Recommended listening: she lives in my lap, outkast

➛ Genre: pwp (smut), fluffy tones, 18+

➛ Word count: 3.9k

✨ Summary/Request Here ✨

Anon: sub!changbin nipple play drabble👁👁

i’m such a sucker for sub bin smh

a/n: thank you for requesting sweet anon! any day, any time i will write sub!changbin! this was such a pleasure to write n’ i hope that ya like it! <3

{see below for nsfw tags!}

NSFW: dom!reader, sub!changbin, tsundere!bin, slightlybratty!bin, established relationship, use of petnames, body worship (calm tf down ro, we know you love binnies’ bod), *plz pretend to be surprised here too* thigh kink, power dynamics, LOADS of nipple play (m receiving), praising & mild degradation, handjob, lil pet of petplay (bunny), v soft aftercare

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

you caught him sulking, bundled up in his chair with his legs crossed and his eyes dried. its the times like this when you don’t need him to tell you what’s going through his mind. he huffs and spins around just to get a moment to break his stare at the screen. he rubs at his temples where his headache surges, but he’ll never stop to ask for help or to express how tired he really is.

“what are you working on?” you simply ask as you cross the way behind him and squeeze his shoulders.

he sighs, and answers, “work.”

it’s barely an answer, but knowing him, prodding wouldn’t do much else.

“its getting late,” you pause, contemplating to next part of your phrase, “could you come to bed? i’d....love to have you with me...if you can.”

his fingers stop their typing, and he pulls off a single padded headphone to listen to you.

“you know that i’ve got a deadline. can’t.”

“wouldn’t you like to--”

“--can’t you just live one night without it?” he barks, swiveling in his seat to face you.

his eyes, the whites of them pink and his under-eyes bagged, tell you that you can’t take exactly what he means to heart, but still, it doesn’t hurt much less.

“bin--i just want you to take care of yourself and not overwork. you know that you need your rest to make everything work out right. right?”

your boyfriend sighs and composes himself, then puts his headphones back on.

“deadlines are deadlines.” changbin simply replies. “in a couple days it’ll be over.”

the sound of his clicking at his mouse fills the room back up, and this close you can hear the faint buzz of his music on the other side of his headphones. its as if he wants to create some kind of shell between you and him; he pulls his hood up and balls himself up in his big black hoodie.

with him, your patience overcomes anything.

“bin--” you reach for his arm to rub in calming little circles with your thumb, “you’re worrying me.”

the exhaustion in his voice causes it to crack, “i’m fine.”

it doesn’t take him much to go up in arms when you pull off his headphones to hold his puffy face in your hands. earnestly you hold his eyes with yours.

“you’ve worked so much already today. please, come to bed, i know you won’t admit it to yourself, but it’ll be okay if you sleep for just a little while....or, relax at least...”

changbin huffs out again in his same little annoyed nature. you knew the ins and outs of him well: your words might have gone in one ear and left out the other, but they still would jumble him up on their way out.

“i said that i’m fine,” your boyfriend repeats, “you’re worrying over nothing.”

it isn’t easy to admit defeat in the moment, but that’s all it is: a moment. he allows you the pause to plant a tiny kiss on his forehead before focusing back on his work. the truth is, you really did want him to join. the bed was always warmer with two anyway. these days, it was even a little hard to fall asleep with him.

“well,” you throw your hands on your hips, “i’ll just be back here...if you need anything. i can warm up your side for you, kay?”

for a moment, his fingers stop their clicking, wavering. “okay.”

he likes it when you wear his shirts and other little things like that. he even thinks that its cute when you steal his socks and they bunch up a little. after living together your clothes have started to all smell the same, but knowing that it’s his has always been enough for you.

at first, you promise yourself that you’ll stay up as long as he does, but not even you can stay up that late. he turns the lights off for you, leaving only his desk lamp and the blue screen of his desktop. silently you promise him that you’ll stay up as long as you can manage...

“--oh. sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up...”

your blurry eyesight makes out the time that’s ticked past two hours since you last remember checking.

“its okay,” your sleepy self returns. you’ve fallen asleep on his side of the bed which you promised to warm up, but he won’t ask you to give it up when you’re half awake.

“i’ve decided to sleep in late tomorrow.” he hums while reaching for his phone light to turn it off. “you’re right.”

“i know that i’m right.”

even in the dark you can feel his little joking smirk. the mattress makes springy sounds under the weight of your two bodies, and somehow your hands find their way into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. there’s nothing like feeling his presence beside you--its a kind of irreplaceable reassurance that you’ve only ever felt in him.

he’s close enough to feel his tiny breaths in the space between you, and how it tickles your upper lip. sleepy kisses float from your lips to his which he happy returns by pressing into you closer and melding your body with his. you make a point to kiss him slowly and with every ounce of intent that you are able to pour from yourself to him.

your love unties himself for you just as he does whenever he feels your thumb trace under his jaw slowly or as you hold his face in your hands, tilting him to deepen your exploration of his mouth. you can feel him get looser and looser after being so tightly bound. your hands work at his knots with swift fingers that interweave with his hair, then find their way to traipse up the hem of his clothes.

he mutters a little sound that could be translated into many pleasurable things, but you don’t need to think too hard to interpret it.

“binnie...” you coo, gently rolling him to his back to lean over him with your upper body, “you’re doing so well. i can tell how hard that you’re working...there’s no need to hide.”

he nods, allowing you to paint his cheeks with more little kisses that fall down to his neck, then travel back up to his ear where you nibble softly. in your own mind, its your favorite place to show him your love: he shivers feeling your breath quiver in his ear, then exhales out after feeling the small pull at his skin.

higher under his shirt your hands tip-toe, then trance the curves of his sides and finally reach the spot where he is most sensitive...your boyfriend gifts you the gorgeous sound of his uncontrollable little whimpers once he feels the pads of your fingers graze over one of his hardened nipples.

“oh?” you taunt, “already so sensitive?”

changbin attempts a scoff that comes out airy on his lips, “i mean, yeah...when you do that.”

your index circles his bud, causing and even more delightful symphony of shaking breaths to exit.

“...but its so late...” you remind him. its halfway between a genuine reminder and somewhat of a challenge. there’s nothing more that you would want, but the clock tells you otherwise.

your room is nearly devoid of light save for the way that the crescent moon peeks through the slits of the shades. the silver light illuminates his face in stripes, one of them directly over his eyes which makes them sparkle with the same iridescent shine of stars.

“do you think that i care?” changbin shies a bit into the puffy pillow that cradles his head.

from your position above him you can see the way that he pleads wordlessly, and how he just knows that he’s irresistible to you. his gaze softens to shift in that cute little pout. he too knows how to untie you, how to make you fall into him so deeply that you can’t see anything but him. he knows exactly what to say, how to wet his his cushy lip so it glistens just a little when he parts his mouth for you to crave even more than you already do.

“do you want me to say please?” he adds.

fuck, he really does know you well.

your knuckles rub along the fuzzy underside of his sweater, scribbling more circles around his nipples that hardens them painfully even though you’re barely touching him.

“that is my favorite word,”

his tone is airy, barely audible when he asks as politely as he can, “please, can you use me how you want?”

you tut, bowing low over his lips to only let them hover over his own. your lie of a kiss just barely makes contact with him. he whines from the promise of your taste, even wiggling his hips in his agony knowing that he won’t get what he wants quickly.

“hm, i didn’t really hear you that time...” slowly your hands begin to pull the fabric of is shirt over his head. “say it again for me?”

“please...?” your boyfriend desperately repeats.

“and you’ll be a good boy for me? you’ll do what i say?”

“yes...yes. everything that you say.”

his hoodie ruffles up his cute dark locks that sprawl all over his face and even cover his eyes. for a moment you think of how his hair had gotten longer than you had noticed. you sweep it aside, holding his eyes while your hand swipes up and down his chest just between his pectorals.

“and you’ll tell me when you want me to stop?”

finally you grant him the kiss he’s been waiting for which he drinks up greedily, moaning carefully over your lips.

“mmhm.”

you nearly startle him after forgetting to move slowly, finding your own eagerness taking hold of you. changbin’s eyes gleam seeing you on top of him and both of your legs straddling his sides. you slither farther down his body to align yourself correctly, then pause finding your place.

after, he then startles you by letting out a sudden cry in response to his beloved sensation. both of your hands are busied pinching and tweaking directly at his pink nipples that turn redder from your touch. you toy with the hardened buds while his eyelids flutter--he can’t figure out if he wants to close his eyes to feel it all, or watch you. he decides upon the latter and tries his best focus on your hands spread on his chest.

its a wondrous indulgence of yours as you watch the way that his muscles fill up your hands and even how his skin pops between your fingers when you squeeze. “my bun,” you sigh in admiration, “i just can’t handle you...”

your head spins when he echoes, “neither can i...”

it seems fair for you to take off your top too, so you do. your hands survey farther up his chest, then course down his arms which you tuck to rest on each side of his head.

“you know how it goes.”

he doesn’t even need the reminder.

“fuck, you’re gonna take all the time you want now, aren’t you?”

your boyfriend regains a bit of his composure to snark with that little unfair smirk of his.

“would you rather me not do this for you at all...bun?”

he rolls his eyes, impatient and annoyed for barely a second. he’s quieted the moment that he feels your lips float over his skin. you can feel the way that his breaths are thrown out from his lungs once you press even harder. his hips squirm and he turns into a puddle of half-choked winces that turn high pitched and needy the closer that you get to the sensitive areas of his chest. your tongue twists around it, only teasing at first and never allowing him to feel the full heat of your mouth. your left hand swipes up his side and settles right over his other bud which you toy with between your index and middle finger. you pull, then delight in the way that you can even feel his moans start deep from his core then come ripping out carelessly.

at last you grant him the wet of your mouth when you tense your lips to pull too. you know that he likes it when you use your teeth too, but you never start with the most exciting part.

his arms twitch like they usually do where they lay on both sides of his head. your boyfriend interlocks his fingers behind his head to pull and hold them there until his knuckles turn white. he would touch you, but you don’t like getting that distracted. you don’t need it anyway to heighten the way that unraveling him already pools heat between your legs and sends you grinding over his midsection.

you use a combination of gentle kisses contrasted with the pull of your fingers and eventually the bite of your teeth to get him properly gasping out as if he cannot breathe. your name finds its way twisted into some of his moans too; it sounds so perfect, so right said that way: airy, wavering, shaking after he bites it into his lip too.

you stop to admire him, now using your thumbs to tease at the way his reddened nipples now look painfully aroused and even glimmer with the sheen of your saliva upon them. changbin is flushed out all across his cheeks and even over his nose bridge. the rouge spreads down to his neck where the veins there quiver with each of his senseless gasps for air. he jerks from the careful feeling of the pad of your thumb compared to how viciously you had tugged at him before. you grind down your hips into his hard-on between your legs and into your own heat which craves him just as much.

“good?”

he nods, and chuckles out after reveling under your view.

you free his hands from their place behind his head, then you immediately find yourself wrapped up so tightly in his arms that you let out a tiny squeak. his thick arms that stretch with the strings of muscles always remind you that the power you have over him, he holds over you just the same. he brings your lips back to his to kiss thanks into your mouth that’s become raw from your musings.

“i’m not done yet.” you sneer directly into him.

“i had a feeling.”

your love knows how to sit and look pretty for you. how to keep his hands to himself and wait just enough for you to make a proper mess of him. even though you don’t see it, he’s infatuated watching you twist over him to the bed table and pick up the cup of water that holds partially melted ice. the sound of the cubes chime against the glass and burns your hand with the cold once you choose the largest of the lot.

changbin looks at you fearful at first still consumed by your heat which lingers all over his body. you test out the sensation by spreading out your opposite hand first which is wet from the condensation from the glass.

“ah!” he winces out.

“too cold?”

“n-no...” somethings shift in the way that he holds your gaze and the ice quickly melting in your hand. “i-i want it...”

“you sure?”

“please don’t make me wait again...”

the cold from the cube starts to make your fingertips turn numb, but its of no conscious to you when he holds every bit of your attention while you wait for his visceral response.

he yelps, nearly almost screaming from the mixture of cold and hot that swirls around his body. he grinds his teeth into a groan next to steady himself feeling the tenderness of his nipples next to the freezing cold. you can’t help but stifle a greedy laugh at how downright confused he seems at the two sensations of arousal and biting pain that made him feel even more lightheaded.

you love the sight of the whites of his eyes when he reaches a kind of euphoria that only you can give him.

“oooooh god.” he laughs along with you at how preposterously unreal it feels. the little smile that anchors on his mouth is unbelievably cute, and you can’t help but want to feel it on your own.

you trace circles around and around his buds until they harden just as they had done under your tongue. he shivers too; either from the cold, or from the overload of his senses--it travels from the tip of his head, through his hips and down to his toes.

“aw, my bun likes this...doesn’t he?”

“mmm.”

the ice only lasts a few moments on his chest and between your fingers. after, his chest is left shimmering from the new substance that looks like liquid crystal all over him and where it drips down to the comforter in droplets.

you shift your attention lower down his stomach where you stop right above his bellybutton to let both of your hands hook under his sweats. you look up for approval, which he eagerly gives with the hastily phrase repeated, “do it, do it.”

his clothes it the floor in a puddle, and your boyfriend is left bare for you to take in. you indulge in every single part of him that you’ve explored time and time again, but each time it feels renewed. your hands eat up his thighs with covetous squeezes until the crescent-moon shape of your nails decorates him nearly everywhere. they slide up higher, finding the place where his curved and rosy cock bobs waiting for your touch.

“poor bunny....does it ache when i don’t touch your cute little cock?” you trace a finger up his shaft which causes his body to violently jerk in response. the truth of the matter is, he’s anything but little.

even when your words turn venomous back on him, he still drinks it up as if it is nectar.

a wicked chuckle passes by your lips remembering what he had said to you a couple hours before. “can’t you just live one night without it?”

“n-no--” he stammers, “i-i’m sorry that i said--”

you silence him with a finger to his lips. “sit up.”

he does so, trying to gauge what you’re planning to do next. the mystery of it all enthralls him to the point of working his cock up with pearly pre-cum that drips down his length. changbin waits as you reposition yourself behind him, just so he sits flush against your torso and between your legs.

at first, you trial you hands up and down his thighs to create a show for him. your fingertips tickle him gently where his leg hair grows thin and soft. you then move to massage into his inner thighs and the more intimate erogenous areas there that you claw at.

“hm. maybe i’ll let you get what you want if you say--”

your boyfriend’s hands bury themselves into the sheets to grab at anything to provide balance. “--please! please...i’ll say it however many times it takes...”

you tsk, then nibble into the peachy cartilage of his earlobe. “mm, that’s enough. i’m feeling generous...”

you wet a stripe of your saliva up your palm and guide it to his length where you give him one good squeeze that is more than enough to send his toes curling. he whimpers out feeling the lack of contact afterward, realizing that one squeeze was all that you were planning. instead, shift your motions toward his tip and his seeping slit. the tip of your index draws rings around it which elicits agonizingly gruff growls from his throat that you’ve only ever heard a couple times before.

“please, please, please....” he chants.

you do love the way it sounds.

his moans become even louder once he feels the tension from your grasp where it returns to his shaft and pumps. in a way, the whole image is just perfect for the both of you: as you peer over his shoulder you can’t even but help feel turned on by the sight of your own hand and how it twists around the throbbing veins that imprint his cock. with your non-dominant hand you continue traversing the squishy and fleshy bits of his thigh.

your boyfriend laughs out his growing self-indulgence while you work your hand up and down, then experiment with testing him with the ways that you can squeeze harder then softer. changbin throws his head back into your shoulder lazily once he starts to feel his senses slow and intensify the closer that he gets to his release. he shudders against you too, and tightens his body too as he edges himself even closer.

after the distraction that you’ve crafted tugging him up and down and how the twist of your wrist feels like heaven, he jumps still feeling your free hand find its way back up his chest one last time roll his nipple between your fingers. the combination of the two sends him spilling right over the edge and overflowing with a rambling of curses and half-attempted moans coupled with the release of his seed cascading down the back of your hand.

nearly all of your boyfriend’s weight falls upon you and you giggle trying to deal with your previously cold and stubborn lover reduced to nearly nothing but a limp and euphoric mess in your arms.

“you okay?” you ask him, peppering tiny kisses into his neck.

“give me...a minute.” he laughs out too. “i’m just...really...exhausted. but--in a really, really good way.”

“time to get some rest then?”

changbin nods, and gives you back as many kisses he can with his neck titled at this somewhat awkward angle.

“stay right here, hm?”

you cradle him back to slide out from behind him and work at cleaning yourself off, and them him--he loves obliging if it means that he gets to be pampered with clean clothes and your little massage to his shoulders to get his tensed body relax even more. the blankets get exchanged for new ones and you find him telling you not to put your shirt back on.

changbin flushes, explaining, “i just like being close like this with you. everyday. any day. i can’t live without it either.”

you can’t exactly tell who is “holding” who, but it all just feels so peaceful and intimate you almost forgot that you were supposed to be sleeping until the day breaks behind your boyfriend’s shoulder.

“thank you,” changbin sighs, “thank you for taking care of me.”

“now start taking care of yourself.” you tease, “don’t overwork yourself, got it?”

your boyfriend sleepily hums, and tows you right back into his chest. “don’t worry, i have a feeling that i’ll be sleeping in pretty late.”

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @cherrychngkyn @iwanttobangchan @bowlofblueberries @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

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sunaswife · 4 years ago

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𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖉 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖍𝖎𝖒

Shigaraki X f! Reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, brainwashed/ programmed reader, implied kidnapping, Dom/sub, use of the word ‘pet’ and ‘master’, first time sex, uh..does this count as yandere..? Idk lol

🔪: this is like my second time writing smut so I’m sorry if it’s bad 🙇‍♀️ plz don’t spank me. N E Wayz I dedicate this fic to @aoi-turtle 🖤 and Any other shiggy whores out there

Edit: I FORGOT TO TAG @dinablossom and @toworuu IM SO SORRY BSVAKAGSJA

Summary: Imagine being programmed to be the leagues healer but also Shigaraki’s little cum bucket

♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎

“Master what is the meaning of this.” Shigaraki looked at the television screen as he scratched his neck. “I took her quirk and made it a thousand times better.” He said simply. “Tomura shigaraki where should I place her?” Kurogiri asked. “Anywhere. I don’t care. I just don’t understand why you brought a stupid hero here.” He said annoyed.

“Now now—“ “Shut up and put her somewhere out of my sight!” Tomura demanded and Kurogiri sighed and carried your body to the spare room by shigaraki’s private quarters. You looked dead, you were exhausted, traumatized, in shock.

You were frozen. Your eyes stayed open, unblinking as you stared at the ceiling. It looked as if you were dead. But your body is warm and you were breathing, you’re alive and you’ll recover quick. Thanks to the quirk All for One fixed for you.

Dabi smirked at your ruined form. Spinner hid his rosy cheeks, you were a cute one. Toga was excited to have another girl in the league she talked with Twice about all the fun things you two could do together. Whether it be painting your nails, doing your hair, torturing someone, or making them bleed. She was excited.

“What’s so good about her quirk that you needed it.” Shigaraki asked. “It’s come to my attention that the league has been missing an important puzzle piece.” He started off. “Yeah? What’s that?” The light blue haired man asked. He was beyond ticked off to have a hero here. “She’s not a hero. She was training under UA’s school nurse. But she fell into the hero course for recovery and first aid training.” He said and everyone stayed silent and patiently listened to the brain behind the league.

“Her quirk is pyrokinetic regeneration. She manipulates fire with the energy of the person who needs healing and together she heals with so called fire. Her quirk was small, only a few cuts a bruises here and there could she heal. But I added cell regeneration so she can even fix up deep wounds that could need surgery in a matter of days instead of months.”

“Sounds amazing! No she could use her fire against us!” Twice said and Toga nodded. “She won’t. Her fire doesn’t burn unless you’re hurt.” Kurogiri returned. “But she’s still a hero brat so wouldn’t she try to resist?” Dabi asked. “I don’t know but let me try and see!” Toga giggled and pulled out a knife she easily slit her wrist and skipped her way to your new room.

Out of curiosity the other members followed suit. Shigaraki first, he wanted to see if you were truly useful if not then he’d disintegrate you right here and now. “Hi hi new friend! My name is Toga!” The psychotic girl giggle as her blood dripped all over the floor. You looked up slowly from your spot on the bed. “H-hi...T-toga..” your voice was low. “Kurogiri Can you bring her some water?” Toga asked and he left and came back in the blink of an eye.

Your hands were shaking for the cup of water but Toga held it back, away from you. “If you want the water then heal my wrist first.” She said sweetly with a giggle. “Heal your wrist?” You whispered and she nodded. “O-okay..” you stuttered and you slowly removed the blanket from your lap. You stood up with wobbly legs to go to the girl but you fell. The chain on your ankle pulled you back. You winced and looked at her, pleading for her to come to you. She asked if you were okay and when you responded she shoved her bloody arm to your face. “Take a deep breath. This may sting...” you started and a small green flame came upon your hand. You rubbed the flame over both of your hands like you were putting on lotion, finally when the flames covered both hands you pressed hard on her wrist. She winced, “ow ow ow.” She whimpered, you removed your hands and everyone stared at the flame around her whole wrist. “Give it thirty seconds....or not...” you said as you stared wide eyed at her already healed cut. It was barley a touch and it’s gone now. “Wow. No scar!” She giggled and turned to show the guys. “Wow stab me next, please don’t or else I’ll bite ya!” Twice said and you reached for the water. “Interesting.” Shigaraki mumbled with a small squint. Kurogiri looked over and hoped he wouldn’t do anything bad to you.

“Shows over. She needs her rest.” Kurogiri said and everyone left one by one. Toga gave her a hug and wished for you both to be the best of friends and she skipped away. “Tomura Shigaraki. What are you thinking?” Kurogiri asked as Shigaraki began to walk into your room. “Nothing that concerns you.” He spat and slammed the door. Kurogiri sighed but returned to the bar nonetheless.

“Do you know who I am?” Shigaraki asked, “Yes you’re the leader of the league of villains, You’re name is Tomura Shigaraki and your quirk is decay—“ “that’s enough!” He raised his voice and looked at you with wide eyes.

You looked so sad and you glanced down at your cup. “Mr. shigaraki I know I don’t usually talk this much. I’ve always been the quiet type. I think whoever kidnapped me gave me a huge sense of knowledge. I know the league is bad but I don’t care about the heroes anymore and I don’t know why. I know everything about you guys, your true identity, your quirks, your past. And when I see you I—“ you quickly stopped yourself.

Shigaraki raised a brow. “You what?” He asked curiously. “N-nothing. Just forget it.” You answered and he growled. “Answer me now before I kill you.” He said and your legs subconsciously clenched together. You stayed quiet and your chest rose and fell a little more quickly. Why was this feeling in your chest when this killer, this man child looked at you? What exactly did the man he calls master do to you?

Before you knew it he gripped your chin and lifted it harshly so you could look at his wrinkly red eyes. Even though he looks like a bum he smelled nice and clean. A hand was covering his face and you slowly lifted your hand to touch it and his other hand grabbed your wrist. “What the fuck are you doing? Do you have a death wish you fucking idiot?” He growled and you gulped. “C-can i see your face?” You asked and he tilted his head confused.

“No. Answer my question-“ before you both knew it, as if your body had a mind of its own you tackled shigaraki down and you snatched the hand off his face. His hand quickly wrapped around your neck and arm and you pressed your lips against his. He halted his finger from pressing against your neck. He was beyond confused.

“If only tomura finished listening to what i had to say.” All for one chuckled loudly. You both were able to faintly hear the television from down the hall. “He would know that I managed to change y/N’s desires and whole way of thinking. She’s now with the league of Villains and she’s in love with its leader, Tomura Shigaraki. Consider it a present and motivation for the future of the league.” You both heard and you pulled away from him. “I’m sorry. I should have asked.” You said lowly. He stood there stunned and silent.

He slowly sat up and looked at your figure. “So you were brainwashed like my Nomu.” He hummed and took a few steps back. He noticed how you crawled closer to him but the chain was keeping you away.

“Who do you love?”

“You.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Who’s your master?”

“Tomura Shigaraki.”

You said and he smirked. He was gonna have fun with you. “At least master was kind enough to give me a beauty.” He said as he held on to the chains. “Don’t freak out.” He warned and you nodded. He disintegrated the chain around your ankle and he pulled you by the arm. You were wearing an ugly hospital gown and you were barefoot. You couldn’t help but shiver. He went next door to his room and he shoved you in and slammed the door. You nearly tripped over the mess and you turned to look at shiggy. “Why are you just standing there?” He asked, “You haven’t given me orders.” You deadpanned. “You can’t think for yourself?” He questioned. “No i can but I Don’t want to upset you.” You replied.

“Fine then clean this shit up.” He referred to his very very messy room. You nodded and began to lift up a piece of trash but he pulled you away. “Change first.” He said and handed you a black hoodie. “Do you have a bathroom?” You asked. “No change here.” He said and you nodded. You turned so your back was facing him and carefully began to take off the gown, leaving you completely bare and Shigaraki couldn’t help but look.

Your skin was so beautiful and looked so soft. He saw as you carefully put on his hoodie and it completely engulfed you. It reached to your mid thigh. You slowly turned to look at him with rosy cheeks. The hoodie smelled just like him. “Tomura—“ “It’s master to you.” He Interrupted and you nodded, subconsciously squeezing your thighs together once more. “Sorry...m-master.” You said and played with the hem of his hoodie.

“Master..can I have some underwear too...? I feel weird, when I’m bare underneath..” you asked. “No, continue cleaning my room.” He answered coldly and sat on his gaming chair. He turned on his console and began playing whatever game he had.

You sighed and you couldn’t help but admire his gorgeous yet scarred face and his beautiful long fingers. In an instant he can kill you, but if you’re good..then he might even reward you. If you were to die, I’d rather be in the hands of your master than anyone else.

You quickly began you pick up the instant ramen bowls and bags of chips. You separated recycling and trash. You even managed to pick up all his dirty clothes and put it in the hamper in less than an hour. Tomura was stunned, one minute he can barley walk in, the next It’s almost spotless. He saw you from the corner of his eye, you were folding his clothes that practically had the same color scheme.

“Can i go through your drawers to put your clothes away..?” You finally spoke up. “Yeah it’s whatever. I don’t care.” He mumbled and returned to the screen. “Ugh stupid game!” He huffed and began pressing the controller more furiously. You chuckled and thought that it was so cute and adorable when he was frustrated.

You went to his California king sized bed and began to fix the sheets and make his bed. Since it was so huge, you had to climb on to properly fix it. You were completely in your own world when Shigaraki turned and saw your wet cunt on display in all it’s glory. Ever since he saw you he couldn’t help but feel that urge to take you. His resistance was getting to him and now he wanted to give in to his urges even more. He was too distracted that he lost the fucking game and he growled and disintegrated the controller. That was his own form of rage quitting.

You heard his sound of frustration so when you turned you expected him to be in the same chair uttering bullshit, but you were shocked when you felt your hips being pulled back. Your cunt was touching his pants, but you can feel his bulge. “Um..master..I—“

“Shut up.” He said and reached for your neck. He pulled you back to him and wrapped his other arm around your waist, hovering your aching clit. “This is whats gonna happen.” He started off and you nodded. “I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to like it. Okay?”

“I understand.” You said softly, you felt his hands slowly lift up the hoodie just a bit to get a better view of your ass. You couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed. “I know I’m probably not your dream girl but I promise to be a good girl, master..” your voice shook. He tilted his head, were you getting insecure?

“No pet, you’re perfect to me.” He assured and you could hear his belt jingle as he took it off. “You seem pretty wet already, pet. Since how long have you been like this?” He asked as he got out of his jeans. He slowly open your cheeks to reveal your little pussy clenching around nothing, how cute. “Since I saw you..” you mumbled. He smirked and leaned down. He immediately began to eat out your cunt causing you to gasp in shock and grip the sheets. Your chest layed roughly against the bed as your ass stood proud in the air for the leader of the league of villains to enjoy.

“Fuck—“ you moaned and you felt a slap on your ass. You slightly jumped released a small yelp. “Watch your language.” He growled from your pussy. “Yes master.” You whimpered and he slowly began to rub his thumb on your other hole. Your small moans filled the room and he easily slipped his middle finger in you. You squeezed around him so deliciously, he couldn’t help but wished his cock was inside.

This has never happened to him before, this feeling in his chest. Someone that loves him and will obey his every command. You’re so beautiful as well, and your sounds. Your moans and whimpers, in all honesty he jut wanted to get himself off. But after hearing you and seeing you. He wants to make sure you have pleasure as well.

He continued pumping his finger in and out of your slick walls and your voice started getting slightly higher. “Master...I—I’m gonna cum...”you panted and your toes began to curl. “It’s okay, cum for me, pet. You’ve been a good girl.” He said softly and he felt you clench around his finger. When you came he slowly removed his finger and examined it. You must be new to is if you could get off with just one of his long fingers.

You layed on the bed a bit tired, not paying attention to your master who had tasted your cum on his finger. It was delicious and he wanted another taste. When you felt a lick on your cunt again you immediately shivered and clenched your thighs. “Hold still I just wanna taste some cum.” Shigaraki huffed and he pulled your thighs apart. You were pretty sensitive but you obeyed nonetheless.

You moans began to fill the room once more and before you could finish and cum again he pulled away. You automatically whimpered and turned to give your master puppy dog eyes. “I would let you cum again, but my cock is so fucking hard I don’t think I can wait another minute.” he said and began to pull down his boxers.

Before you could get back in position, which freaking hurt, he flipped you over on your back and you made a small oof noise. You looked up to See shigaraki focused on his cock, he was rubbing himself up and down your slit to use your cum as lube. “Alright I’m going in.” He announced and slowly pushed his rather large member inside your tint cunt. You immediately yelped and held on to his biceps. “M-master wait—it hurts..” you pleaded and Tomura finally looked up at your face.

He loves inflicting pain, he loves watching people’s painful expressions when they’re hurt or when they’re gonna die. Chisaki’s face was so amusing. But when he saw yours, his heart shattered and he didn’t want to hurt you at all. You’ve been nothing but good to him, he doesn’t want to hurt his little toy. “I’m sorry.” He apologized, “it’s okay..” you sniffled. After a minute of him being patient you gave him a nod and he continued to slowly bottom out.

You both released a moan when he was all the way in. You both have never felt anything like this before. “Can I start moving?” Shigaraki asked you as he brushed way the hair from your face. You nodded and he pulled almost all the way out and he slammed back in. Your little gasps and moans came back which made shigaraki feel at ease. You can clearly hear your slick with every thrust and it was music to his ears.

“I’ve been neglecting these.” He grunted and lifted his hoodie over your chest. Finally he was able to see your beautiful soft breasts bouncing with each thrust. “Fuck you’re so beautiful.” He moaned and immediately lowered his mouth to one of your nipples. You squealed and your back arched and he pushed you down. “Master...” you moaned softly. His tongue swirled around your hardened bud and your fingers tangled in his light blue hair. Two of his fingers pinched your other nipple and he lightly bit the nipple in his mouth.

“I think I-I’m close—“ you gasped and he removed his mouth. His thrusts decreased in speed but they became harder. He had a stupid smirk on his face and your eyes widened when he wrapped his hand around your throat. “Hold it until I say so.” He demanded and you muttered a weak yes. He felt how your gummy walls squeezed against his large dick, he was getting close too. “Fuck Fuck Fuck.” He groaned with his head tilted back and your mouth watered at the sight. Why is he so fucking handsome?

He could feel himself getting closer to his climax so he rubbed his thumb on you clit while increasing his pace once more, causing you to be even louder than before. Everyone in the bar could hear and a certain fire villian grumbled in annoyance. “Master I can’t hold it anymore!” You screamed. “Then cum my stupid little pet. Cum all over my cock like a good girl.” He grunted and bit his lip at the sight of your sweaty body. Your bouncing breasts, crazy hair, your adorable ahego face, your twitching legs and finally your grip on his biceps. You were so prefect and so good to him and only him.

When you came you felt his cum shoot inside you as well causing you to gasp at the delicious feeling. Tomura rested his head on your shoulder and tried catching his breath. You couldn’t help but smile and blush at the closeness. You slowly wrapped your arms around him and you gave his shoulder a kiss causing him to freeze. “I love you master, thank you for making me feel good.” You said softly. He chuckled and pulled you closer, “I love you too.”

I wanna write a part 2 of Shiggy finding out his little toy is being used by a certain fire boy 👀

#tomura shigaraki #shigaraki smut #league of villains #my hero academia #yandere shigaraki #smut #[🏌️‍♀️🔪.yandere]

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storiesforallfandoms · 4 years ago

Text

back off ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 1511

request?: yes!

“Jealous reader and Mgk finds it cute💞 ....fluff and smut plz😌(love ur writing)”

description: when an interviewer gets a little too flirty with your boyfriend, you can’t help but feel a little bit of jealousy

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut

masterlist

Seeing people thirsting over my boyfriend was nothing new. I mean, how could you not? He was one of the hottest guys to ever walk the planet. However, I was used to seeing his fans thirsting over him online - commenting on his pictures and making posts about how attractive he was. To me, that was fine. I was also a fangirl of other celebrities, I understood. But it was a whole other thing to actually watch a girl try to flirt with my boyfriend in front of me, knowing fully well that I was his girlfriend.

Colson had been scheduled for an early interview one day. I was tasked with actually getting him up out of bed and to the interview on time. The interviewer, a woman that had to be in her early 20s, was wearing a short dress with a neckline that plunged so low that her tits were basically popping out of her shirt. This was the first clue that she wasn’t here for just another innocent interview. I mean, who wearing a dress like that before noon unless they’re trying to impress someone?

She smiled brightly (a little too brightly) at Colson and extended her hand. “Hi! It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Colson responded, shaking her hand.

She completely ignored my presence, but Colson made sure she was aware of who I was. “This is my girlfriend, (Y/N). I hope you don’t mind that she’s joining us today. She keeps me from being too crazy.”

Her eyes looked at me briefly and a look of slight disgust and disappointment crossed on her face. “Of course, nice to meet you (Y/N).”

I just nodded in response. The rest of the interview went downhill from there.

The interviewer insisted that Colson’s chair be pulled close to her so that they were “both completely in frame”, however Colson’s close proximity made it easier for her to touch him during the interview. And boy, did she ever touch him. She couldn’t keep her hand off of him. Colson, being the polite and oblivious person he is, either didn’t notice or didn’t want to be rude and tell her to stop.

She kept leaning forward, making sure her cleavage was on full display for Colson to see. I could see slight irritation in her face, that she was trying to mask with a smile, at the fact that Colson didn’t even actually look down at her chest. I couldn’t help but smile cockily to myself at this.

Finally, the cameramen called for a brief break before they returned so that Colson could perform. He went to the dressing room to get dressed for his performance while the interviewer approached the snack table, which was where I was stood. She kept ignoring me, but I decided to make myself known.

“The interview seems to be going really well,” I said. She hummed in response. “You must be really cold, though. That dress is so short.”

She looked up at me long enough to glare. I smirked in response as I picked up something from the table. “Stop trying darling, he only has eyes for me.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “We’ll see how long that lasts. You are just a no one after all, not even an attractive no one. At least I would be able to keep up with his busy lifestyle, not to mention I’m actually hot.”

Anger and jealousy was bubbling up inside of me, but I knew I couldn’t let it show in front of her. Instead, I said, “Are you sure about that? You seem sort of desperate looking to me.”

She glared as I turned to walk away towards Colson’s dressing room. I started slow, but when I knew she could no longer see me, I quickened my pace until I was nearly running to Colson’s room. I opened the door without knocking and found him in just his underwear with a joint to his lips. When he heard the door open, he quickly scrambled to grab a pair of pants that was discarded on the floor.

“Fuck, haven’t any of you heard of knocking!” he snapped. He turned and sighed in relief when he saw it was me. “Sorry babe, I thought you were one of the producers.”

I let my eyes wander over his half naked body, reminding myself that, no matter what that bitch said, the man stood before me was mine and mine alone, and he always would be.

“How long until you have to be back on set?” I asked.

Colson shrugged. “About ten minutes now I think.”

I nodded. “Okay, that’s enough time.”

“Enough time for what?”

I nearly tackled him in response, wrapping my arms around his neck and roughly pressing my lips to his. He didn’t question my sudden urgency, he simply wrapped his arms around my waist and held me to him. I could feel his bulge already pressing against my leg.

With ease, Colson lifted me and placed me on the makeup table that was in the room. Without breaking the kiss, he slid his hands down to my pants and roughly pulled them, and my panties, down until they were around my ankles. I slid his underwear down his legs and wrapped my around him, bringing him close to me.

He lined himself up with my entrance and pushed himself into me. I let out a moan that Colson quickly had to muffle with his hand as he began to thrust quickly and roughly. My fingers curled around the edge of the table, my knuckles white as Colson pounded into me. Part of me was afraid that we would start shaking the table and making enough noise to be caught, but the other part just didn’t care in that moment. I was more focused on how good Colson was making me feel.

I moaned into his hand, which was still placed over my mouth, as he wrapped his free arm around my waist and pressed my body against his. He was basically grinding himself into me at that point, the sensation of his body against mine driving me crazy. My eyes were rolling in the back of my head as I felt a familiar feeling growing in my stomach. Before I knew it, my cries of pleasure were being muffled by Colson’s hand as I hit my climax. The feeling of my walls contracting around his dick cause him to groan before he finished as well, wrapping both arms around me and holding me tightly to him.

We stayed pressed together, a panting mess, for some time. I held him tightly to me, reminding myself that he was mine and mine alone, and that he would never just leave me for someone like the interviewer.

We both started when a knock came at the door. “Hey, Kells. It’s time for your performance.”

“I’ll be out in a second!” Colson responded, slipping himself out of me. I had to hold back a whimper from the lack of contact. As he started pulling on his clothes, he smiled at me. “What was that about? I don’t think we’ve ever done it in a dressing room before.”

“Something to cross off our bucket list,” I responded with a shrug.

“Right, it has nothing to do with the interviewer basically feeling me up and trying to shove her tits in my face, right?”

My cheeks burned at his words, which was answer enough for Colson. He cupped my face in his hands and tilted my head back to look at him.

“Baby, I could care less if that interviewer was sat in front of me, completely naked, begging me to fuck her. I would never even look in her general direction, and you know that. You own my heart, and you’re the only one who does, or who ever will.”

I smiled at him and snuggled my head into his chest. “I know, but I still just didn’t like the way she was acting around you. She’s so desperate, I just want her to back off and put some clothes on to cover herself up.”

Colson chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “I know, babe. It’s almost over, after my performance we can go home.”

I smiled and kissed his cheek. “Let’s go get that over with so we can go home then.”

We exited his dressing room, only to come face to face with the interviewer. I tried to suppress an eye roll as Colson wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him, as if proving a point to her before she even said anything.

“You’re late,” she told him, her eyes glaring at me with disgust. “The producers were looking for you.”

“Sorry, I was busy fucking my beautiful girlfriend,” Colson responded, squeezing my shoulder.

The interviewer’s mouth dropped open as we walked past her. Over my shoulder, I flipped her off before continuing to walk with my amazing boyfriend, who was mine and only mine.

#machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly smut #machine gun kelly x reader #colson baker #colson baker imagine #colson baker smut #colson baker x reader #imagine #one shot #request #smut

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feliix · 4 years ago

Text

Dreamy ✦ KTH (M)

✦ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader ✦ Word count: 3.3k ✦ Rating: M

✦ Genre: smut, fluff, established relationship!au

✦ Summary: You’re finally ready to move on to the next level of your relationship with Taehyung

✦ Warnings: explicit smut, fingering, oral: female receiving, nipple play, dirty talk, praise kink, virgin sex, fluffy smut

✦ Requested by @starlightseoks: mmmmmmmmmm how about a tae + cocktail :)))) ehehhe

✦ A/N: on this episode of kenz tries to write a drabble but it turns into a oneshot jk I had to do it for Lainey bc she deserves it this is sosososo unedited I’m sorry I know its bad plz be nice

✦ Written for the BHQ Drinks and Drabbles game hosted by @bangtan-dreamland

✦ Banner created by the lovely @koophoriia

“So I’ve been thinking,” you begin, hands placed gently on your lap as you meet eyes with him.

It hadn’t been long since you and Taehyung had started dating. Things between you were…slow. To put it frankly, you were a virgin, he wasn’t, and he wanted to make sure that your first time was ‘special’ or whatever. By this point you were so worked up from trying to suggest the deed you had exhausted all options.

Taking it upon yourself, you decided to conduct some research of your own. If anything, you didn’t want to embarrass yourself during your first time. You knew that Tae was experienced, and no you didn’t hold that against him. Have you seen him? Exactly.

“Thinking about?” He questions, raising a brow in your direction as you nervously chewed your lip.

“We should have sex,” You say bluntly and Taehyung nearly chokes on the air he breathes, coughing in return to your candid statement. Not giving him much of a chance to calm down from his coughing fit you speak up again, “I’ve been doing my research and-”

“You what?” He asks as he suppresses another cough from leaving his throat, his cheeks puffed out in an attempt to hold it back, “What research?”

Palms getting clammy, you wipe them on your jeans, doing your best to coax yourself into relaxing instead of dwelling on how unbelievably awkward this conversation was becoming. “I’ve just been reading some stuff online about how to...you know like…make it good for you.”

“Y/N,” he says softly, grabbing at your waist to pull you onto his lap. His broad stature engulfs yours as his arms wrap around your body; you instantly calm in his arms, past feelings of shams fading as he soothes you with his deep voice. “You don’t have to worry about making it good for me, anything with you will be perfect.”

His large hands sweep the loose strands of hair from your face, exposing the supple skin of your face to him fully as he places a soft kiss to your cheek. Sighing in acknowledgement, you rest your head on his shoulder, the woodsy smell of his cologne filling your nostrils as your nose brushes against his neck.

Taehyung shivers in reaction. His neck has always been an extremely sensitive area – something you did know from how far you’d actually gone with him. Nothing below the waist, but hickeys were fair game, and Taehyung loved those.

He rubs your back soothingly, his hands quietly roaming to the swell of your ass before he gives it a playful squeeze. Your back stiffens in reaction, picking your head up and facing him with wide eyes. The smirk on his face says it all, and the way one hand rests on your thigh and the other pulls you into him confirms it all.

Your lips meet Tae’s with lust and desire. His soft lips move gently against yours, his tongue tenderly brushing across your bottom lip to tease you. His kisses were delicate, so faint and sweet that you could tell he was being careful with you. He pulls away for a breather, his breath fanning across your face as he rests his forehead against yours. The look in his eyes was endearing yet filled with lust. It was unclear if he was holding himself back from taking you right then and there or if he was being cautious, taking his time so it would be memorable.

“Want you,” you whisper over his lips, your thighs unconsciously pushing together to ease the growing throb of your core. Tae adjust himself under you by shifting his hips backwards slightly, your clothed center now placed over his growing erection.

“Are you sure, Y/N,” he says sweetly, his mouth brushing lightly against yours as the words fall from his mouth. All you do is nod gently in agreement, your eyes wide as you look at him through your eyelashes. Taehyung can’t help but want you in this moment, accepting that now was finally the right moment to seal your relationship with the deed.

Swiftly, Taehyung places an arm under your knees, his other supporting your back as he sweeps you off the couch. Wrapping your arms around his neck, your head falls into his chest, the comforting smell of his cologne surrounding you once again. It was like your own little safe-haven – his arms holding you like this and his smell relaxing you.

As he makes his way into the bedroom he places you down carefully on the bed, resting your head on the massive heap of pillows. He stares down at you with wandering eyes, raking up and down your figure like he’s assessing what he’s going to do to you. Shifting nervously in your place, you curl your lips into an apprehensive smile, tilting you head to the side in hopes he would say something to ease the weird energy filling the room.

“If I knew you wanted to do this tonight I would have done something more romantic,” he says, a hand meeting the back of his neck as he scratches it lightly. For all this time you had waited, Taehyung had always planned on making your first time special. He wanted all the stereotypical romantic stuff. The rose petals, the candles, the smooth jazz playing in the background. It wasn't like he couldn't have it, though, just not tonight.

Tonight he wanted you right here, right now. Rose petals or not, tonight would be special for the both of you. There was no need for all the ‘stereotypical romantic stuff’ as long as you were with him.

“This is romantic,” you say, pushing yourself up onto your knees so that you could be eye level with him. Taehyung releases a sigh of relief, or displeasure, it was a little hard to tell with the expression on his face. Either way, your instinct was to calm his nerves, hoping it would maybe settle your own in the process.

“If you want me to, I could…” you trail off bashfully as you wander your eyes down to his crotch, staring at the semi-hard on that you could make out through his sweats, and then moving your eyes quickly back up to his.

“You could..?” He quirks a brow at you in question, genuinely confused by your half-baked proposition and suggesting gaze.

“I could maybe,” you take a deep breath, trying your best to build up confidence to actually let the words fall from your mouth, “suck your dick?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth you feel instantly embarrassed. The way Taehyung’s lips roll in between his teeth to hold back a laugh doesn’t help either. Immediately you feel your cheeks heating up, bringing up your hands to cover your eyes in humiliation.

“You’re so cute,” he states, grabbing ahold of your wrists in each of his hands, bringing them down so he could see the embarrassment written all over your face. Pouting in response, you let your shoulders fall, sinking into yourself.

“I don’t want to be cute right now I want to be…I don’t know I want to be one of those things that people are so their boyfriend will actually have sex with them,” you rant, letting a sigh of disappointment finish off the end of your sentence. Taehyung’s reaction immediately changes, his hand letting go of your wrist to climb onto the bed with you.

“Do you think that I don’t want to have sex with you?” He asks as his eyebrows raise for emphasis.

“I don’t know I just- OOF,” Taehyung’s arms meet the backs of your knees, pulling them out from under you so you were laying on your back. In that split second he was now hovering over you, your chest heaving for air as adrenaline begins to pump through your veins.

Taehyung’s face is brought inches from yours, his hot breath warming your cheeks before he moves his lips to your ear, “I thought you knew how hard I am for you already.”

Breath catches in your throat as Taehyung’s teeth nip your ear; arousal suddenly beginning to gush from your core. You can almost feel the smirk on his face from your stunned reaction – he enjoyed this effect he had on you.

His lips graze your jawline, peppering kisses down to your neck until he reaches the collar of your shirt. In one quick motion, his fingers slide underneath the fabric and pull it over your head. Goosebumps cover your skin as your torso is exposed to the cold air of the room. Part of you feels panicked, yea, things between you and Taehyung have gotten steamy before, but this time you knew where things were heading. As you watch his eyes devour your figure, your legs unwittingly begin to cross. The arousal flooding from your pussy was now too prominent to ignore.

Your core throbs in desire as Taehyung’s lips meet the skin of your chest. His hands roam over your sides as you roll your head back. Mind racing with dirty thoughts, all you could think about was how badly you wanted him right now. It was better to amp yourself up now than to dwell on the fears swirling in the back of your mind.

Soon Taehyung was throwing his own clothing across the room, getting back onto the bed completely nude as he rested his body over you again. You swallowed thickly, unsure what to do now that he was naked and on top of you. Your research definitely didn’t tell you anything about this.

He must have been able to sense your sudden change in demeanor as he looked down at you with cautious eyes, “Babygirl? Are you okay?”

His words snap you out of your thoughts, shaking your head as if you were physically removing your worries from your brain. “I'm just…not really sure what to do now,” you say as you break eye contact with him, wandering your eyes down his naked figure.

With a gentle kiss placed to your lips, Taehyung sits back on his heels, pulling your arms so you're sitting up in front of him. One hand reaches towards your back, fiddling with the clasp of your bra. A momentary feeling of relief consumes you as the elastic releases from your body, there really was nothing like taking your bra off after a long day.

You let Taehyung finish undressing you; pulling your pants and underwear down your legs and throwing them off the bed into a messy pile on the floor. Unusually, you have no desire to cover yourself from him. The way his eyes gloss over your figure with such admiration makes you feel safe under his touch – his touch that trails from the tops of your thigh and traces the curve of your side.

“You’re sure you want to do this,” Taehyung asks one last time, one hand brushing your hair back as the other supports his body weight. You hum in response, leaning up to peck his lips gently. He blushes in response, rocking back onto his knees. Tilting your head, you watch his long fingers wrap around his hardening member. You watch in awe as it grows with each pump of his wrist, the silver bracelet adorning his wrist swaying with each movement.

Next he’s pushing your knees up so your feet are placed flat on the mattress. The cool air washes over your dripping core sending shivers through your body. And just like that, Taehyung’s lips are moving south and his tongue is diving into your soaking depths. Involuntarily your hips buck towards him, unable to control your own actions from the pleasure his mouth is bringing you. Taehyung’s thumb soon meets your clit, circling the bundle of nerves gently as his tongue presses flat along your slit.

A moan escapes your lips as you try to find some kind of words of praise to give Taehyung. All you can think about is how good his mouth feels on you; you have no idea how people could manage to form functional thoughts during things like this. If this was just the warm up, how the hell were you supposed to handle the main event?

You let out an airy gasp as his fingers move down to your entrance, circling the hole before dipping just one inside. Unable to resist, your hips jump up towards him as your mouth releases a loud moan. A hand flies up to cover your mouth, shocked at your own body’s response to his touch.

“Eager, aren’t we?” he smirks as his finger pushes into you slowly. Your walls swallow his finger deliciously, adjusting to the new sensation well. Once he notices how comfortable you are, he adds in another finger. You tense up at the added pressure, taking a moment to adjust to the greater size. The mild discomfort quickly disappears as his lips press soft kisses to the inside of your thigh.

Your hips jut forward as his fingers begin to separate, stretching your walls as his fingers move in scissor-like motions inside of you. His other hand is placed on your lower stomach as his lips still trail up and down your thigh, leaving behind a path of residual saliva that catches in the cold air. He does his best to comfort you as his hand gently rubs under your navel, his fingers quickening in pace and spreading further apart to prepare you for the size of his cock.

As your hand reaches down to rake through his curly black locks he picks up his head to meet eyes with you. The satisfaction from the way you take his fingers is written all over his face, as well as some remaining arousal by yours truly. You’ve never seen this expression before – his eyes so dark and filled with desire like they could swallow you whole.

Your stomach churned with anticipation as his fingers reached new depths inside of you. All prior pain was morphed sweetly into pleasure, all things Taehyung was doing was meeting all your current desires but one. “Tae,” you breathe out, a moan-like sound following his name. It was a way to get his attention, not a cry of pleasure. He narrows his eyes in response, his eyes still locked on your expression as he waits for you to continue.

“I’m ready.”

Again, Taehyung is rocking back onto his heels before leaving one last kiss to your clit. His fingers return back to their place on his cock, looking so pretty and delicate wrapped around his fully hardened member.

Slowly, the tip of his cock is being pressed against your entrance. Adrenaline rushes through your veins as you can hear the blood pumping in your ears. Was it nerves or excitement – or maybe a little bit of both? Taehyung surveys your expression before making any movement, looking for any signs of doubt written on your face. All that you give him is another reassuring nod, reaching your hand out for his to hold before he guides himself inside you.

And then it was time for what you had been waiting for all along.

Taehyung pushes into you slowly, your velvet walls wrapping around his hardened member. A muffled grunt leaves his lips as he tries to refrain from screaming in satisfaction. Your tight walls squeezed his cock so nicely, unlike anything he had ever felt before.

“Feels so good babygirl,” he moans as he begins to pull backward slowly, “so fucking tight.”

You keen at his praise, almost making you forget about the discomfort and pressure you were feeling in your lower half. Tears prick the sides of your eyes as you squeeze them shut, desperate to hide it from him. So badly you wanted to get over the pain and push through to the pleasurable parts.

Though your expression doesn’t go unnoticed by Taehyung, who had been studying every inch of your body since this part of the night had begun. Quickly he leans forward, placing a kiss to your forehead, nose, and then your lips before tilting his head to your ear.

“You’re doing great, babygirl,” He whispers, the sensation of his smooth deep voice igniting a fire through your body as his cock plunges back into you slowly. Your velvety walls welcome him once again, this time the stretch more bearable than the last. His size was immaculate, you were sure it was probably a lot even for girls more experienced than you, and he was proud of you for taking it like a fucking champ!!

With a few more slow thrusts, the uncomfortable stretch was no longer as noticeable. Taehyung’s fingers roamed your body as distraction to the pain, finding other areas to pleasure you to awaken your senses. One digit finds its way to your mouth, dragging it down your bottom lip to coat it in saliva before dragging it down your body. The same digit finds your nipple, rolling the perky bud between his fingers before his mouth takes their place.

His tongue washes over your sensitive bud greedily. At this point you're riding so high on lust that all you can feel is bliss. His cock glides in and out of you so effortlessly – like you were made just for him. He doesn’t let that go unnoticed either. Words of praise leave his lips in the form of mumbles, only amplifying the sense of your arousal. You begin grinding down onto him, the slow thrusts he was putting forth were no longer enough to satisfy your need.

“So good for me,” he groans as his thrusts begin to deepen once he recognizes your movements. His tip hits new territory in you that hadn’t been touched before, leaving you screaming his name into his neck. You didn’t know how you had gone so long without this, and you were unsure if you’d ever be able to again.

Now you knew what everyone was talking about. That much desired knot was growing and growing, begging to be tugged and snapped to lead you to your end.

Sweat gathers on Tae’s brow as he bucks his hips harder into yours, the pace of his thrusts quickening as his arms rest on either side of your head. Your hand brushes back his hair to read his face. His eyes are closed and his face is scrunched, he’s focused on his movements as beads of sweat drip down the sides of his face. He’s stunning. Seeing him so fucked out was almost breath-taking, if you breath hadn’t already been stolen by his lingering kisses and steady momentum.

Before you had any time to catch a break he was moving upwards, straightening his back and driving his hips into yours, chasing his high. Extending your neck back, you let out a muted cry – the force of his tip against a sensitive spot inside you beginning to push you over the edge.

The band in your stomach snaps as you chase your release, screaming Taehyung’s name as your back arches off the mattress. It was unlike anything you had felt before; your body felt numb yet so sensitive all at once. Pussy throbbing sporadically around Taehyung’s cock, he couldn’t hold on any longer either.

With just a few more thrusts he was coming undone inside you. The white, hot spurts of cum coated your walls, making you feel so unbelievably full. You had never felt closer to Taehyung as you had in the moment his body collapsed on top of yours, holding you close as you came down from your highs.

“You know I love you, right?” He mumbles into your neck between kisses. A smile spreads across your face as you let out a dreamy sigh, satisfied with the night and the beautiful man you were lying beneath.

#networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #btswriterscollective #smutcentralnet #ficswithluv #bhqdrabbles #magicshopnet #bangtanhq #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #kth smut #kim taehyung

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

Note

Cliche prompt 48 or grumpy-affection 13 for Barba x reader? Plz. I need him.

A/N: Thank you so much for the prompts Nonny. I hope you enjoy the result! Word Count: 1785 Content Warnings: Panic attack/anxiety attack described in detail

Your hands trembled as you fumbled for your phone, tears blurring your vision and making it difficult to find his number. You felt like an elephant was sitting on your chest as you finally managed to make it to the right place in your contact list and click to dial. You pressed the cool glass of the screen to the side of your face and listened to it ring once, twice, three times.

“Come on, pick up,” you whispered desperately. “Please, please pick up.”

“Y/N?” he asked, voice distorted as it passed over the speakers but still undeniably, comfortingly him. “I did pick up.”

He sounded sleepy and with a glance over at the clock on your nightstand, you realized why. It was two in the morning, and he worked such late nights and long hours that he was probably just able to fall asleep before you disrupted him. Guilt twisted your aching stomach.

“Rafi!” you gasped, the thudding of your heart slowing minutely just hearing him. “Oh thank god.”

“What’s wrong?” there was a spike of panic in his voice and you could picture him as he sat up swiftly, sheets tossed aside and boxer-clad legs swinging down over the side of the mattress.

“I...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I shouldn’t have woken you up. It’s just...I didn’t know who else to call.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Just talk to me.”

“I have no right to ask, but could you...would you come over? I just really need somebody right now.” You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see it. “No, not somebody. I need you.”

There was a long pause. The world seemed to be spinning and you could hear the rush of your blood in your ears, crashing like the ocean but louder. The muscles in your neck clenched, practically screaming under their own tension.

“Rafael?”

“I’m on my way,” he assured. “It’ll take time for me to get there, though. Will you be okay until then? Do you need me to stay on the phone?”

“No, I’ll be alright. Just focusing on getting here, okay?”

“Of course.”

About half an hour later, there was a knock on your apartment door and you forced yourself to stand on legs like over-cooked pasta to answer it.

“I got here as fast as I could. I even offered to use the tip feature to bribe the driver to ignore the one-way signs so I could get here faster, but he wouldn’t do it. Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? What’s wrong? What can I do?” he asked.

His statements and questions were more rapid-fire even than the worst grilling you’d ever seen him give the team, all of it spilling from his lips barely as soon as he had passed the door, a door which you clung to for support. He carefully hung his coat and scarf on the hook, knowing how particular you were about such things and turned to face you.

“Y/N? Please talk to me.” His hands reached out, hovering, waiting for you to speak, to consent, to tell him something before he dared to actually touch you. “Whatever it is, whatever happened, we’ll get through it. I’ll do whatever you need.”

“You’re talking too much,” you sighed, biting your lip. “Just shut up and hold me.”

Taken aback, he gaped momentarily at you before doing as you asked. Still a little hesitant, he placed his hands on your shoulders before rethinking it and sliding his arms further around you, pulling you close against his chest. You breathed in his sharp, clean scent and let it break down the last of your walls. Like cutting strings of a tangled marionette, all of the tension leached out of you and you all but collapsed, his strong arms and firm grip the only things keeping you off the floor. A soft sob wrenched from your lips and you clung to the soft fabric of his sweater, balling the no-doubt expensive fabric in your fingers tight enough to leave an impression.

Moving awkwardly, he guided you to your couch, never letting the space between you grow wider than an inch. You shifted to sit beside him and felt him tsk with a shake of his head, the only warning you had before you were pulled into his lap and your head was tucked beneath his chin. You felt yourself being gently rocked as he hummed a simple melody, running soothing strokes up and down your spine and for the first time in hours, you felt like the blackness might leave and things might be okay.

There was a click, somewhere in the background, and it startled you, making you jump.

“Oh! I forgot,” you said, pulling away slightly to look toward the kitchen. “I made a pot of coffee, since you were coming over and it’s so late...early…”

You moved to stand and go make him a cup when he stopped you with a hand on your arm. His eyes were crinkled with barely restrained laughter.

“You know me too well. But you stay here, I’ll get it myself. Do you want a cup?”

You nodded. Now that the panic part of your night was over, you were feeling completely drained and the little jolt of warmth and caffeine sounded perfect, just to keep you human until you could sleep. He shifted you gently off his lap and stood, leaning back over to place a kiss to your forehead and then headed into your kitchen.

You twisted, leaning your chin on the back of your couch to watch him as he expertly navigated your apartment, smiling at the implication held in his familiarity and comfort there. He was wearing jeans and a soft fleece pull-over. His hair was uncombed and stuck up at amusing angles, tales of his own restless sleeping before you called and his rush to come to your side. It took a rare person to be allowed to see Rafael Barba anything less than put together, and yet here he was, letting you see it all in high definition.

“At least you’re smiling now,” he observed as he set two large mugs on your coffee table and resumed his seat beside you. “Smiling is a lot better than crying.”

You felt a blush heat your cheeks and you bit your lip as you turned back to him, tucking your knees up to your chest as you faced him. You hadn’t realized you were staring, or smiling, until he pointed it out, but of course you were. Rafael was your rock, your anchor, your life raft, whatever metaphor you needed at any given time to say that he was the best thing in your life and the thing that made you feel grounded and whole and okay no matter what, and you loved him.

“Now that you’re feeling a little better,” he said, hesitating, taking a sip and then a second of his coffee to stall and work up the courage to ask. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sighed, sipping your own drink — perfectly made to your preferences of course — while you gathered your thoughts, and then cradling the mug in your hands.

“It was just...I get anxiety attacks sometimes,” you explained hesitantly. “Especially when the cases are really hard. But it’s never been this bad before. I felt like I was actually dying and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You thought you were dying and your first thought was to call me?” he asked, softly tilting his head and looking at you, with that gentle, comforting warmth in his green eyes that you knew he only reserved for you.

“Well...yeah. I lo...I mean you’re you. It just made sense in my head.”

You wanted to tell him the real reason you had thought first to call him. You wanted so badly to say those words that were poised on the tip of your tongue every time you looked into his eyes or saw his face or heard his voice. Instead, they died on your lips and you made do with what you could get out.

“I’ve never had them, so you’ll have to walk me through what I need to do,” he offered, “but I’ll help however I can. This time and any other time they come up.”

“They come and go so irregularly, and each one is a little different. I don’t know if I can teach you or explain it right.”

“Then start with right now. How are you feeling?”

“Okay. Better now. A little nauseous, and exhausted, but that happens a lot. I think the worst of it is behind me.” You felt guilty again and frowned. “It might have been ending on its own before you got here. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you out of bed.”

You didn’t admit that it was the knowledge he was coming that helped you calm down. You had already come too close tonight to saying something that it wasn’t the right moment for, you didn’t need to risk it again.

“Y/N, shh,” he soothed, plucking the mug from your hands and setting both aside to hug you tightly again. “There is nothing to apologize for. I don’t care what time it is, or what I’m doing. I want you to call me when you need me. For anything.”

“Rafi, I...thank you.”

“So, the acute attack is over. What do you need? What happens next?”

“I should set up a heat pack for my neck, since I tend to get stiff muscles after and don’t want to be sore in the morning. Then I should try to sleep.”

He nodded, committing the information to memory for the future. “Where do you keep the heat pack? I’ll get it for you and then leave you to rest.”

“It’s in the bottom drawer of my night stand. But...you don’t have to go.”

He paused, halfway out of his seat and nearly fell back to the couch cushions.

“I mean, you came all this way, and it’s late. We both have to get up in the morning. I don’t know if I’ll have a second wave. It’ll be better for everyone if you just stay, right?” you smiled sheepishly and he answered with a soft grin of his own.

“If that’s what you want, I would be happy to spend the night.”

“Good,” you smiled, standing and taking his hand. “I could use a cuddle after that. And Rafael?”

He hummed in question, prompting you wordlessly.

“Really. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For coming. For being here. For being you.”

#the two prompts worked perfectly together #good choices #panic attack tw #anxiety attack tw #Rafael Barba x Reader #Law and Order: SVU fic #I hope this is in character. I really really tried

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kill-the-feels · 4 years ago

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Ok just saw the clone appreciation post and let’s get this ball rollin for some clone lovin. I honestly wanna see Jesse and Fives having a flirting battle to see who can make reader blush the most (It was a bet between the 501st to see who was better) and Jesse has a HUGE crush on the reader. So we will go with 5 and 13 cause why not, low key just wanna see Jesse upset after fives wins and you make him feel better.(love your stories plz keep posting cause I am in love with your writing)

Hkhskahdks i had the MOST fun with this!! (Prompts from here!) (for this!)

5. “Oh, you’re jealous!”

13. “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

warnings: naughty pick-up lines

~~~

79’s is pulsing with life as you toss back another shot of fire whiskey and laugh at something one of the patrons said. Working here can be sucky, but on nights when big groups come in, it can be kind of fun. You’ve got the regulars, including two of the famous “blue boys,” both of whom are notorious flirts.

You’re familiar with them both, of course. Have fended them off plenty of times. Jesse and Fives, the dynamic duo no one really saw coming. Both of them stumble up to the bar, laughing and shoving.

“Hey, boys,” you say, already moving to make the drinks they always order. Fives elbows Jesse in the side, and mutters something, causing Jesse to blush bright red.

“Hey yourself,” Fives says, when Jesse remains silent. You point to the glasses you’re preparing.

“Want another round?” Fives nods, then leans around Jesse, onto the bar.

“Sure, but also, I gotta ask: aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?” You blink at him, his words taking a second to register. Jesse facepalms.

“Works here, probably,” you hear Jesse mutter. You can’t help it. You burst out laughing as Fives looks down at his hands.

“Ah. Yes. That would make sense,” he says. The big grin is back on his face in seconds.

“In that case,” Fives says, “do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I walk by again?” Jesse groans and you laugh harder.

“Stop, I’m begging you,” you say. “Maker, those are awful.” Fives grins.

“I can go all night, baby. I got loads of these.” You raise your eyebrow and look at Jesse.

“That true?” you ask him. He gives you a long-suffering sigh and nods.

“Yes. I’ve heard him go all. night.” Fives snags one of the drinks you’re making and takes a sip.

“If mine are so bad, let’s hear yours,” he says to Jesse. “We’ll make it a game.” He looks at you.

“First one to make you blush wins.” You smirk.

“Bring it. I hear all kinds of nasty stuff. I bet neither of you win.” Fives clears his throat and mimes straightening a tie.

“To start off, let me just say, being around you is like flipping a switch. I was feeling a little off today, but you turned me on.” You and Jesse boo, and you face him.

“Hit me,” you say to Jesse who looks down, then clears his throat.

“They say that kissing is a language of love, so would you mind starting a conversation with me?” He smiles as he says it. You groan and Fives lays his head on the bar top.

“That was so bad,” you say, enjoying the little laugh he gives you.

“I know,” he says. Fives nudges him with his shoulder and takes over, leaning off the bar as he speaks.

“I’m not into watching sunsets, but I’d love to see you go down.” You mock gag.

“That one was even worse,” you say, even as you’re tempted to blush. Jesse shoves Fives to the side, taking over.

“Your legs must be tired because you’ve been running through my mind all night,” he says. It’s incredibly sweet, and it nearly gets you in a way Fives’ dirty flirting hasn’t. But you don’t want to lose. Before you can recover, Fives is speaking again.

“Your clothes look so uncomfortable. Why don’t you let me help you take them off?” It catches you off-guard and the flush spreads across your chest and into your face at the image of Fives stripping you.

“Ha!” he says, slamming his fist down on the bar. You laugh and pass him another drink. Jesse rolls his eyes, the light humor gone, and he steps away from the bar. You frown a little at his back, watching as he slips out a side door.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” you say to Fives who waves you off.

You follow Jesse outside.

“Hey,” you call. He turns around, stopping when he sees it’s you.

“Tired of Fives already?” he asks. You frown at him.

“No? What?” You’re confused. Jesse looks away, and it dawns on you.

“Oh! You’re jealous!” Jesse scoffs.

“I am not,” he says. You smile and poke his side.

“Yes, you are.” Jesse rolls his eyes.

“Can you blame me? You’ve seen Fives at work.” You sigh. Jesse, bless his heart, can be so oblivious. For all the time Fives has spent flirting with you, you’ve spent more time trying to flirt with Jesse. It’s time to take a different tact.

“I’m on top of things. Would you like to be one of them?” you say. Jesse stares blankly at you.

“What?” he says. You sigh and lean in closer.

“Can you tell me what time you’ll come back to my place, please?” Jesse splutters and backs away.

“I- what?” He’s cute when he’s confused.

“Jesse,” you say, placing a hand on his cheek and speaking slowly and deliberately. “I love my bed, but I’d rather be in yours.” It’s as clear as you can make it. Jesse’s eyes widen.

“Are you flirting with me?” he asks. You smile at him.

“You finally noticed?” It’s his turn to blush, and you close the gap, kissing him gently and testing the waters. Jesse’s arms wrap around you, tugging you closer. His lips slant over your own.

He pulls back a little, grinning against your mouth.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” he asks. You lean closer, so you can whisper into his ear.

“Stick around and find out.”

#arc trooper jesse x you #reader insert #ask #kat speaks #my search history is FULL of dirty pick up lines now oh well

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needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves · 4 years ago

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gosh valves, a whole openbox month? you're too nice to us! i feel bad adding anything to the pile of overflow your inbox may be getting right now, plz skip this if you're swamped! if not tho, i've really been craving some Elita-lovin on her lil human gf? i think she'd be reeeeeaaaalllly good in the flustering and tease department, and i would really appreciate your (n) or sfw HCs!

I AM swamped, but you guys clearly like my stuff enough to do so, so it’s something I gotta do. Thank you for being concerned about my work load though, it really helps me get through this. Last one for the day though, I need a nap. Having said that, enjoy!

Elita was well respected amongst her team. Strong, demanding, fierce. Having said that, she had one big weakness; you. You were a puny little human, but you were so cute and adorable, she couldn’t help but love and adore you. Of course, you weren’t exactly immune to her either. A giant robot lady alien for a girlfriend? You bagged yourself a keeper. Speaking of keeper, here she was, right on time to pick you up. You had your own car, but why wouldn’t you wanna be seen in a ride as FINE as this? You grinned as you opened the back seat, placing your stuff in the back. You got into the driver’s seat, and buckled in.

“Hey you! How’ve you been?”

“Well enough, thank you. Finally had someone competent to cover for me back at base. How was shopping?”

“Good, good, I got us some stuff!”

You tried not to sound so excited as she pulled out. You hadn’t seen her in a couple of days, and when she said out of nowhere that she could pick you up, you were like a little puppy; nearly bouncing in joy. She chuckled, most likely noting your joy.

“Oh? What’d you get?”

“Oh some cute clothes! I gotta look good for you, don’t i?”

“Hmph. Remind me not to leave you for so long, next time.”

You cocked your head to the side, before she chuckled mischievously , sending a shiver down your spine.

“You keep rubbing your legs together. You’re REALLY excited to see me.”

You held onto your knees, trying to stop their movements. It didn’t help that you were wearing a dress, with JUST a pair of panties. Her favorite pair, not that she recalled. You gave a light smack to her dashboard, trying not to be flustered to all hell.

“Stop that! You’re such a pervert!”

“Says the one with the soaked panties.”

You scoffed, as if you were offended. Granted she was right, but still. She pulled off to the left, and in the middle of your flustered thoughts, you almost didn’t notice that she was going the wrong way.

“Hey, that’s not the say home!”

“I know. But you’re being SO much of a needy thing, I figured I’d...take the long route.”

She turned another corner, before turning down an unfamiliar road. That was when the car started to shake, as the road was bumpy and uneven. It made the entire car tremble, and you couldn’t help but stiffen up. You really should've worn pants. The seat shaking underneath you felt so goddamn good on your poor pussy, and your fingers dug into the seat. She chuckled as she turned around, ready to do it again.

“I can feel you making a mess on my seat. Take off your panties.”

You hiked your dress down, humilated that your girlfriend was trying to get you off inside of her.

“Elita, c-come on, I can’t-”

“Come on. Don’t you wanna be a good girl for me?”

You could never refuse her when her voice was like that. Despite your nerves, you slipped off your panties, letting them fall to the floor. You pressed your wetness against the leather seats, and you swore you heard her moan under her breath. She went down the road again, and again, and again, and you couldn’t silence yourself. Especially not when she kept saying how pretty you were, not when she kept saying to hump her seat.

“Only three times and you’re ready to cum, aren’t you?”

You nodded your head furiously, still grinding against her seat. You were so ready to cum, so ready to get your mess on the floor, when she suddenly turned away from the road, heading into the direction of your house.

“H-hey! I didn’t finish!”

“I know. I want to wait till I get my hands on you. I’m gonna show you just how much I missed my special girl~”

#elita one #lemon #asks #Elita likes sub girls #send tweet

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idabbleincrazy · 4 years ago

Text

Go Out with a Bang Ch.3

Patreon Tip Jar

<--Chapter Two

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Rating: E

Pairing: Spangel

Word Count: 5691

Warnings: Smut, Sire/Childe dynamics, Vampire dynamics, bottom!Spike/top!Angel. Body worship, Hand job, Oral, Cum Eating, Rimming, Anal fingering, Anal, Claiming Bites, Blood drinking, Submissive Spike, d/s undertones, scratching, coming untouched, emoporn, smidge of angst, they’re both a pair of saps

Summary: Angel does things his way and Spike asks for something he never thought he could have.

A/N: marathon sex once again got thrown a bit off-course by the muse, who decided a Claim was necessary for more future drama. i swear i will get bottom!Angel in this fic if it kills me. “Tá tú mianach, William, mo mhaité. Always, forever. Agus tá mé mise, go deo na i gcónaí. (You are mine, William, my mate. Always, forever. And I am yours, forever and always.) mo ghrá (my love) ~ Irish Gaelic translations according to the internet ~

Feedback fuels my creativity! If you like my work, plz reblog/comment!!!

Angel was on the bed, sitting back against the headboard, when Spike finally came out of the bathroom, his still-wet hair a mess of curls, rivulets of water tracing down his sculpted chest as he crossed the room. Angel mirrored the leer Spike cast over at him, his cock already twitching in interest as Spike sauntered over and stood at the foot of the bed. Spike’s leer grew as he caught sight of the items perched on the bedside table, wondered if more than the lube would get used before they left the suite.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing you like this, Spike. Naked and still half-hard as if we haven’t just gone two rounds in less than an hour.” Angel patted the bed. “Now, are you going to come over here, or am I going to have to come over there? Take into consideration whether you want to come again tonight before you decide; it’s not beyond my capabilities to leave you so desperate for it you’d barely be able to look at me without moaning but still well within fighting form, and you know it. Just like you know I don’t need you to come for me to do things my way...your choice.”

Spike’s eyes flashed a molten gold and he let out a low groan as he climbed onto the bed, his smirk turning sultry as he straddled Angel’s legs and slunk up the bed, his gaze not leaving Angel’s until he was sitting astride his hips. Angel grinned approvingly and Spike couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine as Angel’s hands made their slow way up his thighs to grip tight at his waist.

“Have I told you how much I love these bloody big hands on me, luv?” Spike moaned softly and rocked back on his knees. “Fuck, Peaches, show me. Show me how you wanted to fuck me, how you wanted to claim me.”

“Didn’t say I wanted to fuck you, did I, Spike?” Angel growled and pushed up quickly to roll them over, settling between Spike’s legs as they fell open against the mattress, and bracing himself over the length of his body to thrust his groin over the blonde’s. His voice was husky, gravelly yet honeyed at once. “What I want, William, is to make love to you. All we’ve done these past few months is fuck, I want to give you what I’ve been denying us both. What I’ve wanted to do for over a century.”

Spike let out a choked gasp at Angel’s hushed words. The soul flared in his chest at the prospect and the demon pushed against his ribcage in remembrance of the way Angelus used to reduce him to nothing but whimpers and monosyllabic pleading with his soft touches and slow thrusts. He rolled his hips, a shock of electricity zipping up his spine as his hardening cock slid against Angel’s.

“Christ, Liam...yeah, fuck, want that, luv.” Spike’s voice was already pathetically close to whining as images flashed in his mind. He fought to focus on the here and now, knowing he needed to get himself under control or it would be over before Angel even kissed him. “Love me, Angel, please.”

“So beautiful, my Will, my lovely boy.”

Angel dipped his down and pressed his lips to Spike’s forehead, trailing a path of soft, fleeting kisses along his hairline. He hummed quietly as he felt Spike relax further into the mattress beneath him, looking down to confirm that Spike’s eyes had indeed closed just as he figured the gesture would cause him to.

“My gorgeous Childe.” Angel kissed each closed eyelid in turn. “Perfect William.”

Spike fought back a sob as it rose in his throat, blunt teeth sinking into his tongue to keep from saying something he’d berate himself for later. Angel’s lips worked along his left cheekbone, feather-light against his skin.

“My sweet, pale prince. You were always a breathtaking sight, Spike.” Angel turned his head and kissed over his right cheek, determined to cover as much of his skin as possible with words of praise as his lips caressed him. “The moment I saw you, I understood just what our dark princess saw in you. Knew why our Dru sought you out. You complimented her so well, in nearly every way. Her dark, fiery beauty contrasting against your porcelain, angelic complexion.”

Angel felt a soft purr beginning to rumble in Spike’s chest and the corners of his lips tugged up in a pleased smile. He lingered by Spike’s ear, content to draw out the moment.

“The way your temperaments balanced each other out. Drawn to you like a moth, she was, and so was I. God, how I’ve always regretted I hadn’t been the one to find you. Been the first to taste you.”

“Sire…” Spike tried to turn his head, desperate to capture Angel’s lips with his own, quell his words before he drowned in the desire welling up in him. “Fuck. Luv, oh Christ, luv, please.”

Angel took a small pity on his Childe and pressed a light peck to the skin below his ear before shifting himself up and claiming his lips. Spike’s mouth opened readily for him, eagerly welcoming the sweeping strokes of Angel’s tongue over his own. Angel could still detect mild hints of hops, wheat, and whiskey lingering behind the more heady essence that was pure Spike, a mix of cigarette smoke and lust, combining sinfully with the barest traces of his own blood as he explored his mouth.

He ran his tongue over Spike’s soft palate and along his teeth before probing teasingly over his gums, pressing softly against each nub that hid his fangs. Angel smiled into the kiss as he felt Spike’s fingers winding into his hair, the heel of his palm digging gently into the back of his head to urge him closer. Spike’s other hand wound around his back, fingertips tracing lightly over his tattoo, a small moan starting at the back of his throat. Angel swallowed the soft sound, grinding his hips down against the pliant body beneath him to draw out a breathy gasp.

“Angel, fuck”, Spike panted against his lips, hands still clutching at him as he arched against the solid chest pressing him into the bed, as if he couldn’t get close enough to him. “More, need more.”

Angel nipped lightly at Spike’s bottom lip briefly before tilting the blonde’s chin up to press wet kisses along the bolt of his jaw, tongue and teeth trailing over the sharp line of bone and pale flesh.

“Jesus, I’ll never get enough of this, never get enough of you, Spike. Eternity isn’t long enough to take my fill of you, the way you feel, your scent, your taste. Mine.” Angel pressed his lips fleetingly to the point where his angled jaw melded into the slender line of his throat, hips bucking forward at the vibration of the soft moan Spike let escape. “Always been mine.”

“Ye-yeah, yes, all yours, luv. Your boy, Angel, your Will. My Sire.”

Spike tilted his head further back against the pillow, bearing his neck for Angel’s ministrations and let his eyes flutter closed, sinking into the feeling of Angel’s broad body pressed against him, at once too much and not enough. He wanted so badly to roll them back over and slam himself down on the stiff cock he felt brushing teasingly over his own, wanted Angel bucking up into him as he rode him into oblivion.

For so long he’d wanted to hear his Sire talk to him like this again, and now he didn’t know how much longer he could listen without sobbing out. Didn’t deserve it, the words, the love, the lips and teeth pressing cool, stinging blooms along his throat. Done too much bad, lived too long in the dark to be the light Angel proclaimed him to be. He bit his tongue to keep back his protestations, dug his fingers in deeper to prevent his hands from pushing him away.

“Your Liam, sweet William.” Angel nipped his way down the column Spike’s neck, avoiding his still tender siring mark on the curve of his shoulder before sweeping his tongue over and up the center of his throat, blunt teeth clamping down on Spike’s Adam’s Apple with just enough pressure to make him gasp, steely-blue eyes startled open to flash amber as Angel looked up at him. “Your Angel, yours.”

Angel bit back the epithet of Sire he had felt compelled to tack on at the end of that sentence, Spike’s claiming mark tingling on his neck, the shared blood in his veins sparking cool heat through his body, the word pressing at the back of his throat. They belonged to each other now, fully, completely, Darla and Drusilla’s eradicated scars no longer binding either of them to anyone but the other.

He worked his mouth along the other side of Spike’s throat, hips still working maddeningly slow against his. Angel inhaled deeply as he nosed along the curve of his neck, the delectable scent of Spike’s arousal prominent, even under the herbal notes of his fancy body wash and the slight salt-tang of sweat created by the exertion of Spike’s self-control. He let out a soft growl of lust-driven hunger as he laved his tongue over the dip of his clavicle, lapping up the bead of sweat from the hollow.

“Gonna taste every bit of you, Spike, want to know that you still taste as delicious as my memory insists.” Spike whimpered and his fingers clenched tighter as Angel shifted his body downward, quick nips of blunt teeth work a trail across his collarbone. “So far, the consensus is that my mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be. So much better than any mere memory, my sweet boy.”

“Christ, luv...you’ll be the death o’me yet.” Spike shivered beneath Angel as he pecked and licked his way down his chest. “Not even started on the good bits and ‘m already bloody ready to shoot off like a fuckin’ geyser, Peaches. Didn’t realize by ‘take your time’, you meant you were gonna cover every soddin’ inch of me with your saliva and teeth marks.”

“Mm, don’t try to pretend you’re not enjoying every second of the attention.” Angel breathed a soft chuckle against Spike’s sternum as he kissed between his pecs. “Consider this making up for all the too-quick fucks these last wasted months. Never should have denied you this, ever. If you really don’t think you can control yourself, again, the handcuffs are modified to be vampire proof.”

“You really do have all the best toys, don’t you, pet? Gonna miss all these perks.”

Another chuckle.

“I’ll let you take those and whatever else you think will fit in the Viper before we leave here for good. Now, be good for me and let me do this, for my sake if not your own? Still not above tying you down, but I rather like having your fingers digging and scratching at me, all needy and desperate. Like you said, Spike. Vampires like a little pain with their pleasure.”

“Oh, God…” Spike arched his back as Angel turned his head to lave his tongue over his nipple, suckling the pebbling bud between his lips and scraping his teeth tortuously over it. “Fuck. Yeah, okay, luv, I’ll be good. Wanna be good for you, Angel.”

“Thank you.” Angel turned to work the other nipple to a rigid peak, watching Spike’s face as he came to a decision. He shifted to hold himself up with one arm, letting his free hand slip between their bodies. “Want me to make it easier, give you a reprieve?”

His hand wrapped around Spike’s leaking cock and Spike shuddered out a broken groan as he stroked him slowly.

“Please, yes, oh luv, please! Lemme come, Liam, so soddin’ close.”

“Then come, Will. Let me see that beautiful face as you spill over for me.”

Spike was wound so tight already, despite his two previous climaxes, that Angel barely had to swipe his thumb over the pre-cum-slick slit, fingers twisting around the swollen head of his cock, and his body locked up, ropes of cum surging out to land on his stomach, lukewarm spurts cool on friction-heated skin, lips flushed and frozen in a silent cry of pleasure. Angel watched with lust-dark eyes as Spike came, demon purring deep in his chest as he saw his William there, open and bare, saw the pure wanton ecstasy in those stormy blue eyes before they slipped closed, dark lashes striking against the pale skin of his cheekbones. He squeezed the still-hard cock lightly, relishing the plaintive moan that fell from those parted lips, his fingers trailing up the long shaft to collect the final drops of cum as Spike’s orgasm tapered out.

“Look at you, three times you’ve come for me, and still aching for more.”

Spike’s eyes fluttered open in time to see Angel raising his fingers to his lips, a groaning gasp wrenched from his throat as his Sire sucked the digits clean. Angel collected the cum on his tongue and surged back up Spike’s body, lips crushing together bruisingly as he licked into his waiting mouth. Spike eagerly sucked the taste of himself off the thick, probing muscle with a growl.

“Want us to always taste like each other, lovely Childe.” Angel felt abnormally breathless as he panted against Spike’s lips. “Smell only each other’s scents twisted together.”

Spike hummed in agreement and nipped at Angel’s bottom lip before letting his head fall back against the pillow, his body lax, arms falling to the bed as he gathered his wits.

“Do love it when you get all possessive on me, pet. Makes me all kinds of tingly.” Spike wriggled teasingly beneath Angel’s bulk, eager to get back to it. “Thanks for that, Angel, ready for the rest of that time-takin’ if you are. Just don’t go startin’ all over, we’ll be here all bloody day ‘n night.”

“We make it through this battle, and we’re going to spend an entire twenty-four hours in the first bed we fall into.”

Angel pressed a final kiss to Spike’s lips and slid back down to continue his exploration of the lithe body beneath him. He nipped and licked his way down Spike’s stomach, tongue swirling around his navel, his eyes flicking up to Spike’s face as he dipped his tongue into it provocatively. Spike’s hands twitched at his sides, aching to dig his fingers into Angel’s ungelled hair and shove his head where he wanted it, raised his arms to shove them beneath the pillow under his head instead. Angel smiled appreciatively at the gesture and moved to suck a mark into his hip.

“You really do want to behave, don’t you Spike?” Angel lifted his head a bit to admire the bloom of color rising beneath Spike’s skin. He looked up at him, admiring the unusual restraint the blonde was showing; he had fully expected him to lock his legs around his head and squeeze, growling, until Angel had taken him into his mouth. He shifted himself between Spike’s legs, hands coming up to soothe over his thighs, sensing something unsaid in those lust-hazed eyes. “I won’t press the issue now, Will, but whatever’s going on in that head of yours, we will talk about it eventually.”

“Thank you, luv. I will, I promise, just not today, yeah?”

“Not today.”

Angel shoved down his curiosity and dipped his head back down, refocusing his attention on the pliant flesh laid out before him. He flicked his tongue out, flattening the muscle as he licked over coarse honeyed curls. He slowly worked his mouth between Spike’s legs, carefully avoiding his cock as he licked away the last traces of cum.

“Fuck, always such a tease, Angel. Don’t you ever change.”

“You’re just lucky we’re working within a somewhat limited timeframe.” Angel nipped at the inside of Spike’s thigh, his hands urging his legs further apart as he settled down flat against the mattress. “Seriously - twenty-four hours, you, me, naked. No distractions, no sparing a single thought for anything beyond whatever room we’re in.”

“And you call me insatiable.”

“Well, you do always claim I made you in my image. Like Sire, like Childe, sweet William.”

“Da...please.” Spike whined softly, hips wiggling despite his best efforts. “Touch me.”

Angel hummed and smirked up at Spike with a sly wink before pressing the barest of kisses to the tip of his cock.

“Hand me the lube. And you don’t need to tuck your hands away, Spike. Told you, I like it when you’re tugging and pulling at me.”

Spike dropped his hands from under his head and retrieved the tube of lubricant from the bedside table. He handed it over to Angel and bent his knees up towards his chest to give him easier access as he popped the cap and squeezed a decent-sized drop of lube onto his fingers.

As he rubbed his fingers together to warm the gel, Angel dipped his head back between Spike’s legs. He briefly suckled a light mark into the thin skin of Spike’s balls, chuckling at the gasping moan he exhaled before leaving off to trail his tongue further down. He slid his free hand under Spike and lifted him slightly, laving his tongue down his perineum and pushing between the firm globes of his ass to lick over the furled ring of muscle.

“Christ! Been a bloody age since you’ve done that, Da.” Spike’s hand found its way into Angel’s hair, nails scraping softly over his scalp, and he shuddered at the vibrations of Angel’s rumbled groan against the hidden flesh. He fought back the urge to buck down against the soft mouth that worked over him, choosing instead to drive Angel as desperate for it as he was. “Tell me, luv, your boy taste as good as you remember?”

Angel answered with a low, hungry growl and Spike yelped as he scraped blunt teeth over the sensitive skin around the clenched muscle before pulling away, his nose trailing up the inner curve of his thigh. The hand beneath Spike retreated to wrap around his cock, sliding slowly along the long shaft as his slickened fingers replaced his mouth.

“Just as divine as ever, Will.”

Spike moaned as Angel pressed the pad of one finger against his rim, relaxing into it as he slowly pushed the thick digit past the ring of muscle. Angel eased his finger in past the second knuckle as he took his aching cock into his mouth, tongue flicking over the tip to collect the pearl of pre-cum that beaded there.

“Gods, luv, Angel, so good.” Spike tightened his fingers, tugging at Angel’s hair as he restrained himself from bucking into the cool mouth that began to bob along his cock, the old obedient William of the past rising close to the surface as Angel worked him open. “Missed this. More than I ever bloody thought I did.”

Angel purred around his cock, thrusting his finger quicker as he felt the tight hole begin to loosen around it, his own cock hard and throbbing against his stomach. Spike’s free hand came to clutch desperately at his shoulder, nails scratching enticingly at his skin as he moaned, his hips pressing down against his probing finger.

“Fuck, please, Da, ‘nother, gimme another. Wanna feel you, Liam.”

Angel glanced up, his mouth still working over the throbbing length, and met with the dark gaze of his Childe, a groan rumbling in his chest at the need he found there. He took Spike’s cock further down his throat, his nose nuzzling into the coarse curls around the base as he eased another finger into his slick hole. Spike whimpered as Angel thrust his fingers deeper, crooking them as the pads found that bundle of nerves. A spurt of pre-cum coated his tongue as he rubbed over his prostate, soon easing up to start scissoring his fingers as Spike’s legs began to tremble. He hollowed his cheeks around his cock and suckled at the tip as he continued the tortuous preparation.

“Angel, luv, please! Too close, Sire...Da, please.”

Angel growled lustily at the sobbed pleas falling from Spike’s lips and released his cock with a lewd pop, his fingers still working within him as he lifted himself back over Spike’s body. He cupped Spike’s face with his free hand, his lips crushing to the blonde’s as he slipped a third finger into him, the slide quickly becoming easier as he thrust slowly.

“Being such a good boy for me, sweet Will”, Angel rasped against his lips. “Begging so pretty for me, instead of snarling and snapping at me to be done with it. Ready for me, my beautiful one?”

“Christ, yes, Da! Please, Liam...Angel, fuck-oh, sod it all, make love to me?!”

Angel’s groan hitched in his throat at the plaintive sentiment and he eased his fingers from Spike’s loosened hole, feeling blindly for the lube as he kept his gaze locked with his Childe’s. Out of sheer will, he managed to slick his cock up with one hand, the other braced against the pillow as he lined himself up. He watched Spike’s face closely as he pushed in slowly, forcing his own eyes to stay open as the tight warmth enveloped his aching cock. Spike’s lips fell open on a silent gasp, back arching and eyes flickering from blue to amber and back again as Angel bottomed out.

“Jesus, Spike”, Angel groaned out, his hips stilling as he felt the tight muscle ripple and clench around him. “Always so perfectly tight for me, my boy. Oh, William, no idea how long I’ve wanted to be with you this way.”

“Too long, I know, Da. Christ, I love you, Angel. Love feeling you like this, fillin’ me up so bloody well.” Spike’s hands gripped at Angel’s shoulders now, tugging him close as Angel wrapped a hand around his thigh. He nipped softly at Angel’s lips, kissing him languidly as Angel hesitated. “C’mon, luv. Need you to move now, please, Sire.”

Angel hitched Spike’s thigh up to wrap around his hip, his hand sliding down to grip at his waist as he began a slow pace. Spike moaned softly and clutched him tighter as Angel thrust into him, lifting his other leg to lock his ankles at the small of Angel’s back. Using the position for leverage, he pushed down to meet Angel’s thrusts on every upstroke, the tilted angle of his hips allowing the head of the thick cock stretching him to drag over his prostate.

“Bloody hell, Angel,” Spike groaned, one hand scratching sharp nails along Angel’s back as the other trailed up to card through his hair, his body moving in rhythm with Angel’s thrusts. “Right there, luv. Fuck, not gonna last, ‘s too much, feels too good.”

“I know, Will. Jesus, I was so stupid, so fucking stupid to keep myself distant from you for so long.” Angel kept his steady pace as he kissed and nipped his way along Spike’s jaw and dipped his head to nuzzle at the curve of his throat. His voice was muffled against the pale skin as he continued, unable to face his Childe as his tone threatened to turn sorrowful. “Oh, God, Spike, I’m so sorry. Please, William-”

“Shh, hush, luv.” Spike gently stroked his fingers through Angel’s hair, letting a soothing purr rumble through his chest. “Must I keep remindin’ ya? No sorrow, Liam. You’re forgiven; I forgive you. Look at me, Da, please.”

Angel slowed his pace minutely as he lifted his head to look down at Spike; Spike smiled up at him, and it was his William he saw there, the time between then and now gone as Spike urged Angel’s lips down to his. Too soon, Spike broke the kiss, his cool lips trailing softly along his jaw to press feather light below his ear.

“I’m gonna ask you somethin’, but I don’t want you to freak out over it, alright, luv?”

Angel stilled his hips, wishing he could see Spike’s face as he whispered but knew better than to move his head. He bit back a moan when Spike nosed at the spot behind his ear as he waited for a response.

“Okay, hmm, anything Will, ask me anything.”

Spike’s hold on him tightened, as though he were afraid that Angel would disappear from his embrace as soon as the words left his lips. Angel could smell a hint of fear threading between the still-strong scent of arousal that wafted off the blonde, so he returned Spike’s gesture of comfort and purred softly in encouragement; whatever his Childe intended to say, it was obviously of great importance to him to hold his tongue as nothing ever did.

“It’s okay, Spike, I won’t freak out. Don’t hide on me now, my glib Childe.”

“Will-will you...Angel, will you Claim me?”

Angel gasped softly and finally pulled back to look at him with wide eyes, thankful for a heart that didn’t beat and skin that didn’t flush to give him away.

“Spike...William, are you sure you know what you’re asking me? The Claim is-”

“Not to be taken lightly, I know, Da.” There was a nervous tremor to his voice as he spoke, his eyes pleading and earnest. “Wanted it for a long time, Angel, since before you got your soul, even. I may have loved Dru, but you were the only one I ever wanted to belong to that way.”

“The Sire mark was one thing, but if I do this now, with the battle looming...I don’t know if I should Spike. It will put you at risk, it’ll put the team, our family, at risk.” Angel shifted his weight and cupped Spike’s face, fingers tracing lightly over his cheek. “I want to, Jesus, how I want to, but even if you Claimed me back, I don’t know if I could bear the target it would put on your back. If the Partners send any vampires after us, they’ll know, and they’ll head straight for you.”

“Luv, you think I haven’t considered that? That I haven’t considered how it’ll vulnerate us as much as it will help us keep track of each other?” Spike’s voice was thick with held-back tears, his hand raising to cover Angel’s, squeezing. “Angel, I have faith in you, in us; I don’t wanna leave it up to bleedin’ chance that there’ll be time later to do this. We don’t know if there’s gonna be a tomorrow for any of us, and I’d rather meet my last death knowin’ I finally have all of you, that I gave you all of me. Please, Angel...Da...don’t deny me this, not now, after everything.”

Angel closed his eyes and let his face shift, his fangs extending. He dipped his head down and pressed his forehead to Spike’s, rubbing the ridges of his brow soothingly across the smooth skin.

“Seems I can’t find it in me to deny you anything, anymore, my beautiful Will.” Again the word Sire weighed on his tongue as he sighed heavily, the mark on his neck tingling. “My Spike. I love you too much.”

“Liam, Angel, I love you, too.” Spike kissed Angel deeply, avoiding his fangs with long-practiced precision. He dug his heels into Angel’s lower back, urging him forward and pulling a groan from Angel’s throat as he clenched around his still-seated cock. “C’mon, Da, make me yours, and yours alone. Claim me, Angel.”

Angel broke the kiss and slid his hands under Spike’s back, clutching the blonde to him as he started to thrust again, his cock hard as ever. He buried his face in the curve of Spike’s shoulder, inhaling deep and letting the scent of him fill his senses, that hint of fear gone as arousal surged.

“Tell me when you’re close again.”

“When it comes to you, luv, I’m always close. Oh, Christ, yeah, faster, Da.”

“Mine, you’re mine. Tell me, Spike, need to hear you say it. Oh God, William, my sweet, infuriating, lovely boy.”

“Yours, Angel. Only yours, always was. It was always you I came back to, sittin’ there at the back o’my mind. Your boy, Da, heart, body, and bloody soul.” Spike keened as Angel pumped his hips faster, bucking down to meet the deep thrusts. “Fuck, ‘m close, Angel, so close. Do it, please, Da!”

Angel pulled away from Spike’s neck and settled him back against the pillows, his pace steady as he bowed his head over Spike’s chest, his lips brushing softly across the skin over his heart.

“Tá tú mianach, William, mo mhaité. Always, forever. Agus tá mé mise, go deo na i gcónaí.”

Spike sobbed softly at the words, his body shuddering as Angel sank his fangs into his pale flesh and sucked that first mouthful of blood from the wound. The demon in him purred as the soul wept with joy as the Claim took hold, a shock of electric heat surging through him as Angel drank.

“Oh, gods, Angel, yes!” Spike’s hands cupped the back of Angel’s head, holding him to his chest. “Gonna come, luv, can’t hold it.”

Angel thrust his hips harder, his own climax bearing down on him as Spike’s blood filled his veins, the heady taste of it and the rush of the new bond that fused between them crashing over him like waves on sand. Every nerve wound tight, his body seizing on one last harsh thrust as he buried his cock deep within Spike’s clenching hole, ropes of cum spurting lukewarm as he clutched at the pliant body beneath him. He eased his fangs from the wound, rough tongue lapping over the punctures to clean the trickle of blood from the pale skin as it closed.

Spike came with a loud cry as Angel filled him, white light sparking across his vision as he rode the waves, coming harder than he ever had in all his long years. His fingernails scraped across Angel’s scalp as his muscles clenched, friction-heated cum splashing across their stomachs as his cock twitched between them.

“Angel! Oh, fuck...Christ, luv. Thank you, Da, thank you.”

Angel gave Spike’s chest one last lick and nosed his way back up to the crook of his shoulder, his orgasm finally petering out. Nosing along his throat and raining soft kisses across his clavicle, Angel murmured a quiet mantra of ‘mine’, his demon feeling a sense of peace Angel hadn’t thought possible to obtain. He could still feel his soul, though, so he let Angelus have his moment, content that the world was not yet in danger of him.

“All yours, luv. Forever.”

Spike whimpered mournfully as he felt Angel’s softening cock slip out of him, his own cock twitching feebly at the feeling of his dead seed slowly seeping out of him. Shifting back into his human visage, Angel quieted Spike with a loving kiss before rolling off of him, slender fingers reaching to tug him back into his embrace. Angel smiled down at Spike and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m just going to go get a washcloth.”

Spike relaxed into the mattress as Angel disappeared into the bathroom, body near-boneless and tingly, his mind fuzzy and sated.

“I need to draw you like that someday, Spike, all splayed out, hair mussed and curly the way I always liked it”, Angel’s voice was light and teasing as he returned to the bed with a damp cloth. “You always did look way too beautiful when you were completely fucked-out, my sweet William.”

Spike harrumphed sleepily, hissing soon after as Angel wiped the cloth over his sensitive cock. Angel chuckled and made quick work of cleaning up their spend and placed a chaste kiss to the bend of Spike’s knee before straightening back up from the bed. As he went to toss the soiled washcloth in the hamper, Spike found his voice.

“Be a peach and grab my smokes from my jacket, will ya, pet?”

Angel rolled his eyes, glad to see the Claim hadn’t changed Spike’s nature the way he’d heard often happened. He wouldn’t be his William without the snark. Angel disposed of the cloth and sidetracked into the living room to retrieve the pack of cigarettes and lighter from Spike’s duster where he draped it over his chair. He shook one out and lit it up as he rejoined Spike on the bed, taking a drag before handing it over to him and setting the pack on the bedside table.

“Thanks, luv.”

The pair of them shared the cigarette in easy silence, Angel feeling his demon curl up to rest in its cage, content with the proximity of his mate. Spike stubbed the butt out in the crystal ashtray Angel kept on the table and turned to face him.

“Christ, Peaches, you’ve shagged my soddin’ brains out and it’s still daylight. Must be a new record.”

Angel laughed and looked over at the clock.

“Still got about six hours till we need to leave.” Angel felt his eyelids grow heavy and with a soft sigh, pulled Spike into his arms, draping his slender frame half-across his chest. Spike clucked his tongue in indignation and tried to scramble away but stopped as soon as Angel let out a displeased growl. “Sleep, Will. We’re far from finished here, and you’ll need a bit of rest after the Claiming. Behave, mo ghrá.”

“Ya know, all that sappy talk’s fine while you’re buggerin’ me blind, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna put up with it elsewise. Even my poet heart can only take so much of that molasses.”

“Spike, will you just shut up and get some sleep?” Angel tugged him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I thought the Claim was supposed to make you more endearing? So far, you’re just as impossible as ever.”

“And you wouldn’t have me any other way, ducks, admit it.”

“Sleep Spike.”

Chapter Four-->

~~~~

@thewhiterabbit42 @prose-for-hire @highonbandcandy

#angel: ts fanfic #buffyverse fanfic #spangel #spike/angel #spike #angel #lemon

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

Text

Snowed In p6

This gave me such a hard time but I needed this conversation to happen for like 50% of the plot shit down the road, plz forgive me.

Pairing: Geralt x fem!reader

Warnings: hella awkward convos, pining, self depreciating undertones?, talking about sex? idk yall im tryinna tag these with everything i can think of but if i miss something plz let me know!

Summary: (Last part was pure smut, but for those who skipped, it was basically them justifying a good roll in the hay bc it would help them sleep) The day after some completely pragmatic and not at all monumental sex they’re figuring out where to go from there. Boundaries and such?

__________

part 5 here!

You woke slowly, uncomfortably warm and… sticky?

As reality came into focus you realized the stickiness was sweat from being plastered to Geralt's bare chest as you slept. You wriggled a little, loosening his hold on your hips so you could scoot back and see his face. He was still fast asleep, hair sticking to his stubble and mouth slightly open. He looked so much more innocent, almost juvenile when he slept. It made you want to protect him, as ridiculous as it sounded.

Your hand reached up on its own to brush the strands of hair away from his face. When he didn't stir you trailed your first two fingers down his jawline, gently dragging the backs of your knuckles up over his cheekbones. You knew he could wake up at any moment, and it would be uncomfortable to explain why you were staring at him like he alone breathed life into you every day, but you continued tracing the peaks and contours of his face.

If you let yourself think about it, he technically did. He got you up every morning, did anything you asked to help you, and everything you didn't have the stones to ask. This man made space for you like no one ever had and accepted the mess you brought with you, going so far as to help you sweep it into a manageable pile.

You swallowed back the lump forming in your throat as you realized just how much of a mess you'd made for yourself this time. You'd fallen in love and set yourself up for nothing but pain.

The snow would melt, you two would join Jaskier on the other side of the pass, things would go back as they were, and you would fall asleep alone.

You took a slow deep breath in and savored the peace for the last couple of moments you could before your heart would burst. Gently lifting Geralt's arm, you rolled up to sitting as slowly as possible, watching him the whole time. When he still didn't wake, you snatched up your clothes and tiptoed to the bathroom.

He was still asleep after a towel bath and meticulously braiding your hair, softly snoring now. You couldn't help but feel a little proud of yourself for tiring him out so thoroughly.

Sitting down next to him you squeezed his shoulder, "Geralt. Hey, wake up."

He grumbled something about it being early and patted the bed where he thought you were supposed to be before his eyes snapped open.

"There he is." You cooed, reluctantly pulling your hand away.

He squinted and furrowed his brow against the morning sun, pushing himself up on one elbow, "You're up. And dressed."

Now, you knew you were manufacturing the disappointment in his words, but it still hit you just as hard. You sprang to your feet, kicking the contents of your bag back toward the corner with a little more vigor than necessary, "Woke up hungry. C'mon, get up."

"Alright, alright." He grumbled, rolling over and reaching for his neatly packed bag.

Breakfast was uncomfortable, to say the least.

Geralt didn't lean his knee against yours and you weren't sure if you missed it or were relieved he spared you the adrenaline rush. Though when he brushed against your arm reaching for the salt and you nearly jumped out of your skin. The neighbors sat across the table from you and one of them winked at you, almost making you choke on your oats. As soon as Geralt was done with breakfast you cleared both your plates and made a beeline for the door.

You lead the way out to the barn, excited to see the caverns in the snow your fight had left the week before were still uncovered by fresh snow. You fumbled with the latch, not entirely paying attention, so Geralt reached over your shoulder and flicked it open himself. He was so close you felt his breath on your neck and the heat coming off of his chest. Everything in you wanted to lean back into him, but that might be breaking a rule and these rules were becoming ever more nuanced.

You went about your usual business feeding and examining the horses and were about to leave, but Beau looked so sad and bored. Poor guy hadn't gotten more than a walk up and down the breezeway in a month and you could see the pent up energy in his eyes. You sighed and grabbed hold of his mane, swinging up onto his back and laying back over his haunches while he ate. This felt like a good place to slow down and examine your options with this whole "friends" business.

"Y/N?"

Or it would have been.

"Stall." You answered, not sitting up even when you heard him slide the door open.

"What're you doing up there?" Geralt's voice had that same confusing, unidentifiable tone he'd used when he'd left you in the bath.

"He looked so lonely. You don't just spend time with Roach?" You spared him a glance, noting how casually he leaned against the door, arms crossed so that his collar slipped down to show the marks from your nails digging into his skin.

He shrugged, "She gets tired of me."

Beau walked across the stall to sniff Geralt’s pockets and nudge his hand when he smelled what he was after. You shifted to stay balanced on his back, absolutely no intention of coming down any time soon.

The silence between you that crept on and on was in no way comfortable. You fidgeted while Geralt pet Beau, giving him a treat here and there when he smiled for him. Normally you’d be amused, now you were just angry at yourself.

You swung a leg over Beau’s withers, spinning to sit sideways facing Geralt, “You’re rather quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

You shook your head, frantically searching for the words you needed, testing the waters,“I ah… I had a good time last night.”

He quickly glanced at you before focusing back on Beau trying to eat his gloves, “Mhmm... Haven’t slept that well in months.”

There was a beat where you debated leaving it there, but you were never one to quit while you were ahead, “This doesn’t have to be weird, does it? I don’t want things getting tense.”

Geralt finally locked eyes with you, searching your face for something, “No… if you’re uncomfortable-”

“Which I’m not.” You interrupted.

He tilted his head, a softness taking over his face that you rarely saw, “You’re my best friend. As long as you’re okay with it, I am too. It’s just sex, after all.”

You nodded, “Just sex. Yeah. We- heh, we didn't even kiss...”

“Exactly. What are friends for?” Geralt playfully swatted at your boot, giving you a grin.

What are friends for…

You plastered a smile on your face, changing the subject before the emotions bubbling in your chest boiled over, “Jaskier is gonna kill you when I tell him you said I’m your best friend.”

He moved to stand in front of you, crossing his forearms and resting them on your knees. His touch was calming, grounding you back into reality as he usually did.

He squinted up at you, “That’s if you tell him.”

You patted his hand, “Oh, I’m definitely telling him.” you teased.

He gripped your wrist and quickly spun to face away from you, pulling you forward and off Beau's back. You squeaked and gripped onto his shoulders when you landed on him. He laughed, giving a little jump to get you higher on his hips and get a hold of your knees. A giggle slipped from your lips, partly due to surprise, but partly because his grip on your knees tickled.

"I'll tell him it was you who dropped the sword on his lute strings." Geralt made his threat halfheartedly, carrying you out of the barn only to have you steer him back to grab your gloves that you'd left on the hay. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, taking your opportunity to hold him close to you as possible, resting your chin on his shoulder. His warmth and his scent lulled you into a state of content as he took his time meandering back to the inn. Just before he reached the door you noticed a fresh snowflake on your elbow.

"Motherfucker." You shouted, "It's snowing again."

"Shit! Y/N, you're right in my ear." He tried to turn to look at you but you tucked your head against his neck, hiding almost like a child.

"Sorry. I forgot…" you whispered, more out of embarrassment than anything.

He hummed, the vibrations permeating your whole body from where you were perched as he yanked the door open and stomped inside. You wiggled, communicating you could once again walk just like a toddler, but he just hoisted you up higher and trudged up the stairs. You bit your lip, hiding a smile on the basic principle of not wanting to feel it, not necessarily because anyone important could see you.

When you reached your room Geralt rather unceremoniously collapsed onto the bed, sending the two of you bouncing for a bit before he came to rest with his shoulders on your hips.

"Tired?" You asked, fighting the urge to rake your fingers through his hair.

"Exhausted." He made no effort to get up but rested his hands underneath the outsides of your knees.

You sighed in agreement and rested your hands on his shoulders, "Post breakfast nap sounds nice."

I can handle this. I know the boundaries. Just don't kiss him. That should be easy enough ...

__________

part 7 here!

gotta edit bc im a scatterbrain and forgot to tag! If you want to be tagged plz let me know!

@ab-haya @fire-in-her-veinz @cavillhavoc

#geralt of rivia #the wticher #geralt of rivia fic #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x reader fic #geralt #geralt x reader fic #geralt fic #geralt x reader fanfic #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fan fiction #the witcher fic #geralt x fem!reader #fucking yearning hours yall #thats damn near all im good for

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years ago

Note

can you do #11 for spideychelle plz

Thanks to both of you, Anons!!

11. Secret relationship

find light

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word count: 13252

Summary:

MJ's got it bad for Peter Parker, but she's on track to be valedictorian while he sells weed at parties. Not the ideal person to get involved with if she wants to maintain her reputation as a serious academic. Solution? Conduct a relationship in secret until they graduate. But that only works for so long, and leaving high school behind isn't a guarantee that things will get easier.

She’s under no illusion about whether or not he actually quit smoking. When he speaks to her, there’s no hint on his breath, but the scrappy black hoodie he wears almost every day reeks of cigarettes. He has his forearm braced on the locker next to hers as he leans in. The only thing MJ’s ever felt before that’s anything like this is fear. She keeps her gaze straight ahead, sliding her textbooks carefully into her backpack behind her sketchbook. Associating with Peter Parker would be as normal or sane as walking into the shop class and gripping a live wire. Sure, she hears about him―who doesn’t?―but they do not interact. They do not talk, they do not meet. Though they’re both students at Midtown, their trajectories do not cross.

What she last heard was that he went cold turkey. That’s just a highly unlikely story for the guy who gets suspended weekly for walking down the hall with a cigarette dangling from his lips and sells dime bags at parties, making him simultaneously the most popular and most shadowy person in the room. The sanctity of her grades, among other reasons, is why she’s never approached him.

Because there’s no number of A’s that’ll make her stop finding him sexy, MJ slams the door of her locker.

It’s surprising to her when he jumps. But he doesn’t walk away.

“So,” he says, “like I’m saying, the project… Hey, asshole!”

MJ’s so wound up that she’s not sure how she manages to sigh when Peter’s attention is completely diverted by one of his buddies striding past, stopping so the two of them can perform some stupid handshake. They start talking about an upcoming house party and she decides she’s not a big enough idiot to keep standing there waiting for Peter Parker to remember she exists. She’s pretty sure he just found out when they were assigned this joint Chemistry project. Were this a different kind of joint project, she bets he’d show a little more interest. She’ll reward the teeny-tiny bit of initiative he demonstrated by coming up to her at all by doing the whole project herself. He’s astoundingly intelligent, she knows that, but he’s not the most reliable groupmate and she’d rather do double the work than receive half the grade. It’s senior year and she can’t afford that.

“No, wait, wait, wait,” he begs, briefly grabbing her upper arm when she turns to walk away. Apparently, his friend takes this as his dismissal and it’s Peter and MJ, alone again by her locker.

“I’ll do it,” she says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

“The project.”

“Shit! Would you? That’d be great!” He beams, then laughs at her expression. So it was a joke. Wow, nice one. “No, seriously, I really want to work with you.”

“No, seriously, I’ve got this,” MJ pushes back, feeling warmer the longer they talk, not only because he made a joke at her expense. His eye contact isn’t great, but when their gazes connect, it scrambles her brain.

“Well, it was assigned to both of us.”

“And both of us know who’s going to do it and who’s going to flake out.”

She stares at him in astonishment. She didn’t mean to say that out loud, it’s just that she’s never been fought on project responsibility before. Doesn’t Peter know her as the Girl Who Gets Good Grades? AKA the least thrilling Stieg Larsson novel of all time. Even if he doesn’t really register her presence as a classmate or a girl or a human being, she thought he would at least be familiar with the role she fills in their academic dystopia. If Midtown were an arrivals gate at the airport, she’d head for the welcome sign reading ‘Smart Girl’.

Peter laughs and it nearly sucks her in because it’s not designed to mess with her this time, but she walks swiftly away from him instead. No more touching. It feels too… unexpected.

“Good talk, Jones!” he calls jubilantly after her.

Nobody’s ever addressed her solely by her last name before. It sends a flutter through her as she slips outside.

―

“Ok,” Peter says the next day, spinning a chair around backwards and dropping into it. “What are we doing?”

MJ knows what she’s doing―reading Midnight’s Children in the library over lunch hour. His arrival is so visually demanding that she’s almost startled by her own proof of a sandwich in one hand and the novel in the other; beyond the disruption of sitting with her, he folds his arms on the chairback and she stares. He’s pushed up the sleeves of that trademark hoodie to expose his forearms, but what’s holding her gaze a moment too long are his hands. The rather beautiful fingers. The scarred knuckles that are his souvenir for beating the shit out of Brad Davis in the student parking lot last spring. She didn’t see the fight and doesn’t know which of the rumours about what started it is the truth. When it comes to Peter, she tries to put any information out of her mind.

“About what? The project?”

“Yeah,” he replies, ostensibly in complete earnestness. “Where are we at?”

“Like, how much have I done?”

“No, I mean who’s doing what?”

“If you really want to help, I’ll send you jot notes when I’m done and you can do the PowerPoint,” she offers sceptically.

“Can do. But what about the rest of it? Let’s start working on it.”

Finally, MJ slips the piece of paper that’s her current bookmark between Rushdie’s pages, setting down her leisure reading and her ham-on-sourdough.

“What is this?”

“This is the library,” Peter tells her with slow sarcasm. “Sorry, I thought you’d been in here before.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to pull my weight, if you’ll ever fucking let me.”

His tone’s not annoyed, it’s almost teasing. All she wants to do is press her hands to her temples and think through how she might have fallen into an alternate reality housing a studious Peter Parker.

“Why?”

“All these questions! Because that’s what you do with projects, right? Teacher assigns them, you do them, grades and shit…?” He’s motioning with one hand to emphasize the oncoming flow of stages that seem to continue past ‘grades and shit.’

“I just didn’t think…”

“Oh, I know you haven’t been thinking about me.” Disconcertingly, he throws her a wink. “You were expecting a deadbeat partner.”

His words, not hers.

“Fine,” MJ agrees, to get past that wink. “Let’s go over to the computers and start researching.”

“Hell yeah.”

She doesn’t glare at him for his oddness, but once he’s seated next to her at the computer bay, she wishes she had. Maybe he would’ve sat farther away. He’s shorter than she is, and yet he kicks his legs out beneath the table and somewhere under there they grow long enough that hers are in constant danger of brushing them or twining with them or―the thought that horrifies her most―having their shoes knock. Shoe-to-shoe contact strikes her as something exceedingly flirtatious, like sending sexts through Morse code. She tucks her feet under her chair and crosses her ankles while they work. Which they do, in unanticipated companionableness. MJ ignores every one of her urges that tell her to slip her fingers through his where he cups the mouse, to lean in and grab his shoulder for balance as she looks at the website he found, to drag her chair close enough to wrap her arms around his waist, holding tight to the sweater that, logically, she never wants to touch because it stinks.

When lunch hour ends, she finds herself flustered and relieved.

“It was cool hanging out,” are Peter’s words of farewell.

Hanging out? Did they hang out? MJ’s almost too disoriented to find her locker and stow the remains of her lunch before her next class.

―

He keeps turning up. To their Chem class? Almost never. But her locker transforms into some kind of Peter Parker homing device without her knowledge and now he’s always swinging by. One time, her eyes dart back and forth from his face to the cigarette tucked (jauntily, brazenly, and―it must be said―idiotically) behind his ear. A teacher spies it too and Peter gets detention just standing there. His broad grin at Mr. Dell and the, “Aw, man, really?” he jokingly demands put MJ’s heart in a hammock, swaying wildly and beating in question as to why only this boy has a smile like that.

She seeks solace in Cindy. Initially, MJ divulges very little and her friend assumes that her current daftness is the result of struggles to find citable sources for her Chemistry project.

“Who’s your partner again?” Cindy asks over lunch.

“Peter Parker,” MJ says quietly. She tries to let her hair hang forward to shield her blush, but she’s far too slow.

“Oh, MJ.”

“Don’t.”

“MJ. You like Peter Parker? But he’s―”

“I know.”

“Damn,” Cindy says, which is more than enough to communicate how MJ happens to feel and also far too little to provide any clue about what to do. This is not the suffering she usually expects with group projects.

“He’s a smoker,” her friend points out, trying to be helpful by stating the most obviously off-putting thing about the guy.

“I heard he’s trying to quit.”

“I heard that too. Apparently, he has nicotine patches in his locker. And mints.”

MJ just buries her face in her arms and groans.

“I’m so screwed,” she says, voice muffled. “He won’t leave me alone.”

“Maybe he likes you.”

MJ laughs sharply into her sleeve.

“Maybe he likes you,” Cindy repeats gently.

“I can’t.”

“I know, babe.” Her friend squeezes her shoulder. “But you could.”

She lifts her head.

“I couldn’t.”

“You could,” Cindy refutes, gaining momentum. “You could do the project and then, you know, do Peter.”

“Shhh!”

They’re eating in the cafeteria and have the table to themselves, but still.

“Just a hook-up,” her friend says, as though she has any more experience with casual hook-ups than MJ does. They’re both firmly at zero.

“That would be insane. No. I’m not just going to hook up with my Chem partner. Would you hook up with your Chem partner?”

Infuriatingly, Cindy seems to truly consider this question. MJ wishes she’d focus more on the rest of the conversation.

“No. I got paired up with Betty. I find her too adorable to be hot.”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“Well, if Betty ever asks you about me, you know what to say to let her down easy.”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“What if Peter keeps talking to me after we hand in our report and do our presentation?”

“Depends if you’re planning to nail him before or after.”

“I’m not planning to nail him at all.”

“You should at least plan a little. Use a condom.”

“Cindy, for real.”

“For real,” her friend insists, twisting to give her a hard stare. “You already got your college acceptance letters and you’re not going to let your grades drop just because you sleep with this one guy! You can do this!”

“He deals drugs,” MJ reminds her in a hushed voice.

“Not hard drugs. And you’re on academic decathlon. Lots of people have extracurriculars!”

“I can’t believe you. If this were the other way around, you would be freaking out over the very idea of being with someone like him.”

“I enjoy pushing you into things while I remain safely on the sidelines,” Cindy agrees, smiling brightly.

“This is terrible, but, if anybody found out… my parents, any of the teachers… his reputation would reflect badly on me.”

“You’re right,” her friend says. MJ drops her face back into her arms. “You’re gonna do it, aren’t you?”

MJ groans.

―

On the day of their presentation, Peter’s late, but he’s there. MJ perks up in her seat, which makes her frustrated with herself. He doesn’t even get detention for his lack of punctuality. She guesses this is because he so rarely decides to come to class at all that the staff don’t want to discourage him any further.

They aren’t up right away and their lab benches are a few apart (everyone organized alphabetically by last name), but he turns around to glance at her more than once. No backpack, but he has a binder with him, from which many loose pages poke. As long as a couple of those are their report, she’s thrilled. Although, she did also do the entire thing herself just in case. She almost feels bad for not trusting him. Then again, he was late and watching the clock stressed her out.

When they go up to present, he slaps his papers on the front desk and flips a red USB out of his sleeve like he’s flicking open a switchblade.

“PowerPoint,” he explains to the unnerved expression MJ can feel on her face. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you? If I can just…”

And he slips behind her to plug it into the port, sweatshirt brushing her back. Despite the self-assurance she has in the quality of her work, speaking in front of the class always makes her feel slightly ill, so she’s backed up nearly to the defunct blackboard when Peter makes his move around her. He could be going behind her to try to be subtle about the setup. Yeah, that’s probably why he didn’t cross in front where there’s so much more space. He smells intensely of the outdoors, like grass―grass grass―and she inhales it the whole presentation long. What was he doing before this? Playing tackle football where the field’s just been mowed? MJ delivers her portion of the information somewhat robotically, but Peter surprises her by darting around, making bonds out of chalk to illustrate the finer points of this organic chemistry assignment. His lines are brisk and sure and she stares along with the rest of the class. Yes, she does.

“That was a novelty,” he says, suddenly at her side so they’re walking through the door together when class is over.

“Which part?”

She glances back to see Cindy making an ‘ok’ sign at her, looking from Peter to MJ. MJ waves her off, trying not to get ungainly as Peter stays with her. Seems as though he’s intending to walk her all the way to her locker. She has no idea where his is, or what he keeps in it. What she can most easily picture is Bender’s locker from The Breakfast Club.

“Oh, the whole thing. Having the entire class looking at us, getting time to talk, standing up there with you.” He elbows her arm gently while he grins and MJ gives the most pitiful laugh. He’s impossible.

“You were weirdly impressive.”

Peter jogs ahead, then turns to walk backwards, watching her face as he continues to grin.

“Aw, I’m flattered. You think we did ok?”

MJ’s ready to say that of course they did when a little freshman darts down the hall. Instinctively, she reaches out and grips Peter’s wrist. Her hand slides as he halts. Their palms meet. His fingers flex around hers for a second before she shakes him off.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I think we did fine.”

He nods, now walking along at her side.

“Good.”

They get to her locker and Peter still doesn’t leave. She attempts to ignore him as she trades her Chem books for Geography, but he makes it difficult, pushing her locker door open all the way and producing a stick of chalk that she realizes he must’ve tucked into his pocket after writing on the board.

“What are you doing?” she asks when he blocks her view of the door with his arm.

“Shhh.”

He steps away after a few seconds and she sees that he’s vandalized her little magnetic chalkboard with ‘PP wuz here.’

“I need to get new initials,” he says thoughtfully.

MJ scoffs.

“What you need is a better understanding of personal property.”

“Don’t worry, Jones. Chalk wipes right off,” he informs her, like she’s unfamiliar with the substance.

She shakes her head in annoyance.

“But this you better be careful about,” Peter says, lowering his voice abruptly (goosebumps for MJ) as he deposits the chalk in the door tray that holds her Chapstick and a broken magnet. “I stole it, so it’s contraband. If anyone asks, you say you’re holding it for a friend.”

He gives her an irresistible conspiratorial smile and leaves her at her locker.

MJ doesn’t touch the chalk. She doesn’t touch what he wrote either.

“Hell,” she mutters.

―

“Your parents think you’re at my place and my parents will not be worrying about where I am until four in the morning. The greatest benefit of having an older sister,” Cindy lectures, “is that she broke our parents in on abandoning the midnight curfew.”

Still, MJ’s nervous. They’re heading to a party at Flash Thompson’s after the semi-formal dance. The lights on the bus are bright and MJ’s feet are tired from her two-inch heels, but she won’t be taking her shoes off on public transit. Uh uh.

“You just better stay with me,” she warns her friend.

“We’ll be inseparable until you shoo me away so you and Peter can be alooone.”

“Shut up. He wasn’t at the dance.”

“All that means is he’s more of a jeans-and-sweatshirt kinda guy. I bet he’ll be there. You wanna bet?”

“No, I wanna wimp out and go home,” MJ admits.

“I’m not letting you!” Cindy says cheerily, rocking into MJ’s side. “It’ll be good for you to see him outside of school. Maybe he becomes totally unappealing and you squash this crush like a bug.”

“Maybe.”

Cindy is a steadfast companion as they do a loop of the main floor at the Thompson residence. MJ gingerly carries a Solo cup Flash handed her, but she doesn’t drink. She has no idea what’s in it. She’s wary of both Flash’s taste and the sad mustache he’s trying to grow before graduation. Although she’s been to a few house parties over her high school years, arriving in a ‘60s-style burnt-orange minidress and heels makes her feel strange, obnoxious, and watched, even though everyone else is also wearing their nice clothes from the dance. Minus Flash, who has changed into party attire that strikes a balance between retro aerobics-wear and spring break in Florida.

It’s an hour before she concedes to herself that Peter isn’t here. She leaves Cindy by Betty and goes to the bathroom. Peeing, she checks her texts, which is dumb because there’s no way she’ll see what she wants to see; he doesn’t have her number. Working up her courage as she washes and dries her hands, MJ wanders through the big family room at the rear of the house. There’s a sudden burst of laughter as the back door opens―some people are out drinking and smoking on the patio, and then Peter’s stepping inside right in front of her.

“Oh,” she says.

“Michelle. Hey.”

His eyes are red-rimmed and it’s not from crying. She catches the movement of him slipping a lighter back into the pocket of his jeans. There’s something wrong with her that she finds him hot even in this state, isn’t there? It’s his looseness. The extra crinkle around his eyes as he squints tight to smile at her. He could be a cornered grizzly bear. That’s how much she feels the visceral impulse to not be around him. He will snarl and swipe and she will suffer. Rather than returning to Cindy, MJ shifts her weight, wanting to remove her shoes so she can step down and closer to Peter.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she repeats, rigid with the fear of her own potential actions. It makes him laugh.

“You wanna go downstairs? I heard there’s pizza.”

“Yes.” It comes out strong.

It shouldn’t be this easy to go with him, to let him lead because he knows where the door to the basement is and she doesn’t. There should be checkpoints that ask if she’s sure she wants to proceed. Peter bounds down ahead of her and, at the bottom, turns to look at her. His expression is confused, then, quickly, so awed that it makes her blush and wonder if Sofía Vergara or some other bombshell is coming down the stairs behind her. But MJ’s own soles are the only sound against the carpeted hush.

“You look so gorgeous. Damn.”

The words could be meant only for himself except that he waits until she’s down the stairs and next to him to say them.

“You always look great,” he goes on before she can sever the intimate thread of the moment with a flippant remark about the male gaze equating beauty with value. “Fuck, isn’t time funny? I swear I was watching you walk down here for, like, an hour.”

You’re stoned, she wants to remind him. Why bother? Being compelled to state the obvious would only make her seem equally impaired.

“You wanna hang out with me?” MJ asks instead. This setting―the TV left on and a pile of pizza boxes on the sleek glass table the deep sectional curves around―seems more suited to it than Midtown’s library.

“Yeah.” He smiles.

MJ texts Cindy to let her know where she’s gone, then Peter eats pizza and MJ takes her heels off with a groan of pleasure that makes him sit up alertly before slumping back with a laugh. Everything makes him laugh. Missing his mouth with the pizza, the dreary Jason Statham movie they don’t bother changing the channel from, and MJ. So many times, MJ. Her dry humour rocks his THC-coated world and some of her horror at the evils of recreational marijuana use vanishes because he’s just so sweet like this, he’s so friendly. Somehow, he starts asking questions about the sketchbook he noticed she carries at school and, magically, there’s a pen in her hand and she’s doodling from his wrist up his forearm, roughing out the beginnings of a sleeve tattoo from the kooky ideas that stream from his lips. He watches her silently when she asks him to quit jerking his arm around and then it gets really quiet, apart from the occasional explosion onscreen. There are windows high up in the walls, level with the ground outside, and night sounds pulse in. Noises that are frogs and bugs but that, from childhood, MJ has always associated with the distant jingle of stars.

“I have to go now, Peter,” she murmurs when the movie’s over and he has his head resting back against the couch with his eyes closed. She collects her shoes and makes to climb over his legs, always sprawled straight out, but he catches her hand in his slack, warm grip.

MJ stares at his hand around hers and Peter opens his eyes and he stares at their hands too. An imagined scene of a haybale being pitched into a barn’s loft comes to mind at the feeling inside her chest, the sudden upward heave of her heart. She leans back and he sits forward, willingly releasing her when she half-turns away from him and grabs an empty beer bottle from the table. She lays it on its side and gives it a spin. While it’s still slowing, MJ stops it so it faces him. She can see Peter’s chest moving as he breathes, glancing from the bottle up to her eyes, probably trying to gauge her intentions. Thinking very little and feeling so much fear and want and freefall, she rests her knee on the couch between his splayed thighs and clutches the front of his hoodie in a fist that’s almost numb at the end of her arm. His eyes are locked on her mouth when she leans down to kiss him softly.

Peter’s tongue slipping into her mouth wakes her vagina up instantly.

“Uhmm,” she moans, parting her lips more and inexpertly attempting to copy what he’s doing because the pressure and the occasional sucking of her tongue are turning her on swiftly and utterly and she wants him this turned on.

His hands hardly touch her hips and she’s scrambling onto his lap, shoes cast to the floor. Peter adjusts her, lifting from below the highest part of her thigh and pulling her forward so she can’t fall backwards off the couch. She supposes. Her head’s hazy with the green-pepper taste of his mouth and the boy-smell of his skin. He seems hesitant about putting his hands any higher, since her already short skirt has hiked up around her hips with her legs straddling him, but then his palms land on her ass, over her underwear. They break the kiss, panting across each other’s tongues as MJ rocks her hips ahead and Peter’s steady, shaky hands press her against his hard groin. He makes a wild, desperate sound at her most tentative forward nudge.

She’s wet through her underwear, she knows it, but it feels so good to rub herself against the front of his jeans, knowing that she gave him that erection. His fingers caress the back of her neck, then dig up into her hairline as he Frenches her with the furious, winding nonsense of a rabid animal.

“Ah!” she gasps, clipping his tongue with her teeth as he tries to pull her in again and deeper. “Aah!”

He shifts both hands back down to her ass and steers her grinding, forcing her faster when the pitch of her voice climbs.

“God,” Peter groans into her throat when she stretches her neck, face naturally tipping upwards. “Fuck yes.”

He’s damp with sweat across the nape of his neck and down between the mounded muscle of his back where she tucks her hands. MJ drags against him until the entire inside of her body feels like it’s had tingling mouthwash poured into it and shaken around, sparkling, bliss like the scrape of a blade without puncture. She cries out, comes, then cries out again, hugging him close around the neck with her eyes clamped shut. Peter’s orgasm noise is a grunting huff and MJ draws back in time to watch his face. It looks as though his expression’s trying to melt right off his features, like she could thrust a spatula under his skin and lift his whole face off like a crêpe. She feels terrifically powerful.

After a minute of them shuddering against each other, she struggles back to her feet, feeling like someone’s grabbed her and spun her a million times. Dizzy with how fast it happened. That it did happen. Peter gives her a smirk full of the secret they now share because, yes, this will have to be a secret. She assumes he knows that.

Standing, he pulls the front of his baggy sweatshirt down to hide his crotch. MJ puts her shoes on and waits silently―brain buzzing―until he evidently understands that she wants him to go ahead of her. She has no interest in proceeding him up the stairs with the sodden underwear beneath her minidress. Her first priority after leaving this house and going back to Cindy’s is to get into her clean pajamas. When Peter turns and ducks in to kiss her after climbing to only the first stair, she’s startled but reciprocates, though the rush of getting off with him is being replaced by a different, more anxious rush as they prepare to rejoin the party. MJ nearly loses her footing at the realization of how easily they could’ve been caught. Jesus. This is exactly why Peter Parker is the guy for a hookup. A repetition is so inadvisable that he’ll never suggest it. She can’t be messing around in classmates’ basements, taking these risks. It’s not what a smart girl does.

“Wha’s happenin’ in the basement?” a guy’s slurred voice asks the second Peter opens the door.

“Pizza,” he says simply, and they escape.

MJ walks quickly away from the scene of the, well, not crime, but very private indiscretion, hunting for Cindy’s iridescent white dress in the family room, kitchen, and living room, where most people are still gathered. Disconcertingly, Peter hurries along at her side. She’s certain she feels the ghost of his hand on her waist when she stops suddenly to avoid the slosh of someone’s drink across her path. What is he doing? Doesn’t he see that they’re like spies, that they can’t be spotted together or they’ll be in danger of someone finding out? The story of her reckless kiss and the impulsive grinding it led to are in her every feature. They must be.

Aha, Cindy!

MJ taps her friend’s shoulder and leans in quickly.

“I’m ready to go,” she says.

Though she’s angled her back to shun Peter (for their own good), she watches her friend’s eyes move from her face to something behind her and knows he must be standing there.

“Ok, we’ll go right now,” Cindy agrees, reaching down and clasping her hand.

She tosses Abe and Betty a quick goodbye and they hustle to the door like the mice in Cinderella. Which reminds MJ to slip her shoes on. Just before they exit, she flings a glance back into the room and sees Peter laughing with his friend Ned, a cigarette already tucked behind his ear. Good.

―

MJ thinks Cindy’s asleep when her friend rolls over and asks what happened.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No,” MJ assures her.

“You came out of nowhere and you had a weird look on your face.”

“Are you saying you don’t like my face?”

Cindy draws a limp arm out of the blankets and presses her hand to MJ’s cheek, lightly shoving her face away in joking response.

“But what went down?” she persists, then yawns. “You were with him, weren’t you? You don’t expect me to believe that he just came up behind you the second you came to get me.”

“No, I was with him.”

“And?”

She still feels it somehow, the unexpected, exhilarating kick of Peter kissing her and gathering her close and wanting her like that. Before he complimented her on the stairs, MJ hadn’t even known he was aware of her in that way, as anything more than a reliable project partner. If she reveals anything to Cindy, well, it’s like giving up something precious, no matter how much she trusts her friend. There won’t be a repeat of tonight. She’ll delicately wrap the memory in mental tissue paper, storing it neatly, preserving it well. She’ll be able to walk down the hall at Midtown, see Peter, and know she hit that. Non-penetratively. It counts. They are Pluto and Mercury. They do not talk, they do not meet. Their trajectories crossing was a once-in-an-infinity event that will not reoccur.

“We talked and… nothing happened.”

“Well, good,” Cindy decides. “I was thinking about you after you sent me that text and I thought―” She yawns again, triggering an echo from MJ. “―probably not the best idea. He’s just so unpredictable. You deserve more than that.”

“Yeah.”

“Man. Peter Parker.”

“Peter Parker.”

―

She doesn’t greet him warmly, or at all, when he returns to her locker. He doesn’t push and he doesn’t chase, though he definitely has the charisma for it if he ever felt like channeling that shit. Focused, his sweet charm could set a girl on fire like a kid roasts an anthill with a magnifying glass. Honestly, MJ’s surprised Peter doesn’t have a girlfriend, except that he probably prefers not being accountable to anyone but himself. She’s the same.

Even congratulating herself is stale by the day he approaches her again, there’s been such a gap between Flash’s basement and this Thursday afternoon. She’s waiting for her brother to pick her up and Peter lobs the cigarette he was smoking away. It streams thin smoke and rolls from the pavement into the grass.

“That’s littering,” MJ tells him.

For a moment, he just stares back.

“So, what’s up?”

“Waiting for my brother.”

A smile flashes and dies on his face.

“What’s going on?”

“Not much,” she says in the most casual tone, not looking at him at all. Her posture’s defensive. If someone walks out of the building and sees them, she wants them to find it impossible that they’re viewing Michelle Jones and Peter Parker talking. She wants them to believe their eyes are deceiving them.

His laugh is breathy but brutal.

“I did not think you were this girl.”

“What girl?” MJ darts an angry, sideways look at him. She won’t tolerate any ‘you’re not like other girls’ bullshit, even if he’s planning to turn it around and use it as an insult.

“Someone who messes around at parties and then acts like we don’t know each other.”

“I can’t honestly say that we do.”

“Ok, smartass,” Peter says sharply. She sees him dig in his pocket and extract a pack of cigarettes. He shakes his lighter out into his palm first, then plucks one free.

MJ looks firmly away from him before speaking.

“I heard you quit.”

“Habits, you know?”

“No.”

“No?” he presses. She hears the sound of him lighting up, like a piece of paper being ripped. Schik, schik, then the tear that goes right through. The soft blow of his first polluted exhalation. “Studying’s not a habit? Doing well in school’s not a habit? You could just quit?”

“Those things aren’t bad for you,” MJ informs him blandly, scanning the intersection a block down for her brother’s car.

“Something or somebody taught you to ditch the guy you fooled around with and that’s been bad for me, so I’d appreciate a little sympathy.”

She glances at him again, dropping her gaze to the motion of his thumb drumming his cigarette, tapping away the building ash. When he brings it back to his mouth for another drag, his cheeks pull in and further exaggerate the criminally-well-defined line of his jaw. MJ exhales with him.

“I didn’t ditch you, we ditched each other. Mutual ditching,” she explains. “I figured you’d want the same thing.”

“I don’t actually remember you ever asking me what I’d want.”

“Yeah, well, it’s done.”

“You think so?” he asks thoughtfully. He puts his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and traps his cigarette between his lips as he wanders over to the butt of the last one and stamps on it. She frowns in disbelief when he picks it up and takes it to the trash can.

MJ lifts her courage like she lifts her heavy backpack when she’s carting all of her textbooks home at once. Figuratively, she bends from the knees.

“You just want me to fuck you so that you can do the ditching after that. I’m not interested,” she says coolly.

“Uh, you kissed me. If anyone’s suppressing a desire to fuck, it’s you, Jones.”

“So you don’t want to fuck me?”

Who is she? She feels as large and obvious as Lincoln in his Memorial saying these words to Peter Parker, with his shifting eye contact and his nicotine hands.

"I’d like to fuck you,” he says, breathing out smoke and incredible nonchalance, “and I’m really into you and would definitely be down for you to stop acting like I ceased to exist the second I came in my pants for you. I don’t do that for just anybody.”

“Jesus, Parker, shut up,” she hisses, stunned. Violated. Aroused. No.

Peter abandons his easy posture and storms right up to her, turning his head at the last second to puff his mouthful of foul air over his shoulder. Minimal decency.

“Hey, if you’d told me that I was signing up for a one-off by going down to Thompson’s fucking basement with you, maybe I would’ve said no!”

“Really?” MJ blurts, too invested in the answer for it to be wise to ask.

“Probably!”

“If you’re so mad at me, then why don’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because I can’t! I can’t,” he says more quietly. He grips his hair with the same hand that holds his cigarette and she worries that he’ll burn himself, but whatever. “I happen to really like you, ok?”

She spots her brother’s car pulling into the school and immediately distances herself from Peter. They hold each other’s eyes as she gets in.

“Were you smoking?” Louis asks her while she buckles her seatbelt. “You better not let Mom smell that.” MJ rolls her eyes.

“No.”

“Good. Don’t start. That shit’s addictive.”

She looks out her window to see Peter still watching her as Louis puts the car in gear and they drive away.

―

If it would be weakness to message him on Facebook late that night and send him her number, then MJ is weak.

―

Their happy medium is smiling at each other in the halls, stopping by for a very short chat when they happen to be near each other’s locker, and making out fiercely behind the magazine shelf in Midtown’s library. MJ has this all under control. She’s admitted to herself that she’s still attracted to Peter―if there was any doubt that what happened in Flash’s basement had done anything but strengthen that attraction―and that, as long as they keep things fairly low-key, she’s curious. There’s more she’d like to do with him, but she doesn’t want the pressure or anxiety of anyone knowing what’s going on, not even Cindy. The judgement will kill what they have and what they have is chemistry in and out of the classroom. The surge MJ feels when Peter presses her back against the end of a bookshelf is incomparable.

He'd rather they were public, she knows. Fortunately, he doesn’t force her to break down point by point why it wouldn’t be a good idea. Doing that would teach her exactly how much she could hurt him and she doesn’t need that guilt. She likes Peter and she likes fooling around with him, but what she really likes is not getting caught. That, and knowing that she can stop this whenever she wants. The fact that he’s really into her means he’ll listen to what she wants from this non-relationship. MJ tries not to think of herself as manipulative, simply as someone who’s attempting to broaden their horizons in a closed-course physical agreement. She needs to believe in her own agency, especially since she saw how fast things can spiral when they kissed for the first time.

All they’ve done at school is kiss. Once, he accosted her at the end of the day on her way to decathlon practice and got his hands on her ass before they heard footsteps. They were separated, though MJ was sweating like a fiend, when Betty appeared. Peter’s presence surprised her and he had to lie about how he was considering rejoining the decathlon team to explain why he was nearby at that time of day. MJ’s glad it was a lie. Actually having him in one of her extracurriculars would be distracting and she needs to compartmentalize. Besides the Chem presentation, the little slice of her life she spends with Peter and the much larger slice that’s for school won’t overlap. Chem’s their only class together and they don’t share any friends, just acquaintances from decathlon.

Except Peter asks where she lives and it changes everything.

Technically, MJ’s aware that it’s not exactly an inspired idea to give her address to a small-time drug dealer. She doesn’t know what the precise consequences could be, but that’s the point! Control, good. Unknowns, bad. Still, she figures that Peter’s also just a seventeen-year-old like her. He’s smart, he’s cute, his hoodie stinks like smoke―except at parties, when it stinks like pot. His suspensions, aside from the Brad Davis incident, have been for dumb shit. He can’t be totally irresponsible, totally untrustworthy, or Midtown would expel him. Peter seemed to abandon his unofficial experiment on how far white male privilege would protect him after purpling Brad’s cheek and shredding the skin above his eyebrow. (She heard Brad got stitches, but the whole thing was covered by a gauze pad when he came back to school.)

But Peter makes her want things and it turns out, one of those things is wanting to know what he plans to do with her address. The afternoon she’s at home and hears clanging on the fire escape, she’s sure it’s him before she sticks her head out a window and sees him looking up at her from a story down.

“Oh, good,” he calls up. “I didn’t know which floor you were on!”

“What are you doing?! How did you reach the ladder?”

The ladder, which is tucked up eight feet from street level. The ladder, with its protective plate to prevent unauthorized users from touching the rungs for another three feet.

“Uh, jumped!”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What else did you want? Knock knock?”

MJ rolls her eyes and retreats inside, where she drops the annoyed act and starts chipping at her flaking terracotta-coloured nail polish, heart racing as she secretly hopes she hasn’t scared him off. She paces, then strides to the living room, with its tall window that opens onto the fire escape Peter’s currently scaling. She turns her back for a second and, suddenly, his voice is much nearer.

“Hey,” he says, loudly through the glass. She spins around and he waves, smile lopsided and sweet.

A marble seems to fall down her throat and go swirling around her stomach because there’s a motion inside her that veers from ecstatic to terrified. Making up her mind, she crosses to the window and pries it up.

“What are you doing here?” MJ demands.

He looks confused by the question.

“This is where you live.”

“Nuh uh,” she says when he makes to swing his leg over and enter. “The sweatshirt is not coming inside. You’re not leaving the rank scent of that thing for my parents to smell when they get home.”

“Parents aren’t home? Huh,” Peter says, a high, sarcastic, and thoroughly dangerous noise with the way it makes her body react. Her brain starts trying to convince her it’s go time.

He behaves enough to remove his sweatshirt and knot the sleeves around the fire escape railing. Even takes his shoes off. If he behaved a little better, she wouldn’t see more than half of his bare back when he yanked the sweatshirt off and it dragged his grey t-shirt up with it. MJ has sat some major exams, held a chair during the most vomit-inducingly stressful decathlon tournaments, but seeing that much of Peter’s skin at one time is not something she feels equipped to contend with. Maybe she should tell him to put the sweatshirt back on. Maybe her parents don’t know what marijuana blended with cigarettes smells like. Maybe the scent will leave the soft surfaces of their rugs and couch before tomorrow, when Louis gets home from spending the night at his buddy’s place. Too late, Peter’s inside, and while that sweatshirt might be oversized, the t-shirt has to have been improperly laundered at some point in its life because it is tight. Is MJ breathing hard? No, it’s just the effort to shut the window.

“So, ’sup? What do you want?”

Sonofabitch laughs at her question. Not a guffaw, just a private little chuckle, as he holds her eyes.

“I had a question,” he finally says.

“About Chem homework?”

“About parameters.” She waits for him to continue. “Because, nobody knowing about you and me? I got that one.”

“That’s an important one,” MJ agrees, watching this boy like he’s something that bites.

“And that I probably shouldn’t try to do more than kiss you at school.”

She’s a little short of breath when she responds. Fucking window.

“Probably not.”

“But then, other locations. See, that’s where I get confused.”

“Do you?”

“I do, Jones,” Peter says solemnly, ducking his chin and looking up at her with eyes that promise, while he may be the sort that bites, he will most certainly not bite her. “I get confused.”

“Like Flash’s basement?” she checks, swallowing, gaze going from his mouth to his eyes.

“No. I know the rules for Flash’s basement. I’m a big fan of Flash’s basement.” He grins at her, a child’s smile. Innocent. “When I come here though, to your apartment, what happens? Do you have rules for this?” Peter takes a step towards her and they weren’t too many steps apart in the first place. “Tell me, Jones. What’s allowed?”

Her lips part for increased airflow. He’s done nothing―nothing but climb up the side of her building and request entry―but she doubts his thoughts are as inactive as his body’s unconcerned posture.

“My parents get off work in an hour. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Definitely not,” Peter agrees, still not moving. “I’m bad news.”

MJ edges towards him, eyes darting all over his face like crazy, and touches her mouth to his. She can feel him shudder. Then, Peter parts his lips wider and finds her tongue with his, everything staying slow, until they’re gripping the back of each other’s neck and clicking teeth in their haste. She feels gawky and foolish because the only kissing she’s really gotten used to is the easier pace they practice in the library so neither of them gets too worked up before having to go to class. His hands shift to cup the sides of her face and suddenly she doesn’t have to worry; he’s steering now. A moan quivers up her throat with his hold so tender and the motion of his tongue rough and confident. There’s an instinctual clench between her legs.

“Come with me,” she says, breaking away to lead him to the room right off the living room: her bedroom.

“My clothes stink, right?” he teases when he follows her in. “So I should probably make sure they don’t touch any―”

MJ kisses him quickly.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

She means it to be funny and persuasive, but there’s a moment where Peter’s expression freezes. His grin sours.

“No. Michelle Jones bringing an idiot to her room? We couldn’t have that.”

Her shoulders slump.

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” she assures him.

“Nobody does.” He smiles unconvincingly. “If I were, I’d be less disappointing. Nobody’s surprised by a stupid fuck-up.”

“You’re not disappointing. Or a fuck-up.”

Peter looks at her carefully for what feels like a long time.

“If I had you, I’d say I don’t deserve you.”

“You have me,” MJ counters. She kisses him hard, harder, until he wraps his arms around her and kisses her back. She’s proud of herself for saying, “I don’t deserve you,” before he peels his t-shirt off.

She doesn’t want him to think the sentiment’s just about his body, which it very well could’ve been because damn. He is cut. He is ripped. He is any other verb one could use to describe removing a coupon from a flyer. Peter must climb a lot of fire escapes to develop a body like that, reach for a lot of ladders to get those arms, and haul himself up and over a lot of railings to sculpt those abs. As long as he didn’t get the practice by visiting other girls―a quick knife of jealousy as he sits on her bed and she takes up the familiar position of straddling his thighs―she’s grateful.

His hands push her t-shirt up enough to grasp her hips as they kiss. When he doesn’t push for more, MJ takes a deep breath and sits back in his lap to remove her own shirt. Peter’s gaze is fast and eager and his palm is a revelation against the naked skin in the middle of her back. She’s only been touched like this in the pool, when Cindy would scramble onto her shoulders and they’d team up against Cindy’s cousins for a chicken fight, both teams inevitably toppling with a splash. This doesn’t feel like summer memories. Nor does the rigid bar in the front of Peter’s jeans that nudges between her legs when she shuffles forward.

To jump the hurdle of her inexperience, MJ decides to grope him where he obviously wants her. It’s also somehow less forbidding to rest her hand against the denim of his jeans than the warm skin of his chest or abdomen. Peter groans into her mouth when she rubs up and down the length of him, wrist twisted to position her hand right. Ok, good, she thinks. Good. Before thirty seconds are up, he’s letting go of her back to open his fly and lower his zipper.

“If you want to,” he breathes, eyes lowered like he’s either shy or staring at her chest.

MJ does want to, so she nods and grips him through his striped boxers. This is so much different. The warmth, the give at the head, and the feeling of him throbbing in response to her strokes prove that Peter truly does have a penis and it’s not just an object that she was fondling through his jeans. And, theoretically, he wants to put this penis inside her. What should be absolutely alien only makes her wetter. She kisses him to distract herself from the foreignness of holding this thing in her hand and recognizing how intimate it would be, connecting like that. Sliding her hand up, her palm runs across a damp patch in the cotton. He’s turned on, like she is.

She hesitates for a second all the same. At Flash’s, she made him orgasm. She knew it at the time and he reminded her later, in the parking lot. When it happened, he had his jeans done up, plus, she was in the middle of her own climax. In her bedroom―where her brother coming in to look for something he lost or wake her up early on weekends like an asshole has been the only young male presence since she was 12―it’s different. Undone jeans is different. All the attention on what she’s doing to him is different. So when Peter’s hands skim the waistband of her joggers, MJ’s relieved.

“Yes,” she says and closes her eyes, trying to remember to continue the handjob though her wrist is tired of this funky position, as his fingers slide under the elastic.

He has his fingertips on her abdomen, over the cotton of her underwear, then reversing, finding the edge of her underwear, and slipping beneath it. She takes in a deep breath as his hand moves lower.

And this. This is different from grinding at the party. Being stimulated by another person’s hand is strange and entirely unlike rubbing against his crotch, with the temperature of his skin less than that between the labia he’s fingering experimentally and the movements outside her control. Though MJ does buck reflexively when Peter curls a finger inside her a little ways.

“Hey,” he whispers, choking when she remembers again about her part in this and squeezes his cock, “tell me how it feels.”

Instantly, MJ clams up. She’s a bird who’s forgotten how its wings work mid-flight. Flailing, plummeting.

“Um. Fine.”

“Fine? Dammit. Sorry, I was just trying to get you out of your head and I fucked up. Here,” Peter says, pulling his hand out and grabbing her thighs, “lie down instead.”

They disentangle themselves and lie down. Then, with clear thought, he drapes his body half-over hers, hovering. Her pillow props her head up high enough that she can glance at the swell in the front of his boxers. Shifting around has dragged his jeans down a bit.

“Can I put my hand here?” he asks, almost touching her stomach.

“Mhmm.”

His palm lands, fingers tracing the strip of skin above her joggers.

“Close your eyes. I won’t make you talk.”

With that promise and his hand resting inside her pants but over her underwear for several minutes and the lazy kisses he places on her shoulder, it’s easier to accept the feelings that come. His fingers work slowly, skimming and dancing. Eyes shut, she remembers his fingers on a cigarette, a stick of chalk, propped over the back of a chair in the library. The realization that it’s those same fingers gently rolling her clit makes her gasp. Peter groans next to her head in response, exhalation blowing her hair against her ear, which tickles. She opens her eyes and takes a cautious peek at him. His gaze is hot when she meets it. He doesn’t release her as he moves his hand lower to probe at her entrance again, only this time she’s even wetter and he’s fucking staring at her, cheeks a feverish red. Rocking her hips to encourage him, she puts a palm on his chest and slides it down, touching every inch of skin from collarbones to navel before his boxers get in the way. The wet spot is cold, so she tries to grip a little lower when she takes him in hand again. He presses his forehead to her shoulder and moans.

It’s so quiet, such a normal afternoon with the light fading and homework postponed, but Peter Parker’s hips are hunched around hers like he wants to mount her and she can no longer feel any disparity between the heat of his fingers and the heat inside her exceptionally regular underwear. He adds pressure and she gasps, hips bucking off the mattress.

“Shh, shhh,” he murmurs. “God, you’re so gorgeous.”

“Heard that one before,” she says, then whimpers, sweating between her shoulder blades and behind her knees.

“Shoulda brought my thesaurus.”

“Peter! Peter!”

His fingers arc into her hard and fast and she jerks her hand desperately up and down his dick. He swears with his lips pressed to her neck.

“Now you’re repeating yourself,” he recovers enough to taunt.

MJ’s eyes slam shut as she concentrates on making his strokes work for her, but she doesn’t let him off easy. Or, rather, she does, darting her hand down to flex her fingers around his balls, then pumping him rapidly so he never has a chance to catch his breath. Peter makes a noise like he was lying on a couch and a large dog jumped on his stomach out of nowhere. It’s a good noise. MJ enjoys it almost as much as she enjoys the way he jams his thumb down on her clit when his climax hits and scrubs mercilessly until she cries out. With the temperatures matching up and the satisfying twitches and caresses of his fingers, her vagina seems to have accepted his hand as part of her body. It certainly constricts around his middle finger like it’s not allowed to go anywhere. Uh uh. That’s hers now.

“If my sheets smell like smoke after this,” she pants as they lie together on their backs, “your access to this location is revoked.”

“I’m tryin’ to quit.”

MJ wants to be supportive, but she’s not sure she believes him.

―

She falls in love somewhere between Peter sneaking into prom to dance with her in the dark hall outside the gym where no one can see and graduation. It takes a long time for love to seem like a problem because what it feels like is the best thing she’s ever experienced. The only thing she’s ever felt such thorough ownership of. On four separate occasions, she almost tells Cindy. MJ starts to feel sorry for her friend that she doesn’t know. It’s neater than feeling sorry for herself because 98% of her time is spent wanting to hold Peter’s hand and only 2% is actually holding it―never for long, always in private―or because she can’t hug him after she crosses the stage at the rented convention centre to get the rolled up sheet of blank paper that they pretend is a diploma until the school mails out the real ones. He’s not even in the building.

Thanks to his phenomenal performance on exams―because he’s gifted enough to figure out the material day-of, not because he comes to class or studies―Peter is graduating high school. Unfortunately, his suspension, in tandem with the couple dozen detentions he earned this year, denies him the privilege of the ceremony. They aren’t supposed to be on their phones while it’s happening, but MJ misses him and surreptitiously texts around the folds of her black grad gown. Apparently, what he’s decided to do with his day is get really fucking high and the couple texts he manages to send her in response don’t make much sense.

She calls him afterwards, while her parents are talking to her teachers, everyone so happy to gush over the valedictorian (she saw the title coming from a long way away and gave the speech she prepared so many months ago that, by now, it’s lost all emotion). Peter’s voice is sickeningly lazy and also something she wants in her ear right now as she cuddles up to him. What MJ believes is that they’re better together. Over the phone, he says he loves her. Stunned, she replies, “You sound really far away,” and tries not to cry when she looks up and Cindy catches her eye from across the room. She’s just so happy. Everyone is just so happy.

She’s disappointed but not surprised when Peter defers his acceptance to Columbia―where she’ll be attending―to work for a year. His grades mean a more than respectable bursary haul and still, he needs money. His aunt needs money. It’s an expensive city. MJ and Peter talk and settle on the idea that things can only be better for them now. The college won’t give a fuck about her dating life the way Midtown would have. They can have their relationship in the open, no longer ending every conversation slightly sad because coming together is wearing on them, way harder than walking away.

MJ calls Cindy, studying music, and sobs for half an hour after her first week of classes. School is going well, but she hates it. Her classes interest her, but she wants to skip them all. Peter―yes, Peter, yes, Peter Parker―didn’t help her move into her residence like he said he would and she had to buy groceries alone and carry them back to this place that is not her home alone and what is she even doing who even is she and Peter, Peter, Peter, why can’t he just be here when she needs him?

She bristles when Cindy expresses true sympathy for her heartbreak. Heartbreak? This isn’t heartbreak. Heartbreak is for something that’s over and MJ’s relationship with Peter isn’t over. She cries all over again, and more ragged, after she and Cindy fight and end their conversation with a terseness that is an unwelcome intruder on the friendliness, the sisterliness they’ve always had.

But then Peter texts her after 1am that he’s outside her building, MJ lets him in, and he holds her in his arms the way she remembers. Her scholarly prowess guaranteed her a dorm on a quiet floor with single rooms. It feels natural to use this gift for what it was intended. Not uninterrupted study, but losing her virginity. She loves him so much…

…and that certainty grows more confused with every thrust.

She tells him the look on her face when they’re done is because she’s feeling a lot. She is. Just not the things she’s probably supposed to be feeling. Her feelings are prickly things, restless things. They toddle and swoop and disturb her peace as she tucks herself into bed and into Peter’s body. Against her cheek, his heart is steady. Is this all her? Is she crazy? There’s a black hoodie on the floor that won’t let her rest.

―

Things are on a definite uptick by the end of September. The nights grow deep and cold and velvety and the two of them stay out late. The stroll the familiar paths between the buildings of her campus with his arm up around her shoulders, playing with the string of her sweater; he’s trying to quit smoking again and needs something to twiddle between his fingers. It’s dark where shadows slice away from the moon and security lights and MJ would like to melt down into water, spreading through these lanes, touching everything in this place that’s becoming hers. Peter bobs up and kisses her temple. The world is for them.

He gives her a piggyback in her Spider-Man costume on Halloween. Over winter break, he casually admits to being Spider-Man and, hey, suddenly she gets additional wears out of that costume, putting it on every single time he says he’s coming over after that, just to mess with him. They end the year at the movies, kissing over their shared bag of popcorn at midnight (Peter ducks his head inside his sweatshirt to look at his phone screen and check the time). In January, it rains a lot, in February, it snows, and by the time the precipitation’s tapering off, she’s survived year one at Columbia.

Peter starts his first year that fall under a cloud that tries to claim MJ as its creator. Because she planned to no longer live in the dorms and he didn’t care whether he did or not, feeling infinitely older than the other freshmen (despite a measly year of age difference), he asked her to share an apartment with him. The question threw her back like a shove to the shoulders. Share an apartment? Share responsibilities, split rent, see each other every day, complete second year while he did first, then third and fourth. What if she did grad school? Moving out and leaving him in the lurch to find a new place or a roommate to cohabitate in the space they’d made theirs for three years, pretending to be adults and scalding coffee to the bottom of the pot. And if they lived together for years and years, what then? A ring slid towards her between takeout boxes one day and then Peter forever.

When he asked, she fished; MJ cast the line of her thoughts ahead through a clear five years, five more years, hazier the farther she tried to look. Then, she reeled it all the way back. It ran smoothly through their cozy recent past, but soon snagged. Snagged, snagged, snagged as she tugged it insistently back to high school. How much or little have they changed since she was the cautious valedictorian-in-the-making, he the assumed burnout, skipping Spanish to take on local crime?

She turned him down and, because he’s softened since stepping out of the outline of a seventeen-year-old badass who eats Brad Davises for breakfast, Peter wears the rejection in plain sight. Every day that she sees him, on campus or on a date, there’s something in his expression or the pitiful hang of his head. Some days, even his hair looks sad, she’d swear. Most of her wants to repair this immediately, but MJ can’t quite give in. Letting him have his way would mean beginning an apartment hunt ASAP―because this idiot is still reckless enough to leave student housing partway into the year and fumble his way through trying to get some of that money back. She likes her current roommates (three girls from her program) and doesn’t want the stress of uprooting herself. Besides, he’s not really just asking to share an apartment. He’s asking for her time, her constant presence. Eventually, if things were to go as she’s forecasted, her life. It startles her that this brash, playful, independent guy needs her. More than she needs him.

For a firm two weeks, MJ steps away from their relationship of approximately two years. She feels naked. Walking down the sidewalk, she feels vulnerable and shivers in the sunlight. On the weekend, she takes a train out of town to visit Cindy. It’s been a year since their almost-fight and they’ve spoken plenty since, but MJ’s been scared to relax into their friendship, fearing it would not bear her weight. Everything in Cindy’s city is new, MJ’s never been here before, with no trace of Peter anywhere but on the clothes she packed in her bag. Everything of her is still so much him.

“So, did you break up?” Cindy asks over lunch. They’re at a place that serves sandwiches so tall that they can barely fit them into their mouths for a bite.

“I didn’t want… I don’t think… we don’t need to talk about that.”

“MJ,” her friend says softly and love floods in through MJ’s porous exterior where sun and sound have only battered her since the last time she spoke to Peter. Tears roll down her cheeks.

“I don’t even know,” she wails, glancing around in embarrassment at this public place. Cindy pats her hands and dashes from the table to pay and bring MJ back to her apartment.

Her eyes itch and her nose runs and her body’s heaving with sobs like a violent coughing fit, so Cindy redirects them to a spit of a park. A bench.

“M, what happened?”

“Nothing! Nothing―” Gasp. “―even happened! But he loves me so much and I, I can’t stand him! And I love him!”

“Ok,” her friend says soothingly, rubbing briskly at MJ’s arm. “What do you want to do?”

“Can I stay here with you forever?”

“Of course you can, babe, but I don’t think you’re going to be happy until you resolve this.”

“I’m never going to be happy,” MJ corrects, and cries harder as Cindy pulls her head down to let her bawl into her sweater.

“You will. You always know when things aren’t right.” MJ shakes her head slowly against her friend’s shoulder, sowing her tears more widely. “Yes, you do,” Cindy counters. “You do.”

―

Breakup sex is what MJ talks Peter into. She never calls it that, but he knows. He meets up with her outside his dorm, breathing hard like he ran to make it on time. It’s their final good day together―day, not night, because she doesn’t want him to expect her to wake up in the morning feeling different, like they should stay together. She doesn’t want to stab him in the heart with the probable reality that she would slip out while he slept.

They stop and start, her to shake off her trembling and him to turn his head away for more than a minute. She really doesn’t want to think that he’s trying not to cry.

His clothes remind her of their first hookup at Flash’s party: different sweatshirt, same smell. Peter never gave up weed, just smoked less, but its earthy funk rises alongside the even more offensive stench of cigarettes when she gently pulls the hoodie over his head. She doesn’t comment. His choices belong to him. She’s never going to have to worry about her husband dying from smoking-induced lung cancer because that man won’t be Peter. That’s the thought that has her crumpling to her knees before she can perceive the world tilting out from underneath her, but he catches her and hoists her into his arms.

“Steady,” he tells her.

MJ cups his cheek, staring back into his bloodshot brown eyes. She watches his jaw clench and relax. Then, MJ smooths her hand over his ear, around to the back of his head, and pulls him into a kiss. It feels like they’ve been practicing this a long time and have finally arrived at the day of their performance. The nudge of his mouth is strong without being rough and as he sets her on the bed, her palm finds his heart hammering beneath his t-shirt. When Peter joins her, she rolls on top of him. There are no accidents of him manhandling her or her accidently pushing a knee into his nuts as she shifts. Everything is intentional, including the desire not to separate, MJ laid out the full length of Peter’s body. They flop back and forth as they remove each other’s clothes. It’s not a rush so much as the gentle tumble of laundry as a dryer winds down its cycle. They are. They’re winding down.

He scoots his hips lower and his cock prods her as she parts her legs, lifting because they’re on their sides. Peter sinks in by gripping the back of her thigh and pulling her towards him rather than thrusting up. They’re forgoing a condom because MJ’s still on the pill. She doesn’t know yet whether she’ll renew her prescription when she runs out. It’s tempting to stop and flush the chemistry from her body. Seeking something deeper, she hikes her knee up his thigh and Peter grabs it, hauling it to his hip. Soon, she’s sweating with her hand still on his chest, though there’s hardly room between them. Peter huffs as he plunges himself inside her with the opening salvo that is the reliable flick of his hips. MJ’s hand clutches his pec with his first serious thrust.

At the noise she makes, Peter tips her onto her back, but stays almost suffocatingly close on top of her, skin skimming skin. His forearms are braced on either side of her head. Careful, loving fingers brush against her temples, briefly making his arms a triangle with the top of her head as its peak. MJ looks up while he’s looking down, chin tucked so far that he must be watching himself move in and out of her. His hair is nearly in her eyes. She realizes they haven’t kissed since he entered her and panics, grabbing his chin.

Peter’s startled expression scares her, but then he slams his mouth down onto hers and ratchets up the speed and force of his thrusts. She makes such a variety of sounds, all running into each other, that it takes a little while for them to streamline down to one constant, “Mmmmm,” as he bucks, shaking her body. Her legs fall open instead of wrapping up around him because the way his proximity is rubbing her clit has her twitching from toe to hip. His hands clasp hers and pin them down on either side of her head; she doesn’t think twice―like she probably should―before twisting their fingers together.

She comes like a hiccup when his pubic bone pushes down against her clit, then slides away on a withdrawal, then returns because she detangles their fingers to clasp her hands to his hips, then his ass, and yank him back to her. Her head tips back, pulling her hair where it’s trapped against the sheet, and she breathes out his name in a gust: “Peter.” Though she knows he’s close, can feel him there at the end of his rope and see the struggle in how harshly he squeezes his eyes closed, he only goes faster.

“Come on,” MJ bids, sweaty and trapped by his weight, still clutching his ass with both hands.

“No,” he pants.

“Let go.”

“Can’t.”

Peter forcefully pulls her hand into his and locks their fingers securely together. And she stares up at him, baby-faced and overextended. He zigzags between school and Spider-Man duties and looking out for his aunt, trying to kick his bad habits while the stress of everything has him craving relief that much more. He’s spiraling. Whether it’s down, up, or just kinda in place like a carousal only depends on the day. He lives his life in a circle and when MJ observes him, she feels an ache compressing her heart. She wants to be there for him, not leave him, and she has to remind herself that she has been. While he flitted all over the place―high or just high up, navigating the city rooftop-to-rooftop―she walked below him with an outstretched net. One eye was always on him. She’s been reliable, present, giving, and she can’t keep being those things alone. This will never be because she didn’t care. The truth is simple and the most awful realization she’s ever had: he was right when he said he doesn’t deserve her.

All her life, MJ’s felt like she’s done a good job of recognizing her own worth. Now she has to prove it. It feels like she’s walking up to a checkout and realizing she doesn’t have enough money on her; she never dreamed it would cost so much to put herself first.

“Peter.” She’s frustrated now, and hurt. She clenches around him to encourage him over the edge.

“Unnhhh!”

She’s trying to think of something else to say, filtering out all the ideas that are too blunt or cruel (she doesn’t want to say anything too sweet either), but Peter orgasms seconds after he made that noise of pleasure as he fought against it. When he climaxes, tightening his grip on her hand, he moans, “Love you, MJ,” which is the worst thing of all.

―

She can’t know. She puts distance between herself and anyone who might tell her how Peter’s doing. She almost changes schools until basically every person in her life lectures her not to. She’s scared enough to accept her own cowardice. She lives in the background as she hasn’t done for a while, though she steps forward slowly over time―months and years. She puts herself first. She’s valedictorian at the end of her four-year degree and considers lying about bronchitis every day up until convocation, when she gives a haphazard, heartfelt speech that makes her brother cheer riotously from the audience. Valedictorian. First again.

Then the years just pass like they do. MJ’s chronically underpaid before finding a company that values her, though the job isn’t what she really wants to be doing. After hours, she paints. Just for herself. She moves in with Louis and that’s not as bad an idea as it seems until the year they host a Halloween party and her brother (now 33) bumps into Cindy (now 28) for the first time since she was one of his sister’s dorky decathlon friends. Cindy shows up dressed as a vampire, fake fangs and all, and MJ is highly suspicious when she notices the fangs are missing after Cindy went to ‘help Louis add ice’ to the bathtub serving as their cooler for the night. Whatever. They’re married seven months later.

Life is so funny. That’s what MJ can’t communicate to her small circle of friends at their corner booth of the bar as they do their damnedest to get her shitfaced on her thirtieth birthday. She evades and redistributes drinks amongst them, but she can tell they think she’s drunk. She doesn’t normally talk this much or open up so willingly. But she’s thoughtful tonight, with one less decade left to live. She smiles to herself, looking down into the glass she keeps wiping condensation off. She knows how they look―peepers wide and dollish because alcohol makes three out of five of them into glassy-eyed babies with false lashes askew. “I used to know this guy…” MJ tells them and Cindy’s hand bumbles across the table to clasp reassuringly around her wrist.

She continues to smile. She doesn’t know why tonight’s the night he’s on her mind. The rings that sparkle on her friends’ fingers, maybe. Age. Or the way the love of the people around her calls back to another love, the only partner she’s bestowed that word on, though she’s dated since. Love, she tells her friends, unlike life, is not so funny. It’s earnest and needy. It’s the hand that holds yours and it’s the hand that comes up to slap yours away. Her friends decide she’s sad and begin talking over and across her before she can finish. Younger her would set them straight, but she’s neither a cynic nor a pedant on her birthday evening, so she lets them cart her out of the bar instead. They’re like a flurry of babysitters or lady’s maids and it’s totally ridiculous as she’s the most sober among them.

While they’re putting their foggy heads together to figure out the rideshare app on Cindy’s phone, MJ catches a red flare out of the corner of her eye. A cigarette, a smoker. Normally, she gives those a hard stare to encourage them to rethink their choices, but now, she snaps her mostly-clear head away. Unlikely, her brain tells her. Unlikely. She swallows and watches her friends, giggling and all trying to get a finger on the screen to wrest control away from the others. To be MJ’s hero and secure her ride home. With a shallow breath, she turns from them.

He’s already looking at her in a way that says he wasn’t completely sure until she turned.

Peter pushes away from the wall and the cigarette trapped between fingers that aren’t his. The other man looks mildly curious, then gets over it and averts his gaze, continuing to sprinkle ash on the sidewalk. Not that she’s perceiving him anymore.

“Happy birthday,” Peter says, eyes speaking so loud.

MJ self-consciously touches the distinguishing button the girls pinned to her dress before they came downtown, but he shakes his head.

“No,” he tells her. “I remember when it is.”

“Oh.”

“Mine’s―”

“August tenth.”

“Yeah.”

One of her friends tries to call her over and MJ jumps, glancing back at them. She sees Cindy watching her cautiously. Sees Cindy touch their friend’s arm and redirect her attention. MJ looks back to Peter. She looks at his hands and can’t see the scarring in this light. Can’t see a wedding band either, but with his superhuman side-hustle, it’s possible he just wouldn’t wear one for fear of losing it.

“Night off?” she asks. These should be prime swinging hours for Spider-Man.

“Nah, I was out there until half an hour ago.”

MJ peers at him more closely. He looks a little tired, but not wiped like he used to look when he’d show up late years earlier. She wonders if he’s learned to take better care of himself, if he’s had any major injuries.

“Do you work set hours now or did you have to stop for a hospital visit?” She’s joking without any lift to her words and spies Peter’s quick smile.

“No broken bones tonight,” he brags. “I got hungry. I grabbed some food right before this.”

She meets his eye and watches as he summons something from himself.

“You wanna go inside and get a birthday drink?” he offers, jerking a thumb towards the bar MJ and her friends just left.

Her smile is gradual and regretful without permitting room for him to persuade her.

“I can’t,” she says. “I have to get home.”

MJ puts out her hand to him and when Peter grips it, she steps slowly into him, bowing her neck to rest her chin over the shoulder of his jean jacket, which doesn’t smell like anything in particular. His free hand presses high on her back. It’s tentative, but when she doesn’t pull away, he cradles her, arm encircling her more protectively.

“It’s good to see you,” he murmurs.

Before she backs off, she tells him that she still walks the paths at Columbia some nights, in the glow of Butler Library.

“That’s funny,” Peter says, letting his arm slide down so MJ can draw back and look him in the eye. “Not funny funny, but, you know. So do I.”

more clichéd tropes and prompts

#let's see how this one goes over lol #to quote Juno MacGuff: 'it would be friggin' sweet if no one hit me'#tw: smoking #tw: implied/referenced drug use #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones #my writing

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